Jean-Robert Pitte
The origin of the restaurant can be traced all the way back to the dawn of recorded history. The business of selling prepared food began when peasants and artisans were forced to leave home for days at a time in order to sell their goods at markets and fairs. While they were away, they had to eat while meeting with friends and business associates. As cities grew, the number and diversity of restaurants increased, and the restaurant remains primarily an urban phenomenon. Nevertheless, there were, even in the Roman Empire and ancient China, inns and way stations along major roads, often far from the nearest town. These were places where travelers could change horses, rest, and restore their strength by eating and drinking while keeping company with the staff and other guests.
Street Kitchens
Throughout the world, the principal type of eating establishment has always been the street kitchen, where a person can buy a precooked dish for a modest sum. They have always existed in China and still exist throughout Asia, even in industrial and postindustrial countries such as Japan. Tokyo’s yatai, or restaurants on wheels, are the best place to buy lamen and oudon soups and oden boiled in a soyor sake-based broth. These establishments fulfill an important social function: office workers, students, and businessmen can often be found exchanging pleasantries with the cook and eating together on benches protected from the street by curtains.
Street restaurants are still common in Latin America and the Middle East and Africa (the shish kebab stalls of North Africa and the maquis of Abijan, for example). And they are one of the charms of Papeete, where restaurant trucks park along the oceanfront in the evening and serve a variety of local and foreign dishes. By contrast, street kitchens have all but vanished in Europe; only a few street vendors remain, but without tables where customers can sit down to eat.
The Birth of the Modern Restaurant
If most restaurants in France are permanent rather than itinerant operations, it is probably because France was the birthplace of what we now call the restaurant, which gradually replaced an older variety of eating establishments. This happened toward the end of the eighteenth century. With the exception of inns, which were primarily for travelers, and street kitchens, described above, where in Europe at that time could one purchase a meal outside the home? Essentially in places where alcoholic beverages were sold, places equipped to serve simple, inexpensive dishes either cooked on the premises or ordered from a nearby inn or food shop, along with wine, beer, and spirits, which constituted the bulk of their business. Such tavern-restaurants existed not only in France but also in other countries. In Germany, Austria, and Alsace, Brauereien and Weinstuben served delicatessen, sauerkraut, and cheese, for example; in Spain bodegas served tapas. Greek taverns served various foods with olive oil (such as tarama, stuffed grape leaves, and green beans). English pubs served shepherd’s pie. And French tavernes and guinguettes, located outside city walls where meals were exempt from taxes, served a variety of fortifying dishes such as stews, meat with sauce, and organ meats. Certain other establishments, such as the cabarets of Paris, served only wine, however; the “blue” wines of Suresnes, Argenteuil, and Chanteloup were poured in vast quantities.
All of these places, which catered to noisy, lighthearted, occasionally disputatious crowds, were apt to serve plain and simple fare rather than more elaborate culinary creations. If a person wished to drink with friends in a more sophisticated environment, it was necessary to go to a cafe, a type of establishment that dated back to the previous century. It was in 1674 that the Neapolitan Francesco Capelli, known as “Procope,” opened the first cafe in Paris on the rue de Tournon. In 1684 Procope moved to the rue de l’Ancienne-Comédie, where a restaurant still does business under that name today. Soon, in places from Venice to Vienna, from St. Petersburg to London, cafes became bastions of the Enlightenment. Clients drank not only coffee but also tea and chocolate, and along with these exotic beverages they ate cake and sorbets.
For a genuine meal one had to look either to a good inn or to a rôtisseur or traiteur (caterer, from the Italian trattorie). In France, these two guilds, together with the charcutiers, had been granted a monopoly on all cooked meat other than pâtés (chopped meat wrapped in a pastry dough, the ancestor of today’s etymologically redundant pâté en croûte). Only common people actually ate in the traiteur’s shop, perhaps seated at a table reserved for guests in some establishments. Even a moderately well-to-do person would have preferred to order food delivered to a private home or a room at an inn or hotel or an elegant salon rented for the occasion. Wine was supplied by the tavern or inn. (This system is still common in Japan, where hot and cold dishes can be ordered by telephone at any hour of the day or night. Small neighborhood caterers depend more on these telephone orders than on their actual restaurant clientele. In any case, the premises are often tiny, with room for no more than four or five diners.)
