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.

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.

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.

TOTTENHAM CAKE

No cake on commission has in the history of this world, or another, ever been as accurately timely and fit for purpose as Tottenham Cake.

It’s only an insignificant detail that I am located a whole eleven and a half miles away from Tottenham and, even though it would be a wonderfully creative thing to do, I don’t plan on re-branding this as Peckham Cake or Warwick Gardens Cake and selling it for one penny per square at Rye Lane Market (I do it for the glory); or that I may or may not have had to find a vegan way around an upsetting amount of eggs called for in the original recipe and more or less liberally replaced obscure ingredients such as mulberry juice with inferior modern-day placeholders that go under the name of Ribena (sorry Friends); because as I found myself floating right in the middle of another teacup of stormy weather (I’m only small you see) and managed not to turn into a cute, or trendy, version of a muse of Millais’s in the very unpleasant process of splashing from one shore through to the other, it’s only with the most-childish-ever-childish children’s cake that I can pay adequate tribute to all those not-so-grown-up things that have been swimming quietly beside me easing the pain.

So one square of my Tottenham Cake goes to having cake for dinner and sometimes lunch and sometimes both; one goes to dinosaur parks; one to stuffed toys (and having a higher opinion of them than humans); one to drawing badgers; one to running around the office like a squirrel on acid; one to Christmas; one to buying useless things because there’s a bear on the packaging and it’s wearing a sailor outfit; one to choosing birthday cards three months in advance; one to crying; one to touching everything; one to baby teeth, flowery dresses, drooly dogs, hair bows, lollies; and one to my dear, dear Orphanage, that since that one sunny Saturday afternoon has been my refuge and burrow and baking laboratory and realm and source of a thousand stories, and a Little Match Girl who’s run away from home really couldn’t live anywhere else.

And if there’s a baker’s-dozen-th piece of my Tottenham Cake, I’d like to have it; because, over Troubador’s and black cabs and members clubs and conference calls and Boys Who also Never Grew Up, I’ll be happy to pick a square of sugary sponge cake covered in pink icing.

MINI BOSTON CREAM PIES

I don’t usually get emotional about things (she says, then cries her heart out watching The Muppets Christmas Carol. Why did you have to die, Tiny Tim, although you don’t actually die). However lately I’ve been in this funny mystical mood as a result of which I am quite at peace with the universe and most its inhabitants. Officially surviving the winter (only JUST) has helped, and so has the prospect of squatting in lovely new one-bedroom flats in Bermondsey, thanks Alex I love you too.

But let’s get to the cake part shall we. Well it so happens that this introspective state I am in has led me to fond memories of the best trip ever to America last year, and to this rainy day in Cambridge, Massachusetts after a gourmet dinner of watery salad (don’t ask). Adam who is known for being a part-time guardian angel promptly saved me from everlasting grumpiness and took me to Veggie Galaxy where I had this massive slice of Boston cream pie.

So here’s me sharing the recipe for a mini version of it (I’m only small), and celebrating that one day and today and everything in-between. Like trips with people I care loads about, and being upset about turning a quarter of a century old, and the longest darkest winters; almost running away from everything; people sticking with me even though I can’t possibly figure out why, the view of Tower Bridge from the bus in the morning, going to work only to make friends, nice songs, lunch breaks, ideas, little white fluffy dogs and the calming verse from the age of break – ‘something good will come from nothing’.

CAROB & VANILLA SWIRL LOAF

Here’s some lovely swirly bread that may or may not be a projection of the current state of my brain that is, not so lovely but very swirly. Make this and see if eating it helps you unswirl your brain like it did with me, thank you carob & vanilla swirl loaf for being so lovely and for your unswirling properties.

VANILLA & POMEGRANATE BAKED DOUGHNUTS

Belle and Sebastian, boots and baked doughnuts this week (and alliteration).
Make these, you're in for a treat.

VANILLA CHIA PUDDING

When life makes you feel like a diseased pigeon, fight back with badass yummy superfood pudding. Amen.

VANILLA ALMOND BISCOTTI

I cried inside a little bit titling this post "vanilla almond biscotti", as my very Italian self knows that the word biscotti means everything and nothing. Biscotti is Italian for biscuit, but biscuit of any kind. Therefore, if you find yourself in an Italian bakery, and all hopeful tell the baker you would like some biscotti, they quite likely will sneer at you and say "That's fortunate, as we have a million kinds". The secret word, everyone, is cantuccini.
But language-police rant aside, and back to serious stuff, these biscotti aka cantuccini are the bomb. Half the stuff didn't even make it to the second bake as I was eating it straight from the cooling rack. I know, such an outlaw. But they are that good! And all vanilla-y and almond-y (and also just as hot as magma when you take them out of the oven. Who knew). You can serve these to your friends and show off with anecdotes about their real name and pretend you're secretly Italian and everything. Or don't, just keep them all to yourself and scoff the whole batch going "Mamma mia" between each bite.

RAW BLUEBERRY TARTLETS

After making the prettiest cake ever, I found myself overloaded with blueberries. This was because my plan B after miserably failing at acquiring edible flowers (Turnips @ Borough Market, I forgive but not forget. Or maybe not even forgive), which you could also call “running around M&S during my lunch break, desperately looking for a pretty-enough alternative to edible flowers to use on a cake I am meant to make in less than 3 hours”, was decorating with more blueberries and other berries. Luckily, boyfriends saved the day and a plan B was never needed, so I was quite ridiculously happy to have not only a successful cake but also a lifetime supply of tasty berries. Some of them had already been shovelled into my mouth and digested and everything, the rest feature in these delicious vegan, raw and gluten-free tartlets that, just so you know, have been partly shovelled into my mouth too and are in the process of being digested. Too much information? Omonomnomnom