Radish
Not a word against the radish. Still, it may be lawful to record that it is not of much use in cookery, whatever it may be in eating. May I also venture to say that it is a mistake in a salad-an intrusion; and that the only way to eat it is to nibble it by itself while waiting for the feast, or in any convenient interlude. Be it added that there are few combinations of colour so beautiful and rich as the red and white of radishes against the green of their leaves. In glass dishes upon a dinnertable they are an ornament which may vie with the finest flowers.
RAGOÛT. The ordinary English use of this word for a stew will be illustrated in the next article, which deals with the Ragoût of Mutton. Here it is to be observed that in French the word is most commonly used in a sense which it hardly ever bears in English. The proper English word for what the French understand by a ragout is a relish. A ragout in English always takes its name from the food which is presented in it, and means no more than a good stew of that meat. In French a ragout takes its name from the garnish in the sauce: it is the savoury accompaniment of the stew-the relish. English cooks are puzzled when they hear of the Financial ragout, which covers a variety of stews; or the Turtle ragout, in which there is no turtle. It is right, therefore, that there may be no mistake, to discard the puzzling French name, and to give the plain English one. The list of French ragouts will accordingly be found under the name of Relishes. RAGOÛT OF MUTTON. - As there is no one word in English for all that the French mean by Friture, so there is no one word in French for all that the English mean by Stew. Perhaps the nearest word is ragoût-which means something tasted again; but the French are so little fond of it, as the name of a stew, that they dismiss it whenever and however they can find a substitute. Thus a stew of Ragoût of Mutton fresh-water fish is called a matelote; of salt fish, a brandade; of winged game, a salmi; of hare, a civet; of rabbit, a gibelote; of chicken, a fricassee; of pigeons, a compôte; of beef, a daube; of mutton, a haricot or a Navarin. They seem to have been particularly pressed to find a name for the stew of mutton. During many centuries they had been making a stew of it, combined with turnips, carrots, and onions, which they called a ragout. The word was twisted about on the German frontier till it came back to France unrecognisable-as haricot. Five centuries ago the French adopted this odd new name for their favourite old dish, which was still a stew of mutton with turnips, carrots, and onions. But about two hundred years afterwards the name of haricot was given also to a kidney bean, and stuck to it in such a way as to produce in the French mind more puzzle and confusion than all the mysteries of fate and free-will-especially as they reversed the order of things, and got a notion into their heads that the name of haricot for the stew came after the name of the bean. Why should a stew be called after a bean which has nothing to do with it? What it means has been explained under the name of Haricot. Here it is enough to say that the French, having introduced the word haricot in place of ragoût, felt, after many years of confusion, that they must introduce some other word in place of haricot. They fixed upon Navarin for this, among other reasons that it seemed to suggest, in a loose, punning title, the navet or turnip, which had become all important in the famous haricot of mutton. Anciently this ragout or haricot was adorned with three chief vegetables-turnips, carrots, and onions. Gradually the last two came to be pushed into the background, and the first alone to be prominent. The haricot of mutton settled into a brown ragout of mutton and turnips, which the French cooks who wished to get rid of the word haricot named after the battle of Navarin. The receipt for this stew will accordingly be found under the head of Navarin. 1 Ratafia White Ragoût of Mutton. - This is sometimes called a Navarin Blanc; but as the Navarin is supposed to pun a little upon the navet, which is the leading feature of the ancient haricot, and as here we can dispense with turnips altogether, it is best to call it simply a white ragout. 1. Take the neck or the breast of mutton or lamb, cut it into cutlets or other pieces, trim well away the fat, and have all ready on a plate. 2. Put a shalot, four spring onions, a clove of garlic, and a good faggot of sweet-herbs, with pepper, salt, and powdered spices, into a saucepan half full of water. 3. Put the meat into this. See that it is well covered with the water. Let it simmer very gently for four hours. The sauce should then be reduced by half, but it should not be allowed to brown. Remove the faggot of herbs. 4. In the meantime choose what garniture of vegetables, either singly or in combination, is to enter into the stew : new potatoes, peas, flageolet beans, rice-or say, a medley of all sorts. Put them in half an hour before dinner, and let all boil briskly for that half-hour. 5. Observe that this is the simplest ragout in the world: no roux in it, no flour, no fat, no butter. Observe also that since the liquor will boil down to less than half, care must be taken as to the quantity of salt.
