COASTING ALONG with Libby Greig

The icing, a trifle, a slice, a tiny morsel … some crumbs from the great high tea of life.

2020 WAS THE YEAR OF HOME BAKING AND NOW, LOOKING BACK WITH NOSTALGIA ON MY OVERSEAS TRAVELS, I THOUGHT I’D COMBINE TWO OF MY FAVOURITE SUBJECTS. SO I BRING YOU SOME EXCERPTS FROM MY TRAVEL DIARY.

The UK: home of the celestial cream slice, heavenly scones, and the Victoria sponge

Today (reads my diary), I am on a pilgrimage to Betty’s Tearoom in Harrogate in Yorkshire. Home of the celestial cream slice. These rate so highly I am worried they won’t live up to the hype, with thick white custard cream between light puff pastry, raspberry jam and a light dusting of icing sugar. Oh golly. A sort of northern mille-feuille, but so thick you can’t put it straight into your mouth. I do hope these haven’t been Brexited yet.

On the way here we dropped into the Duke of Portland at Welbeck Abbey, the ‘Cavendish-Bentincks’ to you and, rather than have the great unwashed trail through their home ruining the carpets, they have designed the most beautiful galleries filled with exquisite and eclectic treasures. The collection includes the family silver, miniatures and portraits, fascinating royal keepsakes and, most importantly, cake. Seriously fluffy scones that are light and utterly delicious. Coconut cakes, lime and courgette cupcakes and a huge Bakewell tart.

The uprising of the Victoria sponge. You heard it here first. Yes, the Victoria sponge is making a comeback, seen in all the best tea rooms around Scotland. Forget the oatcake and the Dundee cake; the winner is the Victoria sponge.

India: plain cake from The Raj, and macaron madness

I hate to break this to you but my research into the influence of cake in post-modern Asia has found the macaron is king. Twelve years ago you would never find one of these little meringuebased confections outside France, but now whole sugar empires are built upon them.

In its attempt at world domination, the macaron must be stopped. In Japan, sadly, it is too late; the rot has set in. Green-tea macarons are all the rage in Tokyo and can be found stacked high in glorious patisseries in Hiroshima.

In India they can be found, too, in Delhi and Mumbai. But who actually eats them? Can you remember when you last ate one? I thought they may have gone the way of the dreaded cupcake, but no.

The French should recall macarons in the interests of cultural misappropriation or protect its name like they did with Champagne. Macarons are smothering good old-fashioned cake. Quite frankly, if the French like them so much then, MarieAntoinette should have said, ‘Let them eat macarons.’

Goa: oh for a Portuguese tart, or perhaps a divine surprise

Continuing my research into ‘The Influence of Cake on PostColonial India’ (the breath-taking series will soon feature on the SBS cooking channel). Episode 1: the Portuguese.

We have been staying in Panjim the hot, dusty heart of Goa, in the small area filled with lovely houses, though most of them need restoration by the National Trust. There are small streets with terrace houses, and Baroque churches that look like white wedding cakes – all laying claim to some fingernail of a saint, or some relic from their very own inquisition. Think a cross between Paddington and New Orleans with martyrs.

I imagined the place would be full of tiny patisseries all selling Portugal’s major cultural export, the Portuguese tart. Well, I am sad to report there are no Portuguese tarts in central Goa. And furthermore they have never even heard of them! Silly me.

What they have instead is bebinca, which is layer upon layer of coconut, jaggery and egg yolks cooked separately over a day to makes a sort of ribboned layer cake cut finely. Pretty

yummy. There is a pudding called divine surprise, too, which is frozen – I thought I could taste condensed milk – in a little pot with a thick dusting of coconut sugar and ground Marie biscuit. Heaven. There are small pastries of coconut and jiggery, a sort of sweet samosa. In fact the coconut could be Goa’s national emblem. When it isn’t falling from on high and killing people it can be found in fish curries, drinks, puddings and the odd cake.

There are only a few bakeries. Instead, your daily bread arrives with a boy on a bike who honks under your window at six in the morning until you are forced to get up and go and buy half a dozen fresh tiny crusty rolls.

Japan: oozing sugar dumplings, and waffle sandwiches

How can I not mention Japanese cake? It is a national obsession. The Japanese never stop snacking and the people are slim and healthy just like the French used to be.

It’s all here, from tiny cafés with excellent coffee, to sublime restaurants, and street food. There are French patisseries with windows full of the most magic confections. Sugar dumplings oozing with cream and fruit. The stuff of dreams, or nightmares, depending which side of the sugar debate you are on.

I followed a tiny woman into a donut shop (please don’t even ask what I was doing there). I watched with wonder as she filled her tray with at least seven different varieties. Then she added a chocolate one for luck as they were all popped into a cute bag for later.

Passengers travelling on the fast trains unpack little packets of yummy things just like a story by French author Guy de Maupassant about a peasant women unpacking a wonderful picnic she has thoughtfully bought with her. Of course, it doesn’t end well, but what story of his does.

On a ferry, three very pretty giggling girls (from school) offered us the local speciality: waffle sandwiches filled with thick sugary red bean paste – highly nutritious of course.

Department stores also have huge floors of delicious things just in case you feel peckish while buying socks.

The latest rage in Japan is based on a German cake called a baumkuchen, baked on a rotisserie and with a big hole in the middle. It’s a sort of super donut but is not fried. People queue for hours to buy these latest cake sensations. Don’t come home without one. They are just the latest thing. Our English friend who lives in Japan doesn’t understand it. He says it is a dry old cake with a hole in the middle. Ahhh well, one person’s baumkuchen is another’s donut.