The Physiology of Taste (34 page)

After the oysters, which were found to be deliciously fresh, grilled skewered kidneys were served, a deep pastry shell of truffled
foie gras
, and finally the
fondue
.

All its ingredients had been mixed in a casserole, which was brought to the table with an alcohol lamp. I performed on this battlefield, and my cousins did not miss a single one of my gestures.

They exclaimed with delight on the charms of the whole procedure, and asked for my recipe, which I promised to give them, the while I told the two anecdotes on the subject which my reader will perhaps find further on.

After the
fondue
came seasonable fresh fruits and sweetmeats, a cup of real Mocha made
à la Dubelloy
, a method which was then beginning to be known, and finally two kinds of liqueurs, one sharp for refreshing the palate and the other oily for soothing it.

The breakfast being well-ended, I suggested to my guests that we take a little exercise, and that it consist of inspecting my apartment, quarters which are far from elegant but which are spacious and comfortable, and which pleased my company especially since the ceilings and gildings date from the middle of the reign of Louis XV.

I showed them the clay original of the bust of my lovely cousin Mme. Récamier by Chinard, and her portrait in miniature by Augustin; they were so delighted by these that the doctor kissed the portrait with his full fleshy lips, and the captain permitted himself to take such liberty with the statue that I slapped him away; for if all the admirers of the original did likewise, that breast so voluptuously shaped would soon be in the same state as the big toe of Saint Peter in Rome, which pilgrims have worn to a nubbin with their kisses.
⁶

Then I showed them a few casts from the works of the best antique sculptors, some paintings which were not without merit, my guns, my musical instruments, and a few fine first editions, as many of them French as foreign.

In this little excursion into such varied arts they did not forget my kitchen. I showed them my economical stockpot, myroasting-shell, my clockwork spit, and my steamcooker. They inspected everything with the most finicky curiosity, and were all the more astonished since in their own kitchens everything was still done as it had been during the Regency.

At the very moment we re-entered my drawing room, the clock struck two. “Bother!” the doctor exclaimed. “Here it is dinner time, and sister Jeannette will be waiting for us! We must hurry back to her. I must confess I feel no real hunger, but still
I must have my bowl of soup. It is an old habit with me, and when I go for a day without taking it I have to say with Titus,
Diem perdidi.”

“My dear doctor,” I said to him, “why go so far for what is right here at hand? I’ll send someone to the kitchen to give warning that you will stay awhile longer with me, and that you will give me the great pleasure of accepting a dinner toward which I know you will be charitable, since it will not have all the finish of such a meal prepared with more leisure.”

A kind of oculary consultation took place at this point between the two brothers, followed by a formal acceptance. I then sent a messenger
⁷
posthaste to the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and exchanged a word or two with my master cook; and after a remarkably short interval, and thanks partly to his own resources and partly to the help of neighboring restaurants, he served us a very neatly turned out little dinner, and a delectable one to boot.

It gave me deep satisfaction to observe the poise and aplomb with which my two friends seated themselves, pulled nearer to the table, spread out their napkins, and prepared for action.

They were subjected to two surprises which I myself had not intended for them; for first I served them Parmesan cheese with the soup, and then I offered them a glass of dry Madeira. These were novelties but lately imported by Prince Talleyrand, the leader of all our diplomats, to whom we owe so many witticisms, so many epigrams and profundities, and the man so long followed by the public’s devout attention, whether in the days of his power or of his retirement.

Dinner went off very well in both its accessory and its main parts, and my cousins reflected as much pleasure as gaiety.

Afterwards I suggested a game of piquet, which they refused; they preferred the sweet siesta, the
far niente
, of the Italians, the captain told me; and therefore we made a little circle close to the hearth.

In spite of the delights of a postprandial doze, I have always felt that nothing lends more calm pleasure to the conversation than an occupation of whatever kind, so long as it does not absorb the attention. Therefore I proposed a cup of tea.

Tea in itself was an innovation to the old die-hard patriots. Nevertheless it was accepted. I made it before their eyes, and they drank down several cups of it with all the more pleasure since they had always before considered it a remedy.

Long practice has taught me that one pleasure leads to another, and that once headed along this path a man loses the power of refusal. Therefore it was that in an almost imperative voice I spoke of finishing the afternoon with a bowl of punch.

“But you will kill us!” the doctor said.

“Or at least make us tipsy!” the captain added.

To all this I replied only by calling vociferously for lemons, for sugar, for rum.

I concocted the punch then, and while I was busy with it, I had made for me some beautifully thin, delicately buttered, and perfectly salted slices of zwiebach
(TOAST)
.

This time there was a little protest. My cousins assured me that they had already eaten very well indeed, and that they would not touch another thing; but since I am acquainted with the temptations of this completely simple dish, I replied with only one remark, that I hoped I had made enough of it. And sure enough, soon afterwards the captain took the last slice, and I caught him peeking to see if there were still a little more or if it was really the last. I ordered another plateful immediately.

During all this, time had passed, and my watch showed me it was past eight o’clock.

“We must get out of here!” my guests exclaimed. “We are absolutely obliged to go home and eat at least a bit of salad with our poor sister, who has not set eyes on us today!”

I had no real objection to this; faithful to the duties of hospitality when it is concerned with two such delightful old fellows, I accompanied them to their carriage, and watched them be driven away.

Someone may ask if boredom did not show itself now and then in such a long séance.

I shall reply in the negative: the attention of my guests was fixed by my making the
fondue
, by the little trip around the apartment, by a few things which were new to them in the dinner, by
the tea, and above all by the punch, which they had never before tasted.

