Drumroll please... My 6th Fannyversary!

Fanny would be raging with me. She may ex-communicate me. This could be it. She'd be spinning in her grave, or whatever the equivalent might be for cremation... Birling under her bush? You thought she was furious when dear Sara tried to tidy away her spatula BEFORE she was finished with it. You've seen her face when the lovely Gwen Troake tried to serve her a humble Bramble. These incidents pale into the background like Johnnie at the very best cocktail party Fanny ever held. I. Forgot. My. Fannyversary.

Yes, can you believe it? Six years have passed since I began this blog, one sunny day late in June. Six years! I have lasted longer than any of Fanny's assistants, and up until now I think she has been pleased with my progress. I have tackled task after task with gusto. I have prepared dish after dish with a smile on my face. I have eaten colour after colour without fear. All the while, with Fanny at my side, I have learnt the Cradock way. As it should be...

However, the Cradock way is not to miss a milestone. The Cradock way is not to let things slip. The Cradock way is not to miss an opportunity to celebrate all things Fanny. I am sorry. So sorry. Sorry to Fanny. More sorry than Sara ever was. More shamefaced than Gwen appeared to be. More apologetic than Johnnie had to be day in and day out. Sorry enough to bake a cake to somehow make up for it. A belated celebration. Will Fanny ever forgive me?

This cake was among the first that Fanny insisted I make with her. One of the first rungs on her culinary ladder. I hope it appeases her, a little. Her famous Cherry Cake, with fruit that never sinks, except they do, sometimes. Fanny has a natty suggestion for decoration too. Not known for keeping quiet, never one to pipe down, barely able to be ignored, Fanny in cake form may be a loud, banging, colourful drum. Wouldn't she?

The past six years have been a hoot. Fanny has taught me so much. I have learnt so much about Fanny too. 2019 is quite a momentous year for Fanny. Or it would have been. Fanny would have been celebrating her 110th birthday, had she still been around. Quite a thought. Fanny died 25 years ago. Part of my reason for blogging is to keep her alive in some small way, fighting for Fanny to be fixed in our minds for years to come. She may just forgive me yet... For I have some super exciting celebrations planned as the year draws to a hold, which will hopefully let the celebration of Fanny continue apace. That's the real reason I 'forgot', I've been busy in the background. Watch this space, as they say...

Enough Is Un Oeuf (I Can't Go On, No More, No)

Do you remember a few years back there was a trend for creating mahoosive versions of smaller, much-loved things? Everyone seemed to be baking giant Bourbon Biscuits, or jumbo-sized doughnuts. You couldn't move for monstrous versions of Jammie Dodgers, or hulking great Snickers bars (they will always be Marathons to me) so huge that they had to be sliced with a chain-saw. Fanny wasn't one for extreme snacking, and thank-goodness she didn't wield a chain-saw, but it's no surprise that she too had a soft spot for gigantic foodstuffs.

It's not enormous sweet treats that catch Fanny's eye, much as I'd love to see a colossal packet of Spangles or a larger than life sherbert-y Flying Saucer. No, it's the savoury side of life that Fanny thinks will impress more. Specifically Eggs. Giant Eggs. She's not completely bonkers. She's not gone shopping to the local Ostrich Farm. She's looking closer to home, for something economical and simple to create. With the ethos of humungous creativity in her mind, Fanny suggests creating a Giant Egg, from, erm, eggs.

Fanny begins her colossal creation by separating eight eggs, very carefully. The yolks are beaten together lightly with a fork. To make eight perfectly fine but little egg yolks into one large yolk, Fanny pops them into a fairly large polythene bag. Seasoned first of course. The bag is then held delicately in a large pan of well-filled bubbling, boiling water until the yolks, or rather yolk, sets. Fanny warns not to let the bottom of the bag touch the base of the pan, or the shape will be lost. When creating Giant Eggs, appearance is everything.

The remaining egg whites need to be whisked up together until they are very stiff. Fanny seasons them before gently folding through a small amount of finely grated hard cheese. Second to appearance, taste is important. Fanny places half of the whipped-up mixture onto a square of oiled foil, on an ordinarily sized baking sheet. Yes, for this is no ordinary Giant Egg, it's a Giant Baked Egg.

The cooled Giant Egg Yolk is placed into the centre of the Giant Egg White, then completed enclosed in the remaining mixture. It needs to be smoothed out as best you can, so that it resembles, well, a Giant Egg. Once it bakes for 20 or 25 minutes, until golden, it is ready to be transferred to a serving dish. Salad trimmings or mayonnaise pipings can be added if required. Fanny assures us that the effect is dramatic when we serve a person a huge slice from the Giant Egg, either as a buffet luncheon or a first course. Presumably followed by the biggest Fish Finger you've ever seen, and one enormous pea.

