The Fashionable Salad-maker.

I recently wrote a post called On the Garnishing of Dishes, my source being Round the table: notes on cookery and plain recipes, with a selection of bills of fare for every month (Philadelphia, 1876,) written by Victor Chevally de Rivaz. The book has some other lovely story ideas and I want to tell you another one today. It is one of those stories, like my other recent post on Edible Epigrams, which is probably impossible to authenticate, but is too charming to dismiss out of hand. Myths can be such fun. And some do even turn out to include an element of truth.

The story is included in the chapter on salads. The chapter is too long to give in its entirety, but I hope I have selected the text well.

Every household presided over by a thrifty housewife boasts of some mysterious preparation with which the mistress of the house compels reluctant housemaids to rub the furniture at stated periods. The object of this operation is to keep the polish bright, and I believe it answers the purpose very well. I could not give the recipe of this wonderful compound, for I do not know it, but I could not better describe it than by saying that in appearance, smell, and peradventure taste also, it closely resembles that other mysterious composition which will be produced in a pyramidal and circumvoluted bottle if you ask for salad-dressing at an hotel or eating-house. In most private houses the same oddly-shaped bottle is the only source whence the salad-dressing is obtained.

Now, the great charm of a good salad is not only that the green meat part of it shall be fresh and newly gathered, but that the dressing or sauce shall be also fresh and newly mixed. The art, however, of mixing a salad-dressing is all but unknown in this country; the operation entails too much trouble, and requires too great a nicety in the apportionment of the condiments, for the broad mind of the British cook to be troubled about it; ask her to mix a salad, and she simply pours out a good allowance of the contents of the queer-shaped bottle over a lot of lettuce, endive, and water-cress chopped up more or less small, and imagines the product to be a salad.

Yet salads are appreciated by Britons, for it stands on record that a noble Gaul — having fled the guillotine at the end of the last century, and, finding himself without cash in this country — contrived to pick up not only a living but a competency by taking to salad-making as a profession. This is how it came to pass: I abridge from Brillat-Savarin.

A French emigre, named D’Albignac, was dining at one of the most fashionable taverns in London, when he was addressed by a party of dandies who occupied the table next to him, with a request to mix a salad for them, coupled with a polite compliment upon the proficiency of the French in this art. D’Albignac, with some hesitation, consented and, being supplied with the best ingredients at hand, was very successful. In the course of the proceedings he entered into conversation with the dandies, and in answer to their questions he frankly avowed his position; consequently they felt justified in insisting upon his acceptance of a five -pound note, which he took without much pressing. The dandies asked for his address, and a few days after he received a request to go and mix a salad at one of the largest mansions in Grosvenor- square. D’Albignac saw his opportunity, and was not slow in availing himself of it. Providing himself with some choice condiments, and having ample time to think over his task, he went, and was triumphant. He was paid in proportion to his success. In a short time his reputation began to spread, and all the people of fashion in the capital of the three kingdoms were dying to have a salad mixed by the French gentleman — the fashionable salad-maker, as he was called. He soon set up his carriage and kept a footman to carry a mahogany case containing choice ingredients to mix salads withal, such as vinegars of various flavours, oil with or without the taste of olive, &c. Later, he supplied similar cases ready fitted with ingredients, and sold them by hundreds. In the end he amassed some eighty thousand francs, with which — the guillotine having been superseded — he retired to his native country, where he lived happy ever after.

… I now come to speak of the ingredients which are used to make the dressing or sauce of the salad. It is in the proportion of these that the great difficulty lies. A Spanish proverb says that, to make a good salad, a miser should pour out the vinegar, a spendthrift the oil, a wise man the pepper and salt, and a madman should turn it — travailler is the technical expression. This may give some idea of the principles of salad mixing; but oil, vinegar, pepper, and salt are not the only things which are used to produce what I should call a good salad-dressing, and to make this it will take not only a wise man but a practical one as well, with plenty of experience in his business. What I have often said before of cooking applies still more forcibly to salad making; for in this you have no action of the fire, which sometimes corrects the mistakes of the operator; it is as in fresco-painting — once you have mixed your salad, there it is, for better or for worse. A sauce or a ragout you may modify, correct, and alter in many ways as you go on; a salad you cannot, without making a mess of the whole thing, when once you have mixed the greenmeat with the dressing. Practice is the only master of whom to learn salad-making. I do not pretend to teach anyone how to make salads,  all I can do is to point out, to those who wish to become adepts in the art, how to set about it.

