How to Make an Engineer's Tool Cabinet: Part One

My Poppa was a tool maker, ending his working life at a technical college in Basildon, a place that sprung up over his lifetime from the fields he knew and loved. He was one of these wonderful squirrel type characters, who knew that almost anything was of use one day and hated the idea of throwing anything out. Small pieces of metal, cutters etc would invariably find their rest in the already overflowing black engineers tool cabinet and on inheriting it I had the tough task of trying to decided what I felt would one day be useful and what should go on to be recycled and turned into something else. I was aided in this by my general ignorance with regard to engineering and metal work in general and so the little cabinet was soon emptied and cleaned, only to then be swiftly commandeered by the other half as a sewing box.

A little while ago I stumbled on another one, this time unstained, sat in the window of a small antique shop. As with so many (my Poppa’s included) it had lost it’s door, but was in good overall condition and had been cleaned and polished by the shop owner. We agreed a price that was fair and I brought it home to reline the draws (which I detailed on a previous blog post) and then sold it using a rather well known auction website, to a costume designer working on a Sci-fi film who was delighted with it. However, before I sent it to it’s new owner I took some measurements and drew out rough sketches in the back of my notebook, thinking that making one would be a very enjoyable project and handy for keeping various craft tools in place and easily transportable.

So when I signed up to a furniture making course at my own local technical college I knew exactly what I wanted to make and I went along to the first session, notebook in hand, and tried to explain to the tutors what my ideas where and what the cabinet looked like. It’s is so often the imbalance of knowledge that gives rise to confusion and this was certainly the case here and on reflection a photo or two would have made things so much clearer; instead I watched as they tried to make sense of my little partial drawings, that were marked with the readings from the micrometer I had used to measure it to 0.1 mm accuracy. The sketches and figures made sense to me, because I knew where they had been taken from and I knew how the cabinet worked as I had a mental picture of the finished piece. The second week I am not sure if I improved the situation when I turned up rather late and flustered (although I was the only one who cared), with several pages of scale drawings that once again made perfect sense to me.

Hopefully you'll understand then why it came as a huge relief when last night at our third session, the main tutor, studying my drawings, said ‘I get what you are making now, this is going to be a lovely little cabinet’ and was positive and encouraging about me building it. However, I had drawn the cabinet to the same dimensions as the original, only to discover that the oak timber I had available was not wide enough and had decided that my new one would need to be much narrower. The tutor asked if I was wedded to the idea of using the oak I had taken in and, mindful that something more exciting might be in the offing, I said not particularly. This led to me being taken out through a series of rooms and into the timber store and shown a huge piece of mahogany at the bottom of a stack. ‘Why not make it out of that?’ he asked.

So, I have got to go back to the drawings, rather pleasantly and rework it not just to the original size, but on his suggestion a little larger so that the door fits cleanly in the bottom when in use. I’ll be documenting the progression of building it here and will publish the plans and photos of the finished cabinet; hopefully it will put a smile on the face of my Poppa and give me somewhere to poke the bits that are 'too good to throw away'!

In the meantime please do visit Adam Cherubini’s blog Arts & Mysteries where you’ll find him contemplating and building a very similar piece.

T'ao Ch'ien (Tao Yuanming): Shady, shady the wood in front of the Hall

Shady, shady the wood in front of the Hall:
At midsummer full of calm shadows.
The south wind follows summer's train :
With its eddying puffs it blows open my coat.
I am free from ties and can live a life of retirement.
When I rise from sleep, I play with books and harp.
The lettuce in the garden still grows moist:
Of last year's grain there is always plenty left.
Self-support should maintain strict limits:
More than enough is not what I want.
I grind millet and make good wine :
When the wine is heated, I pour it out for myself.
My little children are playing at my side,
Learning to talk, they babble unformed sounds.
These things have made me happy again
And I forget my lost cap of office.
Distant, distant I gaze at the white clouds:
With a deep yearning I think of the Sages of Antiquity. 

T'ao Ch'ien (365–427)

As translated by Arthur Waley (1919) in One Hundred 

& Seventy Chinese Poems  London: Constable & Co

Toasted Teacake Recipe

One thing we love at the weekends (and sometimes in the week too) is to have a proper afternoon tea. It is really nice to get all the old china out and sit down together over fresh coffee and cake, chatting or reading through magazines. The trick is to borrow all the sense of occasion and beauty from the ritual, without the stuffiness or formality.

