The Physiology of Taste by Brillat Savarin (bearly read books txt) 📖

five or six dandies

sat at the next table, and one of them advanced and said, “Sir,

they say your people excel in the art of making a salad. Will you

be kind enough to oblige us?”

 

After some hesitation d’Albignac consented, and having set

seriously to work, did his best.

 

While he was making his mixture, he replied frankly to questions

about his condition, and my friend owned, not without a little

blushing, that he received the aid of the English government, a

circumstance which doubtless induced one of the young men to slip

a ten pound bank bill into his hand.

 

He gave them his address, and not long after, was much surprised

to receive a letter inviting him to come to dress a salad at one

of the best houses in Grosvenor square.

 

D’Albignac began to see that he might draw considerable benefit

from it, and did not hesitate to accept the offer. He took with

him various preparations which he fancied would make his salad

perfect as possible.

 

He took more pains in this second effort, and succeeded better

than he had at first. On this occasion so large a sum was handed

to him that he could not with justice to himself refuse to accept

it.

 

The young men he met first, had exaggerated the salad he had

prepared for them, and the second entertainment was yet louder in

its praise. He became famous as “the fashionable salad-maker,” and

those who knew anything of satirical poetry remembered:

 

Desir do nonne est un feu pui devore,

 

Desir d’Anglaise est cent fois piri encore.

 

D’Albignac, like a man of sense, took advantage of the excitement,

and soon obtained a carriage, that he might travel more rapidly

from one part of the town to the other. He had in a mahogany case

all the ingredients he required.

 

Subsequently he had similar cases prepared and filled, which he

used to sell by the hundred.

 

Ultimately he made a fortune of 80,000 francs, which he took to

France when times became more peaceful.

 

When he had returned to France, he did not hurry to Paris, but

with laudable precaution, placed 60,000 francs in the funds, and

with the rest purchased a little estate, on which, for aught I

know, he now lives happily. His funded money paid him fifty per

cent.

 

These facts were imparted to me by a friend, who had known D

‘Albignac in London, and who had met him after his return.

 

VIII.

 

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE EMIGRATION.

 

THE WEAVER

 

In 1794, M. de Rostaing, my cousin and friend, now military

intendant at Lyons, a man of great talent and ability, and myself

were in Switzerland.

 

We went to Mondon, where I had many relations, and was kindly

received by the family of Troillet. I will never forget their

hospitality.

 

I was there shown a young French officer who was a weaver, and who

became one thus:—

 

This young man, a member of a very good family, was passing

through Mondon, to join Condes army, and chanced to meet an old

man with one of the animated heads usually attributed by painters

to the companions of the famous Tell.

 

At their dessert, the officer did not conceal his situation, and

received much sympathy from his new friend. The latter complained

that at such an age, he had now to renounce all that was pleasant,

and that every man should, as Jean Jacques, says, have some trade

to support themselves in adversity.

 

The conversation paused there; and a short time after, he joined

the army of Conde. From what he saw there, however, he saw he

never could expect to enter France in that way.

 

Then he remembered the words of the weaver; and finally making up

his mind, left the army, returned to Mondon, and begged the weaver

to receive him as an apprentice.

 

On the next day the officer set to work, dining and sleeping with

the weaver, and was so assiduous, that after six months, his

master told him, he had nothing to teach him, thought himself

repaid for the care he had bestowed, and that all he earned

henceforth was his own profit.

 

When I was at Mondon, the new artisan had earned money enough to

purchase a shop and a bed. He worked with great assiduity, and

such interest was taken in him, that some of the first houses of

the city enquired after him every day.

 

On Sunday, he wore his uniform, and resumed his social rights. As

he was very well read, all took pleasure in his company, and he

did not seem discontented with his fate.

 

THE STARVING.

 

To this picture of the advantage of industry, I am about to add an

altogether different one.

 

I met at Lausanne, an emigre from Lyons, who to avoid work used to

eat but twice a week. He would have died beyond a doubt, if a

merchant in the city had not promised to pay for his dinner every

Sunday, and Wednesday of the week.

 

The emigre came always at the appointed time, and always took away

a large piece of bread.

 

He had been living in this manner some three months, when I met

him; he had not been sick, but he was so pale that it was sad to

see him.

 

I was amazed that he would suffer such pain rather than work. I

asked him once to dine with me, but did not repeat the invitation

because I believe in obeying that divine precept, “By the sweat of

thy brow shalt thou earn thy bread.”

 

SOJOURN IN AMERICA.

 

From Switzerland I went to America.

 

*

 

ASPARAGUS.

 

Passing one day in February, by the Palais Royal, I paused before

the shop of Mme Chevet, the largest dealer in comestibles in

Paris, who always wished me well. Seeing a large box of asparagus,

the smallest of which was large as my finger, I asked the price.

