Vanilla Slice

Perth is in the middle of a heatwave.  It is 42 degrees outside at the moment, and we're heading towards the most number of consecutive days over 40 degrees.  This has not deterred me from making a vanilla slice to celebrate Australia Day, which is today.

The Australian version of the vanilla slice is essentially custard between two sheets of puff pastry, with the top sheet covered in passionfruit icing.  My experience of the vanilla slice has only been with the store-bought variety, which usually comprises canary yellow custard of a glue-like consistency, dense pastry, and a thick layer of white icing dotted with a few token passionfruit seeds.  It is the solid bright yellow custard that earned the vanilla slice a certain nickname used by my compatriots in Victoria.  I think if I had known about this nickname when I was growing up, vanilla slices would have been more cool.  Instead, they were the afternoon tea choice of people who had difficulty chewing.

I know I'm not painting a particularly good picture here, but a homemade vanilla slice is a different experience altogether.  A light creme patissiere between two sheets of flaky puff pastry and topped with a thin layer of passionfruit icing makes you believe again.

I sort of made this recipe up as I was going along, so it is a bit more rustic looking than I expected.  I've used custard powder to give a hint of yellow but if this brings back unpleasant childhood memories, substitute with cornflour.  


Vanilla Slice recipe

2 sheets ready rolled frozen puff pastry sheets

Custard

1 cup whipping cream
1 1/2 cups full cream milk
1/2 cup caster sugar
1/3 cup plain flour
1/3 cup custard powder
1 tsp vanilla essence
1 egg, lightly beaten

Icing

125g pure icing sugar, sifted
1/4 can passionfruit pulp in syrup (or use 1 passionfruit)


Preheat the oven to 180 degrees celsius.

Grease and line a 23x23cm baking tin. 

Put the pastry sheets on an oven tray lined with baking paper and prick with a fork.  Put them in the oven for about 20 minutes, or until the pastry is a golden colour.  When ready, take out of the oven and place on a wire rack to cool.

Put the cream, milk and sugar in a saucepan and bring to the boil.  Add the other ingredients and stir constantly over a medium heat until custard thickens and comes to the boil.  Take it off the heat and continue to stir for a bit longer until you are sure the custard is smooth. Well, you can never be sure so I always strain custard.  Cover the surface of the custard with cling film to prevent a skin from forming, and put the bowl into the fridge until cool. 

When ready to assemble, make the icing first by sifting the icing sugar into a bowl and adding the passionfruit.  You get pulp and all so if you merely want passionfruit flavour, then strain.  I kind of got a bit distracted (I blame the weather) and used an entire tin of passionfruit pulp so had to use about 400g of icing sugar to get the right consistency.

Wrestle one of the puff pastry sheets into the tin, trimming and/or squashing if you need to.  I abandoned the baking tin as the puff pastry sheets, which I had cut to size, shrunk during the cooking process and were too small for the tin.  Therefore, if you decide to make this recipe, trim the pastry sheets after they have cooked. In hindsight, I should have placed another tin over the top of the pastry sheets during the cooking process as the look I have ended up with is more country kitchen than high tea.

Continue assembling by placing the custard on top of the pastry bottom, spreading evenly.  Top with the second layer of pastry, and then spread the icing over the top.  Cut into slices using a serrated knife.

Despite the trials and tribulations in making this vanilla slice, I can definitely vouch for the flavour.  The custard is light and vanilla-y, the pastry melts, and the passionfruit icing adds a sweet-sour note.  Be careful when you eat it though as the custard will spurt out the sides, which is the only similarity between a store- bought vanilla slice and the homemade variety.

My Grandmother's Singer Sewing Machine

It's a new year, and I need to come clean about something.  I have a love-hate relationship with sewing.  You may be asking yourself why on earth did I call my blog paperbakeSEW if my feelings towards sewing are so extreme.  Well, when I'm in the sewing zone and everything is coming together as planned, I really love it.  However, there are times when the sewing machine keeps jamming, straight lines become askew, or time spent unpicking exceeds time spent sewing. At these moments, I feel like scrunching my work up in a ball and throwing it in a corner.  I know I am not alone in this. 

I'll admit, I can be a little impatient, and I do get a little fixated on finishing something at all costs, but sometimes the impatience stems from frustration with not knowing what I'm doing.  You see, I was rather a late-starter.  I didn't do sewing at school and I wasn't raised in a sewing friendly environment.  My Mum was a knitter, and sewing was something she had to do.  I also had an irrational fear of getting my finger pierced by a sewing needle, which I have only overcome in recent years.  You will understand why when I show you the machine I learned to sew on.   And when I say, learned to sew, I mean sewing two bits of scrap fabric together.... possibly twice.

This is my Grandmother's sewing machine:

This is the scary needle, which seemed huge to me as a child: 

My Grandmother bought this machine in 1930 when she got married as she thought that all married women should have a sewing machine.  It was really expensive at the time, and given my grandparents had waited five years to get married because of the Depression and had virtually no money when they finally did, it was a rather extravagant purchase.  It sat unused for most of the time, as my Grandmother preferred to crochet.

My mother was given the machine when she got married.  For most of the time, it also sat unused and, when it did come out to make the occasional school uniform or pair of shorts, it was a big deal.  Mum would "do battle", while I sat on the sidelines watching her work up speed on the treadle and move fabric under the scary needle. The machine would make a hell of a noise when Mum was in top gear, and I think the speed and the noise contributed to my fear of getting my fingers caught.

I only overcame my fear after I did some machine quilting classes.  I went to a craft show where there was a quilt exhibition and thought, I want to learn how to make those.  So, with the help of a very patient teacher and a few deep breaths, I managed to sew two pieces of fabric together... in a straight line...which eventually turned into a sampler quilt.  After that, I had no fear, but I do have a habit of choosing projects above my skill level, and I get stuck (which my Pfaff senses - it's like a photocopier that way) and this leads to frustration and a pile of unfinished projects.

I have always loved my Grandmother's sewing machine as a piece of furniture.  It has so many decorative elements - the wood carving on the drawers and sides, the painted decoration on the machine, the wrought iron, and the engraved metal plates - all of which serve no purpose other than to make the machine a nice piece of furniture.

.

It now takes pride of place in my family room, where I continue the family tradition of non-sewing use.  Instead, it serves as a table for my phone, flowers and various knick knacks.  And when I'm having a frustrating sewing day, I can look at it and take comfort from knowing I come from a line of non-sewers, and that I no longer have an irrational fear of fast-moving sewing needles.