Week 17 Bill Granger - Sydney Food

This time last year we were in Australia. Drinking cold tinnies, camping in the bush and flinging another shrimp on the barbie. Since the government guidance to Stay Home, the furthest-flung we have managed to get is the patio. 

There are worst places to be, to be honest, especially since the weather has been almost uniformly glorious since lock down started. But in an attempt to bring some of the Antipodean vibe back to Buckinghamshire, I decided to make that Aussie classic (although a Kiwi may have something to say about that), the pavlova.

The recipe (sort of) comes from adored Australian restauranteur and food writer, Bill Granger; and is taken from his Sydney Food book - a hefty tome that was a kind gift from my sister. Just as kind was my Mum, who carted it back for me from Oz in her suitcase. 

One of my favourite memories from the trip we took to Australia for my 30th birthday, was going to Bill's in Surry Hills with my Sister and the Ewing and having his famed ricotta hotcakes with honeycomb butter. A recipe that I have also recreated at home, and is also in the book.

I never really thought I liked pavlova, as I never really liked meringue. Turns out that a real pav shouldn't be the classic crisp, feather-light meringue, which shatters on impact, but more a gooey marshmallow centre, held together by a thin, crisp crust.

This texture is achieved by a tsp of cornflour (or potato starch or arrowroot - Bill uses both) and a tsp of acid, either white vinegar or lemon juice. You then need to bake in a low oven to dry out the outside, without colouring it too much, and too keep the inside nice and squidgy.

This is something I learnt the hard way, after the first effort got over-baked (despite following the recipe cooking times) and then cracked after I needed to take it out the oven before it had cooled down, as I wanted to cook some chicken schnitzels and hadn't planned things as well as I thought I had....

The meringue for the second effort was slightly grainy, as I was too impatient when incorporating the sugar, which caused it to weep slightly when cooling (this time left in the oven overnight). But was also taller, and paler, and full of glorious vanilla-scented gooeyness. As it should be.

I topped mine with mango and blueberries, as that is what they had at the petrol station shop near our house (it is a Little Waitrose, so not quite as surprising as it may seem), but you could use any fruit. Strawberries and raspberries are great and passion fruit is my favourite. I also used some toasted coconut flakes that needed using up. It is recommended you serve as soon as you have put the topping on, but I think I prefer it best a day or two later, when it has become even more squidgy.

Pavlova

Adapted from a recipe by Bill Granger

For the meringue

4 egg whites

250g white caster sugar

1 tsp white wine vinegar

1 tsp cornflour (or potato starch or arrowroot)

1 tsp vanilla extract

for the topping

200ml double cream

200ml greek yogurt

fruit of your choice - I used mango, blueberries and toasted coconut

Heat oven to 110C

Using a pencil, mark out an 20 cm circumference on baking parchment. Turn the parchment upside down (you should still be able to see the outline of the circle) and place on a baking sheet.

Whisk 4 egg whites (use an electric whisk, unless you want a good work out) until they form stiff peaks.

Whisk in 250g caster sugar, 1 tbsp at a time, until the meringue looks glossy. 

Whisk in 1 tsp white wine vinegar, 1 tsp cornflour and 1 tsp vanilla extract.

Spread the meringue inside the circle, creating a small crater by making the sides a little higher than the middle. 

Bake for 1 hr, or until pale and set on the outside and still soft in the middle. Then turn off the heat and let the Pavlova cool completely inside the oven.

When the meringue is cool, whip the double cream to soft peaks and gently stir through the yogurt.

Spread gently over the top and decorate with the fruit of your choice.

Week 16 - British Food - Jane Grigson

This was the week that lock down began to bite. This happened in the most middle-class way possible after I discovered, late on a Saturday afternoon, that I didn't have all the ingredients I needed for the majestic pork pie I was planning. This became both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because I decided we should walk to our great local butcher (about two and a half mile round trip, up a vertical hill), and a curse as we have gone there every weekend since. Completely derailing project #eatthefreezer and actually managing to contribute to the original problem. Ironically, they also sell extremely good pork pies. And scotch eggs and sausage rolls, if you're into that sort of thing.

