Skools Out 4 Eva

I just can't imagine Fanny Cradock at school. Can you? I can't imagine her being a child at all. She has so expertly crafted her persona and image for our enjoyment, that is hard to picture her in any other way. Especially as a 'nipper'. I can't imagine her impatiently shoving her hand in the air to answer a teachers question. I can't imagine her playing hopscotch in the school yard at break time. I can't imagine her sitting with other children and enjoying a meal at lunchtime. Perhaps she was born a fully formed adult?

I know it's not popular to admit it, but I was simply never a fan of school dinners. I'm not someone to look back fondly on the seemingly strange creations that were served up to keep our little minds active and stimulated throughout the day. I just wanted to get them over and done with. Except if there was pink custard. Everything is different with pink custard. It was probably a result of eating well at home, and cooking and baking from an early age too. The school canteen just held no pleasure.

It seems that Fanny and I shared this view. She wants to re-educate us all, starting with semolina. Before we all panic and make horrid faces, she is very clear that this will version will bear no resemblance to any school or canteen semolina that we would know. She goes further, chalking up in big letters on her imaginary blackboard the words THIS IS A SEMOLINA PUDDING WHICH YOU WILL NOT FIND REPELLENT.

She underlines this by calling this pudding 'Delicious French Version of Semolina' which she translates as 'Flamri de Semoule'. Perhaps she didn't pay much attention in French lessons either. Fanny brings some water to the boil, shoots in icing sugar, stirs, then adds the semolina. Her instruction is to stir it continuously, which I do, until the spoon will stand erect in it alone, which it does. Off the heat, she beats in an egg and when completely blended, some stiffly whipped egg white. This mixture is then transferred to an oiled pudding bowl ready to be steamed. Luckily I always have one at hand, ready.

Two hours later, it's ready to be unfolded. Fanny warns that if you take a premature peek the pudding is liable to collapse. She includes a photo of one, made by one of her naughty assistants who peeked, to hammer home the message. It's flat. It tasted fine, apparently. Fanny says to always remember that you can salvage any mistakes, but of course it is best to not make them in the first place. I take the instruction and leave mine. It's not flat. Fanny demands that it is served with fresh raspberries and raspberries sieved to make a juice. She tells us that no-one will complain if a little gently whipped double cream is also added. So I do. No-one complained. This pudding shares nothing with my memories of semolina, and is indeed delicious. Every day is a school day with Fanny.

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...

Fancy a Quickie?

Just to be absolutely, categorically, unquestionably 100% clear right from the get-go, it was Fanny who named these little chocolate petit fours 'quickies' and not me. She also calls them Bon Bons if you find it easier to swallow. Quite a number of the recipes included in recent parts have been totally filthily innuendo laden, almost as if dear old Fanny simply can't resist slipping one in, as it were. Maybe it's the chocolate that gets her all a quiver? Fanny claims that it has a psychological effect on children where they feel the need to smear it all over their naughty little hands, leaving distraught parents to holler at them 'Willy, don't gobble dear!'... You see, she can't control herself. Minx.

Presumably it's the potential waste that smearing chocolate would produce that upsets Fanny so. Fanny doesn't like to squander chocolate, and these 'quickies' are crafted mainly from thrifty leftovers. That's why they are so quick you see. Leftover buttercream and leftover chocolate. What? Who on earth has leftover chocolate just lying around? Perhaps Fanny has gone around snatching squares from the un-expecting naughty but otherwise (we can presume) innocent children intent on daubing and guzzling. She will have none of that.

I'm cracking open a fresh bar of specially coveted couverture I happened to snatch myself on a recent wander around Stockbridge Market, a Haggis spiced bar from Edinburgh based Chocolate Tree. Fanny swore by the restorative powers of Haggis, claiming it had cured her of a nervous breakdown, so surely it would be her choice for an afternoon fumble with a quickie too? Luckily for me, I don't need to be nervous, the chocolate doesn't contain any actual Haggis, just the spices and some oatmeal.

As I don't have any just kicking around, I firstly need to make some of Fannys buttercream, which is a mix of egg yolk, icing sugar and butter. Fanny whisks the yolk with the sugar over a pan of boiling water until it becomes light, fluffy, thick and 'absolutely free from streaks'. Got it Fanny, I'm fully clothed. To cool it down a bit, Fanny takes it off the heat and whisks it over a bowl of ice that she happens to have to hand until it's cold. Kinky. It's quite like a thick custard at this stage, but when beaten butter is mixed in it loses it's inhibitions and loosens up a little. Fanny adds some much reduced coffee to make hers Mocha. Everything with Fanny is Mocha. Not sure that Haggis and Coffee are good bed-fellows, so I add some chocolate extract from Little Pod to mine to oomph up the chocolate taste, before adding some of the melted Haggis stuff.

