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?

You Couldn't See Green Cheese But You'd Want It

When I was young there was a phrase that everyone always seemed to say to me when I wanted to try something which they had. 'You couldn't see Green Cheese but you'd want it.' As a phrase it intrigued the curious child in me of course, and I spent many, many years on the look out for Green Cheese. Could I see it? Would I want it? It seemed like it must've been the most elusive of foods, and as a result of constantly being told that I would want it, I inevitably did. It became desirable. My search failed, until now. Fanny always seems to fill in the culinary blanks. Her Green Cheese is also an ice-cream, which is a little unexpected to say the least. Will I want it after all?

Fanny says it's the perfect way to surprise your guests (I bet) while at the same time saving yourself the trouble of working on a finishing course at the time of entertaining. In other words, it is made in advance. It is one of Fanny's own special invented recipes, which came about after Johnnie apparently moaned on about the lack of 'this kind' (can only assume he means cheesy) of ice-cream for many years. I wonder if Fanny just misunderstood and he was repeating the phrase so often said to me? At any rate, Fanny locked herself in the kitchen for what she calls a 'trial and error session' where this recipe emerged and has been used to surprise her guests ever since.

This ice-cream starts of more like a sauce, by making a roux with melted butter, working in the same amount of sifted flour. The roux needs to be cooked for at least two minutes, according to Fanny's trials with error, before being transformed into a sauce with dry white wine. Gradually. Once combined, Fanny adds in single cream. Gradually again. It's quite a glossy sauce at this stage, perfect for adding grated cheese to. Fanny suggests Gruyère and Parmesan, but I substitute the Gruyère for some salty Swedish Västerbotten that I have been enjoying recently. I know that Parmesan is not vegetarian, but it's my choice. I like the taste. I'm a bad vegetarian. If you don't eat it, substitute for something you do, please don't send me nasty letters.

Off the heat, an egg yolk is beaten in and then some double cream. Gradually. You get the idea. Fanny suggests tasting at this stage and 'correcting' the seasoning with salt, pepper and even nutmeg if required. It's quite hard to know what the 'correct' finished product should taste like, but the Västerbotten I think provides enough saltiness and sharpness that no correction is required. It tastes like a cheesy, creamy sauce. It would be perfect with pasta. Fanny's top tip is to 'remember' that freezing diminishes the potency of both sweet and savour flavours, so best to 'err' on the side of generous. Remember Fanny has no doubt tried lots of variations in her 'trial and error' session, so she will know best.

The next error is a fairly major one for Fanny. The recipe just ends here. It's almost as if Fanny has drifted off. What happens next? Luckily for me, and you, Fanny repeats her recipes time and time again throughout the many cookbooks of her career, and this particular gem can be found in the 1970 masterpiece, The Cook Hostess' Book. The missing instructions are simply to divide the mixture into little moulds and freeze until ready for service. Little cones seem appropriate to me. For showing off, Fanny encourages us to transform the appearance of the finished ice-cream from a dull, flatfish cream beige colour with harmless green vegetable colouring, which is much more pleasing to the eye. I do half and half. I half-freeze it before piping and freezing again, I'm really showing off. My eyes are delighted. It's certainly a surprise to the taste-buds too. So next time anyone says that intriguing phrase to you, say proudly 'yes I can, I do and I have, thanks to Fanny!' She'd be thrilled.

Quiche Me Quick

With the beginning of Lent looming later this week, Fanny Cradock is all set to rid meat, game and poultry from our diets. Oh. For some of us there is nothing to 'exclude' as we approach a period of practicing a 'little hopefully highly palatable austerity'. But hey, this means a whole partwork devoted to lenten food, and - wait for it - some special vegetarian recipes! Yahoo! She does say they are aimed at the 'less severe' lacto-vegetarians though, which perhaps clarifies her true feelings on the matter. Hang on though, before we get too excited, Fanny also warns us solemnly that this whole season of Lent can be wildly depressing gastronomically...

In an attempt to cheer us up, Fanny introduces four recipes for cod which she describes as 'dull as cold mutton'. It was known in her family as 'divorce meat'. Fanny's father considered any housewife who slipped cold mutton onto the table 'unsupported and unadorned' was providing more than adequate grounds for divorce. We are left to wonder what he thought of cold mutton 'supported and adorned'. Fanny says the same may be fairly said about her cod dishes, so we'll skip merrily over them. Fanny is particularly personally and positively despising of frozen fish fillets. She seems to like vegetarians only slightly more.

Her first suggestion is as equally palatable to her and her household - all devoted meat eaters she proudly tells us - as to her vegetarian guests. Perhaps she doesn't loath us all? Her first recipe idea is a classic one originally from Lorraine - Quiche, or Kiche - for which each local housewife has a recipe which they insist is better than their neighbours. Fanny does too. Her first vegetarian, lenten recipe contains bacon, which again perhaps displays her feelings towards both. I'll leave it out. Her first piece of respectful advice is to stick to a savoury version if serving it to someone actually from Lorraine. Who knew a sweet Quiche was even on the cards, certainly not those horrified luncheon guests who endured what Fanny herself calls a 'grim experience'.

Fanny's upholds her ominous undertones as she readies the pastry case for the Quiche. She calls it 'lining paste' which conjures up thoughts of dismal wallpapering and not cheerfully wow-ing vegetarian guests. This wallpaper lining paste is known as Pâté à Foncer Ordinaire and has a lower fat to flour ratio (roughly one third/two thirds) and a much higher water content, than the standard shortcrust stuff we are familiar with. It's all chopped up with knives, rolled out and used to line a suitable square tin in the usual way though. Yes, square it must be.

The pastry rolls out well. Fanny insists on blind baking with beans. If a raw pastry is used Fanny warns that the custard 'may go down and the pastry will come up in little humps and bubbles', so I'm not risking that. The filling is eggs, single cream (and/or top of the milk, every thrifty), Parmesan (or Parmesan-style for the 'more severe' than I in the vegetarian stakes) and a little seasoning. Poured into the case it is topped with thin slices of Gruyère and baked at two temperatures - first high for only five minutes then long and slow until set. This is Fannys key to success for custard which cuts creamily. The finished Quiche tastes yummily of yesteryear in all honesty, the lining paste is spectacularly crisp and flashes me straight back to childhood. Far from wildly depressing and grim, it is indeed a perfectly palatable beginning to Lenten. The wallpaper may still be ghastly, however, not everything from the 70's deserves a revival.