The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 1317

Edgebone or Aitchbone, Boiled Cream Horseradish Sauce

Quasi de Boeuf bouilli Sauce Raifort a la Creme

Edgebone or aitchbone, is a bone of the rump which in dressed beef presents itself in view edgewise; it is also called aitchbone.

Have a piece of the edgebone weighing twelve pounds; put it in a soup pot capable of holding twice the quantity the size of the meat. Cover with some good broth (No. 194a), place it on the hot fire to bring to a boil, salt to taste, skim well, and add two pounds of carrots, or four medium sized ones, two fine turnips, a four ounce onion stuck with two cloves, six leeks, half a medium sized parsnip, a small handful of celery and one cabbage. Simmer slowly for three or four hours, and when the meat is cooked, drain and dish it up, laying the carrots and turnips cut into pieces, also the cabbage nicely trimmed, around the sides, and green sprigs of parsley at the ends. Serve separately a cream horseradish sauce (No. 478).

For the Modern Kitchen

A plain boiled beef dinner scaled for a hotel dining room: twelve pounds of bone-in rump, a pot of vegetables, and a cold-ish cream horseradish alongside. Almost everything that needs adjusting is a matter of scale and of the two cross-references Ranhofer expects you to look up.

A Little History

Boiled beef with a root-vegetable garnish is among the plainer things in The Epicurean (1894), Charles Ranhofer's record of thirty-odd years as chef at Delmonico's in New York, and its presence there is telling: even a restaurant famous for elaborate garnishes and French titles kept a solid English-style boiled joint on the books. The word aitchbone is generally traced to Middle English nache, buttock, from Latin natis; "a nachebone" was misheard as "an aitchbone," and butchers separately explained the name by the bone's H-like shape, while Ranhofer explains the variant "edgebone" by the fact that the bone shows edgewise in a dressed side of beef. The cut is a working-kitchen economy joint, tough, gelatinous and cheap, which is why it belongs to the boiling pot rather than the roasting spit; horseradish beaten into cream is its standard English partner, a pairing already old by the time this book was printed.