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.

A Whack of Leather - Our Third Fanny-versary!

Three really is a magic number, but sometimes it feels a little overlooked. I mean everyone likes a 'first' don't they? Nothing better. The Winner! The Original! The Pioneer! Second feels like a real achievement, having kept going and 'done it again', still pretty good compared to first. Third though, it's a bit like, okay, that's great. A kind of 'well done' but also a 'what's for tea' kind of celebration really. So, it may just be me, but today I am shouting it loud and cheering (for myself) as Fanny and I celebrate a terrific three years together. Aw. That's 'leather' in anniversary terms... Oh. Best move on.

Three years! You may not have been reading along from the very beginning (erm, but now I think of it, what not?), but that's a lot of weird and whacky recipes, a lot food colouring and a lot of mentions of poor, down-trodden assistants getting into hot water for not following instructions. That's probably where the leather comes in - a quick whack with a belt? It's also three years of learning new techniques, uncovering new flavour combinations and generally having a real laugh. Every day. That's not bad going is it? With Fanny watching over me. Every day. I don't think I've done anything deserving of a good belting. Yet.

I must distract Fanny's mind from leather. Fortunately Fanny has just the thing in mind for 'our' celebration - a three tired cake. Okay, so she's got her celebrations a little mixed up, but it's the thought that counts isn't it? She remembered! Her idea is to make a three tiered wedding cake, perfect for a June bride. She did love a good wedding, whether in June or not. She even had a fake one or two along the way, often more than one at the same time, and never really much clarity on who was married to whom, but we're not being judge-y today of all days, it's a day to celebrate.

Fanny suggests her tried and tested Christmas Cake (is it too early to mention?) for the three tiered triumph. We've made it before, together of course, but never in triplicate. Fanny informs us that the base layer is to be cut and eaten on the wedding day. The second layer should be stored away to celebrate the First Anniversary, or if we are more ambitious, and have blooming good storage, the Silver Wedding Anniversary. The Third and final tier is intended to celebrate the birth of the first child. I fear that Fanny may be waiting quite some time for that particular celebration. Maybe a sacrificial leathering is the best option after all.

So, it's a spicy, fruity, slightly boozy cake fest in June. Once all three cakes are mixed up and baked, Fanny urges us to move swiftly onto the decoration. Almond Paste followed by Royal Icing is essential as a starting point. She advises that it is best to practice decoration on an entirely irrelevant cake that you just happen to have lying around. This is what she makes Johnnie do. Poor Johnnie, it keeps him occupied. He decorates the bottom layer with stars. I, on the other hand, do not have any irrelevant cakes, or indeed any that hang about too long, but I am always applying the knowledge that wise old Fanny gives me. So I know cakes should be blue. Mix the two together and surely this is the ultimate Third Fanny-versary cake? The big question is, will we still be together for the next five years of Fanny Fun required to compete the Cookery Programme? Our next Fanny-versary is the much more suitable Fruit and Flowers, so don't be scared...

Voulez-Vent, ah-ha!

Fanny is all puffed up in the kitchen today. Even more so than usual. It's not her ego that's inflated on this occasion, but rather her classical culinary knowledge that has that 'bloated' feeling. She's bursting with joy to lead us towards a very steep but satisfying step on her 'culinary ladder' to master once and for all the particular pleasure that is perfect puff pastry. It also allows dear old Fanny to drop a few names and Michelin stars into the mix as she recounts the tale of how the greatest of all pastry pastes, pâte feuilleté, came into being. Ideal.

Fanny tells us that French chefs split hairs over it and dispute minuscule variations on its handling. Just a warning. So, we are so very fortunate that Fanny spent some time in the cool, sunny kitchen in Les Baux of Le Roi de Feuilletage (the English translation of the King of Puff Pastry doesn't quite do it justice) himself, the three-Michelin starred M. Raymond Thuillier. Nestled in the troglodyte hills and caves of the remote village, with caves that you could drive a London Bus into if you should ever posses one, apparently, they were also joined by the famous French artist M. Bernard Buffet. What a perfectly named celebrity for such a lover of home entertaining as Fanny.

