Chicken Marengo

[rich]

I have a dinner party for eleven this coming Saturday and I was thinking of serving a classic Chicken Marengo. I haven't made this dish in a few years, but I seem to recall the dish was finished with either poached eggs or deep-fried eggs.

However, in the recipes I have found (70) there is no mention of eggs at all - one does call for hard boiled eggs to be sprinkled over the top before serving. Am I mistaken about the eggs? Maybe I'm confusing it with another dish????

Any help would be greatly appreciated.

[slkinsey]

My understanding was that this dish is served with "Italian poached eggs" -- which is to say, eggs poached in olive oil. Have no idea where I got that idea, though.

[balmagowry]

I have a dinner party for eleven this coming Saturday and I was thinking of serving a classic Chicken Marengo. I haven't made this dish in a few years, but I seem to recall the dish was finished with either poached eggs or deep-fried eggs.

However, in the recipes I have found (70) there is no mention of eggs at all - one does call for hard boiled eggs to be sprinkled over the top before serving. Am I mistaken about the eggs? Maybe I'm confusing it with another dish????

Any help would be greatly appreciated.

Aha! you come to the right shop. All false modesty violently thrust aside, I consider myself (seriously!) the world's leading expert on Chicken Marengo. Chicken Marengo itself is a put-up job, a fantasy, a fake. Waverly Root was wrong. Julia Child was wrong. Prosper Montagné - wrong. At the risk of boring you to death, I could tell you how Napoleon really dined that night (it's actually a better story), and could even wax eloquent about the Deep Inner Meaning of Chicken Marengo... oh, but that isn't what you asked. The eggs. Yes. The eggs, one per serving, are fried, quick-fried in hot oil at the last possible minute.

If you want. Chicken Marengo is a dish that rises to the occasion - ultimately, it is whatever you want it to be.

(Oh, sorry, I wan't going to do that, was I. )

[Edited for emphasis]

Edited March 23, 2004 by balmagowry (log)

[Pickles]

I have From Julia Child's Kitchen open in my lap. Poulet Saute Marengo is garnished with tomatoes, mushrooms, crayfish or shrimp, herbs, black olives, croutons and "french fried eggs." p. 195 To quote Julia:

..it was cooked on the battlefield, with whatever was to had in the neighboring Italian countryside.

The recipe was never catalogued, so the "whatever" is open to interpretation. I make Marengo all the time, and never put eggs shrimp or crayfish (allergic) or croutons on top. Julia uses croutons, eggs (cooked runny) tomatoes, olives, italian seasoning, and shrimp.

[Pickles]

Wooo! As I was typing my reply, so were the rest of you lot. Interesting answers! You learn something every day....

[balmagowry]

I have From Julia Child's Kitchen open in my lap. Poulet Saute Marengo is garnished with tomatoes, mushrooms, crayfish or shrimp, herbs, black olives, croutons and "french fried eggs."  p. 195  To quote Julia:

According to Dunand, she's right about everything except the olives. And it would have been crawfish, not shrimp. If you think about the countryside arould Marengo, it all kind of makes sense.

..it was cooked on the battlefield, with whatever was to had in the neighboring Italian countryside.

Yes, and this is precisely what never happened, what could not have happened. It's sheer Münchhausening on the part of Dunand, who as it turns out couldn't even have been there.

It's amazing how one mistaken assumption, one chronological error, one inconsistency in one reputable source can be perpetuated ad infinitum and obscure the truth, can become the accepted truth; nevertheless the Larousse Gastronomique contains all three and is at the root of this widespread misconception. Or rather, close to the root, since the real root is Dunand, who made up the whole thing to impress and amuse his drinking buddies.

[Bux]

That which we call "history," is the accepted truth. Why it's been proposed as the truth and why we accept it varies from time to time and place to place. Photography became an important factor only to be undone by photoshop.

[rich]

At the risk of boring you to death, I could tell you how Napoleon really dined that night (it's actually a better story), and could even wax eloquent about the Deep Inner Meaning of Chicken Marengo... oh, but that isn't what you asked. The eggs. Yes. The eggs, one per serving, are fried, quick-fried in hot oil at the last possible minute.

If you want. Chicken Marengo is a dish that rises to the occasion - ultimately, it is whatever you want it to be.

(Oh, sorry, I wan't going to do that, was I. )

[Edited for emphasis]

Thank you for all the help - but I would really like to hear the story.

I'm not sure how I can fry eleven eggs at the last moment - I did it for four a few years ago. Since this dish can be altered, I'll probably opt for poached eggs and place them in warm water just before serving.

Look foward to the "real" story.

[balmagowry]

That which we call "history," is the accepted truth. Why it's been proposed as the truth and why we accept it varies from time to time and place to place.

