Horror D'Oeuvres

Fanny Cradock doesn't mention Halloween much. She gives plans, ideas and instructions for almost every other festivity. Nothing for 31st October. It's a surprise as you'd imagine that all the spookery and ghoulishness would be right up her street. Dressing up. Making your food look eerily scary. Over the top, spine-chilling colourings. Putting the fear of god into children. Perhaps it's simply that, in England at least, it's only a relatively 'new' thing. Not on her radar. Growing up in Scotland, it was a major part of my childhood. Perhaps it's just that all this scary stuff was just everyday living for Fanny.

We can only imagine, but my guess is that Fanny's house was one of those doors that the 'guisers' as we call them up here, or Trick or Treaters elsewhere, just walked on by. Not worth the actual total fright that chapping on her door would provoke. Don't make me knock on the scary lady's door. No amount of treats would be a suitable reward for accidentally hammering on her door. Poor Fanny was likely inside waiting expectantly for the bash that never came. Surrounded by her own blood-curdling bespoke blow-out buffet, ready to share them with the local children. Perhaps this was the real issue. What Fanny thought of as treats would have been at best terrifying to many young eyes.

As all the kids skip merrily by, or perhaps run at hair-raising speed, Fanny was inside preparing party snacks just in case. We know her beloved banquet bites were Hors D'Oeuvres that could be easily passed around by the horrifyingly hearty hostess. We know that her favourite party food can be made in advance. It gives you more time to get yourself ready for guests to appear like it's all been an effortless excursion, despite the fact you've been preparing for weeks. We know that Fanny simply loved eggs. So put all three together, add a sprinkle of spookiness and get the Halloween Party started.

Fanny has seven ideas of egg based Hors D'Oeuvres. Seven. All a variation on a theme. All start with boiled eggs - some hard, some soft - and end up usually with something or other being van dyked. Not as in Dick, but as in cut into zig zags. I'm only making three of the seven. You'll see why. For the first ones, Fanny stamps out rounds of puff pastry, bakes them and then hollows out a circle in the centre. The eggs sit in this as a base. The eggs themselves can be excavated, removing the cooked yolks, replacing them with lemon mayonnaise if you like. Then small rosettes of Orange Mayonnaise are piped round the base of the egg. Or it can be a row of peas. The final flourish is a leaf of parsley on top. Maybe a splash of Tabasco. It's like an exploded vol-au-vent, if they ever made vol-au-vents for the film Alien.

You never really see eggs paired with oranges do you? You do in Fanny's world. As if orange mayonnaise wasn't already a step too far, she van dykes a small orange, places an egg inside then pipes more mayonnaise into the gaps. Remember those egg yolks you hollowed out earlier to replace with lemon mayonnaise? Fanny uses them to stuff into hollowed out tomatoes. To disguise the tomato as, erm, an egg, she van dykes some egg white to cap it off. You get the idea. Marry eggs, van dyke skills and orange mayonnaise in any combination for a treat that will never be tricked. Children will give your horrifying home a wide berth at Halloween, which may also be a neat trick, depending on how you view them. You'll be left with the full horror of eating the hors d'oeuvres yourself though, so beware.

Another Brick In The Wall

School's out for summer, in Fanny Cradock's world at least. A little early in the real world perhaps. She is imagining that all over the country harassed mums are being pestered by the cry "Mum, I'm hungry" and just have no idea how to respond favourably to the relentless badgering. There is no need to feel so tormented however, Fanny is on hand. She devotes an entire part-work exclusively to filling-up the perpetually ravenous young folks. Young people, Fanny reckons, are always easier to handle when their stomachs are well-filled. Especially if they are teenagers.

It's not only tumultous teenagers tummies that Fanny is concerned with though. It's their outfits. She simply cannot understand the lack of enthusiasm among the female of the species, in particular, for wearing pretty party frocks. Shockingly the 'gear' they prefer can be summed up as 'The Absolute Minimum'. This normally means, notably in the summer months, 'disreputable' rolled up jeans and equally disreputable bare feet at the end of a day spent incessantly 'trotting about'. Fanny's wrath is saved for skimpy hot pants and gingham outfits, again with 'the minimum', this time over 'the front'. Teenage girls eating habits are like their fashion choices - an inelegant preference for wolfing at the wander and for chomping on 'wedges and wodges' (whatever they may be), particularly in the garden. I don't think Fanny approves.

