CHAPTER VIII.
ON FISH.
Plutarch tells us that Symmachus and Polycrates wrote treatises to prove that the “innocent fishes” should be respected, and that they who ate of them were among the most ferocious of men. According to Columella, however, Apollo was called ίκθηφαγος by the Greeks, because they considered that the god of music, poetry, and eloquence should only feed on the most delicate and dainty diet; and such the Greeks considered fish. It is curious that the epithet “innocent” is also applied to fish, naturally most voracious, by St. Augustine. “Fishes were spared from the malediction,” says this father of the Church, “because it was not the fish of the sea, but the fruits of the earth which contributed to the fall of our first parents.” Whatever Plutarch or Augustine may say to the contrary, however, fish was used as a diet by the earliest Christians; and none were more celebrated in increasing the breed of fish, whether on the Continent or in England, than the earlier Churchmen—the much abused monks of the middle ages.
There is, in truth, no more wholesome or palatable diet than good fish; and one dish of fish, and sometimes two, is generally found at a gentleman’s dinner-table in England, if he entertains a family-party of four or six. But though we have the finest fish in the world in this country, we do not dress it in the variety of ways in which it is served in France. Unless immediately after the soup, we seldom eat fish, whereas in most Continental countries it is served dressed as an entrée, and in this manner it is most wholesome, as well as very relishing.
Probably, turbot, during the height of the London season, is more frequently seen than any other fish at English dinner-tables. It is almost always plainly boiled and served with lobster sauce, whereas in France it is served in fifteen or twenty ways, at the least, as will appear from the following list:—
- Turbot sauce flamande.
- Turbot sauce hollandaise.
- Emincé de turbot à la Béchamel au maigre.
- Emincé au gratin garni de pommes de terre.
- Escalope de turbot aux truffes, sauce Périgueux.
- Sauté de turbot sauce au beurre et aux queues d’écrevisses.
- Sauté de turbot sauce aux fines herbes et aux huitres.
- Sauté de turbot sauce à la génoise.
- Filets de turbot à la Sainte Ménéhould.
- Filets de turbot pannés a l’allemande.
- Filets à l’anglaise sauce aux chevrettes.
- Papillotes des filets de turbot à la maître d’hôtel.
- Orly de turbot.
- Fritot de turbot à la provençale, &c.
Juvenal, in his fourth Satire, tells us what store Roman epicures set on turbot, and gives a description of the company assembled by order of Domitian to pronounce on the goodness of the fish. The graphic pages of Suetonius, the vigorous periods of Tacitus, and the scourging satire of Juvenal, were employed to show up the vices of Domitian. Berchoux, in his poem “La Gastronomie,” thus paraphrases Juvenal:—
The turbot is found in all seas. They are very large in the ocean and the Mediterranean. Rondelet says he has seen turbot five fathoms long, four in breadth, and a foot thick. Such turbots have never been seen in England. A turbot weighing from ten to twelve pounds is generally coarse and woolly. The best flavoured are the moderate sized, called chicken turbot, weighing from three to six pounds. In the middle ages, the turbot was called the phasianus aquaticus, or water-pheasant. The turbot is very voracious, and is especially fond of cray-fish. Turbot is thus described in one of the volumes of the “Almanach des Gourmands”:—
“Turbot is the pheasant of the sea, because of its beauty: it is the king of Lent, because of its majestic size. It is ordinarily served au court bouillon. The turbot has the simplicity and majesty of a hero, and every species of ornament offends him much more than it honours him. On the day after he makes his first appearance, it is quite another affair; he may be then disguised. The best manner of effecting this is to dress him in Béchamel, a preparation thus called after the Marquis de Béchamel, maître d’hôtel of Louis XIV., who has for ever immortalised himself by this one ragoût.”
Turbot is best from March to September, but is eaten all the year round.
Sturgeon, called the royal fish (because by a statute of Edward II. it is said “the king shall have sturgeon taken in the sea, or elsewhere, within the realm”), is seldom seen at private tables in England. Two distinct species have been distinguished by the fishermen of the Solway Firth; but several species frequent the rivers of Russia. Caviare, so much used in Russia, and now very generally imported into this country, is made of the roe of the female sturgeon. The flesh of the sturgeon, besides being preserved by salting and pickling, is in request for the table while fresh, and is generally served with a rich sauce. The appearance and flavour of sturgeon is not unlike that of veal. The flesh, like that of most of the cartilaginous fishes, is more firm and compact than is usual among those of the osseous families. When fresh, sturgeon is as white as the very finest veal; when red, nothing whatever can be done with it. There are thirty different methods of dressing sturgeon in France. I give the names of a few of them:—
- Darne d’esturgeon à la broche sauce génoise.
