A book of sauces

Front matter

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CULINARY REVOLUTION

Contents

Chap.

I. ON SAUCE-MAKING IN ENGLAND ....

II. ON SAUCE-MAKING IN FRANCE— LES SAUCES MITRES

Chapter I. On Sauce-making In England

Few things tell more tales concerning kitchen management than sauces, and of few things is the ordinary cook more afraid. As a general principle, the reason of this fear is due to the fact that, amongst English cooks, not one in ten has been taught from the very beginning the right way to make sauces.

Great Britain has been called the nation of one hundred religions and but one sauce ( i.e ., melted butter) ; but whatever its inhabitants may know of their hundredfold theology, it is pretty safe to say that the vast majority of its women have little, if any, knowledge as to the preparation of the single national garnish. Sauce-making, however, is no very recondite mystery, and once the plain principles of its initial preparation are grasped, there is in most cases no difficulty to contend with.

The great requirements in sauce-making are good materials and a conscientious careful cook. Now, it may seem a trivial subject to require such a big word as

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o conscience, but, independently of Herbert’s saying concerning the sweeping of a room, in nothing is conscience more necessary than in household work, of which cookery is certainly an important part. Unless a cook realises the importance of exactitude and care in every detail of her work, she will soon succumb to the fatal doctrine of “ there or thereabouts,” which lies at the bottom of all the culinary difficulties of the day. We do not take the trouble to find out what things and terms mean, and as long as our copy is more or less like what we imagine the original to be, we are content, though any connoisseur is not. He, poor soul, understands the true interpretation of the foreign terms with which a certain class of housemistress so freely besprinkles her menus, and, until warned by bitter experience, gains daily fresh proof that, according to the poet, “ things are not what they seem ! ”

It has been found convenient to use as the culinary language a kind of patois, scornfully described as “ kitchen- French,” which conveys in one or two words meanings that would require a whole sentence in English ; hence the Gallicism of our menus, at which so many grumble. But while granting that the terms used often set grammar at defiance, and are sometimes hardly more French than they are English, it would be well if one could make both cook and her mistress realise that these words have certain very definite meanings, and represent certain fixed varieties of comestibles. Few things in the kitchen suffer more from this want of comprehension than sauces. The “good plain cook ” of our registry offices, and even the “ high-class ” lady, who professes an intimate acquaintance with “soups, entrees, sauces, and jellies,” to quote her advertisement, are painfully unconscious that there is any difference

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in sauces beyond actual colour, and loftily ignore the varieties conveyed by such names as espagnole , bechamel , veloute , etc. Now, I grant the good plain cook aforesaid need not be a proficient in the variety of condiments with which a chef is conversant, but she ought at least to have a knowledge of the difference existing between what the French call les grandes sauces (the great or chief sauces), or more commonly, sauces 7/^m- (fundamental, literally mother, sauces), and this knowledge, if properly taught from the first, she would possess. As it is, our kitchen rulers only recognise white and brown “ sorce ” and melted butter, and, beyond colour, there is little to differentiate the trio.

To begin with, a young girl who comes into the kitchen should, when she has learnt such initial things as the washing and trimming of vegetables, the preparing and trussing of meat, poultry, etc. (to say nothing of such necessaries as the proper cleaning and care of her pots and pans, and the management of her stove), be taught first of all to make the roux or thickening which lies at the root of almost every sauce. She should be shown carefully how to melt the butter, and then add in the sifted flour, it being explained to her practically how a little initial care will minimise subsequent trouble ; the necessity of its being carefully stirred, to prevent the formation of any lumps, which spoil the sauce and waste the flour, and equally heedfully watched to prevent its colouring if white roux is desired, or the risk of burning if brown roux is in question. She should also be instructed in how to vary the consistency of this roux, by modifying the proportions of flour and butter ; and then, lastly, she should be taught the necessity and convenience of having a pot of each of these thickenings always at hand. When this lesson has been

