The empress of ice cream

Carlo

To make a strawberry ice: take thirty fat berries with plenty of scent, slice them and dice them and pass them through a sieve: add one cup of sugar, and a pint of thick cow’s milk: mix it well, and stir it as you freeze. It needs nothing more, but you can dress it with some mint or white pepper as you please.

The Book of Ices

The ice would not set, and the king was waiting.

Despite the cold in the subterranean pantry, I was sweating. Grasping the wooden bucket between my knees, I poured the mixture of sugar, cream and crushed strawberries back into the sabotiere, the inner container made of pewter, and began to work the paddle one more time.

Beside me, Audiger was getting flustered. ‘You need to go more slowly, perhaps. But hurry, hurry.’

I did not bother to point out that it was difficult to do both those things at once. ‘The ice isn’t cold enough. I need more saltpetre.’

‘Ice is ice, surely. It has only one temperature, the temperature of freezing. This has been established by many authorities. Galen says—’

‘It’s over there,’ I interrupted. ‘Two measures.’

Going to the chests which contained our supplies, Audiger scooped up a quantity of yellowish crystals and brought them over. ‘Here.’

I stopped paddling so that he could add them to the mixture. Carefully, he poured the saltpetre into the outer part of the

bucket. As he did so, a footman in royal livery put his head inside the pantry door.

‘The desserts are going to the king,’ he announced.

Audiger rounded on him. ‘Two minutes!’ he exclaimed. ‘Just two more minutes! His Majesty has suggested that today he would like a strawberry ice, and a strawberry ice he shall have.’ Out of habit, he stood between the footman and our apparatus, blocking the man’s view.

Between my legs I felt the bucket - finally! - grow colder as the saltpetre did its work. My paddle slowed, meeting a greater resistance. I slowed my own rhythm to match. This was hard labour, the hardest part, but, such was my relief, I could feel the ache easing from my shoulders.

If you are too easier, the paddle itself may heat the mixture^ I heard Ahmad’s voice say in my head. Heed your hand, not your eye. When it feels like sand, it is almost ready.

‘It’s ready,’ I said. There was no time, today, for niceties. When the king expressed a sudden desire for a particular flavour, even the ice was expected to do as it was told.

‘At last.’ Audiger rearranged his wig and brushed cellar dust from his court clothes. Pulling on a pair of white gloves, he looked around. ‘Where’s the platter.^’’

I indicated with my head. ‘On the shelf’

The platter was also made of ice, cast in a mould and polished until it looked like crystal. It was already piled high with more crushed ice in readiness.

I inspected the contents of my bucket one last time. The mixture was now as dense and granular as raw honey. Clots and veins of crushed strawberry had spread through the cream. I put my finger in to taste it.

‘What are you doing?’ Audiger cried. ‘There’s little enough for the king’s guests as it is.’

I did not reply. I tasted every ice we made, but Audiger was not to know that. I considered, then nodded. ‘It’s good.’

Taking a spoon that had been sharpened on one side, I laid a scoop of pale pink cream ice on the platter. Then I added another, and another. Soon the dish resembled a frozen sea, the curves and rolls of the ice shavings helping to disguise the fact that there was actually very lit^e of it. ‘Now go,’ I said.

‘Some cinnamon?’ Audiger said anxiously. ‘Gold leaf? Nutmeg?’

‘Perhaps a little white pepper.’

‘Pepper? On strawberries? Are you mad?’

‘Just a pinch. Trust me.’

Audiger sighed. ‘Some pepper, then. And some saffron. His Most Christian Majesty will expect nothing less.’ Before I could stop him he had thrown a large handful of saffron threads over the dish.

‘He’ll like it all the more if it tastes as it should,’ I muttered. Under the pretext of garnishing it with some frozen mint leaves I managed to brush off most of the priceless saffron with the back of my hand. ‘Go,’ I repeated, handing the dish to him.

