There are certain foods I am not a huge fan of eating, yet I still appreciate them as an art form because of the skill involved in their creation. Macarons are an example of this (a shocking admission, isn’t it?), as are souffles.

At one place I worked, we made our souffles a la minute. An order would come in, and we would start whipping the egg whites by hand, adding the sugar slowly, then finally incorporating the resulting meringue into a fruit flavoured base. Quantities were ‘eye-balled’, rather than measured, so it was very crucial to make sure you tasted everything before sliding the little perfectly shiny copper pot filled with souffle mix into the hot oven. No matter how many I may have made, I still got great pleasure from seeing the well risen end product swiftly dispatched by the waiter to the dining room.

The most memorable souffle I have ever eaten, was one served to us at Claude’s several years ago. Six of the most perfectly risen souffles arrived simultaneously at the table. We were instructed to make an indent in our souffles with a spoon, though which a waiter then poured a gloriously boozy custard. I ate -every- single last spoonful of it. It was wonderful and warming, and a tremendous way to end a meal.

A good friend recently asked me for help in finding some suitable non-fruit based souffle recipes that she could use. I tried two, which with a bit of luck, ended up being very successful. Both souffles had great lift, were very stable, and were cooked just the way I prefer souffles to be – set around the outside, with a melting texture in the middle.

No recipe today, as I just wanted to share some pictures. It was my first time baking souffles at home, so I was keen to try my hand at photographing them too. The pictures turned out fairly well, even if the whole process was a combination of being a little frantic and hilarious at the same time. And you know what, I tasted them, and think I may be a fan of “certain” souffles after all!

As we turn our clocks back, marking the passing of one season to the next, I can’t help but get a little excited thinking about the fruits that are slowly making their way into our shopping baskets and onto our tables. Fruits such as pears, quinces, and my favourite childhood snack, persimmons.

We loved them so much as kids that whenever persimmons were in season, my father would buy them (always the crunchy, non-astringent kind) by the tray or bagful, have them washed and cut into quarters and left in a dish for anyone to pick and nibble on. I used to marvel at the way some of the fruit had speckled flesh, which made them look as though they had been fed cinnamon while growing.

We occasionally had the dried version of the fruit as well. It was usually thinly sliced and added to sweet soups, but I never really liked its flavour or texture and tended to keep a wide berth of it.

Strangely, I’ve been enjoying eating raw persimmons for so long now that it hadn’t occurred to me until recently, to try cooking with them. A conversation with a friend led me to envision pot-roasting the fruit with brown sugar and perhaps a twist of lemon and vanilla, or peeling and poaching them in St. Germaine (an elderflower liqueur) or a spiced tea syrup. Once cooked, I plan to pair the fruit with little chestnut teacakes or perhaps my favourite gluten-free buckwheat cake.

In the meantime, the baking bug had me craving a generous slice of brioche, so I made a simple brioche ‘tart’, topped with slices of persimmon and yogurt custard.

For this tart, I used Michel Roux’s brioche recipe from his book, Pastry. I have not provided the recipe for it here. You may already have your favourite, or if not, there are many recipes out there to choose from, even this gluten-free one. If persimmons aren’t in season, try figs and pears instead, or a mixture of berries.

Persimmon, cinnamon and yogurt brioche tart :

500g brioche dough, proved overnight in fridge (for a thinner tart or a more balanced fruit to brioche ratio, use 250g brioche dough and adjust baking time accordingly)
Yogurt custard (recipe below)
6 -7 small ripe persimmons (or 4 large ones)

Grease a 28 cm fluted tart tin. Roll the brioche dough out to a rough circle that is large enough to fit the tin and line the tin with the dough. Lightly press the edges up against the sides of the tin. Cover with clingfilm and allow to prove until double.

Preheat the oven to 180’C.

Slice the persimmons as thinly as possible (you can peel them first, if that’s your preference) and arrange them, slightly overlapping on the dough. Pour the custard over the persimmon slices. Bake in the oven for 15 minutes, then reduce the temperature to 150’C and continue baking for an additional 25 – 30 minutes or until the brioche is golden brown.

Allow the tart to cool until just warm before serving. This tart is best eaten on the day it is made.

Yogurt custard :

120g European-style/Greek yogurt
60g caster sugar
4 egg yolks
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon cornflour
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Whisk all the ingredients together just to combine.

Is it just me, or does holiday baking seem to revolve around a lot of dried fruit? Currants and mixed peel for Christmas tarts, dried cranberry stuffing for Thanksgiving turkeys and for Easter, raisin-studded hot cross buns… Mind you, it’s not like I’m complaining. Some of my best friends are raisins.

Every year I make it a point to bake my own hot cross buns. Most years, I experiment with new recipes and last year, I made these which I actually still remember quite fondly. This year, I’ve only managed to find time to try one recipe.

But what a recipe it is. Dan Lepard’s recipe for spiced stout buns have a fantastic crumb and great depth of flavour from the use of stout (James Squire Porter, in my case) and black tea for soaking the fruit in, as well as a generous quantity of ground cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg. They were so tasty, B and I inhaled two each, straight from the oven.

I don’t mean two tiny bite-sized treats either. These are door-stopper sized buns, sticky with sugar glaze and heavy with juicy raisins. Eat two and you may want to consider skipping dinner. But eating two was the only way I knew how to adequately explain their deliciousness.

Forget Simnel cake, cookies shaped like bunnies and chickens and forget chocolate Easter eggs (you can get those at half price after Easter anyway). Trust me, all you need is a hot cross bun or two, ripped from a still-warm baker’s dozen, and a pot of hot tea. The rest of the holiday will sweetly unfold.