Tag Archives: history

Apple cake

Posted on by under Cakes, Sweet

Oh apple cake. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Let’s not go there.

Courtesy of the Moorabbin Technical School, circa… ah, well, there’s the rub. The date of publication has been lost in the ether of time. Turning all Nancy Drew (or Hamlet, should the Shakespearean references keep on rolling) there are clues to be found in them there advertisements. Portable typewriters for sale. Sorry, make that ‘The Olympia SF De Luxe Portable’ typewriter, the “snazziest” machine which evidently paves the way to a lucrative career as a typist (30/- more than a clerk, don’t you know?). But if typing does not appease your soul, there is a Melbourne book retailer spruiking the “excellent” The Key To Your Career, new edition 1962. It would seem, dear Watson, this book is a whisker less than a sprightly 51 years of age.

Confused literary references aside, here she is: lady apple cake. Oh yes, those contributors could cook.

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Apple cake

a la Home Tested Recipes, a slender recipe book issued by the Moorabbin Technical School Fete Committee.

2 cups SR flour

2 tsp cream of tartar

1 tsp bicarbonate of soda

½ cup sugar

1 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp ground ginger

1 tsp mixed spice

½ cup butter, melted

2 eggs

Filling

3 medium apples (granny smiths worked nicely), grated

1 tbsp sugar

Nutmeg (I grated a whole nutmeg, but ½ tsp of ground would be nearly as good)

Preheat oven to 150oC. Butter and line a spring form cake tin. No seriously, line that thing. This cake gets juicy.

Mix together all of the cake ingredients in the listed order. It will be dry, so use your hands to form a ball-ish fragrant lump of delicious cake. Divide in two in the bowl.

Press half of the dough into the tin. Tumble over the slippery, jaggedy apple shards, sprinkle over the sugar and grate over the nutmeg. Nutmeg is potent. Beware. Apparently too much can kill you (urban myth?).

Press over the remaining dough.

Bake for 45 minutes, ish. It will be golden on top and your kitchen should smell amazing.

Drink with a cup of tea, milky if you wish, but certainly in a mug that you can fit all fingers in. None of that one-finger business you find at cafés.

Quiche sans pastry

Posted on by under Savoury

A most powerful food-memory for me involves quiche. Nana Jean was renowned in our family for producing a pastry-less quiche that was tall, rich and loaded with flavour. The quiche was a cheery yellow from eggs and cheese, speckled with pink bacon pieces and streaked with green and red from strips of vegetables. As a child I would sit next to Nana at the dark-brown wooden veneer table that magically extended from a mere square to a long, grand rectangle. Unfortunately, having to seat seven people would mean I was propped up with a table leg squashing something or other for the duration of lunch. Nonetheless, I recall how fun it was to be sitting next to short-stature Nana. Thinking of quiche brings forth memories of how her high-spirited laugh would bubble over, like a big, warm verbal hug.

Lunch was known as ‘dinner’ at my grandparents’ house. To this day I hold firm that calling anything ‘dinner’ (be it lunch, or tea-time) the epitome of elegance. I guess we all hold some cherished sayings in naïve esteem. I love it.

I would eat the quiche with tomato sauce and a dressed iceberg and egg salad. That dressing will have to be saved for another post, friends. It is a treasured family inheritance.

And so, when my incredibly thoughtful boyfriend (unbeknownst to me) delivered a care package brimming with his own grandmother’s home-grown zucchini, beans, roma tomatoes and cucumbers I slipped into visions of a beautiful quiche. And, as is so often the way of things with my boy and me, in his own home on the other side of Melbourne he baked his own pastry-less quiche, sent me the photo and subsequently unintentionally further inspired me to make my own. We must be operating on the same kind of culinary mental wavelength, don’t you think?

My family does not use Nana Jean’s quiche recipe any longer. We did, but have found a shorter, easier and less expensive version that tastes very similar. Surely that is how family food traditions evolve, from one recipe to another. Jean’s recipe stirred in Greek yoghurt and, wait for it, Roba pastry mix! Yes, a pastry-less quiche simply incorporated the pastry in the quiche itself. As a result, baking the rich quiche would take a certain knack. You couldn’t overload it with too many additional ingredients, else it wouldn’t set. Truth be told, Nana Jean’s quiche is not perfectly replicated by our new recipe. Hers had a tanginess imbued by the yoghurt, and a strident sponginess that would rebound to the touch from the pastry mix.

But this quiche is different. Lighter and flatter. Less guesswork.

The ‘parent’ recipe comes from the Country Women’s Association cook book. This one, here. A quiche Lorraine. I adapted the typical egg, cheese and bacon Lorraine recipe to incorporate the beautiful young gifted zucchini. And carrots, and parmesan cheese. Oh, and I didn’t have bacon. Never fear, it turned out exceedingly well.