Feeling Fruity for my Fourth Fanniversary

Do you remember what you were doing four years ago? It's not something I generally spend a lot of time wondering. Mostly it would just be an ordinary day, doing ordinary things, in ordinary ways. However, I remember very clearly what happened four years ago for me. It was no ordinary day, and no ordinary day has occurred ever since. It changed my life. Four years ago, I wrote my first blog post.

I have no idea what I expected to happen on that day, other than I would sit down, type my thoughts down about dear old Fanny and hit 'publish'. For me, it was always about having fun, celebrating Fanny and making myself giggle. If anyone else read it that'd be a bonus. Well, four years on, it's been, and continues to be, all those things and so much more. I've loved every minute, hour, and day since then. I think I've grown to love Fanny even more too. I find myself sticking up for her a lot, we've become firm friends. I mean, I've yet to whack an assistant or pee in my plant pots, but, well, I think she's mostly great.

Whether you've read all two hundred and fifty two of these posts, or this is your first, I totally appreciate it and hope that you enjoy it as much as I do. Thanks! Readers, tweeters and bloggers have come and gone and come back again. Some have disappeared forever. Where did they go? I miss them! It's been a whirlwind of harmless green vegetable food colouring and aspic, but you know what, everything so far has worked out. People tell me all the time 'oh yeah, but Fanny couldn't cook' or 'gawd, her recipes are terrible, inedible, aren't they?'... I've just found them to be incredible. Well, not especially the Eggs in Aspic, but more often than not!

Her signature 'thing' seems to be taking something which is not very much and making it seem like it's something really special. That can't be bad can it? Like taking an egg or two, a few plums, some milk and a dash of caster sugar and creating a dessert to make you smile? It's one of Fanny's favourites, meringue. She suggests making it in a 'complicated' shape for which she gives 'complicated' instructions which just seems too 'complicated' for me. Her shape is basically four circles joined together. I think after four years together I can go a bit freeform with mine, and dare I say it it, 'better'?

Instead of circles I whip up the meringues following Fanny's technique, and fashion a suitable 4-shaped design on baking parchment. If Fanny has taught me anything over the years, it's to pipe, pipe, pipe, so I do. Fanny says it might look as if it demands skill from the cook, but it doesn't. The meringue case bakes in around an hour, and emerges looking somewhat tanned. Fanny's meringues always do, I don't know why. Someone will. Fanny fills her case with confectioners custard made from the yolks, and then tops with poached plum halves. It feels like a fitting celebration of our four years together. In wedding anniversary terms, four years is Fruit, apparently. Will you join me and Fanny for four more? I do hope so - there is so much more Fanny Fun to come!

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.

Cat Got Your Tongue?

Some days we all just want to keep things low key. We might be feeling a little bit quiet. We might be feeling a little bit flat. We might be feeling just a little bit ordinary. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing much to shout about. Maybe we just want to have something comforting and familiar in our lives. Fanny always has the answer, and it's usually cake. As it happens her solution here is her 'signature' with a twist. The cake is normally flat, normally ordinary, always comforting, always familiar. So, imagine it with oooopmh, and you have her Swiss Roll, presented as a Gâteau...

Fanny has her own ideas on how a Swiss Roll should be made, and we've made them a few times together before. For my money, they always work, always produce a light, spongey cake panel and always go down well. She shoots hot sugar into eggs as they whisk, until a light, yellow, fluffy double-in-size mixture is created begging for you to fold in some flour and bake. She calls it the 'Swiss Roll Which Will Never Crack', and like her smile, it doesn't.

This time, Fanny bakes it in a perfectly ordinary 8-inch round cake tin, all lined and ready with greaseproof paper. It bakes for longer than an ordinary, flat Swiss Roll, but comes out just as springy and light. Fanny splits it carefully with a large knife and spreads it either with homemade jam, or when it is available scum from the jam. Yes, scum. Perhaps she really means something very different, she often does, but to me scum is the frothy stuff that rises to the top when you make jam. You skim it off and throw it away. Does Fanny really spread it in her cakes?

I don't have any to hand regardless, so use my homemade Bramble Jelly. We know how Fanny loves a Bramble. In addition to spreading it in the middle and 'clapping' the two halves together again, Fanny brushes it all over the sponge. It feels a little wrong, am I reading the instructions correctly? I should really have more faith in dear old Fanny, soon all becomes clear. She has plans. It's all methodical. Panic over. It's not only for taste, but also for glue.

