Liberty, Equality, Gastronomy

Liberty, Equality, Gastronomy: Paris via a 19th-Century Guide
By TONY PERROTTET
A marvelous painting of a gourmand at his table hangs in the Musée Carnavalet in Paris — a portly, pink-faced figure happily gorging on a regal casserole, with a bottle of wine at one elbow and a luscious-looking soufflé at the other. It is traditionally believed to be a portrait of Alexandre-Balthazar-LaurentGrimod de la Reynière, an aristocrat notorious in Napoleonic France for gratifying his palate with the same abandon as his contemporary the Marquis de Sade showed in indulging carnal desires. Whether or not the painting is actually Grimod’s likeness, it captures the eccentric, omnivorous spirit that made him not only a gustatory symbol in the Paris of his day, but the grand-père of all modern foodwriters as well.
Starting in 1803, Grimod, whose family fortune had largely been lost during the Revolution, financed his voracious appetite by writing a series of best-selling guidebooks to the culinary wonders of Paris — its famous delicatessens, pâtissiers and chocolatiers — including the first reviews of an alluring new institution called le restaurant. His Almanachs des Gourmands were somethingnew, the Michelins and Zagats of his era, and their offbeat style reflects the author’s larger-than-life character. Grimod was born in 1758 with deformed hands, one a birdlike talon and the other a webbed pincer. But he was not one to be held back, so he had learned to write — and dine — with metal prostheses. A social butterfly, he became a successful theater critic in Paris before theRevolution, survived the Terror and amused himself later by hosting literary salons in the cafes. And, of course, eating.
It was on the trail of Grimod one day last summer that I passed through the vaulted arches of the Palais Royal, opposite the north wing of the Louvre, and into a vast, empty courtyard. In Grimod’s day, the Palais Royal was the heart and soul of Paris, a rowdy entertainment centerfilled with brothels and sideshows that, despite its louche ambience, also boasted some of his favorite specialty food stores and restaurants.
For me, it was the first stop in what would become a week of wandering the modern city armed with a map on which I had marked streets mentioned by Grimod. One of the most exciting things about the Almanachs is that they include detailed gastronomic walkingtours of Paris, called “nutritional itineraries” — each one a vivid window onto the past.
The inspiration for my trip was a discovery I made a couple of years ago in the New York Public Library, where I was researching a book on Napoleon and came across two pocket-size, leather-bound volumes, the 1805 and 1810 editions of the Almanach. They made fascinating reading: idiosyncratic and outlandish,filled with arcane gossip about forgotten chefs and digressions on the best way to cook calf’s head in aspic or quails in sarcophagi (the birds lie in tiny pastry “coffins,” with their heads intact; a version of the dish appears in the film “Babette’s Feast”). At various points, Grimod even includes the names and addresses of actresses he is wooing, like the comely Augusta, cited for her “grace andfreshness.” The more I read, the more interested I became in the question of what remains today of Grimod’s Paris.
I had assumed that recreating a 200-year-old trail would require something of a creative leap, but now, with the Palais Royal presenting itself to me as a serene park, quaint and genteel as a fashionable graveyard, I realized what a challenge I actually faced. Its splendid arches areintact, but they are lined with clothing boutiques rather than fleshpots or culinary diversions. I pored feverishly over my 1810 guide. Where was Corcellet, the most revered épicerie in France, with its rich pâtés, delicious sausages and succulent hams? (The painting in the Carnavalet was actually commissioned as a sign by the owner in 1804, after Corcellet was given a rave review in the...