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Peaches in Jelly
Take one pint can of peaches and separate the peaches and syrup; soak the peaches in a little brandy if you like, or you may use brandy peaches and their syrup; put a package of Cox's gelatine into a cup of cold water and let it stand an hour; then add the juice and peel of one lemon, a cup of boiling water, two tablespoonfuls of brandy, a cup of sugar, and the syrup from the peaches; stir the whole over a hot fire a moment, until the gelatine is thoroughly melted, strain twice through a flannel bag, put a few peaches in the jelly mould and a little of the jelly, and let it stand until it begins to stiffen, then add more jelly and peaches and do so until your peaches and jelly are used up; then place on ice, serve in an ornamental dish and garnish with peach leaves, if in the season, or with candied fruits.
A layered fruit jelly built on packaged gelatine, from the era when that was still a modern convenience. The technique is straightforward; the arithmetic on the gelatine and the setting time are where it goes wrong.
- The hinge: set in stagesThe whole point of adding a little jelly and a few peaches at a time is that fruit floats or sinks in warm liquid. Each layer must be tacky-set — firm enough to hold a peach half in place, still sticky enough to bond to the next pour — before more goes in. Rushing this gives you all the fruit in one band.
- Cox's gelatineJ. & G. Cox of Edinburgh sold sparkling gelatine in packets; period packet sizes varied, and a package was somewhere in the region of an ounce, enough for roughly a quart of jelly. Modern granulated gelatine comes in quarter-ounce envelopes, so three or four of them is the rough equivalent. The liquid here totals about three cups; err toward three envelopes for a jelly that will unmould, fewer for a softer spoon jelly.
- Don't boil it"Stir over a hot fire a moment" means only until the granules dissolve and the liquid runs clear off the spoon. Held at a boil, gelatine loses setting strength and the jelly turns cloudy and slack.
- Straining through flannelA jelly bag of doubled muslin, a fine sieve lined with a coffee filter, or a butter muslin square all work. Two passes are not fussiness — this is what makes the jelly transparent enough to show the fruit.
- A pint can of peachesAbout 16 oz, which today means halves or slices in roughly three-quarters of a cup of syrup. If you use fruit packed in juice rather than heavy syrup, add a little more sugar or the jelly will taste thin.
- Brandy peachesPeach halves put up in brandied syrup, once a standard preserve-closet item and still sold. Using them means the fruit and syrup arrive already flavoured and the additional two tablespoons of brandy can be cut back.
- "Place on ice"The refrigerator, four hours minimum and better overnight. To unmould, dip the mould in warm — not hot — water for five to ten seconds and invert onto a chilled dish.
- Peach leavesPurely decorative here, and they should stay that way. Peach leaves contain cyanogenic compounds and were once infused into custards for their almond flavour; that is not a practice to revive. Candied fruit, the recipe's own alternative, is the better garnish.
- YieldAbout a quart — six modest servings from a fluted mould, or eight in small glasses.
Packaged gelatine is the reason this recipe is three sentences rather than three days. Before it, a clear jelly meant simmering calves' feet or isinglass for hours, clarifying with egg white and straining repeatedly — a dish that signalled a cook with time and staff. J. & G. Cox of Edinburgh, whose gelatine is named here, were among the firms that turned that labour into a packet from the grocer, and American cookbooks of the 1870s through the 1890s name their brand the way a later book might simply say "a packet of gelatine." Canned peaches did the same work on the fruit side: a pint can put summer stone fruit on a winter supper table. The result is a dish that looks like an eighteenth-century confectioner's showpiece and takes an afternoon of intermittent attention.