Choice Cuts

by Mark Kurlansky

  I remember Valenti telling me of some banquet at Nice at which he had once served, and of how it cost two hundred thousand francs and was talked of for months afterwards. “It was splendid, mon p’tit, mais magnifique! Jesus Christ! The champagne, the silver, the orchids—I have never seen anything like them, and I have seen some things. Ah, it was glorious!”

  “But,” I said, “you were only there to wait?”

  “Oh, of course. But still, it was splendid.”

  The moral is, never be sorry for a waiter. Sometimes when you sit in a restaurant, still stuffing yourself half an hour after closing time, you feel that the tired waiter at your side must surely be despising you. But he is not. He is not thinking as he looks at you, “What an overfed lout”; he is thinking, “One day, when I have saved enough money, I shall be able to imitate that man.” He is ministering to a kind of pleasure he thoroughly understands and admires. And that is why waiters are seldom Socialists, have no effective trade union, and will work twelve hours a day—they work fifteen hours, seven days a week, in many cafés. They are snobs, and they find the servile nature of their work rather congenial.

  —from Down and Out in Paris and London, 1933

  A. J. LIEBLING AGAINST FOOD THAT DOES NOT KNOW ITS OWN MIND

  I like tastes that know their own minds. The reason that people who detest fish often tolerate sole is that sole doesn’t taste very much like fish, and even this degree of resemblance disappears when it is submerged in the kind of sauce that patrons of Piedmontese restaurants in London and New York think characteristically French. People with the same apathy toward decided flavor relish “South African lobster” tails—frozen as long as the Siberian mammoth—because they don’t taste lobstery. (“South African lobsters” are a kind of sea crayfish, or langouste, but that would be nothing against them if they were fresh.) They prefer processed cheese because it isn’t cheesy, and synthetic vanilla extract because it isn’t vanillary. They have made a triumph of the Delicious apple because it doesn’t taste like an apple, and of the Golden Delicious because it doesn’t taste like anything. In a related field, “dry” (non-beery) beer and “light” (non-Scotchlike) Scotch are more of the same. The standard of perfection for vodka (no color, no taste, no smell) was expounded to me long ago by the then Estonian consul-general in New York, and it accounts perfectly for the drink’s rising popularity with those who like their alcohol in conjunction with the reassuring tastes of infancy—tomato juice, orange juice, chicken broth. It is the ideal intoxicant for the drinker who wants no reminder of how hurt Mother would be if she knew what he was doing.

  —from Between Meals, 1959

  KARL FRIEDRICH VON RUMOHR ON EMOTIONS TO BE AVOIDED WHILE EATING

  There are some emotions which occasion an excessive surge of bile; others excite the nervous system and cause harmful contractions of the digestive system; some states of mind actually impair the function of these organs.

  The following emotions will have the effects mentioned:

  Firstly: Indignation. In this case the provocation occurs when an unexpected occurrence gives offence to our own person, to our friends or even to our opinions. Anyone with proper feelings will not inflict a personal insult on someone else without good reason but it is particularly important that intentional insults be totally avoided during mealtimes. Inexperienced people who are not accustomed to social intercourse are, however, very likely to fall into the trap of unintentionally insulting others. Any intelligent person who notices them should therefore not take them too seriously. He should control himself, so that he does not himself become the victim of pointless indignation. On the other hand, it is easy to offend people quite unintentionally if they are not very bright and do not have the capacity to interpret correctly every nuance of an expression. When speaking to stupid people, intelligent guests will therefore measure their words much more precisely, taking special care to avoid irony, which is usually completely lost on the simple-minded. If everyone at the table is stupid, it is most fortunate if they are all of a phlegmatic temperament. If the reverse is true, it will be useful to play loud music during the meal, a practice which I reject as harmful and disruptive in any other circumstances.

  We tend to be much more ambivalent about insults offered to friends than about those which affect ourselves. It is, however, impossible to suggest any firm rule here because the social nuances of friendship are so very varied. Suffice it to say that we should take particular care to protect both very new friends and our long-established, well-tried friends. This is because those friends who are neither brand new, nor semi-retired, tend to be more ambivalent towards us.

  Insulting a man’s opinions is a most delicate matter which should be avoided if at all possible. For people have the highest opinion of their own opinions; they treasure them like children; in fact, the more they feel unable to formulate different or new opinions, the more they will value the existing ones.

  There are two distinct types of opinion. One type will gradually become firmly embedded in the soul during a man’s lifetime while the second type will strike the soul like a flash of lightning. The first type should never ever be approached too closely but the second type can always be assailed through jokes and other intellectual artillery, so that they explode and rumble around as they did originally.

  Secondly: Anger. Anger is aroused by provocative speech which imperceptibly increases a man’s indignation until it becomes a lasting mood. Therefore anger is no more than a state of prolonged indignation and is induced by the same factors. If one refrains from arousing indignation, anger will also be avoided. Once a man’s indignation has been aroused, however, there is still time to divert his anger. As we may occasionally prevent a conflagration by tearing down a building, a state of indignation can likewise be soothed by calm and indulgence, together with appropriate apologies. The threat of approaching anger will then be quelled.

