Push Pineapple, Shake The Tree

I'd say one of the many amazing things about Fanny Cradock is her ability to completely transform a few, very simple ingredients into something which has the unexpected 'wow' factor. She practically built her whole career on it. Partly through necessity as ingredients were scare after the war, but somewhat because, I am sure, it was fun and an appealing, eye-popping challenge for her. Add into the mix her other oft-used phrase 'and so quick to throw together when someone pops round unexpectedly' and you have her Pineapple Soufflé, or Les Zephyrs Maison. Entirely suitable for those that come and dance every night, singing with a hula melody.

Fanny being Fanny thinks strategically about the provocative presentation before she even begins. No point in planning a 'wow' that, well, has no 'wow'. She chooses a pineapple on the smaller side which has leafy green spikes a-plenty, and starts by slicing the whole thing down the middle, 'tufts' and all. Careful not to chop them off. The soufflé is baked and served IN the pineapple you see. It's all her own idea, and one which everyone that she has served it to has enjoyed immensely. No doubt she had the inspiration when she met a mistress somewhere in Waikiki, selling pineapple and playing Ukulele. Classic Fanny Cradock.

The unembellished but soon-to-be flashy flesh of the pineapple is carefully scooped out, and kept aside. Fanny stresses the importance of NOT making any holes through the skin, reminding us that this is the home for the soufflé. The central core of the pineapple is a bit tougher than the rest, but it generally pops out easily enough with a little help from a teaspoon. You may need to push the pineapple a bit, especially to the left and the right, but no need to shake the tree, grind coffee or to jump up and down then to the knees.

Fanny whizzes up the pineapple pulp, either by emulsifying it in a liquidiser, or more strenuously shoving it all through a sieve. Thankfully I have a machine to do the work. And another to whirr up the egg whites for the soufflé. First of all just on their own, then for a very precise three and a half minutes with a small part of the caster sugar. Only after that is the rest of the sugar is carefully folded in, so as not to knock out the precious air particles out. Wiggle and gently sway as you do it, think of the lovely beach and the sky and the moon of Hawaii. Failing that, imagine you are wearing a rum calypso sarong. You may be anyway, of course. I'm sure Fanny was.

Fanny suggests pushing the pineapple gently to the left (altogether now, once more with feeling) and sliding the purée underneath, before gently cutting it in very lightly. Pile the airy mixture into the pineapple cavity so it resembles a dome. It will look nothing like a dome. But Fanny says a dome. She also lovingly wraps the pineapple spikes in foil to protest them once they are in the hot oven. Pop the whole thing in for precisely eight and half minutes and serve, wow and enjoy. You might be compelled to sing a little song as you tuck in to this delightful pudding, if one is in your mind at all? No? Nothing?

Totally Tropical Transformation

Fanny Cradock says almost any fruit, tinned or fresh, or even nuts, can be turned into a fabulous ice-cream. The most intriguing ones are flavours that you just can't pop down to the supermarket and pick up. Flicking through the pages of the ice-cream partwork I can't help but wonder if these long-forgotten flavours have disappeared for good reason, or indeed were they ever popular at all, apart from in Fannys mind? I mean have Ben and Jerry's ever considered Black Plum? Would Häagan Dazs whip up a quick batch of Green Grape? How about a Mackies Chestnut? Perhaps none of them have thought about Pineapple?

I've never seen Pineapple Ice-Cream anywhere. Perhaps I just lead a more sheltered life than I am prepared to admit, but I do hover around the freezers when I'm shopping looking at and, lets be honest, lusting after the ice-creams in particular. So, I'd probably have seen it. And bought it. And eaten too much of it. I'm a bit of an ice-cream fiend truth be told. So, you can imagine this particular partwork is especially pleasing for me!

Fanny uses her perfectly standard, perfectly whipped, perfectly frozen basic ice-cream, as ever. Just custard and cream whipped together and frozen really. To make it all pineapple-y she takes a tin of pineapple chunks and chops it all up into small pieces. I could only find pineapple rings when I went shopping, but my scissors made light work of them. I couldn't find the secateurs. Snip! Then smoosh! Transfer to the freezer for a bit, until the edges start to go solid, then whip it out, whip it up and whip it back in...

While you wait for it to freeze properly, Fanny has the perfect accompaniment which cunningly doubles as a garnish for presentation too. Fresh Pineapple. It's a little bit of a mystery why, if you were, in the first place, able to get hold of some lovely, fresh, succulent pineapple back in the early 1970's that you would opt to use a tin to make the ice-cream, and the fresh to make a garnish. Fanny's mind works in mysterious ways. Her mind is also excellent at dreaming up unusual and, erm, innovative, uses for things to transform them into other things that we least expect. Eggs as swans. Melons as baskets. Bananas as candles. You get the idea. Surely she had something extra special in mind for the humble Pineapple?

Fanny's instructions are to trim it and carefully, with a sharp knife, remove the skin. Sounding standard so far, no doubt she will soon suggest carving it into a swan... Fanny says to slice it fairly thickly into rounds. No swans then. And then each circle into quarters. No carving then. The next step is to dredge each piece in ordinary sugar to get them ready for assembly... Which means back into the shape of a pineapple. Oh. Transforming a pineapple into a pineapple. Kind of like Pineapple Jenga. But still a pineapple. The ice-cream itself is great, really tastes of pineapple. With the addition of some extra pineapple, it is well and truly a pineapple party. Served in a pineapple.

