Bish, Bash, Brioche!

Fanny is keen to demonstrate that she is 'exploding yet another fallacy' by guiding us with ease through the often-thought-of-as-tricky yeast cookery. 'Bang goes the fable that yeast is difficult to handle' she boldly states as we skip into the kitchen together... Yes, yeast takes time, but not nearly as much as the 'misinformed' (that's all those who disagree with Fanny you understand) would have you imagine. Fanny calls them 'know-alls' who happen to be 'absolutely wrong'. So 'know-nothings' really. Fanny has something to 'prove' to us all, when it comes to yeast, it should be simple.

We've already mastered croissants (sort of), explored the differences between Babas and Savarins, so the sensible yet simple next step is to look at the mighty Brioche. Fanny has another secret up her over-blown chiffon sleeve... the yeasted batter for Brioche is exactly the same as we have just made for Babas and Savarins. Exactly. With a feeling of déjà-vu I set to mixing it all together, but as Fanny says, it is at least simple.

Fanny likes to think of Brioches as 'edible containers' for either sweet or savoury fillings. She maintains that the incidence of sugar in the batter is not high enough to offend the palate which receives savoury mouthfuls. Not too sweet then. Fanny would give us wondrous recipes for Fois Gras fillings (which would command a hefty price of £1.25 per slice in fancy restaurants as a first course) but we aren't quite ready for that. Phew. Instead she entices us (seemingly) with a drab crab filling or a French Soufflé. If in doubt, add a soufflé to anything and everything, that's Fannys mantra. She hollows out a giant brioche, fills it with a superb show-off soufflé mix and bakes it again. Ta-dah!

Brioches are versatile however. As an alternative Fanny gets poor old Sally to cobble together another giant brioche, this time suitable for a range of Family Occasions, 'La Brioche Familiale'. Shamefully Sally has burnt the top of an otherwise beautiful bake, but Fanny is at hand with her trusty icing sugar to cover it liberally with an inch or two of heavy dusting before it is presented. Sally is no longer invited to the family occasion. For Sally's own good, a picture of it is presented in all it's glory for readers to see. She must learn and not become one of those 'know-alls'. Fanny also makes some 'Brioche Ordinaries' herself in little miniature brioche pans. It is these plain brioches I go for, mainly as I have the pans, and I don't want to end up cast out like Sally.

Fanny is not normally known for her plainness however, so she suggests a simple way to tiddle them up a little for very special occasions. Tinned fruit. It's always my first port of call when I want to go fancy. Actually it is a bit of a guilty pleasure, so I am of course delighted that Fanny approves. She gives her brioches a little scoop out to create a hollow, filling them with an apricot cup. My tinned fruit of choice is the marvellous peach, sliced and smothered with a generous painting of crab apple jelly. A joy to eat, yet so simple, and so there to all you misinformed 'know-alls'...

So Waffley Versatile

Fanny Cradock closes this part by blabbering on about a very particular tool of the trade. Luckily for me I bought a vintage, Italian one very recently, in perfectly unused condition, and I've been looking for an excuse to try it out! The stove-top Waffle Iron is not something I'd have expected Fanny to be blethering about, but as ever she is full of surprises. It's a lovely shiny piece of kitchen kit, I wonder how readily available they were back in Fannys time? Not that that would concern her of course, she'd continue to twaddle on about them before striking a deal with the importers and adding them to her catalogue...

I'm also not sure how well known or how popular waffles themselves were outside of the States. Not that that would stop Fanny babbling about them.These are obviously not the potato ones which became staples of the 80's tea times, but the ones more like biscuits and rolled into cones if you were fancy. Fanny was. Fanny gives them their French translation to boost their appeal - she chats about Les Gaufres Amèricaines.

Fanny starts her batter banter by combining perfectly ordinary (don't tell Wrights) self-raising flour with both bicarbonate of soda and baking powder in a roomy bowl. As the butter melts quietly on the stove, a beaten egg is dropped in and blended with a little milk until it makes a thick, springy dough. The remaining milk is very gradually but steadily beaten in too, once the dough is fairly smooth, and finally the butter, preferably with a trusty wooden spoon. The batter goes very glossy after this addition, and is worth the extra palaver.

