Week 18 - The Two Davids - Outsider Tart

And just like that the Ewing was 40 (something). While a birthday stuck at home during a global pandemic may seem less than fun, it ended up feeling like a very special day. Starting with presents in bed, followed by flowers in the post, videos of our nieces and a phone call from my Mum, moving on to pink wine and lunch on the patio, films and a snooze on sofa and ending with homemade fried chicken and a personalised Zoom quiz with our friends.

As we weren't going further than the garden, we had plenty of time to plan the piece de resistance - a Bruce Bogtrotter-style Coke layers cake, from the Outsider Tart cookbook. A book that is already a firm favourite thanks to the incredible s'mores cake that contains a whole packet of digestives in the sponges, and is coated in blow-torched meringue. 

The Ewing is by far the biggest chocoholic I have ever met - one earlier date had me tearing around Greenwich, looking for a newsagent after she had a sugar crash and waited at the pub for me to return laden down with bars of Green and Blacks - and so I knew a recipe that contained over half a kilo of the stuff would always be a good choice. (Awww...that's true lurve - TE).

Plus it had marshmallows (we used chocolate coated, in case there wasn't enough chocolate already), nearly three quarters of a kilo of sugar, most of the EU butter mountain, and a can of Coke. Full fat of course. This is not a cake for those trying to exercise restraint.

In fact, it was the most joyful cake for the most joyful person. (You are so lovely, I love you very much - TE). A perfect fluffy sponge, sweet but with smoky caramel and a rich cocoa bitterness, coated in a tangy sour cream fudge frosting that perfectly gilded the lily. The ultimately celebration cake. And luckily she loved it. As did our neighbours (yes, after some gentle persuasion, the Ewing did share...). Happy birthday, my love.

Chocolate Coke Layer Cake

adapted from Outsider Tart

340g unsalted butter

350ml Coke (not diet)

65g marshmallows, chopped

85g plain chocolate, chopped

530g plain flour

115g cocoa powder

2 1/4 tsp baking powder

1 1/2 tsp bicarbonate of soda

3/4 of a teaspoon of salt

675g granulated sugar

80ml of flavourless oil

1 tbsp of vanilla extract

5 large eggs, at room temperature

300ml buttermilk, at room temperature

Chocolate sour cream fudge frosting

315g milk chocolate, chopped

200g plain chocolate, chopped

340g sour cream

1tsp vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 180c Butter two 9 inch round cake tins, line the bottoms with baking paper, dust with flour and tap out any excess. 

Place the butter and Coke in a saucepan and heat over a medium heat until the butter melts. Add the marshmallows and chopped chocolate and stir until the chocolate and marshmallows have melted. Let the mixture cool for about 10 minutes.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, bicarbonate of soda and salt, set aside.

Thoroughly combine the sugar, oil and vanilla in a kitchen mixer on medium speed or with an electric whisk. Reduce the speed to low and add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the cooled chocolate mixture and stir until evenly incorporated. 

Alternately add the flour and buttermilk in 3 or 4 stages, beginning and ending with the dry ingredients and mixing only until just combined. Divide the batter evenly among the prepared tins.

Bake for 50 minutes to an hour, or until a skewer inserted into the centre of each cake comes out clean. It is best to rotate the pans front to back, top to bottom about half the way through. If the cakes are browning too quickly, cover the top with foil.

Allow cakes to thoroughly cool on a cooling rack before slicing in half horizontally

To make frosting melt the chocolate in a heatproof bowl over a pan of simmering water.

Remove bowl from the heat and whisk in sour cream and vanilla.

Allow the mixture cool to room temperature, gently stirring occasionally.

When the frosting has thickened enough to spread, sandwich the layers together with the frosting, before covering the the top and sides. Work quickly, before the frosting sets, although you can gently reheat the frosting over simmering water if it thickens too much.