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thoroughly grasped (how many cooks realise how long a would-be chef is kept practising this process abroad, where the name given to kitchen apprentices, “ gate-sauces ” — sauce-spoilers — shows what is expected ?), a girl will unconsciously assimilate the practice, and it will in the end be as difficult for her to produce a sauce in the rough and ready method familiar in our kitchens, as the ordinary cordon-bleu. would find it to follow out the more refined method. Once she can be relied on to produce a perfect roux, she should be shown how to dilute it with water, milk, stock, etc., as the exigency of the case may require. No cook trained on these lines will send up the gruesome paste that one sees only too often under the name of melted butter in English houses. As a rule, the method is this : — Some water or milk is set on to boil, an indefinite quantity of flour is shovelled into this, it is rubbed up with the milk until fairly smooth, a piece of butter, of similarly indeterminate quantity, is dropped in, a hasty stir round is given, and the whole is poured into a cold sauce-boat, where it solidifies to a pasty mass, agreeably diversified by lumps of uncooked flour, that give a raw, indigestible flavour to everything it comes in contact with. To give them their due, some cooks, careful souls, who follow those abominable directions of the old-fashioned cookery book, and “ roll the butter into some flour ” (delightful vagueness !) do actually, when their sauce (?) is cooked, run it through a strainer into the sauce-boat ! In the latter case, the sauce may be smooth, but examine the strainer, and see at what cost the smoothness was obtained ! Flour is cheap, doubtless, and the quantity wasted represents, after all, but a very inappreciable sum it may be ; but, then, why need any thing be wasted ? However small it is, it reprc-

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sents labour of some kind. As a matter of fact, it is much to be questioned if the excessive cheapness of so much of our food-stuff, that we so rejoice over, is not at the bottom, and the cause, of the deplorable waste which is one of the great blots on British housekeeping.

Unfortunately, fewmistresses are capable of improving this state of things. We are, as a rule, only too apt to imagine that things equal to the same (in appearance) are equal to one another (in flavour), and so we allow our cooks to produce a white sauce which looks pretty much like the sauces we saw when on a tour abroad, or when dining with a friend able to boast a French chef, and are content, blissfully ignorant of the fact that the white sauce we did not taste was absolutely different from the one we did try, until our mankind begin grumbling at the dish we have fondly hoped was a perfect replica of the one they praised so much at Mrs. So and So’s ; and then, it must be admitted, we are apt rather to blame them for their fastidiousness than our cook for her ignorance, or ourselves for our lack of discrimination.

It is perfectly true that of white sauces England really boasts but one, melted butter ; still, that one is so good, if properly made, that it will go a long way when rightly prepared. There are, however, a good many more sauces than we imagine till we begin to count them up. But to begin with melted butter. The foundation of this is very simple and economical, consisting simply of flour, butter and water ; the great secret lies in the mixing. For this proceed as follows : — Melt two ounces of fresh butter in a delicately clean pan, then sprinkle in from one to two ounces of flour, according to the richness you desire to give your sauce, and stir this all over the fire till the

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butter, thoroughly melted, has absorbed the flour, and the two form a smooth, even paste ; when the sauce will lift from the pan and leave a clean place behind it, pour in, gradually, half a pint of water, stirring this in steadily the whole of the time so as to prevent any lumps forming ; if by any accident there should be any undue thicknesses, the only thing is to stop pouring in the liquid, and to beat together the sauce with a wooden spoon until it is all reduced once more to a smooth, even paste, then finish adding in the water. Once the water is all in, let it all boil together for ten or twelve minutes, stirring it occasionally to ensure the perfect cooking of the flour. It is to the neglect of this rule that we owe the raw, pasty flavour so often noticed in badly made melted butter. The sauce, now perfect, should properly be rubbed through a fine hair sieve, or a tammy-cloth, but in most cases it is considered sufficient to pour it through a fine tin strainer; in fact, if carefully prepared from the first, it should require no straining at all for domestic purposes, though the tammy, or its nearest equivalent, the fine hair sieve, gives a soft, velvety smoothness to the texture of the sauce that nothing else will, and that once realised is never forgotten. Of course the less flour there is in proportion to the butter, the richer the sauce will be, and to make melted butter absolutely perfect, epicurean diners insist on the addition, just as the sauce is being poured into the tureen, of half an ounce of fresh butter and a tiny squeeze of lemon-juice, with a very slight dash of white pepper. Prepared thus, with fish at any rate, few people will regret the absence of bechamel or veloute. It must be remembered that the tureen in which the sauce is to be served should always be carefully scalded out before use, or the cold china will chill