Fanny prattles on with very particular instructions for the waffle iron. It needs to heated perfectly dry on both sides, over a low flame, which can be done while making the batter. When the batter is ready to go, brush the insides of the iron with a little melted butter or oil (or even better still with saindoux seemingly) or if like me you are feeling modern, spray some oil over the surfaces. Fanny says it must be very hot, and must smoke viciously and sizzle. Indeed it does. She plops a dollop of batter on while still over a moderate heat and spreads it out before closing the iron. I tried that, but it slid around a lot, so I just plonked it on and closed them, squidging the batter evenly.

Fanny's chatter is that if you overdo things and plop on too much batter it will escape out the sides, oozing and bubbling, so always have a clean, small knife to hand to cut it free. This turns out to be top advice until I get used the particular amounts for my iron. Fanny's final ramble of advice is to turn the iron over before checking if the first side is golden and cooked, and finishing off the underside. The waffles should never look a rather disconsolate beige. The finished waffles look great, crisp up once cooled and while warm wrap around the spindly thing that came with it to make (sort of) cones. My ice-cream would perhaps dribble from the bottom, but Fanny recommends serving simply with Maple Syrup and butter anyway. So I can dribble away quite happily while I gabble on about how great the waffle iron is...

Regretful Eggs

I am sorry. I'm not normally quite this flustered when I flick over the pages of the Cradock Cookery Programme. Usually I feel excited, intrigued, curious, eager, confused, impatient to get started, or puzzled how I'm going to make Fanny's creation work, but today I feel crestfallen and, well, a little bit embarrassed. I feel I must reluctantly give an apology before I even start... What has got me so guilt-ridden? They are just simple Egg Mayonnaise Tartlets, but Fanny calls them Angry Chinese Egg Men.

I am sorry to the entire nation of China, to each and every one of the 1.357 billion people who live in the vast country, and the many millions more who live elsewhere around the world. That's a lot of remorse. I'm not sure that Fanny ever travelled to China, or even met anyone from the East, but perhaps in a different age her negatively stereotypical 'rather cross men' were more funny than offensive? I wonder if Fanny would feel repentant today? Or is it just harmless fun?

I am sorry to Wrights Flour who sent me some Golden Pastry Flour to try. I am sure they were not expecting to see their treasured product transformed into a tartlet case decorated to look like some kind of representation of a distraught Chinese Man. Those distressed farmers growing the wheat, the hardworking millers grinding the flour, the happy-go-lucky packers and shippers who ensured it came to me in perfect form. Regretfully, for this.

I am sorry to the chickens on Over Langshaw Farm, who diligently ate their organic feed and strutted their stuff confidently around the yard waiting to lay set after set of gorgeous eggs, only for them to be boiled up and added to a layer of mayonnaise, with a top layer coloured green. I am sorry to the humiliated Tomato Growers who unwittingly provided the little hats. I am sorry to Wilton who not only never would have expected their harmless food colourings to be used like this, but presumably did not design their decorating pens thinking that someone would follow Fannys instructions to create an angry representation of a Chinese Man on an egg.

I am sorry to other bloggers who have selflessly opened blogging link-ups to help to showcase and share sensational (not sheepish) food blogs with their readers. Poor Dom at Belleau Kitchen will be mortified to see these linked to his Simply Eggcellent challenge but I'm ashamed to admit this is how Fanny liked her eggs in the morning. I'm distraught to add these to the Pastry Challenge from Jen and Lisa, but these were very quick to put together... I reluctantly link to Treat Petite, Egg Mayonnaise and Tomatoes say summer to me, but will Stuart or Kat ever speak to me again? Before I reveal these very Angry Chinese Men, here is a picture of the ones shamefaced Fanny made, just so you don't direct your disdain to me.

Last but not least, I am sorry to the little Chinese Men themselves. I'm guilty of having no idea at all why they have been disguised as mushrooms and plonked in a little pastry boat filled with grass. Or is it water? Or something else? No wonder they are angry.

It's My Fanny-versary!

