Ice Cream If You Want To Avocado Faster

If you think that something is bang on trend, so 'right now', clamoured for by hipsters everywhere, you can be sure that Fanny Cradock got there first. She wasn't just the champion, riding the crest of a wave of the latest craze, she started the fads. Others followed. If you wanted to know what was hip and happening, you looked to see what Fanny was making. Others copied. She was in vogue, à la mode, the latest thing. Others tried. So, next time you roll your eyes thinking we've hit peak Avocado, Fanny was banging on about them before trending was even, well, a trend.

She snaffled many of her best Avocado recipes from Madame Annette, who was Mr. W. Somerset Maugham's French cook. We've met her before. Avocados were the bane of her life. Dear old 'Meestair Moggum' (as she called him) apparently had the only fruiting, outside Avocado tree in Europe, so naturally they had to appear on many, many menus. Fanny seemingly 'clucked her tongue' in the deepest of sympathy but still managed to get her hooks on several of her special recipes. She made a mean Avocado mousse by all accounts. She was the only person Fanny knew who ever managed to successfully make an edible Avocado Omelette. However it was her Ice Cream which Fanny coveted most.

Yes, Avocado Ice Cream. It's so 'now' it's no surprise to discover it's actually so 'retro'. I spotted a recipe for it in the new, and veggie-tastic, Veggie Desserts book I bought last week. We are so fortunate that Fanny was able to prise the recipe from the skilled hands of Madame Annette. To stop her Avocados from discolouring, Fanny uses only the very best silver cutlery, which my household budget purse will not stretch to. I shall try and invest in a silver Avocado knife for future recipes. Don't roll your eyes at me. The flesh is emulsified or sieved. Whizzed up for me. Fanny then adds an egg yolk and whizzes again, before scooping it all into a freshly made sugar syrup and heating gently for five minutes, stirring all the time. At this stage it looks a lot like very mushy peas, but I am not put off. And neither should you be.

Once cold, the jolly green mixture should be transferred to the freezer compartment, frozen until the outer edges are set but it's still a little loose in the middle. A bit like myself. Mine seems exactly like that after a few hours. Fanny whips it up 'with beaters' and adds stiffly beaten double cream in big dollops, whipping all the time until it's all combined. Then simply refreezes it. Fanny, unusually, does not include a photograph of the finished ice cream as she notes that 'one ice cream looks very much like another' once it's placed in a glass or a coupe. She says it did not justify having a picture of it. More likely she forgot. More likely still a poor assistant forgot to take a snap. More likely Fanny would not let them forget again. Ever.

I normally have Fanny's prodigious presentation to guide me. Inspire me. Baffle me. Not today. So I summon up all my innermost Fanny Cradock enthusiasm, creativity and insight. Grabbing the piping bag and nozzle which are never far from my hand, I set to work filling the empty Avocado shells ready for the freezer. The resulting ice cream is stunning. Such a smooth texture, just like it had been dreamily churned, defiantly and dazzlingly still tasting of avocado, dramatically green, but delicately sweet and deliciously creamy too. Unlike Madame Annette, I fear I will never tire of this recipe, whether Avocados are in fashion, a passing fad or long forgotten.

Ice To See You, To See You Ice

Fanny has a delicious proposal for me. She is suggesting we go on an adventure together. I'm assuming it's just me and her, she doesn't mention poor Johnnie at all. I'm also assuming there is nothing deliciously underhand going at all, just to be clear. I'm assuming it's something deliciously food related, she's obsessed. I'm hopeful. She's raising her eyebrows to even higher levels than usual and is making mysterious motions towards the kitchen, so, despite a slight feeling of panic, I can only speculate we aren't going very far on this delicious adventure together.

Thankfully, the adventure Fanny has in mind is into the 'realms of home-made ice-cream', so all we need to locate is our freezer. For those less fortunate than Fanny perhaps, who only have a small freezing compartment in their ordinary domestic refrigerators, Fanny says join us anyway, but just cut down her quantities to fit. So just miniscule tablespoons perhaps? For those more fortunate in the freezer department, Fanny promises we can make ice creams in bulk for storage, adding flavours as required. I always find ice cream is best eaten immediately until it's all finished, so storage is a new concept for me...

Fanny has a set of 'basics' that she's keen that we cherish and learn by heart so that they are in our heads and at our disposal whenever we want to make ice cream, throughout the year, before we progress. She knows how to plan an adventure, eh? Her foundation recipe is 1 pint of confectioners custard and either 1/2 pint (when you are willing to pay for more) or a 1/4 pint (if your purse is stretched) of whipped double cream. Indeed if your purse is very stretched, Fanny says you can frankly freeze the flavoured custard on it's own. She does however note that it's flat-out not worthy of the first-class, first-rate standards that we've come to expect from her. So the message is you can, but the real message is don't.

Fanny's method for most freezers is mainly to whip the cold cream until it just hangs from the whisk, and then whip it into the custard. freeze it until the edges are set and the centre is squidgy, whip it again for 5 minutes, then return it to the freezer until it's solid. When frozen, take it out and whip it again and refreeze. If you have a deep freeze, just bung it in and freeze it. So is all committed to memory? I will pass round examination papers shortly.

Well, forget it for now, as Fanny has a recipe of her very own to teach us. It's for Orange Ice Cream. In fairness, it's a similar process, but swapping the custard for a sorbet, mostly. Fanny dissolves sugar slowly in water, with orange zest, then boils it for nine minutes until it's a very fine syrup. She adds an egg yolk and strained orange juice, cooks for five more minutes stirring all the time. Then freeze, whip, freeze, whip and refreeze as before. Whip in whipped cream and freeze for the final time. There you have it, orange ice-cream. Serve in an orange, of course. It's delicious adventure. It soon becomes clear why Johnnie was not invited. Fanny reveals that, despite him being a wine-lover, he has been known to polish off forty-seven portions of this particular ice-cream in one session. Fanny says he is a pig about it, but being Fanny's own recipe of course he is a very discerning pig. Just don't let him near your freezer compartment.