Alecsize that Fish!

I was greatly intrigued by the following statement, which I came across recently, on the methods used by ‘the Ancients’ to serve fish:

“The modes of dressing so approved a fish were endless. One way was to alecize or halecize it.”

Prose halieutics: or, Ancient and modern fish tattle (1854) C. D. Badham

Alecize? I had to hie me off to the Oxford English Dictionary for advice on the meaning of this word:

Alecize: Etymology:  < Latin ālec + -ize suffix. Compare Latin ālēcātus.

rare
To dress with alec sauce.

As the sole supporting reference for the usage of this word the above quotation was given, which did not help at all.  As there was no further discussion of the word, and in particular no clarification of the Latin word ālēcātus, I was none the wiser.  

I went back to the author of Prose Halieutics and found that the author gave an opinion on the sauce and its origins:

'Apicius,' says Pliny, ' not content with the invention of a garum to drown this fish in, went about to provoke men to devise a certain broth, made from it, like that sauce called alec, which cometh of fishes when they corrupt.' Mullets are too hard to take salt well, but make an excellent souse; the modern Venetians prepare it in this manner, keeping the flesh soaking some time in a pickle of capsicum vinegar, before preparing it for the table.

Still wishing to pursue the notion of ‘alec sauce’, I think I came a step closer with a definition frm

A new English dictionary on historical principles : founded mainly on the materials collected by the Philological Society (1888)

Halec, Halecize, var. ALEC, ALECIZE.

Halecoid, a. and sb. Ichth. [f. mod.L. Halecoides, f. halec, alec, sauce prepared  from small fish, and perh. the fish itself:.]

a. adj. Of or belonging to the herring family,

b. sb. A clupeoid fish.

Other sources suggest it was a ‘form of garum’ or ‘thickened form of garum.’ Oddly, perhaps, I have been unable to find any recipes for ‘alec sauce’ – although this may well be due to my poor linguist skills. Maybe one of you with knowledge of Latin, or ancient cookery, can help?

In the meanwhile, I give you several ideas for salty, fishy, sauces, from How to Cook Fish (1908) BY Myrtle Reed.

ANCHOVY SAUCE— I

Stir two tablespoonfuls of anchovy essence into one cupful of melted butter. Season with cayenne and powdered mace.

ANCHOVY SAUCE— II

Pound three anchovies smooth with three tablespoonfuls of butter, add two teaspoonfuls of vinegar and a quarter of a cupful of water. Bring to the boil and thicken with a tablespoonful of flour rubbed smooth in a little cold water. Strain through a sieve and serve hot.

ANCHOVY SAUCE— III

Add a tablespoonful of anchovy paste to a cupful of Drawn- Butter Sauce and season with lemon-juice and paprika.

Quotation for the Day.

He is no true fisherman who is willing to fish only when fish are biting.

Grover Cleveland (attrib.)

Dandelion and Burdock.

When I was growing up in the North of England many decades ago, a popular soft drink (soda, pop) flavour was ‘dandelion and burdock’. When I revisited the old country a couple of months ago, it appeared that those old wild foods now give flavour to cakes in trendy cafes and coffee shops. I don’t have a recipe for ‘Dandelion and Burdock Cake,’ but I am guessing a version of it could be made by substituting the beverage for Coca-Cola in a Coca-Cola Cake recipe.

Some time ago we talked about dandelion in a story called The Monk’sChoice. The other ingredient, burdock (or just ‘dock’) belongs to the Thistle family (Compositae.) It is a common wild plant, and a foragers dream. The roots, seeds, and leaves are all edible, and have a wide variety of uses historically, particularly for medicinal purposes.

Beer, of course, has been flavoured with a myriad ingredients over the millennia, including burdock. No doubt a liking for burdock beer was the stimulus for the production of a non-alcoholic version of the beverage, and perhaps this was led by Temperance supporters, in the same way that ‘root beer’ became an acceptable Prohibition drink in the USA?

Not all Prohibitionists agreed with root beer as a substitute for alcohol however.  Production of root beer still began with the fermentation process, and therefore contained ‘the intoxicating principle’ – up to a level of 5% in some beverages.

I give you a recipe for root beer which contains both dandelion and burdock. Let me know if you try it!

Root Beer.

