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Teal, Stewed
Pluck, singe, and empty the birds, and truss them securely. Preserve the hearts, livers, and gizzards. Dredge the teal with flour, put them into a saucepan with a slice of fresh butter, let them brown equally all over, and take care of the gravy which comes from them. Let them get cold, and if convenient keep them until the next day. Carve them in such a way that the wings and the legs shall be taken off, each with a portion of breast adhering to it. Break the bodies of the birds into small pieces, and stew them gently with the livers, hearts, and gizzards, in as much water or stock as will cover them, till the gravy is quite strong. Strain it, season with salt and cayenne, thicken with a little brown thickening, and add a glassful of claret, and, if liked, a little lemon or Seville orange-juice. As soon as it begins to boil, put into it the fleshy portion of the birds, and let them simmer until they are thoroughly heated, but the gravy must not boil after they are added. Cut slices of stale crumb of bread sufficiently large for a leg and wing to lie on. Fry these till they are lightly browned, drain them, arrange them on a hot dish, place on each one a leg and a wing, and pour the sauce over them. Garnish with green parsley and sliced lemon. Time, one hour and a half to make the gravy. Sufficient, one teal for two persons.
This is a salmi in all but name: the birds are part-roasted, cooled, jointed, and the carcasses turned into the sauce that finishes them. Nearly all the work is in the gravy, and the last five minutes decide whether the meat is tender or grey.
- The hinge: no boiling at the endOnce the joints go into the sauce they are only being warmed through. Teal breast is lean and dark, and a boil will squeeze it grey and tough in under a minute. Hold the pan at a bare shiver.
- Sourcing the birdsTeal are legal quarry in season in the UK and North America, but wild-shot game cannot be sold in some jurisdictions, so the likely source is a hunter or a licensed game dealer. Farmed duck is not a substitute in scale — a teal is a very small duck, well under a pound once drawn, which fits the recipe's own reckoning of one bird for two people.
- Lead shotCheck the joints and the broken carcass for pellets before they go into the pot; they turn up in the sauce otherwise.
- The first browningThis is a colouring stage, not full cooking — the flesh should stay pink inside so it survives the reheat. "Take care of the gravy which comes from them" means the browned pan juices; deglaze the pan and add them to the stock.
- Brown thickeningA Victorian standby: flour cooked in butter or dripping until nut-brown, kept in a jar and whisked in as needed. A brown roux made fresh, or a beurre manié with the flour toasted first, does the same job.
- Claret and Seville orangeClaret here is dry red Bordeaux. The recipe does not say what size glass; a Victorian wineglassful was usually reckoned at about 2 fl oz. Seville oranges are bitter and seasonal (January and February); lemon, as the recipe allows, is the year-round stand-in, or a splash of bitter marmalade thinned with water.
- The gibletsHearts and livers go in whole, but the gizzard needs splitting and the grit sac peeled out first. Some cooks hold back the livers and mash them into the strained sauce instead of stewing them, which gives more body.
- Timing and the overnight restNinety minutes is for the gravy alone; the initial browning is much quicker and the recipe gives it no time at all. Keeping the birds overnight is genuinely useful — cold meat carves cleanly off small bones — but refrigerate them rather than leaving them in a cool larder as the original assumes.
- The croûtesStale crumb fried in butter or clarified fat, drained hard. Cut them large enough to hold a leg and wing and fry just before serving; they soften fast once the sauce goes over.
Teal is the smallest European duck and was among the most highly rated of the wildfowl on English tables, prized for meat that is dark and clean-tasting rather than fishy. The method here belongs to the family of dishes the French call salmis — game part-roasted, jointed, and served in a sauce built from its own carcass — a technique long familiar in English cookery books through French professional influence, and a standard way of handling small wild birds. Cassell's, compiled for middle-class households from the 1870s onward, includes it as a matter of course. The instruction to cool the birds and keep them until the next day is a quiet piece of practicality, and the fried croûte beneath each joint does the work a plate of potatoes would do now: it catches the sauce.