The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 104

Calf's Foot Jelly with Madeira Wine

Gelee de Pieds de Veau au vin de Madere

Take the value of one quart of calf's foot gelatine and mix into it three quarters of a pound of sugar and the juice of four lemons. After the sugar is dissolved try its consistency to rectify it if necessary, adding more water or more gelatine according to whether it be too soft or too hard. Beat up four egg-whites without letting them come to a froth, mix in a gill of cold water and pour this over the dissolved gelatine; set the untinned basin on a moderate fire, whip the liquid slowly until on the verge of boiling, then withdraw it to a slower heat and keep the liquid simmering without boiling; now add the juice of four lemons; cover and leave stand for thirty minutes. The jelly should now be limpid; filter it through a flannel bag or a napkin fastened to the four feet of a filtering stool (Fig. 51), return the jelly to the bag and continue the operation until it passes through clearly; this should be done in a warm place. As soon as the jelly is properly filtered let it stand until cold and then add one gill of good Madeira, pour it into a mold previously imbedded in ice and leave it for one hour and a half to set.

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer assumes you have already made calf's foot stock (his No. 103 and the gelatine recipes preceding it) and are now clarifying and flavouring it. The whole point of the procedure is clarity: everything else follows from that.

A Little History

This comes from Charles Ranhofer's The Epicurean (1894), the enormous record of his years as chef at Delmonico's in New York, and it sits in the "Elementary Methods" chapter because clarified jelly was a foundation skill rather than a dish — the same procedure, savoury, yields the aspic of No. 103. Calf's foot jelly had a double life in the nineteenth century: it was the standard invalid food, simmered at home for the convalescent and mentioned constantly in domestic manuals and novels of the period, and it was also a showpiece dessert, moulded in copper shapes, flavoured with Madeira, maraschino or kirsch, and served brilliantly transparent. Transparency was the whole test of the cook, which is why Ranhofer devotes more words to the filtering stool than to the flavouring. The labour involved explains why commercial powdered gelatine, which reached American households in the 1890s, displaced the calf's feet within a generation and took the wine-flavoured moulded jelly down with it into the era of the packaged dessert.