Thursday, October 6, 2011

Apicius’ Sala Cattabia Apiciana –– Chicken and Cucumber Bread Salad with Celery Seed Dressing



 I admit it. I am a pit bull about some things. Once I get an idea in my head, it’s hard to let go (just ask Dr Lostpast).

A few weeks ago, I read that a dish from Apicius’ De re Coquinaria was like pizza.  When I checked the original (I know, what a geek –– yes, I have a copy), I found the recipe had nothing to do with a pizza… it was a salad.  Once found, I loved the idea of it, made it, and loved the tastes and textures in the finished dish. Those Romans knew how to eat.

So, who was Apicius? The name probably came from 1st century Roman gourmet, Marcus Gavius Apicius.  This is a little vague because there seems to have been a famous earlier gourmet named Apicius in 90 BC and the name became more of a symbol than a real person. The word Apicius came to mean gourmet at its best and glutton at its worst. Although I read through a lot of material, it wasn’t until I found a great article by historian and chef Sally Grainger in Gastronomica that I felt a strong storyline develop. It was she who said,  “Juvenal thinks of all gourmets as Apicius…. In the A.D.120s another man with that name is credited with sending oysters to Trajan.  Clearly, he has this name because he likes food, it is used as a cognomen, a nickname that someone acquires after displaying a particular attribute.”


Apicius’ food advice was mentioned in Pliny, Seneca and Tacitus and there was even a work (now lost) called On the Luxury of Apicius by a Greek named Apion. There was a kind of cheesecake named for him and he supposedly had a school for cooks. Word was his meals were so remarkable that the Imperial government gave him money to entertain foreign dignitaries for them.

Grainger noted Seneca deplored such a lifestyle: “May the Gods and Goddesses ruin those whose greed crosses even the boundaries of our invidious empire.  They wish produce to be caught beyond the Phasis [ends of the earth] to equip their pretentious cook-shops!”  Further, Seneca was horrified that Apicius celebration of cooking was more respected than philosophy, “Apicius, whom we remember well, he who proclaimed the science of the cook shop and afflicted a generation with his doctrine in the city from which philosophers were ordered to leave as though the corrupters of youth.”

Fresco from Pompei

Legend has it that Apicius traveled to Africa when he heard they had the finest giant shrimp known to man… shrimp of the gods.  When he arrived, the fisherman brought him their finest specimens but none came up to Apicius’ standards and he turned around to go back home, never setting food in Africa after months of travel because he was bitterly disappointed that he had not found the ne plus ultra of shrimp. They were still out there somewhere.

A favorite of mine, scraps on the floor, Triclinium [dining room] mosaic, Pompei

There is another legend that he committed suicide when he thought his millions could run out and he might starve (or at least not be able to indulge his appetites)… of course there was one last banquet before he made his final exit (that must have been some party).

Some writers claimed he had spent 100 million sestertii on his dining.  Who can separate fact from fiction at this point?


9th century copy of de re Coquinaria in NYC

All this leads up to a revelation. The book that has been attributed to Apicius for over a millennium –– was not written by him –– it probably wasn’t even written by one person. The 2 oldest Fulda 10 chapter versions (2 copies made at the Fulda Monastery in Germany that now rest in the Vatican and New York City) show that it was written in many different styles of Latin–– perhaps written or dictated by slave-cooks, certainly not written by a great nobleman (the Romans, unlike the Greeks and their mageiroi [master chefs], placed no honor on the cooking profession). Grainger said: “The words reek of soot, grease, and kitchen smells, and the recipes are clearly meant to be cooked, not read”.  Grainger believes this was written by generations of cooks and passed on as the recipes reflect styles of different eras.  


At some point a scribe took all the bits and pieces and made it into a whole, tidied-up work. I have now seen a few English cookery books that have been written and passed on over hundreds of years so this seems very plausible.

There seems to have been at least a few versions of Apician manuscripts.  The 8th century Excerpta Apicii by Vindarius has only 30 recipes –– none of which are in the Fulda versions, leading to the belief that there was once a much larger collection than the 10 chapters in the Fulda manuscripts or that there were other Apician recipe collections.