The honourable Frenchmen shared the tale, as well as the skill, of the puff pastry with Fanny, who in turn shares it with us. Splendid. In a Paris restaurant in the eighteenth century a young junior chef was ordered to make a batch of butter pastry. All seemed well, as the youngster make quick work of it, and put the paste to store in the cool cave for a few days until required. It was only then that, with horror, he realised he had forgotten the butter. So he whipped out the fatless paste, slapped the butter in the middle, rolled it out, rolled it again and again until the butter was not visible and returned it to the coolness of the cave. No-one would know.

When the chef demanded his pastry, the young boy gave it to him but began to tremble with fear, in a way that Fanny surely recognised well from a very similar and constant reaction by her own assistants, as it was rolled out, glazed and baked in the oven. No-one at that time expected to see it reach several inches in height with paper-thin layers. The chef demanded to know what the youngster had done, and instead of walloping him with a wooden spoon when he confessed, he kissed him and shouted 'C'est magnifique! C'est feuilletage!' Fanny would never have done that...

Fanny recreates the magnificence for us in a glorious pic-strip. She makes a ring of self-raising flour on a cold marble surface, while squeezing every drop of moisture from her butter in a double layer of muslin. Half the butter is chopped into small cubes and rubbed into the flour, then the juice of a lemon (Yes! Lemon Juice!) with very cold water added and scissored in with two knives to make a paste. Only touch the paste directly after you have held your hand under a running cold tap for as long as you can stand it. Once chilled, roll into a rectangle. The remaining butter is shaped into an oblong, folded in the centre, turned, rolled and folded again. Chill for 30 minutes in ordinary domestic refrigeration and repeat 5 times. A pillow of pleated puff.

For Fanny, the first thing to do with the puff is naturally the buffet-tastic classic, Vol-Au-Vent. She uses metal cutters dipped into boiling water before use for large circles, and smaller cutters cut only three-quarters way through the paste for the centre piece, which then makes the top. Always dipped into boiling water first. Baked on a wetted tray and majestically risen, they are perfect filled with mushrooms cooked with soured cream. Fanny may not have had any stars or accolades of her own, but with these little crowns I hereby pronounce her La Reine de la Pâte, or more simply perhaps, The Queen of Puff.

Fanny's Garden - Get Fresh (at the weekend)

Eating fresh, eating local and eating seasonally all seems to make sense, but yet it is something we seem to have lost the know-how to do well. A bit like wearing our Sunday Best. Fanny was as keen as a locally smoked kipper to make sure we all chomped on fresh, local and in season produce - as well as in every imaginable colour. She even produced a handy wall-hanging to pop into our kitchens to remind us what was in season month-by-month. I'll pass on the John Dory, Duckling and Guinea Fowl she recommends for April. Not to be dismayed, she has LOTS of vegetable suggestions too. So, when fellow foodie and full-on Fanny fan, the lovely Jillian from Fresh Food Express sent me a huge box stuffed full of vegetables and other goodies, with a challenge to make some seasonal treats, I only had to skip into the kitchen and think 'What Would Fanny Do'? Well, ok, in all honesty it's all I ever think. And I always skip. Always.

It was all a little lot like Ready, Steady, Cook! as I opened up the carefully packaged parcel... My box was bulging. Veggies and fruit galore from Pillars of Hercules Organic Farm in Fife, my favourite hand churned butter (Mrs Millar had clearly been busy), Arbroath honey, pickles, Arbroath roasted coffee and even some resurrected Scottish Heritage grain flours - Beremeal and Peasemeal - shockingly not from Arbroath. The big question would be, would I end up with Red Tomato on my face or as glad as a Green Pepper? Or was it the other way round? I can always blame Fanny if it all goes horribly wrong, can't I?

Beremeal is something I've tried before, following a memorable but sadly brief jaunt to foodie-heaven Orkney last year. I've been making traditional recipes like bannocks and scones, but wondered, would it make a nice pastry? It has quite a distinctive, nutty taste of days gone by. I used some of the expertly patted, expertly melted butter and a little hot water to bring the flour together to a dough, and lined some mini brioche tins. I fancied a nice deep tart. Well, who doesn't? Sorry, I know it's flan, Fanny despised the use of the word 'tart' in the kitchen, and in the bedroom. It took a bit of coaxing and patching into the tins but then baked blind well. I made Fanny's Leek Tart Flan filling - simply some gently cooked leeks from the box with beaten eggs, a little cream, cheese, and seasoning. Baked again, they turned out, well, just like Fannys (might've). The pastry turned out kind of like a savoury ancestral biscuit in texture and taste.

