“I used saccharin tablets instead of sugar. A few recipes do that these days. It’s a marvelous way to keep the sweetness without using your sugar rations.”
Ambrose looked askance. “Oh, the downside of saccharin, of course, is that it has a slightly bitter taste.”
Gwendoline’s smile fell.
“But in this case,” he continued quickly, “the jam does a magnificent job at masking it. Well done!”
Moving on quickly, he came to Audrey. “And what do you have today?” he said more jauntily.
Audrey whisked off the dome. “It is an apple and honey cake, using apples from my trees and honey from my own hive. I made an eggless version, which uses slightly more bicarbonate of soda to help it rise. I knew this would give a bitter taste, so I added a little cinnamon to cover it up. I also used half flour and half oatmeal, as oats are not imported. The apples and honey provide the dominant flavors, and the extra moisture from stewing half the apples means that you barely need to use any oil or fats at all.”
Ambrose picked up the plated slice and took a good spoonful. Although a little on the crumbly side—a drawback of eggless cakes—it was moist and packed with flavorful chunks of juicy cooked apples.
“Wonderful flavor,” Ambrose said, his mouth still full. “You can taste that lovely honey. What a marvelous idea, getting a hive.” Then his brow knit. “Could that be why there are more bees around than usual?”
He moved on to the final contestant, Zelda, taking in the big old cardboard box she had covering her platter instead of the usual silver dome. “What could possibly be so large that—”
But he broke off as she lifted the cardboard box, the audience letting out a gasp.
Beneath was a high, conical tower of puffed profiterole balls swirled with spun caramel and dotted with little white flowers.
Zelda announced delightedly, “It’s a croquembouche.”
Speechless was not a phenomenon with which Ambrose found himself familiar. But now, before this breathtaking dish, he stood in awe.
It was the most majestic of desserts—an immense, magnificent banqueting indulgence if ever there was one—and it took him a few moments to catch his breath.
“Why, that’s incredible.” He turned to the audience, regaining his composure. “Croquembouche, for those unfamiliar with this wonderful old French recipe, takes its name from the French term ‘croquet,’ which means crunch, with the word ‘bouche,’ which means mouth. It’s popular for banquets and weddings in France, but I can’t understand how you can make it under the wartime rationing restrictions. Could you clarify?”
“The profiterole balls are made with a choux pastry, which uses a lot of eggs to make it soft and chewy. After a bit of experimentation, I worked out that you can use dried egg powder instead of fresh eggs, and it doesn’t change the taste or texture of the profiteroles. They’re just as crisp and light. Usually you would pipe fresh whipped cream into the center of each ball, but as cream is almost impossible to get, I made a mock cream using marshmallow as the base to give it a firmer structure for piping.”
“Delicious,” Ambrose said with enthusiasm, almost salivating as he watched the tower of profiteroles. “How did you sweeten the marshmallow?”
“I used a little cherry jam. Cherries are one of the sweetest fruits, and there are a few cherry trees around Fenley. You have to pick them when they’re at their very ripest, boil them down, and then use the condensed jam. I had to add a very small amount of sugar, but well within our weekly limits. The cherries add a wonderful flavor, as well as a lovely pink color to the cream.
“For the caramel streamers around the tower, I used local honey, using a whisk to give it that spun-sugar appearance. Because it’s wound around rather than poured, you don’t actually need very much of it, which again means less honey and sugar.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to try some.” Ambrose took a step toward the tower, and Zelda spooned the top three profiterole balls onto a plate. The crisp shell of caramel strings broke gently at the touch of the spoon, oozing the scent of caramelized honey.
Ambrose’s spoon slid through the soft profiterole casing, exposing a delicate pink interior. He brought a mouthful to his lips, stopped to smell—the scent of fresh cherries meandered succulently around the stage. Then he put it into his mouth, his jaws slowly chewing, and his eyes closed with abject veneration to this, the most delectable dessert that ever came to be.
