No. 2935

Scrambled Eggs a la Duxelle and with Anchovy Croustades

Œufs Brouilles a la Duxelle et aux Croustades d'Anchois

Fry in butter some chopped onions, shallots and mushrooms; mix with these a little reduced veloute sauce (No. 415). Break five or six eggs in a bowl, season, beat lightly and pour them into a saucepan, having previously buttered the bottom with one ounce of fresh butter; beat them over a slow fire with a whisk until they begin to thicken, then use a spoon, and work till smooth, incorporating about an ounce and a half more butter divided in small pats; season and throw in the fine herbs and some chopped parsley; finish with a little raw cream so as to keep them mellow. In case the eggs have to wait, then put the saucepan in a bainmarie having the water only tepid, and continue beating with the spoon. Dress the eggs in a vegetable or any deep dish, smooth the top and drop over some tomatoed half-glaze; surround with small hollow round crusts (No. 52) filled with reduced bechamel sauce (No. 409), finished with anchovy puree and a halved anchovy dressed in a ring the size of the opening on the croustade, the anchovy to be filled through a cornet with cold bearnaise sauce (No. 433), having lobster coral sprinkled over the top.

← No. 2934 Scrambled Eggs a la Columbus Eggs & Omelets No. 2936 Scrambled Eggs a la Jerome →

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer assumes a kitchen with veloute, bechamel, half-glaze and bearnaise already standing on the stove. Stripped of the cross-references, this is French-style scrambled eggs enriched with butter and cream, garnished with anchovy-filled pastry cases.

The hinge: low heat, more butter than seems reasonableThe eggs must never set in curds. Keep the pan over a slow fire, whisking until they just begin to thicken, then switch to a spoon and beat in butter a pat at a time. The result should stay soft and creamy -- loose enough to be smoothed level in the serving dish.
Butter quantityOne ounce (2 tablespoons) to film the pan, then about an ounce and a half (3 tablespoons) worked in during cooking, for five or six eggs. That is a high proportion by modern habit and it is doing the work of keeping the eggs mellow rather than tough.
DuxelleDuxelles here is the onion, shallot and mushroom fried in butter, chopped fine and cooked until the moisture has gone. Ranhofer binds it with reduced veloute; a couple of spoonfuls of thick bechamel or even creme fraiche does the same job of holding it together.
Fine herbsFines herbes means chervil, tarragon, chives and parsley, chopped fine. Ranhofer throws them in with the chopped parsley as the eggs finish; add them at the last moment so they stay green. Chervil is the hardest to find; tarragon and chives carry the mixture adequately.
Tomatoed half-glazeDemi-glace with tomato puree reduced into it. A few spoonfuls of good reduced beef or veal stock with a teaspoon of tomato paste stirred in gives the same dark, glossy line over the top.
CroustadesNo. 52 is a small round hollow crust; such cases were typically made from bread or pastry and crisped before filling. Store-bought puff pastry vol-au-vent cases are the modern equivalent.
CornetA paper cone, the ancestor of the piping bag. The bearnaise is piped cold into the ring of anchovy sitting on the bechamel; a small piping bag with a plain tip does it.
Lobster coralThe dark roe of a hen lobster, which turns coral red when cooked and was dried and sieved for colour. It is rarely available now. Paprika gives colour but not flavour; the dish is complete without it.
YieldFive or six eggs serve two as a course, three at a stretch. Cook the eggs last and have the croustades filled and waiting.
HoldingThe bain-marie instruction is worth following if there is any delay: tepid water only, and keep the spoon moving. Hot water will finish the eggs and they will weep.

A Little History

Charles Ranhofer ran the kitchen at Delmonico's in New York, and The Epicurean (1894) is essentially that restaurant's internal system printed in full, which is why almost every line here points to a numbered sauce elsewhere in the book. The scrambled-egg entries run to dozens of variations because eggs were the backbone of the late supper and the after-theatre menu, a course that had to be produced quickly from components already made. The garnish name honours the Marquis d'Uxelles, whose seventeenth-century household cook La Varenne is traditionally credited with the mushroom preparation that bears the name; the anchovy and lobster coral finish is pure nineteenth-century restaurant practice, where a plain dish was made worth its price by the number of separate sauces assembled around it.