Fanny would of course always and every time think of a buffet as the answer to delight all. The contents of the oh-so-welcome box just shout Fanny's Garden to me - some of her classic vegetable accompaniments to be clear. I'm not sure what those dedicated organic farmers would reckon to their potatoes being gently steamed, mashed, coloured green and piped into proud peaks to resemble  'trees' (be polite, we all know what we are all really thinking)? The courgettes also get steaming, before being stuffed with breadcrumbs and cheese, and baked. Same for the onions, but they are simmered in gently boiling water first. Then give them a good stuffing. Fanny normally says NEVER to cook vegetables in this way of course. Never boil. Except for this dish, seemingly.

Every display Fanny ever turned her hand to had a few elements of bonkers-ness whimsy. So what better occasion than to trot out her lovely lemon pig creation? Oink. Just a couple of cloves studded for eyes, cocktail sticks for feet and a slither of peel from it's rather considerable underside (I'm already imagining it is real) cut to form ears and a wiggly tail. Fanny never had a carrot sharpener to my knowledge, but the one I have does make gorgeous edible flowers for decoration. Fanny would no doubt spend hours getting Johnnie to work on hers. One of the blood oranges from the box becomes a basket, naturally. Every display should have a basket. Ever the seasonal-freak I've also been foraging recently for Wild Garlic, which made a lovely butter to go with everything. So, do I win? Will Ainslie Harriet say I've done well? It's seasonal, stuffed with Scottish produce and fresh. And brightly coloured. Surely the lemon pig is worth a prize on it's own.

Fresh Food Express sent me this box of goodies to play with, and they would also like to send you something similarly seasonal - all you have to do is enter using the Rafflcopter thingy-ma-jig below, leave a comment on this blog post and gain a few extra entries while you are at it! Don't panic, you don't have to colour your potatoes green. Fresh Food Express will send you your prize directly, if the Rafflecopter thingy-ma-jig selects you as the winner. Ready, Steady, Fanny On! (UK entries only folks)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Would You Adam and Eve It?

Fashions for cookbooks continue to change all the time - whether it be the authors, the content or the design. Fanny herself devised an amazing array of over 40 cookbooks, and she rode every imaginable craze going.  She blooming well invented them too. The main direction she wanted us to go was backwards, of course not in our skills, in time. She wanted to 'bring back' good, old fashioned British cooking, with more than an 'Allo 'Allo to the French way of doing things. By that she meant mainly Victorian-style gastronomy, but more suited to the garish orange fabric of life for the modern housewife of the 60's and 70's who wasn't fortunate enough to have 'help'. So, everything had to be easy to achieve (which meant following Fanny to the letter), in super quick time (which was before your husband returned from work with his new boss for dinner) and without straining the  purse (which had taken rather a battering in recent years).

You see Fanny loved a pudding. Ye Olde ones mainly. She often called them Puddens. Savoury or sweet, mostly steamed but sometimes baked. Sometimes frozen or 'set'. All sorts of ingredients could be mixed up, transferred to one of the many pudding moulds from the dazzling display of designs that lined the kitchen shelves and simmered on the stove, or in a bain-marie in the oven, for a good few hours. Sometimes stodgy. Sometimes solid. Sometimes substantial. Always a filling, old-fashioned addition to any meal. Fanny wrote about them throughout all her cookbooks, and usually managed to slip in a pudding to her Bill of Fare, despite them slipping in and out of fashion.

