My nana wasn’t one of those soft focus, floral-aproned nanas who would be always found in the kitchen and around whose legs I’d cling. When I picture Nana, I picture her seated amongst an array of family members, a warm broad smile on her face. Her short, grey-white hair sweeps back and up off her face. I can’t tell if she’s wearing make-up or just naturally looks so beautiful. She’s sporting three-quarter length pants and a crisp shirt. Somehow, she always looked so put together. And while she may not have been a storybook version of a grandparent, there are several foods I associate with her.

Looking back through my recipe card box, I came across a recipe for Amy Johnson Cake written in my nana’s florid script. Amy Johnson was the first woman to fly solo from London to Australia in 1930, aged only 26 years. Can you imagine that? 

To honour that achievement,  this cake – though it looks more like a slice – was invented. The sturdy base is spread with red jam (I used to use plum though the recipe calls for raspberry), dotted with currants before a basic sponge is baked on top. Once cool, the cake is anointed in a thin lemon icing. Just the thing for afternoon tea.

I can also recall wholemeal date scones kept warm in a tea towel so that the butter melts when you crack them open. I remember eating ice cream out of small coloured bowls while perched on footstools at the glass and camphor wood coffee table. I can see myself picking and eating green runner beans off the vine that grew along the side fence.

Then there is a cooked dessert called Impossible Pie and though I haven’t cooked it in years, it was once a staple on my repertoire. It’s one of those desserts that my kids loved and I usually had everything in the pantry to whip it up. You just mix all the ingredients together in a bowl with a spoon – no special equipment required – and pop it in the oven to weave its magic. From lumpy liquid to a three-layered delight in just under an hour and I’m guessing that’s where it gets its name.

Please note, I view any additions, including the scandalous suggestion of topping with slivered almonds, as besmirching the purity of the dish. Not least that as a child I truly disliked the crunch of nuts in sweet things as they interrupted the flawless perfection of smooth, sweet one-dimensional delights. I also accept that perhaps I had only known the nadir of what nuts could be, that their bitter unpleasant taste was due to a lack of freshness as opposed to the deliciousness I now know them to be.