Oh Dear, Just What Is An InterContinuum Photographic Chroniclelizer?

Many Readers have been asking  just what is the “InterContinuum Photographic Chroniclelizer” that I mentioned in my last discussion and why did I neglect to include any interesting bits of information on it? My sincerest apologies! In order to avoid any perturbation as a direct result of unresolved curiosity, I suggest that you refer to the brief explanation of the instrument on pages 61 and 62 in A Visitor’s Guide to Time Travel.  I have also included an image of my own Chroniclelizer to study.

In the unfortunate event that you have left your copy of this invaluable book on a train (along with your umbrella) or somehow otherwise have annoyingly misplaced it, I will repeat the description contained in its pages below.

InterContinuum Photographic Chroniclelizer

“Highly recommended equipment for all temporalnauts, this state-of-the-art camera
provides the means to bring back to the present both the mundane as well as
extraordinary moments in time.

Images captured with this device remain trapped outside of the time-continuum
and inside the patented AntiChronology Protection Chamber.

There, they remain independent and safely captured
within the Event-Duration film.

Through its exclusive Green Screen Technology, the Chroniclelizer
offers the time traveler unsurpassed ease in adjusting the voyage
predictability factors while on the road too!”

I trust that this helps put an end to any befuddlement. And now I must return to my work in the library and transcribe into a notebook the recipes that will recreate those wonderful gougères that I saw during my trip to the summer of 1816. But more on that later…

Hmmm…Why Not?

Oh… just why not! I decided to set aside my library search for a quick trip back to New York City, December 31, 1906! Very foggy, but no matter. My spirits were raised as high as the glass of my Manhattan. Things got pretty noisy at midnight and the din of horns, cowbells and fireworks kept up for nearly ten minutes!

Such a grand and boisterous time was had by all, I am tempted to go back again tonight to join in the fun once more…

Wishing you a New Year filled with Wonder!

 

Memories of Gruyere

Although it was still storming back in 1816 outside of Lord Byron’s Villa Diodati, I returned to my own timeline and into a warm library with a soft, first snowfall taking place outdoors. The pungent smell of Gruyere from Byron’s buffet table was still fresh in my memory.

Those savory little pastries served to his guests that blustery night appeared to be Gougères – delicious, small, hollow pastry puffs made of a rich egg, butter and cheese dough. Byron’s chef had wisely chosen to use Gruyere cheese in his creation.

Seated at my library desk, I began my search for a period recipe for them and reached for the book L’Art de la cuisine française au dix-neuvième siècle by Chef Marie-Antoine Carême. This book is undeniably a triumphant culinary work of encyclopedic proportions.

Careme was a legend in his own time and took his celebrity chef status very seriously – cooking for Kings, a Czar and at least one Emperor. As a test to his creativity, he once prepared a years worth of menus using only seasonal ingredients with no repetitions. His cookbook was a fine first choice but a little over the top. I instead decided to explore an earlier work.

I turned to The Art of French Cookery written by Antoine Beauvilliers – a classic of French gastronomic literature written in 1814. Beauvilliers was both a chef and trendsetter, who very cleverly launched the splendid idea of a “restaurant”. His establishment, La Grande Taverne de Londres, opened in late 18th century Paris and was considered very cool; for up until then, nobody had come up with the notion of customers being able to visit a chic dining room and order from a menu what one wanted to eat. Sheer profitable brilliance!

Antoine Beauvilliers was a charismatic kind of guy who really enjoyed his own cooking. He was a savvy dresser and partial to wearing a sword. Charming and also armed with a memory like that of an elephant, Beauvilliers was known for never forgetting a guest who had visited his restaurant. Superb branding actually and his dashing choice of weaponry probably contributed to minimizing guest complaints. Not that he would get any, his food was considered delicious. Jean Brillat-Savarin, the founding father of gastronomy, regarded him as the finest of the early restaurateurs.

I made a note to myself to go back and visit this trendsetting restaurant in Paris one day – I admit to a weakness for elegant eating establishments with full wine cellars.

