French Revolution New Year cupcakes

Hello! I'm so so sorry that it's been so long! I've been back at school for a few weeks now and, bleeding hell, they don't hold back in Year 13! I've been weighed down with homework and written a pantomime, as well as baked a few birthday cakes for friends, all in the last few weeks! Fair to say I'm a bit exhausted.

Right, now that my usual spiel of excuses is out of the way, let's get on with this week's bake. I know that I hinted at something Roman last time but, because it's near the end of September, I decided to re-jig my schedule. So Roman stuff is on its way, I promise! I made these cupcakes on September 21st, in preparation for September 22nd: the anniversary of the abolition of the monarchy in Revolutionary France. During the French Revolution, a new calendar was created. This calendar started on the 22nd September 1792 when the monarchy was abolished. So I decided to celebrate the new revolutionary year with my first attempt at piping. Spoiler alert: it didn't go well!

Background: the French Republican Calendar

The French Republican (or Revolutionary) Calendar was created to symbolise a complete break with the past. Once the monarchy was abolished, France would be entering a completely new era. The French Republican Calendar was part of the Religious Terror, which made France a completely secular state. The Calendar started on the 22nd September 1792, with the 22nd September 1792-21st September 1793 being Year I, the 22nd September 1793-21st September 1794 Year II et cetera. The calendar was formally abolished by Napoleon I in 1805, although it did have a very brief resurgence in 1871. 

The calendar was divided up into four seasons: autumn, winter, spring and summer. Each season had three months. Each month was named appropriately for its season by the poet Fabre d'Eglantine. The autumn months were Vendémiaire ('grape harvest'), Brumaire ('fog') and Frimaire ('frost'); the winter months wereNivôse  ('snowy'), Pluviôse ('rainy') and Ventôse ('windy'); the spring months were Germinal ('bud'), Floréal ('flowery') and Prairial ('meadow'); and the summer months were Messidor ('harvesting'), Thermidor ('heat') and Fructidor ('fruit'). Each month had thirty days. This left five left over days- six on a leap year. These were known as the "sans-culottides", after the sans-culottes, the urban poor. In 1795, they were renamed "les jours complémentaires" (complementary days). The five extra days were: La Fête de la Vertu (Celebration of Virtue), La Fête du Génie (Celebration of Talent), La Fête du Travail (Celebration of Work), La Fête de l'Opinion (Celebration of Opinion/Conviction), and La Fête des Récompenses (Celebration of Awards/Honours). The sixth extra day, on leap years only, was La Fête de la Révolution (Celebration of Revolution). Each month was formed of three weeks of ten days, with the tenth day being a day of rest. The ten days of the week were: primidi (first day), duodi (second day), tridi (third day), quartidi (fourth day), quintidi (fifth day), sextidi (sixth day), septidi (seventh day), octidi (eighth day), nonidi (ninth day) and decadi (tenth day). Every single day of the year had a name. Every quintidi was named after an animal, every decadi after an agricultural appliance, and every other day after a plant.

You can read more about the French Republican calendar here, here and here.

Now that that's all done and dusted, VIVE LA REVOLUTION!

I just used a normal vanilla cupcake recipe, which you can find here, and added red food colouring for my base cake. I decided to model my cakes on the French Tricolore flag: red cakes, white icing, and blue sprinkles. Let's have a looksies as to how that turned out...

This was my first time piping and, as you can see, it was an absolute disaster. I used a piping bag and royal icing, both of which were of a very good quality. I'm afraid I have to blame this one on my lack of skills. Oh well, this certainly shan't be the last time I try piping. As they say, practice makes perfect!

Last but not least, I topped them off with some blue sprinkles. These cakes were relatively quick and (piping disaster aside) easy to decorate. As if to make up for the appalling decoration, they tasted pretty damn good. I just hope that Robespierre is proud of me!

Quite a short one today, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same. Please feel more than free to laugh at my expense, a few tears have been shed over piping, I can promise you. I really appreciate any comments, critiques, suggestions or recommendations as to what you'd like to see me have a go at another time. Back to recipes from history now! It's a fairly modern creation I've gone to, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I've stuck with the red colour...

See you soon!

