KIWI & LIME SORBET

Enter Sylvia Plath, the sad books, relapse, America; and I'm quite sure the cake days are soon over; but presentness is grace, or so I've heard, so just for now, enter the sorbets too.

NO-BAKE STRAWBERRY PIE

I am devouring an average of three and a half books per week, yet my writing fails me; what doesn't fail me, thankfully, is the baking (or non-baking rather); which results in summery tarts or pies or crostate to also be devoured merrily. Spoiler: they taste much better than paper.

ORANGE & SAFFRON BUNDT CAKE

I could sing a month-long fado song about all that's been going on these days, and I would be even whinier and more catastrophic and melancholic than the Portuguese I swear; and it would probably be something about being all stitched up and plastered and not leaving the sofa and can I go back to massive book shops in former fabric factories and where do I develop my slide film and does it have to be so hot in this country and can I have my bread and my peaches now and am I in Japan yet; but instead of depressing the duck out of everyone I thought I could make good use of pretty Bundt cake tins from a country of sardines, swallows and sailors; and some fancy saffron and huge juicy oranges; for a cake that's free-from everything so even I can have it and spare you all the whining too.

STRAWBERRY SHRUB

It might be a very English thing to do, to talk about the weather and carry on with your business as usual, for the joy of airlines and online accommodation marketplaces, when a few selected bearers of darkness come find you and knock at your door; but I'm working on it, and truth is I've only been here a couple of weeks; and in fact, just one week in this country where seasons are a thing and I've learned more about the weather and seasonal produce than in five years on an island of potatoes and plantain; and it turns out that strawberries are still in season in this one Italian region up North, and so one shopping expedition later, I find myself mixing syrups and vinegars like in a puerile version of a clandestine brewery in the prohibition era; and between country #25 and surgery and country #26, here's my new delicious fruity summery drink of choice.

CANDIED FRUIT BISCUITS

My perception of reality must have got packed by accident into a Wilson box last week, bubble-wrapped like my Vancouver mug, and my cake tins, and all the sugar sprinkles, as I woke up one morning to find myself in a tiny, sunny town by the foothills, with no going back. Until I get that delivered to me (after it's been taken to a very spontaneous trip to Venice; or Belarus, for what we know), I really won't have a clue on what to get used to first, whether it's the 30+ degrees or not being invisible or the nice food or cheap coffee; nor an alternative to being reverse-culture-shocked (why is the icing sugar sold in 100g envelopes only. Where's the imported Asian flour. Ooh look at the colourful candied peel), or making recipes up with random, yet pretty, and pretty delicious, baking ingredients. If I get my discernment back, I will let you know; either way, I have done great with the baking. The Italians approve.

RICE PUDDING CAKE

It all starts with rice pudding, a tiny flat and one lifelong ally, and it looks like that's how it ends too; and what's in-between, I wouldn't know how to spell out in words; but it's not all bleak; and there's the darkest London but a way out of it too; and the darkest night you'll ever see, but also night travellers, who have the heart of a lion and take your hand and walk with you morning-bound. And never mind all the books I should have written; the Book of London is one I will carry with me; but now I better go, and I've said it before but I'll say it again: bye.

CHOCOLATE & MARSHMALLOW PIZZA

I've been feeling like this: dessert pizza.

MACADAMIA MARZIPAN CHOCOLATES

Yet again, my head can't really cope with definitiveness too well; and it's overwhelmed by flashes from distant places in space, plus the past and the future (although I wouldn't know for sure, I had enough self-proclaimed witchcraft and wizardry, and cooking lessons, and bruises, for a lifetime), and I don't know if our nordic escapes will soon be a distant memory too, but here's to marzipan chocolate, best enjoyed in the 9pm sun in squatted military areas where cannabis trade is a thing; and to not being alone; and welfare pack lunches and mind-blowing banana eating techniques; to design museums and art galleries but also cake giving and post card shopping; and, please, to the hopefully several more escapes to come (to Disneyland too, with lucky rabbits), and if they don't have marzipan chocolate there it's fine, I'll bring along a Bonus Pig bag full of it.