I am delighted, as I'm sure Fanny would be too, that they may be coming back into vogue, thanks to a wonderfully glorious new cookbook just about to be released. I managed to snap up a sly copy ahead of release thanks to my local Waterstones being somewhat 'fluid' on dates and seemingly popping books on the shelves as they arrive in store. Naughty but nice. The wonderfully titled Pride and Pudding from Regula Ysewlin (Miss Foodwise if you please) is the most luxurious romp back through the centuries of puddings, savoury and sweet. Not only immaculately researched, but each recipe, in both original and updated form, is presented with a thoroughly ravishing set of photographs to boot. Regula is a talented photographer and graphic designer. Drool. The book is all wrapped together with a suitably elaborate and engaging design, thanks to Regula's husband and illustrator Bruno. Regula has Bruno. Fanny had Johnnie.

I can't take my eyes of the book, it's my current bedtime read. I'm not getting much sleep. I even started to leaf through the stunning pages while walking along the street heading home after excitedly, and sneakily it seems, buying it. This is the book Fanny wishes she could've written, telling the story not only of the British pudding, but also the cooks, writers and moments in history that helped to shape them. Many of them women. Fanny's all-time favourite Mrs A.B. Marshall features in the Ices and Jellies section. It had been Fanny's lifelong desire to reintroduce Mrs Marshall to the gastronomic world. Perhaps if Johnnie had been able to able to be more help than blethering on about booze she may have succeeded.

Fanny revives an Apple Pudding for us in the Easter partwork in the guise of Adam and Eve, mixing up her biblical references delightfully. It's a simple pudding made from breadcrumbs, moistened with milk, suet, sugar, lemon zest, raisins, egg and chopped apples added. I've used vegetable suet, naturally, and lovely Pink Lady Apples. Fanny doesn't specify. Mixed together and rammed into mini buttered moulds they simply steam for an hour or so, served still steaming away with a small dollop of cream. Fanny showcased them in her own very particular style back in the 1970's, already fading from fashion by then, but I love it. She would've been so very jealous of Pride and Pudding, but suitably proud and passionate too. I'm delighted to have both in my life - there is always room for pudding, whatever the fashion, whatever the mould and whatever the design. 

Nuts, all Hazelnuts!

Fanny was often thought of as 'kooky' to say the least, but her culinary mission was simply to show us all how to make the most delicious things to eat and share using the most straightforward, most economical ingredients available. She imagined we would be insane to not follow in her footsteps, creating weird dish after wonderful dish, but sometimes she focused on uncomplicated techniques instead. Here, she introduces us to her Noisettes au Chocolat or Chocolate Hazelnut Rectangles. They are Hazelnuts with chocolate, shaped into rectangles. Nothing wacky, nothing bonkers, just that.

The hazelnuts need to be freed from their skins first of all. Fanny places hers on a dry baking sheet and pops into a warm oven, lowest shelf, for a few minutes until the skins rub off easily. To make it even easier, I am not daft, I pop them in a small plastic bag once they are baked and rub them together. The skins fall off, the hazelnuts can be picked out and the messy skins remain in the bag. Clearing up those flaky coverings would drive anyone round the bend.

Fanny hasn't really discussed sugar work all that much so far in the partwork, but for these rectangles she binds together the nuts with a light caramel. Fanny uses exactly 32 pieces (of equal size) loaf sugar dissolved and gently heated on a low flame. Never sure what loaf sugar is, I did some research and it seems unrefined golden granulated sugar is a good alternative. It was driving me berserk trying to find out what size the pieces should be, so I just guessed a measurement. Not worth going out of one's mind for. Fanny instructs not to touch the sugar until every grain is dissolved, then to turn the heat up to a soft rolling boil until the syrup turns to a pale straw colour. Or, if you are like me, leave it a little longer still (oops) and it will be a darker caramel. Fanny would've flipped out.

Fanny flings her nuts into the caramel and forks them around for a few moments until the syrup becomes slightly tacky. She has at hand a ready oiled tray and pours them out immediately into a big nutty lump. But fear not, she also has a cut lemon at the ready to shape the rough lump into a large rectangle. You may think dear old Fanny is as mad as a March hare, but the lemon actually works really well, doesn't stick or pull the sugar at all. Once in a large rectangle, Fanny uses a sharp knife dipped in boiling water to cut into smaller rectangles. There are enough rectangles in this recipe to drive you round the bend.

