If The Horse-Choux Fits

Fanny is still chatting on about weddings. There doesn't seem to be a wedding any time soon, or even anyone on the verge of an announcement, but more she is just 'putting it out there' that if there were to be such a celebration, she'd be as eager as a beaver to get that buffet bulging. She has so many ideas for the ideal wedding reception buffet, but don't worry if all you are planning is a simple garden party, or indeed any outdoor or indoor warm weather reception, these ideas are still for you. If you've been following Fanny with me for a while, you'll probably be able to guess what her ideal buffet ideas are...

Everything revolves around Choux Paste. It's so versatile that almost all of your wedding/garden party/outdoor/indoor/warm weather party canapés can be made with it. All the others can be vol-au-vents. Perfect. Easy. Tasty. Fanny suggests 'basic' choux made with water, also a 'basic' sweet choux made with milk, a 'basic' orange choux and a 'basic' coffee choux paste. They are all essentially the same 'basic' recipe using different liquids, but are sure to impress your 'basic' guests. And that's even before they are decorated and filled. I've made choux before with Fanny, so my eyes are drawn immediately to her 'basic' savoury option, made basically with Cheese.

Fanny starts by melting butter gently in milk, only allowing it to come up to the boil once the butter has completely dissolved. She quickly tosses in some flour and lets the mixture 'seethe up as usual' around the flour. Remove immediately from the heat, season, add cheese and beat, beat, beat like your life depends upon it. Stretch yourself, Fanny says, over the beating until you are 'practically fed-up' for airy puffy choux. The mixture should be entirely smooth and come clear of the pan. Sally is on hand with a pic-strip guide to show you what it should look like, which of course I have followed and recreated. Fanny then beats in three eggs, one at time. The first one will turn the mixture into globules which will look throughly depressing, but carry on. If you pay no heed and go on beating the mixture will become perfectly smooth again. Once it is, beat in the next egg, and so on. She is right.

Then comes the most important part. Fanny absolutely and without any discussion or debate, insists that this is followed to the letter. Cover the mixture with a plate and leave it at ordinary room temperature until it is absolutely cold. Do NOT pop it into the fridge, you will be sorry. And, if you use it while it is hot, not only are you completely off your rocker, but you will 'descend to the depths of culinary shame', because, when the mixture is baked, no matter what shape you choose, it will have horrible goo in the centre which you will need to scrape out with a teaspoon. Say no to goo, say no to shame and do as Fanny says, ok?

When it is stone cold, piping can begin. In a variety of shapes, naturally. Sally has a glass of cold water to hand to dip a knife into it to 'snip' the end of the piping off neatly. For eclairs, long strips. For buns, pipe vertically and push down before lobbing off the end. For weddings, Fanny says horseshoe shapes. She makes no shoe/choux jokes. This is serious business. Whatever you choose, (I'm fighting the desire to say 'choux-se') a hot oven is required until golden brown. Mine emerge a little dark, but smelling great. And no goo. Yippee! Fanny whips up some blue cheese and piping it on for decoration. Mix it with a little splash of port for easy piping. She insists on using the best possible port which you can 'steal from your husband'. This doesn't seem like the best start to married life to me, but who am I to argue with Fanny? Especially when these are so good. After all, there is no wedding here. No party of any kind - just me a a table full of very quickly disappearing savoury delicious choux.

Voulez-Vent, ah-ha!

Fanny is all puffed up in the kitchen today. Even more so than usual. It's not her ego that's inflated on this occasion, but rather her classical culinary knowledge that has that 'bloated' feeling. She's bursting with joy to lead us towards a very steep but satisfying step on her 'culinary ladder' to master once and for all the particular pleasure that is perfect puff pastry. It also allows dear old Fanny to drop a few names and Michelin stars into the mix as she recounts the tale of how the greatest of all pastry pastes, pâte feuilleté, came into being. Ideal.

