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

found three other copies of

the edition I had so carefully read. Inside I found about two

dozen of the cubes I had gone so far for.

 

I tasted them, and must say that I found them very agreeable. I

was sorry though, that they were so few in number, and the more I

thought of the matter, the more I became mystified.

 

I then arose with the intention of carrying the box back to its

manufacturer. Just then, however, I thought of my grey hairs,

laughed at my vivacity, and sat down.

 

A particular circumstance also recurred to me. I had to deal with

a druggist, and only four days ago I had a specimen of one of that

calling.

 

I had one day to visit my friend Bouvier des Eclats.

 

I found him strolling in a most excited state, up and down the

room, and crushing in his hands a piece of poetry, I thought a

song.

 

He gave it to me and said, “look at this, you know all about it.”

 

I saw at once that it was an apothecary’s bill. I was not

consulted as a poet, but as a pharmaceutist.

 

I knew what the trade was, and was advising him to be quiet, when

the door opened, and we saw a man of about fifty-five enter. He

was of moderate stature and his whole appearance would have been

stern, had there not been something sardonic about his lips.

 

He approached the fireplace, refused to sit down, and I heard the

following dialogue I have faithfully recorded.

 

“Monsieur,” said the general, “you sent me a regular apothecary’s

bill.”

 

The man in black said that he was not an apothecary.

 

“What then are you?” said the general.

 

“Sir, I am a pharmaceutist.”

 

“Well,” said the general, “your boy—”

 

“Sir, I have no boy.”

 

“Who then was the young man you sent thither?”

 

“My pupil—”

 

“I wish to say, sir, that your drugs—”

 

“Sir, I do not sell drugs—”

 

“What then do you sell?”

 

“Remedies.”

 

The general at once became ashamed at having committed so many

solicisms in a few moments, and paid the bill.

 

IV.

 

THE SNARE.

 

The chevalier de Langeac was rich, but his fortune was dispensed

as is the fortune of all rich men.

 

He funded the remnants, and aided by a little pension from the

government, he contrived to lead a very pleasant life.

 

Though naturally very gallant, he had nothing to do with women.

 

As his other powers passed away, his gourmandise increased. He

became a professor and received more invitations than he could

accept.

 

Lyons is a pleasant city, for there one can get vin de Bourdeaux,

Hermitage and Burgundy. The game of the neighborhood is very good,

and unexceptionable fish is taken from the lakes in the vicinity.

Every body loves Bresse chickens.

 

Langeac was therefore welcome at all the best tables of the city,

but took especial delight in that of a certain M. A.

 

In the winter of 1780, the chevalier received a letter, inviting

him to sup ten days after date, (at that time I know there were

suppers) and the chevalier quivered with emotion at the idea.

 

He, at the appointed time, made his appearance, and found ten

guests. There was at that time no such A grand dinner was soon

served, consisting of fish, flesh, and fowl.

 

All was very good, but the chevalier was not satisfied with the

hopes he had entertained.

 

Another thing amazed him. His guests did not seem to eat. The

chevalier was amazed to see that so many anti-convivial persons

had been collected, and thinking that he had to do justice to all

these fasting people set to work at once.

 

The second service was solid as the first. A huge turkey was

dressed plain, flavored by salads and macaroni au parmesan.

 

When he saw this, the chevalier felt his strength revive; all the

other guests were overpowered, excited by the changes of wines, he

triumphed over their impotence, and drank their health again and

again. Every time he drank their health, he took a slice from the

turkey.

 

Due attention was paid to the side-dishes, and the chevalier stuck

to business longer than any one would have thought possible. He

only revived when the becfigues appeared, and became fully aroused

when truffles were put on the table.

 

THE TURBOT.

 

Discord one day sought to effect an entrance into one of the most

harmonious houses of Paris. A turbot was to be cooked.

 

The fish was on the next day to be served to a company of which I

was one; it was fresh, fat, and glorious, but was so large that no

dish in the house could hold it.

 

“Let us cut it in half,” said the husband.

 

“Would you thus dishonor it?” said the wife.

 

“We must, my dear.”

 

“Well, bring the knife, we will soon do it.”

 

“Wait though, our cousin, who is a professor, will soon be here.

He will relieve us from the dilemma.”

 

The gordian knot was about to be released, when I came in hungry,

as a man always is at seven P. M.

 

When I came in I tried in vain to make the usual compliments. No

one listened, and for that reason no one replied to me. The

subject in discussion was at once submitted to me.

 

I made up my mind at once, went to the kitchen, found a kettle

large enough to boil the whole fish, and did so. There was a

procession composed of the master, mistress, servants, and

company, but they all approved of what I did. With the fish we

boiled bulbous root and other vegetables. [Footnote: From the

above it is very clear that Brillat Savarin made what the late D.

