Soft and fluffy little vanilla and lemon cupcakes with bites of fresh cherry, brushed lightly with a lemon soak so that their bare edges don’t dry, topped with a marbled cherry and lemon icing and filled with an unsweetened but vanilla-flecked whipped cream—a soft balance for the sweet icing.

Sometimes the heart just wants a cute cupcake; a basic, perfectly soft vanilla sponge with icing, like the ones that I made when I was wee. We’d buy the box mix of Tom and Jerry branded cakes and bake them in little paper cases, and they’d be strewn with a baby pink icing that tasted like artificial strawberries, and stamped with an edible paper sticker, applied with sticky icing-coated fingers. They were the best. I’d make them with my mum and usually my cousin, too, on afternoons at the weekend, or during summer holidays–just one of the many, love-fuelled baking-related, core memories I have, that makes me smile to myself when I think back. Making these made me happy, eating them made me happy, looking at them makes me happy–I hope they have the same effect on you.

The sponge used here is, in my opinion, the perfect, easy and basic but delicious vanilla sponge. It can be made as either 12x cupcakes, or 1x 8-inch cake, and I hope that you go on to use it in any scenario when a good vanilla sponge is needed.

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A sponge of black sesame, cocoa and black cocoa, dredged in a soak of orange and lemon juice to lift the darkness. Layered with a black cherry and coffee compote, coated in a salted tahini Swiss meringue buttercream, decorated with black cocoa paste.

It is rare these days that I can afford myself the time to make something entirely motivated by fun; something to make to be creatively free with, without the need to think: ‘will people want to make this? does it look delicious? is it worthy of going up as a recipe?’. I didn’t make this cake with the intention of sharing it on here, but it was so delicious that I felt compelled to. The black sesame and cocoa sponge is so beautifully moist, with the subtle earthiness and nuttiness from the black sesame seeds rippled through. The citrus soak lifts these dark flavours beautifully, not so much lending a stand out flavour but instead acting as a balancing element. The slight bitter edge from the coffee in the cherry compote connects it to the sponge seamlessly, and the slightly salty and savoury notes from tahini in the satin-like buttercream–one of my favourite flavours of buttercream–is the perfect finishing touch and taste.

I imagined this cake a while ago–not exactly in the form that it eventually took on, but I guess that’s what happens when you allow yourself creative freedom. The idea was inspired by these little cakes that I made a few years ago now:

It was a design that I knew I wanted to revisit, but this time doing it on a larger scale. I would describe the first cakes as more elegant, whereas this cake became something that almost felt slightly more eerie and dark, but beautiful in its own way (I think..). When I finished applying the buttercream to the sponge, I was so in love with the bareness of the cake that I was tempted to leave it as it was, before deciding that there would be plenty of other opportunities to make a more ‘classically’ beautiful cake, and to instead finally pursue this imagined, more detailed cake.

Since I didn’t go into this cake with the intention of sharing the recipe to Substack, I didn’t make a cherry compote for this specifically, but instead used a cherry and coffee jam that I’d made a little while ago. You can just use a good quality shop bought cherry jam or compote here, with the optional addition of some coffee mixed through, or I’ve also included a very quick and easy cherry compote recipe that I have used many times for other cakes.

If you like the idea of this cake as far as flavours go but don’t want to build it like I did, simply leave sponge as it is (i.e, leave it is a 20x30cm cake, and don’t cut it into the various sizes required to build into the shape that I did), apply the citrus soak, top with the buttercream and then apply dollops of the cherry compote on top.

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I’ve a memory from my childhood; if I close my eyes I can still remember the taste of the specific marble cake we’d get, and it’s aroma of cocoa and vanilla. I’m transported to sitting at the dining table, my little legs dangling from the chair, eating a small slice from an equally small plate, picking up crumbs with the tips of my tiny fingers. It is not like a vanilla cake or a chocolate cake, despite being comprised of both, but has a taste completely unique to itself, and each bite different. A beauty and marvel to look at as well as eat.

This version plays into the nostalgic element, while also feeling more refined and mature. It incorporates black cocoa as well as dutch-processed for intensity, and the aromatic flavours of cardamom and orange, all wrapped up in a beautifully tender crumb. When still warm the cake is slicked in a citrus soak of orange juice, lemon juice and sugar, and when cooled is drenched in a luxuriously smooth dark chocolate ganache.

There are many ways to produce the swirls and patterns that make a marble cake what it is–I’ve come to favour putting the mixtures in piping bags and piping it into the loaf tin, then using a skewer or chopstick to swirl the mixture, moving side-to-side as I work my way from one end to the other, to be the most effective at producing clean and beautiful shapes in the finished cake. Don’t be tempted to go overboard with the swirling–less is more.

