Spring Hunger

I'm hungry as a hunter most of the time these days.
This happens every March, when the weather seems to revert to
a Wintry Chill, despite the returning (and very welcome)sunlight.

The food associated with an Irish Spring is always modified
by Lenten fasting in my mind. I remember the strange practices
of adults in pre-Vatican days. They measured food as if it was
gold dust, and somewhere was written a complex code of behaviour
which measured out meat, fish and bread.
I still feel awed when I think of it, and somehow I find that
the lean days live on in my cooking.
I use oil rather than butter, though I suppose this should be the
case all the year round. I cut down on eggs, even though they are
plentiful and not emerging, ghost like, from isinglas, as they often
did in the Meath kitchens run by thrifty housewives.

This preamble is in praise of a wonderful cake which arrived
by post and which broke me out of any reverie that Lent and
its memories might have caused.

Hit the title bar here. You will see a Simnel Cake
that has caused me happy dreams, even though it was eaten
to the last crumb.

If I can get my hands on the original recipe,
I'll share it readily with you, dear reader.