It's funny you should say that, as that is an argument I often advance myself - have in fact just advanced it very centrally in another semi-debunking article for the same publication wherein my Marengo story appeared. And as a rule I think it entirely valid; even in this case where the "accepted" version, though a good story, is not a better story than the factual one. This is why I like to put forward the notion that Chicken Marengo is more a concept than a hard and fast recipe; it means rolling with the punches, working with what's available, making lemonade out of lemons and silk purses out of sows' ears. Se non è vero, è ben trovato.

Nevertheless, as may sometimes occur, the facts in this case do add something to the whole picture, particularly given how radically different they are from the "accepted" version - in fact, that difference really sort of enhances the outlandishness, the utter bald-faced brashness, of the latter.

Rich - you are a great straight man. I'll be glad to tell the story, but I haven't gone over it in a while and I think I'd better bone up on my facts first. Later. (BTW, at one point I was threatened with having to serve CM for 200, fried eggs and all, and my Able Adjutant had figured out a logistical scheme for accomplishing it. Damned if I remember what it was, but I could ask her - seem to remember she was especially proud of her egg-frying strategy.)

[balmagowry]

OK, here as promised are the bones, as it were, of the real Chicken Marengo story. It is many-layered and complex, as truths are apt to be - but I will do my best to condense it. (BTW, if anyone is interested, the complete article, with two recipes, ran in Tin House vol. 2 No. 4, Summer 2001.)

The popular version: after the battle Napoleon's chef Dunand scrounged around the countryside, returning with a small chicken, three eggs, four tomatoes, and six crawfish, from which he improvised the incongruous but immortal dish, etc. etc. etc.

This story was told with many variations by Dunand himself, and it contains only two fundamental flaws:

1) On the evening of the battle of Marengo, Napoleon in fact dined most sumptuously in company with his officers, having in effect coolly hijacked the supper intended for General Kellermann (the lavish provisions for which had been "voluntarily contributed" to Kellermann's heavy cavalry by a local monastery). When Kellermann finally returned from the field he was less than pleased - but that's another story.

2) Dunand wasn't there. This bit is extremely convoluted and had to be pieced together from multiple confusing sources; finally, however, it does all add up to the conclusion that at the time of the battle of Marengo Dunand was in Russia; he did not enter Napoleon's service until a full year later.

There is eyewitness evidence that during the ensuing years Napoleon frequently ate chicken à la provençale for breakfast; and that this eventually became the foundation for the dish we now call Chicken Marengo.

After this it gets convoluted and foggy again, but it looks as though the idea for Chicken Marengo was actually born on the eve of the battle of Austerlitz, when Napoleon severely humiliated Dunand by demanding the chicken which had been his "lucky" dinner at Marengo.

What Dunand cobbled together - not then but in embroidered hindsight some years later - is the popular story of Chicken Marengo, as spread among his fellow chefs, and as told by him to his buddy Carême in 1830. By that time the recipe had already appeared in print, so Dunand and posterity were pretty much stuck with it. BTW the chronological fallacy that made it seem possible for Dunand to have been present at Marengo was later published by Carême himself... which is how it got perpetuated in the Larousse gastronomique, from whence it has since traveled far and wide.

Ironically, it does seem likely that Napoleon ate chicken and crawfish after Marengo - not, however, in the same course.

(Note to Adam Balic, the following is what I was talking about earlier re evolution of recipes. Though embarrassingly I no longer remember the context in which I raised it. )

What I find interesting about the subsequent evolution of Chicken Marengo recipes is the degree to which they adhere (or don't) to the original fiction. Dunand's story was carefully crafted for surface plausibility. All the ingredients he described are such as could reasonably have been found in that locale at that time of year. This is why I protested against Julia Child's olives: they don't fit the story. Of course, the brothers at the monastery might have had preserved ones, but Dunand didn't know about that, just as he didn't know that they provided plenty of wine, or presumably he wouldn't have made such a romantic point of having had to use the last dregs of brandy from his hip-flask, and the last stale crusts from his bread ration, to make the sauce.

Getting back to the conflict between "truth" and facts, I guess the question becomes - at what point do you draw the line? If the "truth" is a complete fabrication, then how does one best support it - by hewing closely to the factors that make it plausible? or by deciding that if it's an invention anyway then anything goes in one's re-interpretation?

It amuses me that Dunand went so far out of his way to make his apocryphal tale fit the circumstances of the time and place, only to have that effort undermined years later by interpreters who purported to swallow his story whole yet simultaneously disproved it with their own supposedly "authentic" additions.

So which is more "true," the story or the facts - or the parable of improvisation? I don't claim to know the answer to that one, but I sure do love to chew on the question.