One city in eighteenth-century Europe stands out as exceptional, however. London had a respectable number of taverns unlike those found elsewhere in Europe. These high-class, not to say luxury, establishments served dinner together with a glass of claret, sherry, or port. Their customers were gentlemen of the upper middle class and aristocracy, especially members of Parliament. Indeed, many members of the House of Lords lived primarily on their estates and kept only modest pieds-à-terre in town. With few servants they could scarcely hold sumptuous receptions in these small apartments. When the Marquis of Caraccioli visited London in 1777, he was aghast at the ways of the English aristocracy: “Country houses aside, their lodgings are poor, and nowhere can they find better food than at a tavern, to which they commonly invite foreign friends…. Is this what it means to live like a lord?”
In the 1670s one of the most celebrated London taverns was run by a Frenchman, Jean de Pontac, the son of a président of the Bordeaux parlement. He took advantage of the opportunity to dispense some of the wine produced on his father’s estate, the Château Haut-Brion, producer of one of the world’s best “clarets.”
Since the reign of Louis XIV, the cream of the French aristocracy had resided in Paris or nearby Versailles. They lived in high style in private houses (hôtels) in the Marais, the suburb Saint-Germain, and Versailles itself. The wealthiest rarely called on the services of caterers doing business with the general public. They preferred to employ their own maîtres d’hôtel and cuisiniers, paying astronomical sums for talented chefs and seeking to emulate the culinary extravagance of the court. This was the proving ground for the elaborate recipes that form the basis of French haute cuisine, which already enjoyed a considerable reputation abroad. The culinary landscape of Paris was thus already in evidence: a grand luxury cuisine beyond the reach of ordinary mortals together with a large number of food and wine shops serving more common fare, together with a few places where more sophisticated creations could be purchased (such as pâté de jambon at Leblanc’s shop on the rue de la Harpe, which in a typical year served up some 1,800 Bayonne hams). In addition to these eating establishments, there were also cafes, where one fed the spirit but not the stomach. Meanwhile, the cultivated elite kept its eyes on England. Such was the situation at the time of the Boulanger affair.
The Boulanger Affair
In 1765 a man by the name of Boulanger, also known as “Champ d’Oiseaux” or “Chantoiseau,” opened a shop near the Louvre (on either the rue des Poulies or the rue Bailleul, depending on which authority one chooses to believe). There he sold what he called restaurants or bouillons restaurants—that is, meat-based consommés intended to “restore” a person’s strength. Ever since the late Middle Ages the word restaurant had been used to describe any of a variety of rich bouillons made with chicken, beef, roots of one sort or another, onions, herbs, and, according to some recipes, spices, crystallized sugar, toasted bread, barley, butter, and even exotic ingredients such as dried rose petals, Damascus grapes, and amber. In order to entice customers into his shop, Boulanger had inscribed on his window a line from the Gospels: “Venite ad me omnes qui stomacho laboratis et ego vos restaurabo”. He was not content simply to serve bouillon, however. He also served leg of lamb in white sauce, thereby infringing the monopoly of the caterers’ guild. The guild filed suit, which to everyone’s astonishment ended in a judgment in favor of Boulanger. It was an ominous sign for the future of the guilds, which were soon swept away in the turbulence of the French Revolution, but an encouraging one for a new profession that greatly needed it.
The celebrity that Boulanger enjoyed as a result of this lawsuit ensured his success. In a letter to Sophie Volland, Diderot wrote: “I left to have dinner with the restaurateur on the rue des Poulies. One eats well there but pays dearly for the service.” In the years leading up to the revolution restaurateurs set up shop everywhere. They served sophisticated dinners, no longer at an unappealing common table but at private tables covered with tablecloths and reserved for individuals or small parties. The dishes that could be ordered were listed on a framed piece of paper, and at the end of the dinner the customer was presented with a check listing what had been ordered.
