The International Cook Book

Over three thousand recipes from the man who cooked at Delmonico's — French sauces, Italian pastas, Indian curries and American pies, the whole eating world of 1906 in one volume.

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Boiled Fowl, Anglaise

Singe, cut off head and feet, neatly wipe and truss a tender fowl of three and a half to four pounds. Place in a saucepan with enough water to cover it, season with a heavy teaspoon salt and half teaspoon pepper, then let boil for fifteen minutes. With a large Parisian potato scoop dig out all you can from three large carrots and three large turnips and add to the fowl. Tie together two leeks, two branches marjoram, one bay leaf, one clove, add to the fowl, cover pan and let boil for forty-five minutes. Scoop out two raw potatoes with the same scoop, thoroughly wash, add to fowl with six small white onions, and let continually boil for thirty minutes. Divide a small head of raw cauliflower in sections, wash and drain well, place in saucepan with a gill milk, quart water, teaspoon salt, boil for forty minutes and drain on a sieve. Dress on a hot dish, untruss, arrange vegetables alternately by groups around fowl and serve with an onion sauce separately. Strain broth of fowl into the white broth pan.

For the Modern Kitchen

A whole bird simmered with turned vegetables and served with onion sauce — straightforward, but the timings belong to an older bird and a professional kitchen.

A Little History

Anglaise simply marks the dish as English, and boiled fowl was one of the fixed points of the nineteenth-century English dinner table — a plain-boiled bird, root vegetables, and a white sauce, the sort of thing Mrs Beeton and her contemporaries printed year after year, though their boiled fowl was more often paired with white, oyster, celery or parsley sauce than with onion. What is distinctly professional here is the treatment: the vegetables are turned into uniform balls with a Parisian scoop and arranged in separate groups around the fowl, and the cooking liquid is not thrown away but strained back into the kitchen's white broth. That last line places the recipe squarely in a restaurant brigade rather than a household, which fits its author, Alexander Filippini, a long-serving chef at Delmonico's in New York; his International Cook Book works its way through the national styles of the period, giving each a Delmonico finish.

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