For each gallon of water to be used, take hops; burdock, yellow dock, sarsaparilla, dandelion and spikenard roots, of each., 1-2 oz., bruised, boil about 20 minutes and strain; while hot add about 8 or 10 drops of oils of spruce and sassafras mixed in equal proportions; when cool enough not to scald your hand, put in two or three tablespoonfuls of yeast, molasses 2-3 of a pint, or white sugar 1-2 lb., gives it about the right sweetness. Keep these proportions for as many gallons as you wish to make. You can use more or less of the roots to suit your taste after trying it; it is best to get the dry roots, or dig them and let them get dry, and of course you can add any other root known to possess medicinal properties desired in the beer. After all is mixed let it stand in a jar with a cloth thrown over it, to work about two hours, then bottle and set in a cool place. This is a nice way to take Alternatives, without taking Medicine.
An Invaluable Collection of About Six Hundred Practical Recipes,by A.W. Chase, M.D. 1860

Quotation for the Day.

Fill with mingled cream and amber,

I will drain that glass again.

Such hilarious visions clamber

Through the chamber of my brain.

Quaintest thoughts, queerest fancies

Come to life and fade away.

What care I how time advances:

I am drinking ale today.

Edgar Allen Poe

Cheshire Cheese, Part 2

When I was in the UK recently, I enjoyed renewing my acquaintance with some of my favourite cheeses and meeting and befriending some new and different varieties. One of the old favourites I did not get to sample again (too many cheeses, not enough time … ) was Cheshire cheese.

Cheshire cheese is one of the oldest, if not the oldest, recorded named cheeses in British history. It was mentioned by Thomas Muffet in his work ‘Health's Improvement’, written about 1580. William Camden’s great work ‘Britannia’ (published, in Latin, in 1586) mentions it: the 1616 translation notes that ‘Cheshire Cheese is more agreeable and better relished than those of other parts of the kingdom,’ and the 1637 edition perhaps explains its popularity: ‘... the grasse and fodder there [in Cheshire] is of that goodness and vertue that the cheeses bee made heere in great number of a most pleasing and delicate taste, such as all England againe affordeth not the like; no, though the best dairy women otherwise and skilfullest in cheesemaking be had from hence.’

Another of the virtues of Cheshire cheese was that the harder varieties had a very long shelf-life, which meant that it was ideal for provisioning ships for long voyages. This particular aspect of the history of Cheshire cheese was the subject of a previous story, here.

http://www.theoldfoodie.com/2007/07/cheshire-cheese-at-sea.html

Today I give you several ways to use up your Cheshire cheese bits and pieces:

To Pot Cheshire Cheese

Take three pounds of Cheshire cheese, and put it into a mortar, with half a pound of the best fresh butter you can get, pound them together, and in the beating add a gill of rich Canary wine, and half an ounce of mace finely beat, then sifted like a fine powder. When all is extremely well mixed, press it hard down into a gallipot, cover it with clarified butter, and keep it cool. A slice of this exceeds all the cream cheese that can be made.

The Art of Cookery, Made Plain and Easy (1774), Hannah Glasse

A Ramaquin of Cheese.

Beat a quarter of a pound of Gloucester, and the same quantity of Cheshire cheese; mix in two ounces of butter, half the crumb of a penny loaf soaked in cream, four yolks of cast eggs and one of the whites. Put it in a dish, and bake it in a moderate oven. Potted Cheese. Beat three pounds of Cheshire cheese in a mortar, with half a pound of butter; a large glass of sack, and about half an ounce of mace beaten and sifted. Mix it well, pot it up, and pour larified butter over it.

The Practice of Cookery, Pastry, and Confectionary (1820), Mrs. Frazer

Cheese Omelet or Pudding.

Grate four ounces of Cheshire cheese, mix it with two eggs well beaten, one ounce of fresh butter, and a cup of cream or milk. Bake it, and serve hot, with hot toast.

Cookery and Domestic Economy (1862), Mary Somerville.

A Cheshire Sandwich.

Take anchovies, Cheshire cheese, and butter, of each equal parts. Made mustard to the taste. Pound in a marble mortar till all the ingredients become well incorporated. Spread a knife pointful of this upon slices of white bread, and between two pieces put a thin slice of ham, or any kind of cold meat. Press together, and with a sharp knife divide the sandwich into mouthfuls.

