Trio, Trio, I Want A Trio, And I Want One Now

You know what it's like. I'm sure it's happened to us all. At least once. You wait for quite a while for a Fanny Cradock recipe with Greengages to come along. Years go by. Nothing. Not a plum. Then three appear all at the same time. Fanny calls them 'Reines-Claude'. What are the chances? They are all quite different. How do you choose which one to go with. Two are sweet. One is savoury. You've got lots of Greengages as they are bang in season. The supermarket has them on special offer. The timing is perfect. Could not have been better. Apart from the choices. Why choose when the choice is obvious? Make all three! Fanny would surely be delighted with a Reines-Claude Ménage à Trois...

Fanny starts it all off with a jelly. She loves jelly. This one is a sweet version of her classic Aspic. She loves Aspic. Fanny makes it with plums. I make mine with Bramble Jelly, heating and setting it with Agar powder instead of gelatine, of course. It needs to be set in a shallow tin, so that the required circle of it can be 'stamped' out. While it's setting, Fanny halves and poaches some peaches, in a simple sugar syrup. When poached, they are fished out and dried on ordinary kitchen paper. The Greengages are also poached in the syrup, but left whole, otherwise they will lose their shape. When they are done they are not dried off, instead rolled in milled pistachio nuts, ready for assembly. The peach goes on top of the jelly, and the greengage goes on top of the peach. All that goes on top of all that is a little leaf of garnish - and you have Les Reines-Claude Savoyarde. Please warn your guests about the stone.

All this greengaging is new to me, especially using them for a savoury salad. No poaching required. Fanny takes a silver knife and cuts a cross across the top of each greengage, opening each fruit into four petals, without pushing them so far back that they would split. Very carefully, the stone is removed. In it's place a mixture of cream cheese, cream, seasoning and more milled nuts is piped. Then dusted with paprika. Fanny recommends serving these well chilled on a lettuce leaf. Greengage and Chill. She presents for you Hors d'Oeuvre des Reines-Claude.

Without a blink of an eye, it's back to the poaching. More greengages are submerged in extremely gently heated sugar syrup, whole again. This time they are bashed a bit to release the stone when they have collapsed, and the flesh is pulped in a blender. One of my very favourite phrases follows. Add custard. Whip them together and turn them into 'snow' by adding whipped egg whites. Fanny then piles the mixture into glasses and tops with 'spirals' of cream. That's piped by the way. Les Reines-Claude en Neige could not be otherwise.

What if, unlike me, you don't happen to have a steady supply of greengages at exactly the right time when Fanny decides to feature them? She has purposely kept the recipes simple so that alternatives can be substituted. Fanny says to start thinking about Plums. Go on. Start. Maybe Apricots? How about Damsons? Have you considered Mirabelles, or Cherry Plums to you and I? Even white or black grapes would do, if you are really stuck. Fanny has one last suggestion though, which she's borrowed from X. Marcel Boulestin, who was the very first television celebrity chef on the BBC. Or as Fanny refers to him, 'that great amateur chef.' Green tomatoes were his idea. He loved them in jams, chutneys, pickles and, surprisingly, omelettes too. Fanny says they would be perfect in all these recipes des Reines-Claude. Yes, including the splendid flurry of Snow...

Fanny Italia #2 - Do Italians Do It Better?

In 1964 Fanny and Johnnie published a volume which would safely guide readers all over Europe, but safely outside the Iron Curtain. Their aim was to be extensive but not comprehensive. How could they be after all? All they could do was to impart their considerable knowledge and hope that their readers, who were sending in around ten thousand fan letters a week, would be inspired to try somewhere new. Fanny clearly asks 'Why always go to the Algarve?' as her starting point. I wonder how many of those tens of thousands of 1960s readers were even venturing abroad? How many used the guide to explore beyond the Algarve, perhaps, like myself, into Italy?

Fanny's previous writing almost put me off my upcoming trip to Italy altogether. This book lets me plan my own route, and thankfully that includes flying. Fanny still has words of warning however, for the wary tourist. She claims that 'souvenir hunting' from tourists seems to be a national sport, so it is unwise to leave any items unguarded. And if the Italians aren't stealing all that you own, they are apparently trying to steal your hard earned money. According to Fanny, the tourist is regarded as 'fair game' so it is wise to determine the price of anything you plan to buy, hire or enjoy. Another thing to worry about. Or perhaps not, as Fanny notes it is entirely different in the North, where I will be spending my time. Apparently there is a 'gay friendliness' there which means locals have a tremendous interest in the well-being of tourists, in direct contrast to the 'tourist-piracy' which persists in the 'deep south'. Well, thank goodness for that. Things are looking up.

