Chocolate, sour cream and Frangelico pound cake

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Some thoughts on pound cake and a recipe too.


I love the idea of pound cake. It makes me think of American pioneers and stout pink-cheeked women warming their buns in front of cast-iron stoves; winter homecomings where the family bursts in through the door, hungry as wolves, stomping the snow off their boots; and southern porches where women sit on swing seats, gossip and eat tall wedges of it á la mode.

Pound cake’s lusciously tender crumb has fed some of my favourite literary people too. As a child, Almanzo (Laura Ingalls Wilder’s husband) was partial to a slice or ten and in To Kill a Mocking Bird, Miss Maudie’s pound cake recipes are jealously guarded in case the other ladies get hold of them. She is generous with the finished cakes though, sending Scout home with an entire one, fresh from the oven. Pick up any of the Anne of Green Gables books and you’ll find pound cakes galore, including one which contains 36 eggs (although eggs were much smaller then). Miss Ellen’s recipe was an old English family recipe according to Aunt Chatty who wished that she could get her hands on it but “they’re so exclusive about their recipes,” she complained.

This is the simplest of cakes from a time before baking powder existed and thus, it is in possession of alchemical properties; its crumb has both lightness and substance and the whole cake is far more than the sum of its humble parts. I think it knocks the Victoria Sponge into the middle of next week.

These cakes should be served in great hunks for they are not shy and retiring types and they MUST must have a sad streak in the middle (as says James Villas who is basically GOD of the southern pound cake). The sad streak is a damp, slightly underbaked section which we should all fight over: it really is the right and proper thing to do. Paul Hollywood and Mary Berry wouldn’t understand the beauty of the sad streak because of their peculiar obsession with uniformity of bake, an attitude which condenses the alchemy of baking into a boring exercise in chemistry and geometry. If you want uniformity of bake, buy Mr Kipling or a confection from one of those places where taste is sacrificed upon the altar of appearance. Some cooks regard the sad streak as a flaw and I suppose it is really but as James Villas points out in his recipe for Millionaire Pound Cake, many southerners prize this part of the cake, much as a Valencian prizes the soccarat which forms on the base of a paella.

Pound cakes are the pack horse of the cake world. They can carry most flavours, adapt to anything and are able to bear the weight of chunky ingredients. They are so sturdy that they can even withstand a little roughhousing. In one of my favourite books, What Katy Did at School,  Professor Seecomb procured two slices of pound cake after responding to an entreaty from Rose-Red who was spying on a school symposium she had not been invited to. He made his way to the buffet and wove his way through the crowds with a slice of pound cake in each hand then contemplated throwing them instead of handing them over to the eager hands poking through the bannisters. A good moist pound cake is capable of withstanding transporting in a pocket sturdily wrapped in foil, and for this reason it makes a great choice for kids party bags.

They can be classic in their simplicity, flavoured with vanilla, chocolate, lemon or simple buttermilk. Or they can reflect the fashions of the times and contain matcha, cardamom, pistachio, blood-orange and fruits foraged from hedgerows such as stewed crab apple or blackberries. I’ve had pound cakes layered with jewelled,candied fruits and shavings of darkest chocolate (basically a cassata in cake form); quirky peanut butter & jelly ones; pound cakes spiked with enough booze to lay you out or glazed with extravagant frostings like a glittery christmas wreath.

All pound cakes have presence and dignity whether they are baked in a towering bundt or simple loaf tin. They are never boring and if you use the highest of quality ingredients, this will guarantee you a cake that like a classic genoise, tastes exquisitely and perfectly of itself. And much like a genoise, a good pound cake is proof of a competent baker. It is the omelette of the cake world.

So whose recipes do I rate? James Villas always includes great pound cakes in his books (My Mothers Southern Kitchen/Desserts; Southern Cooking) and Mama Dip’s buttermilk version is simplicity in form but not flavour. Molly Wizenberg’s pistachio-citrus from her Orangette blog is very special and a spiced pecan adapted from Paul Prudhomme’s recipe is the south distilled into a cake. There’s a black walnut pound cake in the Black Family Reunion Cookbook which I am partial to although I have yet to eat this cake in situ, (in the south after the walnut harvest- I long to do this) and I hanker after a hickory nut version I once came across in a tearoom in Bradenton, Florida. Elvis liked pound cake too, (no surprise there) although his version contains a carton of double cream (again, no surprise there).

