Chapter XVII: Sweets to the Sweet 428 (6)

If, as was stated by the Marquis de Cussy, Brillat-Savarin "ate copiously and ill, chose little, talked dully, and was preoccupied at the end of a repast," no fault can be found by the most captious critic with the conversationalist and host of the "Physiology." There is not a dull line within its covers, or a page unmarked by brilliancy. Beginning with a dissertation on the senses in general, he proceeds with a most recondite analysis of the senses relating to taste. He explains that the empire of taste has its blind and its deaf, that the sensation of taste resides principally in the papillæ of the tongue, though every tongue has not the same number of papillæ, but that in some there are thrice as many as in others. Hence, with two persons sitting at the same table, one may be deliciously affected by the viands and wines, whereas the other will seem to partake of them with restraint. Taste, he maintains, is a sense that, all things considered, procures us the greatest number of enjoyments:

"1st. Because the pleasure of eating is the only one that,
taken in moderation, is never followed by fatigue;

"2d. Because it belongs to all times, to all ages, and to all
conditions;

"3d. Because it occurs necessarily at least once a day, and
may be repeated without inconvenience two or three times in
this space of time;

"4th. Because it may be combined with all our other pleasures
and even console us for their absence;

"5th. Because the impressions it receives are at the same time
more durable and more dependent on our will;

"6th. Because in eating we receive a certain indefinable and
special comfort which arises from the intuitive consciousness
that we repair our losses and prolong our existence by the
food we eat.

"Lastly," he asserts, "the tongue of man, by the delicacy
of its texture and the various membranes which environ it,
sufficiently indicates the sublimity of the operations for
which it is destined. It contains at least three movements
unknown to animals, which he terms spication, rotation, and
verrition. The first is when the tongue in a conical shape
comes from between the lips that compress it; the second, when
the tongue moves circularly in the space comprised between
the interior of the cheeks and the palate; the third, when
the tongue, curving upwards or downwards, gathers anything
remaining in the semicircular canal formed by the lips and the
gums."

Like the seasoned and thoroughbred hunter who is sure of his sinew and his stride, and before whom the stile, the ditch, and the five-barred gate present no obstacles, so may Savarin be freely allowed his head and be followed over the fragrant fields of taste, with no fear that anything appertaining to its province will prove impossible or difficult for him to surmount.

The influence of smell on taste is closely analysed:

"For myself, I am not only persuaded that without the
participation of smell there is no perfect taste, but I am
even tempted to believe that smell and taste form only one
sense, of which the mouth is the laboratory and the nose the
chimney; or, to speak more exactly, that the tongue tastes
tactile substances, and the nose gases. This theory may be
vigorously defended.

"All sapid bodies must be necessarily odorous, which places
them as well in the empire of smell as in the empire of taste.

"We eat nothing without smelling it with more or less
consciousness; and for unknown foods the nose acts always as a
sentinel, and cries, 'Who goes there?'

"When smell is interrupted, taste is paralysed. This is proved
by three experiments, which any one may make successfully:
_First_, when the nasal mucous membrane is irritated by a
violent cold in the head, taste is entirely obliterated.
In anything we swallow there is no taste. The tongue,
nevertheless, remains in its normal state. _Second_, if we
eat whilst holding tight our nose, we are much astonished
to experience the sensation of taste only in an obscure and
imperfect manner. By this means the most nauseous medicines
are swallowed almost without tasting them. _Third_, we see the
same effect if, at the moment we have swallowed, instead of
bringing back the tongue to its usual place, we keep it close
to the palate. In this case the circulation of the air is
intercepted, the organs of smell are not affected, and taste
does not occur. These different effects depend upon the same
cause, the lack of coöperation of the smell, which makes the
sapid body to be appreciated only on account of its juice, and
not for the odoriferous gas that emanates from it.

"These principles being thus laid down, I regard it as certain
that taste gives rise to sensations of three different
orders, namely: _direct_ sensation, _complete_ sensation, and
_reflex_ sensation. Direct sensation is that first perception
which arises from the immediate operation of the organs of
the mouth, whilst the appreciable body is yet found on the
point of the tongue. Complete sensation is that which is
composed of this first perception and of the impression which
originates when the food abandons this first position, passes
into the back part of the mouth, and impresses the whole organ
with both taste and perfume. Reflex sensation is the judgment
of the mind upon the impressions transmitted to it by the
organ."

To no other writer may one turn so satisfactorily for an interpretation of the word "gastronomy," a word which belongs by right to him. Previous to his exegesis, gluttony and gastronomy had been more or less confounded. It is true that the poem of Berchoux is entitled "La Gastronomie," but the term was not defined by the poet, nor do the piquant pages of the "Almanach" refer to the art "of having excellent cheer" under that term. The true epicure, as distinguished from the gross eater, had long stood in need of the definition and distinction. "The gastronomer is nearly always a sage," it has been observed--a statement borne out by the "Dictionnaire de la Conversation," which characterises this science as "the art of living, of eating worthily, properly, as a man of taste, character, and judgment." It will prove of interest, therefore, to those who are unfamiliar with the "Physiology" to refer to the third Meditation, and note the French savant's elaborate analysis of the word:

"Gastronomy is the rational knowledge of all that relates to
man as an eater.

"Its object is to watch over the preservation of men by means
of the best nourishment possible.

"It arrives thereat by laying down certain principles to
direct those who look for, furnish, or prepare the things
which may be converted into food.

"Thus it is gastronomy that sets in motion farmers,
vine-growers, fishers, hunters, and the numerous family
of cooks, whatever may be their title, or under whatever
qualification they may disguise their occupation of preparing
food.