 

 

 

I baked some more of my signature bread to have alongside for a picnic. For with the bread I packed butter and one of the roma tomatoes. I also bottled up some honey (a light, flowery lucerne honey I happened upon at a farmers market) in an old cinnamon glass jar. I have many cinnamon glass jars, as you may expect as a cinnamon addict (discussed more, with a recipe for cinnamon cakes, here). And, out of sake for nostalgia, I bottled up some tomato sauce in an old allspice jar. The quiche didn’t need it, probably because my tastes have matured, surpassing sweet, pungent tomato sauce a while ago!

Perfect for a picnic. Especially those shared with birds.

Happy cooking, friends.

Meg.

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Pastry-less quiche

 

3 eggs

1 ¼ cup milk

½ cup SR flour

½ large brown onion, diced

1 cup grated parmesan cheese

1 cup grated zucchini

1 cup grated carrot

Salt and pepper, to taste

Preheat oven to 210oC. Mix ingredients together and pour into a lined (and greased, if desired/needed) quiche dish. Alternatively, if you would like a psycadelic pattern like mine, simply mix all ingredients save the carrot and zucchini. Pour the yellow gooey mix into the baking dish before artfully draping the grated vegies on top. Push the vegies into the mix, letting the eggy goo surround the slippery shards.

Bake for 40 minutes. This will sink slightly when cool.

Desdemonas and Othellos

Posted on by under Biscuits, Sweet

Ready for some political incorrectness, 1950s cookery style?

Welcome into your knowledge base the fact that these biscuits exist. Or did exist. Well, ok, now some exist in my pantry so I have essentially resurrected some ill-advised nomenclature of a biscuit.

These biscuits are called Desdemonas and Othellos. For those of you with no love for, or no interest in, the works of Shakespeare, these are two characters from his play Othello. Although I am yet to read or see the play, I gather that Desdemona is the beautiful wife of Othello, the beautiful male protagonist and hero. What these biscuits refer to, though, is their skin colour. Desdemona is a fair-skinned Venetian whilst Othello is a dark-skinned Christian Moor. Ergo vanilla and chocolate icing.

Desdemona and Othello from a 2007 London performance; http://www.xcel.uk.net/up-coming/othello.htm

I found this recipe in Miss Drake’s Home Cookery (13th edition), published by Robertson & Mullens, Melbourne in the year 1950. 13th edition! It was slotted between some thinner cookbooks collected by my Nana Jean. The book conspicuously lacks photos. As do most of the published cookbooks in Nana’s stash. Compared to the incredibly visual design of modern cookbooks, these are bland and dour. Mechanical, almost. But the recipes are so diverse, as this recipe surely testifies. So many dishes I have never heard of. Apparently 60 years is a long time in food.

The biscuits themselves are quirky characters. They completely lack butter. The moisture comes from the ample quantity of eggs. 5 eggs!

Have you heard of such a recipe? Was it created out of necessity, for some cook who lacked butter but had far too many eggs? Is it a biscuit that originated during the Depression, when rations meant butter was scarce? Oh, so little I know about these biscuits.

What I do know about these biscuits is that they are fiddly. They need to be piped onto a baking tray. Baked in batches. Left to cool before filling with jam. Sandwiched together before icing. All in all, this recipe took me about three hours to recreate. Perhaps I am less patient than my fore-bearers.

I also know that these biscuits look beautiful. Look at them, lying there, all elegant in their lush glossy icing jackets. Oh so impressive. They have a peculiar texture, not to my taste. Spongy and light, not at all crisp or crumbly. They are quite eggy in taste, almost reminiscent of the pastry from cream puffs. Although they are sweet, and tangy with blackberry jam, and very moreish. Quite perfect with milk, or a cup of tea. Indeed, my dismissive opinion was not echoed by other people who tried a Desdemona or Othello. Everybody else adored them.

I will let you be the judge. As should always be the case!

Happy cooking!

Meg.

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Desdemonas & Othellos

a la Miss Drake (1950)

5 oz. flour

3 oz. sugar

5 eggs

jam, to fill (I used blackberry, which I sieved to remove seeds)

1 quantity soft vanilla icing – recipe below

1 quantity soft chocolate icing – recipe below

Beat the whites very stiffly, add the sugar gradually, beating all the time. Fold in the beaten yolks, and lastly sifted flour.

Pipe into rounds through a piping bag, on kitchen paper, on oven tray.

Bake in fairly hot oven 7-10 minutes until a golden brown.

When cold, put together with jam, and ice with soft icing. “Make some brown with chocolate icing and leave some white.”

