Joyeux Anniversaire Fanny Cradock

Today would have been a very special day for Fanny Cradock. I do find it a little odd to celebrate 'special days' when someone is no longer around, but hey, this is Fanny Cradock we are talking about. If she were still with us today, Fanny Cradock would have been celebrating her birthday. A Big Birthday. She would have been a staggering one hundred and ten. Quite what she would be doing is anyone's guess. One of the many things about Fanny, you could never predict what she'd get up to, what mischief she might be behind, or indeed what she would be saying. No-one ever could. Thankfully.

One thing that could be predicted, year on year, at least while Johnnie was alive, was that he would make an incredible fuss of her on her significantly special day. Legend has it that every year on her birthday he would send her a very formal invite to a very special, secret event to mark her very momentous day - another year with Fanny in the world! All would be revealed 'at appropriate times'. I think to think of Fanny being blindfolded and led to the nearest airport on her way to some exotic, mystery location by a rather giggly, excitable Johnnie. She was a terrible driver, by all accounts (and police reports) so there would be no danger of her driving herself, Bird Box-style. That would be too scary.

For a more low-key celebration, in keeping with the occasion, Fanny is showing us how to make a very simple version of her very favourite luxurious pudding. The Crème Marie Louise, or the Empress Marie Louise Pudding if French is simply too much to handle. Fanny usually makes it with a collar of set chocolate surrounding a large dessert. Dare I say, like a mahoosive chocolate trifle, although Fanny would simply never describe it as such. She made it at the Royal Albert Hall for an audience of 6750 people. For this, oh-so-simple version, no chocolate collar is required and the ingredients needn't stretch to feed thousands.

Fanny, without any elaboration, takes eggs yolks and double cream, plonks them in a roomy bowl and sets them ready to whisk. She recommends getting someone to help here, it really is a two-man job. My assistant today is my trusty KitchenAid mixer, my modern-day extra pair of hands! Fanny then softens some perfectly ordinary chocolate chips over a simmering double-boiler. When soft, she beats them vigorously until they are cool and thick. Then, with the yolks and cream whipping away (or being whisked for you), Fanny suggests we simply 'dump' the melted, whipped chocolate in and continue to whisk. Do try NOT to dump it down the side of the mixer...

As we might expect, Fanny is not finished here. No Fanny Cradock pudding would be complete with a final flourish. A splash of rum. Some Orange Flower Water. Then Rose Water. All whacked together, served on top of a little piece of sponge cake, with a little chocolate leaf or two, and just because it's her birthday, some glacé cherries. It tastes (if you care to dip a perfectly clean finger into the bowl and try it... Shhh... I won't tell Fanny) like a deluxe, boozy Turkish Delight. Simply keep it cool in ordinary domestic refrigeration until the plane lands, bringing Fanny and Johnnie home from their magical mystery tour and the real celebration can begin. Happy Birthday Fanny Cradock.

Gotta Oughta Ricotta

The joy of Fanny has to be in the unexpected. I try not to look too far ahead to see what is coming next. I just love the element of surprise, delight and from time-to-time surprisingly delightful horror, that are contained within the technicolour pages of the partwork. It's not worth trying to second guess what Fanny has in mind, it's rarely what you might think, even if you apply previous knowledge of her work and erm, innovation, to your already over-active imagination. Fanny's is in overdrive.

We are still cooking with cheese. I've been hopeful for something savoury and well. cheesy. So far, however, it's all been sweet. Today is no exception as we tackle an Italian Budino di Ricotta, or a plain old cream cheese pudding if like me, you're Italian is ropey. Fanny's Italian was very ropey indeed, so let's hope that Budino does actually translate as pudding...

Fanny begins by beating together the ricotta - or any of her dreamy creamy homemade cheese should you have any left - with ground almonds, icing sugar and a flavouring. Fanny suggests lemon, but I don't have any, so substitute with vanilla. The mix is quite wet. Fanny whips up a lot of egg whites until they are very stiff indeed and gently folds them in, before transferring to a buttered soufflé mould to bake for thirty minutes.

