Kerylos –– One of the Most Beautiful Places in the World and Cato’s Cheesecake

Villa Kerylos, House & Garden, 2001

There are those who rail against the 1% and their excesses (please explain Spelling Manor to me –– 56,000 square feet of UGLY), but there is a lot to be said for old family money and an eye for art and style.  Without them, there may never have been Villa Kerylos, one of my favorite places in the world.  Reading about Greek art a few weeks ago set me to thinking about the house again after it had been too long out of my thoughts.  I love this house.

The Ephrussis were seriously 1% (their great wealth came from banking and oil) and responsible for some glorious buildings in the late 19^th and early 20^th century.  They are at the heart of Edmund de Waal’s  incandescent book, The Hare with Amber Eyes. The Ephrussi’s built the Palais Ephrussi in Vienna, the Hotel Ephrussi in Paris and a marriage into the Rothchild family produced the very pink Villa Ephrusi de Rothchild on Côte d'Azur.  They are all spectacular but to me, none compare to the quiet elegance of Villa Kerylos.

Théodore Reinach

The man that built Villa Kerylos was not born into the Ephrussi family but married into it when he took Fanny Ephrussi Kann as his wife.  His name was Théodore Reinach. He came from a family of terribly brilliant men.

‘Polymath’ would be an appropriate descriptor for him since he was an “archeologist, a mathematician, lawyer, papyrologist, philologist, epigrapher, historian, numismatist, musicologist, professor and politician.”  After losing his first wife in 1889, he married Fanny in 1891.

Emmanuel Pontremoli

When it came time to build a home the Reinachs decided on the French Riviera as the place to do it (in the town of Beaulieu sur Mer). In 1902, they hired Emmanuel Pontremoli to build it and it was a perfect choice.  Pontremoli was an architect but also an archeologist and fellow Hellenist and that conjunction of talents is what made Kerylos such an extraordinary place (the design was loosely based on aristocratic homes on Delos –– archeological excavations of the tiny island began in 1872 and its art and architecture was much appreciated at the time).

Pontremoli created amazing murals, mosaics and furnishings for the house that are inspired and in some cases, directly copied from antique sources.  It was a complete immersion into the graceful style of ancient Greece with some sampling of the best of Rome, impeccably researched and finely crafted using the finest materials available.  Because I work closely with craftspeople in my job, I think I should mention a few of the rarely sung heroes of Kerylos. 

The striking textiles are from Ecochard Lyon:

The murals were painted by Karbowsky and Jaulmes (students of the great Pierre Cécile Puvis de Chavannes )

Kerylos gallery

 Kerylos gallery

 Kerylos gallery

 The furniture was designed by Pontremoli but built by cabinetmaker Louis-François Bettenfeld. 

 Kerylos gallery

 Kerylos gallery

The Kerylos KLISMOS –– my favorite chair in the world

 Kerylos gallery

The spectacular oak cabinets were based on those found at Herculaneum in 1762.

 Kerylos gallery

 Kerylos gallery

Photographs can’t do justice to the way light and the views animate the rooms during the day–– they are alive.

 Kerylos gallery

 Kerylos gallery

Kerylos

Kerylos

 Kerylos gallery

Reinach lived in the house until his death in 1928 but then the story takes a terrible turn.  Although he bequeathed the house to the Institut de France,  his son lived in the house with his wife and children till the Nazis infested France and Kerylos.  The paintings, books and construction records were lost.  Worst of all, Reinach’s son, wife and children were sent to Auschwitz where they were murdered.  It’s hard to believe something so tragic could happen in a place so full of light and grace.

I can’t recommend a visit to the house enough.  It doesn’t impress from the outside.  Once within, the views and the serenity of the interior are pure magic.  Needless to say, it is best when seen off-season when there are not many tourists.  You will feel the magic of the place more deeply in quiet.

Also, this wonderful book is out Aug 18th, 2020


It tells the story of the man who built the house - and the house being a reflection of the soul of the creator - a genius polymath who revealed, as many of us do, our inner selves with our collections of art and objects.  I loved the book and will write about it soon

What would be a fitting dish to enjoy in such a place?  I was going to cook something from Reinach’s time at the house at first –– but that seemed wrong. Kerylos needed food from the ancient world.

