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Tongues, Roots Of
As the roots of a tongue generally have an unsightly appearance, they may be trimmed off, and either potted according to the directions given above, or made into pea soup as follows. Put the trimmings of the tongue into a stewpan with some roast beef bones or fresh bones, a quart of split peas (which have been soaked for six or eight hours in cold water), and three quarts of the liquor in which meat has been boiled. Failing this, use cold water. Add two or three onions, a sprig of thyme or marjoram, a bunch of parsley, a bay-leaf, and five or six outer sticks of celery. Let the liquor boil, skim carefully, and afterwards simmer gently until the peas are tender, stirring frequently to keep them from sticking to the bottom. Press the whole through a sieve, working it with the back of a wooden spoon, put it back into the pan, and let it boil again for about a quarter of an hour; add salt and pepper, and it will be ready for serving. Care must be taken that the peas are not put into salted liquor, or they will not easily become tender. Time to simmer the peas and the meat, about three hours, according to the quality of the peas. Probable cost, exclusive of the roots, 3d. per quart. Sufficient for eight or ten persons.
A thrift recipe: the gristly base of a boiled or pressed tongue becomes the meat for a large pot of split pea soup. Most of the work is unattended simmering, and the only real technique is the sieving.
- What the "roots" areThe root is the thick, fatty, glandy base of the tongue where it joined the throat, trimmed away after cooking because it looks and slices badly. Any well-flavoured cooked meat trimmings and a couple of beef bones will do the same job.
- Quantities in modern termsThe proportion is one part dry split peas to three parts liquid (an imperial quart of peas is about 1.1 litres, on the order of 2 lb, to about 3.4 litres of liquor). That ratio gives a very thick, almost spoon-standing soup; hold back some of the liquor and thin it at the end to the consistency you want.
- "Liquor in which meat has been boiled"Unsalted stock from boiling a joint, ham or tongue. Modern shop stock and bouillon are heavily salted, which the recipe specifically warns against, so use unsalted stock or water plus the bones.
- The salt ruleThe instruction to keep salt out until the end is central to the recipe. Salt itself appears to have less effect than once believed, but tongue liquor and ham stock can be salty, and hard water or acidity will noticeably slow the peas from softening. Season only after sieving.
- StirringSplit peas settle and scorch, and a scorched pea soup cannot be rescued. Stir up from the bottom every fifteen minutes or so, or use a heavy pot over the lowest possible heat.
- SievingPressing through a sieve with a wooden spoon gives a smoother result than a blender because the pea skins stay behind. If you use a blender or stick blender, pass it through a sieve afterwards anyway, and pick out the bones, bay leaf and herb stalks first.
- TimingThree hours is right for old dried peas. Peas bought this year will collapse in 60 to 90 minutes; check at the hour and stop when they are soft, since they only get pastier after that.
- Yield and finishingEight to ten servings, as stated. The final quarter-hour boil after sieving is there to reduce and re-thicken; fried bread croutons and dried mint were common accompaniments to pea soup of the period, though this recipe names none.
- CostThreepence a quart marks this as a very cheap dish. It is a note on economy, not a figure to convert.
Split pea soup with a bacon or ham bone is often said to be among the oldest continuously cooked English dishes, and by the late nineteenth century it was so much the standard cheap dinner that street sellers of "pea soup and hot eels" were a fixture of London. The real subject of the Cassell's entry, headed simply "Tongues, Roots Of", is the use of trimmings: a large household that pressed or potted its own tongues generated odd bits of cooked meat, and a dictionary of cookery was expected to say what became of every one of them. The warning about salted liquor is a piece of practical lore repeated in cookbooks for well over a century, and while the chemistry is now understood to involve hard water and acidity as much as salt, the instruction still keeps cooks out of trouble.