"Gastronomy is connected--

"With natural history, by its classification of alimentary
substances.

"With physics, by the investigation of their composition and
their qualities;

"With chemistry, by the different analyses and decompositions
which it makes them undergo;

"With cookery, by the art of preparing food and rendering it
more agreeable to taste;

"With commerce, by the search for means to buy at the cheapest
rate possible what is consumed by it, and selling to the
greatest advantage that which is presented for sale;

"Lastly, with political economy, by the resources which it
furnishes to the authorities for taxation, and by the means of
exchange it establishes among nations.

"Some knowledge of gastronomy is needed by all men, since it
tends to increase the allotted sum of human happiness; and the
more easy a man's circumstances, the more advantages does he
gain from such knowledge."

Summing up, he pronounces its material subject to be everything that may be eaten; its direct object, the preservation of individuals; and its means of execution, cultivation which produces, commerce which exchanges, industry which prepares, and experience which invents the means of turning everything to the best account.

It will thus be perceived how little understood, even at this advanced age, is the term in question, and how few, comparatively, there are who comprehend the true significance of the pleasures of the table--pleasures where grossness does not enter, but where taste, refinement, the amenities, and hygiene assert their sway. Life is short at its longest; but who shall harvest its sweetnesses so fully as the accomplished gastronomer! The rustling forest glades, radiant in the pomp of October, may be summoned by the appearance of a finely larded grouse; the tinkle of liberated brooks be heard with the advent of the first April trout; the flute of the whitethroat be recalled by the floral tributes to the table; and all that is sunshine in nature be distilled when the cork sets free a noble vintage of the Médoc or the Marne.

If the term "gastronomy" was imperfectly understood until the definition in the "Physiology," as much may be said of the word _gourmandise_, which oftener served as a designation of gluttony than as a synonym of refined epicureanism.

_Gourmandise_, Savarin defines as "an impassioned, rational, and habitual preference for all objects which flatter the sense of taste. It is opposed to excess in eating and drinking. Physically, it is an indication of the wholesome state of the organs on which nutrition depends, and, morally, it marks implicit resignation to the commands of the Creator, who, in ordering man to eat that he may live, invites him to do so by appetite, encourages him by flavour, and rewards him by pleasure. It is, moreover, most favourable to beauty, imparting more brilliancy to the eye, freshness to the skin, more support to the muscles; and as it is certain in physiology that it is the depression of muscles that causes wrinkles, those formidable enemies of beauty, it is equally true that, all things being equal, those who know how to eat are comparatively ten years younger than those ignorant of that science." It was also left for him to discover that _gourmandise_, when it is shared, has a marked influence on the happiness which may be found in the conjugal state.

Frontispiece of "Le Caveau Moderne" (1807)]

Let us follow the accomplished chancellor farther in his physiological studies, and refer to the thirteenth Meditation, which treats of "gastronomic tests." In a previous chapter a famous bill of fare of the renowned Rocher de Cancale has been presented, which it may be well to compare with what approaches nearest to a menu or series of menus in the "Physiology." It will then be for the reader to decide whether he would rather have assisted at the feast of the Rocher alluded to, or at that prescribed by Savarin for an income of thirty thousand francs in the early part of the century. In both instances the list of accompanying wines is wanting, and therefore the menus are necessarily incomplete as a dinner chronicle of the times. Happily, the long and heavy dinners of former days have given place to repasts of a far more simple nature, as the heavy wines of Oporto and the South and the highly saccharine products of the vine have been replaced by lighter and more wholesome kinds. It is possible now to dine well and generously and escape a headache or an indigestion the following morning.

By "gastronomic tests," which the author claims as a personal discovery that will honour the nineteenth century, he understands dishes of acknowledged flavour, of an excellence so undoubted that the mere sight of them ought to move, in a well-organised man, every faculty of taste; so that all those whose faces under such circumstances neither flash with desire nor beam with ecstasy may justly be noted as unworthy of the honours of the banquet and its attending pleasures. A test destined for a man of limited means, he explains, would have little reference to a head clerk, and would scarcely be perceived when a select few dine together at a capitalist's or a diplomatist's. Should such dishes as a truffled turkey seem out of keeping for an income of fifteen thousand francs, and the list of the "third series" appear too elaborate for an income of double that sum, due consideration should be taken of the value of the franc at the period to which the author refers. It is also to be presumed that such a bill of fare was not often served by any one person, and was therefore more highly prized and more easily digested.

Gastronomic Tests.

First Series.

For a Presumed Income of 5000 Francs a Year (Mediocrity).

A large fillet of veal, well larded with bacon, done in its
own gravy.

A country-fed turkey stuffed with Lyons chestnuts.

Fattened pigeons larded and cooked to a turn.

Eggs _dressed à la neige_.

A dish of Sauerkraut bristling with sausages and crowned with
Strassburg bacon.

_Remarks._--"Bless me! that looks all right! Come on! let us
do honour to it!"

Second Series.

For a Presumed Income of 15,000 Francs (Comfort).

A fillet of beef underdone in the middle, larded and done in
its own gravy.

A haunch of venison, accompanied by a gherkin sauce.

A boiled turbot.

A leg of mutton _présalé_, done _à la provençale_.

A truffled turkey.

Early green peas.

_Remarks._--"Ah, my dear friend, what a delightful sight! This
is truly a wedding-feast."

Third Series.

For a Presumed Income of 30,000 Francs or more (Riches).

A fowl of about seven pounds stuffed with truffles till it
becomes almost round.

An enormous Strassburg _pâté de foie gras_, in the shape of a
bastion.

A large Rhein _carp à la Chambord_, richly dressed and
decorated.

