2.2 Touring the Hexagon
2.2.1 Alenby and Le Commissaire Sailland, alias Curnonsky
Le Commissaire's Office, Prison Fernand Point, Richelieu
About 12 noon Monday 4 May 1987
Alenby had no sooner stepped into the old-fashioned doorway of Prison Fernand Point and placed a lean--formerly plump--forefinger on the worn, brass-framed ivory of the bell button, than he felt a pulse of danger. Prison Fernand Point might put on a very nice lunch, but it was still, after all, a prison. Might joining Curnonsky on his tour of the Hexagon entail risk of living out one's life in captivity? He hesitated, but suddenly it was too late to back out. For a spasm of disquiet, transmitted to his finger, had set off a clanging of the bell within. The door swung open, and a wizened, exceedingly short and thin orderly guided him through an ornately furnished anteroom to the private office of le Commissaire Sailland, alias Curnonsky.
"Baron! Welcome, welcome!" piped the dapper, immensely elderly little man, popping up from behind an enormous desk. "I am happy to see you, Baron, my dear shap!" Leaning on a cane, he hobbled rapidly across the room, a tiny claw-like hand extended in welcome.
Alenby was not displeased to be addressed as Baron--he was in truth a little bored with Excellency--but he was disconcerted by the Commissaire's evident awareness of his part in the roadblock fiasco. Still, he recovered his aplomb in time to avoid being outdone in the honorifics department. "Prince," he murmured, gently grasping the proffered hand while taking care to stand politely on tippy-toes.
"As you were, my dear shap, as you were!" commanded the little man with a grandiloquent flourish of his cane. "You may call me Curnonsky...."
"Curnonsky, le prince des gastronomes...."
"The same," said Curnonsky, and he went on: "I have reason to believe that you are familiar with the workings of the horseless carriage? Yes, then you will accompany me on a tour of the Hexagon! You will drive the Rolls. I will navigate, using an annotated copy of 'La France Gastronomique.'"
"Ah, 'La France Gastronomique'! Your finest work, Prince, the finest to emerge from the glory days of the 1920, and one treasured by all true gourmets. But with the advent of Prohibition and so on and so forth, isn't it a little out of date?"
"No, Baron, the spirit of la Belle France, as expressed in the art of cuisine, is eternal. It has not been destroyed by the abominations you mention, it has simply been forced clandestine, underground as you say in English. When Prohibition will have been abrogated, as it will be because it goes against human nature, then La France Gastronomique will emerge unchanged, light and lively as a soufflé au citron fresh from the oven. But for the time being it bides its time, hidden away from the vulgar horde that would put health--health!--ahead of culinary art. Hidden away, but but not from the cognoscenti. For its quiet retreats and secret places are still where I described in my magnum opus. It will will be a pleasure, Baron, to lead you to their delectation, the ultimate pleasures of the table.
"Speaking of which," Curnonsky continued after a short pause, "I have arranged that our prison chef, His Extreme Lowness Monsieur Jean Troisgros, will offer a snack to fortify us for our journey: Monsieur Mine's foie gras de canard, pan seared to a light crust yet retaining a succulent pink within, nestled in leaves of mâche and served with semi-chilled Sauternes. Not Sauternes, actually, but Sainte Croix, which is just as good and much cheaper. The dining nook is this way. Don't worry, my dear shap, we will remain without the prison proper! This way, if you please, this way!"
***
With culinary sensibilities greatly enhanced in the course of his recent fast, yet smoothed out and realigned in the subsequent refeeding process, Alenby reacted to the humble snack with an ecstatic intensity surpassing that of any of his prior experiences. And the luscious character of the Sainte Croix served to cushion the shock to his palate that inevitably accompanied the restoration of alcohol in its normal place in his body chemistry. Transported, he found it easy enough to let slip away the awareness the prison that offered such lavish hospitality, was still a prison.
2.2.2 Alenby with Curnonsky on Tour
Somewhere in la province
In a period of which the days were never counted, in May and June 1987
During their tour, Curnonsky and Alenby sampled a number of popular regional specialties listed below. The details being a mere embellishment of the story, it will suffice to link to the relevant passages in the author's "Francophile Gourmet" diaries. Unfortunately, many of those passages remain to be written, so the delectation of the various comestibles must be left for the moment as an exercise for readers' imaginations.
Bouillabaisse, Bourride, Choucroute garnie, Boeuf Bourguignonne, Lampoie à la Bordelaise, Tripes à la mode de Caen, Pommes Sarladaise (Pommes Bénacoise, actually), Cassoulet, Coq au vin, Gardiane, Garbure, Gratin Dauphinois, Broyé of Poitou (Poitevin), Piperade (oeufs à la), Tarte Tatin, Tapenade (in Tournedos Paul Cézanne), Friture, Magret de Canard en Croûte de Sel.