Don't Be A Tosser!

Fanny is very serious about all things pancake, and tries her utmost to pass that gravity on to all her readers. She is on a mission to educate and eradicate any frippery. She does not understand at all why we in Great Britain continue to associate pancakes only with Shrove Tuesday. It makes her flipping mad to think about those 'coarse wash-leather chaps' which people pass for pancakes but which she thinks would be splendid only for cleaning the car with. It's all about being professional you see. Who has ever heard of a great chef laying down instructions that in order to eat pancakes you must first tear along the road like a 'blue-based fly' chucking the poor wretched things in the air trying to catch them? It makes no sense to Fanny at all.

We can heave a sigh of relief however, Fanny is here to propel us all towards the professional way. So if you are tempted to hurl your pancakes high and enjoy a little bit of heritage hilarity, be prepared to sling your batter now. Pancakes are one of the best ways Fanny knows of eking out left-overs and thrilling guests, but in order to please your guests to maximum effect you must be able to lob your pancakes out at speed and without getting hot and flushed in the kitchen as you do so. The key is preparation and preservation. And of course making super thin professional style pancakes in the first place. If your pancakes are thick enough to toss, Fanny says, there is only one place to toss them - into the dustbin.

Fanny discusses many, many variations for pancakes from the very basic higher and higher up her favourite 'culinary ladder' to the summit. The method for making and using them remains the same, but each step up a rung provides a slightly more 'dreamy' result for ever increasing special occasions. For Fanny, no proper pancake batter is capable of holding a smooth consistency when made very runny (the key to thinness) - the consistency of single cream - unless it is made with olive oil. So this becomes the basis for the basic French recipe and all that follow. The basic recipe is flour, eggs, olive oil and enough milk to reduce it to the consistency of single cream.

The more dreamier versions start by bunging in icing sugar, a touch of salt and either some brandy, rum or kirsch. Then they add white wine instead of liqueurs, and then actual single cream instead of milk. For really splendid savoury versions, the icing sugar is slung altogether. I'm going dreamy with mine, but switching it up a little by sticking with kirsch and adding cream. Once mixed up together to the required consistency, Fanny details how to make the pancakes. First step is to lay out a sheet of oiled greaseproof paper for the finished pancakes. Heat your pan and brush it lightly with oil. Pour a little batter in to the side of the pan as you hold it at an angle and twirl to swirl it to completely cover the base. If you pour the batter into the centre of the pan, you will have a lump in the middle. Be warned. As soon as the mixture is set, flip it over for a moment or two with a spatula.

When it's cooked on both sides, launch the wafer thin pancake onto your greaseproof and set to on the next one. When they are all done, it is perfectly easy to snip round each one and assemble them in a pile with greaseproof paper remaining in between. None should have headed bin-wards. Then fold them over with kitchen foil and they'll keep in the fridge for a week, ready to thrill at a moments notice. Clearly Fanny's Personal Assistant, Alison Leach, was not so thrilled as she asked Fanny one day over luncheon, 'why can't you create chocolate pancakes?' So Fanny did, just by adding powdered drinking chocolate to the mix. Her own invention. The only trouble Fanny found was that the more she created, the more some people ate. I can understand it - they tasted great! Some people had been known to eat 48 at one sitting. Fanny doesn't explicitly say it was Alison, but, you know...

¡Ay, caramba! The Cradock Crispy Crêpes Carnival!

There are some things Fanny just gets so excited about in the kitchen - usually soufflés, mincemeat and harmless green vegetable food colouring. They appear to be the cornerstones of culinary heights, at least for the Cradocks. I am sure one day I will turn the pages of the partwork and see next up is a Green Mincemeat Soufflé, and more than likely I will barely bat an eyelid, I've become so used to the Cradock ways already. If Fanny were to add another to her list of 'very favourites' I'm sure it would be the pancake, erm, sorry, crêpes. We must always use the French terms when discussing cuisine. Am I learning nothing? I think I am as delighted as Fanny is to see that part 19 is all about 'fabulous pancakes'! Are there any other kind? Hang on though, are there enough variations to support a whole part?

