Regretful Eggs

I am sorry. I'm not normally quite this flustered when I flick over the pages of the Cradock Cookery Programme. Usually I feel excited, intrigued, curious, eager, confused, impatient to get started, or puzzled how I'm going to make Fanny's creation work, but today I feel crestfallen and, well, a little bit embarrassed. I feel I must reluctantly give an apology before I even start... What has got me so guilt-ridden? They are just simple Egg Mayonnaise Tartlets, but Fanny calls them Angry Chinese Egg Men.

I am sorry to the entire nation of China, to each and every one of the 1.357 billion people who live in the vast country, and the many millions more who live elsewhere around the world. That's a lot of remorse. I'm not sure that Fanny ever travelled to China, or even met anyone from the East, but perhaps in a different age her negatively stereotypical 'rather cross men' were more funny than offensive? I wonder if Fanny would feel repentant today? Or is it just harmless fun?

I am sorry to Wrights Flour who sent me some Golden Pastry Flour to try. I am sure they were not expecting to see their treasured product transformed into a tartlet case decorated to look like some kind of representation of a distraught Chinese Man. Those distressed farmers growing the wheat, the hardworking millers grinding the flour, the happy-go-lucky packers and shippers who ensured it came to me in perfect form. Regretfully, for this.

I am sorry to the chickens on Over Langshaw Farm, who diligently ate their organic feed and strutted their stuff confidently around the yard waiting to lay set after set of gorgeous eggs, only for them to be boiled up and added to a layer of mayonnaise, with a top layer coloured green. I am sorry to the humiliated Tomato Growers who unwittingly provided the little hats. I am sorry to Wilton who not only never would have expected their harmless food colourings to be used like this, but presumably did not design their decorating pens thinking that someone would follow Fannys instructions to create an angry representation of a Chinese Man on an egg.

I am sorry to other bloggers who have selflessly opened blogging link-ups to help to showcase and share sensational (not sheepish) food blogs with their readers. Poor Dom at Belleau Kitchen will be mortified to see these linked to his Simply Eggcellent challenge but I'm ashamed to admit this is how Fanny liked her eggs in the morning. I'm distraught to add these to the Pastry Challenge from Jen and Lisa, but these were very quick to put together... I reluctantly link to Treat Petite, Egg Mayonnaise and Tomatoes say summer to me, but will Stuart or Kat ever speak to me again? Before I reveal these very Angry Chinese Men, here is a picture of the ones shamefaced Fanny made, just so you don't direct your disdain to me.

Last but not least, I am sorry to the little Chinese Men themselves. I'm guilty of having no idea at all why they have been disguised as mushrooms and plonked in a little pastry boat filled with grass. Or is it water? Or something else? No wonder they are angry.

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! 

The Future is Bright - Tarte aux Oranges

Fanny makes this her 'Star Dish of the Week' as she is so pleased with it with it's sparkling bright colours, splendid vitamin content and simple set-up. It is yet another flan, which really must be Fanny's favourites, but this one has a fresh and vibrant feel, using boiled oranges. Yes, boiled. It doesn't sound appetising but it's intriguing. It seems particularly cheery today, and a real antidote to the 'depressing guff' Fanny alludes to as the reason for celebrating all kinds of citrus, as I am packing away the Christmas tree and decorations and reflecting on the year past and what's in store for the year ahead. Fanny suggests this as a large flan, but I decide to scale it back a little and make individual ones, after all it's been a few weeks of over indulgence! 

The oranges - or large globose many celled berries with sub-acid juicy pulp enclosed in a tough rind, externally of a bright reddish yellow/orange colour to give the definition provided by Fanny - should be popped in a pan, covered liberally in cold water which is then brought to the boil before simmering gently for around an hour. Fanny suggests that the way to tell if they are ready is to pinch them lightly between your first finger and thumb and they should be as flabby and soft as a worn out tennis ball. This isn't a point of reference I am familiar with, and I have no worn out tennis balls to hand, but after an hour with the kitchen smelling heavenly they are quite squishy, which seems right. They need to be plunged into iced water now to cool completely.

