Murder, She Didn't Write...

Fanny loved a good murder. Not that I am suggesting she had been in any way involved in one, you understand. No, she loved the intrigue, the mystery and most of all she loved to be able to solve it all and take the glory. She just wasn't always very good at it. She let small things, such as the lack of evidence, and, well, you know trivial things like the truth get in the way. For Fanny, the story always came first, and then any authentic (or otherwise) affirmation could be made to fit. What she really needed was someone renowned for solving murder cases on her side. An assistant if you like. Someone like, erm, Jessica Fletcher would have been ideal. A crack team.

Fanny was convinced that her Victorian gastronomic idol, Mrs Agnes Marshall, had been murdered, possibly by her husband, possibly by someone trying to erase her memory in favour of Mrs Beeton (who Fanny despised and discredited throughout her career), deliberately suppressing her lucrative business and good name 'at the height of her fame'. Her actual cause of death had been carcinoma, which Fanny believed was indistinguishable from good old-fashioned arsenic poisoning. We don't need to ask how she knew this. She had clearly researched this part of the story well...

Fanny planned to write a book about Mrs Marshall and her demise, reintroducing the world once again to her recipes. She tried to get hold of the archives to allow her to investigate further, but they remained mysteriously out of her reach. Or perhaps didn't match her theory. She really needed Jessica to step in. Jessica stumbled across a Murder wherever she went. Jessica never, ever, found herself unable to solve a murder. A rogue clue. A flash of an eye. A misplaced fragrance... Whatever it was, Jessica always uncovered the truth, confronted the murderer and somehow managed to get them to confess (with only a minute or two to spare before the episode ended) everything without much of a fuss. Fanny needed Jessica.

Sadly, the two never came together, but can you imagine what a killer episode that would've been? Perhaps Fanny would not have taken kindly to being upstaged by dear Jessica however, and arranged for her to be 'disposed of' too... We can only guess. She surely, or at least 'allegedly', would have snuck some arsenic into a tempting dish. Jessica loved to eat. So much so that there is going to be a Murder She Wrote cookbook (squeal!) published soon, by the wonderful Jenny Hammerton, and this recipe is one which might just feature there. It's not a recipe by Fanny Cradock, but it is given a Fanny-meets-Jessica twist... It is part of a wonderful #MurderSheWroteCookalong

It's a cheesy ball. It came via an actress by the name of Jane Withers, which seems appropriate as this is exactly what would have happened if Fanny had looked at her. Jane appeared in Murder She Wrote, twice, but most notably in an episode called Who Killed Jessica Fletcher? where Jane pretends to be Jessica, and, well, ends up being murdered. Jane made these cheese balls by mixing together some soft American Kraft cheeses, which I have subbed for available and retro British ones. Jane mixes in chopped onions and Worchester sauce (I'm using the more veggie friendly Hendersons Relish) before rolling it all into a giant ball (not an entirely easy task) and covering it in chopped pecans, parsley, or both. I think Fanny would take complete credit for this, especially as Jane had well and truly withered already. She would definitely do 'both'. She would then convince Jessica to solve the mysterious case of Mrs Agnes Marshall before serving this at the celebratory buffet afterwards... Would Jessica dare to tuck in...?

Stiff Supper Flip

From time to time, despite our best efforts, or perhaps as a result of them, the cupboard is well and truly bare. Maybe we've forgotten to go shopping or perhaps we've simply eaten everything in blooming sight. Either way we all know the dreadful feeling of peering into the kitchen and discovering... Nothing. We look again. Open every door. Check the fridge. The cupboards again. There must be something. Panic! Then, out of the corner of one eye, you spot it...

An egg. Perhaps we'd not all immediately be jumping for joy, secure in the knowledge that we'll be eating well after all. It's just an egg. Not a meal. Nothing to feel excited about. Fanny thinks differently. She always does. We know this by now. She's determined to encourage us to crack open that solitary egg, grab our griddle pans and give out a celebratory whoop as we whip up a hunger-busting meal. Yahoo!

Well, kind of. We know that Fanny is a little bit obsessed with one particular type of egg-based meal. She loves them in all forms. Savoury. Sweet. Substantial. Small. She'll have them all. However you'd be forgiven for imagining that Fanny had well and truly flipped (some might say, finally) were she to suggest that one little egg, all on it's own, could be remodelled into Fanny's favourite. An Omelette. Not any old ordinary omelette though. C'mon, that just wouldn't be Fanny, now would it?

