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A cream tea is the West Country's afternoon treat: warm scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam with a pot of tea, served in tea gardens across Devon and Cornwall. In Devon the cream goes on first and the jam on top; in Cornwall it's the other way round, and the argument never ends. These scones are plain and light so the cream and jam shine. Chef's tip: cut straight down with the cutter and don't twist it, or the scones rise lopsided.
Millionaire's shortbread, called caramel shortcake in much of Scotland and caramel squares across the water in Belfast, is the traybake of school bake sales, cafés and church teas. A crisp shortbread base is covered with thick condensed-milk caramel and a layer of chocolate, rich enough to justify the name. Chef's tip: keep stirring the caramel the whole time it bubbles; it catches on the bottom in seconds.
Welsh cakes, picau ar y maen or 'cakes on the stone', are cooked on a cast-iron bakestone in kitchens across Wales and sold warm at markets and rugby matches, and they are a must on St David's Day, 1 March. The dough is like a rich scone with currants and mixed spice, and they are dusted with sugar while hot. Chef's tip: keep the heat medium-low; they need time for the middle to cook before the outside darkens.
Bara brith means 'speckled bread', and this is the fruit loaf of Welsh farmhouses and tea rooms from Snowdonia to the Gower. Dried fruit is soaked overnight in strong black tea, then mixed with sugar, egg, flour and spice, so it is moist, dark and keeps well without any butter in the mix. Slice it thickly and spread with salted Welsh butter. Chef's tip: wrap it and wait a day before cutting; it gets stickier and slices cleaner.
Named after Queen Victoria, who took a slice with her afternoon tea, the Victoria sandwich is the cake of English village fetes, Women's Institute competitions and every birthday tea in the shires. It is two light butter sponges joined with raspberry jam and buttercream, finished with a dusting of caster sugar. Chef's tip: weigh the eggs in their shells and use the same weight of butter, sugar and flour; that is the classic way to get a perfect crumb.
Parkin is the dark ginger cake that West Yorkshire bakes for the 5th of November, cut into squares and handed round at Bonfire Night fires in Leeds, Halifax and Bradford. It is made with oatmeal, black treacle and golden syrup, so it is dense, chewy and gingery rather than light. It gets better with time, turning stickier after a few days in a tin. Chef's tip: wrap it and keep it for three days before cutting; fresh parkin is dry and crumbly by comparison.
Mince pies are handed round with mulled drinks at every English Christmas gathering, from carol services to office parties, and children leave one out for Father Christmas. The mincemeat once held meat; this home-made version is all fruit, apple and spice, with vegetarian suet, and brandy is optional, so it can be alcohol-free. Chef's tip: make the mincemeat a week ahead so the flavours mellow; it keeps for months.
Fat rascals are big, rough, fruit-studded cakes from the North York Moors, halfway between a scone and a rock cake, and the famous Harrogate tea rooms made them a visitor's treat. Each one gets a face of glacé cherries and blanched almonds before baking. Eat them warm, split and buttered, with a pot of tea. Chef's tip: work the dough as little as possible, just until it holds; overmixed rascals bake up tough.
From the town of Eccles near Manchester, these flat pastry cakes are filled with butter-soaked currants and peel, slashed three times on top and baked until sugary and crackly. Lancashire people eat them with a slice of crumbly Lancashire cheese, the sweet and salty pairing locals swear by. Chef's tip: chill the filled cakes for 20 minutes before baking, so the pastry stays flaky and the filling doesn't leak.
The village of Grasmere in the Lake District has sold its own gingerbread since the 1850s, a cross between shortbread and a biscuit with a crumbly top and chewy base, wrapped in paper for walkers and visitors to Wordsworth's grave. The real recipe is a closely kept secret; this is our home version, made with oatmeal, brown sugar and plenty of ground ginger. Chef's tip: press only the bottom half of the crumb mixture firmly and scatter the rest loosely on top, which gives the two textures.
Singin' hinnies are the girdle cakes of Northumberland and Tyneside, named for the singing hiss of the butter as they cook ('hinny' is a Geordie word of affection, like 'honey'). Mothers made them for children coming home from school, cooked on a heavy griddle and eaten hot, split and buttered. They are scone dough studded with currants and cooked in the pan instead of the oven. Chef's tip: keep the heat medium-low so they cook through before the outside darkens.
Simnel cake is England's Easter fruit cake, once baked by girls in service to take home on Mothering Sunday and now the centrepiece of Easter tea. A light fruit cake has a layer of marzipan baked through the middle and more on top, decorated with eleven marzipan balls for the apostles, leaving out Judas. Chef's tip: wrap a band of baking paper round the outside of the tin; it stops the edges drying out during the long, slow bake.
Saffron buns, called 'tea treats' in parts of Cornwall, were handed out at Sunday school outings and chapel tea treats, and they still glow yellow in bakery windows from Penzance to Truro. A pinch of saffron steeped in warm milk colours a soft, enriched dough studded with currants and peel, so they taste gently floral and fruity. Eat them split and spread with butter or clotted cream. Chef's tip: steep the saffron overnight for the deepest colour and flavour.
The Chelsea bun was the speciality of the Old Chelsea Bun House in London in the 1700s, where crowds queued on Good Friday; today the coiled, sticky bun is a bakery classic across England. A soft dough is spread with butter, brown sugar, currants and spice, rolled up, sliced and baked snugly in a tin so the buns rise into each other and come out square-sided. Chef's tip: pack the slices tightly; it is the squeeze that gives them their shape and soft edges.
