1545. In 1349 the author was _queux de bouche_ of Philippe de Valois,

in 1361 _queux_ of the Duc de Normandie, and in 1373 he became _premier queux_ of the king. The frontispiece of one of the earlier editions depicts a personage conversing with a hunchback, who is carrying two ducks in his left hand and a laden hamper in his right. On the left, in a dormer-window, appears the head of a woman who is seemingly listening to the conversation. With better wines than Italy could boast, added to a natural aptitude for cookery, France soon made material strides in the art of dining, the science continuing to improve during the reigns of Francis II, Charles IX, and Henry III. The Gaul's taste was delicate, and his touch was true. For the garlic of the Italians he gradually substituted the onion and shallot, or at least employed garlic more sparingly; and in place of the heavy viands formerly in use evolved the more delicate entrée, salmis, and entremets. Louis XIII was accustomed not only to kill his game, but frequently to prepare it for the table. In larding a piece of meat he vied with the most skilful practitioners, being led to do so and to put his general knowledge of cookery to account from his fear of being poisoned. But his kitchen, nevertheless, was a parsimonious one; and though he personally superintended all his gardening operations and prided himself on raising spring vegetables earlier in the season than any market-gardener, he ignobly disposed of his produce to the wealthy Seigneur de Montauron, whose table far outrivalled that of his royal green-grocer. To Montauron, counsellor of the king and first president of the Bureau of Finance, as well as to the Duc de Montausier,[8] who was first to introduce large silver spoons and forks, cookery is indebted for maintaining its prestige during the reign of the thirteenth Louis. Whether at home or absent on official duties, it was the habit of Montauron to keep open house all the year round for princes and distinguished personages. So great a benefice was it considered to secure a position among the numerous serving-men of the household that the chief steward had always a long waiting-list to draw from to supply any vacancy, the fortunate applicant on whom his choice fell readily paying him his customary fee of ten louis d'or. In his munificence and hospitality, Montauron anticipated Fouquet, but, like the princely Marquis de Belle-Isle, whose hospitality was so illy rewarded by Louis XIV, his name remains unhonoured by an entrée or a sauce. Richelieu, who was a distinguished gastronome, fared better, and has had his memory perpetuated by many a savoury dish. Thus the way was paved for the notable strides under Louis XIV and Béchamel, Condé and Vatel--the Grand Monarque and his maître d'hôtel, the great Condé and the equally renowned Vatel. The suppers and entertainments of Louis XIV were in accord with the magnificence of his court; the monarch who commanded Leveau and Mansard to render Versailles a pleasure-house worthy of his fame, who stocked the parks of his vast demesnes with game, and who was a passionate lover of the chase, being naturally exacting as to the renown of his table. It was his motto--"One eats well who works well." While Lebrun and Poussin were decorating his regal château, and Le Nôtre was embellishing its parks, Béchamel superintended the royal ranges and discovered new sauces, La Quintinie presiding over his vast vegetable-gardens to provide superior varieties of fruits and esculents. So great was the reputation of La Quintinie that he was also called upon to establish the splendid vegetable-gardens of the Duc de Montausier at Rambouillet, of Fouquet at Vaux, and of Colbert at Sceaux. Saint-Simon has left a minute account of the daily life of Louis XIV, from his ceremonious levee to his soirée late in the evening. It was his habit to rise at eight and partake of a simple breakfast of bread and wine mixed with water. He dined alone, at one, at a square table in his own chamber, where several soups, three courses, and a dessert were regularly served, under the direction of his princely attendants. At a quarter after ten, supper, his favourite meal, was served in state in the Salon du Grand Couvert, in company with the royal family and the princes of the blood. If not the most reliable, the most graphic account of one of his suppers is that given by Dumas in the "Vicomte de Bragelonne," when the formidable Porthos was among his guests and charmed him with his marvellous appetite, at the same time contributing his recipe for serving a sheep whole, which elicited this encomium from his Majesty: "It is impossible that a gentleman who sups so well and eats with such splendid teeth should not be the most honest man in my kingdom." The rejoinder of Porthos to a previous sally of his host is equally worthy of recording: "You have a lovely appetite, Monsieur du Vallon," said the king, "and you are a delightful table companion." "Ah! faith, sire, if your Majesty ever came to Pierrefonds we would dispose of a sheep between us, for I perceive you are not lacking in appetite, either." D'Artagnan touched the foot of Porthos under the table. Porthos coloured. "At the happy age of your Majesty," continued Porthos, in order to retrieve himself, "I belonged to the musketeers, and nothing could appease me. Your Majesty has a superb appetite, as I had the honour of observing, but chooses with too much delicacy to be termed a great eater." It will be remembered that few were as competent as Dumas to treat of the subject of dining. To quote the appreciation of a French writer, "Alexandre Dumas was a fine eater as well as a fine story-teller." But the Grand Monarque, after all, was a ravenous rather than a distinguished eater. As is not unfrequently the case with such persons, he used alcoholic beverages in comparative moderation. He was, however, fond of hippocras, a drink composed of white or red wine, honey, and aromatics, borrowed from the ancients; and in his advanced age, as is well known, cordials were invented to solace his declining years. Champagne was his favourite wine. "Sire," said the president of a deputation bringing specimens of the various productions of Rheims to the monarch when he visited the city in 1666, "we offer you our wine, our pears, our gingerbread, our biscuits, and our hearts!" The king proved loyal to the wine of the Marne until Burgundy, largely diluted, was prescribed by his last physician, Fagon, whom Molière satirised as Dr. Purgon in "Le Malade Imaginaire"--a physician who, during the old age of the king, rendered his life miserable by cutting him off one by one from his favourite dishes. That he needed to be restrained, despite his robust constitution and open-air life, is apparent from the statement of the Duchesse d'Orléans that she had frequently seen him consume four plates of different soups, a whole pheasant, a partridge, a large plate of salad, a large portion of mutton, two good slices of ham, a plateful of sweetmeats, and fruit and preserves. Thus, while Louis himself is not entitled to distinction as an epicure, and his personal example failed to furnish inspiration for his cooks, his table was always maintained on a scale befitting his station. There were, besides, dainty entremets to be supplied to La Vallière, Montespan, Fontanges, and Maintenon, and new surprises must perforce be placed before his numerous guests of distinction. Among such dishes was the famous cod, or _morue à la crême_, which immortalised the Marquis de Béchamel. Like Lucullus and Apicius, moreover, Condé and Fouquet, with their princely revenues and luxurious tastes, appeared to stimulate the art and further the pleasures of the table. Madame de Montespan, with her temper, naturally proved a good cook, and did not disdain an occasional séance with the stew-pans. She is credited with having invented a sauce and encouraging every art that ministered to the service of the table, even to expending a sum of nine thousand livres for a wine-cooler. Fouquet's table, over which Vatel presided, and subsequently that of Condé under the same artist, to say nothing of the splendidly equipped establishment of Fouquet's successor Colbert, were scarcely less renowned than the kitchens of Versailles. The grand fête in honour of the king given by Fouquet, Marquis of Belle-Isle, at Vaux, will be remembered, as also the jealousy of his Majesty at the lavish hospitality of his superintendent of finance. Equally sumptuous were the entertainments of the Prince de Condé, in whose cuisine during certain seasons there were regularly consumed as many as a hundred and fifty pheasants a week. Meanwhile, Molière and Boileau had sung the praises of gastronomy, but not to that degree which was to charm France during the consulate and the empire, when its harp had been touched by the facile fingers of Berchoux. Numerous cook-books had already appeared and exerted their influence since the "Viandier" first pointed out the way. He who would give a dinner _à la Louis XIV_ should consult "Les Délices de la Campagne," a volume published in 1654, of which many editions were afterwards issued, the author being Nicolas de Bonnefons, valet de chambre of the king. From this treatise one may form an idea of the variety and profusion of the dishes then in vogue, and to what perfection and luxury the science had attained.[9] In the previous year appeared the celebrated "Pastissier François," the Amsterdam edition of which is among the most famous of the Elzevirs--a copy originally priced at a few sous having been sold for ten thousand francs, which would seem a rather exorbitant price to pay for instructions in seventeenth-century pastry-making and preparing eggs for fat and lean days. The tragic death of Vatel by his own hand, owing to the non-arrival of the sea-fish at Chantilly, is too well known to need narrating. Vatel, the victim of his art, was also an author, having contributed an illustrated treatise on carving entitled "l'Escuyer Tranchant," an accomplishment which he states could scarcely be acquired without the ministration and the precepts of the master--_sans la voye et les preceptes du maistre_. A paragraph will serve to show the nature and scope of his contribution to culinary literature: "A carver should be well bred, inasmuch as he should maintain a first rank among the servants of his master. Pleasing, civil, amiable, and well disposed, he should present himself at table with his sword at his side, his mantle on his shoulder, and his napkin on his left arm, though some are in the habit of placing it on the guard of their sword in an unobjectionable manner. He should make his obeisance when approaching the table, proceed to carve the viands, and divide them understandingly according to the number of the guests. Ordinarily he should station himself by the side of his master, carving with knives suitable to the size of the meats. A carver should be very scrupulous in his deportment, his carriage should be grave and dignified, his appearance cheerful, his eye serene, his head erect and well combed, abstaining as much as possible from sneezing, yawning, or twisting his mouth, speaking very little and directly, without being too near or too far from the table." Assuredly, one who observed such nicety in his carving must have been extremely painstaking in compounding his _liaisons_. Indeed, the conscientiousness manifest throughout the pages of his manual easily enables one to foresee how his chagrin at the absence of the roast at two of the tables and his not having received the fish at the fête of Condé so preyed upon his mind as to lead him, during a moment of despair, to fall upon his own sword.[10] With his sense of the proprieties so highly keyed, one can also fancy how he must have been shocked on hearing of the prince's awkwardness at a tavern where Condé, after proclaiming his ability as a cook before a number of companions, ignominiously overturned an omelette into the fire, and was compelled to return the spider to the more skilful hands of the hostess. A similar gaucherie is related of Napoleon I when, one day at the Tuileries, insisting on taking the place of the Empress Marie-Louise, who was making an omelette herself in her own apartments, he awkwardly flipped it on the floor, and was obliged to confess his inaptitude and allow the empress to proceed with her cooking. During the regency of Philippe d'Orléans, attention became directed to the chemistry of cooking, the dinners of the regent being celebrated for their combination of refinement and art--"for splendidly larded viands, matelotes of the most tempting quality, and turkeys superbly stuffed." Louis XV, who was himself a practitioner of remarkable skill, continued, with the aid of his cooks--Moustier and Vincent de la Chapelle--to foster the development which his predecessors had promoted. "Who could enumerate," says Mercier, "all the dishes of the new cuisine? It is an absolutely new idiom. I have tasted viands prepared in so many ways and fashioned with such art that I could not imagine what they were." "Louis XV ate astoundingly," says Barbier; "although his stomach was extremely elastic, he forced it to such an extent that his indigestions were of great frequency, and called for constant medication. Already at an early age he became a great drinker of champagne, and set the mode for cold pâtés of larks. The table was the only serious occupation of his life." On hunting-days it was a frequent practice of the king to give a dinner for his courtiers at which each was called upon to prepare a dish. De la Gorse mentions a dinner given at St. Hubert where all the dishes were prepared by the Prince de Beaufremont, the Marquis de Polignac, and the Ducs de Gontaut, d'Ayen, de Coigny, and de la Vallière, the king on his part contributing the _poulets au basilic_. At this period there appeared, among innumerable cook-books, a work of four volumes entitled, "Suppers of the Court," a treatise which has been pronounced one of the best and most complete of its kind.[11] To Louis XV belongs the invention of _tables volantes_, or, to speak more truly, the revival of tables à la Trimalchio--like those devised during the times of the old Romans--which descended after each course through the floor, to appear reladen with new surprises. It was to this monarch, who insisted that women could not rise to the sublime heights of the cuisine, that Madame du Barry gave the successful supper from which, it was said, originated the order of the _cordon bleu_ for accomplished artisans of her sex. This was the menu, as elaborated by the best cuisinière that the reigning favourite could procure: _Coulis de faisan_, _petites croustades de foie de lottes_, _salmis de bécassines_, _pain de volaille à la suprème_, _poularde au cresson_, _écrevisses au vin de sauterne_, _biscuits de pêches au noyau_, _crême de cerneaux_, and _fraises au marasquin_. Lady Morgan asserts, however, that this title was first given to Marie, a celebrated cuisinière of the tax-gatherer who built the palace of l'Elysée Bourbon. Still another explanation of the term is that it originated with Madame de Maintenon, who established a school at St. Cyr for the education of the orphan daughters of ennobled officers. The pupils were carefully instructed in the culinary art, and to those who excelled a blue ribbon was presented as a badge of reward. Again, if we accept a reference of Albert Glatigny in one of his two airy poems on old Versailles, the term would appear to concern the Marquise de Montespan, who, as has already been stated, was a cook of no little merit: "Parfois le soir, au bras d'un militaire Vêtu d'azur, arrogant comme un paon, Un cordon-bleu passait avec mystère, Et l'on disait, 'Louis et Montespan!'" (Sometimes at eve, on arm of cavalier Bedight in blue, like some proud peacock's van, A cordon-bleu pass'd by with mystic air, The while one said, "Louis and Montespan!") In order to captivate the affections of her royal master more readily, the Duchesse de Châteauroux secured the most versatile kitchener who was to be found; and the wily and beautiful Marquise de Pompadour, thinking that the surest way to a man's heart is through his stomach, created _filets de volaille à la bellevue_, _palais de bœuf à la Pompadour_, and _tendrons d'aigneau à la soleil_. But the Louis were proverbially fickle--there were fillettes as well as filets; and while these culinary novelties appealed to the jaded royal palate for the time, they failed to retain the royal affections or wrest the monarch from his life of dissipation. The refinements of the science were lost upon Louis XVI, whose robust appetite needed only to be appeased by "pieces of resistance"--the art, nevertheless, continuing to flourish under the nobility, the wealthy financiers, and the ecclesiastics. New discoveries continued to be made, and the relation of cookery to man's psychical nature--the affinity of the spirit with the stomach--became more and more apparent. Thus it was observed by the Maréchal de Mouchy, who so valiantly defended the king when the palace was attacked by a mob, that the flesh of the pigeon possesses especial sedative or consoling virtues. It was accordingly his wont, whenever he had lost a relative or a friend, to say to his cook: "You will serve me with two roast pigeons for dinner; I have noticed that after eating a brace of pigeons I arise from the table feeling much more resigned." During the Revolution, when the court had ceased to exist and private establishments were no longer maintained, cookery necessarily languished for a period--to blossom anew in that familiar feature of the French capital, the restaurant. Internal dissension, in closing the hôtels of the wealthy, was thus the means of throwing numbers of master-cooks out of employment, who subsequently turned restaurateurs, and not a few of whom became millionaires. With the restaurants, the dealers in delicacies and provisions increased proportionately, and dining and good living advanced apace. A striking example of a gastronomer philanthropist is that of the Vicomte de Barras, surnamed _le beau_, who flourished during the Directory, and who was celebrated for his dinners, his prodigality, and his gallantry. During his later years he continued to entertain sumptuously, although obliged to confine himself to a single dish--a large plate of rusk moistened with the juice of an underdone leg of mutton. At his banquets a lackey was always stationed back of the chair of each guest to see that he was never obliged to wait. Among the countless menus of his entertainments, the following, signed by himself and accompanied by a note in his own handwriting, will show the excellence of his dinners and his solicitude for his guests. It will be noted that, apart from the lavish provision made for the gentler sex in the dessert, the menu was one of quality as opposed to mere quantity: Carte Dinatoire Pour La Table Du Citoyen Directeur et Général Barras, Le Décadi 30 Floréal. Douze personnes. 1 potage. 2 plats de rôt. 1 relevé. 6 entremets. 6 entrées. 1 salade. 24 plats de dessert. Le potage aux petits oignons à la ci-devant minime. Le relevé, un troncon d'esturgeon à la broche. Les Six Entrées: 1 d'un sauté de filets de turbot à l'homme de confiance, ci-devant maître-d'hôtel. 1 d'anguilles à la tartare. 1 de concombres farcis à la moelle. 1 vol-au-vent de blanc de volaille à la Béchamel. 1 d'un ci-devant St. Pierre sauce aux câpres. 1 de filets de perdrix en anneaux. Les Deux Plats de Rôt: 1 de goujons du département. 1 d'une carpe au court-bouillon. Les Six Entremets: 1 d'œufs à la neige. 1 betteraves blanches sautés au jambon. 1 d'une gelée au vin de Madère. 1 de beignets de crême à la fleur d'oranger. 1 de lentilles à la ci-devant reine à la crême au blond de veau. 1 de culs d'artichauts à la ravigote. 