Cheese Curry.

Last week I considered two food words that I love, and what you get when you put them side-by-side -  Cheese Soup. I also love ‘curry’, and, believe it or not, there is such a thing as Cheese Curry.

I have often wondered why there does not appear to be any anglicised version of Indian dishes based on paneer. I wondered if this was because British colonials were not enthusiastic about vegetarian food. The first two recipes I give you today suggest that perhaps what happened was an ‘Indianisation’ of that longstanding British favourite – Welsh Rabbit (see here, and here). Admittedly, these recipes are from Australian newspapers –but the cultural ethos in Australia at the time was clearly British. Now I just need to find some nineteenth century recipes for curried cheese.

Curried Cheese a Tasty Meal

"What can we have for a change?" is the question many a woman asks herself when the wcekend tea hour approaches. Next time try curried cheese.

Dissolved teacup of butter in a small saucepan, then add 1 teaspoonful of curry powder, a small chopped onion, and salt to taste. Stir in gradually half cup of milk, and allow to simmer until the onion is cooked. Then add 2 oz. of grated cheese, and stir until the mixture thickens. Serve on rounds of toast.

Advocate (Burnie, Tas. ) Tuesday 23 June 1931

Curried Cheese Savoury.

 Rub the yolks of 8 hard-boiled eggs through a sieve and cream them with 2oz finely grated cheese, a few drops of lemon juice and sufficient curry powder to taste. Stir in the pulp of a tomato, and add a few drops of mayonnaise. Spread thickly on fingers of hot buttered toast, and put into a warm oven to heat thoroughly. Garnish with finely chopped parsley and the hard egg whites cut into fine strips.

The Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld.) Wednesday 31 August 1938

The third recipe I give you is on a different plane altogether. I am not at all sure that I find it appealing.

Curried Cheese Ring With Eggs & Tomato.

Combine 1½ cups sieved cottage cheese, 1½ cups soft breadcrumbs, 1 teaspoon grated onion, 2 tablespoons melted margarine, 1 teaspoon curry powder, 2 egg yolks, salt and pepper. Mix well. Fold in 2 stiffly beaten egg whites. Pour into well-greased pint ring mould, place in pan of  hot water, and bake in moderate oven 1 hour or until set.

Add a pinch of marjoram or thyme to contents of a tin of condensed tomato soup; bring to boil. Add 6 sliced or quartered hard-cooked eggs and ½ cup sour cream to the tomato soup. Unmould cheese ring and fill centre with egg and tomato mixture.

Advocate (Burnie, Tas.) Saturday 29 September 1951

Quotation for the Day.

The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land, it is at last to set foot on one's own country as a foreign land.

G. K. Chesterton.

Cheese plus Soup.

Two of my favourite food words – ‘cheese’ and ‘soup’: put them together and you get - ‘cheese soup’!  I enjoyed a bowl of Stilton Soup while I was in the UK last year, and have been meaning to follow up the concept ever since. The earliest recipe I have found so far is from 1812, and here it is:

Potage de Biberot au Fromage, Gras ou Maigre.

Cheese Soup of both Sorts.

Take about half a pound of bread crumbs, sifted in a cullender, and about a quarter of a pound of Gruiere cheese, commonly called Swiss cheese, or Parmezan; simmer this together in a stew-pan with some good broth (either maigre or gras), until the bread and cheese are well stewed; make a liaison in another pan with three or four yolks of eggs, and as many spoonsful of broth: when ready to serve, mix this last with the first without boiling. This soup must not be very clear nor thick. It should be made with broth without salt, as the cheese may salt it sufficiently. Judgment must always guide you for seasoning.

The Professed Cook (1812), by B.Clermont.

The next recipe is for a very thick soup – it is almost more of a savoury bread pudding. The instruction to ‘simmer  until it is burnt to the bottom’ is unusual – I assume the end result is intended to be browned and crusty, not blackened.

Cheese Soup.

Take a soup dish that will bear the fire and spread over the bottom of it Gruyere cheese cut small with pieces of fresh butter strewed about it; cover this with thin slices of bread and lay cheese, butter and bread alternately until you have enough taking care to finish with the cheese and butter; moisten these layers with stock and let them simmer until it is burnt to the bottom and the liquor is evaporated. When about to send it to table add more stock with a little pepper and let the potage be rather thick than otherwise.

The cook's dictionary, and house-keeper's directory, (1830) by Richard Dolby.

The third recipe starts off as if it intends to become ‘mac‘n cheese’, but ends up as a rich, smooth creamed soup.  Sounds delicious, but why specify a particular type of pasta when it is going to be put through a tamis?

Maccaroni And Parmesan Cheese Soup.

Take a quarter of a pound of riband maccaroni, and boil it till tender in a quart of veal broth; then add three ounces of grated Parmesan cheese, a small quantity of pounded mace, and five pints more of veal broth; boil all together five minutes, and rub it through a tamis cloth; then boil it again for ten minutes, skim it, season it with salt and Cayenne pepper, and add a liaison of four yolks of eggs and cream.