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Soft textures, sweet summer flavours; a moist, tender sponge delicately scented with fresh lemon zest, layered with a perfectly light but creamy and mousse-like vanilla cheesecake that enrobes pieces of ripe peach. Finished with a brown sugar crumble spiced with cinnamon and cardamom, for a touch of sweetness, crunch and warmth. Adorned with the dried peach skins of the fruit that lies within.

My kitchen is currently bathed in the scent of ripe stones fruits. I always get a bit giddy when I start to spot them in the shops–little packages of plump, orange-glowing apricots, silky-skinned nectarines and peaches with their gently fuzz. I check in on them each time I visit the shops, keeping a close eye on their ripeness, awaiting the perfect time to pounce and begin my hoarding of these coveted fruits. And just last week, that time came. Now, the shelf in my kitchen window sits billowing with the fruits, lending their scent to fill the air with the sweetest perfume. This cake sits as an introduction to what will likely be a summer filled with bakes and other treats focused around stone fruits.

This is the perfect make-ahead cake, as once the sponge is topped with the cheesecake layer, I recommend chilling it in the fridge for at least 6 hours to ensure the cheesecake is fully set and cuts cleanly. Leaving it to chill overnight is ideal, though, then removing it from the fridge 20-30 minutes before serving. Because the sponge has a high proportion of oil as the fat element (as opposed to entirely butter), this keeps it lovely and moist and prevents it from going hard when kept in the fridge. For the crumble topping, I recommend adding it no more than 2 hours before serving, to ensure it maintains its crunch. You can however make it the day before serving, storing in an airtight container in a cool, dry place.

If you’d like to make the dried peach skins for decoration, simply place the skins onto a piece of baking paper and let air-dry to a day or two in a cool, dry place. The peeled peach segments should then be stored in an airtight container in the fridge, until ready to use.

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Milk oolong tea is beautiful with its distinct yet gentle notes of vanilla, cream and caramel, grounded by a gentle woodiness that lingers beneath its creamy sweetness. Here, it is infused into cream and milk, lending the panna cotta its delicate notes and creating a dessert that is subtle rather than overly rich, with layers of flavor that unfold gradually.

To balance the softness of the panna cotta, it is finished with a jelly of fresh strawberry and a touch of floral elderflower to bring out the complexities of the strawberry–it brings a brightness and floral lift that complements the tea without overpowering it. Together, the jelly cuts through the creaminess of the panna cotta, and gives the dessert a clean, spring-edging-on-summer-like finish.

The contrast between the silky panna cotta and the gently set fruit jelly makes each spoonful feel light despite its richness. It’s a dessert that sits somewhere between comforting and elegant—familiar but nuanced. It is the perfect dessert for a warm evening.

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There are cakes that comfort, and there are cakes that linger.

This one unfolds slowly—first the softness of chocolate cake, delicate but grounded, then the quiet depth of coffee rising through the smooth mousse that follows, carrying with it the heady aroma of roasted peanuts in a way that feels both familiar and indulgent. And then the dark chocolate ganache top, giving way with the slightest pressure–bitter enough to hold the sweetness in place, rich enough to make you pause. Nothing is sharp, nothing abrupt. It’s all rounded edges, softened lines, flavors that melt into each other rather than compete.

It’s a cake built on contrast, but not tension. Soft against smooth. Sweet against bitter. Light against depth.

Chocolate and peanut butter can so easily become overwhelming—too dense, too sweet; too much of everything all at once. But I was more interested in something quieter. Something that feels rich without weight, indulgent without excess.

The sponge is light and delicate on the tongue, but robust enough to hold everything else. The mousse carries the body of the flavour, but it’s been softened—lifted with cream, its richness cut with espresso, and balanced with a touch of salt so it doesn’t fall into heady sweetness. A finishing of a smooth layer of dark chocolate ganache to melt on the tongue, and bring out the bittersweet notes in the layers that precede.

It’s not a cake that demands attention, but invites it. The kind you make when you want something that feels a little more intentional than everyday baking, but not so elaborate that it loses its intimacy. Something to slice slowly, to eat when you have the time to notice how it changes from one bite to the next.

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A beautifully tender loaf cake, studded with fresh, jammy strawberries and specks of fresh and aromatic lemon verbena, with a crumb kept moist from ground almonds and olive oil. It is topped with a vibrant lemon verbena sugar crust–gently crunchy and deliciously fragrant.

