A Little Piece

Fanny certainly loved a party. Any excuse to invite a few select people she never really liked that much from the bad old days to gasp in wonder at the heaving buffet table she'd flung together seemingly effortlessly. And no better opportunity to show off her extensive knowledge of all things European than a soirée for Eurovision surely? Having been a contestant herself (albeit not singing) she would have plenty to crow about as she gave her guests a tour round her geographically inspired spread, laden with all kinds of everything. Additionally, any opportunity to showcase her Crêpes skills sending those attending into euphoria would be perfect. Perfectly creative continental canapés that is, but Fanny warns they are only for ambitious cooks who are prepared to spend a little more time.

Fanny makes very small canapé size crêpes in a normal size pan by simply placing dessertspoonfuls of ordinary pancake mixture onto the hot surface and running them into neat circles with the back of a spoon. I have a mini-frying pan that does the trick nicely, no need for spooning from me.  I love the little things. Fanny suggests that for special occasions such as this that we make very fine pancakes. This involves making the batter as usual, I'm using my lovely Wrights flour again, but then straining it through some nylon stockings before use. Erm, I think my Eurovision party guests can do without this additional one step further, don't you? 

As it is a very special Eurovision Party, four very special canapés are required. The crowning glory, rising like a phoenix from the display, takes the longest to assemble, so is tackled first. It's a sweet, steamed pudding made from crêpes smeared with jelly and filled with custard. Perfect to represent France - Fanny names them 'Pouding des Crêpes en Vapeur'. Eh, Parlez vous Français, Fanny? I have some homemade Bramble and Elderflower Edinburgh Gin Jelly left which should work well, even if Fanny claims to not know what a bramble is. Better the devil you know I say, we are amongst professionals now.

Individual moulds are greased and lined with the jammy crêpes, filled with extra thick custard and topped with more crêpes ready for steaming. Fanny says we will be surprised when they are steamed that they pop out of their little moulds perfectly, as she was apparently the first time she made them. To get them ready for their performance, more warmed jelly should be poured over. The steamed custard thickens and allows the moulded crêpes to hold their shape. As a canapé they are a big bite-size but a great 'congratulations' at the end of the buffet, but to get there we need savouries first! Time for making our minds up on fillings.

Flying the flag for the United Kingdom, and to keep things seasonal, Asparagus is perfect. Simply grilled and rolled in a mini-crêpe, secured with a cocktail stick. Think Eurovision and like me you probably think ABBA, so to represent Sweden I have some Quorn Meatballs. Fanny suggests rolling the mini-crêpes into cones for these, secured with a cocktail stick. ABBA would be so proud. Finally, representing Italy is a 'Tricolore' of mozzarella, tomato and basil, folded over into crescent shapes and lightly grilled before being secured with a cocktail stick. You get the idea. Fanny has one final reminder for any successful Eurovision canapé party - the essential provision of napkins. Please do not forget. Fanny prefers proper table napkins, but doesn't mind if others have to use those 'rather nasty paper ones'. Make your selection carefully however, your guests will be looking for any excuse to knock a few points off before they say 'Ne partez pas sans moi' to each other. You don't want nul points when the jury calls. Beg steal or borrow the correct linen and boom bang a bang, before the party's over you will undoubtedly be scoring douze points. 

To celebrate all things Eurovision, I am entering these party canapés into this months Treat Petite, hosted by Mr Cakeyboi and The Baking Explorer, check out the other Euro-tastic entries!

Blowing Hot and Cold

Sometimes, not often but certainly sometimes, even I think Fanny has gone bonkers. I wouldn't say so to her face of course, and I'm only saying it now from a safe distance. People around her back in the day must've thought it too, but I bet they wouldn't have dared to say anything. She made you feel that she was right all the time, crazy as it seemed and so far in this wonderful journey through her mind and kitchen I have just gone with it. She has been wonderful and wonderfully strange in equal measure. I've certainly been full of wonder, and tried my best to celebrate that, recreate it and pass it on. However, I'm really not sure about this latest recipe suggestion. Has Fanny lost it? I mean it's totally bonkers is it not to deep-fry ice cream?

I know that being Scottish most people think we will merrily deep fry almost anything. We munch on deep-fried Mars bars regularly, right? Nope. Don't get me wrong, I love a little bit of deep fried goodness from time to time, but only when it adds something. Only when it makes sense. Only when it's appropriate and frankly only when it's worth the effort. Just reading the recipe for deep-fried ice cream parcels, or Petits Paquets en Surprise, I can't say I'm convinced. Fanny has won me round before though, perhaps I am just feeling uncharacteristically negative and in need of a wallop with the back of Fannys spatula.

