Beloved is trying to claim I had a culinary disaster. I challenge his definition and would deny him cake as punishment except for… issues.
While certainly no disaster, I have, perhaps, just maybe, possibly had a culinary miscalculation.
See, in the grand tradition of English baking, I made a Victoria sandwich cake – with cream (of course with cream). But there’s a problem with my cake tins
I have many many cake tins, but only 2 are round and the same size. They are 11 inch tins. For those not familiar with baking, they are BIG tins. I could use a smaller tin, make one sponge and cut it in half but I hate doing that – inevitably things crack, fall apart, cut unevenly or just turn into a pumpkin
So I resign myself to making Large cakes. No-one complains. I just have to double any conventional recipes I have.
Unfortunately, due to sleep deprivation and distracting husbands, I think I MIGHT have doubled my double. I can only blame Beloved for not realising that 8 eggs were… a trifle excessive for sponge cake.
The resulting cake was… large. 11 inches in diameter, with each sponge proudly rising over the top of his huge tins. So deep were the sponges I was forced to bite the bullet and cut them in half for a 4 layered cake. With whipped cream, jam and butter cream between the layers.
Beloved declared himself slighting afraid of the enormous cake.
We have decided this is Northern Victoria Sponge.
In the south (were delicate, soft people live, of course), Felicity and Cecilia may have a break in their busy day of flower arranging in silly hats to take tea out of delicate china cups with a small slice of elegant Victoria sponge.
In the North, Maggie and Tracy, will knock off wrestling mammoths in the coal mines to have a brew (in big mugs of course) and a nice big chunk of Northern Victoria Sponge.
This is a cake that would eat Delia Smith and possibly traumatise Mary Berry for life (or maybe not, I’ve always thought Mary Berry had a gleam in her eye that suggests she May Cut You if she has to).