Fanny tells us that French chefs split hairs over it and dispute minuscule variations on its handling. Just a warning. So, we are so very fortunate that Fanny spent some time in the cool, sunny kitchen in Les Baux of Le Roi de Feuilletage (the English translation of the King of Puff Pastry doesn't quite do it justice) himself, the three-Michelin starred M. Raymond Thuillier. Nestled in the troglodyte hills and caves of the remote village, with caves that you could drive a London Bus into if you should ever posses one, apparently, they were also joined by the famous French artist M. Bernard Buffet. What a perfectly named celebrity for such a lover of home entertaining as Fanny.

The honourable Frenchmen shared the tale, as well as the skill, of the puff pastry with Fanny, who in turn shares it with us. Splendid. In a Paris restaurant in the eighteenth century a young junior chef was ordered to make a batch of butter pastry. All seemed well, as the youngster make quick work of it, and put the paste to store in the cool cave for a few days until required. It was only then that, with horror, he realised he had forgotten the butter. So he whipped out the fatless paste, slapped the butter in the middle, rolled it out, rolled it again and again until the butter was not visible and returned it to the coolness of the cave. No-one would know.

When the chef demanded his pastry, the young boy gave it to him but began to tremble with fear, in a way that Fanny surely recognised well from a very similar and constant reaction by her own assistants, as it was rolled out, glazed and baked in the oven. No-one at that time expected to see it reach several inches in height with paper-thin layers. The chef demanded to know what the youngster had done, and instead of walloping him with a wooden spoon when he confessed, he kissed him and shouted 'C'est magnifique! C'est feuilletage!' Fanny would never have done that...

Fanny recreates the magnificence for us in a glorious pic-strip. She makes a ring of self-raising flour on a cold marble surface, while squeezing every drop of moisture from her butter in a double layer of muslin. Half the butter is chopped into small cubes and rubbed into the flour, then the juice of a lemon (Yes! Lemon Juice!) with very cold water added and scissored in with two knives to make a paste. Only touch the paste directly after you have held your hand under a running cold tap for as long as you can stand it. Once chilled, roll into a rectangle. The remaining butter is shaped into an oblong, folded in the centre, turned, rolled and folded again. Chill for 30 minutes in ordinary domestic refrigeration and repeat 5 times. A pillow of pleated puff.

For Fanny, the first thing to do with the puff is naturally the buffet-tastic classic, Vol-Au-Vent. She uses metal cutters dipped into boiling water before use for large circles, and smaller cutters cut only three-quarters way through the paste for the centre piece, which then makes the top. Always dipped into boiling water first. Baked on a wetted tray and majestically risen, they are perfect filled with mushrooms cooked with soured cream. Fanny may not have had any stars or accolades of her own, but with these little crowns I hereby pronounce her La Reine de la Pâte, or more simply perhaps, The Queen of Puff.

Rock'n'Rissoles

Certain Fanny Cradock recipes just keep popping up time and time again. In different books, on different TV shows and in different newspaper columns. She does them slightly differently each time. I like to think it's less her recycling old ideas, and more about reinforcing a set of core recipes that can be used differently for different occasions. She wouldn't be taking shortcuts to fill a show, would she? It would never be that she had run out of ideas, would it? Surely she wouldn't think we hadn't been watching properly before, would she? Her Rissoles are one such recipe. They get everywhere.

In the partwork she also gives them her favourite proper name. They are Fondue Frites. She doesn't discuss them, just presents them, after all we have made them together before. Many times. She introduced them on TV as part of her Adventurous Cooking series in 1966 and again when she invited us to her Cheese and Wine Party in 1970. After showing us around her glorious kitchen bursting with young assistants, she gets straight on with this hardly extravagant form of 'hot cheese' which is ideal for informal parties and buffets. It's disputable if they are of French of Belgian origin, Fanny never really decides. She is too busy explaining to us the real nature of the word 'fondue' which, she says. is a classical cookery term and not just hot cheese. Except this one, which is hot cheese.