Moreover the doctor knew the genealogy and the bits of gossip of all Paris; the captain had passed part of his life in Italy, both as a soldier and as an envoy to the Parman court; I myself have traveled a great deal; we chatted without affectation, and listened to one another with delight. Not even that much is needed to make time pass with grace and rapidity.

The next morning I received a letter from the doctor; he wished to inform me that the little debauch of the night before had done them no harm at all; quite to the contrary, after the sweetest of sleeps, the two old men had arisen refreshed, feeling both able and eager to begin anew.

1.
These two men, both of the nobility and of the early eighteenth century, were apparently charming fellows with a graceful hand at “madrigals and other poetical trifles.”

2.
This word may come from the Hindu
panch
, meaning five, the number of essential ingredients. Or it may come from
puncheon
, an obsolete word for a large cask. It was, no matter what its origin, an important part of the eighteenth-and nineteenth-century vocabulary. A punch followed a good meal, or even a poor one, as the sun the stars. A punch could be hot water and brandy smoked with a ruddy poker. A punch could be a gathering of people (met to drink one!). A “company” punch would be concocted somewhat like this for a club, as Sheila Hibben records it for the Chatham Artillery of Georgia in her
AMERICAN REGIONAL COOKERY
:

The tea, sugar, and fruit juices are well-mixed, and everything else is added except the cherries and champagne. The whole stands in a closely covered crock for one week. Just before serving, the last two ingredients are added and the whole is poured over a block of ice.

This punch has a noble background, but I feel that the Professor would have preferred a glass of hot sugared brandy with lemon.

3.
In
THE IRISH QUARTERLY REVIEW
, Volume VIII, published in Dublin in 1858, there is what would today be called an “article” on the Professor’s book, which includes translated bits from it and Dr. Richerand’s preface (to the second edition), and one or two amusing lights on the Anglo-Saxon at table. The essayist approves of Brillat-Savarin’s four requisites for good dining: “It is even thus that six friends would regale themselves at the present day, on a boiled leg of mutton and a kidney, washed down with good clear orleans or madoc wine, in France, or genuine port, in England, or glorious whiskey in Ireland.” But as for dining out (See “The Advantages of Restaurants” in Meditation 28 and the picture of a typical Paris restaurant), the poor Irishman exiled in London wails: “… our awful steam baths, the Strand and Fleet Street diningrooms…. Simpson’s for example! In we rush from the roar of the Strand. A long, dark, sweltering room is before us; no bright-eyed
dame du comptoi
; no shining, flashing mirrors; no waiter to glide at your nod, hot roaring guests, shouting waiters, men in cotton coats shoving about large dishes of steaming meat on rolling tables, and you eat your dinner in an atmosphere full of gin, fat, steam, and gabble … and where you are choaked by foul air …”

4.
In 1825 this was a fashionable, rich, worldly, and above all
well-bred
quarter of the city.

5.
A few years after the Professor put down his pen, there appeared in England a book printed even more anonymously than the first edition of
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF TASTE
, called “
THE OYSTER
; Where, How, and When to
find, breed, cook
, and
eat
it.” The pages seethe with mid-Victorian discretion, in spite of a great many rapturous Ahs! and fashionable Alacks!: “At the period of a lady’s married life when nausea is prevalent, a few fresh oysters, taken raw in their own liquor, with no addition but a little pepper, and a fairy slice of French roll or other light bread, stops the feeling of sickness, and keeps up the stamina unimpaired.” It is not until we read that a mother’s oyster diet will make teething much less painful for her child that we realize pregnancy is hinted at.

As for the oyster supper, which Frenchmen enjoyed even more than Englishmen, according to Anon., he says happily, “Let me sketch the scene. In the center of the table, covered with a clean white cloth up to the top hoop, stands the barrel of oysters, a kindly remembrance from a friend … Each gentleman at table finds an oyster-knife and clean coarse towel by the side of his plate, and he is expected to open oysters for himself and the lady seated by his side, unless she is wise enough to open them for herself. By the side of every plate is the
panis ostrearius
, the oyster-loaf made and baked purposely for the occasion, and all down the center of the table, interspersed with vases of bright holly and evergreens, are plates filled with pats of butter, or lemons cut in half, and as many vinegar and pepper castors as the establishment can furnish. As the attendance of servants at such gatherings is usually dispensed with, bottled Bass or Guinness, or any equally unsophisticated pale ale or porter, is liberally provided; and where the means allow, light continental wines … are placed upon the table. Of Spirits, only good English gin, genuine Schiedam, or Irish or Scotch Whiskey, are admissible … At some of these oyster-suppers, oysters roasted in the shell are brought in ‘hot and hot,’ and dishes of fried, stewed, and scalloped oysters follow each other in quick succession, and even oyster patties are sometimes introduced; but I hold up both hands against an American innovation which is creeping in, and introducing crabs and lobsters, and mixed pickles, and other foreigners into the
carte
on such an occasion.”

The after-effects of such a pleasurable bit of gluttonizing are of necessity ignored in this well-mannered little book, but with
matching discretion Brillat-Savarin manages to imply them in his story of the midnight feast, where he pulls open and then pulls tight again the “curtain of conjugal privacy.”

6.
The two lusty oldsters knew beauty still, but even if the portrait and the bust had been of a lesser goddess than la Récamier, it is probable that their reactions would have been the same: any men with their undimmed capacity for pleasure would no more quibble at the tilt of a nose or nipple than at the casserole a
fondue
bubbled in.

7.
Here the Professor uses one of his cherished words,
VOLANTE
, on which he so prided himself. (See The Author’s Preface and my note 5.)