“Very well; I’ll lay a-bed to-day. You may call me this time to-morrow.”
There are two kinds of lampreys—the marine lamprey, found at Worcester and Gloucester, where it is dressed and preserved, to be heated up with a wine. The other, the lampern, is found in the Thames from October till March. The lamprey is in the best condition in April and May. Receipts for dressing lamprey, à la Forey, à la Beauchamp, and à la Beaufort, may be found in Francatelli’s “Modern Cook.”
While on the chapter on fish, I may as well state that the late Marquis de Cussy, prefect of the palace of the first Napoleon, has published a book, in which he states his belief that the Reformation was brought about by the compulsory use of fish and meagre fare on particular days. Here are his words:—
“The schism of Martin Luther was really and seriously occasioned by the fastings and the like punishments inflicted on the true believers of Germany. The spiritual power should never meddle with the kitchen. In consequence of this fault, the situation of the Church was changed in Europe.”
Carème’s thoughts on living on maigre diet are equally curious.
“It is in a lenten kitchen,” he says, “that the cleverness of a cook can shed a brilliant light. It was in the Elysée Imperial, and by the example of the famous Laguipierre and Robert, that I was initiated into this fine branch of the art, and it is inexpressible. The years of ’93 and ’94, in their terrible and devastating course, respected these strong heads (ces fortes têtes). When our valiant First Consul appeared at the head of affairs, our miseries and those of gastronomy finished. When the empire came, one heard of soups and entrées maigres. The splendid maigre first appeared at the table of the Princess Caroline Murat. This was the sanctuary of good cheer, and Murat was one of the first to do penitence. But what a penitence!”
One does not know whether to be indignant or to laugh at this. The old proverb, “set a beggar on horseback and he will ride to the devil,” is undoubtedly true. A few years before the consulate, the ambitious Caroline Buonaparte, afterwards wife of Murat, was, with her mother and the other female members of her family, in so destitute a situation at Marseilles, that they had not the means of buying wood to warm themselves; and as to Murat, her husband, it is well known that he rose from the very dregs of society, his father being a village innkeeper at Bastide Frontonière, in the department of Lot.
It was Murat’s kitchen, Carème tells us, that restored le beau maigre to mother Church. Thus the great chef unfolds his views as to fish dinners:—
“Succulence, variety, and recherche, Murat undoubtedly desired at his table, and his wishes were supplied. But he owed all these things to our great Laguipierre” (his cook!) “whom he loved. What a labour was Laguipierre’s! This glorious establishment of Murat’s, exhibiting the grandeur of a royal household, was dearly loved by all true gastronomes. The causes of its splendour were the magnificence of the prince, the splendid, friendly, and associated talents of M. Robert, his comptroller, and of the famous Laguipierre, his chef de cuisine. I had the happiness, during two years, of being the first assistant of Laguipierre, as well as his friend. In that time we recreated that grand cuisine maigre, and restored le beau maigre to old Mother Church.”
Any one who wishes to dip further into the literature of fish dinners, should read the article on red herrings, in the fourth volume of the “Almanach des Gourmands;” the description of the house of Billiote, whose cookery and cellars were patronized by the whole body of the French clergy, and the description of the account of the table d’hôte, au nom de Jésus, in the Cloître St. Jacques de l’Hôpital, where a fish dinner was served up every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday, for the moderate sum of two francs ten sous. Such a dinner in Imperial France of 1864 would cost four times the money.