Lardy Cake (please don't hate me)

So, having waxed lyrical and at great length a week ago about a recipe that didn't work because it tasted of lard, what do I do but hit you with another.  Except this one actually works.  You just have to take a leap of faith - so it is appropriate that I tell you about this on Easter Weekend.

Thinking about it, it really would be a great recipe to add into an Easter repertoire, if you are the sort of person who has such a thing.  The flavours are reminiscent of Hot Cross Buns and the ingredients - well.  The purpose of Shrove Tuesday, we are told, was to use up all the good stuff before the denial of Lent kicked in.  This recipe would certainly be a celebration of a return of hedonism and an end to self-denial.

I made this recipe for our Bake Club.  The theme that was picked for us this month was Use Your Loaf - a challenge to us all to bake some bread.  

Here was Andy's offering - looking at that braiding he is my new nominated hair-doer:

Teaspoon for scale

My sourdough didn't work out and so, at the last minute, I was hanging off the fridge door trying to spy something that could successfully be turned into a delicious treat for my friends.  I spotted half a tub of lard that was lurking there in shame after the last use and somewhere, far away in the back of my mind, rang a bell.  A bell that sounded like flaky, yeasted dough, sugar, dried fruit and the warming spices that I love, and a cake that was in fact a bread.

Lardy cake (clue's in the title, folks) originates in the South West of England - not my area, and yet I have a definite memory of these from when I was young.  The lard - even though there really is a stonking amount - creates a light, melting, flaky, somehow sweet and savoury at the same time, yeasted bread.  

What can I say to convince you that this is really, really good, and worth the leap of faith?  It won Bake Club.  And later, the spoils were torn apart and eaten in seconds.  It's that good.  But don't take my word for it.  Can you make that leap?

Lardy Cake
An amalgamation of the millions of recipes out there

Dough:
200g plain flour
250g strong bread flour
10g lard
1 teaspoon caster sugar
1 packet instant dried yeast
300ml warm water

Filling:
150g lard
110g brown sugar
0.5 teaspoon mixed spice
75g sultanas
75g raisins

Glaze:
1 tablespoon caster sugar, dissolved in 1 tablespoon water

In a large bowl (I use the Kitchen Aid but this is certainly do-able by hand), mix the two flours, lard, sugar and yeast.  Stir in the water.  If you are using a mixer, switch to the dough hook and knead for about 8 minutes.  Otherwise, tip onto a floured surface and knead for about 10 minutes, until smooth and silky.

Put in a bowl, cover with cling film, and put in a warm place for 1-2 hours, until doubled in size.

Meanwhile, mix together the brown sugar, spice and fruits.

When the dough is risen, start by knocking out all the air with a punch (this is strangely enjoyable).  Give it a brisk, scant kneading - 30 seconds or so - then roll it out on a floured surface to make a long rectangle, approximately (don't get your ruler out or anything) three times as long as it is wide.  Sprinkle a third of the sugar mix over, followed by a third of the lard.

Starting at a short end, roll up the dough like a roulade/jam roll/any other analogy that takes your fancy.  Press down hard at the ends, to seal in the sugar and fruit.

Now give it a quarter turn, and roll it out again to a similar size as before.  Sprinkle over your sugar and fruit, sprinkle over your lard. roll it up.

Repeat this one final time.

Roll out the dough so it will fit into a square baking pan, about 23 or 24cm.

Cover and leave in a warm place for about 40 minutes until well risen. 

Meanwhile, preheat your oven to 200C.

Bake the cake for about 30 minutes (although start to check just before this to prevent burning).  When it is out of the oven, brush with the glaze.

When it has cooled for 10 minutes, turn it out upside down onto a cooling rack and leave it this way, so all the fat runs back through the cake.

Slice/tear and share the bread - believe me, this is not one to devour by yourself and not just for lard reasons.  Your friends will love you, as long as you don't tell them just how much lard has gone into this amazing bread.  And even if you do, they'll get over it.

Pork Rillons

To be fair, all the signs were there from the start.

