Uh-huh, Fanny's All Fried Up

If you thought perhaps that none other than the King himself, Elvis, invented the artery-clogging deep-fried sandwich, then you'll have to think again. It may be his hefty, burning, burning hunks of love - those deep-fried Peanut Butter and Banana favourites that he enjoyed before he left the building permanently that sticks in everyones suspicious minds, but their history seems to go way down back in time. According to Fanny, it was another kind of 'royalty' altogether, and possibly not who you'd be expecting. I won't be cruel, but the hot-headed woman in question, was Fanny's mother-with-the-wooden-heart, Bijou.

So the story goes, Fanny's mother was arranging another wedding (presumably this happened a great deal) at their humble house for an orphaned member of the family. Fanny was the Bridesmaid. Her mother and the cook were at logger-heads about the buffet, even though her mother had trained this 'country born cook' she appeared to have quite different ideas for catering. The cook insisted that Fanny's mothers plan would not contain enough food for the guests. Her mother was adamant it would. Rage ensued, until strangely Fanny's mother, not normally one to surrender, 'gave in' and trays of sandwiches were made...

Needless to say, a vast amount of disconsolate, curl-edged caviar sandwiches remained after the last guest had left. However, instead of crying in the chapel, Fanny's mother suggested to the crestfallen country cook 'it's now or never' so whip up a thinnish fritter batter, pass each sandwich through it, drop them into hot smoking fat to fry them, and serve them with a lemon sauce. Delicious. There we go, no wastage. Although, quite who they were being served to we will never know, presumably the 'household' the next day? That'll teach 'em.

Fanny of course is not suggesting that we must use caviar sandwiches here, any old residue from a mixed package will do. For example, Fanny herself made up sandwiches for one of the assistants who was out all day driving, but when they returned so did the sandwiches, untouched. Apparently during this long day of driving, he went into a pub for a glass of beer and happened to run into a friend who invited him for luncheon, so the sandwiches remained uneaten. Perhaps if a little less conversation had occurred, and a little more munching these sandwiches would not have been returned to sender. Fanny made Dianne and Sally cut them into small triangles and fry them up, just as Fanny's mother had for his latest flame.

I haven't catered for a wedding, or bumped into friends randomly in the pub, so I am lacking in a tray of curled-up sandwiches. So, supermarket versions will have to suffice. Fanny's batter is delightful. Whisk up an egg yolk, add the juice of a lemon, seasoning, melted butter and then some flour. Whisk up the egg white separately and fold it in for a thinnish and very light and airy batter. I cut my Cheese and Onion and slightly more upmarket Brie and Grape efforts into small triangles and fry until golden. They look smashing. I can't help falling in love with the Cheese and Onion ones. The Brie and Grape were perhaps a poor choice, who wants deep-fried lettuce? Fanny says that her mothers deep-fried sandwiches are like a 17th Century recipe for a cure for corns, which promised that they would 'swiftlie vanyshe'. It may not be the most appetising note to end on, but she was right. They are little devils in disguise, oh yes they are.

Which Witches 'Wich

Fanny Cradock really was one of a kind. A unique kind of cookery writer, her books and recipes are certainly not like those by anyone else. Ever. Let's test it out. Take a wander over to your bookshelf. Stare hard at your collection. Let your eyes gaze over the titles and think deeply about the recipes contained within. Concentrate. Can you recall any of the books containing recipes that you would 'only serve to your most detested female enemy in moments of extreme rage'? Recipes that were supposedly the 'most horrific' in the world? Let me know if I'm wrong, but I reckon it's only in one of Fanny's volumes that you'll find just that.

In this fairly unique start, even for Fanny, to part 32 looking at Sweet and Savoury Sandwiches, the focus is first of all upon Danish Open Sandwiches. After all, Fanny says, the Danes have some of the best pastry cooks in the world, have Sandwich Houses and apparently the sandwich servers wear leather aprons. What's not to like? The sandwich selection is enormous, around five hundred different possibilities, all offered 'by the yard'. So naturally you'd choose one that that you absolutely one hundred percent detested, served only to those who disgust you even more, to showcase here.

Fanny chooses Danish Open Sandwiches to 'widen our basic arc of thinking' when we consider sandwiches. At the lowest possible sandwich level is the national loaf, sold frequently from the deep freeze, wrapped up in the modern equivalent of mackintosh knickers and pre-sliced. Always tasting like inner soles. Fanny isn't a fan. It is possible to progress though, Fanny recommends French bread, rye bread, black bread, brioches and pumpernickel. Even diet 'biscuits', but not Ryvita. They taste like minced straw mattresses apparently. We'll perhaps have to take Fannys word for that one.

Fanny's final slimming tip is to make your sandwiches with a Cambridge Loaf, which has enabled Fanny to maintain her waistline at the same measurement that it was 20 years previously, even after becoming a mother and grandmother. Allegedly. If you make any 'off' comments about Fanny's waistline, then beware, it will be this sandwich that is served to you. Fanny calls it a Jansen's Temptation, but when I google that it seems to be a Swedish casserole of potato and onions. Fanny won't have mixed up her Nordic countries by any chance and surely knows her smørrebrød from her smörgåsbord?

She lets us know that Danish people themselves do not think sandwiches are even worth eating unless they contain the same amount of butter as bread, so bang goes the diet. This particular horror is topped with another thick layer of blue cheese. It should be Danish of course. And then smothered with raspberry jam. I can think of many, many worse things to spread on a slice of bread to serve to my most hated enemy, female or not, in moments of extreme rage, than butter, some lovely blue cheese and fruity jam. Fanny never divulges just who that nasty woman was, or what she did to upset her so. She does nonetheless suggest serving the sandwich with a spicy snifter of spirited Snaps in an attempt to salvage the situation. My only wish is that Fanny had produced a whole cookbook stuffed with recipes for people you despise. Meanwhile, Skål.