Johnnies Dash of Bitterness

Johnnie has a harsh warning that he may have to resort to violence. He wants to make this point very clear for us all before we move on. What's about to tip him over the edge? Is his rampage because Fanny relegates him to one measly feature in each partwork exploring wines of the world? Did Fanny provoke the attack by using the last of his favourite Marsala in her Zabaglione last night? Was he brutally offered a cheeky glass of sweetish, sparkling Asti Spumanti by an uneducated wine drinker? No, it was simply the thought of someone adding either ice, soda water or ginger ale to cognac that started the ruckus. Unless it was Italian Brandy. Johnnie thinks that Italian 'cognac', which obviously legally cannot be called 'cognac', is obviously only suitable for mixing with ice, soda water or ginger ale, which Johnnie says you would be sure to agree if you tasted it. All clear? Don't make him ferocious again.

Johnnie calms down just long enough to tell us that he is a fan of the aperitif and dessert wines from Italy that others maybe aren't too sure about. Fanny may be adamant in insisting that Marsala and Sherry are only 'pudding wines', but Johnnie thinks she is wrong. Asti may be cheap and cheerful, or as he puts it 'sweet and jolly' and not at all suitable for serious wine drinkers, but it is popular. Johnnie especially embraces the bitterness though, and wants to accentuate the astringent advantages of the aperitif.

I enjoy bitter tastes too, but I've never really thought too much about why or indeed why some people don't. Never until this past weekend that is. The Edinburgh Science Festival is in town, with a very welcome menu of GastroFest events to tempt geeks and gastronauts alike. As a slight caustic GastroGeek I was tempted by the Late Lab Molecular Mastery event held in the sinister dissection room of the former Royal (Dick) School of Veterinary Studies, now the much less sniggery but no less sharp Summerhall. The session was led by Max and Zoe from The Drink Factory in London, who set out to demonstrate how the art of cocktail making has become a science, showing some tricks of the trade to help experimenting at home. Phew, I can call it experimentation now.

Johnnie would've been very pleased to note that they began by exploring bitterness, championing the sometimes harsh and sometimes tart tastes of his beloved Italian aperitifs, Campari and Martini, which he says are best served with soda water, ice and a slice of lemon. They really haven't changed in appearance at all through the years. Classics. As we were welcomed to the group experiment, we were encouraged to taste a ready mixed cocktail waiting at our tables for us. Max explained it was an Americano, not the coffee but a simple, sharp, sour mix of Campari, Martini Rosso and Soda Water. No lemon slice, but thank heavens for Max it wasn't Cognac. 'Go on, take a sip' we were told. You don't need to ask me twice, it's an 'experiment' after all. What did we think of the taste? Are we fans of bitter?

I was one of the few hands that shot up, yes I am! Some liked it, but not much. Some hated it. Max and Zoe were ready to astound us with a scientific change to our cocktail, transforming the bitter drink to sweet. They had some pre-mixed solutions on the tables for us to add, but not what we thought. Well, not what I expected at any rate. Would we be adding sugar? Not at all, it was a 10% salt solution, and we added around 10ml to our glass, so just one 1g of salt. After a quick swirl, our Americano's now tasted sweet. Our bitter taste receptors had been blocked by the salt you see. We went on to complete further fascinating absinthal experiments involving distillation, maceration and louching. I learnt a lot, I will be conducting many more experiments at home. The lasting lesson of the day though is that dear old acidic Johnnie needn't be bitter any more. If Fanny is in danger of his murderous thoughts a quick sprinkle of salt is all that is required. Or a cocktail. Or better still, both.

