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).
[Illustration: "L'ART DU CUISINIER" (BEAUVILLIERS)
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.
"The Viscount had two hours in which to dine--from seven to
nine.
"He could talk or not, as he chose.
"At the appointed hour the Viscount appeared, saluted the
judges, and turned towards the table.
"The bill of fare was to remain a mystery to his adversaries;
they were to have the pleasure of a surprise.
"The Viscount sat down. He was served with twelve dozen
Ostende oysters, with a half-bottle of Johannisberger.
"The Viscount was in excellent appetite; he asked for another
twelve dozen oysters, and another half-bottle of the same
growth.
"Then came a soup of swallows' nests, which the Viscount
poured in a bowl and drank as a bouillon.
"'Really, gentlemen,' said he, 'I am in fine trim to-day, and
I have a notion to gratify a whim.'
"'Go on, _pardieu_, you are the doctor.'
"'I adore beefsteak and potatoes.'
"'Gentlemen, no advice, if you please,' said a voice.
"'Pooh! waiter,' said the Viscount, 'a beefsteak and potatoes.'
"The waiter, astonished, looked at the Viscount.
"'Don't you understand me?' said the latter.
"'But I thought that Monsieur le Vicomte had made up his bill
of fare?'
"'That is true, but this is an extra; I will pay for it
separately.'
"The judges looked at each other. The beefsteak and potatoes
were brought on, and were promptly despatched.
"'Now for the fish!'
"The fish was brought on.
"'Gentlemen,' said the Viscount, 'it is a trout from Lake
Geneva. I saw it this morning while I was breakfasting; it
was still alive; it was brought from Geneva to Paris in the
waters of the lake. I can recommend this fish to you--it is
delicious.'
"Five minutes later only the bones remained.
"'The pheasant, waiter!' said the Viscount.
"A truffled pheasant was brought on.
"'Another bottle of Bordeaux of the same growth.'
"The second bottle was brought.
"In ten minutes the pheasant was disposed of.
"'Monsieur,' said the waiter, 'I think you have made a mistake
in calling for the truffled pheasant before the salmis of
ortolans.'
"'Ah! that is so. Fortunately it is not stated in what order
the ortolans are to be eaten; otherwise I should have lost.
The salmis of ortolans, waiter!'
"The salmis of ortolans was brought on.
"There were twelve ortolans--twelve mouthfuls for the Viscount.
"'Gentlemen,' said the Viscount, 'my bill of fare is very
simple. Now for some asparagus, green peas, a banana, and
strawberries. As for wine, a half-bottle of Constance and a
half-bottle of sherry that has made the voyage to India. Then,
of course, some coffee and liqueurs.'
"Everything appeared in its turn--vegetables and fruit were
conscientiously eaten, and the wines and liqueurs were drunk
to the last drop.
"The Viscount was an hour and fourteen minutes in dining.
"'Gentlemen,' said he, 'has everything gone right?'
"The judges acquiesced.
"'Waiter, the carte!'
"At this epoch the term _addition_ was not used.
"The Viscount ran his eye over the total, and passed the carte
to the judges.
"This was the carte:
_fr._ _c._
Ostende oysters, 24 dozen 30 "
Soup of swallows' nests 150 "
Beefsteak and potatoes 2 "
Trout from Lake Geneva 40 "
Truffled pheasant 40 "
Salmis of ortolans 50 "
Asparagus 15 "
Bananas 24 "
Strawberries 20 "
Green peas 12 "
_Wines._
Johannisberg, one bottle 24 "
Bordeaux, _grand crû_, two bottles 50 "
Constance, a half-bottle 40 "
Sherry, _retour de l'Inde_, a half-bottle 50 "
Coffee, liqueurs 1 50
______
Total 548 50
"The sum total was verified and the carte was taken to the
adversary of the Viscount, who was dining in an adjoining room.
"In five minutes he appeared, saluted the Viscount, took six
bills of a thousand francs from his pocket, and presented them
to him.
"It was the amount of the wager.
"'Oh, Monsieur,' said the Viscount, 'there was no hurry;
besides, perhaps you would have liked your revenge.'
"'You would have granted it to me?'
"'Surely!'
"'When?'
"'Immediately.'"
But the reputation of the Viscount as a _belle fourchette_ was exceeded
by that of a Swiss guard in the employ of the Maréchal de Villars, an
account of whose prowess is related by the "Journal des Défenseurs":
"One day the guard was sent for by the Maréchal, who had heard
of his enormous appetite.
"'How many sirloins of beef can you eat?' he tentatively asked.
"'Ah! Monseigneur, for me I don't require many, five or six at
the most.'
"'And how many legs of mutton?'
"'Legs of mutton? not many--seven to eight.'
"'And of fat pullets?'
"'Oh! as to pullets, only a few--a dozen.'
"'And of pigeons?'
"'As to pigeons, Monseigneur, not many--forty, perhaps fifty.'
"'And larks?'