The art of cookery, (1836) by John Mollard

Quotation for the Day.

It's nice to get out of the rat race, but you have to learn to get along
with less cheese.
Gene Parret, on retirement

Beef Creams.

I have a short, simple story for you today. I was browsing one of my favourite old books – the first old household book I ever bought (many decades ago for fifty cents) and came across a recipe I want to share with you. I don’t think it would be out of place in a modern restaurant. The book is The Woman’s Book: Contains Everything a Woman Ought to Know. Household management: cookery: children: home doctor: business: dress: society: careers: citizenship; ed. Florence B. Jack (London, 1911.)  The recipe is for ‘Beef Creams’, which are an entirely different concept from ‘Creamed Beef.’

Beef Creams.

(Fr. Crèmes de Boeuf)

Ingredients:

¾ lb lean juicy Beef.

2 tablesp. whipped Cream

1 dess-sp. chopped Parsley

1 dess-sp. chopped Mushrooms.

Pepper and Salt.

Purée of Spinach or Potato

1 table-sp. Brown Sauce

1 egg.

Panada:

1 gill stock

½ oz. butter

2 oz. flour.

Method: Grease six or seven small entrée moulds, and decorate them at the foot with chopped parsley and mushrooms.

To Prepare the Creams: Remove all skin and fat from the meat, and pass it through the mincing machine. Make a panada with the stock, butter, and flour; put the stock and butter into a saucepan, bring them to the boil, and sprinkle in the flour. Then mix until perfectly smooth, and cook thoroughly. Put this panada into a mortar with the meat, brown sauce, egg, and seasoning. Pound well, and rub all through a wire sieve. Add the cream and the remainder of the parsley and mushrooms. Mix lightly, and fill up the prepared moulds. Place these in a shallow pan or tin lined with a double fold of paper at the foot. Pour in enough boiling water to come half-way up the sides of the moulds, and cover with greased paper. Steam slowly for fifteen minutes, or until the creams feel firm to the touch. Lift them out, and allow them to stand for a minute or two. Then unmould them carefully, and dish on a purée of potato or spinach and pour brown sauce or piquant sauce round.

Quotation for the Day.

An epicure is one who gets nothing better than the cream of everything but cheerfully makes the best of it.

Oliver Herford

The Crimson Insect.

I said yesterday that it is difficult to overestimate the commercial value of the cochineal insect in its heyday. The intense red ‘carmine’ colour derived from the scale insect Dactylopius coccus was in use by the people of Central America when the Spanish arrived in the early sixteenth century. It became a huge industry in Mexico – second only to silver – and many thousands of pounds were produced and exported annually. The deep crimson colouring was used in food, certainly, but the huge volume used was on account of its use as a textile dye – think of all of those crimson uniforms beloved of the military in Europe.

The industry virtually died out when synthetic dyes were developed in the nineteenth century, but there has been a small awakening, thanks to the understanding that some of these dyes are carcinogenic. Perhaps the modern trend to espouse ‘natural’ foodstuffs has helped too – you cant get much more natural than an insect, after all, although I assume cochineal is eschewed by vegans. 

The recipes I am going to give you today demonstrate a wonderful irony: here we have a truly ‘natural’ food colouring being used to make unshamedly unnatural jam and vinegar.

Mock Raspberry Jam.

12 lb.ripe tomatoes, 9lb sugar, 1 bottle essence of raspberry, cochineal.

Pour boiling water over tomatoes and peel them. Put into a preserving pan and add sugar. Boil until thick, then add raspberry essence. Remove from fire and colour to desired colour with cochineal. This is an excellent jam, and is equal to raspberry.

Western Mail (Perth, WA : 1885 - 1954) Thursday 24 May 1945

Raspberry Vinegar.

Take 3 ½ cupfuls of boiling water, 2 ½ cupfuls of: sugar, one bottle of cochineal, one bottle of raspberry essence, l oz. tartaric acid. Put all the ingredients, excepting the cochineal, into a basin or jug, pour boiling water over them, stir until the sugar is quite melted, then add the cochineal, and when cool it is ready for use. A tablespoonful in a glass of water makes a refreshing drink.

Sunday Times (Perth, WA)  20 December 1914

Quotation for the Day

People who shop in health food stores never look healthy.
Amy Sedaris

Prickly Pear

Yesterday in the brief discussion of the fig, I made mention of the ‘cochineal cactus’, a plant belonging to the genus Opuntia of the cactus family. It is native to the Americas, and has been extremely important in the culture and economy of Mexico. The plant goes by many popular names. It was included in our story yesterday because of its alternative names of ‘Indian fig’ and ‘Jamaica fig’, but it is also known as the nopal, tuna, paddle cactus, and prickly pear – and of course, as the ‘cochineal cactus’.

