The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 1844

Chicken Fillets or Breasts a la Harrison

Filets ou Ailes de Poulet a la Harrison

Pare twelve raw chicken fillets to the shape of half hearts; lift off the minion fillets and remove the sinews and fine skin which covers, then cut six bias incisions through half of the thickness of these minions and in each of them lay a thin round slice of truffle. Place the fillets in a buttered sautoir and the scored minions on top lengthwise, pour butter over and cover with a strong buttered paper; cook for ten to twelve minutes on a slow fire. Prepare some boned terrapin a la Maryland (No. 1085); spread a quarter inch thick layer of this on a baking sheet and when cold cut it up into oblong pieces, one and three-quarters wide by three and a half long; dip these pieces in eggs and bread-crumbs, and fry to a fine color; drain, wipe and dress the fillets flat on these terrapin crusts. Pour a little half-glaze (No. 400) with Madeira in the bottom of the dish and serve with a separate sauce-boat of espagnole sauce (No. 414) into which squeeze the juice of an orange, adding a dash of cayenne pepper, meat glaze (No. 402) and plenty of butter.

For the Modern Kitchen Do not make this as written.

Ranhofer builds this from three separate recipes in The Epicurean, and the base layer is the problem: the crusts are made from cooked diamondback terrapin, which cannot be obtained legally today in most of the United States. The chicken work is worth reading for its technique, but the dish as printed is not makeable.

A Little History

Terrapin was the great luxury of American hotel and club cooking between roughly 1850 and 1910, and priced accordingly; Baltimore and Philadelphia kitchens made it a matter of civic pride, and "terrapin à la Maryland" was its standard form. Charles Ranhofer ran the kitchen at Delmonico's in New York for over thirty years, and The Epicurean (1894) is essentially that restaurant's working archive, which explains both the dedications to patrons and the endless internal cross-references. Dishes named for individuals were the house's currency: a regular customer, a visiting dignitary or a public figure would be honored with a composition, and the name then stuck in the book. The scale of demand suggested by pages like this one is often cited among the pressures that led to the diamondback terrapin being protected within a generation.