I once eyed down my older sister, Rach, just prior to proposing a cake off. To set the scene, essentially, three of our family members were on the cusp of their birthdays, and so to kill three celebratory birds with one stone, we decided to host an event. Rach was assigned chef of two sponges, and I was allocated just the one (now in my mind, that was a win for me right there).

“You’re going down!!!!” I taunted her, as we both took up position at our kitchen corners.

Oh, and didn’t Rach launch into action, taking no time to start juggling ingredients with the precision and speed that a hipster wields apple products. Before I had even assembled together my ingredients, I looked over to see Rach perfecting the peaks on a bowl full of cream while simultaneously separating eggs.

If there was ever a time that I needed to come out firing, then this was it. I feverishly boiled up a bucket of orange juice with enough cornflour to make cement. I slathered the goop with a generous portion of cream atop my (store-bought) sponge base, mounted its lid, then topped my sugar tower with as many blackberries that I could humanly convince to stay in place.

At which point, the moment of truth had arrived.

Rach and I took our paces over at the dining table with our cream filled guns in hand. Rach was first to start the procession of rapid fire by blasting out with her espresso choc beauty (just quietly, it delivered a heavenly blow).

But then I whipped out my lopsided bullet and splayed several servings into anybody within clean shot. (I might now mention that the room was soon filled with clean plates; and even more remarkably, no signs that under the table portions had been palmed to the dog).

However, just as I was about to tout victory, Rach opened fire with her raspberry and lemon curd piece of artillery, which unanimously finish me off and claimed cake victory.

As I curled up in the corner to lick my wounds (and let’s be honest, my plate), true to the never say die person that I like to tell everyone I am, I vowed to concoct a recipe that might not actually claim victory in a sponge-off, but should end one with a very respectable draw. Now given that I’m currently working on a vegan cookbook, I decided to make this one entirely plant based.

Eight disasters, including three flops later, and I now have a potential winner on my hands. I know this to be true because it gained this rave review from Mumsy, the ultimate cake hoover, herself:

“Darling it’s so fresh and summery…….it’s like something Meghan Marble would serve at one of her royal tea parties.”