Politicised Flapjacks

With a parental state visit occurring last week, we were prepping hard to pretend that we live like human beings. We did the hoovering, watered the houseplants, wiped and/or dusted all surfaces, and the plants on the balcony were either replaced or pruned to within an inch of their lives. The flat was sparkling but I wasn’t finished- what about food? My dad’s a coeliac, which means he can’t eat wheat. Now here’s where I get political: the government has decided to stop funding the special bread that my dad and countless others get on prescription from the pharmacy.

(Yorkshire) Tea Bread

I didn’t make this with Yorkshire Tea, but I am based in Yorkshire so there shouldn’t be a problem with the authorities, should they get in touch. Some good news; after a couple of years of grafting, I’m pleased to report that I’ve been given a place on a funded PhD! It’s a joint project between the University of Leicester and the National Maritime Museum and I am so very, very excited. Did I mention it’s on prison hulks? It’s on prison hulks. It’s got to be the coolest topic in the world, am I right? There’s this stupid little children’s book called “Victorian Crime” that I bought in a charity shop in Hebden Bridge during my home-schooling years; it’s full of amazing pictures and snippets of kids on hulks or getting hauled in by the police and I was completely obsessed with it. From there, I went on to a phase devouring Newgate novels, followed by an adoration of a series of books written by Andrew Pepper about an ex-Bow Street Runner called Pyke. This whole PhD project is just filling my head with stories but I really can’t wait to get back to some proper academic work. 

In praise of the Baked Apple

Without fail around late autumn our neighbours give us a bucket of Bramley apples harvested from a tree in their garden. I was always jealous of this tree as a child and sometimes vaulted the fence to nick an apple or two; in our garden we had (and still possess) a gnarled, glorified stump of a pear tree that supports a tree house. No fruit has ever fallen from this tree apart from one year when it was clearly trying to die, dropping onto the vegetable patch all of four small, stumpy pears which were promptly scoffed by crows and the dog. Once a year with my bucket of cookers I’d set out to try a range of new, exciting, crumble, chutney or pie recipes I’d been hoarding since the summer but the baked apple only featured once in my repertoire. This was because the few I made were cooked in the microwave and were understandably disgusting. I mean look at them, they’re like the Elephant Man of desserts.

Granola Bars

Normally the granola bar is seen as the boring cousin of the flapjack. Dry and often tasteless, I’ll be the first to admit that I’d side with the flapjack if it was pitted against the granola bar in a fight. This may have something to do with a lust for golden syrup that’s rarely sated but the fact that so many granola bars are dry and hard, rather than moist and soft is always a turn off for me. Last week however, I made the mistake of buying an unsatisfactory coconut and after having shoved a quarter of it in a spicy chicken pulao rice dish, I still had three quarters of the soft-fleshy thing left. Always one to rise to a challenge, I went in search of recipes that could tempt me and lo, the granola bar won.