Pierre Lucet-Penato / Editions du Chêne
Henri Marie Raymond de Toulouse-Lautrec-Monfa (1864-1901) was an artist of genius, a clown desperate, a Priape alcoholic. And also, but this, we know least, a savvy foodie.
The evidence for its Carnets de cuisine . Their publication offers the visit a sort of museum parallel, that matches the dishes and the cloths, the aphorisms of the master and her favorite recipes, some of which were invented by him. The son of a aristocrat singularly wacky (to be clear: totally nuts) named Alfonso, and Adele, born Tapié of Céleyran, much-beloved mother, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec was a congenital disease that broke his growth. He endured a thousand suffering through unnecessary treatments ; adult, it was 1.50 for mr.
Passionate about the fine arts as early as his younger age, he moved to Paris and leads a joyful life in the Montmartre district, where he drew and painted like a maniac. Hilarious character, he plays his infirmity and disguises itself in anything in order to amuse the gallery. It conceals the gnole in a hollow cane to get drunk in walking, declares that he will drink the milk “the day the cows brouteront of the grape”, a mixture waiting for the cognac and absinthe. Henry quickly becomes the darling of the prostitutes whom he made his models.
“The Sunday, they would play dice”
It does not to chew on vellum, because the bearded counterfeit loves women – especially redheads. They make it well: in addition to the laugh, he was in bed, claiming to anyone who will listen that, when he is in good dispositions, he “looks like a coffee”. Result: “The Sunday, they would play dice”, bragging the satyr of the lupanars.
either the workshop or the brothel, when the brushes are at rest, Toulouse-Lautrec replaced his coat rapin for an apron and goes to the kitchen. His Notebooks identifies and eighty recipes are prized by this omnigourmand, transmitted to posterity by his close friend, Maurice Joyant. Stew of guinea fowl with chanterelle mushrooms, pear red wine, beef Malromé (creation HTL, signature dish, we would say today), pie-pork en croute, salad of dandelions… Monsieur le comte in a pinch for kitchen rustic version of the bourgeois.
The book is nicely illustrated, between images from the archives, reproduction of works striking, photographs of the dishes. The text – the authors have already published the Carnets de cuisine de George Sand and Colette – would have won here or there to be more neat and better to read. The biography lacks a bit of whimsy to the look of the character – the passages dedicated to his progenitor, are, from this point of view, the most croquignolets. But we enjoy to share the gourmandise of a major artist.
Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec died, exhausted by his excesses, at the age of 36. His father, Alphonse, inveterate hunter, rushed to his bedside, he reserved his last quip, tenderly tragic: “I knew, papa, that you don’t run out not kill.”
“Les Carnets de cuisine de Toulouse-Lautrec”, Muriel Lacroix and Pascal Pringarbe (text), Pierre Lucet-Penato (photos), Editions du Chêne, 256 p., 29 €.