Thursday, 26 July 2012

Homemade Pizza (on the Barbecue)

Now, I'll put my hand up and sheepishly admit that the barbecuing was my idea. It just seemed like such a good one - simulating the intense heat and smoky flavour of a wood-fired oven, outside on a balmy evening rather than inside in a sweltering kitchen. And although none of my favourite chefs really seemed to recommend barbecuing pizza (which should have rung alarm bells, frankly) I just blithely assumed it would work out fine and pressed on regardless.

The first attempt was, not to put too fine a point on it, a bit ropey. We were starving, the barbecue was hotter than the sun, the dough burned almost immediately, it was practically impossible to turn and then, incredibly stressed and singed, our attempts to load up the base with toppings were thwarted by leaping flames. When we eventually managed to lever the pizza off the barbecue tray and onto a plate, half our slices of tomato fell onto the coals as offerings to the fire gods, the cheese was barely melted, and the bottom of the base was charcoal. But for all that, the pizza was still remarkably delicious. This theory clearly had potential - flame-grilled, puffy-doughed potential. We just needed to refine our system.

The second attempt worked out a lot better. For a start, we slid the rolled out dough onto a robust wooden board which meant we could shimmy it onto the  actual grill without too much trauma (rather than carrying it in our hands, as we had done before). We left it on for a few minutes to cook the underside - admittedly, with some singeing, but a lot better than last time - then pulled it back onto the board, turned it over, and arranged all the toppings onto it on the board, off the heat. Carefully sliding the fully-laden dough back onto the grill, we covered the barbecue and left it for a couple of minutes - avoiding the leaping flames and the boiling hot forearms. Already, it was a lot less stressful.

And the results? Well, as you can see, it really did look like pizza. The dough was puffy and crisp, the toppings were oozy and we felt like we'd tamed the barbecue beast. But the killer question - would we cook it on the barbie again? It's a nice idea...but I'm not sure. To be honest, although the smokiness and charring was delicious, it was also much more difficult than just using a baking tray and an oven. Plus, unless we had some kind of professional pizza-shaped spatula (what are those things called?), we still ended up losing too many of the fillings between the grill bars. That was delicious deli-bought buffalo mozzarella, after all - I didn't want it to end up anywhere but in my belly.

But nothing ventured, nothing gained, and I still see plenty of pizza in our summer plan. After all, even if we cook it in the oven, there's no law against eating it outside, is there? 

Homemade Pizza (on the Barbecue)
Dough and sauce recipes adapted from Jamie At Home
NB: both these recipes make far more than you'll need for 2 pizzas, but they both freeze well.

Pizza dough
- 1kg strong white bread flour or tipo 00 flour
- 1 level teaspoon of salt
- 2 x 7g sachets of dried yeast
- 1 tablespoon of golden caster sugar
- 4 tablespoons of olive oil
- 650ml lukewarm water

Tip the flour and salt into a big bowl or your mixer, and combine the yeast, sugar, olive oil
and water in a jug. Leave for a few minutes, then pour into the dry ingredients. Knead it together (ahem, dough hook on Kitchen Aid) until the dough is smooth and springy. Then sprinkle flour on top of it and leave, covered with a damp cloth, for about an hour or until it's doubled in size.

After that time (or when you're too hungry to wait any longer), press the dough down with your hands, then divide into six balls. Each one should roll out into one dinner-sized pizza. The rest can be wrapped in clingfilm and kept in the fridge or freezer. 

Tomato sauce 
- 4 cloves of garlic, peeled and sliced
- 3 tins of tomatoes
- salt, pepper and olive oil
- a bunch of fresh basil or oregano, depending on what you have
- wee splash of balsamic vinegar for sweetness

Pour a reasonable glug of olive oil into a large saucepan and add the garlic. Once it begins to colour lightly, add the tomatoes, vinegar and herbs, season, and let it simmer until it's the sort of thickness you can imagine spreading on pizza. Jamie Oliver says to sieve it but honestly, who can be faffed?

Toppings - basically, any you like

Our first pizza (stressful, burned, no time for the camera, argh we're dropping it, hmm still quite tasty) just had slices of beef tomato, extra basil and some buffalo mozzarella.

The second (the one you can see here) was crumbled sausage, beet greens and onion, with more mozzarella and a bit of cheddar on top. We pre-cooked the sausages and vegetables, just frying them up in a large saucepan, which was just as well considering how quickly the pizzas cooked on the barbie. Raw sausage would not have been a good look. 

