Though this petit déjeuner was very recherché, the bouillabaisse threw all the accessory dishes into the shade. The landlord, who favoured us with his company at dessert, informed me he made it himself; and at my request, favoured me with the receipt, and the names of the fish composing it.
I returned my best thanks for the condescension and trouble on his part in so doing.
“Ah, Monsieur Soyer,” said he, “you may thank your name for that. I have often seen you mentioned in our papers, and should have been sorry if you had left our seaport without tasting our national dish in perfection.” He observed, in handing it to me, “You are, of course, aware that this dish cannot be made except at a seaport.”
“I am well aware of that fact,” I answered, “and that this semi-soup and stew ought, by right, to be made at a seaport; nevertheless, the finest seaport I have ever seen in England, and I might say in the world, for fish, is London; therefore, my dear sir, give me the receipt, and I shall, no doubt, fish out the fish from a good quarter.”
Original Receipt for the Bouillabaisse a la Marseillaise.
Before entering upon details, I will specify the different kinds of fish most applicable. They are of two classes: one acting as a mucilaginous agent, the other merely imparting the flavour; also an essential point. The first class comprises—whitings, loups or lupins, red mullets, soles, and turbots. The second—gurnets, boudroies or boudreuils, lobsters or cray-fish, sea toads or rascasses, galinettes, limbers, lazagnes or lucrèces. These latter are plentiful in the Mediterranean seas.
As a general rule, this ragoût should be cooked in a stewpan, rather broad than deep, and of thin metal, in order to the ebullition proceeding quickly. Those in tin or thin iron are the most appropriate, as the concoction must be done in a few minutes, and with such rapidity that the liquor must be reduced to the necessary point by the time the fish is cooked. It should also be sent to table and eaten at once, as the shortest delay will cause the quality to deteriorate. The principal fish must be cut in pieces or slices sufficiently sized to serve each guest; the others being merely accessories.
Receipt.—Slice up two large onions, place them in a stewpan as before mentioned, wide but not deep, and of thin metal, add a few spoonfuls of olive oil, and fry the onions of a pale brown colour. Next, place the pieces of fish in the pan, cover them with warm water, but no more than the depth of the contents; add salt, “in moderation,” half a bay leaf, the flesh of half a lemon, without pips or rind, two tomatoes cut in dice, after extracting the seeds, a small tumbler of light white wine, a few peppercorns, and four cloves of garlic. Set on a fierce stove and boil for twelve minutes; by this time the liquor should be reduced to a third of its original quantity. Add a small portion of saffron, a table-spoonful of chopped parsley, allow it to boil a few seconds longer, taste, and correct the seasoning, if required, and remove from the fire.
During this process you should have prepared two dozen of slices of light French bread or penny-roll, about half an inch in thickness, which place in a tureen or dish, pour over them some of the liquor from the ragoût, let it soak a minute or so, and again pour over in order to soak the top as well as the bottom of the layers of bread. Dish up separately the best pieces of fish with the remaining liquor, and serve.
The variation called Bourride, differs in this only, viz., the addition of seven or eight yolks of eggs to a good portion of the liquor, which is stirred quickly over the fire till of the consistence of a custard cream, and then poured upon the slices of bread, with the addition of a tablespoonful of eau d’ail, or ayoli.
The eau d’ail or ayoli is prepared by crushing several cloves of garlic, and saturating them with water; adding the requisite quantity to the bourride.
My reason for printing this receipt, although partly impracticable in England, is, that it is the original as given to me by the worthy host of the “Reserve,” as so successfully made by him.
But as many of the fish required are not to be obtained in England, and the quantity of garlic used would be objectionable to an English palate, I beg to refer my readers to the Addenda for a Bouillabaisse à l’Anglaise, which possesses two great qualities:—firstly, to suit the palate of the gourmet; secondly, that of being very strengthening. The broth is very generous and wholesome for the invalid,—for the authenticity of which assertion I appeal to the faculty.
Giraldo now informed us it was past three o’clock, and that we must be on board by half-past six at latest. So shortly after, much to our regret, we left our worthy landlord and his sanctorum of good cheer, and at half-past four left the Hôtel d’Orient to go on board the steamer, accompanied by the gallant Captain Taunton, Mr. Giraldo, and a few other friends.
Upon arriving at the docks, a most painful sight fell under our notice; it was indeed a spectacle calculated to pain the soul of the greatest philosopher. The quays round the harbour were thickly lined with sick and wounded. There were about seven or eight hundred, who had just been landed from two French steamers, one from Constantinople, the other from the Crimea. Some were placed upon straw, others upon bedding, until they could be removed to the hospital, according to the nature of their cases. Their appearance, I regret to say, was more than indescribable. All the afflictions so common to the fate of war seemed to have met and fallen at once upon those brave fellows, who, a few months previous, were the pride of their country. Many of them, to their sorrow, had not enjoyed a chance of facing the enemy; while those who were wounded looked joyful compared with those who were the victims of epidemics—typhus fever, diarrhœa, dysentery, cholera, or frostbites. I conversed with several; not one complained, but merely regretted the friends who had died on the passage and those sick left behind, and bewailed that they had done so little for their country in the campaign. Mr. Giraldo, who had superintended the disembarkation, informed me that such scenes were of daily occurrence at Marseilles; adding, this must be very encouraging for you. Saying also in irony, “lend soldiers to the Turks—how well they thrive under the banner of Mahomet! Well, well, my dear sir, after all, this is nothing more than the fortune of war: ‘à la guerre comme à la guerre.’”
This was the first disastrous sight I witnessed in this great war, and though anything but encouraging, merely grated upon my sensibility, without in the least affecting my mind. I must say T. G. showed much firmness upon this solemn occasion, which firmness rather failed him afterwards.
At five we were on the deck of the Simois, the name of our vessel. It was her first trip, she having only arrived a few days previous from Liverpool. All on board was in great confusion; a part of the vessel had just taken fire, and the sailors were engaged putting it out, and cutting away the burning portions; however, it was soon extinguished. We then learnt, that upon coming into dock she had met with serious damage, which they had scarcely had time to repair, and the painters were still on board busily employed varnishing the first cabin. I was next told that about four hundred troops, who were expected, had not arrived, and that we should start without them. A lady, who was standing by, exclaimed, “Oh, thank God for that! I cannot bear soldiers.”
“I thought,” I said, “it was a very bad job instead of a good one, as the vessel would be crank, through not being sufficiently loaded, and would in consequence roll very much.”
The weather being reported very rough outside, we were in suspense as to whether we should leave that night or not. On a sudden the screw slowly commenced its evolutions, and propelled us, not without difficulty, from the narrow port to the wide ocean—passing amongst huge rocks, on the very summit of which the furious waves were breaking. The evening was fast advancing, and the vessel was already rolling very heavily. We soon made the rock of Monte Christo, immortalized by Dumas. A yellowish sunset, piercing the heavy rain, faintly lighted the crest of this arid and uninhabitable spot. Shortly after, all was darkness, and many retired. Two or three remained till about ten o’clock, when the steward cheerfully informed us, that the weather was about the