Eleanor

:)

<3

:)

Stuart Carrot Pudding

Hello, everyone! Yes, busy, busy times ahead. I went back to school at the end of last week and, well, they certainly haven't given us much time to get back into the swing of things before hitting us hard and heavy with the work. Oh well, as they say, mustn't grumble, mustn't grumble.

Back to recipes from history and, this time, I've stepped back in time to 1699 for a Stuart recipe for carrot pudding, not overly dissimilar from modern carrot cake. The main difference is the density: puddings are much denser than cake. This pudding is also very buttery, so it's definitely not for someone who hates butter (like my mother). I love carrot cake and this was a really fun cake to make; thankfully, it wasn't even that difficult!

Background

Carrot pudding dates back to the Middle Ages and possibly even before that. In Europe, sugar was incredibly rare and only the very wealthy could afford it. For the average person who had a bit of a sweet tooth, there were two alternative sweeteners to sugar: honey, and carrot. Although it's uncertain exactly where and when the pudding originated, one of the first recorded recipes appears in a 10th century Arabian cook book, The Book of Cookery preparing Salubrious Foods and Delectable Dishes extracted from Medical Books and told by Proficient Cooks and the Wise by Ibn Sayyar al-Warraq. You can read more about him, his incredible book, and his recipe for carrot pudding here. The first recorded use of the term "carrot cake" appeared in Richard Dolby's 1830 book, The Cook's Dictionary and Housekeeper's Directory. You can read Dolby's book here. I will be using a recipe from 1699, from the book Acetaria: Discourse of Sallets by John Evelyn. I chose this recipe over al-Warraq's because the latter requires the boiling of honey, which I've never done before, and didn't fancy doing permanent damage to my mother's kitchen. Also, Evelyn's recipe contains nutmeg. I love nutmeg.

Today, carrot cake continues to be a staple dessert, even if its ancestor doesn't quite have the same fame that it once had. You can read more about carrot cake and carrot pudding here and here. The latter link, to the Food Timeline website, has Evelyn's recipe that I used, should you wish to have a go at it yourselves.

I'm running out of things for this already so let's just spend 5 centuries grating carrot and get on with it.

Just a warning before we begin- unbaked carrot pudding does not look pleasant. Anyone with emetophobia might not want to look at the following pictures.

I scaled down the quantity of ingredients slightly, simply because I didn't want to end up with an uncontrollable amount of mixture! I went for 200g (about two-thirds of a pound) of each ingredient, with c. 100g of grated carrot. Everything gets chucked in, as per usual.

Whisk everything up! Don't worry if there are lumps of butter. This actually helps to create a denser cake more authentic to the butter-loving Stuart recipe. In the Stuart era, it was fashionable to eat lots of fatty foods and to be overweight, because it showed that you were able to afford rich foods.

Just like you would for any other cake, pour equal amounts of the mixture into the two tins. The Stuarts would have used just one deeper tin but I can't resist a sandwich cake.

Out it comes! I found that, on 180 degrees centigrade (160 in a fan oven), forty minutes was ample time for the cake to reach a lovely golden brown colour. If it comes out sizzling, don't worry. It's just the butter. Mine did the same and (spoiler alert!) it tasted great.

Flip them out to cool onto a plate before sandwiching them together.

The second time I deviated from the recipe. I'm a sucker for buttercream (even if the rest of my family hate it- screw it, this is my cake!) and it's the ideal filling for a carrot cake. Sorry, John Evelyn!

Last but not least, just put the other cake on top, best side up!

And there we have it! The perfect carrot pudding. This actually tasted much better than I was expecting. The high density made a nice change from the light and fluffy cakes that I'm used to. I'm shocked that I managed to get the amount of nutmeg right: just enough to add a kick, but not so much that it blows your head off. It was a soft, moist cake and the carrot was beautiful. Creative licence courtesy of yours truly aside, John Evelyn, I salute you. 9/10.

I hope that you enjoyed this post and if you do decide to give this recipe a go, that you enjoy this glorious pudding as well! I really appreciate any comment, critiques, suggestions, or recommendations for what you'd like to see me try later. Now we return to history-inspired cakes. Your clue is: "When in Rome."

Until next time,

Eleanor

:)

<3

:)