Madge joins in. ‘When I married my Bert I knew nothing about being a farmer’s wife. That first year was terrible, even the hens used to scare me.’
I’m sorting out my scales and ingredients as they talk. ‘As some of you probably know, Ihavemade buttercream once or twice before. The butter is nice and soft so for this first batch I’m going to use eight ounces and a pound of icing sugar with half a teaspoon of vanilla essence, and see how we go.’ I know they’ll never have to use the amounts, but they’ll want me to stay as close to my usual routine as I can.
Walter gives a laugh. ‘My Sarah used to scare me. She’d chase me back out into the yard if I didn’t take my boots off at the back step.’
Kathleen’s shaking her head at him. ‘You should have known better than to drop mud on your Sarah’s clean floor, you dozy heffalump. She used to scrub those quarry tiles on her hands and knees until they shone.’
Roger joins in from the back. ‘My Cynthia used to chase me out onto the golf course when I first retired so I didn’t get under her feet.’
I smile at Walter. ‘It was talking about your Sarah that reminded us about butterfly buns. There must be lots of other recipes we can remember too.’ It’s only going to take a minute or two to make the icing, so chatting will make it last. And leafing through the basket at Clemmie’s, there were so many variations from the past I hadn’t seen before. If I’m wanting to hear more about vintage cooking, I’m talking to the right people.
Kathleen smiles. ‘My eldest girl has my recipe book. We used to write them in by hand, and if anyone at the WI came across anything new, we’d copy them out and pass them around between us.’
Joanie laughs. ‘Do you remember those things called mucky golf balls back in the seventies? We all made them.’
Madge’s eyes light up. ‘Ground almond, dipped in chocolate. Once you ate one you had to eat them all.’
Pam’s got a faraway look in her eye. ‘I’ve still got my recipe books in the storage unit. Mypièce de resistancewas my rum trifle, I made it every July for the end-of-year staff party.’
Ian nods. ‘You can’t beat a good rhubarb crumble with custard. But I’m talking about eating it, not making it!’
Jen’s nodding too. ‘And what about custard tart? Did anyone make that?’
It’s at least another ten minutes before they’ve finished discussing blind baking and how much nutmeg is the perfect amount. At this rate it’ll be teatime before I begin.
As they start to flag, I tip the icing sugar into the bowl and clear my throat. ‘I’ve borrowed this mixer from Clemmie, but I have the same one in red, which is what my apron matches.’
Nell laughs. ‘If this is going to be a regular thing we’ll get you an apron withpinkstripes, Cressy.’
We all know this is my one and only performance, so before she gets any more carried away I start up the mixer. Hopefully by the time I’m looking in at smooth creamy swirls and breathing in the scent of vanilla, Nell will have moved on to something else.
‘Thanks to the magic of this fabulous Smeg mixer, we’ve got lovely buttercream already.’ I do a little ta-da, then lift the bowl off and parade it round so everyone can have a look. And I know that promo will be lost on people who don’t have their own kitchens, but as Smeg are among my website sponsors I do it anyway.
I get as far along the line as Nell and she opens her eyes wide. ‘And another thing …’ anything different will be good, ‘… it’s Sophie’s Kittiwake Court fundraiser garden party up at Siren House on Saturday.’
‘Brilliant.’ I’m not sure why they’d mention it to me, but I’m already back at my table ready to push this on. I look up at the room. ‘Before I show you how to scoop the little pieces of sponge out of the buns, did everyone get Nell’s shout-out for the fundraiser there?’
Sophie’s bright blue eyes are fixed on mine. ‘One o’clock prompt to set up, the gates open at two! We’ve put you in charge of the bring-and-buy cake stall, Cressy.’
‘You want me to come too?’ Of course I’m happy to help if it’s for Kittiwake Court; I’m only sighing because that’s another free day I won’t be working on my book.
Nell beams around the room. ‘So anyone wanting to meet Cressida Cupcake again, make sure you come along on Saturday.’
Sophie’s still looking directly at me. ‘Don’t worry, Cressy, cake stalls in St Aidan sell out faster than you can say Victoria sandwich, you’ll be home in no time.’ Her perfect eyebrows have lifted. ‘But if you have any spare baking time before, rainbow cupcakes are very popular. I’ll drop off some unicorn horns for you to put on too. A few dozen of those would really boost our effort. And vegan versions are mandatory too, don’t forget – we’re very hot on inclusion.’
And there goes my Saturday morning, obliterated by Sophie’s rolling juggernaut. And probably my Friday evening too.
Kathleen’s nudging Joanie. ‘Talking of Victoria sandwiches, do you remember Mrs Hawksley’s fatless sponge recipe? That made the best raspberry jam and cream cake ever.’
Walter’s stick is in the air. ‘Bugger Mrs Hawksley, what I want to know is who gets to lick the bowl out today?’
I have to smile at the way Walter gets straight to the point, and at least he’s brought us back on task here. ‘Seeing as you asked first, you can do the honours, Walter. Once the bowl is empty you can come up to the table.’
Walter’s stick is going again. ‘Make sure you leave plenty in there then, I’m not walking all that way for nothing!’
Which has given me another idea. With so many willing hands I should take a note out of Sophie’s book and set them to work. ‘Next I’m going to show you how to take the centres out of the buns to make the holes for the icing. Who’d like to come to the table and carry on with that afterwards?’
‘We will!’ Pam’s already got Jen wheeling her chair to the front, and Joanie’s up on her walking frame.
