Christmas Creole Cake (and cupcakes)

Christmas is fraught with contradictions. It's a time that should be joyous, but the stresses and seasonal duties can make it miserable. It's a time when you want more time to spend with family, but have to set aside that time for other people's demands and pressures- perhaps for people that you care for less? And as for the Christmas cake, it's renowned for being dusty, desiccated and depressing, but you can't have Christmas without it!
This may seem a Scrooge-esque way to open my first festive post in two years, but I will defy this by saying that this recipe for dense, fruity Christmas cake will banish any hostility you have for the thing and what's more, is simply exquisite in its rich taste and rich symbolism. The problem with a real, real traditional English Christmas cake is that it has so much preparation; creaming, mixing, steeping, and standing, it sets itself up for disappointment, and can't help but gather dust when January comes. Not that this version is much less in terms of processes and does too need to be made at least a month or pushing it at three weeks like this year, ahead. Although it is gratifyingly simple to prepare, and the ingredients list alone will tell you that this darling is a big deal. Three different boozes (four if you count the bitters) may seem extravagant, but they're all bottles that will play a significant role in a Christmas cooking and cocktail repertoire so consider this cake a support. Anyway, isn't excess part of the spirit? Just avoid leaving the cake near a tealight during the feeding process. And if you're struggling somehow to find a use for these liqueurs, then just make a creole shot- simply pour port, cherry brandy and dark rum in equal measures into a shot glass, and knock back. Take it from me it will help you through the season.
The recipe itself is adapted from Delia Smith and is one of her most popular recipes around, so naturally I've offered my own suggestions here. The heritage behind it is almost as rich as the taste- it comes from the wife of a sugar plantation owner in Barbados; how Delia came across her must be a cracking story. The cake is essentially the Jamaican classic black fruit cake, and is just as dense and dark as the name suggests. In terms of Christmas symbolism it lends itself beautifully, whether you decorate with a white snowy blanket of fondant icing or bejewel it with fruit and nuts, it becomes a central beacon of light and hope in a Christmas kitchen, and all the little fruits imbued in the cake promise a fruitful and joyful year to come.
Now, before we get bogged down with too much fluffy cheer, I have to admit if you make this in one big tin, unless you have a huge family that all adore fruit cake coming over you may struggle to chow it all down before new year- true, the cake can keep for a month beyond Christmas, but it may be riddled with bad spirits by then and I would worry about it gathering dust. To rectify this, do as I do and make one small, 18-20cm diameter cake and 12 cupcakes. You can use these cupcakes as pick-me-ups through the season if you need a sweet bite to get away from it for a moment or as edible gifts, beribboned and wrapped for a hamper. If you wanted you could do 24 cupcakes, or do a very small whole cake and 18 cupcakes. There are lots of options here. I'll go over decorations later, but for now give yourself a week for the fruit's pre-soaking. Over to you:

For the pre-soaking:
450g sultanas
225g currants
125g prunes, chopped
125g whole mixed peel, chopped
100g chopped glace cherries (why not go camp and get some green ones as well as Rudolph-nose red)
50g flaked almonds(plus more for the cupcake's topping), and I like to chop blanched ones myself as they keep their crunch better
50g coarsely chopped hazelnuts
4 tbsp rum (plus extra for feeding)
4 tbsp cherry brandy
4 tbsp port
1 1/2 tsp Angostura bitters
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp freshly-grated nutmeg
1/2 tsp ground cloves
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 tbsp black treacle
Zest of 1 orange
Juice of 2 oranges

Pile all of these ingredients into a large saucepan. It helps to write all of these in a list and tick them off as you go. Just like at the table on the big day, no one wants to be left out. Give it a really good stir and bring it up to simmering point on the hob, then turn the heat down to as low as possible and allow it to simmer with the lid off for 15 minutes, stirring to make sure nothing sticks. Remove from the heat, clamp on a lid and let this mixture cool completely before transferring the dense sticky mess into a Tupperware container or jar (you can't really leave it in the saucepan if you were wondering) and leaving it for around 7 days in the fridge.

