This is the name given to the soaked bread which is mixed with the French forcemeats, and which renders them so peculiarly delicate. Pour on the crumb of two or three rolls, or on that of any other very light bread, as much good boiling broth, milk, or cream, as will cover and moisten it well; put a plate over to keep in the steam, and let it remain for half an hour, or more; then drain off the superfluous liquid, and squeeze the panada dry by wringing it in a thin cloth into a ball; put it into a small stewpan or enamelled saucepan, and pour to it as much only of rich white sauce or of gravy as it can easily absorb, and stir it constantly with a wooden spoon over a clear and gentle fire, until it forms a very dry paste and adheres in a mass to the spoon; when it is in this state, mix with it thoroughly the unbeaten yolks of two fresh eggs, which will give it firmness, and set it aside to become quite cold before it is put into the mortar. The best French cooks give the highest degree of savour that they can to this panada, and add no other seasoning to the forcemeats of which it forms a part: it is used in an equal proportion with the meat, and with the calf’s udder or butter of which they are composed, as we have shown in the preceding receipt for quenelles. They stew slowly for the purpose, a small bit of lean ham, two or three minced eschalots, a bayleaf, a few mushrooms, a little parsley, a clove or two, and a small blade of mace in a little good butter, and when they are sufficiently browned, pour to them as much broth or gravy as will be needed for the panada; and when this has simmered from twenty to thirty minutes, so as to have acquired the proper flavour without being much reduced, they strain it over, and boil it into the bread. The common course of cookery in an English kitchen does not often require the practice of the greater niceties and refinements of the art: and trouble (of which the French appear to be perfectly regardless when the excellence of their preparations is concerned) is there in general so much thought of, and exclaimed against, that a more summary process would probably meet with a better chance of success.

A quicker and rougher mode of making the panada, and indeed the forcemeat altogether, is to pour strong veal broth or gravy upon it, and after it has soaked, to boil it dry, without any addition except that of a little fine spice, lemon-grate, or any other favourite English seasoning. Minced herbs, salt, cayenne, and mace, may be beaten with the meat, to which a small portion of well-pounded ham may likewise be added at pleasure.