Lion on the Menu.

The New York Times of February 20, 1875 ran an item about a very special dinner in Paris the previous December in which the fierce Mr. Lion was doubly honored in giving up his life to the valiant lion slayer and providing a magnificent meal to some very appreciative gourmands.

A NOVEL DINNER

M. Constant Cheret, the well-known lion hunter, says Land and Water, recently sent the editor of La Chasse Illustré a magnificent quarter of a lion which he had shot in the neighbourhood of Phillipeville, Algeria, in the course of the month of December. With a view to doing all possible honor to the sportsman’s gift, the editor invited his staff to dine with him at Restaurant Magny, a house renowned for its cook and cellar, and well patronized by Messieurs les Chasseurs. On this momentous occasion the great Magny himself superintended the dinner, and prepared the principal dishes with his own hand. The guests were nineteen in number, and the menu was one of the choicest; indeed Mr. Lion seems to have been the pretext for organizing one of the prettiest and most recherché gastronomical fêtes that we have heard of for a long time. The bill of fare was as follows:

Huitres de Marennes.
Beurre et Olives.
Potages tapioca et bisque.
Bouchée à la Reine.
Barbue Sauce Hollandaise.
Filets à la Rossini.
Estouffade de Lion à la Méridionale.
Coeur de Lion à la Castellane.
Coq d Bruyère flanqué de Bécasses.
Petits Pois.
Biscuit Glacé.

Vins.
Chablis, Sauternes, Rousillon’s Champagne, Corton &c.

The dinner, as a specimen of the culinary art, was perfect; but of course the great attraction was the lion ham and heart. These dishes were prepared by Magny himself in the following manner:

Estouffade de Lion à la Méridionale.
Mariner the lion for a week with plenty of spice, onions, carrots, thyme, bay leaves, garlic, parsley, and cloves; then pour red wine over it – some Burgundy or a strong Southern wine – until it is completely covered, taking care to add a little good cognac. At the end of the week strain the lion on a cloth, remove the sinows, cut it into nice fillets, lard them, and put them into a casserole with olive oil. When the outside is slightly browned, remove them from the sauce-pan, and place them en couronne in a large frying pan, along with a third of the marinade, some butter, and the third of a quarter of an orange. Prick a few fine olives with pins, remove the stones, and place them along with the filets half an hour before serving. Four hours’ cooking is sufficient.


Coeur de Lion à la Castellane.
Chop up a pound of fat bacon and a pound of lean veal, season it well with salt, pepper, and spice; pass it through a strainer, as you would in making a purée, after having warmed it on the fire. Now mix a pound of farce de volaille with it, adding a little cognac, some Madeira, and half a pound of mushrooms chopped up small. Remove the centre of the heart, fill it with the farce, roll it and envelope it in a pâtee. Cook it for three hours and a half, and serve it up with a demi-glace and a garniture of mushroom farcis.

When Mr. Lion was placed upon the table there was a religious silence, which, however, only lasted for a few seconds, for at the first mouthful, a murmur of approbation ran round the table, and the guests with one accord drank to the health of Mr. Cheret and M. Magny, coupling in their admiration the valiant lion-slayer and the clever artiste who had proved himself able to prepare such a delicious dish out of the flesh of this ferocious game, which is more frequently in the habit of eating others rather than of being eaten itself. In these days of economy it is pleasing to find that even lions in carcase can be utilized, and that no longer is a live dog better than a dead lion. M. Magny should come over to Regent’s Park and give Mr. Bartlett a few of these simple recipes.

A tale of tails.

June 2 ...

On this day in 1795, the Northwest Territory judge, George Turner wrote to George Washington. His letter was to accompany a gift of a buffalo robe and some beaver tails.

I don’t know if beavers’ tails figure very commonly on the dining table (or round the campfire) in the great Northwest any more, but they certainly feature regularly in tales of the old frontier. Once upon a time they figured in European tales too. In medieval times beavers’ tails were a very welcome food during the ‘fast’ (i.e non-meat) days of the Christian calendar, such as Lent – at least amongst the wealthy. How could this be? The beaver had fur, like a land mammal, but spent most of its time in the water. The debate went on for a long time, but eventually a greedily sensible compromise was reached and it was decreed that the tail would be allowed.

