Cherry cake and The Carpetbaggers

I was most unsuccessful at being a home schooled child. 

As I was to live with Mama and Bumps for a while, and the nearest school too far for us to drive on a daily basis – Mama became my teacher.  She set up a small desk, bought me a variety of pens, pencils, colouring in pens, notepads and a nice little alarm clock to keep track of the time.

It started off quite well.  I managed to convince mama that we had a 20 minute break each hour and that school really did end at 12h00.  After breakfast we would settle down for a lesson in mathematics where it was expected that I know up to my 13 times tables and to be able to shout the numbers out just like that!  Mama quickly realised that the maths lessons needed to be shortened and that I should concentrate on what I was good at... things like reading and drawing.

We did have an official curriculum to follow and I had to write weekly tests which would be posted to the education department for a progress report. Poor Mama struggled to get me to concentrate and pay attention.  She soon moved the desk away from the window into a corner so that I would not be distracted.  She would give me a worksheet and give me a time slot to finish.  She would come back only to find I had decorated the worksheet with images of flowers and cats and other such doodles.  She really did her best, and I took horrendous advantage of her lack of school discipline knowledge. 

There was one thing however, that I was really good at and that was reading.  In the passage way there was a long wooden shelf full of picture books like National Geographic, books on the World Wars, Books on artists and musicians and of course a wealth of cookery books.  I could spend hours looking through these books and pouring over the wording and explanations of shark frenzy eating or the affects of mustard gas on soldiers or the step by step guide on how to make a Croquembouche!

I also received my sex education in this way.  Mama’s goddaughter, my darling Aunty Fran had a library too.  But her library was full of exciting and grown up novels.  I spent nonstop days reading The Thorn Birds and The Carpetbaggers.  We would visit Aunt Fran every time we went in Salisbury for groceries or to deliver Mama’s preserves.  Aunt Fran was and still is an exciting, loud and hysterically funny lady!  Every trip would see me take novels back to the farm and I would sit either on the white slatted garden swing out by the Massa tree or on my favourite boulder (shaped like an elephants bum) under the Jacaranda tree and read and read and read.

My beautiful Mama, resigned to the fact that a maths genius I would never be - would bring me jugs of homemade lemon juice and thick slices of cherry cake...and leave me to get an education.

Mama’s cherry tea cake

What you need:

• Measure the weight of 5 eggs (in their shells)
• Measure out the same weight in cake flour, caster sugar and butter.
• Add 2 t-spoons baking powder
• 1 cup chopped glace cherries
• Zest of 1 lemon
• 3 table spoons brandy

How to make:

• Separate eggs and whisk the white till soft peaks
• Mix all the other ingredients together and then fold in the egg whites
• Pour into a greased loaf tin and bake at 180 degrees for about 30 minutes

YUM

Want to read The Carpetbaggers?

Nostalgia and Yorkshire Pudding

Don’t you find on occasion, that nostalgia brings a sense of sadness with it?

I wish I could go back in time and be a better granddaughter. All the times I could have learnt things from Mama and Bumps, but did not for reasons I guess only a ten year old would understand.  I wish I could ask Mama how come her cakes were always super light and soft and mine come out dense more often than not.  I wish I could ask Mama why my Yorkshire puddings do not always rise gloriously like hers did (mine sometimes resemble a discus and could actually be used as such too). 

I wish I could ask Bumps to tell me more of his stories from his war days - like when he was stationed in Kenya and what it was like listening to enemy code!  I would ask him to teach me some more naughty rhymes as we rambled down the country lane aiming for the fresh cow pats. And I would prick my finger so that we could look at my blood under the microscope instead if shrieking and running away like a ninny!

Yesterday would have been my Dads 71^st birthday.  He has been gone four years now.  So I guess this is the source of my melancholy mood today.  My Dad was a great hulk of a man.  His favourite things to eat were egg and chips and Mamas Yorkshire pudding drowned with her famous brown onion gravy!  To be honest Dad loved most food, as do I - like father like daughter. Mama would watch him relish his dinner the same way I watch my son relish his dinner.  Nothing can give you as deep a pleasure as watching someone really and truly enjoy the fruits of your labour.

A short blog today as I plan to be in the kitchen practising the YP in honour of my Dad and I will get it right... a mountain of golden crispy batter, light and delicious! YUM! Honey... guess what’s for dinner!

