Push Pineapple, Shake The Tree

I'd say one of the many amazing things about Fanny Cradock is her ability to completely transform a few, very simple ingredients into something which has the unexpected 'wow' factor. She practically built her whole career on it. Partly through necessity as ingredients were scare after the war, but somewhat because, I am sure, it was fun and an appealing, eye-popping challenge for her. Add into the mix her other oft-used phrase 'and so quick to throw together when someone pops round unexpectedly' and you have her Pineapple Soufflé, or Les Zephyrs Maison. Entirely suitable for those that come and dance every night, singing with a hula melody.

Fanny being Fanny thinks strategically about the provocative presentation before she even begins. No point in planning a 'wow' that, well, has no 'wow'. She chooses a pineapple on the smaller side which has leafy green spikes a-plenty, and starts by slicing the whole thing down the middle, 'tufts' and all. Careful not to chop them off. The soufflé is baked and served IN the pineapple you see. It's all her own idea, and one which everyone that she has served it to has enjoyed immensely. No doubt she had the inspiration when she met a mistress somewhere in Waikiki, selling pineapple and playing Ukulele. Classic Fanny Cradock.

The unembellished but soon-to-be flashy flesh of the pineapple is carefully scooped out, and kept aside. Fanny stresses the importance of NOT making any holes through the skin, reminding us that this is the home for the soufflé. The central core of the pineapple is a bit tougher than the rest, but it generally pops out easily enough with a little help from a teaspoon. You may need to push the pineapple a bit, especially to the left and the right, but no need to shake the tree, grind coffee or to jump up and down then to the knees.

Fanny whizzes up the pineapple pulp, either by emulsifying it in a liquidiser, or more strenuously shoving it all through a sieve. Thankfully I have a machine to do the work. And another to whirr up the egg whites for the soufflé. First of all just on their own, then for a very precise three and a half minutes with a small part of the caster sugar. Only after that is the rest of the sugar is carefully folded in, so as not to knock out the precious air particles out. Wiggle and gently sway as you do it, think of the lovely beach and the sky and the moon of Hawaii. Failing that, imagine you are wearing a rum calypso sarong. You may be anyway, of course. I'm sure Fanny was.

Fanny suggests pushing the pineapple gently to the left (altogether now, once more with feeling) and sliding the purée underneath, before gently cutting it in very lightly. Pile the airy mixture into the pineapple cavity so it resembles a dome. It will look nothing like a dome. But Fanny says a dome. She also lovingly wraps the pineapple spikes in foil to protest them once they are in the hot oven. Pop the whole thing in for precisely eight and half minutes and serve, wow and enjoy. You might be compelled to sing a little song as you tuck in to this delightful pudding, if one is in your mind at all? No? Nothing?

Twisting My Lemon, Man

With the sun making a hopefully sustained appearance, Fanny's mind has turned to ice in her latest attempt to cool her temper while looking after any number of children during the summer holiday. She knows that they will be sweetness and light (they had better be). She knows that they mostly like ice creams. She knows that the smaller ones show a marked preference for ice lollies. She knows that she needn't give us a recipe for those though. She knows that lollies made from sweetened fruit juices will be better for 'them' than the synthetic ones you buy in shops. So, Fanny proclaims, Give Them Lollies.

Well, except for today. You see, as Fanny says, no recipe is required for lollies. She wants to give us a recipe. It's what she does. Imagine an issue of the part-work without recipes? That would never do. Without recipes how would Fanny fill her time? It may be a holiday, but Fanny is still busy. So today, Fanny would like to suggest her Lemon Water Ices to us all. The recipe and the ingredients are fairly simple, so at least we won't overheat in the kitchen preparing these, but it will keep us amused while the children play. Alone. Without us. It's how Fanny prefers it.

As these aren't lollies, the little ones will need to be sitting down to get stuck in. Fanny, cunning as ever, has a plan to keep them occupied for a while ahead of that though - get them to lay the table first. Whether it's the patio or dining room when the summer weather is in a very bad temper (worse than Fanny's) or on the terrace or plonked in the garden itself when the sun shines, the table should be resplendent. Hand embroidered chiffon organza from Madeira and matching napkins folded like water-lollies. That's what Fanny recommends, which is fairly niche it has to be said. Matching your dishes, side plates, salt and pepper pots and bowls with summer flowers will provide the perfect setting to induce good manners amongst the young, apparently. It is never too early to teach them which knives, forks and spoons to use so that they are not totally embarrassed when they go to grown-up parties.

