Dabbling with gluten free blondies

This

GR blondie

Is a gluten-free blondie, just before it got sent off to be cut and devoured by a small hoard of sweet-toothed gamers. I made it as a special request for one of The Scientist’s friends, who has recently become intolerant to gluten. I’ve never made anything deliberately gluten-free before, but I wanted to oblige one of my best tasters, so I did a little googling around. I was concerned that it might involve a lot of (expensive) substitutes, but actually the recipe I settled on simply required the substitution of gluten-free flour for regular flour. Super simple. The best thing was that Mr GF said that while other GF cakes he’s had tasted dry, he couldn’t tell the difference between this and a regular blondie πŸ™‚ And blondies are his go-to baking request so that made me pretty happy. I have the rest of the bag of flour left, so he’ll be getting more in the pretty near future.

On a side note, blondies are one of of those fairly recent immigrants to Britain. I’ve heard them described as brownies without the chocolate in them, or alternatively, as butterscotch bars. They certainly have that fudgy consistency of a brownie rather than a cake, and although they don’t have cocoa or melted chocolate in them, they do contain chocolate chips, and often nuts too, though I left them out because I hate chopping the critters.

I used this recipe, because it looked easy, and it had nice photos in it πŸ™‚

I used Dove’s Farm gluten-free plain flour.

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Chocolate cookie cake – disgustingly good!

Anyone who has dipped into this blog for any length of time will know that I feel pretty strongly about the ways that cakes make memories. At their best these can tie people together with bonds of sweetness, community and friendship which last years – even generations.


This is such a cake. It started off innocently enough – in fact as a simple chocolate chip cookie recipe. It was in the booklet which came with a mini oven my mum bought when we were children, and it became a family favourite (my younger sister called them ‘chocolate chip cuckoos’ and it stuck).

I took the recipe with me to University where somewhere along the way it morphed into a cookie *cake* (or cuckoo cake πŸ™‚ ). This simply consisted of sticking the dough into a cake tin instead of spooning it out into individual cookies. Not rocket science; more the sort of inspired idea which comes upon students late at night or when trying to avoid essay writing. In fact, that’s probably how it happened. This cake became completely beloved of my house-mates, who would all clamour to be the official tester-of-done-ness; a role which consisted entirely of eating spoonfuls of batter at intervals through the cooking process until it had reached the right stage of baked gooiness.

I can’t remember the last time I baked ‘cuckoo cake’ – it’s probably been over fifteen years. It took a visit from one of those ex-housemates this week to remind me about its glories. He was so excited that his first action was to send a photo to another ex-housemate in gloating glee. And his second was to say that it tasted just as it had in our shared student house twenty years ago πŸ™‚ I sent the rest of it home with him so that his sons could try it too. I got back possibly the best compliment I have ever had on a cake, from his six-year-old: ‘It is disgustingly good. I want to marry it!’ That’s the sort of cake memories I’m after πŸ™‚

Chocolate ‘cuckoo’ cake (makes about 12 medium sized cookies, or one cake)
125g butter/marge
125g caster sugar
125g brown sugar
1/2 tsp vanilla
1 egg
275g self raising flour
1/2 tsp salt
125g choc chips

Cream together first four ingredients, add lightly beaten egg, mixing well. Mix in sifted flour and salt. Add choc chips and mix well. Bake at 190-200 degrees C for 10-12 mins for cookies, or 25 minutes plus for the cake. A skewer will still look a little gooey – the barely-set softness is part of the charm.

A very secular Simnel Cake

Simnel Cake is probably the most traditional of the Easter cakes. It has its origins in the same tradition as the Twelfth Night cake, which started off marking Epiphany (January 6th or the twelfth night after Christmas) but which eventually migrated back to December 25th and became our modern Christmas Cake. I’d even go so far as to say these were among the first properly sweet and celebratory cakes, in British history at least. The Simnel Cake has a few distinguishing features of its own: a layer of marzipan through the middle, no white icing, and twelve marzipan balls which symbolise Christ’s Apostles.

Mine was a little different and it was rather a bittersweet bake. I made it for the funeral of one of The Scientist’s friends, who died unexpectedly a few weeks ago, and at an appallingly young age. He was also a gamer, and part of the circle I regularly bake for, so a cake seemed an appropriate gift to help the others wind down after a hard day, and remember their friend. And so the marzipan balls became marzipan dice – with a gap for their missing compatriot.