Meantime I prepare my flan case and ever trusty confectioners custard. I have some individual cases left over from a previous bake which seem ideal, so just need to whip up a batch of custard. Maybe as a result of the Christmas clear out and the need for some retro comfort, or because the colour seems so bright and appropriate, I go against Fanny's method and make my custard from Birds powder. How very daring of me! Total rebel, is this the way 2014 is going to be?!

Once the oranges are cool, Fanny tells me to wipe them thoroughly and slice them neatly into 1/8 inch slices, skin and all, pop them into a shallow pan, cover with stock sugar syrup and simmer gently for 20 minutes. The syrup reduces quite a bit in this time. Once again the whole house is filled with vibrant orange aromas, replacing the familiar pine smell of the tree.

When the custard is cooled and spooned into the cases, the only remaining thing to do is to add some orange juice and a splash of orange liqueur (thanks Fanny!) to the reduced syrup and brush it over the neatly placed orange slices. I can see why this is Fanny's Star Dish of the week now, it's such a lovely colour, the flat smells wonderful and it tastes smashing - just like the very best homemade marmalade. So, Christmas is over but I am sure there is lots to look forward to in the coming months, this sparkling orange flan is just the start!

Lattice not be De-Terre'd

It's quite a relief to be given another savoury flan from Fanny at this point, there are only so many tartes du jour I can consume! I don't think Fanny thought this through when compiling this part-work, either that or she never reckoned on some crazy cook working their way through each recipe 40 years later. This one is fairly humble - avoiding all possible pie puns is not easy - using Potato, Onion, cream, eggs and cheese really. Of course Fanny encourages me to fancy it up a little.

Fanny insists that I steam my potatoes - never, ever boil them - and fill my raw savoury flan case with grated onion. The grating seems to make them very wet, and ever fearful of that soggy bottom I am cautious, but willing to go with Fanny's flow as before. Usual compiling rules apply here - on top of the grated onion Fanny asks for some smoked bacon, which I substitute for smoked Paprika, then layers of seasoned, sliced, steamed potatoes, the cream and egg mixed together and top off with slices of Gruyere cheese. Fanny has thoroughly modern tastes really.

Fanny says I can now either cover with a plain pastry top (so it is a pie?) or if I am feeling confident I could try a lovely trellised lattice top using a thoroughly modern kitchen gadget to create it. At first I think I'm going to have to go with the pastry top, having never seen the lattice-trellis-maker-thingy Fanny recommends. However a quick search on eBay uncovers the exact one Fanny features - result! Shopping Cart updated, checkout complete.

It seems quite a length to go to to get this trellised top, but it looks pretty and Fanny provides a pic-strip to guide me - so it'd be rude not to. I really I just need to lay some pastry on top, roll over with a rolling pin, pop out the tiny squares and magically a lattice will appear... Easy.

With the trellis firmly in place on top of the onions, potatoes and cheese it's in the oven with it, with the usual instruction to remove it when it's baked. Fanny gives a picture of the finished flan so I keep checking until it is lovely and golden. Fanny tells me I can serve it hot or cold, and recommends this one as a particularly good idea cold for picnics. Fanny tells me if I have left it too late for picnic weather I can save it for 1971 - the following year. I am pretty sure she means saving the recipe and not the actual Tarte aux Pommes de Terre I am carefully removing from the oven - but, as I am learning, with Fanny you never know...

Saved from the 16th Century - a Flowery Flan

I've never made anything with edible flowers before, not even the staple of modern vegetarian chic - the Courgette Flower. This recipe from the past (that's Fanny's past, realising all the recipes I am working on are old too) calls for Borage, Marigold and Cowslip flowers. I've never really seen them anywhere before, but after asking folk on Twitter was soon pointed to some local suppliers, and I found these beauties at the Stockbridge Market at the weekend. So colourful! Maybe not the exact three Fanny recommends but they are good enough for me!

Fanny says I can use other flowers but cautions against using any part of a plant for food unless studying first 'Modern Herbal' by Mrs Grieve and Mrs Leyel. I'm guessing that Fanny has done this for me, and also that the guys at the market have also done their homework and are totally sure their flowers clearly marked 'edible' are indeed. Fanny I am sure did not have the modern day luxury of a farmers market to pick up such things.

