Hello from NL 48; this is Bake Sense—a somewhat ordered record of ramblings concerning the world of baking. Along the way, you’ll find recipes and insights from life in and out of the professional bakery and plenty of fruitful chat.
I could not let January slip by without returning here. I’ve felt the absence of my weekly writing habit. The routine of spending a quiet few hours to myself ordering thoughts and ideas into something legible is akin to a deep exhalation.
We’ve just completed week three in the new digs, finding a rhythm that feels comfortable even if demanding. I’ve referenced before that to bake is to dance, and the new bakery provides plenty of room to do so with a much-improved choreography.
I could gush for a whole letter on how wonderful everyone has been: the team, the customers, the rock-solid fam that are always there to lend a hand with plumbing, painting, window washing and pep talks. It’d take me a whole day to articulate the feelings; they are deep and heartfelt, and I don’t know that I possess the vocabulary or head space.
In any case, the wheels keep turning, and staying present in the day-to-day is a necessary part of the work to build something solid with meaning.
The world will keep turning, and with it, seasons will change; some seasons are just too fleeting to miss. To reminisce would be to let them roll by.
If you’ve followed this newsletter from the beginning, then, first of all, thank you, and second of all, you most likely will have read my ode to Yorkshire’s finest forced rhubarb. If you’re new here or that one just passed you by, then let me link it here. On re-reading, I doubt I could write a better account of what it is and what it means to live in the triangle.
Rhubarb season coinciding with the move seems more appropriate than one could plan for. There are symmetries in the tenderness and the newness, and the fact that something growing in the dark emerges as something so beautiful in the light is an analogy that won’t be lost on the team, even if it may sound a little corny to those outside it.
Having such easy access to this unique product is a blessing that one must celebrate, and yes, rhubarb will feature on the menu for the foreseeable. It arrives on the scene in time for Semla season, where it is currently coexisting in complete harmony with cardamom-infused dough.
The centre of each bun is filled with a layer of rhubarb jam, followed by vanilla-speckled creme diplomat, and then a layer of rhubarb pieces macerated in orange juice before the bun cap and powdered sugar are added.
This simple, almost no-cook technique which sees finely chopped pieces of barb bathed ceviche style is one of my favourite ways to prepare it and by far one of the easiest.
Take two to three of the most slender stems of forced rhubarb you can find and cut them crosswise into pink-rimmed pennies; a very sharp knife is a friend and helps avoid too much tussle, preventing the stems from ribboning as they are wanton to do. Place the prepared barb in a jar, and have the right lid on hand to cover.
In a small saucepan, combine the juice of an orange and match it with an equal amount of water and a further equal amount of sugar. Take a scant 2cm piece of vanilla bean, score and scrape, and then add the beans and pod to the pan. Set on low heat, warm to dissolve the sugar, and bring to a boil. Remove it from the heat as soon as it boils and pour over the rhubarb straight into the jar. Cover with the lid and leave for at least 4-5 hours before using.
This preparation is very much for the here and now and is prime for serving with yoghurt, porridge, a pound cake and creme fraiche; for layering in desserts, choux buns or Semla and is unparalleled when spooned over a bowl of custard.
It’s a fast and friendly antidote to the hours I’ll spend jamming rhubarb to preserve its characteristic colour and flavour in jars that become the trophy every visitor to the bakery is hunting for.
Next week, I’ll share my formula and method for jamming these pretty pink petioles with subscribers to the Extra Credit portion of the newsletter. It’s hot, sticky, unforgiving to freshly painted white walls and potentially a little brutal, but I think it’s worth it.
Speak soon, friends. x