When times are tough, Fanny's Griddle Soufflé Omelette comes to the rescue. The griddle, you see, cuts down on one ingredient which Fanny herself would normally add to a Soufflé Omelette cooked in any other way. This is amazing. Fewer ingredients all round. The redundant element is simply, erm, water. For griddles, the egg is simply separated. The white is beaten to an absolute maximum stiffness. No semi-stiffness welcome. Maximum stiffness. The yolk is beaten lightly with a fork and turned gently into the whites until they are creamily blended. If you have a knob of cheese, add it. Salt and pepper are essential.

The ingredient list is zooming up, but we will forgive Fanny. I cannot however forgive her for rubbing a piece of pork fat on a dry heated griddle. I spray a little oil before following Fanny's instruction to 'dump' the 'foamy mixture' onto it over a low heat. Working quickly, Fanny says we must shape it using spatulas and knives, one in each hand, into an oval. Turning with the spatula when brown on one side, tidying up any rough edges with the knife. There you have it. A light, fluffy, foamy, stiffly-beaten Griddle Soufflé Omelette made with one lonely, neglected and resurrected egg. It's dead nice, but what can I eat now...? *stares into kitchen*

Fanny Cradock Invites... you to the iPlayer

There's been quite the hullaballoo this week in the press about the 'Return of Fanny Cradock' to the BBC... Every newspaper, every radio show and even some television shows have covered the 'breaking news' story. The BBC are at last adding some classic cooking shows to their iPlayer archive for us all to savour, showcasing the changes from the 'early days' of Fanny and Delia to erm, well, the 'later days' of, erm, Levi Roots and Lorraine Pascale. It's Fanny that has set the headlines alight however - and I'm not just talking about those nasty tabloids who stole my blog photos to illustrate their stories, but that is another tale for another day...

Once again, Fanny will be showing us all how to throw a proper Cheese and Wine Party. She happily invites us into her actual home to do this, and cooks for us in her actual kitchen. She'd actually campaigned fiercely for many years behind the scenes to move cooking programmes out of the dreary studio, to show the housewives of Britain how to cook in ordinary kitchens. She wanted to cook in ordinary housewives homes. The producers were't keen. Fanny cooked up the plan to use her own kitchen instead. We'd all love to see that! Just before we get that exclusive peek of Fanny's kitchen, she, of course, introduces us to her dog, Mademoiselle Lolita Saltina Cradock, who is not yet quite a lady. No more explanation required.

Fanny is sick to death of looking at walls while she cooks at home, so she shows us around her time-saving kitchen where everything faces the camera instead. Which is fortunate. Peter and Sally are on hand, looking terrified, to help out when barked at. We're having a Cheese and Wine party after all, and time is tight. We all have dramas, nothing worse than the doorbell ringing before you are ready, you really should have your frock on by now and the food isn't presented as it should be. Don't worry, just pull in your army of amiable assistants to rummage through your endless cupboards to make the show happen with ease. It's what every ordinary housewife would do.

To celebrate Fanny on the iPlayer, I am making her very special Italian cheesecake with her very special homemade cream cheese, that we very specially made earlier. This one uses a pastry base. The cream cheese is simply mixed together with egg yolks, orange zest, sugar and a little flour. Oh, and fresh grapes and mixed peel. They are funny lot these Italians. This mixture is poured into the raw pastry case. Fanny then covers the surface in unbeaten egg white and a trellis of pastry offcuts. She sprinkles on a few pine-nuts and a dusting of icing sugar, and it's ready to bake.

Her kitchen at home has four ovens, but we only need one for this. Once baked, sit back and enjoy a slice while catching up with Fanny on iPlayer. It's a treat. Sing along to the jaunty theme tune and gawp in amazement at her talents. She never misses a heartbeat as she tours round, whips up several meals, cleans as she goes, fries stuff, forks stuff, fondues stuff, shows off every piece of equipment she owns and gives detailed explanations of the culinary terms involved. She has diplomas you know. All in one take. The camera follows her round the kitchen with ease. You'll be amazed. Of course if you miss the recipes, don't worry, they are all in the booklet. Back where she belongs on the BBC. Enjoy!

