Mutton
I hope it will not be found very inconvenient, but there has been so much to say about mutton under special and interesting names, that there is little left for remark under its own proper name. The subject of mutton broth has been discussed under the names of Scotch Broth and Hotch Potch. The principles of boiled mutton have been set forth in the article on Boiling. The principles of roast mutton are set forth in the articles on Roasting, on the Saddle of Mutton, and on the Breton way of serving the gigot or leg. The Carbonade has an article to itself, Navarin and is further handled in the articles on the Shoulder of Mutton and on the Prince of Soubise. The stews of mutton will be found amply described under the various names of Haricot of Mutton, Hotch Potch, Irish Stew, Navarin, and Ragout of Mutton. There remain the mutton chops and cutlets, for which directions will be found in the articles on the Grill, on the cutlet à la Bretonne, à la Maintenon, à la Soubise. The mutton pie, otherwise known as the Devonshire, the Cornish or Squab pie, is described in the article on Irish Stew. The smaller mutton pie should have been described in recording the merits of the celebrated Kit- Kat. And there is more about mutton in the articles on Kidneys, Sheep's Head, Sheep's Trotters and Epigrams. N AVARIN is a stupid word which has arisen from a desire to get rid of the unintelligible and misleading name, Haricot de mouton, without falling back on the vulgar phrase, Ragoût de mouton. It was at first selected with a thought of punning upon the navet or turnip, which is so prominent in the Haricot de mouton as not exactly to have suppressed, but to have thrown into the background and concealed in the sauce, the other vegetablescarrots and onions—which went along with it. On this understanding the word may be allowed to pass, although punning titles are not to be desired. Let us say, therefore, that a navarin is a ragout of mutton in the garniture of which the navet or turnip is supreme. When the combined English and French fleets gained the battle of Navarino, Lord Aberdeen, who was the English Foreign Minister described it as "an untoward event," and the phrase has never been forgotten. Let it be a warning to the cooks, Navarin and never let it be said that the Navarino of the kitchen is an untoward event.
Take the breast of mutton and cut it in pieces, which are to be well trimmed of fat. Line the bottom of a saucepan with slices of onion, on which lay the mutton, and with it two sliced carrots, two bayleaves, some thyme, and half a pint of broth, which is to be boiled until it falls to a glaze. Then add two ladlefuls either of broth or of water, together with salt, and let all simmer for two hours; at the end of which time the sauce, all except the thyme and bayleaf, is to be pressed through a sieve, and the meat may be boned. Now turn some turnips nicely, and pass them in butter till they are of a light-brown tint: dredge them with a tablespoonful of flour, give them a shake, pour over them the sauce of the mutton, add a pinch of sugar, and let them cook. When they are done enough, see that the sauce is not too thin. If too thin, reduce it, first taking out the turnips. In any case, remove the top fat. Then add turnips and sauce to the mutton, and let them get hot together.
A quicker way. Cut the mutton (be it neck, shoulder or breast) in pieces, and trim them. Make a roux of butter and flour, in which as soon as it takes colour the meat is to be fried for a quarter of an hour. Hot water is then to be added, and the meat turned in it till it boils; and the scum can be removed. In the meantime turnips are prepared as before, and are added to the mutton, along with pepper, salt, a faggot of herbs, and an onion pricked with a couple of cloves. Cook this for threequarters of an hour. Finally take out the onion and the faggot of herbs; get rid of all grease, add a pinch of sugar, and see that the salting is right.
It must be evident that the above ragout may be made to include other vegetables-as a Jardinière-either in place of the turnips or in addition to them. The English have long since made up their minds that turnips and Nesselrode Pudding mutton go well together-but they always understand by this, boiled mutton and turnips plain boiled or mashed. Here it will be seen that the French are so far in accord, but they insist upon a stew in which both the mutton and the turnips shall be browned; and to attain this fine conjunction pure and simple, they have gradually put out of sight, though they have not utterly swept away from their world-famous ragout or haricot, the other vegetables, the onions and carrots, which used to figure in it. May I recommend my English friends to study this simplicity. Better take one good friend the turnip to your breast of mutton, than trouble it with a crowd of vegetables.
The opening paragraphs are an index rather than a recipe, but the Navarin that follows is a complete working method — in fact two, a long one and a short one. Both are stovetop braises, and neither needs an oven.
- Which cut, and what "mutton" means nowTrue mutton — sheep over a year old — is rare outside halal butchers and specialist suppliers. Lamb breast, neck or shoulder behaves the same way; if you do find mutton, add 30-45 minutes to the simmering time. Breast is fatty and bony, which is why the recipe tells you to bone it after cooking and to skim the fat twice.
- Ladlefuls and half-pintsA ladleful is not a fixed measure and the book defines none; taken as something like 4-5 fl oz, 'two ladlefuls' comes to roughly a cup and a quarter — enough to cover, which is the real instruction. The half pint of broth reduced to a glaze is an imperial half pint, 10 fl oz.
- "Boiled until it falls to a glaze"This is the hinge of the first method. The broth must reduce until it is syrupy and just beginning to catch on the pan bottom, glazing the meat and vegetables; that caramelised film is the entire colour and depth of the finished sauce. Stop short of burning and deglaze with the water that follows.
- "Turn some turnips nicely"Turning means paring them into small even barrel or olive shapes with seven facets, so they cook uniformly and hold together in the sauce. Neat 1-inch wedges do the same job. Use small young turnips; large woody ones turn bitter over a long braise.
- Turnip timingIn the first method the turnips are browned in butter, floured, and finished in the strained sauce, kept out of the two-hour braise; 15-20 minutes in the sauce is enough. The quick method instead cooks them with the meat for three-quarters of an hour. Cooked alongside the meat for a full long braise they collapse into puree, which is the fault the author is trying to avoid.
- The quick method's roux"Fried for a quarter of an hour" in a coloured roux means the butter-and-flour roux is made first and the meat turned in it over moderate heat as soon as it has taken colour. Keep the heat below the point where the flour scorches, and add the hot water gradually while stirring or the sauce will go lumpy.
- Faggot of herbs, onion pricked with clovesA faggot of herbs is a bouquet garni — parsley stalks, thyme and a bay leaf tied with string. The clove-studded onion is an oignon clouté; both are lifted out and discarded before serving.
- Yield and servingTwo to three pounds of breast or shoulder with a pound of turnips serves four. It wants nothing more than bread or plain boiled potatoes, and it is better made a day ahead — the fat sets solid and lifts off cleanly, which does the degreasing the recipe asks for twice.
Kettner's Book of the Table (1877) was written by the journalist E. S. Dallas and named for Auguste Kettner, the Soho restaurateur, and this entry shows the book at its most characteristic: an alphabetical cross-reference that turns into an argument. The older French name for the dish, haricot de mouton, has nothing to do with beans — it is generally traced to the old verb harigoter, to cut up or tatter, which is why the author calls it "unintelligible and misleading." Navarin is the newer name, and the pun on navet, turnip, is the explanation most often given for it, though the timing is usually tied to the Battle of Navarino of 1827, where a British, French and Russian fleet destroyed the Ottoman-Egyptian one. The "untoward event" line that Dallas hangs on Lord Aberdeen was in fact the phrase used of the battle in the King's Speech of January 1828, and it became a byword for official embarrassment. The closing plea — one good vegetable rather than a crowd — is Dallas's own taste, and marks the point where the French stew and the English plate of boiled mutton and turnips briefly agree.