It emerges from the oven as a gloriously risen, well, soufflé, but as it cooled it sank down again. I think Fanny knew it would be looking less than appealing as it was turned out of the mould, so she had an idea up her chiffon sleeve to turn things around. Boudoir Biscuits and coloured icing. She sits the ricotta pud on a sponge base before surrounding it with the biscuits dipped in heavily coloured icing. Of course she does. What else would she do?

It certainly makes it seem cheerier. She's not finished there. Cream piping. Always required. Suddenly this old pudding is looking quite splendid indeed. Unless of course my retro-loving eyes have become tainted by Fanny? Fanny finishes it off with some rose petals, primarily because she had a pretty plate with roses on it. I don't. The smell is lovely though, so shouldn't complain. It's a very unusual pudding, to look at and to taste, light and pillowy, nutty and sweet. As always with Fanny, she delivers something unexpected and slightly wonderful.  And blue.

Skools Out 4 Eva

I just can't imagine Fanny Cradock at school. Can you? I can't imagine her being a child at all. She has so expertly crafted her persona and image for our enjoyment, that is hard to picture her in any other way. Especially as a 'nipper'. I can't imagine her impatiently shoving her hand in the air to answer a teachers question. I can't imagine her playing hopscotch in the school yard at break time. I can't imagine her sitting with other children and enjoying a meal at lunchtime. Perhaps she was born a fully formed adult?

I know it's not popular to admit it, but I was simply never a fan of school dinners. I'm not someone to look back fondly on the seemingly strange creations that were served up to keep our little minds active and stimulated throughout the day. I just wanted to get them over and done with. Except if there was pink custard. Everything is different with pink custard. It was probably a result of eating well at home, and cooking and baking from an early age too. The school canteen just held no pleasure.

It seems that Fanny and I shared this view. She wants to re-educate us all, starting with semolina. Before we all panic and make horrid faces, she is very clear that this will version will bear no resemblance to any school or canteen semolina that we would know. She goes further, chalking up in big letters on her imaginary blackboard the words THIS IS A SEMOLINA PUDDING WHICH YOU WILL NOT FIND REPELLENT.

She underlines this by calling this pudding 'Delicious French Version of Semolina' which she translates as 'Flamri de Semoule'. Perhaps she didn't pay much attention in French lessons either. Fanny brings some water to the boil, shoots in icing sugar, stirs, then adds the semolina. Her instruction is to stir it continuously, which I do, until the spoon will stand erect in it alone, which it does. Off the heat, she beats in an egg and when completely blended, some stiffly whipped egg white. This mixture is then transferred to an oiled pudding bowl ready to be steamed. Luckily I always have one at hand, ready.

Two hours later, it's ready to be unfolded. Fanny warns that if you take a premature peek the pudding is liable to collapse. She includes a photo of one, made by one of her naughty assistants who peeked, to hammer home the message. It's flat. It tasted fine, apparently. Fanny says to always remember that you can salvage any mistakes, but of course it is best to not make them in the first place. I take the instruction and leave mine. It's not flat. Fanny demands that it is served with fresh raspberries and raspberries sieved to make a juice. She tells us that no-one will complain if a little gently whipped double cream is also added. So I do. No-one complained. This pudding shares nothing with my memories of semolina, and is indeed delicious. Every day is a school day with Fanny.

Pinky & Perky

I always take Fanny Cradock's advice. Well, more often than not. Okay, sometimes. I certainly abide by one of her favourite recommendations, which is to scour the 'thrift' shops for hidden treasures. She's forever popping in to see if she can pick up an unusual dish, a discarded ornament or if she's lucky a delightful mould in which to present her food at it's very best. I can't resist a rummage myself. From time to time I pick something up though that I wonder 'when will I ever use that?' The vintage mould I bought last year is one such item...

