ON FISH.
Plutarch tells us that Symmachus and Polycrates wrote treatises to
prove that the “innocent fishes” should be respected, and that they
who ate of them were among the most ferocious of men. According to
Columella, however, Apollo was called ίκθηφαγος by the Greeks, because
they considered that the god of music, poetry, and eloquence should
only feed on the most delicate and dainty diet; and such the Greeks
considered fish. It is curious that the epithet “innocent” is also
applied to fish, naturally most voracious, by St. Augustine. “Fishes
were spared from the malediction,” says this father of the Church,
“because it was not the fish of the sea, but the fruits of the earth
which contributed to the fall of our first parents.” Whatever Plutarch
or Augustine may say to the contrary, however, fish was used as a diet
by the earliest Christians; and none were more celebrated in increasing
the breed of fish, whether on the Continent or in England, than the
earlier Churchmen--the much abused monks of the middle ages.
There is, in truth, no more wholesome or palatable diet than good
fish; and one dish of fish, and sometimes two, is generally found at a
gentleman’s dinner-table in England, if he entertains a family-party
of four or six. But though we have the finest fish in the world in
this country, we do not dress it in the variety of ways in which it
is served in France. Unless immediately after the soup, we seldom eat
fish, whereas in most Continental countries it is served dressed as an
_entrée_, and in this manner it is most wholesome, as well as very
relishing.
Probably, turbot, during the height of the London season, is more
frequently seen than any other fish at English dinner-tables. It is
almost always plainly boiled and served with lobster sauce, whereas in
France it is served in fifteen or twenty ways, at the least, as will
appear from the following list:--
Turbot sauce flamande.
Turbot sauce hollandaise.
Emincé de turbot à la Béchamel au maigre.
Emincé au gratin garni de pommes de terre.
Escalope de turbot aux truffes, sauce Périgueux.
Sauté de turbot sauce au beurre et aux queues d’écrevisses.
Sauté de turbot sauce aux fines herbes et aux huitres.
Sauté de turbot sauce à la génoise.
Filets de turbot à la Sainte Ménéhould.
Filets de turbot pannés a l’allemande.
Filets à l’anglaise sauce aux chevrettes.
Papillotes des filets de turbot à la maître d’hôtel.
Orly de turbot.
Fritot de turbot à la provençale, &c.
Juvenal, in his fourth Satire, tells us what store Roman epicures set
on turbot, and gives a description of the company assembled by order of
Domitian to pronounce on the goodness of the fish. The graphic pages of
Suetonius, the vigorous periods of Tacitus, and the scourging satire of
Juvenal, were employed to show up the vices of Domitian. Berchoux, in
his poem “La Gastronomie,” thus paraphrases Juvenal:--
“Domitien un jour se présente au sénat:
Pères conscrits, dit-il, un affaire d’état
M’appelle auprès de vous. Je ne viens point vous dire
Qu’il s’agit de vieller au salut de l’empire;
Exciter votre zéle, et prendre vos avis
Sur les destines de Rome, et des peuples conquis;
Agiter avec vous ou la paix ou la guerre,
Vains projets sur lesquels vous n’avez qu’à vous taire;
Il s’agit d’un turbot: daignez déliberer
Sur la sauce qu’on doit lui faire preparer....
Le sénat mit aux voix cette affaire importante,
Et le turbot fut mis à la sauce piquante.”[12]
The turbot is found in all seas. They are very large in the ocean and
the Mediterranean. Rondelet says he has seen turbot five fathoms long,
four in breadth, and a foot thick. Such turbots have never been seen
in England. A turbot weighing from ten to twelve pounds is generally
coarse and woolly. The best flavoured are the moderate sized, called
chicken turbot, weighing from three to six pounds. In the middle ages,
the turbot was called the _phasianus aquaticus_, or water-pheasant.
The turbot is very voracious, and is especially fond of cray-fish.
Turbot is thus described in one of the volumes of the “Almanach des
Gourmands”:--
“Turbot is the pheasant of the sea, because of its beauty: it is the
king of Lent, because of its majestic size. It is ordinarily served _au
court bouillon_. The turbot has the simplicity and majesty of a hero,
and every species of ornament offends him much more than it honours
him. On the day after he makes his first appearance, it is quite
another affair; he may be then disguised. The best manner of effecting
this is to dress him in _Béchamel_, a preparation thus called after the
Marquis de Béchamel, _maître d’hôtel_ of Louis XIV., who has for ever
immortalised himself by this one _ragoût_.”
Turbot is best from March to September, but is eaten all the year round.