Even the holidays are school days, seemingly. Always a chance to learn something new. Including how to make Water Ices. Fanny uses lump sugar for hers, cold water, lemons and egg whites. That's it. Saving a few lumps behind, Fanny places the remainder in a small pan with cold water and slowly heats it until they dissolve, without boiling. Once dissolved though the heat is raised to boiling, then lowered again to a simmer for ten minutes. During this time Fanny rubs her remaining lumps on the lemon rinds until they become yellow and collapse. After the ten minutes, they are added to the hot sugar syrup, stirred to dissolve and then chilled. I added the rinds again for added lemon-y-ness but don't tell Fanny.

When cold, the lemon juice is added, then the strained liquid is frozen in an ordinary freezing compartment until the edges are well crystallised but the centre is NOT set. At this stage, stiffly whipped egg whites are added and the whole mixture whipped again, before returning to the freezer one more time, until required. Fanny insists it is served piped (which is easier said than done) into long coupe glasses, with the simple addition of some summer fruit on a wooden cocktail stick on the side of the rim. Apparently any child will agree that this enhances the service of this quite delicious and light water ice. Well mannered, well taught and well frightened children especially.

The Spirit of July

At this time of year, we're all constantly thinking about the summer ahead, filling our minds full of eternal sunshine, endless days of fun, food and frolics in the park and packing our bags ready to jet off for our uninterrupted, precious, dearly-held holidays. Fanny is no different. She is forever telling us about the glorious 'foreign' recipes she has collected on her travels, and that we should be presenting to our guests, encouraging us to always refer to our creations with their French names. Except today. It's all about the wonderful world of the all-natural, all-British ingredients. Almost.

Fanny says they are indisputably (and, be honest, would you argue with her?) the very best in the world. She always maintains that 'this island' grows the finest fruit and vegetables of all. However, when she's in a particularly 'wry' mood she is compelled, for honesty's sake, to add "they just suffer a little when they reach some English doors!" Presumably she isn't talking about us, her dearly devoted followers? After all she is showing us the correct way to ensure that no produce suffers in our hands. Unless aspic is involved.

With summer in mind, and feeling a little nostalgic for the sunny days of youth, Fanny wants to revive an adult-only version of a childhood staple - a whipped fruit cream dessert. I was obsessed with Angel Delight when I was young, loving almost every flavour (even banana). So easy to buy, so easy to make, so easy to enjoy. Fanny has grander ideas of course, making good use of British strawberries, especially those which may not be perfect enough (yet) to simply enjoy with cream. She brings us the throughly British Spirit of July. or L'Espirit de Juillet, for those that simply cannot resist.

It's not only the desserts that are making Fanny reminisce. She's caught sight of herself in the mirror, in-between frantic cooking sessions. It must be hot in the kitchen and she's tired. Her face is burning up (only a little) and is looking a little, erm, shall we say, saggy. Before getting stuck into her Spirit of July, she reaches for an un-skinned and completely un-continental cucumber. She quickly tops and tails it, and rubs the pieces you'd normally throw away over her face for an 'instant' face-lift. Her clammy flesh muscles tighten and her face cools instantly, she tells us. She doesn't forget her sticky, sweaty neck or back either, for maximum cooling down possibilities. I am so glad she felt the need to share.

If we haven't lost our appetites, and to distract ourselves from Fanny's flushed face, we should throw ourselves into whipping up egg whites, whipping in whipped cream, whipping together Maraschino, Kirsch and icing sugar, and whipping through blitzed strawberries. The resulting whip is light and fluffy, and must, Fanny insists, be served in old-fashioned champagne glasses topped with a single, fresh, presumably acceptable looking, strawberry. This must be the all-British way. I was lucky if my Angel Delight made it beyond the mixing bowl in reality. Guaranteed to whip you back in time, or straight ahead into summer, whichever you desire. That's the spirit...

Almond Angel - fatless doesn't need to be joyless

Fanny, just like her West Highlands with their well-chewed bones apparently, wants to determinedly dispel for every more any Featherweight Sponge Clouds which have hung over us in the past. I'm still surprised how many of them are fatless and the array of different techniques she employs. I was slightly apprehensive about tackling the Angel Cake, or Gâteau des Anges, as when I've seen others do it before they make a fuss made about using the correct tin and they just seem fiddly. Would Fanny insist I rush out and buy yet another to make this most cloud like of sponges? Fanny also includes quite a serious warning that this mixture CANNOT stand shocks or sudden changes in temperature. Perhaps it's not intended for a Scottish Spring? If I wasn't worried before, I am now...