Everything is frozen with this recipe. Fannys beloved pancakes have been nestling in the deep freeze wrapped and stacked just as they were in the fridge. They only need to come to room temperature before being used. Proper Chefs always do this. Fanny cannot imagine them attempting to make 'Crêpe Suzette' or indeed 'Crêpe This That or the Other' (which perhaps features in a future part) during the limited hours of restaurant service if they hadn't. Imagine if they'd put deep-fried ice cream pancake parcels on their menu and had to begin an order by freshly making some pancakes? Bonkers. Preparation is key.

Fanny uses a block of ice cream, which must be cut into portions and then returned to the deep freeze until 'rock hard'. I was pleasantly surprised to see that supermarkets still sold these nostalgic bricks from my childhood, and in Neapolitan too! Clearly I'm not on Fannys wavelength here though, I just wanted to slice it up and eat it, perhaps with a wafer or two. Maybe some Ice Magic if I was feeling fancy, but Fanny had other ideas. She wraps the rock hard wedge in a pancake, folding it up like a parcel before dredging it through beaten egg and rolling it carefully in ground almonds.

Fanny at this point drops it straight into smoking hot oil, but I could feel my package was a little bit squidgy, so I popped it back into the freezer to firm up. Limp packages will never do. While I wait for it to harden I canelle some oranges, which Fanny recommends as the garnish, making pretty flowers. There is no escape though, with my oil bubbling and my package rock hard I fire it in until it becomes golden brown. Fanny presents it just as it is, with the orange canelles and suggests that I do too. She does not cut one open. I do and unsurprisingly molten ice cream runs free. I'm left with a slightly empty creamy package that is partly crunchy and partly sludgy. I think they might've been successful with another filling, just not ice cream. Ice cream doesn't need to be deep-fried, does it? It's bonkers!

A Pile of Crêpes

Johnnie should be worried. More worried than usual. He often looked somewhat concerned anyway, but somehow remained unflappable in Fanny's presence. Perhaps not today. There is something different in the air, a change of mood, a change of intention. Poor Johnnie. He's probably quietly taken himself off and is hoping to remain hidden downstairs in the dank and dark wine cellar. Maybe Fanny won't notice he is absent, or maybe she has devious plans... She's not in a rage, she's not cross and there is no suggestion she will be walloping anyone. Not today. Quite the opposite. She's felling, well, a little fruity to be honest.

Fruit Pancakes that is. And she is not in the mood for hanging around, this potent feeling may not last. She has her crêpes already prepared, layered, wrapped in ordinary kitchen foil and stacked in the refrigerator, so she's good to go. It's as if she has been planning this flush of lustiness. I made mine earlier too, following Fannys instructions but using her recipe which contained white wine. It's all part of Fannys seduction plan, fling in some booze wherever possible. The wine actually makes the crêpes very thin and flow around the pan with ease, making crêpes that look like tracing paper.

The first of Fannys fruity flairs are Crėpes Caramelisées aux Pommes, or Caramel Apple Pancakes. Fanny quickly peels and cores a cooking apple before slicing it into thin rings. These are laid over a single pre-prepared crêpe, sprinkled with sugar and popped under a hot grill until they bubble and brown. Fanny warns not to have it too close to the heat, much as there is hurry for seduction, as they will caramelise before the apple cooks, so she asks that you please remember! Fanny hasn't even noticed that Johnnie is missing, she's engrossed in her next temptation - oomphing up the fruitiness with a Tiered Orange creation, or Gâteau des Crêpes aux Oranges.

These are fairly similar to the Pommes, but are made with layers of pre-prepared crêpes sandwiched with home-made orange custard. Fanny frisks up egg yolks with flour and sugar until they are pale and foamy. Meanwhile she heats a mixture of orange juice and orange curaçao gently on the stove top. There is always room for more alcohol, poor Johnnie doesn't stand a chance. Just before the alco-juice boils, she pours it over the sweetly eggy mixture, stirs until its blended and pops it over a double boiler to thicken up, stirring constantly of course. It should coat the back of a spoon. The custard is spread between the crêpes and then topped with thick orange slices, sugar and grilled until brown. Now, where is Johnnie?

