You Got More Rabbit Than Sainsbury's

Fanny Cradock is at hand to help the millions of women, and even men, who are only able to shop at the weekends. Or in their lunch-hours. Or who happen to live in a bedsitter. Or a flatlet. Or perhaps she's being unusually kind - she really means working people who live alone. Or children in the nursery. You see they share something in common - despite being hindered in life (seemingly by singledom or infancy), they deserve to eat well, and to eat quickly. Or something like that.

Fanny's a little embarrassed about this particular 'recipe' though. You see, it's not really a 'recipe' as such. It's so easy to do, so simple to make, and so uncomplicated to eat, it is hardly even a recipe. It is so plain and straightforward that it makes the perfect dish for those who find themselves with the horror of work taking up all their valuable time, living all alone or indeed those who have yet to develop teeth.

Fanny has another embarrassment to confess to before we start. It's a biggie. This recipe uses TINNED ingredients. Now, this in itself is not shameful, especially if you happen to be in gainful employment, living companionless or are too young to know any different. No shame in buying a copy of the book Fanny wrote specially to help, using a variety of canned goods as the basis for quick, nutritious but ultimately solitary meals. No, the shame comes from using a tin of unsweetened milk. Fanny is very quick to point out that this is the only instance you will ever find of her using this particular product. Let's hope it's worth it.

Fanny doesn't use tinned milk in the book. Only tinned cream, which must be somehow preferable. She never explains. Perhaps the reason is that she wasn't sponsored by Carnation. In each and every other recipe she 'brand-names' the tin which enables the best possible results. 'Only the best is good enough for us!' So this one obviously never made the cut. Apart from in this recipe. Again she never explains.

Fanny uses this shameful milk to make a Nursery Rabbit Cream. No real rabbits were used in the making of this, tinned or otherwise. Just my favourite retro mould. The humiliating tin of milk is simply mixed with the juice from a tin of fruit (any will do, so go crazy - I've used mango because, you know, that's what I had in the cupboard) and powdered gelatine. Or VegeGel for me. The bunny mix is brought slowly to the boil, which will please Glenn Close fans, poured into the mould, left to set and then turned out. That's it. Those with limited palates and/or living in desolation will certainly enjoy this more than if they just opened the tins and ate them separately.

A Vine Romance

Fanny Cradock loves a mould. They are so useful to transport the simplest of dishes to a whole new level, into a whole new shape and often in a whole new way. Fanny has lots of moulds in her amply furnished kitchen, many which she has collected over the years from the many fantastic places she has visited. She likes to show them off. At. Every. Opportunity. She never misses a chance to demonstrate her one-up-(wo)man-ship, thinly disguised as educational, inspirational and aspirational.

She's clearly rubbed off on me, as I can barely resist eyeing-up and then buying-up a mould myself. I have them hidden in every available nook and cranny of my rather limited kitchen. I even have some on display. I know that I will never compete with Fanny. However, she continues to rub it in. She's making moulded ice creams, and shamelessly displays her multi-flavoured Bombes in all their glory, moulded in eighteenth century pewter moulds that she 'happened' to pick up for a measly £1.50 ten years earlier. In Halifax. I'm clearly searching the wrong fantastic places.

Fanny recognises that I am unlikely to have the same kind of moulds as she has. She's not wrong. She knows she has all the good stuff stashed away. Fanny doesn't think this is important. She obviously is overlooking my burgeoning obsessive collection tendencies that she herself has encouraged. The reason however that she thinks I shouldn't be too bothered is that I am likely to have the perfect mould already in my kitchen. Has she seen my paltry collection of everyday animals, traditional shapes and almost fancy-pants contours? No, dear old Fanny has another altogether more organic idea.

A melon. I don't need to travel to the heady heights of Halifax to obtain one of those. It hardly adds much glamour to my mould collection. A melon? Fanny suggests scooping it out so that it is hollow, which seems reasonable to me. Fanny, always concerned with food waste, has a delightful idea of what to do with the flesh. I'm imagining something fantastic that my neighbours will never even have thought about. No. Fanny's idea? Eat it. How terribly inventive.

More innovative, imaginative and perhaps ingenious is her idea for the ice cream. She calls it a Bombe Anglaise. It's actually Tomato Ice Cream. Savoury. It sounds avant-garde to me. Fanny makes it from what-she-calls Tomato Purée, but what I-would-call Passata. Fanny makes a savoury custard, which is like a sweet one but without any sugar. Fanny whips up some double cream. Fanny adds a range of Bloody Mary seasonings. Fanny beats them all together. Fanny fills the scooped out melons. Fanny freezes them. Fanny then un-moulds them and 'claps' them together to look like a giant tomato. With a mint leaf garnish. Fanny is incredible. Fanny is inspired. Fanny is impressive. The ice cream is 'Da Bombe'. I've almost forgotten about those antique moulds that I've yet to obtain. Almost.

Aspicable Me

Everyone loves a party. Fanny certainly did. Well, that's the impression she liked to leave us with. Endless parties, soirees, balls, luncheons, functions and banquets. She was ready for them all. At the drop of a hat, or a simple knock at the door, she'd jump into her ballgown and have that celebratory buffet table adorned and ready to be adored. She was aspirational. If she could do it, so could you. You just need to follow her simple instructions to the letter, and voilà, you shall be a social success.

