The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 131

Cooked Paste for Fanciful Borders

Pate Cuite pour Bordures de Fantaisie

Boil one pint of water with a quarter of a pound of butter and a grain of salt; as soon as the liquid boils remove it from the fire, and incorporate in one pound of flour so as to obtain a good paste, then replace it on to a moderate fire and stir vigorously until it detaches from the bottom of the saucepan, then remove it entirely and pour it on to a floured table; as soon as it cools off slightly, knead it with the hands, adding to it slowly one pound more flour; by this time the paste should be perfectly smooth; after it has obtained a consistency, turn it the same as puff paste (No. 146), giving it seven or eight turns, having the paste remarkably smooth; it must be used at once.

For the Modern Kitchen

This is a pâte morte — a stiff, essentially inedible construction dough for building the borders and platters on which cold dishes were displayed. It reads like choux paste at the start and then diverges sharply, so treat it as an entirely different animal.

A Little History

The Epicurean (1894) is Charles Ranhofer's summary of some thirty years as chef at Delmonico's in New York, and it belongs to a moment when a formal cold buffet was as much architecture as cookery. Borders, plinths and socles built from stiff pastes, rice flour, tallow or wax raised galantines and aspics off the platter and gave the carver's work a frame; the technique descends from the French grande cuisine of Carême, who is generally credited with turning the display piece into a discipline of its own. Ranhofer files this under Elementary Methods, presumably because a kitchen of that size wanted a cheap, reliable, workable paste on hand — flour, water and a little butter, cooked to a paste for strength and worked with more raw flour for stiffness. The genre faded over the following generation, as Escoffier's leaner service and later refrigerated display cases made the elaborate cold table look laborious rather than grand, and these recipes now survive largely as evidence of how much of a nineteenth-century banquet was never intended to be eaten.