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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Pot Au Feu, Mexicaine

Have three quarts boiling water in a large saucepan with one tablespoon salt, adding half pound fresh lean rump beef, one beef marrow bone and any chicken or veal bones at hand. Cover the pan and let slowly boil for fifteen minutes. Carefully skim the scum from the surface of the broth; add one small, peeled, red carrot, one medium-sized white turnip, one onion with a clove stuck in it, one small green pepper, two leeks tied up with two branches of white celery, also adding one bean garlic. Cover the pan and let slowly simmer for one hour and a half. Remove from the range, take the beef, carrot, turnip, onion and leeks from the pan; cut all these vegetables and the beef into small square pieces and place in a soup tureen, adding two Spanish sweet peppers cut into small squares. Remove all the fat from the surface of the broth, then pass through a cheesecloth over the vegetables and serve with six thin slices of toasted French bread.

For the Modern Kitchen

A light pot-au-feu built on bones rather than a large piece of meat, given a Mexican accent by green chile and pimiento. The whole dish stands or falls on the broth staying clear, so the temperature of the water matters more than anything else.

A Little History

Pot-au-feu is the domestic backbone of French cooking — beef, marrow bone and root vegetables drawn slowly in water, the broth served first and the meat after — and the international cookbooks of the early twentieth century delighted in fitting it out with national costumes. Here the costume is a green chile, a clove of garlic and diced pimiento, which is roughly what a hotel kitchen of the period understood "Mexicaine" to signify on a menu; the technique underneath is unaltered Parisian. That habit of tagging a standard preparation with a place name owes a great deal to the codified garnish lists of professional French kitchens, where a fixed set of accompaniments earned a dish a permanent adjective. The result tells you less about Mexican cooking than about how cosmopolitan restaurant menus were assembled at the time, from a French base with local ingredients bolted on.

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