The ingredients are well known to viewers and readers alike. Duchess Potatoes. This time not dyed eye-popping green but simply steamed and sieved before butter is added. Fanny suggests chilling the mixture until it becomes stiff at this stage. At least in the partwork she does. On TV she just jumps straight in and adds the absolutely essential Gruyère cheese, for it must be Gruyère, eggs, salt and pepper. Except in the partwork it's two egg yolks only. In the booklets it is two egg yolks only. On TV it's one whole egg. Surely Fanny didn't get her own recipe wrong on TV, did she?

In print again she recommends chilling the mixture at this point. On screen she blobs the mixture into a dish of flour and shapes it very roughly into a 'fat sausage shape'. At least that's how she describes it. I follow the printed instructions of course, shaping my sausages when the cheese and potato mix is cool and firm from the fridge, not hot and sloppy. Or loose and flabby. Or however she is describing it at the time. And chill again. On TV when Fanny brings her shaped sausages out of ordinary refrigeration they are perfectly shaped anyway, so presumably it doesn't matter. Magic must be at hand in her kitchen.

The shaped and chilled rissoles are then dredged in flour, beaten egg and coated with fine breadcrumbs. On TV Fanny does this once and plops them straight into the fryer. In print she is at pains to point out that this procedure must be undertaken THREE times. For only a triple coating will give a suitable protective wall for the delicate cheese and prevent it oozing into a gooey mess in the fryer. This would be failure. The oil must be smoking hot, so as to almost blind you, apparently. Fried until just golden and then transferred to the oven to finalise the 'fondue'. At least on TV. In print they are fried and well, just served, but still gooey inside. There seems to be many ways to make rissoles the Fanny way. They are cheesy and gorgeous, so we can forgive Fanny for the repetition, and (perhaps) the errors. My rissoles are all goo inside and no escaped ooze outside. No failure. Just like Fanny's.

Lacto Lenten Luncheon

Fanny wasn't a fan of Mrs Beeton. She mentions her often. Never in a good way. She says that the original Book of Household Management 'stuff' (she clearly can't bring herself to call it a 'cookbook') is all 'fiddle-faddle'. Fanny blames Mrs Beeton for so many English women failing. She gave all the wrong information. Fanny cannot imagine any professional chef in a professional kitchen wasting their time and money playing the farcical 'games' she outlined. After all, she never had time in her very short life to actually learn how to cook. The only evidence Fanny has seen that she cooked anything came from her sister who remarked that a cake she made when 8 years old 'was a sad failure and turned out like a biscuit'. In what seems to be the ultimate put down, Fanny asserts that Mrs Beeton 'couldn't even fry an egg'.

For Fanny, egg-skills are the most important. Especially for lacto-vegetarians. Especially during Lent. Especially when preparing a buffet for lacto-vegetarian guests during Lent. Not only a time of exclusion, but also a time for frugalness. To confront any nonsense in readers minds that eggs may be an out-of-reach expense, Fanny tells us that she, as a private person, buys her eggs direct from the local farmer at 19p per dozen. Fanny reminds us that any member of the public can do precisely the same thing. If in any doubt, Fanny points out that an egg has the nutritional equivalency to over two ounces of meat, so surely we must accept more readily that 5p is better spent on three fresh eggs than on almost any other foodstuff.

Fanny's point seems to be that the recipes for these lacto-vegetarian (she does love this description!) are good for the household too. As a result of spending prudently on ingredients, we should have more time to spend on cooking them. Apparently. So the less you spend, the more time you have. Great! Making a little go a long way demands more cooking time if what you make is to taste delicious. According to Fanny the only alternative is to cut down on both (and risk a nutritional crisis) and open a tin of something. This can never be a substitute for good cooking. Fanny does say that tins can be superb 'props or aids to good cookery', presumably just in case you happen to own her cookbook devoted to Cooking with Can and Pack in which she does exactly that.