Fanny still has a suitable snack for them though. She says we should dispense with fancy French names for down-to-earth things at this time (which presumably do not deserve the effort) and simply call them what they are. Bricks. Ones you can eat. That's what she suggests here for those barely gingham-covered reprobates. She borrows the idea, but of course makes them suitable for the English home, from a trip to Tunisia. A considerably conventional ceremony with a cabinet minister's wife showed Fanny how they were made. Presumably Ferrero Rocher weren't around then. The wife was not welcome in her husband's home for the formal occasion (doubtless not because of her chosen attire) but instead was banished to her 'separate and primitive chamber' known as the kitchen. She took three hours to make the 'bricks'.

Fanny says that she is not 'screwy' enough to think that we would spend three hours making snacks for inappropriately dressed teenagers. I am saying nothing. So she has modified the recipe to suit the occasion, or lack of occasion, which ever it really is. Instead of a 'Tunisian paste' made of semolina and water, extravagantly, and lovingly, prepared and cooked on a griddle, she uses shop-bought puff pastry. This allows the 'bricks' to be made at speed to fill the eager youthful mouths, but to otherwise remain authentic. I imagine that this would be the prime concern for the denim-clad teenagers trotting around Fanny's garden.

In Tunisia, squares of paste are filled with freshly milled parsley, minced veal and an egg yolk. Folded into triangles (as surely all 'bricks' are) and deep fried. I switched the veal for some chopped vegetarian sausages, but otherwise I stuck with authenticity all the way. The resulting wedges, or wodges, as indeed they might be, are ideal as hand-held hunger hinderers, especially for garden wanderers in hot pants. Guaranteed to fill up the exposed tummies of teenage girls. And tasty too. No need to be stuck away, shamefully, in the kitchen for hours on end, when you could be outside showing all the shame on your face for the fashion choices of the young. Perfect summer holiday pastime.

If You Go Down To The Woods Today...

Fanny Cradock and her husband, Johnnie, were, in their own words, persistent globetrotters. They loved nothing better than relentlessly roaming round the world (well, at least the European part of it) in search of new and interesting gastronomic delights to bring back, and of course share with those of us who were less fortunate. Not everyone could easily afford be a continual globetrotter back in the 1970s. So, we are well and truly thankful that Fanny has done a special rundown of her principal perpetual picnics from 'abroad'.

Yes, picnics. It's what you think of when you think of 'overseas cuisine' isn't it? Fanny and Johnnie have experienced a great deal of so called 'foreign' picnics as well as those, to their jaundiced eyes at least, which seem so prevalent in the British Isles. Fanny refers to these as the 'sadness of picnics'. They normally consist of a Thermos flask full-time of lukewarm, dishwater resembling tea, and some curled up fish paste sandwiches in a crumpled up brown paper bag, often eaten in lay-by with the added bonus of petrol fumes. These are not the kind of picnics that Fanny has in mind here, nor are they the kind her and Johnnie take. They are the kind of picnics I had back in the 1970s though.

Fanny is thinking more of romantic occasions like her and Johnnie had when they were 'nesting' before they became engaged, or Family picnics on the sea shore with a host of accoutrements to save sandy mishaps. Perhaps picnics that could be munched as you wander, particularly great for children, who abhor being made to sit properly in the open air. Seemingly. How about Spring Picnics which can be eaten in the car when it pours down? Fanny has suggestions for them all, so never feel stuck for a picnic idea again.

Fanny suggests that whichever picnic path you decide upon, you will need quite a car-load of 'stuff' to ensure that all goes smoothly. Don't forget a length of string to tie to your wine bottle while you keep it cool in a stream. Never leave home without a damp flannel in a small polythene bag for those grizzly, sticky and messy children's faces and hands. Pillows should be taken, but should be inflatable, so as not to take up room unnecessarily and forcing tall people in the back seat of the car to sit with their necks bent at cramp angles because they are wedged in right up to the roof. Everything that can possibly be made of plastic, should be, to bypass the bother of breakages.

Fanny does recommend all things Thermos, almost as if she has been sponsored by them. Strange. There are ones for every event. There are small ones suitable for picnics with children too. You'll need them as well as a steady supply of balls for breaking windows, cricket bats to facilitate this, fold up chairs to put things on (never for sitting on) and a radio to blast very loudly. Fanny's picnics sound so, erm, continental and not-at-all British. Doesn't it? The other essential seems to be sausage rolls. Definitely not British. No busy Mum, and certainly not British ones, wants to spend two hours making individual sausage rolls though, so Fanny recommends saving time by making long ones and chopping them up. Much more time to frolic by the sea, like the oh-so continually cooking-out Continentals do.

