Monday 20 January 2014

Descendents Cupcakes


Makes 18 (muffin size paper cases)

Ingredients
8oz caster sugar
8oz margarine
6oz self-raising flour
2oz cocoa powder
4 eggs
Splash of milk
200g white chocolate
100g dark chocolate

Apologies for mixing metric and imperial measurements here, it's my mum's old school cake recipe.

Optional extras
A big cup of coffee
'Everything Sucks' on repeat

Method

Pre-heat oven on Gas Mark 6/190C

Mix caster sugar and margarine together.

Sieve the flour and cocoa powder into the mix and add all of the eggs. It's easier to mix if you add a bit of each a time.

Once everything's added get a big dollop of mixture on your spoon and let it drop into the bowl. If it drops off in three seconds it's perfect. If it's too thick add a splash of milk, if it's too sloppy add a bit of flour.

Spoon mixture into paper cases.

Bake for 15 - 20 mins.

Once the cakes have cooled, melt your white chocolate and spoon onto your cupcakes.

When that's dried it's time to get creative! Melt your dark chocolate, add it to your piping bag and get drawing...


Once the chocolate's dried it's time for a taste test, ideally while you chug-a-lug-o your coffee mug. Now who wouldn't want one of these? Get yours and some Descendents coffee beans here.



Descendents bake-along playlist


Wednesday 8 January 2014

The record I treasure most: 'A Hard Day's Night' by The Beatles

It started with The Beatles. There was other music, with three older siblings there must have been, but I remember only The Beatles. And those '60s compilation tapes my dad would play in the car. But it's The Beatles I remember as the soundtrack to my childhood and one album in particular.



While some daughters dream of inheriting their mum's jewellery, handbags or shoe collection, my mum's 'A Hard Day's Night' record is the only thing I've ever pined for, I even used to joke that I wanted her to leave me it in her will. I'm not like most daughters though and I can safely say my mum has never been like other mothers.

As a young woman my mum loved football and music. She had a season ticket for Leicester City and would buy the latest records. She lived in a small village and would bike the three and a half miles into town. As a mother she's always been a self-sufficient superwoman: making, baking and mending. She wasn't interested in clothes or make-up and she didn't need to be, there was always so much more to my mum.

So when mum gave me this record last year, I almost burst with pride. Proud that she would entrust me with the care of this precious family relic. Because this is not just a record. It's not any old record.

It's not that it's The Beatles. It's not that it's an original: "It's mono" mum would say, "we didn't even have stereo in those days." It's not even that this record has survived 50 years intact. The reason this record is so important to me is because it's one of the few artefacts my mum has from her youth.

My mum was 15 when she got this record for Christmas in 1964. She had bought herself a battery powered record player earlier that year, with money from her first job, because they had no electricity on the farm where she grew up. I love the fact that when I play this record I'm hearing exactly what my mum heard in 1964 when she first played it, crackles and all.

My mum's copy of 'A Hard Day's Night' spent much of its life propped up by the record player in the dining room at my parents' house - until they got rid of the record player, that is. From time to time I would carefully slide it out of its battered and yellowing sleeve and delicately place it on the turntable, terrified of adding to the criss-cross of scratches it had gained during its long life (despite its many war wounds it still always plays perfectly). I loved seeing my mum light up when she heard those old familiar songs and I can't help but smile remembering how she would sing along, not necessarily in tune.



A few months after gifting this record to me, mum had a nervous breakdown. We've been here before and we know there's a way back, but the road to recovery is a long one and it often feels like she is in a faraway place I just can't reach. Her illness robs her of who she really is and sometimes it feels like we are strangers.

So now I cling to this record, desperate to remember my old mum and determined not to let the illness define her. I listen to it when I want to smile and remember happier times, but occasionally reality cuts through and fresh tear stains add to the map of creases, dust and dirt that this dog-eared old sleeve has gathered over the last 50 years.

I played mum this record just the other day and she smiled and sang along like old times. For 30 precious minutes it was like the last six months had never happened and it was a relief to know that mum's still there, behind the fog of illness and medication, she's still there somewhere. It's amazing the power music has to transport us to another time and place. Now on the bad days, when I miss her the most, I'll play her this record. Just so I can have my mum back for half an hour.

I once read that John Peel kept an emergency box of his favourite records handy, so he would be able to save them in the event of a fire. I can relate to that. I think I would be crushed if I lost this record and am trying to work out the best place to keep it for easy access in case of emergency. Because I cherish all of the memories and emotions wrapped up in this vinyl and cardboard - I can't imagine anyone ever saying the same about an MP3.