Culina Famulatrix Medicinæ: Or, Receipts in Modern Cookery, with a Medical Commentary (1806)' Alexander Hunter.

Quotation for the Day.

I will make an end of my dinner; there's pippins and cheese to come.

William Shakespeare.

Ice-cream, or not?

If you ask Google for information on “oyster ice-cream”, it points you to a lot of references. The most superficial examination however, shows that almost all of these repeat the same tale almost word for word – that this was one of Mark Twain’s favourite dishes.

That Twain was fond of oysters is not, I think, in doubt. That oyster ice-cream was one of his favourite ways to eat the oyster, is, I think, very doubtful indeed. I have been unable (in an admittedly brief search) to find any mention of oyster ice-cream in connection with Twain at all. The famous list of foods for which he was pining after a long winter tour of Europe in 1879, which he detailed in A Tramp Abroad (1880) mentions several oyster dishes, and ‘Iced sweet milk’, but not ice-cream as such.

Here is the list:

It has now been many months, at the present writing, since I have had a nourishing meal, but I shall soon have one--a modest, private affair, all to myself. I have selected a few dishes, and made out a little bill of fare, which will go home in the steamer that precedes me, and be hot when I arrive--as follows:

Radishes. Baked apples, with cream

Fried oysters; stewed oysters. Frogs.

American coffee, with real cream.

American butter.

Fried chicken, Southern style.

Porter-house steak.

Saratoga potatoes.

Broiled chicken, American style.

Hot biscuits, Southern style.

Hot wheat-bread, Southern style.

Hot buckwheat cakes.

American toast. Clear maple syrup.

Virginia bacon, broiled.

Blue points, on the half shell.

Cherry-stone clams.

San Francisco mussels, steamed.

Oyster soup. Clam Soup.

Philadelphia Terapin soup.

Oysters roasted in shell-Northern style.

Soft-shell crabs. Connecticut shad.

Baltimore perch.

Brook trout, from Sierra Nevadas.

Lake trout, from Tahoe.

Sheep-head and croakers, from New Orleans.

Black bass from the Mississippi.

American roast beef.

Roast turkey, Thanksgiving style.

Cranberry sauce. Celery.

Roast wild turkey. Woodcock.

Canvas-back-duck, from Baltimore.

Prairie chickens, from Illinois.

Missouri partridges, broiled.

'Possum. Coon.

Boston bacon and beans.

Bacon and greens, Southern style.

Hominy. Boiled onions. Turnips.

Pumpkin. Squash. Asparagus.

Butter beans. Sweet potatoes.

Lettuce. Succotash. String beans.

Mashed potatoes. Catsup.

Boiled potatoes, in their skins.

New potatoes, minus the skins.

Early rose potatoes, roasted in the ashes, Southern style, served hot.

Sliced tomatoes, with sugar or vinegar. Stewed tomatoes.

Green corn, cut from the ear and served with butter and pepper.

Green corn, on the ear.

Hot corn-pone, with chitlings, Southern style.

Hot hoe-cake, Southern style.

Hot egg-bread, Southern style.

Hot light-bread, Southern style.

Buttermilk. Iced sweet milk.

Apple dumplings, with real cream.

Apple pie. Apple fritters.

Apple puffs, Southern style.

Peach cobbler, Southern style

Peach pie. American mince pie.

Pumpkin pie. Squash pie.

All sorts of American pastry.

Fresh American fruits of all sorts, including strawberries which are not to be doled out as if they were jewelry, but in a more liberal way. Ice-water - not prepared in the ineffectual goblet, but in the sincere and capable refrigerator.

That there were frozen oyster dishes at the time is not in doubt. Mary Randolph, in The Virginia Housewife: or, Methodical Cook (Baltimore, 1838) gives a recipe for ‘Oyster Cream’ based on her Oyster Soup recipe:

Oyster Cream.

Make a rich soup (see directions for oyster soup,) strain it from the oysters, and freeze it.

Oyster Soup.

Wash and drain two quarts of oysters, put them on with three quarts of water, three onions chopped up, two or three slices of lean ham, pepper and salt; boil it till reduced one-half, strain it through a sieve, return the liquid into the pot, put in one quart of fresh oysters, boil it till they are sufficiently done, and thicken the soup with four spoonsful of flour, two gills of rich cream, and the yelks of six new laid eggs beaten well; boil it a few minutes after the thickening is put in. Take care that it does not curdle, and that the flour is not in lumps; serve it up with the last oysters that were put in. If the flavour of thyme be agreeable, you may put in a little, but take care that it does not boil in it long enough to discolour the soup.

