Over a Sunday bacon butty me & the chap were discussing our Dad’s favourite cakes & biscuits. My Dad favoured a Garibaldi biscuit. I think in the main because me & me bro would not eat anything with currants. So his biscuit of choice would always be in the tupperware tub. Chap’s Dad was a fan of a Sad Cake. Which begged the question, who loves a Sad Cake & more importantly what makes it sad? The answer turned into a wonderful discoverie of currant cakes, that connects all of the North West of England, the sea and greatest biscuit of them all.
The bacon butty debate was sparked by 8 Eccles Cake. During a Lancashire Bowland & Bay Food Tour, we were patiently waiting as Graham Kirkham took cheese orders and I spotted them. Packs of Mrs K’s Eccles cakes (Graham’s Mum & “The Mrs Kirkham” of Lancashire cheese, baker extraordinaire). Perfect sensory opportunity for 8 local ladies post cheese tasting. The delight was obvious. This was more than a cake – it was a memory being ignited in a mouthful of sweet pastry and super sun-ripened grapes. So like my Dad expression, when he sat back with the pink FT on his knee, brew in hand, Garibaldi bitten in half.
Until this morning I had no idea that all these moments are part of a North West foodie history. As unique as a Preston butter pie or a Cumberland rum nicky. Each currant baked wonder has been on a journey. Adapted across the landscape by enterprising bakers. Mum’s making afternoon sweet snacks for cotton mill workers, from left over flaky pastry, plus pantry jar staples of currants & demerara sugar. In a transformation of Darwinian proportions, the Eccles Cake & the Garabaldi biscuit are finches of the same flock.
From the outskirts of Manchester (historically Lancashire in 1793) came the famous Eccles Cake. Then further up the Northern road appeared the Chorley cake. If you head to east Lancashire mill towns, you get the Sad Cake (Darwen, Blackburn, Accrington et al). What makes these cakes connect is the same recipe, they just get flatter and less sweet. So the Eccles cake might be enjoyed as a cake treat and the Sad Cake could be used a vehicle for jam or cheese on top. The name Sad, relates to the “not risen” aspect of the cake, rather than the delicious rating. So a 3 inch Eccles became a 6 inch Sad cake served with Lancashire cheese as a post lunch pick me up.
For my entire life, until this morning, I thought Garabaldi biscuits were from Italy. Turns out they are an extension of the currant cake flattening tradition, as it moved north into Cumbria. Back in 1854 General Guiseppe Garabaldi, the leader of the struggle to unify Italy, visited South Shields. Such was his popularity a biscuit was named in his honour. Made by one Jonathan Carr of Carlisle. If that surname rings a bell, then yes you are following the crumbs down the right path.
Mr Carr, is the Mr Carr of water biscuits fame. The water biscuit was designed along the lines of the dry biscuit used for sailors. This humble little biscuit has been the go to wine tasting pallet cleanser, the fine cheese edible plate and store cupboard staple. Famously understated, Carrs Water biscuits, have held Royal Warrants since 1841. Jonathan Carr gave the cotton mill currant cake, the magic of longevity & cake became seafarers currant biscuit. Genius at work. Not that they lasted that long once my Dad opened a pack.
Kirkhams to Carrs, my north westerly foodie adventures continue. The tale of Cumberland Rum Nicky however, will have to await another afternoon tea.
