Jo March wasn’t much of a cook, as anyone who’s read Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women can testify. When Jo made dinner, she burned the bread, undercooked the potatoes, overcooked the asparagus, poured salt instead of sugar on the strawberries and poured cream that had turned sour over them. On top of everything else, Jo’s blancmange was lumpy.
But Jo said that Meg made blancmange “very nicely.” She said it was smooth and white and Meg served it surrounded it with a “garland of green leaves, and the scarlet flowers of Amy’s pet geranium.” It must have looked lovely.
The first time I read Little Women, I was a little girl and had never heard of blancmange. As made by Meg, it sounded good, so I looked it up in the dictionary to see if I could find out what it was and, maybe, convince my mother to make it. To my very great disappointment it was defined as a white pudding. That sounded so dull and commonplace that I never did ask my mother. Pudding, to me, was the sort of dessert we had when there wasn’t any cake or pie or ice cream. It was dessert from a box, disappointing even where it was chocolate. There was nothing special about a white pudding.
Flash forward many years and I discovered that there is a lot more to blancmange than the dictionary had revealed. First, and most important, it tastes wonderful in a lush, but subtle, way. Second, it looks elegant especially when it’s served with colorful berries. And third, blancmange is easy to make.
Louisa May Alcott’s mother Abigail had a recipe for it in the collection she called her “Receipts and simple remedies.” Her 1854 recipe, clipped from an unidentified newspaper, was made with milk and sweetened (the amount of sugar was not specified). It used arrowroot to make the blancmange jell, and suggested flavoring it with orange water, rose water, or lemon peel. Other recipes of the era used isinglass (a type of gelatin), calves feet, or Irish or sea moss to thicken the pudding. Granulated gelatin and cornstarch weren’t in general use until the close of the century.
A recipe in English writer Hannah Glasse’s The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Simple, first published in 1747 but still going strong in Alcott’s day, used isinglass, cream rather than Mrs. Alcott’s milk, and suggested that it should be served surrounded by baked pears. Glasse wrote, “It both looks very pretty, and eats fine.”
The simplicity of blancmange brings out the artist in every cook. The famous Isabella Beeton suggested garnishing it with “preserves, bright jelly, or a compote of fruit.” Fannie Farmer served hers surrounded by sliced bananas. J. M. Sanderson, author of the 1864 book The Complete Cook, described blancmange as “a beautiful white jelly, like marble” and suggested garnishing it with “flowers or with sweetmeats, or sliced lemon.” Had I read that description rather than the dictionary’s, when I was young, I would have enjoyed many more servings of blancmange in my life. Nevertheless, here’s the version I make now. I use gelatin to thicken it, and vary the flavorings. Amaretto gives it a wonderful almond note and fresh berries are a perfect topping, though another time I’ll add flowers.
An Elegant Blancmange
One envelope (0.25 ounces) of unflavored gelatin
1/4 cup cold water
1 1/2 cups whole milk
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup light cream
Flavoring — 1 tablespoon Amaretto or 1 teaspoon vanilla extract or 1/2 teaspoon rose or orange flower water or whatever pleases you.
Berries, flowers, leaves to garnish, optional
Mix the gelatin and water together in a small bowl and set aside for five minutes or so until it softens.
Rinse a saucepan in cold water, then pour in the milk and heat to a simmer. Stir in the sugar until dissolved. Mix in the softened gelatin and stir until it’s completely incorporated. Remove from heat and let cool for a few minutes.
Stir in the light cream and the flavoring of your choice.
Pour into four lightly oiled custard cups or one bowl, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until set.
Either un-mold onto plates or simply serve from the custard cups or bowl. The pristine whiteness of blancmange looks lovely garnished with colorful berries or with leaves and flowers as Meg did in Little Women.
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