Mum’s Tea Cake
Mum’s tea cake truly evokes quite a few beautiful memories in me. Regardless of the fact that it’s delicious, often the smell of this buttery sponge brings back the nostalgia of my childhood. Mum would often bake one of these cakes early in the mornings before home-school started so that my brother and I had something to look forward to for smoko later in the day. Over time, mum made good use of it as a bargaining chip to have us get our work done: “Ainsley, finish this math worksheet and I’ll make you a tea cake tomorrow for morning tea.” It was highly effective in getting me to get the job done but do I know my 12 times tables to this day? Unfortunately not.
It occurred to me some time ago that this beauty of a cake is often brought out in both of our households as a treat during the more busy times of the year ie, shearing, crutching, lambmarking etc. By being so incredibly easy to make, it’s always a lovely surprise to see it steaming up a Tupperware container, perched on the passenger seat of the ute - ready to be cut into out in the paddock as soon as the smoko bell chimes.
In fact, when I was brainstorming how I wanted to present this recipe, I realised that I wanted to showcase it as a recipe that brings people together - which is does. Either during work, in the schoolroom or for a neighborly catch-up. This cake really symbolises day-to-day social gatherings in the Bush. So much so, that I wrote a small story to go with this recipe to a submission to a magazine sometime ago. Although it wasn’t received, I still think that it rings true. If you’re interested, I’ve listed it down below.
Mum's Tea Cake
Ingredients
- 160g unsalted butter – softened
- 3 eggs (room-temperature)
- 1tsp vanilla
- 180mL milk (room-temperature)
- 210g (1 ½ cup) self-raising flour
- 30g (3tbsp) custard powder
- 360g (1 1/2 cup) castor sugar
- Pinch salt
- 40g castor sugar
- 1/2 tsp cinnamon
- 40g unsalted butter – softened and cut into thin slices
Instructions
- Preheat oven to 180°C. Grease and line a 20cm x 20cm cake tin with baking paper.
- Sift self-raising flour, custard powder and salt into a bowl and set aside.
- Beat butter, vanilla and sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a beater attachment until smooth and creamy. Add eggs, one at a time until fully absorbed into butter mixture before adding milk alternately with dry ingredients, ending with the dry mixture.
- Swap the beater attachment to a whisk and mix on low until mixture just comes together. Avoid over mixing as this leads to a tough cake – some lumps in the batter are okay.
- Pour batter into the cake tin and bake for 35-40 minutes or until a toothpick can be removed cleanly from the cake and the top is golden brown.
- Remove from the oven. While cake is still warm, spread butter evenly over the top. Sprinkle to finish with a generous amount of both cinnamon and sugar.
Notes
It is best served warm and freshly iced. However this tea cake can be kept in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 3 days.
Neighbours are few and far between
A hot engine ticks and fumes hang in the air while the sound of a car door closes. Stiff legs are stretched out after an early morning start and for what most city-goers would consider a long drive. The air still holds heavy with dew and is fresh, the sunshine golden. In the distance the indignant clucks from the chicken house can be heard. The hens eager to escape their roost in search of a new day’s bounty.
The greeting of multiple small dogs herald the arrival of a distant friend as they clamber through the front gate, cautious of letting the small furry family members out of the yard. As the front door opens, loud calls of welcoming embraces crackle through the morning’s calm as the two remote neighbours reunite. Boots are left at the door and the kettle burbles into life.
These sorts of meetings are few and far between. Dusty station chores are briefly placed on hold to indulge in social camaraderie with few topics remaining untouched. Words are fast and animated – so many stories to tell and to listen to. Time begins to become irrelevant.
While conversation engulfs the kitchen, a sweet buttery aroma softly breaths past the friends, becoming more fervent as the minutes tick by. The call from the oven to signal that the baking time was up had long been and gone – has it been 40 minutes already?
Coffee cups are dropped when realisation filters in that the once inviting scent of baked goods has now become the aggressive suggestion of a darkened butter and sugar crust. With quick footsteps, the oven door is flung open and the cake is retrieved – dark, but not ruined. Jovial comments are made through smiles as the blackened crusts are sawn off. Generous pads of butter are spread across the top of this tea cake, finished with a sprinkle of sugar and cinnamon. The cake is broken into liberal slices and served onto small, chipped plates – brought to the kitchen table to settle next to coffee cups which have already been twice filled.
The sun all so quickly falls low in the sky. Voices are raspy and buttery crumbs litter the plates, the only suggestion that a cake were to exist at all. Mugs are placed next to the numerous baking bowls that line the sink and goodbyes are said at the front door. Boots and hats are worn once again and a car engine roars to life, the sunshine as golden as it were upon arrival lights up the receding dust behind the car like a snaking ribbon.
Afternoons like these makes the vast distance between neighbours seem minor; the pressures of rural life lessened and more bearable. In a modern age, the question can be asked – are we more connected here, in the Outback, living further apart than our city folk are being only mere meters apart?