Front page of Vatican copy of Apicius, 9th century

It is believed that because the manuscripts were headed API CAE that they became Apici Caeli [Caelius Apicius]–– and that they were first collected in the 4th or 5th century AD (this is thought because they were mentioned in other materials… no originals date from that period). The title, De re Coquinaria, is a Renaissance addition. That’s not to say that the dishes hadn’t crossed Imperial Roman tables at one time or another or even had a place at an Apician banquet… there are tantalizing hints in Roman writing of the 1st century that Apicius did have a recipe book.  The 5th century scribes may have faithfully copied 400 year old writings that are now lost.  


There was something of a blackout on food writing after the end of the Roman Empire –– a fact I discovered looking for recipes from the Dark Ages (a very cool book by Anthimus in the 6th century is pretty much the next thing and the recipes are definitely related to those in Apicius).

Mosaic from a villa at Tor Marancia, 2nd c.CE

We may never know the truth about the collection. Attaching a famous name to an anonymous manuscript would certainly lend it credibility and enhance its chances for immortality.

This recipe, ancient Roman or not, is delicious.  The aspic addition is excellent and refreshing and the dressing is superb.  I used Apicius, Cookery and Dining in Imperial Rome as my source and also found Sally Grainger’s The Classical Cookbook  terribly interesting and well-researched. 

For a little fun, also from Grainger’s book, a recipe for sweet spiced wine, Conditum Paradoxum to begin your Roman meal.



The Recipe:

Aliter sala cattabia Apiciana: adicies in mortario apii semen, puleium aridum, mentam aridam, gingiber, coriandrum viridem, uvam passam enucleatam, mel, acetum, oleum et vinum. conteres. adicies in caccabulo panis Picentini frustra, interpones pulpas pulli, glandulas haedinas, caseum Vestinum, nucleos pineos, cucumeres, cepas aridas minute concisas. ius supra perfundes. insuper nivem sub hora asparges et inferes.



A very loose translation:

Put in the mortar celery seed, dry pennyroyal, dry mint, ginger, fresh coriander, seedless raisins, honey, vinegar, oil and wine and bruise them.  Place 3 pieces of Picentian bread [a spelt bread] in a mold, interlined with pieces of cooked Chicken, Sweetbreads, Cheese, Pignoli nuts, cucumbers [pickled] finely chopped dry onions [shallots] covering the whole with jellied broth.  Bury the mold in snow up to the rim, unmold and sprinkle with dressing.


Sala Cattabia Apiciana for 2

For the Dressing:

1 tsp celery seeds
1 T of fresh pennyroyal or 1 t dry *
1 T fresh mint or 1 t dry
1 t grated fresh ginger
1/4 tsp coriander seed
2 T raisins
2 tsp honey
2 tbsp vinegar
3-4 T olive oil
1 T white wine

For the Salad:

2 slices whole grain crustless bread cut into pieces to fit the 1 c ramekin
1 cooked chicken breast, shredded
small piece fried sweetbreads (lamb or veal), sliced (optional)
1 ounce Parmesan cheese, planed in paper thin slices
2 T pine nuts, chopped
1/2 medium cucumber, finely sliced
1 shallot or small onion, finely sliced

2 cup strong chicken stock, clarified
2 t gelatin

Herbs, greens, celery tops (only the tops were used) for accompaniments.

2 -1 c ramekins, oiled

Begin with the dressing. Pound together the celery seeds, pennyroyal, mint, ginger and coriander seeds in a mortar. Combine with the raisins then moisten with the honey, vinegar and white wine. Whisk in the olive oil and set aside, OR, throw everything in a blender and give it a whir.

Take ¼ c of the stock and add the gelatin,  Stir to dissolve.  Heat the rest of the stock and add the gelatin stock.  Whisk to blend then cool somewhat.

Place the bread in the mold, then the parmesan, pinenuts, chicken and sweetbreads then cucumbers and onions.  Pour the stock over all.  If the stock is not beginning to pool at the top after ¾ has been put in, chill and then add the rest after ½ an hour. Refrigerate for an hour or so… the idea is to have the gorgeous look of old glass on the top…

Or, what I did…

Put ¼ cup of stock in the bottom of a ramekin and freeze until jellied. Place a layer of onions on the stock, then cucumbers, chicken, sweetbreads, pinenuts and parmesan.  Pour ½ cup of stock over each mold.  Place the bread on top and pour the rest of the stock over it.  Refrigerate for an hour or so.

Un-mold and serve with the dressing and accompaniments.

