SUNKEN HONEY PEAR CAKE

 I am often asked whether I eat everything that I bake. It's a question that continues to amuse me, and I remain undecided as to whether I should be offended or deeply flattered by the suggestion that I physically ingest several large cakes by myself on a weekly basis. Ego massaging aside, it's a question that should come as no surprise: we as readers crave resolve to a story, and love few things more that the reassurance that our protagonists (whether they be human or food stuff) will live happily ever after.

Free to a good home, my cut-into creations tend to take their leave with friends, family, boyfriend and on occasion, the sweet lady who lives downstairs and was really very understanding that time our boiler leaked and her ceiling fell in.

While I adore the abundance and indulgence that characterise baking, the propensity for waste continues to trouble me. Consistent recipe development, testing and tweaking results in a lot of baked goods, and it can be tempting - crazy as this may sound - to chuck anything in the bin that isn't quite perfect. I have to remind myself that baked goods, perfect or not, should be enjoyed and treasured. Otherwise, what is the point in all of this?

And I'll admit - I give things away because it's lovely, but also because I know my willpower is only so strong, and that one day I will succumb to my much-nurtured fantasy of eating chocolate souffle in the bath. It's a beautiful image, but one that I'm not quite ready for just yet.

Were I to be caught on at a weak moment, however, this sunken pear and honey cake would go rather well with the large glass of Prosecco, scented candles and whale sounds that populate the aforementioned fantasy. Drizzle with extra honey or reduced poaching syrup if you're planning a particularly long soak.

 THE INGREDIENTS

2 poached pears (recipe here)

125g butter

75g soft light brown sugar

50g clear honey

2 eggs

50g ground almonds

75g wholewheat flour, plus extra for dusting

1 tsp baking powder

THE RECIPE

Poach the pears according to the recipe. Preheat your oven to 180C fan, and line a small loaf tin with baking parchment. Lay the pear halves onto kitchen paper to dry them out ahead of baking.

For the cake, cream together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy, then drizzle in the honey with the mixer running. Add the eggs one at a time, beating to combine before each additional. Sieve in the almonds, flour and baking powder, and fold into the mixture. Pour into the prepared tin, and level the surface with a palette knife. 

Dust the rounded side of each pear half with flour, leaving the flat side clean. Gently arrange on top of the cake. Try not to push them down while you arrange them, as you don't want them to sink beneath the batter in the oven. 

Bake for 25-30 minutes, until the surface is risen around the pears, golden, and a knife comes out clean from the centre of the cake.

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POACHED PEARS WITH POACHING SYRUP CARAMEL

Time continues to fascinate, distress and perplex me. Its habit of passing slowly and quickly simultaneously is widely acknowledged - as is the innate futility in any attempt to shape or control its passing. Just like mathematics, time as we tend to consider it is ultimately anthropomorphic. By that I mean that units of time - seconds, minutes, years - are a conceptual way of quantifying an infinite reality. A way to break down and manage an ageless and inevitable entity.

And yet, even as I grow older and feel more confident in my understanding of this world, the feeling that the hours, days and weeks are slipping through my fingers seems increasingly inescapable. More than ever, I find myself anxiously analysing my time and how I find myself filling it. Am I getting enough sleep? Do I have time to make my yoga class today? When will I feel successful? 

Irritating as it may be to hear from a 'time-rich' twenty-something single, the start of a new year can feel like a reminder that time waits for no man (or woman). For me, those first moments of 2016 were filled with doubt and apprehension. For the first time in my life, I don't see a clear map of how this year will pan out. It's something I'm trying to feel excited about - after all, what better time to resolve to conquer my instinct to control and worry? 

One thing I do feel sure of is that time spent in my kitchen has never felt like time wasted. Even hours of experimentation that end in disaster feel like hours of learning and practice. The serenity these precious pockets of time bring me is invaluable, and serve as a reminder to be patient. The best things - as they say - come to those who wait. 

And so, it felt only right for my first recipe of 2016 to be one nourished by the gentle care of time and patience. Winter pears, delicate and soft, poached in a simple spiced syrup. Once the pears are cooked, the syrup is slowly simmered for a couple of hours until the sweet liquor has formed a silky, sticky and spicy caramel. For me, the circularity of this pudding only adds to the aforementioned serenity. 

THE INGREDIENTS

4 just ripe pears

1 litre water

500g caster sugar

1 clementine

1 cinnamon stick

1 vanilla pod

1 star anise

THE RECIPE

In a large stock pot, measure out the water and sugar. Use a vegetable peeler to cut strips of clementine peel, and add this to the pot. Add the cinnamon, vanilla and star anise. Bring the pot to the boil, then simmer for 5 minutes to allow the spices to infuse.

Peel the pears, leaving the stalks for structure, then cut in half and neatly remove the core. Add the pears to the simmering syrup, cover, and allow to cook for 30 minutes. Once the pears are soft, carefully remove them from the syrup using a serrated spoon, and set on sheets of kitchen roll to dry.

For the caramel, remove the lid from the pot and turn up the heat to medium high. The syrup should be on a soft rolling-boil. Leave it to reduce - this will take anywhere up to 2 hours depending on the temperature of your flame and size of your pot. The caramel is ready when the mixture has reduced to a thick, dark golden colour. Pour into a small bowl, and serve drizzled over the pears.

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