Six fresh bananas hanging on the hook...
Five yellow bananas hanging on the hook...
Four ripe bananas hanging on the hook...
Three black bananas hanging on the hook,
and if one black banana is accidentally took, there'll be...
... a witch-hunt to find the thief because we have a tacit family agreement that those particular fruits are reserved for the weekly banana loaf.
Baking is a form of chemistry. You take your elemental ingredients, measure them carefully, mix them in the specified order, apply the correct amount of heat for the correct amount of time - and you will produce either a Victoria sponge or a nice bar of Plutonium-cerium-cobalt. If you have been a little slap-dash then you may get sorry-looking biscuit or blow up the neighborhood.
Chemistry was born out of the ancient practice of alchemy, and for me (and the rest of the fruit-bowl watching family) banana bread truly is the baking equivalent of gold from lead. You see, the bananas must be at least 90% black, that point where they will readily split when touched and their innards are breaking down into that beige mush. Really they should go in the bin, but this recipe is also a salve for my guilty, food-wasting, conscience. I did once use a fresh banana to make up the magic three, only to discover the loaf took much longer to cook and as a result was burnt on the outside. It simply didn't taste right either.
The sacred formula is found on page 33 of my recipe book, (a good starting omen as so many of the numbers in our family life - birthdays, house-numbers etc - are divisible by three), it advises the oven to be set at 180ºC. Now above, I did say that the instructions should be closely followed but, with familiarity, there are certain shortcuts that can be made. The book states that the bananas and the two eggs should be beaten prior to their introduction, but I have found that it is far quicker to bung them in together and blend them rapidly with a hand-held mixer until they reach a uniform custard. The recipe also asks for the grated zest of an orange to be added now, but I leave this ingredient until last as the strands tend to get wrapped about the beaters.
Next goes in the 250g of sifted plain flour (another shortcut here, I use the tare function on the digital scales and measure right into the mixing bowl), half-a-teaspoon of salt, a teaspoon of bicarb and also of my favourite spice of all - cinnamon.
I was first introduced to cinnamon in Rotterdam. My father was working there one weekend and took the family with him. We bought some half-chocolate covered biscuits that I recall the taste of vividly, although of the rest of the trip there is only a hazy memory of driving our parents mad with Swanee-whistles while driving the wrong way up a one-way street.
Apparently cinnamon smells like formaldehyde; I can't say I know this from personal experience, but I do know the essential oil derived from this spice is called cinnamaldehyde - from which I used to have a half-baked notion (excuse the pun) that it might promote longevity. Unfortunately formaldehyde is a fixative of dead flesh and is also carcinogenic, so if cinnamon does have any effect I will probably die earlier but be well preserved.
Next in the recipe is the 180g sugar - it must be caster sugar, not granulated. I hate to see those big crystals reminding me how much of the white stuff is actually in there. I have experimented with dark muscovado which imparts an even richer, spicier taste, but somehow seems wrong unless it's Christmas.
Finally, before adding the zest for a quick stir-through, comes the 75g of chopped Brazil nuts - actually the recipe calls for walnuts, but I simply don't like them.
Brazil nuts are great in so many ways. Full of Omega 6, various vitamins and selenium - which is terrific for the metabolism and goes some way towards protecting against cancer. Not only this, by eating them you are helping prevent deforestation because Brazil nut trees are very hard to farm commercially, and only thrive in the untouched rainforest. Digressed again... sorry!
So into my well-greased loaf tin goes the mix - and then into the oven which, happily, will have just reached temperature. Now I go about the house opening all the internal doors, including one or two windows to create a little air movement, to let the hot cinnamon aroma permeate through the rooms - an act which will summon one or two family members to the kitchen with the inevitable "is it done yet?". This additional benefit from the baking will linger for at least a day and I'm sure it's more homely and far less damaging to your lungs than the smell of an air freshener.
An hour and twenty (although the book says 1hr 10) later it should be ready. Having still not purchased a skewer for the purpose I use a butter knife to check if the bread is set by plunging it, always with the blade perpendicular to the loaf's longest side, straight into the middle. It is best to have a light smear on the metal (too much batter and it will need to go in for at least another ten minutes, too clean and I will have sacrificed the crust), the extra moistness helps the banana bread keep another day.
If it's ready I leave it for about ten minutes in the tin before tipping it onto the wire rack, again I think this preserves the moisture.
And we wait....
Now comes my 'Little Red Hen' moment of indulgence - the first crust is always mine. I like to apply a buttery spread in one quick, thick stroke and into the mouth it goes. There is a pleasing juxtaposition between the crunchy outer, the fluffy interior and the salty slather of butter melting into it. The banana and spice are easy to distinguish but there is always a mysterious treacle taste too, usually to be found in the crust. Fab!
I don't claim to be a great cook or baker - let's face it banana bread is a particularly easy recipe, but I always feel I get so much more out than I put in....
Alchemy.
