Joyeux Anniversaire Fanny Cradock

Today would have been a very special day for Fanny Cradock. I do find it a little odd to celebrate 'special days' when someone is no longer around, but hey, this is Fanny Cradock we are talking about. If she were still with us today, Fanny Cradock would have been celebrating her birthday. A Big Birthday. She would have been a staggering one hundred and ten. Quite what she would be doing is anyone's guess. One of the many things about Fanny, you could never predict what she'd get up to, what mischief she might be behind, or indeed what she would be saying. No-one ever could. Thankfully.

One thing that could be predicted, year on year, at least while Johnnie was alive, was that he would make an incredible fuss of her on her significantly special day. Legend has it that every year on her birthday he would send her a very formal invite to a very special, secret event to mark her very momentous day - another year with Fanny in the world! All would be revealed 'at appropriate times'. I think to think of Fanny being blindfolded and led to the nearest airport on her way to some exotic, mystery location by a rather giggly, excitable Johnnie. She was a terrible driver, by all accounts (and police reports) so there would be no danger of her driving herself, Bird Box-style. That would be too scary.

For a more low-key celebration, in keeping with the occasion, Fanny is showing us how to make a very simple version of her very favourite luxurious pudding. The Crème Marie Louise, or the Empress Marie Louise Pudding if French is simply too much to handle. Fanny usually makes it with a collar of set chocolate surrounding a large dessert. Dare I say, like a mahoosive chocolate trifle, although Fanny would simply never describe it as such. She made it at the Royal Albert Hall for an audience of 6750 people. For this, oh-so-simple version, no chocolate collar is required and the ingredients needn't stretch to feed thousands.

Fanny, without any elaboration, takes eggs yolks and double cream, plonks them in a roomy bowl and sets them ready to whisk. She recommends getting someone to help here, it really is a two-man job. My assistant today is my trusty KitchenAid mixer, my modern-day extra pair of hands! Fanny then softens some perfectly ordinary chocolate chips over a simmering double-boiler. When soft, she beats them vigorously until they are cool and thick. Then, with the yolks and cream whipping away (or being whisked for you), Fanny suggests we simply 'dump' the melted, whipped chocolate in and continue to whisk. Do try NOT to dump it down the side of the mixer...

As we might expect, Fanny is not finished here. No Fanny Cradock pudding would be complete with a final flourish. A splash of rum. Some Orange Flower Water. Then Rose Water. All whacked together, served on top of a little piece of sponge cake, with a little chocolate leaf or two, and just because it's her birthday, some glacé cherries. It tastes (if you care to dip a perfectly clean finger into the bowl and try it... Shhh... I won't tell Fanny) like a deluxe, boozy Turkish Delight. Simply keep it cool in ordinary domestic refrigeration until the plane lands, bringing Fanny and Johnnie home from their magical mystery tour and the real celebration can begin. Happy Birthday Fanny Cradock.

Haysi Fantasy - Johnnie's Pain Is Big Leggy

It seems I have something very particular in common with Fanny Cradock's husband, Johnnie. It's not that I am browbeaten at home, or in the kitchen. It's not that I quiver whenever my partner barks an order at me. It's not that I am shy, retiring or in any way intimidated or fearful of daring to contradict anyone where I feel it necessary. Even Fanny. It's not even that I am partial to a monocle, cravat and a sturdy glass of port to see me through the evening. No, it's something that others find strange, often won't believe at all and quite simply cannot comprehend. I, and Johnnie, hate Rice Pudding.

For me, I still wince at the thought of the un-tearable, thick, black, leathery, tarpaulin skin that was always atop the Rice Puddings that emerged from the oven at home. I. Couldn't. Bear. To. Look. Never mind eat it. I once sat all night at the kitchen table when my Dad said I 'couldn't leave' until I'd eaten it. I won. Everyone I have ever met in life since (almost) thinks I am missing out. I always felt I was alone. There didn't appear to be a suitable support group for me to join. I just had to remain silent and get on with life. Until now. Johnnie is my saviour.

Fanny's version of Rice Pudding, is, as expected, slightly different to all others. It's an Olde English recipe which she, naturally, found in France labelled subtly as Une Recette Familiale Anglaise. It does not looks like a Rice Pudding. Good. It does not taste like a Rice Pudding. Smashing. It is made with all the same ingredients as a Rice Pudding. Oh. The key is, it is made in a totally different way. No oven. No Black tent-of-death. No sitting at the table all night. Maybe.

