The Home Cook Book

The ladies of 1870s Chicago pooled their recipes and signed every one — corned beef from Mrs. Beaty, lemon pie from Mrs. Saulter.

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Pressed Chicken

Mrs. C. Belford.

Cut up the fowls and place in a kettle with a tight cover, so as to retain the steam; put about two teacups of water and plenty of salt and pepper over the chicken, then let it cook until the meat cleaves easily from the bones, cut or chop all the meat (freed from skin, bone and gristle) about as for chicken salad; season well, put into a dish and pour the remnant of the juice in which it was cooked over it. This will jelly when cold, and can then be sliced or set on the table in shape. Nice for tea or lunch. The knack of making this simple dish is not having too much water; it will not jelly if too weak, or if the water is allowed to boil away entirely while cooking.

For the Modern Kitchen

A cold jellied chicken loaf that sets on its own collagen, with no added gelatin. Everything depends on the ratio of water to bird.

A Little History

Pressed chicken belongs to a whole family of jellied cold meats — pressed veal, potted tongue, chicken loaf — that filled the supper and luncheon tables of middle-class American households in the second half of the 19th century, when the substantial meal came at midday and the evening "tea" was cold, sliced and ready in advance. The technique is older than the name: reduce a collagen-rich broth until it sets on its own, pack meat in it, weight it, and let the larder do the rest. It suited kitchens without dependable refrigeration less because it kept well and more because it could be made in the cool of the morning and drawn on all day. The Home Cook Book, compiled in Chicago in the 1870s from recipes contributed by named local women and sold for the benefit of a local charity, is a good example of the subscription charity cookbook, which is why this page carries Mrs. C. Belford's name rather than an editor's — and why its instructions read like one cook telling another what she has learned, right down to the warning that the knack lies in not using too much water.

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