You can't beat nurture

I often think how funny it is that things you hated as a child turn out to be things you cherish as an adult. Like going to tea shops that serve cream horns. For me, one particularly hated activity that rolled around every year was picking blackberries on Hackney marshes.
My parents were obsessed with it. Every bloody Autumn off we'd go, walking across disused railway lines (which of course I was terrified weren't actually disused), to scratch ourselves senseless picking fruit I didn't even like. Mum would spend ages turning it into a sort of compote in the freezer, which then I'd have to tolerate ruining perfectly good ice cream.
Now, however, I'd walk a long way for a bountiful patch of brambles and like nothing more than having pink-stained figures as a badge of honour. What I like most though is the satisfaction of urban foraging and producing something delicious which was essentially free.
This time of year is elderflower season, and Peckham Rye seems to be full of huge swathes of creamy flowers, itching to be made into something good. The floral sweetness of elderflower is absolutely one of my favourite tastes - it is absolutely a gentle English summer. After the Great Cordial Disaster of 2011, I've been afeared of bottling it, but, having also had a batch of my mum's rhubarb needing to be eaten, thought I'd transform it into a rhubarb and elderflower jam.
The method was a bit odd - wrap the elderflowers in a muslin and place in a bowl, chop up the rhubarb and layer on top, add the sugar. Now I had twice as many elderflowers as the recipe said, because I like it and couldn't believe the flavour would infuse otherwise. I also didn't have any muslin so used a clean popsock (which is what I always use for marmalade too). I ignored the instructions to give it a toss every 12 hours for 2 days and just left it, covered for about a week. Tbh, I was expecting some kind of mouldy fruit hell when I took the foil off but the sugar had transformed into an elderflower infused syrup in which the rhubarb chunks seemed to be bobbing away fairly happily.
So, I tipped the whole lot into a pan, simmered until the fruit was soft (not including the elderflower), then ramped up the heat to a roiling boil until it set (a soft set, it has to be said).
Generally, I'm not one to boast, but it is pretty much the nicest jam I've ever tasted - an undercurrent of sharp rhubarb but a bright, floral flavour that makes your mouth feel fairly happy. I plan to swirl some through a vanilla sponge before baking, and I can't help but think it would be pretty awesome on a scone, topped with a big dollop of clotted cream.
So, my pantry (well, shelf in my garage) is all the richer and I won't be sharing it with anyone, because I love it so much.

Hurrah for elderflowers I say.

With love
GG

Let them eat cake

As befits a bit of an old-school leftie, I'm not a huge fan of the monarchy, apart from Harry, who I would make an exception for, if he ever found himself at a loose end in Peckham. And knowing he likes a smoke (or used to at least), that might well come to pass.

That said, what I do love is a bit of old-school Britishness, which for some reason, in the past, we have been a bit shy of doing, as if waving a flag and being a bit pleased with ourselves is something that funny old Johnny Foreigner would do but is a bit swank, and we don't do it. Now that is patently nonsense of course and the last few years has seen a bit of a resurgence in Brit-chic, albeit viewed through Cath Kidston-tinted spectacles. I bow to no-one in my love of a vision of Britain which includes the following: going to the seaside in the winter/rain, the National Trust, ice cream, bunting, Fortnum & Mason, egg and spoon races, afternoon tea, a curry, hot concrete around an inner-city lido.

The last day of work before the Jubilee weekend was obviously one of high spirits. We also had a birthday to celebrate, which happened to be the colleague who buys the cakes for everyone else and who is a sugarcraft whizz, so I volunteered to knock up a cake. Generally, for all that I love a fancy-schmancy choco-peanut-mallow confection that is simply diabtes waiting to happen, a sunny (ha!) bank holiday Jubilee weekend meant there really was only one option -a lovely Vicky Sponge, or as I shall refer to it from now on, a Lizzy Sponge. As it happens, I am a bit of a master of the Lizzy Sponge and fancied showing off a bit so that was a bit of luck.

I used the classic proportions - 4 eggs, 200g of everything else. My method was less classic - shove it all in the Kitchenaid before even taking coat off after work, beat like fury until it looks right, shove in oven. Done.

I did the assembling at work to avoid any slippage - strawberry jam and whipped cream in the middle, dusted with vanilla icing sugar and decorated with fresh strawberries and a little flag. My colleague Mazz made a white chocolate and macadamia cake, which was was light, creamy and a good partner to the Lizzy sponge. My husband is a bit annoyed that he didn't get to try it but I've made him an elderflower drizzle cake by way of compensation (more on that another time) and, anyway, he shouldnt be eating cake before his Norway bike ride, so I was actually doing him a favour.

So, in conclusion, any British celebration would be made better by a Lizzy sponge. And anyone who disagrees is just doolally.

In Britishness,

GG