The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 1199

Spanish Mackerel with Gooseberries—Stuffeed

Maquereau Espagnol Farci Garni de Groseilles Vertes

Split well-cleaned mackerel down the back; take out the bone just below the head and two inches above the tail; season the inside and fill the empty space with a fish forcemeat (No. 76), into which has been added some allemande sauce (No. 407), and a third of its quantity of cooked fine herbs, give the fish its original shape, roll it tightly in two sheets of paper and tie it at both ends, in the center and once again between these, making in all five rows of string; place the fish on a baking pan, set it in the oven for twenty to thirty minutes, remove, unwrap and dress, serving with a garnishing of gooseberries around the fish.

For a Gooseberry Garnishing take half a pound of gooseberries; suppress the stalks and ends, then blanch them for two minutes in boiling water in an untinned copper vessel or until they crush between the fingers, drain and then mix them in a thickened maitre d'hotel sauce (No. 493); pour over the fish and garnish.

For the Modern Kitchen Do not make this as written.

Ranhofer writes for a brigade that already has forcemeat, allemande and maître d'hôtel sauce standing by, and assumes you can read an oven by feel. The two things worth getting right here are the paper wrapping and the copper.

A Little History

Charles Ranhofer ran the Delmonico's kitchens in New York and published The Epicurean in 1894 as a complete record of that house's repertoire, which is why every component here is a cross-reference to another number rather than a written-out method. The pairing itself is older and thoroughly Anglo-French: maquereau à la groseille, mackerel with a sharp green gooseberry sauce, appears in English and Norman cooking well before Delmonico's, and the logic is the same as apple with pork or verjuice with fatty meat, an acid to cut through an oily fish. The French name for the gooseberry, groseille à maquereau, literally the mackerel currant, is generally taken as evidence of how long the two have been eaten together. What this version adds to the plain grilled fish is the boning and stuffing, which turns it into a course that could be carved at table, and the untinned copper blanch, a standard professional dodge of the period for holding the colour of green fruit and vegetables that the trade abandoned once its effects were better understood.