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Cookie of the Week: Fryske Dúmkes

You’re probably spending your days like I’m spending my days.

Indoors.

Away from people. Away from all people.

Unless you’re in a vital job where you still need to go out every day. Worrying what this means for you and your family.

We’re socially distancing, crossing roads to avoid people when we go out (if you’re even allowed to leave your front door, and we’re limited to once per day for exercise in the UK at present). We’re on endless Zoom calls. We’re spending a lot more time talking to people that are far from us. We’re juggling full-time work with having kids at home because school is shut. We’re rediscovering the joys of arts and crafts at home, those things we did in school as children, because we suddenly have the time, and what is happening out there, beyond our streets, is just so awful.

At the moment I’m fine with the days – work and home school keep us busy (mainly activities involving lots and lots of mess!!!). But everything can start to get to me in the evenings. Sitting at home, things can feel mundane and pointless when there is a battle to fight. At those moments I cling to the thought that by staying in and being away from our friends and family, we are helping to slow the spread of the coronavirus, and while many of us might feel powerless, this itself is helping to save others by giving our health workers more chance to save more lives, and reducing the risk that other essential workers have no choice but to face (including those in education, grocery stores, pharmacies, public transport, telecoms, power generation…sobering to think of all the people we need in order to live our lives). We’re all part of one team, so let’s all be a team players! It might mean missing trips, family events, birthdays, but all of these I will happily forgo if it helps people stay safe.

So you’re home. What do you do with these seemingly endless, endless days and evenings? I’ve decided to make a small attempt to lighten the mood, by baking cakes and cookies. It might seem trivial, but it provides a little ray of normality and makes staying home that little bit more bearable. I’ll be posting one cake and one cookie each every week, and might even share some (but probably note all) of how we’re coping with it all. Maybe you’ll see something new and want to have a go, and if you’re at home baking, you’re not out and about, and that’s what we all need to do right now.

Let’s get going. Now that going out is not possible beyond a single brief stroll on deserted streets, I’ve been looking back at what we were doing around this time in years gone by. Two years ago we were in the Netherlands, and I remember that trip well. I was assured that early spring is just lovely in the Low Countries, and the pitch was heady stuff – I conjured up visions of brightly-coloured tulips basking in spring sunshine as windmills turned in the distance. Nice in theory, but it will come as no surprise that it was less the first warm kiss of sunshine and more a fearsome wind blasting off the North Sea. The sort of thing we in Scotland would refer to politely as “bracing” or “invigorating”. In the end, we spent a fair amount of time indoors and I got some time to mooch around bakeries and shops. I had to bring something back for my colleagues so I picked up a bag of interesting biscuits called Fryske Dúmkes, or “Frisian Thumbs” in the Frisian language (a relative of Dutch). They also came in a bag swathed in the Frisian flag, which is pretty darned cool. It’s got blue and white stripes with a series of 8 red love hearts on it (correction: turns out they are called “pompeblêden” and are stylised water lily leaves). So heck yeah, let’s make Frisian Thumbs!


These little treats were traditionally made by the baker pressing their thumb into the dough before baking. This does not seem to happen so much these days, but if you like to make them look authentic the give it a try. I actually thought about it but decide not to, as I’m the sort of slightly neurotic baker that likes to make things that all look even, which probably says more about me than the recipe. In fact, to get an even size, I just used a ruler and cut along it to get straight lines – one width horizontally, and two widths vertically. Again, maybe it sounds fussy, but a good (clean) metal ruler takes the effort out of trying to get things the same size and shape.

The traditional flavouring here is aniseed, which is very popular in Dutch baking, and hazelnuts, plus a dash of cinnamon. You can also use almonds, or a mixture of the two, but I love me a good hazelnut so I just used them. It’s also a very easy method – just make a buttery dough then mix in the nuts, then chill, roll it out then slice and bake. I made it a little more complex for myself by rolling the dough out between two sheets of greaseproof paper. It’s a bit more fiddly than using a floured worktop, but I’m a recent convert to this way of working. It means you’re not adding more flour to the dough, so you don’t get a batch where the first lot look OK, but the cookies made with re-rolled scraps start to look increasingly different due to more flour being worked into the dough. Maybe you’re the sort of person that is not bothered by that, but I’ve already mentioned my liking for an identical batch…


If you want to fancy them up…well actually I would not bother. Stick with the classic. The key flavours here – toasted hazelnuts, cinnamon and anise – complement each other wonderfully. I even thought I could detect a subtle hint of marzipan from the combination. They are undeniably delicious with a cup or tea or coffee. They definitely stand on their own, unadorned yet adorable. Skip any thoughts of icing or glaze, and let these little guys win you over with their rustic charm.

To make Fryske Dúmkes (makes around 30)

• 75g skinned hazelnuts (or almonds)
• 110g butter
• 120g soft brown sugar
• 1 1/2 teaspoons ground aniseed or star anise
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 25ml milk
• 200g plain flour
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1. Start by roughly chopping the nuts – you want them in small pieces, not a fine powder. Set aside.

2. Put the butter and sugar in a large bowl. Beat until well-combined and fluffy. Add the spices, salt and milk, and mix again.

3. Combine the flour and baking powder, and add to the mixture. Work it with a spoon, and then your hands, until the dough comes together – it should come away from the bowl. Finally add the nuts and mix well. Wrap in cling film and chill for at least an hour (I left it overnight).

4. Time to bake! Preheat the oven to 170°C (340°F) and line a baking sheet with greaseproof paper.

5. Break the chilled dough into chunks, and work briefly with your hands so that it becomes softer and can be rolled out. Lay it on a sheet of greaseproof paper, and press it with your hands. Lay another sheet on top, and roll the dough to 1cm (1/3 inch) thickness. Using a very sharp knife, cut into strips of 2.5cm (1 inch) and then cut every 5cm (2 inches) to form rectangles. Transfer the cut cookies to the baking sheet, leaving space for them to expand during baking. You’ll have to bake in two batches. You can re-roll and scraps and keep going until all the dough has been used up.