I think this is the first time I’ve made a Simnel Cake, and I used this recipe from Mary Berry. She also suggests putting crystallised flowers on the top, which is an alternative tradition marking the flowering of spring. It was a nice easy bake, though I realised afterwards I had forgotten to add the glace cherries. It’s a good thing I have plans for a cherry cake…

What do we want from our domestic goddesses?

Look at any modern recipe: what do you see? A list of ingredients, in the order in which they are needed; an instruction on the oven temperature so you can get things warming up; and a list of instructions, again in order. You may even get some nice asides like ‘Back to the frosting’, or ‘you can add some more zest here if you like’ just to give the friendly, knowing touch.

These detailsΒ  – and perhaps more importantly – the logical way in which they are presented, are an invaluable part of baking from a recipe. It wasn’t always so. In baking recipes from the eighteenth century instructions were usually in one block of text, with no separating out of the ingredients at all. Oven instructions were vague to our modern eye – ‘moderate’ or ‘hot’ (the modern Aga user will appreciate this of course, but most of us want a precise number in centigrade, farenheit or gas mark). Instructions like ‘bake until it is done’ were not uncommon, and you get general impression that authors were writing for bakers who already knew what they were aiming for. It wasn’t until Eliza Acton’s Modern Cookery for Private Families (link to free ebook) which was published in 1845, that a nod was given to the way the cook or baker read and used the recipe. Interestingly, the result was the other way round from the one we use today: recipe summary first, then ingredients and cooking times (the thinking being that the cook would want to read through the method first, before needing to know her ingredients).

I decided to try out what this different style felt like for a modern baker. The recipe I selected was the Sponge Gingerbread from Catherine Beecher’s Miss Beecher’s Domestic Receipt Book (available here) published in 1846 as a companion to her Treatise on Domestic Economy for the Use of Young Ladies at Home and at School (I mentioned it previously here). I have to admit that I picked it largely because it looked straightforward and didn’t require any difficult ingredients or baking methods. Here it is:

 

Sponge Gingerbread

One cup of sour milk

One cup of molasses

A half a cup of butter

Two eggs

One and a half teaspoonful of saleratus

One great spoonful of ginger

Flour to make it thick as pound-cake

Put the butter, molasses, and ginger together, and make them quite warm, then add the milk, flour and saleratus, and bake as soon as possible

Yep, that’s it. Still, I felt confident. Sour milk, I found, could be substituted with buttermilk, or some milk with vinegar or lemon juice added to it to make it curdle. Saleratus was an early raising agent and could be swapped for an equal measure of bicarbonate of soda/baking soda. And I know how thick a pound cake batter is, right?

Well, wrong on several counts. First, I made the mistake of assuming that the ingredients were listed in the order in which I needed them – despite reading through the recipe first as Miss Acton would have instructed. I’d already put the milk in the pan before realising my mistake – luckily an easy one to rectify. Then I had a little uncertainty over the thickness of the batter – despite my prior (over) confidence. And lastly, I had no idea how long to bake it for, or for how long, and had to consult Nigella.

So all in all, quite an instructive experience. Catherine Beecher was writing for women who might NOT have a lot of expertise in the kitchen, and she was keen to teach them scientific rules for the kitchen. But even in this situation, she could assumeΒ  that they could make an educated guess as to oven temperature and ‘done-ness’ (though see her other advice here on how to do that). She also clearly had higher expectations as to initiative, memory and common sense than I was able to provide, as she did not feel the need to list her ingredients in the order they were used. The end result though? Well worth it – the closest I have ever come to a home-made Macvities’ Jamaican Ginger Cake. And that’s high praise. But can I find a single photo of it? I cannot. I’ll just have to make another…

 

 

 

 

Baking from Sesame and Spice

Cookbooks, even baking books, are so ubiquitous nowadays that they really need a good story to tell in order to capture the reader. I was lucky enough to stumble on one such a few weeks ago, when my lovely publisher sent me a copy of one of their other recent titles, Anne Shooter’s Sesame and Spice.

isbn9781472223609

Anne’s background is similar to my own; eastern European Jewish, with lots of family links with Israel too. Her book reflects this wonderful mix of flavours and family memory; even the photograph of a signed letter from Evelyn Rose on Jewish Chronicle headed paper sent a little shiver down my spine, and the statement that ‘The Jews’ obsession with food is written into their theology and culture’ certainly resonated (Jews don’t do anything without knowing where the next treat is coming from). Anne says that her own personal baking history was fragranced with ‘apples, honey, almonds, figs, pomegranates, cinnamon, orange zest, sesame, lemons and vanilla’. That’s a bit more exotic than my own, I must admit; my maternal grandmother had more or less given up baking her own cakes by the time we were around, and cake instead meant a marbled loaf from the local Jewish deli, a cheesecake at Shavuot, or a honey cake for Rosh Hashana (to bring sweetness to the new year). My mother, however, remembers fruited streusel cakes which came straight from her grandparents’ German heritage, and a special Polish cheesecake which I am on a quest to recreate.