Two years. Two whole years that Fanny Cradock has completely taken over enriched my life as I've enhanced taken over her Cookery Programme in this blog. In some ways it feels like I only started yesterday, while in other moments it does feel that I've been recreating weird and wonderful Cradock creations for ever. It has been twenty four months of fun, laughter and at times, let's be honest, horror at some of the things I've been making with Fannys guidance. I wouldn't swap a day of it though, I've enjoyed almost all each and every one of the 1,051,200 minutes.

To celebrate this two year Fanny-versary, Fanny has the perfect Chocolate Sponge Gâteau, which she strangely translates as Biscuit au Chocolat. After one hundred and four weeks together, nothing surprises me, least of all the exclusive questionable French translations. Fanny is part French you know. Fanny refers to it as a 'simple' sponge, made using the genoise method of whipping eggs and sugar together until they are voluminous. Fanny uses her beloved sweetened drinking chocolate to flavour the sponge, sifting it with her equally beloved self-raising flour and gently folding it into the well risen egg and sugar mix.

Fanny adds a little melted butter to the mix, presumably to make it lavish and luxurious. Fanny says it should be softened butter, which might suggest room temperature, but her instructions are to stir it in, so I use my common sense well trained initiative and melt it first. Fanny and I are becoming one and the same horrifically attuned as the months roll past it seems, I can translate her unique strange language and instructions with ease. Mostly. I even manage a little smirk to the imaginary camera while I cook and wrinkle my nose softly while giving any assistant brave enough to come close an almighty wallop.

Fanny bakes her special sponge in a square six inch tin. I don't have a square one that small, so substitute for a perfect serviceable round one, which is six inches diameter. Buttered with a greaseproof circle in the base and floured, naturally. The cake bakes for only 35 minutes before emerging all light and springy from the oven. For everyday situations, Fanny recommends her most lazy favourite of servings - a simple dusting of icing sugar, very thick. Hides everything. Hang on though, this is a very special occasion, so what does Fanny suggest to mark seven hundred and thirty long happy days together?

The answer I am sure you are all screaming is Mocha Buttercream, piped into tiny rosettes with a small star nozzle. This is always the answer. Except today, I am switching things up with three flavours of buttercream - rose, chocolate and vanilla - hey, it's my Fanny-versary and I'll vary if I want to. Fanny completes her decoration with chocolate leaves, dredged through pickings from her rose bush in the garden. Mine are pre-dredged and perfectly formed from Coco, I am sure Fanny would be raging wouldn't mind a shortcut. She better hadn't as we have a long way to go on our journey up the culinary ladder together. Two years has brought us only a quarter of the way, I do hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have so far? Will you be joining me for the remaining six years (gulp) up the giddy heights of the Cradock Cookery Programme? I have to warn you however that things get even more weird and wonderful spectacular as we progress...

Talk of the Steamie

Cooking along with Fanny Cradock regularly leads me to reminisce about foods from my own past, as well as foods that have somehow sadly become neglected in the midst of time. Sometimes Fanny is cooking things I remember we ate, or using an ingredient that I haven't seen for a while. Sometimes she is looking back on a dish that we used to eat a lot, maybe not prepared in the same way. When I see Steamed Chocolate Pudding I think of a tin from Heinz bubbling away on a stove long after the meal was finished with some dazzling bright custard waiting as patiently as we were. Of course Steamed Pudding à la Cradock, revived from history, does not involve any nasty tins, everything is prepared from scratch and prepared for a very special occasion.

You'll recall Fanny teased us with this recipe over a year ago, while she was showing us a steamed suet pudding. This time she introduces it without fanfare, after all that waiting. This is the famous pudding she created especially for the writer W Somerset Maugham. In 1981, around a decade after the partwork was published, Fanny and Johnnie were clearly more keen to recollect, publishing a book musing over their memories through the years. Actually, 'Time to Remember' was more like an early edition of Hello magazine, as they gossiped and dropped names on almost every page as they harked back to review the rich and famous folk who had enjoyed their cooking through the years.

