Not for Bread Alone Part 7

[Dumas next deals with his anonymous correspondent's question about the etymology of the word moutarde moutarde, before proceeding to treat it from the botanical point of view; and then pa.s.ses to its role in cuisine.]

You ask me, finally, which of the preparations I prefer from the culinary point of view.

Until I tasted and appreciated the mustard of M. Alexandre Bornibus, I used to prefer to all others the aromatic mustards of Maille and Bordin.

But once chance had caused me to taste the Bornibus mustard I realized that the day would come when it would be the champion.

I speak of chance, for here is how it happened. I was writing a novel of which the main scene took place at Bourg-en-Bresse. I obtained information about the shortest way of visiting this town, the stage on which my characters were to perform, and was told: "Go to Macon, a branch line from there will take you straight to Bourg."

I arrived fast asleep at Dijon, heard the cry "Dijon! Dijon!" and then fell into confusion. Was it at Dijon or was it at Macon that there was a branch line to Bourg? I no longer had any idea. Since I had only 133 133 one travelling-bag with me, I jumped down on to the platform from my coach, made for the exit, and asked for the branch line to Bourg.

The ticket-collector, who did not understand what I was trying to say, did not reply, and I found myself outside in the courtyard. I addressed myself to a coachman who was conveniently waiting there.

"The branch line for Bourg?" I asked him.

"For what bourg bourg (place)?" (place)?"

"For Bourg-en-Bresse."

"Ah, well, you're not in the right place. That is at Macon."

I made to re-enter the station. The ticket-collector asked me for my ticket.

"My ticket? I've just given it to you. Look among the tickets which you've just collected and you'll find one for Macon."

While he was looking for it, the locomotive coughed, spat, sneezed, and departed.

"Goodness me," laughed the ticket-collector, "you'll be the first arrival for tomorrow's train."

"But still," said I, "if I'm going to leave tomorrow you'll have to give me back my ticket."

"And here indeed it is," quoth he. "My goodness, yes! It's for Macon, all right. Bah!...Stay the night here."

"So be it," I replied, "and I'll take the opportunity to visit the cathedral and to pay a call on my poor friend Louis Boulanger."

Louis Boulanger, one of those painters whose first works were the most promising, was director of the museum at Dijon, and I was delighted to have this opportunity of seeing him. The only trouble was that I could hardly burst in on him at eleven o'clock in the evening. So I had myself taken to the Hotel du Parc.

I asked for supper. They served me two mutton cutlets and half a cold chicken.

"What mustard do you want?" asked the waiter.

"That of Dijon, of course."

"I know," said he, with the air of someone who was saying to himself "what an imbecile!," "but I'm asking whether you prefer men's mustard or ladies'."

"Oh, oh," said I in turn, "and what difference is there between men's mustard and women's?"

"Ladies'."

"All right, ladies'."

"The fact is, sir, that since a lady's palate is more delicate than a 134 134 man's, the ordinary mustard of Dijon is too strong and too pungent for the ladies, so much so that M. Bornibus has invented a separate mustard for them."

"Who is this M. Bornibus?"

"Oh, sir, he's all the rage as mustard-maker. People here talk of no mustard but his."

"It's true, I know him by reputation, but I don't yet know his mustard.

It would be interesting to taste it here in Dijon. Will you give me some, then?"

"Which of the two?"

"Both of them."

"So monsieur will eat the ladies' mustard?"

"Yes, on the principle of a fortiori a fortiori."

And the waiter served me the two mustards with my cutlets.

I am not a great lover of mustard. Since nature has furnished me with an excellent stomach, I have never made much use of this "preface to the appet.i.te," as Grimod de la Reyniere calls it. But I must say that on this occasion, prompted only by the fine canary colour of this good aperitif, I plunged the wooden spoon into the mustard pot and made two pyramids on my plate, one of the men's mustard and one of the ladies'. And I must also say that from this moment I shed my former self and joined the supporters of Bornibus mustard.

