Baking day

Friday, when I was growing up, was baking day. That characteristic smell in the kitchen as we came in from school. Cake for Sunday tea. And ginger biscuits.

We always thought of it as a war-time recipe, but exactly where my mother had acquired it I know not. For the four of us it was enough that she had a biscuit tin and that, as like as not, it had just been re-stocked with our favourite.

She continued to bake them (and put them in the same tin) for many years after we left home – one of the treats we and our own children enjoyed when visiting. The question was: could any of us, or our wives, manage to make them the same way? Recently we've been seeing who had the recipe and having a go at showing off the result during our family Zoom chats. In our household this is my best beloved's area of expertise and she's been doing very well – though she cheats a little by adding an egg to the mix, which means the consistency is consistent, crisp on the outside and chewy in the middle. They are very tasty!

Since the air streaming down from the Arctic has not yet made these parts too inhospitable we've been able to enjoy them in the sun in our garden, where the roses have continued to come out…

the rhododendron's short-lived blooms are showing well…

and the self-seeding foxgloves get on with the process of self-seeding.