* if you don’t have pennyroyal, use all mint… but pennyroyal grows like a weed and is delicious!!





4th century Roman Cage Cup, Cologne

Conditum Paradoxum

Conditum paradoxum: conditi paradoxi compositio: mellis pondo XV in aeneum vas mittuntur, praemissi[s] vini sextariis duobus, ut in cocturam mellis vinum decoquas. Quod igni lento et aridis lignis calefactum, commotum ferula dum coquitur, si effervere coeperit, vini rore compescitur, praeter quod subtracto igni in se redit. Cum perfrixerit, rursus accenditur. Hoc secundo ac tertio fiet, ac tum demum remotum a foco postridie despumatur. Tum [mittis] piperis uncias IV iam triti, masticis scripulos II, folii et croci dragmas singulas, dactylorum ossibus torridis quinque, isdemque dactylis vino mollitis, intercedente prius suffusione vini de suo modo ac numero, ut tritura lenis habeatur. His omnibus paratis supermittis vini lenis sextarios XVIII. Carbones perfecto aderunt duo milia.

The loose translation
The composition of this excellent spiced wine is as follows. Into a bronze bowl put 6 sextarii1 of honey and 2 sextarii of wine; heat on a slow fire, constantly stirring the mixture with a whip. At the boiling point add a dash of cold wine, retire from stove and skim. Repeat this twice or three times, let it rest till the next day, and skim again. Then add 4 ounces of crushed pepper,2 3 scruples of mastich, a drachm each of nard or laurel leaves and saffron, 5 drachms of roasted date stones crushed and previously soaked in wine to soften them. When this is properly done add 18 sextarii of light wine. To clarify it perfectly, add crushed charcoal3 twice or as often as necessary which will draw the Residue together and carefully strain or filter through the charcoal.


Conditum Paradoxum

1 c medium dry white wine
2 T honey
½ t ground pepper
1/2 bay leaf or pinch of spikenard
good pinch saffron
pinch mastic, ground

1 fresh date (I used a dried date), stone roasted for 10 minutes, crushed and soaked with flesh in  1/2 c white wine.

Put 1/2 c of wine in a saucepan with honey and bring to a boil.  Skim if necessary.  Repeat and remove from the heat.

Add seasonings to wine when hot.  When cold, add the rest of the wine and allow to stand over night.  To serve, strain through a fine sieve.

Thanks to Gollum for hosting Foodie Friday!

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Le Calandre Restaurant, Gruyere-fondue Ravioli and Beet Sauce.



This month, the challenge is cooking with wine.  My first thoughts were all about low and slow with blood red bottles of wine.  Then I changed course.

I had just made that remarkable fois gras ravioli that I’d read a description of online.  That made me think of one of my favorite dishes –– inspired by a Food & Wine description –– Gruyere-fondue Ravioli with Beet Sauce and a shower of lovely flowers and greens. It is soooo good that I’ve been making for years.  What can be bad about pasta pillows filled with molten cheese, wine and Kirsch??

It had been on my mind since I recently noticed that the Italian restaurant that inspired it was in the Pelligrino Top50 Restaurants of the World list (the one that put Noma at #1).

# 32, Le Calandre, Padua, Italy. (#20 last year)



Padua  (or more properly Padova) is one of the oldest cities in Northern Italy and positively oozing ancient charm.

Thing is, you won’t find Le Calandre there.

Gattamelato, Donatello, 1453 

Instead, Le Calandre ended up in Sarmeola di Rubano, 4 miles or so away from the magnificent Prato della Valle of Padua in an area better known for strip malls than cathedrals, palazzos or Donatello  statues in the piazza.

Don’t let this keep you away.  If you go to Venice… try to make it here.  It’s only an hour’s drive away from Venice and only a few miles outside of Padua.  The restaurant was begun 20 years ago by the current chef’s parents  (that may have something to do with the location).  I know I’m dying to go one of these days, even if the dinner would set me back $300 or so before the wine (for a lighter tariff, they are open for lunch).

That chef, Massimilliano Alajmo, got his 2nd Michelin star at 22, the youngest chef ever to win that honor.  Then, another record was broken when he got his 3rd star at 28 –– the first 3 star accolade awarded to a chef under 30.

