Bonkers Conkers

This time of year always makes me think of conkers. I long to spend days throwing sticks up into the tall trees in the hope that a spiny capsule will come tumbling down, soon to be prised open to reveal a mahogany prize. Dried out for a while, never soaked in vinegar nor baked in the oven (cheating was not on my agenda, even as a child), nailed through the centre and strung on a long piece of twine. Ready for battle. I wasn't a violent child, or particularly competitive. However, I had to be conker champion.

Fanny seems to have indulged in the same pastime as myself. Skipping through her garden, collecting chestnuts in a wicker basket. Wearing gingham ribbons. Singing a happy tune. No doubt. Or, more likely, sending someone out in the howling rain to scarper round furiously shoving the fallen jewels into their pockets while she barks at them from the kitchen door. Either way, she ended up with quite a collection of chestnuts that would not be strung nor whacked to pieces in the name of a playground game.

Fanny's prized nuts were far too delicious to be wasted on leisure pursuits. She plunged them into slightly smoking hot oil in the deep fat fryer, causing the oil to seethe up madly. Just as she herself did when the garden haul was less than bountiful. Fanny's chestnuts split not with heavy strikes, but with the heat and tension. Once things have cooled down a little, they are shelled and skinned, boiled and drained, wiped and rubbed, through a sieve. Perhaps Fanny would be seething at me, as I bought some ready cooked and vacuum packed. And a food processor.

Fanny has a grand plan for these little wonders. Mont Blanc, or Chestnut and Meringue Cream. She whips up an Italian Meringue, whipping egg whites with hot sugar syrup to cook them. She blows the syrup through  slotted spoon until bubbles appear to know that it is hot enough. I've never been to Mont Blanc (although I have seen it from the skies as we flew over) so have no real concept of what it looks like but Fanny suggests colouring the meringue before piping it, so who am I to disagree? Ignoring the name as the major clue, I wade in with a delightful shade of teal. She builds a meringue case with elaborate pipes and borders. It feels perhaps more like '70s Toilet-Roll Holder Lady' than 'Highest Peak in the Alps', but I'd never tell her.

Fanny adds a splash of sherry, some vanilla, icing sugar and whipped double cream to the whizzed up chestnuts to make a very Christmassy (too early?) tasting paste. Fanny then pipes it using a 'writing pipe' nozzle into a mound of squiggles over and up on the inside of the meringue case. Squiggles. Squiggles? This must be what the Great White Mountain looks like up close. Only one thing left to do. Just like my younger days. Decide on tactics. Take aim. Smash the chestnut mound swiftly, cracking the meringue and, in a departure from the playground pranks, shovel into your mouth as quickly as possible. Conker Champion once again.

Feeling Fruity for my Fourth Fanniversary

Do you remember what you were doing four years ago? It's not something I generally spend a lot of time wondering. Mostly it would just be an ordinary day, doing ordinary things, in ordinary ways. However, I remember very clearly what happened four years ago for me. It was no ordinary day, and no ordinary day has occurred ever since. It changed my life. Four years ago, I wrote my first blog post.

I have no idea what I expected to happen on that day, other than I would sit down, type my thoughts down about dear old Fanny and hit 'publish'. For me, it was always about having fun, celebrating Fanny and making myself giggle. If anyone else read it that'd be a bonus. Well, four years on, it's been, and continues to be, all those things and so much more. I've loved every minute, hour, and day since then. I think I've grown to love Fanny even more too. I find myself sticking up for her a lot, we've become firm friends. I mean, I've yet to whack an assistant or pee in my plant pots, but, well, I think she's mostly great.

Whether you've read all two hundred and fifty two of these posts, or this is your first, I totally appreciate it and hope that you enjoy it as much as I do. Thanks! Readers, tweeters and bloggers have come and gone and come back again. Some have disappeared forever. Where did they go? I miss them! It's been a whirlwind of harmless green vegetable food colouring and aspic, but you know what, everything so far has worked out. People tell me all the time 'oh yeah, but Fanny couldn't cook' or 'gawd, her recipes are terrible, inedible, aren't they?'... I've just found them to be incredible. Well, not especially the Eggs in Aspic, but more often than not!

Her signature 'thing' seems to be taking something which is not very much and making it seem like it's something really special. That can't be bad can it? Like taking an egg or two, a few plums, some milk and a dash of caster sugar and creating a dessert to make you smile? It's one of Fanny's favourites, meringue. She suggests making it in a 'complicated' shape for which she gives 'complicated' instructions which just seems too 'complicated' for me. Her shape is basically four circles joined together. I think after four years together I can go a bit freeform with mine, and dare I say it it, 'better'?