For the cake:
250g self-raising flour
250g soft unsalted butter
250g demarara sugar
5 large eggs

Take the fruits out of the fridge to come to room temperature for a while. Preheat the oven to 140 degrees Celsius.
Preparing the tin is the hardest part of this whole exercise, so get ready with a pair of sharp scissors and a focused head. Brush oil all over the inside of an 18-20cm deep cake tin, preferably with a loose base but this is perfectly easy without. Cut two strips of greaseproof or parchment paper cut a little bit taller than the height of the tin. Fold a little rim about an inch tall up on these strips and take your scissors and cut into this fold, as if making a frill. Using the sticky oil, line the tin with the two strips having the frills line the bottom. Draw around the base of the tin and cut around to make a circle. Place the circle over the frilly hem on the bottom of the tin. Fold another bit of greaseproof that fits on top of the pieces of parchment that come above the side of the tin. Or, if you make fruitcakes and use the 18cm deep tin a lot, you can cut reusable baking parchment to size, one strip to go around the cake and come up higher than the sides, and one 18cm circle to go in the base. These can just live in the tin so you needn't do any oiling, cutting or whatever before you start- this erodes a big, daunting step.
Line a 12 muffin tin with foil cupcake cases (the paper ones don't insulate the cakes enough, unfortunately). If you have a double oven, it's best to bake the cupcakes in one and the cake in the other so you don't disturb the large cake as it cooks, but it's not the end of the world. My second oven doesn't accommodate the cupcakes, so I can say first-hand that it isn't an issue to cook both at once.
Crack the eggs into a large bowl and follow with the flour, sugar and butter and beat them all together with an electric mixer or a wooden spoon if you're feeling particularly athletic until completely smooth and light. Gradually fold in the fruits- when the mixture gets very tough, I use my hands to help incorporate the fruit.
Use two spoons to fill the cupcake cases, aim for about 1 heaped tablespoon of mixture per cupcake case and then use the rest of the mixture to fill the lined tin. Press 5 flaked almonds in a star like pattern on the surface of each cupcake. Cover the cupcake tin loosely with foil to insulate them.
Baking these cakes can be complicated. They take a long time for sure but they can vary greatly- I find the cupcakes take around 1 1/4 hours and the large cake around 2 1/2 hours but ovens can be so different. Either way the cakes should spring back with a light finger touch in the centre when cooked. After the cake's first hour, be sure to pop the folded bit of parchment on top.
When the big cake is done immediately whip off its parchment lid and wrap foil all around it, not worrying about crushing the bits of overgrowing paper, to trap steam and keep the top from drying as it cools. If you're using reusable parchment you don't want to crush and crease it so press foil right onto the surface of the cake within the silicon parchment crown.
When the cakes have completely cooled, take the cupcakes out of the tin and pop them, of course still in their case, into a storage tin. Unwrap the large cake and wrap it in parchment paper and then a layer of foil tightly. I just scrunch a piece of paper around the cake- I think we've done enough folding and snipping in one recipe, don't you? To feed the cake and cupcakes, make a few holes in the surface with a fine skewer or stick of uncooked spaghetti and spoon rum into them. I use about a teaspoon per cupcake. You can do this before you pack the cakes in their storage container and once every week or whenever you want until you decorate it for Christmas.

To decorate:
A jar of apricot jam
200g marzipan
250g fondant icing
Icing sugar to dust
or
Apricot jam
Assorted nuts, dried fruit, and glace fruit

My lot of cakes for this year are actually under a bed waiting for the icing, but these are the instructions I'll come to later.
To do the traditional icing, which I use for the big cake, use icing sugar like flour when you're making pastry and roll the marzipan then use the cake tin like a large cutter to make a circle the shape of the rum-soaked surface of the cake. Warm the apricot jam in a small saucepan and brush it all over the top of the cake. Place the marzipan over the top. Roll out the icing in the same way, using the cake tin as a cutter again, and then top this over the marzipan, brushing off any excess icing sugar. Use the excess to cut a Christmassy shape, such as a star or angel, and use a little water to stick this to the icing. If you wanted to cover the whole cake with icing, which is useful if you want to keep this cake iced for a long period before cutting and eating, roll the icing out fully, slip your arms underneath the sheet and drop it on top of the marzipan-topped cake and smooth it down with your hands. Cut off the excess before topping with shapes cut with the excess icing. If you wanted to ice the whole thing far before you would plan on cutting it, you need to leave the marzipan on top of the cake without the icing to dry for about a week or the brown oils of the fruit will seep into the icing and stain it. There's no need to do this if you ice the cake the night before you plan on bringing it festively to the family table, though. When decorating with just a round lid of icing you can wrap the sides of the cake with some Christmassy ribbon, as I have below. And I'd never want to forget my little trinkets that I stick to the top of the cake with a dab of water. And it's easiest to stick with water by dabbing a drop with your finger tip and gently rubbing which sort of melts a small area of icing and makes it sticky enough to work as glue.
For the alternative, brush the cake with apricot jam again and simply stick with fruits and nuts, either randomly like a jigsaw or in concentric circles and brush these with apricot jam to look shiny.
For the cupcakes, if I've pressed nuts onto the surface all I do is brush with apricot jam to make them look glossy, but you can play more if you like. Cut individual circles of marzipan and icing and top each one with one star, or play with some paste food dye and make holly berries and leaves. You could also do baby versions of the fruit and nut glaze.

