Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

I feel like I have written this blog post up already over the nearly 7years I’ve been here. Going through my archives, I see that I haven’t, but I do know for certain that I have posted photos on Facebook every single Easter that we have been here, sharing my homemade Hot Cross Buns.

I’m pretty sure you are all well aware that these spicy buns, complete with raisins, apple and conserved orange peel, and topped with a cross are non-existent here in France. I feel like I have repeated year in and year out that Hot Cross Buns are a Commonwealth treat, common to the countries that once fell under the reign of Queen Victoria, and not at all available here in France. The French celebrate Easter time with brioche baked in the shape of lamb, and cinnamon and spice and all things nice are reserved for Christmas, so I have become adept at baking my own Hot Cross Buns at Easter for us.

As I sit and write this, I can see my Kenwood bowl sitting on my patio table, covered in a muslin cloth. Under the cloth is the dough that the girls and I made earlier. We added the milk heated to optimum temperature for the yeast to work its magic, and now it’s soaking up the warmth of the spring sun to grow. Timings are quite crucial, and once this organism of gurgling dough starts to tip over the edges, the next step will be to knock it back, add the spices and dried fruit, and let it begin its’ chatter again.

Did I ever make my own hot cross buns back in South Africa? Nah, I didn’t need to. Every supermarket in the country would be selling them for 2 months before Easter. However, when I was an 18 year old student at Christina Martins (School of Food and Wine), we were given the recipe to include in our files. That holiday, when I went home for Easter, my grandparents came to the farm for Easter Sunday. By that time, they were living in a retirement village, and couldn’t have the greater family around for family occasions. As always, they would arrive in time for morning tea, go for a drive on the farm, and we would have roast for lunch.

My gran Ruth, my Dads’ mother, was also one of the people in my life who inspired my love of food. I remember a Sunday many years before, when they still lived on my Grans’ farm, and we had been there for Sunday lunch, Gran had asked me how I was enjoying baking at home. I had bemoaned the fact that I was unable to bake nicely at Netherby (my home) due to Mom’s Aga coal stove being too difficult for me. (I was 12, dealing with the mechanics of burning firewood at a slow enough rate for a sufficent enough amount of time was beyond my capabilities). Later that evening, Gran phoned Mom and told her that she would like to buy us a new electric stove and oven for home, so that I could bake. She was a kind generous soul, always.

So when she was coming for tea that Easter Sunday, a short 10 weeks after I had started in on my culinary course, naturally I wanted to show off what I had learnt, and Hot Cross Buns was it. When the time came for tea, we helped her to sit in the upright rocking chair- she had had a stroke many years before, and her movement on one side of her body was a little restricted- and quick as a flash, Kelsey, my sisters’ Staffordshire Bull Terrier jumped up on to her lap and made herself comfortable. Gran was little lady, and Kelsey wasn’t exactly a handbag dog, but Gran didn’t ever object. Anyway, I presented her with her tea and a plate of buttrered hot cross buns, and sat down with my own. I sipped my tea, and nibbled on the bun, and inwardly, my heart sank. These home-made buns just weren’t the same as the store-bought variety. They were crumbly, and heavy, and the moment of my passive attempt at bragging fell like a stone in my stomach.

Needless to say, nobody in my family seemed to share my sentiment, and without scorn we finished that batch with our moring tea. The rest of the family went out to tour around the farm while I helped Mom with roast lamb and all the trimmings that went with it, trying to redeem myself after my failed attempt at the Hot Cross Buns.

That first occasion of me cooking my own buns will never be forgotten. I suspect I overheated the milk, and burnt the yeast, and I think trying to do it by hand instead of in a mixer with a dough hook meant that the gluten wasn’t developed properly, which accounted for the crumb texture, instead of that elastic soft texture that makes the perfect Hot Cross Bun. There’s a reason that I make a double batch when Easter swings by: Hot Cross Buns are time consuming and you may as well fill your oven and freezer one time instead of rising every day with the birds to start your first dough proving. They won’t be ready in time for breakast.

Happy Baking, and stay safe.

Best wishes,

Love

Me

xx