Feeling Fruity for my Fourth Fanniversary

Do you remember what you were doing four years ago? It's not something I generally spend a lot of time wondering. Mostly it would just be an ordinary day, doing ordinary things, in ordinary ways. However, I remember very clearly what happened four years ago for me. It was no ordinary day, and no ordinary day has occurred ever since. It changed my life. Four years ago, I wrote my first blog post.

I have no idea what I expected to happen on that day, other than I would sit down, type my thoughts down about dear old Fanny and hit 'publish'. For me, it was always about having fun, celebrating Fanny and making myself giggle. If anyone else read it that'd be a bonus. Well, four years on, it's been, and continues to be, all those things and so much more. I've loved every minute, hour, and day since then. I think I've grown to love Fanny even more too. I find myself sticking up for her a lot, we've become firm friends. I mean, I've yet to whack an assistant or pee in my plant pots, but, well, I think she's mostly great.

Whether you've read all two hundred and fifty two of these posts, or this is your first, I totally appreciate it and hope that you enjoy it as much as I do. Thanks! Readers, tweeters and bloggers have come and gone and come back again. Some have disappeared forever. Where did they go? I miss them! It's been a whirlwind of harmless green vegetable food colouring and aspic, but you know what, everything so far has worked out. People tell me all the time 'oh yeah, but Fanny couldn't cook' or 'gawd, her recipes are terrible, inedible, aren't they?'... I've just found them to be incredible. Well, not especially the Eggs in Aspic, but more often than not!

Her signature 'thing' seems to be taking something which is not very much and making it seem like it's something really special. That can't be bad can it? Like taking an egg or two, a few plums, some milk and a dash of caster sugar and creating a dessert to make you smile? It's one of Fanny's favourites, meringue. She suggests making it in a 'complicated' shape for which she gives 'complicated' instructions which just seems too 'complicated' for me. Her shape is basically four circles joined together. I think after four years together I can go a bit freeform with mine, and dare I say it it, 'better'?

Instead of circles I whip up the meringues following Fanny's technique, and fashion a suitable 4-shaped design on baking parchment. If Fanny has taught me anything over the years, it's to pipe, pipe, pipe, so I do. Fanny says it might look as if it demands skill from the cook, but it doesn't. The meringue case bakes in around an hour, and emerges looking somewhat tanned. Fanny's meringues always do, I don't know why. Someone will. Fanny fills her case with confectioners custard made from the yolks, and then tops with poached plum halves. It feels like a fitting celebration of our four years together. In wedding anniversary terms, four years is Fruit, apparently. Will you join me and Fanny for four more? I do hope so - there is so much more Fanny Fun to come!

Don't Question the Digestion Suggestion

Fanny has taken an unexpected few weeks off. Not, as you might assume, to travel to fabulous places, rest and eat fabulous food. No, she's been furiously checking over and analysing what she has shown us so far, and has been actively making forward plans for future culinary adventures. She does deserve a break in all fairness. She's been beavering away for the past forty-three weeks solidly producing weekly magazines entirely for our benefit (ok, and for significant financial gain) stuffed full of recipes and ideas to free us from the shackles of domestic drudgery. By making certain we never leave the kitchen.

The reason for this slight pause in proceedings is to ensure that the next half of the part-work is as thrilling as the first. Yes, we are half-way through, by Fanny's calculations. It may have taken Fanny almost a year of non-stop whipping, beating and piping, but it's taken me close to four years. Fanny thinks we're only just beginning to master the basics. Fanny originally planned the part-work to be a glorious technicolour collection of ninety-six. Little did she realise that it would come to a premature end rather abruptly after a more modest eighty. So, in reality, I'm well past half-way, by my calculations. I do often wonder what would be found in those missing sixteen parts, but perhaps that's a concern for another day.

Today, we must focus on observing how the old and familiar and the new and unfamiliar not only start coming together very closely but at the same time lay down fresh foundations for further, forward adventures. The old and familiar Fanny has in mind are digestive biscuits. The new and unfamiliar is making them into a fancy, French-style flan. Fanny does not think the word Tart is suitable for polite company, either in the kitchen or the bedroom. Except here, her Biscuit Based Fruit Flan is also called Tarte aux Fruits d'Eté. Ooo-la-la.

