There's truffles in them thar hills! Darlington Estate Truffle Degustation

Approaching the Darlington Estate winery is a romantic experience. As you come up the dark driveway through the avenue of twisted eucalyptus and banksia trees, the twinkle of the lights reflected in the glass walls of the restaurant is just like the glow of fireflies. The lights draw you in, as does the prospect of being indoors. It's winter, and truffle season, and it is cold.

The is the second year running that I have been lucky enough to get a place on the food blogger table for Darling Estate's truffle degustation and it is worth braving the crazy, dark winding roads of the Perth Hills in the wind and the rain (and the hail! - it was a cold, cold evening) to get to where the good food is.

A group of friendly food-bloggers and some patient plus ones. A well-lit table in the corner. And we were off! Nine courses of truffley goodness over the course of 3 hours plus a wine match is a great way to spend a Friday evening.

Amuse bouche: tarts with liver pate and smoked salmon blini

Rich yet delicate, just the way we like it. The liver pate tarts are a buttery wonder topped with bitter chocolate lattice. The blini have crème fraiche and a sweet morsel of cured salmon. I could have kept going just with these but this, of course, was just the beginning...
 

1. Celeriac and truffle soup shooter, parmesan tuille

Celeriac - not the nice green leafy celery that most people know but another variety with an ugly, nobby, root which actually tastes wonderful when it is roasted, mashed, or, in the case of this first course, blitzed into soup form. Any risk of blandness (and I have found that you need to season celeriac well to avoid this) has been removed by the addition of the truffle shavings on the top, and the parmesan tuille adds zing and alkalinity. 

This was the first taste of truffle that I'd had since I attended last year's Darlington Estate Truffle Dego. It was a welcome return to the truffle experience.

 

2. Roasted prawn, leek, and fennel compote, Champagne and truffle espuma

 

I should probably lead with the fact that I have never been a fan of espuma (foam). I get the idea behind it, lots of air to better allow you the experience the flavour molecules, but visually I don’t think it’s appealing. However, I allowed myself to be challenged this time, closed my eyes, put the spoon to my mouth, and honestly didn’t mind it. What worked best for me here was the prawn and fennel match. Of course, fennel complementing seafood is no surprise, but this prawn was particularly fresh and vigorous of flavour and texture. The fennel dominates here. The leek is nice but more about padding for the fennel than actual leek taste. The sardine tin was a cute serving idea.

4.       Chicken and truffle boudin blanc with enoki mushroom and thyme cream sauce
 

Boudin blanc is a traditional type of sausage. It’s best known in France and Belgium, but can be found in other countries around Europe as well. The casing of this boudin contained delicate chicken meat. There was a wealth of mushroom: truffle AND enoki! It was an unrelentingly rich dish especially with the thyme cream sauce but so very delicious.  What I liked best was the crispy chicken skin on the top and the pipette to dispense the cream sauce. That said, I've never been a fan of slate serving slabs when delicious sauce is involved. The potential for it to escape over the edge is always there and I did lose some to the tablecloth.

3.       Seared rare beef with marinated beetroot, sunflower sprouts and truffle horseradish snow

Beef and beetroot! The stuff of legend (or maybe of burgers?). The juicy pinkness of good meat lifted with the tang of the beetroot slices. The sprouts added a good crunch and the truffle horseradish snow brought it all home. Horseradish is so underrated and never as available as a foodie might like. I’d never thought about combining it with truffle. Now I’m not sure if I will ever manage to think of it without.

 

5.       Lychee and truffle sorbet

This palate cleanser reads more like something from a parfumier than from a restaurateur. High notes of classic Asian florals from the lychee, all tea and flowers and tropical gardens. Then the low notes of the truffle to pull you back down to earth from your floral cloud – pungent and loamy.  The cold wash of the sorbet was very necessary after the first few courses. Palate is cleansed! Bring on the pork!

