When I was in England, how many times I watched the hunters there—red-coated riders on beautiful horses racing after the hounds, hot on the scent of some unlucky fox. Exciting sport—magnifique—what William Somerville back in 1735 called the “sport of kings.” But it was hunting that had nothing to do with “a large, cold bottle and a small, hot bird.” The hunt breakfasts—fine, hearty repasts that they were—certainly had no connection with the unfortunate fox.
In France I have watched many a group of hunters, too. Not only watched them, as a boy I almost always tagged along with them. But they were trudging on foot, guns over their shoulders, their quarry deer and hare, or more often pheasant, partridge, and woodcock. Not so impressive a sight, you say, as the red-coated riders? Mais non. But the added pleasure ahead more than made up for that—the certain knowledge that a well-sauced civet or a savory and succulent faisan would in due time surely make its appearance.
Of course I have known many Britishers, too, who hunt for deer and birds they will enjoy eating. Scotch grouse, always a favorite among connoisseurs of game, is a perfect example. But I have known few, if any, Frenchmen who, when aiming their guns, failed to aim their thoughts at the same time on a gastronomic finale of special game dishes—and not forgetting the good bottle caché derrière les faggots.
Here in the United States you find sportsmen of both kinds, although the fox-hunting set is a fairly small group. The others, those who hunt for deer and game birds, make up our great mass of hunters—and when fall comes the woods are alive with them. Consider, for example, hunting in the Dakotas. It is estimated that a million pheasants are brought down by some thirty thousand hunters a season in North Dakota and that forty thousand hunters do even better per man in South Dakota, where Sioux Falls is called the pheasant capital of the world. Or go across country to Maine. More than twenty thousand deer are killed there each year. And these, please note, are only two species of game taken in only three states. I wonder how much is bagged in our forty-eight states? And then what happens to it? Is it eaten? Or wasted? I hope you sportsmen are enjoying at your own tables all the game you bring in. Or if you are lucky enough to be given a fine saddle of venison or some tender young partridges, I hope you do them justice in the kitchen.
I myself can't claim to be much of a hunter, even though in my boyhood I so often went along with relatives who were enthusiastic sportsmen; I was very proud to be the nephew of one man well known in our part of France for his skill as a shot. But my taste for the actual shooting was spoiled, I'm afraid, when I was spending my small-boy vacations on my grandfather's farm. Partridges were so plentiful there that getting them was hardly a sport. You would see them every day running through the potato and wheat fields looking for the ants' nests they liked so well. Every farmer kept his eyes on them, especially on the baby partridges following close to the mother hen and getting plumper and plumper as the summer wore on. When the season opened, the birds seemed almost waiting to be shot. And the good prices they brought at the weekly market in town weren't to be overlooked either. But sometimes a wounded bird would be able to run just far enough to elude the farmer gathering up the ones he had shot. As a youngster I was always finding these pathetic little creatures, and the memories somehow took away the thrill of shooting them when I was older.
In mon pays—the part of France where I was raised—the hunting parties didn't start out until after the crops were harvested because the local sportsmen always waited for their farmer friends before going off to the woods. But then, all of a sudden, the hunting boots would appear, the guns were inspected and freshly oiled, and the gibecières—the bags they slung over their shoulders to hold the game—were put out to air. The dogs would be quivering with excitement, the smell of the preparations almost too much for them to stand. Even the local pastry shops—and every town had a good pâtisserie—knew they had better anticipate the demand for the pâtés that the hunters always took along for lunch. These are meat pies made with pastry that is short and good and filled with a luscious, savory meat filling. We had never even heard of sandwiches. Wine, usually white wine in mon pays, was always taken along, carried in gourds dried in every household just for this purpose. Then to top it all off, there were the newly ripened peaches, plums, pears, and grapes that grew along the way. Simple picnic lunches, but how good they were. I would be very happy right now to eat one out under a bright fall sky.