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I followed my own food memories in picking what to try out first from this book, but it was a tough choice. It’s a beautiful book, full of enticing recipes and stories. I chose a double-header of ‘Grandma’s apple cake’ – a hefty, fruit-rich, round of sweetness which was perfect with a cup of tea; and the Coconut, dark chocolate and cherry fingers which were from the Passover section (during Passover Jews don’t use anything which makes food rise, in commemoration of the frantic flight from slavery in Egypt, so special rules must apply to ensure the continuation of treats). Coconut is one of the flavours I most associate with Passover delicacies from my childhood – in our family it came packaged as Coconut Pyramids which are like the British type of macaroons (as opposed to the painfully elegant Parisian macarons). They were a really easy bake – Munchkin helped me a lot with this one – and they proved to be lovely little morsels, excellent with yet another cuppa!

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This is a lovely book and I’m sure I will return to it time and time again. Apart from anything else I love looking through the recipes and reading the headnotes; for what is cake in my opinion but a celebration of our own personal histories?

Coconut, dark chocolate and cherry fingers

Makes 16

200g dessicated coconut

85g caster sugar

150g dark chocolate chuos

85g glace cherries, halved

2 eggs, beaten

150g dark chocolate, broken into pieces

Preheat the oven to 180C/Gas 4. Line a 30x20cm brownie tin with baking parchment.

Combine the coconut, sugar, chocolate chips and glace cherries together in a bowl until everything is evenly distributed, then mix in the eggs until you have a gooey paste.

Spoon the mixture into the tin and spread evenly with a wooden spoon, packing it down firmly. Bake for 20 minutes, until golden brown and set.

Meanwhile, melt the chocolate pieces in a small glass bowl over a pan of simmering water. When the coconut mixture is baked, pour the melted chocolate over the top and press evenly across the mixture.

Leave to cool in the tin, then cut into fingers with a sharp knife and refrigerate until really well set. Store in an airtight container at room temperature or in the fridge.

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**disclaimer: this book was sent to me by my publisher at Headline, but with no expectation that I review it or express a particular opinion. All views are my own. Recipe reproduced with permission of the publisher**

What sort of baker are you?

Not all bakers are created the same. Some like to impress, others to bake a figurative hug into a homely-looking cake. So, what sort of baker are you?

The Tried and Tested Baker

You like safety in baking and have a small number of beloved and reliable favourites that you turn to time and time again. You probably have a Domestic Goddess idol with whom you are on first-name terms (at least in your own kitchen), quite possibly backed up with a dog-eared notebook of recipes you copied out from your mother’s cookbooks when you left home. Your top five bakes almost certainly include a Victoria sandwich, a lemon drizzle, some scones and a trusty flapjack.

Your go-to cookbook? A tome by Good Housekeeping, the Women’s Institute – or your old Home Economics notebook

The Experimentalist

You regard recipes simply as a rough starting point and love to throw in a twist of your own with each of your bakes. You’re a lover of the portmanteau bake: brownie-meets-pie-meets-cupcake. You’re an avid watcher of TV baking shows for inspiration and will fearlessly throw beetroot, za’atar or goji berries into whatever batter is before you. The results are either sublime….or ridiculous.

Your go-to cookbook? The latest book by a noted pastry chef – but you’ll use it strictly for inspiration only

The Slapdash Baker

You would like to regard recipes as a blueprint but the fact is that the ingredient list rarely turns out to match the contents or quantities in your cupboard. And even if you do have everything you need you’ll invariably have forgotten to turn the oven on, left out a vital ingredient (if you’re lucky you’ll realise before it goes into the oven), or remember half way through that you started off with the intention of making a half batch.