Oil, which plays the most important part in the business, should be of the very finest quahty, but it ought by no means to be the almost colourless and insipid liquid which is, I believe, called Jew’s oil. There should be a taste of olive in it, but not so strong as to be disagreeable. It is a quasi nutty flavour that it should have, and the colour should be golden.

The artistic salad-maker cannot be too particular in the choice of the vinegar to be used in his preparations. The British vinegar of commerce may be all very well for cooking purposes, pickling, &c., but, for salads, vinegar made from wine should be used, and it should be clarified until it is almost as clear as water. The stronger the vinegar is, the better.

… For purposes of salad-making and cooking generally, vinegar is flavoured in a variety of ways. This is done by putting some strong wine vinegar into a wide-mouthed bottle, and adding to it any of the following:

1. A couple of handfuls of tarragon leaves, gathered the day before.

2. Twenty or thirty green capsicums, previously bruised.

3. Four or five cloves of garlic, also bruised.

4. A cupful of celery seed, or more, well crushed in a mortar.

5. The same quantity of cress seed, similarly treated.

The above proportions are for one quart of vinegar. 

A Shore Dinner for Those Who Live Inland (1928)

I love the scripts from the programs of the United States Department of Agriculture’s  Bureau of Home Economics Radio Service. The service ran a weekly ‘Housekeeper’s Chat’ for a number of decades in the first half of the twentieth century. I have given you several of these scripts in the past, and hope you like the one I have for you today.

From April 16, 1928:

(NOT FOR PUBLICATION)

Subject: "A Shore Dinner for Those Who Live Inland.

oOo

Today's special is a shore dinner, for those who live far away from the sea, from lakes and rivers, and fast-running streams.

I won't take time this morning to give you a long lecture on the importance of fish; you know already that fish is an important tissue-builder, and that salt-water fish is rich in iodine, which we need in our diet.

The Menu Specialist and I visited the Fish Market in Washington D. C. over a week ago, just after 15 boats, laden with fish, had docked at the market. I wish you could have seen the fish: there were shad and herring and rockfish, white and yellow perch, catfish and carp, received from the nets along the lower Potomac. Herring were so plentiful that they were selling by the hundred, instead of by the pound.

Inside the market we: found a great quantity of cod and haddock, selling quite cheap, too. We also found crabmeat, lobsters, and diamond-back terrapin. As I told the Menu Specialist, the design on the shell of a diamond-back terrapin would be stunning in a sports coat for spring. She told me I'd better keep my mind on fish, for the time being.

Perhaps you are bemoaning the fact that fresh fish is not available in your community, and that it is impossible for you to have fish in your menus, as often as your family needs it.

Do you know about the fish which are frozen, packed in sanitary sealed packages, and sent all over the country? No longer need we envy those who live near the sea, for we can get fish, all ready to cook, which has all the qualities of ocean fish.

Some years ago a young American biologist, living in Labrador, brought home a catch of frozen fish and threw it into a tub of water, so it would thaw out, for eating. After a while, the young biologist was greatly surprised to see his dead fish come to life, and begin swimming around in the tub. The biologist never forgot about the frozen fish, which had come to life. Since that time he and other technically trained men have been studying fish, as it comes from the sea to the table. As a result, we housekeepers can buy fresh fillets of fish, frozen at a very low temperature, packed in paper packages, or in cartons, all ready to cook.

I suspect that some land lubber wonders what a "fillet" (fil-lay) of fish is, and what we mean by the process of "filleting". I'll tell you. The process of filleting a fish consists of scaling and dressing the fish, splitting it, and removing the backbone. The two sides, or fillets, are left clean, and practically free from bone. In one process of freezing, each fillet of fish is passed through a final cleansing bath of salted water, after which it is carefully wrapped in a white vegetable parchment paper, to insure cleanliness, and to preserve the ocean flavor. As a final step, the wrapped fillets are packed in containers, sealed with airtight covers, placed in sturdy boxes with chopped ice, and shipped to your market — all in the same day. Haddock and cod fillets are among the most popular.

There's a great deal more I could tell you about fish, but I must be getting on, to this shore dinner, for those who live inland. It begins with a Clam Broth, Canned. With the Clam Broth, you might serve tiny Horseradish sandwiches. Don't put too much horseradish in them.

After everybody has finished with the Clam Broth, and the Horseradish sandwiches, you can bring on the second course, consisting of a Deep-Sea Pie (I'll describe it presently); Hot Cabbage Slaw; and Corn Bread. I'll tell you about dessert later.