Fanny teases us with thoughts of 'proper' pancakes to come, just to remind us probably that if we've been making them already, we simply haven't been doing it properly. To start us off though, it's one of her very favourites indeed, Crêpes Carnaval or the simply sensational star dish of the week, Carnival Pancakes. These are no ordinary pancakes, and are not made in any ordinary fashion. We will deal with the ordinary at a later date seemingly, first off is a flourish fiesta-style! Fanny says if you are taught how to make pancakes for the very first time in France you are told that they should be so thin that you could read your lovers letters through them. Fanny doesn't want to discuss French Letters here, smirk, and suggests instead that we lay our pancakes over the partwork and read her instructions. It's practically a love affair anyway, isn't it?

I must admit to being slightly scared when I first read the recipe. I'm no scientist, but Fanny recommended popping along to the chemist to buy some Ammonia Carbonate. I googled it to see what it was and what replacements I could use. I'm expecting the bomb squad to turn up any day. Some suggested baking powder, some bicarbonate of soda, some both, as decent alternatives. Various folks on Twitter suggested using Ammonia Bicarbonate bought online, but no-one was sure it was the same thing. Was my kitchen about to explode? Only one way to find out... This recipe starts by rubbing butter into flour until it resembles minute grains. Then a real favourite for Fanny, beating in eggs until the batter is smooth, thick and extremely difficult to work with. It's now time to add the chemicals.

I opt to play it safe and use a pinch of baking powder and bicarb. Chicken eh? Once worked into the dough it became a little bit like choux paste. We are still making pancakes right? Fanny divides hers into 'very mean' 1oz pieces and shapes them into little balls before rolling them out, without flour, and without lifting or turning them, as thin as possible. I can see Fanny's eyebrows through mine, so they must be ok! Maybe she actually meant as transparent as French Letters? They are then fried in smoking hot oil, I wasn't expecting that! They are lifted gently in with two wooden spoon handles. I use chop sticks. Fanny says to prod them around a bit while they are frolicking in the oil, without breaking them, flip them over and drain them on plenty of kitchen paper.

Fannys finished ones have flutes all round the edges, maybe that's what I was meant to do with all the prodding? Mine don't it is safe to say, but they are lovely golden brown and very bubbly and lively. No explosions, but a celebration nonetheless. Fanny says to stack them high until a 'great pyramid is formed' and slosh them with icing sugar. Her picture shows a tower. Maybe she'd never been to Egypt or seen a pyramid? Or perhaps she was distracted by Johnnies' merrymaking with the French Letters? Either way they taste great - the pancakes - a little like spring rolls without the filling. It's not quite Rio or even Notting Hill, but they are a jolly jamboree all on their own, so let the carnival begin!

You can't get better than a kwik-flipped Fritter

Fanny was far from frumpy in the way she presented herself, or indeed any of the freaky food she hoped to whip us up into a frenzy with by showcasing. She was a fashion and food-trend frontrunner. No doubt she would frankly freak-out if we were to let ourselves go, either in the wardrobe department or in the ordinary domestic kitchen. We'd be a total fruitcake to get on the wrong side of Fanny, so to avoid any sort of fracas it's time to slip on our very best frocks and frolic into the kitchen for the grand finale of the 'exciting winter vegetable' frivolity.

Fanny has chosen some frisky fritters to tempt us, assorted vegetable fritters to be precise, or Beignets des Lègumes Assortis in full blown French. Don't fret, before we all frown at the very basic nature of this, Fanny senses our 'sigh' and points out that this is 'really a composite recipe' as she will give us the fritter batter, guide us how to prepare the vegetables and also provide a framework for the whole procedure. So that'll just be a recipe then. Composite seems a little fraudulent. Tsk tsk Fanny.

