World's Quorn Fakin' Mad

I've eaten everything from the Fanny Cradock Cookery Programme I have made. So far. I've tucked into an array of sweet omelettes, despite my better judgement. I've wolfed down green mashed piped potatoes, although my eyes have said 'no'. I've willingly deep-throated bananas smeared with jam and nuts. I've gladly gobbled eggs transformed into a variety of disguises without complaint. I've swiftly swallowed all kinds of things Fanny has made to go further than my purse, or my mind, was able to stretch. Until today. I. Just. Can't.

Of course, as I've made Fanny's fascinations minus the meat, at least I've this far been safe in the knowledge that her creations may taste okay. I like vegetables. I've steered clear of using processed meat substitutes, mostly, simply because I rarely eat them myself. However, on a recent trip to the supermarket I was 'amazed' to see so many 'fake' meat products. Perhaps bemused. Perhaps perplexed. Perhaps baffled. Who was buying these things made to look, taste and feel like meat? Before I knew it I was hearing the self-service checkout beep in shame as I loaded up my bag. With. Sliced. Ham. Vegetarian Sliced Ham. What was I thinking?

I hadn't gone completely loopy. I was curious, and of course Fanny was guiding me to make a Cold Ham Soufflé with her, so part of me didn't want to miss out. Would this ham-hoax cut the mustard? Fanny starts by mincing up her ham. Mine minces fabulously, just like a seventies game show host. Fanny makes a velouté sauce, essentially a white sauce made with stock instead of milk, as the backbone of her dish. Mine whips up like the best bad-ass dominatrix. Or so I've heard anyway. Fanny sets her soufflé with Aspic. I need to adapt the recipe a little, adding Agar Agar to the stock, boiling and then making the velouté like a cutie. That's just how I rock. Nearly.

I can barely bring myself to touch the phoney-ham. Thankfully I am able to distract myself by whipping up egg whites and double cream. Separately of course. Fanny staples. All good here. I. Can. Cope. Except I can't. The pseudo-ham is mocking me. The whole sorry lot needs to be folded together and plopped into a wetted soufflé mould, so that it will come out smoothly. Fanny has taught me that. She hasn't trained me to cope with the horror of this. It's time to chill. The soufflé. And. Me. Too.

However, the shudders continue as Fanny suggests a stomach-churning staging. Apparently what this bogus Cold Ham Soufflé needs is to be topped with a further glaze of Aspic-y Agar Agar before being surrounded by more rolls of fabricated ham. It looks convincingly like the one Fanny made. I am sure it will feel faithfully like it too. Oh. The. Smell.  I have absolutely no doubt that this sham-ham would also taste just like the one Fanny made. I. Am. Not. Trying. It. Sorry. Not. Sorry. Does anyone want it?

Just Can't Get An Oeuf

Eggs. Fanny Cradock loves them. She has a myriad of recipes that she can whip up with them. Actually she boasts that she has five hundred. She doesn't cover them all in this new partwork, instead, showing only a little of their versatility on a fairly modest level. Eggs, Fanny tells us, are a nutritious investment which 'open sesame' to a vast range of sweet and savoury delights. Fanny has 'knitted' as much of her recipe repertoire into the cookery programme as she can manage, but to cover them all would be like, well, trying to mop up the Niagara with a baby sponge!

Fanny urges us to think for a moment about how many culinary methods can be applied to a humble egg. They can be boiled, poached, fried, grilled, scrambled, baked, stuffed, pickled or, erm, roasted on a spit. This is not a technique I am familiar with, but Fanny assures me it is. She says she will not waste any time on it however, before starting to explain. For Oeufs à la Coq, the eggs are spitted onto a slender set bar and then something happens which is all a bit chi chi, which instead of elaborating on, Fanny suggests we learn some of the basic rules of eggs. We are left high and dry wondering how on earth to spit roast a chi chi Coq.

Fanny has something much more straightforward in mind. Full warning. It involves Aspic. She calls them Cocotte Eggs with Pâté and Aspic. It doesn't help. I'm imagining individual oven baked eggs, which is what Cocotte normally means. However, as always, Fanny has other ideas. Firstly, she soft-boils the eggs, by which she means for precisely four minutes. Precisely. She then makes up a batch of Aspic 'for masking'. Masking what, she is not so clear on. What she is clear on is that once made it should be mixed with some mayonnaise. I fear it is myself who needs the mask.

For the pâté, any simple shop bought or pâté familial (home made) will do. Fanny whips up an appropriate amount of double cream and blends most of it into the pâté along with a large spoonful of sherry. Well, at least there is booze. She pipes this mixture, once the seasoning is corrected, into individual cocottes, or miniature soufflé moulds. I'm using some plain old tea cups. Fanny plonks the perfectly soft-boiled egg in the middle. Then it is time for a horror of the aspic'n'mayonnaise.

