I HAD NEVER heard of Rémi Flachard before I read this piece, and I cannot wait to visit his bookshop the next time I am in Paris. Only Naomi Barry would describe it as a “gallimaufry,” which sent me to the dictionary, where I learned it means a hodgepodge or jumble. Perfect! Just my kind of shop. Though I’m of course interested to look at the “uncharted sea of books,” I’m even more interested in the menus marking historic occasions.
THE SUBJECT OF gastronomy, like the subject of love, has been the stuff of literature for thousands of years. To read about food is to extend the pleasure of actually eating it. To read the menu of an inspired meal is enough to set the taste buds quivering. The market expert in this mouthwatering domain of bibliophilia is Rémi Flachard, who for the past twenty years has been supplying collectors around the world with works pertaining to their passion.
Flachard’s headquarters is a modest bookshop at 9 rue du Bac in the seventh arrondissement of Paris. His little shop, furnished in False Gothic, is a gallimaufry of vintage cookbooks ranging from rare to rarissime, plus a selection of quality titles from the twentieth century. Those from earlier centuries are splendidly leather-bound and generously tooled in gold. An important section of the stock is devoted to wine and vineyard culture. Another group deals with bread and bread making. The collection of historic menus is exceptional.
Most of the books are in French, which is not surprising since for centuries French chefs headed the kitchens of most of the royal courts of Europe and managed to write down what was going on. Just as French was the lingua franca in the world of the diplomats, French was the lingua franca in the world of the summit cooks, a world unmarked by borders.
Flachard is an exceptionally tall, thin fellow who sports exquisite shoes, boots, and bottines; speaks in a measured vieille France manner; and rain or shine bicycles twenty minutes to work each morning across Paris from the seventeenth to the seventh arrondissement. His ivory-tower shop maintains an active mailing list reaching into eight countries, where the collectors are avid to grab Flachard’s latest finds. Flachard’s high-end finds are not kitchen home companions—one does not risk gravy on an 1823 edition of a work by the legendary Antonin Carême or a treatise on the economic viability of the potato by the agronomist and army apothecary Antoine-Augustin Parmentier.
The other day I dropped in on Flachard, a way stop I enjoy every few months because it feels like a trip into a literary Paris of Once Upon a Time that I happen to adore. He was hunched over a table piled with ledgers, papers, index cards, and other paraphernalia. If Dumas or Balzac had walked in we probably would have said hello without surprise. The crowded scene is deceptive. Although the narrow premises appear to be an uncharted sea of books, Flachard, who knows his stuff, can locate in an instant any requested volume even when it is hidden deep behind two others. Thoughtfully, he has spirited the most valuable items out of sight. Thus one can feel free to browse without succumbing to a wave of excessive temptation.
Flachard was finishing preparation on his catalog (Number 39), a lovingly produced illustrated booklet describing exceptional items currently available. He mails out several thousand of his catalogs twice a year. Requests to purchase the catalog are frequent. He turns them down, saying, “The catalog is not for sale. Buy a book and I give you the catalog for free.”
With books priced in the hundreds and thousands of euros, the response at first sounds disdainfully lofty. Actually it is not as high-handed as it first might seem. The shop offers a considerable selection of quality books more digestibly priced from twenty to sixty euros. Consequently, obtaining Flachard’s gift catalog is not completely beyond reach. Serious collectors keep the catalog on their shelves as a source of reference.
Flachard was excitedly poring over a recently acquired set of fifty-five official menus commemorating banquets, dinners, and receptions that had taken place between 1900 and 1960. The precious trove represented the private collection of Pierre de Fouquières, who had been the French foreign office’s chief of protocol during what obviously was a highly entertaining period. On many occasions it was Fouquières who represented France at the party.
The stunningly designed menus in the Fouquières collection that Flachard was cataloging evoked the social history of an era. The wedding of the crown prince of Iran to Fawzia, the ravishing sister of Farouk of Egypt, was a lavish affair. Fifteen elaborately illuminated menus attest to the fifteen banquets that celebrated the ceremony. Fawzia eventually was repudiated for having produced only a daughter.
