The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 3149

Cream Bain-Marie-Molded

Creme au Bain-Marie Moulee

Put into a bright copper pan two spoonfuls of powdered sugar, stir it on a slow fire until it becomes a fine yellow color, then pour it into the bottom of a low charlotte mold and let get cold. Break seven or eight eggs in a bowl with five or six yolks; beat them up for two minutes, then dilute with a quart of milk, adding ten ounces of powdered sugar and a little lemon peel. Ten minutes later strain it twice through a sieve. Butter the sides of the mold, pour the preparation in, place it in a saucepan on a small trivet and pour hot water around to reach up to half the height of the mold, then bring to a boil; remove the saucepan to a slower fire, and cover it over; place some hot cinders on the saucepan lid and let poach for one hour at least without allowing the water to boil. Remove the saucepan and let the cream get partly cold before taking it from the water, then unmold on a dish.

For the Modern Kitchen

This is a crème caramel — a baked custard turned out of its caramel-lined mold — cooked on the stovetop in a water bath because Ranhofer's ranges gave better control there than in a coal oven. The whole thing hinges on the water never boiling.

A Little History

The Epicurean (1894) is Charles Ranhofer's record of the kitchen he ran at Delmonico's in New York for more than thirty years, and its dessert chapters are essentially French pastry practice transplanted to Manhattan. A crème au bain-marie moulée is what French kitchens more often call crème renversée au caramel — the same family as Spanish flan and Italian crema caramella — and it appears here in the standard bourgeois form of the period: whole eggs reinforced with extra yolks so the custard will hold its shape when reversed onto a dish. The bain-marie itself, the water bath that keeps a sauce or custard below boiling, takes its name traditionally from Maria the Jewess, an alchemist of late antiquity credited with the apparatus; cooks borrowed both the device and the name from the laboratory. Ranhofer's direction to bank hot cinders on the lid is a reminder that this was written for a coal range, where a cook regulated heat by moving pots and shifting embers rather than by turning a dial.