Second helping of an old favourite

The plan for today is to bake a cake. 

I bought a brand new cake tin the other day. It is the sort which has a sprung clip to the wall, meaning you don't have to run a knife around it to get the cake out. The last time I had a kitchen clear-out I threw away a cake tin which had a loose base which you pushed from beneath, and that was irritating enough for me to chuck it. I followed my own rule of not putting an object which I wouldn't use myself back out into the world again by giving it to a charity shop. The world has too many of those objects in circulation.

It is going to be that old Victorian favourite which my mother used to make - a seed cake.

I have an old, aristocratic friend who now lives as a virtual recluse in the West Country, but before he made his intention to leave his wife and children clear by locking himself in his bedroom, I once visited the family in their 17th century farmhouse on the Somerset Levels. He had momentarily developed an obsession for the French tart, Clafoutis, and when I arrived one Sunday he was seated at the table making it. I say 'it', but I should have said 'them'. He was turning them out one after the other as if he was going to run a stall at the village fete.

He had bought many pounds of fresh cherries which he halved and pitted ready to go in the Clafoutis. So many, that - in order to speed things up - I volunteered to take over while he mixed the next batch and put it in the oven.

I lost count of how many he made, but as each one came out to be eaten, he would sample it thoughtfully before pronouncing that it wasn't quite right yet and set-to by making another. I say 'sample', but we ate the lot each time it was set on the table. By the time the cherries had been exhausted I could not eat another thing.

As much as I like it, I have made more than enough Clafoutis for one lifetime, so when I found myself in a restaurant once which had it on the desert menu I ordered it for old time's sake.

I don't drink coffee after a meal as most places encourage you to do, so I was even more confused at what the waitress brought back from the kitchen.

"I thought you said, "I would like a cup of tea".