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the sauce, and tend to make it lumpy. It may be well, at the same time, to mention that a much more economical way exists of making melted butter, which, however, possesses considerable merit. For this one and a half ounces of flour are cooked as above with only half an ounce of butter, the boiling water being added in precisely the same way, and then, just as the sauce is to be served, you stir in another half ounce of butter broken into small pieces, each piece being carefully stirred till dissolved in the boiling sauce before the next piece is added in. Sauce made thus has a creamy, delicate flavour, and is very nearly as rich as the first mentioned kind, though, it must be admitted, it is a little more troublesome to make satisfactorily, but, as the French say, if one cannot pay with one’s purse, one must with one’s person, i.e., personal care and attention make up for deficiency in materials.

Sauce made as above, only with boiling milk instead of water, is excellent, and forms a very praiseworthy “ white sauce,” which must not, at the same time, be confounded with bechamel. The great objection to this sauce, however, as too often made by British cooks, is the predominating flavour of mace or nutmeg (too frequently both) it is apt to possess. Both these spices, being very strongly flavoured, require great care in using, and should never be added to any sauce till it is known that their flavour is not objectionable to those who will eat it, for, if disliked at all, both mace and nutmeg are usually detested. To this white sauce a spoonful of cream is an immense improvement, and satisfactorily replaces the fresh butter given with melted butter.

Made on the above plan, the national sauce need not be, as it too often is, the national disgrace, but it must be admitted that it takes longer to prepare than the

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ordinary rough and ready method. To obviate this, where melted butter is in constant request, the best plan is, at a leisure moment, to put on the fire four or five ounces of butter, and melt this as above, stirring in as it dissolves an equal amount of fine dried and sifted flour, and allow this to cook together gently, but without colouring, from twelve to fifteen minutes. When perfectly smooth and blended, pour this into a delicately clean jar, seasoning it with a little salt ; cover this jar with a sheet of white paper twisted over it, and keep it in a cool place till wanted. This is a very handy stand by, as, by its help, a sauce can be improvised in a few minutes ; for the flour and butter, being already cooked, only need to be boiled up together with the milk or water, and finished off with a little more butter, white pepper, and lemon-juice. This paste keeps good for a few days, in winter especially, but care must be taken not to overkeep it, for if it has contracted the slightest musty taint, it will spoil everything it comes in contact with. This paste is the thickening known as ronx blanc , which is the foundation of all the French white sauce, however delicate.

Having mastered the way of making melted butter, you can vary your sauces considerably. For instance, if you stir to half a pint of any of the above forms of melted butter, from a teaspoonful to a tablespoonful (according to taste) of Burgess’s Essence of anchovy, you get very good anchovy sauce. Or a teaspoonful of parsley, capers, or fennel well washed, dried, and finely minced with a sharp knife, added to half a pint of melted butter, with a little white pepper (and a dash of lemon juice for parsley, or plain or chilli vinegar for fennel) will make excellent caper, parsley, or fennel sauce for fish, chicken, ^tc.