When I wrote about the Greeks a few months ago I used my favorite book on the food of ancient Greece and Rome, The Classical Cookbook by Sally Grainger.  I was intrigued by the ancient cheesecake that was mentioned throughout the book and appears in classical literature, Homer to Ovid.  These cakes were offerings to the gods and go far back into history. This recipe comes from antiquity, courtesy of no less than Cato the Elder around 160 BCE. Dripping with honey and perfumed with bay leaves, they are seductive with their soft centers and ever so slightly crisp exterior with the barest hint of layers.  They are amazing but more like a pastry than the cheesecake we are familiar with today –– much lighter.  I can imagine having them whilst lying on one of the Kerylos couches, gazing at the vast blue Mediterranean stretching below.  It would be heaven.

I made these with homemade ricotta from a recipe I found on Smitten Kitchen.  It is easy as could be to make.  This time I used raw milk and cream to make the ricotta and was knocked over by the result.  It’s the best ricotta I ever had and nothing like what you’re used to.  It may not be true ricotta but it is truly delicious. Ricotta is traditionally made with leftovers from cheese-making and without much fat. This ricotta is exactly the opposite, creamy instead of dry and grainy. I think the cheesecake will be best with homemade ricotta, fine with fresh ricotta if you can find it and good with the tub variety.  You will sacrifice some of the subtle texture of the cake using the tub but it will still be delicious.  Also, I really recommend a single source honey for this (aside from the possibility your honey bear is not all honey or comes from honey bees fed corn syrup or even polluted Chinese Honey) it is best with a honey with personality.  I loved Acacia honey with mine.  They are really simple to make and so worth it.


You do eat the cooked bay leaves on the bottom... they are crisp and delicious!

Sweet Cheesecake from The Classical Cookbook (based on Cato)

1 c (4 oz) AP flour

8 oz ricotta cheese (homemade or purchased –recipe follows) DO NOT USE LOW FAT

1 egg, beaten

¼ t salt

olive oil to oil pan

bay leaves (they have them fresh at Whole Foods -  dry leaves could work too but I haven’t tried them)

½ c (4 oz) honey, warmed

Heat the oven, a  baking dish and fitted cover or dutch oven to 425º for 20 minutes (the book recommends an upturned clay pot for the top but an oven-proof lid will work). **I originally used a metal pie plate and an unglazed tile placed directly on the dough and frankly liked the texture better... it was flakey and crisp.  In a dutch oven, the texture is like a flakey biscuit... so your choice).

Sift flour into a bowl.  Beat the cheese until it is soft and stir the egg into it.  Add the flour and salt.

Divide the dough into 4 or 6 balls (I made 6) although the original says it is one large cake.  Make them into buns. 

Remove the baking pan and cover from the oven.  Coat the dish with a little olive oil (put a little oil on the unglazed tile if that is the route you are taking).

Lay down 1 or 2 bay leaves for each bun, then place the buns on the leaves.

Place the top over the buns and put in the oven.

Cook for 20- 30 minutes, turning the pan halfway and checking on doneness.  They should be a gorgeous golden brown.

Remove from the oven and remove top.  Put on a warm platter and warmed honey all over them.  Serve warm.

PS.  I originally put an oiled tile directly on the dough. Then food historian Ken Albala told me the translation of brick was a domed clay dish (called a testum), so I had the technique wrong. If you use a covered dish the result will be a bit puffier like the photo below –– I liked the texture of the weighted version better but it is not authentic).

this is a picture of the cakes cooked in a covered dish

Original recipe from 160 BCE:

Libum to be made as follows: 2 lb cheese well crushed in a mortar, when it is well crushed, add in 1 lb bread-wheat flour or, if you want it to be lighter, just half a pound, to be mixed well with the cheese.  Add one egg and mix all together well.   Make a loaf of this, with leaves under it, and cook slowly in a hot fire under a brick. 