Warming our cockles

On our recent drive down to Margate to visit Stealth and Regina's new pad the Ewing proclaimed ‘we need to get all our friend’s to move to the sea’. And while I still love the charms of her home in E&C (no, really) there is something exciting about a visit to the Isle of Thanet that reminds me of my halcyon days at university where the housemate with the car (always the best kind of housemate) would drive us here on Sundays to eat pots of vinegary cockles on the bleak sand, while hoping the sea air would somehow aid our hangovers.

Things are obviously much more fancy now, even at the Clintonville end, and after a glass of fizz while admiring the new view – complete with a running commentary from Stealth about the boats currently in the harbour; everybody needs a hobby when they leave London - we wandered along the sea front to Angela’s for a late lunch.

A tiny place with a big reputation, it has been featured everywhere from the FT to the Good Food Guide and I was already very excited about an afternoon heavily featuring the joys of booze and seafood. Starting with a bottle of vinho verde, chosen by the Ewing and appropriately named Chin Chin. Check out the bottle too – I know you should never judge a book by its cover, but how can drinking a couple of bottles of a wine with a label like that, on a sunny afternoon, be anything but pleasurable.

One sign that you know you are going to get a good feed is when the menu is found chalked up on a board hanging on the wall, that can be unhooked, as here, and paraded around if needed. One of the only flourishes I really don’t mind in restaurants. Even if their ever-changing nature often means I can’t look at them online before my visit. The good feed theory was backed up by the fact that we all eagerly wanted to eat it all, despite mainlining the Co-Ops salt and vinegar crisps (the best salt and vinegar crisps, don’t @ me) before coming out.

Fortuitously we all decided on different mains, just like proper food bloggers would, which was hardly a hardship when we would all have happily eaten any of them. Looking at it now I'm just sad we didn't have a fifth mouth (although we were with the Ewing, which pretty much constitutes the same thing) so we could enjoy the halibut and girolles. But then, there's always next time.

Little gratis nibbles of salmon pate on toast were wonderfully retro and completely delicious and we also ordered a basket of sourdough bread which came with butter that was mostly eschewed in lieu of dragging the hunks around our main dishes to soak up the sauce.

Ray has been one of my favourite fish since I went to Madrid with my Aunt as a teenager and ordered it, only to be told by the waitstaff that I - very awkward, very English - definitely wouldn't like it. As well meaning as the advice was my Aunt was indignant that I did want it and I would like it, and of course she was right. 

I still remember the congratulations I received from several excited Spanish women after methodically stripping all the flesh from the cartilaginous skeleton. Here was no different, with every last scrap of flesh divested from the bones and every last drop of swoonsome cockle vinaigrette, full of garlic and parsley and salty shellfish, scooped up with said sourdough.

The Ewing's hake was a perfectly cooked tranche of fish with burnished skin sitting proudly on top of a heap of sweet, slow-cooked fennel ragout and a big and beefy crab sauce. I was lucky enough to get a taste of this (not just because, when I asked the Ewing how it tasted for the purposes of the blog, she replied 'hake-y'), and it was quite as excellent as it looked.

Regina chose a grand hunk of monkfish on the bone on a bed of curried lentils, which she kindly modelled with an action shot, fork raised, so I could take a picture.

Stealth had no option than to let me take a picture of her fish stew, but you can see from her hand position she is getting good at modelling a plate. Both ladies seemed very happy with their choices, the sourdough coming in handy to make sure every plate was left pretty much spotless.

What was even more impressive than my greed was seeing the size of the kitchen our dishes came from. Making my house seem palatial.

Now, a few days before, I had sent Stealth a picture via Instagram (as has now become the customary way of contacting each other) to point out that Angela's' sister restaurant - Dory, just around the corner - were selling sourdough doughnuts on a Saturday morning and that I would very much like one on my visit.

While Stealth had not managed to procure a doughnut before our arrival (or let's be honest, attempted to...), she did ask one of our charming waitresses whether they thought there might be any left. While they said it was probably doubtful, they were more than happy to go and see while we finished our  lunch. The, incidentally absolutely delicious, bowl of greens we ordered to the side going someway to offset the scoring of any potential fried carbs.

