The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 2818

Sorrel with Gravy

Oseille au Jus

Pick some clean, tender sorrel leaves; wash well, changing the water. Put them into a saucepan with a little salt and water; dissolve while stirring with a spoon; throw the sorrel into a colander and when cold press it through a sieve. Put this puree with a little prepared white roux (No. 163), and cook it for a few moments while stirring; moisten with a small quantity of gravy (No. 404); reduce the puree, mixing well all the time; season and finish with a little half-glaze (No. 400).

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer writes for a brigade that already has stock, roux and demi-glace standing by, so the recipe is really three lines of technique with the pantry assumed. The hinge is the first step: sorrel collapses to almost nothing, and what you do with it after that decides whether the dish is a sauce or a puddle.

A Little History

Sorrel puree is a long-established French kitchen garden preparation, and Charles Ranhofer, who ran the kitchens at Delmonico's in New York across two spells with a break in the later 1870s, put it in The Epicurean (1894) exactly as he would have learned it in France: a base puree that gets finished differently depending on what it is serving. The name is plain description, oseille au jus, sorrel with meat gravy, distinguishing it from the version bound with cream or with egg yolks. Sorrel was a staple of American and European kitchen gardens through the nineteenth century, valued because it comes up early and tastes sharply of lemon at a season when little else does; the sourness is oxalic acid, one of the acids that also contributes to rhubarb's bite. It largely disappeared from commercial produce in the twentieth century because the leaves bruise and wilt within days of cutting, which is why the classic sauces built on it, most famously the sorrel sauce served with shad and later with salmon, are now more often read about than eaten.