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I attempted to put a rather large bounty of limes to good use after my sister-in-law had forwarded a video to me on how-to-not-let-the-last-of-the-seasons-citrus-go-to-waste. It sparked an idea. Sadly, my grand plan of boiling these little green spheres failed miserably when I was left with a whole lime and ginger cake that not even Ben could stomach! And that is saying something. Beau and Vivvy made no sign of hesitation as they devoured every inch of the sweet creme fraiche frosting but I knew something was amiss when Beau screwed his face up and Vivvy proceeded to let the half-chewed contents speedily escape her mouth. With the tropical flavours of lime, coconut and ginger combined I was sure I was onto a winner. The crumb was light yet moist, but that first moutful was overpowered with an intense bitterness that made the whole cake inedible. I am sorry to say that its final destination was the bottom-most section of the bin. A few days later, 2 large orange orbs bobbed up, down and around in a bubbling "spa" treatment on the stovetop. I was determined to make this cake shine in all of its zingy freshness. This time around I had the addition of the "helping" hands of two small humans. Needless to say that things got a little bumpy... I had not even turned my back for a second when I heard it. The sound of Beau losing his footing, the bowl turned onto its side, Beau's arm submerged in cake batter, cake batter then sliding down the face of the cupboard pooling onto the floor. Thankfully I managed to rescue most of it and I couldn't get it into the oven fast enough! It was under the canvas of a cornflower blue sky, amongst the kaleidoscope of colour at the Tulip festival that this whole orange and ginger cake descended onto the tastebuds of the testers. I held my breath. I need not have been so worried. Everyone loved it. I loved it. Beau had two pieces. And this time it stayed firmly behind the walls of Vivvy's mouth and the bin didnt see a crumb! Whole orange & ginger cake Makes a 23cm cake 2 large oranges (about 350g) 300g caster sugar 3 eggs, at room temperature 300ml light olive oil 150g self-raising flour 50g shredded coconut 150g almond meal 1 tbsp ground ginger 20g fresh ginger, finely grated Creme fraiche frosting 70g creme fraiche 150g icing sugar, sifted juice of 1/2 - 1 lemon sliced crystalised ginger (optional) Bring a pot of water that is big enough to fit two oranges to the boil. Slip the oranges in and allow them to bob around for at least an hour to an hour and a half. You want them to be soft enough that you can insert a knife into them easily. Drain and allow to cool. Trim the knobbly ends off and cut them into quarters, discarding any pips. Place the whole lot into a food processor or blender and blitz until they turn into a smooth pulp. You can always do this the day before and leave it in the fridge overnight. Preheat your oven to 170c fan-forced and grease and line a 23cm springform tin then set aside. In the bowl of a stand mixer beat the eggs and sugar together until thick and pale. This should take at least 5 minutes. Turn the mixer down and slowly pour in the olive oil in a thin and steady stream, followed by the orange pulp. Beat together until combined. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, coconut, almond meal, ground ginger and fresh ginger until combined. Then fold this through the batter. Spoon into your prepared cake tin and smooth the top evenly. Pop into the oven for about 65 - 70 minutes, or until a cake tester or skewer inserted into the middle of the cake comes out clean. If you find that your cake is browning just a little bit too much at the 60 minute mark, simply pop a sheet of foil over the top and return to the oven to continue to bake. When your cake is ready, allow to sit in the tin for 10 minutes before removing and allowing to cool completely on a wire rack before icing. While you are waitng for the cake to cool you can make the icing. Simply whisk the icing sugar, creme fraiche and lemon juice in a bowl until the desired consistency is reached. I would start off with the juice of 1/2 a lemon first and then see how you go from there. Using a spoon, dollop the icing on top and then spread out towards the edge. Sprinkle over some thinly sliced crystalised ginger if you so desire. This cake will keep well in an airtight container in the fridge (once iced) for 5-6 days, if it lasts that long.

It arrived wrapped in a textured, hand-painted piece of wallpaper - an offcut from a farmyard scene that lines the walls of their mudroom. I've always liked the idea of a mudroom - a place to hang rain-soaked jackets. De-shoe out of the weather. An in-between area sheltered from the elements of nature before entering the comforts of home, telling the story of any given day, a day that will no doubt have provided many of those small joys we so often overlook in our busy lives; the shift in seasons when my nose picks up the scent of spring after a long, cold winter. The knowing smile between two weary mothers. Getting all the green lights when running late. Receiving a handwritten letter. Sinking my teeth into the tender curve of a blushing, sweet pear. A moment of pause. In order to really feel, hear or see these small pockets of wonder, joy or delight one must be open to receiving them. Once this happens a whole world of daily miracles awaits. A bowl of creamy, vanilla-infused rice pudding sits in front of me. The whirls of steam mesmerise. My spoon sinks effortlessly into the glistening poached pear which is laced with warming spices and brandy. The flavours dance on my tongue. I feel comforted. I feel happy. I feel love. If a single bowl of rice pudding can invoke these feelings imagine the abundance of other small delights that are eager to be felt, heard and seen. As Ross Gay writes in his book, The Book of Delights, "Holding open doors. Offering elbows at crosswalks. Letting someone else go first. Helping with the heavy bags. This caretaking is our default mode..." So, here I am, caretaking and sharing one of my small delights with you - the recipe for my rice pudding with brandy-poached pears. So you too can be mesmerised by whirls of steam. How many small delights must that parcel have witnessed as it travelled from one salty-sea aired province to another salty-sea-infused town, on opposite sides of the world? Many, I am certain. But none more delightful than the moment I peeled away that textured farmyard wallpaper scene to reveal a gift that keeps on giving. As I prop myself up against my pillow, becoming immersed in the words on the pages of Ross Gay's The book of Delights, I am comforted by the thoughts, actions and feelings that are shared and it makes me even more aware that small delights are in fact, everywhere. Rice pudding with poached pears serves 4-6 depending on serving size 3 pears, cored and quartered (I used Rico pears) a thumb-sized piece of ginger, sliced peel of 1 small lemon 3 cardamom pods, bruised 1/2 cup brandy 1/2 cup water 70g sugar Chopped walnuts or pecans and chocolate (optional) For serving In a medium-sized baking tray, toss together all the ingredients. Cover tightly with a piece of foil. Pop into a preheated 180c (fan-forced) oven for about 40 minutes. The pears should feel tender when a knife is inserted into the thickest part. Uncover and pop back into the oven for a further 20-25 minutes. Set aside. 1 cup arborio rice 1-litre full cream milk 1 tsp ground ginger 1/2 cup caster sugar 1 vanilla bean, split and seeds scraped While the pears are in the oven combine the rice, milk, ginger, sugar and vanilla in a medium saucepan. I like to use my cast iron pot for this. Bring to the boil then reduce the heat to a low simmer, cover and cook, stirring occasionally for 25-30 minutes, or until the rice is tender. Place large spoonfuls of pudding into warmed bowls. Place desired amount of pears, a little of the syrup, a scattering of chopped nuts and a fine grating of dark chocolate over the top if one feels so inclined.

