
Chef Thomas
A Bloomer
A proper British bloomer, slashed deep and baked until the cuts open wide and the crust turns deep, glossy gold. The kind of loaf that makes the rest of the day feel deliberate.
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Created by Chef Thomas
Spiced, fruited buns marked with a cross and pulled from the oven on Good Friday morning, split warm, smeared with cold butter, and eaten with strong tea while the kitchen still smells of cinnamon and orange peel.
Good Friday morning. The kitchen smells of warm milk and cinnamon, of orange zest meeting butter, of something slow and yeasty rising under a tea towel by the radiator. This, more than chocolate eggs or roast lamb, is the smell of Easter for me. It always has been.
Hot cross buns are not difficult. They ask for time more than skill, the patience to let dough do what dough does. You mix, you knead, you wait. You shape, you wait again. You pipe a cross, you bake, you brush them with warm glaze the moment they come out of the oven so they go shiny and sticky as they cool. The whole thing takes the best part of a morning, but most of it is the dough working without you, which means you can put the kettle on and read the paper while the kitchen does the heavy lifting.
I write the date in the notebook every year. Same recipe, same method, same scribbled note in the margin: 'too few currants again, more next time.' I never learn. A recipe is a conversation, not a contract.
Eat them warm, split with a knife rather than torn, smeared with cold butter that softens into the spiced crumb. Strong tea alongside. Good Friday, accounted for.
Quantity
500g
Quantity
75g
Quantity
2 teaspoons
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
freshly grated
Quantity
10g
Quantity
7g (1 sachet)
Quantity
250ml
Quantity
50g
softened
Quantity
1
beaten
Quantity
1
zested
Quantity
150g
currants, sultanas, and mixed peel
Quantity
75g
for the crosses
Quantity
75ml
for the crosses
Quantity
2 tablespoons
for the glaze
Quantity
1 tablespoon
for the glaze
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| strong white bread flour | 500g |
| caster sugar | 75g |
| mixed spice | 2 teaspoons |
| ground cinnamon | 1 teaspoon |
| nutmegfreshly grated | 1/2 teaspoon |
| fine sea salt | 10g |
| fast-action dried yeast | 7g (1 sachet) |
| whole milk | 250ml |
| unsalted buttersoftened | 50g |
| large eggbeaten | 1 |
| unwaxed orangezested | 1 |
| mixed dried fruitcurrants, sultanas, and mixed peel | 150g |
| plain flourfor the crosses | 75g |
| cold waterfor the crosses | 75ml |
| apricot jamfor the glaze | 2 tablespoons |
| waterfor the glaze | 1 tablespoon |
Warm the milk in a small pan until it feels like a baby's bath, no hotter. Take it off the heat, add the butter, and stir until the butter melts and disappears into the milk. Set aside while you measure the dry ingredients. By the time you pour it into the flour, it should be barely warm. Hot milk kills yeast, and there is no coming back from that.
In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, mixed spice, cinnamon, nutmeg, and orange zest. Add the salt to one side of the bowl and the yeast to the other. They don't get along if they meet too soon, so keep them apart until you start mixing. Pour in the warm milk and butter, then the beaten egg. Bring it all together with a wooden spoon, then your hand, until you have a rough, slightly sticky dough. The kitchen should already smell of cinnamon and orange peel.
Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead for ten minutes. It's wet at the start and wants to stick to everything. Resist the urge to bury it in flour. Keep working it. After eight or nine minutes the dough transforms: smooth, elastic, slightly tacky but no longer sticking to your hands. You'll feel the change happen. Trust your hands.
Put the dough into a lightly oiled bowl, cover with a tea towel or cling film, and leave somewhere warm for around an hour and a half, or until doubled in size. The kitchen counter near the radiator does it for me. The exact time depends on the warmth of the room, so go by the look of the dough rather than the clock. It should be soft and pillowy and leave an indent when you press it gently with a finger.
Tip the risen dough back onto the work surface and knock the air out gently with the heel of your hand. Scatter the dried fruit over the top and knead it in until it's evenly distributed. Be patient. The fruit wants to escape and the dough wants to tear. Work it in slowly. Divide the dough into twelve equal pieces, weighing them if you want them uniform. Shape each into a tight ball by rolling under a cupped hand on the unfloured part of the surface. Place them on a baking tray lined with parchment, leaving a small gap between each so they can grow into their neighbours.
Cover the tray loosely with a clean tea towel and leave the buns to prove for forty-five minutes to an hour, until they look puffy and have just begun to touch their neighbours. While they're proving, heat the oven to 200C/180C fan.
Mix the plain flour with the cold water in a small bowl until you have a thick, smooth paste. It should hold its shape when you lift the spoon, like toothpaste. Too thin and it spreads as it bakes; too thick and it won't pipe. Spoon into a piping bag fitted with a small round nozzle, or a freezer bag with a tiny corner snipped off. Pipe a line down the row of buns, then another across, making a cross on each one. Confidence helps. Hesitation makes wobbly lines.
Bake for eighteen to twenty-two minutes, until the buns are golden brown and risen, and the kitchen smells of every Good Friday you've ever had. They should sound hollow when you tap one on the bottom. While they're baking, warm the apricot jam with the tablespoon of water in a small pan until it loosens into a brushable glaze, then sieve out any chunks. The moment the buns come out of the oven, brush them generously with the warm glaze so they go shiny and sticky as it sets. Let them cool on the tray for a few minutes before lifting onto a wire rack.
1 serving (about 95g)
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