No. 1363

Double Porterhouse Steak a la Sanford

Bifteck d'Aloyau Double a la Sanford

Mr. Wright Sanford, one of the most fervent disciples of the house of Delmonico, and an acknowledged epicurean, was specially fond of ordering this dish. Much care should be given to its cooking which must operate slowly, while maintaining the same degree of heat throughout, so that it thoroughly reaches the steak.

Cut through all the thickness of the short loin a slice two and a quarter inches thick; it should weigh after being trimmed, four pounds and a half. Season with salt, cover with oil, and broil the steak on a slow, but well sustained fire for twenty-four minutes if needed rare, twenty-eight minutes to be properly done, and thirty-two minutes if desired well done. Turn the meat over when half cooked, dress the steak on a very hot dish, garnish the top with ribbons of horseradish (No. 98), and pour around a Madeira sauce (No. 492), well buttered with some maitre d'hotel butter (No. 581).

← No. 1362 Porterhouse Steak Beef No. 1364 Rib Steak a la Bercy →

For the Modern Kitchen

A four-and-a-half pound porterhouse cooked whole over coals, then carved at table. The technique is sound; only the equipment and the reliance on a clock need translating.

"Broil" means live coalsIn Ranhofer's kitchen this steak went on a grill over a bed of hardwood or charcoal embers, not under an overhead element. A charcoal or gas grill set up for medium-low indirect heat gives the "slow, but well sustained fire" the recipe insists on.
The hinge: even, moderate heatThe instruction to cook slowly at a constant temperature is the whole point of the dish. A 2¼-inch steak seared hard will char outside before the center is warm. Hold the grill around 300–325F, cook to temperature, then finish over the hottest part of the fire for a minute or two a side if you want a crust.
Cut and weightA slice cut through the full thickness of the short loin, 2¼ inches thick, trimmed to 4½ lb. Butchers now sell this as a double porterhouse or, from the front of the loin, a thick T-bone. Order it by thickness rather than weight and expect to ask a few days ahead.
Use a thermometer, not the clockThe 24 / 28 / 32-minute timings assume a specific fire, a specific grill height and a steak at cellar temperature. A thermometer is more reliable: roughly 120-125F for rare, 130-135F for medium-rare, and 155F and above for well done, measuring in the thick strip side away from the bone.
Rest itThe Epicurean says nothing about resting. A steak this size needs 10-15 minutes tented loosely before carving, or the juices end up on the platter rather than in the meat.
Ribbons of horseradishNo. 98 is the book's horseradish garnish: the fresh root shaved into long thin ribbons, ice water helping them curl and firm up. Jarred prepared horseradish is a different thing entirely; buy the root, peel it and use a vegetable peeler.
The sauceMadeira sauce (No. 492) in this book is built on the house espagnole reduced with Madeira. A reduction of good stock, shallot and Madeira mounted with butter serves the same purpose. The maître d'hôtel butter (No. 581) is butter worked with parsley, lemon juice, salt and pepper, whisked in off the heat.
ServingFour and a half pounds on the bone feeds four to six. Carve the strip and the tenderloin off the bone in one piece each, then slice across the grain and reassemble the slices against the bone on the hot platter.

A Little History

The Epicurean (1894) is Charles Ranhofer's record of thirty-odd years as chef at Delmonico's in New York, and it is unusual among cookbooks in naming the customers who liked particular dishes. Wright Sanford, identified here only as a devoted patron, gets his name on a steak the way Delmonico regulars got their names on lobster and potato dishes. Christening plates after guests, actors and visiting dignitaries was part of the appeal of eating there. The dish itself is barely a recipe: a very large porterhouse, salt, oil, fire, and three classic accompaniments cross-referenced by number to other pages. That is a fair portrait of what a great American restaurant of the Gilded Age actually sold. The prime beef of the era, hung and cut extravagantly thick, was the luxury; the cooking was a matter of judgment at the grill, and Ranhofer spends his words on the one thing he could not assume, which is patience with the fire.