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.

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...

Glögg, Glögg, Glögg

I should've had more faith in Fanny, she does have some favourite alcoholic cocktails to share for Christmas after all. Poor old Johnnie isn't a fan however. Despite teaching Fanny 'all she knows' about wine, he defines a cocktail as 'a number of good ingredients ruined by being mixed together.' Fanny is keen to surprise him though, and reaches into the depths of history to uncover some long forgotten, erm, classics, as well as some new wonders borrowed from around the world. Fanny must've picked up that I'm feeling a little under the weather this week, as most of the festive favourite are hot, hot, hot! I've been supping on some Galloway Chilli Jam Hot Toddies to try and scare the bugs off, but I'm willing to try some of Fannys specialities too. It might help. It's kind of research.

Before I get to the hot cocktails though, Fanny suggests a cold one. Made with milk. Stored for a few weeks before drinking. I dare say if I wasn't feeling too hot already, this would surely finish me off, but it's worth a go isn't it? For the Cold Milk Punch (which Fanny also calls Old Milk Punch, I can't work out if it's a typo or not) I need to soak lemon peel in rum for 24 hours, before adding brandy, the lemon juice, cinnamon, nutmeg and sugar. After a quick stir to dissolve the sugar, Fanny gets me adding boiled milk. She does warn that the mixture will curdle, and it does. I'm glad I did this in advance whilst feeling brighter. Adding some boiling water doesn't help. Fanny recommends leaving it for 24 hours covered with a cloth before straining and bottling and leaving it somewhere safe for a few weeks. I wish I'd forgotten where I'd stored it in all honesty, not even the rum, brandy and spices couldn't save me from 'old milk'.

In need of something warm and soothing I'm pleased not see that Fanny recommends a Churchwarden. Much more like it. It's a mix of lemon, cloves, red wine and tea. Perfect for this time of year and a real tonic after weeks-old milk. Fanny stabs cloves into a lemon and pops it into a cool oven until the lemon turns light brown. The smell is amazing, certainly clearing my poor sinuses. While the lemon is baking, heat the wine and get ready some scalding hot tea. Fanny says ideally should be green and from Mr Laity's shop in St Ives, Cornwall. This seems very specific to me (does it even still exist?), and quite a trip, so I reach for a TeaPigs instead. The roasted lemon is immersed in the hot wine, and hot tea poured on top with a little sugar. Yahoo for the Churchwarden, it's lovely. I expect it'd be even lovelier if I had the  right tea. Sorry Fanny. Sorry St Ives.

My cold isn't quite lifting yet, so I'd better bash on with more 'remedies'... Fanny has a richly sweet one for me next, it's called a Negus. Unusually Fanny doesn't give any explanation why, it just is. It's a classic. It's made with Port, although Fanny does say you can substitute Red Wine if wishing to be more economical. This is no time for economy though, what could be more import at than my health? The port is heated, but not boiled, and added to a jug with sugar, lemon rind, lemon juice and grated nutmeg. Again, it's a treat for my nasal passages. Fanny says I should stand the jug near a fire, I don't think she had my radiators in mind, and pour on some boiling water. The mixture then needs to be stirred for 30 minutes while keeping it warm before serving up. It really is lovely, but without the benefit of a roaring hearth I had to reheat it before swigging it back.

Finally for today, Fanny wants to introduce a traditional recipe she has 'borrowed' from Sweden, which she says is traditionally made with Sherry but she finds a red wine works equally well. Its Glögg but Fanny says it's sort of pronounced Glurg. It's also got brandy, so can't be wrong can it? The brandy is warmed gently with sugar, cloves, cinnamon sticks, almonds and raisins until it's too hot to touch comfortably. The only way to test this is to keep sticking your finger in until it hurts. Ouch. Then I wonder if Fanny is losing it. She sets light to it. This is a fire hazard, and I already have Casualty on speed dial after the finger-scalding test. Once the flames die down, phew, it's added to the gently warming red wine, stirred and served. It's stunning, a real winner for me. The almonds and raisins add so much. I do wonder if essentially burning off the brandy alcohol was necessary though. I reckon several of these will shift my lungs no problem. Oh hang on, Fanny suggests bottling left-overs to be reheated for next time. Left-overs? 

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!