Rather than buying more cookbooks, I have thought about (not necessarily decided, that might be going a bit too far) taking the time to get to know the books that are already occupying our bookshelves. Over the recent long weekends, I started out this vaguest of resolutions by perusing the above volume, which was part of my husband's meager prenuptial cookbook collection.
Unlike Les Recettes Faciles de François Bernard, which has taught me much of what I know about basic French cooking, La Bonne Cuisine Pour Tous had lurked on my bookshelf for years without ever being used, getting no more than a quick glance once or twice.
I expected to find a lot of information on Internet about this book, as it seems to be a definitive opus about French cooking of days gone by. But just about all I discovered in my Internet search were links to vendors selling used copies of the book, which is apparently out of print.
I did learn that my version, a reprint from 1979, is a virtually exact copy of the original work which appeared in 1908.
So, exactly 100 years after its original publication, I have finally plunged into this fascinating volume -- and it gives a clear picture of how sharply different French cooking was a century ago.
I read the entire chapter on soups and was amazed by some of the cooking times: two hours for a basic potato and leek soup, for example. Other than that, the recipe was about the same as the potato and leek soup I make.
Other soups, though, definitely didn't tickle my modern appetite. How about a potage fécule au lait tonight? Ingredients: milk and potato starch.
The 496-page cookbook includes advice about "what is eaten" every month. So what should be on the menu for May?
Unlike Les Recettes Faciles de François Bernard, which has taught me much of what I know about basic French cooking, La Bonne Cuisine Pour Tous had lurked on my bookshelf for years without ever being used, getting no more than a quick glance once or twice.
I expected to find a lot of information on Internet about this book, as it seems to be a definitive opus about French cooking of days gone by. But just about all I discovered in my Internet search were links to vendors selling used copies of the book, which is apparently out of print.
I did learn that my version, a reprint from 1979, is a virtually exact copy of the original work which appeared in 1908.
So, exactly 100 years after its original publication, I have finally plunged into this fascinating volume -- and it gives a clear picture of how sharply different French cooking was a century ago.
I read the entire chapter on soups and was amazed by some of the cooking times: two hours for a basic potato and leek soup, for example. Other than that, the recipe was about the same as the potato and leek soup I make.
Other soups, though, definitely didn't tickle my modern appetite. How about a potage fécule au lait tonight? Ingredients: milk and potato starch.
The 496-page cookbook includes advice about "what is eaten" every month. So what should be on the menu for May?
Have things changed that much? The above are lunch menus, and there are some intriguing combinations:
Menu two: A real protein festival: plaice, tripes and Bayonne ham? Plus a few eggs in the salad for good measure!
Menu three: Mutton brains with black butter AND cold veal? I'm not sure I'd eat mutton brains any month of the year, even if somehow May is the perfect time to enjoy them...
But I can see plenty of dishes we do eat: macaroni, cold asparagus, cucumber salad...
The book offers up four pages of menu suggestions per month, and dessert is usually just called "dessert."
What's interesting is that even when a specific dessert is suggested, it was apparently de bon ton to add the omnipresent dessert nonetheless:
"Crème au café; dessert"
"Crème glacée; dessert"
I could go on, but I think I'll go whip up a kidney omelette. It's that time of year...
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