Rum Babies

Have you ever sat alone at home in the evening dwelling and mulling, pondering and wondering, or just plainly puzzling what the difference is between a Savarin and a Baba? Fanny is super keen that we are absolutely clear as we progress through the culinary ladder with all things yeasted. To support us to bring our questioning to an end, she devotes a whole page to explaining the difference. A whole page. If you've ever seen Father Ted you might be a step ahead here. Let me try to summarise. Both are generally ring shaped, and are made of the same yeasted sponge mixture. And both soaked in syrup. One is big (the Savarin) and one is small (the Baba). Not far away. So, the difference is that they are different sizes.

Fanny chronicles her crush on the credited creator, French gastronome Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin (1755-1826) and his generally great gastronomic work La Physiologie du Goût. It doesn't sound all that appealing, but he sounds fascinating. A real party animal by all accounts. Fannys says his family were 'curious' (I do wonder if this is judged by her standards) - his two sisters (both 'maiden ladies') spent nine months of the year in bed, only rising eventually to spend an entire month readying the house for the arrival of their famous brother. He stayed a month, they partied, then they spent the twelfth month putting everything away again before slipping back into bed to 'restore' themselves for his next visit nine months later. Wow, must've been some party!

Fanny starts her recreation of Savarins' brilliant pudding by fermenting. Yeast, sugar, milk and a little flour. Fanny explains this is a basic of yeast cookery that we must master. After half an hour, she adds the doubled mixture, which should be jumping 'like a bag of fleas'  to flour with butter rubbed in, a little more sugar and finally eggs. Fanny warns not to mix the sponge mixture until the ferment has fermented. Particularly handy if you are unsure what that means or looks like... luckily I do. Her final warning is to make sure that the eggs are blended in without beating - gentle actions are required here.

Fanny pipes the yeasty mix into her range of savarin and baba moulds. Either large rings for Savarin or small ones for Babas. Remember? Not far away. I have neither, but I do spot some Jelly Baby silicone moulds lurking around in my kitchen that I bought ages ago and have never used. They seem perfect - Babies not Babas. This is my mantra. I spray them lightly with oil and pipe in the mixture - much more easily controlled than spooning. Fanny doesn't say how far to fill them, so I guess two-thirds of the way. I expect them to prove for a while, but Fanny flings them straight into the oven for exactly 14 minutes, so I do too.

While they are baking, Fanny suggests I ready myself with the syrup. She uses a basic stock syrup, diluted, but that doesn't seem fancy enough for my babies. I use some gorgeous crab apple jelly I made for foraged fruit last month, slightly diluted. It's a stunning colour, and taste. The babies jump out the oven and plunge themselves into their hot syrupy bath. Once they soak up all the goodness, Fanny fishes them out and douses them in rum. Seems fair enough. They do look a little bit like E.T. rather than cute babies, but they taste so good. So moist and squidgy, with an apple-rum-y hit. Fanny completes hers with piped cream and a garnish. It only seems appropriate to choose actual Jelly Babies* for this. I wouldn't want my Rum Babies to party alone. I have high expectations after nine months of bed-rest, so let's get ready to Rum-ble...

* Please, please do not send me nasty letters, I know that Jelly Babies are not vegetarian, but they are cute...

Ces Croissants Ne Sont Pas Français

Fanny Cradock has a canny knack of convincing us that almost everything is perfectly French, even when it clearly isn't, including her own questionable heritage. Just by saying it, or writing it, it becomes true, n'est-ce pas? I mean, who could possibly cross-check these things back in the day? However for once Ma Chérie Fanny takes something which we all (possibly) would imagine to be so utterly French through and through and lets us know in no uncertain terms that it is not. We are wrong. Bien sûr. Croissants are most definitely NOT French. Non madam.

How silly of us to not know our history. Especially when it comes to cold yeasted dough. Especially when the true story is 'such a pretty one', according to Fanny. Croissants were of course created by the bakers of Budapest in 1686. During a siege on the city by the Turks when their forces surrounded the city walls, the guards on the parapets fell asleep one night. Fanny doesn't bother to explain why. The bakers were of course still awake and baking, as usual. The bakers heard strange noises and awoke the guards, thereby driving back the Turks. The next day it was hailed that as a reward for the bakers saving the city a new bread was to be created. Inspiration was taken from the crecents on the sleeves of the Turks' ottomans, and hence Croissants were born. Naturellement.