Your go-to cookbook? Delia or Nigella – not that it helps you much

The Perfectionist Baker

Appearances are everything for this baker. You’re not afraid to try the most complex or beautiful creation, especially if the decoration if part of its raison d’etre. Fondant fancies, Prinsesstarta, Opera Cake: nothing is too challenging. You probably set yourself a challenge to make every technical bake from The Great British Bake-Off, and you are in hot demand when birthday parties come round.

Your go-to cookbook? Pinterest – you like to keep up to date with the latest in gravity-defying cakes and frosting colour schemes

The Food Blogger Baker

Everything that comes out of your kitchen tells a story: it’s a recreation of something you tasted at a foodie fair; a recipe from your grandmother’s handwritten baking journal; or a delicacy you tasted while on holiday. You own every baking gadget under the sun and your partner gave you a KitchenAid for your birthday. You own an impressive collection of single plates, antique knives and cake stands to show off your bakes, and everything must be photographed from six angles in close up before it passes anyone’s lips. Your friends and family rarely get served the same bake twice, but your baking days are an occasion for celebration.

Your go-to cookbook? It’s impossible to pick just one from your groaning bookshelves – and there are another six next to your bed.

Gingerbread House

OK I said I didn’t think I’d bake anything from the rather beautiful 80 Cakes From Around the World. I also thought I would never have the patience to make a gingerbread house. And then I found myself doing both – and with a small child to boot! My last post on German gingerbread got me hankering after those houses, and the recipe in Claire Clark’s book actually looked quite do-able. With my mum’s birthday the following weekend I thought I would give it a go.

P1010667I am definitely no perfectionist on the baking decoration front, and my house is not as beautiful as Claire’s – but Munchkin and I were both extremely proud of it, so much so that he blurted it out to his Granny on the phone before we saw her πŸ™‚ You need a fairly big quantity of gingerbread though we were left with enough for a few little cookies too. I wasn’t very exact in measuring the pieces either (there are templates in the book but I hadn’t traced them in advance and so used the tried and tested method of measuring against my hand; not the most precisely calibrated tool). That’s why our roof has a bit of a drafty gap in the top, but then with no windows the smoke needs to go somewhere, right?

P1010665I’m proud to say that Munchkin was properly involved with every stage of this bake; it’s surprisingly tractable to the assistance of a toddler. He helped to weigh out the ingredients and stir them as they melted ingredients, helped to roll out the dough, and even assisted me with the cutting. We had to leave the pieces to cool overnight, but he quality tested a small gingerbread boy (it passed). The next day he helped to make the royal icing and decorated the roof tiles with chocolate buttons while I stuck the other pieces together and propped them up with spice jars (seems appropriate, eh?!) and drinking tumblers (I suspect that there was a fair amount of unauthorised quality controlling going on at this point too). I stuck on the other sweets but he picked them out. Finally, I put the roof tiles on a few hours later, and we delivered it to Granny the next day.

P1010663This bake was so much more fun and manageable than I had expected that it might become part of our Christmastime traditions. Both Munchkin and The Scientist (and Granny, my sister, my nephew, and Granny’s dog – without the chocolate decorations, of course) are big fans of ginger cookies so it’s a bit of a winner all round. I’m still not sure I’ll be trying many of the other recipes from the book, but this one’s staying in our repertoire!

Christmas and the domestic goddess (and some mince pies)

I’ve talked before about how home bakers and cooks will often have a ‘go-to’ cookbook author, and I think this is especially true at Christmas time. So much of the joy of Christmas has to do with traditions that it’s not surprising we want our familiar favourites. We used to spend Christmases with one set of grandparents when I was a child, and although the baking had usually happened before we got there, the familiar tins containing the Christmas cake and the meringues were a part of what we looked forward to. (It never occurred to me to wonder why meringues were part of the festivities, and I only got round to asking my grandmother a few years ago. Apparently they were the result of making lemon ice cream which needed egg yolks. Strangely, I don’t remember the ice cream at all. But I digress).2014-12-09 09.32.24

That’s a rogue jam tart at the top left, made to use up the leftover pastry!