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?

Pineapple Packs A Punch

Fanny is planning a very special party, which requires some very special jellied creations and I am very pleased to report a very special punch. For this little soirée Fanny is desperate to hang on to the very last of any summer sunshine by transporting us to the Caribbean, which she is sure will dazzle any party guests. The party does require a lot of pre-planning though, anything from a week to 3 months of preparation, but Fanny says this is a boon to the busy housewife. Nothing worse than running around like mad as guests arrive. Parties should appear effortless. Even if they take three months of work. The main plan for this party seems to be to get all the guests completely sloshed, which sounds like such a terrible idea to me... Well, no, actually it sounds like a fabulous idea. 

Fanny gets stuck straight in to the hard stuff. The Planters' Punch requires the most preparation, as the flavour intensifies over the months of steeping. Good old Fanny suggests using a whole bottle of the very finest Barbados Rum here, all muddled in with totally tropical tastes. I have a bottle of Captain Morgans Spiced Gold which seems right for the job to me. To the rum, Fanny adds some strained orange and lemon juice, thinly sliced cucumber, a sliced peach, orange segments, sliced pineapple, Angostura Bitters, nutmeg and some slightly syrupy water. Fanny does suggest substituting the syrupy water with a quarter bottle of Falernum if you have it. I couldn't find any, but it does sound worth tracking down for authentic spicy Caribbean-ness. I need more than three months to prepare for this party clearly!

I could quite happily sit down with a jug of this straight away, but Fanny insists not only that I share it, but I pop a lid on it and store it for months. Spoilsport Fanny. To keep my mind off it meantime, Fanny gets me whipping up a heavenly creamy jelly with more than a hint of Hawaii. This can be made well in advance too, keeping perfectly well in ordinary domestic refrigeration for a week. It's a slightly different style again, as ever Fanny is teaching me I need to remember, which has thick confectioners custard as the base. To this, I add a tub (it could easily be a tin) of strained and whizzed up pineapple, and double cream. It's already looking fairly thick, but for this set delight it's in with some Vege-Gel from Dr Oetker this time, the whole mix heated up and poured into my mould. Oiled, naturally. And a cat, plainly.

Fanny hates to waste anything, so sets me to making an additional jelly from the strained pineapple juice, which will also add to the 'fun' of the presentation. Fanny says it can forked-up into a foam, or cut into shapes, or set into an actual pineapple. I suppose the options are endless. I opt to add some harmless yellow food colouring to mine and cut them into little cat shapes. Just for fun Fanny. The finished Bavarois d'Ananas as Fanny called it tastes just as you'd expect - like set pineapple custard, it's quite pleasant but the texture a little strange. Perhaps I added too much Vege-Gel? There isn't much wibble-wobble. In all the preparation for this fantastic party I've completely forgotten to invite any friends to join me. Oops. Can I wait any longer? Will the sun stick around? There's nothing for it, I'm going to have to crack open the spice-laden fruity Punch and have a party for one. In the name of research you understand. If it's good I can always make another batch for 'friends'. Cheers Fanny!

Specially for Small Fry

Fanny was always keen to get youngsters involved in cooking, and the weekly Cradock Cookery Programme was no exception - each installment included a page 'specially for small fry'. I'm not too sure what today's Junior Masterchef and Junior Bake-off hopefuls would've made of it, but for Fanny it was important that the young generation followed in the footsteps of 'their grown ups' and embraced the 'above all garnish and presentation' mantra. Fanny and Johnnie had already published several cookbooks aimed at young people, and had even produced a special children's cookery TV programme as early as 1959, which of course had it's own range of cookbooks to match - Fanny was never one to miss a marketing opportunity.

The first few ideas for the youngsters to get their heads around involve no cooking whatsoever, just assembly. Fanny kicks off with an idea for Stuffing Ducks. Fanny suggests that the grown-ups give their usual and ordinary stuffing used for birds or meats to the children instead to fashion these cute little ducks. The construction instructions are simple, wash your hands, mould the body, head and then finish off with an almond beak. I have used my trusty Vegetarian Haggis from Macsweens here instead, how do they look?

For pudding it's slightly more complicated as we attempt Edible Clowns. The youngsters are trusted to melt chocolate very carefully and mould it around a half orange to make a cup which is then released from the orange and filled with ice-cream. This is topped with a scoop of ice-cream and some chocolate petals to form a Pierots ruffle, a few chopped pieces of glacé cherry and a cone hat... Voilà the edible clown.  

The final in this initial trio of treats for the young at heart seems decidedly risqué in appearance in this day and age, however I am hoping that Fanny designed it with innocence. I am worried that this blog will get banned as a result, but here goes. For Banana Candles, all you need is an ordinary banana, coated with strawberry jam, rolled in chopped nuts and stood up in a few pineapple rings. Oh, and topped off with a glacé cherry flame. I think bananas must have been straighter back in the 1970s, but even so how many parents would be able to keep a straight face if presented with these?

They all tasted just fine, and I am sure were a fun way to get young folk involved and interested in food. It will be interesting to see how Fanny develops the skills of these small fry as the parts progress, but for now I don't think we'll be seeing any of these creations on Junior Masterchef - which is a shame as I'd love to see those judges faces when presented with a Banana Candle...