6.       Pork loin with truffle and anchovy butter, baby carrot, pickled fennel with green pea and truffle puree

My favourite dish of the evening. The fennel makes a reappearance in the form of tart slivers. The puree that accompanies this dish is genius - I love peas particularly in a puree or mashed form, so this dish works well for me, especially when the truffle is added in. But what makes this particular dish so very special is the complexity of flavours in the truffle and anchovy butter. Fatty, salty, earthy, fishy in the most positive way possible and all of this over an excellent cut of pork. I was sad when I was finished and this is the best indication of a superb recipe.

7.       Chocolate and walnut fondant with homemade truffle and honey icecream

And we finally moved on to the sweets! I never thought I’d make it after the last course, and I was starting to get full. While the fondant was not quite as melty on the inside as I normally like, the walnut flavour was good and distinct - this made me happy, as did the popping candy sprinkles and the little chocolate spoon. The honey ice-cream was sweet and fresh without being cloying.

8.       Truffle baked brie with apricot and basil preserve crisp bread

I have been known to do the occasional baked cheese myself but it is always nicer when someone makes it for you.  The textures in this course were at opposite (though complementary) ends of the texture spectrum – creamy brie, crispy bread. The basil fragrance and apricot tang give a necessary lift to the truffle and cheese intensity.

9.       Chocolate truffles and raspberry meringue tarts

I was struggling, absolutely struggling, by this stage. Thank goodness the raspberry-filling was plentiful and sharp because I couldn't have managed another completely rich dish. A short and sweet way to finish the meal.

 

I should mention at this stage that I also did the wine-match with the meal but never feel as confident about describing wines as I feel about described food. I will say this one thing though - the Darlington Estate Cabernet Franc tasted fantastic and looked beautiful with the candlelight bringing out the colours of ruby and garnet.

 

 

It was an amazing evening, not only to experience all these intriguing dishes but also to sit with like-minded people. Having a blogger table is a stroke of genius and Michelle is to be congratulated for not only thinking of it last year, but also for this year's encore. Getting the chance to discuss the food with old and new friends while you eat, lighting each-other's photographs of the food, getting the insider version of the meal that is in front of you not only from the serving staff but also from the people at your table with more expert knowledge than you - it's a real sharing, learning gastronomic experience, and one I hope to make three for three in 2014.

 

 

NOTE: The food bloggers table had a discounted price for which I am grateful. However, both this year and last year, there has been no obligation to write a blog post on the experience.

Brown study: Bobeche

My friend had not arrived. I knew this because I had the bar to myself. This was a problem. Not the absence of my friend but the fact that the bar was empty and that meant that I was spoilt for choice about which cosy lamplit nook I should occupy. And not just which nook but which Chesterfield sofa. I decided on the one closest to the door, the two sofas separated by a tall lamp and overlooked by a large mural. The space with the rococo-design occasional table. That space.

 

I had braved the wind-tunnel that is St George’s Terrace, rediscovered the non-descript staircase to the basement, and pushed through the doors that give nothing away about what lies beyond them. I was back at Bobeche.

 

 

I had the bar to myself and, therefore, a bar-tender to myself also. I knew what I wanted because I’d had it before – a classic negroni made with The West Winds Cutlass gin. I put my credit card behind the bar in case I needed another negroni later (as it happened, I did) and took in the quiet.

 

I say ‘quiet’ – perhaps that’s the wrong word. There was music, heavy on the jazz and swing of the 30s and 40s, but not so loud that I couldn’t hear myself think. I found myself tapping my foot in time to the beat as I settled back into the depths of the Chesterfield. Not for the first time, I promised myself that when I grow up, I will have a Chesterfield of my own.

 

Chesterfield of my dreams

Bobeche is a surprisingly large underground space, yet there are little ‘nests’ set up around the bar – you can be as public or as private as you like.  Bobeche is as brown as Red Door is red and this contributes to the feeling of being in a cosy burrow. The décor is a mix of chocolate and cream, ivory and gold, lit by the glow of the lamps. The speak-easy vibe is immediate and intentional.

Classic negroni - rococo table.

My negroni was a work of art – the traditional twist of orange peel sat on a huge single hand-cut ice cube. I liked the attention to detail and presentation. Of course, it smelled and tasted amazing, beginning with a noseful of orange oil molecules, and then working down to the feisty Cutlass botanicals. I am no gin expert so I can’t claim to distinguish the extra coriander seed or the bush tomato that is used in the Cutlass. All I know is that I’ve had it before and I love it. The extra 10% ABV (Cutlass has a impressive 50% ABV) pushed me deeper into the soft leather of my seat.