Rummaging around the depths of the freezer can uncover forgotten treasures. A bag brimming with de-kernel-ed corn cobs was the gold I discovered. In my quest to reduce any type of wastage I had collected these naked cobs during the warmer months, squirrelling them away in the hope that I would find a use for them. It was a crisp winter's day when this bag of gold presented itself to me. I had been playing a game of freezer Tetris. I knew exactly what I was going to use them for, corn stock. Golden, sweet, sunshine fuelled stock in the depths of winter. I tumbled the slightly frost-bitten cobs into my largest soup pot, and scattered black peppercorns from up above; a couple of bay leaves followed as well as an onion, quartered and the skin left intact. I also added sticks of celery, about two, and covered the whole lot with water. There it sat, simmering away, for the next three hours before it was strained. The golden nectar was bottled and awaited its final destination where it would linger with thin egg noodles, ginger-infused poached chicken and vibrant green snow peas brightened with a squeeze of fresh lime juice. It was the soup that kept on giving, for in the days that followed it provided nourishment and warmth and dare i say, left me feeling slightly smug at having made good use out of what would otherwise have ended up in the compost. Chicken, corn and noodle soup You can of course just use chicken or vegetable stock in place of the corn stock, but if you do find yourself with naked corn cobs I urge you to give this a go. It takes the soup up a notch. 1 whole chook 1 brown onion, peeled and halved 4cm piece of ginger, sliced 1 tablespoon brown sugar 1/4 cup fish sauce 1-litre corn stock (recipe below) 1-litre chicken stock a tin of corn kernels, or fresh if in season thin egg noodles, I used 6 nests snow peas halved 4 spring onions, sliced juice of a lime, plus extra wedges to serve fresh coriander, sliced fresh chillies (optional) Place the chook, onion, ginger, brown sugar and fish sauce into a large stock pot and then pour over the corn and chicken stock. You need enough to cover everything. Bring to the boil, then reduce to a simmer. cover and cook for 1 hour, turning the chicken over halfway through the cooking time. Allow chook to rest in the stock for half an hour. Remove chook, strain stock and then return strained stock back into the pot. Simmer for another half an hour. When chicken is cool enough to handle, shred the meat and set it aside. Cook noodles according to packet instructions and then rinse with cold water. Add the drained tinned corn (or fresh) along with the noodles, shredded chicken, snow peas, spring onions and lime juice. Taste to see if you need extra salt, some sweetness or a bit more tang. Serve with extra lime wedges, chopsticks and a spoon if you don't intend to slurp directly from the bowl. fresh coriander and sliced chillies would make a wonderful addition too, we have little mouths to feed and they don't appreciate green spindly things nor do they have the tolerance for anything too spicy. Naked corn stock Makes about 1 litre 8-10 naked corn cobs 2 tsp black peppercorns bay leaf 1 brown onion, skin intact, quartered 2 sticks of celery about 5 litres of water Place everything into a large stock pot, bring to a boil, and reduce to a simmer. Cook for at least 3 hours before straining and bottling.

