The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 1694

Epigrammes of Lamb a la Toulouse

Epigrammes d'Agneau a la Toulouse

Saw off the breasts from two racks of lamb, remove the bone covering the gristle and put the breasts in a saucepan lined with fat pork, carrots, onions and a garnished bouquet (No. 123); cook them just long enough to be able to remove the bones easily, and when this is done drain and range on a baking sheet and set a weight on top. From each rack make five covered cutlets, pare them nicely, season and fry to a fine color, dress and detach the stock from the pan with a little clear gravy (No. 404), with a little half-glaze sauce (No. 413). Pare the breasts into half hearts and when very cold round the angles and insert a bone into each pointed end of the meat; return these to the sautoir, and pour over the stock reduced to a half-glaze. Range the cutlets and breasts alternately or else in straight rows, one of cutlets and one of breasts, or if in a round have one half breasts and the other half cutlets; garnish the center with a Toulouse garnishing (No. 766) either laid in the center or else in a croustade, or should the epigrammes be dressed in a straight row, then place it around. Serve separately the stock strained through a sieve. A cutlet may be set on top a piece of breast which will serve as a crouton, and dress them crown-shaped with the garnishing in the center.

For the Modern Kitchen

This is a two-part dish built from one animal: the loin becomes chops, the breast is braised, pressed flat and cut into shapes so it can be served alongside them. The hinge is the pressing — the breast must be weighted and chilled solid before it is trimmed, or it will fall apart when you cut it.

A Little History

Epigramme is one of the oldest jokes in French cookery: an 18th-century anecdote, repeated in cookbooks ever since and generally treated as legend rather than documented fact, has a hostess mishearing praise of a dinner guest's épigrammes and ordering her cook to serve some. Whatever its origin, by the 19th century the word had a fixed technical meaning — a plate combining two cuts of lamb cooked two ways, the quick-grilled cutlet next to the slow-braised, pressed and re-fried breast. Charles Ranhofer, chef at Delmonico's in New York, published this version in The Epicurean (1894), and it shows the economics of a grand kitchen as clearly as its aesthetics: the breast was the cheap end of an expensive animal, and a house that could afford racks of lamb still expected the trimmings to come to the table looking like the best part. The Toulouse garnish, named for the city but by then a Parisian repertoire item, was the standard dressing for such a dish — quenelles, mushrooms and truffle in a pale sauce, heaped in the middle of a crown of chops.