There will be jam for tea!

Cook

I found a punnet of strawberries in the fridge, which were slightly over-ripe and a little past their best for eating at room temperature with just a swoosh of cream, which is my favourite way. I had no bananas or yoghurt, so couldn’t make smoothies, so I decided instead to make jam. I only had about 400g, so not enough to merit a traditional preserving session; so I thought I’d give fridge jam a try. This has a softer set than normal jam, as the recipe calls for only half the weight of sugar to fruit, rather than equal quantities, and is boiled for only five minutes. It’s poured into sterilised jars after cooling slightly, and I found that it retains a beautifully fresh, fruity taste and vibrant, jewel-like colour. It keeps for three or four weeks in the fridge, hence its name, and is really delicious.

Once I’d made my jam, I couldn’t wait to try it, so I felt the urge to bake something that would show its flavour off without overwhelming it. There’s nothing more delicious in my book than an old-fashioned Victoria sponge, and this one has been made in my family for decades. The recipe is simple: equal quantities of sugar (caster or granulated, either will do), butter (or in our case, Stork soft margarine), and self-raising flour, a splash of vanilla extract, and a couple of eggs. If you weigh the eggs in their shells at the start, and then use the same weight for all the other ingredients, your proportions will be perfect. Divide into two sandwich tins and bake for about twenty minutes, while your kitchen fills with gorgeous, vanilla-scented aromas; then wait as long as you can manage for it to cool, before spreading liberally with jam and sandwiching together. If you can bear to wait a few hours, the sponge will be easier to cut, but this time, both jam and cake were still slightly warm when I gave up and dived in. It was as delicious as it looks in the photos!

The cake recipe came to me via my mum from her mother, my gorgeous Nan, Lilian. Nan was a marvel at all kinds of baking, making, cooking and creating, and any skills I have in making things must have come from her. Nan and Grampy had five daughters, and I was one of a tribe of grandchildren, all of whom were welcomed and adored. I loved spending summer days with them, playing in their beautiful flower gardens, or helping out in the heat of the greenhouse, with its sharp scent of warm tomato plants and the low drone of insects. In addition to the ornamental gardens they had a huge, and lovingly-tended, vegetable and fruit garden, which seemed vast to me as a child – wide swathes of fruit canes covered in bright berries and currants; great rustling forests of broad bean plants with their leaves gleaming silver in the sunlight; row after row of writhing runner beans peeping out from among their foliage; and neat lines of lacy-topped carrots. Grampy would pull baby carrots, no bigger than our tiny fingers and still a pale orange, wash them under the outside tap, and let us munch on their sweetness while we sat, legs swinging, on the warm, painted wooden garden seats he’d made himself. With such gorgeous produce, and a large and grateful family, it’s not surprising that Nan was forever cooking; she would bake five or six sponges at a time, sometimes giving them away, other times stashing them in the depths of the huge chest freezer in the garage so that she could have something ready to give us the next time we called. Fragrant apple pies, pale pink rhubarb, bags and bags of vegetables, fluffy fairy cakes ready to be topped, all in icy splendour. It was always a treat to peep inside and look at the treasures it held. Is it any wonder that I am still so fond of cake?