Instead of circles I whip up the meringues following Fanny's technique, and fashion a suitable 4-shaped design on baking parchment. If Fanny has taught me anything over the years, it's to pipe, pipe, pipe, so I do. Fanny says it might look as if it demands skill from the cook, but it doesn't. The meringue case bakes in around an hour, and emerges looking somewhat tanned. Fanny's meringues always do, I don't know why. Someone will. Fanny fills her case with confectioners custard made from the yolks, and then tops with poached plum halves. It feels like a fitting celebration of our four years together. In wedding anniversary terms, four years is Fruit, apparently. Will you join me and Fanny for four more? I do hope so - there is so much more Fanny Fun to come!

What Colour Were The 1970's?

Brown. Everything was freakishly brown. Furniture was brown. Think of all those drab wooden sideboards and burnt-looking velour sofas that houses were so very full of. Our houses themselves were brown. With brown front doors. Wallpaper was brown. Sometimes it was more off-the-wall than on it with swirly patterns granted, but generally it was different shades of brown. Our clothes were brown. Our shoes were brown. We were all tanned. We liked it. Brown was where it was at. We fawned over it. We were happy with brown. Until someone paired it with another ludicrous colour of course.

Orange. We had outlandish orange curtains hanging in rooms to match the peculiar orange lampshades. Rugs were a range of far-out orange tones. Our kitchens were so orange we needed sunglasses to enter them. We had offbeat ornaments that were orange and maybe a bit space-aged. But orange still. And kooky. We matched them with brown. We embraced the eccentric, extraordinary orange and brown combinations in our homes, in our wardrobes and in our lives. Even our tans went orange. If it wasn't for orange the whole curious decade would just have been, well, brown.

Almost. Okay, Fanny did her best to banish the buff and beige, bringing every colour of the rainbow to the buffet table. But the table was probably brown, the table cloth would undoubtedly be brown and orange. The guests crowded round it would certainly be dressed head to foot in cocoa inspired patterns of chocolatey brown and zesty orange, with orange accessories that perhaps looked like they'd been fashioned from the space-age adornments scattered around the house. And dipped in extra brown. You get the idea.

Fanny decided to embrace the unavoidable brown-ness of the time. In celebration, she unveiled her Brown Meringue. She could've worked more on the name, but do remember how hip and happening it was to love brown. Today we want our meringues to be so glowingly white they match our overly-whitened teeth and pristine, shiny, clinical white homes. Not brown. In the 1970's Fanny replaced the white sugar in her meringue mix for the tawny brown stuff and whipped up a brown frenzy. If she could've got brown egg whites I'm sure she would've. That's how she rocked.

Bang on trend, she pairs it of course with... Orange. She replaces the milk in a custard with equal quantities of orange juice and water, using the otherwise abandoned egg yolks perfectly. A splash of orange blossom water adds a shade more orange. The brown meringue is baked on a sheet of rice paper for reasons unknown, but also why not. It emerges so fashionably brown, all it needs is a seventies swirl of the orange custard. And a whole mandarin orange plonked in the centre. With a bay leave decoration. And freshly released citrus segments to trim. It tastes wonderfully caramelly and orangey. It tastes like the 70's. There are no other descriptions. It's brown. It's orange. It is the 1970's.

The Harangued Meringue That Went Wrang

So far in the wonderful journey with Fanny Cradock all has been relatively well. Well, we've laughed together, learnt together and looked at some pretty strange creations, lingered for a second then dived in for each lesson, all together. Fanny has been good to me, mostly, things have worked out well. I may not have always liked a few of the end results but they have emerged pretty much as Fanny intended they would, and indeed has she showed me they would. Until today that is...

Fanny is keen to elevate me up the meringue ladder, stepping up from the very ordinary to embrace the exotically continental Italian version. I'm keen to learn Fanny's ways. I've made Italian Meringue before without her but so far she has surprised me when I've queried her techniques. Never query Fanny. It's helped me to learn and build my own repertoire, helped me to rediscover forgotten ways, forgotten flavours and forgotten presentation styles. It's just as Fanny hoped, with a hefty slant towards always doing things her way. Naturally.