Fanny makes her Rice Pudding in a double-boiler on the stove-top. She uses Patna pudding rice, which I don't have. The only Rice I can find in my cupboard is Risotto. Which happens to have some Wild Black Rice mixed through it. Feel the Fear. Fanny adds milk, in stages, and a vanilla pod, while it heats. Stirring occasionally, cooking slowly, it seems just like a Risotto to me. Which is soothing. And it turns out that Black Rice is really Red Rice, and turns the whole mixture pink. Added bonus. Once all the milk is absorbed, Fanny adds in two egg yolks one at time, and continues to heat and beat gently before flinging in a little sugar, to taste, and some stiffly whipped cream.

To tempt Johnnie (and me) even further, Fanny moulds the Rice Pudding and leaves it to cool in the fridge. It's hard to resist a bit of moulding. Fanny disguises it primarily to replace Johnnie's terrible memories. Decorated with seasonal fruit, I have cherries. Seemingly, when she visited him once during World War Two in the Royal Masonic Hospital where he was recovering from tonsillitis (which, Fanny notes is very serious in a grown man) she discovered Johnnie out of his bed, in his pyjamas (thankfully) pushing something down the wash basin that he didn't want the Matron to see. It was English Rice Pudding. Not Fanny's 'fantastic' French Rice Pudding, which he would never say no to. He would never say 'no' to Fanny full stop. Would you?

I am still L'Affiné - Cradock En Tours #4

Some of the un-intentional language exchanges at the Food History conference have made me smile, some have made me snigger, some have seen me laughing out loud. But all have left me feeling totally ashamed. My French is so poor - whether at the conference, in a Tabac, the Carrefour or in a side-street brasserie, I have always been greeted with "Ah, it's OK, I speak English..." when I make a fumbled attempt. Can I blame Fanny for providing me with a limited selection of French vocabulary in her 'No Spik French' section? The language skills of the other conference presenters are impeccable, how easily they can switch between languages. The confusion has been all mine. Sessions led by an Italian, listed in English, have turned out to be delivered in French. Simply because, well, they can.

Not only the command of English and a host of other second languages, but the phrasing intrigues me. I often am made to think of words I use everyday in a very different way. Some words make more sense with alternative pronunciations. I can clearly see their origin. Why have I never noticed before? My absolute very favourite of the conference was the women, who, I thought announced part-way through her presentation that "I will F*ck You's now". Bold. She certainly got my attention. Until, I realised she had actually said "Focus". "Folk. Use."

I should make a note now not to throw in any of Fanny's dodgy French translations to my presentation. For now, my mind is foc-oo-sed on food. Last night as I wandered along Rue Colbert deciding where to settle, my eyes were drawn to a Bar À Fromages. L'Affiné. They proudly displayed a Gratin Végétarien on their menu. I was won over. The friendly waitress also explained, in perfect English, naturellement, that they did plates of local cheeses too, all I would need to do is decide how many portions I would like. She suggested fifteen or twenty as ideal, but more if I wished. This seemed like a lot of cheese to me, but when I saw my dining neighbours plates arrive, I was envious. Until that is, my Gratin appeared, blue and bubbling. With salad, bread, water and a matched local wine. They know how to make you feel at home here.

It seems almost impossible to determine what people in Tours do. How do they earn a living? Everyone appears to be just as I am, while there at least. Plenty of time. Just enjoying the world, and the food. No-one appears in a hurry. No-one looks stressed. No-one looks chained to their mobiles. Perhaps there is barely time with all the food and wine to be consumed? Fanny is no help whatsoever, as far as she is concerned, local people are simply there to serve her.

Speaking of which, it would appear to be a shameful waste not to sample the delights of the dessert menu while I am here. Fanny makes sure my eyes do not pass over Le Mini-Baba-Au-Rhum. OMG. Rum. Almonds. Chantilly Cream. This is exactly how I expect them to taste, based of course on Fanny's expert tuition. The rum is incredibly strong. In a good way. Fanny would undoubtedly have had ones such as these in her time. This is what she wants us to eat, to make, to enjoy. Together.

Fanny's Hot Flush

Fanny is feeling the heat. She's loosening off her ruffled collars, slipping into something more appropriate for the sudden and unexpected heatwave that has just descended upon us, and pondering ways to 'stay cool'. Fanny wants to make 'life cooler' for everyone. She has a few tricks up her not-so-cool polyester sleeves that she has picked up on the Continent, where temperatures soar in the summer (just in case you didn't know that), over the years...