When I first began dipping my toes, or should I say hands, into the world of layer cakes, I was met with terms such as swiss meringue buttercream, offset spatulas, florists wire and crumb coating to name but a few. All of which seemed a little daunting to this novice celebration cake creator. But, like with everything that was presented to me during those years of running my cafe, I took it on with gusto and had an eagerness to learn how to create these impressive edible delights that took centre stage at many of life's celebrations. It was the generous knowledge that was shared within the celebration cake making community that gave me the confidence to really give this thing a go. Without the many tips and tricks that I picked up along the way, I imagine that it would have been a lot more difficult to work things out for myself. So now I find myself, after many years of learning, practising and refining my own skills, that I am now able to give back by sharing the knowledge, the tips and the tricks that I myself have stored away in my cake decorators toolbox. The beauty with this line of work, whether it be for business or for pleasure, or both for that matter, is that you constantly learn new things along the way. However, it is being able to witness the joy on the faces of each one of the cake recipients that really make taking the time to create a cake like this worth every second. For me, this is the greatest pleasure. My hope is that these recipes below, as well as my tutorial on Instagram (link below), arm you with the confidence to have a go at creating your own celebration cake. Because as the wise Julia Child once said, "A party without cake is just a meeting." Imagine being the one who was responsible for turning that meeting into a party. This recipe is an adaptation of a Gin and Lemon cake from Little & Friday which is an adaptation of English food writer Jane Grigson's Gin and Lemon cake. Limoncello syrup cake makes 2 x 20cm cakes to make one 2 layer celebration cake 250g unsalted butter 1 1/2 cups caster sugar zest of 6 lemons 4 eggs 2 cups plain flour 2 tsp baking powder a pinch of salt 1 1/2 cups almond meal 1 cup greek yoghurt for the syrup 1/4 cup caster sugar 1/2 cup water 1/2 cup lemon juice 6 tbsp limoncello Swiss meringue buttercream 5 eggwhites 1 1/4 cups caster sugar 450g unsalted butter, softened at room temperature 2 tsp vanilla extract Lemon curd This will make more than what you will need, which isn't a bad thing. You can use it to flavour ice cream, serve with shortbread, fill madeleines or friands, or simply eat by the spoonful. It keeps for about 3 weeks in an airtight container in the fridge. 125g unsalted butter 1 cup caster sugar zest of 3 lemons 1 cup lemon juice 3 eggs Macadamia praline 220g caster sugar 1/2 cup water 120g macadamias, coarsely chopped Fresh flowers of your choice to decorate florists wire* florists tape* *both can be found in haberdashery/craft stores Let's start at the very beginning... Preheat your oven to 160c (fan-forced). Grease two 20cm round cake tins with butter and line the base and sides with baking paper then set aside. Beat the butter, sugar and lemon zest with an electric mixer until light and fluffy. I beat mine for a good 8 minutes or so. Add the eggs, one at a time and beat until well combined before adding the next. Remove the bowl from the mixer and sift the flour and baking powder over the top of the wet mixture, followed by a pinch of salt. Add the almond meal and fold everything together until just combined. Add the yoghurt and mix ever so gently to combine. divide the mixture evenly between the two cake tins and smooth out the tops. Place into the preheated oven and bake for about 50-60 minutes, or until they feel slightly firm on top or a skewer or cake tester inserted into the middle comes out clean. Meanwhile, you can make the syrup. Heat the sugar, water and lemon juice in a small saucepan over medium heat, stirring until sugar has dissolved. Bring to a simmer and cook for 3 minutes. Remove from the heat and set aside. When the cakes are ready, make a few little holes in the top using a skewer and then pour the hot syrup over the cakes. Allow to cool in the tins and then cover and place into the fridge, still in the cake tins, to soak up all those lovely sticky, syrupy juices overnight. Now let's begin the lemon curd! Place all of the ingredients (except the eggs) into a heatproof bowl (I like to use my stainless steel mixing bowl for this as then I can just transfer directly to my stand mixer) Place the bowl over a pot of simmering water and stir until melted and the sugar has completely dissolved. The easiest way to test this is to rub a small amount of the mixture between your thumb and index finger. If it still feels grainy then continue to cook. Remove the bowl from the simmering water, wiping the bottom of the bowl free from any water. Place a sieve over a medium-sized bowl to strain the mixture leaving the zest behind. Beat the eggs in the bowl of the stand mixer until combined, pouring in the lemon mixture in a slow steady stream. Place the bowl back over the pot of simmering water and turn the heat down to low. Whisking every now and then until thickened. This usually takes me about half an hour. Once you are happy with the thickness, remove it from the heat and pour it into an airtight container. Allow to cool and then pop into the fridge. And now it's time for the praline... Line a large baking tray with baking paper, I find that if I scrunch the paper up in my hands and then smooth it out that it sits better on the tray. So do this if you like. Set the tray aside and have a thick tea towel or oven gloves at the ready. Place the sugar and water into a small saucepan over high heat. Stir until the sugar has dissolved and then allow to bubble, without stirring. Once the bubbles start to become slower in rising on the surface the liquid will start to change colour. What you are looking for here, is a light amber colour which means it is time to pour in the macadamias. Swirl the pan around to mix everything together and then continue to cook until it has reached a deep caramel colour. Immediately pour onto the prepared baking tray and then using a tea towel or oven gloves tilt the pan side to side to spread the mixture around resulting in a thin layer of glossy, nut studded glass. Allow to cool and then when hardened, break into shards and store in an airtight container. I find it best to layer the shards between sheets of baking paper so they don't stick to one another. They will happily chill out in the freezer for as long as you like. It not only makes a lovely addition for filling cakes but you can also use it for