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OX TONGUE TOAST (a Breakfast relish)
Mince two ounces of cold boiled tongue very finely. Mix with it a hard-boiled egg chopped small, and a pinch of cayenne and powdered mace. Dissolve two ounces of fresh butter, add the tongue, etc., and stir all over the fire until the mixture is quite hot, then spread it thickly on a slice of buttered toast, and serve at once. Time, three or four minutes to heat the mixture. Probable cost, 6d. Sufficient for one person.
A single-serving savoury from the era when breakfast expected something salty on toast. It comes together in the time the bread takes to brown.
- The hinge: gentle heatTwo ounces of butter to two ounces of tongue is a very high fat ratio, and the point is a hot, loose, spoonable mixture rather than a fried one. Keep the pan over low heat and stir; if the butter browns or separates the relish turns greasy.
- QuantitiesTwo ounces is about 60 g, roughly a packed quarter-cup of finely minced tongue. Two ounces of butter is 4 tablespoons — you can halve it without losing the dish.
- Cold boiled tongueReady-cooked ox tongue is sold pressed in delis and some supermarkets; a couple of thin slices, trimmed of gristle and minced, is all you need. Corned beef or a good boiled ham stands in acceptably, though both are saltier.
- MaceGround mace is the outer covering of nutmeg — warmer and less sweet. A generous pinch is right; nutmeg substitutes at slightly less.
- SeasoningThe recipe adds no salt, on the assumption that brine-cured tongue brings plenty. Taste the mixture once it is hot before deciding.
- YieldOne slice, as stated. Scale by the person; the mixture does not keep well once buttered and heated.
- Cost"6d" is sixpence, half a shilling — a note on cheapness that placed this among the thrifty ways to finish a joint.
Cassell's belongs to the long British tradition of the breakfast and supper "relish": a small, strongly seasoned savoury spread thickly on toast, of which potted meats, anchovy paste and devilled leftovers are all cousins. Ox tongue was a staple of the Victorian larder — boiled, pressed under a weight and sliced cold for days afterwards — and a recipe like this one would serve to use up the trimmings and ends that were too ragged to serve as slices. The costing in pence, a habit throughout the book, was aimed squarely at households running to a fixed weekly budget, where knowing that a dish came in at sixpence mattered as much as knowing how to make it.