There’s something about this time of year that calls for gentler flavours—bakes that feel light in spirit, but still comforting enough to carry through an afternoon. The first strawberries begin to taste the way they should: sweet, slightly floral, with a softness that barely holds its shape. They don’t need much, only something to catch and lift them.

Lemon verbena does that quietly. It isn’t as direct as lemon, nor as sharp. Instead, it brings a kind of green brightness—subtle, almost perfumed—that settles into the background and lets the fruit lead. It’s the sort of flavour you notice more as you keep eating, rather than all at once. It is a cake to return to over a few days; the crumb staying tender–maybe even becoming more so–the strawberries deepening as they rest, and the lemon verbena infusing itself further.

Finished with a scattering of lemon verbena sugar, the crust forms a delicate crunch that contrasts beautifully with the softness within. It’s the kind of cake that feels equally at home with an afternoon cup of tea or as a quiet, fragrant dessert, served with a velvety spoonful of creamy yogurt or a lightly whipped crème fraîche.

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Golden choux buns, soft and gently chewy, topped with crisp roasted almond craquelin and filled with a silky roasted almond crème diplomat which swirls around a sweet hidden heart of macerated strawberries. Finished with little rounds of fresh strawberries, and a blush of dried strawberry and Kissabel apple powder, to bring a delicate tartness.

An abundance of ruby red, shining strawberries in the shops is the clearest of indicators to me that spring is here, and summer is on its way. I wholeheartedly believe that the best strawberries are Scottish strawberries, though I am of course bias. I’ve so many memories of strawberry picking when I was little–it was a common occurance on sunny, summer afternoons, to go to a nearby farm and spend hours trawling through rows of strawberry plants, their sweet scent mingling with the warm air and rising up to create an almost intoxicating aroma. My eyes were always on the largest, juiciest strawberries, which when found would inevitably be eaten immediately as opposed to landing in the basket swinging from my little hand that it was intended for. As expected as these strawberry picking excursions were, so too was the aching stomach I would give myself from eating too many of the tempting fruits. I always have been, and I suspect always will be, an avid eater of fruits, and even now I give myself a stomach ache often from eating too much.

There is something inherently joyful about a strawberry; a childlike sweetness and innocence to them, despite the fact they’re often associated with more lustful contexts–dripping in chocolate, or drenched in a sea of satin-like cream–where they of course sit perfectly, too. It is the fruit that I feel the most strongly should only be eaten when at the peak of their season and ripeness, when they are the most vivid, flavourful and fragrant. When done so, very little is needed to be done to them, which is why here they are just lightly macerated in a touch of sugar. Their slightly floral sweetness pairs so well with the gently comforting taste of roasted almonds, to create a dish that feels bright and fresh, but also incredibly comforting, and very suited to the warmer and sunnier weather that will hopefully become commonplace in the coming weeks and months.

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Little cakes of gentle sponge, soft with brown sugar and subtly fragrant with cardamom and lemon zest, topped with a marshmallow-like, violet-hued blackberry meringue, a delicate layer of vanilla whipped cream, and sweet-yet-tart puddle of ruby red blackberry compote. The kind of cake that feels like early spring.

These little cakes are inspired by a Swedish almond meringue cake–typically baked as one large cake, it features a vanilla-flavoured sponge,which is topped with a basic meringue and toasted almonds, then baked. It is then cut in half and filled with the likes of jams, creams and custards. It is a beautiful cake, and one the needn’t any adjustments, but as often happens, my mind went a little off piste when I was reading about it… though I do still plan on developing a recipe that emulates the cake in a more traditional sense–soon!

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A soft, golden sponge, infused with the subtle warmth of fresh ginger and the brightness of lemon zest, layered with a bright, tangy compote of rhubarb and raspberry, and crowned with a billowing cloud of toasted meringue, its edges bronzed and crisp, its centre soft and silken.

There is some produce that, when I see it, I cannot pass it by; ruby-red, crisp apples; firm, crunchy green grapes; perfectly ripe, plump figs; gorgeously robust and firm stalks of rhubarb, whose shade sits somewhere perfectly between cerise and cherry.

Raw, rhubarb is all sharp edges and assertive tartness, but with a little heat and sugar it softens into something altogether more generous: silky, blushing, and perfectly balanced between sweet and sour. That tension is what makes it so irresistible in baking. It cuts through richness, lifts buttery sponges, and brings a brightness that lingers on the palate just long enough to make you reach for another bite. It offers a vivid contrast that feels both comforting and refined. There’s a kind of quiet magic in the way rhubarb holds its character even as it softens—never cloying, never dull, always bringing that gentle, mouthwatering tang that makes a bake feel complete.

