THE LITTLE LIBRARY COOKBOOK
Kate Young
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Paddington Bear’s marmalade, a Neapolitan pizza with Elena Ferrante, afternoon tea at Manderley... Here are 100 delicious recipes inspired by cookery writer Kate Young’s well-stocked bookshelves.
From Before Noon breakfasts and Around Noon lunches to Family Dinners and Midnight Feasts, The Little Library Cookbook captures the magic and wonder of the meals enjoyed by some of our best-loved fictional characters.
WELCOME PAGE
ABOUT THE LITTLE LIBRARY COOKBOOK
DEDICATION
INTRODUCTION
before noon
PORRIDGE
The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett
MARMALADE
A Bear Called Paddington, Michael Bond
TUNNA PANNKAKOR
Pippi Longstocking, Astrid Lindgren
(COLD) APPLE PIE
The Railway Children, E. Nesbit
FRUITY NUTBREAD
Redwall, Brian Jacques
CINNAMON ROLLS
The Goldfinch, Donna Tartt
AN EGG BOILED VERY SOFT
Emma, Jane Austen
GREEN EGGS & HAM
Green Eggs and Ham, Dr Seuss
KEDGEREE
The Camomile Lawn, Mary Wesley
BAKED BEANS
Little House in the Big Woods, Laura Ingalls Wilder
RICE, MISO, PICKLES, EGG
Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami
CURRIED CHICKEN
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
around noon
A LOAF OF BREAD, PEPPER, VINEGAR & OYSTERS
Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There, Lewis Carroll
WILD GARLIC & POTATO SALAD
How I Live Now, Meg Rosoff
CRAB & AVOCADO SALAD
The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath
POTATO & LEEK SOUP WITH RYE BREAD
The Book Thief, Markus Zusak
STUFFED EGGPLANT
Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez
ROASTED PHEASANT
Danny, the Champion of the World, Roald Dahl
SOLE MEUNIÈRE
My Life in France, Julia Child and Alex Prud’homme
THIN PASTRY WITH SPICED BEEF
White Teeth, Zadie Smith
GIN MARTINI & CHICKEN SANDWICH
Franny and Zooey, J. D. Salinger
TOAD-IN-THE-HOLE
The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13¾, Sue Townsend
A FARMHOUSE LUNCH FOR FIVE
Steak and Ale Pie; Pickled Beetroot; Pickled Onions
Five on a Hike Together, Enid Blyton
after noon (tea)
HUNNY & ROSEMARY CAKES
Winnie-the-Pooh, A. A. Milne
BREAD, BUTTER & HONEY
I Capture the Castle, Dodie Smith
CURRANT BUNS
The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Beatrix Potter
SCONES
The Butterfly Lion, Michael Morpurgo
SPICE COOKIES
We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Shirley Jackson
COCONUT SHORTBREAD
The Essex Serpent, Sarah Perry
MERINGUES & ICED COFFEE
A Room with a View, E. M. Forster
ÉCLAIRS
The Pursuit of Love, Nancy Mitford
MADELEINES
In Search of Lost Time, Marcel Proust
HALWA
A Thousand Splendid Suns, Khaled Hosseini
VANILLA LAYER CAKE
Anne of Green Gables, L. M. Montgomery
CRUMPETS
Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier
MINT JULEP
The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald
HUSH’S FEAST
Pumpkin Scones; Lamingtons; Anzac Biscuits
Possum Magic, Mem Fox
the dinner table
NEAPOLITAN PIZZA
My Brilliant Friend, Elena Ferrante
SPAGHETTI & MEATBALLS
The Godfather, Mario Puzo
A THOUSAND PORK & GINGER DUMPLINGS
The Kitchen God’s Wife, Amy Tan
SPANAKOPITA
Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides
JOLLOF RICE
Americanah, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
A FINE CURRY
Vanity Fair, William Makepeace Thackeray
FISH & CHIPS
The Bear Nobody Wanted, Janet and Allen Ahlberg
CHICKEN CASSEROLE
Excellent Women, Barbara Pym
CURRIED SAUSAGES
Two Weeks with the Queen, Morris Gleitzman
STEAK & ONIONS
The End of the Affair, Graham Greene
CLAM CHOWDER
Moby-Dick, Herman Melville
BLACK ICE CREAM
The Hundred and One Dalmatians, Dodie Smith
BREAD & BUTTER PUDDING
Atonement, Ian McEwan
BLUEBERRY PIE
Charlotte’s Web, E. B. White
FIGS & CUSTARD
Dubliners, James Joyce
TREACLE TART & ROSEMARY ICE CREAM
Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, J. K. Rowling
DINNER FOR TWO AT THE ENGLAND
Turbot in Lemon Sauce; Chicken with Tarragon; Fruit in Liqueur
Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy
THE WOMEN’S MEAL
Vegetable Consommé; Beef, Greens and Potatoes; Prunes in Armagnac with Brown Bread and Butter Ice Cream
A Room of One’s Own, Virginia Woolf