Sturgeon, called the royal fish (because by a statute of Edward II. it
is said “the king shall have sturgeon taken in the sea, or elsewhere,
within the realm”), is seldom seen at private tables in England. Two
distinct species have been distinguished by the fishermen of the
Solway Firth; but several species frequent the rivers of Russia.
_Caviare_, so much used in Russia, and now very generally imported
into this country, is made of the roe of the female sturgeon. The flesh
of the sturgeon, besides being preserved by salting and pickling, is in
request for the table while fresh, and is generally served with a rich
sauce. The appearance and flavour of sturgeon is not unlike that of
veal. The flesh, like that of most of the cartilaginous fishes, is more
firm and compact than is usual among those of the osseous families.
When fresh, sturgeon is as white as the very finest veal; when red,
nothing whatever can be done with it. There are thirty different
methods of dressing sturgeon in France. I give the names of a few of
them:--
Darne d’esturgeon à la broche sauce génoise.
Esturgeon en Tortue.
Esturgeon au vin de madere ou de champagne.
Cotelletes d’esturgeon à la Sainte Ménéhould.
Filets d’esturgeon à la Orly.
Papillotes d’esturgeon aux fines herbes.
Sturgeons in England are roasted, or baked, or boiled in Ude’s
manner, or served _à la Beaufort_, for which there is a receipt in
Francatelli’s “Modern Cook.”
Portions of this fish may be also served in _blanquettes_, and
_croquettes_, and as cutlets.
I give Carème’s receipt for serving a sturgeon _à la Napoleon_. It will
be seen that it requires three bottles of champagne.
_Esturgeon à la Napoleon._--Clean and tie up a piece of sturgeon (two
feet and a half in length), dress it in a _Mirepoix_ moistened with
three bottles of champagne, and two ladlesful of _consommé_; proceed
with it as above directed; take off the skin, glaze, and dish it,
surrounding it with a _ragoût à la Régence_, consisting of small
_quenelles_ of whitings, with cray-fish-butter, truffles, carps’
tongues, and mushrooms, of each a plateful; before putting them into
the sauce, mix a good piece of cray-fish-butter and a little glaze
with it; the _ragoût_ should receive scarcely a boiling afterwards;
lay upon the _ragoût_ some white roes of carp, and livers of turbots,
and surround it with a garniture of fillets of soles, decorated with
truffles; fix eight _hatelettes_ (skewers) garnished with truffles,
cray-fish, and smelts, turned round, and boiled in salt water, and
always serve a portion of the _ragoût_ in a sauce-boat.
In America they make a sturgeon soup from the fresh fish, and there is
also a “sturgeon soup à l’anglaise et à l’indienne”--the receipts for
which may be found in Francatelli’s “Modern Cook.”
The Romans much vaunted a sturgeon, and when served crowned it with
flowers. The Greeks also considered it as the best dish at their grand
repasts.
Next to turbot, the fish most in request at English dinner-tables
during the season is salmon. Our chief salmon fisheries are carried
on in the rivers and estuaries of Scotland; but the finest salmon in
the London market comes from the Southampton water, near Christchurch;
and much good salmon is also sent to Billingsgate both from Ireland
and Holland. The produce of the fishings of the rivers Tay, Dee, Don,
Skey, Findhorn, Beauley, Borriedale, Thurso, and the coasts adjacent,
are conveyed in steam-boats and small sailing-vessels to Aberdeen,
where they are packed with ice in boxes, and sent to London. The Severn
salmon is in season in January, February, March, October, November, and
December; and the Scotch from March to September. There are innumerable
ways of dressing salmon practised by French cooks, such as _Darne de
saumon au vin de champagne_, _sauce au beurre d’écrevisses_, _saumon au
court bouillon_, _à la française_, _à la Régence_, _à la Cardinale_,
&c.; but it may be questioned whether salmon is ever eaten with more
relish or satisfaction by Englishmen than when plain boiled, either
whole or in slices, in the English fashion. It may be served with
lobster, shrimp, Dutch, or parsley-and-butter sauce. The slices of
crimped salmon served at London dinners in May and June, are, to my
mind, perfection.
Nonius says of this fish,--“Carnem enim habet teneram dulcem et
præpinquem.”
The cod-fish brought to England is much finer than that sold on the
Continent; and from November to April there can be no better dish
than slices of crimped cod, done either in the English or the Dutch
fashion, which most Englishmen prefer to the more elaborate dressing
of French cooks. A _Béchamel_ of cod-fish in the French fashion is,
however, a very good thing; and _cabillaud grillé à la Laguipierre_ is
excellent. This last was said to be a favourite dish with the late Duke
of Wellington; and certain it is, that it was often placed on the table
both at Strathfieldsaye and at Apsley House.