Audiger went up the pantry steps with the platter held ceremoniously in front of him, his back ramrod straight, as if he were already in the presence of the king. I followed. Outside, the sunlight and the heat of the afternoon was like a blow after the icy dankness of the pantry. I saw how the strawberry ice bloomed with a faint silvery rime in the warm air, and I remembered the taste - that brief fingertip taste: sugar, milk and strawberries, concentrated by the mechanism of the ice into a tiny blossoming of flavour.

Yes, I thought. It’s good. A dish fit for a king.

This was what Audiger would never understand: that ices were not simply a novelty, a way of demonstrating man’s ingenious mastery over the natural order of things. They were a completely new way of combining tastes and flavours, only ever as good as the recipes that you created for them.

The footman who had chivvied us held out his hands for the

platter. Audiger ignored him. For a moment the two of them locked eyes, then the footman simply turned so that he was walking in front of Audiger. A second footman fell in behind, and another behind him, while a fourth an^ fifth unfolded elaborate parasols to shade the ice from the sun. In command of this platoon was a craggy-faced, periwigged muitre d’hotel^ bearing as a mark of his seniority a long silver baton. He rapped out a command, and together they all set off at a brisk trot through the rose garden.

The effort of keeping in step meant that, despite the fact they were jogging, the procession of footmen actually went little faster than I did, walking behind them. In any case, I knew where they were headed. At the edge of the rose garden, where the hedges opened out to an ornamental lake, thirty or forty courtiers and their ladies were promenading in their finery. Tables were set out under the shade of a cedar tree. Behind these, in rows four abreast, stood a small army of servants, sweating under their short wigs. To one side, a group of musicians played. In the middle, where the throng of courtiers was densest, I could just make out the dark, luxuriant wig of the king himself.

The trotting servants followed the zigzagging paths down through the formal gardens. I simply walked across the lawn, rejoining them as they skirted the lake. The procession slowed to a more dignified pace as it threaded its way through the outer circles of the party, a few courtiers turning curiously'to inspect the platter as it passed. Many, I knew, had not yet had the opportunity to try this passion of the monarch’s for themselves. And given how litde of it there was, and how large the party, most would not get the chance today. Louis would already have singled out those who were to be honoured with a taste.

As we approached, the king turned. ‘Ah! My strawberry ice!’ he exclaimed.

Audiger stopped and went down on one knee - a little awkwardly, because of the platter in his hands. Louis waved him

forward. ‘And now you will see if I am not right, My Lord Duke. It is a most remarkable confection.’ The words were addressed to the man at his shoulder. He was dressed in a somewhat similar fashion to the servants, but I knew that he was actually an Enghshman, an important visitor, here to negotiate a treaty between the two countries. It amused Louis to have his servants wear the fashions of foreign courts. It was a way of reminding visitors how much wealthier and more magnificent his court was than theirs.

On the other side of the visitor was Madame, as she was called: Henrietta d’Angleterre, the sister of the Engfish king. She was married to Louis’s brother, but was also a favourite - it was said of Louis himself.

‘Yes, George, it may give you sustenance enough to contemplate joining us in a game of pailk muille' she was saying. ‘I know that you know how to play: I am told my brother has introduced it to your country, and that the court plays every day’

‘Indeed,’ the English lord said with an easy smile. ‘Like so many French fashions, there is quite a craze for it in London just now. His Majesty has established a playing ground beyond Whitehall, which the people are already calling Pall Mall.’ He inspected the dish of strawberry ice, a little doubtfully. ‘He has built an ice house in St James’s Park, too - another idea he brought back from his exile here, I beheve, although his cooks have not yet thought of putting ice in their desserts.’

