Acceptance of the Potato
Concerning an 18th century tuber superfan; a cunning trap; the three letters in the word 'go' and some irritable apiarists.
Chips With Everything
The other day, I learned that what the British call a cottage or shepherd’s pie - minced beef or lamb respectively, topped with mashed potato - is known in France as hachis Parmentier. I was vaguely aware that there’s also a dish called Parmentier potatoes (potato cubes fried in butter), so I wondered if it was the same Parmentier, and if so, whether this was a coincidence, or whether chef Parmentier just really liked potatoes. I looked him up. Le voici:
Well. Yes and no. Antoine-Augustin Parmentier (1737-1813) was not a chef, and didn’t invent either of those dishes. But yes, he bloody loved a spud. To the point that the ‘Life and career’ section of his Wikipedia page contains two of the best sub-headings I’ve ever seen: ‘Potato publicity stunts’ and ‘Acceptance of the potato’. If only we all had lives that could be so elegantly summarised.
Anyway, it seems before Parmentier came along Europeans considered potatoes as animal fodder, not fit for human consumption, and possibly the cause of leprosy. But during the Seven Years War, Parmentier was taken prisoner by the Prussians, who - being apparently intensely relaxed about whether A-A Parmentier got leprosy or whether he didn’t - fed him on potatoes. Not only did Parmentier not get leprosy, but after the war he essentially dedicated the rest of his life to saying: ‘Guys, guys! You have to try these things!”
Since France - and the rest of Europe- regularly suffered famine whenever cereal harvests failed, this was more important than it sounds. But you’ll be wanting to know more about those potato publicity stunts. Well, he presented bouquets of potato blossoms to Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette; and he hosted lavish potato-themed banquets for the great and good (including Benjamin Franklin, which might be part of the reason Americans call chips French fries; although, as usual, it also might not.)
But best of all: when the King, now fully on-side with Projet Pomme-de-Terre, as it wasn’t called, gave Parmentier a plot of land in Paris to grow potatoes to his heart’s content, he hired armed guards to defend the plants during the day… but gave them the nights off. Presumably instructing them to say as they left, loudly and in French: “Well, we’ll be off now. Got to get our beauty sleep. You grotty peasants better not steal these valuable plants while we’re gone, or eat the very delicious roots or anything, for instance cut into cubes and fried in butter! Ok, see you tomorrow.”
Anyway. It all worked. France, and then Europe, got behind the potato, radically increasing and stabilising the calorific yield of farms, leading to steep decline in famine (yay!) and giving nations the capability to raise and feed huge mobile armies for invasion and colonisation (…oh.)
And Parmentier’s name is remembered not just in those two potato dishes I mentioned, but many others, plus a metro station in Paris. He is buried there - Paris, I mean, not the metro station - and to this day his tomb is surrounded by…
…chysanthemums.
No, I’m kidding. Potato plants.
News and Ads
Not much of either this week. You can, of course, still buy The Researcher’s First Murder if you like.
Sketch Book
Commentary Box, on
Re: the cor anglais, Derek Czajka reports that in the USA, they go the whole hog and call it the English Horn. Someone else told me that, much like French horn players calling it the horn, cor anglais players tend just to call it the cor.
Re: King Charles’ Head, as I would have titled that bit last week if I’d thought of it, David Arthur says:
My grandfather happened to be in the United States the day after King George died, and actual human beings refused to change his notes. 'This money's no good - that man's dead, I heard it on the radio!'
Re: the unheard poem from Series 9, Huw Davies points out (and I think v.edgy alludes to) something I’d forgotten, which is that elsewhere in the series Newt uses a simpler version of the double dactyl form for Jerry’s ‘paean of praise’ poem; and yes, that was meant as an echo of the poem which I then thought was going to open episode three, with the implication Huw correctly identifies: that Jerry learnt about the form from Newt.
Three brave souls had a crack at writing a double dactyl, with excellent results. Do go and read Tuesday M’s and v.edgy’s; but I feel I should only quote one here, so here is Morgen’s superb summary of the entire edition:
Loverly-love from the
Airport—John Finnemore
Can't spend his banknotes
With Charles's head.
French horn confusion is
Unsatisfactory,
Thus he will take up the
Tuba instead.
And re: me making the last two bits of this and future editions subscription only, Kim Marshall waves them a cheery farewell, which I hope reflects the general mood. I also hope there’s enough left that Thrifty Squadron won’t feel the lack. And huge thanks to all those who have signed up for the last two bits, including the new / unseen dollop of writing - I hope you enjoy it!
Also, Tim kindly alerts me to a glitch for those wanting to pay monthly - I hope that’s resolved now, Tim? Yell if it isn’t…
PS When I went to publish this, it turns out Substack doesn’t want me to let free subscribers comment on editions that contain paid content. I DO want this, however, and I hope I’ve now fixed the settings so that they can. If it turns out I haven’t… I was going to say ‘let me know’, but I suppose you won’t be able to. Still, I expect I’ll notice, and will try to fix it for next time.
With Gently Smiling Jaws.
I walked past this the other day. I’ve seen enough cartoons to be fairly sure it’s a trap set by a hungry crocodile.
Possibly one whose doctor has told them only to eat lean meat.
Love,
The Airport