“The Physiology of Taste” 1825

The Physiology of Taste; Or, Transcendental Gastronomy by ...
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 "Tell me what you eat, and I'll tell you what you are." Such was the fourth on the list of aphorisms published in 1825 by Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, the celebrated French lawyer-gourmet.

Everyman's Library

“The discovery of a new dish does more for the happiness of the human race than the discovery of a star.”
―from "The Physiology of Taste: or Meditations on Transcendental Gastronomy" By Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

A culinary classic on the joys of the table—written by the gourmand who so famously stated, “Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are”—in a handsome new edition of M. F. K. Fisher’s distinguished translation and with a new introduction by Bill Buford. First published in France in 1825 and continuously in print ever since, The Physiology of Taste is a historical, philosophical, and ultimately Epicurean collection of recipes, reflections, and anecdotes on everything and anything gastronomical. Brillat-Savarin, who spent his days eating through the famed food capital of Dijon, lent a shrewd, exuberant, and comically witty voice to culinary matters that still resonate today: the rise of the destination restaurant, diet and weight, digestion, and taste and sensibility. READ an excerpt here: http://knopfdoubleday.com/…/the-physiology-o…/9780307269720/

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The Physiology of Taste


By Robert S. Pirie and RICHARD SENNETT
Feb. 6, 1972
One day during lunch, at the age of 94, Brillat‐Savarin's sister cried out to her butler, “I fear I am dying—bring on the dessert!” Had not Jean Anthelme me Brillat‐Savarin, country lawyer, violinist exiled in New York during the French Revolution, advocate and judge in Paris during the succeeding Thermidor, Directory, Empire and Restoration, had not this author of the greatest treatise on gastronomy, this high priest of kitchen and table with millions of oysters, a ton of caviar and thousands of chickens behind him, had he not already “left the world like a satisfied diner leaving the banquet room” (as one admirer put it), he would surely have applauded his sister's remark. For his fourth and most famous aphorism reads, “Tell me what you eat, and I shall tell you what you are.”

“The Physiology of Taste” first appeared in 1825, but it is really a book of 18th‐century pleasures, composed by the only philosophe of food. A modern cookbook may begin with a list of kitchen equipment or an explanation of basic cooking techniques; Brillat‐Savarin begins with a “Meditation on the Senses.” A modern cookbook may tell how to fry an egg or fish; Brillat‐Savarin proposes a “Theory of Frying.” This theory is typical of his approach: set as a discourse a la Hume, it begins with the chemistry of frying, then shows the emotional metaphor the chemistry produces—frying is a way to “surprise” food by sealing in flavors before they escape under heat. Only then does Brillat‐Savarin feel the reader is ready to learn specifically how to fry an egg or fish.

As a man of the Enlightenment, Savarin never fears that by explaining pleasure, pleasure ceases. A modern reader, propped up in bed with the Marquis de Sade, resents all those lengthy diatribes on Man and Nature the Marquis loves to insert just when his sexual ballets are about to reach their athletic peak. Similarly, in the midst of describing the gentler pleasures of a feast, Brillat‐Savarin confronts the modern reader with what seems irrelevant. For example, he points out that in enjoying a fine turkey, a man is really attaining knowledge about the Natural Balance between flesh and fat.

Instead of displaying the unity of thought and feeling of 18th‐century writers, we today make a break; the language of modern cookbooks is riddled with Romantic warnings of the “inexplicable art” of finishing a great sauce poivrade or the “mysteries of bouillabaise. Brillat‐Savarin would say chefs who appeal to the inexplicable simply don't know how to cook.



Cooking techniques have changed greatly in the 150 years since “The Physiology of Taste” appeared, yet this book remains an invaluable practical guide. In carving meat, notes Brillat‐Savarin, it is important for the knife blade to remain at right angles to the flesh—a point now often neglected. Brillat‐Savarin's chemical theories do in part date his book; he believes, for instance, in “Osmazome,” a water‐soluble substance in meat containing all its flavors. Yet the culinary principles based on this chemistry remain true: To extract the flavor substances in meat stews, all the ingredients have to be cut or shaped so that the liquid has maximum exposure to the solid. A simple, clear idea, and yet how many recipes today yield bland results because the food was not first properly prepared in this way.

For all its practical advice and general wisdom, “The Physiology of Taste” is great fun, loaded with mocking anecdotes, graced by the author's cheerily jaundiced view of his fellow human beings. M. F. K. Fisher's English version perfectly captures the wit and gaiety of the book. First published 20 years ago in a deluxe edition, her translation and commentary now appear in less expensive form. The translation itself is far superior to the earlier one by Arthur Machen; Mrs. Fisher's English is unstilted and flowing. The notes, however, are the glory of the book.

In these notes, Mrs. Fisher does not explain Brillat‐Savarin, she reacts to him. When he discourses on digestion, she replies with Charles Townsend Copeland's aphorism, “To eat is human, to digest divine.” Brillat‐Savarin's remarks on coffee recall to her an outrageous tale related by a planter from Sumatra. There, he told her, children were sent into the jungle to collect tiger droppings; these were taken home, dried and then culled for intact coffee beans, on the theory that a bean that could withstand the inferno of a Tiger's stomach must yield the strongest and most perfectly roasted coffee known. With notes like these, it is regrettable that the book has been designed so that they appear at the end of each section rather than at the bottom of the page. M. F. K. Fisher and Brillat‐Savarin are too united in spirit to be so far separated in print. ■