‘This is rather more than an iced dessert,’ Louis said. ‘Try some, and you will see what I mean.’ The king held out his hand. For a moment I saw panic in Audiger’s eyes as he realised that not only had he not brought any bowls or spoons, but that with both hands holding the platter, he was unable to serve the king. But I was ahead of him. Having picked up half a dozen blue-and-white porcelain bowls as I passed the tables at the rear, I was able to fill one with strawberry ice and present it with a bow.

‘Demirco here comes from Florence,’ the king said as he took

it. ‘He is one of only a handful of men in Europe who know how to prepare this confection. What are you giving us this time, signor?’ ‘

‘A sherbet of strawberries, sir, just as you requested, with a little creamed milk and white pepper.’

I saw Audiger’s jaw tighten. With the Frenchman holding the platter as I served from it, not to mention discussing recipes with the king, it looked for all the world as if it were Audiger who was the former apprentice and I the master.

‘Your Majesty?’ It was the king’s new physician, a man called Felix, edging forward.

‘What is it, Felix?’

The doctor coughed. ‘The day is particularly warm, sir, and the ladies . . . Even those who are not already of a dehcate disposition have been warmed considerably by playing pciille maille. In the circumstances, I caution against it.’

‘Against the ice?’ The king looked surprised.

Felix nodded firmly. ‘On this particular point medical authorities are agreed. The consumption of ice on such a hot day can bring on a number of maladies. Even seizures. The English gentleman, perhaps, but for the ladies and yourself. . .’

‘You mean that you are happy to kill our honoured guest the Duke of Buckingham, but not ourselves?’ the king exclaimed. ‘My God, Felix, we will make a diplomat of you yet.’ Those around him laughed, but - I noticed - no one touched- their ice. An uneasy silence fell on the assembled court.

It was an impasse. Already the shavings were starting to melt in the sun. I knew it was useless to argue with this fool of a doctor: it would simply embarrass the king in front of his guest. I tasted something in my mouth, and reahsed I had bitten my own cheek with the effort of keeping my courtier’s smile fixed to my face.

Then a voice - a cool, female voice - said from behind the king, ‘Perhaps I might try it for you. Your Majesty.’ «

It was a woman who had spoken - a girl, rather, for she was

even younger than Madame; perhaps eighteen or nineteen years old, and wearing a dress that looked like one of Madame’s castoffs, which made her seem younger still. There was something childish, too, in the set of her face: she was pretty, but with her overlarge lips and the dusting of freckles on either side of her

A

nose, it was the rather severe, unformed prettiness of adolescence. The mass of unruly black ringlets that tumbled around her neck, du naturel, was more like a man’s wig than the pinned elaborate coiffures the other ladies wore, and her skin was unusually pale, as pale as milk ice. But it was her eyes you could not help noticing: they were green, and one of them had a slight slowness to it, as if that eye had to think for a moment before it followed the other.

She turned to the doctor. ‘That is the basis of the New Method, is it not? Hypothesis, investigation, and only then deduction?’

The physician nodded reluctantly.

‘Well, then,’ she said, ‘I shall be your investigation, and iff die you can make your deductions accordingly.’

‘Bravo, la belle BretonneV the king exclaimed. ‘But what if you do have a fit, my dear? Your parents would never forgive me.’

‘It is a risk I am honoured to take on your behalf, sir.’ There was a sardonic note in her voice, as if to say. But this is silly nonsense, and we know it. ‘Besides,’ she added, deftly taking the bowl which Madame was holding, ‘There is so little to be had. This way I ensure that despite my lowly station I get to taste this marvel that I have heard so much about.’ She raised the spoon to her lips.

