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blueberry cake

blueberry cake

I love autumn. The smell of decay, changing colours, crispness in the air in the morning, beautiful sunrise in the morning…aaahh. Always get really excited about this lovely season. And that’s the time of the year when I bake a lot. You have to get some love handles for the winter to keep you warm, and there is all this fantastic fruit and veg around. Brilliant! Recently I bought blueberries from Poland (ha! local to me) and I made a cake using what I found in my cupboards and fridge. Improvisation is the key to creation. So there it is. Enjoy.

blueberry cake

Blueberry cake



1 and 1/2 glass of spelt flour

1 teaspoon of baking powder

1/2 teaspoon of baking soda

125 ml of natural yoghurt

1/4 glass of sugar

1/2 pack of unsalted butter (room temperature) or margarine.

2 eggs

3-4 spoons of vanilla essence

6 spoons of cinnamon

250 grams of blueberries


1. Mix flour, baking soda and powder together.

2. If butter is not room temperature, melt it. Wait until it cools down a bit. If it is room temperature, mix with sugar till it’s white and fluffy.

3. Add all the ingredients apart from blueberries to flour, mix well together. Leave it for 20 minutes on the side.

4. Coat blueberries with a bit of flour, add to the batter, mix gently. Butter the cake tin, pour the mixture into the tin, bake in 160 C for about 30-40 minutes. You can check if the cake is baked if you insert a toothpick (or simply wooden chopstick) in the middle of the cake and it comes out clean.

5. Leave it to cool, sprinkle with icing sugar.









About potatofaces

People who cook always go on about precious memories of childhood food one of their family members cooked, how daddy or nanny taught them the importance of cooking and eating together, and they still remember the comfort food they produced, amazing dishes whipped up by brilliant but humble cooks in their family. Well, let me tell you, it was totally different in my family. My mother’s family – totally useless as cooks, who could survive on bread and butter, cooked once a week a terrible, terrible meal, usually some kind of meat piece with lots of brown sauce. Also, they were never bothered about eating together. That’s maybe why most of them were depressed and suicidal. My mother followed that path and couldn’t really cook, and because I never wanted to eat meat, was warning me that ‘one day I will regret it’. Probably because my mother wasn’t into cooking my sister at the age of 12 took over and started producing amazing dinners and cakes. Well, luckily for me and her we weren’t that genetically doomed because apparently my father’s family were gifted in that compartment. I can only presume it was genes, as my father divorced my mother when my sis and me were little and he strongly believed that he also divorced us. So, we were growing up never having any contact with him and as a result, couldn’t learn how to cook from him. That’s why I believe the love of cooking ( and the ability) was just passed to us genetically. My father, short time before he died, unexpectedly felt an urge to contact us. First he gave my sister a mandolin (that’s another thing I know about him- he played a few instruments). My sister refused to talk to him, he then decided to contact me and wanted to spend some time with me. I didn’t want to, as he was a stranger to me (I was 11 or 12 at the time) but as I was promised I could leave whenever I wanted to, I went to the village he lived in. There I tried his mother’s cooking everyone was raving about. It was simple and amazing, I wish they were as family dedicated as they were at baking, cooking, making pastries, wine, tinctures, you name it. But I ate, drunk, and got bored of strangers who were my family and demanded to be let to go home. One of the last things my father said to me was that I should start learning English because I might need it one day, which I ignored for another 16 years… Because my sister was such a domestic goddess I wasn’t really bothered about cooking. I got hooked properly after my son was born and I wanted him to eat healthy and get everything he needed, especially that it wasn’t his choice to be a vegetarian (yet). And that is how the story begins…

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