Rock buns

My lads had hollow legs. Back in the day that meant three squareish meals and a bit of supper; biscuits, pop, beer; later a kebab, some chips and start all over again. Bleugh, I feel f'lup already.

I'd bake sometimes - perhaps not as often as I would have liked - those things that my busy mother always seemed to be making. The kitchen at home was always filled with the sugary smells of baking - because for my mother nurturing meant feeding and my brothers and I were well fed. We were pressed to yet eat another slice of cake or just one more little tart - 'all full of good things' - things which in these body conscious days are regarded as the work of the devil! I guess this urge to press food - the benefits of peace - on her not insubstantial children may be the result of growing up in fairly impoverished times and then suffering the privations of war and its aftermath. The upshot was that I spent my teenage years and the next two decades trying to become less substantial (and it's a battle I have not won yet).

We'd have sponges and butterfly buns, shortbreads and flapjack, drop scones and always mince pies at Christmas. High days and holidays meant something more extravagant - a complex Batenburg or an exotic gateau (exotic for south Warwickshire in the 60s that is...)

Rock Buns - there were always Rock Buns. I was always a bit sneery about Rock Buns. No, make that very sneery about Rock Buns; but the more I think about it they were quick, cheap and easy fuel and when you have hollow legs to fill that's not a bad thing. Sometimes one must eat one's words as well.

Anyway today the biscuit tin was empty and the Glam Ass was out being an ironworker's helpmate and due home anytime, probably starving and cold, needing tea and sustenance. I rustled up Rock Buns. It seemed like a good homely idea. Could I remember the recipe? No way. The ancient Readers Digest 'Cookery Year'  (given to me when I left work in 1977 on the cusp of motherhood) was very helpful. I seem to have lost the Rock Bun making mojo though - they're more dollops than craggy rocks.

Still, they taste OK. Do help yourselves. Tea's in the pot.