Proper Parkin

And on the third day of guest post week my friend Kate gave to me...

Proper Parkin

I love Parkin.  It’s not very well-known outside of Yorkshire (where I grew up) and Lancashire, and my London chums are really missing out on what is a quality cake! It’s a sticky, gingery delight which is incredibly filling to boot due to its oaty base.

It’s traditionally eaten on Bonfire night, but this recipe was such a hit I’ve been getting requests for it all year round!  This is a recipe I adapted from Margaret Pritchard’s recipe in the Guardian - it’s a one-cup wonder which even I can follow..

Makes 2 loaves:

You’ll need:

2 cups fine oatmeal (or whole rolled oats and a blender)

2 cups self-raising flour

2 cups granulated sugar

1 tsp bicarbonate of soda

½ tsp salt

6 rounded tsp ground ginger

225g margarine at room temperature

2½ tbsps black treacle

2 cups hot milk

One cool apron* 

*This may be a rather lame attempt to crowbar a picture of my new apron onto this guest blog.

I think it’s better if the cup you use is the absolutely naffest one in your cupboard.  This little beauty is a promotional mug from my York student days- many a night was spent dancing on the sticky floor of the Gallery nightclub in the early noughties, trying to cobble together £3 for a bottle of foul VK Ice.

Firstly, preheat your oven to 180°C, then line a loaf tin with well-greased foil:

If you’ve managed to get your hands on some fine oatmeal, then you can skip this step (and pat yourself on the back, because I’ll be buggered if I can find any of the stuff within a five-mile radius of my flat).  Also, in the spirit of this being Yorkshire Parkin, we’re famous for being the biggest tightwads in England.  Add an air of authenticity by muttering in a shop ‘Ahm not payin’ twice t’price for some bashed up oats!’ and then head off to make your own. Take small batches of whole rolled oats and give them a good mulch with a hand blender (or any blender), until it becomes a fine powder.  Keep going until you’ve got 2 cup’s worth.

Put all the dry ingredients together and give them a good stir, then rub in the margarine.
  
Run a spoon under the hot tap until it’s nice and warm, and then attempt to measure out 2½ tablespoons of black treacle.  The first spoon is fine, then you’ll find you can’t get it off the spoon, then the treacle will continue to pour whether you want it to or not and it will get all over the tin, the table and in your hair.  There is no dignity in baking with black treacle.

Get your hot milk (nuking each cup of milk in the microwave for a minute works a treat) and gradually stir it into the mixture. Laugh as the black treacle dissolves helplessly (THAT’LL teach you for getting in my hair).

Pour half the mixture into loaf tin, bake for 45 mins, then pop that one out of the tin and bake another one (I may have to confess here I only own one baking tin).

This cake is really special because it gets better the longer you leave it.  If you can bear to, keep the cake in its foil, pop it in a tin/airtight container and wait for five days.  It’ll sink and get gorgeously sticky and gooey.  It’s a brilliant cake if you have people visiting on a Friday but only have time to bake something the Sunday before. 

For the full Yorkshire experience, eat with an air of innate superiority whilst curled up with an Alan Bennett book and the Arctic Monkeys blaring in the background.

Thanks Kate, this looks delicious! When can I come around for some? I promise to bring some good, strong Yorkshire tea to have with it...you can follow Kate on twitter here.