Part 12
An essentially south-German dish is the Metzelsuppe--the "bouillabaisse" of Swabia--in which the sausage plays an important role, but which, to be appreciated, requires an essentially German taste as well as a digestion without limit. This consists of several preparations of freshly killed pork, including soup, bacon, and sausages with Sauerkraut, the sausages usually being the Leber and the Blutwurst. It has found its Thackeray in Uhland, whose poem has become a classic, although, with the possible exception of the bacon and Sauerkraut, the alien will find the poem preferable to the dish.
With a choice of a different soup for every day in the year, the German does not lack for variety in the stepping-stone of the dinner. With all of these the stranger may not be in sympathy, and in none of them will he find the equal, as an all-round preface to the principal repast, of a perfect Julienne. But the potato soup, the native pot-au-feu, and even the soup in which beer is an important ingredient, have their merits when well prepared. Nor is the boiled beef with horseradish sauce, which usually follows the soup, to be despised, notably in warm weather, when rich and heavy viands cloy. One would be equally lacking in appreciation were he to lose sight of another dish we owe to Germany, the "marinirte," or sour-spiced herring--that offset to _Katzenjammer_ and noon-restorer of a jaded appetite and a parched tongue. The Schmierkäse, or whey-cheese, when cream is employed in its composition and the green of fresh chives enters as an adjunct to please the eye and the palate, surely requires no praises, whatever may be said to the contrary of the variety whose very name one thinks of in a whisper.
Such dishes as Szegediner Schwein's Goulash mit Sauerkraut, Paprica Schnitzel mit Ungarischem Kraut, and Ungarisches Goulash mit Spätzle--triumphs of the Hungarian and Viennese _Kochkunst_--seldom turn out satisfactory in alien hands. The Spätzle and Nudel are two farinaceous dishes that also call for a native cook to serve in perfection. The Spätzle is of south-German origin, and tastes best when it flanks a viand with a tart sauce and has a Rhein wine to keep it company. This observation applies more strictly to its native home, the virtues of German dishes and German cigars being most apparent amid their natural atmosphere. Indeed, who shall say that the "Pfarrer von Kirchfeld" or the colourful strains of "Sataniel" would seem the same if transported oversea? Climate, the hour, the environment--all the conditions of the _entourage_ exercise a marked influence on many things, especially on the pleasures of taste. The Zeller that seems so delicious with the chicken in a south-German restaurant is apt to prove a delusion elsewhere; and even the best of Affenthaler and Assmanshäuser, of which one may retain a pleasant remembrance, must fade before a good Bordeaux. The beer of Germany, when properly cared for and when allowed to rush swiftly from the wood, alone preserves a large portion of its delicious tonical freshness wherever partaken of. Like an omelette soufflé, beer has its moment, and once started towards the Seidel or Stein, its flow should be as uninterrupted as the course of a mountain brook that, with music and song and freighted with coolness, comes dancing down from the distant hills to slake the thirst of the vale below.
Of game, the hare and the partridge have always been held in great esteem by the Germans; and while the native Rebhuhn may not compare with our own prince of feathered game-birds, the ruffed grouse, the German hare has unquestionable merits when prepared as the favourite Hasenbraten, Hasenpfeffer, and Hasenrücken gespickt with Sahnen sauce. Even Goethe sounds a "Hoch!" when he thinks of the game he has secured, and smacks his lips in anticipation of its appearance on the table.[26]
The mysteries of the sandwich in all its possibilities are unknown to Germany. But amends are made by the attractions of the Kalter Aufschnitt which takes its place, where slices of veal are surrounded by slices of Cervelat, ham, and tongue, and thin cuts of Leberwurst with pickles and hard-boiled eggs cut in rounds to form a frame, and rye bread and mustard _à discretion_. As for the Kuchen--light, wholesome, and inviting--its forms are legion, though these belong more strictly to the supper-table or to that phase of feminine entertainment termed "The Coffee." The common and often excessive use of the caraway-seed in cakes and breadstuffs is nevertheless to be deplored, however great its merits as a carminative.
Dumas tells the story of the excellent cake called madeleine, an entremets which all who have been in France will remember. Is it a flower of the Vosges, indigenous to Alsace, that has been transplanted across the border?--it must have been the invention of the German _Kuchenkunst_. This is the account of the madeleine as it appears in the "Grand Dictionnaire de Cuisine":
"A tourist-friend who was at Strassburg, and who started out on his travels a little late, expecting to reach the next village before dark, was unsuccessful in finding a shelter until nearly midnight, when he perceived the spire of a distant church, and soon afterwards the welcome rays of a light that seemed to emerge from some subterranean abode. Knocking at the door, a gruff voice demanded:
"'Who is it, and what do you want?'
"'I am a traveller, weary and worn, and well-nigh starved. For heaven's sake, let me in.'