Fanny spoons the still 'syrupy' aspic over the egg to set, being very careful not to let it run onto the pâté. It glides smoothly over the already smooth egg white, making a shiny white surface of the already shiny white surface. Another layer makes it even shinier. Fanny sets half a stoned Black Olive in it to garnish, but as I am absolutely terrified of them, and frankly this is all bad enough, I substitute for some slivers of tomato. It doesn't end there. Remember that cream we whipped up earlier, and saved a little behind? Fanny takes a small nozzle and pipes it around the egg as a thin 'thread' of border. It makes it look pretty, but there is no masking the fact that it is an egg, covered in mayonnaise-y aspic, plunged in pâté. Pass me the sherry instead. Just the one, as Mrs Wembley taught me. Hic.

Trio, Trio, I Want A Trio, And I Want One Now

You know what it's like. I'm sure it's happened to us all. At least once. You wait for quite a while for a Fanny Cradock recipe with Greengages to come along. Years go by. Nothing. Not a plum. Then three appear all at the same time. Fanny calls them 'Reines-Claude'. What are the chances? They are all quite different. How do you choose which one to go with. Two are sweet. One is savoury. You've got lots of Greengages as they are bang in season. The supermarket has them on special offer. The timing is perfect. Could not have been better. Apart from the choices. Why choose when the choice is obvious? Make all three! Fanny would surely be delighted with a Reines-Claude Ménage à Trois...

Fanny starts it all off with a jelly. She loves jelly. This one is a sweet version of her classic Aspic. She loves Aspic. Fanny makes it with plums. I make mine with Bramble Jelly, heating and setting it with Agar powder instead of gelatine, of course. It needs to be set in a shallow tin, so that the required circle of it can be 'stamped' out. While it's setting, Fanny halves and poaches some peaches, in a simple sugar syrup. When poached, they are fished out and dried on ordinary kitchen paper. The Greengages are also poached in the syrup, but left whole, otherwise they will lose their shape. When they are done they are not dried off, instead rolled in milled pistachio nuts, ready for assembly. The peach goes on top of the jelly, and the greengage goes on top of the peach. All that goes on top of all that is a little leaf of garnish - and you have Les Reines-Claude Savoyarde. Please warn your guests about the stone.

All this greengaging is new to me, especially using them for a savoury salad. No poaching required. Fanny takes a silver knife and cuts a cross across the top of each greengage, opening each fruit into four petals, without pushing them so far back that they would split. Very carefully, the stone is removed. In it's place a mixture of cream cheese, cream, seasoning and more milled nuts is piped. Then dusted with paprika. Fanny recommends serving these well chilled on a lettuce leaf. Greengage and Chill. She presents for you Hors d'Oeuvre des Reines-Claude.

Without a blink of an eye, it's back to the poaching. More greengages are submerged in extremely gently heated sugar syrup, whole again. This time they are bashed a bit to release the stone when they have collapsed, and the flesh is pulped in a blender. One of my very favourite phrases follows. Add custard. Whip them together and turn them into 'snow' by adding whipped egg whites. Fanny then piles the mixture into glasses and tops with 'spirals' of cream. That's piped by the way. Les Reines-Claude en Neige could not be otherwise.

What if, unlike me, you don't happen to have a steady supply of greengages at exactly the right time when Fanny decides to feature them? She has purposely kept the recipes simple so that alternatives can be substituted. Fanny says to start thinking about Plums. Go on. Start. Maybe Apricots? How about Damsons? Have you considered Mirabelles, or Cherry Plums to you and I? Even white or black grapes would do, if you are really stuck. Fanny has one last suggestion though, which she's borrowed from X. Marcel Boulestin, who was the very first television celebrity chef on the BBC. Or as Fanny refers to him, 'that great amateur chef.' Green tomatoes were his idea. He loved them in jams, chutneys, pickles and, surprisingly, omelettes too. Fanny says they would be perfect in all these recipes des Reines-Claude. Yes, including the splendid flurry of Snow...

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.

Broadly, A Green Bean Scene

Some of the things that Fanny cooked have just not survived into our stylish, state-of-the-art kitchens. Some of the things are perhaps just a little too retro to be considered cool or chic today. Some of the things don't seem to be required any longer in our modern lives. Some of the things have perhaps disappeared for good reason. Some of the things were probably already seen as 'old hat' by the time the partwork was produced in the 1970s. Some of the things just wouldn't have been retro, cool, or worth remembering even then. But, Fanny loved them. One of those such things is aspic.

You just don't see it pop up on menus any more. Nowhere. No TV chefs are clambering to bring it back. No-one is desperate to give it a make-over or in any way keen to reintroduce it to our table. Not a mention. Essentially it's a flavoured stock, set with jelly and poured over meats and vegetables to keep them sparkling and fresh, and often including elaborate designs. What's not to like? It sounds so much fun. I have no idea why aspic is not back, back, back. On every menu. Every buffet table. In every kitchen.