But now back to my search for a particular recipe, I had chosen my cookbook well. I found exactly what I was looking for on page 221…

Mad, Bad and Fad

Reluctant to leave the warmth of Lord Byron’s library, I slipped into the hallway and headed for the study.  Periodic lightening strikes helped guide my way and kept me from tripping over any errant animal roving about the house.

From the looks of things upon my arrival in the study, Lord Byron seemed to be exceptionally talented at being messy. Stockings and “whatnot” were tossed about with abandon.  It appeared that Byron had not only enjoyed some company earlier in the evening, he was also afflicted with a lazy valet.  Well this was a tad awkward.  Was this the setting of a clandestine visit with Claire Clairmont perhaps?  After all, she had a raging crush on Byron so strong that it compelled her to travel to Lake Geneva with her stepsister, Mary Shelley and Percy Bysshe Shelley, in order to spend time with him.

Lord Byron was dashingly good looking, knew it and worked it.  He exuded Regency hip.  So attractive was he that his name became a coveted adjective for gentlemen to be described with. Women swooned from his “Byronic”  good looks.   Perpetuating his image though prompted Byron to be obsessed with his weight.

Unfortunately, his appetite was a determined force to be reckoned with; he made excuses for it by saying he had a “morbid propensity to fatten”.  Not truly, Byron just really, really liked to eat and drink and was very good at it too.

There was one other thing in Byron’s life that really irritated him. He was born with a club foot and was mortified by it his entire life.  Not willing to be inconvenienced by either science or common sense, he was convinced that his club foot was the result of his mother refusing to give up her corset during her pregnancy – he never forgave her.  He was fixated with drawing the eyes of those who looked at him upwards and away from his foot.  He did not want any stares to pause at a robust waist.   Maintaining his raffish appearance drove him to be a vanguard of the “fad diet”.

With these thoughts in mind, I moved across the study to a small table set for private dining.  Only a desperate, yet intrepid, eater would taste what lay before me.  I leaned in and took one eye-watering sniff.  The boiled potatoes looked to be smashed down with the back of the fork and reeked of vinegar. It appeared that he had thrown caution to the wind and almost finished off the boiled cabbage that shared the plate.  A small carafe of white wine and plain crackers rounded off the unfortunate looking meal.  One of his ex-lovers, Lady Caroline Lamb, described Lord Byron as “mad, bad and dangerous to know”.  Maybe he was just hungry?

As I stood there considering the unpleasantness of this misguided Regency weight loss regimen, my toe kicked something under the table. A torpedo bottle!  A grand early design for a soda water bottle.  Its shape required it to remain on its side, thereby keeping the cork moist and sealing in the water’s effervescence.  Hmmm, soda water could further help dampen a zealous appetite.

Maybe it was true, Lord Byron preferred to eat alone and would fill up on such foods so as not to be hungry and eat at social gatherings.  Byron once wrote that he “found the sight of a woman eating as repulsive, unless she was eating Champagne and Lobster of course”.  The rogue!

Of Cheese Toast and Ghosts

There is a well recognized adage – never deny an Englishman his Cheese Toast. Ever. It seems that Lord Byron was no exception to this rule. Somewhere in the massive quantity of luggage that he had hauled with him to Lake Geneva, he managed to find a small space to wedge this beautiful toasting fork that now lay in front of the fire. I wasn’t surprised. Lord Byron was an unapologetic over-packer. Overloaded with a vast quantity of must-have paraphernalia, his carriage chronically broke down as it made its way across Europe on the way to Lake Geneva. Apparently, you can take Lord Byron out of England, but couldn’t take England out of Byron – he needed his Cheese Toast.

And now this long-handled fork rested upon a trivet in front of the low flames and was quietly toasting a small, skewered piece of bread a delectable golden brown. It seemed a cozy choice for the poets to eat while listening to ghost stories.

