No. 258

Cream of Lettuce, Romaine or Chiccory a la Evers

Creme de Laitue, Romaine ou Chicoree a la Evers

Procure two pounds of lettuce, romaine or chiccory, and proceed exactly the same for either. Wash them in several waters after removing the greenish leaves, then cook them in boiling, salted water, until the hardest parts yield under the pressure of the finger, then drain and cool them off; squeeze out all the water, and chop them up coarsely. Put into a saucepan four ounces of butter, and when very hot, add the lettuce and let fry for a few minutes; moisten with two quarts of broth, then boil and simmer for fifteen minutes, adding one quart of veloute (No. 415), strain through a sieve or tammy, heat it up again, and when the soup is near boiling point, thicken with egg-yolks, cream and butter (No. 175), seasoning with salt, sugar, and nutmeg.

Garnishing.—Pound in a mortar, one-half pound of bread-crumbs with two whole eggs, adding them in gradually, and half of the same quantity of pate-a-choux (No. 132), roll it out to three-sixteenths of an inch in thickness, and cut in squares, then fry in clarified butter.

← No. 257 Cream of Jerusalem Artichokes Soups & Broths No. 259 Cream of Lima, Kidney or Horse Beans →

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer writes for a brigade with stock, velouté and a liaison already standing by; the cooking itself is simple, and the whole dish depends on one moment near the end.

The hinge: never let it boil after the liaisonOnce the egg yolks, cream and butter go in, the soup must stay below a simmer or the yolks will scramble and the texture is lost. Bring the soup to just under boiling, pull it off the heat, temper the liaison with a ladle of hot soup, stir it back in and serve.
Velouté (No. 415)A white veal or chicken stock thickened with a pale butter-and-flour roux and simmered until smooth — the base sauce, not a modern "velouté soup." A quart of well-made blond roux sauce, or a quart of stock thickened with about 3 tablespoons each butter and flour, stands in for it.
The liaison (No. 175)Ranhofer's finish here is egg yolks beaten with cream, with butter worked in at the end; the cross-referenced quantities are not given on this page. For roughly three quarts of soup, something on the order of 4 to 6 yolks with a cup of cream is a reasonable modern reading.
Two pounds of greensAs written this reads as the weight procured, before the greenish leaves are pulled off — figure three to four large heads of romaine, or a comparable pile of escarole. "Chiccory" here most likely means the broad-leaved escarole/endive family rather than the roasted root.
TammyA tammy is a fine worsted cloth through which the soup was forced with two people twisting the ends. A food mill followed by a fine chinois, or a blender and a fine-mesh sieve, gives the same smoothness.
SeasoningSalt, sugar and nutmeg are all doing work: the sugar offsets the faint bitterness of cooked lettuce or escarole, the nutmeg is a period signature with cream soups. Use a pinch of each and taste.
The garnishHalf a pound of breadcrumbs pounded with two eggs makes a stiff panada; enriched with a quarter pound of choux paste, rolled 3/16 inch thick, cut in squares and fried in clarified butter, it puffs into light fritters. Clarified butter matters — whole butter will burn at frying heat.
YieldThree quarts of finished soup, or ten to twelve first-course servings. Halving it is straightforward.

A Little History

Charles Ranhofer published The Epicurean in 1894 after some three decades as chef of Delmonico's in New York, and its soup chapter runs through cream soups made from nearly every vegetable a market could supply — Jerusalem artichoke on one side of this entry, lima and kidney beans on the other. Cooked lettuce soup is older than it looks to modern eyes: French kitchens had long braised and puréed lettuce and romaine as vegetables in their own right, and turning them into a cream soup follows the same logic as spinach or sorrel. The "à la Evers" tag is one of many such dedications in the book; Ranhofer does not explain them, and the person behind this one is not identified. What the recipe does show plainly is how a nineteenth-century professional kitchen worked by cross-reference — velouté, liaison and pâte à choux are all called in by number, each already made and waiting.