1 salade céleri en rémoulade. Beneath the bill of fare were these remarks, signed "Barras": "There is too much fish. Leave out the gudgeons; the rest is all right. Do not forget to place cushions on the chairs of the _citoyennes_ Tallien, Talma, Beauharnais, Hainguerlot, and Mirande. And for five o'clock precisely. Have the ices sent from Veloni's; I don't want any others." The first restaurant is generally said to have been established in Paris about the middle of the eighteenth century (1765) by a cook named Boulanger, in the rue des Poulies, with this device to herald its purpose: _Venite omnes qui stomacho laboratis, et ego restaurato vos_--"Come all ye that labour with the stomach, and I will restore you." Grimod de la Reynière, however, mentions a certain Champ d'Oiseau as the first of his calling, his establishment being in the rue des Poulies and dating from 1770. The Marquis de Cussy, in turn, who is also a good authority, has credited the signboard of the first Parisian restaurant to a man named Lamy. The motto and signboard were a conspicuous part of the olden tavern, restaurant, and inn, as well as other shops devoted to retail trade, and one views with regret, both on the Continent and in Great Britain, the increasing disappearance of this picturesque feature. At one time the signboard was obligatory on every landlord and vender of wines and liquors, and scarce a century ago few public places that provided for the entertainment of man and beast were without their illuminated indices. Among the most common in France was that of _La Truie qui file_, or the Spinning Pig, in vogue among merchants of provisions. _A la Marmite de Gargantua_ and _Aux Moutons de Panurge_ were favourite signs of restaurants. The frequent _Lion d'Or_ of hotels and taverns often represented a traveller asleep--_au lit on dort_. _Au Cheval blanc_, a very popular title, was usually accompanied by the traditional phrase, _Ici on loge à pied et à cheval_. The traveller who has visited the smaller towns of France and who remembers his dinners will associate many an excellent table d'hôte with the shield of the white charger. _Au bon Coign_ was a sign in favour with wine-shops situated at a corner of a street, while _Au Saint Jean-Baptiste_ was a common device of linen-merchants. A wine-merchant opposite Père-Lachaise had these words printed on his ensign, _Ici on est mieux qu'en face_. A not unfrequent Parisian signboard was that of an ox dressed with bonnet, veil, and shawl, to signify _bœuf à la mode_. A pastry-cook's manifesto depicted a little girl climbing up to reach some cakes in a pantry, with the title, _A la petite Gourmande_. A corset-maker's sign was accompanied by a large corsage, with this explanation of its office, _Je soutiens les faibles, je comprime les forts, je ramène les égarés_. The emblem of a stocking-maker represented a grisette trying on a new pair of hose and exhibiting her nether charms to an admirer--with the motto, _A la belle occasion_. Among the wittiest of old enseignes was that of a Paris boot-maker named Nicque, who had for his device a splendid bouquet of flowers, with the inscription _Aux Amateurs de la Botte à Nicque_. Representations of the sun and the moon were among the oldest and most common signs both on the Continent and in England, the sixteenth-century French poet Désiré Arthus writing in his "Loyaulté Consciencieuse des Taverniers": "Sur les chemins des grands villes et champs, Ne trouverez de douze maisons l'une, Qui n'ait enseigne d'un soleil, d'une lune. Tous vendant vin, chascun à son quartier." (On roads that wind through town and field, Not one in twelve but flaunts the shield Of sun or moon, whose beams benign Proclaim an inn dispensing wine.) Early in 1800 the rue Vivienne was celebrated for its numerous artistic signs, some of which were suspended from the lintels, and others painted on the door-posts and window-frames. These, with the picturesque street-criers and the olden sun-dials, have gradually become more and more a thing of the past in the French capital, though they still add to the charm and quaintness of some of the old provincial towns, where modern ways have been more slow to intrude. How, of a gusty day or on the rising of the wind, the old signs creak on their rusty hinges in the dark vaulted streets, telling of the roysterings that have been held within--of the flashing of rapiers and clash of swords, the draining of bumpers and clink of louis d'or! [Illustration: THE CRIES OF PARIS: "OLD CLOTHES, OLD LACES!" Facsimile of an old French plate] Previous to the restaurants, the kitchens of the inns, which were usually poor, and the tables d'hôte of some of the hotels had meagrely provided for the wants of those who were unable to provide for themselves in houses of their own. Towards the end of the century the restaurant of Beauvilliers and others were flourishing, that of Beauvilliers closing in 1793 to be reopened with less success at the termination of the Revolution. Robert, former chef of a _fermier-général_, the distinguished Méot and his scholars Véry, Riche, Hardy, and Roze, were among notable masters of the time. The "Manuel des Amphitryons" (1808) pronounced Robert the elder "the greatest cook of the present age." About the beginning of the century the table of the great Cambacères was the most renowned in Paris, and M. d'Aigrefeuille was considered the most eminent epicure. The Prince de Talleyrand was also a most distinguished amateur, having been termed "the first fork of his time." At the advanced age of eighty, it was his custom to spend nearly an hour every morning with his cook, discussing the dishes which were to compose the dinner, his only repast. It had long been one of his tenets that a careful and healthful cuisine, presided over by the best artist he could procure, would tend to preserve his health and forefend serious maladies far better than a staff of physicians. For a period of twelve years Carême was his culinary director, with carte blanche to exercise his subtlest skill. Two things, Talleyrand used to say, are essential in life--to give good dinners and keep well with women, a precept he always followed. An axiom of diplomatists and statesmen goes still farther--that poor dinners are conducive to poor diplomacy, and bad ministerial dinners are equivalent to bad laws and bad negotiations. The first volume of the "Almanach des Gourmands" (1804) is dedicated to M. d'Aigrefeuille, whom the author adjudged most worthy of such pre-eminence--"a connoisseur who is the most erudite arbiter of refined alimentary combinations, and who understands most thoroughly the difficult and little known art of extracting the greatest possible part from an excellent repast." Besides referring to him as setting daily the finest table in Paris, he is extolled as "the guest best adapted to honour an opulent table by his delightful manners, his profound knowledge of the world, and the constantly varied charm of his inexhaustible appetite and conversation." Beauvilliers, once chef of Monsieur, brother of the king, was also the author of a cook-book which achieved marked success,[12] the writer carrying out in cookery the precept that Délille had applied to gardening: "Mais ce grand art exige un artiste qui pense, Prodigue de génie et non pas de dépense." (But this grand art demands an artist of taste-- Prodigal of genius and devoid of all waste.) In his fluent dedication to the Marquis de Voppalière, the writer says: "I have not been unmindful of economy, either in the manipulation or the preservation of foods.... I have sought to teach how, with little outlay, one may have exquisite viands, and at the same time derive both health and pleasure. Good living is at once the luxury which costs the least; and perhaps of all pleasures it is the most innocent.... You have always held, monsieur, that Wisdom itself should strew flowers in the midst of the thorns that are inseparable from existence. Often at a banquet Wisdom may renew its moral forces. The bonds of society become narrowed, and rivals or enemies are merged into friends or guests. Persons who are entire strangers to each other share in the intimacy of the family, differences of rank become obliterated, weakness is united to power, manners are polished, and the mind takes a fresh flight (_l'esprit électrisé prend un nouvel essor_). It is perchance in the midst of banquets in the best society of Paris and Versailles that you have acquired that urbanity which characterises you, that familiarity with the _grand monde_ which is enabled to pronounce on everything at a glance." Every great cook should be able to say with him, "I have inaugurated reforms, improvements, in order to advance from what is good to what is better." Already, "l'Art du Cuisinier" draws attention to the fact that "new dishes," to a large extent, are not new dishes--a chef supplies some new decoration to a _plat_, adds to or leaves off some ingredient, and christens it with a different name. The treatise of Beauvilliers has been pronounced by authorities one of the best on the subject. The style is direct, his menu varied and yet not over-ornate, and his formularies, founded on long experience, even yet denote a superior hand. There can be comparatively little trouble in following many of his recipes, they are so precise--save some of his sauces and certain grand dishes, these calling for preparatory _Espagnoles_, _veloutés_, _Béchamels_, and _Allemandes_, and a larder beyond the reach of the ordinary cook. There are numerous dishes, of course, that one may not procure at home, however deft the presiding genius. One cannot have a constant stock of elaborate preparatory sauces, truffles, cockscombs, Chablis, or champagne to draw from for a single dish, when desired, without very considerable outlay or waste. A grand sauce, a salmon _à la Chambord_, or an elaborate entrée requires the appurtenances of a restaurant or a club where cookery is conducted on an extensive scale by a professional, though this by no means implies that a dinner beyond criticism may not be served at one's own home. Early in the nineteenth century Berchoux published his "Gastronomie," and Grimod de la Reynière appeared as the versatile author of the "Almanach des Gourmands." By this time cookery was fully able to take care of itself, irrespective of royalty or titled patrons, and the "Almanach" became its greatest oracle and promoter. Before referring to the "Almanach," which claims a chapter by itself, a word should be said of Berchoux's poetical treatise, the first edition of which appeared in 1801. Recalling Gentil Bernard's "l'Art d'Aimer" in its scope and spirit, this tribute to the tenth muse has been termed one of the most ingenious productions of light French poetry. Free from the grossness that characterises so many French works on the subject, it touches lightly, comprehensively, and entertainingly upon the theme. It was soon translated into numerous languages, and many of its precepts have become proverbial. The advice throughout is excellent, but, as it was observed to the author at the time, "You are all alike, messieurs the poets, you say admirable things; but it is impossible to carry them out." After passing in review the table of the ancients, and censuring their intemperance and gluttony, the author advises the reader who would live contentedly to choose his residence in Auvergne or La Bresse, under whose favourable skies he may procure everything that ministers to the pleasures of the table: "Voulez-vous réussir dans l'art que je professe? Ayez un bon château dans l'Auvergne ou La Bresse, Ou près des lieux charmants d'où Lyon voit passer Deux fleuves amoureux tout prêts à s'embrasser. Vous vous procurerez, sous ce ciel favorable, Tout ce qui peut servir aux douceurs de la table." A good cook at once becomes the great desideratum--an artist whom one may bless after having partaken of the courses he has served, an officer who will cause one's table to be envied by all who have shared its good cheer, a seneschal of grave mien and imposing presence, conscientious in his work, prolific in resources, and proud of his art,-- "... qui d'un air important, Auprès de son fourneau que la flamme illumine, Donne avec dignité des lois dans sa cuisine." The interior of the kitchen while the dinner is being prepared is next portrayed with the skill of an Ostade. The charcoal glows, the spits turn merrily, the lustrous copper of the saucepans and kettles catches the ruddy light of the flames. The gravies simmer, and the fowls take on a golden hue. All is excitement, but an excitement tempered by perfect order and harmony. In the midst, surrounded by his subalterns, to whom he issues his commands, stands the chef--impassible, majestic, serene--like a general on the eve of a decisive battle: "Tel on voit, au moment d'une sanglante affaire, Un prudent général mesurer la carrière. Son courage tranquille et sa noble fierté Commandent l'espérance et la sécurité. La foule l'environne et presse son armure, D'un trouble involontaire il entend le murmure; Peut-être un peu d'effroi s'est glissé dans son sein, Mais son visage est calme, et son front serein." The pictures he has drawn of the dinner and its service, and his counsels regarding moderation and sobriety, are equally felicitous. Though he himself was no Sybarite, but, like Savarin, was only a gourmand when he had his pen in hand, he is none the less severe on the dietarians: "En se privant de tout, ils pensent se guérir, Et se donnent la mort par la peur de mourir." Nor has he failed to extol the virtues of exercise, that most potent abettor of health and aid to enjoyment: "D'un noble appétit munissez-vous d'avance, Sans lui vous gémirez au sein de l'abondance; II est un moyen sûr d'acquérir ce tresor: L'exercise, messieurs, et l'exercise encore: Allez tous les matins sur les pas de Diane, Armés d'un long fusil ou d'une sarbacane, Epier le canard au bord de vos marais; Allez lancer la biche au milieu des forêts; Poursuivez le chevreuil s'élançant dans la plaine; Suivez vos chiens ardents que leur courage entraîne. Partagez sans rougir de champêtres travaux, Et ne dédaignez pas ou la bêche ou la faux." It were in vain to look for a better dining-room motto than his precept: "Rien ne doit déranger l'honnête homme qui dîne;"[13] or his hygienic maxim: "Jouissez lentement, et que rien ne vous presse." Like good wine, his canto has not lost its fragrance through age, and those who read it will almost be inclined to doubt the truth of the concluding line: "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] [Illustration] OLD ENGLISH DISHES "In the olde time, * * * * * When Beefe, Bread & Beere, Was honest mens cheere, and welcome and spare not; And John and his Joane, Did live of their owne, full merily, though but all meanely." COBBES PROPHECIES, HIS SIGNES AND TOKENS, 1614. The main attraction of the very early English cook-book, it must be confessed, is its rarity, to which may be added its quaint title-page and foreword, and sometimes its frontispiece and woodcuts. No new salads will be discovered in its repertory to tempt the epicure, or few dishes that will provoke his appetite. The text is usually difficult to interpret, and, beyond singular alimentary mixtures which attest the remarkable receptive qualities of our forefathers, it contains little to interest the average reader. In this respect it differs largely from the olden works on gardening, through whose leaves still wantons the breeze of June, and chaffinch, cushat, and throstle sing. The fact is, it requires a master to render even a modern culinary treatise entertaining; the majority of ancient cook-books are for the most part mere curiosities. There is no Andrew Marvell of eating, or Parkinson of dining. "The reflection that appreciates, applied to the science that improves," as M. de Borose has aptly defined gastronomy, is a comparatively recent product, an outcome of advancement and civilising influences, and therefore it is hardly to be looked for in primitive compilations. [Illustration: FIRST OF SEPTEMBER From the engraving after A. Cooper, R.A.] A poetical cook-book might have been composed by Walton had he devoted as much attention to the saucepans as he did to the rod; for the "Compleat Angler" shows him to have been fond of a good repast as it was then understood, even to preparing the fish himself with the limited conveniences available at the Thatched House. As it is, some of his numerous recipes and his allusions to barley-wine are poetical in an eminent degree, and cause one to regret that he is not also the author of a "Compleat Housewife." No modern, it is true, would wish to experiment with his prescripts for cooking trout and chavender, unless by proxy; like most of the recipes of the olden school, they are infinitely more amusing to read than they would prove pleasing to savour. Earliest of the English works on cookery is Alexander Neckam's "De Utensilibus, or Treatise on Utensils," written at the close of the twelfth century, two hundred years anterior to the introduction of parsley in flavouring. In this treatise, which purports to instruct young housekeepers in maintaining a well-ordered establishment, Latin and Norman French are the languages almost exclusively employed. Of other very old works may be enumerated "The Forme of Cury," with its one hundred and ninety-six recipes, compiled by the chief cooks of Richard II; the "Liber Cure Cocorum"; the "Kalendare de Potages dyuers and Leche Metys," dating about 1430; John Russell's "Boke of Nurture," composed about 1450; "The Noble Boke of Cookry," first printed in 1500; "The Boke of Keruynge," or Book of Carving, a small manual printed by Wynkyn de Worde in 1508; and the "Via Recta ad Vitam Longam," or The Right Way to Long Life, of Tobias Venner, a physician of Shakespeare's time. Over any and all of these, some of which exist only in manuscript, the student may burn the midnight oil; black-letter Chaucer being easy sailing compared with the breakers of old cookery books. Much of the so-called scientific cookery of early England was French, though many of the French titles become strangely perverted and are frequently difficult to recognise; as, for instance, "let" for _lait_, "vyaunt" for _viande_, "fryit," for _froide_, "sauke" for _sauce_, etc. The first works that may be termed English date only from the latter half of the seventeenth century. The English, four and five hundred years ago, had four meals daily,--breakfast at seven, dinner at ten, supper at four, and livery at eight. Since then, from an early hour in the morning the principal daily meal has advanced equally in France and England through every hour from ten in the forenoon until ten at night. In France in the thirteenth century nine in the morning was the dinner-hour. Henry VII dined at eleven. In Cromwell's time, one o'clock had come to be the fashionable hour, and in Addison's day two o'clock, which gradually became adjourned until four. Pope found fault with Lady Suffolk for dining so late as four, saying young people might become inured to such things, but as for himself, if she would adopt such unreasonable practices he must absent himself from Marble Hill. Four and five continued to be the popular dining-hour among the better classes until the second decade of the century, when dinner was further postponed, from which period it has steadily continued to encroach upon the evening. The strong stomach of the early Briton, fortified by abundant out-of-door exercise, was proof against dyspepsia, and was enabled to digest the coarsest and most strongly seasoned foods. Whale, porpoise, seal, and grampus were common dishes. Besides such seasonings as ginger, cinnamon, galingale, cloves, garlic, and vinegar, copiously used in preparations where they would seem most incongruous, ale was generously employed. Almond-milk was also a common ingredient, while marrow was in great favour. Of breadstuffs the fifteenth century had an abundant variety,--pain-main, or bread of very fine flour, wheat-bread, barley-meal bread, bran-bread, pease-bread, oat-bread or oat-cakes, hard-bread, and unleavened bread. The poor often used a mixture of rye, lentils, and oatmeal, varied according to the season and district. The author of the "Book of Nurture" describes himself as usher and marshal to Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, delighting in his work and desirous of training worthy successors in the mysteries of managing a well-appointed household: "An vsshere y Am | ye may beholde | to a prynce of highe degre, that enioyethe to informe & teche | alle tho that will thrive & thee." This exordium is followed by minute directions for carving meats, fish, and fowls; rules for general behaviour; a disquisition on wines, meats, soups, and sauces; a recipe for hippocras; hints to the chamberlain, butler, taster, dinner arranger, etc. The work is both ambitious and elaborate, thoroughly covering the subject as it was comprehended by the writer's predecessors and his own inventive genius. A passage or two from the chapters headed "Diuerce Sawces" and "Sawce for Fische" will give one an idea of the style of his treatise: "Also to know youre sawces for flesche conveniently, hit provokithe a fyne apetide if sawce youre meat be bie; to the lust of youre lord look that ye haue ther redy suche sawce as hym likethe | to make him glad & mery. "Mustard is meete for brawne | beef or powdred motoun; verdius to boyled capoun | veel | chiken | or bakon; And to signet | & swan, convenyant is the chawdon, Roost beeff | & goos | with garlek, vinegre, or pepur, in conclusioun. "Gynger sawce to lambe, to kyd | pigge, or fawn | in fere; to feysand, partriche, or cony | mustard with the sugure; Sawce gamelyn to heyron-sewe | egret | crane | & plovere; also | brewe | Curlew | sugre & salt | with watere of the ryvere...." It will be seen from this brief extract that Russell's larder was in no wise wanting for the gustatory entertainment of his lordship, his resources being yet more apparent in the chapter relative to the proper sauces for fish: "Yowre sawces to make y shalle geue yow lerynge: Mustard | is metest with alle maner salt herynge, Salt fysche, salt Congur, samoun, with sparlynge, Salt ele, salt makerelle, & also withe merlynge. "Vynegur is good to salt purpose & torrentyne, Salt sturgeon, salt swyrd-fysche savery & fyne. Salt Thurlepolle, salt whale, is good with egre wyne, Withe powdur put ther-on shalle cawse oon welle to dyne. "Playce with wyne; & pike withe his reffett; the galantyne for the lamprey | where they may be gete; verdius to roche | darce | breme | soles | & molett; Baase, flowndurs | Carpe | Cheven | Synamome ye ther-to sett...." In like manner, the first page or introduction to "The Boke of Keruynge" will present at a glance many of the forms of