The Cook Book by “Oscar” of the Waldorf

Three thousand recipes from the maitre d'hotel of the Waldorf — the hotel kitchen that taught Gilded Age America how to dine, from beef tea to watermelon with champagne.

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Almond Paste

Blanch some Jordan almonds the day before they are required for use and allow them to remain in cold water. Soak two-thirds of this quantity of clean gum-dragon in a jar with a little water long enough to allow it to absorb all the water. Pound the almonds to a pulp, adding a little lemon juice to prevent them from oiling. When they are like a smooth paste, rub them through a sieve. Having done this, put the almonds into a sugar-boiler with some icing-sugar and stir well with a wooden spoon. This should be done briskly so that the paste should not be allowed to color. When it does not stick to the sides of the pan, it may be taken off the fire. The gum must now be squeezed through strong cloth, rubbed upon a slab and gradually worked into paste, together with a little more of the sugar. This kind of paste is usually employed for making baskets, etc., which, when filled with strawberries and cream, or any other kind of fruit make a pretty dish.

For the Modern Kitchen

This is a pastry-shop pastillage rather than a marzipan you would eat by the slice: the gum makes it stiff enough to model into baskets that hold their shape. Two things decide whether it works — keeping the almonds cold and acidulated so they never release their oil, and keeping the pan off high heat so the paste stays white.

A Little History

Modelling paste of this kind sits at the point where the nineteenth-century pastry kitchen turned into sculpture. Almond paste sweetened and bound with sugar is very old — marzipan is generally traced to Europe through the medieval Arab and Iberian confectioners, though the transmission is less settled than often implied — but the addition of gum tragacanth, which sets hard and takes paint and gilding, produced the pastillage of the French pièce montée, the edible architecture that crowned a formal dinner. Oscar Tschirky's book, published from the Waldorf in the 1890s, records that hotel repertoire at its height, when a dessert course might well arrive in a container the kitchen had built itself: baskets, shells, swans, filled at the last moment with strawberries and cream. The instructions assume a pastry cook with a marble slab, a copper sugar-boiler and time to blanch almonds the day before, which is a fair sketch of what a large hotel brigade of the period actually had.

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