Host and Guest : $b a book about dinners, dinner-giving, wines, and desserts

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Title: Host and Guest : a book about dinners, dinner-giving, wines, and desserts
Author: Kirwan, Andrew Valentine
Language: English
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[Illustration]

HOST AND GUEST.

[Illustration]

“Come, pilgrim, I will bring you where you shall host.”
_All’s Well that Ends Well._

“Epicurean cooks, sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite.”
_Antony and Cleopatra._

“El que solo se come su gallo,
Solo ensilla su caballo.”
_Spanish Proverb._

“He who eats his fowl alone, will have to saddle his horse alone.”

“Tres mihi convivæ prope dissentire videntur,
Poscentes vario multum diversa palato.
Quid dem? quid non dem?”
HORACE.

_HOST AND GUEST._

BOOK ABOUT DINNERS,

DINNER-GIVING, WINES,

AND DESSERTS.

BY A. V. KIRWAN,

OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, ESQ.

[Illustration]

LONDON:

BELL AND DALDY, YORK STREET,

COVENT GARDEN.

[Illustration]

PREFACE.

There is no want of cookery books in the principal languages of Europe,
and least of all in the English language, in which, even in our own
generation, several hundreds have been compiled and published. This
volume, however, is not a cookery book, nor what the French call a
_dispensaire_. It is a household book on the subject of Dinners,
Desserts, Wines, Liqueurs, and on foods in general; and is the result
of reading, observation, and a great deal of experience in foreign
countries. I have been myself, during a life now nearly prolonged to
threescore years, a diner out of some magnitude, and, as far as my
means allowed, a giver of dinners; and have often when younger and less
experienced, felt the want, and have heard my friends express their
sense of the want, of some work of the kind now first presented, so far
as I am aware, in an English dress.

Born in a country house--a messuage producing, to use a legal phrase,
within the curtilage, beef, mutton, fruits, and vegetables--I have
ventured to speak of the choice and quality of these good things from
an early and practical acquaintance with the subject. So much needs to
be said on a matter on which all are eloquent, though few agreeable--I
mean self. It is necessary to state that it is not from reading, but
actual practical experience, that I have learned all about the farm,
the garden, and the poultry-yard.

There are several works of a cognate character to this in Latin and
French, and some in Italian and Spanish. But these are scarce, costly,
old, and obsolete. Few are acquainted with the treatises of Nonnius,
Taillevant, cook to Charles VII., Champier, physician to Francis I.,
Bélon, Patin, Charles Etienne, Lémery, La Varenne, Schookius, Le Grand,
De Serres, and L’Etoile, some of them written in indifferent Latin,
and others in old French. I have extracted from these works a good
deal curious, and something valuable in the choice and preparation of
foods. I have endeavoured to show how the traditions of cookery have
occasionally survived codes and constitutions, and how these traditions
have been, in turn, occasionally set aside and overturned by some
new culinary fashion. The work presented to the reader is therefore,
in certain parts, historical, anecdotical, gossipping, and somewhat
discursive; but the main object of the author has been to induce well
informed and sensible people in England to adopt all that is good in
the excellent cookery, and agreeable and social life of our neighbours
of France, without in any wise abandoning the best of our British
customs, or the simplicity of our substantial food.

It is not for the author to say in how far he has succeeded. That
he leaves to the judgment, and they are a great majority, of those
who criticise in a fair and candid spirit. All, however, who affect
to criticise are not candid; but it may be said of a critic who
deliberately misrepresents a work, that he is unworthy of his vocation,
and as heinously criminal as the man who in social or commercial life
gives a false character of a servant, or a false warranty of goods or
merchandise.

73, Gloucester Place, Portman Square, W.
_March 1, 1864._

[Illustration]

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.--ANCIENT AND MEDIÆVAL COOKERY COMPARED
WITH THE COOKERY OF THE LAST HALF CENTURY.

Garum--Pilau seasoned with garum, 2. The Feast of Trimalchio
in Petronius, 2. Macrobius’s description of a supper given by
Lentulus, 2. Hedge hogs, raw oysters, and asparagus, and purple
shell-fish, 2. Panes picences, 2. Greeks and Romans children
in preparation of viands, 3. Carème’s opinion, 3. Cookery a
practical art, 3. Characteristics of ancient and modern cookery,
4. The Monks, 4. Spanish cookery book of Ruberto de Nola, 4. Leo
X., Raphael, Guido, Baccio, Bandinelli, and John of Bologna,
5. Italian wars under Charles VIII. and Louis XII., 5. Cookery
under Henry III. became Italian, 6. Cookery under Henry IV., 6.
The cabaret, 7. Maître queux cuisiniers porte-chapes, 7. First
regular cookery book in France printed in 1692, 7. The “Dons
de Comus,” 9. Preface written by Father Brumoy, 9. Brumoy’s
comparison between ancient and modern cookery, 10. Idea of a
perfect cook, 10. “Lettre d’un Pâtissier Anglais,” 11. Mrs.
Rundell, 12. “La Science du Maître d’Hôtel Cuisinier,” 12.
Carème, 13. Molière, 13. St. Evremond, 14. Lavardin, 15. The
Regent Orleans, 15. The Duchess of Berri, 15. Filets de volaille
à la Bellevue, 16. Poulets à la Villeroy, 16. Chartreuse à
la Mauconseil, 16. Vol au vent à la Nesle, 16. Poularde à
la Montmorency, 16. Louis XV., 17. Marquis de Béchamel, 18.
Marshals Richelieu and Duras, Duke of La Vallière, the Marquis
de Brancas, and Count de Tessé, 18. Consumption of pheasants in
the kitchens of the Prince de Condé, 18. Louis XVI., 19. His
enormous appetite, 19. Effects of Revolution on cookery, 19.
Cardinal Caraffa, 20. Montaigne, 20. Restaurants, 21. Suppers
of Madame du Deffand, 22. Dinners of D’Holbach, 22. Pic-nics of
Crawford of Auchinames, 22. The epicure Barras, 23. Danton’s love
of morels, 23. Barras’ love of button mushrooms, 23. Napoleon’s
dinners, 23. M. de Bausset, M. de Cussy, Cambacères, Talleyrand,
25. The “Almanach des Gourmands,” 26. Purge your cooks, 28. Frog
dressing at Riom, 28. Veal of Pontoise, 29. Gastaldy and the
salmon, 29. Flesh killed by electricity, 30. Asses’ flesh, 30.
White grease of the fig-pecker, 31. Beauvilliers, 31. Brillat
Savarin, 31. Consumption of turkeys, 32. The Archbishop of
Bordeaux and truffled turkeys, 33. The “Cuisinière Bourgeoise,”
33. Fauche Borel, 33. “Cuisinier Royal,” 33. Shakespeare, Age
of Elizabeth, 34. Age of Anne, Wycherly, Vanbrugh, Congreve,
Pope, 34. Foote’s farce, 35. Bills of fare in Pope’s day, 36. The
“Queen’s Closet Opened,” 36. The “Treasure of Hidden Secrets,”
37. The “Gentleman’s Companion;” Dr. Hill, “Mrs. Glasse,” 37. The
“Connoisseur,” 39. White’s, Pontacs’, Dolly’s and Horsman’s, 39.
The “Art of Cookery,” by a lady, 39. The “Epicure’s Almanack,”
40. The “Cook and Confectioner’s Dictionary,” 40. Mrs. Dalgairns,
40. Scott’s “Dictionary of Cookery,” Kitchener’s “Cook’s Oracle,”
41. The “Housekeeper’s Oracle,” 41. Ude, 42. Walker’s “Original,”
42. “Domestic Cookery,” by a lady, 45. Carème, 47. Turtle soup,
48. Cookery of England and France, 50.

CHAPTER II.--ON MODERN COOKERY AND COOKERY BOOKS.

The object of sensible people should be to adopt all that is good
in the cookery of France, 61. French potages and purées, 61. The
gigot à l’ail aux haricots, 62. The filet de bœuf, 62. Vatel, La
Chapelle, Grimod de la Reynière, Beauvilliers, Ude, Laguipierre,
Carème, and Plumeret, 65.

CHAPTER III.--ON DINNERS AND DINNER-GIVING.

Jules Janin, 66. Dr. Johnson, 66. Sydney Smith, 67. Apicius, 67.
Nonnius, 67. Lémery, 68. Dr. Lister, 68. Dr. Kitchener, 68. Drs.
Pereira and Lankester, 68. London dinners, 69. The finer cuisine
bourgeoise of Paris, 69. The majority of Frenchmen thrifty, 70.
Bankers’ and financiers’ dinners, 70. French punctuality, 72. The
London season, 73. Difference between grand dinners in England
and France, 74. Pretentious and costly rivalry in dinners, 76.
Hints to dinner-givers, 78. Number of a company, 79. Expensive
cookery, 81. The pot-au-feu, 82. Carème’s consommés, 82.
French sauces, 82. Soles à la Normande, 82. Omelette aux fines
herbes, 82. Choice of company, 84. Italian cookery, ices, and
confectionery, 85. Spanish and German cookery, 85. Dutch cookery,
88. Dutch eel soup, 88. Flushing soup, 88. Russian cookery, 89.
Turkish and Indian cookery, 89.

CHAPTER IV.--ON LAYING OUT A TABLE.

Dinners à la Russe, 91. Two and three courses, 94, 95. The dessert,
97. Memorandum as to dinners, 97.

CHAPTER V.--HOW TO CHOOSE FISH, FLESH, FOWL, AND GAME.

Salmon in and out of season, 98. How to choose various fish, 98–109.
How to choose venison, 109. Mutton, 111. Lamb, veal, and
pork, 112, 113. Bacon and hams, 114, 115. Poultry, game, eggs,
cheese, and butter, 115–122.

CHAPTER VI.--ON SOUPS AND BROTHS.

Grand bouillon, 124. Rules for making nourishing broth, 125.
How to make a stock-pot, 126. Celery to flavour soup, 129. Broth,
130. The great English soups and broths, 131. Carème and turtle
soup, 133. Stocks for white soup, 133. French soups, 134. Purée
à la Reine, des carottes au riz, de lapins, à la Chantilly, &c., 134.
Soup for winter and spring months, 135.

CHAPTER VII.--HOW TO CLEAN AND BOIL FISH.

To clean cod-fish, 137. Pilchards, mackerel, and plaice, 138. Red
mullets, skate, and ling, 139. On boiling fish, 143, 144.

CHAPTER VIII.--ON FISH.

Fish naturally most voracious, 145. As a diet wholesome and
palatable, 146. Fish rarely served as an entrée in England,
146. Various ways of serving turbot in France, 146–7. Turbot of
Mediterranean, 148. Sturgeon, 148. Caviare, 149. French modes of
dressing sturgeon, 149. Modes of dressing sturgeon in England,
149. Sturgeon à la Napoleon, according to Carème, 150. American
sturgeon soup, 150. Salmon, 151. French mode of dressing salmon,
151. Nonnius on salmon, 152. Cod-fish, 152. Galen on haddock,
152. Nonnius and Pliny on haddock, 152. The sole, 153. French
modes of dressing, 153. Red mullet, 154. Red mullet en caisse,
and à la Cardinale, 154. John Dory and lamprey, 154. Quin, the
actor, 154. Receipts for dressing lamprey, 155. The Reformation
and fish diet, 155. Carème on lenten diet and Murat’s kitchen,
155. Fish dinners in Paris, 157. Dinner at the Rocher de Cancale,
1828, 157. Wine at 14 frs. and 25 frs. the bottle, 158–9.

CHAPTER IX.--THE ROAST.

Definition of roast, 160. Rôtisseries, 161. Rôtisseurs, 161. The
traiteur, 161. The cuisinier traiteur, 161. The maître cuisiniers,
162. The art of roasting, 162. The best joint for roasting, 163. Doing
to a turn, 164. Good roasters rarer than good cooks, 164. Great and
little roast, 164. English, roasting, 165. Our game finer than the
French, 165. Swift’s lines on mutton, 166. Rules for roasting pork,
lamb, veal, and poultry, 167. Table of time for roasting, 169.

CHAPTER X.--BOILING.

Rule as to boiling, 170. Advantage of slow boiling, 172. Time required
to boil poultry, 173. Frying, 173.

CHAPTER XI.--POULTRY.

Definition of poultry, 174. Requisites in a poultry yard, 174. Best
modes of feeding and cramming poultry, 175. Wholesomeness of poultry,
175. Lémery on fowls and capons, 176–7. How the fine flavour
is given to the poularde du Mans, 178. The barn-door fowl described by
Berchoux, 179. Roast and boiled fowl and turkey, 180. Ways of
serving fowls and turkeys in France, 180. Entrées of fowl in France,
180–1. Schools of cookery, 181. Christmas consumption of turkeys
in England and France, 181. Truffles with turkey, 181. Chaptal
on fowls, 182. Pros and cons for a dinde aux truffes, 182. Were
turkeys known to the ancients? 183. Madame de Sévigné on capons,
183. The crammer of fowls an officer of the royal household, 184.
Blackbirds and thrushes, 184.

CHAPTER XII.--GAME AND PASTRY.

Definition of game, 186. Keeper and taker of pheasants, 186.
Swanherd, 186. 17 Hen. VIII., falconry, 187. Cookery Book of
Taillevant, cook to Charles VII.; receipts for dressing herons,
187. Vultures, eagles, and falcons, eaten three centuries ago,
188. Game in Spain, partridges à la Medina Cœli, 189. Sautés,
filets, and recondite modes of dressing game in France, 190.
Filets and cutlets of hare and rabbit, 191. Pastry and cold
entrées, 191. Carème on pastry, 192. Suggestions as to patties
and pastry, 193. Pâtisserie, 194. Larks of Pithiviers, 194.
Partridges of Perigueux, 194. Poulardes of Angers, 194. Foies
gras of Versailles, 194. Foies d’oies of Strasbourg and Toulouse,
194. The Chancellor de l’Hôpital on petits pâtés, 194.

CHAPTER XIII.--CHEESE AND SALADS.

Soft and rich cheeses the best, 196. Stilton and Gruyère, 196. Best
English cheeses, 196. Best cheeses in France, 198. Roquefort, 198.
Gruyère, 198. Italian cheeses introduced into France in the reign of
Charles VIII., 199.

CHAPTER XIV.--ON SALAD.

John Evelyn “On Salets,” 202. Fournitures of salads, 202. Chicorée,
203. Winter salads, 203. Roman or Coss lettuce, 204. Hotchpotch
salads, 204. Salade à l’italienne, 204. Carème’s salade de poulets
à la Reine, 204. Wine vinegar to be used for salads, 206. Chaptal’s
receipt for dressing salad, 206. Sydney Smith’s ditto, 206–7. Spanish
proverb as to salad, 207. D’Albignac a famous salad-dresser, 208.
Eleven salads of the time of Champier, 210–11. Dr. Roques’ salad of
asparagus, 211. Quickness with which asparagus may be cooked, 211.
Napoleon’s salad of haricots de soissons, 212.

CHAPTER XV.--THE DESSERT.

Carème’s opinion of dessert, 213. La Chapelle’s opinion of
dessert, 214. Forced cherries sent from Poitevins, in 1560, to
Paris, 215. La Quintinié, head gardener of Louis XIV., served
strawberries in March, peas in April, and figs in June, 215.
Preserved pines at dessert in Paris, in 1694, 215. Italian
liqueur prepared from the pine, 215. Dates, 216. Tunisian
dates the best, 216. Oranges, 216. Fondness of Louis XIV. for,
216. Portuguese oranges, 217. Sweet citron, carried by ladies,
to produce red lips, 217. Figs common at dessert in France
270 years ago, 217. Fig-trees placed in wooden boxes by the
gardener of Louis XIV., 218. Figs at Worthing and Hampton Court,
218. Pomegranates, 218. Chestnuts, 219. Madame de Sévigné on
chestnuts, 219. Cherries, 220. Apricots, 220. The reine claude,
or greengage, 221. The peaches of Corbeil, of Troyes and,
Dauphiné, 222. Pêches de vigne, 223. Abricots en plein vent,
223. The New-town pippin, 223. Golden pippin, 223. The paradis
de Provence, 223. The capendu, 223. Pears and their different
species, 224. Gooseberries, 224–5. The chasselas of Fontainbleau,
and other grapes, 225. Strawberries and their varieties, 226.
Trois mendiants, 227. Olives of Provence and Languedoc, 227.
Gingerbread, 228. The drageoir, 229. Brandied fruits and
compotes, 229. Brillat Savarin on the dessert, 230. Melon eaten
with bouilli, 231. Madame de Sévigné on melons, 232.

CHAPTER XVI.--ON ICES.

Ices, 233. Turks had glacières in 1553, 233. Henry III. first
introduced ice, 233.

CHAPTER XVII.--COFFEE.

Coffee, 235. Drank in Paris in 1657, 235. Praises of coffee by
Rousseau, Buffon, Voltaire, Montesquieu, Delille, and Lebrun,
236. The retreat from Russia and coffee, 237. Twining’s coffee,
238. Brillat Savarin on pounded and ground coffee, 238. The
best coffee in Paris, though the finest qualities in the London
market, 240. Modes of making coffee, 241–3. Coffee sweetmeats,
242. Dr. Roques’ café à la creme frappé de glace, 243. Coffee
should be hot, clear, and strong, 244. Tea, 244.

CHAPTER XVIII.--ON DIFFERENT LIQUEURS, RATAFIAS, AND
ELIXIRS, TAKEN AFTER COFFEE.

Liqueurs, 245. Alkermes and rossolis, 245. Liqueurs of Batavia’,
Jamaica, Martinique, and Montpelier, 246. Ratafias; absinthe,
noyau, and curaçoa, 246. Eau d’or and eau de vie de Dantzic,
247. Patin on rossolis, 248. Madame Théanges and liqueurs, 248.
La fenouillette and other lawful liqueurs, 249. Liqueurs of
Montpelier and Lorraine, 249. Lémery on black currant ratafia,
250. Liqueurs of French West Indies, 251. L’huile de Venus, 252.
Cinnamon water, crême de girofle, curaçoa, usquebaugh, &c.,
253. Eau cordiale of Colladon, 254. Eau de vie d’Andaye, 254.
Eau divine, cordiale du chasseur nuptiale, 257. Anisette and
absinthe, 257. Cherry bounce, rum and pine-apple shrub, 257.
Petit lait de Henri IV., l’eau des braves, l’huile de Vénus,
le parfait amour, l’eau virginale, &c., 259. Adulterations of
liqueurs, 260. German liqueurs; Pomeranzen, Wackholder, Kummel,
&c., 260–61. Jean de Milan on liqueurs, 262. Famous cities for
liqueurs in France, 262.

CHAPTER XIX.--ALE, BEER, CIDER, AND PERRY.

Bass’s, Allsopp’s, and Guinness’s ale and stout, 263. Cider, its
origin and history, 264. Cocky Gee, 265. Perry and hydromel,
266. Different kinds of beer, 267. The zythus and curmi of the
Egyptians, 267. Fifteen hundred years ago the Parisians commenced
with beer, and finished with wine, 268. The descent from wine
to beer in France, 270. The French beer called godale, 271. The
beer of Cambrai, of Bavaria, of Berlin, and of Brussels, 272.
Beer should be light, brisk, and sparkling, 273. Forty brewers in
Paris 120 years ago, 273. Seventy years ago but twenty-three, of
whom Santerre the most celebrated, 273. Epitaph on Santerre, 273.
English and Scotch brewers flocked to Paris at the peace in 1815,
273. In seasons of dearth Paris brewers forbidden to make beer,
274.

CHAPTER XX.--ON WINES, ANCIENT AND MODERN.

Lord Bacon, Bacci, Barry, Redding, Shaw, and Denman on wines,
275, 276. Hippocrates on vinous mixtures, 276. Plato and Homer’s
praises of wine, 277. Virgil, Pliny, and Columella on wines,
278. The Setine wine commended by Martial, Juvenal, and Silius
Italiens, 278. Sand, powdered marble, and salt water added to
ancient wines, 279. Cato’s receipt for artificial Chian and
Falernian, 279. The Cæcuban, 280. The Falernian, 280. Galen and
Martial on Falernian, 280. Virgil on the vinum Rhæticum, 281.
The lighter wines of the Roman territory, 281. The earliest
Greek wines, 281. The Thrasian and Cretan wines, 282. Greeks
familiar with Asiatic and African wines, 282. Greeks drank wine
diluted with water, 282. Athenæus on the πεντε και δυο, 283. The
Greeks had casks, 283. Gauls knew the use of wine six centuries
before Christianity was introduced, 283. Athenæus calls the
wine of Marseilles good, 286. The Allobroges mixed pitch with
wine, 286. Dioscorides says pitch is a necessary ingredient in
Gaulish wine, 286. Secret as to the Bordelais wine, 287. The
Marseillaise boiled their wine, 287. Horace and Tibullus on
the smoking of wine, 288. Baccius on the wines of Alsace, 288.
Domitian publishes an order for rooting up one half of the vines
in some provinces, and for destroying them in others, 289. This
order abrogated by Probus, 289. The Roman legions spread in Gaul
employed in replanting the vine, 289. The Salique law, and law
of the Visigoths, as to the cutting of the vine and stealing
grapes, 290. Vine property regarded as sacred, 290. Tribute
decreed by Chilperic, 290. Massacre of the officer who was to
levy the tribute, 290. Passion for the culture of the vine among
French kings, 290. Wine-presses and utensils for making wine in
all the palaces, 290. Charlemagne and his Capitularies, 290.
The Louvre enclosed vineyards within its precincts, 290. “La
Bataille des Vins,” a fabliau of the thirteenth century, 291.
Philip Augustus had vineyards in many districts of France, 291.
Wines of Guyenne sold in Flanders and England, 291. Matthew
Paris, on the sale of Gascony wine in England, 292. Froissart on
the number of merchantmen that arrived at Bordeaux from England,
A.D. 1372, 292. Champier as to the consumption of French wine
and corn in England, 292. Charles IX. proscribed the vine in
1566, 292. His ordonnance respecting it, 293. In 1577 Henry III.
modifies this ordonnance, 293. Louis XV, in 1731, forbade any new
plantation of vines, 293. Origin of the expression, vendre à pot,
293. Adulterations 1800 years ago as frequent as now, 294. The
ancients understood the maturing of wines, 294. Customs survive
forms of polity and government, 294. Identity of the amphoræ to
vessels in present use at Asti, Montepulciano, and Montefiascone,
295. Use of casks unknown to Greeks and Romans, 295. Romans
employed glass, but a rude glass, 296. Invention of casks due to
the Gauls, 296. Ordonnance of Charlemagne as to employment of
barrels, 297. The άβαξ or abacus, 297. Misquotation of Barry as
to abaci, 297. The ancients had servants like our butlers, 297.
Business of the οἱνοπτης, 298. The cup-bearer and pourer out of
wine, 298. Cicero’s description of a supper, &c., 298–9. Deep
drinkers of a congius or gallon, 299. Cooling of wine by snow not
a modern invention, 299. Pliny ascribes it to Nero, 299. Drinking
of healths to absent friends, 299. Extract from Henderson as to
the manner of pledging friends and drinking healths, 300. Analogy
between the French and Greeks as to mixing wine and water,
300. The vin d’entremets; the wine for oysters and roast meat,
300. The coup-d’avant and du milieu, 300. The coup du milieu,
according to the “Manuel des Amphitryons,” 301. Wormwood, Jamaica
rum, or old cognac used for it, 301. Practice at Bordeaux in
this respect, 301. The coup-d’avant used in Russia, Sweden, and
Germany, 302. The coup-d’apres, what, 302. Wine used for it, 302.
Wine cellars of the ancients, 303. Precautions as to cellar,
303. Women forbidden to enter the cellars of the ancients, 303.
Principles of the ancients as to cellars, 303. An ante-cellar
advisable, 304. Salt used in cellars, 305. The ancients more
effectually preserved their wines than the moderns, 305. Wine
better tasted in quarts than in pints, 305. Ancient rules for
site of cellars, and on time for tasting and racking, still
sanctioned by practice, 305. Wine of middle age best and most
grateful, 305. Fancy prices paid for old wines, 306. No one
obliged to drink on compulsion among the ancients, 306. Irish
practice, 306. Some ancient sages great bibbers, but unexcited,
306. Cyrus a larger drinker than Artaxerxes, and therefore, in
his own thinking, worthier of the crown, 306. Darius’s capacity
of drinking, 307. Hippocrates rarely directs water, but almost
invariably wine mixed with water, 307. Cornaro before and after a
new vintage, 307. His plan of preserving his health, 308. Effect
of fresh sugar-canes on mules, 308. Pitching ancient and modern
wines, 308. Monster puncheons in Latium and Germany, 309–10.
The French constructed their wine-vats in brick or stone, 310.
Pierre de Blois’s denunciation of the luxury of the twelfth
century, 310. Repast of Philippe de Valois and his leathern
bottles, 311. Wine supplied by a miracle, 311. The tanners of
Amiens obliged to furnish the bishop with two leathern bottles,
312. The derivation of the word bottle, 312. The name afterwards
applied to decanters, 312. Charles VI., according to Froissart,
was supplied with wine out of leathern bottles, 312. Gregory of
Tours speaks of the wines of Maçon, Orleans, Cahors, and Dijon,
313. Wines of Rheims and Marne mentioned in a letter of Pandulus,
313. Henry I. and the wine of Rébréchien, 313. Louis le Jeune
and the wine of Orleans, 313. Wines of Auxerre, Beaune, &c.,
314. Wine of Chabli, Epernai, Rheims, &c., 314. The popes drank
Beaune at Avignon, 314. The queen of Louis XII. sent Beaune to
the ambassadors of the Emperor Maximilian at Blois, 314. Caprice
in the estimate of wine, 315. Wine of Romanée Conti, 315. Wine of
Mantes carried to Persia uninjured, 316. Burgundy and Champagne
in the fifteenth century, 316. Leo X., Charles V., Francis I.,
and Henry VIII., had vineyards in Champagne, 316. Erasmus and
Burgundy wine, 316. Champier on the excellence of French wines,
317. Rabelais vaunts Auxerre wine, 317. Canteperdrix wine, 317.
This wine sent to Rome for the pope, 317. Canteperdrix wine
now known as the vin de Beaucaire, 317. Favourite beverage of
Henry IV., 318. Paumier on the colours of wine, 318. Wines of
Château Thierry gout producing, 319. Gout does not come from
Champagne, 319. Baccius on the wines of France, 319–20. Paumier
on the wines of Paris, 320. Liebaut and Patin on wines, 320. The
vin de Condrieux, 321. The manner of making Orleans wines, 321.
Boileau on the wine of Orleans, 322. Vin de Grave, mentioned in
1550, 322. Why the wine is called Grave, 323. The Haut-Brion,
323. Hermitage, 323. Hermitage of Lord Castlereagh, afterwards
Marquis of Londonderry, 323. Hermitage divided into five classes,
323. Prices of Hermitage, 324. How the Burgundy wines got their
reputation, 325. The vin de Tonnerre, 325. The Abbé de Marolles’
list of Burgundy wines, 325. The wine of Olivotte, 326. The vin
de Chablis for oysters, 326. Vin de Pouilly and Bucellas good
with oysters, 326. Difficulty of transporting Burgundy, 327.
Extent of Burgundy vineyards, 328. Arthur Young on the vineyards,
328. Mr. James Busby on the Burgundy vineyards, 329. Clos
Vougeot, 329. The late notorious Ouvrard, 330. Père Perignon and
the wines of Hautvilliers, 330. Sparkling Burgundy and Moselle,
330. The vin de Nuits, 330. The St. George, Meursalt, and Mont
Rachet, 331. Volnay the finest wine in Barry’s time, 331. The vin
de Beaune, 331. The vin de Pomard, 332. Chambertin the wine of
Napoleon, 332. The Romanée Conti, 333. The Maçon and Beaujolais
wines, 334. Maçon a wholesome wine, 335. Adulterated at Paris,
335. Burgundy not to be iced, 335. Burgundy at the roast, 336.
Champagne wine, 337. Dispute, in the time of Louis XIV., between
the Burgundy doctor and the Champenois, 337. Fagon forbid the
use of Champagne to Louis XIV., 337. Opinion of the faculty of
the town of Rheims, 337. Colbert, a Champenois, but he did not
give renown to the wines, 338. Francis I., Leo. X., Charles V.,
and Henry VIII. had vineyards at Aï, 338. Volnay drank at the
coronation of Sobieski, 338. Beaune served at Venice to the
senators after the conquest of the Morea, 338. St. Evremond on
Champagne wine, 338. Champagne used in putrid fevers, 339.
Millions of worthless Champagne sold at two francs and three
francs the bottle, 340. Dr. Henderson on Champagne, 340. The
briskest Champagne not the best, 340. Crêmants and demi-mousseux
wines, 341. Sillery Champagne, 341. Vin de la Maréchale, 342.
The rich, dry Sillery, 342. Champagne not a vin de garde,
342. Old Champagne, 343. Jaquesson’s cellars, 343. Champagne
always improved by ice, 343. Jullien on the high price of the
vins mousseux, 344. How to obtain a first-rate Champagne, 345.
Hundreds of thousands of bottles of Champagne at the docks are
not worth the duty, 345. When the bottling of Champagne begins,
345. Vins grand mousseux, 346. Precautions in packing Champagne
for exportation, 346. Champagne for India and America packed in
salt, 346. Burgundies so packed preserve their qualities, 347.
Claret, 347. Château Margaux and Château Lafitte, 348. Monton
and Léoville, 348. Kirwan and Château d’Issau, 348. St. Julien,
Béchevelle and St. Pierre, 348. Great management in Bordeaux
cellars, 349. Brandy ought to be put in in very small quantities,
349. Extract from Davies’ work on colouring Claret, 350. A freer
exchange of the vinous wealth of France with England desirable,
351. Difference in price between first and inferior wines, 352.
Mixture of Benicarlo and other wines with claret, 353. The age
of wine at Bordeaux counted par feuilles, 353. What Barry wrote
ninety years ago on Claret wines, 353. Names of the proprietors
of vineyards and factors, 110 years ago, 354. Irish Claret and
Irish wine merchants, 355. The Bordeaux wines celebrated in the
days of Ausonius, 355. A great proportion of the wine drank as
Claret is vin ordinaire, 355. Definition of the word Claret,
356. The Côte Rôti, 356–7. Hermitage and its division into five
classes, 357. White Hermitage of the late Lord Castlereagh, 357.
Hermitage of the late Marquis of Wellesley, 358. The cost of
wine cultivation in France immense, 359. The German wines, their
general character and durability, 359. Price of Rüdesheim, 359.
In Barry’s day the best old Hock sold at 50l. the auhm, 360.
Marcobrunner, Rüdesheimer and Niersteiner, 360. Julius Hospitalis
and Liesteinwein wines, 360. Spanish wines, 360–1. Cellars and
stock of Gordon and Co. of Cadiz, 361. Amontillado, 361. Port
and Madeira, 362. The Italian wines, 362. The wines of Hungary,
362. The Greek wines over-rated, 363. The Constantia wine of
the Cape, 363. The Russian Champagne, 363. The New South Wales
wines, 363. New vintages, 364. Advice as to purchase and stock of
wines, 365. Good and low-priced wine a myth, 366. Prices of wines
at sales in Edinburgh and Dublin, 366. Prices of Amontillado,
Montilla, and Manzinilla, 366. Fabulous prices given for old
Ports and Sherries, 366. First-rate Clarets rising in price,
367. Burgundies, 367. Dietetic qualités of wine, 367. The best
Burgundies and Champagnes, 368. The best Bordeaux wines, 368. Red
Constantin and Frontignan, 369. Consumption of Champagne doubled
in England since 1848, 369.

CHAPTER XXI.--THE CELLAR FOR WINES.

The cellar for wines, 370. Requisites of a wine-cellar, 370.
Lighter wines require a colder cellar than strong, 371.

APPENDIX.

Luxuries of the table in France and England in mediæval and
modern times, 373. Menu of a dinner given by Mathieu Molé, in
1652, 375. Menu of a supper of the Regent Orleans, 376. Menu of a
supper of Louis XV., 377. Carte dinatoire of the citizen General
Barras, 378. Menu of the family Buonaparte at the Tuileries on
Samedi Saint, 1811, 379. Bill of fare of the first dinner of
Louis XVIII. at Compiègne, 380. Bill of fare of a dinner given by
the Emperor Alexander on 11th September, 1815, 382. Bill of fare
of the first diplomatic dinner of the Duke of Wellington in 1815,
383. Menu of a royal banquet given at the Tuileries by Louis
XVIII. on Twelfth-day, 1820, 384. Bill of fare, 385. Luxuries in
the days of Queen Mary, 385. Common Council’s regulation as to
dinners, 385. Regulations for the aldermen, sheriffs, and city
corporation, 386. City venison feasts in time of Elizabeth, 386.
Letter of the Lord Mayor and aldermen to Lord Burleigh, 386. The
reign of Queen Anne the golden age of cookery, 386. Dr. King’s
“Art of Cookery,” 386. Sir John Hill, M.D., 386. The great Lord
Chesterfield, 386. La Chapelle his cook, 386. Cookery book of
La Chapelle, 386. Lord Chesterfield sitting on a chair outside
Chesterfield House, 387. Bill of fare of official dinner of Lord
Chesterfield, 387. Bill of fare of a supper of Lord Chesterfield,
389. The French emigrants in London, 390. Entertainments given
to the French royal family by the Marquis of Buckingham and
Earl of Moira, 390. Reception of the Count de Lille at Stowe,
390. Stowe, a scene of great festivity in 1805 and 1808, 390.
Bill of fare of Christmas-dinner in 1808, given by the Duke of
Buckingham to Louis XVIII, 391. The Prince Regent’s love of
French cookery, 392. Bill of fare for the coronation banquet of
George IV, 392. Bill of fare for a private dinner given at the
Pavilion, Brighton, in 1817, 393. Bills of fare for dinners in
January, April, May, and June, also for a dinner in plain English
fashion, 395. Anthony Carème, 396. Mr. Wm. Hall’s panegyric on
Carème, 398. Autobiography of Carème, 399 to 406. Fête given at
the Elysée for the marriage of Prince Jerome, 406. New invention
of Carème, 407. Aphorisms, thoughts, and maxims of Carème, 407.
Death of Carème in 1835 or 1836, 409. Carème bestowed fine names
on his soups, 409, Carème on maigre sauces, 409.

[Illustration]

TERMS IN USE IN THE KITCHEN.

_Atelets._--Small silver skewers.

_Au naturel._--Plainly done.

_Bain Marie._--A warm-water bath; to be purchased at the ironmonger’s.

_Barber._--To cover with slices of lard.

_Blanc._--A rich broth or gravy, in which the French cook palates,
lamb’s head, and many other things. It is made thus: A pound of beef
kidney fat, minced, put on with a sliced carrot, an onion stuck with
two cloves, parsley, green onions, slices of lemon without the peel or
seeds, or, if much is wanted, two pounds of fat and two lemons. When
the fat is a good deal melted, put in water made briny with salt; and
when done, keep the _blanc_ for use.

_Blanchir._--To blanch by giving some boils in water.

_Bourguignote._--A _ragoût_ of truffles.

_Braise._--A manner of stewing meat which greatly improves the taste by
preventing any sensible evaporation.

_Braisière._--Braising-pan--a copper vessel tinned, deep and long, with
two handles, the lid concave on the outside, that fire may be put in it.

_Brider._--To truss up a fowl or anything else with a needle and
pack-thread, or tape.

_Buisson._--A method of piling up pastry to a point.

_Bundle or Bunch._--Made with parsley and green onions,--when seasoned,
bay leaves, two bunches of thyme, a bit of sweet basil, two cloves, and
six leaves of mace are added.

_Capilotade._--A common hash of poultry.

_Cassis._--That part which is attached to the tail end of a loin of
veal: in beef, the same part is called the rump.

_Civet._--A hash of game or wild fowl.

_Compiegne._--A French sweet yeast cake, with fruit, &c., &c.

_Compote._--A fine mixed _ragoût_ to garnish white poultry, &c.; also a
method of stewing fruit for dessert.

_Compotier._--A dish amongst the dessert service appropriated to the
use of the _compote_.

_Couronne_ (_en_).--To serve any prescribed articles on a dish in the
form of a crown.

_Court ou Short._--To reduce a sauce very thick.

_Croustades._--Fried crusts of bread.

_Cuisson._--The manner in which meat, vegetables, pastry, or sugar is
dressed. It means also the broth or _ragoût_ in which meat or fish has
been dressed.

_Cullis_ or _Coulis_.--The gravy or juice of meat. A strong consommé.

_Dessert, entrée de._--Dish made of preceding day’s remains.

_Dorer._--To brush pastry, &c., with yolk of egg well beaten.

_Dorure._--Yolks of eggs well beaten.

_Entre côte de Bœuf._--This is the portion of the animal which lies
under the long ribs, or those thick slices of delicate meat which may
be got from between them.

_Entrées._--A name given to dishes served in the first course with the
fish dishes.

_Entremets_--is the second course, which comes between the roast meat
and the dessert.

_Escalopes._--Small pieces of meat cut in the form of some kind of coin.

_Fagot_--is a bunch of parsley (the size varies of course), a bay leaf,
and a sprig of thyme, tied up closely. When anything beyond this is
required it is specified in the article.

_Farce_.--This word is used in speaking of chopped meat, fish, or
herbs, with which poultry and other things are stuffed.

_Feuilletage._--Puff-paste.

_Filets Mignons._--Inside small fillets.

_Financière._--An expensive, highly flavoured, mixed _ragoût_.

_Glacer_ (_to glaze_).--To reduce a sauce by means of ebullition to a
consistency equal to that of ice. Well made glaze adheres firmly to the
meat.

_Godiveau._--A common veal forcemeat.

_Gras_ (_au_).--This signifies that the article specified is dressed
with meat gravy.

_Gratiner._--To crisp and obtain a grilled taste.

_Grosses pièces de Fonds._--There are in cookery two very distinct
kinds of _grosses pièces_: the first comprehends substantial pieces
for removes, &c.; the other _pièces montées_, or ornaments; by _pièces
de fonds_ is implied all dishes in pastry that, form one entire dish,
whether from its composition, or from its particular appearance; as
for example cold pies, Savoy cakes, _brioches_, _Babas_, _gâteaux de
Compiègne_, &c.; whilst the _pièces montées_, or ornamental pastries,
are more numerous.

_Hors d’œuvres._--Small dishes served with the first course.

_Larding-pin._--An utensil by means of which meat, &c., is larded.

_Lardoire_ (_larder_).--An instrument of wood or steel for larding meat.

_Lardons._--The pieces into which bacon and other things are cut, for
the purpose of larding meat, &c., &c.

_To Lard_ is when you put the bacon through the meat. Things larded
do not glaze well. Everything larded on the top or surface is called
_piqué._

_Madeleines._--Cakes made of the same composition as pound-cakes.

_Mariner._--Is said of meat or fish when put in oil or vinegar, with
strong herbs, to preserve it.

_Mark._--To prepare meat to be dressed in a stew-pan.

_Mask._--To cover a dish with a _ragoût_ or something of the
sort.

_Nourir_--is to put in more ham, bacon, butter, &c.

_Noix de Veau._--The leg of veal is divided into three distinct fleshy
parts, besides the middle bone; the larger part, to which the udder is
attached, is called the _noix_, the flat part under it _sous noix_, and
the side part, _contre noix_, &c. The _petites noix_ are in the side of
the shoulder of veal.

_Paillasse._--A grill over hot cinders.

_Pain de beurre._--An ounce, or an ounce and a half of butter, made in
the shape of a roll.

_Panner._--To sprinkle meat or fish which is dressed on the gridiron
with crumbs of bread dipped in butter and eggs.

_Panures._--Everything that is rolled in, or stewed with bread crumbs.

_Parer_--is freeing the meat of nerves, skin, and all unnecessary fat.

_Paupiettes._--Slices of meat, rather broad, to be rolled up.

_Piqué_--is to lard with a needle game, fowls, and other meats.

_Poëlé._--Almost the same operation as braising, the only difference
is, that what is _poëlé_ must be underdone; whereas a braise must be
done through.

_Puit._--A well, or the void left in the middle, when anything is
dished round as a crown.

A _Purée_ of onions, turnips, mushrooms, &c., is a pulpy mash, or sauce
of the vegetable specified, thinned with boiling cream or gravy.

_Quenelles._--Meat minced or potted, as _quenelles_ of meat, game,
fowls, and fish.

_Roux._--This is an indispensable article in cookery, and serves to
thicken sauces; the brown is for sauces of the same colour, and the
colour must be obtained by slow degrees, otherwise the flour will burn
and give it a bitter taste, and the sauces become spotted with black.

_Reduce._--To boil a soup down to a jelly, or till it becomes rich and
thick.

_Sabotière._--A pewter or tin vessel, in which are placed the moulds
containing the substance to be frozen.

_Sasser._--To stir and work a sauce with a spoon.

_Sauce tournée_ and _velouté_ are not the same, nor has the latter name
been substituted by the moderns for the former. _Sauce tournée_ is an
unfinished sauce; it is of itself a basis for many other white sauces,
but it is in no instance served alone as a sauce with any _entrée_
or _entremets_. _Velouté_ is served with hashes of chickens, veal,
_boudins à la reine_, _émincés_, and _entrées_ of _quenelles_, &c.

_Sautez_--is to mix or unite all the parts of a _ragoût_, by shaking it
about.

_Singez._--To dust flour from the dredging-box, which is afterwards to
be moistened in order to be dressed.

_Tamis_ (_Tammy_).--An instrument to strain broth and sauces.

_Tendrons_ (veal)--are found near the extremity of the ribs.

_Tourner._--To stir a sauce; also to pare and cut roots, vegetables,
&c., neatly.

_Tourte._--A puff-paste pie.

_Vanner._--To work a sauce well up with a spoon, by lifting it up and
letting it fall.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER I.

ANCIENT AND MEDIÆVAL COOKERY COMPARED WITH THE
COOKERY OF THE LAST HALF CENTURY.

The traditions of classic cookery may be said to be nearly effaced; but
sufficient remains recorded to afford grounds for comparison, and he
must be prejudiced who hesitates for an instant to award the palm to
the moderns. An impartial person need but to glance over the ten books
left us under the name of Apicius,[1] to come to the conclusion of the
ingenious Jean le Clerc, who says that “the work contains receipts for
extraordinary dishes and strange ragouts, which would ruin the stomach,
and burn up the blood.” One of the most nauseous of the condiments
which entered into the Roman ragouts was the _garum_, by some supposed
to be the expressed brine of the anchovy: while others contend it was
an acrid decoction of the mackerel. This abominable sauce has now been
banished Christendom, yet has found a refuge in the congenial cookery
of “our most ancient ally,” the Turk. Travellers who have visited
Turkey and Constantinople, will recur, as I do, with no pleasurable
sensations to the pilau seasoned with this acrid and ill-savoured
preparation.

Though the feast of Trimalchio, so graphically told in the pages of
Petronius, is somewhat overcharged, and too Asiatic in style and taste
to be true to the letter, yet it gives an idea of the domestic economy
of the Romans, and supports the opinion as to the superiority of modern
cookery; but if more positive evidence were wanting in support of these
views, it might be found in a passage of Macrobius, the description of
a supper given by Lentulus. For the first course, says the officer of
the household of Theodosius, there were sea hedge hogs, raw oysters,
and asparagus; for the second, a fat fowl, with another plate of
oysters and shell fish, several species of dates, fig-peckers, roebuck,
and wild boar, fowls encrusted with paste, and the purple shell fish,
then esteemed so great a delicacy. The third course was composed of a
wild boar’s head, of ducks, of a _compôte_ of river birds, of leverets,
roast fowl, and Ancona cakes, called _panes picences_, which must have
somewhat resembled Yorkshire pudding. There is one secret, however,
which we may well desire to learn from the Romans, namely, the manner
of preserving oysters alive, in any journey however long or however
distant. The possession of this secret is the more extraordinary, as
it is well known that a shower of rain will kill oysters subjected
to its influence, or the smallest grain of quick lime destroy their
vitality.[2] It will be seen from what I have stated, that epicurism
is an ancient vice; but all the French authorities, nevertheless,
agree in thinking that the Greeks and Romans, notwithstanding their
luxury and civilization, were mere children in the preparation of their
viands. The reason of this, says Carème, is, that they sacrificed
too much to sugars, fruits and flowers, and that they had not the
colonial spices and learned sauces of mediæval and modern cookery. It
is true that the “officers of the mouth” of Lucullus and Pompey were
possessed of secrets to stimulate the jaded appetite, and give tone to
the debilitated stomach: but notwithstanding all their profusion, I am
inclined to think that Carème and the corps of French cooks are right
in their disparaging observations touching ancient cookery.

Cookery is eminently an experimental and a practical art. Each day,
while it adds to our experience, increases also our knowledge, and as
we have come long after the Romans, and have had the benefit of their
experience, it is no marvel that we should have greatly surpassed them.
The characteristic of ancient cookery was profusion; the characteristic
of modern is delicacy and refinement. In the fifth century all trace
of the Roman cookery had already disappeared. The barbarians from afar
had savoured the scent of the Roman ragouts. The eternal city was
invested, and her kitchen destroyed. The consecutive incursions of
hordes of barbarous tribes and nations had put out at once the light
of science and the fire of cookery. Darkness was now abroad, and the
“glory” of the culinary art was, for a time, “extinguished,” but,
happily, not for ever. “Lorsque il n’y a plus de cuisine dans le monde,
il n’y a plus de lettres, il n’y a plus d’unité sociale,” says the
enlightened and ingenious Carème.

But the darkness of the world was not of long duration. The monks--the
much-abused and much mistaken monks--fanned the embers of a nascent
literature, and cherished the flame of a new cookery. The free cities
of Italy, Genoa, Venice, Pisa, Florence, the common mothers of poetry,
painting, sculpture, and architecture, contemporaneously revived the
gastronomic taste. The Mediterranean and the Adriatic offered their
fish, and the taste for table luxuries extended itself to the maritime
towns and other cities of the Peninsula, to Cadiz, to Barcelona, to St.
Sebastian, and to Seville.

Spain had the high honour of having furnished the first cookery book
in any modern tongue. It is entitled--“Libro de Cozina, compuesto por
Ruberto de Nola.” I also possess an edition of the “Arte de Cocina
compuesto por Francisco Martinez Montiño,” printed in Madrid in 1623,
and presented by His Royal Highness the late Duke of Sussex to Lady
Augusta Murray. This work is exceedingly rare. The cookery professed at
this epoch was no longer an imitation of the Greek or Roman kitchen,
or of the insipid dishes and thick sauces of the Byzantine cooks. It
was a new and improved and extended science. It recognised the palate,
stomach, and digestion of man. The opulent nobles of Italy, the rich
merchant princes, charged with the affairs and commissions of Europe
and Asia, the heads of the church--bishops, cardinals, and popes,
now cultivated and encouraged the culinary art. Arts, letters, and
cookery revived together, and among the gourmands of the fifteenth
and sixteenth centuries, some of the most celebrated pontiffs and
artists of the time may be named, as Leo X., Raphael, Guido, Baccio
Bandinelli, and John of Bologna. Raphael, the divine Raphael, did not
think it beneath him to design plates and dishes for his great patron
the most holy father. While Italy had made this progress, France, the
nurse of modern, if not the mother of mediæval cooks, was in a state of
barbarism, from which she was raised by the Italian wars under Charles
VIII. and Louis XII. The Gauls learned a more refined cookery at the
siege of Naples, as the Cossacks did some hundreds of years later in
the Champs Elysées of Paris. Here ends the parallel, however; for while
the people of France, like most apt pupils, surpassed their masters,
we have yet to wait for the least glimmering of culinary art at Moscow,
Kieff or Novogorod, or even at that fag end of Finland (which is not
Russia) called St. Petersburgh. An attempt was made a couple of years
ago by Mr. Money to get up a sensation in favour of Russian cookery,
but the attempt was a failure.

It was under Henry III., about 1580, that the delicacies of the
Italian tables were introduced at Paris. The sister arts of design
and drawing were now called into requisition to decorate dishes and
dinner-tables. How great was the progress in the short space of 150
years, may be inferred from an edict of Charles VI., which forbad to
his liege subjects a dinner consisting of more than two dishes with
the soup: “Nemo audeat dare præter duo fercula cum potagio.” At this
period the dinner hour was ten o’clock in the morning, while the supper
was served at four. The social, friendly, and agreeable humour of
Henry IV., in a succeeding reign, contributed to the spread of a more
kindly spirit, and a better cookery. This monarch was eminently of a
frank and cordial nature, and his personal qualities contributed to the
security of his throne, to his successes both in negotiation and war,
and to the social comforts and material prosperity of his subjects. His
benevolent wish that every peasant in his dominions might have a fowl
in the pot for his Sunday dinner, discloses a warm and affectionate
heart, and was not lost on a nation combining the greatest share of
intellect with sensuality. The _cabaret_ then was what the _café_ is
now, and was the rendezvous of _marquis_ and _chevalier_, and people of
condition. Men learned to pursue the pleasures and enjoyments of life
in the _cabaret_, and their wants become multiplied, and their desires
extended. It was Henry IV. who first permitted the traiteurs to form a
community, with the title of “Maître queux cuisiniers porte-chapes,” in
1599.

The first regular cookery book published in France was, I believe,
printed at Rouen in 1692, the very year in which Sir George Rooke
struck so signal and successful a blow against the marine of our
neighbours. It was the production of the Sieur de la Varranne, esquire
of the kitchen of M. d’Uxelles. It is dedicated to MM. Louis Châlon du
Bled, Marquis d’Uxelles and of Cormartin. The first sentence of the
dedication is a curiosity in its way, and sufficiently indicates the
immense distance which feudalism then interposed between an esquire of
the kitchen and a French marquis and lieutenant-general, holding the
rank of governor of the citadel of Châlons-sur-Saone. “Monseigneur,”
says the book, “bien que ma condition ne me rende pas capable d’un
cœur heroïque, elle me donne cependant assez de ressentiment pour ne
pas oublier mon devoir. J’ai trouvé dans votre maison, par un emploi
de dix ans entiers, le secret d’apprester delicatement les viandes.”
The preface is not less curious than the dedication. The author
begins by stating that, as it is the first book of the kind which has
been published, he hopes it will not be found altogether useless. A
number of books, says he, have been published containing remedies and
cures at small cost; but no book has yet been printed with a view of
preserving and maintaining the health in a good state, and a perfect
disposition, teaching how to separate the ill quantity of viands by
good and diversified seasonings, which tend only to give substantial
nourishment, being well dressed. These are things conformable to
the appetite, which regulate corpulency, and ought to be no less
considered, &c. He expatiates on the thousand-and-one vegetables and
other “victual,” which people know not how to dress with honour and
contentment (“avec honneur et contentement”), and then exclaims that,
as France has borne off the bell from all other nations in courtesy
and bienséance, it is only right and proper that she should be no less
esteemed for her polite and delicate manner of living (“pour la façon
de vivre honneste et delicate”). Many of the receipts are curious, and
some of them useful. The frequency with which he introduces capers
into his cookery, an article for which we are indebted to Barbary,
and rarely introduced into the cookery of modern France, except in
sauces for turbot and salmon, and in a few _entrées_, _liaisons_, and
_ragouts_, is extraordinary.

La Varranne, after having given hundreds of other receipts, consoles
himself, at the conclusion of his labours, with the reflection, “That
as all other books, as well ancient as modern, were composed for the
aliment of the mind, it was but just that the body should be a little
considered,” and therefore it was, says he, that I meddled with a
subject so necessary to its conservation. Enjoy, then, my receipts,
dear reader, he exclaims, “Jouissez en, cher lecteur, pendant que je
m’étudierai à vous exposer en vente quelque chose qui méritera vos
emplois plus relevez et plus solides.”

The first edition of that remarkable cookery book, the “Dons de Comus,”
appeared about 1740, and is in every respect a superior work to the
droll production just mentioned. It was composed by M. Marin, cook
of the Duchesse de Chaulnes. The very learned and ingenious preface,
signed de Querlon, is by Father Brumoy, the Jesuit, the translator of
the “Théâtre des Grecs.” An Italian author calls a preface the sauce
of a book, “La Salsa del Libro;” and certainly never was there a more
piquant and spicy sauce than that of the erudite Father. He has brought
ancient and modern literature to bear on the matter in hand. Not
content with citing orators, poets and historians, he has also summoned
the doctors, in the persons of the Frenchman Hecquet and the Englishman
Cheyne. His comparison between ancient and modern cookery is ingenious.

“Modern cookery,” says he, “established on the foundations of the
ancient, possesses more variety, simplicity and cleanliness, with
infinitely less of labour and elaboration, and it is withal more
_sçavante_. The ancient _cuisine_ was complicated and full of details.
But the modern _cuisine_ is a perfect system of chemistry. The science
of the cook consists in decomposing, in rendering easy of digestion,
in quintessencing (so to speak) the viands, in extracting from them
light and nourishing juices, and in so mixing them together, that no
one flavour shall predominate, but that all shall be harmonised and
blended. This is the high aim and great effort of art. The harmony
which strikes the eye in a picture should in a sauce cause in the
palate as agreeable a sensation.” There is nothing new under the sun.
A friend has recently lent me a copy of St. Augustine, in which is the
very same thought, “Omina pulchritudinis formæ unitas est,” says the
learned father. The following is Father Brumoy’s idea of a perfect
cook: “A perfect cook should exactly understand the properties of the
substances he employs, that he may correct or render more perfect
(corriger ou perfectionner) such aliments as nature presents in a raw
state. He should have a sound head (la tête saine), a sure taste,
and a delicate palate, that he may cleverly combine the ingredients.
Seasoning is the rock of indifferent cooks (l’écueil des médiocres
ouvriers). A cook should have a ready hand to operate promptly and
should assiduously study the palate of his master, wholly conforming
his own thereto.”[3] All this is excellent in its way. It is rare
to find history, metaphysics and chemistry, the tone of a man of the
world, the taste of an erudite classic, and the talent of a really good
cook, so happily blended. Father Brumoy is the very opposite of that
Greek cook, of whom Pausanias makes mention, whom all the world praised
for his running, but whom no one praised for his ragouts: for in the
three volumes now before me there are a variety of admirable receipts,
which have made the stock in trade of many cookery books more vaunted
and better known than Father Brumoy’s.

The “Dons de Comus” was followed by a spruce little satire, intituled
“Lettre d’un Patissier Anglais au nouveau cuisinier Français,” in which
the _soi-disant_ pastry-cook deals some hard blows to the Jesuit.

In the “Dons de Comus” there had been much dissertation about
quintessences, and the giving the largest portion of nutriment in the
smallest possible compass. Hereupon the “Patissier Anglais” says,
“Thus the more the nourishment of the body shall be subtilised and
alembicated, the more will the qualities of the mind be rarefied and
quintessenced too. From these principles, demonstrated in your work,
great advantage may be reaped in all educational establishments.
Children lose an infinity of time in learning the dead languages,
and other trash of that kind, whereas, henceforward, it will only
be necessary, according to your system, to give them an alimentary
education, proper for the state for which they are destined. For
example: for a young lad destined to live in the atmosphere of a court,
whipped cream and calves’ trotters should be procured; for a sprig of
fashion, linnets’ heads, quintessences of May bugs, butterfly broth,
and other light trifles. For a lawyer, destined to the chicanery
of the Palais or who would shine at the bar, sauces of mustard and
vinegar and other condiments of a bitter and pungent nature would
be required.” Appended to the “Patissier Anglais” was “Le Cuisinier
Gascon,” an excellent and valuable little work, now extremely scarce.
There are many admirable receipts in this little volume, to which Mrs.
Rundell was deeply indebted. She has borrowed largely from it without
acknowledgment.

“La Science du Maître d’Hôtel Cuisinier” was the next published in
point of chronological order. This was an attempt to render cookery the
handmaid of medicine, and had great success. The plan, though not new
in the conception, for the germ of it may be found in Terence, “Coquina
medicinæ famulatrix est,”[4] was undoubtedly so in the execution; and
the associated booksellers reaped a profitable harvest.

The cookery of France at this epoch, and indeed from the time of Louis
XIV., was distinguished by luxury and sumptuousness, but, according to
Carème, was wanting in “delicate sensualism.” They ate well, indeed,
at the court, says the professor of the culinary art, but the rich
citizens, the men of letters, the artists, “were only _in the course_
of learning to dine, drink, and laugh with _convenance_. Vatel, of whom
so much has been said,” says Carème, “had only a mind deeply intent
on his subject, you but see in him the _conscientious man of duty and
etiquette_. His death astonishes but does not melt you (sa mort frappe
mais ne touche pas), for he had not reached the highest elevation of
his art.” You cannot think, you who read these lines, that any one of
our cooks of the present day, brought up by Carème, could ever fall
into his faults. For whatever may happen, a cook, like a commander,
and, indeed, like the great masters of the art, Laguipière and Carème,
“should always have splendid and imposing reserves.”

This dictum of Carème must be taken, like many of his dishes and
sauces, _cum grano salis_. Molière lived and wrote at this period;
and though it would be unfair not to concede that he was greatly in
advance of his age, and, like Shakspeare, seemed to be universally
informed, and by intuition, yet on the other hand there is scarcely a
better description of a gourmand than is to be found in the “Bourgeois
Gentilhomme,” act iv. sc. 1. The language of the art, too, is as much
superior to the jargon of professional cooks, as Paques is (the pun
was inevitable) to Carème. But here is the passage _in extenso_, from
which all may judge:--“Si Damis s’en étoit mêlé, tout seroit dans les
règles; il y auroit par-tout de l’élégance et de l’érudition, et il ne
manqueroit pas de vous exagérer lui-même toutes les pièces du repas
qu’il vous donneroit, et de vous faire tomber d’accord de sa haute
capacité dans la science des tous morceaux; de vous parler d’un pain de
rive à bizeau doré, relevé de croûte par-tout, croquant tendrement sous
la dent; d’un vin à seve velouté, armé d’un vert qui n’est point trop
commandant; d’un carré du mouton gourmandé de persil; d’une longe de
veau de rivière, longue, blanche, délicate, et qui, sous les dents, est
une vraie pâte d’amande; de perdrix relevées, d’un fumet surprenant; et
pour son opéra, d’une soupe á bouillon perlé, soutenue d’un jeune gros
dindon, cantonnée de pigeonneaux, et couronnée d’oignons blancs, mariés
avec la chicorée.”[5] It should also be observed that St. Evremond, a
man of letters as well as a soldier and a gentleman, rendered himself
celebrated even in 1654, for the exquisiteness of his taste in cookery,
and that the coterie in which he lived were equally famous for their
good cheer. The dinners of the Commandeur de Souvré, of the Comte
d’Oloure, and of the Marquis de Bois Dauphin, were celebrated for equal
refinement and delicacy. Lavardin, Bishop of Mans, in speaking of
the clique, says, “Ils ne sauroient manger que du veau de rivière: il
faut que leurs perdrix viennent d’Auverge: que leurs lapins soit de la
Roche Guyon.”[6] The same thought may be found in the fifth Satire of
Juvenal, though somewhat differently expressed.

“Mullus erit domino, quem misit Corsica, vel quem
Taurominitanæ rupes, quando omne peractum est,
Et jam deficit nostrum mare.”

With the qualifying restrictions previously made, it may fairly be
admitted that it is not to the Grand Monarque, but to the Regent
Orleans, that the French of the present day owe the exquisite _cuisine_
of the eighteenth century. The _Pain à la d’Orleans_ was the invention
of the regent himself; the _filets de lapereau à la Berri_ were
invented by his abandoned daughter, the Duchess de Berri, who plunged
into every sensual excess, and whose motto was “_Courte et bonne_.” Her
suppers were the best, and, it must be added, the most profligate in
Paris.

As the Duchess de Berri, the daughter of the regent, was _gourmande_ as
well as _galante_, she is deified by the race of cooks and epicures,
one of whom says that the alimentary art owes to her fertile genius a
great number of receipts. Nor was she the only female who distinguished
herself at this era in cookery, for it became _à-la-mode_ to be the
creator of a _plat_. The _filets de volaille à la Bellevue_ were
invented by the Marquise de Pompadour, in the château of Bellevue, for
the _petits soupers_ of the king. The _poulets à la Villeroy_ owe their
birth to the Maréchale de Luxembourg, then Duchess of Villeroy, one of
the most sensual “gourmandes” of the court of Louis XV. The _Chartreuse
à la Mauconseil_ has been transmitted to us by the Marquise de
Mauconseil, celebrated alike by her taste and her gallantries. The _vol
au vent à la Nesle_ proceeded from the fertile brain of the Marquis de
Nesle, who refused the peerage to remain premier marquis of France, and
the _poularde à la Montmorency_ was the production of the duke of that
name. _Filets de veau à la Montgolfier_, are so named because they are
of the shape of balloons. The _petites bouchées à la reine_ owe their
origin to Maria Leczinska, wife of Louis XV., whose devotions, however
self-denying in other respects, never prevented her from relishing
a good dinner. All the _entrées_ bearing the name of Bayonnaises
were invented by the Maréchal Duke de Richelieu. The _perdreaux à
la Montglas_ acknowledge as their father a worthy magistrate of
Montpelier, whilst the _cailles à la Mirepoix_ were imagined by the
marechal of that name, who in gourmandise, but in gourmandise only,
rivalled the Marechal de Luxembourg; and last, though not least, the
_cotelettes à la Maintenon_ were the favourite dish of that frigid
piece of pompous and demure hypocrisy, Madame de Maintenon herself.

It may be concluded, that the regency and the reign of Louis XV.
were among the grand epochs of French cookery. The long peace which
followed the treaty of Utrecht, the large fortunes made by the tribe
of financiers, who, in ruining the state, enriched themselves--the
tranquil and voluptuous life of a monarch who gave himself more concern
about his personal pleasures and enjoyments than his royal renown--the
character of the courtiers and public men of the day--all contributed
to stamp an intensely sensual character on the age of Louis XV. A
taste for English equipages and horses was now introduced, and our
puddings and beef-steaks were also imitated. The example of the regent
was refined on and extended in this reign. The _petits soupers_ of the
king were cited as models of delicacy and _gourmandise_. The kitchen in
France, as in all the world over, requires “the cankers of a calm world
and a long peace,” to sustain and support it; while the troubles of the
League and the Fronde, the temperament of Louis XIV., and the despotic
and tempestuous character of Richelieu, interfered with its progress
in former reigns. There were great cooks as well as great captains in
the reign of Louis XIV., notwithstanding the disparaging remarks which
Carème casts on the memory of Vatel; but a witty author maintains that
the only ineffaceable and immortal reputation of that time handed down
to us in cookery, is that of the Marquis de Bechamel, who introduced
into the sauce for turbot and cod fish an infusion of cream. The
_Bechamel de turbot et de cabillaud_ still maintain their popularity,
though kings, dynasties, and empires have fallen, and half the globe
has been revolutionized.

In the royal kitchen of Louis XVI., the art as an art declined; but
the sacred fire of cookery (to use the inflated language of some of
the craft) was preserved in many old houses, as, for instance, in
the establishments of Marshals Richelieu and Duras, the Duke of La
Vallière, the Marquis de Brancas, the Count de Tessé, and some others,
who equalled in the delicacy of their tables the elegant sumptuosity of
the reign of Louis XV. The excesses of some of the French nobility of
this day would now appear incredible. One hundred and twenty pheasants
were, at this period, weekly consumed in the kitchens of the Prince de
Condé; and the Duke de Penthievre, in going to preside over the estates
of Burgundy, was preceded by one hundred and fifty-two _hommes de
bouche_! Can any, after this, wonder at the excesses of the Revolution?
The unexpected death of Louis XV. (says a gourmand of the succeeding
reign, and who survived the Revolution and the Consulate) struck a
mortal blow at cookery. His successor, young and vigorous, ate with
more voracity than delicacy, and did not pride himself on (the words
are untranslateable) a “grand finesse de gout”--an exquisite delicacy
of taste in the choice of his food. Large joints of butchers’ meat,
and dishes essentially nutritive, represented his ideas of good living.
His enormous appetite contented itself in satisfying hunger; learned
efforts were not necessary to stimulate its vast cravings.

The French Revolution at length broke forth, and the historians of the
kitchen speak with mournfulness of its effect on the science, which
Montaigne quaintly calls _l’art de la gueule_. The kitchens of the
faubourg of St. Germain and the Chaussée d’Antin no longer smoked, the
perfumes of truffles were exhaled and vanished, the great and noble of
the land were obliged to fly for their lives, and too often to dine
with Duke Humphrey, or at best to dine frugally and sparingly. The
financiers, who aped the luxuries and mimicked the extravagance of the
court, were all ruined or denounced. The stoic’s fare--the radish and
the egg, the _Jus nigrum_ of the severe Spartans, and the black
bread of the Germans of the middle ages, scarcely fit food for horses,
were now revived. For three long years this spare Spartan régime
continued. Had the Goths and Vandals gone on a little longer, says a
witty epicure, who survived the Revolution, the receipt for a fricassee
of chicken had been infallibly lost. The markets were no longer
supplied. Beef, mutton, ham, and veal, had disappeared; as to fish,
it was preposterous to think of it.[7] Not a good turbot, or salmon,
or sturgeon, says Grimod, appeared during the Revolution. Fowls and
game had become a “sick epicure’s dream,” not a solid reality. Nor were
these miseries confined to Paris alone. “You might go into a country
market,” says the same author, “with a ream of assignats in your hand,
and not be able to buy a sack of flour.” A return to a gold currency
produced a visible alteration in the _Res Cibaria_. The louis and
five-franc pieces again peopled the markets with a populace of poultry
and partridges. Cooks again began to talk in the language which the
Italian _maître d’hôtel_ of Cardinal Caraffa addressed to the
pleasant and witty Montaigne, language which the laughing author has
imperishably recorded in those inimitable volumes, which will be read
and admired so long as the French language and literature endure. “Il
m’a fait un discours de cette science de gueule avec une gravité et
contenance magistrale, comme s’il m’eust parlé de quelque grand poinct
de theologie. Il m’a dechiffré une difference d’appetits; la police
de ses sauces; les qualités des ingredients et leurs effects, les
differences des salades. Après cela il est entré sur l’ordre de service
plein de belles et importantes considerations, et tout cela enflé de
riches et magnifiques paroles; et celles mêmes qu’on employe à traiter
du gouvernement d’un empire.”

The oxen of Auvergne and Normandy were now again marched slowly and
gravely up from the provinces to be slaughtered in Paris. The sheep
of Beauvais, of Cotentin and the Ardennes, were again, as under the
old régime, cut up into cutlets, and the cooks soon appeared. Instead
of serving as _chefs de cuisine_, butlers, intendants, and _maîtres
d’hôtel_, they now were called _citoyens_, _pensionnaires_, and
_rentiers_; for there were no _grands seigneurs_ to employ them. For a
while there was some inconvenience, but a Frenchman sooner accommodates
himself to circumstances than any other human being, and such of the
_cuisiniers_ as had saved somewhat from the shipwreck of the Revolution
formed eating-houses, taverns, and _restaurants_. These establishments
have since become the temples of good cheer and gourmandise, in which
wandering Englishmen spend and have spent millions upon millions of
money; but it is an historical fact known to few, that the greater
number of these _restaurants_ owe their origin to the Revolution.[8]

The complete overthrow of the French kitchen, the work of three
centuries, might have been effected at this season, had not its
traditions been preserved. Happily there were Acolytes and Neophytes
sufficient in existence, says one of the historians, to catch and
perpetuate the scientific savour of the ancient “flesh pots.” In such
a loss as this, weightier interests had been imperilled than mere
cookery. More than half the intelligence, and nearly all of the French
agreeability of the past age, had been in a great degree promoted by
the French cuisine. The cook of the Condés and the Soubises contributed
in no mean degree to give a zest and a vivacity to the dinners at
which Montesquieu, Voltaire, Diderot, Helvetius, D’Alembert, Duclos,
and Vauvenargues so often met; and this remark applies, in a great
degree, to the suppers of Madame du Deffand, the dinners of the Baron
D’Holbach, and the dinners, suppers, and pic-nics of the agreeable
Crawford of Auchinames, whose “Tableau of French Literature” is
not sufficiently known nor read in our day. It was at these social
_réunions_ that French conversation, then indeed a _style parlé_ became
animated and improved by the exquisite cheer which the “cunning hand”
of the cook provided. A few hours of delightful, easy, unrestrained
conversation between polite and well-informed men, did more to advance
the progress of the human mind than the labours of a wilderness of
speculative bookmaking academies. The solution of many great and grave
questions--the propagation of new and enlarged views, the production
of ingenious essays and instructive memoirs, are all owing to that
elegant and agreeable body of men and women, kept together in a main
degree by the exquisite attraction of _petits soupers_ and luxurious
dinners.

From the moment of the Executive Directory, 1795, to the period of the
18th Brumaire, all the historians among; the great cooks admit that
their illustrious art was under the greatest obligations to Barras,
that well-born tribune of the people, of whose family it was said,
“noble comme les Barras, aussi anciens que les rochers de Provence.”
Whether as Commissary of the government at Toulon--at whose siege, by
the way, he first became acquainted with Bonaparte--or as Director, or
as residing as a private gentleman at his château of Grosbois, Barras
always exhibited those epicurean tastes which were either natural to
him, or which he had acquired from a residence at the French settlement
of Pondicherry.

During the most ferocious periods of the Revolution, there were but
two splendid exceptions to the self-denying ordinances of the time.
That desperate demagogue Danton loved and copiously indulged himself in
morels, and is recorded to have given dinners at 400 francs a head; and
Barras, when in the Directory, had his button mushrooms conveyed to him
_en poste_ from the Bouches du Rhone.

