I decided to make some Eccles cakes today, which were an unmitigated disaster from start to finish. They had so much promise and everything smelled lovely.
Briefly, at least.
Every recipe I found, for starters, urged me to make my own puff pastry. Life is way too short for that shit. I don’t have time to be freezing butter for twenty-four hours prior to pastry making and doing whatever else I’m supposed to do. So I bought some. That was the best bit.
After that everything went downhill faster than a sledge made of oil.
So I was supposed to cut out rounds about 12cm in diameter. I didn’t have anything that size, so I went smaller. But, I reasoned, I would just put less filling in. Which I did. And then I had to seal them up as shown in the pictures which did not accompany my recipe. But I can work it out. And it worked well. I made round shapes, at least. I got cross with some of them, and – naturally – despite keeping the house just above freezing for the entire day, I was too pissing warm to be handling the pastry too much without it going to shit.
But I stuck with it.
I made them. I filled them. I squished them into the shapes. I cut the slits. I glazed them.
I put them in the oven, at the temperature prescribed by the recipe.
In the comments, someone had complained the temperature was completely wrong and that after the cooking time he had raw pastry still.
I cooked mine.
All of them.
Not a decent one among them.
I tried one.
It was nasty.
I had stomach ache for the rest of the day.
Whether the two things are connected or not remains a mystery.
Still, it got rid of some of the huge currant mountain that still exists in our cupboards…
Only just under 2kg to go…