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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Boiled Rice with Apricots

Wash well a scant teacupful of rice, place it in a saucepan with as much milk as it will absorb and loaf-sugar to taste, and boil the whole gently until tender. When cooked, flavor slightly with essence of vanilla, move the rice away from the fire, and let it cool. Place the beaten yolks of four eggs in a stewpan with one teacupful of milk, stir them over the fire until thickened but not boiling, and leave until cold. When the custard and rice are both cold, mix them well together. Whip one-fourth pint of cream to a firm froth, having previously sweetened it with powdered sugar, and mix with it one-half ounce of isinglass that has been dissolved in a small quantity of warm water. Stir the cream in lightly with the rice, put the mixture into a mould, and pack it in ice. Cut up some apricots (canned ones will answer), into halves, remove the stones, put them in a stewpan, cover them with syrup, and allow them to simmer gently until tender. Drain the apricots and keep them in a cool place. When ready to serve, dip the mould quickly into hot water, wipe it, turn the rice onto a glass dish, and arrange the apricots round it.

For the Modern Kitchen

A cold moulded rice cream — essentially a rice pudding lightened with custard and whipped cream, set with fish gelatin and ringed with poached apricots. The hinge is temperature discipline: every component must be fully cold before it meets the next, or the cream deflates and the gelatin sets in strings.

A Little History

Moulded rice creams of this kind were a common feature of the dessert chapter in late-Victorian kitchen manuals, and are usually related to the French riz à l'impératrice — rice cooked in milk, bound with custard and gelatin, lightened with cream, and turned out cold. Oscar Tschirky, the Swiss-born maître d'hôtel whose name fronts this 1896 book, was cataloguing the working repertoire of a large American hotel kitchen, where a dish that could be built the morning before and unmoulded on demand was worth more than one requiring last-minute attention. The casual permission that "canned ones will answer" for the apricots marks the period precisely: commercial canning had by the 1890s made out-of-season stone fruit an acceptable substitute even in a hotel kitchen. Isinglass, the setting agent here, was already being displaced by sheet and powdered gelatin, and would largely vanish from domestic cookery within a generation, surviving mainly as a fining agent in brewing.

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