Tuesday, 24 July 2012

Spicy, Creamy Sausage and Broccoli Pasta

Someone wrote a really lovely comment on the blog the other day. A stranger called Suzanne, reading my Wedding Cake post, asked for any extra tips about making your own wedding cake (which clearly I had in abundance, opinions not being in short supply around here). But she also said some very nice things about the blog, and the recipes, and mentioned that she was going to make my courgette and spinach pasta that night (incidentally, Suzanne, thanks for the idea - now, so are we!). And although it wasn't the first comment I've received, by any means, I couldn't stop thinking and grinning about it afterwards. 

You see, it's a funny business, this whole comment thing. Every single one I receive is thrilling and flattering and absolutely makes my day. But it's also a bit of a shock because I can never quite get my head around the fact that other people read this. In my head, this blog is an unholy hybrid of teenage diary and efficient, portable recipe book - the equivalent of the blotched, crumpled scrapbook with doodlings in the margin and agonised teenage ramblings in the back, flapping pages covered in transliterations from your mum and bits ripped out of magazines. With the added advantage that I can check what ingredients I need when I'm out and about, and remember which recipes worked and which were real stinkers. Incredibly useful for me, obviously, but of negligible interest to anyone else. 

Yet every day, about 300 people - people I've never even met, nor will do - come to this blotched, scribbled notebook and read what I write. Sometimes more. Isn't that ridiculous? Can you believe it? I certainly can't. And they can't all be my mum, or my husband - nor confused web searchers looking for "the most I'm allowed" (nope, no idea, but 13 people have come to me that way this week). Some are here on purpose, because they like it. Sometimes they make the recipes - like Suzanne making my courgette pasta, wherever she lives, whoever she is. And sometimes they like it so much that they leave comments - lovely, friendly, utterly bewildering comments. I know that the big blogs like Smitten Kitchen get a bajillion visitors and comments every day without breaking a sweat, but for me this is a big deal. And an exciting deal. And a "quick, forward it to my mum" deal. 

So in honour of Suzanne's lovely comment, and the pasta we inspired her to make, here is one of our old and delicious favourites - so old that I can't quite believe I haven't blogged it so far. It was a Nigel Slater recipe originally but he doesn't seem to believe in vegetables, so we've adapted it quite a lot. But, as you can see, we definitely believe in summer evenings, in eating outside, and in celebrating six blissful months in our gorgeous, all-our-own house. All those posts last Summer where I was pining for a garden, yearning to eat outside? This is IT. We've done it! And it's a pleasure to share the celebration with all of you. Whoever you are.

Spicy, Creamy Sausage and Broccoli Pasta
Adapted from Nigel Slater's Real Food
Serves 2

- an onion, halved and finely sliced
- 4 sausages, peeled (YES I know it feels gross, just do it) and crumbled into chunks
- a glass of white wine
- a heaped teaspoon of dijon mustard
- a heaped teaspoon of grainy mustard
- a good pinch of dried chilli flakes
- a big sloop of double cream, maybe 150ml?
- a head of broccoli, cut into small florets
- enough pasta for two people (I'll leave the exact quantities between you and your conscience)
- optional - a handful of frozen peas, raw spinach, and fresh basil.

Get a large frying pan onto a medium heat and drizzle in some oil. Add the onion, along with a pinch of salt, and cook gently until soft and golden - about 5 minutes. Put the kettle on while you're at it.

Then tip the onion out into a bowl and put the pan back on the heat, with a teeny bit of oil in the bottom. Add the sausage and cook for about 5 minutes or until the sausage is golden brown and caramelising in places.

Cook the pasta for however long it says in the packet, adding the broccoli five minutes before it's ready. If you're having peas too, chuck them in at the same time.

Add the onion back to the frying pan with the sausage, then pour over the white wine and let it sizzle, scraping up any goo from the bottom of the pan. Add the mustards, chilli and a good sprinkle of pepper, then pour in the cream and let it come to a gentle simmer for about five minutes. If you're using fresh basil or spinach (and they're both delicious), add them at this stage and let them wilt.

When the pasta and broccoli are ready, drain and stir into the sauce. Serve with grated parmesan if you're feeling greedy, and a sunny evening if you've got one. 