Once cooled, the smaller rectangles are dipped in softened chocolate chips, just enough to cover the base and sides. I've also added an extra-special double-dipping with hundreds and thousands. I know, I'm unbalanced, a culinary psycho. Fanny lets the small oblongs set back on a lightly oiled surface. The finished rectangles are crunchy, nutty and simply sweet, perfect for any Mad Hatters Tea Party, or perfectly sane persons afternoon snack. Nothing batty, nothing potty, nothing cuckoo, just sugar-coated, full-flavoured cheap and cheerful specialities from Fanny.

Pussyfooting Around the Cocktail Cabinet

I think Fanny Cradock and I are on the same page when it comes to Christmas. Food is important, and lots of it, but best to get it all prepared in advance so that you can settle down and relax with a drink. Nothing better than a wee glass of fizz, something fruity, and frankly something potent to while away the festive season. Fanny certainly thinks so, and she dedicates the final half of the dreaded Part Thirteen to Christmas 'Drynke'. Like the 'mete', it's as in 'Ye Olde'. I do love a bit of a booze up, I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'm pretty sure Fanny was no stranger to the cocktail cabinet either, but hang on a cherry picking minute, what on earth is Fanny playing at?

Teetotal? As in 'sans booze'? Fanny what are you thinking of? I guess not everyone enjoys a drink. I guess some people will be driving during Christmas. I guess some people will have given up alcohol. I guess not everyone has Johnnie at their beck and call, to drive them here and there in the Bentley. I guess you could always add some gin?

Fanny gives ten stand-in cocktails for those not partaking this Christmas. All are fruity, all are fizzy and all are fairly festive. I hate to admit it. The first is called a Pussyfoot, and is a lovely sounding combo of lemon, orange and lime juice. The juices are strained into an old-fashioned cocktail shaker, lucky that I have a few of those, with some crushed ice (just a teaspoon though! I manage to bash a cube or two in a plastic bag with a rolling pin), icing sugar and an egg yolk. Egg yolk? Time for a vigorous shake, presumably thinking of someone that you really didn't like very much. The same person you thought of whilst bashing the ice cubes. 

Once strained into a glass the Pussyfoot should be topped up with soda water and served with a cocktail cherry on a wooden cocktail stick. On no account should the cocktail stick be made from plastic, NEVER, as Fanny advises, 'Plastic always tastes of detergent!' Also on no account substitute the soda water for sparkling wine of any description, or at least if you do, do not tell Fanny. The Pussyfoot is very frothy and really refreshing. I wasn't sure about the egg yolk, but it makes if almost like an egg-nog... It would be lovely with a Brandy plopped in. Is Fannys insistence on teetotal-ness turning me too far the other way?

Fear not, the egg white isn't wasted - as if Fanny would allow that, especially in these times of austerity. It can be whipped up and added to more orange and lemon juice and some syrup to make an Orange Lemon Flip. Just shake again and top up with soda water, as before. Definitely not champagne. Fanny also makes an Orangeade by peeling the oranges thinly, placing them in a jug with some sugar and their juice, pouring boiling water over them and waiting. Once cooled, guess what? Add some soda water. Not vodka, no. 

Fanny gives variations on all the 'mocktails', using Strawberry Syrup in place of the citrus juice, or making lemonade with raspberries or pineapple chunks instead. The imaginatively titled Ginger Ale Punch is citrus juice, cold tea and sugar all shaken together, topped up with soda water and ginger ale. I've never seen so much soda water, but you know it's pretty versatile and makes the cocktails not-too-sweet, a bit sharp and dare I say a bit edgy. It's almost as if you don't miss the booze at all. Almost. However it's the egg tricks that impress me most, it's really like drinking something 'proper' and not 'soft'. The final one for now is a simple Egg Lemonade. I'd probably change the name if I was serving it to guests though. Back to the trusty cocktail shaker and in with some lemon juice, strained of course, with a generous tablespoon this time of crushed ice, some sugar and the egg yolk. Whip the egg white separately and at the 'precise moment of service' whip the two together, pour into a tall glass and this time squirt in the soda water from the side. It's another frothy one. I still say I might squirt in a Bacardi but if you are teetotal, even just for one night, go for it - these cocktails might just make you feel giddy.