midnight feasts
CHOCOLATL
Northern Lights, Philip Pullman
CREAMED HADDOCK ON TOAST
Sleeping Murder, Agatha Christie
MARMALADE ROLL
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, C. S. Lewis
MARSHMALLOWS
Tomorrow, When the War Began, John Marsden
POSSET
The Wolves of Willoughby Chase, Joan Aiken
RAMEN
Kitchen, Banana Yoshimoto
SOUP & MUFFINS
A Little Princess, Frances Hodgson Burnett
SAUSAGE ROLLS
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, J. K. Rowling
SEED CAKE
The Hobbit, J. R. R. Tolkien
parties & celebrations
AN ENORMOUS ROUND CHOCOLATE CAKE
Matilda, Roald Dahl
THE QUEEN OF HEARTS’ TARTS
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
PEAR & LEMON BIRTHDAY CAKE
Comet in Moominland, Tove Jansson
SPONGY TRIFLE
My Naughty Little Sister, Dorothy Edwards
LANE CAKE
To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
BLANCMANGE
The Diary of a Nobody, George and Weedon Grossmith
ICE PUDDING
Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons
QUEEN ANN’S PUDDING
Ulysses, James Joyce
THREE KINGS’ DAY BREAD
Like Water for Chocolate, Laura Esquivel
RASPBERRY SHRUB
What Katy Did, Susan Coolidge
MARMADUKE SCARLET’S FEAST
Saffron Cake; Cream Horns; Cornish Pasty
The Little White Horse, Elizabeth Goudge
christmas
CHRISTMAS CAKE
Wombats Don’t Have Christmas, Jane Burrell and Michael Dugan
TURKISH DELIGHT
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, C. S. Lewis
MINCE PIES
Behind the Scenes at the Museum, Kate Atkinson
BUCKWHEATS
Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
CHRISTMAS DINNER
A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
SMOKING BISHOP
A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
CHRISTMAS PUDDING
A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
CRYSTALLIZED GINGER
The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding, Agatha Christie
NEW YEAR’S DAY TURKEY CURRY
Bridget Jones’s Diary, Helen Fielding
RECIPE INDEX
AUTHOR INDEX
EXTENDED COPYRIGHT
THANK YOU
ABOUT KATE YOUNG
ABOUT ANIMA
COPYRIGHT
For all writers who send their stories out into the world
One cannot think well, love well, sleep well,
if one has not dined well.
Virginia Woolf
Eating and reading are two pleasures
that combine admirably.
C. S. Lewis
I have always been a highly suggestible, hungry reader. When discovering a new book, or revisiting an old favourite, my mind wanders, imagining what the food the characters are enjoying would taste like. A passing mention of a ripe summer strawberry, a fragrant roast chicken, or a warming mug of hot chocolate sends me straight to the kitchen, book still in hand.
I can’t remember not being able to cook; I have been doing so since I was old enough to reach the kitchen bench. I grew up in a home where food was much more than sustenance; it was intrinsic to our social lives, what we played and experimented with, and an enduring passion for all of us. From an early age, I read cookbooks for their stories and for their recipes, marking up things I wanted to try, and committing beloved phrases to memory.
The food I cook now is inspired by many things: the English seasons, my childhood in Australia, meals I have eaten with family, trips I have taken, techniques I’ve learnt from friends. As I left home, and began to cook for myself, I also drew inspiration from my favourite books, which hold in their pages some of the most tangible food memories I possess.
When I wasn’t in the kitchen, my childhood was spent in books. I’d read anything I could get my hands on: instruction manuals, road directories, the backs of cereal boxes. I was hungry for words and for stories in whatever form I could get them. On weekends, my dad would push me out of our front door towards the park, encouraging me to run around in the fresh air until dusk. Little did he know that I always had a book tucked into my bike shorts, and would instead hide under a tree somewhere, losing myself in Jane Austen’s Regency England, Enid Blyton’s seaside Devon or Harper Lee’s Depression-era Alabama. My childhood was idyllic: sunny, surrounded by green space, and with a brilliant little sister by my side, but I spent much of it in parallel fictional worlds.