6. Bake the cookies for around 20-25 minutes, turning after 10 minutes to get an even bake. They should have a deep golden colour when ready. When done, transfer to a wire rack to cool.

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Scottish Food: Perkins for Burns Night

I was having a look back at some past posts and I realised that it has been 4 years since I last did a Scottish recipe in honour of Burns Night. I did manage 2 years ago to make some lamingtons for Australia Day, so it’s not been a complete failure, but I did think that it was time to have another go.

So what should I make? I was doing a bit of research and I chanced upon a recipe for perkins, traditional spiced Scottish biscuits made with oats. Super! I could make those! Except I had no clue what they were. I must say, it was an odd feeling to be researching something from my home country, but yes, it turns out there are Scottish biscuits that I have no idea existed. And it seems that I’m not the only one – Amy at Baking with Granny seems to have had a similar reaction to perkins as they were suggested to her via Facebook.


I started looking for some ideas of what they were, and after wading through dozens of websites referring to perkins recipes “like granny used to make” and telling me they were “excellent with a cup of tea” it became apparent fairly quickly that I probably do know what they are, I just don’t know them as perkins. They’re flat, slightly chewy cookies made with oats, syrup and spices – not dissimilar to Anzac biscuits. I guess I would call them “oat biscuits” or “oat crumbles”. Anyway, there are some suggestions that they are linked to the famous Yorkshire parkin which shares many of same ingredients, but I’m sure there are the spirits of many proud Yorkshire housewives ready to haunt my nightmares for suggesting that parkin could have come from anywhere other than God’s Own County. So I’ll just say “those ingredients lists and similar names are such a coincidence”. In fact, beyond the oats, spice and golden syrup, I don’t think they are that similar. I think parkin should contain treacle, which these definitely do not.

As for a recipe, I found on on the website of the National Trust for Scotland. Bingo! Surely if anyone knows about traditional biscuits, it will be these people? I mean, a day out to a castle or a stately home always involves a visit to the tea shop and some cake or biscuits. So, dead cert?

Well…I started to read the recipe and there were a few gaps. It needs “flour” which I assumed would be plain, since there is baking soda in there to leaven them. Then “oatmeal” but what was that? Fine oat flour? Coarse? Oat flakes? Big ones? Small ones? I just improvised – I took jumbo rolled oats, ground them in a food processor so they were about half flour and half chopped oats and reasoned that a bit of texture in a biscuit isn’t a bad thing. I was pleased that they did measure out the golden syrup by weight rather than volume, which in my opinion is the right way to do it. By the time you’re measured 100ml of syrup, you’ve usually coated about 5 utensils with sugar and it is a mess. The size of the egg is also not clear – I went with medium and hoped for the best, thinking that if it was too dry I could always add some milk, but if the mixture gets too sticky, it’s always a pain to add more flour as it can throw off the quantities. Thus, the recipe you see below uses the Trust’s quantities, but is based on my tweaks to ensure it would actually works. I also had to double the number of almonds – the recipe asks for split blanched almonds, which I’ve never seen on sale. By the time I had skinned some almonds, I lacked the will to split them apart with a sharp knife, so I just used them whole.


But the recipe wasn’t the strange part. I was not entirely convinced the picture they used was of the actual recipe they were presenting. Their biscuits looked too big, too smooth, too pale. Mine – and those made by quite a few others, including Baking with Granny – are flatter, rougher and with a deeper golden colour. If I’m making something I don’t mind that it doesn’t look exactly the same, but I’d like some sort of family resemblance as a minimum! Let’s just say there is a Russian website with gingerbread cookies that look awfully, awfully similar.

Making them was actually very easy – throw it in a bowl, and get mixing. Because they are leavened with baking soda, you also get a bit of chemical magic during baking, which gives that amazing golden colour. They go in as fairly pale balls of dough, and during baking they sort of puff up and then collapse. If you look at them about half-way, they look very pale and are only just starting to colour. However the baking soda will work its spell on them and a few minutes later they get a crinkled texture and take on a deep golden colour. So watch them like a hawk, of if you’re feeling very Scottish, like a golden eagle. I actually did a test run with the first cookie to see how it worked and how long it had to be in the oven. I’d rather get one wrong and save a batch than try baking 20 and ruin the lot. How you approach it depends on whether you’re a gambler.

For all that, how do they taste? They’re actually delicious – the oats mean they are substantial, and they have a lovely deep flavour from the syrup and spices. It’s the sort of biscuit that might also be improved massively by the addition of a layer of chocolate if you’re in the mood to start messing around with a thermometer to get that glossy, shiny finish, but all that Scottish restraint perhaps points to keeping them pure. I’ll definitely make them again, and the chocolate option is rather appealing. Views?

To make Perkins (make around 45):

• 250g rolled oats
• 250g plain flour
• 180g caster sugar
• 1½ teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon mixed spice
• 1 teaspoon ground ginger
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 125g butter
• 1 medium egg, beaten
• 180g golden syrup (*)
• 60g whole almonds, blanched (**)

1. Preheat the oven to 160C (320°F). Line two baking sheets with greaseproof paper.

2. Put the oats in a food processor. Grind until medium-fine – about 2 minutes. Half should be flour, the rest should be chopped oats.

3. In a bowl, combine the oats, flour, sugar, baking soda and spices. Mix well, then sieve to ensure there are no lumps. You’ll have some oats left in the sieve – tip those into the bowl.

4. Add the butter, and work with your hands until it is incorporated. The mixture will seem quite dry – you don’t get a “breadcrumb” texture.

5. Add the egg and the syrup, then use your hands to mix to a firm dough. You should be able to take pieces and roll them into balls – if too dry, add a little milk. If too wet, add more flour.

6. Take pieces of dough “the size of a large marble” according to the National Trust for Scotland (or weigh them – 20g – they’re about the size of a Fererro Rocher, Mr Ambassador). Roll them into a ball, and place on the baking sheet. Press down very slightly, then gently press an almond on top. It should still be more or less a ball, not flat.

7. Bake for around 13-15 minutes, turning half-way to get an even bake. They are ready when they are an even, rich brown colour. Remove from the oven, allow to cool for a moment to firm up, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.

