World's Quorn Fakin' Mad

I've eaten everything from the Fanny Cradock Cookery Programme I have made. So far. I've tucked into an array of sweet omelettes, despite my better judgement. I've wolfed down green mashed piped potatoes, although my eyes have said 'no'. I've willingly deep-throated bananas smeared with jam and nuts. I've gladly gobbled eggs transformed into a variety of disguises without complaint. I've swiftly swallowed all kinds of things Fanny has made to go further than my purse, or my mind, was able to stretch. Until today. I. Just. Can't.

Of course, as I've made Fanny's fascinations minus the meat, at least I've this far been safe in the knowledge that her creations may taste okay. I like vegetables. I've steered clear of using processed meat substitutes, mostly, simply because I rarely eat them myself. However, on a recent trip to the supermarket I was 'amazed' to see so many 'fake' meat products. Perhaps bemused. Perhaps perplexed. Perhaps baffled. Who was buying these things made to look, taste and feel like meat? Before I knew it I was hearing the self-service checkout beep in shame as I loaded up my bag. With. Sliced. Ham. Vegetarian Sliced Ham. What was I thinking?

I hadn't gone completely loopy. I was curious, and of course Fanny was guiding me to make a Cold Ham Soufflé with her, so part of me didn't want to miss out. Would this ham-hoax cut the mustard? Fanny starts by mincing up her ham. Mine minces fabulously, just like a seventies game show host. Fanny makes a velouté sauce, essentially a white sauce made with stock instead of milk, as the backbone of her dish. Mine whips up like the best bad-ass dominatrix. Or so I've heard anyway. Fanny sets her soufflé with Aspic. I need to adapt the recipe a little, adding Agar Agar to the stock, boiling and then making the velouté like a cutie. That's just how I rock. Nearly.

I can barely bring myself to touch the phoney-ham. Thankfully I am able to distract myself by whipping up egg whites and double cream. Separately of course. Fanny staples. All good here. I. Can. Cope. Except I can't. The pseudo-ham is mocking me. The whole sorry lot needs to be folded together and plopped into a wetted soufflé mould, so that it will come out smoothly. Fanny has taught me that. She hasn't trained me to cope with the horror of this. It's time to chill. The soufflé. And. Me. Too.

However, the shudders continue as Fanny suggests a stomach-churning staging. Apparently what this bogus Cold Ham Soufflé needs is to be topped with a further glaze of Aspic-y Agar Agar before being surrounded by more rolls of fabricated ham. It looks convincingly like the one Fanny made. I am sure it will feel faithfully like it too. Oh. The. Smell.  I have absolutely no doubt that this sham-ham would also taste just like the one Fanny made. I. Am. Not. Trying. It. Sorry. Not. Sorry. Does anyone want it?

It's A Mystery, to meat

Fanny Cradock starts Part 22 with some wise words which form a classic French riddling ruling - 'Les chefs sont faits, les rôtisseurs sont nés' - but sadly her motto is lost on me. She's chatting about roasting meat you see, and while cooks may be made and roasters born, for this vegetarian apprentice, Fanny's techniques and tips for butchery and brawn are just unsuited, irrelevant and incompatible.

Fanny tries her best to get me to appreciate the well-hung. Her advice is 'You cannot expect a prime roast from really fresh meat.' The problem seems to be that if it is under-hung, and Fanny gives no advice as to what that might be, then it needs to be cooked slowly. Add to the puzzle that it should be carved 'properly' too. Beef thinly, lamb or mutton in thick 'collops', pork half way between thick and thin, not quite covered by the phrase 'medium thick.' A quandary for me. Fanny's grandmother described paper-thin slices of pork in the same way as she described thin slices of plum cake - that they 'taste of the knife'. I am so glad I need not pay much attention to this meaty part, nothing makes any sense already!