The Deep-Sea Pie is the unusual part of this dinner. I never heard of a Deep-Sea Pie till the Menu Specialist planned this meal, and I have an idea that she and the Recipe Lady got together and invented the title. However, it's a wonderful pie, whatever the name. Ten ingredients, for Deep-Sea Pie:

2 cups diced salt codfish                 4 tablespoons butter

4 cups tomatoes                               4 tablespoons flour

1 bay leaf                                            2 cups mashed potato

6 cloves                                              ½ teaspoon salt, and

½ onion                                             3 drops tabasco

Let's check the ten ingredients, for Deep-Sea Pie: (Please repeat)

Soak the codfish in cold water, until sufficient salt has been removed. Then cover, and cook in fresh water for 10 to 15 minutes, or until tender. Prepare a tomato sauce by cooking the spices and seasoning with the tomato for 10 minutes. Strain, and to the tomato juice add the melted butter and flour, which have been blended. When thickened, mix with the drained cooked codfish and pour into a buttered baking dish. Cover the top with mashed potato and bake until the potatoes are brown.

Now I'll tell you about the dessert. The Menu Specialist's first thought was to have Plum Duff for dessert, because she'd heard that Plum Duff was about the only real dessert that sailors had in sailing days. She must have been reading "Two Years Before the Mast." Well, she hunted up a cookbook of the United States Navy, and found out that a Plum Duff is a heavy boiled pudding, thick with dried fruits, molasses, and spices not a very good suggestion for a warm spring day.

But was she discouraged? Not a bit of it. She decided to have Raisin Cup Cakes, with Whipped. Cream. "I can still include the plums," said she, "but in lighter vein. Sort of a sublimated Plum Duff, Aunt Sammy,"

Here's the recipe for Raisin Cup Cakes, to accompany the Shore Dinner.

Nine ingredients, for Raisin Cups Cakes:

1/4 cup butter                       1 ½ cups sifted soft-wheat flour

½ cup sugar                          ½ cup raisins           

1 egg                                       2 teaspoons baking powder

½ cup milk                           ⅛ teaspoon salt, and

½ teaspoon vanilla

Nine ingredients, for Raisin Cup Cakes: (Please repeat).

Cream the butter and sugar. Add the well-beaten egg. Roll the raisins in 2 tablespoons of the flour. Sift the other dry ingredients, and add alternately, with the milk to the first mixture. Stir in the raisins and vanilla. Bake in greased muffin tins for 15 to 20 minutes, at a temperature of about 375° P. Serve while still warm, with whipped cream or a pudding sauce.

To repeat the menu: Clam Broth; Deep-Sea Pie; Hot Cabbage Slaw; and Raisin

Cup Cakes with Whipped Cream.

I hope you'll like this dinner. And don't feel down-hearted, if you can't have fish fresh from a rippling stream. Go to market, and see whether your dealer has frozen fish on hand. If he doesn't, see what he has in the way of salt fish, smoked fish, and canned fish. There's no need, nowadays, for any family to be without this most necessary item of food.

How to Preserve Bread.

I have a short piece for you today. It was intended to be longer, but other tasks got in the way. From The Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature, Science, and Art (New York, 1870), I give you an article on preserving bread. I hope to follow it up tomorrow with some instructions for preserving butter.

Preserving Bread.

Bread becomes mouldy and sour from the action of the moisture it contains. When carefully dried, bread will keep sweet for a very long time. Any process by which fermented bread can be preserved for an indefinite length of time would be a great boon to travellers in countries where bread cannot be procured, and to sailors, who would find it a very agreeable change from ordinary ship biscuits. The following process for effecting this object has been lately patented, and it possesses this advantage, that the bread being compressed can be packed in a smaller compass, and is therefore very portable. Well-made and well-baked bread is exposed to a current of dry air; the evaporation of the moisture should be slow, in order that the bread may not crack. The duration of this drying process varies from eight to fifteen days, and depends on the size of the loaves and the form of drying apparatus adopted. If the bread were compressed in the state in which it is left by the desiccation it would break; and to prevent this it must, before being pressed, be submitted during four or five minutes to a heat of from 150° to 200° C., in a stove filled with steam. To effect this operation the bread is arranged in layers, separated by iron plates, which form moulds in which the bread will assume the shape and size previously determined upon. These layers are loaded upon a cast-iron carriage running upon rails, and thus introduced into a stove which is immediately closed; in a few minutes the bread becomes soft, although it will have absorbed but a very small quantity of water: the load or batch is then withdrawn and pushed by means of a carriage between two pressing plates, in order to be compressed. Any press will serve, but as the pressure should be rapid and powerful the hydraulic press is best. The bread should remain in the press for twenty-four hours; it may then be removed, is dry and cold, and will preserve the shape which has been impressed upon it. Bread thus prepared should be put in cases to preserve it from the attack of insects, and should be stored in places free from damp; it may thus be preserved for several years. This compressed bread has a nice color, the teeth masticate it without effort, the fluids of the mouth penetrate it rapidly, it has an agreeable taste and digests readily; a piece three ounces in weight, thrown into broth, will absorb, in three or four minutes, fifteen ounces of liquid and swell considerably.