CATO the Elder De Agri Cultura

picture of cakes cooked directly under a tile

Ricotta Cheese from Smitten Kitchen (via Tasting Table)

3 cups whole milk


1 cup heavy cream 

1/2 teaspoon coarse sea salt


3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice

Pour the milk, cream and salt into a 3-quart nonreactive saucepan. Attach a candy or deep-fry thermometer. Heat the milk to 190°F, stirring it occasionally to keep it from scorching on the bottom. Turn off the heat [Updated] Remove from heat and add the lemon juice, then stir it once or twice, gently and slowly. Let the pot sit undisturbed for 5 minutes.

Line a colander with a few layers of cheesecloth (I was out of cheesecloth and used a paper towel!) and place it over a large bowl (to catch the whey). Pour the curds and whey into the colander and let the curds strain for at least an hour. At an hour, you’ll have a tender, spreadable ricotta. At two hours, it will be spreadable but a bit firmer, almost like cream cheese. (It will firm as it cools, so do not judge its final texture by what you have in your cheesecloth.)

NOTE: I kept the whey and was glad I did.  I let my ricotta drain for 2 hours and that seemed perfect when I took it out but after refrigerating it, it seemed dry so I added some of the whey back into it. 

Dining with Edith Wharton, Turkey with Oysters and Corn Soufflé

Edith Wharton, 1897

This year is the 150^th anniversary of the birth of writer Edith Wharton (1862-1937) and she is having quite a year.

The Mount, built in 1902

 There’s a a new book out, Edith Wharton at Home: Life at the Mount,  celebrating her home and her taste in decoration and architecture and a huge spread in the September Vogue inspired by her style with well-known actors dressing up as Edith and her friends.  

She has quietly worked her way into the hearts and minds of readers everywhere with the same kind of passionate fan base that Jane Austen inspires and for many of the same reasons. Wharton works small and gets big results. 

The scion of old, Knickerbocker  New York, she was an American fusion of English and Dutch culture.  I think the Dutch side of the family contributed a powerful talent for observing and celebrating the intricate threads of life ––  it’s the same DNA  that glorified the small details of life in centuries past as seen in great Dutch still life paintings.  In Wharton’s case her gimlet eye was often trained on the table, dress and the rules of society. Scrupulously detailed, these elements create a picture of life that we can identify with today because it’s so real and complete.

Dining Room at Wharton’s Park Avenue House, 1890’s

Some New York social etiquette does seem severe 100-odd years later –– Wharton and her circle had very particular signifiers.  In the matter of manners, the rules for ‘who sat where’ were as strict and rigid as those of a State Department dealing with foreign potentates. Diplomatic gaffes in society were to be avoided at all costs for “ resentment may rankle for years in the bosom of a guest whose claims have been disregarded.”  

Even carriage traffic had a pecking order.  The way was always to be given to the elder matriarchs and patriarchs on the road.   A young person passing a slow-moving carriage was a scandal.

Worth and Boberg  gown, 1861

Worth Evening Dress, 1870

Worth Day Dress, 1875

 In Wharton’s time even one’s wardrobe had rules and traditions. Imported designer gowns were never worn immediately. Designer Frederick Worth’s dresses were brought from France and stored for a year before being worn –– anything less made you terribly parvenue.  A speech by Miss Jackson from The Age of Innocence is revealing, “In my youth… it was considered vulgar to dress in the newest fashions…. Old Mrs. Baxter Pennilow, who did everything handsomely, used to import twelve a year, two velvet, two satin, two silk and the other six of poplin and the finest cashmere.  It was a standing order, and as she was ill for two years before she died, they found forty-eight Worth dresses that had never been taken out of tissue paper…. I think it’s a safe rule for a lady to lay aside her French dresses for one season.” Can you imagine having gorgeous new Paris fashions and not wearing them for a year?

Dining room at the Mount, early 1900s  

Hierarchy at the table or at an event does strike modern chords.  Getting past Wharton’s invisible velvet rope was tougher than getting court-side seats or entry into VIP-only events these days ––you can’t change your pedigree. Clothes and personal style can still make or break a girl in society.