Glögg, Glögg, Glögg

I should've had more faith in Fanny, she does have some favourite alcoholic cocktails to share for Christmas after all. Poor old Johnnie isn't a fan however. Despite teaching Fanny 'all she knows' about wine, he defines a cocktail as 'a number of good ingredients ruined by being mixed together.' Fanny is keen to surprise him though, and reaches into the depths of history to uncover some long forgotten, erm, classics, as well as some new wonders borrowed from around the world. Fanny must've picked up that I'm feeling a little under the weather this week, as most of the festive favourite are hot, hot, hot! I've been supping on some Galloway Chilli Jam Hot Toddies to try and scare the bugs off, but I'm willing to try some of Fannys specialities too. It might help. It's kind of research.

Before I get to the hot cocktails though, Fanny suggests a cold one. Made with milk. Stored for a few weeks before drinking. I dare say if I wasn't feeling too hot already, this would surely finish me off, but it's worth a go isn't it? For the Cold Milk Punch (which Fanny also calls Old Milk Punch, I can't work out if it's a typo or not) I need to soak lemon peel in rum for 24 hours, before adding brandy, the lemon juice, cinnamon, nutmeg and sugar. After a quick stir to dissolve the sugar, Fanny gets me adding boiled milk. She does warn that the mixture will curdle, and it does. I'm glad I did this in advance whilst feeling brighter. Adding some boiling water doesn't help. Fanny recommends leaving it for 24 hours covered with a cloth before straining and bottling and leaving it somewhere safe for a few weeks. I wish I'd forgotten where I'd stored it in all honesty, not even the rum, brandy and spices couldn't save me from 'old milk'.

In need of something warm and soothing I'm pleased not see that Fanny recommends a Churchwarden. Much more like it. It's a mix of lemon, cloves, red wine and tea. Perfect for this time of year and a real tonic after weeks-old milk. Fanny stabs cloves into a lemon and pops it into a cool oven until the lemon turns light brown. The smell is amazing, certainly clearing my poor sinuses. While the lemon is baking, heat the wine and get ready some scalding hot tea. Fanny says ideally should be green and from Mr Laity's shop in St Ives, Cornwall. This seems very specific to me (does it even still exist?), and quite a trip, so I reach for a TeaPigs instead. The roasted lemon is immersed in the hot wine, and hot tea poured on top with a little sugar. Yahoo for the Churchwarden, it's lovely. I expect it'd be even lovelier if I had the  right tea. Sorry Fanny. Sorry St Ives.

My cold isn't quite lifting yet, so I'd better bash on with more 'remedies'... Fanny has a richly sweet one for me next, it's called a Negus. Unusually Fanny doesn't give any explanation why, it just is. It's a classic. It's made with Port, although Fanny does say you can substitute Red Wine if wishing to be more economical. This is no time for economy though, what could be more import at than my health? The port is heated, but not boiled, and added to a jug with sugar, lemon rind, lemon juice and grated nutmeg. Again, it's a treat for my nasal passages. Fanny says I should stand the jug near a fire, I don't think she had my radiators in mind, and pour on some boiling water. The mixture then needs to be stirred for 30 minutes while keeping it warm before serving up. It really is lovely, but without the benefit of a roaring hearth I had to reheat it before swigging it back.

Finally for today, Fanny wants to introduce a traditional recipe she has 'borrowed' from Sweden, which she says is traditionally made with Sherry but she finds a red wine works equally well. Its Glögg but Fanny says it's sort of pronounced Glurg. It's also got brandy, so can't be wrong can it? The brandy is warmed gently with sugar, cloves, cinnamon sticks, almonds and raisins until it's too hot to touch comfortably. The only way to test this is to keep sticking your finger in until it hurts. Ouch. Then I wonder if Fanny is losing it. She sets light to it. This is a fire hazard, and I already have Casualty on speed dial after the finger-scalding test. Once the flames die down, phew, it's added to the gently warming red wine, stirred and served. It's stunning, a real winner for me. The almonds and raisins add so much. I do wonder if essentially burning off the brandy alcohol was necessary though. I reckon several of these will shift my lungs no problem. Oh hang on, Fanny suggests bottling left-overs to be reheated for next time. Left-overs? 

