Before the whoopee pie and the red velvet, before even the Victoria sandwich, there was the Eccles cake, and its less famous friends from Banbury and Chorley – a “fruit-filled pastry, 60-80mm diameter, 20mm deep”, according to Laura Mason and Catherine Brown’s invaluable guide, The Taste of Britain. Law’s Grocer’s Manual of 1902 declares that although there is “no definite recipe … the great guiding principle” of this “sort of currant sandwich” is “sweetness and lightness”. Which, as anyone who has ever purchased a plastic-wrapped example in a railway station will attest, is not reliably the case. As with so many pastries (for the Eccles cake is, in reality, certainly not a cake), freshness is key – and unless you’re lucky enough to live near a decent bakery, that means getting out the rolling pin yourself.
The pastry
Mason and Brown note that Eccles cake pastry “does not have as much lift as other puff-pastry products”, although they don’t explain how this is achieved – but, as “a typical cake is about 40% currants to 60% pastry”, it seems important to get it right rather than relying on bought pastry as some recipes suggest.
Heston Blumenthal, James Morton’s How Baking Works and Fergus Henderson’s Nose to Tail Eating all use all-butter puff, with the last noting that “oddly enough for a restaurant with a certain carnivorous reputation, [St John] serves a vegetarian Eccles cake, omitting to use the traditional lard in the pastry”. (Jane Grigson’s recipe is the only one I find that includes pig fat, although in shortcrust form, which testers find a bit dry and crumbly in this context, with one commenting that it’s more like a mince pie.) Julie Duff writes in her book Cakes: Regional and Traditional that there is “much controversy” over whether Eccles cakes should be made with flaky or puff pastry. She and pastry chef Claire Clark both plump for the former, and my testers agree: although less crisp and impressively layered than Henderson’s homemade puff, it is richer and produces results that look more like the cakes we’re all familiar with than the towering St John versions. Flaky pastry it is – and we’re all very keen on Clark’s wonderfully buttery recipe.
Filling
Currants, although traditional, are not the only option here: I find a surprising number of people who claim to hate the things, yet prove quite willing to try Morton’s version with raisins (his recipe allows for the use of any dried fruit), or Clark’s sultana variety (“they make the filling moister”). Neither have the punchy flavour of the currant, however, and I find them both unnervingly juicy in this context (if you’re in need of a who’s who of dried grapes at this point, this guide is unlikely to make matters much clearer).
Clark also includes grated apple in her filling, which although it has its fans, gets disqualified on the basis that I want to be able to enter the town of Eccles without fearing for my life, but her candied peel gets the thumbs up because its bittersweet flavour balances out the intense sweetness of the currants so nicely. Feel free to go with your own favourites, however – I’m pretty sure dried fig and crystallised ginger would work very well indeed if you’re feeling particularly bold.
This dried fruit is mixed with butter and sugar to make the filling, generally melted together, but it’s far easier to stuff the pastries if you keep both solid, as Duff recommends. Henderson and Clark use dark muscovado sugar, which testers find a little too strong in combination with the currants and spice, but ordinary caster finds few fans when Duff’s light muscovado has such an alluring caramel flavour. Unusually, Clark adds beaten egg to her filling, too, but, in combination with the melted butter, this makes it very wet and I find it hard to stop it leaking out of the pastry, however tightly I try to seal it. (Blumenthal attempts to solve this problem by freezing balls of the filling before use, which makes the stuffing process much simpler, but doesn’t stop it boiling out of the pastry in the oven). That said, these little cakes can tend towards dryness, so I’m going to plump up the fruit with a splash of brandy, as used in the sweet patties in Mrs Raffald’s 1769 work, The Experienced English Housekeeper (often cited as a forerunner of the cakes in question).
Spices and flavourings
Eccles cakes tend to be quite heavily spiced: Blumenthal puts a whole 5g of allspice in his. That and nutmeg are the most popular, although Clark plumps for cinnamon and cloves, and Duff and Morton mixed spice, all of which are decent substitutes should you not be keen on the standard mixture. Clark adds the zest and juice of oranges and lemons, too, lending the merest hint of acidity, which proves much more popular than Blumenthal’s generous hand with the red wine vinegar, which puts us in mind of a cheap mince pie.
Shaping and finishing
Assembling the Eccles cake can be tricky for the amateur baker: the pastry is stretched around the filling and pinched shut, then the whole lot squashed into a disc shape, at which point it often begins to leak. Henderson has a different tactic, sandwiching the filling between two rounds of pastry instead, which proves much easier to manage, but results in something more like a vol au vent. With regret I revert to the traditional method, being careful not to overfill the pastry, and remembering to slash the tops to allow steam to escape. Brush the finished cakes with egg white and sprinkle with demerara sugar “for extra crunch”, as Clark suggests.
Cooking
Although Law thinks the cakes “look and eat better” if baked in a cool oven as opposed to the hot oven common in “Eccles, Manchester and many adjacent towns”, I happen to disagree: puff – rough or not – is more impressive when baked at a high temperature, which will produce more steam between the layers.
Morton – who believes that “if x is anything, x + deep-frying > x” – recommends cooking the cakes in hot oil instead of an oven, turning them into a cross between an Eccles cake and a doughnut, especially once iced. They’re great hot from the pan, but keep less well than the classic variety, as well as remaining resolutely unpuffed. Like the pizza, this is one food that should stay away from the fryer.
The Eccles cake is best enjoyed with a cup of strong tea, and, as many recipes observe, pairs remarkably well with dry crumbly cheeses – Lancashire, in Henderson’s opinion; goat’s cheese for Morton. I happen to like it with very mature cheddar, but then I’m a southerner, so what do I know.
Makes 10
For the pastry (or you can use 500g ready-made all-butter puff pastry)
250g strong white bread flour
5g fine salt
250g cold butter, cut into 2.5cm cubes
125ml cold water
For the filling
120g currants
50g mixed peel
Zest and juice of ¼ lemon and ¼ orange
1 tbsp brandy, rum or whisky
50g butter, at room temperature
40g light muscovado sugar
½ tsp ground nutmeg
¼ tsp allspice
1 egg white
Demerara sugar, to top
Stir together the currants, mixed peel and zest with the fruit juice and brandy, cover and set aside.
Mix the flour and salt together and then lightly rub in the butter until it’s in small flakes (alternatively, pulse in a food processor). Gradually stir in about 100-120ml cold water until you have a dough, but stop working the pastry as soon it comes together.
Roll out the pastry on a lightly floured surface into a rectangle three times as long as it is wide, trying to keep the edges fairly straight. Fold the top third down into the middle, then the bottom third up over the top, then rotate the pastry 90 degrees so the fold is now facing you. Roll out again and repeat, then wrap in clingfilm and chill for 20 minutes, and then repeat the entire process, and chill for an hour.
Heat the oven to 200C/392F/gas mark 6. Beat together the butter and sugar until well combined, then stir in the fruit and spices.
Roll the pastry out on a lightly floured work surface to about 5mm thick, then cut out rounds about 9cm wide. Put a small teaspoon of filling in the centre of each, then dampen the edge of the circle and bring the edges into the middle, pressing together to seal. Put on a baking tray smooth side up, and squash slightly until flattened. Repeat with the rest, then brush with egg white and sprinkle with demerara sugar. Cut three slashes in the top of each and bake for about 20-25 minutes until golden and well-risen. Allow to cool slightly before tucking in.
Eccles cakes: a proud northern tradition, or a squashed-fly-ridden abomination? Which bakery makes the best, and what do you like to eat them with?