Today, if you hear someone is mad for Austen or Shades of Gray, wearing Chanel or Kmart blue-light specials, watching a blockbuster or an indie, vacationing in the Hamptons or Jersey Shore –– you have some insight into who they are after learning something of their lifestyle. Her characters move with or are moved by or against their structured society. All of Wharton’s keen observations are in her writing, fleshing out her characters.  If you pay attention, you’ll see a finely-wrought framework of accoutrements and appurtenances that is nonpareil.

Edith Wharton, 1907

In her memoir, A Backward Glance, Wharton remembers Henry James telling a story:

“Then he began, forgetting us, forgetting the place, forgetting everything but the vision of his lost youth that the question had evoked, the long train of ghosts flung with his enchanter's wand across the wide stage of the summer night…. and then, suddenly, by some miracle of shifted lights and accumulated strokes, there they stood before us as they lived, drawn with a million filament-like lines, yet sharp as an Ingres, dense as a

Rembrandt; or, to call upon his own art for an analogy, minute and massive as the people of Balzac.

"I often saw the trick repeated; saw figures obscure or famous summoned to the white square of his magic-lantern, flickering and wavering there, and slowly solidifying under the turn of his lens; but never perhaps anything so ample, so sustained, as that summoning to life of dead-and-gone Emmets and Temples [James’ ancestors], old lovelinesses, old follies, old failures, all long laid away and forgotten under old crumbling grave-stones.” (194)

I see Wharton reflected in her admiration for James.   Old New York comes alive through her eyes and recollections.  

Morse-Libby House, mid-19th c Dining room

 Wharton’s old New York society ate at home and entertained at home and rarely at restaurants (until Wharton had her debut in the 1870’s) and what was served was matched to the occasion. Canvasback duck and Roman Punch (that I wrote about HERE) meant that it was a grand event.

Wharton recalls:

“Their most frequent distraction was dining out or dinner giving. Sometimes the dinners were stately and ceremonious (with engraved invitations issued three weeks in advance, soups, "thick" and "clear," and a Roman punch half way through the menu), but more often they were intimate and sociable, though always the occasion of much excellent food and old wine being admirably served, and discussed with suitable gravity.”

When the occasion demanded, the display was something to see.  Wharton was very specific about the tableware at a dinner and all the freight of tradition it implied. In The Age of Innocence she detailed the table setting for a grand dinner at the van der Luydens ––the most respected members of old New York society:

“The van der Luydens had done their best to emphasize the importance of the occasion.  The du Lac Sévres and the Trevenna George II plate were out; so was the van der Luyden “Lowestoft” (East India Company) and the Dagonet Crown Derby.”

Sevres Porcelain, 1768

 

The Leister Service, George II, 1745-1756 (this is over 1 Million dollars worth of silver)

Lowestoft, Late18th C, Service for DeWitt Clinton

Royal Crown Derby, 1800

The dishes may be different but the structure is familiar. Just like those of us who love food know a person’s life style by dishes they use, the restaurants they frequent and the cookbooks they favor –– flea market finds, Pottery Barn or grand family heirlooms, Per Se, French Bistro or Olive Garden, Rachel Ray, Barefoot Contessa or Grant Achatz,  –– our tumblers start clicking into place and forming our picture of the person through their tastes.  It’s another one of those signifiers that round out a character in life and in fiction ––Wharton has a fierce memory of the delights and disappointments of the table. 

“My mother, if left to herself, would probably not have been much interested in the pleasures of the table. My father's Dutch blood accounted for his gastronomic enthusiasm; his mother, who was a Schermerhorn, was reputed to have the best cook in New York.”

Wharton was particularly generous about the artistry of her mother’s cooks in A Backward Glance (if not about her mother herself) and took pride in the quality of her family’s table:

“But to know about good cooking was a part of every young wife's equipment, and my mother's favourite cookery books (Francatelli's and Miss Leslie's) are thickly interleaved with sheets of yellowing note paper, on which, in a script of ethereal elegance, she records the making of "Mrs. Joshua Jones's scalloped oysters with cream," "Aunt Fanny Gallatin's fried chicken," "William Edgar's punch," and the special recipes of our two famous negro cooks, Mary Johnson and Susan Minneman.”

