In medieval England, the Normans called it “jelly of flesh.” Calves’ feet, pigs’ ears and capons were simmered until their cartilage melted into a collagen-rich stock, which was spiked with vinegar, reduced and poured over chilled meat to form a quivering, translucent mass. It was eventually renamed aspic, and its recipe was endlessly adapted over the years, made with just about every type of meat as well as seafood, boiled eggs and various vegetables. In the 19th century, Queen Victoria’s chef, Charles Elmé Francatelli, decorated his aspic with rosettes made from truffles and cow’s tongue. And in the 1950s, American housewives made theirs in an array of pastel hues, turning out glistening green molded salads and pale pink salmon mousse terrines with the help of packaged gelatin powder, no offal required.
In the decades since, these savory gelatins were dismissed as “fussy” or even “revolting,” writes the food historian Ken Albala in his 2023 book, “The Great Gelatin Revival: Savory Aspics, Jiggly Shots and Outrageous Desserts.” But, Albala continues, in “periods that favor technology in the kitchen … and foods that shock and surprise,” they tend to become “wildly popular.” It makes sense, then, that — at a time when chefs are feeling pressure to produce viral visuals and molecular gastronomy is old hat — aspic is making a comeback.
According to the Australian chef Chris Yuille, whose modern, colorful aspics resemble Lucite sculptures, today’s razor-thin restaurant margins might also be contributing to the revival. Traditionally, gelatin gets its wiggle from cheap, cartilaginous cuts otherwise bound for the trash. Like pâté en croûte and other high-technique, waste-cutting throwbacks that have re-emerged on menus recently, aspics allow cooks to show off their creativity and skill on a budget. But Yuille, 32, is more focused on the potential for drama. It’s “tableside theater” he says of the aspic he made for a dinner with the Los Angeles-based lifestyle brand Flamingo Estate last year. What he describes as “basically a chicken salad” emerged as a golden-hued brick made from pea and olive oil mousse topped with whole green beans and spears of asparagus — all of it encased in a balsamic-spiked chicken consommé jelly.
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