The Epicurean
A Treatise on the Culinary Art — Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s — 1894
No. 901

Croustades a la Piedmontese

Croustades a la Piemontaise

Set a quart of broth or water on the fire, and when it boils, drip into it like rain, six ounces of semolino, let it cook slowly for twenty minutes, then incorporate into it one ounce of butter and four spoonfuls of grated parmesan, also a little salt and nutmeg. Lay in cold ice water some six-sided molds (Fig. 221), take them out one by one, and fill them with the above preparation; leave them to stand on ice till cold, then unmold, dip them in beaten eggs, and roll in powdered crackers, then again in beaten eggs and afterward in bread-crumbs, smooth the surfaces with the blade of a knife, and mark on top with a round three-quarter of an inch pastry cutter; fry them a fine color, remove the covers, and empty out the insides; fill these with a salpicon of truffles, mushrooms, beef palates, duck livers, small quenelles and a little brown Madeira sauce (No. 492). Replace the covers, and serve them dressed on folded napkins.

For Polenta Croustades proceed exactly as for the semolino, finishing them the same; fill the insides with white truffles and quarter inch squares of sweetbreads, and cover with an espagnole sauce (No. 414) reduced with dry mushrooms and tomato essence added.

For the Modern Kitchen

A semolina gnocchi mixture, chilled in molds, breaded twice, fried, then hollowed out and used as a container for a rich salpicon. The hinge is the chilling: the semolina must be set solid and cold all the way through or the shells collapse in the fat.

A Little History

The croustade is a French device rather than an Italian one: a fried or baked case, hollowed and refilled, that let a nineteenth-century kitchen serve a warm ragout of trimmings with dignity. The filling here, a salpicon of truffle, mushroom, palates, livers and quenelles bound in Madeira sauce, uses exactly the sort of small diced offcuts a large restaurant kitchen would have to hand. The numbered cross-references to sauces No. 492 and No. 414 show what The Epicurean (1894) really was: not a book of standalone recipes but the working system of a brigade, where nothing was written out twice.