The International Cook Book

Over three thousand recipes from the man who cooked at Delmonico's — French sauces, Italian pastas, Indian curries and American pies, the whole eating world of 1906 in one volume.

HomeThe World's Kitchen › Ice Cream, Seville

Ice Cream, Seville

Prepare a quart vanilla ice cream, squeeze in juice of a sound, juicy orange, pour in two tablespoons curacoa and mix well with spatula. Line bottom of a quart-brick mould with a sheet of white paper, drop ice cream into it, arrange a piece of paper on top, tighlty cover, then bury in ice-cream pail for one and a half hours. Remove, dip brick in lukewarm water for a few seconds, wipe all around, unmould on cold dish with a folded napkin and send to table.

For the Modern Kitchen

A moulded ice rather than a churned one — the work is in flavouring a finished vanilla ice cream and refreezing it hard enough to turn out cleanly. Two details govern the result: how cold the base is when the liquids go in, and how much alcohol you add.

A Little History

Ices named for places recur throughout the late nineteenth-century restaurant kitchen, where a vanilla base plus one fruit and one liqueur produced a whole column of dishes. The choice of curaçao follows a thread back to the bitter orange — the liqueur is generally traced to the dried peel of the laraha, a bitter orange descended from stock the Spanish carried to the island of Curaçao. The brick mould itself belongs to the era of the ice pail and the salt-packed freezer: before mechanical refrigeration, a rectangular block could be sliced at the table to serve a frozen sweet to a dozen people at once, and books of this kind take the tins and the ice to work them largely for granted.

← Capon, Braise LoreePoached Eggs, Normandie →