Fanny clearly is not convinced that these two alone are enough to woo Johnnie, so includes a third option. Stuffed Pancakes, or Crêpes Farcies. Soft fruits this time, radiant red raspberries and beaming, burnished blueberries made into a quick jam. With internal temperatures soaring, there's no time for it to set, so Fanny has a little trick. The fruits are heated in a pan, then a mix of white wine (I know!) and a little potato flour is added. It thickens in seconds! Fanny then rolls up some fruit with jam in her crêpes, and tops with more of the glazed, lusty preserve. Johnnie will surely not be able to resist. The whiff of the fruit and sugar would surely be enough to tempt him back upstairs, but I have no doubt that the waft of alcohol will certainly bait him back into Fanny's arms, unable to resist. Run, Johnnie, Run!

A Whole New World

Fanny has an admission. It's not something which comes easily to her, but she is prepared to concede that she is not always right. Mostly, but not always. We've learnt at Fanny's side that pancakes must always be thin, they must always be delicate, they must always be made with Olive Oil and they must always be French. Of course, they must always be Fannys' recipe. Unless of course they are puffy, unless they are thick, unless they contain no Olive Oil and unless they come from the 'new world' as Fanny describes The United States. Fanny of course continues to refer to them in French as Crêpes Américaines, but also simply as Puffed Pancakes from the New World. I'm sure our friends in the U.S. would be so pumped.

For these puffy pleasures Fanny takes a whole new world approach and embraces a whole new technique. The ingredients are roughly the same though, eggs, single cream and flour. I was lucky to be sent a sample of Wrights Self Raising Flour this week, so it was put straight to good use here! Fanny adds egg yolks to her flour, and then mixes it all up to a thick batter with the cream. I wonder if I should've beaten the yolks into the cream first as it's hard to get the flecks of orange evenly distributed. Fanny doesn't say, she just gets to work.

Fanny whips up her egg whites ready to be added 'at the moment of making'. My trustee assistant Poor Sarah the KitchenAid has been languishing in the repair centre all week, but she made her way home just in time to set to whisking and a-whizzing for me. It's been so hard without her ready to leap into action at a moments click of the fingers. No wonder Fanny had a small army of endlessly hard working assistants scurrying away in her kitchen. It's been hard work this week all on my own!

Fanny suggests three ways to serve the finished puffy pancakes - all piled sky high, and all her own interpretation of what 'American' would be - first blasted with cinnamon and icing sugar, secondly inflated with chocolate chips in the batter, served with swollen raisins and maple syrup. Her third option is savoury - she makes a perfectly ordinary tomato sauce and smothers them in it and tops with bacon. That's not for me clearly. I'm not sure if Fanny ever went to America herself, but I love heading Stateside whenever I can. I always come back with bloated suitcases stuffed with 'candy' - I could practically open my own tacky high street store that we all secretly love. We'd love them more if they weren't so expensive I'm guessing. So I grab for some moreishly minty M&Ms which for some reason I have left untouched since my last trip! How did that happen?

Fanny adds hers into the batter and dollops them into a hot pan brushed lightly with olive oil. I knew it would make an appearance somewhere. As soon as they are 'set' she flips them over before piling up, drizzling with Maple Syrup, ready to be scoffed. The green M&Ms slowly seep and colour the batter in between each batch until the end ones are very verdant indeed. The chocolate melts and oozes out of the crisp shells to create a undeniably tasty pancake. They aren't as puffy as other 'American' style ones I've made, but these were Fanny's idea of a whole new world of pancakes. Compared to the slivers of French ones they are still light but airy, squidgy, and bursting with the M&Ms. Maybe minty pancakes aren't everyones cup of tea for breakfast though. I think they are right and I kind of like it when Fanny is 'wrong'...

Don't Be A Tosser!

Fanny is very serious about all things pancake, and tries her utmost to pass that gravity on to all her readers. She is on a mission to educate and eradicate any frippery. She does not understand at all why we in Great Britain continue to associate pancakes only with Shrove Tuesday. It makes her flipping mad to think about those 'coarse wash-leather chaps' which people pass for pancakes but which she thinks would be splendid only for cleaning the car with. It's all about being professional you see. Who has ever heard of a great chef laying down instructions that in order to eat pancakes you must first tear along the road like a 'blue-based fly' chucking the poor wretched things in the air trying to catch them? It makes no sense to Fanny at all.

We can heave a sigh of relief however, Fanny is here to propel us all towards the professional way. So if you are tempted to hurl your pancakes high and enjoy a little bit of heritage hilarity, be prepared to sling your batter now. Pancakes are one of the best ways Fanny knows of eking out left-overs and thrilling guests, but in order to please your guests to maximum effect you must be able to lob your pancakes out at speed and without getting hot and flushed in the kitchen as you do so. The key is preparation and preservation. And of course making super thin professional style pancakes in the first place. If your pancakes are thick enough to toss, Fanny says, there is only one place to toss them - into the dustbin.

