This is a very odd book. Abridged from Dumas’ La Grand Dictionnaire de Cuisine, it consists of a food dictionary, various recipes, personal and historical food anecdotes, the occasional menu, a bit of natural history, and selections from a 5000 word ad for Bornibus brand mustard, among other things, much of it lifted from other sources with or without attribution. The translators (Alan and Jane Davidson) made a strong case in the preface for why the text had to be abridged, and I can’t find any grounds to argue with them.
The recipes are occasionally of historical interest, but little practical use: “put some béchamel and some consommé, in the right proportion for the amount of meat available, into a casserole.” Additionally, they frequently make use of obsolete or arcane cookware. Often, the most amusing asides are found in the translators’ notes:
Dumpling: “[we have done our best, with the help of pastry experts on both sides of the channel, to make sense of this recipe, but have concluded that it can only be presented as an example of how Dumas could go astray in dealing with dishes with which he was not familiar]”
“[Norfolk dumplings are named for the county, not for the Duke thereof. They are not made in the manner described]”
Eel: “[This anecdote... is baffling]”
Sauce: “[This whole section is of disappointing quality]
Sauce: “[Dumas also refers often to sauce à l’hollandaise. His own recipe is not suitable for use, and readers are advised to use their own usual recipe.]”
The translators did a fair amount of work elucidating the many areas where Dumas confused different fish species for one another, but weren’t equally diligent with other taxa. For instance, in his entry for kingfishers, after briefly (correctly) referencing Ceyx and Halcyon of Greek mythology, Dumas claims these are “none other than the swallow which lives on the shores of Cochin-China...” and evidently proceeds to describe Edible-nest Swifts in some detail, which the translators let pass without comment. This is due, no doubt, to their own ignorance, as evidenced again when they translated “Macreuse” as “Widgeon” even as Dumas was obviously (and correctly) writing about scoters.
The book’s (and Dumas’) strengths shine through in the various historically interesting tidbits: why the French mix chicory in their coffee; that Captain Cook was saved from illness by dog bouillon; why Italians insult each other by making a “fig” gesture. Whether these are true or apocryphal, I couldn’t say, since Dumas’ love of a good story trumps everything else.
And of course there are opportunities for his characteristic wit and brilliance, such as his entry for Hermit Crab:
“There is nothing more comical than this little crustacean. Nature has furnished him with armour as far as the waist—cuirass, gauntlets, and visor of iron, this half of him has everything. But from the waist to the other end there is nothing, not even a shirt... The Creator, who had begun to dress the creature as a lobster, was disturbed or distracted in the middle of the operation and finished him off as a slug.”
All-in-all, this work is a slog, even for diehard Dumas enthusiasts. What with the constant preoccupation of this or that food’s effect on digestion; incomplete or incorrect information; recipes that are impossible to follow - thank goodness this was abridged! But while I won’t be revisiting it anytime soon, it helps to shed light on Dumas’ lifetime love affair food. And being the last manuscript he completed before his death, presents a time capsule of his final days’ literary preoccupation.