Massimilliano  Alajmo (Photo Calandre)

Although he studied with Veyrat and Guerard as a teen, his food is his own.  He has been called ‘il Mozart dei fornelli’ (Mozart of the stoves) and a Food & Wine article on Massimiliano revealed Mario Batali is a huge fan who believes that his original approach to flavors …”evoke grandma’s palate but also a sorcerers tool kit, to create harmony on the plate between taste tradition and presentation innovation.”  Many feel his is the best restaurant in Italy (menu HERE).

Le Calandre dining room (Photo Le Calandre)

180 year old ash tables  (Photo Le Calandre)

Last year, La Calandre became a 3 star restaurant without white tablecloths… very bold indeed. They let the beautiful wood of the tables act as a frame for the food.  I love the idea.

The dining room is beautifully austere, isn’t it?  The attention to detail is everywhere.  Some of the glasses and tableware are handmade by local artisans, their food is locally sourced and Alajmo tries to meet with suppliers on their own turf to know everything about their products… going to farms to see how animals are fed and vegetables are grown.  He says it helps him understand the food and develop dishes to use the ingredients to their best advantage.

This drawing 


 becomes cappuccino de seppie al nero on the menu.

His vibrant imagination is everywhere. He makes a custardy tofu out of fava beans –– combining it with grilled shrimp, apples and Damascus rose-scented radicchio.  One of my favorite inventions is a carrot zabaione with fried vegetables and balsamic –– turns ketchup and fries on its ear –– is that a great idea or what?

He also makes a renowned saffron risotto with licorice dust.  He gave some of the secrets to his risottos at a demonstration he gave in NYC, Food & Wine reported.  To begin with, he cooks his risotto for a shorter cooking time after toasting the rice gently for 2-3 minutes in oil, only then adding the already sautéed onions that have been cooked separately. He also pours the boiling broth down the side of the pan to collect any starch there and saves one ladle of broth to toss in when the risotto is removed from the stove.  He adds a little lemon at the end to balance the creaminess and starch. Some of his other risottos are made with rose petal and peach or a caper coffee risotto inspired by a sense memory.

The Food & Wine article talked about a magical sounding dish with porcini, mango and chanterelles topped with candied juniper and raspberry dust as well as a pasta made with smoked dough, smoked broth and smoked butter.  This man knows how to play in the kitchen!

He also loves to play with essences, as do I.  He has a line of sprays called Le Essenze created by master perfumer Lorenzo Dante Ferro  ––scents like lemon bergamot and ginger that you can buy for 19.50 at their online store.  Massimiliano thinks; “We eat with our nose… Smelling goes straight to the brain’s center of long-term memory, it connects us to past emotions.”  I so agree and can attest to the wonderful things that happen to my food when I use Aftelier chef's essences here in the US.

I think you will agree when you taste the flavors in this dish that they are spectacular and a really creative combination of ingredients from a superb chef.  I just love the way the tangy beet sauce and the wine in the fondue work together… it shows what wine can do when it steps out from its supporting role into a bit of the limelight.  This is really one of those “close-your-eyes-and-absorb-the-wonder” dishes.





Gruyere Ravioli with Beet Cream inspired by Calandre serves 4

½ pound gruyere, grated
2 T Kirshwasser
1T cornstarch
1 clove garlic, smashed
2/3 c white wine
1 t. lemon juice
pinch nutmeg

3 m beets
¼ c ww
1 large shallot, minced
3 T elderflower vinegar (or verjus or cider vinegar)
¼ - 1/3 c cream

recipe for pasta to make ravioli or fresh pasta or gyoza wrappers ***

poppy seeds
1 T elderflower vinegar
2 T hazelnut oil
pinch of salt

 a few handfuls of arugula
mixed fresh herbs ( marjoram is excellent, thyme, savory, chervil, edible flowers)

Bake the beets in foil at 400º for about an hour or until soft.  Heat the vinegar, wine and shallots till they are softened and the liquid is reduced to a syrup.  Peel the beets and put in the blender with the shallot mix.  Add the some of the cream and blend… add more if you need it to blend.  Reserve.

