Cassell's New Dictionary of Cookery

From Aberdeen Crullas to Zwiebach — the vast Cassell's dictionary with a recipe for everything, each priced to the penny ('Probable cost, 2s.'), plus the whole science of the 1912 kitchen.

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Naples Sauce for Fish

Put into an enamelled saucepan one-eighth of a pint of freshly boiled shrimps from which the shells have been removed, and with them a large anchovy, freed entirely from skin and bone, two shallots finely minced, a dessert-spoonful of bruised capers, and three dessert-spoonful of strained lemon-juice: a little piece of garlic not larger than a small pea can also be put in if the flavour is liked. Stir over the fire for six or seven minutes, pour in a quarter of a pint of good stock, and add a small pinch of cayenne and half a blade of mace. Simmer gently for a quarter of an hour, thicken the sauce with a piece of butter, the size of a large egg, rolled thickly in flour, and boil ten minutes longer. Strain the sauce, adding another dessert-spoonful of lemon-juice; make it as hot as possible without letting it boil, then draw it from the fire, and stir in a quarter of a pint of thick cream. Serve at once. Time, three-quarters of an hour to prepare. Probable cost, 10d. Sufficient for half a dozen persons.

For the Modern Kitchen

A strained shellfish sauce in the older English manner: the solids do all the flavouring work and are then discarded. Two things decide whether it succeeds — a non-reactive pan, and holding the cream back from the boil.

A Little History

Cassell's, like most Victorian household encyclopaedias, catalogued sauces by place-name with only a loose regard for geography: a sauce called Naples, Genoese or Italian need not have had any documented origin in the place it was named for. What the recipe really shows is a hybrid moment in English cooking — the French method of building on stock and thickening with beurre manié, applied to the older English shellfish-and-anchovy tradition that had been dressing boiled fish since the eighteenth century. The pea-sized scrap of garlic, offered conditionally "if the flavour is liked," is a fair measure of how cautiously British middle-class kitchens still seem to have treated it in this period. The costing in pence was aimed at a housekeeper answerable for the week's accounts; tenpence for a sauce serving six placed this firmly among the small luxuries.

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