Louis Eustache Ude

Many people rail against attributing much importance to the pleasures of the table; but it is not observable that these moralists are more averse than others to gratification of the palate when opportunity occurs.- Louis Eustache Ude, The French Cook, 1813.

I never mention my interest in the history of cooking in these pages. Since most of these notes in this blog reflect a day-by-day process of cookery - albeit covering a fairly wide range* of cuisines, ingredients and tastes - the topic rarely comes up. I'm not a scholar in the subject. My kitchen library includes both my grandmothers' cookbooks: a copy of Mrs. Beeton** from the 1920s and a slightly later (though not first edition by any stretch) Joy of Cooking. Another book on my shelf is the 1981 Lord Peter Wimsy Cookbook, a culinary ramble through the fictional works of Dorothy L. Sayers.

A few days ago I developed a hankering for duck with green peas, wondering what that might be like. I couldn't put my hands on the 1981 book, and I still do not know about the recipe, because my online search led me to the name Louis Eustache Ude.

Fascinating.

Ude (1769-1846) cooked for nobility for most of his life. He started in the family business as an apprentice sous-chef in the kitchens of Louis XVI, leaving before the Revolution for several years in other jobs (printer, jeweller, casino employee). He returned to his original career for a two-year stint as the maître d’hôtel of Napoleon's mother, then relocating to England, where he worked twenty years for the Earl of Sefton. Leaving for service with the Duke of York (when the Earl's son added salt to the soup),  Ude became the initial chef of William Crockford's gaming club on the death of the Duke. Crockford's is still a London gambling club, though the name has changed to 'Fifty.'

Louis Eustache Ude, from an
early edition of The French Cook

His personality matched the English stereotype of the French at the time, and may well have contributed to it. Lady Chesterfield described him as "whimsical, good-natured, [and] exorbitantly vain." He is famous for one quotation, usually presented as "The English have many religions but one sauce." The actual text is given below.

This man is remembered for his two cookbooks, in particular

He published this extensive work in 1813, and during his lifetime the book went to at least ten editions. It was reissued (probably without royalties) in the US in the mid 19th century. Mrs. Beeton stole his recipe for Turtle Soup.

His major cookbook is still available today. Original copies of The French Cook (pre-1830) can be purchased - typically for upwards of £1000. There is a copy in the Harvard library which has been scanned by Google. And Nabu Press has issued a facsimile edition of 562 pages: The French Cook, Or, The Art Of Cookery, ISBN 114478428X, published at $42.75 but available online for less.

Looking through the online version for 'duck with green peas' I found the following two recipes which I decided on instead:

430. Compote of Quails.
Take six or eight quails, according to the size of your dish. Cut the claws off, empty the birds, without making too large an opening, Truss them en poule, that is to say, with the legs inward. Have a dozen pieces of bacon cut into the shape of corks, blanch them in order to draw the salt out: then let them fry in butter till they are of a light brown; next take them out of the stewpan to make room for the quails, which stew till they begin to be of a light brown also, and then take them out. Make a roux, which moisten with a ladleful of gravy of veal; add a bunch of parsley and and green onions, some small white onions (if approved of), mushrooms, &c. As soon as the quails are done, take them out of the stewpan, and let the bacon stew till thoroughly done. Skim the sauce well, and strain it through a tammy over the quails: then dish the bacon, mushrooms, and small onions, and send up quite hot and well seasoned. This dish will not do for an English dinner.

689. Asparagus Peas.
If the asparagus be properly dressed, it should taste like green peas. Take some young asparagus, which pick with great care; then cut them into small equal pieces, avoiding to put in such parts as are hard or tough. Wash them in several waters, and throw them into boiling water, with a little salt. When the asparagus are nearly done, drain them first through a sieve, and next wipe them quite dry with a towel. Then put them into a stewpan with a small bit of butter, a bunch of parsley, and green onions, and toss them in the stewpan over the fire for ten minutes. Now add a little flour, and a small lump of sugar, and moisten with boiling water. They must boil over a large fire. When well reduced, take out the parsley and green onions, and thicken with the yolks of two eggs beaten with a little cream, and a little salt. Remember that in this entremet sugar must predominate, and that there is to be no sauce. Asparagus are always dressed in this manner, when to be served in the second course; but for first-cours dishes, throw them into some good sauce tournee (No. 19), well reduced. Boil them a few times over a large fire, then powder a little sugar, and make a thickening of one egg. The sauce must be made thick, on account of the asparagus always yielding a certain quantity of water, which will thin the sauce.

The asparagus sat in the fridge, but when I went to the store. MLG let me down - and not for the first time. The package of frozen quails I had seen in the case had disappeared! As a fallback, I decided on halved game hens instead. Instead of bacon I bought a package of cured side meat, which served admirably.

In the end, I made a fresh stock and blanched the cork-sized chunks of side meat in it. These I sauteed in butter, followed by the halved game hens. I put the browned hens in a casserole in the oven while I completed the recipe with the roux, stock, parsley and onions. After straining the gravy over the game hens I served the nibbly bits in a dish separately as Ude suggests. The asparagus took less time to prepare than the recipe takes to read and parse. And it was good, served with no salad or starch and a glass of the house red.

I did not calculate the calories or the carbs for this meal, but the results the following morning were quite satisfactory. I bought the book as well (not the antique, but the reprint).




From the 1828 edition:
what a difference 15 years makes!

 Notes:

* Was that a pun? I do hope not, as my kitchen range, though flexible, is not large enough for my paella pan in any configuration I consider.

** In the interest of full disclosure, I must say that Elijah, when he was new to the family, took my treasured copy off the shelf and found it quite to his taste.

Online References:

http://www.practicallyedible.com/edible.nsf/pages/louiseustacheude

It is very remarkable, that in France, where there is but one religion, the sauces are infinitely varied, whilst in England, where the different sects are innumerable, there is, we may say, but one single sauce. Melted butter, in English cooking, plays nearly the same part as the Lord Mayor's coach at civic ceremonies, calomel in modern medicine, or silver forks in fashionable novels. Melted butter with anchovies, melted butter and capers, melted butter and parsley, melted butter and eggs, melted butter for ever: this is a sample of the national cookery of this country.- Louis Eustache Ude, The French Cook, 1813.http://books.google.com/books?id=FXXKK6i7mCQC&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q&f=false