Stink to High Heaven Pt.#2 (Natto with rice and spring onion)

You may think that taking taking over three months to make a second part to this generously two-parted series means I've pretty well abandoned the idea, but you'd be wrong. Well not entirely wrong; the century eggs I could do without, but I still love the gluey rice porridge to accompany them and I like to think I've dedicated my recipe of mottled eggs, a cross between Asian soy dyed eggs and the Jewish hamine eggs, to the fabulously bizarre appearance of the century eggs. The truth is in fact I've left it so long is because of being truly busy and the exhaustion of starting college. Most importantly too I should add, I wanted to be certain I really liked natto, the famously polarising dish of fermented soy beans, and after wolfing down three boxes of the enticingly named natto before writing, I can be certain that fermented slimy beans can make a convert of a sceptic.
Over here in the western world texture isn't as widely celebrated as in the East, and by widely I mean that if food doesn't have a jaw wrenching crunch it's not to be contemplated- there's very little appreciation for the other sides of the scale. In Japan, where these beans hale, there is a huge love for slimey foods, foods that slick over your tongue and leave trails of gooiness over your chin, and it's this quality of natto that draws me to it. The slime coating developed from when the soy beans ferment, form long, sticky strings that you have to tug and pull at with your chopsticks to get them in your mouth- I'm not exaggerating here, if you ate these beans near a fan you'd be clearing the trails of it for months. All I can say is that this wildly strange mouthfeel has to be experienced to be valued; you may find it repulsive, or you may find it addictive (like I do). A trick to help handle that sometimes troubling stickiness is to take a pile of beans, shovel them in and quickly roll your serving implement to tie off the strings so they don't entangle themselves all over your face, joyous though that can be.
However, texture is only half the bargain. I'm sure you all want to know how these taste. The beans are fermented and thus taste fermented, but it's in a lovely way like strong cheddar or powerful beer. They have muskiness and fungal qualities, along with a cheesey tang. The solid beans also give a starchiness that helps round off the slime's pungency. One thing I should mention however is don't expect to like these on their own; the packets of it you buy in individual serving containers almost always come with a sachet of hot mustard and soy sauce- use them! If you don't wish to do what the packet tells you, and I sympothise with all you punky extroverts, dab the beans with however much hot English mustard and tamari you want.
I have no recipe for these, I just have loose instructions of how to eat them. Firstly, buying- they almost always come frozen in Asian groceries, so keep them that way. Stash them in your freezer and make sure to take them out a good day before you wish to eat them They make an excellent lunch, but they are traditionally served for breakfast, due to their protein rich healthiness that helps the day begin in an invigorating way. I have to say, their potent taste wakes you up better than many cups of coffee.
Ensure the beans have thoroughly thawed and came to room temperature, then stick a pot of rice on. Rinse 1/2 a mug of long grain rice under cold water, then cover with 1 mug cold water. I always use my beloved rice cooker kindly given to me by a beloved Gabrielle for this as you need only switch the machine on and it keeps your rice perfect and hot for when you need. Otherwise, bring the rice and water to a boil in a saucepan, clamp on a lid, lower the heat and cook for 10-12 minutes. Leave to stand for at least 5 minutes before fluffing up with a fork and serving. If you wanted, you could make the rice when you take the natto out of the freezer at night, then reheat it to serve with the thawed beans in the morning. I love the rice hot, but NEVER heat the natto up or you'll be stuck with a fermented fug over your kitchen for days. To prep the beans, use a chopstick to vigorously stir the beans until they seem lighter and slimier, then stir in the seasoning. Tip the beans in a pile over a bowl of rice and top with some snipped spring onions. Some like to top with an egg yolk to mix the golden goo into the rice.
Don't sneer at the idea of eating stuff renowned for being a challenge to eat- not only does this taste great, but the vast health benefits light up your cells and your soul (that's if you have one).

Alexander Pavlova

Classics exist in all forms of art. In literature you have Pride and Prejudice or Of Mice and Men; in cinema you have the Godfather or Pulp Fiction and in art you have various splodges of majestic paints that I won't go into, mainly because my art teacher saw absolutely no flare in me whatsoever (not that flare existed with my literature or film studying). Nevertheless, they exist in home cooking too, and this billowing, iconic Aussie dessert is surely one of them (or at least in my book, or rather blog, it is, which is fitting given that this is my blog). It's because of the pavlova's timelessness that I don't feel apologetic for writing the recipe again. You should be grateful in any case, given that I'm posting a plethora of variations to adorn my (and yours, and hopefully everyone's) go-to original recipe and secondly because my first post was a mess. It's okay to criticise your own writing people, provided you pay back, and this is me paying back.
However it wasn't all my writing; the basic recipe I go to every time certainly deserves no criticism- I have to bow down to only the Australian food writer Stephanie Alexander without whom this post would be named simply 'Pavlova' and wouldn't be nearly as good.
Back in the old days where I lacked the skills of proofreading, I attributed the name Alexander to my pavlova withal because of a bulky friend of mine called Alex, who's tanned skin and rugged form reminded me of the meringue's. He's only got bulkier since.