I've made a hand raised pie before, a fancy number with chicken and apricots, but this time I went back to the old school with the pork pie from Jane Grigson's seminal English food. First published in 1974, and updated by Grigson in 1990, a year before her death, it's an anthology that celebrates and resurrects the reputation of English food, with recipes that range from rib-sticking puddings, pies and stews to summery soups, seafood and salads.

Alongside the classic mix of pork belly (Grigson actually uses spare rib, but obviously I didn't ready the recipe properly before setting off (really? that's unusual darling - TE)) and green streaky bacon, I added a couple of chicken thighs (to make up the weight) and chopped the meat and fat by hand for a chunkier texture. I also added a little allspice, cinnamon and nutmeg, as per Grigson's recipe. She calls for the addition of anchovy essence, and so I added a scant teaspoon of Gentleman's Relish, a gift from some foodie friends.

Jelly in a pork pie is a controversial thing, which I think most of us come to appreciate more as we get older. Grigson has a recipe for a traditional jelly, with split pigs trotters, but I decided I lacked the dedication to boil bones for hours to make something that will most likely be discarded on the edge of a plate and so plumped for stock, set with some leaves of gelatin. Originally I was going to use chicken, but I found some porcini stock cubes from a recent trip to Sicily, that I thought would add a heady, savoury note and turned out to be an inspired addition.

Of all the pastries, I think a hot water crust is by far the easiest. Melt the fat (lard, or a lard and butter mix) with water, then stir into flour and salt. The pastry can then be pushed up the sides of a loose bottomed cake tin, or fancy pie mould if you have one, leaving about a quarter to roll out for the lid, and that's about it. The lard adds a lovely crispness and a savoury edge and the pastry, with a little help from a beaten egg brushed on top, should bronze like a daytime TV presenter.

While the recipe may appear intimidatingly long, it's really very easy to follow, and the results are very impressive. Plus it tastes far better than a mass produced pie ever could. Although, I must confess I still have a fondness for the pink-paste stuffed pastry snacks, picked up from motorway service stations.

Hand raised pork pie

Adapted from Jane Grigson's English Food

For the filling

750g pork belly, shoulder or spare rib

250g streaky green bacon

250g skinless boneless chicken thighs (or just use 1kg of pork)

1 tsp salt

1 tsp black pepper

1 tsp Gentleman's Relish (or anchovy essence)

1/4 tsp ground allspice

1/4 tsp ground cinnamon

1/4 tsp grated nutmeg

Large sprig of thyme, finely chopped

for the pastry

500g flour

175g lard

200g water

large pinch of salt

1 beaten egg

for the stock

1 stock cube (porcini, ham or chicken)

2 leaves gelatin, soaked in cold water for 5 minutes

400ml boiling water

For the best texture chop the pork into small cubes, about 5mm in size. Or you could chop half, then whizz the other half briefly in the food processor.

Finely chop the bacon and chicken (if using)

Mix the thyme, salt, pepper and spices into the chopped meat.

Make the pastry

Put the lard and water into a saucepan and bring to the boil. 

Sift the flour and the salt into a large bowl. 

Pour the hot lard and water into the flour, mix well then leave until cool enough to handle. 

Don't allow to cool down too much, or you won't be able to shape it.

Pre-heat oven to 180C. Lightly grease and flour a 18 cm loose-bottomed cake tin. 

Take a quarter of the pastry and roll it into a lid that will fit the top of the cake tin. 

Place the the remaining pastry in the base of the tin, and then firmly push the dough up the sides with your fingers. If it slides down, leave it to cool a bit more. patch up any tholes otherwise the jelly will leak out. 

