Recipes . Someone's Mum
Someone’s Mum’s Cranberry Loaf
On January 18, 2016 by Speranza If you have an immoderate supply of cranberries in your freezer that taunt you each time you open the door, this is for you! Here’s a Cranberry Bread that is never dry and has a satiny citrus glaze that melts in your mouth. This is the kind of recipe that often appears in church basements
Cooking . Recipes . Someone's Mum
Someone’s Mum’s Cinnamon Buns
On November 7, 2015 by Speranza
I don’t care for the commercial grade, overly hefty cinnamon buns.
It’s what my mum would call “too much of a muchness.”
It’s just not okay to me when a bun looks as though it’s been carved away in the style of a Chicago Deep Dish pizza; it’s too much on the plate, the icing texture is reminiscent of toothpaste and no matter how tantalizing the smell is at the time, ultimately, there will be disappointment and a broken plastic fork.
If you can relate to any of this, you will be very happy with the following recipe.
Recipes . Someone's Mum
Someone’s Mum’s Simple, Yet Superior, Apple Crumble
On September 21, 2015 by Speranza 1 cup flour ¾ rolled oats, not quick or instant 1 cup brown sugar ½ cup melted butter 1 tsp. cinnamon 5 cups thinly sliced peeled apples FOR THE SAUCE: ½ cup white sugar 2/3 cup filtered water 1 Tbs. lemon juice 2 tsp. pure vanilla 2 Tbs. cornstarch mixed with
Cooking . Recipes
So Kale Me Maybe
On October 4, 2014 by Speranza
I have a bit of a weekly tradition surrounding kale. As everyone knows, kale is a superfood chock full of vitamins, anti-oxidants and fibre but honestly that sharp, bitter after-snap taste taste in a frigid breakfast smoothie is just too unfriendly for me to bear first thing in the morning. (Plus that thick, brilliant green reminds me of verdant pond scum or extra-terrestial poo … ) Yet many Sunday afternoons (usually around 4pm when I am composing earnest menu plans for the following week, often whilst enjoying some kettle chips and a glass of Chardonnay) – I will revisit the notion of kale and end up purchasing a large, frilly bouquet of the stuff which then sits resentfully in the crisper, eyeing me each time I open the fridge door. (By Thursday the kale is a limp, browner version of its former self and to assuage my guilt, I throw it onto the compost heap with the others).