Truffled quails, with marrow, spread on buttered toast _au
basilic_.

A river pike larded, stuffed, and smothered in a cream of
crayfish _secundum artem_.

A pheasant done to perfection, with his tail-feathers stuck
in, lying on toast _à la Sainte-Alliance_.

A hundred early asparagus, each half an inch thick, with sauce
_à l'osmazôme_.

Two dozen ortolans _à la provençale_, as described in some of
the cookery-books already mentioned.

A pyramid of vanilla and rose meringues--a test sometimes
useless unless in the case of ladies and abbés.

_Remarks._--"Ah, my dear sir (or my lord), what a genius that
cook of yours is! It is only at your table that one meets such
dishes."

In order that any test should produce its full effect, the author advises that it be served plenteously, the rarest of dishes losing its influence when not in abundant proportion, as the first impression it produces on the guests is naturally checked by the fear of being stingily served, or, in certain cases, of being obliged to refuse out of politeness--a conclusion one may see verified frequently at a European table-d'hôte when the parsimonious though perhaps extortionate landlord deals out the roast or the fish through the intermedium of the maligned garçon or Kellner. There are certain dishes, nevertheless, whose zest consists in their very daintiness and lack of exuberance, such as numerous entrées, in the savouring of which even the forks and knives should be small and the proportions of the dish be restricted rather than augmented. But the rules in the "Physiology" as to a perfect dinner still hold good in the main, and will well bear reiteration:

"Let the number of guests not exceed twelve, so that the
conversation may be constantly general.

"Let them be so chosen that their occupations are various,
their tastes analogous, and with such points of contact
that one need not have recourse to that odious formality of
introductions.

"Let the dining-room be brilliantly lighted, the cloth as
white as snow, and the temperature of the room from sixty to
sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit.

"Let the men be witty and not pedantic, and the women amiable
without being too coquettish.

"Let the dishes be exquisitely choice, but small in number,
and the wines of the first quality, each in its degree.

"Let the dishes be served from the more substantial to the
lighter; and from the simpler wines to those of finer bouquet.

"Let the eating proceed slowly, the dinner being the last
business of the day, and let the guests look upon themselves
as travellers who journey together towards a common object.

"Let the coffee be hot and the liqueurs be specially chosen.

"Let the drawing-room to which the guests retire be large
enough to permit those who cannot do without it to have
a game of cards, while leaving, however, ample scope for
post-prandial conversation.

"Let the guests be detained by social attraction, and animated
with expectation that before the evening is over there will be
some further enjoyment.

"Let the tea not be too strong, the toast artistically
buttered, and the punch made with care.

"Let the signal for departure not be given before eleven
o'clock.

"Let every one be in bed at midnight.

"If any man has ever been a guest at a repast uniting all
these conditions, he can boast of having been present at
his own apotheosis; and he will have enjoyed it the less
in proportion as these conditions have been forgotten or
neglected."

Exception perhaps may be taken to the temperature of the dining-room as given in the above injunctions, 70° to 73° Fahrenheit being a more comfortable atmospheric medium of dining where it is possible. The tea and toast and the punch may also be dispensed with to advantage, and in their stead a liqueur glass of _Curaçoa sec_ be prescribed, one of the best, as it is one of the most agreeable, digestives after a substantial repast.

Game has been pronounced a delight of the table by Savarin--a food healthful, warming, savoury, and easy of digestion to young stomachs. Of small game or birds, he accords the highest place to the fig-pecker, saying that if this bird were as large as a pheasant it would be worth an acre of land. Savarin was a true sportsman, who knew his game and its proper preparation, and among the breeziest of his chapters are those relating to field sports, wherein due regard is paid to the luncheon. A portion of the fifteenth Meditation will be sufficient to show the counsellor in his hunting costume at the halt of a shooting party; he is in his happiest vein, his theme being "The Ladies." The morning has been fine, and the birds abundant. Appetite is not wanting, and at a prearranged hour a party of ladies arrive, laden with the treasures of Périgord, the triumphs of Strassburg, and the bubbles of Epernay, to assist in the repast. It is at the close of this that the chancellor becomes most eloquent and pronounces one of his most characteristic monologues:

"I have been out shooting in the centre of France and the most
remote provinces, and seen arrive at the halt charming women,
girls redolent with freshness, some arriving in cabriolets,
others in simple country carts. I have seen them the first in
laughing at the inconveniences of their conveyance. I have
seen them display upon the turf the turkey in clear jelly, the
household pie, the salad all ready for mixing. I have seen
them with light foot dancing round the bivouac fire lighted on
this occasion. I have taken part in the games and merriment
that accompany such a gipsy feast, and I feel thoroughly
convinced that, with less luxury, there is quite as much that
is charming, gay, and delightful.

"Why when they take their leave should not some kisses be
interchanged with the best sportsman, who is in his glory;
with the worst shot because he is most unlucky: with the
others so as not to make them jealous? All are about to
separate, custom has authorized it; and it is permissible, and
even commanded, to take advantage of such an opportunity.

