The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 2602

Terrine of Pork Liver

Terrine de Foies de Porc

Procure two pounds of the whitest pork liver, three pounds of fresh fat pork, four ounces of onion and one ounce of shallot, both chopped very finely and separately, four ounces together of salt, pepper, fine spices (No. 168), and a little powdered thyme, six ounces of flour, one ounce of truffles, one ounce of pistachios, and two ounces of tongue, these three latter to be chopped separately. Work the whole well together to obtain a compact paste, then divide it into three parts. Line the inside of a terrine with thin slices of fat pork, place in it one of the parts, and on it lay a bed of quarter of an inch squares of fat pork, then another one of the parts of forcemeat, another layer of fat pork squares, and on these the third or remaining part. The terrine should be filled to one inch below the edge, then covered with bards of fat pork; place a bay leaf on top, and set on the cover. Push the terrine into a moderate oven, standing on a baking sheet, and when cooked remove and lay a round of wood on it the size of the inside of the terrine; place under the press so as to press it down lightly, and leave it thus to cool for twelve hours.

For the Modern Kitchen Do not make this as written.

A full charcutier's terrine scaled for a restaurant larder: about five pounds of meat before garnish, which will fill a two-quart terrine and then some. Most of the work is in the seasoning arithmetic and the cooking, both of which the original leaves half-said.

A Little History

This comes from Charles Ranhofer's The Epicurean (1894), the compendium of his years as chef at Delmonico's in New York, and it sits in the chapter on garnishings for cold dishes because that is what a terrine was in a nineteenth-century restaurant: buffet architecture, sliced out to face a cold table alongside galantines and aspics. The word terrine names the vessel first, an earthenware dish, and only afterwards the thing cooked in it; the same logic gives us casserole and tagine. Pork liver was the cheap end of the charcutier's trade, and the truffle, pistachio and tongue chopped into it here are exactly the touches that lifted a farmhouse preparation onto a Delmonico's sideboard. The flour binder marks the recipe's age as clearly as anything in it, where a modern kitchen would reach for eggs and cream.