The Physiology of Taste by Brillat Savarin (bearly read books txt) đź“–
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cannot do without it even through the night, and have to leave
their bed to appease it.
This thirst then becomes a real disease, and when he has reached
that point, it may safely be said that he has not two years to
live.
I travelled in Holland with a rich Dantzick merchant, who had for
fifty years kept the principal house for the sale of brandy.
“Monsieur,” said he “none in France are aware of the importance of
the trade in brandy, which for nearly a century my father and
myself have carried on. I have watched with attention the workmen
who yield to it as too many Germans do, and they generally die in
the same manner.”
“At first they take simply a glass in the morning, and for many
years this suffices. It is a common habit with all workmen, and
any one who did not indulge in it would be ridiculed by his
companions. Then they double the dose, that is to say, take a
glass at morning and night. Thus things continue about three
years, when they begin to drink three times a day, and will only
taste spirits in which highly scented herbs have been infused.
Having reached that point, one may be sure they have not more than
six months to live, for they go to the hospital and are seen no
more.”
CHEVALIERS AND ABBES.
I have already referred to these categories of gourmandise
destroyed by time.
As they disappeared thirty years since, few of the present
generation ever saw them.
About the end of the century they will probably reappear, but as
such a phenomenon demand the coincidence of many future
contingencies, I think few who live will ever witness this
palingenesia.
As a painter of manners I must give the last touch to my portrait,
and will borrow the following passage from an author, who, I know,
will refuse me nothing.
“The title of Chevalier was only correctly granted to persons who
had been decorated, or to the younger sons of noble houses. Many
of the Chevaliers of other families would take the title for
themselves, and if they had education and good manners, none
doubted the accolade.
“They were generally young, wore the sword vertically and kept a
stiff upper lip. They gamed and fought and were a portion of the
train of any fashionable beauty.”
At the commencement of the revolution many of the Chevaliers
joined the army of the emigres, enlisted or dispersed. The few who
survive can yet be recognized by their military air; almost all of
them, however, have the gout.
When any noble family had many children, one was dedicated to the
church; at first some benefice, barely sufficient to pay for the
expenses of education, was obtained, and ultimately he became
Prince, Abbe, or Bishop, as circumstances dictated.
This was the real Abbe; but many young men who disliked the perils
of the Chevalier, called themselves Abbes when they came to Paris.
Nothing was so convenient, for, with a slight change of dress,
they could appear as priests and the equals of anybody. There was
a great advantage in this for every house had its Abbe
They were generally small, round, well dressed and agreeable. They
were gourmands, active and pleasant. The few that remain have
became very devout and very fat.
None could be more comfortable than a rich prior or abbot. They
had no superiors and nothing to do. If there be a long peace, the
priors will turn up again, but unless there be a great change in
the ecclesiastical organization, the Abbes are lost for ever.
MISCELLANY.—WINE.
“Monsieur,” said an old marquise to me one day, “which do you like
best, Burgundy or Bordeaux?” “Madame,” said I, “I have such a
passion for examining into the matter, that I always postpone the
decision a week.”
STRAWBERRIES.
The Count de la Place recommends that strawberries should always
be dressed with orange juice.
JUDGMENT.
“He is not a man of mind,” said the Count de M–- “Why?” “Ah! he
does not eat pudding a la Richelieu, nor cutlets a la Soubise.”
RAISINS.
“Take a raisin—”
“No I thank you; I do not like wine in pills.”
A DAY WITH THE BERNARDINES.
It was about one A. M., on a fine summer night, and I set out
after having been serenaded by many who took an interest in us.
This was about 1782.
I then was the chief of a troop of amateur musicians All of whom
were young and healthy.
“Monsieur,” said the abbe of Saint Sulpice to me one day, and he
drew me into a window recess, “you would enjoy yourself very much
if you come some day to play for us at Saint Bernard’s. The Saints
would be delighted.”
I accepted the offer at once, for it seemed to promise us an
agreeable evening. I nodded assent, and all were amazed.
Annuit, et totum nutu tremefecit olympum.
Every precaution had previously been taken, for we had yet to go
four leagues, a distance sufficient to terrify the persons who had
ascended Mont Martre.
The monastery was in a valley, enclosed on the west side by a
mountain, and on the east by a hill that was not so high.
The eastern peak was crowned by a forest of immense pines. The
valley was one vast prairie, and the beech grows much like the
arrangements of an English garden.
We came about evenfall, and were received by the cellarer who had
a nose very rich-like an obelisk.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “our abbe will be glad when he hears you
have come. He is yet in bed; but come with me, and you will see
whether we have expected you or not.”