When it comes to festive domestic goddesses, I’m a Nigella girl. I make the Jewelled Christmas Cupcakes from Feast as our main cake, and the star-topped mince pies from How to be a Domestic Goddess. But I also like adding new traditions, especially now we have a small munchkin who is really getting into the excitement of the festive period. Two years ago I started a new tradition of making the Christmas cake on October 16th because that was my due date, and given my family propensity for 42 week pregnancies I was pretty certain that the last thing I would be doing that day was giving birth (I was correct). That tradition lasted precisely one year, but since then I have added a stellar non-yeasted stollen to the repertoire from a recipe my neighbour gave me, and I’ll be making meringues this year too.2014-12-09 09.32.30

So far this year my baking has been slow to get started, but the cake is made and sitting in a tin begging to be fed with brandy before it’s too late, and we have a tin of mince pies being nibbled away at by the Scientist and any visiting guests. On the subject of my last post these were made in conjunction with Munchkin, who rolled out the pastry with great zeal, chanting ‘rolling rolling rolling’ as he did it, cut out the circles (he didn’t seem to approve of the stars and indicated this by throwing the cutter across the kitchen, but I snuck them in at the last minute), and filled the pies with mince meat (also Nigella’s recipe, and made this year with apples from Munchkin’s grandparents’ garden). He wasn’t moved to try them; I think that mince pies are a bit of an adult taste, plus he was a bit unimpressed that we weren’t making cake. We may have to rectify that in our next baking session….

Baking with pre-schoolers: recipes

So, you’re ready to start baking with whatever young child you have to hand. What recipe should you pick? I don’t think that you have to pick something designated as a children’s recipe at all, but I do think it’s a good idea to check through all the steps before you start to make sure there aren’t going to be any surprises half way through. If you’ve tried it yourself beforehand then all the better, for the same reason.

Image from https://www.freefoodphotos.com under creative commons

Having said that, there are many recipes which are particularly ideally suited to people with short attention spans, lowered awareness of the dangers of heat and sharp knives, and no patience at all for steps they’re not allowed to participate in. Here are some of our favourites:

1. Banana flapjack

This was the first thing that Munchkin and I made together, in the days before I let him eat sugar (ha!). The original was from the Ella’s Kitchen Cookbook, but it was so easy you can just make it up: mash a banana or two, add a few tablespoons of porridge oats and raisins, mix, smooth out in a tin and microwave for a few minutes, stopping every thirty seconds or so to check on progress. The original recipe called for oven baking but I tried the microwave so that Munchkin would understand what we’d done had led directly to something edible!

2. Yogurt pot muffins

These are absolutely our go-to favourites as they are so easy and adaptable. All the ingredients are measured out using a small yogurt pot and you can add whatever fruit you like. You can also lower the sugar if you don’t want them too sweet. We usually add raisins and sultanas because we love our berries too much to do anything other than eat them! We use this recipe

3. 1, 2, 3 cookies

The name is because of the proportions of the ingredients which is a little bit genius (if you forget which is which remember that flour provides the bulk, so it’s the biggest, and you probably don’t want your child going into a sugar coma, so that’s the smallest). We were introduced to these at a biscuit-making workshop we went to recently. Bonus point: they’re vegan if you use dairy-free marge and vegan choc chips:

100g sugar

200g butter

300g plain flour

1 tsp vanilla

1tsp baking powder

handful of choc chips or berries

Mix (it’s quite crumbly, so a good one for little hands to get into). Roll into balls and place on a baking tray. Bake for about 10-12 minutes at 180 degrees Celsius.

4. Sponge cake/fairy cakes

This is a good one as it’s fairly easy and forgiving, and can be made using an electric mixer or even a food processor. There are also lots of options for family-favourite flavours (lemon, orange, or of course, chocolate) and once it/they are baked there are even more options for decoration. I also have a standby vegan one for days when we’re out of butter.

5. Scones

Again, nice and quick, few ingredients, nice and soft for fingers to work with, and then opportunities for rolling and cutting out. Plus they bake quickly. You can make them savoury by adding cheese instead of the dried fruit.

6. Cut out cookies

By this I mean the sort of cookie where you make a dough, roll it out and get going with the cutters. Amazingly we haven’t really tried these despite having a ridiculous array of biscuit cutters. Again, they are optimisable in terms of flavours, there are a million recipes on the web, and they can be decorated. Plus if they get scrappy you can just ball them up and roll out the dough again. They make nice take-home presents or even Christmas tree decorations.

 

But what if you really can’t stand the idea of mess, not being in control, or the eating of too much raw mixture (though on the latter note, scones and the 1,2,3 cookies are egg-free which might remove any worries about raw eggs)? Here are some suggestions:

1. Use a boxed cake mix – you only need to add minimal ingredients and the cupcake ones often come with cute rice paper decorations to stick on afterwards. With no weighing out the child can do most of it him or herself.

