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diff --git a/41696-8.txt b/41696-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index eeb3960..0000000 --- a/41696-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4989 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Feasts of Autolycus, by Elizabeth Robins -Pennell - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - - - - -Title: The Feasts of Autolycus - The Diary of a Greedy Woman - - -Author: Elizabeth Robins Pennell - - - -Release Date: December 24, 2012 [eBook #41696] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FEASTS OF AUTOLYCUS*** - - -E-text prepared by Mary Akers, Suzanne Shell, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive/American Libraries -(http://archive.org/details/americana) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive/American Libraries. See - http://archive.org/details/feastsofautolycu00penn - - - - - -THE FEASTS OF AUTOLYCUS - -The Diary of a Greedy Woman - -[Illustration] - -Edited by - -ELIZABETH ROBINS PENNELL - - - - - - - -Akron, O. -The Saalfield Publishing Company -Chicago New York -1900 - -Copyright, 1896, -by the Merriam Company. - -[Illustration] - - - - -NOTE.--_These papers were first published in the "Pall Mall Gazette," -under the heading, "Wares of Autolycus." It is due to the courteous -permission of the editors of that Journal that they are now re-issued -in book form._ - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -I have always wondered that woman could be so glib in claiming -equality with man. In such trifling matters as politics and science -and industry, I doubt if there be much to choose between the two -sexes. But in the cultivation and practice of an art which concerns -life more seriously, woman has hitherto proved an inferior creature. - -For centuries the kitchen has been her appointed sphere of action. And -yet, here, as in the studio and the study, she has allowed man to -carry off the laurels. Vatel, Carême, Ude, Dumas, Gouffé, Etienne, -these are some of the immortal cooks of history: the kitchen still -waits its Sappho. Mrs Glasse, at first, might be thought a notable -exception; but it is not so much the merit of her book as its extreme -rarity in the first edition which has made it famous. - -Woman, moreover, has eaten with as little distinction as she has -cooked. It seems almost--much as I deplore the admission--as if she -were of coarser clay than man, lacking the more artistic instincts, -the subtler, daintier emotions. - -I think, therefore, the great interest of the following papers lies in -the fact that they are written by a woman--a greedy woman. The -collection, evidently, does not pretend to be a "Cook's Manual," or a -"Housewife's Companion": already the diligent, in numbers, have -catalogued _recipes_, with more or less exactness. It is rather a -guide to the Beauty, the Poetry, that exists in the perfect dish, even -as in the masterpiece of a Titian or a Swinburne. Surely hope need not -be abandoned when there is found one woman who can eat, with -understanding, the Feasts of Autolycus. - - ELIZABETH ROBINS PENNELL. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - THE VIRTUE OF GLUTTONY, 9 - - A PERFECT BREAKFAST, 17 - - TWO BREAKFASTS, 25 - - THE SUBTLE SANDWICH, 33 - - A PERFECT DINNER, 43 - - AN AUTUMN DINNER, 51 - - A MIDSUMMER DINNER, 59 - - TWO SUPPERS, 67 - - ON SOUP, 75 - - THE SIMPLE SOLE, 89 - - BOUILLABAISSE, 97 - - THE MOST EXCELLENT OYSTER, 105 - - THE PARTRIDGE, 117 - - THE ARCHANGELIC BIRD, 125 - - SPRING CHICKEN, 135 - - THE MAGNIFICENT MUSHROOM, 143 - - THE INCOMPARABLE ONION, 155 - - THE TRIUMPHANT TOMATO, 171 - - A DISH OF SUNSHINE, 179 - - ON SALADS, 191 - - THE SALADS OF SPAIN, 205 - - THE STIRRING SAVOURY, 215 - - INDISPENSABLE CHEESE, 223 - - A STUDY IN GREEN AND RED, 231 - - A MESSAGE FROM THE SOUTH, 239 - - ENCHANTING COFFEE, 249 - - - - -THE VIRTUE OF GLUTTONY - - -Gluttony is ranked with the deadly sins; it should be honoured among -the cardinal virtues. It was in the Dark Ages of asceticism that -contempt for it was fostered. Selfish anchorites, vowed to dried dates -and lentils, or browsing Nebuchadnezzar-like upon grass, thought by -their lamentable example to rob the world of its chief blessing. -Cheerfully, and without a scruple, they would have sacrificed beauty -and pleasure to their own superstition. If the vineyard yielded wine -and the orchard fruit, if cattle were sent to pasture, and the forest -abounded in game, they believed it was that men might forswear the -delights thus offered. And so food came into ill repute and foolish -fasting was glorified, until a healthy appetite passed for a snare of -the devil, and its gratification meant eternal damnation. Poor deluded -humans, ever so keen to make the least of the short span of life -allotted to them! - -With time, all superstitions fail; and asceticism went the way of many -another ingenious folly. But as a tradition, as a convention, somehow, -it lingered longer among women. And the old Christian duty became a -new feminine grace. And where the fanatic had fasted that his soul -might prove comelier in the sight of God, silly matrons and maidens -starved, or pretended to starve, themselves that their bodies might -seem fairer in the eyes of man. And dire, indeed, has been their -punishment. The legend was that swooning Angelina or tear-stained -Amelia, who, in company, toyed tenderly with a chicken wing or -unsubstantial wafer, later retired to the pantry to stuff herself with -jam and pickles. And thus gradually, so it is asserted, the delicacy -of women's palate was destroyed; food to her perverted stomach was but -a mere necessity to stay the pangs of hunger, and the pleasure of -eating she looked upon as a deep mystery, into which only man could be -initiated. - -In this there is much exaggeration, but still much truth. To-day -women, as a rule, think all too little of the joys of eating. They -hold lightly the treasures that should prove invaluable. They refuse -to recognise that there is no less art in eating well than in painting -well or writing well, and if their choice lay between swallowing a bun -with a cup of tea in an aërated bread shop, and missing the latest -picture show or doing without a new book, they would not hesitate; to -the stodgy bun they would condemn themselves, though that way madness -lies. Is it not true that the woman who would economise, first draws -her purse-strings tight in the market and at the restaurant? With her -milliner's bill she may find no fault, but in butcher's book, or -grocer's, every halfpenny is to be disputed. - -The loss is hers, but the generous-hearted can but regret it. -Therefore let her be brought face to face with certain fundamental -facts, and the scales will fall quickly from her eyes, and she will -see the truth in all its splendour. - -First, then, let her know that the love of good eating gives an object -to life. She need not stray after false gods; she will not burden -herself with silly fads, once she realizes that upon food she may -concentrate thought and energy, and her higher nature--which to her -means so much--be developed thereby. Why clamour for the suffrage, why -labour for the redemption of brutal man, why wear, with noisy -advertisement, ribbons white or blue, when three times a day there is -a work of art, easily within her reach, to be created? All his life a -Velasquez devoted to his pictures, a Shakespeare to his plays, a -Wagner to his operas: why should not the woman of genius spend hers in -designing exquisite dinners, inventing original breakfasts, and be -respected for the nobility of her self-appointed task? For in the -planning of the perfect meal there is art; and, after all, is not art -the one real, the one important thing in life? - -And the object she thus accepts will be her pleasure as well. For the -_gourmande_, or glutton, duty and amusement go hand in hand. Her -dainty devices and harmonies appeal to her imagination and fancy; they -play gently with her emotions; they develop to the utmost her pretty -sensuousness. Mind and body alike are satisfied. And so long as this -pleasure endures it will never seem time to die. The ancient -philosopher