Fanny takes some Langues de Chat (Cats' Tongues) biscuits that are either homemade or shop bought (I bought some this time), brushes them with more jam and dips them in freshly milled pistachios. She knows this is rather extravagant, so it remains optional. Then, they are stuck round the outside of the gâteau. The glue-jam helps them to stand proudly. A cheerful border of freshly whipped cream, a little icing sugar and a whipped egg white is piped around the inside, before the centre is piled high with the chosen berries. Fanny choses blackcurrants. I chose blueberries. Suddenly the day feels less flat, less ordinary and more familiar as I tuck quietly into a hearty slice of this satisfyingly spongey surprise. And *maybe* another one too. Just don't shout about it.

Split Decision Salad

Fanny Cradock has views on salads, and she's not afraid to share them. First of all, in the words of the late Samuel Goldwyn (for reasons unknown) she wishes to make to clear that she is 'including out' things which are simply 'beneath her contempt'. A good salad is not a bowl of chopped lettuce, not cucumber with the skin cut off (so that everyone gets the burps), not un-skinned tomatoes and a most definitely not bottle of bought 'salad cream'. I'm with Fanny on that last one - she feels it is a misnomer as it contains no cream, and it does contain malt vinegar. Said vinegar is excellent for cleaning refrigerators and for taking stains of polished surfaces, but, Fanny maintains, is lethal to the taste buds and should be banned from home cooking. I just can't bear salad cream.

Fanny feels that by the very nature of it's ingredients, the humble salad is potentially a perfect example of a gourmet's requirements no matter how modest the expenditure is. Tomatoes must be skinned. Cucumbers must be un-skinned and sliced very thinly. Lettuce must be washed, torn, shaken and served cold. Real mayonnaise must be used. This makes the absolute minimal salad assembly and avoids the abomination of limpness. Pimentoes must be hard, crisp and tight skinned. Eggs must never be boiled for longer than eight minutes, and must be slung immediately afterwards into cold water to avoid nasty black lines around the yolk, which is off-putting at the best of times.

Most people in England, Fanny says not meaning to wade in on national divides, labour under the monumental misconception that a 'green salad' should be a kind of vegetarian dog's dinner compromising rabbit food and oddments, all higgled together on a kidney-shaped dish under the wrong name of 'Tossed Green Salad'. The main offence however remains that it is clearly not green, but multi-coloured. So what is the real deal? Fanny is keen to evoke feelings of nostalgia to explain...

Not sure who's nostalgia it is, perhaps her own? The answer lies in France, of course, where all things civilised reside. Between the hours of noon and two, every French working man, whether he quits his office desk, road excavation, factory yard, field, counter or luxurious limousine, returns home to discover the homemaker shaking out crisp, well picked green stuff, Salade Verte, from their saladiers, to be served after the main course. Fanny suggests a slight change of colour with her idea for British homes, the Iris Salad. Just please do not serve it with any wine. Fanny begs you. Not at lunchtime at any rate, surely.

Perhaps it is not the colour which gives the Iris Salad it's name. It's far from a violet hue. Perhaps it is because you will not believe your eyes. Especially after all Fanny's demands. She makes a simple dressing with wine vinegar, oil, crushed garlic, chopped pimentos, paprika and pickles. No salad cream. All good so far. She washes and spin dries crisp, cos salad leaves. She slices tomatoes neatly, more pimentos, perfectly boiled eggs and just before she drizzles the dressing over, she adds slices of banana. Yes, banana. In a salad. At least it wasn't salad cream, that would just be disgusting...

Strawberry Meals Forever

Fanny Cradock is always inspired by the seasons as to what to whip up for us to enjoy. She's just a little bit ahead of herself here though as she urges us to prepare for splendid days of Summer. She's planted some lovely strawberry plants, carefully selected for both flavour and flower, in every nook and cranny of her, she would claim, modest garden, and is keen to make the most of them while the season is here. I am all for pretending that it is already summery strawberry season. We all need a little sunshine in our life don't we?

I am not using home-grown strawberries. Even it were the correct season, I have nowhere to grow them. No nooks or crannies. Fanny would be sad for me. She does enter, a little unusually I feel, into a prayer for those who have home-growing abilities though. Fanny's prayer is for their health. She prays that they are using all natural compost in their gardens, and are totally bereft of artificial sprays and fertilisers, so that at the very least the little strawberries arrive at their doors safe and pure. We would all say Amen to that.

