The Physiology of Taste (60 page)

The head of the table was occupied by a canon from Notre-Dame in Paris (I hope that he is still living), who had made himself perfectly at home there, and before whom the headwaiter did not hesitate to place everything that was best upon the bill of fare.

He paid me the honor of recognizing me and of summoning me, as a sort of aide-de-camp, to the higher altitudes which he occupied, but I could not enjoy this advantage for long: political happenings dragged me away, and I left for the United States, where I found a haven, and work, and some peace.

*            *           *           *           * *            *           *           *           *

I shall end this chapter by telling of an incident in my life which proves plainly that nothing is certain in this world below, and that misery creeps up on us when we least expect it.

I was leaving for France, quitting the United States after a three years’ stay, and everything had gone so well for me there that all I asked from Heaven (and it heard my prayer) in the inevitable moments of regret before a departure, was that I might be no more unhappy in the Old World than I had been in the New.

This happiness I owed principally to the fact that from the
moment I arrived in America I spoke the native tongue,
*
I dressed like the Americans, I took care not to seem more intelligent than they, and I was pleased with whatever they did; it was thus that I paid for the hospitality I found among them by a tactfulness which I believe necessary and which I suggest to all who find themselves in the same position.

Therefore I left peacefully a country where I had lived with everyone as peacefully, and there could not have been in all creation a two-legged featherless being more filled than I was with brotherly love, when there occurred an incident quite beyond my control, which barely failed to hurl me back into a tragic series of events.

I was on a boat which would carry me from New York to Philadelphia, and here I must explain that in order to make this trip with any certainty and precision advantage must be taken of the moment when the tide goes out.

The sea was at the precise time of slack water, that is to say on the point of ebbing, and the moment of casting off had arrived, without a single sign being made that we were to set out.

There were several of us Frenchmen among the passengers, including a M. Gauthier, who must still be at this very moment in Paris: a fine chap who ruined himself trying to build
ultra vires
the house which forms the southwestern corner of the palace of the Ministry of Finance.

The cause of our delay was soon discovered: two American passengers had not yet arrived, and the captain was kind enough to wait for them. This put us in danger of being held back by low tide, so that it would take us twice as long to reach our destination, for the sea waits upon no man.

Grumbling was heard at once, especially from the Frenchmen, whose passions are much livelier than those of the inhabitants of the other side of the Atlantic.

I not only took no part in it, but hardly noticed it, for my heart was full and my thoughts turned toward the fate which awaited
me in France; the result was that I was uncaring of what was happening about me. Soon, however, I heard a resounding crack, and I perceived that Gauthier had given a slap that would have grounded a rhinoceros to the cheek of one of the Americans.

This violent act resulted in hideous confusion. The words
French
and
American
being yelled back and forthly angrily, the quarrel became nationalistic; there was question, no less, of throwing us Frenchmen overboard, which would have been none too easy for them, even so, for we were eight against eleven.

My outer aspect was the kind that suggested that I might make the strongest resistance to this
TRANSBORDATION
,
⁴³
for I am thickset, very tall, and was then only thirty-nine years old. This was undoubtedly why the obvious ringleader of the opposing forces was pushed forward, to face me in a most menacing pose.

He was as high as a steeple, and heavy in proportion; but when I took his measure with a look that dug to the very marrow of his bones, I saw that he was of a lymphatic nature, that his face was puffy and suffused and his eyes were dull, and that his head was small, while his legs were weak as a girl’s.

Mens non agitat molem
, thought I to myself; let us see what stuff he’s made of, and then die, if that be meant. And here word for word is what I said to him, in the manner of the Homeric heroes:

“
DO YOU BELIEVE
*
TO BULLY ME?
YOU DAMNED ROGUE. BY GOD! IT WILL NOT BE SO … AND I’LL OVERBOARD YOU LIKE A DEAD CAT … IF I FIND YOU TOO HEAVY, I’LL CLING TO YOU WITH HANDS LEGS
,
TEETH
,
NAILS, EVERYTHING
,
AND IF I CANNOT DO BETTER
,
WE WILL SINK TOGETHER TO THE BOTTOM
;
MY LIFE IS NOTHING TO SEND SUCH DOG TO HELL
.
NOW
,
JUST NOW
…”
⁴⁴

“
Croyez-vous m’effrayer, damné coquin? … par Dieu! il n’en sera rien, et je vous jetterai par-dessus le bord comme un chat crevé. Si je vous trouve trop lourd, je m’attacherai à vous avec les mains, avec les
jambes, avec les ongles, avec les dents, de toutes les manières, et nous irons ensemble au fond. Ma vie n’est rien pour envoyer en enfer un chien comme vous. Allons …
.”
*

At these words, with which my whole appearance was doubtless in accord (for I felt I possessed the strength of Hercules), I saw my man grow shorter by an inch, while his arms fell and his cheeks sagged inward; in a word, he gave such evident signs of terror that a companion, probably the one who had pushed him toward me, perceived his state and came up as if to protect him: he did well to interpose, for I was in full cry, and the native of the New World would have learned that men who bathe in the waters of the Furens
†
have nerves of tempered steel.

However, more peaceful words made themselves heard from another part of the boat: the arrival of the latecomers had created a diversion, and it was time to hoist sail. The result was that even as I stood ready to do battle, the confusion suddenly ceased.

From there on things went better still; for when all was calm again, upon my going to find Gauthier to rebuke him for his hotheadedness I found him seated at table with the man he had smacked, in the presence of a ham of the most delightful appearance and a pitcher of beer as tall as my forearm is long.

As I strolled past the Palais-Royal, one fine day in February, I stopped before the shop of Madame Chevet, the most famous grocer in Paris, who has always paid me the honor of wishing me well; and noticing a bundle of asparagus whose thinnest stalks were thicker than my index finger, I asked her the price. “Forty francs, Monsieur,” she replied.