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N.B. — There is a right and a wrong way of chopping parsley ; it should be well washed, and then wiped perfectly dry in a clean cloth, though without pressing or bruising it. Now mince it with a sharp knife, and you will have it in fine separate particles that will flavour the sauce agreeably without clogging it. If minced wet, parsley goes together in a lumpy mass.

Egg sauce is made by boiling an egg for twelve minutes, then throwing it into cold water till perfectly hard and cold, when it should be cut into little dice, added to half a pint of melted butter, and heated, a dash of lemon-juice (or vinegar) and white pepper, with from half an ounce to one ounce of fresh butter, or a couple of tablespoonfuls of cream being stirred into it just as it is to be served. A teaspoonful of made mustard added to half a pint of melted butter also makes a nice sauce for serving with herring, or even roast beef. Oyster, shrimp, and lobster sauces, the foundation of all which is melted butter, require, however, rather different treatment to ensure their right flavour. For instance, for oyster sauce, save all the liquor from the oysters, and add to it enough water to make up a full half pint ; in this simmer the beards of the oysters until their flavour is extracted, and then use this stock, strained and seasoned, to make the melted butter in the usual way ; when it is finished put in the oysters, whole or halved, and allow them to heat gently in the sauce (be very sure they do not boil, or they will toughen !), add the half ounce of butter, or preferably a spoonful or two of cream or new milk, and a dash of lemon-juice and pepper, and serve. Lobster sauce is made in the same way, only boiling the shell to extract the flavour ; whilst for shrimps the heads and shells should be used to form the stock.

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To all these three sauces a few drops of essence of anchovyare an immense improvement ; but be careful only to use just enough anchovy to bring out the flavour of the sauce without betraying its own presence therein.

Besides these simple forms of our national sauce, we have a few others less generally known save to old-fashioned housekeepers, which deserve attention, and some of which even obtained honourable mention from no less an authority than M. Urbain-Dubois, author of “ La Cuisine Classique,” and sundry other standard works on cookery.

Admiral’s Sauce. — For this make half a pint of the second melted butter, tammy it, and when re-heated add to it a spoonful of minced capers, the same of minced parsley, a grate of lemon rind, a squeeze of lemon-juice, and a few drops of essence of anchovy. (It is well to observe here that in France such addenda as anchovies, cayenne, etc., are generally added to sauces in the shape of “ butters,” i.e., butter rubbed down smoothly to a paste with the condiment desired, and put in just at the last before serving the sauce ; this plan being held to ensure the due blending of the mixture better than if the seasoning is added separately.)

Apple Sauce. — Peel, core, and quarter one and a half pounds of apples, throwing them as you trim them into water just pleasantly acidulated with either lemon-juice or vinegar to preserve their whiteness. When all are done put them into a pan, with just enough of the acidulated water to keep them from burning ; let them simmer till soft enough to pulp, then beat them through a sieve, mixing with the pulp thus obtained about one ounce of fresh butter, and sugar to taste. If liked, a dash of lemon-juice

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1 1 or a grate of the lemon rind, or a little spice, may be added to this sauce.

Bread Sauce. — Boil half a pint or so of milk with a few peppercorns, a spray of parsley, an onion (or two or three green onions are better), and a clove, till well flavoured. Now put six ounces of freshly-grated white bread-crumbs into a pan, and pour the boiling milk on to it through a strainer. Cover the pan closely, and leave it at the side of the stove until the bread has soaked up all the milk, then beat it to a smooth pap with a fork, give it a boil up, stirring it all the time to prevent its catching (it should be rather thick); add two good tablespoonfuls of cream with a seasoning of salt and white pepper, and serve very hot. Nutmeg and mace are also added to this sauce by some cooks, but require great care with regard to quantity. There is no surer test of the capacity of a cook than in this matter of adding spice to any dish.

