The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 858

Cannelons Oe Beef Palate or Lambs' Sweetbreads and Celery

Cannelons de Palais de Boeuf ou de Ris d'Agneau et Celeri

Cut eighth of an inch square pieces from a cold braised and pressed beef palate, add to it an equal quantity of mushrooms and half as many truffles, then mix this salpicon with a well reduced allemande sauce (No. 407). Roll out some eight-turn puff paste to the thickness of one sixteenth of an inch, wet this paste slightly and cut it into half inch wide bands. Butter the exterior of some cylindrical molds, one and a quarter inches in diameter by two and a half inches long; apply the bands on to these, turning them around so that half the paste of one row overlaps half of the last one, and continue until the cylinder is well covered; egg them over twice and cook them in a hot oven, remove, unmold and place each on a square of buttered paper, fill with some chicken quenelle forcemeat (No. 89), garnish the center with the above prepared salpicon, and finish the bottom and top with more forcemeat, then set them in a moderate oven for ten minutes. Range them on folded napkins and serve. Instead of beef palates, lamb sweetbreads and celery mixed with an allemande sauce, may be substituted and finished exactly the same.

For the Modern Kitchen

A Delmonico's-era hot side dish: puff paste wound around metal tubes, baked hollow, then filled with forcemeat and a diced ragout. Most of the work is in the components Ranhofer assumes you already have on the stove.

A Little History

Charles Ranhofer published The Epicurean in 1894 after some thirty years as chef at Delmonico's in New York, and its "hot side dishes" are the small made dishes that filled the course between fish and roast at a long service dinner. Cannelon comes from the French for a pipe or tube, and the technique of winding pastry bands around a buttered metal cylinder was standard in nineteenth-century professional kitchens, producing a hollow case that could be filled to order. The beef palate is the telling detail: braised, pressed and diced, it was valued for its gelatinous texture and its cheapness, and it appears throughout French kitchen literature of the period alongside other cuts — calf's ears, cockscombs, lamb's brains — that a fashionable restaurant could turn into something expensive-tasting. That it now has to be explained, while the truffles beside it need no introduction, is a fair measure of how the hierarchy of ingredients has shifted.