ESPRESSO MINI CAKES

No adjective can describe the past four years more accurately than 'tiring', and still it isn't over just yet; so for the couple weeks to come (and for the roads left in both of our shoes): cakey coffee muffins, and I'll sleep when I'm dead.

HAWAIIAN WEDDING CAKE

In my head there’s a station where my thoughts depart to far-away places; and they go find a sun that shines fair and bright and a light breeze, and the clearest water, and if your dusty hands washed one another you would know what it feels like to be new; and I don’t know if it’s a quiet port town, or a land of pine forests and deserts, or a thousand mountains, or familiar foothills, or yet another Hawaiian dream with eyes open wide; but they may discover a place where they belong more than here; and if it’s a sweet fruity cake that takes them there then I hope it takes me too.

RAW LEMON SWISS ROLL

Cake roll happens because of promises made to sunny people on sunny days; and because the shape of things to come is looking very swirly to say the least; but also because if swirly things (or stomach ache, or car crashes, and car-crash shaped cake) ever come your way, you've got to be ready and turn them around as best as you can; and it may take some serious multi-tasking, and you may have to improvise or momentarily hide piles and piles of stuff in your wardrobe or interrupt your Preacher episode half way through and your NutriBullet will perhaps struggle; but if you try and you're lucky enough, you may end up staring in excitement at delicious citrusy creamy things, and these delicious citrusy creamy things may well make you sunny inside a little.

BLACK SESAME BUTTER MOCHI

I don’t think anyone out there will be surprised one bit to find me day-dreaming about trips to Hawaii and Japan instead of getting my shit together and out of this place once and for all; but in my defense, I’ve created these little squishy squares that combine the very essence of Hawaiian cake and Japanese treats all in one and they’re so rich and squidgy and flavoursome and if you ever find a way to stop shovelling them into your mouth, please let me know as I’m now at risk of rolling my way back home like a giant mochi ball they’re that good.

ALMOND & PISTACHIO BISCUITS

All that hasn’t happened in four years has suddenly decided to elbow its way to me and happen in the space of a month; and there’s a long long list of people and shoes and medications, boxes, bubble wrap, Texas dreams and Spanish Squads, trains and planes and places and faces; plans and plants and plantains; but never mind breathing, there’s got to be room for baking; and even though I myself will have to stick to whisky and Star Wars breakfast cereal (separately) to avoid death from stomach ache, I know how to make good use of the packs of almonds and pistachios lying in the still-stupidly-full kitchen cupboard (and that goes without mentioning the dinosaur cookie cutters, because you can always make good use of dinosaur cookie cutters): almond and pistachio biscuits; deep breath; go.

SWEET TOMATO SPELT MUFFINS

What was it that gave madness away, the pirate shoes or the wandering aimlessly amongst Egyptian mummies and hippo statuettes or the improvised escapes or the mindless frauds or the frozen cereal or the dragon fruit and turnip diet; but what is all but crazy, I swear, is returning to warm foothills, small towns; and breathing a sigh of relief; and making sweet tomato muffins, as tomatoes are fruits like any other, but sometimes you just very simply forget.

LEMON OLIVE OIL CAKE

Funnily enough all this started exactly one lemon cake ago; and one delicious bite after another, your tummy got fuller and fuller, and the next thing you'll be looking up on Google is 'can you eat so much that your stomach bursts'; and why would you even want to find out.
Yet, there's one big bottle of fancy Italian organic olive oil in your cupboard, and wouldn't it be silly not to whip up a cake with it; and it's so fluffy and citrusy and you really can't make your mind up on which version you like best.
Needless to say, decisions of such great importance require a fair amount of pondering; but the proof of the cake is in the eating, or so I've heard; and I'm thinking, some real tasty lemon cake is what you'll get, either way.

GLUTEN-FREE FAIRY BREAD

I do not recall ever granting mother nature permission to turn me into a (rather small) grown-up; please bear with me whilst I take a break from all this adult business for a minute and day-dream about making bread with my dad and secretly hope someone will take me to Disneyland for my birthday and eat, as one should, sprinkles on toast.

CAROB CHEESECAKE

Leaving the country seems to be very much in fashion this season; and if the individuals doing so had a pack of carob powder lying abandoned at the back of their kitchen cupboard, they too would be making this wonderful thing called, carob cheesecake.