“Ah, what artists they were! How simple yet sure were their methods--the

mere perfection of broiling, roasting and basting--and what an

unexampled wealth of material, vegetable and animal, their genius had to

draw upon! Who will ever again taste anything in the whole range of

gastronomy to equal their corned beef, their boiled turkeys with stewed

celery and oyster sauce, their fried chickens, broiled red-heads [ducks], corn

fritters, stewed tomatoes, rice griddle cakes, strawberry short-cake and

vanilla ices? I am now enumerating only our daily fare, that from which

even my tender years did not exclude me; but when my parents "gave a

dinner," and terrapin and canvas-back ducks, or (in their season)

broiled Spanish mackerel, soft-shelled crabs with a mayonnaise of

celery, and peach-fed Virginia hams cooked in champagne (I am no doubt

confusing all the seasons in this allegoric evocation of their riches),

lima-beans in cream, corn souffles and salads of oyster-crabs, poured in

varied succulence from Mary Johnson's lifted cornucopia--ah, then, the

gourmet of that long-lost day, when cream was cream and butter butter

and coffee coffee, and meat fresh every day, and game hung just for the

proper number of hours, might lean back in his chair and murmur "Fate

cannot harm me" over his cup of Moka and his glass of authentic

Chartreuse.”

I had a hard time choosing what to make from her list.  Both the fancy and the homely fare sound remarkably good.  What could not be on my menu are those oyster crabs ––they are tiny little crabs that live inside the oyster shell and rare as hen’s teeth.  The peach-fed ham caught my eye as well and I found one guy in the North West that sells them… but too far to go for an East Coast girl!

I decided the corn soufflé and the turkey with oyster sauce was the way to go to share the flavors of Edith Wharton’s memories of old New York.  The turkey recipe was in both of her mother’s favorite cookbooks and they were very similar.  I thought I would mix it up a little and use some lovely turkey thigh I have on hand instead of whole bird.  I stuffed the oysters in a pocket in the meat instead of in the cavity of the bird and baked it instead of boiling it as in the original recipe.  Turkey breast could be used instead of the thigh.  I used my only piece of old Crown Derby for the photo to give a nod to the van der Luydens… a sweetmeat dish repurposed for my turkey (I know Edith, naughty of me!).

The corn soufflé wasn’t quite so simple to locate. The earliest recipe I could find was one from 1910.  It had none of the cheesiness I think of when I think of savory soufflés, but it had a touch of sweetness and an ethereal texture, was terribly elegant and fabulous with the turkey (it also reheated in a microwave quite well –even slightly deflated it had a good texture).

As you sit down to enjoy the meal, put yourself in a Wharton frame of mind:

“My parents' guests ate well, and drank good wine with discernment; but a

more fastidious taste had shortened the enormous repasts and deep

bumpers of colonial days, and in twenty minutes the whiskered gentlemen

had joined the flounced ladies on the purple settees for another half

hour of amiable chat, accompanied by the cup of tea which always rounded

off the evening. How mild and leisurely it all seems in the glare of our

new century!”

Amen.

 Turkey stuffed with Oysters with an Oyster sauce, serves 2 (or 4 for breast)

1 turkey thigh (bone in) or breast*

3 oysters, chopped and their liquor

1 stick celery, minced

2 T butter

1 T flour

½ cup stock

2 T madeira

pinch of celery seed, nutmeg and mace

S & P

Preheat oven to 375º.   Take the oysters and their liquor and heat for 5 minutes.

Put the liquid into the roasting dish.  Add celery, spices to the oysters.

Slit the thigh to make a pocket and insert the oyster mixture.  Massage 1 T butter into the flour and add to the pocket.  Use kitchen thread and secure the meat to close up the stuffing.  Place in the pan with the oyster liquor, the stock and madeira.  Rub the skin with butter and sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Roast for 40-50 minutes, basting every 10 -15 minutes for the thigh. 

When the turkey is done, remove from the pan.   Pour off the pan juices and remove some of the fat.  Pour the defatted juices into the oyster sauce and serve.

