Nice Peas, Dear

Fanny's romp through a few hors d'oeuvres has included some delights and some low lights too, but it's certainly opened my eyes to another world of 'outside the menu'. Fanny does say that although she has helped increase my overall culinary repertoire, she reminds me it remains small. I know my place. To finish things off, for now - there will be more 'advanced' hors d'oeuvres to come we are promised - Fanny tackles a vegetable that I am sure we all take for granted. Peas. I don't really think about them too much, occasionally boil some up as an accompanying after thought, or fling some in with some pasta. Surely I am not alone?

Fanny treats them far more regally and royally, making a Casserole of Cooked Peas, or Petits Pois à la Française. I've seen this dish on different retro and historical cooking shows, normally being scoffed at rather than scoffed speedily though. It's essentially a different way to cook peas, for me at least, which may seem a little extravagant today, but Fanny reckons is the only way to treat such a wonderful vegetable when in season.

Fanny lines a lidded casserole dish with the outside leaves of a well-washed lettuce. Of course she does. I don't have a lidded dish, so use a glass bowl which I can fit with a foil lid. Fanny has taught me to be resourceful. The lettuce is the old-fashioned limp, round kind, no need for an iceberg here, we won't be eating it anyway. Fanny adds perfectly ordinary shelled peas, which have been freshly prepared by one of the assistants. Thankfully the supermarket has done mine for me. I know... Please don't send me nasty letters, it's been a busy week.

To the peas, Fanny adds a mix of good 'bone' stock (I use vegetable bouillon of course), white wine and seasoning before topping it all with yet more lettuce leaves. It seems to be a day for switching, all I have is some Vermouth, always to hand in case an emergency Martini is required, so Noilly Prat is sloshed in. It's only a tablespoon of each, which doesn't seem very much at all. Fanny cooks hers with the ever helpful instruction of 'until they are ready', which for me is around 45 minutes. I assume it is the same for everyone, but you'll know best.

Fanny dredges out the now wilted, grey and pulpy lettuce leaves, which she says look like pond weed (she's not joking) and mixes the cooked peas with a little mayonnaise and the casseroled cooking liquid to serve. The peas themselves are nice and tender - not at all like Fanny warns they might be if cooked incorrectly. If so, they'd be more like the ones Miss Mattie in Cranford swallowed with mouthfuls of water because they were so hard! Not these, the casseroling technique worked well, and the lettuce cushioned them perfectly. Fanny flings her discarded leaves onto the compost heap, so don't be worrying about waste. They do taste great, very, erm, pea-ish and very fresh. Not like bullets, no need for mouthfuls of water. Fanny's final warning is to take a note of what I serve to whom, as my still small (ok, I get it) repertoire could cause resentment to guests if served often. So, for one time only, unless I forget my notebook, peas anyone?

A Neat but Reet Petite Salade Marguerite

I don't know about you, but when I think about Hors D'oeuvres it's not necessarily salads that spring to mind, but Fanny has different ideas. Maybe she's thinking differently as she showcases creations she likes to call 'Flowerlike salads'? I should be learning by now that for Fanny, it's all about the presentation, but for me, when I think 'salad' I think of leaves, maybe dots of cheese, some vegetables and a dressing. We know that when Fanny thinks 'salad' she thinks eggs, so really it should be no surprise that she gives us two further variations on egg salads, both presented in typical Fanny style.

For the first, or most simple variation, for beginners, the Salad Mimosa, Fanny suggests chopping vegetables and eggs very finely and arranging them in any plain, round, glass dish. Fanny uses diced peas, cubed green beans, severed celery, sheared spring onions, divided cooked potatoes... You get the idea. Anything that is to hand really, and anything with some colour. Anything which goes well with mayonnaise too, another of Fannys staple ingredients.

I have little gem lettuce, tomatoes, orange peppers, peas and eggs - so a real flurry of colour. Fanny cuts everything to the same teeny tiny size - including chopping the egg white and egg yolks separately, to add colour to the finished, prepared Salad of course. Chopping is the key. Very small chops. When I've been in the States and had a Chopped Garden Salad, I've really enjoyed it. This reminds me of that, not many stray leaves in sight, just fresh, raw vegetables flung fastidiously together with Fannys flair.

Fanny loads up the ordinary glass bowl with a bed of vegetables. I use little gem lettuce though, despite not being sure how Fanny would react. She says it's basically a criminal culinary offence to slice lettuce with a knife, as it will only weep. We don't want that, and besides no self-respecting cook would dream of it, hand shredding is the only way professionals do it. Oh dear. The bed of chopped (horrifically) lettuce is mixed with perfectly ordinary mayonnaise and the rest of the vegetables arranged on top. They can be 'meanly moistened' with olive oil, if preferred. Arranged in diamond segments, naturally. No weeping has occurred as far as I can see, maybe just in Fannys memory.

This makes the basic Salad Mimosa. Those who know Fanny well however know that there is always a second level to take even the most basic of dishes to. For advanced cooks. Hors D'oeuvres are no exception. To transform the Salad Mimosa into a showstopper Salad Marguerite it's essentially a case of smothering the whole lot in more mayonnaise and decorating it like a flower. With egg. The whites are sliced lengthways to become petals and the yolk kept round as a centrepiece. It seems a shame in one way to cover up all that triangular handiwork, but the finished flower does look very summery. It's all about the way it looks after all, but the completed salad tastes fresh, crunchy and wistful, perfect for showing off. That's the whole point isn't it?