Real Wild Rothschild

Picture the scene. You're enjoying a fabulous dinner in a fabulous Château in a fabulous area of the fabulous Médoc in fabulous France. You're hosts are fabulous. Everything is fabulous. Of course it is, you are dining with the fabulous Rothschild wine family at their fabulous Château Rothschild. It's hard to get more blooming fabulous. Everyone is enjoying the fabulous meal. You suddenly have a fabulous idea. You'd love to recreate this fabulous dish at home. Surely you're fabulous hosts wouldn't mind sharing the fabulous recipe with you? Would they?

As you might imagine, Fanny was not shy in asking. Without any whiff of social embarrassment, she boldly asked for the recipe. I can still hear the *gasp* now. The dish she had enjoyed so much was called Gâteau Rothschild. The clue is in the name. A treasured family meal of layered late summer vegetables. Presumably goes perfectly with a large glass (or two) or red. Initially, the chef was extremely reluctant to share the recipe with Fanny. After all, it was a closely guarded family secret. And she was known for sharing them in print. For profit. The recipe is contained in their treasured private family 'receipt' book. So, probably, you'd just say 'I understand' and leave without the famous recipe. Not Fanny. She wanted that book.

Knowing the time would come when she too would want to impress a crowd, maybe of hungry vegetarians, she persisted to try and secure the secret. The chef, however, would not budge. Nothing stops Fanny as we know, so she went straight to her hosts to explain the reluctance. Not embarrassing at all. The fabulousness suddenly left the room. It worked however, and they asked the chef to prise open the old, valuable, sentimental, family cookbook and let Fanny get her hands on it. Except the chef insisted on simply verbally telling Fanny the recipe making her use all her powers of memory to retain it until she had a chance to jot it down.

She did though, and then shared it with us all. Naturally. How kind of her to lay bare the family showstopper. It is essentially a layered bake with seasonal vegetables. Courgettes. Onions. Tomatoes. Peppers. Mushrooms. Fanny says it is one of the most delicious and rather time demanding vegetable 'assembly' dishes that she knows of. Clearly not suitable for general family meals (unless you happen to be the Rothschilds) but entirely suitable for entertaining. I take some shortcuts though as time is tighter and it's the chefs night off...

I think Fanny, and perhaps even the Rothschilds themselves, would approve. Fanny laboriously cooks each vegetable separately in pans of foaming butter. Very French. It's important to keep them all separate for the presentation. I slice them thickly, pop them on a tray and roast them in the oven. Once baked, I layer them in a metal ring with alternate layers of a mix of cheese and breadcrumbs, before baking again. Fanny is very particular on the assembly. It must be onion first, then tomato, peppers and finally courgettes. In that order. My final rebellion is to include Aubergine, which I put first. Then, bake again and serve with a tomato sauce, which Fanny calls a fondue. This is how the Rothschild Family served it, and so must we. It was indeed fabulous. I don't imagine, however, that Fanny was ever invited to the Château for Gâteau again.

Would You Adam and Eve It?

Fashions for cookbooks continue to change all the time - whether it be the authors, the content or the design. Fanny herself devised an amazing array of over 40 cookbooks, and she rode every imaginable craze going.  She blooming well invented them too. The main direction she wanted us to go was backwards, of course not in our skills, in time. She wanted to 'bring back' good, old fashioned British cooking, with more than an 'Allo 'Allo to the French way of doing things. By that she meant mainly Victorian-style gastronomy, but more suited to the garish orange fabric of life for the modern housewife of the 60's and 70's who wasn't fortunate enough to have 'help'. So, everything had to be easy to achieve (which meant following Fanny to the letter), in super quick time (which was before your husband returned from work with his new boss for dinner) and without straining the  purse (which had taken rather a battering in recent years).

You see Fanny loved a pudding. Ye Olde ones mainly. She often called them Puddens. Savoury or sweet, mostly steamed but sometimes baked. Sometimes frozen or 'set'. All sorts of ingredients could be mixed up, transferred to one of the many pudding moulds from the dazzling display of designs that lined the kitchen shelves and simmered on the stove, or in a bain-marie in the oven, for a good few hours. Sometimes stodgy. Sometimes solid. Sometimes substantial. Always a filling, old-fashioned addition to any meal. Fanny wrote about them throughout all her cookbooks, and usually managed to slip in a pudding to her Bill of Fare, despite them slipping in and out of fashion.

