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Clafoutis was the first cake I ever made. It was 2009. Starting this blog in March of that year meant I had been growing slowly but surely in kitchen confidence and about ready to tackle something that involved frightening things like flour and baking powder and measurements. 

Sometime around the day she demystified quiche for me, my great friend Jocelyn introduced me to the idea of a clafoutis. She had grown up with it as her mother’s staple dessert (much like the pavlova in my own home) and explained that there wasn’t really much to it. It involved hardly any measuring at all, in fact.

Three and a half years on and, although measuring stuff still makes me nervous (it’s the Maths, you see) I do feel I’ve come a long way from making my first Clafoutis.

In saying that, isn’t it great to revisit old favourites with a new sense of confidence? When my Mum and Niall’s Mum, Niall’s Nanny and Niall’s sister came over to ours for afternoon tea yesterday, I whipped up this classic cherry clafoutis without hardly breaking a sweat.

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