On my return to Paris, I went to visit the premises of M. Bornibus at 60, Boulevard de la Villette. He gave me a tour of the establishment, in the most obliging manner, and explained to me that the superiority of his products derived from the perfection of the handling machinery which he had himself invented, and above all from the way in which he chose and combined his primary ingredients.

There, my dear anonymous correspondent, I think you have all that you sought from me, chronologically, etymologically, botanically, and from the culinary point of view.

135 MADELEINE KAMMAN.

Of Gardens, Herbs, and Wines It was a big bunch of fragrant herbs and some fresh eggs that ended for me, in the spring of 1946, that wintering of the taste buds known as World War II.

When fresh herbs and eggs reappeared in French markets, my mother cooked a most delicious omelet chockful of fines herbs fines herbs-parsley, tarragon, chervil, and chives-and I can honestly say that this simple fare, accompanied by a gla.s.s of Beaujolais, started me on my way to creating food for enjoyment rather than nourishment alone.

Because of the great influence of the cla.s.sic cuisine of France on American cookery at the end of the eighteenth century, these fines herbes fines herbes have long been favorites among American cooks. When it comes to matching food prepared with herbs with the right wine, it is my personal view that there are no set rules and no foolproof system. I think each and every combination of wine and herbs requires a fresh review of the elements involved. I came to this conclusion after I arrived in this country and began using more American (more precisely, Californian) rather than European wines. Soon I realized I needed to reevaluate my whole approach to the subject of "herb usage" within the context of wine service. have long been favorites among American cooks. When it comes to matching food prepared with herbs with the right wine, it is my personal view that there are no set rules and no foolproof system. I think each and every combination of wine and herbs requires a fresh review of the elements involved. I came to this conclusion after I arrived in this country and began using more American (more precisely, Californian) rather than European wines. Soon I realized I needed to reevaluate my whole approach to the subject of "herb usage" within the context of wine service.

Chives, scallion greens, and garlic chives form a group I like to call the pa.s.se partout pa.s.se partout or "go-with-everything" herbs because their onion-like taste complements any type of food and wine; they tend to "agree with" or "go-with-everything" herbs because their onion-like taste complements any type of food and wine; they tend to "agree with"

all vegetables and meats (both white and red meats and fish) and, used in moderation, with all cla.s.ses of wines (red, white, or rose; mellow, dry, or sweetish). The pa.s.se partout pa.s.se partout herbs are best used in combination with other herbs. herbs are best used in combination with other herbs.

A second category, the "parsleys," are important refreshers of the palate, and their gra.s.sy taste helps link the gra.s.sy and herbal flavor in a wine to the dish it accompanies. These herbs are "blenders" or "tamers" of the more pungent herbs, softening p.r.o.nounced perfumes and flavors that could damage the taste of the wine. (They will, for example, tone down the strong, licoricy herbs.) 136 The parsleys include both the curly-leaved and flat Italian types as well as Chinese parsley which, in Central America, is called cilantro.

Be careful with cilantro. Many winemakers cite its ability to "wreck" a wine. Certainly it will destroy any fine white wine. I usually serve dishes flavored with plain cilantro with pleasant but lesser wines, be they white, pink, or red, but if you blend this herb with another flavor like orange rind it becomes much more manageable, lending itself nicely to a light fruity red wine. Used with cheese as in a dish of pasta, it adapts well to a good solid red wine. Both orange rind and cheese act here as bridges between the pungent herb and wine.

Then there are the "turpentine" herbs. The Mediterranean and California bay leaf, the thymes, savories, sages, marjoram, oregano, rosemary, and lavender all originally kept company in the same soils flavored by pine trees and they have acquired some of the same taste characteristics as pine resins. The rule here is: Watch your step because a little goes a long way. I have tasted too much lovely lamb marinated in rosemary for too long, the dish becoming rosemary-with-lamb instead of lamb-with-rosemary. Used without restraint, the herb no longer works as a bridge between meat and wine but overwhelms the palate, masking the nuance and fine flavor of a Cabernet Sauvignon; but this is not the only wine successful with the "turpentine" herbs; try the new California Syrahs from recent years for a real taste revelation. Our climate, after all, is a Mediterranean one.