The first has nothing to do with food at all. It is something which is hardly ever copied on this Island either. No, here we tend to open the windows wide open and draw back the curtains or blinds in the hope of making our kitchens cooler. Silly us. The French have the right idea - they draw their shades over open windows so as to exclude the heat of the sun. This does result in a whole new set of kitchen skills to be gained however, but Fanny thinks it is worth it. Who needs to see? French families, she notes, seem to be able to work by braille they draw so many curtains and blinds down until the sun goes away. Maybe try cooking in a blindfold to get used to it.

If that doesn't appeal, Fanny recommends big jugs. Yes, her homemade lemonade is an excellent thirst quencher, and great big jugs of it are essential. Or perhaps something to suck on? Homemade ice lollies cost practically nothing and they reduce those hot weather grizzles and whimperings miraculously. If your issue is keeping things moist in the heat, Fanny recommends greaseproof paper. To cover your sandwiches that is in the refrigerator, to keep them fresh for hours, with a damp muslin on the top.

Fanny hopes the we will all stock up our freezer compartments with ice, just to be ready for any heatwave that comes our way. She recommends moving frozen cubes from moulds to bags to allow more cubes to be frozen in the moulds. Keep going until all your available freezer space is used up, you can never have enough ice cubes. Especially for an emergency chilled soup. Fanny's favourite is Iced Tomato and Courgette, or Potage de Paradis Glacé to those cool dudes on the continent.

Fanny blitzes (or passes through a sieve) skinned tomatoes with gently steamed, peeled courgettes. She adds a pinch of caster sugar, lemon juice and rind, onion juice (I grate it) and soured cream. Serve with ice cubes. That's it, unless you want to make more elaborate version. Fanny always teases. This involves making small cucumber balls and adding a few sprigs of mint or parsley. How elaborate. The soup is really tasty, with or without added balls. I think the onion juice makes it very savoury, but still fresh and 'cool'. Fanny is on hand to rescue one last problem which commonly comes with the heat. If yours gets limp and flabby, just pop it into a jar of cold water with a lump of charcoal in it. It should firm up nicely. Cool down, she's on about Cucumbers.

Ces Croissants Ne Sont Pas Français

Fanny Cradock has a canny knack of convincing us that almost everything is perfectly French, even when it clearly isn't, including her own questionable heritage. Just by saying it, or writing it, it becomes true, n'est-ce pas? I mean, who could possibly cross-check these things back in the day? However for once Ma Chérie Fanny takes something which we all (possibly) would imagine to be so utterly French through and through and lets us know in no uncertain terms that it is not. We are wrong. Bien sûr. Croissants are most definitely NOT French. Non madam.

How silly of us to not know our history. Especially when it comes to cold yeasted dough. Especially when the true story is 'such a pretty one', according to Fanny. Croissants were of course created by the bakers of Budapest in 1686. During a siege on the city by the Turks when their forces surrounded the city walls, the guards on the parapets fell asleep one night. Fanny doesn't bother to explain why. The bakers were of course still awake and baking, as usual. The bakers heard strange noises and awoke the guards, thereby driving back the Turks. The next day it was hailed that as a reward for the bakers saving the city a new bread was to be created. Inspiration was taken from the crecents on the sleeves of the Turks' ottomans, and hence Croissants were born. Naturellement.

Fanny wants to continue on her myth busting way by convincing us that croissants are also easy to make, real croissants that is. Fanny says that is 'nonsense' that they take 8 hours to make and can be easily made even in cold environments. Even when there is a draught in the kitchen, or a door is left open it makes not a halfpenny of a difference. They need no proving. Yes, that's what Fanny says. Just whip up the dough, which can then be left in the fridge for up to 7 days, prepare the croissants, slip them into the oven for 13 or 14 minutes while you make tea or coffee and do the rest of your breakfast chores if you have guests. Remember Fanny is not too keen on weekend guests. Ou quelqu'un.

Fanny gets going by cutting some flour into butter with two knives, sharing it into an oblong and chilling it in the fridge. Fresh yeast (which I love) is mixed with some sugar to liquefy and then a beaten egg while you make a mound of flour on your work surface. Fanny doesn't specify which kind of flour to use, but she always says to use self raising for everything, so I do. The liquid is poured into the mound and gently mixed to a dough, without breaking the flour rim until it is thick enough. Fanny them simply slaps it from side to side until its smooth and picks up all the remaining flour. Sounds like her treatment of the poor assistants. Quelle surprise.