[Addendum: in the interests of comparative brevity I've excised all sorts of details - of corroborating documents, private loyalties, personality traits and the like - which constitute explanations and motivating factors; now oy, I'm not sure whether the residue still hangs together logically! but will be happy to clarify if it doesn't.]

[rich]

So which is more "true," the story or the facts - or the parable of improvisation? I don't claim to know the answer to that one, but I sure do love to chew on the question.

I thank you for the history lesson and explanation. I now won't feel so bad if I substitute poached eggs for the french-fried eggs.

Before your explanation, I always through the Frugal Gourmet was the best at fabricating food history - now I know it was Dunand.

[balmagowry]

I thank you for the history lesson and explanation. I now won't feel so bad if I substitute poached eggs for the french-fried eggs.

You're most welcome - I'm afraid I love to hold forth on this subject. And yes, I think it is perfectly legitimate to make the dish any way you want, as long as it's done in the ostensible spirit of the thing. Hey, it ain't a recipe - it's a concept! An illustration: I've jury-rigged a strange contraption of fencing to keep my dog out of the cat's food: my husband took one look at it and said "Aha! I see you've made Fence Marengo!"

OTOH, to play devil's advocate on the eggs... I'm not an egg-white eater myself, but even I have to say that the crispy little edges of the fried eggs really added something to the dish.

Before your explanation, I always through the Frugal Gourmet was the best at fabricating food history - now I know it was Dunand.

Well... in fairness, he wasn't the only one, and at least he was only trying to cover his own ass. It certainly appears that Dunand did invent the dish - just not at the time and place he claimed. See, part of the subtext here is that according to the standards of flavoring at the time, according to classic notions of what did and didn't go together, Chicken Marengo was a bit of an embarrassment to any self-respecting chef. Under normal circumstances Dunand wouldn't have been caught dead serving anything so outlandish. I'm not sure whether it was the combination of the chicken and the crawfish - Carême was certainly guilty of far more incongruous pairings than that - or perhaps the fact that the dish was not constructed artistically or moulded into some pleasing neoclassical form. Or maybe the eggs were the crowning indignity - who knows? In any case, Napoleon had demanded a dish of chicken and crawfish and eggs, had associated it with Marengo, and had made it clear that what he had in mind was rather like the chicken à la provençale with which he was so familiar. Dunand was stuck with the job: faithful stewards are not in the business of disobeying imperial commands.

Now, Napoleon was not at all an artistic eater, but Dunand had his dignity as a chef to uphold. What's an homme de bouche to do? Why, tell all his friends that he had improvised an amusingly eccentric dish for the emperor out of battlefield scroungings, of course. Laugh it off as a grand joke, with an indulgent tip of the hat to Imperial Majesty.

And the rest... is history. "History Marengo," that is!

[Pedantic chronological footnote: throughout the above I have referred to Napoleon as emperor - of course, he was not yet emperor at the time of the battle of Marengo (1800), nor at the time when Dunand entered his service (1801) - he remained First Consul until 1804. He was emperor, however, at the time of the battle of Austerlitz (1805), which is when the exchange about the chicken apparently took place - and of course he was emperor when Dunand made the dish and first told the story - so for convenience's sake, and because there simply IS no consistent and un-confusing way to handle it - emperor he is. Thane of Cawdor that shall be hereafter....]

[jackal10]

Bravo! What a wonderfully informative and erudite post!

There is a tradition of chefs improvising. Somewhat later, the young Escoffier was at the siege of Paris, where the Bellanger served a famous menu for CChristmas 1870 including "Le Chat, flanque de rats", and the remains of various animals from the Paris zoo, washed down with Romanee Conti 1858 ...Fortunately they have not passed into the repertoire.

[rich]

OTOH, to play devil's advocate on the eggs... I'm not an egg-white eater myself, but even I have to say that the crispy little edges of the fried eggs really added something to the dish.

I totally agree - but I haven't been able to devise a plan to french fry 11 eggs at the last minute.

So I'll call the dish Chicken Marenga - and just dance around the classic recipe.

[balmagowry]

OTOH, to play devil's advocate on the eggs... I'm not an egg-white eater myself, but even I have to say that the crispy little edges of the fried eggs really added something to the dish.

I totally agree - but I haven't been able to devise a plan to french fry 11 eggs at the last minute.

So I'll call the dish Chicken Marenga - and just dance around the classic recipe.

Why not call it Chicken Miranda? You could serve it appetizingly piled on your hat!

[Adam Balic]

(Note to Adam Balic, the following is what I was talking about earlier re evolution of recipes. Though embarrassingly I no longer remember the context in which I raised it. )

Well I think that we can all agree that it matters not one jot about the discussion with me, but it does matter a great deal that you gave us this amazingly excellent story and explantation . 'Course I love this stuff, so I am easily won.