Pussyfooting Around the Cocktail Cabinet

I think Fanny Cradock and I are on the same page when it comes to Christmas. Food is important, and lots of it, but best to get it all prepared in advance so that you can settle down and relax with a drink. Nothing better than a wee glass of fizz, something fruity, and frankly something potent to while away the festive season. Fanny certainly thinks so, and she dedicates the final half of the dreaded Part Thirteen to Christmas 'Drynke'. Like the 'mete', it's as in 'Ye Olde'. I do love a bit of a booze up, I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'm pretty sure Fanny was no stranger to the cocktail cabinet either, but hang on a cherry picking minute, what on earth is Fanny playing at?

Teetotal? As in 'sans booze'? Fanny what are you thinking of? I guess not everyone enjoys a drink. I guess some people will be driving during Christmas. I guess some people will have given up alcohol. I guess not everyone has Johnnie at their beck and call, to drive them here and there in the Bentley. I guess you could always add some gin?

Fanny gives ten stand-in cocktails for those not partaking this Christmas. All are fruity, all are fizzy and all are fairly festive. I hate to admit it. The first is called a Pussyfoot, and is a lovely sounding combo of lemon, orange and lime juice. The juices are strained into an old-fashioned cocktail shaker, lucky that I have a few of those, with some crushed ice (just a teaspoon though! I manage to bash a cube or two in a plastic bag with a rolling pin), icing sugar and an egg yolk. Egg yolk? Time for a vigorous shake, presumably thinking of someone that you really didn't like very much. The same person you thought of whilst bashing the ice cubes. 

Once strained into a glass the Pussyfoot should be topped up with soda water and served with a cocktail cherry on a wooden cocktail stick. On no account should the cocktail stick be made from plastic, NEVER, as Fanny advises, 'Plastic always tastes of detergent!' Also on no account substitute the soda water for sparkling wine of any description, or at least if you do, do not tell Fanny. The Pussyfoot is very frothy and really refreshing. I wasn't sure about the egg yolk, but it makes if almost like an egg-nog... It would be lovely with a Brandy plopped in. Is Fannys insistence on teetotal-ness turning me too far the other way?

Fear not, the egg white isn't wasted - as if Fanny would allow that, especially in these times of austerity. It can be whipped up and added to more orange and lemon juice and some syrup to make an Orange Lemon Flip. Just shake again and top up with soda water, as before. Definitely not champagne. Fanny also makes an Orangeade by peeling the oranges thinly, placing them in a jug with some sugar and their juice, pouring boiling water over them and waiting. Once cooled, guess what? Add some soda water. Not vodka, no. 

Fanny gives variations on all the 'mocktails', using Strawberry Syrup in place of the citrus juice, or making lemonade with raspberries or pineapple chunks instead. The imaginatively titled Ginger Ale Punch is citrus juice, cold tea and sugar all shaken together, topped up with soda water and ginger ale. I've never seen so much soda water, but you know it's pretty versatile and makes the cocktails not-too-sweet, a bit sharp and dare I say a bit edgy. It's almost as if you don't miss the booze at all. Almost. However it's the egg tricks that impress me most, it's really like drinking something 'proper' and not 'soft'. The final one for now is a simple Egg Lemonade. I'd probably change the name if I was serving it to guests though. Back to the trusty cocktail shaker and in with some lemon juice, strained of course, with a generous tablespoon this time of crushed ice, some sugar and the egg yolk. Whip the egg white separately and at the 'precise moment of service' whip the two together, pour into a tall glass and this time squirt in the soda water from the side. It's another frothy one. I still say I might squirt in a Bacardi but if you are teetotal, even just for one night, go for it - these cocktails might just make you feel giddy.

