Christmas at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

Preheat the oven to 200°C/gas/fan 180°C.

To make the pastry, rub 8oz cold, diced butter into 12oz plain flour, then mix in 3½ oz golden caster sugar and a pinch of salt.

Combine the pastry into two balls, warming and moulding with your hands – don’t add any liquid – and knead them briefly. The dough will be fairly firm, like shortbread dough.

Roll out and cut 12 rounds with an 8.5cm (3½ inch) cutter and 12 rounds with a 6.5cm (2½ inch) cutter. Using a 16-hole non-stick tartlet tin, use the larger rounds to line each hole.

Spoon a heaped teaspoon of the mincemeat, mixed with a splash of sherry, into the pies.

Top the pies with their lids, pressing the edges gently together to seal.

Beat 1 small egg and brush over the tops of the pies. Bake for 20 mins until golden. Leave to cool in the tin for 5 mins, then remove to a wire rack.

Dust with icing sugar before serving.

These will keep for 3 to 4 days in an airtight container.

‘These little pies herald the start of Christmas in our household,’ Granny had written below the recipe. ‘Robert loves to lift up the pastry lid and add a blob of thick cream on top of the warm mincemeat. It melts in so you have to eat it quickly. Delicious! I’ve even seen him eat five in one go. It’s a good job he’s a growing lad!’

Oh yes, Granny’s mince pies were the best; that crumbly buttery first bite and then the lingering taste of festive-spiced mincemeat. It made you feel like Christmas was on its way …

1 (#ulink_b5ce6ec1-ac6d-5da3-89d9-a4d0664d3bdc)

Rachel was teetering up a ladder with a strand of fairy lights in her hand.

‘Just a touch more to the left, love, that’ll even up the loops.’ Jill, her mother, was poised at the base of the ladder, keeping it steady and giving directions.

‘Okay …’

‘Careful, now.’

‘I’m all right.’ Rachel leaned from her perch to give them a tweak. She was used to doing far riskier things out on the farm, not that she would have enlightened her mum about that.

Rachel was fixing the twinkly white lights to the guttering of the old barn, ready to give the Pudding Pantry – their new business venture – a festive facelift and a touch of winter magic. From her vantage point, Rachel could see down across the yard and into the farmhouse kitchen window, glimpsing the large pine table and chairs that had been there for as long as she could remember. Memories of Christmases past suddenly came flooding back.

Sitting there on her father’s knee, aged about six, the scrumptious turkey dinner now eaten, festive crackers snapped, corny jokes read out and Robert, still wearing his bright red paper hat – now a little skewwhiff – bouncing her up and down boisterously, while singing ‘Jingle Bells’ loudly. Granny Ruth and Grandad Ken, as well as Grandma Isabel, were sitting there at the table, looking on merrily, with Mum busy at the Aga preparing pudding, scolding him with a smile on her face, telling him that all that bouncing about would make Rachel feel sick after her big meal.

Jill was busy steaming her Christmas pudding ready for dessert, and Rachel, who as a little girl wasn’t that keen on the rich fruity pud, was looking forward to a slice of the treat made especially for her and, ready on the side, a Chocolate Yule Log, with thick cocoa frosting covering a rolled chocolate sponge. Rachel loved the little robin that was brought out annually to pop on the top as decoration along with some sugar paste holly leaves.

Smiles and laughter, festive fun and full tummies. Gifts had been given, nothing too lavish but always much wanted – hmm, that might have been the year when she’d got her Jessie doll; the feisty, smart cowgirl from the Toy Story films. That was the only doll she’d ever asked for, preferring model tractors and farm toys in the main, and soon after, the real things. Jessie was still there upstairs in her room somewhere.

Oh yes, Christmas at the farmhouse, she remembered the warmth of the Aga, and the warmth of their hearts: the family together.

‘Rachel … are you all right up there?’ Mum’s voice broke her reverie.

‘Ah … yes, fine.’

Life had changed so very much, and Christmas had felt empty these past two years, as though they were just going through the motions. Her father’s death had cast a dark shadow over them all, but it was time to recapture some of that festive magic for her daughter Maisy’s sake – in fact, for all their sakes.

Life had shifted in ways they could never have imagined, and just this summer they had transformed the derelict stone barn into a gorgeous little tearoom where puddings were very much their ‘thing’. Stepping inside the Pudding Pantry, you’d find a counter filled with a mouthwatering selection of Sticky Toffee, Chocolate, Ginger and steamed Syrup Puddings, crumbles galore, lusciously moist Carrot Cake, an Autumn Berry Pavlova, gluten-free banana cake and a selection of home-baked scones, not to mention crisp, buttery shortbreads and frosted cupcakes. Everything was made here at the farm. The Aga in the farmhouse kitchen was always on the go, with delightful baking aromas drifting over the farmyard – guaranteed to make your tummy rumble. They’d had a good start over the summer season, but business in the Pantry had started to slow worryingly during October. It was time to get themselves ready for the build-up to Christmas, and to try and boost trade. The fairy lights were a festive nod in the right direction.

