The French Menu Cookbook: The Food and Wine of France - Season by Delicious Season

1 leek (or 3 or 4 small—if not available, do without)

1 large sprig fresh thyme (or 1 teaspoon dried thyme leaves)

1 branch celery

1 bay leaf

1 large bouquet parsley (including roots, if possible)

1 small handful coarse salt (salt lightly because of the eventual reduction)

3–4 quarts water, depending on the form of the stock pot

Ask your butcher to break up the veal hock with a cleaver. Keep the meat in fairly large pieces. Peel the carrots and the onions, leaving them whole (if the carrots are very large, cut them across in two). Stick one onion with the cloves. Slice off the roots of the leek, remove the tough, dark-green sections of the leaves and, with a small, sharply pointed knife, pierce the flesh halfway down, slitting upward through the tips of the leaves. Repeat this procedure two or three times so that the upper half of the leek is coarsely shredded but well intact. Wash well, swishing it around in a basin of water. Wash the celery branch and the parsley (scraping the roots, if there are any). Tie the leek, doubled in two, the branch of celery, the bay leaf and the parsley (plus the thyme, if it is in branches) into a bundle.

Put the bones into the stock pot (preferably one of heavy enameled ironware or earthenware). Place the pieces of veal on top, and add enough cold water to cover generously (about l½ inches above the meat). Place over a medium flame (if using earthenware, protect it with an asbestos mat and place over a high flame) and when just below boiling point, begin to skim. The scum will continue to rise to the surface. You may help it along from time to time by displacing slightly the pieces of meat and bones with a wooden spoon, but without stirring. Continue to skim as it rises. When a full boil is reached and no more scum rises, pour in a small glassful (about ¼ cup) of cold water. Scum will begin to rise again. Continue to skim until the boil is reached again and pour in more cold water. Repeat the process twice more, or until no more scum rises after the addition of cold water. Add all the other ingredients, making certain that everything is submerged. Continue skimming until the boil is reached again, and regulate the heat so that, with the lid slightly ajar, the tiniest suggestion of a simmer is constantly maintained. (Even if you are on intimate terms with your stove, unless you are accustomed to this kind of preparation and know the precise intensity of flame necessary, this regulation will require 15 minutes to ½ hour of turning the fire slightly up or down and rechecking a few minutes later.) Leave to cook for a good 4 hours. Skim off the surface fat 3 or 4 times during this period, but never stir the contents or otherwise disturb them in any way.

Gently pour the contents of the stock pot into a sieve lined with a couple of layers of cheesecloth, which has been placed over a large mixing bowl. Do not press or mash the debris in the sieve, but allow to drain well so that all the clear liquid passes through. Leave the broth to cool, and skim off all traces of fat from the surface.

BEEF STOCK

Because the pot-au-feu produces a stock that is one of the basic elements in other culinary preparations and is also a meal in itself, the recipe is given in the main body of the book. If it is prepared essentially for use as beef stock, cabbage and the refinement of adding tender spring vegetables will find no place in its preparation, nor need it undergo the double preparation recommended in the recipe. It may be made exactly like the veal stock, substituting gelatinous pieces of beef (tail, shank, chuck) for the veal.

The petite marmite, or poule au pot, one or the other sometimes garnished by the appellation “Henri-IV,” is merely a pot-au-feu to which a hen has been added. A classical consommé is a petite marmite moistened with a pot-au-feu bouillon, completely degreased, and clarified by an additional couple of hours’ cooking with a mixture of egg whites and lean ground beef. Although it is truly ambrosial in character, none of the soup recipes in this book will require an equivalent expenditure of time or material.

