Sindhi Style Chickpea Curry

I have just returned from a weekend of what can only be described as 'bareback' camping, in a friend's valley. (Yeah, my friend has a valley. What of it?) There are no facilities in the valley. It was an interesting (and sobering) experience, and I learned several things about life, myself and what we shall call 'the human spirit'.

Firstly, running water and modern sewerage systems are a blessing. I give thanks for all of us here and now. Washing up in cold stream water in the rain is a chore that would cause most people to contemplate suicide seriously (which is why I am particularly thankful to Rish - Mr. R - for doing most of it), and when the lavatory is a shovel and a quiet spot in the woods near the slate quarry, well, let's just say that I was quite happy to get home a few days ago.

Secondly, positivity and happiness can be achieved by looking for the good points in the numerous evils which we face daily. In the context of bareback camping, this means giving thanks for the acrid, woody and black smoke emitted from the enormous campfires (Mr. Other P and Julia are a little over-zealous where log and flames are concerned) in front of your tent. Yes, it gives you red eyes and makes everything smell horrendous, but it does keep away the dreaded mosquitoes. Vile little bastards, I wish death upon thee.

I also learned that Coca Cola cleans grease and filth off of extremely dirty frying pans simply by being heated inside them. People of the world: stop putting this stuff into your bodies. I mean it!

It's not my first time in the valley, and it definitely will not be the last, but we certainly had less than ideal weather conditions this weekend and I can safely say that I am more 'The Call of the Mild' than full-blooded outdoor enthusiast. Still, we are all of us Campers Who Cope and I loved it. So thanks guys for a great time, if you're reading.

(You better had be.)

Now: back to the matter in hand - my curry. I made this a while ago, and wasn't going to post it, since it doesn't contain any sugar and I know what my readers want. But it was so good that I ended up taking this picture of the leftovers and filing it away for when I had time to write about it.

I make a lot of Indian food (and yes, I am perfectly aware that Sindh is a province of Pakistan, but the recipe is from 50 Great Curries of India, so leave me alone), and love curried lentils and pulses. A good dal is one of the most amazing things to eat in the whole wide world, and the fact that they cost next to nothing to make is all the more reason for gleeful indulgence and hysteria.

This chickpea curry is savoury and well-spiced, and was just delicious with some brown basmati rice. I have adapted it slightly here, purely because my spice cupboard doesn't run to amchoor (dried mango powder). I wouldn't normally dare make a change to a cuisine I don't fully understand but I have been spurred on by a recent run of successes.

Usually, I follow the lead of my beloved Sanjana. I have cooked my way through a good five or so of her recipes and never had any problems. If you fancy trying some Indian dishes in your own kitchen, you'd do far worse than start off with something from Ko Rasoi.

But recently, I realised (while, unable to sleep, I was flipping though Camellia Panjabi's book) that I'd never made a curry (or anything at all for that matter) with real, proper chickpeas, the kind that come dried, in a packet, and need soaking, instead of ready-to-go canned ones.

Well, readers, until several years ago when I first went to the valley, I'd never had a bath in river water either, but the fact is that there is a first time for everything, and this was it for me and dried chickpeas. The fact that as curries go this one could scarcely be easier leads me to suggest you make it your first time too. And if you manage that successfully, well, who knows? You might even be ready for bareback camping.

Sindhi Style Chickpea Curry


You will need:

250g dried chickpeas
3 large onions
a thumb sized knob of fresh ginger
4 cloves garlic
400g tin chopped tomatoes
2 black cardamoms
8 cloves
2 bay leaves
15 peppercorns
1 tsp cumin seeds
4 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp turmeric powder
1 tsp garam masala
1 tsp ground coriander
salt and pepper

1. Soak the chickpeas overnight in cold water.
2. Chop two of the onions roughly, and the third very finely with the garlic and ginger.
3. Put the soaked and drained chickpeas into a cooking pot with half of the roughly chopped onion, the black cardamom, the cloves, bay leaves, peppercorns, cumin seeds and a teaspoon of sea salt. Cover with cold water and bring to the boil, before simmering the mixture for 50 minutes or so, until the chickpeas are softened. Drain, reserving the liquid (you can through away the spices now).
4. In another pot, heat the oil and sauté the remaining chopped onions slowly for about 20 minutes or until browned. Add the finely chopped onion, garlic and ginger, then cook for another 10 minutes.
5. Now add the turmeric, garam masala and coriander, stir for a minute or so, and then add the tomatoes and chickpeas. Add as much of the reserved cooking liquid as you like to make a gravy (it can be thick or thin, whichever you prefer), and cook for a few minutes until everything is warmed through. Season well.