I am delighted, as I'm sure Fanny would be too, that they may be coming back into vogue, thanks to a wonderfully glorious new cookbook just about to be released. I managed to snap up a sly copy ahead of release thanks to my local Waterstones being somewhat 'fluid' on dates and seemingly popping books on the shelves as they arrive in store. Naughty but nice. The wonderfully titled Pride and Pudding from Regula Ysewlin (Miss Foodwise if you please) is the most luxurious romp back through the centuries of puddings, savoury and sweet. Not only immaculately researched, but each recipe, in both original and updated form, is presented with a thoroughly ravishing set of photographs to boot. Regula is a talented photographer and graphic designer. Drool. The book is all wrapped together with a suitably elaborate and engaging design, thanks to Regula's husband and illustrator Bruno. Regula has Bruno. Fanny had Johnnie.

I can't take my eyes of the book, it's my current bedtime read. I'm not getting much sleep. I even started to leaf through the stunning pages while walking along the street heading home after excitedly, and sneakily it seems, buying it. This is the book Fanny wishes she could've written, telling the story not only of the British pudding, but also the cooks, writers and moments in history that helped to shape them. Many of them women. Fanny's all-time favourite Mrs A.B. Marshall features in the Ices and Jellies section. It had been Fanny's lifelong desire to reintroduce Mrs Marshall to the gastronomic world. Perhaps if Johnnie had been able to able to be more help than blethering on about booze she may have succeeded.

Fanny revives an Apple Pudding for us in the Easter partwork in the guise of Adam and Eve, mixing up her biblical references delightfully. It's a simple pudding made from breadcrumbs, moistened with milk, suet, sugar, lemon zest, raisins, egg and chopped apples added. I've used vegetable suet, naturally, and lovely Pink Lady Apples. Fanny doesn't specify. Mixed together and rammed into mini buttered moulds they simply steam for an hour or so, served still steaming away with a small dollop of cream. Fanny showcased them in her own very particular style back in the 1970's, already fading from fashion by then, but I love it. She would've been so very jealous of Pride and Pudding, but suitably proud and passionate too. I'm delighted to have both in my life - there is always room for pudding, whatever the fashion, whatever the mould and whatever the design. 

Recalling Appalling Tarpaulin

There's one pudding (yes, just one) that I have really never liked at all, ever. Loathed it. We had it a fair bit when I was young but the thought of it made me feel ill with dread all through the meal. Back then it was a case of 'you are not leaving the table until you've eaten it' so you can imagine me sitting there for hours and hours, wishing and hoping that it would magically disappear, slowly shovelling the smallest amounts into my downturned mouth, trying to force it down. Even today, I shudder when I think about it, such was the horror of the... Rice Pudding.

It was the really thick, absolutely black tar-like canvas-feel topping it had as it emerged from the oven that made me quake. I've heard other people say for them, this is the best bit, but it made me want to heave then, and now, just thinking about it! I didn't want it anywhere near my plate, or my mouth. There's no rhyme or reason for it I suppose. Thankfully Fanny seems to share the repulsion, with her recipe for a colourful, fruity alternative which does not have the 'tarpaulin top' that gives me the heebeegeebees.

Fanny makes her version by mixing Patna Rice with sugar, vanilla, fresh (or tinned) orange juice and ordinary tap water before baking under a light covering of ordinary domestic foil in a medium oven. Fanny doesn't specify a time for this, just until 'it reaches the consistency you like.' Clearly she hasn't been listening, I don't like the consistency at all. I struggled to find pudding rice in the supermarket - clearly I've never searched for it, ever, but I'd assumed it would be easy enough to find. Perhaps the whole world shares my feelings about rice pudding? I did spot some Thai Sticky Rice which said it was ideal for puddings though... Rats, there was no escaping this one!

