Monica Sheridan’s Christmas Cake

When my mother made Christmas cake she always used Monica Sheridan’s recipe. Mum had an old cookbook stuffed with pieces of paper, cuttings and recipe cards and out of this jumble came marvellous concoctions to feed her appreciative family. As everyone did in those days she iced the Christmas cake with almond paste and royal icing and decorated the top with winter scenes and figurines.

I have searched in vain on the internet for Monica Sheridan’s famous Christmas Cake recipe and I have noticed that many readers who wander into Roaringwater Journal have googled ‘Monica Sheridan’. I suspect, therefore, that others may be looking for this recipe as well so I have decided to reproduce it below.

Monica’s measurements are all in ounces (that’s the same in Ireland, Britain and North America) but I have added the conversion to grams for modern cooks. I tried doing a conversion to cup measures for our Canadian and American readers, but the exercise defeated me. If anyone out there has the exact equivalents, I’d love to have them.

Last year was my first time ever making Christmas cake. Robert and I each made one using Delia Smith’s recipe. This time I will try Monica’s. After all, In her book she relates that when she first published this recipe (her mother’s) in the Irish Times she “…got thousands of letters from people, all over the world, who had made the cake with great success…” Not sure if I feel encouraged or intimidated by that – perhaps I will feature the results in a future post. Meanwhile, I include some images from last year’s efforts, to get you in the mood to go out and buy glacé cherries and angelica.

Have you got a favourite Christmas cake recipe, dear blog reader? Any tips and hints for the novice baker? Any Christmas cake memories to share?

MONICA SHERIDAN’S CHRISTMAS CAKE RECIPE

(from My Irish Cook Book)

Ingredients

6oz/175gm glacé cherries

12oz/350gm seedless raisins

12oz/350gm sultanas

6oz/175gm currants

4oz/110gm mixed candied peel

2oz/50gm finely chopped angelica

6oz/175gm chopped walnuts

12oz/350gm  butter

12oz/350gm sugar

7 eggs

12oz/350gm flour

1tsp salt

1tsp mixed spice (optional)

Method

Prepare the Fruit (some hours before making the cake)

Turn on the oven to 240F/120C.

Halve the cherries. Put all the fruits and the nuts into a casserole dish. Mix them well together with your hands so that all the different species are well distributed. Cover loosely with baking parchment or foil and put into the warm oven. Toss once or twice until the fruit is well heated through. This heating makes the fruit sticky and prevents it from falling to the bottom of the cake. It also plumps the fruit and makes it juicier. Never roll fruit in flour and never wash it.

When the fruit is heated through and is sticky, take it out of the oven and let it get quite cold. Warm fruit added to a cake mixture would melt its way down to the bottom before the mixture had set in the oven.

Prepare the Cake Tin

Use a high-sided 10” cake tin and grease or oil it well. Now line it, sides and bottom with two thicknesses of greaseproof or parchment paper and grease the paper.

Make the Cake

Heat the oven to 300F/150C

Cream the butter and sugar together until white and fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, with a teaspoon of flour for each egg. This prevents the eggs from curdling the mixture. Beat well between each egg.

Sift the flour with the salt and fold into the egg mixture. Lastly, fold in the fruit and nuts which you have separated by running your fingers through them.

Pour the mixture into the lined cake tin. It shouldn’t come up to more than 2” from the top of the tin. Trim the lining paper level with the top of the tin. Rest an inverted tin plate, or a lid, over the tin.

Put the cake in the oven. After 1 hour, reduce the heat to 280F/135C and continue to bake for another 5 hours, or 6 hours in all.

If you think the cake is baking too fast, keep gradually reducing the heat. This cake should be golden rather than brown on top. Do not remove from the tin until cold.

The secret of success with this cake is the plumping of the fruit and the slow baking.

Gorse, of Course

The battle begins

The battle begins

In a previous post Finola mentioned gorse wine and it struck us that non-Irish readers may not be familiar with gorse – that ubiquitous, loved and hated shrub that covers the Irish countryside above a certain elevation.

gorse and heatherWe love gorse because of the flowers – bright yellow flowers that bloom all year long and lend vibrancy to the landscape. In summer and autumn when the heather is also in bloom the contrast between the yellow of the gorse and the purples and pinks of the heather makes the countryside come alive with colour. In the spring and early summer when the flowers burst forth the hillsides look as if they are lit from within, but many bushes hold on to hints of yellow right through the winter. This property of gorse is immortalised in the Irish saying when gorse is not in blossom, kissing’s out of fashion.

We hate gorse for two reasons – the thorns and the way it takes over everything. To cut it back, chop it down, venture near it, you have to wear a suit of armour. Hiking through it is painful or impossible – even the low-growing strands manage to weasel their way into your socks and the thorns can pierce a sturdy boot and make every step torture.