Wednesday, 18 July 2012

Chocolate Stracciatella Ice Cream with Salted Caramel Shards

Oh my god. I've tried not to whinge about the weather too much on this blog - because for one thing, it's tedious, and for another, the rain has been so depressing that I've spent the last few weeks in the foetal position, rocking backwards and forwards, crying out for vitamin D and grabbing another pair of fleecy socks. But I've just checked the long-term weather forecast and lo, I bring tidings of Great Joy. If Accuweather is to be believed (and with a name like that, why wouldn't it?) next week will bring sunshine and temperatures above 20C - even above 25! For at least three days in a row! My melatonin is twitching at the very thought.

So this beautiful ice cream recipe, which has seemed inappropriately summery for far too long, can finally step through the drizzle and into the spotlight. It's time to introduce our new favourite ice cream, the recipe I hinted at last time, the star of our Italian party and the only ice cream we've ever made to be finished in its entirety in one sitting. Are you ready? Here we go.

The base is a sweet, creamy vanilla from the Ben and Jerry recipe book. Incredibly quick and simple, unlike other ice creams I could mention, this doesn't ask you to make a complicated custard, nor to panic over burning or curdling, nor to wait for hours while it cools down in the fridge. All you need is a whisk, some American measuring cups, a few short minutes of stirring and ta-dah! Ice cream is ready to churn.

But delightful as vanilla ice cream is, we wanted something a bit more exciting. First, we added the fun bit which makes it stracciatella - crackly ribbons of pure melted chocolate, solidifying on impact like the low-rent sundae sauces of childhood but infinitely more delicious. Stopping here would have made a fantastic ice cream. To be honest, even the vanilla on its own would have been pretty good. But a flash of divine inspiration illuminated the genesis of this particular ice cream and while drizzling in the chocolate, we also scattered in golden, crunchy shards of salted caramel. Let me say that again. Chocolate, ice cream and shards of salted caramel. I KNOW. It was amazing. Grown men squabbled over the container, batting each other's spoons aside to nab the last few bits of caramel. We almost had a ruckus on our hands. It was that good.

Within a week, we'd made another batch of stracciatella - this time, leaving out the caramel and swapping in some quartered, juicy cherries. From now on, nothing in this house will be safe from being scattered into ice cream - nuts, maltesers, berries, rum-soaked raisins, little pieces of fudge, chunks of biscuit, even clusters of granola. And there's no reason why only dark chocolate should get to share the fun - I want to try with white chocolate, or milk, or even mint or orange flavoured chocolate. Or, let's be honest, an unholy combination of two or three different types, all drizzled in together. But truthfully, I have a sneaky feeling that dark chocolate and salted caramel might turn out to be the best possible option. Look at that caramel! It's the colour of sunlight! Obviously an auspicious omen. I'm giving the credit for next week's heatwave entirely to the ice cream.

Chocolate Stracciatella Ice Cream with Salted Caramel Shards
Vanilla ice cream recipe adapted from the Ben and Jerry recipe book, caramel from David Lebovitz's Salted Caramel Ice cream (which is blogged properly here).
For the vanilla ice cream
- 2 large eggs
- 3/4 cup of caster sugar
- 2 cups of double or whipping cream (we had to swap in milk for a quarter of this - it was fine)
- 1 cup of milk
- a teaspoon of vanilla bean paste
For the salted caramel shards
- 100g caster sugar
- 3/4 teaspoon of sea salt (something posh like Maldon)
- some flavourless oil like sunflower
For the stracciatella drizzle
- 80g dark chocolate (or, as discussed above, any kind of chocolate you want)
First of all, make the caramel shards. Get a large baking tray and wipe the surface with some flavourless oil on a bit of kitchen roll, just to grease it slightly. Spread the sugar evenly across the base of a medium-sized saucepan and put it over a moderate heat. Watch carefully while the edges gradually melt into liquid, stirring every now and then with a heat-proof utensil to bring the melted bits into the middle. Don't worry if your stirring makes lumps, they'll melt eventually. 

Keep on gently heating and stirring, patient patient patient, until the sugar is all melted and golden brown. Let it bubble until it gets darker, starts to smoke and smells like it's just about to burn, then take it off the heat, scatter in the salt STRAIGHT AWAY and VERY QUICKLY pour it out onto the greased baking tray. Immediately lift up the tray and tilt it this way and that to spread the sugar into as thin a layer as possible - holding the tray almost vertical to make the sugar flow into a thin sheet. Obviously you need to be careful not to burn yourself because the caramel is hotter than the sun, but it'll solidify almost immediately so it shouldn't burn you unless you're incredibly unlucky. Once it's all spread out, set the tray aside to finish cooling down.