jazzing up desserts, scattering over scoops of ice cream or simply enjoying it just as it is. Ok, now it is the following day. It is time to make the swiss meringue buttercream... Pour the sugar into the bowl of a stand mixer followed by the egg whites ( you can reserve the yolks for making pasta, frittatas, omelettes, cakes, and pastry. now place the bowl over the top of a saucepan of simmering water, it doesn't have to be full of water, you don't want the water touching the bowl. If you have an electric whisk, now is a good time to use it. If like me you are without one then you can use the good ol' trusty hand beaters for this. Beat (or whisk) the sugar and egg whites over the pot of simmering water until it looks like a fluffy white cloud with soft peaks. transfer to the stand mixer, with the whisk attachment in place. Whisk on medium-high speed for at least 10 minutes to cool the mixture down. Turn the speed to medium and add the butter bit by bit, add the vanilla and turn the speed up again, and continue to whisk until it's thick and glossy. It can sometimes start to become a bit curdled looking, if this happens, don't panic! Just continue to whisk and it will eventually become glossy. You may also need to scrape down the sides using a spatula. Remove from the mixer and gently stir with a spatula to make sure everything is combined well. You are now ready to assemble! Remove the cakes from their tins. I find it helps to run a butter knife around the edges to loosen them a little and then invert. Slice the tops of each one to flatten the surface. These make wonderful kitchen snacks! And then set aside. place a smear of swiss meringue buttercream (SMB) in the middle of a cake plate or cake board and then secure your cake base to this, just pushing down ever so slightly to "glue" the two together. Using an offset spatula, take a generous amount of SMB and smooth over the top of the cake. Create a ridgeline around the edge by pushing the buttercream out to the sides as you turn the cake around (a cake turntable works wonders here, but if you don't have one simply place it onto a sheet of baking paper so it is easier to turn on the bench) This ridgeline will act as a barrier to keep the lemon curd from running out of the middle. Using a teaspoon, dollop about a 1/4 to a 1/3 of a cup of lemon curd on top in the middle and then smooth out to the ridgeline. roughly chop 2 or 3 shards of praline and scatter them over the top of the curd. Flip the second cake over, so that the base is now facing upwards and place it on top of the base cake, pushing down lightly to make it level. Scoop a generous amount of SMB on top of the cake and spread out to the edge, then using your offset spatula, fill in the middle (join) of the cakes before covering the sides with buttercream. You can create a textured finish like the cake here, or if you prefer a smoother finish you can do that too. Neaten up the sides and the top and now your cake is ready to "dress" with a flourish of flowers. You can find a full tutorial on how to fill, cover and decorate a cake with fresh flowers over on my Instagram page. I hope you find it helpful and that it inspires you to give it a go.

The aromatic, bright yellow fruits caught my eye. There they were bulging against the brown paper bag in which they were housed, as if in protest. As I cradled them in my one spare arm, (the other was carrying a rather weighty child), I promised them that I would indeed give them the display that their opulent nature deserved when we returned home. Featuring in many prominent works of art, including Vincent Can Gogh's "still life with quinces" (which by the way is experienced on a whole new level at the immersive sensory experience that is The Lume, Melbourne). As well as many poems which capture the ancient myths, love stories and symbols for which this voluptuous fruit has become famous. But what of its culinary triumphs? A fruit, that when in its raw state is practically inedible turns into a striking shade of rich, ruby-red reminiscent of Royal jewels upon long and leisurely cooking. They can be used in both sweet and savoury dishes alike - moreish spiced slow-cooked lamb shanks. Tossed through a winter salad with a scattering of crumbled blue cheese. Encased in a golden, flaky pastry, or simply spooned over a steaming bowl of porridge to break the fast. It is said that when a baby is born in the Balkans, a quince tree is planted. Symbolising fertility, love and life. I have visions of 100-year-old quince forests, their old-world branches laden with bright yellow fruits as the children of the parents who planted them walk side by side with their own children, perhaps even their children's children. It's all rather romantic, isn't it? But isn't that what the quince asks of us? To marvel in its beauty, its mystique and its ability to transform. It reminds us of what can come to fruition when time is unhurried. When we simply slow down and enjoy life's long and leisurely moments. Overnight Quinces 5 large quinces, peeled, cored and quartered 440g caster sugar a few fine peelings from the skin of an orange juice of a large orange 1/2 cup water 2 star anise 1 cinnamon stick a heaped tablespoon of honey Preheat your oven to 140c (fan-forced) and line a large, deep baking tray with a sheet of baking paper. set aside. Peel and cut each of the quinces into quarters. I find the easiest way to do this is to cut around the core, so then you are left with four "cheeks" you can either leave them this way or if they are quite large then cut each cheek in half. Place the cut quinces, along with the cores into the baking tray. Don't be alarmed when they start to discolour as this will have no effect on the final outcome. Place the sugar, orange peel, juice, water, star anise, cinnamon and honey in a medium saucepan over medium heat and stir until the sugar has dissolved. Bring to the boil, then reduce heat slightly to a gentle boil. continue to bubble away for at least 4 minutes. Pour the sugar syrup over the quinces, mixing to combine, then cover tightly with a sheet, or a couple of sheets of foil and place into the oven for 3 1/2 hours. After this time, turn off your oven and allow them to rest in the oven until completely cool. I started mine in the afternoon so left them in the oven overnight, hence the title of this recipe. The following morning, spoon the quinces, star anise, cinnamon stick and orange peels into a large jar, discarding the cores. Pour the river of glistening syrup over the top and store it in the fridge where they will happily sit for as long as it takes you to work your way through them. A few of mine are destined for a spiced cake that I have in mind...