Napoleon, who may be said to have succeeded to power at the epoch of
the 18th Brumaire, is falsely represented as an enemy of the pleasures
of the table. It is true, a love of good cheer was not a dominant
passion with him; he did not exhibit the crapulous gluttony of an
over-fed sensualist, but he was not insensible to the pleasures of
good eating. M. de Bausset,[9] the prefect of the Imperial palace, has
handed down in his most interesting work some of the Emperor’s ordinary
bills of fare. They are distinguished by simplicity and moderation, but
there is also a pervading suitableness and taste very significant of
the man, and of the nation over which he “reigned and governed.”

M. de Cussy, also attached to the kitchen and household of the Emperor,
and who obtained from his patron, or assumed, the title of Marquis de
Cussy, has also left us interesting details on the subject. One day at
breakfast, says he (this was some time after his marriage), Napoleon,
after having eaten, with his habitual haste, a wing of a chicken _à la
Tartare_, turned towards M. de Cussy (who was always present at the
Emperor’s meals), and the following dialogue took place between them:
“The deuce! I have always hitherto found chicken-meat flat and insipid,
but this is excellent.” “Sire, if your Majesty would permit, I would
desire to have the honour of serving a fowl every day in a different
fashion.” “What! M. de Cussy, you are then master of 365 different
ways of dressing fowl?” “Yes, Sire, and perhaps your Majesty, after a
trial, would take a pleasure _à la science gastronomique_. All great
men have encouraged that science, and, without citing to your Majesty
the example of the great Frederick, who had a special cook for each
favourite dish, I might invoke, in support of my assertion, all the
great names immortalized by glory.” “Well, then, M. de Cussy,” replied
the Emperor, “we shall put your abilities to the test.” The case might
be left to a jury of gourmands on this evidence, and the Emperor would
be convicted, if not of _gourmandise_, at least of _friandises_.
Who will, however, deny the _gourmandise_ of his arch-chancellor,
Cambacères, or of his minister of foreign affairs, Talleyrand? “The
first clouds of smoke” (says Ude) “which announced the resurrection of
cookery, appeared from the kitchen of a _quondam_ bishop.” Napoleon
himself was in the habit of saying that more fortunate treaties,
more happy arrangements and reconciliations were due to the cook of
Cambacères than to the crowds of diplomatic nonentities who thronged
the ante-chambers of the Tuileries. On one occasion the town of Geneva
sent to the arch-chancellor a monster trout, together with the sauce,
the expense of which was verified by the Cour des Comptes as amounting
to 6000 francs, or 240_l._ of our money.

A rare epoch in the history of cookery was the publication of the
first number of the “Almanach des Gourmands,” which appeared in the
beginning of the year 1803, and which the late Duke of York called
the most delightful book that was ever printed. The sale of this work
was prodigious. 22,000 copies of the four first years were speedily
disposed of, and the work subsequently went through new editions. As
the book is very scarce everywhere, and not to be found in England,
I may be pardoned for dwelling on it. Gastronomy became the fashion
of that day. Every one spoke on the subject; many wrote on it.
Cookery passed from the kitchen to the shop, from the shop to the
counting-house, from the counting-house to the studies of lawyers and
physicians; thence to the salons and cabinets of ladies and statesmen.
The object of life, according, at least, to our simple English
notions, seemed reversed: people in England eat to live; in France,
they appeared to live only to eat. This was in consonance with French
character and practice.

To return, however, to the “Almanach des Gourmands.” Each volume
contained an almanac for the year in which it was published, and
a species of nutritive itinerary of the different _traiteurs_,
_rotisseurs_, _restaurateurs_, pork-men, poulterers, butchers, bakers,
provision, sauce, and spice shops, milkmen, oilmen, &c. Nor were the
_cafés_, _limonadiers_, _glaciers_, nor wine and liqueur merchants
neglected; for ample and amusing accounts of almost all the principal
_magasins de comestibles_ are given. The volumes are generally written
in a playful, humorous style, and occasionally indicate originality
and research. The first four numbers are by far the best, though there
are passages in the seventh, eighth, and ninth equal to anything which
appeared in the preceding numbers. The author and editor was Grimod
de la Reyniere. His father, a _fermier général_ was choked, in 1754,
by attempting to swallow rather too voraciously a slice of a _pâté de
foies gras_. The son inherited the hereditary passion for the pleasures
of the table, joined to a sprightly yet quaint humour, which rendered
him a general favourite. It must be admitted, that while he inspired a
taste for cookery, he ennobled its language.

As a specimen of his manner, take a short extract from the second
volume, under the head of the health of cooks. “The finger of a
good cook should alternate perpetually between the stewpan and his
mouth, and it is only thus in tasting every moment his _ragouts_,
that he can hit upon the precise medium. His palate should therefore
have an extreme delicacy, and be in some sort virgin, in order that
the slightest trifle may stimulate it, and thus forewarn him of its
faults. But the continual odour of ovens--the necessity under which
a cook lies to drink often, and sometimes of bad wine, the vapour
of charcoal, the accumulation of bile, and many other things, each
and all contribute to interfere with his organs of sense, and most
quickly to derange and alter his sense of taste. His palate becomes
indurated; he has no longer that tact, that _finesse_, that exquisite
sensibility, on which depends susceptibility of taste. His palate at
length becomes case-hardened. The only means of restoring to him that
flower which he has lost (cette fleur qu’il a perdue), and recruiting
his strength, his suppleness, and his _delicatesse_, is to purge him,
despite of any resistance he may be induced to make; for there are
cooks deaf to the voice of glory, who see no need to take physic when
they are in health. Oh, ye then who wish to enjoy at your daily board
delicate and _recherché_ fare, cause your cooks to be purged frequently
(faites purger souvent vos cuisiniers), for there is no other means to
accomplish your wishes.”

In another volume, published in 1806, the author says that in Riom,
in Auvergne, there was an innkeeper named Simon, who had a special
talent for dressing frogs. The process of feeding and dressing them is
given in detail, admirably and graphically told, but at far too great
a length to extract. “What proves the goodness of the dish, and the
impossibility of counterfeiting it,” says Grimod, “is, that the author
has gained 200,000 francs at this art, though he gives you for 24 sous
a dish containing three dozen of frogs.”

The three “Frères Provenceaux,” we learn in the same volume, were even
thus early renowned for Provençal _ragouts_, and, above all, for their
_Brandades de Merluche_; and the veal of Pontoise was then, as now, fed
on cream and biscuits, and carried to Paris in carriages made expressly
for the purpose. It is in this year’s almanac also that the author
speaks of the death of a celebrated gourmand and friend of his, Doctor
Gastaldy, physician to the late Duke of Cumberland. The last dinner
which he partook of was on Wednesday, the 20th December, at Cardinal
Belloy’s, Archbishop of Paris, where, having eaten three times of the
belly part of the salmon, he died of the effects of this invincible
gluttony. The doctor would have gone to the salmon a fourth time,
but that the prelate “tenderly upbraided him for his imprudence, and
ordered the desired dish to be removed” (le reprit tendrement de son
imprudence, et fit enlever ce sujet de convoitise). But alas, it was
too late--the gulosity of Gastaldy caused his death, and he was hastily
buried the day after his demise. Let this be a warning to priests in
high places, whether Protestant, Popish, or Presbyterian, as to helping
their guests too often to the richest part of a salmon.

In one of the volumes there is a long chapter on the opening of
oysters, from which the concluding portion is extracted.

“It is not until the oyster is detached from the under shell that it
ceases to live. The real lovers of oysters (such, for example, as
the late M. Grimod de Verneuil), won’t allow the oyster-women to
open their fish, reserving to themselves the important privilege of
performing this operation on their own plate, in order that they may
have the pleasure of swallowing this interesting fish alive.”

It is in this volume that the important secret is disclosed that
the flesh of beasts, fowls, and game killed by electricity, is much
more tender than if killed in the usual manner. “The discoverer of
this important truth,” says Grimod, “was a Dr. Beyer, of the Rue de
Clichy, who deserves to be ranked with the Rechaud, the Morillon, and
the Robert, who had so worthily illustrated the culinary art, towards
the end of the last century; and who, like the Raphaels, the Michael
Angelos, and the Rubens, have been the founders of the three great
schools of good living.”

Here also is a dissertation on asses’ flesh, wherein the author states
that, during the blockade of Malta by the English and Neapolitans, the
inhabitants, having had recourse to horseflesh, dogflesh, cats, rats,
&c., at length tried asses’ flesh, and found it so excellent, that the
gourmands of Valetta preferred this strange diet to the best beef and
veal. When an ass was killed, there was great competition for the prime
bits. “Your ass,” says Isouard, father of the musical composer of that
name, “should not be more than three or four years old, and fat.”

There is also an account of a seasoning used by the gourmands of Terra
Nova, a small town situated on the southern coast of Sicily, between
Gergali and Scoglietti, on the sea-shore. This is a white grease,
extracted from the fig-pecker, much sought after by the gourmands of
Sicily and Naples. At Malta all respectable families use it in lieu
of oil and butter. An immense number of birds, taken in nets, are
necessary to produce so much grease. When killed they are thrown, in
immense heaps, into an enormous oven, and the fat is thus melted out.
It is bottled, and the carcasses of the birds thrown away.

The “Manuel des Amphytrions,” by the author of the almanac, is as
curious and amusing, and a more succinct work than the “Almanach des
Gourmands.”

The first work of any note, published in 1814, after the Restoration,
was that of Beauvilliers. The author had been cook to the Count de
Provence (Louis XVIII.), but at this period followed the business of
a _restaurateur_ in the Rue de Richelieu. Any eulogium on such a work
would be supererogatory. The artist, who had been many years cook to
the inventor of the _soupe à la Xavier_, that consummate and gouty
gourmand, Louis XVIII., and who had often served and satisfied the
Count d’Artois, afterwards Charles X., the inventor of the _ris de veau
à la d’Artois_, must have been a cook of surpassing merit.

The “Physiologie du Goût” appeared in 1828. The author was M. Brillat
Savarin, Conseillier en la Cour de Cassation. He had been bred to the
bar, and was already in practice when the Revolution broke out. By the
suffrages of his townsmen he was sent as a deputy to the Constituent
Assembly. But in 1793, having resisted the progress of anarchy, he was
forced to emigrate. He embarked for the United States, and established
himself at New York, where he remained for two years, giving lessons
in the French language, and filling nightly one of the first places in
the orchestra of the theatre; for, among his other accomplishments,
he was distinguished as a musician. During the Directory he returned,
and the last twenty-five years of his life were spent in the Court of
Cassation. It was in the leisure which this honourable retreat afforded
him that he composed this work. It is, however, more a scientific
essay, or a book of aphorisms, in the short and sententious style of
the ancients, than a practical work on cookery.

Some of the statistics of this book are curious. It appears that,
from the 1st of November to the end of February, there is a daily
consumption of 300 turkeys, making, in all, but 36,000 turkeys. The
work also contains a number of witty and curious anecdotes, from which
I venture to extract one.

M. de Sanzai, Archbishop of Bordeaux, was an agreeable man and a
respected prelate. He had won from one of his grand vicars a truffled
turkey, which the loser seemed in no haste to pay. Towards the close
of the carnival, the archbishop reminded his subordinate of the lost
wager. “Monseigneur,” said the vicar, “the truffles are good for
nothing this year.” “Bah, bah!” replied the archbishop, “that’s a
report spread by the turkeys,” (c’est un bruit que les dindons font
courir).

A vast number of editions of the “Cuisinière Bourgeoise” have appeared
both in France and Switzerland, and, to speak truly, there is no more
useful work. A greater number of copies have been sold, for the last
seventy years, than even of the “Fables” of La Fontaine. The receipts
are by no means expensive, and there is no better cookery for the
middle classes of all countries. Even in England the dishes might be
adopted among the better classes, occasionally abridging any undue
portion of garlic or onion. This work was pirated at Neufchatel,
in 1798, by the celebrated Fauche Borel, employed in many delicate
negotiations by the emigrants, and he made a large sum by the piracy.

The “Cuisinier Royal,” published by Barba, is also a good work. It is
of a more ostentatious character than the “Cuisinière Bourgeoise,” but
the receipts are very numerous and varied, and there are no learned
disquisitions on the art, which many would consider an advantage.

I have now gone through the chief culinary works of France, and it
remains for me to speak of English cookery and cookery books. And
first of the former. The traditions of English cookery are faint,
few, and far between. In the earlier comedies there are few allusions
to the art, and even in Shakespeare himself, though we find mention
of barley-broth, of calf’s head and capon, of collops, cod’s head,
soused gurnet, and salmon tail, of roasted pig and rashers, of beef and
mustard, and “thick Tewkesbury mustard,” of hot venison pasty and hodge
pudding, and lastly (in ridicule of foreign cookery), of “adders’ heads
and toads carbonadoed;” yet still from these names no other inference
can be drawn than that such dishes were in vogue. From the reign of
Elizabeth to the Revolution, the style of cookery was undoubtedly heavy
and substantial. Chines of beef and pork smoked on the early dinner
tables, and the remains were eaten cold, and washed down with foaming
tankards of ale on the following morning.

The age of Anne was distinguished by an extraordinary burst of
intellectual vigour and great progress in the culinary art. Though the
comedies of Congreve, Wycherly, and Vanbrugh, are fair specimens of
the society of that day, still they throw little light on the social
habits of the people. From the manner in which Lady Wishfort drinks,
in the “Way of the World,” and the exhibition of Sir Wilful Witwold’s
drunkenness, in the same piece, one would infer that immoderate
inebriety was the characteristic of the time. Valentine, in “Love for
Love,” calls for a bottle of sack and a toast; and Careless, in “The
Double Dealer,” exclaims “I’m weary of guzzling.”

The pages of Pope throw an important light on the cookery of his time.
His imitation of the second satire of the second book of Horace has a
value which cannot always be affixed to his more important pieces. A
light is not only thrown on the personal habits of the man, but on the
social characteristics of the epoch.

“Preach as I please, I doubt our curious men
Will choose a pheasant still before a hen;
Yet hens of Guinea full as good I hold,
Except you eat the feathers green and gold.
Of carps and mullets why prefer the great,
Though cut in pieces as my lord can eat;
Yet for small turbots such esteem profess,
Because God made these large, the other less.
Oldfield, with more than harpy throat endued,
Cries, send me, gods! a whole hog barbecued!”

The hog barbacued is a West India term of gluttony. It was a hog
roasted whole, stuffed with spice and basted with Madeira wine.
Allusion is made to this dish in Foote’s “Patron,” where Sir Peter
Pepperpot says, “I am invited to dinner on a barbacue, and the villains
have forgot my bottle of chian.”

It is plain from every line of these imitations of Pope, that the
science of cookery had made great strides in the reign of Anne, nor
is this to be wondered at. “La Reine Anne,” says a French author,
“était très gourmande; elle ne dédaignait pas de s’entretenir avec
son cuisinier, et les dispensaires Anglais contiennent beaucoup de
préparations designées à la manière de la Reine Anne.” The following
glimpse at the table of the poet himself has an attractive interest:

“Content with little I can piddle here
On brocoli and mutton round the year;
But ancient friends, tho’ poor, or out of play,
That touch my bell, I cannot turn away.
’Tis true, no turbots dignify my boards,
But gudgeons, flounders, what my Thames affords:
To Hounslow Heath I point, and Bansted-Down,
Thence comes your mutton, and these chicks my own.
From yon old walnut-tree a shower shall fall;
And grapes, long lingering on my only wall;
And figs from standard and espalier join;
The devil is in you if you cannot dine.”

The bill of fare at this time often consisted in the month of April
of the following: green geese, or veal and bacon--haunch of venison
roasted--a lumber pie--rabbits and tarts. Second course: cold
lamb--cold neat’s-tongue pie--salmon, lobsters, and prawns--asparagus.

But in other months the following dishes were given--brawn and mustard,
hashed shoulder of mutton, broiled geese, minced pies, a loin of
veal, marrow pie, venison pasty, a lambstone pie, Westphalia bacon,
a Westphalia ham, artichoke pie, neat’s-tongue, and udder roasted,
a roast turkey stuck with cloves, and for a second course, Bologna
sausages, anchovies, mushrooms, caviare, and pickled oysters, in a dish
together.

And now a word as to English cookery books. The “Queen’s Closet
Opened,” published in 1662, is the first English cookery book I have
been able to meet with, for the “Treasure of Hidden Secrets, or Good
Huswife’s Closet,” published in 1600, is but a congeries of receipts
for perfumes, essences, and candies. Some of the dishes in the
“Queen’s Closet,” maintain their popularity to the present day,--as,
for instance, chicken and pigeon pie, boiled rump of beef, and potted
venison; but others have wholly passed away,--as, for example, a baked
red deer, a capon larded with lemons, a steak pie with a French pudding
in it, a fricase (we retain the spelling) of campigneons, a salet of
smelts, flounders, or plaice, with garlick and mustard, an olive pie,
and dressed snails.

The “Gentleman’s Companion,” published in 1673, is the earliest work
of the kind met with after the “Queen’s Closet,” for “May’s Cookery,”
“The Ladies’ Companion,” or even “Mrs. Glasse,” written by Dr. Hill,
and which has become exceedingly scarce, I do not possess. To what a
civilized and social state our gentlewomen had attained 171 years ago,
will be apparent from the following extract from Mrs. Woolley.

Some choice observations for a gentlewoman’s behaviour at table.
“Gentlewoman, the first thing you are to observe, is to keep your
body straight in the chair, and do not lean your elbows on the table.
Discover not by any ravenous gesture your angry appetite, nor fix your
eyes too greedily on the meat before you, as if you would devour more
that way than your throat can swallow. In carving at your own table,
distribute the best pieces first, and it will appear very comely and
decent to use a fork, if so, touch no piece of meat without it.

“I have been invited to dinner, where I have seen the good gentlewoman
of the house sweat more in cutting up a fowl, than the cookmaid in
roasting it, and when she had soundly beliquored her joints, hath smelt
her knuckles, and to work with them again in the dish; at the sight
whereof my belly hath been three-quarters full, before I had swallowed
one bit!”--Page 65.

“Do not eat spoon-meat so hot, that the tears stand in your eyes, or
that thereby you betray your intolerable greediness. Do not bite your
bread, but cut or break it, and keep not your knife always in your
hand, for that is as unseemly as a gentlewoman who pretended to have as
little a stomach as she had a mouth, and therefore would not swallow
her peas in spoonfuls, but took them one by one, and cut them in two
before she would eat them.

“Fill not your mouth so full that your cheeks shall swell like a pair
of Scotch bag-pipes.”--Page 71.

Many remarks are made by our countrymen and women about the filth of
the French, but Englishmen should read the following, written about a
century and a half ago, for the guidance of their own countrywomen.

“It is uncivil to rub your teeth in company, or to pick them at or
after meals, with your knife or otherwise, for it is a thing both
indecent and distasteful.”--Page 72.

The following is the advice “to the female younger sort.”

“You will show yourself too saucy by calling for sauce or any dainty
thing. Avoid smacking in your eating. Forbear putting both hands to
your mouth at once; nor gnaw your meat, but cut it handsomely, and eat
sparingly. Let your nose and hands be always kept clean. When you have
dined or supped, rise from the table, and carry your trencher or plate
with you, doing your obeisance to the company.”--Pp. 19, 20.

Some insight into the cookery of 1754, maybe obtained from the pages
of the “Connoisseur.” The fools of quality of that day “drove to the
Star and Garter to regale on macaroni, or piddle with an ortolan at
White’s or Pontac’s.” At Dolly’s and Horsman’s beef steaks were eaten
with gill ale; and behind the Change, a man worth a plum used to order
a twopenny mess of broth with a boiled chop in it; placing the chop
between the two crusts of a halfpenny roll, he would wrap it up in his
check handkerchief, and carry it away for the morrow’s dinner.

The “Art of Cookery,” by a Lady, was published by Miller, Tonson, and
Strahan, in 1765. There are many good receipts in the work, and it is
written in a plain style. The author sensibly says in her preface,
“The great cooks have such a high way of expressing themselves, that
the poor girls are at a loss to know what they mean.” This book has one
great fault, it is disfigured by a strong anti-Gallican prejudice.

An attempt was made by Longman and Co. to start a sort of “English
Almanach des Gourmands,” in 1815, but it was a complete failure. It was
called the “Epicure’s Almanack.” Only one number was published.

The “Cook and Confectioner’s Dictionary,” which appeared in 1747,
contains a vast deal of curious west country and Cornish cookery. It is
a rare book, and was obligingly lent to me by Mr. Cyrus Redding, who
deserves the gratitude of all for his intrepid and successful attempts
to introduce a pure sherry at the English tables.

Mrs. Dalgairns’ is one of the best of cookery books for persons in the
upper class of life not overburdened with wealth. It ought to be an
invaluable book to the middle classes. Sir Walter Scott contributed
largely to this work. The only fault with which the worthy old lady
may be reproached is, that she is somewhat over national and exhibits
too palpable an addiction to Scotch dishes. This is a prevailing
peccadillo--if not the heinous fault of all Picts, old or young, male
or female.

“Scott’s Dictionary of Cookery,” is a pretentious failure, published in
1828 by Colburn. The author was a Scotch doctor, practising at some
small continental town. The work seems to have been got up with the
view of rivalling Mrs. Rundell’s publication.

The “Cook’s Oracle,” by Dr. Kitchener, was first published in 1817. It
had great success, but never did a book less deserve renown. Totally
destitute of arrangement and originality, it is an odd confused _olla
podrida_ of receipts, observations, maxims, and remarks, drawn from
all sources, ancient and modern, foreign as well as domestic. It is
written in a vain-glorious, assuming style, and filled with gasconading
vulgarisms and obsolete pedantry. The attempts at wit are ludicrously
heavy and unsuccessful. It is a reproach to the national taste to have
patronized a book of no theoretical, and of little practical worth.

The greater part of these observations also apply to that exceedingly
indigested posthumous book of scraps and patches, called the
“Housekeeper’s Oracle,” published in 1829.

The “French Cook,” by Ude, “officier de la bouche,” first to the Earl
of Sefton, and afterwards to Crockford’s Club, has gone through many
editions. It contains a disquisition on the rise and progress of
cookery, which is not without merit; but the greater portion of it
is taken from the “Cuisinier des Cuisiniers.” The partiality of our
countrymen for melted butter in a variety of shapes is happily hit off,
and is about as reasonable, in point of taste, as the antipathy of that
choleric Frenchman, who exclaimed, “Je deteste ces vilains Anglais,
parcequ’ils versent du beurre fondu sur leur veau rôti.”

The work of Ude is intended for the higher ranks, and for people of
fortune. The book and the cook have been a little over-rated. It is
neither French nor English--neither fish, flesh, nor good red herring.
The late Lord Sefton, who was too much of a mere glutton, would have
perverted the taste of any cook, however good, who had been long in his
service.

There is not a more amusing and racy volume than the “Original,” by Mr.
Walker, formerly of Trinity College, Cambridge, and afterwards a police
magistrate. Although several extracts have been already made from the
book in the “Quarterly Review,” the following may be reproduced with
advantage:--

“To order dinner is a matter of invention and combination. It involves
novelty, simplicity, and taste; whereas, in the generality of dinners,
there is no character but that of dull routine, according to the season.

“Any body can dine, but very few know how to dine, so as to ensure the
greatest quantity of health and enjoyment--indeed, many people contrive
to destroy their health; and as to enjoyment, I shudder when I think
how often I have been doomed to only a solemn mockery of it, how often
I have sat in durance stately, to go through the ceremony of a dinner,
the essence of which is to be without ceremony, and how often in this
land of liberty have I felt myself a slave.

“There are three kinds of dinners--solitary dinners, every day social
dinners, and set dinners. All these involving the consideration of
cheer, and the last two of society also. Solitary dinners, I think,
ought to be avoided as much as possible, because solitude tends to
produce thought, and thought tends to the suspension of the digestive
powers. When, however, dining alone is necessary, the mind should be
disposed to cheerfulness by a previous interval of relaxation. As
contentment ought to be an accompaniment to every meal, punctuality
is essential, and the diner and the dinner ought to be ready at the
same time. A chief maxim in dining with comfort, is to have whatever
you want when you want it. It is ruinous to have to wait just for one
thing, and then another, and to have the little additions brought,
when what they belong to is half or entirely finished. To avoid
this, a little oversight is good, and, by way of instance, it is
sound practical philosophy to have mustard upon the table before the
arrival of toasted cheese. This very omission has caused as many small
vexations in the world as would, by this time, make a mountain of
misery. Indeed, I recommend an habitual consideration of what adjuncts
will be required to the main matters; and I think an attention to
this, on the part of females, might often be preventive of sour looks
and cross words, and their anti-conjugal consequences. There is not
only the usual adjuncts, but to those who have anything like genius
for dinners, little additions will sometimes suggest themselves,
which give a sort of poetry to a repast, and please the palate to the
promotion of health.

“The present system of dinner giving I consider thoroughly tainted
with barbarism and vulgarity, and far removed from real and refined
enjoyment. As tables are now arranged, one is never at peace from an
arm continually setting on or taking off a side dish, or reaching
over to a wine cooler in the centre; then comes the more laborious
changing of courses, with the leanings right and left, to admit a host
of dishes, that are set on only to be taken off again, after being
declined in succession by each of the guests, to whom they are handed
round; yet this is fashion, and not to be departed from. With respect
to wine, it is often offered when not wanted, and when wanted, is
perhaps not to be had till long waited for. It is dreary to observe two
persons, glass in hand, waiting the butler’s leisure to be able to take
wine together, and then, perchance, being helped in despair to what
they did not ask for; and it is still more dreary to be one of the two
yourself. How different when you can put your hand upon a decanter the
moment you want it! I have been speaking hitherto of attendance in its
most perfect state; but then comes the greater inconvenience, and the
monstrous absurdity, of the same forms with inadequate establishments.
Those who are overwhelmed with an establishment, are, as it were,
obliged in self-defence to devise work for their attendants, whilst
those who have no such reason ape an example which, under the most
appropriate circumstances, is a state of restraint and discomfort, but
which, when followed merely for fashion’s sake, becomes absolutely
intolerable. I remember once receiving a severe frown from a lady at
the head of her table, next to whom I was sitting, because I offered
to take some fish from her, to which she had helped me, instead of
waiting till it could be handed me by her one servant; and she was not
deficient either in good breeding or sense. It is one of the evils of
the present day, that every body strives after the same dull style, so
that, when comfort might be expected, it is often least to be found.
State, without the machinery of state, is of all states the worst. In
conclusion of this part of my subject, I will observe that I think
the affluent would render themselves and their country an essential
service, if they were to fall into the simple, refined style of living,
discarding everything incompatible with real enjoyment, and I believe
that, if the history of overgrown luxury were traced, it has always
had its origin from the vulgar--rich--the very last class worthy of
imitation.”

The 243rd Thousand of “Domestic Cookery, by a Lady,” has been
published in the present year. This is perhaps the most popular and
practical work of the kind which has ever appeared in England, but
it is exclusively a middle-class book, and intended for the rich
bourgeoisie. The compiler, Mrs. Rundell, had spent the early part
of her life in India, and the work is enriched with many receipts
of Indian cookery. It is on the whole a succinct and judicious
compilation, but though well worth its price, it is yet far from being
a perfect production. For many years, if report speaks truly, it has
produced 1000_l._ a year to the publisher, and he is said to have
very liberally presented the authoress with a present of 2000_l._

I have not hitherto spoken of the “Cookery Book of Carème,” nor did
I notice it among the French works on cookery, for two reasons:
first, because Carème had been cook to George IV.; to the Marquis
of Wellesley, and to the Marquis of Londonderry; and had spent a
considerable portion of his life in England, or in the service of
Englishmen; and, secondly, because the book has been translated by Mr.
Hall, “cook to T. P. Williams, Esq., of Temple House, near Marlow,
and conductor of the parliamentary dinners of Lord Canterbury.” The
translation is very clumsily and sometimes incorrectly executed, but
as the translator is himself a cook and a conductor of dinners! (the
office seems to us new and original) it will be more convenient to
take his version of the original. Mr. Hall has at least one requisite
for his task, namely, admiration of his author. “I conceive (says he
in his preface) I am laying before my readers the productions of a
man whose abilities transcended the generality of writers in the art,
whose imagination greatly enlarged the variety of _entrées_ and
_entrémêts_ previously practised, and whose clear and perspicuous
details render them facile not only to the artist who has already an
advance in his profession, but also to those whose knowledge of the
higher code of the kitchen has been necessarily limited.” The following
are Carème’s notions on large dishes of fish, not rendered certainly
into very pure and undefiled English by Mr. Hall. The sense and
substance of the author are however preserved:

“OF LARGE DISHES OF FISH.

“I had remarked,” says M. Carème, “at the grand dinners of
Prince Talleyrand, that the larger pieces of cookery of the
first course never corresponded with the elegance of the
bronzes, the glass, and the plate. Delivering myself up entirely
to cookery, I promised myself that I would reform an infinity
of old usages, though practised as they were by the greatest
masters of the art. When I became chief of the kitchen of the
Emperor Alexander, I commenced this great reform. In the years
1816 and 1817 I was in England with the Prince Regent, and I was
there gratified, for this truly royal table was always served
in the French manner, and the service of silver was so superb
and elegant that I was struck with wonder. It appeared then,
that it would advance my reputation to commence the reform that
I had proposed. What could be more ridiculous and absurd than,
for instance, to see served pike or carp à la Chambord, the
garniture of which were composed of larded sweetbreads, young
pigeons, cocks’ combs, and kidneys? But such was, however, the
practice of men highest in reputation.

“When at Vienna with Lord Stewart (now Marquis of Londonderry),
his Britannic Majesty’s ambassador at the court of Austria, I
for the first time served the carp à la Chambord, surrounded
with my new garnitures of fish: this large piece was noticed,
and the nobility of Vienna, as well as my illustrious employer,
approved this novelty; for it is certain that in the Austrian
capital, until then, the French cooks in reputation there had
preserved the ancient customs of Paris. I think that a cook
can never make too many pecuniary sacrifices to accelerate the
progress of his art. I each day feel a grateful satisfaction in
my work, from the flattering encouragements I receive from the
noble personages I serve, but to accomplish it I have not only
made great sacrifices in money, but every day have meditated on
some new thing: this work will afford proofs of it.”

The following is Carème’s idea of our English turtle soup, which we
will reproduce in speaking of soups:--

“TURTLE SOUP.

“This soup is, without contradiction, the most lengthened in its
details of any that are known; the composition of its seasoning
claims an able hand and a strong memory. The palate of the cook
who executes it should be very fine; none of the ingredients
should predominate, not even the cayenne or allspice, which the
English cooks inconsiderately employ.”

How well expressed is this! What parliamentary language! An able
hand and a strong memory; and then the “inconsiderate” use of spices
is as delicately and dexterously hinted as though Carème had taken
practical lessons of the late Sir Robert Peel, or studied Hamilton’s
Parliamentary Logic.

Notwithstanding the dictum of the author of the “Manuel des
Amphitryons,” that “Un grand cuisinier ne doit point se livrer à la
patisserie, dans laquelle il ne pourroit jamais être que mediocre,”
it is in pastry and such small trifles that Carème chiefly shines.
His work is unsuited to the mass of even the higher classes in this
or any other country, and its use must be limited to persons of
colossal fortune, who have thousands a year to expend in magnificent
entertainments. The sale of such a work must, under any circumstances,
be extremely limited, even though the price did not amount to the
extravagant sum of twenty-one shillings.

Having now gone through the principal cookery books of England and
France, I may be indulged in a few remarks on the _cuisine_ of
both countries. The cookery of England is, with the greater part of the
nation, an object, not of luxurious desire or morning meditation, but
of plain necessity and solid and substantial comfort.

“Due nourishment we seek, not gluttonous delight,”

to use the words of Milton. Men dine to satisfy hunger in England,
and to sustain and strengthen themselves for those avocations,
professional, parliamentary, and commercial, into which they throw more
eager energy, more properly-directed vigour, force, and intensity than
any other nation under the sun, not even excepting the Americans. It
may be a humiliating confession, but in England no learned treatises
have been written on the art of dining or dinner giving. We are wholly
without “meditations” or “contemplations gastronomiques;” we do not
spend thousands of pounds in the gingerbread gilding of _cafés_ and
_restaurants_; nor have we “magasins de comestibles,” in the style
of Chevet and Corcellet. Our inventive powers are not turned in the
direction of luxury, nor do we make our bill of fare our calendar,
nor measure the seasons by their dainty productions. We talk little
of dining or dishes, however much the most luxurious and sensual
among us may think about it. We can knead and bake, and roast and
boil, and stew plain food as well, perhaps better, than our livelier
neighbours; but we are not so expert in _petits plats_, in _entrées_,
_entremets_, and _ragouts_, and are therefore justly obnoxious to the
pert remark of Voltaire, that though we have twenty-four religions,
we have but one sauce. We can compare, combine and search out causes
in morals, science, and legislation, but we have given no heed to
the canons or combinations of cookery. We have given birth to a
Bacon, a Locke, a Shakespeare, a Milton, a Watt; but we are without
a Vatel, a Bechamel, a Laguipierre, a Beauvilliers, or a Carème. We
have perfected railroads, steam-boats, and canals, but we cannot
make a _suprème de volaille_ in perfection, nor arrange _des petits
choux en profiteroles_. We have produced the best quadrants, the best
sextants, the best achromatic telescopes, and the best chronometers;
but the truffles we grow in Derbyshire and Hampshire are pale and
flavourless, and we cannot make larks _au gratin_. We have built the
best steam-ships, the best steam-carriages, the best vehicles of
every description for draught, business, pleasure, and amusement; but
we cannot fatten frogs with the science of a Simon, and we do not
render our mutton tender by electricity. We have beaten the nations
of the earth in fabrics of linen, woollen, and cotton; but we are
ignorant of epigrams of lamb, and know nothing of _salpicons à la
Vénetienne_. We have invented the safety-lamp, the stocking-frame,
and the spinning-jenny; but we hopelessly try our hands at _filets de
lapereaux en turban_, and ignominiously fail in _salmis_ of partridge
_à la bourguinote_. We have excelled in everything requiring a union of
enterprise, energy, perseverance, and wealth; but we have no _pâtés
de foies-gras_ of home invention, and no _terrines de Nerac_. We
have discovered and planted colonies which will perpetuate our name,
our language, our literature, and our free institutions, to the last
syllable of recorded time; but we cannot make _veloutés_ of vegetables,
nor _haricots blancs à la maître d’hôtel_. We have given liberty to
the slave, and preached the pure word of the gospel to the nations
subjected to our dominion and sway; but we still eat butter badly
melted with our roast veal, and we have not invented three hundred and
sixty-four ways to dress eggs. Our schoolmaster has indeed been “long
abroad;” but though he has so far yielded to innovation and reform
as to cast off the cauliflower wig of the time of the great Busby,
yet he will not hear of _chouf-leurs au gratin_ or _au jus_, but will
still eat his esculent boiled hard in plain water. But a truce with
comparisons, which are somewhat odious. Mankind undoubtedly owe to our
neighbours many ingenious culinary processes by which the productions
of nature are artfully and pleasantly disguised--many delicate
combinations of sauces by which the palate is alternately stimulated
and palled; but though we are indebted to the French for these
nick-nackeries--though we owe to them hats and hair-powder, bon-bons
and busks, caps and crinolines, stays and swaddling-clothes, sabots,
wigs, and waistcoats, filigrams and foulardes, gold thread, gloves,
and the guillotine--yet the world is but little their debtor in any
invention which does not turn on vanity, epicurism, or sensuality. They
are a people who, according to their own historian, De Thou, discovered
how to make tapestry before they had learned how to make broad cloth.

The metropolis of England exceeds that of France in extent and
population; it commands a greater supply of all articles of
consumption, and contains a greater number and variety of markets,
which are better supplied. There are also some articles of meat and
some articles of cookery in which England exceeds France. Though we
are also undoubtedly inferior to the Gauls in the articles of veal
and fowl, yet we greatly surpass them in mutton, produce better beef,
lamb, and pork, and are immeasurably superior both in the quantity and
quality of our fish, our venison, and our game.

This was admitted by St. Evremond nearly two hundred years ago in some
stanzas, entitled “Les Avantages de l’Angleterre,” wherein he says--

“Roche-guyon, Bene, verfine,
Ne vantez plus votre lapin;
Windsor en fournit la cuisine
D’un fumet encore plus fin.”

In the same poem he alludes to the profuse supply of woodcocks,
snipe, pheasant, and larks, and to the fine flavour and colour of the
Bath mutton. It is in fish, however, that we have been always most
pre-eminent.

The turbot brought to Billingsgate in large quantities from the
sand-banks, on the coast of Holland and St. George’s Channel,
sufficiently attest our energy and enterprise. The coast of Holland,
and the sea beyond our western coast, are as open to the French as to
the British, yet when has any Paris market disclosed such a supply of
fish as may be seen daily at Billingsgate, even after the hundreds of
thousands of retail fishmongers have been supplied. In a few soups,
such as turtle, which we possess in the greatest perfection, owing to
our colonial trade, and ox tail, mock turtle, giblet, hare, pea, and
mutton broth, we also surpass the French--but in the making of the
latter admirable broth for invalids, there is still much to desire at
coffee-houses and clubs. There is scarcely known a public establishment
where it may be eaten in perfection, excepting at Brooke’s in St.
James’s-street. It were most desirable that we should learn how to
make a French _bouillon_ or a _lait de poule_, for here indeed we are
ignorant and at fault. In the boiling of all plain fish we surpass our
neighbours. There is nothing in Paris equal to a first-rate English
turbot, cod-fish, haddock, john-dorey, or Southampton water or Severn
salmon, but the sauces used for these fishes in France are infinitely
preferable. It is a remark of the late Lady Holland, that no fish
should be eaten with another, and, therefore, lobster sauce was
excluded from her table. Dutch sauce is unquestionably more favourable
to the flavour of all boiled fish.

The French certainly beat us in sturgeon cutlets, _filets de sole_,
and _béchamels_ of fish. The oysters of Cancale, of Etretat, of
Ostend, and Marenne, are equal, if not superior, to the generality of
English oysters, because they are less artificially fed, and have not
their flavour washed away. But if the London tradesmen would spare
their oatmeal and fresh water, the Milton native oyster would be
found superior to its Gallic brother. In other shell-fish, also, we
have a decided superiority. The corpulent, respectable, full-fed crab
is almost unknown to the Gauls, and they have but a small quantity
of lobsters and prawns, but they cultivate the smaller cray-fish in
great quantities--a fish which is not common in England. Nor is there
anything in French cookery equal to our barons of beef, our noble
sirloins, our exquisite haunches, and saddles, and legs, and loins of
Southdown mutton; our noble rounds of boiled beef, and those prime five
guinea haunches of venison, which one sees from June till September,
at the establishments of the Messrs. Grove, at Charing Cross and Bond
Street. In cutlets of all kinds, in _fricassées_, in _ragouts_, in
_salmis_, _quenelles_, _purées_, _filets_, and more especially in the
dressing of vegetables, our neighbours surpass us; but we roast our
game more perfectly, and can hash mutton and venison better than any
one of the myriads of French cooks. In bread, cream, butter, eggs,
whether with reference to size or freshness, England is not to compare
with France; and a French _poularde_ of La Bresse or du Mans is worth
all the Dorking fowl hatched since the time of the deluge. Though,
therefore, the French _cuisine_ be more luxurious, more varied, more
palatable, more fair and dainty to look on than our ruder, more simple,
more frugal, and less luxurious kitchen, yet our aliments (with the
single exception of our vegetables) are infinitely more nutritious,
and to English stomachs, at least, just as easy of digestion--perhaps,
indeed, easier than the more refined and _recherché_ fare of our
livelier neighbours. It were undoubtedly desirable that we should learn
a little from them in the way of white and brown sauces in _veloutés_,
in the dressing of vegetables, in the making that simple, excellent
thing, an omelette, in cooking beef-steaks, veal cutlets, and mutton
chops, in seasoning and flavouring with ham instead of with salt; and
in a more profuse use of eggs, oil, and butter. The great objection to
the more general employment of these good things hitherto has been the
expense, but now that the extended operation of the tariff has rendered
all kinds of provisions cheaper, a great improvement in the kitchen
even of the middle classes should be expected. Within the last thirty
years great improvements have been introduced into the domestic cookery
of the highest nobility, and within the last twenty years, owing to
frequent intercommunication, such has been the rapid progress that one
may fancy oneself dining in the Rue de Bourbon, the Rue de Grenelle,
or the Rue St. Florentin, instead of in Grosvenor or Belgrave-square
or Park Lane; but still while anything is imperfect, something remains
to be done, and with the continuation of peace, we may look forward
with hopefulness, not alone to a more extended commerce, but to an
improved cookery. No one desires to see Englishmen gluttons, gourmands,
or refined sensualists, but only to see them adopt some few culinary
improvements which would contribute to their material comfort, to their
physical health, and to their mental enjoyment. “Comer à gusto y vestir
al uso,” is philosophy in England as well as in Spain. Dr. Johnson
declared that the subject on which a man most frequently and most
earnestly thought was his dinner, and the great leviathan spoke truly
in so far as he was personally concerned. “I could,” says he, “write
a better book of cookery than has ever yet been written; it should
be a book on philosophical principles; I would tell what is the best
butcher’s meat, the proper seasons of different vegetables, and then
how to roast and boil and to compound.”

Would that the doctor had lived to complete the task. The work would
have been as useful as popular, and as well executed as the dictionary;
and there can scarcely be a doubt that it would be comprehensive and
cosmopolitan in its character, and lucid and well-arranged in its
details. Such a work yet remains to be written, and the only wonder is,
that it has not been long since attempted and accomplished. When it
is considered that no body of men in this our country, from a parish
vestry to the Imperial Parliament, can meet on any public occasion
without dining together--that the Whigs dine with Lord John Russell,
the Conservatives with Lord Derby, and the Radicals with any leader
of theirs, if any such there be, with a good house and cellar and a
good cook--it must be considered that the art of dining (“l’art de
la gueule,” as Montaigne says) is one of the most important bases of
representative government, and it should not be without its professors,
historians, and exponents. The subject is nevertheless of a neutral
character, and I have endeavoured to show the respective merits of
French and English cookery. Substantial solidity and simplicity are
the distinctive marks of the one; variety, delicacy, and harmonious
combination is the character of the other. Both are excellent in their
way, but a fusion of the two kitchens, rejecting what is coarse and
barbarous in the English, and too gross, Gascon, and Provençal in the
French, would be the perfection of good living. Though personally no
admirer of French manners or French morals--though I put no faith
in French equality, abhor French centralization, loathe from the
very bottom of my heart French tyranny, and think French military
glory--which is but a velvety euphemism for French brigandage and
French invasion--should be put down by the comity of nations, and the
strong will and strong arm of all mankind--yet I am of opinion that
there is much in the French kitchen which might be advantageously
transplanted and successfully imitated in this country. But as nations
cling with constancy to their old culinary customs, and as systems of
cookery often survive systems of polity, I am not very hopeful as to
any immediate change. A new cookery book, however, pointing out the
respective merits of the French and English culinary art, is a work
greatly and urgently wanted. The Peel Tariff, or free trade, will never
have a fair trial till such a publication sees the light.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER II.

ON MODERN COOKERY AND COOKERY BOOKS.

I am, in the matters of the kitchen, as will be learned from the
previous chapter, no admirer of the wisdom of our ancestors. Cookery
is eminently an experimental and a practical art. Each day, while it
adds to our experience, should also increase our knowledge. And now
that intercommunication between distant nations has become facile and
frequent; now that we may make an early breakfast in London and a late
dinner in Paris, it cannot be permitted that cookery should remain
stationary. Far am I from saying that a dinner should be a subject
of morning or mid-day meditation or of luxurious desire; but in the
present advanced state of civilization, and of medical and chemical
knowledge, something more than kneading, baking, stewing, and boiling
are necessary in any nation pretending to civilization. The metropolis
of England exceeds Paris in extent and population; it commands a
greater supply of all articles of consumption, and contains a greater
number and variety of markets, which are better supplied. We greatly
surpass the French in mutton, we produce better beef, lamb, and pork,
and are immeasurably superior both in the quantity and quality of our
fish, our venison, and our game, yet we cannot compare, as a nation,
with the higher, the middle, or the lower classes in France, in the
science of preparing our daily food. The only articles of food in the
quality of which the French surpass us are veal and fowl, but such is
the skill and science of their cooks that with worse mutton, worse
beef, and worse lamb than ours, they produce better chops, cutlets,
steaks, and better made dishes of every nature and kind whatsoever. In
_fricassées_, _ragouts_, _salmis_, _quenelles_, _purées_, _filets_, and
more especially in the dressing of vegetables, our neighbours surpass
us. No good reason can be alleged why we should not imitate them in
a matter in which they are perfect, or why their more luxurious,
more varied, more palatable, and more dainty cookery, should not be
introduced more generally among the higher and middle classes.

The object of sensible people should be to adopt all that is good in
the cookery of both nations. While English soups, such as ox tail, mock
turtle, giblet, hare, pea soup, and mutton broth have their merits, the
French _potages à la reine_, _à la Condé_, _à la Julienne_, and the
various _purées_ should not be forgotten. While, also, the practical
cook may find copious receipts in English cookery books for the boiling
of turbot, cod-fish, john-dorey, and salmon, in the English and Dutch
fashion, the sturgeon cutlets of the French, and their _filets_ and
_béchamels_ of fish should be also introduced to English favour and
attention from French cookery books. Our barons of beef, our noble
sirloins, our exquisite haunches, saddles, legs, and loins of Southdown
mutton, our noble rounds of boiled beef, and those haunches of British
venison, the envy and admiration of the world, are worthy of the
highest praise. But, on the other hand, the _gigot à l’ail aux haricots
blancs_ ought to be made more favourably known to the Englishman, as
well as the _filet de bœuf_, an excellent every-day dish in the good
city of Paris. In any new cookery book, while no English receipt of
approved excellence should be cancelled, yet there should also be given
within a reasonable compass a short system of French, and a compendium
of foreign, cookery. It is desirable that we should learn much from
our neighbours, as I have said in a former chapter, in white and brown
sauces, in veloutés, in the dressing of vegetables, in the seasoning
and flavouring with ham instead of with salt, and in a more profuse use
of eggs, oil, and butter.

A new cookery book, pointing out the distinctive merits of the French
and English kitchens, is a work urgently needed. In such a manual of
the art the readers should be presented with all that is best in
the substantial solidity and simplicity of the English kitchen, and
all that is most varied, delicate, and harmoniously combined in the
kitchen of the French. Both are excellent in their way, and there are
already many separate treatises on each; but a fusion or combination
of the two systems ought now to be attempted. If any professed cook
or amateur succeeds in causing an abandonment of all that is coarse
and unwholesome in the English kitchen, and in introducing all that is
light, elegant, and varied in the French, he will have accomplished a
great object, and have done the health of diners-out and dinner-givers
equal service. It is the greatest mistake, in a medical point of view,
to suppose that an unvaried uniformity of food contributes either to
health or to comfort. Variety is as necessary to the stomach as change
of scene, or change of study to the mind, and that variety should be
placed in our day within the reach of as many as possible.

As there is scarcely an English family among the higher or middle
classes who does not number among its members a retired military or
civil servant of the East India Company, or a retired naval officer or
Indian merchant, it would be advisable to introduce a chapter in any
coming cookery book on Anglo-Indian cookery. Mulligatawney soup, and
curries, and _pillaus_, are exceedingly wholesome.

Neither the Spanish, the Portuguese, the Russian, nor the Polish
cookery are deserving of general commendation; but a few national
dishes and soups, which have obtained a more general reputation, are
worthy of attention and adoption.

Cookery is, above all others, a traditional and practical art, and
unless receipts have stood the test of time and experience, and general
approval, they are little worth. Cookery books are, for the most part,
copies of each other; and the first cookery book is only the most
original, because we cannot trace the plagiarism beyond the period when
printing was invented. But there is little doubt, that in the rolls
of great houses, and in the muniment rooms of colleges, halls, and
religious establishments, would be found in vellum manuscript every
receipt published in the first English cookery book. And the plagiarism
may be tracked, as a wounded man by his blood, from 1470 to 1863. The
compilers of all cookery books have, more or less, copied the earlier
compilers who preceded; and so it must ever be, till we are foolish
enough to reject all experience, and trust to theory or conjecture.

The compilers of any new cookery book should lay no claim to
originality. They should avail themselves, though never servilely,
of the labours of nearly all their predecessors, and by collation,
comparison, addition, retrenchment, and the exercise of their own
skill, experience, and discoveries, endeavour to improve on works
already in print.

Among the French masters in the science of cookery are, Vatel, La
Chapelle, Grimod de la Reynière, Beauvilliers, Ude, Laguipierre,
Carème, and Plumeret; but receipts of more general utility for the
public at large will be found in the “Cuisinier Royal” and the
“Cuisinière Bourgeoise.”

Many of the receipts of Carème require alterations and additions, but
some may be adopted in their entirety. Of Carème’s cookery, however,
the distinguishing characteristic is profuse expenditure. In order to
render such a system not merely easy of adoption, but possible, men
cooks, splendid establishments, and colossal fortunes must become much
more universal than they ever have been or ever can be.

The object of all should now be not to render the introduction of
French cookery difficult and expensive, but easy, and within the reach
of persons of moderate fortune.

The present age is distinguished as an age of rapid progress, and the
improvements suggested now may, in this day of easy and inexpensive
communication with the Continent, become permanently rooted to the
British soil before 1869.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER III.

ON DINNERS AND DINNER-GIVING.

Dinner is unquestionably the most important and substantial meal of
the two, three, or four, in which civilized man indulges, and it is a
meal which any healthful and laborious person (whether his labour be of
mind or body) enjoys zestfully. Man is distinguished from the beasts of
the field in being a conversing and a dining animal. Jules Janin says
somewhere, with more of truth and less of exaggeration than he usually
employs, that beasts feed, but man dines; that lower animals hunger,
but man something more than hungers, for he has a discriminating
appetite.

Dinner is an important consideration to those who study health, temper,
and the best method of getting through business. Our great moralist,
Johnson, would never have accomplished a tithe of what he has done
for his generation and posterity, had he not sensibly given much
more attention to what suited his palate and his appetite than the
great mass of mankind. The Doctor laughed at those who affected not
to care for dinner, and asserted that from having long thought on the
subject, he could write a better cookery book than had ever appeared
in his day, because it would be written on philosophical principles.
The late Sydney Smith, too, one of the ablest and wittiest men of our
own generation, laid great stress on the importance of dinner to the
proper performance of our most serious duties and functions; and there
can be no doubt that the Canon of St. Paul’s had reason on his side.
Every sensible and thoughtful man is, in truth, aware how much better
he is able to speak, or to write, or take his part in conversation
and debate after a satisfactory meal, which pleased his palate, and
suited and satisfied his appetite, than after a cold, a comfortless,
or an unrelished dinner. The result can be explained on purely medical
and physiological grounds, and need not be further laboured in a work
of this kind. Suffice it to say, however, that in ancient, mediæval,
and modern times, some of the most scientific and learned men have
not disdained to write on dinners. I need but mention the treatise of
Apicius, who lived in the time of Augustus, “De Re Culinaria;”[10]
the treatise of Nonius, a learned Antwerp physician of the sixteenth
century, “De Re Cibariâ;” and the more modern treatise of Lemery,
physician of Louis XIV., and thirty-three years the physician to the
Hôtel Dieu at Paris. Lemery published his “Traité des Alimens,” in
1702. Contemporaneously with him, flourished Dr. Lister, Physician
to our own Queen Anne, who wrote a cookery book in 1705, and gave a
paraphrastic translation of the work of Apicius, under the title,
“De Obsoniis et Condimentis sive de Arte Coquinaria.” In the reign
of George IV., Dr. Kitchener and half a dozen of his brethren of the
faculty in Paris, wrote disquisitionally upon cookery; and, in our own
day, Drs. Pereira and Lankester have written valuable treatises on
food, with a view that we should employ such a diet and regimen as is
most conducive to health. The truth is that we must all dine, _tant
bien que mal_, every day in the three hundred and sixty-five;
and, as many of us give dinners every seven, fourteen, twenty-eight
or thirty days, or every quarter of a year, to our friends and
acquaintances, it behoves us to know what to order for ourselves, when
dining _en famille_, as well as for the guests who honour us with
their company.

Each country and capital has its mode and season for giving dinners,
but there can be no doubt whatever that the best dinners in the world
are given in Paris and in London. Probably if the dinners of London
were to be judged by the specimens afforded in the most refined
houses of the highest aristocracy in Grosvenor Square, Mayfair, and
Belgravia, in the season between April and July, we should bear off
the bell against the world; but the general cookery of a great capital
containing nearly three millions of souls cannot be properly judged by
the superior cookery of about three hundred first-rate houses, in all
of which accomplished French or French-trained men cooks officiate.
The dinners given at such houses present the substantial solidity, as
well as the gracefulness, lightness, and science of French cookery,
and display a combination as rare as nutritious, as desirable as
delightful. But if we descend in England beyond the upper ten thousand,
though the fried and roast are generally excellent, the attendance
good, and the display of glass, crystal and plate much greater and
better kept, than in any other country and capital in the world, yet
the cookery is not to be compared to the finer _cuisine bourgeoise_
of Paris. The professional and learned classes at Paris, as well as
the class of superior traders, all feast at a _cuisine_, which, for
its science, its relishing and appetizing qualities, greatly surpasses
ours. In moderate houses in Paris there is far less pretension than
there is among us. For instance, an eminent lawyer, doctor, or
publisher, will give you at a small friendly dinner of four or six, a
good soup, a good fish plain or dressed, a good _roti_, and a couple of
side dishes, all of which are excellent in their way, with a _salmi_ of
game and a couple of _entremets_ quite perfect of their kind, and this
at an expense of little more than one half of what an English dinner
costs. There is on the table plenty for every guest; but the beauty of
such dinners is, that nearly every morsel is eaten up. There are a few
good dishes well cooked, and everybody relishes his portion. The wines,
liqueurs, and coffee are all good.

In some of the very first houses in the Faubourg St. Germain, at a
small party you seldom see more than two men servants, and often only
one. Among professional men living in the neighbourhood of the Palais
de Justice, the Chaussée d’Antin, the Faubourg St. Honoré, or the
Marais, the attendance is generally by a _femme de charge_, aided by
what would in this country be called a parlour maid, and who sometimes
acts as the _femme de chambre_ of the lady of the house, if there be
one.

On the other hand, among the foreign ambassadors in Paris, and more
especially at the Austrian and Russian Embassies, there are most
sumptuous dinners, distinguished by great luxury and display. The great
functionaries of the Court too, the Ministers, the Prefect of the
Seine, and other high official dignitaries, most of whom are _nouveaux
riches_, live expensively, keeping numerous servants, taking their cue
from the Court. But it would be an error to suppose from this, that
excessive expenditure is the custom of the nation. Far indeed from
it; for the great majority of Frenchmen are thrifty, and spend little
on hospitality. The class of bankers, however, _agents de Change_,
speculators on the Bourse, railroad contractors, and persons connected
with the _Crédit Foncier_ and the _Crédit Mobilier_ make much display,
and live fastly, though in bad taste; many of them, poor and utterly
unknown fourteen or fifteen years ago, now possess fine mansions,
first-rate cooks, and live _à la Lucullus_.

But these men do not move in high or select society. They live among
speculators and jobbers, and their tables are often presided over by
some incognita of the demi-monde, some _première danseuse_ of the
opera, or some _jeune première_ of the Variétés or the Vaudeville.

The gentry and higher middle classes in Paris enjoy an exquisite and
not expensive _cuisine bourgeoise_, but English or foreigners are
rarely met at their dinners. The truth is that few Englishmen speak
the French language sufficiently well or understand French domestic
life so thoroughly as to relish French society. Notwithstanding the
great intercourse that has prevailed between the two nations for nearly
half a century, they do not mix well together socially. Englishmen,
notwithstanding the extended intercourse they have had with the
Continent, still like to sit an hour or so over their wine, after the
ladies have departed, whereas in Paris ladies and gentlemen leave the
_salle à manger_, or dinner table, together, and retire to another room
to coffee and conversation. The coffee and liqueurs despatched, the
dinner circle is dissolved by host and guests either proceeding to the
theatres, or to some _cercle_ or _réunion_, where other friends are
met. The result is, that after from two and a half to three hours of
agreeable conviviality, the circle separate, mutually pleased with each
other, and greatly exhilarated by the good cheer, the good converse,
and the good coffee. The parties sit down to their repast at six or
seven, and separate at half-past eight or half-past nine, when it is
not too late to go to the Italian or French opera, or even to the
Theatre du Palais Royal, the Vaudeville, or the Variétés. There is no
torturing headache the next day from that “_casse tête_” wine called
port, and there has been no time lost in waiting, as with us, for
people arrive in France at the very moment invited--a moment which is
always considered military time, so precisely is it kept.

It is a pity we do not adopt something of this system among all classes
in England. People might under this condition of things, give two
dinners for every one they now give, and both host and guest would be
all the better in person and pocket for a more elegant and temperate
style of living.

To return, however, to English dinners. Though in no capital in the
world is hospitality more generally exercised than in London from
January to December, yet among the higher classes the grand time for
giving dinners is at the height of the season--that is to say, when
both houses of Parliament are sitting. The season may generally be
described as extending from the middle of April to the middle of July,
a period of three months. Occasionally it begins a little earlier and
ends a little later, but on an average of years it would be found that
London is filled with the most distinguished visitors during these
months.

During the season of which I speak, the prices of all table luxuries
are enhanced, spring chickens as they are called costing generally
about 12_s._ or 13_s._ the couple. Fashion, however, will exert its
sway, and, totally irrespective of cost, _diners d’apparat_, or grand
entertainments, are always given during this season. Covers are laid
for twelve, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen, or twenty, as the case may
be, though occasionally the number of guests is considerably larger.
At regular dress dinners of this kind there is great magnificence,
great luxury, all the _primeurs_, as the French call them, all the
early fruits and vegetables, no matter what the cost, are provided and
produced. Green peas are imported from Portugal, and asparagus from
the same place, and from Hyeres, Nice, &c. Most of the nobility and
gentry are enabled to supply themselves from their country seats with
hot-house grapes and pines; but, to such as are not, Covent Garden, and
the best fruiterers of London are always open, and in no country in the
world do you find, if prepared to incur the expenditure, finer fruits
(especially hot-house fruits) than in England, though finer vegetables
are to be found in the Brussels and occasionally in the Parisian
markets.

At the grand dinners of which I speak the custom has been, and still
in a great degree is, to divide the dinner into several courses, but
this is a practice super-inducing trouble, profusion, and expense.
These may be incurred where there are large establishments and colossal
fortunes (as there are in England in a greater degree than in any
country in the world), and where the object is to astonish and render
rivalry hopeless, rather than to please or satisfy your guest; but as
in the great majority of cases the fortunes and the desires of men are
moderate, it seems to me it would be in better sense, and, indeed,
in better taste too, to allow of but two courses as in France. In
some of the best houses in the Faubourg St. Germain, fish and _hors
d’œuvre_, such as patties, &c., form part of the first course, and
not a distinct course as here.

In all grand dinners for twelve persons in England, two soups, two
fishes, and four _entrées_ for the first course are considered
indispensable; and two roasts, two removes, and half a dozen
_entremets_ for the second course. For a dinner of twenty, the
_entrées_ and the _entremets_ would necessarily have to be doubled,
being each increased to eight. Of course the bill of fare for these
dinners varies with the season. In April a turtle and a spring soup may
be given with turbot and crimped salmon, roast fore-quarter of lamb,
fillet of beef, &c.; whereas in January or February there may be an
ox-tail, a mock turtle, a gravy or a giblet or a grey pea soup, with
a variety of game, such as partridges, black cock, wild duck, snipe,
and woodcock, not procurable in April or May. Persons giving dinners
should, of course, consider the season.

Men of rank and fortune who keep a regular house steward or _maître
d’hôtel_ have this trouble taken off their hands, for a confidential
servant, or a French _chef de cuisine_ arranges with the master of
the establishment or the lady of the house what is to be the _menu_
or bill of fare; but persons of two or three thousand a year, or of
one thousand a year (and such persons now give occasional dinners,
vying with those of ten and twenty times their fortune) cannot afford
to keep French men cooks, or to maintain extensive establishments. It
is therefore necessary, unless these gentlemen be supplied by Gunter,
Bridgeman, or some other tradesmen, at so much per head, that he should
know how to order a dinner.

In the case of men of moderate fortune, it is very likely a first-rate
man cook, French or English, will be introduced for the occasion,
and come the day before the dinner to make preliminary arrangements,
and to give directions to, and to aid the ordinary woman cook of the
household. Unless some such arrangement as this be adopted, a dinner
cannot be very satisfactory, and probably it would be better for
persons who have to give set dinners on certain occasions twice or
thrice a year, and who cannot fully rely on their own English female
cook, and the professed man cook brought in to assist and superintend,
to contract with some renowned undertaker or _entrepreneur_ of dinners,
such as Gunter, Staples, Bathe and Breach, &c., to supply the party of
twelve or twenty, as the case may be, at so much a head, exclusive of
wine.

In arrangements such as this much trouble is saved to the man of small
fortune, and there is no waste, for the provider of the dinner removes
the _débris_ on the very night of the feast, or early the following
morning. Why, however, it will be asked, should persons of a couple or
three thousand a year give so pretentious and costly a dinner? Because
every one in England tries to ape the class two or three degrees above
him in point of rank and fortune, in style of living, and manner of
receiving his friends. Thus it is that a plain gentleman of moderate
fortune, or a professional man making a couple of thousands a year,
having dined with a peer of £50,000 a year in Grosvenor Square or
Belgravia, seeks when he himself next gives a dinner, to imitate the
style of the Marquis, Earl, or Lord Lieutenant of a county with whom
he has come into social contact. The attempt is a great mistake, and
generally a failure; for unless there be a unity and completeness,
an _ensemble_ in such a feast, it is a misadventure. In a party of
twenty at one of these great houses there are from a dozen to fifteen
servants, exclusive of the butler and under-butler, waiting at table,
and where is the man of three thousand or six thousand a year who
could afford such a retinue of liveried lackeys! The keep, liveries,
beer-money, and wages of a dozen livery servants of this kind, would
amount to from £1600 to £2000 a year alone. Is it not therefore folly
for gentlemen of small means, or for struggling professional men, to
seek to vie with, by aping, these magnates. Let the great brewers, the
great bankers, the great merchants, and the great railway contractors
and millionaires, vie with them if it please them, but let men of mind
and brain not attempt it. Even in the case of millionaires, the essay
at rivalry is rarely successful. There is ostentation without ease,
elegance, good breeding, or good taste, and the parvenu too often
appears in all his disagreeable hideousness and self-sufficiency. It
were far better if men of moderate fortune would attempt less. The
success of a dinner does not depend in the least on two soups, two
fishes, two removes, and eight _entrées_, but on having sufficient on
table the best of its kind, and thoroughly well dressed. Better far
have one first-rate soup and one good fish, such as turbot or salmon,
than a multiplicity of dishes, unless you have good cooks and a retinue
of servants, and all the accessories of a first-rate establishment. It
is within the power of every gentleman of fair means to give a good
soup, a good fish, a couple of removes, and four _entrées_ at the
first course, and a couple of small roasts, a couple of removes, and a
few _entremets_ at the second course, and what can any reasonable man
want in addition? If the dinner be composed exclusively of English, let
the remove be a haunch or saddle of mutton, a roast turkey and ham,
a braized leg of mutton, a fillet or a sirloin of beef, and surely
there is enough to create “a soul under the ribs of death,” with the
_entrées_ of lamb, mutton, and veal cutlets, with fillets of pheasants,
_vol au vents blanquette_, of sweetbreads and such like. In April, May,
June, and July, _fricassées_ of chickens, leverets, pigeons, fillets
of rabbits, with quails, ducklings, turkey poults, and guinea fowls
may be served for _entrées_ and second courses; while in August there
is venison, grouse, and wheatears. In September, October, November,
and December, there are partridges, grouse, blackcock, golden plover,
snipe, woodcock, wild duck, hare, and pheasants; while in the two last
months of November and December, ox-tail, mulligatawney, mock turtle,
and giblet soups may do frequent duty, with turbot, crimped cod,
haddock, and brill for fish. For _entrées_ in the winter months there
may be pork cutlets, _quenelles_, mutton cutlets, rabbit curries, &c.

I am now speaking, of course, of dinners of some pretension; but there
are every day given in England those quiet little family dinners of six
or eight persons, which are the perfection of social life.

It is said that the number present at these dinners should not be less
than the graces, nor more than the muses. There is a good deal of truth
in this. Conversation cannot be general or quite unrestrained, where
the company exceeds eight or ten. In a party of sixteen or twenty you
are forced to converse with your neighbours on either side, or with the
gentleman opposite to you. The master of a feast should take care in
selecting his guests, whether in a large or in a small party, but more
particularly in a small party--that they should be people of analogous
tastes. In most cases it would not very well answer to place a Puritan
side by side with a High Churchman--or a peace-at-any-price man next
an engineer officer, earnest in the pursuit of his profession. An
Allopathist should not be united _en petit comité_ with a Homœopathist;
nor a whig of the old school with a violent radical. The great object
is to pair amiable, pleasant and agreeable men, who have travelled much
and lived in the world, and pleasant and agreeable women. A good talker
at a dinner-table is a great acquisition, but good listeners are not
less essential.

But your good talker should be an urbane and polite man, not bumptious
and underbred. Barristers and travelled physicians are generally
excellent company, though the former not seldom monopolise too much of
the conversation, and give it occasionally a shoppy air. If the object
of dining be to secure the greatest quantity of health and enjoyment,
such results are more likely to be attained at small than at those set
and formal dinners, where people are kept--to use the language of the
late Mr. Walker, in “stately durance.” The essence of a good dinner, as
the author of the “Original” sensibly remarks, is “that it should be
without ceremony, and that you should have what you want when you want
it.” This you cannot have at a ceremonial and formal London dinner,
where you are encumbered with help, and are not allowed to do anything
for yourself. At small every-day dinners, you may have every thing upon
the table that is wanted at the time; thus for salmon you would have
lobster, or parsley and butter, or cockle sauce, as you might prefer,
with cayenne, chili vinegar, sliced cucumber, &c. The comfort of this
is great, as the guests pass the sauces at once and instantaneously to
each other. At great dinners this is never done. Everything is handed
round by a file of liveried servants, who are continually changing the
courses and taking up and laying down dishes, to the discomfort of the
guests. Yet it is this dull, comfortless, stately and ostentatious
formality that every one is striving at.

“State,” as Mr. Walker observes, “without the machinery of state, is of
all states the worst;” and it is detestable to see men with a couple of
thousands a year, and a couple of men servants, and an English female
cook, imitating the style of living of men of thirty thousand a year,
with a dozen male servants. I would not have it inferred, that a large
income and a first-rate man cook are indispensable to the giving of
good dinners. There are now several Schools of Cookery in London, from
some of which one can obtain regularly educated female cooks, and it is
quite possible, with small establishments and small fortunes, to give
comfortable and even elegant dinners, in which the English style shall
be diversified by the French. But in these small establishments too
much should not be attempted. Everything savouring of too much state
and over-display should be discarded. The dishes should be choice, but
limited in number, and the wines more remarkable for their excellence
than their variety. It is the exquisite quality of a dinner or a wine
that pleases us, not the number of dishes, nor the number of vintages.
The late Earl of Dudley was wont to say, “that a good soup, a small
turbot, a neck of venison, and ducklings with green peas, or chicken
with asparagus, or an apricot tart, was a dinner for an emperor!” and
to my thinking it was far too good for most emperors past and present.

I have already observed, that in my mind the really fine _cuisine
bourgeoise_ of good houses in France is perfection, and I do not
despair of seeing such cookery infinitely more generally used in
England than it ever has been; but the more expensive French cookery
is never likely to become generally prevalent amongst us. Carème tells
us that at grand balls and dinners he used to roast turkeys only for
his soups and consommés, and he talks as volubly of two, four, and
half-a-dozen fowls, as though they were had for eighteen pence a piece,
instead of costing at the cheapest rate and time 5_s._ 6_d._ or 6_s._
a couple. A system of cookery so expensive as this can never become
general in any country. Carème tells how he formed his consommés, and
though doubtless they were better flavoured and presented a more golden
appearance than the generality of consommés, yet, to use the language
of Burke,

“They were soon exhaled, and vanished hence--
A short, sweet odour at a vast expense.”

There are, however, many things in the French kitchen which are daily
coming into more general use. First, there is the _pot au feu_ for
the family broth; there are the various _purées_ for fowl, rabbit,
and vegetable soups of all kinds, from Jerusalem artichokes, carrots,
and turnips, to onions and _cerfeuil_. Thirdly, there are the various
sauces of _blanc_, _espagnole_, _roux blanc_, _velouté_, _sauce à la
creme_, and _poivrade_, which are now of much more common usage than
they were thirty, twenty, or even ten years ago. We are every day
also getting more and more into the habit of filleting our soles, or
dressing them _au gratin_ or _à la Normande_; and in the serving of
_entrées_ and _entremets_ we have made visible improvement. Still there
are few English cooks in England who can turn out an _omelette aux
fines herbes_, or an _omelette soufflée_ as well as an ordinary French
cook. Yet, what an excellent thing this for breakfast or lunch when one
is tired of a boiled egg, of a slice of cold ham, beef, or tongue, or
of a mutton chop, beefsteak, or cold game pie.