food that were in use at the time, especial reference being made to the terms employed by the English carver. The writer attacks his subject boldly--much as an old angling-master describes a trout rushing for the palmer-fly at night--and is apparently thoroughly acquainted with his important function: ¶ Here begynneth the boke of Keruynge and sewynge | and all the feestes in the yere, for the seruyce of a prynce or ony other estate, as ye shall fynde eche offyce, the seruyce accordynge, in this boke folowynge. ¶ Terms of a Keruer Breke that dere lesche yt brawne rere that goose lyft that swanne sauce that capo spoyle that henne frusshe that chekyn vnbrace that malarde vnlace that cony dysmember that heron dysplaye that crane dysfygure that pecocke vnioynt that bytture vntache that curlewe alaye that fesande wynge that partryche wynge that quayle mynce that plouer thye that pegyon border that pasty thye that wodcocke thye all maner of small byrdes tymbre that fyre tyere that egge chyne that samon strynge that lampraye splatte that pyke sauce that playce sauce that tenche splay that breme syde that haddocke tuske that barbell culpon that troute fynne that cheuen traussene that ele traunche that sturgyon vndertraunche yt purpos tayme that crabbe barbe that lopster ¶ Here hendeth the goodly termes. ¶ Here begynneth Butler and Panter. On the title-page of the volume is a picture of two ladies and two gentlemen at dinner, with an attendant bringing a dish, two servants at a side-table, and a jester. The dish was doubtless well spiced with ginger, and washed down with malmsey, clarrey, or renysshe wine, if not with ypocras or some other potent liquid accompaniment. The expressions "vnbrace that malarde" and "dysmember that heron" assure one that a wild fowl, however coriaceous, must have quickly succumbed to the manipulation of his glittering steel. In no form of carving, whether of meats, poultry, or game, does the skill of the carver appear to greater advantage than in disjointing wild fowl. This indeed calls for a trenchant blade and a thoroughly competent practitioner. Witness the artist who follows every joint and ligament as a stream follows its varying curves, and who lays out the rosy breast just as if it had stopped beating in its flight. The ghosts of many a mallard, broad-bill, and teal must quake in horror when they remember the fate that awaited their earthly lot after their course had been checked by the fowler and they fell into hands unworthy to conduct their post-mortem. But the duck has been avenged by an anonymous bard who has execrated the ruthless matador as he deserves: "We all look on with anxious eyes When father carves the duck, And mother almost always sighs When father carves the duck. Then all of us prepare to rise And hold our bibs before our eyes And be prepared for some surprise When father carves the duck. "He braces up and grabs a fork Whene'er he carves a duck, And won't allow a soul to talk Until he's carved the duck. The fork is jabbed into the sides, Across the breast the knife he slides, And every careful person hides From flying chips of duck. "The platter always seems to slip When father carves a duck, And how it makes the dishes skip, Potatoes fly amuck-- The squash and cabbage leap in space, We get some gravy on our face, And father mutters Hindu grace Whene'er he carves a duck. "We thus have learned to walk around The dining-room, and pluck From off the window-sills and walls Our share of father's duck; While father growls and blows and jaws, And swears the knife was full of flaws, And mother jaws at him because He couldn't carve a duck." In the "Kalendare de Potages dyuers" appears this recipe for _A goos in hogepotte_: "Take a Goos, & make hure clene, & hacke hyre to gobettys, & put yn a potte, & Water to, & sethe togederys; than take Pepir & Brennyd brede or Blode y-boylyd, & grynd y-fere Gyngere & Galyngale & Comyn, & temper vppe with Ale, and putte it ther-to; & mynce Oynonys, & frye hem in freysshe grece, & do ther-to a porcyon of Wyne." A strange entremets was one termed _Vyolette_, accompanied by these directions: "Take Flourys of Vyolet, boyle hem, presse hem, bray hem smal, temper hem vppe with Almaunde mylke, or gode Cowe Mylke, a-lye it with Amyndown or Flowre of Rys; take Sugre y-now, an putte ther-to, or hony in defaute; coloure it with the same that the flowrys be on y'peynted a-boue." That excellent dish civet of hare was termed Harys in Cyueye, saffron, ale, and vinegar being then utilised in its preparation. _Pain perdu_ figured as Payn pur-dew, and may have been as useful then as now for a simple dessert where a saving of time and material entered into consideration, the olden recipe being not unlike that of modern times. Oysters are presented as Oystres in cevey, Oystres in grauey bastard, and Oystres in bruette. There are also Fylettys en Galentyne, Lange Wortys de chare, Blamanger of Fysshe, Ruschewys of Marw, Pety permantes, Chawettys a-forsed, Flathonys, and similar curious compounds. Meat- and fish-pies were known by the French appellation "crustade," the favourite English pork-pie being apparently unfamiliar to very olden writers, or else so disguised as to be unrecognisable. Boar-pies were known, however, in Elizabeth's era, when they were esteemed a great dainty. A consignment of these, it is related, was sent by Sir Robert Sydney, while governor of Flushing in The Hague, to his wife as a bait to propitiate the ministers to grant him a leave of absence. The pies were duly presented by Lady Sydney to Lord Essex and my Lord Treasurer, and proved so excellent that the next time the petition of Sir Robert was presented to her Majesty the secretary knelt down, beseeching her to hear him in behalf of her homesick ambassador, and to license his return for six weeks. It is probable that the queen herself did not share in the presents, inasmuch as she remained obdurate to the pleadings of the ministers and the ladies of the court. Under the rule of Elizabeth, fish formed an important article of diet, statute laws being established for their consumption, with heavy penalties to the offender--a measure adopted for the better maintenance of shipping interests and the lesser consumption of flesh food. Besides the usual Lenten obligations to Neptune, Friday and Saturday of each week were additionally set apart for fish days, an alimentary compulsion which soon became extremely distasteful. Numerous bills of fare of banquets are given in the "Kalendare," including that of the coronation of Henry IV and the banquet of his second marriage in 1404. It would appear that the ecclesiasts were among the most princely entertainers, as evidenced by the bills of fare of the feast of Richard Fleming, Bishop of Lincoln; a dinner given by John Chandler, Bishop of Salisbury; an entertainment held in 1424 on the occasion of the funeral of Nicholas Budwith, Bishop of Bath and Wells; and several others. In point of variety these feasts might rank with those of ancient Rome. Venison, boar's head, veal, oxen, and various pieces of roast figure in the courses. Among the birds and wild fowl were capons, herons, cranes, peacocks, swans, pheasants, and wild geese, together with innumerable smaller kinds, such as plover, fieldfares, partridges, quail, snipe, teal, curlew, woodcock, and larks. But the elaborate banquet where as many as a hundred and four peacocks dressed in their plumage were included among the "subtleties" was by no means a common occurrence, and the accounts of these entertainments, together with the lavish festivities of Christmas, should not be accepted as a criterion of the usual mode of English living among the wealthy. The division line between the rich and the poor, besides, was far more marked than at present, and it is questionable whether even the higher classes, despite their occasional excessive prodigality, maintained the same luxurious state of service the year round as their modern successors. The many carols on the boar's head and on ale which have come down to us from old MSS. show in what request the one stood as a viand and the other as a beverage. At certain seasons it was the habitual custom to serve a particular dish first, as a boar's head at Christmas,-- "Furst set forthe mustard & brawne of boore, the wild swyne,"-- a goose at Michaelmas, and a gammon of bacon at Easter. The boar's head was set upon its neck upon the platter, with an apple or a lemon in its mouth and sprigs of rosemary in its ears and nose, the platter being additionally decorated with garlands. Thus garnished and heralded by trumpets, it was borne to the king's table on a salver of gold or silver by the server, followed by a procession of nobles, knights, and ladies. In Scotland it was sometimes brought to table surrounded by banners displaying the colours and achievements of the baron at whose board it was served. From time immemorial the double loin or baron of beef has been a royal dish, and one especially selected is always sent from Windsor to Osborne to appear at the dinner-table, accompanied by that other Christmas dish, the boar's head, sent of late from Germany. The oldest carol on the boar's head is probably that of the Balliol MS., of which there are numerous versions: _"Caput Apri Refero_ _Resonens laudes domino._ The boris hed In hondis I brynge with garlondis gay & byrdis syngynge: I pray you all helpe me to synge, _Qui estis in convinio_. "The boris hede, I understonde, ys cheffe seruyce in all this londe: wher-so-ever it may be fonde, _Scruitur cum sinapio_. "The boris hede, I dare well say, anon after the xijth day he taketh his leve and goth a-way. _Exiuit tunc de patria._" An olden Christmas feast wherein the wild boar forms the pièce de résistance is also figured in King's "Art of Cookery," the only English work except "The Philosopher's Banquet," by "W. B.," that has discoursed on gastronomy to any considerable extent in verse: "At Christmas time be careful of your fame; See the old tenant's table be the same. Then if you would send up the brawner's head, Sweet rosemary and bays around it spread! His foaming tusks let some large pippin grace, Or midst those thund'ring spears an orange place, Sauce like himself, offensive to its foes, The roguish mustard, dang'rous to the nose. Sack and the well spiced Hippocras the wine, Wassail the bowl with ancient ribbands fine, Porridge with plumbs, and turkeys with the chine." The seventeenth century was prolific of cook-books, most of which continued to republish the ancient recipes, with but slight augmentations or changes. Many of the old-fashioned dishes still appear in "The Art of Cookery Refined and Augmented," a treatise published in 1654 by Joseph Cooper, former kitchener of Charles I. These indigestibilities abound in "The English Housewife" of Gervaise Markham, an early production of the century, which reached its eighth edition in 1675, "much augmented, purged, and made most profitable and necessary for all men, and the general good of this Nation."[16] It may be assumed that Markham's recipes were not original with him, but were compiled mostly from anterior works; we have no knowledge of his having been a practical cook. For that matter, he states in his dedication to the Countess Dowager of Exeter that he does not "assume to himself the full invention and scope of the work, for it is true that much of it was a manuscript which many years agone belonged to an Honourable Countess, one of the greatest Glories of our Kingdom." The material, therefore, is due mainly to a member of the gentler sex, while Markham is responsible for the _liaison_. A voluminous author, he did not hesitate to appropriate whatever material he could find on any topic, more especially on husbandry and angling, and send it out as his own. It is well known, for example, that his "Art of Fishing" in his "Country Contentments" is only a prose rendition of Dennys' attractive poem "The Secrets of Angling." He has been spoken of as the first hack writer of England, all subjects seeming to have been alike to him. So that "The English Housewife," which also includes much interesting information on physics, the dairy, etc., may be regarded as virtually a work of the Elizabethan period. [Illustration: THE ENGLISH HOUSEWIFE Facsimile of title-page] In Markham's treatise there is a sauce for green-geese and one for stubble-geese, a sauce for pigeons and stock-doves, a _gallantine_ for bitterns, bustards, and herns. A _quelquechose_ was a fricassee or a mixture of many ingredients, and meats broiled upon the coals were termed _carbonadoes_. Verjuice was made from crab-apples, to which damask-rose leaves were added previous to fermentation. Vinegar was frequently made from ale placed in the sun to sour, and flavoured with leaves of damask roses. A recipe for hippocras is naturally given, together with directions for the manufacture of all manner of wines and beverages. Puddings, pies, and tarts were still more familiar then than now. Of pies there was an infinite assortment--from Olave, marrow-bone, hare, chicken, bacon, herring, ling, and calves'-foot to oyster, chewet, Warden, pippin, Codlin, and minc'd. Markham's recipe for "A Herring Pye" will serve as well as any to illustrate the character of the amalgams that passed under the names of pies, puddings, and tarts: "_A Herring Pye_:--Take white pickled Herrings of one night's watering, and boyl them a little, then take off the skin, and take only the backs of them, and pick the fish clean from the bones; then take good store of Raisins of the sun, and stone them; and put them to the Fish; then take a Warden or two, and pare it, and slice it in small slices from the core, and put it likewise to the fish; then with a very sharp shredding Knife shred all as small and fine as may be: then put to it good store of Currants, Sugar, Cinnamon, slic't Dates, and so put it into the coffin, with good store of sweet Butter, and so cover it, and leave onely a round vent-hole on the top of the lid, and so bake it like Pies of that nature. When it is sufficiently bak't, draw it out, and take Claret Wine, and a little Verjuyce, Sugar, Cinnamon, and sweet Butter, and boyl them together: then put it in at the vent-hole, and shake the Pye a little, and put it again into the Oven for a little space, and so serve it up, the lid being candied over with Sugar, and the sides of the dish trimmed with Sugar." But many recipes are given in the cook-books, both in the old and the new, which the wise reader will avoid, and perchance Markham's herring-pie was among the number. It were pleasanter, at any rate, to take John Fletcher's prescription for some contemporaneous dishes, where, after he would have "the pig turn merrily, merrily, ah! and let the fat goose swim," he exclaims: "The stewed cock shall crow, cock-a-loodle loo, A loud cock-a-loodle shall he crow; The duck and the drake shall swim in a lake Of onions and claret below." The wines and beverages of old corresponded to many of the dishes themselves; which of these was most productive of indigestion it were difficult to state. Hippocras, so generously indulged in, not to mention posset, mead, metheglin, and perry, must have been a potent factor in fomenting the uric-acid diathesis. When to these common beverages are added the fiery, heavy, sweet, and mixed wines that were in general use, it is scarcely surprising that the seeds of gout were sown broadcast, and that the indiscretions of the fathers were visited upon the children unto the existing generation. Even Milton did not escape, while Spenser, Sir William Temple, and a host of worthies who were supposed to be abstemious in their diet were victims to arthritic complaints. How Shakespeare eluded the malady seems a miracle, in view of the existing viands and beverages and the necessary lack of exercise attendant on his literary pursuits. Alexander Neckham, in his twelfth-century treatise, mentions claré and nectar as proper to be found in the cellar or in the storehouse. Claré was a mixture of clear red wine, the best of which came from Guyenne, with honey, sugar, and spices, as distinguished from piment or nectar, a similar compound, but with more substance, founded on the red wine of Burgundy, Dauphiné, etc. In ancient days the taste was for "strong, sharp, and full-flavoured" wines. Bordeaux, or "claret," as it is now made was unknown. Vitification and vinification were then undeveloped compared with the present time. In place of the existing delicate growths of the Médoc were the fiery wines of Guyenne and Gascony and the heavy products of Provence and Languedoc. It is to be supposed, likewise, that the Rhenish wines at that time were totally different from those of the Rheingau and the Bavarian Palatinate now. But the kinds mostly in vogue were sack and malmsey, muscadel and canary, and "bastard" or malaga, port as yet not having been introduced into England. The punch-bowl or wassail-bowl, the goddard, caudle-cup and posset-pot, were all in use in England in olden days--punch, or "pauch," however, being a drink of Indian origin, the word meaning five, and so named from its five ingredients: arrack, tea, sugar, lemon-juice, and water. Grog is an English beverage of later introduction. Admiral Vernon, in 1745, having put an end to the use by the English navy of ale, substituted for it rum diluted with water. The admiral was dubbed by the sailors "Old Grog," because of an old cloak of grogram which he always wore in foul weather, and hence it came naturally about that the new potation of the high seas acquired its present name. Mead, the favourite tipple of Queen Bess, was made by boiling honey and water together, with quantities of spices, herbs, and lemons; when it had stood for three months, the liquor was bottled and was ready to drink six weeks afterwards. Butler, in "The Feminine Monarchy, or History of Bees," draws a distinction between mead and metheglin, making hydromel the generic term. In the old cookery books and "Housewives" we find directions how to make strong Mead and small White Mead. Artificial Frontignac wine was made by boiling water, sugar, and raisins together, adding elder-flowers, syrup of lemons, and ale yeast. "English Champagne" was composed of water, sugar, and currants boiled, with the addition of balm; and, when bottled, a small lump of double-refined sugar was used to impart effervescence. In a somewhat similar manner numerous other forms of wine were compounded, as Saragossa or English Sack, Quince, Mountain, Plum, Birch, and Sage. Perhaps the most bizarre of all ancient concoctions is one termed "Cock Ale," for which this recipe is presented in E. Smith's "Compleat Housewife" (1736): "_To make Cock Ale_:--Take ten gallons of ale, and a large cock, the older the better, parboil the cock, flea him, and stamp him in a stone mortar till his bones are broken, (you must craw and gut him when you flea him), put the cock into two quarts of sack, and put to it three pounds of raisins of the sun stoned, some blades of mace, and a few cloves; put all these into a canvas bag, and a little before you find the ale has done working, put the ale and bag together into a vessel; in a week or nine days' time bottle it up, fill the bottles but just above the necks, and leave the same time to ripen as other ale." A notable advance in the art was accomplished during the latter part of the reign of Charles II, who was somewhat of a cook as well as an epicure. The sirloin of beef is said to owe its name to this monarch, who, dining upon a loin of beef with which he was particularly pleased, inquired the name of the joint, saying its merit was so great that it deserved to be knighted, and that thenceforth it should be called _Sir-Loin_. The Parisian school soon became fashionable, and numerous works on cookery made their appearance. But, like the fifteenth Louis when intent upon his pleasures at the Parc aux Cerfs, the second Charles, amid his dissolute court and its frail beauties whom Sir Peter Lely has drawn for us, had other matters to engage his serious attention than presiding at the range or posing as a patron of culinary authors. Pies, tarts, and pasties now met with increased favour, and "The Accomplisht Cook, or The Art and Mystery of Cookery" of Robert May, the first edition of which appeared in 1665, became the oracle of feasting and dining. "God and his own conscience," the author states, would not permit him "to bury his experiences with his silver hairs in the grave." From Pepys' "Diary" one may obtain much information regarding the mode of living at the time. That the English appetite had suffered no decline is apparent from nearly any one of his entries relating to the subject. John and Joan may have continued to live "meanely," but such can scarcely be said of the better classes. Thus, under date of January 26, 1659, Pepys speaks of coming home from his office to my lord's lodgings, where his wife had "got ready a very fine dinner, viz.: a dish of marrow-bones, a leg of mutton, a loin of veal, a dish of fowl, three pullets, and a dozen of larks all in a dish; a great tart, a neat's-tongue, a dish of anchovies, a dish of prawns, and cheese." On March 26, 1660, having guests to dine with him, he says: "I had a pretty dinner for them, viz.: a brace of stewed carps, six roasted chickens, and a jowle of salmon hot for the first course: a tansy, a kind of sweet dish made of eggs, cream, etc., flavoured with the juice of tansy; and two neat's-tongues and cheese, the second. We had a man cook to dress dinner to-day. Merry all the afternoon, talking, singing, and piping on the flageolet." On another occasion, April 4, 1662, he states that he "was very merry before and after dinner, and the more for that my dinner was great, and most neatly dressed by our own only mayde. We had a fricassee of rabbits and chickens, a leg of mutton boiled, three carps in a dish, a great dish of a side of lamb, a dish of roasted pigeons, a dish of four lobsters, three tarts, a lamprey-pie, a most rare pie, a dish of anchovies, good wine of several sorts, and all things mighty noble, and to my great content." Another of his dinners consisted of "a ham of French bacon boiled with pigeons, and a roasted swan, both excellent dishes." Dining at Sir William Penn's on his wedding anniversary, he mentions, besides a good chine of beef and other good cheer, eighteen mince-pies in a dish--the number of years his host had been married. Again, he speaks of drinking great quantities of claret, and of eating botargo, a sausage made of eggs and the blood of a sea-mullet, with bread and butter; as also of dining on a haunch of venison "powdered and boiled, and a powdered leg of pork; also a fine salmon-pie." It will be noted how meat, game, and fish-pies prevail, with tarts, marrow-bones, and neat's-tongues as secondary dishes. The roast swan, if a cygnet, may have been rather appetising, but one would feel more secure to leave the lamprey-pie untasted, and allow the "botargo" to be passed on to a neighbour. The salmon-pie, likewise, has an indigestible sound, especially as there are no signs of any Chablis or hock to serve as an antidote. Of course, the virtues of the carp would depend entirely on the sauce, and carp sauces of those days must have been anything but assuring. The "Diary" of Mr. Pepys says nothing of the mornings after his dinners--the true test of a generous repast. It is just as well, therefore, for the reader who has the welfare of his stomach to consider, not to dream of having dined with Pepys or his friends, or to attempt to vie with him in "claret" and "good cheer." Far more simple, though by no means meagre, was the diet of the rural population. In place of lobsters and fricassees with sack and muscadel, bread, the roast of beef, mutton, and veal, and sound home-brewed ale went to the making of strength and endurance. In the country, the hay-harvest, sheep-shearing, and the wheat-harvest were always occasions for special festivity, where master and men jointly celebrated the fruits of their toil in the fields. Of all such celebrations the Hock-Cart or Harvest-Home, when the last sheaf of wheat had been garnered, was the most prolific of feasting and merrymaking--a festival which is well described by Herrick, with its attendant bill of fare: "Come, sons of summer, by whose toil, We are the lords of wine and oil; By whose tough labours and rough hands, We rip up first, then reap our lands. Crowned with the ears of corn, now come, And to the pipe sing harvest home. Come forth, my lord, and see the cart Dressed up with all the country art.... Well on, brave boys, to your lord's hearth, Glitt'ring with fire, where, for your mirth, Ye shall see first the large and chief Foundation of your feast, fat beef; With upper stories, mutton, veal, And bacon which makes full the meal, With several dishes standing by, As here a custard, there a pie, And here all-tempting frumenty. And for to make the merry cheer, If smirking wine be wanting here, There's that which drowns all care, stout beer, Which freely drink to your lord's health, Then to the plough (the commonwealth), Next to your flails, your fans, your vats; Then to the maids with wheaten hats; To the rough sickle, and the crook'd scythe, Drink, frolic boys, till all be blythe...." The era of Queen Anne, a noted gourmande, who achieved the feminine distinction of acquiring the gout, was marked by the appearance of a work on "Royal Cookery, or the Complete Court Book" (1710), by Patrick Lamb, Esq., chef to her Majesty, who had previously served Charles II, James II, and William and Mary. Pope's description in the "Dunciad" would indicate that cookery was in a flourishing state under the last of the Stuarts: "On some a priest succinct in amice white Attends; all flesh is nothing in his sight! Beeves, at his touch, at once to jelly turn, And the huge boar is shrunk into an urn; The board with specious miracles he loads, Turns hares to larks, and pigeons into toads. Another (for in all what one can shine?) Explains the _sève_ and _verdeur_ of the wine." In 1730 appeared "The Compleat Practical Cook, or A new System of the whole Art and Mystery of Cooking," a work with sixty curious copperplates of courses, written by Charles Carter, cook to the Duke of Argyll, the Earl of Pontefract, and Lord Cornwallis. In the preface to his "City and Country Cook" the author says: "What I have published is almost the only book, one or two excepted, which of late years has come into the world, that has been the result of the author's own practice and experience; for though very few eminent practical Cooks have ever cared to publish what they knew of the art, yet they have been prevailed on, for a small premium from a Bookseller, to lend their names to performances in this art, unworthy their owning." The titles of many of the early cook-books are not wanting in quaintness or directness, as the case may be, however devoid of practical worth their contents. Thus we find the following among a host of other English works relating to the subject: The Good Husive's Handmaid, 1550. The Householder's Philosophie, 1588. The Good Housewife's Closet of Provision, 1589. Butte's Dyets Dry Dinner, 1599. Dawson's Good Huswife's Jewel and rare Conceits in Cookry, 1610. The Book of Carving and Serving, 1613. A Closet of Delights for Ladies, 1630. A Closet for Ladies and Gentlewomen, 1630. Murrell's Cookerie and Manner of making Kickshawes, etc., 1630. The Philosopher's Banquet, 1633. The Schoolmaster, or Teacher of Table Philosophy, 1652. The Ladies' Companion, 1653. The Treasury of Commodious Conceits and Hidden Secrets, 1653. The Ladies' Cabinet Opened, 1655. Nature unembowelled, or 1720 Receipts, 1655. The True Gentlewoman's Delight, 1671. The Gentlewoman's Cabinet Unlocked, 1675. The Queen-Like Closet, or Rich Cabinet, 1675. The School of Grace, or A Book of Nurture, 1680. Rose's School for the Officers of the Mouth, 1682. The Queen's Closet Opened, 1683. Hannah Wooley's Rare Receipts, 1684. The Accomplisht Ladies' Delight, 1686. The Kitchen Physician, 1688. The Cupboard Door Opened, 1689. The Queen's Cookery, 1709. Incomperable Secrets in Cookery, 1710. Cookery and Pastry Cards, 1720. The Young Lady's Companion, 1734. E. Smith's Compleat Housewife, 1736. The Family Piece, 1741. Adam's Luxury and Eve's Cookery, 1744. Sarah Jackson's Cook Director, 1755. The Cook's Cookery, and Comments on Mrs. Glasse, 1758. Mary Smith's Compleat Housekeeper, 1772. Sarah Harrison's Housekeeper's Pocket-Book, 1777. Mrs. Fisher's Prudent Housewife, 1788. Dr. Stark's Dietetical Experiments, 1788. Mrs. Carter's Frugal Housewife, 1810. Mrs. Powel's Art of Cookery, 1811. Mrs. Price's New Book of Cookery, 1813. The School of Good Living, 1814. Young's Epicure, 1815. Haslehurst's Family Friend, 1816. Chamber's Ladies' Best Companion, 1820. Here are manuals enough, in all conscience, to have produced a progressive cuisine, were not the majority a repetition of the crudities and barbarisms of their antecedents, where one heresy was passed on to be augmented by another author, and by him transmitted to his successors. Essentially differing from France, England was unblessed with originality, and not until the influence of the splendid restaurants of the Parisian capital had extended across the Channel did the Briton awaken from his lethargy and cease to see through Mrs. Glasse and Mrs. Smith darkly. Then Ude and Kitchener, Francatelli, Walker, and Soyer appeared, to pave the way for a better condition of cookery in the kingdom. That the works referred to, where one has the facilities of consulting them and the patience to peruse them, are not entirely lacking in wit will be obvious if only from the repetition--in her "Compleat Housewife," by Mrs. Smith, who professes "to serve the publick in what she may"--of Ray's proverb, "God sends meat and the devil sends cooks," as well as from her namesake's rendition in the "Compleat Housekeeper" of _sauce Robert_ as "Roe-Boat sauce," _omelette_ as "Hamlet," and _soupe à la reine_ as "Soup a la Rain." Neither should a really witty quatrain from "The Philosopher's Banquet," whose aroma almost suggests the spikenards, musks, and galbanums of the "Hesperides," be allowed to pass unnoticed: "If Leekes you like, but do their smelle dis-leeke, Eat Onyons, and you shall not smelle the Leeke; If you of Onyons would the scente expelle, Eat Garlicke, that shall drowne the Onyons' smelle." It has been said of garlic that every one knows its odour save he who has eaten it, and who wonders why every one flies at his approach. But the onion tribe is prophylactic and highly invigorating, and even more necessary to cookery than parsley itself. What were a salad without the onion, whey-cheese without chives, a bouillabaisse, or a brandade of cod without garlic, certain soups and ragoûts without leeks, and a bordelaise sauce without shallots! And if every one eat them, how shall they offend? "All Italy is in the fine, penetrating smell; and all Provence; and all Spain. An onion-or garlic-scented atmosphere hovers alike over the narrow _calli_ of Venice, the cool courts of Cordova, and the thronged amphitheatre of Arles. It is only the atmosphere breathed by the Latin peoples of the South, so that ever must it suggest blue skies and endless sunshine, cypress groves, and olive orchards. For the traveller it is interwoven with memories of the golden canvases of Titian, the song of Dante, the music of Mascagni."[17] In like manner, the wild leek that strews the woodland carpet with its cool, fresh greens and pale, nodding flowers is associated with one's first spring rambles, while yet the snowbanks linger amid the sheltered hollows and the summons of the first flicker resounds through the awakening groves. Decidedly, life were devoid of a great portion of its fragrance if deprived of the resources of the _Allium_. It is the salt of flavourings, and its rich pungency belongs to it alone. Most famous among culinary treatises of the eighteenth century is that of Mrs. Glasse, first printed in 1747, and republished as late as 1803.[18] For a long period this was the _vade mecum_ of the kitchen, and was fondled as fervently by housewives as was ever Addison by the literarian, or Herbert by the pietist. From the original thin folio it gradually broadened through numerous editions into a thick octavo. The authorship of the work is in doubt, it having been variously attributed to Dr. Hill and Dr. Hunter, London physicians, and Mrs. Hannah Glasse of Southampton Row, Bloomsbury, habit-maker to the royal family. Careful perusal, nevertheless, would indicate a feminine instead of a masculine hand. The first edition of 1747 is said to be almost as rare as the first folio of Shakespeare, being quoted, "in the original sheep binding with rough leaves in a red morocco case," as high as £31 10_s._ in a recent catalogue of a London bookseller. It is stated in the preface that the work has not been written in the "high-polite style," and that the ends the manual was intended for were to "improve the servants and save the ladies a great deal of trouble." The book owes its reputation, no doubt, more to the remark erroneously credited to the author--"First catch your hare"--than to any other cause. Certainly its recipes have little to recommend it. Mace, cloves, nutmeg, and similar spices--ingredients that require the nicest discrimination in their employment--are still prescribed in cyclopean quantities, and under her régime cookery continued to remain much in the condition described by Goldsmith: "For palates grown callous almost to disease, Who peppers the highest is surest to please." Many of the old dishes, with others slightly modified, find place in her pages, together with new dishes of singular titles: as, for instance, "Bombarded Veal," "How to fricassee Skirrets," "to prepare an Oxford John," "to make a Cheese-Curd Florendine," "to stew Beef Gobbets," "to make a Pellaw the Indian way," "to make a Frangas Incopades," "to French a Hind-Saddle of Mutton," "to make a Hedge-Hog," and "an Hottentot Pie," "to make an excellent Sack-Posset," etc. But the recipes will speak best for themselves, like the following for making "A Good Brown Gravy": "Take a half a pint of small beer, or ale that is not bitter, and half a pint of water, an onion cut small, a little bit of lemon-peel cut small, three cloves, a blade of mace, some whole pepper, a spoonful of walnut pickle, a spoonful of catchup, and an anchovy; first put a piece of butter into a saucepan, as big as a hen's egg, when it is melted shake in a little flour, and let it be a little brown; then by degrees stir in the above ingredients, and let it boil a quarter of an hour, then strain it, and it is fit for fish or roots." The directions for "A Liver-Pudding boiled" call for additional skill and thorough familiarity with the art of the _charcutier_: "Get the liver of the sheep, when you kill one, and cut it as thin as you can, and chop it; mix it with as much suet shred fine, half as many crumbs of bread or biscuit grated, season it with some sweet herbs shred fine, a little nutmeg grated, a little beaten pepper, and an anchovy shred fine; mix all together with a little salt, or the anchovy liquor, with a piece of butter, fill the crust and close it; boil three hours." In Mrs. Smith's "Compleat Housewife" (1736) we find these instructions, entitled "To Collar A Pig": "Cut off the head of your pig; then cut the body asunder; bone it, and cut two collars off each side...." In Mrs. Glasse's injunctions for roasting a pig, the author is yet more colourful: "Stick your pig just above the breast-bone, and run your knife to the heart...." It will be immediately evident that injustice has been done to this noble and worthy companion of man--that of confounding him with the hare, whose only practical use is in a _civet_ or a pie, and in furnishing amusement in coursing. For neither in "The Art of Cookery" nor in her "Compleat Confectioner" does Mrs. Glasse utter the axiom, "First catch your hare," but, as we have seen, "First stick your pig"! It was Beauvilliers who said, in presenting his recipe for hare-pie: "_Ayez un lièvre._" Among the dishes presented in "The Art of Cookery" which will be appreciated by the feminine reader is one termed "A Bride's Pie," which no doubt was considered fully worthy the appellation of an old culinary writer--"a darling dainty": "Boil two calves' feet, pick the meat from the bones, and chop it very fine, shred small one pound of beef suet, and a pound of apples, wash and pick one pound of currants very small, dry them before the fire, stone and chop a quarter of a pound of jar raisins, a quarter of an ounce of cinnamon, the same of mace and nutmeg, two ounces of candied citron, two ounces of candied lemon cut thin, a glass of brandy and one of Champagne, put them in a china dish with a rich puff paste over it, roll another lid and cut it in leaves, flowers, figures, and put a glass ring in it." It may have been some of Mrs. Glasse's compounds that prompted Johnson's remark, "Women can spin very well, but they cannot make a good book of cookery." Many other works during the eighteenth century succeeded "The Art of Cookery," though none achieved its marked popularity. Sufficient has been said of ancient English manuals, however, to present some idea of their quality and enable the reader to judge of the culinary science as it was understood by former generations. Far more slow to develop than in France, English cookery has still much to attain among both the middle and well-to-do classes, and even in the case of most of the restaurants and hotels; the era has not yet dawned in Great Britain when, on arising from the dinner-table, one may truly exclaim: "Fate cannot harm me, I have dined to-day!" [Illustration] [Illustration] L'ALMANACH DES GOURMANDS[19] "Tout s'arrange en dinant dans le siècle où nous sommes, Et c'est par des dîners qu'on gouverne les hommes." CASSIMIR DELAVIGNE: Les Comédiens. Reasoning from the standpoint that the stomach is the great motor of vital energy, it may justly be adduced that everything which contributes to a perfect balance of its mechanism is of inestimable importance. As, moreover, the true function of improved cookery is to second hygiene and to replace medicaments by ingenious combinations of natural products, it will be readily apparent that a good cook and a good writer on cookery--a cook who can compose and a writer who can suggest and stimulate--at once become of even greater value than a college of physicians. [Illustration: "UN VIEL AMATEUR" A. B. L. Grimod de Reynière, né à Paris le 20 9bre, 1756 From an old print] These desirable qualifications belong preëminently to the French, as brewing belongs to the Germans, weaving to the Orientals, sculpture to the Italians, and mechanical invention to the Americans. The same facilities present themselves in many countries--it has remained for France to perfect them and create a literature on the subject distinctively its own. The Frenchman may keep on his hat during the entr'actes of a play and be forever wrangling with his mode of government, but he has taught the world how to dine. "Let me have books!" cries Horace; "Let us have cooks!" exclaims the Gaul. And with the cooks come the cook-books--the meditations, codes, almanacs, physiologies, manuals, and guides. In considering those works that have treated most pleasingly of the art with which mankind is so directly concerned thrice a day, that of Brillat-Savarin stands foremost. He is the Addison of the dinner-table, as instructive as he is diverting, and his brilliant disquisition will remain a classic so long as dinners endure. But Grimod de la Reynière, whose contributions Savarin passed by in silence, had preceded him and had first enlightened the past century in regard to what Molière has termed _la science des bons morçeaux_. Let justice be rendered where justice is due--the "Physiology of Taste" is indebted in no little degree to the "Almanac of the Epicures." Had La Reynière possessed as much refinement as Savarin, had he observed greater concentration, and had he refrained from the frequent puffery of mercantile establishments, the "Almanach" might not be numbered to-day among unjustly forgotten books. But he is not alone in his references to the tradesmen: even Savarin is guilty of shop-puffery to a limited extent--a trait almost universal among French writers on gastronomy, though none have vied with La Reynière in immortalising a maker of pâtés or in elevating a vender of truffles to the dignity of a minister of state. The fact that he was afflicted with a deformity of his hands, and that his numerous volumes and contributions to the press were written with an artificial member, renders his literary labours the more surprising. A fluent writer, whose humour and verve sparkle from every page of his subject proper, it is to be regretted that he is so little known by the present generation, for the eight rare little volumes which comprise the "Almanach des Gourmands" may be classed among the most sprightly and learned dissertations relating to the pleasures of the table. Numerous almanacs have succeeded his. But these are like harmonicas compared with a Stradivarius, or the "Confessions of Rousseau" contrasted with the "Life of Cellini." A veritable storehouse of epicurean lore, his unique treatise should be republished, with its eulogiums left out, and its finer fancies and wealth of culinary teachings retained to instruct and charm anew. In a revision of the work, these allusions to the _fournisseurs_ could be omitted to advantage, and thus a most useful treatise be presented in a much more concise form. It should be stated, in justice to the author, that his references to alimentary dealers and wine-merchants were not all of a laudatory character. His pills were not wholly sugar-coated; any delinquent who merited censure was summarily dealt with. The "Almanach" wielded a powerful influence, and could make or mar. From the very first year of its appearance it asserted its sway, a supremacy that no one ventured to contest. Its decrees were inexorable, and woe to the restaurateur who failed in a matelote, the dealer who was lacking in courtesy, the merchant who was guilty of over-charging, or the purveyor whose wares were found wanting. The editor's caustic pen was as dreaded as it was respected. A paragraph rendered a furnisher famous, a disparaging line caused a shop to be avoided. Its edicts were a _Vehmgericht_ from which there was no appeal. Thus it maintained a surveillance and an influence that were not without their excellent results--a censorship that would be invaluable in the present days of adulterations. Written in a more serious vein is the "Manuel des Amphitryons," a large octavo dealing with the art of carving, bills of fare for each season, and table proprieties.