Soft icing

4 oz. icing sugar

1 tbsp liquid (water, fruit juice, coffee, rose water, etc.). Sift icing sugar. Blend to a soft consistency with the liquid. If using water, heat icing very slightly before spreading on the biscuits. Do not allow it to reach boiling point or the sugar will grain.

Vanilla

Mix in 1 tsp vanilla extract with water to make 1 tbsp liquid.

Chocolate

Sift 1 tsp cocoa powder with the icing sugar before stirring in liquid.

Note: I heated the icing in the microwave at 25% for 10 seconds to soften. Repeated microwaving will leave the icing grainy and difficult to spread.

Orange cream finger-biscuits

Posted on by under Biscuits, Sweet

These citrus-y and light orange cream finger-biscuits have been resurrected from a newspaper clipping recipe pasted to the inside of Nana Jean’s cookbook. Thank you to one I. M. Lohrey, the author of this beautiful recipe.

Have you ever heard of orange creams before? Here in Australia the first orange creams, dubbed ‘orange slice’ biscuits were sold in 1922 by Arnott’s. The orange slice was featured in a number of Assorted Cream selections during the 1920s and early 1930s, and you can still find the slim cream-filled biscuits in the packets today.

For those unfamiliar with orange creams – and you have my condolences, for they are truly  delicious – they consist of two vanilla biscuits with a layer of sherberty orange cream. They are tangy, and oh so more-ish.

The biscuits I present to you differ from the Arnott’s version. The biscuits aren’t flavoured with vanilla. Instead, they rejoice in sweet simplicity. I would say that vanilla would be cloying when paired with the orange filling, which is thick and fragrant. And the icing is perfectly zesty. I have never encountered an icing recipe like this. It requires you to ‘heat through’ the ingredients on the stove before pouring the mixture, still warm, over the filled biscuits. When the icing sets it cocoons the biscuits in a thin, snug and zingy casing. It feels, and looks, pretty special.

As I mentioned yesterday, citrus fruits are in season year-round. So whether you are from the northern or southern hemisphere, this recipe is ready and raring to go. And from my reading, it seems that the USA is experiencing extreme heat; how awful. If you are an American craving an orangey baked treat, be reassured by the fact that these biscuits only need 10 minutes in the oven.

Oh, and they go very nicely with chai tea.

Here’s to I. M. Lohrey and her exemplary orange cream finger-biscuits!

Meg.

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Orange cream finger-biscuits

Orange cream finger-biscuits

a la I. M. Lohrey

Biscuits:

2 heaped tbsp butter

1/2 cup sugar

2 eggs

220 g (1/2 lb) plain flour

1 tsp cream of tartar

1/2 tsp bicarb soda (baking soda)

pinch salt

Cream the butter and sugar, then add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Sift in the dry ingredients and make into a dough. Roll out about 1/4 inch (bit less than 1 cm) thick and cut into fingers. Bake at 200 degrees Celsius for 10 minutes. Remove from the oven and cool completely on a wire rack before filling.

Filling:

3 tbsp icing sugar

1 large tbsp butter

1/2 orange, juiced

Beat ingredients in a small bowl and use to wedge pairs of biscuits together.

Icing:

1/2 orange, zest and juice

enough icing sugar to make it ‘pourable’

Warm in a saucepan and pour onto fingers. Will set in a few minutes.

The best brownies for a diet, or to serve your enemies

Posted on by under Slices, Sweet

Nana Jean was a wily soul. When cornered by an acquaintance imploring her for a recipe she would deflect, muttering ‘oh I have it written down somewhere’, only to conveniently forget its whereabouts. By my father’s accounts, Nana was proficient at culinary misdirection.

Seemingly, Jean’s covert cooking operations extended to her cookbook. Unfortunately for me, there are dozens of recipes without specified oven temperatures and no mention of what dish in which to cook the cake or pudding. And this brings me to these brownies.

When you think of brownies, what comes to mind? Nuts and fruit? Slice-shaped baked cake-like wedges? Chocolate?

Yes, well, there was no mention of chocolate in this recipe.

No melted chocolate. No cocoa. Nothing.

And no nuts.

The horror.

I did some cursory review of brownie recipes online. I headed to Epicurious, which espoused the virtues of cocoa as opposed to melted chocolate (it’s an interesting concept – read about it here). I had in my possession a packet of cacao, and so tried to substitute this for cocoa. I also guessed the quantity of chocolate powder, hoping (or perhaps even naively believing) that I had inherited some kind of sixth-sense for baking. I haven’t.