Fanny wants to continue on her myth busting way by convincing us that croissants are also easy to make, real croissants that is. Fanny says that is 'nonsense' that they take 8 hours to make and can be easily made even in cold environments. Even when there is a draught in the kitchen, or a door is left open it makes not a halfpenny of a difference. They need no proving. Yes, that's what Fanny says. Just whip up the dough, which can then be left in the fridge for up to 7 days, prepare the croissants, slip them into the oven for 13 or 14 minutes while you make tea or coffee and do the rest of your breakfast chores if you have guests. Remember Fanny is not too keen on weekend guests. Ou quelqu'un.

Fanny gets going by cutting some flour into butter with two knives, sharing it into an oblong and chilling it in the fridge. Fresh yeast (which I love) is mixed with some sugar to liquefy and then a beaten egg while you make a mound of flour on your work surface. Fanny doesn't specify which kind of flour to use, but she always says to use self raising for everything, so I do. The liquid is poured into the mound and gently mixed to a dough, without breaking the flour rim until it is thick enough. Fanny them simply slaps it from side to side until its smooth and picks up all the remaining flour. Sounds like her treatment of the poor assistants. Quelle surprise.

With the chilled butter in the centre, the dough is folded over, spun round, rolled out gently (Fanny notices you should see small bubbles on the surface, I do, meaning the yeast is waking up, springy and light), turned and folded again, and again, and again until a lovely parcel is created. I decide to store it in the fridge until weekend guests arrive. Fanny rolls out her dough to a quarter inch thick and uses a complicated triangular wooden template to cut out shapes to be rolled as croissants. I go more freehand with a pizza cutter. Look, it's Sunday morning and I am still asleep. Curled, egg washed and in the oven. Once baked they are golden and crisp, a little bobbly but maybe that's because I stored the dough for a few days. They don't look all that French, but do look a little like croissants, but a little more like little crabs - luckily I can tell my guests I am trying out an old authentic 17th century Budapest pastry recipe to distract them... Je suis si vilain.

Nigella, Come For A Meal

I don't often find myself tuning in to listen to Woman's Hour, for no particular reason, but I did recently. I think maybe I caught a tweet or two saying that Nigella would be on, alongside Diana Henry, Bee Wilson and Cara Nicoletti all chatting about food and feminism - it sounded fun. They'd be discussing if we all should just 'ditch the guilt' and just enjoy the 'many pleasures that food and cooking offers'. So it had to be worth tuning in. Woman's Hour began in 1946 and dear old Fanny was a regular contributor back in the 60's and 70's - she would have been a fantastic addition to the line-up of today I think! I wonder if those shows were much different to today?

The BBC produced a handy booklet in 1966, encouraging listeners to cook, eat and make others happy. They asked 12 Woman's Hour contributors to design a menu each. It's all a bit Come Dine With Me, except they called it Come For A Meal. You get the idea. Each menu was for a different occasion, and surprise surprise there was even a Vegetarian Dinner. If you fancied Tomato Soup followed by Stuffed Marrow and Lemon Sorbet you were sorted! A Vegetarian Dream. Fanny of course had much grander ideas...

Fanny's menu was for those times, that we can all relate to, when you have four guests staying the whole weekend, and you need to plan an entire menu for six from Friday evening until Sunday afternoon. Fanny provides her ideal menu to 'sustain them', "someone has to" she says with a knowingly resentful glance to the radio listeners. You really get the impression these guests are not welcome at all. Best of all Fanny says, you should be able to make all this 'without help' which must've been such a boon for the ordinary housewife listener. Perhaps the domestic is away for the weekend, or worse still your very favourite assistants have the weekend off? Eeeew! Surely not...

Each dish of course is presented with it's very fancy French name, and features a mix of cold dishes ready to 'dish up' as well as others ready to pop into the oven or steamer to 'take care of themselves'. You don't want to neglect your guests while nourishing them. Easy peasy. Your weekend guests will be simply thrilled with Scallops with Cheese Sauce, Jacket Potatoes with a 'difference', Pork and Cider parcels, Ice Cream with Citrus Fruits, Pate Pie, Chicken with Cheese Fondue Sauce, and an untranslatable French Flan, a recurring favourite, which Fanny calls Tarte Fleurette.

