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Authors: Anthelme Jean Brillat-Savarin

The Physiology of Taste (19 page)

People who love to know more than their fellows say that turkeys were known to the Romans, that one was cooked for the wedding of Charlemagne, and that it is therefore stupid to attribute this flavorsome innovation to the Jesuits.

To these contradictions one can but submit two facts:

    (1) The name of the bird,
coq d’Inde
, which bears out its origin, since in the old days America was known as Western India;
3

(2) The shape of the turkey, which is obviously a foreign one.

    These facts could not possibly lead any scholar astray.

However, although already thoroughly convinced, I have made fairly thorough investigations on this subject, which I pass on gladly to the reader, and which have resulted in the following conclusions:

(1) The turkey appeared in Europe toward the end of the seventeenth century;

(2) It was brought here by the Jesuit fathers, who raised a great quantity, especially on a farm which they owned on the outskirts of Bourges;

(3) It is from there that turkeys have spread little by little over the whole of France; it is because of this that in many places, and in the common language, turkeys used to be called
jesuits
and still are;

(4) America is the only place where the wild turkey has been found in its native state (it does not exist in Africa);

(5) On the farms of North America, where turkeys are very common, they are supplied either from eggs which have been found and hatched, or from young birds which have been trapped in the woods and domesticated: for this reason they are more nearly in their primitive state there, and still keep their original plumage.

    Vanquished by these arguments, I must pay double homage to the good Fathers, for they have also brought home with them
quinine
, which is called in English
Jesuit’s bark
.

This same train of research has taught me that turkeys gradually grow used to life in France. Knowing observers have told me that toward the middle of the last century barely ten out of every twenty domesticated birds would flourish, whereas now, all things being equal, twenty of them will yield fifteen. Rainstorms have always been the worst disaster for them: heavy raindrops, beaten against them by the wind, hurt their tender unprotected skulls and cause their death.

Turkey Lovers

36: The turkey is the largest and, if not the most delicate, at least the most flavorful of our domestic birds.

It also enjoys the unique advantage of attracting to it every class of society.

When the vine tenders and the plowmen of our countryside want to treat themselves to a party on a long winter night, what
do you see roasting over the bright kitchen fire where the table is laid? A turkey.

When the practical mechanic or the artisan brings a few of his friends together to celebrate some relaxation all the sweeter for being so rare, what is the traditional main dish of the dinner he offers? A turkey stuffed with sausages or with Lyons chestnuts.

And in our most renowned gastronomical circles, in those exclusive gatherings where politics must yield place to dissertations on the sense of taste, what do the guests wait for? What is it that they want? What is served up in the place of honor? A truffled turkey! … And my secret diary
4
notes that its restorative juices have more than once lighted up a face until then preeminently and discreetly diplomatic.

Financial Influence of the Turkey

37: The importation of turkeys has made an important addition to our national wealth, and has become a fairly large trade.

Farmers can more easily pay their land rents by raising turkeys, and young ladies pile up respectable fortunes for their marriages; town dwellers who want to treat themselves to a feast of this outlandish meat must give up their gold in return.

From this purely financial consideration of my subject, turkeys which are truffled are of especial interest.

I have some reason to believe that from the first of November until the end of February, three hundred truffled turkeys a day are consumed in Paris: in all, that makes thirty-six thousand birds.

The average price of each one, thus prepared, is at least 20 francs, or 720,000 francs in all; all of which adds up to a very pretty little financial transaction. And to this must be added a like sum for poultry, pheasants, chickens and partridges, truffled in the same way, which can be seen every day spread out on the shelves of the provision shops, to the agony of those people too short of cash to buy them.

Exploit of the Professor

38: While I was in Hartford, in Connecticut, I had the good luck to kill a wild turkey. This deed deserves to go down in history, and I shall recount it all the more eagerly since I myself am its hero.

A worthy old landowner (
AMERICAN FARMER
) had invited me to come hunt on his property; he lived in the backwoods of the State (
BACK GROUNDS
), promised me partridges, grey squirrels, and wild turkeys (
WILD COCKS
), and gave me the privilege of bringing with me one or two of my chosen friends.

As a result, one fine day of October 1794 we set out, Monsieur King and I, mounted on two hired nags, with the hope of arriving by nightfall at Monsieur Bulow’s farm, situated five whole ungodly leagues from Hartford.

M. King was a hunter of an extraordinary kind: he loved the sport passionately, but when he had killed any game he looked on himself as a murderer, and delivered himself of sensitive moral speculations and elegies on the final passing of his victims, which of course did not in the least keep him from starting the hunt all over again.

Although our road was hardly more than a track, we arrived without accident, and were received with that kind of cordial and wordless hospitality which expresses itself by its actions, which is to say that in a very few minutes all of us had been looked after, refreshed, and lodged—men, horses, and dogs according to their particular needs.

We spent some two hours in looking over the farm and its dependencies. I could describe all of that if I wished to, but I much prefer picturing to the reader M. Bulow’s four fine daughters (
BUXUM LASSES
), for whom our visit was a great event.

Their ages ranged from sixteen to twenty; they were radiant with freshness and good health, and there was about all of them such simplicity, such graceful naturalness, that their most ordinary actions endowed them with a thousand charms.

Shortly after we returned from our walk we sat down around a plentifully laden table: a handsome piece of
CORN’D BEEF
,
a
STEW’D
goose, and a magnificent leg of mutton, then root-vegetables of all kinds (
PLENTY
), and at the two ends of the table two enormous jugs of an excellent cider, of which I could not drink enough.

When we had proved to our host that we were genuine hunters, at least in our appetite, he began to talk of the real purpose of our visit: he described to the best of his ability the places where we would find our game, the landmarks which we must watch for to guide us safely back again, and above all the farms where we could find refreshment.

