Read Online How the Hot Dog Found Its Bun by Josh Chetwynd - Free Book Online
Authors: Josh Chetwynd
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smiled and said: “Henri, what have you done with these crêpes? They are superb.”
I was thrilled and offered to name them in his honor. But he declined. “Henri,” he said, “we must always remember that the ladies come first. We will call this glorious thing crêpes Suzette.” That was the day, monsieur. People had been eating pancakes from the days of Napoleon—even the Romans—but never before that day crêpes Suzette.
According to Charpentier’s 1934 autobiography, Life à la Henri , the Prince sent over “a jeweled ring, a Panama hat, and a cane” the next day in gratitude for his creation.
There are numerous experts who question this story. The Oxford Companion to Food insists it was developed at Paris’s Restaurant Paillard in 1889 and named after an actress who played a chambermaid serving pancakes in a contemporary comedy. The food encyclopedia does point out that this original version did not have liquor and was not flamed at the table like Charpentier’s bungled effort.
However preposterous, it’s hard not to root for the veracity of Charpentier’s story. Late in life, he found himself in the Southern California seaside town of Redondo Beach financially broken with just ten dollars in his pocket. He secured a very small space—described once as “unglamorous as a hamburger stand”—and began serving a single dinner to one party a night. Groups of between twelve and sixteen guests would beg to score a table and indulge in the master’s cooking, for which he charged an extremely reasonable eight dollars a head. His patrons had to be incredibly patient: It took four years to get in for a meal.
Charpentier, who passed away in 1961, could have cashed in on his notoriety, but he seemed pleased to take things slow. “I only make enough money to live. . . . My reward is the joy of good eating, good companionship, and happy diners,” he said.
His crêpes Suzette story is likely a tall tale, but if that’s the only reason he’s remembered today, I’m buying.
Granny Smith Apples: Garbage discovery
Quick quiz: Which of the following was an actual person: Betty Crocker, Granny Smith, or Aunt Jemima? As we’re talking about those great green apples in this section (America’s favorite apple pie filler), I’m sure you’re not surprised that the correct answer is Granny Smith. Before she was a granny, Maria Smith had lived a lot of life. Born in 1800 in Sussex, England, Maria, along with her husband, Thomas, and their five children, emigrated to New South Wales, Australia, in 1838. After a number of years in the new country, the family bought a thirty-four-acre farm for £605 (approximately $56,000 in today’s dollars) and started growing fruit.
Although the Smiths were producing a number of fruits, the famed apples that bear Maria’s name weren’t a part of the crop. Truth be told, with five children and, by that time, grandchildren (hence the granny sobriquet), Mrs. Smith probably wasn’t intently focused on picking or growing in the farm’s early years. But by the late 1860s, Thomas had become infirm, forcing the aging grandmother to take over the business.
It was during this period that Maria made her discovery, which was, without a doubt, never planned. Smith’s grandson Benjamin Spurway recounted years later that Smith had been given French crab apples from Tasmania by a fruit agent and Granny used them to produce apple pies. She discarded the unused peels and cores through an open window next to the kitchen. Sometime later she noticed a seedling growing near her wall with an odd new apple. Another variation on the story has Granny dumping rotting French crabs beside a nearby creek and discovering a wee new apple tree there.
In either case, this type of serendipitous creation through open pollination isn’t incredibly uncommon. Still, it rarely produces such a perfect fruit. (The dual purpose Granny Smith apple is great for both cooking and eating raw.) The
I was thrilled and offered to name them in his honor. But he declined. “Henri,” he said, “we must always remember that the ladies come first. We will call this glorious thing crêpes Suzette.” That was the day, monsieur. People had been eating pancakes from the days of Napoleon—even the Romans—but never before that day crêpes Suzette.
According to Charpentier’s 1934 autobiography, Life à la Henri , the Prince sent over “a jeweled ring, a Panama hat, and a cane” the next day in gratitude for his creation.
There are numerous experts who question this story. The Oxford Companion to Food insists it was developed at Paris’s Restaurant Paillard in 1889 and named after an actress who played a chambermaid serving pancakes in a contemporary comedy. The food encyclopedia does point out that this original version did not have liquor and was not flamed at the table like Charpentier’s bungled effort.
However preposterous, it’s hard not to root for the veracity of Charpentier’s story. Late in life, he found himself in the Southern California seaside town of Redondo Beach financially broken with just ten dollars in his pocket. He secured a very small space—described once as “unglamorous as a hamburger stand”—and began serving a single dinner to one party a night. Groups of between twelve and sixteen guests would beg to score a table and indulge in the master’s cooking, for which he charged an extremely reasonable eight dollars a head. His patrons had to be incredibly patient: It took four years to get in for a meal.
Charpentier, who passed away in 1961, could have cashed in on his notoriety, but he seemed pleased to take things slow. “I only make enough money to live. . . . My reward is the joy of good eating, good companionship, and happy diners,” he said.
His crêpes Suzette story is likely a tall tale, but if that’s the only reason he’s remembered today, I’m buying.
Granny Smith Apples: Garbage discovery
Quick quiz: Which of the following was an actual person: Betty Crocker, Granny Smith, or Aunt Jemima? As we’re talking about those great green apples in this section (America’s favorite apple pie filler), I’m sure you’re not surprised that the correct answer is Granny Smith. Before she was a granny, Maria Smith had lived a lot of life. Born in 1800 in Sussex, England, Maria, along with her husband, Thomas, and their five children, emigrated to New South Wales, Australia, in 1838. After a number of years in the new country, the family bought a thirty-four-acre farm for £605 (approximately $56,000 in today’s dollars) and started growing fruit.
Although the Smiths were producing a number of fruits, the famed apples that bear Maria’s name weren’t a part of the crop. Truth be told, with five children and, by that time, grandchildren (hence the granny sobriquet), Mrs. Smith probably wasn’t intently focused on picking or growing in the farm’s early years. But by the late 1860s, Thomas had become infirm, forcing the aging grandmother to take over the business.
It was during this period that Maria made her discovery, which was, without a doubt, never planned. Smith’s grandson Benjamin Spurway recounted years later that Smith had been given French crab apples from Tasmania by a fruit agent and Granny used them to produce apple pies. She discarded the unused peels and cores through an open window next to the kitchen. Sometime later she noticed a seedling growing near her wall with an odd new apple. Another variation on the story has Granny dumping rotting French crabs beside a nearby creek and discovering a wee new apple tree there.
In either case, this type of serendipitous creation through open pollination isn’t incredibly uncommon. Still, it rarely produces such a perfect fruit. (The dual purpose Granny Smith apple is great for both cooking and eating raw.) The
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