No, it has never been the shooting of game that interested me particularly. It is its cooking and the good eating, naturellement, that run through my thoughts when people start to talk about hunting. And certainly I have had plenty of opportunity all through my life of indulging my liking for both cooking game and eating it. First at home in Montmarault I helped my mother or grand'mère or tante make the marinade for a hare brought in by my uncle or perhaps tied the salt pork and grape leaves around quail to be roasted. Later it was cooking great quantities of venison and boar and all the many game birds that were served in the fine châteaux around Moulins after the haut monde came back from days of strenuous hunting. These gourmets insisted on nothing less than the most expert attention given to preparing the game they bagged, and so the establishment where I served my apprenticeship used to send people into their homes to take care of the parties, just as caterers in this country prepare and serve for weddings and other functions.
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.
We speak of game as furred or feathered. The ways of cooking are roasting, braising, making into a stew which in the case of furred game is usually called a civet and for feathered game a salmis. There are also pâtés and terrines. A pâté is a highly seasoned mixture of the game cooked in a pastry crust, while the terrine is a similar mixture but cooked in an earthenware mold. Both are served cold and can be kept in the refrigerator for a week or ten days, an advantage when you have more game than you can eat freshly cooked.
The tenderness of the bird or animal, which in turn depends upon its age, determines the way to cook it. All wild life is active, and the older it gets the tougher its muscle tissue becomes. Only young and tender game is good for roasting. For example, partridges are young and tender and suitable for roasting only through September and early October. In France we call them by a different name, perdreaux. Then later in the season when they are no longer tender, they are called perdrix. We use these older birds for salmis or terrines or in a chartreuse made with sauerkraut. And incidentally, the best way to tell whether a game bird is old or young is to look at its feet. If the spur on the inside of the foot is very pointed and sharp, the bird is an old one and apt to be tough. The end of the spur in a young bird is rounded and dull.
Game dishes follow the game season in the same order every year. First come the tender young birds of five or six months that can be roasted. Then as they grow older in the advancing season and become less tender, they are made into the other dishes already mentioned. When the bird season is about over, every one is out after the furred game, mostly hare, rabbit, and deer. Hare and rabbit are quite similar, hare being the wilder of the two, gamier and usually a little larger. Some people prefer the rabbit, some the hare, but both are cooked in the same ways. At about seven or eight months when they have reached their full weight, yet are still young and tender, the creatures are at their best. Their ears give away their age, tearing easily in the young tender animal and becoming thick and tough in the older one. As for deer the clue to its age is its antlers, as I am sure every hunter knows.
Roast Young Pheasant, Partridge, Guinea Hen, or Quail
After cleaning the bird, truss it to hold the legs (and wings of a pheasant) close to the body. Cover the bird with thin slices of fat salt pork, tying them on securely. In the case of quail and partridge, grape leaves are often wrapped around under the fat and next to the skin of the bird. Very particular cooks lard the breasts (especially those of pheasant) with strips of fat pork. Roast the bird in a hot oven (450° F.), placing it on its side in the pan, turning it on the other side when golden-brown, and finishing by cooking on its back. Baste frequently during the cooking. As soon as the salt pork is brown and crisp, remove and set it aside to garnish the bird. The time required for roasting depends upon the type of bird and its size. For pheasant, partridge, and guinea hen, allow about 15 minutes on each side and 10 to 15 minutes on its back; for quail, use an oven that is a little hotter—about 475° F.—and allow about 5 to 7 minutes on each side and 5 minutes on its back. The test to find out if the bird is done is to lift it up and let the juice run out of it into the roasting pan. If the juice is clear and has no pink tinge, the bird is done.
To make the sauce, skim off the fat from the liquid in the pan and add butter and water, allowing about 1 teaspoon butter and 2 tablespoons water for each bird in the pan. Reduce it all to the desired concentration, stirring in all the brown crustiness around the edges of the pan. A small partridge or quail serves one, a pheasant or guinea hen usually serves two.
The woodcock is the smallest bird commonly eaten in this country. It should be roasted à point, that is, not well done yet not too rare, but just to the point when the flesh is losing its pink color.
Roast Woodcock
Prepare and roast woodcock like grouse, cooking it for about 8 to 10 minutes. Serve it on toast with its own gravy made by reducing the juice in the pan with a little butter and water, as for other game birds (see just above).