Forgetting his poise, Ambrose gazed at the croquembouche. “That is the most heavenly thing I have tasted since the beginning of the war—longer in fact!”
Taking another bite, he relished the flavors, delighting in the experience. “The spun caramel is utterly superb, and the cherry cream is…is”—he stumbled, lost for words—“it’s sweet but tart, just the right level of fruitiness, and it blends with the caramel so incredibly well. The pastry is absolutely the perfect texture: crisp but soft and chewy on the inside. Together, this is quite honestly the very best in fine dining.”
Everyone stood to see, and the cameras flashed while Zelda carefully stood behind the great dessert, checking that her long, draped jacket and scarf were well positioned to conceal the pregnancy.
Ambrose returned to center stage, where he made a majestic bow and said in an auspicious manner, “And now I will give you the results of the final round of The Kitchen Front Cooking Contest, after which the overall contest winner will be announced.
“To remind you of the point tallies thus far, Nell has eighteen points, Audrey has seventeen points, Zelda has fifteen points, and Gwendoline has twelve points.” He glanced again at the croquembouche. “And without further delay, I would like to award the points for this round.”
He made a slight cough and raised his voice in an official manner. “Nell’s summer pudding was utterly superb, and I have to award that a nine. Gwendoline’s mock apricot tart used the sweetness of the carrots in a most delectable way, although the texture was a little off. She gets a seven. Audrey’s delicious apple and honey cake takes an eight. And finally, we get to Zelda’s dazzling croquembouche, which is tonight’s winner with ten points.”
The crowd roared with cheers and applause. Zelda beamed as the other women onstage leaped over to congratulate her.
Ambrose went on. “And so, the final scores are: Gwendoline with nineteen points, both Audrey and Zelda with twenty-five points, and the winner of The Kitchen Front Cooking Contest, with twenty-seven points, is Miss Nell Brown.”
The girl looked as if she’d pass out right there on the stage. Her eyes looked frantically around, as if there must be some mistake—was it a dream? And then tears began brimming over her eyelashes. “I won?”
Gwendoline put a firm arm around her. “Mrs. Quince would be so proud of you.”
Audrey came around the other side. “I’m sure she’s looking down right now, thrilled to bits with you—with all of us!” She put her other arm around Zelda’s shoulder.
Gwendoline was looking at the croquembouche. “You kept that idea up your sleeve, Zelda!” She laughed. “You’re a complete genius! I bet your croquembouche will be the talk of the country now it’s on the BBC. Can we kidnap you to make that dish for the grand opening of our new restaurant?”
They all turned to look at Gwendoline.
“Is it happening, then?” Audrey asked. “Did you sign the lease?”
“Yes,” Gwendoline whispered. “But we should keep it hush-hush for now. We’ll ask Ambrose and the press to help spread the word when we open in November. It’ll be the finest restaurant in Fenley,” she said magnanimously.
Audrey coughed. “It will be the only restaurant in Fenley!”
And at that precise moment, the photographer of The Kent Times snapped a picture that would be on all the front pages the following day: the four women, huddled behind the grand croquembouche tower, their arms around one another, laughing wi
th utter joy.
Zelda’s Croquembouche
Serves 10 to 12
For the choux pastry profiteroles
½ cup butter or cooking fat
1 cup milk and water mixed
2 teaspoons sugar
2 cups flour
8 large eggs, or the equivalent in dried egg powder, reconstituted and beaten
Milk or a beaten egg, to glaze
For the marshmallow cream filling
2 eggs, or the equivalent in reconstituted dried egg powder
1 tablespoon sugar
1 tablespoon powdered gelatin
1 pint water
¼ cup sugar, or a tablespoon of a sweet jam, such as cherry
½ cup powdered milk
1 teaspoon vanilla essence
For the honey caramel sauce
⅓ cup honey
2 tablespoons butter
1 (14-ounce) can condensed milk
First, make the choux profiteroles. On low heat, melt the butter or fat in the milk-water mix with the sugar, stirring with a wooden spoon. Once it begins to simmer, add the flour in one go. Stir briskly over the heat until it makes a smooth, stiff paste. Remove from the heat and put it into a mixing bowl. Let it cool for a few minutes.