thought that time had come when life afforded more evil -than good. The good of a pleasantly planned dinner outbalances the -evil of daily trials and tribulations. - -Here is another more intimate, personal reason which the woman of -sense may not set aside with flippancy or indifference. By artistic -gluttony, beauty is increased, if not actually created. Listen to the -words of Brillat-Savarin, that suave and sympathetic _gourmet_: "It -has been proved by a series of rigorously exact observations that by a -succulent, delicate, and choice regimen, the external appearances of -age are kept away for a long time. It gives more brilliancy to the -eye, more freshness to the skin, more support to the muscles; and as -it is certain in physiology that wrinkles, those formidable enemies of -beauty, are caused by the depression of muscle, it is equally true -that, other things being equal, those who understand eating are -comparatively four years younger than those ignorant of that science." -Surely he should have called it art, not science. But let that pass. -Rejoice in the knowledge that gluttony is the best cosmetic. - -And more than this: a woman not only grows beautiful when she eats -well, but she is bewitchingly lovely in the very act of eating. Listen -again, for certain texts cannot be heard too often: "There is no more -pretty sight than a pretty _gourmande_ under arms. Her napkin is -nicely adjusted; one of her hands rests on the table, the other -carries to her mouth little morsels artistically carved, or the wing -of a partridge, which must be picked. Her eyes sparkle, her lips are -glossy, her talk cheerful, all her movements graceful; nor is there -lacking some spice of the coquetry which accompanies all that women -do. With so many advantages she is irresistible, and Cato, the censor -himself, could not help yielding to the influence." And who shall say -that woman, declaiming on the public platform, or "spanking" -progressive principles into the child-man, makes a prettier picture? - -Another plea, and one not to be scorned, is the new bond of union love -of eating weaves between man and wife. "A wedded pair with this taste -in common have once a day at least a pleasant opportunity of meeting." -Sport has been pronounced a closer tie than religion, but what of -food? What, indeed? Let men and women look to it that at table -delicious sympathy makes them one, and marriage will cease to be a -failure. If they agree upon their sauces and salads, what matter if -they disagree upon mere questions of conduct and finance? Accept the -gospel of good living and the sexual problem will be solved. She who -first dares to write the great Food Novel will be a true champion of -her sex. And yet women meet and dine together, and none has the -courage to whisper the true secret of emancipation. Mostly fools! -Alas! that it should have to be written! - -And think--that is, if you know how to think--of the new joy added to -friendship, the new charm to casual acquaintanceship, when food is -given its due, and is recognised as something to be talked of. The old -platitudes will fade and die. The maiden will cease to ask "What do -you think of the Academy?" The earnest one will no longer look to -Ibsen for heavy small talk. Pretence will be wiped away, -conversational shams abolished, and the social millennium will have -come. Eat with understanding, and interest in the dishes set before -you must prove genuine and engrossing, as enthusiasm over the last new -thing in art or ethics has never been--never can be. The sensation of -the day will prove the latest arrangement in oysters, the newest -device in vegetables. The ambitious will trust to her kitchen to win -her reputation; the poet will offer lyrics and pastorals with every -course; the painter will present in every dish a lovely scheme of -colour. - -Gross are they who see in eating and drinking nought but grossness. -The woman who cannot live without a mission should now find the path -clear before her. Let her learn first for herself the rapture that -lies dormant in food; let her next spread abroad the joyful tidings. -Gluttony is a vice only when it leads to stupid, inartistic excess. - - - - -A PERFECT BREAKFAST - - -Breakfast means many things to many men. Ask the American, and he will -give as definition: "Shad, beefsteak, hash, fried potatoes, omelet, -coffee, buckwheat cakes, waffles, corn bread, and (if he be a -Virginian) batter pudding, at 8 o'clock A.M. sharp." Ask the -Englishman, and he will affirm stoutly: "Tea, a rasher of bacon, dry -toast, and marmalade as the clock strikes nine, or the half after." -And both, differing in detail as they may and do, are alike -barbarians, understanding nothing of the first principles of -gastronomy. - -Seek out rather the Frenchman and his kinsmen of the Latin race. They -know: and to their guidance the timid novice may trust herself without -a fear. The blundering Teuton, however, would lead to perdition; for -he, insensible to the charms of breakfast, does away with it -altogether, and, as if still swayed by nursery rule, eats his dinner -at noon--and may he long be left to enjoy it by himself! Therefore, -in this, as in many other matters that cater to the higher pleasures, -look to France for light and inspiration. - -Upon rising--and why not let the hour vary according to mood and -inclination?--forswear all but the _petit déjeuner_: the little -breakfast of coffee and rolls and butter. But the coffee must be of -the best, no chicory as you hope for salvation; the rolls must be -crisp and light and fresh, as they always are in Paris and Vienna; the -butter must be pure and sweet. And if you possess a fragment of -self-respect, enjoy this _petit déjeuner_ alone, in the solitude of -your chamber. Upon the early family breakfast many and many a happy -marriage has been wrecked; and so be warned in time. - -At noon once more is man fit to meet his fellow-man and woman. -Appetite has revived. The day is at its prime. By every law of nature -and of art, this, of all others, is the hour that calls to breakfast. - -When soft rains fall, and winds blow milder, and bushes in park or -garden are sprouting and spring is at hand, grace your table with -this same sweet promise of spring. Let rosy radish give the touch of -colour to satisfy the eye, as chairs are drawn in close about the -spotless cloth: the tiny, round radish, pulled in the early hours of -the morning, still in its first virginal purity, tender, sweet, yet -peppery, with all the piquancy of the young girl not quite a child, -not yet a woman. In great bunches, it enlivens every stall at Covent -Garden, and every greengrocer's window; on the breakfast-table it is -the gayest poem that uncertain March can sing. Do not spoil it by -adding other _hors d'oeuvres_; nothing must be allowed to destroy its -fragrance and its savour. Bread and butter, however, will serve as -sympathetic background, and enhance rather than lessen its charm. - -Vague poetic memories and aspirations stirred within you by the dainty -radish, you will be in fitting humour for _oeufs aux saucissons_, a -dish, surely, invented by the Angels in Paradise. There is little -earthly in its composition or flavour; irreverent it seems to describe -it in poor halting words. But if language prove weak, intention is -good, and should others learn to honour this priceless delicacy, then -will much have been accomplished. Without more ado, therefore, go to -Benoist's, and buy the little truffled French sausages which that -temple of delight provides. Fry them, and fry half the number of fresh -eggs. Next, one egg and two sausages place in one of those -irresistible little French baking-dishes, dim green or golden brown in -colour, and, smothering them in rich wine sauce, bake, and serve--one -little dish for each guest. Above all, study well your sauce; if it -fail, disaster is inevitable; if it succeed, place laurel leaves in -your hair, for you will have conquered. "A woman who has mastered -sauces sits on the apex of civilisation." - -Without fear of anti-climax, pass suavely on from _oeufs aux -saucissons_ to _rognons sautés_. In thin elegant slices your kidneys -should be cut, before trusting them to