As I grew up and then moved away from Australia, my love for reading didn’t dim. Instead, the books I had read as a child became imbued with a strong sense of nostalgia and found places on my shelves alongside new favourites. I found that I could often remember exactly where I was when I had read each book for the first time. Far away from home, these memories provided real comfort. I re-read books when I was missing my folks, or my friends, or the beach. Doing this, I discovered that the passages utmost in my memory were often food-related. And so, as well as reading them, I started cooking from them too.
The food I created was like a portal to my past. One bite of a treacle tart took me straight back to my bottom bunk at my dad’s, where I first read Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. I toasted a batch of muffins, slathered them in butter, and could picture my mum reading A Little Princess to my sister and me from the floor of our bedroom. The scent of a honey cake transported me to the back seat of our old car, listening to Alan Bennett read Winnie-the-Pooh on audiotape as we drove to Canberra.
As I started writing about these literary/culinary links, friends and family (and, later, strangers) began to get in touch, telling me of their favourite fictional food memories. So many of us seemed to have a shared childhood: time spent dreaming of eating sardines and drinking ginger beer on Kirrin Island with the Famous Five; feeling jealous of Bruce and his infamous chocolate cake; and wondering what on earth Green Eggs and Ham might taste like. It is not something we grow out of either. We imagine the dripping crumpets at Manderley in Rebecca, and find our mouths watering at the thought of the perfect steak in The End of the Affair.
I wanted to write this book to share some of my favourite representations of food in fiction. I sincerely hope that these pages will take you back to places you discovered as a child, reveal new books you’re yet to discover, send you to parts of the world you have wanted to visit, and seat you at the kitchen table with characters you would like to spend time with. Happy reading, and happy eating.
This book is a bringing together of recipes that made my mouth water when I first read of them. I love to spend a Saturday in the kitchen, so there are extravagant baking projects to be found that will take a good few hours to finish. I am also, most often, impatient to sit down to a plate of something delicious, so there are also simple suppers and quick breakfasts (many appropriate to eat at any time of day), which can be on the table in less than 30 minutes.
While I have experimented with Georgian, Regency and Victorian recipes, especially when cooking from books like Anna Karenina or A Christmas Carol, I want the recipes to work well for your oven, using ingredients available from your local supermarket. So, for the most part, I have updated the recipes rather than adhering religiously to the original techniques.
Where appropriate, I have spoken with friends, acquaintances and sometimes strangers about the dishes that were initially less familiar to me. What has become abundantly clear is that there is no ‘right way’ of making anything – much like my mum and her curried sausages, families and individuals will have their own variations. What I have included here are the versions I find most delicious.
The cookbooks I love most are the ones that feel like a helpful grandmother standing with you at the stove, offering advice, helpful hints and suggestions. I want this book to fill that place in your kitchen.
There are very few recipes in this book that you will need to buy equipment for. I am really keen that these recipes are accessible and achievable in any kitchen and so, where possible, I have included alternatives to mixers, ice-cream machines and any equipment that serves only one use. There are always alternatives. In testing recipes for this book, I have rolled out pastry with an empty wine bottle, made my own cream horn molds from scrap cardboard and aluminium foil and used drinking glasses in place of biscuit cutters. The equipment listed is, therefore, only a guide. It is not there to put you off, rather to let you know before you reach Step 8 that a fine-mesh sieve might be useful.
That said, when it comes to baking, I have included specific dimensions for cake tins. If you want to use something you already have in your cupboard (which I regularly do), be aware you may need to slightly adjust baking temperatures or cooking times. If you’re not a confident baker, I would recommend sticking with the tin size and temperature if possible.
In terms of baking ingredients, unless otherwise stated I have tested these recipes using large eggs, whole milk and unsalted butter. Again, I often end up using what I have in my fridge/cupboard when I cook, but if you are new to cake baking, I would suggest you try, where possible, to use the ingredients without substitutions – different sugar, flour or butter will often make a difference to the outcome.
Most of the ingredients included in this book are ones I can find at my local supermarket, but I am lucky to have easy access to places stocking ingredients from Asia and the Middle East. If you’re finding it tricky to source an ingredient, and really want to give a recipe a try, there are lots of online shops that deliver, or feel free to run a quick Google search for an alternative.