The elegant Fouquières, who from his photo was the quintessence of Fifty Million Frenchmen Can’t Be Wrong, had impresarioed glorious official receptions for delegations of Italians, Swiss, Belgians, Americans, English, and Norwegians. In 1911, Fouquières was an official guest at the festive dinner at the Calcutta Club for the marriage of Tikka Sahib, the son of the maharajah of Kapurthala, the mythically rich family whose fief was one of the princely states of India. According to the menu, the Kapurthala wedding dinner was as dazzling as anything dreamed up by Bollywood decades later.
The Franco-Russian Alliance, 1893 to 1909, can be followed through Flachard’s fascinating series of eleven beautifully decorated menus of meals that punctuated its many events. It was party time much of the way. The excitement began on October 19, 1893, when the municipality of Paris honored the officers of the Russian squadron with a sumptuous banquet at the Hôtel de Ville. Luminaries among the 564 guests were the mayors of Lyon, Marseille, Bordeaux, Lille, Toulouse, Le Havre, Nantes, and Reims. The illustrious catering firm of Potel et Chabot was engaged to serve the luxurious banquet.
The menus read like a diary of an embassy attaché.
On October 5, 1896, at two p.m., the Russian imperial yacht Polar Star arrived in Cherbourg on a courtesy visit. Aboard were Tzar Nicholas II and Tzarina Alexandra Feodorovna. They were greeted by President Félix Faure, who that night hosted a dinner in their honor at the Préfecture Maritime.
Nicholas and Alexandra were back in France again on September 18, 1901, this time steaming into Dunkerque on the imperial yacht Standart. President Émile Loubet hosted the welcoming lunch. Two days later the French president and the Russian tzar cohosted a gala dinner at the Château de Compiègne. Escoffier, in his Livre des menus, cited the dinner at Compiègne as a model for a grand presidential reception.
The menus from the years of the Franco-Russian Alliance are a footnote of history. The relationship obviously was warm. On July 28, 1908, the tzar and tzarina had dinner on the French warship Vérité, anchored in the roadstead off Cherbourg. A year later they returned to Cherbourg aboard the imperial yacht Standart, and were greeted like old friends. On the night of July 31, 1909, dinner on the Vérité was an eighteen-course royal gala.
The fête continued. Lunch aboard the Vérité on August 1, 1909, had been scaled down to a happy informal family affair. The tzar and tzarina had brought their children along on the trip, the four young archduchesses Olga, Marie, Tatiana, and Anastasia.
In his specialized librairie, Flachard has for sale a few memorabilia with gastronomic connections. I was captivated by a pencil portrait of the endearing Édouard de Pomiane, scientist, gastronome, and author of several delightful books always in demand.
At tony dinner parties in nineteenth-century Paris, the menu was passed around in a handheld porte-menu. Flachard has two examples of these elegant little accessories. One with a frame and handle in sterling silver was by the firm Charles-Nicolas Odiot (ca. 1850–1860). The other, in silver plate and marked by the firm Christofale, dates from 1900. Either one would add a charming grace note to any dinner party today.
Cooking Classes
There are a number of cooking classes in Paris (and nearby) for students at all levels of comfort in the kitchen, including:
Ritz Escoffier School (click École Ritz Escoffier at ritz paris.com).
Patricia Wells (patriciawells.com); see interview this page for more details.
On Rue Tatin (onruetatin.com), in Normandy and in Paris with Susan Herrmann Loomis; see page 247 for more details.
Promenades Gourmandes (promenadesgourmandes.com) with Paule Caillat.
Le Cordon Bleu (cordonbleu.edu).
See the Shaw Guides (cookforfun.shawguides.com) for many more listings.
If you’ve ever harbored thoughts about taking cooking classes in Paris, you’ve probably seen Sabrina (the original, of course, with Audrey Hepburn), and you’ll also likely devour The Sharper Your Knife, the Less You Cry by Kathleen Flinn (Viking, 2007), a book I very much love about the author’s bold decision to earn a full cuisine diploma from Le Cordon Bleu. On Flinn’s second day of the course, she looks at her bloodstained apron, “gray bits still clinging to parts of it. This isn’t like Sabrina at all. Audrey Hepburn would never have ended up covered in fish guts.” I laughed out loud, got teary-eyed, and cheered all the way for Flinn, and now I don’t have any desire to attend classes at Le Cordon Bleu, because it’s really hard, as Flinn will tell you. Anyone who completes a Cordon Bleu course deserves our praise and admiration. She includes many recipes from her course in the book, but to me these are quite secondary to her own story—about Paris, about cooking school, about friendship, love, and life.