To spice up the rice a little, I added a few drops of luscious Cardamom Holy Lama Spice Drops which I was very kindly sent recently. Orange and Cardamom are a celestial match. The drops are divine, really intense and as the name suggest, you only need a drop or two. For a pudding like this it seemed to make sense rather than adding ground spices. The heavenly smells coming from my kitchen are making me think that perhaps Rice Pudding might not be so bad after all?

Nothing with Fanny is ever that straightforward, so while the pudding is baking I whip up an accompaniment in the shape of Fried Breaded Bananas. As their name suggests, they are bananas cut down the centre ('because they look prettier'), rolled in beaten egg and enclosed in breadcrumbs before frying. Fanny arranges them in a fan display with a nut on the end, for no apparent reason. They taste like you'd imagine. They don't distract me long from the dreaded rice pudding though - but I needn't have worried. It surfaces without the dreaded tarpaulin top, and retains its orange glow - no black in sight. It's like a jammy marmalade-y risotto consistency, and with the kick of warm cardamom is, erm, lovely really. Just don't make me have that black-topped heavy duty tarpaulin stuff ever again.

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.

Crumb Fry With Me

Fanny clearly wants to make the most of having the fryer on, either that or she's completely obsessed with deep frying cheese. I'm hoping it's an obsession. Either way I'm delighted, I've still not been converted by the mahoosive amount of diet and detox suggestions flying around at this time of year. Practically anything that's leftover can be deep fried it seems. This time it's Fannys' Cheese Balls. Like Fanny, I shall skirt over any obvious innuendos, but she does say that her Cheese Balls are extremely popular at 'teenage parties'. Particularly if served with a 'dunking' sauce. For others, they seem perfect when settling down in front of the TV to watch something special - presumably a Fanny Cradock cooking show - if stuffed into a French Bread sandwich. I don't tend to host teenage parties you'll be glad to learn, so it's a Frenchie in front of the TV all the way for me.

Fanny is still using leftover cheese here, which isn't something I tend to have a lot of really. I'm a dedicated cheese fiend, so I'm happy to keep buying more and more. Fanny recommends a mix of strong cheeses here, Parmesan and Gruyère. I KNOW that Parmesan isn't vegetarian, please don't write me nasty letters, just switch it up a little bit with your own preference. I'm not a perfect veggie. I even wear leather shoes. I realise this may all be a bit shocking for you, but focus - we are talking fried cheese again.

To make Fannys' cheesy balls, simply mix the grated cheeses together with some seasoning and fold in gradually a stiffly beaten egg white. At first it doesn't seem at all like they will mix together, but with a bit of a beating I soon have a paste, just as Fanny says. Once well blended, either with a wooden spoon or a small knife, the paste can be rolled into small balls.

I can be a bit overly accurate with some things, and slap-dash with others. Don't judge me. I decide to weigh out the cheese balls into 16g portions before rolling them. It makes me happy. The given mix gives me 13 balls. I like odd numbers. Each one is rolled lightly between my fingers and quickly becomes fairly firm. Fanny says to run your little balls through beaten egg and coat them thickly in fine breadcrumbs. Well, indeed. Nothing can be finer than Ruskoline surely?

Now we are ready to fry! Well, almost. Fanny doesn't recommend this, but I do... Another one of my funny things. I run my little balls through the egg and crumb twice to make sure that the coating is 'safe' and not about to explode in the hot oil spilling molten cheese everywhere. It doesn't take long and much better safe than sorry. They only take around 30 seconds to colour up in the oil. Fanny presents hers in a split French Bread, but its not so clear if that's just a garnish or not. She spears them  individually with cocktail sticks which would confuse me - do I pick one up and munch, or pick the sticks out and gobble the whole sandwich? Guess which one I go for? Fannys' Cheese Balls are so tasty, crunchy on the outside and gooey and salty inside.

While the fryer is still on the go, Fanny has another top tip, which is especially helpful if you have any leftover Christmas Pudding lurking in the back of my cupboard like I do. Fanny had insisted that I hide them there to mature when I made some mini ones from her recipe last year. She was positive that they would be perfectly fine a year later, and probably even better. It's time to discover if they were! They look ok, is that a worry or a good thing? Simply re-steam, roll into balls and dredge in egg and, this time, ground almonds before frying. Fanny calls these her 'Christmas Snowballs', which must be covered with a heavy dusting of icing sugar and topped with glacé cherry 'flames' to serve. They are good, the crunchy fried almond coating is a great twist! I wonder what else I can pop into fry...?