Fanny discusses many, many variations for pancakes from the very basic higher and higher up her favourite 'culinary ladder' to the summit. The method for making and using them remains the same, but each step up a rung provides a slightly more 'dreamy' result for ever increasing special occasions. For Fanny, no proper pancake batter is capable of holding a smooth consistency when made very runny (the key to thinness) - the consistency of single cream - unless it is made with olive oil. So this becomes the basis for the basic French recipe and all that follow. The basic recipe is flour, eggs, olive oil and enough milk to reduce it to the consistency of single cream.

The more dreamier versions start by bunging in icing sugar, a touch of salt and either some brandy, rum or kirsch. Then they add white wine instead of liqueurs, and then actual single cream instead of milk. For really splendid savoury versions, the icing sugar is slung altogether. I'm going dreamy with mine, but switching it up a little by sticking with kirsch and adding cream. Once mixed up together to the required consistency, Fanny details how to make the pancakes. First step is to lay out a sheet of oiled greaseproof paper for the finished pancakes. Heat your pan and brush it lightly with oil. Pour a little batter in to the side of the pan as you hold it at an angle and twirl to swirl it to completely cover the base. If you pour the batter into the centre of the pan, you will have a lump in the middle. Be warned. As soon as the mixture is set, flip it over for a moment or two with a spatula.

When it's cooked on both sides, launch the wafer thin pancake onto your greaseproof and set to on the next one. When they are all done, it is perfectly easy to snip round each one and assemble them in a pile with greaseproof paper remaining in between. None should have headed bin-wards. Then fold them over with kitchen foil and they'll keep in the fridge for a week, ready to thrill at a moments notice. Clearly Fanny's Personal Assistant, Alison Leach, was not so thrilled as she asked Fanny one day over luncheon, 'why can't you create chocolate pancakes?' So Fanny did, just by adding powdered drinking chocolate to the mix. Her own invention. The only trouble Fanny found was that the more she created, the more some people ate. I can understand it - they tasted great! Some people had been known to eat 48 at one sitting. Fanny doesn't explicitly say it was Alison, but, you know...

¡Ay, caramba! The Cradock Crispy Crêpes Carnival!

There are some things Fanny just gets so excited about in the kitchen - usually soufflés, mincemeat and harmless green vegetable food colouring. They appear to be the cornerstones of culinary heights, at least for the Cradocks. I am sure one day I will turn the pages of the partwork and see next up is a Green Mincemeat Soufflé, and more than likely I will barely bat an eyelid, I've become so used to the Cradock ways already. If Fanny were to add another to her list of 'very favourites' I'm sure it would be the pancake, erm, sorry, crêpes. We must always use the French terms when discussing cuisine. Am I learning nothing? I think I am as delighted as Fanny is to see that part 19 is all about 'fabulous pancakes'! Are there any other kind? Hang on though, are there enough variations to support a whole part?

Fanny teases us with thoughts of 'proper' pancakes to come, just to remind us probably that if we've been making them already, we simply haven't been doing it properly. To start us off though, it's one of her very favourites indeed, Crêpes Carnaval or the simply sensational star dish of the week, Carnival Pancakes. These are no ordinary pancakes, and are not made in any ordinary fashion. We will deal with the ordinary at a later date seemingly, first off is a flourish fiesta-style! Fanny says if you are taught how to make pancakes for the very first time in France you are told that they should be so thin that you could read your lovers letters through them. Fanny doesn't want to discuss French Letters here, smirk, and suggests instead that we lay our pancakes over the partwork and read her instructions. It's practically a love affair anyway, isn't it?

I must admit to being slightly scared when I first read the recipe. I'm no scientist, but Fanny recommended popping along to the chemist to buy some Ammonia Carbonate. I googled it to see what it was and what replacements I could use. I'm expecting the bomb squad to turn up any day. Some suggested baking powder, some bicarbonate of soda, some both, as decent alternatives. Various folks on Twitter suggested using Ammonia Bicarbonate bought online, but no-one was sure it was the same thing. Was my kitchen about to explode? Only one way to find out... This recipe starts by rubbing butter into flour until it resembles minute grains. Then a real favourite for Fanny, beating in eggs until the batter is smooth, thick and extremely difficult to work with. It's now time to add the chemicals.