She bashes the biscuits to crumbs, thinking no doubt about someone that she never really liked very much with every mighty blow. She adds melted butter and presses the thick paste 'of moulding consistency' into a flan ring, moulding it into a flan shape. It's a flan you see. While it chills in ordinary domestic refrigeration, she whips up some very thick confectioners' custard to cover the base with, followed by any choice of berry that your heart should desire. Simple. Just a bit of a glaze with a suitable fruit jelly (I use my homemade Bramble) and it's all done.

Fanny hasn't wasted any time on this recipe, proposing instead that we 'repair our memory gaps' on the absolute basic techniques so that we have them at our finger tips for the journey ahead. I think she means, please take some time to read back over my previous blog posts. Thanks Fanny for the plug. We will soon be trying hundreds of new things, and we must be able to depend on the basics. If our foundations are secure, there will be no limit to the magnificent confections which we will be able to achieve working together. I'm excited, and appreciate the opportunity to tuck into this tasty tart(e) in anticipation meantime as I segue gracefully from 'basic' to 'advanced' in the capable hands of Fanny. Are you by my side?

Feeling Horny?

Fanny has an important question for us today. It's not something she quizzes us gently with at all. She is straight in there. Quite direct. Absolutely no messing around with this one, she just blurts out her query, and presumably stands back with her eyebrows arched awaiting the answer. It's important to establish before we proceed. So, Fanny wonders, are you a top or a bottom?

Fanny insists that 'top' is best, after all its the professional way that's been done for decades and decades. She spends her time attempting to get her assistants to follow her lead and go for 'top', but some of them just don't like it, Fanny reports. Oh dear, this seems to be such a disappointment to dear old Fanny. Todays assistant, Sally, is singled out in particular. Fanny includes pictures of Sally trying to be a 'top' but failing miserably. She is just so much happier being a 'bottom'. There's no way round it.

Despite her obvious disappointment and disdain, Fanny is prepared to accept that although Sally's chosen path is 'wrong' and certainly not 'best' it will nonetheless result in something rather pleasing. Fanny is focused on the prize. She decides for once not to enter into a debate. Fanny decides not to lock horns with Sally as, you see, Fanny and Sally have both got the horn today. Cream horns, naturally.

Now, as I was saying, Fanny tends to take the classic route and winds strips of puff paste from the top of her horn mould to the bottom. She starts at the back or shallowest part. Sassy Sally however starts at the tip and works upwards. Whichever way you choose, please ensure that each over-lapping wind is at least one-third over the previous one. If need be wet down the last bit to stick it in place. Any surplus paste should be trimmed from the top of the cone. Otherwise, Fanny warns, the cones will not release properly, regardless if you choose to be a 'top' or a 'bottom'.

Fanny lays down her horns on a baking sheet, brushes them with egg white and sprinkles with a little sugar before baking. If all the trimming is done correctly they should release from the mould and be ready for filling. The classic rule is to fill your horn with layers of confectioners custard, jam and finally whipped cream. However, Fanny is the rule breaker this time as she simply thinks it tastes better to whip up the cream, add some custard and jam and then pipe the mixture into the horns. It's all a bit sideways, but whichever way up you decide to do things the end result will be naughty and nice. Enjoy your trip round the horn...

What Colour Were The 1970's?

Brown. Everything was freakishly brown. Furniture was brown. Think of all those drab wooden sideboards and burnt-looking velour sofas that houses were so very full of. Our houses themselves were brown. With brown front doors. Wallpaper was brown. Sometimes it was more off-the-wall than on it with swirly patterns granted, but generally it was different shades of brown. Our clothes were brown. Our shoes were brown. We were all tanned. We liked it. Brown was where it was at. We fawned over it. We were happy with brown. Until someone paired it with another ludicrous colour of course.

Orange. We had outlandish orange curtains hanging in rooms to match the peculiar orange lampshades. Rugs were a range of far-out orange tones. Our kitchens were so orange we needed sunglasses to enter them. We had offbeat ornaments that were orange and maybe a bit space-aged. But orange still. And kooky. We matched them with brown. We embraced the eccentric, extraordinary orange and brown combinations in our homes, in our wardrobes and in our lives. Even our tans went orange. If it wasn't for orange the whole curious decade would just have been, well, brown.

