For my sixtieth birthday my family paid for me to learn how to bake.
I’ve had a bit of practice since then and a few days before Christmas I swapped my laptop for a mixing bowl and set out to tackle a white chocolate and ginger stollen.
Who needs a locked-room mystery when you’ve got an oven with a mind of its own? The recipe’s sprawled out like a ransom note on the kitchen table, and I’m ready to investigate.
First on the scene is flour. Plain, dependable, like the cop who’s always in the background. Then comes yeast, the criminal mastermind. You can’t see what it’s up to but give it time and suddenly everything’s rising. The plot twist.
Next the white chocolate, stem ginger and marzipan. The main suspects. White chocolate is sweet, charming, too good to be true.
Ginger has a spicy attitude, always stirring up trouble. Marzipan is smooth, soft, hiding dark secrets.
Throw in an egg, an orange, a lemon or two plus vanilla and there’s a curious cast of supporting characters. Each adds their own flavour, none of them guilty of being boring.
Mix the dough. That’s where things get messy. If the kitchen floor could talk, it would file a report.
I knead, I ponder motives, I wonder if this dough will rise or if I’ll need an alibi. But patience pays off and it bakes like a cracking good plot waiting for the big reveal.
The stollen emerges. The denouement. It’s golden brown and I cover it in icing sugar.
Let it cool a little, ready to eat. Slicing into it is like turning the last page of a novel; you’re crossing your fingers it ends well, maybe with a pleasant aftertaste, a satisfying twist.
Here’s to festive baking and crime thriller writing, best served with suspense and a bit of a laugh and absolutely no food poisoning.
Happy New Year to you all.
