BACCHUS BY MICHELANGELO

 

Anyone who thinks that gluttony has only to do with the abandonment of all restraint when it comes to food, probably never worshipped at the feet of the grapevine deity, Bacchus, in all his besotted glory. Long before the dawn of the Christian world, the most glamorous orgies of the Greek and Roman haut monde were fueled by the luscious fruit of his vine. And, predating those giddy days, the Mesopotamians, the Babylonians and the Egyptians were brewing their own drink of choice, beer.

Beer dates back, at least, to 6000 B.C. Since Mesopotamia was where civilization began, you’d think the Mesopotamians would have been too busy setting down the ground rules for civility to jot beer recipes in cuneiform, but that’s just what they did. Their beer was made from barley (or other cereals), fermented with honey; for extra pizzazz, herbs and spices were added. The Egyptians modernized the brew into a more recognizable draft with the addition of hops and yeast.

SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE, WASHINGTON, D.C.

Way north and later on, the Anglo-Saxons were bellying up to a different bar where the libation called mead was served. Mead, similar to beer, is made from the fermentation of honey and water, with spices added. This sweet beverage characteristically had an alcohol content of about 8 per cent. Conquering Romans referred to the brew as hydromel or honey-water.

Mead remained popular for centuries but had virtually disappeared by the end of the 1800s as beer grew in favor throughout Europe. Beer was consumed most often as a breakfast beverage and was the most common breakfast drink for most northern Europeans until well into the 19th century–long before the invention of the six-pack or the Super Bowl.

“I like the taste of beer, its live white lather, its bright-brass depths, the sudden world through the wet-brown walls of the glass, the tilted rush to the lips and slow swallowing down to the lapping belly, the salt on the tongue, the foam at the corners.”
–DYLAN THOMAS

DAZE OF WINE AND ROSES

The Romans, who were famous for their grape expectations when it came to putting on a first class bacchanal, spared no expense in serving an astonishing amount of the “nectar of the gods” during the course of an evening. In summer, wine was served chilled; in winter, it was gently heated.

Even though wine was customarily mixed with water in those days, it packed a patrician punch. The best way to be welcomed into the Emperor Tiberius’ inner circle was to drink enough fruit of the vine to make you almost incoherent, which was just the way he liked most of his closest friends. Gluttony, when it came to the grape, meant your political career in the senate or as a member of the emperor’s household would advance with the speed of the latest model chariot.

Venus, Cupid, Bacchus, and Ceres by Cornelis van Haarlem (1562-1638)

PALAIS DES BEAUX ARTS, LILLE. © PHOTO RMN, QUECQ D’HENRIPRET.

The Romans weren’t satisfied to keep their dipsomania to themselves. They planted vineyards wherever they made a conquest; before long the rest of Europe was rolling out the barrel with Latin dedication.

After the fall of the Roman Empire led to that bleak period known as the Dark Ages, the Church became the vintners of record. The monks and friars who filled the huge monasteries all over Europe used wine not only for religious purposes but also to keep their strength up between services. Having a nip or two escalated into the formal assembly of a serious wine cellar, complete with cellar master. Liquid overindulgence was part of the outrageous banquets that took place in the name of God. After a while it was hard to tell just which god was being worshipped.

Some monasteries even had their own private-label, rare cognacs. Spirits were made from fruits such as quince or plum. For medical remedies, wines were infused with herbs, conveniently giving them a whole new profile identified with healing rather than outright pleasure. There were even pharmacological monks who advised their patients to get drunk once a month, religiously, to maintain a good level of health. Thus began the alibi, “I drink, but only for medicinal purposes.”

IT’S A BIRD, IT’S A PLANE, IT’S SUPER GRAPE

In the 17th century, one of the more successful of the holier-than-thou bunch was a shy Benedictine monk named Dom Pierre Perignon, cellar master at the Abbey of Hautvillers, who in his spare time experimented with blending different grape juices. Little did he know it then, but “it tickles my nose” was a phrase that would be heard for centuries to come. His juicy little experiment encouraged a special blend of grapes, when corked, to produce a carbonation that was to launch a thousand ships. It ultimately caused such a sensation in France that a special glass was molded around Marie Antoinette’s breast (as uncomfortable as that sounds) to be used just for sipping Le Dom’s heavenly brew.

“Come quickly, I am tasting the stars.”
–DOM PERIGNON

VINTAGE VIRTUOSOS

When the French began their love affair with fine cuisine, great chefs such as Carême and Escoffier began to choose appropriate wines to accompany the various courses of a formal dinner. As the menu grew so did the consumption of wine, and overfed diners often left the table in a state of inebriation. Unlike socially unacceptable gluttony, a preoccupation with the grape was indulged as an appreciation of the good life.

Even today, with aggressive 12-step programs and enough books on substance abuse to fill the Library of Congress, consuming large quantities of fine wines is unlikely to raise a single eyebrow, but instead will win the drinker the respect given to a bonafide oenophile.

During the early 1900s, a rumor started in Paris that a man could perform much better sexually if he were half drunk. Needless to say, the wine merchants of the city were très ecstatic, while the local boulevardiers were higher than the Eiffel Tower. As we start the new century, the French are still knocking back about thirty-five gallons of wine each per year, and that doesn’t include les enfants who are just learning to mix Chateau Latour with their Ovaltine.

Black Rum and Other Vices, 1997, by Graham Knuttel

COURTESY OF APOLLO GALLERY, DUBLIN

SET ’EM UP, JOE

It’s hard to believe that London, in the land of the stiff upper lip, was the setting of a rather extraordinary display of excess in the name of the noble grape. It took place in 1997, at that darling of the Michelin set, Le Gavroche, known almost as well for its rare wine collection as its cuisine. A dinner for four, hosted by Viktor Kozeny, a Czech multimillionaire fondly called “The Pirate of Prague” by people unfortunate enough to have had business dealings with him, cost, in British sterling, the equivalent of more than $21,000.

