No. 224

Consomme Charmel

A garnishing of small timbales the shape of half an egg, and one inch in diameter, have some molds of this shape and size; butter the insides and set them on a tin sheet having inch high feet attached to it, place this on to a larger pan, the smaller one having holes bored in seven-eighths of an inch in diameter, and a space of a quarter of an inch between each. Prepare one pint of pigeon puree, adding to it half a pint of espagnole sauce (No. 414), reduced with Madeira, season with salt, pepper and nutmeg, and mingle all well together. Fill the molds with this preparation, pour water into the lower pan, a sufficient quantity to half the height of the molds, when set in the holes, and then poach them in a slow oven, unmold, and serve at the same time some braised sweetbreads pressed under a weight, cooled off and cut into three-eighth squares, then rewarmed in a little consomme; have also a few Julienne cut mushrooms. Serve this garnishing in a vegetable dish with a little consomme. Serve a soup tureen of consomme separate.

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For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer is describing a garnish, not a soup: the consommé itself is assumed, and what follows is a set of savory custards plus sweetbreads and mushrooms to accompany it. The hinge is the poaching — these timbales are bound only by the purée and sauce, and they must set in gentle steam heat, never in simmering water.

The improvised bain-marieThe perforated tin sheet on inch-high feet, set inside a larger pan of water, is a steam-poaching rig. A roasting pan with a wire rack and a folded towel does the same job; the water should come no more than halfway up the molds and must stay below a simmer, or the custards will bubble and weep.
"A slow oven"Conventionally somewhere in the region of 275-325F. Small timbales of this size should set in roughly 20 to 30 minutes, but judge by feel: they are done when the centers are firm to a light touch and a needle comes out clean; let them rest a few minutes before unmolding.
The moldsHalf-egg shapes one inch across hold only a teaspoon or two each. Silicone mini dome or truffle molds are the modern equivalent; buttered demitasse spoons or a small egg-bite tray also work. Butter them generously -- there is no starch in the mixture to help release.
Pigeon puréeSquab is the direct descendant and is sold frozen by game butchers. In its absence, use the same weight of duck or dark chicken meat, poached and pounded or processed to a smooth paste; the point is a dark, slightly gamy flesh that reads against the clear consommé.
Espagnole reduced with MadeiraNo. 414 is the classic brown sauce built on veal stock and roux. A good demi-glace reduced with a splash of dry Madeira gives similar body and gloss. Half a pint of sauce to a pint of purée is the ratio Ranhofer gives; note that he calls for no egg, so the set depends on the purée and reduced sauce alone.
SweetbreadsBuy veal sweetbreads, soak them several hours in cold water changed often, blanch, peel the membrane, then braise. Pressing them under a weight while they cool is what makes clean three-eighth-inch dice possible; skip it and they crumble. Rewarm the dice in consommé only, so they do not toughen.
MushroomsJulienne here means matchsticks cut from the caps, not slices. Cook them briefly in a little butter or consommé so they stay pale — anything browned muddies the clarity of the finished soup.
ServingThe original assumes formal service: garnish passed in one dish, hot consommé in a tureen alongside, each guest spooning garnish into the bowl. The quantities make a large amount of garnish -- enough for a dozen or so servings at a guess, since Ranhofer gives no yield; scale the purée down freely, as it poaches the same at any volume.

A Little History

The Epicurean (1894) is Charles Ranhofer's record of thirty years as chef at Delmonico's in New York, and its consommé chapter is essentially a catalogue: dozens of numbered entries in which the broth is constant and only the garnish changes. That system belonged to the French classical tradition of garnish nomenclature, where a name — Célestine, Colbert, Charmel — functioned as shorthand a trained kitchen brigade could execute without further description. Names of this type were often given for patrons, colleagues or places, though for many of them, Charmel among them, no documented origin survives. What the entry does show plainly is the labor available in a great nineteenth-century restaurant kitchen: a bespoke perforated tin, molds made to one specific size, sweetbreads braised and pressed, all for a spoonful of garnish in a cup of clear soup.