Clove
There is little to be said of the clove which is not perfectly well known. Suffice it to say that, belonging to the order of myrtles, and best cultivated in the Moluccas, the clove tree is singular in its thirstiness. It so absorbs Cock-a-Leekie moisture that nothing will grow under it; and the cloves themselves that is, the unexpanded flowers of the clove tree, which look drier than the driest teetotaler-will, if water is placed near them, miraculously increase their weight in a few hours. Hence a good amount of cheating on the part both of growers and dealers.
It is a pity that the meaning of this word is lost in English. It conveys the most vivid description of the spice to which it refers, for the word is no other than the French clou de girofle that is, a nail of the caryophyllum. One of the charms of gastronomy is in its names and the interesting associations which they awaken. It is always to be regretted, therefore, when on the one hand, as too often happens, names are multiplied without reason, and when on the other hand happy names are forgotten or lost in corruption. It may be added that a clove of garlic does not mean a nail; it means something cloven.
COCK-A-LEEKIE is the modern and Scottish version of a very old English dish that went by the name of Malachi in the fourteenth century-ma being the old name for a fowl, as will be seen by reference to the article on Gallimawfrey. The old receipt for Malachi has not come down to us, but it is easy to gather what it was from parallel receipts with corresponding names. These receipts were nearly all alike The fowl was roasted, or half roasted, and then boiled in broth; it was next hacked to pieces; and it was served. in a pottage with a variety of vegetables, onions predominating, sometimes with syrup, always with spices, and often with raisins and currants.
The Scottish version.-Put a capon in broth, and when the broth boils add to it half the quantity of the white of leeks which it is intended to use, cut in lengths of an inch. Skim the liquor carefully, and after half an hour's boiling cut the fowl to pieces, removing bones. Put it back into Cockle the pot with the remaining half of the leeks, with pepper and salt, and with prunes and raisins free from stones. In another half-hour or so it ought to be ready.
The name of the soup takes its rise in Scotland from an idea which was once prevalent that there was nothing so good for soup as an old cock. This ancient bird has given way to a capon, and sometimes it never appears in the soup. It will also be observed that extraordinary stress is laid upon the leeks too great a stress, indeed, for most tastes. It is due to a misreading of the name, which was at first malachi, or maleachi-meaning fowl sliced. Sawney failed to catch the true meaning, thought it had something to do with leeks, and forthwith magnified leeks beyond everything in the soup. Latterly the Scotch cooks have been inclined to dispense with the prunes. Talleyrand greatly enjoyed the soup, and recommended that the prunes should be stewed in it but not served. Soyer writes :-"With all due respect to Scotch cookery, I will always give the preference in the way of soup to their cock-a-leekie, even before their inimitable hotch-potch." COCKLE is the same as the French coquille, a little shell; so that the phrase "cockleshell" is a pleonasm. The name is given to a well-known shell which pilgrims were in the habit of wearing in their hats to show that they were going to sea or had been seafaring. The sign of travel ensured them consideration; and moreover the shell, as having often a rude drawing of the Virgin or the Crucifixion on it, or as having been blessed by the priest, was supposed to protect them like a charm. Were it for these associations alone, the cockle ought not to be allowed to pass out of public regard. In point of fact, it makes an excellent fish sauce, which may agreeably take the place of oyster, mussel or shrimp sauce at any time, but more especially in those months when oysters and mussels are unseasonable; or it may be used with great effect in the garniture of mate- Cod lotes and other fish stews. What is it to Europe if some of the pompous French names which are used to glorify certain dishes should be utterly forgotten? We might well afford to forget many of them; but it is something to remember the Crusades and all the interesting details of modern civilization which are bound up with the pilgrimages of holy palmers. Why should we forget that these holy palmers brought the shalot from Ascalon, and that the cockle must ever live in history as the badge they wore after they had devoured its inmate ?
How should I your true love know From another one?
By his cockle hat and staff, And his sandal shoon.
It is to Francatelli's credit that he alone of the grea cooks in our day has a word to say in favour of cockles. He recommends them scolloped like oysters. They are very good with a Poulette sauce.
Buried in the middle of a lexicographer's ramble is a workable soup: fowl simmered with leeks, prunes and raisins. The instructions assume a cook who knows what a stockpot is, so the gaps are worth filling.
- The caponA capon is a castrated cockerel, fatter and more tender than a laying bird; you will not find one at a supermarket. A 4-5 lb roasting chicken works, or a boiling fowl if your butcher has one, in which case add an hour or more to the first stage.
- "Put a capon in broth"The text does not say what broth; read it as a light chicken or veal stock, enough to cover the bird by an inch or two, roughly 3-4 quarts. The bird is not browned first; this is a white, clean-tasting soup, and the older English versions that roasted the fowl before boiling are described here as history, not method.
- Timing is understatedHalf an hour will not cook a whole chicken through. Simmer until the thigh meat pulls easily from the bone, about 1 to 1 1/4 hours for a roaster, then strip the meat and give the soup its second half-hour with the remaining leeks. Poach at a bare tremble, not a rolling boil, or the broth turns cloudy.
- The leeks, in two goesThe split is deliberate: the first half dissolves into the broth and gives it body and sweetness, the second stays in inch lengths and keeps its texture. The text gives no quantity; reckon on 6-8 leeks in total, well washed. Kettner thinks Scottish cooks use too many.
- Prunes and raisinsUse pitted prunes ("free from stones") and add them only for the last half-hour, or they collapse. The dried fruit is not decoration; the entry's own account of the medieval parallels has them served "often with raisins and currants". Talleyrand's compromise, reported here, is to stew them in and fish them out before serving, which sweetens the broth without confronting anyone with a prune.
- Skimming"Skim the liquor carefully" is singled out for a reason. Scum thrown up in the first ten minutes will emulsify into the broth if left, and no amount of later straining recovers the clarity.
- SeasoningPepper and salt go in with the second batch of leeks, after the broth has reduced somewhat; salting at the start will overshoot. The text says only "pepper"; black pepper, coarsely ground, suits it.
- YieldA 4-5 lb bird and 3 quarts of broth serve eight generously as a first course, or six as a supper in itself with bread. It improves overnight and reheats well.
Kettner's Book of the Table (1877) was written by E. S. Dallas rather than by the restaurateur whose name it carries, and its habit of pairing a workable receipt with a page of etymology is on full display here. Cock-a-leekie is documented in Scotland from the eighteenth century, and the pairing of fowl, alliums and dried fruit in a spiced pottage is genuinely medieval, which is what the entry is reaching for. The derivation from a fourteenth-century dish called "malachi", with ma glossed as an old word for fowl and the leeks blamed on a misreading, is Dallas's own conjecture and is not accepted by later scholarship; treat it as period speculation. The Talleyrand remark about stewing the prunes and withholding them is traditional rather than documented. The Soyer quotation, praising cock-a-leekie above hotchpotch, comes from Alexis Soyer, the Reform Club chef. The entry also reports a shift in taste: by the 1870s, Dallas says, the old cock had given way to the capon, and Scottish cooks were already starting to drop the prunes, an argument that has never quite been settled.