Gluten-Free Lemon & Ricotta Cake

I went on a course once that was almost cult-like in its attempt to change your life through the power of positive thinking.  We had to practice all sorts of mantras and meditations, visualising our better selves becoming the best possible version we could be.  No limits, we were told.  Dream big.  Whatever you want to, you can do it.  It speaks volumes about the size of my ambition that one of the things I dreamt of having was perfectly manicured nails.  And the thing is, it might be a load of hogwash, but for a couple of months back in 2001, I had awesome nails.  

I tell you this because one other thing I really remember from this course was the idea that if you tidied up for visitors, you were insulting yourself; you should value yourself so highly that your house should be visitor-ready spick and span at all times, just for you.  And while I love the thought of that, I'm assuming I'm not meditating hard enough on having a perfect house because, well, frankly I'd rather be doing plenty of other stuff, nails included, than spend a million hours per week cleaning my skirting boards.  I will always, always be the person who, the night before a visitor, runs round manically with the hoover in one hand and the duster in the other, while with the other hand (still counting?) stir up something welcoming and hopefully delicious in the kitchen.  I definitely assume that distracting someone for long enough means that they won't be bothered about the lack of domestic goddess-ness round here.

This is one such welcoming dish, whipped up in the middle of a cleaning frenzy the night before lovely Ruth came to stay for a couple of nights.  She is gluten free, and so I knew that I had a responsibility not only to spruce up the guest room, but also to make something we could all enjoy.  This is a really lovely cake; the ricotta gives it a creamy tanginess, and serves as the perfect canvas for the sharp, sweet lemon syrup.  This gets better after a day or two, so perfect for making the night before the visitors come, and is sturdy enough to freeze well and to cart about in a lunch box.  

You can even serve it up for breakfast the next day, making you a pretty perfect host all round.  Skirting boards notwithstanding.

Lemon & Ricotta Cake (Gluten Free)

225g butter, softened
225g plus 125g caster sugar
2 eggs, beaten
1 tablespoon natural yoghurt
250g ricotta cheese
150g ground almonds
100g polenta
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 lemon, juice and zest
2 lemons, juice only
100ml water
Blueberries for decoration

Preheat your oven to 170C.  Grease the sides, and grease and  line the bottom, of a 23cm loose-bottomed cake tin.

In a large bowl or using a stand mixer, cream the butter and 225g sugar together until they are light and fluffy.  Beat in the eggs, yoghurt, ricotta, almonds, polenta and baking soda until smooth and everything is combined.

Pour into the tin and bake for 1 - 1.5 hours.  Keep an eye on the top; if it looks like it is browning too much before the cake is fully cooked, cover it with greaseproof paper.  The cake is done when a skewer inserted into it comes out clean with no crumbs.

While the cake is cooking, make the syrup by combining the water, remaining sugar, and lemon juice in a small pan.  Bring to the boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for about 5 minutes, until the texture has turned syrupy.  Remove from the heat, then stir in the zest.

When the cake is cooked, leave it in the tin and pour over three quarters of the syrup.  Leave to cool completely before removing it gently from the tin.  Scatter blueberries over the top, then drizzle with the remaining syrup.

Serve with yoghurt.

Yields 8-10 slices.

Mum's Christmas Cake

There are some things you should know about this cake.

Firstly, it comes from a recipe book my mum got not long after she was married (I'm guessing about 1970).  It predates me by lots of - ok, a few - years, and has been made faithfully by our family every year since then.  Sure, we've had odd flirtations with other cakes, by way of Nigella's Chocolate Fruit Cake and Delia's Creole Cake, but this is the cake that we return to, time after time.  On this point too, you should know that we adore Christmas Cake, with its fruit and spices, and are therefore self-appointed connoisseurs.  Bear that in mind when you consider our loyalty to this cake.

You should know that it is never, ever dry, which seems to be the biggest crime that fruit cake is often accused of.  Instead - and I am not discounting the effect of lots of alcohol in this matter - it is rich and moist (gah I hate that word but sometimes it is the only option), buttery and juicy.

You should know that last Christmas, when I made some to sell, a happy customer returned in January specifically to tell me it was (and I quote) the best cake he'd ever eaten.

