Week 32: Swedish Cinnamon Cake

The book: Swedish Cakes and Cookies

The recipe: p68, "Cinnamon Cake"

Writing about Sju sorters kakor might not have had immediate results, but as it turns out, we've only had to wait a few more weeks for the random fairies to finally pick it from the shelf.

What I didn't make clear in my paean to the sweet treats of my Anglo-Scandinavian youth is that I've only ever made biscuits (I can't bring myself to say "cookies") from the hallowed pages of the book in question. So I'm quite pleased that something non-biscuity has come up this week - or, as Senator Vreenak would have it:

Quite a simple-looking cake, too, from a double-page spread whose illustrations are all quite... brown. This reflects the Scandinavian penchant for dark, wintry flavourings: cinnamon, cloves, ginger, cardamom and the like. It also makes a lot of sense in the context of the fika tradition - if you're drinking crazy-strength coffee like it's tap water, you need some robust ingredients to compete.

The book presents the Cinnamon Cake in a fabulous star-shaped tin. I don't have one of those - though I'm starting to think I ought to - so I'll be going full Lewisham and using a Poundland loaf tin and a Poundland tin liner instead. The Jane Asher range, mind you, so not just any old tat...

Like many of the offerings in Swedish Cakes and Cookies, the Cinnamon Cake is accompanied by a cheerful note stating: "This recipe won a prize in 1965." Cheerful but fundamentally uninformative, since no clarification is given as to what the prize actually was. Booker? Nobel Peace? Eurovision Song Contest?

Points mean prizes

Still, an award is an award, and this bodes well as we proceed to the nitty-gritty of this week's random choice.

The prep: The ingredient list couldn't be more generically "cake" if it tried. I mean, just look at this lot: eggs, sugar, flour, baking powder and butter, plus some flaked almonds for garnishing. It's going to be quite a straightforward affair, in other words - probably for the best if you're expected to present seven different types of goodies to your mid-afternoon guests.

All I need to buy is some ground cinnamon. There is some in the cupboard, but it has a best before date of 200*cough*, so best to refresh our supplies, I think.

The making: The eggs and sugar are beaten - using an electric mixer, natch, I'm not that much of a masochist - until light yellow in colour and very thick in texture. Next, the dry ingredients are stirred through. There's no mention of sifting them first, so it's no great surprise when some lumps ensue, but I try my best to break them up with the wooden spoon.

The butter is combined with some water and heated to boiling point, then added to the batter and mixed well. The fact that it isn't left to cool (even a little) before being added seems to take care of the remaining lumps, so that's useful I guess. The batter is then poured into the prepared loaf tin and the flaked almonds are sprinkled on top.

I've got a cake to flake

Into the oven it goes - bottom shelf, 45 minutes - and out it comes again. It's now that I start to realise the benefits of using a flatter, shallower tin (star-shaped or not). The more compact loaf shape has risen quite considerably in the middle, pushing the almonds down to the sides and leaving the top of the cake somewhat bereft and bare.

Aesthetically sub-optimal

Still, it looks and smells promising, and I can't fault the Poundland bakeware when it comes to easy removal from the tin for subsequent cooling. Chalk one up for Team Asher.

The eating: No complaints here. The almonds and, well, the fact that it's been baked mean it has a nice bite on the outside, while the inside is reasonably moist - though I suspect it won't remain that way for long, so we'll just have to eat the whole thing within a few days. What a disaster.

Arty angles

The recipe promised something straightforward to the point of unexciting, and it's fair to say that the end result could probably do with a slightly more imposing presence - tweaking the cinnamon content, adding a pinch of ground cloves or even just toasting the almonds would give it a hint of personality it's arguably lacking.

But it's still very pleasant and would go nicely with a cup of tea (or strong black coffee, yes) on a cold winter's afternoon. And you can always customise it for summer.

All in all, this is a practical, easy-to-make cake that'll never be the star of the fika table, but that's quite happy to play a valuable supporting role.

One-word verdict: Everyday.

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