The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 1204

Matelote of Carp, Miroir

Matelote de Carpe, Miroir

Scale, the carp, draw it by the stomach, tie down the head and place it in a narrow low-bordered baking tin, lined with fat pork, minced roots and onions, mushroom peelings and a bunch of parsley; salt the fish, moisten it to half its height with white wine and fish broth, let it come quickly to a boil, and ten minutes after cover the fish over with a strong buttered paper, set it in a moderate oven, to finish cooking slowly without turning it over, but basting frequently. When done remove the fish from the pan with a large perforated skimmer, and dress it on a dish, surround it with a garnishing of very white peeled mushrooms and keep it warm. Strain the liquid into a sautoir, remove the fat and pour in a glassful of red wine; reduce it over a slow fire, and when very succulent, thicken with kneaded butter (No. 579); cover the fish with some of the sauce and serve the remainder separately.

For the Modern Kitchen

This is a braise disguised as a poach: the carp sits in barely enough liquid to reach halfway up, and the cooking liquor becomes the sauce. Ranhofer assumes you have a fish kettle, a sautoir and a cook to baste every few minutes.

A Little History

Matelote comes from matelot, sailor, and named the freshwater fish stews of the Loire, the Marne and the Rhine, cooked in wine with onions and thickened at the last minute — boatmen's food that the professional kitchen took over and refined. Charles Ranhofer, chef of Delmonico's in New York, prints a whole run of them in The Epicurean (1894), each with a different label: canotiers (boatmen), pêcheurs (fishermen), and this one, miroir, mirror — often said, though it is only a plausible guess, to refer to the glossy, unbroken sheet of reduced sauce poured over the whole fish rather than to any particular garnish. Carp was still a serious market fish in America then, farmed in ponds since the Middle Ages in Europe and stocked widely in United States waters in the 1870s and 1880s; its near-disappearance from restaurant menus since says more about changing fashion than about the fish.