This was a moment I always enjoyed - the moment someone tried one of my ices for the very first time. It was best if they had no idea what they were about to eat, of course, so that it came as a complete surprise, but I found that even when people thought they knew what to expect they could never quite imagine in advance what the sensation would be like. Sometimes, if the person was fooHsh, they would start, and drop the bowl: ladies, in particular, would cry out in alarm, raising the hand still holding

the spoon to their mouth, as if afraid they might hiccup or splutter or spit. Then, a moment later, the shock would turn to amazement, and amazement to delight. That was when the first spoonful had just melted in their mouths, and the sweet, intense taste - if I had done my work properly - immediately prompted them to take another, and then another, until the accumulation

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of so much cold suddenly numbed the palate, icy pains shooting around the inside of the head, and they gasped in a different way, gulping in warm air to take away the frost that now gripped their throat. But that, too, only lasted a few moments; then came the final tussle between caution and greed, as the desire to have another mouthful did batde with the wish to avoid another chill, until the whole bowl had been devoured, and every last sweet melting morsel licked off the spoon with which it had been served.

This girl did not shriek or splutter. But her eyes opened very wide, her expression for one brief moment startled, before she recovered herself

‘Well?’ the king demanded.

There was a smear of milky whiteness on her upper lip. After a moment her tongue flicked out and licked it away. She addressed the king but her eyes - even the one that was not slow - stayed on me a fraction longer than they might have done, ^ and just for a moment there was something in them - a flicker 'of something, instantly suppressed - that I recognised,

I had seen that look on a woman’s face twice before: once on Emilia’s, and once on Olympe’s.

‘I would say,’ she remarked, ‘that it is as cool and sweet as a lover’s kiss on a warm summer’s day - except, of course, that a girl like myself has no idea what such a thing might taste like.’

Some amongst them laughed at the impudence of her wit. The king clapped his hands. ‘Fdix, you have your answer - you are being overcautious, as usual. And la belle Bretonne has captured your share of the strawberry ice, so there will be none for you.’

‘I should not want any, sir,’ the doctor said sourly. ‘A poor physician I would be, if I at least did not follow my own advice.’

The ladies and gentlemen of the court were clustering around Audiger and me now, their eagerness only increased by the fact that there would not be enough for everybody. Within moments all the strawberry ice had gone. Laughter and gasps of astonishment filled the air. Women were standing stock-still in amazement, their cheeks bulging around that first startling mouthful: men were laughing at their ladies, and then making faces no less nonplussed themselves. Some were trying to pretend that this was nothing so very remarkable or new to them - they spooned the ice into their mouths nonchalantly, a cynical little smile playing on their lips: but these, of course, were precisely the ones whose throats became chilled most quickly, and who were thus caught out by the head pains. I saw one fine courtier recoil as if he had been shot in the back, his eyes boggling. The sophisticated smile on the face of another turned to a chuckle of childish joy, while a third was actually singing with amazement.

‘Well.> What do you think.>’ the king was asking them eagerly, and they were all pressing forward in their rush to tell him that it was the most remarkable thing they had ever tasted, that surely no other court was so blessed with wonders as the court of France. He nodded, pleased; then, indicating Audiger and myself, he cried, ‘The Great Demirco! Audiger! Master confectioners of France!’ The court applauded, clapping with gloved hands; the two of us acknowledging their acclaim with gracious bows to left and right.

Such was the nature of a picnic at the court of Louis XIV.

‘And milord Buckingham.^’ the king said, turning to the Englishman. ‘What do you think.>’

‘Most refreshing,’ the visitor replied, replacing the spoon in his empty bowl. ‘I am sure my own king would be obliged to know how it is done.’

‘Unfortunately, that is impossible. Demirco and his colleagues

are very careful to protect the secrets of their art. And there are some things even a monarch cannot command.’

‘I am sure' that Your Majesty can command anything he wishes,’ the Englishman said dryly.

‘Are we talking now about a strawberry ice - or the harbour at Dieppe.!*’ Laughter. I had the impression that even the bits of this exchange I thought I understood were actually part of some other conversation entirely, like a game of pmlle muille in which the important hoops were the ones set eight feet above the ground.

