Thursday, 24 August 2017

Cornflake Tart - a school dinner special

Apologies for the short break - summer holidays and everything. But I'm back and I'm easing us in gently with a nostalgic yet not too horrid recipe that should be familiar to everyone who suffered through school dinners in the 70s and 80s. This could be a lot worse, so be thankful that we're only recreating CORNFLAKE TART. Cue the recipe:

Serves: The five thousand. It's so sweet that you'll barely get through two spoonfuls.

Preparation time: About half an hour.


250g plain flour
125g butter
(or just cheat and use Jusroll pastry)
120g sugar
120g butter
120g golden syrup
200g crushed Cornflakes
Jam (optional)


1. Make pastry from the butter and flour and a little bit of water if needed. I am not going to explain how to make pastry to you. If you don't know how just buy a packet of Jusroll. This blog contains such delights as a casserole topped with Marmite sandwiches and something made entirely from a tin of tuna and a can of soup: nobody is judging your shit cooking here.

2. Line a flan dish with the pastry and prick it a few times. Put it in the oven for about 15 minutes.

3. Meanwhile, crack on with the Cornflake nonsense. You're going to melt the butter, golden syrup and sugar together until you've got the sweetest, stickiest substance known to man.

4. Whack the crushed Cornflakes into it and mix until they're covered in what is basically liquid diabetes.

5a. (optional step) For authenticity, you might want to spread a layer of jam onto the pastry now. Controversially, I chose not to do this (because jam is the devil's jizz) but go right ahead by all means.
5b. Squish the Cornflake mixture into the baked tart case and return it to the oven for 10 minutes.

6. Remove from oven, slice and serve with cream, ice cream or custard. This is best dished out by someone in a nylon dinner lady overall in a sweaty room that smells of boiled cabbage and feet.

Guys...I couldn't eat this. That's right, I've boldly ploughed my way through such delights as Pacific Pie and Cheese bread and butter pudding, but I managed 2 mouthfuls of this and had to stop. Just too damn sweet, and I say that as someone who can quite happily devour a Mars Bar for breakfast. I kind of feel like I've failed you all. But don't worry; tomorrow I'm doing a second classic puddings of the 70s and 80s taste test and it's going to feature tinned peaches in evaporated milk, so I'm doing my penance...


Monday, 7 August 2017

Cheesy Bread Pudding

So students, today in 70s Mum Cuisine School we're going to do something really disrespectful to a bread and butter pudding recipe. We're basically going to chuck a bitchload of cheese into it and hope for the best. Does this sound like fun? Yes. Does it sound edible? Not terribly. Lets go:

Serves: 4 people who await their fate with a miserable air of resignation

Preparation time: 15 minutes + 30 minutes in the oven


6 slices of bread and butter (or 7 if, like me, you suddenly remember how nice bread and butter tastes mid recipe and eat some)
1 chopped spring onion (bog standard onion also fine)
A lot of cheese. Lets not discuss how much I used.
A few slices of ham. The more processed the better for that authentic 1980s feel.
200ml milk
2 eggs
salt and pepper


1. Preheat the oven to around 220 degrees.

2. Cover the bottom of a casserole dish with a layer of bread and butter.

3. Sprinkle on cheese and spring onions, season, then add another layer of bread.

4. Sprinkle on more cheese, onions and some ham.

5. Keep adding layers of bread and sprinkling ingredients between the layers until you run out of bread.

6. Whisk the egg and milk together and pour over the content of the casserole dish. Squash everything down with a potato masher and allow the mixture to sink in a bit. Now add grated cheese to the top.

7. Put the dish into the oven before you van overthink what you've just done and leave it to cook for about 30 minutes.

How nice does this look? 
8. Cut into slices, to be served with Branston pickle and peas. We only had broccoli and two thirds of the testers refuse to eat pickle (weirdos), so I apologize for the inauthentic serving suggestion below:

Verdict: I thought the flavour was good, but the soggy eggy bready stuff in the middle did require me to do the gastronomic equivalent of lying back and thinking of England to swallow it. It was much improved with Branston, so that is definitely a good call. Tester 1 ate the crispy bit and left the rest. Tester 2 wouldn't even entertain putting any in his mouth. He is obviously not experienced in the thinking of England technique.

Who's brave enough to try this one?