I was once told that anything the heart desired could be purchased in Helston. I have tested the theory once or twice without conspicuous success
but I am happy to believe that the third time will be lucky.
Sainsbury's extended their retail empire to the town a couple of years ago and monopolised
the view of the air base and the amusement park.
Helston became a fermenting cauldron of aspiration, a shrink-wrapped cornucopia of bake-o-goodies.
Hurrah for Helston, to hell with the hearts desire!
We live in a society that is measure by its packaging. In the drive to save the planet we have added stick on labels to every package to tell us if it can
be recycled or not. Sainsbury's use these delightful plastic boxes, like stunted greenhouses, and they hint of artisan craftsmanship. The mass
produced buns are taken from the bakery display at the customers whim and shovelled into these boxes by hand. It is craftsmanship of a sort, I suppose.
I was asked if I would like to choose the buns I preferred and as always, I asked for the happiest of them.
Every bun has a best side, and like a Hollywood Star from an age before Twitter, that is the side to see it from. This one comes baked in a wrapper
like a yeasty fairy cake, a shining white crown with a scarlet jewel in a brown paper mount. The wrapper serves to hold it's deliciousness in place and keeps the
outside world from contaminating the toothsome treat.
It is a simplification to suggest that a bun can be judged by its cherry, but I have always felt that a poorly appointed cherry is a warning of
a disappointment to come. This is a cheerful cherry, the dark red suggesting that it wasn't bleached before the colouring was added. The icing is thick
and pure white, with a texture between a paste and a jelly. The cherry has been added and the two have bonded. It would take a serious structural subsidence
to dislodge it. I had to poke it quite hard with a finger to remove it.
This is a terrible tease of a bun. A seductive stripper full of concealed promise. The wrapper is peeled back and the bare bun is revealed, but it is only
when the bun is bisected that the internal structure is revealed. This is the moment of truth when we see if the baker has given his all or hidden a slap-dash
bun under a splash of icing.
This is a delightfully coiled bun that has been fashioned with care and slipped into its wrapper to be baked. It has risen in the oven until the coils
embrace eachother in soft sensual delight. The texture hovers between spongy and flaky and it is satisfying to bite and firm enough to chew without
being too submissive. The coils tear apart into small pieces and the icing stays fixed to them so that it can be eaten with the fingers in delicate nibbles,
or pushed into the face like an A3 envelope through a letterbox.
I like to see a light coat of lemon curd on the internal coils. It adds a tangy note to the sweetness. This bun has improved on that simple
pleasure by adding some chopped citrus peel to the sultanas distributed through the body of the bun. I found 27 pieces of peel in the sample
investigated, and it had a sultana count of 25, which is on the generous side of average.
As you can see, the sultanas remained succulent through the baking process. Many a good Belgian Bun is spoiled by sultanas that have baked hard
in the oven to become gritty tooth-terrors.
Every bun has its good and bad points, and so it is my habit to test them for durability. Can the bun withstand the rigours of modern day life for long enough to
arrive at the consumer in satisfactory condition. I went to prepare the test chamber.
While I was away, the bun was eaten by a Venus Fly Trap.
It is here in Helston, where it seems the hearts desire can still be purchased. £1.78.