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A tender, soft sponge of vanilla and cocoa; contrasts aligned, gently swirled together, melting into each other. Draped in a silky, smooth olive oil Swiss meringue buttercream that glides on the tongue, and each slice crowned with its own little velvet drop of creamy milk chocolate ganache.

Marble cake is a very nostalgic taste for me–like a quiet kind of comfort. The marble cake I ate as a child was never elaborate—it was a simple, store-bought loaf cake, unadorned and unassuming. I’d be cut a thick slice and served on a small plate, and I would sit with a cold glass of milk, savoring those soft swirls of vanilla and cocoa, the familiar and amusing pattern as much a part of the experience as the taste itself. The swirls and patterns felt like magic.

And while it is a cake that I feel predisposed to loving, it is also one that can easily disappoint. From my experience, marble cake has the propensity towards being dry, or cloyingly dense—its promise of softness falling just short. I wanted something gentler, something that kept the simplicity I loved, but with a more delicate touch.

I tested, adjusted and refined this sponge until it became what I always hope for in a marble cake: light without being airy, tender without losing its richness. A cake that still feels humble and familiar, but with a softness, and a refinement.

And, while a simple, bare marble cake is still a very beautiful thing to me, adorning this beautifully unique sponge with the silkiest olive oil buttercream, and little garnishes of creamy milk chocolate ganache, feels like a celebration for the cake that sweetened so much of my childhood–still best served with a glass of milk by your side.

Notes
– Marble cake can often be a bit denser than a typical sponge, due to reasons like: the cocoa portion having additional dry mass (the cocoa powder) which can weigh down the sponge; increased handling from further mixing to incorporate the cocoa powder; swirling the sponge mixtures together which can knock air out of the sponges. I believe it should be a little more tender than a typical sponge–it’s how I remember marble cakes to be–but to prevent it becoming overly dense or heavy, it is important that you thoroughly cream the butter and sugars together, until very light and fluffy. This should take at least 5 minutes while mixing on medium-high speed on a stand mixer and scraping down the bowl often to ensure the entire mixture gets even mixing. Also make sure not to overmix once the flour has been added–mix just until combined and no more.
– Another important step is ensuring that the vanilla and cocoa mixtures are of the same or very similar consistencies before you start adding them to your baking dish. The recipe already asks that additional milk is added to the cocoa mixture, but you may need to add more to get to the desired consistency.

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An incredibly soft sponge—a Chinese bakery-inspired sponge—layered with bittersweet matcha crème pâtissière and a vivid ribbon of tart rhubarb compote. Finished with a cloud-like coconut ermine frosting that keeps everything wonderfully delicate, not too sweet, and quietly balanced.

Lightness for spring, and a study in contrast and restraint: green and pink, creaminess and brightness, softness and lift. A cake that feels as light and bright as the season my heart is yearning for.

Note: all elements can be made the day before building the cake–the crème pâtissière and compote should be stored sealed and in the fridge, and the sponge and buttercream stored airtight and in a cool, dry place. I would actually recommend making the matcha crème pâtissière and rhubarb compote the day before, to ensure both have fully cooled and set, and to break up the workload.

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Golden, crisp edges with a gentle crunch give way to soft, gooey centres, with pools of bittersweet melted chocolate and pieces of miso toffee in every bite.

I adore developing cookie recipes. It is an alchemy that I am very familiar with, and I take great delight in tinkering with the ingredients and baking to yield all kinds of varying end results. This recipe begins with brown butter, which is mixed with sugars while still hot to aid in caramelisation and yield a crispier edged cookie. A mixture of plain flour, bread flour and cornstarch help to produce a cookie with a subtle chew, and the crunch that I crave on a cookie’s edge. Vanilla and rich, dark chocolate forms the base flavours—deep and bittersweet, with a hint of espresso powder for intensity—which carry pieces of miso toffee that melt and ripple through the dough as it bakes. The miso hums quietly beneath the sweetness, turning the caramel notes darker, more complex.

From the oven, they emerge with edges kissed golden and crisp, delicately crackled, giving way to a center that stays soft, gooey, and just a little chewy. Pockets of melted chocolate and buttery toffee linger in every bite, warm and slow.

Makes 12 cookies

For the miso toffee
butter 35g
light brown sugar 65g
white miso paste 12g

For the cookie dough
butter 180g, to make 150g brown butter
caster sugar 140g
light brown sugar 95g
whole egg 1, large, approx. 55g
egg yolk 1, from a large egg, approx. 18g
vanilla extract 1.5 tsp
plain flour 135g
strong bread flour 50g
corn starch 12g
espresso powder 2 tsp, approx. 4g
bicarbonate of soda 2g
fine sea salt 2g
dark chocolate 150g, I like to do a mixture of small chocolate chips and roughly chopped chocolate bar, but you could also just do a mixture of finely and roughly chopped
miso toffee ~100g, crushed into pieces sized 1-2cm
flaky sea salt to finish

To make the miso toffee
Line a medium-sized baking tray with baking paper and set aside.