Although the pound cake is believed to have originated in Northern Europe, it will always feel American to me. This cake first appeared in recognisable form in the 17th century and when the first Europeans arrived in North America they brought the recipe with them. Pound cake became especially popular in the south where its truest form calls for a pound of butter, sugar, flour and eggs although Eliza Leslie added the juice from oranges and lemons. Other early cookbooks (The Virginia Housewife, 1838; Seventy Five Receipts, 1832; Amelia Simmon’s American Cookery, 1796) contained recipes where brandy, wine, spices such as nutmeg and even rose water were added.

Predating the settler versions, an Indian pound cake recipe uses cornmeal and wheat flour. Eliza Leslie published a version of this in Miss Leslie’s Directions for Cookery (1837) which Richard Sax also featured in Classic Home Desserts. The first known cookbook written by an African-American called Abby Fisher ( What Mrs. Fisher Knows About Old Southern Cooking) also contains two recipes for pound cakes. As centuries rolled by the cake evolved into the loveliness we still enjoy today although many recipes no longer stick to the classic 1/1/1 ratio.

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In the UK, you might know pound cake as the very similar Madeira cake. In France, the pound cake has its parent in the “quatre-quarts”and in Mexico it is called panqué. I have eaten panqué for desayuno (breakfast) in northern Mexico where its spongy crumb was flavoured with local cinnamon and sometimes chile. This cake is its best dipped into hot chocolate made from tablets of cacao nibs and spices dropped into a pan of steaming milk. Adding rum and other spirits to pound cakes is a most excellent idea. Copy the South Americans and shower it with wine, cream and nuts or add rum like the Jamaicans do. I have used Caribbean hibiscus syrup in a frosting and I am partial to a pineapple and brown butter pound cake which takes the whole upside-down thing and runs with it. The pineapple is lightly roasted in rum and muscovado sugar-spiked butter then added to the base of the bundt tin so that when the cake is inverted, it is crowned with the heavenly gooey fruit. I have made a blood-orange and chile version, combined cherry with buttermilk, tried coconut and rum and used the British steamed pudding as inspiration and glazed my pound cake with sticky marmalade.

What I love most about pound cake recipes is their affability. It’s not a problem if you want to add your own twist as long as you keep the flour/fat/sugar proportions the same. There’s a few other things you need to know too.

  • When you make it, don’t substitute with finer cake flour as it is too light to act as scaffolding for this sturdy cake. Remember, you need to be able to throw and catch it in one piece!
  • Add eggs to the batter slowly and not all at once so the albumen in the eggs doesn’t end up forming a thick film over the other ingredients and prevent you obtaining a proper rise when it bakes.
  • If you don’t want that sad streak, avoid over-beating.Creaming the eggs, sugar and butter should be done slowly, no higher than medium speed and once the flour is added, slow up some more. If you overdevelop the gluten in the flour you will get a cake that rises like a kingly audience but sinks when it is removed from the oven. And this sagging is what can cause that dense moist sad streak.
  •  Buttermilk or sour cream tightens the crumb whilst keeping it moist because they help break down the long chains of gluten which form. They add a lactic tang and act in tandem with baking soda to give the cake loft by generating carbon dioxide bubbles.

My version uses sour cream to lighten a classic chocolate flavour. I have added Frangelico to the glaze because I adore its hazelnut-chocolate taste but you can leave this out if you don’t like booze. If you like mint or orange with your chocolate instead, try adding a teaspoon of pure  extract to the glaze: it’s an affable cake, after all but remember to bake in a tube pan or bundt tin to get the best texture and looks. Along with the fancier Rebecca Rather’s Tuxedo Cake  and Nigella’s chocolate cloud cake, this is another of my fail-safe chocolate cakes because it is easy to knock up and therefore perfectly suited for baking as a birthday cake when you don’t need any kitchen aggro. It’s a recipe I have used for twenty or more years and I can’t recall where I originally found it but what I do know is that over the years I have tweaked it to arrive at what I think is the perfect example of an ageless recipe and one suited to every occasion.

Sour cream, Frangelico & Chocolate Pound Cake

 Baking time: 45 mins.

Ingredients for the cake:

8 oz  unsalted butter and extra for greasing the tin
6 oz cocoa powder (Dutch processed is best)
1 teaspoon salt
8 fl oz water
16 oz plain flour, plus more to flour the tin
14 oz soft brown sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
2 large eggs
4 fl oz sour cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

For the chocolate glaze:

5 oz dark chocolate, finely chopped into small chunks (I don’t go above 60% cocoa solids because I don’t like it too bitter) plus another 1/2 oz of grated chocolate to decorate
2 tablespoons corn syrup (Karo), golden syrup or agave nectar
4 fl oz double cream
1 1/2 tablespoons caster sugar or soft brown sugar

1 tablespoon Frangelico

Method:

  1. Heat your oven to to 350 degrees F / 180 degrees C.Butter and flour your Bundt tin and set aside.

2. Take a small heavy saucepan and add to it, the butter, cocoa powder, salt, and water then place the pan and its contents over a medium heat and cook, stirring, just until the ingredients are melted smoothly together. Remove from the heat and set aside to cool.