Cacao – not so innocent

And so we come to the title of this article. These brownies truly resemble brownies. They are gorgeously studded with sultanas and walnuts – they haven’t sunk to the bottom of the dish; by some kind of culinary magic they are perfectly suspended through the slice. They smell amazing when pulled from the oven. They are very convincing imitations of brownies. But they taste truly awful. The cake is bitter and as for the texture… well it’s a bit stodgy. Sort of claggy. Perfect for those on a diet – you’ll get all of that giddy excitement of indulging in something as truly sinful, truly comforting as a brownie, and once you’ve taken a bite you have absolutely no desire for more. Your craving has evaporated. And your enemies, if they have the displeasure of tasting these brownies, will be suitably revolted.

However, I am not going to grace you with my recipe. Just in case some unwitting soul skips right to the recipe and wastes a great deal of time, hope and promises on delivering a plate heavy with brownies. You’re welcome.

And as a postscript, it was suggested to me by a friend that Jean may have simply written down the parts of the recipe she thought she may forget. That in all her cookery experience she had no need of cocoa quantities, no need to state the obvious with the nuts, no need to discuss oven temperatures and baking dishes. I like this interpretation. It’s nicer than thinking of Jean purposefully omitting things from her cookbook during her youth, to the chagrin of her grandchildren some 80 years down the track.

Yes, so, I am currently on the search of the perfect brownie recipe. I sorely need to redeem myself in the eyes of my disappointed younger brothers. Do you have a tried and tested go-to never-fail smiles-all-round brownie recipe? All tips, directions or commiserations will be gratefully received!

Meg

Coconut ice from across the seas

Posted on by under Slices

Coconut ice

Coconut ice originates from post-war England.

Sugar was no longer scarce. Sweet tooths long oppressed returned with a vengeance. Housewives set to the task of lavishing sweetness upon their husbands and children. And so coconut ice was born.

Sweet, moreish morsels made creamy by the addition of coconut. They are cute as a button, don’t you think? How joyous it must have been to see a plate heaped with these pink and white slices after the years of rations during the war.

It would be rare for an Australian child to be unfamiliar with coconut ice. But unfortunately, the youngest generation have been regaled with supermarket versions of the sweet. Anaemic, uniform rectangles that fit into their rectangle plastic cubicles and further wrapped with hospital-issue-esque plastic sleeves. If there is any romance in such sweets, it is a mundane and bland romance indeed.

So, in the spirit of recreating Jean’s menu, I donned one of my aprons (floral) and set to work on her recipe.

I have read that there are two versions of coconut ice. The more mainstream version calls for condensed milk and icing sugar. It is a simple mix and set method. The less well-known version requires the cook to create a sugar syrup of sorts, blended in with the coconut and then press the pillowy mixture into a pan to set. It is the latter version that Jean documented.

Given the success of the cream puffs the other day, I had high hopes for this coconut ice recipe. I mean, it truly rejoices in the human desire for sweet, toothsome treats. And what joyless soul could say that is a bad thing?

I made two batches as my first batch turned to ashy coconut dust after I duly boiled the mixture for 15 minutes. The second batch I boiled for only 5 minutes. This yielded a more pleasing texture. However, I was a little heavy-handed with the food colouring. Instead of a pale blush pink, my confections are a lush, jewel-like magenta.

And as for the taste? Well I have to admit that I do not have the kind of palate that craves intense sweetness. Chocolate? Sure. Cakes? Certainly. But I can give or take lollies. And when I tasted these cute little rectangles when they were just set, they were like an edible sugar injection. For kids, a fast train to candy-licious heaven. That said, after a night mellowing in the fridge the coconut flavour has really intensified. So the key here is a generous resting time in the fridge.

So would I recommend the recipe? Yes, if you love sweets. Or, like me, you fell in love with the romantic history of coconut ice.

Meg

PS. Oh, and I meant to mention Podkins’ board on pinterest of old books. I’m a little bit in love.

~~~

Coconut ice

Coconut ice


1 cup sugar

¼ cup milk

½ cup desiccated coconut

Red (or pink) food colouring

 

Line a loaf tin with baking paper. It does not need to be oven-proof. Even a rectangular lunch box tub will do.

Add the sugar, milk and coconut to a saucepan. Bring to the boil and stir continuously for 5 minutes. This ensures the sugar dissolves, softens the coconut and infuses the mixture with a divine fragrance.

Take the saucepan off the heat. Spoon half of the mixture into the lined tin. Press the soft mixture down, making sure there are no gaps. Add about 3 drops of food colouring into the remaining coconut mixture. If using pink colouring you will need to add more to get a flushed rosy hue. Mix well before spooning over the white layer in the baking tray. Press down.

Allow to set in the refrigerator or, alternatively, sit the dish on the bench to glisten and tease your family until it has cooled completely. Cut into rectangles and serve with a nice cup of tea.