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.

HomeThe Waldorf Kitchen › Chestnut Paste

Chestnut Paste

Boil some chestnuts in water until they are soft. Then peel, skin and rub through a sieve; pound, and to every three-quarters of a pound of pounded chestnuts add one-fourth of a pound of marmalade (cherry, orange, or any other sort that may be preferred), and one pound of sugar. When weighed, boil to the feather degree the requisite quantity of sugar; that is, the degree of heat at which if a skimmerful of sugar be taken up and shaken the sugar will emit large sparks which will adhere together on rising. When the sugar is at this degree, mix it thoroughly with the pounded chestnuts and marmalade, place in moulds, and bake.

For the Modern Kitchen

A confectioner's paste rather than a spread: chestnut purée bound with jam and boiled sugar, moulded and dried in the oven until it sets firm, like a stiff fruit paste. The hinge is the sugar syrup, which the original describes by an old visual test rather than a number.

A Little History

Chestnut confectionery of this kind belongs to the French and Italian tradition that reaches the American hotel kitchen by way of the classically trained chef — the same tradition that gives us marrons glacés and the sieved chestnut purée sold as crème de marrons. The technique here is that of a fruit paste or pâte de fruits: a purée weighed against sugar, cooked, moulded and dried until it can be cut. The sugar terminology is worth noticing. Before the candy thermometer was standard equipment, confectioners worked by a ladder of named stages — thread, pearl, blow, feather, ball, crack, caramel — each identified by how the boiling syrup behaved on a skimmer or between wet fingers, and "feather" (the French plume) sat between blow and soft ball. Oscar Tschirky, who ran the Waldorf's dining rooms rather than its stoves, compiled the 1896 book from the professional repertoire around him, which is why an entry like this reads as instructions from one trained hand to another and assumes the reader already knows what a skimmerful of sugar ought to look like.

← Apricot PasteLemon Paste →