FRUIT SUSHI

I feasted on Veda bread and potato farls and brown lemonade and vegan yellowman and several other Ulster delicacies to my heart’s content; and we’re good already for cherries, biscuits & marshmallows, and inferior potato cakes too (I greatly appreciate the effort, Tesco); and I found myself alone and smiley at Japanese punk gigs and film nights; so even though I’m back now and Peckham’d and sound, here’s dessert sushi, a sweet and sticky ode to Japan.

STRAWBERRY MILKSHAKE CORN FLAKE SQUARES

An excessive amount of things that break around me, such as not one, not two, but three vintage mugs; and my camera; and the internet; and trains over bank holiday weekends; and my digestive system; plus a busy schedule of stressing, leave me slightly mentally & physically exhausted and therefore prone to wingin'; reason why, when you'll be reading this recipe for the ultimate 5-minute-to-make sweet marshmallowy treat, not only will I have inhaled the whole lot already, but I'll also be in the process of finding out whether or not I'm emotionally stable enough to be travelling on my own. Make them! You can thank me if I ever make it back sound.

CHOCOLATE CHIP BANANA LOAF CAKE

These days I sometimes feel like a little ghost, even though I’m not gone just yet; and I’ve been filling time with things I don’t mind, like Icelandic coffee, and English shoes, and Scottish pop bands, and Japanese cameras, for Irish adventures. I plan to add my art galleries too, especially those ones that stock American-style banana bread; but just in case all the above gets too expensive (plus Russia. Alaska. Disneyland. Outer space) and I really can’t spare that two pounds fifty for a slice: bakers gonna bake. Chocolate chip banana cake.

AMAZAKE MUFFINS

I’m not sure how to resume my little black life after the amount of blinding beauty I’ve seen; nor how To Exorcise the Spirit of Catastrophe in big Bad City; or have world and mind to ever make peace. I find myself starting from the bear necessity, gold, subtle sweetness.

BLACK SESAME BARS

They say necessity is the mother of invention, and perhaps fright and sadness are too; and as enormous marine mammals and horses with very short legs are just too cool to be eaten, I find myself gathering mountains of bags of roasted chickpeas and exotic snacks, as well as producing some slightly addictive all-sesame bars. That's necessity covered; and as for the other co-parents, I'm quite sure said delicious bars (and a glass of Black Death, or liquorice on toast, if worse comes to worst) will sort them two out alright.

SPECULOOS & ALMOND TABBOULEH

If I said I was expecting to get back to Bad City after my first session of extraordinary adventures with a master plan of some kind, I would be lying; and just as unsurprisingly my head is now sailing its way through a pretty lake of a million very volatile non-master plans, and the heel angle of this boat it is on doesn’t look safe one bit, and I wouldn’t stop shivering with terror if I tried; and in this sort of trans-boundary waters of being, here goes me splashing around a little (what else can you do), and fishing out this memory of colourful bowls of bulgur and spices, for me and my daddy under the fair African sky, then mixing it with picnics on top of a sunny hill in a land of shiny rivers or streams or creeks or heaven knows, then folding in some sweetness, with sticky dates from Middle Eastern stores right in the heart of South London, and Mexican vanilla, via Canada, and delicious Belgian biscuits and a sprinkle of toasted almonds from, now I know, a Beautiful Country. And as with most crazy things, the boat heels and heels and it will either tip over or get you to the shore safe and sound before dark; and with this one, I think I’ve passed my nautical test a hundred percent: ahoy sweet biscuity tabbouleh.

FRUITY PEBBLE BUNDT CAKE

The past too-many weeks have felt like drowning in a bowl of milk and cereal a little bit; and even though it was definitely a bowl of the most breathtakingly colourful cereal and sugary banana flavoured milk coming from a box with the coolest packaging, it has still felt like drowning after all; and the odd milkshake powder shopping and half a ray of sunlight and radioactive beigel feasts didn’t really do the trick as life rings entirely; but I’m finally off on adventure now; and before that: the most breathtakingly colorful sugary cereal cake.