* If you are using turkey breast, check for doneness as size can be different. Also, since the breast has much more meat, you might want to double the stuffing and oyster sauce recipes.

Oyster Sauce

 7 oysters and their liquor

1T butter

1 T flour

pinch of cayenne

¼ t salt

3 T demi-glace

3 T c cream

Saute the oysters in their liquor.  Remove the oysters.   Melt the butter in a saucepan and add the flour… cook for a few minutes.  Add the demi-glace and stir till thickened.  Add the cream and stir.  Add the oyster liquor and set aside. 

Eliza Leslie Recipe (1840-50’s)

Francatelli recipe (1860’s)

Corn Soufflé for 4

2 c corn

1 c milk

2 eggs

¾ t salt

1 t sugar

2 t butter

Preheat the oven to 375º

Put the corn kernels in the blender with enough milk to puree.  Add the rest of the milk, egg yolks and salt and sugar and blend.

Butter 4 ramekins

Whip the egg white till stiff and blend with the corn mixture.  Pour into the prepared ramekins.  Bake for 20-25 minutes.

Remember, soufflés only last for a moment out of the oven then they sink.  This one was pretty sturdy and the texture was great even after 10 minutes of shooting.

1910 recipe

Please go visit Treasure Hunt,  one of my favorite sites that's full of treasures from the collections branch of The National Trust (run by the inestimable Emile de Bruijn) and see the great piece on 'Silent Companions' (and a mention of Lost Past Remembered).  Its great fun.  Beware, this site is addictive!

Salade Aïda –– famous names on the menu

A few months ago, for an entry I wrote about Giuseppe Verdi and the unique musical and culinary culture of Parma Italy, I introduced readers to my good friend August Ventura and his intriguing documentary film project on the subject.

I recently saw some footage and the Promotional Reel (see it HERE) he has put together and it promises to be a feast for the eyes, ears and spirit.  He is raising money to complete his film in time for next year's Verdi bicentennial, so if any of you opera lovers wish to become "Opera Angels" consider making a fully tax-deductible donation to a great cause at the website HERE. 

 

While doing the research I was entranced with Verdi’s enviable dining adventures in the wonderful book, Dining with Verdi [Mondadori].  The maestro was such a legend that Escoffier burned through quite a few recipes to honor him with lots of things “a la Verdi” or dishes named after his operas or characters in his operas.  I’ve made a few of these dishes and loved them, and why not? Most of the “a la Verdi” dishes involved goodly amounts of truffles and foie gras!  Something tells me Verdi lived pretty high on the "maiale" and when he showed up at Mr. Escoffier’s restaurants, all the stops were pulled out to impress and delight him.  I am still anticipating my date with the Sole Verdi  –– pasta and lobster meat with truffles and a glazed mornay sauce on the sole.  Wouldn’t that keep the wolf away from the door on a champagne and candlelight night?

Still, the dish that got the special post-it was Salade Aïda made with chicory, tomatoes, sliced artichokes, small peppers and slices of egg white with grated egg yolk and a bit of mostarda, yes, mostarda.  I love bitter greens like radicchio so I’ve always enjoyed its cousin chicory (they are members of the same endive  family) and the sweet and hot mostarda addition was genius (mostarda being a sweet syrupy mustard-infused fruit that is usually served with cheese or salted meat). The Verdi cookbook is the only place I’ve seen Salade Aida prepared this way.  Otherwise the salad is lovely but not inspirational.  It’s the mostarda that hits it out of the ballpark.  This would be a great salad to have with grilled meat or fish –– and it’s gorgeous to boot with those jewels of translucent mostarda.

The tag, Salade Verdi, got me to thinking, why is a dish named after an historical figure or an artist or an artistic creation?  This has been on my mind since my 5-Star food group toyed with the idea of writing about dishes named after famous people.  

What’s Aida about Salade Aïda?

