Aspicable Me

Everyone loves a party. Fanny certainly did. Well, that's the impression she liked to leave us with. Endless parties, soirees, balls, luncheons, functions and banquets. She was ready for them all. At the drop of a hat, or a simple knock at the door, she'd jump into her ballgown and have that celebratory buffet table adorned and ready to be adored. She was aspirational. If she could do it, so could you. You just need to follow her simple instructions to the letter, and voilà, you shall be a social success.

Fanny aimed to raise the bar, boosting the boasting possibilities of her bashes to blow-out levels. Her books, and the partwork, are rammed full of party ideas as well as ideas to lift a very 'ordinary' recipe to 'party' level. Often the solutions were in the planning, preparation and presentation. Visually stunning at the time, some of these ideas can stun the eyes for very different reasons these days, although I am of course very fond of them. I was so thrilled to buy a copy of the book 70s Dinner Party by Anna Pallai recently, collecting together fabulous images of fun and festivity, including a fair few from Fanny. Fanny would've been over the moon, even though she would probably wonder why any other people's pictures had been included.

So, if like Fanny, and Anna, you're keen to host your very own glamorously presented 70s Dinner Party, this recipe may just be the one for you. As usual in English it sounds far from appealing. Cold Mushroom Soufflé. However magically when presented in French it takes on a suitable celebratory tinge. Soufflé Forestière. Who wouldn't want to introduce that to the neighbour that you never really liked very much? Especially with an Aspic top.

I was intrigued how on earth Fanny managed to get a topping of Mushrooms in Aspic on a soufflé without it flopping. I should've known better. Fanny had a presentation plan, all of which was aspic-tastic. She begins by making up some real aspic, as before (I switch to an Agar base, as before) and setting some slices of mushroom in a fancy pattern in the base of a soufflé dish. The base, yes. Then, she blitzed up mushrooms and poaches them gently in white wine and stock. She makes a roux of butter and flour, and slowly adds the mushroom mix. She adds cream, and cheese, mixing all the time. When it's cool-ish she beats in egg yolks. All very standard soufflé sounding so far.

However, before she adds the beaten egg whites, she adds more of the still-hot and still-liquid aspic to the mixture. It's then poured into the mould on top of the set mushrooms, levelled off and whisked off to the refrigerator. Not the oven. Once chilled it all sets into a wobbly vision of wonderfulness, simply turned out onto a serving dish to reveal the seductively decorated top, ready for any shindig. Party guests, whether in the 70s or today, will be mesmerised, amazed, delighted and frankly flabbergasted by your funghi feast.

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.

Too Cloche for Comfort

If you go down to the woods today, you're sure to be in for a big surprise - especially if Fanny and Johnnie are down there. They are on the look out to pick up a couple of wild ones, they just can't resist them. It's something they've done ever since World War Two when they found themselves in Warwickshire while Johnnie was invalided. Desperate times called for desperate measures. They just couldn't satisfy their needs in town, especially in Johnnies condition, so made regular visits out into nature and amongst the protection of the trees and open fields, where they suspected no-one would disturb them on their mission. That was where it was all happening, and all naturally. Nothing improper going on you'll understand, just a bit of fresh foraging for fungi.

Fanny does concede that mushrooms of all varieties, and especially buttons, cups and large flats, can be found quite easily in greengrocers and supplied by professional mushroom growers. Fanny herself prefers the kind grown naturally, untouched by human hands, and only aided by a spot of horse manure, which of course helps. Fanny says there is a lot of confusion floating around about eating wild mushrooms, which is mostly nonsense. According to her, the skins of harmless mushrooms peel away easily and in large pieces while the skin of harmful toadstools does not. Fanny isn't keen to accept responsibility for our health though, and suggests wisely we check with someone 'who knows' before we pick up any wild ones. I'm not sure if Fanny knows or not?

Fanny once fed her 'tree mushroom' soup to a great society hostess who fawned over the fungi. While complimenting Fanny she told her in an awful tone about the terrible labourers who ate those 'awful tree mushrooms' and then wondered why they were ill. She was unaware that she too was gobbling them up. The mushrooms that is, not the labourers. Presumably Fanny wasn't trying to poison her guest, but she never clarifies.

