Merry Crustmas one and all!

With Christmas well and truly over, presents tidied neatly away and the tree starting to look a little shabby, Fanny Cradock moves swiftly onto making pies, naturally. They are simply a must for the New Year, and super for using up any old bits and bobs of scraps that happen to be left lying around after the festivities. Of course, for Fanny that means rabbits, lamb kidneys and pigeons. Things are a little different in my kitchen though, so it's chestnuts, cranberries and some spring onions for me. Not sure what Fanny would think. Fanny whizzes all her various animal parts up into a wonderful raised pie crust, so I'm sure I can too...

Fanny makes her hot water crust 'paste' with self-raising flour of course, milk, water and pure lard. She calls it English Raised Pie Paste. She gives an alternative fancier French Raised Pie Paste (Pâté à Foncer) which replaces the lard with butter, however she warns very strongly that under NO circumstances should a lard replacement be used if making the English version. She probably wouldn't approve of my vegetable fat based lard substitute Trex in that case. For probably read definitely.

Fanny mixes the water with the milk, and melts the 'lard' gently in it until it reaches boiling point. It's then flung into the sifted flour and beaten vigorously until it comes together into a smooth, thick paste. Fanny then kneads it until it is even smoother. The English version is kneaded on a wooden board, while the French demands a marble one. Not sure what the Veggie version should be, so I just use the counter. Either way it should be used immediately otherwise it will become hard and cold, just like Fanny herself, some bolder than I might suggest. Keeping it warm is key, in contrast to other pastry which must be kept cool. Fanny rolls her out on top of the cooker while the oven is on.

Fanny fills her pies with pâté and hard boiled eggs. I try to recreate the pâté by blitzing up the chestnuts, spring onions and cranberries before mixing in a perfectly ordinary egg. Fanny makes a large raised pie, but I have a lovely 'individual' baking tray thingy so I line them out with the still warm hot water paste, pop in some pâté, place half a boiled egg in the centre, pack round more pâté and seal on a lid of pastry with a little brush of milk. Obviously with a little leaf fashioned out of pastry scraps on top too. Above all garnish and presentation.

Fanny bakes her pie in a low oven for a long time, until it looks crisp and brown. My little individual ones take around 45 minutes before coming out, cooling slightly and then being unmoulded. Fanny leaves hers until the next day in the refrigerator all ready to serve to unwelcome guests popping round uninvited between festivities. The finished pies are lovely, the hot water crust is so crisp and tasty, easy to make and I am sure versatile. Many pies to come. After all, not a rabbit, pigeon or lambs liver in sight. Merry Crustmas one and all.

You Must Be Yolking

More often than not dear old Fanny is deadly serious when it comes to her discussion of food, her directions for preparation and her dissections for garnish. It is a serious business after all, and she wants us to take it equally seriously. However from time to time she just feels likes throwing it all up in air to have a chuckle. Clowning around isn't a normal way of things in the Cradock Kitchen, as you can imagine, but when she feels a little prank coming on, she frolics in and can barely contain herself. If the pun is a visual one, it would seem, more the better, and best of all if she can (wise)crack with an eggs-capade or two, the yolk is wonderfully complete. I'll try and contain myself...

Observable one-liners are very much en vogue at the moment, with the likes of the ever-inventive Frances Quinn and her amazing showstoppers on Great British Bake Off. Fannys stunts don't strive for the same standard of shenanigans, they are not quite as elaborate, but she does try to trick our eyes as we tuck in. Here, she wants us to believe we are making Poached Eggs. Sweet ones. Worry not, it's NOT like her beloved omelettes. There's nothing more to it than some droll sponge, quirky cream and apricot cups full of jest... The joke's on you if you think all cooking is complicated.

Fanny takes her ordinary 'fresh' sponge (you'll see that I freshly purchased a Madeira Cake but you may interpret her directions as you will) and slices it into squares, *spoiler*, as if to resemble slices of toast. You can probably guess the punchline to this one. My Madeira was a little thick and much as I like a doorstep sandwich, I neatly sliced it down the centre before beginning. The slices were still fairly hefty, so you could do the same again. Or you could just eat a huge wad of cake, like I did.