This is the classic Pavlova recipe I always turn to, and it's what I consider my Summer variety and I would top it with tropical fruits accordingly. For more info on toppings and whatnot, see variations below.

4 egg whites *almost always these come from when I use egg yolks in a recipe and I've then emptied out the whites into plastic tubs and froze them. I should note that this can get excessive and obsessive if you're a neurotic waste-averse person like me. When my freezer got too stuffed with them at one point I had to start emptying egg whites straight into the sink but these days I need to restock, so have continued the practice of freezing of them. Remember to label the tubs too, or you'll have no idea how many whites you have in a bag. Generally, I go for two per bag*
250g caster sugar
Pinch salt
2 tsp cornflour
1 tsp white wine vinegar
1/2 tsp vanilla extract

For the topping:
500ml double cream
Fruit of your choice (again see below)

Preheat your oven to 180○C. Line a baking sheet with enough parchment to cover it snugly.
If you have the cut side of a lemon lingering about in your fridge, wipe around the inside of your mixing bowl (which ideally should be metal) to kill any grease. If you're lemonless then use a tiny dab of white wine vinegar on some kitchen paper. Using an electric whisk whip the egg whites to soft peaks, then gradually add your sugar about 1 tbsp at a time until the sugar reaches a small enough mound to pour it in gently, until the meringue reaches firm peaks (or as firm as you're gonna get, it depends on the egg whites, how long they've been kept frozen and how clean your hands were when you separated them). Sprinkle the cornflour and vinegar on top of the meringue then fold it in, no need to be hyperbolically gentle or fold it within and inch of the mixture's life.
Use the messy whisk to dab corners on the baking sheet to stick the parchment down, then tumble the meringue on top. Use a spatula, which is also the best tool for folding the meringue together, to smooth the top. Since you're going to (yes you are) be inverting this pavlova it's best to have the top as flat as possible and the sides fairly angular.
Place in the oven then immediately reduce the temperature to 150 for 30 minutes, then reduce further to 120 for the final 45 minutes, but do check slightly shy of there. If the meringue is undercooked it will be far too crumbly and if it's overcooked it will be too dark and secretes syrupy gel from its belly. Turn the oven off and leave the meringue to cool completely in there, though if the meringue is overcooked you will of course need to remove it from the oven immediately. The base from this point, can be done ahead and even left to cool in the oven itself overnight.
Invert the pavlova onto a cake stand or large plate. However if you find the pavlova much too crumbly for this transfer, pile the cream directly on the top of the pavlova on the tin (it's not the end of the world.) Whip the cream to very, very soft peaks and let it ooze creamily over the top of the pavlova. If you've kept it soft enough you should scarcely need to spread it, it will swathe itself. Top exuberantly with your chosen fruit and it's ready to serve. You can top the pavlova in advance easily but the fruit begins to wheep a little as it stands; plus if you're serving this at a party it can be nice to escape the buzz for a moment for a little quiet assembly.

Variations:
My usual fruit I go for to top the pavlova is passion fruit. Use about 4 fruits that are nice and wrinkly and ripe, cut in half then disembowell them all over the cream. Fruits with decent tang are best for pavlova to cut through the sweetness of the marshmallowy base, such as pomegranate, pineapple chunks, good sour clementines or red and black currants. Whilst I generally eschew a fruit salad atop a pavlova, I love my peach and lychee pavlova which involves draining a tin of peach slices, arranging them on the cream then tearing up the flesh of about 10-15 peeled fresh or canned lychees over them. These two fruits can be a little too sweet, especially out of a can, so consider squeezing the juice of 1/2 a lime over them.
Those variations I all consider my summery ones, though my peach and lychee version has a surprising Christmassiness and its canned fruits overcome any seasonal issues, but for later on I have a more wintry berry pavlova. That involves replacing 100g of the caster sugar with light muscovado sugar, using red wine vinegar in place of white and sprinkling 2 tsp cinnamon along with the cornflour in the base. For the fruit topping use 500g frozen summer fruits, combine with 3 tbsp granulated sugar in a pan, bring to a boil then simmer until the sugar dissolves and the red juices leave a line when one is drawn with your finger on the back of the wooden spoon. Leave to cool then stir in 150g raspberries or strawberries and 2-3 tbsp creme de cassis, sloe gin, chambord or any other suitable liqueur. When entirely cold, tumble the berry compote over the cream-duveted pavlova.
Pavlova can be a gratifying way of using any number of leftover egg whites, in which case use 60g sugar per egg white and use mild logic with the cornflour, vinegar and vanilla. For example If you have 5 egg whites, 2 tsp cornflour will be fine, but if you have 8 egg whites double the quantities of everything else, and if you have just 2, don't bother to make a pavlova.
This ratio works too with regular meringues, again just use 60g caster sugar per egg white, omit the cornflour and vinegar but keep the vanilla and pipe rounds of whatever size onto a lined baking sheet. Bake for 45 minutes to an hour at an oven that is just 140○C but don't leave them to cool in the oven, remove them once they're cooked to keep their shape as well as possible- for meringues this is more important than chewiness in the centre. These make a fabulously simple dessert with some whipped cream and berries- you could go in for the compote that goes over the wintry pavlova.

