The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 775

Butter Fresh Molded

Beurre Frais Moule

The butter must be of the very best quality, without a particle of salt, and used the same day it is made.

For Shells.—Grate with a table knife a piece of firm but not too hard butter; when there is sufficient on the blade of the knife, remove it with the finger to place it immediately on a butter dish or in ice water.

For Pats.—Divide a pound of butter into sixteen equal parts, or one ounce for each. The butter must be well worked, neither too soft nor too hard; set it into cold water, with two grooved wooden pallets lift out a piece of butter the size of a ball half an inch in diameter, press the butter between the two pallets, turn it round lightly, and remove the surplus with the first finger of the right hand; when a pat is formed, take it out and throw it into cold water.

For Vermicelli Butter.—Put butter not too hard into a machine called a butter syringe, having a tin perforated sheet with holes three thirty-seconds of an inch in diameter; push the butter through these so that it falls into the water.

To Serve it in Small Stone Pots.—Fill some small gray stone pots with butter and cover with pieces of fine muslin; these are placed as they are on the table. Butter is often served, drained, and laid on grape leaves, or simply in butter dishes with small pieces of very clean ice around.

For the Modern Kitchen

This is a table-service preparation rather than a cooked dish: four ways of presenting fresh unsalted butter. The whole thing turns on temperature, and everything else is equipment.

A Little History

The Epicurean (1894) was Charles Ranhofer's record of the kitchen at Delmonico's, and this entry belongs to the part of that kitchen concerned with how a table looked before anyone sat down. In the nineteenth century butter arrived from the dairy in bulk rather than in stamped quarter-pound sticks, so shaping it was routine dairy and pantry work, and the tools included grooved Scotch hands, ridged wooden molds carved with wheat sheaves or cows, and the press Ranhofer calls a syringe. Serving butter on a bed of ice or on vine leaves is a nod to the same problem: refrigeration at the table did not exist, and butter that softened in a warm dining room looked, and tasted, poor. Ranhofer's insistence on unsalted butter used the day it is churned reflects a period distinction that has largely disappeared from American shops, where salted butter was the keeping grade and sweet butter the luxury one.