(*) That’s golden syrup, not corn syrup. You need this for flavour. As a substitute you could use honey or the Swedish-style “light syrup” which has a similar consistency and flavour. Maple syrup is not great here as it is much runnier so you will need to adjust the amounts…

(**) Either buy almonds that have been blanched, or do this at home – bring a pan of water to the boil, add the nuts and simmer for a minute. Drain, allow to cool for a moment, then the skins should slip off when you squeeze them gently.

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{7} Bruttiboni

Sometimes I am all for making something that looks neat and precise, and I get a certain pride when each cookie in a batch ends up looking identical. The most recent case in point was my checkerboard cookies.

However, today we’re going to the opposite end of the scale with these little guys. They’re from Italy and they’re called bruttiboni. The name roughly means “ugly-good” because they look as they look, but the are utterly delicious.

As with many Italian celebratory cookies, their precise origin is not clear. Today they are typical of the city of Prato in Tuscany, and they are also known as brutti ma buoni (“ugly but good”) or the more poetic-sounding mandorlati di san clemente. They are delicious little cookies made from meringue and hazelnuts.


To make them, you start with a simple meringue mixture, which I flavoured with some vanilla and a little hint of cinnamon. I don’t know if the spice addition is tradition, but I think it works well with the flavour of the nuts. Then you fold in ground, toasted almonds and hazelnuts – you can grind them to a fine powder, or leave a few more chunky bits if you prefer a bit more texture. And then…you do something plain weird. You put the whole bowl over a pan of barely simmering water, and then stir it gently. This makes the mixture somewhat looser, and all I can think that this does is to cook the meringue mixture in a similar way to making Swiss meringue. I’ve never come across this technique before, and in fact, not every recipe that I saw for bruttiboni thought this was necessary. One recipe even suggested making a Swiss meringue and just adding nuts. But I’m all for experimentation so I decided to give this strange approach a go.

From what I could tell, this extra step makes the mixture both a little softer and more stable, as once I had done it, the batter certainly seemed to keep its volume. I think it might also have impacted on the texture – these really are nothing like the miniature meringues I had been expecting – there was no brittle exterior and or marshmallow centre. They are more like the sort of thing I would expect from a “traditional” cookie made with flour and butter, so there is clearly some kind of magic at play here. But they do have a crisper outside and a softer middle. And they are, indeed, absolutely delicious!

To make Bruttiboni (makes around 24)

• 125g ground almonds
• 125g skinned hazelnuts
• 3 large egg whites
• pinch of salt
• 140g white caster sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1. Start by toasting the nuts. Preheat the oven to 150°C (300°F). If you are using whole nuts, ground them in a food processor. They can be fine or you can leave chunks for texture. Spread the ground nuts on a baking sheet lined with greaseproof paper, and until the nuts are golden and fragrant (tip: I put them in for 5 minutes with the timer on; check them, then keep doing them in 2 minute intervals, in each case using the timer to make sure they don’t burn). When done, remove them from the oven and allow to cool.

2.When you’re ready to make the cookies, start by preheating the oven to 170°C (340°F). Line two baking sheets with greaseproof paper. Also put a saucepan of water on the stove over a medium heat.

3. Now make the meringue. Get a heatproof bowl. Add the egg whites and salt. Whisk to the soft peaks stage. Now add the sugar, a spoonful at a time, mixing well after each addition, until you have a stiff meringue. Fold in the vanilla and ground cinnamon. Finally fold in the cooled nuts.

4. Now put the bowl over the pan of water – it should be barely simmering. Gently stir the mixture with a spatula for 10 minutes. It will become slightly darker and slightly more runny by the end, but don’t expect to see massive changes.

5. Next, remove the bowl from the heat. Take tablespoons of the mixture and put them on the prepared baking sheet. The neatest way to do this is with an ice-cream scoop, but spoons work just as well. Just don’t expect them to be too neat or too regular!

6. Bake the cookies for around 25 minutes until golden, turning half-way to get an even colour. When done, remove from the oven and leave to cool on a wire rack. The cookies will become firmer as they cool.

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{4} Kletzenbrot

Oh, festive breads. I’ve got a thing about them. You see, we’ve got a bit of a history, and frankly it’s not exactly glorious. To be frank, my success in the past can be described as “mixed” and that’s only if we’re being very charitable.

I can make a decent Italian panettone without any problems, but that’s pretty easy. You just form the dough it into a ball and let it rise. But where I start to struggle is with those loaves that need to be elaborately shaped. I do my best to make they look good, but then during the baking they seem to go crazy, and I struggle in making sure that they’re going to keep their shape after a spell in the oven. Last year I tried making a Dutch duivekater, which should look smooth and bronzed with intricate patterns cut into its surface after a spell in the oven. Well, my attempt ended up looking like something from a barbecue rather than a festive loaf fresh from the oven, with the various cut patterns just serving as new ways for the inside of the loaf to make a break for freedom. It did taste great (lightly sweetened, with lemon and cardamom if you’re curious), but it certainly wasn’t a winner in the looks department. It might feature in 12 Days of Baking one year, but it won’t be this year.

However, I’m not one to let a few past culinary wobbles put me off. Maybe it was just a case of trying a different approach? And this is how I came across a recipe for Kletzenbrot and knew I had to try it.


Kletzenbrot means “pear bread”. The name comes from Kletzen, the Austrian German word for pears. When I learned German back in school, we were taught it was die Birnie for a pear, but hey, different ways in different places, and they do it differently in Austria. Indeed, those crazy Austrians, it’s Schlagobers rather than Schlagsahne, and my personal favourite, Paradiser rather than Tomaten, as tomatoes are thought to resemble red apples of the sort that might have been found in the Garden of Eden. Cute, eh?

I’d describe this loaf as something with has more than a passing resemblance to British mince pies, but in the form of a loaf, and not as sweet. You start off by cooking dried pears until soft, then chop them up and mix them with other dried fruit, nuts and spices. I added a good glug of rum, and what do you know, the whole thing really does smell like Christmas in a bowl. That’s to be expected, as by this stage you’ve essentially made rustic mincemeat. Leave it to rest for a day, then the next day you make a rye dough using the water that the pears were soaked in, work in the fruit, and then pray, I mean pray that after shaping that the loaves will bake as intended. Mixing the dough and the fruit is pretty good fun, as it’s stick and really needs you to get in there with your hands to make sure it is all properly combined.