Fanny has chosen vegetables to fry which were fairly exotic at the time, but are positively frugal now - fresh Eggplants (Aubergines) and Baby Marrows (Courgettes). Hang on, aren't they both fruits? Don't write me nasty letters. Housewives of the 1970's would be completely frazzled and fraught with frustration trying to work out how to prepare them, but Fanny makes it simple. Slice the unskinned Aubergine thinly, arrange it on a wooden board and sprinkle it liberally with 'proper cooking salt', which is sea salt. Leave it for 30 minutes until a 'nasty brown build-up' has formed on the top. Wipe that off and then they are ready to use, free of all bitterness. I found gorgeous round courgettes which sliced wonderfully and equally with a little crinkle cut addition. Not just because I'm fancy, but to add friction to help the batter to stick better.

For the batter, Fanny takes a few spoonfuls of flour, and heads to the nearest barely dripping tap. She starts to work in a low frequency of drips with a wooden spoon, beating away and dripping some more, until the paste becomes elastic and very thick. There doesn't look like very much of it. I have faith in Fanny though. She takes a single egg white and whisks it up frenetically to a fragile but firm cloud, ready to be combined with the fraction of paste. The resulting batter is chirpy and frothy.

Once whipped together it is time to fry! Fanny suggests dipping your sliced vegetables into the batter and tossing them into slightly smoking hot oil. Then immediately turn off the heat and allow them to brown and cook through in the gradually diminishing heat. The heat should be turned up again for each subsequent batch. Fritters are drained on simple kitchen paper, and sprinkled with a little paprika, ready to be served. Fanny suggests hot cream with herbs on the side. If the herbs are dried, heat them with the cream. If they are fresh, add them once hot. The fried fitters themselves are a delight - well cooked through with a crunchy but well-ventilated fluttering of the lightest batter. Little fringed frisbees of veggie-fruitiness at the frontier of frizzy frittery-ness. I think I need a lie down.

Johnnies Dash of Bitterness

Johnnie has a harsh warning that he may have to resort to violence. He wants to make this point very clear for us all before we move on. What's about to tip him over the edge? Is his rampage because Fanny relegates him to one measly feature in each partwork exploring wines of the world? Did Fanny provoke the attack by using the last of his favourite Marsala in her Zabaglione last night? Was he brutally offered a cheeky glass of sweetish, sparkling Asti Spumanti by an uneducated wine drinker? No, it was simply the thought of someone adding either ice, soda water or ginger ale to cognac that started the ruckus. Unless it was Italian Brandy. Johnnie thinks that Italian 'cognac', which obviously legally cannot be called 'cognac', is obviously only suitable for mixing with ice, soda water or ginger ale, which Johnnie says you would be sure to agree if you tasted it. All clear? Don't make him ferocious again.

Johnnie calms down just long enough to tell us that he is a fan of the aperitif and dessert wines from Italy that others maybe aren't too sure about. Fanny may be adamant in insisting that Marsala and Sherry are only 'pudding wines', but Johnnie thinks she is wrong. Asti may be cheap and cheerful, or as he puts it 'sweet and jolly' and not at all suitable for serious wine drinkers, but it is popular. Johnnie especially embraces the bitterness though, and wants to accentuate the astringent advantages of the aperitif.

I enjoy bitter tastes too, but I've never really thought too much about why or indeed why some people don't. Never until this past weekend that is. The Edinburgh Science Festival is in town, with a very welcome menu of GastroFest events to tempt geeks and gastronauts alike. As a slight caustic GastroGeek I was tempted by the Late Lab Molecular Mastery event held in the sinister dissection room of the former Royal (Dick) School of Veterinary Studies, now the much less sniggery but no less sharp Summerhall. The session was led by Max and Zoe from The Drink Factory in London, who set out to demonstrate how the art of cocktail making has become a science, showing some tricks of the trade to help experimenting at home. Phew, I can call it experimentation now.