So, flash forward to 2015, Nigella is busy cooking Poached Salmon, Avocado, Watercress and Pumpkin Seed Salad, from her new Simply Nigella book. Different ingredients, but perhaps the same sentiment? Nigella urges us to eat good, wholesome, real food. "Cooking is an act of love, whether that's expressed to yourself or others". So whether its 1946, 1966 or 2015, the Woman's Hour message is the same, relish cooking and revel in entertaining. Fanny's additional and unique message was still to fancy it all up in French, naturellement.

I was fortunate enough to meet Nigella at her "An Evening With..." with my friend Karen in Edinburgh not long after her Woman's Hour appearance, squeeeeel. It was a joy to hear her being interviewed and talk about her love of all things food. I can't imagine Fanny releasing a simply stripped back book like this, but both 'home cooks' are linked through their passion for cooking, eating and sharing with readers, listeners and viewers alike. Fanny was all frills, Nigella, well, was Simply Nigella. Next time Nigella, come for a meal, I'll pop the radio on and we can flick through Fanny's books...

The Harangued Meringue That Went Wrang

So far in the wonderful journey with Fanny Cradock all has been relatively well. Well, we've laughed together, learnt together and looked at some pretty strange creations, lingered for a second then dived in for each lesson, all together. Fanny has been good to me, mostly, things have worked out well. I may not have always liked a few of the end results but they have emerged pretty much as Fanny intended they would, and indeed has she showed me they would. Until today that is...

Fanny is keen to elevate me up the meringue ladder, stepping up from the very ordinary to embrace the exotically continental Italian version. I'm keen to learn Fanny's ways. I've made Italian Meringue before without her but so far she has surprised me when I've queried her techniques. Never query Fanny. It's helped me to learn and build my own repertoire, helped me to rediscover forgotten ways, forgotten flavours and forgotten presentation styles. It's just as Fanny hoped, with a hefty slant towards always doing things her way. Naturally.

Fanny starts the meringue by beating the egg whites until they are very stiff indeed. Nothing strange there. She says if doing this by hand to leave plenty of time in your day or get someone to do it for you. Or if by machine to flick the switch and busy yourself with making a sugar syrup. Fanny adds sugar and water to her favourite roomy pan, allowing every grain of sugar to gently dissolve without touching or stirring once. Once dissolved, the heat is increased to boiling for 3 or 4 minutes. To test if the syrup is ready Fanny dips in a perforated spoon and blows bubbles through the holes. If no bubbles appear, further boiling is required. Once bubbles form however it's tipped into the whipped egg whites and beaten again until glossy. The beaters must not stop for a second. Again, nothing strange so far.

However now is the time that I start to doubt Fanny, but of course quickly dismiss my disloyal thoughts and persist with her. She makes a thick circle of meringue on greaseproof paper (first drawing a circle with pencil on the underside), leaves it exposed to 'set' and then pipes a tall border of 'simple over and over rope' around the edge. I admit, I must practice my piping more, my 'over and over rope' is more freestyle than technical. Fanny says that the meringue should be left out again, exposed, to dry in a dust-free, warm area. "It requires no cooking" she instructs us gleefully. So, I leave it out overnight, switching the no-longer required oven off...

In the morning my meringue has a slight skin forming but really is still wobbly, pliable and pretty much as I left it the night before. Fanny's looks crisp and crunchy. What have I done wrong? Surely it is me, and not Fanny to blame here? After reading and re-reading the instructions I am sure I've followed them to the T. Undeterred, I follow Fanny in filling the precarious case with custard, topping it with a range of tinned peaches, pears and pineapple rings just as she shows me. Then I pipe in some hand-beaten Chantilly Cream between, giving it a final flourish of blueberries and sprinkles. It does look pretty, but it's in danger of collapse, along with my faith in Fanny. It tastes great, but... Maybe I should've baked it? Maybe Fannys' house is much warmer than mine? Maybe I've not been paying as much attention as I thought? Maybe, just maybe, Fanny has gone wrong?

Dont boak, it's only Gwen Troake!

Fanny Cradock never cooked with Gwen Troake, not surprising after judging her nauseating banquet menu so harshly, claiming her ideas were 'too rich' and just plainly not suitable for presentation at a professional level. For Fanny, the end of a long career on TV, for Gwen it resulted in her first, and only cookbook, endorsed by Esther Rantzen. Esther said that the nation became either pro-Troake or pro-Cradock following the showdown, but my guess is that the only winner was the book publisher, who presumably shifted a fair few copies of plainly unprofessional Gwen's Country Cookbook.