"It reminds me of something similar mum used to make..." If there is a sentence to conjure up feelings of joy, then this is it. As a baker, I think it is quite possibly the pinnacle of all compliments to receive when you eagerly anticipate the verdict of a new recipe. I always hold my breath and hope for the best! To transport someone back to a time in the past through a flavour is something that can be quite emotional and magical. It also allows for a dialogue to open up, a story to be shared and I for one, am always willing to listen. It is made even more special when I am able to create these moments for the ones I love, in this case, it was my dad. It was the warming spices of this pumpkin cake that took him back to his Mum's baking. My Grandma. She was a wonderful baker of good, honest, home-baked treats that comforted and soothed. She made use of whatever it was that she had to hand at the time. The soothing spices of this cake have been weaved in with the wholesome goodness of ground hazelnuts and wholemeal flour. Grated pumpkin, burnt butter and black tea steeped in warm milk add another layer of interest. A crown of whipped ricotta cream was a last-minute addition. All of these ingredients were what I had to hand at the time...I think Grandma would approve, well, I can only hope she would have. We all certainly did, almost...Ben was not too keen. But, if there is one thing I have learnt when it comes to pleasing people...you can't please them all and in this case, it was majority rules. Still, it didn't stop him from making quite the dent in it over the days that followed as he stood over the kitchen sink when those late afternoon sweet cravings swept in, dropping crumbs. This is a moment that continues to be etched into my mind on the daily. cake crumbs that have been left behind on the bench will always make me smile (they will also make me roll my eyes) as it is a memory of knowing that someone has just filled a space in their grumbling tummy with a cake, a biscuit, a slice, whatever it may be - with something that I have baked out of love, something I have baked for the ones I love, just as Grandma did. Pumpkin & Hazelnut Cake with Ricotta Cream Makes a 22cm square cake 200g unsalted butter 200g caster sugar 3 free-range eggs, at room temperature 150g hazelnuts 1 tbsp caster sugar 1 teaspoon cassia (of ground cinnamon) 1 teaspoon ground ginger 1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom a few grinds of black pepper a pinch of salt 150g wholemeal self-raising flour 100g spelt 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder 1/2 cup of milk 2 English breakfast tea bags 1 1/2 cups of grated pumpkin For the ricotta cream 300g ricotta 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1/4 cup icing sugar, sifted Ground cinnamon for dusting Place the butter in a small saucepan and melt over low heat, increase the heat a little and continue to cook the butter until it has reached a nut-brown state. It will smell heavenly at this point and foam up. Remove from the heat and pour into a bowl, along with all of those burnt bits on the bottom. Set aside to cool until it solidifies once again. You can do this step the day before if you like and just keep the butter, covered, on the bench. Preheat your oven to 160 degrees fan-forced. Grease with butter and line with baking paper a 22cm square cake tin. Warm the milk in a small saucepan until heated through. Add the tea bags and let steep for a good 5 minutes. Remove the tea bags. Place the nuts in a food processor along with the tablespoon of extra caster sugar and the spices and blitz until a fine crumb. In the bowl of a stand mixer or a large bowl with hand beaters, beat the sugar and butter until creamy, add the eggs in one at a time and continue to beat until everything is combined. Sift the flours and baking powder into the bowl and add this to the creamed mixture, beating slowly until just combined, pour in the tea stained milk and add in the nuts and a pinch of salt and mix slowly once again. Finally, fold through the grated pumpkin and then spoon into your prepared cake tin. Smooth the top and place into the oven for about 45 minutes or until it feels just firm to the touch or a cake tester or skewer inserted into the middle comes out clean. Allow to cool in the tin for 10 minutes and then carefully turn out onto a cooling tray to cool completely before icing. To make the ricotta cream you will need to blend the ricotta in a food processor or blender until creamy and smooth, add in the vanilla and icing sugar and blend once again until its all combined and velvety smooth. When your cake is cool enough, spread the cream over the top and then finally sprinkle with ground cinnamon.

As the leaves crunch underfoot, and the fading light gives way to the bitter chill that hangs upon the air, the promise of a steaming bowl of hearty soup; a crisp, golden roast chook or any of the myriad of dishes that involve mountains of creamy, cheesy goodness is all that is needed to add that extra layer of warmth and comfort that we all so desperately crave during the cooler months. My appetite turns up a notch and I find myself turning the oven on not just for the delight in cooking or baking something, but for the added warmth it provides in heating up our chilly little home. A pot of rapidly boiling water sends licks of steam up against the coldness of the kitchen windows. A thick, luscious white sauce coats teeny-tiny tubes of pasta that have been flecked with garlic infused mushrooms before being tumbled into an oiled baking dish, only to be pulled from the oven 25 minutes later, transformed into a crispy-edged, golden mess of lava-like gloriousness - the epitome of comfort food - cauliflower mac and cheese. No matter how chilled the air that hangs in the darkness of an Autumn evening, there will always be a warm glow emanating from within our kitchen and the promise of a meal that will gladden the heart. A cosy cauliflower mac & cheese Serves 6 200g macaroni 450g cauliflower, broken up into small florets 100g swiss brown mushrooms, sliced 2 tbsp olive oil 40g unsalted butter 3 garlic cloves, finely chopped 40g parmesan + an extra 2 tbsp 50g gruyere + an extra 2 tbsp 400g ricotta 50g cheddar 2 tbsp unsalted butter 2 tbsp flour 500 ml full-cream milk 2 tsp dijon mustard a generous 1 cup of parsley, chopped Preheat oven to 180c fan-forced (200c conventional). Bring a large pot of salted water to a rapid boil and cook macaroni for 5 minutes, adding cauliflower florets in with the pasta after this time. cook for another 3 minutes, stirring well. drain and set aside. Meanwhile, begin the mushrooms. Heat the oil and butter in a medium-sized fry pan over high heat. Add mushrooms, stirring to coat in the oily, buttery mixture. Reduce heat to medium and continue to cook for 4 minutes or until golden. Add garlic and cook for another minute, or until it sends that wonderful aroma of mushrooms and garlic into the air. Remove from the heat, and add a pinch of salt and a good grind of black pepper. set aside. Have all of the cheeses grated and ready and waiting. Melt butter in a medium-sized saucepan, add the flour and cook, while stirring for a couple of minutes or until it smells toasty. Pour in the milk, continuing to stir over medium heat until slightly thickened. This should take about 5 minutes. Stir through the cheeses, followed by the dijon, parsley, salt and pepper to taste. Stir the mushrooms through the sauce and then mix this in thoroughly with the pasta and cauliflower before tumbling into a lightly oiled baking dish (mine measures 22cm x 30cm) scatter over the reserved parmesan and gruyere and place into the preheated oven for 20 minutes. After 20 minutes, turn to the grill setting and cook for another 3-4 minutes or until it has reached a glowing golden hue. Serve with a simple leaf salad and perhaps a few slices of fresh bread on the side. If you happen to have leftovers, they make a wonderful lunch the following day. Simply reheat in the oven, covered with a sheet of foil.