Sign 1

I didn't actually know which recipe I was supposed to be making.  Dom, over at Belleau Kitchen challenged us for this month's Random Recipe blog to go to our cuttings & clippings heap neatly filed, well-organised folder.  I gleefully grabbed mine, and said to Andy "right, I'm just going to throw them all on the floor! And then we'll pick!" "Noooooooooooo" came the reply, moving towards me like some slow-mo action hero.  We're trying to keep the house a bit show-homeish at the moment, you see, what with the landlords popping round all the time to do the DIY necessary to sell the house.  Fun times.  Anyway - instead of me giving this place a new carpet of recipes, Andy rifled through the file until I said stop.  And here is the first sign - the piece of paper he dubiously handed me had four different recipes on.  All French, all country-esque, 75% of them the kind that would take me flipping hours and then Andy wouldn't really like anyway.  In all honesty I couldn't remember which one of the recipes had tempted me enough to rip it out of the Jamie magazine, so I went for the one that looked like we would both enjoy.  Looked like.

Sign 2

Pork Rillons, the recipe I went for, are - you've guessed it - yet another pork recipe.  Any suggestion that round here we are one pork meal away from turning porcine ourselves would, frankly, be accurate.  It turns up quite a lot round here.  We are both, in short, heartily sick of pork at the moment.  So picking yet another gratuitous pork recipe?  Sign two.

Sign 3

The recipe suggests serving this dish with 'a lively Sancerre'.  

Sign 4

This recipe takes flipping hours.  You have to start it the night before, salting cubes of pork belly.  Then you have to fry and slow cook the pork belly.  Then you have to leave it to cool.  Then you reheat it.  Flipping.  Hours.  For a flipping (and I quote) 'snack'.  A snack, FYI Jamie Oliver and Ed Wilson, from whom the recipe came, is cheese on toast.  An apple.  Yoghurt eaten straight from the pot.  It is not something you have to start the night before.  And yes, I am saying 'flipping' a lot but my Mum reads this blog.  Sometimes.

Sign 5

I had literally no idea just how much 250g of lard looks like, until I measured it out.  Trying to kid myself, I pretended that the fluffy white solids in the bowl were ice cream.  And then I realised I wouldn't even allow myself that much ice cream.  That was the point, sign five, at which I knew we were really in trouble.

Sign 6

Frying cubes of pork belly, skin side down, in some of the aforementioned lard, creates a lot of smoke.  Enough to set off the fire alarm and make your newly-cleaned carpets smell of acrid pig fat.  Oh, and the skin STILL wasn't crisp enough, like some kind of flipping heat-resistant kevlar jacket for the pork.   Every window and door in the place wide open, autumn upon us so not as warm as it has been.  Sign six, right there.

Sign 7

Serving up, after all that time and effort and just flipping everything, what essentially comes down to cubes of flabby pork belly that taste of lard.  Not the promised chic bistro-snack.  I guess that was the biggest sign.  That and the uneaten pork pushed to the side of the plate.  The nicest part of the meal were the green salad and the bread and listen, I am not the sort of person who says that lightly.

Sign 8

We don't eat much pudding day-to-day, but I'd made an apple crumble, on a hunch.  Just in case.  We ate it all. 

So yeah, in the future, listen to the signs.  My sign to you is - DON'T MAKE THE LARD CUBES, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.  Or if you do, make sure that the green salad and bread are really good, you have apple crumble for afters, and that glass of lively sancerre translates into a whole bottle.  You will need it.

Pork Rillons
From Jamie Oliver magazine

1kg pork belly, bones removed if there are any
50g salt
250g lard
250ml dry white wine (I suggest you use your lively Sancerre and neck the rest from the bottle in a fit of disappointment)
3 bay leaves
1 large sprig thyme
10 peppercorns
4 garlic cloves, halved
125ml water
Green salad and bread to serve (this is important)

The day before you want to eat your snack, plan well ahead.  Cut the pork belly into 5cm cubes, sprinkle with the salt, cover and put in the fridge.

The morning before you want your snack, rinse the salt off the pork and pat dry with kitchen towels.  Over a high heat, fry the cubes of pork belly in a small amount of lard.  Curse the recipe and open the windows.

Heat your oven to 140C.  In one layer in an oven proof dish, put the cubes of pork, the wine, the garlic, thyme, bay, peppercorns, the rest of the lard and the water.

Cook for 1.5 hours until the pork is tender and tastes of lard.

Pour away most of the lardy juice and leave to cool in a small amount of it.

When you are ready to eat your snack, heat your oven to 200C.  Heat the pork for 10 minutes until sizzling.

Leave most of the pork, eat the salad, the bread, and drink the wine.  Realise as you smell the lard lingering in your hair that some recipes remain in your folder, uncooked, for a reason.

Serves - god knows.  Depends on how many lard cubes you will eat, per person.   This made about 16 cubes, so take it from there.