The mints form a taste category of their own and can require some special handling. Some of our California Cabernets are said to have a "mint" aftertaste, and I enjoy sustaining this ever-so-delicate herbal note in the wine by adding some mint to the dish I will serve with it.

A pan-fried beef steak dry-marinated with a mixture of mint, parsley, and garlic is wonderful for this. Always minimize mint to a faint hint and always use it in combination with compatible "blenders" like parsley and garlic. For red meats presented with mint, I like to add a bit of allspice to the marinade or sauce to tie the tastes of the mint, meat, and wine together.

Basil, a member of the mint family, behaves in recipes much like that herb when placed in combination with wine. Favorite preparations featuring basil's irreplaceable flavor, such as pesto and bouillabaisse, as a rule employ other ingredients to modify its very dominant taste (pignoli and cheese in the pesto; fennel, saffron, and orange rind in the bouillabaisse). This modification allows basil's strong flavor to blend well with a variety of wines.

137 Yet another herb category provides tastes of anise or licorice or a mixture of both. Members of this group come in the form of seeds such as fennel, anise, dill, caraway, and coriander. These are easy to powder and introduce into dressings and sauces or crush and add to a reduction of white wine. Again, use just a little for a subtle hint rather than a dominant note. I prefer these with fish or white-meated poultry accompanied by white wines that have undergone malolactic fermentation and been aged into a rounded mouthful. Fresh herbs of these anisey flavors such as tarragon, chervil and fennel and angelica greens are harder to handle because they a.s.sert themselves so radically; too much tarragon in a sauce or dry marinade will sink your wine into the flavor of the herb. Your recourse is to blend these herbs with parsley and one of the onion-flavored herbs.

And what of the peppery flavors from horseradish, nasturtiums, and the sweet and hot peppers? Personally, I am not partial to any frankly peppery taste with wine. I like to enjoy either one or the other. But I must admit that finely chopped nasturtiums introduced into a reduction of excellent Chardonnay and finished with b.u.t.ter and a bit of cream can be quite good.

In Europe the art of marrying wines and herbs is simple: use the herbs produced by a region with the beverages enjoyed in that region-chives with Normandy cider, for instance, or herbs for bouillabaisse (fennel, basil, thyme, bay leaf, saffron, orange rind) with a wine of the Mediterranean region (a Ca.s.sis, a Bandol, or a white Chateauneuf-du-Pape).

This way you can be certain both herbs and wine will harmonize, exhibiting characteristics of the same soils.

But in California things get a lot more complicated. Here in the Napa Valley, for example, where we have sixty-four different types of soils, the Chardonnay or Sauvignon Blanc grown in one soil differs from that grown in another, and our herbs display similar differences in taste.

Quite a quandary for the cook! My response to this more complex picture is to divide my herbs into basic taste categories, appraise the strength of each herb within its category, and work from there.

138 HARRY MATHEWS.

Country Cooking from Central France: Roast Boned Rolled Stuffed Shoulder of Lamb (Farce Double) FOR MAXINE GROFFSKY.

Here is an old French regional dish for you to try. Attempts by pre-sumptuous chefs to refine it have failed to subdue its basically hearty nature. It demands some patience, but you will be abundantly rewarded for your pains.

Farce double-literally, double stuffing-is the specialty of La Tour Lambert, a mountain village in Auvergne, that rugged heart of the Ma.s.sif Central. I have often visited La Tour Lambert: the first time was in late May, when farce double farce double is traditionally served. I have observed the dish being made and discussed it with local cooks. is traditionally served. I have observed the dish being made and discussed it with local cooks.