As the butter softly crackles on the warm surface and the first spoonful of batter hits the pan I can smell it - the smell of comfort, the aroma of love. The simplicity of these small, extraordinary moments pull at the very center of my heart, projecting those childhood memories to the very forefront of my mind - the way my Granny's hands felt - soft and delicate, and the way they always smelled of butter. Of baking. The prickly texture of the mohair rug that kept her knees warm, and the sound of the pages in her book sliding over one another as I buried deep into the crisp, fresh sheets of her big, cosy bed beside her. So often life's most memorable moments are the ones that seem incredibly insignificant at the time, but when reminded, these smells, textures and sounds transport us back as if in a time machine, and we find ourselves giving in to the warmth and comfort of being just that little bit closer to the ones whom we have lost along the way, but who are indeed never forgotten. I am quite certain I am not alone when I say that the humble pikelet is a direct vehicle to some of the most wonderful childhood memories - After school treats, piled high in front of eager little hands and ravenous teenage tummies; weekend breakfasts and after dinner delights. No matter the time of day there is always a space for these little gems to slide into. Served warm or cold, with butter and honey, or golden syrup, as my Granny suggests at the bottom of her recipe. I'd like to add a good smear of glistening jam to that, applied after lashings of butter, of course. Butter melting in a warm pan, a spoonful of pikelet batter...that's the aroma of love for me, and one that I hope Beau and Viviana will forever hold in the memory files of their minds - those smells, those textures, those sounds and the comfort and connection that these simple, insignificant moments provide at any time, on any day. Granny’s Pikelets 225g plain flour 2 tsp baking powder 1 tbsp caster sugar 1 cup of milk 1 egg Sift the dry ingredients together three times in a medium-sized bowl. I know this may seem excessive but when my Granny says to sift, you sift. In another bowl, whisk the egg and sugar together until combined, followed by the milk. Pour the wet ingredients slowly into the dry ingredients, whisking until a thick batter forms. Warm a large frypan over low-medium heat, grease lightly with a knob of butter and place soup spoonful’s of batter into the pan (I can fit 5 pikelets into my pan). Cook gently until bubbles appear on the surface, flip over and cook until golden. Wrap in a clean tea towel to keep warm while you cook the others, adding a little more butter each time. Serve warm or cold with butter and honey, or golden syrup. I quite like them with a smear of glistening jam too.

I find it difficult to call rhubarb a vegetable, just as I find it difficult to call tomatoes a fruit. The perfectly slender pink petioles, or stalks as they are more commonly known, provide a never-ending source of inspiration when it comes to being creative in the kitchen. I only have to look at a bundle of reds, greens, and pinks and I become lost in the countless possibilities that these intensely sour raw stalks provide, what with the addition of sufficient amounts of sugar, these raw stalks are transformed into many an edible delight - Pies, crostatas, crumbles and jam. MY goodness, it even marries well with fatty meat and oily fish. Roast pork with rhubarb and apple sauce anyone? However, it is the way these mouthwatering sour-fruity flavours mingle with almond, orange and vanilla that really make my tastebuds tingle. It is such a versatile gem and one that can be very easy to grow, or so I am told, I have two crowns that I've planted under our kitchen window which I check upon every morning, watching as the green fan-like leaves become larger and larger. The stalks, spindly as they may be at the moment, provide hope for what is to come. Fingers crossed! Harvesting my own rhubarb feels extremely romantic, I have visions of cradling a generous bounty in my arms, bringing them inside, and watching as the droplets of water slide down their smooth "skin", patting them dry with a paper towel and chopping each stalk into chunks, finally folding them through orange-scented, white chocolate studded sugary batter, scattered with a shower of flaked almonds and then baked to golden perfection. This rhubarb, orange and almond tea cake is best enjoyed under the dappled light of a large tree, preferably barefoot, as good conversation flows upon the warm summer breeze. Of course, if this scenario is not entirely possible, then it is equally as good served in the comfort of your home at any time of the day, slicing off mouthfuls each time you pass by the kitchen. I imagine it would make for a very simple dessert as well, perhaps served with a dollop of creme fraiche sweetened with a touch of icing sugar. Vegetable, fruit, whatever you want to call it, it is truly transformative - both in flavour and in the way it can brighten the darkest of days. Rhubarb, Orange & Almond Tea Cake 150g softened unsalted butter, chopped 150g caster sugar Zest of an orange 2 free-range eggs, at room temperature 1 tsp vanilla extract 100ml buttermilk 150g self-raising flour, sifted 150g almond meal 100g white chocolate, chopped 