3. Take a large bowl and whisk together the flour, sugar, and baking soda. Add half of the melted butter and cocoa mixture then whisk it in until completely blended. The mixture will be thick and this is what you want it to be. Now add the remaining butter and cocoa mixture then whisk this until fully combined. Break the eggs into a small bowl and whisk them until blended then add the eggs to the cake batter in three lots, whisking until everything is blended. Now whisk in the sour cream and the vanilla extract. Whisk until it is just amalgamated.

4. Pour the batter into the prepared bundt tin and bake until a cake tester inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean. This will take 40 to 45 minutes. Let the cake cool in the pan for 15 minutes and then invert the cake onto a rack. Let it cool completely before glazing.

5. As the cake is cooling, you can make up the chocolate glaze. Put the chopped chocolate and corn syrup (golden syrup/ agave) in a medium bowl and set this aside. The syrup will ensure you end up with a chocolate glaze that clings to the cake instead of running straight off. Mix the cream and sugar together in a small saucepan whilst gently heating them, stirring all the time until the cream is hot and the sugar is completely dissolved. Let the cream mixture cool slightly then add the Frangelico to it and whisk until thoroughly mixed. Pour the hot cream over the chocolate chunks and whisk until smooth and shiny.You might need to heat the chocolate and cream mixture in a pan and give it a whisk if it looks too lumpy but it should be fine without this extra step.

6 When the chocolate glaze is ready, gently pour it all over the cake (the cake must be cool to do this). Let it run down the sides a little. I scatter pearlised or maple sugar over the top and chocolate stars or extra grated shards of chocolate also look great. Go to town on the decoration or leave it crowned with the glaze only, then cut, slice and devour. This cake easily feeds a crowd. The one in the photos above fed ten hungry eighteen year-olds and left enough for their families to have some too. It’s rich so slices can be cut smaller and even the thinnest of slices hold their shape well.

Seeking ice cream inspiration?

Ice cream, gelato and frozen custard are my desert island choices. They are what I choose when I am tired and don’t know what to eat and at the end of a bad day, comfort is found not in the bottom of a glass, but staring into a full tub of full-fat frozen something-something. But I don’t have an efficient ice-cream maker yet so when time is short, I have to rely on what I can forage from the store unless I have a stash of home-made sitting waiting for me. And it doesn’t tend to hang around for long either.

I do make a lot of ice cream though, using the old-fashioned elbow grease method of constant beating with a fork to break the ice crystals up as the mixture freezes but I also have some good suggestions for jazzing up store-bought flavours up my sleeve too. Here are some of them:

[1] Add Indian flavours:

I buy Pradip’s special chewda mix from Rafi’s Spice Box  store in Suffolk but similar mixtures are available from most Indian food stores. Chewda is a sweet and salty blend of puffed rice, sweet almonds, cashews, peanuts and peppers, a few candied lentils and enough chilli powder to provide an interesting contrast to the cold ice cream. It tastes great over coconut, pecan and vanilla but I imagine mango ice cream or sorbet would be a lovely match too. It’s easy to customise too: I’d add some fresh coconut flakes, slivers of salty-sweet prunes and dried mango.

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[2] Stir in some chilli honey:

Last year I got my hands on a bottle of Mike’s Hot Honey, made in Brooklyn. After a few delirious weeks of adding it to virtually everything I ate as an experiment, I had to make my own. Mike’s is made with wildflower honey infused with vinegared chillies and goes well with ice cream but my version is less tart: making it in small quantities means I can get away with adding smaller amounts of vinegar although honey tends to preserve itself anyway. All you need is a jar of honey, a few chillies (two per pound of honey) OR a quarter tea-spoonful of chipotle paste. Simply slice the chillies and remove the seeds then place into the jar of honey to infuse. After a couple of weeks it’ll be ready. If you cannot wait that long, stir a tiny blob of chilli paste (I like chipotle from Luchita) into the honey and seal the lid. Keep this one in the fridge and eat within two weeks. I stir chilli honey into ready-made vanilla ice cream or add it in when I am making my own from scratch. Don’t mix it thoroughly through the ice cream though; what you are aiming for are ribbons of chilli-hot flavour.

