The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 1157

Flounders a la Madeleine

Plies Carrelets ou Limandes a la Madeleine

Remove the fillets and skin from the fish; season and cover the side the skin was taken from, with a fish quenelle forcemeat (No. 90) with cooked fine herbs (No. 385) mixed in it; roll them up cork-shaped, and set them in buttered tin paupiette rings; place these on sheets of buttered paper, then in a sautoir, moisten with mirepoix stock (No. 419), and cook in the oven until properly done, then unmold and dip each one in beaten eggs, then in bread-crumbs; fry a fine color and dress on napkins with a bunch of fried parsley on top. The sauce to accompany these is made with one shallot, a medium sized onion, as much celery root and carrots, all cut up into three-sixteenth inch squares, blanch the carrots and celery in salted water, then set them into a little white broth to let fall to a glaze; fry lightly the shallots and onions, add to them the carrots and celery, and moisten with broth, throw in a little sugar, then cook in such a way that the vegetables are done when the liquid is entirely reduced. Moisten again with cream, reduce once more, thicken with egg-yolks and fresh butter, add a little powdered sweet pepper, and serve.

For the Modern Kitchen

A two-stage dish: the stuffed fillets are first poached in the oven, then chilled, breaded and fried. Ranhofer assumes you have his forcemeat, herb and stock recipes to hand, so the cross-references need filling in before you start.

A Little History

This comes from Charles Ranhofer's The Epicurean (1894), the enormous record of his years as chef at Delmonico's in New York, where the fish chapter alone runs through dozens of preparations of sole, flounder and turbot under French names. "Plies, carrelets ou limandes" reflects a real problem for an American kitchen working from a French repertoire: true Dover sole was not reliably available on this side of the Atlantic, so the winter flounder, dab and plaice of the North Atlantic stood in for it, and Ranhofer lists the alternatives openly. Dish names of this kind are legion in the book, commonly honoring people or places, and the recipe immediately before this one is named for the critic Jules Janin. The technique itself is pure haute cuisine of the period: a fillet lined with quenelle forcemeat, rolled, poached, then crumbed and fried so that the diner gets a crisp shell around a pale mousse, with a glazed brunoise of root vegetables bound by an egg-and-butter liaison alongside.