the melted butter in the frying -pan; for seasoning, add salt, pepper, and parsley; for thickening, -flour; for strength, a tablespoonful or more of stock; for stimulus, -as much good claret; then eat thereof and you will never repent. - -Dainty steps these to prepare the way for the breakfast's most -substantial course, which, to be in loving sympathy with all that has -gone before, may consist of _côtelettes de mouton au naturel_. See -that the cutlets be small and plump, well trimmed, and beaten gently, -once on each side, with a chopper cooled in water. Dip them into -melted butter, grill them, turning them but once that the juice may -not be lost, and thank kind fate that has let you live to enjoy so -delicious a morsel. _Pommes de terre sautées_ may be deemed chaste -enough to appear--and disappear--at the same happy moment. - -With welcome promise of spring the feast may end as it began. Order a -salad to follow: cool, quieting, encouraging. When in its perfection -cabbage lettuce is to be had, none could be more submissive and -responsive to the wooing of oil and vinegar. Never forget to rub the -bowl with onion, now in its first youth, ardent but less fiery than in -the days to come, strong but less imperious. No other garniture is -needed. The tender green of the lettuce leaves will blend and -harmonise with the anemones and tulips, in old blue china or dazzling -crystal, that decorate the table's centre; and though grey may be the -skies without, something of May's softness and June's radiance will -fill the breakfast-room with the glamour of romance. - -What cheese, you ask? Suisse, of course. Is not the month March? Has -not the _menu_, so lovingly devised, sent the spring rioting through -your veins? Suisse with sugar, and prolong the sweet dreaming while -you may. What if work you cannot, after thus giving the reins to fancy -and to appetite? At least you will have had your hour of happiness. -Breakfast is not for those who toil that they may dine; their sad -portion is the midday sandwich. - -Wine should be light and not too many. The true epicure will want but -one, and he may do worse than let his choice fall upon Graves, though -good Graves, alas! is not to be had for the asking. Much too heavy is -Burgundy for breakfast. If your soul yearns for red wine, be -aristocratic in your preferences, and, like the Stuarts, drink -Claret--a good St. Estèphe or St. Julien. - -Coffee is indispensable, and what is true of coffee after dinner is -true as well of coffee after breakfast. Have it of the best, or else -not at all. For liqueur, one of the less fervent, more maidenly -varieties, Maraschino, perhaps, or Prunelle, but make sure it is the -Prunelle, in stone jugs, that comes from Chalon-sur-Saône. Bring out -the cigarettes--not the Egyptian or Turkish, with suspicion of opium -lurking in their fragrant recesses--but the cleaner, purer Virginian. -Then smoke until, like the Gypsy in Lenau's ballad, all earthly -trouble you have smoked away, and you master the mysteries of -Nirvana. - - - - -TWO BREAKFASTS - - -Spring is the year's playtime. Who, while trees are growing green and -flowers are budding, can toil with an easy conscience? Later, mere -"use and wont" accustoms the most sensitive to sunshine and green -leaves and fragrant blossoms. It is easy to work in the summer. But -spring, like wine, goes to the head and gladdens the heart of man, so -that he is fit for no other duty than the enjoyment of this new -gladness. If he be human, and not a mere machine, he must and will -choose it for the season of his holiday. - -This is why in the spring the midday breakfast appeals with most -charm. It may be eaten in peace, with no thought of immediate return -to inconsiderate desk or tyrannical easel. A stroll in the park, a -walk across the fields, or over the hills and far away, should be the -most laborious labour to follow. It would be a crime, indeed, to eat a -dainty breakfast, daintily designed and served, in the bustle and -nervous hurry of a working day. But when the sunny hours bring only -new pleasure and new capacity for it, what better than to break their -sweet monotony with a light, joyous feast that worthily plays the -herald to the evening's banquet? - -It must be light, however: light as the sunshine that falls so softly -on spotless white linen and flawless silver; gay and gracious as the -golden daffodils in their tall glass. The table's ornaments should be -few: would not the least touch of heaviness mar the effect of spring? -Why, then, add to the daffodils? See, only, that they are fresh, just -plucked from the cool green woodland, the morning dew still wet and -shining on their golden petals, and make sure that the glass, though -simple, is as shapely as Venice or Whitefriars can fashion it. - -Daffodils will smile a welcome, if radishes come to give them -greeting; radishes, round and rosy and crisp; there is a separate joy -in the low sound of teeth crunching in their crispness. Vienna rolls -(and London can now supply them) and rich yellow butter from Devon -dairies carry out the scheme of the first garden-like course. - -Sweeter smiles fall from the daffodils, if now they prove motive to a -fine symphony in gold; as they will if _omelette aux rognons_ be -chosen as second course. Do not trust the omelet to heavy-handed cook, -who thinks it means a compromise between piecrust and pancake. It must -be frothy, and strong in that quality of lightness which gives the -keynote to the composition as a whole. Enclosed within its melting -gold, at its very heart, as it were, lie the kidneys elegantly minced -and seasoned with delicate care. It is a dish predestined for the -midday breakfast, too beautiful to be wasted on the early, dull, -morning hours; too immaterial for the evening's demands. - -Its memory will linger pleasantly, even when _pilaff de volaille à -l'Indienne_ succeeds, offering a new and more stirring symphony in the -same radiant gold. For golden is the rice, stained with curry, as it -encircles the pretty, soft mound of chicken livers, brown and -delicious. Here the breakfast reaches its one substantial point; but -meat more heavy would seem vulgar and gross. The curry must not be -too hot, but rather gentle and genial like the lovely May sunshine. - -Now, a pause and a contrast. Gold fades into green. As are the stalks -to the daffodils, so the dish of _petits pois aux laitues_ to _pilaff_ -and _omelette_. The peas are so young that no device need be sought to -disguise their age; later on, like faded beauty, they may have -recourse to many a trick and a pose, but not as yet. The lettuce, as -unsophisticated, will but emphasise their exquisite youth. It is a -combination that has all the wonderful charm of infant leaves and -tentative buds on one and the same branch of the spring-fired bush. - -No sweet. Would not the artifice of jellies and cream pall after such -a succession of Nature's dear tributes? Surely the _menu_ should -finish as it began, in entrancing simplicity. Port Salut is a cheese -that smells of the dairy; that, for all its monastic origin, suggests -the pink and white Hetty or Tess with sleeves well uprolled over -curved, dimpling arms. Eat it with Bath Oliver biscuits, and sigh that -the end should come so soon. Where the need to drag in the mummy at -the close of the feast? The ancients were wise; with the last course -does it not ever stare at you cruelly, with mocking reminder that -eating, like love, hath an end? - -Graves is the wine to drink with daffodil-crowned feast--golden -Graves, light as the breakfast, gay as the sunshine, gladdening as the -spring itself. Coffee completes the composition nobly, if it be black -and strong. And for liqueur, Benedictine, in colour and feeling alike, -enters most fittingly into the harmony. Smoke cigarettes from -Virginia, that southern land of luxuriant spring flowers. - -There is no monotony in spring sunshine; why, then, let spring's -breakfast always strike the same monotonous note? Another day, another -mood, and so, as logical consequence, another _menu_. From your own -garden gather a bunch of late tulips, scarlet and glowing, but cool in -their shelter of long tapering leaves. Fill a bowl with them: it may -be a rare bronze from Japan, or a fine piece of old Delft, or anything -else, provided it be somewhat sumptuous as becomes the blossoms it -holds. Open with that triumph of colour which would have enchanted a -Titian or a Monticelli: the roseate salmon of the Rhine, smoked to a -turn, and cut in thin slices, all but transparent. It kindles desire -and lends new zest to appetite. - -After so ardent a preparation, what better suited for ensuing course -than _oeufs brouillés aux pointes d'asperges_? the eggs golden and -fleecy as the clouds in the sunset's glow; the asparagus points -imparting that exquisite flavour which is so essentially their own. -Cloudlike, the loveliness gradually and gracefully disappears, as in a -poet's dream or a painter's impression, and spring acquires a new -meaning, a new power to enchant. - -Who, with a soul, could pass on to a roast or a big heating joint? -More to the purpose is _ris de veau à la Toulouse_, the sweetbreads -broiled with distinction, and then, in pretty fluted _caissons_, -surrounded with _Béchamel_ sauce and ravishing _ragoût_ of mushrooms -and cock's combs. They are light as a feather, but still a trifle -flamboyant in honour of the tulips, while the name carries with it -gaiety from the gay southern town of the _Jeux Floraux_. - -Next, a salad is not out of place. Make it of tomatoes, scarlet and -stirring, like some strange tropical blossoms decking the shrine of -the sun. Just a suspicion of shallot in the bowl; the perfect dressing -of vinegar and oil, pepper and salt; and the luxuriant tropics could -not yield a richer and more fragrant offering. It is a salad that vies -with Cleopatra in its defiance to custom. Love for it grows stronger -with experience. The oftener it is enjoyed the greater the desire to -enjoy it again. - -Why, then, venture to destroy the impression it leaves with the -cloying insipidity of some ill-timed sweet? It is almost too early for -strawberries worth the eating, save in a _macédoine_, and they alone -would come next in order, without introducing an element of confusion -in the well-proportioned breakfast of spring. A savoury, too, would, -at this special juncture, have its drawbacks. Cheese again best -fulfils the conditions imposed. But now, something stronger, something -more definite than Port Salut is called for; if Camembert prove the -cheese of your choice, there will be no chance for criticism. One -warning: see that it is ripe; for the Camembert that crumbles in its -dryness is nothing short of iniquitous. - -Tulips and tomatoes point to Claret as the wine to be drunk. Burgundy -is for the evening, when candles are lighted, and the hours of -dreaming have begun. St. Estèphe, at noon, has infinite merit, and -responds to the tulip's call with greater warmth than any white wine, -whether from the vineyards of France or Germany, of Hungary or Italy. -Coffee, as a matter of course, is to the elegantly-designed breakfast -what the Butterfly is to the Nocturne. And when all is said, few -liqueurs accord with it so graciously as Cognac; that is, if the -dishes to precede it have tended to that joyful flamboyancy born of -the artist's exuberance in moments of creation. - -Eat either breakfast, or both; and be thankful that spring comes once -a year. - - - - -THE SUBTLE SANDWICH - - -If things yield themselves unto our mercy why should we not have the -fruition of them, or apply them to our advantage? From evil, good may -come; from the little, springs greatness. A reckless gamester, to defy -the pangs of hunger, which might drag him from his beloved cards, -brings to the gaming table slices of bread with ham between. If other -men despise--or deplore, according to their passing mood--his folly, -to their own pleasure and profit can they still turn his invention. -The sandwich has become a universal possession for all time, though -for a century the earl who created it has lain dead. His foibles -should be forgotten, his one redeeming virtue remembered. For him a -fair and spacious niche in the world's Valhalla. - -A hero indeed is he who left the sandwich as an heirloom to humanity. -It truly is the staff of life, a substantial meal for starving -traveller or bread-winner; but none the less an incomparable work of -art, a joy to the _gourmand_ of fancy and discretion. The very name -has come to be a pregnant symbol of holiday-making for all with souls -to stir at the thought of food and drink. It is an inexhaustible -stimulus to the imagination; to the memory a tender guide to the -past's happiest days and hours. - -For, in fancy, between the slices of bread, place thick, -uncompromising pieces of beef or mutton, and to the Alps you are at -once transported. Again, on the short, fragrant grass you sit; from -its temporary snow-grave a little above, Perren or Imboden fetches the -bottle of wine, ordinary enough in reality, nectar as you drink it -there; Seiler's supplies you take from the faithful knapsack, opening -paper package after paper package; and your feast of big, honest, -no-nonsense-about-them sandwiches you devour with the appetite of a -schoolboy, and the zeal of the convert to plain living and high -mountain climbing. - -Or, thin the slices, make them the covering for ham and tongue, or--if -you be greatly favoured--for sardines and anchovies; and then memory -will spread for you the banquet in the pleasant pastures that border -the Cam, the willows bowering you from the August sun with shade, your -boat moored to the cool bank; and with Claret cup, poured, mayhap, -into old college tankards, you quench your thirst, while lazily you -listen to the distant plashing of oars and lowing of kine, and all -life drifts into an idle dream. - -Or, the ham of Bayonne, the _pâté de foie gras_ of Périgueux, you bury -in the deep recesses of a long, narrow, crisp _petit pain_, and then, -quick in a French railway carriage will you find yourself: a bottle of -wine is at your side; the _Echo de Paris_ lies spread on the seat -before you; out of the window long lines of poplars go marching with -you toward Paris, whither you are bound "to make the feast." - -Grim and gruesome, it may be, are some of the memories evoked: -ill-considered excursions to the bar of the English railway station, -hasty lunches in chance bun shops, foolish testings of "ham and beef" -limitations. But, henceforth, take heed to chasten your experience -with the sandwich, that remembrance may not play you such scurvy -tricks. Treat it aright with understanding and respect, and it will -keep you in glad holiday humour, in the eating thereof as in the -memory. - -Life, alas! is not all play in Thames sunshine and keen Alpine air, or -in hopeful journeying through the pleasant land of France. But in the -everyday of stern work and doleful dissipation the sandwich is an ally -of infallible trustworthiness and infinite resources. In the hour of -need it is never found wanting. To dine well, authorities have -proclaimed in _ex cathedrâ_ utterance, you must lunch lightly; but -not, therefore, does it follow that the light luncheon should be -repellently prosaic. Let it be dainty--a graceful lyric--that it may -fill you with hope of the coming dinner. And lyrical indeed is the -savoury sandwich, well cut and garnished, served on rare faïence or -old silver; a glass, or perhaps two, of Bordeaux of some famous -vintage, to strengthen its subtle flavour. - -An ally again at afternoon tea it proves, if at five o'clock drink tea -you must; a mistake, surely, if you value your dinner. To belittle -the excellence of crumpets and muffins well toasted, would be to -betray a narrow mind and senseless prejudice; but these buttery, -greasy delicacies in private should be eaten, where the ladies of -Cranford sucked their oranges. And at the best their excellence is -homely. In the sandwich well devised is something exotic and strange, -some charm elusive and mysterious. - -But let not the sandwich be of ham, except rarely, for the -etherealized luncheon, the mystic tea. Reserve this well-meaning, but -unpoetic, viand for the journey and the day of open-air sport, to -which so admirably it is fitted. Nor so reserving it, will you be -hampered in making what Dumas calls _tartines