ESSENTIAL EQUIPMENT LIST
Baking tray
Chopping knife and board
Cooling rack
Fork, knife and spoon
Frying pan
Greaseproof paper, plastic wrap and aluminium foil
Kitchen towel
Large and small saucepans
Measuring jug
Mixing bowls
Sieve
Spatula
Tea towel
Vegetable peeler
Whisk
Wooden spoon
I am a hoarder of books. No matter how tatty they become, I find it difficult to let them go. I have copies that have swelled and distorted because I’ve dropped them in the bath; a couple that I rescued after finding them abandoned on a footpath; and two or three that seem always to have sand trapped in their spines, because I once read them on the beach. Quite apart from the stories they contain, the books themselves are stories; they’ve been with me on holidays, we’ve survived long commutes together, and they have sat happily on my bookshelves until the precise moment I needed them.
I have been collecting books for as long as I can remember. Battered paperbacks and beautiful clothbound editions, bought with vouchers and pocket money, lined the shelves in my childhood bedroom. Most of them now inhabit the spare room at my mum’s house, including the very special hardcover set of Harry Potter novels that my family bought for me when I turned twenty-one – the last books I read before I left home.
My local libraries were a haven during my years at school. On their shelves I discovered exciting worlds and characters I wanted to meet. I wasn’t an unhappy child, but I was plump and a little awkward and certainly shyer than I pretended to be, and so school wasn’t always easy. I excelled in lessons, but my weekends were spent with my parents, my sister and our extended family. At school I never had a solid group of friends and so, like so many other people I know, books became a refuge for me through those tricky teenage years.
At university, I finally found my crowd; people around whom I could properly be myself. I immersed myself in theatre, reading plays in their dozens, alongside books on producing and teaching. I got to know the university library and its extensive fiction section. In my final summer in Australia – after graduation, but still in possession of my student card – I would borrow six novels at a time, and race through them, as if the move to England would somehow mean I’d have fewer books in my life. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
When I moved, I only knew three people: Reilly, Alex and Tim, all friends from university, trying their hand at life in London too. This circle grew over the months that followed, but in those early days, when I spent much of each day on long tube journeys, I read voraciously. I particularly sought out books set in England, delighting in moments where I would happen upon a street or a building referred to in something I was reading. I arrived in the UK with three books, but soon had hundreds, arranged in piles in every room of my flat.
I have lived a somewhat transient life for the past couple of years, and so most of my books are now in storage. When I visit friends, I spend time in front of their bookshelves, scanning the spines of familiar titles, searching for an old friend, or a new one. This practice has introduced me to new titles – well-read copies pressed into my hands by people I love.
Whenever I’ve neglected them, books have sat, waiting patiently, always ready for me to come back. They are the true constant in my life, the grounding force, the comfort when I am homesick, anxious or lonely, a true joy when I am not. With them, I can travel in space and time, around the world and to places that don’t exist, except on the page.
All the books I have featured here in this book are ones that I have read, and that are part of my story. Please consider this book a little library of personal recommendations; books I, as the librarian, would press into your hands with a glowing endorsement.
I can always think of a hundred things I’d rather do than get out of bed in the morning. It’s been this way for as long as I can remember; those first minutes of waking up are my least favourite of the day. My stepfather, sick of Mum yelling upstairs to rouse me and my little sister, installed an intercom between our bedrooms and the kitchen when he moved in. Each morning, he would lean on the buzzer until we finally appeared downstairs. I wouldn’t recommend it – it is a terribly unpleasant way of being woken up – but it is hard to deny its effectiveness.
Once downstairs, our bare feet on the cold tiles, we’d all have breakfast together. Mum would stand in front of the stove, stirring or grilling or flipping, as we hunted down clean school shirts and finished homework. My sister and I grew up confident in the kitchen and often had a hand in the evening meal, but our morning meal remained my mother’s domain through to the end of school and, despite my initial reluctance to rise, it was always my favourite of the day.
As an adult, breakfast is still the meal I look forward to the most. I luxuriate in long mornings spent over food and despair on those rushed days when I have to dash out of the house with only a banana in my bag.
I could happily eat breakfast at any point of the day. The recipes that follow here, though eaten by characters to break their fast, might seem more suitable for lunch or dinner in your house. I wholeheartedly support this flexibility. I often make the green eggs and ham for lunch, the apple pie for dessert (with a scoop of ice cream) and the rice, miso and pickles have appeared on my dinner table on more than one occasion. I also regularly make a bowl of porridge when writing late at night; it could just as easily have made its way into the chapter on Midnight Feasts.
But after a few days spent almost entirely out of doors she wakened one morning knowing what it was to be hungry, and when she sat down to her breakfast she did not glance disdainfully at her porridge and push it away, but took up her spoon and began to eat it and went on eating it until her bowl was empty.
The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett
Porridge has always been a part of my life. In winter, wrapped in a dressing gown, my mum would stir a large pot of oats, spooning it up for us to top with dark brown sugar or honey. For years I’d roll my eyes, grumbling about it being a ‘boring’ breakfast option. I longed for mushrooms on toast, roasted tomatoes or her scrambled eggs instead.