This sponge uses only egg whites, sugar, flour, cornflour, salt and a teaspoon of cream of tartar. It's not an ingredient I use often, but I knew I had some in my cupboard somewhere. However I was a little stunned to notice that it was over three years out of date when I went to bake today. Oops. If I had an assistant they'd be dispatched to fetch some more, but as it was I had to head to the shops myself. Can you imagine?

However I soon was able to make good use of my very own trusted assistant - my KitchenAid mixer I lovingly call dear Sarah - was set to high, whisking up the five egg whites required to send this sponge into cloud heaven. Very stiffly indeed. A level teaspoon of the mysterious cream of tartar is sprinkled over the top, before sliding the sugar and salt into one side of the bowl. Fanny instructs blending with gentle turning and folding movements. I doubt the assistants ever found Fanny to be gentle.

There doesn't seem to be very much flour going into this cake, but I sift in the cornflour and self-raising mix as Fanny asks, repeating the blending process as before. The gently turned and folded mix looks glossy and puffy. Now it's time for the tin...

Thankfully for me I didn't need yet another trip to the shops, as Fanny recommends a very ordinary, loose bottomed sponge tin for the job. No fuss, no nonsense. She prefers a 5 1/2 inch diameter one, but I reckon my 6 incher will do just fine. Innuendos aside, what's half an inch between friends? Fanny has spent so much of this partwork carefully describing how to grease, flour and paper tins, but for this Gâteau des Anges the tin should remain dry. I think it's so the mixture can cling to the sides and rise well. It does. The cake seems fragile though when it comes out the oven, and Fanny suggest cooling it on a rack over a warm oven, until cool. Fanny decorates her sponge with simple sifted icing sugar and flaked almonds, but I decide a little whipped cream is needed. I replace the flaked nuts with some colourful Almond Joy Pieces I have leftover from my recent trip to the States. They are blue, I'm sure Fanny would like them! The texture of the cake is strange, a little chewy like an eggy candy-floss, but is certainly light. It seems to have survived the many change of temperature Edinburgh has to offer today. Hopefully it won't shock your diet too much either, well unless like me you pile on more cream and chocolates.

Les Soufflés Le Plus Faciles du Monde!

It really is quite a claim from Fanny Cradock here, but she insists that these soufflés are the easiest in the world. I like to think that she's been very thorough and inspected everyone else's soufflé recipes on her global travels, but my guess is that in typical Fanny style she just states that hers are the best, the easiest, the most professional and so on, and we are to believe her. They do seem easy it has to be said, and continuing the citrus theme, making good use of some of last years homemade marmalade. The only other ingredients are egg whites and some expertly chosen grapefruit.

Fanny tells me to start by whisking the egg whites very stiffly, without using even a 'vestige' of salt. I wasn't going to, honest Fanny. I don't know what a vestige of salt is, but it's not included in the recipe, so why would I add it - by now I am following every word Fanny tells me and only adding techniques and ideas of my own where I can get away with it. Adding salt isn't one of those times - but I guess some people must've suggested that Fanny should. She dismisses this as a "naughty old wives' tale" and urges us all to simply forget it. Consider it done Fanny, completely wiped from my mind.

While the egg whites are stiffening, I sieve my homemade marmalade and am reminded how gorgeous it looks and smells. It's nearly marmalade season again! Fanny recommends any marmalade - orange, lemon or grapefruit - and additionally suggests this could be replaced with any sieved jam. Once sieved it should be folded gently into the stiff egg whites. Fanny insists that everyone buys a rubber spatula for this job, as they are invaluable and inexpensive. I'd imagine in 1970 they'd be a little more unusual than they are today, but just as handy!

In typical Fanny style, the soufflé mix should be placed in hollowed out grapefruit halves before baking. Fanny suggests saving the shells when having her hot grapefruit for breakfast, but I haven't. I'm sure I'd be forgiven, and will remember next time, I promise. Fanny says I can also use lemons or oranges with their tops sliced off and scooped out, but I've found some lovely looking white grapefruit, so I halve them and scoop out the flesh. 

Once filled to the brim, they are simply popped on a baking sheet and baked for 8 minutes in a hot oven, dusted with icing sugar and served immediately. Or if preferred, left to cool and served. Fanny says it doesn't matter, after all these are the easiest soufflés in the world and will always stay 'up' according to Fanny. For me, they do look great, but do start to fall a little as soon as they are out the oven. I'm not going to argue with Fanny though, it's probably something I've done. At first I thought the hollowed grapefruit were just a quirky presentation a la Cradock, but they actually give the finished soufflé a real kick of grapefruit taste and aroma on top of the zesty fresh marmalade filling. Zingy. Oh and they do look good, and they were easy. The easiest soufflé in the world remember.