2. Do the baking yourself in advance and get the child involved in the decorating.

3. Decorate plain biscuits with simple water and icing sugar icing, plus sprinkles and sweets.

4. Make play-dough or salt dough biscuits – you still get all the rolling and cutting

5. Make savoury things that you feel happier with. Munchkin loves scattering cheese on puff pastry to make cheese straws.

6. Play food! Still learning about the sociable side of food, sharing, and the processes that they see adults doing.

7. And on that note, eat out! Sharing a cake or a cookie in a cafe is still making happy memories πŸ™‚

Baking with pre-schoolers

I’m not going to set the blog world alight by saying that baking with small children is a good thing to do. As The Scientist would say: ‘obvious blog post is obvious’. But I think where I am a bit unusual is in baking (and cooking) so much with a very young child: Munchkin is just two and we’ve been baking actively together for over a year (as opposed to his early involvement which was supervising from his sling πŸ™‚ )

I’m sure it’s one thing along which puts most people off: mess. This is fairly undeniable, but only if you compare baking with a small child to baking on your own – unless you’re a particularly messy baker in which case the small child might actually keep you in order. In any case, I find a judicious combination of having everything set out already, and a short hop to the sink to wash off sticky fingers keeps things reasonably contained.

So, here are my top tips for baking with young children:

1. As I said already: get everything out in advance. Depending on where you do your baking you probably don’t want to leave the child unattended while you nip to the fridge or the cupboard. That includes the weighing scales, tins, jugs, spoons, knife for cutting the butter, etc etc. And if you’re super organised, get the eggs and butter out of the fridge in advance.

2. Find somewhere both comfortable and safe to do your baking. We bake in the kitchen with Munchkin standing on a high chair – it means everything is to hand, and the floor is washable. If your child is prone to expansive gestures or isn’t too stable yet, sitting at a table might be better. If the child is doing most of the tasks then you could even put the equipment at a low table and let them get on with it.

3. Get the child involved in as many tasks as you can. Even real littlies can help to stir, or to tip spoonfuls of non liquid things like raisins into a bowl. On the savoury front, Munchkin used to love snapping asparagus stalks. At the age of two he now stirs, rubs in butter and flour (he has an amusing little dancing action to accompany this!), turns the scales on, pours in liquids from a jug or a big measuring spoon, helps to crack eggs, turns the food processor on, helps to hold the electric whisk, dollops batter into the tin… There’s not much I don’t let him help with apart from the obvious heat-related things. And letting a young child know that they should stay away from a hot oven is a good lesson to learn early!

4. If you don’t like letting go of things, or the mess is getting too much, then find small, neat tasks they can do so that they can still feel involved – fetching ingredients, stirring small quantities in a large bowl to minimise spills, or sticking decorations on a finished cake. Personally I believe it’s better to do this than to be constantly cleaning their hands and faces (unless they don’t like to be messy) – and causing yourself stress.

5. Pick your recipe wisely. Go for something easy, and preferably something you’ve made before. But even complicated things might have easy steps – Munchkin helped me to make a meringue roulade mix, and then helped to spread on a filling before we rolled it up.

So, the down sides: yes, there is likely to be a lot more flour on the floor or the table than if you’d made it yourself.

But the plus side: you’ve shared an activity, and the child has learned all sorts of things about shapes, textures, counting, tastes (yes, that is inevitable and one to bear in mind with your planning if you can’t stand the thought of them eating something with raw eggs in it – see more below).

And yes, hygiene levels may be a little lower than if you were baking solo, so try to discourage double dipping of fingers or spoons if that bothers you (which probably depends on who your target tasters are). I try to keep any finger licking to the end, for example, which does mean transferring the mixture to the tins with lightning speed!

I’ll talk more next time about good recipes to choose if you’re baking with a small person, but I think that the best reason to give it a try is the memories you’ll be making. For so many people baking is utterly bound up with memories and love of the person you first learnt with, the smells, and the tastes that it brought – and isn’t that a wonderful thing to share? Even if it’s about the time that Mum accidentally let the raw egg slither on the floor (yes, I’ve done that), or the time we forgot to add the key ingredient and had to get it all back out of the tin (Munchkin was quite baffled by that one). In fact, ESPECIALLY if it’s about those things πŸ™‚ Happy baking!