Hot cross buns are eaten toasted with butter on Good Friday across England, and London bakeries have sold them for centuries to the old street cry 'one a penny, two a penny'. The soft, spiced dough is full of currants and orange peel, and the cross on top is piped from a simple flour paste before baking. Chef's tip: let the dough rise somewhere really warm; spiced, fruited dough is slow and needs patience.
Shortbread is Scotland's most famous bake, handed round at Hogmanay with a dram and packed in tins as a gift all year. The classic recipe is one part sugar, two parts butter and three parts flour, with a little rice flour for the sandy snap; it is shaped into a round and cut into petticoat tails, a shape linked with Mary, Queen of Scots. Chef's tip: bake low and slow so it stays pale gold; brown shortbread tastes bitter rather than buttery.
Oatcakes have been baked on girdles across Scotland since oats were the country's main grain, and they are still eaten with cheese, smoked fish or marmalade, and alongside soup on cold days. Medium oatmeal is bound with a little melted butter and hot water, rolled thin and baked until crisp and nutty. Chef's tip: work quickly while the dough is warm; as it cools it cracks and won't roll.
Dundee cake is the light, buttery fruit cake from the city of marmalade and jute, said to have been created by the Keiller family to use up their orange peel. Instead of marzipan and icing it is topped with concentric circles of whole blanched almonds, and it is eaten at Christmas and with afternoon tea. Chef's tip: lay the almonds on gently without pressing; if they sink they burn and the pattern is lost.
Empire biscuits sit in the window of every Scottish high-street bakery: two rounds of crisp shortcake stuck together with raspberry jam, topped with white icing and a jelly sweet or half a glacé cherry. They were called Linzer or German biscuits until the First World War. Chef's tip: let the biscuits cool completely before sandwiching, or the jam soaks in and they go soft.
Pressed in a fist so each one carries the marks of the cook's fingers, kispiño are small, dense quinoa cakes from the Puno highlands, steamed and then left to dry so they keep for weeks on journeys, herding trips and pilgrimages. Traditional ones are bound with a little lime water (from cal, the mineral) and fat; this home version uses oil and a pinch of aniseed and sugar, so they're vegan and pleasantly savoury-sweet. They're firm and chewy, a little like a grain cake, and good with hot tea, coca tea or a soup on a cold day. The common mistake is making the dough too wet, so the cakes slump in the steamer; it should feel like damp sand that holds its shape when squeezed. Ground quinoa is quinoa flour; grind your own from rinsed, dried and toasted grain, or buy it ready ground. Chef's tip: toast the ground quinoa in a dry pan first until it smells nutty, which takes away any bitterness.
Named, the story goes, after the giant ape because of its size when the film reached Peru, the king kong is Lambayeque's proudest sweet: thick, crumbly biscuit layers stacked with manjar blanco, a sticky pineapple jam and a peanut fudge, then cut into heavy slabs. Shops in Lambayeque and Chiclayo sell them by the kilo in boxes, and travellers carry them home as gifts. It is very sweet, buttery and dense, so a slice goes a long way with black coffee. This home version makes the manjar blanco from condensed and evaporated milk to save hours, then turns half of it into the peanut layer. The usual mistake is overbaking the biscuit until it is hard; take it out as soon as the edges are pale gold, as it firms up while it cools. It is a project, so make the fillings first and let them cool. Chef's tip: wrap the finished king kong and leave it overnight before cutting; the layers settle and soften into each other.
Every October, the month of the Señor de los Milagros processions in Lima, bakeries and street sellers pile their trays with turrón de Doña Pepa: layers of crumbly anise-flavoured sticks drenched in a dark syrup of chancaca cooked with fruit and spices, topped with a storm of coloured sprinkles. Popular lore credits it to Josefa Marmanillo, a woman from the Cañete valley who is said to have made it in thanks after the procession. It is sticky, crunchy and soft at once, with orange and clove in the syrup. Its downfall is usually runny syrup that soaks the sticks into mush; it needs to reach a thick, threading stage before it goes on. Chancaca is sold as cones or blocks in Latin shops; panela or dark muscovado also work. Some coloured sprinkles contain gelatin, so check the label. Chef's tip: make it a day ahead; the syrup sets and the sticks soften just enough to slice neatly.
Chajá was created in 1927 at a bakery in Paysandú, a city on the Uruguay River, and named after a local bird whose feathers look as fluffy as its crumbly meringue coat. Today it's Uruguay's birthday and celebration cake: layers of light sponge soaked in peach syrup, filled with whipped cream, peaches and dulce de leche, then covered in crushed meringue. It's sweet, soft and crunchy at once, best on the day it's assembled. Chef's tip: soak the sponge but not too much; it should feel moist, not wet, or the layers slide.
The Cornish pasty fed tin miners and fishermen in Cornwall for centuries, its thick crimped edge a handle for dirty hands, and today bakeries from Penzance to St Ives sell them warm all day. The filling goes into the pastry raw: thinly sliced beef skirt, potato, swede and onion, seasoned only with salt and plenty of pepper, so everything steams in its own juices inside the crust. Chef's tip: slice the vegetables thinly and evenly, not in cubes; thin pieces cook through in the same time as the beef.
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