Edible Epigrams: a brief history.

One of my favourite food stories concerns the origin of the famous dish eighteenth century dish called ‘Epigrams.’ You may not have heard the story – and it is just that, a story, impossible to authenticate but nonetheless utterly charming. Epigrams (epigrammes) are classically made from lamb, but the concept has been expanded to include other meats and fish.

Here is the story as it is related in my 1961 English-language copy of the Larousse Gastronomique:-

“It was towards the middle of the 18th century.  One day a young marquise overheard one of her guests at the table remark that when he was dining the previous evening with the Comte de Vaudreuil, he was charmingly received and, furthermore, had had a feast of excellent epigrams.  The marquise, though pretty and elegant, was somewhat ignorant of the meaning of the words.  She later summoned Michelet, her Chef.  ‘Michelet,’ she said to him, ‘tomorrow, I shall require a dish of épigrammes.

The Chef withdrew, pondering the problem.  He looked up old recipes, but found no reference to anything of the kind.  None of his colleagues had ever heard of the dish.  But no French master Chef is ever at a loss.  Since he could discover nothing about the dish he set about inventing one.  Next day, inspiration came and he created a most delicate dish.

At dinner, the guests fell into ecstasies over the dish before them and, after complimenting the lady of the house, desired to know its name.  The Chef was called.  With perfect composure he replied, “Épigrammes of Lamb à la Michelet.”

Everyone laughed.  The marquise was triumphant, though she could not understand the amusement of her guests.  From that moment, the culinary repertoire of France was enriched by a name still used to this day.”

Yesterday’s source, Round the table: notes on cookery and plain recipes, with a selection of bills of fare for every month (Philadelphia, 1876) by Victor Chevally de Rivaz, has a short chapter on ‘Epigrams,’ and want to share it with you. But first, let us explore the word and its meaning, and for that the obvious starting-point is The Oxford English Dictionary.

Strangely, and quite disappointingly, the OED does not recognise a culinary use for the term, saying only that ‘epigram’ comes from Greek via Latin and French, is derived from ‘to write’ and may refer to:

a. An inscription, usually in verse

b. A short poem ending in a witty or ingenious turn of thought, to which the rest of the composition is intended to lead up.

c.Loosely used for a laudatory poem.

d. A pointed or antithetical saying.

The omission of a culinary application of the word by the OED is all the more surprising – and perhaps a little hard to forgive – because one can be found in an earlier English dictionary. Nathan Bailey’s An universal etymological English  dictionary ... The seventh edition, with considerable improvements, (1737) includes:

Epigramme [in Cookery]:  A particular way of dressing meat.

I understand there is a braised veal recipe with the name epigrammes in La Varenne’s Le Cuisinier François, published in 1651, but the word came to refer to several other cuts and methods of preparation, and eventually became most commonly associated with a dish of thin, breaded cutlets of lamb.

And finally, here is the chapter from Round the Table:        

EPIGRAMS

The essence of epigram consists in neatness and the faculty of producing an agreeable surprise. The culinary epigram, and occasionally its literary brother also, present to us “old friends with a new face,” and charm the languid palate with a new and startling combination of well-known elements. And this, perhaps, is the reason why such familiar viands as lamb and mutton, dressed in small

compass and in a fanciful manner, constitute what in cookery are called Epigrams. The mode of making these is by no means difficult, and is what I now propose to describe.

Braise a piece of breast of lamb or mutton in a stew-pan, with some water, onions, carrots, celery, whole pepper, salt, a few cloves, and a bouquet garni, i.e., parsley, thyme, marjoram, in proper proportions, and a bay leaf, all tied up in a little bundle. When sufficiently done to allow it, pull out all the bones, and put the breast, between two dishes, under the heaviest weight you can get, there to remain until perfectly cold. In the meantime, the liquor in which it has been braised should be strained, and freed from fat, either to be used as I shall presently state, or to be kept for other purposes. The breast, being cold and stiff, is now neatly cut up into the shape of cutlets or collops, and these are egged and bread-crumbed; after an interval of at least one hour they are again egged and bread-crumbed ; but this last time there should be a little salt and white pepper mixed with the egg.