“Forty francs,” said she. “They are very fine, but only a king or

prince could eat at such a rate.” “You are wrong sir,” said she,

“such things never go to palaces, but I will sell the asparagus.

 

“There are now in this city at least three hundred rich men,

capitalists and financiers, retained at home by gout, colds, and

doctors. They are always busy to ascertain what will revive them

and send their valets out on voyages of discovery. Some one of

them will remark this asparagus, and it will be bought. It may be,

some pretty woman will pass with her lover, and say, ‘what fine

asparagus. How well my servant dresses it.’ The lover then does

not hesitate, and I will tell you a secret, that dear things are

sold more easily than cheap ones.”

 

As she spoke two fat Englishmen passed us. They seemed struck at

once. One seized hold of the asparagus and without asking the

price paid for it, and as he walked away whistled “God save the

King.”

 

“Monsieur,” said Madame Chevet, “a thousand things like this

happen every day.”

 

FONDUE.

 

Fondue is a soup dish, and consists only in frying eggs in cheese

in proportions revealed by experience. I will give the recipe. It

is a pleasant dish, quickly made and easily prepared for

unexpected guests. I refer to it here only for my peculiar

pleasure, and because it preserves the memory of things which the

old men of Belley recollect.

 

Towards the end of the 17th century M. Madot became bishop of

Belley, and took possession of the diocese.

 

Those to whom his reception had been confided had provided an

entertainment worthy of the occasion, and made use of all the

preparations then known in the kitchen, to welcome my lord.

 

There was an immense fondue, to which the prelate paid great

attention; to the surprise of all he ate it with a spoon, instead

of a fork, as people had been used to do.

 

All the guests looked at each other with a perceptible smile on

every face. A bishop from Paris, however, must know how to eat. On

the next day there was a great deal of gossip, and people that met

at the corners, said “Well did you see how our bishop ate his

fondue? I heard from a person who was present that he used a

spoon!”

 

The bishop had some followers, innovators who preferred the spoon,

but the majority preferred the fork, and an old grand-uncle of

mine used to laugh as if he would die, as he told how M. de Madot

ate fondue with a spoon.

 

RECIPE FOR FONDUE, COPIED FROM THE PAPERS OF M. TROLLET, BAILLI OF

MONDON IN BERNE.

 

Calculate the number of eggs in proportion to the guests.

 

Take one-third of the weight of Gruyere and one-sixth of the

weight of butter.

 

Beat the eggs and mingle them with the butter and cheese in a

casserole.

 

Put the kettle on a hot fire and stir it until the mixture is

perfect. Put in more or less salt in proportion as the cheese is

old or new. Serve it hot, with good wine, of which one should

drink much. The feast will see sights.

 

DISAPPOINTMENT.

 

All one day was quiet at the Ecu de France, between Bourg and

Bresse, when the sound of wheels was heard, and a superb English

berline drove up, on the box of which were two pretty Abigails,

wrapped in blue and red cloths.

 

At the sight, which announced a nobleman on his travels, Chicot,

that was his name, hurried to the door of the equipage. The wife

stood at the door, the girls near by, while the boys from the

stable hurried forward satisfied that they would receive a

handsome gratuity.

 

The women were unpacked and there came from the berline, 1st, a

fat Englishman, 2d, two thin, pale, red-haired girls, and 3d, a

lady, apparently in the first stage of consumption.

 

The last spoke:

 

“Landlord,” said she, “take care of the horses, give us a room and

the women refreshments. All must cost only six francs; act

accordingly.”

 

Chicot put on his bonnet, madame went into the house, and the

girls to their garrets.

 

The horses were, however, put into the stable, the Englishman read

the papers, and the women had a pitcher of pure water. The ladies

went up stairs. The six francs were received as a poor

compensation for the trouble caused.

 

WONDERFUL EFFECTS OF A CLASSICAL DINNER.

 

“Alas! how much I am to be pitied,” said the elegiac voice of a

gastronomer of the royal court of the Seine. “Hoping to be soon

able to return home, I left my cook there; business detains me at

Paris, and I have to depend on an old women the preparations of

whom make me sick. Anything satisfies my wife and children, but I

am made a martyr of the spit and pot.”

 

Luckily a friend heard the complaint, who said, “You will not, my

friend, be a martyr. Deign to accept a classical dinner to-morrow,

and after a game of piquet we will bury all in the abyss of the

past.”

 

The invitation was accepted, the mystery was solved, and since the

23d June, 1825, the professor has been delighted at having one of

his best friends in royal court.

 

EFFECT AND DANGER OF STRONG DRINKS.

 

The artificial thirst we previously alluded to, is that which for

the moment appeals to strong drinks as a momentary relief. It

gradually becomes so habitual that those who grow