MARZIPAN TEA BISCUITS

One dark, sad evening, in a little flat in a dear green place at the edges of Bad City, a pretty white mug shatters into a hundred pieces, and waves goodbye to this world never to be seen again. And from the back of a cupboard in the tiny kitchen of this little flat, behind glasses and pots and second-hand china, another mug, long forgotten, is brought back to light. This big colourful mug is painted with images of a place that is half a world away in space and time too; but memories of this remote island all of a sudden find their way to you on a shaky seaplane; and it is some sunny, placid memories of car rides along a promenade and there’s tall tall trees; and people smile at you and feed you nuts and chocolate, and take you to a house of leaves where you find jars and jars of toffee and vanilla and sweet marzipan tea.

Whenever I hear that everything happens for a reason, I secretly cringe with disdain; as there can’t possibly be a recommended daily intake of misfortune, never mind having a good 5-a-day of it; however, I must admit, catastrophes may cater for stories; and in this specific case, catastrophes do cater for very nice biscuits.

In loving memory of my white mug – July 2015-11^th March 2016

OREO CRUMB FUDGE

It's not for me to know when winter and its green wool jumper will grant us earthlings a half-time break; or when I'll find the words again, and sing the songs I should have sung; or when the scene will light up and I'll notice forgiveness at the side of the stage; but, strange to say, I'll be here waiting, with my comrades by my side; and I've made some comforting Oreo crumb fudge for us to nibble on, and put hazelnuts in it especially.

СМЕТАННИК - RUSSIAN SOUR CREAM CAKE

Season 8, Episode 11 of “Vegan cakes and things” takes us all the way to Russia via a stream of black, deep sleep, mustard shoes, bus travellers, gifts of corner shops, no-need-to-fight’s, Soviet nursery rhymes that come to you in your dreams and blenders melting down upon attempting to combine utter madness and the cure for the illness of living. One may argue there must have obviously been some miscommunication between my head and reality; but this sweet and light and fluffy multi-layer sour cream cake is real enough to me.

PEANUT BUTTER MILLET CHEESECAKE

Sometimes you find yourself facing one of those cheesecake situations; and sometimes bucketfuls of cashews, or Londonfuls of them, give you a stomach ache that makes you question your chances of survival, and you consider tofu instead, and remote islands, or give it a Japanese twist and go for seaweed powder and loss in translation, or perhaps yoghurt or coconut oil or frozen bananas or cauliflower or the Land of Oz; and the options are so many and the fear of the unset so unbearable and you’re almost tempted to sack it off altogether and sit on the kitchen counter and eat sprinkles on toast until further notice; and in the end you find yourself whipping up cheesecakes out of millet and dates and peanut butter just for practice, and when you head to the fridge and casually grab a slice and eat it, your surprise could almost equal that of a little kid whose flying house accidentally squashes a wicked witch to death, as, geographical metaphors aside, you come to the realisation you’ve just made the best cheesecake you’ve ever had, and it's fair to say you've had a few.

IRN-BRU BAKED DOUGHNUTS

In case of pitch darkness and lack of colour: plantain parties, Isabjhdffdgghfjkdottir, frog rescuing, Kings of the Rye, Deadpool, fizzy pop doughnuts.

MACAFAME - ITALIAN BREAD PUDDING

Gusts of the coldest winter wind this week exhumed, much unsurprisingly, a pile of nothingness, rainy days, insomnia and Star Wars bottled water and swept it and pushed it and dragged it right onto the doorstep, and even though it should be declared illegal in such cases to even think of leaving the bed unattended and opening the front door, you find yourself ungracefully climbing over them and making your way through the most unpleasant drizzle of rain and icy wet fog and nostalgia and don’t even bother with a brolly.

Truth to be known, the cold and darkness are here to stay at least for a while, and the memories they blew about, of one excited little kid that glimpses a foil-covered oven dish in their daddy’s hands in the warmth of their kitchen when he gets home, and there’s loads of your auntie’s famously delicious bread pudding in it - it would be nice if they did, but they won’t make the rain go away, nor the gloomy winter end any sooner, nor your eyes less inappropriately teary on your bus home in the evening; however, what may help is baking your own macafame, translated and tweaked and localised from your nonna’s original recipe (est. ca. 1946) (nonna > Mary Berry): between one mouthful and the other, you can try and get your head around the fact that this light and soft cake packed full of sultanas and pine nuts and so moist and delicious kind of brings you right back to when you’d stand in the rain just for a laugh and you wouldn’t hide away from the wind and you’d let it lift you up and drag you around and you’d think it’s the most amusing thing in the world.