Spoon the filling into the tin and press it down. It should come almost to the top of the pastry.

Brush the edges of the pastry above the meat with beaten egg. Lower the lid into place and press tightly to seal with the edges. Poke a small hole in the lid (I used the handle of a wooden spoon) to let out the steam and put the tin on a baking sheet. 

Bake for 30 minutes, then lower the heat to 160C and bake for 60 minutes until the pastry is pale gold. Brush with the beaten egg and return to the oven for 30 minutes (the temperature should read 65c in the centre of the pie). Cover with foil if the top is browning too fast.

When the pie has cooled, add the boiling water to the stock cube and stir until dissolved.

Add the gelatin leaves and stir again.

Allow the mixture to cool a little and then, using a funnel, slowly pour the stock into the hole in the top of the pie. You may have to do this in stages to give the stock time to work it's way through the pie filling and settle .

Leave the pie to cool in the fridge, preferable overnight.

Serve with English mustard and a glass of bitter.

Week 15 - Feast - Nigella Lawson

As a Good Catholic Girl, it always has to be fish on Good Friday. Normally we would be spending Easter with my Aunt and Uncle and assorted cousins in their little village just outside Leeds. Drinking wine and eating my Aunt's simnel cake and my Uncle's seafood extravaganza, with shellfish fresh from Kirkgate Market.

As staying at home has become our new normal, at least for now, I turned again to the wonderful Nigella and made my riff on her Blakean fish pie, from her Easter chapter in Feast.

Choosing a favourite book of hers would be akin to choosing a favourite child, but this is a good one, with the chapters arranged to celebrate various different feasts throughout the year. It also contains a whole chapter on chocolate cakes, which would make a great #cookbookchallenge, but probably when I can leave the house more than once a day, so I can make sure I will actually still fit through the door...

I have to say, of all my challenges so far, this is the first one that really only paid a mere nod to the recipe (although my wife thinks I fail to follow any instructions, I have been quite disciplined so far...) In fact, although I did briefly skim the recipe, the whole making a stock to poach the fish and the bouquet garni and reducing down saffron-infused cream seemed rather a faff for Nigella. It was certainly too much faff for me.

So I (whisper it) used frozen fish pie mix for the first time, picked up on my weekly shop, and cooked the chunks of cod, smoked haddock and salmon from frozen, along with a bag of frozen prawns. To the fish I added a leek-infused bechamel sauce, and topped with saffron mash. Which gave it a pleasing hue inspired by the title. Although I hadn't made a fish pie before (scarred by the boiled egg-studded pies of my youth, it was excellent. And very easy.

Amy's Blakean Fish Pie (adapted from Nigella Lawson's Feast)

1 kg floury potatoes, peeled and cut into large, even chunks

butter and seasoning to taste

Good pinch of saffron threads, soaked in a little warm milk

1 (400g) bag of frozen fish pie mix or equivalent chunks of fresh fish of your choice

1 (250g) bag of frozen prawns (medium, for preference)

2 leeks, cleaned and chopped into rings and cooked gently in butter until soft

50g butter

50g flour

500ml milk (I used semi-skimmed)

1 tbsp mustard (dijon or wholegrain)

salt and pepper

Boil the potatoes until soft, mash with butter and seasoning to taste and stir in the saffron infused milk.

Melt the butter in a sauce pan on a medium heat, add the flour and stir to make a roux. Cook out for several minutes.

Slowly whisk in the milk, stirring continuously, until the sauce has thickened.

Add the mustard and cooked leeks, season and stir well. (Cover the sauce with cling film if not using straight away, to stop a skin forming).

Place fish pie mix and prawns in a dish (I used a le Creuset casserole dish).

Add bechamel sauce and stir well to combine.

Top with mashed potato, making sure there are no gaps. I like to fluff my mash with a fork to make wavy lines.

Cook in a pre-heated 180c oven for about 40 minutes, or until top is brown and the centre is hot and bubbling.

