"Mais ce grand art exige un artiste qui pense,
Prodigue de génie et non pas de dépense."
(But this grand art demands an artist of taste—
Prodigal of genius and devoid of all waste.)
In his fluent dedication to the Marquis de Voppalière, the writer says:
"I have not been unmindful of economy, either in the manipulation or the preservation of foods.... I have sought to teach how, with little outlay, one may have exquisite viands, and at the same time derive both health and pleasure. Good living is at once the luxury which costs the least; and perhaps of all pleasures it is the most innocent.... You have always held, monsieur, that Wisdom itself should strew flowers in the midst of the thorns that are inseparable from existence. Often at a banquet Wisdom may renew its moral forces. The bonds of society become narrowed, and rivals or enemies are merged into friends or guests. Persons who are entire strangers to each other share in the intimacy of the family, differences of rank become obliterated, weakness is united to power, manners are polished, and the mind takes a fresh flight (l'esprit électrisé prend un nouvel essor). It is perchance in the midst of banquets in the best society of Paris and Versailles that you have acquired that urbanity which characterises you, that familiarity with the grand monde which is enabled to pronounce on everything at a glance."
Every great cook should be able to say with him, "I have inaugurated reforms, improvements, in order to advance from what is good to what is better." Already, "l'Art du Cuisinier" draws attention to the fact that "new dishes," to a large extent, are not new dishes—a chef supplies some new decoration to a plat, adds to or leaves off some ingredient, and christens it with a different name.
The treatise of Beauvilliers has been pronounced by authorities one of the best on the subject. The style is direct, his menu varied and yet not over-ornate, and his formularies, founded on long experience, even yet denote a superior hand. There can be comparatively little trouble in following many of his recipes, they are so precise—save some of his sauces and certain grand dishes, these calling for preparatory Espagnoles, veloutés, Béchamels, and Allemandes, and a larder beyond the reach of the ordinary cook. There are numerous dishes, of course, that one may not procure at home, however deft the presiding genius. One cannot have a constant stock of elaborate preparatory sauces, truffles, cockscombs, Chablis, or champagne to draw from for a single dish, when desired, without very considerable outlay or waste. A grand sauce, a salmon à la Chambord, or an elaborate entrée requires the appurtenances of a restaurant or a club where cookery is conducted on an extensive scale by a professional, though this by no means implies that a dinner beyond criticism may not be served at one's own home.
Early in the nineteenth century Berchoux published his "Gastronomie," and Grimod de la Reynière appeared as the versatile author of the "Almanach des Gourmands." By this time cookery was fully able to take care of itself, irrespective of royalty or titled patrons, and the "Almanach" became its greatest oracle and promoter.