[20] This volume is valuable chiefly for the great variety of its menus--the joint production of the author and the presiding genius of the Rocher de Cancale when Parisian cookery had attained its greatest distinction. The menus, each of which is commented upon at length, are remarkable for their elaborateness and diversity, and illustrate the great inventive resources of the period. Any one of those that are designed for sixty covers would seem sufficient, with judicious selection and by the substitution of a few dishes, according to the season, to serve throughout the year. The last division of the volume, relating to table usages, is covered in the "Almanach," as is also some of the matter of the first division. It is in the "Manuel" that we find the gifted author in his most serious mood and most impressed with his responsibilities. To guide the capricious stomachs of a great capital in the right way, to instruct unerringly in the _grand art du savoir vivre_, to give a new impetus to a refinement that the Jacobins and the Directory had well nigh relegated to oblivion, was a task that might not be entered upon lightly or undertaken without a grave sense of its importance. The bills of fare are veritable morsels to turn over on the tongue. For if, as La Fontaine avers, _le changement de mets réjouit l'homme_--how important that man's daily change be an appetising one! And yet one may well rejoice that he lives in an age when a good dinner may be composed of a simple soup, a perfectly cooked fish, an entrée, a bird, and a salad, with a good wine served at its proper temperature. Cookery has changed with time, and the "manual" of a host of to-day differs as much as does his costume from that of a century ago. This is not saying that on a stimulating winter's day it were not worth a walk of many a league to dine where the menu had been superintended by the author of the "Manuel" and executed by the Rocher--if that were possible at present. Alexandre-Balthazar-Laurent Grimod de la Reynière was born in Paris, November 20, 1758. His early life was an adventurous one, and after first identifying himself with belles-lettres he studied and practised law, besides engaging in various artistic, literary, and mercantile pursuits. In his thirty-ninth year he became enamoured of an actress--Mlle. Mézeray--to which circumstance the world is largely indebted for the "Almanach" and the "Manuel des Amphitryons." On declaring his passion with all the fervour of a highly impressionable nature, only to meet with a repulse, he determined to look to gastronomy for consolation, a resolve he at once expressed in poetic form under the title "My Abnegation," the poem being addressed to "A Celebrated Actress" and published in a dramatic journal of which he was the editor. A stanza may be cited: "De vrais amis, un doux asile, Des dîners fins et délicats: Voilà pour mon âme tranquille, Qui vaut mieux que des _hélas_!" (True friends a few, a nice abode, And dinners fine and recherchés-- Far better such for peace of mind Than Love's refrain, "Ah, lack-a-day!") This sentiment would show him to have been a true philosopher, accepting the situation placidly, and recognising that in love there is always one who kisses and the other who extends the cheek. "Fine and delicate dinners!"--therein, of a truth, may be found a marvellous panacea for lacerated affections and the buffets of the world. To be sure, he had already belonged for many years to a society known as the Société des Mercredis, composed of seventeen members, who were in the habit of dining weekly at the Rocher de Cancale, then the most celebrated restaurant of Paris. But it was not until Cupid frowned, in the person of Mlle. Mézeray, that he turned seriously to gastronomy and made it a profession. The fact that he had already been married for ten years in no wise detracts from the value of his recipe--a medication for melancholy that has been overlooked in the "Anatomy." The key-note of his verses on the occasion was emphasised by a postscript extolling the pleasures of the table, a paragraph that appeared subsequently in an amended form in the "Almanach." Already in this ebullition of a misogynist for the moment, we detect the redundant fancy and familiarity with his theme which marked the great gastronomer who was soon to wield his facile pen in the interests of the science of which he became the exponent-in-chief: "The author of this abnegation, who some day intends publishing a panegyric of gastronomy, has always regarded the pleasures of good cheer as the first of the mind and the senses. It will be acknowledged that these are the first one enjoys, and those that may be most often multiplied. Who may say as much of the rest? Is there a woman, however beautiful, who is worth these admirable red partridges of Languedoc or Cévennes; these pâtés de foie of geese and ducks which will forever celebrate the cities of Toulouse, Auch, and Strassburg; these stuffed tongues of Troyes; these sausages of Arles that render the pig so estimable and so precious? Can one compare a pretty, simpering face with these splendid sheep of Ganges and the Ardennes whose flesh fairly melts in one's mouth? What comparison can be made between a piquante face and these pullets of Bresse, these capons of Mans?... Who would oppose to these delights the caprices of a woman, her poutings, her vagaries, her refusals, and even her favours?" In quite a different strain, a few years later, we shall hear him compare a peach--ripe, rosy, juicy, and melting--to lovely femininity, and in the amended form of the note that accompanied his renunciation perceive his greater delicacy of touch, as well as mark his conversion to the doctrine of Désaugiers: "Pour être aimé des belles, Aimons; Un beau jour changent-elles, Changeons!" (To win the favours of the fair, Be bold; If then they lack in debonnaire, Be cold!) a postulate that may have its drawbacks, but nevertheless offers its advantages. It is with an author's work, however, and not with his personal traits that the public is mainly concerned, and of La Reynière's literary productions the "Almanach" constitutes his greatest claim to distinction. So closely is this associated with the famous _Jury dégustateur_, of which he was the founder, secretary, and mainspring, that one may scarcely be considered without the other--the "Almanach" was the jury, and the jury was the "Almanach." The tribunal, which was formed for the purpose of influencing and ameliorating the provisions and food products of the Parisian market, was composed of an indefinite number of jurors, though these never exceeded twelve or were less than five. Each of the judges was a tried epicure, eating and drinking whatever he was asked to pass upon, without knowing the names of the contributors, in order that everything submitted might be estimated in strict accordance with its merits. Dr. Gastaldy, an eminent physician, was chosen president, La Reynière preferring the secretaryship, with its more arduous duties. The president is described as one who added to the finest palate and the most practised tact the largest experience, and who combined all the advantages that might result from profound theory and active practice. It is related of him that on a certain occasion, when reminded by a lady that he was taking a large portion of macaroni after a very plenteous repast, he observed: "Madame, macaroni is heavy, it is true, but it is like the Doge of Venice: when he arrives one must make room for him--every one stands aside." The Marquis de Cussy, who declared, "Roasting is at once nothing and the infinite," and whom La Reynière termed the first gastronomer of the age, was a no less distinguished member. He was also an entertaining writer on gastronomy, and contributed some articles anonymously to the "Almanach," his greatest literary fame resting on his "Art Culinaire." [Illustration: LE PREMIER DEVOIR D'UN AMPHITRYON Frontispiece of the fifth year of the "Almanach des Gourmands"] The meetings of the society took place weekly at the residence of the secretary, the sittings occupying five hours. That these séances were of a philanthropic as well as a sybaritic nature is apparent from the preface to the second year of the "Almanach," where the editor states that he will regret neither the pains nor the indigestions his duties entail, if the national glory in every branch of the alimentary art be only impelled to renewed progress. It was the secretary's place to take note of all controversies and decisions, which he afterward drew up and elaborated, submitting his reports to the president at the following meeting for verification. An extract of these decisions, duly collated, was sent to the interested persons. All forms of eatables and drinkables constituted part of the jury's deliberations, and of these contributions only a single sample was passed upon at a time. When the judgments were unfavourable to the artist whose handiwork had been submitted, he was advised accordingly, in order that he might correct and that at a subsequent test of the same object he might prove that he had profited by the disinterested verdict. If he refused to do so, the decision was printed in the following "Almanach" as it originally stood. It was noted that many merchants and culinary artists lived on their reputations, taking advantage of a formerly celebrated name to deceive the public and abuse its confidence long after they had ceased to merit it, whilst, on the other hand, an obscure person endowed perchance with great talent and zealous in his art was not unfrequently the inventor of productions worthy of the greatest masters. It was the purpose of the jury and its exponent to expose the former and rescue the latter from oblivion. Naturally, these attacks on the manufacturers and venders often brought their rejoinders, some of which were by no means devoid of interest, as, for instance, a letter from a certain M. Grec, a merchant who had sold a spoiled pate to a customer and refused to take it back in exchange for other merchandise: "I am at a loss to comprehend, Monsieur, why you should have attached an infamous note to my name in the fifth year of your 'Almanach.' A lawyer who is not without reputation wished me to attack you in return, telling me I could lead you a merry chase (_que je pourrais vous mener loin_). I did not care to follow his advice, because I reflected that your book and its author are far from being makers of reputations, either for good or for bad; perhaps the public, which appreciates you at your true value, has formed an opinion directly contrary to that you express. "On this hypothesis, far from having to complain of you, I owe you my thanks. To this end, I have even thought of offering substantial proof by sending you a fine _truffled turkey_ whose aroma, penetrating your olfactories, would exercise its benign influence, and inspire a good word for me in the future. But I restrain myself, for the reasons I have just stated and the fact that any good you might say might have the effect of injuring me in the eyes of the public. "All things considered, I will keep my turkey to eat with my friends and with the person who was kind enough to lend me his pen; for as a stranger and a simple merchant, I do not pride myself on writing, but on honestly conducting my business. Besides, have no fears, we will drink to your health and to the preservation of one of the most useful men of the state." The fine irony throughout the letter will assuredly commend itself to the reader, as it undoubtedly nettled the editor. The reference to the truffled turkey--and this was to have been a _dinde truffée_--was notably the stroke of a master, artfully designed to hit the recipient in a tender spot, an under-thrust that could not have failed to tell. But however great the editor's disappointment,--for one remembers his appetising essay, "Des Dindes Braisées," wherein he specifies that the turkey should be well perfumed with truffles,--he was more than equal to the occasion by retaliating that the lawyer could hardly proceed as far as the pâté if it still remained in the shop of M. Grec, and had been left to itself; for it had already begun to march of its own accord. The writer's decision to keep the turkey is referred to as in excellent taste withal, in comparison with the fate of the pâté. Nor was an exposé of a guest who had served a large and inferior pâté at a rural outing, furnished by a vulgar artist--claiming it as one of the incomparable productions of a celebrated maker--less merited and severe. The pâté was pompously announced as coming from the fragrant ovens of a certain M. Le Sage. "At the mention of this revered name" [says the editor], "the attention of all the guests was directed to the piece, the opening of which was eagerly awaited. "This pâté was at first sight very inviting, but no sooner was the crust removed than we perceived from the enormous void that it could not have been made by M. Le Sage, whose pâtés are always well filled, and are garnished in addition with a blond of veal that renders them easily distinguishable. "The one in question, which was presented as a pâté of ham of Bayonne, offered merely an indigestible mixture of ordinary ham, dried and spoiled, interspersed with chunks of tough veal; the crust corresponded to the interior, and the stuffing to the whole. "We indignantly protested that such a pâté could not emanate from the manufactory of M. Le Sage; but the donor insisting stoutly that he had himself purchased it from him, he was believed, in spite of the fact that he was a man of the law. "We had our doubts, notwithstanding; for it is less rare to find a lying knave than a detestable pâté emanating from M. Le Sage, who, through the assertion made, found himself dishonoured in the estimation of thirty people." The result of the author's conviction was a letter to the injured party, the latter's prompt appearance at the office of the offender, a written apology by the culprit, and a promise to the editor of the "Almanach" that he would atone for his crime by producing a pâté whose authenticity could not be questioned,--"which still remains for him to do," adds the editor, no doubt with a sigh of disappointment. In view of these denunciations, one may readily understand that the products submitted to the jury must have been, almost without exception, of a very high order of merit. With such a rigid arbiter, few would care to incur his censure or render themselves subject to his lash. The frequent references to the venders, therefore, served a treble purpose--that of stimulating the art of cookery, exposing knavery, and sumptuously regaling the table of the tribunal. There is this besides to be said in extenuation of the frequent references to the _pâtissiers_ and _rôtisseurs_--that, being specialists, they were more likely to advance an art than the average person, however familiar with the principles of cookery, who was not in possession of the mechanical accessories of the professional, or who was not accustomed daily to turn his hand to practical account. To become a member of the jury, a unanimity of votes was necessary, rank or social status being a secondary consideration to gastronomic accomplishments and brilliancy of appetite and mind. Women were not excluded, and, strange to relate, among these was Mlle. Mézeray, a striking proof that time can cool the warmest love to friendship. But flounces and laces were allowed no voice in the solemn deliberations of the tribunal. It might be pleasant to see a pretty gourmande under arms, and have her join in the _coup du milieu_ which was always obligatory, but how might petticoats decide upon the fate of a _suprême_ or a truffled pâté! "Women," says La Reynière, "who sometimes assist at the séances, have no deliberative voice--one can readily understand the reason." With a palate vitiated by sweets, her discernment must prove unreliable, and there would always be the danger of her prejudicing a susceptible member through her allurements and coquetries. The tribunal had its own codes and rules, which were as fixed as the stars. Among these was that no one should speak ill of any one with whom he had dined, for a period proportionate to the importance of the dinner. Each guest was provided with a menu in advance, of which the contributions from outside sources to be adjudged formed only a part. The dinner proper was prepared by the cordon-bleu of La Reynière. In ease of inability to attend, an excuse was obligatory not later than twenty-four hours before the time specified, while a failure to be present after having accepted was punishable by a fine of five hundred francs. This rule was inflexible, as Mlle. Mézeray found to her cost when, having disregarded it, she was banished from the séances for three years, returning, at the expiration of her sentence, only in time to assist at the final meeting of the jury in May, 1812. A quarter of an hour's grace was allowed with reference to the set time of the dinner--not a moment more: a rule the modern host would do well to imitate. Every minute after the prescribed hour for the repast that one is forced to wait for tardy guests becomes a penance to those who are punctual, besides the inconvenience it causes to the entertainer and the cook. La Reynière's fifteen minutes of grace is all-sufficient. During his reign, indeed, there were some who closed their doors to all comers that failed to appear at the precise hour. For the use and greater convenience of the jury, he invented the speaking-tube communicating from the dining-room to the kitchen; the _table volante_, as we have seen, was already in use, and the ascending and descending slide was known. Let it not be inferred, however, that he considered himself a gourmand in the strict sense of the term, despite the title of the work with which he is most closely associated, and the fact that the weekly sittings of the gustatory jury occupied five hours. He would doubtless have drawn the distinction between a gourmand and a gourmet most sharply had such a possibility entered his mind as a dinner of innumerable courses and water, compared with an extended repast of scientifically prepared dishes and their complementary wines. In the former case he could scarcely have projected, much less have completed, the "Almanach," to say nothing of having overtaken his eightieth year. For that matter, he is careful to state, in a letter to the Marquis de Cussy, touching upon the light in which he was placed before the public, that with pen in hand he was always a gourmand, but when the fork took the place of the pen it was quite another matter. It will prove interesting to know how the word "gourmand" was defined by one who was most capable of interpreting it, the differentiation "gourmet" being then much less marked than at present: "The Gourmand is not only the being whom nature has endowed with an excellent stomach and a vast appetite--all robust and well-constituted men are in this category--but also he who adds to these advantages an enlightened taste, whose first characteristic resides in a singularly delicate palate cultivated by long experience. With him all the senses should be in constant accord with that of the taste, inasmuch as he should criticise his dishes even before they approach his lips. It is sufficient to say that his vision should be penetrating, his ear alert, his touch fine, and his tongue capable. Thus the gourmand whom the Academy paints for us as a gross being is, on the contrary, by profession a person gifted with extreme delicacy; with him health alone should be vigorous." Again, he says: "It only requires a voracious appetite to be a glutton. It demands an exquisite judgment, a profound knowledge of every branch of the culinary art, a sensual and delicate palate, and a thousand other qualities very difficult to combine, in order to merit the title of Gourmand." In still another reference to the epicure he would have him possess, in addition, that jovial humour without which the best of repasts is but a sad and solemn function--a person well equipped with anecdotes and amusing stories with which he may fill up the spaces between the services, so that the sober guests may forgive him his appetite. Some may deem his definition includes more than the qualities usually assigned to an amateur of dining, and that it touches too closely on the realm of Gargantua. But it must not be lost sight of that his cardinal mission was that of improving all manner of food preparations and bringing the table to its acme of perfection. Without such appreciative votaries, cookery must necessarily languish, and dining prove merely an obligatory routine; it is to such as he that the art owes its present superiority, and to whom mankind should be duly thankful. As he has defined it, "gastronomy is an immense book ever open to him who may read it aright, whose pages present a series of mobile pictures, and whose horizon extends beyond one's view." All the products of the animal and vegetable world were pronounced upon by this supreme judge of succulencies, whose palate and appetite never failed, and whose pen responded to the most