When looking at different recipes, some recipes suggested just shaping and baking, but I came across one that covered the loaf in a sheet of plain bread dough called a Bladl which seems to be a Bavarian/Austrian term for a leaf or a sheet (like paper). You just take a couple of handfuls of the dough before mixing into the fruit, roll it thin, enjoy the fun of trying to get a piece of not-very-stretchy rye dough to stick to your filling and end up looking vaguely neat. Helpfully the recipe makes two loaves, so you can try with one, make all your mistakes, then nail it on the second one. I think the Bladl step is worth doing – it provides protection for the filling, and it avoids one of my pet hates when baking with dried fruit, which are the over-baked raisins and sultanas peeking out the top, waiting to stab the top of your mouth when you eat them. The names does sound a bit like “bladder” which is good for a bit of cheap humour, but we can overlook that part.


I might be making this sound really easy, and making the fruit and the dough was simple. However the Bladl step actually ended up taking quite a bit of practice since this is a low gluten flour with limited desire to be flexible as compared with strong white flour. I rolled it out a couple of times and tried to lift but it kept breaking. Finally I realised that the way to do it was to roll out the Bladl, then dampen the surface of the shaped fruit loaf with water, then lift the loaf on top of the Bladl. Then it was quite easy (well, easy-ish) to gather the dough up the sides and tidy it up. Then flip it over and transfer back to the baking sheet. The key thing to keep in mind is not to completely envelope the filling. The yeast still has its thing to do, and it will rise a bit when it goes into the oven. If you’ve wrapped it tightly in the Bladl dough, you’ll get some big cracks and splits on the surface. If you’ve just done it on the top and sides, there is enough slack to enable to dough to rise and not look too unsightly. Remember you’re really only doing this to protect the interior, rather than worrying too much about it looking neat, and I can live with discrete cracks on the sides!

So having worked hard to make my Kletzenbrot, how does it taste?  I was actually really pleased with how it turned out. It’s a bit like fruitcake, but far less less sweet, and with a distinct savouriness from the rye bread component. The texture is dense, so it slices very neatly. It is delicious spread with butter (which has to be salted if you ask me) or otherwise eat it with cheese. I loved it with blue cheese, or with a nice sharp cheddar and a dash of chutney on top. If you’re feeling fancy, try to cut it into very thin slices and drying it out in the oven as some sort of very posh cracker for your festive cheeseboard. Traditionally Austrian? No idea. Delicious? For sure!

To make Kletzenbrot (makes 2 loaves)

For the fruit mixture

• 250g dried pears
• 600ml water
• 100g prunes
• 100g sultanas
• 200g dried figs
• 30g candied orange peel
• 30g candied lemon peel
• 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
• 1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
• 60ml rum dark rum
• 125ml apple juice
• 75g whole hazelnuts
• 75g chopped walnuts

For the dough

• 450 g rye flour
• 2 teaspoons dried yeast
• 30 g soft brown sugar
• 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon mixed spice or ground cinnamon

1. Put the dried pears in a saucepan with 600ml cold water. Slowly bring to the boil, the cook gently until the pears are tender (10-15 minutes). Drain and reserve the water. Leave the pears to cool. Keep the water covered in the fridge to use in the bread dough.

2. Chop the cooled pears, prunes and figs into chunks, and finely chop the candied peel. Put everything into a bowl and add the sultanas, spices, nuts, rum and apple juice. Mix well, cover and leave to rest overnight.

3. The next day, make the dough. Put the flour, yeast, sugar, oil and spice in a bowl. Heat the water from soaking the pears in the microwave until lukewarm, and add enough to make a dough. Don’t add it all in one go to avoid the dough being too sticky, but if you use it all and the dough is too dry, just add more water. Knead the dough for 10 minutes, then cover and leave in a warm place to rest for 2 hours. I made the dough, then took the nipper to football and shopping, so it had nearer 3 hours and seemed all the better for it.

4. Time to make the loaves. Remove 2 handfuls of the dough for the Bladl covering. Add the fruit mixture to the remaining dough and mix well with your hands. It’s going to be a very moist mixture, so be prepared for some mess! Then the mixture onto a generously-floured worktop and form the dough into 2 loaves approximately 10 x 20 cm (just shy of 4 x 8 inches).

5. Preheat the oven to 180°C (355°F). Line a baking sheet with greaseproof paper and rub lightly with vegetable oil.

6. Now make the Bladl. Take one piece of the reserved dough and roll it out thinly until large enough to cover the top and sides of a loaf. Spray or brush the loaf with water, then lift the loaf onto the Bladl. Now bring the dough up the sides of the loaf and trim off any excess, leaving the base exposed. Flip the loaf over, exposed side facing down, and transfer to the baking sheet. Repeat with the second loaf.

7. Prick the surface of the loaves with a fork (be as neat or crazy as you like), then brush them with milk.

8. Bake the Kletzenbrote for around 40 minutes. Keep an eye on them – if they look like they are getting too dark, cover loosely with aluminum foil. Tap them to test if they are done – they should sound hollow. Remove from the oven and allow to cool completely before slicing.

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{3} Pasteles de Gloria

These might have the most amazing name of anything I’ve made – it translates as “glory cakes” which is really promising quite a lot! Sounds like a brag someone might make after working out, no? Anway, these little guys come from Spain, which can be relied on to deliver a delicious array of Christmas goodies. I think this may be to do with the tradition of nuns in monasteries making sweet treats to sell to the local populace, or more likely well-heeled pilgrims.


Last year I made Cordiales de Murcia which are marzipan filled with angel hair pumpkin jam. Glorias are similar and are filled with a thick sweet potato jam with a dash of cinnamon. Making this filling is actually a complete breeze – you’re not really making a jam which must set, but more of a thick paste. You just pop a large sweet potato in the oven, bake it until soft, then scrape out the flesh and cook it with sugar and cinnamon until it is bright orange, thick, very sweet and all in all quite jolly-looking.

