The Physiology of Taste - Brillat Savarin (black female authors TXT) 📗

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I have also inserted personal biography, but when I read them

over, I feel to a degree uneasy.

 

This anxiety originated in my last lectures and glossaries, which

are in the hands of every body. I think, however, that I may be

tranquil, having sheltered myself under the mantle of philosophy,

I insist that my enemies have uneasy consciences and sleep badly.

 

VARIETIES.

 

I.

 

L’OMELETTE DU CURE.

 

All know that twenty years ago, Madame R–- was the most

beautiful woman in Paris. All know that she was very charitable

and took an interest in the various enterprises, the object of

which was the alleviation of misery, perhaps greater in the

capital than elsewhere.

 

Having business with the cure of–-, she went thither about five

P. M., and was surprised to find him at dinner.

 

She believed that every body dined at six P. M., and was not aware

that ecclesiastics dined earlier, from the fact that they were

used to take light collations.

 

Madame R–- wished to retire, but the cure would not permit her

to do so, either because the matter under discussion would not

interrupt conversation, or that a pretty woman never disturbs any

entertainment.

 

The table was very well arranged; old wine sparkled in a chrystal

flagon, and the porcelain was faultless. The plates were kept hot

by boiling water, and an old housekeeper was in attendance.

 

The meal was half way between luxury and abstinence. A soup of

ecrevisses was removed and a salmon trout, an omelette, and a

salad were placed on the table.

 

“My dinner tells you,” said the priest “what you do not know, that

to day is a fast day.” My friend assented with a blush.

 

They began with the trout, the shoulders of which were soon eaten.

The sauce was made by a competent person and the pastor’s brow was

irradiated with joy.

 

Then the omelette, which was round and done to a point, was

attached.

 

As soon as the spoon touched it, the odor and perfume it contained

escaped, and my friend owns that it made her mouth water.

 

The curel had a sympathetic movement for he was used to watch my

passions. In reply to a question he saw Madame R–- was about to

ask, he said, “It is an omelette au thon. My cook understands them

simply, and few people ever taste them without complimenting her.”

“I am not amazed,” said his lady guest, “for I never ate anything

so delightful.”

 

Then came the salad. (I recommend it to those who have confidence

in me. It refreshes without exciting. I think it makes people

younger.)

 

Dinner did not interrupt conversation. They talked of the affair

which had occasioned the visit, of the war, of business, of other

things which made a bad dinner passably good.

 

The dessert came. It consisted of septmoncel cheese, of apples and

preserves.

 

At last the housekeeper brought forward a little round table,

such as once was called a gueridon, on which was a cup of strong

mocha, the perfume of which filled the room.

 

Having sipped it, the cure said grace, and arose, adding “I never

take spirits, though I offer them to my guests. I reserve them as

a succor for extreme old age.”

 

While all this was progressing, time had passed, and as it was six

o’clock, Madame R–- was anxious to get into her carriage, for

she had several friends to dine with her. She came late, and told

her guests, of whom I was one, what she had seen.

 

The conversation passed from subject to subject, but I, as a

philosopher, thought the secret of the preparation of such a dish

must be valuable. I ordered my cook to obtain the recipe in its

most minute details. I publish it the more willingly now, because

I never saw it in any book.

 

OMELETTE AU THON.

 

Take for six persons the roe of four cash [Footnote: the

translator has followed this recipe with shad, pike, pickerel,

etc., and can recommend it with a quiet conscience. Any fish is a

substitute for tunny] and steep them for a few minutes in salt

water just below boiling point.

 

Put in also a fresh tunny about as large as an egg, to which you

must add a charlotte minced.

 

Mix the tunny and the roes together, and put the whole in a kettle

with a portion of good butter, and keep it on the fire until the

butter has melted. This is the peculiarity of the omelette.

 

Take then another piece of butter and mix it with parsely and

sage. Put it in the dish intended to receive the omelette, cover

it with lemon juice and put it on hot coals.

 

Then beat twelve eggs, (fresh as possible), pour in the fish and

roe so that all may be perfectly mixed.

 

Then cook the omelette as usual, making it thin and firm. Serve it

up hot.

 

This dish should be reserved for breakfasts, where all the guests

are connoisseurs. It is caviare to the vulgar.

 

OBSERVATIONS.

 

1. The roes and fish should be warmed, not boiled. They will thus

mingle more easily with the eggs.

 

2. The plate should be deep.

 

3. It should be warm, for a cold porcelain plate would extract the

caloric of the omelette and make it insipid.

 

II. A NATIONAL VICTORY.

 

When I lived in New York I used every once in a while to pass the

evening in a kind of tavern kept by a man named Little, (the old

lank coffee house) where one could always get turtle soup and all

the dishes common in the United States.

 

I often went thither with the Vicomte de la Massue and M. Fehr, an

old broker of Marsailles; all three of us were emigrants, and we

used to drink ale and cider, and pass the evening very pleasantly

together.