Impromptu Popeye Pudding

Fanny Cradock was a great believer in making the most of food, and not wasting anything. The endless books and booklets she produced were designed to allow the 'ordinary housewife' to budget effectively and prepare sensational dishes that would leave everyone else feeling a little put out by just how fantastic they were. In 1970, at the same time as the Cradock Cookery Programme weekly part works were in publication, Fanny treated us all to her wisdom when entertaining, with a thirteen part TV show called 'Fanny Cradock Invites...'. Of course, there was an accompanying booklet chock full of plans, tips and suggested menus for almost every social occasion. A Cheese and Wine Party to dazzle your husbands bosses, a Cold Sunday Brunch Buffet for 'compulsive party givers who work through the week' (I wonder who she was thinking of?) - even a Teenagers Party complete with the essentials - Sangria, Mulled Wine and cigarettes... I held my own party this weekend for a few friends to come together and watch Eurovision. Fanny had a chapter for a Television Party and suggested a heated trolley which could be wheeled as close to the semi circle of seats as possible, to ensure your lovingly prepared hot items didn't spoil. Why didn't I have one of those! One thing she never suggests though, is what to do with the leftovers. Perhaps this would imply that Fanny never had any, who would dare to leave anything if you found yourself at her party with the luxury trolley approaching? But I had some...

I didn't follow Fanny's plans for a Television Party menu, but did try and incorporate a European theme. Fanny herself released a few books on Euro Food - or Common Market Cookery as she referred to it then. I had some Spinach Purée that I had used to make Spanakopita Pies and also some Scandinavian Beetroot Bread that I had baked leftover. My guests thankfully ate most of the mountains of food I had prepared, but there's always something lurking about afterwards isn't there? So, I was delighted to see the next recipe in the Cookery Programme collection of steamed delights was a Savoury Steamed Spinach Pudding which happened to be made with all my leftovers. 

For this recipe, the bread needed to be whizzed up to make breadcrumbs and added to the Spinach Purée, with some soured cream, Parmesan or similar cheese, some egg yolks and seasoning. Fanny suggests the classic partner of nutmeg as well as salt and pepper. I'd already added some to my purée so didn't add more at this stage. Fanny, I'm ahead of you! 

Fanny says to blend all the ingredients together well. I assume she means in a mix and not whizzed in a blender, but I can't be sure. Gut instincts intact, that's what I do, before adding the final ingredients of melted butter and stiffly whisked egg whites folded gently in.

The final mixture is quite wet and gloopy, and falls into the well-buttered pudding basin easily. It's a wonderful mix of colours with the green spinach and pink Beetroot bread flecks - I'm sure Fanny would be pleased. My breadcrumbs were quite large and noticeable in the mix, rustic looking I'd say. The final instruction was to steam for two hours. The pudding emerged looking glorious and puffed up, just like I remember Popeye's muscles looking as he squeezed open a can of spinach as a child. It cut well, and had a deep earthy taste, the spinach and beetroot combined well. Fanny proclaims this as a perfect vegetarian main course, and I wouldn't disagree, but it also happens to be a perfect way to use up my party leftovers, transforming them into a whole new dish. Fanny has infiltrated my mind though and I am thinking a heated trolley would actually be perfect for the next party...

Fanny Cradock goes nuts for an Austrian Nusspudding!

If you haven't guessed it yet, Fanny Cradock loves steamers. For those that haven't quite picked up the hint yet, she quotes herself in the partwork saying "A steamer is to a good cook what a pressure cooker is to an ignorant one". Fanny doesn't like pressure cookers. Her evidence is based on rigorous testing of course, putting them through their paces with a delicate spring chicken. No jokes required. The poor bird emerged from it's pressurised time tasting like a bath sponge. Presumably Fanny tested those too. No moisture was the main complaint - the concentrated flavour of the bird had been 'purged out by pressure'. Fanny says 'stick to your steamer and you will never go wrong" - you might, like me, expect her to follow on with a chicken recipe but the poor spring chicken isn't mentioned again. We just have to take Fannys word for it I suppose. Instead Fanny takes us on an adventure to Austria.