delicate and fugitive sensations of taste. The "Almanach" numbers eight small volumes, each containing a characteristic dedication. Each volume also includes a quaint and carefully engraved frontispiece executed under the direction of the author, the subjects representing "The Library of a Gourmand of the Nineteenth Century," "The Audiences of a Gourmand," "A Séance of the Testing Jury," "The Meditations of a Gourmand," "The First Duty of a Host," "The Dreams of a Gourmand," "The Levee of a Gourmand," and "The Most Mortal Enemy of the Dinner." The first volume is dedicated to M. Camerani, whose name is attached to a famous soup of his own invention, and whom La Reynière terms one of the most erudite epicures of France. The second is inscribed to M. d'Aigrefeuille, than whom none could better appreciate the merits of an artistic repast, and whose charms of appetite and conversation were equally balanced. The third is sacred to the memory of Carlin Bertinazzi, _dernier Arlequin_ of the Comédie Italienne of Paris, an actor whose distinguished talents served for forty years as the best of digestives for all epicures. The fourth is consecrated to the members of the Société des Mercredis, who, by the finesse of their taste and the extent of their appetite, have given such an impetus to the first of the arts, and whose admirable tact has proved a stimulus to the greatest cooks. The fifth has for its tribute the souvenir of Dr. Gastaldy, Président-perpétuel of the _Jury dégustateur_, who united in the highest degree all those qualities that combine to form the most intrepid gastronomer, but who was finally vanquished by apoplexy while attacking a pâté de foie gras. The sixth immortalises Grimod de Verneuil, the worthy successor of Dr. Gastaldy both in appetite and experience, whose head had never been turned by the most copious libations of the finest wines of the world. The seventh is dedicated to the memory of Albouis d'Azincourt, a member of the _Jury dégustateur_ and a founder of the Société des Mercredis--always equally honoured as host or guest. The eighth and concluding volume pays a feeling panegyric to Vatel, in whom the alimentary art recognises one of its greatest and most unselfish masters. Beginning with a dissertation on the various alimentary products created for the delectation of man, each succeeding issue treats of the subject in some of its numerous phases until the suspension of the register in 1812. A great charm of the work consists in its magisterial tone, as well as in its unbounded enthusiasm, humour, and originality. The artistic presentation of a subject and the importance with which it invests some seemingly trifling detail that in other hands might have been unnoticed is also a characteristic feature, as, for instance, the admirable references to _hors d'œuvres_ and "The Distractions of the Table." Other topics, such as "Rural Hosts," "Indigestions," "Epicurean Visits," "Town Dinners," "Kitchen Utensils," "Of Wines," "Of Hosts," "On the Placing of Guests at Table," etc., are handled with an address and a comprehensiveness no less striking than the scenes which form the frontispieces. While no doubt the author understood the theory of the cuisine, we have no reason to suppose that, like Dumas, he was a thoroughly practical cook, or took pleasure in surprising his friends with some appetising dish of his own preparation. It was his province to criticise the productions of others, and to do this it was unnecessary to assume the functions of a chef. The wine-taster who is most competent to judge of the merits of a vintage does not need to be a viniculturist, nor does the gastronomer necessarily require to be a practical cook. In many branches of art the best teachers are frequently the poorest practitioners. The most able critic of painting may never have held a brush, and the maestro capable of evolving a Mario may often be lacking in voice. Though a master of but a single instrument, the leader of a great orchestra understands and guides all the vehicles of sound under his command--from the plectrum of the harp and plaint of the oboe to the diapason of viols and concord of horns--so intuitive is his sense of harmonious accord. The virtuoso is such from his inherent superiority--of sight, taste, touch, smell, or hearing, as the case may be--aided by years of study and cultivation in his especial craft. The epicure is he who, gifted with a hyper-susceptivity of taste and its complementary sense, smell, as well as long familiarity with viands and wines, may detect savours unappreciated by the ordinary palate, and thus understandingly and authoritatively pronounce upon the merits or demerits of a dish. "The 'Almanach,'" says the editor, "does not profess to be a cook-book--its duty is to try to stimulate the appetite of its readers; upon the artists of the kitchen devolves the duty of satisfying it." The home kitchen of the author, while not elaborate, was most carefully looked after by a cordon-bleu. Its excellence is attested by Dumas, who declares that one of the best dinners he ever had was when, in company with Count d'Orsay, he dined impromptu with La Reynière a short time previous to his death. The frontispiece of the fourth year, entitled "Meditations of a Gourmand," represents La Reynière in person seated at a writing-table in his robe de chambre. He has evidently just suspended his labours to reconsider the materials which are to form the subjects of his homilies. The different objects of his contemplation are ranged around him on various stands: a stuffed calf's head, a roasted capon, a matelote of La Râpée, a Strassburg pâté de foie gras, a plate of biscuits of Abbeville, etc., his attention being engrossed for the moment by the calf's head. Various treatises on the alimentary art are scattered about him, such as "La Pâtisserie de Santé," "Les Dons de Comus," and "Le Confiseur Moderne." Upon the edicts he is to pronounce hangs the fate of many a purveyor. Is his appetite keyed to the requirements of his task? Will the samples to be tested respond to the exactions of his critical palate? Or must his fealty be paid for by an indigestion that may postpone his labours in behalf of the noblest of the arts? [Illustration: LES MÉDITATIONS D'UN GOURMAND Frontispiece of the fourth year of the "Almanach des Gourmands"] His mien is solemn and his attitude one of intense absorption, like that of a great statesman pondering some weighty coup d'état. At the end of the cabinet stands a tall buffet with numerous shelves laden with savoury viands and appetising beverages: a boar's head of Troyes, a timbale of red partridges _aux truffes_, eels of Melun, a cake of Savoy, a _mortadelle_ of Lyons, a truffled turkey of Périgord, an Italian cheese and sausages, a ham of Bayonne, a pâté of Périgueux, various dainties of Provence, pastries and apple-jelly of Rouen, with numerous varieties of wines and liqueurs. All of these articles, gravely observes the editor in his explanation of the plate, are to be successively passed in review by the gourmand, inasmuch as they are the subjects of his literary work--no other objects of art decorate the cabinet, as nothing should be allowed to distract the critic. It would appear at first sight to the uninitiated that such a task must prove beyond the capacities of the ordinary mortal. But this contingency he has already explained at length in a chapter on "Indigestion." "It is often much less to excess of eating than to the quality of aliments that indigestion is due. One person may have eaten ten times more than another without inconvenience, and another find himself seriously disturbed from having partaken of a single dish that did not agree. It is the place of the epicure to study the nature of his stomach, in order to supply it with only such aliments as are homogeneous. Milk foods, hot pastries, etc., which usually agree with women, do not always agree with robust stomachs which may be able to digest an ox, but quail before a little pot of cream. But where through repeated experiences one has obtained a perfect knowledge of his temperament he may trust to his appetite without fear." Lack of sufficient variety in alimentation also counts for much in stomachic derangements. "Hasty pudding and milk," Artemus Ward used to say, "are a harmless diet if eaten moderately, but if you eat it incessantly for six consecutive weeks it will produce instant death." As the frontispiece of the fifth volume exhibits a splendidly appointed kitchen, with its ranges and saucepans in full play, and the amphitryon receiving the menu for the dinner from the Washington of his kitchen, it may be assumed that the distinguished critic proved equal to the occasion just described. As, moreover, there is seen suspended from the chimney three hams of Bayonne from the shops of M. Pouillan and M. de la Rouille, and on the spits a chine of veal from Mme. Simon, sirloins from M. de Launey, legs of mutton from M. Darras, venison from Mme. Chevet, fowls from Mme. Biennet, etc., it may be further concluded that he had lost none of his appetite and still remained a spur to the noble emprise of the _Jury dégustateur_. That there are no wines visible on the pantry shelves need not trouble the reader. No one who has scanned a volume of the "Almanach" will doubt for a moment that the chef had an abundance for himself, his aid, and the sauces that simmer in his pans, or that numerous hampers of fine vintages from M. Tailleur were wanting to wash down any repast at which the editor officiated.[21] But these laudations, which form so notable a feature of the work under consideration, were a part and portion of its inspiration and existence. Without them it never would have been written, or at any rate its career would have been greatly shortened. After all, who would not envy the author his glorious appetite; or, with his exquisite appreciation, who would censure his fondness for pâtés and his rigour in maintaining their high standard? With reference to the remarks on the testing of dishes, it may be observed that it is comparatively easy to decide upon the respective merits of two different alimentary preparations. It is far more difficult to pronounce on wines of fine quality and compare those that are closely allied. For here the sense of smell in particular is called upon to exercise its most critical functions; and this sense, after several essays at comparison or attempts to place the special aromas and ethers that are evolved in the bouquet and _sève_ of a vintage, becomes rapidly cloyed. Many other conditions also frequently arise to interfere with absolute judgment. The temperature of the wine and mood of the atmosphere, one's surroundings at the time, the state of one's stomach and consequently of the palate, the nature of the viands that accompany the wine--aye, the very glass in which its gold or rubies are imprisoned--all exert their influence, and it is best not to assert one's self too decisively in the case of a single testing or comparison. Concerning a highly important topic--"The Health of Cooks"--the "Almanach" discourses at length with its accustomed force and originality: "The index of a good cook should ply without ceasing from the saucepans to the mouth, and it is only by thus momentarily tasting his ragoûts that he may determine their precise point. His palate, therefore, must be extremely delicate, virginal, as it were, so that the least thing may stimulate it and advise it of its faults. "But the constant fumes of the fires, the necessity of drinking frequently, and often poor wine, to moisten a parched throat, the vapours of the charcoal, humours and biliousness, all tend to impair the organs of taste. The palate becomes crusted, as it were; it has no longer either that tact or finesse, that exquisite sensibility on which depends the susceptibility of the taste; it finally becomes excoriated and as insensible as the conscience of an old judge. "Le seul moyen de lui rendre cette fleur qu'il a perdue, de lui faire reprendre sa souplesse, ses forces et sa délicatesse, c'est de purger le Cuisinier, telle résistance qu'il y oppose; car il en est qui, sourds à la voix de la gloire, ne voient aucune nécessité de prendre une médecine lorsqu'ils se portent bien." Supplementing his essays on the health and the duties of the chef and the requirements of the cuisinière is his treatise on the maître-d'hôtel, wherein the qualifications of a steward are most minutely set forth. Of all those whose labours have for their object the satisfaction of our appetite and promotion of the culinary art, the profession of the steward, he insists, calls for the greatest number of virtues and the widest knowledge. A good maître-d'hôtel should be at once an excellent cook, a fine _dégustateur_, a clever purveyor, a skilful servitor, an exact calculator, a good conversationalist, and an efficient and polished agent. He should be familiar not only with the theory of the cuisine in all its ramifications, but, if necessary, be able to turn his knowledge to practical account. For how may he command the respect of the cook who is under his orders if he does not thoroughly understand his art? How may he regulate the conduct of the chef, control his ragoûts, and direct his work according to the principles of the art and the special tastes of his employer if he is not a very fine critic? Equal competency is demanded with reference to his purchases, the varying of his menus, anticipating the complaints of a jealous cook, maintaining his authority over the other servants, and regulating the financial part of the kitchen and household,--truly a difficult combination to procure. As to his probity, the author reasons that one may scarcely expect to find the phœnix, and that to the victor naturally belong the spoils--that it is better to have a competent officer, who can buy to advantage, than a novice who, gaining nothing on his purchases, is imposed upon by the venders and cannot control his household expenditures. "What difference does it make to the employer if his steward help himself a little in serving him, provided he look after his interests sufficiently and charge him only with the market price of a commodity?" Upon a good commissary in particular depends the success of a club or a restaurant. Without a competent purchaser who combines most of the qualities enumerated in the "Almanach," the chef must labour at a disadvantage; and, in the case of a club, a house committee bear the odium of a poor cuisine and the maledictions of the members. The "Almanach" abounds in piquant aphorisms, some of which perhaps will better serve to illustrate the spirit of the work than a more lengthy abstract of many of the essays themselves: "The kitchen is a country in which there are always discoveries to be made. "It is the entrées that cooks usually invest with their greatest cunning, and it is principally through these that they expect to be judged. "An overturned salt-cellar is to be feared solely when it is overturned in a good dish. "The table is a magnet which not only draws to itself, but joins together all those who approach it. "It is as necessary that the master of the house should understand how to carve well as it is for a young girl to dance in order to secure a husband. "Digestion is the business of the stomach, and indigestion that of the doctors. "The stomach of a true gourmand, like the casemates of a besieged city, should be proof against bombs. "Thirteen at table is a number to be dreaded when there is only enough to go round for twelve. "A good pastry-maker is as rare as a grand orator. "It is especially at table that one should attend carefully to the matter in hand and consider what one is about. "True gourmands have always finished their dinner before the dessert; that which is eaten after the roast is done only out of pure politeness. "Pastry is to the cuisine what figures of rhetoric are to discourse. An oration without figures and a dinner without pastry are equally insipid. "There is a precise moment at which every dish should be savoured, previous to which or after which it causes only an imperfect sensation. "Wine is the milk of the old, the balm of adults, and the vehicle of the gourmand. "Without sauces a dinner were as bare as a house that has been levied on by the officers of the sheriff. "The etymology of the word _faisander_ sufficiently proclaims that the pheasant should be waited for as long as a pension from the government by a man of letters who has never known how to flatter any one. "It is notorious that a dinner, however generous, has never disturbed a person who has preceded or followed it by a walk of five or six leagues; and that indigestions are virtually unknown to great pedestrians. "With many people a stomach that is proof against everything is the principle of happiness, and with everybody this organ exercises a greater influence than one imagines on the acts of life. "Life is so brief that we should not glance either too far backwards or forwards in order to be happy. Let us therefore study how to fix our happiness in our glass and on our plate. "Un Amphitryon délicat no doit pas souffrir que la galanterie dégénère chez lui en scandale; et s'il invite de jeunes et jolies femmes ce doit toujours être avec leurs maris, et jamais avec leurs amants." Unfortunately, no menus of the _Jury dégustateur_ have been preserved, though one is presented of the celebrated restaurant, the Rocher de Cancale--a dinner of twenty-four covers, served November 28, 1809, at a cost of one thousand francs. Considering the elaborateness of the bill of fare, the price was assuredly extremely moderate, including, as it did, four soups, four relevés, twelve entrées, four large pieces, four roasts, and eight entremets, all served in the highest style of the art. In many of the best Parisian restaurants to-day no figures are attached to the _carte_, so that one may dine without disturbing his digestion by thinking of the expense. The awakening comes later, with the _addition_, when, if one be an epicure with a partiality for rare vintages, he will be apt to recall Béranger's "Voyage au Pays de Cocagne" and its dénouement: ". . . . . . Mais qui vient détruire (But who would dispel Ce rêve enchanteur? This dream all-divine? Amis, j'en ai honte, Friends, to my shame, C'est quelqu'un qui monte 'Tis the restaurant's claim-- Apporter le compte The bill of the entrées Du restaurateur." And score of the wine.) The menu of the dinner at the Rocher will prove attractive reading--in marked contrast to the average bill of fare, which is so often made up for the eye and is generally without originality or distinction. What an embarrassment of riches in the entrées! how imposing the large pieces! what a pageant of delectable entremets! How majestically the bisque of crabs leads off the fête, and pike and turbot proudly stem the tide! The comparative absence of vegetables need not be criticised, as these naturally figure as garnishes of several of the dishes. The asparagus, too, would take the place of a salad which is not included; and with so varied a programme oysters may well have been dispensed with for lack of sufficient space. That each individual dish was a triumph we may rest assured, or some word of depreciation for future guidance would certainly have appeared in the "Almanach." Menu de 24 Couverts, pour le Jeudi 28 Novembre, 1809. 4 Potages. Une bisque d'écrevisses. Un potage à la Reine au lait d'amandes, avec biscotes. Une Julienne aux pointes d'asperges. Un consommé de volaille. 4 Relevés de Potages. Un brochet à la Chambord. Une dinde aux truffes. Un turbot. Une culotte de bœuf au vin de Madère, garnie de légumes. 12 Entrées. Un aspic de filets mignons de perdreaux. Une jardinière. Des filets de poularde, piqués aux truffes. Des perdreaux rouges au fumet. Des filets de mauviette sautés. Des scaloppes de poularde, au velouté. Des filets de lapereaux, en turban. Un vol au vent à la financière. Des ailerons piqués, à la chicorée. Deux poulets de grains au beurre d'écrevisse. Des scaloppes de saumon, à l'espagnole. Des filets mignons, piqués de truffes. SECOND SERVICE. 4 grosses Pièces. Une truite. Une pâté de foies gras. Des écrevisses. Un jambon glacé. 4 Plats de Rôt. Un faisan. Des éperlans. Des bécassines. Des soles. 