And then Fanny gets to the food. I've never been to Italy, and am looking forward to tasting all that the nation has to offer, but Fanny has a warning for me. It's limited. Far more limited than the cuisine of her beloved France. She says its 'runs the whole gamut from A to B.' Despite the limitations, there is at least variety, but mostly the food revolves around oil and pasta. Seemingly the Italians also add goat and all manner of feathered objects, all lumped together under the name uccelletti. In my pursuit to avoid thrush, lark, blackbird, bullfinch, quail, woodcock, turtle-dove and the strangely named figpecker (although I like the sound of that one), I shall scour every menu making sure uccelletti and their numerous feathery frames do not feature.

I'm heading to Piedmont, where Fanny says I can look forward to good grazing, flourishing orchards, vineyards and rice fields. So, rather more than the limitations of A to B? Although she points out that dishes will be highly seasoned, I can expect a high incidence of garlic, cream, cream cheese and butter. Doesn't sound too bad, does it? With White Truffles on risottos, polenta, agnelotti, gnocchi, beans, golden peaches, cheese and chestnuts surely I will eat well? I'll skip the wild boar and partridge. Oh and the frogs. But otherwise all sounding good. There is even mention of cakes and chocolate.

You'd imagine that Fanny might be a fan of Italian wine at least? She does concede that they can be very interesting and pleasant, but sadly there will be no 'great ones' for me to sample. The Italians do not lavish the same care and attention on their production as the French you see. The best I will find is Vermouth in Turin, which is perfect for me, and exactly where I will be. Elsewhere in Piedmont, the best I will find is Barolo, or it's less potent and fresher cousin Barbaresco. Perfect. I'm not sure what Fanny is complaining about to be honest. She tells me I can expect to find Asti Spumante, which bears no relation to Champagne. It seems that there is simply nothing which Italy can offer which would make Fanny sparkle. Will I discover something to pop my cork? Will the Italians do it better than Fanny describes? Should I have planned a holiday in the Algarve instead? Let's see...

Not On Your Nellie

Fanny Cradock is in full-on reflective mood. She wants us to recall the days when London still equalled Paris as the centre of the Gastronomic world. Even readers in the 1970s may not have been able to cast their thoughts back the eighty or so years that Fanny had in mind, but luckily she was able to fill in the blanks. You can always rely on Fanny. Her story begins long before the 1890s, and involves a man who had run barefoot and fished for trout as a little boy in the stream which runs through his birthplace, which happened to be Villeneuve-Loubet in Provence. So, not dear old Johnnie then? Ringing any bells for you yet?

Fanny gives another clue. He reigned supreme at the Savoy Hotel in London and indeed over 'all the greatest chefs in the world'. Shame on you if you didn't guess that Fanny is all a bit dizzy thinking about her all-time hero, and inspiration for everything gastronomic, Georges Auguste Escoffier. As well as footwear-free fishing, Escoffier apparently adored grand opera, and had the pleasure of cooking for Australian Operatic Soprano Dame Nellie Melba when she stayed at 'his' hotel between 1892 and 1893. He adored her and his hotel in equal measure it seems. Probably as much as tickling trout with his toes.

Escoffier apparently famously took a night off to hear Dame Nellie Melba sing Elsa in Löhengrin at Covent Garden. Walking back to the Savoy afterwards, no details were given as to shoes or no shoes, the Swan of Löhengrin merged with his constant culinary thoughts to such an extent that by the time he reached his kitchens the original Pêche Melba had emerged - peaches served on a bed of vanilla ice cream, set between two wings of a magnificent swan shaped out of a block of ice. Thankfully he wasn't reminded of his childhood, or fish would've been a feature. Swans though are totally worthy of a grand night out at the opera.

Or the Royal Albert Hall. Sixty years later in 1957, Fanny recreated an exact replica for 6750 people (exactly) at her sell-out show. That must've been one BIG tub of ice cream. The swan was sculpted from a 30lb block of ice, just to give a sense of scale to Fannys presentation. Presumably Johnnie was set to work on the Swan Sculpture while Fanny performed. Fanny realises that even if we were inspired to, recreating her version of the recreation of the creation (Escoffier added Raspberry Purée at a later date) in this way would not be possible. So she urges us to forget the swan that seemed so central (put down that chainsaw Johnnie) and focus on the simplicity of the dish, which she says, is well within the scope of any cook. Even us.

Provided of course you have an ample purse. Vanilla pods, fresh peaches and 'out of season' raspberries (for nothing else will do for a Pêche Melba) do not come cheaply, but do make a fantastic difference on the very occasional times you can afford them. Do not even consider the 'abominable ersatz substitutes' of tinned peaches, vanilla essence, bought ice cream and 'cloying pink sauce' made with imitation raspberry flavouring and tasting 'quite disgusting'. Which would naturally be choice number one. Instead, poach your fresh peaches gently in vanilla sugar syrup, set them atop a bed of luxurious ice cream, and drizzle with fresh, sieved unsweetened raspberries. This is the Real Peach Melba, the most famous of all ice cream puddings. Simple it is, but deliciously divine. Swans are entirely optional.

