Our house growing up was a hectic place during my teen years. Both my sister and I played competitive ringette for teams in different divisions, and both my parents were involved on the coaching staff and or served with regional and provincial boards for the sport. Weekends were often spent on a big diesel bus and in a hotel room. My dad always said “You haven’t lived until you’ve had french fries and coffee at 7 am in a cold arena.” Of course that was back in the good old days when arenas served chip-wagon-quality fries. It was rare that we all shared a sit-down dinner together during the winter months anyways. Dinner was often on the hoof and from our local take-out joint. I remember those days with great fondness.
Rob’s home was alien to me. His stay-at-home mom had baking and snacks ready after school. Dinner involved sitting down at a table set with napkins! The meal was served from pretty dishes on the table, not from the pot on the stove. And dessert! Dessert was an everyday event, not just a company thing as it was in my home.
I would not have traded the hectic life of a competitive ringette family for anything, but I did enjoy a dinner invite into the serenity of the Rose household. And did I mention they had dessert EVERY day? One of the first memorable desserts I enjoyed there was jam buns. These buns were a simple dough rolled out, cut into squares, placed in muffin tins and filled with strawberry jam. You can fancy the buns up by using an upscale preserve instead of strawberry jam and serve with some lightly sweetened whipping cream.
First, a couple of fact-checks for Maureen’s memories: we didn’t have after-school snacks. My Mom just thought Maureen was THAT special. And Mom baked more often than rarely and more rarely than often. But we DID have dessert at every meal and served from bowls on the table. Most times, dessert was very simple — ice cream, store-bought jelly roll, or pudding. But sometimes, usually in the summer, we had wonderful pies and maybe once or twice a year we’d have these jam buns.
Jam buns. It’s what my mom called them, maybe due to a poor French-to-English translation. They were poorly named in any event, as they were tarts, made with a rich shortbread crust that weren’t “bun-like” at all. The jam part was accurate, though. She always used whatever cheap jam we had in the house, usually the store-brand strawberry or raspberry jam that was 70% pectin by volume. But it didn’t matter. Maureen might say that it would be an option to fancy these up with good preserves or fresh fruit, but THAT WOULD BE WRONG. It would be a terrible violation of childhood memories and a violation of the spirit of these depression-era treats. Mom would always take the leftover crust, roll it out, spread it with jam and roll it up, cut into pieces and bake them last as impromptu pastry rolls.
Okay. true confession time. I must have been 4 or 5 years old and Mom had made these jam buns for dessert. It was mid-afternoon, and Mom had made some of these earlier in the day and they were sitting out on the kitchen counter, already cooled with a dollop of whipped cream on each one. In a moment of weakness and INCREDIBLE lack of foresight, I decided to steal one. As I was stuffing the last of the tart into my face, I heard Mom’s voice behind me, saying, “What are you doing?”. I played it cool and tried my best to conceal my chipmunk cheeks full of tart and turned to face her hoping she wouldn’t notice that I probably had jam and whipped cream from chin to forehead. I didn’t have to say anything, and she grabbed me by the forearm, brought me over to the kitchen garbage can and forced me to spit it all out. And then, that night at dinner time, Mom announced that I wouldn’t be having any dessert because I had already had a tart during the day, which accomplished two things. First, she saved me some embarrassment by implying that permission was involved, so that was good. The second thing, which directly set off the alarms in my 5-year old sense of “fairness” – which in a multi-child household is the law of the land that keeps the peace, is that I didn’t get dessert AND I was made to spit out the one I stole. Somehow I was down a jam bun in the deal. And it’s stupid, but that sticks with me.
Maureen said I could have an extra one of these, so all is right with the world.
2 cups flour
3 tsp. baking powder
2 tbsp. sugar
1/4 tsp. salt
1 cup lard
mix in as pie dough (not much direction here. I cut the lard in to chunks and then used my fingers to mix the dough.)
1/2 cup milk
1 tsp. vanilla
Jam, pie filling, or preserves
Whipping cream (optional)
Roll out to 14 inch thick.
Cut into squares, put in muffin tin, drop in one tsp. jam or filling.
Bake at 450 degrees till light brown.
Note: I found the dough to be very sticky. I placed it on a floured surface, incorporated about 1/4 cup more flour, rolled it into a ball, placed in a saran covered bowl, and chilled it. The dough worked perfectly after this step.
Click HERE for a printable version of this recipe.