Baking a British Christmas in Canada: The Ingredients Your Supermarket Won't Have

I can tell the month by what gets asked for at the counter. October is tins of biscuits. December is anything with a bow on it. November, every single year, is a phone held out across the counter with a mum's recipe on the screen and the question: where do you keep the caster sugar?

So, the big answer first. The things a British Christmas recipe takes for granted, and the things I have gone looking for in a Canadian supermarket and come home without, are mostly the same list: caster sugar under that name, golden syrup, black treacle, self-raising flour, suet, custard powder, mixed spice and a jar of mincemeat. Some of those you can swap and nobody at the table will notice. Some you can swap and everybody will notice. Two or three you should not swap at all, and I will tell you which, because I have eaten the results.

Most of what follows lives in our Christmas collection and on the pantry shelves. Where I go light on the deep detail, it is because a whole British baking translation guide for the rest of the year is coming, and I would rather not repeat myself badly.

Why does a British recipe go wrong in a Canadian kitchen?

It is not your oven. It is the words.

A British recipe says sugar and means a finer sugar than the bag in your cupboard. It says syrup and means one particular syrup in one particular tin. It says flour and means a flour that will rise without being asked. Each of those on its own you would probably get away with. Four of them at once, in a cake that bakes for hours, and what comes out is a perfectly nice cake that is not the one you remember. Nobody can quite say what is wrong with it. That is the worst kind of wrong.

Then there is the matter of cups. Your mum's recipe is almost certainly in ounces or grams and your kitchen drawer is full of measuring cups. A set of kitchen scales is the cheapest fix in this entire article and the one people least want to hear.

And there is the quiet one. Christmas baking is the one time of year when you are cooking memory rather than food. A Victoria sponge that comes out a bit different in June is a shrug. A Christmas cake that comes out a bit different is a phone call home.

The swap table, with my honest verdicts

These are my opinions as the person who sells the British version and has also, out of stubbornness, tried most of the Canadian ones.

If you only read one row, read the custard one.

The three tins I would not leave out of a Christmas kitchen

I am going to be unfair to Canada for a paragraph and then make it up to her later.

Lyle's Golden Syrup is the first. It comes in the 454g tin and it is one of those things you do not think about until you cannot get it. Lift the lid and it smells faintly of toffee and something very slightly caught, in a good way. Pour it and it folds over itself. Corn syrup pours like water in comparison and tastes, to me, like sweetness with nothing standing behind it. If a recipe has golden syrup in it, the golden syrup is usually the flavour. Take it out and you have removed the point.

Lyle's Black Treacle is the second, same size tin, very different character. It is dark to the point of being nearly black, bitter at the edges, and almost savoury. A spoonful in a Christmas cake is what gives you that deep colour and the flavour underneath the fruit. Molasses from the Canadian shelf is the nearest thing, and in a cake with a kilo of dried fruit shouting over it, I think most people would be happy. I am not most people, and I keep a tin.

Bird's Custard Powder, in the 300g drum, is the third and the one I am least willing to argue about. We will get to trifle properly below. For now: the custard you remember was very probably made from this, and the Canadian pudding mix in the little box will give you something cold, set and slightly wrong. Nice enough. Not custard.

For the full story on the yellow drum and everything else in the pudding cupboard, there will be a whole article on British custard and puddings.

Christmas cake: start earlier than you think

A Christmas cake wants time more than it wants skill. The fruit, the spice and the spirit need weeks to settle into each other, and I have found no shortcut that does the work of a few weeks wrapped up in a tin.

People ask me when to start feeding it, by which they mean spooning a little brandy or whisky or rum over the top every so often and wrapping it back up. My answer is the day it comes out of the oven, once it is properly cold, and then whenever you remember after that. Little and often. You are not trying to get the cake drunk. You are keeping it company.

What goes in it is where the swaps bite. Dried fruit, Canada does beautifully. Butter and eggs, no complaints. The spoonful of treacle that gives it the colour, see above. The mixed spice, see the table. The sugar, I would use whatever is in the cupboard and worry about something else. A fruit cake has too much going on to notice the grain of its sugar.

If you have missed early, start now. A cake with two weeks on it is a far better thing than no cake, and nobody at your table is holding a stopwatch.

What is Stir-up Sunday and have I missed it?

Stir-up Sunday is the Sunday the Christmas pudding gets made, and in plenty of houses the cake goes in the same weekend. I was brought up to understand that everyone in the house takes a turn at the spoon and makes a wish while they are at it, and I have never seen a reason to stop. The kitchen smells of fruit and spirit for the rest of the afternoon.

I am not going to print this year's date here, nor the story behind the name. I have heard both told with great confidence by people who disagreed with each other, and I would rather be right than quick. What I will say with my hand on the counter is that it falls weeks before Christmas, not days, and that is the only bit that matters for your baking.

If you are reading this in November, you have very probably not missed it. If you are reading this in December, you have, and it does not matter in the slightest. The pudding does not check the calendar.

Speaking of which, if you are buying your pudding rather than making it, there is an entire piece on Christmas pudding in Canada coming, including how to set it on fire without setting the curtains on fire.

