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Veal Sandwiches
Chop fine one-half pound of veal, and season with one scant teaspoon of salt; one tablespoon of lemon juice and a little pepper and made mustard. Butter the bread on the loaf before cutting it; cut the slices thin, and spread mixture between them.
A leftover-roast sandwich filling from the era when a cold joint sat in the larder all week. The instructions assume knowledge the modern cook has to supply.
- The veal is cookedNothing in the text says so, but a sandwich book of this period means cold roasted or braised veal, trimmed of gristle and chopped by hand. Raw minced veal is not the intent and should not be used.
- "Made mustard"Prepared wet mustard, as opposed to the dry powder that was the default in a period pantry. Ordinary Dijon or a mild yellow mustard both work; start with half a teaspoon for this quantity.
- Chop, do not grindHalf a pound chopped fine with a knife holds a coarse, meaty texture. A food processor turns cooked veal to paste in seconds, which makes a filling that smears rather than fills.
- Butter the loaf firstThis is the hinge of the method. Spreading the cut face of the loaf and then slicing means the butter goes on evenly and the thin slice is less likely to tear than if you butter it after cutting.
- It will want moistureCooked veal is lean and the only liquid here is a tablespoon of lemon juice. A spoonful of mayonnaise, cream or the jellied pan juices from the roast keeps the filling from crumbling out of the bread.
- SaltA scant teaspoon for half a pound is generous by modern taste, particularly if the veal was seasoned when roasted. Add half, taste, then adjust.
- YieldEnough for about four to six rounds cut thin, or a dozen small tea sandwiches with the crusts removed.
- KeepingChopped cooked meat spoils faster than a whole joint. Mix and refrigerate, use within a day, and do not leave assembled sandwiches out at room temperature for a picnic afternoon.
Sandwich chapters expanded rapidly in American cookbooks around the turn of the twentieth century, driven by the afternoon tea table, the box lunch and the growing habit of eating away from home. Many of them, though by no means all, follow the same domestic logic: a roast served hot on Sunday reappears cold on Monday and chopped on Tuesday, and a book like Butterick's, aimed at the household manager rather than the professional cook, treated that progression as a matter of thrift rather than a recipe needing explanation. Veal was cheaper and far more commonly eaten in the United States then than now, and it turns up throughout the period's sandwich lists alongside chicken, tongue and ham. The lemon juice and mustard here do the work that a modern cook might give to pickle or herbs, cutting the mildness of the meat, which on its own is notably bland.