After our dishes had been cleared Stealth announced that 'I don't want pudding, I'll just have a cup of tea' before, after a Pinteresque pause 'I'll just have a bite of yours'. Since Regina and I had already decided we were going to share a piece of the chocolate cake with caramel I told her, in no uncertain terms, that this was not happening.

Finally we decided on two slices between three of us, which worked out far better for me as Regina was sitting  closer to Stealth's roving fork. And while I did have to contend with renowned chocoholic the Ewing trying to get a look in, I wolfed down the fudgy yet ethereal mousse-style cake with a lake of burnished caramel without the need of much help at all.

The Ewing snagged the last slice of plum tart although, sadly, there were out of creme fraiche sorbet so she had to soldier on with a jug of pouring cream to douse it with instead. This was a lovely, light thing with sharp fruit and sweet custard and a slightly bruleed top bringing a little touch of bitterness.

We finished with good cafetiere coffee while having a giggle with the two waitresses who were a hoot and had lots of memories of old and new Margate to share with us. The food and atmosphere at Angela's were superlative and it comes highly recommended. And at fifty quid a head (with two bottles of wine and the doughnuts for later)  it might not have been cheap lunch, but it certainly felt like good value. A big thanks for Stealth and Regina for making it happen. No, I'm still not sharing my pudding next time.

Even after managing most of the chocolate cake on my own, old habits die hard and it was off to Manning's Seafood stall after lunch for a second cockle fix to attempt to negate the effects of a two bottle of wine lunch. I may be older than when I originally used to visit for my tray of bivalves, but clearly still no wiser.

Pigs, Pints and Prawns

Earlier this summer (yes, it is still summer) the Ewing and I finally threw out the mouldering remains of the tent that would have been best off being abandoned on the Isle of Wight after a particularly waterlogged Bestival and got serious about spending some more civilised time under canvas.

Soon we had acquired a fancy new three man number (plenty of room for me, her and her shoe collection) and a set of poles for the porch that seemed to contain 50% more pieces than were actually needed but, unhelpfully, no instructions. Add a few cans of beer, burgers and a disposable bbq and we were ready to head up the M40 for the weekend.

Our destination was the Pig Place, a small holding by the Oxford canal (where the owners live on their boat) featuring a farm shop; a catering van serving cooked breakfasts, lunches and cake; and a menagerie of animals including runner ducks, geese, sheep, chickens, dogs, and the eponymous pigs, including saddlebacks, oxford sandy and blacks and British lops.

The site is also off the mains, so there's no showers or running water (there is a stand pipe from their borehole for drinking water) and just one Portaloo on site. So bring the baby wipes.

Another disadvantage of camp life are those early morning, bleary-eyed stumbles to the loo; complete with pyjama legs trailing across the wet grass. Balanced against the pains of attempting to get up off an inflatable mattress at such an ungodly hour, you may get to see a morning like this. With the rising mist in the field beyond, the swallows serenely resting on the telegraph poles and the light shining on the canal there was no where else I would have rather been. Yes, that is a sofa and chairs by the fire pit and an upright piano behind the hay bales.

Camping or not, sunrise is far too early (or late) to be up - although I did feel inordinately smug to be awake before our resident cockerel - and so we retired back under canvas for some extra shut eye. Next thing I knew the smell of strong coffee was floating on the breeze and we had wriggled out of our sleeping bags to put in our orders for fry ups and caffeine.

Breakfast include freshly baked pastries and rolls, things on toast and the crowning glory, the full english, freshly cooked to order using the farm's own duck eggs, sausages and bacon (which all taste amazing - TE). If you think eating pork products in the shadow of their previous porcine relations is hard, just try and do it with Sid the cat eyeing up your sausage, so to speak. But even the Ewing, certified softy, wasn't prepared to give up a morsel of her superior spread. A first class breakfast.

After a very hot day of pig tickling, sun bathing and losing pretty much every drop of my moisture in my body after falling asleep in the porch of the tent, it was time to rehydrate. Thankfully, the Great Western Arms is but a country mile down the very pretty canal path that runs adjacent to the campsite.