Eat with peas. Always peas. And maybe a glass of Picpoul.

Week 14 - Abundance- Alys Fowler

As well as #cookbookchallenge, being on lock down has also seen us trying to #eatthefreezer. And this week's effort saw two birds with one stone as I tried to use up a big block of broad beans that had been taking up at least a two litre ice cream tub's worth of room since last summer.

Preparing for isolation meant the Ewing had rushed to our local library and bought home armfuls of library books (half are now being employed as a prop for my laptop as I work from home). One that wasn't roped in to my makeshift office was Abundance, written by erstwhile Gardener's Worlder Alys Fowler, which also happened to be full of lots of useful tips about pickling, salting, fermenting and preserving. Very useful when you're only allowed out for that weekly shop.

There is also a handy freezer chapter that featured a recipe for broad bean falafel using almost exactly the amount I had in my freezer (you can also use chickpeas, or a mix of half and half) plus dill (I had a slightly wilted bag from one of my last pre-lockdown Waitrose trips) plus mint and parsley (our slightly straggly plants had just started to take-off in the spring sunshine). It was a fait accompli.

The only thing I was slightly concerned about was the cooking - the recipe said to shallow fry which always seems like the most awkward cooking method - little splash of oil; no worries. Boiling cauldron of oil, no problem. That middling amount of oil; sudden panic (plus the boredom of standing around, watching them intently while they go from pallid and pale to carbonic in mere minutes)

In the end I used a couple of centimetres in a small cast iron saucepan, cooking three of four at a time until lightly golden. And, apart from a couple breaking up a little at the edges, they crisped up nicely and only took a couple of minutes per batch.

Broad bean falafel 

Adapted from Abundance by Alys Fowler

500g broad beans, defrosted if frozen and double-podded if tough

1 teaspoon of baking powder

1 small onion, finely chopped

1 clove of garlic

1 pinch of chilli flakes

A small handful of parsley chopped

A small handful of dill, chopped

A small handful of mint, chopped

1 tsp ground cumin

Salt and pepper to season

Olive oil

Vegetable oil for shallow frying

Blanch the broad beans for 3 minutes then rinse in cold water.

Mash all the ingredients together with a hand blender, adding a glug of olive oil if needed or a teaspoon of flour until you have a sausage-meat like consistency. Aim for the dry side so they don't brake up too much when you try to shape and fry them.

Rub olive oil in your hands and roll into small balls then dust in flour.

Shallow fry in oil is a wok or deep frying pan until golden brown.

Serve with yogurt mixed with a pinch of salt, 1 tsp of dried mint and 1 tsp of tahini.

Week 13 - Vegetables - Antonio Carluccio

Lockdown, or at least social isolation, finally reaches the blog (which shows you how far behind I am writing these up...). The tail end of March saw the Ewing and I sent home from the office one morning and as I write this - some three-and-a-half weeks later we are still here. Luckily we are considered key workers and can both work from home, so, although adjusting to our new life has been somewhat of a challenge at times, and we have both been kept busy, we both feel very fortunate.

Another reason to feel lucky is the wonderful countryside that surrounds us, which we have been exploring on our Government-approved daily walks. While much of it is familiar, it's surprising just how much is hidden on your doorstep. And of course, the allotment which, according to Michael Gove, is still considered part of your daily exercise. The first (and probably last) time I will agree with him about anything.

It was on one of our visits to the allotment that the seed for this week's recipe was planted. While March is a fairly barren month, the Ewing kept talking about patches of red-veined sorrel that had self-seeded after she grew it years ago. 

I don't remember cooking it back then, but I chanced upon a recipe for a sorrel risotto in Antonio Carluccio's Vegetables  - a far more inspiring title than it probably sounds - and a plan started to fall into place to use some of the wild leaves that are so  beloved of the Italians, and are also abundant here at this time of year. And also avoiding a dreaded trip to a post-Corona world supermarket, with its increasingly bare shelves and paranoid customers.