Devil Sauce. — Thicken some good brown stock (about half a pint) with butter and flour (prepared as for melted butter) till the sauce is as thick as batter, now add to it a tablespoon ful of walnut ketchup, the strained juice of a lemon, a teaspoonful of made mustard, and the same of essence of anchovy, twelve or fourteen minced capers, a small shallot, blanched and finely minced, a dust of cayenne, and about half the rind of the lemon grated. Bring this all to the boil, then simmer for a few moments ; serve poured over the grilled meat with which it is to be served, or the meat may, if preferred, be simply heated in this sauce without being allowed to boil.

Drawn Butter. — Put into a delicately clean pan four ounces of butter, two teaspoonfuls of lemon-juice, and a good pinch each of salt and white pepper. Stir this all over the fire

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till the butter is half melted, then lift the pan off the fire, and continue the stirring till the butter is perfectly dissolved. If prepared thus, the butter is creamy and far fresher in flavour than when permitted to melt altogether over the fire.

Gooseberry Sauce. — Clean and trim a pint of green gooseberries, blanch them for a moment or two in boiling water then drain them, rub them through the colander, back into the pan, add two ounces of butter, allow them to boil till quite cooked, and serve. This sauce may be made with bottled gooseberries when the fresh fruit is out of season in just the same way, only that they do not require the prefatory blanching. Or, again, it may be made with green gooseberry jam thus : — Put four ounces of green gooseberry jam in a pan with a gill of water, and the juice of half a lemon, boil together for about ten minutes, then rub it all through a fine sieve, and re-heat in the bain-marie. Both these two sauces, however, may require to have a few drops of vegetable green colouring added to them just before they are sieved, to bring up the colour properly. It is well to avoid the use of colourings in sauces whenever possible, and when used it should be with the utmost caution and delicacy. Over-coloured, like over-seasoned, sauces are an abomination.

Horse-radish Sauce. — To half a pint of best melted butter add a tablespoonful of finely grated horse-radish, a dash of castor sugar, and a spoonful of cream or new milk, and serve.

Lemon Sauce. — Remove the peel from a lemon, and slice the pulp, taking away the pips, next cut these slices into dice, carefully removing any white pith, blanch the liver of a fowl, and mince that also finely, place both the liver and

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the lemon in a sauce tureen, pour on to them half a pint of best melted butter, and serve. (This sauce is given by no less an authority than Baron de Brisse, with approval as an English sauce.)

A plainer form of this is to make some good melted butter, and just after sieving it, add the finely grated rind of half a small lemon, and then the strained juice of it little by little to the sauce, re-heat and serve. The lemon-juice should not be put in till the sauce has cooled a little, and it must not be allowed to re-boil afterwards. This sauce is usually served with boiled fowls or veal, and sometimes finely minced parsley is added to it.

Mustard Sauce. — Mix together one ounce of sifted flour, and half an ounce of mustard flour, and make this into melted butter in the usual manner with two ounces of butter and a short half pint of boiling water. When worked together and well blended in the usual way, let it all boil together from twelve to fifteen minutes, then add a teaspoonful of vinegar, and serve.

Pike Sauce. — In former days, when fresh-water fish were more appreciated than they are now, pike was considered an especially dainty dish in many counties. In the eastern ones, especially in Lincolnshire, it was almost invariably served in old-fashioned houses, however cooked, with this sauce. Melt two ounces of fresh butter, and work into it in the usual way one and a half ounces of flour, and when thoroughly blended, pour on to it gradually half a pint of boiling milk ; let it boil up again, then stir in an anchovy cut small, half an ounce of fresh butter, two spoonfuls of thick cream, a dust of cayenne, a little lemon-juice, and a tiny grate of the rind. This is an old receipe. A small

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H spoonful of lemon pickle was sometimes substituted for the lemon-juice and peel.