Coconut and Mango Macarons

The top left mac has cellulite, but if you don't tell him, I won't either...

I know I'm not supposed to have favourites, but when it comes to macarons I do, and these are, definitively, them.

I feel this is OK because of all the people out there who whine that they don't like coconut. Someone has to, and that someone is me. You're all missing out!

I was in Taormina, Sicily, recently for a wedding (which was amazing - congrats again, Sam and Jen), and ate really well. The local cakes of choice are cassata (which is going to get made, so we won't be talking about it here), and canoli, which are little tubes of fried pastry, filled with creamy ricotta cheese and topped with candied orange peel and chopped pistachios. They are delicious, but presented a huge problem when competing for a place on Delicious Delicious Delicious: I have a 'Just Say No' policy when it comes to deep frying.

This is not because I am fat-phobic (as if - these macarons are filled with Swiss meringue buttercream!). It is because I never know what to do with all the oil afterwards. Wouldn't keeping it be gross?



I digress. I was at home for all of about five seconds after Sicily before I had to come back to work, so there just wasn't time to get a cassata made and photographed. Well, actually, that's not strictly true, but I would have had to leave the whole cassata in the fridge for Mr. Other P to eat while I was away working, and that seemed a little unfair to me. I mean, I love the man dearly, but a whole cassata? Hell no.

So I decided to craft a macaron recipe (we've not had macarons for a while, and too much of a good thing can be wonderful) that would take all of my favourite Sicilian flavours and combine them with a little Parisian chic to make a quick little petit four to wow and dazzle. I know that coconut and mango are neither of them Sicilian in any respect, but you're going to have to work with me here.

The thing about Taormina is that it's best by night. It's too hot to be in town during the day, which is why we spent almost all of our time on the beach. But in the evenings, when it's a bit cooler, the Corso Umberto and little streets that run off it are startlingly beautiful. Everywhere you go, the night air carries the sweet fragrance of jasmine and orange blossom, and flowers of all colours decorate the church steps and square; it is truly one of the most lovely places I've ever been.

Now. I went as far as buying the orange blossom extract. But when it actually came to making the macarons, I just wasn't feeling in the mood for it. My bottle of coconut extract was giving me the old puppy dog eyes, and when I found some mango buttercream in the freezer I knew I was good to go.

Yes, jasmine-scented macaron shells filled with orange blossom infused white chocolate ganache sound wonderful, but only a fool would make ganache when there's ready-to-go Swiss in the freezer. I am no fool. And I had less than 12 hours at home.

So Taormina will have it's time on these pages when I get round to that cassata. In the mean time, let me introduce you to my favourite macarons...

Coconut and Mango Macarons

You will need:

110g icing sugar
50g ground almonds
1 tsp coconut extract
2 egg whites (60g), aged for 24 hours (just leave them on the kitchen counter, uncovered)
40g caster sugar

Mango flavoured Swiss meringue buttercream - follow the recipe here, using mango purée instead of strawberry. You'll need about a quarter of the recipe; freeze the leftovers for up to 6 months.

1. Sift the 110g icing sugar into a large bowl, and mix in the almonds.
2. In another bowl, whisk the egg whites until frothy, then slowly whisk in the caster sugar until you have soft peaking meringue. Add the coconut extract and carry on whisking until stiff peaks form. If you want to add a colouring to your macarons, I recommend the gel type, and you should add it with the extract.
3. Add the almond and sugar mixture, and fold in. You are supposed to do this in exactly 50 strokes, and turn the bowl 45° after every tenth stroke. I don't think it's of paramount importance - you should just have a smooth mixture. Thick is good here. If you spend too long folding in, you'll get a too-thin batter and your macarons won't stay in pretty little rounds.
4. Put this mix into a piping bag with the end snipped off, and pipe circles about 2 inches in diameter, well spaced apart on a lined baking sheet. You should have between 28 and 30 blobs of mixture. Let's call it 29.
5. Let them sit for 30 minutes while you pre-heat the oven to 150°C.
6. Bake for 12 minutes on the bottom shelf. Cool completely on the sheet, and then remove using a pallet knife.
7. For the filling: use the Swiss meringue buttercream to sandwich the mac shells together. If you don't fancy all the work of a Swiss, you could use strawberry jam and sprinkle in a little dessicated coconut for extra texture. It would be delicious, and I'd be happy to taste them for you.

