The Mistake Cake

(This perfect cake I made in the photo is for illustrative purposes only 😊)

Last week, the lovely Ravneet Gill, was running a competition on her Instagram page to win a day learning how to make various types of pastry with her. The criteria for entry was to confess or admit your worst baking disaster. I entered and will get to that later, but the responses gave me hours of entertainment, many leading to tears of laughter, not least the wonderful woman who admitted to using 12 lemons in a recipe when it was actually asking for 1/2. This, I should add, is the very thing that happens to me when I can’t find my reading glasses - be warned young readers.

What really made me smile though, was the fact that I could have entered multiple times. There wasn’t just one episode (although the one I used was BIG). Oh no, I had so many disasters rattling around in my head that I questioned for a moment what on earth I was doing cooking as a career. But I guess that’s it. Surely the artist trashes hundreds of canvasses? The computer programmer slams the keyboard after hours of programming didn’t produce the right solution and the dog groomer has to occasionally apologise for what they have done to Bonzo. To err is human and we all do it.

Although I have been cooking professionally for over 20 years now, mistakes are made all the time. When you are really far too tired to carry on and lose concentration or so busy trying to cram in too much - something will give. The same with nerves.

The first heat of MasterChef that I was asked to do, was non-televised at a very unglamorous cookery school in either Reigate or Redhill (it began with an R). I had flown in from the States that morning from a work conference and my boyfriend had driven me straight there from the airport, with a car full of ingredients. The combination of jet lag and nerves was not ideal. Firstly, I set light to a tea towel whilst chatting to Tom Conran, who very politely just grabbed the offending item and threw it into the sink behind me with a calm smile. Then, as I stood back to wait for my chocolate and almond cake to cook, I turned round to see the pile of crucial ground almonds still on the side. I broke all the rules of baking and pulled the tin from the oven, quickly stirred the nuts through the already setting mixture and threw it back in, whilst on the edge of tears and wishing the day over. How I got through, I will never know.

And so many more disasters. The dinner party, when thankfully I had considerably over catered, and one of my helpers dropped an entire plum tart just before dessert (I had a spare). The tortilla in my deli that my brother said he was finding hard to slice and somebody had baked a spoon right into the middle of it. The tiramisu I had made for an event using entirely salt instead of sugar, miraculously discovered before it got in front of any clients. The list goes on…..and on.

One mistake even became a thing. And a very popular thing at that. We had made a fruit tart for the shop and I don’t really know what had happened but it was wrong. Dry as a bone. But I hate waste and it was good sweet pastry and expensive cherries so I suggested we put a layer of sponge mixture over the top, re-bake it and see what happens. It was fabulous. A kind of bakewell affair but with no almonds (..again!). We put it on the counter and labelled it “Mistake Cake” and guess what? It became a best seller and for the following 4 or 5 years Mistake Cake was a firm feature in Flavours repertoire.

So back to my entry for Ravneet’s competition. There could be only one. And that was my sister’s wedding cake. My eldest sister Rita, was getting married for the second time and asked me to make her cake. It wasn’t going to be such a formal affair so she just wanted her favourite - carrot cake - with cream cheese frosting and simple fresh flowers. This I could do.

The night before the nuptials, at about 10pm, I was finishing things off with the cake on the dining table and me covered in cream cheese frosting. I removed the top flowers, tweaked some of the icing, then it would be put to bed in the fridge overnight. I was living in St.John’s Wood at the time and rented out my spare room to my friend’s brother. Matthew was in bed, the cat was asleep on the sofa and my sister was getting married next day - life was good. I don’t really know what happened next. I just remember lifting the cake from the table and then, as if in a film and in slow motion, I watched as it turned and twisted through the air doing what seemed like a hundred somersaults until it landed on the marble floor with a loud splat. I screamed so loudly that I must have woken the whole of NW8 let alone my apartment building.

The cat scooted under the couch and I could hear Matthew moving. He was in the Territorial Army at the time and appeared from his room in an army helmet, laughing “Don’t panic, don’t panic”. He took one look at me and the mess. “Oh bugger….do you think we can save it?” I wailed again. This cake was beyond saving.

Whilst Matthew scooped up the first layer, which, although shattered had not touched the floor, I called my other sister. I was sobbing when my brother-in-law answered. He didn’t even say anything and just handed the phone over “I think your sister needs you”. Through breathless tears I explained the disaster. Calm as always, Frances suggested that I wake early on the Saturday, get down to Selfridges first thing, buy a beautiful cake and we would just explain to Rita what had happened after the wedding and she would be fine. “But *sniff* but, but I can’t buy a cake from Selfridges..” “Why not?” “Because I won M, m, m, MasterChef”. And at that moment my greatest achievement to date came right back to bite me on the bum.

The good thing about living in London is that there are all-night shops. I headed off to the Europa stores just before midnight and whilst everybody else was buying booze, snacks and cigarettes I was filling my basket with cake ingredients. With tears still streaming down my face I packed everything up at the till as the chirpy assistant smiled up at me “Oooooh are we baking something nice?” “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaah” 😭

The upshot to the tale was a slightly smaller cake, baked all night (with Matthew as moral support assistant, eating cake number one) iced at dawn, delivered on time …..and they all lived happily ever after.

Mistakes maketh the man (or woman).

Anyway, here’s a recipe for a lemon drizzle that doesn’t contain 12 lemons just two and is quite delicious if not dropped or baked with a utensil through its centre.

Lemon Drizzle Loaf

Bake in a 2lb loaf tin greased and floured or with a paper liner.

• 185g softened, salted butter

• 185g caster sugar

• 3 large eggs

• 185g self-raising flour

• 2tbsp milk

• Zest and juice of 2 lemons (keep separate)

• 2 extra tablespoons of sugar (can be granulated or caster) for the drizzle

1. Place the caster sugar, butter, eggs, flour, milk and lemon zest into a stand mixer or bowl with an electric whisk and beat together until a pale, fluffy consistency (will take around 10 minutes)

2. Spoon into your prepared tin and bake at 180C for around 40 minutes or until it has risen in the middle, is spongey to touch and a metal skewer comes out clean from the centre.

3. Whilst still warm, make small holes all over the cake with a cocktail stick.

4. Mix the lemon juice with the extra spoonfuls of sugar until it starts to dissolve.

5. Pour slowly over the cake and let it all soak in.

6. Leave to cool and enjoy with a cup of tea whilst discussing your worst baking disasters.