Every morning, the kids eat a circular loaf of bread that looks like a decadent, moist cross between brioche and pound cake.
And, every morning, I think about how nice that piece of cake bread looks.
So, on my last breakfast morning with the kids, I decide to bite the proverbial bullet and negotiate myself a slice or two to put under a thick sheen of Nutella. Plus, I just wrapped up the oh-so-good-yet-oh-so-sad Little Bee–a tale of unrequited friendship and an unavoidable ending, displaced a few years but inevitable, all on a Nigerian beach and in the name of oil profits–and I need a little sugar rush.
Oh, good heaven.
This is scrumtdiddlyumptious, and I beg Senior and Onica to give me the recipe:
3 cups cake flour (cake flour? what is cake flour?)
10 grams dry yeast
1/2 teaspoon salt
5 teaspoon brown sugar
100 grams margarine
Mix flour, salt, sugar, yeast and small amount warm water. Mix with your hands and leave to grow. Dough must be soft but not sticking to the pan.
Bake in oven at _____ degrees for ______ minutes.
NO! Senior tells me the rest of the recipe, but my memory fails.
Cake bread might just have to be a Daktari memory. Same with pap, South Africa’s miele-meal staple.