A three-minute dish that lives or dies on the heat of the pan. Ranhofer gives no quantities, so treat it as a technique: about a dozen oysters per person as a first course.
- The hinge: dry oysters, hot butterShucked oysters carry a great deal of liquor, and flour applied to a wet oyster turns to paste. Drain them in a sieve, blot them on a towel, flour them at the last possible moment, and put them into butter that is already foaming.
- "Very warm butter"This means butter hot enough to sizzle on contact but not browned — roughly medium-high in a wide skillet. Clarified butter, or butter cut with a spoonful of neutral oil, holds up better than whole butter at that heat.
- TimingThirty to sixty seconds a side, until the flour is pale gold and the edges just ruffle. A long simmer, as some period oyster recipes call for, leaves them shrunken and rubbery.
- Don't crowd the panOysters release liquid as they heat; too many at once drops the temperature and they steam rather than saute. Cook in two or three batches in a large pan and keep the finished ones on a warmed dish.
- "Fines herbes"In classic French usage this is chervil, parsley, chives and tarragon; Ranhofer omits the tarragon here. His insistence on chopping each herb separately is practical — they bruise at different rates, and chopping them together turns the parsley to green mush.
- Chervil substitutionChervil is still hard to find outside farmers' markets. A little tarragon plus extra parsley approximates its faint anise note; dried chervil contributes nothing.
- Oyster size"Medium-sized" points to the ordinary East Coast market oysters of the day, a few inches at most. Large Pacific oysters are too big for this treatment and may still be raw inside when the flour has browned.
- ServingNo sauce is built in the pan, so serve immediately, straight from the skillet to a hot plate; Ranhofer has the lemon squeezed over before it goes out.
Charles Ranhofer worked as chef at Delmonico's in New York across two separate stints spanning more than thirty years, and The Epicurean (1894) is essentially the restaurant's working repertoire set down in print — which is why the oyster section runs to dozens of numbered variations, from curried to Parmesan-crusted. Oysters were then among the cheaper proteins on the American seaboard, dredged from beds in the Chesapeake and Long Island Sound in such volume that they were street food as much as restaurant food, and a kitchen that wanted to charge for them had to do something clever. Dredging in flour and sauteing in butter is the plainest of those clever things: it is the French treatment a la meuniere, normally applied to sole or trout, transferred wholesale to a shellfish. The fines herbes finish is likewise straight out of the French classical vocabulary, and its appearance over an American oyster is a fair summary of what Delmonico's was selling — local raw material handled in the French classical manner.