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Mutton Kidneys in Border
Mould a border of chicken forcemeat or potato and turn it on to a hot broad round dish. Fill the center with sliced mutton kidneys prepared by stewing in Madeira and then masking half of the slices with Spanish sauce and the remaining half with veloute. This gives a very pretty and artistic effect, the slices of kidney partaking of two colors, brown and white. Great care is required in arranging the slices to give them the appearance of being loosely tossed together. Prepare a sauce from the wine stock by thickening it with roux, season with pepper and salt, and serve separately in a sauceboat. Kidneys on Skewers Remove the skin from a few kidneys and cut them nearly through, keeping them spread out by the use of skewers. Dip in a little warmed butter, put them on a buttered gridiron and cook for eight minutes, turning often. Place them on a dish, add a little chopped parsley, lemon juice, pepper and salt to the butter, pour over it, and serve.
Two related dishes: a composed plated presentation built on a piped or moulded ring, and a simple grilled kidney. The whole effect of the first depends on the two sauces staying distinct and the kidneys not overcooking.
- The hinge: cook the kidneys brieflySliced kidney wants two to four minutes in the hot Madeira, no more. Held at a simmer it turns grainy and rubbery, and no amount of sauce hides it. Lift the slices out, reduce the wine, and return them only to warm through.
- Spanish sauce and velouteSpanish sauce is sauce espagnole, the brown mother sauce built on brown roux and brown stock. Veloute is the pale equivalent, white roux with veal or chicken stock. The contrast of the two is the entire point of the dish, so keep them in separate pans and mask alternate slices.
- The border"Mould a border" means a ring mould: forcemeat steamed in a buttered ring, or stiff duchesse-style potato piped into a circle and browned. Turn it out onto a heated platter and fill the well. The original gives no quantities; an 8-9 inch ring would suit roughly four servings.
- Chicken forcemeatA quenelle mixture: raw chicken breast pureed with egg white and cream, seasoned, poached gently. A food processor does in a minute what the original cook did with a mortar and sieve. Do not let it break by over-processing warm cream.
- Buying the kidneysMutton means an adult sheep, rarely sold in the United States; lamb kidneys are the substitute and are milder. Allow two per person. Strip the membrane, cut out the white core and fatty gristle, and if the smell is strong soak in milk or lightly salted water for half an hour.
- The finishing sauceThe pan sauce is simply the strained Madeira cooking liquor thickened with a little roux, or more easily by whisking in beurre manie off the boil. Season at the end; reduced wine and stock concentrate their own salt.
- Kidneys on skewers"Cut them nearly through" is butterflying: split lengthwise almost to the far edge and hold flat with two skewers crossed through. Eight minutes over a hot grill or in a heavy ridged pan is right for lamb kidneys, turned often, and they should stay faintly pink inside.
- The butter dressingThe parsley, lemon, pepper and salt go into the warm basting butter, not into a fresh pan. It is a maitre d'hotel butter in liquid form, poured over the kidneys as they go to table.
Oscar Tschirky's book records the Waldorf's kitchen at the end of the nineteenth century, when hotel cooking in New York was largely governed by the French repertoire associated with Careme and, shortly afterwards, Escoffier, and organ meats sat comfortably on grand menus rather than at their margins. Dishes served en bordure, ringed by moulded forcemeat or piped potato, were a common device of that repertoire: the border contained the sauce and raised the dish above the plate. The two-tone masking described here, half espagnole and half veloute, is hotel showmanship of the period, when a kitchen would have both mother sauces to hand through service. The grilled kidneys that follow belong to the older, plainer English tradition, familiar from the breakfast sideboard and the chophouse gridiron, and the pairing of the two on one page shows how readily an American hotel cook moved between the two cuisines.