[3] Add in some roasted pineapple:

For some Caribbean flavours, skin and slice a pineapple into rings and place them onto a well-buttered non-stick baking tray. Sprinkle the rings with a little rum, a good coating of brown sugar and some chilli flakes (these are optional). Dot with butter and roast in the oven until glazed, golden-brown and caught around the edges. Now let it cool completely then cut into small pieces (or a rough mash) and mix into a tub of ice cream. Vanilla is good for showing off the fruit flavours but brown butter ice cream from Judes goes well as does stem ginger. If you want a real flavour pairing, drink a cup of Colombian Sierra Nevada coffee (Cafe de Colombia) with it or better still, make some Colombian coffee ice cream.

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Simon Law/Flickr/CC

[4] Stir in some gooseberry and hazelnut:

In season around June in Britain, millions of pounds of gooseberries will be picked, cooked into fruit purees, turned into jams and curds then baked into pies, sweetened fools and puckery sauces for oily fish. But did you know that this little fruit works really well with hazelnuts? At their simplest, the berries can be washed, dried and sliced then macerated in sugar for a day in the fridge before being added to a bowl of ice cream with hazelnuts scattered over the top. But why not cook them down into a fruity puree with brown sugar and a slug of Frangelico (a hazelnut-flavoured liqueur from Italy) then mix them into a plain ice cream with some toasted hazelnuts on top? Or if your summer liqueur of choice is St Germain – such an elegant art deco bottle- simmer the fruits in this for a more floral effect.

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[5] Go Sicilian:

This is simple. Slice and toast a brioche bun and fill it with a scoop of gelato, ice cream or granita then eat for breakfast with a cup of coffee. The best version I ever ate was filled with almond granita (icy, milky) but to be honest it is hard to imagine a bad one. There’s so many variations on a Sicilian theme too. Look for ice cream made with ricotta and toss in a handful of dried orange and lemon peel plus some shavings of dark chocolate for the classic island cassata; lemon or passion fruit sorbet with added white chocolate chunks; pistachio ice cream with candied Bronte pistachios (which are some of the best in the world and grown on the island).

[6] The Middle East and a handful of pistachios:

The pistachio nut is an evergreen tree native to Asia, dating back to 7000bc in Turkey. Its movement across Europe and the Middle East is a history full of romance and legend and one I’ve chosen to commemorate via ice cream. Apparently the Queen of Sheba decreed pistachios to be an exclusively royal food which meant commoners were forbidden from growing the nuts for their own use and the Hanging Gardens of Babylon were planted with pistachio trees on the order of Nebuchadnezzar, the ancient king of Babylon. The nut travelled to Rome in the first century A.D when the Emperor Vitellius introduced it and Islamic texts recorded pistachios as one of the foods brought to Earth by Adam. Fortunately this commoner lives in more permissive times and I now buy this set sesame paste studded with nuts, sold by the cut weight, from market stalls and Middle Eastern stores in larger towns and cities. Arabic halva is made from crushed sesame and tahini sweetened with either honey or sugar  whereas the halva I encountered in Turkey was made with brittle pressed strands of wheat flour and sugar. Often based on semolina as opposed to sesame, it’s sold plain or mixed with dried fruit and nuts and even cooked and dried fruit and vegetable leathers. I’m not going to suggest you make it at home although there are lots of recipes online should you wish to do so. What I would do is buy some good quality halva, Turkish delight and fresh pistachios then simply crumble them over a bowl of (vanilla or honey) ice cream or semi-freeze a tub of Greek yoghurt sweetened with honey and studded with fresh chopped pistachios, then serve alongside a platter of fresh halva and dates. Place a little jug of date or pomegranate syrup and a dipping bowl of sesame seeds on the table to pour over. 

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Halva with pistachios on sale / Etsy / ggbytech
NOTE: None of the links are affiliate, sponsored or mentioned at the behest of the companies involved. These are all products that I have purchased independently.

