A Cake That Earns Its Place in the Rucksack

Some bakes are for birthdays and fuss. The seed cake is not one of those. It is the quiet, dependable sort of cake that has sat on British tea tables for centuries, and it has survived for a simple reason: it keeps well, travels well, and slices neatly without crumbling into the bottom of your bag.

Made with caraway and a whisper of mace, it is lightly spiced rather than sweet and showy. It is the sort of thing you cut a thick slice from after a long afternoon walk, with a flask of tea and a dry stone wall to lean against. It also happens to be built almost entirely from things most of us already have in the cupboard, which makes it a sensible bake to learn by heart.

This is a straightforward version. Two bowls, a wooden spoon if you fancy the exercise, and about an hour in the oven.

What You Need in the Cupboard

Everything here is ordinary. Nothing needs a special trip to a farm shop, though if you can buy caraway seeds from a shop with a decent turnover, they will smell far more alive than a jar that has sat at the back of the spice rack since a long-forgotten Christmas.

• 175g unsalted butter, soft enough that a finger leaves a dent
• 175g caster sugar
• 3 large eggs, at room temperature
• 250g self-raising flour
• 1 level tsp baking powder, worth adding if the flour has been open a while
• 2 tsp caraway seeds, or up to 3 tsp if you are fond of them
• ¼ tsp ground mace, or nutmeg at a push
• A good pinch of fine salt
• 2 tbsp milk, plus a splash more if the mixture needs it

For equipment, you want a 20cm round tin or a 900g (2lb) loaf tin, lined with greaseproof paper, plus a skewer for testing and a wire rack for cooling. If you use a loaf tin, line the long sides with a paper sling so you can lift the cake out cleanly.

Mixing and Baking It Through

Heat the oven to 170°C fan, 180°C conventional, or Gas 4, and get the shelf in the middle. Grease the tin, then line it.

Cream the butter and sugar together for a good four to five minutes until the mixture is noticeably paler and lighter. This is the step people rush, and it is the one that decides whether your cake rises well or sits there looking sulky. Beat the eggs in one at a time. If the mixture starts to look curdled, add a spoonful of the weighed flour with the offending egg and it will come back together.

Fold in the flour, baking powder, salt and mace with a large metal spoon, then stir through the caraway seeds. Loosen with the milk until the mixture drops from the spoon with a slow nod rather than a plop or a dribble. Scrape it into the tin, level the top, and make a shallow hollow in the centre with the back of the spoon so it rises evenly rather than doming in the middle.

Bake for 50 to 60 minutes in a round tin, or 45 to 55 minutes in a loaf tin. If the top is browning faster than you would like, lay a sheet of foil over it after about 40 minutes. The cake is done when a skewer pushed into the centre comes out clean, with perhaps a crumb or two clinging to it. Leave it in the tin for ten minutes, then turn it out onto a wire rack.

When It Goes Wrong, and Why

Seed cake is forgiving, but a few things trip people up regularly.

• A curdled mixture usually means cold eggs. Add a spoonful of flour and carry on; it will bake perfectly well.
• A sunken middle almost always means the oven door was opened too early, or the mixture was too wet. Resist checking before 40 minutes.
• A dry crumb comes from overbaking. Ovens vary wildly, so note your timing and shave five minutes off next time.
• Seeds sunk to the bottom is a sign of overmixing or a slack batter. Toss the seeds in a little of the flour first, and stop stirring the moment the flour disappears.
• Barely any caraway flavour is easily fixed: crush about a third of the seeds lightly in a pestle and mortar before adding them. This releases the oils without making the cake taste medicinal.

Caraway, and a Few Honest Variations

Caraway is an acquired taste, and there is no point pretending otherwise. It tastes faintly of aniseed with a savoury, rye-bread edge, and it is exactly that savoury note that makes the cake go so well with a strong cup of tea. Traditional seed cakes often carried a splash of brandy and a spoonful of candied peel too, which is a fine thing to do if you have them.

If you want to ring the changes without losing the character of the cake, swap a quarter of the flour for ground almonds for a denser, moister crumb, or add the finely grated zest of a lemon. What you should not do is reach for cinnamon or mixed spice. The whole point of a seed cake is that the spice is a background note, not the headline.

Tea, and Where to Eat It

This cake is better on the second day than the first. Wrap it in greaseproof paper, then in foil, and keep it in a tin. It will happily last a week, and it slices beautifully when cold, which is precisely why it has always been a walking cake. Cut a thick slice, wrap it in paper, and tuck it into a rigid tin in your rucksack rather than a soft bag, where it will inevitably be reduced to crumbs.

Then fill a flask, pick a route with a bench or a gate at the halfway point, and eat it outdoors with the sort of tea that is too strong to be polite. That, more than anything you can do in the kitchen, is what a seed cake is for.