The haddock, which is now more commonly served at English dinner-tables
than in my youth, is an excellent fish when of the proper size. The
Dublin Bay haddock is pre-eminently good, and merits the encomium of
Galen:--“Aselli si probo utantur alimento et in maripuro degunt, carnis
bonitate cum saxatilibus contendunt.”[13]
Pliny also in his ninth book, cap. xvii., says the haddock “post
acipenserem apud antiquos nobilis simum piscium.”[14] Haddocks, to my
thinking, are best dressed in the English fashion--boiled, either
with egg or parsley-and-butter sauce. In Ireland, they sometimes serve
them with cockle sauce: and an excellent friend of mine (the son of
a late accomplished and eloquent Chief Justice of the Queen’s Bench)
tells me they are admirable in this fashion. In French cookery, the
haddock is generally dressed and served as cod-fish is dressed. There
are worse things than a fillet of haddock _à la Royale_, or _à
l’italienne_.
There is no more nourishing or easily digested fish than the sole,
and it is in season all the year round. The richest and largest sole,
called by some the black sole, comes from the Devon coast; and these,
as well as the Dover sole, and the black sole of Ireland, are best
plain boiled. The smaller and whiter sole found on the coast of Sussex
is best fried. Lemery calls the sole, _perdrix marina_ (the partridge
of the sea); and Ovid classes it with the flounder, to which it is far
superior.
“Fulgentes soleæ candore et concolorillis passer.”
There are thirty or more excellent ways of serving sole in the French
fashion, the principal of which are _à la Colbert_, _à la Perigord_,
_au gratin_, _en matelote normande_, _à la provençale_, _filets de
soles aux truffes_, _et aux fines herbes_. All of these are excellent,
but require a good cook. If you are not sure of your cook, order your
soles to be fried or plainly boiled.
I must say a word on the fish of which the celebrated Roman orator
Hortensius was so fond--a fish furnishing occasion for the epigrams
of Martial, and the scathing satire of Juvenal. Red mullet is only
prime during the warm weather, and is best done _en papillote_. It may
also be done _en caisse aux fines herbes_, _à l’italienne_, and _à là
Cardinale_, but in no way is it so good as _en papillote_.
Mullet should never be drawn; it is sufficient to take out the gills,
as the liver and trail are the best parts of the fish. When we know
that Apicius spent £60,000 to vary the taste of sauces, we can well
believe that a sum of £240 was given in the olden time, at Rome, for
three mullets of a large size.
I will only speak of two other fishes, the john-dory and the lamprey.
The john-dory is finest on the western coast of England, and is best
plain boiled. Quin, the actor, a great gourmand, was remarkably fond of
this fish and red mullet, and used to go down to Exeter for the purpose
of eating them. One morning after his arrival in the west, his valet
came in to call him as usual. “Well, John, any dory in the market?”
“No, sir.”
“Very well; I’ll lay a-bed to-day. You may call me this time to-morrow.”
There are two kinds of lampreys--the marine lamprey, found at Worcester
and Gloucester, where it is dressed and preserved, to be heated up with
a wine. The other, the lampern, is found in the Thames from October
till March. The lamprey is in the best condition in April and May.
Receipts for dressing lamprey, _à la Forey_, _à la Beauchamp_, and _à
la Beaufort_, may be found in Francatelli’s “Modern Cook.”
While on the chapter on fish, I may as well state that the late Marquis
de Cussy, prefect of the palace of the first Napoleon, has published a
book, in which he states his belief that the Reformation was brought
about by the compulsory use of fish and meagre fare on particular days.
Here are his words:--
“The schism of Martin Luther was really and seriously occasioned by the
fastings and the like punishments inflicted on the true believers of
Germany. The spiritual power should never meddle with the kitchen. In
consequence of this fault, the situation of the Church was changed in
Europe.”
Carème’s thoughts on living on _maigre_ diet are equally curious.
“It is in a lenten kitchen,” he says, “that the cleverness of a cook
can shed a brilliant light. It was in the Elysée Imperial, and by the
example of the famous Laguipierre and Robert, that I was initiated into
this fine branch of the art, and it is inexpressible. The years of ’93
and ’94, in their terrible and devastating course, respected these
strong heads (_ces fortes têtes_). When our valiant First Consul
appeared at the head of affairs, our miseries and those of gastronomy
finished. When the empire came, one heard of soups and _entrées
maigres_. The splendid _maigre_ first appeared at the table of
the Princess Caroline Murat. This was the sanctuary of good cheer, and
Murat was one of the first to do penitence. But what a penitence!”
