BY

GEORGE H. ELLWANGER

An excerpt from

THE PLEASURES OF THE TABLE

1902

"Tout s'arrange en dinant dans le siècle où nous sommes,
Et c'est par des dîners qu'on gouverne les hommes."
Cassimir Delavigne: Les Comédiens.

Reasoning from the standpoint that the stomach is the great motor of vital energy, it may justly be adduced that everything which contributes to a perfect balance of its mechanism is of inestimable importance. As, moreover, the true function of improved cookery is to second hygiene and to replace medicaments by ingenious combinations of natural products, it will be readily apparent that a good cook and a good writer on cookery—a cook who can compose and a writer who can suggest and stimulate—at once become of even greater value than a college of physicians.

These desirable qualifications belong preëminently to the French, as brewing belongs to the Germans, weaving to the Orientals, sculpture to the Italians, and mechanical invention to the Americans. The same facilities present themselves in many countries—it has remained for France to perfect them and create a literature on the subject distinctively its own. The Frenchman may keep on his hat during the entr'actes of a play and be forever wrangling with his mode of government, but he has taught the world how to dine. "Let me have books!" cries Horace; "Let us have cooks!" exclaims the Gaul. And with the cooks come the cook-books—the meditations, codes, almanacs, physiologies, manuals, and guides.

In considering those works that have treated most pleasingly of the art with which mankind is so directly concerned thrice a day, that of Brillat-Savarin stands foremost. He is the Addison of the dinner-table, as instructive as he is diverting, and his brilliant disquisition will remain a classic so long as dinners endure. But Grimod de la Reynière, whose contributions Savarin passed by in silence, had preceded him and had first enlightened the past century in regard to what Molière has termed la science des bons morçeaux. Let justice be rendered where justice is due—the "Physiology of Taste" is indebted in no little degree to the "Almanac of the Epicures." Had La Reynière possessed as much refinement as Savarin, had he[114] observed greater concentration, and had he refrained from the frequent puffery of mercantile establishments, the "Almanach" might not be numbered to-day among unjustly forgotten books. But he is not alone in his references to the tradesmen: even Savarin is guilty of shop-puffery to a limited extent—a trait almost universal among French writers on gastronomy, though none have vied with La Reynière in immortalising a maker of pâtés or in elevating a vender of truffles to the dignity of a minister of state.

The fact that he was afflicted with a deformity of his hands, and that his numerous volumes and contributions to the press were written with an artificial member, renders his literary labours the more surprising. A fluent writer, whose humour and verve sparkle from every page of his subject proper, it is to be regretted that he is so little known by the present generation, for the eight rare little volumes which comprise the "Almanach des Gourmands" may be classed among the most sprightly and learned dissertations relating to the pleasures of the table. Numerous almanacs have succeeded his. But these are like harmonicas compared with a Stradivarius, or the "Confessions of Rousseau" contrasted with the "Life of Cellini." A veritable storehouse of epicurean lore, his unique treatise should be republished, with its eulogiums left out, and its finer fancies and wealth of culinary teachings retained to instruct and charm anew. In a revision of the work, these allusions to the fournisseurs could be omitted to advantage, and thus a most useful treatise be presented in a much more concise form.

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It should be stated, in justice to the author, that his references to alimentary dealers and wine-merchants were not all of a laudatory character. His pills were not wholly sugar-coated; any delinquent who merited censure was summarily dealt with. The "Almanach" wielded a powerful influence, and could make or mar. From the very first year of its appearance it asserted its sway, a supremacy that no one ventured to contest. Its decrees were inexorable, and woe to the restaurateur who failed in a matelote, the dealer who was lacking in courtesy, the merchant who was guilty of over-charging, or the purveyor whose wares were found wanting. The editor's caustic pen was as dreaded as it was respected. A paragraph rendered a furnisher famous, a disparaging line caused a shop to be avoided. Its edicts were a Vehmgericht from which there was no appeal. Thus it maintained a surveillance and an influence that were not without their excellent results—a censorship that would be invaluable in the present days of adulterations.

Written in a more serious vein is the "Manuel des Amphitryons," a large octavo dealing with the art of carving, bills of fare for each season, and table proprieties.[20]

This volume is valuable chiefly for the great variety of its menus—the joint production of the author and the presiding genius of the Rocher de Cancale when[116] Parisian cookery had attained its greatest distinction. The menus, each of which is commented upon at length, are remarkable for their elaborateness and diversity, and illustrate the great inventive resources of the period. Any one of those that are designed for sixty covers would seem sufficient, with judicious selection and by the substitution of a few dishes, according to the season, to serve throughout the year. The last division of the volume, relating to table usages, is covered in the "Almanach," as is also some of the matter of the first division.

It is in the "Manuel" that we find the gifted author in his most serious mood and most impressed with his responsibilities. To guide the capricious stomachs of a great capital in the right way, to instruct unerringly in the grand art du savoir vivre, to give a new impetus to a refinement that the Jacobins and the Directory had well nigh relegated to oblivion, was a task that might not be entered upon lightly or undertaken without a grave sense of its importance.