For other white ragouts of mutton, see Irish Stew and Hotch Potch.
One RATAFIA means no more than liqueur - an alcohol sweetened with sugar and flavoured with fruit or vegetable essences; but there is a mystery made about its etymology, and it is supposed to have a character of its own. wise philologer declares that the liqueur is so called because two persons who enter into a bargain ratify the contract with a glass of this liqueur. It is really a corruption of Rectifié-rectified spirit, and is the proper equivalent Red Mullet for the English word spirits, which may include anything from gin to maraschino.
RAVIGOTE-Pick-me-up. It comes from the French verb ravigoter, to cheer or strengthen. We give the name of pick-me-up to various bitter draughts taken before dinner to create an appetite. The French give the name of Ravigote to an assemblage of four herbs-tarragon, chervil, chives, burnet-minced small or used as a faggot, and supposed by their fine flavour to have a rare faculty of resuscitation. Ravigote (minced) is the favourite garniture for salads; and in this case is usually served on a saucer by itself, each herb being kept apart in four little heaps, to be used by the salad-maker at his pleasure. Ravigote Butter.-Knead cold fresh butter on a plate, with a chopped ravigote, pepper, salt, and lemon-juice. It is usual to blanch the herbs before chopping them. A pat of this butter is put cold on steaks or broiled fish, and melts upon them.
Ravigote Sauce is simply the English butter sauce to which a ravigote is added. Sometimes there is a little tarragon vinegar added, to bring out the supremacy of the tarragon in the ravigote class of herbs, but not to make the sauce sharp.
A more expensive but hardly more effective edition of this sauce is produced by heating and melting (observenot boiling) two wineglassfuls of Allemande sauce with an ounce of ravigote butter. When the butter is melted all is ready. Tarragon vinegar may here also be used, so long as it does not predominate too much in sharpening. Perhaps éditions de luxe are not of much real value. RED MULLET is called the woodcock of the sea, because, in theory at least, he is never gutted, and we are always supposed to eat the trail. It is curious, however, to see Red Mullet how nearly all the books, after first laying down the rule that it is wrong to clean this fish, at once proceed to explain how the rule may be violated, and he is to be served with only his liver. The fact is, that the red mullet is not a choice feeder, and his trail is by no means the delicacy which the rule so often violated would lead one to imagine. What, then, is the reason of the rule? It is simply this: that the liver of the red mullet is particularly good-so good that, in order to preserve it intact, the epicures of ancient times were content, cooking the fish whole, to have the other viscera sent to table along with it. We know better now; and, while careful to preserve every atom of the liver, reject the trail without any compunction. Next to the liver in repute stands the head. Heliogabalus had a dish made of the barbels alone-but this was of a red mullet peculiar to the Mediterranean.
Red mullets, on account of the tenuity of their skins, are best cooked in paper cases. Make a paper cradle for each fish, oiling it and baking it for a few minutes in order to harden it. Sprinkle the cradle with pepper and salt, and lay on it a piece of the best fresh butter. On this couch deposit the red mullet, and put a piece of fresh butter over him. Arrange the paper cases in a flat stewpan, or even in a baking-tin, and put them into the oven for twenty or thirty minutes. At the end of this time the red mullets, bedewed with lemon-juice, will be as pleasant to taste as lovely to look at. Only never forget, amid the blaze of vermilion tints, that the true worth of the fish resides not in the glitter of the skin, but in the dull brown of the liver, which may either lie exposed to view in the paper cradle at the side of its owner, or may be hidden from sight, as precious virtues often are, in the bosom of the mullet.