This is surely not ice-cream, but very chilled soup?

What would make it ice-cream? A lot of sugar, surely?

There are plenty of precedents for ‘savoury’ ice-creams. One famous version has featured on this blog before, and I give it to you again as it fits well into this discussion:

Cheese [Parmesan] IceCream.

Take six eggs, half a pint of syrup and a pint of cream; put them into a stewpan and boil them until it begins to thicken; then rasp three ounces of parmesan cheese; mix the whole well together and pass it through a sieve, then freeze it according to custom.

The Cook's Dictionary and House-keeper's Directory … by Richard Dolby (1830)

And the following recipe, from the famous chef Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s in New York, is not only asparagus flavoured, but asparagus coloured and shaped. How delightful. If only I could find an asparagus ice-cream mould, I might be tempted to make this.

ASPARAGUS (Asperges) [ICE]

Cook one pound of asparagus tips in plenty of unsalted water; drain and lay them in a tinned basin with ten egg-yolks and twelve ounces of sugar; mix thoroughly, incorporating a pint of boiling milk; cook this preparation without allowing to boil, and put aside to cool, then add a pint of cream; color a third part to a pale green; strain through a sieve, and freeze the parts separately. With this ice fill some asparagus-shaped molds, the stalks or third part to be of the green ice, and the remainder white. Freeze the molds for half an hour, unmold, tie in bunches of three with a pink ribbon, and dress on napkins. Serve separately a sauce made of vanilla ice cream (No. 3458), whipped cream (No. 50) and maraschino. Asparagus can also be imitated by filling the molds with pistachio (No. 3454) and vanilla ice cream (No. 3458), and serving the same as the above.

The Epicurean, Charles Ranhofer (New York, 1894)

Quotation for the Day.

“Without ice cream, there would be darkness and chaos.”
Don Kardong

Pasta Puddings.

The origins of pasta are very ancient and much disputed. A couple of things are certain, however. Pasta was NOT brought to Italy from China by Marco Polo, when he returned in from his long, long journey there in 1295. There is also ample evidence that commercial pasta-making was already well and truly established in Italy by this time, but none at all that it was actually invented there.

Was pasta ‘invented’ in China? That requires a decision on whether ‘noodles’ and ‘pasta’ are the same thing. They are, essentially. The only difference I can think of is that pasta is generally made from wheat (historically, anyway – things such as gluten-free pasta are very modern inventions), whereas Asian noodles may also made from many different ingredients. We tend to think of ‘noodles’ as being Asian – but the word has a German origin, and there are some wonderful contemporary German dishes with noodles. Then again, some early recipes for ‘noodles’ sound more like dumplings, as do early mentions of macaroni, and as for ravioli - some seem to have been more like meatballs. The linguistic confusion continues throughout the history of pasta, and certainly in eighteenth and nineteenth century cookery books, the word ‘macaroni’ appears to be used for any sort of pasta.

To unravel the story of pasta requires unravelling the pasta-word itself, which is a seemingly difficult  task even for the experts. Pasta originally simply meant dough, and there are echoes of this use in cookery books of very recent times, which instruct one to make a ‘paste’ for a pie, for example.
Another thing is sure about pasta. When it did start to become known and used in Britain, it quickly proved adaptable to that great British love – sweet puddings.

To make a vermicella pudding.
You must take the yolks of two eggs, and mix it up with as much flour as will make it pretty stiff, so as you can roll it out very thin, like a thin wafer; and when it is so dry as you can roll it up together without breaking, roll as close as you can; then with a sharp knife begin at one end, and cut it as thin as you can, have some water boiling, with a little salt in it, put in the paste, and just give it a boil for a minute or two; then throw it into a sieve to drain, then take a pan, lay a layer of vermicelli and a layer of butter, and so on. When it is cool, beat it up well together, and melt the rest of the butter and pour on it; beat it well (a pound of butter is enough, mix half with the paste, the other half melt) grate the crumb of a penny loaf, and mix in; beat up ten eggs, and mix in a small nutmeg grated, a gill of sack [sherry], or some rose-water, a tea-spoonful of salt, beat it all well together, and sweeten it to your taste; grate a little lemon-peel in, and dry two large blades of mace and beat them fine. You may, for a change, add a pound of currants nicely washed and picked clean; butter the pan or dish you bake it in and pour in your mixture. It will take an hour and a half baking, but the oven must not be too hot. If you lay a good thin crust round the bottom of the dish or sides, it will be better.
The Art of Cookery, (London,1747) Hannah Glasse

Macaroni Pudding.