Marsk My Pony

Fanny Cradock loves cheese. Don't we all? Fanny says that there is nothing more frustrating to a cook or hostess than reading about delicious items which people in other parts of the world can put on their tables and which are, for one reason or another, unobtainable in Britain. Naturally then, Fanny continues to give extensive lists of cheese which at the time of writing were only available from her very favourite shops in London. She rattles of the delights of English Cheese, French Cheese, Italian Cheese, Danish Cheese, Swiss Cheese, Dutch Cheese, German Cheese, Austrian Cheese, and even a limited supply of Scottish Cheese. So basically all the unavailable cheese.

We needed worry though, Fanny has an idea. She always does. This time her idea is, if we simply cannot buy the cheese that we want, why don't we make our own? She doesn't suggest we start with Blue Vinney. She doesn't suggest we start with Pont l'Evèque. She doesn't suggest we start with Osterola. She suggests we start with cream cheese.

Fanny being Fanny, gives us a choice. We can make a 'Basic Modest' version, which is made simply from milk. We can make a 'Basic Luxurious' version which is made from milk, single cream and double cream. Or, we can make a 'Basic Sweet' version which can be 'modest' or 'luxurious' but adds in sugar and a vanilla pod. I was hoping for an 'Advanced' version, which may still be to come later on the part-work, however I am happy to plump for luxury. This should always be the choice.

The only other ingredient is rennet. Fortunately for me, with the rise in home cheese making, vegetarian rennet is now fairly easy to source. I bought mine in Lakeland. The process of luxurious cream cheese making involves heating the milk and creams together over a 'mere thread' of heat until it is really hot. Blood heat, apparently. Add the rennet, allow to cool then transfer to an ordinary sieve lined with butter muslin. Tie knots in the top and hang it somewhere (over the sink for me) to drip for 48 hours, until it stops dripping, and then a further 24 hours in a draught to firm up a little. It's quite strange to have it hanging in the kitchen for days on end...

... but so worth it in the end! Fanny informs us now that we can serve this cheese with trimmed sticks of celery for hors d'oeuvres or canapés. We can use it instead of buying Ricotta, which we probably wouldn't be able to buy at the time anyway, in baked tartlets. We can add herbs, parmesan and celery salt to make it suitably savoury if we prefer our tartlets that way. We can make an Italian gateau which Fanny says is normally made with 'Mascherpone' from the Lombardy region. It's really like the creamiest, most delicious, best ever Philadelphia you've ever tasted. So, we can also serve it simply 'forked up' and decorated with fancy pretzels, for scooping and scoffing, to impress and amaze anyone at our buffet table.

A Potted History of Cheese

Fanny Cradock has decided that the time is right. We've been through a lot together. Different ingredients. Different skills. Different techniques. We don't even need to mention all the different colours. We've done it all. Well, almost. Fanny has saved a particularly important aptitude to impart to us until now. We are ready. We are excited. We are cooking with cheese.

Leftover cheese is not something which features heavily in my life, I have to admit. Fanny however has an idea from Ye Olde Days of Old for that challenging time when perhaps my refrigerator is blessed with more cheese that I can handle. My first reaction would be to simply eat it, however Fanny has a much more sophisticated solution should I find myself in such a pickle. Pot it.

For this preserving technique, Fanny chooses Cheddar. First of all Fanny would like to clear something up. A fallacy. According to her, Cheddar was NEVER matured in caves at Cheddar Gorge. They are simply too cold and too damp for the job. Fanny says that English Cheddar is the best in the world. Cheddars of other countries are considered inferior. My Cheddar is Scottish.

Fanny reckons that there is only ONE Scottish cheese on sale which is worth mentioning at all. Dunlop. It responds very well to being creamed down, apparently, with half it's weight in butter and the classic alcohol of the country it comes from, whisky. Fanny tells us that Dunlop was first made in 1688 by a dairy woman, Barbara Gilmour, and is an excellent cheese for toasting or for an imitation fondue. I still only have Cheddar. Scottish Cheddar.