"'Larks, Monseigneur?--always!'"
Another example of marvellous capacity is furnished by the French army,
a captain wagering one day that a drummer of his company could eat
a whole calf. The drummer, proud of his distinction, promised to do
honour to the captain's compliment. Accordingly, a calf was prepared
in various appetising ways, and was being promptly disposed of by
the drummer. When he had finally consumed about three quarters of the
repast, he paused for another draught of wine, and, placing his knife
and fork on his plate, said to his superior officer:
"You had better have the calf brought on, had you not? for all these
little kickshaws will end in taking up room."
The Café de Paris, first opened in 1822 on the Boulevard des Italiens
in the large suite of apartments formerly occupied by Prince Demidoff,
was the best restaurant in Europe during the forties and in Dumas'
time--a position it probably occupies to-day, since the closing of
Bignon's. Alfred de Musset was accustomed to say that "one could not
open its door for less than fifteen francs." But if its charges were
high, its cuisine and service were unsurpassed. Those who dance must
pay for the piping, and the cotillion of the casseroles is no exception
to the rule. Every one who honoured the establishment, it is said, was
considered by the personnel a grand seigneur for whom nothing could be
too good. When Balzac one day announced the arrival of a distinguished
Russian friend, he asked the proprietor to put his best foot forward.
"Assuredly, Monsieur, we will do so," was the answer, "because it is
simply what we are in the habit of doing every day." Balzac's favourite
dish was _veau à la casserole_, a specialty of the Café de Paris in the
forties.
Rossini, a contemporary and friend of Balzac and Dumas, was not alone a
famous musician,--composer of "Tell" and the "Stabat Mater,"--but was
also a distinguished _fourchette_ and a cook of ability. One of his
most celebrated compositions--that of a certain manner of preparing
macaroni which is said to have vied in seductiveness with the sweetest
strains of the "Barbier de Seville"--is unfortunately lost to the world
through a prejudice of Dumas.
One day the great romancist, who never ate macaroni in any form, asked
the noted composer for his recipe, being anxious to add it to his
culinary repertoire. "Come and eat some with me to-morrow at dinner,
and you shall have it," was the answer. But the host, perceiving that
his guest would not touch a dish on which he had bestowed so much
pains, refused to give him the formula, whereupon Dumas circulated the
report that it was his cook, not Rossini, who was master of the secret,
and forthwith presented at length a recipe given him by the famous Mme.
Ristori as "the true, the only, the unique manner of preparing macaroni
_à la néapolitaine_."
Already in 1830 the excessive charges of the fashionable restaurants
were loudly complained of. On this subject the "Nouvel Almanach des
Gourmands" of that date says:
"The Boulevard Italien is the privileged seat of the
cafés-restaurants: there one may dine excellently, but it must
be confessed one is cruelly plucked. From this fact has arisen
the proverb, 'One must be very hardy to dine at the Café
Riche, and very rich to dine at the Café Hardi.' May it not
be added that one needs to be an English peer to dine at the
Café Anglais, and a millionaire Parisian to try the Café de
Paris? One may dine well at Véry's, but one will ruin himself;
while the fish which is excellent at the Rocher de Cancale is
scarcely exchanged for its weight in five-franc pieces."
Often in the midst of a dinner, on tasting of some novel dish at his
favourite restaurant, the Café de Paris, Dumas would lay down his
fork--"I must get the recipe of this dish." The proprietor was then
sent for to authorise the novelist to descend to the kitchens and hold
a consultation with his chefs. He was the only one of the habitués to
whom this privilege was ever allowed; these excursions were usually
followed by an invitation to dine with Dumas a few days later, when his
newly acquired knowledge would be put into practice.
There were those, nevertheless, that previous to the advent of the
"Dictionary" were sceptical as to Dumas' culinary accomplishments.
Among such was Dr. Véron, author of the "Mémoires" and founder of
the "Revue de Paris," who, with several other notabilities, had been
invited by the novelist to partake of a carp of his own preparation.
For days and days Véron, who was extremely fond of fish, talked of
nothing else to his _cordon-bleu_.
"Where did you taste it?" said Sophie, becoming somewhat jealous of
this praise of others,--"at the Café de Paris?"
"No,--at Monsieur Dumas'."
"Well, then, I'll go to Monsieur Dumas' cook and get the recipe."
"That's of no use," objected her master. "Monsieur Dumas prepared the
dish himself."
"Well, then, I'll go to Monsieur Dumas himself and ask him to give me
the recipe."
Sophie was as good as her word, and at once betook herself to the
Chaussée d'Antin. The great novelist felt flattered, and gave her every
possible information, but somehow the dish was not like that her master
had so much enjoyed at his friend's. Then Sophie grew morose, and began
to throw out hints about the great man's borrowing other people's
feathers in his culinary pursuits, just as he did in his literary
ones. "It is with his carp as with his novels--others write them, and
he merely adds his name," she said one day. "I have seen him; he is a
_grand diable de vaniteux_."