Stink to High Heaven Pt.#1 (Congee with Century Egg)

It's always been true with food that the ones that exude the most repugnant stench yield the best flavour. This is why I have named this two part series, unsubtly, 'Stink to High Heaven' . The case holds true for an array of foods namely strong nutty or blue cheese, garlic (as vampires well know), or onions; here however, I may have crossed the line between brave and insane.
I could have done this series about the simpler foods named above but I'm afraid I am and always have been attracted to the bizarre spectrum of life, and thus I've made this series about two Asian delicacies renowned for their pungent odour and polarising flavour.- 'natto' and today the 'century egg'
Whether you call this food preserved egg, millennium egg or simply a bad idea, the long story short is that it is a preserved egg. It's certainly not preserved for the length of time advertised, more like a few weeks or a month; but it's certainly long enough to put the egg through a striking metamorphosis. A duck, chicken or occasionally a quail's egg is packed in a mixture of soil and lye until the egg undergoes a chemical reaction- the culprit is the alkaline salts in the lye which work like gremlins to turn the clear egg white into a cola-coloured jelly and the yolk into a grey/green custard, almost interstellar in appearance. The look is vibrant and slightly unsettling but it does possess a strange beauty- the egg's surface crackles with a pale snowflake pattern that arises from the preservation process, and I see a bit of the ugly duckling complex with the egg, naturally.
But looks aren't everything. In terms of taste, the foremost flavour is definitely egg. It's surprisingly mild; much like the dragon fruit its vivid appearance doesn't translate into strong flavour. It has an ammonia, strong cheese vibe to it which I happen to relish (though I'm sure many would disagree). One thing I should say is that the century egg lets you know what some people find so repulsive about regular hard boiled eggs.
Many eat the egg as a challenge by simply biting into it whole, but that's definitely not the idea. Alone, the egg has few merits but when it's softened and complimented by other flavours, it shows that the egg can be delicious and not just some culinary quirk. The only way I've come across it being eaten is in a rice porridge; very light, very soothing and perfect for the slightly harsh notes of the egg. It's incredibly simple to make- you simply overcook rice until it melts into a thick, silky porridge.

100g pudding rice or other short grain white rice
750ml hot chicken/vegetable stock
Soy sauce, to taste
White pepper, to taste
Dash of sesame oil
Chopped spring onion and 1 century egg

In a sieve under running cold water wash the rice until the water more or less runs clear. Place it in a saucepan and cover with the stock then give a good stir and clamp on the lid to help the mixture boil faster. Once it comes to a boil turn the heat down very low and simmer for 1+1/2-2 hours, until the rice has broken down into a thick porridge. Frequent stirring is necessary to prevent catching and achieve a velvety texture. Season with light soy sauce (or just regular salt if preferred) to taste.
Crack the egg gently on a worktop and peel it. The inner papery membrane is spotted with dark freckles. Chop the egg into small pieces and use it to top each bowl of porridge (this serves 2). Scrunch over some pepper, sprinkle with spring onions and drizzle over some sesame oil. If you can get over the bizarre appearance of the egg, every mouthful will be delicious. Will I make this again? Most definitely, not least because I have 5 more eggs to eat up!

Rye Sourdough

Making homemade sourdough is macho enough, but I don't think you can get moreso than with rye sourdough. And I'm not the sort of bloke who can feel macho very often.