Before and after

Before and after

Here at Nead an Iolair the garden has grown wild over the years. In a garden on an Irish hillside, this means that the gorse has taken over. The hill behind the house was covered in it, some even encroaching on the back wall. Given the local farmers’ habit of setting fire to the hillsides in the spring, this was a significant hazard.

Burning hills

Burning hills

The area to the left of the driveway was sporting enormous stands of gorse, some as tall as trees. We could see the tips of other plants struggling for survival in this jungle but, apart from a small island of grass, the area was impenetrable.

We can see the house!

We can see the house!

This week we tackled the problem. It has taken several days, a digger, chainsaws and copious amounts of sweat but by Friday victory was declared and where there had been a gorse forest there is now a haggart (an Irish word for a small field beside the house) surrounded by a beautiful stone wall that we knew was in there but couldn’t see. We also unearthed a standing stone, giving us our own enigma to ponder. While we are not contemplating a goat herd for the haggart, we do have dreams of a field of bluebells one day. And maybe some gorse wine.

Our haggart emerges

Our haggart emerges

Goats, Bees and Spies on the Sheep’s Head

The Weather Rolls in around Kilcrohane

The Weather Rolls in around Kilcrohane

White GoatsI’ve just finished reading White Goats and Black Bees by Donald Grant. Donald and Mary Grant, a couple of journalists based in New York, impulsively decided to jump off the career treadmill and become farmers in Ireland in the 1960’s. They bought a small acreage on the Sheep’s Head, where they raised goats and ducks, cultivated an enormous vegetable garden, and by degrees and sheer hard work turned themselves into ‘peasants’.

This out-of-print book was drawn to my attention by my friend, Aideen, whose father, while in New York, had encouraged the Grants to consider West Cork. Aideen visited the Grants as a young woman and still has memories of their gorse wine.

As a Back to the Land narrative, this is a classic. Earnest urban professionals consulting Department of Agriculture pamphlets, conducting slug patrols, keenly observing the social structure of their goat herd and duck flock, battling the wild Atlantic storms, making cheese and smoking hams: this is the kind of thing that sent thousands of idealistic young people into communes all over the world, or in the case of Ireland, into the hills behind Ballydehob. The need to be accepted by the locals, a thread that appears in so many Year in Provence-type books, is coupled with the outsider’s puzzlement at the impenetrability of some aspects of local behaviour.

The Sheep's Head, looking across Dunmanus Bay

The Sheep’s Head, looking across Dunmanus Bay

Grant is not a gifted writer when it comes to scenery: …Trees wore their autumn colours. Streams tumbled down rocks, sparkling… Nevertheless he does slowly build up a picture of a man coming to grips with his place in the natural world and his relationship with animals and the elements. Perhaps the strongest sections of the book are those in which he chronicles the hard work and resourcefulness that it takes to sustain life on a smallholding, the setbacks and difficulties he and Mary encounter, and the support of the neighbours and community without which it would be impossible.

Mary the SpyThe story of Donald and Mary took a strange turn for me when I decided to Google around a bit, digging for more information about them. Astonishingly, Mary was convicted in Israel in 1956 of spying for Syria! She spent a year in an Israeli prison, eventually applying for a pardon. According to one account, she had fallen for a Syrian diplomat who persuaded her to take photographs in Israel for the Syrians. She was so unsophisticated a spy that she was captured on her first day. She and Donald met when they shared a desk at the United Nations, where they were both correspondents: he for the St. Louis Post-Dispatcher and she for Look Magazine. Little did the people of Doneen know of the chequered history of the American woman who introduced goat’s cheese to their far-flung parish.

Donald and Mary continued to live on the Sheep’s Head and eventually in Bantry for the rest of their lives. While Donald died in 1983, Mary lived until last year, 2012. Both are buried in their beloved Kilcrohane.

A Chatter of Choughs

Rossbrin Cove: Chough country

Rossbrin Cove: Chough country

One of the many treats of living up here in Nead an Iolair is the frequent appearance of a group of Choughs. Towards the evening we hear them on our roof, chattering to each other. Chatter of Choughs, by the way, is the correct collective noun: all the Corvid family seem to have interesting ones – Murder of Crows, Parliament of Rooks, Conspiracy of Ravens, Tiding of Magpies… These are just some of a very long list: do you of know any to add to it?

Autumn evening at Nead an Iolair

Autumn evening at Nead an Iolair

Choughs are distinctive birds, but easy to mistake for other Corvids when in the sky. Look out for curved red bills, and red legs and claws. Also listen for the chatter, in which the bird tells you its name:

It won’t tell you its latin species name, however: Pyrrhocorax-pyrrhocorax!