Cook book reviews for Autumn 2015

Picking your way through the forest of new cooking titles that pop up like mushrooms isn’t easy so we’ve taken a look and chosen some of our favourite releases for you. There’s something for all here from modern baking by a Californian transpant to Hackney to a book that shows us how to channel the spirit of the Swedish Fika. We also welcome new books by some favourites from the restaurant world too. Enjoy and let us know about your favourites too.
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The Paw-Paw is largest edible fruit native to the United States and tastes like a cross between a banana and a mango. Growing wild in twenty-six states, it has fed Native Americans and European explorers, presidents, and enslaved African Americans, inspiring folk songs, poetry, and scores of place names from Georgia to Illinois. Requiring no pesticides or herbicides to thrive, it is made for organic production methods and the fruit possesses compounds that are among the most potent anticancer agents yet discovered. There’s much to discover, clearly.  In Pawpaw: In Search of America’s Forgotten Fruit, author Andrew Moore explores the past, present, and future of this unique fruit, traveling from the Ozarks to Monticello; canoeing the lower Mississippi in search of wild fruit; drinking pawpaw beer in Durham, North Carolina; tracking down lost cultivars in Appalachian hollers; and helping out during harvest season in a Maryland orchard. Along the way, he gathers pawpaw lore and knowledge not only from the plant breeders and horticulturists working to bring pawpaws into the mainstream (including Neal Peterson, known in pawpaw circles as the fruit’s own “Johnny Pawpawseed”), but also regular folks who remember eating them in the woods as kids, but haven’t had one in over fifty years. I’m a big fan of single-subject food writing and Moore has written a superb guide to this most unusual fruit which is also a reminder to all of us to engage deeper with our own foodways and eat those foods which perhaps we have taken for granted in the past.

 

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Lynn Hill established the Clandestine Cake Club in 2010 partly as a response to the recent rise in popularity of secret supper clubs. There are now over 200 clubs around the UK and overseas and this is her second cake book, containing 100 ‘celebratory’ recipes contributed by club members and by Lynn herself. The cake club meets tend to have a theme which members bake to and The Clandestine Cake Club: a year in cake structures its recipes around this with each cake paying homage to noteworthy events and occasions throughout the year, including a sea salted caramel cake which honours Nigel Slaters birthday and the time he paid a visit to the CCC to film an episode of his own show.

Ingredients and cakes range from the traditional (Victoria sponges, roulades, vanilla, coffee) to the less so (tres leches cake, opera cake, rosehip, masala chai) and include unusual combinations ( bacon and maple syrup, sweet potato and vanilla). Traditional cakes such as bara brith are reinvigorated with new ingredients like Welsh honey and camomile and seasons are reflected too (summery lemon and mint cake). The golden pineapple cream cake and caramel pecan brittle swiss roll take this mix of innovation to another level. Sumptuous but clear photographs by Kris Kirkham help less experienced bakers gain understanding as to how the cakes should look and, as you’d expect, the recipes are well written and therefore they work.

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Another year of good eating for Mr Slater is prefixed by some cautionary words about the current epidemic of imbuing foodstuffs with moral and characterful qualities and, as he says, “the need to divide the content of our plates into heroes and villains.” Slater has been cooking for five decades now which affords him the moral authority to overview the constant relay of food and eating fads. He is right, he has ALWAYS been right to warn us about the consequences of allowing guilt and shame to drive our eating. Yes, the methods of production do have an intrinsic moral value and we are right to shun factory farming, companies that do not pay a fair wage and excessive, indulgent food miles but essentially food should be about pleasurable fuel for the body and his recipes reflect that.

His latest book, Kitchen Diaries III- a year of good eating is a collection of recipes collated into a diary form from a few years worth of eating. There is evidence of Slater using ingredients new to him and fashionable to others but he incorporates them into meals which are more than a ‘for sake of’ use of todays buzz food. His New Years Day crispbreads contain trendy rye and spelt but having read and cooked from Kitchen Diaries I and II, I can see the evolution, how Slater arrived here as opposed to a phagocytic takeover of a trend or movement which was created by other people.

What do I really want to cook? There’s a lovely Raclette tart which cuts an eggy, buttery and creme fraiche richness with the acidulated tang of cornichons and the mild burn of a good salami. Pork bone soup is inspired by a hole-in-the-wall meal and a dog-eared laminated menu and his loganberry summer cake is Tove Jansson on a china plate. The date of writing this has me turning to the corresponding recipe for a marmalade of onion and collapsed fig tart and later on in October, he suggests a smoked mackerel and celeriac remoulade to use up the nobbly root in my larder.

