If one truly wants to start from scratch, it all starts with a mortar and pestle1, though once this work done, the fragrant, freshly ground spices can hold for quite a while if well stored. And since I had such well stored spices, this most recent time I started instead straight from the next step or the even more alchemical part - measuring, mixing and binding together the spices2 that give in the end such a great taste to the final result that even inveterate previous ginger-haters asked for more. In my version, the mix takes roughly 3 parts cinnamon, 1 part nutmeg, 1 part ginger, a bit or pinch or otherwise more relaxed small quantity of ground coriander and ground pepper, each, mixed together in a small bowl and set at the ready for what follows.
What follows is that one spoonful of sugar gets caramelised in a small stainless steel pot and once ready, 125ml hot water gets poured into it - do mind the steam coming out when you pour the water, at least if you don't want to burn yourself quite thoroughly with it. A bit of further mixing while still heating it all will ensure that the sugar is fully melted. Then the spices and 150g of the flour can go in it as well, all at the same time, requiring some vigorous mixing to keep it all smooth and without lumps. Supposedly using a whisk makes this part easier but for me a simple spoon has always done this job quite well so I never bothered with anything else. Then it's time for some rest - at least for the resulting thick mixture, though it certainly can be used as well for anyone and everything else in equal need of a cooldown at the same time.
For the next step, the remaining 330g of flour get mixed together with a pinch of salt, a pinch of bicarbonate of soda, an egg, 50g of butter and the earlier thick mixture now thoroughly cooled down and thus quite sticky but at least not entirely solid. At this stage I let a machine do the mixing as it takes 2 minutes in total and it keeps me far calmer than doing it by hand myself so it's a win all around. The result is a lighter brown and surprisingly not sticky, nor crumbly really - though still smelling quite inviting indeed.
A teaspoon is then quite handy for taking out chunks of the mixture that get then roughly rounded by hand into small balls to set on some baking paper on a tray. I actually weigh mine to make sure that they are all quite equal at around 40g each, simply because it really matters at baking time - if they are of different sizes, the smaller ones will end up burnt or too much done aka too tough as an end result (since these keep getting tougher after they are taken out of the oven), while the bigger ones too little done and the eye will lie in this as everywhere else if relied on for too long over a rather repetitive task. Whether measured or not, once all are done, the baking time is quite short, at around 15-20 minutes maximum, depending a bit on your oven and the tray's position. The ones pictured below were baked in a rather busy oven indeed so one tray ended up at the very bottom and those got rather more done than the rest for all that they had been inside the oven for the exact same time. When taken out of the oven, they are meant to be still quite soft and elastic even so that if you gently push one down a bit, it makes a small indentation that recovers then by itself. As they cool down, they'll get less soft anyhow, so if they are already tough when taken out of the oven, they are just way overdone for sure.
For the last step, the usual frosting is simply a whipped up egg white with sugar and a spoonful of hot water to make it a bit more liquid so it can coat everything nicely. I tend to be liberal with it so each piece gets turned about in it until fully coated and then left to dry on a rack of some sort so that any truly excessive amount can just collect underneath. On some pieces I pencil it instead with a kitchen brush just because at times I find it way too sweet for myself so less of it makes it all better for me but I haven't yet have anyone else complain of too much frosting on these just as they never complained of too much spices, either, go figure.
As to the final result, if it lasts long enough to take any pictures of it, it needs to be apparently at least the third batch in just as many weeks around here. The middle is soft and fragrant and for all that it's called supposedly gingerbread, it seems to me so far different from any even supposedly "same type" of gingerbread that I ever found for sale in any market stalls anywhere that it's just an entirely different item altogether. It's also literally the only gingerbread that I actually like, even though I tried quite a lot of different types in different countries over the years.
It's possibly not quite the first time when it turns out that whether one likes or not something meant to be tasty is really more about how close the experienced something turns out to be to its original source, natural ingredients and happy mixture of it all. Or in other words, how close the item still truly is to the very meaning of the word as it first emerged - taste as a matter of authenticity, perhaps, why not?
Every time I take this one out to use in the kitchen I keep thinking there should be a matching alembic and retort, at the very least. Fortunately perhaps, although I cook every day, I don't actually spend that much time in the kitchen or I suspect it would acquire in short time these items and more, quite likely looking increasingly less and less like what one thinks of as a kitchen, possibly to no one's surprise. ↩
For the exact quantity, details as well as a warming background story even, I fully recommend Codruta's article as that's where I found this recipe in the first place, quite a few years ago. Codruta is a baker so she knows what she's talking about and she explains her recipes in detail so you'll likely learn something more just by reading her anyway. ↩
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