Parisian Bistro Menu: Dessert - Chocolate Mousse with Pruneax a l’Armagnac
A classic French dark chocolate mousse with unsweetened whipped cream and Armagnac-soaked prunes.
We have reached the end of Parisian Bistro week, and while it’s sad to say “au revoir,” we still have what some consider the best and most important course of all - dessert. I hope you’re not sick of separating eggs, because if you are, I have terrible news. We’re making traditional chocolate mousse. And before we get too deep into it, if you’re averse to using raw eggs, get out now. Unless you want the history and not the eggs. Then you can stay. If you want both, then you’re my kind of people.
Today, many mousse recipes deploy whipped cream to create aeration, but traditionally, it was all egg white, baby. I’m staying true to the classic technique and using all egg. I love this approach for two reasons: the first is the silkiness of the mousse, egg white really does deliver in the texture department. And the second reason is that I never have a leftover egg yolk or white. I love when recipes are like this. I always lose track of leftover egg whites and yolks, and then feel bad about them when I find them at the back of my fridge, gross and forgotten. Man, what a way to kick off a recipe article. Let’s move on, shall we?
Today, we’re far more likely to think of mousse as a dessert first. But that wasn’t always the case. The term mousse, which translates to “foam”, was historically reserved for savoury dishes. Mousses, such as salmon and cheese, made frequent appearances on the menu at the Palace of Versailles, dating as far back as the early 1700s. But it took another century to bring chocolate into the equation. But who exactly gave us this great gift is up for debate.
This is nothing new. Food history is notoriously murky, and nailing down the direct origins of certain dishes is usually near impossible. But does that stop us from trying? Hell, no! One story credits Louis XV’s personal chef with the culinary discovery, which could be true. Louis XV's reign ended in 1774, and the first written evidence of chocolate mousse dates back to 1750, when it was mentioned in the book La Science du Maītre d’Hôtel Confiseur by French culinary writer Menon.
A stranger and likely apocryphal story credits the French post-impressionist painter Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec with the invention of the dish. While Toulouse was an avid cook, it is highly unlikely he invented the dish because, well, we have a recipe from 1750, and he was active from the late 1870s until he died in 1901. So yeah, the math ain’t mathing.
Toulouse reportedly referred to the dish as “mayonnaise de chocolat,” which, to be honest, is a moniker I wish I could unsee. While I understand the logic behind the name, traditional chocolate mousse is an egg and chocolate emulsion after all, mayonnaise is kind of the last thing I want to think about when I’m tucking into a dessert. And the worst part is that this name persisted in French cookbooks into the early 1900s.
While the original mousse is likely lost to history, its existence is well-documented throughout the 19th century. It was regarded as a member of the haute cuisine repertoire; something for the fashionable set to indulge in. But in the 1920s, mousse made the leap from palace kitchens to bistro staple. And this leap came about due to a few factors. The first was mechanization. Electric mixers burst onto the scene and made quick work of whipping egg whites. This made emulsions far more accessible for small, understaffed bistro kitchens. Next, the cost. Chocolate mousse has a mercifully short ingredient list, so bistros could offer what tasted like a premium dessert without breaking the bank or overburdening their kitchens with single-use ingredients. And finally, the ease of service. Traditionally, chocolate mousse was served in bistros from a common bowl. It was dispensed with a careless plop on a plate.
Bistro chocolate mousse was commonly served from a dessert trolley loaded up with freshly whipped cream and stewed fruits, which brings me to my Pruneax à l’Armagnac. Prunes hold a prominent role in the history of bistros and bouillons. It was a favoured fruit because prunes were always in season, always plentiful, and always cheap. So much so that they were often referred to as the “poor man’s fruit”.
Here, I soaked my prunes in Ceylon tea, then drained them and covered them with Armagnac. I then summoned all my patience and left them to sit at room temperature for a week. They were very punchy coming out of the booze, so if you’re sensitive to alcohol, leave your prunes for as little as 48 hours. Don’t leave your prunes for longer than a week, or you’ll be pretty much chewing straight Armagnac. When you extract your prunes, hold onto your soaking Armagnac because it’s now a prune-infused Armagnac, and that is a very good thing. From there, the prunes are tossed in a simple syrup flavoured with orange zest, cinnamon, and a vanilla bean pod. Add a couple of prunes to everyone's plate of mousse and unsweetened whipped cream, and you’re off to the races.
Enjoy!