The bills of fare are veritable morsels to turn over on the tongue. For if, as La Fontaine avers, le changement de mets réjouit l'homme—how important that man's daily change be an appetising one! And yet one may well rejoice that he lives in an age when a good dinner may be composed of a simple soup, a perfectly cooked fish, an entrée, a bird, and a salad, with a good wine served at its proper temperature. Cookery has changed with time, and the "manual" of a host of to-day differs as much as does his costume from that of a century ago. This is not saying that on a stimulating winter's day it were not worth a walk[117] of many a league to dine where the menu had been superintended by the author of the "Manuel" and executed by the Rocher—if that were possible at present.

Alexandre-Balthazar-Laurent Grimod de la Reynière was born in Paris, November 20, 1758. His early life was an adventurous one, and after first identifying himself with belles-lettres he studied and practised law, besides engaging in various artistic, literary, and mercantile pursuits. In his thirty-ninth year he became enamoured of an actress—Mlle. Mézeray—to which circumstance the world is largely indebted for the "Almanach" and the "Manuel des Amphitryons." On declaring his passion with all the fervour of a highly impressionable nature, only to meet with a repulse, he determined to look to gastronomy for consolation, a resolve he at once expressed in poetic form under the title "My Abnegation," the poem being addressed to "A Celebrated Actress" and published in a dramatic journal of which he was the editor. A stanza may be cited:

"De vrais amis, un doux asile,

Des dîners fins et délicats:

Voilà pour mon âme tranquille,

Qui vaut mieux que des hélas!"

(True friends a few, a nice abode,

And dinners fine and recherchés—

Far better such for peace of mind

Than Love's refrain, "Ah, lack-a-day!")

This sentiment would show him to have been a true philosopher, accepting the situation placidly, and rec[118]ognising that in love there is always one who kisses and the other who extends the cheek. "Fine and delicate dinners!"—therein, of a truth, may be found a marvellous panacea for lacerated affections and the buffets of the world. To be sure, he had already belonged for many years to a society known as the Société des Mercredis, composed of seventeen members, who were in the habit of dining weekly at the Rocher de Cancale, then the most celebrated restaurant of Paris. But it was not until Cupid frowned, in the person of Mlle. Mézeray, that he turned seriously to gastronomy and made it a profession. The fact that he had already been married for ten years in no wise detracts from the value of his recipe—a medication for melancholy that has been overlooked in the "Anatomy." The key-note of his verses on the occasion was emphasised by a postscript extolling the pleasures of the table, a paragraph that appeared subsequently in an amended form in the "Almanach." Already in this ebullition of a misogynist for the moment, we detect the redundant fancy and familiarity with his theme which marked the great gastronomer who was soon to wield his facile pen in the interests of the science of which he became the exponent-in-chief:

"The author of this abnegation, who some day intends publishing a panegyric of gastronomy, has always regarded the pleasures of good cheer as the first of the mind and the senses. It will be acknowledged that these are the first one enjoys, and those that may be most often multiplied. Who may say as much of the rest? Is there a woman, however beautiful, who is worth these admirable red partridges of Languedoc or Cévennes; these pâtés de foie of geese and ducks which[119] will forever celebrate the cities of Toulouse, Auch, and Strassburg; these stuffed tongues of Troyes; these sausages of Arles that render the pig so estimable and so precious? Can one compare a pretty, simpering face with these splendid sheep of Ganges and the Ardennes whose flesh fairly melts in one's mouth? What comparison can be made between a piquante face and these pullets of Bresse, these capons of Mans?... Who would oppose to these delights the caprices of a woman, her poutings, her vagaries, her refusals, and even her favours?"

In quite a different strain, a few years later, we shall hear him compare a peach—ripe, rosy, juicy, and melting—to lovely femininity, and in the amended form of the note that accompanied his renunciation perceive his greater delicacy of touch, as well as mark his conversion to the doctrine of Désaugiers:

"Pour être aimé des belles,

Aimons;

Un beau jour changent-elles,

Changeons!"

(To win the favours of the fair,

Be bold;

If then they lack in debonnaire,

Be cold!)

a postulate that may have its drawbacks, but nevertheless offers its advantages.

It is with an author's work, however, and not with his personal traits that the public is mainly concerned, and of La Reynière's literary productions the "Almanach" constitutes his greatest claim to distinction.[120] So closely is this associated with the famous Jury dégustateur, of which he was the founder, secretary, and mainspring, that one may scarcely be considered without the other—the "Almanach" was the jury, and the jury was the "Almanach."

The tribunal, which was formed for the purpose of influencing and ameliorating the provisions and food products of the Parisian market, was composed of an indefinite number of jurors, though these never exceeded twelve or were less than five. Each of the judges was a tried epicure, eating and drinking whatever he was asked to pass upon, without knowing the names of the contributors, in order that everything submitted might be estimated in strict accordance with its merits. Dr. Gastaldy, an eminent physician, was chosen president, La Reynière preferring the secretaryship, with its more arduous duties. The president is described as one who added to the finest palate and the most practised tact the largest experience, and who combined all the advantages that might result from profound theory and active practice. It is related of him that on a certain occasion, when reminded by a lady that he was taking a large portion of macaroni after a very plenteous repast, he observed: "Madame, macaroni is heavy, it is true, but it is like the Doge of Venice: when he arrives one must make room for him—every one stands aside." The Marquis de Cussy, who declared, "Roasting is at once nothing and the infinite," and whom La Reynière termed the first gastronomer of the age, was a no less distinguished member. He was also an entertaining writer on gastronomy, and contributed some articles anony[121]mously to the "Almanach," his greatest literary fame resting on his "Art Culinaire."