It also seems that glorias go by a few names, and a couple of really interesting ones were tetilla de monja and teta de vaca. The latter means cow’s teat and I’ll leave you to guess that the former refers to in the context of nuns(!). You can begin to see why they are generally referred to by their glory cakes moniker.


Making the filling and marzipan is easy, but I must admit that I did find shaping them a little bit tricky, and it took me a couple of attempts to find the best way to do it. In the end, what really worked for me was to find a really small bowl, line it with a piece of plastic film, then put a ball of marzipan in it. I added another piece of cling film, then pressed down so that you get a “cup” shape with the marzipan. Then the cling film slips right off, you can add some filling, and then tease the edges together to seal the gloria. Then you lift the cling film out, gloria still inside, then gather the top and twist. Hey presto – they look neat! I do recommend playing a little bit with the marzipan and perfecting your technique. Once I’d made two or three, I got the knack of it, so don’t worry if the first few are not perfect. They will be dusted with icing sugar, which will reliably cover a multitude of sins!

When it comes to baking, you’re really looking to set the marzipan rather than turn it golden-brown, so do watch them carefully while baking. They will also be quite firm and rather dry, possibly even a little crisp when they come out the oven, but store them in an airtight tin for a couple of days and they will soften up nicely.

To make Pasteles de Gloria (makes 20)

For the filling

• 1 large or 2 small sweet potatoes (to give 250g cooked flesh)
• 150g caster sugar
• 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon

For the marzipan

• 250g ground almonds
• 1 teaspoon almond extract
• 200g caster sugar
• 2 large egg whites, beaten
• zest of 1/4 lemon

1. Make the filling. Set the oven to 200°C (400°F). Prick the sweet potato, then put in the oven and bake until it is soft. You should be easily insert a knife. This will take 45-60 minutes. When done, remove from the oven, cut the potato in half and scoop out the flesh – you want 250g of cooked sweet potato.

2. Put the cooked sweet potato flesh in a saucepan, and use an immersion blender to make a completely smooth puree. Add the sugar and cinnamon and mix well – it will look a bit more transparent and seem slightly wetter. Cook over a medium heat for around 10 minutes, stirring constantly, until you have a thick paste. Drop a small amount on a plate – it should be fairly firm. Remove from the heat, leave to cool completely, then cover and leave overnight in the fridge.

3. Make the marzipan. 1. Make the marzipan mixture. Combine the ground almonds, almond extract, sugar and lemon zest. Mix well, then add one beaten egg. Mix, and then add enough of the second beaten egg to make a marzipan. It should be soft enough to work with, but not wet or sticky. I used just over half of the second egg. If you add to much egg, just add equal amounts of almonds and sugar to get a texture you can work with.

4. The next day, time to make the pasteles. Preheat the oven to 170°C (340°F). Line a baking sheets with greaseproof paper.

5. Pinch off walnut-sized pieces of the marzipan (or weigh them – mine were 25g each). Flatten the marzipan between two pieces of plastic film, then add about half a teaspoon of the sweet potato filling. Fold the marzipan around the jam, seal, and roll into a ball between your palms.

6. Place the ball on the baking sheet, and repeat until all the marzipan has been used up. You might find you have some filling left.

7. Bake the cookies for 10 minutes – the cookies should look dry on the surface but not browned. Remove from the oven and leave to cool

8. To serve, dust with icing sugar. Don’t go crazy – pasteles de gloria are pretty sweet, so you’re dusting for effect more than anything.

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{12} Speculaasbrokken

I had grand plans to make something from the Netherlands this year – the duivekater, a Christmas loaf which a long history that even appears in famous artwork from the Dutch Golden Age. Well, you can see from the name of this post that it is not what happened. I did manage to make a duivekater for Christmas day, and it was certainly delicious, but I did it all in something of a rush. So much so that it ended up looking like something that would not have been out of place on cakewrecks rather than being the jolly photogenic festive centrepiece I had in mind. Of course I will give it another go, so I’ve already added it to my list for next year’s baking.

But this leaves me with one bake missing. So what to do? Well, something else, obviously! I’ve reflected on all the complex, intricate things I made this year, and have decided to go in the opposite direction this time. I’ve made speculaasbrokken, which are simple, quick and delicious. You might think that I made something a bit fancy and then dropped it by mistake, but this is what they should look like – the name means “pieces” or “chunks” of speculaas, or Dutch spiced biscuits.


Speculaas cookies is a key part of Christmas in the Netherlands, and you can find the famous “windmill cookies” with their intricate designs formed using wooden moulds, and more simple “spiced nuts” which are rolled into little balls and baked. You can make the special speculaas spice mixture yourself if you have the time and inclination, otherwise you can used mixed spice or pumpkin spice for a similar effect. Whatever you do, make sure you’re pretty generous with the spices!

The method here is really easy. You throw everything in a bowl, make a dough, then chill it, roll it and bake it. Either make one mega-cookie or four smaller ones. After baking, you can either break it into pieces and serve it à la manière rustique but I think there is something quite satisfying and a little bit dramatic about brining it whole to the table and then smashing it in front of your guests. 

To make speculaasbrokken:

• 300g plain white flour
150g unsalted butter
160g dark brown sugar
• 6 teaspoons mixed spices
1/2 teaspoon salt (skip if using salted butter)
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
2 tablespoons cold water
whole or flaked almonds, for decoration

1. Put all the ingredients apart from the water and almonds into a bowl, and work with your fingers until it looks like breadcrumbs. Add enough cold water to make a soft dough. Wrap in cling film, flatten, and chill for 30 minutes.

2. Preheat the oven to 170°C (340°F). Line a baking sheet with greaseproof paper.

3. Roll the dough out to 3/4 cm thickness – you can do it in one large pieces, or make 4 separate pieces. Brush with milk and put almonds on top. If you are using whole almonds, you can make some sort of pattern, or you can use flaked almonds, in which case just sprinkle and press them down.