Add the kirshwasser and cornstarch together.  Warm the white wine, then add the garlic.  Stir in the kirshwasser blend and add the cheese in handfuls keeping the temperature low.  Stir till blended, remove garlic and then use an immersion blender to blend to a smooth, creamy consistency. Freeze it for a while –– this makes it easier to make the ravioli while still keeping the luxurious loose texture

Roll out the pasta into sheets and cut into circles.  Wet each one and put a spoon of the cheese mixture into it.  Close and seal with a fork.  Put back in the fridge for a few hours to dry.  You will have some cheese mixture left over and around 16 ravioli.

When you are ready, heat a wide deep pan with water a splash of oil and salt.  Keep it on medium heat as a fast boil can open the ravioli. Place them gently in the pan.  Boil gently for a few minutes after they rise.  Drain.

Put the beet mixture on a plate (this can be warm or room temperature).  Heat the remaining cheese mixture.

Plate the ravioli (4 per person) and drizzle with warm cheese.

Toss on some arugula and herbs, sprinkle with poppy seed dressing and serve.

*You can make this very easy by skipping the ravioli idea and using fresh pasta like linguini... then just toss with the cheese sauce.


Pasta Dough 

1 cup all-purpose flour  plus 2 T semolina 
2 large egg yolks
1 large egg
1 teaspoons olive oil
1/2 tablespoon milk

Mix together and knead for 5 minutes till elastic… you may need more flour to do this.   Let rest for 1 hour then put through the pasta machine in 3 parts.  You will only need one for this recipe.  


** If you have any problems with alcohol, this is not the dish for you… it has a good hefty alcohol content!!







Thursday, September 22, 2011

Calke Abbey and Mrs Beeton’s Veal Tenderloin “Fricandeau”



When I was in England this summer I went to Derbyshire to see Chatsworth and Kedleston Hall –– they are monumental manors with equally monumental reputations for grandeur.  And they were grand, so very grand.  There’s a good reason they are often locations for BBC dramas.

But I had heard about another house that was never as grand or as famous, and what I heard made me want to go there. 

Calke Abbey was called “a country house in decline” in the National Trust literature. The Harpur family had owned the property since 1622, only giving it up to The Trust in 1985.  It was said they never threw anything out and had a kitchen that hadn’t been touched in 100 years… that I wanted to see.

National Trust Photo

Although there had been a priory where Calke Abbey stands that was built in the 12th century, the only architectural remnant of that time is a delightfully blissed-out face bracket.



The Visible Elizabethan Construction, National Trust Photo

The priory building was remodeled in the 1575 (more likely torn down and built over) and that building was quite large by the 17th century ––the 1662 Hearth Tax accessed it for 23 hearths (Chatsworth had 79) but only a little of the Elizabethan construction is still visible in the present house.  Calke, as it was known then, was completely rebuilt at the beginning of the 18th century.  


Calke Abbey may not be an exceptional house, but it is a remarkable reflection of a very singular family who accumulated (bordering on hording) a very special assortment of objects.  I could have spent days there.

The Harpur family initially made their money with law and a particularly brilliant marriage in the 16th century by Richard Harpur to the ancient Findern family.  The fortune was concentrated rather than dispersed (as is usually the case) through unexpected early deaths among the heirs in both families.  As a result,  John Harpur was very wealthy. He was also an esteemed politician in his day.


John Harpur (1680-1741) 4th Baronet

It was his great-grandson, another John, who inherited from all sides again upon reaching his majority at the dawn of the 18th century.  He was the one that built the house we see today between 1701-04.




It took another generation for the eccentricity of the family to begin to show with Henry (1763-1819)… and that eccentricity flourished from then on.  The Caricature Room is a good example of the beginning of their eccentric decorating style.   Caricatures and cartoons were applied to the walls from the late 18th century through the early 19th century and a conservation effort uncovered as many as 3 layers of the engravings–– revealing many years of changing displays.  A letter to the 8th Baronet, George (1795-1844) that was found in the house papers revealed that guests would bring engravings for the walls, even though the author of the letter was miffed about his last offering (perhaps papered over?) and said he would bring no more.








Henry, the 7th Baron, renamed the house Calke Abbey in the early 19th century. Henry also changed the family name  to Harpur-Crewe in 1808 to pick up an ancient barony,  but his petition was dismissed (he had done nothing to earn the title save a half-hearted stab at being high sheriff of Derbyshire). It is likely his marriage to a ladies' maid didn't help and the fact that he shut himself off from society might have had something to do with the rejection.  


