Sturgeon
It is some consolation to Englishmen, who seldom see the sturgeon at their tables, that this royal, although sharklike fish, has a wonderful resemblance to veal. It is therefore to be larded, like veal, in the Chambord style, either with bacon, or with truffles and anchovies. It is then to be either roasted, baked or brazed, and served, like veal, with a purée of sorrel or of endive. It may also be stewed with excellent effect in a Mirepoix of white wine. It, of course, means not the sturgeon (which sometimes weighs more than a ton), but such a manageable portion of him as it may be possible to obtain. A slice from the back, with its taste of veal, has the preference. The belly part tastes of pork.
It is said that when sturgeon are in season, no less than two-thirds of the female consists of roe. It is certainly odd to think of a fish weighing perhaps 1,000 pounds, being two-thirds made up of eggs. Here is life rushing into reproduction with a vengeance. At such a rate of reproduction the world would soon become the abode of sturgeons alone, were it not that the roe is exceedingly Supreme good, and the lovers of caviare are more general than Shakespeare knew.
This is a method rather than a formula: treat a cut of sturgeon exactly as you would a veal roast. The instructions assume a kitchen with a larding needle and a stock pot, so a few translations are needed.
- SourcingWild sturgeon is protected across most of its range and its trade is restricted under CITES; buy farmed sturgeon, which is now raised in the United States, Italy and France. A 1.5-2 lb loin cut from the back is the equivalent of the "manageable portion" described here and serves four.
- Chambord styleIn the nineteenth century à la Chambord meant a large fish larded (with bacon, or with truffle and anchovy as here), braised in wine and dressed with a rich garnish. The larding is the whole point of the comparison with veal: sturgeon is firm and meaty and goes dry if pushed, and strips of fat or truffle threaded through the loin help keep it moist.
- MirepoixKettner uses the older sense of the word: not a bed of diced vegetables but the aromatic braising liquid itself, wine with carrot, onion, herbs and often ham or bacon, in which the fish is cooked. Enough to come halfway up the piece is right; the reduced liquid becomes the sauce.
- Oven heatFor baking or braising a larded loin, 325-350F is the useful range. A hotter oven squeezes moisture out of the muscle before the centre is done.
- The hinge: internal temperatureSturgeon behaves like a meat rather than a flaky fish and goes tough and dense if pushed. Cooks after a juicy result pull it at 130-140F at the thickest point and rest it, though standard food-safety guidance for fish is 145F. There is no visible flaking to judge by, so use a thermometer.
- Which cutThe preference for the back over the belly is sound. The belly is fattier and coarser, closer in flavour to pork as described, and is better cut into cubes and stewed than roasted whole.
- Sorrel and endive puréeSorrel and endive purée -- Both are still made the same way: sorrel wilted in butter and sieved, or endive braised and blended - though 'endive' in an English book of this date may mean curly endive rather than the Belgian chicon. Sorrel's acidity does the work of a lemon here and is worth the trouble with such a rich fish.
- The roeThe claim about caviare is accurate as far as it goes, but roe from a fish you buy whole is not something to salt and hold at home without measured salt percentages and refrigeration; buy cured caviar rather than attempting it.
Kettner's Book of the Table (1877), written by the journalist E. S. Dallas around the reputation of Auguste Kettner's Soho restaurant, is arranged as an alphabetical dictionary, which is why an entry like this reads as commentary with a method folded into it. The description of sturgeon as "royal" is not flattery: under long-standing English prerogative, sturgeon taken in English waters or cast ashore belonged to the Crown, a rule generally traced to a fourteenth-century statute on royal fish, and this is one reason Dallas can assume his readers have rarely eaten one. Sturgeon were taken from the Thames and Severn from time to time, but by the 1870s such catches were a curiosity, and much of what reached London came in preserved form, including imported caviare. The closing line nods to Hamlet's "caviare to the general" or a taon a taste too refined for the crowd, which Dallas suggests had by his own day become common enough to spoil the joke.