The meetings of the society took place weekly at the residence of the secretary, the sittings occupying five hours. That these séances were of a philanthropic as well as a sybaritic nature is apparent from the preface to the second year of the "Almanach," where the editor states that he will regret neither the pains nor the indigestions his duties entail, if the national glory in every branch of the alimentary art be only impelled to renewed progress.

It was the secretary's place to take note of all controversies and decisions, which he afterward drew up and elaborated, submitting his reports to the president at the following meeting for verification. An extract of these decisions, duly collated, was sent to the interested persons. All forms of eatables and drinkables constituted part of the jury's deliberations, and of these contributions only a single sample was passed upon at a time. When the judgments were unfavourable to the artist whose handiwork had been submitted, he was advised accordingly, in order that he might correct and that at a subsequent test of the same object he might prove that he had profited by the disinterested verdict. If he refused to do so, the decision was printed in the following "Almanach" as it originally stood. It was noted that many merchants and culinary artists lived on their reputations, taking advantage of a formerly celebrated name to deceive the public and abuse its confidence long after they had ceased to merit it, whilst, on the other hand, an obscure person endowed perchance with great talent and zeal[122]ous in his art was not unfrequently the inventor of productions worthy of the greatest masters. It was the purpose of the jury and its exponent to expose the former and rescue the latter from oblivion.

Naturally, these attacks on the manufacturers and venders often brought their rejoinders, some of which were by no means devoid of interest, as, for instance, a letter from a certain M. Grec, a merchant who had sold a spoiled pate to a customer and refused to take it back in exchange for other merchandise:

"I am at a loss to comprehend, Monsieur, why you should have attached an infamous note to my name in the fifth year of your 'Almanach.' A lawyer who is not without reputation wished me to attack you in return, telling me I could lead you a merry chase (que je pourrais vous mener loin). I did not care to follow his advice, because I reflected that your book and its author are far from being makers of reputations, either for good or for bad; perhaps the public, which appreciates you at your true value, has formed an opinion directly contrary to that you express.

"On this hypothesis, far from having to complain of you, I owe you my thanks. To this end, I have even thought of offering substantial proof by sending you a fine truffled turkey whose aroma, penetrating your olfactories, would exercise its benign influence, and inspire a good word for me in the future. But I restrain myself, for the reasons I have just stated and the fact that any good you might say might have the effect of injuring me in the eyes of the public.

"All things considered, I will keep my turkey to eat with my friends and with the person who was kind enough to lend me his pen; for as a stranger and a simple merchant, I do not pride myself on writing, but on honestly conducting my busi[123]ness. Besides, have no fears, we will drink to your health and to the preservation of one of the most useful men of the state."

The fine irony throughout the letter will assuredly commend itself to the reader, as it undoubtedly nettled the editor. The reference to the truffled turkey—and this was to have been a dinde truffée—was notably the stroke of a master, artfully designed to hit the recipient in a tender spot, an under-thrust that could not have failed to tell. But however great the editor's disappointment,—for one remembers his appetising essay, "Des Dindes Braisées," wherein he specifies that the turkey should be well perfumed with truffles,—he was more than equal to the occasion by retaliating that the lawyer could hardly proceed as far as the pâté if it still remained in the shop of M. Grec, and had been left to itself; for it had already begun to march of its own accord. The writer's decision to keep the turkey is referred to as in excellent taste withal, in comparison with the fate of the pâté.

Nor was an exposé of a guest who had served a large and inferior pâté at a rural outing, furnished by a vulgar artist—claiming it as one of the incomparable productions of a celebrated maker—less merited and severe. The pâté was pompously announced as coming from the fragrant ovens of a certain M. Le Sage.

"At the mention of this revered name" [says the editor], "the attention of all the guests was directed to the piece, the opening of which was eagerly awaited.

"This pâté was at first sight very inviting, but no sooner[124] was the crust removed than we perceived from the enormous void that it could not have been made by M. Le Sage, whose pâtés are always well filled, and are garnished in addition with a blond of veal that renders them easily distinguishable.

"The one in question, which was presented as a pâté of ham of Bayonne, offered merely an indigestible mixture of ordinary ham, dried and spoiled, interspersed with chunks of tough veal; the crust corresponded to the interior, and the stuffing to the whole.

"We indignantly protested that such a pâté could not emanate from the manufactory of M. Le Sage; but the donor insisting stoutly that he had himself purchased it from him, he was believed, in spite of the fact that he was a man of the law.

"We had our doubts, notwithstanding; for it is less rare to find a lying knave than a detestable pâté emanating from M. Le Sage, who, through the assertion made, found himself dishonoured in the estimation of thirty people."