I opt to play it safe and use a pinch of baking powder and bicarb. Chicken eh? Once worked into the dough it became a little bit like choux paste. We are still making pancakes right? Fanny divides hers into 'very mean' 1oz pieces and shapes them into little balls before rolling them out, without flour, and without lifting or turning them, as thin as possible. I can see Fanny's eyebrows through mine, so they must be ok! Maybe she actually meant as transparent as French Letters? They are then fried in smoking hot oil, I wasn't expecting that! They are lifted gently in with two wooden spoon handles. I use chop sticks. Fanny says to prod them around a bit while they are frolicking in the oil, without breaking them, flip them over and drain them on plenty of kitchen paper.

Fannys finished ones have flutes all round the edges, maybe that's what I was meant to do with all the prodding? Mine don't it is safe to say, but they are lovely golden brown and very bubbly and lively. No explosions, but a celebration nonetheless. Fanny says to stack them high until a 'great pyramid is formed' and slosh them with icing sugar. Her picture shows a tower. Maybe she'd never been to Egypt or seen a pyramid? Or perhaps she was distracted by Johnnies' merrymaking with the French Letters? Either way they taste great - the pancakes - a little like spring rolls without the filling. It's not quite Rio or even Notting Hill, but they are a jolly jamboree all on their own, so let the carnival begin!

Jumpin' Jack Flap, it's a gas, gas, gas!

Fanny Cradock wrote an astonishing 40-plus cookbooks in addition to the 80 partworks of the Cookery Programme. It seemed a new book was never far from the shelves while she was alive, and no doubt were lucrative for her. Sadly you will never see a single 'new' Fanny Cradock Cookbook in shops today. Fanny promised that each and every recipe was tested and tested prior to publication to ensure that her recipes never failed at home. Surely she must've been bashing away in her kitchen night and day to test them all? Well, they were tested, but not always by Fanny herself. Why do all that tedious work if you had an army of poor assistants to hand? They didn't need to sleep after all... In addition, each cookbook often recycled recipes from one edition to the next. This final recipe in the Christmas Tea Time Treats 'part' is a prime example. It featured in her very first cookbook, The Practical Cook, from 1949 when she was just plain old Frances Dale. It's a beautiful book, lovingly illustrated in a style similar to Tom Hovey does for the Great British Bake Off. They popped up throughout the years time and again until her final cookbook, A Lifetime in the Kitchen - For Beginner Cooks, in 1985. Subtle alterations were made (reconstituted dried eggs were dropped) but more or less her version of 'Flapjacks' remained unchanged.

If you are expecting oats, butter, golden syrup, dried fruit and so on think again. Fannys Flapjacks are really pancakes. I've heard them called pan scones, or drop scones, but never Flapjacks. Flapjacks are just Flapjacks really. Fanny does like to confuse things. I love pancakes, they really remind me of my own childhood when we made them in all sorts of shapes - usually animals and people. They were one of the first things I ever remember making, eating and enjoying. I'm sure I'd bite the heads off first.  

All the ingredients - flour, sugar, eggs and milk - are whisked up in a bowl until they are a thick batter. Then Cream of Tartar is sprinkled on, quickly but gently folded in and then the batter left for three minutes to rest. I rarely use Cream of Tartar on its own, but this must be the science bit. Meanwhile I get practical with the griddle pan, ensuring it's nice and hot over a moderate heat.

Fanny makes her Flapjacks round, which doesn't seem overly seasonal, or overly creative. Perhaps she'd run out of festive cheer. It happens, especially when you start the planning as Fanny does in January. November seems early enough. In tribute to my own childhood though, I make these ones in Christmas Tree shapes - humour me, that's what Christmas Trees look like round here, OK? I'm sure my poor Mum became an expert at making shapes by just dropping the mixture from a spoon onto the griddle, we didn't have disposable piping bags which make it a lot easier.

Fanny rubs raw, vegetarian unfriendly unsalted pork fat vigorously over the surface of her hot griddle 'until it is shiny' but mine is non-stick already and needs nothing at all. Phew! Tree shapes are piped and once bubbles start to break the surface - am sure this is another science bit - they are flipped with a palette knife for a minute or two on the other side. And that's it. They are dead quick, really puffy and hearty pancakes, I mean Flapjacks. I'll never get used to calling them that. Whether you are a Practical or a Beginner Cook Fanny has taught me you can always tiddle things up a little in terms of presentation, even when she herself doesn't bother. I cut interlocking slits cut into my trees, give them a thick dusting of icing sugar and voila they are a 3D Christmas Tea Time Treat which can be recycled every year. Maybe next year I'll progress to a whole nativity scene. Maybe. 

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!