MIREPOIX

Plats cuisinés (which means, vaguely, those preparations that contain a number of elements and require a more or less involved cooking process—the term might be translated, “dishes cooked with art”) rest generally on an aromatic foundation of onions, carrots, thyme and bay leaf. Other aromas, quite as valuable, may too often be excluded, but these mentioned, in any case, lend the primary support to all stocks, court-bouillons and braised preparations, and, although the latter often require a stock as braising liquid, it is nonetheless reinforced by a new addition of these same elements. For those preparations in which the carrots remain as part of the garnish, the vegetables are simply cut up, but for the many dishes that are garnished otherwise, or only sauced, a mirepoix (or matignon, which is the same thing except that the vegetables are finely sliced rather than chopped) is used as the aromatic base. Some recipes (none in this book) call for an addition of chopped ham or salt pork. For preparations in which the sauce is passed separately, the vegetables may be chopped more coarsely. If the mirepoix is to remain in the body of the sauce, the vegetables should be chopped very finely and the woody core of the carrots should be first removed. The mirepoix may be prepared in quantity and kept in the refrigerator, but the preparation is so simple that it seems hardly worthwhile. I personally feel that it gains by a substitution of mixed herbs for thyme, but that is an affair of taste, and the following recipe is classic.

Mirepoix

2 large carrots (approximately 4–5 ounces) with cores removed

2 onions (equivalent weight to the carrots)

½ bay leaf and a large pinch of thyme, ground to powder in a mortar, or merely crumbled if the sauce is to be passed through a sieve. (Do not use herbs already powdered—they have no flavor)

1 heaping tablespoon finely chopped parsley (including roots, if possible)

4 tablespoons (2 ounces) butter

pinch of salt

Peel the carrots and the onions and chop them finely. To chop the carrots, cut them in two lengthwise, pry out the core with the help of a small knife, and slice each half lengthwise as finely as possible. Flatten these slices out on the chopping board and continue slicing through them lengthwise until they are reduced to tiny sticks, then, holding them together, slice finely crosswise. Rechop this mass several times until very fine. For those who dislike chopping there is a useful device, a mouli-julienne, through which the carrots may first be passed, then chopped through a couple of times.

Melt the butter in a small, heavy saucepan, add all the ingredients and cook very gently, stirring regularly, for about ½ hour. The mirepoix should be thoroughly cooked, but absolutely not browned. If it is to be stored in the refrigerator, pack it into a glass or small jar, pressing well with a fork to eliminate all air pockets, and cover the surface with a buttered round of kitchen paper, aluminum foil or wax paper.

DUXELLES

Duxelles is occasionally used, like mirepoix, as an aromatic braising element, but more often as a stuffing, either alone or as one of several ingredients in a forcemeat, and as the base for sauce duxelles (boiled with white wine, reduced, brought to consistency with tomato purée and half-glaze and buttered away from the heat). It, too, may be prepared in advance and kept in the same way as mirepoix, if desired. To save time and effort, the mushrooms are often passed through a grinder. The result is still flavorful, but the fine, clean texture that may be attained only by chopping with a sharp knife is sacrificed to that of a mashed, coarse purée.

Duxelles is usually made with cultivated mushrooms, but they may be replaced advantageously by any wild mushroom. For reasons of economy, stems alone may be used (the heads, if not designed to serve immediately, may be boiled for 3 or 4 minutes with ¼ cup of water, a chunk of butter, salt, pepper, and a bit of lemon juice, and kept in their cooking liquid, which is also a valuable flavoring agent). A particularly elegant duxelles is that made of truffle peelings. It should be subjected to a shorter and less violent cooking process.

Duxelles

1 large onion, finely chopped

2 tablespoons (1 ounce) butter and 1 tablespoon olive oil (or 4 tablespoons butter)

½ pound mushrooms or mushroom stems, finely chopped

salt, freshly ground pepper

1 heaping tablespoon finely chopped parsley

nutmeg

a few drops of lemon juice

Cook the chopped onion in the fat until it is soft and yellowed in color. Add the mushrooms and turn the flame up. Stir and toss until their liquid has evaporated and the mixture is fairly stiff. Turn the flame low again, salt and pepper to taste, stir in the parsley, and continue to cook for a minute or two, stirring regularly. Grate in a tiny bit of nutmeg, add the lemon juice and remove from the heat. If the duxelles is to be stored, eliminate the lemon juice, which may be added just before using.

