A 92-year-old’s timeless sponge: baking, memories and life lessons in a Kent cottage
Step into a Kent cottage where 92-year-old Sue shares her secrets to feather-light sponge, a life well-lived, and the art of making every meal matter
In the heart of the Kent countryside, where roses and bluebells grow against the walls of a centuries-old cottage, the simple act of baking a sponge cake becomes a journey through time. Sue, 92, welcomes visitors with the warmth of someone who has spent decades perfecting not just recipes, but the rituals of home and hospitality. Her kitchen, filled with the scent of peonies and the hum of a 50-year-old Kenwood mixer, is a living testament to the enduring power of food to connect, comfort and celebrate.
Listen to the full episode with Sue Bennison from the 5 O'clock Apron Podcast then delve into the podcast archive for more culinary adventures.
A recipe written from memory, not a book
Sue’s approach to baking is unhurried and instinctive. “I like making cakes,” she says, “but I don’t like eating them too much.” Her signature fatless sponge is as much about intuition as it is about ingredients. No scales, no digital gadgets, just three eggs from local chickens, four rounded tablespoons of caster sugar and three of plain flour, all measured by eye and memory.
“It just shows how well you know the recipe,” Clare marvels, watching Sue sift sugar and flour with practiced hands. “I love a cake that you don’t have to weigh things.”
The method, too, is a lesson in patience and gentleness. The eggs and sugar are whisked until thick and mousse-like, the flour folded in with a feather-light touch. “You don’t want to bash it,” Sue explains, turning the mixture over and over, careful not to lose the air. The result is two delicate layers, ready to be sandwiched with sharp blackcurrant jam and a generous billow of whipped cream.
Baking through history: from wood-burning stoves to podcast kitchens
Sue’s kitchen wisdom is shaped by a life that has spanned continents and eras. At 23, newly married, she left England for Kenya, travelling by ship for six weeks as the Suez Crisis unfolded. “We lived in a house that had no gas or electricity,” she recalls. “I had to cook on a wood-burning stove. You had to chop down trees for fuel before you could even start.”
Her culinary journey also reflects the privations of post-war Britain. “When I started cooking just after the war, ingredients were very scarce. Butter was so precious, you didn’t put it on everything. Your ration was two ounces per person per week. The only thing available was margarine, which was a horrible sort of stuff. Olive oil was sold in chemists, not for cooking.”
The art of living and eating alone
Now, living alone in her beloved cottage, Sue’s relationship with food has subtly shifted. “It’s really difficult when you live on your own,” she reflects. “It made me realise what a social thing a meal is. You want to talk about the food and enjoy it, but it’s just yourself eating it.” Still, she makes a point to cook a meal from scratch most evenings.
Her kitchen shelves are lined with well-thumbed cookbooks – Jane Grigson, Elizabeth David and the Constance Spry Cookery Book – all reminders of a lifetime spent learning, experimenting and sharing.
A garden as rich as her stories
Beyond the kitchen, Sue’s garden is a living larder. “I grow tomatoes, cucumbers, beans, lettuce,” she says, her pride evident. The grapevine and peonies, both over 50 years old, are as much a part of the cottage as the wonky doorstep. The garden, once her husband’s passion, is now tended with the help of a local gardener – “he’s young, so he’ll see me out,” she jokes.
A cake to bring people together
As the sponge cools and the kettle boils, Sue assembles her cake with the same care she has shown all afternoon. Blackcurrant jam is spread thickly, cream whipped to soft peaks and the two layers sandwiched together. “You need a fairly sharp jam,” she says, “to balance the sweet cream.”
The first slice is met with delight. “It’s so light. The cake’s delicious. And you are right about the jam – super sharp jam and sweet cream.”
In a world that prizes novelty and speed, Sue’s kitchen offers something rarer: the reassurance that some things – good cake, good company and the art of paying attention – never go out of style.
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