No tins here, this is fresh, locally purchased, farmer approved, lacto-vegetarian fare after all. Oh, except the tin of sweetcorn. She serves it on a bed of 'health' rice, which is brown. All lacto-vegetarians love a bit of brown health. Simply sparkle it up with a hard boiled egg and a dash of paprika. Just like her Mum used to make. The Mushroom and Tomato Bake is layers of mushrooms and tomatoes, chopped roughly, cooked together, then layered with breadcrumbs and milled hazelnuts, also cooked together in butter. With Marjoram in-between each layer. Lacto-Vegetarians, like plain old vegetarians today, love a salad. So Fanny whips up her special Banana, Walnut and Orange Salad of sliced bananas doused in honey and lemon juice, with scattered chopped dates and walnuts, garnished with orange segments. It brings all the lacto-vegetarians to Fanny's yard. Or buffet.

To crown it all off, it has to be more eggs. Stuffed. Boil the economical yet nutritious eggs, peel and carefully slice the top off. Scoop out the yolk, carefully, mix with mayonnaise, ground almonds, grated cheese, a little tomato juice (for 'moistening' purposes), season and then, naturally, pipe it gloriously back into the hollowed out egg. Serve in egg cups stuffed with lettuce leaves. Poor old Mrs Beeton would never manage any of this, but thankfully for us with Fanny's help the buffet is a triumph. It all tastes good, even the Banana Salad. Fanny would never let us fail. Fanny would never let us present 'fiddle-faddle'. Thank heavens for Fanny!

The Cradock Christmas Staff Party

It's that time of year when we are all 'enjoying' our Christmas nights out with our colleagues, getting dressed up and letting our hair down. I'm sure the Cradocks, erm, being good employers, would have been no exception. It might've been the one time of the year that the poor assistants were able to stop quivering for long enough to enjoy a small sherry, a vol-au-vent and perhaps a mince pie, if they were lucky. And they were lucky just to be with the Cradocks. It seems Fanny and Johnnie had a favourite 'parlour game' that might've been played, it sounds perfect for the poor assistants. Perhaps they named it after Fanny? Snapdragon. It involves a large silver punch bowl (although in times of stress any heat resistant bowl wrapped in a scarlet or emerald napkin will do) and some raisins steeped in a mixture of brandy and vodka for a couple of hours. Fanny would add more spirits to the bowl, set it alight, switch the lights of and make the assistants snatch the raisins with their fingers from the flames. She certainly knew how to relax her assistants at a party. Ouch! 

And this was their prize for months and months of hard labour, I mean hard work. Fanny had a plan to make Christmas easy. A blueprint which ensured that we could all 'take it easy' during the festive season, simply tying up 'all the loose ends' after months of planning. Well, it would've been the lucky assistants that were tied up for months and months in preparation, but Fanny shares her tips to get the party in full swing anyway. Including a schedule to make the most of your ordinary four burner cooker, with a queuing system for pots, pans, steamers and birds. All complete with a handy illustration just incase it wasn't clear.

Fanny urges the housewives of 'this Island' to sit down just for a moment to remind themselves just what 'the day' really means, lest we all forget with the pace and stress of life today. Fanny recommends while you are sitting to grab a pencil and piece of paper to make lists. Lots of lists. You'll end up with lists everywhere. Jot things down at a pace. It's all very stressful. Ah, so what Fanny really meant to remind you was to get yourself in a fankle over all the things that she herself gets other people to do for her. There are menus to plan, orders to place, spare fuse wires and candles to buy (there could be a power cut), an extra flannel to purchase (in case a car breaks down outside your house or someone misses a train), the lists go on. I'm stressed just thinking about all the possibilities Fanny outlines. Things I'd never considered.

