No. 1846

Chicken Fillets or Breasts a la Lucullus

Filets ou Ailes de Poulet a la Lucullus

The large and the minion fillets are to be prepared as described in the Harrison fillets (No. 1844), lay them in a buttered sautoir, twisting slightly so as to have them assume the shape of a chop; lay the minion fillets on the outside edge of the large fillet, mask with melted butter, cover with a strong buttered paper and cook in a slack oven for twelve to fifteen minutes; trim the pointed ends with favor frills (No. 10); dress the fillets in a circle filling up the inside with a garnishing of truffles and tongue balls half an inch in diameter, also capon kidneys, all to be mixed with bearnaise sauce (No. 433) into which has been stirred a few spoonfuls of meat-glaze (No. 402).

← No. 1845 Chicken Fillets and Breasts a la Lorenzo Chicken No. 1847 Chicken Fillets or Breasts a la Marceau →

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer writes for a brigade with a stockpot always going, so this entry leans on cross-references and on garnishes that no longer sit in a home refrigerator. The cooking itself is simple: gentle butter-poaching of boneless breast under paper.

The large and minion filletsEvery chicken breast has a small tapered muscle attached to the underside — the tenderloin, Ranhofer's filet mignon or minion fillet. Separate it, flatten both pieces lightly, and lay the tenderloin along the outer curve of the breast so the pair reads as a chop.
SautoirA straight-sided shallow pan, not a casserole dish. Any wide, low-sided skillet that can go into the oven will do; butter it generously since the fillets are meant to cook in fat, not liquid.
A slack ovenSlack is among the coolest of the period's oven designations — very roughly 275-300F, though the term was never precise. At that sort of temperature twelve to fifteen minutes is plausible for a thin fillet; go by an internal reading of 165F rather than the clock, as chicken breast dries within a minute or two of doneness.
Buttered paperThis is a cartouche: parchment cut to the pan, buttered on the underside, laid directly on the meat. It traps steam and keeps the surface pale, which is the point — these fillets should never brown.
Favor frillsThe paper cuffs once slipped over trimmed bone ends or protruding points. Purely decorative and entirely optional; the dish loses nothing without them.
Tongue ballsCooked, cured beef tongue scooped into balls half an inch across, as the recipe specifies; a small melon baller is the easiest tool. Pickled or brined tongue from a deli counter works, and the red colour against black truffle is presumably part of the point.
Capon kidneysCock's or capon kidneys, poached and used as a garnish; the French rognons de coq was also used for the testicles. They are not available in general retail. Small poached chicken livers or additional truffle keep the character of the garnish without pretending to substitute.
The sauceBéarnaise with a few spoonfuls of meat glaze stirred in: reduced brown stock cooked down to a syrup, which darkens and deepens the sauce. Add it off the heat and warm only gently, since béarnaise will curdle if it gets much hotter than a warm hold.
YieldFigure one large fillet with its tenderloin per person; the fillets are dressed in a circle with the garnish mounded in the centre, though the recipe gives no number.

A Little History

Charles Ranhofer, chef at Delmonico's in New York for over thirty years, published The Epicurean in 1894 as a complete record of the restaurant's repertoire, and its chicken chapter runs to dozens of near-identical fillet preparations distinguished only by garnish and sauce — Lorenzo, Lucullus, Marceau, Harrison — a system that let a kitchen build a long menu from one technique. The name honours Lucius Licinius Lucullus, the Roman general whose banquets became a byword for extravagance; by the nineteenth century a la Lucullus was culinary shorthand for the costliest garnish on hand, which in this case means truffle, tongue and cock's kidneys. That such offal was a luxury item rather than a curiosity says a good deal about how much closer a 1890s restaurant kitchen stood to the whole bird than ours does.