The main ingredient that made Fanny pull faces as if she was holding back a substantial slew of slurried spew was the humble Bramble. Fanny claimed on TV not to even know what one was, and continued her bile-laden disgust at Gwen for even suggesting that it would make a suitable sauce to be served with Duck at the banquet the Big Time show was built around. Game old Gwen simply chuckled at Fanny's vitriolic vomit and carried on regardless. No-one else really seemed to like her recipes, but somehow they made it into her book. This must've made Fanny retch even more.

The Bramble Sauce recipe is a peculiar one indeed. Gwen simmered Brambles in plain water for around 15 minutes before straining and pushing them through a sieve. The pulp was discarded, and the juice thickened first of all with that staple of all 70's sauces, cornflour, and then with a very un-Fanny ingredient. Shop bought lemon jelly. Fanny would heave. Gwen adds sugar to make it even sweeter, a little salt and a splash of red wine, presumably for refinement. I can see why Fanny remained on the point of gagging. Especially as an accompaniment for a savoury main course. Perhaps it was meant to be regurgitated for dessert?

In her quest to extend our rice repertoire, Fanny makes some sweet fritters and suggests serving them with 'your favourite jam sauce'. Hmmm. I bet she never thought anyone would dare to recreate Gwens creation though. I'm wicked. I know. Shoot me. Fanny binds together cold, cooked rice with an egg, some ground almonds, sugar and a generous sprinkling of cinnamon. She shapes them into little rissoles and fries them very gently in olive oil (from the chemist) until they are a nice brown colour. They don't really look like a dessert, more of a chicken nugget type of a thing, or dare I say a duck-nugget should such a thing even exist?

The resulting modern day 'collaboration' between Fanny and Gwen is a slightly more convivial combination. The crunchy, slightly sweetly spicy but otherwise plain rice 'fritters' are given a new lease of life with the overly sweet, citrusy Bramble jam sauce, which is thick and gloopy. I find myself dipping the fritters into it as if it were ketchup (not that I've ever actually eaten ketchup, the thought of it truly makes me heave) in a way that would probably increase Fannys revulsion. Perhaps they should've written a cookbook together, partly for professionals and partly for the public, instead of bickering their way into the history books. Gwen's Brambles may not have appealed to Fanny, and may have never appeared again in such a form on any table - professional banquet or otherwise. Fanny's guidance may have provoked less of a joke, croaking more a masterstroke than a choke, and revoked both their futures from hurtling towards broke. That's all folks...

Veggie Fanny

Fanny Cradock has been guiding me, teaching me and frankly scolding me for a few years now as I twist and turn her bonkers creations into meat-free celebrations, but until now she has never even muttered the V word. Not even under her breath. Not even as she wallops me with a perfectly ordinary spatula. However, today she has gone all out and labelled an entire section in the partwork as 'Vegetarian Rice Dishes'. It's all come as a huge surprise to me. Were there many vegetarians around in the 1970's? What were they eating? Was Fanny responsible for shaping restaurant menus up and down the land with that one, solitary veggie option that would stare out at us?

Ask most veggies what they hate to see on a menu and the answer invariably is Risotto. I never know why, I love it, I make it a lot and even enjoy it from time to time when out. Okay, I don't want to see it all the time, and it really is a lazy option for most restaurants, but done well can be magnificent. Fanny's first trio of vegetarian dishes is a Mushroom Risotto. Found on menus everywhere to this day. She makes it in a very traditional way, just as we all would. No strange colourings or additions at all. Perhaps Fanny wasn't so bonkers after all?

For her second dish, which she particularly recommends as a 'super dish for Facto-Vegetarians' (what had she taken?) is a mix of cooked marrow, cheese, eggs and rice in a mound and covered in butter and breadcrumbs. She calls it inelegantly 'Filling Rice and Vegetable Dish' and notes that it tastes a great deal better than it's rather ordinary and pale appearance would suggest. Or its name. Thankfully never to be seen on any menu ever. Not to worry, it's Fanny's third choice that grabs my attention. Firstly, yes, because it's another veggie cliché but then because I remember just how much I like and yet mostly forget about lentils.