Happy birthday Daddy, I miss you.

Mama’s YP

What you need:

• A piping hot oven - as hot as it can go
• 125 grams plain flour
• a pinch of salt
• 2 eggs
• 200 mls full fat milk and 100 mls water
• 50 grams lard or dripping - don't use butter as it will burn

How to make:

• Beat the eggs, milk and water and pour into the flour and salt mixture.
• Mix until a smooth batter is formed – and leave to stand for 20 mins.
• Use the heaviest metal oven dish you have, put in the lard and place in the hot oven.
• Once the lard is “smoking”, whisk the batter up again to add air and pour into the pan (see why you cant use glass...as it will shatter).
• Close the oven door quickly and don’t open until the pudding has risen and is golden – serve immediately.

I sometimes serve it with honey and cream as a dessert. YUM

For the love of dogs

I have never known a time without dogs.  Animals were such a part of my childhood and each one of them have a special place in my heart.  I have animals now and always will have animals.  Our home is just not right without wagging tails and purring bundles of softness of your lap.

I don’t know many Rhodesians that did not have dogs.  Oh, BTW... I am well aware that Rhodesia is now Zimbabwe and my blog will catch up to that soon enough.  But I am writing from my memories and in some kind of chronological order... we are now in the "Rhodesian era". 

Back to the dogs now.

Most farmers had big dogs, like Rhodesian Ridgebacks or Bullmastiffs.   Mama and Bumps had two Bullmastiffs Libby and Benny (big-balls).  Beautiful, strong and loyal, they were massive and powerful dogs...especially to a young girl.  But Ben was sweet and gentle and often took on the role of "horse" when we played around on the lawn.  He had a way of bumping me in the butt when it was time to play, and I often ignored him as this would only make him head butt me more!  Libby would lie under the Jacaranda tree and watch the two of us with her front paws stretched out in front of her, crossed in a ladylike manner.  As much as I loved these two dogs... the smell of their dog farts have been blazoned into my olfactory memories forever.  

After dinner, we would retire to the sitting room to play a game of scrabble or listen to the radio (yes we had TV but it was only on for 2 hours a day back then!).  Libby and Ben would lie behind the couch and every so often their personal gifts would come wafting up. Anyone of you who have ever owned a dog, or currently owns a dog knows there is nothing quite like the smell of your dogs gas. We love them none the less...

I am quite convinced that Libby and Ben’s particular fragrance came from the home-made dog biscuits Mama whipped up for them.  Every evening in a ritual never broken, the dogs would sit in front of Mama with ribbons of drool hanging from their jowls and she would give them their “bikkies”.  So today I share with you Mamas recipe for dog biscuits.  I can’t say YUM in this case... but I am sure your dogs will!

Doggie treats

What you need:

• 1 kg bran
• 4 eggs
• 2 cups oil
• 2 beef stock cubes melted in a little hot water
• A little extra water in case the mix is still too dry

 How to make:

• Mix everything together in a large bowl, getting your hands in there to make sure it mixes up really well.  It should form stiff but not brittle dough.
• Roll into sausage shapes and cut into bite size bits
• Place on oven sheet and bake at 180 degrees for about 20 minutes.
• Leave to cool and store in an airtight container in the pantry.  These will keep for a month.

Snakes and ice cream

An old friend of Mama’s emailed me last night to say how much she was enjoying my blog.  I feel such a delightful sense of purpose in writing this blog.  It’s as if Mama is right here next to me as I write about her and Bumps and my times with them.

Mama was very fond of her afternoon tea, and often had guests come over for a visit.  The tea trolley would be laden with little morsels of pleasure, and a huge pot of tea of the very best china would brew under a pretty tea cosy.

We often had tea out on the patio, which overlooked the lush rose garden and pretty lawns with a view down to the orchard.  On the left hand side of the patio you would find all kinds of beautiful birds housed in a huge aviary. I cannot remember what all of them were, but I remember being fascinated by all the colours and noises they would make.  I know there were love birds and budgies and canaries...but to what the other ones were, I cannot tell.

During the grown up chatter, I sat quiet as a mouse staring at the interesting ladies in front of me.  It did not matter that we were on an African farm, in the sweltering heat – the ladies were dressed in summer frocks, pearls and hats with dainty fans to chase away the flies.  All except for Mama – as she was a bit of a rebel and wore her trade mark slacks with one of her many beautiful floral blouses. On this particular hot and sunny Rhodesian afternoon as we sat on the patio sipping tea from china cups and munching on tea cakes - something most exciting happened!

