Rock Buns

My Nanna died this week. She was my Dad's mum, an indefatigably elegant lady, and a vital part of the wholly wonderful trinity of women who taught me how to bake. Before I'd heard of Mrs Beeton or Mary Berry, I had Mrs Mary Swanson and her Be-Ro Book.

My Nanna was born in 1927, and by the time she was my age she had lived through a war, married a coal miner and was raising four children on the ration in a Newcastle prefab. When I came on the scene she was already a highly-skilled grandmother, with six grandkids and countless perfectly iced birthday cakes behind her. Sitting in her gleaming kitchen on long school holidays, she taught me how to carefully follow yet entirely distrust cake recipes; always to add wet ingredients to dry; to believe in the power of Stork margarine above all things; that there was nothing that icing sugar couldn't fix; to dry steel pans with damp cloths; never to soak a wooden spoon; and that to throw salt over your left shoulder was nothing but a mess and a waste.

Her kitchen prowess was learnt in the lean years of the 40s, honed in the dinners of the 50s and 60s, the weddings and christenings of the 70s and 80s, and passed on to a wide-eyed eight year old with a conflicting passion for Take That and Fred Astaire in the 90s. And for that, I'll always be incredibly thankful.

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Rock Buns

As far back as I can remember, tea at my Nanna's was never complete without a plate of rock buns. These impertinent blocks of fruity dough were in stark contrast to the polite sandwiches and jam tarts on her doily-clad coffee table. Rising from the plate in a craggy mound, they were more like speckled hunks of pale coal than a tea time treat but, as delightfully easy for a little person to make as they were to eat, they soon won me over.

These rude scones (also known as rock cakes or rock biscuits) were mentioned by Mrs Beeton as far back as 1861. They were popularised during World War Two as the Ministry of Food promoted the benefits of their recipe - it calling for less sugar and egg than was usual for a cake. I read about them first in the Be-Ro book - a simple baking bible, printed in Newcastle upon Tyne in 1930 and gracing every kitchen shelf of my childhood. This slim guide was my school Home Economics textbook and is the ultimate in no-frills home baking. I'd whole-heartedly recommend a gander at their delightfully simple (and somewhat shonky) website www.be-ro.co.uk if you have a yearning to make a granny loaf, a countess pudding or queen cakes.

Traditionally, rock buns are flavoured with dried fruits, candied peel and spices. I've ignored the Be-Ro recipe's call for mixed peel (because, bleurgh) and staying true to Nanna Mary, these are simply sultanas and cinnamon. A stalwart of school fetes and railway station cafes, they are infinitely transportable - the perfect treat to lob in a picnic basket - and don't crack under pressure. Like most things however, they're best enjoyed warm from the oven with a cup of tea.

Ingredients

These make 6 hefty buns, or could be 9 if you're feeling dainty

225g Self Raising Flour - Try though I may, I cannot find SR Flour in Ibiza, so used Plain with 3tsp baking powder.

100g Margarine

100g Sultanas

50g Caster Sugar

1 Large Egg + 1 more for egg glaze

2 tsp Cinnamon

Pinch Salt

Milk - to mix

Dash of White Granulated Sugar for topping

Instructions

1) Preheat oven to 200C and grease or line a baking tray.

2) Mix the flour, salt and cinnamon (not forgetting the baking powder if you're using plain).

3) Rub the margarine into the flour mix, till it resembles breadcrumbs - mine was fairly lumpy, the delightful thing with these cakes is that it doesn't really matter!

4) Stir through the caster sugar and sultanas.

5) Mix in the egg to make a stiff, lightly sticky dough. Add a touch of milk if necessary to bind it all together, but to be honest the egg is likely enough on it's own. You're not quite aiming for rollable pastry, but you want a pretty solid lump.

6) Dollop baby-fistfuls of dough in messy heaps on the baking tray. Repress your inner-desire to smooth or flatten, it's the gnarly cracks that give these buns their personality. Even better, get a child or baking-muggle friend to help you - they literally can't go wrong.

7) Place in the middle of your preheated oven for 8-10 minutes. Remove and egg-wash quickly (mine is always one part yolk to one part milk, do what you feel is right) and sprinkle with the granulated sugar. Return tray to oven, making sure it's turned so the buns that were at the front are now at the back, and bake for a further 3-5 minutes till slightly golden and hollow-sounding when rapped on their bottoms. Pop on a wire rack to cool if you have the will-power.

Note: Closing the oven door on the baking tray, it felt odd to be making these in the sweltering kitchen of an Ibizan July day. But, as they came out again, resplendent slabs of home twinkling under a fine layer of sugar, I realise I'd been wrong to think they weren't just what I needed.