With the chilled butter in the centre, the dough is folded over, spun round, rolled out gently (Fanny notices you should see small bubbles on the surface, I do, meaning the yeast is waking up, springy and light), turned and folded again, and again, and again until a lovely parcel is created. I decide to store it in the fridge until weekend guests arrive. Fanny rolls out her dough to a quarter inch thick and uses a complicated triangular wooden template to cut out shapes to be rolled as croissants. I go more freehand with a pizza cutter. Look, it's Sunday morning and I am still asleep. Curled, egg washed and in the oven. Once baked they are golden and crisp, a little bobbly but maybe that's because I stored the dough for a few days. They don't look all that French, but do look a little like croissants, but a little more like little crabs - luckily I can tell my guests I am trying out an old authentic 17th century Budapest pastry recipe to distract them... Je suis si vilain.

An Orgy of Hors D'oeuvres

Fanny turns her experienced hand to Hors D'oeuvres for part 23. Well, simple winter hors d'oeuvres to begin with, pitched at beginners. More experienced hors d'oeuvres will come later. First of all Fanny wants to get something off her chest that has been bothering her. It's the Americans. They've upset Fanny by referring to hors d'oeuvres by the revoltingly inaccurate name 'Starters'. Don't the Americans know any French? Their proper name derives from 'en dehors du menu' - or outside the menu - and should correctly be 'fiddled-with savoury bits entirely separated from meals at a table which titilate your taste-buds beforehand.' No fiddling-with should occur at the table. Got it.

It's not just the Americans, Fanny is also scolding those Scandinavian scallywags who, according to her, got there 'hooks on the theme and ran it ragged' with Smørrebrød or Smörgasbörd. Fanny warns that Scandi travellers have long been left with their pants down (gastronomically) at parties when they are led to the table gorged to the gunwales for the grub proper. They find out the hard way not to blow-out on the reckless and bacchanalian Borgian Orgy. No pants down at the table. Got it.

Thanks heavens for the French, who Fanny notes (as ever) sort things out for us all. They are 'ever practical' on these matters, realising that there is economy and nourishment in a first course à la table largely composed of vegetables. They are the ones responsible for cutting down on the consumption of costly main courses with hors d'oeuvres as we know them today. Only frugal French sprees, diet-friendly debauchery and mighty merrymaking are acceptable at the table. Got it.

Fanny informs us that throughout France hors d'oeuvres feature on both home and restaurant luncheon menus, this being the main meal of the day for civilised folks. A true Frenchman will devote up to two hours of his day 'stoking himself up', safeguarding his teeth with the civilised practice of using a toothpick and then relaxing afterwards before returning to his work. Whether he's a roadmender or a muscular and tattooed lorry driver, he will be eating hors d'oeuvres we do not recognise in this country. Stoke up any muscle-bound French, tattooed workers then repose before getting back to it. Got it.

Maybe with Liptauer Cheese from Austria perhaps? Not very French at all, but Fanny insists is so very easy, and for beginners this is essential. It is immensely popular in Austria and was given to Fanny by an Austrian friend. So it's definitely Austrian. It's essentially butter whipped up with cream cheese with paprika, mustard and carraway seeds added. I add onion seeds though. Fanny also adds capers and anchovies. Eurgh. Once blended they need to be shaped into a rectangle and decorated with pretzels round the edge. Pretzels should be also handed separately too, to encourage dipping. If not a French fling, over-indulge by whipping an Austrian quickly. Got it.

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!

¡Ay, caramba! The Cradock Crispy Crêpes Carnival!

There are some things Fanny just gets so excited about in the kitchen - usually soufflés, mincemeat and harmless green vegetable food colouring. They appear to be the cornerstones of culinary heights, at least for the Cradocks. I am sure one day I will turn the pages of the partwork and see next up is a Green Mincemeat Soufflé, and more than likely I will barely bat an eyelid, I've become so used to the Cradock ways already. If Fanny were to add another to her list of 'very favourites' I'm sure it would be the pancake, erm, sorry, crêpes. We must always use the French terms when discussing cuisine. Am I learning nothing? I think I am as delighted as Fanny is to see that part 19 is all about 'fabulous pancakes'! Are there any other kind? Hang on though, are there enough variations to support a whole part?