Add the butter to a medium-sized pot and place over medium heat. Once melted, add the brown sugar and miso paste and whisk well to combine.
butter 35g, light brown sugar 65g, white miso paste 12g

Bring to a gentle boil, whisking continuously, until the mixture reaches 138C on a food thermometer. Note that this is a slightly softer set than is typical for toffee. Once ready, pour the toffee onto your prepared baking tray and spread into a thin layer with a spatula. Allow to cool to room temperature, then place in the fridge to harden.

Once hardened, place the toffee into a ziplock bag and use a rolling pin or wooden spoon to smash it into small pieces, no larger than 1-1.5cm.

To make the cookie dough
Add the butter to a pot and set over medium heat. Allow to melt, then cook the melted butter until the milk solids turn golden brown, the mixture becomes foamy and smells nutty. Be sure to stir constantly to ensure the milk solids don’t stick to the bottom of the pot.
butter 180g, to make 150g brown butter

Immediately transfer the butter to mixing bowl–I recommend weighing it again to ensure you have 150g. Add the sugars and whisk for 1 minute to help caramelise the sugars in the hot butter, then set aside to cool for 15 minutes.
caster sugar 140g, light brown sugar 95g

Once cooled, add the whole egg, egg yolk and vanilla and whisk until the mixture is smooth, thick and lighter in colour, approx. 30 seconds.
whole egg 1, large, approx. 55g, egg yolk 1, from a large egg, approx. 18g, vanilla extract 1.5 tsp

In a separate bowl, whisk together the flours, corn starch, espresso powder, bicarbonate of soda and salt.
plain flour 135g, strong bread flour 50g, corn starch 12g, espresso powder 2 tsp, approx. 4g, bicarbonate of soda 2g, fine sea salt 2g

Add the dry mixture to the wet mixture and mix until half way combined, then add the chopped chocolate and miso toffee pieces and mix until just combined–ensure no streaks of flour remain and that the chocolate and toffee are evenly distributed.
dark chocolate 150g, finely/roughly chopped, miso toffee ~100g, crushed into pieces sized 1-2cm

Transfer the dough to the fridge for 2 hours, then scoop 12x portions of the dough (mine were around 75g each), place in a sealed container or cover with cling film and return to the fridge for at least 12 hours, or up to 24 hours. While I highly recommend chilling the dough overnight for flavour and texture purposes, if you can’t wait you can place the portioned cookie dough in the freezer for 45 minutes and then proceed with baking.

To bake, preheat the oven to 170C fan and line a large baking tray with baking paper. Bake the cookies 3 at a time, leaving a generous amount of space between each to allow for spreading. Bake for 12-14 minutes, until the edges are golden and crisp and the middle is still soft but risen. An optional step is to remove the baking pan from the oven at 5 minutes and 8 minutes to firmly bang it on a firm surface a few times–this helps to create crisp edges as well as melt and spread the chocolate.

As soon as the cookies are removed from the oven, an optional step is to tidy up the shape of the cookies into more uniform circles by using a butter knife to nudge in the edges, then sprinkle each with some flaky sea salt. Carefully transfer the baking paper to a cooling rack and allow to cool for 20 minutes, then transfer off of the baking paper and onto the cooling rack with a spatula. I recommend letting the cookies cool for at least at least 30-45 minutes to allow the centre to firm up, but if a very soft centre is what you’re into then enjoy!

The cookies will keep for 3-4 days, stored in sealed container in a cool, dry place.

Tender little sponges, held together and made moist by a glut of ground almonds and chopped pistachios. They are heady with cardamom, fragrant with the zests of lemon and orange, candied orange peel and rose water, and contain a hidden heart of marzipan. They are slicked with a lemon and rose water syrup, and adorned with a rose water, lemon and cinnamon icing.

Iranian legend and folklore speaks of a woman that baked a cake for a prince she desired, laced with the intoxicating flavours of rose and cardamom–symbols of love, beauty, warmth and sensuality–and abundant with almonds and pistachios, every fragrant crumb meant to make him fall helplessly in love.

But some versions of the story whisper something darker; that the cake was never about love, but about a rabid hunger for something out-with her reach, only attainable through a quiet spell hidden in sugar and spice. With one enchanted bite, his heart and body would belong to her.

