15.
Deep and crisp and even …
350g/12oz plain flour, plus extra for rolling out
1tsp bicarbonate of soda
2tsp ground ginger (double up to make them Oscar proof)
1tsp ground cinnamon
125g/4½oz butter
175g/6oz soft brown sugar
1 free-range egg
4tbsp golden syrup
I jotted down the bones of the recipe on a scrap of paper in Bill’s room, greased the tins, and now I’m weighing out the ingredients and adding them to the Magimix as I work. I’m not sure how many batches I’ll need to fill the tree, but I’m doubling the quantities to begin with, and I’ll see how I go after that.
It’s surprisingly fast to do. Before long I’m wiping my hands on the blue and white stripy apron I borrowed from the back of the pantry door, shaking flour out of a super-posh flour sifter, and dolloping the dough onto the honed granite worktop to knead. Seconds later I’m reaching for the rolling pin.
For a holiday let the drawers are surprisingly well equipped. I mean, who the hell has a flour sifter? I know I don’t. Now I’m on my own, I mostly do chocolate cakes for one in a mug in the microwave. They’re a lot better than they sound, so long as you eat them hot, they’re so totes delish I often have to make a second. Yummy enough to have most evenings in fact. But the kitchen in the flat is so tiny there’s barely space for me and my mug, let alone luxuries like flour sifters, so if I do bake I just hurl the flour around.
But that was then, this is now … I bought my own set of cute Christmas shaped cookie cutters just before while I was out in St Aidan. The scent of cinnamon and ginger is already warming my nose, and – okay, maybe I am getting a bit ahead of myself here, especially as these are for the tree, not for eating – but my mouth’s already watering as I anticipate the chewy crunch as I bite into the biscuits, the way the lovely gingery taste will explode on my tongue.
Except when I begin to roll, despite shaking the flour sifter every which way, it’s all getting a bit tacky. I whack down more flour, do a bit more kneading, then go to roll again. But this time the mix just ends up rolled around the rolling pin. Then I decide to try stuffing it into the cutters individually, but that’s hopeless too. The more I work it, the hotter I’m getting, and the stickier everything is, so I peel off my jumper. It’s a good thing I’m down to my T-shirt under the apron because the next time around it ends up in peaks, and instead of sticking to the granite it’s sticking to me, all the way up to my elbows.
Staring at my dough smeared arms, letting out a low whimper is not ideally how I’d like to be seen by anyone. So when Bill comes striding through the door, I’m cursing and diving to hide.
‘What the eff …’ Behind the kettle’s not ideal.
The stack of boxes Bill’s looking out over is huge and mismatched. He eases them down, and pushes them onto the island unit. ‘I could do with a hand if you’ve got a …’
‘Yes …?’ I’m hoping he’ll carry on but instead he’s walking around the unit and coming towards me, his face crumpling in horror.
‘Ivy, if you’re hell bent on smothering yourself in body butter, wouldn’t the bathroom be a better place?’
He’ssopatronising and superior, I’m this close to throwing the rolling pin at him. I probably would if it wasn’t completely stuck to my hand.
Usually I hate being so tall I look down on people, but now I’m pulling myself up to my full height. ‘If you had any idea about baking, you’d know – I’m making gingerbread, this is a critical stage in the process.’
‘Gingerbread?’ His voice goes high with surprise. Then he bites his lip, which I wish he wouldn’t, because his teeth make my stomach feel funny. ‘And that’s why you’ve got a star cutter attached to your elbow?’ As he leans over and picks it off he gives me a man-sized burst of his body spray.
‘Fuck.’ It was bad enough before the teeth and the man scent, but somehow I screw myself back together. ‘I’m making decorations for the tree.’
He’s pulling down the corners of his mouth, but they keep twitching back up again. ‘Great idea, but you’ve got two problems –’
‘Is that all?’ I’m being ironic. From where I’m standing it feels like a lot more. And obviously I don’t need him to lecture me on what they are. I mean, who does he think he is, the effingBake Offpolice?
He’s waving the star cutter at me. ‘You’ll never get perfect biscuits if you use plastic cutters.’
Still talking down. Still sounding like a complete arse. ‘SadlySparin St Aidan didn’t stock gold plated ones. So whatshouldI have chosen?’ It’s one of those questions Ireally don’twant an answer to, but he’s going to tell me anyway.
He shrugs. ‘Stainless steel ideally.’ He flicks open a drawer, and pulls out a box and flips the lid open. ‘Like these.’
The tin I’m staring down at is filled with metal stars and hearts of all sizes, the odd angel, a few different sized snowmen, and blow me if there isn’t a whole shiny nest of gingerbread man cutters in there too. Considering the minimalism everywhere else in the castle, the drawers in the kitchen are a complete anomaly, especially the one the cutters came out of. I swear I caught a glimpse of a whole load of kiddy birthday candles and bun cases in there too, which doesn’t fit with anything. But I’ll have to work out what the hell’s going on there later.