Fanny aimed to raise the bar, boosting the boasting possibilities of her bashes to blow-out levels. Her books, and the partwork, are rammed full of party ideas as well as ideas to lift a very 'ordinary' recipe to 'party' level. Often the solutions were in the planning, preparation and presentation. Visually stunning at the time, some of these ideas can stun the eyes for very different reasons these days, although I am of course very fond of them. I was so thrilled to buy a copy of the book 70s Dinner Party by Anna Pallai recently, collecting together fabulous images of fun and festivity, including a fair few from Fanny. Fanny would've been over the moon, even though she would probably wonder why any other people's pictures had been included.

So, if like Fanny, and Anna, you're keen to host your very own glamorously presented 70s Dinner Party, this recipe may just be the one for you. As usual in English it sounds far from appealing. Cold Mushroom Soufflé. However magically when presented in French it takes on a suitable celebratory tinge. Soufflé Forestière. Who wouldn't want to introduce that to the neighbour that you never really liked very much? Especially with an Aspic top.

I was intrigued how on earth Fanny managed to get a topping of Mushrooms in Aspic on a soufflé without it flopping. I should've known better. Fanny had a presentation plan, all of which was aspic-tastic. She begins by making up some real aspic, as before (I switch to an Agar base, as before) and setting some slices of mushroom in a fancy pattern in the base of a soufflé dish. The base, yes. Then, she blitzed up mushrooms and poaches them gently in white wine and stock. She makes a roux of butter and flour, and slowly adds the mushroom mix. She adds cream, and cheese, mixing all the time. When it's cool-ish she beats in egg yolks. All very standard soufflé sounding so far.

However, before she adds the beaten egg whites, she adds more of the still-hot and still-liquid aspic to the mixture. It's then poured into the mould on top of the set mushrooms, levelled off and whisked off to the refrigerator. Not the oven. Once chilled it all sets into a wobbly vision of wonderfulness, simply turned out onto a serving dish to reveal the seductively decorated top, ready for any shindig. Party guests, whether in the 70s or today, will be mesmerised, amazed, delighted and frankly flabbergasted by your funghi feast.

Don't Put All Your Eggs In One Aspic

Fanny feels that folks are frightened of Aspic. She's not wrong. However she finds that people are fearful of forming the jelly stuff, not forcing to down their fragile throats. I'd say it's definitely the other way round. Fanny would scold me though. I clearly do not know how to make it properly to a high quality. We've already made a simple aspic together, but now it's time to step up a gear and make real aspic. I'm scared. She tells me that once I am familiar with it I will discover in fact it is much easier to make than any Yorkshire Pudding or Soufflé. I think I'd rather eat those.

Fanny's idea is to make a classic hors d'oeuvre that would delight any buffet party - Oeufs en Cocotte en Gelée. You may remember that they were a favourite, or not, of the lovely Beryl Reid at her very own 70s Dinner party. Surely then this is the one to learn with, and hopefully to change my mind? Fanny reminds us that when working with aspic, moulds must be prepared carefully. She insists that if the intended jelly is creamy, moulds should be oiled. If the jelly is sweet or savoury, they should be simply wetted with water. Be careful not to let the oil or water collect in puddles at the base of the mould by using a small brush to sweep it upwards. This dish is a savoury jelly. Look searchingly at my photos to spot a shocking slip-up that we shall sweep under the carpet.

If I'd spotted that I'd have gone into the panic that Fanny details that most eager home cooks find themselves in when dealing with aspic. She reassures me that provided that the aspic is played 'like a fish on a hook at the end of a line' that all will be well. I'm not entirely sure I understand, not being a fishing kind of person, but I set to with the set too. Fanny prefers soft boiled eggs, or Oeufs Mollets. Normal everyday eggs should be lowered into steadily bubbling water for 4 minutes precisely, then plunged into cold water. To peel them, tap them all over until the shell resembles the fine veins of a neglected oil painting, and get in under it with your finger nails. Carefully of course, as one would presumably handle an old master. If you were peeling it.

For the aspic, the very best stock is required. Add to a pan with some vinegar, sherry, a bay leaf, peppercorns and of course some gelatine. Or Agar Agar powder for me. I get mine from the Chinese supermarket. It does feel a little odd weighing out a few grams of the white powder in my kitchen. The mixture should be heated to just above blood temperature (test by sticking your clean finger in it) and then whisking it while it comes to boil. Fanny says that a normal whisk is fine, but exhausting. A rotary whisk is tiresome. An electric whisk however is ideal. I go 'normal' and 'exhausting'. The end result should not be set into the form of an India Rubber substance but should be a light, holding, savoury jelly. Let's hope so.

Fanny can not give enough emphasis to the whisking. Do not stop. She does acknowledge that this is particularly difficult for people who have little children running around at their feet, or those with tradespeople arriving at the back door. Even those who may have a telephone ringing off the hook. Fanny's advice is to ignore it, make the aspic when the children are securely tucked up in bed and hopefully all tradespeople are safely in their own homes. Whisk away, and set a little aspic in your mould (or tea cup as I am using) before adding the carefully de-shelled egg. Top up with aspic and leave it all to set before turning out the mould to delight your guests. Fanny says that aspic is ideal for making ordinary things look as attractive as possible, as you can see. But still, it's an egg in a slightly vinegar-y savoury jelly. I'm still petrified.