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Cod, Baked
Take a piece weighing about three pounds out of the middle of a large cod. Make a stuffing with the sound boiled for twenty minutes, chopped small, and mixed with two ounces of grated bread-crumbs, a tea-spoonful of chopped parsley, a pinch of powdered thyme, a small tea-spoonful of salt, half the quantity of pepper, a little grated nutmeg, and the yolks of two hard-boiled eggs. Bind all together with a little of the white of the egg. Put this forcemeat inside the fish, and sew it up. Place the fish in a baking-dish, and pour over it enough thin flour and water to fill the dish three parts. Put in a dozen oysters, also a little scraped horse-radish, and a little salt and pepper. Lay three or four lumps of butter on the fish, put it in the oven, and baste it frequently. When it is sufficiently cooked, lay the cod on a hot dish, and garnish it with the oysters. Put the gravy into a saucepan, add to it a tea-spoonful of anchovy sauce, and another of vinegar; boil it, pour it over the fish, and serve. Time to bake, about one hour. Probable cost of cod, when plentiful, 8d. per pound. Sufficient for five or six persons.
A Victorian baked cod in the grand manner: a stuffed centre cut, part-poached in a floury liquor that becomes its own sauce. Two things need attention before you start — the fish sound, which no longer turns up at most counters, and the oysters, which will be ruined by an hour in the oven.
- The soundThe "sound" is the cod's swim bladder, once sold with the head and cheeks and prized for its gelatinous set. Fishmongers rarely carry it now; a similar body can be had from a little chopped cooked white fish, or simply leave it out and increase the breadcrumbs to about 3 oz.
- The cutA three-pound middle cut means a bone-in cross-section of a large cod, cavity intact for stuffing. Ask for a centre-cut roast on the bone; if only fillets are available, sandwich the forcemeat between two thick loin pieces and tie them rather than sewing.
- Oven heatNo temperature is given, as is usual in the book. Bake at 350F. The recipe allows about an hour; bone-in fish of this size will often be done in 45-60 minutes, so go by an internal 145F at the thickest point rather than by the clock.
- Oysters lastA dozen oysters dropped in at the start and baked for an hour will be tough little buttons. Slip them into the hot liquor for the final two or three minutes, just until the edges ruffle, then lift them out to garnish.
- The flour-and-water liquor"Thin flour and water" is roughly a tablespoon of flour whisked into a pint of water — a slurry, not a batter. Filling the dish three parts full means the lower half of the fish poaches while the top roasts, which is why frequent basting matters.
- Anchovy sauceA bottled Victorian condiment, closer to anchovy essence than to anything on a modern shelf. A teaspoon of anchovy paste, or two mashed salted fillets, gives the same salty depth; Worcestershire is a rougher stand-in.
- Sewing it upA trussing needle and butcher's twine are the direct equivalent; small metal skewers laced with string do the job with less fuss. Remove whatever you use before the fish reaches the table.
- YieldFive or six as written, as a main course. The finished gravy is thin by design — reduce it a few minutes longer in the saucepan if you want it to coat.
Cassell's is writing in the decades when cod was often said to be among the cheapest of the good fish in Britain, landed in quantity on the east coast and moved inland by rail; the note that it costs eightpence a pound "when plentiful" is a reminder that the price swung hard with the season and the weather. The treatment here — a stuffed middle cut, oysters in the dish, anchovy and vinegar sharpening the gravy — is a distinctly English way with white fish, from a time when oysters were still cheap enough to be used as bulk rather than luxury. The forcemeat built on the sound reflects a household economy that expected every part of the fish to be used: sounds were sold salted as well as fresh, and Victorian cookery books treat them as an ingredient in their own right rather than a curiosity.