Johnnie would've been very pleased to note that they began by exploring bitterness, championing the sometimes harsh and sometimes tart tastes of his beloved Italian aperitifs, Campari and Martini, which he says are best served with soda water, ice and a slice of lemon. They really haven't changed in appearance at all through the years. Classics. As we were welcomed to the group experiment, we were encouraged to taste a ready mixed cocktail waiting at our tables for us. Max explained it was an Americano, not the coffee but a simple, sharp, sour mix of Campari, Martini Rosso and Soda Water. No lemon slice, but thank heavens for Max it wasn't Cognac. 'Go on, take a sip' we were told. You don't need to ask me twice, it's an 'experiment' after all. What did we think of the taste? Are we fans of bitter?

I was one of the few hands that shot up, yes I am! Some liked it, but not much. Some hated it. Max and Zoe were ready to astound us with a scientific change to our cocktail, transforming the bitter drink to sweet. They had some pre-mixed solutions on the tables for us to add, but not what we thought. Well, not what I expected at any rate. Would we be adding sugar? Not at all, it was a 10% salt solution, and we added around 10ml to our glass, so just one 1g of salt. After a quick swirl, our Americano's now tasted sweet. Our bitter taste receptors had been blocked by the salt you see. We went on to complete further fascinating absinthal experiments involving distillation, maceration and louching. I learnt a lot, I will be conducting many more experiments at home. The lasting lesson of the day though is that dear old acidic Johnnie needn't be bitter any more. If Fanny is in danger of his murderous thoughts a quick sprinkle of salt is all that is required. Or a cocktail. Or better still, both.

Stuff that Judge!

Fanny doesn't like to judge (much *cough*) but she doesn't like vegetable racks. You know the layered ones that lurk around the kitchen. She goes as far as calling them 'beastly things' that are no more than a 'tiered sieve which silts dirt onto nice clean floors or shelves'. Have a quick glance into your own kitchen, is there one there? If so, you may be one of the happy but uneducated band of housewives who are new to housekeeping and may need Fanny's help in how to judge your vegetables. Fanny is an authority and is keen as ever to critique your shopping basket and appraise the vegetables you've shamefully returned with. You clearly need help.

Cabbages should be crisp and hard to the touch - Fanny says limp leaves and pliable centres are 'eloquent of old age'. Cauliflowers too should be crisp and hard, with each floret white and tightly snuggled up to its neighbour. Celery should snap when you bend it - if it bends, move on! Please do not buy Brussel Sprouts that look like 'over-blown cabbages for Borrowers'. Fanny appears to be blushing slightly, or maybe it's me, as she discusses Brussels. She knows the French have a vulgar name for them, but she simply won't share it with us. All she will say, delicately, is that it refers to them being firm, tight and tiny. Oh my, Fanny!

Fanny likes her carrots hard, crisp, thick and stumpy. Never as long, tapering things which are inedible. Quite. Jerusalem Artichokes should not be like tired waiters' feet, just in case that was your preferred point of reference. If they are all bunions and knobbles, they are not suitable for munching on. The artichokes that is, not the waiters' feet, that is entirely your own preference. Fanny prefers hers with only tiny knobbles, which are easier to groom instead of full-on knobbles which are murder for both time and hands. Again, this applies to artichokes and not waiters. Maybe.

To prepare a range of 'crisp and hard' vegetables for the judging bench, Fanny suggests a dazzling array of canapés. Sure to impress even the fiercest of critics. Brush a mushroom with olive oil and bake it for ten minutes, before topping with carefully wilted and sieved spinach mixed with cheese, butter and seasoning. It can look fairly plain, so of course, top it jauntily with an almond. Steam a baby marrow (also known as courgette, Fanny helpfully points out), split it lengthways and scoop out the insides. Mash them and mix them up with breadcrumbs, cheese, garlic, butter and seasoning, stuff it all back into the baby marrow and bake. While the oven is on, you may as well make the most of it so scoop out a tomato and stuff it with breadcrumbs, cheese and herbs and pop it in there too.

