No. 659

Cock's-Combs Garnishing a la Colbert

Garniture de Cretes de coq a la Colbert

Select one pound of cock's-combs of equal size; put them into a colander and plunge it by degrees into some water a little warmer than tepid, then heat it gradually, in the meanwhile watching them attentively until they are done, or when by rubbing them with a cloth, the skin detaches. Drain at once, and put them in a cloth with a little fine salt, and rub them thoroughly till they are clean; finish cleansing by rubbing them with salt between the fingers, and in case the skin should not peel off, plunge them once more into boiling water, and finish by skinning properly. Now put them into warm water to soak for twenty-four hours, changing the water several times, and then cut off the tip of the points and the roots of the combs; lay them once more in plenty of salted, tepid water, and squeeze them well to make them disgorge their blood; change the water several times, and finish by cooking them very slowly in acidulated water, then drain dry, and roll them in meat glaze (No. 401), fine butter and chopped parsley.

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For the Modern Kitchen

A preparation from Ranhofer's Delmonico's kitchen, written for a brigade with time and a stockpot always going. The technique is sound but the temperatures and holding times need rethinking.

The hinge: warm, not hotThe first bath is brought up slowly and gently, warm rather than hot (perhaps 140-150F, though Ranhofer gives no figure), just enough that the outer skin loosens and slips under a cloth. Ranhofer starts the combs in water 'a little warmer than tepid'; he reserves boiling water for a second plunge, for combs whose skin still will not come away.
The 24-hour soakDo not leave raw offal sitting in warm water at room temperature for a day. Do the disgorging soaks in cold water in the refrigerator, changing the water several times; the purpose is only to draw out blood, and cold does it as well as warm.
SourcingCock's combs are not a supermarket item. Halal and Chinese butchers, and importers of French offal, sell them fresh or frozen; frozen combs are often already scalded and peeled, which removes much of the labour above.
Acidulated waterWater with a squeeze of lemon or a splash of white vinegar, sometimes with a spoon of flour whisked in (a blanc). The acid keeps the combs pale rather than grey.
Cooking timeRanhofer gives none. Reckon on 1 to 2 hours at a bare tremble, until a comb yields to a knifepoint and turns translucent and gelatinous. A rolling boil shrivels them and drives out the gelatine that gives them their texture.
Meat glaze (No. 401)Ranhofer's glace de viande is veal or beef stock reduced to a syrup that sets firm and sliceable when cold. Commercial demi-glace or a good reduced stock stands in; use it warm and sparingly, a teaspoon or so per portion.
Yield and useRanhofer gives no yield; a pound of combs, trimmed, might stretch to something like six to eight plates. They are not eaten alone: they crown vol-au-vents, sweetbreads, poached chicken or a financiere garnish, and go out hot, glossed with the glaze, butter and parsley.

A Little History

The Epicurean (1894) is Charles Ranhofer's record of thirty years cooking at Delmonico's in New York, and the garnishings chapter is where the book shows its Parisian training most plainly. Cock's combs, with cock's kidneys (in kitchen French, the testicles), were a standard luxury garnish of nineteenth-century French service, most familiar in garniture a la financiere and a la Toulouse; they contribute gelatinous texture rather than strong flavour, which is why so much of the work here is cleaning and soaking. The name a la Colbert is traditionally linked to Jean-Baptiste Colbert, Louis XIV's finance minister, though the attribution is culinary folklore rather than documented; in kitchen usage it attaches to preparations finished with beurre Colbert - butter worked with meat glaze and herbs, classically tarragon, though the finish given at the end of this entry uses parsley. That combs warranted a numbered recipe at all says something about American restaurant cooking in the Gilded Age, when a New York kitchen was expected to reproduce the full French repertoire, offal and all.