- Esturgeon en Tortue.
- Esturgeon au vin de madere ou de champagne.
- Cotelletes d’esturgeon à la Sainte Ménéhould.
- Filets d’esturgeon à la Orly.
- Papillotes d’esturgeon aux fines herbes.
Sturgeons in England are roasted, or baked, or boiled in Ude’s manner, or served à la Beaufort, for which there is a receipt in Francatelli’s “Modern Cook.”
Portions of this fish may be also served in blanquettes, and croquettes, and as cutlets.
I give Carème’s receipt for serving a sturgeon à la Napoleon. It will be seen that it requires three bottles of champagne.
Esturgeon à la Napoleon.—Clean and tie up a piece of sturgeon (two feet and a half in length), dress it in a Mirepoix moistened with three bottles of champagne, and two ladlesful of consommé; proceed with it as above directed; take off the skin, glaze, and dish it, surrounding it with a ragoût à la Régence, consisting of small quenelles of whitings, with cray-fish-butter, truffles, carps’ tongues, and mushrooms, of each a plateful; before putting them into the sauce, mix a good piece of cray-fish-butter and a little glaze with it; the ragoût should receive scarcely a boiling afterwards; lay upon the ragoût some white roes of carp, and livers of turbots, and surround it with a garniture of fillets of soles, decorated with truffles; fix eight hatelettes (skewers) garnished with truffles, cray-fish, and smelts, turned round, and boiled in salt water, and always serve a portion of the ragoût in a sauce-boat.
In America they make a sturgeon soup from the fresh fish, and there is also a “sturgeon soup à l’anglaise et à l’indienne”—the receipts for which may be found in Francatelli’s “Modern Cook.”
The Romans much vaunted a sturgeon, and when served crowned it with flowers. The Greeks also considered it as the best dish at their grand repasts.
Next to turbot, the fish most in request at English dinner-tables during the season is salmon. Our chief salmon fisheries are carried on in the rivers and estuaries of Scotland; but the finest salmon in the London market comes from the Southampton water, near Christchurch; and much good salmon is also sent to Billingsgate both from Ireland and Holland. The produce of the fishings of the rivers Tay, Dee, Don, Skey, Findhorn, Beauley, Borriedale, Thurso, and the coasts adjacent, are conveyed in steam-boats and small sailing-vessels to Aberdeen, where they are packed with ice in boxes, and sent to London. The Severn salmon is in season in January, February, March, October, November, and December; and the Scotch from March to September. There are innumerable ways of dressing salmon practised by French cooks, such as Darne de saumon au vin de champagne, sauce au beurre d’écrevisses, saumon au court bouillon, à la française, à la Régence, à la Cardinale, &c.; but it may be questioned whether salmon is ever eaten with more relish or satisfaction by Englishmen than when plain boiled, either whole or in slices, in the English fashion. It may be served with lobster, shrimp, Dutch, or parsley-and-butter sauce. The slices of crimped salmon served at London dinners in May and June, are, to my mind, perfection.
Nonius says of this fish,—“Carnem enim habet teneram dulcem et præpinquem.”
The cod-fish brought to England is much finer than that sold on the Continent; and from November to April there can be no better dish than slices of crimped cod, done either in the English or the Dutch fashion, which most Englishmen prefer to the more elaborate dressing of French cooks. A Béchamel of cod-fish in the French fashion is, however, a very good thing; and cabillaud grillé à la Laguipierre is excellent. This last was said to be a favourite dish with the late Duke of Wellington; and certain it is, that it was often placed on the table both at Strathfieldsaye and at Apsley House.
