No. 271

Puree of English Snipe, Plover or Woodcock a la Theo

Puree de Becassines, Pluviers ou becasses a la Theo

Remove the fillets from eight English snipe; with half of them make a quenelle forcemeat the same as explained for game forcemeat (No. 62), let the quenelles be made either with a teaspoon or else pushed through a pocket on a buttered sheet, in shapes of oval olives, and then poach them in boiling salted water; these quenelles are to be used for the garnishing. Put two ounces of butter into a saucepan with two ounces of chopped onions; fry them colorless, add the remaining fillets and carcasses, and when all is well browned, moisten with three quarts of broth and a quart of espagnole sauce (No. 414), let cook for thirty minutes, and despumate, which means to boil only on one side of the saucepan, and remove with a spoon all the fat and scum arising to the surface; then drain and remove most of the bones. Pound the carcasses and meats, dilute them with the broth, season and strain through a colander and afterward through a tammy; thicken when ready to serve with four ounces of butter divided into small pats, incorporating them in with a whip, until they are entirely melted; lay the quenelles in a soup tureen, and pour the very hot puree over.

← No. 270 Puree of Chicken a la Reine Soups & Broths No. 272 Puree of Grouse a la Manhattan →

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer writes for a brigade with stock, espagnole and forcemeat already on hand; the soup itself is straightforward once those are in place. The whole thing is a game consommé thickened by pounded carcasses and finished with butter, so the quality of the broth decides the result.

Plover is not an optionNearly all North American plovers are protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918 and cannot legally be taken or sold. Snipe and woodcock remain legal game birds in season for licensed hunters; none of the three can be bought from a commercial butcher in the United States.
What to use insteadFarmed quail, squab or guinea fowl will give you a dark, gamey puree with the same structure, though without the liver-forward tang that makes snipe snipe. Eight snipe are small birds — reckon roughly four quail or two squab as a substitute by weight.
The cross-referencesNo. 62 is Ranhofer's game forcemeat: pounded raw game flesh, panada and butter, sieved and bound with egg. No. 414 is his espagnole, a brown sauce built on brown stock and brown roux and simmered for hours. A good reduced brown poultry or veal stock, lightly thickened, stands in for the quart of espagnole.
DespumationHis own gloss is accurate and worth following: set the pan half off the burner so the liquid convects to one side, and the fat and scum collect on the still side where a spoon can lift them off. It clarifies far better than skimming a pan boiling evenly all over.
Poaching the quenelles"Boiling salted water" will shred them. Bring the water to a boil, then drop it to a bare shiver at about 175F before the quenelles go in; three to four minutes for olive-sized ones. Poach one test quenelle first to check the forcemeat binds.
Pocket and tammyA "pocket" is a piping bag. A tammy is a worsted straining cloth; the puree was wrung through it by two people twisting from opposite ends. A fine chinois pressed with a ladle, or a blender followed by a fine sieve, does the same work.
The butter finishFour ounces of butter whisked in at the last moment is a monté, not a thickener in the roux sense. Take the pan off direct heat and whisk the pats in one at a time; if the soup boils after that, the emulsion breaks and the surface goes greasy.
ShotWild birds carry lead pellets, and pounding the carcasses drives fragments into the puree. Feel through the flesh before it goes in the mortar and strain twice.
YieldThree quarts of broth plus a quart of espagnole will reduce somewhat over the thirty minutes; expect on the order of three quarts of finished soup, about twelve cups, in the small portions a Delmonico's dinner ran to.

A Little History

Charles Ranhofer published The Epicurean in 1894 after some thirty years as chef at Delmonico's in New York, and the game section reflects a period when wild snipe, plover and woodcock arrived at the market by the barrel from commercial gunners — a trade that collapsed only after the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918 ended market hunting for migratory species. Suffixes like à la Theo were Ranhofer's habitual way of dedicating a dish to a patron, a performer or an occasion; this one may possibly honor Louise Theo, the French opérette singer who played New York in the 1880s, but the identification is only a guess, and Ranhofer never explains his dedications. What the recipe really documents is the kitchen economy of a great restaurant: the fillets of eight tiny birds become garnish, and the carcasses — worthless anywhere else — are browned, simmered, pounded and forced through cloth into the soup itself.