"Fellow-sportsmen, ye who are prudent and look after solid
things, fire straight, and bag as much as you can before the
ladies arrive, for experience teaches us that after their
departure sportsmen seem very rarely in luck...."[27]

As the lordly Asian pheasant is thriving and multiplying with us, it will be pertinent to present Savarin's famous and somewhat inaccessible formula of preparing him _à la Sainte-Alliance_ for all such as may wish to try so elaborate a _plat de luxe_, it being well understood that the pheasant, above all birds, requires to be very fully matured by hanging:

"The bird is first to be carefully larded with the best and
firmest lard. Then bone two woodcocks, put their flesh aside,
and keep the livers and trails of the two birds separate.
Take this meat and mince it, add some beef marrow, steamed,
a little scraped bacon, pepper, salt, herbs, and enough
good truffles to stuff the inner cavity of the pheasant. Be
careful not to let the stuffing spread to the outside, which
is sometimes a little difficult when the bird is rather high.
Nevertheless, it can be done in various ways, and amongst
others by fastening a crust of bread with a piece of thread
on the stomach, which prevents its bursting. Cut a slice of
bread longer and wider by two inches than the whole pheasant
is; then take the livers and trails of the woodcocks, and
pound them with two large truffles, one anchovy, a little
scraped bacon, and a goodly lump of the best fresh butter.
Spread this paste on the slice of bread, and put it under the
pheasant stuffed as above, so that it may receive all the
gravy dripping from it while roasting. When the pheasant is
cooked, serve it up lying gracefully on its toast, put some
bitter oranges round it, and await the result without any
uneasiness. This high-flavoured dish ought to be washed down,
in preference, with some of the best wine of Upper Burgundy.
Treated according to the preceding prescription, the pheasant,
already distinguished itself, is permeated from its outside
with the savoury fat of the bacon which is browned and in
its inside it is impregnated with the odoriferous gases from
the woodcocks and the truffles. The toast, already so richly
prepared, receives again the gravies of the triple combination
which flow from the bird while roasting."

Has gastronomy progressed since the time of Brillat-Savarin? Replying to this question, Charles Monselet, writing in 1879, states that he "looks in vain for the tables that are praised or the hosts that are renowned. Where are the great cooks? What names have we now to oppose to those of Carême and Robert? Shall I speak of official cookery, of ministerial dinners? These are not the dinners to which people go to eat. There especially the cook is more proud of a Chinese kiosk on a rock in coloured and spun sugar, which no person dare touch, than of a carp _à la Chambord_ treated in a masterly way. Since the days of Cambacérès official cookery has ceased to exist." The similarity of dinners complained of by Walker and Thackeray during a previous era he refers to as existing in Paris: "That which you eat yesterday in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, you will eat to-morrow in the Faubourg Saint-Honoré. At the end of the week you recognise that you have merely changed your knife and fork. This poverty of imagination, this absence of research are unworthy of a country such as ours."

Apart from his neglect to mention the labours of his distinguished gastronomical predecessor, Savarin is also open to censure for failing to thank the Italians for their admirable lessons in the science of cookery, including that of frying in oil, which he particularly specifies as so desirable with trout "caught in running brooks that murmur far from the capital." To this day the Italian remains a great confectioner and pastry-cook, while an Italian maestro is a delight of the _haute cuisine_, his methods possessing much originality and holding nothing in common with the greasy dishes and their superabundance of garlic which one meets in the average inn and in many of the restaurants of the land beyond the Alps.

Upon one subject, it is to be regretted, we have not been advised by the philosophic and analytic mayor of Belley, who is silent concerning the physiology of the cocktail, or any form of beverage composed of spirits, taken before dinner. During La Reynière's era, on the occasion of a grand dinner the rule was the so-called _coup d'avant_, the _coup du milieu_, and the _coup d'après_--the three spirituous graces, as it were, of an elaborate repast. Here was a lost opportunity for the "Physiology," which might have formulated a hygienic chapter apart from the Meditations on thirst and drinks. Unquestionably, there are reasons for and against the use of a liquid stimulant before the principal meal. The true gastronomer, and all those who are careful of their health, without which the best dinner may not be enjoyed, will at any rate eschew all strong alcoholic beverages until evening. The question of a stimulant before the dinner will then be one for individual consideration. Its daily use may scarcely be commended, particularly if it be followed by wine: one who is in possession of good health should not require a fictitious goad to appetite. Where a carefully planned dinner is in question, however, the dry cocktail--one, and one only--taken ten minutes before the moment of sitting down at table, is undoubtedly a stimulus to appetite and provocative of good-fellowship. It pitches the company in a pleasant key at the onset, and imparts a zest and an _allégresse_ to the first part of the repast that were otherwise lacking. Then, if the sparkling wine be not postponed too long, and the dinner itself be meritorious, the host and hostess may rest secure, without a shadow of solicitude regarding its success. Impelled by its own geniality, the company will take abundant care of itself, and the stream of conversation and ripple of anecdote flow freely along, unimpeded by the boulders of formality or the aridity engendered by a dearth of joyous fluids.

Turning the leaves of the "Physiology," the reader will be impressed with the fecundity of an author who treats with equal fluency of foods and drinks, appetite and digestion, sport and old age, women and abbés, and all that appertains to the physiology of gastronomy. His portrait of a pretty gourmande under arms is a genre painting worthy of Gérard Douw or Van Mieris, while his Meditation on the end of the world might have been composed by a doctor of the Sorbonne. The chapter on digestion is full of practical advice, and from this his disquisitions on repose, on dreams, and on the influence of diet are a natural succession. In the chapter on dreams we are told that all foods which are slightly exciting cause people to dream--such as brown meat, pigeons, ducks, game, and, above all, hare--the same property being also recognised in asparagus, celery, truffles, sweetmeats, and particularly vanilla. Equally suggestive are the essays on corpulence, leanness, and fasting, and the many racy anecdotes of the "Variétés," while his aphorisms must always occupy a place in epicurean literature.

Did Savarin feel a premonition of immediate death when he penned the verses which he entitled "The Agony--A Physiological Romance," and which conclude the work that has rendered his name a synonym for all that appertains to the table and its pleasures?