It is a cake that carries two stories in its sweetness: one of romance, and one of temptation, desire and desperation. Variations of the tale end in different ways; one with the prince falling obsessively in love after eating the cake, unable to escape its enchantment; another with the realisation that the love gained was through deception, and that it wasn’t real–the desire and desperation turning into regret and tragedy; the realisation that true affection must be given freely.

NOTE: When developing a recipe that contains rose water, it can become slightly tricky to advice on the amount to use as not all rose water is made equally. Some are incredibly delicate, like the one I use, and some much more pungent. You of course get rose extract, too, which is far more intense and should be used very carefully. The amount of rose water stated in this recipe is for if you too have a very delicate version. If you are not especially familiar working with rose water, and have a brand/version that you know how to use, I strongly advise you test how intense the aroma and flavor is before using by doing a ‘dilution test’:
- Place a few drops of rose water into a bowl with 15ml milk and mix then taste it. If its taste and aroma are particularly strong, then the rose water is likely concentrated and should be used sparingly – 1/4 tsp (1.25ml) to 1 tsp (5ml) should be enough for this recipe. If the taste is particularly delicate, you may need to up the amount use to around 2 tsp (10ml) to 3 tsp (15ml).

This is just guidance. Your rose water might be even weaker and you may find that 15g still isn’t enough–trust your sense of smell and taste, but be careful not to use too much otherwise the cakes will taste overwhelmingly perfume-like. For the syrup and icing, start with a very small amount of rose water and taste the adjust is needed.

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Welcome to the first ‘A Memorable Feast’ newsletter, where I invite a guest to share some of their food memories, rituals and the likes with us; the dishes they return to, the flavors they grew up with, the routines they have.

The way we eat—what we cook, what we crave, what we repeat—says so much about who we are and where we’ve been. I spend a lot of time thinking about the roles memory and emotion play in the way we cook and eat. When I’m developing recipes, I often start from a feeling first—a moment, a place, a person, or a flavor that’s tied to something personal. Food, for me, is rarely just about ingredients; it’s about the emotions and memories that cling to them. But as much as I love exploring my own food memories, I’m just as curious about everyone else’s.

Today, we welcome Rosa Franklin. I have followed and admired Rosa on Instagram and Substack for many years now. We first connected during the lockdown of 2020, when myself, Rosa and a handful of other girls found each other on Instagram when we started to share food content, and within that we formed a little community that brought me a great deal of happiness during those odd times. I’ve always found there to be a sense of comfort in Rosa’s posts, a feeling of ease and warmth that feels captivating and welcoming–it was the case back when she started posting, and stands true to this day. I have always admired the way that Rosa captures the every day in the most beautiful way–from a vase of sleepily drooping tulips, emotive book passages or covers from recents reads, and pieces of artwork, to golden pastries, cups of coffee recent memorable plates of food, and soft moments with her cat, Shiro, at her beautiful home. These posts give us a snapshot into Rosa’s life–the world through her eyes–and, while simple in essence, I feel it is evident that these moments have been captured by someone with a creative and artful eye. Rosa shares these moments in her ‘lately’ posts on Substack, along with many delicious recipes.

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I'm Rosa Franklin, a home baker and cook. I grew up in London and still live here now. I like drinking and eating everything the city has to offer. I share recipes, and snippets from my day-to-day on my Substack.

What was the dining table like for you as a child?
The first thing that comes to mind is how much routine I liked with food as a child… my Mum always tells me that I used to like eating the same things for lunch and dinner over and over, and would never get bored of them–not much has changed there for me!

Both of my parents are really good cooks and they used to make lovely dinners for my sister and I. Usually meals were things that would work for us all after school and work. I grew up in a small Victorian flat, and we sat at a dark wood table which was pushed against a wall with a mirror that hung above it.

Special meals and snacks that stand out in my mind are treats that we’d get from near where we lived. We used to get bagels from Brick Lane and little danish pastries from Rinkoff Bakery. I can still remember exactly how they used to taste, and I still love eating them now.

Is there a particular food memory that sticks out to you in your mind?
A food memory I often go back to is a dinner I had at Peg in Hackney with my now husband. Peg was on Morning Lane, on the corner with nice window seats where you could sit and look out. It’s where Dalla is now. The food and drinks were so special for some reason, everything was simple but really nicely done. I remember Nifemi and I taking a video of ourselves waving to the camera whilst we were there. It’s a very sweet memory.

Do you have any food rituals?
I am a real creature of habit so this question is perfect me for me!

