The Cake That Rewrote the Electrical Plan

A builder's peace offering, one slice of Tottenham Cake at a time

A Tottenham Cake Tale

Our local butcher sells slabs of this in little plastic boxes - the icing generous but sitting flush to the cake, proudly housing multicoloured sprinkles between a perfectly baked sponge and a layer of jam. You might know it as school cake, best served with a ladleful of warm custard.

But its roots run deep in North London. Tottenham Cake was first baked in the late 1800s by Henry Chalkley, a local Quaker baker who wanted to create an affordable treat for the community. Traditionally, its pink icing came from mulberries gathered in the burial ground of the Tottenham Quaker Meeting House - a simple touch that gave the cake its distinctive look. It was never about luxury; it was about generosity, a sweet slice of something for everyone.

In this version, I’ve kept the icing white, but if you want to nod to tradition, pomegranate juice works beautifully in place of the original mulberries, adding both colour and a hint of tartness. Even crushed raspberries will do the trick - whatever you have on hand that feels right.

In the chaos of raising a toddler while managing a full-on restaurant renovation, this cake has become more than just a sweet treat. It's our familiar comfort - the slice we grab from Shaw's Butchers while pacing up and down the street between meetings and site visits. Last week, it transformed into something more: a peace offering to the Frasers, our builders who have become like extended family to Mattie.

There are nine of them in total, with George and Ted handling all the building work for Gina. The connection runs deeper than just business, George's wife Jane met Gina at the school gates years ago, and their children have grown up together. George and Ted (affectionately known as "Steady Eddy," though I fear I've tested the limits of that nickname recently) have evolved from contractors to confidants through this journey.

Each week, we marvel at their superhuman patience, a calm oasis amid our whirlwind of constant changes and impromptu design pivots. Most recently, our electrical plan had evolved so drastically, growing more elaborate by the day, to accommodate an intensely intricate lighting design that would make most contractors contemplate early retirement.

So, I did what I always do when highly stressed and need to say sorry. I baked. A wordless apology - a simple gesture of gratitude nestled between a layer of cake and icing. This cake had to strike a delicate balance: good enough to show appreciation, but not so elaborate that it reeked of desperation. A Salvation Cake, if you will.

Sorry again, George! This one's for you, and all the electrical rewiring we've somehow survived together.

This recipe makes one large cake, enough for 12 generous squares.