Kozeny ordered a meal for his guests that was simple enough to almost have been mistaken for spa cuisine, with nary a truffle in sight, but the choice of the wines which accompanied it would make even Baron Rothschild rosé with envy. Kozeny began modestly with a bottle of 1949 Krug champagne ($929). Lobster mousse and saumon en papillote were accompanied by a fine white Burgundy ($2,324).

As the wait staff stood off in a corner calculating what the tip might amount to, there was a signal from the table that all was not well. The Pirate of Prague was upset. Having tasted the bottle of Burgundy ($8,300) he had ordered for the meat course, he found it unacceptable. A hush came over the entire restaurant as everyone held their collective breath, waiting to see if a young virgin might have to be sacrificed to appease the pirate.

Astonishingly, the pirate just went on to order another bottle, this time a Bordeaux, a 1945 Haut Brion ($3,486). For the dessert omelets, Kozeny chose a 1967 d’Yquem, which was a steal at $1,776. Brandies at $332 per snifter, and enough cigars to keep even Monica Lewinsky happy, rounded out this colossal display of excess.

After the check was handed to the Czech, his response was to make a reservation for the following week. Reports of his next dinner were that the bill came to a very subdued $13,280. The pirate must have switched to Thunderbird.

“The whole world is about three drinks behind.”
–HUMPHREY BOGART

The Topers, 1628, by Diego Velásquez

MUSEO DEL PRADO, MADRID

STAR-SPARKLE CHAMPAGNE PUNCH

1 bottle white Burgundy	1 lemon, sliced
½ cup brandy	½ orange, sliced
¼ cup orange-flavored liqueur	1 pint strawberries, sliced
½ cup lemon juice	1 bottle extra-dry champagne
3 tablespoons sugar	½ quart club soda
1 lime, sliced

Mix together Burgundy, brandy, orange-flavored liqueur, lemon juice and sugar in a 2-quart container. Add sliced lime, lemon, orange and strawberries to mixture. Refrigerate for several hours or overnight to allow flavors to meld.

When ready to serve, put ice or an ice mold in a punch bowl. Pour in ½ of the Burgundy mixture, the bottle of champagne and the club soda. (Keep the unused half of the Burgundy mixture for the next batch of punch.) Makes 12 servings.

ALPHONSE MUCHA, 1897

GILDED CHOCOLATE COGNAC FRUFFLES

Gluttony may be a sin, but patience is a virtue. These extravagant beauties require a great deal of care and time, but are well worth it. Although you will not use the entire package of gold leaf, you may need extra sheets to practice with when you make these truffles for the first time because the fragile sheets tear easily.

36 ounces high-quality semisweet chocolate, divided

12 ounces high-quality bittersweet chocolate, divided

1 ½ cups heavy cream

3 tablespoons cognac

5 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

1 ½ teaspoons solid vegetable shortening

1 package 3-inch-square, 23-carat edible gold leaf, about 25 leaves

In a double boiler, melt 20 ounces of semisweet and 4 ounces of bittersweet chocolate over hot, not boiling, water. Once melted, turn off the heat.

In a small saucepan, heat heavy cream just until it reaches the boiling point. Whisk the cream into the melted chocolate. Place the saucepan in the refrigerator for about 10 minutes to cool. Remove and beat in the cognac and butter. Transfer mixture into a bowl and refrigerate for 3 or 4 hours, or until firm.

Using the large end of a melon baller, scoop out some of the mixture to form unevenly shaped balls. Keep a bowl of very hot water next to the work area to occasionally warm the melon baller. This will make the scooping a bit easier, but be sure to dry the melon baller thoroughly before touching the chocolate mixture. Place the balls on 2 wax-paper lined baking sheets. As each sheet becomes full, place in the refrigerator for about 10 minutes to firm up. Then remove from refrigerator and with clean hands roll each ball to shape and smooth. Place the balls on a freshly lined baking sheet and return to the refrigerator.

TO PREPARE THE GOLD LEAF: Make sure everything is very dry and the windows are shut. The smallest breeze will make the sheets fold over themselves. Each piece of gold leaf is on a piece of tissue. Prepare the gold leaf by using a scissors to cut a few of the sheets together. Cut into quarters very carefully; the gold leaf may stick to the scissors. Use a toothpick to detach. Line the quarter pieces of tissue, gold-side up, on the counter near a freshly wax-paper lined baking sheet.

Melt the remaining chocolate with shortening in a double boiler over hot water. Once melted, remove from heat. Bring out 1 sheet of chilled truffles at a time. Dip each truffle in the melted chocolate, using a candy dipper or a fork and spoon to allow the excess chocolate to fall back into the pot. Gently place each truffle on the baking sheet near the gold leaf. Then carefully take hold of a ¼-sheet gold leaf by the tissue and place, gold-side down, onto the freshly dipped truffle and pull away the tissue paper. The gold will stick to the chocolate. Lightly blow on gold leaf if it has not adhered to the truffle. Repeat for the remainder of the truffles. Refrigerate until ready to serve. Makes about 4 dozen truffles.

THE PERFECT MARTINI

4 cups gin

½ cup dry vermouth

Olives or lemon peel

In a martini pitcher, place plenty of ice, the gin and vermouth. Stir; pour mixture through strainer into chilled martini glasses, adding a lemon peel twist or an olive to each glass. Makes 10 servings.