Fowl
From times very far back there has been a controversy in France as to the comparative merits of old fowls and young chickens. The argument on either side will be found in the article on the soup called Restaurant. In these modern times the chicken seems to get the best of it; and what is to be said of older fowls in the way of culinary preparation is little else than a repetition of the directions already given for dealing with chickens.
FRICANDEAU is a Provençal word meaning something nice. Fricandela is a nice girl; Fric, or Frique (allied to the English freak), meant brisk; Fricaud, dainty; Fricot, a dainty dish; and here is Fricandeau belonging to the same series, and applied especially to a dainty dish of veal, which was invented by one of the cooks of Pope Leo X. The neatest receipt for it is that of Gouffé, who is peculiar, however, in selecting for the dish a piece of the fillet of veal instead of the part most commonly • employed the cushion. "Take three pounds," he says, "bone, trim and lard the outside with thin strips of bacon. Put in the glazing stewpan the trimmings of the meat, with two ounces of sliced carrot, two of onion, pepper and salt. Then lay the fricandeau on the top; add half a pint of broth; boil the broth till it is reduced and becomes thick and yellow; add a pint and a half more broth, and simmer for an hour and a quarter-the stewpan half covered; then close the stewpan and put live coals on the top; baste the fricandeau with the gravy every four minutes till it is sufficiently glazed ; take out the fricandeau and put it on Fritters a dish. Strain the gravy through the pointed strainer, skim the fat from it, and pour it over the meat." The fricandeau may be served either thus simply, or with a garnish of sorrel, endive, or spinach.
The entry rambles from old hens to etymology before arriving at a complete braise: Jules Gouffé's fricandeau of veal, larded, glazed and served with its own reduced gravy. The instructions are sound but assume a coal range and a professional larding needle.
- The hinge: two-stage reductionThe half pint of broth is boiled down to a sticky, yellow glaze on the trimmings and vegetables before the rest is added. Skip that first reduction and you get pale stewed veal instead of a deep glaze.
- Pints and the glazing stewpanMeasures are imperial: half a pint is 10 fl oz, a pint and a half is 30 fl oz. The "glazing stewpan" is simply a shallow, heavy, tight-lidded braising pan barely larger than the meat, so the liquid stays concentrated.
- Live coals on the topClosing the pan and heaping coals on the lid gave heat from above as well as below. A heavy covered pan in a moderate oven (around 325F) is the nearest modern equivalent; move it to the stovetop or uncover it for the basting and glazing stage.
- Fillet versus cushionGouffé's choice of fillet is, as the text notes, unusual. The traditional cut is the cushion oix or top round of the leg, a solid lean muscle about 3 lb, cut with the grain running across so it slices cleanly.
- LardingThin strips of pork fatback or unsmoked bacon are threaded through the surface with a larding needle. Modern veal has no internal fat to speak of, so this is not decoration; without it the meat dries. Barding the top with sheets of fat and basting is the practical substitute.
- Basting every four minutesThis is glazing, not cooking: the meat is already tender after the hour and a quarter, and repeated basting with the reducing gravy builds a lacquer. Fifteen to twenty minutes of it is usually enough, and the gravy must be thick before you start or it will not cling.
- BrothA professional kitchen of the period would have had veal or beef stock standing, lightly seasoned at most. Use a light, unsalted homemade stock; commercial broth reduced twice will end up far too salty, since the whole point is reduction.
- Yield and garnishThree pounds serves six. Sorrel, endive or spinach were braised or stewed to a purée and banked beside the meat; sorrel's acidity is the best of the three against a sweet glaze.
Kettner's Book of the Table (1877), written anonymously by the journalist E. S. Dallas and named for Auguste Kettner's Soho restaurant, is arranged as an alphabetical dictionary, which is why an essay on old hens versus young chickens slides without warning into a veal recipe filed under F. The attribution of fricandeau to a cook of Pope Leo X is a piece of gastronomic folklore repeated through the nineteenth century rather than a documented fact, and the Provençal etymology offered here — fric, fricot, a dainty dish — is likewise a period guess. What is solid is the receipt itself: Jules Gouffé, once chef de cuisine at the Paris Jockey Club, published his Livre de Cuisine in 1867, and Dallas quotes him because Gouffé wrote measured, repeatable method. Fricandeau belonged to the class of dishes that showed off a kitchen's stock pot: the meat is mild by design, and everything that makes it worth eating comes out of the reduction.