à l'Anglaise_. Infinity -is at your disposal, if you be large and liberal enough to grasp the -fact. One hundred numbered the varieties known to that genius of -Glasgow, who, for his researches, has been honoured by a place in -dictionary and Encyclopædia. To these you may add, if time and leisure -you find for a trip to Budapest and the famous Kügler's, where, with -your tea, will be served such exquisite sandwiches, so original and -many in their devices that you can but come away marvelling, in all -eagerness to emulate the artist who designed them. - -For the luncheon sandwich, choose from the countless treasures of -the sea. Rapture is in the sardine, not the oiled from France, but -the smoked from Norway; tunny fish or anchovies are dreams of delight; -_caviar_, an ecstacy, the more delicious if a dash of lemon juice -be added. And, if you would know these in perfection, use brown -bread instead of white. Salmon is not to be scorned, nor turbot to -be turned from in contempt; they become triumphs if you are not too -niggardly with cayenne pepper; triumphs not unknown to Cheapside. -Nor are the various so-called creams--of shrimps, of lobster, of -salmon--altogether to be despised, and they, too, the better prove for -the judicious touch of cayenne. But confine not your experiments to -the conventional or the recommended. Overhaul the counter of the -fishmonger. Set your wits to work. Cultivate your artistic instincts. -Invent! Create! Many are the men who have painted pictures: few those -who have composed a new and perfect sandwich. - -Upon the egg, likewise, you may rely for inspiration--the humble hen's -egg, or the lordly plover's. Hard-boiled, in thin slices (oh! the -memories of Kügler's, and the Russian railway station, and the _hor -d'oeuvres_, Tartar-guarded sideboard, now awakened!) or well grated; -by itself, or in endless combinations, the egg will ever repay your -confidence. - -Upon sausage, also, you may count with loving faith. _Butterbrod mit -Wurst_--_Wurst_ and philosophy, these are the German masterpieces. And -here, you may visit the _delicatessen_ shop to good purpose. -Goose-liver, Brunswick, garlic, Bologna, truffled--all fulfil their -highest destiny, when in thinnest of thin slices, you lay them between -slices no less thin of buttered bread--brown or white, as artistic -appropriateness suggests--a faint suspicion of mustard to lend them -piquancy. - -Beef and mutton, when not cut in Alpine chunks, are comforting, and -with mustard duly applied, grateful as well. Fowl and game, galantine -and tongue, veal and brawn--no meat there is, whether fresh or boned -or potted, that does not adapt itself gracefully to certain occasions, -to certain needs. And here, again, be not slow to arrange new -harmonies, to suggest new schemes. It should be your endeavor always -to give style and individuality to your sandwiches. - -Cheese in shavings, or grated, has great merit. Greater still has the -cool cucumber, fragrant from its garden ground, the unrivalled tomato, -the crisp, sharp mustard and cress. Scarce a green thing growing that -will not lend itself to the true artist in sandwich-making. Lettuce, -celery, watercress, radishes--not one may you not test to your own -higher happiness. And your art may be measured by your success in -proving the onion to be the poetic soul of the sandwich, as of the -salad bowl. For afternoon tea the dainty green sandwich is the -daintiest of them all. - -If to sweets your taste incline, then easily may you be gratified, -though it be a taste smacking of the nursery and the schoolroom. Jams -and marmalades you may press into service; chocolate or candied fruit. -And sponge cake may take the place of bread, and, with strawberries -between, you have the American strawberry short-cake. - -But, whatever your sandwich, above all things see that its proportions -be delicate and symmetrical; that it please the eye before ever the -first fragment has passed into the mouth. - - - - -A PERFECT DINNER - - -Fashion and art have little in common. Save for chance, they would -remain always as the poles apart. The laws of the one are transitory, -of the other eternal; and as irreconcilable are they in the -observance. Make then your choice between them, since no man may serve -two masters. - -Know that if ever the noble art of cookery be wrecked, it will be upon -the quicksands of Fashion. In many ways is it threatened by the -passing mode, but, above all others, one danger looms up before it, -grim, relentless, tragic: the more awful because, to the thoughtless, -at first it seems sweet as siren's singing. It is an evil born of the -love of display and of the keen competition between Fashion's -votaries. For they who would pose as delicate diners, think to eclipse -their rivals by number of courses and bewildering variety. How to -prolong the _menu_, rather than how to perfect it, is their constant -study. In excess they would emulate the banquets of the ancients, -though they are too refined by far to revive the old vomitories--the -indispensable antidote. Dish follows dish, conceit is piled upon -conceit; and with what result? Before dinner is half over, palates are -jaded, "fine shades" can no more be appreciated, every new course -awakens fear of the morrow's indigestion. Or else, pleasure is -tempered by caution, a melancholy compromise; nothing is really eaten, -the daintiest devices are but trifled with, and dinner is degraded -into a torture fit for Tantalus. Surely, never was there a more cruel, -fickle mistress than Fashion! Sad, immeasurably sad, the fate of her -worshippers. - -Art despises show, it disdains rivalry, and it knows not excess. A -Velasquez or a Whistler never overloads his canvas for the sake of -gorgeous detail. To the artist in words, superfluous ornament is the -unpardonable sin. And so with the lovers of Gasterea, the tenth and -fairest of the Muses. Better by far Omar Khayyam's jug of wine and -loaf of bread, if both be good, than all the ill-regulated banquets of -a Lucullus. Who would hesitate between the feasts of Heliogabalus and -the frugal fowl and the young kid, the raisins, figs, and nuts of -Horace? - -It matters not how many courses between oysters and coffee Fashion may -decree, if, turning your back upon her and her silly pretensions, you -devise a few that it will be a privilege for your guests to eat, a joy -for them to remember. Bear in mind the master's model luncheon and its -success. No _menu_ could have been simpler; none more delicious. The -table was laid for three, a goodly number, for all the slurs cast upon -it. At each plate were "two dozen oysters with a bright golden lemon; -at each end of the table stood a bottle of Sauterne, carefully wiped -all except the cork, which showed unmistakably that it was long since -the wine had been bottled." After the oysters roasted kidneys were -served; next, truffled _foie-gras_; then the famous _fondue_, the -beautiful arrangement of eggs beaten up with cheese, prepared over a -chafing-dish at table, stimulating appetite by all the delights of -anticipation. Fruit followed, and coffee; and last, two liqueurs, "one -a spirit, to clear, and the other an oil, to soothe." Be not content -to read, but go and do likewise! - -Imagine a dinner planned on the same pattern, and the conventional -banquet of the day soon will seem to you the monstrosity it is. -Observe two all-important rules and you may not wander far wrong. One -is to limit the number of courses; the other to serve first the -substantial dishes, then those that are lighter, first the simpler -wines, afterwards those of finer flavours. - -The _hors d'oeuvre_, however, is an exception. If too substantial it -would defeat its end. It must whet the appetite, not blunt it. In its -flavour must its strength lie; at once keen and subtle, it should -stimulate, but never satisfy. An anchovy salad touches perfection; the -anchovies--the boneless species from France--the olives skilfully -stoned, the capers in carefully studied proportions, the yellow of the -egg well grated, the parsley, chopped fine, must be arranged by an -artist with a fine feeling for decorative effect, and the dressing of -oil, vinegar, pepper, and salt, poured