Fanny starts the meringue by beating the egg whites until they are very stiff indeed. Nothing strange there. She says if doing this by hand to leave plenty of time in your day or get someone to do it for you. Or if by machine to flick the switch and busy yourself with making a sugar syrup. Fanny adds sugar and water to her favourite roomy pan, allowing every grain of sugar to gently dissolve without touching or stirring once. Once dissolved, the heat is increased to boiling for 3 or 4 minutes. To test if the syrup is ready Fanny dips in a perforated spoon and blows bubbles through the holes. If no bubbles appear, further boiling is required. Once bubbles form however it's tipped into the whipped egg whites and beaten again until glossy. The beaters must not stop for a second. Again, nothing strange so far.

However now is the time that I start to doubt Fanny, but of course quickly dismiss my disloyal thoughts and persist with her. She makes a thick circle of meringue on greaseproof paper (first drawing a circle with pencil on the underside), leaves it exposed to 'set' and then pipes a tall border of 'simple over and over rope' around the edge. I admit, I must practice my piping more, my 'over and over rope' is more freestyle than technical. Fanny says that the meringue should be left out again, exposed, to dry in a dust-free, warm area. "It requires no cooking" she instructs us gleefully. So, I leave it out overnight, switching the no-longer required oven off...

In the morning my meringue has a slight skin forming but really is still wobbly, pliable and pretty much as I left it the night before. Fanny's looks crisp and crunchy. What have I done wrong? Surely it is me, and not Fanny to blame here? After reading and re-reading the instructions I am sure I've followed them to the T. Undeterred, I follow Fanny in filling the precarious case with custard, topping it with a range of tinned peaches, pears and pineapple rings just as she shows me. Then I pipe in some hand-beaten Chantilly Cream between, giving it a final flourish of blueberries and sprinkles. It does look pretty, but it's in danger of collapse, along with my faith in Fanny. It tastes great, but... Maybe I should've baked it? Maybe Fannys' house is much warmer than mine? Maybe I've not been paying as much attention as I thought? Maybe, just maybe, Fanny has gone wrong?

Wee Blind Mice

Fanny and Johnnie liked to think that they captured the imagination of everyone interested in cooking, even children. They appeared on Children's TV programmes as early as 1958 in a show called Lucky Dip. Apparently this led to 'record-breaking fan-mail' from their young audience and further slots on a show called Tuesday Rendezvous (which was also shown on Fridays, obviously) and even a series of cookbooks for children. The Cradocks love affair with children is brought into question with the books' titles though. Would you purchase a set of books for your wee dears called 'Happy Cooking Children'?

For Fanny, Children's Cookery had to have all the excitement and colour found in the great classical writings (we can presume she means her own here), but with added WHY's and HOW's for the young fans. She believed in 'safety first' to protect the smallest readers from any chance mishaps. Especially for garnish. Fanny recognised that young cooks loved to arrange and decorate, so she made sure that she provided stimulating ideas with 'only simple, inexpensive, edible trimmings' to be used by small chefs.

The weekly partwork always had something for the 'small fry' to try. They didn't often make a great deal of sense, but it was Fannys attempt to inspire. Who wouldn't be inspired by chocolate mice nibbling cheese? These little mischiefs are made from meringues, one of Fannys starter recipes, so perfect for wee ones. Once whisked up, they simply need to be shaped 'like mice' by doming them between two oiled dessertspoons and dried out in a low oven. Fanny's Top Tip - Try to make sure they are flat bottomed, broad in the behind and narrow to the nose. Easier said than done, for beginners. As she is keeping it simple for the children, she refrains from saying 'quenelle' but that's what she means.

With safety first in mind, Fanny suggests melting the chocolate to coat them by taking a packet of chocolate chips, plonking them in a bowl and whacking it on the bottom of the low oven until a wooden spoon can make them a bit squidgy. Then, beat them 'very hard' until they are smooth. Just as well to introduce the super keen young ones to Fannys favourite techniques at an early age. I opt for both milk and white chocolate chips, just to be fancy. The cooked meringues are them 'wiggled' in the chocolate and their 'overcoats' left to dry on greaseproof paper.

To complete the illusion of mice, small slivers of almond are added for ears, and I've added sugar balls for eyes. Fanny is always one for realism though - so mice must have tails. She suggests cutting small lengths of string, dipping them in the melted chocolate and attaching them. So bang goes the 'safety first' message. How many poor wee inspired souls choked on the string tails I wonder? Fanny justifies this veering from the rules by pointing out that Sugar Mice you buy in shops have string tails, so that's OK then. Authenticity. To delight the little ones' parents to the point of no return, the completed mice should be displayed a top a large chunk of big holed Emmental Cheese. Fanny warns us not to be fooled by our sneaky cheesemonger keen to sell us the more expensive and smaller holed Gruyère. I say set the chocolate mice on him should he try...