Once again up the ladder, at the far end of the barn now, with the lights all in place, Rachel looked across the hawthorn-hedged fields where their sheep and small herd of cattle grazed happily. The leaves on the trees in the nearby copse were drifting down on the breeze, leaving jumbled heaps of golds and copper beneath them, ready for Maisy to tumble through in her wellingtons with a giggle. Further into the distance, the high moorland hills of the Cheviots rose majestically, bracken bronzed with short grassy banks, rising to purple peaks. This view, this place, held so much of her heart.

Job complete, Rachel climbed back down the ladder. She and Jill looked up, admiring their handiwork, the lights strung in loops along the old stone wall, just under the eaves.

‘Well, that’s added a bit of festive cheer, hasn’t it? It looks really pretty,’ commented her mum.

‘Yes, just a soft twinkle. I love it. It’ll look great as the dusk comes in.’

‘It’ll not be that long either, the way the evenings are pulling in these days.’

Rachel glanced at her watch. It was nearly three o’clock. ‘Blimey, is that the time already? I need to go and fetch Maisy from the school bus.’

Within minutes, Rachel had jogged down the farm track and was standing at the farm entrance, waiting for the minibus to arrive.

She wasn’t the only one who was in a rush; Eve came dashing down the lane from her cottage, her dark hair tumbling from its ponytail, in a half-jog. ‘Blimey, I got so caught up in making wooden stars and hearts for Christmas decorations, I hadn’t realised the time. I was trying to come up with festive phrases to paint on them …’ She was panting between words, ‘All I’ve managed so far is “Ho Ho Ho!” and “Merry Christmas” – very original, not.’

Eve was Rachel’s closest friend and craftsperson extraordinaire. She made the most gorgeous soft-toy felt animals and children’s knits, as well as turning her hand to woodwork, greetings cards, and much more. Crafting was her passion, and in addition to her online Etsy store, she kept a selection of gifts for sale at the Pantry, which had proven popular with their customers. With Christmas on the horizon, it was all go for her with the festive crafting.

‘Well, that’ll be keeping you busy. Hmm, the wooden hearts and stars sound pretty and they’d be ideal for the Pantry. Do you think you can make enough so we can have some to sell, too? I want to start making the tearooms really festive now. I’ve just been putting up the outside lights, and some Christmas crafts in there would look great, don’t you think? It is October, after all.’

‘Ooh yes, I can just picture the barn, with that gorgeous old dresser filled with Christmas gifts. I’m planning on making some pretty tealight holders and hand painting glass baubles as well. Oh, and, I’ll soon be making my Christmas knits and toys. So yes, of course, I’ll make some extra ones for your display.’

‘Gosh, Eve, I don’t know how you fit it all in. Superwoman! But that sounds brilliant.’

With that, there came the low rumbling, more like grumbling, sound of an engine pulling up the hill, announcing the imminent arrival of the school minibus. And minutes later, after it pulled to a halt, out spilled Maisy closely followed by Amelia, Eve’s daughter and Maisy’s best friend. Maisy’s attire was typically half-mast, one sock up, one down, with her school coat trailing from her arm.

‘Hi, Mummy.’ She ran to Rachel, planting an affectionate kiss on her cheek and rounding off with a hug.

‘Hey, petal. Good day?’

‘Yes, we’ve been painting leaves and doing prints with them, and we’ve been learning all about squirrels and we’re helping to save the red ones.’

‘Oh, that sounds good. Did you know that where we live, here in Northumberland, is one of the few counties in England that still has red squirrels?’

‘Yes, Mrs Brown told us all about that – and they have four fingers and five toes, and their babies are called kittens.’

‘Well, I didn’t know that,’ said Eve.

‘And they have no teeth and no hair when they get borned,’ added Amelia.

‘Hah, they’ll look funny little things,’ said Maisy.

‘Hmm, yes I bet, all bald. Well, you two have learnt a lot today,’ said Rachel. ‘That’s great.’ It was nice that her daughter was happy and had settled in well in her first year at the local school. ‘Time for home then, Maisy?’

‘Yep. Has Grandma been baking?’ asked the little girl hopefully.

‘Oh yes, there’s bound to be a little something waiting at home for you.’ The smells wafting from the farmhouse kitchen had been delicious as she’d left, so there had definitely been plenty of goodies baking away in that Aga.