Fanny carefully whips some cream, by hand of course, until it is thick but not too firm, and spreads a little on each slice of 'toast' in as neat a not-quite-circular egg-shape as you can manage. Fanny suggests some grown-up supervision may be required, these are really for the little people to make you see. The final witty step is to glibly open a tin of apricot halves (or cups as Fanny correctly refers to them). An adult is definitely required for this, especially if like me your tin is the old-fashioned type without a ring-pull. I'm all for authenticity you see...

Dry off a 'cup' and plonk it onto the cream, a little off centre if you are pernickety about detail like moi, and voilà, there you have Fanny's Sweet Poached Eggs on Toast. Don't mention to Fanny they more closely resemble Fried Eggs, she won't laugh along. Everyone will be mightily fooled, everyone will laugh heartily, everyone will revel enviously in your whimsical repartee. They are, quite incidentally, fairly tasty too - a sweet, cakey, creamy, fruity treat. Farcical Fanny has also worked on a suitable joke *clears throat*, ahem, to share as you serve them, just to build on the theme. I'm just copying it out as she has written it okay? Alternatively, supply your own egg-based humour... "Do you know what the hen said to the dish of scrambled egg? Gee, you poor, crazy, mixed up kids!"

Poor old Dom at Belleau Kitchen may end up with egg on his face this month, as I'm sneakily entering these 'Sweet Poached Eggs' into his Simply Eggcellent blogger link-up thingy... The theme this month is Anything Goes, I do hope Dom is a good egg and accepts Fannys Funny Frolic in the good spirit it is intended... Pop over and share a 'yolk' or two with him...

Coping with the Cradocks at Christmas + Vintage Book Giveaway!

Oh my Fanny Cradock, it's blooming December already - how on earth did that happen? Fanny would be thoroughly ashamed of me as I really haven't had time to prepare for Christmas yet. She always makes a very prompt start in, erm, January, so I can't even decide if I'm late or just a little bit ahead by thinking about it now. Perhaps I've missed a whole year somewhere? Fanny laid out her blueprint for a perfect Christmas first of all in her much-sought-after book Coping with Christmas in 1968 - the book that supposedly 'let's you relax at Christmas', but ironically sent the housewife of the sixties into a severe seasonal spin. Nigella references it in her Christmas book too. I am hoping to inspire some of you to follow in Fanny's rather imposing footsteps by giving away a copy of this essential reading - read on to find out how! It's my Christmas gift to you (wrinkles nose and smiles to camera).

Firstly though, just incase I am not alone and we are all in a flap, we needn't worry too much - Fanny will soon be appearing on a TV near you thanks to the guys at Food Network UK (scheduled to begin on December 7th, set to record NOW) running through all her handy hints for festive fun. I've already had a head start in previous years as I cooked my way through the many 'Treats de Noël' that she shoehorned in to share on the show... Let's take a wee trip and skip back through the joys that are an Essential Cradock Christmas. Fanny was very fond of Choux Paste as we know, and it is her first 'must make' for guests this Christmas.

Best to make plenty of those to keep your tupperware boxes full to keep your guests filled up, they may not be as keen on the Royal Mincemeat creations. In fairness Fanny's mincemeat is delicious, and it is put to good use making Mince Pies, Mincemeat Pancakes and even a Mincemeat Swiss Roll if you really fancy it. If you must. However I defy anyone to make and ENJOY the infamous Mincemeat Omelette. Served wet, of course, with a very thick dusting of icing sugar. It only makes it taste even worse, but you'll definitely want to hide it as best you can.

Quickly grab a bottle of booze and take a swig after tasting that, that's the only advice I can possibly give. While it's in your hand, slosh some into a small pan, heat gently and fling it over your lovingly created Christmas Pudding and waggle it gently as you set fire to it. Keep wiggling as you take it through to wow your guests, and hope that they forget the wuggly omelette.

If anyone still has room, and doesn't fancy another quickly prepared omelette (Poor Sarah is on hand if you've acquired a taste) the Christmas Cake is the perfect crowning glory... You really should've made it well before now of course, Fanny will be cross with you (and me), but perhaps we could make them together now ready for next year and just keep them 'lively' with the odd splash of booze, which by now we all understand, is constantly in hand.