A few more customers entered the bar, and one of them was my friend, Nick. I hadn’t seen him in over three years and Bobeche made for a good place to catch-up on all our news. He wasn’t drinking cocktails, but there is a respectable choice of beer and he was able to get draft Peroni.  There was complimentary popcorn too which was brought to our table and made a nice, lighter, change from beer nuts or pretzels.

Drinks and conversation with wonderful friends.

We settled in for an evening of drinking and chatting. After a while, and some confusion, our other friend, Luke, joined us. I had given him directions over the phone but he still had problems finding Bobeche. I was secretly pleased by this – I want it to stay hidden.

 

In the words of Flanagan and Allen, it's "underneath the arches".

The service was efficient yet unobtrusive. The bar-staff are happy to talk with you if talking is what you want or they will give you your privacy and work around you to clear your glasses, offer more drinks, make suggestions. When I felt that a third negroni would be excessive, I asked for ‘a good shiraz’ and trusted the bar-tender to deliver on this, which he did. I also remember from the last time I was at Bobeche that you can even order and pay (cash or EFTPOS) from your seat, so you don’t have to constantly get up to go to the bar – this is a Good Thing. You can stay in your Chesterfield for as long as you like and the drinks will come to you.
 

Good shiraz. Very good shiraz.

When the evening was over, we opened the door onto the dark Terrace and to a heavy rain-storm. We had been so sheltered (literally and figuratively) that we hadn’t even realised it was raining.

We only had one umbrella between the three of us and we had to make a run for it. With one last backward glance at the comfy sofa, I hung on to my umbrella and to my friends as we dashed out of Bobeche and into the rainy night.
 

Low places, high points: Seagardens, Prevelly.

I am hurting all over and no wonder.

I have just followed my kids through an ‘adventure cave’ for the second day running. Some caves have gentle slopes, romantic lighting, and guides to get you through safely to the other side. Not this cave. This cave - Giants Cave -  is “self-guiding” which is a diplomatic way of saying “Take this hard-hat and torch and stick to the path”. There’s an 86m descent into complete darkness, then a ½ kilometre journey up and down the dusty gantries to the exit. In between, there are vertical ladders, a rock ‘chimney’, crawl spaces and sliding spaces. In parts, there is no man-made assistance to help the hapless tourist scale the ascents, just your basic manicure-ruining, knee-scraping, denim-tearing climbing of rocks.

The way in.

The way out.

I’m a corporate type with soft hands and even softer sensibilities. My idea of underground is a well-stocked cellar or a below-street bar. This scrambling in the dark is not what I do. Not at all. I have a wibbly moment when I think that I’m never going to get through the chimney, it is so narrow and I’ve convinced myself that I am too wide. Then there’s another instance where I fear that I will have to turn back because I am not sure I can pull my own bodyweight up the rockface. I hardly have the energy to notice the geological wonders that we pass.

He's younger, fitter, and small enough to fit through any gap.

Eventually, we emerge from the maw of the cave into a rainstorm. Immediately all the cave dust turns into mud and streams down my face. I can felt the impending bruises on my knees and bum (damn that last rope slide!). I pull off my hard-hat and reveal the world’s worst helmet hair. I probably look as grubby and miserable as I feel. 12 year old makes ‘Gollum’ noises and I can’t blame him.

I didn't look like this.



More lke this.

However, a long hot shower, several glasses of local red, and a change of clothes later, and I am feeling quite pleased with myself. My fitness must have improved (go one year back and there is no way I would have managed to get even half-way through the cave). I’ve earned mum-points (always important), done something that is way out of my comfort zone (see, I *am* an interesting person with a have-a-go attitude) and my reward is in sight which is a good thing because I am starving (my foodie self is still alive and kicking!). Also, I am above ground and not wedged up a cave chimney (yup, life is definitely good).