It goes without saying that beaver fur was desirable until recent politically correct times, so allowing the tail flesh to be eaten was very pragmatic. There were other ancient justifications for catching beavers too. They were a source of castoreum – ‘a reddish-brown unctuous substance, having a strong smell and nauseous bitter taste, obtained from two sacs in the inguinal region of the beaver … ’(OED). In other words a pheromone or ‘essential oil’ produced by the male beaver and used to mark out his territory and make the female swoon with lust. The oil was used in medicine. It was a powerful remedy, according to Pliny:

‘when applied to the head, it is productive of narcotic effects - a result which is equally produced by taking it in water ; for which reason it is employed in the treatment of phrenitis. Used as a fumigation, it acts as an excitant upon patients suffering from lethargy: and similarly employed, or used in the form of a suppository, it dispels hysterical suffocations. It acts also as an emmenagogue and as an expellent of the afterbirth …’

Quite useful, really. In view of its effect on the female of the species, and the fact that it was an expensive exotic ingredient, it also had a reputation as an aphrodisiac. Until recently (and perhaps still?) it was used as homeopathic remedy for headaches. Before you scoff, or are repelled by such ideas, think on this: you may be shocked – deeply shocked – to learn that you may have ingested it in chewing gum. Ask your supplier.

If you are gustatorily repelled or ethically outraged at the thought of eating furry aquatic animals with paddle-shaped tails, you can be reassured that you can have beaver-like alternatives. The Canadians make a beaver-tail-shaped doughnut called, not surprisingly, beavers’ tails, for the same reasons that there are cakey versions of bears’ paws and moose lips. I am not certain what those reasons are, apart from fun, which is a good enough reason. An earlier frontier version was simply bread, and the method was described thus in 1896:

‘If the traveler has no frying pan the bread is baked in a beaver tail. Such a loaf is long and narrow and is exposed to the fire upon a stick, the lower end being set in the ground, two or three cross sticks, the size of an ordinary skewer, are required to prevent the loaf from breaking and falling as it breaks.’

Finally, if it is not stretching linguistic coincidence too much, we can all enjoy our ‘beaver’ (more properly spelled ‘bever’) as an old English version of either a drink or a mid-afternoon snack.

And, I almost forgot, in his letter to George, George included a recipe for the tails.

Canadian Recipe for Dressing Beaver’s Tails.
First boil the Tail till it becomes soft & then broil it upon a gridiron until the fat or oil of it exudes in every direction. After this spread over the whole a coat composed of fine crumbs of bread & parsley, chopped very fine. Again lay it upon the gridiron till it becomes brown and crisp. In this state serve it up with vinegar salt and pepper.

Tomorrow’s Story …

Common food.

Quotation for the Day ..

You don't get ulcers from what you eat. You get them from what's eating you. Vicki Baum.

Camel Stew.

My friend Marj sent me the following recipe in response to my earlier post today. It is attributed to the Australian bush painter Jack Absalom, and appeared in one of the bush cookbooks he published.

The recipe appears, with one small variation or another, in various other places - places where there are plenty of camels that is!

Camel Stew.

3 medium sized camels
1 ton salt
1 ton pepper
500 bushels of potatoes
200 bushels of carrots
3000 sprigs of parsley
2 small rabbits.

Cut camels into bite-sized pieces. This should take about two months.
Cut vegetables into cubes (another two months)
Place meat in pan and cover with 1000 gallons of brown gravy.
Shovel in pepper and salt to taste.
When meat is tender, add vegetables.
Simmer slowly for 4 weeks.
Garnish with parsley.
Will serve 3800 people.
If more are expected, add two rabbits.

Eating Camel.

Today, July 30th

The Australian explorer John McKinlay was given the task of searching for the lost Burke and Wills expedition which had set off in August 1860 with the aim of being the first to cross the continent from south to north. By the end of the year the deaths of Burke and Wills had been confirmed, and McKinlay turned his party northwards, as instructed, to explore the area to the north and west of Lake Eyre.

Eventually McKinlay and his men reached the Gulf of Carpentaria - to find the ship they were hoping to board had already left. They turned south and east, heading for Bowen on the coast of Queensland – six hundred mile trip for which their health, animals and supplies were not prepared. On this day in 1862 they killed and ate their last camel. With only a few horses left they were in dire straights, but a few days later they came across a cattle trail and within an hour were at the cattle station eating roast beef and damper.
Which brings me to my questions of the day. What does camel taste like? How does one cook camel? Not having any experience of my own, I am obliged to go to the experts.