Pleydell’s Sauces. — Of these there are two : one a form of bigarade, made by boiling up together half a pint each of claret and good gravy, seasoning it with pepper, salt, cayenne, and the juice of two bitter oranges, simmering it all together for a few minutes, then pouring a little over the game, and serving the rest in a sauce-boat. The second is more especially for wild fowl. For this sauce : — Bring just to the boil together a full gill each of strong brown gravy, and claret or port wine, a dessertspoonful of finely minced shallot, and a rather high seasoning of salt, cayenne, and pepper. A few drops of essence of anchovy, made mustard, and walnut pickle may be added to this sauce, particularly if served with rather strong-tasted water fowls. This is especially the case if to be served with wild goose, or gannet, or solan goose. Of late years there has grown up a fancy for a gravy obtained by crushing the body of the wild duck (after the fillets have been removed), in a strong press called a duck presser, till all the gravy is extracted, when it is at once just boiled up at table in a small silver spirit kettle with a little claret or port, lemon-juice, minced shallot, cayenne, etc., etc., according to taste. This sauce is naturally made by rule of thumb, but is evidently a modification of the older sauce, immortalised by Sir Walter Scott.

Queen Mary’s Sauce. — This is a special but decidedly meritorious sauce for serving with roast shoulder of mutton. It is made thus : — When the meat is three parts roasted, put a soup-plate under it containing three tablespoonfuls of hot water, the same of port wine, a shallot and an anchovy, both finely minced, with a little black pepper.

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Baste the meat from time to time with this mixture and the gravy that drops from it, then when the meat is cooked, place it on a very hot dish, the inside uppermost, score it across two or three times with a sharp knife, pour the gravy over it, and cover it liberally with fried bread-crumbs.

As a proof of the popularity of this sauce it may be mentioned that this also obtained the approval of Baron de Brisse, who incorporated a version of it in his “ Menus,” under the title of sauce a tons rotis (sauce for all roast meat). He simply simmered together an anchovy, a minced shallot, a glass of red wine, a spoonful or so of gravy, and a dash of lemon-juice, then strained it and stirred it into the gravy from the joint.

Lastly, we may mention our one brown sauce, i.e., gravy. This is obtained from the drippings of a joint roasted at an open fire, and is made thus : — When the joint is cooked, take up the dripping pan, pour off the fat from the surface very carefully, then pour into the pan a little boiling water, and stir it round well to take up all the brown spots that will be found adhering to the tin, and which contain the very best of the gravy ; add pepper and salt to this, and serve very hot with the joint. Unless attention is paid to mixing in these brown spots of crisped gravy, the gravy will be insipid and watery, as it too often is when the cook pours off the fat carelessly, carrying off more than half the gravy with it, then sluices a quantity of hot water over the joint, without paying any attention to the pan, which is often put aside by a careless cook with quite half the best part of the gravy adhering to it. Good meat, properly roasted, will, if rightly treated, produce a good supply of rich, dark-brown, savoury-smelling meat juice (for it is nothing else), instead of which, from the

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best joint many cooks only send up a thin, watery, dirty liquid, without either strength or savour. These crisp, brown spots of solidified gravy are the substance chemically known as osmazome, in point of fact the most nourishing and best flavoured part of the meat, which, without it, is stringy, fibrous, and indigestible. Granted good meat, there is absolutely no difficulty in securing good gravy, if the rule of only adding a small quantity of boiling water, and stirring it well in the dripping pan, be observed. It is all the more necessary to see to this matter if children are in question, as the osmazome of meat is their very life.

Though properly not an English sauce at all, there is one more white sauce that requires notice. This sauce, Vdnitienne, or Venetian sauce, is a glorified version of melted butter prepared thus : — Into half a pint of the second form of melted butter previously given, stir the yolk of an egg previously beaten up with a spoonful or two of cream or new milk, and allow it to simmer together for a minute or two, then just as you are about to serve it, add a little minced parsley, about half an ounce of fresh butter, and some cooked button mushrooms, either whole or minced. Of course, properly speaking, this should be made with bechamel sauce, but as given above it makes an extremely good sauce for fish fillets, and is very popular in this form in England.