4. Bake the speculaas for around 45 minutes until it is dark looks evenly cooked. Turn half-way for an even colour.

5. Remove from the oven and allow to cool. Then either break it into pieces to store, or keep it whole and smash it when you have guests for maximum impact.

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{8} Broas Castelares

I’ve looked for quite a long time for a Christmas recipe for Portugal. I’ve found ideas galore from Spain and Italy, but for some reason I wasn’t seeing anything from the Lusophere. That is, until now.

I’ve made little sweet potato cakes called broas castelares. The name means “Castile corn breads” and they are named after their creators, the Castelar brothers who ran a bakery called the Confeitaria Francesa, or French Patisserie, in Lisbon. It was founded in 1860 and stood in the Rua do Ouro, or “Street of Gold”, which I think is rather fitting given the colour of these cakes.


Now I say “cakes” but this recipe is a very different way of baking to the festive recipes I have tried before. This is based on sweet potato puree, which I made by roasting some sweet potatoes and scooping out the tender flesh. I thought this would give a better flavour than boiling as it would keep (and perhaps even concentrate) their flavour. Then you mix this with sugar, and the whole lot turns from sort-of-fluffy mash into a gloopy, soupy mass – I’ve seen this before making a Scottish potato-based sweet, and it seems odd that you can add dry sugar to something and it seems to get wetter!

I saw a few different versions of this recipe with different amounts of sugar. These seemed to split into Portuguese recipes and then those from everyone else. The home of Fado makes extremely liberal use of sugar, so I figured that it was safe to assume these little guys were going to be on the sweet side. This expectation was further supported by lots of non-Portuguese bakers trying to cut down the amount of sugar. Choices, choices. In the end, I decided to plump for a more authentic Portuguese version. This is a Christmas sweet after all! The version I went with came from the website of Lisbon City Council. Surely these guys would get it right?


The actual recipe is fascinating – the base is sweet potato (the orange ones, not the white ones) that you turn into a basic jammy paste. Then you mix in eggs, and add a veritable cornucopia of other nice things – ground almonds, cornmeal, coconut and orange zest. Some of the recipes suggested adding cinnamon to taste – I skipped this, but I think this could be a nice addition. You then end up with one of the stickiest doughs I’ve worked with. You leave it to chill overnight, and I thought the dry ingredients would have soaked up some of the liquid and made a thicker dough. I was wrong. The next day, it was slightly thicker but still seemed to be as sticky! But the way to deal with this is to have a plate with some neutral oil on it, and keep your hands well-coated. Any by coated, I mean pressing your palm into it, pretty often as it turned out. Then nothing sticks!

Shaping the broas was easy, provided you are making liberal use of that oil. Take a tablespoon of the mixture, roll to a ball, then form into an oval shape – I noticed that longer, slimmer ovals kept their shape better than shorter, fatter ones. The skinny ones set and keep their shape, the more squat ones seemed to spread more. Then make (or try to make) a little dent in the middle so they look like golden giant coffee beans. They are then finished with an egg yolk glaze, and baked in a hot oven.


And how do they taste? Amazing! I expected something more cake-life and reminiscent of cornbread, albeit sweet, but in fact they are more like marzipan, so I would call them a type of candy rather than a bread or a cake. As I expected, they are extremely sweet – sweet, sweet, sweet! Delicious, but for me this is something you want to eat with strong coffee or tea, rather than with mulled wine unless you’re the sort of person that wants to embrace hyperglycemia. The good thing is you can serve a tray of these and be confident that people will self-police and no-one will scoff the lot.

I hope you like this. I wasn’t sure I would and I am completely convinced. Obrigado e feliz natal!

To make Broas Castelares (makes around 40-45)

For the dough

• 1 large or 2 medium sweet potatoes (at least 500g), to yield 400g cooked flesh
• 700g soft brown sugar
• 125g ground almonds
• 50g desiccated coconut
• 125g cornmeal (fine polenta, not corn starch)
• 75g plain flour
• 3 medium eggs
• Zest of 1 orange

To finish

• vegetable oil, for your hands to work the dough
• 2 beaten egg yolks, to glaze
• tablespoon of water

1. Heat the oven to 200°C (400°F). Prick the sweet potato, then put in the oven and bake until it is soft. You should be easily insert a knife. This will take 45-60 minutes. When done, remove from the oven, cut the potato in half and scoop out the flesh – you want 400g of cooked sweet potato.

2. Put the cooked sweet potato flesh in a saucepan, and mash it. Do this manually – if you use a blender it may affect the texture. Add half the sugar and mix – it will look a bit transparent and become wetter. Cook over a medium heat for around 5 minutes, stirring constantly. It is done when you pull a wooden spoon across the base and leaves a clean trail that holds for a few seconds. Remove from the head and leave to cool to lukewarm.

3. Put the potato mixture in a large bowl. Add the eggs, and mix well. Stir in the remaining sugar, ground almonds, coconut, orange zest, flour and cornmeal. Mix to a smooth batter – it will be thick but sticky. Cover and chill overnight.

4. The next day, preheat the oven to 200°C (400°F). Prepare a few sheets of greaseproof paper and rub each with some vegetable oil.

5. Get your hands covered with vegetable oil, and keep some extra within easy reach to re-coat your hands as needed. Take a tablespoon of the mixture and roll it into a ball. Now shape into a long oval between your palms. Place on the greaseproof paper, then flatten and make a dent in the centre so they look a bit like coffee beans. Repeat until the sheet is covered – they will spread slightly so leave at least 5cm between them.

6. Make the glaze – mix the two egg yolks with a tablespoon of cold water, and mix well.

7. Slide the tray under the paper, then glaze the broas. I found it best to do this just before baking, and really get in around the sides and base as this seems to help them keep their shape. Bake for 15 minutes – the top might look mottled and very dark in some places, but this is normal. Leave for a moment to cool and set, then transfer to a wire tray.

Note: the broas are a little crisper on the outside when they are fresh, but will soften if you store them overnight in an airtight container.

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{3} Berliner Brot

I’ve teased you with aniseed and shortbread so far this year, but of course it wouldn’t be Christmas baking without chocolate and spice. So today we’re doing just that and having a go at Berliner Brot.

