Rediscovered French Culinary Treasures: Pork Chop à la Carême

Don't forget about the old people and the things from the past

Look, I'm not saying I'm some kind of culinary archaeologist, but when I stumbled across this newly translated French cookbook from the 1840s, something hit different.

This isn't just any dusty collection of recipes. This is Marie-Antoine fucking Carême—the OG first celebrity chef who was feeding emperors and kings while most cooks were still figuring out not to burn water. The translation just dropped in 2024, but the techniques? Pure 19th-century culinary warfare.

I wrote an article about him and a pastry he invented

THE THING ABOUT OLD COOKBOOKS

They don't write cookbooks like this anymore. Today it's all "15-minute meals" and "5-ingredient weeknight dinners." Nothing wrong with that, but there's something about these old-school texts that feels like getting high-level intelligence briefings from culinary ghosts.

Reading Carême is like watching someone explain how to build a Ferrari when everyone else is still riding horses. The level of detail, the obsession with technique—it's fucking beautiful. And it makes you wonder: what else have we lost along the way?

Your grandma probably had techniques that would make a Michelin-starred chef weep. But did she write them down? Did anyone ask before she was gone? Probably not. We're too busy watching 30-second cooking videos and thinking we know shit.

Talk to someone who cooked before there was an internet. Before you could Google "how to make bread." Before cooking became content. Their knowledge isn't optimized for algorithms—it's optimized for feeding people well.

Or better yet, find an old cookbook. Not the pristine collector's item kind. The battle-scarred veteran with stained pages and cryptic margin notes that say things like "more butter!!!" and "NOT THIS WAY" in angry grandma handwriting.

That's where the real shit is.

So I decided to riff on one of Carême's techniques. Nothing too pretentious—just a bone-in pork loin chop with a breading station setup. AP flour, egg wash, panko for that satisfying schnitzel crunch. Classic technique, executed well.

But the sauce? That's where things got interesting.

What I created was my interpretation of what seems to be sauce Duchambais—at least a bastardized, modern version of it as I saw. The book's description was loose as hell, and when I tried researching online, I got conflicting info. Classic case of culinary telephone stretching across two centuries. So is this Duchambais? Maybe not— but FUCK IT.

I made mine with crème fraîche, a gastrique using shallots and tarragon stems, and this ridiculous strawberry vinegar from Acid League. Threw in some algae oil and mushroom oil because why the fuck not? Finished with fresh chopped tarragon.

Did Carême use mushroom oil? Let’s be real— no. But he would've if he could.

Posted this on IG thinking maybe my usual crowd would dig it. Woke up to 100K views. WHAT?

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WHY THIS MATTERS

Here's the thing that fucks me up about cooking from old books: I'm literally putting my hands in the same ingredients, going through the same motions as some cook in a dimly lit kitchen in 1840s France. Except they didn’t have AC or a proper fridge, they didn’t have the nice blender or the fancy pizza oven.

There's something almost supernatural about that connection. Carême probably stood over a sauce like this tasting and adjusting, cursing under his breath when something wasn't right. Just like I did. Just like you will.

Food isn't just fuel. It's not content. It's not even just culture. It's a time machine, it’s how we connect with the past.

So next time you're scrolling through recipes looking for something "innovative," remember that innovation sometimes means looking backward. Talk to your elders. Read old books. The good stuff isn't always new. Sometimes it's just been forgotten.

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