Fanny uses it to keep things looking bright and appealing, of course. And what could be more appealing than the broad bean. I love them. So green and fresh looking, they are most vibrant of the beans. Once you release them from their 'overcoats' that is. While they are still wearing those, they look dull and unappealing. Fanny's idea is to make a flan to show them off to their max, all nestled closely together in their shortcrust pastry case. We know the recipe by now, so Fanny merely refers to it in the past. Quickly pulled together and blind baked, all ready to be fancied up.

Fanny insists we steam our broad beans. She may have insisted that they be freshly picked from the garden, and if I had a garden I would have pursued this insistence. Instead, I insisted on visiting the local supermarket, and found some lovely looking ones lurking in the freezer. They steam well. I have hidden an egg in the boiling water underneath, which bubbles away while the steaming takes place. Even fancier ideas from Fanny are afoot.

Fanny piles the luscious green beans into the pastry cases, and makes little decorations to look like flower petals from tiny little slices of tomato and the hard-boiled egg white, efficiently cooked. It's quite fiddly work. Fanny asks that we chose our favourite aspic, or cheats aspic, and cover the flans gently. My favourite of course contains no gelatine, instead a simple flavourless jelly made from Agar flakes. The finished flashy flans have flair and form. The 'aspic' makes them shimmer. It all seems much more exciting than simply some broad beans in pastry. That alone is surely enough reason to Bring Aspic Back? Ah, but then there is the taste...

Is Aspic still aspirational?

Fanny says I'm not ready to learn about the delights of 'real' Aspic just yet. What could it be about this savoury jelly used to suspend all sorts of vegetables and salads to protect them from exposure to the nasty air, that I'm not ready for? Yes, salads. I'm not absolutely sure I'm ready to learn about Aspic at all if the truth be told. Perhaps it's one of the long forgotten culinary arts that should remain in history? Fanny insists though that this particular 'branch' of garnish and presentation (after all, there is nothing more important) should be learnt properly to avoid savoury jellies which taste of nothing at all, or at best like a cross between cold tea and sea water. Imagine the shame when the well-to-do guests dive into the lovingly created buffet table only to gag in horror if the aspic tastes gruesome?

It's almost as if Fanny is tempting us in with the promise that if we first master the 'simple' stuff, she will reveal how to whip up the 'real' Aspic in a later partwork. When we are ready for such elaboration. The simple version is a mix of stock, egg white, eggshell (indeed), wine vinegar, sherry and seasoning. Oh and gelatine. Will a vegetarian version work? I'm assuming that the ingredients have some sort of magical chemical reaction which makes them taste sensational when set. Will agar powder cut it?Maybe I'm focusing on the wrong thing - instead of wondering if it will set, I really should be wondering why the heck? 

Most of the ingredients need to simply mingled together in a pan, but first I have to wash the eggshell and 'pare away' the inner skin. It must ruin everything or something, Fanny doesn't say. The washed, crushed shells go into the pan to be heated up, moderately. Once the agar powder has dissolved, Fanny says to whisk it (although you understand she is talking about gelatine powder really) vigorously until a scum appears on the top. I clearly should've paid more attention during science at school, it was fascinating to see it change colour completely before my eyes, and 'scum up' just as Fanny said. The next instruction is to then allow the mixture to reach boiling without touching it before lowering the heat to the lowest possible setting. Fanny says to draw the pan to the side of the burner so that it just puffs and heaves. 

Ten minutes later, the pan comes off the heat to sit for a further three minutes. I'm remembering now why I didn't pay that much attention in science class, the fascination is wearing thin. All this precision and concentration is a little boring. Sorry. Fanny says to strain the mixture through a jelly bag, but I don't have one, so I improvise with some muslin and a small sieve. Fanny says the Aspic that runs through will be pale, clear and modest. Erm. Mine is a bit cloudy, but I reckon that my stock was more cloudy to begin with than the bone stock Fanny used herself. Maybe I should've made my own veggie stock, that'll teach me.

So, the reason for making this Aspic in the first place is to produce an engraved presentation for the aforementioned buffet. I was more into art than science at school, so this is appealing again. Fanny says to swirl a small amount of Aspic into an ordinary pudding bowl, and then to quickly place little scraps of vegetable into a pattern she shows which she suggests is appealing. Once set in place they are secured with little spoonfuls of Aspic before filling the bowl and leaving to set entirely. As if this is not enough to drive my buffet guests giddy, Fanny shows me how to make Salad Flowers from cucumber and tomato. It's essentially taking strips off the cucumber, assembling five thin slices in a circle, adding little crescents of tomato flesh and stem and leaf details. I kind of like it though. Above all, garnish and presentation. As for the Aspic? It looks good actually, and certainly tastes of stock, sherry and vinegar with little bits of vegetable suspended in it. Not a whiff of cold tea or the sea. Possibly I'm never going to be sold completely but we'll see what reaction I get from my buffet guests and let that be the decider.