No. 2188

Saddle of Venison a la Morton

Selle de Chevreuil a la Morton

Pare, lard and roast a saddle of venison; as soon as it is done cut off the tenderloin and replace it without deforming the meat, then pour over a little gravy (No. 404) and garnish around with macaroni croquettes, glazed turnips, fried Jerusalem artichokes, boiled white beans and boiled potato balls three-quarters of an inch in size; serve currant jelly apart, also a poivrade sauce (No. 522) having a little Worcestershire added and the whole stirred with some maitre d'hotel butter (No. 581), when ready to serve.

← No. 2187 Saddle of Venison a la Macmahon Venison & Large Game No. 2189 Saddle of Venison, Tyrolese Style →

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer writes for a brigade that already has stock, poivrade and maître d'hôtel butter standing by, and he assumes a cook who can lard a saddle blind. The dish is straightforward once you supply what he leaves unsaid.

The hinge: internal temperatureVenison saddle is almost fatless and turns dry and liverish past medium rare. Roast to 125-130F at the thickest part of the loin and rest 15-20 minutes; the original gives no time or temperature because the cook was expected to judge by feel.
Oven heatA brisk start and a moderate finish suits it: 450F for the first 15 minutes to colour the larded surface, then 325F to finish. A saddle of 6-8 lb may take anywhere from about 45 minutes to well over an hour, depending on thickness; go by internal temperature rather than the clock.
LardingThreading strips of chilled pork back fat through the meat with a larding needle is the period technique and it still works. If you have no needle, bard instead: sheets of back fat or thin unsmoked bacon tied over the loins, removed for the last ten minutes so the surface browns.
"Cut off the tenderloin and replace it"Ranhofer most likely means the fillets, lifted out once carved free and set back in place so the joint arrives at table looking whole. Read that way it is a presentation step rather than a cooking one, though the text gives no reason for it.
The cross-referenced saucesNo. 404 is a plain meat gravy, No. 522 a poivrade (a peppery brown sauce built on a mirepoix, vinegar and game trimmings), No. 581 maitre d'hotel butter, which is butter worked with parsley, lemon and seasoning. Ranhofer has the Worcestershire and the butter stirred into the poivrade only 'when ready to serve'.
Jerusalem artichokesSunchokes, not globe artichokes. Peel, slice, parboil briefly and fry to colour; they oxidise fast, so hold them in acidulated water.
Macaroni croquettesShort macaroni bound in a thick béchamel, spread and chilled until firm, cut, breaded and deep fried. Make them well ahead, since they must be cold before they are shaped.
YieldA full saddle serves 8-10 as the centre of a formal dinner, more with the five garnishes the recipe lists. Halve the garnish list without harm if you are cooking for fewer.
SourcingFarmed venison saddle is milder and slightly fatter than wild; wild saddle from an older animal benefits from a day or two in a wine and aromatic marinade before larding, though Ranhofer does not call for one.

A Little History

The Epicurean (1894) is Charles Ranhofer's record of thirty-odd years as chef at Delmonico's in New York, and its game chapter reflects a period when venison was still a restaurant luxury rather than a farmed commodity. The French title uses chevreuil, roe deer, the standard European game animal; what actually came into the Delmonico's kitchen is not recorded. Dishes in the book carrying a surname — Morton, MacMahon, and dozens of others in the surrounding numbers — are usually assumed to have been named for patrons, public figures or occasions the restaurant wished to mark, and Ranhofer rarely explains which, so the identity behind this one is not documented in the text. The accompaniments are entirely orthodox for the period: currant jelly served apart with venison is often said to be an English habit that crossed into American fine dining, and it stayed in American fine dining well into the twentieth century, while poivrade is the classic French game sauce, its sharpness meant to cut meat that was often hung long and tasted strongly of it. The splash of Worcestershire is a small Anglo-American liberty taken with a French sauce, and typical of the way Ranhofer's kitchen adapted to New York tastes.