  Thirdly: Annoyance. This is a state of suppressed anger which is again induced by the same factors as the above. The difference here is that the angry man is unable to express his feelings, either because he is overexcited or because he is nervous and afraid. As the vicious hyena is the most terrible of the hunting animals, so this particular mood will be the most detrimental to a meal.

  The following states of mind will cause contractions of the stomach:

  Firstly: Embarrassment. This normally arises from conversations in which no-one succeeds in expressing his opinion properly. The people most prone to this harmful state of mind are married couples and friends who are harbouring some sort of mistrust, grudge or resentment against each other but are not yet ready to give vent to their feelings. It is best in such cases if the parties concerned have a good, frank discussion some time before the meal and, if they find themselves unable to iron out the misunderstandings, they should not eat together. Embarrassment may also arise where the people around a table are not equally endowed from an intellectual point of view, or where their standards of education and cultivation are too disparate, so that no one person is willing to drop his guard before his fellows. During a meal therefore, no-one should boast and press his superior knowledge, nor should he hold forth in languages which are not adequately understood by the other guests. I should even like to advise people against vague, half-baked attempts at making their fellows aware of any class differences because this can cause a certain degree of embarrassment where their intellectual capacity is otherwise equal. Embarrassment will reach its most dangerous extreme where people get involved in conversations in which they find themselves unable either to agree wholeheartedly or to openly disagree. In such circumstances it is useful to call upon people such as diplomats who are accustomed to not speaking their minds too openly in their tinpot political discussions. In this particular case, it will be a great advantage if such a person is well schooled in the art of charming others and is graced with a lively and sociable sense of humour. He will then find it quite easy to engage others in innocent, amusing conversation whic
h will not dry up.

  Secondly: Humiliation. A table-fellow will feel humiliated if attention is drawn to any of his physical or spiritual defects or weaknesses, infirmities or even vices, which are not suitable for mention in polite company. We all encounter some unfortunate incidents during our lives and allusions to these can be most unpleasant. We tend to feel much more ashamed about specific incidents in our lives simply because we feel that others then consider us capable of, or likely to, cause such incidents. People who have an exalted opinion of themselves, or who at least consider themselves superior to others should never be made to feel their vacuousness and negativity during the course of a meal. If action becomes unavoidable, corrective sermons should be preached during the hours of the morning. Unless the offenders are totally inured, they will necessarily feel very ashamed. People who are very foolish will also feel ashamed if they are made aware of a superiority of rank or wealth.

  It is merciful to spare people other forms of humiliation and, when at the table, it is wise to harden oneself against all types of shame.

  Thirdly: Uneasiness. This arises when conversation is fickle and irrelevant; when everyone tries to speak at once; when no-one has any accurate knowledge of the topic of conversation and, finally, when illogical people try to debate a subject, even if they do have some knowledge of it.

  The threat of uneasiness can easily be avoided during a meal if people try to control themselves and restrain their own vanity and egotism.

  Fourthly: Stress. This is caused when people try to express concepts which others find irksome and difficult to understand. Conversations touching upon metaphysics and mathematics should be banned forever from our tables. Admittedly, the Greeks had quite different ideas on this subject but we poor Germans even find it difficult to express ourselves clearly and succinctly on matters of domestic and public life.

  The following states of mind may impair the function of the digestive organs:

  Firstly: Sleepiness. This dangerous mood may be caused by a person’s own thoughtlessness but is more likely to arise when one particular guest monopolises the conversation, rolling out meaningless thoughts in a wearisome tone.

  Secondly: Stupefaction. This is the result of excessive noise or meaningless, confused talk, violent laughter and other exaggerated behaviour. Playing music during meals tends to stupefy people and is therefore reprehensible. Many years ago, Shakespeare accused the Germans of being too noisy at the table. Nowadays this reproach applies only to the public rooms in German inns or to the civic banquets held in some areas, rather than to the German nation as a whole.

  —from The Essence of Cookery, 1822,

  translated from the German by Barbara Yeomans

  MARTIAL AGAINST POETRY AT THE TABLE

  Whether or not Apollo fled from the table

  Thyestes ate his sons at, I’m unable

  To say; what I can vouch for is our wish

  To escape your dinner parties. Though each dish

  Is lavish and superb, the pleasure’s nil

  Since you recite your poems. To hell with brill,

  Mushrooms and two-pound turbots! I don’t need

  Oysters: give me a host who doesn’t read.

  —from Epigrams, first century A.D.,

  translated from the Latin by James Michie

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  On Bread Alone

  GALEN ON REFINED BREAD

  Those who have devoted thought to the preparation of refined bread have discovered a food with little nourishment, but it does avoid, as far as is possible, the harm that comes from blockages. This bread is the least thick and viscous, since it is more airy than earthy. Its lightness is observed from its weight and from it not sinking in water, but rather bobbing on the surface like a cork.