Feeling Horny?

Fanny has an important question for us today. It's not something she quizzes us gently with at all. She is straight in there. Quite direct. Absolutely no messing around with this one, she just blurts out her query, and presumably stands back with her eyebrows arched awaiting the answer. It's important to establish before we proceed. So, Fanny wonders, are you a top or a bottom?

Fanny insists that 'top' is best, after all its the professional way that's been done for decades and decades. She spends her time attempting to get her assistants to follow her lead and go for 'top', but some of them just don't like it, Fanny reports. Oh dear, this seems to be such a disappointment to dear old Fanny. Todays assistant, Sally, is singled out in particular. Fanny includes pictures of Sally trying to be a 'top' but failing miserably. She is just so much happier being a 'bottom'. There's no way round it.

Despite her obvious disappointment and disdain, Fanny is prepared to accept that although Sally's chosen path is 'wrong' and certainly not 'best' it will nonetheless result in something rather pleasing. Fanny is focused on the prize. She decides for once not to enter into a debate. Fanny decides not to lock horns with Sally as, you see, Fanny and Sally have both got the horn today. Cream horns, naturally.

Now, as I was saying, Fanny tends to take the classic route and winds strips of puff paste from the top of her horn mould to the bottom. She starts at the back or shallowest part. Sassy Sally however starts at the tip and works upwards. Whichever way you choose, please ensure that each over-lapping wind is at least one-third over the previous one. If need be wet down the last bit to stick it in place. Any surplus paste should be trimmed from the top of the cone. Otherwise, Fanny warns, the cones will not release properly, regardless if you choose to be a 'top' or a 'bottom'.

Fanny lays down her horns on a baking sheet, brushes them with egg white and sprinkles with a little sugar before baking. If all the trimming is done correctly they should release from the mould and be ready for filling. The classic rule is to fill your horn with layers of confectioners custard, jam and finally whipped cream. However, Fanny is the rule breaker this time as she simply thinks it tastes better to whip up the cream, add some custard and jam and then pipe the mixture into the horns. It's all a bit sideways, but whichever way up you decide to do things the end result will be naughty and nice. Enjoy your trip round the horn...

A Mille Feuille Love Songs Later

Now that we've mastered our own puff paste, Fanny thinks we are ready to move on speedily to the Classics. Well, the kind of Fanny version of the classics that we have become accustomed to, and in many ways expect to see. Fanny has, with only our very best interests at heart, worked out a way that we can make the Classic Mille Feuille - which is traditionally difficult to make really well - easily and quite quickly. Fanny has scoffed her way around a fair few cream puffs in her quest to find the best, and frankly some of the soggy objects she has been offered were not fit for her, or us. Her version will be the only one to do.

If you haven't made Fannys homemade puff paste, she does say that you can buy some in the shops. It really was more straightforward than expected though. Either way it should be rolled out very thinly, to an extremely mean quarter of an inch. Fanny uses a 'proper' Mille Feuille metal frame to measure and cut - inside the frame please - out the required shapes of pastry. They are then cooked inside the frame to ensure that they remain the correct size. I don't have a frame. I decide to go a bit more free-form, cutting neatly measured rectangles using a pizza cutter. I've been watching the Bake Off Crème de la Crème you see. Fanny may not be pleased, but Cherish the ruler regulator might be.

The only trouble with precision measuring and cutting is that my pastry rolling skills are not precise. So I end up with a lot of off-cuts. In her crusade to enlighten me to the proper, professional way, Fanny has a solution. So, while my rectangles are puffing up on a wetted base in the hot oven, Fanny suggests we set about making some Palmiers. The scraps of paste are cobbled together and rolled out to a large rectangle, brushed with a beaten egg and sprinkled wth sugar. The long edges are rolled in to meet each other in the middle, and stuck together with more egg wash before being sliced and arranged on another wetted tray ready to be baked. Savoury Palmiers may be made using cheese instead of sugar if required. Handy to know, thanks Fanny.

Fannys Classic Mille Feuilles require nothing more than assembly for the first stage. Fanny splits each puffy rectangle in half horizontally and begins making a tower of puffy leaves sandwiched with jam and cream. Confectioners custard may be used in alternative layers too, but I stick with the classic jam and cream combination. I've got extra thick double cream which spreads well and doesn't need to be whipped, so my arm can have a rest. Fanny insists on there being seven layers in all, so one half a rectangle will not be used. Nor will it be wasted. Fanny dusts it with icing sugar and slices it into fingers for tea. I'd be tempted just to have eight layers really, there would still be no waste at all, but I suppose that's not the classic way.

