MINCE MUFFINS

If I were to decide to become a part-time psychic when I grow up, I know one day I would look into a snow globe and see this time of the season, and a very pretty house in a part of town that, I’m sure, was well pretty fifty years ago; and there would be a white fluffy carpet and wooden things and bottles as candle holders (there’s got to be candles), and the inhabitants wouldn’t worry too much about leaving the heating on for a while, nor about anything that happens in the outside world for that matter; and they would be sipping hot drinks from big mugs and eating muffins, or mince pies, or both (it’s Christmas).

I don’t know all that much about warm cosy living rooms in Victorian houses or carpets or nice décor, but if I were them, I really wouldn’t complain about such a great selection of Christmas treats; and until I take the leap and become Head of Extrasensory Perception or that season comes and so the snow, I’ll stick to mince muffins and I know I’ll be gold.

CINNAMON CHESTNUT SWIRL BREAD

If this specific semi-conscious portion of my brain that has been misbehaving since my return from outer space could be accessed by means of a Welcome10 (or if I hadn't said no to fun and hacking tutorials), I would no doubt log in and schedule one of those universally dreaded Outlook-style reminder windows to pop up in my head, accompanied by a force-twelve ear-splitting alarm bell and re-occurring until further notice, to read in monster font size: YOU ARE IN CANADA NO MORE; as behaviours such as spending evenings in basements attempting to scan aerial shots of Vancouver in life size, travelling North of the river (!) to acquire pumpkin spice latte and sweet potatoes and pumpkin miso soup, purchasing maple water and pumpkin beer, trying to replicate recipes of every single food item I consumed during my nine-day Canada trip, pouring half a liter of maple syrup into my maple tea that I will exclusively drink out of my Vancouver mug, unconsciously adopting the American spelling, being upset about the availability of Jamaican cream soda only (it’s not the same. Not the same), and starting the overwhelming majority of my conversation exchanges with overexcited when-I-was-in-Canada’s cannot be deemed appropriate or well judged.

One day, I’m sure, I will finally come to terms with the actuality that all is left of my trip is an inhuman amount of tea, a still very spotty face, and photos with one light leak too many; and in fact, you’ll be relieved to know that I have already been working on re-directing these escapist tendencies of mine to 1. fictional worlds, going on solitary day trips to admire Victorian stone sculptures of extinct animals as it would make a very adventurous chapter in an imaginary book that would have the coolest cover and would be titled ‘Amongst The Dinosaurs of Crystal Palace’; and for the sake of sanity and social acceptance 2. other places on this very planet, booking stupidly expensive flights to Italy and going on a Chinese mooncake ingredient hunt, being mistaken for a Swede (and taking it as a compliment and appreciating the importance of capitalisation), working on the perfect vegan Yorskhire parkin for Bonfire Night, and last but not least seeking baking inspiration in Australian food magazines (which I was given in Canada but don’t tell anyone). And it is the latter, ladies and gentlemen, that brings me here today with a recipe for the best sticky fluffy swirly cinnamony tea-time bread with the creamiest chestnut and walnut filling (and only a negligible amount of maple syrup, leave me alone) you can possibly find this side of the pond or the other.

I’ll let you know how I get on with my pursuit of a cure for Canada-lessness (or hacking lessons, and mental health), but for right now rest assured that I’ll be all content with my delicious swirly bread, because who wouldn’t be, eh?

WHITE BEAN PECAN PUMPKIN BLONDIES

Some people can add to other people’s life like that, and bring gifts of photos of tiny kittens and rules of thirds and cool cameras (and, fix broken ones), or secret phone numbers and nuts for dinner and Egyptian bracelets and painful fashion advice, or puns and phone calls and carefully selected vegan ham-flavoured crisps, or the biggest smiles and fobs and doughnuts, or loud laughs, badly edited pictures of honey badgers, fancy iPhones and second-hand flirting, German experimental music playlists, Belle and Sebastian, instant email responses, birthday cards, tailored guidance on London boroughs (as night follows day wPeckhamwsavesw), haircuts worth four hundred bus rides, take-care's, espressos, inexplicable exceptions to the rule of never being touched, books that were meant for someone else, unrealistic tales of North-American wildlife, bags-for-life, thermals, sleeping pills, good-night’s; or (but you’ve got to be lucky like I am), even all of the above.

