Читать книгу The Pleasures of the Table - George H. Ellwanger - Страница 13

"Un poème ne valut jamais un dîner—"

unless it be a dîner sans façon, which he has not failed to condemn.

Of other tributes in verse to gastronomy, Colnet's "l'Art de Dîner en Ville"[14] is the next important, but this is by no means to be compared with the canto of Berchoux. And though the language abounds in minor poems on the subject, few of these may be considered seriously, while nearly all offend by their grossness or their halting measures.

Napoleon Bonaparte was not an epicure, though he enjoined upon all the great functionaries of the empire to set a good table. He was in constant dread of growing obese as he became old, was proverbially irregular in his hours of eating, and rushed his food as he would a battalion on the battle-field. His repasts concerned him little so long as they were served the instant his appetite craved, and were accompanied by his favourite Chambertin.

Differing from Napoleon, the eighteenth Louis proved himself a fin mangeur and a worthy gastronomic successor to Louis XV. It was his custom, for instance, to have his chops and cutlets broiled not only on the grill, but between two other cutlets, in order to preserve their juices. His ortolans and small birds were also cooked inside of partridges stuffed with truffles, so that he often hesitated in choosing between the delicate bird and the fragrant esculent. The ortolan was termed by him la bouchée du gourmand, as it was never to be eaten in two mouthfuls. He had even established a testing-jury for the fruit that was served at the royal table, M. Petit-Radel, librarian of the Institute, being the tester of peaches and nectarines.

One day a new variety of peach produced by a gardener of Montreuil having matured, the raiser was anxious to submit it to the king. To do this, however, it was necessary to pass the Jury dégustateur. Accordingly, he presented himself at the library of the Institute, and, holding in his hand a plate of four magnificent peaches, he inquired for the librarian. On being informed that he was busily engaged on some very important work, the gardener insisted, asking only that he be allowed to pass the plate, the fruit, and his arm through the door. Arrested by the partial opening of the door, M. Petit-Radel raised his eyes from a Gothic manuscript he was studying, to discover the peaches and to exclaim twice, with emphasis, "Come in! Come in!"

Then, explaining the object of his visit, the gardener asked for a silver knife, and, quartering a peach, offered one of the portions to the tester, with these words:

"Taste the juice."

With half-shut eyes and impassible features, M. Radel tasted the juice.

"Good, very good, my friend," was his only remark, after a minute's silence.

Whereupon the gardener tendered him the second quarter, saying in a more assured tone:

"Taste the flesh."

Again the judge proceeded with his testing, maintaining a similar silence, until, with an inclination of his head, he remarked:

"Ah! very good! very good!"

"Now savour the aroma," said the gardener.

On this being found worthy of the juices and the flesh, the gardener presented the last morsel.

"Now," said he, "taste all!"

Then, with eyes humid with emotion and a radiant smile upon his lips, M. Radel advanced towards his visitor, and, seizing his hands with the same fervour that he would have manifested in the ease of a great artist, he exclaimed:

"Ah, my friend, the peach is perfection itself! You are to be profoundly complimented, and after to-morrow your peaches will be served at the royal table."

And, carefully removing its three companions from the plate, the gardener was ushered out and the peaches placed by the side of the Gothic manuscript.

During the last years of the reign of Louis XVIII, it was with regret that he perceived signs of the decadence of cookery. "Gastronomy is passing," were his words to Dr. Corvisart, "and with it the last remains of the old civilisation. It belongs to organised bodies, such as physicians, to direct all their energies towards preventing the disruption of society. Formerly France was filled with gastronomers because it numbered so many corporations, the members of which have been annihilated or dispersed. There are now no more farmer-generals, no more abbés, no more monks: the life of gastronomy resides in physicians like you, who are epicures by predestination. It is for you to hear with still greater firmness the weight with which you are laden by destiny. May you wipe out the fate of the Spartans at the pass of Thermopylae!"

But the cry of the decadence of cookery is an ancient one, and occurs periodically, like that of the failure of vintages. It has always existed, and always will exist. It is the old burden, with Ronsard's modification:

"Le temps s'en va, le temps s'en va, ma dame;

Las! le temps non, mais nous nous en-allons."

(Time hast'neth on, time hast'neth on, my dear;

Nay, Time doth stay, and we the journeyers here.)

Age and circumstances, surroundings and lack of hygienic observances, may dull the susceptibility of the most appreciative palate; the sense of taste also has its decrepitude. Celebrated chefs pass away, and with them passes the celebrity of famous restaurants. But other artists appear, and fresh successes are achieved—

"Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold;

New things succeed as former things grow old."[15]