Among the most renowned restaurants of the period, Les Trois Frères Provençaux on the rue Helvétius (today the rue Sainte-Anne) stood out as particularly distinguished from 1786 on. The “three brothers” exploited the exotic by serving brandade de morue (salt cod pounded with garlic, oil, and cream) and bouillabaisse—or some version of bouillabaisse, since it is hard to imagine how the delicate rascasse and saint-pierre, both Mediterranean fish, could have made it to the capital. Clearly, people already went to restaurants to sample exotic dishes, a habit that would become increasingly common as time went by. The “three brothers” became so well known that after the revolution the Prince de Conti hired them to head his kitchens before finally deciding to emigrate.
In 1782 Antoine Beauvilliers, another restaurant pioneer, left the service of the Comte de Provence (the future Louis XVIII) to open a restaurant on the rue de Richelieu, which he called La Grande Taverne de Londres in order to appeal to society people crazy about the English and others with fond memories of their journeys across the channel. Brillat-Savarin would later write that “for fifteen years [Beauvilliers] was the leading restaurateur of Paris…. He was the first to have an elegant dining room, impeccably dressed waiters, a select wine cellar, and superior food…and he seemed to pay special attention to his guests.” Beauvilliers recognized regulars and addressed them by name, spoke to foreign guests in their native tongues, and moved about the dining room with a sword strapped to his side. His prices reflected these many talents. Soon Beauvilliers was so successful that he was able to move from his original location and open a new restaurant nearby, underneath the arches of the Palais-Royal, at that time a center of fashion. But no one yet used the word restaurant to refer to the establishment of a restaurateur. It was not until 1835 that the dictionary of the Académie Française recognized the word in this sense.
The revolution made the fortune of many restaurateurs. A number of excellent chefs suddenly found themselves without patrons, as their masters were either guillotined or fled abroad. Some chefs went into business for themselves and catered to the new princes of the day. Méot, formerly chef to the Prince de Condé, opened a restaurant on the rue deValois in 1791. His neighbors included Bancelin, Robert (also once employed by Condé), Henneveu, and Véry. Their clients were the provincial députés brought to Paris by the revolution. Within the walls of the Palais-Royal, not far from where they sat as legislators, revolutionary leaders found all the Parisian pleasures they had ever dreamed of, along with other conveniences of a more prosaic sort. Louis Sébastien Mercier had this to say in 1798:
It was a very judicious fellow who, upon seeing that the Palace formerly known as Royal now housed any number of restaurateurs glaciers with their dining rooms and private cabinets packed as closely as flies on honey, had the idea of building privies for the diners at eighteen livres apiece. His thought was that so many truffled turkeys, salmons, Mainz hams, boar’s heads, bolognas, pâtés, wines, liquors, sorbets, ice creams, and lemonades must in the final analysis ultimately find their way into a common reservoir, and that if he made it spacious enough and above all convenient enough for so many people who treated everything as a source of pleasure, the caput mortuum of the nearby kitchens would become his gold mine.
Here we have a fine example of a man who knew how to adapt the lesson of the emperor Vespasian to modern times.
The Restaurant in the Nineteenth Century
The revolution thus allowed haute cuisine to emerge from the milieu of the court. Customers who had never tasted truffles or chambertin and who might have been expected to seek to bring their actions into line with their political and social beliefs thronged restaurants in order to sample such delicacies. Before the revolution there were about 100 restaurants in Paris, but afterward the number rose to 500 or 600 under the Empire and to 3,000 during the Restoration. In 1804 Grimod de La Reynière, writing in the Almanach des gourmands, remarked that “the hearts of most opulent Parisians suddenly metamorphosed into gizzards…. In no other city in the world has the number of shops selling comestibles increased so rapidly. Paris has one hundred restaurants for every bookstore.”
When the Empire collapsed, the restaurants of Paris were so renowned that officers from all the European allies flocked to them, as German officers would do again in 1940. Eugène Briffault remembered that event in his Paris à table (1840): “In 1814, when all of Europe rose in arms against France, the leaders of that multitude had but one cry: Paris! And in Paris they asked for the Palais-Royal, and at the Palais-Royal what was their first desire? To sit down to eat.”