A morning’s meal is no unimportant thing to a man who has to
appear in half a dozen causes in a crowded court, who has to visit
five-and-twenty patients, or to get through half a dozen Blue-books
before he goes down to a Parliamentary Committee at the House of Lords
or Commons. Our mental energies, in a great degree, depend on our
physical condition and well-being; and the physical condition of that
man, be he peer, senator, advocate, or doctor, who, for half a dozen
days, has had an indifferent breakfast or dinner, cannot be good.

In asking people to dinner, you should put to yourself the question,
“Why do I ask them?” and unless the answer be satisfactory, they are
not likely to contribute much to the agreeability and sociality of
the entertainment. They may be ornamental; it may be necessary, in
a give-and-take sense, to have them in return for a dinner already
long received and digested; but, unless they are sensible, social,
unaffected, and clever men, they are not likely to contribute much to
the hilarity of the entertainment. You may ask a man because he is a
_bon vivant_, because he is a _raconteur_, because he talks brilliantly
and eloquently, because he is a wit, because he is a distinguished
traveller, poet, historian, or orator, or because he is a good-natured
popular man, a “_bon enfant_,” or, what used to be called, a “jolly
good fellow.” But do not ask any, however much above the average,
who is a prig, who is pretentious, who is disputatious, or who is
underbred. Never introduce to your table men who have not the feelings,
habits, manners, and education of gentlemen--I had almost said, the
birth of a gentleman; but it must be remembered that nature now and
again produces some magnificent specimens of what somebody has called
“God Almighty’s gentlemen.” But these are the exceptions, not the rule;
for it will generally be found that men of gentle birth are also men of
gentle breeding. The only two positively offensive and ill-bred men I
ever encountered in society were men of some ability who had probably
never entered the house of a gentleman to dinner, till they were four
or five-and-twenty. In these instances, the want of early training and
culture in manners and _les convenances_ had never been supplied. The
presence of men of this stamp is destructive to good fellowship. They
are social pests, and should be avoided _comme la gale_.

Though the French learned a great deal of their cookery, and still more
of their confectionery, from the Italians, yet there is little now in
Italian cookery worthy of imitation or adoption among us. Macaroni
and semolina soups are better made in Paris than in Italy, though
the ribbon macaroni is better prepared at Naples and in Sicily than
anywhere else in the world. Veal cutlets, also, are very well prepared
in the great cities of Italy, and more especially at Naples and Turin.

Italian ices and confectionary are worthy of all praise; but, as
the nation is not a dinner-giving nation, we have little or nothing
to adopt from them. Some of their sausages are extremely good and
appetizing.

The Spaniards are as little of a dinner-giving people as the Italians.
Though every Spaniard tells you, with asseverating protestations, “Mi
casa sta à la dispocion di usted,” yet this means nothing whatever,
for assuredly you are never destined to eat or drink within his four
walls, unless it be a cup of cold water. The only national dishes of
any note in Spain, are the _olla_ and the _puchero_, and neither would
be relished by Englishmen of well-educated palates.

Germany has little to teach us in the way of cookery. On the banks
of the Rhine they dress a carp well, with both sweet and sour sauce;
but, for my own part, I prefer a Rhenish carp served in Paris by a
French cook. German _sauer kraut_, with Hambro’ beef, may be said
to be a national dish, and right good the Hambro’ salt beef is; but
few Englishmen like either _sauer kraut_ or potato salad--a dish of
Fatherland. German batter and German horseradish sauce, made with
cream, and also the cherry-sauce, so common, is not despicable with
certain meats; but, on the whole, German cookery is not either elegant
or palatable.

It may be thought that my condemnation of German cookery is too
sweeping. It is not without full experience I speak of it, for I have
lived in every capital town of Germany. At Dresden, many years ago, I
rented a house in the Neu Markt, of the cook of Madame de Stael, and
he furnished the best-dressed dinners I saw in Germany. At Vienna,
among the Ambassadors of the five Great Powers, and among some of
the Hungarian and Bohemian nobility, first-rate dinners are given,
dressed by French cooks; but this is not the cookery of the nation
at large, nor even of the well-to-do and easy portion of it. Carème
was a considerable time at Vienna, as cook of the late Marquis of
Londonderry, and he liked Vienna very well; but he says that the beef,
mutton, and veal are very indifferent, badly bled, and disagreeable
to dress. “There are wanting at Vienna,” says Carème, “the truffles
of France, and the fish of the sea.” But, though these wants are now
speedily supplied by rail, the general cookery is not good.

The best and truest account of German cookery is given in the “Bubbles
from the Brunnens of Nassau.” “During the fashionable season,” says
the author, the dinner at Langenschwalbach is at one o’clock. Seated
at the table of the Allee Saal, I counted one hundred and eighty
people at dinner in one room. To say in a single word whether the fare
was bad or good would be quite impossible, it being so completely
different from anything ever met with in England. To my simple taste,
the cookery is most horrid; still there were now and then some dishes,
particularly sweet ones, which I thought excellent. With respect to
the made-dishes, of which there were a great variety, I beg to record a
formula which is infallible; the simple rule is this--let the stranger
taste the dish, and if it be not sour, he may be quite certain that it
is greasy: again, if it be not greasy, let him not eat thereof, for
then it is sure to be sour. With regard to the order of the dishes,
that too is unlike anything Mrs. Glasse ever thought of: after soup,
which all over the world is the alpha of the gourmand’s alphabet, the
barren meat from which the said soup has been extracted is produced;
of course it is dry, tasteless, withered-looking stuff, which a
Grosvenor Square cat would not touch with its whiskers; but this dish
is always attended by a couple of satellites--the one, a quantity
of cucumber stewed in vinegar; the other, a black greasy sauce; and
if you dare accept a piece of this flaccid beef, you are instantly
thrown between Scylla and Charybdis, for so sure as you decline the
indigestible cucumber, souse comes into your plate a deluge of the
sickening grease. After the company have eaten heavily of messes, which
it would be impossible to describe, in comes some nice salmon--then
fowls--then puddings--then meat again--then stewed fruit; and after
the English stranger has fallen back in his chair quite beaten, a leg
of mutton majestically makes its appearance! The pig who lives in his
sty would have some excuse, but it is really quite shocking to see
any other animal overpowering himself at mid-day with such a mixture
and superabundance of food. “Yet only think,” says our author, “what
a compliment all this is to the mineral waters of Langenschwalbach,
if the Naiads of the Pauline can be of real service to a stomach full
of vinegar and grease, how much more effectually ought they to tinker
up the inside of him who has sense enough to sue them _in formâ
pauperis_.”

The quantity of fat and lard used in German cookery, more especially in
cooking vegetables, renders it unpalatable to English tastes.

We may borrow from the Dutch kitchen something in fish soups. The
Dutch eel soup is rich, full of flavour, and very nourishing; and the
soup of herring roes, called Erasmus’s soup, prepared with twelve soft
roes of herrings generally, and a quart of young peas, is by no means
despicable.

I have also, after tossing on the German Ocean, enjoyed in Holland
a Flushing soup made of flakes of cod and salmon. Our own modes of
dressing cod, whether fresh or salted, is good, but something may be
adopted from the Dutch in sauces for fish, and in the various ways of
dressing herrings.

I have, in another part of this work, expressed an opinion as to the
Russian mode of laying out a table. I will here merely say that almost
everything good in the Russian cookery has been adopted from the
English, French, and Dutch kitchens.

There is a fish soup in Russia, the chief ingredient in which is the
sterlet, but as the fish is not obtainable here, it is useless to speak
of it. Few of our peasantry would eat the Russian national soup--the
_tschy_; and the _barch_, the Polish soup, which is fermented, is
little likely to please an English or a French palate.

While Carème admits that the Russians have a few national dishes,
he properly says these do not constitute a system of cookery. Their
butcher’s meat, he adds, is very indifferent, their pullets are poor
and small. The mutton consumed in St. Petersburgh comes from the
interior, and is often, like the salmon, frozen.

From the Turkish and Indian cookery we may adopt much more than from
the Russian. The _pilau_ and _kalobs_ of Turkey are very relishing, and
so are the fish and vegetable curries of India--the pish poshes, pepper
pots, and cutcharees and country captains. The Indian mulligatawney
soup is excellent in the damp and cold weather, from the beginning of
November to the end of February.

For ordinary dinners, English gentlemen should prefer simplicity and
excellence to variety. Simplicity and convenience have triumphed in
dress, and will sooner or later in dinners.

The circular form seems the most desirable in a dinner-table; and
with respect to setting it out, I would say with the late Mr. Walker,
nothing should be placed on it but what is wanted. The great object
of meeting round table is to have free and unrestrained communication
and hilarity, and these are impeded by plateaus, dormants, and
centre-pieces.

I have not said a word of bachelors’ dinners, though of all dinners
in the world they are the pleasantest, from the _laisser aller_ and
_laissez faire_ style which prevails at them. At bachelors’ parties
the age, disposition, and amusing qualities of the guests are more
considered than at regular set dinners. Bachelors look for the _idem
velle_ and the _idem nolle_ when they play the Amphytrion, and in
consequence they succeed. Another reason of the success of bachelors’
entertainments arises from the fact that the dishes are few and simple;
and as the dinner is generally given in a small house or chambers, the
kitchen is not too far removed from the eating parlour. Everything
comes up “screeching hot,” as they say in Ireland, and not lukewarm
or soddened, as too often happens at great dinners. Centrepieces,
epergnes, and dormants do not generally figure at bachelors’ dinners,
and there is an absence of form and ceremony which gives zest. Ladies
in general love ceremony and ornaments, and the accessories of
epergnes, flowers, and perfumes.

I have not said anything of American dinners. The best of these in
private houses are copied from the English and French model, although
there is much that is distinctive in the manner of serving and
consuming dinners at the great hotels in New York. American turtle soup
is excellent; and so is their sturgeon soup. Though I do not agree in
Mr. Money’s estimate of the Russian dinners, I quite concur in his
valuable suggestion, that dinner chairs at our tables should be made
lighter and more flexible in the back and sitting part.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER IV.

ON LAYING OUT A TABLE.

The manner of laying out a table is nearly the same in all parts of
the United Kingdom: yet there are trifling local peculiarities to
which the mistress of a house must attend. A centre ornament, whether
it be a dormant, a plateau, an epergne, or a candelabrum, is found so
convenient, and contributes so much, in the opinion of some, to the
good appearance of the table, that a dinner is seldom or never set out
without something of this kind. Of late years people who give dinners
give them what is called _à la Russe_; but if you ask nine out of every
ten what they mean by dining _à la Russe_, they are unable to tell you.
All they can say is, that there is nothing on the table but flowers and
fruits, that the dishes are carved on the sideboard and handed about
to the guests. This fashion still continues, but I never could see any
good reason for its introduction. It seems to me exceedingly odd that
a a people, like the English, who, for certainly five centuries, have
enjoyed a high degree of civilization, should copy the Russians in the
system of dinner-giving--a people who, a century ago, were plunged in
the deepest barbarism, and who, as yet, are scarcely half civilized.
Even now the Russians have not in their language any word which conveys
the idea of gentleman, and the title of Prince, so common amongst
them, is not much more than a hundred years old. Coats of arms were
first borne in Russia only about eighty years ago, and they were then
introduced by the German adventurers, with which class Russia still
abounds.

In the days of Peter the Great, about a century and a half ago,
the Russian Boyars (the only title of nobility, properly speaking,
Russian), were so very ignorant that many of them could not write, and
so very drunken as to astonish so potent a tippler as Peter himself.
When this great reformer knouted his nobles into the luxury of shaving
themselves, and the decent habit of wearing nether garments, early
in the eighteenth century, they lived chiefly on cabbage soup, and
bacon, and sausages, and even these were cooked in Homeric fashion. It
is true, great progress has been made in Russia since 1697, and even
since 1815, but no sensible Englishman would think of going to Russia
to learn to serve a dinner. I spent much time in Russia, somewhat more
than thirty years ago, and lived a great deal among Russians of wealth
and position; but though there was profusion and a great expenditure
on their dinners, there was nothing like elegance or good taste. The
earlier Russian cookery of a century ago was adopted from the Dutch and
the Germans, and all that is valuable in the later Russian cookery has
been adopted from the French and the English kitchens.

It results from serving dinners _à la Russe_ in England that the
joints are frequently mangled, and you receive your portion lukewarm
or cold. By carving and serving only one dish at a time also the
dinner is unnecessarily prolonged to four hours instead of two and a
half or three, and many more servants and attendants are necessary. In
Russia this is not an important consideration, for domestic service is
performed by serfs, who receive merely nominal wages. Another reason
against serving dinners _à la Russe_ is, that those costly services
of gold and silver plate which nearly every good family in England
possesses, are not displayed under the new fashion, which, like
crinoline, will have its long reign, and ultimately pass away.

Utility should be the true principle of beauty, at least in affairs
of the table, and, above all, in the substantial first course. A very
false taste, is, however, often shown in centre ornaments. Strange
ill-assorted nosegays, and bouquets of artificial flowers, begin to
droop or look faded among hot steams. Ornamental articles of family
plate, carved, chased, or merely plain, can never be out of place,
however old-fashioned. In desserts, richly-cut glass is ornamental.
I am far, also, from proscribing the foliage and moss in which fruits
are sometimes seen bedded. The sparkling imitation of frost-work, which
is given to preserved fruits and other things, is also exceedingly
beautiful; as are many of the trifles belonging to French and Italian
confectionary.

Beautifully white damask, and a green cloth underneath, are
indispensable.

In all ranks, and in every family, one important art in housekeeping
is to make what remains from one day’s entertainment contribute to
the elegance or plenty of the next day’s dinner. This is a principle
understood by persons in the very highest ranks of society in
France, who maintain the most splendid and expensive establishments.
Vegetables, _ragouts_, and soups may be rewarmed; and jellies and
_blancmanges_ remoulded, with no deterioration of their qualities.
Savoury or sweet patties, _croquets_, _rissoles_, _vol-au-vents_,
fritters, tartlets, &c., may be served almost without cost, where
cookery is going forward on a large scale. In the French kitchen, a
numerous class of culinary preparations, called _entrées de dessert_,
or made-dishes of left things, are served even at grand entertainments.

At dinners of any pretension the first course consists of soups and
fish, removed by boiled poultry, ham, or tongue, roasts, stews, &c.;
and of vegetables, with a few made-dishes, as _ragouts_, curries,
hashes, cutlets, patties, _fricandeaux_, &c., in as great variety as
the number of dishes permits. For the second course, roasted poultry or
game at the top and bottom, with dressed vegetables, omelets, macaroni,
jellies, creams, salads, preserved fruit, and all sorts of sweet things
and pastry are employed, endeavouring to give an article of each sort,
as a jelly and a cream. This is a more common arrangement than three
courses, which are attended with so much additional trouble both to the
guests and servants.

Whether the dinner be of two or three courses it is managed nearly
in the same way. Two dishes of fish dressed in different ways, if
suitable, should occupy the top and bottom; and two soups, a white
and a brown, or a mild and a high-seasoned, are best disposed on
each side of the centre-piece: the fish-sauces are placed between
the centre-piece and the dish of fish to which each is appropriate;
and this, with the decanted wines drunk during dinner, forms the
first course. When there are rare French or Rhenish wines, they are
placed in the original bottles, in ornamented wine-vases, between the
centre-piece and the top and bottom dishes; or if four kinds, they are
ranged round the plateau. If one bottle, it is placed in a vase in the
centre.

The second course at a purely English dinner, when there are three
courses, consists of roasts and stews for the top and bottom; turkey or
fowls, or _fricandeaux_, or ham garnished, or tongue for the sides;
with small made-dishes for the corners, served in covered dishes, as
palates, curry of any kind, _ragout_ or _fricassée_ of rabbits, stewed
mushrooms, &c., &c.

The third course consists of game, confectionary, the more delicate
vegetables dressed in the French way, puddings, creams, jellies, etc.

Caraffes, with the tumblers belonging to and placed over them, are laid
at proper intervals. Where hock, champagne, &c., &c., are served, they
are handed round between the courses. A very bad habit has for some
years prevailed of not placing any wine on the table, thus leaving
you at the mercy of servants who rarely come round, and then scarcely
half-fill your glass. This is meant to be an imitation of the French
system, but nothing can be more unlike the system adopted in France.
The English imitators, or would-be imitators, wholly forget that a
guest at a French table can never languish for lack of wine, for
“_vin ordinaire_” always remains on the table, while only the very
highest qualities of wine are handed round by the servants. In England,
for many years past, the table is altogether stripped of wine, and the
guests are at the mercy of butlers of paid waiters, who use the wine
either for their private drinking after the dinner, in the servants’
hall, or of hosts who, to save their wine, would stint their guests.
When the third course is cleared away, cheese, butter, a fresh salad,
or sliced cucumber, are usually handed round; and the finger-glasses
precede the dessert. At many tables, particularly in Indian houses, it
is customary merely to hand quickly round a glass vessel or two filled
with simple, or simply perfumed tepid water, made by the addition of
a little rose or lavender water, or a home-made strained infusion of
rose-leaves or lavender spikes. Into this water each guest may dip the
corner of his napkin, and with it refresh his lips and the tips of his
fingers.

The Dessert, at an English table, may consist merely of two dishes of
fine fruit, for the top and bottom; common or dried fruits, filberts,
etc., for the corners or sides, and a cake for the middle, with
ice-pails in hot weather. Liqueurs are handed round at this stage;
and the wines usually drank after dinner are placed, decanted, on the
table along with the dessert. The ice-pails and plates are removed as
soon as the company finish their ice. This may be better understood by
following the exact arrangement of what is considered a fashionable
dinner of three courses and a dessert.

Memorandum respecting Dinners.--To make your Bill of Fare according to
the season and the number of your company. When you have two roasts,
they should bear no resemblance to each other--_i.e._, one should be
white and the other brown.

It is not in general the custom to place the fish sauces on the table,
except in establishments where there is a servant to every guest, but
so placed they are always most accessible. It is a great convenience to
have the sauce near you when you want it.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER V.

HOW TO CHOOSE FISH, FLESH, FOWL, AND GAME.

Fish of all sorts is best when short, thick, well-made, bright in the
scales, stiff and springy to the touch, the gills of a fresh red,
and the belly not flabby. When the gills are not bright and fresh
red-coloured, the fish is not eatable. Salmon, carp, tench, barbel,
pike, trout, whiting, &c., when the eyes are sunk, the fins hanging,
and the gills grown pale, are not good.

There is a great difference between salmon in and out of season. If
eaten out of season or when stale, this fish is very unwholesome, and
the same observation applies to mackerel. It should be remarked that,
except in frosty weather, fish rarely keeps more than two or three
days. Care should be taken to remove the intestines from fish which is
meant to be kept, immediately after they are caught. This rule should
be especially observed in reference to whiting, haddock, perch, &c. The
livers of these fishes contain an oil, which, in very warm weather,
imparts a rancid and most unpleasant taste to the fish. Soles should
never be salted. Mackerel, herrings, and pilchards cannot be dressed
too soon. When eaten fresh caught, they are free from that oily taste
which they sometimes acquire before they are even half a day out of
the water. It may also be generally remarked that neither a carp nor a
red-mullet should ever be boiled.

TURBOT.--Choose a turbot by its plumpness, thickness, and colour. It
should be very white, fleshy, and firm. Observe whether its surface be
covered with a round, swelling grain, an indication of its fine healthy
condition. The moderate or even smaller size is to be preferred to
the very large, which is almost always dry, tasteless, and woolly. To
be good, it should be plump, and the belly of a fine, opaque, light
cream-colour. If of a bluish cast, like water tinged with milk, or
thin, they are not good. A turbot ought to be bled near the tail as
soon as taken, or it will assume a red tinge, impairing its appearance
not only in the market, but at table. If necessary, turbot will keep
for two or three days, and be in as high perfection as at first, if
lightly rubbed over with salt, and carefully hung in a cold place.

SKATE.--The best skate are white and thick; they should be kept a day
or two before you dress them, otherwise they will eat tough. The she
skate is the sweeter, especially if large. Skate is best during the
autumn and winter. This fish may be eaten either boiled, fried, or
stewed.

There is a great difference in this fish. The flavour and fineness of
the skate depend, in a considerable degree, on the locality in which it
is taken. It should be broad and thick, prickly on the back, and of a
beautiful creamy white. On the north-east coast of Scotland, there is a
small skate of a leaden blue colour caught, which is said to be of the
most delicate flavour. Care should be taken not to eat skate when out
of season.

OYSTERS.--There are in England various species of oysters. The goodness
of oysters depends, in a great measure, on the grounds or sea-beds from
which they are taken; but the Colchester, Pyfleet, and Chilford, are
generally esteemed superior to all others, being white and flat, yet
the others may be made to possess these qualities, in some degree, by
being properly fed. The large shelled oysters are never good, for even
when fattened they have a strong flavour. The best oysters in Ireland
are the Burren and Poldooday, the Carlingford being now extinct. In
France the best are found at Cancale, Etretat, and Marennes. In Belgium
the best are fished at Ostend. When alive and healthy, the shell closes
on the knife. They should be eaten immediately they are opened, or the
flavour will be lost. Oysters taken on muddy bottoms, generally have
a disagreeable taste, and thin or shrivelled oysters which scarcely
fill up their shell are, for the most part, rank and ill-favoured.
Oysters taken in rivers where the waters are affected by copper mines
are poisonous. This fish is never fit to be eaten if the shells open
naturally. There is a fine-flavoured, delicate small oyster much in
vogue at Genoa, and a green finned oyster at Venice, both of which are
good. The Irish and foreign oysters possess a fresh, natural, sea-water
flavour, generally wanting in the English oyster, which is frequently
spoiled by too much feeding and washing. We advise all amateurs of
oysters to obtain their supply direct from the boats at Billingsgate
before they get into the hands of the retail dealer.

EELS.--are taken both in fresh water and the sea. The fresh-water
eels are the best, and the silver eel among these should always be
preferred. Buy them, if possible, alive, and in order to kill them,
divide the spine just behind the head without severing it from the
body. They will die almost instantaneously. The freshness of the eel,
like the lobster, is known by the vivacity of its motion, and its
quality by the colour of the skin.

LING.--It is to be regretted that the ling, one of the finest fishes of
the cod tribe, is not oftener brought to Billingsgate Market. It may
be eaten fresh or salted, and will well bear transport fresh in the
winter season from Cornwall to London. Like the cod, the ling has a
fine sound, which may be dressed with the fish or salted. Ling varies
in colour according to the bank it inhabits. When in good order, the
ling is thick about the poll. The whiteness of the liver indicates the
good condition of the fish. When out of season the liver is red.

SMELTS.--if good, have a fine silvery hue, are very firm, and have
a refreshing smell like cucumbers newly cut. They are caught in the
Thames, and some other large rivers, and should be eaten within
twenty-four hours after being taken.

SALMON.--If new, the flesh is of a fine red (the gills particularly),
the scales bright, and the whole fish stiff. When just killed, there is
a whiteness between the flakes, which gives great firmness; by keeping,
this melts down, and the fish is more rich. The Thames and Chudchurch
salmon bear the highest price; that caught in the Severn is next in
goodness, and is even preferred by some. The best have small heads and
are thick in the neck. Look also for a roundness and breadth over the
back, and thickness down to the tail-fin. The upper part of the back
red and dark-coloured.

FLOUNDERS.--They should be thick, firm, and have their eyes bright.
They very soon become flabby and bad. They are both a sea and a river
fish. The Thames produces the best. They are in season from January to
March, and from July to September. Flounders differ much in quality.
There is a flounder with scarlet spots, a very good fish to look at,
but which is coarse and woolly in the grain. The best flounders are of
a sober greyish colour.

WHITINGS.--Always buy whitings fresh. Having gutted them, you can keep
them two or three days in a cool place in the winter months. Never
purchase uncleaned whiting unless it be perfectly fresh out of the
water. The firmness of the body and fins is to be looked to, as in
herrings; their high season is during the first three months of the
year, but they may be had a great part of it. Whiting is one of the
most wholesome of fish, and is so light that physicians recommend it to
invalids when more solid nutriment is forbidden. The largest whiting
are taken off the coasts of Devon and Cornwall. They are in highest
season from Michaelmas to February, shortly after which they begin to
cast their spawn. They are again fit for the table by the latter end of
May or the beginning of June.

It is not easy to distinguish the whiting from the codlin, but it is
very necessary to be able to do so, as fishmongers have an ugly trick
of substituting the one for the other. The codlin, however, has a
beard, while the whiting is smooth.

COD.--Cod, skate, maids, and thornback should be in a state fit to
crimp, and are so when the fish rises again on being pressed with the
finger. There are sixteen different species of cod taken on our coasts;
but the most esteemed is the Dogger Bank cod.

This fish is best when thick towards the head, with a deep pit just
behind it, and the flesh cuts white and clear. The fish should be
perfectly stiff. This affords a proof of its freshness, and of its
eating firm. The gills should be very red, and the eyes fresh and
bright; when flabby they are not good. Cod is invariably good, when the
weather is cold, dry, and frosty; and it is in primest season during
the periods London fashionables dine by candle-light--namely, from
November to March. The larger cod, if in good order, are generally the
firmer and better flavoured fish. The smaller cod-fish are, for the
most part, flabby and watery, though these defects may be in a measure
removed, by sprinkling salt over the fish, a few days before it is
cooked.

STURGEON.--when good, has a fine blue in its veins and gristle; a brown
or yellowish cast in these parts denote a bad fish; if kept too long
this fish has a disagreeable taint. The flesh must be perfectly white,
and must cut without crumbling.

It is from the roe of the sturgeon that the _caviare_ is composed,
though it is sometimes made of the spawn of the grey carp, or the hard
roe of the grey mullet.

HADDOCK.--bears some resemblance to cod, but may be easily
distinguished by the black spot on each shoulder. It is a superior
fish; the flesh is firm, and of a snow-white colour, with a creamy curd
between the flakes. The largest haddocks are in general the best, and
the larger size keep better than the smaller ones. The finest haddocks
are taken in Dublin Bay, and off the coasts of Devon and Cornwall.
Haddocks of all kinds may be almost daily obtained of Grove, Charing
Cross. A haddock should be chosen like a cod, by the thickness and
depth of the body, and fulness at the poll. The freshness of a haddock
may be ascertained by the redness of the gills and brightness of the
eyes.

SOLE.--A sole should be chosen in the same manner as a turbot. The
smallest soles are of the sweetest and best flavour for frying. If you
wish to boil your fish, choose a large Dover or Torbay sole. They are
in season nearly the whole year, but are best at Midsummer. Soles are
usually skinned on the dark side only; the scales on the white side
should be carefully removed, which is often done in a very slovenly
manner, and sometimes omitted altogether. The soles of the west of
England and of Ireland, are quite different from the sole sent to the
London market, being a much richer and thicker fish, with a black skin.
For invalids or persons of a delicate stomach, the smaller and whiter
sole is preferable. If the sole come to market, gutted and packed, by
land-carriage, you must judge of the freshness by the smell. The best
proof of their freshness, however, is the transparency of the slime on
the dark side, through which the fine scales may be easily seen, and by
a frothy appearance in the slime on the lower side; but this fish, if
gutted, may be kept good long after these marks have disappeared.

Salmon, haddock, whiting, and all other fish, whether of the sea, pond,
or river, may be judged, as to freshness, by the red, lively colour
of the gills, the brightness of the eye, the clearness and regular
undisturbed position of the scales, and a plumpness of body, amounting
to stiffness. A dead eye, livid gills, and flabby condition of the
flesh, are sure signs that the fish is stale.

LAMPREYS.--The sea and the river lamprey, or lampern, are easily
distinguishable, not only by their size, but by their colour. The sea
lamprey is of a rusty, mottled colour, whilst the river lamprey is of
the colour of the common eel, or a shade darker. The sea lamprey is
also considerably larger than the river, sometimes weighing as much
as five or six pounds, whilst the river lamprey seldom exceeds twelve
inches in length, and seldom exceeds from half a pound to a pound, or
a pound and a quarter in weight. River lampreys are excellent, either
stewed, potted, or in pies. Some there are who fry them; but they are
generally sent up from Worcester in a prepared sauce, in order to be
stewed, which is the preferable mode of eating them. They are, it must
be confessed, a more agreeable than wholesome food. Henry I. died from
a surfeit of them. The lamprey is in the most perfect season during the
months of April and May.

RED MULLET.--This fish is called the woodcock of the sea. It is so
choice in its food, that, like that bird, it is cooked without drawing.
It is in prime season during the heats of summer, and is therefore
difficult to obtain fresh. When the red mullet is first taken out of
the water, it is of an exquisite rose-colour, varying in lighter tints.
When dead, and some time out of water, it assumes a brownish tinge; as
it becomes more stale, the colour grows paler. Redness of the gills is
in this, as in most other fish, a criterion of freshness. Red mullets
require to be carefully packed; if pressed on by other fish they are
apt to burst. They should be eaten, if possible, on the day on which
they are taken out of the water; for though they may be perfectly sweet
and wholesome on the following day, yet their livers, by keeping, will
have become soft, and will no longer have that delicate flavour which
they would have possessed if dressed on the day they were taken.

PILCHARDS.--The pilchard is an exquisite fish of the herring tribe. It
is somewhat rounder than the herring. The portion of the back-fin, too,
is placed more forward in the pilchard. The criterion of freshness is
the same as in the herring. Pilchards are in season whenever they are
to be met with. They are best when boiled with their scales on without
gutting.

WHITEBAIT--are in season in July, August, and September.

PLAICE and FLOUNDERS--to be good, should be stiff, and have a full eye.
The plaice is best when the belly has a bluish cast.

HERRINGS and MACKEREL--are unfit for the table when faded, wrinkled, or
pliable in the tail. The freshness of mackerel may be ascertained by
the stiffness of the body and the prismatic brilliancy of its colours.
When they are out of condition, they have got what is called the
“rogue’s mark,” are long and thin made, with a sharp belly wanting in
fulness. When fresh, the sides and belly are bright and silvery, the
body is stiff, and the skin devoid of wrinkle. They are in season from
June till November. Their gills should be of a fine red, and their eyes
bright, and the whole fish should be stiff and firm. Herrings should
not be too frequently partaken of when they first come into season.
They have then a peculiar richness, which even affects the stomach
of the strongest fisherman. The freshness of herrings and sprats is
ascertained by the brightness of the scales.

LOBSTER.--should be chosen by its weight, alertness, and fresh smell;
by the tail, which when newly caught, will be stiff and springy, and
the firmness of its sides. The heaviest are the best, if there be no
water in them. If you desire a cock lobster, select that which has
a narrow back part of the tail, with the two uppermost fins within.
The tail should be hard and stiff like a bone. The back of the hen
is soft, and is invariably broader: her fins are also soft. Before
selecting, carefully smell a lobster. If stale, it may be easily known
by a heavy, muggy smell. Crabs, prawns, and shrimps, may be chosen in
the same manner. Always choose the largest and heaviest crab you can
find. These shell-fish, if kept more than one day, will become bad.
The colour of stale shell-fish fades, becoming blackish and dark if
naturally red. They also, when stale, become pliable in their claws and
joints.

JOHN-DORY.--This is one of the very best fishes in the sea. They
are found in greatest abundance on the southern coasts of Devon and
Cornwall. They sometimes weigh as much as twelve pounds, but the
greater proportion are not half that size. The larger dories are in
best season from September to Christmas, but are good eating at all
times. They keep well, but should be gutted, otherwise the flesh
acquires an unpleasant taste. The choicest morsels are to be found
over the collar-bones, and about the head of this fish. Larger dories
are best boiled; the smaller ones may be fried. The flesh is of a fine
clear white when dressed, with the exception of that part covering the
fins, which is of a brownish colour.

* * * * *

VENISON.--should be thick and firm in the fat, and the lean pure. The
age of the deer, as well as of hares and rabbits, is known by the
clefts and claws being close and smooth in the young animal.

Try the haunches or shoulders, under the bones that come out, with the
finger or knife, and as the scent is sweet or rank, it is new or stale;
and the like may be said of the sides in the fleshy parts; if tainted,
they will look green in some places, or more than ordinarily black.

Few people like venison when it has much of the _haut gout_.

The buck venison begins in May, and is in high season till
Allhallows-day: the doe, from Michaelmas to the end of December, or
sometimes to the end of January.

The best joints of the best meat cost most money at first, but are most
economical. All stale meat may be known by the eyes being sunk, the
kidney tainted, and the flesh white.

All provisions should be bought with ready money, or the bills
settled weekly; this will effect a saving of twenty per cent. to the
housekeeper.

BEEF.--The finest ox beef may be known from having a smooth, open
grain, an agreeable carnation colour, delicately marbled with streaks
of fat, the flesh should look red, and the suet white; and if young, it
will be tender, and of an oily smoothness. The colour of the fat should
be rather white than yellow. Yellow fat indicates that the beast has
been fed on oil-cake. Cow beef is not so open in its grain, nor is the
red of so pleasant a colour, but the fat is much whiter. It may be also
distinguished by the udder, when dressed on the whole or in quarters.
You may know whether or not it is young, by making an impression on the
lean with your finger, which mark, if young, will soon disappear. The
sweetest and best-flavoured beef is that of the small Scotch bullock,
when fed on English pasture, or the shorthorned Devon. Northampton and
Leicestershire beef is large, and the flavour is not fine.

Bull beef should never be purchased, being clammy, rank, and more
closely grained than other beef. The colour is a dusky red, and the
flesh tough in pinching. The fat is rank, skinny, and hard.

MUTTON.--is not good under three years old; younger, it is turgid and
pale. The best is above five; but it is seldom to be got in the market
of that age. The black-faced, or short sheep are best for the table,
though more depends on the pasture than on the breed.

Mutton fed on mountains and downs, where the herbage is short and fine,
is better than that fed on rich pasture. Always, therefore, choose the
Dartmoor, the small Welsh, the South Down, or Scotch Highland mutton.
Some of the largest and fattest sheep are produced in Leicestershire,
and the marshes of Kent, but the smaller mutton is to be preferred. The
flesh of the wether should always be preferred to that of the ewe. Hill
wether mutton, from four to seven years old, is far the best whether
for boiling or roasting. Choose it short in the shank, thick in the
thigh, and of a pure, healthy, brownish red, with the flesh marbled.

Pinch the flesh with your fingers; if it regains its former state in a
short time, the mutton is young, but otherwise it is old, and the fat
will be clammy and fibrous. If it be ram mutton, the flavour of which
is disagreeable and strong, the grain will be close, the lean tough and
of a deep red colour; it will not rise when pinched, and the fat will
be spongy. The test of excellence in this meat is that it does not fly
from the knife when cut, but rather closes upon it. Carefully observe
the vein in the neck of mutton or lamb; if it look ruddy or bluish, the
meat is fresh, but if yellowish, is decaying, and if green, completely
tainted. The hind-quarter may be judged of from the kidney and knuckle.
If you find a faint smell under the kidney, or the knuckle is unusually
limp, the meat is stale. That mutton and lamb will always prove the
best, the legs and shoulders of which are short-shanked.

LAMB.--In the choice of lamb, observe the eye, which should be bright
and full; if it be sunk and wrinkled, the meat is stale.

Grass lamb comes into season in April or May, and continues till
August. House lamb may be had in great towns almost all the year, but
is in highest perfection in December and January.

VEAL.--The whitest veal in England is not the most juicy, having been
made so by frequent bleeding. The French veal of Pontoise is finer than
the English. The whiteness is produced by feeding the animal on milk
and biscuits. The calf is there brought to market in a covered van.

Veal should be fat, and white, and young; the mode of feeding is of
great importance. Examine the kidney, the state of which will show the
feeding and condition of all animals.

Veal, when stale, generally becomes flabby and clammy. The flesh of the
cow-calf is not of so bright a red, nor so firmly grained as that of
the bull-calf, neither is the fat so much curdled. The shoulder may be
known by the vein in it, which if it be not of a bright red, is surely
stale, and if any green spots appear about it, totally unfit for use.
Should the neck or breast appear yellowish at the upper end, or the
sweetbread clammy, it is not good. In the choice of this meat, one of
the best indications is that the kidney be covered with a white dense
fat.

The loin may be known by smelling under the kidney, which always taints
first, and becomes putrescent, and the fat in that case loses its firm
consistence. The leg may be known by the joint, which if it be limp,
and the flesh clammy, with green or yellow spots, is unfit for use.

The head, if new and sweet, must have the eyes plump and lively, but if
they are sunk or wrinkled, it is not good.

This rule applies also to the head of the sheep or lamb. The greatest
quantity of veal consumed in London is brought from Essex, which may be
called the Pontoise of England.

PORK.--A thin rind is a good indication in all pork; a thick, tough
one, not easily impressed with the finger, is a sign of age.

When you purchase a leg, a hand, or a spring, take especial care that
the flesh is cool and smooth, for if otherwise it is certainly stale;
but particularly put your finger under the bone that comes out, and if
the flesh be tainted, you will immediately discover it by smelling your
finger. The lean of young pork will break on being pinched. Measly pork
is easily distinguishable from sound by the fat being full of kernels.
London is supplied with the best pork by the dairy farms in Essex.

When you purchase a sucking-pig, remember that the barrow, or sow, is
better than the boar, the flesh of which is neither so sweet nor so
tender. Smell carefully at the belly, and examine about the tail, and
if it has no disagreeable odour, nor any yellow and green spots in
those parts, the pig is as good as you could desire; but you will in
general find that the short, thick necks are the best.

As to bacon and ham, observe whether the smell be fresh, and see that
the fat and lean be clear, and not streaked with yellow.

In marketing for bacon, observe also whether the fat feels oily,
appears white, and does not crumble, and that the flesh bears a good
colour, and adheres closely to the bone, in which case only the
bacon is good. The best bacon comes from Hampshire, but much sold as
Hampshire is Buckinghamshire and Irish bacon. The bacon of Yorkshire,
Cumberland, and Gloucestershire is good.

With respect to hams, you should select one with a short shank, and
try it with a sharp-pointed knife, which thrust into the flesh as near
the pope’s eye as possible. If it come out only a little smeared, and
smells well, you may be assured that the ham is good, but if it be
daubed, and have a fetid smell, it is good for nothing. When freshly
cured, and not over salted, a ham may be trimmed, and wrapped in a
coarse paste, and will be found more juicy, and of finer flavour baked
than boiled. York, Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Gloucestershire, are
famous for their hams; but a great proportion of the hams now sold as
Yorkshire, are Irish.

The Strasbourg bacon is highly smoked, and has a delicious flavour,
but is excessively dear. It may be obtained at any of the Italian
oil-shops; where Bayonne and Westphalia hams can also be purchased.
The latter are now imported in large quantities, and may be purchased
so low as eightpence per pound; but they are no longer prepared with
the care and perfection bestowed on them when they were sold at
fourteenpence per pound. Spanish and Portuguese hams have also been
introduced into the English markets, and though the latter are of an
ungraceful and awkward shape, they are good in colour and flavour.
Bacon should always be _twice_ salted, and patiently rubbed both times.
All meat salted in pieces and packed must be entirely covered with the
brine.

FOWLS.--As to poultry, it may generally be remarked, that barn-door
fowls are preferable to those fed in coops. Much experience and
observation are requisite in forming a judgment of the freshness and
goodness of fowls. Any appearance of greenness about the rump is a sure
sign of putrescence. The Poland breed of fowls is the largest. Dorking,
in Surrey, and Epping, in Essex, are alike famed for good poultry.
Bethnal Green and Mile End fatten much poultry for Leadenhall-market,
but it is inferior to barn-door fowl. Good fowls are short, plump,
broad in the breast, and thick in the rump. A hen is old if her legs
and comb be rough, but young if they are smooth. You may also judge
of the freshness by her vent, in the same manner as the cock. Young
poultry may be distinguished by the pellucid appearance, and peculiar
feel of the flesh, and by the flexibility of the breast-bone. Many
poulterers, aware of this, take care to break the breast-bone of every
fowl they expose for sale. It may be here remarked that the _poularde_
of France, from Mans, in the department of the Sarthe, is superior to
any English fowl whatever.

GEESE.--As to geese, the feet and bill of a young goose are yellow;
they turn red as the bird grows old. It has but few hairs on the feet;
when old, however, the feet become hairy. If fresh, the feet are
supple; but if stale, dry and stiff. Great quantities of geese come to
London from Devonshire, Lincolnshire, Buckinghamshire, &c. In France
the greatest number are reared in the Gironde. The quantity of geese
reared in France is almost incredible. The minister of the interior,
Chaptal, states that 120,000, destined to be fattened, were annually
sold in the market of Toulouse alone.

The wild ducks from the coast--those feeding on what they can get
from the salt water and the lands contiguous--are often tough and
fishy, though some of them may be found tender, but not quite free
from the fishy flavour. These are the birds which, with widgeons and
teal, are hawked about in the streets of London, and sold sometimes at
from eighteenpence to half-a-crown a couple, according to the powers
of eloquence of the vendor, and the powers of gullibility of the
purchaser, who can generally, if he has any experience, obtain them for
one half the price at first demanded.

WILD DUCK.--Of the many varieties of wild ducks, those with red legs
are held in the highest estimation.

The best wild ducks are those from the fens of Lincolnshire, taken by
decoys. The same species is found in the Campagna of Rome. They are
esteemed a great delicacy at the Roman tables about Christmas time.
They are wholly free from rankness and a fishy taste, and are of a
fine, rich gamey flavour. Wild ducks are to be purchased, when in
season, at the shops of all the respectable poulterers in London, and
at a very reasonable price.

WIDGEON.--The widgeon, which is a smaller bird of the duck species,
is not so good as the wild duck. It is coarse, often fishy, rank, and
rough, and is not fit to appear at a dinner of any pretension, except
in the form of a truffled _sauté_.

TEAL.--The teal, the smallest of the tribe, is much superior, and forms
a _recherché_ roast even among the most difficult to please of the
knights of the dinner-table. Teal and widgeon are supple-footed when
fresh, but stiff and dry-footed when stale. If fat, they are thick and
hard on the belly, and lean if thin and soft.

DUCK.--A tame duck--and the remark applies also to a wild duck--when
fat and young, is thick and hard on the belly, and is old when lean and
thin. When fresh, the foot is pliable, but dry, if stale. Observe, that
the foot of the best wild duck is red, and of the great majority of
wild ducks reddish, and that it is less than that of a tame duck.

PARTRIDGE.--Partridges, when young, have yellowish and dark-coloured
bills. This bird taints first in the crop, therefore you should open
its bill and smell. Next, examine the bill, legs, and vent; if the bill
be white, and the legs have a bluish cast, the bird is old; but if the
bill is black, and the legs yellow, it is young. If the vent be fast,
it is new; but stale, if open and green. In France, the red-legged
partridge is the most esteemed; but all partridges in that country are
inferior to the English; they are dry and flavourless, and want the
juice and succulence of the English game.

SNIPE.--A snipe is chosen in the same manner as the woodcock; but the
snipe, when fresh is fat in the side, under the wing, and feels thick
in the vent.

TURKEY.--The legs of a cock turkey should be black and smooth, its
spurs short, the feet limber, and the eyes lively; but if the eyes are
sunk and the feet dry, the bird is stale. The hen is chosen in the same
manner, only observe, that if she is with egg, the vent will be soft
and open, but if not, close and hard.

The county of Norfolk has the reputation of breeding the finest
turkeys. They are in season from November to March, at which period
they are succeeded by turkey poults. The number of turkeys and fowls
produced in France is much greater, making all allowance for the size
and superficial extent of the country, than in England. Nearly half
a century ago, according to Chaptal, minister of the interior, the
capital embarked in the poultry trade in France, amounted to 51,600,000
francs.

RABBIT.--A rabbit has long; rough claws, and grey hairs intermixed with
its wool if it be old; but when young, the wool and claws are smooth.
If stale it is supple, and the flesh bluish, with a kind of slime upon
it; but if fresh it will be stiff, and the flesh white and dry.

HARE.--A hare and leveret are thus chosen: if the claws of a hare are
blunt and rugged, the division in the lip spread much, and the ears
appear dry and tough, and the bones hard, it is old; but if the claws
are sharp and smooth, the division in the lip not greatly spread, and
the ears will easily tear, it is young. If fresh killed, the flesh of
both will be white and stiff; but if stale, supple and blackish in many
places. To discover a true leveret, feel near the foot on its fore leg,
and if you find there a knob, or small bony protuberance, it is a real
leveret, but if destitute of this, it must be a hare.

HEATHCOCK.--The heathcock and hen when young have smooth legs and
bills, which become rough when old. You may judge of their freshness in
the same manner as you do of the pheasant.

WHEATEAR.--The delicate bird called a wheatear is fresh, if it has a
limber foot and fat rump: otherwise it is stale.

PHEASANT.--A young cock-pheasant has dubbed spurs, but if old, the
spurs will be sharp and small. If the vent be fast, the bird is fresh;
but if it be open and flabby, stale. If a hen, and young, the legs will
be smooth, and her flesh of a fine grain; but if old, her legs will be
rough, and, as it were, hairy, when pulled.

Pheasants and heath-poults are fresh when their feet are limber,
and their vents are white and stiff; but are stale when they are
dry-footed, have green vents, and will peel, if touched hard.

PIGEONS.--Pigeons when they grow red-legged are old, and are stale when
their vents are flabby and green. If fresh, they will be limber-footed,
and feel fat in the vent.

By this rule you may judge of all kinds of doves, fieldfares, thrushes,
blackbirds, plovers, larks, &c.

WOODCOCK.--The woodcock, if stale, will be dry-footed; and if bad,
its nose will be moist; but if new and fat, it will be limber-footed,
thick, and hard.

CAPON.--A capon is known by a short and pale comb, a thick rump and
belly, and a fat vein on the side of the breast; when young, the spurs
will be short and blunt, and the legs smooth; and if fresh, the vent
will be close and hard; but if stale, loose; which last remark may be
applied to cocks and hens.

COCK.--A cock when young has short and dubbed spurs, but it should be
observed that the spurs of old cocks may be scraped so as to deceive
any but a very accurate observer. If fresh his vent will be hard and
close; but you cannot be too particular in observing the spurs, as the
market people frequently scrape them.

EGGS.--As to eggs, hold the great end of the egg to your tongue; if it
feels warm, it is new; if cold, bad; and so in proportion to the heat
or cold is the goodness of the egg. Another way to know is to put the
egg in a pan of cold water, the fresher the egg, the sooner it will
fall to the bottom; if rotten, it will swim at the top. This is a sure
way not to be deceived. The best way to keep eggs is in bran or meal,
turning them frequently; some, however, place the small end downwards
in fine wood-ashes: to keep them for a long period they may be buried
in salt, which it is said will preserve them in almost any climate.

BUTTER.--When you buy butter, trust not to that which may be good in
external appearance, but try in the _middle_, and if your smell and
taste be good, you cannot be deceived.

CHEESE.--If old cheese be rough-coated, rugged, or dry at top, beware
of little worms called _hoppers_, and also of _mites_, a still smaller
animal. If it be full of holes, moist, or spongy, hoppers may also be
expected to be found in it. If any crack or any soft and perished place
appear on the outside, examine into its depth, for the greater part
may be hidden within. Cheese is to be chosen by its moist smooth coat.
A _fat_ cheese, if of much size, has generally rounded edges, and the
sides are swelled out more or less; although _excessive_ swelling out
of the sides is not a good sign; neither is an elevation of the top
desirable. A _poor_ cheese has usually keen edges, and the sides are
straight. Fat cheese may also be known by rubbing a small portion of
it between the finger and thumb: if it soon becomes smooth and soft,
melting as it were on the finger by the animal heat, it is fat; but
if it remains tough and crumbly, it is not rich nor of prime quality.
No cheese should be chosen which has the surface much swelled, such
swelling being an indication of its containing holes and being badly
made, and that it has most probably also an unpleasant smell and taste.
Besides these indications, no cheese should be purchased without being
both tasted and smelled.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VI.

ON SOUPS AND BROTHS.

At every great dinner--indeed I may say at every dinner of the least
pretension in the most civilised countries--you begin by eating soup.
Often in Paris and at Brussels, between September and April, at dinners
at restaurants, you also commence by half a dozen, a dozen, or eighteen
oysters by way of appetiser; but this practice is not resorted to at
formal dinners, or, as the French say, _diners d’apparat_, in private
houses; though if three or four intimate friends are dining together
_sans façon_, oysters may be, and often are, introduced before the
soup. In Russia the custom is to take _caviare_, or a slice of raw
or pickled herring before soup, which relish is followed by a glass
of Cognac or some liqueur. But these are customs not likely to be
introduced into more civilized countries; customs, moreover, quite
repugnant to English habits.

The basis of nearly every soup is a stock or broth called by the
French a _grand bouillon_. The best way of making this stock is by
boiling, or rather stewing down a sufficient quantity of properly
prepared and washed beef in a _marmite_, or iron or earthen pot, or
stewpan. The water must be judiciously apportioned to the quantity of
meat. The French, who make the best _bouillon_ in the world, generally
pour a quart of water, on half a kilogramme (equivalent to about a
pound) of meat, and let it simmer from five-and-a-half to six hours.
When the liquid is sufficiently diminished to receive the vegetables,
a few young carrots, an onion with a couple of cloves stuck in it, a
parsnip, a little celery and a bunch of thyme and parsley are added.
The water should be cold, and seasoned with a little salt. The pot or
earthen vessel should be placed on a clear fire, and allowed to remain
till the liquid is diminished a third. This _bouillon_ is the basis
of most soups, and it is called a _consommé_ when a large fowl or the
half of a turkey is added. Some cooks use old partridges or pigeons
instead of fowls. It is an axiom in cookery, however, that at least
two sorts of meat are necessary to make a good _bouillon_. When the
_bouillon_ is skimmed it serves as the stock for all kinds of soup.
It cannot be too often stated that the basis of all soup, and indeed
of all broth, except mutton, should be juicy young beef and pure soft
water. It should be remembered that the trimmings and the bones of
fresh meat, the necks of poultry, the liquor in which a joint has been
boiled, and the shank-bones of mutton, are excellent additions to
the stock-pot, and should be reserved for it. As soup is the food of
childhood and old age, it should be restorative and nourishing. The
great defect of English soups is, not the want of meat, but the want of
a proper boiling or concoction. This radical fault is vilely but vainly
attempted to be supplied by the excessive use of seasoning and herbs.
The following elementary rules for making nourishing broth, are from
the French of Parmentier:--

I. Sound, healthful, fresh viands.

II. Vessels of earthenware in preference to those of metal, as a
less degree of heat keeps them boiling; and once heated, a few
hot cinders will maintain that slight degree of ebullition which
is wanted.

III. Double the weight of water to that of the meat used.

IV. A sufficient quantity of common salt to facilitate the
separation of the blood and slime that coagulates under the form
of scum.

V. In the early stage of the process, such a degree of heat as
will throw off the whole scum.

VI. A lower, but an equable temperature, that the soup may
_simmer_ gently till the substances employed, whether
nutritive, colouring, or flavouring, are perfectly combined with
the water, according to their several degrees of solubility.

Great care should be taken to have all the utensils clean. Pots,
saucepans, and stewpans, should be well tinned, especially for soups
and gravies, as they are obliged to remain a long time upon the fire.
Whatever is boiled in a brass or copper pot, should be taken out while
it is hot; if left to cool, it would have a disagreeable taste, and
be very unwholesome. As a convincing proof of this, if the liquor
that any kind of meat is boiled in remains in the pot till the next
day, the fat at the top will be quite green, and the liquor of course
very pernicious. Iron pots, saucepans, &c., are the most wholesome,
but they spoil the colour of many articles of cookery, and therefore
are not much used; but they are useful for anything that would not be
discoloured. Pots lined with earthenware are certainly preferable to
any other kind, but they are very expensive.

The broth to be used for soups and gravies should be kept separate;
because the broth of the stock-pot, being required for white as well
as brown sauces, should not be coloured; whilst that for soups, unless
they be white soups, should always be made brown. If, however, you have
more coloured broth than you require for soup, you may apply it to
making brown gravies.

An excellent stock-pot may be produced with all the bones you can
collect, carcasses, and the under or claw-legs of poultry or game--all
bones and parings, in short, of flesh and fowl. Put them into a large
pipkin with water; or if you have the liquor in which beef, or mutton,
or veal, has been boiled, use it in preference. To this you may add,
if you have it, a few ladlefuls of the water in which a ham has been
boiled, first skimming off the fat. With the bones, put a bunch of
leeks, a bunch of green celery, an onion with three cloves stuck into
it, a couple of carrots, a turnip, a bit of parsnip, some salt, a
bunch of herbs, and two or three sheep’s melts. A small quantity of
sugar will also greatly improve the flavour of stock, and indeed of
all rich soups. Let the whole stew simmer very slowly during seven or
eight hours, keeping it closely covered all the while. Season it with
a little salt. When reduced to a good _consommée_, and you are
satisfied with its flavour, strain it through a sieve, and put it by
for use.

This broth, if required, may be used for making white soups.

All soups should be closely covered during their boiling, by which the
heat will be very much economised. There may be, however, occasionally
some deviations from this course, which must depend upon the discretion
of the cook. In making soups and broths, stale as well as fat meat
should be avoided; the first will impart an ill taste, and the last
will be attended with considerable waste.

Of the kinds that will keep are brown soup, hare soup, soup of game
of any kind, giblet soup, and generally all soups made of the meat of
animals of mature growth. Soups into which vegetables and young meats
enter in any quantity, are best when fresh made, as these things have a
strong tendency to ferment. This also applies to veal and fish soups.
This tendency may be partly checked by boiling them up, or changing the
vessels.

The best meat soups are, beyond question, those which are made from the
lean alone, without much, if any, fat.

In making pea-soup with dry peas, soft water should be used; with green
peas, hard water, which contributes to the preservation of their colour.

A soup should never be permitted to grow cold in the vessel in which
it has been boiled. If not immediately wanted, it should be poured out
into a clean pan; one made of stoneware is the best, as neither salts
nor acids will act upon it, a consideration of essential importance.
While cooling, the soup should not be covered over; nor indeed is it
desirable to cover soup after it is cold, except with a hair sieve.
It facilitates the operation, if meat for soup or gravy be cut into
pieces of about half a pound each, and improves both the flavour and
colour, if the meat, onions, and carrots be stewed at the bottom of the
soup-pot or digester, before the water is added to it, with a bit of
butter to prevent burning.

To this previous drawing out of the juices without much or any water,
much of the superiority of French soups is to be attributed. Some
French cooks, to regulate the flavour of soups more exactly, boil the
roots, herbs, and vegetables separately to a mash, and then squeeze
them and add the juice till the desired flavour is obtained.

As long boiling is necessary to make good soup, particularly where the
whole or the greater part of the virtues of butchers’ meat are to be
extracted, it will be necessary to add more water from time to time
as it boils away; and, in order to save time, it will be best to add
the water boiling, or, at least, very hot to the soup. In the addition
of herbs, other vegetables, or condiments, care should be taken that
they are in such quantities that no one may predominate, unless, as
is sometimes the case with celery or onion, it is desired that there
should be a predominancy of a particular flavour.

As celery is so generally used to flavour soups, the cook should know
that, when the root is scarce, the seeds bruised and added to the soup
a few minutes only before it is served up, will flavour it well; indeed
the seeds will be generally found superior to the root for the purpose
of flavouring. Boiling the seeds, however, for a long time, will
dissipate their essential oil on which their flavour chiefly depends.
This observation applies with equal force to all spices, the long
boiling of which, in open vessels, must necessarily dissipate their
oils in which their good qualities reside: indeed, sometimes a few
drops of their essential oil, as of cinnamon or cassia, will supply
the place of the spice itself.

The boiling of poultry and game in the stock-pot is a practice very
common abroad. When stewed enough to be tender, they should be served
immediately with a good sauce.

In regard to broths, some of the general directions concerning boiling
must be carefully attended to, as well as the preceding observations on
the preparation of soups. Broth may be made from the coarsest pieces
of meat, and of any strength, by adapting the water to the quantity
of meat, and by sufficient simmering. To make the broth good the meat
should always be simmered till it is tender, and will separate without
difficulty from the bones. In every case, as well of broth as of soup,
in order to obtain them with the least boiling, and consequently most
economically, the meat should be cut into small pieces, the bones,
if large, broken, and the joints, such as those in a neck of mutton,
separated, unless the meat be wanted to be served up with the broth or
otherwise as a whole joint.

Broth, I may safely say, is the essence and foundation of all cookery.
Among our neighbours, the French, the broth-pot, or _pot-au-feu_, may
be said to be the substratum of the cookery of the middle and working
classes. To them it yields a substantial nourishment. Any parings or
trimmings of meat will serve to make the first broth, provided the scum
and fat be carefully removed. If this be not sedulously attended to,
the broth will be too highly coloured to mix with the sauce. Those,
therefore, who are charged with the stock-pots should skim them slowly
over a gentle fire, adding at intervals a little cold water, that the
scum may rise more copiously. Broth should always be in the larder of a
good kitchen, as it is perpetually required for sauces, braises, soups,
_consommés_, and essences.

The great English soups are, real turtle, mock turtle, ox-tail, gravy,
giblet, hare, green-pea soup, and pea soup. The great English broths
are, chicken broth, mutton broth, Scotch-barley broth, veal broth, and
beef broth or tea, which is almost equivalent to the French _grand
bouillon_.

Real turtle soup is seldom made in private houses, unless of the very
highest distinction. It is generally obtained ready prepared from the
Waterloo Hotel at Liverpool, and from some of the great taverns in the
City in Bishopsgate or Aldersgate Street, or from Gunter’s at the West
end, who has jars ready prepared, from the West Indies and Brazil.
Twenty-five years ago a great deal of turtle used to come to London
prepared by Weeks, of the Bush Hotel,[11] Bristol. But Bristol then,
and antecedently, stood at the head of the West-India trade, and there
were those who preferred the Bristol-made turtle to that of Birch,
Bleaden, or Kay. But the Bush Hotel no longer exists, and London now
bears off the bell for its turtle soup, as well as for its calipash and
calipee.

Turtle generally arrives in this country about the latter end of May or
the beginning of June, though, from the uncertainties of a sea voyage,
no exact period for its first appearance can be fixed. In the year 1814
it was so unusually late, that at the banquet given in Guildhall to the
Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia, on the 18th of June, there
was no turtle to be had. The weight of a turtle varies from 30 lbs.
to 500 lbs. or 600 lbs., and the price from 2_s._ 6_d._ to 5_s._ per
pound. The cooking of a turtle is generally performed by a professed
artist, whose fee is from one to two guineas. Some epicures prefer the
turtle cut into steaks and broiled, to be eaten with melted butter,
Cayenne pepper, and the juice of a Seville orange. They say the flesh
thus quickly dressed retains most flavour.

This soup is, says Carème, the most lengthened in its details of any
that are known; “the composition of its seasoning claims an able hand
and a strong memory: the palate of the cook who executes it should be
very fine; none of the ingredients should predominate, not even the
Cayenne or allspice, which the English cook inconsiderately employs.”

The great artist divides the dressing of a turtle into four operations,
and on each expends a page. In order to dress the turtle as it ought
to be prepared, he says, two large legs of veal, eight fowls, lean ham
in slices, sweet herbs, beef stock, the nut of a ham, cloves, Cayenne,
allspice, mace, long pepper, white pepper, eight bottles of dry
Madeira, and sixty eggs, are necessary. It is therefore clearly better
for those who wish to give turtle soup at a dinner, to have a quart or
gallon of it from some first-rate hotel, than to go to the expense of
all these ingredients.

Gravy, ox-tail, mock turtle, and giblet soups are much more common at
English dinners than real turtle soup, for the two sufficient reasons,
that they are more easily prepared, and that they are less costly.
Ox-tail, mock turtle, hare, and giblet soups are still made in the
fashion in which they were at the beginning of the present century.
Calf-tail soup is simply made by substituting pieces of calf-tail for
ox-tail. It is much more delicate than ox-tail, and very nutritious.

The stocks for white soups are made of veal, mutton, fowl, rabbit,
chicken, ox-feet, calf’s head and feet, with bacon and ham. In drawing
these stocks, a bit of ham, ham-bone, or lean bacon, is used with the
usual seasoning. Fish may be used in thickening meat white soups;
they give a turtleish lightness and flavour. Eggs make an excellent
thickening for the poorer kinds; but the richer or more delicate, are
thickened with almonds and artificial or real cream. Though the stocks
be properly made and well-seasoned, the thickening and finishing,
nevertheless, require great care.

As to French soups, their name is legion. There is scarcely a complete
French treatise on the art of cookery that does not contain receipts
for at least 150 soups; but those most used at English dinner-tables
are, the _purée à la Reine_, the _purée des carottes au riz_, the
_purée de lapins_, _à la Chantilly_, _à la Colbert_, _à la Dauphine_,
the _potage à la brunoise aux pointes d’asperges_, _à la paysanne_, the
_à la Julienne_, and _à la jardinière_. There are also the _bisques
d’écrevisse_, _de crabe_, _de chevrettes_, &c. But for all these soups
the aid of a really accomplished cook is necessary. Italian soups are
generally of macaroni, semolina, or of rice; but these, whether _à la
Medicis_ or _à la Corinne_, are much better prepared after the French
than after Italian receipts. No human being who had any taste in
cookery would think of giving the German soup made of green rye, or the
soup of poached eggs after the Styrian fashion; and Russian and Polish
soups are not suitable to English stomachs. The Russian cabbage soup
may suit a people who love train oil (which Theodore Hook used to say
was “bad for the liver, but good for the lights”), but assuredly it
would be rejected by any civilized Englishman.

I have said in another place that the Dutch eel soup, and the soup of
herring-roes, is very relishing.

To sum up, a host in England can never go wrong in ordering in the
winter months for his guests an ox-tail, a mock turtle, a calf-tail,
a giblet or mulligatawney from among English soups; or a _brunoise_
or _purée de gelinotte_, a _Julienne_, or a _purée à la Reine_ if he
requires a French soup. For the spring and summer, English spring soup
may be given with turtle, green pea, a soup _à la Condé_, or _à purée
de navets_, or _à consommé à la Xavier_.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VII.

HOW TO CLEAN AND BOIL FISH.

The great thing to be attended to in the preparation of fish, is to
have every particle that is foul or offensive cleansed away. This
must, however, be accomplished in such a manner, that the fish may
still retain its original firm and stiff appearance, which is often
destroyed by the rough handling it gets while undergoing the process of
cleaning. It too frequently happens, owing to the ignorance of cockney
dealers, that the firmness and fine flavour of the fish is washed
away. If not wholly destroyed, it is in most cases greatly impaired.
It is impossible to see one of these smirking, smiling tradesmen with
a watering-pot in hand, without wishing to give him the benefit of
a shower-bath by means of his own engine, or hoisting him (to use a
Shakespearian phrase) by his own petard.

In cleaning fish, a pump of clear spring water is a great advantage, as
the force of the water pumped over the fish will wash off all that is
required without subjecting it to scrubbing or handling. In London a
small hand-engine or hose might be used for the purpose. As a general
rule, it may be remarked, that all fish should be laid flat on its
side, on either a board or a flat stone. It should be held by the head
and shoulders with the left hand, and all the scales and slime should
be scraped off with the right. This done, the operation should be
repeated on the reverse side. The fins should then be cut off, and the
hand-engine or pump used upon the fish to remove any loose scales or
slime that may still adhere to it. The fish should then be opened, the
intestines carefully extracted, well scraping the blood out from the
back-bone, then wash the fish by a pump or in a pan of clean water,
handling it as little as possible. Lastly, take out your fish and hang
it up to drain till required for use. Never leave a fish in the water
one moment after it is washed. If allowed to soak, the fine flavour of
the fish is very materially lessened.

COD-FISH--requires great care in cleaning, particularly in cleansing
the back-bone from blood, which spoils the appearance of the sound, and
sometimes renders it too unsightly for the table. To prevent this, the
fish should be cut open for some distance below the vent, the sound
upon one side should be carefully cut off with a sharp knife, as close
as possible to the back-bone, still leaving it attached to the opposite
side, and then the blood or the intestines of the back-bone should be
scraped out with the point of a knife, or scrubbed out with a small
brush; by this means not only will the blood be removed, but the sound
will wear a much more presentable appearance, and can be more easily
carved, and without injuring the other parts of the fish.

Fishes that are to be dressed in their scales, should be dipped in
water, and rubbed with a coarse towel to remove the slime. But great
care should be taken to rub only from the head downwards, for if rubbed
against the grain, some of the scales may become displaced, which
would, in a great measure, frustrate the effect intended to be produced
by dressing the fish with this coating upon them.

PILCHARDS--should be dressed without wiping at all; whilst sprats,
which are better when scaled, may be deprived of this outward covering
with a coarse cloth, without bruising or injuring the fish.

MACKEREL--intended for frying, should be split down the back to the
tail, as indeed should all fish meant to be cured, whether in pickle
or dried; but whitings, perch, small trout, and all other small fish,
should be opened at the belly. In the preparation of trout, the
back-bone must be scraped very clean, otherwise the blood collected
there will have a black and muddy appearance, extremely disagreeable to
the eye.

PLAICE--may be considerably improved by being beaten with a flat piece
of wood or a rolling-pin, which has the effect of making the fish eat
more firmly. It also removes, in a great measure, the flabby and
watery appearance this fish possesses.

RED MULLETS--are usually dressed without being either scaled or gutted;
if fresh, it improves them to extract the intestines carefully,
throwing away the garbage, and replacing the liver; but this can only
be done when very fresh, and the liver firm. This process should never
be attempted after the fish has been more than six hours out of the
water.

SKATES, THORNBACKS, and all fishes of this kind should be skinned, a
process which will be greatly facilitated by previously scalding the
fish in hot water.

SALT-FISH--requires great attention in its preparation for dressing,
and in being properly soaked in water. It is from neglect of these
requisites that salt-fish is not so highly esteemed as an article of
food as it deserves to be.

How often do we see a piece of cod or ling as hard as a stone, and
as salt as the very brine, from having been carelessly thrown only
half-an-hour previous to boiling into water, perhaps hardly sufficient
to cover it, and from thence transferred to the pot. It is then
vigorously boiled until the cook thinks it is sufficiently done to send
to table. Cooked in this barbarous fashion, the best salt fish would
not be worth the eating.

LING--when being prepared for table, should soak, fully immersed, at
least twelve hours in water, and then be taken out and well scrubbed
with a hard brush, or rubbed with a coarse cloth. It should next be
placed either on a flat stone or board to drain for six or eight
hours. An experienced cook would then place it in lukewarm water, and
let it remain soaking for from ten to twelve hours longer, when it will
have become pliant and tender, and also swell considerably. Warm water
and milk will considerably improve both the flavour and appearance of
the fish; a little vinegar may also be added as an additional means
of extracting the salt. The fish requires, however, two soakings, the
first water being a kind of pickle, which becomes in time as salt as
the brine from which the fish was taken.

DRIED COD--requires only half as much soaking each time as salt ling;
unless, indeed, the fish be a very large one, in which case it will
require to be soaked nearly as long as a ling. When the fish is placed
in water over night, to be ready early in the morning, throw one or two
wine-glassfuls of vinegar into the water; take out the fish the first
thing in the morning, and hang it up by its tail to drain.

In English cookery there is little or no variety in the preparation of
fish for the table. Three or four modes only of dressing this delicacy
are known among us--frying, boiling, stewing, grilling, &c., and the
numerous preparations of fish by which the palate is delighted and
the health maintained in other countries, are not to be seen among
the refinements of English dinners, when these latter are confined
to dishes of home manufacture. By some strange prejudice, fish is
never eaten among us except at the very beginning of dinner, following
the soup. Its appearance at a second course would be considered an
anomaly in England; and yet no set of persons in the world will, very
truly says the “Magazine of Domestic Economy,” relish fish at a second
course, on the Continent, more than those Englishmen who have left
their prejudices behind them in their native country.

In fish, England has always enjoyed an admitted pre-eminence over the
nations of the Continent. The fish brought to her markets is fresher,
finer, and in greater variety, yet the uniformity of her cookery in
this respect is alternately to foreigners the theme of wonder and
ridicule. Billingsgate, adjoining the Custom House, is the mart whence
this vast metropolis is supplied. The fishmongers exhibit their stores
on trays of marble or of lead. Every tide brings up fleets of vessels
varying in size, the Berwick smack, the Dutch galliot, the Norway
fishing-boats and the well-appointed steamer. There are smacks laden
with salmon packed in ice; Dutch schuyts with their wells filled with
luxurious turbots, or delicious eels; boats and barges almost sinking
with their plentiful cargoes of cod, haddock, skate, soles, herrings,
or mackerel, according to the season; oysters, crabs, lobsters,
crawfish, &c., &c. Hither the Brighton mackerel and soles, at the
commencement of the season, are forwarded by land and rail carriage,
and occasionally those welcome guests at the tables of the great and
opulent, the john-dory, and the mullet, both gray and scarlet. The
traffic is under proper regulations. Oysters, muscles, cockles, sprats,
and other fish that are sold by measure, are subject to the inspection
of the city-meters. Around Billingsgate and in its vicinity are
numerous dealers in salt and dried fish, such as salmon, cod, ling, and
herrings. In the spring and summer seasons the supply from Newcastle of
that great delicacy, pickled salmon, is very considerable, and great
quantities daily arrive fresh from Ireland and Scotland by steam and
rail. The money expended annually in the purchase of fish landed at
this place, is of enormous amount: it has been said that the Dutch used
to take yearly from our current coin, fifty thousand guineas for turbot
only! The principal market-day at Billingsgate is Monday.