Simmer an oz. or two of the pipe-sort, in a pint of milk, and a bit of lemon and cinnamon, tender; put it into a dish with milk, two or three eggs, but only one white, sugar, nutmeg, a spoonful of rose-water, and half a glass of wine. Bake with a paste around the edge.
A layer of orange-marmalade, or raspberry jam, in a macaroni pudding, for a change, is a great improvement.
The domestic encyclopedia, or, A dictionary of facts and useful knowledge.(Philadelphia, 1821) A.F.M Willich and T. Cooper.

Quotation for the Day.

Everything you see, I owe to spaghetti.
Sophia Loren.

Soufflé Bread.

The author of Culture and Cooking: or, Art in the Kitchen, (New York, 1881) who gave us a recipe for brioche, followed it, in her book, with a very novel idea for a similar dough. Here it is, in her own words:-

"Before quitting the subject of breads I must introduce a novelty which I will call "soufflée bread." It is quickly made, possible even when the fire is poor, and so delicious that I know you will thank me for making you acquainted with it."

Soufflée Bread.

Use two or three eggs according to size you wish, and to each egg a tablespoonful of flour. Mix the yolks with the flour and with them a dessert-spoonful of butter melted, and enough milk to make a very thick batter, work, add a pinch of salt and a teaspoonful of sugar, work till quite smooth, then add the whites of the eggs in a firm froth, stir them in gently, and add a quarter teaspoonful of soda and half a one of cream of tartar. Have ready an iron frying-pan (or an earthen one that will stand heat is better), made hot with a tablespoonful of butter in it, also hot, but not so hot as for frying. Pour the batter (which should be of the consistency of sponge cake batter) into the pan, cover it with a lid or tin plate, and set it back of the stove if the fire is hot - if very slow it may be forward; when well risen and near done, put it in the oven, or if the oven is cold you may turn it gently, not to deaden it. Serve when done (try with a twig), the under side uppermost; it should be of a fine golden brown and look like an omelet. This soufflée bread is equally good baked in a tin in which is rather more butter than enough to grease it; the oven must be very hot indeed. Cover it for the few minutes with a tin plate or lid, to prevent it scorching before it has risen; when it has puffed up remove the lid, and allow it to brown, ten to fifteen minutes should bake it; turn it out as you would sponge cake - very carefully, not to deaden it. To succeed with bread you must use the very best flour.

Now, doesn’t that sound altogether marvellous? I, for one, do indeed thank her for it.

Quotation for the Day.

I bake all the time, but I don't like to eat the cookies when they're done.

I just like the dough.

Sharon Stone

Better Butter and French Spinach.

I had no idea that, in the past, there was so much variety in English regional butters, until I read the following piece in Essays on The Management of the Dairy, (1816) by Josiah Twamley.

“Some counties or districts are particularly celebrated for the excellent quality of their butter. The Epping butter is most highly esteemed in London and its neighbourhood; great part of it is made from cows, which feed during the summer months, in Epping Forest, where the leaves and shrubby plants are understood greatly to contribute to its superior flavour. The remainder of what is called Epping butter, is made in the county of Essex, in which the Forest is situated: it is not distinguishable, in appearance, from the genuine Epping butter, both sorts being made up for market in long rolls, weighing a pound each. In Somersetshire, butter is made little inferior to the Epping butter; it is brought to market in dishes, containing half a pound each ; but, if a little salt be not previously rubbed round the inside of the dish, it will be difficult to work the butter, so as to make it look handsome.

