The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 2974

Polenta

Polenta

A dried and crushed corn resembling semolina. Have a quart of water boiling in a saucepan, drop in like rain one pound and a half of polenta; boil for a few moments, adding a little salt and three ounces of butter, then stir in briskly a little grated parmesan. When cooked, pour it into mousseline molds (No. 2, Fig. 138), previously coated with meat glaze (No. 402); when the polenta is hard, unmold, or else have the molds buttered, and when the polenta is thoroughly cold unmold and cut each one into slices; spread a little melted butter and grated parmesan between each, then restore them to their respective positions; remold and place in the oven for twenty-five to thirty minutes, then unmold and serve with a cream sauce (No. 454).

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer's polenta is not the soft bowl of porridge the word suggests now: it is set firm in molds, sliced, layered with butter and parmesan, remolded and baked. Two things in the text need correcting before it will work.

A Little History

Polenta in Ranhofer's sense is northern Italian, and one of its familiar forms is firm and sliceable: cooked stiff, turned out onto a board, left to cool, then cut and grilled, fried or baked. Maize reached Italy in the sixteenth century and by the eighteenth had become the staple grain of the Veneto, Lombardy and Friuli, so thoroughly that pellagra — a niacin deficiency caused by living almost entirely on untreated corn — took hold there, having been described in Lombardy from the 1770s. What appears in The Epicurean (1894) is that peasant staple put through the machinery of a Delmonico's kitchen: lined with meat glaze, interleaved with parmesan, molded into individual towers and sauced. Ranhofer files it among the "farinaceous" dishes, the course of pastas and grains that a formal American menu of the period borrowed from Italian and French practice, and his brisk opening definition — "a dried and crushed corn resembling semolina" — tells you he expected his readers not to know the word.