Dr. M’Culloch asserts that a small proportion of sugar will keep fish
perfectly fresh for several days; but the fish must be fresh when it is
applied, as it will not recover from taint. Sugar also cures salmon and
white fish, which keeps any length of time in a dried state, provided
it is not allowed to get damp. A little salt may be added to the sugar
to please the taste.

The directions are:--To lay the fish upon its side and rub it with a
little sugar, particularly about the stomach and throat; two or three
tea-spoonfuls is enough for a good-sized salmon. If it be kept fresh,
there will be no occasion to open it.

SALMON--if large, should be dressed in slices like cod; if small, on
the contrary, it may be dressed whole, fixing the tail in the mouth by
means of a skewer, and boil it in a turbot-kettle. The fish is sent
to table resting on its belly side, the back being uppermost. The
liver and spawn, as in the cod, takes a longer time than the other
parts to boil it thoroughly; and if eaten underdone, it is extremely
unwholesome. Salmon, when not crimped, should be put into cold water
and boiled gradually, but if dressed in thin slices, it should be
plunged into hot water at once. After allowing it to remain a minute
or two in the fish-kettle, raise it out of the hot water for a couple
of minutes; let this process be repeated three or four times, and it
will cause the curd to set, and the fish to eat more crisp. When you
have followed these directions, allow the fish to boil at a moderate
pace until it is thoroughly done, for nothing is more indigestible than
underdone salmon. Be careful in removing the scum during the boiling.
The hardest water is recommended as preferable for boiling salmon.

OBSERVATIONS ON BOILING FISH.

If the fishmonger does not clean it, fish is seldom very nicely done;
but those in great towns wash the fish beyond what is necessary for
cleaning, and by perpetual watering, diminish the flavour. When quite
clean, if to be boiled, some salt and a little vinegar should be put
into the water to give firmness; but cod, whiting, and haddock, are far
better if a little salted, and kept a day; and if it be not very hot
weather, they will be good for two days.

Fresh-water fish has often a muddy smell and taste: to take this off,
soak it in strong salt and water after it is nicely cleaned; or, if of
a size to bear it, scald it in the same compound; then dry and dress it.

The fish must be put into the water while cold, and set to boil very
gently, or the outside will break before the inner part is done.

CRIMPED FISH should be put into boiling water, with salt; and
when it boils up, pour a little cold water in to check extreme heat,
and let it simmer for a few minutes by the side of the fire.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VIII.

ON FISH.

Plutarch tells us that Symmachus and Polycrates wrote treatises to
prove that the “innocent fishes” should be respected, and that they
who ate of them were among the most ferocious of men. According to
Columella, however, Apollo was called ίκθηφαγος by the Greeks, because
they considered that the god of music, poetry, and eloquence should
only feed on the most delicate and dainty diet; and such the Greeks
considered fish. It is curious that the epithet “innocent” is also
applied to fish, naturally most voracious, by St. Augustine. “Fishes
were spared from the malediction,” says this father of the Church,
“because it was not the fish of the sea, but the fruits of the earth
which contributed to the fall of our first parents.” Whatever Plutarch
or Augustine may say to the contrary, however, fish was used as a diet
by the earliest Christians; and none were more celebrated in increasing
the breed of fish, whether on the Continent or in England, than the
earlier Churchmen--the much abused monks of the middle ages.

There is, in truth, no more wholesome or palatable diet than good
fish; and one dish of fish, and sometimes two, is generally found at a
gentleman’s dinner-table in England, if he entertains a family-party
of four or six. But though we have the finest fish in the world in
this country, we do not dress it in the variety of ways in which it
is served in France. Unless immediately after the soup, we seldom eat
fish, whereas in most Continental countries it is served dressed as an
_entrée_, and in this manner it is most wholesome, as well as very
relishing.

Probably, turbot, during the height of the London season, is more
frequently seen than any other fish at English dinner-tables. It is
almost always plainly boiled and served with lobster sauce, whereas in
France it is served in fifteen or twenty ways, at the least, as will
appear from the following list:--

Turbot sauce flamande.

Turbot sauce hollandaise.

Emincé de turbot à la Béchamel au maigre.

Emincé au gratin garni de pommes de terre.

Escalope de turbot aux truffes, sauce Périgueux.

Sauté de turbot sauce au beurre et aux queues d’écrevisses.

Sauté de turbot sauce aux fines herbes et aux huitres.

Sauté de turbot sauce à la génoise.

Filets de turbot à la Sainte Ménéhould.

Filets de turbot pannés a l’allemande.

Filets à l’anglaise sauce aux chevrettes.

Papillotes des filets de turbot à la maître d’hôtel.

Orly de turbot.

Fritot de turbot à la provençale, &c.

Juvenal, in his fourth Satire, tells us what store Roman epicures set
on turbot, and gives a description of the company assembled by order of
Domitian to pronounce on the goodness of the fish. The graphic pages of
Suetonius, the vigorous periods of Tacitus, and the scourging satire of
Juvenal, were employed to show up the vices of Domitian. Berchoux, in
his poem “La Gastronomie,” thus paraphrases Juvenal:--

“Domitien un jour se présente au sénat:
Pères conscrits, dit-il, un affaire d’état
M’appelle auprès de vous. Je ne viens point vous dire
Qu’il s’agit de vieller au salut de l’empire;
Exciter votre zéle, et prendre vos avis
Sur les destines de Rome, et des peuples conquis;
Agiter avec vous ou la paix ou la guerre,
Vains projets sur lesquels vous n’avez qu’à vous taire;
Il s’agit d’un turbot: daignez déliberer
Sur la sauce qu’on doit lui faire preparer....
Le sénat mit aux voix cette affaire importante,
Et le turbot fut mis à la sauce piquante.”[12]

The turbot is found in all seas. They are very large in the ocean and
the Mediterranean. Rondelet says he has seen turbot five fathoms long,
four in breadth, and a foot thick. Such turbots have never been seen
in England. A turbot weighing from ten to twelve pounds is generally
coarse and woolly. The best flavoured are the moderate sized, called
chicken turbot, weighing from three to six pounds. In the middle ages,
the turbot was called the _phasianus aquaticus_, or water-pheasant.
The turbot is very voracious, and is especially fond of cray-fish.
Turbot is thus described in one of the volumes of the “Almanach des
Gourmands”:--

“Turbot is the pheasant of the sea, because of its beauty: it is the
king of Lent, because of its majestic size. It is ordinarily served _au
court bouillon_. The turbot has the simplicity and majesty of a hero,
and every species of ornament offends him much more than it honours
him. On the day after he makes his first appearance, it is quite
another affair; he may be then disguised. The best manner of effecting
this is to dress him in _Béchamel_, a preparation thus called after the
Marquis de Béchamel, _maître d’hôtel_ of Louis XIV., who has for ever
immortalised himself by this one _ragoût_.”

Turbot is best from March to September, but is eaten all the year round.

Sturgeon, called the royal fish (because by a statute of Edward II. it
is said “the king shall have sturgeon taken in the sea, or elsewhere,
within the realm”), is seldom seen at private tables in England. Two
distinct species have been distinguished by the fishermen of the
Solway Firth; but several species frequent the rivers of Russia.
_Caviare_, so much used in Russia, and now very generally imported
into this country, is made of the roe of the female sturgeon. The flesh
of the sturgeon, besides being preserved by salting and pickling, is in
request for the table while fresh, and is generally served with a rich
sauce. The appearance and flavour of sturgeon is not unlike that of
veal. The flesh, like that of most of the cartilaginous fishes, is more
firm and compact than is usual among those of the osseous families.
When fresh, sturgeon is as white as the very finest veal; when red,
nothing whatever can be done with it. There are thirty different
methods of dressing sturgeon in France. I give the names of a few of
them:--

Darne d’esturgeon à la broche sauce génoise.

Esturgeon en Tortue.

Esturgeon au vin de madere ou de champagne.

Cotelletes d’esturgeon à la Sainte Ménéhould.

Filets d’esturgeon à la Orly.

Papillotes d’esturgeon aux fines herbes.

Sturgeons in England are roasted, or baked, or boiled in Ude’s
manner, or served _à la Beaufort_, for which there is a receipt in
Francatelli’s “Modern Cook.”

Portions of this fish may be also served in _blanquettes_, and
_croquettes_, and as cutlets.

I give Carème’s receipt for serving a sturgeon _à la Napoleon_. It will
be seen that it requires three bottles of champagne.

_Esturgeon à la Napoleon._--Clean and tie up a piece of sturgeon (two
feet and a half in length), dress it in a _Mirepoix_ moistened with
three bottles of champagne, and two ladlesful of _consommé_; proceed
with it as above directed; take off the skin, glaze, and dish it,
surrounding it with a _ragoût à la Régence_, consisting of small
_quenelles_ of whitings, with cray-fish-butter, truffles, carps’
tongues, and mushrooms, of each a plateful; before putting them into
the sauce, mix a good piece of cray-fish-butter and a little glaze
with it; the _ragoût_ should receive scarcely a boiling afterwards;
lay upon the _ragoût_ some white roes of carp, and livers of turbots,
and surround it with a garniture of fillets of soles, decorated with
truffles; fix eight _hatelettes_ (skewers) garnished with truffles,
cray-fish, and smelts, turned round, and boiled in salt water, and
always serve a portion of the _ragoût_ in a sauce-boat.

In America they make a sturgeon soup from the fresh fish, and there is
also a “sturgeon soup à l’anglaise et à l’indienne”--the receipts for
which may be found in Francatelli’s “Modern Cook.”

The Romans much vaunted a sturgeon, and when served crowned it with
flowers. The Greeks also considered it as the best dish at their grand
repasts.

Next to turbot, the fish most in request at English dinner-tables
during the season is salmon. Our chief salmon fisheries are carried
on in the rivers and estuaries of Scotland; but the finest salmon in
the London market comes from the Southampton water, near Christchurch;
and much good salmon is also sent to Billingsgate both from Ireland
and Holland. The produce of the fishings of the rivers Tay, Dee, Don,
Skey, Findhorn, Beauley, Borriedale, Thurso, and the coasts adjacent,
are conveyed in steam-boats and small sailing-vessels to Aberdeen,
where they are packed with ice in boxes, and sent to London. The Severn
salmon is in season in January, February, March, October, November, and
December; and the Scotch from March to September. There are innumerable
ways of dressing salmon practised by French cooks, such as _Darne de
saumon au vin de champagne_, _sauce au beurre d’écrevisses_, _saumon au
court bouillon_, _à la française_, _à la Régence_, _à la Cardinale_,
&c.; but it may be questioned whether salmon is ever eaten with more
relish or satisfaction by Englishmen than when plain boiled, either
whole or in slices, in the English fashion. It may be served with
lobster, shrimp, Dutch, or parsley-and-butter sauce. The slices of
crimped salmon served at London dinners in May and June, are, to my
mind, perfection.

Nonius says of this fish,--“Carnem enim habet teneram dulcem et
præpinquem.”

The cod-fish brought to England is much finer than that sold on the
Continent; and from November to April there can be no better dish
than slices of crimped cod, done either in the English or the Dutch
fashion, which most Englishmen prefer to the more elaborate dressing
of French cooks. A _Béchamel_ of cod-fish in the French fashion is,
however, a very good thing; and _cabillaud grillé à la Laguipierre_ is
excellent. This last was said to be a favourite dish with the late Duke
of Wellington; and certain it is, that it was often placed on the table
both at Strathfieldsaye and at Apsley House.

The haddock, which is now more commonly served at English dinner-tables
than in my youth, is an excellent fish when of the proper size. The
Dublin Bay haddock is pre-eminently good, and merits the encomium of
Galen:--“Aselli si probo utantur alimento et in maripuro degunt, carnis
bonitate cum saxatilibus contendunt.”[13]

Pliny also in his ninth book, cap. xvii., says the haddock “post
acipenserem apud antiquos nobilis simum piscium.”[14] Haddocks, to my
thinking, are best dressed in the English fashion--boiled, either
with egg or parsley-and-butter sauce. In Ireland, they sometimes serve
them with cockle sauce: and an excellent friend of mine (the son of
a late accomplished and eloquent Chief Justice of the Queen’s Bench)
tells me they are admirable in this fashion. In French cookery, the
haddock is generally dressed and served as cod-fish is dressed. There
are worse things than a fillet of haddock _à la Royale_, or _à
l’italienne_.

There is no more nourishing or easily digested fish than the sole,
and it is in season all the year round. The richest and largest sole,
called by some the black sole, comes from the Devon coast; and these,
as well as the Dover sole, and the black sole of Ireland, are best
plain boiled. The smaller and whiter sole found on the coast of Sussex
is best fried. Lemery calls the sole, _perdrix marina_ (the partridge
of the sea); and Ovid classes it with the flounder, to which it is far
superior.

“Fulgentes soleæ candore et concolorillis passer.”

There are thirty or more excellent ways of serving sole in the French
fashion, the principal of which are _à la Colbert_, _à la Perigord_,
_au gratin_, _en matelote normande_, _à la provençale_, _filets de
soles aux truffes_, _et aux fines herbes_. All of these are excellent,
but require a good cook. If you are not sure of your cook, order your
soles to be fried or plainly boiled.

I must say a word on the fish of which the celebrated Roman orator
Hortensius was so fond--a fish furnishing occasion for the epigrams
of Martial, and the scathing satire of Juvenal. Red mullet is only
prime during the warm weather, and is best done _en papillote_. It may
also be done _en caisse aux fines herbes_, _à l’italienne_, and _à là
Cardinale_, but in no way is it so good as _en papillote_.

Mullet should never be drawn; it is sufficient to take out the gills,
as the liver and trail are the best parts of the fish. When we know
that Apicius spent £60,000 to vary the taste of sauces, we can well
believe that a sum of £240 was given in the olden time, at Rome, for
three mullets of a large size.

I will only speak of two other fishes, the john-dory and the lamprey.
The john-dory is finest on the western coast of England, and is best
plain boiled. Quin, the actor, a great gourmand, was remarkably fond of
this fish and red mullet, and used to go down to Exeter for the purpose
of eating them. One morning after his arrival in the west, his valet
came in to call him as usual. “Well, John, any dory in the market?”
“No, sir.”

“Very well; I’ll lay a-bed to-day. You may call me this time to-morrow.”

There are two kinds of lampreys--the marine lamprey, found at Worcester
and Gloucester, where it is dressed and preserved, to be heated up with
a wine. The other, the lampern, is found in the Thames from October
till March. The lamprey is in the best condition in April and May.
Receipts for dressing lamprey, _à la Forey_, _à la Beauchamp_, and _à
la Beaufort_, may be found in Francatelli’s “Modern Cook.”

While on the chapter on fish, I may as well state that the late Marquis
de Cussy, prefect of the palace of the first Napoleon, has published a
book, in which he states his belief that the Reformation was brought
about by the compulsory use of fish and meagre fare on particular days.
Here are his words:--

“The schism of Martin Luther was really and seriously occasioned by the
fastings and the like punishments inflicted on the true believers of
Germany. The spiritual power should never meddle with the kitchen. In
consequence of this fault, the situation of the Church was changed in
Europe.”

Carème’s thoughts on living on _maigre_ diet are equally curious.

“It is in a lenten kitchen,” he says, “that the cleverness of a cook
can shed a brilliant light. It was in the Elysée Imperial, and by the
example of the famous Laguipierre and Robert, that I was initiated into
this fine branch of the art, and it is inexpressible. The years of ’93
and ’94, in their terrible and devastating course, respected these
strong heads (_ces fortes têtes_). When our valiant First Consul
appeared at the head of affairs, our miseries and those of gastronomy
finished. When the empire came, one heard of soups and _entrées
maigres_. The splendid _maigre_ first appeared at the table of
the Princess Caroline Murat. This was the sanctuary of good cheer, and
Murat was one of the first to do penitence. But what a penitence!”

One does not know whether to be indignant or to laugh at this. The old
proverb, “set a beggar on horseback and he will ride to the devil,”
is undoubtedly true. A few years before the consulate, the ambitious
Caroline Buonaparte, afterwards wife of Murat, was, with her mother and
the other female members of her family, in so destitute a situation
at Marseilles, that they had not the means of buying wood to warm
themselves; and as to Murat, her husband, it is well known that he rose
from the very dregs of society, his father being a village innkeeper at
Bastide Frontonière, in the department of Lot.

It was Murat’s kitchen, Carème tells us, that restored _le beau maigre_
to mother Church. Thus the great _chef_ unfolds his views as to fish
dinners:--

“Succulence, variety, and _recherche_, Murat undoubtedly desired at
his table, and his wishes were supplied. But he owed all these things
to our great Laguipierre” (his cook!) “whom he loved. What a labour
was Laguipierre’s! This glorious establishment of Murat’s, exhibiting
the grandeur of a royal household, was dearly loved by all true
gastronomes. The causes of its splendour were the magnificence of the
prince, the splendid, friendly, and associated talents of M. Robert,
his comptroller, and of the famous Laguipierre, his _chef de cuisine_.
I had the happiness, during two years, of being the first assistant
of Laguipierre, as well as his friend. In that time we recreated that
grand _cuisine maigre_, and restored _le beau maigre_ to old Mother
Church.”

Any one who wishes to dip further into the literature of fish dinners,
should read the article on red herrings, in the fourth volume of the
“Almanach des Gourmands;” the description of the house of Billiote,
whose cookery and cellars were patronized by the whole body of the
French clergy, and the description of the account of the _table
d’hôte_, _au nom de Jésus_, in the _Cloître St. Jacques de l’Hôpital_,
where a fish dinner was served up every Wednesday, Friday, and
Saturday, for the moderate sum of two francs ten sous. Such a dinner in
Imperial France of 1864 would cost four times the money.

When I first knew Paris as a youth in 1822, the most famous place for
a fish dinner was the Rocher de Cancale, in the Rue Montorguiel. It
was then and had for eighteen or twenty years before been kept by M.
Baleine, aided by Madame Beauvais.

In the sixth volume of the “Almanach des Gourmands,” published in 1808,
it is stated that this famous _restaurant_ was in that year frequented
by Russian princes, German barons, and the _élite_ of diplomatic
society, who then ordered dinners at ten, fifteen, and eighteen francs
per head, without wine. The cook at this period was said to be one of
the best in Paris, and the reputation of the house continued till
1840, and even later. You were always sure to find the finest and
freshest fish at the Rocher de Cancale; and the poultry, and meats,
and game were also of the choicest. But the year 1848, which upset the
Orleans dynasty, ruined this famous establishment, and it is now only
numbered as a thing of the past.

I remember dining there with a party of six persons in the year 1828,
the bill for our dinner amounted to 450 francs, or 75 francs per head,
including wine. The dinner principally consisted of divers kinds of
fish and game. From this dinner, composed of a _bisque_ or French soup,
with fillets of turbot and various _entrées_ of fish and game, every
one of the party rose hungry. On this occasion some _Chateau Margaux_
was ordered, said to be in bottle from 1789, a period of thirty-nine
years, for which a charge of fourteen francs per bottle was made.
But this would now be considered a _bagatelle_, as at several of the
_restaurants_ in Paris there is _Chateau Margaux_ charged at twenty
and twenty-five francs per bottle, not a quarter so old as the wine of
which I speak.

The most expensive part of the 1828 dinner was the fish, and not the
wine. M. Ferdinand Fayot, in his “Treatise de la Table particulière de
M. Talleyrand,” relates the following anecdote of an _abbé_ who was
wont to frequent the Rocher de Cancale for its fish:--

“A certain _abbé_, who was uncommonly fond of fish, often visited the
Rocher de Cancale. Upon one occasion, having dined copiously of salmon,
a heavy indigestion was the consequence. Three days afterwards, whilst
saying mass, the idea of the fish came across his mind, and, instead of
saying the _mea culpa_ of the _Confiteor_, he was heard to repeat, in
striking his breast, ‘Ah, le bon saumon! ah, le bon saumon!’”

[Illustration]

CHAPTER IX.

THE ROAST.

The definition given of the word roast in the “Dictionnaire des termes
du vieux François,”[15] is a very curious one. Here it is:--“Rost et
raust du rosty. Ce mot vient de _rusticus_ parceque le feu noirci,
et brule la viande comme le soleil qui hâle le visage des paysans.”
Anything more futile, trivial, and far-fetched than this it were
impossible to conceive; yet a person daily accustomed to lexicographic
studies will simply smile at meanings so forced and strained--meanings
very common, however, with dictionary makers and lexicographers.

Boxhornius, in his Britannico-Latin Dictionary, tells us _rhost_
(_sic_) is an ancient British word. “Antiquam esse vocem Brittanicam,
ostendit nomen Regis Armoricani, Daniel Dremrost ab ustis, oculis,
vel usto vultu sic dicti.” Wolfgang Lazius, also, in his tenth book,
“de Migrationibus Gentium” states that rost (_sic_) in the Vandal and
Teuton languages signifies a grill; and Jean Bruyère, in his book “de
Re Cibariâ,”[16] says, that in early times in France, a guest who was
invited to a dinner without a roast on a day when it was lawful to eat
meat--in other words, to live _en gras_--fared very frugally indeed, if
by any accident the roast was omitted. This can be well credited, for
among the English and French the roast has been always the principal
dish, or, as our neighbours would say, the _pièce de résistance_.

In very early times, in Paris, there were what were called in old
French, _rôstisseries_, where roast meats were sold ready to be
eaten instantly at meals. Du Loir tells us that in the mediæval
times, an Italian patriarch thought nothing so admirable at Paris as
these _rôtisseries_, where he could find such delicate tit-bits as a
roast _gigot_, or a roast shoulder or leg of lamb. The _rôtisseries_
were kept by _rôtisseurs_ and _rôtisseuses_, and they exist to this
day. There were independently of these general _rôtisseurs_, and
_rôtisseuses_ as they were called _en blanc_, who sold only larded
roasts, such as _filets piqués_, &c.

The _traiteur_, or the _cuisinier traiteur_, was sometimes also
a _rôtisseur_, a calling distinguished from the _pâtissier_ or
pastry-cook. The Company of _Maître Rôtisseurs_ in France was much
older than the Company of _Maître Cuisiniers_, which latter was only
erected into a corporation in 1559, in the reign of Henry IV. The
statutes of the _Maître Rôtisseurs_ were granted by Stephen Boileau,
Provost of Paris, about 1258. The _rôtisseurs_, for the most part,
lived in the street called _Aux Oyers_, where, so late as 1767, a great
many of them were established.

I have in another and preceding chapter remarked, that the French
kitchen was very much indebted to Italian cookery. The truth is,
that the Italians of the middle ages have been in most sciences the
instructors of Europe. Catherine de Medici came to France surrounded
with a legion of cooks, _rôtisseurs_ and _pâtissiers_, and these
new-comers first improved the cookery already existing, and having
found apt scholars in the French, were soon surpassed by their pupils.

The art of roasting is considered an especial art by our neighbours. It
is very true, that there is no process in cookery so simple, and yet
very few can accomplish it properly. A roast, whether of beef, mutton,
venison, lamb, or fowl, should neither be under nor over done. The
great secret therefore is to avoid either extreme, and so to hit the
middle point. Venison, beef, mutton, lamb, require to be equally done
through all the parts, yet no portion of the gravy should be wasted.
Scorching is not roasting, and burning is not browning a joint. The
best joint of beef for roasting in England is the sirloin. The fire
should be brisk and clear, as well as large, steady, and intense in
proportion to the size of the joint, and the meat should be perpetually
basted, so that no cessation in the process should take place. Large
joints should be put down soon after the fire is made up and begins to
burn. The gradual access of the heat to meat prevents its burning. If a
joint be burned in the early process, it is an evil scarcely remediable
in the subsequent stages of the operation of roasting. For this reason
it is that in the great kitchens in France there is always some one
whose special duty it is to attend to the roast alone. In the fourth
volume of the “Almanach des Gourmands,” it is said that a dinner may
be compared to the rooms of a house, and the roast is the _salon_ or
principal apartment. “The _salon_ in a French house,” says M. Grimod
de la Reynière, “is the room on which an hospitable host spends all
his spare money. It is furnished and decorated with the greatest care,
because in this room the master receives his friends. Just a like
process is pursued in respect to the roast that smokes upon his table.
It is the dish that has cost him most money, and on which he hopes to
content and feast his guests.” It is, therefore, most important that
the roast, by its excellence, juice, and tenderness, should satisfy;
for if it be bad, burned, or hard, all however excellent that has
preceded it, is forgotten; a tristful silence succeeds to hilarity,
and the grieved Amphitryon seeks to repair the blunder of his cook by
the production of excellent wine.

The misfortune is, that there is no strict law to “rule the roast.”
The doing it to a turn depends on a congeries of circumstances and
contingencies which are eternally varying. The beef or mutton may be
old, tough, sinewy, or not sufficiently hung. A great deal depends on
the size of the coal or wood before which it is placed. Much also on
the regular basting or the punctual arrival of the guests. Sometimes
a delay of five or ten minutes spoils a beautiful roast joint, and
renders it flavourless and insipid. “Ainsi,” says Grimod, (becoming
poetical) “Ainsi que la beauté dans sa fleur, il n’a qu’un moment pour
être cuelli et ce moment une fois passé ne revient jamais.”

It is not therefore an exaggeration to say that good roasters are
even more difficult to find than good cooks. It was the opinion of so
competent a judge as this, that in an establishment where the cook
attended both to the preparing of the dinner and the roast, the roast
was sure to be bad. I will not go to this length, for an experienced
kitchen-maid can always bestow on the roast of the first and second
course all the attention necessary. The roast, according to this
great and experienced authority, is divided into great and little
roast--_gros rôt et petit rôt_. The larger roast comprises venison,
beef, mutton, veal, lamb, and pork, quarters of wild boar, &c., and
the smaller, fowl, grouse, and small birds. Grimod recommends that
smaller birds should be larded with a slice of good lard. Great care
should be taken in the selection of the lard, for a rancid lard will
spoil the best bird that ever flew. At large dinners, the editor of
the “Almanach” holds that the roast should be served without _entrées_
or _entremets_, flanked merely by four different _salades_. A general
rule among cooks is to allow a quarter of an hour to each pound of the
joint. Thus a joint of eight pounds will take two hours. Slow roasting
adds to the tenderness and flavour of a joint, and it may be observed,
that the longer a joint is kept the less time it will require in
roasting.

Our roasts in England (with the single exception of a leg of mutton)
are better than in France. The quality of the meat (with the exception
of veal) is much better, and good English cooks excel in roasting
meat and game. Our game is much finer than in France, though we have
nothing to equal the French poularde of the Mans, in the department of
the Sarthe. Nothing in France can compare to our haunches and necks of
venison, to our barons and sirloins of beef, to our haunches, saddles,
and legs of mutton, to our barons and fore-quarters of lamb. Our beef
is in season all the year round, and may be given as a roast from
October to March. Our saddles, haunches, legs, and necks of mutton,
may also be given as a roast for the first course, being varied with
pork, veal, and roast turkey. For a second course in January and
February, we have widgeon and woodcock, snipe, teal, wild duck and
black game, hares, &c. All this game is better flavoured and better
roasted in England than in France. In April, we have excellent lamb for
a first course, with guinea-fowls and ducklings for a second. In May we
have poulardes and quails, turkey poults, &c., for a second. Venison
begins in June, and in August we have grouse, and that excellent
bird the golden plover. A little later come partridges, black cock,
and then snipe and wild duck, while lamb and mutton alternate in the
first. Mutton, whether as a roast, or an _entrée_ in the shape of
cutlets, can be alike served; and with Swift’s receipt for roasting
mutton, I will conclude this branch of the subject:

“Gently stir and blow the fire,
Lay the mutton down to roast,
Dress it quickly, I desire;
In the dripping put a toast,
That I hunger may remove;--
Mutton is the meat I love.

On the dresser see it lie;
Oh! the charming white and red!
Finer meat ne’er met the eye,
On the sweetest grass it fed;
Let the jack go swiftly round,
Let me have it nicely brown’d.

On the table spread the cloth,
Let the knives be sharp and clean,
Pickles get and salad both,
Let them each be fresh and green.
With small beer, good ale, and wine,
O ye gods! how I shall dine!”

I by no means mean to imply that our neighbours, the French, have
not a greater variety of ways of dressing their roasts for first and
second courses than we have; all I mean to assert is, that our simple
roasting of venison, beef, mutton, and game, is better than the French.
The material to work upon is incomparably better. _Toujours perdrix_,
however, is sure to pall on the palate, and our object should be to
vary our mode of dressing these excellent materials. Till schools of
cookery become more general, it will not be safe for a host, with an
ordinary plain cook, to set before his guest a _filet de bœuf_, sauce
_à la poivrade_, a _salmi_ of partridge, or a _filet de canard sauvage_.

It would even be a dangerous experiment in many cases to essay a loin
of veal _à la Béchamel_, fillets of fowl _à la tartare_, a common
_fricassée_ of chicken, or a braized saddle of lamb _à la jardinière_.

It is perhaps unnecessary to say that pork, veal, and lamb should be
done well; turkeys and fowls should have no red in them, but game
should be somewhat underdone.

I have already said that the time necessary to roast a joint depends
on a variety of circumstances, of which an experienced male or female
cook will be the best judge. The following table, however, very nearly
approximates to the exact time, supposing a coal fire to be employed:--

A joint of beef weighing 20 lbs. 4 hours.

„ 10 lbs. 2½ „

„ 6 lbs. 2 „

A joint of veal 10 lbs. 3½ „

„ 4 lbs. 2 „

A joint of mutton 10 lbs. 2 „

„ 6 lbs. 1½ „

„ 4 lbs. 1 „

A leg of lamb 1½ „

A joint of fresh pork 8 lbs. 4 „

„ 4 lbs. 1¾ „

A haunch of buck venison 4 „

A neck of buck 1½ to 2 „

A joint of venison 10 lbs. 2½ „

„ 6 lbs. 1½ „

(Venison should be rather under than over done.)

A large turkey 2 „

A medium-sized one 1¼ „

A turkey poult 1 „

A capon 1 „

A poularde 1¼ „

A large fowl ¾ „

A goose 1 to 1¼ „

A gosling ¾ „

A pigeon ½ „

A hare 1½ „

A leveret ¾ „

A rabbit ½ „

A pheasant ½ „

A partridge 20 minutes.

Cock of the wood, or black game, 1 to 1¼ hour.

Grouse ½ „

Woodcock ½ „

Snipe 20 minutes.

Golden plover 20 „

Teal 15 „

Quail 20 „

Larks 20 „

Ortolans 15 „

Fig-pecker 15 „

[Illustration]

CHAPTER X.

BOILING.

All meats should be boiled slowly, in sufficient water; and a ham
should not be allowed to boil until a very short time before it is
taken out of the pot, in which it has been allowed to simmer slowly for
four, five, or six hours, according to its size, age, &c. When meats
are boiled fast, the outside is hardened before the inside is warm; in
addition to which the meat becomes discoloured.

It is usual in boiling as well as in roasting, to allow a quarter of an
hour’s boiling to every pound of meat. The rule usually is a good one,
but there are several exceptions, that will task the discretion and
science of a cook.

If the joint be large and thick, such as buttock or round of beef,
more than a quarter of an hour must be allowed for each pound. If,
however, the joint be a small or a thin one, such as a neck of lamb,
somewhat less than a quarter of an hour for each pound will suffice.
During the process of boiling meat or fish, the scum which arises
should be skimmed off, otherwise the meat or fish will be discoloured.
The majority of cookery books direct that fresh meat should be put
into water when it boils, and salt meat when the water is cold;
but the better opinion seems now to be that fresh and salted meats
should be put into cold water, and allowed to become hot gradually.
The five constituent properties of the flesh of animals used by man
are--fibrine, gelatine, osmazone, fat, and albumen. Gelatine is soluble
only in boiling or very hot water, whereas osmazone is very soluble,
even in cold water, and contains the sapid principle of all meats.
Fat is insoluble in water, but the heat melts it, when it floats in a
liquid form on the surface.

Albumen resembles the white of an egg. It is soluble in cold or
lukewarm water, and coagulates at a less temperature than that of
boiling water. Albumen abounds in the blood, and exists in portions of
the flesh of animals. It is the albumen, in coagulating after having
been dissolved, which causes the scum to rise in the liquid in which
a joint has been boiled. It is evident that if the meat be put in a
vessel with boiling water, or if the water being cold be boiled too
quickly, the albumen in the first case by coagulating on the surface
of the water, and in the second in the interior of the joint of meat,
prevents the gelatine and osmazone from dissolving. Though boiling
does not require so much nicety and care as roasting, yet it is seldom
perfectly performed. It requires patient watchfulness and vigilance.
“It is natural,” says Count Rumford, “to suppose that many of the finer
and more volatile parts of food must be carried off by the steam when
the boiling is violent. The water should be heated gradually until it
boils, for the slower the meat boils the more juicy and tender will
it be. Meat freshly killed takes longer to boil than when it has been
properly hung, and meat killed in cold or frosty weather takes longer
to boil than meat killed in summer. Meat or poultry should not be
allowed to remain in the water after they are done, as they soon become
sodden.”

It is usual to boil lamb, veal, and pork longer than beef or mutton.
Of course all vessels in which meat is boiled, should be clean and
wholesome. Vessels of copper, brass, and lead must be avoided in
cookery, unless the inside be well tinned. The best saucepans are of
iron, tinned in the inside. I would observe, that salmon requires
nearly as much boiling as meat, that is to say, about a quarter of
an hour to every pound of fish. Turbot, salmon, john-dory, cod-fish,
haddocks, brill, skate, and the large Dover and West of England black
soles, are best boiled. Other kinds of sea-fish are best fried or
filleted, or done in the French fashion, such as _filets de turbot_,
sauce _suprême_, or _escalopes de turbot_, _aux truffes à la Royale_.
Cod-fish, besides being boiled or fried, may be served in twenty
ways--_à la hollandaise_, _à la Sainte Ménéhould_, _à la Perigeaux_,
_à la provençale_. As to salmon, the same observation may be made. It
may be served _à la Saint Cloud_, _à la génevoise_, _à la vénitienne_,
_à la Royale_, in _filets aux anchois_, _à la d’Artois_, _à la Sainte
Ménéhould_, _en papillotes_, _à la d’uxelle_; but, unless you have a
superior cook, salmon is best plain boiled.

I will conclude with the following remarks as to the time required to
boil poultry.

Turkeys, capons, fowls, chickens, &c., are all boiled in the same
manner, allowing time according to their size.

A chicken will take about twenty minutes.

A fowl, about forty minutes.

A poularde or capon, about an hour.

A small turkey, an hour and a half.

A large turkey, two hours or more.

Rabbits should be put into a basin of warm water; then put them into
plenty of water, and boil half an hour. If large, three quarters of an
hour.

* * * * *

Of frying I would merely say, that the frying is the finest and most
delicate when good olive oil is employed. “Il est reconnu que c’est
avec la bonne huile d’olive que se font fritures les plus fines, les
plus délicates.”--_Manuel de Cuisinier et de la Cuisinière_, par
P. Cardelli.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XI.

POULTRY.

The term Poultry, includes all the domesticated birds reared for the
table--fowls, capons, turkeys, geese, ducks, and guinea fowl. Those
who live in the country and intend to rear fowls for the consumption
of their families, should have a poultry-yard, called by the French,
a _basse cour_. It should be well sheltered, with a warm aspect,
and sufficiently inclined to be always dry. It should also be supplied
with sand or ashes, and there should be also a supply of running water,
of which poultry are fond. A green patch of earth should be next to
the poultry-yard, to allow the fowls free exercise. Poultry are the
better for high feeding from the very shell, and on this account it
is advisable to give them the heaviest corn. Even young chickens may
be put for feeding as soon as the hen has ceased to regard them. When
chickens are wanted for domestic purposes, they should be left at
liberty in the farm-yard, and if they have plenty of food they will
be soon fit for the table, and rich and juicy in flavour. Nowhere do
you get these young and juicy chickens better than at the country inns
in Ireland and Scotland. As soon as fowls are sufficiently fat, they
should be killed, or they will lose flesh and become unhealthy. Turkeys
are more delicate to rear in their infancy than fowls, but they become
hardy as they grow older. When well-grown, turkeys supply themselves
in their ramblings, so that they require no food but at leaving their
homes in the morning, and returning at night. After six months, turkeys
may be crammed, as is practised with fowls; but they require a much
longer period to render them fully fat for the table. Guinea fowls are
in the season greatly prized at London dinner tables. The same food
appropriated to the young of gallinaceous fowls and turkeys, is good
for guinea chicks.

The white duck being the largest of the domesticated kind, is the best
for the poulterer, though it is not usually considered so delicate in
flavour as the dark coloured. The grand object of preparing poultry
of all kinds as speedily as possible for the table, is effected
by supplying them with dry, soft, and green food, by keeping them
thoroughly clean, and by affording them water and exercise ground.

Of the wholesomeness of poultry, as an article of diet, Lémery thus
speaks in his “Traité des Aliments:”--

“Their flesh is pectoral, easily digested, produces good juice, is very
nourishing, increases the spirits, moistens and cools, and is very
proper for macerated persons, that are recovering from sickness. Avicen
pretends, it makes the understanding more quick and lively, and that it
clears the voice.

“It agrees at all times, with any age and constitution: in the meantime
it is better for nice persons, and such as lead an idle life, than for
those who are strong, robust, and used to a violent exercise or hard
labour, seeing these last require more solid food, and that does not so
easily waste.”

“Some persons,” he goes on to say, “formerly were of opinion, that the
eating of hens, chickens, and capons, caused the gout; and perhaps
there were two things that gave occasion for this popular error. First,
these animals are subject to the same disease, and consequently may
impart it to those who feed upon them; but it would follow from hence,
that we must contract all the diseases of every animal we eat of, which
we find otherwise by experience. Secondly, they were inclined to this
opinion, from a consideration that those who lead an idle life, fare
high, and feed upon juicy and nice food, such as chickens and capons,
are more afflicted with the gout than others; but it is not because
these people live usually upon capons and chickens, that they are
subject to this distemper, but rather by reason of the idle life they
lead, and the excess they go to in all sorts of pleasures. In short,
if it were true that the eating of these fowls brought the gout upon
us, we should see nothing else but gouty persons everywhere; for we may
say, that there is now-a-days no food more common than poultry.”

Of capons, this famous doctor thus speaks:--

“Their flesh is very nourishing, it produces good juice, is
restorative, recovers decayed strength, good for the phthisic and
consumptions, easy of digestion; and they often make broth of it, in
order to fortify and recover strength. The flesh of a capon is in
virtue and taste much like unto that of a chicken; in the mean time,
that of a capon is more nourishing, pleasant and properer for people
used to fatigue than the other; and the reason is, because this same
flesh contains juices that are more concocted, digested, and fuller of
oily balsamic particles.”

When poultry is brought into the kitchen for use, it should be kept
as cool as possible. The best position in which to place it is with
the breast downwards, on a shelf or marble slab. The crop and the gut
of the rump should be taken out. Choose fowls with a thin transparent
skin, white and delicate. Pigeons full fledged, are heating and hard to
digest. The younger they are in general the better, and in Italy, where
pigeons are much used, they are always eaten young.

In choosing turkeys, select the brown Norfolk; but if you can find any
of the red American breed, the flavour is still finer.

I have said in another chapter that the finest fowl in the world is the
_poularde du Mans_, in the department of La Sarthe. Here is a true
description of the manner in which that fine flavour which they possess
is given to the bird:--

“It is to the feeding on barley, and to that only, that the fine
flavour of the _poularde du Mans_ and of _La Fleche_ is to be
traced. This is one of the joys and delights of a gourmand, and if you
have a little farm, or even a trifle of a garden, you can fatten your
own fowl. With a little care and time, you will have fowls and capons
of an exquisite flavour. Feed them with ground barley, mixed with
bran and milk, for some days, and then put them in a cage in a dark,
dry spot. Give them as much farinaceous barley and milk as they can
swallow. But mind, above and before all things, to separate the little
cocks from the hens. This is indispensable, and must be rigorously
observed. In a fortnight or three weeks your fowls will have acquired a
fine and delicate obesity. ‘Beware,’ said Brillat de Savarin, ‘of the
turkey poults of the neighbourhood of Paris. They have a bitterness
which revolts a delicate palate, for they are fed on stale crusts,
horse-chestnuts, and sour vegetables.’”

The ordinary barn-door fowl, for which so many of us are compelled to
pay 5_s._ 6_d._ in the month of May, at the West-end poulterers, is
thus remorselessly treated by a French gourmand, Berchoux, in his poem
“La Gastronomie,”--

“Proscrivez sans pitié ces poulets domestiques,
Nourris en votre cour et constamment étiques,
Toujours mal engraissés par des soins ignorants;
Ne connaissez que ceux de la Bresse ou du Mans.”

A fowl or chicken should be kept some time before it is cooked. If
cooked immediately on being killed, as is frequently the case at
country inns in Ireland and Scotland, even a young fowl is tough.
Horace’s method of rendering a fowl tender is well remembered by every
Etonian:--

“Si vespertinus subitò te oppresserit hospes,
Ne gallina malùm responset dura palato,
Doctus eris vivam musto mersare Falerno:
Hoc teneram faciet.”

“Poultry,” says M. Brillat Savarin, “is to the kitchen that which
canvas is to the painter, or Fortunatus’ wishing cap to the charlatan.
Poultry may be served boiled, roasted, fried, hot or cold, whole or in
parts, with or without sauce, boned or unboned, devilled, grilled, or
farced, and always with equal success.” To my thinking, the best fowls
in France are those “du Mans,” in the department of La Sarthe; but M.
Brillat Savarin holds those of Caux in Normandy, and de la Bresse,
to be equally good. The _poularde_ of Montalbanois en Quercy is
excellent.

For ages roast poultry has been a favourite dish in England.
Shakespeare, who knew every thing, from heaven-born philosophy down
to humblest household affairs, puts into the mouth of Justice Shallow
directions for a dinner, which might be eaten with relish now-a-days.
“Some pigeons, Davy; a couple of short-legged hens (the true criterion
of goodness), a joint of mutton, and any pretty, little tiny
kickshaws.” A capon in his day was as much relished as now, and the
cost, according to the papers found in the pocket of Falstaff, was, a
capon 2_s._ 2_d._, sauce 4_d._, sack, two gallons, 5_s._ 8_d._, bread,
a halfpenny.

Our roasting of poultry, though not so excellent as our roasting of
beef and mutton, is yet very good, and unless a host be sure of his
cook, he had better order for his guest a roast capon, a roast fowl,
or a roast or boiled turkey. The turkey, either roast or boiled is
excellent, and the same remark applies to fowl. If served boiled,
nothing is better than good celery sauce, either with fowl or turkey.
There are scores of ways of serving a _poularde_ in France. There is
the _poularde rôtie_, the _poularde au gros sel_, the _poularde à la
bourgeoise_, the _poularde à la Montmorency_, _à la Marseillaise_, _à
la Tartare_, _au suprême_, invented by Beauvilliers, and _à la Grimod
de la Reynière_.

There are also various _entrées_ of fowl and chicken, such as _poulets
à la reine_, _à la regence_, _à la Montmorency_, _à l’ivoire_; and
various _fricassées_, as, _à la chevalière_, _à la Saint Lambert_,
_à la financière_, _à la Bourguinonne_, _à la Villeroi_, and _tutti
quanti_; but it is necessary to say, that to produce these _entrées_,
or the _filets de poulet à la royale_, or _cotellettes de cuisses de
poulets à la perigueux_, or _à suprême de volaille_, one must have an
accomplished cook.

The sooner we multiply schools of cookery for _entrées_ and
_entremets_, the better. There are a couple or three existing already,
I believe: one in Mortimer Street, Cavendish Square; one in Charles
Street, Middlesex Hospital; and one in Berners Street, Oxford Street.
But there ought to be twenty times as many. Nothing is so difficult to
obtain as a good cook, and yet higher wages are paid to male and female
cooks than to any other class of servants.

There is an immense consumption of turkeys at Paris, at Christmas time,
and a much larger consumption in London. In the days of stages, the
Norfolk coaches were stowed with turkeys from the middle of December to
Twelfth-day; and in our day the goods traffic on the Norfolk Railway is
more than trebled during Christmas. In the “Physiologie du Goût,” of
Brillat Savarin, under the head “Influence financière du Dindon,” is
the following remark:--

“I have some reason to think, that from the commencement of November to
the end of February, 300 truffled turkeys are daily consumed in Paris,
making a total of 36,000 turkeys. Calculate the value of these.”

The English have yet to learn the general use of the truffle with the
turkey. A rich bourgeois of Paris will go to the expense of from 60
to 75 francs for a first-rate turkey for his _rôti_, and will
afterwards disburse from 70 to 100 francs in truffles to season the
bird. We have no idea of this expenditure in England, nor do our higher
and better classes use or consume truffles as they ought to be used.
Chaptal, who was one of Napoleon’s Ministers of the Interior in France,
published a work, “Sur l’Industrie Française,” in 1819. In it he speaks
of the enormous quantities of fowls in France:--

“In order to have an idea (says the Comte de Chaptal) of the enormous
quantity of fowls of all species which exists in France, it will
suffice to observe, that there are annually sold at the markets of
Toulouse 120,000 geese, which are fattened in the neighbourhood; and
M. Lavoisier has estimated the number of eggs consumed at Paris, on
an average of several years, at 78,000,000, and the number of fowls
at 39,000,000. Supposing the price of each to be a franc, including
the cocks, this would give a capital of 41,600,000 francs. If to this
be added the value of hens and cocks, of turkeys, geese, ducks, and
pigeons renewed almost every year, the amount may be augmented by
10,000,000; so that the capital for fowls of all species amounts to
51,600,000 francs.”

Some exquisites and Muscadins of the second Empire maintain that there
is nothing “si Chaussée d’Antin,” nothing “si lourdement bourgeois” as
a _dinde aux truffes_, as a _plat de rôt_. Let these coxcombs rail on.
The _dinde aux truffes_, as a Christmas Parisian dish, will survive
them and the false gods of their idolatry. Of the turkey, Nonius says,
“Egre giè alunt et bonum succum corpori suppeditant.”[17]

Some writers, such as Athenæus, Ælian, and Aristotle, would have us
believe that turkeys were known to the ancients under the name of
Meleagrides, but this is a mistake. It is a nice question when turkeys
first appeared in France, and who first introduced them. La Mare, in
his “Traité de la Police,” would have it that it was Jaques Cœur, the
treasurer of Charles VII.; but this is also an error. According to
Champier, who wrote his treatise “De Re Cibariâ,” in 1560, they were
only introduced into France a few years before he wrote. Here are his
words:--“Venere in Gallias, annos abhinc paucos, aves quædam externæ,
quas gallinas indicas appellant: credo quoniam ex Insulis Indiæ nuper
à Lusitanis Hispanisque palefactæ, primum invectæ fuerunt in urbem
nostrum.”

In the French poets of the thirteenth century, and in authors still
more ancient, there is frequent mention of capons. Madame de Sevigné
speaks of the “poulardes de Cân,” and of the “bonnes poulardes de
Rennes.”

In Regnard’s “Comedy du Bal,” A.D. 1696, the author speaks in praise
of “les poulardes de Caux.” Long--nearly a century--antecedent to
this, our own Shakespeare, had used the word “capon” again and again;
and again Le Grand d’Aussy contends that the Gauls learned the art
of fattening and cramming fowls from the Romans. Crammed fowls were
from early times more esteemed in France than any others. Among the
officers of the Royal household in France in early times, was a crammer
of fowls. An ordonnance of St. Louis dated in 1261, more than six
centuries ago, gives to this officer the name of _poulailler_.

Our neighbours on the other side of the Straits of Dover are not
only very fond of fowls and capons, but of much smaller birds. They
eat thrushes, blackbirds, and robin red-breasts. Dr. Roques, in his
“Fragments sur les Plantes usuelles,” thus speaks of this liking for
smaller birds:--

“The taste for blackbirds and thrushes has passed from the ancients
to the moderns. These birds are much esteemed in Germany, and in
our southern provinces. The blackbirds of Corsica and Provence
are renowned, above all renowned as they feed on myrtle and
juniper-berries. Cardinal Fesch, archbishop of Lyons, had a supply
every year from Corsica. One dined at the house of his eminence partly
because of his agreeable manners, partly for the noble and gracious
reception he gave you, but, also, for his blackbirds, which were of
exquisite flavour. More than one Lyonnese gourmand impatiently waited
for the archiepiscopal clock to strike six. Then it was that these
delicate little birds appeared upon the table, their delicious perfume
charming all the guests. Their appearance, their seductive _tournure_,
were also admired. Their backs were garnished with a small bouquet
of fried sage, in some sort imitating the tail with which they were
furnished when they poured forth their notes from the elm and hawthorn.
‘But what,’ the reader will exclaim, ‘you do not speak of the fine
oil in which these beautiful birds were baked, nor of the agreeable
_rôtis_, whose bitterness strengthened your stomach, while it perfumed
your mouth?’ You are right, judicious reader.”

Although the poulterers in London truss all the different animals which
they send home, yet, as it often happens, that untrussed game and
poultry are sent to private families from the country, it is necessary
that the art of trussing should be known by every cook.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XII.

GAME AND PASTRY.

Game in England is declared to include hares, pheasants, partridges,
grouse, heath or moor game, black game, and bustard. Snipe, quail,
landrail, woodcock, and conies are not game; but they can only be taken
or killed by certificated persons. Game has been always prized amongst
us at table; and it has been a subject of legislation from the Conquest
to the present time. In the time of Queen Mary, there was not only a
keeper of pheasants and partridges to the queen, but likewise a taker.
The kings of England had also, formerly, a swanherd; and Sir E. Coke
makes this office one of his titles in the Fourth Institute.[18] The 17
chap. of Henry VIII. is entitled, “The forfeiture for taking of fesants
and partridges, or the eggs of hawkes or swans.” That the gentry, even
in those early days, were imbued with sound common sense, and could
regard the pleasurable as well as the _palatable and profitable_
side of a question, will appear from the preamble to this statute. It
recites the great injury to lords of manors, not only from the loss of
the pleasure and disport to their friends and servants, but likewise
the loss to their _kitchen and table_. So that in 1494, ideas of
gourmandise and good cheer were just as rife as in 1864.

Falconry, says the Hon. Daines Barrington,[19] first occasioned the
system of game laws; and hence, herons were held in high esteem,
being the noblest bird the falcon could fly at. There can be no doubt
whatever that, less than three centuries ago, herons were eaten both
in England and France. Our ancestors, indeed, were much less delicate
and less particular as to the tenderness of their food than their
descendants, for they ate not only the heron, but the crane, the crow,
the cormorant, and the bittern. In an old cookery book of Taillevant,
who was first cook of Charles VII. of France, there are receipts for
dressing these last-named birds. In the statutes of Bordeaux, made in
1585, with a view to regulate the sale of game, in the regulation of
Henry II. in 1549, for the same object the heron is counted among
the number of birds allowed to be brought to market. When Charles
IX. passed through Amiens, he was offered, among other birds, twelve
herons, six bitterns, and six swans. Bélon, in his history of birds,
written in 1554, says, that the bittern, though of a nauseous taste
at first, “est cependant entre les délices françoises;” and Liebant
calls the heron “une viande royale.” _Héronnières_ were, in his day,
as common among French gentlemen as were _faisanderies_ in 1760 or
1780. Three centuries ago, vultures and falcons, and other birds of
prey, were also eaten in France--now, and for a century and a half, so
_friande_ and dainty in its tastes. In Auvergné, Bélon states that in
winter every one ate of a kind of eagle, named _boudrée_, or _gorian_;
though he admits owls and birds feeding on carrion were not served
at table. It is singular that the very people who then ate herons,
vultures, and cormorants, would not touch young game. They regarded
leverets and young partridges as indigestible, and only partook of old
hares and old birds. Henry Stevens states that the eating of young
game was introduced by the Ambassador of France, who had sojourned at
Venice. Game among our neighbours, the French, is divided into _gros
gibier_ and _menu gibier_. In the _gros gibier_ is comprised the
buck, doe, stag, wild boar, &c.; and the _menu gibier_ comprehends
pheasant, wild duck, teal, larks, ring-doves, partridges, woodcocks,
quails, ortolans, thrushes, grouse, red-breasts, lapwings, &c. French
writers also speak of _le gibier à poil_, in which are comprised
hares, leverets, and rabbits. It will be at once seen that the French
consider as game many small birds on which we set little value. In
the excellence and succulence of our game, and the number of our game
preserves, we beat the world. The only countries that can be compared
to England in the excellence and abundance of game are Hungary, Styria,
Carinthia, and parts of the Basque provinces, Gallicia, and Spanish and
Portuguese Estremadura.

Southey, who visited Spain in 1797, speaks thus in his letters of
having a woodcock for supper at Merida:--“At Merida we had a woodcock
for supper, which we trussed ourselves; but the old woman of the house
brought up the bird sprawling, told us that they had forgot to cut off
the rump and draw it, and then poked her finger in to show how clean
the inside was.”

Nearly thirty years after this date I can myself bear testimony to the
abundance of game in parts of Spain, and to the excellent manner in
which a _salmi_ of partridges is occasionally served in the Peninsula.
It is one of the few dishes in Spanish cookery which an Englishman can
relish.

Game is a light food, and easy of digestion; and there is no country
in the world in which it is plainly roasted so well as in England. But
in _sautés_, _filets_, or cutlets of game, in _salmis_ of game _aux
truffes_, _à la rocambole_, in _crepinettes_, or _à la provençale_, we
are not to be spoken of in the same century with the French. There
are even tolerably simple ways of dressing game _à la française_, in
which some of our French cooks are no adepts. I will not speak of
_perdreau aux choux_, for I deem it profanation to serve cabbage with
so admirable a bird; but you cannot always trust a good English cook
to serve a partridge or a quail _à la financière_. Our game pies, more
especially in country houses, are good, but they are not to be compared
to the _pâté de bécassines aux truffes_, or the _pâtés des cailles
aux fines herbes_, or to the _pâté de godiveau aux champignons_,
or _aux truffes_. The _chévreuil à France_ is very inferior to our
venison, and it is only the sauce _poivrade_, the truffles, or the
_filet à l’italienne_, or _à la Marechale_ that makes it eatable. It
may be asked why we cannot have these dishes in England? There is no
reason why we should not have them, if schools of French cookery are
multiplied, and families will go to the expense of the Madeira and
Malaga wines, the truffles, the morels, the button mushrooms, and the
bunches of sweet herbs. These things are expensive in London; and
there are few so prone to obey the vulgar appetite of the belly--to
use a phrase of the Roman historian, Sallust--that the outlay is not
incurred. Our peers, our country gentlemen, as well as our wealthy
merchants, are quite content to have their game well-roasted, which
means not overdone. It is one of the old canons of cookery to spit the
game when the first course is removed: “Quand le premier service est
fini il faut mettre le gibier à la broche.” I cannot choose but think,
however, that we may easily vary our roast hare and boiled rabbit by
fillets and cutlets of both, by _civets_ of hare, and by _salmis_ and
scollops of pheasant _à la Bourguinotte_, and _à la Richelieu_, or
fillets of _partridge à la Perigird_, or _à la Lucullus_.

Pheasant is often a dry bird in England, and oftener so in France;
but I would not order a woodcock _en salmi_, unless the bird were of
venerable age. Nonius, who wrote about 240 years ago, tells us there
are two sorts of pheasants in France; one is called Royal and the other
is called _bruyant_. Here are his words:--“Galli duplex phasianorum
genus statunt, Regium unum quod prestantius est de quo jam diximus,
alterum quod Bruyant vocant.”[20] But in this the learned writer is
probably mistaken, and confounds _bruyant_ with _Coq de bruyère_.
Grimod de la Reynière says:--“A pheasant should be suspended by the
tail, and eaten when he detaches himself from this incumbrance. It is
thus that a pheasant hung on Shrove Tuesday is susceptible of being
spitted on Easter-day.”

* * * * *

I have not said anything on pastry or cold _entrées_, because the
pastry-cook and the cook constitute, in France and in most continental
countries, two different trades or employments. In England, however,
the cook and the pastry-cook are often, in considerable establishments,
amalgamated; so that the perfect or professed cook should be conversant
with every branch of his or her profession, as few establishments,
even of the highest in rank or the most wealthy, include a cook and a
confectioner, or pastry-cook. Those, therefore, who, in this country,
are anxious to excel in their art, ought to be acquainted with the
various preparations of pastry, by which I mean not merely tarts,
puddings, but _feuilletage_, or puff-paste, and paste for hot and
cold pies, paste for timbals, half-puff paste, and paste for heavy
cakes, &c.

From Carème’s observations on making paste, one may conceive that,
to his thinking, the operation was difficult. “The soul of the
operation,” says he, “consists in having the paste well mingled; for,
should there be any neglect in the preparation, a bad result only can
be obtained: also, if the pastry, when baked, possesses a colour the
least objectionable to the eye of the connoisseur, it will be no less
disagreeable to the palate, being heavy and indigestible; therefore
the manipulation should be perfect, both in the oven and on the
table. It is easier to bake than to make it. The oven claims, it is
true, care, assiduity, and practice; _but the composition permits
not mediocrity--requiring memory, taste and skill_--for, from its
perfect seasonings, and the due amalgamation of the different bodies
of which it is composed, it receives its good or bad qualities. The
oven is one simple and self-same thing--the compositions are varied to
infinity.”

In most moderate establishments, where a regular dinner is given, the
ordinary cook, with the aid of a first-rate man cook, has quite enough
to do in preparing the soup, fish, meats, fowl, and game, without being
embarrassed with patties and pastry. I would therefore suggest that
in establishments where there are not first-rate assistants, and a
sufficient number of them, patties, and all kinds of pastry, jellies,
ices, &c., should be procured from the confectioner. There are many
first-rate confectioners who undertake this duty, such as Gunter,
Grange, Bridgman, Waud, and others. A great deal of trouble will thus
be saved to the host; and unless his kitchen and his servants be all
of a superior description, it is likely the small patties, pastry,
ices, and confectionary, will be better from the confectioner’s than
if prepared at home. Of course, every professed cook ought to know how
to make _pâtés_ of venison and of all sorts of game and fish; but with
what the French call _pâtisserie_ it is different, and entertainers who
wish these articles will do well to order them from a confectioner.

For small family dinners every good cook should know how to make
apricot puffs, orange or rum jelly, _blanc-manger_, _tourtes_, apple
tarts, _soufflés_, iced puddings, _gauffres_, _nougats_, _merlitons_,
_Charlottes à la Russe_, gooseberry and all tartlets; but this is
a widely different thing from undertaking this duty for a dinner of
fourteen, sixteen, or twenty persons, in addition to the two or three
courses. For my own part, I have remarked that the people most in the
habit of dining out eat very sparingly of _pâtés_ and pastry.

Under the head _pâtisseries_, the French in general comprehend, first,
_les pâtés chauds et tourtes d’entrées_. Secondly, _les pâtés froids_,
_les gateaux_, _les pâtisseries sucrées_. Thirdly, _les pâtisseries
seches ou croquantes_, eaten at dessert. In early ages, in France, the
_cabaretiers_, who furnished food to the traveller, furnished also
pastry. Saint Louis, in 1270, regulated this trade by certain statutes;
but there was not a regular company of _pâtissiers_ till 1567. One
hundred and fifty years ago Pithiviers was celebrated for its _pâtés_
of larks; Perigueux, for its _pâtés_ of truffled partridges; Amiens,
for its turkeys and geese; Angers, for its _poulardes_; Versailles, for
its _foies gras_, and Strasbourg and Toulouse, for its _pâtés of foies
d’oies_. It was not till 1780 that a _pâtissier_ of Paris invented
_pâtés de jambon_. When l’Hôpital was Chancellor of France, he forbade
the sale of _petits pâtés_ in Paris, on the ground, “qu’un pareil
commerce favorisait d’un côté la gourmandise et de l’autre la paresse.”

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XIII.

CHEESE AND SALADS.

There is a great deal of difference in cheese. Much depends on the
preparation and seasoning, much on its being new or old, much on its
taste and smell. That is the best cheese which is neither too old nor
too new, which is called fat, and is salted enough, and which is of
middling consistence, has been made of good milk, and is of good taste
and smell. Cheese is nourishing enough, and helps digestion if you take
but a little of it, according to the Latin line--

“Caseus ille bonus quem dat avara manus.”

The flavour and goodness of cheese depends in a considerable degree on
the nature of the pasture on which the cows are fed; yet the mode in
which the different stages of the lubrication of the curd is managed,
is also to be taken into consideration. Hence the superiority of the
cheeses of particular districts over others, without any apparent
difference in the pasture. Soft and rich cheeses are the best for the
epicure’s dinner, and are not intended to be kept long. Hard and dry
cheeses will not be relished by men of taste, or offered by hosts who
care for the comfort and health of their guests. Of the rich cheeses
almost all are cream cheeses; and those soft cheeses called Bath and
Yorkshire cheeses, sold as soon as made: but these if kept too long
become soft and putrid.

Stilton and Gruyère cheeses are intermediate between the soft and hard.
The Gruyère and Parmesan cheeses differ only in the nature of the milk,
and in the degree of heat given to the curd in different parts of the
process. Gruyère cheese is entirely made from new milk, and Parmesan
from skimmed milk. In the first nothing is added to give flavour; in
the latter, saffron gives both colour and flavour.

The best English cheeses are the Stilton, Cheshire, double Gloucester,
and Cheddar; and Stilton and Cheshire are greatly prized in Paris. For
the last thirty years or more it has appeared to me that finer Stilton
and Cheshire cheeses are to be had in the _restaurants_ of Paris than
in London. The Stilton and Cheshire cheeses at Chevets, Corcellets,
and other _magazins de comestibles_ in Paris, are larger than those
generally seen in London, and I dare say a better price is paid for
them by the French than by the English dealers, for _gourmands_ in
Paris will give larger prices for table luxuries than people _ejusdem
farinæ_ in London. It may be also that our English cheeses, like our
English and Irish porter, is improved by the voyage, though if this
were so, there is no reason why one should not eat better cheese in
Dublin than in London, which one never does. My idea is that the
super-excellence of the Stilton in Paris arises from the fact that
it is improved or doctored (to use a trade phrase) by a perfect
_connoisseur_ in the art of improving _comestibles_. Cellarmen in
France, when a cheese has become very dry, wash it several times in
soft water, and then lay it in a cloth moistened with wine or vinegar
till it becomes soft and mellow, which it will inevitably become if it
be a rich cheese.

Stilton cheese is made by adding the cream of the preceding evening’s
milk to the morning’s milking. To eat a Stilton cheese in perfection,
you must not only have one made of rich milk, but manage it well after
it is so made. Epicures prefer a Stilton cheese with a green mould.
To accelerate the growth of this mould, pieces of mouldy or over-ripe
cheese are inserted into holes made for the purpose by a scoop or
instrument called a taster. Wine or ale is then poured in. But the
best Stiltons do not require this, for they are in perfection when
the inside is soft and rich, like butter, without any appearance of
mouldiness. Cheeses are frequently coloured to make them look rich; the
substance most commonly used for this purpose is arnotto, or the juice
of the orange, carrot, and marygold flowers.

The best cheeses in France are those of Neufchâtel in Normandy, of
Brie, which is much eaten in Paris, and above all, the _fromage de
Roquefort en Rouergue_, now called Aveyron. To my taste this is the
best of all dry cheeses; it has some analogy with Stilton, but is
much finer. Roquefort cheese is manufactured in the village whose
name it bears. Some portion of the excellence of this cheese is due
to the cellars in which the straining or refining of the cheese takes
place, and some portion to the peculiar manner in which the animals
are milked; a process which is explained by M. Giron de Bazareinques.
Roquefort cheese is made of a mixture of sheep and goat’s milk; the
first communicates consistence and quality, the latter whiteness and
a peculiar flavour. Roquefort cheese may be had in perfection at
Corcellets’ Palais Royal, and at Morel’s in Piccadilly.

Gruyère cheese is made in the canton of Friburg, in Switzerland, and in
the provinces of Franche-Comté, Bresse, and Bugey. There is a cheese
made in the Mont d’Or, in Auvergne, which has a high flavour.

At large dinners in London, cheese is oftenest eaten in the form of
_ramequins_, or grated Parmesan, and other preparations; but at
small dinners the Stilton, the Roquefort, the Chester, the double
Gloucester, or the Somersetshire cheese is invariably produced.

For nearly a thousand years the art of mixing herbs and cheese together
has been known in England and France. In France this operation is
called _persiller_, because a good deal of parsley is mixed with
the cheese, as here we mix a good deal of sage.

Cheese is always produced at the end of a repast. In any other fashion
the Italian proverb makes light of it:--

“Fromagio, peri, e pan
Pasto de vilan.”

According to La Bruyère Champier, who, when attached to the household
of Francis I. in a medical capacity in 1560, wrote his treatise “De
Re Cibariâ,” cheese was the principal production, and the principal
aliment of the Auvergnats.

In the earliest times in France, several of the provinces made good
cheeses. Pliny states that those of Nimes were much sought for in his
time at Rome, as well as those of Mont Losere and the neighbourhood:
but these cheeses would not keep, and were eaten fresh. Martial makes
mention of the cheese of Toulouse.

Italian cheeses were not introduced into France till the time of
Charles VIII. When this monarch on his expedition to Naples passed
through Placentia, or Placenza, as it is more commonly called, the
citizens presented him with several cheeses. But he was so astonished
at the size of them (“aussi grand,” says Monstrelet, “quasi comme la
largeur de meules à moulin”) that out of curiosity he sent one to
the queen and to the Duke of Bourbon, who were then sojourning in
Bourbonnais. It was found excellent, and henceforth came into general
use. De Serres, who wrote in 1600, gave the first rank among foreign
cheeses to Parmesan, and the second to Turkey cheeses, which arrived
in France in bladders. Gontier, in his treatise “De Sanitate tuendâ,”
written in 1688, mentions among excellent cheeses that of Gruyère.

Ninety or a hundred years ago, the taste as to cheese changed in Paris,
and not long antecedent to the French Revolution of 1789, cheese was
thought fit food only for Germans, English, or Italians.

The popular proverb then was--

“Jamais homme sage,
Ne mangea fromage.”

But, nevertheless, any one who examines cookery books of the time of
Louis XV. and Louis XVI., will find that cheese was used in an infinity
of _ragouts_, and that toasted cheese was placed in a liquid state on
toast, with cinnamon, sugar, and aromatic spices. This was evidently an
improvement on the old Welsh-rabbit, or rare-bit, which was so seldom
well done, even at the Wrekin in Russell Court, Covent Garden, a house
frequented by Edmund Kean in my younger days. Dr. King, in his “Art of
Cookery,” thus speaks of toasted cheese:--

“Happy the man that has each fortune tried,
To whom she much has given and much denied;
With abstinence all delicate he sees,
And can regale himself on toasted cheese.”

Of caseous substances, Nonius says:--“Magna est differentia inter
recentem et vetustum caseum. Recens enim et mollis, duratis et
veteribus salubritatis caussa preferendus. Teste enim Dioscoride, magis
alit, stomacho utilis, corpus auget, et facillime digeritur. Minus vero
nutrit si sale aspersus fuerit et stomacho inutilis. Vetustos caseos
Galenus damnat.”[21]

I have not said anything of the Schabzeiger cheese of Switzerland, or
the Strachino of Milan, as there are few English people who relish
anything so rank. Roquefort is a much finer cheese than either of them,
but the consumption of Roquefort in England is singularly small.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XIV.

ON SALAD.

In 1664, if my memory serves me rightly, John Evelyn wrote a treatise
“On Salets,” in a small volume, which I possess in my library; but I
cannot, at this moment, lay my hand on the little book. Though curious
in a certain sense, the treatise would be found more useful for the
horticulturist than for the cook. Salads are now, as in Evelyn’s day,
composed of certain pot-herbs, to which are added various aromatical
odoriferous herbs, or _fournitures_ (that is the term of art in French
cookery), which greatly add to the zest of the mixture. There are
about twelve of these _herbes de fourniture_, as they are called,
namely, garden-cress, water-cress, chervil, chives, scallions or green
onions, tarragon, pimpernel or burnet, parsley pert, hartshorn, sweet
basil, purslain, fennel, and young balsam. Cresses are wholesome and
anti-scorbutic, chervil is a purifier, chives a stimulant, tarragon
stomachic and corroborant, while parsley is carminative, and the
remaining herbs are all pronounced by Lémery in his “Traité des
Aliments,” to have medicinal virtues. Salads, of course, vary according
to the season. _Chicorée_ or endive, is in season at the end of autumn,
and it is not usual to add any _herbe de fourniture_ to that salad.
Some, in France, place at the bottom of the salad-basin containing an
endive salad, a small crust of stale bread rubbed over with garlic,
which gives a slight flavour to the dish. Later in the season, another
species of _chicorée_, called _scarole_, is had recourse to. It is
not so tender as chicory or succory, but has as much flavour, and
is quite as wholesome. Chicory or succory is, according to Lémery,
of a moistening and cooling nature, and creates an appetite. Winter
salads are generally composed of _mâche_ or corn salad, rampions
(which, according to Lémery, “fortify the stomach, help digestion, are
detersive, and agree with every age and constitution”), and chopped
celery. Sometimes, also, in winter, a salad is made exclusively of
chopped celery, seasoned with oil and mustard.