Fanny describes this steamed Nusspudding - or Nut Pudding of course - as a very delicate and really rather super pudding which can be made with any kind of nuts. Fanny recommends hazelnuts or perhaps walnuts but simply can't resist adding in an option 'if you happen to be a millionaire' - pistachios. You just know that Fanny and Johnnie would use pistachios, and feeling like maybe I could aspire to be well-to-do myself that's what I opt for. 

This Austrain delight is made using fine, soft, white breadcrumbs and quite a lot of them. I don't have any fresh, or even nearly fresh, bread to hand, but I do have a ginormous bag of Panko breadcrumbs that I picked up at my local Chinese Supermarket. They were a bargain, hopefully Fanny would approve, especially given the carefree way I went straight to the millionaires choice of pistachios. I reckon they will work here as step one is to cover them in cold water and wring them out in a clean, dry cloth. 

The breadcrumbs really form the base of the pudding, there's no added flour after that. Fanny gets me to 'set to' beating up the butter until it's fluffy, creaming in some caster sugar and then adding in separated egg yolks and spoonfuls of soaked crumbs in small quantities. After they've all been beaten in well, add the freshly 'milled' pistachios. I whizzed mine up in the food processor. The last addition is the egg whites whisked to very stiff peaks and gently folded in. It's actually looking and feeling like a soufflé at this stage.

Fanny must've been thinking the same, as she suggests steaming this one in a soufflé dish. Usual steaming rules apply - oiled papers first then cover with foil. I am taking Fannys advice here too and making a 'strap' out of foil to allow me to easily remove it once steamed. I'm improvising a little here and just using a large saucepan with a wee terracotta dish in the bottom as my steamer. The covered soufflé dish sits on the dish surrounded by gently steaming water, perfect. Fanny gives two top tips - do not peek at it once it's in or it will result in a hollow pud, and don't for some reason bang the steamer down on the kitchen table once done, or it will all go wrong. I'm guessing either one of the assistants did this, or some poor soul who wrote in to tell Fanny her recipe failed. So, advice noted and some three hours later - Fanny never pretended steaming is quick - I lift the pudding out, unwrap it and carefully turn it out. It looks glorious, cuts well and tastes great! If your purse will still stretch to it, Fanny says to serve it with a rich hot chocolate sauce. Mmm, those Austrians know a thing or two about puddings.

Famous, French and Fried - c'est le Croque Monsieur

The news this week has been full of statistics about how much food we waste here in the UK, six meals a week apparently, on average. If she were around now Fanny would be popping up on every news segment in disgust. So, Fanny's timely tips on using up leftover bread and transforming it very simply into tasty treats seems a welcome reminder. It's as if she is here! Continuing her trip around Europe, Fanny hopes that we will become acquainted with the famous Croque Monsieur and his 'twin' Croque Madame. Madame is made with ham, so not for here. Fanny makes her Madam in a French waffle iron from Miss Elizabeth David's shop too - I don't have one, but just as well as the Monsieur is plain old fried.

Ingredients are frugal again, apart from the Gruyère cheese, but no one said leftovers need to be basic did they? So, simply take a couple of slices of bread, remove the crusts and spread with some butter.

Then, spread on some 'made' mustard. I frantically search my fridge for a jar without success, when I remember that I do have some mustard powder, and it's easy to 'make' by adding equal parts of water and mixing. A layer of the gorgeous Gruyère cheese should be cut to fit, and the sandwich cut in two. Fanny reassures me that it should look like a doorstep and not a petite sandwich. 

It looks tasty enough to me as is, but Fanny tells me to turn it in beaten egg and roll it in fine breadcrumbs. I've found some very 70's orange ones, yipee!

Next it's simply to fry the coated halves in not very hot oil, giving the cheese time to become soft and gooey and the crumbs golden brown. A fried sandwich seems very unnecessary and Elvis-like, but it's actually quite light and flavoursome, and certainly feels more of a treat than just a boring old cheese sandwich. I am please to make your acquaintance Monsieur Croque. Bonjour.