So, Good Friday and the urge to bake hot cross buns. Not just buns, but a hot cross bun wreath! Working with what proved to be a somewhat fiddly recipe, something clipped from a newspaper a long time ago … scalding milk, kneading dough, making a paste and messily piping crosses on the risen buns, then glazing just before baking completed. But it all felt a rather fine thing to be doing on a gloriously sunny day, and the kneaded dough stuffed with currants & sultanas & glints of orange rind looked so promising that I just had to photograph it.
But, was it worth it? Should I just have gone to the supermarket and bought a packet of their buns? Never! But then again, just perhaps … following the recipe cooking times, I managed a King Alfred moment. Burnt bottoms. Disappointing. Though the burst of orange when you split open a bun was almost worth it. But they weren’t up to sharing with the neighbours, and not sure how enthusiastically two of us are going to eat 18 burnt-bottomed-buns. Bread & butter pudding perhaps?