The classic topping is a simple Glacé Icing (icing sugar mixed with a little water) with a chocolate swirly decoration drawn into it. Fanny uses her very favourite softened chocolate chips, but I have a shortcut in a tube. Fanny 'runs in' (the proper technical term) the decoration using a butchery needle. I am quite scared. Thankfully I have a much safer chopstick to hand, perfect for swirling duties. Fanny does say if you simply can't be bothered, don't. Oh. It won't affect the taste of this classic at all. Too late, I've done it. I'm classic through and through, it seems. Fanny is simply doing her job, showing us everything she possibly can, giving us the finest possible information. And, bearing in mind she still has that butchers needle in her hand, we are so very grateful. Aren't we? The finished Mille Feuille won't win any style awards, but it is so tasty. The pastry crisp, light and feathery. The cream and jam balanced well. No soggy objects. Classic Fanny.

Voulez-Vent, ah-ha!

Fanny is all puffed up in the kitchen today. Even more so than usual. It's not her ego that's inflated on this occasion, but rather her classical culinary knowledge that has that 'bloated' feeling. She's bursting with joy to lead us towards a very steep but satisfying step on her 'culinary ladder' to master once and for all the particular pleasure that is perfect puff pastry. It also allows dear old Fanny to drop a few names and Michelin stars into the mix as she recounts the tale of how the greatest of all pastry pastes, pâte feuilleté, came into being. Ideal.

Fanny tells us that French chefs split hairs over it and dispute minuscule variations on its handling. Just a warning. So, we are so very fortunate that Fanny spent some time in the cool, sunny kitchen in Les Baux of Le Roi de Feuilletage (the English translation of the King of Puff Pastry doesn't quite do it justice) himself, the three-Michelin starred M. Raymond Thuillier. Nestled in the troglodyte hills and caves of the remote village, with caves that you could drive a London Bus into if you should ever posses one, apparently, they were also joined by the famous French artist M. Bernard Buffet. What a perfectly named celebrity for such a lover of home entertaining as Fanny.

The honourable Frenchmen shared the tale, as well as the skill, of the puff pastry with Fanny, who in turn shares it with us. Splendid. In a Paris restaurant in the eighteenth century a young junior chef was ordered to make a batch of butter pastry. All seemed well, as the youngster make quick work of it, and put the paste to store in the cool cave for a few days until required. It was only then that, with horror, he realised he had forgotten the butter. So he whipped out the fatless paste, slapped the butter in the middle, rolled it out, rolled it again and again until the butter was not visible and returned it to the coolness of the cave. No-one would know.

When the chef demanded his pastry, the young boy gave it to him but began to tremble with fear, in a way that Fanny surely recognised well from a very similar and constant reaction by her own assistants, as it was rolled out, glazed and baked in the oven. No-one at that time expected to see it reach several inches in height with paper-thin layers. The chef demanded to know what the youngster had done, and instead of walloping him with a wooden spoon when he confessed, he kissed him and shouted 'C'est magnifique! C'est feuilletage!' Fanny would never have done that...

Fanny recreates the magnificence for us in a glorious pic-strip. She makes a ring of self-raising flour on a cold marble surface, while squeezing every drop of moisture from her butter in a double layer of muslin. Half the butter is chopped into small cubes and rubbed into the flour, then the juice of a lemon (Yes! Lemon Juice!) with very cold water added and scissored in with two knives to make a paste. Only touch the paste directly after you have held your hand under a running cold tap for as long as you can stand it. Once chilled, roll into a rectangle. The remaining butter is shaped into an oblong, folded in the centre, turned, rolled and folded again. Chill for 30 minutes in ordinary domestic refrigeration and repeat 5 times. A pillow of pleated puff.

For Fanny, the first thing to do with the puff is naturally the buffet-tastic classic, Vol-Au-Vent. She uses metal cutters dipped into boiling water before use for large circles, and smaller cutters cut only three-quarters way through the paste for the centre piece, which then makes the top. Always dipped into boiling water first. Baked on a wetted tray and majestically risen, they are perfect filled with mushrooms cooked with soured cream. Fanny may not have had any stars or accolades of her own, but with these little crowns I hereby pronounce her La Reine de la Pâte, or more simply perhaps, The Queen of Puff.

