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The First Bake of Christmas
Memories and Mince Pies – Dad’s All-Time Festive Favourite
As a child, Rachel could walk into the farmhouse kitchen at almost any point during November and December, and if Dad was there on a break from his farm work, he was sure to have a mug of strong tea and a mince pie to hand.
Rachel smiled as she read Granny Ruth’s neat handwriting on the page that had long ago been slipped into the ‘Baking Bible’ book …
Buttery Mince Pies:
8oz/225g Butter
12oz/350g Plain flour
3.5oz/100g Golden caster sugar
Pinch of salt
10oz/280g Good quality mincemeat
Splash of sherry
1 small egg
Icing sugar to dust
Preheat the oven to 200°C/gas/fan 180°C.
To make the pastry, rub 8oz cold, diced butter into 12oz plain flour, then mix in 3½ oz golden caster sugar and a pinch of salt.
Combine the pastry into two balls, warming and moulding with your hands – don’t add any liquid – and knead them briefly. The dough will be fairly firm, like shortbread dough.
Roll out and cut 12 rounds with an 8.5cm (3½ inch) cutter and 12 rounds with a 6.5cm (2½ inch) cutter. Using a 16-hole non-stick tartlet tin, use the larger rounds to line each hole.
Spoon a heaped teaspoon of the mincemeat, mixed with a splash of sherry, into the pies.
Top the pies with their lids, pressing the edges gently together to seal.
Beat 1 small egg and brush over the tops of the pies. Bake for 20 mins until golden. Leave to cool in the tin for 5 mins, then remove to a wire rack.
Dust with icing sugar before serving.
These will keep for 3 to 4 days in an airtight container.
‘These little pies herald the start of Christmas in our household,’ Granny had written below the recipe. ‘Robert loves to lift up the pastry lid and add a blob of thick cream on top of the warm mincemeat. It melts in so you have to eat it quickly. Delicious! I’ve even seen him eat five in one go. It’s a good job he’s a growing lad!’
Oh yes, Granny’s mince pies were the best; that crumbly buttery first bite and then the lingering taste of festive-spiced mincemeat. It made you feel like Christmas was on its way …
Rachel was teetering up a ladder with a strand of fairy lights in her hand.
‘Just a touch more to the left, love, that’ll even up the loops.’ Jill, her mother, was poised at the base of the ladder, keeping it steady and giving directions.
‘Okay …’
‘Careful, now.’
‘I’m all right.’ Rachel leaned from her perch to give them a tweak. She was used to doing far riskier things out on the farm, not that she would have enlightened her mum about that.
Rachel was fixing the twinkly white lights to the guttering of the old barn, ready to give the Pudding Pantry – their new business venture – a festive facelift and a touch of winter magic. From her vantage point, Rachel could see down across the yard and into the farmhouse kitchen window, glimpsing the large pine table and chairs that had been there for as long as she could remember. Memories of Christmases past suddenly came flooding back.
Sitting there on her father’s knee, aged about six, the scrumptious turkey dinner now eaten, festive crackers snapped, corny jokes read out and Robert, still wearing his bright red paper hat – now a little skewwhiff – bouncing her up and down boisterously, while singing ‘Jingle Bells’ loudly. Granny Ruth and Grandad Ken, as well as Grandma Isabel, were sitting there at the table, looking on merrily, with Mum busy at the Aga preparing pudding, scolding him with a smile on her face, telling him that all that bouncing about would make Rachel feel sick after her big meal.
Jill was busy steaming her Christmas pudding ready for dessert, and Rachel, who as a little girl wasn’t that keen on the rich fruity pud, was looking forward to a slice of the treat made especially for her and, ready on the side, a Chocolate Yule Log, with thick cocoa frosting covering