"I feel through all my senses life's sad end,
My dim eye sees the last few grains of sand
Falling, Louisa weeps, my tender friend,
And places on my breast her trembling hand.
The band of morning-callers troops apace,
Not to return, they bid a last good-bye,
The doctor leaves, the pastor takes his place,
For I must die!

"I fain would pray, my memory is gone;
I fain would speak, my lips can frame no sound;
I hear, though all is still, a singing tone,
And a dull shadow seems to hover round;
All is now cold and dark, my panting breast
Exhausts itself in heaving one poor sigh,
To wander round my lips in frozen rest,
For I must die!"

Numerous translations of the "Physiology" have appeared in various languages. Of these the most familiar one in English, entitled "Gastronomy as a Fine Art," is well interpreted as far as it goes. But many piquant passages are condensed, and portions of chapters and at least one half of the "Variétés" are omitted altogether. The most complete rendition is the large octavo volume, with its rather unsatisfactory illustrations by Lalauze, termed "A Handbook of Gastronomy," wherein the English reader may commune with the French writer almost at first hand, and not be obliged to forgo "The Pullet of Bresse," "The Dish of Eels," "A Day with the Bernardines," and "The Pheasant"--_à la Sainte-Alliance_.

From the etching by Rajon]

FROM CARÊME TO DUMAS

"Les écrivains-cuisiniers sont aussi nécessaires que les
autres littérateurs: il vous faut connaître la théorie du plus
ancien des arts."--CHARLES GERARD.

Among the great professional cooks who were not alone notable practitioners, but who have written understandingly on the art, the names of Beauvilliers, Carême, Ude, Francatelli, Soyer, Urbain-Dubois, and Gouffé are preëminent. We have already considered the important rôle enacted by Beauvilliers as chef, restaurateur, and author. The unctuous name of Carême, however, is more often uttered with reverence, and even yet evokes visions of all that is most delectable in sauces and _entremêts de douceur_.

Indeed, were one to wish that he might turn an Aladdin's ring and summon some genius of the range who would be most gladly welcomed, surely on Carême the choice would fall. As for the dinner one might wish to command, what better than the feast at the Château de Boulogne, so eloquently described by Lady Morgan, when he presided at the Baron Rothschild's villa--that dinner of an estival eventide when the landscape lay sweltering in the heat, without, but where all was deliciously cool within the vast pavilion which stood apart from the mansion in the midst of orange trees: "where distillations of the most delicate viands, extracted in silver dews, with chemical precision,

"'On tepid clouds of rising steam,'

formed the base of all; where every meat presented its own natural aroma, and every vegetable its own shade of verdure; where the mayonnaise was fried in ice (like Ninon's description of Sévigné's heart); and the tempered chill of the _plombière_ anticipated the stronger shock, and broke it, of the exquisite _avalanche_, which, with the hue and odour of fresh gathered nectarines, satisfied every sense and dissipated every coarser flavour."

The age of Carême was the era of quintessences--of the _cuisine classique_, when chemistry contributed new resources, and fish, meats, and fowls were distilled, in order to add a heightened flavour to the sauces and viands that their etherealised essences were to accentuate. One thinks of Lucullus and Apicius, and of the "exceeding odoriferous and aromaticall vapour" of the ovens of the artist mentioned by Montaigne.

That success in any walk of life is the result not only of natural aptitude but of persevering application, Carême's history affords abundant proof, if such were required. Left to shift for himself when but seven years old, at fifteen he had already served his apprenticeship as a cook, to advance with rapid strides in his chosen profession. Constant sobriety, which called for much self-sacrifice on his part, and an iron constitution enabled him to carry out the most arduous labours. "My ambition was serious," he states in his memoirs, "and at an early age I became desirous of elevating my profession to an art."

The better to perfect himself in its various branches, he studied for ten years under the most distinguished masters, including Robert and Laguipière. For years, also, he was a daily student at the Imperial Library and Cabinet of Engravings, perfecting himself in drawing and in the literature of his profession. He likewise made an exhaustive study of old Roman cookery, only to arrive at the conclusion that it was intrinsically bad and abominably heavy (_foncièrement mauvaise et atrocement lourde_)--an opinion confirmed by the Marquis de Cussy, who declared that he would rather dine at a Parisian restaurant for twenty francs than with Lucullus in the saloon of Apollo. It was Carême's habit to take notes nightly of his progress and the modifications he had made in his work during the day, thereby fixing those ideas and combinations that otherwise would have escaped his memory.

Amid the luxurious kitchens of the Empire he reigned supreme--the king of pastry-cooks and marvellous in his sauces, galantines, and inventions. Crowned heads soon became his suitors, and princes implored his services. It was Talleyrand, one of the wittiest and most epicurean princes of the Empire, who inspired him perhaps with his greatest enthusiasm, and of whom he says, "M. de Talleyrand understands the genius of a cook, he respects it, he is the most competent judge of delicate progress, and _his expenditures are wise and great at the same time_." Of Laguipière, the chief cook of Murat, to whose talents he ascribes the elegance and éclat of the culinary art of the nineteenth century, he is unstinted in his praises. Of Beauvilliers he has little to say, and although a volume appeared bearing the combined names of Beauvilliers and Carême, one fancies that the proverbial jealousy of cooks was not wanting in their case.