There are a large number of species within the genus Opuntia, many with medicinal and culinary applications. The prickly pear (its favoured name in Australia) is used to make candy, jam and jelly, and various alcoholic drinks, but its most important culinary contribution – and without doubt its most important economic value - is an indirect one. The cactus plays host to a scale insect called Dactylopius coccus, which is the source of the red dye, cochineal. It is difficult to overestimate the commercial value of this dye throughout history – but more on that tomorrow.

The cactus was introduced to many countries around the world where the climate is suitable. In Australia, it was introduced along with the First Fleet, in 1788. It was picked up by Governor Philip during the stopover in Brazil, no doubt because of the potential for entry into the lucrative cochineal market. It became a garden plant in the 1830’s, and as we know, gardeners love to share cuttings of interesting plants. Its value as animal fodder hard times, and as a natural fencing strategy were also reasons for its promotion. It must have seemed like the perfect crop for the new colony.

The prickly pear loved this country. Instead of becoming a lucrative crop however, was rapidly elevated to the status of a noxious weed - one of the most devastating introduced plants in the country’s history. The rate of spread was incredible. Up to a million acres a year of fine agricultural land was destroyed by the prickly ‘green hell’. In 1919 The Commonwealth Prickly Pear Board was established to try to eradicate the problem, and success was finally achieved with the introduction of another species – this time, the cactus moth, Cactoblastis cactorum, the larvae of which feed on the plant.

Pockets of the plant persist of course in Australia, and the fruit of this ‘weed’ can occasionally be purchased in up-market fruit shops – an ironic situation for a noxious weed indeed. Enterprising farmer’s wives in the early days were not about to waste something perfectly edible, even if prickly and difficult to handle, and the obvious solution was to make jam or jelly.

Prickly Pear Jam.

Following is the recipe for "cactus fruit" or prickly pear jam. Great care is required in preparing it, and tho procees is rather troublesome owing to the number of small prickles or thorns which are on the fruit. Peel the fruit and cut in half lengthwise; then sprinkle with sugar and let stand for twelve hours; boil quickly for half an hour; then add sugar in the proportion of three-quarters to one pound of fruit, and boil altogether for an hour. When it is done it will jelly quickly if a small quantity be placed on a plate, and is of a rich wine color. The fruit should be just ripe.

Australian Town and Country Journal,  7 August 1886

Prickly Pear Jelly.

Great care is required in preparing it; and the process is rather troublesome, owing to the number of small prickles or thorns which are on the fruit. The following is the mode of making the jelly. Pare and cut lengthwise 3 lb. of prickly pear. Put them into a stewpan with a teacupful of water. When reduced to pulp put them into a jelly-bag. Let them drain all night. They must not be squeezed. Next morning put the juice into a saucepan, being careful not to put any sediment with it, adding l lb of sugar to every pint of juice, and a few drops of the essence of vanilla. Boil until it will stiffen when cold. Cover the jars as soon as possible.

Australian Town and Country Journal , 12 October 1889

Quotation for the Day.

Think what a better world it would be if we all, the whole world, had cookies and milk about three o'clock every afternoon and then lay down on our blankets for a nap.”

Robert Fulghum

What is a Fig?

One of the common perils of research on a particular food is that the same name is sometimes used for several different things. Take ‘fig’ for example. It is the edible fruit of the Ficus carica, a delicious and highly prized fruit in both its fresh and dried state, is it not?  It is indeed, but a ‘fig’ in historical works, can also refer to the banana or the cochineal cactus. If that isn’t confusing enough, it can also mean ‘raisin’ – as in the old-fashioned ‘figgy pudding.’ Figgy pudding of course is essentially the same as ‘Plum Pudding’, which also does not contain plums, but raisins.

The confusion does not stop there, unfortunately (but interestingly). Here are two nineteenth century descriptions of ‘fig-cake.’

  

Fig-cake, a preparation of figs and almonds worked up into a hard paste, and pressed into round cakes like small cheeses.

  

Fig-cake: a Greek ‘composition of rice, cheese, eggs, and honey. It was wrapped in fig leaves, whence it took its name.’

In a post some long time ago we had Mrs Beeton’s ‘figpudding’ (containing genuine figs’), and a ‘very nice compote’ of stewed figs, so for the recipe of the day I give you a nice fig cake. As is common in old cookery books, the instructions are minimal. It was assumed that the cook would know the ‘usual method’ of combining the ingredients and baking the batter. 

Fig Cake.

A large cup of butter, two and a half of sugar, one of sweet milk, three pints flour with three tea-spoons baking powder, whites of sixteen eggs, a pound and a quarter of figs well floured and cut in strips like citron; no flavouring.

Buckeye Cookery & Practical Housekeeping (1905), by Estelle Woods Wilcox

What I want to know is – what did the cook do with the remaining sixteen egg yolks? Make a lot of custard?

Quotation for the Day.

Here is a rural fellow that will not be denied your Highness' presence: he brings you figs.

William Shakespeare.