The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 861

Cassolettes, Montholon

Cassolettes a la Montholon

Procure timbale molds (No. 3, Fig. 137), fill these with butter melted to a cream, and let get very cold; unmold by dipping them into hot water, and stand them away on the ice until hard, then dip them into powdered crackers, and in beaten eggs, also in bread-crumbs, again in the eggs, then roll them in bread-crumbs once more, smooth the surfaces with the blade of a knife, and form an incision on the top with a round pastry cutter three-quarters of an inch in diameter; plunge them into very hot frying fat, lift off the cover, and turn them over on to a grate placed over a tin pan, and set them at the oven door; when the butter has entirely melted, fill the insides with a salpicon of truffles, beef palates, and sweetbreads, mixed with supreme sauce (No. 547), lay on top a cover made of a fluted and glazed mushroom, and serve hot.

For the Modern Kitchen

This is a piece of nineteenth-century culinary engineering: the butter is not an ingredient of the finished dish but a disposable core that shapes a breaded shell and then melts away, leaving a hollow crisp case for the filling. Everything depends on the butter staying rock hard until it hits the fat.

A Little History

Cassolette is simply a small casserole — a little vessel — and in the grand nineteenth-century kitchen the word came to mean the edible container as much as the dish it sat in: shells of forcemeat, pastry, potato, or as here, breadcrumb built around a butter core. Charles Ranhofer, chef at Delmonico's in New York and author of The Epicurean (1894), lists a series of cassolettes, each with a different name and filling, which is how the classical repertoire was organised: one technique, endlessly re-labelled. The name Montholon is generally taken from the French family of that name, best known through the Comte de Montholon who accompanied Napoleon to Saint Helena, but as with most of these garnish titles the connection is honorific rather than documented, and Ranhofer offers no explanation. What the recipe does document is the labour available to a restaurant of that era: a salpicon of truffles, beef palates and sweetbreads bound in supreme sauce, served inside a fried shell that exists for perhaps five minutes before it goes soft, and capped with a mushroom carved by hand.