The latter were skeptical about reproducing farce double farce double elsewhere-not out of pride, but because they were afraid the dish would make no sense to a foreigner. (It is your duty to prove them wrong-and nothing would make them happier if you did.) Furthermore, they said, certain ingredients would be hard to find. Judicious subst.i.tution is our answer to that. Without it, after all, we would have to forgo most foreign cooking not out of a can. elsewhere-not out of pride, but because they were afraid the dish would make no sense to a foreigner. (It is your duty to prove them wrong-and nothing would make them happier if you did.) Furthermore, they said, certain ingredients would be hard to find. Judicious subst.i.tution is our answer to that. Without it, after all, we would have to forgo most foreign cooking not out of a can.

The shoulder of lamb itself requires attention. You must buy it from a butcher who can dress it properly. Tell him to include the middle neck, the shoulder chops in the brisket, and part of the foreshank.

Without them, the stuffing will fall out of the roast.

In Auvergne, preparing the cut is no problem, since whole lambs are roasted: the dish is considered appropriate for exceptional, often communal feasts, of a kind that has become a rarity with us.

All bones must be removed. If you leave this to the butcher, have him save them for the deglazing sauce. The fell or filament must be kept intact, or the flesh may crumble.

139.

Set the boned forequarter on the kitchen table. Do not slice off the purple inspection stamps but scour them with a brush dipped in a weak solution of lye. The meat will need all the protection it can get. Rinse and dry.

Marinate the lamb in a mixture of 2 quarts of white wine, 2 quarts of olive oil, the juice of 16 lemons, salt, pepper, 16 crushed garlic cloves, 10 coa.r.s.ely chopped yellow onions, basil, sage, rosemary, melilot, ginger, allspice, and a handful of juniper berries. The juniper adds a pungent, authentic note. In Auvergne, shepherds pick the berries in late summer when they drive their flocks from the mountain pastures. They deposit the berries in La Tour Lambert, where they are pickled through the winter in cider brandy. The preparation is worth making, but demands foresight.

If no bowl is capacious enough for the lamb and its marinade, use a washtub. Without a tub, you must improvise. Friends of mine in Paris resort to their bidet; Americans may have to fall back on the kitchen sink, which is what I did the first time I made farce double farce double. In La Tour Lambert, most houses have stone marinating troughs. Less favored citizens use the munic.i.p.al troughs in the entrance of a cave in the hill-side, just off the main square.

The lamb will have marinated satisfactorily in 5 or 6 days.

Allow yourself 3 hours for the stuffings. The fish b.a.l.l.s or quenelles that are their main ingredient can be prepared a day in advance and refrigerated until an hour before use.

The quenelles of La Tour Lambert have traditionally been made from chaste chaste, a fish peculiar to the mountain lakes of Auvergne. The name, a dialect word meaning "fresh blood," may have been suggested by the color of its spreading gills, through which it ingests its food. (It is a mouthless fish.) It is lured to the surface with a skein of tiny beads that resemble the larvae on which it preys, then bludgeoned with an under-water boomerang. Chaste Chaste has coa.r.s.e, yellow-white flesh, with a mild but inescapable taste. It has been vaguely and mistakenly identified as a perch; our American perch, however, can replace it, provided it has been caught no more than 36 hours before cooking. Other subst.i.tutes are salt.w.a.ter fish such as silver hake or green cod. If you use a dry-fleshed fish, remember to order beef-kidney fat at the butcher's to add to the fish paste. (Be sure to grind it separately.) To a saucepan filled with 2 cups of cold water, add salt, pepper, 2 has coa.r.s.e, yellow-white flesh, with a mild but inescapable taste. It has been vaguely and mistakenly identified as a perch; our American perch, however, can replace it, provided it has been caught no more than 36 hours before cooking. Other subst.i.tutes are salt.w.a.ter fish such as silver hake or green cod. If you use a dry-fleshed fish, remember to order beef-kidney fat at the butcher's to add to the fish paste. (Be sure to grind it separately.) To a saucepan filled with 2 cups of cold water, add salt, pepper, 2 pinches of grated nutmeg, and 6 tablespoons of b.u.t.ter. Boil. Off heat, begin stirring in 2 cups of flour and continue as you again bring the 140 140 water to a boil. Take off heat. Beat in 5 eggs, one at a time, then 5 egg whites. Let the liquid cool.