I booked my table at Seagardens through Twitter. Chances are that I would have eaten there at some stage anyway – it is the only café-restaurant in Prevelly, after all - but I wanted to be sure of a table so I Tweeted ahead and they were good enough, and social media-savvy enough, to take my booking that way.

Prevelly is a curious little township – right on the coast with a cluster of holiday homes clinging to the hillside - one restaurant, one general store and a Greek Orthodox church which is a bright white beacon on the edge of town. Seagardens is at the top of a slope – it’s a wood and glass structure with a large deck out the front. I’ve asked for a quiet table inside in the corner and am pleased to be given one right next to the cosy wood-burning stove – it is still cold and rainy outside and I need food and flame to warm my chilled, bruised bones.

The owner, Gilles, comes to greet us. “So, you must be The Thief?” he says. I love it when people use my pseudonym – it makes me sound so much more mysterious – if felonious – than my workaday self.

“I’m planning to pay for everything," I assure him.

It doesn’t take long for a glass of Leeuwin Estate SiblingsShiraz to come to the table. I’m feeling warmer already. The interior of Seagardens strikes an easy balance between beach-side fish & chip/pizza takeaway joint and local restaurant. The tables are wooden, painted bright turquoise. The floor is tiled (I guess it makes the sand easier to sweep up). Some people come to pick up their snapper and chips while others stay to eat and drink wine. It’s comfortable and unassuming. The menu is, to quote their website ‘sexy and simple’, with the bulk of the produce being either organic or sourced locally or both.

Kid-size fish & chips

Ribs,salad and wedges

Between us we order fish and chips, beef ribs, and goat ragu. The fish and chips are good – light on the batter, chunky on the chips. The ribs are also tasty – a generous serve. They come with a salad (rocket, parmesan, olives, and chimichurri) and a serve of  homecut wedges. I find I want those carbs more than almost anything.

Perfect ragu

Then I taste the goat ragu. It’s been cooked for seven hours and it’s perfect for winter. The meat is tender but still retains its texture, and the sauce, oh, the sauce! I ask Gilles what’s in it – it is such a complex and exciting flavour experience. He’s not giving away any recipes but he tells me that it has onions, tomatoes, and mushrooms. It clicks into place then – it is the mushroom that gives the sauce its almost earthy quality. And, of course, the ragu sits on a bed of mashed potato – more carbs which are a great match to even out the richness of the sauce.

Gilles and his partner, Rachel, have owned and run Seagardens for about 5 years, he tells me. Because I have done my research, I know that Rachel is responsible for the celebrated Seagardens brownies and that is what we order for dessert. 16yrold has a brownie to himself, while 12yr old and I decide to share because we are finally getting full.

The brownies arrive with a side serve of vanilla ice-cream and upon an arabesque of chocolate sauce. They are warm and crumbly and just the right finish to the evening. The second glass of Leeuwin shiraz doesn't hurt either.

As I go to pay, I have a look at the notices. Seagardens not only has its own book club, but also performance evenings (and local acts are encouraged to get in touch and organise to perform there). I love the idea of the upcoming “Soup and songs” night and also the Bastille day breakfast. I get the feeling that Seagardens may be geographically perched on top of the hill but, in terms of community, has positioned itself right at the heart of Prevelly.

Twilight across the bay

 I walk outside into the cold, salty wind. The view from Seagardens’ deck takes in the whole of the bay. It is dark now. There is the great sweep of the Milky Way across the horizon. The white flashes which are the crashing waves out on the reef are marvellously distinct. The boys want a beach hike in the dark. I didn’t think I’d have the energy but suddenly I do, and I put this down to plentiful good food in a welcoming atmosphere.

In fact, I'm feeling pretty great and very pleased with the way the day has turned out. Why, tomorrow, I might even be up for another cave adventure…

Eminently quotable: my Princess Bride story

 

Every now and then, I’ll be having a conversation and someone will, by chance, give me just the right opening to share a favourite anecdote. I try not to trot the old stories out too often (it wouldn’t do to look rehearsed, after all) but there are certain stories that are worth repeating. Virgil knew what he was talking about when he came up with the phrase mirabile dictu.

The conversations will go something like this:

Friend: I was watching a re-run of ‘Minder’ on TV last night.