And then I moved to England. My first teaching job was in Bushey, a long daily commute from my flat in Whitechapel. Rising before the sun each morning, cold and hungry, I needed something simple and warming to see me through my morning classes. My mum, of course, suggested porridge. And just like Mary Lennox, I was surprised to discover that porridge, suddenly, tasted nice.
I am now never far from a jar of oats and have played around with countless variations, searching for something that offers exactly what I need at 6 a.m. (or mid-afternoon, or late at night). This is my perfect porridge.
INGREDIENTS
30g/1oz/⅓ cup oats, a mixture of rolled and steel cut*
250ml/8½floz/generous 1 cup cold water
Pinch of salt
TO SERVE
1tbsp single/light cream
2tsp black treacle/molasses
EQUIPMENT
Spurtle** (or a wooden spoon)
*The rule here is three times the volume of water as oats. If you don’t have cups for the measurements, use a small teacup per serving, or a 250ml/8½floz mug for three portions (one mug of oats, three of water). I measure out ⅓ cup rolled oats, then take out 2tbsp and replace them with 2tbsp steel-cut oats. This is optional – you can also use all rolled oats if you prefer.
**A spurtle is a Scottish utensil that is designed for stirring porridge. It is a narrow wooden rod; if you don’t have one, the handle of a wooden spoon is an ideal substitute.
Porridge
Serves 1
1. Warm a frying pan over a low heat, and tip in the oats. Toast until golden, then allow to cool for a moment off the heat. Pour the oats and water into a saucepan and leave to soak while you have a shower or check your emails or snooze against the doorframe – 10 minutes will do.
2. Add the salt. Place a saucepan over a low heat and, with the handle of a wooden spoon (or a spurtle if you have one), stir the oats enthusiastically in little circles for 5 minutes. I find this intensely calming and a lovely way to start the day. Most of the water will evaporate and the oats will gradually thicken. Stop once they are cooked to your liking.
3. Spoon the oats into a bowl and pour the cream and treacle on top. Eat immediately.
VARIATIONS: Martha suggests a spoonful of treacle or sugar for Mary’s porridge, both of which go down a treat. Alternatively, give some of these a try:
~ A spoonful of marmalade (see p. 6) and, if you fancy (I really can’t encourage this enough), a glug of whisky
~ A couple of tablespoons of milk, a handful of blueberries and some chopped hazelnuts
~ A tablespoon of Greek yoghurt, a drizzle of honey and a teaspoon of toasted sesame seeds
~ A couple of drops of rosewater, a handful of chopped pistachio nuts and a squeeze of orange juice
~ A spoonful of crunchy peanut butter, a dribble of golden syrup and a splash of milk
~ A tablespoon of tahini, a squeeze of honey and a handful of toasted flaked almonds
Bending down, the bear unlocked the suitcase with a small key, which it also had around its neck, and brought out an almost empty glass jar. ‘I ate marmalade,’ he said, rather proudly. ‘Bears like marmalade.’
A Bear Called Paddington, Michael Bond
With cheese, meat, cake or toast, marmalade is just fantastic. I make jars of it every Christmas, handing them out to family and friends, and snaffling a few away for the New Year. I have yet to find a citrus fruit that doesn’t work, but I will say that pink grapefruit is particularly special, and I try not to miss the brief Seville or blood orange seasons early each year. These bright little jars keep me going all year.
Like Paddington, I arrived in this country with a jar of something to eat on toast – mine was Vegemite. On 12 March 2009, I walked off a plane and into Heathrow Airport, before tackling the long journey to Mile End and a friend’s spare room. I felt lost, alone and overwhelmed by the decision I’d made to move halfway across the world. In my fragile state Paddington Bear started to mean even more to me as an adult than he did when I was a child.
Though a big batch makes sense when cooking for gifts, I’m just as happy to make just one jar at a time. If you don’t fancy having a huge amount, or you only find a handful of oranges, you can reduce the quantities; judge the amount of sugar you need based on the weight of your fruit.
INGREDIENTS
800g/1¾lb Seville oranges
Juice of 2 lemons
1kg/2¼lb preserving sugar*
EQUIPMENT
Piece of muslin/clean cotton
Sterilized jars
*Preserving sugar is a large crystal sugar with no added pectin. Oranges are naturally high in pectin, so you don’t need to use specialized jam sugar for this recipe. Using preserving sugar will mean that the sugar melts evenly and slowly, resulting in a clearer marmalade. If you can’t find preserving sugar, or you decide to make marmalade at midnight when the shops are closed (I’ve been there), granulated will do fine. Just skim the top more frequently as your marmalade boils.