The name means “Berlin Bread” but this is a spiced cake that comes not from Berlin but from the Bergisches Land region in north-west Germany. It is rather like a brownie, with a cake-like texture rather than being soft and fudgy. It contains lots of nuts, dark chocolate and cocoa, and it relies on a surprise ingredient to obtain a unique flavour. You know me and baking with odd ingredients!


Berliner Brot is made with Apfelkraut. This is a type of apple butter, which originated in the border area between German, Belgium and the Netherlands. It was developed in medieval monasteries to preserve fruit from their orchards. Of course it is hard to find in Britain, so I had to trek off to the specialist German supermarket to see if they had any. Luckily they did!

Apfelkraut is a really odd ingredient, and I am not sure there really is any sort of substitute for it beyond apple butter if you can get hold of that. It looks how apple sauce might look like if you cooked it for a long, long, long time until it turns very dark and thick. This stuff looks like treacle or molasses, and the flavour is sweet and tangy. The texture is a bit like a very firm jam rather than just a thick syrup, which I think must be due to using apple puree and the pectin causing it to set.


This is an easy recipe to make, provided you’ve got the Apfelkraut. I’ve seen some recipes suggesting that you could swap it for molasses or honey, but I am not sure that would actually work. Being completely honest, this is a very rich and very sweet recipe. It contains sugar, and then there is more sweetness from the Apfelkraut. In fact, as I was making this, I really did start to wonder if this would be edible in the end, or if this would just end up being a sugar-fest.

In fact, it was delicious. But the reason it works is the reason I think you can’t swap out the Apfelkraut. It brings not only sweetness, but also sharpness and a fruity tang which balances the overall flavour. Honey or syrup would just be too sweet in this recipe. So if you’re tempted to have a go, like me, you’re going to have to go on the hunt for Apfelkraut!

If you do, best of luck!

To make Berliner Brot (makes 35 pieces):

For the dough:

• 2 large eggs
• 150g sugar
• 200g Apfelkraut
• 1 tablespoon dark rum
• 2 tablespoons water
• 250g flour

• 100g dark chocolate, finely chopped
• 2 teaspoons mixed spice
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 15g cocoa powder
• 200g whole hazelnuts and/or almonds

For the glaze:

100g icing sugar
2-3 tablespoons water

1. Preheat the oven to 170°C (340°F). Line a 9 x 13 inch tray with greaseproof paper.

2. Put the eggs and sugar in a large bowl. Whisk until pale and thick.

3. Mix the Apfelkraut, water and rum, and pour into the egg mixture. Add all the remaining ingredients except the nuts and mix to a smooth, thick batter. Finally fold in the nuts.

4. Pour the mixture onto the baking sheet. Smooth as best you can using the back of a metal spoon, and bake for 30 minutes (turn half-way to get an even bake).

5. In the meantime, make the glaze – mix the icing sugar with enough water to make a thick paste which just flows. When the dough is baked, remove from the oven and brush with the glaze. The glaze should set on the warm bread, and develop a “frosty” appearance.

6. Leave to cool completely. Trim the edges, and cut into 4 x 4cm pieces.

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{9} Snickerdoodles

You wait ages for some American Christmas cookies to make an appearance here, then two come along in quick succession. We had bizcochitos a few days ago, and now we’ve got New England’s snickerdoodles.

Snickerdoodle. It’s a funny name, eh? With a moniker like that, there is obviously some sort of fascinating story, and…well…I did look, but I didn’t actually find anything conclusive.

The obviously-always-reliable Wikipedia suggests the name is Dutch or German in origin and is actually a corruption of the German Schneckennudeln (the appetizing “snail dumpling”). But given the word ‘cookie’ comes from the Dutch koekje maybe the name has its origins in New Amsterdam rather than New England? It certainly sounds to anglophone ears like something a stereotypical Dutch character would stay on a comedy show. So I wondered if the name could be a more random literal translation. Well, the Dutch words snikker-doedel could be translated as “squeaky bagpipe”, but that really is getting rather silly. But hey, it’s Christmas, and I usually spend December 1/3 full of marzipan, 2/5 full of mulled wine and the rest full of chocolate and mince pies, so I’m really not so fussed.

Anyway, this crazy talk of squeaky bagpipes links to the other name origin theory, which is that New Englanders are apparently quite partial to whimsical names for their baking. This story sort of works, with other local names including Joe Frogger cookies (molasses, rum and nutmeg) and Hermit cookies (sultanas and raisins). Honestly, it is not exactly the long list of whimsical names I had hoped for, so I’m going with the corrupted German name story if it’s all the same.


That is enough talk about the name. What about the taste? These little guys are all about the cinnamon. It’s one of my favourite spices (the other being cardamom) and I’ll devour anything with a good dose of the stuff in it.

The recipe and flavour seems to be pretty universal – buttery dough (which might or might not have vanilla) that is rolled in cinnamon sugar before baking, and often with a traditional wrinkled and cracked appearance on top. Isn’t it nice when we all agree? Well, there is debate. There is a clear split in the world of snickerdoodle fans, is between those that like them chewy and those that prefer them to be more cake-like. Maybe it is being British that makes me prefer cookies that are either crisp or chewy. Anyway, my version are slightly chewy, which strikes a happy balance between the two.

When it comes to flavours, I’m usually all for experimenting. But this is one of those times when you just don’t need to. In fact, you probably shouldn’t mess around. Snickerdoodles are for lovers of cinnamon, and that’s why you would make them. I can’t imagine using any other spice to make these (clove cookies? Just…no!).

So happy snickerdoodling. Is it a verb? I really think it ought to be. And long may your bagpipes squeak!

To make snickerdoodles (makes around 30):

For the dough:

• 330g plain flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 2 teaspoons cream of tartar
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 225g butter
• 300g caster sugar
• 2 large eggs

For the cinnamon sugar:

• 100g caster sugar
• 2 tablespoons ground cinnamon

1. Mix the flour, baking soda, cream of tartar and salt. Sieve, and put to one side.

2. In a large bowl, beat the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the flour mixture and mix well until combined. The dough will be fairly sticky. Wrap it in cling film and chill for at least an hour, or overnight.