The result of the author's conviction was a letter to the injured party, the latter's prompt appearance at the office of the offender, a written apology by the culprit, and a promise to the editor of the "Almanach" that he would atone for his crime by producing a pâté whose authenticity could not be questioned,—"which still remains for him to do," adds the editor, no doubt with a sigh of disappointment. In view of these denunciations, one may readily understand that the products submitted to the jury must have been, almost without exception, of a very high order of merit. With such a rigid arbiter, few would care to incur his censure or render themselves subject to his lash. The frequent references to the venders, therefore,[125] served a treble purpose—that of stimulating the art of cookery, exposing knavery, and sumptuously regaling the table of the tribunal.

There is this besides to be said in extenuation of the frequent references to the pâtissiers and rôtisseurs—that, being specialists, they were more likely to advance an art than the average person, however familiar with the principles of cookery, who was not in possession of the mechanical accessories of the professional, or who was not accustomed daily to turn his hand to practical account.

To become a member of the jury, a unanimity of votes was necessary, rank or social status being a secondary consideration to gastronomic accomplishments and brilliancy of appetite and mind. Women were not excluded, and, strange to relate, among these was Mlle. Mézeray, a striking proof that time can cool the warmest love to friendship. But flounces and laces were allowed no voice in the solemn deliberations of the tribunal. It might be pleasant to see a pretty gourmande under arms, and have her join in the coup du milieu which was always obligatory, but how might petticoats decide upon the fate of a suprême or a truffled pâté! "Women," says La Reynière, "who sometimes assist at the séances, have no deliberative voice—one can readily understand the reason." With a palate vitiated by sweets, her discernment must prove unreliable, and there would always be the danger of her prejudicing a susceptible member through her allurements and coquetries.

The tribunal had its own codes and rules, which were as fixed as the stars. Among these was that no[126] one should speak ill of any one with whom he had dined, for a period proportionate to the importance of the dinner. Each guest was provided with a menu in advance, of which the contributions from outside sources to be adjudged formed only a part. The dinner proper was prepared by the cordon-bleu of La Reynière. In ease of inability to attend, an excuse was obligatory not later than twenty-four hours before the time specified, while a failure to be present after having accepted was punishable by a fine of five hundred francs. This rule was inflexible, as Mlle. Mézeray found to her cost when, having disregarded it, she was banished from the séances for three years, returning, at the expiration of her sentence, only in time to assist at the final meeting of the jury in May, 1812.

A quarter of an hour's grace was allowed with reference to the set time of the dinner—not a moment more: a rule the modern host would do well to imitate. Every minute after the prescribed hour for the repast that one is forced to wait for tardy guests becomes a penance to those who are punctual, besides the inconvenience it causes to the entertainer and the cook. La Reynière's fifteen minutes of grace is all-sufficient. During his reign, indeed, there were some who closed their doors to all comers that failed to appear at the precise hour. For the use and greater convenience of the jury, he invented the speaking-tube communicating from the dining-room to the kitchen; the table volante, as we have seen, was already in use, and the ascending and descending slide was known.

Let it not be inferred, however, that he considered[127] himself a gourmand in the strict sense of the term, despite the title of the work with which he is most closely associated, and the fact that the weekly sittings of the gustatory jury occupied five hours. He would doubtless have drawn the distinction between a gourmand and a gourmet most sharply had such a possibility entered his mind as a dinner of innumerable courses and water, compared with an extended repast of scientifically prepared dishes and their complementary wines. In the former case he could scarcely have projected, much less have completed, the "Almanach," to say nothing of having overtaken his eightieth year. For that matter, he is careful to state, in a letter to the Marquis de Cussy, touching upon the light in which he was placed before the public, that with pen in hand he was always a gourmand, but when the fork took the place of the pen it was quite another matter.

It will prove interesting to know how the word "gourmand" was defined by one who was most capable of interpreting it, the differentiation "gourmet" being then much less marked than at present:

"The Gourmand is not only the being whom nature has endowed with an excellent stomach and a vast appetite—all robust and well-constituted men are in this category—but also he who adds to these advantages an enlightened taste, whose first characteristic resides in a singularly delicate palate cultivated by long experience. With him all the senses should be in constant accord with that of the taste, inasmuch as he should criticise his dishes even before they approach his lips. It is sufficient to say that his vision should be penetrating, his ear alert, his touch fine, and his tongue capable. Thus the[128] gourmand whom the Academy paints for us as a gross being is, on the contrary, by profession a person gifted with extreme delicacy; with him health alone should be vigorous."

Again, he says:

"It only requires a voracious appetite to be a glutton. It demands an exquisite judgment, a profound knowledge of every branch of the culinary art, a sensual and delicate palate, and a thousand other qualities very difficult to combine, in order to merit the title of Gourmand."

In still another reference to the epicure he would have him possess, in addition, that jovial humour without which the best of repasts is but a sad and solemn function—a person well equipped with anecdotes and amusing stories with which he may fill up the spaces between the services, so that the sober guests may forgive him his appetite.