Preheat the oven to 400°F/200°C. Add the eggs in three or four batches, whisking between each, until it makes a shiny, smooth, yellow paste. Line a baking sheet with parchment, then brush the top surface of the paper with water, leaving any droplets. This helps the profiteroles rise. Use a teaspoon to dollop the paste at regular intervals; each one should be 1 to 2 inches in diameter before cooking. You can use a piping bag if you prefer. Gently brush each one with milk or a beaten egg glaze.
Bake for 20 minutes, then reduce the temperature to 350°F/180°C and bake for a further 10 to 15 minutes. Don’t open the oven door as the steam will escape and the profiteroles will not rise properly. Take them out of the oven when golden brown. Leave to cool completely before filling.
Next, make the marshmallow cream filling. Whisk the eggs with 1 tablespoon sugar over hot water for 5 to 10 minutes, or until smooth.
Dissolve the gelatin in a little water. Heat 1 pint water in a saucepan, then add the gelatin mixture and stir. Add the remaining ¼ cup sugar or jam and then slowly add the milk powder. Whisk until fluffy. Fold in the egg and sugar mixture with the vanilla essence. Leave it to cool before spooning the filling into each profiterole, or you can use a piping bag.
Next make the honey caramel. Heat the honey and butter in a saucepan over medium-high heat, stirring continuously. Bring to a boil for 2 minutes, then slowly add the condensed milk, stirring all the time. When blended and thick, remove from the heat. Let it cool slightly before beginning to construct the croquembouche.
One by one, take a profiterole and dip it into the honey caramel so it is thinly coated. Arrange them on a platter so that together they form a tall, conical pyramid. At the end, use the remaining honey caramel to swirl thin strings of sauce around the outside of the structure. This will help to keep it in place. You can decorate the croquembouche with flowers or confectionary.
Nell
It was late afternoon the following day by the time Nell escaped Willow Lodge, scampering down the meadow path to Fenley Farm. Rumor had it that after Barlow’s arrest, the Ministry of Agriculture had sent down a farm manager to oversee the farm. With him came the relocation of an Italian POW who was causing problems in the farm just outside Canterbury as no one spoke Italian.
She knew what that meant. Paolo’s plan had worked. They had moved him back.
I just want to see him, tell him about the contest, about Mrs. Quince, she thought as she gazed over the old farm.
Then, taking a deep breath of the damp autumnal air, she broke into a run down to the farmyard.
It was deserted, although it looked different, tidier, the tractor parked to one side, the older machinery put away.
There, in one of the stables, stood a few of the POWs—none of whom were Paolo. She darted out, back through the yard and into the field behind, where she could see a handful of men picking potatoes out of the soil. She crept into a copse of trees alongside them and peered out from behind a bush.
Among them, she made out the unmistakable form of Paolo. He was bending down, filling a sack beside him. After a few minutes, when the bag was almost full, he picked it up, tied the top, and carried it over to a trailer that was being loaded, ready for a tractor to cart away.
He threw it in, then stood upright, stretching his back, his hands on his hips, his face tilted up toward the sun.
Holding herself back from running toward him, she lingered behind a row of bushes, wondering how she could get his attention.
And at that moment, as if he’d heard her, he looked around, his eyes meeting hers. There was no shock or surprise at seeing her there, only a smile widening over his face.
Without delay, he went to the guard, explained something—they laughed a little—and then he made off in her direction.
Quickly, she vanished back behind the bushes. But when she poked her head out again, she only saw Paolo striding toward her.
“Nell,” he whispered once he was behind the bush. “Where are you?”
Slowly, she came out, shaking a few twigs and leaves off her as she trod across the soft earth to meet him.