Fanny's guidance is to make her Apricot Snow, or La Délice des Abricots, in an old fashioned pyramid mould. It's round and resembles a pyramid only in the way it reaches for the sky with each circular step slightly smaller than the previous one. A bit more like a pointy hat than a pyramid. Well, if only I had one. I am often envious of Fanny's moulds, and she knows it. She practically thrives on being the first to bag the bargains. I had thought I'd have to improvise wildly on this dish, when I suddenly remembered the mould I'd bought and tucked away at the back of the cupboard, waiting for it's perfect time to shine. The relief!

The recipe itself is a variation on the by-now-familiar blancmange theme. With the addition of cold tea. Fanny uses small, stoned, ripe apricots for her Délice, but they aren't really in season at the moment, so I grab a tin I had snuggled away next to the mould at the back of my long-forgotten kitchen cupboard. No shame in that, remember. Fanny cooks hers in a low oven, swimming in the cold tea and then rubs them through a sieve while they are still hot, to emulsify. I whizz mine up in the food processor. Perfectly pulsed purée.

Fanny whisks up a couple of egg whites, adds some single cream, mixes through the cold tea and folds in the purée. And so do I. I know when to strike out on my own, and this isn't the time. Fanny dissolves gelatine in a little extra cold tea. As I'm using my veggie-friendly Agar, I need to dissolve it in the tea, and bring it up to they boil to activate it. Once done, it's swirled into the mix. It looks light and fluffy, just like freshly drifted snow, as Fanny hoped, ready for the mould.

It's only now that I have rescued the mould from the dark recesses of my cupboard that I remember why I tucked it away in the first place. Yes, it makes a decent substitute for a pyramid, but it's, well, there's no escaping this, very booby. I'm really not sure when it would be acceptable to use it, or indeed what it's original purpose actually was. I should've made two perhaps. It's not like I'll be using the mould regularly, or even again for a while. It'll just nestle back into the back of the cupboard and be forgotten again more than likely. Maybe I need to donate it back to the charity shop? I'd have to hide it in something else, or try to disguise it? Would they accept it I wonder?

Rum Babies

Have you ever sat alone at home in the evening dwelling and mulling, pondering and wondering, or just plainly puzzling what the difference is between a Savarin and a Baba? Fanny is super keen that we are absolutely clear as we progress through the culinary ladder with all things yeasted. To support us to bring our questioning to an end, she devotes a whole page to explaining the difference. A whole page. If you've ever seen Father Ted you might be a step ahead here. Let me try to summarise. Both are generally ring shaped, and are made of the same yeasted sponge mixture. And both soaked in syrup. One is big (the Savarin) and one is small (the Baba). Not far away. So, the difference is that they are different sizes.

Fanny chronicles her crush on the credited creator, French gastronome Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin (1755-1826) and his generally great gastronomic work La Physiologie du Goût. It doesn't sound all that appealing, but he sounds fascinating. A real party animal by all accounts. Fannys says his family were 'curious' (I do wonder if this is judged by her standards) - his two sisters (both 'maiden ladies') spent nine months of the year in bed, only rising eventually to spend an entire month readying the house for the arrival of their famous brother. He stayed a month, they partied, then they spent the twelfth month putting everything away again before slipping back into bed to 'restore' themselves for his next visit nine months later. Wow, must've been some party!

Fanny starts her recreation of Savarins' brilliant pudding by fermenting. Yeast, sugar, milk and a little flour. Fanny explains this is a basic of yeast cookery that we must master. After half an hour, she adds the doubled mixture, which should be jumping 'like a bag of fleas'  to flour with butter rubbed in, a little more sugar and finally eggs. Fanny warns not to mix the sponge mixture until the ferment has fermented. Particularly handy if you are unsure what that means or looks like... luckily I do. Her final warning is to make sure that the eggs are blended in without beating - gentle actions are required here.

