The cake pusher of Shoreditch

Photo Credit | Kinfolk

[dropcap]R[/dropcap]ecently, I’ve been really absorbed into an epic marathon of Call The Midwife . My favourite character is the wonderfully batty Sister Monica Joan and from the very first episode, where she sniffs around the kitchen to steal some cake, I had the urge to start cracking those eggs and to measure out the flour.

So, I did! I baked a cake last night, something I haven’t done in a long time.

I put on some Ella Fitzgerald, got my favourite wooden spoon out and by 10 o’ clock, I had a nice fluffy sponge cake with lemon buttercream icing. I didn’t use my fancy Kitchenaid, just elbow grease (which really should count towards my Cardio workout on MyFitnessPal)

With my leftover egg yolks, I made a creme patissiere- or creme pat as Mary Berry would say-but….

…I’m pretty sure creme pat is not meant to have a play dough like consistency. I picked it out of the bowl and it flopped between my hands, like a piece of flubber. I had to give it a good whisk again to get it back to some sort of cream like consistency.

After some debate, I decided to use it as a cake filling. Don’t worry, I’m still alive and it tasted fine.

In fact, I am now secretly squirrelling away the cake behind my laptop so no one can see it (because I’m surrounded by healthy eaters) and whispering to anyone that stops by my desk if they’d like a piece, like I’m smuggling some sort of flour based contraband…

“I’ve got some good stuff today- white cake…lemon buttercream…bit of creme pat to give it an edge, go on, you know you want to…”

The Cake Pusher of Shoreditch, that’s me.

Actually, it was good to use the kitchen again and to get all my baking utensils out last night. Robin and I have seriously fallen out of love with the kitchen. Our kitchen has given up. It knows it’s days are numbered. Even the oven makes a sad clanging sound.

Standing at our table, smooshing butter and icing sugar together with music blasting away…it was like a little ceasefire. Okay ugly kitchen. You and I will make peace just for tonight, because tonight calls for a mess of butter and flour and sugar and when I am standing in my shiny new not-a-hint-of-ugly-magnolia-in-sight kitchen, I will look back fondly on all the cakes I baked in the old one.

The wedding cake for a friend.

The black forest gateau for a birthday.

The vanilla cupcakes for a baby shower.

The chocolate orange cake for…fun.

All the pies, brownies, biscuits and bread.

So many happy carbohydrates (and calories) consumed! The parties it hosted! The Christmas dinners it held! And all it took was one evening of baking to make me appreciate this badly lit magnolia box a whole lot more. Eh. Who would have thought?

 

Author: Angela Shek

just a clueless mama in East London

9 thoughts on “The cake pusher of Shoreditch”

  1. I baked for the first time in months last weekend and it’s so therapeutic. Almost as therapeutic as the stuffing my face with sticky toffee pudding afterwards.x

    Like

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