A grin covered his face, his eyes gleaming, as he rushed forward and took her up in his arms. “Nell, I can’t believe I see you again.” He laughed, his eyes searching hers.
“I—I missed you,” was all that she said before his soft lips enveloped hers. His gentle arms held her tightly, his sweet scent surrounding them.
As they pulled apart, she asked, “How did you get away from the guard?”
He grinned. “I told him I had to relieve myself.”
She laughed, hugging him tightly. “Paolo, you’ll never guess what happened. I won the contest.”
“Well done!”
“It was your cacciatore. It won the second round.” She felt elation well up inside. “I’m going to be on the radio.”
“You are not moving to London, though? Now I am back, it would be so sad.”
“No, I’m staying here. I can take the train to town when I need to, and the others need me to help with the business when I can. Ambrose has been giving me elocution lessons to help me with my public speaking. He says I’ll be the finest presenter in London one day. Well, besides him, of course. I’m living at Audrey’s house now, in the village. It’s much better than the hall.” She looked at the ground. “Mrs. Quince, she died.”
Without a moment’s pause, he put his arms around her. “I’m so sad for you, dear Nell. I know how much you loved her. You must be heartbroken. At least you won the contest. It shows you that you can cook on your own now. That is because she teach you so well.”
“But I’m so lonely without her.”
He pulled her into a kiss. “Now I am back, so you don’t have to be lonely anymore.”
Aware of time running out, she pulled away, eyeing the guard in the field. “Will it be hard for us to meet now, with the new farm manager?”
With a shrug, he said, “Everything will be all right. You forget, I am good at hiding and planning, talking my way around them.”
“But remember what happened last time.”
He pulled her toward him. “This time I will be careful. We need to stay together.”
They fell into another embrace, overjoyed at the wonder of humanity—the magical thrill of togetherness. And as they stood in the pink-red light of dusk, she felt as if she were truly living, that this breathtaking moment was the first moment of the rest of their lives.
When she got back to Willow Lodge, the kitchen was still a hive of activity, even though it was getting dark ou
tside. With the contest over, it was back to business as usual for the women, making up for lost time. Nell quickly nipped to the sink to wash up the gathering bowls and pans.
The nights were coming earlier, the cold, damp air creeping into the hot kitchen beneath the back door. With the blackout curtains drawn, the women whisked around between sink, pantry, and kitchen table, occasionally interrupted by the boys sneaking in for a spare fruit scone.
Gwendoline came in, just off the telephone. Her face was serious, quiet. She had taken to telephoning Mr. Alloway every few days for news about Sir Strickland’s arrest. If they released him, it would cause problems for all of them, Gwendoline especially.
“Well, what did he say?” The others gathered around.
Gwendoline let out a long sigh. “It turns out the police had been looking into his business affairs for a few months. Even I wasn’t aware of the extent of my husband’s criminal activity. He’s been embezzling government funds. Now that they have proof, he’ll stand trial. He won’t be able to get out of this—it’s far too serious. I know I should be glad”—she looked down, swallowing hard—“but I can’t help feeling ashamed that I was ever part of his life.”
“No one blames you, Gwendoline,” Audrey said. “Nobody will think you were party to his shady deals.”
Gwendoline sighed. “At least they’ve given Willow Lodge a reprieve. The police asked me about the draw of money to pay off Willow Lodge’s mortgages and loans, and I told them it had been a gift.” She smiled. “They seem content to leave it at that, so, Audrey, you are now officially free of debt. Willow Lodge is yours, utterly and completely.”
“Could it be true?” Audrey sat stock still. Her eyes opened wide with incredulity, as if it were a dream come true. Her hand, trembling with relief, reached forward to her sister. “Quite honestly, Gwen, that is the very best gift you could ever give me,” Audrey gasped, tears in her eyes. “My mind will be at peace. I’ll be able to sleep—and my family, my friends…” She reached around all of them and pulled them in. “We’ll all be able to stay here, rent free, forever—whatever happens.”
The Kitchen Front Page 36