Now whether all these riches are deserved or not, or if I’d rather give things away than lose them, or again if I myself only am the bearer of utter annihilation (fine, of stuffed killer whales also; but only if you’re David Wilson), however consciously hidden behind a mask of cuteness, quirkiness and puppy eyes, it’s an entire different story; because today, on Matt’s birthday, cake is the only thing that I choose to bring along.

Adding fudgy pecan pumpkin blondies to someone’s life really can’t be a bad thing; plus when you and your cake tin are almost squeezed to death on your crammed bus to work, there’s just no room for all the bullshit.
Aaaand many more.

ORANGE & CINNAMON ICE CREAM

Orange and cinnamon is a big thing in Morocco.

In the past three days I packed three years of my life, put them onto the biggest van, took them up two flights of stairs (someone helped me), and even found some spare time to make friends with foxes.

I am currently in the seemingly never ending process of unpacking said belongings and I would kind of need another holiday in Morocco after that, together with a whole plantation of oranges sprinkled with cinnamon to recover my energy.

But just in case that doesn’t happen and I find myself at Ikea instead or running around looking for Blu Tack or recycling bags or my sanity, or at The Park, here’s some Moroccan inspired vegan orange and cinnamon ice cream. I heard it’s best served by the swimming pool.

MEXICAN CHOCOLATE BEETROOT MUFFINS

I say brace yourselves, I chopped my hair off and made badass spicy chocolate vegan muffins.

PAIN D’ÉPICES - FRENCH SPICED LOAF CAKE

You may think this is quite a sad-looking plain loaf cake but you may think again. I am known for getting over-excited about cake but this, ladies and gentlemen, this is my new favourite cake in the uuuuniverse (after Stereo's upside-down orange cake maybe, but I'm going back for more of that later on). I used to have pain d'épices all the time back in Italy and then found some when I popped down to Paris last summer, and was getting slightly upset about the lack of it here in good (?) old Blightey. Well last week I thought I'd assemble all my troops and go get some nice spices to make it myself. You should too. It's like a moist sticky spice party in cake-form and actually healthy (no fats or anything) and it has the best unusual spongy texture ever because of the flour combination. Plus if you too have a lonely pack of rye flour lying in your kitchen cupboard and you're moving to God knows where in six months, then there you go, vegan pain d'épices saves the day. 

BOOZY WALNUT COOKIES

After a week featuring frozen feet, bus strikes, blocked bank cards, office thieves, explosive pots of yoghurt, and the universe generally not allowing you to lead the life of a princess (!), who ever thought that watching a marathon of films about working-class families struggling during the recession in London in the 1980’s wouldn’t improve the situation.

Good job there’s cookies. Good job it’s boozy vegan cookies.

PANPAPATO - ITALIAN CHRISTMAS CAKE

After a ski trip from which I will never recover and one Christmas party too many, I am very much looking forward to going home and stuffing my face with Christmas cakes of every origin and kind.

This one I’m sharing with you today (metaphorically sharing. Soz) is from Ferrara in the North of Italy. It’s called Panpapato (it’s the funniest name and it always takes me a good five minutes to spell it properly without adding extra pa’s in it. HA) and it’s full of nuts and yummy things and so rich and the most delicious. In fact, my dad posted a homemade one to me about a month ago because I couldn’t wait until Christmas. Miss impatient. Now I’m not saying this is better than my dad’s because my dad is the cake master but what you can do is make this one and then ask your dad to make another one and post it to you and you eat them both and happy days.

PUMPKIN CINNAMON ROLLS

I came back from New York with 10 extra kilos of body fat, a spotty face, 10 litres of maple syrup and an obsession with all things pumpkin. In this recipe, you’ll find two of the above – that is, the maple syrup and pumpkin, if there’s any need for clarifying.

Weeeell, these moistest-ever-moist pumpkin cinnamon rolls with a super sticky maple glaze are such a mouth-watering twist on the traditional cinnamon rolls. It makes me a little bit emotional because my life is not the same now that I don’t have my pumpkin spice soya latte twice a day anymore and don’t see lines of pretty, pretty (massive) pumpkins in front of every house on every street.

Let’s just devour them celebrating my newfound friend America and by the way also that Adam got me this internet domain and my blog is all serious now (he is, oh, the best). And that today I chopped all my hair off (don’t ask). And lastly, that my friend Kris gave me the vegan bible as a present for my birthday. I’m making everything that’s in there. Omnom – tears of gratitude/melancholy – omnomnom – repeat.