Almost. Okay, Fanny did her best to banish the buff and beige, bringing every colour of the rainbow to the buffet table. But the table was probably brown, the table cloth would undoubtedly be brown and orange. The guests crowded round it would certainly be dressed head to foot in cocoa inspired patterns of chocolatey brown and zesty orange, with orange accessories that perhaps looked like they'd been fashioned from the space-age adornments scattered around the house. And dipped in extra brown. You get the idea.

Fanny decided to embrace the unavoidable brown-ness of the time. In celebration, she unveiled her Brown Meringue. She could've worked more on the name, but do remember how hip and happening it was to love brown. Today we want our meringues to be so glowingly white they match our overly-whitened teeth and pristine, shiny, clinical white homes. Not brown. In the 1970's Fanny replaced the white sugar in her meringue mix for the tawny brown stuff and whipped up a brown frenzy. If she could've got brown egg whites I'm sure she would've. That's how she rocked.

Bang on trend, she pairs it of course with... Orange. She replaces the milk in a custard with equal quantities of orange juice and water, using the otherwise abandoned egg yolks perfectly. A splash of orange blossom water adds a shade more orange. The brown meringue is baked on a sheet of rice paper for reasons unknown, but also why not. It emerges so fashionably brown, all it needs is a seventies swirl of the orange custard. And a whole mandarin orange plonked in the centre. With a bay leave decoration. And freshly released citrus segments to trim. It tastes wonderfully caramelly and orangey. It tastes like the 70's. There are no other descriptions. It's brown. It's orange. It is the 1970's.

A Little Piece

Fanny certainly loved a party. Any excuse to invite a few select people she never really liked that much from the bad old days to gasp in wonder at the heaving buffet table she'd flung together seemingly effortlessly. And no better opportunity to show off her extensive knowledge of all things European than a soirée for Eurovision surely? Having been a contestant herself (albeit not singing) she would have plenty to crow about as she gave her guests a tour round her geographically inspired spread, laden with all kinds of everything. Additionally, any opportunity to showcase her Crêpes skills sending those attending into euphoria would be perfect. Perfectly creative continental canapés that is, but Fanny warns they are only for ambitious cooks who are prepared to spend a little more time.

Fanny makes very small canapé size crêpes in a normal size pan by simply placing dessertspoonfuls of ordinary pancake mixture onto the hot surface and running them into neat circles with the back of a spoon. I have a mini-frying pan that does the trick nicely, no need for spooning from me.  I love the little things. Fanny suggests that for special occasions such as this that we make very fine pancakes. This involves making the batter as usual, I'm using my lovely Wrights flour again, but then straining it through some nylon stockings before use. Erm, I think my Eurovision party guests can do without this additional one step further, don't you? 

As it is a very special Eurovision Party, four very special canapés are required. The crowning glory, rising like a phoenix from the display, takes the longest to assemble, so is tackled first. It's a sweet, steamed pudding made from crêpes smeared with jelly and filled with custard. Perfect to represent France - Fanny names them 'Pouding des Crêpes en Vapeur'. Eh, Parlez vous Français, Fanny? I have some homemade Bramble and Elderflower Edinburgh Gin Jelly left which should work well, even if Fanny claims to not know what a bramble is. Better the devil you know I say, we are amongst professionals now.

Individual moulds are greased and lined with the jammy crêpes, filled with extra thick custard and topped with more crêpes ready for steaming. Fanny says we will be surprised when they are steamed that they pop out of their little moulds perfectly, as she was apparently the first time she made them. To get them ready for their performance, more warmed jelly should be poured over. The steamed custard thickens and allows the moulded crêpes to hold their shape. As a canapé they are a big bite-size but a great 'congratulations' at the end of the buffet, but to get there we need savouries first! Time for making our minds up on fillings.