Some may deem his definition includes more than the qualities usually assigned to an amateur of dining, and that it touches too closely on the realm of Gargantua. But it must not be lost sight of that his cardinal mission was that of improving all manner of food preparations and bringing the table to its acme of perfection. Without such appreciative votaries, cookery must necessarily languish, and dining prove merely an obligatory routine; it is to such as he that the art owes its present superiority, and to whom mankind should be duly thankful. As he has defined it, "gastronomy is an immense book ever open to him who may read it aright, whose pages present a series of mobile pictures, and whose horizon extends beyond one's view."

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All the products of the animal and vegetable world were pronounced upon by this supreme judge of succulencies, whose palate and appetite never failed, and whose pen responded to the most delicate and fugitive sensations of taste. The "Almanach" numbers eight small volumes, each containing a characteristic dedication. Each volume also includes a quaint and carefully engraved frontispiece executed under the direction of the author, the subjects representing "The Library of a Gourmand of the Nineteenth Century," "The Audiences of a Gourmand," "A Séance of the Testing Jury," "The Meditations of a Gourmand," "The First Duty of a Host," "The Dreams of a Gourmand," "The Levee of a Gourmand," and "The Most Mortal Enemy of the Dinner."

The first volume is dedicated to M. Camerani, whose name is attached to a famous soup of his own invention, and whom La Reynière terms one of the most erudite epicures of France.

The second is inscribed to M. d'Aigrefeuille, than whom none could better appreciate the merits of an artistic repast, and whose charms of appetite and conversation were equally balanced.

The third is sacred to the memory of Carlin Bertinazzi, dernier Arlequin of the Comédie Italienne of Paris, an actor whose distinguished talents served for forty years as the best of digestives for all epicures.

The fourth is consecrated to the members of the Société des Mercredis, who, by the finesse of their taste and the extent of their appetite, have given such an impetus to the first of the arts, and whose admirable tact has proved a stimulus to the greatest cooks.

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The fifth has for its tribute the souvenir of Dr. Gastaldy, Président-perpétuel of the Jury dégustateur, who united in the highest degree all those qualities that combine to form the most intrepid gastronomer, but who was finally vanquished by apoplexy while attacking a pâté de foie gras.

The sixth immortalises Grimod de Verneuil, the worthy successor of Dr. Gastaldy both in appetite and experience, whose head had never been turned by the most copious libations of the finest wines of the world.

The seventh is dedicated to the memory of Albouis d'Azincourt, a member of the Jury dégustateur and a founder of the Société des Mercredis—always equally honoured as host or guest.

The eighth and concluding volume pays a feeling panegyric to Vatel, in whom the alimentary art recognises one of its greatest and most unselfish masters.

Beginning with a dissertation on the various alimentary products created for the delectation of man, each succeeding issue treats of the subject in some of its numerous phases until the suspension of the register in 1812. A great charm of the work consists in its magisterial tone, as well as in its unbounded enthusiasm, humour, and originality. The artistic presentation of a subject and the importance with which it invests some seemingly trifling detail that in other hands might have been unnoticed is also a characteristic feature, as, for instance, the admirable references to hors d'œuvres and "The Distractions of the Table." Other topics, such as "Rural Hosts," "Indigestions,"[131] "Epicurean Visits," "Town Dinners," "Kitchen Utensils," "Of Wines," "Of Hosts," "On the Placing of Guests at Table," etc., are handled with an address and a comprehensiveness no less striking than the scenes which form the frontispieces.

While no doubt the author understood the theory of the cuisine, we have no reason to suppose that, like Dumas, he was a thoroughly practical cook, or took pleasure in surprising his friends with some appetising dish of his own preparation. It was his province to criticise the productions of others, and to do this it was unnecessary to assume the functions of a chef. The wine-taster who is most competent to judge of the merits of a vintage does not need to be a viniculturist, nor does the gastronomer necessarily require to be a practical cook. In many branches of art the best teachers are frequently the poorest practitioners. The most able critic of painting may never have held a brush, and the maestro capable of evolving a Mario may often be lacking in voice. Though a master of but a single instrument, the leader of a great orchestra understands and guides all the vehicles of sound under his command—from the plectrum of the harp and plaint of the oboe to the diapason of viols and concord of horns—so intuitive is his sense of harmonious accord. The virtuoso is such from his inherent superiority—of sight, taste, touch, smell, or hearing, as the case may be—aided by years of study and cultivation in his especial craft. The epicure is he who, gifted with a hyper-susceptivity of taste and its complementary sense, smell, as well as long familiarity with viands and wines, may detect savours[132] unappreciated by the ordinary palate, and thus understandingly and authoritatively pronounce upon the merits or demerits of a dish. "The 'Almanach,'" says the editor, "does not profess to be a cook-book—its duty is to try to stimulate the appetite of its readers; upon the artists of the kitchen devolves the duty of satisfying it."

The home kitchen of the author, while not elaborate, was most carefully looked after by a cordon-bleu. Its excellence is attested by Dumas, who declares that one of the best dinners he ever had was when, in company with Count d'Orsay, he dined impromptu with La Reynière a short time previous to his death.