Duck hunting has continued through the years to be one of the very popular sports and the ducks themselves to be one of the most popular of game birds—as popular with those who eat but don't shoot them as with those who do the hunting. In recent years it seems to me that more mallards are brought in than any other variety. Previously we saw quantities of canvasbacks, redheads, and other wild ducks, and in the fall these were all purchasable in the New York markets. A wild duck must always be cooked rare, not only because a well-cooked one loses the flavor desired by lovers of game but also because it becomes tough when cooked until it is well done. Only the breast is eaten. The legs and carcass are pressed in a special device called a duck press which extracts the blood for making the sauce au sang, traditional accompaniment to wild duck.
Roast Wild Duck
Clean the bird and truss the legs to hold them close to the body. Roast in a hot oven (475° F.) for 12 to 15 minutes. Remove the breast and cut it in thin slices. Crush the remainder of the bird through a duck press and use the juice and blood for the sauce au sang (see “The Last Touch in Sauces”). Arrange the slices of breast on the serving dish and garnish with small triangles of bread fried in butter. Serve with them either fried hominy or wild rice and red currant jelly.
Wild goose and wild turkey—at least all I have prepared—have come from one of the Southern states. These birds are very apt to be tough and so are usually hung for a week or two in the refrigerator to make them more tender. They can be cooked plain or filled with an English stuffing—a bread crumb, onion, and herb mixture. They can be roasted, but I would not advise it unless you are very sure that the bird is young enough to be tender. I think braising is always a wiser choice.
Braised Wild Goose or Turkey
Clean the bird and stuff it, if desired. Truss to hold the legs and wings close to the body and cover with slices of fat salt pork. Roast in a medium-hot oven (400° to 425° F.) until the bird is well browned. Remove the fat from the roasting pan and add 1 onion, 1 carrot, both sliced, 2 or 3 sprigs parsley, 1 stalk celery, 1 bay leaf, a little thyme, and 1 quart stock or consommé. Cover the pan and continue cooking, basting frequently, for 2 to 3 hours, or until the bird is tender. Strain the gravy and thicken it with a little arrowroot or cornstarch (about 1 tablespoon mixed with 2 tablespoons cold water). Serve with cranberry or applesauce, wild rice, fried hominy, or corn fritters (see page 66).
As the season advances and the birds are less tender, or if you get a bird that you suspect may be a bit on the tough side, the best way to cook it is to make a salmis. This is different from a braised bird in that the bird is cut up and the sauce is more like a stew. There are various recipes for salmis, but the following is a well-flavored dish and simple to make.
Salmis of Pheasant (Or Other Wild Bird)
Roast the pheasant as already described. Remove the breasts and legs. Put the breasts on a warm plate and spread with butter or fat from the roasting pan to keep the meat from drying out. Put the legs aside and chop up the remaining carcass—bones, skin, etc. Cook 10 to 12 mushrooms for 5 minutes in ½ cup water, to which have been added 1 teaspoon butter and the juice of ½ lemon, and set them aside.
To make the sauce, heat 2 tablespoons salad oil, add 1 onion, chopped, and cook until golden-brown. Add 1 shallot, chopped, 1 clove garlic, crushed, and 1 ½ tablespoons flour and cook for a minute or 2 longer. Add ½ cup either red or white wine and mix well. Continue cooking until the mixture is thick, stirring constantly. Add 1 cup stock or strained canned tomatoes, ½ teaspoon salt, 3 peppercorns, a faggot made by tying together 2 stalks celery, 3 sprigs parsley, ½ bay leaf, and 1 sprig fresh (or 1 pinch dry) thyme. Add the legs and chopped carcass of the bird. Simmer slowly for about 1 hour. Remove the legs from the sauce, cut the meat from the bones, and slice it. Cut the breasts in slices, arrange all the sliced meat in the serving dish, and place the cooked mushrooms on top. Correct the seasoning of the sauce with salt, strain it, and pour over the meat and mushrooms. Garnish with triangles of toast spread with rouennaise (see page 89).
Another way to prepare pheasant or partridge that may not be tender is to make a terrine. This is a little more trouble, but is a dish that can be prepared far ahead of serving time because it is served cold. And because it will keep for several days in the refrigerator, it is handy for using up extra birds.
