The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 304

Crawfish Soup a la Renommee

Potage d'Ecrevisses a la Renommee

Boil a few dozen crawfish in a court bouillon with white wine; drain them, and detach the tails from the bodies, suppressing the tail shells. Keep boiling on the side of the fire, one and a half quarts of thickened white soup stock; put into it the crawfish shells after pounding them, and let the soup despumate for thirty-five minutes, remove all the fat, strain and return it to the saucepan; boil it up again, and stir in cayenne pepper to taste. Take all the meat from the tails and claws of the crawfish, chop up the claws with the parings of the tails and claws, mixing in a little bread panada, red butter, a few raw egg-yolks and red pepper; prepare a small forcemeat with this, and shape it into tiny quenelles, rolling them on a floured table; poach them, then drain and put them in the soup tureen with the crawfish tails cut in two lengthwise. Skim the fat from the soup, thicken it with four egg-yolks and two spoonfuls of puree of white asparagus tops, and also a little raw cream; let the thickening cook without boiling, and finish the soup with a piece of good butter working it vigorously with a whip.

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer writes for a brigade that already has stock, panada and shellfish butter standing by, so the recipe reads as a sequence of assemblies rather than a start-to-finish method. The hinge is the final liaison: once the egg yolks and cream go in, the soup must never boil or it will curdle into threads.

A Little History

Charles Ranhofer ran the kitchens at Delmonico's in New York for over thirty years, and The Epicurean (1894) is essentially his service manual, some 3,500 numbered recipes deep in the classical French idiom he had trained in. Crawfish soups of this kind descend from the French bisque d'ecrevisses, which by the nineteenth century meant a shellfish soup built on pounded shells and finished with an egg-and-cream liaison rather than the older meat-based bisques of the seventeenth century. The garnish here, quenelles moulded from the scraps of claw meat that would otherwise be discarded, is characteristic of a professional kitchen where nothing bought by weight was thrown away. Dish names ending a la renommee - "of renown" - were part of the restaurant's habit of dressing a preparation in a title; Ranhofer's index is thick with such names, many of them honouring patrons, and they tell you more about Delmonico's dining room than about the pot.