The family dogs went barking mad and the birds started to screech and fly around the cage in anguished distress. There above the aviary was the cause of the ruckus. A cobra lay coiled up and its beady eyes seeking out which bird would do for tea. The dogs, Polly, Gretel, Libby and Ben (whom we called Benny-big-balls for obvious reasons) rushed around bumping the tea trolley causing tea and cake to go flying!

The cobra now alarmed at the noise from the dogs and screeches from the ladies – reared its head to display its fierce hood ready to spit its venom at will!  As we stood back from the frightening site, Mama called out to Bumps in a manner of calmness defying the scary situation we were faced with and asked him to bring the gun.  Bumps aimed the point 2.2 rifle and shot the snake between the eyes....oh ok -a bit of artistic licence there...he actually blew the snakes head right off.

Jawa the gardener, pulled the headless snake off the aviary and declared he would take this home for his wife to cook...better him than me, I say.  This was just one of the many, many, many run-ins we had with snakes!  This was Rhodesia you know... spitting cobras, boom slangs, adders, mambas you name it – but more on them another time.

As I mentioned, Mamas friend Jill – emailed me.  Jill asked if I would share Mama’s ice-cream recipe...so yes of course I will.  This is a family treasure and I share this with lots of love and hope you enjoy it as much as I did and still do!

Mama’s ice-cream – and you don’t need a fancy ice cream maker for this!

What you need:

• 2 tins condensed milk – 1 if you don’t want it too sweet
• 1 Litre whipping cream
• 6 eggs, separated
• Dash vanilla essence

How to make:

• Whisk the egg whites till soft peaks
• Wisk the cream till soft peaks, add in the condensed milk, egg yolks and vanilla essence and give it a stir
• Add the egg whites into the mixture and whisk until just smooth
• At this point... I deviate a little from Mama and add in some crushed chocolate cookies or stir in some melted toffee... add as you like!
• Pour into a tub and place in the freezer – you can give it a stir through in a couple of hours if you like – this is not necessary as it is such a high fat mixture it won't form crystals
• Leave to set for 12 hours.
• Take out of freezer 20 minutes before serving – otherwise you’ll break the spoon!

 
YUM

Fond of fondants

I was once stung by a scorpion.

I can remember shrieking hysterically at the searing heat blazing through my index finger, and Mama as calm as can be packed my swelling finger with a paste of bicarbonate of soda.  I can’t say for sure that it helped much, but what did help was being allowed to choose anything I wanted from the pantry to help me feel better.

And thus began my relationship with food.  Food heals all.  It makes you whole.  It gives you warmth in your tummy and a tangy sizzle on your tongue. The aromatic spice fills you being with a charge of energy and the gooey chocolaty batter from a devil’s food cake tantalizes your inner demon. In short, I am totally and unrepentantly addicted to food.  Without it, I think I would starve.

The scorpion did me a huge favour that day.  I did not repay it gently though...I bashed it into a pulp with one of my wellington boots and sent it on its way to scorpion heaven.  In the hopes of consoling my pain, and a bit of embarrassment at my explosive display of shrieking, I stepped into the cool dark pantry and like any child on Christmas morning, was filled with excitement as I reached up to pull the light switch on to discover the glorious gifts laid out before me.  No Christmas can compare.

The light caught the glint on the glass jars filled with treasure.  Mama had jars filled with ingredients stored and stacked according to use.  The bottom shelf was for the larger jars, filled with flour, sugar, rice, barley, bran and maize. The next few shelves contained Bird’s custard powder, jellies, stock powders, and exotic spices of all kinds, cooking chocolate, homemade fondants, oils, and homemade sauces.

The top shelf...ahhh the top shelf.  Jars of cherries, glace fruit, pecan nuts, brazil nuts, almonds, preserved apricots, plums, kumquats and the list goes on.  The top shelf is also where Mama stored the cookie tins.  One for lemon creams, one for muesli bars, one for Romany creams, one for coconut dreams and then there was a box.  It was one of those boxes whose lids fitted snugly over the bottom part, almost like a hat box.  It was decorated with scenes from a London park with women dressed in bustier dresses and men in top hats, carriages with dressed horses and happy children playing with the family dog.  It must have been one of the many items brought with Mama and Bumps from England when they came over to Rhodesia on the Union Castle in the 1950s.