Marmalade
Makes around a litre/quart – enough to fill three gift jars (with some left over for personal use)
1. Juice your oranges through a sieve. Seville oranges have a large number of seeds, so this is the best way to keep them out. Scoop the pulp out of each orange and add it to the seeds in the sieve.
2. Measure the juice into a large bowl, and add water to make it up to 1.25 litres liquid. Slice the skins as finely as you can into long strips. Add them to the juice and water. Wrap the seeds and pulp in the cloth, tie it up tightly, and push this beneath the surface of the juice. Cover the bowl, and store in the fridge overnight.
3. The next day, place a couple of small plates in your freezer. Tip the contents of the bowl (including the seed-filled muslin) into a large saucepan and bring to a slow simmer. Cover and cook for 1.5–2 hours, until the rind is soft. Stir occasionally to ensure that the pieces of rind don’t stick. Leave to cool.
4. Remove the pieces of rind and set aside for later. Strain the liquid through the sieve, squeezing the cloth full of pulp and seeds until it stops releasing juice. Much of the pectin (which will help the marmalade set) is in here, so do squeeze it well. Measure the liquid, and add water to make it up to 750ml.
5. Place the orange juice back into the saucepan, and add the lemon juice. Tip in the sugar and stir over a medium heat until dissolved. Add the strips of rind and bring to the boil.
6. Simmer for 20–25 minutes without a lid, stirring occasionally until setting point is reached. Skim the top every now and then to remove any scum that floats to the surface. To test whether the marmalade is at setting point, turn off the stove and take the plate out of the freezer. Drop a teaspoon of the marmalade onto it, wait for 20 seconds and then push one edge. If it wrinkles rather than remaining liquid, then the marmalade is ready. If it’s not there yet, turn the heat back on under the saucepan and continue to boil.
7. Leave the marmalade to cool for 10 minutes, which will ensure that the rind is evenly distributed.
8. Once the marmalade is ready, transfer it into the jars. Seal the jars while the marmalade is still hot and leave to cool. The jars will keep in a cool, dry place for at least 6 months. Once opened, store in the fridge and eat within a few weeks.
‘Eat,’ she cried. ‘Eat, before it gets cold!’
So Tommy and Annika ate, and they thought it was a very good pancake.
Pippi Longstocking, Astrid Lindgren
I’m always thrilled when Shrove Tuesday rolls around. When I was younger we lined up for plates of pikelets and jam at our after-school religion classes – a final treat before the long chocolate-free weeks of Lent. Nowadays, though I no longer give anything up, I often find myself making at least four different types of pancake when the big day arrives. Big, fluffy American ones with maple syrup, buckwheat ones with cheese and ham, paper-thin French crêpes with a squeeze of lemon juice and these Swedish pancakes, best served with jam. I love them all.
In Sweden, where Pippi hails from, pancakes are traditionally eaten on Thursdays for dessert. Personally, I prefer them for breakfast – these ones aren’t too sweet or heavy, and the first in a batch can be on the table in less than five minutes. They’re also foolproof, and were my secret weapon for getting my nannying charges out of bed and downstairs for breakfast.
INGREDIENTS
2 eggs
240g/8½oz/1¾ cups plain/all-purpose flour
600ml/1 pint/2½ cups milk
½tsp salt
1tsp sugar
30g/1oz/2tbsp melted butter
TO SERVE
Jam
Lemon and sugar
Chocolate spread
Honey
EQUIPMENT
Measuring jug (large enough to hold at least 1.5L/quarts)
Swedish Pancakes
Makes around 16
1. Beat the eggs with a couple of tablespoons of the flour (there’s no need to be precise with the amount – just ‘some’) until they form a smooth mixture. Add the rest of the flour and milk, beating continuously. The batter should have the consistency of single/light cream. Flavour with the salt and sugar and then add the melted butter (just before cooking).
2. Heat the frying pan over a low heat with a little bit of butter. As there’s butter in the batter, you won’t need to re-grease the pan between each pancake, but this initial greasing helps prevent the tricky first one from sticking. Pour about 2tbsp of the batter into the centre and swirl the pan around until the mixture covers the base evenly. Cook until the pancake is light brown in small patches underneath, then turn over using a spatula – or jerk your wrist and toss it in the air if you’re very good at flipping pancakes (I am not).