One of my first posts since I revamped this blog was about sourdough; I was in a fever of excitement about it after I entered (and lost) a competition to bake one. The rush of getting a sourdough loaf right is unparalleled in the kitchen. When I wrote the entry I tried to cover as much going wrong as possible in quite a scary, though methodical, troubleshooting list, a principle of which was recommending not to start off with sourdough until you've got a feel for regular, yeast risen bread. I wouldn't say that looking back- though it is true that sourdough is marginally harder to make than regular dough and it requires a lot more planning- what I would say is that the thing that will truly ensure your bread is a failure is if you go into this concerned and apprehensive and feeling like you will go wrong. Cooking picks up on worry and as in life, willing something to go wrong means it probably will. So go ahead with this in full confidence and faith (not in something flimsy like my writing of this, but in the bread and the yeast that's always in the air that allows this to rise). The bread baking instinct is in everyone.

Before you make this you will need to have procured a regular sourdough starter and from that a rye sourdough starter. The instructions are as follows, and I don't offer measurements here, because you don't need them. To make regular starter combine strong white bread flour with water by which I always mean cold tap water, in a large-ish jar and beat well to expel lumps. The consistency should be between a crepe batter and sponge mixture, or failing that slightly thicker than unwhipped double cream. Then just leave it, with the lid partially on for a night. The following morning tip out half the mixture then add a little more flour and water to get it to the same consistency. Leave it again. The next morning it should probably have started fizzing up a bit and will smell a little tart; again, tip out half and refresh, and leave again. By the following morning the starter should have definitely got going and its fizz should increase its volume by about 1 1/2 times, and it will have created a film of grey liquid- this is alcohol, a product of the yeast respiring. You can tap this off or mix it in; some claim it adds more complexity of flavour. If it hasn't, repeat the process again.

You may as well turn this into rye starter now- scoop out a good 2 tablespoons of starter into a separate jar with a lid and add water and strong rye flour until it reaches the same consistency as your regular sourdough. Leave this overnight by which time it should be fully active as the starter that this was based on was already active, and have increased in volume a lot. See below to turn this into bread.

To keep these starters it's too labour intensive to have them at room temperature so you must keep them in the fridge. This is technically called retarding, and to aid this slowing down of the bacteria have the starters really thick, as thick as cement with more flour (regular strong white flour for regular starter, and more rye for rye starter). Once in the fridge you only need to refresh them once every few weeks, and I find I often use regular flour to refresh the rye starter to save the more expensive rye flour. If you want to bake with them however, you can't use them straight from the fridge. I take them out the night before, but a few hours would be fine as long as they do come to room temperature. I also refresh the starter and dilute it as I take it out of the fridge which helps it combine into a bread dough more easily.

To bake your rye bread, this is how to do it:

70g rye sourdough starter

250g strong white bread flour 

250g strong rye flour 

350g water (it's often easier to weigh water though it is exactly the same in ml, and you have to be flexible with the amount anyway)

2 flat tsp table salt (or 1 dessertspoon if you still have one)

1 tbsp molasses or black treacle

3 tsp caraway seed (completely optional)
100g rye flakes, plus more to sprinkle, toasted (also completely optional)

Combine the flour, salt and caraway seeds together in a large mixing bowl, then incorporate the starter and water and molasses (it's useful to dip the measuring spoon in the water to help the viscous treacle slip off the spoon). The best tool for this is your hands. I find it best to have the dough mixed together fully in the bowl to clean the bowl a little and have it coated in a little flour before you start kneading, but by all means tip the runny mass straight onto the floured worktop if you wish. Once the dough's come together and is fairly sticky (it will absorb more flour as you knead) tip it onto a floured worktop (flour it with the white flour) and begin kneading. Due to the relative heaviness of rye this will never knead elastic, so you only have to pummel and stretch the dough for about 4 minutes. Use a scraper or palette knife to help remove stuck bits of dough from the worktop. Once the dough feels a bit smoother and taughter, oil it and place it back into its mixing bowl. This will have a slow overnight prove so to help prevent the dense dough from drying, spread a film of oil over the surface. Cover with clingfilm and leave to prove overnight at room temperature.

By the morning, and you don't need to get up at dawn, the dough should have slightly less than doubled in size. If it hasn't, pummel the dough and leave it for the rest of the day, and it should rise then. This happens. If there's still no activity, discard it, and try again at a later date- the starter may have been unready for use but don't be afraid of this happening- this is just a precautionary warning.

If you don't have time in the morning to do this, put the dough in the fridge until you get back in the afternoon to stop the dough overproving.

 Tip the dough out gently onto a lightly floured surface and don't knock it back. You're aiming to keep some of the air bubbles from its prove. To give it some surface tension flatten it slightly and pull the sides into the middle to create a seam. Keep redoing this gently until the dough's got some good tension and doesn't flop all over the place. To prove it again either dump it on a greased baking sheet and cover with clingfilm, or to give it a really good roundedness line a large bowl with a tea towel and flour it well. Place the dough in the centre of the bowl and turn the corners of the tea towel to cover the dough. 