As Fanny tells it, W Somerset Maugham, in his nineties at the time, was a man who really knew his food. Unfortunately Annette, who Fanny admits was one of the 'finest woman cooks' in France and who worked for the writer, was simply no good with 'nursery puddings' and in particular those faffy English ones. Fanny lists some of the recipes that Annette could make successfully, including Crème Maire-Louise, fish pie and a 'peasant' omelette, and also some of the well-to-do folks that had enjoyed them, including Winston Churchill, the Duchess of Windsor and the Aga Khan. But her steamed puddings were 'a disaster'.

Clearly then when W Somerset Maugham was to come to luncheon it would be a show-off affair with a showstopping steamed pudding to finish. Fanny provided a choice of two desserts but dear old 'Willie' (they were so close) exclaimed, after just one mouthful of the chocolate pudding, 'Ignore the other, take the pudding. It is truly admirable, extremely light... oh yes...!' before polishing off three portions. The pudding itself was made simply by creaming butter, adding sugar, flour and ordinary drinking chocolate with eggs and a little milk. Then steamed for three hours in a thickly buttered basin covered with buttered papers. Don't tell Annette.

Fanny served her hard-to-resist and hard-to-replicate (if you are a French cook or don't happen to have Fannys own instructions) pudding with a chocolate pouring sauce made by softening chocolate in a small pot with brown sugar and a little water. Flakes of butter are then beaten in with slosh of brandy. As ever. I'm using a Mint Puddle Chocolate from Dairy Milk, simply because it was calling to me as I stood in the supermarket checkout queue (it was on offer), and I thought it'd make a particularly good sauce. It did. The pudding is indeed light and moist. It as indeed reminiscent of those puddings I had in tins when I was young, but 'oh yes', so much better. My memories have indeed been replaced. I can't quite manage thirds, but will enjoy it at several points throughout the day, which is surely the same thing?

Taking The Pistachio

Fanny reckons that she has the home cook completely sussed. She knows how to make them vulnerable. According to Fanny they are already susceptible enough when it comes to chocolate recipes, so her plan is to make them (or hang on a cotton-picking minute, does she mean me?) doubly defenceless. Fanny can always spot a chocolate obsessed home cook you see, they will tend to read, ponder over and generally sort out any other kind of recipe, but give them an absolute dud with chocolate and they will rush to try it. The solution is of course to give them a good one, one of Fanny's! Fanny says there is not one 'woman in a thousand' who will fail to betray her slimming diet with 'just a slice', 'only one' or 'just a very small portion'. No duds here.

I'm not on a slimming diet, but the flavour combination that makes me go weak is chocolate and pistachio. I just love it. Fanny uses pistachios from time to time, but warns that in the 1970's they were hard to find, and way beyond the already stretched purse for many. I'm not tightening any belts just yet though and was thrilled to find the Lindt Pistachio Delight on sale in my local supermarket - I'd previously discovered it in Paris and fell in love... Chocolate with a pistachio filling, what's not to adore? Perfect for a twist on Fanny's Moist Chocolate Cake, non?

Fanny starts this cake by preparing the tin, naturally. She uses a perfectly ordinary 8" Victoria Sponge tin, buttered, lined with a disc of greaseproof paper, buttered again and then floured. It may seem like a faff, but I find it quite therapeutic really and the cakes always pop out well at the other end. This sponge is genoise in style. Fanny says to whisk up whole eggs and an extra yolk, with caster sugar in a bowl over another bowl of boiling water. Not that I want to cheat or anything, but I've seen recently that using a stand mixer on high speed produces the same results, and is less finicky. After all that tin preparation I need a short cut! Poor Sarah, my mixing assistant, makes light work of it, whipping it up until it is thick, risen and pale in colour. Fanny warns that if you cut down on the whipping you will spoil the cake! Thankfully Poor Sarah just keeps going and going.

This sponge only has a small amount of flour, but it needs to be added carefully so as to not take all the air out of the risen mix. Fanny folds hers in with a plastic spatula before adding softened chocolate chips, which I'm swapping for my pistachio chocolate. The mix is really thick and sticky, so takes a fair bit of folding to incorporate the flour and chocolate before pouring into the prepared tin. Fanny bakes hers for the very exact timing of 24 minutes, but I found mine needed much longer - probably another 20 minutes. Maybe it's because I didn't whisk it over the boiling water which presumably would've started the cooking process? Or maybe Fanny made a mistake? Surely not.

