Welsh cakes (a cross between pikelets and scones), eaten straight off the bake stove with a generous sprinkling of sugar were a highlight of childhood visits to Cardiff. My nana had her own recipe and instinctively knew when to flip them over to ensure the perfect bake.
My memories are so vivid that a single bite can take me straight to my nana’s kitchen. I can see the tiles, the clock and the well-worn dresser; the biscuit tin (well-stocked for grandchildren) and the cut glass sugar bowl. I can almost feel the crisp breeze blowing in through the back door.