3. Preheat the oven to 180°C (355°F). Line a baking sheet with greaseproof paper.

4. Make the cinnamon sugar: mix the sugar and cinnamon, and place in a bowl for later.

5. Take pieces of the dough the size of a large walnut (around 30g) and form into a ball. Roll the ball in the cinnamon sugar. Place on the baking sheet and flatten slightly, leaving plenty of space for the cookies to expand. I baked them in batches, 8 per tray.

6. Bake the snickerdoodles for around 8-10 minutes (turning the tray half-way) until they have expanded and flattened. They will be soft when you take them out, but they will firm up and go a bit wrinkly as they cool. Immediately sprinkle over a little more cinnamon sugar, then transfer to a wire tray to cool completely.

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{7} Bizcochitos

If you are a regular follower of my Christmas baking endeavours, you’ll know that most of the delights I post about come from random corners of Europe. I think the only exceptions so far are  South African soetkoekies and Japanese-inspired chestnut sweets.

Well today we’ve got another addition to this exclusive set, as we’re heading all the way over to the Southwest of the USA – to New Mexico to be exact.


Bizcochitos are crisp-yet-crumbly biscuits dipped in sugar, and flavoured with aniseed and cinnamon. So far, so festive. However, bizcochitos are much more than just a festive cookie. It turns out that they are nothing less than the official state cookie of New Mexico.

Bizcochitos have a long history that can be traced back to the first Spanish residents of a region then called Santa Fe de Nuevo México, which would go on to become the state of New Mexico. Confusingly, the country of Mexico had not become independent of Spain at this time, so this name doesn’t seem to be as an alternative to the national of Mexico.

Anyway, over time, bizcochitos become associated with weddings and Christmas. Those original cookies were flavoured with the spices available at the time, either those that grew there or those that arrived via trade routes. And I think the use of lard in some versions can be traced back to this too – lard features in quite a few Spanish cookie recipes today. It is certainly the first time I have seen a recipe in which cinnamon and aniseed are the two prominent flavours. It’s an unusual but delicious pairing.


A key part of making bizcochitos is coating them in sugar while still warm from the oven. And you might wonder if you really need to add this layer of sweetness? In a word, yes!

First off, it is traditional, so if you don’t dip them in cinnamon sugar, you’ve just got some aniseed cookies. Oh, and it’s quite fun to dip them as you juggle them, hot from the oven, between your fingers to get them properly coated. Second, it is the sugar that adds the intense cinnamon flavour. I’ve added a little ground cinnamon to the dough in this recipe, but I think you’d be missing out if you didn’t do the dip. Finally, the dough itself is not that sweet – these little guys assume they’ll be rolling in sugar, so just go with it.

This is also a cookie that I discovered in a different way to most of my festive baking. I usually go on the hunt for ideas, trawling the web and looking in cookbooks. But I found out about bizcochitos as I was given a bag of them by our friend Jess when she visited from the US. They were addictive, so I looked them up, made them myself, and I was hooked. I can only hope that I’ve done them justice.


This is a great dough if you want to cut out fancy shapes and have the cookies keep their shape – I’ve gone a bit crazy with the cutters here. Some sources suggest stars and crescent moons are traditional, so I’ve gone with stars as well as hearts and scalloped cookies.

I’ve also done some smaller bite-sized cookies in the shape of a five-petal flower. These have a bit of a story about them. Yes guys, this is a post peppered with asides and memories! The shape is typical of a Japanese cookie called soba-boro which is made from buckwheat flour. I had originally intended to include soba-boro as one of my twelve bakes this year, and I made them twice. Sadly, I just didn’t like them. It turned out that they are known for a specific flavour which comes from using baking soda as the raising agent, and it just was not a flavour that I enjoyed. I thought I had made a mistake in my first attempt, so I was rather deflated when I realised on my second attempt that they tasted the same. Given they are a big hit in their culinary home of Kyoto, it may just be my personal preference. However I was quite taken with the shape, so I decided to try it one these cookies, and I think the result is really great. There is not fancy cutter involved – just cut out the flower, then find something round to cut out the centre (I used the tip of a large metal piping nozzle).


In terms of making these cookies, the process is fairly easy. The only advice I would offer is that once you’ve cut out the cookies and put them on the baking sheet, it is worth chilling them again so that they keep their shape as they bake. I put the whole tray in the freezer for 2 minutes, and it seems to do the trick. Other than that – get baking and think of the dramatic scenery of New Mexico as you enjoy the unusual flavour of bizcochitos.

To make Bizcochitos (makes 40-50, depending on size)

For the dough:

• 225g unsalted butter
• 150g caster sugar
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/4 teaspoon aniseed extract

• 2 teaspoons aniseeds, crushed
• 1 tablespoon brandy
• 1 large egg
• 350g plain flour, plus more if needed
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt

To finish:

• 150g caster sugar
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1. In a large bowl, cream the butter and sugar. Add the cinnamon, aniseed, aniseed extract, brandy and egg, and beat well until light and fluffy.

2. In a separate bowl, mix the flour, baking powder and salt. Add the flour to the butter mixture and mix with a wooden spoon and then your hands until it comes together to a soft dough.

3. Wrap the dough in cling film and chill it in the fridge for 30 minutes, or overnight.

4. Preheat the oven to 175°C (350°F). Line a baking sheet with greaseproof paper.

5. Make the cinnamon sugar – put the sugar and cinnamon in a bowl and mix well.

6. Roll the dough out to around 4mm thickness and cut out cookies. Place them on a baking sheet (don’t mix shapes and sized on the same tray – some will burn before others are baked). Pop the tray and cookies in the fridge or freezer for 2 minutes.

7. Bake for 8-12 minutes until golden (the time will depend on the size – the flowers were 8 minutes, the scalloped cookies took 12), and turn the tray around during baking to get an even colour. Let the cookies cool for a brief moment, then fully dip each one into the cinnamon sugar, shake off the excess and transfer to a wire tray to cool completely.

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