Carême has modified the adage _on se fait cuisinier, mais on est né rôtisseur_, claiming that to become a perfect cook one must first be a distinguished pastry-maker, and citing as instances his favourite teacher Laguipière, with Robert, Lasne, Riquette, and numerous other celebrities. He speaks of the "lightness," the "grace," and the "colour" of pastry; of the "order, perspicuity, and intelligence" required in its preparation. "It is easier," he says, "to cook pastry than to make it.... There are ovens and ovens (_fours_). There is the _four chaud_; there is the _four gai_; there is the _four chaleur modérée_. The best oven is that which is often heated and which retains its heat. If there is too much loft and too little floor, or much floor and little loft, only meagre results may be expected." When one orders a _vol-au-vent à la financière_ or a _pâté d'écrevisses_ (that triumph of Orléans) at a restaurant, therefore, it will be perceived it becomes a question of the oven as well as the capacity of the artist directing it that counts in the success, and which the conscientious diner should take into consideration ere finding fault with the _addition_.

Again, the analogy between cookery and painting becomes apparent. Thus the conditions noted by Carême find a parallel in the artist endowed with a vivid imagination, but possessed of only mediocre technique; or a painter whose feeling may be admirable, but whose execution is deficient. The _four gai_--how it suggests a landscape of Cuyp steeped in the splendours of the setting sun--to say nothing of a nicely gilded omelette or a soufflé of apricots! To _glacer à la flamme_, as Carême expressed it, calls for a _four d'enfer_, and one has in mind a _crême gelée d'Alaska_, with the fire managed by a Mephistopheles.

Let the cook and the painter continue to lay on the colours gaily--the one with his _braise_ and the other with his brush. Art is art always, and finds its sure reward in whatever sphere talent, conscientiousness, and application are united.

In the autobiographic preface of the "Cuisinier Parisien" an instance is cited of the care and variety which the author claims every industrious cook should bring to bear in his work, in order to excite the appetite of the amphitryon:

"One day the Prince-Regent of England, whom I served, said
to me, 'Carême, you will make me die of indigestion; I am
fond of everything you give me, and you tempt me too much.'
'Monseigneur,' I replied, 'my principal office is to challenge
your appetite by the variety of my service; but it is not my
affair to regulate it.' The prince smiled, saying that I was
right, and I continued to supply him with the best."

"The charcoal shortens our lives," said Carême; "but what matter?--we lose in years and gain in glory." A born epicure, he never risked his health by over-indulgence of his epicurean taste. "I have been prudent," he states, "not by inclination, but through a profound sense of my duty." To his culinary accomplishments he joined those of a master director and maître-d'hôtel. Witness his remarks concerning the functions of a chief steward:

"The _maître-d'hôtel cuisinier_ should possess that
unification of qualities which is seldom bestowed, even in
an isolated form. He will be a cook, above all--able, alert,
productive; he will be cut out for active command and be
animated by an invincible ardour for work; he will be a man
of parts, an enthusiast, vigilant even to minuteness. He will
see all, and know all. The maître-d'hôtel is never ill. He
presides over everything, his impetus dominates all; he alone
has the right to raise his voice, and all must obey. He must
be sufficiently learned to write out, when occasion calls
for it, without the aid of books, the principal part of his
bills of fare. These are his book of resources, the journal of
his fatigues and his victories. Alas! that which he may not
preserve in these copies are the spontaneous fire and ready
tact he has displayed in connection with his ranges--these are
things of the moment that die at their birth."

Many anecdotes of the famous gastronomers and great personages of his time have been recounted by Carême. To Cambacérès he refers at length, disputing his claim to a distinguished place among epicures. The cuisine of the arch-chancellor, he states decisively, never merited its great reputation. This was through no fault of his chef, M. Grand'Manche, an excellent practitioner, but was due solely to the excessive parsimony of his employer, who at each service was in the habit of noting the entrées that were untouched or scarcely touched, and of forming his _carte_ for the morrow with their remains.

"What a dinner, merciful heavens! I would not say that the
dessert may not be utilised, but that it may not supply a
dinner for a prince and an eminent gastronomer. This is a
delicate question; the master has nothing to say, nothing to
see; the skill and probity of the cook alone should enter
into the facts. The dessert should only be employed with
precaution, skill, and especially in silence.

"The arch-chancellor received from the departments innumerable
gifts of provisions and the finest of poultry. All such were
forthwith engulfed in a vast larder of which he retained the
key. He kept tally of the provisions, the dates of their
arrival, and he alone gave orders for their utilisation.
Frequently, when he issued his orders the provisions were
spoiled.

"Cambacérès was never a gourmand in the scientific acceptance
of the word; he was naturally a great and even voracious
eater. Can one believe that he preferred, above all dishes,
the _pâté chaud_ with forcemeat balls?--a heavy, unsavoury,
and vulgar dish. As a _hors-d'œuvre_ he had frequently a
crust of pâté reheated on the grill, and had brought to table
the _combien_ of a ham that had done duty for the week. And
his skilful cook who never had the grand fundamental sauces!
neither his under-cooks or aids nor his bottle of Bordeaux!
What parsimony! what a pity! what an establishment!

"Neither M. Cambacérès nor M. Brillat-Savarin knew how to eat.
Both were fond of strong and vulgar things, and simply filled
their stomachs. This is literally true. M. de Savarin was a
large eater, and talked little and without facility, it seemed
to me; he had a heavy air and resembled a parson. At the end
of a repast his digestion absorbed him, and I have seen him go
to sleep."

Charles Monselet has termed Savarin a mere seltzer drinker, while Dumas says he was neither a gastronomer nor a gourmet, but simply a vigorous eater. "His large size, his heavy carriage, his common appearance, with his costume ten or twelve years behind the times, caused him to be termed the drum-major of the Court of Cassation. All at once, and a dozen years after his death, we have inherited one of the most charming books of gastronomy that it is possible to imagine--the 'Physiologie du Goût.'"

