No. 1915

Chicken with Tarragon—Braised

Poulet Braise a l'Estragon

Choose a good three-pound, very white chicken; singe and draw it well; clean and free it from pin feathers; slip between the skin and breast meat a six ounce piece of butter mingling it with a heavy pinch of tarragon leaves; truss for an entree (No. 178), and cover with bards of fat pork; place it in a saucepan, also the neck, gizzard, and a few veal parings; moisten just sufficiently to cover the chicken having three-quarters of unskimmed broth (No. 194a), and one-quarter of white wine. Boil up this liquid, then remove the saucepan to a more moderate fire to allow the chicken to cook for forty-five to sixty minutes; when properly done, strain the liquid, free it of fat, and put this latter in with the chicken to keep it warm. Throw a few tarragon leaves into a little boiling water; take the saucepan from the fire at the first boil, and drain these leaves on a sieve. Clarify the chicken stock, reduce, and afterward add to it a piece of chicken glaze (No. 398), and the juice of one lemon; untruss the chicken, dress and decorate the breast with the blanched tarragon leaves; pour a part of the gravy around, serving the remainder in a sauce-boat.

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For the Modern Kitchen

A gently braised whole bird from Delmonico's kitchen, closer to a poach in rich stock than to a modern oven braise. Two things carry it: the liquid must never return to a boil after the first one, and the tarragon must be French.

The hinge — no boilingAfter the initial boil-up, the pot goes to "a more moderate fire." Ranhofer gives no temperature, but the sense is a gentle simmer: a rolling boil in that quantity of liquid will squeeze the breast dry and cloud the stock you are about to clarify and reduce.
Six ounces of butterThat is a stick and a half worked under the breast skin, generous even by 1894 standards for a three-pound bird. Three to four tablespoons, softened and mashed with the tarragon, does the same work without flooding the braising liquid with fat.
Bards of fat porkThin sheets of pork fatback, tied over the breast to keep it from drying. Unsmoked fatback from a butcher, or salt pork sliced paper-thin, is the closest thing; blanch it a minute first if it is heavily salted. Thin-cut unsmoked bacon will do, though it reads as smoke in the finished gravy.
"Unskimmed broth"The fat is left on the broth rather than taken off before cooking; Ranhofer refers you to his own No. 194a. Any strong homemade stock works; the point is that the fat is skimmed at the end, not the beginning. Canned broth will not reduce to anything with body.
Chicken glazeNo. 398 is glace de volaille, chicken stock reduced to a syrup that sets firm when cold. A tablespoon of commercial demi-glace or a hard-reduced spoonful of your own stock gives the same gloss and depth.
TarragonFrench tarragon, not the coarse Russian sort sold as bedding plants, and fresh rather than dried. Blanching the garnish leaves for the breast fixes their green and takes off the raw anise edge; drain them flat so they lie neatly.
DonenessForty-five to sixty minutes is about right for three pounds at a simmer, but check the thigh joint at 165F. Modern supermarket birds of that weight are younger and leaner than Ranhofer's "very white chicken" and can be done nearer forty minutes.
Finishing and yieldStrain, degrease, clarify if you want the classic clear gravy, then reduce hard and add the glaze and lemon juice. A three-pound bird serves three to four; the sauce-boat is not optional, since the recipe pours only "a part" of the gravy around the bird and sends the remainder to table separately.

A Little History

This comes from Charles Ranhofer's The Epicurean (1894), the enormous record of his three decades as chef at Delmonico's in New York, where French haute cuisine was translated for American money. Poulet braisé à l'estragon is a standard of the classical repertoire: a bird poached in rich stock rather than roasted, its liquid then clarified, reduced and glazed into a mirror-clear gravy — the sort of labour that only made sense in a brigade kitchen with stockpots already going. The pairing of chicken and tarragon is strongly associated with French provincial cooking, and tarragon's anise note was long thought to suit poultry and eggs above other meats. The cross-references scattered through the text (to trussing, to stock No. 194a, to chicken glaze No. 398) are characteristic of the book: Ranhofer wrote for cooks who had the foundations already made and shelved, not for households starting from nothing.