Welsh Cakes anyone?

So, this might just be the one blog that isn’t entirely related to running *shock horror* but it’s going to be a pretty yummy one.

We’re now 8 days into Lent and I’m craving chocolate and sweets like mad, looking for everything and anything to fill in for the yumminess I’m desperately missing. My sister is also missing them… Hence why I’ve been unanimously badgered into making Welsh Cakes by family members (all bar two; one who was snoring so hard during the conversation we thought a Chinook was coming through the ceiling and the other is four-legged and will eat anything put in front of her). And, seeing as St David’s Day is nearly upon us (1st March) and Welsh Cakes are the only things I can cook, I didn’t think it was such a terrible idea.

Plus, I shall be drowning my sorrows in cake as I’ll be going to the Bath Half Marathon on Sunday but as a spectator, thanks to my ridiculous amount of chest infections. I’ll be cheering on my running club and photo taking so it will be great anyway.

For those not clued up on St David (I wasn’t until I Googled it…. Bad Welsh person), he’s the Patron Saint of Wales, a lover of daffodils, leeks, seaweed bread, lots of cake and laughing at children wearing crazy Celtic outfits. An all-out dude. Or was. It’s not a national day for us like Australia Day or Thanksgiving but we like to be particularly Welsh by drinking home-brewed beer, watching rugby and wearing indiscreet daffodil hats.

The things we do eh?

So to get in the swing, the Welsh Cakes are the way to go. The best part is being bought all the ingredients so you can make your mini masterpieces and making something that folk want more of. Again people wanting more of what I’ve made is like Papa Smurf finding out he’s secretly Delia Smith. Totally. Awesome.

So here are the ingredients in case you lovely people want to try them yourselves

IMG_4014[1]225g plain flour
85g caster sugar
½ tsp mixed spice
½ tsp baking powder
50g butter, cut into small pieces
50g lard, cut into small pieces, plus extra for frying
50g currants
1 egg, beaten
A splash milk

You know those people who use every pot and pan in the kitchen to whip up beans on toast? That’s me. Except the more I try to tidy up, the worse it gets. And I tend to get flour everywhere… On the worktops, on myself, on the dog if she’s anywhere in sight. And to note, the gorgeous little dog was in fact there, staring me out with her puppy eyes wanting my Welsh Cakes. Caught on camera poochy.

IMG_4017

My little lumps of Welshness take about 8-10minutes to cook on the George  Foreman grill(at which point my lovely family members have already pinched the hot ones and burned themselves because they were impatient). And Bella Pooch has continued to follow me around the kitchen doing said cute face until I give in. I didn’t give in, my sister did.

They don’t look like much but they are pretty good. They’re also not the healthiest of treats but considering I’ve given up chocolate and sweets in a funny half hour of madness, I’ll let it slide.

IMG_4020[1]It’s a good thing I run and exercise on a regular basis. I’d be more wobbly than I am already but I guess I’d be a happy little Welsh Cake all the same!

Having made about 30+ of these little beauties, nibbled on various ones throughout the process and now feeling thoroughly sick, I might just lie down and indulge in yet more episodes of House of Cards.

When I said this post would be running-free, I fibbed slightly. Before embarking on my cake-bake, I decided to go for a short run locally to refresh the brain. I set my self up and went out into the cold for a run. I did a mile. My chest was all wheezy and I felt a bit funny. Big fail. I haven’t been sleeping well so think my body was in ‘House of Cards’ mode and didn’t want to move further than my front door. Minor running glitch. Was feeling a bit like this…

IMG_4022

Deciding whether I’ll go running tonight or to a crazy 2-hour Zumba class with toning exercises and lunges.

Or, I might just hunt out my rugby shirt, eat some leeks and wear a daffodil hat to celebrate my heritage. And you think I’m kidding…

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