"And oh! what lovely, beautiful eating there is in this world!" It is Heine who said it—Heine who, for a good dinner, would have given twice the three hundred years of eternal fame offered by Voltaire for a good digestion. But lovely and beautiful are but feeble words when it is a question of the mess of mushrooms, for which who would not sacrifice eternal fame for ever, in all cheerfulness and glee?
The reigning sultana in the mushroom's harem is the brilliant golden egg. Sweet symphonies in brown and gold are the dishes their union yields. Œufs brouillés aux champignons—has not the very name a pretty sound? It is a delight best suited to the midday breakfast; a joyous course to follow the anchovy salad, the eel well smoked, or whatever dainty hors d'œuvre may stimulate to further appetite. The eggs, scrambled and rivalling the buttercup's rich gold, are laid delicately on crisp toast, and present a couch, soft as down, for a layer of mushrooms. Let Ruskin rave of Turner's sunsets, let the glory of the Venetians be a delight among art critics; but when did Turner or Titian or Tintoret invent a finer scheme of colour than egg and mushroom thus combined for the greater happiness of the few? A silver dish or one of rarest porcelain should be frame for a picture so perfect.
Borrow a hint from the Hungarians, and vary the arrangement to your own profit. Make a purée of the mushrooms, as rich as cream permits, and offer it as foundation for eggs poached deftly and swiftly: a harmony in soft dove-like greys and pale yellow, the result. It is an admirable contrivance, a credit to Szomorodni-drinking Magyars. And there is no known reason why it should not be eaten on Thames side as on the banks of the Danube. Szomorodni, in its native splendour, alas! is not to be had in London town. But, without sacrilege, Chablis or Graves, or Sauterne may take its place. To drink red wine would be to strike a false note in the harmony.
Another day, another dish, which you cannot do better than make omelette aux champignons. And if you will, you may eat it even as it was prepared for Royal Stuarts by Master Cook Rose, who wrote almost as prettily as he cooked. Thus:—"Stove your champignons between two dishes, season them with salt, pepper, and nutmeg, then make an omelette with a dozen of eggs, and when he is ready cover him over with your champignons, and fold him up, triangle-wise, and serve him with the juice of lemons over him." A royal dish, indeed.
Creatures of infinite resources, eggs and mushrooms meet in cases to produce a new and distinct joy. The mushrooms, stewed in milk thickened with the yolks of raw eggs and bread-crumbs, line the little fluted china cases; into each a fresh egg is broken; then more mushrooms and bread-crumbs are spread gently above; a shallow pan, its bottom just covered with hot water, receives the cases, and ten minutes in the oven will complete a triumph which, once tasted, you may well remember all the days of your life.
The kidney is loved by the mushroom scarce less tenderly than the egg. Rognons aux champignons, fragrant rich, ravishing, may also be claimed by the happy midday hour. And like so many a noble dish, it lavishes upon you the pleasures of anticipation. For the kidneys, cut in slices and laid in thickened gravy, must stew slowly, slowly—never boiling, unless you would have them vie with leather in consistency. At an early stage the mushrooms, also in pieces, may be added, and pepper and salt according to inclination. And slowly, slowly let the stewing continue. At the last supreme moment pour in a glass of generous red wine, or if it please you more, Marsala, and serve without delay. Chambertin, or Nuits, at peace in its cradle, is surely the wine decreed by fate to drink with so sublime a creation.
With the tender filet, mushrooms prove irresistible; with the graceful cutlet they seem so ravishing that even sauce Soubise, the once inseparable, may for the moment be easily forgotten. And veal is no less susceptible to its charms: let noisettes de veau aux champignons be the entrée of to-morrow's dinner, and you will return thanks to your deliverer from the roast!
As sauce, mushroom is the chosen one of fowl and fish alike. Join your mushrooms to Béchamel, one of the great mother sauces, and you will have the wonder that Carême, its creator, served first to the Princesse de B. How resist so aristocratic a precedent? Grasse, or maigre, you can make it, as the season demands. Or to a like end you may devote that other marvel, purée de champignons à la Laguipierre, whose patron was the great Louis de Rohan, and into whose mysteries Carême was initiated by the "Grand M. Dunan." Ham, tomato, nutmeg, pepper, lemon juice, are the chief ingredients that enter into its composition. Who, after testing it, will dare find naught but vexation and vanity in the reign of the Sixteenth Louis? Subtle variation may be had by substituting as foundation, sauce à la régence or sauce à la princesse for sauce Béchamel; while a sensation apart springs from the lofty alliance between oysters and mushrooms.
How natural that for masterpieces in mushrooms royalty so often has stood sponsor! Upon the Prince of Wurtemberg rests the glorious responsibility of Seine shad à la purée de champignons. If history records not his name, a prince—in spirit at least—must also have been the first happy man to eat red mullets aux champignons, or eels aux huîtres et aux champignons; show yourself as princely before you are a week older. While a king was he who first smiled upon that kingly ragoût of mushrooms, mussels, and shrimps. Be you a king in your turn—there are few pleasures equal to it.
"For white fowls of all sort," Mrs Glasse recommends her mushroom sauce, thus giving loose reins to the artist's fancy. The fowl may be boiled, and then rich with cream must be the sauce that redeems it from insipidity. It may be roasted, and then let the mushrooms be somewhat more in evidence. Or it may be broiled, and then mayhap it would be wise to grill the mushrooms whole, instead of converting them into sauce. Or—here is another suggestion, and be thankful for it—mince your chicken, which toast will receive gladly as a covering and set upon it, as already upon œufs brouillés, the mushrooms grilled in butter. Long might you live, far might you wander, before chancing upon another delicacy so worthy. Though, truth to tell—and where gastronomy is the subject it is always best to be honest—croquettes de poulet aux champignons seem well-nigh worthier. If you would decide for yourself, try both, and joy go with you in the trying.