The wonderful new film version of “Little Women” starring Saoirse Ronan as Jo doesn’t mention blancmange, though it appears in the book and in the 1949 film with June Allyson as Jo.
Jo brought blancmange to Laurie when he was stuck indoors with a cold, telling him that “it’s so simple, you can eat it, and, being soft, it will slip down without hurting your sore throat.” Jo hadn’t made the pudding herself, though. She 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 topped them off with cream that had turned sour.
On top of everything else, Jo’s blancmange was always lumpy, so Meg made the blancmange Jo brought to Laurie. Meg’s was smooth and white, surrounded with a “garland of green leaves, and the scarlet flowers of Amy’s pet geranium.” When he saw it, Laurie said he thought it looked “too pretty to eat.”
The first time I read Little Women, I was a little girl and had never heard of blancmange. 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 when 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 with sugar (the amount 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 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. Making up for lost time, I enjoy it often now. Here’s my version. I use gelatin to thicken it, and vary the flavorings. Amaretto gives it a wonderful almond note and fresh berries are a perfect topping. Next time, though, I’ll garnish it with flowers, maybe geraniums.
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
1 tablespoon Amaretto or 1 teaspoon vanilla extract or
half a teaspoon rose or orange flower water or whatever flavoring 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 brightly colored flowers, as Louisa May Alcott had Meg do in Little Women.