We picked some wild garlic from the one patch that grows in the woods by our house, and I was also thrilled to find the little patch we have been nurturing under a bench in our garden is also beginning to thrive. Well, enough to make a jar of wild garlic and walnut pesto with, which was added to some homemade gnocchi as well as a splodge ending up in this risotto, too.

I also put on my marigolds and picked some young nettle leaves from the end of the garden (you can see Pusskins came over the fence to help), and then we went on a walk past the allotment and collected the aforementioned red-veined sorrel, originally planted by the Ewing circa 2013, when she first got the allotment, and still popping up in tufts reminiscent of the late Keith Flint's hair when I saw The Prodigy at Reading Festival as a teenager.

Risotto of wild vegetables -  adapted from Antonio Carluccio

serves 4

a large handful of fresh sorrel leaves, washed and tough stems removed

a large handful of wild garlic, washed

a large handful of nettles, washed and tough stems removed

2 tbs of wild garlic/basil pesto (optional)

2 litres chicken or vegetable stock

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1 medium onion, peeled and finely chopped

small glass of dry white wine (Italian if you've got it)

350g risotto rice

50g Parmesan, freshly grated

a large knob of unsalted butter

salt and black pepper

Blanch the nettles and wild garlic in boiling water, rinse in cold water and then blend into a puree. Set aside.

Put the stock into a saucepan on a low heat, next to where you will make the risotto.

Heat the olive oil in a pan (I use a casserole dish), and fry the onion for about 10 minutes, until softened a little. Add the wine and bubble for a minute or two until the alcohol has burnt off.

Add the rice and stir around to coat each grain. 

Add the hot stock a ladle at a time, stirring until it is fully absorbed before adding more liquid.

After 10 minutes add some salt and the puree.

Continue cooking, stirring and adding stock, for about another 15 minutes, which is when you should taste a grain of rice for your preferred al dente texture and the rice should be moist, but not too wet. When it is nearly ready, add most of the sorrel leaves, roughly chopped if large, saving a few to garnish.

When the rice is to your taste, take the pan off the heat, beat in the Parmesan and the butter until glossy, and serve with a sprinkling of freshly ground black pepper and the remaining sorrel leaves

Week 12 - Ice Cream and Dessert Book - Ben and Jerry

When I was growing up, a friend and I found a pint of Ben and Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk in his parent's freezer. I don't think I had ever tasted anything so wonderful. Less wonderful was getting caught after we tried to shift the blame onto the (very elderly) babysitter. Sorry Margaret.

You can no longer buy NYSFC in the UK, but, thanks to their Ice Cream and Dessert Book, you can make your own version at home. In fact, theirs was the first ice cream book I ever bought after getting an ice cream machine and, despite buying several more since then, it's pretty much the only one I have used since. Their Peppermint Oreo ice cream has the honour of being one of the first recipes I blogged about, over nine years ago.

According to their website in 1985, a food pundit for New York Magazine named Gael Greene wrote a review of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, stating: “The ice cream is pleasant enough, but not thrilling, and the chips and bits seem rather sparse.” So they decided to make a ice cream choc-full of add ins; 'a flavor tailor-made for the New York state of mind'.

Weirdly, while the description on the side of the carton says 'Chocolate Ice Cream with White & Dark Fudge Chunks, Pecans, Walnuts & Fudge-Covered Almonds' the recipe in the book doesn't include any fudge, subbing in chocolate-covered almonds instead. I used a mixture of the milk chocolate and au naturel almonds I had in the cupboard, plus pecans, walnuts, cheap white chocolate and some chopped up chunks of fudge.