Birds on line!

Birds on line!

As an erstwhile resident of Cornwall I have a particular interest in the Chough. This bird appeared on the old Cornish coat-of-arms, together with a tin miner and a fisherman (the two latter have vanished on the new one – perhaps a poignant comment on changing times), and was once a familiar sight on the coast. Changing habitat and trophy hunting led to a decline in the British Chough populations recorded by naturalists as early as the eighteenth century. The last breeding pair was seen in Cornwall in 1947, and not long afterwards the Cornish Chough was pronounced extinct. Amazingly, the new Millennium saw the Chough returning naturally to Cornwall, with three birds taking up residence on the Lizard peninsula and breeding successfully. It’s reckoned that there are now between forty and fifty living on that far western coastline. On my last days in Cornwall before coming here to Ireland I was walking at Nanquidno, near Lands End and – as if to wish me ‘goodbye’ – there was a pair of Choughs foraging happily on the path in front of me! Where did the new generations of Cornish Choughs come from? DNA tests have given us the answer: Ireland…

Cornwall's old and new logos: and the 'Raven King' - in folklore, Choughs and Ravens are interchangeable

Cornwall’s old and new logos: and the ‘Raven King’ – in folklore, Choughs and Ravens are interchangeable

Cornish nationalists, who are campaigning for a devolved parliament, are delighted by the come-back. “This will be seen as a symbol of hope,” said Dr Loveday Jenkin of the nationalist party Mebyon Kernow. “The re-emergence of the Chough is a symbol of the re-emergence of the Cornish nation.”

King Arthur's last battle

King Arthur’s last battle

Cág Cosdearg is the name of the Chough in Irish – this is a literal translation of ‘red-legged Jackdaw’. There are a number of legends attached to this bird: King Arthur turned into one, and the red beak and legs are symbolic of the blood shed at his last battle (presumably this is another link with Cornwall). The Chough was known to Daniel Defoe as a ‘fire raising bird’ in his …tour thro’ the whole island of Great Britain…

“…It is very mischievous; it will steal and carry away any thing it finds about the house, that is not too heavy, tho’ not fit for its food; as knives, forks, spoons and linnen cloths, or whatever it can fly away with, sometimes they say it has stolen bits of firebrands, or lighted candles, and lodged them in the stacks of corn, and the thatch of barns and houses, and set them on fire; but this I only had by oral tradition…”

I like the Irish expression, “You’ll follow the Crows for it” meaning that a person would only appreciate something after it had gone.

chough close

Watching our Choughs perform their aerobatics up here is a delight – I’ve seen them turning cartwheels in the air, and they even appear to fly upside down at times. Sylvia Plath puts it wonderfully in Blackberrying:
–
“…Overhead go the choughs in black, cacophonous flocks—
Bits of burnt paper wheeling in a blown sky.
Theirs is the only voice, protesting, protesting…”
–

Old Stones

A classic piece of Rock Art - on display in Dublin's National Museum

A classic piece of Rock Art – on display in Dublin’s National Museum

As we enter October, we begin to look towards the dark part of our year – and to think of the Cailleach who, in these western parts of Munster, is known as The Hag of Beara: in early tales she is pictured as a prolific figure responsible for shaping the landscape by carrying huge stones in her apron and dropping them to form hills and outcrops, as well as ancient standing stones, circles and alignments. She is also seen wielding a great hammer with which she sculpts and refines her geological creations. She has had seven periods of youth, one after another, so that every man who lived with her came to die of old age. Her grandsons and great grandsons are so many that they make up entire tribes and races. She falls asleep on Bealtaine (May 1st) and wakes again on Samhain (November 1st) – we will be looking forward to the storms which will herald her coming. Until then she rests on a hillside overlooking Coulagh Bay, beyond Allihies on the remote Beara Peninsula, where her rocky incarnation depicts her as both a young maiden and an old crone.

Monuments in the mist: The Hag of Beara and Drombeg Circle

Monuments in the mist: The Hag of Beara and Drombeg Circle

Ireland is stuck in a stream of warm air coming up from the tropics at the moment: this makes temperatures two or three degrees higher than the norm for early autumn, but also causes a damp landscape shrouded in fog: we have missed our view of the Fastnet for several days.

Standing stones

Some West Cork standing stones

The weather hasn’t hindered our exploration of Ireland’s old stones – the terrain created by the Hag. Yesterday we went to Drombeg Circle: a popular site for tourists. Many visitors will fail to notice the rock art carved on the recumbent stone that points out this megalithic monument’s alignment with the winter solstice. At the foot of another stone we found some enigmatic markings which I readily interpreted as a dancing Hare.