To make the ice cream, whisk the eggs in a large mixing bowl (or freestanding mixer) for about 2 minutes or until very light and fluffy. Keep whisking while you gradually add the sugar, then whisk the whole thing for another couple of minutes until totally blended. Pour in the cream, milk and vanilla, whisk again, then transfer to your ice cream maker and churn. This one really appreciates a long churning time - it's in the final few minutes that air is incorporated, making the final ice cream light and soft - so give it a good 25 minutes. 
About five minutes before the ice cream is ready, bash up the tray of caramel with a pestle and mortar, or a rolling pin or whatever, so that you've got lots of little crunchy shards. Melt the chocolate in the microwave, 15 seconds at a time, in a jug if you can (for ease of pouring later).

Dollop about a quarter of the churned ice cream into a big tupperware, and spread out evenly. Then drizzle over the melted chocolate in a thin stream, like in the pictures, and scatter on the caramel (or whatever). Repeat in layers until you've used everything up. 

Friday, 13 July 2012

Italian Pot Roast Beef in Red Wine

There are many reasons why I could never be "cool" - and I think I've already revealed far too many of them on this blog - but the one which really defines me as a person is that I take things a little bit too far. Cool kids affect a studied nonchalance, deliberately casual. I get enthusiastic, eager and not a bit geeky. When I was about 15, a local boy (a boy!) invited most of my year to a fancy dress party. Obviously, the cool girls wore their normal clothes but a bit more slutty - the link between teenage girls, fancy dress and exposed bras is a whole different kettle of fish - but I wore a proper fancy dress outfit, wig and everything. I realized within a millisecond of getting out of my mum's car that my dedication to a theme had impressed no one but me. That was a long evening.
But the dark teenage days are over, I've embraced my uncool enthusiasm (hello, I studied Latin at university and LOVED it), and now I can be over-excited whenever I want. So when the anniversary of our honeymoon came around, and the sun-drenched memory of our Tuscan cookery class swam into our minds, we decided to throw a party to share our pasta prowess with friends. Then, clearly, we took things a little bit too far. The dulcet tones of Dean Martin singing classics like That's Amore and Volare floated through the air. We bedecked the dinner table with Italian flags, and hung more around our sitting room. A crisp white tablecloth, red and green napkins and little crystal vases of red roses. We even wrote place settings for our guests in pseudo-Italian, with varying degrees of success. Who knew that the name Jennifer doesn't really exist in Italian? 
And of course, we had to do the food properly. Bellinis with prosecco and peach, lovely artisan grissini and a bowl of fat, garlicky olives. Starting the meal with a plate of juicy melon, ruffled prosciutto and some gorgeous, oozing buffalo mozzarella from the deli. Then came the pasta - great steaming bowls of lovingly (and time-consumingly) hand-rolled pici in a rich tomato sauce, smothered in parmesan. Pudding was obvious - as you will have noticed, we need no excuse to make ice cream - and we jumped at the opportunity to try out a new flavour alongside the old favourite, chocolate sorbet. Served up with chocolate-filled wafers and ill-advised glasses of grappa, our experiment officially became our New Favourite, and it's on its way to this blog in the very near future.
For main, this pot roast beef served with griddled courgettes was as near as we could get to the veal from our honeymoon. It was a shot in the dark - we'd never made it before - but I'm relieved to say that it was almost a perfect reincarnation, fragrant and rich with red wine and herbs. The meat itself was incredibly tender, pulling apart with a fork. We upped the quantities of vegetables in the recipe and next time we'll add still more, just because we love vegetables and we love gravy. But there will definitely be a next time. This is good enough for a reprise even when we're not sticking to an Italian theme. That's not to say that the theme didn't make it even better, of course. How can you doubt it? Didn't you hear about the flags?