We followed him, and besought him to take us to the refectory.
Amid the display of the table arose a pate like a cathedral; on
one side was a quarter of cold veal, artichokes, etc., were also
on the eastern range.
There were various kinds of fruits, napkins, knives and plate; at
the foot of the table were many attentive servants.
At one corner of the refrectory was seen more than an hundred
bottles, kept cool by a natural fountain. We could snuff the aroma
of mocha, though in those venerable days none ever drank mocha so
early in the morning.
The reverend cellarer for a time laughed at our emotion, and then
spoke to us as follows:
“Gentlemen,” said he, “I would be pleased to keep you company, but
as yet I have not kept my mass. I ought to ask you to drink, but
the mountain air dispenses the necessity. Receive, then, what we
offer you. I must to matins.”
He went to matins.
We did our best to eat up the abbe’s dinner, but could not. People
from Sirius might, but it was too much for us.
After dinner we dispersed. I crept into a good bed until mass;
like the heroes of Rocroy, who slept until the battle began.
I was aroused by a great fat friar, who had nearly pulled my arm
out of its socket, and went to the church where I found all at
their posts.
We played a symphony at the offertory and sung a motet at the
elevation, concluding with four wind instruments.
We contrived, in spite of the jests usually expended on amateurs,
to get out of the difficulty very well.
We received with great benignity the praises heaped on us, and
having received the abbot’s thanks went to the table.
The dinner was such as people used to eat in the fifteenth
century. There were few superfluities, but the choice of dishes
was admirable. We had plain, honest, substantial stews, good
meats, and dishes of vegetables, which made one regret they were
not more general.
The dessert was the more remarkable, as it was composed of fruits
not produced at that altitude. The gardens of Machuras, of
Morflent and other places had contributed.
There was no want of liqueurs, but coffee needs a particular
reference.
It was clear, perfumed and strong, but was not served in what are
called tasses on the Seine, but in huge bowls, into which the
monks dipped their lips and smacked them with delight.
After dinner we went to vespers, and between the psalms executed
antiphones I prepared for the purpose. That style of music was
then fashionable. I cannot say if mine was good or bad.
Our DAY being over, my orchestra was enabled to look and walk
around. On my return the abbe said, “I am about to leave you, and
will suffer you to finish the night. I do not think my presence at
all importunate to the fathers; but I wish them to do as they
please.”
When the abbot had left, the monks drew more closely together, and
a thousand jokes were told, not the less funny because the world
knows nothing of them.
About nine a glorious supper was served, long in advance of the
dinner.
They laughed, sang, told stories, and one of the fathers recited
some very good verses he had himself composed.
At last a monk arose, and said, “Father Cellarer, what have you to
say?”
“True,” said the father, “I am not cellarer for nothing.”
He left, and soon returned with three servitors, the first of whom
brought some glorious fresh buttered toast. The others had a table
on which was a sweetened preparation of brandy and water—vulgo,
punch.
The new comers were received with acclamation; the company ate the
toasts, drank the toddy, and when the abbey clock struck twelve,
all went to their cells to enjoy a repose they had richly earned.
PROSPERITY EN ROUTE.
One day I rode a horse I called la Joie through the It was at the
worst era of the revolution, and I went to see Mr. Prot to obtain
a passport which, probably, might save me from prison or the
scaffold.
At about 11 P. M., I reached a little bourg or village called Mont
St. Vaudrey, and having first attended to my horse, was struck by
a spectacle no traveller ever saw without delight.
Before a fire was a spit covered with cock quails and the rails
that are always so fat. All the juice from the quails fell on an
immense rotie so built up that the huntsman’s hand was apparent.
Then came one of those leverets, the perfume of which Parisians
have no faith in though they fill the room.
“Ah ha!” said I; “Providence has not entirely deserted me. Let us
scent this perfume and die afterwards.”
Speaking to the landlord who, while I was making my examinations,
walked up and down the room, I said, “Mon cher, what can you give
us for dinner?”
“Nothing very good, Monsieur. You can have potatoes. The beans are
awful. I never had a worse dinner.”
The landlord seemed to suspect the cause of my disappointment. I
said, however, “for whom is all this game kept?”
“Alas, Monsieur,” said he, “it is not mine but belongs to some
lawyers and judges who have been here several days on a business
which concerns a very rich old lady. They finished yesterday, and
wish to celebrate the event by a revolt.”
“Monsieur,” said I, “be pleased to say that a gentleman asks the
favor of being permitted to dine with them, that he will pay his
portion of the expense, and also be much obliged to them.”
He
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