The Cambridgeshire salt butter is also held in the highest esteem, and is made nearly in the same manner as the Epping butter: by washing it, and working the salt out of it, the London cheesemongers often sell it at a high price for fresh butter. The Suffolk and Yorkshire butter, is little inferior to that made in Cambridgeshire, for which it is often sold in London. No individuals, perhaps, make more butter from their cows than the Yorkshire farmers do; this is chiefly to be ascribed to the very great care they take of their cows during whiter; as at that season they house them all, feed them well, and never suffer them to go out, except to water, unless the weather be very serene. And when their cows calve, they give them comfortable malt mashes, for two or three days after.

The butter manufactured in the upper vale of Gloucester, is made up in half pound packs or prints, packed up in square baskets, in a manner so singularly neat, as to merit description.

The baskets are invariably of a long cubical form, about eighteen inches by twenty-four within, and about ten inches deep, with a bow handle across the middle, and with two lids hingeing upon a cross piece under the bow. A basket of this size holds twelve pints, four by three, in one layer: when the butter is firm, three layers, or eighteen pounds, are put in each basket; when soft, two layers, or twelve pounds. Sometimes baskets are made of a larger size, measuring eighteen by twenty-three inches within, carrying twenty half pounds in each row, or thirty pounds in each row. The basket is put into a kind of wallet, at the opposite end of which there is generally a smaller basket or other counterpoise; which being tightly strapped to the saddle (judiciously made for this purpose), with the heavy end on the off-side of the horse, the dairymaid mounts, and with her own weight preserves the balance. The basket being lashed on in such a manner as to ride perfectly level, the butter is preserved from being bruised.

In summer, the butter is constantly parked in green leaves, generally in those of the garden orache (the atriplex hortemis of Linnaeus), provincially called "butter leaves." This vegetable is annually sown in the garden for the purpose of enveloping the butter: its leaves are sufficiently large, of a tine texture, and a delicate pale-green colour. For want of these, vine leaves, and those of kidney beans, &c. are used.

In packing a butter-basket, the bottom is bedded with a thick cloth, folded two or three times. On this is spread a thin gauze like cloth, which has been dipped in cold water, and on this are placed the prints of butter, with a large leaf beneath, and a smaller one upon the centre of each. The lowermost row being adjusted, a fold of cloth is spread over it; and another row or layer is deposited in a similar manner. At market the cloth is removed, and the prints, partially covered with leaves, are shewn in all their neatness. The leaves are useful, as well as pleasing to the eye; and serve as guards to the prints. The butter is both put into the basket, as well as taken thence, without being touched, or the prints disfigured.”

I love the ideas of leaf-wrapped and basketed butter. I hope there is a revival in artisanal butter-production going on in the Old Country.

I am particularly intrigued by the ‘butter leaves’ mentioned. The Atriplex genus is also commonly known as saltbush. Atriplex hortemis of today’s story goes by many names: orach,  arrach, Garden Orache, Red Orach, Mountain Spinach, and French Spinach. It has been enjoyed as a human food since ancient times, and according to a mid-nineteenth century gardening manual, has been cultivated since the early sixteenth century.

Orache, or French Spinach. The orache, or French spinach, A triplex hortensis L., is a chenopodiaceous polygamous annual, growing to the height of three feet or four feet, a native of Tartary, and in cultivation as a spinach plant from the beginning of the sixteenth century. The leaves are used as in the common spinach, to mix with those of sorrel, and sometimes also, the tender points of the shoots. There are three varieties, the white, syn. pale green-leaved, the preen-leaved, and the dark red-leaved. An ounce of seed will sow a drill of one hundred feet in length; and it comes up in ten days or a fortnight. A dozen or two of plants placed two feet apart every way, in rich soil, in an open situation, kept moderately moist, will afford gatherings two or three times a week during the whole summer. The leaves ought to be taken while they are tender, and the blossoms pinched off as fast as they appear. The earliest crop may be sown in February, and for succession another sowing may be made in June. One plant will afford abundance of seed, which will keep two years.

The horticulturist; or, An attempt to teach the science and practice of the culture and management of the kitchen, fruit, and forcing garden to those who have had no previous knowledge or practice in these departments of gardening (1849) by John Claudius Loudon.

In spite of its long history as a human food, and its apparent ubiquity in the wild in Britain and Europe, it was quite difficult to find a recipe specifying orach. I guess this is because it is usually cooked in the same way as ordinary spinach. When I did find a recipe, it was in an American cookery book:

French Spinach.