Beep, Beep, Fanny's Supermarket Sweep

Fanny was often somewhat shameless in her promotion, plugging and product placement on TV, in her newspaper columns, in her books and probably most notably throughout the partwork. Whether it was a careful but quick flash of the Lurpak wrapper she really didn't mean to show you while un-moulding the steamed christmas pudding, or the grapefruit knife that you really must have but was normally so hard to find in ordinary shops, she'd feature items in a recipe, in a picture and again on screen. And subtly let you know where to get them from. Surely she was in on the deal. Many bloggers do it today, and PR companies think they invented it recently.

I'd be rubbish at it, by Fanny's standards, as I like to feature products that I've bought, found and love. For Fanny though it seemed to be all part and parcel of the game. If she could convince you to purchase an item that you never really needed, to make something you were never really very likely to make again, she had won. We all love a gadget don't we, and, well, if Fanny was using it, it must've been the thing to have. After all, if you did as Fanny did, you were sure to be doing it right, the professional way.

Sometimes though she wasn't quite so subtle. To fill up a tin with goodies ready for Easter, Fanny suggests making her Honey, Nut and Date Triangles, or Petites Tranches au Noix. They are really just stuffed puff pastry sandwiches, baked. However, you clearly need something to make the perfect triangles of puff pastry, that you've bought in from your favourite supermarket. Fanny's suggestion is a 'wheel' contraption that you roll over the rolled out pastry and voilà, fourteen identical triangles. It is, Fanny tells us, particularly helpful if you happen to be making large quantities 'at speed'. Fanny shows you how, in a handy pic-strip. The wheel is coincidentally easily available (in person or by mail order) from Elizabeth Davids shop in London.

I'm not making large quantities, nor am I concerned about speed, so I employ Fanny's second best option, of cutting them free-hand. My own idea of how to do it involves a pizza cutter. I do use my favourite pizza cutter from my local pizzeria, La Favorita, so perhaps I should cut a deal with them to promote it? I bought my puff pastry ready rolled from Sainsburys. Another opportunity missed. Fanny also loves Sainsburys apparently. The cream cheese she lists in the recipe is not any old cream cheese. It's Sainsbury's cream cheese. Perhaps Sainsbury's would not be so pleased with me though, as I bought my walnut pieces from Tesco. The dates came from my local fruit and veg shop, Tattie Shaws. The honey came from local store, Earthy. I told you I wasn't so good at this promotion malarky.

Fanny mixes the cream cheese, chopped dates, honey, orange juice (I used Sainsburys Taste the Difference which was surely the right thing to do?) and zest. In her dash round the promotional opportunities she omits the nuts from the recipe, but I mix them in anyway. Thanks heavens for the photos, so I know where they should be. They get sandwiched between my imperfect triangles, brushed with egg whites and sprinkled with cater sugar. From Tesco. Topped with a dried piece of banana. I can't remember where I bought them. Then simply baked. They are really tasty, the orange zest and cream cheese make a wonderful partnership. One of the best things Fanny has suggested I make actually. Sadly I do not have a pretty blue plate that is readily available from Fortnum and Mason to display them on. I have such a lot to learn from Fanny. I am such a bad blogger.

Showstopper - A Pharaohs Flanale

I'm not sure what Fanny would make of the Great British Bake Off phenomenon, but I imagine she'd be a fan of the showstopper challenge. After all, it's all about garnish and presentation, her two favourite things. I don't think we are going to be seeing a Fanny Cradock week any time soon, but as ever, ahead of her time, Fanny herself finishes the flans in this partwork with her very own showstopper - the Pyramid Flan. 

Fanny instructs me to start by making a galette from puff pastry. I am using shop bought again. Fanny notes that if I use a lot of pastry she knows a good supplier who can send me a bulk order. All I need to do is send her a SAE with the words 'Bulk puff paste address please' written on it and she'll send me the address. She does point out she has no commercial interest here, her only interest is her dear readers. Aw. I'll be fine with the supermarket I reckon. So, I cut a round and score it in a criss-cross fashion to prevent it rising too much, egg wash it and bake.

Fanny warns me that if I simply 'slap' a disc of paste on a tray and bake it I will end up with a distorted circle risen up like an ancient tumulus! I am not too sure what one of those is, but it doesn't sound great, and I'd rather have the risen but flat surface Fanny demonstrates. When it's cool, Fanny tells me to split it in half across the centre and bake some rings of puff paste cut from the leftovers.

The rest is really assembly - filling the cut galette with a trio of confectioners custard, jam and whipped double cream. I am getting quite used to making the lovely thick custard Fanny is so fond of and has used in so many of these flans. I am hoping Fanny would be proud of me, as I'd previously never been able to master this one.