Henry Harpur

The Trust notes quoted an 1812 account of Henry:


"At dinner he sits down alone at a table covered for several persons, and after dinner glasses are placed as if for several persons and he takes wine in that form, but does not allow any servant to wait in the room.... His shyness is a disease of the mind, which he is sensible of but cannot conquer, and in his letters to his friends he laments that he labours under this difficulty.... He is shy of communication to such an excess that he sometimes delivers his orders to his servants by letters." 


After Henry,  the Harpur-Crewe men began turning inward, staying out of society–– collecting stuffed birds ––lots and lots of birds (George, the 8th Baron was an exception).  The collection went from 400 cases in 1840 when his father John was in charge,  to thousands of stuffed birds in the 20th century with Vauncey.  Vauncey Harpur-Crewe (1846-1924) took collecting to a whole new level.

Vauncey’s room from childhood to adulthood, Trust photo

Vauncey’s room from childhood to adulthood

Vauncey was by all accounts a great and caring landlord much loved by his tenants but an awkward parent with unorthodox methods of communication with his own children just as his great grandfather Henry had been (his father had married a cousin descended from Henry so poor Vauncey inherited Henry's idiosyncrasies from 2 lines of the family).  He also preferred writing notes to direct address, sending letters on silver salvers delivered by servants or even going so far as to post them to be re-delivered to his own house!

He was, above all, a serious ornithologist. He considered his estate a bird sanctuary, actually directing that hedges be left untrimmed so the birds would have more attractive places to nest. He also bought thousands of stuffed birds from dealers to augment the birds he had gathered himself.




Life changed radically in the house after Vauncey’s death, owing to reduced circumstances from death duties –– Calke Abbey went from having dozens of servants to just a few.  Remarkably, some of the rarest books and finest specimens of the birds in the collection were sold to get some cash… it is hard to believe there was MORE here, considering how full the place is now. 

Almost nothing had been done to the house since the 1840’s (save adding more things to it) and that’s what makes it such an interesting place.




The upside of this was that time stopped at Calke Abbey–– the house didn’t even get electricity till 1963!  This incredible State Bed was discovered in a box when the National Trust took over the house in 1985.   The bed had come into the house in 1734 (a royal present from Princess Anne, daughter of George II, to her bridesmaid Caroline Manners when she wed Henry Harpur)  but had never been installed (it was too tall for the bedroom floor of the house).  As a result, the elaborately embroidered silk fabric is in perfect condition and the Trust installed the bed in a climate-controlled cube to keep it that way.

Do visit the National Trust site HERE to read about the Calke Abbey Library that has recently had its 8,500 books catalogued.  Even with the books that were sold, it is still a formidable collection.

Word of warning… I had bitten off more than I could chew with my schedule and arrived less than an hour before Calke Abbey closed with a storm coming on.  By the time I got to the kitchen it was positively black inside (kudos to my camera for what it was able to get without a tripod… it was DARK as pitch in there!) and I had to work fast with the clock running and the lovely hosts at the house wanting to leave as soon as they could. As a result, the pictures weren’t as clear as I might have hoped and for that I am sorry.

Kitchen, built in 1794




Can you see the gout treatment chair on the table??

cook’s closet

I loved the noble wreck of a kitchen and its side rooms that were built in 1794.  Until the end of the 16th Century, kitchens were either separate buildings or on the public floors of the house.  At Calke Abbey the butler’s pantry had been the original kitchen until the “modern” 1794 basement addition.

Butler’s Pantry/new kitchen

That enormous kitchen was abandoned in 1928… and remained just as it was. The butler’s pantry (that was closer to the living area) was re-purposed as the kitchen for the house once again (don’t get me wrong, that room was wonderful in its own simpler way). But the 18th century kitchen is so fantastic because time stopped there nearly 100 years ago.

So, what did they eat? 

For a house that was caught in amber sometime in the mid 19th century, I thought fricandeau might easily have been on the menu.  What is fricandeau, you may ask?  You are not alone.  I didn’t know what it was either.

I discovered fricandeau a few months ago when I read Abraham Hayward’s 1852 book, “The Art of Dining”.  No less a person that Leigh Hunt wrote a charming introduction that mentioned “frican”.