High Wycombe Super Fudge Chunk 

Based on Ben and Jerry's New York version

1 cup milk

2 large eggs

1 cup sugar

1 cup double cream

100g dark chocolate

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 pinch salt

50g chopped white chocolate

50g chopped milk chocolate

50g chopped pecan halves

50g chopped walnuts

50g chopped almonds

50g chopped fudge

Combine the coarsely chopped chocolates, pecans, walnuts, almonds and fudge in a bowl, cover, and refrigerate.

Melt the plain chocolate in the top of a double boiler over hot, but not boiling, water.

Whisk in the milk, a little at a time, and heat, stirring constantly, until smooth; remove from the heat and let cool.

Whisk the eggs in a mixing bowl until light and fluffy, 1 to 2 minutes.

Whisk in the sugar, a little at a time, then continue whisking until completely blended, about 1 minute more.

Add the cream, vanilla, and salt and whisk to blend.

Pour the chocolate mixture into the cream mixture and blend.

Cover and refrigerate until cold, I usually leave overnight.

Transfer the cream mixture to an ice cream maker and freeze following the manufacturer's instructions.

Just before the ice cream is ready stir in the chocolate and nuts.

Place in a container and freeze until ready to serve.

Week 10 How to Eat - Nigella Lawson

Couldn't get through #cookbookchallenge without another appearance from the blushing rhizomes that the Ewing has been forcing under a big plastic barrel on the allotment. The pale pink stems have been turning up in a compote on her yogurt and granola every morning but I also persuaded her to make Pig's Bum, the gloriously monikered steamed pudding that features in Nigella's seminal first tome, How to Eat.

How to Eat came out the year before I went to uni (just over two decades ago now...) and I remember reading my discounted and dog-eared copy while tucked up in bed (in the freezing downstairs bedroom, where I got chilblains and had to scrape the ice from the inside of the windows.) All character building stuff. Although I can't remember cooking much from it I remember being very taken by the idea a M&S steak and kidney pudding with a blob mustard and some steamed greens which turned up in her healthy eating chapter.

The pudding itself is based on a old school dinner favourite, named for the fact it resembles a porcine behind. Nigella's instruction sees some stewed rhubarb being mixed into the pudding batter. I adore a proper steamed pud, and, more excitingly, it also gave me the opportunity to use my new Mason and Cash Hacienda pudding basin. Got to get my kicks somehow....

While I feel it is almost sacrilege to say so, I wasn't sure there was going to be enough of the good stuff in the original recipe, so we also poached some batons for the top and reduced some of the syrupy juices down to soak into the sponge.

Pig's Bum - adapted from Nigella's How to Cook

125g self raising flour 

125g butter 

125g sugar 

300g rhubarb

2 eggs

4 scant tbsp milk 

1.5 tsp baking powder

2 tsp vanilla extract

Approx. 2 tbs sugar for simmering rhubarb, or to taste

Pre-heat the oven to 200c

Butter a pudding basin very well and boil a large pot of water large enough to comfortably accommodate the basin. I use a vegetable steamer.

Chop two thirds of the rhubarb into small chunks and the rest into longer batons (to be placed on top of the cooked pudding). Sprinkle with sugar and roast until tender (15 minutes covered in foil, then remove foil and then cook for another 5 minutes) .

Mash the coins of rhubarb and let it cool. Remove the batons of rhubarb and set aside. Pour the juices into a saucepan and reduce on the hob until thick and syrupy

Put all the other ingredients, minus milk into a food processor, or use a whisk, and mix until very smoothly combined.

Add the rhubarb puree and pulse or whisk quickly till combined with the batter. Do not overmix. Add the milk and pulse or whisk only till incorporated. Turn the batter into the basin. Cover securely with kitchen foil.

Put basin into boiling pot. The boiling water should come about half way up the basin..

Steam for approx 2 hours, topping up with boiling water if the water level drops too low. When a skewer comes out clean from the centre of the pudding, it's done.

Remove from pot and cool a little before turning out.

Top with the batons of rhubarb and pour over the syrup.

serving with lashings of custard.

