Thomas Jefferson's Creme Brulee

by Thomas J. Craughwell

  Condorcet was an eccentric polymath who was perennially nervous and volatile, even among his friends. In a city obsessed with style, he dressed in shabby clothes and wore his hair cropped unfashionably short. But Jefferson liked him, perhaps because, in the 1770s, Condorcet had been one of the first men in France to express his support for America’s revolution.27

  Morris was a New York aristocrat, an ardent American patriot, and the author of much of the language in the United States Constitution. He had come to Europe to increase his international business contacts. Morris was also a playboy; at the time of Jefferson’s farewell party, he was sharing a mistress, the Comtesse de Flahaut, with that political and religious chameleon Charles de Talleyrand, who at this stage of his career was bishop of Autun. In his diary, Morris recorded an evening the three lovers spent together: “[The comtesse’s] Countenance glows with Satisfaction in looking at the Bishop and myself as we sit together agreeing in Sentiment & supporting the Opinions of each other. What Triumph for a Woman! I leave her to go Home with him and thus risque heroically the Chance of Cuckoldom. What Self Denial for a Lover.”28

  La Rochefoucauld was a scholar who dabbled in chemistry, a political liberal, and, in spite of his exalted rank, an affable self-effacing man. In addition to sharing the same political views, he and Jefferson were both interested in using scientific methods to make their farms more productive.29

  Lafayette was the last guest to arrive. He and Jefferson had met in America, where the latter had been put off by the vanity of the young marquis. He once characterized Lafayette’s craving for fame and attention as a “canine appetite.” In Paris, however, Lafayette had won over Jefferson by his many acts of kindness, so much so that the two men developed a lasting friendship.30

  The dinner conversation revolved around the disturbing news of the day. The shortage of bread in Paris had become so critical that soldiers were posted outside bakers’ shops. A rumor was spreading across the city that the king was preparing to flee to the garrison town of Metz and raise an army to seize the government. There was unrest among the troops, and no one could say with certainty if the soldiers were loyal to Louis or to the new National Assembly. Lafayette, who had command of some of the troops in Paris, assured his friends that his men would march out and fight for the new government—provided that it wasn’t raining.31

  We do not know what James Hemings prepared that day (the meal began at four in the afternoon), but we do know how the food was served. Jefferson had adopted a new French fashion: between each seated guest was a small table. As each course was served, servants placed the platters and bowls on the tables; then the servants left the dining room, and each guest helped himself. The purpose of this custom was to encourage free and open conversation, which might not occur if servants were present.32

  Jefferson was planning to leave Paris on September 26, but he did not tell his dinner guests; he disliked formal farewells, and so he kept his travel plans to himself. Since the beginning of the month he had been making lists of what to take to America and what to leave in France. He was taking his chariot, as well as Patsy’s harpsichord. He had crates of books destined for his friends Washington, Franklin, and Madison. He also had plaster busts of Washington, Franklin, Lafayette, and John Paul Jones, which Jefferson had commissioned from the French sculptor Jean-Antoine Houdon; the sculptures would adorn the tea room at Monticello.33

  He filled eighty-six crates with kitchen utensils and equipment, including a pasta-making machine from Italy. He also packed up wines, cheeses, olive oil, and Maille mustard—his favorite.34 He crated seedlings of fruit trees and ornamental trees, including four apricots, four Cresanne pears, one white fig, two cork oaks, five larches, and three Italian poplars.35 His preparations also included writing to James Maurice in London to request three cabins, one each for himself, Patsy, and Polly. In addition, he would require berths for James and Sally Hemings, and he wanted Sally’s berth to be convenient to the girls’ cabins.36

  On September 25, Jefferson paid off the Hôtel de Langeac servants. The next day two carriages rolled up to the front door; Jefferson and his daughters climbed into a new carriage that he had just had sent over from London, while James and Sally rode inside a smaller one. Jefferson recorded in his diary that it was “a prodigiously fine day,” but upon reaching the port of Le Havre, the party found the English Channel churned up by a violent storm; it took ten days before the weather cleared. Jefferson kept himself occupied by hiking through the surrounding countryside and shopping. He purchased two sheep dogs and a pregnant German shepherd that delivered two puppies before they sailed.37