"My work is a manual to be ceaselessly consulted," Carême remarked with reference to his "Maître-d'Hôtel Français." The truth of this assertion becomes manifest at once on reading the exquisitely careful directions which characterise all his treatises. The published works of the versatile author-chef include "Le Maître-d'Hôtel Français," "Le Cuisinier Parisien," "Le Pâtissier Royal Parisien," "Le Pâtissier Pittoresque," and "L'Art de la Cuisine Française au Dix-neuvième Siècle," in several of which the copious illustrations reveal his skill as a draughtsman. His death occurred while giving a lesson in his art. The day of his decease one of his scholars gave him some quenelles of sole to taste. "The quenelles are good," he remarked, "only they were prepared too hastily; you must shake the saucepan lightly." In so saying he indicated by a slight motion the movement he desired to communicate. But after two or three motions his once facile hand refused to respond to his will, and the great artist was no more.

"The asparagus plumps out at the name of Carême!" exclaimed one of his admirers; "the hare that roams the forest utters his name to the stag who passes by; the stag repeats it to the pheasant; the lark sings it in his flight to the sun."

Louis Eustache Ude, once chef of Louis XVI, and founder of the modern French school in England, exerted considerable influence upon the better cookery of his day. His "French Cook" appeared in 1822, and a few years afterwards he became chef of Crockford's Club, the year during which his former employer, the Duke of York, died. The story is told that, on hearing of the duke's illness, Ude exclaimed, "_Ah! mon pauvre Duc_, how greatly you will miss me where you are gone!" Of the finesse that appertains to cookery, of the difficulty to become perfect in the art, Ude wrote as follows:

"What science demands more study? Every man is not born with
the qualifications necessary to constitute a good cook. Music,
dancing, fencing, painting, and mechanics in general possess
professors under twenty years of age, whereas in the first
line of cooking preëminence never occurs under thirty. We
see daily at concerts and academies young men and women who
display the greatest abilities, but in our line nothing but
_the most consummate_ experience can elevate a man to the
rank of chief professor. Cookery is an art appreciated by
only a very few individuals, and which requires, in addition
to most diligent and studious application, no small share of
intellect and the strictest sobriety and punctuality; there
are cooks and cooks--the difficulty lies in finding the
perfect one."

Ude was succeeded in England by Charles Elmé Francatelli, a distinguished pupil of Carême, who presided as chef at Chesterfield House and various clubs until he became _officier de bouche_ to the queen. His "Modern Cook" is still a superior treatise, and although little adapted to the average household, it will well repay careful study on the part of the expert amateur. "The palate is as capable and nearly as worthy of education as the eye and the ear," says Francatelli--a statement which his volume abundantly bears out.

A scholar of Carême, Francatelli was quick to note that _si l'habit fait l'homme, il fait aussi l'entrée_--that the sense of sight has its delight as well as the taste, and one sees, accordingly, an ornate observance of decoration in his grand army of side-dishes. These are excellent throughout, but generally very elaborate, while his sauces and recipes for pastry are especially good. The same may be said of his quenelles and timbales. A competent hand will find his work a valuable guide from which to obtain ideas; it is not a practical book for the majority. One should always remember, among numerous other things, his delicious sauces, numbers sixty-five and sixty-six, for venison, which may also be used with a saddle of mutton, and his recipes for trout _au gratin_ and soup _à la reine_. The venison sauce especially should not be forgotten:

"Bruise one stick of cinnamon and twelve cloves, and put them
into a small stewpan with two ounces of sugar and the peel
of one lemon pared off very thin and perfectly free from any
portion of white pulp; moisten with three glasses of port
wine, and set the whole to simmer gently on the fire for a
quarter of an hour; then strain it through a sieve into a
small stewpan containing a pot of red-currant jelly. Just
before sending the sauce to table, set it on the fire to boil,
in order to melt the currant jelly, so that it may mix with
the essence of spice, etc."

The second sauce is made in the same manner, except that black-currant jelly is substituted for the red. Good Bordeaux may be employed in place of port to advantage, rendering the sauce less cloying, and half the prescribed quantity of cloves will be found amply sufficient.

After Francatelli, Alexis Soyer did his part towards the improvement of the higher classes of England. As an author he was ambitious, if not distinguished, his published works numbering four, viz.: "The Gastronomic Regenerator," "The Modern Housewife, or Ménagère," "The Panthropheon or History of Food," and "A Shilling Cookery for the People." From the fact that the last-named volume reached its two hundred and forty-eighth thousand, it may be concluded it was not a distinguished work, and was written to attract the multitude who do not appreciate. The warm reception given to his "Ménagère," according to a reviewer in "Fraser's Magazine," indicated, "with a statistical accuracy very superior to the census, the lamentably small number of educated palates and self-comprehending stomachs which this country possesses." Like Carême, Soyer had studied the cuisine of the ancients attentively, and in this respect his "History of Food" becomes a valuable addition to the student's library. But his execution is said to have been far below his conception, and his soups much inferior to his soup-kitchens. He refrains from giving a certain recipe for crawfish _à la Sampayo_, which appeared in one of his bills of fare, on account of an agreement between himself and M. Sampayo, adding that the reason of the enormous expense of the dish was that "two large bottles of Périgord truffles, which do not cost less than four guineas, are stewed with them in champagne." But inasmuch as the virtues of the truffle are sadly dissipated in its preserved state, and chefs generally use an ordinary Chablis or other wine in place of champagne, one need not be seriously concerned with the loss of the crawfish.

