Books · Food

In which I made the November Cakes and I’m so pleased with myself I’m telling the internet


Do you remember how, a few weeks ago, I spoke about my hopeful plans for November and they included baking an extremely tricky, sticky batch of November Cakes?


I was so surprised and also so in doubt I’ll make them again that I took a photo:

plate of cakes with a lot of pooled glaze

Ignore the pools of glaze. You’re meant to roll the dough into a cinnamon swirl shape that the glaze pools in, but I couldn’t because I was using a reusable coffee cup for a rolling pin and the dough wasn’t quite as firm as it should have been so they were more like fairy cakes. The glaze just ran off the cake onto the plate, where it congealed.

Can confirm: just as delicious as if I’d done it properly. Probably. Bonus is that there’s a lot of waiting around while dough rises so I got to read The Scorpio Races at the same time… and sip mint tea from the fancy Scorpio book box I bought back in January. I never really liked mint tea until this blend of mint and… raspberry?

copy of The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater alongside bookmark, teacup and tea tin

I’m keeping the tin so I can search out something similar. Also, yes, I took a photograph of my themed tea with my themed tea tin and my themed bookmark. Today was a strike day at my university, so since my main project this academic year is not to burn out, I thought I’d do the unthinkable and take the day off. Do some yoga, read my favourite standalone novel, use my crockpot to bake some cakes (I don’t have a mixing bowl, but the crockpot did the job I reckon).

It’s so bucolic I want to puke a bit. Although just out of shot is a moderately gross student living room, so it wasn’t totally… what do they call it? Cottagecore. Kitchencore. Cutecore.

Right I’ve got to go and press some November Cakes onto my friends. I made twelve. I have consumed three. Three might be two too many. Either way, see you in December assuming I haven’t snaffled all the cakes and gone into a sugar coma. No ragrets, as they say.

Look after yourselves!


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