November: Theivamanoharan Handshake

 

Week 1

My thinking with baking is to increase the challenge as the week goes on. First then I start with cookies. The recipe has been given to me by my mother-in-law. It’s a Nigella episode. Before I talk about the cookies, let’s reflect on the name Nigella. Her father was Conservative Chancellor of the Exchequer, Nigel Lawson. That’s right Nigel just added ‘la’ to his name to get his daughter’s name. So intent was he on passing it on, he wasn’t going to let the small matter of having a girl get in the way. Teachers can look forward to ‘Ryanla’ gracing the school registers in the future with my daughter explaining, “My name? Legacy to blame.”

Away from the name, I was worried about doing a Nigella recipe because it’s a well-known fact that whatever ingredients you put down you need to add a healthy amount of innuendo. Nigella is the Queen of innuendo. What happens if I didn’t have the requisite amount of double entendre: Will it affect my bake? Would my cookies crumble? Would my biscuit not rise to attention? This was the recipe below, but I wrote an extra ingredient to ensure success:

• 50 grams soft light brown sugar
• 50 grams caster sugar
• 50 grams unsalted butter (soft)
• 1 medium egg
• 1 teaspoon honey
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 200 grams peanut butter crunchy
• 100 grams plain flour
• 1 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda
• 1 teaspoon salt
• Mixing bowl worth of sexual innuendo

 

I decided to measure out the ingredients the night before as the maths is the least fun part of baking. I didn’t have quite enough caster sugar, but I had near enough. I said to my wife, “Near enough is fine.” Harriet was not happy with this attitude. She said, “Ryan, baking is a science. If you don’t get the quantities right, it won’t go right.” It was like Chris Whitty advising Bo Jo. I replied, “You’re too hamstrung by details. I’ll just feel the baking.” She said, “If you want to just feel the baking without weighing things properly, you can be sure that I won’t be eating the baking.” Reluctantly, I listened to her.

In following the science, the bake turned out very well. I’m a recent convert to peanut butter. I didn’t have it growing up, not because of any anti-American sentiment, but perhaps because of pro-British sentiment. I was a fan of Adrian Mole, Only Fools and Horses and The Beano. I was a cracker under the sofa, cup and saucer kind of child. To eat peanut butter would defile the Alan Bennett character I was trying to cultivate. But Kit loves a peanut butter sandwich and wouldn’t you know peanut butter is very tasty. The cookies tasted great. I must have beat my mixture with the right amount of wrist action. There we go: it’s that level of innuendo that ensured the Nigella bake went without hitch.

Week 2

I’m in work and a few people have been asking about my bakes. I’m surprised because just as Mark Twain said, ‘dance like nobody’s watching;” I write like nobody is reading. I’m at the computer in the staff room preparing a lesson when Caroline asks me, “What are you baking this week?” I tell her that I saw a Nadiya recipe in the Radio Times for a gluten-free apple cake. Caroline says she does a good Delia one. See: I’m becoming a real baker now, getting first name recommendations from others. She says to me, “An apple cake is pretty easy, you won’t have any bother with that.

I reply, “Easy for you might be difficult for me. I’m not a very good baker.”

Caroline reassures me, but then in conversation later tells me she’s been to catering college and any reassurance vanishes. 

I decide to heed my wife’s advice and do the maths and follow the science. I weigh out everything carefully and take a breath before undertaking this technical challenge. I’m making a cake without standard flour and without eggs – I’m not sure about this at all. No one I know is a vegan, but I’m not yet at a level where I can follow instinct and make my own substitutions. If the recipe says it, I’ll follow it.

Everything seems to be going well. Going into the oven, everything looks as it should. It’s coming out of the oven where the problem arises. I put the bake on the cooling rack and nervously await my wife’s inspection.

“I’m not sure about this, Harriet.”

We cut into it and the apples don’t seem like they’ve cooked properly. She gives me a couple of kind eyes and says, “It’s raw, Ryan.”

I feel really disappointed. We were going to meet friends in the park today, one of which was celebrating her birthday. I had visions of us all on picnic blankets laughing as we ate cake. I hoped my cake would add a slice of bonhomie to the afternoon, instead we would be going empty handed. I also didn’t like the idea of throwing a whole cake away, not when some people struggle for food in the world. It was edible; it’s just the apple sauce I bought was pretty runny and not chunky enough; the excess liquid meant I needed a longer cooking time. I agree that it’s not fit for human consumption, but I’m not a human when it comes to food. People don’t know this about me but I am a machine when it comes to eating. Over the next week, I therefore decide to eat all the cake myself. In worrying about the consequences of a privileged westerner throwing away food, I greedily eat the whole thing. The irony of that sentence isn’t lost on me.

 

Week 3

I’ve lost confidence so I choose to bake something from Kit’s picture book. A fridge bake that doesn’t require you use the oven at all. This is an easy win: like Manchester City drawing Dunstable Town in the FA Cup. But to continue the analogy, Pep has a confidence stricken striker in need of a goal. The Highway Rat’s Fridge Cake has a cheesecake digestive base and a chocolate sauce on top – it sets in the fridge very nicely. My confidence is restored; I can go again.

 

Week 4

I deliberate what my final bake will be. I decide to go for something quite traditional to show what I’ve learnt over the month. I feel a carrot cake will be a good way to go because it involves mixing, sifting and whisking. Three fundamentals of baking. I put Kit in his high chair and bring the bowl over to him to give it a good stir. As things stand, I’m not sure what Crystal Maze game he would be selected for. He likes a book: mental. He enjoys Hide and Seek: mystery. He can pick up peas: skill. But judging by his face when he’s stirring a mix, he likes a physical challenge too.

We put the carrot cake in the oven and don’t open the oven door. I learnt this when watching The Bake Off. You lose heat if you open the door too much. Baking favours the patient. Curiosity killed the cat; it also killed the cake. So we wait and we wait. Kit sits by the oven door like a contestant. I feel a little nervous: if I get this one right, it provides a satisfying conclusion to the blog – I would have gone from confidence to setback to eventual triumph. A true heroes journey. A whole sense of narrative is resting on this carrot cake. I’m just glad carrot cakes aren’t sentient, as surely it would otherwise topple under such pressure.

The bake comes out looking good. Whilst it cools, I put together the icing.  With the remaining crushed nuts and some shop bought decorations, I set about beautifying the cake. I’ve never been artistic; I’ve never been the most presentable type; when I mark books I empathise with the kids who don’t underline titles or highlight words in gold. Presentation is such a faff. If our children are to grow up in a society where appearance is secondary to the content of character, shouldn’t we start with cakes? I’ve half a mind to just chuck the icing on to strike a blow against ‘filtered Instagram glamour,’ but I want this to look good so I submit to toxic beauty. I therefore create swirls with my knife, distribute the mini carrots precisely and disseminate the nuts evenly.

Harriet comes home and is impressed by what she sees. We cut in and the joy is shared. The cake is just right: existing in that happy place between dryness and moisture. We freeze the other half, saving a slice for mum. I’m confident a Theivamanoharan handshake awaits. I don’t think I’m going to be the new Chigs or anything. I won’t be appearing on Bake Off next year making a Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. But if I have the confidence to bake with my little boy and have him enjoy the maths, the science, the art, the design of it, then I’ll take that. 

If music be the food of love, play on.