Orange-Glow Chiffon Cake

I know it looks scrappy, but this is actually the best cake you'll ever taste.

You can see that I may have treated myself to a chiffon cake pan since I got one year closer to the big three zero a week or so ago. I even took a photograph of it, which has since been misplaced, but let's just say I ♥ my Wilton and every inch of its diameter.

Lovely.

Before we go any further with this chiffon appreciation, mind you, I just want to say something very serious and quite outside of my usual gently-negative, if-this-genoise-doesn't rise-then-I'm-going-to-blinking-well-kill-myself register.

I want to say how proud I am of my mother.

She is a woman who has worked incredibly hard every day of her life to make sure that we (my two siblings and I) have wanted for nothing. She has gone without to make sure that we get plenty; put everybody else before herself and carried on smiling. She is beautiful, selfless, open-hearted and caring.

Unsurprisingly, these sorts of attributes have allowed her to carve out a very successful career in the years since she returned to work after having had children. Without wanting to go into much detail (I'm scared of being sued!), her work situation got pretty shitty a few days ago. My mum is at the top, yet her first thoughts were of the people she manages. Her team, and their teams. People who depend on her, however indirectly.

Mum, I know you don't really read Delicious Delicious Delicious, and especially not right now, but I just want to say I love you. You are amazing, inspirational and can do anything. Now go get 'em.



And he's back...

So, this chiffon cake. It's pretty good. The neighbour's new housemate said it was so soft he wanted to use it as a pillow when we took some around to eat in their garden. (See, this is why I always tell people they should live in friendly old Cardiff. It's like an episode of 'Cheers', only there's no bar. And no Ted Danson.)

Getting the cake out of the tin is a little unnerving, mind. Rather like the first time you have a manicure and can't believe that you're actually paying someone to torture you in this way (Anyone else bleed? Thank you, 5th Avenue bitches!), it is an uphill struggle to cut the cake out of its aluminium casing without tears or a quickened heart rate.

In fact some of mine stayed in the tin. But with a texture and flavour such as this cake has (Hello there orange! Nice to see you again!), I don't really mind the less than perfect presentation. Besides, those pieces which stay behind are there for a reason: so you can eat them to make sure the cake is perfect. And it will be. This is another Rose Levy-B cake, after all.




I have waxed lyrical about chiffon cake enough on these pages, and I hate to repeat myself. But I will tell you one thing. The small cost of a Wilton tube pan is going to give you a lifetime of forties Hollywood glamour. Worth it. I say here's to Harry Baker!



Orange Glow Chiffon Cake

I watched Rose Levy Beranbaum make this cake in a video posted on Youtube. It seems silly to reprise the recipe here when you can see her do it herself. The video is here, and the recipe, here. Enjoy!

Chocolate and Hazelnut Brownie Torte

I think chocolate doesn't need much styling. You want this.

Well, the jet lag has set in. Not delicious.

I have been thinking about what to write for you tonight for a while, and most of what I have come up with in my tired and cranky state wouldn't really be considered suitable for a blog post.

I thought about telling you how sorry how I am to have been away for so long, but I didn't think you'd want to hear my excuses. I know you know I am a slacker. And it would go against my new policy of trying to stop beginning every post with a 'Sorry I've not been posting much recently...' rehash.

Then, I wanted to tell you about this ridiculous situation that occurred at work, but to do so would go against my policy of ensuring other people's privacy (which is devastating: it was truly hilarious, and I know how much people love airline stories).

Next, I thought about telling you about this creepy experience I had recently with a taxi driver who tried to pick me up (in the figurative sense: he did actually take me to the station) at about 5am in the morning, but that would go against the very same policy. (And the 'No Defamation' policy I sometimes - sometimes - operate under.) Plus, making a connection between a chocolate brownie torte and an awkward and difficult situation I didn't relish might make you feel like you wouldn't want to make said torte. And you should.

(Don't get your hopes up by the way. This is a torte in the sense of 'I made brownies in a round pan.' It's delicious, but not fancy.)

So, given that I seem so restricted by my own self-inflicted rules, I thought I'd tell you about my policy on chocolate cake (for this is a chocolate torte after all). It is to say no.

You have read correctly.