Every fortnight I make a big batch of granola. I make my granola with lots of honey, almonds and seeds. Whilst that’s in the oven I make a fruit compote. I usually make it with frozen mixed berries but recently I’ve been poaching rhubarb in brown sugar and orange juice. That keeps me going for breakfasts throughout the weeks to come. For baking I like to have something that works as a mid-morning or mid-afternoon snack throughout the week. Recently I’ve been recipe testing my almond, blueberry, dark chocolate and pumpkin seed muffins so I’ve eaten a lot of those!

My favourite coffee shop to visit is St David Coffee House which is five minutes from my flat. I like going there and having a coffee and a cream cheese bagel. Their everything bagels are amazing.

For dinners at home Nifemi, my husband, and I like cooking together. We like making pasta dishes with sauces that we cook down for hours so that they’re rich. We also like really easy meals… sometimes the best ones are when Nifemi goes to his parents house and comes back with jollof and ewa; a Nigerian bean dish. We have this with spicy chicken and plantain.

If you had a dinner party coming up with 4 guests, what would you make?
I’ve got to be honest and say starters don’t excite me and I basically never order or make them! I’m a main and dessert girl through and through. Usually when I have friends over at mine I put some olives and salted almonds out in bowls and we snack on those whilst I’m making dinner.

For a main dish I’d make something that I made recently and really loved. Lamb meatballs with lots of spices like cumin, coriander, paprika… lots of garlic, parsley, sourdough breadcrumbs… I brown them in a pan and then cook them in a rich tomato sauce. With them I make a rice dish laced with sweet roasted red onions and little cubes of courgettes. On the side I serve a tahini sauce, a yoghurt and za’atar sauce and a cucumber, red onion and tomato salad covered in nice quality olive oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper and sumac.

After a big meal I like citrus heavy desserts. I’d make a lemon tart, with buttery shortcrust pastry, and serve it with big dollops of creme fraiche.

What is your favourite food smell?
Chocolate! I have a huge sweet tooth. If there’s something on the menu with chocolate in it I’ll pretty much always go for that. I love how chocolate cookies, brownies, chocolate cakes… all of the chocolate desserts smell whilst preparing and baking them.

What is the first flavour, texture or food that comes to mind:
Lust: honey
Love: strawberries
Nostalgia: tinned peaches
Ritual: bread

Rosa is on Instagram at @rosa___tahoe and on Substack at @rosatahofranklin

Tender lemon, poppy seed and cardamom sponges, filled with a beautifully bright raspberry & rhubarb compote, and coated in a crème fraîche Swiss meringue buttercream. A cake that tastes like spring, even if the view outside my window doesn’t quite match that–yet.

I was cruelly fooled into a false sense of assuming that spring was just around the corner after a Saturday of beautiful sunshine. We spent the entire afternoon by the still-frozen lake, watching cross country skiers skate across, disappearing into little black smudges in the distance. The sun felt so strong, warm and optimistic; the sky was perfectly clear. Since then we’ve had a storm, and yet more snowfall, so I turned to a layer cake with flavours that make me think of the sun; raspberry picking in the summer heat, my fingers stained pink and my face littered with freckles; the first rhubarb harvest from the garden, falling near-perfectly inline with the first snowdrops and crocuses that I notice poking through the green; lemon, an eternal source of brightness.

Notes:
– The sponges can be made a day or two in advance. Once they’ve completely cooled, wrap them well in cling film and store in a cool, dry place.
– The compote can be made up to 4 days in advance–once cool, transfer to a sealable container and store in the fridge.
– My personal preference for this cake was to only have the compote between the sponges, but there should be enough buttercream should you want to put a thin layer between the sponges, too.
– I used frozen fruit for the compote, but you are welcome to use fresh if the fruits are in season when making.

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An indulgent, fudgy and moreish torte that combines the bittersweet flavours of espresso and walnuts, with the rich and intense flavour of dark chocolate. Topped with creamy espresso and brown sugar whipped mascarpone, and deliciously sweet and subtly salty cinnamon-spiced candied walnuts. A dessert of heady aromas and deep flavours; for when you’re craving intensity.

A chocolate torte feels like the more mature version of a brownie, especially when welcoming espresso as a hero flavour. It has the same rich, fudgy texture that I yearn for in a brownie, but is more complex, with a chocolate flavour far darker, and a kind of refinement that a brownie lacks. The addition of the candied walnuts here elevates the torte in a way that I wasn’t expecting. They are delicious, and while a little more work than simply topping with regular walnuts, it is a step I highly encourage you make.

This is a wonderful dessert option if you’re having guests over–you can make the torte 2-3 days in advance, storing it covered and in the fridge. The whipped mascarpone can be made in under 5 minutes, which I recommend doing just before serving. It is also naturally gluten free.