Inside this box were Mama’s handmade chocolates.  Strawberry fondant, vanilla cream, coffee delight, almond brittle and orange snaps.  Each one a different design, a perfect creation of impending pleasure. This box and I became soul mates. Even to this day the excitement of opening a luxury box of chocolates is comparable to falling in love. YUM.

I share with you today Mama’s fondant recipe:.

What you need:

• 1 tin of condensed milk
• 3 ½ cups sifted icing sugar
• Some corn flour to dust the work surface
• Your chosen flavourings (coffee essence, peppermint oil, strawberry etc)

How to make:

• Mix the condensed milk and icing sugar  and your chosen flavour together till smooth and forms a ball – add more icing sugar if too soft.
• Dust your work surface with some corn flour and roll the fondant into a smooth sausage shape.
• Cut into small rounds and decorate with cherries or almonds and serve as after dinner bonbons.

Spuds

There was just nothing better than taking the steering wheel from my Granddad and aiming right for the fresh cowpats in the road!  If I got the wheel slap in the middle of the fresh turd... I got a point!  If I got five points or more...he would teach me another line from a naughty rhyme!

That sums up pretty much my relationship with my Granddad...He was and will always be the funniest man I’ll ever know.  It would be remiss of me not to mention him in my blog, all be the blog dedicated to Mama.  But without Mama there was no Bumps and without Bumps there was no Mama.  They were married for 57 years and they have set one hell of a goal for hubby and me.  Incidentally hubby and I are 15 years down the road...

“I’m forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air” was one of his favourite ditties.  The emphasis on the last “air” is what made it so hysterical.  I guess you had to be there, but he pulled such a funny face at the last “air”.  Bumps had what we called a pair of choppers...false teeth.  He regularly liked to pull funny faces at me when Mama’s back was turned.  He became quite professional at pushing his choppers out to resemble Dracula type teeth.  This would send me into fits of giggles.  Bumps would put his finger to his lips in a gesture of “be quite” and the two of us would sit like naughty school children as Mama turned around to see what all the fuss was about.  If she caught him out during one of his antics her standard reprimand would be “Oh Mal, stop being such a dirty beast!” The love between the two of them remained evident until the very end.

I’ll share a secret with you... on our drives down the country lane, aiming for the fresh cow turds and easily scoring my 5 points.  Bumps sang a little song that Mama would have walloped him on the earhole had she known such a young girl was being taught... Here is goes:“Salome, Salome, me girl Salome...she can fight, fart, fondle “beep”, wheel a barrow, drive a truck – my girl Salome!” Now you can image what rhymes with truck... and although Bumps never said the “f” word... I knew what it was and felt ever so daring and grown up for learning this little ditty! 

There were so many naughty tunes he taught me, they were songs he and his fellow soldiers used to sing during the war... the 2^nd World War of course.  He was a “radio ham” and was responsible for sending and receiving messages via the Ham radio and deciphering Morse code.  Bumps had a tin leg too. His right leg got gangrene and he had to have his leg amputated just below the knee.  On one if his missions, there was poor radio signal so he connected the radio to his tin leg and used it as an antennae!  There is an article written on this and I’ve got it somewhere...I’ll try find it and post it for you all to read.

Now Bumps loved to wind Mama up at the dinner table.  Remember I said how we used starched white linen and silver cutlery for dinner?  Well Bumps – who was a great fan of Dave Brubeck – loved to play “Take Five” on the crystal glasses with the silver knives as a pair of drum sticks! As Mama removed a glass from Bumps, I would pass him mine and so a merry game of pass the glass ensued.  This was a nightly affair, and every night was like the first.  I relished the joy and frivolity at the posh dinner table, but most of all I felt deeply secure and loved.

The recipe today is one of Bumps’ favourite things to eat...roast spuds.  Mama had a special way of making them so that they were golden and crispy on the outside and soft and fluffy inside. Bumps used to nip one from the middle of the table when Mama was still busy dishing up and pop a hot spud into his mouth...then create the most amazing noises of rapturous appreciation for the spuds...