Is there really no meat in mincemeat?

No. None. You can tell your Canadian partner this with a straight face, and they still will not fully believe you until they have eaten three.

Mincemeat is the sweet, dark, spiced dried-fruit filling that goes inside a mince pie. The name is a hangover from something much older that I will not try to explain here, because the version I was told and the version you were told are probably different and I have not checked either. What matters in a Canadian kitchen is this: the jar is hard to come by, and a mince pie without it is just a small, sad tart.

The pastry is the easy half. A shortcrust is a shortcrust, and all-purpose flour makes a good one. If you want the shortcut, a packet shortcrust mix takes the guesswork out, and I say that as somebody who makes pastry from scratch most of the time and from a packet when there are twenty-four mince pies to get through before people arrive.

My one firm rule on mince pies is the same rule I have for most Christmas food: warm, with something cold on top. Custard, cream or brandy butter. A cold mince pie eaten standing up in the kitchen at eleven at night is also acceptable, and I have done it more than I will admit in print.

For the broader Christmas table, from the pigs in blankets to the cheese, a British Christmas food guide will cover the lot.

Trifle, and the custard argument

Trifle is where the Canadian shelf lets you down hardest, because the Canadian shelf has never heard of custard powder and does not see why that matters.

Build it from the bottom. Sponge, which can be ladyfingers or a plain cake or the trifle sponges if you can find them. Jam, and I would pick Hartley's Raspberry Jam because raspberry fights back against the sweetness of everything above it. Fruit. Jelly, if your family is a jelly family, and this is a line down which households divide and do not reunite. Then the custard. Then the cream. Then whatever your gran put on top, which was sprinkles or flaked almonds or nothing, and she was right whichever it was.

The custard is the argument. Made from Bird's, it sets into a layer that holds its shape when you push a spoon through it and tastes like every trifle you have ever been handed in a paper bowl. Made from a Canadian instant pudding mix, it is a different dessert sitting in the wrong bowl. I have tried to be fair about this. I have failed.

If you want the whole thing in one box, the Bird's Trifle in raspberry and its strawberry sibling both come in a 141g pack and do the job the British trifle kit has always done, which is to produce a trifle in a kitchen that has no business producing a trifle. I would still make the custard layer thicker than the box intends. That is a personal failing.

And if you want a cold custard with no cooking at all, a 400g tub of Ambrosia Devon Custard poured straight over the fruit is a trifle somebody made in a hurry, and that somebody has frequently been me.

Sherry. Yes or no is between you and your conscience. I will say that a trifle with no sherry in it is a trifle for children, and a trifle with too much sherry in it is a trifle for one particular aunt, and the correct amount is somewhere in between and has never once been written down.

Where the Canadian version is perfectly fine

I promised to make it up to Canada, so here it is, and I mean every word.

Butter. Canadian butter makes a fine pastry and a fine cake, and I have never once blamed the butter. Eggs, same. Cream for the top of the trifle, same, and if anything you have more choice of it here than you would at home. Dried fruit, nuts, brandy, whisky, rum: all present and correct. Icing sugar, no complaints from me or anyone I have fed. All-purpose flour for a shortcrust is a good flour for a shortcrust.

Granulated sugar in a fruit cake. Molasses in a very dark fruit cake. Pumpkin pie spice used with a light hand. Ladyfingers under a trifle. All fine. All things I have done and served and not been asked about.

Which leaves a shopping list short enough to hold in one hand on the way in from the car. Golden syrup. Black treacle, if the recipe leans on it. Custard powder. A jar of mincemeat. Three tins and a jar, and your mum's recipe starts behaving itself again.

If you are buying those from us anyway, you may as well have a little back on them, which is what GBS Rewards is for.

Questions people ask us

What can I use instead of caster sugar in Canada?

For a fruit cake, ordinary granulated and stop worrying. For a light sponge, look for a finer grind, which Canadian brands sell under different names; the translation guide linked above has the detail.

Can I use corn syrup instead of golden syrup?

You can, and it will not taste like the thing you remember. My rule: if the golden syrup is there to sweeten, you will get away with it. If it is there to be tasted, as it usually is at Christmas, buy the tin.

Is molasses the same as black treacle?

Not the same, but close enough in a heavy fruit cake that most people would not catch it. In anything where the treacle is the main flavour, I would use the real tin.

Is there meat in mincemeat?

No. It is a sweet, spiced dried-fruit filling, and the name is a relic of a much older recipe. Your Canadian guests will ask twice. Be patient.

When should I start a Christmas cake?

Earlier than you think, and if it is November, this weekend. Feed it with a little spirit from the day it is cold, then whenever you remember until you ice it.

Can I make the trifle custard from a tub instead of the powder?

Yes. A tub of Ambrosia Devon Custard poured straight over the fruit is the quickest trifle in this article. It will be softer than a custard made from Bird's, so if you want a layer that holds a spoon, make it from the drum.

Put the kettle on, find your scales, and tell your mum the cake is in. She will ask if you fed it. Say yes.