The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 2497

Galantine of Pullet or Capon a la Mozart

Galantine de Poularde ou de Chapon a la Mozart

This cold entree can be dressed on a support slightly higher in the middle, covered with cooked paste (No. 131) and dried in the air. Singe a not too fat pullet, split it down the back, bone entirely, and season the inside. Prepare this pullet the same as a galantine of turkey a la Berger (No. 2499), and sew it up; wrap it well and cook for one hour and a half to two hours in clear, unskimmed stock (No. 194a), having the pullet bones added, and two or three boned and blanched calves' feet, some roots, onions and aromatic herbs. When the boned pullet has cooked for a sufficient length of time, drain it off and unwrap it; wrap it up once more and reshape it, tying it very tight, and then place it to cool under the pressure of a weight. When cold, pare off the ends and cut it up into equally thick slices, and divide each of these slices into two; dress them neatly in a single row on the support; garnish around with cocks'-combs and mushrooms covered over with chaudfroid, intermingled with chopped jelly, and besides have a few small cases filled with glazed truffles.

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer writes for a brigade with a larder full of cross-references, so this reads as shorthand. The work is all in the boning, the tight rolling and the long chill; the poaching is the easy part.

A Little History

Charles Ranhofer ran the kitchens at Delmonico's in New York, and The Epicurean (1894) is essentially his service manual, which is why an entry like this one assumes you already have the forcemeat, the paste and the stock made elsewhere in the book. Galantine comes from Old French; one proposed derivation links it to geline, an old word for hen, while others trace it to galatine, jelly -- either way the classic form is a boned bird stuffed, rolled, poached and set in its own jelly, eaten cold. Dedicating dishes to composers, singers and other celebrities was a standing habit of nineteenth-century restaurant kitchens, and the a la Mozart tag here appears to signal a particular garnish and presentation rather than any connection to Vienna. Cold, molded, glazed centerpieces like this one belonged to the buffet or service froid, where a dish had to survive time on display and still cut into neat mosaic slices.