Nothing super fancy, but it was what you’d imagine a taste of home to be

Rachel and I met while working for a non-governmental organization in London, UK, supporting the same projects in different ways – her with a mastery of figures and accountancy, myself on the programming side. To know Rachel is to know someone who is calm, cool, collected, and ever surprising. From a consistent demeanour regardless of what trials came up at work, to angelic choiring and a fevered passion for rugby, she is a genuinely friendly and talented soul.

When she first shared the story below, I was engulfed by a beautiful tale of two families who came together by random happenstance with food playing a supporting role – naturally. It’s incredibly kind that Rachel, and(!) both sets of families, have shared this touching story and their treasured recipe with Feasting Hearts.

This is a story of friendly neighbours, a bright idea, and cake.

A young Rachel visiting with Vera in Cardiff

It’s not uncommon, as someone who has shuttled back and forth between continents as part of the Asian diaspora, to be asked what food reminds one of home. You’d might then expect me to describe a home cooked dish that only my mum could prepare properly (of which I admit there are many), or a niche Chinese snack best devoured fresh from the local dai paai dong. I’m sorry to say that my response might not meet those expectations. 

No, this is instead a write up about a treat that would be familiar to many, but I have chosen it because behind that is a story about migration, cross-cultural connections, and found family. I am talking today about the humble carrot cake. 

Like many young people from colonial Hong Kong who wanted to find new opportunities, my mum left her home in her twenties for a nursing job in the United Kingdom. She ended up in Cardiff, Wales, where she found a house in one of its quieter suburbs. Her neighbours seemed normal enough. Until she noticed that one of them had a slightly odd habit of chatting to his vegetables every day. 

Tom and Vera with two of their granchildren, Molly and James

That was how she met Tom and Vera, a lovely middle-aged couple who had lived in Cardiff their whole lives. Tom was the avid gardener, who insisted that speaking nicely to his plants helped them grow better (the jury remains out on whether it was that or the regular delivery of fresh manure). They had two grown children of their own by the time they met my mum, but that didn’t stop them from befriending and basically adopting her for the time she lived in Wales. As part of that, mum got to sample all their classic British home cooking, including their carrot cake. Like many desserts influenced by the post-war period, their version was a dense loaf cake bound with margarine and packed with raisins, walnuts and plenty of sugar. Nothing super fancy, but it was what you’d imagine a taste of home to be. 

Even after my parents moved to England, where I was born, and then to Hong Kong where I grew up, the friendship continued and they became my surrogate grandparents. We regularly visited Cardiff, staying at their house and hanging out with the extended family (both children and eventually their five grandchildren). As someone who is perpetually food-motivated, if you had to ask me about specific memories it’s always the ones with their baking and cooking that stick with me. Like finding out their secret ingredient for the Sunday roast gravy was adding ketchup. Trying proper Jamaican rum for the first time. Seeing up close what a freshly plucked turkey actually looks like (turns out the feathers don’t always come out in one piece). And that carrot cake, fresh out of the oven. 

A youthful Rachel with Molly and Tilly

 After one of those childhood trips, my mum had the bright idea to copy the recipe into her personal notebook and once back in Hong Kong, the cake became a regular after school snack. So different from the fluffy cream-filled sponge cakes you found in most Hong Kong bakeries, this was the kind that you could quickly slice up, wrap in foil and eat on the go or share with friends.  It was so good that when I left Hong Kong, I asked my parents to take a photo from Mum’s recipe book and send it to me. 

The original handwritten copy of the recipe by Rachels mum

Twenty years later, I was back in Hong Kong helping my parents clean out the family flat, in preparation for their final and permanent move to the UK. Among my old clothes were some early 2000s Wales Grand Slam T-shirts, gifted to me by Tom and Vera’s son when I was a kid. I am a huge rugby fan, but my allegiance lies with the red rose of England, and so I brought them back to London and sent them to his own son Harry. I then dropped Molly (the second of the grandchildren and my favourite, but don’t tell the others) a line and asked, on the subject of family heirlooms, if she’d ever tried making the family carrot cake.

Well.

This was when I found out that all these years I had been enjoying it, none of the grandchildren had received the recipe. Vera had passed away when they were all still very young. Tom had then promised a baking session with them at Christmas, the same year he died. If my mum hadn’t decided to write it down all those years ago, this small connection that spanned two families across the globe would have been entirely lost. 

One WhatsApp photo later, that carrot cake recipe is now back where it belongs, and the tradition for both families continues for another generation. Though as it’s 2022, I’d recommend swapping the margarine for butter.

The famous Tom and Vera's Carrot Cake

Tom and Vera’s Carrot Cake

Ingredients

• 8 ounces self raising flour, plus 2 tsp. baking powder

• 5 ounces muscovado sugar

• 5 ounces margarine

• 5 ounces grated carrot

• 2 ounces chopped walnut

• 2 ounces raisins

• 2 eggs, slightly beaten

 Method

• Heat the oven to 180 degree Celsius, and prepare a loaf tin with either parchment lining or some sort of grease and flour.

• In a large bowl, rub flour with margarine. Add sugar and other ingredients.

• Mix with lightly beaten eggs, but don’t over work the mixture.

• Pour into the prepared loaf tin, and bake for an hour/hour and 15 minutes. You know its ready when a cake tester comes out somewhat dry. Remember, this is a gloriously dense cake.