Me: I had drinks with Dennis Waterman once. That was an interesting evening.

OR

Friend: Did you see that Martha Wainwright is touring Australia?

Me: I kissed her father once at a folk club in Fremantle. Oh, and I stabbed him in the face with a biro at the same time…

OR

Friend: I was watching ‘The Princess Bride’ last weekend.

Me: I LOVE that movie. And I was there to see part of it being filmed.

Now, if you want to know about my encounters with Dennis Waterman or Loudon Wainwright III, (both perfectly innocent, I assure you) you’ll have to ask me in person.  Someone did once point out that kissing a guy and stabbing him with a pen was sending mixed signals but I generally prefer to debate that offline as famous people usually have lawyers and, in this litigious age, one can’t be too careful. However, this post is about my ‘Princess Bride’ encounter which I am happy to share with the world because it is one of my favourites and as far as I can tell, there is nothing in it for which I could be sued.

It started like this. I was watching the Adam Hills show last week and for some reason, they were all dressed as characters out of The Princess Bride. 12 year old walked into the room and fell right into the trap.

12 year old: They’re all dressed as people from The Princess Bride.

Me: I LOVE that movie. Have I told you about the time I was there to see part of it being filmed?

12 year old: Several times. (flees room)

Frustrated with my need to tell the story, I decided to blog it instead. You, dear reader, can then decide whether you need to flee or not and I will never know.

Grayshott is the charming English village in Surrey where I lived from the ages of nine to eighteen. It isn’t well-known for anything in particular. Flora Thompson of ‘Lark Rise’ fame once worked at the local post-office and, apparently, Colin “Mr Darcy” Firth was born there, but that is really all that it has to recommend it.

It was a nice place to grow up though. As a child, I had an acre of garden to play in, most of which was wild, and, if you left the garden and walked through the public National Trust woodland for about a mile, this led to a series of man-made lakes called Waggoners Wells. It was a picturesque place and popular with walkers.

 

Photo credit: National Trust Images

 

On a family walk one day, we chanced across some people dressed in mediaeval costume on horses. There was also a film crew. We stopped to watch them for quite some time as film crews are rare in rural Surrey. Then we walked home and I forgot all about it.

 

Fast forward a few years, and a friend of mine recommends a movie – The Princess Bride. She says that I will enjoy it and she is right. It was destined to become a cult movie from the very first. Then about a quarter of the way in, I give a little yelp, pause the video (yes, video – showing my age) and there it is: Waggoners Wells and the people in costumes on horses plus the pleasure of realising that I was there, just out of shot, while the filming took place.

You can't see me, but I was there - just off to the right.

 

You can watch the scene here. I did have a look on Wikipedia to see if Waggoners Wells was listed as a location for the film, but they have missed it out. I suppose they can’t list every location that they use.

Of course, the film went on to become very well-known. Wikipedia attributes this to it being 'eminently quotable'.

 

Certainly, someone only needed to quote a line and I was there with my story:

Friend: Inconceivable!

Me: Ooh, the Princess Bride! I LOVE that movie. And I was there to see part of it being filmed.

OR

Friend: You killed my father! Prepare to die.

Me: Ooh, the Princess Bride etc. etc. etc.

You can see how much currency I have managed to get out of that long-ago incident, especially when I was able to buy the DVD for myself and inflict it upon show it to my own son.

Actually, he doesn’t mind it as a movie. But, just like the kid in the movie, he objects to any kissing scenes.  The fans among us know that “Since the invention of the kiss, there have only been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure,” and we know that the kiss at the end of the movie “left them all behind.”

And I think I know what puts that final Princess Bride kiss above these Top 5 kisses.

 

Look, no pens.

 

Buttercup didn’t stab Westley in the face with a biro.

 

Photo credit: National Trust Images

 

Cold comfort: suji halwa.

One of those 'ugly' desserts - if you can get past the way it looks, it's really quite nice.