There’s a useful new idea too- four seasonal sections devoted to easy cook, easy eating and a development of his previus cookbook, Eat, which riffed off the twitter format with 140 character recipes. These are the heart of our everyday eating, an answer to those days when you haven’t got a ziplock bag of lamb chops marinading in the fridge or a complex gratin with layers beautifully melded together. He’s understated is Mr Slater and his recipes are not predicated upon a perfection of finish and state of the art technique- Slater does not want to leave his readers breathlessly impressed at his skill and wondering if they can pull it off.  His food is a clever distillation of a lifetime’s adventures in food and you, dear reader, get to live this vicariously and achievably through those recipes.
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Claire Ptak owns a jewel box of a cake shop and cafe in East London. The Violet Bakery Cookbook is her fourth book and what a book! Focusing on decent quality ingredients and making an effort to explore alternatives for those of you who cannot eat gluten, it goes to say that Violet is a progressive and modern book that still pays its dues to the rules of patisserie. And because of this, the recipes work. Along with running her bakery-café, Ptak is also a food writer, food and prop stylist, recipe developer and consultant which explains its exquisite design, underpinned by real substance. An old school jacket and cheery yellow bookcloth contains recipes that read as a day in the life of her kitchen, covering savoury and sweet foods eaten for breakfast, merenda or elevenses, dinner, parties and lunches. Ptak isn’t a finish fascist either, her icing and decoration show the eye of an artist but are engagingly freeform in appearance. The amateur will feel able to have a go and feel content with their efforts.

Favourite recipes? Banana buttermilk bread, butterscotch blondies, the very adult-sounding ginger molasses cake and the coconut-cream trifle cake.The savoury recipes are great but to be honest, the sweet stuff is what lured me in and kept me baking.

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An ingredient-led feel is what attracted us to Sugar and Spice by Samantha Seneviratne with over 80 recipes that reinvent classic sweets and introduce readers to the more unusual spices, used to infuse puddings. Veteran food editor and recipe developer Samantha Seneviratne invites readers to explore a bold new world of spice-centric desserts with chapter concentrating on a different spice–some familiar, like vanilla, cinnamon, and ginger; others less expected (especially in sweet preparations), such as peppercorns, chiles, and cardamom. There’s familiar recipes such as brownies except these are perfumed with salt and pepper. The cinnamon section (a spice massively popular in the USA and UK) has cinnamon, hazel and date buns, new love cake and ricotta cheesecake with bourbon raisin jam  whilst the nutmeg section has tales of the nutmeg trail and Dutch and British battles over this highly-prized spice.

These recipes are practical but by God, you get the romance too. Seneviratne is a storyteller, making the reader feel thoroughly at home in her life as the child of a first-generation Sri Lankan family, a history she interweaves with the history of the spices and herbs she cooks with and, interestingly, the consumption of sugar in the US and its attendant health issues. We read about her grandmother in Sri Lanka and her beloved brother, and meanr about Seneviratnes mother’s love of the ‘boxed mixes’ she grew up on. As the family adjusted to the USA, they developed a love for all things “American” which threatened to overshadow her grandmother’s love of Sri Lanka and eclipse the sensual wonders of the nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves, ginger and cardamom that grew on her property amongst the coconut palms, teak trees and frangipani, avocado and bananas.

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The Appalachian region of the USA doesn’t spring to mind when one lists the great cuisines of the world but overlooking it altogether would mean we miss out on a fascinating story of geology, ecology, human migration and seasonality. Eating Appalachia by Darrin Nordahl kicks off with a lesson in how to pronounce the name of the region (think how ‘apple atcha’ sounds) which extends from the mountainous spine of Maine in the northernmost reaches of the contigious States right down to Georgia in the south.

From the intoxicatingly scented paw-paw and Appalachian spice bush, the foods of this region are explored, introducing us to the people responsible for the resurgence in popularity of them, competitions and festivals where they are celebrated and recipes developed by the many people the author encounters. We read of the problems foraging of plants such as the ramp and ginseng is causing too, a salutatory warning for the UK which is seeing an increase in this activity and restaurateurs start to take notice of what is on their door step. The recipes are lovely and easily achieved IF you can locate these ingredients, many of which are botanically specific to the region. However, improvisation is accommodated. There’s Pawpaw Panna Cotta, Pawpaw Whiskey Sour, Chianti-Braised Elk Stew, Pan-Fried Squirrel with Squirrel Gravy, Ramp Linguine, and Wild Ginger Poached Pears, among others.

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More food writing now with Simon Majumdar’s Fed, White and Blue: Finding America With My Fork who describes himself as not your typical idea of an immigrant. As he says, “I’m well rested, not particularly poor, and the only time I ever encounter ‘huddled masses’ is in line at Costco.” But immigrate he did, and thanks to a Homeland Security agent who asked if he planned to make it official, the journey chronicled in Fed, White, and Blue was born. In it, Simon sets off on a trek across the United States to find out what it really means to become an American, using what he knows best: food.