After bagging a spot in their pretty courtyard garden in time for dinner, we opened with cold pints of Stowford Press. Particularly apt as they also sponsor the England cricket team, who had wrapped up the Ashes that morning with a stonking performance at Trent Bridge, ergo helping save my phone battery so I could take more fuzzy pictures of maurading snouts in the trough (and some pictures of the pigs, too).

A menu full of nice things; 'anchovies debatable' (anchovies are never debatable). Being a Hook Norton pub, we also had to have a pint of the local ale, this being Hooky, Old Hooky's lighter younger brother.

Continuing with the holiday theme I plumped, unusually, for the shell on tiger prawns. As much as I love crustaceans it's a dish I normally save for foreign climes - preferably with my feet in the sand and a glass of chilled vino blanco in hand - with my natural greed often disappointed by the sparing numbers served on these shores, often with the flavour and texture of fishy cotton wool.

No such worries here, as a skewer stuffed with them arrived tableside, dripping their sweet, garlicky juices onto a plate of superior chips below. There was also a suitably garlicky home made mayo, with a luscious wobble (not unlike me on our walk home) and a suggestion of side salad to counteract the butter and fried potatoes.

It may be premature to say it but, influenced by sun and cider, it's already gone in as a strong contender for dish of the year. The simple sort of cooking, well executed and with bold flavours that you wish every pub could effortlessly bang out. Not bad value (if not cheap) at sixteen and a half quid, either.

For desert the Ewing had the majestic chocolate torte, a great hunk of loveliness (although not quite up to Delia's ameretti biscuit version) that came adorned in all that extra shizzle - orange slices, sugar wafers, raspberry sauce, strawberries, whipped cream and ice cream - that has sadly been lost in the trend for simple plating. When it comes to pudding, more is definitely more.

I don't get food envy very often - having usually trailed the internet days in advance to pour over menus and gaze at blurry phone pictures with too much flash on Trip Advisor - but on this occasion my mudcake (with chocolate ice cream swapped out for banana) looked, despite the adornment, decidedly ordinary.

But they say the proof of the pudding is in the eating, and that was certainly true in this case, with the cake being wonderfully sticky and claggy, lubricated by the hot fudge sauce and whipped cream. Another course that transcended my string of superlatives.

After a half of Old Rosie for the road (take a torch if your going to be walking after dark; the path is narrow and the water's deep), we stumbled merrily homeward. All the while safe in the knowledge that, with it's double garlic hit, we had both chosen the prawns for dinner; hence there could be no recrimination at our ability to repel vampires from fifty feet on getting back to the  confines of the tent. Ah, the romance of the great outdoors....

Hatches, Matches and (Mummy P's Cake) Dispatches

Despite the potential for unwelcome denouements, drunken confessions and the appearance of strange half cousins with wandering hands, family celebrations are great fun. And even more so when there not your own. So when the invite to the christening of Stealth's nephew Louis, and the subsequent garden party, dropped through the letterbox, the Ewing and I were already on our very best behaviour.

Despite the predictable bank holiday traffic, we somehow contrived to arrive in the chocolate box village of Chiddingstone a little early for the christening service, meaning there was only one thing for it - to the Castle Inn for a restorative snifter or two.

As well as the local Larkin's ale, of which I enjoyed a nicely kept pint, they were also advertising bottles of sparkling Chiddingstone cider. How could we resist, although at over seven percent you can see the effect it quickly had on Stealth and I. 

The ceremony was perfect, with Louis being impeccably behaved which is more than could be said for his aunt, who became rather teary at the surprise announcement of Ben and Kate's recent nuptials. All of us, fortified by fermented apple, sang the hymns with the sort of gusto not seen since an E number overload in the second year of infants. 

Formalities out of the way, we headed back to Ben and Kate's beautiful converted oast house, a quintessential glimpse of the Kent of yore. After a welcome glass of cold rose (or two) we made our way to the bar in the assembled yurt on the lawn for tops ups. A barrel of Larkin's beer, a solid English choice, was joined by a giant jug of refreshingly tequila heavy margarita.