The frontispiece of the fourth year, entitled "Meditations of a Gourmand," represents La Reynière in person seated at a writing-table in his robe de chambre. He has evidently just suspended his labours to reconsider the materials which are to form the subjects of his homilies. The different objects of his contemplation are ranged around him on various stands: a stuffed calf's head, a roasted capon, a matelote of La Râpée, a Strassburg pâté de foie gras, a plate of biscuits of Abbeville, etc., his attention being engrossed for the moment by the calf's head. Various treatises on the alimentary art are scattered about him, such as "La Pâtisserie de Santé," "Les Dons de Comus," and "Le Confiseur Moderne." Upon the edicts he is to pronounce hangs the fate of many a purveyor. Is his appetite keyed to the requirements of his task? Will the samples to be tested respond to the exactions of his critical palate? Or must his fealty be paid for [133]by an indigestion that may postpone his labours in behalf of the noblest of the arts?

His mien is solemn and his attitude one of intense absorption, like that of a great statesman pondering some weighty coup d'état. At the end of the cabinet stands a tall buffet with numerous shelves laden with savoury viands and appetising beverages: a boar's head of Troyes, a timbale of red partridges aux truffes, eels of Melun, a cake of Savoy, a mortadelle of Lyons, a truffled turkey of Périgord, an Italian cheese and sausages, a ham of Bayonne, a pâté of Périgueux, various dainties of Provence, pastries and apple-jelly of Rouen, with numerous varieties of wines and liqueurs. All of these articles, gravely observes the editor in his explanation of the plate, are to be successively passed in review by the gourmand, inasmuch as they are the subjects of his literary work—no other objects of art decorate the cabinet, as nothing should be allowed to distract the critic.

It would appear at first sight to the uninitiated that such a task must prove beyond the capacities of the ordinary mortal. But this contingency he has already explained at length in a chapter on "Indigestion." "It is often much less to excess of eating than to the quality of aliments that indigestion is due. One person may have eaten ten times more than another without inconvenience, and another find himself seriously disturbed from having partaken of a single dish that did not agree. It is the place of the epicure to study the nature of his stomach, in order to supply it with only such aliments as are homogeneous. Milk foods, hot pastries, etc., which usually agree with[134] women, do not always agree with robust stomachs which may be able to digest an ox, but quail before a little pot of cream. But where through repeated experiences one has obtained a perfect knowledge of his temperament he may trust to his appetite without fear."

Lack of sufficient variety in alimentation also counts for much in stomachic derangements. "Hasty pudding and milk," Artemus Ward used to say, "are a harmless diet if eaten moderately, but if you eat it incessantly for six consecutive weeks it will produce instant death."

As the frontispiece of the fifth volume exhibits a splendidly appointed kitchen, with its ranges and saucepans in full play, and the amphitryon receiving the menu for the dinner from the Washington of his kitchen, it may be assumed that the distinguished critic proved equal to the occasion just described.

As, moreover, there is seen suspended from the chimney three hams of Bayonne from the shops of M. Pouillan and M. de la Rouille, and on the spits a chine of veal from Mme. Simon, sirloins from M. de Launey, legs of mutton from M. Darras, venison from Mme. Chevet, fowls from Mme. Biennet, etc., it may be further concluded that he had lost none of his appetite and still remained a spur to the noble emprise of the Jury dégustateur. That there are no wines visible on the pantry shelves need not trouble the reader. No one who has scanned a volume of the "Almanach" will doubt for a moment that the chef had an abundance for himself, his aid, and the sauces that simmer in his pans, or that numerous hampers of[135] fine vintages from M. Tailleur were wanting to wash down any repast at which the editor officiated.[21]

But these laudations, which form so notable a feature of the work under consideration, were a part and portion of its inspiration and existence. Without them it never would have been written, or at any rate its career would have been greatly shortened. After all, who would not envy the author his glorious appetite; or, with his exquisite appreciation, who would censure his fondness for pâtés and his rigour in maintaining their high standard?

With reference to the remarks on the testing of dishes, it may be observed that it is comparatively easy to decide upon the respective merits of two different alimentary preparations. It is far more difficult to pronounce on wines of fine quality and compare those that are closely allied. For here the sense of smell in particular is called upon to exercise its most critical functions; and this sense, after several essays at comparison or attempts to place the special aromas and ethers that are evolved in the bouquet and sève of a vintage, becomes rapidly cloyed. Many other conditions also frequently arise to interfere with absolute judgment. The temperature of the wine and mood of the atmosphere, one's surroundings at the time, the state of one's stomach and consequently of the palate, the nature of the viands that accompany the wine—aye, the very glass in which its gold or rubies are imprisoned—all exert their influence, and it is best not[136] to assert one's self too decisively in the case of a single testing or comparison.

Concerning a highly important topic—"The Health of Cooks"—the "Almanach" discourses at length with its accustomed force and originality:

"The index of a good cook should ply without ceasing from the saucepans to the mouth, and it is only by thus momentarily tasting his ragoûts that he may determine their precise point. His palate, therefore, must be extremely delicate, virginal, as it were, so that the least thing may stimulate it and advise it of its faults.