Italian Pot Roast Beef in Red Wine
Adapted from the Waitrose website
Serves at least 10, reheats well

- 24 shallots
- 2kg silverside or brisket beef
- 4 carrots, finely diced (next time we'd do more)
- 4 sticks of celery, finely diced (ditto)
- 4 sprigs of fresh rosemary
- a handful of fresh thyme
- a couple of bay leaves
- 2 tablespoons of tomato puree
- 400ml beef stock
- 350ml red wine
Preheat the oven to 150C.
Peel the shallots - yes, this is tedious, but it's worth it - by dunking them in a bowl of boiling water for a minute or two.
Heat a splash of oil in a large frying pan over a high heat, and sear the beef for a few minutes each side, or until browned. This will be splattery and hissy, so be careful of your arms! Then transfer it to a big casserole dish, preferably one into which it fits quite snugly.
Return the frying pan to the heat, turn it down a bit and add the shallots, carrots and celery. Stirring intermittently, cook them for a few minutes until just starting to turn golden. Transfer them to the casserole dish too, scattering onto and around the meat.
Back in the frying pan, add the tomato puree, wine and beef stock. Season and bring to the boil, then pour it over everything in the casserole dish. Tuck in the bundle of herbs, then cover the dish and put it in the oven.

Set the timer for 4 hours. You're meant to stir it every half hour but we found that absolutely impossible so just left it alone. After four hours, take the beef out to rest for 20 minutes, covered in foil, before slicing. We just served up the vegetables and gravy as they were, but next time I might be tempted to try to thicken the gravy a bit at this stage, maybe by mushing up half the veg or just stirring in a bit of cornflour.

Sunday, 8 July 2012

Molten Chocolate Fondants

I need you to use some imagination here. First, conjure up a soundtrack of euro trance music, artfully punctuated with perfectly timed chopping, slicing and dicing. Maybe add in a few tears, and some pathetic whimpering about how much this all means to you. Position a tall Aussie and a tubby baldie at the edge of the picture, making incredulous, eyebrow-raised faces at each other and talking about playdzafoo. Tempted to scatter a supercilious restaurant critic on top? Sure, why not?

Then it's time for the voiceover. Cooking Doesn't Get Tougher Than This. Are you in the zone? Are you ready? Today we're talking about the Masterchef monster, the horror of hapless contestants and the nemesis of the numpties. That's right. Molten chocolate fondants.

To be honest, I have no idea where this reputation comes from. Maybe in a hot studio, with stress and lights and bloody "sexy bored voice" woman salivating over your every move, fondants might have a tendency to misbehave - but at home, they're a piece of cake. See that pun? That's how easy. They're my dinner party pudding of choice, that's how easy. Those Masterchef morons are just making a big fuss over nothing.

I can't remember where we got this recipe but we've made it countless times over the last few years and it's never let us down. Incredibly rich, thick and decadent, the melting middle is all a matter of timing - which means that as long as you can set an alarm, you'll be fine. You can prepare them up to two days in advance, just keeping them unbaked in the fridge until you want them, and all you need to go with is some vanilla ice cream. 

Just perfect for a weeknight dinner with friends (after courgette and chilli pasta), or a Friday night treat to kick off your weekend. You don't even have to share them with John and Gregg, if you don't want to. Although, let's be honest, I'm fairly sure Gregg would want to give them a big, sloppy kiss on the lips and dive right in. The rest of us will probably manage just fine with a spoon.

Molten chocolate fondants
I think the recipe is originally from Nigella, but we copied it out so long ago that I can't remember. Seems like her style, though, doesn't it?
Serves 6

- 50g soft unsalted butter
- 350g dark chocolate
- 150g caster sugar
- 4 large eggs, beaten with a pinch of salt
- a teaspoon of vanilla extract 
- 50g plain flour

Start by wiping the insides of 6 ramekins with butter, then dusting with cocoa. This is meant to ensure that the fondants will emerge unscathed at the other end - and, I'll be honest, it doesn't always work. But you might as well try, eh?

Melt the chocolate in the microwave, going slowly - 15 seconds at a time. Then set aside and let cool slightly.

Beat together the butter and sugar until well combined, then gradually add the beaten egg, mixing well after each addition. Beat in the vanilla, then add the flour and mix until smooth.

Pour in the cooled chocolate and blend well until it all looks uniform and tastes delicious. Then dollop into the ramekins, sharing it out evenly.

If you want to eat these straight away, preheat the oven to 200C and bake for 10 minutes. If not, cover the ramekins with cling film and store in the fridge until you want them - they'll keep for a couple of days. Bake for 12 minutes if you're putting them in straight from the fridge.