So that's how Fanny copes with Christmas. Easy. Except these are only the very basics you see. Tune in to her jolly Christmas shows to see more, and do enter my giveaway below to win your very own copy of Coping with Christmas, which contains many more ideas and recipes than she even managed to squeeze into the specially made-for-TV Booklet (this book is not that, just to be clear). If you win, we can start together in January and be so very prepared for Christmas 2016, and not shamefully caught out again, like this year. Go on, enter now*, you'll be surprised how much of a perfect Cradock Christmas you've coped without doing before.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

* If you are the lucky winner chosen by Rafflecopter I will send you this lovely book, which is a duplicate from my own collection - it's a used, vintage paperback printed in 1968 but is in really great condition and is a HOOT to read!

Kugelhopf We Go Again

Fanny strives to set some definitions straight before we go any further, although it's not at all clear why she has waited until this moment to do so. You might be forgiven for thinking it is terms she uses to describe her treatment of the poor old assistants, but no, it is useful terminology for 'yeast work'. So when she talks about scaling, pinning out, proving, knocking back, slapping, kneading and glazing - no enthusiastic helpers have been harmed. Well, we cannot guarantee this 100% of course, but in terms of defining 'yeast work' we can feel slightly reassured.

Mostly the terminology is self explanatory - but that does not deter Fanny from providing clarification. Scale is a 'technical term', Fanny says, for weighing out portions of dough into 'given uniform quantities'. Just in case you wondered. Fanny gets a bit more feisty though with Knock Back... this means to slap down with palms of slightly floured hands on lightly floured surfaces until 'it' (remember she is chatting 'dough' not 'assistant') subsides to about one quarter. You can then Slap and Knead alternately, or as Fanny describes - slip, slap, slip, slap with the palm of one hand and then the other across a minimum 'length' of 12 inches for around a minute. I think we are still chatting dough, but even I'm not sure now.

Fanny puts our newly defined knowledge to good use to make a German, or maybe Austrian, or perhaps Swiss, speciality. In English it doesn't sound so appealing - Yeast Cake - but saying it in German, Austrian or Swiss-ish is so much fun. The Kugelhopf. I imagine the pronunciation is Rose Nylund style. Since Fannys day they have been rebranded as Bundts, but only if you use a tin from a certain producer, which I don't have, so I'll stick with the K-word instead. I'm not sure many of the B-folks make yeasted cakes in theirs though?

Fanny whips up the usual yeast and flour mixture in a warm bowl, adding sugar, salt, vanilla powder (I have a grinder, get me), flaked almonds, lemon zest and raisins. Oh raisins. I don't have any. I do however have glacé cherries, of course I do. So in they go, along with some dried sour cherry powder for extra oomph. Then Fanny adds eggs gradually, and some gently warmed milk to bring it together to a dough. Fanny then leaves it to prove (for which she gives two definitions - one for domestic and one for professional use - which do I choose? Thankfully professionals, we discover, use a proving oven - has she been watching Bake Off? - so that's not an option for me...) for 2 hours to double 'in bulk'. This is a technical term.

Once bulky, all that remains is for it to be shaped - or rather Pinned Out to use the correct term for 'rolling'. Not to mean as you might expect 'against the kitchen cupboards' as in treatment of assistants. Into the Kugelhopf pan, covered and left to prove for one more hour before baking. It. Smells. Amazing. However Fanny has one last technical term to ram home before you rush to get the icing sugar and garnish ready... Hands Off. Fanny insists that you do NOT cut into it until the following day... It's more tortuous than her treatment of any assistant, but worth the wait. The Kuglehopf is a bready cakey joy wherever it hails from, whatever the definition of the pan it's baked in, and however you eat it. Slathered with butter for me. With extra green cherries.

Bish, Bash, Brioche!

Fanny is keen to demonstrate that she is 'exploding yet another fallacy' by guiding us with ease through the often-thought-of-as-tricky yeast cookery. 'Bang goes the fable that yeast is difficult to handle' she boldly states as we skip into the kitchen together... Yes, yeast takes time, but not nearly as much as the 'misinformed' (that's all those who disagree with Fanny you understand) would have you imagine. Fanny calls them 'know-alls' who happen to be 'absolutely wrong'. So 'know-nothings' really. Fanny has something to 'prove' to us all, when it comes to yeast, it should be simple.

We've already mastered croissants (sort of), explored the differences between Babas and Savarins, so the sensible yet simple next step is to look at the mighty Brioche. Fanny has another secret up her over-blown chiffon sleeve... the yeasted batter for Brioche is exactly the same as we have just made for Babas and Savarins. Exactly. With a feeling of déjà-vu I set to mixing it all together, but as Fanny says, it is at least simple.