  Shortly after midnight on October 8, the Channel being calm at last, Jefferson’s ship sailed for Cowes on the Isle of Wight, where the passengers would change to an ocean-going vessel. While the group was waiting for the ship to sail, the English newspapers reported that a mob had marched on Versailles and forced the entire royal family to move to Paris. Jefferson dismissed the reports as alarmist, exaggerated, and untrustworthy—he expected a smooth transition from monarchy to democracy in France. In this optimistic mood he wrote to Maria Cosway, saying that he hoped “the ensuing spring might give us a meeting in Paris with the first swallow. So be it, my dear friend, and Adieu under the hope which springs natural out of what we wish. Once again then farewell, remember me and love me.”38 There would be no springtime rendezvous in Paris for Thomas Jefferson and Maria Cosway. The two would never see each other again.

  Chapter 7

  THE ART OF THE MEAL

  Two days before Christmas 1789, a carriage that was probably driven by James Hemings carried Jefferson, his two daughters, and Sally Hemings up the hill to Monticello. Gathered around the house were all of Jefferson’s slaves from all of his plantations and farms. When the carriage came into sight, a large group of men and boys ran down to it, unhitched the horses, and proceeded to draw the carriage to the front door as the other slaves cheered. Martha (Patsy) described the amazing scene of their return: “Such a scene I never witnessed in my life.… When the door of the carriage was opened they received [my father] in their arms and bore him to the house, crowding around and kissing his hands and feet—some blubbering and crying—others laughing. It seemed impossible to satisfy their anxiety to touch and kiss the very earth which bore him.”1

  Now that the group of travelers was home, it fell to Martha, as the elder daughter, to take up the duties as mistress of Monticello. Although it is almost certain that she received advice from female relatives, and probably from some of the female house slaves as well, by and large she learned from trial and error. By the time she had daughters of her own, she was an experienced manager, ensuring that her children acquired the necessary skills to run a plantation house. In 1839, Martha’s daughter Ellen Randolph Coolidge recalled that her mother had acquired her expertise through “painful conscientiousness.”

  After Martha’s marriage to Thomas Randolph, they and their eight children moved into Monticello. Once again she was mistress of the plantation, caring for the eleven white family members as well as the sixteen slaves who lived and worked inside the house. And then there were the houseguests. Congressmen, military officers, lawyers, scientists, artists, clergymen both Protestant and Catholic, and even tourists who were complete strangers to the Jefferson family—all were made welcome at Monticello. Among the most frequent visitors were James and Dolley Madison, for whom Martha kept a room ready at all times.

  Fortunately for Martha, she had the help of Burwell Colbert, Monticello’s butler. He was a Hemings (Elizabeth Hemings, known as Betty, was his grandmother), the most privileged family among Jefferson’s slaves. As a boy he had worked in Monticello’s nail-making shop before moving on to learn the crafts of painting and window glazing. Jefferson had always thought highly of him—when Colbert was a nail maker, he was the only worker in the shop whom the overseer was forbidden to whip. When Jefferson named him as butler, Colbert took charge of Monticello’s enslaved maids, waiters, and porters; n
aturally he reported to Martha. In addition to his duties supervising the household staff, Colbert also became Jefferson’s valet, waiting on him throughout the day and attending to all of Jefferson’s personal needs.

  As joyful as his homecoming was, Jefferson had an important decision to make. In late September, while he and his daughters and James and Sally Hemings were at Le Havre waiting to cross the English Channel, President George Washington had named Jefferson as his secretary of state. Consequently, when Jefferson landed at Norfolk, Virginia, in late November, he discovered that just about everyone assumed he would accept the post.2 While he was still in Paris, James Madison had written to say that a cabinet position was open if he wanted it, but Jefferson had protested that he wanted only a quiet life at Monticello.

