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Mussels in Shells
Procure some small mussels, they being the most delicate, scrape the shells and wash them in several waters, to remove all the grit. Put the mussels in a stewpan with one sliced onion, a small bunch of parsley, and one pint of French white wine; season with pepper and salt, stand the pan over the fire till the shells open, when the mussels will be done. Take them cut of their shells, clean thoroughly, and cut them into halves; strain the cooking liquor of the mussels into another saucepan, mix with it an equal quantity of veloute sauce, and boil until reduced to about half of its original quantity. Thicken the sauce with a lump of butter or a liaison of two yolks of eggs, stirring by the side of the fire and not allowing it to boil after the eggs are added; put the mussels in the sauce with one tablespoonful of chopped parsley. Fill some silver shells with the above mixture, cover with finely grated breadcrumbs, put a small bit of butter on the top of each, and brown in the oven; when cooked, arrange the shells on an ornamental dish paper or a folded napkin that has been placed on a hot dish, garnish with neat sprigs of fried parsley, arranging it here and there between the shells, and serve. Mussels, Matelote Wash and clean some mussels, put them into a saucepan over a clear fire, and toss or hustle them until the shells open. Turn the mussels into a colander placed over a pan, so as to save all their liquor, and remove the half shells, beards, etc.; put two tablespoonfuls of chopped shallots and a clove of garlic into a saucepan with a little butter, and fry without letting them take color; put in the mussels, pour over one wineglassful of wine and the mussel liquor, place the pan over the fire, boil for a few minutes, thicken with a piece of butter kneaded with finely minced breadcrumbs, parsley and a little cayenne, and toss the pan for a little while longer until all the butter is melted. Put them in a metal dish, pour over the liquor, stand in another dish, garnish with fried parsley, and serve very hot.
Mussels, Poulette Style Take some mussels that have been hustled or plainly cooked, remove the half shell that does not contain the fish, take off the beard and weed, remove any young crabs there may be, and put them on a dish either piled up or packed closely together. In the meantime prepare a little melted butter, made with the mussel liquor instead of water and a good quantity of butter, and sprinkle over a little pepper and sufficient vinegar to give it a sharp taste; make this mixture hot, pour it over the mussels and serve at once. Nutmeg, mace, or chopped parsley and chives may be added to the sauce if desired to heighten the flavor.
Three mussel preparations run together in one block of type, all built on the same first step: steam the mussels open, then save every drop of their liquor. That liquor is the seasoning, so do not salt heavily until the sauce is reduced.
- Quantities, since none are givenTwo pounds of mussels in the shell serves one person as a main course, or two as an appetizer. A pint of wine is generous for that amount; a cup is enough to open them, and less liquid means a more concentrated sauce.
- A wineglassfulIn American cookbooks of this period a wineglass is about 2 fluid ounces, a quarter cup. It is a splash to loosen the pan, not a braising liquid.
- Purging the gritCultivated rope-grown mussels are largely clean and need only a scrub and a rinse. Wild or bottom-grown mussels genuinely need Oscar's several waters, plus a half hour sitting in cold salted water so they spit out sand. Debeard by pulling the tuft toward the hinge just before cooking, not hours ahead.
- Sorting before and afterDiscard any raw mussel that is cracked or that stays gaping after a sharp tap. After steaming, discard any that are still tightly shut; the flesh inside will be off. The "young crabs" Oscar mentions are pea crabs, harmless commensals that live in the mantle, and they simply get picked out.
- Don't overcook themMussels are done the moment the shells open, three to five minutes over high heat. Anything past that and they shrink to erasers. Pull them out of the pot as they open rather than waiting for the last stubborn one.
- VeloutéA white stock thickened with a blond roux, in this case best made with fish or light chicken stock. Equal parts velouté and reduced mussel liquor, then boiled down by half, gives a sauce that coats a spoon.
- The liaisonThis is the hinge of the first recipe. Once the egg yolks go in, the sauce must never boil or it will curdle into scrambled threads. Temper the yolks with a ladle of hot sauce first, return the pan to the edge of the heat, and stir until it thickens at around 175F.
- Silver shells and the ovenThese are the small scallop-shaped gratin dishes of the period; ramekins, coquille dishes, or the deeper mussel shells themselves all work. Brown the crumbs in a hot oven, 425F, for five to eight minutes, or under the broiler for two, just long enough to color the top without cooking the mussels a second time.
- "Hustled"Oscar's term for tossing the pan over a clear fire until the shells open, with no added liquid. It is how the Matelote begins, and the Poulette allows mussels "hustled or plainly cooked"; the first recipe instead opens them in white wine with onion and parsley.
- Fried parsleyDry sprigs dropped into 350F fat for a few seconds, until they stop spitting and turn bright and brittle. Wet parsley will spatter violently, so dry it thoroughly.
- "A little melted butter" in the PouletteIn nineteenth-century English usage "melted butter" is a sauce, butter thickened with flour and liquid, not simply butter liquefied in a pan. Here the mussel liquor stands in for the water.
Oscar Tschirky, the maitre d'hotel whose name carried the Waldorf's kitchen into print in 1896, was compiling from the French professional repertoire, and it shows in these three treatments: poulette (here a sharpened butter or velouté sauce; the name is usually connected to poulette, a young hen, though the reason for the association is not settled), matelote (from matelot, sailor, wine and shallot and garlic), and the gratin served in shells on a folded napkin. Mussels occupied an odd place in American dining at the time. Oysters were eaten in enormous quantity in every class of establishment, while mussels were cheap, abundant, and associated with French and Belgian cooking. In a hotel kitchen the French name and the silver shell reframed them as something finer. The insistence on scraping, several waters, beards, weed and pea crabs is a reminder that these were wild-gathered mussels off pilings and rocks, not the clean rope-cultured product now sold in mesh bags.