But mostly, I want you to know that, bar the teensiest of substitutions (I can't abide glace cherries, and used to leave a neat gleaming pile on the edge of my plate - seriously, does anyone eat them? - so use dried cranberries instead), this IS Christmas.  The mixing of it, Christmas tunes sparkling away as the soundtrack, the fruits steeping in alcohol beforehand, the gradual transformation into the mixture so familiar to me from my youth, the smell of it as it bakes and cools, the look of it.  It is the joy of Christmas in one neat package, and that is why I continue to recreate it, year after year.  Truly, nothing is better than the comfort of Christmas traditions.

The earlier you can make this, the better.

Christmas Fruit Cake
From the Stork Cookbook, circa 1970

NB: Because of the date and provenance (UK), all weights are in pounds and ounces.  I have given the weight in metric also, but if you have the option, the original will likely give the better results.

For a 9 inch round cake or 8 inch square.  Since moving to New Zealand I have become the proud owner of a wooden cakebox, which gives amazing results, but any heavy cake tin will do.  Grease and line it inside, and wrap the outside with brown paper secured with string or a paperclip - this will protect the edges of the cake during the long, slow cooking.

13oz (370g) currants
9oz (250g) sultanas
5oz (140g) raisins
3.5oz (100g) dried cranberries
3.5oz (100g) flaked almonds
3.5oz (100g) mixed cut peel
1 grated lemon rind
2 tablespoons brandy
2 tablespoons sherry (ideally Pedro Ximenez)
9oz (250g) plain flour
1.25 teaspoons mixed spice
0.5 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
2.5oz (70g) ground almonds
8oz (230g) unsalted butter, softened
8oz (230g) soft brown sugar
1 tablespoon black treacle
5 eggs

At least a day, and I don't mind if you give it two days, before you start, soak the dried fruit, flaked almonds and lemon zest in the brandy and sherry, stirring every so often.  The fruit will absorb the alcohol and go plump and juicy.

When you want to make the cake, preheat the oven to 140c/290f/gas mark 1

Sieve the flour, nutmeg and mixed spice.  Add the ground almonds.

Cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy.  Beat in the treacle.

Add the eggs, one at a time, beating each in thoroughly and adding a little of the flour mixture with every egg.

Add the remaining flour mixture with the prepared fruits.  Stir gently but thoroughly until well mixed.

Put in the prepared tin (or box) and smooth the top with the back of a wet spoon.

Bake in the pre-heated oven until very firm, a minimum of 3 hours (it took 4 hours in my oven).  If it isn't done after 3 hours, check back at regular intervals.

When it is baked and a cake tester comes out clean, remove from the oven.  Leave in the tin for 10 minutes then turn out, remove the paper and cool on a wire tray.

When completely cold, wrap in double greaseproof paper and store in an airtight tin.

Every week, feed the cake by pricking the top all over with a skewer then gently pouring a tablespoon of brandy over so it seeps into the holes.

I will be decorating the cake a week before Christmas and posting up instructions with pictures.


 

Swedish Midsummer Cake

Midsummer has such a lovely ring to it, doesn't it?  So heady, so optimistic, such a promise of things to come - a real celebration.  The second, usually better, half of the summer is waiting, within a fingertip's reach.  The sounds and smells and blinding light of summer envelop you, pressing pause on otherwise hectic lives.  My lovely Uncle Anthony was a Midsummer baby, born on 21st June and so I've always associated him with the equinox, whether in the UK, or here in NZ, when I now remember him in December.

Although Midsummer passed us some time ago in New Zealand, and right now the darkening nights seem to be beating a steady path to Autumn's door, and the fruits are overflowing with late summer ripeness, the fact that we now celebrate Valentine's Day in the height of summer seemed like a perfect time to make a Midsummer Cake - after all, all the things I love about midsummer, the optimism, the perfection, the promise, all seem to hold true, especially for this Valentine's Day, the first we have had since we got married in December.