FRITTELLE - ITALIAN FRIED DOUGH BALLS

I firmly believe that one of the frequently asked questions at interviews for skilled and highly valued jobs like say, sommeliers should be: if you were a cake-like thing, what would you be. It is probably for the best however that that’s not the case, as I myself would stare at the interviewer in sheer panic and spend the following about five days going through a mental list of all cakes and sweets and treats known to man, then opt for eternal unemployment and spend my days making videos of cats and die shortly after from asthma, or scratched to death. But if I really had to answer the question in utmost seriousness, my immediate reaction would have been to identify myself with some seriously sugary out-of-the-strong-came-forth-sweetness-style sticky Bundt cake, or a spotty-face-inducing chocolatey fridge treat preferably to be consumed over the sink, or some inexplicably underrated pumpkin cake all drenched in sweet syrup, or again something containing worrying amounts of sugar and apparently chocolatey but not, because I can be peculiar like that. But then it so happened that introspective times at the hairdresser’s via the strip catered for thoughts of Venetian masquerade balls that never came into being, and brought back memories of Italian Carnival and warm kitchens and mid-week late afternoons and greasy paper bags filled with fresh frittelle and sugar all over your mouth and your nose and your hair and your Latin homework; and this may or may not be me saying that’s my final answer, but if you think it’s a coincidence that each of these little bites of deep-fried sugar-coated deliciousness rhymes with my name, and don’t give in to sweetness too, and as per my very own Carnival tradition, glory in one frittella too many: you’re crazy.

GOLDEN BERRY & COCOA NIB OAT COOKIES

I did think for half a moment, I will admit, that the after-effects of Disgrace wouldn't involve much more than binge holiday-booking and a mildly emotional farewell to avocado on toast and snuslessness and the occasional life-wrecker text message gone m.i.a.; however, running out of book every half a week and forgetting, as one does, to leave the house for just under fifty-eight hours in a row and a surplus of coffee in my Lavazza tin and of exotic tea in my cupboard did eventually set off this little alarm bell in my head, as well as this tiny voice going, what’s it going to be then, eh; and as it turns out, what it's going to be for right now is a fair amount of waiting; for trips to happen, for books and parcels and books inside parcels, for cat-ction shots to get developed, and for the inspiration to face-the-outside-world-every-now-and-then-if-strictly-necessary to come find me; so if you see any adventures around, please do send them my way: I’ve got cookies.

OREO CRUMB CRÊPES

The time to celebrate comes when, never mind the death anniversaries, the sweetest blitzkriegs succeed against all allergies and odds and fluffy hair, and the longest week with a survival budget of four pounds and thirteen pence (may I have six tins of soup and a pack of biscuits please, and some self-respect) almost gets you wishing some real horrorshow like punishment upon fellow human beings, but then it doesn’t (because, rewards of basketball sized falafel), and when your longest-anticipated return to the self-proclaimed best travel destination of all time approaches slowly but surely on the back of a life-size mechanical elephant and you better have your emergency rice cakes ready.

The time to celebrate also comes when there’s warm vegan Oreo crêpes and biscuits and ice cream on a peaceful, lazy Saturday morning at the Orphanage, and you won’t even need to hold a penny in your hand and a pan in the other – you’ll know for sure it’ll be a great Crêpe Day this one.

FIFTEENS - NORTHERN IRISH FRIDGE CAKE

Like in my head the winter wind carries me along riversides and across bridges and lifts me up, in-between the tall shiny buildings of the City and I can almost touch them, and what’s left of good-Bye’s summons elusive ghosts on the icy streets, and bills and books and papers turn into trees and tombstones and a hill looking down on a Dear Green Place; in this same way, symphonies from the North fill rooms with warmth and tea-time treats for travel companions; and blue maps of far-away islands on a scaredy child’s bedroom wall make space for grown-up plans, and fluffy cakes; and quiet nights in this country, and another, let the sunrise in and salute it with hearty crêpes and cream and fruit for breakfast.