If no only-slightly-knobbly artichokes are available, a tin will suffice. Drain them, top them with a thick cheese sauce and bubble them under the grill. A sliver of tomato is all that is required to transform your presentation. Again, jaunty is best. For the final canapé, Fanny reaches into her handbag and reveals the tool of all true professionals - the boat shaped tin. Bake scraps of pastry in them, and fill with steamed carrots chopped finely and mixed with cream and a mere 'gooseberry' of butter. Fanny judges these to be the bees-knees of canapés, little did she know in only a few years her judgements would mean the end to her career on the BBC. Just ask poor Gwen Troake who was 'judged' by Fanny to be a rank amateur. These days an online petition would call for Fanny to be reinstated à la Clarkson, but poor Fanny had to slink back to her rack-free, silt-less kitchen and convince herself that she was right, she was always right, it's the way of professionals.

How to Jug a Bon Viveur

I'm not sure how Fanny Cradock would feel about sharing the page with others, even other food writers. Especially other food writers? Were there other food writers? After all, why would one need to read anyone else's words when her own guidance, knowledge and expertise was freely available to be absorbed and put into action in exactly the way she describes? Fanny, and Johnnie, wrote regular columns in The Telegraph under the moniker of Bon Viveur to reassure, and inadvertently perhaps, reprimand, housewives across the land with their words. They were not alone however. There were other food writers. Many of those also wrote for The Telegraph. Do you think Fanny knew that at the time?

I practically ran down to my local booksellers on publication day when a collection of food writings originally published in The Telegraph were recently collected together and republished in one volume. I couldn't wait to snap up a copy. How To Jug A Hare has been compiled and edited by Sarah Rainey, with a foreword by Bee Wilson. What a lovely job it must have been to dive into those archives and discover the delights of culinary craftsmanship to share again with us hungry foodies. And what a lovely job they have done!

Fanny features heavily throughout, naturally, which is a real treat for us all. A selection of sixteen sublime articles, scooped up from storage and presented again for us to chortle along with. Let's not forget though, it's not all Fanny, many other fantastic food writers from history are expertly laid side by side. Fanny sits comfortably, almost dizzyingly, beside Egon Ronay, Clement Freud, Elizabeth David, Elizabeth Craig, Claudia Roden, Robert Carrier, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, Josceline Dimbleby and many others. All brilliant names from through the years, and all brilliant pieces of food writing to show off. Fanny arches proudly across them all, she even receives the ultimate accolade from the editor - a whole chapter dedicated to 'Cranky Cradock'.

Whether Fanny is telling readers how to plan for 'the years most indigestible meal' (Christmas Dinner), how to 'put a wronged casserole to rights' or sharing the delights of Aunt Meg's flower-pot loaves, she does it with her usual humour and forthrightness in equal measure. Food writing columns are uber-seasonal but the skill of the editor in this collection is to position writing from 1899 alongside selections from 1959 and the more modern day, arranged by season not chronology. As a reader you often have to turn back to the given date to check - some themes seem so very modern. I guess food fads come and go, but it's fascinating to read about fashionable issues that seem like trends in this way. It provides a very pleasing perspective.

Fannys final entry in this collection is her 'Pet Hates of 1971' (although later columns do appear earlier) which so easily could've been published today. Fanny is cross about the endless cellophane 'over-wrapping' which often results in her struggling and breaking her nails trying to gain access to various products. She's fuming that manufacturers are disguising less product in larger packets. She's raging at marketing speak misusing the English language with frightful phrases like 'Fresh Frozen'. 'Fresh is one thing, Frozen is another, both can be very good but like male and female, they cannot be the same', Fanny tells us. The whole collection is a magnificently enjoyable read, wisely combined and wonderfully compelling. Whether or not Fanny would have preferred the whole volume to be dedicated to her and her alone remains unknown. Fanny Cradock can so often be overlooked in culinary history as simply a figure of fun. She undoubtedly was, but for me to see her re-placed in history as one of the great food writers is as reassuring and reprimanding as she herself was back in the day.