Fanny teases us with thoughts of 'proper' pancakes to come, just to remind us probably that if we've been making them already, we simply haven't been doing it properly. To start us off though, it's one of her very favourites indeed, Crêpes Carnaval or the simply sensational star dish of the week, Carnival Pancakes. These are no ordinary pancakes, and are not made in any ordinary fashion. We will deal with the ordinary at a later date seemingly, first off is a flourish fiesta-style! Fanny says if you are taught how to make pancakes for the very first time in France you are told that they should be so thin that you could read your lovers letters through them. Fanny doesn't want to discuss French Letters here, smirk, and suggests instead that we lay our pancakes over the partwork and read her instructions. It's practically a love affair anyway, isn't it?

I must admit to being slightly scared when I first read the recipe. I'm no scientist, but Fanny recommended popping along to the chemist to buy some Ammonia Carbonate. I googled it to see what it was and what replacements I could use. I'm expecting the bomb squad to turn up any day. Some suggested baking powder, some bicarbonate of soda, some both, as decent alternatives. Various folks on Twitter suggested using Ammonia Bicarbonate bought online, but no-one was sure it was the same thing. Was my kitchen about to explode? Only one way to find out... This recipe starts by rubbing butter into flour until it resembles minute grains. Then a real favourite for Fanny, beating in eggs until the batter is smooth, thick and extremely difficult to work with. It's now time to add the chemicals.

I opt to play it safe and use a pinch of baking powder and bicarb. Chicken eh? Once worked into the dough it became a little bit like choux paste. We are still making pancakes right? Fanny divides hers into 'very mean' 1oz pieces and shapes them into little balls before rolling them out, without flour, and without lifting or turning them, as thin as possible. I can see Fanny's eyebrows through mine, so they must be ok! Maybe she actually meant as transparent as French Letters? They are then fried in smoking hot oil, I wasn't expecting that! They are lifted gently in with two wooden spoon handles. I use chop sticks. Fanny says to prod them around a bit while they are frolicking in the oil, without breaking them, flip them over and drain them on plenty of kitchen paper.

Fannys finished ones have flutes all round the edges, maybe that's what I was meant to do with all the prodding? Mine don't it is safe to say, but they are lovely golden brown and very bubbly and lively. No explosions, but a celebration nonetheless. Fanny says to stack them high until a 'great pyramid is formed' and slosh them with icing sugar. Her picture shows a tower. Maybe she'd never been to Egypt or seen a pyramid? Or perhaps she was distracted by Johnnies' merrymaking with the French Letters? Either way they taste great - the pancakes - a little like spring rolls without the filling. It's not quite Rio or even Notting Hill, but they are a jolly jamboree all on their own, so let the carnival begin!

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

Mush, Mush Sweet Charlotte

Fannys take on the French Classic Apple Charlotte is intended, she tells us 'dear readers', to introduce some simple techniques to make it quick and easy to produce. I've never made a Charlotte, but reading between the lines here I assume it's hard to do, and so I try my best to knuckle down and pay close attention to every word of wisdom Fanny is sharing. I've had to buy another loaf for this one, eek. 

Fannys simple instructions seem quite complicated to me, and involve drawing round a soufflé dish, cutting out a circle, cutting it into quarters and then using these templates to cut bread the same shape. I also need to cut smaller squares of bread all the same size, no template given. I'm doing it because Fanny tells me to, but all the while I'm wondering if there is an easier way...

Fanny tells me then to beat an egg in some milk 'very quickly' before slipping the bread in and deep frying it until golden brown. Mmm, did someone mention deep fried bread? 

I also need to 'collapse' the quartered apples in a very little water, sieve them when soft to make a purée and reheat them with a little sugar 'to taste' until they 'blow and bubble' all the excess moisture out. The purée seems so silky and smooth and soon thickens up to a paste as Fanny suggests.

Once the fried bread is golden it's time to build the structure inside the soufflé dish. Fanny says everything should fit snuggly if I have used my templates correctly, but maybe I've done something wrong? The bread seems to have puffed up a wee bit during frying and is a little mis-shapen. Fanny hasn't warned me about this, but a bit of trimming and all seems well. Then the apple mixture goes in.

Now all Fanny suggests is to chill it until firm before turning out. After a few hours it's still a bit wobbly, but when I turn it out it keeps it's shape well. Maybe it's been successful? However when I cut into it, it sadly collapses a little, but still tastes great. Not too sweet, the texture of the apples is lovely and the bread still quite crunchy. I wouldn't say the techniques made it any easier, but a dollop of cream cheers most things up I suppose.