The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 494

Sauce a la Mantaise

Sauce a la Mantaise

Pound four ounces of chicken fat livers with two ounces of beef marrow; fry in two ounces of butter, two ounces of mushrooms, one teaspoonful of chopped parsley, two chopped shallots, and one crushed clove of garlic; let this get cold, and then pound it well adding to it the pounded livers and marrow; with this preparation fill a mold well lined with bardes of fat pork, and cook it in the oven for an hour, then unmold it over a sieve to drain. Dilute this mixture with a pint of espagnole (No. 414) or veloute (No. 415), and one or two gills of chicken essence (No. 387); strain it through a tammy, and beat up the sauce well before serving.

For the Modern Kitchen

A compound liver-and-marrow forcemeat, baked, drained, and then let down into a brown or white mother sauce. Ranhofer assumes you already have espagnole or veloute and a chicken essence on hand, so budget for those before you start.

A Little History

The Epicurean (1894) is Charles Ranhofer's record of thirty-odd years cooking at Delmonico's in New York, and its sauce chapter is essentially the French classical repertory as it stood just before Escoffier codified it: a handful of mother sauces, each numbered, and then dozens of derivatives built on them by cross-reference. Sauces named a la Mantaise are sometimes linked to Mantes, on the Seine west of Paris, though the connection is not documented; by this period the attachment of place-names and personal names to garnished sauces was largely decorative. What is genuinely of its period is the method: an entire baked liver-and-marrow forcemeat, barded with pork fat and cooked in a mold, made purely to be broken down and strained into a pint of sauce. That kind of labor made sense only in a brigade kitchen where a large espagnole was always on hand and where nothing, least of all marrow, went to waste.