The back fence of our garden in the city was covered with passionfruit vines and we would eat them well into winter, the last big green ones clinging to the vine even as the leaves were falling around them. As a baby Lewis used to bite into them whole and suck the sticky pulp out through the holes he would puncture in their thick leathery skin.
It is one fruit that is missing from our garden here but we had a hankering for this cake, which I baked for both Quinn and Lewis' birthdays last winter. Passing on the supermarket's overpriced purple globes, probably shipped from Queensland, I had reluctantly brought home a jar of pulp which had at least been bottled locally.
In one of the those marvelous moments of serendipity, the bag of fruit appeared on the very afternoon we had set aside for baking, courtesy of a generous friend sharing her garden's surplus. There was a tin inside the bag which we filled up with individually iced orange cakes and popped into her letterbox the next afternoon. Her boys were thrilled. "The passionfruit magically turned into cakes!" The tin may be making another visit.