  Jefferson’s biographer Joseph Ellis has observed that “incantations of virtuous retirement to rural solitude after a career of public service were familiar and even formulaic refrains within the leadership class of eighteenth-century America, none more so than within the Virginia dynasty.”3 Every American schoolboy (and the few American schoolgirls) had been taught the story of Cincinnatus, the retired general happily tending his farm, who was strong-armed into resuming his command to save Rome from its enemies. Once those enemies were crushed, Cincinnatus resigned and returned home to raise his crops. So, Jefferson’s protests that he desired nothing except to bury himself in the country were almost certainly unsurprising, perhaps even expected, to others of his time.

  On the trip to Monticello, four letters from Washington caught up with Jefferson, each urging him to accept the office of secretary of state. Jefferson hesitated, less from a desire for a quiet life than from genuine anxiety about the direction of Washington’s government. During his first weeks back on American soil, Jefferson detected that many of his fellow citizens were inclined to place themselves under a powerful centralized government. It seemed that Washington held that position, too. Even more distressing, some Americans spoke openly about elevating their elected leader to the rank of king. The question for Jefferson became, did he want to participate in a government that appeared to be so uncongenial? It was Madison who persuaded his friend and mentor to accept Washington’s offer, which Jefferson did on February 14, 1790. About five weeks later he was ferried across the Hudson River to New York City, the first capital of the United States. He rented a house on Maiden Lane, in what is known today as Lower Manhattan. Among the servants he brought with him was James Hemings. Their agreement stating that Jefferson would free James as soon as he taught French cooking to a fellow slave at Monticello was postponed—Jefferson needed a chef de cuisine for his new establishment in New York. He altered the terms of their bargain because he could—he owned James Hemings.

  The U.S. Constitution called for a national capital, but did not specify a location. Northern delegates favored New York, whereas southern delegates, led by Madison, argued for a site in Virginia along the Potomac River. It was not simply a matter of regional pride—the Virginians, who had been prominent in the American Revolution, feared their influence would diminish if the government was established in a northern city. Madison argued passionately for a new city to be built along the Potomac. But northern delegates outnumbered their southern colleagues, and New York became the site of Washington’s inauguration and administration. In spring 1790, southerners were still unhappy about the choice; as a compromise, there was talk of moving the government to Philadelphia.

  Yet another issue, arguably more important than the location of the U.S. capital, plagued the country at this time. Each of the thirteen states was struggling to pay off the debts incurred during the American Revolution to keep their governments operational and to outfit and provision the troops they had provided to the Continental Army. The payments were crippling the states’ economies, and so Alexander Hamilton, secretary of the Treasury, proposed that the federal government assume responsibility for the debts. But where Hamilton’s plan liberated the states, it saddled the federal government with an $80 million obligation (approximately $1.82 billion in today’s currency). To pay off the debt, the U.S. government would impose taxes on the states.

  The assumption of the debts was part of Hamilton’s plan to create a strong central government and weaken the sovereignty of the states. And the states knew it. Surrendering their debts to the federal government meant surrendering some of their economic autonomy as well, and no state was eager to give up its right to tend to its own affairs. As Henry Lee wrote to his fellow Virginian James Madison, “Is your love for the Constitution so ardent … that it should produce ruin to your native country?” By “native country,” Lee meant Virginia, not America, which reveals just how local were the loyalties of the first citizens of the United States.

  Early in July 1790, Jefferson was on his way to President Washington’s office when he encountered Hamilton outside the building. “His look was sombre, haggard, and dejected beyond description,” Jefferson wrote, “even his dress uncouth and neglected. He asked to speak with me. We stood in the street near the door. He opened the subject of the assumption of the state debts, the necessity of it in the general fiscal arrangement and it’s indispensible necessity towards a preservation of the union.” To Hamilton, the assumption of the states’ debts appeared so essential that, he confessed to Jefferson, “if he had not credit enough to carry such a measure as that, he could be of no use, and was determined to resign.”