Earlier, you will have ground 3 pounds of fish with a mortar and pestle-heads, tails, bones, and all-and forced them through a coa.r.s.e sieve. Do not not use a grinder, blender, or Cuisinart. The sieve of La Tour Lambert is an elegant sock of meshed copper wire, with a fitted ashwood plunger. It is kept immaculately bright. Its apertures are shrewdly gauged to crumble the bones without pulverizing the flesh. Into the strained fish, mix small amounts of salt, white pepper, nutmeg, and chopped truffles-fresh ones, if possible. use a grinder, blender, or Cuisinart. The sieve of La Tour Lambert is an elegant sock of meshed copper wire, with a fitted ashwood plunger. It is kept immaculately bright. Its apertures are shrewdly gauged to crumble the bones without pulverizing the flesh. Into the strained fish, mix small amounts of salt, white pepper, nutmeg, and chopped truffles-fresh ones, if possible.

Stir fish and liquid into an even paste.

Two hours before, you will have refrigerated 1 cup of the heaviest cream available. Here, of course, access to a cow is a blessing.

The breathtakingly viscid cream of La Tour Lambert is kept in specially excavated cellars. Those without one use the town chiller, in the middle depths-cool but not cold-of the cave mentioned earlier. Often I have watched the attendant women entering and emerging from that room, dusky figures in cowls, shawls, and long gray gowns, bearing earthenware jugs like offerings to a saint.

Beat the cool cream into the paste. Do it slowly: think of those erect, deliberate Auvergnat women as they stand in the faint gloom of the cave, beating with gestures of timeless calm. It should take at least 15 minutes to complete the task.

At some previous moment, you will have made the stuffing for the quenelles. (This is what makes the stuffing "double.") It consists of the milt of the fish and the sweetbreads of the lamb, both the neck and stomach varieties. (Don't forget to mention them them to your butcher.) The milt is rapidly blanched. The sweetbreads are diced, salted, spiced with freshly ground hot pepper, and tossed for 6 minutes in clarified b.u.t.ter. to your butcher.) The milt is rapidly blanched. The sweetbreads are diced, salted, spiced with freshly ground hot pepper, and tossed for 6 minutes in clarified b.u.t.ter.

Both are then chopped very fine (blender permitted) and kneaded into an unctuous ma.s.s with the help of 1 cup of lamb marrow and 3 tablespoons of aged Madeira.

I said at the outset that I am in favor of appropriate subst.i.tutions in preparing farce double: farce double: but even though one eminent authority has suggested it, stuffing the quenelles with banana peanut b.u.t.ter is not appropriate. but even though one eminent authority has suggested it, stuffing the quenelles with banana peanut b.u.t.ter is not appropriate.

The quenelles must now be shaped. Some writers who have discoursed at length on the traditional Auvergnat shape urge its adoption at all costs. I disagree. For the inhabitants of La Tour Lambert, who attach great significance to farce double farce double, it may be right to feel strongly 141 141 on this point. The same cannot be said for families in Maplewood or Orange County. You have enough to worry about as it is. If you are, however, an incurable stickler, you should know that in Auvergne molds are used. They are called beurdes beurdes (they are, coincidentally, shaped like birds), and they are available here. You can find them in any of the better head shops. (they are, coincidentally, shaped like birds), and they are available here. You can find them in any of the better head shops.

But forget about bird molds. Slap your fish paste onto a board and roll it flat. Spread on stuffing in parallel -inch bands 2 inches apart.

