A Slice of Childhood & My Frangipane-Topped Mince Pies

Today, I want to take you on a little trip down memory lane to where my love for baking really began—at my parents' guest house on Franklin Mount in Harrogate, North Yorkshire. Growing up there was an experience filled with moments that shaped who I am today, especially in the kitchen. The guest house had about ten rooms, and my mum did all the cooking for the guests, as well as our little family.

One of my fondest memories was sneaking into the pantry with my older brother Rich. It was our little treasure trove—big sacks of flour, sugar, and, most tempting of all, giant bags of ready-made crumble mix. We’d grab the biggest spoons we could find and scoop up mouthfuls before inevitably getting caught. Those sweet, buttery bites were worth the risk!

Of course, Sundays were all about the roast dinner. It started with Yorkshire pudding and pickled red onions, followed by tender roast beef and all the trimmings plus Yorkshire puddings . If there were any leftover Yorkshire puddings, my brother and I would drench them in golden syrup for dessert. Warm and crispy from the oven, I looked forward to Sundays all week!

The guest house was mostly filled with people passing through, but we did have a few permanent residents. One of them, Mr. White, left a lasting impression on me. A quiet man with a mop of thick white hair, he’d give my brother and me £1 pocket money every Saturday. We’d rush off to the corner shop to spend it all on penny and half-penny sweets—it’s a wonder we still have any teeth!

One Saturday, though, I made the mistake of throwing a cushion at Mr. White while we were playing in the guest room. To my utter shock, his hair fell off! I had no idea what a wig was back then, and we never spoke of it again. But I’ve never forgotten that awkward, confusing moment!

As for Christmas, I can never forget the smell of my mum’s Christmas cake baking slowly in the oven, filling the kitchen with the unmistakable aroma of Christmas. That rich, fruity scent wrapped itself around the whole house, making it feel like Christmas was truly here. Whether you’re a fan of Christmas cake or not, that smell is something that stays with you forever.

While I’m not sure if my mum made her own mincemeat for mince pies, I know her approach to baking—the care, the love, and the creativity she put into everything—has stayed with me. In many ways, she’s the inspiration behind the mince pies I make today. I took that love for tradition and added my own twist, one that feels uniquely mine yet still rooted in those early memories.

I decided one day to top my mince pies with my beloved frangipane, and ever since, it’s been my signature. My customers love them, and I sell hundreds each year at my café. Now, I’m so excited to share the recipe with you, and I hope they become a part of your holiday traditions, just like they have in mine.

Happy baking, and enjoy!