Boi's II (Married) Men

I think Fanny Cradock was a frustrated wedding planner. She was forever banging on about 'suitable' things to make, and ways to decorate your own home 'simply' for the reception. She was determined to plan it, even if you didn't ask her to. She tells us she had recently decided to give a reception for someone or other which was 'one of those occasions Johnnie and I were driven almost hairless', which doesn't sound like the most glowing of references does it? My dear blogging pal, Cakeyboi, recently got married to Disneyboi on a trip to Canada. They are having their reception soon back home, but sadly I am unable to make it, as I will be away. I'm gutted. Perhaps they'd benefit from some of Fanny's advice instead - no need to thank me Cakey, Disney and anyone else planning a big bash, just call it my wedding gift to you...

Fanny insisted that she catered the wedding without any hired help whatsoever. It simply wouldn't be fair to those of us that cannot hire any help for her to do so. So she didn't. She only had the help of her army of assistants, who were already on board I imagine. No need to hire any more. Fanny's wedding plans are all based around Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed and Something Blue. I do hope Cakey and Disney are paying attention to this. Don't hire any help. There are more detailed suggestions to come.

For something old, Fanny insisted an old tradition be revived. A Receiving Arch. Presumably to be received under. Essential for a wedding. She gives detailed instructions on it's construction. Diagrams and plans. For something new, it's an idea to have two cakes - a three-tiered one and a fancy nancy French one, a Croquembouche. Fanny borrows an idea in the shape of making a third cake, or set of cakes, for the Bridesmaids. Seemingly it's a good trick, as they too will become brides one day and will remember your kindness by asking you to cater their wedding too. The gift that keeps on giving. The something blue is a homemade ice-bucket for the champagne, made by filling a plastic bucket with water, coloured blue, frozen (if you can find a freezer large enough), removed from the bucket, hollowed out ready for the bottle to be inserted. And then melts all over your impressive table, presumably?

Fanny is full of helpful advice that I am sure Cakey and Disney will be pleased to have. 'Continue whipping until very stiff' are excellent words of encouragement in themselves for newly-weds, but Fanny also suggests that you 'neaten off your blobs and stud them with glacé cherries' just to be sure. Fanny continues with her words of wisdom. 'Just line them all up, and go down the line and PUSH, PUSH, PUSH' and if need be 'spread all over and right down to the base of each side, before you slip them in.' Fanny reassures us that 'when it comes to filling and clapping together in pairs' that there is nothing to it really, 'no skill, just patience and a steady hand'. Indeed Johnnie 'always steadies his hand with the other and supports his elbow on the table.' So fear not Cakey and Disney, all will be well.

This advice may not suit all however, especially those challenged by temperature control. Fanny says 'if by any chance you suffer from hot, moist hands' you can forget about doing it yourself. The 'excessive palm moisture will penetrate' seemingly and everything will just stick. No-one wants that, especially at a wedding. So there we have it Cakey and Disney, all the advice you will ever need for a perfect wedding reception. Fanny does warn though that 'after a while the skin on your finger-tips will become hard', so take extra care won't you? She's talking about the Croquembouche, clearly. You knew that though, right? Enjoy the reception!

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.

If The Horse-Choux Fits

Fanny is still chatting on about weddings. There doesn't seem to be a wedding any time soon, or even anyone on the verge of an announcement, but more she is just 'putting it out there' that if there were to be such a celebration, she'd be as eager as a beaver to get that buffet bulging. She has so many ideas for the ideal wedding reception buffet, but don't worry if all you are planning is a simple garden party, or indeed any outdoor or indoor warm weather reception, these ideas are still for you. If you've been following Fanny with me for a while, you'll probably be able to guess what her ideal buffet ideas are...

Everything revolves around Choux Paste. It's so versatile that almost all of your wedding/garden party/outdoor/indoor/warm weather party canapés can be made with it. All the others can be vol-au-vents. Perfect. Easy. Tasty. Fanny suggests 'basic' choux made with water, also a 'basic' sweet choux made with milk, a 'basic' orange choux and a 'basic' coffee choux paste. They are all essentially the same 'basic' recipe using different liquids, but are sure to impress your 'basic' guests. And that's even before they are decorated and filled. I've made choux before with Fanny, so my eyes are drawn immediately to her 'basic' savoury option, made basically with Cheese.

Fanny starts by melting butter gently in milk, only allowing it to come up to the boil once the butter has completely dissolved. She quickly tosses in some flour and lets the mixture 'seethe up as usual' around the flour. Remove immediately from the heat, season, add cheese and beat, beat, beat like your life depends upon it. Stretch yourself, Fanny says, over the beating until you are 'practically fed-up' for airy puffy choux. The mixture should be entirely smooth and come clear of the pan. Sally is on hand with a pic-strip guide to show you what it should look like, which of course I have followed and recreated. Fanny then beats in three eggs, one at time. The first one will turn the mixture into globules which will look throughly depressing, but carry on. If you pay no heed and go on beating the mixture will become perfectly smooth again. Once it is, beat in the next egg, and so on. She is right.

Then comes the most important part. Fanny absolutely and without any discussion or debate, insists that this is followed to the letter. Cover the mixture with a plate and leave it at ordinary room temperature until it is absolutely cold. Do NOT pop it into the fridge, you will be sorry. And, if you use it while it is hot, not only are you completely off your rocker, but you will 'descend to the depths of culinary shame', because, when the mixture is baked, no matter what shape you choose, it will have horrible goo in the centre which you will need to scrape out with a teaspoon. Say no to goo, say no to shame and do as Fanny says, ok?

When it is stone cold, piping can begin. In a variety of shapes, naturally. Sally has a glass of cold water to hand to dip a knife into it to 'snip' the end of the piping off neatly. For eclairs, long strips. For buns, pipe vertically and push down before lobbing off the end. For weddings, Fanny says horseshoe shapes. She makes no shoe/choux jokes. This is serious business. Whatever you choose, (I'm fighting the desire to say 'choux-se') a hot oven is required until golden brown. Mine emerge a little dark, but smelling great. And no goo. Yippee! Fanny whips up some blue cheese and piping it on for decoration. Mix it with a little splash of port for easy piping. She insists on using the best possible port which you can 'steal from your husband'. This doesn't seem like the best start to married life to me, but who am I to argue with Fanny? Especially when these are so good. After all, there is no wedding here. No party of any kind - just me a a table full of very quickly disappearing savoury delicious choux.