8 Entremêts. Une jatte de blancmanger. Un miroton de pommes. Des asperges en branche. Des truffes à la serviette. Une jatte de gelée d'orange. Un soufflé à la vanille. Des cardons à la moelle. Des truffes à la serviette. This menu, which was termed "illustrious and astounding" by La Reynière, tells its own story too well, as he observes, to need any comment. It is only to be regretted that there is no record of the accompanying wines or of the previous training of the guests who sat down to the feast. The item _un faisan_ will be understood in the plural, there having been twenty-four persons present, and among that number it is to be presumed that more than two or three would stand ready to attack a well-hung pheasant resplendent in his tail-feathers. Still, there are only two _poulets de grains_ specified in the list, which would indicate that the menu was strictly one of quality, not of quantity--a thing to coquet and flirt with, rather than to charge upon with no thought of the penalty of the morrow. As the mention of truffles _à la serviette_ occurs twice at the end of the _lecture_, it may be assumed that this was considered a doubly important entremets--the last to leave its perfume in the mouth and accentuate the _sève_ diffused by the final glass of Château Lafite or Clos-Vougeot. On the restaurateur and the chef the editor enjoins continued efforts looking to the advancement of the grand art of dining, exhorting them that to cease their exertions would mean to recede, and that to maintain their exalted reputation they should labour daily as if it were yet to be won. Altogether, the "Almanach" will be found most remunerative reading by those who peruse it with a proper sense of its important aim. We may not hope to equal the appetite of the author, it is true, but its attentive study will assuredly stimulate appetite and amply instruct us in the æsthetics and delights of the table. The only dietetic heresy that presents itself to the writer is the eulogy of the strawberry as an article of diet, for which Linnæus the botanist and Dr. Boteler are originally responsible, it being well known that this fruit in gout and rheumatism--two frequent colleagues of good cheer--is often as deadly as port. Preserved Wiesbaden or Bar-le-Duc strawberries, safely tucked in the folds of an omelette, are less pernicious, and may be partaken of occasionally if convoyed by the right wine. The raw fruit should always be sparingly indulged in by the epicure; boys and women alone may eat it with comparative impunity. To this one exception has been chronicled--"Strawberries and cream render me sad," said Mme. du Deffand; and, remembering Malherbe's praise of women and melons, madame wisely left them alone. Finally, among all those who have discoursed upon the theme, it may be said that La Reynière comes the nearest perhaps in illustrating Montaigne's expression, _l'art de la gueule_. And, despite the laudations of the venders with which it is so generously interlarded, the "Almanach" well merits a full morocco binding by Ruban, with dentelle borders _à l'oiseau_, and a pâté stamped on its covers in gold. [Illustration] [Illustration: THE CHEF From a print after an old Dutch master] [Illustration] A GERMAN SPEISEKARTE "Beim vollen Humpen zechen wir, wir kräftigen Germanen, Und trinken von dem edlen Bier wie weiland unsere Ahnen; Denn in dem edlen Gerstensaft, da sprudelt noch die alte Kraft."[22] By the French the Germans are charged with having no cuisine that is worthy of the name, and having produced no poet of gastronomy or no work on the subject that merits serious attention. Dining at midday, and fond of Pumpernickel, what can they be but "barbarians," and how may they be expected to comprehend the finesse of an art which has been created for the elect among mankind? "Surely," argues De Quincey, "of the rabid animal who is caught dining at noonday, the _homo ferus_ who affronts the meridian sun by his inhuman meals, we are entitled to say that he has a maw, but nothing resembling a stomach. A nation must be barbarous which dined in the morning." As with day's decline the sun illumes with fairest hues the western sky, and Nature gradually prepares for sleep by the restful hour of twilight, so it would seem that man, in like manner, after the cark and care of the day should refresh himself by the solace that waits upon the evening dinner and pleasant companionship ere he too retires for the slumbers that are to fit him for the exigencies of the morrow. But habit is everything, and it is well not to accept these aspersions too seriously, and to remember that no nation surpasses the Germans in the important art of baking, including all forms of breadstuffs and pastry. From her inviting _Bäckereis_ and _Conditoreis_ floats an ambrosial fragrance that may not be equalled by the _pâtisseries_ of Paris, the variety of her products being as great as their cheapness and wholesomeness. One is born a poet, saith the adage; it is equally true that the German is a born baker who has no superior in his sphere. Perchance German cook-books and gastronomical literature have been summarily passed upon, and are not uninteresting reading, after all. It should be recollected that Frederick the Great wrote a poem in praise of his cook, that Martin Schookius composed a book on cheese entitled "De Aversione Casei," and that still another old German work has for its theme the zest of a lemon-peel--a topic that assuredly calls for consummate skill in its elaboration. Since the latter half of the sixteenth century Germany has contributed her full share of manuals on cookery as compared with most countries. Already, about 1500, there appeared a work entitled "Ein nützlichs Buchlin von der Speis des Menschen." Among the more important treatises of the same century were "Ein neu Kochbuch" (1587), by Marx Rumpolt, cook to the Elector of Mainz and to the Queen of Denmark, and Frau Anna Wecker's "Neu Köstlich und nützliches Koch-Buch" (1597). It was about this period that Montaigne, after his travels through Italy and Germany, declared that even in the inns the Germans paid far better attention to the furbishing of their plates and dishes than was the case with the hostelries of France. Treatises relating to "wohl-schmeckenden Speisen" and "vornehme Tafeln" have since continued to multiply in the Fatherland, until Germany has become fully satisfied with her own mode of cookery and such modifications of certain French and Italian dishes as accord with her chosen ideas of nutrition. Yet the German cook-book presents serious drawbacks. For, apart from the inevitable tendency of the _Zeitwort_ to twine itself around the end of well-nigh interminable sentences, the characters of the language itself are so trying that a scientific treatise may be perused only at the risk of being compelled to resort to spectacles forever afterwards. The melodious measures of Goethe and Schiller, the cadences of Heine and Lenau, will be found less formidable, the rhythm and flow carrying the eye over the typographical boulders with greater ease. A German cook-book, however, may well deter the most insatiable student from proceeding farther than the initial chapter. Think, for example, what the difficulties would be of absorbing a volume which presents such a title as this: "Die Feinere Kochkunst dargestellt nach den Erfordernissen unserer Zeit, mit Berücksichtigung der damit in Verbindung stehenden sonstigen Zweigen der Gastronomie." Fancy endeavouring to solve the true inwardness of an ancient Nürnberg treatise which bears this explanation of its contents: "Vollständig vermehrtes Trincier-Buch, von Tafeldecken Trinciren, zeitigung der Mundkoste, Schauessen und Schaugerichten, benebens xxiv Gast oder Tischfragen." And when we reflect that the German author who undertakes to elucidate a given theme probes it to the very bottom as far as human understanding and science can fathom it, we may readily conclude that to master the literature of German gastronomy would call for stupendous patience on the part of an alien. Yet Germany has contributed a volume in the French language respecting a province of the nation under consideration, wherein the table manners, customs, alimentation, and the public and private life of the old Germans are most picturesquely and minutely set forth.[23] The ancient province of Alsace, where forty-two varieties of pâtés and countless varieties of cakes have been in use for several centuries, has ever been noted for the excellence of its cooks and its fondness for good cheer. In the tenth century Bishop Uthon of Strassburg viewed with alarm the table excesses of the priests of his diocese, which he attempted to check by establishing monastic schools. In the fourteenth century, on the other hand, Bishop de Lyne, who was termed _Kappen-Esser_, was charged with gross intemperance by the clergy, who averred he thought only of the pleasures of the table--_gulæ ebrietatique deditus_--and that he was unable to hold morning audiences without having previously partaken of a rich soup and a fat capon. Dating from early times, Alsace became known as the wine-cellar, granary, and larder of the surrounding countries--a paradise and a garden eminently favourable for good living. Charles Gérard has proved the local Dumas, and his volume, besides its erudite presentation of the resources and olden customs of the country, contains many interesting gastronomical anecdotes, such as "Favourite dishes of celebrated personages," "Influence of a Rhein carp on a financier of the school of Fouquet," "Frying, its nature and effect on manners," etc. Assuredly should a nation be credited with a natural aptitude for gastronomy which in the early part of 1700 could devise an omelette of brook-trout (_Forellen Eyerkuchen_) and cold pâtés of trout (_Forellen Kalte Pasteten_), to say nothing of a certain pâté of fish (_Pâté de langues de carpes et foies de lottes_) composed of the tongues of carp, eels' livers, and the tails of crawfish--the invention of a Strassburg _Koch_, which he served to the Cardinal de Rohan, and which M. Gérard defines as the supreme limit of epularly eminence. The researches of M. Gérard place the national dish, Sauerkraut, as an invention dating from beyond the middle ages and proclaim its origin as distinctly Alsatian. The date of the frog's leap into the frying-pan he places in the year 1280, and specifies Alsace as the discoverer of his edible qualities. The potage bisque or bisque d'écrevisses has long been known to the epicures of the province, while the merits of stuffed crabs were pointed out in the "Oberrheinisches Koch-Buch" of Frau Spörlin, wife of a Protestant minister of Mulhausen. Among the strange customs described is that appertaining to the olden festival called Hirztag, at which time women and maids alone had the right to appear in the inns and liquid dispensaries and avail themselves of the privileges extended to men in eating and drinking. On these occasions any of the male sex who was brave enough to appear was seized, stripped of his hat and coat, and obliged to pay forfeit by a round of wine--a usage thus described by the poet Moscherosch: "Spitze Schue und Knöpflein dran, Die Frau ist Meister und nicht der Mann." (With jaunty button'd and pointed shoe, Gretschen will riot it over you.) No work on cookery in the German language, it is true, has obtained a great reputation outside of its own country. But although the Teuton is a midday diner, a custom that must prove inimical to gastronomical perfection and thereby the highest social evolution, it were extremely unjust to charge him with a lack of understanding in eating. On the contrary, no one, not even the Gaul, enjoys eating and drinking more than he, or eats and drinks amid pleasanter surroundings during a large portion of the year. The open-air restaurants and beer-gardens are a feature, and a most delightful feature, of German life. In the shaded bowers of the Wirthshaus, under the umbrage of horse-chestnuts and limes, to the plash of fountains in suburban Gasthof gardens, amid the consonance of viols and reeds in the attractive temples of Gambrinus, do the Germans voice the refrain, "Isz, trink, sei fröhlich hier auf Erd', Und denk nicht dass es besser wird." (Eat, drink, be merry, seize the present hour, Deem not the future holds a fairer flower.) It must not be forgotten that in the course of time the cookery of every nation gradually becomes complementary to the national beverages. Conversant with the popular drinks of a people, one may promptly form an opinion of their alimentation and characteristics. The cookery of Germany has become subservient to, and, as it were, revolves around Münchner and Pilsener, Hochheimer and Deidesheimer. If, therefore, one cannot appreciate its innumerable brews and the juices of the Riesling and the Traminer, its forms of nutrition will naturally prove distasteful, in the same manner that the virtues of French entrées would be found wanting if deprived of the ruby pressings of the Sauvignon and Pinot. The rosy Schweinerippchen, after its bath in saltpetre, and also Sauerkraut would be impossible without their syncretic accompaniment, beer or a German white wine; and it is only since the general use of beer in the United States that the last-named dish, from being considered a vulgar one has become so popular, notwithstanding it is usually but a shade of its original as one knows it in its own home. The same may be said of sausages, in the compounding of which the Teuton is master of the world. Different nations, like different individuals, enjoy things in their own way, and who shall determine whether the Gaul or the Teuton makes the most of the fleeting hour, which necessarily includes the pleasures attendant upon the daily nourishment of man? Who that has visited the land of the three fluvial graces--the Rhein, the Neckar, and the Donau--does not retain pleasant memories of some native dish partaken of amid picturesque surroundings?--a Hasenbraten, a Pfannkuchen, a duck, a Bockwurst, Knackwurst, or a Wienerwürstle that fairly melts in one's mouth. How lovely those trout which were served at the Wolfsbrunnen at Heidelberg, which you savoured in the cool of the evening after seeing them caught fresh from the spring itself! The Spätzle and Nudeln and sour sauce, too, which rival the national dish of Italy; the veal cutlets and sautéd potatoes, which one never meets as perfect as in southern Germany, and that attain their supreme excellence in a summer Gasthof garden, must likewise ever be held in grateful remembrance. How golden the landscape looked through your Rhein wine Römer, how drowsily the clouds floated over the Odenwald, and how delightfully the evening breeze awoke the responsive chords of the beeches! In whatever direction one may turn, there is always a haven for the hungry and the thirsty. No hill is too high, no valley too remote for its font of refreshment, where the tap is invariably fresh and the shrine of more substantial "restoration" is seldom to be despised. On every hand one may find the welcome of an inn, as hearty as Shenstone's, and, where the nature of the surroundings will allow, one may readily verify the lines of the old poet: "Nun kommt der grüne Berg wo selbsten auch nichts fehlt, Von dem was das Gemüth ermuntert und erfreuet; Deshalb wird er auch vielfältiglich erwählet, Er hat den schönsten Stof zur grösten Fröhlichkeit." (Well stored with all that gladd'neth man, The green hill rises, cool and fair; And many a pilgrim, spent and wan, Doth quaff from font of Münchner there.) Clearly, the _Gemüthlichkeit_ of the Germans, a word for which an equivalent scarcely exists in any other language, may be traced to the national beverages and an alimentation with which they harmonise--with golden opportunities to cultivate it in the Wirthshaus, Gasthof, restaurant, and beer-garden. In many of the larger restaurants and beer-gardens which are conducted on a scale that is well defined by the favourite term, "kolossal," the great Speisekarte, ornately decorated and rubricated in the olden style, is grandly in evidence. A typical index to good cheer may be taken from almost any of the vast breweries of Munich, with their long lists of Braten, Wildpret, Pfannengerichte, Eierspeisen, Salat and Compots. On some of these appears an epitome of the corps of assistants, including the white-aproned waitresses with their names and characteristics, and the great array of help that is necessary to slake the thirst and appease the hunger of a German multitude. The conclusion of the Speisekarte of the Löwenbräukeller may be cited as an example: =Gesammt-Personal der Restauration Löwenbräukeller München= Concert-Saal oder Garten 1 Ursula, die Oberkellnerin, 18[24] 2 Therese, die Schwarze, 8 3 Grethi, die Dicke, 13 4 Marie, die Schwarze 5 Marie, die Tirolerin, 17 6 Anna, die Schwiegermutter, 13 7 Gertraud, die Schlanke, 9 8 Leni, die Durstige, 7 9 Marie, 6 10 Marie, die Dicke, 6 11 Pepi 12 Lina 13 Kathi, die Schwabingerin 14 Marie, die Freundliche 15 Therese 16 Marie, die Schöne 17 Veronika 18 Anna, die Stille 19 Babette 20 Anna, die Brave 21 Emilie, die Stramme 22 Marie, die Schwäbin 23 Röschen 24 Hildegard } 25 Marie, die Blonde } Gallerie 26 Marie, die Schwarze } 27 Emma } 28 Elise } I. Nebensaal 29 Betty } 30 Klara } 31 Thekla--Spiel oder 1 Thurmzimmer 32 Paula } 33 Amanda } II. Nebensaal 34 Lucie } 35 Rosa } 36 Hulda } Löwenterrasse 37 Emmy } 38 Louise } 39 Martha } untere Terrasse 40 Gusti } 41 Cäcilie } 42 Hanna } obere Terrasse 43 Adelheid } 44 Grethi, die Kleine 45 Therese, die Schwarze 46 Elise, die Große 47 Anna, die Schlanke 48 Cenzi, die Hübsche 49 Toni, die Sanfte 50 Marie, die Dicke 50 Kellnerinnen * * * * * 1 Geschäftsführer 1 erster Cassier 2 zweite Cassiere 2 Ceremoniers 2 Billeteurs, 2 Controleurs 1 Programm-Verkäufer 4 Postkarten-Verkäufer 1 Garderobier 2 Garderobe-Cassiere 8 Garderobe-Gehilfen 1 Velociped-Aufbewahrer 1 erster Metzger 2 zweiter Metzger 1 Lehrjunge (Piccolo) 6 Schenkkassiere 6 Einschenker 1 Hausmeister 1 Hausschreiner 1 Monteur für electrische Beleuchtung 1 Hausgärtner 1 Hausknecht (Bieraufzieher) 1 Laufbursche 2 Besteckputzer 1 Buchhalterin und 1 Buffetdame 4 Buffetdamen 1 erste und 1 zweite Küchenbeschließerin 1 Weißzeugbeschließerin 1 Ober-Köchin (_chef de cuisine_) 1 erste Köchin (für Braten, Geflügel u. Wildpret) 1 zweite Köchin (für Pfannengerichte u. Ragouts) 1 dritte Köchin (für Gemüse und Eierspeisen) 1 vierte Köchin (für Spieß- und Rostbraterei) 4 Kochpraktikantinnen (Kochfräulein) 1 erste und 1 zweite Küchenmagd 1 Kupferputzerin 1 Mädchen für Speiseaufzug im Bräustübel 1 Mädchen für Speiseaufzug im großen Saal 1 Mädchen f. Speiseaufzug f. Gallerie u. Nebensaal 3 Biermädchen 1 Zimmermädchen 1 Waschmagd 6 Hausmägde 135 Personen The cookery of Germany is, on the whole, both appetising and wholesome. In the better class of restaurants and hotels it has absorbed many modes of preparation from France, combining these with its own. Where cookery has stood still in the latter country, it has advanced in the former; and one may dine as well, perhaps, in many of its smaller towns as in most provincial hostelries beyond its borders. Its private cookery remains more distinct and preserves its local flavour. If the French are more successful with the chicken, the Germans may be relied upon to do full justice to the goose and duck. Nowhere does the fowl which saved Rome rise to the sublime heights that it does in the district of the Vosges, not only as a roast with "Compot," but in its more ethereal perfection--the goose-liver "Pastete," or pâté de foie gras. If one desires a roast goose after the German mode, let him proceed after the following manner: Rub a young dressed goose overnight with salt, pepper, sage, thyme, and sweet marjoram inside and out; in the morning prepare a dressing as follows--a large handful of stoned raisins and Zante currants, bread crumbs, a couple of sour apples chopped fine, and one mealy potato, with butter mixed in, and all well rolled together, but put no spices in the dressing. For the gravy, boil the giblets in a little water and mash the liver in a spoonful of flour, chop the gizzard, stir these in the liquid they were boiled in, add it to the gravy in the dripping-pan, sprinkle in a little thyme, sage, and sweet marjoram, and it is done. Serve the gravy separately. When cooked and served, garnish with sliced lemons and parsley. A "Compot" of some kind, like Hagenmark, cherries with Kirsch, or even applesauce, if not too tart, should complete the dish. The duck may be similarly treated; but a goose or duck _à l'Allemande_ would scarcely meet with favour in France, where the rules are laid down so strictly that even a slight deviation from accepted canons would be met by a hiss from parquet and gallery alike. Thus the "Almanach des Gourmands," in speaking of the young wild duck, or albran, which in October becomes a canardeau and in November a canard, mentions, among various ways of preparing it, that of serving it with turnips, adding that this honour belongs more strictly to _monsieur son père_. This gastronomic slip--that of serving turnips with a _wild_ duck--on the part of La Reynière, who is rarely caught napping in anything relating to foods or food preparations, aroused the ire of Savarin, who protests against it in these vigorous words: "The adjunction of such a vegetable as this to this noble game would be for a young wild duck an improper and even injurious proceeding, a monstrous alliance, a dishonourable degradation." On the other hand, Savarin himself was roundly denounced by M. de Courchamps for assigning a truffled turkey a place among the roasts instead of among the large pieces of the first service. This culinary heresy, he states, has lessened the esteem in which M. Brillat-Savarin has been held in other respects, and seriously hurt the reputation of his book. The ethics of gastronomy, it will be seen, are as marked as those of society, and the arrangement of a bill of fare calls for as much finesse as do the functions of a chaperon. While the pâté de foie gras is a dish of modern times, the ancients nevertheless knew the secret of enlarging the liver of the goose; but with the relapse into barbarism the secret became lost, to remain undiscovered until the beginning of the seventeenth century. Alsace is the chosen home of the goose, and this fowl has