The first time that I tried suji halwa was at a music festival. Back then, I didn’t know it was called suji halwa, I called it ‘that yummy pudding stuff that they serve at the Hare Krishna stand’. Whenever I go to Fairbridge Festival, the Hare Krishna food stand is my preferred place to eat. Not through any particular religious connection, you understand, (religion is not something that I do) but because it serves filling and tasty curry for a low, low price and in amongst the curry, they will dollop a lump of tasty beige pudding stuff that makes you forget that you have just spent a rather cold and miserable night trying to get comfortable in a tent.

(People say it is possible to get comfortable in a tent but I just don't believe it. The air-mattress always deflates. My nose always gets cold and I can't sleep if my nose is cold. Then there are the other campers who stumble back to their own tents in the early morning, drunk, stoned or drunk and stoned, and always loud. Them's the breaks at music festivals, I guess.)

When not at music festivals, and it has been a while since I've been to one, there is a Hare Krishna restaurant in Perth where you can get the same deal. When I worked in the city centre, I was often at Govinda’s because, hey, teachers’ salaries. I liked that restaurant. Curry, rice, and extra dollop of pudding stuff if you asked really nicely, and still there was change out of a $10 note. I haven’t been back since it moved to its new premises in William St in 2011 but as I will soon be working in the city centre once more and as teachers’ salaries haven’t changed that much in the last few years, I’ll have to check it out.
 

I was prompted to make some halwa because I recently made a lemon cake that called for semolina. It was a great cake, but it only used 1 & 1/4 cups of semolina, and I had no idea how to use up the rest in a way that wasn’t reminiscent of the worst of English school lunches (where the semolina dessert with the glob of industrial ‘raspberry’ jam in the middle went by the rather unappetising nickname of ‘nosebleed pudding’).

Happily, the idea that the Hare Krishna pudding might be semolina-based occurred to me, and entering ‘Hare Krishna pudding’ into a search engine not only proved me correct but yielded recipes and the correct name, suji halwa - suji being the word for 'semolina' in several Indian languages.

I’ve used this recipe because it is the simplest and because the ingredients are readily available from any supermarket (as opposed to a specialist Indian or Asian supermarket). Also because, a long time ago, I used to enjoy the Kurma Das cooking show on television and this is his recipe.

It's a warm, stodgy, buttery pudding, fragrant with cardamom and saffron. I didn't use the recommended sultanas in my version, but I did sprinkle some extra almond slivers on top before serving. It's a great dessert for a cold winter night.

And I ate it in bed. My nice cosy bed with extra pillows all around me, a minky blanket and a wheat-pack to warm my feet - infinitely more civilised and more comfortable than a tent.

The Meaning of Life: the Hitchhiker's Guide to cake.

 

The meaning of life is 42 - or so Douglas Adams would have us believe because, of course, we never really knew what the question was.

 

I'd like to offer an alternative answer - the meaning of life is the ability to sustain friendships over time. Family is a different matter, most people are able to put up with family because they are... family. But choosing to invest in a relationship of twenty years plus with someone completely unrelated to you  - that takes some doing. It takes work. But everyone needs friends - without them, life is pretty...well...meaningless.

 

I'll throw in a little Latin because I can. :) Ex Cultu Robur. It was the motto of my high school and it means, roughly, "Strength is achieved through cultivation". I translate it for myself  as "The strongest relationships are the ones that you nurture". I believe in keeping in touch, in being interested in what my friends are doing, I believe in texts and notes that say "I am thinking about you" or "It's been a while, what are you up to?" I like phone calls that come out of the blue and emails for no reason other than you have thoughts to share.

 

Katy and I have known each other since we were 16 and students at the high school whose motto I have written above. We helped each other through two years of study and other crises: boyfriend dramas, teenage angst, not being in the popular set... Often we set the world to rights over a tub of ice-cream (with a Cadbury Flake or two crumbled on top) and two spoons. When my family moved to Australia, and I had no one left in the UK to take care of me, Katy's family adopted me. When I stumbled off the ferry after my time in France, it was Katy and her dad who met me and took me home to stay with them until school started.
 

I moved to Australia and Katy stayed in the UK. Letters were exchanged for quite a while before we both got busy with grown-up stuff and lost touch.

 

Then came the amazing day when she contacted me through Facebook. (And, whatever its faults, I will always love Facebook for the way it connects people).