Week 9 - Complete Cookery Course - Delia Smith

Of all the feast days Pancake Day must be the one that's closest to British people's hearts. When I was at primary school we would have an annual race across the playground, and letters home the week before would ask parents to supply their children with frying pans and an extra thick cold pancake which we were instructed not to eat. there were always several at the end of the race dusted in a light covering of gravel and with teeth marks around the edges.

Pancakes of pancake day must be thin lacy crepe-style ones, not my, usually preferred, puffy Americanised version. lemon and sugar is the best topping, but maple syrup or even Nutella are acceptable. this year, though, spurred on by #cookbookchallenge, I decided to make classic crepe suzette, with the pre-made crepes warmed through in a syrup of caster sugar, lemon and orange juice before being theoretically flamed in orange liqueur.

I sourced the recipe from the interminable Delia, from a copy of her seminal Complete Cookery Course, a beloved present given to me by my aunt when I finished my A Levels. And far more useful than anything I learnt at school.

As you might expect, the recipe for pancakes worked perfectly, even that tricky first one came out surprisingly well. I always think I don't have the patience for pancakes, but I make them quite a bit, both crepes and american-style, and they always turn out rather well. The Ewing says I'm a bit of a tosser, so that might have something to do with it.

There's nothing like a bit of at-the-table showmanship, and you can argue this was nothing like a bit of at-the table-showmanship as, not being in the possession of a silver serving trolley,  I had the Ewing bring the camping stove down out of the loft instead. But, lack of fancy equipment aside, it was an awful lot of fun. And I survived with eyebrows intact. Even the Ewing had to concede it was entertaining, although she'll probably add her own comment here to the contrary (I was quite impressed actually and pleased you didn't set anything else alight - TE). 

She even conceded she liked the resulting pancakes, although that may have been due to the fact I had sloshed several huge sloshes of Cointreau into the pan while trying to ignite it. And several more for good luck. I topped the pancakes with the syrup, a little more orange zest and creme fraiche to serve.

Crepe suzette, adapted from Delia's Complete Cookery Course

For the crepes: (makes about 8)

110g plain flour

pinch salt

2 large eggs

200ml semi-skimmed milk mixed with 75ml water

1 tablespoon golden caster sugar

butter to cook

For the sauce:

200ml orange juice (from 3 - 4 large oranges)

zest of 1 large orange

zest and juice of 1 large lemon

1 heaped tbsp golden caster sugar

50g unsalted butter

A couple of good slugs of Grand Marnier, Cointreau or brandy to flame

Sift the flour and salt into a large mixing bowl 

Make a well in the centre of the flour and break the eggs into it. 

Whisk the eggs and when the mixture starts thicken, gradually add small quantities of the milk and water mixture, still whisking, until most lumps have gone and the batter is the consistency of single cream. 

Leave the batter to stand for 30 minutes.

Melt a small knob of butter in a frying pan When it's hot add a small ladle of batter and swirl around to from side to side to get the base evenly coated. 

After about a minute lift the edge with a palette knife to see if it's lightly golden.

If it's ready, flip the pancake over (or use a palette knife) – and cook for another minute or until lightly golden on both sides. 

Slide it out of the pan on to a plate and continue until you have used all the batter.

For the sauce, mix all the ingredients - with the exception of the butter - in a bowl. 

Melt the butter in a frying pan, pour in the sauce and allow it to bubble away and thicken for a few minutes.

Place the first crepe in the pan, folding it in half and then half again to make a triangular shape. Slide this to the edge of the pan then add the next crepe. Continue like this until they're folded and warmed through in the sauce. 

Four fit perfectly into my pan, which was perfect for me and the Ewing.

To flame add the liqueur and heat through, then  tip the pan slightly and carefully light the sauce with a match or lighter.

Wait for your applause (and collective gasp of amazement or fear - TE) and then serve the pancakes with the remaining sauce poured over and a dollop of creme fraiche or cold cream.