The ingredients are fairly simple - apples, egg yolks, butter, the flowers and mace. How very medieval. Even the word 'mace' makes me think historically. No sugar though, so I'm expecting this tart to be quite sharp.

Fanny tells me that back in 'those days' this flan was baked in a 'raised pastry coffin' which doesn't sound very appealing at all, but does conjure up images of Knights and Round Tables. Thankfully Fanny suggest updating it slightly with her very one sweet paste, baked as before, simply as demonstrated by Peter. The apples need to be sliced thinly and poached in the 'least amount of water' possible. 

I wasn't sure how long for, so I kept going until they were puréed. It seemed to make sense. Then Fanny asked me to simmer the lovely flowers in water until they were tender. The water turned a very lovely shade of blue...

To prepare the tart from now on in was fairly simple - combine the cooked apples, a 'walnut' of butter, egg yolks, mace and flowers. I checked again, no sugar. It sort of makes an apple curd, thickens slightly and has a nice sheen.

So all that remains is to fill the baked flan case, allow to cool and decorate with a few flowers I saved from the simmering. I of course changed into my very favourite medieval outfit before tasting - it was indeed extremely 'tart' and the peppery taste of the flowers was unusual, but not unpleasant at all, just made me realise how sweet modern day tastes must be. I really do feel transported back to the 16th Century with this one, and will certainly use more edible flowers in the future. Safely of course. I will complete my studies. Now, quick joust anyone? 

Pissaladiere - Private: Provence Pastry for Professionals

"The English word 'tart' has such dreary connotations for both sex and cooking!" 

Fanny may not want to call a 'Flan' a 'Tart' but she is keen for us to take a peek behind closed doors normally marked 'Private', she wants us to peer through windows where we are 'not meant to be' and even encourages us to pop on our 'cloaks of invisibility' (will JK Rowling be joining us?) to enter Part Two of her weekly Cookery Programme - the key to Sweet and Savoury Flans and Tartlets. Oh, so tartlets is ok, just don't call a tart a tart.

Lesson one - professionals never make flans with doorsteps around them, they never fold pastry paste into parcels and they never use crusts to hold pastry paste down during baking. Got it. They do however use rolling pins (phew) and dried beans, lentils or rice with greaseproof paper to hold the paste down. This is fine, this is how I have been making pastry for years, this is how my mum taught me. Hang on though, I think Fanny and I may be about to fall out - the recipe for shortcrust pastry for this Onion Flan (and all Fanny's flan recipes to come it seems) uses self raising flour...

Even as I am following this I am sure this time that it really is a typo, it can't be self raising flour in shortcrust pastry, it just can't be. After sifting the flour into a bowl, Fanny tells me to 'gather my fingers up like a posy' (I am not at all sure why or how), add into the centre the very cold butter, very cold 'lard' (substituted with Trex by this very cool vegetarian), grated Parmesan, salt and pepper and start cutting away at the mixture with two knives (one in each hand). I add a little very cold water now and again and keep chopping and cutting and drawing in flour from the sides until the mixture forms a thick, light pastry paste. Fanny tells me to roll it together and pop it into the fridge for at least an our and maybe as long as a week... I think she means it will happily stay there for a week.

After an hour, it certainly feels really soft and fluffy, very different to the shortcrust pastry I normally make, which is buttery and crumbly. It is stretchy and pliable and rolls out really well. Is it the self raising flour, the chopping or the mix of fats? None the wiser, I continue to roll and line my 'flan' tin, and prick the base with a fork.

I'm expecting this to be where I reach for my greaseproof paper, and baking beans, but no, Fanny insists I bake this one 'raw'... The filling for this Onion Flan is basically Onions and Garlic, no secrets here. I gently fry the sliced onion and crushed garlic until tender but not brown and add it to the raw 'paste'.

I am meant to add a trellis of anchovies and olives on the top here, but both are off the menu for me so it's straight into my oven for 30 minutes. I wonder if the pastry will puff up, but actually it emerges looking (and smelling, that'll be the Parmesan) great, cuts well, isn't puffed up, didn't shrink at all (is this the reason for the self raising flour?) and above all tastes delicious. It's a simple tart, I mean flan, eaten without dreary connotations or indeed thoughts of sex but I can't help but still wonder if that flour was a mistake.