So last weekend I decided to have a go at baking some English teacakes, the most quintessential of afternoon tea treats. Little did I know that working out what a teacake actually was would prove so difficult... but in the end I came up with a recipe that I am really pleased with.

Mrs Beeton: The addition of sugar and fruit
is very nice...

As with so much traditional English food recipes vary depending on the region and historical period, and names sometimes referred to very different recipes. Historically speaking a teacake, particularly in the north east of England (most famously Yorkshire), was a small yeast based bread, without fruit - a direct descendant of the Manchet bread or 'hand bread'. However in modern usage, almost throughout England, it refers to a bun with fruit and spices. 

Writing in 1861 Mrs Beeton's basic recipe follows this older northern use of the term and doesn't have either sugar or currants in them, although she does say that they are 'very nice' with them added, making a more southern, modern teacake. 

Two other interesting elements are the use of eggs (quite literally some do and some don't include them - really without rhyme or reason) and also the different types of fat they use. I went for butter in the end, as although the use of lard would certainly have made for a shorter mix, I could not quite bring myself to use it. Dan Lepard has a really interesting recipe on the Guardian website and suggests the use of white chocolate instead of lard... I thought about using his version, but I think it would make his already sweet recipe very sweet indeed. 

However, what I did learn from Dan was that fat, sugar and even spices slow the yeast down, so much so that for his recipe he recommends 5tsp of dried yeast. Mine are not so sweet or fatty, so I have reduced this to 3tsp - but this is still much more than I would have added for bread.

The dough is set to rise twice, until doubled
in size, which is around an hour each.

Most times teacakes are served split and toasted and I would suggest making them the day before you need them. Our toaster has a 'bagel' setting that only heats the element on one side. So I toasted them until almost done on the inside surfaces first, then turned the knob so that both sides heat up and warm the top or bottom for the last 30 seconds or so. Obviously with a grill this is even easier and on an open fire much more fun.

I was surprised to find that the buttering of teacakes is considered an art in itself, with almost every writer advocating their own tried and tested method. Perhaps the only constant was that a meanness of butter is deplored by everyone. The rather emphatic advice below is borrowed from Dorothy Hartley:

' The right way to butter toasted teacakes (IMPORTANT): Toast bottoms and tops first; split and toast insides; lay (do not poke or spread) bits of butter on the lower half; cover with the top half; and invert. Keep hot for 3 minutes, then turn the right side up, polish the top with a suspicion of butter, cut into quarters, and send to the table. In this way the butter is evenly distributed and does not soak down into the bottom crust.’

Teacakes just before brushing with milk and baking.

My first batch of teacakes followed a middle road and included some currents, but not peel or spices. They were nice, but perhaps rather predictably neither-this-nor-that and, being a southerner, I felt they would be improved with some spice. So to my second lot I added ginger, cinnamon and allspice. Allspice is an unusual spice to use (I couldn't find any other recipes using it), but is one of my favourites and I think works well. However, you could replace this with nutmeg for a more traditional combination.

The recipe produces a light and fragrant teacake, but also one which has a depth of flavour and texture from the wholemeal flour, even more so if spelt is used. Please do try it and let me know what you think... 

Teacake Recipe

   8oz (250g) white flour

   8oz (250g) wholemeal flour (wholegrain spelt is ideal)

   2 oz (50g) butter 

   4 oz (125g) currants

   1oz (25g) caster sugar 

   1 tsp of salt

   3 tsp of yeast
   1/2 pint of tepid milk

Either: 

   1/2 tsp of cinnamon and dried ginger

   1/2 to 1 tsp of allspice

or 

   1/2 tsp each of cinnamon, dried ginger and nutmeg

Mix together the milk and yeast and then set aside. Combine the flour, spices, salt and sugar before rubbing in the butter and finally adding the currents. Pour in the milk and yeast mixture to form a soft dough and then kneed until elastic and smooth.

Place the dough into a large bowl and cover with a damp tea towel, then place into a warm place until the mixture has doubled in size - I usually use the oven set to 30°c and this takes around an hour.

Cut the dough into 8 pieces, before setting
to rise a second time.

Divide the mixture into 8 equally sized pieces and form each one into a flat round, placing them onto baking trays. Cover with the damp tea towel and leave to rise in the warm place, again until they have doubled in size (about an hour).

Finally brush the tops very gently with milk (this can be done before the final proving if you wish) and then place in the oven at 400°f or 200°c for around 20mins - until they are golden brown. Allow to cool on a wire rack.

Toast and butter as described above an serve on the very best chintzy china.