To 'pot' this already inferior cheese, Fanny grates it and adds it to a double-boiler with a tablespoon of thick cream, a few tablespoons of sherry, some butter and quickly scissored chives and tarragon. Fanny stirs the mixture over a gentle heat until it turns creamy and pale green in colour, before adding seasoning. Straight into sterilised pots, packed in well and covered with a covering of clarified butter when cold and then a well-fitted lid. Preserved Cheese. It still will not last long in my hands, but it is a super oomph in the savoury stakes and perfect with toast.

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.

Stick a Feather in His Cap

Fanny Cradock is planning her summer holiday, and is hoping you are too. She knows that you will not be anywhere nearly as well travelled as she. She knows that you will not be as well informed on the best places to go. She knows that if going 'abroad' is comparatively unfamiliar to you, and your experience is limited Jersey, Knokke or Dieppe, she has somewhere in mind which will get you using all five of your senses in a manner to which you will very probably have been unaccustomed. So that's us put firmly in our place. I need a holiday.

Where is this paradise for the senses that she has in mind? It's a country of strong, clear, brilliant light which gives an almost theatrical performance at sunrise and sunset. It has white, cubic houses where people wear brilliant costumes among the breathtaking architecture. They have hills. They have beaches. They have unfamiliar smells. Where else but the fair isles of Greece. It would seem that they also have Macaroni Pies.

It's no standard Macaroni Pie of course, this is a Pallas Athene's Macaroni Pie. Fanny seems to have picked this one up on one of her jaunts. She reckons in Greece if you happen across a little Taverna, you are welcome to just trot into the kitchen as a matter of course, lift the lids on the pots, sniff the contents and either say 'thank-you' and go away, or order and go and sit down in the restaurant. I suppose it reduces the need for the gay, colourful Taverna hosts she recalls, who have roles more akin to a performance rather than to serve and receive, to have waiting staff.

This pie is less performance and more pleasure. Simply cook the macaroni, add some dried herbs, grated cheese, blobs of cottage cheese and a good splash of single cream before baking in a moderate oven. I'm not spotting any of the glorious Greek produce that Fanny practically insists you bring back from your Greek holiday. As well as textiles and pottery, Fanny's list of priorities are Halva, Turkish Delight, Olives and Oktapodaki. That's tinned Baby Octopus. Perhaps it's best that she saves that for a more suitably tentacle-icious pie.

Fanny does think that Greece is exciting. Fanny does think that you will need to take pains to 'tune in' to a different way of living. Fanny does think you will need to get accustomed to drinking endless amounts of Ouzo. Greek people, you see, use a lot of oil and resin in their food and wine, neither of which Fanny notes are suited to the rather conservative stomachs of British people. Or other British people, as I assume she means. This must be why she keeps this pie thoroughly suitable for British stomachs, with the absence of all whiffs of Greece. Fanny says you will return from Greece uncomprehending, a little dazed and feeling drunk. This seems to be the case with this pie. Fanny says it makes a filling and suitable adjunct to the overload of meats on offer. Vegetarians rejoice! Fanny cannot resist however mentioning that this particular dish would be greatly improved by the addition of a huge chunk of barbecued meat. So, stick that in your cap and call it Macaroni.

Fanny Italia #2 - Do Italians Do It Better?

In 1964 Fanny and Johnnie published a volume which would safely guide readers all over Europe, but safely outside the Iron Curtain. Their aim was to be extensive but not comprehensive. How could they be after all? All they could do was to impart their considerable knowledge and hope that their readers, who were sending in around ten thousand fan letters a week, would be inspired to try somewhere new. Fanny clearly asks 'Why always go to the Algarve?' as her starting point. I wonder how many of those tens of thousands of 1960s readers were even venturing abroad? How many used the guide to explore beyond the Algarve, perhaps, like myself, into Italy?

Fanny's previous writing almost put me off my upcoming trip to Italy altogether. This book lets me plan my own route, and thankfully that includes flying. Fanny still has words of warning however, for the wary tourist. She claims that 'souvenir hunting' from tourists seems to be a national sport, so it is unwise to leave any items unguarded. And if the Italians aren't stealing all that you own, they are apparently trying to steal your hard earned money. According to Fanny, the tourist is regarded as 'fair game' so it is wise to determine the price of anything you plan to buy, hire or enjoy. Another thing to worry about. Or perhaps not, as Fanny notes it is entirely different in the North, where I will be spending my time. Apparently there is a 'gay friendliness' there which means locals have a tremendous interest in the well-being of tourists, in direct contrast to the 'tourist-piracy' which persists in the 'deep south'. Well, thank goodness for that. Things are looking up.