  Then Hamilton asked Jefferson to support his measure and use his influence with his southern friends to persuade them to endorse the debt assumption plan. This was an unexpected request, since Jefferson and Hamilton were often at odds.4 Hamilton believed in a powerful national government, whereas Jefferson wanted most authority to be in the hands of the state governments. Hamilton advocated industry and technology; Jefferson dreamed of America as a nation of farmers and small tradespeople. Although Hamilton had fought in the American Revolution, in international affairs his sympathies lay with England—he admired Parliament, the fledgling factories that were springing up in English cities, the English people’s devotion to law and order. And he hated revolutionary France, which he viewed as barbarous, cruel, and chaotic. Jefferson had respect for English institutions, but he could never admire a country that was ruled by a monarch. As for France, he continued to turn a blind eye to the violence of the French Revolution, preferring to see only that the monarchy had been abolished and the government was now in the hands of the people.

  Jefferson put Hamilton off. He was only newly returned from France, he said, and lacked a firm grasp of the current political and economic situation in America. He conceded that “the assumption had struck me in an unfavorable light,” but admitted that he was not an expert in fiscal affairs. He sympathized with Hamilton, that the measures he presented to Congress set off “the most alarming heat, the bitterest animosities” among the senators and representatives. And their sidewalk conversation ended there.5

  Later that day, however, Jefferson sent notes to Hamilton and Madison, inviting them to dinner at his house the following day. He promised that the three of them would be alone. He hoped that among themselves they would “find some temperament for the present fever.” Jefferson had faith that “men of sound heads and honest views needed nothing more than explanation and mutual understanding to enable them to unite in some measures which might enable us to get along.”6

  Madison and Hamilton accepted, and, as Jefferson had promised, the three of them dined alone.

  Author Charles A. Cerami, working closely with the research staff at Monticello, has created a likely menu for this momentous dinner, drawing each course from dishes that Jefferson enjoyed whether he was dining with family or with guests. The green salad came with a wine jelly made by boiling calves’ feet until it became a gelatinous mass; then milk, lemon juice, sugar, and Madeira wine were added. Next served was capon, a common dish in Virginia, but improved thanks to James Hemings’s training in France. The bird arrived at the table stuffed with tru
ffles, artichoke bottoms, chestnut puree, and Virginia ham and was served with a sauce of Calvados, the apple brandy of Normandy. This was followed by boeuf à la mode, a top round of beef with onions, carrots, bacon, sprigs of parsley and thyme, and a veal knuckle bone, all cooked slowly in a Dutch oven for four to five hours. Then came small plates of confections, such as macaroons and meringues. Dessert was vanilla ice cream stuffed inside a warm puff pastry. Jefferson served a different wine for each course: Hermitage, his favorite white wine, as an aperitif; a white Bordeaux with the salad; Montepulciano with the capon; Chambertin, one of the finest wines in his cellar, with the beef; and Champagne with the sweets.7

  Whatever the actual menu may have been, James’s cuisine and Jefferson’s wine put all three men in an amiable, reasonable, let’s-get-things-done frame of mind. By the end of the evening, Madison agreed not to oppose the debt assumption bill when it came before Congress, although he would not vote in favor of it. Jefferson suggested that “as the pill would be a bitter one to the Southern states, something should be done to soothe them.” The “something” he had in mind was moving the national capital to a site on the “Patowmac,” as he spelled it.8 Hamilton agreed. While a site was being selected and the new city planned, the government would relocate temporarily to Philadelphia. So ended one of the most momentous private dinners in American history, and it had been prepared by James Hemings.

  The assumption bill passed in Congress, and in December 1790 the government moved to Philadelphia, where it would remain for the next decade while the city of Washington was designed and a capitol for Congress and the Supreme Court, as well as a residence for the president, were built. As for the truce between Jefferson and Hamilton, it did not last long. In 1792 the two political opponents took to attacking each other in the press. Hamilton and his allies, writing under aliases such as “Catullus” and “Scourge,” accused Jefferson of dabbling in “political mystery and deception.” Jefferson fired back through his ally, newspaper publisher Philip Freneau, who labeled Hamilton and his supporters “monarchists … tories … anti-republicans … monocrats.”9