For more than ten centuries one great dish of France has stood the test of time, its popularity never wavering. That dish is, of course, the pot-au-feu. Pot-au-feu has always been a dish for the peasant, tasty, hearty, and inexpensive, but it is also a dish for the haul monde, a dish which can be relished after a too prolonged diet of rich foods. No one knows better than the gourmet Frenchman that an uninterrupted series of sumptuous feasts is so surfeiting that soon nothing tastes good, nothing tempts the appetite. A weekly respite in the way of a simple soup and the boiled meat and vegetables that go with it is very welcome.
If you ask the French chef of an important hotel what his favorite meal is, he will surely answer that he likes nothing better than to sit down to a good pot-au-feu. After planning, supervising. and preparing endless elaborate menus that feature dishes stinting on neither skill nor money, we find in the pot-au-feu a gustatory escape from the monotony of luxury foods as well as a way of keeping our taste buds acute for the nuances of more elegant and complicated fare.
The pot-au-feu is the traditional Sunday dinner in France. When I was a very small boy at home, it was my weekly kitchen chore to get out the biggest maemite we bad and draw the water to fill it up, while Maman trimmed the meat, washed the bones, and cut up the vegetables. As 1 grew older, 1 was allowed a greater share in the preparations for Sunday dinner, and by the time I went to Moulins to serve my apprenticeship as a chef, I could make a pot-au-feu with my eyes closed.
At home our pot-au-feu was usually a simple beef-and-vegetable combination, with bones added to give the broth more flavor. I have since learned that bones also give valuable minerals. The cut of beef we used was the plate, and I still like it best, because I find it juicier and more succulent than the leaner cuts. I must confess, however, that cur plate beef was more meaty than the kind I buy now, perhaps because cur beef creatures were larger, and not scientifically raised and fed. All the beef cuts were larger, and the meat between the layers of fat that are characteristic of the plate was thicker, if not so fine-grained and tender as that of American beef. We had to depend upon long cooking to achieve tenderness.
In some parts of France other meats and poultry went into the pot-au-feu. In a region where beef was scarce and expensive, but where flocks of ducks waddled over every farm, less beef would go into the marmite, and a duck would serve to enrich the stock. At my house we used chicken. This gave us he petite marmite Henri IV, which that most beloved King of France made famous when he said back in the eleventh century that every good Frenchman was entitled to a chicken in his Sunday pot. The chicken in every pot, then as now, was a symbol of well-being and security.
At home we always ate the soup of the pot-au-feu first, and then sliced the meat and ate it with the vegetables. Because the meat was mild in flavor from its long boiling, mustard, sour pickles, or a sharp sauce like horseradish sauce was served with it. Some people, however, prefer to put broth, meat, and vegetables all together in the soup plate and eat them at once.
When 1 did my service militaire as a young man in France, we ate a very good pot-au-feu in the army mess cut of the same deep bowl, une gamelle, from which we also ate everything else. This was one phase of military service which distressed our families, who had tried so hard to teach us decent table manners. The folks at home would shake their heads and say that we would never he the same gentlemanly fellows we had been before the army took us over “Mais oui, vous allez manger à la gamelle,” from now on you will always want to eat everything out of a bowl!
Pot-au-feu is made everywhere in almost the same way. The broth is light-colored. but has a well-rounded flavor from the meat and bones cooked in combination with a fagot, some garlic, and a variety of root vegetables. Yet it is not quite so strong and rich as a concentrated consommé. Maman liked a soup to have a nice golden-brown color, so she always caramelized a little sugar and added it to the pot-au-feu at the end. I like to do that too.
Some people like potatoes or cabbage with the pot-au-feu, but they are never cooked in the marmite with the other ingredients, Instead, a little of the broth is poured into another pan, and the potatoes or cabbage are cooked separately.There is always the necessity to keep the stock pure for possible storage and later use.
This recipe for pot-au-feu is generally followed all over France.
Pot-au-Feu Pot-au-feu can be started in one of two ways. Cover a 4 to 4 ½-pound piece of fresh plate or 3 ½ pounds of rump or chuck of beef and some beef or veal bones with cold water, bring to a boil, and parboil (or 5 minutes. Take out the meat and bones, discard the water, and clean the kettle. Return the meat and bones to the kettle and add 4 ½ to 5 quarts water and 1 ½ tablespoons salt. Bring the water slowly to a boil, skimming all the time until no more scum rises to the surface. Or, as an alternate method, cover the meat and bones with 4 to 4 ½ quarts cold water and bring slowly to a boil. When the water has reached a rolling boil, add 2 cups cold water to bring the scum to the surface. Skim and continue to boil gently, skimming all the time until no more scum rises to the surface. The first method is a little more trouble, but it makes a clearer stock. It is important that all the scum is discarded either by changing the water or by careful skimming so that there will be none in the sauce when the dish is done.
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