FRENCH KITCHENS.
To such of my readers as may visit Paris, I presume to suggest that they will be amused and perhaps surprised by examining two or three French kitchens. The space appropriated to culinary purposes, even in establishments containing numerous inmates, is in general less than one-half the size of the apartment used for similar purposes amongst us. The cooking is done by "a range," which usually occupies one-third of the room. Covers, stewpans, saucepans, salad baskets, ladles, &c., appear on the shelves or hang thickly upon the walls. They are very cleanly in appearance. The French own Cayenne, but I never met a French cook who was acquainted with such a stimulant as Cayenne pepper, nor did I ever see it at table. Mushrooms are profusely used in a variety of ways, and by their extensive artificial cultivation, are procurable almost in all seasons, but catsup appears to be unknown, nor is there a specific word in the language by which it can be expressed. The French have been contemptuously designated "frog-eaters," but if you wish to indulge in a repast of frogs, you will have to pay as much for it as would procure you a far larger portion of turtle in London or Liverpool. The hind-quarters of the frog are the only parts used in French cookery. Snails are highly esteemed, and enormous quantities are displayed for sale, in baskets or barrels, at certain houses, which exhibit inscriptions that they are celebrated for snails (specialité pour escargots.) I tried a plate once, and must candidly admit that the stomach overcame the palate, or perhaps I should say that prejudice conquered judgment. I have never seen them served up to table, unless in soup, and my plate contained at least a dozen. I took one, thought it a delicious morsel, swallowed it, and essayed another. Nothing could be nicer, and down it went, but then my stomach suggested that I was eating snails. In vain the palate pleaded; I could go no further, and compromised with the stomach that if it retained the two, no more should be offered. I do not consider myself an epicure, but can easily imagine that a lover of dainties might regret that he had not been trained in early life to take, without repugnance, a mess of snails.
If you fancy corned beef and the vulgar vegetable which is abundantly used, but never named at our tables by lips polite, let your thoughts revert to home, and postpone the repast, until your return, for at a French table it is not to be seen. If you get a nice slice of ham you are at liberty to wish for a little strong Irish mustard to give it a relish; the French mustard is made with vinegar and flavored with garlic, and is certainly a very unpleasant contrast to ours. If you wish for pepper or salt, turn the haft of your silver or plated fork and help yourself with it. I never saw a salt-spoon or pepper-castor at a French table.