In The Curiosities of Food, published in 1859, Peter Lund Simmons (who probably did not actually eat it but quotes others) says:

“ The flesh of the camel is dry and hard, but not unpalatable. … In Barbary, the tongues are salted and smoked for exportation to Italy and other countries, and they form a very good dish. The flesh is little esteemed by the Tartars, but they use the hump cut into slices, which, when dissolved in tea, serves the purpose of butter.”

The late Alan Davidson in The Oxford Companion to Food quotes Stobart (1980) on camel’s milk, which he says:

“has very small fat globules and cannot readily be churned to make butter.” It can however, apparently be made into a kind of yoghurt.

Waverley Root in Food quotes his correspondent Dr Lloyd Cabot Briggs, ‘an anthropologist who has spent a good deal of time in the Sahara’, and who presumably should know. He says:

“Camel [meat] has a distinctive taste which show up in a peculiar way. While you are eating it, it tastes just like rather ordinary beef or relatively tasty veal (depending on age), but when you’ve finished and run your tongue around your mouth, you suddenly discover a slightly sweetish after-taste, like horse but not quite so much, very faint, but definite.”

Hmm. So camel does not taste like chicken.

It seems that the experts give second-hand reports too. I would be delighted to hear some first hand experience, so please do leave a comment if you have some!

To my surprise, the Larousse Gastronomique (I have a 1961 edition) gives a number of recipes for camel. Here are a couple, in case you should get invited on a Saharan or Outback Aus tralian expedition.

Camel’s Feet Vinaigrette.
Soak the feet of a young camel. Cook them in a white court-bouillon in the same way as for Calf’s feet. Drain them. Serve with a vinaigrette sauce.

Roast Camel’s Hump.
Only the hump of a very young camel is prepared in this way.
Marinate the meat with oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper, spices. Roast it in the same way as for roast sirloin of beef. Serve with its own gravy and water-cress.

On this topic: For more about the role of camels in the exploration of Australia, see the story on John Horrocks.

Tomorrow’s Story …

All about cucumbers.

Quotation for the Day …

Abu el-Heidja has deflowered in one night
Once eighty virgins, and he did not eat or drink between,
Because he surfeited himself with chickpeas,
And had drunk camel's milk with honey mixed.
Sheik Nefzawi: The Perfumed Garden

On armadillo and hot spices.

Today, November 14 …

Walter Raleigh’s voyage in search of “El Dorado” had gone badly wrong. He was carried ashore at Cayenne (French Guiana) on this day in 1617, ill with a fever. A crowd of curious locals brought food:

“… which they did in great plenty, … and great abundance of pinas, the princess of fruits that grow under the sun, … One of them gave me a beast called by the Spaniards armadillo …”

Few Europeans had tasted pineapple at this time, and even fewer had eaten armadillo, which Raleigh and his men did a few days later. He was no foodie. He did not record his impressions, but subsequent heroes say it is just like chicken, or pork, or rabbit, or duck (not armadillo?). He also made no comment about the spiciness or otherwise of the food, although the name “Cayenne” is now inextricably associated with the “pepper” of that name, which is not pepper, but simply chilli powder after all. Until it arrived in the Old World there was no chilli in Indian food (and no tomato in Italian food – but more on this tomorrow).

“Curry” is not an Indian term, it is an Anglo-Indian concept received in exchange for the love of cricket. The first English recipe for curry occurs in 1747; by the end of that century recipes were common. Sarah Martin included one for curry powder in “The new experienced English-housekeeper…” (1795).

To make Curry Powder.
Take an ounce of the best turmerick beaten and sifted very fine, fourteen bay-leaves beaten and sifted, one large nutmeg, a quarter of an ounce of mace, as much chyan [cayenne] as will lay upon a shilling, mix these well together, put them in a dry wide mouth’d bottle, and keep them in a dry place.

… and to make “curry balls”:

“ … take the yolk of an egg boiled very hard, and a lump of fresh butter the same size, beat it in a small mortar, mix it up with curry powder to a paste, make it into balls the size of a nut, lay them on a saucer, and cover them with a piece of writing paper, set them into an oven, to be made hot, but not to burn them, so send them to the table; these are to be sent on a dish by themselves, for those who like to add them to their sauce.