Pineapple Packs A Punch

Fanny is planning a very special party, which requires some very special jellied creations and I am very pleased to report a very special punch. For this little soirée Fanny is desperate to hang on to the very last of any summer sunshine by transporting us to the Caribbean, which she is sure will dazzle any party guests. The party does require a lot of pre-planning though, anything from a week to 3 months of preparation, but Fanny says this is a boon to the busy housewife. Nothing worse than running around like mad as guests arrive. Parties should appear effortless. Even if they take three months of work. The main plan for this party seems to be to get all the guests completely sloshed, which sounds like such a terrible idea to me... Well, no, actually it sounds like a fabulous idea. 

Fanny gets stuck straight in to the hard stuff. The Planters' Punch requires the most preparation, as the flavour intensifies over the months of steeping. Good old Fanny suggests using a whole bottle of the very finest Barbados Rum here, all muddled in with totally tropical tastes. I have a bottle of Captain Morgans Spiced Gold which seems right for the job to me. To the rum, Fanny adds some strained orange and lemon juice, thinly sliced cucumber, a sliced peach, orange segments, sliced pineapple, Angostura Bitters, nutmeg and some slightly syrupy water. Fanny does suggest substituting the syrupy water with a quarter bottle of Falernum if you have it. I couldn't find any, but it does sound worth tracking down for authentic spicy Caribbean-ness. I need more than three months to prepare for this party clearly!

I could quite happily sit down with a jug of this straight away, but Fanny insists not only that I share it, but I pop a lid on it and store it for months. Spoilsport Fanny. To keep my mind off it meantime, Fanny gets me whipping up a heavenly creamy jelly with more than a hint of Hawaii. This can be made well in advance too, keeping perfectly well in ordinary domestic refrigeration for a week. It's a slightly different style again, as ever Fanny is teaching me I need to remember, which has thick confectioners custard as the base. To this, I add a tub (it could easily be a tin) of strained and whizzed up pineapple, and double cream. It's already looking fairly thick, but for this set delight it's in with some Vege-Gel from Dr Oetker this time, the whole mix heated up and poured into my mould. Oiled, naturally. And a cat, plainly.

Fanny hates to waste anything, so sets me to making an additional jelly from the strained pineapple juice, which will also add to the 'fun' of the presentation. Fanny says it can forked-up into a foam, or cut into shapes, or set into an actual pineapple. I suppose the options are endless. I opt to add some harmless yellow food colouring to mine and cut them into little cat shapes. Just for fun Fanny. The finished Bavarois d'Ananas as Fanny called it tastes just as you'd expect - like set pineapple custard, it's quite pleasant but the texture a little strange. Perhaps I added too much Vege-Gel? There isn't much wibble-wobble. In all the preparation for this fantastic party I've completely forgotten to invite any friends to join me. Oops. Can I wait any longer? Will the sun stick around? There's nothing for it, I'm going to have to crack open the spice-laden fruity Punch and have a party for one. In the name of research you understand. If it's good I can always make another batch for 'friends'. Cheers Fanny!

Flippin' 'Eck it's Crêpes Fanny-ettes

Fanny shares this idea for Crêpes Soufflés au Citron, or Lemon Souffléd Pancakes, in this citrus-packed part-work, but she really just wants to tease for now, and suggests saving the idea for Shrove Tuesday. So much so that she doesn't share a recipe for one of the vital ingredients - the pancakes themselves. In a future part she will however delight us with them and also show us how to make and store batches of melting pancakes so that we can all draw on them when required, allowing us to enjoy the pudding when we like. Luckily for me I have had a glimpse of the future already, having made the pancakes at Christmas for a baked mincemeat wonder, so I can proudly share this puffed up pudding now.

Fanny always uses self-raising flour, for everything, and of course pancakes are no exception. The other ingredients are eggs, a little oil and milk. I use Borderfields rapeseed oil to give the pancakes an oomph to their taste and colour. Fanny says that this recipe will only be delectable and a joy to behold if the pancakes are made very thin with very thin batter. Her reminder is that you cannot make a thin pancake from a thick one, so there you go. I make a batch of very thin pancakes according to the Christmas booklet instructions, following Fannys technique of adding the batter to the pan at an angle and then swirling it around the pan. If you add the batter to the centre, you will have thick pancakes, be warned.