To eat was a veritable feast, straight out of the pages of Enid Blyton. Stealth had told us that her sister made the best sandwiches, and whilst Mummy R will always hold that mantle in my mind, the chicken and cucumber on tiger bread (the secret ingredient, when we asked Kate later, butter you can leave teeth marks in) demanded repeated sampling. Little brown bread triangles stuffed with shredded ham hock were equally glorious and dainty cucumber bought decorum to the proceedings (although not the way the Ewing was inhaling them).

There were chicken legs, and quails eggs and two giant gala pies, Kate's favourite, that saw me luck out with a piece that was almost eggless, whilst Stealth felt equally fortunate to grab a slice shot through with hard boiled ovum. Best of all was cheese and pineapple on sticks, protruding from goggle-eyed fruity hedgehogs, who still managed to look far saner than my wife.

For those with a sweet tooth, tiered cake stands in the marquee groaned under the weight of slices of battenburg, cupcakes, delicious turkish delight scented meringues and chocolate crispie cakes. A huge platter of local cheese was also quickly demolished; a lemony, mousse-like goat being the highlight.

There was even a ice cream truck, popular with both children and the Ewing, who ate both her chocolate cone with chocolate sauce and my mint choc chip with chocolate sprinkles. Strong work.

A visit to the countryside wouldn't be complete without a trip to see the micro pigs (Big Pig and Little Pig) who were chilling out in the sun - at least until you stroked their snouts, to which they responded in a frenzied porcine fashion. On a further recce around the place - Stealth in her brogues, the Ewing in her heels, fitting in just like locals - we also made acquaintance with a brace of very friendly sheep in the lower field.

It wouldn't be a party without cake, and Louis' christening cake (whilst being without a layer of Kate's favourite marzipan) was a buttercream-stuffed spongy delight that went particularly well with a glass of port and a toast to the happy family. 

As if that wasn't enough, a fabulous day was crowned with Mummy P opening a tin to reveal a glorious chocolate cake, baked by her own fair hand. It was quickly dispatched - mostly with the help of the Ewing, who was particularly smitten (with both the baked goods and Mummy P).

As one of my most loyal (only) readers, I was delighted when she allowed me to share both the recipe and this lovely photograph here.

Mummy P’s Chocolate Cake (adapted from The Hotel Inspectors Five Star Classic)

Ingredients:

250 g - 70 % good quality dark chocolate broken and gently melted in a large bowl in either a microwave or bain-marie

170 g - unsalted butter

170 g - ground almonds

170 g - golden castor sugar

6 - large eggs

2 tbsp - dark rum

3 tbsp - extra strong coffee

3 – 4 - cardamom pods with seeds extracted and finely ground.

To finish:  

Glazed violet or rose petals (optional) and, if used, gently pressed in to surface when the cake is out of the oven and still slightly very slightly warm

To Serve:

Bowl of whipped cream or crème fraiche (optional)

Method:

Generously grease one, deep spring-form cake tin - approx. 24 cm

Place on heavy baking sheet

Heat oven to gas mark 2, electric 150 C, fan oven 130 C

Beat the butter, ground almonds and sugar into the melted chocolate to form a paste

Add the lightly beaten egg yolks, rum, coffee and ground cardamom 

Whisk egg whites until firm

Beat about a quarter of them into the chocolate mix, then add remaining egg whites with a metal spoon keeping the mixture as airy as possible

Pour mixture into the cake tin

Depending on your oven bake from 50 – 80 minutes.  The mixture needs to be risen and soft but firm to touch when pressed in the middle

Leave to cool 

Hint:

Cooking time depends a little on whether you are serving as a pudding or as a cake.  A shorter cooking time will render a more mousse-like effect, which is lovely served with cream.  A slightly longer cooking time will give a more traditional cake texture.  Both are scrumptious and are so rich that 8 -12 people can have a generous helping - depending on greed quotient.