The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 1901

Chickens a la Tunisian—Sauted

Poulets Sautes a la Tunisienne

Divide two two-pound chickens into five pieces each, range the pieces in a sautoir with half melted butter and half oil, saute on a moderate fire and then in the oven. When they are three-quarters cooked, season and finish, being careful to remove the fillets and other tender pieces as quickly as they get done; drain them all off, leaving only the fat in the sautoir, then pare the chickens piece by piece and range them at once in a low saucepan with a little clear gravy (No. 404) and meat glaze (No. 402); keep this in a warm place; fry two ounces of finely chopped onions in butter left from the chickens with the gizzards cooked and cut in small squares, the chopped up livers and four ounces of cold tenderloin of beef or lamb cut also into one-eighth inch squares, add salt, pepper and bread-crumbs and cool this off before breaking in a few raw egg-yolks. Form this preparation into five-eighths inch diameter balls and put them in with the chicken, also a quart of veloute (No. 415) and two gills of Madeira wine, let simmer and reduce the sauce, skimming off the fat. Dress the chickens in a pyramid form with the quenelles around, and cover over with a part of the sauce passed through a tammy, serving the remainder separately. Trim the pinion bones and drumsticks with paper frills (No. 10) and lay trussed crawfish all around.

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer writes for a brigade with stocks already made, so the work here is really three separate jobs: sauté and hold the chicken, build a forcemeat from the giblets, and finish everything in velouté. Read it through and set out the sauces before touching the birds.

A Little History

This comes from Charles Ranhofer's The Epicurean (1894), the enormous record of his years as chef at Delmonico's in New York, where the numbered cross-references to gravies, veloutés and paper frills functioned as a working kitchen manual rather than a home cookbook. The name is worth noting for what it does not contain: nineteenth-century French menu French attached "à la Tunisienne" fairly loosely to dishes, and here there is no harissa, no cumin, no couscous — only Madeira, velouté and a giblet forcemeat, which is to say a thoroughly Parisian sauté with a fashionable North African label. Such geographic titles were often a matter of garnish convention rather than provenance. The construction itself — sauté the bird, hold the pieces, build a sauce in the same pan, return everything to finish — is the classic poulet sauté method, and the use of gizzards, livers and leftover cold tenderloin in the quenelles shows a grand restaurant kitchen making use of the parts that came attached.