When this second bread-crumbing has had time to dry, you must fry your EPIGRAMS a light brown colour, and serve them on a purée of turnips, spinach, turnip tops, &c., as you may fancy, or with tomato sauce, piquante sauce, &c., or lastly, simply with fried parsley.

I can safely assert that epigrams, if properly cooked, are not bad eating; and to my mind they are a better use for the breast of lamb and mutton than are roasting the one with the fore quarter and making Irish stew or mutton broth with the other. The two last-named dishes I by no means wish to disparage; but I like them made with mutton chops or cutlets; and as for roast lamb, heterodox as I may seem, I think the brisket the worst part of the fore quarter.

The only difficulty I can see in producing successful epigrams is in the frying of them. It should be borne in mind that the meat, being cooked, only requires warming, and yet the bread crumbs round it must be browned to the desired colour. The talent consists, therefore, in having the fat or lard in which they are fried — and there should be plenty of it — at the right temperature, and in knowing the exact moment at which to take the frying basket out of the frying pan.

It would be too long to set forth at length the way to make the purées of turnips, spinach, turnip tops, &c., and I will only generally say that the vegetables should, when well boiled, be passed through a sieve, and the puree thickened by being warmed, at the time of serving, in a saucepan in which you have melted a goodly piece of butter and stirred a small quantity of flour; the proper seasoning of the purée with salt, pepper, and spices, not being omitted. To purée of turnips an onion may be added when they are first boiled.

Epigrams, like games of chess, are capable of many variations. One of them consists in this, that mushroom trimmings are added to the liquor in which the breast has been braised, and being well reduced on the fire, then strained, and skimmed of all fat, a liaison of two yolks of eggs and the juice of a lemon is added to this sauce, off the fire. The breast being cut up into cutlets, each is dipped into the sauce, instead of into eggs, in the bread- crumbing process; but the sauce must be applied hot, and the bread crumbs when it is cold.

Another form is to fit to each epigram, before bread-crumbing, a small neck-chop bone, and — having cooked some cutlets in the same fashion — to serve them round some potatoes sautées, in a circle composed alternately of an epigram and a cutlet.

Another way is this: When the breast is cold, instead of being cut- up, it is neatly trimmed, then anointed with butter melted for the purpose, bread-crumbed, and grilled. It is then served very hot, with a pat of butter under it, the juice of a lemon over it, and a good sprinkling of white pepper — those who like it may introduce cayenne.

A simpler way of cooking the breast in the first instance is to put it into the soup or stock pot; but, the instant that the bones can be pulled out, it must be taken out.

Breast of veal also may be treated in the manner detailed above; only, when it has been pressed and is cold, if it is found to be too thick, it must be neatly split in two with a sharp knife, and then cut into cutlets. Epigrams made of veal should be served with a purée of sorrel or of spinach ; a purée of turnips or of turnip tops would not go well with them.

P.S. I gave a recipe for Beef in Epigram some time ago, here]

On the Garnishing of Dishes: 1876.

Today I want to share with you some wise advice and some specific instructions on the correct preparation and use of garnishes for the dishes which come from your kitchen.

The source is a delightful book called Round the table: notes on cookery and plain recipes, with a selection of bills of fare for every month (Philadelphia, 1876,) written by Victor Chevally de Rivaz. The author is withering in his condemnation of the ubiquitous sprig of parsley applied to indiscriminately to English dishes, he but also disdains the widespread use of complex but inedible sculptures of coloured flour and lard, and for reasons he does not explain, he also scorns the use of flowers as a garnish.

I suspect you will not be sufficiently inspired by the ideas to cut your French beans into the shape of lozenges and manipulate each piece accurately into position with a larding needle, but please do let your inner artist out and learn the principles of choosing, cutting, carving and placing your garnishes. May your croutons always be perfectly regular, your aspic always brilliant, and your egg-white neatly shaped and trimmed. 

GARNISHING.

The scientific branch of cookery comprises the devising of dishes and sauces. The artistic branch constitutes the art of garnishing, and this plays a most important part in the outcome of the kitchen, as, by means of it, dishes please the eye before they please the palate. First impressions go a great way, and when the one sense is captivated by an agreeable and inviting appearance, the dish must be bad indeed which fails to stand the more searching ordeal of taste. Besides, People who suffer from jaded appetites have a better chance of eating their dinner, when the dishes which are put before them are pleasant to the sight.

Art, however, is not a thing to be taught. You may show a man how to mix colours, but you cannot teach him how to use them. Neither will I pretend to teach the British cook how to garnish dishes. I will only attempt to explain that that which in cookery is meant by garnishing is not the traditional parsley of the British cook: and I will describe what cooks, properly so called, mean by garnishing; of what garnishes are made; and how the different materials are prepared for the purpose.

