No. 762

Polenta Tartlets

Tartelettes de Polenta

Boil a quart of water, then add to it three-quarters of a quart of polenta letting it fall like rain into the boiling liquid. Cook it on the fire while stirring unceasingly, and incorporate into it, three ounces of butter, three ounces of parmesan and six egg-yolks. Fill small tartlet molds lined with fine paste (No. 135) with this preparation, leaving a hole in the center and filling it in with salpicon Previllot (No. 749); cover the whole with polenta, smooth the top, besprinkle with butter and dredge over grated parmesan, and then cook them nicely in a moderate oven.

← No. 761 Tartlets of Noques with Parmesan Garnishing Garnishings No. 763 Semolino Tartlets →

For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer wrote this as a garnish component for a larger service, so the page assumes you already have his fine paste and his salpicon on hand. The hinge is the consistency of the polenta: it has to be stiff enough to hold a molded shell and cap, not loose enough to sag.

The water-to-meal ratioA quart of water to three-quarters of a quart of cornmeal is roughly 4 cups liquid to 3 cups meal — far stiffer than the 4:1 or 5:1 by volume used for soft polenta today. That is deliberate here, since the mixture must be spooned into molds and hold a shape, but it stiffens fast and will need vigorous work with a wooden spoon. If it seizes before the meal is cooked through, loosen with a little hot water rather than milk.
Polenta measured by volumeThe original measures the meal by the quart, not the pound. Three-quarters of a quart of medium-grind cornmeal is about 1 lb / 450 g. Use coarse or medium yellow cornmeal, not instant polenta, which will not develop the same body.
"Letting it fall like rain"This is the standard instruction against lumps: a thin steady stream from the fist or a scoop while the other hand stirs. Dumping it in at once gives you gluey knots that no amount of beating will break down.
Egg yolks off the heatSix yolks going into near-boiling cornmeal will scramble. Pull the pan from the fire, beat in the butter and parmesan first to bring the temperature down, then the yolks one or two at a time.
Moderate ovenRead this as 350°F / 175°C. The filling is already cooked, so you are setting the paste shell and browning the parmesan cap — 20 to 30 minutes for small molds, until the crust is dry underneath and the top is golden.
Fine paste, No. 135Ranhofer's foundation paste for lining moulds; the recipe is not reproduced on this page, so its composition has to be taken from No. 135 itself. Any sturdy unsweetened tart pastry works; it needs to support a heavy filling, so blind-baking the shells briefly gives a better base.
Salpicon Previllot, No. 749A salpicon is small even dice bound in a thick sauce. Ranhofer's version is not reproduced on this page; if you cannot consult No. 749, any firm salpicon of cooked poultry, mushrooms and truffle in a reduced velouté fills the same role. It must be thick and cold, or it will soak the pastry.
Yield and serviceThe quantity given fills a great many small molds — several dozen tartlets of 1½ to 2 inches, depending on mold size. Scale down freely. These were meant to ring a platter of meat or game, not to be eaten as a course, and they are best straight from the oven while the cheese crust is crisp.

A Little History

Charles Ranhofer, chef of Delmonico's in New York, published The Epicurean in 1894 as a complete working record of the restaurant's kitchen, which is why this entry sits under Garnishings rather than among the entrées: it is one of a run of filled shells — noques, polenta, semolino — used to build up the borders of a served dish. Polenta itself is the Italian northern staple of boiled cornmeal, a food of the poor that entered grand French-service cooking largely as a firm, molded paste to be cut, fried or baked rather than eaten soft from the pot. The name goes back to the Latin polenta, a hulled-grain meal and porridge that long predates maize in Europe; the cornmeal version only became possible after American corn reached Italy in the sixteenth century. Enriching it with butter, parmesan and a heavy hand of egg yolks, then hiding a truffled salpicon inside, is exactly the Delmonico habit of taking a peasant preparation and dressing it for a banquet table.