Fanny pipes the yeasty mix into her range of savarin and baba moulds. Either large rings for Savarin or small ones for Babas. Remember? Not far away. I have neither, but I do spot some Jelly Baby silicone moulds lurking around in my kitchen that I bought ages ago and have never used. They seem perfect - Babies not Babas. This is my mantra. I spray them lightly with oil and pipe in the mixture - much more easily controlled than spooning. Fanny doesn't say how far to fill them, so I guess two-thirds of the way. I expect them to prove for a while, but Fanny flings them straight into the oven for exactly 14 minutes, so I do too.

While they are baking, Fanny suggests I ready myself with the syrup. She uses a basic stock syrup, diluted, but that doesn't seem fancy enough for my babies. I use some gorgeous crab apple jelly I made for foraged fruit last month, slightly diluted. It's a stunning colour, and taste. The babies jump out the oven and plunge themselves into their hot syrupy bath. Once they soak up all the goodness, Fanny fishes them out and douses them in rum. Seems fair enough. They do look a little bit like E.T. rather than cute babies, but they taste so good. So moist and squidgy, with an apple-rum-y hit. Fanny completes hers with piped cream and a garnish. It only seems appropriate to choose actual Jelly Babies* for this. I wouldn't want my Rum Babies to party alone. I have high expectations after nine months of bed-rest, so let's get ready to Rum-ble...

* Please, please do not send me nasty letters, I know that Jelly Babies are not vegetarian, but they are cute...

Steamed Syrupy Suet

I've been trying to readjust to British food and cookery this week after a welcome 'vacation' in the States, so was keen to reconnect with the Fanny Cradock recipes of old. And what could be more fitting than a twist on a Victorian recipe for Steamed Suet Pudding? Even better to help me with the transition, it contains Maple Syrup which of course is a favourite breakfast addition Stateside. I may have had the odd waffle, pancake and/or French Toast while away... Fanny herself isn't always keen on suet puddings, despite her love of steaming. She says there are three types - they can be like the ones we all had at school (apparently) with dates in, which were weighty enough to break a limb if dropped upon it! Or they can be 'dreary beyond belief' because they are filled meanly and slathered in custard to compensate. Or of course, they can be like the ones Fanny makes. Apparently W. Somerset Maugham was so in love with the steamed Chocolate Pudding made by Fanny that he had thirds at a luncheon in London. The recipe Fanny shares here isn't that one - although Fanny teases that it will be shared much later in the partwork - but instead this is Johnnies all time favourite, Steamed Coconut and Maple Syrup Pudding. Johnnie too can easily manage thirds, but only if it's sodden with syrup...

The basic suet crust is easily made. I am of course using a good quality Vegetarian Suet here, which I have always found to work well. I've no idea how it compares to the usual variety, but I imagine there isn't a great deal of difference. The crust is a dough made by mixing the suet with flour and binding with cold water. Just a few tablespoons of water is enough, added gradually until it all binds.

It comes together really easily and soon forms a ball which can then be rolled out. You can still see the suet bits in the dough, but the paste is stretchy and pliable, rolls out well and generally doesn't stick to the surface if a little flour is added. 

Fanny makes one large pudding, presumably so that Johnnie can get stuck in, but I'm opting for smaller individual sized ones. After two weeks in America I'm keen to return to smaller portions wherever I can! So I line circles of crust in buttered Dariole moulds and half fill them with a paste made from mixing desiccated coconut and maple syrup. This is topped with a circle of crust before another layer of mix and a final disc of suet to seal.

As Ina Garten herself might say, how easy is that? The moulds need to be covered in oiled greaseproof paper and foil and then steamed for around an hour. I always add a pleat in the paper to allow for any expansion. Fanny doesn't tell me to, but equally she doesn't give any instructions so it's assumed we know. I'm using my bamboo steamer this time, I love the smell it creates in the kitchen! Fanny recommends if you are making a mahoosive Johnnie-sized pudding that it should be steamed for two and a half hours. The individual ones look great, and turn out well. The coconut filling is deep and flavoursome, with a good kick of sweetness from the Maple Syrup. The suet crust is light and certainly wouldn't break any limbs if dropped on them. I can easily see why Johnnie would have thirds, so make a couple extra than you need just incase you have a Johnnie in your midst.