Cut paste midway between bands, roll these strips into cylinders, and slice the cylinders into sections no larger than a small headache. Dip each piece in truffle crumbs.

I refuse to become involved in the pros and cons of presteaming the quenelles. The only steam in La Tour Lambert is a rare fragrant wisp from the dampened fire of a roasting pit.

We now approach a crux in the preparation of farce double: farce double: enveloping the quenelles and binding them into the lamb. I must make a stern observation here; and you must listen to it. You must take it absolutely to heart. enveloping the quenelles and binding them into the lamb. I must make a stern observation here; and you must listen to it. You must take it absolutely to heart.

If the traditional ways of enveloping the quenelles are arduous, they are in no way gratuitous. On them depends an essential component of farce double farce double, namely the subtle interaction of lamb and fish. While the quenelles (and the poaching liquid that bathes them) must be largely insulated from the encompa.s.sing meat, they should not be wholly so.

The quenelles must not be drenched in roasting juice or the lamb in fishy broth, but an exchange should occur, definite no matter how mild.

Do not under any circ.u.mstance under any circ.u.mstance use a baggie or Saran Wrap to enfold the quenelles. Of course it's easier. So are TV dinners. For once, demand the utmost of yourself: the satisfaction will astound you, and use a baggie or Saran Wrap to enfold the quenelles. Of course it's easier. So are TV dinners. For once, demand the utmost of yourself: the satisfaction will astound you, and there is no there is no other way other way.

I mentioned this misuse of plastic to a native of La Tour Lambert.

My interlocutor, as if appealing for divine aid, leaned back, lifted up his eyes, and stretched forth his arms. He was standing at the edge of a marinating trough; its edges were slick with marinade. One foot shot forward, he teetered for one moment on the brink, and then down he went. Dripping oil, encrusted with fragrant herbs, he emerged briskly and burst into tears.

There are two methods. I shall describe the first only briefly: it is the one used by official cooks for public banquets. Cawl (tripe skin) is sc.r.a.ped free of fat and rubbed with pumice stone to a thinness approach-ing nonexistence. This gossamer is sewn into an open pouch, which is 142 142 filled with the quenelles and broth before being sewn shut. The sealing of the pouch is preposterously difficult. I have tried it six times; each time, ineluctable burstage has ensued. Even the nimble-fingered, thimble-thumbed seamstresses of La Tour Lambert find it hard. In their floodlit corner of the festal cave, they are surrounded by a sizable choir of wailing boys whose task is to aggravate their intention to a pitch of absolute, sustained concentration. If the miracle always occurs, it is never less than miraculous.

The second method is to seal the quenelles inside a clay sh.e.l.l. This demands no supernatural skills, merely attention.

Purveyors of reliable cooking clay now exist in all major cities. The best are Italian. In New York, the most dependable are to be found in east Queens.

Stretch and tack down two 18-inch cheesecloth squares. Sprinkle until soaking (mop up puddles, however). Distribute clay in pats and roll flat until entire surface is evenly covered. The layer of clay should be no more than 1/16 inch thick. Scissor edges clean.

Drape each square on an overturned 2-quart bowl. Fold back flaps.

Mold into hemispheres. Check fit, then dent edge of each hemisphere with forefinger so that when dents are facing each other, they form a -inch hole.

Be sure to prepare the sh.e.l.l at least 48 hours in advance so that it hardens properly. (If you are a potter, you can bake it in the oven; if not, you risk cracking.) As the drying clay flattens against the cheesecloth, tiny holes will appear. Do not not plug them. Little will pa.s.s through them: just enough to allow the necessary exchange of savors. plug them. Little will pa.s.s through them: just enough to allow the necessary exchange of savors.

Make the poaching liquid-3 quarts of it-like ordinary fish stock.

The wine used for this in Auvergne is of a local sparkling variety not on the market; but any good champagne is an acceptable subst.i.tute.