“They are truly handsome; but at that price there are few people beside the king and perhaps a prince or two who will be able to enjoy them.”

“You are mistaken; such high quality never reaches the palace, where they want good things but not magnificent. But nonetheless my asparagus will be sold, and this is how:

“At the very moment we are speaking, there are in this city at least three hundred very rich men, bankers, capitalists, tradesmen and so on, who are kept indoors because of the gout, or the fear of catching cold, or the orders of their doctors, or for other reasons which still do not keep them from eating; they are sitting by their fires, beating their brains out to imagine something that will tempt them, and when they have exhausted themselves without thinking of a thing, they send their valets in search of it; and one of these will turn up here, notice my asparagus, and make a report on it, and the bundle will be carried off at no matter what price. Or perhaps a pretty little lady will go by with her adorer, and will say to him, ‘My dear, what beautiful asparagus! Do please buy it: you know that my cook makes a perfect sauce for it!’ Well, in such a case a proper lover neither refuses nor does he bargain. Or perhaps it is to pay a wager, or do honor to a baptism or a sudden rise in stocks … How I can tell? In a word, the most expensive merchandise sells fastest, because in Paris there are so many extraordinary events to celebrate that there are always sufficient reasons for buying it.”

While we were talking, two big Englishmen who passed by arm in arm stopped in front of us, and in an instant their faces lighted with admiration. One of them seized the bundle of asparagus, without even asking the price, paid for it, tucked it under his elbow, and carried it off as he whistled
GOD SAVETHE KING
.

You see, Monsieur,” Madame Chevet said to me, laughing, “that was a chance just as apt to happen as the others, but I had not yet told you of it.”

Fondue
is a native of Switzerland. It is nothing more nor less than eggs scrambled with cheese, in certain proportions which
time and experiences have set. I shall give the official recipe for it.

It is a healthful, savory, and appetizing dish, quickly prepared, and always ready to do honor to the table if unexpected guests arrive. What is more, I discuss it here solely for my own pleasure, and also because the mention of it reminds me of something which is still remembered by the old men of the district of Belley.

Toward the end of the seventeenth century, a Monsieur de Madot was appointed Bishop of Belley, and arrived there to take possession of his diocese.

Those who were in charge of receiving him and doing him the honors of his own palace had prepared a banquet worthy of the event, and had taken advantage of every resource of the old-time cookery to celebrate Monsignor’s arrival.

Among the side dishes was a generous
fondue
, from which the prelate served himself without stint. But, oh surprise! Not recognizing its appearance and believing it to be a
crème
, he ate it with his spoon instead of using his fork, which from time immemorial had been the custom with this dish.

All the guests, astonished by this peculiar behavior, looked sideways at one another, with imperceptible smiles. Respect, however, stilled every tongue, for whatever a bishop from Paris does at table, especially on the day of his arrival, cannot but be well done.

News traveled fast, however, and from the next morning everybody one met would ask, “Well, and do you know how our new bishop ate his
fondue
last night?” “Of course I know! He ate it with a spoon! I have it from an eye witness …” and so on. The town reported the news to the country, and after three months it was public gossip throughout the diocese.

The remarkable thing about it is that this incident failed to shake the foundations of our ancestors’ faith. There were some seekers after novelty who supported the cause of the spoon, but they were soon forgotten: the fork triumphed, and after more than a century one of my great-uncles was still laughing over it, and told me, with a great gust of laughter, how it was that M. de Madot had indeed one time eaten his
fondue
with a spoon.

Weigh the number of eggs you wish to use, according to the presumed number of your guests.

Then take a piece of good Gruyere cheese weighing one-third of this amount, and a morsel of butter weighing one-sixth of it.

You must break and beat the eggs in a casserole, after which you add the butter and the grated or minced cheese.

Put the casserole on a lively fire, and turn the contents with a spatula, until they have become properly thick and soft; add a little salt, or none at all according to whether the cheese is old or not, and a good amount of pepper, which is one of the important characteristics of this time-honored dish; serve it on a gently heated platter; call for the best wine, which will be copiously drunk, and you will see miracles.

Everything was quiet one day at the inn
Ecu de France
, at Bourg in Bresse, when a great rolling of wheels was heard and a superb four-horse coach, English-style, drew up to the door. It was above all remarkable because of two extremely pretty ladies’ maids who snuggled on the coachman’s seat, well-wrapped in a generous rug of scarlet wool, edged and embroidered in blue.

At this sight, which betokened the arrival of a British nobleman traveling by easy stages, Chicot (which was the name of the landlord) ran with his cap in hand: his wife hovered at the hotel door; the servant girls just missed breaking their necks as they tumbled down the stairs, and the stable boys appeared magically, already counting on a generous tip.

The maids were unwrapped and handed down, not without producing a few blushes for the hazards of their descent, and the coach then brought forth
(1)
, Milord, heavy, short, red-faced and fat-bellied; (2), two young ladies,
⁴⁶
lanky, pale, and red-haired; (3), Milady, who looked to be between the first and second stages of consumption.

It was this last who spoke first:

“Innkeeper,” she said, “take good care of my horses; give us a room so that we may rest, and see that my maids have some refreshment; but I do not wish that all this cost more than six francs, so you must take your measures accordingly.”

No sooner had this economical pronouncement been made than Chicot put on his cap again, his wife disappeared inside the hotel, and the maids went back to their duties.

Nevertheless the horses were sent to the stable, where they could read the weekly papers if they wished; the ladies were shown to a chamber (
UPSTAIRS
), and the servants were offered glasses and a carafe of the purest water.