Plum, pistachio & lemon cake – nutty, not-too-sweet and studded with juicy plums. Top with a lemon glaze and serve with a dollop of thick greek yogurt.  Jump to Recipe 

I’m now back in Melbourne and have just started a psychiatry rotation for the start of my fourth year of medical school. Holidays are most certainly over! Personality disorders came up in lectures the other day, and one in particular struck a chord with us. The Narcissistic Personality Disorder criteria includes “has a grandiose sense of self importance (e.g. exaggerates achievements and talents)”; is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance”; “believes that he or she is “special” and unique”; “requires excessive admiration”; “has a sense of entitlement”; “lacks empathy: is unwilling to recognize or identify with the feelings ands needs of others”; “is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of him or her”. Ring a bell? Maybe like someone that might have just been elected to one of the most powerful positions in the world? The DSM-V criteria also states that this includes “becoming irritated when others fail to assist in their “very important work””(i.e. THE MEDIA), or “they may expect their arrival to be greeted with great fanfare” (i.e. crowd size preoccupations, anyone?). Vulnerability in self-esteem also makes these individuals very sensitive to “injury” from criticism and defeat. I can’t spell it out any more clearly than this :

I didn’t set out intending this post to be politically focussed, but it is increasingly difficult to ignore the disturbing events happening in the US. Blogging for me usually means writing about topics that have been on my mind and certain experiences or backstories relevant to a particular recipe, but it would feel like burying my head in the sand to continue without mention of today’s current events. From the restrictions on funding to international aid organisations offering birth control, to the incomprehensible travel ban and the random, disorganised tweeting by the president himself – as the South Park & Book of Morman writers said, “satire has become reality”. To be honest, the rampant lying (or “alternative truth”, sorry) is the scariest part. Anecdotally, a friends employee in Boston told her that she was voting for Trump because “Hillary Clinton is a Muslim”. She fully, entirely believed this to be true. As a university student with access to and interest in news, I can hardly believe it – but for many voters, these news stories circulated by word of mouth, facebook or extremist websites are taken as gospel.

In the food blogging corner of the world, a whole bunch of amazing people have written #immigrantfoodstories to show support for immigrants. Check out this post by Kimberley Hasselbrink of The Year in Food for links to these stories and follow the hashtag on social media channels.

I have no real way to segue that to this cake, I have to admit. I’m currently typing this out in the sun outside the hospital cafeteria, and am kind of wishing a piece of this plum, pistachio and lemon cake would materialise in front of me – though that would place me in the psych ward with the patients I’m currently seeing, so maybe not. I’m not a big fan of raw pistachios themselves (too salty + they get in your teeth – is that just me?) but I LOVE them in baking. If you haven’t tried this easy apricot and pistachio slice yet, give that a go too. Ripe plums are best – the 45 minutes in the oven gives them time to soften and gently sink, melding into the surrounding cake batter. It’s not too sweet- more nutty, moist and tangy with plums and freshly grated lemon zest. Perfect with a dollop of greek yogurt and your morning coffee.

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Almond-Crusted French Toast with Cinnamon Apple & Creme Patisserie – golden, eggy slices of bread coated in almonds, with caramelised apple & strawberries.  Jump to Recipe 

French toast, pain perdue. Considering it isn’t certain whether it originated in France at all, the latter does seem fitting – meaning “lost bread”, a way to reclaim stale, or unwanted loaves. As a child, early on Sunday mornings, while the house was gradually waking up (this was before early morning sport training and events), Dad would make us french toast for breakfast – I don’t even know how old I was. It was a weekend treat, a lazy brunch hosted at 8am, because we’re not the best at sleeping in around here. Later, I would duck down the road to the shops, the streets devoid of cars at that hour, to grab a fresh loaf from the local bakers delight. Better that than to not have french toast at all. Then we got busier, and busier – and french toast kind of dropped off the radar. I still loved it though, and it was my favourite after Saturday morning swim training – golden, rich slices of whatever bread was left-over, surrounded by generous pools of sticky maple syrup. But that gradually stopped too – one of those things that you can never put your finger on what changed or when, only that it was no longer there.

