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Galantine of Salmon
Procure the skins of three good-sized fresh eels, open, sew together lengthwise so as to make a single one and trim even. Finely chop a pound fresh halibut and one and a half pounds skinned and boned fresh salmon. Place both in mortar with a bread panade, two egg yolks, a tablespoon anchovy essence, teaspoon salt, two saltspoons each cayenne pepper and ground mixed spices, a saltspoon grated nutmeg, pound to a fine pulp, then press through sieve into a bowl, add two truffles cut in small squares, a tablespoon thick cream and mix well. Neatly spread this force over skins of eels, fold and carefully sew up, then wrap galantine in a heavy cloth and tightly tie up both ends. Place in a saucepan any fish trimmings on hand, with a sliced each carrot and onion, two branches each celery and parsley, a sprig thyme, bay leaf and two cloves. Place galantine on top, pour in one and a half gills white wine and enough cold water to cover. Season with a tablespoon salt, half teaspoon white pepper, cover pan and let simmer for one hour and forty-five minutes. Remove galantine, place on a plate and let stand for ten minutes, unwrap and wash cloth in cold water. Wrap galantine again, place between two small boards, place a three-pound weight on top and let stand until throughly cold. Unwrap, remove cloth, dress on dish with a folded napkin, decorate with pieces of fish jelly and parsley greens and serve.
A cold buffet centrepiece built the old way: a fish forcemeat rolled inside eel skin, poached in court bouillon, then pressed under weight overnight. Most of the work is in sourcing and in the poaching temperature.
- The eel skinsThree skins sewn edge to edge form the casing; this is a specialist order from a fishmonger who breaks down whole eels, and few now do. A double layer of caul fat, or a sheet of blanched leek or cabbage leaf laid on cheesecloth, will hold the same shape, though it will not give the gelatinous set the skin does.
- PanadeA bread panade here means crustless white bread soaked in milk or stock and squeezed dry, not batter. Roughly 2 oz bread to the 2.5 lb of fish keeps the forcemeat from tightening; too much and it turns pasty.
- Saltspoon and gillA saltspoon is a quarter teaspoon, so two saltspoons is half a teaspoon. A gill is half a cup, making one and a half gills about 3/4 cup of white wine.
- Anchovy essence and mixed spicesAnchovy essence was a bottled reduction; a tablespoon of good anchovy paste or two mashed salted anchovies is the nearest thing. "Ground mixed spices" of the period ran to a blend of clove, mace, cinnamon, nutmeg and pepper, sold as mixed spice.
- Cook to temperature, not to the clockOne hour forty-five minutes likely reflects an uncertain stove and a thick roll. Poach at a bare shiver, 170-175F, and pull the galantine when the centre reads 145F on a probe pushed through the cloth. A roll of this thickness will usually reach that well short of the full time, which risks a dry, grainy forcemeat.
- Never let it boilThis is the hinge. A rolling boil bursts the skin, drives the fat and cream out of the farce and leaves the whole thing crumbly. Keep the surface barely trembling throughout.
- Pressing and chillingThe rewrap, boards and three-pound weight are what give the clean cylinder for slicing. Do the pressing in the refrigerator rather than on a cool larder shelf, and give it at least eight hours; a cooked fish forcemeat sitting out to cool at room temperature is the one real risk in the method.
- Fish jellyStrain the poaching liquor, clarify it and set it with gelatine if it does not gel on its own. Chop the set jelly for the garnish.
- YieldTwo and a half pounds of fish in the farce gives a roll that slices into roughly 12 to 16 portions as a cold first course.
Galantine appears to derive from Old French galantine/galentine, used of a cold dish or sauce set in jelly, though the derivation is not settled; by the nineteenth century the word had settled on boned meat or fish, stuffed with a fine forcemeat, poached in a wrapping, pressed and served cold. Poultry versions were the more usual, which is why a salmon galantine reads as a display of skill rather than economy, and why the eel skin appears at all: it supplies both a seamless casing and the gelatine that makes the slices hold. Dishes like this belonged to the era of the cold buffet table, when a chef's reputation rested on things that could be built the day before, decorated with chopped aspic and parsley, and set out on a folded napkin for guests to admire before anyone cut into them. Truffles cut in small squares, anchovy essence and a spoonful of cream in the farce suggest restaurant work of the Escoffier generation, adapted for the ambitious household cook.