“It just shows how well you know the recipe,” Clare marvels, watching Sue sift sugar and flour with practiced hands. “I love a cake that you don’t have to weigh things.”
The method, too, is a lesson in patience and gentleness. The eggs and sugar are whisked until thick and mousse-like, the flour folded in with a feather-light touch. “You don’t want to bash it,” Sue explains, turning the mixture over and over, careful not to lose the air. The result is two delicate layers, ready to be sandwiched with sharp blackcurrant jam and a generous billow of whipped cream.
Baking through history: from wood-burning stoves to podcast kitchens
Sue’s kitchen wisdom is shaped by a life that has spanned continents and eras. At 23, newly married, she left England for Kenya, travelling by ship for six weeks as the Suez Crisis unfolded. “We lived in a house that had no gas or electricity,” she recalls. “I had to cook on a wood-burning stove. You had to chop down trees for fuel before you could even start.”
Her culinary journey also reflects the privations of post-war Britain. “When I started cooking just after the war, ingredients were very scarce. Butter was so precious, you didn’t put it on everything. Your ration was two ounces per person per week. The only thing available was margarine, which was a horrible sort of stuff. Olive oil was sold in chemists, not for cooking.”
The art of living and eating alone
Now, living alone in her beloved cottage, Sue’s relationship with food has subtly shifted. “It’s really difficult when you live on your own,” she reflects. “It made me realise what a social thing a meal is. You want to talk about the food and enjoy it, but it’s just yourself eating it.” Still, she makes a point to cook a meal from scratch most evenings.
Her kitchen shelves are lined with well-thumbed cookbooks – Jane Grigson, Elizabeth David and the Constance Spry Cookery Book – all reminders of a lifetime spent learning, experimenting and sharing.
A garden as rich as her stories
Beyond the kitchen, Sue’s garden is a living larder. “I grow tomatoes, cucumbers, beans, lettuce,” she says, her pride evident. The grapevine and peonies, both over 50 years old, are as much a part of the cottage as the wonky doorstep. The garden, once her husband’s passion, is now tended with the help of a local gardener – “he’s young, so he’ll see me out,” she jokes.
A cake to bring people together
As the sponge cools and the kettle boils, Sue assembles her cake with the same care she has shown all afternoon. Blackcurrant jam is spread thickly, cream whipped to soft peaks and the two layers sandwiched together. “You need a fairly sharp jam,” she says, “to balance the sweet cream.”
The first slice is met with delight. “It’s so light. The cake’s delicious. And you are right about the jam – super sharp jam and sweet cream.”
In a world that prizes novelty and speed, Sue’s kitchen offers something rarer: the reassurance that some things – good cake, good company and the art of paying attention – never go out of style.