Bish, Bash, Brioche!

Fanny is keen to demonstrate that she is 'exploding yet another fallacy' by guiding us with ease through the often-thought-of-as-tricky yeast cookery. 'Bang goes the fable that yeast is difficult to handle' she boldly states as we skip into the kitchen together... Yes, yeast takes time, but not nearly as much as the 'misinformed' (that's all those who disagree with Fanny you understand) would have you imagine. Fanny calls them 'know-alls' who happen to be 'absolutely wrong'. So 'know-nothings' really. Fanny has something to 'prove' to us all, when it comes to yeast, it should be simple.

We've already mastered croissants (sort of), explored the differences between Babas and Savarins, so the sensible yet simple next step is to look at the mighty Brioche. Fanny has another secret up her over-blown chiffon sleeve... the yeasted batter for Brioche is exactly the same as we have just made for Babas and Savarins. Exactly. With a feeling of déjà-vu I set to mixing it all together, but as Fanny says, it is at least simple.

Fanny likes to think of Brioches as 'edible containers' for either sweet or savoury fillings. She maintains that the incidence of sugar in the batter is not high enough to offend the palate which receives savoury mouthfuls. Not too sweet then. Fanny would give us wondrous recipes for Fois Gras fillings (which would command a hefty price of £1.25 per slice in fancy restaurants as a first course) but we aren't quite ready for that. Phew. Instead she entices us (seemingly) with a drab crab filling or a French Soufflé. If in doubt, add a soufflé to anything and everything, that's Fannys mantra. She hollows out a giant brioche, fills it with a superb show-off soufflé mix and bakes it again. Ta-dah!

Brioches are versatile however. As an alternative Fanny gets poor old Sally to cobble together another giant brioche, this time suitable for a range of Family Occasions, 'La Brioche Familiale'. Shamefully Sally has burnt the top of an otherwise beautiful bake, but Fanny is at hand with her trusty icing sugar to cover it liberally with an inch or two of heavy dusting before it is presented. Sally is no longer invited to the family occasion. For Sally's own good, a picture of it is presented in all it's glory for readers to see. She must learn and not become one of those 'know-alls'. Fanny also makes some 'Brioche Ordinaries' herself in little miniature brioche pans. It is these plain brioches I go for, mainly as I have the pans, and I don't want to end up cast out like Sally.

Fanny is not normally known for her plainness however, so she suggests a simple way to tiddle them up a little for very special occasions. Tinned fruit. It's always my first port of call when I want to go fancy. Actually it is a bit of a guilty pleasure, so I am of course delighted that Fanny approves. She gives her brioches a little scoop out to create a hollow, filling them with an apricot cup. My tinned fruit of choice is the marvellous peach, sliced and smothered with a generous painting of crab apple jelly. A joy to eat, yet so simple, and so there to all you misinformed 'know-alls'...

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?

A-Choux!

Fanny was super keen on preserving things - before tins and jars of anything and everything were ready available, she'd be busy all year round collecting up whatever was in season and stuffing it away for another time. Whether it was fruit, vegetables, meat or even cream she'd describe ways to halt its decline, seal it securely and stash it safely. I think it was a habit she continued even after the supermarket shelves were packed tighter than one of her Kilner jars. She'd be horrified now that fruits and vegetables are flown in from far lands whatever the season. Do we even know what's 'in season' anymore? Everything is just 'there' when we want it. It was for resourceful Fanny too, but only because she (or more likely her army of assistants) made it so.

Fanny was always careful to stress in her recipes to use fresh when available, and canned, tinned or jarred when not. She assumed you had also been squirrelling away all your goodies. That way her knowledge could be shared all year round, and any time you dipped into one of her many books, if you found something you particularly fancied, you could have it. No need for daily flights full of food. Her very favourites were always things you could whip up at a moments notice to impress. And nothing more impressive than a fruity dessert in winter using last summers very best fruit.

While Fanny reaches to the backs of her larder cupboard for a jar of her very own peach halves to induce dinner party jealousy, I wander to Real Foods and pick up a jar of organic ones from Biona. Only the best will impress you see. Fanny whips up her favourite fruit, preserved in her favourite way with her favourite pastry (or paste) - the Choux. For Fanny, it's the most impressive, most versatile paste and she was on a mission to convert every housewife in Britain to use it.