3. Once the pancake is cooked through, place in a low oven on an ovenproof plate/baking tray to keep warm until you’ve used up all the batter. Make sure you continue to whisk the batter in between each pancake so that the flour doesn’t settle in the bottom of the jug.
4. Serve with jam, sugar and lemon, chocolate spread or honey – the options are endless.
That was a wonderful breakfast. It is unusual to begin the day with cold apple pie, but the children all said they would rather have it than meat.
The Railway Children, E. Nesbit
I must have been about ten when I read The Railway Children for the first time. I read it desperate for adventure, and for a house full of siblings to have one with. My sister is terrific and was a devoted partner-in-crime, but we lived in parent-heavy households, so rarely experienced the kind of freedom we read about in books like The Famous Five, Swallows and Amazons and, of course, The Railway Children. We longed to become grown-ups so we could explore new lands, stay up all night and eat apple pie for breakfast.
When I started blogging about food, I spent a lot of time and energy trying to take my photographs in natural light. This became a daily challenge, especially in winter, when I’d leave for work in the first light of the morning and come home in darkness. I would frequently cook in the evenings after work, then wake up first thing and take the photographs before rushing out of the door the next day.
And so, when I first made this apple pie, I really did eat it for breakfast. It more than fulfilled my childhood desire to try it. With a spoonful of yoghurt, a slice of this is a great start to the day. Of course, it also works as a dessert, but I’d encourage you to live like the railway children and give it a try in the morning.
INGREDIENTS
PASTRY
250g/8¾oz/2 cups plain/all-purpose flour
2tbsp icing/confectioners’ sugar
Pinch of salt
175g/6oz/1½ sticks butter, chilled and cubed
1 egg yolk
FILLING
1 lemon
1kg/2¼lb crisp eating apples
70g/2½oz/scant 6tbsp caster/superfine sugar
2tsp ground cinnamon
1tsp grated nutmeg
1tbsp cornflour/cornstarch
1 egg
EQUIPMENT
Large pie dish (mine is 25cm/10in diameter along the base)
Apple Pie
Serves 8
1. To make the pastry, combine the flour, icing sugar and salt in a bowl. Rub in the cold butter until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs. Add the egg yolk and 1–2tbsp of very cold water. Combine with your hands in the bowl until the mixture comes together. Turn onto a lightly floured surface and bring into a ball. Don’t work the mixture too much, or knead it, as the pastry should be short and crumbly.
2. Wrap the pastry in plastic wrap and pop in the fridge for 30 minutes. Don’t be tempted to skip the chilling, as you risk the pastry shrinking in the oven.
3. For the filling, squeeze the lemon into a bowl filled with water. Peel and core the apples, then cut as thinly as you can. Drop the slices straight into the bowl of water as you go, to prevent them turning brown. Once all the apples are chopped, drain and pat dry with kitchen paper. Mix together the sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and cornflour and then toss this through the apple pieces.
4. Cut the pastry in two and put one half back in the fridge. Roll the pastry out on a lightly floured surface (if the pastry is sticking – as it is wont to do in a warm kitchen – roll it between two pieces of greaseproof paper rather than straight onto the work surface). Stop rolling when you have a large circle that is around the thickness of a coin.
5. Drape your pastry over your rolling pin and lay it in the pie dish. Press the pastry into the corners using a small ball of spare dough. If there are any tears in the pastry, patch them up with extra dough. Place in the fridge. Preheat your oven to 200°C/400°F/Gas 6 and put the baking sheet in the middle of the oven to heat up.
6. Roll the second half of the pastry out to the same thickness as the base. Aim for a rectangle that is as wide as your pie dish, and as long as possible. Slice into 1.5cm/⅝in-wide strips, then arrange these in a lattice on a piece of greaseproof paper. Make a cross with two pieces, laying the vertical underneath the horizontal. Add another vertical piece, on top of the horizontal piece this time, a couple of millimetres to the right of the first vertical one. Take the bottom half of the first vertical piece and fold it up and over the horizontal piece for a moment. Place a fourth piece horizontally, a couple of millimetres below the first horizontal piece, and then fold that first vertical piece down again. You should see a lattice start to form now. Continue to lay the pieces, weaving them in and out by folding pieces up and out of the way, and then over the new piece again. Stop when it’s large enough to cover the top of your pie. If this is the first time you have latticed pastry, practise with some strips of paper first; you don’t want to be wrestling with sticky pastry while you’re working it out.
7. Whisk the egg with a teaspoon of water and paint a little of this around the edge of the pastry in the pie dish. Tip the apples into the dish and carefully slide the lattice off the greaseproof paper and over the top. Press the edges to seal and trim the pastry. If you don’t fancy making a lattice top, or it’s a hot day and your pastry isn’t co-operating, then just roll the other half of the pastry into a circle, the same thickness as the base, and seal it on top as above, making a few slashes in the pastry lid for the steam to escape.