I'm entering this into the new challenge linky thing from Belleau Kitchen, Simply Eggcellent, which celebrates all things eggs, check out all the other ideas so far! 

Butterscorched - My Golden Diploma

Fanny Cradock was a self taught cook, she never claimed to be anything else, and was very proud of it. So proud that her aim in the partwork was to help us all 'teach ourselves' in the kitchen, but obviously in the Cradock way. Despite never having a lesson in her life, she was bestowed upon with a great many diplomas and decorations for both gastronomic and culinary merit, which she reckoned made her 'level pegging' with the greatest French Masters. You wouldn't argue would you? She modestly claimed to be 'nothing special' (just don't say it back it her), just a hard worker, and her students could achieve the same if they too worked hard. The partwork was evidence in itself of how to create dishes from the simplest to the 'greatest of parallel excellence' to those French Masters. Fanny created her own merit and reward system for her partwork students - The Golden Diploma. Fanny believed that everyone should have a permanent symbol of skill and appreciation to hang proudly in their kitchen. There were three levels of recognition that could be awarded, and I've reached the end of Part 16 which should secure me the 'Commencement Diploma'.

The final dish to complete this first rung on the Cradock culinary ladder is a ButterScotch Meringue Pie, or 'Pie Caramel au Beurre Meringué' in Fannys faux translation. It all seems rather fortunate too - it was my birthday at the weekend and I was thrilled, although I have to admit a little scared, to receive a blowtorch as a gift. Flames. I have been known to like flames a little too much. However a precise flare would be perfect to add some much needed flair for the meringue topping, and surely as a soon-to-be diploma holder I could be trusted to operate naked flame in a handy kitchen torch? Maybe I just won't tell Fanny.

Fanny certainly trusts me to create my own pastry cases using the skills and expertise learnt on my journey so far. No reminders required for diploma-level students. For the butterscotch filling I heat milk and maple syrup gently in a small pan until it reaches boiling point. In a bowl, I whip up egg yolks with flour and brown sugar, and which in the syrupy milk mixture. Over a pan of simmering water I continue to stir the mixture until it thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon, before pouring it into my pre-prepared tart shells to cool and set. If Fanny were watching me she'd be delighted with my skill and expertise. And my crack of Cradock confidence.

For the meringue topping, the egg whites are whisked up by my trustee assistant Sarah (aka my KitchenAid) until they are very stiff. Fanny urges me to add only a third of the required caster sugar and whisk again for exactly three and a half minutes. Thankfully Sarah doesn't complain and whisks away happily while I have a sit down. When the remaining sugar is folded in the meringue is ready to pipe on top of the caramel coloured butterscotch pies. Fanny blisters hers carefully under a grill, but I have my new toy to fire up...

Confidently, but carefully, I torch and scorch the meringue topping until it's lightly browned. It puffs up a bit. So do I, quite proud of my achievement, and quite relieved I haven't burnt the house down. It tastes great, even if it's not butterscotch as anyone would know it. In order to obtain my diploma, I need to write off to Fanny with evidence from family and friends that not only have I cooked a dish from each of the initial 16 parts but that they have ENJOYED it. I doubt if I send of for it today anyone will reply, so I'm reliant on you all to vouch for me (I do hope you HAVE enjoyed it all?) and get me ready as I work towards the Advanced Diploma and hopefully the full Golden Diploma in the years to come. Maybe one day I'll track down one that Fanny sent out and be able to proudly display it in my kitchen - if you have one let me know! 

Baked Bunny

Fanny is sure that we are ready to move up a gear with our omelette making, having mastered the basic technique, sorted out our pans and explored a few fillings. Fanny calls this section 'Into the higher eschelons of the omelette tree' so you can see just how fancy she thinks this is. I had no idea that omelettes had trees, Fanny clearly skipped over that vital piece of information. At first read, I'm wondering if something has gone astray in the partwork, this doesn't look like an omelette to me. I'm sure this is a Baked Alaska, but Fanny is very quick to point out that this 'party pudding' is called this 'wickedly' by the misinformed. It is of course the Omelette Norvègienne, everyone knows that.