Stopping in Plymouth, Massachusetts, to learn about what the pilgrims ate (and that playing Wampanoag football with large men is to be avoided); a Shabbat dinner in Kansas; Wisconsin to make cheese (and get sprayed with hot whey); and LA to cook at a Filipino restaurant in the hope of making his in-laws proud, Simon writes wholeheartedly about the food cultures that make up America. He brews beer and works in farming; spends time helping out at a food bank, and even finds himself at a tailgate. This is a warm and humorous book that explores what it means to be American through a prism of food.

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Relae: A Book of Ideas by Chef Christian F Puglisi looks, at first, to be terribly worthy and earnest; a series of interconnected “idea essays,” which reveal the ingredients, practical techniques, and philosophies that inform Puglisi’s cooking. Each essay is connected to one (or many) of the dishes he serves, and readers are invited to flip through the book in whatever sequence inspires them—from idea to dish and back to idea again. However, the result is a deeply personal and unusual reading experience: a rare glimpse into the mind of a top chef, and the opportunity to learn the language of one of the world’s most pioneering and acclaimed restaurants. It is an interesting departure from the standard format of a recipe book by a working chef, Christian F. Puglisi who opened restaurant Relæ in 2010 on a rough, run-down stretch of one of Copenhagen’s most crime-ridden streets.

His goal was simple: to serve impeccable, intelligent, sustainable, and plant-centric food of the highest quality—in a setting that was devoid of the pretention and frills of conventional high-end restaurant dining. Relæ was an immediate hit, and Puglisi’s “to the bone” ethos—which emphasized innovative, substantive cooking over crisp white tablecloths or legions of water-pouring, napkin-folding waiters—became a rallying cry for chefs around the world.

Today the Jægersborggade—where Relæ and its more casual sister restaurant, Manfreds, are located—is one of Copenhagen’s most vibrant and exciting streets. And Puglisi continues to excite and surprise diners with his genre-defying, wildly inventive cooking.

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More American food writing now from Writings in The Kitchen: Essays on Southern Literature and Foodways by David A Davis and Tara Powell and, more specifically, writings with their roots deeply in the fertile soil of the Deep South. Aiming to go past tired old cliches yet cognizant of the fact that ignoring those well known tropes won’t make them go away, Writings in the Kitchen explores the relationship between food and literature and makes a major contribution to the study of both southern literature and of southern foodways and culture more widely.This collection examines food writing in a range of literary expressions, including cookbooks, agricultural journals, novels, stories, and poems. Contributors interpret how authors use food to explore the changing South, considering the ways race, ethnicity, class, gender, and region affect how and what people eat. They describe foods from specific southern places such as New Orleans and Appalachia, engage both the historical and contemporary South, and study the food traditions of ethnicities as they manifest through the written word..

Scarlett O’Hara munched on a radish and vowed never to go hungry again. Vardaman Bundren ate bananas in Faulkner’s Jefferson, and the Invisible Man dined on a sweet potato in Harlem. Although food and stories may be two of the most prominent cultural products associated with the South, the connections between them have not been thoroughly explored until now.

Southern food has become the subject of increasingly self-conscious intellectual consideration. The Southern Foodways Alliance, the Southern Food and Beverage Museum, food-themed issues of Oxford American and Southern Cultures, and a spate of new scholarly and popular books demonstrate this interest. Writing in the Kitchen explores the relationship between food and literature and makes a major contribution to the study of both southern literature and of southern foodways and culture more widely.

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April Bloomfield is one of the new British young turks whose chef skills have won them huge accolades in New York City and in A Girl and her Greens: Hearty Meals From the Garden, Bloomfield allows colourful, tasty vegetables to take centre stage. Previously focusing on the glories of the pig, here we see a chef at the height of her powers of imagination and creativity, proving that vegetables are not an also ran. There’s roasted onion with sage pesto (a great nod to British stuffing flavours), Swiss chard cannelloni, fennel salad with blood orange (delicious) and braised peas with little gem lettuce, the latter paying homage to classical French cuisine. The ingredient lists aren’t exhausting either. Crushed spring peas with mint has just seven items and none of them expensive or hard to find. The ingredients do need to be fresh, seasonal and good quality though although she is flexible. Take foccacia with three toppings: each topping offers an opton for different times of the year and acts as jumping off point for your own ideas too. Fashions are referenced too with the ubiquitous kimchi recipe included.

