The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 2616

Turkey or Goose in Daube

Dindon ou Oie en Daube

Draw a turkey cock; singe and lard it with large lardons (No. 2, Fig. 52); season with salt, pepper, nutmeg and chives, then stuff it with chicken quenelle forcemeat (No. 89), into which mix quarter-inch squares of red beef tongue and lean ham. Place the turkey in a braziere lined with slices of fat pork, carrots, minced onions, a bunch of parsley garnished with thyme, bay leaf, a clove of garlic, a gill of brandy and a split knuckle of veal. Boil, skim and simmer gently and allow to braise for three and a half to four hours. Blanch separately some carrots and small onions, both trimmed into five-eighths of an inch balls, and when the turkey is partly cooked remove it from its stock, strain the liquid, wash the saucepan, and return the turkey to it with its strained and skimmed stock; range around the carrots and onions and finish cooking the vegetables and turkey slowly. When well done, drain, untruss and lay it in an oval stone or tin vessel with the vegetable around, pour the stock (which should be sufficiently consistent to form a jelly) over and let cool off, then unmold the turkey on a long cold dish; surround the base with chopped jelly and jelly croutons (No. 2442).

A goose in daube can be prepared the same way as the turkey.

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer's daube is a whole braised bird set in its own jelly and served cold. The braise itself is straightforward; the hinge is the stock, which has to be gelatinous enough to set firm without gelatin added.

A Little History

The Epicurean (1894) is Charles Ranhofer's record of thirty-odd years as chef at Delmonico's in New York, and this recipe belongs to its long section of cold pieces meant to stand on a buffet table through a whole evening. Daube is a Provençal term for a long slow braise, and the daubière is the narrow-necked earthenware pot associated with the dish; by the nineteenth century French professional kitchens had extended the term to any meat braised at length in an aromatic stock, and en daube in the cold-dish sense meant the braise left to set in its own jelly. The technique answered a practical need before mechanical refrigeration was common in restaurants: a bird sealed in a firm aspic keeps far better than a roast, travels to the sideboard intact, and cuts into clean slices ringed with amber. The turned carrots and onions, the diced tongue and ham in the forcemeat, and the chopped jelly around the base are all there for the cross-section, which was the whole display.