"With this the door was unbarred by a man of savage aspect whose hair and beard were covered with flour, and who was naked to the waist.
"'Come in, and make haste,' he said in a cavernous voice; and a large room was disclosed to the traveller the interior of which was lighted by the fires of an immense oven. The door was then re-barred by the forbidding-looking occupant.
"'Pardon, Monsieur,' said the traveller, little at ease. 'I have just completed sixteen or eighteen leagues with scarcely a mouthful; cannot I buy something to appease my hunger, and have a couch to lie on?'
"'I have only my own bed,' replied the man, in his gruff voice; 'as to something to eat, that is not wanting--it remains to be seen if it will please you.'
"And opening a cupboard, he produced a basket containing a dozen or so of oval-shaped cakes of a fine golden hue.
"'Try these,' he said to the traveller, 'and tell me what you think of them.'
"When the basket was emptied, he asked, 'What do you think of my madeleines?'
"'Something to drink first,' muttered the traveller in a strangled voice.
"The cupboard was opened anew, and uncorking a bottle covered with dust, the baker filled two glasses, passing one to the stranger.
"'Drink,' he said; 'I don't wish my cakes to choke you.'
"The glass was emptied at a draught, when the visitor passed it to be refilled,--it was an excellent Bordeaux.
"'Your health, my friend; you have given me one of the most delicious repasts that I have ever had. But tell me what do you call these lovely cakes?'
"'What! don't you know the madeleines of Commercy?'
"'You mean to say I am at Commercy?'
"'Yes, and, without knowing it, you have eaten the best cakes in the world.'"
_Se non è vero è ben trovato_--the madeleine still remains to gladden the traveller. They bring it now in little boxes of a dozen--flat on the top and grooved like a shell underneath, the colour a rich golden brown--as the train halts for a moment at the town on the Meuse where Cardinal de Retz wrote his memoirs.
One of the earliest of German cook-books, published at Strassburg in 1516, and now of the utmost rarity, bears for its title "Kuchenmeisterey," or the mastery of cake-making. Perchance were one to turn its faded Gothic leaves, some forgotten master-stroke of the baker might reveal itself, to vie with the madeleine in popularity and add to the already endless list of farinaceous _Leckerbissen_ and _Frauenessen_, wherein the Germans have no superiors.
The story of the madeleine suggests that of the Vienna roll, which, it is said, owes its origin to the investment of Vienna by the Turks. During the protracted siege of the city, when the town had become almost reduced to starvation and the position of the enemy was unknown, a baker was making his last batch of bread. His little son, who had been amusing himself with his marbles and drum, had gone to bed, leaving a marble on the drum-head. The baker kept on with his baking and attending to his ovens, sitting down between times to meditate on his probable fate when the final loaf was gone, and gleaming cangiars and ferocious janizaries had begun their work of carnage. Suddenly his attentive ear was arrested by an unaccustomed vibratory sound proceeding from the drum, while his eye perceived a continuous dancing movement of the marble. Soon it became apparent to him that the vibration was caused by forces working on the fortifications without--the steady pounding of mattock and pickaxe--and that the undermining of the walls had begun almost at his door. At once his loaves were forgotten, and, hastening to spread the alarm, the enemy was attacked unawares and successfully routed. The following day the baker was summoned before the emperor.
"What reward do you claim for your services?--you have saved the city," said the emperor.
"I would serve the bread for the palace," replied the artist of the loaves, "and I would have my rolls shaped like the Crescent we have conquered."
A favourite convivial song of the Fatherland, with its rollicking strain, may not be omitted from a German Speisekarte. The words are by a former minister of education, von Muehler, of Prussia; the music that of the dance "La Madrilena." It should be sung in chorus and led by one who is light on his feet and a master of the side-step, with the sonorous instrumentation of viols and horns to lend it additional spirit and swing:
BEDENKLICHKEITEN
(Heinrich von Muehler, 1842. Bis 1872 Preussischer Cultusminister.)
While the Germans have not yet adopted applesauce with green goose or cranberries with turkey, no fault can be found with their admirable choice of the "Compot" in general as an accessory and grace-note to the roast. One may even forgive them the taste which permits them to serve the noted hams of Westphalia uncooked, in view of the excellence of their beer, their admirable Kuchen, and the merits of their rolls and sweets. Besides cakes innumerable, the larder of the Hausfrau fairly groans with "Compots," some form of which is invariably served with roast meats, poultry, or game. And inasmuch as woman in Germany is created for the special purpose of ministering to the comforts, the tastes, and the selfish wishes of man, independent of her own inclinations, it may be assumed that her natural fondness for sweets is shared equally by the opposite sex.