Swedish Dinner Party - Cocktails and Cake Cradock style

Fanny included two complete menus (or 'Bill of Fare' as she referred to them) in each weekly part of her cookery programme, for those wishing to invite guests to a dinner party with an array of splendid offerings. One menu was always hearty, and one lighter, but both were of course 'balanced'. I was expecting Fanny to encourage me further by building on the basic skills I have been learning at her side so far, but as ever the menus really bear no relation to what has gone before. Patience. But still who could resist impressing dinner guests in such a way? And what could be more impressive than a starter of a selection of Vegetable Health Cocktails (or in French as Fanny is want to do, Jus de Legumes Frais)? Oh. 

Vegetable juices probably don't seem too odd to us today, but I was keen to have a taste of 1970 'health' and see how they compared. The ingredients seem healthy - carrots with fresh orange juice, celery with lemon and orange juice, tomatoes with lemon juice and Worcestershire sauce and a bunch of watercress with orange juice. Following Fanny's instructions I made all four (presumably to provide a choice to my imaginary dinner guests) and served them up 'over ice' with the suggested appropriate accompaniments - salt, freshly milled pepper and celery salt. The orange and lemon juice certainly made them pleasant, but for me the addition of both salt and celery salt was way too much, and not a way I'd like to start a dinner party - gasping for a drink. Now, maybe if Fanny had suggested chucking in a vodka or two I'd have been okay with that...

I skipped the main course - Skewered Mussels with Savoury Rice (Moules en Brochettes) and went straight to dessert. This too strikes me as modern and 'on trend' although I suppose it just goes to show that all good things come around eventually. Or is it more evidence that Fanny was ahead of the crowd? Anyway for pudding, Fanny is keen for me to make a Swedish Apple Cake (Applekak) served with a luxurious Swedish Vanilla Sauce (med Vaniljaas - Fanny continues to educate in a multilingual way, if I had any dinner guests I would of course impress them with the native names).

Fanny teaches me a new technique here to ensure that I get my apples puréed to a VERY thick and stiff paste - seemingly if I don't follow her guide my finished cake will collapse and I will be very cross with her. This of course is a veiled threat which really means that I will be very cross with myself for not following Fanny's expert guidance. So, I peel, core and slice 2lb of cooking apples and pop them in my heavy lidded pot with just enough water to stop them floating. I guess. Fanny suggests I use a stone jar, but frankly I don't have one of those. I cover them and cook in a moderate oven 'until they collapse'. Oh dear I am being trusted with some judgement here again. It takes about 40 minutes for them to collapse, then I sieve them, add some brown sugar and heat them again until they 'bubble and blow' getting rid of any surplus moisture. Meanwhile I whizz up an old stale madeira cake (I handily have some of my cherry cake left over, so take out the cherries) and add melted butter to the crumbs. Fanny tells me to push half the mixture into a shallow cake tin (prepared in the 'normal way' - I am being tested again, but fear not I have my grease proof paper in hand!), spread the thick apple mixture on top, and follow with the other half of the buttery crumbs. It's a bit like a cheesecake base, but on top too.

Once pressed down safely and smoothed off, I bake for 20 minutes. It looks like it might be quite heavy, and I've no idea if it will come out like a brick or not... And of course there is the added worry that perhaps I haven't stiffened my pile purée enough and the whole thing will collapse anyway. Eek. Stress. Swedish Stress. However, it comes out looking pretty much as it did going in. Once cool I have to transfer it to a serving plate, dust it with 'stripes of icing sugar' and serve it 'handed' (I hope this means in a jug on the side) with the Swedish Vanilla Sauce (can I say it's just custard?). Will the crumbs crumple catastrophically? Actually it looks not bad! And it is very light and tasty...

I don't know if this is a real traditional Swedish delicacy, but it seems like a great way to use up leftover cake and transform it into something to dazzle the dinner guests. I probably wouldn't tell the guests it was a stale old cake I'd made earlier in the week - of course, it's all clear now I would dazzle them with my perfect Swedish to cover this up. I see a small footnote (too late) by Fanny suggesting as an OPTION I could've added 'very sparingly' some Rum to the Vanilla Sauce... I'd say no cake and cocktail combo would be complete without a little alcohol - cheers Fanny!