
Chef Thomas
Bakewell Tart
A proper Bakewell tart with buttery shortcrust, a thick layer of raspberry jam, and almond frangipane baked golden under a scattering of flaked almonds. No icing. No nonsense.
A cooking platform built around craft, culture, and the stories behind what we eat.

Created by Chef Thomas
Oval pastries filled with rum-soaked currants and spice, baked until the tops crackle with sugar. The kind of thing to make on a wet Sunday afternoon when you want the kitchen to smell of something.
There's a particular kind of grey afternoon, sometime in late October or November, when the light goes thin by three o'clock and you start looking for a reason to put the oven on. This is that reason.
Banbury cakes have been made in Oxfordshire since at least 1586, which I know because I looked it up once, but the truth is they don't taste of history. They taste of butter and spice and dark, sticky fruit, and they've outlasted four centuries because they're worth the trouble. They're cousins to the Eccles cake, but older and more generously spiced. The filling is darker, the rum optional but recommended, the currants a little drunker.
I make a batch when I want the house to smell like something is happening. The pastry goes into the oven and within ten minutes the kitchen has changed character. By the time they come out, golden and crackling with demerara, the afternoon has decided what it wants to be. Tea, a warm pastry, a chair near the window. We're only making dinner, except sometimes we're not even doing that. Sometimes a cake at four o'clock is the whole point.
I wrote it down in the notebook the first time I made them: "Banbury cakes. November. Wet outside. Worth it." The note hasn't aged.
Quantity
500g
one block, or two sheets
Quantity
60g
Quantity
200g
Quantity
75g
Quantity
50g
finely chopped
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
Quantity
1/4 teaspoon, freshly grated
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
from 1 small lemon
Quantity
1
beaten, for glazing
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
for dusting
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| all-butter puff pastryone block, or two sheets | 500g |
| unsalted butter | 60g |
| currants | 200g |
| soft light brown sugar | 75g |
| mixed candied peelfinely chopped | 50g |
| mixed spice | 1 teaspoon |
| ground cinnamon | 1/2 teaspoon |
| nutmeg | 1/4 teaspoon, freshly grated |
| dark rum or brandy (optional) | 1 tablespoon |
| lemon zest | from 1 small lemon |
| large eggbeaten, for glazing | 1 |
| demerara sugar | 2 tablespoons |
| plain flour | for dusting |
Melt the butter in a small pan over a gentle heat. As soon as it's liquid, take it off the hob and tip in the currants, brown sugar, candied peel, mixed spice, cinnamon, nutmeg, lemon zest, and the rum if you're using it. Stir it all together. The kitchen will smell of Christmas cake about ten seconds in, which is exactly the moment you remember why you started. Set it aside to cool. The filling needs to be cold when it goes into the pastry, otherwise the butter will turn the bottom soggy before it's had a chance to bake.
Heat the oven to 200C/180C fan. Line a baking sheet with parchment. On a lightly floured surface, roll the puff pastry out to about 3mm thick, no thinner. You want it to puff properly but not be heavy. Using a saucer or a small plate as a guide, cut out eight ovals roughly 12cm across. Re-roll the offcuts once if you need to, but only once. Puff pastry resents being pushed around.
Place a heaped tablespoon of the filling in the centre of each oval. Don't be shy about it, but leave a clear border of pastry all the way round. Brush the border lightly with beaten egg. Now bring the long edges up and over the filling, pinching them together along the top to seal, then tuck the short ends under. Turn each parcel over so the seam is hidden underneath. Press gently with your palm to flatten into a slightly domed oval. They should look like little plump cushions.
Place the cakes seam-side down on the lined baking sheet, well spaced. Brush the tops generously with the rest of the beaten egg. Using a sharp knife, make three short diagonal slashes across the top of each one. This isn't decorative, it's practical. The slashes let the steam escape so the pastry puffs evenly without bursting at the seams. Scatter the demerara sugar over the top, more than you think you need. It's what gives them that crackling, sticky crust.
Bake for eighteen to twenty-two minutes, until the pastry is deeply golden and the sugar on top has turned glossy and almost caramelized. You'll see the filling bubbling through the slashes towards the end, dark and fragrant. Trust your nose. When the kitchen smells of butter and spice and burnt sugar, they're nearly there. Lift them onto a wire rack and leave for at least ten minutes before you eat one. The filling is molten when it comes out of the oven and it'll burn the roof of your mouth without apology.
1 serving (about 110g)
Culinary guides, cultural storytelling, and the editorial depth that makes cooking meaningful.
Discover Culinary Explorer
Chef Thomas
A proper Bakewell tart with buttery shortcrust, a thick layer of raspberry jam, and almond frangipane baked golden under a scattering of flaked almonds. No icing. No nonsense.

Chef Thomas
A proper hedgerow pie of Bramley apples and blackberries under a sugar-crusted pastry lid, the kind of pudding that turns a Sunday in September into something you'll remember.

Chef Thomas
A proper Bramley apple pie with a buttery shortcrust and a filling that collapses into tart, fluffy puree, the kind of pudding the back end of October was made for.

Chef Thomas
Flat little discs of shortcrust holding a generous fistful of buttery currants, baked until pale gold and split warm to be buttered and eaten with a slice of Lancashire cheese.