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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Lamb Steaks, Luxembourgeoise

Cut three steaks, three-quarters of a pound each, from a tender leg of lamb, make a few light incisions around the skin of each and neatly flatten them. Season with a light teaspoon salt and keep on a plate until required. Cut four peeled Bermuda onions in halves crosswise, place on a baking dish, cut side upward, season with a light teaspoon salt and half teaspoon white pepper. Place in a bowl an ounce butter, two tablespoons bred crumbs, a half teaspoon chopped parsley, half teaspoon chopped chives, the juice of a half lemon and half teaspoon French mustard, mix the whole well together, then evenly spread over the onions. Set in the oven for twenty minutes, heat a tablespoon butter in a frying pan, arrange the steaks in and cook for eight minutes on one side only, then lay the steaks on top of the onions, the cooked side downward. Pour one-half gill cold water in the steak pan, boil on the range for two minutes, then pour the gravy over the steaks. Set in the oven for ten minutes, remove and serve in the same dish.

For the Modern Kitchen

A straightforward leg-of-lamb dish that works as a one-pan supper, provided the onions get a real head start. The original assumes a coal range and gives no temperature, so the oven setting is the first thing to fix.

A Little History

The dish comes from Alexander Filippini's The International Cook Book (1906), a vast compilation by a cook long associated with Delmonico's in New York, arranged to give an American household a nominal tour of the world's kitchens. Names like Luxembourgeoise in books of this kind rarely denote a documented regional recipe; in professional French garnish nomenclature a national or provincial tag usually flags a characteristic ingredient, and here one might guess at the onions, the mustard and the crumb topping, though the connection is inference rather than record. Bermuda onions themselves were a genuine import story of the era, shipped to eastern American ports from the islands in late winter and prized for their mildness. The technique, searing on one side only and finishing the meat over its own vegetable so the juices run down into it, may well have recommended itself as restaurant economy: one dish to the oven, one dish to the table.

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