Garden or water-cress is also a winter salad. It is good to mix it with
slices of beetroot; and in France, more especially in Provence, olives
are often added. Towards February, the salad most in vogue is an endive
called _barbe de Capucin_, or Capucin’s beard. It is seasoned like the
white succory.

The lettuce, known in England for more than three centuries, generally
appears about the commencement of Lent, but the better sort of lettuce
does not make its appearance before Easter. It is the most popular of
all salads, and possesses soothing properties. _Herbes de fourniture_
are added to it, with which anchovies and chopped chives are mixed.
Sometimes, to vary the dish, prawns and shrimps are likewise thrown in.

Next comes the Roman lettuce, less watery, and with much fuller and
finer flavour than the preceding, especially when the leaves are
streaked. The Roman lettuce is sometimes served with odoriferous herbs,
but hard eggs are rarely added to the seasoning. Roman lettuce is in
season from May to the end of Autumn.

Besides these, there are hotch-potch salads, made _en Macedoine_, with
a variety of roots and vegetables, such as French beans, _haricots
blancs_, lentils, small onions, beetroot, saxifrage, or goat’s beard
(called in French, _salsifis_), potatoes, carrots, artichoke-bottoms,
asparagus-tops, gherkins, sliced anchovies, soused tunny, olives,
truffles, &c.

There are salads also of meat, fish, and game. A _salade à l’italienne_
is composed of cold fowl cut up in pieces, and served with anchovies
and dressed salad. Sometimes this salad is made with a cold partridge;
and very relishing it is.

I insert here Carème’s receipt for a _salade de poulets à la Reine_.
It will be seen that, like all his receipts, it would be somewhat
costly:--“Dress in a _poële_, or roast four fine chickens, and when
cold cut them in pieces, as for a _fricassée_; lay the pieces in a
basin, with salt, pepper, oil, vinegar, whole parsley washed, a small
onion sliced, or a shalot, and cover with a round piece of paper;
leave them in this seasoning for some hours; boil eight eggs of the
same size hard, and take off the shells; wash six fine lettuces; half
an hour before serving, drain the fowl upon a napkin, separating the
small pieces of parsley and onions, take the leaves from the lettuces,
preserving the hearts very small, cut the leaves small, season them
as a salad usually is, and turn them into the dish; lay upon them in
a circle the eight thighs of the fowls, in the centre put the wings,
upon the top of the thighs lay the rumps and two of the breasts only,
surmount these with the fillets, laying one the smooth side upwards,
and the next the contrary way, or upside down (as four are taken from
the left, and four from the right side), on these lay the two other
breasts; be careful to keep this _entrée_ very neat and very upright;
make a border of eggs cut in eight pieces, and between each quarter
place upright small hearts of lettuces, each heart cut in four or even
six pieces; place half an egg, in which fix upright a heart of lettuce,
and place it on the summit of the salad; then mix in a basin a good
pinch of chervil and some tarragon leaves, both being chopped and
blanched, with salt, pepper, oil, ravigote vinegar, and a spoonful of
aspic jelly, chopped small; the whole well mingled, pour it over the
salad and serve immediately.”

The vinegar used in salads should always be wine vinegar, not
pyroligneous acid.

Chaptal, the great chymist, and afterwards Minister of the Interior,
in France, has given a receipt for dressing salad. He directs that the
salad should be saturated with oil, and seasoned with salt and pepper,
before the vinegar is added. It results from this process that there
never can be too much vinegar, for, from the specific gravity of the
vinegar compared with oil, what is more than needful will fall to the
bottom of the salad bowl. The salt should not be dissolved in the
vinegar, but in the oil, by which means it is more equally distributed
through the salad.

There are also salads of lemons, oranges, pomegranates, pears, apples,
&c.; but these will be more properly spoken of under the head Dessert.

The following receipt for a winter salad is from the pen of one of
the wittiest men, and one of the purest writers of England of this
generation, the late Sydney Smith:--

“Two large potatos, passed through kitchen sieve,
Unwonted softness to the salad give.
Of mordent mustard add a single spoon;
Distrust the condiment which bites so soon;
But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault
To add a double quantity of salt.
Three times the spoon with oil of Lucca crown,
And once with vinegar procured from town.
True flavour needs it, and your poet begs,
The pounded yellow of two well-boiled eggs.
Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl,
And, scarce suspected, animate the whole;
And lastly, on the flavoured compound toss
A magic teaspoon of anchovy sauce.
Then, though green turtle fail, though venison’s tough,
And ham and turkey are not boiled enough,
Serenely full the Epicure may say,--
Fate cannot harm me--I have dined to-day!”

The Spanish proverb says, that to make a perfect salad, there should
be a miser for oil, a spendthrift for vinegar, a wise man for salt,
and a madcap to stir the ingredients up and mix them well together.
The proverb is perfect with the exception of the last member of the
sentence. A patient and discreet man, a painstaking and careful man or
woman should be entrusted with the duty of mixing the salad with its
seasoning.

The French say, “Il faut bien fatiguer la salade.” It is said by a
dramatic writer,

“Toute française à ce que j’imagine,
Sait bien ou mal faire un peu de cuisine;”

and the same may be said of every Frenchman. Some of the emigrants,
who fled to England and other countries between 1790 and 1804, gained
their livelihood by giving lessons in cookery; and Brillat Savarin
tells us, in one of his chapters, that when in emigration at Boston, in
America, he taught the _restaurateur_ Julien to make _œufs brouilles
au fromage_. Captain Collet, also, he tells, made a great deal of money
at New York in 1794 and 1795, in making ices and _sorbets_. In my
earlier days there were two Frenchmen in London who made good incomes
by dressing salads, and each of them kept his cabriolet. One took as a
fee 10_s._ 6_d._, but the other charged a guinea.

In an article, headed “Industrie gastronomique des Emigrés,” Brillat
Savarin thus speaks of a famous salad-dresser:--

“In passing through Cologne I met a Breton gentleman who made a good
thing of it by becoming a _traiteur_. I might multiply examples of
this kind to an indefinite extent, but I prefer relating, as more
singular, the history of a Frenchman who acquired a fortune in London
by his cleverness in making a salad. He was a Limousin, and, if my
memory serve me rightly, called himself d’Aubignac, or d’Albignac.
Though his means were very small subsequent to his emigration, he
happened to dine one day at one of the most famous taverns of London.
Whilst he was in the act of finishing a slice of juicy roast beef,
five or six young men of the first families were regaling themselves
at a neighbouring table. One among them stood up, and, addressing the
Frenchman in a polite tone, said, ‘Sir, it is a general opinion that
your nation excels in the art of making a salad, would you have the
goodness to favour us by mixing one for us?’ D’Albignac, after some
hesitation, consented, asked for the necessary materials, and having
taken pains to mix a perfect salad, had the good fortune to succeed.
While the salad was in process of mixing, he candidly answered all
questions addressed to him on his situation and prospects; stated he
was an emigrant, and confessed, not without a slight blush, that he
received pecuniary aid from the British government. It was this avowal,
doubtless, which induced one of the young men to slip into his hand
a five-pound note, which, _after a slight resistance_, he accepted.
He gave the young man his address, and some time afterwards was not
a little surprised to receive a letter, in which he was asked in the
politest terms to come and dress a salad in one of the best houses in
Grosvenor Square. D’Albignac, who began to have a distant glimmering of
durable advantage, did not hesitate an instant, and arrived punctually,
fortified with some new ingredients destined to add new relish to his
mixture. He had the good fortune to succeed a second time, and received
on this occasion such a sum as he could not have refused without
injuring himself in more ways than one.

“This second success made more noise than the first, so that the
reputation of the emigrant quickly extended. He soon became known as
the fashionable salad-maker; and in a country so much led by fashion,
all that was elegant in the capital of the three kingdoms would have
a salad made by him. D’Albignac, like a man of sense, profited by his
popularity. He soon sported a vehicle, in order the more readily to
transport him from place to place, together with a livery servant
carrying in a mahogany case everything necessary, such as differently
perfumed vinegars, oils with or without the taste of fruit, soy,
caviare, truffles, anchovies, ketchup gravy, some yolks of eggs.
Subsequently he caused similar cases to be manufactured, which he
furnished and sold by hundreds. By degrees the salad-dresser realised a
fortune of 80,000 francs, with which he ultimately returned to France.”

Three centuries ago, we learn from Champier, who wrote in 1560, that
many materials were used for salads which are not thought of now; among
others, fennel, marshmallow-tops, hops, wild marjoram, elder-flowers,
and a species of nettle. Tomatas and asparagus were also at this period
used as salads.

In a “Mémoire pour faire un Ecriteau pour un Banquet,” published in the
sixteenth century, I find in the list of salads the following:--

1. Salade blanche.
2. Salade verte.
3. Salade de citron.
4. Salade d’entremets.
5. Salade de grenade.
6. Salade de Houblon.
7. Salade de laitues.
8. Salade d’olives.
9. Salade de perce-pierre.
10. Salade de poires de bon crétien.
11. Salade de pourpier confit.

We know better in our day than to make a salad of asparagus. Dr.
Roques thus speaks of asparagus in his “Observations sur les Plantes
usuelles”:--“The asparagus grows naturally in the woods, in the hedges,
in the sea-sand, and on the banks of rivers. The ancients knew and
cultivated asparagus. Athenæus speaks of field and mountain asparagus;
he says the best are those which grow naturally, without being sown.
Martial, Pliny, and Juvenal also speak of asparagus. The Romans
especially esteemed those of Ravenna. Nature, says Pliny, wished that
asparagus should grow wild so that they might be gathered every where
by everyone; but being improved by cultivation, the blades astonish by
their thickness. They are sold at Ravenna at three to the pound.”

In Covent Garden Market, in the season, it is very common to find
asparagus so fat that six weigh a pound.

Why is Dr. Roques so silent as to the velocity with which this
vegetable may be cooked? Quicker than asparagus is boiled, became
a proverb among the Romans.[22] Juvenal mentions a large lobster
surrounded with asparagus, and promises, in the eleventh satire to his
friend Perseus, a plate of mountain asparagus, which had been freshly
gathered by his farmer’s wife.

“Montani
Asparagi, posito quos legit villica fuso.”

I remember having read somewhere of a gentleman travelling near the
town of Arras (where Robespierre was born), and meeting a countryman
who insisted on supping with him. Entering an inn, the gentleman
asked for an _omelette_ and some asparagus. After having helped the
rustic to his half-share of the _omelette_, the stupid lout asked what
were the asparagus. “Oh!” replied the host, “they are a very fine
vegetable, and you shall have half of the bunch, as you have had half
of the _omelette_.” Thereupon the intelligent gourmand transferred to
his neighbour’s plate the ends, or as the late Mr. Justice Creswell
quaintly, yet forcibly used to say it, the handle of the esculent, who
thought these _quisquiliæ_ tougher to chew than the stalky part of the
cabbage.

The Marquis de Cussy tells us that no less a personage than Napoleon
ate the _haricots de soissons_, or kidney-beans with oil, as a salad.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XV.

THE DESSERT.

The Dessert, if by that word be understood the agreeable mingling
together of cakes, of fruits, and sweetmeats, is an Italian invention.
It was cradled in the sweet south, and is the offspring of beautiful
gardens, and flourishing cities and towns, clustering with grapes
and peaches. Carème used to say that the dessert had been elevated
into a science with a view to retain girls, young women, and children
at table, in friendly family converse. In such sort it deliciously
prolongs the repast. A dessert should above all things be simple;
considered as a third or fourth course, it is often a dangerous
superfluity, and the fruitful cause of many an indigestion. There are
some who eat of it solely and simply because it appears promotive of
a light, agreeable, and sparkling conversation. But these worthy,
good-natured people often deceive themselves. It is a rock, says
Carème, at the end of a dinner, a serious embarrassment for the liver,
which it too often harasses and obstructs. Lachappelle (_port-queue_
of Louis XIII., and his major domo) goes further, and mentions that
all persons who make a point of eating dessert after a good dinner
are fools, who spoil at once their wit and their stomachs. “Reject,
therefore, once for all,” says another French author, “the _Macedoines
glacées fruits rouge_, the white cheeses _à la Bavaroise_, the _petits
pains à la duchesse_, the _fanchonnettes de volaille_, the _vol-au-vent
à la violette_. Experienced diners out never touch these things, not
even at the end of a second course. When we speak of experienced and
clever people, who know what they are about, we would speak of those
gourmands so gifted, and so superior in all the affairs and business of
life, such as Lorenzo de Medicis, Leo X., Raphael, Prince Talleyrand,
George IV., the Emperor Alexander, Castlereagh, and Pitt himself.” M.
F. Fayot, who writes biographies of Canning, and political articles in
the French newspapers, ought to have known that Pitt did not care for
such knick-knackeries as Pistachio nuts, and _crème à la vanille_.

Though the dessert was originally invented in Italy, yet the usage
was early transplanted into France. In the works of St. Gelais I find
some lines, in which he sends fresh cherries to a lady on the first of
May. How this fruit could be thus early produced, without the aid of
hot-houses, is difficult to imagine. From Champier, however, who wrote
about 1560, we learn that the Poitevins sent yearly forced cherries in
post to Paris. The fruit was prematurely ripened by putting lime at the
root of the tree, or watering the roots with warm water. La Quintinié,
the head gardener of Louis XIV., boasts that he served strawberries
for the dessert of his royal master at the end of March, green peas in
April, and figs in June.

It was in 1694 that preserved pine-apples, shipped from the French
West India islands of St. Domingo and Gaudaloupe, were first seen at
dessert in Paris. The tree had been originally transplanted from Asia
to the West Indies, where the heat of the climate preserved it from
degenerating. “Although the fruit of the pine be fibrous,” says Father
Dutertre, “it melts into water in the mouth, and is so well flavoured,
that you find the taste of the peach, of the apple, of the quince, and
of the muscatel, blended together.” It is plain to perceive that Father
Dutertre was _friand_, and that he possessed, in matters of the table
at least, the science of analysis. The “pine,” says Dr. Roques, “is
impregnated with a corrosive juice, which may be extracted by steeping
the root for one or two hours in sugared brandy.” Lovers of pine cut
it up in slices, cover it with sugar, and bathe it copiously over with
sherry wine. Jellies, ices, and creams, are also made of this fruit;
and the Italians prepare with it a _liqueur_ which is called _manaja_,
and which is really delicious.

Dates, so well known and so esteemed in ancient times, are oftener
served at dessert in Spain, Italy, and the south of France, than in
England. Theophrastus, Plutarch, and Pliny speak in rather extravagant
terms of the date-tree, and the excellence of its fruit. Nicholas
of Damascus, in Syria, one of the most distinguished members of the
Peripatetic school, sent to the Emperor Augustus the famous dates that
grow in the valley of Jericho. Pliny says they are so thick, that four
ranged together would be the length of a cubit. This fruit is gathered
in the autumn, and dried in the sun. The Tunisian dates are the best;
they are pulpy, mucilaginous, saccharine, and nutritious. The expressed
juice of the date yields a syrup, which serves as a substitute for
butter, and is used as a seasoning. Lémery says that those who feed
on dates are generally afflicted with the scurvy and lose their
teeth. They have been generally considered a dry and stringent fruit.
Though an incentive to wine, they are indigestible, and in Spain have
generally a harsh, rough, and unpleasant taste.

There is not a more grateful or a less noxious fruit at dessert than
oranges. Louis XIV. was particularly fond both of the tree and the
fruit. When the monarch gave those magnificent _fêtes_, so vaunted both
in prose and verse, the porticoes, halls, and ante-chambers of his
palaces were decorated with orange-trees, and the fruit, then esteemed
rare, always appeared at dessert. The Maltese oranges were, at that
period, considered the finest; while the fruit of Portugal maintained a
secondary rank only. But even Portuguese oranges were deemed a present
worthy of being offered to the children of kings. “Monsieur me vint”
(says the Duchess of Montpensier in her Memoirs); “il me donna des
oranges de Portugal.” Molière, in giving a description of the comedy
which formed a portion of the famous _fêtes_ given at Versailles in
1688 by Louis XIV., remarks that there was first laid a magnificent
collation of Portuguese oranges, and of all sorts of fruits, in
thirty-six baskets. About this period a species of sweet citron was
much in vogue. It is mentioned by Lémery in his treatise on foods,
written about 1705, who says “that the ladies of the court carried
about sweet citrons in their hands, which they bit from time to time to
produce red lips.”

More than 270 years ago figs were common at dessert in France. There
were then but four species of this delicious fruit; the red, the
purple, the white, and the black. The two latter were the most common,
but the black were considered in Provence the most wholesome, as well
as the most agreeable. The figs of Marseilles, had then, as indeed
they have now, great repute, and were renowned all over the country.
Nor were those of Montpelier, Nismes, and St. Andéol, without their
admirers, though inferior to the figs of Marseilles. There have been
few fig-trees in the neighbourhood of Paris for some centuries, though
in the time of the Emperor Julian the figs of Paris were already
celebrated.

The famous gardener and horticulturist La Quintinié, to please his
master, Louis XIV., who was particularly fond of figs, adopted the
plan of placing the trees in wooden boxes, as had been previously
adopted in reference to orange-trees. Some of the finest figs in
England are grown in the neighbourhood of Worthing. Those who have
spent a summer there must have often eaten them for dessert. There is
a magnificent fig-tree at Hampton Court, as old as the time of Charles
II. rooted in a place which shall be nameless, and the fruit of which
is particularly fine flavoured. In parts of Italy, Sicily, and the
Levant, they have a curious custom of acupuncturating the fig when half
ripe, and introducing a drop of fine oil into the fruit; this greatly
mellows the flavour, while it increases the size of the fig. The white
figs at Cherbourg are very fine, as those will say who have eaten
them at dessert at the excellent _table d’hôte_ in that town.
Occasionally, also, white figs, equally excellent, are to be procured
in the Channel Islands.

Pomegranates are scarcely ever seen at dessert in England, and rarely
in France, except in Languedoc and Provence. In the sixteenth century
this fruit was much used in certain diseases, and, in localities where
it was not grown, was often sold for a louis-d’or. When Clement VII.
arrived at Marseilles to have an interview with Francis I., several
Frenchmen, who had eaten to excess of pomegranates, became seriously
ill in consequence. Pomegranates are a favourite dessert at Grenada in
Spain, where they grow in great quantities.

Chestnuts, though a very common dessert fruit in France, are
comparatively little used in England, though there is no reason why
they should not be much cultivated, as they grow well in a cold, and
even in a mountainous country. In Perigord they count eight different
species of chestnuts, and there, as well as in Brittany, the chestnut
forms a staple article of food for the peasantry. Madame de Sévigné,
writing from her estate of the Rochers, near Vitré, says:--“Je ne
connaissais la Provence que par les grenadiers, les oranges, et les
jasmins; voilà comme on nous la dépeint. Pour nous, ce sont des
châtaignes qui font notre ornement; j’en avois l’autre jour trois ou
quartres paniers autour de moi. J’en fis bouiller, j’en fis rôtir, j’en
mis dans ma poche; on en sert dans les plats, on marche dessus, c’est
la Bretagne dans son triomphe.” In the thirteenth century Lombardy
chestnuts were cried in the streets of Paris. According to heathen
records chestnuts were first noticed at Sardes, in Lydia. Virgil speaks
of the “castanea molles.” They are eaten at dessert boiled or roasted,
and are in both ways palatable.

Cherries are, in the season, an important portion of a French as
well as of an English dessert. There are in France six species of
black-heart cherries, six of _bigarreux_, and five-and-twenty of
cherries and black cherries. The cherries most prized by the Parisians,
however, are those of Montmorency, so named from that rich valley in
which they grow, extending from St. Denis to Pontoise. England, our own
dear country, greatly transcends France in this article of dessert,
brought originally from the garden of Mithridates. Not only are
cherries produced in greater quantity, but are much finer in flavour.
Kent, Berkshire, Oxfordshire, are pre-eminent in this produce; and the
May-duke (probably originally from Médoc), Biggarroon (_bigarreux_),
and white-heart attest our superiority.

Apricots, which frequently appear at dessert in France, and not
unfrequently in England at the tables of the wealthy, were not known in
either of these countries (though they are mentioned by Dioscorides,
who lived in the time of Nero, under the name of _prœcocia_) till
the sixteenth century. After that period they became rather common;
but previously were sold, says Champier, as though the price were
extravagant, at a farthing a-piece. When this fruit was first
introduced into France it appeared no bigger than the smallest plum;
but the science and art of French gardeners not only contributed to
increase its size but its flavour. In 1651 there were but three species
of apricots; the late, the early, and the _musqué_, or musk-flavoured.
Now there are at least twenty, of which the apricot of Nanci is the
largest and best. But the apricots of Angoumois, of Holland, of
Portugal, and of Alexandria, are not to be despised. Under favour,
and with submission be it said, however, that the best apricot that
ever was in Grange’s, Owen’s, Marks’, Levy’s, Solomon’s, Israel’s, or
Raine’s shop, is but a dry and insipid article compared with a fine
peach, fine greengages, fine fresh-gathered, green, hairy gooseberries,
fine Mirabel plums, fine pears, or fine mellow ribston pippins. The
apricot comes originally from Armenia. The name originates in the
situation which the tree prefers--a wall exposed to the heat of the
meridian sun. The word _apricus_ is sometimes differently applied, as
_aprici senes_, old men who delight in sitting and prattling on benches
exposed to the reviving warmth of Sol’s rays.

There are about twenty kinds of plums both in England and France; but
among these the greengage, called by the French the _reine claude_,
is by far the most luscious, succulent, and full-flavoured. These
plums, called after the daughter of Louis XII., first wife of Francis
I., have, in France, a peculiarly rich mellow juiciness, the effect
probably of a drier atmosphere, and the being exposed to a warmer
sun on mud-built lime-washed walls, with a southern aspect. These
greengages are always eaten with a peculiar relish in Paris. There is a
sun-burnt look about them, as well as,--

“A deep embrowned tint, which tells
How rich within the soul of sweetness dwells;”

whereas the greengage of England looks pale and peaky, as though it
were afflicted with the green-sickness.

The peach, or Persian apple, is one of the oldest known fruits in
France, and one of the commonest served at dessert. The most esteemed
in the neighbourhood of Paris, is the peach of Corbeil. In the
provinces, those of Troyes and Dauphiné enjoy the greatest renown. The
Auberi peach is common in Languedoc, and has latterly been cultivated
in the neighbourhood of Paris. The Duracine peach is a native of
Brittany. It is of more than ordinary size, and the flesh firm and
juicy; but almost all peaches in France are mere turnips compared with
the hot-house fruit in England. Enter Grange’s in Piccadilly, or the
elder Owen’s in Bond Street, Marks’ at the corner of Holles Street,
and try one of the shilling peaches in the season, and you will find
a rich, juicy, fleshy flavour and aroma oftener sought than found in
the fruit of France. It is true that you may have six or eight peaches
in France for the price you would pay for one in England at any of
these three shops, but that one peach is better than a bushel of such
tasteless turnip fruit as is often presented to you all over Gaul.
The ten and twelve sous peaches of Corbeil, which may be obtained
at Madame Malliez in the Marché St. Honoré, are certainly a more
commendable fruit, but I should prefer for my own eating a first-rate
hot-house peach to any three of them. I know not whether an improved
peach has recently come from China. The peach is a fruit which has
been cultivated in the Celestial Empire from the earliest times, and
celebrated in their ancient books, in the songs of their poets, and
the disquisitions of their doctors. The peach _yu_, it is said in
their legends, produces an eternity of life, and preserves the body
from corruption to the end of the world. A fine peach is a delicious
fruit; it is good with sugar, good without sugar, and excellent,
super-excellent with a glass of good Madeira, sherry, or brandy thrown
over it. The peach-tree does not always require the protection of the
sheltering wall in warmer climates. The trees stand insulated in the
vineyard or orchard, swinging gently in the breeze, which the French
call _pêches de vigne_, and _abricots en plein vent_.

There is no better dessert fruit than a good apple, and in this fruit
England beats all the world, with the exception of America. The
New-town pippin is unquestionably the first of apples, but first-rate
ribstons come next to it. The nonpareil and golden pippin (the golden
apple of the Hesperides) are not without merit. The great defect
of French apples, however, is their general mealiness and want of
juiciness. The _paradis_ of Provence is the best of its kind. There
is also an apple of very tolerable flavour, called the _capendu_,
which ladies lock up in their drawers and wardrobes to perfume their
clothes. There are about forty-six kinds of apples mentioned in the
“Théâtre d’Agriculture,” but the grey and white _reinette_ are the only
apples desirable at a French dessert.

The different species of pears (from the Epirean orchards of Pyrrhus)
are more numerous even than the species of apples. De Serres speaks
of ninety-five kinds of pears; 400 are mentioned in the “Jardinier
Française,” and more than 300 in “La Quintinié.” It is not generally
known that the famous _chaumontel_ (called by corruption in England
_charmontel_), was a wild pear transplanted into the garden and
rendered perfect by culture. The Burgundy pear, called _Madame Oudotte_
(and by corruption _Amadotte_), was also a wild pear found in a wood
belonging to a lady of the name of Oudotte. Four of the best dessert
pears in France are the _beurré_, the _cuisse de madame_ (my lady’s
thigh), the pear of Lyons, the _bergamotte_ of Lorraine, and the _bon
chrétien_ of Tourraine. The _bon chrétien_ is by no means a common pear
in England; though towards the latter end of August, or the beginning
of September, it is always to be had at Covent Garden Market. The
finest Spanish _bon chrétiens_ I have ever eaten in England were grown
in the garden of Mr. Powell, near to Minster and Herne, in Kent. This
is extraordinary, as the Kentish soil is unfavourable both to pears and
apples, while the opposite coast of Essex produces exquisite fruit,
and above all, those bulbous thin-skinned gooseberries, equal to the
best _chasselas_ of Fontainbleau. _Compotes_ of pears are excellent and
cooling at dessert, and render the fruit more digestible, according to
the line,--

“Cruda gravant stomachum relevant pyra cocta gravatam.”

Talking of the _chasselas_ grape of Fontainbleau, the reader will
naturally ask why I have hitherto omitted all mention of the finest
fruit, oranges excepted. This was from no indisposition to do every
justice to grapes, the wholesomest and most grateful of fruits. The
best grapes in France are undoubtedly the _chasselas_, which come into
the Paris markets neatly packed in small baskets, sold for forty,
fifty, and sixty sous each, according to the quality. In the autumn of
the year many of the Parisian _badauds_ undergo a regimen of grapes,
eating nothing else for three weeks or a month. Used thus, grapes have
all the effect of the Cheltenham waters. “They open the body,” says
old Lémery, physician to Louis XIV., “create an appetite, are very
nourishing, and qualify the sharp humour of the heart. They agree with
every age and constitution, provided they be not used to excess.”
The _ciotat_, the _Corinthe_, the black _morillon_, the _muscat_ of
Touraine, are all excellent grapes, and may be purchased in France
for a few sous a pound. In the southern departments of France as many
grapes as the most inveterate eater of that fruit would desire may be
had for the small sum of one penny, though it must be admitted that
the hot-house grapes of England are superior in flavour and variety
to every description of grape in France, excepting the _chasselas_;
but the prices asked in Covent Garden Market are enormous and wholly
unjustifiable. Hot-house grapes are, in fact, a luxury wholly beyond
the reach of persons of moderate fortune.

Notwithstanding the decided taste which Louis XV. had for strawberries,
and the efforts made by his minions to furnish him with this fruit at
his dessert all the year round; we have, nevertheless, for the last
century and a half, surpassed the French in the variety and quality of
this esculent. The Chilian strawberry is one of the largest produced in
the imperial gardens of Versailles and Fontainbleau; but strawberries
of nearly twice the size may be daily seen during the months of
May, June, and July, in Covent Garden Market. The pine strawberry,
originally of Louisiana, was first introduced into France in 1767.
Though it may have more pine flavour than our pine strawberry, yet it
is by no means so large as the common run of pines in Covent Garden.
It too frequently happens, however, that what fruits gain in size they
lose in flavour. Every good judge of fruit is quite opposed to the idea
of monster fruit, fish, flesh, or fowl; convinced that average-sized
turbots, bullocks, turkeys, and fruits, are among the very best.

The dried fruits are, of course, never produced at dessert, when fresh
fruits can be obtained. A very common French dessert in the winter
months is composed of almonds, raisins, and figs; but, though these
afford a passable pastime enough when nothing better can be had, yet
the opinion of the Gauls concerning their value may be learned from the
name given to them. If you wish to obtain the trio at a _restaurant_
after a copious or a spare dinner, you must not call for _des amandes,
des raisins, et des figues_, but ask for _trois mendiants_. Provence
furnishes dried figs to Paris; the ancient province of Maine, dried
cherries; and Rheims, Tours, and Brignoles, dried plums. Dried apples,
a very palatable dessert, come from Tours and Orleans.

In England our winter dessert is thus furnished: the raisins come from
Malaga, the figs and currants from Turkey and the Grecian islands, the
almonds from Syria and the Archipelago, and the olives from Spain and
Italy. France produces this latter fruit on her own soil. The Phocians,
founders of Marseilles, first planted the olive in that locality;
and, according to Strabo, taught the natives the art to cultivate it.
Olives are now grown in every part of Provence and Languedoc, and may
be always found at dessert at the most moderate _tables d’hôte_ of
Marseilles, Toulon, Nismes, Montpelier, Avignon, &c. Biscuits, cakes,
and sweetmeats, are also an accompaniment. The poets of the thirteenth
century speak of _flamiches_ and _galettes chauds_, and at this period
the Rheims gingerbread was also in great vogue. When Champier wrote,
about 1560, the gingerbread of Paris was nearly as renowned at dessert
as the famous _croquets_ of Rheims. A cake made of powdered sugar
and almonds, called _massepain_, has also been common at dessert in
France for more than three centuries. Its component parts are filberts,
almonds, pistachio nuts, pines, sugar, and a little flour. It is,
however, rather a dear morsel, and can only be eaten by the wealthy.
L’Etoile, describing a magnificent collation of three courses given at
Paris in 1596, says, “Que les confitures seiches et massepans y estoit
si peu espargnez que les dames et damoiselles, estoient contraintes de
s’en décharger sur les pages et les laquais, auxquels on les bailloit
tous entiers.”

In the time of Rabelais a tartlette or cake called _darioles_, was
eaten at dessert; there were also other _friandises_ called _ratons_,
and _cassemuseaux_, and _petit choux_. The first and last words have
since been adopted as terms of endearment among lovers, and from nurses
and nursery-maids to children.

Aromatic spices and warm seeds were much more frequently used at
dessert a century and a half ago than in our own day. After dinner,
says the work called “Les Triomphes de la Noble Dame,” “On sert chez
les riches, pour faire la digestion, de l’anis du fenouil et de la
coriandre confits au sucre.” The author of “Ile des Hermaphrodites,”
in painting the manners of the court of Henry III., makes the same
remark. After the dessert, says he, “Les uns prenoient un peu d’anis
confit, les autres, cotignac,[23] mais il falloit qu’il fût musqué.
Autrement il n’eut point eu d’effet en leur estomach qui n’avoit point
de chaleur s’il n’etoit parfumé.”

At the royal table, and in establishments of great lords, another
custom prevailed which did not obtain in the houses of private persons.
Independently of the spices which composed the dessert, there were
others more select still, which were served in a small box divided into
compartments. This box was of gold, silver, or silver gilt, and was
called a _drageoir_, comfits being the principal portion of its
contents. This box was generally presented to the king by an esquire or
person of condition, and to the king only, unless his majesty wished
particularly to honour some one among the guests. He then sent to him
his comfit-box, “On apporta vins et épices,” writes Froissart, “et
servit du drageoir, devant le Roi de France tant seulement, le Comte
d’Harcourt.”

Brandied fruits, _compotes_ and fruits preserved in syrup, are
generally produced at a French dessert; as are marmalade fruits, as,
for instance, _marmelade d’abricots_, _de pêches_, _de pommes_, &c.
Fruit jellies, as cornel berry jelly, apple jelly, are also esteemed
delicacies. Various pastes are also occasionally handed round at
dessert, as apricot paste, peach paste, and ginger paste. Le Loyer, in
his poetical pieces, speaks of these pastes as proper to be given to
cold and indifferent husbands:--

“Que, sur la fin du dessert, on leur porte
L’hypocras rouge on bien un puissant vin,
La truffe noir avec le fruit du pain.”

There is no more pleasant dessert in the month of September than young
filberts and walnuts, in which former fruit England certainly surpasses
the world. In walnuts we are equalled, if not surpassed, by Switzerland
and France.

The truth is, however, that the dessert after a good London or Parisian
dinner is a superfluity, and in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred does
more harm than good. This was the opinion of Brillat Savarin in his
“Physiologie du Goût.” A little bit of cheese, says this great epicure,
may be permitted, and some preserve or a sweetmeat. “Un beau diner,” he
adds, “sans vieux fromage, est un joli femme à qui il manque un œil.”

The word dessert was introduced into the French language at the end of
the sixteenth century. In an _ordonnance_ of the 21st January, 1563,
the word occurs. “En quelques noces festins ou tables particulières que
ce puisse être, il n’y aurait dorénavant que trois services au plus
savoir, les entrées de table, la viande ou le poisson, et le dessert.”
The following is the regulation of the _ordonnance_ concerning the
dessert:--Au dessert, soit fruit, pâtisserie, fromage, ou autre chose
quelconque, il ne pourroit non plus, être servi que six plats, le
tout sous peine de 200 livres d’amende pour la première fois, et 400
cent pour la seconde. Speaking of desserts, a French authoress says,
“Le choix et l’arrangement des fruits ou des fleurs dont est parée la
table, l’elegance des edifices sucrés, la symmetric des assiettes, ne
sont pas des soins tout à fait étranges aux arts. L’appetit satisfait,
les yeux et l’odorat sont flattés à la fois par la beauté du fruit
élégamment élevé en pyramides; par les formes varies des sucreries,
dont la saveur parfumée réveille encore la satieté, enfin par la fumée
des vins pétillants ou liquoreux dont les esprits volatils excitent
la verve et animent la gaité. Carème says the dessert ought to be the
special labour of the lady of the house. Medical men in the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries, more especially in France, ordered some fruits
at the commencement of dinner. Champier recommended that cherries,
raspberries, peaches, and apricots should be so eaten; and that after
dinner medlars, pistachio nuts, filberts, chestnuts, apples, quinces,
and pears should be produced. Melon, in the time of Henry IV., and to
this day, is eaten in France with the _boulli_, just after the soup.
Sully tells that one day when Henry IV. was at dinner, his Maître
d’Hôtel entered with a golden basin filled with melons. “Right glad am
I,” said the jovial king, “for I wish to-day to have a surfeit. They
never injure me when I eat them on an empty stomach and before meat,
as the doctors direct.” In Madame Sévigné’s time the same opinion
existed touching melons. “Je ne vous deffends point les melons (she
wrote to her daughter), puisque vous avez si bon vin pour les cuire.”
The author of “La Nouvelle Instruction pour la Culture du Figuies,”
written in 1692, writes that figs should be eaten on an empty stomach
and before dinner, for it is an axiom, he says, in medicine, to
commence at supper or dinner by the things most easily digested.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XVI.

ON ICES.

At regular set dinners ices are always served. For a party of ten or
fourteen there is generally a cream and water ice, with biscuits,
&c. The French generally serve a greater number of ices than we do.
The ices most in vogue in London are pine, lemon, orange, ginger,
strawberry, and cherry ices. In Paris, apricot, peach, chocolate,
coffee, and four fruit ices are more common than with us.

Some there are who date the use of ice at table from the time of
Alexander the Great; who, it is said, had caves in India for the
preservation of ice; but it is certain that in Alexander’s time the
Greeks cooled their wine with ice, and that the Romans were also
acquainted with this luxury. A French traveller in Turkey, writing in
1553, tells us that the Turks had their _glacières_, in which they
preserved ice for table use. Henry III. was said to be the first who
introduced ice at his table in France, and it became common enough in
the following century. The word _glacière_ is not found in the
dictionary of Monet, published in 1636. But in 1667 Boileau wrote:--

“Pour semble de dis grace
Par le chaud qu’il faisait nous n’avions point de glace,
Point de glace, bon Dieu! dans le cœur de l’été,
Au mois de Juin.”

Wenham Lake ice is now handed round during dinner to mix with wine or
water between April and August.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XVII.

COFFEE.

After the dessert comes Coffee, and it is now fitting that I should
make a few remarks on the best means of making that agreeable and
stimulating beverage.

The coffee tree is a native of Arabia. The use of the berry extended
itself to Mecca, Medina, and then to Cairo in Egypt. It continued
its progress northward; and in 1554, under the reign of Solyman the
Great, became known to the inhabitants of Constantinople. The Venetians
introduced coffee to the western parts of Europe. In 1644 it was
brought to Marseilles, and in 1657 to Paris. According to Le Grand
D’Aussy, the custom of drinking coffee became general in Paris in
1669, through the example of Soliman Aga, ambassador of Mahomet IV.
The coffee is an evergreen shrub, rising to twenty feet in height. The
fruit is a round, fleshy berry, and great care is taken to conduct
little rills of water in small channels to the roots of the trees. The
berry grown in Arabia is smaller than that of the East and West Indies,
but its flavour is much finer, because in Arabia the soil is rocky,
dry, and hot. The trees are watered by artificial means, and therefore
the proper quantity of moisture only is imbibed by them. Almost all
studious, hard-working men love coffee; and this is not wonderful, as
it is, when properly made, a delightful, innoxious, and exhilarating
beverage. “It is a slow poison,” said some one to Voltaire, who saw
him drinking strong coffee. “It must be a very slow poison indeed,”
rejoined the wit, “as I have been taking it now for more than seventy
years.” How often must a man who laboured as Voltaire did have required
a beverage which excited the nerves and exhilarated the spirits,
without producing the baneful effects of those stimulating liquids and
narcotic substances which act on the brain? In cases of extreme heat or
cold, coffee is the most salutary beverage, as it not only warms and
exhilarates the system, but dissipates the languor produced either by
fatigue or the influence of the climate or weather.

How many writers are there who have vaunted the good effects of coffee?
Delille and Lebrun have praised its virtues in well-tuned verses.
The poem entitled “Les Disputes,” by Rulhière, originated in coffee.
Fontenelle, who lived more than 100 years, is lavish in its praise.
Montesquieu has consecrated to the brown ambrosial berry some eloquent
and sounding periods; and Rousseau, and Buffon, the most eloquent of
prose writers, have not forgotten to record the brilliant inspirations
which they owed to its influence. Nor are these the only triumphs of
the brain-clearing beverage. Heroes, and statesmen, and philosophers,
have bowed down before the filagree cups; and Frederick of Prussia
and Napoleon, Talleyrand and Cambaceres, and Metternich, Portalis,
Corvisart, and Cuvier, have all acknowledged and felt the inspiration
and good effects of coffee.

One of the virtues, the dissipating the fumes of wine, has also been
alluded to by Delille:--

“Le Café vous presente une heureuse liqueur,
Qui d’un vin trop fumeux dissipe la vapeur.”

In another passage, the same poet thus apostrophises the cheering yet
not inebriating liquor:--

“Il est une liqueur au poète bien chère,
Qui manquait à Virgile, et qu’adorait Voltaire:
C’est toi, divin café, dont l’aimable liqueur,
Sans altérer la tête, épanouit le cœur.”

It is a remarkable fact that, during the retreat of the French from
Russia, such soldiers as refrained from brandy, and took only coffee,
escaped being frost-bitten, or any of the diseases arising from
exposure to cold. There is no part of the world in which better coffee
is sold than in London, more especially the Mocha coffee of Twining
(which may be purchased, unground and unroasted, at 1_s._ 8_d._ the
pound, and roasted, or ground and roasted, at 2_s._ 4_d._ the pound);
yet there is no spot in this world, we verily believe, where coffee is
generally so badly made, as in this great wilderness of a metropolis.
This arises from several causes: first, the purchasing coffee ground
and roasted. The consumption and sale of the article is so small in
England, compared to France, that in many of the shops the ground
coffee is a week, and in many a fortnight or a month old; and, being
too frequently exposed to the influences of the weather and climate,
the aroma has entirely evaporated. There is scarcely a shop in London
where coffee is daily roasted; and, even if there were such a shop, the
quantity purchased for private consumption is generally so large, and
the use of it so unfrequent in families, that the flavour in so humid
a climate is gone long before the coffee is consumed. The Turks, who
are our masters in the art of making coffee, do not employ a mill to
triturate the berry, but pound it in mortars, with pestles or mallets
of wood. When these machines have been long used for the purpose, they
are esteemed precious, and sell at a large price. Brillat Savarin
relates the result of an experiment which he caused to be made as to
the comparative merits of the liquid made from the pounded and the
ground berry:--

“I roasted with care,” says he, “a pound of good Mocha coffee, and
separated it into two equal portions, one of which was ground, and the
other pounded in the manner of the Turks. I made coffee with both one
and other of these powders, taking an equal weight of each, pouring on
each an equal portion of boiling water, and in all respects dealing
equally between them. I tasted these coffees, and caused them to be
tasted by the best judges, and the unanimous opinion was, that the
liquid produced from the powdered was evidently superior to the produce
of the ground coffee.”

The second reason why the coffee is inferior in England is, that the
berry is burned instead of being roasted, and is consequently bitter
and burnt, instead of being fine-flavoured and aromatic.

The third reason is, that at hotels, coffee-houses, clubs, and even
in private houses, enough of the coffee (even though it were good) is
not infused; and the fourth reason may be found in the addition of an
excess of water. Now, in the first place, the roasting of coffee should
be carefully watched and superintended by an intelligent person. The
moment the berry crackles and becomes crisp enough to pulverise, it is
sufficiently roasted. Once taken off the roaster, it should be placed
in several thick folds of flannel to undergo the process of cooling.
This preserves the essential oil in the coffee, and prevents the aroma
from escaping. When the coffee is cool, place it in an air-tight
canister. Sufficient for the day should be the coffee thereof. In other
words, never roast, if you can avoid it, more than for a single day’s
consumption--certainly not more than for two or three days. Grind or
pound your coffee not more than a quarter of an hour before you want to
make the infusion.

There are various methods of preparing the infusion. Any one of them
would have the effect of producing very tolerable coffee, if the
directions I have given touching the roasting and grinding of the berry
were attended to, and a sufficient quantity of the powdered coffee
used. But unfortunately English servants, who drink tea or beer, are
ignorant of or insensible to the true flavour of coffee, and as they
do not partake themselves of the beverage, become indifferent to its
preparation. The coffee produced by them is, indeed, drowned in a
deluge of water, and deserves the title given it in an old tract called
the “Petition against Coffee,” namely, “a base, black, thick, nasty,
bitter, stinking, puddle water.”

The best coffee in the world, taken altogether, is certainly made in
Paris, though I have occasionally tasted at private houses in England,
where the master was a _gourmet_, and the servants disciplined,
finer coffee than was ever brewed either at the Café Foy or the Café
Corrazza. And the only wonder is, that it should not be always so; for,
as was before observed, the very finest qualities of coffee come to the
London market.

For the last forty years, a great deal of fancifulness has prevailed in
Paris as to the best manner of making coffee. Much of this arose, no
doubt, from the inordinate love which Napoleon exhibited for coffee;
as everyone was desirous to improve upon the favourite beverage of
the little Corsican and great conqueror. Projects of all kinds were
started: to make coffee without roasting it, without grinding it, to
infuse it cold, to make it boil three quarters of an hour, &c. Another
mode was to run the cold water several times through the powder;
another, to infuse the coffee over night. But, notwithstanding these
vagaries, coffee is generally well made in France. It is true, that it
is most commonly adulterated by the admixture of _chicorée_, but there
is nothing noxious in the endive; it merely adds a bitterness to the
coffee, and is adopted in nine instances out of ten from motives of
economy.

The most usual method of making coffee in France is _à Dubelloy_,
which consists in pouring boiling water on coffee placed in a porcelain
or silver vase, cullendered or pierced with very small holes. This
first decoction is poured off, heated to boiling heat, passed again
through the coffee-pot, when a clear and exquisite coffee is produced.
More than a full-sized tablespoonful of coffee should be allowed for
each guest in making a small cup of coffee after dinner.

The most complete apparatus for coffee making ever invented in England,
is said to have been the production of Mr. Jones, of Bond Street,
ironmonger; but, as I have never tried it, I will not speak of its
merits. The ordinary English tin coffee-biggin succeeds tolerably well
if the coffee be properly roasted and ground; but the disadvantage is,
that the filtering occupies so long a time, that the coffee is half
cold when ready to be poured into the cups.

The cylinder for roasting coffee, which one cannot pass through the
streets of Paris without seeing constantly at work, has been in use
since 1687. The love of novelty is so great in that capital, that when
coffee was first introduced, two methods were adopted of preparing
it: one, the ordinary method now in use; the other, a method said
to prevail in the seraglio at Constantinople, for the mistresses of
the Grand Signor. This consists in boiling for a certain time in hot
water, not the grain itself, but the shell or pod which envelopes it.
This method affords a liquor of an agreeable colour to the eye, but
it yields a pale and flavourless coffee, though decorated with the
name of _café à la sultane_. Blegny invented, in 1687, a distilled
coffee water, an oil, and a syrup of coffee. Under the Regent Orleans,
coffee sweetmeats were invented, to appear at dessert; and a few years
afterwards the _distillateurs_ of Montpelier made a _liqueur_, produced
after dessert, which they called _eau de café_, whose odour resembled
roasted coffee. There were also _tablettes de café_, which were eaten
before the _liqueurs_. There were and are medical men who, from the
time of its introduction to our day, have not ceased to sound the alarm
as to the unwholesomeness of coffee; but I think with old Lémery, that
“coffee fortifies the stomach and brain, promotes digestion, allays the
headache, suppresses the fumes caused by wine, makes the memory and
fancy more quick, and people brisk that drink it.” This last effect,
says he, has been observed by the shepherds of Africa, who took notice,
that before coffee was used, and that their sheep fed upon this kind of
pulse, that they _skipped about strangely_.[24]

I shall close my observations on coffee by giving a receipt of Dr.
Roques for a _café à la crême frappé de glace_. It is a delicious
breakfast during the summer heats. Here it is:--“Make a strong
infusion of Mocha or Bourbon coffee; put it in a porcelain bowl,
sugar it properly, and add to it an equal portion of boiled milk, or
one-third the quantity of a rich cream. Surround the bowl with pounded
ice.” Doctor Bonnafous, of Perpignan, recommended this beverage to
such persons as had lost their appetite, or who experienced general
debility. This agreeable epicurean one day said to a patient, Dr.
Roques, who was himself in the profession,--“Study, my friend,
that which is good, that which pleases your palate. Try to become
a little _friand_; commence a series of gastronomic experiments
without infringing a regimen. You will be the better for it, and in
certain circumstances you will exercise on sickly people inclined to
_gourmandise_ an unlimited power. Breakfast during July, August, and a
part of September, on iced coffee, and in winter on woodcock soup. This
is a regimen with which I restored to health and sense an aged canon
who had nearly lost all appetite, and who was disgusted with life.”

Brillat Savarin recommends that coffee should be taken in the
dinner-room, as thus served it is hotter. This may be so in
establishments where there are an insufficient number of servants; but
in good houses in England, where there is a regular establishment of
servants, coffee is served quite as hot in the drawing-room, library,
or _salon_, as in the dining-room or _salle a manger_. Coffee should
be hot, clear, and strong; and, like every other good thing, be taken
in moderation. Morin, in his “Manuel d’Hygiene,” says, “Quelle que
soit son action sur l’estomac, il en est du café comme de toute autre
chose, il faut en user et ne pas en abuser.” Tea is much more generally
taken after dinner in England than coffee, and it is a beverage deemed
more wholesome and more agreeable by the great majority of Englishmen.
Cowper’s lines in the “Task,” on the winter evening cup of tea, will
recur to the reader.

“Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast,
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round,
And, while the bubbling and loud hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each;
So let us welcome peaceful evening in.”

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XVIII.

ON DIFFERENT LIQUEURS, RATAFIAS, AND ELIXIRS
TAKEN AFTER COFFEE.

The name of _liqueurs_ is given to preparations composed of spirits of
wine, brandy, sugar, and the extracts of certain substances more or
less aromatic. The desired result is obtained either by distillation
or by infusion. Infused _liqueurs_ are called _ratafias_. Elixirs are
certain wholesome or therapeutic liquors, taken only by spoonfuls.
_Ratafias_ are as old as the time of Louis XII., contemporary with
Henry VII.; and elixirs were known antecedent to the time of Charles
VII., contemporary with our Henry VI. The most renowned foreign
_liqueurs_ are the _alkermes_ of Florence, the _rossolis_ or _rosoglio_
of Bologna, the _barbados_ and the _tarlufolgio_ of Turin; the
_citronelle_ of Venice, the _cinamonium_ of Trieste, the _maraschino_
of Zara, the _krambambouli_ of Dalmatia, the _absinthe_ of Switzerland,
the _kirschen wasser_ of the Black Forest, the _persicot_ of Treves,
the _kumin_ Dantzic, the double _anisette_ and the white _curaçoa_
of Amsterdam, the _tafià_ of the Isle of France, the _blanc rack_
of Batavia, the old rum of Jamaica, the _noyau_ of Martinique, the
_white vanilla_ of St. Domingo, the _eau des créoles_ of Martinique,
and the _mirobolan_ of Madame Anfoux. The fine or distilled _liqueurs_
fabricated in France are, _les crêmes de thé_, _de menthe_, _de
canelle_, _d’orange_, and the _eau angelique_. Most of these are made
at Montpelier, but all of them can be obtained at Tanrades’, in Paris,
who is himself the proprietor and distiller of the _crême d’ananas_,
and the _petit lait d’Henry IV_. _Ratafias_ are, for the most part,
made in the provinces. Thus Verdun is famous for its _persicot_,
Phalsburg for its _noyau_, Lyons for its _absinthe_, Grenoble for its
wild cherry _ratafia_, Hieres for its five fruited _ratafia_, and
Orleans for its quince _ratafia_. Few of these, however, are known in
England, where the principal _liqueurs_ used are _noyau_, _curaçoa_,
cherry-brandy, and _cognac_. Of these I should say the three last
were the wholesomest and most stomachic. Nothing can exceed, indeed
can equal, _cognac_ for a _liqueur_, if it be old and genuine. A
_liqueriste_, or a _distillateur_, is a distinct trade in France from
a _limonadier_. These _distillateurs_ composed their beverages for the
most part from brandy or spirits of wine, aromatised by the infusion of
spices, flowers, honey, fruits, &c. Cubebs, cinnamon, cloves, grains
of paradise, liquorice, sweetened and flavoured with rose-water,
pomegranate juice, and sugar, were the component parts of the earliest
_liqueurs_ which appeared in Europe, with the exception of the _eau
d’or_, or _aqua aurea_, which Arnaud de Villeneuve describes as brandy,
in which was infused or macerated rosemary flowers, with spices and
colours to flavour it. When golden elixirs became rife, somewhat later,
the public desired that the _eau d’or_ should really contain gold; and
hence the custom of putting some goldbeater’s leaf, cut up into small
pieces, into the infusion. The _eau de vie de Dantzic_, of which a
considerable portion is consumed in Paris, is prepared in this fashion.

_Liqueurs_, though known a considerable time previously, were first
greatly sought for in France at the period when Catherine de Medicis,
in 1533, came to wed the dauphin son of Francis I. The Italians
whom she brought in her suite, and the creatures of that nation who
flocked in crowds to France when she became queen, greatly introduced
the use of _liqueurs_, which had been heretofore common in Italy.
The nascent taste for them grew gradually into a passion; and in
1604, Sully, in examining the objects of luxury which cost the
French most, particularises _festins_ and _liqueurs_. The _populo_
and the _rossolis_ were, about two centuries ago, the most popular
of _liqueurs_. The former was made with spirits of wine, water,
sugar, musk, amber, essence of aniseed, essence of cinnamon, &c. The
_rossolis_ took its name from the plant _ros solis_, which was one
of its ingredients. Among foreign _rossolis_, that of Turin was
the most celebrated. The liquor, writes Patin, in 1653, in one of
those letters, half French, half Latin, which he was in the habit of
inditing,--the liquor called _rossolis_ “nihil habet solare, sed igneum
quid potentissimum, lumborum renum, que doloribus adversissimum.” At
this period, all _liqueurs_ were considered unpardonable luxuries, if
not sinful. Madame Théanges, who had been a gay demirep in her day, at
length became devout. Madame de Sévigné, writing in 1674, says:--“Elle
(meaning Madame de Théanges) est souvent avec Madame de Longueville
et tout à fait dans le bel air de la dévotion; mais elle est toujours
de très bonne compagnie et n’est pas solitaire. J’étois l’autre jour
auprès d’elle à diner. Un laquais lui présenta un grand verre de vin
de liqueur; elle me dit, Madame, ce garçon ne sait pas que je suis
dévote.” And Madame de Sévigné archly adds, “Cela nous fit rire.”

Well, indeed, might the company laugh, though the proper rebuke would
have been to answer, in the words of Shakespeare, “Think’st thou,
because thou art virtuous, we shall have no more cakes and ale? Ay, by
St. Anne! and ginger shall be hot in the mouth, too.”

The first manufactory of _liqueurs_ in France which had a remarkable
success, was a fabric established at Montpelier.

In 1704, when Louis XIV. suppressed the community of _limonadiers_,
establishing in their stead 150 privileged persons, an _ordonnance_
pointed out what _liqueurs_ it was lawful to sell. These were _la
fenouillette_, _le Vatté_, _l’orange_, _Cette_, _Genièvre_, and
_millefleures_. The first fabric of _liqueurs_ which had any extensive
renown was that of Montpelier. It may be well imagined that a city
which had so long been celebrated as a school of medicine had eminent
chymists and _distillateurs_; but, when these acquired a renown as
liquorists, they reposed on their success, became careless, and in
the end were justly supplanted by others. Lorraine succeeded to the
renown of the _Mons Puellarum_, or Montpelier. This was chiefly owing
to the decoction of one Solmini, probably an Italian, who, about a
century ago, pretended to have invented a _liqueur_ which he called
_parfait amour_. This, however, was no new invention at all; it was
but _ratafias_ of fruits and nuts, the _eau de cédrat_ of the _Sieur
la Faveur_ of Montpelier, which this worthy had disguised by giving it
a red tinge by means of cochineal. The brothers Bosserrant succeeded
Solmini, producing a cheap and inferior article, which had for a season
a vogue. But the imposition was soon found out, and the reputation of
the brothers was lost as speedily as it was acquired. In the country
parts of France most of the grocers sold, and still sell, _ratafias_
fabricated by themselves; but they are, one and all, poor stuff. At
Beaumont and Neuilly, in the environs of Paris, were two _ratafia_
makers who had great success. The Neuilly man made a considerable
fortune and built a country house, in which he caused to be engraved
this inscription, “Ex liquido solidum.” This is almost as good as
the Irish distiller who made a large fortune by smuggling, and built
a magnificent house which he called “Sans souci.” A brother in the
trade, who had been less fortunate because more honest, built a small
modest box nearly opposite, which he called “Sans six sous.” To return,
however, to _ratafias_. These are certainly the _liqueurs_ which are
preferably adopted in all _ménages bourgeois_, because, being but
infusions of flowers or fruits, they are the cheapest and the most
easily made. The most popular _ratafia_ in France is the black currant,
a renown which it owes in a great measure to the praises bestowed on it
by Lémery,[25] who thus speaks of it:--

“C’est un élixir très excellent, et très propre à entretenir la
santé. Il est très bon pour les hydropiques dissout les pierres,
fait sortir le gravier, guérit toutes les fièvres tierces, quartres,
continues. Il presérve du vomissement sur la mer, et du scorbut de la
bouche. Il fait sortir la petite vérole, la rougeole, le pourpre, et
toutes les maladies contagieuses. Il prévient la goutte, et purifie
merveilleusement le sang; c’est un antidote contre tous les poisons
et piqûres de bêtes vénimeuses. Il est bon pour les coliques, les
dyssenteries, les maux et duretés de la rate. Il fortifie l’estomac,
chasse les vents, réjouit le cerveau, guérit les migraines et les
maux de tête. Il est bon pour toutes les maladies des femmes, même en
couche. Il facilitte l’accouchement. Quand on en use habituellement, on
n’a presque rien à craindre de l’apoplexie ni de la paralysie. Il n’y a
point de maladie qu’il ne soulage ni ne prévienne. Son effet dans les
plaies est plus prompt que celui du baume du Pérou. On en a donné à des
chevaux très malades, qui ont été guéris en très peu de temps,” &c.

Although the French of the metropolis are now somewhat disenchanted of
their passion for black currant _ratafia_, yet it maintains its
popularity in the provinces.

The _liqueurs_ of the French West India Islands obtained a great renown
in the last century. These _liqueurs_ were strong and ardent, and
required to be kept a long time before they were generally used. One
of the most renowned makers of these _liqueurs_ was the widow Anfoux
of Martinique, who ultimately came to Paris. It was plain, however,
that it was “distance” that “lent enchantment” to her distilling; for
no sooner had she settled in the Rue Montmartre, than her decoctions,
infusions, and brewings, began to pall on the taste of the Parisians.
Before the first French Revolution, _liqueurs_ were divided into two
classes. The first might be called essences; they bore the name of
oily _liqueurs_, for they were, in fact, thick and oily: the second
class were, in opposition to those, called dry. The inventor of the
oily _liqueurs_ was a Doctor Sigogne, who, by the application of boiled
sugar and saffron, sought to render the _liqueurs_ which he produced
more soft, velvety, and unctuous. In this he perfectly succeeded, and
subsequently hit upon the happy name for his brewing of _l’huile de
Vénus_. This _liqueur_ had a prodigious success; some notions of which
may be formed from the fact that, after the death of the inventor,
small packages of it were sold at private sales at the rate of three
and four louis a pint. The first _distillateur liquoriste_ who acquired
a reputation in Paris was Le Lièvre, then La Serre, and afterwards a
Sieur Omfroi.

The most renowned _liqueur_ of our West India Islands was the _eau des
Barbades_. A very small bottle of this used to sell for a louis d’or;
but the price, as well as the fiery nature of the article, caused it to
sink in public favour.

The Dutch invented cinnamon water, _crême de girofle_, and _crême
de canelle_, when they were the exclusive possessors of the Spice
Islands, and also _curaςao_, which is now produced in great quantities
in Luxembourg (previously to the Belgian Revolution of 1830 a Dutch
town) and Amsterdam. The _crême de girofle_ is a delightful _liqueur_,
and is said by a writer in the “Magazine of Domestic Economy” to be
excellent for singers when suffering under relaxation of the throat.
It is made by adding forty drops of oil of cloves to a quart of spirits
of wine and a quart of syrup, with as much of red colouring matter as
will impart a good colour. _Crême de canelle_ is also an agreeable
_liqueur_, and beneficial to the dyspeptic by warming the stomach, and
giving increased action to that organ.

_Curaςoa_ is one of the very best of _liqueurs_. The finest is made
at Luxembourg and Amsterdam; but, if the frugal housekeeper cannot
afford the expense of the genuine article, he may resort to a receipt
contained in the second volume of the “Magazine of Domestic Economy.”

The tincture and pod of vanilla is much used in France in flavouring
as well as colouring _liqueurs_. The _crême de vanille_ is not an
unpleasant cordial, and is stomachic, and slightly stimulant.

Ireland invented that horrid burning beverage called _scubac_,
_shubach_, or _usquebaugh_. This _liqueur_, called _usquebaugh_, or
_schubagh_, had its birth in the sweet, clean, neat little town of
Drog-h[=e]-da; or, as it was called in the time of Cromwell, Tredagh.

_Schubagh_ is a decoction of barley, tinged with an infusion of
saffron, sweetened with sugar, to which is added spirits of wine to
give it strength. It is the strongest and most fiery of cordials,
and is only fit for a Gueber. _Schubagh_ was early counterfeited in
France, and the counterfeit may, by a species of contradiction, be said
to have surpassed the original. Many new ingredients were added, as
mace, cloves, cinnamon, jujubes, aniseed, juniper-leaves, &c.; but,
notwithstanding this addition and improvement, this beverage never
became a favourite in Paris, though it had subsequently some repute at
Copenhagen, Stockholm, Revel, and Riga.

To Ireland we are also indebted for raspberry and black currant
whiskey. A teaspoonful of either may be taken, but it should be kept
ten years in bottle.

The _eau cordiale_ of Colladon, a famous physician of Geneva, was
composed of the essential oil of lemons, extracted by expression,
rectified spirits of wine, sugar, and _eau de mélisse_. This _liqueur_
is reported to have been the most salubrious and agreeable of any in
the category; but the price of it was so excessive, even during the
life of the inventor, that it was but little consumed.

The _eau de vie d’Andaye_ is a pure and simple brandy; but the slight
taste of fennel which is communicated to it in distillation, places
it in the rank of _liqueurs_. It was in the month of September, 1837,
that having crossed over the Bidassoa in a fordable part, running the
risk of being mistaken by the Carlists for a Christino, that I sat
down under the shadow of the town of Irun, and within view of Andaye
itself, to eat of a Dutch cheese, a shallot, some cresses, and a crust
of the beautifully white bread of Spain. I washed down this homely
fare with a glass of the far-famed _eau de vie d’Andaye_, diluted with
the water of a rill which ran ripplingly over the pebbles beneath
my feet; and, whether from the exercise, the purity of the air, the
tranquil stillness of the place--rendered more fearfully still by the
reverberation of a stray shot in the distance--I thought the fare
delicious, and relished the brandy as the most vinous and cordial drop
I ever tasted. Mentioning this in the summer of the following year to a
West India gentleman, my late lamented friend, Mr. James MacMahon, in
the Quarry Walk of Shrewsbury, and who was a great _gourmet_, though
a point-blank realist and matter-of-fact man, he replied, “There’s no
delusion in it; and neither the air, the scenery, nor the exercise, had
anything to do with the matter. It is the pure quality and excellence
of the brandy alone that gave to the beverage so intense a relish, as I
shall prove to you. A week ago I dined with Earl Talbot at Ingestrie.
There was a large party; it was a _diner d’apparat_, with turtle,
venison, and all the delicacies of the season. Half-a-dozen _liqueurs_
were produced; but last of all some _eau de vie d’Andaye_, which the
host declared had been in the cellar since 1796, a period of forty-two
years. Now it was nine o’clock when this was produced, and my taste
was somewhat palled from the multitude of good things, both solids
and fluids, of which I had tasted; yet, whether from age or frequent
rectification, I never tasted anything so delicious, so that your
theory falls to the ground.”

In the island of Ré, it is said, brandy is prepared exactly by the same
process as at Andaye; but, though I have sailed by this island, it has
never been my fate to taste of the produce of its distillation.

The _eau de vie de Dantzic_ is simply brandy rectified, with the
addition of aniseed and goldbeater’s leaf. This _liqueur_ is not
much used here, but it is in great request in Paris. The receipt for
making it is as follows:--To one quart of spirits of wine, add twelve
drops of oil of aniseed, six of oil of cinnamon, three of oil of roses,
and eight of oil of citron; mix with it a quart of syrup, filter it,
and, when bottling, mix with goldbeater’s leaf cut into little bits.

_Maraschino_ is the produce of a wild cherry, common in the
territory of Zara in Dalmatia. For a long succession of years the
Dalmatians only made a species of cherry-wine of their fruit; but
they afterwards extracted a brandy from them, and ultimately a
_liqueur_, which was so perfect and popular, that before the first
French Revolution the senate of Venice kept the sale of the precious
beverage in its own hands. Some of the frontier French provinces of
Alsace, Lorraine, and Dauphiné, endeavoured to extract from the same
species of cherry a brandy called _kirchwasser_. With this they
essayed, but in vain, to imitate the _maraschino_ of Zara.

There are many _ratafias_, essences, waters, and syrups produced in
France as _liqueurs_, such as _ratafia d’angélique_, _de flore_, _de
fleurs d’orange_, _de grenade_, _eau divine_, _cordiale du chasseur
nuptiale_, &c.; but it would be unjust not to mention the _noyau_, the
_anisette de Bordeaux_, and the _absinthe_. The _noyau_ is one of the
most pleasing, but also one of the most pernicious _liqueurs_ when
taken to excess. It is chiefly made of the kernels of apricots and
peaches, which contain a vast quantity of prussic acid. Orange-flower
water and triturated _vanille_ are also ingredients. A very small
liqueur-glass of this cordial is a pleasing thing enough after fruit or
coffee; but the portion taken should be small, nay, of the _infiniment
petits_. There is a pink as well as a white _noyau_, but the latter is
to be preferred.

Bordeaux is famous for its _anisette_; and this _liqueur_ is not a
bad carminative for gouty old men. The name of Marie Brissart, as a
manufacturer of _anisette_, has attained a European reputation.

The _absinthe_ is an excellent tonic and stomachic. It is an infusion
of wormwood, and is an especially favourite _liqueur_ with critics and
reviewers, for its extreme bitterness is nearly akin to their own.

The English _liqueurs_ are few. The cherry bounce of Hoffman and Son,
of Bishopsgate Street Within, which used to sell at 8_s._ or 9_s._ the
pint, was excellent, but the firm have made a fortune and retired. This
beverage had an immense sale at Bombay, Madras, and Calcutta; but it
is, if possible, still more popular up the Mofussil.

Rum _ratafia_, rum shrub, pine-apple rum, and brandy shrub, are all
good things, but none of them are so excellent as Hoffman’s bounce.

It will be seen, from what I have stated, that all these _liqueurs_,
with whatever fine names they may be decorated, have for their
basis a mixture of brandy, sugar, and water, whose proportions vary
according to the kind of _liqueur_ which is to be prepared. Such
aromatic accessories are added as are deemed most proper to flatter
the taste and the smell; and the great talent of a _liquouriste_
consists in the choice and admixture of these aromatics, and in the
mingling together such fruits and flavours as fraternise most fully
and cordially. The finest aroma in fruit and flower will not always
suffice, however, to produce fine _liqueurs_. Some plants of exquisite
natural odours produce in distillation indifferent _liqueurs_; others
there are of not so odorous a smell, which form the happiest possible
combinations. There are many, for instance, who do not like the
aroma of the truffle, and the perfumer can make little of it, yet it
furnishes a most agreeable _ratafia_. It must in candour be admitted
that the French are our masters in the art of the _liquouriste_. They
divide _liqueurs_ into three classes,--_ordinaires_, _fines_, and
_surfines_. The fine and superfine _liqueurs_ are also known under
the designation of _crêmes_ and _huiles_. Oily _liqueurs_ should be
made thicker than creamy, and should pour out like olive oil. Such
_liqueurs_ as go under the names of _crêmes_ are white, while the oily
_liqueurs_ should be of the colour of olive-oil. Our lively neighbours
profit by every innocent artifice to give a greater vogue to their
productions, and christen their cordials with the most taking--why
should we not say with the most pocket-picking names? Thus we have the
_petit lait de Henri Quarte_, _l’eau des braves_, _l’huile de Vénus_,
_le parfait amour_, _l’eau nuptiale_, _l’eau virginale_, &c., the
_gouttes de Maltes_ of La Moine, and the liqueur impériale, and _de
Pomone_ of the same _fabricant_. Many of the _liqueurs_ drunk both in
England and France are exceedingly unwholesome; and should any one
need a cordial or stimulant after dinner or with his coffee, I would
in preference recommend a small glass of pure Cognac brandy; but this
should be obtained from a trustworthy house, as the Cognac brandies
are adulterated with Spanish or Bordeaux brandy of very inferior
quality, with neutral-flavoured rum and rectified spirits. British
brandy-bitters are used to fill up the flavour, but comparatively
in small quantities, as it is exceedingly powerful. The adulterated
brandy is usually composed of rectified spirits, cassia, carraways,
chamomile-flowers, orange-peel, &c. Cherry-laurel water is also used to
answer the same purpose as British brandy-bitters, and is, indeed, more
frequently had recourse to, because the quantity of it applied does not
prevent a trial of the strength of the brandy by the hydrometer. The
qualities of laurel-water are poisonous and pernicious, and the extract
of almond-cake, prepared by keeping a quantity of the cake for a long
time in spirits of wine, is also a noxious ingredient. The almond-cake
is used to impart to the adulterated brandy a taste resembling the
kernel flavour which the genuine article possesses. The extract of
capsicums and extract of grains of paradise, known in the trade by the
name of the devil, are also frequently used. The extract of capsicums
is made by putting a quantity of the small East India chilies into a
bottle of spirits of wine, and keeping it closely stopped for a month.
The same process is followed in reference to grains of paradise, and
they are both used to impart an appearance of strength. They infuse
into the spirit, a hot, pungent, fiery flavour, which no one of good
taste--no one, indeed, whose organs of taste were not vitiated by a
long indulgence in ardent spirits--would at all relish. Colouring of
burnt sugar is also had recourse to, to deepen the colour of the brandy
rendered too pale by the preceding mixtures, and it is further employed
to answer the same end with rum. Saffron, mace, terra japonica, spirits
of sweet nitre, and prunes, are used to improve the flavour of brandy,
and new brandy is made to look like old by the addition of _aqua
ammoniæ_.

On the German _liqueurs_ I have not yet touched. The principal among
these are the _Pomeranzen_, _Wackholder_, and the _Kummel_. The
_Pomeranzen_ is made by adding to a quart of spirits of wine ninety
drops of oil of orange and a quart of the syrup.

The _Wackholder_ is made by putting thirty drops of oil of juniper to a
quart of spirits of wine, adding a quart of the syrup; and _Kummel_ is
prepared by adding to a quart of spirits of wine seventy drops of oil
of carraways. After it has been shaken well, it should be filtered, and
it will then be fit to bottle.