The combinations of these things are too infinite to allow of more than a very general exposition. They wholly depend upon the talent, skill, and taste of the operator. The one and great thing to avoid, as much as possible, is the using for purposes of garnishing, things which are not eatable.

‘Garniture,’ which is rendered into English by ‘garnish,’ may be defined as all that is added to the chief material which constitutes the dish. Thus tomato sauce, in a dish of cutlets, or fried potatoes round a steak are garnishes.

These things fall naturally under two great heads. The hot garnishes, which accompany every savoury dish, and the cold garnishes, which go with cold meats, salads, mayonnaises, &c.

Vegetables are the chief materials of hot garnishes. By judicious combinations they will produce very pretty effects of colour. To instance only a few: turnips, potatoes, Jerusalem artichokes, cauliflowers, celery, and vegetable marrows will give whites; carrots, tomatoes, beetroot, supply the reds; truffles and mushrooms the blacks; and then there are the endless shades of green given by French beans, peas, Brussels sprouts, cucumbers, asparagus, &c. To be so used, all such vegetables as will admit of it must be cut into uniform shapes with what are called vegetable-cutters, the successful use of which requires some practice. They may also be cut, with a knife, into the shape of a ‘quarter’ of an orange, or again, into little oblong slabs a quarter of an inch thick, and one inch by three-quarters, with all the edges slightly chamfered. This way is very good for carrots, when the middle part begins to harden, and is not fit to eat. Some vegetables can be sliced, and pieces can then be stamped out of them. French beans should be cut into lozenges, or they may be cut in the shape of peas with a stamp. Cauliflowers should be picked out into little bunches the size of a penny at the top. Vegetables are usually cut before cooking, and each kind should be cooked separately. Great care is necessary to ensure that, when sent up to table, they are all ‘cuits à point’ and hot.

Here is a simple example of purely vegetable garnish. Suppose that a piece of beef be stewed according to art, and put in a dish on a tasteful and velvety gravy. Having all your vegetables ready cooked at hand, you proceed to place four little heaps of cauliflowers at equal distances from each other; then you flank each with carrot cut in slabs on one side, and French beans cut into lozenges on the other; and lastly you fill in the remaining spaces, i.e., between the beans and the carrots, with potatoes cut to the shape and size of Spanish olives, and fried a very light colour in butter. I should here observe that, once cooked, these things should not be touched with the hand, but put into position by means of a larding needle and a teaspoon, or some other instrument. I may also state, for the benefit of those who look to economy before all things, that all this cutting and stamping out of vegetables need not cause the slightest waste. The trimmings of carrots, turnips, &c., should go into the stock pot, those of potatoes make mashed potatoes, and purées can be made with most if not all, of the remnants. In fact, a purée composed of a combination of vegetables is no bad thing, either as a soup or as a garnish for cutlets, &c. For purposes of garnishing, potatoes are also mashed, and then shaped into various forms, and they are likewise made into croquets, and fried a golden colour, in which latter case eggs and spices should enter into their composition.

Bread sippets — which are used to garnish many dishes — should be invariably fried in butter. They ought to be cut out of stale bread, and should be of the same thickness and of uniform shape, which, with the help of paste cutters, can be varied ad infinitum.

Forcemeat, quenelles, tongue, eggs (hard boiled), olives, &c., are used in garnishing. Parsley should only be used in a fried form: a hot dish garnished with raw sprigs of parsley is ridiculous. The only cold things which may enter into the garnishes of hot dishes are lemons with some fish, and water cresses or garden cress with some kinds of game and poultry.

In the matter of the garnishing of cold dishes there is a wider scope for artistic feeling. Cold meats should always be ornamented with aspic jelly, and, instead of parsley, with the curled garden cress, which, while it resembles parsley closely, has the advantage of being eatable when raw. But it is in salads, mayonnaises, and the like that the artistic feeling of a cook can come out. I will describe the materials she has at hand for ornamentation. First is the aspic, which when well made should rival the finest topaz in brilliancy, and can be so shaded as to approach the deeper tint of the ruby. Then come the white and yolk of hard-boiled eggs, which are both used finely minced, but the former can yield any number of fanciful devices, which are thus arrived at. Several whites of egg are put into a tin previously slightly buttered, and then are made to set in a bain-marie; when turned out they will give you a slab of hard-boiled white of egg out of which you may cut and stamp what you like. Beetroot will furnish similar devices in red, and so will tongue; olives (stoned), truffles, capers, anchovies, gherkins, lobster coral, &c., will give other colours and shapes. It will readily be seen that many very pretty combinations of many colours can be made with these things. A fair average taste and some patience are the chief requisites.

