Oxtail
Mr. Punch not long ago gave a revised list of the thirty-nine articles of an Englishman's faith. I have forgotten whether the first was Oxtail soup or Shakespeare, and whether the second was Shakespeare or Oxtail soup ; but at all events these were the first two. This oxtail, in which we now take a national pride, was originally Huguenot, and we learned the taste for it from the poor Protestant refugees who settled about Bermondsey. In this region of the tanners there is or was a place known as The Borgeney-Petty Burgundy. The Huguenots, when they saw oxhides abounding about them, thought they could make something of the tails, which were then sold with the hides. They made an excellent soup. A philanthropist who happened to be a lover of good cheer was in the habit of visiting the homes of the poor Frenchmen here at Spitalfields and there at Petty Burgundy. In Petty Burgundy Oysters he came upon the oxtail soup; he opened his eyes, and he made such a proclamation of the goodness of the tanners' soup that it became at once fashionable, and now Mr. Punch can speak of it as among the first and foremost of an Englishman's thirty-nine articles of faith.
Oxtail Soup. Take two large or three small oxtails, divided at the joints, and soak them well in lukewarm water. Then put them into a stewpan with a pound of ham or knuckle of bacon, three quarts of cold water, an ounce and a half of salt; set them on the fire to boil, and remove the scum. When the scum ceases to rise add three carrots, three onions, two turnips, a head of celery, a faggot of sweet-herbs, six cloves, and a dozen peppercorns. Stew all gently for three hours, and then take out the oxtails. Strain the broth, get rid of the fat, put back the tails, thicken the soup with arrowroot or rice-flour, and finish it to taste with cayenne, salt, a spoonful of ketchup, and it may be a glassful of Marsala. If the oxtails are stewed longer they will yield an extremely gelatinous soup, but the meat will be in rags and unfit for presentation. Stewed Oxtail. Take an oxtail disjointed, and soak it well in lukewarm water. Then put with it in a stewpan a couple of onions, a couple of carrots, a faggot of sweetherbs, and broth enough to cover it. Or for another combination put it into the stewpan with a Mirepoix of white wine, and with broth enough, as before, to cover all. Simmer it very gently for two or three hours. The oxtail may then be dished, and it may be sauced and garnished in a variety of ways. If surrounded with its gravy (strained), and garnished with lettuce brazed in the French way and intermingled with carrots, it is called Queue de Bœuf en hochepot. It may also be garnished with a Macedon of vegetables, with a purée of lentils, or with either the Soubise or the Breton purée of onions.
Two recipes sit inside this entry: a soup and a braise. Both are straightforward once the Victorian shorthand is decoded, and both hinge on the same warning Kettner gives at the end of the soup — cook oxtail long enough for gelatine and the meat falls off in shreds, so the timing is a compromise, not a target.
- The salt is the one thing to changeAn ounce and a half of salt is roughly two and a half level tablespoons of fine salt, and it goes in alongside a pound of ham or bacon knuckle. Salt lightly at the start and correct at the end, once the cured meat has given up what it will.
- Quarts and the potThree imperial quarts is about 3.4 litres, or 14 cups. A "stewpan" is a deep, heavy saucepan or Dutch oven with a lid; nothing here goes into an oven.
- Faggot of sweet-herbsA bouquet garni: parsley stalks, thyme and a bay leaf tied with string, or bundled into the celery. Tied means you can retrieve it before straining.
- Ketchup does not mean tomatoIn 1877 a spoonful of ketchup meant mushroom or walnut ketchup — dark, thin, sharply savoury. Worcestershire sauce or a mushroom ketchup gets you far closer than tomato ketchup, which would sweeten the soup badly.
- Mirepoix of white wineHere the word means the older French preparation — diced carrot, onion and celery with bacon or ham fat, moistened with white wine — used as the braising bed, not the modern raw vegetable dice.
- Arrowroot or rice-flourBoth thicken without clouding. Slake either in cold water first and add to the simmering strained broth; arrowroot thins again if boiled hard or held long, so add it near serving.
- Degreasing"Get rid of the fat" is far easier if the strained broth is chilled and the solid cap lifted off. This also lets you make the soup a day ahead, which improves it.
- Timing and donenessThree hours at a bare simmer gives joints that hold their shape for presentation. If you want the gelatinous stock rather than the garnish, go longer and accept shredded meat — Kettner is describing a genuine trade-off, not an error.
- The garnishesHochepot pairs the tail with braised lettuce and carrots; Kettner gives both Soubise and Breton as purées of onions, with a purée of lentils listed as a separate option. Any of them turns the stewed version into a full course.
- YieldThe soup as written should serve six or so; one oxtail in the stewed version feeds two, three at a stretch.
Kettner's origin story — that oxtail soup came to England with Huguenot refugees in the Bermondsey tanneries, who bought the tails that came attached to the hides — is a tale repeated in a good many Victorian food books and should be treated as tradition rather than documented history; the detail of the anonymous philanthropist who made it fashionable is exactly the shape a story takes after a century of retelling. What is solid is the economics behind it: tails were a tanner's by-product, sold with the skin and worth almost nothing, and they reward long wet cooking with a body no lean cut can give. By the time this book appeared in 1877 the soup had risen far enough for Punch to place it among an Englishman's articles of faith. The entry is characteristic of Kettner's — a page of anecdote and French nomenclature, then a working recipe — the book having been written not by the restaurateur Auguste Kettner but by the journalist E. S. Dallas.