When I was on that TV show (which we don't speak about - another of my policies), the researchers were shocked when I said I thought chocolate cake was boring, and possibly the worst desert ever. But it is true. I'd almost always rather have something else, even if it were something lame like a fruit salad.

Well, maybe not a fruit salad; I mean, come on. But the fact remains: chocolate is overdone.

You know, before we talk more torte, and why exactly I went against my own policy in making it (spoiler: it was quick and easy, and I was tired and short of time), I think I'd like to tell you some more of my policies in life.

I may say 'no' to chocolate cake, but I never say it to Champagne. Ever. Lily Bollinger had it right.

I never say 'no' to moisturiser, and am currently a fan of the little blue tub. Yes, that one. Call me low rent, but it's the perfect night cream and more the fool you if you pay more. (Sorry Elemis - I still love you).

That's all I can think of right now. I am jet lagged after all. Maybe you have some better ideas you can share.

Anyway, the chocolate. Well, we had people to stay at relatively short notice, and macarons were out of the question. Plus, most of the world seems to be of the opinion that to say 'no' to chocolate cake is madness, so I knew I would please the crowd.

Apologies for duplicating a brownie recipe you've already had, but that's how this cookie is crumbling today. Brownies, btw, are really forgiving, and can be made with pretty much whatever flour you have on hand. So if you only have self-raising in the house, or even bread flour (makes a great, chewy brownie), you can still pull this off.

Chocolate and Hazelnut Brownie Torte

You will need:

1 batch of brownies, made from this recipe and baked in a 20cm round tin (leave out the spices)
1/2 cup Nutella
a handful of hazelnuts to decorate

1. I think it's pretty obvious what I did here, but for those who disagree: bake the brownies, then cool and remove from the pan without slicing.
2. Ice with Nutella.
3. Decorate with the nuts.

Coconut and Vanilla Bean Chiffon Cake

I feel like it needs more...

That's better. Strawberries can make all the difference.

Let me tell you of my new new obsession. The one that sits alongside coconut. It's chiffon cake. I know. You've no idea what I'm talking about, do you? (UK readers that is.) Well, let me enlighten you.

My beloved Rose tells me that chiffon cake is an All-American creation, invented by a caterer called Harry Baker in Los Angeles in 1927. His recipe was allegedly a closely guarded secret until he sold it to Betty Crocker (who isn't even real btw - still not over that) in the late forties, and I read somewhere (and now can't find the web page) that it was so popular among Hollywood stars of the time, who ordered it for parties, that he'd often make up to 48 chiffon cakes in a single day, and make the equivalent of $900 doing it.

I haven't quite got that far yet.

Betty Fake Crocker heralded the chiffon as the first new type of cake in more than a century, and that may well have been true. I certainly had never made a cake with this method before now. It's like making a genoise but with separated eggs and added baking powder.

Betty liked to steal Harry's glory...

I have no idea why it has never really caught on in the UK. I've eaten chiffon cakes in Japan, Malaysia and Hong Kong, so am guessing that it's well known all over Asia, and maybe us Europeans have just been missing out. I think this situation needs to change, and that's why I'm posting this recipe. My Coconut and Vanilla Bean Chiffon Cake has a texture like clouds, and the flavour of the tropics. If you don't like it, well, you probably don't like anything.

Not even lying. Look at the flecks of vanilla!

A real chiffon needs a real chiffon cake tin, the likes of which are unavailable in Europe. I know this for a fact, because I've searched EVERYWHERE for one. I think this may be the real reason the cake never caught on in Britain; people grew tired of looking for the correct bakeware. I can't blame them. But Rose, in her fabulous book, has a method for baking chiffon as a layer cake, in a regular cake tin.

I could tell you all about the foam structure of chiffon cake, and why this has proven to be such a difficult dessert to bake in a flat layer cake pan, but frankly, you can just go and buy the book for that. I am more interested in getting you to bake the cake itself, using my re-vamped and coconutted recipe and a method which I have simplified even further from Rose's original. (Which involved insulating the pan with strips of silicone and suspending flower nails in the batter. I tried it, and it worked, but my way works too, thanks to the coconut. No need to get busy here, readers.)

This is the lovely Mr. Other P's current favourite cake. I think it's the name. What's not to like?