  Although the people who live in the countryside around me cook large quantities of wheat flour with milk, it should be understood that this food causes blockages. All such foods that contain good juices and are nourishing, harm those who use them constantly, by creating blockages in the liver and generating stones in the kidneys. For when the raw juice acquires viscosity—whenever the passages through the kidneys are in some people by nature rather narrow—whatever is very thick and viscous is ready to generate the sort of scale that forms on pots in which water is heated, and is deposited around stones in many of the waters that are naturally hot. The temperament of the kidneys is a contributory factor, especially when its heat is fiery and sharp.

  Robert Doisneau, Picasso and the Loaves, 1952 (Robert Doisneau/Rapho)

  In this category lies the scale that forms in diseased joints. For everything superfluous always flows into the weakest areas and causes whatever condition is appropriate to the nature of the individual. There will shortly be a discussion on its complete use in the section about milk, just as there will be one on fattening foods, since there are some other foods that contain the same power.

  —from On the Powers of Foods, A.D.180,

  translated from the Latin by Mark Grant

  PLATINA ON BREAD

  In 1421, Platina was born to a poor family in Piadena, a village near Cremona. His original name was Bartolomeo Sacchi, but he was known by many other names. He called himself Platina, though it is not certain why. He served as a soldier of fortune in the wars between great Italian Renaissance princes. In his thirties, he turned to writing and moved to Florence, the heart of the southern Renaissance at its height. De honesta voluptate et Valetudine, On Right Pleasure and Good Health, was written about 1465. Some 40 percent of the recipes were lifted directly from the leading Renaissance chef, Martino, and among the other involuntary contributors is Pliny. But Platina admitted these debts openly. He was in particular an admirer of Martino and his only goal was a lively compendium on food.

  —M.K.

  Among the fruits of earth discovered for man’s use, grain is the most useful. According to Celsus, its kinds are considered spelt, rice, pearl barley, starch, wheat, winter wheat, and the kind of spelt which the ancients called adoreum, from which we get the word “adore,” so called because offerings of cakes made from adoreum were preferred to the gods. Nothing is more productive and pleasant or more nourishing than wheat, which nourishes much more if it is grown in the hills and not on the plain.

  Barley is considered the noblest grain of all because it wants to be sown in dry, loose earth, because it matures quickly, and because of the slenderness of its stalk, it is cut before all other grains. Polenta and a sweetened broth are more advantageously made from it than from bread for those who are ill. I do not believe that the African winter wheat whose bread the ancients praised was in any way like that which our own age eats, because there is no kind of bread more unpalatable than this, and because it represses the appetite to no purpose.

  Anyone, therefore, who does baking should use flour [farina] which is well-ground from wheat, although farina is so-called from far, ground grain. From this, he should separate the bran and the inferior flour with a very fine flour sieve, then put the flour, with warm water and some salt, on a baker’s table closed in at the sides, as the people at Ferrara in Italy are accustomed to do. If you live in damp places and a bit of leaven is used, [the baker], with help from his associates, kneads to that consistency at which bread can be made fairly easily. Let the baker be careful not to put in too much or too little leaven, for, from the former, bread can acquire a sour taste, and, from the latter, it can become too heavy to digest and too unhealthy, since it binds the bowels. Bread should be well-baked in an oven and not used the same day, nor is it especially nourishing when made from very fresh wheat and if it is digested slowly.

  —from On Right Pleasure and Good Health, c. 1465,

  translated from the Latin by Mary Ella Milham

  MARJORIE KINNAN RAWLINGS ON HOT BISCUITS AND DUTCH OVEN ROLLS

  Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings was born in Washington, D.C. At the age of thirty-two she moved to Cross Creek, Florida, and began writing about rural life there. Her best-known novel i
s The Yearling. Cross Creek, about her adopted home, is rich in food lore and revealed the already established novelist to be one of the great American food writers. It was followed by a cookbook, Cross Creek Cookery.

  —M.K.

  The hot biscuit runs a poor second to cornbread, but is considered of higher social caste. We abrogate and deprecate cornbread when we have guests, but we should consider ourselves deficient in hospitality if we served a company meal without hot biscuits. We cannot conceive of a guest’s not relishing them, and a tale is told of a visitor to the South who never got to taste a hot biscuit, solely from his hostess’ zeal in trying to provide them hot. It seems that the visitor was a great conversationalist, and as the hot biscuits were passed him by the maid, he would take one, butter it, and delve into talk. He would pause, reach for his biscuit, and the hostess would say, “Oh, but that one is cold. You must have a hot one.” She would ring for fresh biscuits, the guest would take one and butter it, make conversation, and again, his biscuit would be snatched from him as he was about to eat it. The story goes that he left the South without ever having tasted a hot southern biscuit. It sounds like one of Irvin Cobb’s yarns, but it is more than plausible. We do not have here the beaten biscuit of Kentucky, but we make our biscuits much shorter than northern biscuits, and while I sometimes think longingly of my mother’s and grandmother’s biscuits, light, flaky, falling apart in layers, I bite into a Florida biscuit, crisp as Scotch shortbread, and no longer recall my ancestry. The sorriest Negress, who can turn out nothing else fit to eat, can make hot biscuits that would have melted the hard heart of Sherman.