Fanny considers a range of special treats that would be enhanced by chemical-free strawberries. Perhaps a Strawberry and Cream Choux Paste Gateaux is what you are dreaming of? Maybe you'd prefer Choux Paste Strawberry Swans? Possibly a Strawberry Mille Feuille is more your thing? Or a simple Sponge Sandwich with Strawberries? Whichever it is, Fanny rustles them all up. She claims they are perfect if you want to make something gorgeous even if you can't cook. Awkward. Presumably they are good too, even if you can. They all involve simply filling the chosen sponge or pastry with strawberries and cream. Sometimes custard too. My prayers have been answered.

I'm in the mood for Strawberry Shortbread. Fanny gives it the usual French translation to fancy it up - Gâteau Biscuit Anglais aux Fraises Chantilly - but when you get down to it, it's shortbread, strawberries and cream. Fanny makes her shortbread with butter, sugar, self-raising flour (which she is sure will horrify the Scots, but she insists on using it for everything) and also rice flour. She creams the butter and sugar together, folds in the flours and presses them into suitably buttered and floured moulds for baking. Simple. A moderate oven will suffice.

While one shortbread circle is cooling, Fanny suggests cutting the other in half ready for presentation.  When both are fully cool, she piles in sliced, hulled and heavenly strawberries, pops the two halves on top as 'wings' or a lid, and adds generous amounts of piped cream. I'm not sure where this traditional display originates, but it does make a very pleasing offering. The shortbread is crumbly and buttery. The strawberries sweet and juicy. The cream light and fluffy. Next time I need a little sunshine in my days, this will be my go-to brightener. Let's pray for all those that are burdened by chemically treated fruits while we are feeling so worthy.

A Vine Romance

Fanny Cradock loves a mould. They are so useful to transport the simplest of dishes to a whole new level, into a whole new shape and often in a whole new way. Fanny has lots of moulds in her amply furnished kitchen, many which she has collected over the years from the many fantastic places she has visited. She likes to show them off. At. Every. Opportunity. She never misses a chance to demonstrate her one-up-(wo)man-ship, thinly disguised as educational, inspirational and aspirational.

She's clearly rubbed off on me, as I can barely resist eyeing-up and then buying-up a mould myself. I have them hidden in every available nook and cranny of my rather limited kitchen. I even have some on display. I know that I will never compete with Fanny. However, she continues to rub it in. She's making moulded ice creams, and shamelessly displays her multi-flavoured Bombes in all their glory, moulded in eighteenth century pewter moulds that she 'happened' to pick up for a measly £1.50 ten years earlier. In Halifax. I'm clearly searching the wrong fantastic places.

Fanny recognises that I am unlikely to have the same kind of moulds as she has. She's not wrong. She knows she has all the good stuff stashed away. Fanny doesn't think this is important. She obviously is overlooking my burgeoning obsessive collection tendencies that she herself has encouraged. The reason however that she thinks I shouldn't be too bothered is that I am likely to have the perfect mould already in my kitchen. Has she seen my paltry collection of everyday animals, traditional shapes and almost fancy-pants contours? No, dear old Fanny has another altogether more organic idea.

A melon. I don't need to travel to the heady heights of Halifax to obtain one of those. It hardly adds much glamour to my mould collection. A melon? Fanny suggests scooping it out so that it is hollow, which seems reasonable to me. Fanny, always concerned with food waste, has a delightful idea of what to do with the flesh. I'm imagining something fantastic that my neighbours will never even have thought about. No. Fanny's idea? Eat it. How terribly inventive.

More innovative, imaginative and perhaps ingenious is her idea for the ice cream. She calls it a Bombe Anglaise. It's actually Tomato Ice Cream. Savoury. It sounds avant-garde to me. Fanny makes it from what-she-calls Tomato Purée, but what I-would-call Passata. Fanny makes a savoury custard, which is like a sweet one but without any sugar. Fanny whips up some double cream. Fanny adds a range of Bloody Mary seasonings. Fanny beats them all together. Fanny fills the scooped out melons. Fanny freezes them. Fanny then un-moulds them and 'claps' them together to look like a giant tomato. With a mint leaf garnish. Fanny is incredible. Fanny is inspired. Fanny is impressive. The ice cream is 'Da Bombe'. I've almost forgotten about those antique moulds that I've yet to obtain. Almost.

He Used To Bring Me Roses...

Fanny has gone into full-blown Blue Peter mode for her latest 'how to...' pic-strip. Not only has she raided the tubs of plasticine from the play-box, she also has a box full of 'ones that she made earlier' ready to show any newcomers who may miss her impromptu demonstration. If anyone dares that is. Fanny has come suitably prepared with all sorts of templates and diagrams as well... There's no need to send the adults out the room at this stage though, this one is intended for them, not the small fry...