For this retro party pleaser, retro ingredients are required - a ready made sponge flan case, tinned fruit cocktail, eggs and ice cream. I tried to go really retro with the ice cream, but I failed to find an old fashioned block in cardboard, so I went 'indulgent' with some lovely Mackies vanilla instead. Fanny says you can either make your own ice cream (but 'surprisingly' she doesn't give a recipe) or you can soften and reshape some bought stuff. This seems perfect for me, and a perfect opportunity for me to reach for my retro rabbit mould which reminds me of puddings and jellies when I was young. Fanny just uses a circular mould, am I going too far?

I spray the mould lightly with oil before filling with the softened ice cream and returning it to the freezer to firm up again. It should be really hard. Fanny says I should trim the sponge to the correct size and moisten it with some juice from the fruit. Then add some of the fruit and place the brick hard ice cream on top.

The final flourish is a topping of piped meringue. Fanny has talked me through this before, and gives a nod in the partwork to say that she hopes I have been paying attention. I have. So, eggs are separated and whites whisked before you know it. Fanny likes to add some sugar and whisk again and then add more sugar folded in at the end. I'm not sure if Fanny would think I'm showing off, but I add some orange food colouring to a wee bit to make some meringue carrots too. Why not?

Fanny gets her poor assistant Peter to pipe the 'masking meringue mixture' over the whole thing, making sure it's all thickly buried in meringue. Fanny warns that we should not 'deny the evidence of our own eyes' and do exactly what Peter does in the pic-strip, which is expert piping and the putting it in a very hot oven. Pesky Peter however does not say how long to leave it in there, but I check it after about 8 minutes and it seems done. I've never made Baked Alaska, ahem I mean Omelette Norvègienne, before so this so exciting. It tastes like a luxurious trifle really, I'm surprised and relieved that the ice cream remained cold. I must've masked it well. More importantly, it looks sensational, especially when I tiddle it up Fanny-style with some extra fruit and the meringue carrots. Wherever the higher eschelons of the omelette tree are, I think I've gone there. But, have I out Fanny'd Fanny?

Bill of Fare - Sunshine at Suppertime

I think Fanny has chosen some light dishes for her end of partwork menus to try and counterbalance the flurry of flans. As before, they really bear no connection at all to what I've been learning or creating, but instead are just some ideas to have ready for guests round for dinner. I have to resist my temptation to roll out some savoury paste and make the starter for 'Bill of Fare One' into a tart though - it's Cold Ratatouille which only sounds slightly more tempting in French - Ratatouille Glacé.

I have to confess that Ratatouille isn't one of my favourites, perhaps it's the disappointment as a vegetarian of often finding it as the only option on a menu, and even then without much flavour or texture. The ingredients however are fresh and are some of my favourites - Aubergines (Fanny calls them Eggplants), courgettes (Fanny calls them baby marrows), peppers (Fanny calls them pimentoes), onion and tomatoes (Fanny doesn't have any alternative names for these). The technique is fairly simple, heat some oil, fry the chopped onion and peppers for a while, add the courgettes and Aubergines, cook for a while longer then add the chopped tomatoes.

Fanny urges me to cook them gently together until all the vegetables are soft and have made their own sauce from the juices and the oil, before seasoning. Lastly Fanny asks me to add 'une persillade' which is a garlic clove crushed together with some milled (which I hope just means chopped) parsley. My French gartronomy terms are coming along nicely!

Fanny suggests this is served cold as a hors d'oeuvre or hot as an accompaniment to a main meal. It looks different to any usual ratatouille - much more vibrant and less 'tomatoey' - adding the parsley  and garlic at the end of the cooking gives it a real flavour punch too. I am impressed, even cold! 

Skipping over Fanny's suggested main of Normandy Rabbit with Cider, it's straight to work on pudding - an Orange Meringue Pie. Oh, a pie. I thought the flans were finished...this version however has no pastry base thankfully and Fanny suggests is a very old and simple recipe which is a firm favourite in the nursery. Not quite sure which nursery she means though.

The technique is simply heating together some orange juice with fresh lemon juice and rind, mixing in some cornflour and water in a paste, adding butter and egg yolks - a kind of orange curd I suppose. Once thick and gloopy it goes into the serving dish to cool.

Fanny explains that the beauty of this simple old-fashioned pudding lies in the base being sharp and the meringue topping being sweet. The meringues are made in Fannys usual way and piped (of course) in a decorative manner on top of the orange curd. I copy Fanny's picture for inspiration, she would be so pleased with me! 

Then, into a low oven to dry out the meringues until they look like the colour of cooked biscuits apparently. Fanny is of course right, the base is lovely and sharp and the top crunchy and sweet - a lovely end to this particular menu, and a welcome light end to the flans!