200g rhubarb, ends trimmed and cut into small chunks 25g flaked almonds Icing sugar, to dust Preheat your oven to 170c (fan-forced). Grease a 20cm springform cake tin with butter and line with baking paper. Beat the butter, sugar, and orange zest in the bowl of a stand mixer, (or in a large bowl using handheld beaters), until thick and pale. Add the eggs, one by one, allowing each to combine well before adding the next. Pour in the vanilla and continue to beat until combined. Fold through the flour, almond meal, and milk, followed by the chocolate and rhubarb. Spoon into the prepared tin, and then scatter the flaked almonds over the top. Pop into the oven, on the middle shelf, and bake for about 50-55 minutes, or until a skewer inserted into the centre comes out clean. Cool cake in the tin for at least 10-15 minutes before removing and placing onto a cooling rack. When ready to serve, dust with icing sugar. It makes a perfect picnic cake to share with friends and can also be dressed up with a dollop of crème Fraiche sweetened with a little icing sugar for a very simple summer dessert. *If you don’t have a springform tin then you can use a regular tin, just be careful when inverting the cake as you may lose a few almonds off the top, simply pop them back into place. **Raspberries, strawberries, or blueberries also make a wonderful alternative to rhubarb

There is a little red raspberry patch on the upper left side cheek of the apricot I hold in my hand. A few freckle-like blemishes here and there on the outer, and on the inner, that soft perfectly ripe flesh sings the song of summer flavour. I can almost always judge when we will be gifted a box of these exquisite gems from our neighbours, for the sight of them rolling down the gutter on our street is a dead giveaway that they are indeed ready for plucking from the branches. Baked, stewed, fresh, you really cannot go wrong with these humble beauties. In fact, their flavour only becomes more intense, in that gorgeous buttery, honeyed way when roasted. And oh my, when paired with a dollop of thick Greek yoghurt, or dare I say, a generous scoop of vanilla bean ice cream, great things happen - simply. Diana Henry writes in her wonderful book, How to eat a peach, 'even the most unpromising apricots - unripe and dull - seem to become vanilla-sweet and develop a balancing acidity when heat is applied. That's why they are so good with pastry, pastry needs fruit with a little tartness.' And yes, pastry - crostatas, galettes, tarts full of frangipane, cobblers, crumbles and the simple pleasure of spreading glistening, sticky-sweet jam onto hot buttered toast - even in the depths of winter one can be transported back to the time of summer days - salty sea air swimming upon the breeze of balmy evenings, and freckle-nosed children furiously licking at the ice cream cascading down their arms. Such is the reward for standing over a hot pot of bubbling jam in the sweltering heat of mid-summer. In a world where we are surrounded by so much uncertainty these days, it's comforting to know that hidden at the back of the preserving shelf (which is merely a couple of pigeon holes in the study) sits half a dozen jars containing pure, certain joy - all thanks to those first sightings of gutter apricots. Apricot and Rosemary Jam You will need approx. 6 jars, Mine differ in sizes. I always like to sterilise more than what I think I will need, just in case. 1.5kg apricots, stones removed and quartered. Reserve about 10 of the stones 1kg white sugar 4 large sprigs of rosemary 375ml water Place the apricots into a large stockpot, along with the reserved stones, I like to use my high sided one for this as it does have the means to spit and bubble once it gets a boil up. Pour in the water and bring to a boil, continue to cook for at least 20 minutes or until the fruit has softened. Add in the sugar, and without boiling, stir until the sugar has dissolved. Once it's all dissolved, bring it up to a boil and continue to cook for at least another 20-30 minutes, making sure to stir often as you do not want to end up with burnt jam on the bottom of your pot... I use a large wooden spoon for this, and take great care when stirring as it can spit hot sticky lava on your hands and arms. I also adjust the heat if I find it is bubbling too much. At this point, you will also want to place a small dish into the freezer so that you can test the setting point of the jam. Once the jam has reached a thickish consistency - it should fall from the spoon in thick teardrops. Place a spoonful of jam onto the plate in the freezer and pop it back into the freezer for 30 seconds. Run your index finger through the middle of the jam on the plate and if it leaves a trail down the middle then your jam is ready. If not, simply cook for a little longer and then test again. Pour into the sterilised jars, wipe the rims clean, secure the lids and place upside down for a couple of minutes before turning right side up. This helps to seal the jars. Store the jars in a cool, dark spot. Once opened store in the fridge. Sterilising jars - I simply pop my chosen jars into the sink and fill up with hot water. I then place the jars onto a baking tray and pop them into the oven, set at 150 degrees C until they are dry and remove them once the jam is ready.