 

There I became acquainted with a Mr. Wilkinson, who was a native

of Jamaica, and a person he was very intimate with, for he never

left him. The latter, the name of whom I do not remember was one

of the most extraordinary men I ever met. He had a square face,

keen eyes, and appeared to look attentively at everything, though

his features were motionless as those of a blind man. When he

laughed it was with what the English call a horse-laugh, and

immediately resumed his habitual taciturnity. Mr. Wilkinson seemed

about forty, and, in manner and appearance, seemed to be a

gentleman.

 

The Englishman seemed to like our company, and more than once

shared the frugal entertainment I offered my friends, when Mr.

Wilkinson took me one evening aside and said he intended to ask us

all to dine with him.

 

I accepted the invitation for three o’clock on the third day

after.

 

The evening passed quietly enough, but when I was about to leave,

a waiter came to me and said that the West Indian had ordered a

magnificent dinner, thinking their invitation a challenge. The man

with the horse-laugh had undertaken to drink us Frenchmen drunk.

 

This intelligence would have induced me, if possible, to decline

the banquet. It was, however, impossible, and following the advice

of the Marshal de Saxe, we determined, as the wine was uncorked,

to drink it.

 

I had some anxiety, but being satisfied that my constitution was

young, healthy and sound, I could easily get the better of the

West Indian, who probably was unused to liquors.

 

I however, went to see Messrs. Fehr and Massue, and in an occular

allocution, told them of my plans. I advised them to drink as

little as possible, and to avoid too many glasses, while I talked

to our antagonists. Above all things, I advised them to keep up

some appetite, telling them that food had the effect of moderating

the fumes of wine.

 

Thus physically and morally armed, we went to the old bank coffee

house, where we found our friends; dinner was soon ready. It

consisted of a huge piece of beef, a roasted turkey, (plain)

boiled vegetables, a salad and pastry.

 

Wine was put on the table. It was claret, very good, and cheaper

than it then was in France.

 

Mr. Wilkinson did the honors perfectly, asking us to eat, and

setting us an example, while his friend, who seemed busy with his

plate, did nothing but laugh at the corners of his mouth.

 

My countrymen delighted me by their discretion.

 

After the claret came the port and Madeira. To the latter we paid

great attention.

 

Then came the dessert composed of butter, cheese and hickory nuts.

Then came the time for toasts, and we drank to our kings, to human

liberty, and to Wilkinson’s daughter Maria, who was, as he said,

the prettiest woman in Jamaica.

 

Then came spirits, viz., rum, brandy, etc. Then came songs, and I

saw things were getting warm. I was afraid of brandy and asked for

punch. Little brought a bowl, which, doubtless, he had prepared

before. It held enough for forty people, and was larger than any

we have in France.

 

This gave me courage; I ate five or six well buttered rolls, and I

felt my strength revive. I looked around the table and saw my

compatriots apparently fresh enough, while the Jamaican began to

grow red in the face, and seemed uneasy. His friend said nothing,

but seemed so overcome that I saw the catastrophe would soon

happen.

 

I cannot well express the amazement caused by this denouement, and

from the burden of which I felt myself relieved. I rang the bell;

Little came up; I said, “see these gentlemen well taken care of.”

We drank a glass to their health. At last the waiter came and bore

off the defeated party feet foremost. Wilkinson’s friend was

motionless, and our host would insist on singing, “Rule

Britannia.” [Footnote: The translator is sorry to say, that at the

time Savarin speaks of, “Rule Britannia” was not written.]

 

The New York papers told the story the next day, and added that

the Englishman had died. This was not so, for Mr. Wilkinson had

only a slight attack of the gout.

 

III.

 

MYSTIFICATION OF THE PROFESSOR AND DEFEAT OF A GENERAL.

 

Several years ago the newspapers told us of the discovery of a new

perfume called the emerocallis, a bulbous plant, which has an odor

not unlike the jasmin.

 

I am very curious, and was, therefore, induced in all probability

to go to, the Foubourg St. Germain, where I could find the

perfume.

 

I was suitably received, and a little flask, very well wrapped up,

was handed me, which seemed to contain about two ounces. In

exchange for it I left three francs.

 

An etourdi would at once have opened, smelled and tasted it. A

professor, however, acts differently, and I thought modesty would

become me. I took the flagon then and went quietly home, sat on my

sofa and prepared to experience a new sensation.

 

I took the package from my pocket and untied the wrappings which

surrounded it. They were three different descriptions of the

emerocallis, and referred to its natural history, its flower, and

its exquisite perfume, either in the shape of pastilles, in the

kitchen, or in ices. I read each of the wrappings. 1. To indemnify

myself as well as I could for the price I have spoken of above. 2.

To prepare myself for an appreciation of the new and valuable

extract I have spoken of.

 

I then opened, with reverence, the box I supposed full of

pastilles. To my surprise, however, I