Gourmet Detective Read Free

miniscule. A desk and a swivel chair plus another chair for visitors (I had examined it and there seemed to be no permanent damage resulting from Raymond’s brief if punishing occupancy), a wall of file cabinets (each in a different style and none matching)—and nothing else. Certainly nothing personal—I’m a private person as well as a private eye. In my flat, I have a silhouette drawing of Sherlock Holmes’ profile, a lithograph of Allan Pinkerton and a photograph of Auguste Escoffier and have contemplated putting them on the wall of the office. But I’ve never done so—keep clients guessing, I’d decided.
    The day’s work was clear-cut. Take care of as much of the correspondence as possible then review all of the jobs in hand and establish which I could wrap up quickly and which could be put on hold. I intended to spend as much of every day as I could on Raymond’s assignment so that I could meet the week’s deadline I had set.
    The first letter I opened had been a beauty. I get a lot of correspondence now that I am becoming known as a gourmet detective. Some of it is crazy, some even bizarre. A few requests are preposterous while others are impossible. There are still the few that are intriguing and this first letter was one of those.
    â€œWe are a U.K. company,” it began, “small but ambitious. We have had modest success in bringing to the British market such products as mangoes, saffron, girolles and wakame.
    â€œWe are now embarking on a programme to put snails on to restaurant menus and wish to start with some in London.
    â€œCan you help us? We would welcome a proposal from you and an outline of your terms and conditions.”
    The letter touched on a subject that was dear to my heart because I had often pondered over the mystery of why the French should eat snails when the British don’t. I know the French eat some foods that are strange to the British palate but in defence of our island race, we are much less prejudiced against foreign foods than was the case just a few decades ago. Frogs’ legs are no longer considered to be unusual on a British menu. Salami, pasta, olives, garlic, sweetbreads, bamboo shoots … The list of the foods we now accept was lengthy and growing.
    So why not snails? We used to eat them. The Romans introduced the edible snail on to the South Downs and the Cornish coast where they thrived. Working people ate them and loved them right up to the turn of the last century.
    The French, on the other hand, haven’t always liked them. In the 14th century, snails were only for the very rich but in Rabelais’ day, everybody consumed them. In the 18th century, they were regarded as food for the peasants only but they came back into favour when the Czar of Russia was served snails at a banquet held in his honour at Versailles. During the famine that followed Napoleon’s downfall, snails were greatly prized as of course was anything eatable but in the case of snails, being reasonably available, they regained their popularity and it has not waned in France to this day.
    Snails are not difficult to raise and they live as long as five years. They lay a hundred eggs at a time and these hatch out in four weeks. Plenty of opportunity here for raising them and I could see why my correspondents were enthusiastic about the business possibilities.
    Could I help them? It would require a great deal of careful thought but it was certainly a project I would enjoy. Besides, an amount of tasting would be essential. I put the letter under the red paperweight—meaning highest priority.
    Next was a letter from the Wine Advisory Panel of which I am a member. It gave the date of the next meeting and stated that the subject would be “Sparkling Wine—its Future”.
    This was a meeting I would have to attend. Some of the burning questions in the wine business would be at the heart of the debate. Questions such as “How can