I call this cake a Battenberg cake. I like to eat it in a very dainty way, which is that I cut it up into its four squares, then cut those squares up into four squares so that I end up with sixteen teeny-tiny pieces of cake which I eat in a very dainty manner… sometimes. Other times I just squash a whole slice into my mouth in one go and wash it down with a big slurp of tea.
Anyhoo, that’s enough about me. I have just started reading Sophie Hannah’s version of an Agatha Christie novel and in it, the divine Hercule P
goes off to a café and is given a slice of cake which is called a Church Window cake – but is clearly a Battenberg. Now, I am all for historical accuracy, and so I did look up Church Window Cake and yes, this style of cake was called that (for about five minutes, back in the mists of time) but actually by Hercule Poiret’s time period it seems to be universally recognised as a Battenberg cake. It is my absolute pet hate when I am reading a novel to be jolted out of my reading zone by having something niggle at me. And the Church Window Cake was it. It niggled at me so much and made me so cross that I stopped reading the novel. Maybe the name of the cake is vitally important to the plot. I’ll never know.