Leigh Hunt (friend of Byron, Keats and Shelley) was quoted on the frontispiece of Hayward's book:  “ It is well known that to constitute a perfect entrée there must be observed a certain coherence and harmony among the dishes – so that fish may not interfere with fowl, or stew take the place of roast.  How should we be shocked to see a syllabub responsive to sirloin – a cod’s head yoked to a mince pie—or a frican [fricandeau] lean shouldering a plate of cherries?”

Mrs Beeton's 1861 Book

Veal fricandeau has been on my to-do list, especially since it’s been popping up in my reading lately… reminding me I should make it.  This is a perfect opportunity to share the dish with you.  The recipe comes from an Edwardian reprint of Mrs. Beeton’s (1836-65) Household Management cookbook, Everyday Cookery.  It was a very popular dish in the 19th century that has gone out of fashion.  Why did that happen? I have to ask, because it’s so good!

Mrs Beeton's Recipe

Just so you know, Veal Fricandeau is a lovely piece of veal tenderloin that has been larded with pork –– bacon or pork belly––to moisten the meat, and moisten it does.  

 Larding needles from the 1704 wreck of the Dauphine

 Wooden Larding needle from the 1704 wreck of the Dauphine

I hadn’t larded anything since a leg of lamb 20 years ago but discovered it was simple to do without a larding needle (I used a knife and the dull end of a toothpick—not as elegant but effective).  As I larded, I even had a flashback of my gram’s old larding needle that used to fascinate me as a child since it looked like a wicked cool weapon (come to think of it, I believe I once menaced my younger brother with it –– which prompted its removal from the drawer and my reach).

The veal was buttery tender and the larding added a lovely porkiness to the veal when cooked low and slow.  I got my veal and pork belly from D'Atagnan ––I didn't know veal could be this succulent and delicious!  


Served with the vegetables it was cooked with as well as the spinach that was recommended as a side… it is a splendid meal.  I decided to gild the lily further by adding my favorite fennel mashed potatoes, inspired by a Matthew Kenney recipe in the great book, Comforting Foods, that I’ve told you about before.  I’ve been making them for years and they are always wonderful.



Veal Fricandeau, based on Mrs. Beeton’s recipe, serves 4

1 piece of veal tenderloin from D'Artagnan, 1 ½ -2 pounds
A hand size piece of pork belly, skin removed or 4 to 5 strips of thick bacon
¼ c of Madeira
1 c stock
2 carrots (I used lovely burgundy carrots – red on the outside and gold on the inside!)
1 large onion, sliced in half
bunch of herbs ( marjoram, parsley, sage, thyme, rosemary, savory)
½ t mace
¼ t allspice
2 bay leaves
salt and pepper

extra herbs for garnish

2 T flour (optional)

Take the veal and use a thin knife or a larding needle to insert slivers of bacon or pork belly into the veal, leave a few pieces of the fat (I did around 12 pieces).  Marinate it in the Madeira for an hour or so.

Preheat the oven to 250ºTake some of the bacon or pork belly and render some fat. Dry the meat, then salt and pepper the veal and then brown in the fat.  Lay pork skin left over from the pork belly or another slice of bacon in the dish (I used a small ceramic lidded dish). Add the onion, sliced in half, the carrots and herbs.  Pour in the stock, demiglace and left-over Madeira  and place the meat on top of the vegetables.  The idea is that the meat doesn’t sit in the liquid but rather sits above it on a little vegetable “rack”.   Cook for 2 ½ hours, covered, basting from time to time.  Remove the lid and cook for ½ an hour more.

Remove the meat and tent.  Pour out the stock and strain.  Remove the fat and reduce it till it is thickened if you want it plain or, if you wish to add flour, reduce it a little,  add a flour slurry and stir until thickened.




Fennel Mashed Potatoes, serves 4

2 pounds potatoes, cut into chunks
¼ c heavy cream *
¼ c milk*
¼ t mace
2 T butter
salt and pepper to taste

½ large fennel, sliced thinly on a mandoline
½ large onion, sliced thinly on a mandoline
2 T butter
1 T sugar
s & p to taste
fennel fronds for garnish

Melt the butter.  Sauté the fennel and onion slowly until soft and browning… add the sugar and continue to cook till brown and sugary.

While that is cooking, cook the potatoes, drain and mash with milk, cream and the rest.
Add the fennel mixture and serve to very happy guests.

* the amount of liquid needed varies with the potatoes.  Start with the amounts given  and add more if needed.