Also, Andy REALLY loves strawberries.  This came at the end of a pretty-near perfect meal; scallops and chorizo to start, followed by Andy's main course of loin of pork with garlic and fennel (and possibly the most delicious gravy anyone has ever tasted in the whole history of the world)

This is not a pretty cake, by anyone's standards, but it is truly delicious.  And it seems that somehow the point of it is to be lovely and homespun-looking.  That's what I'm telling myself, anyway.  The sponge has no added fat, so no butter, no oil, which results in a light, airy cake with a surprising sturdiness, that proves the perfect vehicle for the other elements.  For, let's be straight here: the sponge has no extra fat, but the in-between layers part certainly makes up for that, with vanilla custard, whipped cream, oh, and plenty of strawberries.  Nor is it a cake you can churn out at a moment's notice, for a forgotten bake sale, unexpected guests, or just because you have the baking itch.  This takes planning, should ideally be started a day in advance, and is fiddly, or as my Welsh husband would call it, 'potchy' (no, I don't know either, but I like the sound of the word and it seems quite onomatapoeic).

This is my first entry into the Sweet New Zealand blogging event, hosted this month by Shirleen at the gorgeous blog Sugar & Spice, and a fellow Wellingtonian.

The recipe comes from Nigella Lawson's 'Kitchen', which, like most of her writing, I have found eminiently readable and useable, and have only had successes when I've cooked from it. Oh, and in the book it is just called 'Summer Cake', but Nigella talks about these types of cake being cooked all over Scandinavia to celebrate Midsummer, hence my use of the prefix. 

Swedish Midsummer Cake
From Nigella Lawson

For the custard:
2 egg yolks
2 tablespoons caster sugar
2 teaspoons cornflour
250ml full fat milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Ideally you would do this stage the day before you want to serve the cake.  Put everything except the vanilla extract in a pan over lowish heat, and stir constantly until it thickens; by my clock this was about 5 minutes.  Whatever you do, don't let it boil or the texture of the custard will be ruined and it will split.  When it is thicker, take it off the heat, beat in the vanilla extract, transfer the custard to a cold bowl, and stir until it is cool.  Cover with plastic wrap, so it touches the surface of the custard to prevent a skin forming.

For the cake:
3 eggs
250g caster sugar
90ml water from a recently boiled kettle
1.5 teaspoons baking powder
150g plain flour
butter, for greasing

Preheat the oven to 180C.  Line the bottom of a 23cm round springform cake tin with baking parchment, or do as I do and use re-useable silicone liner, cut to size, and grease the sides of the tin.

Whisk the eggs and sugar together until pale, moussy, and just about tripled in volume.  This is easier if you have some gadget to help such as an electric whisk or KitchenAid, but would definitely be possible with some effort and a hand whisk.  Plus it would negate the need to visit the gym.  Still whisking, add the hot water.

In a separate bowl or jug, mix the flour and baking powder together and gradually add to the eggs and sugar, stirring well to make sure there are no lumps.  Put the mixture into your prepared tin, and cook for about 30 minutes, until it is golden and well-risen.  A cake-tester should come out clean at this point.

Let the cake cool in its tin on a rack for 10 minutes, before unmoulding it and letting it cool completely on the rack.

For assembly:
500g strawberries
2-3 teaspoons caster sugar
500ml cream

If you are cack-handed, like me, this part is the most fiddly bit but, honestly, it's not the sort of cake where precision matters.  Using a bread knife, cut the cake into three layers.  The cake is surprisingly sturdy and I managed this without disaster, but it would be very easy to patch a layer together and bury it in the middle should you need to.

Take about three quarters of the strawberries, hull them, half or quarter them depending on size, and leave them to macerate in the caster sugar.  This can be done anything between 10 minutes and a few hours before you need them; either way, they will be delicious and start to surrender their beautiful ruby juices up to the syrup created.

Put the bottom layer on your serving plate.

Whisk the cream until it is sturdy enough to hold its shape.  Take one third of this cream and fold it into your prepared vanilla custard.  Then put half of this mixture on to the bottom layer of the cake on your serving plate.  Spread half the macerated strawberries on top of the custard.

Repeat this with the middle layer of the cake; custard, strawberries.

Finally, place the top tier of the cake in place.  Spread the remaining whipped cream over the top and arrange your reserved strawberries over the top of that, leaving them whole, or halving them as you wish.

Serve, and bask in the reflected glory in your delicious, not-a-beauty-queen cake - but who needs a beauty queen hanging round on Valentine's Day, anyway?