Fanny turns her considerable hands to boning. She has several skills to show, and does so in an array of jarring pic-strips. She transforms a saddle of lamb (whatever that is) into a 'winged victory' with a very sharp knife. She bones and stuffs the enigma that is a leg of lamb, wearing what appears to be pyjamas, which is presumably crucial. Does one do it early early in the morning, or just before bed? Fanny sees pointless (to me) boning as essentially a 'job of excavation' that requires no skill. Except the skill she is demonstrating. The confusion continues with a mind boggling selection of grabbing, scraping, paring, rolling and slipping. I'm stumped.

Meat sometimes needs to be boiled, sometimes grilled. The dilemma strikes me as avoiding cooking all the goodness out of it and ending up with bits of army boot soles, so Fanny advises being gentle and tender. As ever. Except with bacon, which needs to be grilled until it resembles the ridges of the Loch Ness Monsters back. Fanny also tries her hand at Tournedos, which aren't twisting cyclones as I suspected but instead involves covering a piece of meat, breast of game, poultry and very occasionally fish with a thin slice of raw unsalted pork fat. Fanny calls it barding. The conundrum continues.

Oven roasting looks as if it is all about disguising unsightly things with teasing trimmings of puff pastry or spreading crusty domes of breadcrumbs on top of the hunks of flesh. It's no good for me. Reading between the lines, the show of grilling and roasting has the appearance of merely being an array of outfits and accessories - Fanny poses in a different ensemble for each pic-strip. This meat game is a complete enigma to me. I'm clearly not a born roaster so I'll continue to hang out with the well hung and considerably less confusing veggies instead.

Fanny's Flash of Festive Flesh

Unlucky for vegetarians everywhere, part thirteen of the Cradock Cookery Programme focuses very much on meat. Fanny is anxious that we all save time running up to Christmas and look at some new techniques, new ideas and as always new presentations. However to reassure the readers of the club that she hasn't gone all modern really, she calls the part Christmas Mete, as in Ye Olde, and also includes a secret from her own grandmothers recipe book. Fannys Granny. Well, none of the recipes are suitable for me, but that doesn't mean that I can't marvel at the displays. Poor vegetarians, our Christmas tables must seem so very plain.

Fanny lets us know that many fancy London stores and supermarkets have installed machines which cage meat in fine elasticated string. No one can be sure about the rest of the country. Fanny says this is all happening just in time to save even more precious moments for Christmas. And what a time saver it was! Traditionally, these meat joints had to be tied up by 'professionals' in the old-fashioned way, taking at least five minutes. But, hurrah, thanks to the machine this job is cut to a mere 3 seconds. Fantastic. I assume that Fanny hopes you'll use the 'spare' four minutes and fifty-seven seconds to arrange your joints on platters with seasonal vegetables or of course pop them straight onto your spit-roast at home. Naturally. I am missing so much fun being a vegetarian. And it is so time consuming.

I bet you'll never have seen anything vegetarian arranged in such a splendid way as this Guard of Honour? No nut roast could ever resemble this. Fanny gets Johnnie to do the 'home butcher adventuring' to transform these ordinary but best neck ends of lamb into a show-off dish. This presumably saves Fanny even more time. Just get Johnnie to do it. 

Vegetables do help create a stunning centrepiece for an otherwise lacklustre saddle of lamb, so vegetarians shouldn't despair. I'd be happy with an oven-baked tomato spruced up with a sprig of Rosemary, some Brussels and a bed of peas, wouldn't you? Fanny says that baby sprouts are the only ones worth eating, steamed, bien sur.

If you are really strapped for time over Christmas, perhaps a French Sausage Roll would appeal? It's a huge baked garlic sausage covered in puff pastry which has been brushed in mustard. French Mustard. Oh and English too. Just like Fanny (ahem) an Anglo-French alliance. With all the spare time you have, best to tiddle things up with plaits of pastry. For those fancying a different bird this Christmas, Fanny reaches into her Grandmothers notebook and produces a Pigeon Pie. Fanny loves a pigeon. Not only do they taste great but the price is low too. The biggest advantage they have though, according to Fanny, is that very few pigeons are frozen, so the chances are you'll be eating fresh flesh. I'll stick to the freshly prepared baby sprouts if you don't mind.