One may or may not be impressed with the merits of the German _Kochkunst_ in all its branches, which perhaps requires a native or a seasoned taste to be estimated at its just and proper worth. But that it comports with those whom it chiefly concerns, and that it is appreciated by all true sons of the Fatherland, will admit of little doubt when one considers the national _Gemüthlichkeit_, or views the profound deliberation that the perusal of a Speisekarte always evokes from the Gast, the Wirth, and the Herr Oberkellner.
THE SCHOOL OF SAVARIN
"Depuis longtemps j'avais un mot à dire de Brillat-Savarin. Cette figure, souriante plutôt que riante, ce demi-ventre, cet esprit et cet estomac de bon ton, me tentait."
CHARLES MONSELET.
Most noted of literary tributes to the table is that of Brillat-Savarin, who has discoursed on gastronomy with all the knowledge and discursiveness, with all the verve and raciness displayed by Ninon de l'Enclos in descanting on love in her letters to the Marquis de Sévigné. He is at once the corypheus of good cheer and its most refined exponent. Few subjects are as difficult to treat without grossness as those relating to the gratification of the appetite, the pleasures of eating and drinking, which he has handled with such felicitous skill. Accompanying him along his alluring ambages, whose aisles are redolent of truffles and vol-au-vents in lieu of balsams and flowers, all other arts appear secondary to that of gastronomy; for through it alone, it becomes obviously manifest, may its sister arts receive their proper inspiration and man attain that hygienic beatitude which is essential to the greatest creative genius.
Whether he was as accomplished in reality as he appears upon the printed page, whether his practice was equal to his theory,--a question some of his contemporaries have disputed,--is of trivial moment in view of the abiding attractiveness of the "Physiologie du Goût." In his essay the distinction of a gourmand and a gourmet was first distinctly set forth, and throughout its length and breadth the topic is discussed with the dexterity that the author would observe in the preparation of his favourite _fondue_. Rarely has a subject found a writer whose qualities so eminently fitted him for its elaboration. With a touch light as gossamer, he has run the entire gamut of taste, investing his theme with new and subtle harmonies. The pheasant and the turkey have gained in savour since he has passed them under review, and the truffle derived an added flavour through the sixth Meditation.
In viewing the portrait of Savarin, we see before us a man of imposing presence, full-faced and florid, large, massive, robust, with bright eyes, rounded chin, and sensuous mouth. The high, broad forehead and protuberances above the eyebrows denote the reasoning and imaginative mind, while the full nostrils and lips point to a highly developed physical organism--to one who might be a lawyer, physician, banker, or diplomat, but whose features in any event proclaim the genial companion, the ready raconteur, and one upon whom the pleasures of the senses exercise an important influence. It was this nice adjustment of the mental and physical, this happy balance of mind and being, that combined to produce a work which may justly be classed among the most original of the nineteenth century.
"To fulfil the task I propose to myself," observes the author in his preface, "it was necessary to be a physician, a physiologist, and even more or less of a classical scholar." To these qualifications he added those of a thorough man of the world, a natural epicure, a keen observer, a metaphysician, and a writer unusually gifted with style and sententiousness of expression. Impressed by his masterly grasp of his subject, La Reynière, on reading the volume for the first time, immediately proclaimed its supremacy, asserting that it should open the doors of the Academy if they were to be opened by a superior mind. Among the many recognitions of the writer's genius none is more appreciative than that of Balzac, whose "Physiology of Marriage" was inspired by the "Physiology of Taste." Treatises innumerable on gastronomy have since appeared, but few are worthy of serious consideration, the majority being more or less offensive or mere echoes of a familiar strain.
With Savarin gastronomy became an all-absorbing enthusiasm--a prolific vein that hitherto had been imperfectly explored. It was, above all, an art, a potent factor in the pleasures of life, a valuable auxiliary to health, a means of advancing the amenities of existence--a _finesse_, in short, of which he was to be the analyst and interpreter, the La Bruyère and the Sainte-Beuve. Like the sprightly Ninon in her letters, who at eighty was still able to captivate and charm, Savarin might have written of the meditations of his advanced age: "We are not indulging in what is termed fine conversation--we are philosophising."
The reader who will look to the "Physiology" for practical directions on cookery will be disappointed. In place of a cook-book he will find a reflective dissertation on the æsthetics of the table, replete with wit, humour, and anecdote; a treatise dealing more with physical functions than the fashioning of sauces, and with the fork and wine-glass rather than with the chef and casserole.
Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, or Brillat de Savarin, was born at Belley, in the department of the Ain, in 1755, the "Physiologie du Goût" appearing in 1825, a year previous to his death. The volume was the outcome of a lifetime of preparation for which his temperament and circumstances afforded abundant opportunity. Like La Reynière, he was a lawyer by profession, and, like him, he became an exile for a considerable period. He had received a careful education, the early part of his life being devoted to his legal practice, medical and chemical studies, and epicurean pleasures. He was fond of music, the fair sex, and good dinners, this triple penchant revealing itself frequently in his anecdotes. When thirty-eight years of age, he was elected mayor of Belley. Later, after sojourning in Switzerland, he visited the United States for a period of three years to introduce to New England the _fondue_--a dish which he proclaims of Swiss origin and from which the "Welsh rarebit" was derived. On his return to France he became a commissary of the government in the department of Seine-et-Oise, afterwards being appointed a counsellor in the Court of Cassation, a position he occupied during the remainder of his life. While engaged in this tribunal, his volume was leisurely composed.