"But the constant fumes of the fires, the necessity of drinking frequently, and often poor wine, to moisten a parched throat, the vapours of the charcoal, humours and biliousness, all tend to impair the organs of taste. The palate becomes crusted, as it were; it has no longer either that tact or finesse, that exquisite sensibility on which depends the susceptibility of the taste; it finally becomes excoriated and as insensible as the conscience of an old judge.

"Le seul moyen de lui rendre cette fleur qu'il a perdue, de lui faire reprendre sa souplesse, ses forces et sa délicatesse, c'est de purger le Cuisinier, telle résistance qu'il y oppose; car il en est qui, sourds à la voix de la gloire, ne voient aucune nécessité de prendre une médecine lorsqu'ils se portent bien."

Supplementing his essays on the health and the duties of the chef and the requirements of the cuisinière is his treatise on the maître-d'hôtel, wherein the qualifications of a steward are most minutely set forth. Of all those whose labours have for their object the satisfaction of our appetite and promotion of the culinary art, the profession of the steward, he insists, calls for the greatest number of virtues and the widest know[137]ledge. A good maître-d'hôtel should be at once an excellent cook, a fine dégustateur, a clever purveyor, a skilful servitor, an exact calculator, a good conversationalist, and an efficient and polished agent. He should be familiar not only with the theory of the cuisine in all its ramifications, but, if necessary, be able to turn his knowledge to practical account. For how may he command the respect of the cook who is under his orders if he does not thoroughly understand his art? How may he regulate the conduct of the chef, control his ragoûts, and direct his work according to the principles of the art and the special tastes of his employer if he is not a very fine critic?

Equal competency is demanded with reference to his purchases, the varying of his menus, anticipating the complaints of a jealous cook, maintaining his authority over the other servants, and regulating the financial part of the kitchen and household,—truly a difficult combination to procure. As to his probity, the author reasons that one may scarcely expect to find the phœnix, and that to the victor naturally belong the spoils—that it is better to have a competent officer, who can buy to advantage, than a novice who, gaining nothing on his purchases, is imposed upon by the venders and cannot control his household expenditures. "What difference does it make to the employer if his steward help himself a little in serving him, provided he look after his interests sufficiently and charge him only with the market price of a commodity?"

Upon a good commissary in particular depends the success of a club or a restaurant. Without a competent purchaser who combines most of the qualities[138] enumerated in the "Almanach," the chef must labour at a disadvantage; and, in the case of a club, a house committee bear the odium of a poor cuisine and the maledictions of the members.

The "Almanach" abounds in piquant aphorisms, some of which perhaps will better serve to illustrate the spirit of the work than a more lengthy abstract of many of the essays themselves:

"The kitchen is a country in which there are always discoveries to be made.

"It is the entrées that cooks usually invest with their greatest cunning, and it is principally through these that they expect to be judged.

"An overturned salt-cellar is to be feared solely when it is overturned in a good dish.

"The table is a magnet which not only draws to itself, but joins together all those who approach it.

"It is as necessary that the master of the house should understand how to carve well as it is for a young girl to dance in order to secure a husband.

"Digestion is the business of the stomach, and indigestion that of the doctors.

"The stomach of a true gourmand, like the casemates of a besieged city, should be proof against bombs.

"Thirteen at table is a number to be dreaded when there is only enough to go round for twelve.

"A good pastry-maker is as rare as a grand orator.

"It is especially at table that one should attend carefully to the matter in hand and consider what one is about.

"True gourmands have always finished their dinner before the dessert; that which is eaten after the roast is done only out of pure politeness.

"Pastry is to the cuisine what figures of rhetoric are to dis[139]course. An oration without figures and a dinner without pastry are equally insipid.

"There is a precise moment at which every dish should be savoured, previous to which or after which it causes only an imperfect sensation.

"Wine is the milk of the old, the balm of adults, and the vehicle of the gourmand.

"Without sauces a dinner were as bare as a house that has been levied on by the officers of the sheriff.

"The etymology of the word faisander sufficiently proclaims that the pheasant should be waited for as long as a pension from the government by a man of letters who has never known how to flatter any one.

"It is notorious that a dinner, however generous, has never disturbed a person who has preceded or followed it by a walk of five or six leagues; and that indigestions are virtually unknown to great pedestrians.

"With many people a stomach that is proof against everything is the principle of happiness, and with everybody this organ exercises a greater influence than one imagines on the acts of life.

"Life is so brief that we should not glance either too far backwards or forwards in order to be happy. Let us therefore study how to fix our happiness in our glass and on our plate.

"Un Amphitryon délicat no doit pas souffrir que la galanterie dégénère chez lui en scandale; et s'il invite de jeunes et jolies femmes ce doit toujours être avec leurs maris, et jamais avec leurs amants."

Unfortunately, no menus of the Jury dégustateur have been preserved, though one is presented of the celebrated restaurant, the Rocher de Cancale—a dinner of twenty-four covers, served November 28, 1809,[140] at a cost of one thousand francs. Considering the elaborateness of the bill of fare, the price was assuredly extremely moderate, including, as it did, four soups, four relevés, twelve entrées, four large pieces, four roasts, and eight entremets, all served in the highest style of the art.

