OF BOUILLI.
I have thus far purposely omitted saying anything concerning the French treatment of the meat and vegetables of which a pot-au-feu is made, being anxious to keep strictly to the subject which we have been discussing—the cookery of a clear beef broth. Before I go on with soup-making, however, I beg par parenthèse as it were, to turn back to that period in the preparation of the soup when we strained the broth from the meat, bones, and vegetables, which had made it. Now by not utilising these materials we often deny ourselves a dish which would be exceedingly nice for a change—one which, on the Continent, is sent to table as a matter of course.
In small establishments, or for the quiet dinner alone, I can strongly recommend a trial occasionally of home-made bouilli, which should be treated in this way:—
Let us assume that instead of beef fragments roughly hewn, a nice piece from the upper part of the shoulder has been chosen, say three pounds, that this has been rolled up and secured with a string, and that the recipe for pot-au-feu has been strictly carried out as far as the straining stage; that the meat has not been needlessly overcooked, and that all the vegetables have been used: now, place the meat on a dish, remove the string that bound it, and serve it upon a bed of macaroni previously boiled till tender, and a purée obtained by rubbing all the vegetables through the wire sieve, moistened with a portion of the bouillon or broth, or on a bed of stewed cabbage, with the broth vegetables neatly arranged round it, in some of the clear broth.
Do not rush away with the Anglo-Saxon idea that there is no goodness in soup-meat. “There is,” says the G. C., “as much nutriment in it, when eaten with the soup it has yielded, as there would have been, had it been roasted; and much more than if it had been converted into salt junk, as it is the English custom to do with the silverside of beef.” You can vary the bouilli by tomato sauce, or any piquante sauce, such as Robert. Of course a good deal depends upon stopping the simmering before the meat is overdone. The soup-meat served with macaroni, grated Parmesan, and purée of tomatoes, is the favourite manzo guernito of the Italian dinner.
Knowing, however, how difficult it is to introduce unusual customs to the English kitchen, I can hardly expect to enlist much sympathy in behalf of bouilli. Indeed, were it not for the fact that a careful digest of the preparation of pot-au-feu would be incomplete without reference to this method of serving the meat and the broth extracted from it, I might almost have left poor bouilli alone.