I have already intimated an opinion that the profuse, or indeed the
frequent and moderate use of _liqueurs_ is to be deprecated: but as an
agreeable termination to a repast, or as a gentle stimulus, inducing
the stomach to perform its functions more kindly, they may be used with
advantage. They should, however, be taken rarely and sparingly, for the
particular effect to be looked for is a gentle action of the stomach.
The _liqueur_, whatever its nature, should be taken as in all foreign
countries, as a _chasse café_, immediately after the small cup of
strong coffee, and it should be sipped slowly, and allowed to linger on
the palate.

Jean de Milon, a famous physician, who wrote in the seventeenth
century, and addressed his aphorisms to a king of England, proclaimed
in the following verses that nothing should be taken after coffee, so
excellent was it, and for this reason he condemns _liqueurs_:--

“Præludant offæ, præcludat prandia coffe.
Dulcitur invadit, sed duriter ilia rodit.
Spiritus ex vino quern fundit dcxtra popino.”

But with all respect to so eminent an authority, the occasional use
of a thimbleful of brandy bounce may be recommended after coffee
as rather beneficial than otherwise, for most will agree with old
Lémery[26] in thinking, “these liquors, being taken moderately, heat
and fortify the stomach, help digestion, expel wind, allay the cholic,
revive the spirits, promote the circulation of the blood, and recover
strength.”

I have only to say, in conclusion, that the most famous _liqueurs_
of France are fabricated at Blois, Grenoble, Langres, Montpelier,
Nismes, Verdun, and Paris.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XIX.

ALE, BEER, CIDER, AND PERRY.

Ale or beer are rarely if ever produced at regular set dinners
now-a-days, though at quiet family parties of three or four, or in
private houses _en famille_, table beer, ale, and stout are often
used by invalids; and occasionally are taken from choice by young,
middle-aged, and elderly people who drink both ale and wine. At the
mid-day meal called lunch, also, beer is an article not unfrequently
taken by those young ladies who exhibit so little appetite for dinner
at fashionable tables at eight o’clock.

The beers most generally consumed in London are Bass’s and Allsopp’s
bitter beer, and Guinness’s Irish stout. All these, when obtained
genuine, are excellent, and I believe wholesome, but they should
be used very sparingly indeed when wine is taken. Dr. Paris tells
us that the most useful quality in the beer comes from the hop.
“Independently,” says he, “of the flavour and tonic virtues which hops
communicate, they precipitate by means of their astringent principle
the vegetable mucilage, and thus remove from the beer the active
principle of fermentation; without hops, therefore, we must either
drink our malt liquors new and ropy, or old and sour.” The nutricious
qualities of malt liquors, for those who live much in the open air, who
hunt, shoot, or use much corporeal exercise, cannot be disputed. But
the studious and the sedentary would do well to avoid beer, if wine be
consumed by them at the same meal.

Good cider is an exceedingly wholesome beverage for persons who
exercise much in the open air, and it relieves thirst better than
malt liquors, but it is now never seen at a London dinner-table, and
is only to be met at country houses in Devonshire, Gloucestershire,
Somersetshire, or Herefordshire, or occasionally in some of the common
rooms of Oxford and Cambridge.

According to the accounts of some modern writers, it is not more than
four centuries since cider has been introduced into France. Be this as
it may, provincial academies in all parts of Normandy, Brittany, and
the higher Pyrenees, have agitated the question for years and years
together _de origine cidri_, and it seems now to be agreed by these
men, or _literati_, that the invention is due to the Biscayans, who
taught the natives of Barbary to fabricate it; who, in their turn,
taught the art to the Normans. It is certain, if we are to believe
Du Perron, that when the Normans, in the sixteenth century, had not
sufficient cider for their own consumption, they drew their supply from
Biscay; but long before the period contended for either by Normans or
Biscayans, cider was drunk at the table of the French kings of the
first race.

In France the best ciders are produced in the Pays de Caux, in the
Valley d’Auge, and in the beautiful country of the Cotentin. Francis
I., in passing by Morsalines in 1532, found the cider so good, that
he purchased a considerable quantity, of which he drank so long as
the provision lasted. The finest cider in England, taken in the
gross, is made in Herefordshire; but there is a particular kind made
in Somersetshire which, for softness, fulness, and velvety flavour,
surpasses the Herefordshire cider. It is called by the extraordinary
name of Cocky Gee. The best cider in France goes by as extraordinary
a cognomen. It is called the _Cue-Noué_, and is pronounced by Charles
Etienne unequalled for softness, _bouquet_, and beauty of colour. There
was a college in Oxford in my younger days, two of the fellows of which
used to yearly obtain hogsheads of this Cocky Gee cider from an old
clergyman in Somersetshire, who made the liquor from the produce of his
own orchard. Never was there a more delicious beverage. Full-flavoured,
soft, creamy, yet vigorous, it was preferred to any champagne.

Of perry, it is not necessary I should say much, as it has a great
affinity to champagne. The pious Radegonde, according to the legend,
drank perry water to mortify herself. The three best species of perry
are made with the _Poire de Ciré_, the _Robert_, and _Carisi_. The
first does not keep, the second flies to the head, and the third,
though it has the same effect, is renowned for its strength, limpidity,
and muscadel flavour. Two centuries and a half ago this country
imported much cider and perry from Normandy. About the same period,
great quantities were sent to Paris from the provinces; but, so soon as
it was perceived that the _cabaretiers_ made use of it to adulterate
their wines, the use of the beverage was forbidden.

It was not till about a century ago that the usage of hydromel at
dinner and dessert altogether ceased. In the thirteenth century this
beverage was made by adding twelve pints of water to one of honey;
but it was then so insipid and flat, that aromatic herbs, foreign
and domestic, were added to give it pungency. Hydromel thus prepared
was called _bogerase_, _borgerafre_, or _borgeraste_. In the monkish
houses it was used as a treat on feast-days. In the _coutumes_ of the
order of Cluni it is called _potus dulcissimus_. The clergy, in those
days, had, like the laity, their periods of festivity and rejoicing.
In the repasts of the northern nations, beer was always served with
dessert, and, even in the present day, in Hamburg, Lubeck, Altona,
Kiel, Dantzic, and many other of the northern parts of Germany, nuts
and ale are considered a rare treat. It is a mistaken notion to think
that beer is a modern beverage, or that its use is exclusively confined
to England. The Egyptians had two sorts of beer, one called _zythus_,
the other _curmi_ or _carmi_. Belon, in his “Observations sur les
Singularités trouvées en Grèce et en Asie,” inclines to the opinion
that the _curmi_ was made with the whole grain, and that the _zythus_
was, like the _posca_ of the Latins, a species of _orgeat_, made with
the flour of the grain, which was kept in paste and diluted for the
occasion. The ancient Gauls knew but two beverages, wine and beer.
The use which they made of beer is attested by Diodorus Siculus, by
Athenæus, by Theophrastus, and by Pliny. Diodorus and Theophrastus
state that the Gauls called their beer _zythus_. If this be true, it
is not improbable that they received from the Egyptians both the name
and the beverage. Be this as it may, it is certain that the insensate
order which Domitian gave, to tear up all the vines in Gaul, rendered
the use of beer but the more general. Nor did the permission of Probus
to replant the vine cause a more general use of the juice of the grape;
for, about eighty years after his reign, the Emperor Julian complains
of the general use of beer, and even condescends to brew an epigram
against the bitter and wholesome beverage. To Probus, however, every
lover of wine is indebted. The wines of Burgundy, Champagne, and
even Tokay, owe to him their existence.[27] Speaking of this emperor,
Crevier says:--“Je m’étonnerais que ce prince n’eût pas été célébré
par les buveurs comme un nouveau Bacchus, si les buveurs étoient
savans.[28] Il prit soin lui-même de faire planter en vigne par les
soldats le Mont Alma près de Sermim sa patrie, et le Mont d’or dans le
Moesie supérieure, et il donna ces vignobles aux habitans du pays, en
les chargeant du soin et des frais de la culture.”

Julian, on the contrary, affected or followed sobriety, disdained the
use of beer, and, though he praises the severe and simple manners of
his beloved Paris, την φιλην Aευκετιαν,[29] yet he austerely chides
the intemperance of the Gauls, while admitting the excellence of their
vines. That the vines were rare in his time, and wine dear, is plain
from the fact that the Parisians of that early day were in the habit
of drinking beer, as the middle classes of England do in the year of
grace, 1864. Thus, 1500 years ago, to speak in round numbers, the
Parisians commenced their repasts with beer, and finished with wine.
The custom still subsists both in England, Flanders, and Germany,
though it may be said to be nearly fallen into disuse in France. At
the table of the Burgundian kings it was customary to serve both
wine and cider at the same time; and if Thierri, King of Burgundy,
drank both wine and cider at the same meal, who will deny that the
French kings may not have drunk wine and beer? Charlemagne, in his
capitulary _de villis_, directs that among the workmen to be employed
on his farms there shall be some who know how to make beer. It is a
remarkable fact, that the fairest and most favoured countries of the
earth--the countries producing the best wines, Greece, Gaul, Italy, and
Spain--have simultaneously used beer. The council of Aix-la-Chapelle
regulated the quantity of beer and wine which should be consumed
by both sexes in religious houses. In a rich house, situated in an
abundant wine country, each regular canon was daily allowed five
pounds’ weight of wines, and each _chanoinesse_ three. If it were a
country not thickly studded with vines, the allowance was three pounds
of wine with three of beer for the canon, and two of beer and two of
wine for the _chanoinesse_. There were brewhouses in all the ancient
monasteries. In going through Picardy, Normandy, and Brittany, even in
our own day, the spot where the brewhouse formerly existed is always
shown. When the monks drank beer they were wise enough to brew it
themselves, and were not tributary to the Barclays, Meuxs, Calverts,
Guinnesses, Basses, Hodsons, and Allsopps of the day. Within the walls
of the convent were the ovens, the vats, and even the mills necessary
for the grain. There exists a charter of Henry I. (1042) in favour
of the monastery of Montreuil-sur-Mer, by which the monarch grants to
that house two of those mills _cerevisiæ usibus de servientes_. In our
own country the custom of brewing in religious houses survived the
Reformation, and the beer of Trinity and Christchurch is now just as
good as it was in the time of William of Wykeham, Archbishop Chichele,
Hugh de Balsham, or William Bateman, Bishop of Norwich.

As the number of vineyards increased in France, the use of beer
diminished, until it became at length uncommon to see it at the table
of a layman. In the thirteenth century that very Paris, which under
the Emperor Julian had scarcely any other beverage than beer, could
hardly count a brewer. But the fraternity who delight in gentian,
coculus Indicus, mazerion, liquorice root, and grains of paradise,
again appeared in numbers towards 1428. The author of the “Journal de
Paris,” composed under the reigns of Charles VI. and VII., attributes
this descent from wine to beer to the oppressive taxation and heavy
exactions of Charles VI. Among the memoirs furnished to the Duke of
Burgundy in 1698 by the different intendants of the kingdom, on the
state of France, the memoir of the intendant of Paris remarks that
the misery and distress of the people had considerably diminished the
commerce of wine in his district; whilst the consumption of beer, on
the contrary, increased in proportion, so that in the same year the
brewers had consumed 80,000 _setiers_ (the _setier_ was twelve bushels)
of barley, without counting the corn employed for white beer. At this
period beer in France was made of barley and rye, but meslin, corn,
vetches, and lentils, were also added. The seeds or flowers of hops
were added only when wheat or barley was used.

The use of hops was entirely unknown to the ancient Gauls, and how
they, under these circumstances, contrived to keep their beer is a
secret lost to us moderns. In the thirteenth century the French had a
better species of double beer, which they called _godale_, probably
from the English words good ale, or the Frisian _gut ael_. The wisest
of men has said, “There is nothing new under the sun;” and a further
illustration of the truth of this remark is afforded by the fact that,
even thus early, the Parisian brewers were accustomed to put spices,
bay-leaves, and pitch, into their beer to give it flavour. The statutes
of Boileve, exclusively meant for brewers, say that these practices
“ne sont ne bonnes ne loyaux.” Some there were who, according to
Charles Etienne, added tares to the beer, at the risk of rendering the
beverage not only intoxicating, but dangerous. But, as if to excuse
this Parisian practice, the author adds, “The English mix in their beer
sugar, cinnamon, and cloves, and afterwards clarify it.” Schookius,
who wrote in 1661, tells us that it was the custom to salt the beer at
Minden, in Westphalia; and that in Flanders they added besides the
hops, the bay-leaf, gentian, sage, lavender, and clary, which is after
all a species of sage.

There was a more agreeable beer, which was made sweeter with honey,
and which was much in vogue in France among the rich. In Germany no
other beer was drunk, and it became so popular in that country that
it was forbidden to penitents, excepting on the Sunday, because, says
the Council of Worms, “it was too voluptuous a drink.” This sweeter
beer prevailed in France till the end of the sixteenth century, when
_liqueurs à l’eau de vie_ became the rage. The beer-brewers, not
wishing to be behindhand, tried to make a species of _liqueur_ out of
their beer-vats. They produced an article called _à l’ambre_, in which
there was a decoction of coriander seeds, and another _à la framboise_;
but neither of these were successful. The beer of Cambrai was the best
Continental beer in the sixteenth century, but it is beaten in the
nineteenth by the brown beer of Bavaria, the white beer of Berlin, and
the _alembique_ of Brussels. It is in no respect wonderful that the
inhabitant of the more northern regions should excel in this beverage
the native of the sweet south. The German, the Fleming, the Dutchman,
who drinks beer, and beer only, wishes it strong, nourishing, and
malty; the Parisian, on the contrary, whose ordinary drink is wine, and
who resorts to beer as we do in warm weather to soda water, pop, and
ginger-beer, merely requires that the liquor shall be light, brisk,
sparkling, and agreeable. I have no means of knowing the number of
brewers in Paris at present, but there were forty 120 years ago, who
annually made about 75,000 _muids_ of beer (the _muid_ is 300 pints).
Little more than seventy years ago there were but twenty-three brewers
in Paris, of whom the revolutionary Santerre was the most celebrated in
the Faubourg St. Antoine. On the 10th of August he became commandant of
the National Guard; on the 11th of December, he conducted Louis XVI. to
the bar of the National Convention; and on the 21st of January, 1793,
he commanded with Berryer the troops that were present at the execution
of this unfortunate prince. It was the brewer Santerre who interrupted
the monarch when he essayed to speak from the scaffold, and who caused
his sovereign’s voice to be drowned by beat of drum. Santerre more than
once showed the white feather, as the epitaph written on him proves:

“Ci gît le Général Santerre,
Qui n’avait de Mars que la bierre.”

That there are now as many brewers in Paris as there were a century
ago may be well doubted. At the peace in 1815, a number of English and
Scotch brewers went over, and entered into brewery speculations in
Paris and the provinces; but the greater number of these were wholly
ruined, and repented, when too late, of their short-sighted imprudence.

In seasons of dearth, the Paris brewers were forbidden by _ordonnance_
to make beer. _Ordonnances_ of the Prévôt de Paris appeared to this
effect in 1415, and again in 1482. An _arrêt_ of the council renewed
this interdiction in 1693, and two others of the parliament to a like
effect appeared in 1709 and 1740.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XX.

ON WINES, ANCIENT AND MODERN.

Several treatises have been written on wine in most European countries.
Lord Bacon, in the days of Elizabeth, did not disdain to give his
attention to the subject; and his Italian contemporary, Andrea Bacci,
the physician of the able Sextus the Fifth, has given us probably
the best history of wine in that rare and curious book, “De Naturali
Vinorum Historia.” About a century ago a Sir Edward Barry, then a
physician at Bath, and afterwards state physician to the Viceroy
of Ireland, published his “Observations, Historical, Critical, and
Medical, on the Wines of the Ancients; and on the Analogy between them
and Modern Wines.” In consequence of the interest excited by the topic,
this work, now somewhat rare, acquired a certain repute, but it does
not now stand in the estimation it did half a century ago. Much that
Barry tells us of the ancient wines is borrowed from Bacci; and there
is a great deal of useless disquisition mixed with some absurdity. The
late Dr. Henderson, a good judge of wine, and who had some excellent
wine in his cellar, published his “History of Ancient Wines” some
seven or eight and thirty years ago, in which there is a great deal of
interesting and useful information. This was followed by a “History
and Description of Modern Wines,” commenced by Mr. Cyrus Redding in
1832, and published in 1833. The work was so useful and successful that
a second edition was called for in 1835, and published in 1836.[30]
From 1836 to the past year there has not been anything very remarkable
published in England on the subject of wines. In the month of December
last Mr. J. G. Shaw published a work entitled, “Wine, the Vine, and
the Cellar,” and in January of the present year, Mr. Denman, also a
wine merchant, published a work called the “Wine and its Fruit,” more
especially in relation to the production of wine. Both of these works
are well printed and illustrated, but they really add little to what
was before known on the subject by any one who has made wine his study.

Barry tells us it was the reading of Hippocrates as a professional
duty which first led him to the consideration of the subject of wines.
Hippocrates described the various qualities of wines, and adapted
vinous mixtures to different diseases and constitutions. By lessening
the proportion of water usually mixed with wine, he made a powerful
cordial; as, by increasing the water, he obtained a cooling diluent.

It is impossible to deny that wine, taken in moderation, tends to
strengthen and excite the spirits, to cheer and comfort the languid,
and to refresh the toil-worn and exhausted. The poets of Greece and
Rome celebrate the praises of wine, and, as though the invention of
the liquor were too transcendental to be human, attribute it to the
gods--to Osiris, Saturn, and Bacchus. Anacreon calls the juice of the
grape ambrosial; and Homer himself bestows on wine the epithet divine,
πoτoν θείον.

Plato, while he would strictly restrain the use and severely censure
excess in wine, maintains with more than his usually persuasive power,
that nothing more excellent than the juice of the grape was ever
granted by God to man. It appears from the ancient historians that the
rules for the culture and preparation of wine and grapes descended from
the Egyptians to the Greeks, who improved and perfected them, and that
the Romans, in turn, became the scholars of the Greeks.

As the soil of Italy was favourable to the vine, vineyards soon
spread through the country. Italy became distinguished by the name of
_Œnotria_., and the inhabitants were called _Œnotrii viri_.
An infinity of wines were produced from the various species of grapes.
Virgil, who was as familiar with agriculture as he excelled in poetry,
says it would be as easy to enumerate the sands of the sea-shore as
the different species of wine.

Pliny carefully collected all that had been written before his time
on the subject of the vine. He describes the various species of the
_vitis_, and the mode and manner of making wines. He enumerates
the principal wines of Asia, Greece, and Italy.

Cato, Marcus, Varro, and Columella have also written on the culture of
the vine and wine-making; and it appears from the productions of these
writers that they perfectly understood the racking off into fresh casks
which had been previously impregnated with the vapour of sulphur. Out
of these authors and Palladius, Mr. Redding admits that an excellent
treatise might be formed on the grape and its products; though he
states, and truly, that on the qualities and flavour of the ancient
wines the moderns must be content to remain in ignorance.

We know, for instance, that the light and delicate Setine, was the
favourite wine of Augustus; that it is commended by Martial, Juvenal,
and Silius Italicus, who pronounces it to be worthily reserved for
Bacchus himself, “ipsius mensis seposta Lyaci.” I am not, however,
quite so sure as Dr. Barry that it was the wine so much recommended
by St. Paul to Titus for strengthening the stomach. “It was grown,”
says Henderson, “on the heights of Sezza,” and though nota strong
wine, possessed sufficient firmness and permanence to undergo the
operation of the _fumarium_; for Juvenal alludes to some which was
so old that the smoke had obliterated the mark of the jar in which
it was contained. The process which these wines underwent in the
_fumarium_ gave to them a greater transparency and more early maturity.
This method had been long known to the Greeks, their αποθηκη being
equivalent to the Roman _fumarium_. The ancients were perfect adepts
in these methods of forcing wines, and they used for the purpose plain
and burnt salt, bitter almonds, the whites of eggs, and particularly
isinglass. But when wines were more than usually foul, they added sand,
or marble finely powdered. Salt water, also, was frequently used to
depurate and preserve wine. This discovery is said to have been owing
to a slave’s having drunk part of a cask of wine committed to his care
and concealed the fraud with sea water; the wine thus falsified was
found to be superior to the wine of the same growth contained in the
other casks. The Romans were but children in the art of adulteration,
when compared with the Greeks. Palladius gives several receipts which
were used by the Greeks for improving the flavour, colour, and strength
of their wines, and likewise to give to new the qualities of old wine;
in one, a mixture of hepatic aloes had a considerable share. Cato
favours us also with a curious receipt for making an artificial _Chian_
wine with the _Falernian_. He directs that the sea-water should be
taken up at a great distance from the land, and that it should be kept
in casks for some time before being used.

The _Cæcuban_ wine is described as a generous, strong-bodied wine,
which would keep, but which would affect the head if taken in quantity:
in a word, it was a heady liquor, which the modern French would call,
as they do the _vin de Jurançon_, “_capiteux_.” Like most heady wines,
too, it required long keeping ere it was ripe. It was one of the
favourite wines of Horace, and was generally reserved for important
festivals:--

“Antehac nefas depormere Cæcubum
Cellis avitis.”

The far-famed _Falernian_ was grown about the bases of hills. Galen
observes that were two sorts of _Falernian_, the dry and the sweetish.
The latter was only produced when the wind continued in the south
during the vintage. Martial dignifies _Falernian_ with the epithet
immortal:--

“Addere quid cessas, puer, immortale Falernum?”

But, although the name of the _Falernian_ be familiar in our mouths as
“household words,” nothing is known of its taste, flavour, or colour.
It is, however, described as a strong wine, that would keep long, and
so rough, that it required to be cellared a great number of years
before it was sufficiently mellow.

The wines of the _Mons Falernus_, however, always preserved a superior
character. Tibullus places them under the superintending care of
Bacchus. Silius Italicus gives them a preference over the Asiatic and
Greek wines; and Virgil, in bestowing smooth, flowing praises on the
_vinum Rhæticum_, says, it must, nevertheless, yield the palm to the
_Falernian_.

Among the lighter wines of the Roman territory, the _Sabinum_,
_Nomentanum_, and _Venafrum_, were among the most popular. “The first,”
says Henderson, “was a thin table wine, of a reddish colour, attaining
its maturity in seven years. The _Nomentanum_, a delicate claret wine,
is described as coming to perfection in five or six years.” Among the
Sicilian wines, the _Mamertinum_, which came from the neighbourhood
of Messina, and is said to have been first introduced at public
entertainments by Julius Cæsar, was light and astringent.

The Greeks were fonder of wine than the Romans, and were supplied
with a greater variety. Among the earliest of the Greek wines, of
which we have any distinct account is the _Maronean_, “probably,” says
Henderson, “the production of Ismaurus, near the mouth of the Hebrus,
where Ulysses received the supply which he carried with him on his
voyage to the land of the Cyclops. The _Maronean_ was a black, sweet
wine, and from the manner in which Homer sings its virtues, the quality
must have been indeed superior. The _Pramnian_ a red, but not a sweet
wine, of equal antiquity. It was a potent and durable liquor, and
must have somewhat resembled port. It was, however, in the luscious,
sweet wines that the Greeks surpassed their neighbours. These wines
were the products of the islands of the Ionian and the Ægean Seas,
where the exquisite climate and a suitable soil gave to the fruit a
peculiar flavour and excellence. Lesbos, Chios, and Thasos, seems,
according to Henderson, to have contended for the superiority; but
several of the other islands, such as Corcyra, Cyprus, Crete, Cnidos,
and Rhodes, yielded wines which were much esteemed for their sweetness
and delicacy. The Thasian and some of the Cretan wines were peculiarly
fragrant. Athenæus calls the former οινος ανθοσμιος.”

The Greeks, _gourmets_ as they were, did not confine themselves to the
indigenous growths. They were familiar with the produce of the African
and Asiatic wines, of which several enjoyed a high reputation. They
drank of the white wines of Mareotis and Taenia, in Lower Egypt; of
the wine of Antylla, the produce of the vicinity of Alexandria; of
the sweet wine of Lydia, in Asia Minor; of the Scybellites, so called
from the place of its growth in Galatia, also in Asia Minor. The
Greeks, like the Romans, drank all their wines, especially those of the
stronger kind, very largely diluted with water, for their common drink.
Plutarch has mentioned three different kinds of mixtures. The πεντε,
or five, consisted of three parts of water and two of pure wine; and
the τρια, or three, of two parts of water and one of wine; the fourth
consisted of three parts of water, and one of wine.

Athenæus mentions a mixture called πεντε και δυο, which consisted of
five parts of pure wine and two of water.

The recent Greek wines, which were meant for more immediate use, were
kept in goat-skins. But, even in Homer’s time the Greeks were well
acquainted with the art of preserving their best and stronger wines
in wooden casks, or hogsheads (which he calls πιθοι), until they had
attained a proper maturity.

As to the Gauls, it is certain that, six centuries before Christianity
was introduced, they knew the use of wine; for, when the Phocæans came
to found Marseilles, Petta, the daughter of a king of the country,
presented, according to Athenæus, to Euxenes their chief, a cup filled
with wine and water. But who first planted the vine in Gaul, and who
first cultivated it there? It would be difficult to answer these
questions. According to Justin and Strabo, it appears that the Phocæans
were not only the first to introduce the vine among the Gauls, but the
first to learn them to cut and cultivate it. Pliny, on the other hand,
says it was a person named Elicoa, who, having made some money at Rome,
and wishing to return to his country, carrying with him wine and dried
fruits, sold them to the inhabitants, exhorting them to the conquest
of the flowing, fruitful land that produced such liquor. Cicero tells
us, that one of the most lucrative of commercial transactions among
the Gauls was the exportation of their wine to Italy. Columella counts
these wines among the number rendered necessary for consumption in
Rome,--“Nobis e transmarinis provinciis advehitur frumentum, ne fame
laboremus; et vindemias condimus ex insulus Cycladibus, ac regionibus
Beticis Gallicisque.” Diodorus Siculus, however, maintains that it
was the Italian wines that were consumed in Gaul, and states the
Ultramontane dealers who carried them gained immense sums in this
commerce. Possidonius, an author contemporary with Diodorus and Cicero,
and who had travelled in Gaul, is cited by Athenæus to prove that it
was only the richest of the nation that drank wine, which they imported
from Italy or the territory of Marseilles.

There is some reason to believe that the vineyards of Burgundy are
as old as the Antonines. In the beginning of the fourth century, the
orator Eumenius speaks of the vines in the territory of Autun, which
were decayed through age, and the first plantation of which was totally
unknown. The Pagus Arebrignus is supposed by M. d’Anville to be the
district of Beaune, celebrated now for a fine growth of Burgundy.

When the Romans had submitted that portion of Gaul to their arms which
is called Provence, the Roman colonists in Dauphiné, Provence, and a
part of Languedoc, extended vine-plantations. Soon they spread far and
wide, and, in the time of Cæsar, many provinces were in possession of
vines, as Strabo, Varro, and Cæsar himself, testify.

Among the excellent grapes peculiar to Gaul, Columella numbers those
of the _Bituriges_; but, as this name was common both to the people
of Berry and of the Bordelais, it is difficult to divine to which
of the provinces the praise of the Latin author properly applies.
The probability, however, is, that it refers to the Bordelais; for
Ausonius, who lived in the fourth century of the Christian era, loudly
boasts of the wine of Bordeaux.

The mode of training the vine in Gaul consisted in intertwining the
branches amongst each other, which differed essentially from the Roman
system. The ancient Gaulish practice subsists to this day in Provence,
in Languedoc, in Bearn, and in the eastern portion of Dauphiné. The
Gauls, who manured their fields with marl, used ashes as a compost for
the roots of their vines.

Marseilles, says Pliny, produces a rich, thick wine, which has two
flavours, and serves to mix with other wines. It is difficult, he
continues, to pronounce on the merits of the wines of Narbonne,
because the wine-makers, with a view to change their taste and
colour, adulterate them, mix them with herbs and noxious drugs, even
with aloes. These tricks were in Italy reduced to a trade, and the
wine-doctors were called _Conditura vinorum_. But notwithstanding
these faults, writes Athenæus, the wine of Marseilles was good, and
possessed, above all, the quality of ripening other wines when mixed
with them.

The Narbonnese were not the only adulterators. The Allobroges, a people
of Dauphiné, had a particular pitch which they mixed with their wine.
If we are to believe Dioscorides, the infusion of pitch was a necessary
ingredient in the Gaulish wines; otherwise, says he, they would have
soured, the climate not being warm enough to ripen the grape. The
reason assigned by Dioscorides would prove either that the climate of
Gaul was then really colder than it is now, or that the art of making
wine was still in its infancy. Excellent wine is now made in provinces
more northward than Dauphiné, and still better in the north of France,
and the countries bathed by the waters of the Moselle and the Rhine.
No doubt, innocent means may be employed in cold years, without any
risk, to give to the wine a quality which it wants. For a long while
the Champenois have been in the habit of smoking their casks with
sulphur before using them. The Abbé Rozier, in a Memoir upon the best
manner of making the wines of Provence, proposes, when the wine is
austere or acid, to dilute honey in the must before it ferments. M. de
Prefontaine, in the “Maison Rustique de Cayenne,” published in 1763,
speaking of the grapes produced in that island, says that if they
were to be used for the purpose of making wine, their natural tartness
might be corrected by adding a little sugar. But this practice had been
long previously secretly followed in that portion of the Bordelais
traversed by the Dordogne, whose principal towns are Bergerac and St.
Foi. At the commencement of the last century the wines of this province
suddenly acquired such a renown, that there were proprietors who,
in a few years, quadrupled the price. The neighbouring proprietors
suspected there was something wrong, some secret they could not fathom.
They watched for a long while, and at length discovered that immense
quantities of sugar arrived in the night. This discovery at first led
to nothing; but, in the end a cooper, who knew the secret, having
been dismissed from an establishment in which he had been employed,
revealed the secret in order to revenge himself. Only five or six
families profited by the man’s treason. They took good care to keep the
profit to themselves, till a M. Vaucocour published a letter, in which
he disclosed the receipt, which consisted in reducing the sugar to a
syrup, and then in aromatising it with peach-flowers or the like.

The Marseillais had, in the olden time, another method. This was to
boil and smoke their wines in order to thicken them, and to give them
the appearance and flavour of old wines:--

“Improba Massiliæ quidquid fumaria cogunt,
Accipit ætatem quisquis ab igne cadus.”

The Romans were also in the habit of smoking their wines. The proof is
recorded in Horace:--

“Amphoræ fumum bibere institutæ.”

Tibullus also alludes to it:--

“Nunc mihi fumosos veteris proferte Falernos Consulis.”

Baccius, in his work, “De Naturali Vinorum Historia,” speaking of
the wines in Alsace, says that they were kept exposed to the smoke
in hot chambers, where they became so thick that they were no longer
drinkable, unless they were beaten with twigs or diluted with hot
water. The following are his words:--“Super fumo diu et in æstuariis
retenta, eam acquirunt vetustate crassitiem, ut potari per se non
possint, nisi diu agitata immissis scopis aut origis dissolvantur,
vel eliquata per aquam calidam fiant potui idonea: quo usu legimus
crassa fuisse antiquis vina, quæ similiter per aquam calidam essent
dissolvenda.”

Since the discoveries made at Herculaneum and Pompeii, there have been
found among the ruins one of the vases which served for the operation
of which I speak, and in which the wine had entirely dried. A similar
vase or urn has been discovered in the territory of Vienne, in which
the inspissated juice of the wine had crystallized.

Whatever were the processes employed in Gaul for the preparation of
wine, many of its vineyards had acquired reputation, and had, moreover,
become a source of wealth. This rising spring of riches was soon
dried up by the tyrants who reigned over the country. The year of the
Christian era 92 having been unpropitious to corn and favourable to
the vine, a general scarcity followed. Domitian, who was then emperor,
concluded that the cause of this was, that the vines were too numerous,
and corn not sufficiently sown. Proceeding on this false assumption,
he published an edict, by which he ordered that in the greatest part
of the provinces of the empire half of the vines should be rooted out,
and that in the others they should be entirely destroyed. Towards
the year 282, Probus abrogated it. After having, by his victories,
restored peace to the empire, the wise and valiant emperor, says
Aurelius Victor, Eutropius, Vopiscus, and Eusebius, restored to the
provinces the liberty of replanting the vine. The Gauls commenced
the task with alacrity. The Roman legions spread abroad in Gaul were
employed in these plantations, for it was the wise policy of Rome, when
her soldiers were not engaged in war, to occupy them in useful public
labours. Soon were the greater number of the hills of Gaul covered with
vines; and these were not, as in the times of the two first Cæsars,
bounded by the north of the Cevennes; for almost each province, on the
contrary, had its vineyards.

In the Salique law, as well as in the law of the Visigoths, penalties
are decreed against those who shall destroy a cutting of the vine, or
who shall steal grapes. The protection which the government accorded to
this species of property caused it to be regarded as sacred. Chilperic
having decreed that each vine-proprietor should annually furnish him
with an _amphora_ of wine for his table, there was, says Aimoin, a
revolt in Limousin, and the officer whose duty it was to receive
this odious tribute was massacred. So great had the passion for the
vine become that the French kings turned a portion of their private
domains into vineyards. Each of their palaces had its vineries, with
wine-presses and all the utensils necessary for the vintage. From the
Capitularies of Charlemagne we learn that the monarch entered into this
species of administration in the minutest detail. When, after the death
of Louis the Débonnaire, the three sons of that prince, laying down
their arms, agreed on the division of his estates, Charles the Bald had
Western France; Lothaire, Eastern France and Italy; and Louis, that
portion which was situated in Germany beyond the Rhine. But as this
latter had no vineyards, the Saxon Chronicle and the Chronicle of the
monk Sigebert remark that there were joined to his division some towns
or villages beyond the river which produced wine. The Louvre itself,
like the other royal palaces of France, inclosed vineyards within its
precincts. That such vineyards were considerable appears from the fact
that in 1160 Louis le Jeune could annually assign out of their produce
six _muids_ of wine to the curate of St. Nicholas.

Among the “Fabliaux of the Thirteenth Century,” published by Le Grand,
there is one entitled “La Bataille des Vins,” in which the author
supposes that the King, Philip Augustus, causes to be brought to
his table all known wines, national as well as foreign, in order to
examine which are worthy of admission. The monarch is in this piece
represented as a confirmed _gourmet_, and lover of good wine. From an
account of the revenues of this king, left us by Brussel, we learn
that in the matter of wines Philip loved variety, and wished to have
a copious cellar, for he possessed vineyards at Bourges, at Soissons,
at Compiegne, at Lân, at Beauvais, at Auxerre, Corbeil, Betesi,
Orleans, Moret, Poissi, Gien, Anet, Chalevanc, Verberies, Fontainbleau,
Rurecourt, Milli, Bois Commun, Samoi, and Auvers. Breton, in his Latin
poem on Philip, counts the wines of Gascony and La Rochelle among
the articles of commerce which Flanders took of France. The wines of
Guyenne were not only sold in Flanders, but in much greater quantity in
England. The same political considerations which induced us to close
our ports twenty years ago to French wines unless on the payment of a
very considerable import duty, caused us then to open them to the wines
of a province subject to English authority. Matthew Paris, speaking
of the discontent and bitterness which prevailed in Gascony in 1251
against Henry III., states that public opinion was so exasperated,
that these provinces would have revolted had they not need of England
for the sale of their wine. A fact related by Froissart will give
us an idea of the extent of the trade at that time. “In 1372,” says
this historian, “there arrived from England, at Bordeaux, 209 sail
of merchantmen, which came for wine.” Champier, who wrote about a
century and a half after Froissart, remarks, that from his time England
scarcely consumed any other wine or corn than that of France, and
that, when this commerce was interrupted by war, England experienced a
species of famine. “So that,” said he, “France may boast of having in
her hands power of producing famine or abundance in England.”

Although the other French provinces had not such advantageous outlets
for their commerce as Guyenne, the vine was, nevertheless, cultivated
with an equal success. This may be seen by the “Fabliaux” cited, in
which the French wines dispute the preference with foreign. These
effects were solely brought about by the national industry; the
government did nothing to recompense or favour it, and when it did
concern itself about the French wine-trade its interference was
injurious. The kingdom having experienced a scarcity, in consequence
of the bad harvest of 1566, Charles IX. wrongly attributed the cause
to the too great abundance of vines, and, like Domitian, proscribed
them. An _ordonnance_ published by him directed that in each canton,
or district, the vines should only occupy a third of the ground; the
other two-thirds were to be converted into arable or pasture lands.
In 1577 Henry III. modified the _ordonnance_ of the king his brother,
recommending to all the officers charged with the government of his
provinces to see that the arable land was not left uncultivated to give
place to an excessive plantation of the vine.

The edict published under the reign of Louis XV. was not so foolish
as the preceding one. Many intendants of provinces having represented
that the vines occupied an undue space of lands fitted for corn or
pasturage; that it caused the dearness of wood; that it multiplied the
quantity of wine to such an excess that the value and reputation were
in a number of places destroyed; the king, in 1731, forbade any new
plantation of vines, and directed that vineyards which had ceased to be
cultivated for two years should no longer be continued.

It often happened that proprietors of wines, not being able to get rid
of their article, preferred to sell it in retail. In this contingency
they suspended to the threshold of their door a broom, a crown of ivy,
or something similar. Those who wished to purchase carried a pot with
them, and thence came the expression, _vendre à pot_. Some caused
their wine to be announced by the public crier.

It will appear from what I have written that the attention paid to
vine-dressing and the cultivation of the vine was the result of a
perfect knowledge of husbandry.

I have already said that the wines of the ancients were racked and
fined, but there seems to have been as much adulteration 1800 years ago
as at the present moment. Adulterations are repeatedly mentioned in the
classic writers. After the wine was made and underwent the secondary
fermentation, it was placed in pitched skins, or in earthen vessels,
denominated _amphoræ_, containing twenty-seven _old_ English gallons.

That the ancients understood the process of maturing wines perfectly is
evident from all the writers on the subject. After the wine was made
and put into the vat, where it underwent the secondary fermentation,
it was placed in pitched skins, closed with a lid of baked earth, and
hermetically sealed.[31]

It were a curious task to trace how long domestic customs and
utensils survive forms of polity and government. In glancing at such
a subject, I merely remark that the _amphoræ_ have outlived the
Roman emperors, the republic, nay even the Roman nation and people,
and all their magnificent institutions. It is impossible now to
pass forty-eight hours in the neighbourhood of Asti Montepulciano,
Montefiascone, or any of the wine districts of Italy, without being
struck with the identity to the _amphoræ_ of those earthen vessels
with two handles, holding from about eighteen to twenty quarts of our
measure, which one sees in every cellar, and almost in every street.
Suetonius tells us of a man who aspired to the quæstorship, and drank
the contents of a whole _amphora_ at a repast given by the Emperor
Tiberius, “Ob epotam in convivo propinante se vini amphoram;” but,
though there may be men in Scotland, or Scotchmen in England, who could
carry away so much liquor and be none the worse for it, the capacity of
any Englishman to do as much may be doubted.

The use of casks or wine hogsheads were unknown to the Greeks and
Romans.[32] They could therefore only transport their wines in earthen
vessels or skins, which in the older English authors are queerly and
alliteratively called “borachio bottles.” The earthen vessels presented
the inconvenience of being fragile, whilst the skins were subject to
bursting, to become insecure, &c. My late excellent and learned friend
Dr. Henderson states, and truly, that the Romans occasionally employed
glass. They undoubtedly did so; but the accomplished historian of
wines is wrong when he affirms that they brought the manufacture of
glass to a great degree of perfection; for nothing, on the contrary,
can be more common than those specimens of glass found in Pompeii, and
those drinking-cups and lachrymatories, various specimens of which may
be seen in the Museo Borbonico at Naples. That glass, however, was
used at table in those days appears certain from a passage in which
he speaks of those glass magnums or jugs, as being large and closed
with a species of plaster or Roman cement. “Adlatæ sunt amphoræ vitreæ
diligenter gypsatæ.” He elsewhere says, “Amphoras copiosas gypsatas ne
effluat vinum.”

All the Latin authors agree that the ingenious invention of casks is
due to the Gauls, who established themselves along the banks of the Po;
but we are entirely ignorant if the Greeks knew the cooper’s art before
they left their native country, or if they invented casks and hogsheads
after their transmigration beyond the Alps. Notwithstanding the
incontestable superiority of casks over skins, these latter continued
to be still used. That they were much in vogue would appear from one of
the capitularies of Charlemagne, in which, glancing at the prevalence
of skins, he forbids his people to use any other vessels than good
barrels (_bonos barridos_) hooped with iron.

At the Roman entertainments there was a particular part of the
convivial room set apart for the reception of the wines. Here the
various vessels and drinking-cups were ranged on a table called αβαξ,
or _abacus_. This was generally of marble, in the form of a long
square, not unlike the modern sideboard. From the account which Philo
Judæus gives of the number of vessels placed on it, it must have been
very large. Pliny, speaking of the rich spoils exhibited by Pompey in
the triumph he obtained for his victories over the pirates, says that
the number of drinking vessels adorned with jewels was sufficient to
furnish nine _abaci_: “Triumpho quem de piratis Asia, Ponto, egit,
transtulit lectos tridiniares tres; vasa ex auro et gemmis abacorum
novem.”[33] Cicero charges Verres with having plundered the _abaci_,
“Ab hoc iste abaci vasa omnia ut exposita fuerant abstulit,” and
Dr. Barry, in giving this quotation, misquotes it, “In abacis erant
abstulit.” These articles of luxury, according to Livy, were imported
from Asia first as luxuries, but soon, like all other superfluous
wants, they became necessaries. The ancients had, like the moderns,
servants like our butlers, specially charged with the care of the wine.
The office necessarily required judgment and experience. The head
butler is called by Pollux οἰνοπτης. His business was to inspect the
wines before and after they had been prepared, and mixed in another
apartment. When they were placed on the _abacus_, he stood there as a
modern butler or _maître d’hôtel_ does at our side-boards, and gave
his orders to the underlings and slaves. The next in office under the
butler was the pinceran or οἰνοχοος, which we should render as the
pourer out of wine, or cup-bearer, the word being used in this sense
both by Homer and Xenophon. This man received all his directions from
the butler, and by him and his _acolytes_ the wines were regularly
prepared and distributed to the guests. Of these inferior ministering
agents there were many, and of different degrees. It was a part of the
luxury of the times to be waited on by beautiful boys, purchased at
high prices, who served the master and the superior guests; but the
inferior ones and those of meaner condition were served by African
slaves of coarse appearance, woolly-headed, and of most unsavoury
odour. Notwithstanding the number of servants and slaves, many mistakes
unavoidably happened in the mixture of wine. Nor is this wonderful when
it is considered that the host and his guests called for wine variously
diluted either with hot or cold water, and occasionally for whatever
strong wine was agreeable to them. Cicero, describing a supper, alludes
to the symposium of Xenophon, where the wines were prepared by hot
water and afterwards cooled in snow: “Et pocula sicut in symposio
Xenophontis minuta atque rorantia et refrigeratio in æstate, et
vicissim aut sol, aut ignis hibernus.” Of the quantity of wine drank
on these occasions we have no very certain account. Pliny says that
Democritus wrote a volume to prove that no one ought to exceed the
fourth or sixth glass; but instances have been given of persons who
have drunk a _congius_ or gallon in one draught.

There are many who think that the cooling of wine by snow is a modern
invention; but that this system was perfectly known to the Greeks and
Romans, as I before observed, is sufficiently evident. The vessels
which contained the wine mixed with boiled water were immersed in the
snow, and such wine is particularly distinguished by Martial. This
invention is ascribed by Pliny to Nero, who prided himself more on this
improvement in luxury than Augustus did in encouraging the fine arts.

It was a common practice at the convivial meetings of the Greeks and
Romans to drink, not only to the healths of distinguished individuals,
but to the absent friends and mistresses of the guests. The greater
or less number of cups afforded an indication of the respect in
which the person whose health was toasted was held. The numerous
coincidences which exist between the convivial customs of past ages
and the present are thus succinctly summed up by Dr. Henderson:--“If
we compare the ceremonies and usages of the Romans with the convivial
customs of the present day, we cannot but be struck with the numerous
coincidences which subsist between them. The arrangements of our
dinners, the succession and composition of the different courses,
the manner of filling our glasses, of pledging our friends, and of
drinking particular healths, are all evidently copied from the Greeks
and Romans.[34] With another modern nation, however, which has been
thought to resemble the ancient Greeks in character, the analogy is
still more complete. Thus, at all entertainments among the French, the
ordinary wine is used with a large admixture of water, generally in
the proportion of one to three, except immediately after soup, when
it is drunk pure. The finer kinds are circulated in the intervals
between the courses, or towards the end of the repast, and hence are
termed _vins d’entremets_; but with particular dishes certain wines
are served, as chablis with oysters, and sillery after roast meat. The
_coup-d’avant_ of vermuth has been already noticed as corresponding
with the draught of _mulsum_; and the _coup du milieu_, which consists
of some _liqueur_, ‘quod fluentem nauseam coerceat,’ may be regarded
as identical with the cup of sweet wine handed round in the middle of
a Grecian feast. With dessert the luscious sweet wines are always
introduced.”

The doctor makes a slight mistake in regarding the _coup du milieu_
as identical with the cup of Greek sweet wine. The _coup_, which was
drunk immediately after the roast, consisted, and still consists, of
a bitter or spirituous, or sometimes a bitter and spirituous cordial
(and not of a sweet wine), taken as a stomachic. It is swallowed,
according to the “Manuel des Amphitryons,” to give tone to the fibres
of the stomach, and “pour accélérer le mouvement péristaltique qui
produit la digestion.” The Swiss extract of wormwood, Jamaica rum,
or very old cognac, is used for the purpose. It is to the city of
Bordeaux, so dear to _gourmands_ and _gourmets_, that this invention
is due. It is a trait of genius, says the author of the “Almanach
des Gourmands,” which enables one to make a second dinner, and which
doubles the power and capacity of the weakest stomachs. Between the
roast and the _entremets_--_i.e._, towards the middle of the dinner,
you see at Bordeaux the doors of the dining-room open, when a girl
about eighteen, tall, fair, and well-proportioned, her features beaming
with an air of engaging alluringness, appears. Her sleeves are turned
up to the very shoulders, and she holds in one hand a mahogany frame,
in which are ranged as many small glasses as there are guests; and in
the other a crystal decanter filled with Jamaica rum, or wormwood, or
vermuth, though this latter beverage more properly belongs to the
_coup-d’avant_. Thus armed the Hebe makes the round of the table,
and pours out to each guest a glass of the bitter nectar it is her
business to distribute. The effect of the _coup du milieu_ is stated
to be almost magical in renewing the appetite, but on what principle
it produces this result physicians must determine. The _coup-d’avant_
is little practised in Paris, though greatly used in Russia, Sweden,
and the north of Germany. It consists of a large glass of vermuth,
or of simple brandy, which is presented to each of the guests by way
of appetiser. Physicians differ in opinion as to the virtues of the
_coup-d’avant_: it is said rather to dispose the stomach to digestion;
but, be this as it may, the Russian stomachs, where the _coup-d’avant_
is so much practised, are far more vigorous than the English or French.
It may be that from the effects of the climate some such stimulant is
required. The _coup-d’après_ consists, as Dr. Henderson states, of
half a glass of pure wine taken immediately after the soup. This is
considered so salutary a practice, that it is proverbially said to take
a crown out of the pocket of the physician. The wine offered for the
_coup-d’après_ in France is generally a good Beaune or Macon; whilst
in England it is commonly sherry or Madeira. In any event it should be
a good sound wine; for the palate, at that early stage of a dinner, is
most sensible to taste and flavour.

As to the wine-cellars of the ancients, we know little certain.
Vitruvius directs that they should have a northern aspect, that the
doors and windows should be placed in the same direction, that the
doors should be small and seldom opened, and then to renew, not to
alter, the temperature of the air. Care was also taken that the cellar
should not be near a dung-heap, nor roots of trees, nor vegetables, nor
anything fetid; and it was also as far removed as possible from the
vicinage of baths, ovens, sewers, cisterns, and reservoirs. Women were
also strictly forbidden to enter within the cellar walls. Barry would
have it that the Greeks and Romans had extended vaults under ground,
but against this theory Henderson cites Pancirollus, who is of opinion
that the ancients were not in the practice of having repositories of
wine under ground like our modern cellars. That their repositories
for wine must have been extensive there is no doubt, for it is stated
that Hortensius bequeathed to his heirs 10,000 _cadi_ of wine,
about 410 tons of our measure. From the rules of the ancients, and the
principles laid down, Barry properly points out certain defects in our
modern wine-cellars in the following passages:--

“The size of the cellar ought to be in proportion to the quantity of
wine for which it is designed; and it is more easy to defend a small
cellar from the admission of a greater quantity of the external air,
and to renew it occasionally, than one of a larger size. The situation
ought to be low and dry; therefore, not on any great declivity, where
the undercurrents from the superior ground must always keep it moist,
and infect the air with its putrid exhalations; this communication,
however, may be prevented by intermediate trenches.

“A small anti-cellar built before all large cellars would be a
considerable defence and improvement to them, in which a quantity of
wine sufficient for a few days may be kept, and the necessity prevented
of more frequently opening the large cellar, and admitting the external
air, which must always in some degree alter the temperature of it,
and in sudden or continued great heats or frosts, may be particularly
injurious to the wine.

“It is usual to cover the bottles in the bins with sawdust, to which I
should prefer dry sand, the density of which is much greater. I saw a
remarkable instance of the benefit arising from an intermediate defence
of this kind. A hogshead of claret, which had been lately bottled, was
heaped up in a corner of a merchant’s common large cellar, with a view
of removing it soon to the wine-cellar. In the meantime a load of salt,
from the want of a more convenient place, was thrown on the bottles,
and remained there several months before it was removed. This wine was
afterwards found to be much superior to the wine of the same growth,
which had been imported and bottled about the same time, and had been
immediately placed in the wine-cellar. The large quantity of salt
formed a compact vault over the bottles, which entirely defended the
wine from the influence of the air, though greatly exposed to it; and
probably the coldness of the salt contributed to this improvement.

“The ancients certainly more effectually preserved their wine in larger
earthen vessels, pitched externally, than we can in our bottles, as
they are more capable, from their superior density and capacity,
of resisting the frequent changes in the air; and it is a common
observation, that the wine received into bottles which contain two
quarts proves better than that which has been kept in single quarts.”

Of the truth of this latter remark there can be no doubt, as any who
have tasted a pint and a quart bottle of wine out of the same hogshead
will freely admit.

It is no doubt true that many of the usages adopted by the ancients for
preserving and mellowing their wines have fallen into disrepute; but
their rules for the site and construction of a wine-cellar--some of
which I have quoted--their observations on the proper time for tasting
and racking wines, are still sanctioned by modern practice.

Wine of a middle age was then, according to Pliny, as indeed it now is,
to be preferred, as being the most wholesome and grateful; but then in
ancient times it was the fashion, as it is in our own day, to place the
greatest value on what was rarest. Thus extravagant sums were given
for wines not drinkable, or in a state of decomposition. Who does not
know that within the past forty years twelve guineas a dozen was given
for Mr. Pattle’s sherry, and half as much for some sherry once the
property of the late Sir John Leach, Vice-Chancellor.

Though the ancients often drank very freely, yet no one was obliged to
drink on compulsion. The doors were never locked, as they were fifty
years ago in Ireland, five and fifty years ago in Scotland, or little
more than half a century ago in England. Large cups and more generous
wines were frequently brought in, but no one was obliged to drink or
to stay. If the guest did not drink on he departed, according to the
old convivial rule, “Aut bibe, aut abi.” Some of the wisest sages
of antiquity were as great sponges as some of the modern Scots. For
instance, Socrates, whether he lived abstemiously or drank copiously,
was equally unexcited, equally unaltered; and the very same remark
might be made on a remarkable man lately deceased. Cyrus, among other
reasons which he urges why he should gain the crown in preference
to his elder brother, insists on his being able to drink a larger
quantity of wine without being inebriated; for Artaxerxes was not only
occasionally subject to getting “right royal,” _vulgo vocato_,
drunk, but also to the infirmity of losing his temper to boot. Athenæus
mentions that Darius desired no greater encomium should be engraved
on his tomb than that he was able to drink a great quantity of wine
without being inebriated.

In his third book the Father of Medicine gives a description of the
general qualities and strength of the Greek wines, and of the peculiar
medical virtues which they possessed. He likewise points out in what
diseases, and in what quantities, they are to be used, so as to render
them salutary and innoxious. It is remarkable that Hippocrates rarely
directs water alone, but almost invariably orders its exhibition with
wine, or combined with honey and vinegar. Water was no doubt the basis
of all his cooling drinks; but there was always added to it a moderate
proportion of the weak white wines, to render it more effectually
diluting. To the infirm and valetudinarian, wine is a necessary comfort
beyond all price. When a patient has been long habituated to the use of
it, a change in diet cannot be suffered without danger.

There is a remarkable instance of this afforded in the case of the
celebrated physician Cornaro, who always revived just after the
vintage, when he left off the old and decaying wines of the last
vintage, and commenced drinking the new. The passage is in the account
which he gives of the rules by which he repaired his constitution,
injured as it was by excesses, till the period when he was forty years
old. By the _régime_ he prescribed to himself, it is well known
he preserved his health and spirits to the age of 100. The efficacy
of his system depended on his taking a certain quantity of solids
and fluids every day. The fluid consisted entirely of wine, but he
gradually diminished the quantity of each as he advanced in years.
During this period he enjoyed an equal state of health, except that
sometimes, before the vintage returned and the new wine was made, he
quickly became so weak and languid that his physicians declared he
could not possibly continue to survive many days in that declining
state. “But on the return of the vintage,” says he, “and on taking the
same quantity of new wine, I very quickly recovered my usual strength
and spirits.” The same effect is observed, to compare animals with men,
among the mules of Jamaica. When the new sugar-canes are being gathered
in, the most exhausted animal, fed on the fresh sugar-canes, gains a
revival of strength.

The Romans were in the habit of pitching their wine, nor can it be
doubted that the Gauls also followed their example in this respect,
with a view to render them more saleable in the Italian markets.
The Allobroges had a peculiar pitch, with which they smeared their
puncheons, after the manner of the wine-growers of Latium. Many
etymologists suggest that the French word _poinçon_, adopted in many of
the French provinces to signify a puncheon common to them, is derived
from the _vas piceum_, of which it is an abbreviation.[35] These,
however, are but conjectures, and why should we resort to conjectures
in the face of formal proof? Such were the two charters of Charles the
Bald in favour of the monasteries of St. Denis and St. Germain des
Près. By the first (A.D. 862), the emperor makes an annual grant to the
abbey of ten silver livres, for the purchase of the necessary pitch for
casks; by the second he grants to the other convent twenty pounds of
soap and of pitch, “ad vasa vinaria componenda.” The soap, of which a
grant is here made with the pitch, leads me to infer that there were
persons who, not content with laying a coat of pitch on their casks,
composed a peculiar mastic in mixing the soap and some other substance
with the pitch, after the manner of the Romans.

Strabo, in giving a description of Latium (the modern Lombardy), and
an idea of the abundance of its vines, says that the puncheons were
taller than the houses. It is probable that the Gauls established in
these parts, or their descendants, seeing that the ordinary casks were
insufficient, or that there was not cellar-room for them, invented
those monster puncheons of which the geographer speaks, and which were
long ago, and are now, in common use in Germany. But the French, for
the most part, in lieu of these not very solid vessels, preferred to
construct their wine-tubs or vats, in brick or in stone. De Serres
states that, even so late as 1600, many persons thus constructed their
vats. It is true, he says, the wine took a longer time to ferment
in these receptacles than in wooden tubs; but they were most easily
cleaned, contracted no bad taste, lasted longer, and required little
or no outlay to keep them in repair. But though these cisterns might
be serviceable to the proprietor as a repository for his wine, he was
obliged, when he sold it, to have recourse to casks or skins. The
skins, notwithstanding the many inconveniences they presented, were
long used for that purpose. I have before stated that Charlemagne
forbade them in the cellars of his palace. Pierre de Blois, declaiming,
in the twelfth century, against the luxury of the chevaliers,
represents them as leading horses laden with skins of wine, and all
the “creature comforts” that announce gluttony and drunkenness:--“Non
ferro, sed vino; non lanceis, sed caseis; non ensibus, sed utribus; non
hastis, sed verubus onerantur.”

At the repast which Philippe de Valois gave to the kings of Scotland,
of Majorca, and of Bohemia, there was on the royal dresser (_le
dressour royal_) no plate of gold or silver, but only a leathern
bottle, in which was the wine of the princes and kings who sat at
the festal board. In order to understand this passage, which is
extracted from a very old work, it is necessary to mention that, in
the time of Philip, there were no bottles, nor were they known for
many years afterwards. Wine, at this epoch, in the royal establishment
as elsewhere, was drunk from the cask. If many sorts were given at an
entertainment, as often happened on occasions of great ceremony--in
that event many casks were tapped, and the remains of all belonged
to the grand _bouteiller_. Travellers on horseback, who were
apprehensive of not finding wine on the road, carried with them a
species of leathern bottle attached to the saddle. In the “Life of
St. Maur” we read that, travelling to visit one of the farms of his
monastery, he saw suddenly arrive Ansgaire, archdeacon of the church
of Angers. The holy abbé wished to refresh him. Unfortunately, there
was no other wine at the farmer’s than the little which remained
attached to the saddle-bow of St. Maur, “in uno parvissimo vasculo quod
ad sellam pendere consuerit.” But the holy man, says the historian,
supplied the deficiency by a miracle, and multiplied this remains of
the liquor so exceedingly, that it sufficed to quench the thirst of
seventy-eight persons who were there present.

In the thirteenth century the vessels of which I have been speaking
were called _bouchaus_, _boutiaux_, _bouties_, or _boutilles_. When
the gentry of that day wished to make a long journey, or were on their
way to the wars, they took bottles with them of considerable capacity.
It appears, by an early charter, that when the Bishop of Amiens marched
thus in the _arrière ban_, the tanners of the city were obliged to
furnish him with two good and sufficient leather bottles, one holding a
_muid_ and the other twenty-four _sétiers_ of wine. The butchers were,
on their part, bound to furnish the grease to cover these bottles.
If cover means to cork, as the sense would seem to indicate, it was
certainly a strange process to seal a canteen destined for the keeping
and transport of wine. These _boutiaux_, or _boutilles_, took the
name of _bouteilles_, or bottles. This name was afterwards applied to
the decanters which were subsequently used. On the first indication
of madness presented by Charles VI., on his journey to Brittany, the
officers of his household, who had preceded him, served him with drink;
and being suspected of having poisoned him, the Duke of Burgundy, who
accompanied them, caused them to undergo an interrogatory: but they
protested their innocence, says Froissart, and offered to prove it, as
there remained in the bottles a portion of the wine of which the king
had drunk. There can be no doubt that the bottles here spoken of were
made of leather.

It now remains for me to touch on those wines which have enjoyed the
greatest reputation, from the conquest of the Franks to the present
time. The earlier writers offer little on this subject. Gregory of
Tours speaks of the wines of Maçon, Orleans, Cahors, and Dijon. The
wines of Auvergne are spoken of in a “Life of St. Germain,” written in
verse by Heric, who lived under Charles the Bald; and there is mention
of those of Rheims and of the River Marne, in a letter of Pandulus,
Bishop of Lan, to Hircanar. Baldric, or Baudri, author of a Latin poem
which Mabillon has cited in the “Benedictine Annals,” says that Henry
I. greatly esteemed the wine of Rébréchien (_area Bacchi_), near
Orleans, and that when he went to the army he took a provision with him
to animate his courage. There is a letter of Louis le Jeune, written
from the Holy Land to Suger and to the Comte de Vermandois, regents
of the kingdom in his absence, by which he directs them to give to
his intimate friend, Arnould, Bishop of Lisieux, sixty _modii_
of his excellent wine of Orleans. “Dilecto et præcordiali amico,
Lexoviensi Episcopo, sexaginta Aurelianenses modios de meo optimo vino
Aurelianensi dare non reanatis.” It is probable that this wine of
Orleans was the wine called Rébréchien. It is said that the greater
number of the Orleanais are one-eyed, lame, and hump-backed, which is
attributed by some, most inconsequentially, to the wine of Orleans.

A _fabliau_ of the twelfth century has come down to us which gives
us a list of the best reputed wines of that day. Among the wines of
the provinces the poet vaunts those of the Gatinias, d’Auxois, d’Anjou,
and of Provence. Over the list of the particularly celebrated wines
we will not now travel. Suffice it to say, that Burgundy was then
renowned for its wine of Auxerre, Beaune, Beauvoisins, Flavigni, and
Vermanton; Champagne for its Chabli (not Chablis, the Burgundy wine of
the department of the Yonne), Epernai, Rheims, Hauvilliers, Sczanne,
Tonnerre.

This production represents the Beaune wine of a yellow colour,
inclining to the shade of an ox’s horn. It is very difficult to have a
precise idea of such a colour. When the popes in the thirteenth century
transported their pontificial chair to Avignon, the table of their
holinesses, and of all their principal officers, were furnished with
wine from the monastery of Cluni. This was probably a wine of Beaune;
for Petrarch, writing in 1366 to Urban V. to engage him to come to
Rome, and combatting the different reasons which retained the cardinals
beyond the mountains, says, “I have heard it sometimes alleged that
there was no Beaune wine in Italy. When, in 1510, the ambassadors sent
by the Emperor Maximilian to Louis XII., travelled across France to
find the prince at Tours, where he was, the queen, on their passage
through Blois, sent them fresh sea-fish, with three barrels of old wine
of Beaune and Orleans.”

There is a great deal of fashion and caprice in the rise and fall
of wines. The reputation of different vintages may be compared to
the characters of certain men. To rise above the crowd, it does not
alone suffice to be possessed of real merit. Sometimes favourable
circumstances or a happy chance is needed, which is more often sought
than found. It has happened to us all to have drunk in a remote spot
delicious wines, which only needed the recommendation of a consummate
_gourmet_ to obtain instantaneous vogue. It may also occasionally
chance that a vineyard which, for a long time had but an indifferent
reputation, may, by the industry of a new proprietor, by peculiar
processes of making the wine, or by a better cultivation of the grape,
become more perfect than it had been before. There are hundreds of
examples of this, of which one may be cited. Who does not know that the
wine of Romanée, so famed for more than a century (the estate on which
it grows has since been purchased by the Prince of Conti), owes its
celebrity to a Sieur de Cromanbourg, a German officer in the service
of France, who, having married the heiress of this vineyard, rendered
it at length one of the first in Burgundy. In each century some of the
wines of the preceding fall in repute, and new vintages arise to take
their place. Eustace des Champs (who died about 1420), in the numerous
poetical MSS. which he has left, cites the vines of Burgundy, Gascony,
La Rochelle, Chabli, St. Pourcain, Beaune, and Orleans, which had been
already cited by authors anterior to him; but he also mentions the
names of many new wines,--“Aï, Aussone, Cumières, Dameri, Germoles,
Givri, Gonesse, Iranci, Mantes, Pinos, Tournus, Troy, and Verlus.” It
was said more than seventy years ago that the wine of France which best
bears transport is the wine of Mantes; and, in continuation of this
fact, a French traveller of the sixteenth century is cited, who carried
some of this wine to Persia without its being in the least injured. If
this fact be true, it is not unexampled nor peculiar to the wine of
Mantes.

It appears that, in the fifteenth century, Burgundy and Champagne
disputed the palm among the wines of France. If Burgundy had its
Beaune, Champagne had its Aï. These two wines were counted among the
best in France. “This last,” says Patin, “is the wine that Baudius
called _Vinum Dei_ at the house of De Thou.” Paumier, in his “Treatise
on Wine,” written in 1588, says it was the ordinary beverage of kings
and princes. It is certainly true that Leo X., Charles V., Francis I.,
and Henry VIII. had each a vineyard in Champagne; and St. Evremond
alludes to the circumstance in a letter to the Duke d’Olonne. Burgundy
was, at this period, considered the wholesomest, the most cordial, and
the most generous of wines. Erasmus, being tormented with nephritic
pains, which he attributed to the harsh and bitter wines of the Rhine,
took to drinking burgundy exclusively, and soon became perfectly
restored. “Sic enim subito recreatus est stomachus,” says he, “ut
mihi viderer renatus in alium hominem.” He has left us, in one of his
letters, the praise of a liquor to which he was indebted for health.
“Happy province!” he exclaims: “well may Burgundy be called the mother
of man, suckling him with such milk!” He who first taught the art of
making this wine ought to be considered, not merely as having gratified
us with a new liquor, but as having given to us new life.

Champier makes a remark, which is truer now than it was in the
sixteenth century, namely, that there was no country on earth which
had such excellent, or a variety of such admirable wines, as France.
He counts among this number the wine of Arbois and the muscat of
Languedoc; and tells us that, in Arbois and Hainault, there was a
demand for Beaune wine, but that the remaining portion of Flanders
preferred the wines of Orleans. Beaujeau vaunts the wines of La Crau;
and Rabelais those of Auxerre, Mirevaux, Migraine, Canteperdrix, and
Frontignan. At the repast which the King of France gave, in 1602, to
the Swiss ambassadors, Canteperdrix wine was served. Madame de Noyer
(in her “Lettres Historiques et Galantes”) says that this may well be
called the wine of the gods, since it was sent to Rome for the private
drinking of the holy father. There is no such wine as Canteperdrix
known, in the present day, by that special designation. It is now
called the _vin de Beaucaire_, and is a red wine of Languedoc. As to
the wine of Arbois, it was the favourite beverage of Henry IV., as we
learn from an anecdote related in Sully. When the Duke of Mayenne had
laid down his arms, and treated with Henry IV., the king, in order to
fix the fidelity of his vassal, gave him two bottles of Arbois wine.
“Car,” said the lively, good-hearted monarch, “je pense, mon cousin,
que vous ne le haïssez pas.” When Sully, being created duke and peer,
gave a grand repast on the day of his reception, the king surprised him
by appearing among the number of the guests. “But,” says the duke, “as
he was hungry, and they were dilatory in serving the dinner, he ate, in
the interval, some oysters, which he washed down with wine of Arbois.”
And a good preparation for a dinner it was.

Paumier, a Norman physician, has written a treatise on wines, in which
he counts four different colours,--white, red, blackish, and _œil de
perdrix_, _i.e._, reddish. He says that France then produced no red
wine which was sweet, excepting in the Bordelais, in which district
there were red and black wines of great sweetness. His description of
the wines of Gascony is, that they were hot, vinous, easy of digestion,
and of a red or partridge-eyed colour. This description, in two
particulars holds good to the letter to the present day. These wines
are still vinous and easy of digestion, but they are not hot, nor are
they generally of a partridge-colour until they are old, and in a
state bordering on decomposition. The doctor further states that the
wines of Château Thierry were agreeable, but so dangerous, that the
greater part of the inhabitants were afflicted with the gout from their
tender infancy, and died before they attained the ordinary age.

Château Thierry is on the borders of Champagne, and, whatever may have
been the case in the time of Paumier, in the sixteenth century, it is
certainly not true in the nineteenth that the inhabitants have the
gout from their earliest years, or that they die so prematurely. But
their wine is still good. “The red wine of the Clos de St. Thierry, a
league from Rheims, is of a quality between burgundy and champagne,
and is very highly esteemed by the _connoissieur_.” The idea of
having the gout prematurely is preposterous. The gout is a disease
scarcely known in Champagne; and, if it be very common in England,
as must be admitted, after occasional excesses, it does not arise
from the drinking of champagne solely, to which it is most frequently
attributed, but from the mixture of a variety of wines, champagne among
the number.

Baccius, in his treatise “De Viniis,” printed at Rome in 1596, has a
chapter on the wines of France. He praises the wines of Arles, Beziers,
Bordeaux, Frontignan, Gaillac, and St. Laurent. Nor does he omit the
wines of Avignon, which arrived in small barrels, hooped with iron;
the white wines which sparkle out of the glass, and which please the
smell as much as the taste (probably he means champagne); and the wines
of Paris, which yield the palm to none in the kingdom. What Paumier
says of the wines of Paris will appear, at present, very strange. The
contempt with which the wines of the neighbourhood of the metropolis of
France are at present treated will appear the more extraordinary when
it is known that they enjoyed, for fourteen centuries previously, the
highest reputation.

Liebaut praises, in a bad poem, written in 1605, the wines of Ruel and
Surenne; and the Abbé de Marolles those of Surenne, Argenteuil, and
St. Cloud; “which,” says he, “are pure, and not unwholesome.” Paumier
is endless in his praises of the wines of Paris, which have not the
inconvenience of drying up the blood, like those of Gascony; do not
fly to the head, like those of Château Thierry and Orleans; and do not
occasion obstructions and humours, like those of Bordeaux. According
to him, burgundy, when it has lost its roughness, and is in its best
state, may be alone compared to the wine of the environs of Paris.
Patin, writing in 1669, says, “Long live the bread of Gonesse, with the
good wine of Paris, Burgundy, and Champagne!” Chaulieu, in a piece of
poetry written in 1702, represents his friend, the Marquis de la Fare,
as going often to Surenne to drink the wine:--

“Et l’on m’ecrit qu’ à Surênne,
Au cabaret on a vu
La Fare et la bon Silène,
Qui pour en avoir trop bu,
Retrouvoient la porte à peine,
D’un lieu qu’ils ont tant connu.”

