Mulberries & Motherhood

Lemon & Mulberry layer cake, and maybe a poem, if I am brave enough.

Here they go round the Mulberry Cake…

Hello and welcome back to Bake Experiments - where we play with flavours and techniques. With a bit of baking history & folklore thrown in too.

Thank you so much for being here. I hope you enjoy this post. And if you like what you read? Please do subscribe, share or like. Thank you.❤️

In the UK, last Sunday was Mother’s Day. A relaxed and idyllic day for me; an imposed lie in, reading and writing in bed. A roast dinner made by my husband and children. Followed by a walk down by the river, before popping into the bright, glossy Tiptree Jam shop and café. With its rows and rows of glorious glass jam jars, of every colour and shade.

Heard of Wilkin & Son’s Tiptree Jam? It’s one of the best bits of my homeland Essex - along with Maldon Sea Salt, and being the birthplace of the radio.

Having made jam since 1885, the company was made famous by James Bond. In the Ian Fleming novel From Russia with Love, it is said his favourite conserve was the ‘Little Scarlet Strawberry’, grown only on the Tiptree estate. (My daughter’s name is also Scarlett, and my mum has bought this jam for her).

I digress, what was particularly exciting about our trip was a discovery of ‘historical British fruit’ jams. So, Medlars, Quince, Damsons and Mulberries. Once staples of the British diet, now curiosities. To the point that, this weekend was my first ever taste of Mulberries.

A brief history

Back in 1608, King James the I planted a Mulberry Garden with 10,000 trees near Buckingham Palace, in a bid to encourage silkworms and kickstart a lucrative silkworm industry. (Mulberry leaves are a silkworms favourite snack).

But it was unsuccessful, perhaps due to King James having the wrong type planted, or introducing the silkworms too soon, or that they were simply unable to survive the frosty British winter. (We do have a cold and frosty morning…)

Today Mulberry trees are quite rare, with campaigns, such as this one with Dame Judi Dench, to save the ones left.

The berries are extremely delicate and they stain everything, which makes then difficult to sell. According to Tiptree Jam, it’s where the term ‘caught red handed’ comes from - as the stain from the delicate berries means it’s obvious if somebody has been picking them!

Perhaps unsurprisingly, they are expensive. The most expensive conserve I found in the shop at £7.99 for 340g. By comparison, a regular pot of strawberry is £3.29. So, that visit to the till was a shock.

Flavours

Flavour wise, they are unique. My take is a cross between a rich black grape and sweet blackberry. Working well with flavours such as;

• Citrus, such as oranges and lemons

• Chocolate

• Herbs, such as basil and mint

• Spices, such as cinnamon, nutmeg and cardamom

• Nuts, such as pecans, walnuts and almonds

• Other fruits, such as berries, stone fruits like peaches, and pears

• Mascarpone cheese

From a savoury perspective, they also work well with goats cheese, game and duck. In the UK, they are in season in late summer - late August to mid September.

So, what to bake with them?

A crumble is an obvious choice, I like this one with almonds and salted butter.

As mulberries work with chocolate, I am considering a Mint and Mulberry brownie, or Chocolate Fudge Cake, with Spiced Mulberry Compote and Mascarpone.

I’m also quite keen on the idea of a Mulberry Soufflé. I love the idea of a deep mulberry wine coloured sauce pouring out of soft clouds.

Ooh, Mulberry Wine. Delighted to say, that is a thing!

But today, I have gone for a light and fresh Lemon and Mulberry Layer Cake. Lemon curd sponges filled with mulberry jelly, and some frilly, trilly icing.

Mulberry substitutions

What if you can’t find mulberries, or don’t want to spend nearly a tenner on a pot of jelly? Replace with a blackberry jam instead. It will be slightly sharper, and will lack the richness of mulberries.

Or you can mix blackberries and black grape together. Just remember that fresh grapes emit a lot of juice, so aren’t always easy to bake with.

The recipe - Lemon & Mulberry Layer Cake

Mulberries seemed a good choice for a Mother’s Day bake. There is that nursery rhyme isn’t there… Historians say this originated from Victorian female inmates at Wakefield Prison. They sang ‘Here we go round the Mulberry Bush’ with their children, as they took their daily walk around a mulberry tree in the yard… So yes, erm, very fitting for Mother’s Day. Sort of.

Anyhoo, my mum loves a lemon bake. So, these lemon curd flavoured sponges are for her. And the mulberry and lemon flavoured trilly, frilly icing is for another Ma, fellow substacker

Sheryl O'Connell

, who tells me she loves trilly, frilly icing. I’m just sorry I didn’t get it thick enough for her tastes.

This bake is a bit of a mammoth, layer cakes often are, so I have included a pdf file to the recipe this week.

Lemon & Mulberry Cake

110KB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

A poem on Motherhood

So, here’s a little bit extra, that in my nerves I have hidden at the bottom.

This former newsy journo, a woman of structure and stats - who was told at school that her writing is ‘not particularly lyrical, but well constructed’ - has long been writing private poetry.

I don’t know if it’s any good. I haven’t studied poetry in more than two decades. Perhaps I will delete this entire section before I print publish and not expose myself.

But, I wrote this for my children on Mother’s Day. And their beauty is worth sharing. So, here we go…

For the daily crumbs

Thank you for the noisy giggles, to hear you shout and scream. Even when my brain’s imploding, when a moment’s quiet feels but a dream. Yet when you go to school, I yearn. To once again hear your chaotic turns.

For the daily crumbs, which litter my kitchen floor. I sigh as I go to sweep, again, once more. But I am thankful they are there. Because it means you have eaten well. And are without a care.

For the mundane, grey school runs, the worst part of my day. Made brighter by your delight; “Mummy, I missed you!” you will say. Then demanding snacks, of course. Loading me with coats, like I’m a packhorse.

For the sacrifices I have had to make. My career downsized. The choice I had to take. ‘But I can be a fancy pastry chef later, or return to journalism later’, I tell my anxious mind, worried I am being left behind.

For the board games, museum trips, runs around the park. My once glamorous social life destroyed, traded in for a more wholesome lark. The Saturday mornings at early swim club, no more lie ins and brunch, or market strolls, followed by a boozy lunch.

When you are kind, unprompted. A child like that, is all I ever wanted. The little notes you leave for me on my shopping list, the request for ten pots of strawberry jam, I cannot resist.

The way you dance and wiggle, enthusiasm unbounded. Makes up for the times I feel hounded. By endless questions, interruptions and more. For yet more crumbs on the kitchen floor.

At night on your pillow, a lavender spray. A good night’s sleep, to be ready for the next day. Your excitement at stories and the books we share, shall we read the next Harry Potter, do you dare?

The way your head nestles into me as I read. My reward for the life I have decided to lead. The loss of another evening to myself. To get to cuddle this fairy elf.

Thank you, for calling yourself my little choux bun, for giving me a life of childish fun. For the honour of watching you grow, such a tonic on days I feel bored and low.

For the honour of being your mother. It is a privilege (and a challenge) like no other.

Until next time…