And then Fanny gets to the food. I've never been to Italy, and am looking forward to tasting all that the nation has to offer, but Fanny has a warning for me. It's limited. Far more limited than the cuisine of her beloved France. She says its 'runs the whole gamut from A to B.' Despite the limitations, there is at least variety, but mostly the food revolves around oil and pasta. Seemingly the Italians also add goat and all manner of feathered objects, all lumped together under the name uccelletti. In my pursuit to avoid thrush, lark, blackbird, bullfinch, quail, woodcock, turtle-dove and the strangely named figpecker (although I like the sound of that one), I shall scour every menu making sure uccelletti and their numerous feathery frames do not feature.

I'm heading to Piedmont, where Fanny says I can look forward to good grazing, flourishing orchards, vineyards and rice fields. So, rather more than the limitations of A to B? Although she points out that dishes will be highly seasoned, I can expect a high incidence of garlic, cream, cream cheese and butter. Doesn't sound too bad, does it? With White Truffles on risottos, polenta, agnelotti, gnocchi, beans, golden peaches, cheese and chestnuts surely I will eat well? I'll skip the wild boar and partridge. Oh and the frogs. But otherwise all sounding good. There is even mention of cakes and chocolate.

You'd imagine that Fanny might be a fan of Italian wine at least? She does concede that they can be very interesting and pleasant, but sadly there will be no 'great ones' for me to sample. The Italians do not lavish the same care and attention on their production as the French you see. The best I will find is Vermouth in Turin, which is perfect for me, and exactly where I will be. Elsewhere in Piedmont, the best I will find is Barolo, or it's less potent and fresher cousin Barbaresco. Perfect. I'm not sure what Fanny is complaining about to be honest. She tells me I can expect to find Asti Spumante, which bears no relation to Champagne. It seems that there is simply nothing which Italy can offer which would make Fanny sparkle. Will I discover something to pop my cork? Will the Italians do it better than Fanny describes? Should I have planned a holiday in the Algarve instead? Let's see...

Mmm-mmm-mmm-America

I'm not sure if Fanny ever went anywhere near America, but of course by the time she was pulling the partwork together in the 1970s, America was coming over here with a vengeance. Or at least the food was. So, Fanny being Fanny, she had to include a nod to our Stateside cousins on her culinary ladder, and the American Club, or 'three-decker', Sandwich appears to be it! She scarcely needs to give instructions for it, but simply cannot help herself...

According to Fanny, and according to generally accepted patterns, the American Club Sandwich should be made with toast, sliced tomatoes, hard-boiled eggs, lettuce hearts, real mayonnaise, thinly sliced mixed brown and white chicken flesh and bacon. This appears to be the reason Fanny feels the need to explain it however, as according to her, what can be found in 'less reputable restaurants' is generally anything but!

Wherever Fanny has been tucking into her Club Sandwiches, she seems to have been served 'revolting bottled wallpaper paste masquerading as mayonnaise'. She probably wouldn't be best pleased with my jar of Hellmans then? It is labelled as 'real' mayonnaise however. It seems to get worse, her sandwiches have contained rather tatty bits of outsized lettuce. That's not the worst of it, the chicken has been replaced with scraps of rabbit and one or two rag, tag and bobtails of the coarsest streaky bacon. I'm sticking with cheese.

Fanny reckons, if made well, the Club Sandwich is one of the most filling and most delicious you are likely to come across. The toast must be made fast under a pre-heated and very fierce grill or it will fly apart when handled and somehow constitute a peril 'once again' for people with bought teeth. Luckily I still have all my own, but although my toast is made fast, it is made in the toaster.

As I'm avoiding the chicken and the bacon, I need not pay heed to Fanny's advice that they be economically used, with the chicken the merest shards from the carcass and the bacon definitely not in brine. My cheese slices are fresh from the pack, and on offer (two for £2) at the supermarket, surely that will do. Fanny might approve after all, she says at the end of the day practically anything can be made to make a Club Sandwich. Being American, they simply cannot be considered to be 'classic' and therefore we can do anything we like with them. Thanks y'all.

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.