Each month our club meets ostensibly for discussion of a pre-selected book. To be truthful, the book discussion component of our three-hour meeting occupies probably only 20 percent of the evening; the other 80 percent having more to do with the food served, general personal chitchat and gossip.

            Our hostess for December, Barb, had prepared an interesting and somewhat retro array of appetizers: salmon pâté, tourtière, eggplant ratatouille, a relish tray and a tomato aspic ring.

            The aspic was very festive. It looked like a Christmas wreath with its garnish of greenery.  I made the error of confessing aloud that I had never eaten tomato aspic before. I should have kept my mouth shut because now, everyone was interested in what I would think. If it were at all possible to avoid trying the dish, I would have, but we are a small group and sit facing each other around a large coffee table. Everyone is quite aware of what we all eat (or don’t). With everyone going on and on about the lovely jellied ring, and about how it used to be a favourite holiday dish, I really couldn’t get out of at least taking a small taste. I was just happy that there weren’t platters of racoon brioche or swan satay on the table. Our book for the month was Stanley Park, and if you have read this book, you will understand my fears.

            The term “aspic” refers to both the method of presenting meats and vegetables in a clear, moulded jelly (either sweet or savoury) and to the savoury jelly made by the reduction of meat or fish juices which is thickened with collagen from the bones and skin of animals. Classic aspic preparation takes hours of reducing and clarifying to produce the clear jelly that is then used to decorate elaborate meat, fish and vegetable dishes.

Calf knuckles were most commonly used as the collagen source in the classic aspic preparation. Boiling of either cow or pig skins, tendons and other bones was also used to prepare a clear, colourless and tasteless protein substance; gelatin. This gelatin, re-dissolved in hot water, could then be used to set any number of liquids.

            For the average housewife in the 1800’s, preparation of gelatin in her own home would have been too tedious and time consuming. The displays of food dishes in aspic remained in the mansions and castles of royalty and the rich. In 1890, Charles Knox discovered a method for manufacturing large volumes of a powdered gelatin from the skin and bones of animals, largely pigs which were being slaughtered for other purposes. The world must have been waiting for a product like this. Not only did it revolutionize the world of desserts, it also quickly became a major ingredient in pharmaceutical products, cosmetics, photographic film and other food products such as canned meats.         

And of course, Jell-O. Can anyone picture a life before Jell-O! I even have an entire cookbook of just Jell-O recipes. (Someone gave it me.) A quick look through any of my collection of cookbooks from the ‘60s will show you just how versatile gelatin is. 

            When I was growing up, my Mom always had a jelly salad of some sort in the fridge. Shredded carrot and cabbage went with green jelly and fruit cocktail went with red. Luckily for us, there wasn’t blue jelly back then; I’d hate to see what she would have put in that. But Mom never called it “aspic” and she never made us eat a tomato jelly ring. If she had, I guarantee that she would have put canned peas in it!

            I did try Barb’s aspic. It was an interesting combination of flavour and texture, but not one that I can say I have a burning desire to try again. I still prefer my aspic or whatever you want to call it, sweet and fruity.