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Partridges, Soup Of
Roast a brace of partridges before a brisk fire, so that they may brown quickly outside without losing their juice. Take them down when they are half cooked, cut off the breasts, and break up and bruise the bodies of the birds. Melt two ounces of fresh butter in a saucepan; slice into it two young carrots and four or five sticks of celery, and add two ounces of undressed lean ham, an onion, stuck with four cloves, half a blade of mace, two shallots, a bay-leaf, four or five bunches of parsley, and a small sprig of thyme. Stir these over a gentle fire until the sides of the saucepan acquire a reddish-brown tinge, then add the bodies of the birds, and, gradually, two quarts of good stock and six ounces of brown roux. Remove the fat and the scum, let the soup boil, and press it through a fine sieve. Put it again into the saucepan with the breasts of the birds, cut into small neat pieces, add a glassful of sherry, and a little salt and cayenne, if required; let the soup get thoroughly hot, without boiling, and serve immediately. A very nice soup may be made from grouse and partridge together; or even from the remains of a cold roast grouse, stewed down with the partridges. Time, two hours and a half. Probable cost, 2s. 6d. per quart. Sufficient for half a dozen persons.
A Victorian game soup built on the espagnole model: a browned vegetable and ham base, brown roux, and the carcasses of half-roasted birds, strained fine and finished with sherry. The method is sound; most of what needs translating is vocabulary and the handling of the breast meat.
- A brace, and what to buyA brace is two birds. Farmed red-legged partridge run about 12-16 oz each and are what you will actually find; two of them plus two quarts of stock is right for six small servings. Wild birds may carry shot, so check the carcasses before breaking them up.
- Brisk fire, half cookedRoasting before an open fire means high, dry heat on all sides. The book gives no oven setting; a hot oven for a short time will brown the skin while the breast is still underdone, which is the point: the breasts finish later in the hot soup.
- Brown roux, six ouncesA made-in-advance cooked paste of roughly equal butter and flour, browned before use. Six ounces in two quarts gives a lightly thickened soup rather than a broth. Whisk it in gradually or it will lump.
- Undressed lean hamRaw, uncooked ham — not the cooked pink slices. Use raw gammon, unsmoked pancetta, or prosciutto trimmings, cut small so it browns with the vegetables.
- Mace, cloves, parsleyA blade of mace is one piece of the dried aril; half a blade is a large pinch of ground mace at most. "Four or five bunches of parsley" means sprigs, not supermarket bunches. The clove-stuck onion goes in whole and comes out at straining.
- A glassful of sherryA Victorian wineglassful is usually reckoned at about 2 to 2.5 fl oz, though the term is loose. Dry amontillado or oloroso suits game better than fino. Add it at the end so it does not cook off.
- Press it through a fine sieveThe instruction to press, rather than pour, is deliberate: forcing the softened vegetables and ham through gives the soup its body. A chinois and a small ladle does the work of the old tammy cloth.
- The hinge: no boiling at the endOnce the diced breast goes in, hold the soup below a simmer. Boiling turns rare game breast grey and stringy in a minute or two, and the roux-thickened liquid will catch on the bottom. Heat through and serve.
- Yield and timingSix servings, about two and a half hours' work as written. Probable cost of 2s 6d a quart is a late-Victorian figure and tells you this was a soup for a household that shot or bought game.
This belongs to the family of game soups, dishes that depended on the British shooting calendar — grey and red-legged partridge come into season on 1 September, which is why so many Victorian autumn menus open with a brown game soup or purée. The technique is French in origin: a browned mirepoix with raw ham, a clove-stuck onion, mace and bay, moistened with stock and bound with brown roux, is the standard espagnole-derived foundation familiar in English kitchens through the nineteenth century. What marks the recipe as economical rather than grand is the instruction at the end, allowing the remains of a cold roast grouse to be stewed down with the partridges; game was expensive enough that a well-run kitchen was expected to get a second dinner out of yesterday's bird. Reserving the breasts to be sliced back in at the finish is the older presentation, closer to a garnished consommé than to a smooth purée of partridge.