Fanny insists that the most important appointment to make is of course to have your hair done. The shame of turning up to your 'staff do' with an inferior 'hair-do' would simply be too much. While you are thinking of yourself, only for 10 minutes mind you, remember to lie flat on the floor with pieces of cotton wool wrung out in iced water over your eyes. Jolt your feet up higher than your head. Presumably not in the hairdressers, but it's not clear. Apparently, it works miracles to give you a lift, and is cheaper than champagne. It also means you don't see the assistants running around demented, frantically arranging, presenting and preparing. As if there isn't enough to do, Fanny demands that Palm Trees are fashioned from cardboard, silver paper, plasticine, doilies, nails and hairpins to show-off festive crystalised fruits. That really says 'Christmas' doesn't it?

No Christmas Party buffet would be complete with a suitably stuffed bird, and Fanny has her own invention to make things even easier here. A piping bag. Fill it, insert it (both ends) and shove like mad. For the final presentation of all the assistants hard graft, so that they can 'relax' and enjoy it even more, Fanny suggests a jaw-dropping, eye-popping, neighbour-stopping table display. She has them binding holly to make lavish swags to accentuate the groaning buffet table. But wait, there's much more groaning ahead before any food can be consumed. Lights off. Set the bowl alight. Come on now lucky, lucky assistants, get your bare fingers stabbed in to the flames and see how many raisins you can snatch. Ouch again. That's their actual Christmas dinner, a Christmas bonus even, I'm sure this buffet is for the real Christmas guests... Fannys' Christmas isn't so pain-free after all. Merry Christmas you old Snapdragon. 

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. 

How to make any omelette successfully in cheap and nasty pans!

Fanny Cradock dedicates the whole of the next partwork to one of her very, very favourites - the humble omelette. But before she gets whisking and folding with a variety of sweet (you have been warned) and savoury ingredients, she turns her attention to a particular bug bear of hers - namely that housewives are reluctant to spend a mere 30 shillings on a decent, solid, proper, iron omelette pan. Fanny says if you do make the CORRECT decision to invest in one, it must be kept exclusively for omelettes - never washed and treated initially by heating coarse salt in it over a thread of heat for two whole days. Then, omelettes will NEVER stick. But what about those poor souls who refuse to follow Fannys advice and persist with their old, cheap, wobbly handled frying pans? Worry not, Fanny graciously (some would say reluctantly) has a solution - rub it with raw unsalted pork fat and heat it, fat side to flame, for at least 7 minutes. Oh. Thanks heavens for non-stick technology I say.

Fanny herself demonstrates (through an elaborate pic strip) how to make a classic French omelette with both types of pan - a proper one, and a cheap and nasty one - both with perfect results. I have to say Fanny looks most pleased with the cheap and nasty one... No need to bite your teeth with rage dear, it's only an omelette. Can you imagine her wrestling her competitor to the ground on Saturday Kitchen with that appealing Omelette Challenge item? Fanny would ALWAYS win.

So, in keeping with the way this part work is going so far, once Fanny has shown these techniques, the very first omelette we set to make together uses neither a proper pan or a cheap and nasty one. How disappointing. Instead the first omelette incorporates another of Fannys favourites - it's green, oh and cold.

So I set to with some spinach again, and this time blitz it up in my food processor (Fanny says I can) once it's wilted. Fanny asks me to butter a straight sided soufflé dish very thickly indeed before whisking up the eggs, adding the spinach, some hard cheese and seasoning. I pour the mixture into the dish, cover with foil and bake it in a low oven for around an hour.

Fanny recommends checking it every now and again and removing it as soon as it is set. When it comes out the oven it's well risen, like a soufflé, but I need to leave it to get cold in the dish before serving. It soon deflates and shrinks away from the sides as Fanny explains. Fanny says this particular omelette is splendid when cold and sliced like a cake, especially for picnics or on a cold family buffet. It is very tasty, and a great way to have an omelette made in advance really. I'd say it was like a quiche without any pastry, but Fanny would never agree. So, all that is left to do is to put my mid-priced omelette pan (unused) away ready for the next recipe. Perhaps...