The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 507

Neapolitan Sauce

Sauce Napolitaine

Put two ounces of cooked, lean, and well chopped ham into a saucepan with a bunch of parsley garnished with a bay leaf, and as much thyme, some mignonette, nutmeg and cayenne, two gills of Madeira wine, and two gills of broth; let reduce to half on a slow fire, then suppress the bunch of parsley, and add one pint of espagnole (No. 414); boil it up again, despumate, and strain it through a tammy (No. 159), put it back to reduce once more, adding to it two gills of Malaga wine, and a quarter of a pound of current jelly, dissolving the latter slowly by degrees, and two spoonfuls of grated horseradish.

For the Modern Kitchen

A game sauce in the classic French manner: an espagnole enriched with ham and Madeira, then sweetened and sharpened at the end. The finish is where it can go wrong.

A Little History

Sauce Napolitaine as Charles Ranhofer sets it down here is French cooking's idea of Italy rather than anything from Naples: the nineteenth-century repertoire attached national names to sauces on the strength of a single characteristic ingredient, and in this case the sweet southern wine and the fruit jelly seem to have earned the label. It sits in the same family as poivrade, venaison and the various sweet-sour brown sauces that Carême's generation built on espagnole, all of them intended to cut the richness of roast game. Ranhofer, who ran the kitchens at Delmonico's in New York across two separate stints, published The Epicurean in 1894 as a complete record of that repertoire, cross-referenced by number so a cook could chase espagnole or the tammy back to its own entry. The combination of currant jelly and horseradish with game was equally at home in English and American cooking of the period, which is likely why this particular sauce survived on Delmonico's menus.