Tomorrow … Back to the Future.

Food for cowboys and popes

Today, November 8th …

Today commemorates the admission in 1889 of Montana as the forty-first state of the USA. They breed them tough in the mountains, but not so tough that they don't use a euphemism for their biggest culinary specialty. “Rocky mountain oysters” are beef testicles, and the big event of the year in Montana is the “Annual Testicle Festival” (a.k.a “The Testy Festy”) at which two tons of the battered and deep-fried delights are served to hungry aficionados.

Testicles (from a culinary point of view, that is) probably have a greater number of “nice” names than any other food. Even the French sanitise them (slightly) by calling them rognons blancs (“white kidneys”). If you saw bulls’ jewels, cowboy caviar, Montana tendergroin (ouch!), or swinging beef (they gotta be joking!) on a menu, would you order first and ask afterwards?

For obvious reasons, testicles have a reputation as aphrodisiacs, which of course has nothing to do with why Bartolomeo Scappi, the personal cook to Pope Pius V included a recipe for “Pie of Bull’s Testicles” in his collection.

Boil four bull's testicles together with salt. Cut into slices and sprinkle with salt, pepper, nutmeg and cinnamon. Then, in a pie crust, place layers of sliced testicles alternated with mince of lamb's kidneys, ham, marjoram, cloves and thyme.

In recipe books from the days when nothing could be refrigerated, and nothing was wasted, animal testicles were usually called “stones”, and all sorts were used, including those from cockerels, which presumably then were no longer cockerels. They were included in many dishes, particularly pies and fricassees - the traditional repositories of kitchen odds and ends. Here is a recipe from “Receipts of pastry & cookery: for the use of his scholars” by Edward Kidder, a cookery teacher in London in about 1740.

A Lambstone and Sweetbread Pye
Boyle blanch & slice them season them with savory spice lay them in your pye with slicd
artichoke bottoms lay on butter & close your pye [with] A Lear [a thickened sauce, often poured in after a pie was cooked].

Tomorrow … All Hail the apple trees.

Elephant (not) on the menu

Today, November 7th …

Today in the U.S.A is Republican Elephant day, which commemorates the political cartoon drawn by Thomas Nast for Harpers Weekly in 1874. Nast represented the Republican voter as an elephant, and although it was not meant to be complimentary at the time, the party itself adopted the elephant as its symbol, for its size and strength.

What has this got to do with food, you ask? I remember a story about canned elephant meat omelette being served as a publicity stunt at a Miami restaurant during a Republican convention in the 1960’s – a politically incorrect act of astonishing proportions by today’s standards, but one which nevertheless made me wonder what elephant flesh would actually taste like. Absolute abhorrence at the thought of actually eating it does not do away entirely with simple curiosity, so I was forced to look at the reports of others.

Gordon Cumming, great white hunter in Central South Africa in the 1840’s, was enthusiastic: “the feet, thus cooked [in a pit] are excellent, as is also the trunk, which very much resembles buffalo’s tongue.” Dr David Livingstone in 1867 – even extremely hungry - was not:

We get some elephants' meat from the people, but high is no name for its condition. It is very bitter, but we used it as a relish to the maëre porridge … not one of us would touch it with the hand if we had aught else, for the gravy in which we dip our porridge is like an aqueous solution of aloes …

If you read French, and have no conscience, I refer you to Alexandre Dumas’ “Grand Dictionnaire de Cuisine” for a recipe for elephants feet. Otherwise, I offer one for athe “other” pachyderm - cooked hunter’s style to give the illusion of adventure - as described by the French gastronome Baron Brisse in “366 Menus and 1200 recipes” (1868)

Fillet of boar au chasseur.

Soak the fillet for at least two days in olive oil and salt, drain, and simmer in a stew-pan lined with slices of bacon, carrots, onions, a bouquet of mixed herbs, salt, pepper, and equal quantities of stock and white wine; when sufficiently done, drain the fillet, glaze it, and serve with piquant sauce, to which you have added a little of the liquor in which it was cooked, after passing it through a tammy and reducing.

Tomorrow … Food for cowboys and popes ...