As the quotation of recipes would call for considerable space, it may be wise to dispense with any further illustrations in the instance of the above-mentioned artists, and pass at once to the French author of the never-failing grace whose grand "Dictionary of Cookery" is marked by that felicity of expression and fecundity of invention so characteristic of all his works. From the somewhat stilted style of Soyer it becomes doubly pleasing to turn to the laughing pages of Dumas, at once suggestive and inspiring, pointed in paragraph and scintillant with anecdote.[28]

The author of "Monte Cristo" and "The Three Musketeers" has also left an illustrious name as a cook, a host, and an epicure. And if, of all celebrated artists, it might be Carême whom one would wish to prepare the dinner, who more delightful than Dumas as a vis-à-vis at the repast? But his expansive smile and his _bonhomie_ are reflected in his writings, and his "intuition of all" is no less apparent when dealing with cookery than when detailing the intrigues of cardinals and courtiers. A Chartreuse becomes as important as the missing necklace of a queen, and the theory of frying no less momentous than the fate of the prisoner of the Château d'If. As Octave Lacroix has phrased it, "Assuredly it is a great attainment to be a romancist, but it is by no means a mediocre glory to be a cook.... Romancist or cook, Alexandre Dumas is a chef, and the two vocations appear in him to go hand in hand, or rather to be joined in one."

The two introductory epistles, an anecdotal review of the art, are among the most felicitous in the language. Nor should we forget the many references to the table in the "Impressions de Voyage" and numerous other volumes. The Marquis de Cussy, Jules Janin, Charles Monselet, and others have treated the same subject at more or less length, but none of them so comprehensively. "I wish to conclude," Dumas often said, "my literary work of five hundred volumes by a work on cookery." This was his great ambition, and to it he devoted his most zealous efforts. "I see with pleasure," he remarks in one of his volumes, "that my culinary reputation is increasing, and soon promises to efface my literary reputation.... I therefore make the announcement that as soon as I am freed from the claims of certain editors I will show you a book of practical cookery by which the most ignorant in matters gastronomical will be able to prepare, as easily as my honourable friend Vuillemot, an _espagnole_ or a _mirepoix_."[29]

With Dumas to promise was to fulfil, and in due time his book--the last volume from his pen--appeared, a tall folio of over a thousand pages, with the spirited etching of the author by Rajon. While this is more especially devoted to the French kitchen, it contains a large number of recipes from foreign countries where the author had travelled. It thus becomes a compendium of many different schools, offering a wide range for selection. Written, moreover, by an amateur, it is also an easier guide than many of the professional manuals of the _haute cuisine_. In the "Dictionary" everything is passed under review--from snails _à la provençale_ to the feet of elephants, from filets of kangaroo to lambs' tails _glacées à la chicorée_, the list of fishes including an account of the origin of the term "Poisson d'Avril" (April fool).

Facsimile of title-page. 1824, Vol. II.]

Even the babiroussa, or wild Asian hog, is not forgotten, the author pronouncing its flesh very delicate, and presenting this additional information concerning its character:

"'Ah! mon Dieu,' asked a lady of her husband, as they were
looking at a babiroussa at the Jardin des Plantes, 'what kind
of an animal is that, my dear, who instead of two horns has
four?'

"'Madame,' said some one who was passing by, 'that is a
widower who has remarried.'"

There are recipes from Beauvilliers, Carême, the Marquis de Cussy, and the cook of King Stanislas; from the manuals of the times of Louis XIV and XV; from the cafés Anglais, Verdier, Brébant, Magny, Grignon, Véfour, and Véry; from Elzéar-Blaze, La Reynière, the Provincial Brothers, and Vuillemot, proprietor of the Tête Noire at St. Cloud. One's mouth waters as he reads the vast alphabet of dishes. There are, for example, thirty-one modes presented for preparing the carp, and fifty-six for dressing the egg, apart from the omelet, with sixteen recipes for artichokes and a dozen for asparagus. There is the Java formula for cooking halcyons' nests, and that of the cook of Richelieu for _godiveau_, a dissertation on the hocco, and a prescription for bustards _à la daube_. No wonder that Dumas has defined the dinner as a daily and capital action that can be worthily accomplished only by _gens d'esprit_.

This is well illustrated by an anecdote in the dedicatory epistle to Jules Janin, which shows the characteristic hand of Dumas to advantage:

"The Viscount de Vieil-Castel, brother of Count Horace de
Vieil-Castel, one of the finest epicures of France, made this
proposition at a gathering of friends:

"'A single person can eat a dinner costing five hundred
francs.'

"'Impossible!' was the simultaneous exclamation.

"'It is well understood,' resumed the Viscount, 'that by the
term eating is included drinking as well.'

"'Parbleu!' replied his friends.

"'Very well; I say that a man, and by a man I do not
mean a carter but an epicure--a pupil of Montron or of
Courchamps--can eat a dinner of five hundred francs.'

"'You, for example?'

"'I, or any one else.'

"'Can you?'

"'Certainly.'

"'I hold the five hundred francs,' said one of the bystanders;
'name your conditions.'

"'That is a simple matter. I will dine at the Café de Paris,
make up my bill of fare, and eat my five-hundred-franc dinner.'

"'Without leaving anything on the dishes or plates?'

"'No, indeed; I will leave the bones.'

"'And when will the wager take place?'

"'To-morrow, if you say so.'

"'Then you will not breakfast?' asked one of the bystanders.

"'I will breakfast as usual.'

"'Be it so. To-morrow at seven, at the Café de Paris.'

"The same evening the Viscount dined as usual at the
restaurant; then, after dinner, in order not to be influenced
by stomachic cravings, he set about preparing his carte for
the following day.

"The maître-d'hôtel was summoned. It was midwinter; the
Viscount suggested numerous fruits and early vegetables. The
hunting season was closed; he wanted some game.

"A week's grace was asked by the maître-d'hôtel.

"The dinner was postponed for a week.

"On the right and left of the table the judges were to dine.