Bridge ruffies, Bumble bees, Devilled kidneys and mutton broth. Pint, pound and ounces, and an introduction that reads - "Dear Homemaker, since it was first introduced, Menu Magic has received wide acclaim as being the most comprehensive and economical recipe book available to the Australian Housewife." This spiral bound book with its illustrated pages belonged to my Nanna, my Mum's mum. A recipe book can tell many a story - each splatter, torn page, and batter-encrusted blob leaves a trail of questions and guesses throughout - favourite recipes, and recipes that look as if they have not been given the light of day for the pages on which they reside are in pristine condition. In my Nanna's copy, which now holds space on my bookshelf, it is pages 114 and 95 that tell me Nanna may have put the summer and party drinks to good use - I wonder if it was the lime and strawberry float, or the mulled fruit punch that refreshed their parched throats during the summer months, perhaps it was the frosted coffee cup recipe that provided inspiration, as I do remember tall blue glasses generously filled with a marbled concoction of strong coffee, milk and a scoop of ice cream that floated on top...I can still hear the tinkling of the spoon against the glass as my Nanna and Granny sat in their respective chairs, eyes transfixed on the TV, on what is now the sound of summer for me - The Tennis. But lets get back to page 95, shall we? To a recipe that has been turned to countless times, one that now has the pen-markings of grams and cups next to the "old-fashioned" ounces. It is the very first cake I remember baking when I was younger. Its beauty is in its simplicity, a humble yet utterly delicious cinnamon tea cake that must, and I repeat must always be cut into finger slices, turned onto its side, and spread with lashings of softened butter - so much so that when bitten into, teeth marks remain. This is how my mum serves it and it is now how I serve it because I want Beau and Viviana to have these same wonderfully delicious food memories I had as a child. I may not ever prepare mutton broth nor would I dream of serving devilled kidneys, but I can guarantee that page 95 will continue to gather sticky fingerprints and many butter-encrusted blobs into the future and beyond. Cinnamon Tea Cake 55g unsalted butter, at room temperature 85g caster sugar 1 egg 170g self-raising flour a pinch of salt 2/3 cup of milk extra butter for spreading on top 1tsp cinnamon 1tbsp caster sugar Preheat your oven to 170c (fan-forced) and grease a 19cm square cake tin with butter and then line with baking paper. In the bowl of a stand mixer beat together the butter and sugar until they are light and creamy. Add in the egg and beat to combine. Sift the flour into a medium sized bowl and stir through the salt. Fold half of the flour and half of the milk into the batter, gently stirring until combined. Fold the other half in and then spoon into your prepared cake tin. Bake for about 25 minutes, or until a cake tester or skewer inserted into the middle comes out clean. It should spring back lightly when pressed with the tips of your fingers and be light golden in colour. Remove from the oven, allowing to cool in the tin for 5-10 minutes before placing onto a cooling rack. Spread with the extra softened butter which will act as the "glue" for sticking the cinnamon and sugar on top. Combine the cinnamon and sugar in a small bowl and then sprinkle all over the top. Cut into finger slices, generously butter and serve on a large platter with cups of tea. It is a humble little cake that makes the most wonderfully delicious morning or afternoon tea treat and never lasts long.

Quite often our fridge will be full of leftover cake innards - dribs and drabs of lemon curd, spoonfuls of berry coulis and the most sought after "scrap", the cake offcuts. The latter being the chosen snack to satiate those afternoon cravings. Ben can quite often be found digging around in the fridge after work on a day where I have been creating a cake for one of life's celebrations - be that a birthday or in this case, a wedding. And now Beau and Viviana have cottoned on to the fact that when Mummy has a cake to create they will inevitably end up with crumb coated fingers and the question, "just one more piece?" will follow. I always try my best to think of ways in which to use up these leftovers. So when Viviana had said with such certainty that she wanted an ice cream cake for her 2nd birthday party I was given the opportunity to use these "scraps" to make a multi-coloured 3 layered frozen treat. A 1-litre container of Vanilla ice cream was purchased, split into three and beaten together with a few large spoonfuls of lemon curd for the top layer, a river of deep purple swirled through the middle layer and a thick dark chocolate ganache followed by chunks of dark chocolate cake made up the bottom layer. It sat in the freezer for two days before being turned out onto a chilled plate, decorated simply with paper pinwheels and 2 tall white candles. In the days following on from the party, our fridge was once again full of short, long, round containers stacked haphazardly upon one another. It was like a game of fridge Tetris and my mind was absorbed with the ideas of what our lunches and dinners would look like for the next few days. Of course, Ben made the most out of this opportunity to dive headfirst into the fridge upon returning from work in the late afternoon, raiding the contents. I haven't mentioned where I've hidden the last 2 slices of ice cream cake though.... Celebration ice cream cake *This is not a recipe as such, more of a guide, but I hope it inspires you to try any number of flavour combinations. This recipe is all about ease, so just go with whatever you have on hand or purchase some ingredients. 1-litre vanilla ice cream (I like to use Bulla) about 1/2 cup of lemon curd (store-bought or homemade) a punnet of raspberries 1/4 cup berry coulis (you could also use jam for this) 1/2 cup chocolate ganache 1 cup of dark chocolate cake, broken up into chunks (you could also purchase a chocolate muffin, or make a batch if you don't happen to have cake offcuts) Grease a 1-litre capacity domed cake tin and line with baking paper. I find if you scrunch the baking paper up and then smooth it out before pushing it down into the tin makes it easier to mould it around the sides. Take out the ice cream from the freezer at least half an hour before you want to make this, this will allow it to soften and make it easier to beat in the flavours. Place a third of the ice cream into the bowl of a stand mixer along with the lemon curd and beat until smooth. Spoon into the bottom of the cake tin. Take another third of ice cream and place into the bowl with the berry coulis and beat once again until smooth. Place the raspberries around the edge on top of the lemon curd layer and then cover with the berry layer. Place the remaining ice cream into the bowl with the ganache and beat until smooth, fold through the chocolate cake chunks and then spoon onto the berry layer, smoothing out the top. Cover with a piece of foil and clamp tightly around the edge, place into the freezer for at least 24 hours, two days is even better. Pop a large plate into the freezer too, one that is big enough to turn the cake out onto. When you are ready to unmould. Take the chilled plate out and invert the cake onto the plate. run a cloth under hot water and place it on top of the upturned tin. This will make it easier for the cake to slip out. Peel away the baking paper and serve. Store any leftovers in the freezer. I'll leave it up to you whether or not you want to let the rest of the household know where you've hidden it.