These wines are now all forgotten, and, with the exception of the
_vin de Condrieux_, exist no longer. Who could have imagined this
a century ago? and how “has it come to pass?” May it not have been, as
Le Grand d’Aussy suggests, that the proprietors, blinded by the bait of
a sure and speedy sale, which the proximity of the capital afforded,
were guilty of the imprudence of neglecting the proper cultivation of
the vines, or chose plants of an inferior quality. It was remarked,
more than two centuries ago, that the reputation of the Orleans wines
was owing to the manner of making them. It appears that the inhabitants
of Orleans, like wise and sensible men, confined themselves to that
object alone, making it their only occupation. Over the minutest
details they exercised supervision and control; whereas the Lyonnais
and the Parisians purchased a wine estate, rather as a showy bauble
than as a matter of commerce, and completely surrendered the management
to paid agents. “Whence comes it,” says Liebaut, “that you rarely hear
a native of Orleans or a Bourguignon complain of his vines, whilst the
complaints of a Parisian are iteratively urged?” The reason is that
one occupies himself personally in the matter, whilst the other trusts
to an ignorant or knavish vine-dresser.

To Francis I., and the grandees of his court, Champier attributes
the discredit into which the wines of the neighbourhood of Paris had
commenced to fall. “These personages,” says he, “having had their
taste blunted by good cheer, found the Parisian wines poor and weak.
They, therefore, fell on the strong and vigorous wines of the south of
France, which they obtained at considerable cost.”

The Auvernat wine of Orleans, so praised by the Abbé de Marolles, is
thus severely treated by Boileau,--

“Un laquais effronté m’apporte un rouge bord
D’un Auvernat fumeux, qui mêlé de lignage;
Se vendoit chez creuet pour vin de l’hermitage;
Et qui rouge et vermeil, mais fade et doucereux,
N’avoit rien qu’on goût plat, et qu’un déboire affreux.”

The first time I find mention of a _vin de Grave_ is towards the year
1550. If we are to judge from the testimony of Madame de Sévigné, it
was indifferently esteemed in her day. In speaking of M. de Lavardin,
who is stated by St. Evremont to have been Bishop of Metz, she says,
“C’est un gros mérite qui ressemble au vin de Grave.” The district
of Graves yields from 1000 to 1500 tuns, generally of a lively and
brilliant colour, with more body than the vines of Medoc, but less
_bouquet_, raciness, and fineness. The _Graves_ are so termed from
the nature of the soil which produces them. Formerly the appellation
was confined to the white sorts; but it now comprehends the red as
well as white wines which grow on the gravelly lands to the south-east
and south-west of Bordeaux. The Haut-Brion ranks highest amongst the
red wines, and approaches in quality to some of the better sorts of
Burgundy; but it wants the fine perfume by which the Medoc wines are
distinguished.

The _vins de Grave_ are an excellent table wine, and very proper to be
taken with oysters, if Chablis cannot be obtained. But little mention
is made of the Hermitage wine till the seventeenth century. But if
its reputation was tardy, it was at least brilliant. As soon as it
became known at the court, it was placed in the first rank of wines.
“The king,” wrote Patin, in 1666, “has made a present to the King of
England of 200 _muids_ of very good wine of Champagne, Burgundy, and
Hermitage.” Boileau, soon afterwards, speaks of it as a wine of first
quality. The best white Hermitage I ever drank was a parcel purchased
at the sale of the late Marquis of Londonderry’s wines in St. James’s
Square, after the death of Emily, Marchioness of Londonderry, in 1828.
It was really exquisite,--a perfect _liqueur_ in its way.

“Hermitage wine is divided into five classes. It is styled by the
French the richest coloured in their great variety of wines, but it
differs much with the seasons as to quality. Red Hermitage will not
keep more than twenty years without altering. The price of the first
class is often as high as 550 francs the piece of 210 litres. The other
growths or classes sell from 450 down to 300, and even as low as 250
francs the piece. When the season is bad, and the wine of moderate
quality, the wine of the first growth will not bring more than 250, and
of the last, 120 francs.

“Red Hermitage, when it is of the first quality, is not bottled for
exportation until it has been four or five years in the cask, in which,
as well as in bottles, it is generally sold at that age. The price, in
the former case is high, even if the quality be moderate.

“The white Hermitage is made of white grapes only, and divided into
three growths. This is the finest white wine France produces. Its
colour should be straw-yellow; its odour is like that of no other known
wine. It is of a rich taste, between that of the dry and luscious
wines. It is often in a state of fermentation for two years, but
it is never delivered to the consumer, if it can be avoided, until
fermentation is complete. The quantity of real white Hermitage does not
exceed 120 pieces annually.”

The reputation acquired by the Burgundy wines was due to an accidental
circumstance. Louis XIV. having fallen ill, the physicians advised him
the _vin de Nuits_ as the most pectoral and proper to re-establish his
health; and thence the reputation which this class of wine has ever
since enjoyed. The memoir of the Intendant of Burgundy tells us that
the wines of Tonnerre were, in 1698, very much sought after by the
Flemish. The _vin de Tonnerre_ is fine, full-flavoured wine, of great
body, and very suitable to a damp, cold climate. It is not unlike
first-rate old port, but far superior in _bouquet_ and fragrancy. The
finest ever drank by me was at the château of the Marquis de Louvois,
at Ancy-le-France, and had been grown on his own estate.

The Abbé de Marolles, in his translation of Martial, gives a list
of the wines for which Burgundy was renowned in his day, and here
they are. The wines of Auxerre, Beaune, Coulanges, Joigny, Irancé,
Vermanton, and Tonnerre, “which some people prefer,” says he, “to all
other wine” (“que quelques-uns préférent à tous les autres”).

The wine of Tonnerre is certainly particularly calculated for the cold
and foggy climate of Burgundy, or for any portion of England. Henderson
thus alludes to the _vin de Tonnerre_:--“The department of the Yonne
furnishes several excellent red wines, of which those of Tonnerre and
Auxerre have been long celebrated.”

Redding is more copious and careful in his remarks on the Burgundies.
“The wines of Tonnerre,” says he, “of the finest kind fetch ninety
francs the hectolitre on an average; and the other wines in gradation
from sixty to thirty-five. The wine of Olivotte, one of the best, has
good flavour, is fine, and of excellent colour, but it lacks the true
_bouquet_, unless in very favourable years. The communes which
furnish the best wines are Tonnerre, Epineuil, Dannemonie, for the
finer red wines.”

The country round Tonnerre has many distinguished vineyards; as those
of Pitoy, de Perrière, and Des Preaux. Near these localities is
situated the famous vineyard called Des Olivottes, already spoken of,
which produces wines of a good colour, much body, and particularly
spirituous. They are at the same time fine and delicate, and possess
aromatic flavour and _bouquet_. Among the white wines of Burgundy is
the Chablis, so universally used with oysters, both in France and on
the Continent generally. The best classes of Chablis, produced at four
leagues from Auxerre, rank among the second classes of white Burgundy.
Chablis is not always to be procured good in England, more especially
in the provinces; but such as desire a light, pleasant wine with their
oysters, may swallow a tumbler of Chablis or Sauterne, or _vin de
Pouilly_, or a large glass of good Bucellas, a wine possessing the
fragrancy and _bouquet_ of the Rhenish, with the warm, aromatic, and
cordial flavour of the best Spanish and Portuguese wines. Bucellas is
produced at about six leagues from Lisbon; it is preferred to the dry
wine of Setuval, and is stronger than Barsac. It is, however, like all
delicate wines, irretrievably injured by an admixture of brandy. Care
should therefore be taken to procure it from a trustworthy source.

To return to the _vins de Bourgogne_. It would take a volume to
describe the different species of Burgundy. It is the vinous product
most noted in France for its exquisite flavour, _bouquet_, and
delicacy; but Burgundy is nevertheless a wine which least bears
transport even on land, whilst transport by sea is too often fatal to
its fragrance and flavour. Within the last thirty years I have imported
three parcels, one of which was completely spoiled. The two others (one
I procured through the good offices of my late friend the celebrated
Mauguin, deputy for Burgundy) arrived soundly and uninjured; but the
merchants had taken care to envelope the bottles in a thick paper, very
much like cotton wadding, and to encase the wine in two casks, the
inner hogshead being smeared over with a composition formed of plaster
of Paris and other ingredients of which I am ignorant. Burgundy is also
frequently exported, more especially to Russia and America, enveloped
in salt. The Burgundy wines are divided into numerous classes. In the
quantity yielded, as well as in the quality, these classes differ
hugely.

“That of the first class,” says Redding, “is small in quantity,
and, if any other wine be mingled with it, is certain to be injured
irreparably. From hence it may be judged how little the common wine of
Portugal can claim to be classed high in the list of superior wines,
when from six to ten gallons of brandy are added to each pipe. The
difference in the effect of wine that intoxicates from the presence
of a large admixture of alcohol, and that which exhilarates from
its native qualities alone, is very singular. The pure wine, by the
accurate blending of the constituent parts, even where there has been
a habit of free indulgence, never leaves those distressing effects
upon the constitution which are caused by drinking wine and unblended
alcohol.”

The author of the “Topographie des Vignobles” says that the vineyards
of Burgundy cover 103,000 hectares; the produce, on the average, being
2,550,000 hectolitres of wine, 70,000 of which are consumed in the
country. The vineyards have increased very much since the Revolution,
many landowners having converted into vineyards low and marshy lands;
others having introduced manures, or carried new earth upon the old
to increase the crop; others, again, have substituted young for the
old plants, and even common plants for the fine and superior growths
of the vine. This has caused a degeneracy in the wines in the opinion
of the purchaser; but, notwithstanding the increase in low and common
wines, the number of good vineyards have, in the opinion of good
judges, likewise increased. But little has been written in England on
the subject of vineyards since the time of Arthur Young, whose work on
France was published at Bury St. Edmund’s in 1794, seventy years ago.
The most modern journal giving an account of the Burgundy vineyards
that I have met with is the journal of Mr. James Busby, published
originally in New South Wales, and reprinted by Smith, Elder, and Co.
several years ago.

It is no common thing, according to the best authorities, for a
hogshead of red Burgundy wine to fetch from 1250 to 1500 francs; but
the white wine is never said to rise above 600 francs the hogshead.

Touching the _Clos Vougeot_ in particular, however, M. Joubert
remarks--and he represents at Paris the houses of Barton and Guestier
of Bordeaux, of Ruinart, _père et fils_, at Rheims, of Charles Marcy
of Nuits, and of Deinhart and Jordan of Coblentz--that this famous
vintage is year by year deteriorating. Formerly, says M. Joubert, this
wine possessed the greatest renown of any wine in France, but it is not
so now. It is no longer the production of _artistes_, but purely and
simply an affair of trade. So long as the vineyard was the property of
the monks (we owe to the monasteries the finest vineyards of France),
the _Clos Vougeot_ was made with infinite care, and carefully preserved
till age had developed its full perfections. The Messrs. Tourton and
Ravel had continued to practise these good traditions, but M. Joubert
seems to insinuate that since their time fraud and falsification abound
in the preparation of the wine. This remark was probably addressed to
the late notorious Ouvrard, who, in the year 1832 or 1833, took a
large house at the corner of Langham Place, for the purpose of making
known these wines. But notwithstanding these frauds, Burgundy produces
in good years admirable wines, in the most exact signification of
the term, possessing an incomparable colour and _bouquet_. A worthy
Benedictine named Perignon, according to the author of the “Spectacle
de la Nature,” presided at the making of the wines of the Abbaye of
Hauvilliers; and Pluche says, by the invention of new processes, Père
Perignon procured for these wines a reputation which they never enjoyed
before.

As though the vinous wealth of Burgundy were not already sufficiently
extensive, the wine proprietors have introduced within the last dozen
years a sparkling Burgundy; as Deinhart and Jordan, at Coblentz, have
sought to introduce a sparkling Moselle; but these new inventions,
though applauded by greenhorns, are not patronised by those wiser and
older wine drinkers who have been accustomed to Nuits, Volnay, Beaune,
Pomard, and Chambertin. The Nuits wine is seldom fit for drinking till
the third or fourth year after the vintage, but is said by Henderson
to bear the carriage well; and there can be no doubt that, when old,
it acquires a high flavour. Salins, who wrote in 1704 the “Defense du
vin de Bourgogne contre le vin de Champagne,” says, the inestimable
advantage which Burgundy possesses over its rival is that of furnishing
successively cases of wine for all seasons of the year. “In the first
place,” says he, “there are the wines of Pomard, Beaune, and Volnay;
then the white wine of Meulsant; and lastly the Nuits qui n’a pas son
pareil et ne peut être assez prisé.”

It is the district of Nuits which produces the Burgundy called St.
George and the Meursault wines. Here, also, the curious wine called
Mont Rachet is made of three distinct kinds of grape grown on the
same aspect, with no difference that can be discovered in soil; and
yet, says Redding, one species is so good as to bring three times the
price of the others. The wine produced at Volnay, a village situated
about three miles from Beaune, was in Barry’s time, who wrote in 1775,
exactly eighty-nine years ago, the finest and most volatile wine in
Burgundy.

In the year of a good vintage, there is no better wine of _entremets_
than Beaune. It is of a fine red colour, has no noxious qualities,
does not heat the blood like other _crus_ of Burgundy, will keep a
long time without spoiling, and will bear water carriage. I have drunk
excellent Beaune in the remotest corners of Hungary and Transylvania,
in the heart of Poland, nay, even in the midst of Russian snows. It is
a favourite wine both at Petersburg and Moscow, where great quantities
are consumed, mingled with ice and water in the summer months. In order
to drink Beaune in perfection, it should not, however, be more than
four or five years old.

Pomard is a delicious wine, having body and colour; and, if first-rate,
a light and grateful aroma. I have now some more than thirty years old,
obtained pure direct from the grower, through the instrumentality and
good offices of M. Mauguin, who succeeded the Marquis de Chauvelin, as
deputy for the Côté d’Or. A finer wine was never tasted.

Chambertin, it is well known to everyone, was the favourite wine of
Napoleon before he arrived at St. Helena. After that period he drank
Bordeaux, probably because he thought Burgundy would have been injured
by the sea voyage. Chambertin is produced, according to M. Jullien,
two leagues and a half from Dijon, occupies twenty-five hectares, and
produces yearly from 130 to 150 pieces of excellent wine, which gives
a most perfect _bouquet_ and aromatic flavour, what the French
wine merchants call _sève_ and _moelleux_. It has a fuller
body and colour than the Romanée, with an aroma nearly as fragrant.
The Richebourg Tache and St. George approach, according to Henderson,
the Chambertin in their more essential qualities. Chambertin is said
to be one of the Burgundy wines which best bears exportation. This,
and almost all other Burgundy wines should, however, be drunk in
moderation, for they are apt to give a feverish heat to the blood.
Herein the true _gourmet_ should follow the advice so happily
given by Panard:--

“Se piquer d’être grand buveur
Est un abus que je déplore:
Fuyons ce titre peu flatteur;
C’est un honneur qui déshonore.
Quand on boit trop on s’assoupit,
Et l’on tombe en délire:
Buvons pour avoir de l’esprit,
Et non pour le détruire.”

The wine which ranks the highest in estimation of all the Burgundy
wines is the Romanée Conti. The produce is exceedingly scant, as
the vineyard is limited to five acres. As the quantity is so small,
this wine is rarely exported. It sells even on the spot from six to
eight francs the bottle. Henderson says it is seldom met with in a
genuine state, and that there is reason to believe that the produce of
the vineyard of Romanée St. Vivant (so called from the monastery of
that name), which is more abundant and of a similar, though inferior
quality, is often sold for it. It may be here remarked, that when the
monks possessed the superior Burgundy vineyards, they wisely made it
a rule to sell the wines only in bottle. Tourton and Ravel of Paris,
who purchased the vineyard of Clos Vougeot during the Revolution at
a million of francs, or about £500 the English acre, followed this
example; but it appears the marked distinction of qualities that
existed in the time of the monks has not been kept up, and that it will
be long before the ancient character can be regained.

The vinous products of Saone and Loire do not equal the _premiers
crus_ of the Côté d’Or, but several of them nearly approach the wines
of this far-famed district; and they are in general what French
wine-growers call _plus solides_, _i.e._, they are less injured in the
transport and less exposed to sudden changes, ruinous to the merchant
and most unsatisfactory to the consumer. Chalons and Mâcon possess
wines of high merit. Under the name of Mâcon wines are comprehended
not only the growths of the Mâconnais, but also the wines of the
Beaujolais, forming part of the department of the Rhone. Those of
Romanèche and of Thorins, in the vicinity of Mâcon, in particular,
are esteemed for their delicacy, and sprightliness, and agreeable
flavour; that of Chenas, in the canton of Beaujeu, on the other hand,
is a more spirituous and fuller wine, and will bear keeping three or
four years in the wood. Of these wines the best are grown, according
to Henderson, on a granitic soil. Formerly the plant called _chanay_,
which produces a very small grape, and yields an excellent wine, was in
general cultivation here; but the cupidity of the farmers had led to
the substitution of the Bourguignon grape, in which, as usual, quality
is exchanged for quantity.

It may not be uninteresting to state that the Mâcon wines are praised
by no less an authority than Gregory of Tours; and mention is also made
of them in the “Comédie des Côteaux ou les Friands Marquis,” published
in the year 1665. They are, without any doubt, the wholesomest wines
that come from Burgundy, and may be drunk with impunity at all seasons
of the year; but a great portion of the ordinary Mâcon consumed at
Paris is adulterated. When, however, this wine is obtained genuine,
it is equal to mothers’ milk. I remember as a boy dining with an old
gentleman of large fortune in the Chaussée d’Antin, who had been one of
the Mousquetaires Rouges, and who gave me goblet after goblet of this
pure Mâcon.

“Where, my dear sir, did you obtain this excellent wine?” I asked.

“Ah, _mon cher_!” said my old friend, “that was a present to me from
Créuzé de Lesser, when he was Prefect at Autun. I doubt that my
neighbour Tourton, who lives at the corner of the Rue de Provence, or
that Jovet or Vilcoq of Antun could match it!”

Mâcon wine may be generally imported into England without risk of
being injured in flavour. There is one observation which might be made
on the wines of Burgundy before this part of the subject is closed,
and the observation equally applies to all wines which have, like the
Burgundies, a very fine _bouquet_ and aromatic flavour. Such wines
should never be iced. Icing, or even a too cold cellar, causes them to
lose that inappreciable and fugacious flavour which is developed by a
moderate degree of heat. Burgundies should be taken out of the cellar
an hour or two before dinner and placed in the dining-room, within the
wake of a temperate fire.

I go farther than most persons, and maintain that most red wines should
not be iced. It may be answered, that “there is no wine more iced than
Claret in all the Indian presidencies;” but this Claret so iced is not
the pure juice of the grape. It is a loaded wine made for the market,
which every genuine lover of Claret should abhor. It was the custom in
the first society of Bordeaux, and always at the prefecture, in the
days of Baron d’Haussey, afterwards Minister of Marine to Charles X.,
to serve Claret with a tepid napkin round the claret-jug or decanter
into which the wine was poured, or round the green glass bottle itself,
if, as indeed it more frequently happened, the wine was not decanted.
This gentle heat brings out advantageously the flavour and aroma of the
wine.

As to the period of the dinner when Burgundy should be introduced,
all I would say is this, that it should not be served later than the
roast. A glass of Pomard, Nuits, or Chambertin, may be very well
taken after the first mouthful of a good haunch of South Down or a
_filet de bœuf à la Poivrade_ is swallowed. Neither should I object
to a repetition of the dose (whatever Lord Brougham, who contends for
Claret after game, may say to the contrary) after swallowing a slice of
woodcock, partridge, or that excellent bird, so justly bepraised, the
golden plover; but to reserve Burgundy for the _entremets_, _sucrés_,
or dessert, is a piece of rampant snobbishness worthy of a _nouveau
riche_.

The water-drinkers may laugh at me for having written at such length on
such subjects, but I answer in the lines of François de Neufchateau:--

“Mais la sobrieté
Dans ses travers sera-t-elle plus sage?
Pour fuir l’abus doit-on bannir l’usage?
Ah, je connais la pauvre humanité
Tout est jolie; et bien mieux que personne
Un buveur d’eau quelquefois déraisonne.”

I now come to Champagne wine. The quarrel which existed in the time of
Louis XIV. between the Burgundy doctor and the Champenois, concerning
the respective merits and defects of the wines of their different
provinces, has been before alluded to. The Bourguignon maintained
that Burgundy merited a preference over the wine of Rheims, for that
these latter over-excited the nerves, produced dangerous maladies,
such as the gout; and, in a word, that Fagon, first physician to
Louis XIV., forbade their use to that monarch. The citizens of Rheims
deemed themselves in duty bound to resent this insult, and the faculty
of medicine of the town was charged with the task. The faculty, of
course, maintained that the wines of Aï, Pierri, Versenai, Silleri,
Hauvilliers, Tassi, Montbré, and St. Thierri, bore off the bell in the
“top-loftiest manner,” as Sam Slick would say, from Burgundy; that
they possessed a more limpid colour, a sweeter perfume, more body,
and greater durability. The Bourguignon rejoined, that the courts of
England, Germany, and Denmark, drank no other beverage than Burgundy;
“and as to Champagne,” says he, “it owes its renown to the two
ministers, Colbert and Le Tellier, who, as wine-proprietors, vaunted
their own vineyards in the neighbourhood of Rheims.”

This was, however, a mistake. Colbert was, indeed, a Champenois, but
neither he nor Le Tellier gave renown to the wines of Champagne.
The vineyards of Champagne had been celebrated for centuries before
they were born; and Francis I., Leo X., Charles V., and Henry VIII.,
had each of them a vineyard at Aï, with a resident superintendent.
The other objections of the Bourguignon have more show of reason.
“Champagne is a wine,” says he, “which is neither strong, nor
full-bodied, nor generous. It is weak, insipid, and watery, liable to
change colour, incapable of bearing exportation, or a long journey;
whereas Volnay was drunk in Poland at the coronation of Sobieski, and
Beaune was served at Venice by Comandante Morosini at the entertainment
which he gave the senators after the conquest of the Morea, when it was
considered one of the first wines of Europe.”

The champion of Champagne answered with an extract from a letter of St.
Evremond to the Duke d’Olonne:--“Fussiez vous a deux cens lieues de
Paris, n’épargnez aucune dépense, pour avoir des vins de Champagne.
Ceux de Bourgogne ont perdu leur credit auprès des gens qui ont le goût
délicat; et à peine conservent ils un reste de réputation chez les
marchands.”

This vinous battle continued till 1741, when another question was
started, viz. “Le vin de Champagne est il aussi salutaire qu’agréable?”
It was _à propos_ of this question that the Sieur Navier maintained
twenty years later, in the schools of Rheims, that Champagne might be
usefully employed in putrid fevers. But notwithstanding these _pros_
and _cons_, the world went on pretty much as usual. Those who relished
Champagne drank it, and those who preferred Burgundy swallowed their
modicum of their favourite tipple without the least regard to the
literary combatants. So it will ever be.

The department of Marne, in the opinion of most women, and of all boys,
is the real and genuine vinous glory of France. I admit that if you
find a Champagne of a really first-rate _cru_; limpid, neither too
sweet, nor too sparkling, nor too spirituous; but brisk with body,
vinous, and retaining these amiable qualities so as fully to develope
them in the _arrière bouche_--that then you obtain a rare wine, and not
to be despised. But how seldom, how very rarely indeed, is such a wine
to be had!

In consequence of the tricks played with Champagne wines, the
generality of the vintages possess not that perfect, piquant, and fine
flavour which heretofore characterized them. How can it be otherwise?
A gentleman with whom Mr. Busby travelled told him he could buy very
good sound Champagne at Châlons for two francs a bottle, and was then
going to purchase one hundred bottles at that price. Millions of
bottles of _champagne mousseux_ are, however, yearly sold in the
Champagne country at two and three francs the bottle, and this shocking
swipes is too dear by half. Champagne should only be purchased with the
greatest precautions.

“By Champagne wine,” says Henderson, “is usually understood a sparkling
or frothing liquor, or a wine subjected to an imperfect fermentation,
and containing a quantity of carbonic acid gas that has been generated
during the insensible fermentation in bottle, and is disengaged on
removing the pressure by which it was retained in solution. This notion
is not altogether correct; for the district under review furnishes
many excellent wines, both red and white, which do not effervesce. It
is true, indeed, that most of the white, or River Marne wines, are
brisk; and in general, they are of superior quality, and more highly
esteemed than the red or mountain wines. They are distinguished by
their delicate flavour and aroma, and the agreeable pungency and
slightly acidulous taste which they derive from the carbonic acid.
Their exhilarating virtues are familiar to every one.

“It must be remembered, however, that the briskest wines are not
always the best. They are, of course, the most defective in true
vinous quality, and the small portion of alcohol which they contain
immediately escapes from the froth as it rises on the surface, carrying
with it the aroma, and leaving the liquor that remains in the glass
nearly vapid; for it has been shown by Humboldt, that when the froth
is collected under a bell-glass, surrounded with ice, the alcohol
becomes condensed on the sides of the vessel by the operation of the
cold. Hence the still, or the creaming, or slightly sparkling Champagne
wines (_crêmants_, or _demi-mousseux_) are more highly valued by
connoisseurs, and fetch greater prices than the full-frothing wines
(_grand-mousseux_). By icing these wines before they are used, the
tendency to effervesce is in some degree repressed, or only allowed to
operate to such an extent as may be compatible with the more perfect
flavour that we desire to find in them; but when they are kept cool
this precaution is unnecessary.

“Among the white wines of Champagne, the first rank is usually assigned
to those of Sillery, under which name is comprehended the produce of
the vineyards of Verzenay, Mailly, Raument, &c. It is a dry, still
liquor, of a light amber colour, with considerable body and flavour,
somewhat analogous to that of the first growths of the Rhine, and,
being one of the best fermented Champagne wines, may be drunk with
the greatest safety. Having been originally brought into vogue by the
peculiar care bestowed on the manufacture of it by the Maréchale
d’Estrées, it was long known by the name _vin de la Maréchale_. It
has always been in much request in England, probably on account of its
superior strength and durable quality. It is usually drunk iced.”

The rich dry Sillery is kept longer in the cask than the other wines,
and the fermentation not being checked, it is esteemed more wholesome.
The still wines of Epernay are inferior to those of Rheims; but the
other kinds, according to Redding, approached very nearly to those
of Aï in delicacy of _bouquet_. The price to the merchant on the
spot, according to the same authority, is about 2_s._ 3_d._ a bottle,
and in scarce years 2_s._ 6_d._ In an article in the “Encyclopædia
Metropolitana,” it is said that those wines must be kept three years
in bottle to attain perfection, and will continue excellent for ten,
twenty, and even thirty years or more, if they are of prime quality.
This, under favour and with submission, is a grave mistake. Champagne,
with the exception of first-rate qualities, is not a _vin de garde_,
and requires to be looked after every year. If there be the least
sediment or deposit, it is the custom in all the great wine-vaults in
Champagne to filter the wine into fresh bottles. The Champagne wines
are short-lived; but if the quality of the liquor be of the very best,
the wine does not acquire perfection till it has been three years in
bottle. Supposing it to be of the very primest quality, the cream of
Champagne certainly may last for fifteen or twenty years, and still
acquire perfection. Some there are, indeed, who say that delicious
Champagne has been tasted forty years old. I never tasted any above
thirteen years old, and that was many years ago, at the house of Mr.
Marsh, author of “The Clubs of London,” then living in the Rue de
Bourbon, Faubourg St. Germain. A friend, however, who is a good judge
of Champagne, and fond of a good glass of it--and, what is better than
all, a good fellow,--says he has tasted excellent twenty years old,
and I defer to his authority, now that the old Irish peer, Allen (the
fondest and most inveterate of Champagne-drinkers I ever encountered,
whether peer or plebeian), is not producible, or, at least, not
forthcoming to give his evidence, though called on his subpœna.

It should be stated, that the wine-growers in Champagne prepare their
merchandise for the various tastes and caprices of different nations.
Thus, the Champagne for the Russians is a very different wine from
the Champagne for the Germans; which, again, differs from the wine
_confectionné_ for the English market. The Americans are said to
put up with anything which foams and sparkles in a “tarnation toplofty
fashion.” In Jaquesson’s cellars at Châlons sur Marne, you see bins
for all the principal towns of the world,--London, Vienna, Paris,
Petersburg, Madrid, &c.

Champagne, unlike Burgundy or Claret, is a wine always improved by
ice. The chief characteristic of the best Champagne is its exquisite
delicacy of flavour. The strength of the bottles for the sparkling
wines, and their uniform thickness, are most carefully ascertained. A
bottle with the least imperfection or malformation is put aside for the
red wines.

It were useless to particularise every variety of wine produced in
Champagne. Some of the classes are so bad that they will not bear
exportation. The wine most esteemed after the Sillery is the Aï; but
it is nearly equalled by the wine of Mareuil. The wine of Pierry is
drier, but will keep longer than those of Aï, and nearly equals them
in quality. The wines of Dizz follow next, and lastly Epernay, part of
whose wines is inferior, and part equal to those of Aï.

The author of the “Topographie des Vignobles” thus speaks of the high
price of the _Vins Mousseux_:--“The high price of the _Vins Mousseux_,”
says Jullien, “comes not only from the quality of the wines chosen to
make them, and the infinite pains required before they are finished,
but also from the considerable losses to which the proprietors and
dealers are exposed in this kind of speculation, and the strange
phenomena which determine or destroy the _qualité mousseuse_. As to
losses, the owners count in general upon fifteen or twenty bottles
broken in a hundred; sometimes even thirty or forty. To this must be
added the diminution which takes place as the wine is separated from
its deposits by decanting,--an operation which is performed at least
twice.”

These certainly are curious and unexplainable phenomena; but
explainable or not, one thing is certain, that if gentlemen wish to
obtain first-rate Champagne, whether still or sparkling, they must go
to a respectable wine-merchant, and pay a good price, whether at home
or abroad. In dealing with Moët, or Ruinart, or any other accredited
agent, they cannot fail to find a superior article; but they should
avoid the cheap Champagnes with as much care as they would avoid the
feculent water flowing out of Fleet Ditch into the Thames. Mr. Redding,
in a valuable little book of his called “Every Man his own Butler,”
says, “Some people fancy they get better Champagne by going to the
docks and choosing for themselves.” But that this is not so will be
very apparent, when it is stated that hundreds of thousands of bottles
of Champagne are imported, which, glass, wine, and all, are not worth
the duty.

The bottling of the effervescing Champagne wines begins in March, and
the fermentation in May. The latter continues all the summer, but is
particularly strong in June, during the flowering of the vine; and in
August, when the fruit begins to ripen. At these times, the greatest
loss in the bursting of bottles takes place, and it is not safe to pass
through a cellar without being guarded with a mask of iron wire. It
occasionally happens that the workmen who neglect this precaution are
sometimes severely, sometimes dangerously, wounded. Among the wines
prepared to effervesce--or, to use the technical phrase, for _la
mousse_--there are some which only partake of a slight fermentation.
These are the _crêmants_ wines, which drive out the cork with less
force, and sparkle in the glass. Their _mousse_ is frothy, and,
like the

“Snow-ball on the river,
A moment white, then gone for ever.”

They are said to have the advantage over the _Vins grand mousseux_, in
preserving more vinous qualities and being less sharp. Their price is
also higher, for they are sought for by connoisseurs, and cannot be
obtained in great quantity. The best red Champagne wines are produced
upon the north side of the declivities of the Marne, which are called
the _Montagnes de Rheims_.

The Champagne wine-merchants use the greatest precaution in packing
their wines for exportation. The sides of the baskets or cases are
lined with pasteboard, and each bottle is enveloped in a sheet of blue
or grey paper. Champagne _mousseux_, exported to the Indies or America,
is preserved from the excessive heat by being packed in salt. At the
bottom of the case there is a layer of straw, and then a layer of salt,
upon which the first row of bottles is placed. Jullien, in his “Manuel
du Sommelier,” states that the finest Burgundies thus packed have
preserved all their qualities on a voyage to India, and experienced but
fourteen degrees of heat in passing under the equator.

I come at length to Claret, and with Francesco Redi, exclaim,--

“Benedetto,
Quel claretto!”

Blessed, indeed, be Bordeaux, the ground that bare it; for it is king
of all wines, past, present, and to come! Of this opinion, too, was
Lémery, physician to Louis XIV., who thus speaks of it:--“Claret,” says
he, “of all others, is generally the best wine for all constitutions;
and the reason is, because it contains a sufficient quantity of
tartarous parts, that make it less heady and more stomachical than
white wine. As for pale wine; it is a middling sort, between the red
and white; the same is made of grapes of the same colour, or else by
mixing white wine with a little red.”

The Bordeaux wines are generally divided into _vins de Médoc_, _des
Graves_, _des Palus_, _des Côtes_, _de Terre forte_, and _vins
d’entre deux Mers_; but so much do they differ by the taste, colour,
_bouquet_, durability, and a thousand imperceptible shades, that it
would be difficult to give an exact list of the varied and magnificent
productions of the Gironde. Commercial men have, however, established
two recognised classes, which appear to be tacitly admitted by all
parties, and which may serve as a guide to the purchaser. In the first
class are ranked Château Margeaux, Château Lafitte, Latour, Haut Brion.
The product of these four vintages may be rated at from 400 to 450
_tonneaux_, the value of which represents a capital of 2400 to 3000
francs per _tonneau_. When age has developed the qualities of these
wines, more particularly in a good vintage, the value is at least
doubled. For the last twenty years the Haut Brion seems to be on the
wane in public favour, and it sells at a lesser price than one of its
three rivals.

The second class of Bordeaux wines is composed of the Rauzan, Braune,
Mouton, Léoville, Gruau, La Rose, Pichon, Longueville, Durfort,
Degorse, Destournelle; producing 850 _tonneaux_, which ranges at from
2000 to 2100 francs the _tonneau_.

The third class comprises within its ranks the Kirwan, Château d’Issau,
Poujets, many _clos_ of Cantenac, and of Margeaux, Mulescot, Ferrière,
Giscours, &c. These vineyards produce about 1100 _tonneaux_, of the
value of from 1700 to 1800 francs the _tonneau_.

The fourth class has two divisions: first, the Saint Julien,
Béchevelle, Saint Pierre, &c.; producing about 650 _tonneaux_, worth
about from 1200 to 1500 each. In the second division are ranged the
great properties of Pauillac and Saint Estèphe, with some others,
producing about 1000 _tonneaux_, at from 1000 to 1200 francs the
_tonneau_.

The difference which exists between these four or five superior
qualities of wine, and the wines made by small proprietors, which
are sold at from 300 to 450 francs the _tonneau_, results less
from the quality of the grape and the nature of the soil than from
circumstances incident to the want of capital, and from the desire of
obtaining quantity at the expense of quality. There can be no doubt
whatever that the large capitalist purchases a better wine than the
small one, though the small capitalist has it in his power to produce
as good a bottle of wine on his own table as his richer neighbour.
But, when he caters for the public, it is more profitable by different
mixtures to produce 100 _tonneaux_ of middling quality than fifty
of superior wine, even though the latter be sold at a considerably
higher price than the former. In the cellars at Bordeaux there is great
management of the wine. It is always kept in a vault or cellar pretty
nearly of the same temperature, and is fed, once every two or three
weeks, if intended for the English or foreign market, with a pint or
two of the best brandy. The wine is frequently tasted to know what
state it is in, and the brandy is used accordingly. Care must, however,
be taken never to put in much at a time, especially for wines intended
for immediate sale, as such a mode of proceeding would destroy the
flavour of the wine, and cause it to taste fiery. If a little be put
in at a time, it is said to incorporate quickly with the wine, and to
feed and mellow it. Among the London wine merchants the custom is, if
the Claret be faint and has lost its colour, to rack it into a fresh
hogshead upon the lees of good Claret. It is then bunged up, pulling
the bung downwards for two or three days that the lees may run through
it, after which its bung is laid up till it be fine. If the colour be
not then perfect, it is racked off again into a hogshead that has been
nearly drawn off, then an ounce of cochineal is added, shaken up in a
bottle of wine, and put it into the hogshead; and by this method the
wine is said to acquire both a good colour and body. Sometimes a pound
of turnsole is put into a gallon or two of wine, and the cask rolled
about, and then the wine-doctors tell you your beverage will have a
perfect colour. The greenhorns may think this is pure invention; but,
lest I should be thought “to draw on my fancy for facts,” I extract the
following receipts from the work of John Davies, who, having practised
them on the lieges of Leeds for a long while, at length came up to the
metropolis, and published his work “On the Managing, Colouring, and
Flavouring of Foreign Wines and Spirits,”--a work which subsequently
went through many editions. The following are his receipts _verbatim
et literatim_:--

“METHOD OF COLOURING CLARET.--Take as many as you please of damsons or
black sloes, and strew them with some of the deepest-coloured wine you
can get, and as much sugar as will make it into a syrup. A pint of this
will colour a hogshead of Claret. It is also good for red Port wines,
and may be kept ready for use in glass bottles.

“A REMEDY FOR CLARET THAT DRINKS FOUL.--Rack off your Claret from the
dregs on some fresh lees of its own kind, and then take a dozen of new
pippins, pare them, and take away the cores or hearts, then put them in
your hogsheads, and, if that is not sufficient, take a handful of the
oak of Jerusalem and bruise it, then put it into your wine, and stir it
very well. This not only takes away the foulness, but also gives it a
good scent.”

The great commerce of Bordeaux is in its wine, but it is much
diminished since the loss of St. Domingo. A considerable export of
wines, not so loaded as they formerly were, has recently taken place
to the East Indies; and no doubt the opening of the China trade will
also somewhat tend to improve the condition and state of the Gironde
wine-grower. But what most desire to see, would be a freer exchange
of the vinous wealth of France with England. It is in every sense
desirable that our population, instead of drinking that thick and
heady Port, consumed by the Eldons and Stowells of a past generation,
and some old dons and tutors of Oxford, a few old barristers, and a
great mass of attorneys of the present generation, should drink the
ordinary red Bordeaux wines; or, if they will have white wines, those
Sauternes and Graves whose prices sometimes rise so high as 3000 francs
the _tonneau_. There is not a pleasanter or more healthful wine
than good Sauterne. It is, of course, difficult to get pure Sauterne in
taverns or hotels; but to such as have not establishments in town, a
trial of the Sauterne at Bellamy’s, at the House of Commons, would be
advisable. The following account of Jullien is very interesting:--

“The inferior wines of Bordeaux,” says the author of the “Topographic
des Vignobles,” are exported to America and the interior of France;
those of the first quality to India, Russia, and England.

“The difference in price between the first and inferior wines is very
great. Those of the best vineyards sell generally the first year at
from 2000 to 3000 francs the _tonneau_, and rise to 5000 or 6000, and
even higher, in a very favourable vintage. On the contrary, the _vins
communs_ fetch only from 100 to 120 francs, and seldom rise to more
than 200 or 300.

“The wine of first quality, at its point of maturity, ought to have
a beautiful colour, much firmness, a very agreeable _bouquet_, and
a flavour which embalms the mouth, strength without intoxicating,
and body without harshness. The Bordeaux wines are, contrary to the
generality of French wines, improved by a sea voyage; and wines of the
second and third quality, after a voyage, have equalled those of the
first.

“The English houses at Bordeaux, immediately after the vintage,
purchase a large quantity of the wines of all the best vineyards,
in order that they may undergo _la travaille à l’anglaise_. This
operation consists in putting into fermentation part of the wines
during the following summer; by mixing in each barrel from thirteen to
eighteen pots of Alicant or Benicarlo, or the wines of the Hermitage,
Cahors, Languedoc, and others; one pot of white wine called Muet (wine
whose fermentation had been stopped by the fumes of sulphur), and one
bottle of spirits of wine. The wine is drawn off in December, and then
laid up in the _chars_ (cellars) for some years. By this operation the
wines are rendered more spirituous and very strong, they acquire a good
flavour, but are intoxicating. The price, likewise, is increased.

“The age of wine at Bordeaux is counted _par feuilles_; that is, the
number of times the vine has been in leaf since the vintage. The years
which the wines require to be kept vary, but those of _vins de Graves_
do not reach perfection before the fifth or sixth.”

This is a recent account; but it will be well to hear what old Barry,
who wrote ninety years ago, says on the same subject. After having
perused his account it will appear that we, at the commencement of the
twentieth century, are but practising, with variations, the tricks
which our ancestors played centuries ago.

“The French wine-merchants,” says Barry, “encouraged by the great
demands for these Claret wines, first began to mix their inferior
wines with the Spanish; and, though there was a severe law forbidding
this practice, yet it was connived at, as it increased the value and
demand for them. This encouraged some persons from hence and Ireland
to reside there as _factors_, with a view, at first, of acquiring the
profit arising from the large commissions which before had always
been consigned to the French wine-merchants. But these factors soon
became wine-merchants likewise, among whom it was usual to employ their
_tasters_, after the vintage was over, to examine the new wines; and,
when they had been properly informed, purchased such a quantity as was
sufficient to answer the demands they expected. These were soon after
mixed and prepared with the Spanish wines, which added more strength
and flavour to them. Thus the price of them was gradually raised much
higher than the wines of these growths had been formerly estimated.

What Barry says about factors is perfectly true; but a very old
Bordeaux wine-merchant and wine-grower informed me, nearly forty years
since, that the factors of seventy years ago were principally Irish and
Scotch, and that there were at that period many Irish and Scotch among
the proprietors of vineyards. “There were,” said he, “Gernons, Byrnes,
Cruises, Cassins, M’Donnells, Maxwells, Stewarts, M’Laurins, among the
factors; and among the proprietors of vineyards Cockburns, M’Kinnons,
Kirwans, Frenches, Dalys, Walshes, Bogles, Archers, and O’Connors.”
This may have accounted for the superiority which Dublin and Edinburgh
obtained more than half a century ago over the London market in respect
of Claret,--a superiority which was attested by the great run made for
these wines on the house of Sneyd, French, and Barton; Cockburn and
Co.; Cranston and Co.; Stewart and Co.; Roche and Co.; Sir John Ferns
and Co.; Sir Anthony Perrier and Co.; Brook and Co.; Wilson and Co.,
and many others.

The excellence of the Bordeaux wines was celebrated even in the days
of Ausonius, and they have uniformly maintained their repute. They
are, without any manner of doubt, the most perfect wines that France
produces. They keep perfectly, are improved by sea carriage, and may
be freely exported to any part of the world. The original fermentation
being usually very complete, they are less disposed to acidity, and are
more wholesome than the wines of Burgundy. A great proportion of the
wine, however, which is drunk as Claret, is but _vin ordinaire_,
or the secondary wine of the country, for the prime growths fall far
short of the demand which prevails for these wines all over the world.
In Bordeaux the very best growths are scarce, and cannot be purchased
at less than from six to seven francs a bottle. “During the twenty
years that I have been living at Bordeaux,” says one of Rozière’s
correspondents, “I have not tasted three times any wine of the first
quality; yet I am in the way of knowing it and getting it when it is
to be had. The wines of the year 1784 were so superior to those of
other years, that I have never met with anything like them.”

Whence comes the word Claret? From the French adjective _clairet_,
which in the feminine, is _clairette_. In the masculine it is only
used of what is called a _vin rouge paillet_, _vinum rubellum
sanguineum_. In this sense a man is said to be _entre le blanc et le
clairet_, _i.e._, that he is _entre deux vins_. Hypocras was formerly
called Claret, and is still so called in Germany. Old Cowel, in his
“Interpreter,” says, “This denomination originates from _claretum_, a
liquor made anciently of wine and honey, clarified by decoction, which
the Germans, French, and English call _hippocras_, and it is for this
reason that the red wines of France were called Claret.”

In Pegg’s “Cury” there is an account of the rolls of provisions, with
their prices, in the time of Henry VIII., and we there find at the
dinner given at the marriage of Gervys Clifton and Mary Nevil, the
price of three hogsheads of wine (one white, one red, one claret), was
set down at 5_l._ 5_s._

The department of the Rhone produces the Côte Rôti at a vineyard about
seven leagues from Lyons. This a wine which possesses body, spirit,
flavour, and perfume. If allowed to remain in the cask for five or
six years, it improves wonderfully. It may then be bottled, and will
improve in bottle for twenty years. The Côte Rôti is a wine much drunk
in Switzerland and Franche Comté. It is grown at Ampuis, and ranks as
one of the best wines of France. It is, when young, slightly bitter and
rather heady, but is much improved by a voyage. The flavour somewhat
resembles red Hermitage, and if it were generally imported into
England, it would be preferred to Port by all who have a sound palate
and liver.

Tain, four leagues from Valence, possesses the famous Hermitage
vineyard. Hermitage is divided into five classes. It is not bottled
for exportation till it has been four or five years in the cask. The
price of the wine is high, even if the quality be moderate. I am in
possession of some obtained twenty years ago as a favour, at 96_s._ a
dozen, from the Prince Charles de Broglie, and with freight, carriage,
interest of money, &c., it now stands me in at least seven guineas the
dozen.

The white Hermitage is made of white grapes only, and is divided into
three growths. It is an exquisite and most delicious beverage, and
may be pronounced to be the finest white wine France produces. White
Hermitage is said to keep a century. I tasted some bought at the sale
of the late Marquess of Londonderry’s wines in St. James’s Square,
which must be at least sixty years old, and a more delicious wine was
never produced at table. The only difference between it and white
Hermitage of five years old is that the tint and colour are of a deep
amber, but in dryness, richness, and aroma, it is unrivalled.

In 1836, a few bottles of this wine, which had been in the late
Marquess of Wellesley’s cellars since 1807, was purchased by me; but,
although a fine wine, it was not to compare with the Hermitage of the
late Lord Londonderry, better known as Lord Castlereagh.

The grape from which the red Hermitage is made is supposed to have come
originally from Persia.[36] The vineyard was, it is said, planted by a
hermit of Bessas for his amusement.

Richard and Sons are among the first wine-merchants and bankers at
Tournon, a town on the opposite side of the Rhone to Tain, and joined
to it by a suspension-bridge. They export large quantities of the
finest growth of Hermitage to Bordeaux to mix with the first growths of
Claret. The largest wine-press in France belongs to this firm. By one
charge of it the proprietors can obtain forty casks of wine, of about
fifty gallons each.

One of the principal proprietors of the Hermitage vineyards is a
gentleman of Irish descent, a Mr. Machon. The soil on which the
Hermitage grows is highly calcareous, and it is to this peculiarity,
as well perhaps as to the selection of the plants, that the wine owes
its superiority. The labour bestowed in the vineyards is said to be
unremitting.

The cost of wine cultivation in France is immense, and it seldom
happens that more than four or five per cent., and frequently not more
than two or three, are returned to the landowner.

The German wines, as a general description, may be pronounced generous
and finely flavoured, rich in _bouquet_, and the least acid among the
northern wines. They are, however, drier than the wines of France.
That they are what the French call _vins de garde_, or wines that will
keep, is plainly apparent from the fact that the better qualities
have been found perfect at eighty and even at a hundred years old.
The Moselle wines are among the least acid of the German, or indeed
of the wines of any country. The German jurist Hontheim says the best
Moselle wines make men cheerful; when drunk in quantity and old,
good; the heat leaving the body and head without inconvenience and
disorder. Rüdesheim, six leagues from Mayence, is said to produce the
best wines in Germany, having more body, strength, and _bouquet_, than
those on the left bank of the Rhine. An auhm of 1811 sells for 55_l._
On the Johannisberg wines it would be unnecessary to dilate here.
Barry, seventy years ago, in speaking of the Hock wines, adduced, as
a circumstance that contributed to their advancement, the fact that
there was an annual addition of a due proportion of the recent and new
wine of the same growth to the old wine. In his day the best old Hock
sold at the price of 50_l._ the auhm. The Rhine wines of most strength
are the Marcobrunner, Rüdesheimer, and Nierstiner. The Johannisberger,
Geissenheim, and Hockheim have the most perfect delicacy and aroma.
The wines of Bischeim, Asmanshausen, and Laubenheim, are also light
and agreeable. The German proverb says, “Rhein wein, fein wein, Necker
wein, lecre wein, Franken wein, tranken wein, Mosel wein, unnosel
wein.” But the wines of all wines are the Julius Hospitalis Steinwein
of 1811, and the Cabinet Leinstenwein of 1822. I remember in 1828 and
1829 drinking fine specimens of both at the Three Moors at Augsburg
(a capital hotel), and noting down that the price of the Steinwein
was four florins, twenty-four kreutzers, and of the Leinstenwein five
florins, forty-eight kreutzers; the one amounting nearly to 8_s._ and
the other fully to 9_s._ of our money. They are both exquisite wines,
but are said to produce strangury. Switzerland grows little good wine.
The Neufchâtel would, perhaps, most please an English palate; it is
equal to the third quality of Burgundy, and has some resemblance to
Port without much body.

On the Spanish wines I must be brief. Under the influence of the sun
of a warm climate, they contain more alcohol, and are altogether
differently prepared. The grapes are suffered to become quite ripe,
and part of the must is concentrated by boiling it in large cauldrons
for forty-four hours. The Spanish wines, however, with the exception of
those of Xeres and Malaga, are greatly neglected in the manufacture.
Manzinilla, the country wine of the district of Xeres de la Frontena,
is a light, pleasant beverage, not destitute of mellowness and flavour.
It is far preferable in every respect to those loaded, coloured
compounds which pass for Sherries in London taverns.

The extent of the cellars of Gordon and Co., of Cadiz, is immense. The
length of the largest 306 feet, and the breadth 222 feet. The ordinary
stock of wine is said to be 4000 butts, which is kept in casks of
various sizes, containing from one to four butts. The wine merchants
of Xeres never exhaust their stock of finest and oldest wine. A cask
of wine, said to be fifty years old, may contain a portion of the
vintages of thirty or forty seasons. The better class of wine merchants
at Xeres never ship wine for England till it is two years old. The
higher qualities of Sherry are made up of wine the bulk of which is
from three to five years old; and this is mixed in the older wines.
From the gradual mixture, therefore, of the wines of various ages, no
wine can be less a natural wine than Sherry. The Amontillado is a dry
kind of Sherry, abounding in a dry, nutty flavour. It is very light
in colour, and is often used to restore the colour of Sherries of too
deep a brown. It sells much dearer than other Sherry wines. The Malaga
Sherry very much resembles the wine of Xeres, and large quantities are
exported to foreign countries as genuine Sherry. 200_l._ have been
paid for a first-rate cask of Malaga.

On the Portuguese wine called Port I shall not waste many words. When
dry and old it is a good winter wine for old people, if they restrict
themselves to a glass or two.

A good glass of genuine Madeira which has gone the rounds, is good
after soup, but the wine is no longer fashionable.

The only Italian wines worth drinking are the Montefiascone,
Montepulciano, and Vino d’Asti. Many of these wines are too harsh, and
some of them are too thick and sweet for a French or English palate.

Some of the wines of Hungary are very tolerable. The Tokay wine is
exquisite. Even the Maslas, which is a diluted Tokay, is a splendid
wine; soft, oily, and stomachic. A glass of it may be had any day
after dinner, at about 10_d._ or 1_s._ English, in the Speise Saal of
the Schwann, at Vienna, where I in my youth consumed many a bottle of
Tokay. The Vermuth is a stomachic mixture, too much bepraised by those
who have never tasted it; indeed, as much overpraised as the _Crême
d’Absinthe_. All the Greek wines are also over-rated. There are tuns
of them not worth the amount of a farrier’s yearly bill for shoeing a
dog; or if you wish the Gallic phrase, “ne valent pas les quatres fers
d’un chien.”

The Constantia wine of the Cape, though much liked by Frenchmen
of seventy and upwards, and Frenchwomen above forty, never can be
generally a favourite with Englishmen. There are some few Russian
wines. At Kaffa, in the Crimea, they produce a Champagne very nearly as
good as either the growth of the Borough or Lambeth.

Of New South Wales wines a word or two. I learned with much pleasure
that the French, and all other wines, are now tried in that colony; and
that the climate is particularly well suited to the growth of the vine.
The preparation and keeping of the wine must, however, be much more
attended to than heretofore. At the Cape, too, the English wine-growers
have gone on very progressively from year to year in ameliorating their
Pontacs. The best white Capes fetch, since their flinty character is
diminishing, prices as high as Sherries of middling qualities. Such
prices were, however, encouraged perhaps by the import duties on
colonial wine being only half the amount levied on foreign grown. As
these Cape wines are now so pure as to mix well with Xeres wines, the
conscientious London dealer, of course, largely availed himself of a
colonial-grown article to mix with Sherry wines for English country
consumption.

Two works have recently been published on wine, in which may be
found chapters dedicated to the wines of Southern Africa, Greece,
the Western Archipelago, and to the wines of Columbia, Australia,
&c. But notwithstanding these efforts to introduce new vintages from
Italy, Greece, Hungary, Australia, and Southern Africa, elderly and
middle-aged men of the present generation are certain still to adhere
to the old wines which their fathers and grandfathers consumed for
the last half-century. It may, I think, even be doubted whether the
use of any new vintages can become general (supposing them to be as
good or better than the old) before the end of the present century or
A.D. 1900, from which coming epoch we are still removed by an
interval of seven and thirty years. It would, therefore, be the idlest
of idle follies in me to recommend to any host to fill his cellar with
new vintages of which his guests knew nothing, and which they might
not relish. The aim of a host, now as heretofore, should be to have
choice wines and _liqueurs_, all excellent of their kind. Persons
of moderate fortune should look to the excellence of the quality of
the wines, rather than to the variety of their stock. With good bins
of Sherry, Madeira, Port, Claret (white and red), Champagne, Hock,
and Burgundy, any gentleman is in a position to entertain his guests
worthily. Larger quantities of Sherry, Port, Madeira, and first-rate
Claret, may be laid in than of lighter wines, for of these latter the
consumption will be necessarily less.

At most London dinners in the season, Champagne, Sauterne, Barsac,
Rhenish and Moselle wines are produced; but of the four latter wines
scarcely more than a bottle of each is used, though three or four
bottles of Champagne may be consumed, in a party of twelve. But,
notwithstanding that there is a more considerable consumption of
Champagne than of other light wines, it is not advisable that any
private gentleman should have a large stock of this wine in his cellar,
as after a twelvemonth it is apt to get ropy, and to require fresh
bottling. But of the _vins de garde_, such as Madeira, Sherry, Port,
first-rate Claret, and Burgundy, a host may profitably cellar as large
a quantity as his fortune will allow. Of one thing, however, every
purchaser should convince himself before he purchases a single bottle,
and that is, that it is impossible to have good wine at a low price.
The finest vintages of wine are always scarce and dear; and the finest
vintages must, like other and inferior vintages, be matured before
they are fit to drink. A considerable efflux of time is necessary for
this, so that there is interest on the original cost of the wine, as
well as the interest on its keep, to be added to the prime or original
cost. This is so if the wine be imported direct from the wine-grower;
but if it be obtained from the merchant or dealer in this country, his
profit, as well as the skill, labour, and industry he has applied, must
all be additional items in the price. The idea of low-priced wine is
therefore a mere myth; and, whether at the sales of private gentlemen’s
stock or otherwise, good wine generally fetches its full value in
London. It is said that, at the sales of deceased gentlemen in Dublin
and Edinburgh, few wines, unless some exceedingly rare specimens, fetch
above 60_s._ per dozen; but in London it is very common, at private
sales, for Port and Sherry to fetch double as much as this.

The best way for any gentleman desiring to stock a cellar, is to go to
a first-rate wine merchant of position and character. Such a man will
deal honestly, and give his customer a good article, though he may
charge what is called in the trade a long price for it. If gentlemen
have personal friends or connections at Cadiz in whom they can confide
to send them wine in the piece, they may lay in Amontillado, Montilla,
or Manzinilla, at 10_s._ or 12_s._ a dozen less than they can obtain
them of the wine merchants in England. Anything like a first-rate
Amontillado sells among English wine merchants at from 72_s._ to 84_s._
the dozen, while Manzinilla and Montilla range at from 60_s._ to 70_s._

Fabulous prices are given for old Ports and East India Sherries and
Madeiras, at the sales of well-known _connoisseurs_ in wine. Many
East India Sherries have sold for nine and ten guineas a dozen, and
much of the late Mr. Justice Talfourd’s Port went for eleven and twelve
guineas a dozen. Though the wine was excellent, this was unquestionably
a fancy price. There is no need to give so large a sum for old and
first-rate Port. Any man of ordinary acumen and intelligence, in
addressing himself to a first-rate wine house in London may have
excellent, if not first-rate, Port at from three to four guineas a
dozen, and considerably cheaper if he buys it in the wood.

First-rate Clarets have been rising in price during the last five or
six years; but even in London first-rate Clarets ought to be and are
procurable at from four to five guineas a dozen, and the best sparkling
Champagne at about the same price, or a shade lower. Sillery Champagne
of the very highest quality is sold by wine merchants at 6_l._ the
dozen. Burgundies of the highest qualities are rare, and difficult to
find good; but excellent Beaune and Chablis can be obtained at two
guineas the dozen in London, and considerably cheaper if imported
direct.

As to the dietetic qualities of the wine, I would remark that those
wines which contain a sufficient quantity of alcohol, and which have
undergone a complete fermentation, stimulate and accelerate digestion.
Among these are Madeira, Sherry, Port, Rhone, and Rousillon wines. The
most salutary wines are those which contain a moderate quantity of
alcohol, as old Bordeaux, Burgundy, and Champagne. The modern practice
of taking a great variety of wines at table cannot be commended. It
is decidedly injurious to health and digestion, more especially when
sweet succeed to slightly acidulated wines, or wines of much body to
very light wines.

I should say that the best red Burgundy was the Romanée Conti, and the
best white the Montrachet. But good vintages of Pomard, Volnay, Nuits,
and Chambertin, are excellent. Burgundy, however, is a wine of which
only a small quantity should be drunk, as it is very heating.

Among the Champagne wines the most esteemed growths are those of Aï,
Sillery, and Epernay; and among the Rousillon and Rhine wines, red and
white Hermitage, Côte Rôti, and St. Peray.

The best growths of Bordeaux red wines are Lafitte, La Tour, Château
Margaux, and Haut Brion. Among the second class of red wines the best
are the Monton, the Rauzan, and the Léoville; and among the third class
are the Kirwan, the Château d’Issan, and Lagrange.

A glass of Chablis, Barsac, Sauterne, or Bucellas, may be taken after
the oysters, while a glass of old Madeira or Sherry follows the soup.
In the middle of the first course, in France, they serve Champagne or
sparkling Burgundy; and toward the end of the first course, the finer
kinds of Claret, white and red. With the roast comes Burgundy and
Hermitage, and these wines, as well as Bordeaux, may be served with
game. With the dessert it is the custom in France to offer Malmsey and
Malaga; but these wines are rarely produced in England, though white
and red Constantia, and Frontignan are frequently produced.

In the last sixteen years the consumption of Champagne has doubled
in England. In 1831, the quantity of French wine imported amounted,
in round numbers, to 254,000 gallons, whereas in 1861 it amounted to
2,227,000 gallons.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXI.

THE CELLAR FOR WINES.

The cellar for good wine should be a suitable lodging for this welcome
guest in every well arranged household. A great deal of wine, good
and middling, is spoiled beyond redemption from being deposited in a
bad cellar. There are many families in this great metropolis who, if
well lodged themselves, never bestow a thought on how their wine is
lodged. Yet this is a matter of essential importance if the master of a
household consults his own health or the health of his guests.

A wine cellar should neither be too hot nor too cold. It should
neither be near the kitchen, the scullery, nor the laundry fire; nor
yet out of doors, exposed to every change of temperature in this
variable climate. No gentleman valuing the quality of his wine,
or the health of those who are to drink it, would convert a spare
bed-room, or cock-loft, or cupboard into a wine cellar, though in
a warm climate Madeira may be improved by being placed under the
sun’s rays on the leads of dwelling-houses, a system much practised
in the great cities of America. A cellar, as Mr. Redding clearly and
succinctly says, “should be a cellar in material, site, temperature,
and solidity of construction.” The finer and more delicate wines grow
turbid, ropy, or sharp when stowed away in unfitting localities. In
such a city as London, all one can hope for or expect is to secure a
cellar of an equal temperature, solidly constructed of brick or stone.
The variations of the external atmosphere should not be allowed to
penetrate within it. As Barry wrote ninety years ago, “the structure of
a wine cellar ought to be such as will most effectually defend the wine
from the frequent variations of the external air, adjacent fires, and
the agitation of carriages, and to preserve an equal degree of heat,
though some variations must be unavoidable.”

Lighter wines require a colder cellar than the strong wines; but, as a
general direction, the temperature of a cellar ought to be from about
forty to fifty degrees. The size of a cellar ought to be in proportion
to the quantity of wine for which it is designed. The situation ought
to be low and dry. Double doors are an advantage to every cellar, as
one may be closed before the other is opened, and thus the changes of
the external atmosphere cannot penetrate. Cellars in private houses
are rarely ventilated, and thus foul air is frequently generated. In
cities the back of the house is the best place for the wine cellar,
as the bottles are not then shaken in their bins by the motion of
carriages.

No sink or sewer should be in the neighbourhood of a cellar, and no
vegetable or animal matter should be deposited adjacent to it. A wine
cellar should contain no other liquor than wine. Champagne should be
carefully laid on laths or in sand, and never placed on their bottoms,
as from this cause the wine will speedily lose its effervescence.
Quarry sand is the best substance in which to imbed the bottles, and
laths should be placed between each tier.

[Illustration]

APPENDIX.

LUXURIES OF THE TABLE IN FRANCE AND IN ENGLAND,
IN MEDIÆVAL AND MODERN TIMES.

According to Brantome, the first nobleman in France who introduced at
court a more luxurious table was the Marshal St. André. The historian
thus speaks of him:--“Et certes estoit par trop excessif en friandises
et délicatesse de viandes, tant de chair que de poisson et autres
friands mangers, tellement que quelqu’un qui n’eust ouy que de sa
vie délicieuse n’eust jamais pu n’y en juger n’y croire qu’il fust
esté si Grand Capitaine.” Among the kings of France, the first who
distinguished himself by this sumptuosity of fare was Francis I., and
he carried his table extravagance to a foolish and absurd extent; for
besides the unequalled luxury of the royal table, there were, according
to Brantôme, the tables of the grand master, of the great chamberlain,
of the chamberlain, of the gentlemen of the chamber, of the gentlemen
servants, and ever so many others. The graphic memoir writer, the
Seigneur de Bourdeille adds:--“Et toutes si bien servies que rien n’y
manquoit. Et ce qui estoit plus remarquable c’est que dans un village,
dans les forêts, dans les assemblées, l’on y estoit traité comme si
l’on eust esté dans Paris.”

Henri II. and Francis II. kept as good a table as their father and
grandfather; but things changed under Charles IX. and Henry III., of
whom Brantôme says, “C’était par boutades que l’on y faisoit bonne
chere, car le plus souvent la marmité se renversoit; chose que hait
beaucoup le courtesan qui aimeà avoir bouche à cour et à l’armée
parceque alors il ne lui conte rien.”

Henry IV., for a long time, was as “heinously unprovided” (to use a
Shakespearian phrase) as his royal predecessor. His finances were so
straitened, say the “Memoirs of the Duke of Angouleme,” “que souvent
sa table manquoit, et qu’il se trouvoit contraint d’aller manger chez
quelqu’un de ses sérviteurs.” Louis XIII. established, in a great
degree, the luxury of Francis I.; and Louis XIV., to use the words
of Le Grand, effaced even the remembrance of the repasts of the most
luxurious of former kings, by his elaborate feasts. It was under
his reign that “collations grasses” were eaten after dinner. Madame
de Sévigné writes, in 1680, “La Princesse de Tarente m’a faite une
collation en viande; je la lui ai rendue. C’est une sotte mode; je
pense que cela ne durera pas.” Bélon, who published his “Traité des
Oiseaux,” in 1555, describes how magnificently the dinner tables were
served in that day. “Pour entrées,” he says, “nous avons mille petits
deguisemens de chair comme potages, fricassées, hachis, salades. Le
second service est de rôti, de bouilli, de diverses viandes, tout de
boucherie que de gibier. Pour issue de table choses froides comme
fruictages, laictages, et doulceurs, rissoles, petits choux tout
chauds, petits gateaux caveux, ratons de fromage, pommes de capendu,
salade de citron ou de grenades.”

Gontier, who wrote in the seventeenth century, complains of the luxury
of the dinners in 1668, at which period, he says, there were no less
than eight courses. The “Mercure Galant” gives a description of the
royal banquet that was given at Versailles, for the marriage of
Mademoiselle de Blois, natural daughter of Louis XIV., with the Prince
of Conti. At this feast there were three courses of 160 dishes at
each course. The first course was half soups and half _entrées_;
the second, half in _entremets_ and half in roasts; the third,
dessert. The roasts were all small, and the ortolans alone cost 16,000
francs.

Later in the reign of Louis XIV., the mode of serving dinners in France
a good deal resembled the system followed in the present day. In the
entertainment given by Louvois to the Queen at Meudon, covers were laid
for nineteen, and there were four courses.

The first course consisted of forty _entrées_, the second of forty
roasts and salads, the third of hot and cold _entremets_, and the
last course of dessert. In the kitchen of Louis XV. there were about
thirty cooks employed, and four _pâtissiers-bouche_.

I now proceed to give a few bills of fare, from the days of Louis XIV.
to the present time.

The first is the _menu_ of a dinner given 212 years ago by Matthew
Molé, keeper of the seals in France to Mons. Le Prince Louis de
Bourbon-Condé, on the 9th August, 1652:--

MENEU DU DISNER QUI FUST DONNÉ PAR MESSIRE MATHIEU MOLÉ,
GARDE DES SCEAUX DE FRANCE, À MONSIEUR LE PRINCE (LOUIS DE
BOURBON-CONDÉ), LE SAMEDI, 9 ΑOUT, 1652.

_XIV. potages maigres_,

dont
1 aux écrevisses du Rhyn et
vin d’Espaigne,
et l’aultre
aux huistres d’Angoulesme et
œufs de perdrix rouges,
lesquels servis aux deux costés
de son Altesse.

_XIV. plats de poissons._

1 un saulmon de vingt escus.
1 brochet de 19 liures.
1 carpe aux œufs, de Champlastreux.
1 truite de Suysse, 24 liures.
1 turbot du Hasvre de Grasce.
1 matelotte de lamperoyes d’Angers.
1 hochepot de gibiers de riuiesre.
1 gibelotte de poissons meslés.
1 anguille à la broche, 9 liures 16 sols.
1 pasté de barbottes du Rhosne.
1 fricassée de lottes aux asperges.
1 de morue fraische aux groseilles uerdes.
1 d’aloses de Rouen grillées.
1 d’esperlants farinnés au cédrat.

_XIV. plats de rost._

6 de poissons cuits au bleu.
4 de poissons à la poisle.
4 de gibiers de riuiesre, à la broche.

_XIV. sallades._

3 de légumes cuits.
3 d’herbes uerdes.
6 d’œufs accommodés diuersement.
2 de citrons musqués, 10 escus.

_XIV. assiettes gauffrées._

7 de pastisseries à fonds de cresme.
7 de pastisseries à fonds de fruict.

_XVIII. jattes de fruicts et aultres_,
desquels
6 agnanats touts entiers
et 12 pacquets de fleurs de joncquilles à confire.

Dont cxii. escus pour le coust d’yceulx fruicts et fleurs, et pour le
tout de la despense généralle, mil neuf cens soixante et cinq liures,
et unze sols,

Que certifie iuste et uallable:
MAUGIS.
Apprevvay cette partie de Mavgis.
Bon povr 1965 livres 11 sols, que playra payer
à lvy maistre Lordier de Lestanville.
MOLÉ.

The second is the _menu_ of a supper of the Regent Orleans, moitié
gras, moitié maigre:--

MENU D’UNE TABLE DE DOUZE COUVERTS, POUR UN SOUPER
DU RÉGENT, SERVI MOITIÉ GRAS, MOITIÉ MAIGRE.

Pour le milieu une grosse pièce,
Deux potages pour les bouts de table:
Dix entrées, savoir, quatre jattes et six plats à festons, &c.

PREMIER SERVICE.

1 pièce de bœuf salé, garnie de carottes et de patates.

_Deux potages, savoir:_

1 maigre, coulis de brochet (un brochet).
1 de navets (un canard dessus).

_Dix entrées, savoir: quatre dans quatre jattes, et six dans
six plats à festons._

_Les quatre jattes, savoir:_

1 de filets de mouton glacés et piqués, et des cornichons
par-dessus.
1 de poulets piqués de persil, avec une sauce à l’espagnole dessous
(2 poulets).
1 de brochets à la polonaise (un brochet).
1 de perches à la génevoise (6 perches, une bouteille de vin blanc).

_Les six plats à festons, savoir:_

1 de saurcroûte au maigre (un brochet).
1 quarteron d’huîtres, cuites avec une pinte de crême.
1 d’une noix de veau à la napolitaine.
1 de perdreaux en levraut (3 perdreaux).
1 d’anguilles à la bavaroise (2 belles anguilles).
1 demi-cent de belles écrevisses.

_Deux plats de poissons pour relever les potages, savoir:_

1 d’une carpe à l’anglaise.
1 de Water Fisch (2 douzaines de petites perches, quatre petits
brochetons).

