With all this talk of Elizabeth Sponge and whatnot, I would like to reassert the place of the magnificent gingerbread in the home kitchen repertoire.
Gingerbread is the one they make cottages out of (they, not I – I’ve tried. Mine fall apart. The glorious James Morton solved this problem a number of seasons ago on the Great British Bake Off by creating a rustic old gingerbread barn, held together with boiled sugar strands. Pure genius).
Gingerbread is the cottage where abides an allegedly evil old witch, watching out to lure your innocent children into her hot oven. (Although there are some great new adaptations of this story featuring a poor, starving old granny and two precocious little brats…) and a wonderful illustrated tale by Simon Armitage, entitled ‘Hansel and Gretel: A Nightmare in Eight Scenes’.
Gingerbread is pure Charles Dickens, hot, sweet and spicy to warm the fingers and tummies of the little workhouse orphans. Tuppence iced, penny plain.
And best of all, it’s easy to make. I have several recipes and they all taste great. As for the way they look – well, I invented the Jackson Pollock look (above) quite by accident last week to hand in to my former colleagues (ahem – I’ve retired from distillery tour guiding) and I haven’t heard of any fatalities.
Yesterday I tried a recipe from a new book, ‘Oats in the North, Wheat in the South’ by Regula Ysewijn. Yet another cookery book? This one enticed me because it’s full of historic recipes with a bit of context. From three or four gingerbread recipes, I chose one that would make little buns as a change from something you have to slice. It’s an 18th century recipe, quite intriguing. Even better, the instructions start with the magic words, ‘prepare the day before’. So on Tuesday, all I had to do was a bit of weighing and melting and mixing. It got left in the fridge overnight and by yesterday morning had taken on a lovely plasticine consistency, perfect for moulding into little balls. The fragrance is amazing – ginger of course, but threaded through with caraway and coriander and cloves. (They look a bit like a sweetie shop confection of my youth – Lucky Tatties – I suppose you could recreate that effect by burying a plastic toy inside but you might choke a child.)
In the hand, they’re quite heavy and on the outside, they’re firm and a little glossy. In the middle, though, they’re soft and chewy. One is barely enough.
A Drawerful of Porridge 
I share your love for gingerbread Helen and used to make batches regularly as Christmas gifts for neighbours. (Now experimenting with gingerbread biscuits in various shapes though my decorative icing needs much more practice). I agree that they’re easy to make but I really don’t like the measuring out of treacle and syrup which I find a bit messy. I like adding chopped ginger, from a jar in syrup (not crystallised) or chopped fresh pears which work well too.
Have you tried the famous Grasmere -or anywhere else in the Lake District- gingerbread? Long time since I’ve been there but I do remember it being very different from the cake type and more like a hard biscuit. I prefer the cake type version.
I will try the gingerbread balls you show too which presumably have a different consistency as my cake type is like a batter which couldn’t be shaped.
I didn’t know you had stopped distillery guiding but no doubt you’re still very busy writing among lots of other activities. x
Hi Johan, chopped fresh pears sounds like a great addition. Yes I’ve tried Grasmere Gingerbread – there’s a recipe for it in this last book I mentioned – I quite like it, but it’s different – reminds me (in consistency and geographical origins) of Kendal Mint Cake! The mixture for these little balls would be too loose and batterlike except that you store it in the fridge overnight – eh voila – plasticine! Of a very tasty nature.