Salad, by Dumas.

Today, February 20th …

Alexandre Dumas gave us The Count of Monte Cristo, The Three Musketeers, and The Man in the Iron Mask – some of the greatest adventure novels ever written. His real labour of love however was his Grand Dictionnaire de Cuisine, although he never saw it published. Dumas died on December 5th 1870 while Paris was under siege by the Prussians, and his great dictionary was not published until 1873, after the end of the Franco-Prussian war.

On this day in 1865, Dumas was at a dinner for twenty hosted by his friend Doctor Jobert de Lamballe.

MENU.

Potages.
Croûtes au pot.

Purée de perdreaux à la Beaufort.

Hors-d'œuvre
Crépinettes de gibier.

Petits vol-au-vent à la Monglas

Relevés
Carpe du Rhin à la Chambord.

Dinde truffée à la périgourdine.

Entrées
Filets de perdreaux à la Richelieu.

Gâteaux de volaille à la Tourville.

Noisettes de chevreuil aux truffes

Salade de homards à la Bagration.

Punch rosé.

Rôts
Poulardes truffées

Pâtés de foie gras

Entremets
Cardons à la moelle.

Truffes au vin de Champagne.

Petites timbales Sans-souci.

Brioche mousseline à la d'Orléans.

The Grand Dictionnaire de Cuisine is a truly monumental work – an encyclopedia with recipes, covering everything from ‘Abaisse’ to ‘Zuchetti’ and written ‘to be read by worldly people and used by professionals’. Dumas was not just a gourmet (it is said that his love of food was equalled only by his love of women), he was an excellent practical cook at a time when men were either professional cooks, or kept right out of the kitchen. He was particularly proud of his salad, and he explained its story in detail in a letter to his old friend Jules Janin. He is talking about his legendary Wednesday evening suppers.

‘… Finally, I made a salad that satisfied my guests so well that when Ronconi, one of my most regular guests, could not come, he sent for his share of the salad, which was taken to him under a great umbrella when it rained so that no foreign matter might spoil it.

“How” you will ask me, my dear Janin … “how could you make a salad one of the important dishes for your supper?”

It is because my salad was not just like any other salad.’

Dumas goes on to give his secret away:

‘It was a salad of great imagination, composite order, with five principal ingredients:
Slices of beet, half-moons of celery, minced truffles, rampion with its leaves, and boiled potatoes.

… First I put the ingredients into the salad bowl, then overturn them onto a platter. Into the empty bowl I put one hard boiled egg yolk for each two persons – six for a dozen guests. These I mash with oil to form a paste, to which I add cherviel , crushed tuna, macerated anchovies, Maille mustard, a large spoonful of soya, chopped gherkins, and the chopped white of the eggs. I thin this mixture by stirring in the finest vinegar obtainable. Finally I put the salad back in the bowl, and my servant tosses it [Dumas has earlier mentioned that this should be done an hour before it is to be served, and the salad should be turned over three or four times during that hour.] On the tossed salad I sprinkle a pinch of paprika, which is the Hungarian red pepper.

And there you have the salad that so fascinated poor Ronconi.’

[From: The Dictionary of Cuisine, edited, abridged, and translated by Louis Colman.]

Tomorrow’s Story …

Chewing a Walking Stick.

A Previous Story for this Day …

The Milk shake was the topic of our story last year on this day.

Quotation for the Day …

Wine is the intellectual part of a meal. Alexandre Dumas, Le Grand Dictionnaire de Cuisine.

Asparagus and Age.

Today, January 9th …

The death on this day in 1757 of the brilliant French mathematician Bernard le Bouyer de Fontenelle seems a strange start to a food story, but there are two very good reasons for our attention.

The first reason is that he died a few weeks short of his hundredth birthday, proving that his well-known gourmandism did not damage his life-span at all, which is enormously reassuring for those of us who love good food, and occasionally fear that we will pay the ultimate early price for our obsession.

The second reason is that he is the subject of a particularly good food story about asparagus, and I now have an excuse to tell it.

The story says that one day his friend and colleague the Abbé Terrasson (who was also known to be fond of his food) arrived unexpectedly just as Fontenelle was eagerly awaiting a dish of asparagus which he particularly loved, especially dressed with oil. The Abbé however, preferred his asparagus with butter, so the dutiful host ordered his cook to prepare half the dish with oil, and half with butter. Suddenly, before the dish was served, the Abbé fell down dead with apoplexy, whereupon Fontenelle instantly rushed into the kitchen, calling out to his cook “The whole with oil! The whole with oil, as at first!”

The story gives both support and rebuttal to another of Fontenelle’s traits. It was said of him that he was completely lacking in emotion, that he had never truly laughed or cried, that he believed ‘It is the passions that do and undo everything.’

Naturally, I give you a classical French recipe for asparagus today, taken from Alexandre Dumas père’s posthumously published labour of love, his Grand Dictionnaire de Cuisine (1870), as translated by Alan and Jane Davidson in Dumas on Food.

Asperges à la Pompadour.

M. de Jarente, Minister of state when Madame de Pompadour was in favour, left the following prescription to our celebrated gourmand Grimod de la Reynière, a nephew worthy of his uncle.

‘Choose three bunches of the most beautiful asparagus from large young Dutch plants, that is to say white ones with purple tips. Trim them, wash and cook them in the ordinary way, that is to say by plunging them in boiling water. Slice them afterwards by cutting them on the bias near the tip,into pieces the length of the little finger. Use only the best parts, setting aside the rest of the stems. Put the chosen pieces in a hot napkin so as to drain them and keep them hot while you prepare your sauce.

‘Empty a medium-size pot of butter from Vanvre or Prévalais and put the contents in spoonfuls in a silver dish. Add a few grains of salt, a good pinch of powdered mace and a generous spoonful of pure wheat flour; and in addition the yolks of two fresh eggs diluted with four spoonfuls of the juice of sour Muscat grapes. Cook this sauce in a double boiler; do not allow it to thicken excessively and thus become too heavy. Put your sliced pieces of asparagus in the sauce, and serve it all in a covered casserole as an extra, so that this excellent course does not languish on the table and can be appreciated at the height of its perfection.’

Tomorrow’s Story …

Dumplings for Eccentrics.

A Previous Story for this Day …

The story on this day last year was about Funny Fish Bits.

Quotation for the Day …

You needn't tell me that a man who doesn't love oysters and asparagus and good wines has got a soul, or a stomach either. He's simply got the instinct for being unhappy highly developed. Saki (H.H. Munro), who wrote the “Not So Stories” in the early twentieth century.