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.

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Mousse of Lobster

Crack the shells from two live fresh lobsters of two pounds each, then pick out all the meat and pound it in a mortar to a pulp, then rub it through a sieve into a bowl. Place in a small saucepan one gill white wine, one gill water and half ounce butter, then let it come to a boil, strew in four ounces sifted flour and sharply mix with the spatula for two minutes. Remove and place it in the mortar, then add the lobster pulp. Season with light teaspoon salt, two saltspoons cayenne and saltspoon grated nutmeg. Add one by one three egg yolks, and sharply pound while adding them. Beat up the whites of the three eggs to a stiff froth and add to the mortar with gill of thick cream, gently mix with spatula until well amalgamated. Lightly butter a plain quart pudding mould. Sprinkle a very little finely chopped truffle at the bottom, drop in the force, place the mould in a pan, pour in hot water up to half the height of the mould, set in the oven thirty minutes or until thoroughly firm. Remove, unmould on a hot dish. Pour cream sauce around and serve.

For the Modern Kitchen

This is classic hotel forcemeat work: a flour panade, pounded shellfish, eggs, cream, baked in a water bath. The proportions are sound but the vocabulary and the equipment are not modern.

A Little History

Alexander Filippini spent decades in the kitchens of Delmonico's in New York, and The International Cook Book (1906) reflects the grand-restaurant repertoire of that moment, when the French mousse and mousseline — a pounded forcemeat lightened with egg white and cream, set in a mould in a water bath — had become a familiar way to serve shellfish at a formal dinner. The technique descends from the older quenelle, where a panade of flour or bread bound pounded fish or veal; what marks the turn of the century is the addition of whipped cream and beaten whites to make the thing light rather than merely fine. The truffle scattered in the bottom of the mould is pure period signalling: unmoulded, it becomes the dark decorative crown of an otherwise pale dome. Filippini writes for a kitchen with a mortar, a tamis and a brigade to work them, which is why the instructions assume so much and explain so little.

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