Kaiserschmarn

WHILE CROSSING THE ATLANTIC last Tuesday I asked myself exactly how I was to express what I wanted to discuss this afternoon. Oral character that I am, I was not surprised to be suddenly reminded of a favorite dessert of mine created in my country of origin, which I had just revisited. It is called Kaiserschmarn, translated as best I can as "The Emperor's Nothing." Legend says that it came into being one fine night when old Kaiser Franz-Joseph woke up famished, summoned his chef, and demanded to be fed. The chef was desperate, for the larder was quite empty. He started throwing together some odds and ends he had around the kitchen, including a lot of sweets and fruits, frantically trying to concoct an omelette. But when he tasted it, he did not deem it fit to be served to a monarch. It seemed too simple. So he tore it into shreds, trying to make it truly a "nothing." The Emperor, however, was not to be deterred, insisted that he was very hungry, ate all of it—and liked it. To this day this "nothing" dessert exists. Well, you are the Emperor, I am the poor chef. Here is my "nothing" omelette, and I do hope you will find it somewhat palatable.

Obviously there are disadvantages and advantages to being the last speaker on a panel like this one. The disadvantage is clearly given by the likelihood—as, indeed, proved to be case today—that preceding commentators have said all that is worth saying on the topic. Ah! But the great advantage: At this point the audience is likely to be so tired they may not object to an age-old speaker's trick. The speaker, using some seemingly reasonable pretence, rejects the very formulation of the topic and then proceeds to talk about what he wanted to discuss in the first place, doing so precisely as he had wanted to make his comments. He simply decides what he thinks the Emperor's "nothing" is and how to present it.

Then let me begin this rejection of the topic by suggesting that the question posed implies an abomination of