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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Chicken Gumbo, Piedmontaise

Cut off the head, draw and wipe a small tender fowl, totally bone it, free meat from skin, then cut fowl in half-inch square pieces; cut also in small squares two white medium onions, two seedless green peppers, two well-cleaned leeks, two ounces raw ham and four branches crisp, well-cleaned celery. Heat one and a half tablespoons butter in a saucepan, add the above and gently brown for ten minutes, frequently stirring with wooden spoon. Moisten with three quarts hot water, add the fowl bones, one level tablespoon salt, half teaspoon white pepper, and let boil thirty minutes. Cut two ounces good raw Italian macaroni in half-inch pieces, add to soup, boil twenty minutes more, then add two ounces Piedmont raw rice, two peeled, crushed tomatoes and twelve small trimmed fresh okras cut in half-inch pieces; lightly mix and let boil for forty minutes longer, remove bones, add leaves from two branches chervil, boil for five minutes more, pour into a hot soup tureen and serve.

For the Modern Kitchen

A gumbo in name and okra only — this is a long-simmered Italian-leaning soup built on a whole boned fowl. The cumulative cooking time is the thing to watch: the timings add up to about ninety-five minutes of boiling, which is more than the chicken, the macaroni or the rice can survive.

A Little History

"Gumbo" reached international cookbooks by way of New Orleans, where the word is generally traced to a West African name for okra, and by the early twentieth century hotel kitchens applied it loosely to almost any thickened okra soup. This version carries the suffix piedmontaise, which in French kitchen usage points to Piedmont and most often to rice from there (classically a risotto, frequently with truffles) — the rice-growing plain around Vercelli and Novara supplies much of Italy's risotto grain — and the macaroni and tomato reinforce the Italian gesture. The combination is characteristic of the grand-hotel cooking of the period, where a repertoire was assembled by pairing a familiar dish name with a regional garnish, and of The International Cook Book in particular, whose author, Alexander Filippini, spent decades in the kitchens of Delmonico's in New York and wrote for cooks expected to bone a fowl without being told how.

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