gently over the design so as -not to destroy the poetry of line and colour. A crisp Vienna roll, -with sweet fresh butter, makes an excellent accompaniment, but one to -be enjoyed in moderation. - -_Crème Soubise_ is the soup to follow. Thick, creamy, onion-scented, -the first spoonful enchants, and a glamour is at once cast over dinner -and diners. Sufficing in itself, it needs neither Parmesan nor toast -to enhance its merits. Like a beautiful woman, unadorned it is adorned -the most. - -Admirably, it prepares the way for oysters, deftly scalloped, with -shallots and fragrant _bouquet garni_ to lend them savour, and bread -crumbs to form a rich golden-brown outer covering. If not unmindful of -the eye's pleasure, you will make as many shells as there are guests -serve the purpose of a single dish. - -Without loitering or dallying with useless _entrées_, come at once to -the one substantial course of the pleasant feast--and see that it be -not too substantial. Avoid the heavy, clumsy, unimaginative joint. -Decide rather for idyllic, _Tournedos aux Champignons_; the fillet -tender and _saignant_, as the French say, the mushrooms, not of the -little button variety, suggesting tins or bottles, but large and -black and fresh from the market. Rapture is their inevitable sauce: -rapture too deep for words. To share the same plate _pommes soufflées_ -may be found worthy. - -None but the irreverent would seek to blur their impressions by eating -other meats after so delectable a dish. Order, rather, a vegetable -salad, fresh and soothing: potatoes, cauliflower, carrots, celery, a -suspicion of garlic, and a sprinkling of parsley. Eat slowly; foolish -is the impatient man who gallops through his pleasures in hot haste. - -And now, be bold, defy convention, and do away with sweets. After so -tender a poem, who could rejoice in the prose of pudding? But "a last -course at dinner, wanting cheese, is like a pretty woman with only one -eye." Therefore, unless you be blind to beauty, let cheese be served. -Port Salut will do as well as another; neither too strong nor too -mild, it has qualities not to be prized lightly. - -Fruit is the sweet _envoy_ to the Ballade of Dinner. And of all -winter's fruits, the fragrant, spicy little Tangerine orange is most -delicious and suggestive. Its perfume alone, to those who have dined -discreetly, is a magic pass to the happy land of dreams. Conversation -rallies, wit flashes, confidences are begotten over walnuts and -almonds, and so, unless in surly, taciturn mood--as who could be after -so exquisite a dinner?--let these have a place upon your _menu_. - -See that your wines are as perfect of their kind as your courses. Too -many would be a dire mistake. A good Sauterne, a light Burgundy will -answer well if "of the first quality." Cheap, or of a poor vintage, -they will ruin the choicest dish. - -Upon coffee, too, much depends. It must be strong, it must be rich, it -must be hot. But strength and richness may not be had unless it be -fresh roasted and ground. Worse a hundredfold you may do than to mix -Mocha with Mysore; theirs is one of the few happy unions. If romance -have charm for you, then finish with a little glass of green -Chartreuse--the yellow is for the feeble and the namby-pamby; -powerful, indeed, is the spell it works, powerful and ecstatic. - -And having thus well and wisely dined, the cares of life will slip -from you; its vexations and annoyances will dwindle into nothingness. -Serene, at peace with yourself and all mankind, you may then claim as -your right the true joys of living. - - - - -AN AUTUMN DINNER - - -Why sigh if summer be done, and already grey skies, like a pall, hang -over fog-choked London town? The sun may shine, wild winds may blow, -but every evening brings with it the happy dinner hour. With the -autumn days foolish men play at being pessimists, and talk in -platitudes of the cruel fall of the leaf and death of love. And what -matter? May they not still eat and drink? May they not still know that -most supreme of all joys, the perfect dish perfectly served? Small -indeed is the evil of a broken heart compared to a coarsened palate or -disordered digestion. - -"Therefore have we cause to be merry!--and to cast away all care." -Autumn has less to distract from the pleasure that never fails. The -glare of foolish sunlight no longer lures to outdoor debauches, the -soft breath of the south wind no longer breathes hope of happiness in -Arcadian simplicity. We can sit in peace by our fireside, and dream -dreams of a long succession of triumphant _menus_. The touch of frost -in the air is as a spur to the artist's invention; it quickens -ambition, and stirs to loftier aspiration. The summer languor is -dissipated, and with the re-birth of activity is re-awakened desire -for the delicious, the _piquante_, the fantastic. - -Let an autumn dinner then be created! dainty, as all art must be, with -that elegance and distinction and individuality without which the -masterpiece is not. Strike the personal note; forswear commonplace. - -The glorious, unexpected overture shall be _soupe aux moules_. For -this great advantage it can boast: it holds the attention not only in -the short--all too short--moment of eating, but from early in the -morning of the eventful day; nor does it allow itself to be forgotten -as the eager hours race on. At eleven--and the heart leaps for delight -as the clock strikes--the _pot-au-feu_ is placed upon the fire; at -four, tomatoes and onions--the onions white as the driven -snow--communing in all good fellowship in a worthy saucepan follow; -and at five, after an hour's boiling, they are strained through a -sieve, peppered, salted, and seasoned. And now is the time for the -mussels, swimming in a sauce made of a bottle of white wine, a -_bouquet-garni_, carrot, excellent vinegar, and a glass of ordinary -red wine, to be offered up in their turn, and some thirty minutes will -suffice for the ceremony. At this critical point, bouillon, tomatoes, -and mussels meet in a proper pot well rubbed with garlic, and an -ardent quarter of an hour will consummate the union. As you eat, -something of the ardour becomes yours, and in an ecstasy the dinner -begins. - -Sad indeed would it prove were imagination exhausted with so promising -a prelude. Each succeeding course must lead to new ecstasy, else will -the dinner turn out the worst of failures. In _turbot au gratin_, the -ecstatic possibilities are by no means limited. In a chaste silver -dish, make a pretty wall of potatoes, which have been beaten to flour, -enlivened with pepper and salt, enriched with butter and cream--cream -thick and fresh and altogether adorable--seasoned with Parmesan -cheese, and left on the stove for ten minutes, neither more nor less; -let the wall enclose layers of turbot, already cooked and in pieces, -of melted butter and of cream, with a fair covering of bread-crumbs; -and rely upon a quick oven to complete the masterpiece. - -After so pretty a conceit, where would be the poetry in heavy joints -or solid meats? _Ris de veau aux truffes_ surely would be more in -sympathy; the sweetbreads baked and browned very tenderly, the sauce -fashioned of truffles duly sliced, marsala, lemon juice, salt and -_paprika_, with a fair foundation of benevolent bouillon. And with so -exquisite a dish no disturbing vegetable should be served. - -And after? If you still hanker for the roast beef and horseradish of -Old England, then go and gorge yourself at the first convenient -restaurant. Would you interrupt a symphony that the orchestra might -play "God save the Queen"? Would you set the chorus in "Atalanta in -Calydon" to singing odes by Mr Alfred Austen? There is a place for -all things, and the place for roast beef is not on the ecstatic -_menu_. Grouse, rather, would meet the diner's mood--grouse with -memories of the broad moor and purple heather. Roast them at a clear -fire, basting them with maternal care. Remember that they, as well as -pheasants and partridges, should "have gravy in the dish and -bread-sauce in a cup." Their true affinity is less the vegetable, -however artistically prepared, than the salad, serenely simple, that -discord may not be risked. Not this the