We approach with all due reverence and respect the discussion of the
important and mysterious changes effected by the chemical action of that
most potent of all galvanic agencies, whose resistless influence is
acknowledged by sages, philosophers, and statesmen, and whose
sympathetic vibrations finds response in every breast--the _batterie de
cuisine_. ‘The Gastronomic Regenerator; a New System of Cookery.’ We
have given both the titles, because in so deeply interesting a race, all
parties from the Royal duke, whose gracious condescension sanctions the
dedication in the title-page, to the humble artisan who sniffs the
fragrant perfume as he passes the area of the Reform Club, are entitled
to start fair; and to the uninitiated the pronomen would require a
greater amount of consideration than accords with good digestion. For
ourselves, we can only say, with the cockney lady in the play, “How
delightfully unintelligible! how far-fetched! how French!” But we have a
shrewd guess that the impracticable title was designed, like some of his
_sauces piquantes_, as a cabalistic whet or provocative to the teeming
fancies and gustatory glories of the interior, and that pronounced with
due emphasis and discretion before a meal, it would “create an appetite
under the very ribs of death.” The importance of a good dinner is become
almost an axiom in morals and philosophy; with ourselves it has been
elevated to the rank of an article of faith. We cannot, therefore, too
highly appreciate the labours of distinguished men who, like M. Soyer,
sacrifice themselves to a sense of public duty, and present to an
admiring and hungry world those treasures of _gastronomie_ which are the
very triumph of artistic skill. The ancient proverb has it that “any one
can dine,” to which modern political economy has added, “if he have the
means,”--happily for the present generation they live in the third era
of progressive advancement, when dining has become a science, and the
good things which Providence has abundantly supplied to us are rendered
subservient at once to health and refined enjoyment. M. Soyer tells us
that nothing better disposes the human mind to amiable feelings than a
dinner, _bien conçu et artistement préparé_. How deeply grateful, then,
should our countrymen feel who make dining the great business of life,
and with whom a dinner forms the grand rallying point for every striking
demonstration of pleasure, or business, or friendship, or charity, to
one who in the proud humility of his unrivalled genius is content to
rank a good cook only on the same footing as a wise counsellor! We have
been accustomed to vaunt of our liberty, our independence, and our
unbounded wealth, but to our eternal disgrace be it recorded that, while
we enjoy the fruits of their labours, we are silent on the subject of
our obligations to the accomplished _cuisinier_. The talent and research
of a Vatel, a Carême, and a Bechamel have done much to place us on an
equality with our more fastidious and artistic neighbours, the
French--it remained for a Soyer to consummate the good work, and place
the golden atelette upon the croustade of the _dindonneau à la Nelson_.
M. Soyer has evidently a just appreciation of the dignity of the science
of which he is so distinguished a professor; with a mind comprehensive
enough to grasp all the most intricate and difficult combinations of the
culinary art, he is above the littleness of discarding his guests
because they may add salt to their soup, contenting himself with the
sage maxim that “it is the duty of the cook to season for the guests,
and not the guests for the cook.” And verily, if all our cooks were such
“top” Soyers, it would be downright heresy to “paint the lily or add a
perfume to the violet.” Since we read the work we have been tempted more
than once to renounce our honest convictions, and sell our party for a
mess of _potage_--_à la Julienne_. We had no idea that so much good
could emanate from the Reform Club, and lived in the belief that their
dinners were as dull as their dogmas, and their _pâtés_ as indifferent
as their principles. But political discussions are interdicted over the
dinner table, and with M. Soyer as caterer we honestly confess that we
could dine in all love and amity with a Radical or a Repealer, and get
“jolly” with a Chartist or an Owenite. We shall entertain a better
opinion all our lives of a party so well served in the culinary
department. Our readers will be naturally anxious to learn the moving
cause of the thousand gastronomic reflections that crowd the
volume--what powerful agency impelled him _tot adire labores_; and but
for the habit of discursiveness which has marred our fortunes to the
present hour we should have given it the prominence it deservedly
obtains in the preface. Honour then to whom honour is due,--_place aux
dames_--it is “at the request of several persons of distinction,
particularly the ladies, to whom I have always made it a rule never to
refuse anything in my power.” Never was there so touching a tribute of
homage; never was the proverbial gallantry of his countrymen so
strikingly or so gracefully exemplified. But we have all this time
withheld our readers from a peep into the interior, and here our
difficulties begin. We have rambled through the greater portion of the
700 or 800 pages of the book, and find every recipe an epic, every dish
a picture, and every sauce a study. We are perplexed between the glories
of the _dîner Lucullusian_, the most _recherché_ dinner ever dressed,
the _pagodatique entrée_, the _gateau Britannique à l’amiral_, the
ortolaned truffles which Soyer devised, but the fates forbid, and the
more unpretending but not less valuable details of “My Kitchen at Home,”
redolent of savoury and appetitizing streams, which are within the reach
of the middle and humbler classes. All are exquisite in their way; and
had the Abyssinian prince, who roamed over half the globe in search of
happiness, but lighted on this volume he would have sat down
contentedly, ordered a new dish for every day in the year, and abandoned
all thought of returning to the happy valley. _Mais revenons à nos
moutons_, the approach to which is stopped by the _cheveux de frise_ of
a carving-knife and fork. Now carving, being, the _coup de grâce_ to
cookery, rather unaccountably, but probably artistically, occupies the
first chapter; and our author, after referring to the tribulation of
carving “for appetites more or less colossal, and when all eyes are
fixed upon you with anxious avidity,” opens his instructions with the
following curious historic anecdote (see p. xii).
And then follow some very sage reflections upon the necessity of dining
“more or less once a day,” and a pathetic appeal to the “manglers” not
to tear to atoms the remains of our benefactors; and with this flourish
of the knife enter “directions for carving,” which are extremely brief
and simple, and which are wound up with the hint, seldom attended to by
even experienced carvers, that nothing is more creditable to a carver
than leaving a piece of meat, game, or poultry fit to reappear at table
in an inviting state.
One extract more, and we shall terminate our pleasing labours, premising
that our selection has been made more with a view to novelty than from
any want of more _recherché_ and attractive materials. The _fanfare_ is
with reference to the French _pot-au-feu_ (see p. 649).
But here we must pause, for we are almost cloyed with sweets and
dainties. With the best appetite and inclination in the world, we are
reluctantly compelled to subscribe to our artist’s doctrine, that a man
can dine but once a day, and our literary banquet has been already a
most seductive and profuse one. We purposed giving the recipe of the
far-famed pot-au-feu, but we presume it is already, or shortly will be,
in the hands of all the world, and if any of our readers have not yet
made up their minds, we advise them to send without loss of time to
Simpkin, Marshall, and Co.