Fannys recommendation for cooking marvellous mushrooms is to do so 'sous cloche' or under glass. Not only do they benefit greatly from being prepared this was, it is also a simple but impressive way of serving them. It's new to me, and seems more than a little Heston, but what the heck. Fanny says 'cups' are best for this, with their medium size and 'ragged edge of white skin over their accordian pleated brown insides'. Fanny makes a base for the mushrooms of French Toast with a beaten egg and a little milk soaked into a thick slice of bread before it is fried. The chosen mushrooms are piled on, topped with some parsley, salt, pepper and a little cream before being covered with a cloche (or ordinary glass bowl if your purse won't stretch) and baked for 20 minutes or so. I just happen to have a cloche which I have only ever used for cakes and cheese. I never expected it would be heading oven-bound!

The Champignons sous Cloche should be served immediately, still under glass to the table, and presumably unveiled with an exaggerated theatrical flourish. Not so much Heston style smoke and mirrors, but a little puff of steam. The finished mushrooms have retained all their woodland moisture, making them very soft and spongy, and full of flavour. As you cut into them, their juices run darkly into the hot cream, herbs and pillowy eggy toast. It's a magic combination. If you weren't surprised by Fanny and Johnnie in the woods, you will be mightily mystified by these miraculous mushrooms. So, go now, abandon your dreary dinner guests and run off in search of some wild ones of your own.

Veg and Vim - Fanny Cradock's Meat Free Monday

After all the sponge cakes, Fanny brings this partwork to a close with a savoury treat for vegetarians in the shape of her first Menu, or Bill of Fare. Fanny is of course known more for her meat dishes, but in reality she was also a fan of meat-free cookery. Her only provisio was that it was cooked well, in other words, to her standards. She could not bear 'wasted' ingredients. She did admit that some of her recipes, like these, would be 'acceptable to vegetarians' and even the most carnivorous of humans had been know to 'react favourably' to them. Not exactly the most glowing endorsement for vegetarianism, but in 1970 I think we would have been even more of a minority than today. Although they couldn't be described as 'vegetarian' as such, Fanny did write two 'Vegetable Cookery' books in 1959 - the first called 'Cabbages and Things' and the second 'Veg and Vim' which explained how to prepare vegetables, how to grow them, how to balance out meals by replacing protein that would be normally be found in meat and so on. Probably based more on the necessity of the times than morality, but both still hold up very well today.

For this particular vegetarian supper, Fanny introduces some simple, exciting and exotic dishes aimed at helping you to get 'one-up-manship' on your neighbours as they are scarcely known in this country famous for it's meat and two veg. Ditch the meat. The first, a Tunisian delight called Chachouka, I am guessing didn't catch on as I still hadn't heard of it, but the second, Champignon Mornay or Baked Mushrooms in Cheese Sauce has become a vegetarian staple. Fanny prefers fresh vegetables, and even encourages us to go foraging like she did during the war to find large field mushrooms. However if foraging is not for you, and fresh is not available, Fanny does say that tinned can be substituted in 'emergency situations'.

The Chachouka starts life as slices tomatoes and peppers, or Pimentoes as Fanny always calls them, sautéed in butter. First though, they need to be peeled. The tomatoes are submerged in boiling water, but Fanny has a new technique to pimp up the Pimentoes. Fanny says to only buy hard ones which feel crisp to the touch, soft and wrinkly are not worth the money. So don't do it. To remove the skin 'successfully' they should be halved and set under a very hot grill until they blacken. The skin should now peel away like 'paper from a damp wall'. It does, and the benefit over my usual technique of placing them after blackening in a plastic bag is that they don't go slimy.

Once the are mingled nicely in a pan over a gentle heat with the tomatoes and butter, which appears to be the only flavouring added, and are piping hot they should be served with some scrambled eggs, again cooked in lots of butter. Butter is back in the foodie headlines as a 'good' ingredient at the moment, but Fanny always knew that.