In many of the best Parisian restaurants to-day no figures are attached to the carte, so that one may dine without disturbing his digestion by thinking of the expense. The awakening comes later, with the addition, when, if one be an epicure with a partiality for rare vintages, he will be apt to recall Béranger's "Voyage au Pays de Cocagne" and its dénouement:

"  *    *    *    *    *

Mais qui vient détruire

Ce rêve enchanteur?

Amis, j'en ai honte,

C'est quelqu'un qui monte

Apporter le compte

Du restaurateur."

(But who would dispel

This dream all-divine?

Friends, to my shame,

'Tis the restaurant's claim—

The bill of the entrées

And score of the wine.)

The menu of the dinner at the Rocher will prove attractive reading—in marked contrast to the average bill of fare, which is so often made up for the eye and is generally without originality or distinction. What an embarrassment of riches in the entrées! how imposing the large pieces! what a pageant of delectable entremets! How majestically the bisque of crabs leads off the fête, and pike and turbot proudly stem the tide! The comparative absence of vegetables need not be criticised, as these naturally figure as garnishes of several of the dishes.[141] The asparagus, too, would take the place of a salad which is not included; and with so varied a programme oysters may well have been dispensed with for lack of sufficient space. That each individual dish was a triumph we may rest assured, or some word of depreciation for future guidance would certainly have appeared in the "Almanach."

Menu de 24 Couverts, pour le Jeudi

28 Novembre, 1809.

4 Potages.

Une bisque d'écrevisses.

Un potage à la Reine au lait d'amandes, avec biscotes.

Une Julienne aux pointes d'asperges.

Un consommé de volaille.

4 Relevés de Potages.

Un brochet à la Chambord.

Une dinde aux truffes.

Un turbot.

Une culotte de bœuf au vin de Madère, garnie de légumes.

12 Entrées.

Un aspic de filets mignons de perdreaux.

Une jardinière.

Des filets de poularde, piqués aux truffes.

Des perdreaux rouges au fumet.

Des filets de mauviette sautés.

Des scaloppes de poularde, au velouté.

Des filets de lapereaux, en turban.

Un vol au vent à la financière.

Des ailerons piqués, à la chicorée.

Deux poulets de grains au beurre d'écrevisse.

Des scaloppes de saumon, à l'espagnole.

Des filets mignons, piqués de truffes.

[142]

Second Service.

4 grosses Pièces.

Une truite.

Une pâté de foies gras.

Des écrevisses.

Un jambon glacé.

4 Plats de Rôt.

Un faisan.

Des éperlans.

Des bécassines.

Des soles.

8 Entremêts.

Une jatte de blancmanger.

Un miroton de pommes.

Des asperges en branche.

Des truffes à la serviette.

Une jatte de gelée d'orange.

Un soufflé à la vanille.

Des cardons à la moelle.

Des truffes à la serviette.

This menu, which was termed "illustrious and astounding" by La Reynière, tells its own story too well, as he observes, to need any comment. It is only to be regretted that there is no record of the accompanying wines or of the previous training of the guests who sat down to the feast. The item un faisan will be understood in the plural, there having been twenty-four persons present, and among that number it is to be presumed that more than two or three would stand ready to attack a well-hung pheasant resplendent in his tail-feathers. Still, there are only two poulets de grains specified in the list, which would indicate that the menu was strictly one of quality, not of quantity—a thing[143] to coquet and flirt with, rather than to charge upon with no thought of the penalty of the morrow. As the mention of truffles à la serviette occurs twice at the end of the lecture, it may be assumed that this was considered a doubly important entremets—the last to leave its perfume in the mouth and accentuate the sève diffused by the final glass of Château Lafite or Clos-Vougeot. On the restaurateur and the chef the editor enjoins continued efforts looking to the advancement of the grand art of dining, exhorting them that to cease their exertions would mean to recede, and that to maintain their exalted reputation they should labour daily as if it were yet to be won.

Altogether, the "Almanach" will be found most remunerative reading by those who peruse it with a proper sense of its important aim. We may not hope to equal the appetite of the author, it is true, but its attentive study will assuredly stimulate appetite and amply instruct us in the æsthetics and delights of the table. The only dietetic heresy that presents itself to the writer is the eulogy of the strawberry as an article of diet, for which Linnæus the botanist and Dr. Boteler are originally responsible, it being well known that this fruit in gout and rheumatism—two frequent colleagues of good cheer—is often as deadly as port. Preserved Wiesbaden or Bar-le-Duc strawberries, safely tucked in the folds of an omelette, are less pernicious, and may be partaken of occasionally if convoyed by the right wine. The raw fruit should always be sparingly indulged in by the epicure; boys and women alone may eat it with comparative impunity.[144] To this one exception has been chronicled—"Strawberries and cream render me sad," said Mme. du Deffand; and, remembering Malherbe's praise of women and melons, madame wisely left them alone.

Finally, among all those who have discoursed upon the theme, it may be said that La Reynière comes the nearest perhaps in illustrating Montaigne's expression, l'art de la gueule. And, despite the laudations of the venders with which it is so generously interlarded, the "Almanach" well merits a full morocco binding by Ruban, with dentelle borders à l'oiseau, and a pâté stamped on its covers in gold.

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