And then of course, pop the cut top back on. Please note is is risen and flat.

To construct the pyramid simply pop the baked puff paste rings on top in ever decreasing circles. Fanny sticks them on with apricot glaze, but fearing I'll end up in a sticky mess - as so often happens on the Bake Off - I adopt the stacking method. Fanny's final piece of advice is to dust the Pyramid with a flurry of icing sugar at the moment of service, and not before. So, voilà, Mary and Paul, the Pyramid  Flan Showstopper is now on the judging table.

Eek, it's Fanny's Cheese Flower

I'm a little nervous about unleashing this one onto the blog. I've been carefully thinking how to introduce it, how to name it, what puns to use, which ones not to - but sometimes Fanny has written her own innuendos, and this penultimate flan is such a time. There's not much more I can say.

Essentially this seems like a giant vol-au-vent made to look extra fancy with a scalloped, or 'petalled' as Fanny prefers to call it, edge. Fanny says I can use shop bought or home made puff pastry for this one, and as I haven't used shop bought so far that's what I go for. The rest of the ingredients are store cupboard staples, so perhaps this 'Fleur au Parmesan' is one which could be rustled up in a hurry.

Fanny gives me a pic-strip to show how to create the flower - using a plate as a central template and then a fluted pastry cutter for the petals. Fanny says I can see 'quite clearly' how this is done and also notes that it is 'impossible to go wrong' as the plate stops the cutter going all the way. Ahem. 

The bit I was nervous about was ending up with an uneven number and arrangement of petals, perhaps I was taking this too seriously? I wondered if I should measure them or plot them out, but in the end decided just to go for it. After all, it was 'impossible to go wrong'. It worked! Fanny then tells me to grab two forks and 'bang away' (resist all innuendo thoughts at this point) at the surface staying inside the plate mark to 'fork' all the centre. Please note Fanny says this is a 'springy bounce up and down movement' rather than a 'prod'. Phew. 

Then, brush with beaten, strained egg and bake the flower, before making the cheese filling. For this, Fanny tells me to pop two egg yolks, some milk, flour, Parmesan butter and seasoning in a small pan and heat gently until it boils, thickens and becomes smooth miraculously! It does.

Once it's cool I need to beat in a little stiffly whipped double cream and get my piping bag at the ready! Simply pipe the cheese filling into the centre of the baked flower, and Fanny assures me I have an appetising treat. Apparently. Actually, it tastes not too bad, the cheese reminds me of Primula the way it's piped out. So 70's. So, there we have it, I have recreated Fanny's Cheese Flower and only sniggered several times...

Trellis Without Tears - Poor Man's Waffles?

Fanny is very proud of another invention next, and really made a splash of announcing it in this second instalment of her partwork. The first invention she laid claim to in this issue was the rather useful Garlic Oil, which is now available in almost every supermarket across the land. I get the feeling that this new invention will be harder to find on any tea time table ANYWHERE in the world, but I could be wrong. The modern-day, cynical part of me wonders if the invention was just an excuse to use the fabulous trellis tool from the Potato Flan top... So, here is the unveiling of Fanny's own invention, the Poor Man's Waffle! 

Essentially they are baked sheets of puff pastry cut to look like waffles and sandwiched with jam. Sorry if I don't sound overly enthusiastic about them... Maybe it's just a case that I don't consider waffles to be the food of gods or the very rich... But if like me you don't have a waffle machine in your kitchen (oh, I am poor!) and you have some puff pastry to use up, then maybe this one's for you!

So Fanny instructs me to roll out some of her six-minute rough puff pastry and use the trellis tool as before to create a lattice. I decide to roll it out using icing sugar for some added sweetness, but I must make it clear this is my on my own initiative. Sorry Fanny.

Then, simply cut two waffle shapes from the resulting circle, roll up the scraps and roll out again, this time cutting the same size shape with no lattice holes. Give them a quick brush with egg wash and bake until golden.

Fanny suggests spreading them with blackcurrant jelly before 'clapping' them together, but does say that we may use any jam or jelly. I still have some Bramble Jelly so that's what I use. I clap them together. Fanny claims these waffles are wonderful for times when you want to eat something without cream or custard. This is Fanny saying this, of course. Fanny does have the good grace to acknowledge that this recipe is simply a piece of 'little nonsense' so perhaps it was just an excuse to use the trellis tool after all. Still, a tasty snack, but I'd probably prefer just a slice of toast. Not as much fun.