A more highly seasoned method is the following:-Put into a stewpan, or into paper cases, butter, white wine, minced shalots, pepper and salt. Arrange the mullets in Relish the pan, and put a piece of butter over each. Do them in the oven, and when sending them to table sprinkle them with lemon-juice and minced parsley.
Red mullets may be had all the year round, but they are best from midsummer to Christmas. The best used to be caught at Weymouth. Their head-quarters now are Hastings and Jersey. Get into the confidence of any good judge who understands the nature of John Dory, and he will unbosom to you a great secret that the glory of fish is a Dory graced with the livers of red mullets.
This is a dictionary page rather than a single recipe, but three workable sets of instructions sit inside it: a white ragout of mutton, ravigote butter and sauce, and red mullet baked in paper. The notes below apply to those.
- The hinge of the white ragoutThere is no roux, no flour and no browning; what body the sauce has comes from the long, low reduction of the mutton's own gelatine. Simmer very gently as the text says and do not let it colour — though note the recipe itself calls for a brisk boil once the vegetables go in for the last half-hour.
- Four hours, and saltFour hours at a genuine simmer is not excessive for neck or breast of mutton, though lamb of the same cut will be done in about two. Since the liquid reduces by half, salt only lightly at the start and correct at the end, as the text warns.
- Vegetable timingHalf an hour of brisk boiling suits potatoes and dried flageolets that have already been soaked and cooked, but it will destroy fresh peas. Add peas in the last five minutes, and cook rice separately unless you want the sauce starchy.
- Faggot of sweet-herbsA bundle of parsley stalks, thyme and a bay leaf tied with string, or wrapped in a leek leaf. "Spring onions" here means young green onions; a shalot is a shallot.
- Ravigote herbsTarragon, chervil, chives and salad burnet. Chervil and burnet are rarely sold in shops and are worth growing; if you must substitute, lean on the tarragon, which the book itself calls the ruling flavour, and do not reach for dried herbs.
- Butter sauce and Allemande"English butter sauce" is the flour-and-butter white sauce of the period, not beurre blanc. Allemande is a velouté enriched with egg yolk — it will curdle if boiled, which is why the text insists on heating without boiling.
- WineglassfulA Victorian wineglassful is generally reckoned at about 2 fl oz, so two wineglassfuls is roughly half a cup; the book does not define the measure. It is loose by modern standards; go by consistency.
- Red mullet in paperOiled kitchen paper is now parchment; skip the pre-baking step meant to stiffen it. The book gives no oven temperature; a moderate oven, around 350F, is a reasonable modern reading. Twenty to thirty minutes suits a fish of a pound or more, but a 6-8 oz mullet is cooked through in 12-15 minutes, and the flesh is delicate enough to go dry beyond that.
- The trailThe whole passage turns on eating the fish ungutted for the sake of its liver. Fish sold today is almost always gutted at the counter; if you want the liver you must buy the fish whole and very fresh, and ask for the guts kept aside. Ungutted fish spoils quickly and should be cooked the day it is caught or bought.
- YieldThe recipe gives no weight of meat; a neck or breast of the usual size will serve about four. The mullet is one fish per person.
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 page shows the book at its most characteristic: an alphabetical reference that keeps breaking into argument, etymology and opinion. The long digression on ragoût, haricot and navarin reflects a real and much-debated question — the mutton stew called haricot predates the arrival of the kidney bean in French kitchens, so the bean is generally thought to have taken its name from elsewhere rather than given it to the dish, though Dallas's confident account of the word travelling to the German frontier and back is his own. The derivation of ratafia from rectifié is likewise offered as fact but is only one of several traditional guesses. What is solid here is the cookery: a flourless white stew of mutton, a compound herb butter, and mullet baked in paper cases, all standard restaurant practice of the 1870s. The remark on red mullet as "the woodcock of the sea" was a commonplace of Victorian fish cookery, and the note that the best used to come from Weymouth but now from Hastings and Jersey is a small record of shifting English fisheries.