Monday, 2 July 2012

Banana, Chocolate & Cinnamon Upside Down Cake

Tut tut, Waitrose Deliver, tut tut. To mistake "6 bananas" for "6kg of bananas" once may be regarded as a misfortune; to mistake it twice looks like carelessness. By which I mean, thanks to the vagaries of internet shopping, once again we were recently overflowing with bananas. How in the name of all that is yellow, curvy and faintly speckled with brown did it not occur to them that there might just possibly be some error?

Even after taking as many as we could to work, and giving handfuls away to our family, we were still left with bunch after bunch. And delightful as our favourite Banana Bread is (and it is), after making 2 more loaves we still had bananas left. I don't like banana ice cream, I hate the texture of banana puddings, and they were getting a bit too grotty for any kind of banoffee pudding. There was nothing else for it. It was time to try to reinvent the banana cake wheel.

So I called up the old interweb and ended up with David Lebovitz's banana and chocolate chip upside down cake. Sounds good, doesn't it? With a beautiful banana caramel top, and a delicate, chocolate studded base? After all, his salted caramel ice cream had been so brilliant - surely he wouldn't fail me now? Hands up if you can tell where this is going.

Well, I'm overegging it slightly. (Overegging! A cake! I crack me up). It was perfectly fine, maybe even verging on nice. But, no doubt due to my own shoddy execution, the top came out mushy rather than caramelised. The sponge was fine, but nowhere near as delicious and full-flavoured as the banana bread. And the whole thing was just a bit underwhelming - particularly considering the fact that it was far more faff than the banana bread, and nowhere near as delicious.

So if you want a banana chocolate hybrid, make the banana bread*. If you want caramelised banana slices on top of a banana cake, make the banana bread**. If you have 6kg of bananas to use up and you don't know what to do with them***, make the banana bread. I don't think I can put it any clearer than that. What do you mean, the internet never sends unexpected kilograms of fruit? Why does this only happen to us?

*add chocolate chips
** put banana slices on top, scattered with sugar and flashed under the grill or blowtorch - or buy those banana chip things they try to flog as healthy snacks
*** apparently less unusual than you might think

Banana, Chocolate and Cinnamon Upside Down Cake

For the topping
- 60g dark brown sugar
- 2 tablespoons of water or butter (I used water because I can't work out how you measure butter in tablespoons)
- 3-4 ripe bananas
- a few drops of lemon juice

For the cake
- 210g plain flour
- a teaspoon of baking powder
- half a teaspoon of bicarb
- half a teaspoon of salt
- a teaspoon of ground cinnamon
- 150g granulated sugar
- 30g butter, melted
- 2 eggs
- 2 bananas, squished into puree
- 120g sour cream or plain yoghurt
- half a teaspoon of vanilla extract
- 80g chocolate chips or chopped dark chocolate (I whizzed it in the food processor)

Preheat the oven to 180C.

Ideally, you'd have an 8 inch / 20cm square metal cake tin. If you have silicon or something, that's fine but you'll have to do the first bit in a frying pan then transfer it to the silicon tin. Is there another word for silicon cake tins? You don't call it a cake silicon, do you?

Anyway, put your cake tin (or frying pan if necessary) on a low heat and add the dark brown sugar and water/butter. Warm the mixture, stirring until the sugar is thoroughly wet. If you're using water, let it simmer for a minute or two then take off the heat; if butter, stir just until the sugar is bubbling, then remove from the heat. Let it all cool down to room temperature while you make the cake.

Measure out the flour, baking powder, bicarb, salt and cinnamon in a large bowl and whisk it all quickly to get it well mixed and lump-free. Then stir in the granulated sugar.

In another bowl, combine the butter, eggs, mashed banana, vanilla and yoghurt (or sour cream if that's what you're using).  Then make a well in the dry ingredients, pour in the wet ones and mix very briefly until just combined. I used a whisk for maximum combination in minimum time. Gently stir in the chocolate chunks.

Peel and slice the bananas for the topping, then arrange in beautiful, overlapping rows on the caramelly base of the tin. I carefully arranged them like herringbone, going in alternate directions, but you couldn't really see it once they were cooked so you're probably fine just slinging them in any old how. Squeeze a couple of drops of lemon juice on top.

Then scoop your cake mix on top and carefully daub it around with a spatula, until it's all spread. Bake for 40 minutes, or until risen and lightly golden. 

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