One does not know whether to be indignant or to laugh at this. The old
proverb, “set a beggar on horseback and he will ride to the devil,”
is undoubtedly true. A few years before the consulate, the ambitious
Caroline Buonaparte, afterwards wife of Murat, was, with her mother and
the other female members of her family, in so destitute a situation
at Marseilles, that they had not the means of buying wood to warm
themselves; and as to Murat, her husband, it is well known that he rose
from the very dregs of society, his father being a village innkeeper at
Bastide Frontonière, in the department of Lot.
It was Murat’s kitchen, Carème tells us, that restored _le beau maigre_
to mother Church. Thus the great _chef_ unfolds his views as to fish
dinners:--
“Succulence, variety, and _recherche_, Murat undoubtedly desired at
his table, and his wishes were supplied. But he owed all these things
to our great Laguipierre” (his cook!) “whom he loved. What a labour
was Laguipierre’s! This glorious establishment of Murat’s, exhibiting
the grandeur of a royal household, was dearly loved by all true
gastronomes. The causes of its splendour were the magnificence of the
prince, the splendid, friendly, and associated talents of M. Robert,
his comptroller, and of the famous Laguipierre, his _chef de cuisine_.
I had the happiness, during two years, of being the first assistant
of Laguipierre, as well as his friend. In that time we recreated that
grand _cuisine maigre_, and restored _le beau maigre_ to old Mother
Church.”
Any one who wishes to dip further into the literature of fish dinners,
should read the article on red herrings, in the fourth volume of the
“Almanach des Gourmands;” the description of the house of Billiote,
whose cookery and cellars were patronized by the whole body of the
French clergy, and the description of the account of the _table
d’hôte_, _au nom de Jésus_, in the _Cloître St. Jacques de l’Hôpital_,
where a fish dinner was served up every Wednesday, Friday, and
Saturday, for the moderate sum of two francs ten sous. Such a dinner in
Imperial France of 1864 would cost four times the money.
When I first knew Paris as a youth in 1822, the most famous place for
a fish dinner was the Rocher de Cancale, in the Rue Montorguiel. It
was then and had for eighteen or twenty years before been kept by M.
Baleine, aided by Madame Beauvais.
In the sixth volume of the “Almanach des Gourmands,” published in 1808,
it is stated that this famous _restaurant_ was in that year frequented
by Russian princes, German barons, and the _élite_ of diplomatic
society, who then ordered dinners at ten, fifteen, and eighteen francs
per head, without wine. The cook at this period was said to be one of
the best in Paris, and the reputation of the house continued till
1840, and even later. You were always sure to find the finest and
freshest fish at the Rocher de Cancale; and the poultry, and meats,
and game were also of the choicest. But the year 1848, which upset the
Orleans dynasty, ruined this famous establishment, and it is now only
numbered as a thing of the past.
I remember dining there with a party of six persons in the year 1828,
the bill for our dinner amounted to 450 francs, or 75 francs per head,
including wine. The dinner principally consisted of divers kinds of
fish and game. From this dinner, composed of a _bisque_ or French soup,
with fillets of turbot and various _entrées_ of fish and game, every
one of the party rose hungry. On this occasion some _Chateau Margaux_
was ordered, said to be in bottle from 1789, a period of thirty-nine
years, for which a charge of fourteen francs per bottle was made.
But this would now be considered a _bagatelle_, as at several of the
_restaurants_ in Paris there is _Chateau Margaux_ charged at twenty
and twenty-five francs per bottle, not a quarter so old as the wine of
which I speak.
The most expensive part of the 1828 dinner was the fish, and not the
wine. M. Ferdinand Fayot, in his “Treatise de la Table particulière de
M. Talleyrand,” relates the following anecdote of an _abbé_ who was
wont to frequent the Rocher de Cancale for its fish:--
“A certain _abbé_, who was uncommonly fond of fish, often visited the
Rocher de Cancale. Upon one occasion, having dined copiously of salmon,
a heavy indigestion was the consequence. Three days afterwards, whilst
saying mass, the idea of the fish came across his mind, and, instead of
saying the _mea culpa_ of the _Confiteor_, he was heard to repeat, in
striking his breast, ‘Ah, le bon saumon! ah, le bon saumon!’”
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