THE PREPARATION OF ARTICHOKE BOTTOMS

Artichoke bottoms may be cooked and kept submerged in their cooking liquid for several days before using (if they are to be canned, the cooking time should be reduced to a minimum since they must be sterilized afterward). Served cold, the following recipe represents the complete cooking process. Served hot, artichokes always gain in flavor by a final cooking in butter. (If one has the luck to find them young and tender, they may be cooked directly in butter after having been rubbed with lemon.) The lemon—both the rubbing and its presence in the cooking liquid—is designed to keep them from turning dark, but should not be overdone, for although a slight lemon flavor is agreeable, a delicately flavored grayish artichoke is preferable to one that is acid in flavor, though impeccable in color. Also, to avoid discoloration, artichokes should not be cooked in any metal except stainless steel or enamelware, nor “turned” (pared in spiral fashion) with a carbon knife.

Artichoke Bottoms

artichokes

lemon halves for rubbing them

Cooking liquid:

for 1 quart water, the juice of ½ lemon, pinch of thyme, salt

Break off the stems, which permits any fibrous strings to be pulled out. If the stems are sliced off, the strings remain in the bottom. Tear off all the tough outer leaves, pulling each backward, then down toward the base. When the leaves appear white and tender at the base, cut across the artichoke, leaving the tender bases attached to the bottom. Using a small, well-sharpened stainless steel knife, neatly pare the bottoms where the stem has been torn off, then continue, in a spiral fashion, all the way round to the top, removing all dark green parts. The finished product will be a pale-green and white flattened sphere. The pared surface of an artichoke darkens rapidly in contact with air, and, unless one’s work methods are extremely efficient, it is best to rub it with the cut surface of a half lemon several times during the process. Don’t worry about the chokes at this point.

Plunge them into the boiling liquid and cook, covered, at a simmer. The cooking time may vary from 10 to 40 minutes depending on the qualities of the artichokes. They are done when the flesh no longer resists a sharply pointed knife. They should remain firm, for they will continue to cook slightly while cooling in their liquid and, unless they are to be served cold, they will be subjected later to an additional cooking. Cool them in their liquid and keep them well submerged, the receptacle covered, refrigerated, until ready for use. Before using them, carefully remove the chokes, using a teaspoon to gently pry them loose, and sponge the artichoke bottoms dry with a towel.

MOUSSELINE FORCEMEAT

A mousseline forcemeat is the ultimate in a stuffing. It is most often made from fish (such as pike, sole, flounder, whiting, salmon, lobster), chicken, veal, feathered game, wild rabbit, or hare. The first time one launches oneself into its preparation it may seem complicated, but the basic principles are simple. It is a fine purée of raw flesh, bound by a bit of egg white and mounted with heavy cream.

The younger and fresher the flesh, the less albuminous support is required in the form of egg white. The less egg white used and the more cream—up to a certain point—the finer the result. The trick is to find the point at which the farce still holds, and the usual method is to decide on a given amount of egg white, and to then test it 2 or 3 times while adding the cream by poaching a tiny quenelle in a pan of simmering water that is kept ready. As long as the little dumpling poaches firmly, more cream can be added. With an excess of egg white, all the delicacy is lost, and the stuffing is heavy and rubbery. With too little egg white, or too much cream, it collapses during the poaching process. Quenelles that are poached in hot water require more egg white than those that are poached “dry” in a gentle oven, or than a molded mousseline forcemeat. Fish can support more egg white than chicken—a young chicken, freshly killed, needs none at all.

The testing method will, no doubt, seem discouraging to the reader, as it often does to me, and the following recipe is a good, standard one that takes no chances. There is, perhaps, particularly for chicken or veal, a bit too much egg white, and most materials may support a bit more cream than the quantity given. Assuming the cream to be absolutely fresh, which is no problem in America, and the instructions followed to the letter, it cannot go wrong.

Mousseline Forcemeat