The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 2749

Jerusalem Artichokes a la Salamander

Topinambours a la Salamandre

Pare Jerusalem artichokes into three-quarter inch rounds, or else in the shape of a pigeon's egg; cook in salted water, drain and saute in butter without letting attain a color. Prepare a puree by placing some peeled Jerusalem artichokes in a saucepan to boil; drain when done, and cover over with a damp cloth; dry in the oven, then press through a sieve. Return this puree to the saucepan; season with salt, nutmeg, fresh butter and egg-yolks, and form it into a border inside a dish, either pushed through a channeled socket pocket or else modeled with the hand; lay the sauted Jerusalem artichokes in the center, strew grated parmesan over, cover with some rather thin cream bechamel sauce (No. 411), and then more parmesan; color in a brisk oven, serving it immediately after it is baked to a golden brown.

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer's dish is two preparations of the same root served together: turned pieces sauteed pale in butter, ringed by a stiff puree, gratineed under fierce top heat. The hinge is the puree — it must be dried hard before the yolks go in, or the border slumps into the sauce.

A Little History

Jerusalem artichokes reached Europe from eastern North America in the early seventeenth century and were briefly a staple before the potato displaced them; the name is generally traced to a corruption of the Italian girasole, sunflower, rather than to any connection with Jerusalem. The French topinambour comes from the Tupinambá, a Brazilian people whose delegation was in Paris around the same period the tuber arrived — a confusion of two New World novelties. By the time Charles Ranhofer was cooking at Delmonico's in New York, the sunchoke had settled into the restaurant repertoire as a vegetable entremets, treated much as a potato would be: turned, sauteed, pureed, piped, gratineed. That The Epicurean (1894) devotes several numbered receipts to it, all in the French idiom, says less about American home cooking than about the reach of the classical kitchen brigade, where any root could be put through the standard set of operations and come out with a French name.