Fanny likes to think of Brioches as 'edible containers' for either sweet or savoury fillings. She maintains that the incidence of sugar in the batter is not high enough to offend the palate which receives savoury mouthfuls. Not too sweet then. Fanny would give us wondrous recipes for Fois Gras fillings (which would command a hefty price of £1.25 per slice in fancy restaurants as a first course) but we aren't quite ready for that. Phew. Instead she entices us (seemingly) with a drab crab filling or a French Soufflé. If in doubt, add a soufflé to anything and everything, that's Fannys mantra. She hollows out a giant brioche, fills it with a superb show-off soufflé mix and bakes it again. Ta-dah!

Brioches are versatile however. As an alternative Fanny gets poor old Sally to cobble together another giant brioche, this time suitable for a range of Family Occasions, 'La Brioche Familiale'. Shamefully Sally has burnt the top of an otherwise beautiful bake, but Fanny is at hand with her trusty icing sugar to cover it liberally with an inch or two of heavy dusting before it is presented. Sally is no longer invited to the family occasion. For Sally's own good, a picture of it is presented in all it's glory for readers to see. She must learn and not become one of those 'know-alls'. Fanny also makes some 'Brioche Ordinaries' herself in little miniature brioche pans. It is these plain brioches I go for, mainly as I have the pans, and I don't want to end up cast out like Sally.

Fanny is not normally known for her plainness however, so she suggests a simple way to tiddle them up a little for very special occasions. Tinned fruit. It's always my first port of call when I want to go fancy. Actually it is a bit of a guilty pleasure, so I am of course delighted that Fanny approves. She gives her brioches a little scoop out to create a hollow, filling them with an apricot cup. My tinned fruit of choice is the marvellous peach, sliced and smothered with a generous painting of crab apple jelly. A joy to eat, yet so simple, and so there to all you misinformed 'know-alls'...

Rum Babies

Have you ever sat alone at home in the evening dwelling and mulling, pondering and wondering, or just plainly puzzling what the difference is between a Savarin and a Baba? Fanny is super keen that we are absolutely clear as we progress through the culinary ladder with all things yeasted. To support us to bring our questioning to an end, she devotes a whole page to explaining the difference. A whole page. If you've ever seen Father Ted you might be a step ahead here. Let me try to summarise. Both are generally ring shaped, and are made of the same yeasted sponge mixture. And both soaked in syrup. One is big (the Savarin) and one is small (the Baba). Not far away. So, the difference is that they are different sizes.

Fanny chronicles her crush on the credited creator, French gastronome Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin (1755-1826) and his generally great gastronomic work La Physiologie du Goût. It doesn't sound all that appealing, but he sounds fascinating. A real party animal by all accounts. Fannys says his family were 'curious' (I do wonder if this is judged by her standards) - his two sisters (both 'maiden ladies') spent nine months of the year in bed, only rising eventually to spend an entire month readying the house for the arrival of their famous brother. He stayed a month, they partied, then they spent the twelfth month putting everything away again before slipping back into bed to 'restore' themselves for his next visit nine months later. Wow, must've been some party!

Fanny starts her recreation of Savarins' brilliant pudding by fermenting. Yeast, sugar, milk and a little flour. Fanny explains this is a basic of yeast cookery that we must master. After half an hour, she adds the doubled mixture, which should be jumping 'like a bag of fleas'  to flour with butter rubbed in, a little more sugar and finally eggs. Fanny warns not to mix the sponge mixture until the ferment has fermented. Particularly handy if you are unsure what that means or looks like... luckily I do. Her final warning is to make sure that the eggs are blended in without beating - gentle actions are required here.

Fanny pipes the yeasty mix into her range of savarin and baba moulds. Either large rings for Savarin or small ones for Babas. Remember? Not far away. I have neither, but I do spot some Jelly Baby silicone moulds lurking around in my kitchen that I bought ages ago and have never used. They seem perfect - Babies not Babas. This is my mantra. I spray them lightly with oil and pipe in the mixture - much more easily controlled than spooning. Fanny doesn't say how far to fill them, so I guess two-thirds of the way. I expect them to prove for a while, but Fanny flings them straight into the oven for exactly 14 minutes, so I do too.

