The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 1588

Haricot of Breast of Mutton with Turnips

Haricot de Mouton aux Navets

Have three pounds of breast of mutton cut up into two inches pieces; fry them in six ounces of butter letting them get a fine color, then drain them through a colander; trim and cut the bones, pare square, add one ounce of flour to the butter and when slightly browned, moisten with the three pints of broth, (No. 194a) boil, skim off the fat and strain through a tammy. Set all this into a clean saucepan and add to it the well-pared pieces of meat, add two carrots, two onions, one with three cloves in it, a bunch of parsley garnished with bay leaf, thyme and a clove of garlic, salt and pepper; let boil until the meat is well cooked and the sauce properly reduced. Pare two pounds of turnips the same shape as pigeon's eggs, fry them in butter and as they first begin to brown, sprinkle over with powdered sugar, and when they have attained a very fine color, put them into the stew removing the fat pieces an hour before serving allowing them all to cook together After the meat is done, which can easily be perceived if the bones detach easily, remove the carrots, onions and parsley, then dress the meat and garnish with the turnips; strain the sauce and pour it over; in case the sauce be too thin reduce it until it acquires proper consistency.

For the Modern Kitchen

A classic brown mutton stew, glazed turnips and all. The method is sound as written; the vocabulary and the fat quantities are what need translating.

A Little History

Haricot de mouton has nothing to do with beans, despite the spelling: the name is generally traced to the old French verb harigoter, to cut up or shred, and the dish was a way of cutting up the cheaper joints — breast, tendon, shoulder — into something worth serving. The confusion with haricot beans is old enough that English cookbooks of the eighteenth century sometimes put beans in it. Charles Ranhofer, chef of Delmonico's in New York, printed The Epicurean in 1894 as a complete record of a grand restaurant kitchen, and its mutton chapter runs through every cut methodically; this entry sits between a navarin and a carbonade, all variations on the same principle of braising sheep with root vegetables. The glazed turnips are the mark of the professional kitchen rather than the domestic one — browning and sugaring them in a separate pan is an extra step, and it is exactly what lifts the dish.