One ingredient that Fanny uses which would certainly not be acceptable to any vegetarian, in 1970 or not, is pork fat. She uses this to 'impregnate' the mushrooms with flavour before they are baked. I make a substitution for more butter. It goes nice and nutty brown during the 'impregnation'. Then pile on a mix of cream, chopped shallot and cheese, which is seasoned slightly for baking. The two dishes are very simple, but very flavoursome, and really show off the vegetables to their best. I think vegetarian palettes and expectations might quiver a little at these if served in a restaurant today, but for a quick, homely supper full of 'veg and vim', and as 'penny plain dishes' as Fanny describes, they are perfect. Fanny knew her vegetables, and that seems acceptable to me.

If your purse won't stretch to Les Diamants Noirs

Fanny is constantly treading a fine line between presenting ideas and recipes that are economical for the 'housewife' and those that really create a bit of one-upmanship with the neighbours. The line is sometimes drawn very heavily and is as pronounced as her very own eyebrows however. She just can't help herself. In recommending cheaper or more sensible ideas, she has to let us know that she herself makes good use of the ingredients that are out of ordinary reach. It's no different with omelettes, and Fanny turns her attention here to Truffles, trying (and failing) of course not to rub our snouts in the fact that we will simply not be able to afford such a thing. Fanny includes a whole section to tell us exactly why these 'out-of-reach' truffles are unsuitable to even be mentioned in her partwork, but of course recognises that we might be fortunate enough to perhaps be given one one day. Fanny herself picks them up while in France, and seems happy to pay the £3 or £4 (each) price tag, which would've been an absolute fortune in 1970. Fanny recommends if you do have the good fortune to be given such a black diamond, to pop it in a box with some porous eggs which will take on the flavour without having to 'impair' the actual truffle. Good forbid that ordinary people would shave, slice and consume such a luxury.

Fanny is keen to rescue me from social suicide as I have no sign of any truffles in my life - she has adapted a classic French Truffle Omelette Gargamelle to allow me to show off at any upcoming dinner party. So instead of worrying while bathing upstairs, I can flounce down confidently after popping my face and frock on when my guests arrive to amaze them gastronically. It's a fairly simple omelette creation substituting truffles with chestnut mushrooms, shallots, white wine and cream. I'm sure my guests will hardly notice that I have failed to forage...

For the omelette filling Fanny asks that I finely chop the mushrooms and grate the shallot. I tried. Perhaps my grater just wasn't up to it, but after a few minutes of just rubbing it against the blooming thing without success I chopped it finely too. I was expecting to fry the mixture gently before adding the wine and cream, but instead Fanny recommends poaching and simmering in the liquor. It worked perfectly, and after about 5 minutes of gentle bubbling it was soft and reduced a little. Now to the omelette.

Fanny let's it be known that she's already instructed us in the art of a French Omelette, and just to get on with it, up to a point. So I gently beat the eggs with a fork and add small dots of butter rubbed through my very clean fingers, before forking again gently and seasoning. My omelette pan is heating up dry, and I'm ready to go...

Adding a little butter to the hot pan, I pour in the forked up mix and continue with my fork action (being very careful to use the round part and not the prongs, which will of course damage the pan) until the base of the omelette is set, but the upper side still wet. I pile in half the mushroom mixture and flip over the omelette to seal and add the remainder. Fanny then tells me to 'swill' in some more cream and add some cheese on top. Ah, Fanny hadn't listed cheese in the ingredients so I wasn't prepared for this final flourish. Luckily though I had some goats cheese lurking about in the fridge which needed to be used. All ready, the only thing left was to flash it under a fierce grill to melt the cheese and brown the top. So, no expensive, out-of-reach ingredients, but indeed a very luxurious omelette to end this run. I'm still tempted to get my hands on the real McCoy of course, and one day I may be lucky enough to uncover a real Diamant Noir while out in the woods with pig by my side. Or one of the neighbours I am constantly showing off to will pop one through my letterbox perhaps.