While they are baking, Fanny suggests I ready myself with the syrup. She uses a basic stock syrup, diluted, but that doesn't seem fancy enough for my babies. I use some gorgeous crab apple jelly I made for foraged fruit last month, slightly diluted. It's a stunning colour, and taste. The babies jump out the oven and plunge themselves into their hot syrupy bath. Once they soak up all the goodness, Fanny fishes them out and douses them in rum. Seems fair enough. They do look a little bit like E.T. rather than cute babies, but they taste so good. So moist and squidgy, with an apple-rum-y hit. Fanny completes hers with piped cream and a garnish. It only seems appropriate to choose actual Jelly Babies* for this. I wouldn't want my Rum Babies to party alone. I have high expectations after nine months of bed-rest, so let's get ready to Rum-ble...

* Please, please do not send me nasty letters, I know that Jelly Babies are not vegetarian, but they are cute...

Ces Croissants Ne Sont Pas Français

Fanny Cradock has a canny knack of convincing us that almost everything is perfectly French, even when it clearly isn't, including her own questionable heritage. Just by saying it, or writing it, it becomes true, n'est-ce pas? I mean, who could possibly cross-check these things back in the day? However for once Ma Chérie Fanny takes something which we all (possibly) would imagine to be so utterly French through and through and lets us know in no uncertain terms that it is not. We are wrong. Bien sûr. Croissants are most definitely NOT French. Non madam.

How silly of us to not know our history. Especially when it comes to cold yeasted dough. Especially when the true story is 'such a pretty one', according to Fanny. Croissants were of course created by the bakers of Budapest in 1686. During a siege on the city by the Turks when their forces surrounded the city walls, the guards on the parapets fell asleep one night. Fanny doesn't bother to explain why. The bakers were of course still awake and baking, as usual. The bakers heard strange noises and awoke the guards, thereby driving back the Turks. The next day it was hailed that as a reward for the bakers saving the city a new bread was to be created. Inspiration was taken from the crecents on the sleeves of the Turks' ottomans, and hence Croissants were born. Naturellement.

Fanny wants to continue on her myth busting way by convincing us that croissants are also easy to make, real croissants that is. Fanny says that is 'nonsense' that they take 8 hours to make and can be easily made even in cold environments. Even when there is a draught in the kitchen, or a door is left open it makes not a halfpenny of a difference. They need no proving. Yes, that's what Fanny says. Just whip up the dough, which can then be left in the fridge for up to 7 days, prepare the croissants, slip them into the oven for 13 or 14 minutes while you make tea or coffee and do the rest of your breakfast chores if you have guests. Remember Fanny is not too keen on weekend guests. Ou quelqu'un.

Fanny gets going by cutting some flour into butter with two knives, sharing it into an oblong and chilling it in the fridge. Fresh yeast (which I love) is mixed with some sugar to liquefy and then a beaten egg while you make a mound of flour on your work surface. Fanny doesn't specify which kind of flour to use, but she always says to use self raising for everything, so I do. The liquid is poured into the mound and gently mixed to a dough, without breaking the flour rim until it is thick enough. Fanny them simply slaps it from side to side until its smooth and picks up all the remaining flour. Sounds like her treatment of the poor assistants. Quelle surprise.

With the chilled butter in the centre, the dough is folded over, spun round, rolled out gently (Fanny notices you should see small bubbles on the surface, I do, meaning the yeast is waking up, springy and light), turned and folded again, and again, and again until a lovely parcel is created. I decide to store it in the fridge until weekend guests arrive. Fanny rolls out her dough to a quarter inch thick and uses a complicated triangular wooden template to cut out shapes to be rolled as croissants. I go more freehand with a pizza cutter. Look, it's Sunday morning and I am still asleep. Curled, egg washed and in the oven. Once baked they are golden and crisp, a little bobbly but maybe that's because I stored the dough for a few days. They don't look all that French, but do look a little like croissants, but a little more like little crabs - luckily I can tell my guests I am trying out an old authentic 17th century Budapest pastry recipe to distract them... Je suis si vilain.

Nigella, Come For A Meal

I don't often find myself tuning in to listen to Woman's Hour, for no particular reason, but I did recently. I think maybe I caught a tweet or two saying that Nigella would be on, alongside Diana Henry, Bee Wilson and Cara Nicoletti all chatting about food and feminism - it sounded fun. They'd be discussing if we all should just 'ditch the guilt' and just enjoy the 'many pleasures that food and cooking offers'. So it had to be worth tuning in. Woman's Hour began in 1946 and dear old Fanny was a regular contributor back in the 60's and 70's - she would have been a fantastic addition to the line-up of today I think! I wonder if those shows were much different to today?