I rediscovered it at Melbourne cafes after moving here – french toast with all the bells and whistles, transformed into a sophisticated brunch dish. Twice baked and paired with creme patisserie and poached rhubarb at Three Bags Full, coconut crusted with pineapple, lime curd and coffee caviar at Industry Beans. Banana bread french toast with pears and salted caramel at Sardi. The over-the-top Elvis french toast at Seven Seeds, with banana caramel, whipped peanut butter and house cured bacon. Infinite possibilities, really. It was back on my mind, and back on the breakfast table.

But with all these fancy versions, I must admit – french toast shouldn’t really need a recipe. It’s something that should be pulled together from the basics of egg and milk, left-over day-old bread and whatever else you feel like putting in it on the day or can find in the fridge. It’s a not-recipe, like food52’s latest app. I still don’t really measure my french toast custard mixture – a few eggs, a splash of milk and a pinch of cinnamon, whisked and dunked.

Although this blog is based on the premise of recipes, of making a certain dish in a certain way – with timing and measurements and temperatures – I still believe that it is an essential skill to be able to cook without one. To have some idea of flavours that might work together, to know the basics of sautéing and oven-roasting times, to be able to adapt recipes to what you have on hand, and to be able to make simple recipes like french toast, or scrambled eggs, or a tomato pasta sauce – purely off the top of your head. If everyone left school able to make 10 basic, healthy recipes from scratch, the current global health problems of obesity and diabetes wouldn’t be such an issue.  A spaghetti bolognese, a stir-fry, healthy burgers…they don’t have to be intimidating. I loved a quote that Traci published last week, by Harry Balzer, a prominent food researcher: “Eat anything you want; enjoy all of your food. Anything you want. Have an apple pie, cookies, ice cream… have all you want. I’m just going to ask you to do one thing. Make all of it.”

But if you want, and if you have the time – this almond-crusted french toast with cinnamon apple & creme patisserie is my current favourite. The almonds add a nuttiness and a crunch to the french toast that is otherwise missing, the creme patisserie a creamy, not-too-sweet layer soaking into the golden, egg soaked bread. Apple is sizzled in butter, brown sugar and cinnamon until tender and just caramelizing, and it’s all topped with fresh strawberries and another drizzling pool of maple syrup (treat yourself with top quality, it’s worth it.) Breakfast of champions, right?

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Lemon, Almond & Raspberry Layer Cake with cream cheese buttercream and pink white chocolate ganache drips. Gluten free option. Jump to Recipe 

I’m not sure what this lemon, almond & raspberry layer cake is celebrating. Maybe it is a half way mark cake – marking the start of the second half of my university degree (2.5 years to go!), or just a much-too-fancy afternoon tea cake. Though I have been making it on and off all year as a 21st birthday cake, there was no such event or excuse this weekend. Just a desire for cake, the time to spend on icing and layers, and the willingness to sit and create silky drips of ganache, sliding gently down the sides. It’s not as sleek and precise as many these days, with the drips imperfect, the buttercream with edges and nicks, and the whole entity threatening to tilt on a slight angle – but it is one of the best tasting cakes I have discovered. It’s the sort of cake that improves over a day or two and having it dry out is never a concern – ground almonds and berries add moisture, lemon zest and juice infuses it, and the tangy cream cheese buttercream is the sort you could eat straight from the bowl.

The sort of cake that always makes your day a little brighter.

I wish life in the hospital was as simple as that – giving patients cake for a miraculous cure, or at least a smile. Hospital food is dull. The smell wafts through the wards as we finish our rounds, lunches of watery, pale orange pumpkin soup and overcooked broccoli, accompanied by some unidentifiable curry – or, if you are diabetic, it is dry wheat sandwiches, vaguely soggy with tomato and cheese. Anything eaten in the hospital never tastes as good anyway, even if it formerly was. Maybe it is the smell – antiseptics and sterility and something I can never quite put my finger on but is instantly recognizable as the scent of illness.

