afghan biscuits

Afghan biscuits are the original Tim Tam Slams. They're chocolatey, crunchy, chewy, light, soft, sugary, buttery, melt-in-your-mouth {and your coffee!} biscuit delights. And the best part of all, you can fit a whole one in your mouth in one go. Or at least, um, I can {slightly embarrassed smile}. I was dipping afghan biscuits into piping-hot cups of tea and trying to get them from cup to mouth without dribbling them down my chin looooong before the Tim Tam Slam was invented, I'm sure of it.

Afghan biscuits were the sirens of Nan's pantry. They'd start calling me from the minute Mum said "let's drop in to Nan and Pop's", all through the 20 minute drive to their house {I LOVED that house}, right up until I finally got through the pantry door and started lifting lids off cake tins and biscuit barrells. My disappointment if there were no afghans to be found was profound. Finding them, on the other hand ... ecstasy! I remember a time at Uni when I was studying for exams and I ate nine Tim Tams in a row, barely pausing for breath between them {it was an extreme study emergency, I promise}. I learnt to do that first, in Nan's pantry, with afghan biscuits. One biscuit per mouthful, mouthful after mouthful ... after mouthful. Explains a lot actually, now I think about it :)

The biscuits on my blog header are afghans. I didn't cook them {I've never ever cooked them} but I googled and found a bunch of pictures. Who knew they could have so many different looks? When I was a kid my Nan was the only person I knew who cooked them and I thought they were her special magic, and could only be found in her special magical pantry. While it seems they're not such a secret, I know that getting them just right requires a special knack. I know this because many of the pics I found masquerading as afghans are definite imposters. If the shape is not like a slightly squashed drop biscuit, kind of lumpy and random, with hints of cornflakes on show; if they don't have glistening chocolate icing drizzled on top; if they're not capped off with walnut pieces or another yum topping; if you can't eat one in a single crunchy, chewy mouthful, then they're not afghans. If it's any help, afghans look like the picture on my blog banner. Exactly, precisely, like that {but sometimes a little different, like, with coconut sprinkled on top}.

It's been {at least} 10 years since my last afghan.

So ... you really must try them. And I hope you can get them just right, like Nan did. And I hope you and your loved ones love them just as much as I do. And I really hope you send me the story and some pics of your afghan biscuits cooking adventure.

I had some real trouble finding the recipe in the mixed up pages of Nan's book, so in the end I decided to call her up and ask about it. Here's what she said {remember, she's 89, mostly blind, and hasn't been able to cook for about 10 years!}:

"It's on one of the pages in the big book, but it doesn't say afghans, it's just under Chocolate Biscuits. It's not in Pop's handwriting, it's in blue biro in my handwriting. It's on a left hand page and it's written down the bottom."

 Hooray! Another scan through the book and there it was.

1/4 lb marg
3/4 cup sugar
1 egg
1 cup SR flour
1 tablespoon cocoa
2 cups cornflakes

Cream marg and sugar. Add egg then dry ingredients, lastly cornflakes. Mod oven. Ice when cold.

That's it? How on earth can you cook biscuits from that? So I had to ask Nan for some more instuctions. Here's what I got, I hope it helps {and if anyone can tell me what "Mod oven" means ...}: 

"Pffft. I've never used margarine in my life. Always, always use butter!"

"Spoon a generous teaspoon, not a tablespoon, onto the baking tray. Don't flatten them, they'll flatten themselves."

"Ice the biscuits to your preference."

{Whatever does that mean? Apparently the ingredients for chocolate icing are icing sugar, butter, boiling water, cocoa - I'm afraid have no idea how much of each, or how to make it} 

"Put whatever you like on top, nuts, coconut, pieces of cherry."

So, lovely blog friends, happy, happy cooking :)

Lis x

the recipes

Remember I said that Nan had been collecting recipes for 70+ years?  Well, here they are. One book, endless torn, tattered, splattered pages ... and the odd packet of Kleer View preserve covers {turns out they still exist}.

I know which recipes I want to post on here, the only challenge will be finding them. Wish me great good luck!

 

Lis x

an Aussie kid's feast

I have the most vivid recollection of Mum parking the car in Nan and Pop's driveway, and me getting out, racing through the back lattice gate, up the stairs past the clothesline {another story about that later}, into the sunroom, through the back door and, after an immediate sharp left, finishing up in heaven the pantry.

This was no ordinary pantry. Pop's house was built back when pantries were about the size of today's walk-in closets. For a kid, opening the door was like stepping inside Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. I would lose myself in there for 15, 20, 30 minutes even, before I finally reappeared to say hello to everyone. I marvel still that I was allowed to, but I was and it was the_most_awesome_thing!

Nan collected recipes for 70+ years and she tested them out on the harshest of critics - 7 children, countless grand children and an endless stream of visitors that always knew you could get morning tea, afternoon tea AND supper at Bub and Jimmy's.  That's right folks. Every single day, not a day missed, my Pop sat down to breakfast, morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner and supper, lovingly served by my Nan. The staple meals were regular Aussie {Tassie} fare - toast, cereal, meat and three veg, always a roast on Sundays. But the other 'meals' ... they were something else alright. They were the feasts that little kids' dreams are made of. And they were the reason I got lost in the pantry, via the back door, every time we ever visited.

Or at least that's how I remember it.

You might call it a strange, dissapointing irony that I don't cook {or like those that love me most, you might simply be deeply grateful}, given how much Nan's pantry shaped my love of food and treats. I prefer to look at it a little differently. If I could make the things that Nan made, if I could just pop down to the shop, pick up a few ingredients and whip up the most heavenly batch of afghan cookies, then all the magic would be gone. Did you watch the opening ceremony of the Sydney Olympics in 2000? Or perhaps you saw the Wizard of Oz as a kid.  Or my favourite, Alice in Wonderland {swoon@Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter}. If you did, then consider for a moment that THAT is what my childhood adventures in Nan's pantry felt like. Utterly magical! Utterly astonishing! So I prefer to think I was destined not to cook, because I'm destined to live in awe of the magic that is someone else's pantry cupboard full of lovingly homebaked treats.

And that's where you come in.

I have a box of recipes carefully torn from magazines, hurriedly scrawled while listening to the radio, or later watching the {black and white} television, or lovingly gifted from friends and family, or even their friends and family.  All of them yellowed, fading, splattered with decades of cake mix.

I want to share these with you, one-by-one, in the hope that you'll share them right back with me. Would you be kind enough to make the recipes for your friends and family, and help me honour my Nan by sharing your cooking and eating stories and photos with me, here on 'nan's pantry'?

This is a community project and I'm hoping you will be my community, my Nan's community. If you're thinking "yes, yes I would LOVE to cook your Nan's recipes for the special people in my life" then I would love to hear from you.

And now I'm wondering when I should post the first recipe. Perhaps ... when I have 5 magnificent home cooks join me in this heart felt adventure? Yep, I think that feels about right.

Please ... will you join me?

Lis x