The BBC produced a handy booklet in 1966, encouraging listeners to cook, eat and make others happy. They asked 12 Woman's Hour contributors to design a menu each. It's all a bit Come Dine With Me, except they called it Come For A Meal. You get the idea. Each menu was for a different occasion, and surprise surprise there was even a Vegetarian Dinner. If you fancied Tomato Soup followed by Stuffed Marrow and Lemon Sorbet you were sorted! A Vegetarian Dream. Fanny of course had much grander ideas...

Fanny's menu was for those times, that we can all relate to, when you have four guests staying the whole weekend, and you need to plan an entire menu for six from Friday evening until Sunday afternoon. Fanny provides her ideal menu to 'sustain them', "someone has to" she says with a knowingly resentful glance to the radio listeners. You really get the impression these guests are not welcome at all. Best of all Fanny says, you should be able to make all this 'without help' which must've been such a boon for the ordinary housewife listener. Perhaps the domestic is away for the weekend, or worse still your very favourite assistants have the weekend off? Eeeew! Surely not...

Each dish of course is presented with it's very fancy French name, and features a mix of cold dishes ready to 'dish up' as well as others ready to pop into the oven or steamer to 'take care of themselves'. You don't want to neglect your guests while nourishing them. Easy peasy. Your weekend guests will be simply thrilled with Scallops with Cheese Sauce, Jacket Potatoes with a 'difference', Pork and Cider parcels, Ice Cream with Citrus Fruits, Pate Pie, Chicken with Cheese Fondue Sauce, and an untranslatable French Flan, a recurring favourite, which Fanny calls Tarte Fleurette.

So, flash forward to 2015, Nigella is busy cooking Poached Salmon, Avocado, Watercress and Pumpkin Seed Salad, from her new Simply Nigella book. Different ingredients, but perhaps the same sentiment? Nigella urges us to eat good, wholesome, real food. "Cooking is an act of love, whether that's expressed to yourself or others". So whether its 1946, 1966 or 2015, the Woman's Hour message is the same, relish cooking and revel in entertaining. Fanny's additional and unique message was still to fancy it all up in French, naturellement.

I was fortunate enough to meet Nigella at her "An Evening With..." with my friend Karen in Edinburgh not long after her Woman's Hour appearance, squeeeeel. It was a joy to hear her being interviewed and talk about her love of all things food. I can't imagine Fanny releasing a simply stripped back book like this, but both 'home cooks' are linked through their passion for cooking, eating and sharing with readers, listeners and viewers alike. Fanny was all frills, Nigella, well, was Simply Nigella. Next time Nigella, come for a meal, I'll pop the radio on and we can flick through Fanny's books...

The Harangued Meringue That Went Wrang

So far in the wonderful journey with Fanny Cradock all has been relatively well. Well, we've laughed together, learnt together and looked at some pretty strange creations, lingered for a second then dived in for each lesson, all together. Fanny has been good to me, mostly, things have worked out well. I may not have always liked a few of the end results but they have emerged pretty much as Fanny intended they would, and indeed has she showed me they would. Until today that is...

Fanny is keen to elevate me up the meringue ladder, stepping up from the very ordinary to embrace the exotically continental Italian version. I'm keen to learn Fanny's ways. I've made Italian Meringue before without her but so far she has surprised me when I've queried her techniques. Never query Fanny. It's helped me to learn and build my own repertoire, helped me to rediscover forgotten ways, forgotten flavours and forgotten presentation styles. It's just as Fanny hoped, with a hefty slant towards always doing things her way. Naturally.

Fanny starts the meringue by beating the egg whites until they are very stiff indeed. Nothing strange there. She says if doing this by hand to leave plenty of time in your day or get someone to do it for you. Or if by machine to flick the switch and busy yourself with making a sugar syrup. Fanny adds sugar and water to her favourite roomy pan, allowing every grain of sugar to gently dissolve without touching or stirring once. Once dissolved, the heat is increased to boiling for 3 or 4 minutes. To test if the syrup is ready Fanny dips in a perforated spoon and blows bubbles through the holes. If no bubbles appear, further boiling is required. Once bubbles form however it's tipped into the whipped egg whites and beaten again until glossy. The beaters must not stop for a second. Again, nothing strange so far.