The opera was quite a stunner, that came in riding a popular wave of interest in the style of the ancient Pharaohs (a style I admit to loving myself –– especially the turn of the 19^th century interpretations).  What I didn’t know was that Aïda was commissioned by the culturally ambitious Isma’il Pasha, the Khedive (viceroy) of Egypt and opened at the Khedive Opera House in Cairo in 1871.  It must have been remarkable to see the glorious past of ancient Egypt come alive in its birthplace.

Although it was a hit in Egypt, it was enormously successful when it opened in Europe and still brings raves nearly 150 years later.

Let’s face it, the story of Aïda is epic. The great military leader Radames  falls in love with an Ethiopean princess named Aïda.  She is brought to Egypt as a slave after her father's armies are defeated by Radames. Because it is opera, things get terribly out of hand thanks to a jealous queen who wants Radames for herself. After a lot of beautifully scored melodrama, Radames orchestrates Aïda’s escape to safety by sacrificing himself, but she will not go –– she sacrifices her freedom to join her beloved and the lovers get buried alive while singing a heavenly grand duet or two.

Opera lovers, forgive me my Aïda plot synopsis (go HERE for a more thorough version).  As August reminds me the opera is so much more when he says "the over-arching themes of personal liberty and and nations seeking freedom from tyrants and foreign colonizing powers -- so important to Verdi -- rings true today in our age of the Arab Spring.  As for Aïda's theme of love transcending all boundaries - social, political, ethnic, you name it - I hope that one never dies."

Production Designed by Chaperon for original production

The Egyptian set for the original production was by Philippe Marie Chaperon (1823- 1907). 

The closest thing I can come to the connection for the inspiration for the salad is the remarkably researched and detailed set and costume design for the production.  Mr. Carter was still decades away from his 1920’s discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamun in 1870, but the designs give the full flavor of what was to come when those secret doors were opened. 

Crown of Egyptian-inspired jewelry for a scene from the opera Aida, 

Music Department of the National Library in Paris.

Egyptomania exhibition catalog, p. 435

The bejeweled headdress above (thanks to Egiptologia for the scholarship and the photos) would definitely inspire a bejeweled salad like mine.

Costume for Early Production

The costumes were also rich with gold and deeply encrusted with rich plates of color.  The salad is like that, isn’t it?

Costumes for Aïda, Original Cairo Production

Costumes for Aïda were by Auguste Mariette-Bey (who did extensive research into the style of the period for the premiere production and was a fascinating figure).

The fashion for naming has faded with time.  I can’t conceive of "Pasta Gaga" or "Agneau Lloyd Webber"(thanks for that pun August), can you?  It just doesn’t have the same evocative power as "Sole Verdi" or "Salade Aïda".  

Perhaps that says a lot about our times.  We have "Trump Burgers".

Salade Aïda for 3-4 

1 bunch chicory

1 small green pepper, sliced  (a Hungarian banana pepper will work)

a handful of cherry tomatoes, sliced

1 heirloom tomato, sliced

2 large artichoke hearts (raw or cooked - sliced paper-thin if raw)

2 hardboiled eggs.

1 cup of mostarda (you can buy it HERE or there’s a recipe for it HERE that looks good although I have not made it, or do it old school with the recipe at the end of the post)

Dressing

½ c olive oil

¼ c white wine vinegar

1 t  Dijon mustard

s &p to taste

Take the dressing ingredients and combine in a jar.  Shake to blend and reserve.

Tear up the chicory into serving size pieces.  Toss into a bowl with the sliced green pepper, the tomatoes and artichoke hearts and mostarda.

Toss the salad with the dressing and plate.  Lay sliced egg white over the salad and grate the yolk over the salad and serve. 

From  Lancelot de Casteau’s  1604 Ouverture de Cuisine:

"To make Cremone mustard.

Take half a pound of orange peels candied in sugar, half a pound of quince preserved in sugar or marmalade, & chop them all well together very small: then take half a pint of mustard well thick, then take melted sugar with rose water, & put therein some turnsole, & let it boil together to give good red color, & let it boil like syrup, & mix therein that which you have chopped, & mix the mustard with, put enough syrup, & serve in little plates three or four spoons for setting at the table with roasts."





Thanks to Gollum for hosting foodie friday!!