A wedge of cheese (Raclette, I believe) sat nearby, softening to an optimal consistency. The melted side of the cheese closest to the fire would be scraped off and spread over the toast. Perfection in its simplicity. A decanter of Sack, or Sherry, rested close at hand as an excellent partner for the cheese. Alas, this charming treat had been completely forgotten when the group made their way upstairs to their beds.

It was hard to pass up such a delicious morsel, but I was curious to see what was in the room next door. I turned my back to the fire and made my way to the hall.

Meanwhile Back at the Buffet…

It was still a dark and stormy night.

With my foodie instincts on high alert, I reached the sideboard at last! What had this small group of five English free-thinking writers eaten tonight? The candles were burning low, but I was able to see what I had traveled there for.

Interesting…, it appeared that the Napoleonic wars and the cold weather caused by the eruption of Mt. Tambora had little effect on with what Lord Byron entertained his guests, with one exception. I had hoped to find Fraise du Bois, but alas, no alpine woodland strawberries to be seen.

The fierce weather outside could not distract me from a glorious cheesy smell wafting up from a plate of rather innocent looking little puff pastries. Their aroma was braver than their appearance – mummmm, no mistaking the pungent, savory smell of Gruyere cheese. The cook wisely used plenty of it in baking them. They appeared to be Petits Choux Ramecains, a particularly delicious edible in the early 19th century.

Also sharing the table were plates of Sweetmeat and Jam tartlets, sliced ham, dried apricots, candied ginger and Gateaux Madeleines. Unfortunately, several plates were emptied of what they had once held, sigh.

So despite war, cold temperatures and stormy weather, Byron was still able to be a generous host. The rather simple cold buffet offerings looked to be inspired by a French chef cooking for an English nobleman plagued with a prodigious amount of debt. Not surprising, Geneva was only recently liberated from French control and Lord Byron was an enthusiastic Napoleon groupie. His private horse carriage was custom-made to duplicate one of Napoleon’s.

I noticed an abundance of sweets and only one choice of meat offered – unusual for a typical late-night meal during this overtly carnivorous period. It may be that the chef was mindful of the guest’s proclivities – Percy Shelley had a weakness for sweets and was also a vocal vegetarian. The choice still appeared limited though, perhaps due to Byron’s avoidance of eating with his guests? He remained exceedingly fixated on the degree of rotundity of his waist.

Had Byron eaten earlier? I think I will take a peek in his private writing room next door for any indication.

The Summer That Never Was

It was a dark and stormy night during the summer that never was.  It is June in the year 1816 and a group of five English free-thinkers gathered together at the Villa Diodati on the edge of a storm lashed Lake Geneva.  Confined inside in front of a fire in the library were Lord Byron, Percy Shelly, Mary Shelly, Claire Clairmont and Dr. John Polidori.

All those present were on holiday and visiting Lord Byron at his interim home during his self-imposed exile from England.  A voluntary expulsion, I believe, initiated from a scandalous incident involving his unfortunate wife.

Unknown to them, on the other side of the world in Indonesia, Mt.Tambora had erupted with such fury, that it created a blanket of ash over the Earth so dense that sunspots could be seen with the naked eye.

This is to when I am headed…

Just One More Detail…

The time phase has been calibrated and the temporal rendezvous synchronized. It will be a dangerous night to travel to, but the food should be as thought-provoking as the atmosphere…

Ready, Set…wait, hold on a second….

So many possibilities! This is my favorite moment in a trip calculation. To where? To when? And most importantly, what was cooking when I plan to arrive?

My copy of The Temporal Atlas helps immensely with organizing my thoughts. More later on this prodigious book!

At the moment, I must finish my voyage parameter calculations for my upcoming trip. I have chosen a very specific night to travel to and it is imperative that the voyage’s variable boundaries are precisely aligned before I leave…

These Things Happen Sometimes…

Although I try to remain as true to the original recipes as possible, adapting them for a present-day cook may involve substitutions, merely because some components listed are either poisonous or simply unobtainable today.
Sadly, my experiments with bringing back with me some of these ingredients to the present day have failed and resulted in more than a few small explosions; minor flare-ups, I assure you.