The haddock, which is now more commonly served at English dinner-tables than in my youth, is an excellent fish when of the proper size. The Dublin Bay haddock is pre-eminently good, and merits the encomium of Galen:—“Aselli si probo utantur alimento et in maripuro degunt, carnis bonitate cum saxatilibus contendunt.”[13]
Pliny also in his ninth book, cap. xvii., says the haddock “post acipenserem apud antiquos nobilis simum piscium.”[14] Haddocks, to my thinking, are best dressed in the English fashion—boiled, either with egg or parsley-and-butter sauce. In Ireland, they sometimes serve them with cockle sauce: and an excellent friend of mine (the son of a late accomplished and eloquent Chief Justice of the Queen’s Bench) tells me they are admirable in this fashion. In French cookery, the haddock is generally dressed and served as cod-fish is dressed. There are worse things than a fillet of haddock à la Royale, or à l’italienne.
There is no more nourishing or easily digested fish than the sole, and it is in season all the year round. The richest and largest sole, called by some the black sole, comes from the Devon coast; and these, as well as the Dover sole, and the black sole of Ireland, are best plain boiled. The smaller and whiter sole found on the coast of Sussex is best fried. Lemery calls the sole, perdrix marina (the partridge of the sea); and Ovid classes it with the flounder, to which it is far superior.
There are thirty or more excellent ways of serving sole in the French fashion, the principal of which are à la Colbert, à la Perigord, au gratin, en matelote normande, à la provençale, filets de soles aux truffes, et aux fines herbes. All of these are excellent, but require a good cook. If you are not sure of your cook, order your soles to be fried or plainly boiled.
I must say a word on the fish of which the celebrated Roman orator Hortensius was so fond—a fish furnishing occasion for the epigrams of Martial, and the scathing satire of Juvenal. Red mullet is only prime during the warm weather, and is best done en papillote. It may also be done en caisse aux fines herbes, à l’italienne, and à là Cardinale, but in no way is it so good as en papillote.
Mullet should never be drawn; it is sufficient to take out the gills, as the liver and trail are the best parts of the fish. When we know that Apicius spent £60,000 to vary the taste of sauces, we can well believe that a sum of £240 was given in the olden time, at Rome, for three mullets of a large size.
I will only speak of two other fishes, the john-dory and the lamprey. The john-dory is finest on the western coast of England, and is best plain boiled. Quin, the actor, a great gourmand, was remarkably fond of this fish and red mullet, and used to go down to Exeter for the purpose of eating them. One morning after his arrival in the west, his valet came in to call him as usual. “Well, John, any dory in the market?” “No, sir.”
“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.
When I first knew Paris as a youth in 1822, the most famous place for a fish dinner was the Rocher de Cancale, in the Rue Montorguiel. It was then and had for eighteen or twenty years before been kept by M. Baleine, aided by Madame Beauvais.
In the sixth volume of the “Almanach des Gourmands,” published in 1808, it is stated that this famous restaurant was in that year frequented by Russian princes, German barons, and the élite of diplomatic society, who then ordered dinners at ten, fifteen, and eighteen francs per head, without wine. The cook at this period was said to be one of the best in Paris, and the reputation of the house continued till 1840, and even later. You were always sure to find the finest and freshest fish at the Rocher de Cancale; and the poultry, and meats, and game were also of the choicest. But the year 1848, which upset the Orleans dynasty, ruined this famous establishment, and it is now only numbered as a thing of the past.
I remember dining there with a party of six persons in the year 1828, the bill for our dinner amounted to 450 francs, or 75 francs per head, including wine. The dinner principally consisted of divers kinds of fish and game. From this dinner, composed of a bisque or French soup, with fillets of turbot and various entrées of fish and game, every one of the party rose hungry. On this occasion some Chateau Margaux was ordered, said to be in bottle from 1789, a period of thirty-nine years, for which a charge of fourteen francs per bottle was made. But this would now be considered a bagatelle, as at several of the restaurants in Paris there is Chateau Margaux charged at twenty and twenty-five francs per bottle, not a quarter so old as the wine of which I speak.
The most expensive part of the 1828 dinner was the fish, and not the wine. M. Ferdinand Fayot, in his “Treatise de la Table particulière de M. Talleyrand,” relates the following anecdote of an abbé who was wont to frequent the Rocher de Cancale for its fish:—
“A certain abbé, who was uncommonly fond of fish, often visited the Rocher de Cancale. Upon one occasion, having dined copiously of salmon, a heavy indigestion was the consequence. Three days afterwards, whilst saying mass, the idea of the fish came across his mind, and, instead of saying the mea culpa of the Confiteor, he was heard to repeat, in striking his breast, ‘Ah, le bon saumon! ah, le bon saumon!’”