Mama’s spuds

What you need: (enough for four persons)

• 4 large spuds - peeled and cut into quarters
• 2 table spoons Lard and 250 grams butter for roasting (if you don’t have lard use Olive oil instead)

How to make:

• Par boiled the cut up spuds in salted water, pour out the water and let the potatoes cool
• Heat the oven on 230 degrees
• In a large roasting dish put in the fats and place in the oven to melt, once melted add in your potatoes and give them a good mix to make sure they are all covered with the fat – the potatoes must have space around them – so make sure your dish is big enough
• Roast for 40 minutes or until as golden brown as you like them.
• Serve immediately. YUM

Butter

I often wonder if I was the cause of my parents’ divorce.  I was six at the time and can remember not knowing whom I “belonged” to.  It was in the middle of the Rhodesian war that they decided to part ways.  Both my parents were in the army.  My Mother an army medic and my Father in the “office side” of the army... as neither of them are here any more... I can’t be sure of the correct regiment.  None the less it was most probably difficult circumstances and the pressure of being at war that drove them apart.

I should write now that it was a hard and difficult time for me and that I was fraught with anguish.  But whilst they were deciding who I belonged to - I belonged to my grandparents and I was blissful and deliriously happy and of course very well fed.  Mama was ever so grand.  She came from the era of grace, poise and gentility. She never went a day without makeup or a change of jewellery. Even when in the kitchen, slaving over a batch of marmalade she was as grand as Rita Hayworth – apart from wearing furs of course.

Every meal was a ritual.  She would tut tut at me for serving my family a bowl of cereal or eating off your lap in front of “who wants’ to be a millionaire”.  Nope, the table was always set properly. Breakfast saw the table decked with gingham and polished silver butter knives.  Lunch was served on the patio overlooking the rose garden and dinner was served on a starched white table cloth with napkins in silver napkin rings...cloth napkins of course not the paper kind I use these days. I loved it all.  I have long suffered illusions of grandeur and this fuelled my romantic pre-pubescent fantasy of glamour and upper class poshness. 

Before I continue... I have to tell you something. Please understand that this time of my life was in slap bang in the height of British colonialism... so yes we had servants *shock/horror*.  Kelly was our cook.  Mama took him on from a young age, about 13 I think.  He used to be a goat herder.  She trained him and sent him to cooking classes and bought him a posh white uniform and a red fez which he wore when serving us dinner.  I will tell you more about Kelly in future blogs... but it’s out now... in the age of political correctness... YES WE HAD SERVANTS. Whew, with that out in the open let me continue.

Butter was one of Mama’s most favourite ingredients... and so is it mine.  Julia Child once said you can never have enough butter! I think she must have known my Mama. During breakfast, Mama would finish of her meal with a slice of buttered toast which she would cut into small pieces and proceed with the ritual of “one for me one for you” as she shared them with the fat family dogs.  This toast did not have a quick scraping of butter on it though.  It had to have enough cold butter on the toast (with crusts cut off) so that you could see her teeth marks in the butter. Delicious farm butter...golden yellow and bursting with flavour!

YUM.

So today I share with you one of our favourite dishes Mama would serve for breakfast, with a good helping of butter for good measure!

Stewed tomatoes

What you need:

• 10 ripe plump red tomatoes, topped and tailed and cut in half (horizontally)
• 1 t-spoon of butter per half of tomato (I warned you)
• Good sprinkle of salt and pepper
• 2 t-spoons sugar
• A sprinkle of dried parsley (these days I use the fresh kind) 

How to make:

• Place the tomato halves in a baking tray and dot each one with their t-spoon of butter.  Sprinkle over the sugar and the spices and place in a hot oven (200 degrees) for 30 minutes.
• Serve... on buttered toast wink wink

Paddington's fav

I come from a farm in Africa...no offense to Charlize Theron but a plot in Benoni is not exactly the same as a farm in Africa.  I of course...did grow up on a farm.

I was born in Rhodesia on a misty morning in the Umtali Mountains.  My mother – who was drug induced after giving birth to me, asked the nurse to draw back the curtains and there it was.  The morning mist rolling down the Vumba Mountains and so my name was chosen.  All I can say thank God it was not foggy or thundering or hazy!

In any case, back to the farm.  Our farm was called Hesselwood House and it was all you can image a beautiful rambling farm house to be.  It was near the small town of Borrowdale, just outside Salisbury. I did not always live there – but for a good two years of my life I did and it remains the happiest childhood memory of my life.