To the buttercream, Fanny adds a splash of Brandy (and we all know what Brandy makes you) and whips it with an electric whisk, adding more melted chocolate until it's so stiff the beaters almost grind to a halt. Whoa. All that's left to do is pop the mix into a piping bag and swirl it into little metallic cases. As it's so rigid I really need to squeeze hard, and they come out in well-rounded clusters rather than erect little twirls. How very Ferrero Rocher. I'm sure the Ambassador would be very keen to devour a quickie at the climax of his reception, and Fanny would be pleased to oblige. Just keep those smear-loving over-stimulated kids away from these, they'll only start gobbling again. These are for adults only.

Going Dutch in the Oven

Sometimes Fanny Cradock makes suggestions that are widely applicable to a range of different situations. She'll say that such and such a cake is suitable for rustling up quickly perhaps when so and so just happen to pop round unexpectedly. Other menus are carefully crafted to stun the neighbours that you never really liked very much, convince uncertain bosses that promotion is the best option or to dazzle old chums on a heaving buffet table when entertaining. From time to time though she suggests something that's just so specific it's hard to imagine anyone thinking 'oh yes, that's just what I've been waiting for.' The final 'bread' in this partwork is just that - apparently it's simply perfect for when you are entertaining Dutch friends at Easter and are struggling to think what to serve them for breakfast. Always a dilemma.

The answer is Dutch Easterbread. or Oesterbröd. There can't really be many perfect choices for this situation. It's fortunate that Fanny herself happened to be in Amsterdam one Easter Sunday to taste this. Fanny doesn't disclose if any other traditional Dutch delicacies were taken on that particular trip. She does admit to having an 'overwhelming compulsion' to eat almond paste and crystallised fruits though, so was naturally drawn to this traditional Dutch bread which is filled with a fruity marzipan-y concoction. In Fannys mind, it would be too shameful to serve something from our own fair isle I imagine.

This recipe starts off with a standard batch of white bread dough. While it's proving, get to work whipping up some butter until it is 'creamily soft'. In Fanny's favourite kitchen implement, a roomy bowl, mix together ground almonds, icing sugar (sifted of course), glacé cherries (I've got some lovely retro-tastic multi-coloured ones), raisins and finely diced candied Angelica. It's all Fannys favourite things. Angelica has such an unusual taste, I love it. It's a favourite botanical in gin, which is probably why I love it so much! It's long overdue for a comeback in it's own right though I reckon. This nostalgic mix is bound together with an egg white to make a fairly firm paste.

Once proved, Fanny says to roll the dough out to a rectangular shape and spread it with the softened whipped butter. Fanny forms her fruity paste into a 'sausage' and rolls it up so that it's inside the dough. Fanny is very particular about the decoration, I'm guessing you wouldn't want your Easter breakfast guests from the Netherlands to be sniggering behind your back at your lack of authentic detail. So, I do as I am told and score the top of the loaf with 'slanty' cuts about 1/4 inch apart all the way down. A quick egg wash and a sprinkle with bashed up loaf sugar (or just ready bashed caster sugar) and it's ready to bake. Just 'until it's ready' - Fanny clearly thinks I'm now able to judge when this will be.

Having helped us to make several Cradock-style loaves now, Fanny is concerned about storage. She thinks it's vitally important, especially if you are new to the job. For busy women (and presumably men) there is 'no mortal use' in caring sufficiently about your families health (or perhaps your Dutch overnight guests) to create 'crusty crusts and an edible crumb with an absolute absence of artificial bleaching agents', unless the resulting beautiful loaves last several days. Fanny's recommendation is simple, once cooled wrap them tightly in ordinary kitchen foil. Then, even if your Dutch guests outstay their welcome and are still popping up for breakfast 2, 3, 4 or even 5 days after Easter, you will be serving them perfectly edible bread on each occasion. If you really want to see them 'rejoice' when they spy their breakfast tray, the trick is to serve this loaf not only with wheels of butter, but slices of cheese and ham rolled up. Oh, they'll be thrilled! Do let me know if you ever have guests from Holland over Easter and you try this. Or if like me, you don't, but simply love a massive slice of fruity, sweet almond bread.