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A golden cookie dough of brown butter, dark rye flour and brown sugar, with a satisfyingly thick and crunchy bite that gives way to a soft, gooey core. Chunks of creamy white chocolate are balanced by the bittersweetness of walnuts, and the fruity burst of blueberries. As with all cookies I make, they are finished with a sprinkling of flaky sea salt to enhance all of these beautiful flavours.

To me these taste like a brown butter blondie combined with the top of a deliciously dense blueberry muffin. As someone who favours the edges of a cookie, where they become deliciously crisp and lacey, to make a cookie that prevents those beautiful edges from forming seems slightly idiosyncratic. However, there is something deeply satisfying about the thickness of these cookies. They enlist the help of a baking ring which they bake inside, preventing their spread outwards, instead rising up to produce a wonderfully thick cookie with a crunchy outer layer, and an interior which remains perfectly soft and gooey.

Note: To achieve the thick and evenly round cookies like I have here, you will need to use baking rings–I used 9cm crumpet rings. You can bake the cookies without them, where I would recommend following the same instructions for chilling and shaping, as well as baking temperature and baking time. There are more specific details surrounding baking without baking rings in the recipe.

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A celebration of the gift that is citrus in winter, with the beautiful blood orange taking centre stage. Its beautiful sweet and floral notes are combined with the comforting flavours of cocoa, walnuts and a hint of coffee, to help pull us through the last stages of winter.

A soft and tender sponge of walnuts, cocoa, espresso and blood orange zest, soaked with a chocolate milk sweetened with honey and laced with coffee liqueur. A velvety dark chocolate French buttercream graces the top, with little suns of blood orange jelly bringing a burst of freshness.

I’ve been thinking of how I could incorporate blood orange into a recipe for a while now. I wanted to refrain from an olive oil cake as, while they are wonderful, it is a combination that I have seen and eaten enough at this point. I wanted something more decadent, so naturally my mind gravitated towards chocolate. Chocolate, coffee and nuts are a trio that I turn to often. They work together like magic, complimenting each other and fitting so perfectly together that I’m not sure there is a more delicious, tried-and-tested combination. I have to consciously stop myself from reverting to pairing using chocolate and hazelnut together too often as it is my favourite flavour combination in desserts, and has been since I was a child–walnut is a more than ample substitute, with its subtle bitterness counteracting the sweetness of the chocolate beautifully. The punch of blood orange from the jelly sitting atop the cake, and the citrus in the sponge, brings a much welcomed brightness and fruitiness that lifts this cake with its rich and comforting flavours perfectly.

That citrus is in season during winter feels like a gift from the universe–edible sunshine when it is vacant from our skies. A taste like vivality, that reminds us that brightness and warmth exist and will come. I am currently in a state of being teased that winter is coming to an end–I wake up to a temperature of -7 and feel a sense of relief that the intensely cold days are behind us, but then today I wake up to -21 and I fear they will never end. I sit here dreaming of the day that we wake up to a sky that is not dull and heavy with snow, when the sun is awake before we are, but for now, I will ensure that our fruit bowl is always abundant with citrus.

Note: I recommend making the blood orange jelly the day before making the cake, to allow it to set in the fridge overnight. You can also make the sponge a day before building the cake, wrapping it well in foil or clingfilm once completely cooled and keeping it at room temperature.

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A tender loaf cake laced with fragrant lemon zest and nutty toasted sesame seeds, baked until the crust boasted a rich golden brown, then drenched in a sharp and sweet lemon juice soak while warm to seep deep into the crumb. It is finished with a smooth white chocolate and toasted sesame oil ganache, and the gentle crunch of toasted sesame seeds. A medley of sweet and savoury working in harmony.

Lemon drizzle cake or loaf feels quite underrated or forgotten about, in a sea of other more elaborate cakes, but when done right it can be the absolute perfect sweet treat. This loaf cake is in essence a lemon drizzle, but with the addition of the deep savouriness and warmth of toasted sesame oil to bring a richness and earthiness, and it is topped with a ganache instead of a thin lemon icing, for a touch more decadence. In general I approach white chocolate with caution due to how sweet it is, but combined with the toasted sesame oil it tastes more balanced, with a note of savouriness to interrupt the sweetness.

The beauty of a cake soak, in addition to the fact it imparts more flavour to a sponge, is that it keeps it wonderfully moist for longer–this loaf keeps for up to 4 days, if it lasts that long. If you’d prefer to keep it more simple and less sweet, the loaf with the soak alone, and without the ganache is beautiful, too.

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