Then when I started working in Paris and later in London at the Ritz hotels, we would spend week after week cooking grouse and pheasant and other game brought to the kitchen by men whose names were world-famous, the pre-World War I kings, Europe's sporting nobility, and many of the international diplomats and financiers. And finally in New York—that is, in the years before we had the law requiring that game sold in public eating places be specially tagged—I look back on the months from October to January as always crowded with requests by our guests to prepare the game they had brought down.
During my first years in New York the smart international set was as enthusiastic over good game dishes as they were for la bonne cuisine française. Something new, unusual, or even exotic, if good, would always find an appreciative response. Mr. August Silz, from whom we purchased our poultry and game, knew this and was always on the lookout for a novelty. He went to Europe several times a year to bring back le dernier cri that he hoped might turn out to be a hitherto undiscovered delicacy. And I think I was the one to whom he put all his strange cookery problems.
“I've got an ostrich, Monsieur Louis, will you cook it for a party I'm going to give?” was a typical request. I always tried not to seem surprised, but I guess I did raise my Gallic eyebrows at that one. He said it was a young bird, but I could see that it was going to be pretty dry meat, and maybe tough, too. So I braised it very slowly and made the sauce with the liquor in which the bird was cooked, thickening it with arrowroot. The accompaniments I decided upon were those that go with wild goose or turkey—cranberry sauce, braised celery, and wild rice—and I think they were enjoyed much more than the ostrich. At any rate, I never saw another ostrich—except live ones in the zoo!
This same purveyor also supplied us with wild boar which were quite popular with many guests who had traveled abroad and were familiar with them. There were certain people who wished to eat, at least once during the year, each of the really famous game dishes. Boar was in this category, not put on the regular menu but prepared for special private parties. I never ordered any but young small boar that I could depend upon to be tender and then cooked them thoroughly because they are, of course, a species of wild pig. We roasted them whole after marinating them in wine seasoned with spices and herbs. Wild rice, velouté of celery, and currant jelly were served with boar and any meat that was left was served cold with Cumberland sauce.
Grouse, another favorite of our game connoisseurs, was always the first to appear in the fall because the Scotch grouse season starts the second week in August. Of course, no shipments of foreign delicacies came in during World War I, but when they were resumed there was great rivalry among the better eating places to get the specialties back on their menus. The Ritz obtained the first shipment of grouse to this country, and so we displayed it with great pride on the buffet set up each day in the roofgarden restaurant. Grouse are small birds, about the size of partridges but having a much more gamy flavor. They have plump, succulent breasts but tiny legs with practically no meat on them, and are one bird that should be cooked as soon as possible after being killed. They are preferred rare and are always served on toast spread with rouennaise, usually with a bread sauce, sometimes with a cream sauce or danoise sauce.
Roast Grouse
Clean the birds and tie around them slices of fat salt pork. Place them in a roasting pan and cook in a very hot oven (475° F.) for 10 to 15 minutes. Remove the birds from the roasting pan, remove all the fat from the liquid in the pan, and make a déglaçage by adding 1 teaspoon butter and ¼ cup brown stock or beef consommé and reducing it all very quickly to concentrate the flavor. Place each bird on a piece of toast which has been spread with rouennaise (see below) and serve with dry bread crumbs, bread sauce, and red currant jelly, passing the déglaçage separately. Some people prefer cream sauce or danoise instead of bread sauce, particularly towards the end of the season when the birds are getting a little older. In this case the sauce is made in the roasting pan (see “The Last Touch in Sauces”) after the fat has been removed from the pan liquid. When either cream or danoise sauce is served, it is poured over the bird.
Rouennaise
Rouennaise, or liver paste, is a rich mixture of poultry liver and seasonings. Melt 2 tablespoons salt pork fat and heat until very hot. Add 1 cup chicken or duck livers, 1 pinch thyme, 1 bay leaf, 1 teaspoon salt, and a little pepper. Cook for 3 to 4 minutes over a hot fire. Add a small pony of cognac or sherry. Mix all together, pounding the mixture well, then rub it through a sieve to make a paste.
Although it does distress me to think of all the fine game that is killed and probably never eaten because no one in the family will cook it, I can sympathize with anyone who is asked to cook game that has not been properly cleaned. And I'm afraid that is too often the case. For instance, birds must always be cooled after they are shot and before they are packed to bring home. I have been given so many that were moldy and spoiled, even though they were shot only the previous day, because they were piled on top of each other while still warm. A sportsman's training should certainly include instructions on cleaning all the game he brings in. If he doesn't skin and eviscerate it correctly and within a given time after it is killed, cooking it may be just a waste of time because it will not be tasty. The rules for hanging it—how long and at what temperature for the different animals and birds—are also very important to know. The recipes that I recommend as being good assume that the game itself is good.
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