Mama had her own vegetable garden which in comparison is the size of my current back yard!  She grew her own potatoes, tomatoes, green beans, peas, onions, leeks, spinach oh the list goes on and on! There was also an orchard... which I mentioned in my previous post.  Now this was a most magical place! 

Heavily laden trees bursting with delicious gems of lemons, oranges, grapefruits and limes.  Mama made her own jams and marmalades and was a real business woman! MEG’s finest preserves they were called and she sold them to all of Salisbury!  The orchard also housed the farm chickens, ducks and way too many geese for my liking.  I had to carry a stick with me on entering the orchard as those blasted vicious geese...well I am terrified of geese to this day!  Horrid spitting monsters! None the less, the orchard was my magical far away garden and I loved it there.

It was my responsibility to pluck the fruit from the trees, ready for marmalade making.  It was during those times as a 10 year old that I used to dream of myself as a devastatingly beautiful Spanish (or something of the like) farm slave just waiting for her dashing hero to come free her from the miserable plight of dirt, dust and rough hands.  Hormones were on its way a tad early me thinks...

So the recipe I would like to leave with you today is one of Mama’s marmalade recipes...as the refreshing citrus smell fills your home I send with it the warmth and love of a Grandmother’s kitchen.  YUM (I bet Paddington say that too!)

Ps: Charlize... if you are reading this – I will consent to you playing me in the movie of my life.

Seville orange marmalade

• Get a huge pot out.
• For every 6 Seville oranges use 3 sweet oranges and 3 lemons. 
• Give them a good wash and slice the entire fruit. Remove seeds but keep.
• Add water – 3 cups of water for every cup of fruit and leave to soak for 24 hours.
• Tightly tie the seeds in a small piece of muslin cloth and add to fruit mix.
• Boil the fruit mixture until the rinds are soft, then add in your sugar (a cup of sugar for each fruit) and simmer until set. 
• You check it’s set by putting a t-spoon of jam onto a saucer and allowing it to cool. If you tip the saucer sideways and the jams runs slowly, it is done.
• Bottle in jars which you have heated in the oven.

Licking the spoon

My earliest memory of thinking “YUM” was as I sat next to the kitchen table in my Grandmothers farmhouse, watching her whip up a batch of buttery and sweet shortbread.  She worked with such skill and dexterity...I was transfixed.  It was like being a moth drawn to the flame of a candle (although there was no burning to death issue of course...)

But watching my Gran – whom we called Mama – was a hypnotising affair.  I owe all I know in the way of culinary skills to her.  There was nothing my Mama could not make.  She had a pantry filled with treasure!  I can remember sneaking into the pantry and gazing up and the wooden shelves crammed with little jars of gems like maraschino cherries and glace pineapple and opening strange mystical jars filled with pungent smelling pieces of what looked like wood or bark.  These days I now know those pieces of “wood” are cinnamon and star anise. 

I never left that pantry without sneaking a little bit of treasure into my grubby pocket and running to the bottom of the garden – till just behind the orchard - to taste my stolen loot!  I will never again think those pretty red things – all shiny and plump – are worth popping into your mouth whole.  Whole red chillies...umm not any time soon!

Of course, being a nipper surrounded by a pantry filled with delicious discoveries and a Grandmamma with the skill of conjuring up a delicious feast without as much as a glint of perspiration on here beautiful face...has given me much to aspire to.  If I can be half the cook my beloved Mama was, then Nigella you had better watch out!  Mama left me her hand written recipe book filled with personalised notes and tips, and mention of who the recipe is from like “Mrs Caldron’s tropical trifle” or “Kay Rilye’s chocolate pud”.  I wonder who all these people were, and how my Mama knew them.

When I page through this batter splattered, and oil spotted treasure, held together with browning cello tape I feel closest to her.  A book painstakingly put together with cuttings from Good Housekeeping 1956 and hand drawn instructions of how to fold a piping bag. I miss you Mama, but you are in me and I am a lucky girl because of it!

But for now, I practice and practice and learn and discover.  Here is my Mama’s shortbread recipe...and if you’re lucky you’ll get the delight of licking the spoon! YUM!

 Mama’s Shortbread

What you need:

• 120 grams REAL butter – not too soft
• 60 grams castor sugar
• 180 grams flour (sifted twice)
• Pinch of salt

How to make:

• Knead the cool butter into the flour, sugar and salt mixture to form a ball.
• Press into a flat baking tin and decorate with fork pricks.
• Bake in the oven for an hour on 130