Coconut and Vanilla Bean Chiffon Cake

You will need:

115g plain flour
150g caster sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
60ml vegetable oil (I use rapeseed)
5 egg whites
4 egg yolks
90ml coconut milk
40g dessicated coconut
1 tsp vanilla extract
3/4 tsp cream of tartar

1. Heat the oven to 160°C. Have ready a deep 23cm springform cake tin. Do not grease or line it. If you have a 'not nonstick' (for want of a better description) one, so much the better.
2. In a large bowl, mix everything except for the eggs whites and cream of tartar together using a wire whisk, or wooden spoon. Beat everything well until you have a thick, smooth mixture.
3. Beat the egg whites until foamy, then add the cream of tartar and beat until stiff peaks are formed. Fold this meringue into the coconut and flour mixture, and transfer to the cake tin.
4. Bake for 35 minutes, until the cake is well risen and a cocktail stick inserted into the centre of the cake comes out clean.
5. Immediately invert the cake, till in its tin, on a wire rack and leave to cool. When it has completely cooled (give it a good hour or so), run a knife round the edge of the pan and un-clip the tin. Remove the base (you'll need to use your knife here too - chiffon cake sticks to the pan!), turn the cake the right way up and serve in thick slices with whipped cream and berries.

Butter Crisis Cupcakes

Some of the people who ate these think I am the kind of guy who arranges small blue discs of wafer to resemble roses on top of iced cakes. I hate to shatter dreams... But I ordered them online.

Oh my gosh, it's been ages.

And it's going to be pretty brief since it's late and I should really be going to bed. Work tomorrow and I need to sleep off a bad mood, since what should have been, and started out as, a wonderful day rapidly soured when I made the mistake of getting my hair did by someone other than the guy who normally does it. Some lady cut all my hair off! I am angry, upset and frustrated all at the same time. I haven't felt this bad since I watched Lust, Caution (which by the way, I really feel should have been named 'Death in a Quarry' instead).

Devastating.

Anyway... Tomorrow may yet be better.

I have a cupcake recipe for you today. It's one that has been around the web already, but I thought I'd share it since it's wedding season now, and there may be some of you out there who are planning on making wedding cupcakes for somebody, as I did recently. And I don't have anything else to post, so if you were hoping for duck à l'orange, you'd be better going elsewhere today.

It might really help you out though, since the recipe's yield is high considering the ingredients needed. The recipe I would normally use is made up of an equal weight of flour, sugar, eggs and butter. This one more than halves the butter and uses only one egg per dozen cupcakes in place of the usual two. It is the cupcake of mass caterers, and, Honey, it is going to save you a fortune.

Let's face it: the UK butter crisis is never going to get the sort of front page coverage it deserves, but it seems like the days of reasonably priced butter are long gone. On DDD, I couldn't let this pass without a mention. Frankly, I feel I should be wearing a black arm band. It is a sad day indeed when you have to consider the baker's margarine option. This recipe should push thoughts of trans-fats to the back of your mind though. What's more, even the buttercream icing has much less butter in it than the one I normally use. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I feel I should be screaming 'Home Bakers take note!'

Full disclosure (for you deserve no less): I made 138 frosted cupcakes and an 8 inch frosted and filled layer cake for less than £48 with this recipe. That included £8 worth of fancy pants cupcake wrappers, and a cake stand that cost £15.

You want to try it out for yourself, don't you? Be my guest. Just promise to let me lick the bowl.

Lemon Cupcakes with Vanilla Icing
(adapted from The Hummingbird Bakery Cookbook)

You will need:

120g plain flour
140g caster sugar
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
zest of one lemon, grated
40g soft butter
125ml milk, at room temperature
1 egg

1. Heat oven to 170°C and line a 12 bun muffin tin with liners.
2. Mix the flour, sugar, baking powder and lemon zest in a large bowl. Then add the butter and three quarters of the milk and mix with an electric hand mixer on medium speed until all the ingredients are moistened. Turn the speed to high and beat for a further minute.
3. Add the egg and remaining milk; beat in on high speed for 45 seconds.
4. Divide the (quite runny) mixture between the paper cases and bake for 20-25 minutes, or until the cupcakes are well risen and golden brown.
5. Remove from oven and allow the cakes to cool on a wire rack. Then make the frosting.

250g icing sugar
30ml milk, at room temperature
40g soft butter
1 tsp vanilla extract

1. Simply beat all the ingredients together for 5 minutes on high speed, until creamy and fluffy. Use to ice the cakes.

(Special thanks to Dave Fletcher Photography for letting me use the top photo.)

Coffee Cake and Cookery School

One of the cakes I made from the book.