Flying the flag for the United Kingdom, and to keep things seasonal, Asparagus is perfect. Simply grilled and rolled in a mini-crêpe, secured with a cocktail stick. Think Eurovision and like me you probably think ABBA, so to represent Sweden I have some Quorn Meatballs. Fanny suggests rolling the mini-crêpes into cones for these, secured with a cocktail stick. ABBA would be so proud. Finally, representing Italy is a 'Tricolore' of mozzarella, tomato and basil, folded over into crescent shapes and lightly grilled before being secured with a cocktail stick. You get the idea. Fanny has one final reminder for any successful Eurovision canapé party - the essential provision of napkins. Please do not forget. Fanny prefers proper table napkins, but doesn't mind if others have to use those 'rather nasty paper ones'. Make your selection carefully however, your guests will be looking for any excuse to knock a few points off before they say 'Ne partez pas sans moi' to each other. You don't want nul points when the jury calls. Beg steal or borrow the correct linen and boom bang a bang, before the party's over you will undoubtedly be scoring douze points. 

To celebrate all things Eurovision, I am entering these party canapés into this months Treat Petite, hosted by Mr Cakeyboi and The Baking Explorer, check out the other Euro-tastic entries!

It's All In The Booklet #2 - Petits Fours

It may seem bizarre for Fanny to dedicate an entire episode of her Cradock Cooks for Christmas series, and so a whole chapter in the booklet, to Petits Fours but what seems even stranger is that she only gives one recipe - for choux paste. I think if she was on TV today she'd have an array of Macarons and cake pops, but as her legacy is preserved in her very favourite aspic, it's choux paste all the way. Fanny reminds us however that she is helping us to dazzle our guests with a treat which is not available outside of France, which is simple to create (if you know how) and above all is so very economical to produce. All we need is some flour, butter, two standard eggs and some ordinary tap water, which by any reasonable person could not be considered extravagant, apparently.

With some help from poor darling Sarah, Fanny demonstrates the technique for melting the butter in the water, and when it reaches boiling point 'shooting' in the flour and beating before adding carefully the eggs. It should be very thick and absolutely smooth, past the globule stage, as Fanny points out 'such nasty little lumps'. Fanny reveals her own special trick to ensure that the finished baked buns don't contain any 'shameful goo' and that is to allow it to cool at room temperature and NEVER in a refrigerator. Fanny is particularly cross on screen about an un-named and shamed women's magazine who gave a perfectly correct recipe, except the stage where goo had to be scraped out. Made properly, there should be no goo. Fanny pushes her finger into her baked buns to prove it.

I am sure Fanny would be most pleased with my piped and baked eclairs, buns and little miniature buns - not a hint of goo anywhere. Baked high in the oven and on a high heat, they are light and crisp when cooled, although I couldn't bear to bake mine as long as Fanny recommends. Fanny reveals hers from the oven proudly, and claims they should be very dark brown, and not prone to the perils of humidity as they are baked solid. Mine are golden. Oh dear, sorry Fanny, I fear I will be in for some of the same treatment as poor Sarah. Once cooled however I push on, fill them with the required mix of confectioners custard and whipped cream, and top with flavoured and coloured glacé icing. Fanny recommends a gentle pink perhaps, chocolate or coffee coloured, but my modern day choux buns are slightly more vibrant than even Fanny herself would make.

The same process is used for eclairs and the larger buns. Fanny, in a moment of faux modesty, reveals that her reputation for producing these wonderful Petits Fours is quite unjustifiable, after all it is so easy.  Her piping technique, which includes cutting the choux paste from the piping bag with a wet knife, does indeed produce wonderfully shaped eclairs. I do need to improve my technique, as from time to time I did forget, pulling up the piping bag and ending up with 'dreadful tails', but as Fanny demonstrates these are easily snipped off and re-shaped without much fuss.

Fanny says you can make these six months ahead of when you want them and they are perfectly fine, if stored correctly in the freezer of course, but they are so very simple and quick it seems unlikely that you'd bother. Fanny stresses throughout the show, and of course in the booklet, how very simple it is, and fun. However she does appear to be a little fuddled on screen, forgetting which buns she's filled and so on, perhaps it's because poor darling Sarah has disappeared? She seems worried about the year ahead, perhaps she knew this might be her last time in the spotlight? Soldiering on, Fanny displays a full table of completed eclairs and buns, even a Croquembouche which she does not explain how to make, at the end. She warns any friends who are watching that she does not appreciate their nerve in asking for a doggy bag to take any home that may be left over from the party, how very dare they. I am guessing the guests were too dazzled by the sight of all those garish buns to eat them on the night.

I've entered these Petits Fours into this months #TreatPetite hosted by @Cakeyboi and @bakingexplorer