Leave to prove for a few hours until roughly doubled again. Very gently tip the risen dough onto a greased baking sheet and take off the tea towel. Using a lame or a really sharp, thin knife, score a pattern on the dough. To give it a good crust, or at least a more emphatic crust, brush with water and optionally sprinkle more caraway seeds on top.

Bake in a preheated 170 degrees Celsius oven until when you rap the base it sounds hollow. If it's a little flat don't worry, it will taste wonderful and it's homemade- these things don't matter at home! They only matter if you make the ill decision to enter it in a competition. 

Fried chicken and sufferin' succotash

I've done a recipe for fried chicken before, but I wanted something a bit closer to the original, that's to say closer to the way the glorious cooks of the Deep South fry chicken, and less ripped off Nigella Bites, to be frank. Nevertheless, the issue of cooking the chicken all the way through whilst still having an Uber crunchy coating remains, and the solution I have here is thoroughly foolproof (this is coming from a fool so you gotta believe me). I use brown meat here because it's the best, but if you wanted a mixture then get a chicken jointed by a butcher (or do it yourself if you're very brave) and do exactly the same as you would with just 6 pieces from separate chickens, as this recipe follows. Bare in mind that a jointed chicken gives you 8 pieces, so you may need a bit more milk in the marinade and a bit more flour to coat.
The succotash recipe I've kept because it makes a fabulous accompaniment to the chicken which must be eaten between fingers I'm afraid, although a fork's probably best to deal with the succotash. The name refers to my endearing love of Looney Tunes, and yelling sufferin' succotash is the character Sylvester the Cat's coping strategy for dealing with trouble; not that you need to add the sufferin' part- succotash is a gratifying word as is. The dish itself is a rib-sticking mix of broad beans (Lima beans) and sweetcorn that gave victims of the great depression a cheap source of protein, but as is often in food, the poor culture's dishes are still cooked today because they are so very very good. While I feel the succotash is a good and filling enough accompaniment (and it's not as if you're gonna be struggling to make up daily calories with this) I know plenty of people that couldn't have this without chips. It's perfectly doable, just cook the chips in oil before cooking the breaded chicken, taking them out before they get too brown (as they'll continue to cook while they keep warm in the oven) and leaving them on a tin lined with parchment paper to go in the oven that's hot for the chicken's second cooking stage. Then just use the chip oil to fry the chicken and continue as follows.
I'm not even going to broach this with the health issue- if you're looking for diet food I can't see any reason to be reading a post about fried chicken.

6 chicken pieces, on the bone and skin on (think thigh and drumstick)
250ml buttermilk
125ml ordinary milk (whatever you've got in the house)
1 tbsp coarse salt
2 tsp tabasco or other viciously hot sauce
4 cloves crushed or minced garlic
1 small onion, peeled and roughly chopped

2 eggs
300g plain flour
1 1/2 tsp table salt
2 tsp smoked paprika
2 tsp dried sage (or 1 tbsp finely chopped fresh sage)
2 tsp ground black pepper

Vegetable oil or a block of solid cooking fat, such as Crisp'n'Dry (I often use this and dilute it with the regular oil) for frying
Grains of uncooked rice for testing

For the succotash:
1 tbsp cooking oil
1 onion, diced
2 red bell peppers, diced
2 cloves crushed garlic
1 finely chopped red chilli (or 1/4 tsp dried)
2 tsp dried sage (or 1 tbsp finely chopped fresh)
250g frozen broad beans or frozen edemame beans
250g frozen sweetcorn kernels  (of course you can use tinned)
Fresh thyme flowers

In a freezer bag, mix the buttermilk, milk, hot sauce, garlic and salt together and then lower the chicken pieces in and leave to marinate overnight. I leave the bag in a dish or the box the chicken came in for support and to dispel leaking risk.
When marinated, combine the flour and its seasonings together in a separate dish or plastic bag. Take 125ml/half a cup of the buttermilk marinade and whisk this into the two eggs. It might seem a faff to make more dipping liquid, but the eggs make the coating crispier.
Remove the chicken pieces from their marinade and drip off as much excess as you can. Dip each chicken piece into the flour mixture then into the eggs, then finally into the flour again. Make sure you really pack the last breading layer onto the surface well, and if you rub your hands together to loosen the clumpy bits on your fingers you can pack these onto the coating too. Finally, transfer the chicken pieces onto a rack over top an oven tray to dry.
You really do need to leave the chicken on the rack for the coating to dry out for at least 10 minutes, so this leaves you plenty of time to get on with the succotash.
Heat the oil in a saute pan then add the onion and peppers. Cook until very soft then add the garlic, chilli and sage. Cook for a few minutes more then add your vegetables  (it's useful to run these under a hot tap just to dispel any ice). Cook until everything is hot and the beans tender, about 6 minutes. Leave with a lid on to stay warm.
Preheat the oven to 220 degrees Celsius, 200 degrees fan.
Heat up a pig skillet full of oil or a block of sold cooking fat in a big solid pan and heat until a grain of rice bubbles and browns within 10 seconds, then add your chicken pieces. The oil really must be searing to make that crust as crispy as possible. Only put in 3 at a time so the oil stays hot. Cook until they have a really dark gold crispy skin, about 3-5 minutes either side should do then return to the wire rack to let oil drip off. Because the chicken is undercooked both before and after touching the rack there's no need to worry about cross contamination. When all the other chicken pieces are fried, slide the chicken on its rack over its baking tray into the oven and continue to cook until the chicken is no longer pink, 15-20 minutes should do.