The big N was from Corsia correct? Famous for its bread trees and short people yes? Also, traded a lot with Catalans, who are famous for their 'Sea and Mountain dishes' including chicken with shrimp/crayfish. Corsicans picked up the recipe, obviously. I reckon that the big N was craving a little bit of home cooking asked for this dish to be made at one point, not pre-Marengo, but later it was "attached" as per your explanation. Obviously this is all rubbish, but I bet that with a little research I could develope a brilliant fake-history, which is most of history I guess.

[balmagowry]

(Note to Adam Balic, the following is what I was talking about earlier re evolution of recipes. Though embarrassingly I no longer remember the context in which I raised it. )

Well I think that we can all agree that it matters not one jot about the discussion with me, but it does matter a great deal that you gave us this amazingly excellent story and explantation . 'Course I love this stuff, so I am easily won.

The big N was from Corsia correct? Famous for its bread trees and short people yes? Also, traded a lot with Catalans, who are famous for their 'Sea and Mountain dishes' including chicken with shrimp/crayfish. Corsicans picked up the recipe, obviously. I reckon that the big N was craving a little bit of home cooking asked for this dish to be made at one point, not pre-Marengo, but later it was "attached" as per your explanation. Obviously this is all rubbish, but I bet that with a little research I could develope a brilliant fake-history, which is most of history I guess.

Hey, that's what "History Marengo" is all about! Glad you like the story, anyway.

Yes, the Corsican angle is a good one - fits with the tomatoes too. That's well thought of, Mrs. Jewkes!

I must go back and dig up my notes and see whether I have any specifics as to poor old Kellermann's foraged supplies; all I remember is that a detachment of his heavy cavalry went to the Convento del Bosco and (as was apparently their wont) "offered their protection" to the good brothers in return for a "voluntary" contribution amounting probably to the complete contents of larder and cellar. (IIRC Bourrienne merely says "ample provisions of food and good wine" - but Bourrienne was not the only diarist in camp, by a long chalk.) A scenario worthy of Mario Puzo.

In any case, we had ourselves a little fun indulging in a favorite pastime, the Culinary Deconstruction of a piece of fiction: we worked up a study of the season and the locale, growing conditions, characteristic local fauna and flora, and so on, to determine whether they met the underlying hypotheses of Dunand's story; much to our amusement, they did indeed. This adds another delicious layer to the silliness of it all, because Marengo was fought in June, making fresh tomatoes and crawfish a distinct possibility; Austerlitz, however, was fought in the dead of winter and in the middle of frozen Moravia - so if that is indeed when Napoleon made the demand (there's no proof of this, but it is strongly implied by the exchange having occurred "on the eve of his next great battle"), Dunand certainly had ample reason to be nonplused.

BTW re Kellermann - the ill-will between him and Napoleon after Marengo is legendary. The reason usually given for this in the popular histories is that Kellermann had conducted one of the great heroic charges of the battle, only to be snubbed by Boney when the time came for awarding honors. Of course that aspect of the story is far more convoluted than my description of it (there are all sorts of letters back and forth, strange innuendoes, etc.), but it also fails to take into account the poor bugger's consternation on returning to camp close to midnight and finding Napoleon and cohorts making merry amongst the ruins of his supper.

Bourrienne is very cutesy about it - burbles archly about the generosity of their host in "giving" them such a fine meal. Talk about adding insult to injury! No wonder Kellermann was furious.

Edited March 26, 2004 by balmagowry (log)

[balmagowry]

Bravo! What a wonderfully informative and erudite post!

There is a tradition of chefs improvising. Somewhat later, the young Escoffier was at the siege of Paris, where the Bellanger served a famous menu for CChristmas 1870 including "Le Chat, flanque de rats", and the remains of various animals from the Paris zoo, washed down with Romanee Conti 1858 ...Fortunately they have not passed into the repertoire.

Thank you very much! (I have to admit it was one of my favorite bits of research ever - the deeper we went the more interesting and surprising it got.)

As for the siege of Paris, while I'm rather too fond of my own cats to contemplate a dish of Chat with equanimity - not that desperate yet! - I have somewhat different feelings about the infamous entrecôte tonnelier, as witness this thread....

[rich]

The dinner for 11 was postponed until tomorrow evening. I still think the eggs will be poached, unless someone can come up with a way to french-fry 11 eggs at the last minute.

[balmagowry]

So...???

How was it? Inquiring minds really do want to know. Report!

Pictures! We want pictures!

[Pontormo]

It's kind of late, but here are some pictures. You'll have to scroll down....