SECOND SERVICE.

1 reins de sanglier marinés.

_Deux plats de pâtisserie, savoir:_

1 d’un gâteau fourré de marmelade d’abricots.
1 d’une tourte à la glace (6 pêches à l’eau-de-vie, une pinte de
crême).

_Quatre plats de rôt, savoir:_

1 d’éperlans frits, trempés dans des œufs et panés.
1 de 2 poulardes.
1 de soles frites (2 belles soles).
1 de 2 canards sauvages.

_Quatre salades différentes avec quatre différentes sauces._

_Quatre petits entremets chauds, savoir:_

1 de ris de veau piqués et glacés (6 ris de veau).
1 de pieds de cochon à la Sainte-Ménéhould.
1 de petits pois secs à la crême, d’œufs pochés dessus.
1 de pommes de reinette à la chinoise (6 oranges confites).

The following is the _menu_ of a supper of Louis XV. at La Muette,
on 18th February, 1749:--

SOUPER DU ROI LOUIS XV. À LA MUETTE, LE
SAMEDI, 18 FÉVRIER, 1749.

_Deux grandes entrées._

Un râble de mouton de montagne.
Un quartier de veau, une blanquette dans le cuisseau.

_Deux oilles._

1 au riz.
1 à la jambe de bois.

_Deux potages._

1 à la faubonne.
1 aux choux verts.

_Seize entrées._

1 de côtelettes mêlées.
1 de petits pâtés à la Béchameil.
1 de langues de moutons à la duchesse.
1 de petits pigeons aux truffes entières.
1 de haricot de mouton aux navets.
1 de boudins d’écrevisses.
1 de filets de poularde à la d’Armagnac.
1 de matelote à la Dauphine.
1 de noix de veau aux épinards.
1 de membres de faisan à la Conty.
1 de filets de perdreau à la Périgueux.
1 de petits poulets à l’Urlubie.
1 de ris de veau à la Sainte-Ménéhould.
1 sarcelles à l’orange.
1 lapereaux en crépines.
1 poules de Caux en escalopes.

_Quatre relevés._

1 dindonneau à la peau de goret, sauce Robert.
1 pâté de bécassines.
1 quartier de sanglier.
1 noix de bœuf aux choux-fleurs.

_Deux grands entremets._

1 pâté de jambon.
1 gâteau de Savoie.

_Quatre moyens._

2 de buissons d’écrevisses.
2 gâteaux au fromage.

_Huit plats de rôts non mention-nés.--Seize entremets._

1 de cardes au jus.
1 de crêtes au bouillon.
1 d’amourettes.
1 de foies gras grillés.
1 de ragoûts mêlés à la crême.
1 de crême au chocolat.
1 d’abaisse de massepain.
1 d’œufs à l’infante.
1 d’huîtres au gratin.
1 de pattes de dindon à l’espagnole.
1 d’asperges.
1 de truffles à la cendre.
1 de crême glacée.
1 de canelons meringués.
1 de choux-fleurs.

Here is a _Carte Dinatoire_ for twelve persons, for the table of
the Citoyen Directeur et Général Barras, le Décadi, trente floréal:--

CARTE DINATOIRE POUR LA TABLE DU CITOYEN DIRECTEUR ET
GÉNÉRAL BARRAS, LE DÉCADI, 30 FLORÉAL. DOUZE PERSONNES.

(Autographes de M. Théodore Vivien.)

1 potage.
1 relevé.
6 entrées.
2 plats de rôt.
6 entremets.
1 salade.
24 plats de dessert.

* * * * *

Le potage aux petits ognons à la ci-devant minime.

Le relevé; un tronçon 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 concombres farcis à la moelle.
1 vol-au-vent de blanc de volaille à la Béchameil.
1 d’un ci-devant Saint-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 de betteraves blanches, sautées au jambon.
1 d’une gelée au vin de Madère.
1 de beignets de crême à la fleur d’orange.
1 de lentilles à la ci-devant Reine, à la crème au blond de veau.
1 de culs d’artichauts à la ravigote.
1 salade; céleri en rémoulade.

Trop de poisson. Otez les goujons. Le reste est bien. Qu’on n’oublie
pas encore de mettre des coussins sur les siéges pour les citoyennes
Tallien, Talma, Beauharnais, Hinguerlot et Mirande.

Et pour cinq heures très-précises.

Signé BARRAS.

Faites venir des glaces de Veloni. Je n’en veux pas d’autres.

Here is a _menu_ of a dinner served to the Emperor Napoleon and
his family, on the Samedi Saint, 1811:--

MENU D’UN DÎNER DE LA FAMILLE BONAPARTE, AUX TUILERIES.

_Deux potages._

Au macaroni et purée de marrons.

_Deux relevés._

Une pièce de bœuf bouillie, garnie de légumes.
Un brochet à la Chambord.

_Quatre entrées._

Côtelettes de mouton à la Soubise.
Perdreaux à la Montglas.
Fricassée de poulet à la chevalière.
Filets de canard au fumet.

_Deux rôtis._

Un chapon au cresson.
Un gigot d’agneau.

_Deux plats de légumes._

Des choux-fleurs au gratin.
Du céleri-navet au jus.

_Quatre entremets au sucre._

Crême au café.
Gelée d’orange.
Génoise décorée.
Gauffres à l’allemande.

Now comes the first dinner _en maigre_ which Louis XVIII. had at
Compiegne. It is certainly a most _recherché_ one:--

PREMIER DINER DU ROI LOUIS XVIII., À COMPIEGNE.

(En Maigre.)

_Quatre potages._

Potage de poisson à la provençale.
Nouilles à l’essence de racines.
Potage à la d’Artois à l’essence de racines.
Filets de lottes aux écrevisses.

_Quatre relevés de poissons._

Croquettes de brochet à la Béchameil.
Vol-au-vent garni de brandade de morue aux truffes.
Filets de soles à la Dauphine.
Orly de filets de carrelets.

_Quatre grosses pièces._

Turbot au beurre d’anchois.
Grosse anguille à la Régence.
Bar à la vénitienne.
Saumon, sauce aux huîtres.

_Trente-deux entrées._

Escalopes de truites aux fines herbes.
Sauté de filets de plongeons au suprême.
Vol-au-vent de poissons à la Nesle.
Petites caisses de foies de lottes.

_Les croquettes de brochets._

Raie bouclée à la hollandaise.
Bayonnaise de filets de soles.
Quenelles de poisson à l’italienne.
Grondins grillés, sauce au beurre.

_La grosse anguille à la Régence._

Blanquette de turbot à la Béchameil.
Pain de carpes au beurre d’écrevisses.
Salade de filets de brochet aux laitues.
Filets d’alose à l’oseille.

_La marinade de bonne morue._

Plies à la poulette.
Pâté chaud de lamproies.
Pluviers de mer en entrée de broche.
Brême à la maître-d’hôtel.
Rougets à la hollandaise.
Filets de sarcelles à la bigarade.
Timbale de macaroni garnie de laitances.
Emincé de turbotin gratiné.

_Les filets de soles à la Dauphine._

Perches au vin de Champagne.
Darne d’esturgeon au beurre de Montpelier.
Turban de filets de merlans à la Conty.
Escalopes de morue à la provençale.

_La bar à la vénitienne._

Papillotes de surmulet à la d’Huxelles.
Boudins de poisson à la Richelieu.
Vives froides à la provençale.
Sauté de lottes aux truffes.

_La orly de filets de carrelets._

Caisse d’huîtres aux fines herbes.
Escalopes de barbue en croustade.
Filets de poules d’eau à la bourguignonne.
Eperlans à l’anglaise.

_Quatre grosses pièces d’entremets._

L’hermitage indien.
Le pavillon rustique.
Le pavillon hollandais.
L’hermitage russe.

_Quatre plats de rôts pour les contre-flancs._

Aiguillettes de goujons.
Poules de mer.
Sarcelles au citron.
Petites truites au bleu.

_Trente-deux entremets._

Céleri à l’essence maigre.
Gelée de punch.
Œufs brouillés aux truffes.
Petits nougats de pommes.

_Les aiguillettes de goujons._

Gâteau renversé au gros sucre.
Truffes à l’italienne.
Pudding au vin de Malvoisie.
Choux-fleurs au parmesan.

_L’hermitage Indien._

Laitues au jus de racines.
Blanc-manger à la crême.
Buisson de homards.
Gâteaux glacés à la Condé.

_Les poules de mer._

Petits soufflés de fécule.
Œufs pochés à la ravigote.
Gelée de citrons moulée.
Champignons à l’espagnole.
Concombres au velouté.
Gelée de café Moka.
Œufs pochés aux épinards.
Génoises en croissant perlées.

_Les sarcelles au citron._

Gâteaux glacés aux pistaches.
Crevettes en hérisson.
Fromage bavarois aux abricots.
Les pommes de terre à la hollandaise.

_L’hermitage Russe._

Cardes au jus d’esturgeon.
Pommes au riz glacées.
Truffes à la serviette.
Petits gâteaux de Pithiviers.

_Les petites truites au bleu._

Panachées en diadème au gros sucre.
Petites omelettes à la purée de champignons.
Gelée des quatre fruits.
Salsifis à la ravigote.

_Pour extra, dix assiettes de petits soufflés en croustades._

Soufflés aux macarons amers.
Soufflés à l’orange.

_Dessert._

8 Corbeilles et 10 corbillons.
12 Assiettes montées.
10 Compotiers.
24 Assiettes et 6 jattes.

There is now the bill of fare of the dinner given by the Emperor
Alexander, on his birthday, at Vertus, near Chalôns, on the 11th
September, 1815. Covers were laid for 300, and the dinner began with
600 plates of oysters, for which 300 lemons were provided:--

DINER DE L’EMPEREUR ALEXANDRE, À VERTUS, PRÈS
CHALONS-SUR-MARNE, LE 11 SEPTEMBRE, 1815, JOUR ANNIVERSAIRE DE
LA NAISSANCE DE SA MAJESTÉ.

(Table de 300 couverts, servie à la russe.)

600 assiettes d’huîtres, 300 citrons.

PREMIER SERVICE.

Les huîtres, les citrons.

_Trois potages._

Potage à la jardinière pour 150 personnes.
Soupe froide à la russe pour 150 personnes.
Crécy aux petits croûtons pour 150 personnes.

_Vingt-huit hors-d’œuvres._

De petits vol-au-vent à la purée de gibier.

_Vingt-huit entrées froides._

De galantines de poulardes à la gelée.

_Vingt-huit grosses pièces._

De filets de bœuf au vin de Madère, demi-espagnole.

_Cent douze entrées._

50 de filets de soles à la Orly, garnis d’une escalope de saumon.
12 de cailles aux fines herbes dans des bordures de racines.
25 de sautés de poulets au suprême, ragoût à la Toulouse.
25 de timbales de macaronis au chasseur.

_Vingt-huit plats de rôts._

10 de poulets gras, 10 de dindonneaux, 8 longes de veau.
60 salades pour 300 personnes.

_Cinquante entremets de légumes._

25 d’épinards au velouté.
25 de haricots verts à l’anglaise.

_Cinquante-six entremets au sucre._

De crèmes françaises à la vanille et de génoises aux amandes pralinées.
Huit souillés d’extra pour être placés à portée de S. M. Impériale.
60 assiettes de pâtisseries de petit four.
60 assiettes de fruits crus.
60 assiettes de fruits confits.
60 assiettes de fruits à l’eau-de-vie.
20 assiettes de fromages de France, &c.

Underneath is the bill of fare of the first diplomatic dinner given by
the Duke of Wellington, when ambassador in Paris, in 1815. It will be
seen that the fare was simple, and most of the dishes dressed in the
English fashion:--

PREMIER DÎNER DIPLOMATIQUE DE L’AMBASSADEUR D’ANGLETERRE À
PARIS. MENU D’UN SERVICE À L’ANGLAISE POUR 20 COUVERTS.

PREMIER SERVICE.

_Potage._

1 potage de tête de veau en fausse tartine.

_Deux bouts de table._

1 d’un dindon bouilli, sauce au céleri.
1 rosbif aux pommes de terre.

_Six entrées._

1 d’une tranche de saumon bouillie, sauce aux câpres. Purée de navets.
1 de deux lapereaux, sauce aux ognons. Choux-fleurs sans sauce.
1 de quatre escalopes de veau.
1 de maquereaux bouillis, sauce au fenouil. Epinards bouillis à
l’anglaise.
1 deux poulets, sauce au
persil. Purée de pommes de terre.
1 de perdreaux étuvés. Bread sauce.

SECOND SERVICE.

_Milieu._

1 quartier de chevreuil à la broche, sauce à la gelée de groseilles.
1 d’une poularde rôtie.
1 d’un levraut farci.

_Deux salades._

1 d’herbes vertes.
1 de citrons entiers.

_Six entremets._

1 d’une gelée de vin de Madère.
1 d’un plum-pudding.
1 d’une tourte aux confitures.
1 de welches rabbits.
1 d’un pudding de riz.
1 d’une gelée de citrons.

_Treize assiettes de dessert._

2 compotes.
4 assiettes de fruits crus.
2 de biscuits.
2 de mendiants.
2 de fromages.
1 assiette montée.

I conclude French bills of fare with a _menu_ of a royal banquet
given at the Tuileries, on Twelfth-day, 1820, at which Louis XVIII.,
Monsieur (afterwards Charles X.), and the Duchess of Angouleme, the
Duke and Duchess of Berri, the Duke and Duchess of Orleans, the Duke
and Duchess of Bourbon were present:--

MENU DU GRAND-COUVERT, OU BANQUET ROYAL AUX TUILERIES,
POUR LE JOUR DES ROIS, 6 JANVIER, 1820.

_Deux potages._

Printanier de santé.
Bisque d’écrevisses.

_Quatre grosses pièces._

Faon de daim à la broche.
Turbot, sauce aux huîtres et aux moules.
Carpe à la Régence.
Casserole au riz à la Saint-Hubert.

_Seize entrées._

Filets glacés aux laitues.
Sauté de filets de perdreaux aux truffes.
Grenadins de filets de lapereaux à la Toulouse.
Côtelettes de chevreuil à la Soubise.
Filets de lottes à la Villeroy, sauce vénitienne.
Quenelles de volailles au consommé réduit.
Attelets à la Bellevue à la gelée.
Escalopes de levrauts au sang.
Poularde à l’estragon.
Cremeskis au velouté.
Blanquette (le filets de poulardes à la Conty.
Perches à la waterfisch.
Poulets à la Reine à la Chevry.
Petits pâtés à la Béchameil.
Filets d’agneaux aux pointes d’asperges.
Purée de gibier à la polonaise.

_Quatre grosses pièces._

Buisson d’écrevisses.
Sultane à la Chantilly.
Soufflé au fromage.
Jambon de sanglier glace.

_Quatre plats de rôts._

Faisans de Bohême.
Perdreaux rouges.
Eperlans frits.
Bécasses du Morvan.

_Seize entremets._

Asperges en branches.
Choux-fleurs au parmesan.
Champignons à la provençale.
Truffes au vin de Champagne.
Laitues à l’essence.
Epinards au consommé.
Salade à la piémontaise.
Concombres au consommé.
Gelée d’oranges.
Crème à l’anglaise.
Pannequets aux citrons confits.
Œufs pochés au jus.
Gâteaux soufflés.
Macaroni à l’italienne.
Pommes au beurre de Vanvres.
Gaufres à la flamande.

_Deux plombières, extra. Dessert._

8 corbeilles, 4 corbillons, et le reste en proportion de cette donnée.

At the period when luxurious tables became prevalent in France, good
cheer also prevailed in London. In the time of Queen Mary, according
to Maitland, luxury prevailed to such an excessive degree in the
sumptuousness and extravagance of the city magistrates, that many of
the principal citizens chose rather to retire into the country than
to serve expensive offices. It was enacted by the Common Council, to
prevent such extravagances, that the mayor should have no more than one
course either at dinner or supper; and that on a festival day, a flesh
day, a repast was to consist of no more than seven dishes, whether hot
or cold; and on every festival day being a fish day, of eight dishes;
and on every common flesh day, six dishes; and on every common fish
day, seven dishes, exclusive of brawn, collops with eggs, salads,
potage, butter, eggs, herrings, sprats, and shrimps, together with all
sorts of shell-fish and fruits.

Regulations were also issued for the aldermen, sheriffs, and City
companies at their several entertainments.[37] They were to have
neither swan, crane, nor bustard under the penalty of forty shillings.

During the reign of Elizabeth, the city venison feasts became offensive
to the queen and her nobility. In consequence, a letter, signed by the
Lord Mayor and two aldermen, was addressed to Lord Burleigh, in which
these officials say, “For avoyding the excessive spending of venison
and other vitail in the halles of this citie, which we understand to
have been offensive to her ma^{tie} and the nobilitie, we have by act
of common counsel forbidden such festes hereafter to be kept, and have
restrained the same only to necessary metinges in w^h also venison
is permitted as by copie of this act herewith sent into y^r L. may
appere.” These worshipful personages go on to assure Lord Burleigh
that, unless similar proceedings be adopted in St. Martin’s and
Westminster, the restraints imposed on the City of London would be of
little use.

The golden age of cookery in modern times in England, however, was
the reign of Queen Anne. The Queen herself was fond of good eating,
and elaborate feasts became the custom among the nobility, gentry,
and wealthy traders. In this reign it was that Dr. King published his
“Art of Cookery,” in imitation of Horace’s “Art of Poetry,” making an
attempt to introduce French dishes. In an oft-quoted passage of his
poem he says:--

“The French our relish help, and will supply
The want of things too gross by decency.
Our fathers most admired their sauces sweet,
And often asked for sugar with their meat;
They butter’d currants on fat veal bestow’d,
And rumps of beef with virgin honey strew’d.”

Sir John Hill, M.D., followed Dr. King, with “Mrs. Glasse’s Cookery
Book,” in which are some few receipts for French dishes. The great
Lord Chesterfield, however, was the first nobleman who made the most
strenuous efforts to introduce French cookery. He engaged as his cook
La Chapelle, a descendant of the famous cook of Louis XIV. La Chapelle
published a treatise on cookery in three volumes, which is now very
rarely met with. It is entitled “The Modern Cook,” by Vincent La
Chapelle, chief cook to the Earl of Chesterfield, and was printed for
the author in 1733, and sold by Nicholas Prevost, a Frenchman, over
against Southampton Street, in the Strand.

About the period of the publication of this book, Lord Chesterfield was
lord steward of the household to George II., and undoubtedly was the
most renowned and fashionable host in London. His dinners and suppers
were then deemed perfection; and these entertainments were one of the
few items in which his expenditure was liberal. Lord Chesterfield lived
till 1773, and I more than once heard the late Earl of Essex say,
more than thirty years ago, at Brookes’s Club, that he remembered as
a boy of fourteen or fifteen seeing the Earl seated on a rustic seat,
inhaling the air outside the court-yard of his house in May Fair.
Chesterfield House was ninety-one years ago at the very extremity of
London, and all beyond it was an expanse of green fields.

The table of twenty or twenty-five covers was one of the noble earl’s
official dinners, but the supper was for a party of intimate friends:--

A TABLE OF TWENTY OR TWENTY-FIVE COVERS, SERVED WITH
TWENTY-NINE DISHES.

FIRST COURSE.

_The middle of the table._

_A surtout in the middle._

1 Piece of beef garnished with attelets.
1 quarter of veal with gravy.

_Two terrines._

1 of fillets of pikes with crayfish.
1 of a matellottée of one eel and two carps, and two large pikes.

_Two pots of olió._

1 of water.
1 of roots with oil.

_Two terrines._

1 of fillets of soles.
1 of fillets of eels.
At each of the tables 2 dishes of _petits pâtées_.

_Four soops._

1 of bisque of cray-fish.
1 of muscles.
1 of pottage _de Santé_.
1 soop, (_à la St. Cloud_.)

_Eight entries, four with meat, and four in meager._

1 of chickens, Italian sauce.
1 of young turkeys with trufles.
1 of fricandoes of veal glazed.
1 of pheasants, with a carp sauce, a carp.

_The four meager dishes._

1 of a pudding of old ling (_à la Muscovite_).
1 of carps forc’d (_à la Dauphine_), 3 carps.
1 of eels rowl’d, 1 eel.
1 of tenches (_à la Ste. Menehout_).

Eight small dishes of melons, figs, and radishes.

_Four removes for the soops._

1 of pikes (_à la Civita Vecchia_).
1 of perches, the Dutch way.
1 of trouts (_à la Genoise_).
1 of turbot broil’d, with shalot sauce, and oil.

_To remove the eight small dishes of melons, figs, and
radishes._

1 of lottes with champagne.
1 of soles, the Italian way.
1 of sturgeon roasted, sharp sauce.
1 of fillets of pikes, with an Italian sauce.

_Four of meat._

1 of quails with oil.
1 of young partridges, the Spanish way.
1 of pigeons (_à la d’Huxelles_).
1 of fillets of fowls with cray-fish.

SECOND COURSE.

_For the large entremets for the middle of the table._

1 ham pasty.
1 turkey pasty.
1 salmon.
1 turbot.
2 of cray-fish.

_For the two sides of the table._

1 Savoy cake.
1 croquante.

_Eight dishes of roast, viz., four of meat and four meager._

1 of 6 chickens (_à la Reine_).
1 of fowls.
1 of 6 young partridges.
1 of 4 wood pigeons.
4 sallets and 4 sauces.

_The four meager._

1 of soles fry’d in oil.
1 of barbots.
1 of trouts.
1 of fry’d pikes.

THIRD COURSE.

_Eight entremets, to remove the eight dishes of roast._

1 of small loaves of pistaches.
1 of _Puis d’Amour_.
2 Tourtes (_à la Glace_).
2 of Turkey caps.
1 of _Crême soufflée_.
1 of _Crême veloutée_.

_Eight hot entremets to remove the four sallets and four
sauces._

2 of trufles, the Italian way.
2 of lamb-stones.
2 of little artichokes, in surprize.
2 of quisselles.

A BILL OF FARE FOR A SUPPER OF FIFTEEN OR SIXTEEN COVERS,
SERVED UP WITH A GREAT DISH, TWO MIDDLING, FOUR SMALL, AND SIX
HORS D’ŒUVRE.

FIRST COURSE.

_For the middle._

1 quarter of veal in cawl.

_Two pots of olió, one for each end._

1 _à la jambe de bois_.
1 with rice and cray-fish cullis.

_Four entries._

1 of pullets (_à la Montmorency_).
1 of partridges, the Spanish way.
1 of young ducks with orange-juice.
1 of pigeons (_à la d’Huxelles_).

_Six small dishes._

1 of mutton-cutlets, glaz’d with endive.
1 of fricando’s of veal, glaz’d with sellery.
1 of popiettes, the Italian way.
1 of larks, the Muscovite way.
1 of fillets of soles with champain.
1 of eels, glaz’d with an Italian sauce

_To remove the two pots of olió._

1 of a turbot, glaz’d.
1 of a jowl of salmon boiled, with shrimp-sauce.

SECOND COURSE.

_Entremets._

1 of a roasted ham for the middle.

_For both ends of the table._

1 of a Savoy cake.
1 of a cake of mille feuilles.

_Four dishes of roast fowl._

1 of turkeys.
1 of fowls.
1 of partridges.
1 of young pigeons, dress’d like ortolans.

_Four sallets and 2 sauces._

THIRD COURSE.

_Ten hot small entremets to remove the sauces, sallets, and
roast-meat._

1 of cray-fish, the Italian way.
1 of sweetbreads of veal (_à la Dauphine_).
1 of artichokes, the Italian way.
1 of green pease.
1 of lamb-stones.
1 of anchovies in Canappé.
1 of cocks’ combs.
1 of ducks’ tongues.
1 of _Peaux d’Espagne_.
1 of eggs with gravy.

Sixteen or seventeen years after the death of Lord Chesterfield,
a great number of French refugees of the highest family, who had
emigrated in consequence of the Revolution to England, mixed much in
English society, and the consequence was that French cookery became
more prevalent. Several of our nobility vied with each other in
entertaining the French princes, the Count de Lille, and the Count
d’Artois (afterwards Louis XVIII. and Charles X.), and also the Dukes
of Condé and Bourbon. Among the foremost of these were the Marquis of
Buckingham and the Earl of Moira, both of whom expended vast sums in
these hospitalities.

The Count de Lille and others of his family occupied, in 1807,
Gossfield House, near High Garret, in Essex, a seat belonging to the
Marquis of Buckingham; and in 1808 these princes were received with the
most splendid marks of hospitality at the princely mansion of Stowe,
where their residence was commemorated by a Latin inscription. For
several months there was a dinner prepared daily for Louis XVIII., the
Count d’Artois, the Duke d’Angoulême, the Duke of Berry, the Duke of
Orleans, the Count de Beaujolais, the Prince of Condé, and the Duke
of Bourbon. But Stowe was a scene of even greater festivity in 1805,
when the Heir Apparent (afterwards George IV.), the Duke of Clarence
(afterwards William IV.), with Mr. Fox, and all the members of the new
coalition, were present. On this occasion 800 persons were invited.
Grand entertainments were given during several successive days;
illuminations took place in the evening, and the grotto in which their
Royal Highnesses supped was illuminated with from 10,000 to 15,000
lamps.

At the Christmas dinner of the Duke of Buckingham, in 1808, Louis
XVIII. was present, and the following was the bill of fare, as prepared
by Mr. Simpson, the duke’s cook. It is undoubtedly more substantial
than elegant.

BILL OF FARE.
+----------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| FIRST COURSE. | | SECOND COURSE. |
| _Rice Soup_, | | _Four Partridges._ |
| removed with a | +----------------+--+----------------+
| TURKEY AND TRUFFLES. | | Carmel Basket | | Savoy Cake. |
+----------------+--+----------------+ | with Pastry. | | |
| Semels Souffle,| | Beef Collops à | +----------------+ +----------------+
| and poivrade | | la Tortue and | | | | |
| sauce. | | Truffles. | +----------------+ +----------------+
+----------------+ +----------------+ |Cauliflower à la| |Jerusalem Arti- |
| | | | | Flamond. | | chokes à la |
+----------------+ +----------------+ | | | Crême. |
| Three Sweet- | | Poulard à la | +----------------+ +----------------+
| breads larded, | | Daube, larded, | | | | |
| and asparagus | | and mushrooms. | +----------------+ +----------------+
| peas. | | | | A Cheesecake. | | Mince Pies. |
+----------------+ +----------------+ +----------------+ +----------------+
| | | | | | | |
+----------------+ +----------------+ +----------------+ +----------------+
| Three Chickens | | Leg of Lamb, | | Spinage and | | French Beans. |
| à la Reine. | | and haricot | | Croutons. | | |
| | | beans. | +----------------+ +----------------+
+----------------+ +----------------+ | |
| | | |
+---------+ +---------+ | |
| S c | | S w | +---------+ +---------+
| o w h | | o i o | | S | | |
| u i i | | u t f | | i | | P |
| p t n | | p h | | x | | h |
| , h e | | , v | | | | e |
| , | +--------+ | a e | | S | +--------+ | a |
| r a | | Frame. | | r n | | n | | Frame. | | A s |
| e r | +--------+ | e h i | | i | +--------+ | a |
| m b o | | m a s | | p | | n |
| o a a | | o u o | | e | | t |
| v c s | | v n n | | s | | . |
| e o t | | e c . | | . | | |
| d n e | | d h | +---------+ +---------+
| d | | | | |
+---------+ +---------+ | |
| | | |
+----------------+ +----------------+ +----------------+ +----------------+
| A Neat’s | | Three Chickens,| | Asparagus. | | Red Cabbage |
| Tongue. | | and celery. | | | | à l’Alemand. |
+----------------+ +----------------+ +----------------+ +----------------+
| | | | | | | |
+----------------+ +----------------+ +----------------+ +----------------+
| Two Rabbits | | | | Mince Pies. | | Apricot Tourte.|
| à la Portuguez | | Grenadines, | +----------------+ +----------------+
| larded, and | | and endive. | | | | |
| sorrel sauce. | | | +----------------+ +----------------+
+----------------+ +----------------+ | Ragout Mellé. | | Mushrooms. |
| | | | +----------------+ +----------------+
+----------------+ +----------------+ | | | |
| A Souties of | | Petit Pâtés of | +----------------+ +----------------+
| Mutton, and | | Oysters. | |Chantillie Cake.| | Carmel Basket, |
| cucumber. | | | | | | with meringues.|
+----------------+ +----------------+ +----------------+ +----------------+
| _Giblet Soup_, | | |
| removed with a | | _Two Guinea Fowls: one larded._ |
| SIRLOIN OF BEEF. | | |
+----------------------------------------------------------------------------+

Of French cookery the Prince Regent was during his life a great
admirer, and no one in his Majesty’s dominions, or out of it, kept a
more _recherché_ or expensive table. But the Coronation Dinner at
Westminster Hall, in 1822, was a monster banquet merely, and it gives
no indication whatever of the king’s more refined taste in cookery. As
a curiosity I print the bill of fare of this great feast.

BILL OF FARE OF THE BANQUET GIVEN BY GEORGE IV. ON THE
19TH OF JULY, 1822, IN WESTMINSTER HALL, ON THE DAY OF HIS
CORONATION.

HOT DISHES.--160 tureens of soup; 80 of turtle; 40 of rice; 40 of
vermicelli; 80 dishes of turbot; 40 of trout; 40 of salmon; 80 dishes
of venison; 40 of roast beef; 3 basins of beef; 40 dishes of mutton
and veal; 160 dishes of vegetables, including potatoes, peas, and
cauliflowers; 480 sauce-boats; 240 lobsters; 120 of butter; 120 of mint.

COLD DISHES.--80 of braised ham; 80 savory pies; 80 of geese _à la
daube_, two in each dish; 80 of savory cakes; 80 of braised beef; 80 of
braised capons, two in each dish; 1190 side dishes of various kinds;
320 of mounted pastry; 400 of jellies and creams; 80 of lobsters; 80 of
crayfish; 161 of roast fowls; 80 of house-lamb.

TOTAL QUANTITIES.--Beef, 7442 lbs.; veal, 7133 lbs.; mutton, 2474
lbs.; house-lamb, 20 quarters; legs of ditto, 20; lamb, 5 saddles;
grass-lamb, 55 quarters; lamb sweetbreads, 160; cow-heels, 389;
calves’-feet, 400; suet, 250 lbs.; geese, 160; pullets and capons, 720;
chickens, 1610; fowls for stock, 520; bacon, 1730 lbs.; lard, 550 lbs.;
butter, 912 lbs.; eggs, 8400.

THE WINES.--Champagne, 100 doz.; burgundy, 20 doz.; claret, more than
200 doz.; hock, 50 doz.; moselle, 50 doz.; Madeira, 50 doz.; sherry and
port, about 350 doz.; iced punch, 100 gallons. The champagne, hock, and
moselle, were iced before being placed upon the table.

The expenses of this banquet and the coronation together amounted to
the sum of 238,238_l._ As a contrast to this, it may be also mentioned
that the banquet and coronation of his Majesty William IV., which took
place September, 1831, did not cost 50,000_l._

It may be mentioned that, at the coronation of George IV., the glut
of fruit was unprecedented; a gentleman of Lambeth cut sixty ripe
pine-apples on the occasion; and that many hundreds of pines remarkable
for size and flavour came from distant parts of the country; one from
Lord Cawdor’s weighed 10 lbs., and formed part of the royal banquet.

The taste of the royal _gourmand_ will be more fully disclosed by
a bill of fare of one of the private dinners given at the Pavilion,
Brighton, in 1817.

Carème was at that period for eight months _chef de cuisine_ to the
Prince Regent of England (afterwards George IV.), and for seven months
of that period the _chef_ says he never quitted his post. During
these seven months, if we are to believe this celebrated _cuisinier_,
his Royal Highness never felt any attack of gout, whereas before the
cookery was so highly spiced (_aromatisée_) that the royal _gourmand_
was tormented with it both day and night. Here is one of those _menus_
of thirty-two _entrées_, given at the Pavilion, Brighton, on the 8th of
Jan., 1817, which gave no gout:--

_Quatre potages._

Le potage de lièvre au chasseur.
Le potage de sauté au consommé de volaille.
Le potage aux laitues.
Le macaroni lié à l’italienne.

_Quatre relevés de poissons._

Les perches au vin de champagne.
L’anguille à la régence.
Le turbot grillé, sauce aux homards.
Le cabillaud à la hollandaise.

_Quatre grosses pieces._

Le dindon braisé aux huîtres.
Le filet de bœuf piqué glacé.
Les poulets à la financière.
Le quartier de sanglier, gelée de grosseilles.

_Quatre contre-flans._

Le pain de gibier sur un socle.
La poularde sur un socle.
Le turban sur un socle.
La galantine sur un socle.

_Quatre plats rôts._

Le chapon au cresson.
Le lièvre à l’anglaise.
Le dindonneau au cresson.
Le pluviers bardés.

_Huit entremets._

Les pommes de terre frites.
Les asperges.
Les huîtres au gratin.
La salade de volaille.
Les salsifis au beurre.
Les epinards à la française.
Les truffes à la serviette.
Les écrivisses au madère.

BILL OF FARE FOR TEN OR TWELVE PERSONS. JANUARY.

FIRST COURSE.

_Two soups._

_Soup à la Julienne._
_Purée_ of pheasant.

_Two fishes._

_Filets de sole à la Dieppoise._
John Dory, sauce _hollandaise_.

_Two roasts._

Roast turkey _à la financière, aux truffes_.
Westphalia, York, or Cumberland ham, with Madeira sauce.

_Four entrées._

Mutton cutlets _à la Soubise_.
_Filet de la pin à la Marechale._
_Ris de veaus piqué, aux épinard._
_Pâtés à la Reine._

SECOND COURSE.

_Two roasts._

A hare roasted.
A wild duck roasted.

_Four entremets._

Apricot _soufflé_.
_Salsifis à la crême._
_Ramequins._
_Œufs à la Neige._

DINNER FOR FOURTEEN PERSONS. APRIL.

FIRST COURSE.

_Two soups._

_Purée à la Reine._
_Purée des carottes au ris._

_Two fishes._

Crimped salmon, parsley and butter sauce.
_Soles au gratin._

_Two removes._

Roast fore-quarter of lamb.
_Poularde à la printanière._

_Four entrées._

Lamb cutlets, _sauce aux concombres_.
_Fricandeau de veau, sauce aux épinards._

SECOND COURSE.

Spring chickens.
Leverets.

_Four entremets._

_Champignons au gratin._
Seakale _à la sauce blanche_.
Vanille cream.
Apricot tartlets.

DINNER FOR SIXTEEN IN MAY OR JUNE.

FIRST COURSE.

_Two soups._

Clear turtle.
_Potage printanière._

_Two fishes._

Turbot, _au naturel_ with lobster or Dutch sauce.
Salmon slices, with parsley and butter or caper sauce.

_Two removes._

Roast filet of beef larded.
_Poivrade_ sauce.
Roast fore-quarter of lamb.

_Entrées._

_Noix de veaux à la St. Cloud._
_Filets de mouton piqué, sauce aux tomates._
_Suprême de volaille aux concombres._
_Un pâté chaud à la financière._
_Filets de laperaux, sauce aux oignons._
_Filets de maquereau, à l’anglaise._

SECOND COURSE.

Guinea fowls.
Pigeons.

_Six entremets._

_Macaroni à l’italienne._
_Choux-fleurs au parmesan._
_Gelée de marasquin._
_De tartelettes à la Chantilly._
_Les asperges à la sauce blanche._
A lobster salad with plovers’ eggs.

DINNER IN A PLAIN ENGLISH FASHION FOR FOURTEEN.

FIRST COURSE.

_Two soups._

Giblet soup.
_Soupe à la Julienne._

_Two Fishes._

Turbot boiled.
Slices of salmon, _Génevoise_ sauce.

_Two roasts._

A small fore-quarter of lamb.
A haunch of mutton.

_Eight entrées._

Lamb cutlets, cucumber sauce.
Lobster patties.
Mutton cutlets _à la Soubise_.
Croquettes of sweetbreads.
Chickens boiled, cream sauce.
Sweetbreads.
Filet of beef, sauce _poivrade_.
A tongue glazed, with Windsor beans.

SECOND COURSE.

2 turkey poults (1 _piqué_).
2 ducklings.

_Eight entremets._

Plovers’ eggs with aspic.
Prawns.
Jelly with strawberries.
Caramel basket with caramelled fresh fruits.
Noyeau jelly.
French beans.
Peas _à l’anglaise_.
Chantilly basket with trifle.

ANTHONY CARÊME.

Of Carème it is necessary I should say a little before he proceeds
to tell his own story. If you believe him (see _passim_ the
six volumes of his culinary works) he was the Homer and Virgil, the
Corneille and Dryden, the Pope and Boileau, the Byron and De Béranger
of cookery. Every other art, noble or ignoble, every other superiority,
literary, legal, histrionic, saltatory, medicinal, modistical, may be
contested with the Gauls; but great and little of all nations, peers
and pork-men, boyars and butchers, _graffs_ and gastronomers,
of whatever land, all by common consent agree in shouting, in loud
cosmopolitan acclaim, the glories and the greatness of Carème. “He was
a man,” says one of his disciples, “whose tension and activity of mind
were never exhausted; the more tedious and difficult were his duties,
the more brilliant he emerged from them.” The greatest men in ancient
and modern times have written their own history. Plato in his choicest
dialogues gives us an insight into his own character; Cicero, in his
work “De Oratore,” paints himself under a feigned name; Caesar writes
us an account of his own exploits in his “Commentaries,” as the Duke
of Wellington does in his “Despatches;” Montecuculli penned his own
Memoirs; and Napoleon laboured at the “Mémoriel de St. Hélène;” why,
therefore, should not a greater man in his own estimation than any
one among them all, reveal his own precious history and the mysteries
of his science, and lay patent to the public the simple grandeur of
his _batteries de cuisine_? Ay, why not? Open the pages of his
instructive Memoirs and Autobiography, and see whether there is any
one of the Useful Knowledge Society heroes who have gone so far in
the pursuit of knowledge under imminent and impending difficulties,
as that really noble fellow Anthony Carème? Did he not abandon the
first families to write his cookery and the practice of some great
contemporaries? for, observe you, Carème is not always peering a
Brobdignagian _I_ under your nose, or flourishing the flaunting
motto of “Ego et Rex Meus” before your perplexed eyes. No, this good
savoury Samaritan cook has some bowels, some thoughts of others, some
kindliness for the absent and the departed. He seems always with
the modesty of real merit to say, though of the strongest in his
generation, “Vixere fortes Agamemnona.” But his virtues were not merely
negative, they were of the most positive kind. He would only accept
places “where his taste for study would not be interfered with;” for
his ambition was “serious and elevated.” Then he felt, poignantly felt,
“the misery of living among men destitute of education.”

Rousseau, in that most eloquent of books, “The Confessions,” tells us
under what circumstances certain of his writings were composed. The
gruff Sam. Johnson, the delightful debt-contracting Oliver Goldsmith,
the ingenious and fantastic William Hazlitt are equally communicative;
but, _maugré_ this copious sincerity, what are these men to
Carème? Is there any one sentence in all they have ever written equal
to the following? “From the time I arranged the sideboard of the Saxon
ambassador, the thought of the ‘Pâtissier Royale,’ and the ‘Cuisinier
Parisien,’ entered my head.” Cause and effect are here beautifully,
lucidly transparent. Dr. Brown and Dugald Stewart, and all the Scotch
mystifiers, might have written on the subject till the crack of doom,
and left the darkness more dim, and the subject more perplexed; it is
only Carème who has made, in throwing off this bright sentence, the
doctrine quite plain.

“It was at the little inn at Llangollen,” says Hazlitt, “after a
supper, that I wrote such a sketch” (which he names). See how great
geniuses fall on the same style and method. “It was in the night,” says
Carème, “after a short sleep, that I lately dictated to my daughter my
most recent chapters.”

“In the busiest period of my service with Alexander,” says this
ingenious maker of sauces, “I never once abandoned my evening notes.”
Admirable, glorious man! who will not think in reading this of the
parallel passage in the life of Fox, who, in the busiest conflicts of
party, left the blaze and bustle of the Commons to read Aristophanes,
as the other great performer left the blaze and bustle of the kitchen
to compose his evening notes. It was owing to these “viginti annorum
lucubrationes”--it was owing to the “severe studies of the empire,”
that he was at length, after wrestling with difficulties unheard of,
enabled “to seize on sugared _entremets_ as his domain in fee.”
He had, too, all the independence of mind of a great genius, “the
surveillance of Russia appeared degrading to him, and he promptly left
the land of the tyrant and the slave. Nor was this all: such was the
profoundness of his _ennui_ in this work-a-day world of ours--in
this heavy, muddy, manufacturing England--that he was forced to leave
the service of George IV. to resume the composition of his works.

These works are collected in six volumes; and, as one great genius
may be permitted to speak of another, “they are,” says William Hall,
cook to Thomas Peere Williams, and “conductor” of the parliamentary
dinners of Viscount Canterbury,--“they are the productions of a man
whose imagination greatly enlarged the variety of _entrées_ and
_entremets_ previously practised, and whose clear and perspicuous
details render them facile, not only to the artist who has already an
advance in his profession, but also to those whose knowledge of the
higher code of the kitchen has been necessarily limited.”

The cooks of Rome and Athens stood in the market-place with aprons on,
waiting to be hired for the occasion, and, after they had done the
day’s service, were ignominiously dismissed out of doors; but the cooks
of our day are the friends and familiars of the great. “I conversed for
more than an hour on gastronomy with Prince Esterhazy,” says Carème,
“and it is astonishing what a knowledge of the art he displayed.”
How different, however, is the fate of different authors! Corneille
died in an unknown corner, in forlornness and distress; Goldsmith was
always in want of a guinea; Samuel Johnson was often sorely pinched;
glorious John Dryden laboured hard for the day’s dinner; Fielding was
often in the hands of bailiffs, and Savage and Otway lived and laboured
in misery and distress: but Carème, unlike these, gained not only
immortality, but money; not only praise, but good solid pudding. “My
works,” says he, “created me, exclusive of places whose emoluments I
sacrificed, a yearly income of more than 20,000 francs.”

The most amusing of these works is undoubtedly an autobiography, which
he did not live to finish. As it has not appeared in an English dress,
I give the gem in a translation made at the time it was published.

“Although born of one of the poorest families of France, of a family
which counted amongst its members five-and-twenty children--although
my father, to save me, literally flung me into the street; Fortune,
nevertheless, rapidly smiled on me, and a good fairy often took me by
the hand, to lead me in the right way. In the eyes of my enemies (and I
have many) I have more than once appeared the spoiled child of Fortune.
I have accepted and refused, at various times, the finest places; I
have abandoned the first families in Europe to write my practice of
cookery and that of some great contemporaries gone to their account,
whose principles and practice were engraved in my memory.

“I have only accepted good places, however, in families where my taste
for study, and the views which I early entertained as to eminence in my
profession, would not be interfered with. In the rapid passage to all
these places heaps of money were offered me half a score of times, but
I have not been over-desirous of mere wealth. My ambition was serious
and elevated, and very early in life I desired to elevate my profession
into the dignity of an art. It is precisely in this road that I have
encountered the greatest obstructions. I have everywhere found idleness
and envy--that miserable disposition of mind made wretched by every
superiority, and above all by that of a comrade. But I have had more
success than I desired, though the exceptionable position in which I
have been placed has never diminished the misery of often living among
men destitute of all education. For some years I have sought the means
to give these men a moral culture (_l’éducation du cœur_); but I
could not very clearly see my way, for this self-education in the midst
of an active life is the most difficult of acquisition. The example of
a family is necessary to educate our soul.

“Here and there I have some remembrance of seriously disagreeable
passages, owing to the low rich (_vilains riches_); but I ought,
on the other hand, to recall to mind the good, the excellent conduct
of gentlemen of truth, noble _seigneurs_ that I have served. I
have never had to complain but of the conduct of a _parvenu_, a
name which the fellow decorated himself with without tact. It was
under the Empire that I was most employed; it was, above all, at this
era that my studies were severe; “c’est surtout à cette époque que
j’ai fait des fortes études.” My researches were made in good time;
they were continuous; they were serious. At M. de Talleyrand’s I
was under Boucher, _chef des services_ of the prince. I there
perfected myself in one of the principal parts of cookery, which I
afterwards developed. Some years previously I had executed many parts
of the _beaux extras_. A little later I had the management of the
charming little dinners given by a distinguished and lofty-minded man,
M. de Lavalette. I also cooked the dinners and arranged the sideboard
of the Saxon Ambassador. It is from that period that the first decided
thought of the “Pâtissier Royal” and of the “Cuisinier Parisien,” first
entered my mind. I now acquired the excellent habit of noting down in
the evening, on returning home, the modifications that I had made in
my labour, each day bringing some change. With pen in hand, I set down
the reasons which had determined my mind. That which then particularly
occupied me was the finer parts of the oven’s produce, and the cold
sugared _entremets_. This labour is the most delicate portion
of the art of the pastry-cook. I invented much in this branch--the
foundation, the execution, the form--all these parts became easy to me,
and I seized on them as of my domain in fee.

“I enjoyed perfect freedom at M. de Lavalette’s to compose my dinners.
It was there I did the most to realize the problem whose solution I
early sought--the union of order, delicacy, and economy. The guests
were assiduous at these dinners; they were generally members of the
senate, learned men, celebrated officers, all _connoisseurs_.

“I laboured as a supernumerary at the Prince de Talleyrand’s in
1814, when the Emperor Alexander arrived there. There I obtained the
friendship and protection of an agreeable and distinguished man, the
comptroller of his Imperial Majesty’s household, M. Muller. Under his
direction I became chief cook of the kitchens of the emperor, and was
charged with all the expenses and the ordering of the bills of fare.
This was the most active moment of my life; yet I did not renounce
my custom, but continued to write what I had changed remodelled. I
thus fixed ideas and combinations in my memory which might have been
effaced from it. When the Emperor Alexander quitted Paris, I refused
simultaneously the offer of the situation of _chef de cuisine_ in
many great houses. Soon after I decided to set out for Aix-la-Chapelle,
still in the service of the Emperor Alexander. The congress of
sovereigns was united, and M. Muller renewed his propositions of Paris,
namely, that I should go and continue my labours at Petersburg. My
mode of cookery pleased the emperor much, he said; that was easy, for
everything was noble and truly imperial in that great establishment of
the czar. My emoluments were 2400 francs per month, and the culinary
expenses. That which I directed at Aix-la-Chapelle was from 80,000 to
100,000 francs a month; but this munificent expenditure was based on
the greatest order and regularity, and the utmost strictness in making
up the accounts.

“The Prince Louis de Rohan, a member of the congress, was one of my
kindliest protectors. He advised me to enter into the regular service
of the emperor. I wished for a delay, for I could not resolve to quit
the researches and labours of digesting my works, which I had commenced
at Paris.

“I then entered the service of Lord Stewart. The English embassy at
Vienna was most brilliant at this time. Affairs called milord to
London. It was there that Prince Orloff offered me anew the vacant
places of _maître d’hôtel_ and _chef des cuisines_ to the
Emperor Alexander. I left London, and came to see at Paris M. Daniel,
who had just left the service of the Emperor of Russia, rich and
honoured. He advised me to start for Petersburg. ‘You will not,’ he
exclaimed, ‘find much serious rivalry there.’ I made up my baggage,
and embarked at Honfleur. Arrived at Cronstadt, my old friend Riquette
presented me immediately to the Prince Wolkonski. I was selected for
the place of _maître d’hôtel_, but remarking that it was degraded
by a humiliating surveillance, I determined to give it up. A few days
afterwards I decided on leaving Petersburg, after having visited
Moscow. I determined to return either to France or England, where I
would find a good place in accordance with my habits and talents.

“I set sail, then, from Cronstadt; but the voyage was one continual
tempest. We had been thirty-nine days at sea when we took shelter
between Calais and Boulogne. On the morning of the thirty-ninth day,
relief was afforded by large fishing smacks from Calais. After some
days of repose, I returned to that Paris which I had never ceased
to regret, and on my arrival, entered the service of the Princess
Bragation, a lady of high rank, good, clever, and mistress of a table
which, in delicacy, dignity, and culinary novelties, yielded the palm
to no lordly table, whether French or English. The taste of this lady
was exquisite. She had a grace, a charm of conversation which were
cited as models. I always served my dinner _en maître d’hôtel_,
and was uniformly complimented. The princess said to me one day,
‘Carème, did they not tell you that you were entering the service of a
capricious lady?’ I signified assent. ‘You see the contrary, however,
for I am delighted with your bills of fare, and accept them as you
offer them.’ I thanked the princess, and added that the characteristic
quality of my cookery was, above all, that delicacy and that variety
which she was good enough to praise. One day somebody said that he had
been invited to a dinner dressed by Carème. Her highness immediately
answered, ‘There must be a mistake, for I am sure that Carème dresses
no dinner out of my house.’ Madame understood my character. The guest
replied, ‘Well, this cook of which I spoke is a pearl, at all events.’
‘Say rather,’ rejoined the princess, ‘a false pearl, while mine is a
real one.’ And there I was, as large as life!

“The princess was often ill. One day at dinner, and before me, the
Prince de Talleyrand felicitated her on improved health. ‘Yes, I
am better, and I owe that to Carème.’ The prince, with his usual
intellectual grace and kindliness, approved of the princess’s remark.
At that moment I was very happy.

“During my journey into Russia, Lord Stewart wrote to me at Petersburg,
to engage me to go with him to Vienna, ‘as he could find no cook who
reminded him of me.’ These were his very words. The Princess Bragation
being some time afterwards almost perpetually confined to her bed, my
place became nearly a sinecure, and I obtained from my kind patroness
the permission to return to Vienna. When I arrived in the latter
capital the ambassador was no longer there, but I rejoined him at
Laybach.

“On my return to Vienna, I undertook the editing of the bill of fare
(_la rédaction du menu_), which was not changed. I each day
received in our magnificent kitchen the visit of milord; he daily
bestowed on me presents and encouragements. It was his excellency who
received the letter of the Prince Wolkonski, in which it was said that
the emperor would accept the dedication of my projects of culinary
architecture. A magnificent ring, studded with valuable diamonds,
accompanied this letter. I received it with tears in my eyes. How happy
had my life become!

“My ring was the subject of universal curiosity among my brethren.
It was envied me by those who passed their lives in dissipation. See
how delicate the emperor was. He would not reward me in an art in
which I had pleased him, but he rewarded me in another art, to which
I had consecrated all the leisure moments of my life. How often in
that moment did I mentally thank M. Percier, that finely accomplished
draughtsman, for the priceless instruction which he was good enough to
give me.

“A short while after, we left Vienna, to be present at the coronation
of George IV. Ten years before I had served this monarch, then I
left him to go to Russia. I left him notwithstanding his generosity,
notwithstanding the illustration which his regrets, so benignantly
expressed, had thrown around my name. We did not arrive in time for
the coronation. I regretted this at first; but, when I knew with
what manner of men I should be associated, I looked on my absence
as a real blessing. According to all account, nothing could be more
_triste_, more paltry, more out of joint with the occasion,
than these _fêtes_. My ancient colleague of Carlton House had
completely failed.

“Towards the end of 1823 there was a talk of Prince Esterhazy as
ambassador at Paris. The Duke de Perigord recalled me to the memory of
his excellency Prince Esterhazy, who received me with kindness, and
remembered with a lively pleasure the dinners of the Prince Regent. He
engaged me in the event of his being nominated to the Parisian embassy,
and retained me long enough that day to talk of the gastronomy, of
which he spoke in a truly pertinent manner, and with much talent. The
prince set out for London. I remained at Paris sixteen months in the
expectation of the new place, and meanwhile refused fine offers; one of
the Russian ambassador’s at Naples, the other of Lord Granville, who
was leaving the Hague. I made it a point to be scrupulously faithful to
the engagement which I had entered into with the prince.

“I forgot to say that, at the end of six months, Rothschild’s place was
offered me. At first I refused, but, Prince Esterhazy not coming to
Paris, one of my kind protectors, the Prince Louis de Rohan, presented
me to Madame Rothschild. I accepted the place. The Duke de Perigord
wished at this time that I should present my “Culinary Architecture,”
magnificently bound by Thouvenin, to the Tuileries. The result was as
I had foreseen--I only received cold compliments. The reward of the
public was somewhat different. My “Projets d’Architecture,” though
containing only rough sketches, were examined and approved. At the
moment I write, 1833, here are nearly five years that I am with the
Rothschilds. I have since refused the service of the Spanish embassy
and of Prince Esterhazy, who came to Paris with the kindly thought of
taking me back to England. M. Esterhazy was the intimate friend of
George IV.; he dined weekly with his majesty. It was difficult for
these two eminent _gourmets_, for these two personages, full of
taste, to pass some hours together without talking of cookery. One
day his Majesty asked the Prince where I was. ‘At Rothschild’s,’ said
Esterhazy, ‘and in that house is the very best table in Paris.’ ‘I
believe it,’ said George IV., ‘since Carème has the management of it.’
These words were repeated to me by a person of eminent rank who was
present. George IV. was so perfect a _connoisseur_ in all that
related to the table, that I had a right to feel flattered by his
approval. These words of kindliness were in conformity with everything
which the Regent had the goodness to say to me ten years before--to
every communication he caused to be made to me in the interval.
Magnificent conditions were now proposed to me on the part of George
IV.; my salary was to be doubled, and that salary was to be converted
into a pension for life at the end of a few years. But, in the interval
between the fashionable seasons, London and the country-houses of the
three kingdoms were insupportable to me. Notwithstanding the kindness
and friendship of this royal prince, I experienced while in his
service so profound a melancholy and _ennui_, that I was forced
to return to Paris to resume the composition of my works. It is not,
therefore, to be wondered that I refused with regret, though with
gratitude, offers of recall to the service of George IV. In the first
place, my situation at Rothschild’s suited me perfectly; and, in the
second place, I was somewhat wearied with service. I felt the first
attack of the malady which gnaws at my vitals. I now only think of
profiting of the days which Heaven may yet spare to me to finish the
books whose germs are in my mind. These books have been the meditation
of my entire life. What torments, what preoccupations, what cares, do
they not represent, and how I have tormented body and mind by my long
vigils. At break of day I was at the fish-market, seeking the elements
of my labours. Some hours after, I was in the thick of business, with
cap and apron on; and I was again at work, busy as a bee, some hours
before dinner. It was in the night, after a short sleep, that I lately
dictated to my daughter my most recent chapters. The certainty now
remains to me of leaving something useful behind me. But I shall not
leave all that I had conceived touching our art, in the interest of
kindly civil men and good practicians.

“I now edited my ‘Maître-d’Hôtel;’ I published a new edition of the
‘Pâtissier Royale,’ and the third of the ‘Pâtissier Pittoresque;’ the
copyright I kept in my own hands.

“My works, forming already six volumes, had created for me at last
(exclusive of places whose emoluments I always sacrificed to my
studies!) the annual income necessary to a tranquil and comfortable
existence. I made that year an income of more than 20,000 francs
(800_l._). M. de Rothschild, valuing my services, raised, of his
own accord, my wages. He had just about this time purchased of the Duke
of Otranto the handsome estate of Ferrières. The baron was good enough
to say that the resources of Ferrières would render my service more
easy; he added, with kindness, ‘This beautiful château will, a dozen
years hence, offer you a retreat.’ I eagerly thanked him, but said that
I did not think my health would permit me to accept his offers, that I
was worn out. ‘My wish,’ said I, ‘M. le Baron, is not to finish my days
in a château, but in an humble lodging in Paris.’ I further mentioned
that my books brought me in an income which exceeded my wants. I shall
increase this income, for I have not finished my labours; I have yet to
publish a book on the actual state of my profession.’ ‘But what is the
amount of that income?’ kindly asked M. de Rothschild and his family.
A lively surprise was the result of my answer. What I said appeared
a dream. I added that this income was not of the past year only, but
dated back for several years.

“It was some months after this that I was attacked with the malady
which torments me, and which will close, perhaps, the future on me. I
am still under the hands of the doctors, but do not mend. One of my old
friends, M. Magonty, replaces me in my post.

“I will not close this chapter without saying that I obtained, while
in the house of Madame Rothschild, the inestimable good-will of a
man of genius, of the Maestro Rossini; he is a _connoisseur_,
as is well known; he always said that he only dined well, according
to his taste, at the house of Madame Rothschild. He asked me one day
if my labours were not the result of very attentive meditation? I
answered affirmatively, ‘All that I do is written; I slightly alter
in execution.’ I remember that one day there was some talk of Rossini
going to the United States; he was good enough to say, ‘I’ll start at
once if Carème will but accompany me.’”

I shall conclude with a few detached passages, aphorisms, and thoughts,
from the same great authority.

_Fête given at the Elysée Impérial for the Marriage of Prince
Jerome and the Princess of Wurtemburg._

“At this, a grand ball, Robert was comptroller, and the famous
Laguipierre _chef des cuisines_. Riquette[38] and I were charged
with such portion of the supper as was served cold. We thus,
as nearly as I can remember, filled the tables: twenty-four
large joints, fourteen stands bearing hams, six _galantines_,
and two wild boars’ heads, six loins of veal _à la gelée_,
seventy-six _entrées_, six of which were sides and fillets of
beef _à la gelée_, six _noix de veau_, six of dressed calves’
brains bordered with shapes of jelly, six of _pain de foie
gras_, six of _poulets à la reine en galantine_, six _d’aspics_
garnished with cocks’ combs and kidneys, six of _salmis_ of red
partridge lukewarm, six of _fricasées_ of _poulet à la reine_,
six of _mayonnaises de volaille_, six of slices of salmon _au
beurre de Montpelier_, six of salads of fillets of soles, six
of galantines of eels _au beurre de Montpelier_. Our borders
were thus composed: for the slices of salmon, _beurre rose_; for
the eels, _beurre à la ravigotte vert-tendre_; for the salads
of _filets de sole_, borders of eggs; for the _mayonnaises
de volaille_, the same; for the game and fowls, borders of
truffles, mushrooms, and morels.”

_New Invention of Carème._

“Towards 1804 I imagined our new _suédoises_. The shapes which
they had before my time were without grace or elegance. My
attempt had a decided success at a grand _extra_ of a ball,
which the marshals of France gave to the Chief-Consul, their
master. The ball was magnificent; it was given in the Salle de
l’Opéra decorated with hangings. M. Bécar, cook of the sugared
_entremets_, called me in to assist him, he confided to me the
_suédoises_. I made him thirty-six of them, and for several days
afterwards these _suédoises_ were the only topic of conversation
from the kitchens to the _salons_ of Paris. Happy times!
agreeable labours!”

_The following are the most striking among the Aphorisms,
Thoughts, and Maxims, of the Cook Carème._

“France is the mother-country of amphitryons. Its kitchen and
its wines assure the triumph of gastronomy. It is the only
country in the world for good cheer. Strangers are convinced of
these truths.

“The culinary art serves as a sort of escort to European
diplomacy.

“The great diplomatist should have a renowned cook.

“The diplomatist is a fine appreciator of a good dinner.

“For the young nobility, embassies are courses of diplomacy and
gastronomy.

“Gastronomy marches like a queen at the head of civilization,
but vegetates merely in a period of revolution.

“Great doctors and great musicians are great lovers of good
living; witness the celebrated Broussais, Roques, Rossini, and
Boïeldieu.

“The rich man, fond of the pleasures of the table, passes
through life with comfort and happiness, when he cares not a
straw for public affairs.

“Cookery is a difficult art; a generous host knows how to
appreciate its grandeur and dignity.

“In the houses of the old nobility, the _chef de cuisine_
became _maître d’hôtel_, the assistant-cook took the
place of the cook, and the scullions became assistant-cooks.
By these mutations, these ministers to the mouth (_hommes de
bouche_) attached themselves more and more to these noble
houses, and thus the masters at once preserved their health and
secured the comfort of their servants.

“In the epoch in which we live the first culinary talents
vegetate at Paris, and London is enriched with our renowned
cooks.

“A cook is a _gastronome_ both by taste and by profession.

“A cook who is clean in his person is clean also in his work.

“In ancient and modern times, the talents of cooks were honoured
by kings, witness Marc Antoninus and the great Frederick.

“The French cook is esteemed by the great in distant lands; he
is sought for and appreciated.

“The French cook is incited to his work by a point of honour
inseparable from the culinary art; witness the death of the
great Vatel.

“The French cook is happy in all the capitals of Europe, but he
who does not wish to quit his country should have courage.

“At the Russian court the cook on duty (for there are four who
take the work by turns every fortnight) always served his dinner
_en maître d’hôtel_. This thoroughly gastronomical fashion
should be generally adopted by amphitryons who love to make good
cheer.

“The hypocritical valet is fatal to the tranquillity of a great
establishment; he is vain, proud, paltry, crawling, lazy, and
gluttonous; he is a tale-bearer for the purpose of gaining his
master’s confidence, which he afterwards abuses; he is the
Tartuffe of domestic life.

“The upstart valet is self-sufficient and scented.

“The doctor speaks ill of the cook, in order that he may not
lose his influence over the mind of the rich man; but the talent
of a good cook tends more to the preservation of his master’s
health than the factitious science of certain doctors, whose
medical advice is regulated by their own interests.

“The rich man who leads an irregular life ought rather to
trust to the science of a cook to re-establish his health, if
he feels the necessity of it, than to the discourses of the
interested doctor.”

* * * * *

Such was Anthony Carème. He had gained the suffrages of emperors and
kings, of princes royal and princes not royal, of noble ladies and
rich banker Jews, when the climax of his felicity was capped by the
friendship and good-will of Rossini, and a flattering notice of his
work, in his usual sparkling style, from the facile pen of Jules Janin.
This was too much for mortal man, and encumbered by the very splendour
and vanity of his successes, and not a little worn out also, by thirty
years of service, he sank into premature decay, and was taken from
that world of _bon-vivants_ and sensualists of whom he had formed
the delight, somewhere about the year of grace 1835 or 1836. “He was,”
says a celebrated gourmand, “lively, ardent, enthusiastic, of a rare
patience, of an imperturbable _sangfroid_,” The last work of
Carème, “’Art de Cuisine Française au XIXème Siècle,” was left in an
unfinished state, but M. Plumeret, first cook of the Russian embassy,
has finished it by the publication of the sixteenth and seventeenth
parts. In the “aître d’Hôtel Français,” the “uisinier Parisien,”and “a
Cuisine de Paris au XIXème Siècle,” will Carème live.

“Carème bestowed fine names on his soups:--_Potages Condé_,
_Boïeldieu_, _Broussais_, _Roques_, _Ségalas_ (the three last learned
and agreeable doctors); _Lamartine_, _Dumesnil_ (the historian);
_Buffon_, _Girodet_; and to be just to all the world, that great
practitioner in the culinary art which the world has lost, had not
forgotten, before his death, to give also to one of his best soups
the name of _Victor Hugo_. He called a _matelote_ of fish after M.
Delavigne, and a dish of perch after his physician, M. Gaubert.”

Here are M. Carème’s ideas on _maigre_ sauces:--“It is in a lenten
kitchen that the cleverness of a cook can shed a brilliant light.
It was in the Elysée Imperial, and by the example of the famous
Laguipierre and Robert, that I was initiated into this fine branch
of the art, and it is inexpressible. The years ’93 and ’94, in their
terrible and devastating course, respected these strong heads (_ces
fortes têtes_). When our valiant First Consul appeared at the head of
affairs our miseries and those of gastronomy finished.

“When the empire came, one heard of soups and _entrées maigre_.
The splendid _maigre_ first appeared at the table of the Princess
Caroline Murat. This was the sanctuary of good cheer, and Murat was one
of the first to do penitence. But what a penitence!”

One does not know whether to be indignant or to laugh at this. The old
proverb, “Set a beggar on horseback and he will ride to the devil,”
is undoubtedly true. A few years before the consulate the ambitious
Caroline Buonaparte, afterwards wife of Murat, was, with her mother and
the other female members of her family, in so destitute a situation
at Marseilles, that they had not the means of buying wood to warm
themselves; and as to Murat, her husband, it is well known that he rose
from the very dregs of society, his father being a village innkeeper at
Bastide Frontonière, in the department of Lot.

[Illustration]

CHISWICK PRESS:--PRINTED BY WHITTINGHAM AND WILKINS,
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] An edition of Apicius, with notes and comments, has been given by
Dr. Lister, physician to Queen Anne.

[2] “Cours Gastronomique,” 124.

[3] “Namque cocus domini debet habere gulam.”--MARTIAL.

[4] “Donat. in Terent. Andr.,” act. i. sc. 1.

[5] “Bourgeois Gentilhomme,” act iv. sc. 1.

[6] Amsterdam, 1726.

[7] “Almanach des Gourmands,” 6me année.

[8] Previous to 1789, says the “Almanach des Gourmands,” tom. i, p.
162, there were not one hundred _restaurateurs_ in Paris. Now (in
1803) there are five times as many. Speaking at random and without
book, there are at present 4000 or 5000, great and small. The author
of the “Almanach des Gourmands” falls into the strange mistake of
attributing the increase of _restaurateurs_ to an Anglomania. “It
is well known,” says he, “that the English almost always dine at a
tavern.” What inconceivable ignorance!

[9] “Memoires Anecdotiques sur l’intérieur du Palais, et sur quelques
Evenemens de l’Empire, depuis 1805 jusqu’au 1 Mai 1814, pour servir
à l’Histoire de Napoleon,” par L. F. J. De Bausset, ancien Préfet du
Palais Impérial.

[10] This was first printed at Milan, in 1498.

[11] At the beginning of this century, Weeks’ Bush Inn, at Bristol, was
famous for its Christmas fare. The bill of fare for Christmas 1800 was
as follows:--A turtle of 120 lbs., 72 pots of turtle, a bustard, red
game, black game, fish of almost innumerable kinds, venison, 42 hares,
87 wild ducks, 17 pheasants, 41 partridges, 17 wild geese, 149 snipes,
81 woodcocks, 17 wild turkeys, 44 tame turkeys, 10 capons, 52 barrels
of Purfleet oysters.

[12] Juvenal relates the story somewhat differently:--

“Sed deerat pisci patinæ mensura: vocantur
Ergo in concilium proceres,” &c.--SAT. II.

[13] Galen, Lib. III.--De Aliment. See also Lib. VIII.--Methodi Medendi.

[14] See also, Nonius de Re Cibar.--Lib. VIII.

[15] Dictionnaire des termes du vieux François, ou tresor de recherches
et antiquités Gauloises et Françoises, par M. Borel, Conseiller et
Médecin ordinaire du Roi. Paris: chez Briasson, Rue St. Jacques. MDCCL.

[16] Lib. XII. cap. 5.

[17] “Ludovici Nonni Dieteticon,” Antverpiæ, MDCXVI. Lib.
II. p. 242.

[18] See 4 Inst., cap. lxvi. The office of swanherd is in Rot.
Patentium, anno 11 and 4, called “Magister deductus Cygnorum.” See “Le
case de Swannes,” lib. 7.

[19] “Observations on the Ancient Statutes.” Dublin: Grierson, 1767.

[20] Nonni “De Re Cib.” Lib. II.

[21] Nonni, “De Re Cibariâ,” lib. ii., p. 215.

[22] “Velocius quam asparagi coquuntur.” SUET.

[23] Cotignac was a confection of quinces.

[24] “Traité des Alimens,” par Lémery.

[25] See “Traité des Alimens de Lémery.” Par le Docteur Bruhier.

[26] “Traité des Alimens,” p. 360.

[27] Eutropius.

[28] Hist. des Empereurs, tom. ii.

[29] Julian in Misopogon, p. 359.

[30] I believe a third edition has been published in 1860.

[31] It would, however, appear that the Romans employed corks:--

“Corticem astrictum pice dimovebit
Amphoræ,”

says Horace.

[32] Henderson says that in some places where wood abounded, as in the
neighbourhood of the Alps and in Illyria, wine casks were made of that
material; but the vessels in general use among the Greeks and Romans
were of earthenware. No authority is, however, cited by the Doctor for
this statement.

[33] Lib. xxvii., c. 6.

[34] These customs are now (1864) exploded in London society, and only
exist on circuit, at regimental messes, or at public dinners.

[35] “Un _poinçon_ de vin, d’huile, &c. _Dolium vel doliolum._ Le
_poinçon_ est la moitié d’un tonneau d’Orléans, ou d’Anjou. C’est un
nom qu’on donne en Blasois et en Touraine au muid de vin. A Rouen le
_poinçon_ contient treize boisseaux. C’est à Paris la même chose qu’une
_demi-queue_. On dit, Voici vendanges, il faut acheter des _poinçons_,
faire relier nos _poinçons_, en parlant de toutes sortes de futailles
et de vaisseaux.”--_Dictionnaire de Trevoux._

[36] This grape is named the Ciras. In the “Œnologie Française” for
1826, it is spelt Scyras, and it is stated, according to the tradition
of the neighbourhood, the plant was originally brought from Shiraz, in
Persia, by one of the hermits of the mountain.

[37] History of London, vol. I., p. 250.

[38] Riquette was then a young Parisian cook, who has since made a
considerable fortune in the service of the Emperor Alexander. He spoke
and wrote so remarkably, that his competitors called him the _beau
parleur_.

Transcriber’s Notes:

1. Obvious printers’, punctuation and spelling errors have been
corrected silently.

2. Where hyphenation is in doubt, it has been retained as in the
original.

3. Some hyphenated and non-hyphenated versions of the same words have
been retained as in the original.

4. Italics are shown as _xxx_.

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