Here’s some food for thought - and just the thing for a winter afternoon, with the added bonus of a nice little story behind it, which always makes me smile.

It started unpromisingly with a dismal wet day, which scuppered the plans my mum and I had to visit a museum exhibition, and we ended up sheltering in Primark. At least I came away with a good packet of knickers.

Obviously we couldn’t stay there for ever. Outside it was still cold and wet and people were standing in doorways looking out, not at anyone in particular, but simply looking out with flattened, peeved expressions.

We ran out of the rain into a cafe. It was warm inside and there were some lovely-looking cakes on the counter, although with my mother the assumption is always that we will have soup. Soup and tea.

The girl behind the counter was bewitchingly friendly. She was Polish, and it was her mother, Ella, who did all the baking. Her mother was downstairs. There was a Black Forest cake, with all its turrets and glossy layers, a plum crumble tart and whirling pastries.

We ordered soup, which was beef and leek - delicate and creamy. My mum ate the plum crumble tart. A chocolate cake arrived, carried by Ella.

At this point, I knew that my mum would be engaging in conversation with Ella, and that this would happen as soon as the cake appeared. It began as it always does - with a few compliments and a request for ingredients.

A slow and delicate deconstruction of the soup followed and then onto the plum crumble tart. Without this gentle but astute back and forth, I know Ella would not have brought out a jar of her home-made black cherry jam for us.

When it came to packing for the return trip to Los Angeles, where I was then living, I decided to leave the jar of jam behind. It was too heavy, and anyway, presumably you could get black cherry jam in LA.

But you couldn’t. I found myself often thinking about Ella’s jam. I missed it, and the patterned lid, and the way Ella had presented it, her face flushed with promise and oven heat. It’s funny the things we regret.

Back in England and reunited with the jam, it seemed only right to celebrate with warm cherries and chocolate cake.

I would like to think these cakes are based on the Ischler torte, the Viennese chocolate cake with cherry and almond filling, and not the smothering Black Forest.

But ultimately, there is something very British about these little chocolate fondants. We are so in love with the oozing and glaucous pudding, with dark and brooding chocolate. And cream, of course.

If you can’t find dried cherries, you could try prunes soaked in brandy, raisins soaked in whisky or dried cranberries in vodka. And, of course, if you have some home-made cherry jam, use that.

Warm cherry and chocolate cakes

Adapted from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, Three Good Things on a Plate

Makes six

100g dried cherries

40ml Calvados

A little cocoa powder for dusting

150g dark chocolate, broken into small pieces

150g unsalted butter, diced, plus extra for greasing

3 large eggs

75g caster/superfine sugar

35g plain flour

Soak the cherries in the Calvados in a small bowl for at least two hours - or overnight - to absorb most of the liquid.

Pre-heat the oven to 200C/400F and put a baking tray inside to heat up. Butter six dariole moulds or ramekins well and dust with the cocoa. Melt the chocolate and butter in a heat-proof bowl over a pan of barely simmering water.

Stir gently at the end to blend and leave to cool a little. Beat the eggs and sugar together for a good five minutes until the mixture is thick and creamy and ’holds a trail’ - when a little is dropped from the whisk it sits on the top of the mixture before slowly sinking back in.

Fold the melted chocolate and butter lightly into the egg mousse. Sift the flour over the mixture, then fold it in carefully. It should be thoroughly incorporated but don’t overwork the mixture. Fold in the cherries and Calvados.

Divide the mixture between the ramekins. You can prepare these cakes ahead to this point, if you like, and refrigerate them for up to two hours. Bake the puds on the hot tray in the oven for ten-12 minutes. Turn out immediately into shallow bowls and serve with thin, chilled cream.

* Read more of Sophie’s culinary adventures on storiesfromthestove.net