Throughout the nineteenth century the general level of Parisian eating establishments rose significantly, although a good number of places remained where one could buy leftovers. The cabarets disappeared, cafes became salons de thé, and the old appellation café was later taken over by the vin-bois-charbon, places where one could buy wood or charcoal in addition to the odd glass of wine. These were kept by the “Auvergnat diaspora,” peasants who had left Auvergne for Paris and whose wives and mothers were long renowned for their lentil stews and pot roasts. The guinguettes of an earlier period transformed themselves into real restaurants with tablecloths and nice dishes, as can be seen in any number of Impressionist paintings. Soup kitchens and dairy shops offered home cooking at modest prices. Restaurants of this sort sprang up throughout the provinces to serve artisans, officials, and people of leisure. The bouchons of Lyons were the most distinguished of the lot with their saveloy and leg of lamb salads, quenelles, tabliers de sapeur (tripe), and cervelle de canut (a strong cheese), all washed down with chilled beaujolais (young rather than new).
The refinement once associated with the old aristocratic households could be found in the deluxe restaurants of the grands boulevards of Paris (the Café Riche and the Café Anglais), on the Place Bellecour in Lyons, and in the back streets of Bordeaux. The great restaurants relied on recipes developed and written down by Antonin Carême, the chef who presided over the extraordinaires (official banquets for major state occasions of the Empire and Restoration) and by his successors, Dugléré, Urbain Dubois, and, last but not least, Escoffier. Chefs prepared beautiful creations out of fish and shellfish, foie gras from Strasbourg (which became the very symbol of good dining in France), seasonal game, chicken, and sirloin, all buried beneath mountains of truffles and dripping with brown sauces thickened with cream or butter. Menus at these restaurants could be as long as the dinner menus for the great occasions of the Ancien Régime, but now, for reasons of convenience and price, customers picked and chose the dishes they wanted before the food was prepared and served. They also selected wines from enormous lists.
Thus the revolution, far from hampering culinary creativity or marking a step down from the heights of eighteenth-century cuisine, actually effected a transfer of the art of cooking from the aristocracy to the bourgeoisie and to some extent to the working class as well, by way of an institution—the restaurant—born of the demise of the old guilds.
Restaurants and the Tourist Trade
Toward the end of the nineteenth century came a second revolution in the art of eating well away from home, a revolution related to the development of rapid means of transportation and luxury tourism. Earlier, at the end of the eighteenth century, a few wealthy Englishmen had begun to settle on the Riviera. Later they also favored various places in Italy, Corfu, and elsewhere. At that time, however, the custom was to build or rent a substantial villa with a large staff of servants. This kind of tourism did not foster the development of restaurants. But when the middle classes began traveling across Europe in large numbers, entrepreneurs built luxury hotels to accommodate them. Food, ambiance, and service were of course part of the package.
One of the pioneers of this new type of hotel was César Ritz, a Swiss developer who formed a partnership with one of the leading French chefs of the day, Auguste Escoffier. Their first joint venture was the Grand Hotel of Monte Carlo. After that came the Savoy of London, a city noted for fine hotels since the 1820s. After making the Savoy one of the best hotels in the world, the pair opened another hotel in London, the Cecil, where Escoffier prepared his famed “Epicurean dinner,” a French meal that was served to hundreds of people simultaneously in thirty-seven cities across Europe. Following Escoffier’s lead, French chefs spread out across the continent, and the profession of cook became known as one of the most remunerative if difficult of the manual trades. It was, and is, also a trade that required its practitioners to move wherever their work might take them.
Here, in Escoffier’s own words, delivered with the chef’s customary aplomb in his remarkable memoirs, is a description of his work and influence:
The art of cooking is perhaps one of the most useful forms of diplomacy. When called upon to set up restaurants in the most sumptuous of luxury hotels all around the world, I always made a point of insisting on French equipment, French products, and, above all, French personnel. The reason for this is that the development of French cooking has been due in large part to the thousands of French chefs who work in all four corners of the globe. These men left their native land in order to teach people in far-away places about French foods and how they are prepared. I take great satisfaction in having contributed to this development. Over the course of my career I have “sown” some two thousand cooks around the world. Most of them have settled abroad, and one can think of them as so many grains of wheat planted in previously untilled soil. France is today reaping the harvest.
