Cat Got Your Tongue?

Some days we all just want to keep things low key. We might be feeling a little bit quiet. We might be feeling a little bit flat. We might be feeling just a little bit ordinary. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing much to shout about. Maybe we just want to have something comforting and familiar in our lives. Fanny always has the answer, and it's usually cake. As it happens her solution here is her 'signature' with a twist. The cake is normally flat, normally ordinary, always comforting, always familiar. So, imagine it with oooopmh, and you have her Swiss Roll, presented as a Gâteau...

Fanny has her own ideas on how a Swiss Roll should be made, and we've made them a few times together before. For my money, they always work, always produce a light, spongey cake panel and always go down well. She shoots hot sugar into eggs as they whisk, until a light, yellow, fluffy double-in-size mixture is created begging for you to fold in some flour and bake. She calls it the 'Swiss Roll Which Will Never Crack', and like her smile, it doesn't.

This time, Fanny bakes it in a perfectly ordinary 8-inch round cake tin, all lined and ready with greaseproof paper. It bakes for longer than an ordinary, flat Swiss Roll, but comes out just as springy and light. Fanny splits it carefully with a large knife and spreads it either with homemade jam, or when it is available scum from the jam. Yes, scum. Perhaps she really means something very different, she often does, but to me scum is the frothy stuff that rises to the top when you make jam. You skim it off and throw it away. Does Fanny really spread it in her cakes?

I don't have any to hand regardless, so use my homemade Bramble Jelly. We know how Fanny loves a Bramble. In addition to spreading it in the middle and 'clapping' the two halves together again, Fanny brushes it all over the sponge. It feels a little wrong, am I reading the instructions correctly? I should really have more faith in dear old Fanny, soon all becomes clear. She has plans. It's all methodical. Panic over. It's not only for taste, but also for glue.

Fanny takes some Langues de Chat (Cats' Tongues) biscuits that are either homemade or shop bought (I bought some this time), brushes them with more jam and dips them in freshly milled pistachios. She knows this is rather extravagant, so it remains optional. Then, they are stuck round the outside of the gâteau. The glue-jam helps them to stand proudly. A cheerful border of freshly whipped cream, a little icing sugar and a whipped egg white is piped around the inside, before the centre is piled high with the chosen berries. Fanny choses blackcurrants. I chose blueberries. Suddenly the day feels less flat, less ordinary and more familiar as I tuck quietly into a hearty slice of this satisfyingly spongey surprise. And *maybe* another one too. Just don't shout about it.

A Veggie Mighty Sandwich

Everybody loves a Birthday Cake, don't they? I think we all secretly hope that someone will bake that 'certain cake' that is our very favourite for our special day, but even when it turns out to be chocolate instead of sponge, we are still thrilled. Even when no-one has baked for us, we are often overly overjoyed to bake our own, or pop to the shops and get an off-the-shelf sickly sweet one to share and say to everyone 'ta-dah, it's my birthday!' But what about those 'tiresome menfolk' that Fanny mentions, you know the type. They say that they aren't bothered about cake, and even worse they mean it. What on earth do you make to celebrate their special day?

Fanny, as ever, has the solution. She never does say, but I imagine that dear old Johnnie is the annoying man in question here, who, bizarrely but absolutely does not like cake. Well, a sweet cake at any rate. Fanny reckons that a savoury version is the way forward - namely her Savoury Gateau, which she translates into French as Gâteaux Savoureux, just to avoid any confusion. What man could resist a multi-layered, many flavoured, varicoloured, erm, sandwich disguised as a sweet celebration.

Fanny starts with a humble loaf. Her preference is a cottage style one, or a specially baked brioche. That seems like a lot of bother to go to for an unappreciative bloke, so I make do with a hipster faux-sourdough from the supermarket. It looks like a brick, but with Fanny's advice it's soon trimmed down to fit neatly into a 6-inch cake tin. Off-cuts are blitzed to breadcrumbs and frozen, nothing goes to waste. Fanny practically insists that I slice it 'parallel to the table' into a bare minimum of five slices. She also insists I cut paper-thin slices with ease, and without a serrated-edged 'euphemism' of a bread knife. I need to go to work with a perfectly ordinary, well-sharpened. smooth-edged French knife, seemingly.

I like my bread knife, but Fanny says I must throw it away. Don't tell her, but I can't bear to. I am already paying the price however, as I only manage the cut the loaf into four parallel slices. I am ashamed. It's too late for me to test out if a French knife would've been more successful, but if you try it, let me know. I do take Fanny's advice on slicing technique though - she again insists that I do not grip the loaf while I slice it for fear that it will develop a 'pressed-in waistline' producing the most peculiar-shaped slices. Thank goodness I've done something right. Fanny is only trying to make sure I obtain first-class results with the easiest of methods after all.

Fanny stuffs the layers with all sorts of fillings - fish, if we feel like ringing in the changes; cream cheese if we feel like playing it safe. Either way, each layer should be different, with the addition of other cheeses, eggs, cream, nuts and the all important food colouring to make the biggest impact. Oh dear, Fanny will not be pleased, again, as I opt for colourful beetroots and avocados to obtain the same pink and green layers she does. No artificial colours, this time. I use a mix of quark and cream cheese, whizzing them up in a food processor to make a mousse with my chosen accompaniments. Another layer is just a mix of cheeses. Layers of bread and filling are alternated back into the tin, then the finished cake, once chilled, is 'iced' with mayonnaise and left over filling, before being decorated with piped filing and walnuts. What tiresome man wouldn't be delighted with this, served with a sherry or a beer. I think in future I will opt for both sweet and savoury!