All this preparation is for edible roses. According to Fanny they require an awful lot of practice to get right you see. That's where the plasticine comes in. She recommends making the roses from it first of all, just to make sure that you get the technique spot-on before letting you loose with anything remotely edible. Fanny additionally recommends using white plasticine ONLY for the practice runs, and then coloured Almond Paste ONLY for the real thing. This is a health and safety warning in essence to make sure that none of the plasticine flowers are eaten. Do not eat the plasticine, alright?

Fanny says the sole reason (apart from the aforementioned safety) for practising with plasticine is that if you do not end up with satisfactory roses, you can simply 'bang them down' and start again. The plasticine will easily work back into blobs and you can try again. And again. As many times as you require to perfect the presentation. Indefinitely Fanny says, such is her confidence in us all to master the technique. This make-and-make-again learning process is not possible with coloured Almond Paste, as it dries and cracks. No-one likes to see that.

I may be cuckoo, but not only do I decide to throw caution to the wind and NOT rehearse with plasticine first, but I also decide NOT to use Almond Paste to make my roses. I've got ready made icing instead.  It is white though, so perhaps my mind will be fooled into thinking it is plasticine, although I don't ever remember seeing it in white. Maybe it just never stayed white very long in my hands? For the roses, in your choice of edible or non-edible materials, Fanny first takes a blob the size of a walnut and fashions it into a 'bud' shape, with a flat bottom and a narrow waist. Then more, smaller blobs are rolled, pressed flat to the exact size of the given templates and then wrapped round the bud and made to look like petals.

I think I did alright despite the lack of plasticine preparation. They might look more like cabbages than roses, but I can sharpen my skills. Instead of colouring my icing, I have sprayed them with edible glitter once finished. Fanny gives one final warning at the end, so if even if you've practised and practised, but failed, it may be that by some unhappy chance you suffer from hot, moist hands and, if so, you should forget all about making your own edible roses. The moisture from your sweaty palms will penetrate the petals, producing a plastered together pile-up. Please do revert to ones that someone else has made earlier. Or indeed fashion your own from sticky-back plastic.

Respect Your Aelder

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. At least in Fanny Cradock's world. Having said that, she does start planning for the fateful day in January, such is the importance she places on the occasion. So perhaps everyday is like Christmas? For now though it's not puddings, fruit cakes, mincemeat or even decorations that has got Fanny all stirred up - it's the chance to say, although you may say uncharacteristically, 'thank-you' to all those that have supplied her throughout the year.

You see there were seemingly certain teams of people who worked for the Cradock's who they sent large gâteaux for them to eat in their offices on their last working day before Christmas. They obviously had a lot of these mystery office workers dotted around, and they all needed a suitable cake to be dispatched in time for the final hoorah of the year. Clearly the cakes had to be delicious, full-on festive and large enough for the whole team to dig in. Fanny set her own housebound team to work on the 'thank-you' cakes. Michael started by making endless swiss roll panels. The ones which never crack.

We've made them before, but I always enjoy doing them. So easy, and light, with fluffy panels resulting. As well as the panels, Fanny of course needed an almost endless supply of buttercream. She does have an unusual method for making it, or rather getting her team to make it. She starts with egg yolks. And a double-boiler. The yolks are whisked to a frenzy with icing sugar over a gentle thread of heat until pale and 'like cream'. Meanwhile, butter is also beaten until pale and fluffy, and then added to the eggy-sugar-cream mix. The result is a lovely, natural looking buttercream. It tastes pretty good too.

Fanny tends to top these 'thank-you' cakes in mocha glacé icing. It's what you think of for Christmas, isn't it?  No, me neither. So I switch up the coffee for a new Scottish, foraged liqueur, or elixir, that I tried this week called Aelder. It's made by Buck and Birch, and packs a punch of herbs, botanicals and christmassy flavours of sweetness and spice. Should be perfect. Fanny borrows her recipe from Gretel Beer (who I also love) which is essentially a syrup, with added chocolate chips and a little olive oil. The Aelder makes a tempting syrup, so all looks good so far.

Fanny divides her swiss roll panel into three and build layers of with buttercream filling, before it's all topped off with the glacé icing. Fanny recommends popping the cake into the porch to cool down before the icing covering is added, although I dare say the fridge might do. I think mine might've seized up a little, but it still covers okay. All that's left is a jaunty design with the remaining buttercream and perhaps a walnut or two for decoration, before Fanny fires them off to the waiting office teams. Add in any Christmas decorations you should wish too, of course. For bigger teams, just make more (Fanny states the obvious) and add them together into long lines of cake. Then, be thankful. Do you think the office teams were?