The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 2684

Artichoke Bottoms Stuffed-Lean

Funds d'Artichauts Fonds d'Artichauts Farcis au Maigre

Pare eight or ten raw artichoke bottoms, blanch them in salted water and cook them in a white stock (No. 182) with aromatic herbs and a little white wine, keeping them rather hard, then drain them on a cloth. Prepare a duxelle (No. 385) composed of chopped onions, shallots, truffles and mushrooms, mingled first with a little smooth cream frangipane panada (No. 120), then with a little sauce; season the preparation and finish it with some raw egg-yolks, chopped parsley and a few spoonfuls of salted anchovy fillets cut in small dice. With this forcemeat cover the artichoke bottoms, smooth and bestrew with bread-crumbs; range them in a small deep baking dish, capable of being placed in the oven, and besprinkle lightly with oil; finish cooking in a slack oven, basting over frequently.

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer writes for a brigade with numbered preparations on hand, so most of the work here is in the cross-references. Read them as three components: cooked artichoke bottoms, a duxelles bound with a flour-and-egg panada, and a slow bake.

A Little History

Charles Ranhofer published The Epicurean in 1894 after decades as chef at Delmonico's in New York, and the book is essentially the kitchen's own reference system transcribed: thousands of numbered preparations that assume you can turn to No. 120 or No. 385 for the component parts. The au maigre label on this dish points to a long-standing feature of French professional cooking, the parallel repertoire of meatless dishes for Fridays and Lent, where anchovy, mushroom and truffle carried the savory weight normally supplied by meat stock and forcemeat. Artichoke bottoms were a standard luxury garnish in this style of cooking, valued as edible cups: firm enough to hold a stuffing, expensive enough in labor to signal a serious kitchen. That a fast-day dish should still involve truffles and a Delmonico's stockpot says a good deal about how abstinence was observed at the top of the nineteenth-century table.