The Restaurant in the Twentieth Century
Meanwhile, the word restaurant caught on not just in France but throughout Europe. The English took over the French spelling without change, while the Italians opted for ristorante, the Spanish for restaurante, and so on. By the late twentieth century the word had spread around the world, and one sees it today on the facades of the finest eating places in Tokyo, Hong Kong, Bangkok, Rio de Janeiro, and Cairo. One even sees it on more modest establishments in the poorer countries.
And French chefs still go abroad, much more often, in fact, than French engineers or businessmen. No other sophisticated cuisine has evolved as rapidly as the French. Today it resembles the culture of France itself, if only in its contradictions. It has become increasingly receptive to foreign influences (foods, cooking techniques, flavors, and methods of serving), particularly from the Far East. Yet it still takes a reverent attitude toward regional products and traditional presentations (or modernizations thereof). And it attaches great value to the idea of making sure that food and wine are perfectly attuned to the geographical setting, the season, and the desires of chef and diners alike.
Since World War II, French cuisine has changed in response to the demise of the grand hotels and the rise of automotive tourism. To break up the monotony of the long trip along National Highway 7 from Paris to the Côte d’Azur, wealthy Parisians got into the habit of stopping along the way to sample the gastronomic delights of the regions through which they were traveling. This phenomenon explains the success of Alexandre Dumaine at the Côte d’Or in Saulieu, of Mère Brazier in Lyons, of Fernand Point at La Pyramide in Vienne, and of Raymond Thuillier at the Oustau de Baumanière in Baux-de-Provence, among others. Never before would a great chef have dared to serve escargots, gratin dauphinois, or a simple herbed leg of lamb. Nowadays such dishes are demanded by clients alongside lobster and foie gras truffé, which remain as prestigious as ever. What is more, gourmets from around the world now think nothing of traveling from one end of France to the other in order to sample the cuisine of a renowned chef. For some years now, Japan Airlines has been organizing tours of France whose high points include a few of the major sights of Paris (the Eiffel Tower, Hermès, Vuitton) together with the restaurant founded by Paul Bocuse (even though the master himself has retired). Michel Guérard managed to attract Americans to Eugénie-les-Bains, where he set up shop. And Michel Bras, whose kitchen is in Laguiole on the inacessible Aubrac, draws pilgrims keen to savor the rare fragrance of dishes flavored with herbs from the nearby volcanic slopes. After all, crème de tourteau à la semence d’anis sauvage and langoustines à la bourrache bleue and foie gras aux aiguilles vertes de pin Douglas are as exotic today as the consommé au madère with Parmesan that Brillat-Savarin served nearly two centuries ago to elderly gourmet relatives who could not believe their taste buds, or as the foie gras de Strasbourg that the Maréchal de Contades, governor of Alsace, sent to Louis XVI, who became a convinced propagandist.
Haute cuisine is thus alive and well, and it is not difficult to understand why. Its success is comparable to that of high fashion, the plastic arts, music, and literature. By contrast, what is happening to less renowned restaurants is worrisome. Everywhere the food business is turning toward the typical, the anodyne, and the insipid. And it does no good to point a finger of blame at the Americans, the pioneers of the fast food formula that is bringing in the masses from Des Plaines, the birthplace of McDonald’s, to Paris, Moscow, and Peking, the home of the largest fast food restaurant in the world. If the formula has been successful, it is because it meets certain needs. Owners of more traditional restaurants may have failed to heed their clientele.
In an odd way the current situation is reminiscent of the old dispute in Paris between the traiteurs and the restaurateurs. For those who feel that the barbarian is at the gates and that all the great culinary traditions are about to vanish, it is time to get to work and come up with a way to satisfy everyone’s appetites, cultural as well as physical, in a way that people can afford. The restaurant has always been the kingdom of the imagination. Without imagination it cannot survive.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
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