The soufflé filling for the pancakes is also used to 'mask' the outside of the pancake before it's baked, something I've never seen or heard of before. In Fannys picture they look a bit like Baked Alaskas, and Peter demonstrates how to apply the soufflé successfully in a pic-strip. I need to make it first. I melt some butter gently, add some flour, beating to a paste before adding lemon juice and zest. This really changes the colour of the paste. Fanny tells me to chuck in some caster sugar and a mix of white wine with water gradually, beating all the time, before removing from the heat and adding two egg yolks. 

I also need to whisk up five egg whites to very stiff peaks, and carefully combine the two mixtures. It's quite a lot to coordinate, no wonder she suggests making the pancakes in advance. This is my soufflé mix, and I am ready to assemble. A big blob of the mixture goes on one half each pancake, before they are folded over and then completely covered in the remaining soufflé mix. Fanny puts a stern warning that this tasty pudding will ONLY be successful if the filled pancake is completely masked. She says that someone she knew left the top uncovered - it was probably poor Peter - and ended up with something like packet crisps made by Mr You-Know-Who. I don't, but I don't fancy lemon crisps either, so I make sure they are well masked!

They bake in a hot oven now for only eight minutes. I wasn't too sure what to expect really, would they puff up greatly like a soufflé in a dish, or indeed harden up like a Baked Alaska? Fanny has smothered hers in sifted icing sugar in the part-work picture, so it's hard to tell. However after the allotted time, they come out looking fantastic, only lightly puffed and golden brown. I give them a light dusting of icing sugar and tuck in. Fanny was right, they ARE melting and yummy, a strong punch of lemon and lots of texture - the soufflé inside the pancakes has gone creamy and jammy. The outside is well, like a soufflé. Definitely one to try again for Shrove Tuesday, just need to make another batch of pancakes now to make sure I am ready!

It's All Greek To Me - Lemon Soup

Fanny says there are two ways to make this unusual (for me) soup, which vary drastically in quality. If you want your soup to taste practically like pond water, use a stock cube. If you want your soup to be delicate and delicious then it needs to be made with well seasoned and good quality stock. It doesn't seem like much of a choice does it, although for me Fannys choice of chicken stock just isn't an option. For Fanny, making this soup for an everyday occasion involves simmering the carcass of a chicken in ordinary white meat stock until it's tender. For the 'peak of perfection' Fanny suggests smashing down an 'old fowl' to a 'sad pulp', covering it with water, adding herbs, lemon and orange peel and simmering until the 'poor old hen is purged' of all flavour. For me, I decide to use some vegetable stock powder in which I steep the peel and herbs for an hour or so - will it be purged or pond water?

Fanny wouldn't be pleased with my lack of bird violence but hey ho I am fairly confident that this stock will taste great, it is well seasoned and good quality after all - nothing like a standard cube. I'm keen to taste this lemon soup - or Soúpa Avgholémono as Fanny describes it in Greek - at any rate, and I can't miss out just because I won't bash a chicken to bits. Once steeped, I strain the stock into a small pan, add some rice, and gently simmer it for around 10 minutes. 

The soup is smelling sensational at this point, really fresh, vibrant and well lemon-y. Fanny has one last trick to add a bit of flourish to this otherwise simple soup - adding an egg yolk to thicken it, along with the juice and rind of some zingy lemons. I'm a bit nervous about adding the yolk, Fanny warns me it might curdle if it's too hot. However, taking the soup off the heat, I confidently add the zest and juice before flinging in the yolk and beating it in quickly. Not in a violent way.

The colour and texture of the soup changed instantly, from a somewhat (I will admit) pond water-like liquid to something much more rich and lush, if a little reminiscent of thin lemon curd. Fanny guides me to gently heat it again in a double pan. Oh, I don't have one of those, so just have to stir it carefully over a very very low heat until it thickens a little. The soup tastes fantastic despite expecting it to be sweet by look alone - it's deep, zesty and perfect for a new year zing. The rice gives it a good bit of substance. Nothing like pond water and not a smashed up, bashed in old fowl in sight.