The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 405

Thick Gravy

Jus Lie

Cut into square pieces, six pounds of a shoulder of veal, put them into a saucepan with half a pound of melted lard to fry on a moderate fire, turning over repeatedly with a spoon; a quarter of an hour later put in one pound of cut up carrots and four ounces of onions; continue to fry the meats from twelve to fifteen minutes longer. Now moisten them with the value of one pint of remoistening (No. 189), cover the saucepan and let the liquid reduce until it has fallen to a glaze without allowing it to burn; moisten the meats again with eight quarts of hot broth and half a bottleful of white wine; skim the liquid at the first boil, then remove it to the side of the range and throw in a ham bone, a partly roasted chicken weighing four pounds, also a few chicken giblets, add a few whole spices and a bunch of parsley garnished with aromatic herbs. When the meats are about three-quarters done, skim the fat from the gravy and thicken with flour dissolved in cold water, two tablespoonfuls for each quart of liquid; continue to boil while skimming off more fat, and half an hour after, pour it through a sieve into another saucepan, let it come to a boil, then set it on one side of the fire to despumate for twenty-five minutes, stirring in at intervals a few spoonfuls of broth. Skim, remove the fat once more, and strain the gravy into a vessel leaving it to get cold, while stirring it from time to time.

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer's jus lié is a brown veal stock built on a fond, then lightly bound with flour — the house gravy that Delmonico's kitchen drew on all day. It is written at restaurant scale and assumes several other numbered preparations.

A Little History

Jus lié — literally "bound juice" — sits between an unthickened roast gravy and a full espagnole: the same long-simmered brown veal foundation, but tightened with a flour slurry rather than a cooked roux, so it stays lighter in colour and cleaner in flavour. Charles Ranhofer, who ran the Delmonico's kitchens in New York for over thirty years and published The Epicurean in 1894, numbered his auxiliaries so that a cook could be sent from one entry to the next; the cross-reference to No. 189 here reflects a brigade kitchen where nothing was made from scratch that could be built from yesterday's second-run stock. The ham bone, the giblets and the partly roasted chicken are all economy as much as seasoning — a professional larder feeding its trimmings back into the sauce pot. The repeated skimming and the despumating stage belong to a house where labour was cheap and a cloudy sauce was a visible failure.