With gorgeous photos by David Loftus and cute illustrations by Sun Young Park (the cabbage kimchi squat is a favourite), the recipes are organised by season, by vegetable type or by ingredient/dish; the structure is not hidebound by the way. Her restaurant, The Spotted Pig and previous book, A Girl and Her Pig are referenced with chapters called Top to Tail where all the vegetable is used up (carrot top pesto is an example) which is an approach I haven’t encountered so explicitly before although it is a philosophy many households follow by necessity. Other chapters are titled ‘My pal, the potato’ and ‘with a Little help from meats’- it isn’t a vegetarian book which needs to be made clear although there is much for non meat eaters here. Bloomfield is no aloof perfectionist either; she shares her less than successful results and uses a personal tone throughout.

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To another perfectly designed book now with Fika: The Art of the Swedish Coffee Break, with Recipes for Pastries, Breads, and Other Treats Hardcover by Anna Brones; one of my favourite book releases of the last year because it distils everything we find swoonsome about Scandinavia- its literature, food, design and way of living- down into one book. Fika pays homage to Sweden and its status as one of the world’s top coffee consuming nations. The twice-daily social coffee break known as fika is a cherished custom and can be partaken of alone or with others. It is as much a state of mind as it is of being.In this adorable illustrated cookbook, Anna Brones and Johanna Kindvall share nearly fifty classic recipes from cinnamon buns, Swedish cinnamon and cardamom bread and ginger snaps to rhubarb cordial and rye bread and include information and anecdotes about Swedish coffee culture (why it was once a boys club), and the roots and modern incarnations of the custom. Explanations of traditions such as name days are accompanied by recipes for celebratory cakes like advent pepparkakor alongside charming illustrations about how to flip and roll Swedish pancakes and the traditional shaping techniques for baking such as Swedish saffron buns and Semlor, the latter served before Lent.

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The exquisiteness continues with another beautufully designed cookbook by a trained chef of national reknown. I have frequently had the pleasure of eating Skye Gyngells food when she was at the helm of the Petersham Nurseries kitchen in West London and now, thank goodness, she is back with the eponymous new place to hang her toque up on and a book. Published to celebrate this, Spring presents a collection of mouthwatering original recipes from the new restaurant’s menu -there’s beautiful bread and pasta dishes, seafood and meat dishes, colourful salads and vegetables, enticing ice cream and desserts, original preserves and refreshing non-alcoholic drinks. there’s crab salad with chilli, pumpkin, curry leaves and lime, pappardalle with oxtail ragu, guinea fowl with faro and parsley, kimchi and warm chocolate and espresso puddings.

But Spring also provides a fascinating insight into the creation of the restaurant itself, from Skye’s first visit to the space at Somerset House, through the design and development of the site to the opening of the restaurant. She describes how the menu evolved, from the early days testing recipes in her kitchen at home to the opening in October 2014. She also reveals details about the other aspects that give the restaurant its unique character: the decor, art, staff uniforms, table settings etc. We really welcome a book which gives such insight into a chefs life and in doing so, properly credits their hard work, skill and creative input. This embarrassment of riches culminates with Andy Sewell’s evocative photographs, which capture the essence of Skye’s inspirational food as well as the dazzling atmosphere of the restaurant.

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Know what? I love Laurie Colwin, Elizabeth David and MFK Fisher and Jane Grigson needs to take up her place up on the podium alongside them. Her confiding warmth makes her one of my absolute favourite writers and I cannot understand why she is not championed as much as David et al. Now, 25 years after her untimely death and having been out of print for over a decade, Grub Street is republishing the ultimate compendium of Jane Grigson’s recipes as The Best of Jane Grigson. Following the success of her first book, Charcuterie and French Pork Cooking, Grigson’s research and flair for cooking speak for themselves within this tome. With a delightful introduction by her friend, Elizabeth David, this book is a staple for every cook. The book is organised into regional cuisines from across the globe including: the Americas, the Mediterranean, the Europeans, India and the Far East and contains sections entitled ‘At Home in England’ and ‘At Home in France’; both places close to Jane’s heart. There is also, of course, a detailed chapter on charcuterie.The recipes are introduced in English, with brief descriptions by Grigson, but are also simultaneously designated in the native language of their origin. There are graphs and pictorials for the accurate cooking of meat joints by weight and detailed instructions for picking the best ingredients and making the most of them when they are in season. The book concludes with a chapter on the enjoyment of food which encapsulates Grigson’s approach to cooking along with the experience of reading this book. The recipes are diverse and diligent to detail. There are recipes for the simple weekday dinner to the elaborate celebratory feast. This collection of her best and most-loved recipes, with her introductions, anecdotes, quotations and poems, is a fitting tribute, not only to her culinary and literary skills, but also to the warmth, wit and intelligence that shines through all her books.