Drombeg Rock Art - and a mysterious Holy Well in Rossbrin Cove

Drombeg rock art – and a mysterious holy well in Rossbrin Cove

Bishops Luck - a megalithic close by Nead an Iolair: according to local legend, a

Bishop’s Luck – a megalith close by Nead an Iolair: according to local legend, a bishop is buried under this!

Ireland’s history is written in stone: the natural landscape; megalithic monuments; buildings – cottages, castles, farms, churches, lighthouses; every townland is rich in examples. Building material, track surfacing, grave marker and artists’ canvas (perhaps): stone has been a resource to aid human occupation for thousands of years.

Stone in context: Galley Head Lighthouse

Stone in context: Galley Head Lighthouse

The ultimate stone monument - Newgrange Passage Grave, County Meath - the spectacular quartz facing is a conjectural reconstruction

The ultimate Neolithic stone monument – Newgrange Passage Grave, County Meath – the spectacular quartz facing is a conjectural reconstruction

Driven to Distraction

2013-09-24 10.15.34

Hello, Ladies!

Robert is switching his English car to be registered in Ireland and in order to be properly insured I should get an Irish driving licence. In Vancouver all of this (registering and insuring a car, getting a driver’s licence) is handled by the Insurance Corporation of BC (ICBC) – one stop shopping and very efficient. I was unprepared for the levels of bureaucracy involved in accomplishing the same things in Ireland. For anyone thinking of moving here, gird your loins for an obstacle course.

Breathe in!

Breathe in!

Registering Robert’s car is almost done, and here are the steps we have had to follow:

  1. To the VRT (Vehicle Registration and Taxing) office in Skibbereen. We find we are ‘importing’ the car so must first go to the Customs Office in Bantry (only open Friday mornings, make an appointment) with a long list of documents.
  2. To Bantry with all documentation. Customs officer copied everything and said to wait until we got relevant certificate in the mail, then make an appointment with the VRT to register the car.
  3. To Insurance agent in Skibbereen to apply for Irish insurance. This is where we learned that Robert’s English licence is fine, but I must get an Irish one. Robert must procure proof of no claims status from English insurer.
  4. Telephone calls to England requesting no claims document. Will be emailed to us straight away.
  5. Customs certificate arrives. Appointment made with VRT office. List of required documents exactly the same as we have already supplied to Customs even though it’s the same government department (Revenue). Back to VRT and receive car registration number. Registration certificate will arrive in mail.
  6. Back to Insurance office. No claims proof has not arrived, but charming Insurance agent manages to weasel enough information out of English insurance agent on the phone. Now insured in Ireland!
  7. Off to Garage that prints ‘Licence Plates While You Wait.’ They also sell us the double-sided tape with which the plates are attached and instruct us how to do it. Main direction for pulling off the old ones, “Don’t be frightened.”
  8. On to the internet, armed with registration number, to ‘Motor Tax Online’ to pay road tax. Although the tax is collected by the ‘local authority’ or county council, the payment system is operated by the Department of Transport, Tourism and Sport and it appears the tax can only be paid online or by travelling up to Cork (hour and a half). Tax discs to be attached to windshield (without which it is illegal to drive a car) will arrive in the mail.
  9. Once car registration certificate (see step 5 above) arrives in the mail, Robert can make appointment to have a mandatory NCT (National Car Test) to check the car for roadworthiness. This will take us back to the VRT office.

Whew! Got all that? That’s 5 different locations and 8 sessions: Customs, VRT X3, Insurance X2, License Place Printer, Tax Authority. Add to that the assembling of lots of paperwork (examples: original invoice for four year old car, proof of identity and residence, receipt for passage on the car ferry) and multiple phone calls to England…well, I think Robert deserves a medal for negotiating all that!

The speed limit? Tractor speed.

The speed limit? Tractor speed

Interestingly, half of the processes described here are administered within government and involve two different departments as well as county councils. The other half are privatised – insurance, license plates and the NCT are all managed outside government, thereby creating a smaller bureaucracy within government, but a much larger one from a consumer viewpoint with multiple steps, documentation requirements and agencies. The saving grace for the hapless car owner is the cheerful, helpful and friendly Irish people working in each agency. With their sympathetic smiles, their humour and their efficiency in the teeth of labyrinthine processes, they will get you through the whole painful business.

"Tis a grand road.

‘Tis a grand road

My turn next. Must get that Irish driving licence. I have been driving in Canada for 38 years, problem-free, so this can’t be a big deal, right? After all, anyone with a European licence, even from countries that drive on the right (most of them) can just trade in their licence for an Irish one.

Whoa Nelly!

Whoa Nelly!

Can you predict, dear blog reader, given the tortuous route to registering a car, how straightforward this is going to be for me? A future post will reveal all. Meanwhile, I leave you with some pictures of driving conditions in West Cork.