Fanny refers to this dish as Pakistani Khichdi, and of course calls the lentils Dhan Dhal. She never misses an opportunity to teach us in her worldly-lingual ways. She leaves the authenticity here I think, preferring her own method of cooking the rice to the classic Pakistani way, which she says is much easier. If only everyone would just do as she says, these peskily traditional women from Pakistan included. Sweat it out. The rice technique that is. Fanny washes the rice and lentils together, then swirls them in a heavy, roomy pan of water with sliced onion, salt and turmeric. She then 'sweats until tender', which I presume is instruction for the rice (4 minutes on the stove and then finished off in the oven) and not me?

It emerges light, fluffy and smelling tremendous. It's all just the one 'turmeric' colour now. Fanny finishes it off with a slosh of vegetable oil mixed in to make it glossy and serves with her favourite sweet and hot chutneys. My favourite is not a chutney, but Chilli Burns from the ever lovely Galloway Chillis, which adds a real kick to this simple but delicious dish. I managed to scrape just enough from the bottom of my jar to drizzle, must buy some more! Who knew Fanny was aware we vegetarians even existed? Well almost, she decorates hers with borders of Prawn Toast. Small steps, we clearly can't expect miracles.

Researching Realistic Rice

Fanny Cradock turns her overly attentive eye to the subject of rice for part 25 (don't worry Fanny fans, we still have 55 parts to explore together...) and the many ways to cook with it. Fanny wants us to take a 'realistic' look examining its vast culinary potential. Judging by previous parts, we won't yet be cooking all those potential dishes, but merely laying down the foundations. Fanny gives a rundown of rice use throughout the globe, and reminds us readers it's very much like our potato - a basic and economical food. Thanks Fanny. She does hint that if we do proceed we will be able to make rice dishes for MIPs. Forget VIPs, for Fanny they are Most Important Personages.

Fanny tries her best to give some historical context to rice, but generally finds that every continent has claimed to be the true origin of rice at some point. So, she just goes with what she prefers... For Fanny, the 'nicest' legends come from the East, where rice is a symbol of life and fertility, hence, Fanny claims, why we throw rice at wedding couples. Not really Eastern then. One thing Fanny says is for sure is that every cook should know at least four ways to cook rice in order to elevate themselves one rung higher up the now enormous culinary ladder she has labelled 'Perfect Cookery'. I feel ready for the challenge, so let's go fourth. Erm...

Sweating. That's Fannys first foray into rice. She chooses ordinary Patna rice (she mentions it from time to time, but has only now explained this is 'common' general rice, or Long Grain as it is now known), but for super extravagance she would choose Wild Rice from the swamps of Florida. It's not clear if she forages for it herself while there. Fanny melts some butter, chops an onion, and flings them together with the rice. Stirring for exactly four minutes. She then turns it into a casserole dish, covers wth stock, slips a lid on and pops it into the oven until the liquor is absorbed, around 20 minutes. Technique two continues to cook on the stove top, adding the stock gradually, letting it absorb and adding more. We know this now as Risotto style, but Fanny calls this 'Fried Rice'. Confusing.

The 'fried' rice is sticky and gloopy, but full of flavour while the sweated version is plump and swollen. Different colours and textures. Fanny knows that this is not always desired, so gives two basic techniques for 'grain-separate' rice too. Fanny again uses Patna rice, but also says we can substitute with 'health' rice, which is brown. She haves it into rolling-boiling salted water, stirs it once and lets it simmer for exactly eleven and a half minutes. Timings are very precise for rice. That's it, it should be absolutely grain separate. It is. Technique four is to boil it for only 6 minutes, then drain it and shove it in the oven with some stock until it is absorbed. Fanny says this is ideal for serving with kebab meats on skewers. It's not as plump as the plainly boiled version. I'm not sure what the connection to kebabs is.

And there we have it - four basic techniques for rice. And, four very different results. The sweaty, swollen versions would be great with drier accompaniments, while the perfectly separate ones with wetter things. Take your choice. Once we have the techniques off pat(na), Fanny says we can reach even higher by switching up the chosen liquor as well as the chosen rice. She sometimes replaces some of the water with stock, and some of the stock with sherry, brandy and wine. It probably ends up with the rice being entirely simmered in vodka. Fanny reminds the less experienced among us that red wine should be used if serving with dark meat and white with light. Continuing to remind us to be realistic with our rice however, Fanny says these should only be tackled by highly ambitious cooks in the 'top flight' of rice cookery, and this confidence can only be gained gradually. Thankfully no MIPs or VIPs are expected anytime soon, so I can stick to the basics. Perhaps Fanny will give me a leg up that ladder sometime soon...