Flowers (cut out of raw turnips), crayfish, which are not to be eaten, designs wrought in flour and lard coloured in various ways, and such like matters which appertain to what is called grand cookery, belong to the category of shams, and cannot meet with the approval of any true artist.

As the recipe for the day, I give you some instructions for an item which would probably make the author of the above book blanch in horror; but here it is anyway:-

Auntie Nellie's Hyacinths

2 ozs. minced ham.

1 dessertspoonful thick horse-radish sauce.

Waffles 1 inch in diameter and 1 ¼ inches in depth.

Small green gherkins.

Equal quantities green peas and white bread-crumbs.

Whipped cream, to which has been added a little cream cheese.

Mix together the ham and sauce and fill the cases with the mixture. Cut gherkins lengthwise in four quarters, then each quarter in two almost to the end. Now stick two of these well into the centre of each case, having the uncut ends downwards, and with a small rose-pipe, force some cream in centre of pieces, bringing it a little higher than the gherkin and thus making an imitation of a hyacinth. Having mixed the crumbs and peas and passed them through a sieve, place round the hyacinth in imitation of moss.

Serve cold, garnished with parsley.

Sufficient for 8 savouries.

Artistic Savouries (London, 1922?) by E. Sheridan.

Get ready for Valentine’s Day, 1933.

Last year I gave you several recipes forValentine’s Day from the Los Angeles Times of February 13, 1933. I saved a few more of them for you for this year.

Valentine Shortcake.

Melt two tablespoonfuls butter and blend with two tablespoonfuls flour. Add one sixteen-ounce can noodle soup and stir until thickened. Add one and one-half cupfuls diced cooked pork or veal and cook until meat is thoroughly heated. Serve on this filling between the halves and on top of heart-shaped baking powder biscuit, garnishing with slices of stuffed Spanish olives. This make a delicious meat dish for the shortcake and is very easily prepared. Left-over pork or veal roast may be used.

Valentine Ice-Cream Sandwich.

Shape thin layers of sponge cake with heart cutter and for each serving use two of these hearts with vanilla ice cream between and on top. Pour butterscotch sauce over the top and sprinkle with nuts or top with a spoonful of whipped cream.

Pink Fruit Punch.

To one glass currant jelly and one cupful granulated sugar, add one quart boiling water and stir until dissolved. Cool, add juice of six lemons and two oranges. Add two quarts more water. At serving time, add ice to chill. This recipe will serve twenty.

Previous Valentine’s Day posts and recipes can be found at the following links:

Cakes for Valentine’s Day (1930’s).

http://www.theoldfoodie.com/2015/02/cakes-for-valentines-day-1930s.html

Saints, Sex, and Chocolate Soup.

http://theoldfoodie.blogspot.com/2006/02/saints-sex-and-soup.html

A Lusty Tart.

http://www.theoldfoodie.com/2007/02/lusty-tart.html

Moravian Love Cakes.

http://www.theoldfoodie.com/2009/02/moravian-love-cakes.html

Recipes for Perfect Love.

http://www.theoldfoodie.com/2010/02/recipes-for-perfect-love.html

Cupid’s Menu.

http://www.theoldfoodie.com/2011/02/in-advance-of-valentines-day.html

Love Cake.

http://www.theoldfoodie.com/2011/02/love-cake.html

Love in Disguise.

http://www.theoldfoodie.com/2012/02/valentines-day-offering.html

Valentine’s Day Treats: 19^th C recipes.

http://www.theoldfoodie.com/2012/02/valentines-day-treats.html

Lalla-Rookh Punch.

http://www.theoldfoodie.com/2013/02/punch-perfect-for-valentines-day.html

Lincoln’s Birthday Anniversary Banquet, 1909.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the birth in 1809 of Abraham Lincoln, sixteenth president of the United States of America. Celebration of the event has varied enormously over time, depending on political and historical loyalties, and budgeting decisions of individual states, but the day has never been an official federal public holiday.

In 1909, on the one-hundredth anniversary of his birth, an extra-ordinarily expensive banquet was held in Springfield, Illinois. I have no information as to how this was funded.

A Twenty-Thousand Dollar Banquet

--

Chicago Firm Successfully Caters for Eight Hundred

at Lincoln Centennial Feast in Springfield, Illinois

--

Banquet Tickets Twenty-five Dollars Each . . . . Facts and Figures

of Most Remarkable Gastronomic Event in the History of Illinois

 (From The Hotel Monthly of March, 1909.)