However now is the time that I start to doubt Fanny, but of course quickly dismiss my disloyal thoughts and persist with her. She makes a thick circle of meringue on greaseproof paper (first drawing a circle with pencil on the underside), leaves it exposed to 'set' and then pipes a tall border of 'simple over and over rope' around the edge. I admit, I must practice my piping more, my 'over and over rope' is more freestyle than technical. Fanny says that the meringue should be left out again, exposed, to dry in a dust-free, warm area. "It requires no cooking" she instructs us gleefully. So, I leave it out overnight, switching the no-longer required oven off...

In the morning my meringue has a slight skin forming but really is still wobbly, pliable and pretty much as I left it the night before. Fanny's looks crisp and crunchy. What have I done wrong? Surely it is me, and not Fanny to blame here? After reading and re-reading the instructions I am sure I've followed them to the T. Undeterred, I follow Fanny in filling the precarious case with custard, topping it with a range of tinned peaches, pears and pineapple rings just as she shows me. Then I pipe in some hand-beaten Chantilly Cream between, giving it a final flourish of blueberries and sprinkles. It does look pretty, but it's in danger of collapse, along with my faith in Fanny. It tastes great, but... Maybe I should've baked it? Maybe Fannys' house is much warmer than mine? Maybe I've not been paying as much attention as I thought? Maybe, just maybe, Fanny has gone wrong?

Dont boak, it's only Gwen Troake!

Fanny Cradock never cooked with Gwen Troake, not surprising after judging her nauseating banquet menu so harshly, claiming her ideas were 'too rich' and just plainly not suitable for presentation at a professional level. For Fanny, the end of a long career on TV, for Gwen it resulted in her first, and only cookbook, endorsed by Esther Rantzen. Esther said that the nation became either pro-Troake or pro-Cradock following the showdown, but my guess is that the only winner was the book publisher, who presumably shifted a fair few copies of plainly unprofessional Gwen's Country Cookbook.

The main ingredient that made Fanny pull faces as if she was holding back a substantial slew of slurried spew was the humble Bramble. Fanny claimed on TV not to even know what one was, and continued her bile-laden disgust at Gwen for even suggesting that it would make a suitable sauce to be served with Duck at the banquet the Big Time show was built around. Game old Gwen simply chuckled at Fanny's vitriolic vomit and carried on regardless. No-one else really seemed to like her recipes, but somehow they made it into her book. This must've made Fanny retch even more.

The Bramble Sauce recipe is a peculiar one indeed. Gwen simmered Brambles in plain water for around 15 minutes before straining and pushing them through a sieve. The pulp was discarded, and the juice thickened first of all with that staple of all 70's sauces, cornflour, and then with a very un-Fanny ingredient. Shop bought lemon jelly. Fanny would heave. Gwen adds sugar to make it even sweeter, a little salt and a splash of red wine, presumably for refinement. I can see why Fanny remained on the point of gagging. Especially as an accompaniment for a savoury main course. Perhaps it was meant to be regurgitated for dessert?

In her quest to extend our rice repertoire, Fanny makes some sweet fritters and suggests serving them with 'your favourite jam sauce'. Hmmm. I bet she never thought anyone would dare to recreate Gwens creation though. I'm wicked. I know. Shoot me. Fanny binds together cold, cooked rice with an egg, some ground almonds, sugar and a generous sprinkling of cinnamon. She shapes them into little rissoles and fries them very gently in olive oil (from the chemist) until they are a nice brown colour. They don't really look like a dessert, more of a chicken nugget type of a thing, or dare I say a duck-nugget should such a thing even exist?

The resulting modern day 'collaboration' between Fanny and Gwen is a slightly more convivial combination. The crunchy, slightly sweetly spicy but otherwise plain rice 'fritters' are given a new lease of life with the overly sweet, citrusy Bramble jam sauce, which is thick and gloopy. I find myself dipping the fritters into it as if it were ketchup (not that I've ever actually eaten ketchup, the thought of it truly makes me heave) in a way that would probably increase Fannys revulsion. Perhaps they should've written a cookbook together, partly for professionals and partly for the public, instead of bickering their way into the history books. Gwen's Brambles may not have appealed to Fanny, and may have never appeared again in such a form on any table - professional banquet or otherwise. Fanny's guidance may have provoked less of a joke, croaking more a masterstroke than a choke, and revoked both their futures from hurtling towards broke. That's all folks...