Fanny hides the inevitable crusty cracked top of the cake by flipping it over, then covering it with homemade almond paste. To keep with the pistachio theme, I experiment, switching the almonds for pistachios. I whizz up some gorgeously green and purple nuts and blend them with an egg white, orange blossom water, rose water and icing sugar. Just a quick knead and it's ready to roll. Fanny glues hers on with warmed apricot jelly, but I am using some homemade marmalade, which seems to work well. The pistachio paste is a great colour, natural for once, and covers the bouncy chocolate cake well. Fanny makes chocolate shavings to top hers, I chop up some more pistachio chocolate. You can never have too much. I'm ready to be exposed to a slice or two, it tastes nutty, not too sweet and very light. Surely not too calorific, it must be mostly air. I'll leave the small portions for those vulnerable slenderising home cooks, Fanny is training me in her professional ways, which I am taking to mean eat well, eat often, eat lots. That's my kind of diet.

A Whole New World

Fanny has an admission. It's not something which comes easily to her, but she is prepared to concede that she is not always right. Mostly, but not always. We've learnt at Fanny's side that pancakes must always be thin, they must always be delicate, they must always be made with Olive Oil and they must always be French. Of course, they must always be Fannys' recipe. Unless of course they are puffy, unless they are thick, unless they contain no Olive Oil and unless they come from the 'new world' as Fanny describes The United States. Fanny of course continues to refer to them in French as Crêpes Américaines, but also simply as Puffed Pancakes from the New World. I'm sure our friends in the U.S. would be so pumped.

For these puffy pleasures Fanny takes a whole new world approach and embraces a whole new technique. The ingredients are roughly the same though, eggs, single cream and flour. I was lucky to be sent a sample of Wrights Self Raising Flour this week, so it was put straight to good use here! Fanny adds egg yolks to her flour, and then mixes it all up to a thick batter with the cream. I wonder if I should've beaten the yolks into the cream first as it's hard to get the flecks of orange evenly distributed. Fanny doesn't say, she just gets to work.

Fanny whips up her egg whites ready to be added 'at the moment of making'. My trustee assistant Poor Sarah the KitchenAid has been languishing in the repair centre all week, but she made her way home just in time to set to whisking and a-whizzing for me. It's been so hard without her ready to leap into action at a moments click of the fingers. No wonder Fanny had a small army of endlessly hard working assistants scurrying away in her kitchen. It's been hard work this week all on my own!

Fanny suggests three ways to serve the finished puffy pancakes - all piled sky high, and all her own interpretation of what 'American' would be - first blasted with cinnamon and icing sugar, secondly inflated with chocolate chips in the batter, served with swollen raisins and maple syrup. Her third option is savoury - she makes a perfectly ordinary tomato sauce and smothers them in it and tops with bacon. That's not for me clearly. I'm not sure if Fanny ever went to America herself, but I love heading Stateside whenever I can. I always come back with bloated suitcases stuffed with 'candy' - I could practically open my own tacky high street store that we all secretly love. We'd love them more if they weren't so expensive I'm guessing. So I grab for some moreishly minty M&Ms which for some reason I have left untouched since my last trip! How did that happen?

Fanny adds hers into the batter and dollops them into a hot pan brushed lightly with olive oil. I knew it would make an appearance somewhere. As soon as they are 'set' she flips them over before piling up, drizzling with Maple Syrup, ready to be scoffed. The green M&Ms slowly seep and colour the batter in between each batch until the end ones are very verdant indeed. The chocolate melts and oozes out of the crisp shells to create a undeniably tasty pancake. They aren't as puffy as other 'American' style ones I've made, but these were Fanny's idea of a whole new world of pancakes. Compared to the slivers of French ones they are still light but airy, squidgy, and bursting with the M&Ms. Maybe minty pancakes aren't everyones cup of tea for breakfast though. I think they are right and I kind of like it when Fanny is 'wrong'...