Then patients have to deal with us – a whole group of doctors and students, from the registrar to the interns, the fifth year trailing along with the notes, scribbling away madly, and the third years just following like sheep. We surround their bed, standing there all healthy and harried, distracted by all the other patients on the list and ticking them off like an itemised box on the morning round. If you’re in a room of four, privacy is non-existent – a thin curtain separates you from your neighbour. I can’t imagine trying to recover from illness surrounded by the voices of other patients, nurses and visitors on top of the constant beeping and hum of equipment.

It’s strange as a student too. Like being an observer to some of the toughest times of people’s lives, not really contributing anything but there for the purpose of learning. Privy to the most personal of conversations and procedures – the older man with chronic pain and suicidal thoughts, the young woman in with infection but struggling with an ongoing drug habit, the woman with teenage children and a new terminal cancer diagnosis.

It’s hard to remember, rushing around on wardrounds between thirty different patients, that these are people just like me – with complex situations, with family and friends and thoughts and opinions, with LIVES outside this hospital room. It is all too easy to switch off and brush over them as a condition to diagnose, rather than a person in pain. But I can see that there has to be a balance too, because doctors also can’t take on that suffering themselves – to an certain extent, they have to be able to leave the cases and patients behind when they go home.

Enough of the rambling – we’ll get back to the cake. It’s a lemon, almond & raspberry layer cake with cream cheese buttercream and white chocolate ganache drips, flowers optional. I’ve made it a few times in much bigger forms for birthdays – see instructions below on how to achieve that. Not too rich, so a perfect daytime cake, and full of juicy raspberries and the scent of lemon. The sort of cake that makes your day a little better.

Cook’s notes:

• If rhubarb is in season, it also works beautifully – just cut the rhubarb stems into 1-2cm pieces and fold into the batter after the lemon juice and zest
• I made it in 2 x 15cm tins, which resulted in a deep cake and a darker crust than usual  – though initially concerned it was overcooked, I had comments that the crust, caremelised and dark, was the best bit. However, to avoid this, make it in 3 x 15cm tins for 3 more even layers. This also avoids having to split the layers in half.
• You could also make the cake in 2 x 20cm cake tins for a thinner, double layer cake. Watch the baking time carefully as it will probably only take about 20 minutes.
• For a large celebration cake to serve 60-80 people (see picture here):
  • Make 3 x 26cm layers, each using a 2/3 mix (200g butter, 4 eggs per cake)
  • Make 3 x 20 cm layers, each using a 1/2 mix (150g butter, 3 eggs per cake)
  • Make a double mix of cream cheese buttercream.
  • Stack together the same way, but you may want to use a couple of skewers to make the height a little more stable!

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Slightly flaky, buttery sweet pastry is filled with soft almond frangipane, rhubarb infused with orange and vanilla, raspberries and nutty almond praline.  Jump to Recipe 

This is your next dinner party dessert. Or your next celebratory ‘I made it through the day’ dessert. Or simply just an ‘I feel like dessert’ dessert. Actually, this tart shouldn’t just be limited to dessert – make it for morning tea, afternoon tea, breakfast…in my opinion, it is appropriate anytime, any day (and that’s all that matters, right?!).

Rhubarb is one of my favourite vegetables: almost inedible raw, a short time in the oven transforms the stringy stalks into tangy, tart yet sweet bites that go perfectly with just about anything – use it with your regular muesli or porridge, your indulgent weekend pancakes or french toast, have it on crumpets, make it into a jam, fold through a cake or muffins, make it into a fruity crumble topped with melting vanilla ice cream, have it plain with ice cream, heck, make rhubarb ice cream (or rhubarb and roasted pear ice cream à la Gelato Messina – I can vouch for it!)… the list goes on. As you can probably tell, I have been on a bit of a rhubarb kick lately and have used it in a myriad of ways, but this rhubarb and raspberry frangipane tart remains one of the best (there is also a recipe for Rhubarb Brioche French Toast with Cream Patisserie coming…but more about that in the next few weeks!).