I should be sweeping the front yard. I know, just know, that it is going to rain shortly, and I need to get rid of the grit and compost that re-doing out flowerpots this weekend created.

Oh well, too late. The skies just opened. I guess it'll have to be tomorrow.

Instead, I shall use this time semi-productively and get on with a book review I was meant to do ages ago.

I was sent (about ten thousand years ago) by the very kind people at Michael Joseph a review copy of Cookery School, which is a companion book to a Channel 4 TV series that was on a while ago. I didn't actually watch the programme myself, so I can't really tell you much about it, other than it was presented by Richard Corrigan and Gizzy Erskine.

I know who Richard Corrigan is, and if we're judging by appearances (which I know we're told not to, but still...), I would definitely attend a cookery school that he was teaching at. The man clearly likes a plate or two of food. This in mind, I was quite interested to see what delights lay within the book when it arrived. But more on that later.

Miss Erskine, I have discovered since reading the book, has in the past worked with Harry 'puts vegetables in cakes instead of butter and pretends it's normal' Eastwood, which made me feel quite vomitous to tell you the truth. But I also read somewhere that she used to be a body piercer, so I'm going to award her 5 Fierce Points and let her off for the Eastwood misdemeanor (for now).

(Maybe I should give Harry Eastwood a break.)

It doesn't really matter who the chefs that fronted the programme are actually, since very little of their personalities seem to shine through in Cookery School. Gizzy's sections (tips on topics such as cheese, meat and herbs) are quite conversational in style, but seem rushed (she repeats herself often and relies on the word 'brilliant' too much to describe food). They could have been much better arranged on the page, particularly the herbs feature. She singles out sorrel, for example, as being underrated and encourages readers to look out for it growing wild, but there is not an accompanying picture to show you what to look for.

The lack of clear explanation (and assumption that readers already possess a certain level of knowledge about cooking and food) continues in Richard's recipes. Ingredients I had never heard of, such as lardo, are routinely listed in recipes without footnotes. Perhaps most people already know what lardo is (did you?), but I fail to see how a book that dedicates two whole pages to a step by step process of how to peel and core apples and pears can logically assume it's readers will have a knowledge of foreign ingredients but be unable to properly cut fruit.

Perhaps I am being overly negative. But the subtitle of the book '- where anyone can learn to cook' is, I feel, misleading. It makes it sound like this is a volume for absolute beginners, which it most certainly is not. It is a collection of cheffy dishes made with expensive ingredients.

There were some things I did like about the book. It is divided into clear sections: basic, intermediate and advanced. I must admit I like the idea of a challenge to work through, and it certainly ties in with the idea of a cookery school, but again there seems to have been a strange system of classification in place for the recipes themselves. Roast chicken is apparently 'super advanced' (as is trifle), whereas guinea fowl hash with fried quails eggs is considered basic. Really, Richard? Where am I even going to get guinea fowl?

In the interest of testing out the book on its own terms, I made the coffee cake from the advanced chapter, and considered pork chops, but couldn't be bothered with all that apple and cream rubbish. I had them with cinnamon instead.

I should say up front that I did, despite my lack of love for the book overall, learn a thing or two from the process. For example, that using cold espresso in butter icing gives you amazing coffee flavour (put that Nescafé down), and how to French trim a pork chop.

If you are a cook who wants to learn how to do cheffy things in your kitchen, Cookery School might be a good book for you to consider. But if you really want a basic course in home cooking, get this or this instead. Both also happily Channel 4 tie-ins.

I didn't go in for all the piping kerfuffle, which may have been the reason it was in the advanced section. I also didn't caramalize any nuts. But here's the recipe in case you want to make an advanced coffee cake like I did.

Advanced Coffee Cake

You will need:

300g unsalted butter, room temperature
300g caster sugar
5 eggs
300g self raising flour, sifted
1 tsp baking powder
60ml cold espresso
milk, as needed

200g soft butter
400g icing sugar
60ml cold espresso

1. Grease and line two 22cm round cake tins. Heat the oven to 180°C.
2. Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy, then add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each one goes in.
3. Fold in the flour and baking powder, followed by the coffee, and if needed, milk, to lighten the mix.
4. Divide between the tins and bake for 30 minutes or until a cake tester inserted into the centre of the cake comes out clean.
5. Cool in the tins for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a wire rack. When cool, fill with the icing, which is very easy to make: beat the icing sugar, butter and coffee together until creamy and thick.