No. 1997

Blanquette of Pullet with Mushrooms

Blanquette de Poularde aux Champignons

Begin by detaching the legs from a trussed and singed pullet, cut each of these in two, then lay them in a vessel containing water; divide the breast in two and cut each piece into three parts; plunge them also into the cold water with the cut up carcass; let soak for fifteen to twenty minutes then drain and lay them in a saucepan with an onion and a bunch of parsley, and cover plentifully with white chicken broth (No. 188); boil and skim this liquid for twelve minutes then take it off the fire. Prepare a white roux (No. 163) with flour and butter, dilute it with the strained and skimmed pullet broth when partially cold and stir this sauce well until it boils; let it despumate for a quarter of an hour on the side of the fire while removing the fat from the surface. Pare and wipe the pieces of pullet, return them to the saucepan with two dozen turned mushrooms (No. 118); strain the sauce over and finish cooking, finally dressing the pieces of pullet in a deep dish with the mushrooms. Reduce the sauce for a few minutes, thicken with two egg-yolks finishing it off the fire with a piece of butter worked in, also some lemon juice; strain and pour it over the pullet.

← No. 1996 Pullet Garnished with Water-Cress—Roasted Capon & Pullet No. 1998 Pullets a la Montmorency—Breasts →

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer assumes a working brigade and a shelf of cross-referenced base preparations, but the dish itself is simple: a chicken poached in white stock, the stock turned into a velouté, the sauce finished with yolks and butter. A few of his terms and steps need translating.

The hinge: the yolk liaisonOnce the two yolks go in, the sauce must not boil or it will curdle into grains. Temper them with a ladle of hot sauce, return the pan to low heat, and stir until it coats a spoon at around 175F, then pull it off for the butter and lemon.
PulletA young hen, usually under a year and not yet a serious layer. A 3 to 4 lb whole chicken is the right substitute; the point is tender flesh that will not need long cooking.
The cold-water soakFifteen to twenty minutes in cold water draws out blood so the meat stays pale — the whole aim of a blanquette. It is cosmetic, not a safety step, and it can be done in the refrigerator.
"Despumate"To hold the sauce at a bare simmer to one side of the heat, skimming the fat and scum that rise. A quarter of an hour on low with a ladle in hand does the same thing on a modern hob.
White roux and the brothEqual weights butter and flour cooked without colour, a couple of minutes; something like 2 oz of each to a quart of stock is a workable modern ratio, though Ranhofer gives no amounts here. No. 188 is his white chicken broth — a mild, lightly seasoned chicken stock stands in, and the poaching liquid from the bird itself carries most of the flavour.
Turned mushroomsNo. 118 is Ranhofer's preparation of button mushrooms, the caps channelled or fluted with the tip of a small knife and cooked with butter, water and lemon juice to keep them white. Quartered or whole small buttons blanched with lemon juice give much the same result without the knifework.
TimingsTwelve minutes at a boil is only the first stage; the legs then finish in the sauce, roughly another 20 minutes or so, until cooked through (165F or above at the bone). Breast pieces are done sooner — pull them out and hold them warm rather than letting them tighten.
YieldOne bird serves four. Serve in a warm deep dish with steamed rice or plain boiled potatoes; the sauce is the substance of the plate.

A Little History

Blanquette comes from blanc, white, and names a family of French ragoûts in which nothing is browned: no coloured roux, no seared meat, and often a lemon-and-yolk finish to keep the sauce pale and slightly sharp. Veal is the version most people know, but nineteenth-century kitchens applied the method to chicken, lamb and rabbit alike, and Charles Ranhofer — chef at Delmonico's in New York and author of The Epicurean (1894) — files this one among his capon and pullet dishes. The book's cross-references are its signature: a single recipe leans on numbered entries for stock, roux and garnish, which is how a restaurant kitchen actually worked, with those components standing ready each day. The insistence on soaking the bird and skimming the sauce repeatedly reflects a period taste for absolute whiteness in a blanquette, a visual standard that mattered as much to the dining room as flavour did.