During this conversation the ladies had prepared some excellent tea, of which we drank several cups; then they showed us to a room with two beds in it, where the day’s exercise and the good food soon sent us off into a delicious sleep.

The next morning we set out for the hunt a little late, and soon coming to the edge of the clearings made by M. Bulow’s workmen, I found myself for the first time in my life in virgin forest, where the sound of the axe had never been heard.

I wandered through it with delight, observing the benefits and the ravages of time, which both creates and destroys, and I amused myself by following every period in the life of an oak tree, from the moment it emerges two-leaved from the earth until that one when nothing is left of it but a long black smudge which is its heart’s dust.

M. King chided me for my wandering attention, and we took up the hunt more seriously. First of all we killed some of those pretty little grey partridges which are so plump and so tender. Then we knocked down six or seven grey squirrels, highly thought of in that country; and finally our lucky start led us into the midst of a flock of wild turkeys.

They arose, one after another, in quick noisy flight, screaming loudly. M. King fired first, and ran ahead: the others were by now out of range; then the laziest of them rose from the earth not ten paces from me; I fired at it through a break in the woods, and it fell, stone dead.

Only a hunter will understand the bliss such a lucky shot gave me. I picked up the superb winged creature,
5
and stood
admiring it from every angle for a good quarter-hour, when I heard M. King cry out for help; I ran to him, and found that he was only calling me to aid him in the search for a turkey which he declared he had killed, but which had nonetheless completely disappeared.

I put my dog on the scent, but he led us into thickets so dense and thorny that a serpent could not have gone through them, and we were forced to give up, which threw my companion into a temper which lasted until we returned to the farm.

The rest of our hunt is hardly worth describing. On the way back, we lost ourselves in the boundless woods, and were in great danger of having to spend the night in them, had it not been for the silvery voices of the young Bulows and the deep bass of their father, who had been kind enough to come in search of us, and who helped lead us out of the forest.

The four sisters had put on their full battle dress; freshly laundered frocks, new sashes, pretty hats and neatly shining shoes told that they had gone to some expense for our benefits; and as for me, I was willing enough to be my most agreeable to the one of these young ladies who took my arm with as much a proprietary air as any wife.

When we got back to the farm we found supper ready for us; but, before starting to eat, we sat down for a few minutes before a lively blazing fire which had been lighted, even though the weather would not have seemed to call for it. We found it very comforting indeed, and were refreshed by it almost magically.

This custom doubtless came from the Indians, who always have a fire burning in their wigwams. Perhaps it is also a custom given to us by Saint Francis of Sales, who once said that a fire is good twelve months of the year.
(Non liquet.)

We ate as if we were starved; a generous bowl of punch helped us to finish off the evening, and a discussion in which our host talked much more freely than the day before held us late into the night.

We talked of the War of Independence, in which M. Bulow had served as a ranking officer; of M. de La Fayette, steadily greater in the minds of the Americans, who always spoke of him familiarly by his title (
THE MARQUIS
); of agriculture, which
during that period was enriching the United States, and finally of my own dear France, which I loved much more since I had been forced to leave it.

From time to time, as an interlude in our conversation, M. Bulow would say to his oldest daughter: “Mariah! Give us a song.” And she sang to us without more urging, and with a charming shyness, the national air
YANKEE DUDDE
, and the lament of Queen Mary and the one of Major Andrew, both of them very popular in this country. Mariah had taken a few lessons, and there in the backwoods was thought to be something of an artist; but her singing was praiseworthy mainly because of the quality of her voice, which was at once sweet, fresh, and unaffected.

The next day we left, in spite of the friendliest protests, for even in America I had certain duties to perform. While the horses were being saddled, M. Bulow, having drawn me to one side, spoke in the following profoundly interesting way:

“You see in me, my dear sir, a happy man, if such there be on earth: everything around you and all that you have so far observed is a product of what I own. These stockings I wear were knitted by my daughters; my shoes and my clothes come from my own sheep; they help also, with my gardens and barnyards, to furnish me with simple nourishing food; and what makes our government so admirable is that here in Connecticut there are thousands of farmers just as happy as I am, and whose doors, like mine, are never bolted.

“Taxes here are almost nothing; and as long as they are paid we can sleep in peace. Congress does everything in its power to help our newborn industry; agents come from every direction to buy up whatever we have to sell; and I have cash on hand for a long time, for I have just sold for twenty-four dollars a barrel the wheat I usually get eight for.

“All this is the result of the liberty which we have fought for and founded on good laws. I am master in my own house, and you will not be astonished to know that we never hear the sound of the drum here, nor, except for the fourth of July, the glorious anniversary of our independence, do we ever see soldiers, or uniforms, or bayonets.”

During the whole of our trip homeward I was plunged in profound thought. It may be believed that I was pondering the parting speech of M. Bulow, but I had something quite different on my mind: I was considering how best I should cook my turkey, and I was not without some worries, for I feared that in Hartford I might not find all the ingredients I would need—and I was determined to raise a worthy monument to the spoils of my skill.

I inflict on myself a painful sacrifice in leaving out the details of the elaborate preparations I made for the fitting and distinguished way I planned to entertain my American dinner guests. It is enough to say that the partridge wings were served
en papillote
, and the grey squirrels simmered in Madeira.

As for the turkey, which was our only roast, it was charming to look at, flattering to the sense of smell, and delicious to the taste.
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And as the last morsel of it disappeared, there arose from the whole table the words: “
VERY GOOD! EXCEEDINGLY GOOD! OH! DEAR SIR
,
WHAT A GLORIOUS BIT!

*

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