If I wake up one day and will have desisted living by dreams and day-dreams and songs and stories, I’ll give myself a slap on the wrist, and I would be crazy not to; and as for this town of smoke and trouble – I’m already there; and the most delicious marshmallowy treats is what I’ll give, this time, in return for so much.

BERRIES & CREAM TARTLETS

Wet, penurious, snusless Januaries can do funny things to your head (that or, people) and with a little career advice from this volatile entity called hope, plus good books with a nice cover and a worryingly long list of flight confirmations, your mind also hands in a resignation letter, and moves on to a more senior position in this fictitious place and time where no one objects if all you do is stroll down the Rye and on through pretty streets, and stop for vegan chocolate and then on again to parks and cemeteries, and take photos; and where soya condensed milk hasn’t disappeared from the face of the earth; and also where wool jumpers are a mandatory part of the dress code; and in this place and time you would hang out with your lad friends and they would always have your back because never mind the hair bows and pink outfits, they know you’re secretly one of them. But jobs at pharmaceutical firms aside, and even though your dressed-up self still hangs out on twelfth floors of corporate buildings with a view, and vegan condensed milk takes five years on the hob to make, and there’s no chocolate adventures in sight for right now, private lad parties are sometimes still included in your job description, and you better be ready to make celebratory fruity cream tartlets for the occasion, just in case someone opts for a free-from cake diet, and in fact it could well be a wet, penurious and snusless day, but there’s birthday treats; and I wouldn’t change my mind in a thousand years: berries & cream tartlet treats bright up the darkest day.

HJÓNABANDSSÆLA - ICELANDIC OAT & RHUBARB CAKE

I wonder what it is exactly with me and holidays and wedding-themed cakes when I’m more of a babies-on-spikes kind of person and getting married feels like something that only exists in a galaxy far far away; however, there has been lots of planning and mis-planning and hard-effing-working around this Land of Ice lately, and it turns out that its inhabitants have this amazing thing that goes under the name of Happy Marriage Cake (that and arctic foxes, and little horses), and never mind the weddings, I could be unhappier, and I do have my chums (!) providing for videos of monkey cats, lifts through foggy towns at night, cake appreciation, moral support during IT crises, moral support during life crises, and emergency holidays, and I tend to cherish irony, and choose to believe in blessings in disguise (however: this weekend only, as an exception), and also look forward to seeing what my life-rebuilding session today will bring, and I hope a selected few of my allies will stick around for it; so here’s my own real delicious vegan version of the Icelandic oat and rhubarb Happy Marriage Cake, and for your reference, I may or may not end up legally marrying the thing.

LEMON & CHAMOMILE CAKE

So this is the new year and in new years people have resolutions; and if people with resolutions had a baking blog they would write about them there, in something that I believe would be titled - '2016 - An Introduction', and it would be something very pragmatic and possibly involving detox diets or buying a house or life rebuilding, or something.
I will blame my lack of vitamin B(1)2 that, Wikipedia informs me, caters for paleness and neurological issues, and having watched one Rob Zombie film too many over the holidays, and chocolate overdoses, and being not invisible for once, or twice, and hamster cheeks; but I'm afraid I have no resolution. What I do have, is a recipe for a lemon & chamomile cake that is as oh so pretty & oh so nice as a hairdresser named Manuel from a posh town in Northern Italy; bless his heart; as well as this worrying feeling at the back of my head that this year is going to be an absolute duckin' mess just like its younger brother, and in fact all its siblings; but did I mention I have a recipe for cake; and that means that I may or may not be willing to spend a stupid amount of euros on a toothbrush or mindlessly start humming a song that goes, if a body catch a body comin' through the Rye If a body kiss a body, need a body cry on my way back to the Orphanage and book flights to actual Iceland this time and even glimpse several different futures ahead, in the distance, or find myself looking up and hoping for the best; because did I mention, lemon chamomile cake. I think I did, therefore, hi 2016, and Happy New Year everyone; everything will be fine.