 

She was well. (So good to hear!)

She was living in Australia. (What???)

Western Australia. (SHUT! UP!)

In Rockingham. (30 minutes from me. Only 30 minutes. OMG!!!)

 

I think it took about 5 minutes from getting to the end of message to getting on the phone. The very next evening, we were in Fremantle, gossiping over coffee.

 

Of all the people I could have chosen to end up in Western Australia, Katy is the one I would have chosen, and it still seems like some miracle that she is here. Now she lives in Fremantle, and her house is a haven of home-grown veggies, wine-racks full of red, bookshelves full of sci-fi and fantasy, plus three chickens and Bella the dog.

These days when we get together, we are more likely to set the world to rights over a bottle or three of red. We have also been known to get out for lunches and for cocktails. Possibly best not to describe the night when Duran Duran came to Perth and we went to see them - there was a lot of screaming and we probably sounded 16 again, but, and to borrow from Douglas Adams again, we are usually 'mostly harmless' when we get together. Mostly harmless but fairly tipsy.

And here is her birthday cake for this year. We didn't quite manage the party with the dressing gowns and the towels, but the cake was exactly as I'd imagined it when we'd talked about the 'meaning of life' birthday about two months ago.

A nice dense cake to start with then. You don't want anything that is going to collapse in on itself as soon as you put the fondant on. I used this recipe for an orange and almond cake. mainly because it showed a decorated cake.

Don't worry if it isn't very even - the icing will fix a multitude of sins.

I used a packet of ready-made royal icing from the local supermarket to cover this. You can stick it to the cake with a sugar glaze or melted jam, but this cake was moist enough that any extra 'glue' was unnecessary.

Just roll out the icing until it is big enough to cover the surface and sides and fold the rest under.

 

 

Blue sparkles to give the idea of "Earth - Mark II"



Now it gets more fiddly. What I wanted were: a cake topper with "Don't Panic" in 'large friendly letters' and in the classic Hitchhiker's Guide font; babelfish all around the edge; and two white mice, Frankie Mouse and Benjy Mouse - not actually mice but the descendants of the pan-dimensional beings behind the creation of Deep Thought.

 

(Are you keeping up with all the references? You are? Good.)

 

The cake topper and the babelfish were made from the same batch of marzipan. You'll need about 500g.

 

 

I found the font and the image of the babelfish online through an image search. I don't have photo credits for these, unfortunately, but would be happy enough to add them if asked.

 

 

 

I then scaled these down into templates. I'm more of an artist than a mathematician so I wasn't aiming for perfection. Also any errors in measurement can be fixed by stretching and/or squishing the marzipan.

 

 

 

The text was roughly 15 cm across (so it would fit on the 20cm cake) and the babelfish template was about 7cm.

 

I coloured the marzipan - one batch of orange-red and another yellow. If you have objections to tartrazine and other artificial colourings, this is not the cake for you. If you don't like scrubbing and scrubbing at your hands to get rid of the stain from the colouring, this is also not the cake for you. The text was red letters on a yellow background.

 

I hollowed out the letters after I place them on the yellow background.

 

There should actually just be a yellow border to each letter, but that was way too tricky.

 

The babelfish were yellow with red eyes. The pupil of the eye and the fin details are made by using an edible-ink pen.

 



Babelfish all in a row. Any rough edges were later smoothed out. Probably best not to stick these in your ear though...


Once this was all done, it was just a question of positioning. I did use melted apricot jam to stick everything in place this time.

 



 

Finally, and possible the most tricky part - making the two white mice. I should have used marzipan or proper fondant but I had decided to go with the left-over royal icing because it was whiter. It is not easy to sculpt. In the end though, I had something that looked vaguely like albino mice - complete with red eyes and black whiskers.

 

See his cute little tail hanging over the edge? :)

 

And there you have it!

 

 

It is, of course, all completely edible, and, while quite sweet, (hello, marzipan and icing!), the actual orange-almond cake could be tasted quite distinctly when I went to Katy's house, to hand the cake over and we shared it with friends and while drinking red wine.

 

So long, and thanks for all the fish, and happy  (hoopy?) birthday, Katy.