Terrine of Pheasant or Partridge
Clean the pheasant, remove the skin in one piece, and save it. Remove the breasts, cut each one into 6 slices, and put them in a bowl. Mix together 1 small onion, sliced, 2 to 3 slices carrot, 1 bay leaf, 1 pinch thyme, 2 sprigs parsley, ½ teaspoon salt, and ½ cup dry sherry or Madeira and pour it all over the meat of the bird. A pinch of Parisian spice (optional) and 2 ounces cognac may be added if desired. Let the meat marinate in this for several hours. Remove the bones and sinews from the pheasant, combine the meat with ¾ pound fresh lean pork and ½ pound fresh fat pork, and chop it all very finely or run it through a food chopper. Put the meat in a bowl with ½ teaspoon salt, 1 bay leaf, a little Parisian spice (if available), and 1 egg, beaten. Drain the marinade from the breast meat and pour it over this mixture. Mix all together well.
Line a small terrine or casserole with the skin of the bird. Cut ½ pound fresh fat pork in thin slices and arrange them over the bottom and sides. Put 1/3 of the ground meat mixture in the bottom and lay 6 slices of breast meat on top. Add another layer of 1/3 the ground meat mixture and lay the other 6 slices of breast meat on top. Finish with a layer of the final 1/3 of the ground meat mixture. Cover with the remaining slices of fat pork. Place a bay leaf on top and cover the dish closely. Place it in a pan of hot water and bake in a hot oven (425° to 450° F.) for about 1 ½ hours, or allow 20 minutes per pound. The terrine is cooked enough if the fat on top is perfectly clear when the cover is removed; if the fat has a cloudy appearance, the terrine needs more cooking.
When done, remove the cover and put a plate over the meat with a stone or weight on top to press and pack it down. Let the terrine get thoroughly cold, when it should be compact enough to be removed from the mold like a round loaf. Scrape away all the fat around the outside and put it back in the dish but with the skin side up.
Cover with an aspic made by cooking the carcass of the bird slowly in salted water with a bit of carrot, celery, parsley, and onion for 2 hours. Strain the stock thus made; there should be about 1 ½ cups. Serve the terrine in slices, cutting them right from the casserole.
Before giving you recipes for cooking venison, hare, or rabbit, I do want to remind you how important the marinade is. Furred game is always marinated for best results, that is, for good flavor and tender meat. In the case of deer, the meat should also be hung for several days, or at least for 24 hours, before putting it in the marinade to stand for another few days. The best parts of venison are the leg and the saddle. They can either be cut into steaks and cutlets or cooked whole. The leg is often indicated as gigue de chevreuil on French menus. The loin is especially tender and can be cut in thick slices and sautéed like beef filet. This is often called noisette or grenadin. The less tender parts, shoulder and neck, are generally made into a civet or a stew. And since venison is not a very fat meat, a great many people want it larded with fat pork, especially any cut that is to be roasted. This is done before it is put in the marinade. Then when it is removed from the marinade, it should drain for several hours, after which it is very thoroughly wiped dry. If the meat is moist, it will have a stewed or braised flavor rather than the desired roasted flavor.
Roast Venison (Saddle or Leg)
Remove all the sinews from the meat and lard with strips of fat salt pork. Marinate in either of the following marinade for 24 hours or longer, drain and dry thoroughly. Season with salt and cover with a large piece of fat salt pork. Put the venison in a pan containing oil or fat and roast in a hot oven (450° F.), allowing about 45 minutes for a 5-to 6-pound leg. Most tastes require 10 to 15 minutes a pound, but if the meat is liked very rare, allow less time. Serve with poivrade sauce (See “The Last Touch in Sauces”), currant jelly, purée of chestnuts, and wild rice.
Uncooked Marinade
Mix together 2 onions and 2 carrots, both thinly sliced, 2 shallots, minced, 1 clove garlic, 1 stalk celery, a little thyme, 2 bay leaves, 12 peppercorns, 2 cloves, 2 cups red wine, 1 cup vinegar, and ½ cup olive or salad oil.
Cooked Marinade
Put in a saucepan 1 quart water, 1 ½ cups vinegar, 2 onions, chopped, 1 carrot, chopped, 1 clove garlic, 1 teaspoon thyme, 4 sprigs parsley, 12 peppercorns, and 1 tablespoon salt. Bring the mixture to a boil and cook for 1 hour. Cool and use to marinate venison.