For this dish, it's not Profiteroles or Eclairs, but mini tarts. Sorry, tartlets. Fanny of course despises the word tart in the kitchen or the bedroom. I've never used choux in this way before but it's whipped up in the usual way - melt some butter in water, fling flour in until it foams, beat and beat until smooth. Then leave to become very cold at room temperature (never a fridge) and beat an egg in. Normally it's piped into shapes, but Fanny uses it here to line well oiled tartlet moulds. She presses it in with two teaspoons, but I found fingers were best. Well scrubbed of course. They are then weighed down with oiled greaseproof paper squares and baking beans and popped into the oven.

When baked and cooled, Fanny fills them with custard. Sorry, I am taking a hopefully not too horrific shortcut here with Ambrosia, well it is all very last minute and is carefully preserved in the tub. She then carefully places on a peach half and covers with redcurrant jelly. I found some lovely looking (and veggie!) quick red jelly from Greens to use this time tough. It reminds me of the jelly you used to get on strawberry tarts when I was young. Tastes like it too. The tartlets are gorgeous, the choux makes them feel quite light (and deceptively chewy) and with a premature taste of summer with the peaches I am happy. After all that work to preserve the fruits so carefully, the finished tartlets really won't last too long with me!

I am entering these summery tartlets into a new blogging challenge from Jen's Food and United Cakedom celebrating all things pastry... Check out the other baked goodies!

Get an Eyeful of Fannys Festive Trifle!

Fanny says that no festive buffet table is complete without a stonking great trifle. She doesn't use the word 'stonking' you understand, but her eyebrows are raised slightly to express her intent. Do not forget the trifle. She presents a few variations in the Christmas partwork, but these are really just for beginners. She teases us with promises of yet more delightful Trifle to come in future parts, but for now it's her Family Trifle (also known as her Mum's Trifle), a Russian Charlotte (where the sponge in on the outside and filled with fruit jelly and cream) and an Italian Trifle (strangely called Zuppa Inglese, and is topped with baked Italian Meringue instead of cream) that get the Cradock treatment. All that Fanny asks is that your buffet table is covered in red and presented with garlands of variegated holly and silver Christmas ribbons. Perhaps the assistants didn't get the memo, her own buffet table is white with red ribbons.

On the glorious Cradock Cooks for Christmas TV shows (let's not mention the Nadia G 'celebration'), Fanny makes this Family Trifle with her very favourite Swiss Roll slathered with Apricot Jam and sprinkled with a sweet white wine such as Sauternes. As we are just starting out here though, Fanny suggests using sponge fingers, homemade peach jam and Madeira. Homemade peach jam? Fanny, this wasn't on your plan ahead Christmas schedule! I'm substituting it with mashed up Peach Slices. I will make jam for next year. Maybe. I'm also swapping the Madeira for Marsala as that's all I have in, and my purse won't stretch to anything else at this time of year.

It's more or less a matter of assembly, or so Fanny says, so I get stuck in. Fanny says to soak the fingers in the wine, mix in the jam and press into a wide bowl. That seems a bit mushy for me. Sorry Fanny. I instead carefully snap them in two, artfully arrange them, splash the wine over (like I saw Fanny do on TV for the more advanced Trifle, I'm clearly thinking I'm more advanced than Fanny gives me credit for) and plonk in the peaches. The Marsala smells like Trifle should, all retro-tastic. I'm only sorrowful I don't have a (slightly sad and stained) pink Tupperware bowl to make the Trifle in...

Just when I'm not looking, Fanny does get fancy with the trifle, making a voluminous chocolate sauce and a sabayon instead of custard. I mis-read the instructions while I was making it, and just melted the chocolate for the sauce. That's what she does on TV. Fanny would beat me with her spatula I know. Whack. Her sauce was more like a mousse with egg yolks and whipped up whites, and would've been lovely I think. If only I'd paid more attention. Still, I was too busy making the sabayon with egg yolks, a little white wine and sugar over a double boiler. Fanny also wanted me to make free-form 'beginners' chocolate leaves from melted chocolate (the proper ones made with wiped leaves from the garden will be revealed much later by Fanny) drizzled onto greaseproof paper. It was suddenly a hectic time in the kitchen, and with not an assistant in sight, I panicked. Quiver. 

The sabayon goes over the fruit (first sprinkled with almond shreds - I only had ground almonds, more panic!) then the chocolate sauce. For the garnish, Fanny gives clear instructions, 'cream piped on in rosettes of different colours, so that the finished trifle looks like a multi-coloured cartwheel' and decorated with glacé cherries. The picture given in the partwork is somewhat different - plain white cream piped in quadrants with glacé cherries in a cross. Fanny explains that this is an 'alternative' presentation, but I suspect that naughty assistants Dianne and Frank didn't read the instructions properly either. At least it's not just me. I think Fanny would be pleased with my presentation skills, Dianne and Frank will be relegated next year to more menial tasks. Only if Fanny doesn't notice my 'mousse-take' though...