Webster called a “chowder.”] When the fish was cooked we sat down

at the table, our ideas being somewhat sharpened by the delay, and

sought anxiously for the time, of which Homer speaks, when

abundance expells hunger. [The translator here omits a very

excellent recipe for a fish-chowder. Everybody knows it.]

 

VI.

 

PHEASANTS.

 

None but adepts know what a pheasant is. They only can appreciate

it.

 

Everything has its apogee of excellence, some of which, like

capers, asparagus, partridges, callow-birds, etc., are eatable

only when they are young. Others are edible only when they obtain

the perfection of their existence, such as melons and fruits, and

the majority of the beasts which furnish us with animal food.

Others are not good until decomposition begins, such as the snipe

and pheasant.

 

When the pheasant is eaten only three days after its death, it has

no peculiarity; it has not the flavor of a pullet, nor the perfume

of a quail.

 

It is, however, a highly flavored dish, about half way between

chicken and venison.

 

It is especially good when the pheasant begins to be decomposed—

an aroma and exciting oil is then produced, like coffee, only

produced by torrefaction.

 

This becomes evident by a slight smell and change of color.

Persons possessed, however, of the instincts of gourmandise see it

at once, just as a good cook knows whether he should take his bird

from the spit or give it a turn or two more.

 

When the pheasant is in that condition it should he plucked, and

not before.

 

The bird should then he stuffed, and in the following manner:

 

Take two snipe and draw them so as to put the birds on one plate,

and the livers, etc., on another.

 

Take the flesh and mingle it with beef, lard and herbes fines,

adding also salt and truffles enough to fill the stomach of the

pheasant.

 

Cut a slice of bread larger, considerably, than the pheasant, and

cover it with the liver, etc., and a few truffles. An anchovy and

a little fresh butter will do no harm.

 

Put the pheasant on this preparation, and when it is boiled

surround it with Florida oranges. Do not be uneasy about your

dinner.

 

Drink burgundy after this dish, for long experience has taught me

that it is the proper wine.

 

A pheasant served in this way is a fit dish for angels, if they

visited the world as they did in Lot’s day.

 

What I say, experience has already proved. A pheasant thus stuffed

by Picard at La Grange [Footnote: Does he refer to La Fayette’s

estate?] was brought on the table by the cook himself. It was

looked on by the ladies as they would have looked at one of Mary

Herbault’s hats. It was scientifically tasted, and in the interim

the ladies eyes shone like stars, and their lips became coral.

 

I did more than this; I gave a similar proof to the judges of the

supreme court. They are aware that the toga is sometimes to be

laid aside, and I was able to show to several that good CHEER was

a fit companion and reward for the labors of the senate. After a

few moments the oldest judge uttered the word excellent. All

bowed, and the court adopted the decision. I had observed that the

venerable old men seemed to take great delight in smelling the

dish, and that their august brows were agitated by expressions of

extreme serenity, something like a half smile hanging on their

lips.

 

All this thing, however is naturally accounted for. The pheasant,

itself, a very good bird, had imbibed the dressing and the flavor

of the truffle and snipe. It thus becomes thrice better.

 

Thus of all the good things collected, every atom is appreciated

and the consequence is, I think the pheasant fit for the table of

a prince.

 

Parve, nec invideo, sine me liber, ibis in aulam.

 

VII.

 

GASTRONOMICAL INDUSTRY OF THE EMIGRES.

 

Toute Francaise, a ce que j’imagine,

 

Salt, bien ou mal faire, un peu de cuisine.

 

Belle Arsene, Act. III.

 

In a chapter written for the purpose, the advantages France

derived from gourmandise in 1815, were fully explained. This was

not less useful to emigres; all those, who had any alimentary

resources, received much benefit from it.

 

When I passed through Boston, I taught a cook, named Julien, who

in 1794 was in his glory, how to serve eggs with cheese. Julien

was a skilful lad, and had, he said, been employed by the

Archbishop of Bourdeaux. This was to the Americans a new dish, and

Julien in return, sent me a beautiful deer he had received from

Canada, which those I invited to do honour to it, thought

admirable.

 

Captain Collet also, in 1794 and 1795 earned much money by the

manufacture of ices and sherbets.

 

Women always take care to enjoy any pleasures which are new to

them. None can form an idea of their surprise. They could not

understand how it could remain so cold, when the thermometer was

at 26 [degrees] Reaumur.

 

When I was at Cologne, I found a Breton nobleman, who thought

himself very fortunate, as the keeper of a public house; and I

might multiply these examples indefinitely. I prefer however to

tell of a Frenchman, who became very rich at London, from the

skill he displayed in making salad.

 

He was a Limousin, and if I am not mistaken, was named Aubignac,

or Albignac.

 

Poor as he was, he went, however, one day to dine at one of the

first restaurants of London. He could always make a good dinner on

a single good dish.

 

While he was discussing a piece of roast beef,