Lyons, celebrated for its _cervelas_, chestnuts, beer, and _vin de Rivage_, was but a short distance from his native place, and it may be assumed that when tired of home fare he availed himself occasionally of its numerous markets and restaurants, and enjoyed the hospitality of its _bons-vivants_. Game was abundant in the Ain, a region he describes as "a charming country of high mountains, hills, rivers, limpid brooks, and cascades." Nor were trout wanting in its crystal waters--a delicacy that often graced his table and furnished him with one of his most picturesque recipes. He is speaking in his oracular way to his chef, in the admirable Meditation entitled "The Theory of Frying," a chapter that every cook should learn by heart:
"I say nothing about choosing oils or fats, because the various cook-books which I have placed in your library give sufficient information on that hand. Do not forget, however, when you have any of those trout weighing scarcely more than a quarter of a pound and caught in running brooks that murmur far from the capital--do not forget, I say, to fry them in the very finest olive oil you have. This simple dish, properly sprinkled and served up with slices of lemon, is worthy of being offered to a cardinal."
One can almost hear the music of the stream as it purls over its pebbly bed and whispers to the overhanging alders, while one marks the leap and glitter of trout and their prompt transition to the basket and the frying-pan. And lest these lovely denizens of spring-fed waters be overlooked in a subsequent chapter, it will be well to attach at once the instructions as to their mode of cooking of another author, in whom one is sure of an admirable guide, philosopher, and friend:
"They are so perfumed, these little trout," says Baron Brisse, "that it is sufficient to cook them in a light _court-bouillon_, and as soon as they are perfectly cold to eat them _au naturel_; all seasonings detracting from their savour. _Truites au court-bouillon._ Clean the trout by the gills, dry them carefully, tie up the heads, then cook them in a _court-bouillon_ made of white wine seasoned with slices of onion, sprigs of parsley, thyme, bay-leaf, and salt, adding a little bouillon; let them simmer until completely done, dry them, and serve on a napkin garnished with parsley. If a sauce is desired, mix a part of the _court-bouillon_ with butter and flour, reduce one half on a lively fire, and serve. _Truites à la Vosgienne._ After dressing the trout, sprinkle with salt and let them stand an hour. Then place them on the fire with the necessary quantity of white wine for their cooking, seasoning with onions, cloves, a _bouquet-garni_, a clove of garlic, salt, pepper, and butter mixed with flour; cook on a lively fire, lay out the trout on a platter, and mask them with the sauce passed through a sieve."
These modes of preparation, all of which are delicious, will not interfere with preparing them _à la matelote_ and _au gratin_, or the more common manner of frying them in butter, with a thin slice or two of salt pork and a dash of lemon and sprinkling of chopped parsley added to the sauce of the cooking. The best of sauces, however, is the sauce of catching the trout one's self--to hear with one's own ear the cool lapse of streams "that murmur far from the capital," and view the rubies at first hand as they flash from the _Salmo's_ roseate sides.
If, as was stated by the Marquis de Cussy, Brillat-Savarin "ate copiously and ill, chose little, talked dully, and was preoccupied at the end of a repast," no fault can be found by the most captious critic with the conversationalist and host of the "Physiology." There is not a dull line within its covers, or a page unmarked by brilliancy. Beginning with a dissertation on the senses in general, he proceeds with a most recondite analysis of the senses relating to taste. He explains that the empire of taste has its blind and its deaf, that the sensation of taste resides principally in the papillæ of the tongue, though every tongue has not the same number of papillæ, but that in some there are thrice as many as in others. Hence, with two persons sitting at the same table, one may be deliciously affected by the viands and wines, whereas the other will seem to partake of them with restraint. Taste, he maintains, is a sense that, all things considered, procures us the greatest number of enjoyments:
"1st. Because the pleasure of eating is the only one that, taken in moderation, is never followed by fatigue;
"2d. Because it belongs to all times, to all ages, and to all conditions;
"3d. Because it occurs necessarily at least once a day, and may be repeated without inconvenience two or three times in this space of time;
"4th. Because it may be combined with all our other pleasures and even console us for their absence;
"5th. Because the impressions it receives are at the same time more durable and more dependent on our will;
"6th. Because in eating we receive a certain indefinable and special comfort which arises from the intuitive consciousness that we repair our losses and prolong our existence by the food we eat.