She prepared a miraculous feat for my celebration. The very thought of it still makes me smile

Though we were nurtured by Mum’s cooking daily, my parents’ brood thought little of the effort required, though we devoured the efforts made. It wasn’t until later in life, having donned the mantle of cook as a career, did I begin to appreciate quite what was required to feed a large, boisterous family well. For the most part, we ate simple Scots fare – lentil soup, mince and tatties, suet puddings – but, on occasion, Mum would sit at the counter, trawling through her favourite books, cigarette in hand, and, indicating a find, would duly pen a shopping list.

One such instance was for a birthday feast – Mum’s and mine, for I was born on Mum’s birthday – and the date was the 21^st. And this particular birthday was my 21^st. Birthdays for the most part were celebrated by just the family around the table at home, and, usually in both Mum and Dad’s hands: the triumphant entrance of a splendid cake, made in whichever child’s favourite flavour (chocolate for my sister, while I adored a spiced fruit cake, thickly iced). I always felt that mum’s birthday was overshadowed by mine, which seemed somewhat unfair. So, for this celebration, I volunteered to bake a cake – an offer she kindly accepted. And so Mum graciously relinquished her kitchen – in itself quite something, for the kitchen was her domain – but more of that anon.

Marcona almonds from Spain, walnuts, dark chocolate, Agen prunes from France and a few decades of love go into this sumptuous, boozy frangipane tart

A recipe box was rifled through, but, alas, much like shopping for a present last minute, nothing leapt to the fore. Out of the corner of an eye I spied an old folder of pudding menus, all stained and tattered. A wonder at how this might have escaped notice was soon dispelled – unsurprising, really, given the usual state of my desk and shelves – and the page on which it fell open revealed the scribbles for a midwinter pudding menu. And, just like that, as if the scent rose from the page itself, came a memory of an almond, chocolate, walnut and prune tart being lifted from the oven, all mahogany hued and with a few bubbles bursting from the pieces of chocolate among the prunes peeking out.

My appetite for almond tart has never waned; be it in a restaurant kitchen or at home, an almond tart is nigh-on inevitable. When I was younger, almond tarts were often made with ready-ground almonds and usually invigorated by a drop or two of almond essence, because they were often shy of flavour. But then bags of whole marcona almonds from Spain began to arrive, and quickly usurped any notion of baking with any other almond. Shaped like teardrops and almost milky in colour, delicate, buttery and freshly ground, these almonds imbue a tart with a superb quality and flavour. The benefit of not having to blind bake a tart case balanced the need to bake the tart on a rack sat in a tray to catch any butter and almond oil-infused tears released while baking.

Jeremy Lee is chef/co-owner of Quo Vadis in London, and author of Cooking: Simply and Well, for One or Many, published by HarperCollins at £30. To order a copy, visit guardianbookshop.com.