Having picked them from the stalks, wash the leaves carefully in to two or three cold waters till they are quite free from grit. Put the spinach into a saucepan of hot water, in which a very small portion of salt has been boiled. There must be sufficient water to allow the spinach to float. Stir it frequently, that all the leaves may be equally done. Let it boil for a quarter of an hour. Then take it out, lay it in a sieve, and drain it well; pressing it thoroughly with your hands. Next chop it as fine as possible. For a large dish of spinach, put two ounces of butter into a stew-pan; dredge in a tablespoonful of flour and four or five table-spoonfuls of rich cream mixed with a teaspoonful of powdered loaf-sugar. Mix all well, and when they have come to a boil, add, gradually, the spinach. Stew it about ten minutes (stirring it frequently) till the superfluous mixture is all absorbed. Then serve it up very hot, garnishing all round with leaves of puff-paste, that have been handsomely formed with a tin cutter, and are fresh from the oven.

New Receipts for Cooking (1854) by Eliza Leslie

Quotation for the Day.

I detest spinach because of its utterly amorphous character....the only good, noble and edible thing to be found in that sordid nourishment is the sand.

Salvador Dali, 'The Secret Life of Salvador Dali' (1942)

Diplomatic Welsh Rabbit.

Not to keep harping on a point frequently be-laboured on this blog, the title of this post should be ‘Diplomatic Welsh Rarebit’, but ‘Rabbit’ it is called today’s source - The Stag Cook book, Written for Men, by Men (New York, 1922.)  The editors of the book managed to get many prominent men of the time to provide recipes, and the choice for this day came from Maurice Francis Egan (1852-1924). He as a man of many skills and interests. He was a professor of English, a journalist, a writer of novels, poetry and non-fiction, and a literary critic. He was also a long-time unofficial US Catholic ambassador to various countries, and for a while he was the actual United States Ambassador to Denmark.

I have not read any of Maurice Egan’s novels, poetry, or other works, but I do like his turn of phrase sufficiently to be able to forgive him for using the wrong name for his dish.

A DIPLOMATIST'S RECEIPT FOR WELSH RABBIT

I have no hesitation in saying that my recipe for Welsh Rabbit is the best yet invented. It has an international reputation. It has been eaten with gusto by Russians, Turks and some Englishmen who, strange to say, are distinguished gourmets. There have been Frenchmen who were too reserved, perhaps, in their praise of it, but then it must be remembered that Welsh rabbit is not sympathetic with the Gallic temperament. The French prefer timbales de fromage.

Put a large chafing dish over the hot water pan in which the water must be boiling. Never let the temperature of the heat change for a moment; therefore a big alcohol lamp is preferable. Grate ordinary cheese or cut it into the shape of dice. Drop in a lump of butter of the size of an English walnut. Pour into the pan a pint of near beer* or near Budweiser. Slightly heat it. In the old days musty ale was everything. To-day the symbol of beer is almost sufficient. Drop in a half teaspoonful of strong red pepper and then a tablespoonful of paprika, — paprika being merely a flavor and not a condiment. Keep the beer hot; then drop two tablespoons of Worcestershire sauce, a tablespoon of catsup and a half teaspoon of mustard. When this mixture boils, put in the cheese and stir in one direction until the mixture assumes the consistency of cream.

Use the thick plates sold in the department stores especially for Welsh Rabbit. Have them heated so that the cheese will sizzle when it touches them. Have ready a sufficient number of pieces of toasted bread, the crust carefully cut off. When the cheese is sufficiently plastic, dip a round of toast into it, let it remain for a second, transfer it to the hot plate and at once ladle the mixture in the pan over the toast with neatness and dispatch and you will have an unprecedented success, if no conversation is permitted until the rabbit is eaten. The sound of a human voice lowers its temperature. Coffee or tea must never be partaken of until the morsels are disposed of.

During the eating process, Budweiser is a substitute for the real thing — which was musty ale or the Dog's Head variety.

*‘Near beer’ was Prohibition beer, containing little or no alcohol (half percent or less by volume.) It was classified as a ‘cereal beverage’ and could not be labelled ‘beer.’

Quotation for the Day.

The gentle art of gastronomy is a friendly one. It hurdles the language barrier, makes friends among civilized people, and warms the heart.

Samuel V. Chamberlain