Here, the rhubarb is baked briefly in the oven, gently infusing it with orange zest and vanilla bean for layers of flavour that shine through in the end product. The ultra-short and buttery sweet pastry is filled with soft almond frangipane, the aforementioned rhubarb and a couple of handfuls of raspberries for extra sharpness (and they just go so perfectly with rhubarb, don’t you think?). The frangipane is sturdy enough to hold up the juiciness of the rhubarb and raspberries, while the almond praline topping adds extra nutty crunchiness. It is works perfectly for dessert topped with a scoop of ice cream and extra cooking syrup from the rhubarb (don’t throw it out!), and left-overs are devoured any old time of day – it doesn’t normally last very long in our house.

The tart has been a work in progress: I have battled with the cooking time, frangipane, the pastry and the best way of filling it on and off for the past couple of years, but over the holidays decided that I was going to get it right (more on that afternoon here). It finally worked just as I wanted – and the inspiration and recipe development has come from many sources, including an adapted pastry from Little & Friday, the almond praline topping from From the Kitchen, and the rhubarb and frangipane recipe adapted from The Engine Room.

Best of all, it doesn’t require blind-baking, so you just line the tart tin with the pastry, refrigerate it for half-an-hour while you make the frangipane paste, fill the tin, top with the berries and rhubarb and pop straight in the oven. The almond praline is sprinkled over the top roughly half way through the baking time as it cooks much more quickly than the tart itself. It does make extra rhubarb, which you can serve alongside the tart with extra cooking syrup, and you are likely to end up with a bit of spare pastry – I made another mini-tart but you can do whatever you like with it!

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Boysenberry, lemon and almond loaf – dense, citrussy and bright, and studded with juicy boysenberries. The perfect morning tea treat!  Jump to Recipe 

It is about at this point in the semester, with just under three weeks to go until “swot vac” (the worst kind of vacation) and exams begin, that everyone starts to get a little tired of university, tired of studying, tired of assignments, tired of being at college, and just wants to get out and go home. I am starting to reach that point as well. A proper break, with no looming assessments, is really what I want. However, that break is currently 5 weeks away, and, like a carrot dangling in front of my nose, is what will get me through this final push through to exams.

Renal physiology, a complicated balance of mechanisms keeping us all alive, is reeaaally doing my head in at the moment (my body is much smarter than I am!), while the Melbourne weather is making us all want to curl up in a sleeping bag all day – it has been hailing with snow down to 600m and freezing cold winds and torrential rain greeting us on our way to lectures. I’m pretty sure this is not normal for May – it isn’t even winter yet!

In saying all this…life is pretty good. Cafe trips, the college ball next week, birthdays, high pressure games of assassins on the floor at college, formal dinner tonight – we keep busy, and this blog has become my favourite outlet, or change of pace, from the intense workload and consuming nature of medical school.

However, life would definitely improve if I could have a slice of this Boysenberry, Lemon and Almond Loaf right now. Next year, when I will be out flatting and actually have a kitchen to bake in and people to bake for, cannot come soon enough. I know that food probably shouldn’t be linked so closely to my emotional state, but I definitely live to eat, not eat to live. You can’t deny that a good meal and better company can do wonders, right?

Perfect on wintery days, summer days, autumn days – anytime at all (thanks to frozen berries.!), this simple loaf will immediately make you feel a little better. A dense citrusy loaf, made moist and flavourful by the addition of almond meal, dotted with juicy purple berries, and dusted with icing sugar, it is a day-brightener and a people-pleaser. It also has the amazingness of being made in one pot, without any need to cream butter and sugar, and after whipping it up in about 15 minutes, you can sit back, clean your single pot and spoon, and enjoy the smells emanating from your oven.


 You can easily replace the boysenberries with any other berries that you have lying around, and alter the orange/lemon ratios to make it more orangey or lemony to suit. I do like the tangy but still sweet mixture that the current amounts give, however.

So please, for me, and for your friends and family, make this loaf. It will make your day, and the next day as well when you can sit down with your coffee or tea and a warmed up slice of boysenberry, citrusy goodness for morning tea.

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