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.

You can't get better than a kwik-flipped Fritter

Fanny was far from frumpy in the way she presented herself, or indeed any of the freaky food she hoped to whip us up into a frenzy with by showcasing. She was a fashion and food-trend frontrunner. No doubt she would frankly freak-out if we were to let ourselves go, either in the wardrobe department or in the ordinary domestic kitchen. We'd be a total fruitcake to get on the wrong side of Fanny, so to avoid any sort of fracas it's time to slip on our very best frocks and frolic into the kitchen for the grand finale of the 'exciting winter vegetable' frivolity.

Fanny has chosen some frisky fritters to tempt us, assorted vegetable fritters to be precise, or Beignets des Lègumes Assortis in full blown French. Don't fret, before we all frown at the very basic nature of this, Fanny senses our 'sigh' and points out that this is 'really a composite recipe' as she will give us the fritter batter, guide us how to prepare the vegetables and also provide a framework for the whole procedure. So that'll just be a recipe then. Composite seems a little fraudulent. Tsk tsk Fanny.

Fanny has chosen vegetables to fry which were fairly exotic at the time, but are positively frugal now - fresh Eggplants (Aubergines) and Baby Marrows (Courgettes). Hang on, aren't they both fruits? Don't write me nasty letters. Housewives of the 1970's would be completely frazzled and fraught with frustration trying to work out how to prepare them, but Fanny makes it simple. Slice the unskinned Aubergine thinly, arrange it on a wooden board and sprinkle it liberally with 'proper cooking salt', which is sea salt. Leave it for 30 minutes until a 'nasty brown build-up' has formed on the top. Wipe that off and then they are ready to use, free of all bitterness. I found gorgeous round courgettes which sliced wonderfully and equally with a little crinkle cut addition. Not just because I'm fancy, but to add friction to help the batter to stick better.

For the batter, Fanny takes a few spoonfuls of flour, and heads to the nearest barely dripping tap. She starts to work in a low frequency of drips with a wooden spoon, beating away and dripping some more, until the paste becomes elastic and very thick. There doesn't look like very much of it. I have faith in Fanny though. She takes a single egg white and whisks it up frenetically to a fragile but firm cloud, ready to be combined with the fraction of paste. The resulting batter is chirpy and frothy.

Once whipped together it is time to fry! Fanny suggests dipping your sliced vegetables into the batter and tossing them into slightly smoking hot oil. Then immediately turn off the heat and allow them to brown and cook through in the gradually diminishing heat. The heat should be turned up again for each subsequent batch. Fritters are drained on simple kitchen paper, and sprinkled with a little paprika, ready to be served. Fanny suggests hot cream with herbs on the side. If the herbs are dried, heat them with the cream. If they are fresh, add them once hot. The fried fitters themselves are a delight - well cooked through with a crunchy but well-ventilated fluttering of the lightest batter. Little fringed frisbees of veggie-fruitiness at the frontier of frizzy frittery-ness. I think I need a lie down.