Probably the greatest catering feat ever accomplished in the state of Illinois was handled by the Richelieu Catering Co. of Chicago in Springfield, on the anniversary of Lincoln's one hundredth birthday. The banquet was served in the Armory and covers were laid for eight hundred at twenty- five dollars the plate. The caterer's bill was, approximately, $10,000. The balance of the money was spent for decorations, souvenirs, entertainment of invited guests, music and other necessary expenses. This was the menu:

Cotuits

-          Martini Cocktail

Mock turtle, American

Celery Olives Radishes

-          Haut Sauternes

Crab meat with fresh mushrooms, Illini

-

Tenderloin of beef, Sangamon

Duchesse potatoes                    Green peas

-          Apollinaris

LOG CABIN PUNCH

-

Breast of guinea squab, Old Salem.

-          Pommard

Compote of fruit                         Lettuce and endive salad

-

Ice cream          Assorted cakes

-          Pommery and Greno Sec

Creamed roquefort cheese, in celery

Crackers

Coffee                Cordials

Cigars                                                           Cigarettes

To serve this banquet, the Richelieu Catering Company took from Chicago a 48-foot range, coffee urns, utensils, and all the necessary paraphernalia for cooking and serving the banquet. The service of china, glass, silver and linen required three railroad cars. Eighteen thousand pieces of china were used. A special kitchen was built in the rear of the Armory, tent-covered, and with wood floor. Gas pipes were connected for fuel, and these were protected against frost, so that nothing would mar the success of the culinary end. All the foods were brought from Chicago (192 miles) on Thursday night, and the banquet was served Friday night. Seventy-five colored waiters were employed, and twenty-five white men for wine service. Forty-five of the colored waiters and all of the white waiters were brought from Chicago. One hundred and thirty help in all were employed by the caterers.

The provisions included nine barrels of oysters, fifty gallons of soup, thirty pounds of crab meat flakes, thirty pounds of fresh mushrooms, 560 pounds of No. 1 beef tenderloin, and 375 guinea fowl. The liquid refreshments served averaged for each guest: one cocktail, one glass of sauterne, one glass of pommard, three glasses of champagne, and one liqueur. Each diner received three cigars.

The service began at 7:30, and was ended at 9:30, when the speechmaking began. Everything went off as smooth as smooth could be, and the catering firm was highly complimented on the skillful management and the correct service. The

hall was beautifully decorated by a St. Louis firm, the chief decorations being chandeliers and wall brackets of electric lights, each bulb the center of a poinsettia flower. The credit for the success of this great banquet is due Richard

Ostenrieder, general manager of the Edelweiss and Hofbrau Restaurants; S. Pruym, manager of the catering department of the Hofbrau Restaurant and Richelieu Catering Company; and Albert Stalle, chef of the Richelieu Catering Company.

The illustration herewith of the banquet hall is from a photograph by Lawrence of Chicago, and shows the clever arrangement of the tables, by which, radiating from the speakers' table, each of the eighty tables (with ten diners at each) was

located so that every diner had unobstructed view of the speakers' table. The table decoration was of cut flowers arranged in mounds purposely low, so as not to obstruct the view of the speakers' table.

Each guest was presented with a bound volume of the Life of Lincoln. The menu card was in form of a booklet, the leaves eight by ten inches, the cover presenting a fine portrait of Lincoln, Selections from Lincoln's addresses and correspondence, gems of American literature, scintillated thru the pages.

Notwithstanding the vast amount of table ware required for the service of this banquet, the inventory count of the returned goods showed only four knives and four forks missing. The total loss, including china, glass, silver, linen, and breakage, amounted to less than $75.

I would dearly have loved to give you a recipe for Log Cabin Punch, but it was almost certainly invented and named for the day, and presumably to honour Lincoln’s birth in a humble log cabin in Kentucky. Instead, I give you the instructions for Non-Such Punch (simply because I like the name) from How to Mix Drinks, or, the Bon-Vivant’s Companion, published in 1862 – only a few years before he was assassinated in April 1865.

Non-Such Punch.

6 bottles of claret.

6 [ditto] soda-water.

1 [ditto] brandy.

1 [ditto] sherry

1 pint of green tea.

Juice of three lemons.

½ of a pineapple cut up in small pieces. Sweeten with white sugar to taste. Strain a bottle immediately. Keep for one month before using.

This is a delicious and safe drink for a mixed evening party. Cool before serving.

If you want something more specific for the day, there are several versions of Lincoln Cake in a previous post here.