Civet of Venison
Remove the sinews from 3 pounds venison (shoulder, neck, or other parts not tender enough to roast or sauté) and cut in pieces as for stew. Cover with an uncooked marinade (see above) and let the meat stand in it overnight or for 24 hours. Parboil 1 cup diced fat salt pork for 3 or 4 minutes. Drain and sauté the dice in ½ cup hot fat or salad oil until they are golden. Remove from the fat and reserve. Add 12 to 15 small onions to the pan and when they have started to brown, add 2 carrots, sliced, sprinkle with a little sugar, and continue cooking for 5 to 6 minutes, or until the onions are goldenbrown. Remove and put them with the pork dice. Sauté ½ pound cleaned mushrooms in 1 tablespoon butter until they are soft and their moisture is cooked away. Add to the vegetables and pork dice. Remove the meat from the marinade and drain and dry each piece well. Cook them in the fat left from cooking the salt pork dice and vegetables, having the fat very hot and browning the meat well all over. Remove the meat from the fat to a saucepan, sprinkle with 2 tablespoons flour, mix together, and cook until the flour is brown. Add ½ cup red wine, 1 faggot made by tying together 2 stalks celery, 3 sprigs parsley, ½ bay leaf, and 1 sprig fresh (or 1 pinch dry) thyme, 1 clove garlic, crushed, the marinade liquor, and enough water to cover the meat. Bring to a boil and cook for 1 hour. Remove the meat to another pan and add to it the pork dice, onions, carrots, and mushrooms. Correct the seasoning of the sauce with salt, if necessary, and strain it over the meat and vegetables. Bring to a boil and let it cook for 40 minutes longer, or until the meat is tender. Serve sprinkled with chopped parsley.
Civet of Hare with Wine
Clean the hare and reserve the blood, if any. Mix the blood with 2 table-spoons red wine and 1 ½ tablespoons vinegar and keep in the refrigerator. Cut the hare in pieces, put in a bowl, and cover with a marinade made of 1 table-spoon salt, a little pepper, 1 slice onion, 2 shallots, minced, 3 sprigs parsley, a little thyme, 1 bay leaf, 3 tablespoons salad oil, and ½ cup red or white wine. Let this stand overnight in a cold place. Parboil 1 cup diced fat salt pork for 3 or 4 minutes. Drain and sauté the dice in 2 tablespoons fat or butter until they are golden-brown. Remove from the fat and reserve. Put 12 small onions in the fat left in the pan, sprinkle with a pinch sugar, and cook until the onions are golden-brown. Remove the onions from the fat and put with the pork dice. Sauté ½ pound cleaned mushrooms in 2 tablespoons butter until they are soft and the moisture is cooked away and add to the pork dice and onions.
Remove the pieces of hare from the marinade, drain and dry each piece, and cook them in the very hot fat left from cooking the pork dice and onions. Remove the pieces from the fat when well browned, put in a saucepan, and sprinkle with 2 tablespoons flour. Add 1 clove garlic, crushed, mix in well, and cook the meat in the oven or over low heat until the flour is golden-brown. Add 2 cups red wine and enough stock or water to cover the meat. Stir with a wooden spoon or spatula as it comes to a boil and cook until the sauce is smooth. Add a faggot made by tying together 2 stalks celery, 3 sprigs parsley, ½ bay leaf, and 1 sprig fresh (or 1 pinch dry) thyme. Cover the pan and cook slowly for 40 to 45 minutes. Remove the meat to another pan and add to it the pork dice, mushrooms, and onions. Correct the seasoning of the sauce with salt, strain it over the meat and vegetables, bring it all to a boil, and cook slowly for 30 to 35 minutes longer, or until the meat is tender.
Meanwhile, clean the liver of the hare and cut away the bitter end near the gall. Cut it in small pieces, add to the civet, and cook for 8 to 10 minutes longer. If there was any blood saved, stir 3 tablespoons of the sauce from the civet into it. Remove the pan of civet from the heat and pour the blood mixture slowly into it, moving the pan in a circular motion to combine the blood and thicken the sauce with it. Do not stir with a spoon and do not allow it to boil. Serve the hare sprinkled with parsley and garnished with fried bread.