8. If you like, use the off-cuts of pastry to shape a couple of decorative leaves (I use the leaves that came on my apples as a template). Paint the top of the pie with the rest of the beaten egg, then arrange the leaves on top and paint them too. Place it in the oven on the preheated baking tray.
9. After 10 minutes, turn the temperature down to 180°C/350°F/Gas 4. Bake for a further 35 minutes, keeping an eye on the top to ensure it doesn’t burn.
10. Serve immediately, if you like, but it’s lovely the next morning too. The pastry will be short and crisp so should slice cleanly, but the first slice (as with most pies) may be a bit of a mess to lift out.
Matthias seated himself to an early breakfast in Cavern Hole: nutbread, apples and a bowl of fresh goatsmilk.
Redwall, Brian Jacques
During my first year of writing about food in books, I spent a lot of time apologizing for not having read Redwall. Thankfully, this situation has now been rectified. Though I had been warned, I couldn’t quite believe how much food the first book contained; every second page of my copy is dog-eared, each fold pointing me towards mentions of feasts hosted in the Abbey enjoyed by a group of anthropomorphic mice.
Though one of those feasts nearly made it into the book, I decided to offer this bread instead: breakfast fodder eaten by various characters throughout. Served sometimes with goat’s curd and sometimes with fruit, it needed to be dense, sweet and suitable for toasting. It also needed to be built for eating on the go, should you be running late for work, or should Cluny the Scourge (that most villainous of rats) mount a surprise attack.
This is bread in the way that banana bread is bread. It’s not really. It’s cake.
INGREDIENTS
500g/3¾ cups grated red apples (about 5 – use sweet, crisp ones)
3 eggs
60g/2oz/½ stick butter, melted
1tsp ground cinnamon
1tsp vanilla extract
3tbsp honey
100g/3½oz/1 cup chopped walnuts
200g/7oz/2 cups ground almonds
80g/scant 3oz/heaping
¾ cup spelt flour
2tsp baking powder
EQUIPMENT
Grater
Loaf tin (2lb/9x4in)
Fruity nutbread
Makes 10 slices
1. Heat the oven to 190°C/375°F/Gas 5. Grease the loaf tin and line with greaseproof paper.
2. Combine the grated apple, eggs, melted butter, cinnamon, vanilla, honey and chopped walnuts in a mixing bowl.
3. Fold in the ground almonds, flour and baking powder. Don’t over mix the batter – stop stirring as soon as the flour and almonds are incorporated.
4. Pour the batter into the lined tin and level off the top. Place in the centre of the preheated oven for an hour. Insert a skewer into the nutbread to check that it is done; it should come out clean.
5. Cool the loaf in the tin for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a wire rack. Eat warm or toasted, with butter, goat’s curd/cheese or ricotta and honey.
I hadn’t even known I was hungry until I’d stepped into the hallway, but at that moment, standing there with a rough stomach and a bad taste in my mouth and the prospect of what would be my last freely chosen meal, it seemed to me that I’d never smelled anything quite so delicious as that sugary warmth: coffee and cinnamon, plain buttered rolls from the Continental breakfast.
The Goldfinch, Donna Tartt
There are few better smells to wake up to than cinnamon rolls and coffee. The butter, the cinnamon, the sweet, enriched dough all work together in some sort of holy trinity of breakfast scents. It is this smell that greets Theo as he stands on the stairs of his Amsterdam hotel, certain that the morning will be his last.
When I read The Goldfinch on a rooftop in Marrakech, I could not have been further from Christmastime in Holland. Nonetheless, I started to crave cinnamon rolls for breakfast, and couldn’t wait to get back to England and give these a try. I became so obsessed with finding the ideal cinnamon buns – the ones worth the kneading and proving in those first sluggish hours of the day – that I tried more recipes than I can count. This one is an amalgam of the best.
Most pleasingly, you can start this recipe the night before, if you like. I often do – anything that allows me to get the first steps out of the way before bed and have a slightly easier start to the morning is a win in my book.
INGREDIENTS
20g/heaping 1tbsp fresh yeast (or 7g/1tsp fast action yeast)
250ml/9floz/generous 1 cup whole milk, at room temperature
½tsp ground cardamom (or 10 cardamom pods)
200g/7oz/1½ cups plain flour
200g/7oz/scant 1½ cups strong white bread flour
70g/2½oz/⅓ cup light brown sugar