Fougasse

I've got a recipe for fougasse already, it was posted about a year ago but this isn't a reiteration, it's the real thing. I reread my recipe, including the strange combo of rosemary and parmesan, and not only was the bread merely white bread cut into a leaf shape, I didn't actually mention anywhere adding the titular rosemary or parmesan.
A real fougasse is a grainy and strongly flavoured concoction from sun-scorched south of France- they really are keen on bread shaped like plants down there (take Pain D'epi, a stick of white bread cut into a stalk of wheat) and this particular loaf is cut into a huge leaf. Well at least it should be; my version is cut into a clumsy bulbous tropical variety, and this could be construed as not a fougasse as I don't make holes that join at the edge, but that's okay, because it's homemade.
The key to such a flavoursome and well-keeping crust is in the sponge, or poolish as the French call it. Consider this a pre-ferment that you need to start long before the first prove; I just make it up the night before and let it bubble up in the fridge overnight. The longer you leave it, the better the flavour and longer the bread will last before staling.
Before you consider making this, I strongly recommend you invest in a scraper- they're cheap as chips and a plastic one is fine, although I have a metal one. They're invaluable in kneading the sticky dough and cutting the attractive leaf shape. This advice and inspiration for this recipe came by youtube's The Bread Kitchen, and I'm very grateful for it.

For the sponge/poolish: 150g strong white bread flour (this is a rough cup measure if you're that way inclined)
200ml water (cold tap water is fine)
1 x 7g sachet active dried yeast

500ml water
10g table salt
500g strong white bread flour
150g Rye flour (or use another 150g bread flour if preferred)
200g mixed marinated olives (you can buy them like this, but otherwise you could buy regular olives and marinate them in extra virgin olive oil and some herbs of your choice)
1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

Prepare the sponge the night before, or at least 2 hours before mixing the rest of the dough. Mix all the ingredients together well then cover with lightly oiled clingfilm and leave to prove in the fridge overnight, or at room temperature for the 2 hours. When it's ready it will be hugely bubbled up with intricate webs and tunnels, rather like a bread beehive. Without the bother of letting the poolish come back to room temperature, stir in the 500ml water until relatively smooth (hands are a great tool) and then add the salt and flours and mix until all flour is absorbed and you have an incredibly sticky dough. Generously flour the work surface and begin kneading this monster. Your best ally is your scraper, use it to scrape the dough from the surface and gather the dough together and keep kneading until it gets really stretchy and smooth. Bare in mind it will seem that the dough isn't smooth, but the straggly bits are an illusion created by the dough sticking to your hands. Every now and then, leave the dough on a film of flour and wipe your hands clean, that way you can feel that the dough is becoming smoother and not just a mess. A great kneading technique here is the slap and roll: slap the dough down aggressively onto the worktop then fold it over itself, and use the two ends that you hold on to to slap the dough again and repeat. After about 10 minutes, the dough should be ready.
Carefully knead and fold in your olives, they will get properly incorporated (trust me), then oil the mixing bowl and dough and leave to prove for a good 2 hours. The rye, the olives and the fact that the dough is built upon a sponge means that this takes a bit longer than normal bread to rise. Once the dough has doubled in size, punch and pummel it down and turn it out onto a well floured worktop. This makes two loaves, but you could stretch this to three easily. Divide the dough accordingly then transfer each lump to its floured baking sheet. Using a rolling pin or just your hands, flatten it really well to about an inch thickness  (no rulers please). Using your scraper again, cut a great central furrow and open it up and then on each side cut open more holes, until you end up with a big palm leaf shape. Repeat for the other loaf.
Wrap the two up in oiled clingfilm and leave to prove for another 40 minutes.
Preheat your oven to 200 degrees fan then place your two loaves in and bake for about 20 minutes, until golden and makes a hollow sound when rapped. Brush the loaves with the olive oil and then leave them to cool. If you have any hooks in your kitchen, hang them proudly up.