Life Is Meals_ A Food Lover's Book of Days - James Salter [60]
WEDDING CAKE
In Roman times, wedding cake was worn instead of eaten. Grains of wheat represented fertility and were thrown at the newly married to ensure fruitfulness. Later, wheat was baked into small cakes, which were crumbled over the bride’s head. She and the groom were supposed to eat them—a tradition called confarreatio, or “eating together,” and the origin of “confetti.” The “bride’s ale” that was used to wash down the crumbs evolved into “bridal.”
As a sign of prosperity, wealthy families began to stack the wheat cakes into piles, which over the centuries became the formal tiered wedding cake, but it took some doing. Bakers had to solve the structural engineering problems so that the upper layer of cake could be supported. In 1840 when Queen Victoria married her beloved Albert, the cake at the wedding breakfast weighed three hundred pounds, with a circumference of nine feet at the base. On the second tier were three figures, each nearly a foot high, of Britannia blessing the bride and groom, wearing ancient Roman dress.
As always, the French differ from the English in their approach. We were married in Paris, and it seemed only fitting that we have a croquembouche, which means “crunch in the mouth,” a traditional type of French wedding cake made of frosted macaroons applied with icing to a tall cone. There is no ceremony of cutting the cake. The construction is dismantled, and the macaroons are distributed, often with a fruit compote alongside.
THE GOLD RUSH
1925. This day was the Hollywood premiere of The Gold Rush, considered the best comedy of Charlie Chaplin, who wrote, directed, produced, scored, and starred in it. Set in the snow-swept Klondike of the Alaskan gold rush, Chaplin plays his classic character in Fatty Arbuckle’s pants, oversized shoes, an undersized bowler hat, a tight cutaway coat, and toothbrush mustache. Though only five feet, five inches tall, he was larger than life. His first performance in a movie had been in 1914, quickly followed by thirty-four more that year. A master of physical comedy and of heart-tugging pathos, he successfully crossed from silent films to talkies. Hitler was such a fan that he gave up his handlebar mustache to grow one like Chaplin’s.
In a remote cabin, Thanksgiving dawns on the Little Tramp and a Lone Prospector, another in a long series of difficult days in which they have nothing to eat. Undaunted, Charlie is preparing a memorable meal, stirring something in a pot on the wood-burning stove. He forks it onto a plate—voila!—his own boiled shoe. He adds ladles of “gravy” from the pot, brings it to the table with a flourish. The burly Prospector takes the upper part. Chaplin bites delicately into the leather sole, nibbling around the nails as if around the small bones of a turkey. “Not at all bad,” his expression says, and he twirls the shoelace around his fork like pasta, then chews it with satisfaction.
FRUIT WITH CHEESE
In the same way that fresh fruits and certain liqueurs go together, fresh fruits and certain cheeses go well with one another:
APPLES Camembert
Cheddar
Blue cheeses
Parmigiano-Reggiano
Brie
BANANAS Chèvre
CHERRIES Crema Danica
FIGS Stilton
GRAPES Camembert
Provolone
Pont l’Évěque
Appenzeller
NECTARINES Brie
ORANGES Gorgonzola
PEACHES Triple crèmes
Gorgonzola
PINEAPPLE Camembert
PLUMS (RED) Appenzeller
PLUMS (PURPLE) Stilton
STRAWBERRIES Triple crèmes
TWO RULES FOR TRAVEL
For years we followed two rules when traveling:
• Never stay in at night. It will only lead to depression. Go out, have a meal, wander the streets, breathe in the life of the place.
• Never eat in a museum restaurant.
This second rule was abandoned after a lunch—recommended by friends—at Le Grand Louvre in the Paris museum. The quality of the food, supervised by Andre Daguin, and the elegance of the room