Banoffee Pie

Banoffee pie always feels like the dessert equivalent of a warm hug. It’s sweet, a bit messy, and absolutely impossible to eat politely. I grew up thinking it was some ancient British treasure passed down through the ages, only to find out later it was actually invented in the 70s. My childhood sense of dessert history has never quite recovered, but the pie itself still sits proudly at the top of my “treat yourself immediately” list.

Every time I make one, the kitchen smells like buttery biscuits and caramel, which is probably why Buttercream the cat always appears out of thin air. She acts like she’s supervising, though we both know she’s hoping for a tiny drip of toffee to hit the floor. One landed once. Never again. I’ve never seen something so small move so fast.

Banoffee pie is one of those recipes that looks dramatic but hides a very easy process underneath. Perfect for those days when you want to impress someone but still want to keep your slippers on. I’ve tweaked mine slightly over the years—just enough to keep the sweetness balanced without losing that classic comfort.

Ingredients
300g digestive biscuits
120g melted butter
1 tin condensed milk (397g) turned into toffee
3 bananas
300ml double cream
1 tbsp icing sugar
1 tsp vanilla
Grated chocolate or cocoa for the top

Method
Crush the biscuits until they look like sandy crumbs. Stir them into the melted butter and press the mixture firmly into a tin. It should feel a bit like building a beach for very tiny people. Pop it into the fridge while you prepare the toffee.

For the toffee, I usually simmer the unopened tin of condensed milk in a deep pot of water for about 2½ hours. It feels like forever, but the result is worth every minute. Just make sure the tin stays covered with water. I nearly cried once when the water dipped too low and the tin started rattling. The drama.

Spread the cooled toffee over the biscuit base. Slice the bananas and lay them across the top. I always snack on at least one slice during this part, purely for emotional strength.

Whip the cream with the icing sugar and vanilla until soft peaks form. Don’t go too far—you want it cloud-like, not stiff enough to judge you. Spoon it over the bananas. Finish with grated chocolate or a light dusting of cocoa.

Pop the pie in the fridge for at least an hour, though I’ve cut into one early before and lived to tell the tale. It wasn’t pretty, but it tasted incredible.

Whenever I serve banoffee pie, someone always says, “I’ll just have a small slice,” as if that’s physically possible. The second slice appears quickly, with far less hesitation. And me? I always sneak a spoonful straight from the tin when I’m tidying up, standing in the glow of the fridge like someone having a secret moment with their dessert.