rendered its capital more celebrated than the siege of 1870 or the marvellous façade and clock of its Münster. "My idea of heaven," said the Rev. Sydney Smith, referring to the Strassburg product, "is eating foies gras to the sound of trumpets!" For although the pâté is produced in numerous localities on the Continent, in no other place does it attain the superlative bloom and delicacy that it does in the more important manufactories of the historic city on the Ill. To think of Strassburg is to think of Doyen and his confrères and their incomparable productions, around which rise the Gothic glories of the mediæval fane, the quaintly gabled houses embellished by the craft of the wood-carver, the statues of Gutenberg and Kleber, and the town's great girdles of fortifications and inner ramparts. It is said the pâté de foie gras is the invention of a Norman cook named Close, who was in the employ of the Maréchal de Contades, military commandant of the province from 1762 to 1788. On the retirement of the maréchal, his cook remained in Strassburg, and began the manufacture of the dish which had rendered the table of his employer famous. There were truffles in the Wasgenwald, with trained dogs to hunt them; the goose everywhere stood ready for sacrifice; while the near-by vineyards of Neuwiller, Morsbrunn, and Westhausen contributed their wines in abundance as its fluid concomitant. But the pâté did not reach its highest excellence until some time afterwards, when Doyen, a pastry-cook of great genius, already celebrated for his _chaussons_ of veal and inimitable apple-puffs, substituted the blacker, larger, and more fragrant truffle of Périgord, adding a _bouquet-garni_ composed of numerous spices. Upon the proper blending of these depends to a large extent the success of the dish, just as the special flavour of a brand of champagne results from the precise adjustment of its liqueur. All through Alsace, wherever ponds or streams exist, may be seen daily vast flocks of geese during the summer and autumn, screaming, splashing, and diving in the water. The landscape is white with them, and the plain resounds with their clamour. Each flock, which often numbers a thousand, has its goose-herd and goose-dog. At dawn the herder sounds his reveille, beginning to assemble his charges from the most remote part of the village or hamlet. These take their place in the procession of their own accord, until the ranks are complete, and they eagerly wend their way to the coveted goal. Here they remain until evening, when, at a summons from the herder, the return journey is accomplished, each individual flock leaving the phalanx on arriving near its home. Less idyllic is the life of the town goose, when large ponds and succulent herbage are not readily accessible, the birds being confined in yards where, in place of a daily round of bathing and gossiping, they are compelled to watch the flight of the storks overhead and mark the monotonous passing of the hours as they are tolled from the Rathhaus tower. Nearly every other house or yard of the poorer classes has its geese, the young fowls alone being utilised for their livers. In late October or early November the fattening begins, a process lasting usually from two to three weeks, the prized livers--the true "golden egg" of the bird of St. Michael--then weighing from two to three pounds. [Illustration: THE BIRD OF ST. MICHAEL From the etching by Birket-Foster, R.A.] The humanitarian will protest against the cruelty of gorging the fowl to repletion, depriving it of drink, and imprisoning it in close cages to gratify the voracity of man. Yet it must be admitted that hitherto everything possible to the maintenance of the health and pleasure of the subject has been lavishly supplied, and that a brief span at most would elapse ere time must claim its victim. The fox and the goose have always been closely associated, and what applies to one may well apply to the other. "Certainly," reasons Bulwer, "in the chase itself all my sympathies are on the side of the fox. But if all individuals are to give way to the happiness of the greatest number, we must set off against the painful fate of the fox the pleasurable sensation in the breasts of numbers which his fate has the honourable privilege to excite." Without the inconveniences that the Strassburg goose is compelled to undergo in behalf of the metamorphosis of its liver, the list of _plats de prédilection_ were shorn of one of its greatest attractions, and a city now of world-wide fame must soon drag out a monotonous existence and be forgotten unless by the student of architecture--a fact duly set forth in the following stanza: "Strasbourg tire vanité De ses pâtés de foie; Cette superbe cité Ne doit sa prospérité Qu'aux oies!" (Can roasted Philomel a liver Fit for a pie produce?-- Fat pies that on the Rhein's sweet river Fair Strassburg bakes. Pray, who's the giver? A goose!)[25] One should taste a pâté in Strassburg itself on a crisp November day, after a protracted stroll through the sleepy town. Then one may saunter anew through its mediæval streets and labyrinthine corridors to view the Münster whose gargoyles glower so weirdly in the moonlight, ere pausing at the Luxhof or the Spaten, where cool fountains of Münchner continually flow. That the pâté de foie gras is a factor of gout and a prolific cause of indigestion, as is commonly asserted, is true to the same extent that holds good with many other viands when inordinately indulged in or partaken of too frequently. It was never intended to be eaten by the "terrine," and much also depends upon its freshness and the source of its manufacture. A generous slice of a fresh authentic Strassburg pâté, eaten with bread, need hold no terrors for a healthy digestion, or prove other than a source of the most delightsome recollections. Savouring it, one may again summon the surroundings of its native land--the verdant meads of the Alsace plain, the herder tending his argent flocks, the soft contours of the Vosges outlined against the distant sky. But the alimentary resources of Germany are nowhere revealed to greater advantage than in the innumerable forms of the sausage, and it may well be questioned whether the songs of the Lorelei are not, after all, inspired by the perfection of this product, rather than called forth by the beauties of the Lurlenberg or the merits of the vineyards of the Rheingau. To become a connoisseur of sausages in all their protean phases is no simple task. Only a German may analyse intelligently all the species and varieties, from the huge Cervelat of Braunschweig and goose-liver Trüffelwurst of Strassburg to the Salamis of Gotha and Blutwurst of Schwaben. And as the sausage is fashioned with a special view to its harmonious combination with beer, it is self-evident that one must be a beer-drinker of experience in order to pronounce upon the virtues of a given kind. "Wurst" and "Durst," Uhland long since pointed out, not only rhyme, but belong together in a material way. But by this he in no wise implied that one might choose a variety at random, with no thought of consonance as regards its liquid accompaniment, or even that one should be unmindful of climatic conditions. Thus the variety that blends best with the dark, potent Gerstensaft of Nürnberg as one quaffs it in great Seidels thick with its head of creamy foam in the Mohrenkeller, or in cool Steins in the Bratwurst-Glöcklein, would be entirely out of place as a complement to the amber Pilsener of Austria, the Weiss beer of Berlin, or even the many malt extracts of Württemberg. It is likewise equally easy to understand that a particular sausage which might appeal to one in Hanover might be utterly incongruous to the climate of the Elbe or the Neckarthal. The delicate Bockwurst, composed of veal and pork, should be used with Bock beer, for which it was especially designed. The juicy Knackwurst, with its flavour of garlic, which belongs to the family of the Frankfurt and Wienerwurst, is eminently worthy its exalted place as a garnish to Sauerkraut, where the Mettwurst and the Schwartenmagen would sound a discordant note. To determine the precise kind that should be taken with the Münchner Hof-Bräu, as it is dispensed in the Café and Garten of the Hotel Royal at Stuttgart, where the regal beer of Munich reaches its apotheosis, would require a more extended experience than might be contributed by the writer. A Knackwurst, possibly, may be suggested during the summer, and a Bratwurst in winter. And yet this would depend largely upon the hour of the evening, as well as on the recommendations of the Kellnerin. Not more dissimilar are the hams of the thick-jowled swine of Westphalia and those of the long-snouted brindled hogs of Rothenburg an der Tauber, than are the various sausages of different districts. Indeed, with the sausage alone Germany might form a rampart round the world, and float a navy upon her daily tide of beer. Of the innumerable varieties, the well-known Cervelat is the largest, and of these the most colossal come from Braunschweig, which also produces the finest Knack-and Zungenwürste, the finest truffled geese-liver as well as calves'-liver sausages coming from Strassburg. Although the Plockwurst, the diminutive Wienerbrühwürstchen, the tiny Lübecker Saucisschen, the Schlackwurst, and very many other kinds are not included in the subjoined list relating to this specialty, its perusal will be found of absorbing interest by the connoisseur, and its study remind the too unobservant traveller who has sojourned in Germany of, alas! how many neglected opportunities. The quotations are given in marks and kilograms, the mark equalling twenty-five cents and the kilogram being equivalent to a little over two pounds. The record being that of a north-German shop, southern Germany is only meagrely represented, and the list sounds its own praises too well to call for comment: _Preis Verzeichniss._ _Per Kilo._ _Braunschweiger._ _M._ _Pf._ Cervelatwurst 4. Mettwurst 3. 60 Trüffelleberwurst 4. Sardellenleberwurst 3. 60 Feine Leberwurst 3. Zungenblutwurst 3. 20 Blutwurst, geräuchert 2. 40 Frische Sulze in Blase Blut- und Leberwürste, Stück 25 _Gothaer._ Cervelatwurst I 3. 60 " II " homöopatische " Grobschnitt Salamis 4. Mortadella gekocht 4. _Göttinger._ Mettwurst _Colmar._ Gänselebertrüffelwurst 7 _Gothaer._ Feine Leberwurst, geräuchert 3. 60 Knackwürste, Paar 35 Jagdwürste 65 Zungenblutwurst 3. 20 Blutwurst 2. 80 Paaszsülze 3. 60 _Thüringer._ Cervelatwurst Schwartenmagen 2. 80 Blutwurst, frische, haussch 2. 80 Knackwürste, Paar 40 _Westfälischer._ Schinkenroulade 4. _Strassburger._ Gänselebertrüffelwurst 7. Kalbslebertrüffelwurst 4. Salamis di Verona Mortadella di Bologna _Wiener._ Selchwürstchen, Paar 25 Saucisschen 13 _Frankfurter._ Bratwürste, Paar 45 _Janer'sche._ Bratwürste, Paar 45 _Regensburger._ Wurst, Paar _Berliner._ Erbswurst, Stück 65 _Schomberger._ Delikatesswürstchen How they shine in their silken skins, these triumphs of the _Metzgerei_, seen through the plate-glass of a Delikatessen shop--ebon and bronze, russet and red, blonde and grey, mottled and veined, of all hues and all sizes: long and slender, plump and fat, curved like a crescent, round-barrelled and egg-shaped, as if their juices and spices were eager to be set free; some that gain in succulence by time; others that, like the rose, have but their hour in which to be plucked. An essentially south-German dish is the Metzelsuppe--the "bouillabaisse" of Swabia--in which the sausage plays an important role, but which, to be appreciated, requires an essentially German taste as well as a digestion without limit. This consists of several preparations of freshly killed pork, including soup, bacon, and sausages with Sauerkraut, the sausages usually being the Leber and the Blutwurst. It has found its Thackeray in Uhland, whose poem has become a classic, although, with the possible exception of the bacon and Sauerkraut, the alien will find the poem preferable to the dish. With a choice of a different soup for every day in the year, the German does not lack for variety in the stepping-stone of the dinner. With all of these the stranger may not be in sympathy, and in none of them will he find the equal, as an all-round preface to the principal repast, of a perfect Julienne. But the potato soup, the native pot-au-feu, and even the soup in which beer is an important ingredient, have their merits when well prepared. Nor is the boiled beef with horseradish sauce, which usually follows the soup, to be despised, notably in warm weather, when rich and heavy viands cloy. One would be equally lacking in appreciation were he to lose sight of another dish we owe to Germany, the "marinirte," or sour-spiced herring--that offset to _Katzenjammer_ and noon-restorer of a jaded appetite and a parched tongue. The Schmierkäse, or whey-cheese, when cream is employed in its composition and the green of fresh chives enters as an adjunct to please the eye and the palate, surely requires no praises, whatever may be said to the contrary of the variety whose very name one thinks of in a whisper. Such dishes as Szegediner Schwein's Goulash mit Sauerkraut, Paprica Schnitzel mit Ungarischem Kraut, and Ungarisches Goulash mit Spätzle--triumphs of the Hungarian and Viennese _Kochkunst_--seldom turn out satisfactory in alien hands. The Spätzle and Nudel are two farinaceous dishes that also call for a native cook to serve in perfection. The Spätzle is of south-German origin, and tastes best when it flanks a viand with a tart sauce and has a Rhein wine to keep it company. This observation applies more strictly to its native home, the virtues of German dishes and German cigars being most apparent amid their natural atmosphere. Indeed, who shall say that the "Pfarrer von Kirchfeld" or the colourful strains of "Sataniel" would seem the same if transported oversea? Climate, the hour, the environment--all the conditions of the _entourage_ exercise a marked influence on many things, especially on the pleasures of taste. The Zeller that seems so delicious with the chicken in a south-German restaurant is apt to prove a delusion elsewhere; and even the best of Affenthaler and Assmanshäuser, of which one may retain a pleasant remembrance, must fade before a good Bordeaux. The beer of Germany, when properly cared for and when allowed to rush swiftly from the wood, alone preserves a large portion of its delicious tonical freshness wherever partaken of. Like an omelette soufflé, beer has its moment, and once started towards the Seidel or Stein, its flow should be as uninterrupted as the course of a mountain brook that, with music and song and freighted with coolness, comes dancing down from the distant hills to slake the thirst of the vale below. Of game, the hare and the partridge have always been held in great esteem by the Germans; and while the native Rebhuhn may not compare with our own prince of feathered game-birds, the ruffed grouse, the German hare has unquestionable merits when prepared as the favourite Hasenbraten, Hasenpfeffer, and Hasenrücken gespickt with Sahnen sauce. Even Goethe sounds a "Hoch!" when he thinks of the game he has secured, and smacks his lips in anticipation of its appearance on the table.[26] The mysteries of the sandwich in all its possibilities are unknown to Germany. But amends are made by the attractions of the Kalter Aufschnitt which takes its place, where slices of veal are surrounded by slices of Cervelat, ham, and tongue, and thin cuts of Leberwurst with pickles and hard-boiled eggs cut in rounds to form a frame, and rye bread and mustard _à discretion_. As for the Kuchen--light, wholesome, and inviting--its forms are legion, though these belong more strictly to the supper-table or to that phase of feminine entertainment termed "The Coffee." The common and often excessive use of the caraway-seed in cakes and breadstuffs is nevertheless to be deplored, however great its merits as a carminative. Dumas tells the story of the excellent cake called madeleine, an entremets which all who have been in France will remember. Is it a flower of the Vosges, indigenous to Alsace, that has been transplanted across the border?--it must have been the invention of the German _Kuchenkunst_. This is the account of the madeleine as it appears in the "Grand Dictionnaire de Cuisine": "A tourist-friend who was at Strassburg, and who started out on his travels a little late, expecting to reach the next village before dark, was unsuccessful in finding a shelter until nearly midnight, when he perceived the spire of a distant church, and soon afterwards the welcome rays of a light that seemed to emerge from some subterranean abode. Knocking at the door, a gruff voice demanded: "'Who is it, and what do you want?' "'I am a traveller, weary and worn, and well-nigh starved. For heaven's sake, let me in.' "With this the door was unbarred by a man of savage aspect whose hair and beard were covered with flour, and who was naked to the waist. "'Come in, and make haste,' he said in a cavernous voice; and a large room was disclosed to the traveller the interior of which was lighted by the fires of an immense oven. The door was then re-barred by the forbidding-looking occupant. "'Pardon, Monsieur,' said the traveller, little at ease. 'I have just completed sixteen or eighteen leagues with scarcely a mouthful; cannot I buy something to appease my hunger, and have a couch to lie on?' "'I have only my own bed,' replied the man, in his gruff voice; 'as to something to eat, that is not wanting--it remains to be seen if it will please you.' "And opening a cupboard, he produced a basket containing a dozen or so of oval-shaped cakes of a fine golden hue. "'Try these,' he said to the traveller, 'and tell me what you think of them.' "When the basket was emptied, he asked, 'What do you think of my madeleines?' "'Something to drink first,' muttered the traveller in a strangled voice. "The cupboard was opened anew, and uncorking a bottle covered with dust, the baker filled two glasses, passing one to the stranger. "'Drink,' he said; 'I don't wish my cakes to choke you.' "The glass was emptied at a draught, when the visitor passed it to be refilled,--it was an excellent Bordeaux. "'Your health, my friend; you have given me one of the most delicious repasts that I have ever had. But tell me what do you call these lovely cakes?' "'What! don't you know the madeleines of Commercy?' "'You mean to say I am at Commercy?' "'Yes, and, without knowing it, you have eaten the best cakes in the world.'" _Se non è vero è ben trovato_--the madeleine still remains to gladden the traveller. They bring it now in little boxes of a dozen--flat on the top and grooved like a shell underneath, the colour a rich golden brown--as the train halts for a moment at the town on the Meuse where Cardinal de Retz wrote his memoirs. One of the earliest of German cook-books, published at Strassburg in 1516, and now of the utmost rarity, bears for its title "Kuchenmeisterey," or the mastery of cake-making. Perchance were one to turn its faded Gothic leaves, some forgotten master-stroke of the baker might reveal itself, to vie with the madeleine in popularity and add to the already endless list of farinaceous _Leckerbissen_ and _Frauenessen_, wherein the Germans have no superiors. The story of the madeleine suggests that of the Vienna roll, which, it is said, owes its origin to the investment of Vienna by the Turks. During the protracted siege of the city, when the town had become almost reduced to starvation and the position of the enemy was unknown, a baker was making his last batch of bread. His little son, who had been amusing himself with his marbles and drum, had gone to bed, leaving a marble on the drum-head. The baker kept on with his baking and attending to his ovens, sitting down between times to meditate on his probable fate when the final loaf was gone, and gleaming cangiars and ferocious janizaries had begun their work of carnage. Suddenly his attentive ear was arrested by an unaccustomed vibratory sound proceeding from the drum, while his eye perceived a continuous dancing movement of the marble. Soon it became apparent to him that the vibration was caused by forces working on the fortifications without--the steady pounding of mattock and pickaxe--and that the undermining of the walls had begun almost at his door. At once his loaves were forgotten, and, hastening to spread the alarm, the enemy was attacked unawares and successfully routed. The following day the baker was summoned before the emperor. "What reward do you claim for your services?--you have saved the city," said the emperor. "I would serve the bread for the palace," replied the artist of the loaves, "and I would have my rolls shaped like the Crescent we have conquered." A favourite convivial song of the Fatherland, with its rollicking strain, may not be omitted from a German Speisekarte. The words are by a former minister of education, von Muehler, of Prussia; the music that of the dance "La Madrilena." It should be sung in chorus and led by one who is light on his feet and a master of the side-step, with the sonorous instrumentation of viols and horns to lend it additional spirit and swing: BEDENKLICHKEITEN (Heinrich von Muehler, 1842. Bis 1872 Preussischer Cultusminister.) [Illustration: _Munter._ Spanischer Tanz: La Madrilena.