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Deviled Mutton
Cut some cold mutton into thick slices trimming off most of the fat, gash it across in several places with a sharp knife; mix a coffeespoonful of cayenne pepper with one tablespoonful of black pepper and rub the mixture well over the slices of mutton; lay them on a gridiron and broil over a clear fire, turning when done on one side. Put one-half teacupful of roast-meat gravy into a small saucepan with an equal quantity of sherry wine, one-half tablespoonful each of Worcestershire and anchovy sauce, or the strained juice of half a lemon and a small quantity of finely-shredded lemon peel. Place the sauce over the fire until it boils, arrange the pieces of broiled meat on a hot dish, pour the sauce over, garnish with fried parsley, and serve. It will be found an improvement if the gravy can be slightly flavored with onion.
A Victorian leftovers dish: cold roast mutton revived over high heat with a peppered crust and a sharp pan sauce. The whole point is speed, since the meat is already cooked.
- The hingeThe mutton is cold and cooked, so the gridiron is only there to char the pepper crust and heat the slices through. Two to three minutes a side over a very hot fire or under a preheated broiler; any longer and thin slices of reheated mutton turn dry and stringy.
- Cut them thickSlices of about half an inch stand up to broiling; carving-thin slices will not. The cross-hatching with a knife is what lets the pepper mixture and the sauce get inside, so score both faces.
- CoffeespoonfulA coffeespoon is smaller than a teaspoon; period equivalences vary, somewhere between a quarter and a half teaspoon. Either way, that much cayenne plus a full tablespoon of black pepper is a genuinely fierce coating for a few slices of meat; scale the pepper down if you are not aiming for a true "devil."
- TeacupfulTreat a teacup as about 6 fl oz, so half a teacupful is roughly 1/3 cup. You want about 1/3 cup gravy and 1/3 cup sherry, reduced briefly to a coating consistency.
- Roast-meat gravyThis assumes yesterday's roasting pan. Failing that, use a strong beef or lamb stock reduced by half, or a spoonful of demi-glace loosened with water; a thin stock will not cling to the meat.
- Anchovy sauceBottled anchovy sauce is much less common than it was, though still made. Half a teaspoon of anchovy paste, or one mashed oil-packed fillet, gives the same salty depth. The lemon juice and shredded peel are offered as an alternative, not an addition.
- SherryDry or medium sherry (fino or amontillado), not cream sherry. It needs to boil long enough to lose its raw alcohol edge, a minute or two.
- Fried parsleyWhole dry sprigs dropped into hot fat for a few seconds until they stop sputtering, then drained on paper. They must be thoroughly dry or the fat will spit.
- YieldAs written the sauce suits about four thick slices, enough for two as a lunch or supper dish with toast or a baked potato.
"Devilling" was a standard nineteenth-century answer to cold roast meat: coat it in cayenne, mustard or black pepper, sear it, and serve it with a sauce sharpened by Worcestershire, anchovy and wine. The name is generally traced to the eighteenth-century English use of "devil" for anything fiercely spiced, and devilled bones and devilled kidneys were familiar items on the British breakfast, luncheon and after-theatre supper table. Oscar Tschirky's Waldorf kitchen cooked for an American clientele that still looked to London hotel and club cooking, which may be part of why a frugal way of finishing yesterday's joint sits beside far grander dishes in the same volume. The anchovy sauce and the shredded lemon peel suggest that English inheritance, as does the mutton itself: a mature-sheep meat that American markets largely gave up in favour of lamb over the following century.