‘Besides, you English have a somewhat peculiar taste in desserts. You are overly fond of pancakes, I believe,’ the king was saying, to more laughter. I could follow this much, at least: pancakes were a Dutch dish, and it was against the Dutch that the French were now plotting, the second-greatest power in Europe moving against the greatest, intent on stealing the land that the Hollanders had stolen from the sea. Or something like that. I heard the political talk as it swirled around the labyrinth of kitchens and pantries underneath Versailles, but I paid it little heed.

‘What do you say then, Demirco?’ To my surprise, the king was looking directly at me. ‘Shall we make King Charles of England an ice, something so fine that it will turn him away from pancakes for ever? A dish perhaps, that reminds him of France, and of his many years in exile here enjoying our hospitaUty, so that he does not forget old friends in the excitement of feasting once again on English pies and pottage?’ He said ‘pies and pottage’ in a droll accent: once again his courtiers laughed and clapped their hands.

‘Of course, sir,’ I said, unsure whether Louis was joking now or not. ‘If it would please Your Majesty. But would it not melt long before he could eat it?’

‘Perhaps,’ the king said, shrugging, and I wondered if I had somehow said the wrong thing.

Suddenly, Audiger found his voice. ‘Sir, I would be honoured to make an ice worthy for Your Majesty to present to the English king.’

I looked at him, perplexed. What did he mean? Surely he did not think that he could create a better ice than I could? But evidently he did - he was glaring coldly at me: this, it seemed, was to be his revenge on me for monopolising the king’s attention.

‘Ah! Signor^Demirco, it seems you have been challenged,’ Louis said gleefully. ‘Will you accept?’

I bowed. ‘Of course.’

‘Good! And we will have Procopio as well, and - oh, what is that other confectioner’s name? Signor Morelli. You shall each do your best work, and milord Buckingham, perhaps you would do us the honour of judging of our little contest before you leave.’

‘Gladly. But what shall be the prize?’

Louis thought for a moment. ‘These people are always pressing me for a guild of their own. Let us say that the one who creates the best ice shall have the presidency of it.’

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Audiger stiffen. Were I not in the royal presence, I would certainly have sighed. Nothing good could possibly come of this.

‘So this is how you repay me,’ Audiger hissed as we walked back up the hill towards the palace.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your condescension to me in front of the king. And as for that Breton girl - the jade, she must have planned it all.’

‘The dark one? But surely she did us a service? If it hadn’t been for her, no one would have eaten the ice at all.’

‘She was working on Madame’s orders, you can be sure of it.’

‘Why, who is she?’

Audiger waved the question away. ‘One of Madame’s ladies-inwaiting. Aside from that, a person of no great importance. But if I had not been there to rescue the king’s honour and accept the challenge . . .’

‘What!’

‘If I had not been there,’ Audiger repeated, ‘the king would

have found himself embarrassed in front of his English guest. For that alone, surely, he will declare that I am the winner.’

‘What will you make him?’

Audiger assumed a sneering expression. ‘I do not know yet, and I will not tell you when I do. Something magnificent. Perhaps something that symbolises the brilliance of the sun.’

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Of course, I thought with a sigh; the sun. It was every courtier’s answer. Personally, if I were the king, I would have tired by now of sun-embossed snuffboxes, sun-decorated mirrors, sunshaped jewels, sun-embellished paintings, sun furniture . . . But Louis never seemed to mind. Perhaps there was a value in having a simple symbol associated with your name, just as back in Florence the three balls of the Medici were on every palace and church.

‘Perhaps you should serve an ice that has already melted,’ I suggested. ‘You know, to symbolise the king’s dazzling sun-like warmth.’

‘One day,’ Audiger said grimly, ‘that tongue of yours is going to get you into trouble. And I suspect that day may be sooner than you thinlc.’

In that, as it turned out, he was quite wrong. It was not my tongue which got me into trouble that day but rpy eyes, when they alighted on a certain dark-haired, green-eyed Udy-in-waiting. But of her I said no more to Audiger. There was no point in alerting him to my interest.