The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 315

Hunters' Style Soup

Potage a la Chasseur

Roast three partridges and one young wild rabbit, all barded with slices of fat pork; when done, remove the fillets from the partridges as well as from the rabbit, doing this very carefully. Put the rest, meat and bones, into a saucepan or stock pot, with a fowl split into pieces, and two pounds of small, half inch squares of beef. Moisten with four quarts of beef stock (No. 194a), let it boil, then skim and add some carrots, turnips, onions and two cloves; cook slowly for two hours, salt properly, then cut into squares the fillets taken from the partridges and rabbit. Have some small, round rolls, and inch and a quarter in diameter; after completely emptying them with a knife, fill the insides with a delicate young rabbit godiveau (No. 84), mixing in with it some chopped up mushrooms and truffles. Lay the rolls on a buttered pan, one beside the other, besprinkle them over with butter or broth, and dredge some grated parmesan cheese on top; set them in a slack oven for fifteen minutes, then lay them in a vegetable dish; strain the rest of the broth through a napkin, clarify it and boil it up again, thickening with a spoonful of tapioca for each quart and adding half a gill of Madeira wine.

For the Modern Kitchen

A full-dress game consommé from Ranhofer's Delmonico kitchen: two separate operations, a clear game broth and a tray of stuffed cheese-topped rolls served alongside. Read it as a project rather than a weeknight soup.

A Little History

Charles Ranhofer ran the kitchen at Delmonico's in New York for over thirty years, and The Epicurean (1894) is essentially his working system set down in print, complete with the cross-references to numbered preparations that make individual recipes read like entries in a manual. Potage à la chasseur — hunter's soup — belongs to a family of French garnished consommés named for the supposed source of their materials, and the name here is honest enough: partridge, wild rabbit and Madeira were what an autumn game larder produced. The stuffed and gratinéed rolls are a version of what French kitchens are often said to have called croûtes or petits pains farcis, and they are served on a separate dish. The fastidiousness of the thing — roast the game, then take it apart, then rebuild the broth from the wreckage, then clarify it until it reads like glass — is the whole argument of the book: at Delmonico's, a bowl of soup was worth three birds and half a day.