time for the bewildering -_macédoine_, or the brilliant tomato. Choose, instead, lettuce; crisp -cool _Romaine_ by choice. Sober restraint should dignify the dressing; -a suspicion of chives may be allowed; a sprinkling of well-chopped -tarragon leaves is indispensable. Words are weak to express, but the -true poet strong to feel the loveliness now fast reaching its climax. - -It is autumn, the mood is fantastic: a sweet, if it tend not to the -vulgarity of heavy puddings and stodgy pies, will introduce an -amusing, a sprightly element. _Omelette soufflée_ claims the -privilege. But it must be light as air, all but ethereal in substance, -a mere nothing to melt in the mouth like a beautiful dream. And yet in -melting it must yield a flavour as soft as the fragrance of flowers, -and as evanescent. The sensation must be but a passing one that -piques the curiosity and soothes the excited palate. A dash of -orange-flower water, redolent of the graceful days that are no more, -another of wine from Andalusian vineyards, and the sensation may be -secured. - -By the law of contrasts the vague must give way to the decided. The -stirring, glorious climax after the brief, gentle interlude, will be -had in _canapé des olives farcies_, the olives stuffed with anchovies -and capers, deluged with cayenne, prone on their beds of toast and -girded about with astonished watercress. - -Fruit will seem a graceful afterthought; pears all golden, save where -the sun, a passionate lover, with his kisses set them to blushing a -rosy red; grapes, purple and white and voluptuous; figs, overflowing -with the exotic sweetness of their far southern home; peaches, tender -and juicy and desirable. To eat is to eschew all prose, to spread the -wings of the soul in glad poetic flight. What matter, indeed, if the -curtains shut out stormy night or monstrous fog? - -Rejoice that no blue ribbon dangles unnecessarily and ignominiously -at your buttonhole. Wine, rich wine to sing in the glass with "odorous -music," the autumn dinner demands. Burgundy, rich red Burgundy, it -should be; Beaune or Pomard as you will, to fire the blood and set the -fancy free. And let none other but yourself warm it; study its -temperature as the lover might study the frowns and smiles of his -beloved. And the "Spirit of Wine" will sing in your hearts that you -too may triumph - - In the savour and scent of his music, - His magnetic and mastering song. - -And the Burgundy will make superfluous Port and Tokay, and all the -dessert wines, sweet or dry, which unsympathetic diners range before -them upon the coming of the fruit. - -Drink nothing else until wineglass be pushed aside for cup of coffee, -black and sweet of savour, a blend of Mocha and Mysore. Rich, thick, -luxurious, Turkish coffee would be a most fitting epilogue. But then, -see that you refuse the more frivolous, feminine liqueurs. Cognac, old -and strong-hearted, alone would meet the hour's emotions--Cognac, the -gift of the gods, the immortal liquid. Lean back and smoke in -silence, unless speech, exchanged with the one kind spirit, may be -golden and perfect as the dinner. - - - - -A MIDSUMMER DINNER - - -At midsummer, the _gourmand_ subsists chiefly on hope of the good time -coming. The 12th ushers in season of glorious plenty. But, for the -moment, there is a lull in the market's activity. Green things there -are in abundance; but upon green things alone it is not good for man -to live. Consult the oracle; turn to the immortal, infallible -"Almanack," and confirmation of this sad truth will stare you in the -face plainly, relentlessly. Sucking-pig is sole consolation offered by -benevolent De la Reynière to well-nigh inconsolable man. But what a -poem in the sucking-pig that gambols gaily over his pages: a delicious -roasted creature, its little belly stuffed full of liver and truffles -and mushrooms, capers, anchovies, aromatic pepper, and salt, all -wrought together into one elegant _farce_; while in dish apart, as -indispensable acolyte, an orange sauce waits to complete the -masterpiece! _En daube_, this amiable little beast is not to be -despised, nor _en ragoût_ need it be dismissed with disdain, though, -let man of letters beware! The Society of Authors, with his welfare at -heart, should warn him while still there is time. What zest might be -given to the savourless _Author_, their organ, were its columns well -filled with stately and brilliant discourses upon food and good -eating. How the writer of delicate perceptions should eat: is that -not, as subject, prettier and more profitable far than how much money -he can make by publishing here and lecturing there? - -The poor _gourmand_, in sorry plight during midsummer's famine, may -seek blessed light also from Filippini, Delmonico's cook. Out of the -fulness of his heart he speaketh, leaving not one of August's -thirty-one shortening days without elaborate _menu_. But London must -fast while New York feasts. At Delmonico's, happy diners may smile -gracious welcome to Lima beans and sweet corn, to succotash and -egg-plant, to chicken _à l'okra_ and clam chowder, but what hope for -the patrons of Verrey's and Nichol's? What hope, unless, forthwith, -they emigrate to that promised land beyond the broad Atlantic? For -the rest, Filippini reveals not the originality, the invention that -one would have hoped from him, even at the season when men are struck -dead by the sun in the streets of his dear town of adoption. Roast -turkey, with cranberry sauce, is suggestive of November's drear days; -Brussels sprouts sum up greengrocers' resources in midwinter. But why -falter? Hope need never be abandoned by the wise, whose faith is -strong in himself. - -The season presents difficulties, but the beautiful dinner may still -be designed. To meet August's flaming mood, it should be rich, and -frankly voluptuous. Let flowers that bespeak autumn's approach and the -fulness of harvest give the dinner its keynote. In Delft bowl, of -appropriate coarseness, heap the late summer's first dahlias, all -scarlet and gold as London's sunset at the fall of the year. To the -earth's ripeness and fertility their bold, unabashed hues bear loud -and triumphant witness. - -Let the soup be at once tribute and farewell to spring that has gone. -Regret will be luxuriously expressed in _purée de petits pois_; -spinach added to the fresh peas to lend flavour and colour, a dash of -sugar for sweetness' sake, a pinch of _paprika_ to counteract it, a -suspicion of onion to strengthen it. Arrowroot, in discreet measure, -will answer for thickening, and impart more becoming consistency even -than flour. Pleasure in the eating will be tempered by sorrow in the -prospect of parting, and therefore intensified a hundredfold. Where -the joy in possession but for the ever-present fear of loss? - -With the second course, banish regret. Forget yesterday; be -indifferent to to-morrow; revel riotously in to-day. _Hure de saumon à -la Cambacérès_ will point out the way to supreme surrender. Close to -the head, the delicate silver-rose of the fish must be cut in lavish -proportions; braised gently, its removal to the dish that is waiting -is signal to surround it with truffles and mushrooms and stoned -olives--garland beyond compare; a sauce of drawn butter, seasoned with -_paprika_ and lemon juice and parsley, is essential accompaniment. And -now the present truly has conquered! - -The third course must not betray the second's promise. Gay and -fantastic, it must be well able to stand the dread test of -comparison. _Rognons d'agneau à l'éþicurienne_ enters nobly into the -breach; the lamb's dainty kidneys are split and grilled with decorum, -their fragrant centres are adorned with sympathetic _sauce Tartare_, -golden potatoes _à la Parisienne_ insist upon serving as garniture, -and Mr Senn demands, as finishing touch, the stimulating seduction of -_sauce Poivrade_. Who now will say that August is barren of delicious -devices? - -To follow: _poulet sauté à l'Hongroise_, the clash of the Czardas -captured and imprisoned in a stew-pan. With the Racoczy's wild drumming -stirring memory into frenzy, stew the fowl, already cut into six -willing pieces, with butter, a well-minced onion, pepper--_paprika_ -by choice--and salt; ten minutes will suffice--how, indeed, endure -the strain a second longer? Then to the notes of the cymbal, moisten -with _Béchamel_ sauce and fair quantity of cream, and rejoice in -the fine Romany rapture for just twenty minutes more. Decorate with -_croûtons_, and send fancy, without fetters, wandering across the -plains and over the mountains of song-bound Magyarland. To play the -gypsy, free as the deer in the forest, as the bird in the air, is not -this as it should be in the month, more than all others, pledged -to _pleinairisme_? Insipid, as life without love, is the dinner without -imagination. - -Vegetables have no special place in the scheme of August's dinner. But -a salad will not come amiss. Remember, the feast is ordered in sheer -voluptuousness of spirit. The fifth course calls for the scarlet -splendour of tomatoes; and the presiding dahlias, in bowl of Delft, -clamour for the gold of _mayonnaise_ sauce to carry out the exulting -trumpeting harmony. A hint, here, to the earnest, ambitious -_gourmand_; if cream be worked, deftly and slowly, into the thickening -sauce, sublime will be the results. - -A sweet, at this juncture, would err if over-chaste in conception. -Picture to yourself the absurd figure cut by tapioca pudding or apple -dumpling on conscientiously voluptuous _menu_? A _macédoine méringuée_ -would have more legitimate claim to close the banquet with -distinction. August supplies fruit without stint: plums and greengages -and apricots and nectarines and peaches and pears and grapes and -bananas; all join together to sweet purpose, with ecstatic intent; a -large wineglass of Claret, a generous sprinkling of Cognac will guard -against puerility. The protecting _méringue_ should be crisp and pale -golden brown; and later it will need the reinforcement of thick -luscious cream. - -A sweet fails to delight, unless a savoury comes speedily after. -_Caviar de Russie en crêpes_ is worthy successor of _macédoine -méringue_. Mingle cream with the _caviar_, and none who eats will have -cause to complain. It reconciles to the barbarous, even where Tolstoi -and Marie Bashkirtseff may have failed. - -To dally with fruit is graceful excuse to linger longer over wine. -Plums and greengages, their bloom still fresh, their plump roundness -never yet submitted to trial by fire, figs--pale northern ghosts, -alas!--peaches, grapes, make exquisite interlude--between dinner and -coffee. Refrain not: abstinence, of all follies created by man, is the -most wicked, the most unpardonable. - -Drink Chambertin, that the song in your heart may be fervent and firm. -Drink, that your courage may be strong for the feasting. Shake off -the shackles of timidity. Be fearless and brave, turning a deaf ear to -the temptations of the temperate. To be moderate at midsummer is to -disregard the imperative commands of immoderate nature. - -Coffee, made as the Turks make it, will bring languorous, irresistible -message from the sensuous East. _Fine Champagne_ will add the energy -of the fiery West. Adorable combination! Oh, East is East, and West is -West; but the twain the day of the August dinner shall meet. - - - - -TWO SUPPERS - - -Tradition is a kindly tyrant. Why then strive to shake off its -shackles? To bow the neck gladly beneath the yoke is at times to win -rich reward, first in charm of association, and then in pleasantness -of actual fact. - -Is there not a tradition in England that supper is more appropriate to -the quiet of Sunday evenings than dinner? No use to ask whence it -arose or whither it leads. There it is, though many would evade it as -senseless makeshift. To forswear dinner for all time and eternity -would be worse than folly; it is life's most solemn, most joyous -ceremony. But once and again, for dear sake of contrast, to find a -seducing substitute is wisdom in a world where all pleasures fail, and -man is constant to one thing never. And now that summer has come and -holds the green earth in its ardent embrace, now that days are long, -and sweetest hours are those when the sun sinks low, there is new -delight in the evening meal that leaves one free to dream in the -twilight, that does not summon one indoors just as all outdoors is -loveliest. Supper on every day in the week would be a mistake; but on -one in seven it may well be commended, especially when the month is -June. In the afternoon, tea is served in the garden, or whatever -London can offer in the garden's stead. There are a few strawberries -in a pretty old porcelain dish to lend an air of dainty substance, and -there is rich cream in which they may hide their pretty blushes; and -there is gay talk and happy silence. Indolent hours follow. Is it not -Sunday, and are not all weekly cares pigeon-holed out of sight? - -Nor do the advantages of the occasional supper end here. It is -excellent excuse for the ice-cold banquet which in the warm -summer-time has its own immeasurable virtues. A supper should be cold; -else it deteriorates into mere sham dinner. Never do cold dishes seem -more delicious than when cruel thermometer is at fever heat. You see? -There is logic in the Sunday evening supper, at this season of all -seasons for love, and eating, and drinking. - -But supper does not mean, necessarily, veal and ham pie, above which -British imagination dares not soar. It is not limited to the -half-demolished joint--sad wreck of midday's meal. It may be as fair -and harmonious as dinner itself, as noble a tribute to the artist, as -superb a creation. Only the thoughtless and prosaic will dismiss it -carelessly in the ordering, believing that any odds and ends will -answer. Whatever is left over is to many the one possible conception -of the late evening meal. But the _gourmand_, exulting in his -gluttony, makes of it a work of art, good in the eating, good in the -remembrance thereof. - -Summer allows wide scope for his fertile fancy. He may begin with -salmon, refreshing to the eye in its arrangement of pale silver and -rose, cold as the glaciers of Greenland after its long hours of repose -on voluptuous bed of ice. A _mayonnaise_ sauce, creamy and rich, -turning the silver to gold, like a fairy godmother of legend, is the -cherished accompaniment. The feeling of wonder, aroused in the hours -of watching under the trees, being still upper-most, it will seem as -if the soft hues of the afterglow had been embodied in this exquisite -prologue, with its rose and citron, its gold and soft grey tints. - -Tender spring chickens may then give greeting to the summer-time. They -also will have spent hours in close communion with solid blocks of -ice, and will be as cool as the breezes that blow over the high snow -fields of Switzerland. For, be it noted in passing, without a -refrigerator the perfect supper is sheer impossibility. Success -depends largely upon temperature. Lukewarm supper would be as -detestable as a lukewarm dinner. With the innocent chickens, chilling -and chaste, a green salad will be as appropriate as edelweiss on -Alpine slopes. It should be made of the hearts of the youngest of -young cabbage lettuces, touched with onions, and fatigued with the one -most admirable salad dressing that man ever devised. Linger as long as -may be, for this surely is one of the beautiful moments that repay the -artist for his toiling and his intervals of despair. - -Asparagus will prove most seemly successor. Let it also be cold beyond -suspicion. A sauce of vinegar and oil, pepper and salt, force it to -yield its most subtle sweetness. It will prove another course to call -for lingering. Unless happiness be realised, of what use is it to be -happy? He who is not conscious of pleasure when he eats is not worthy -to sit at table with the elect. Like the animals, he is content to -feed, and the art of the cook is, alas! lost upon him. - -A savoury at this banquet would be superfluous. The presence of cheese -would be but deference to convention, and faithfulness to tradition -does not demand as its price sacrifice of all freedom in detail. The -asparagus would be dishonoured were it to give place to aught more -substantial than strawberries. Sometimes in the day's _menu_, as in a -decorative scheme, loveliness is enhanced by repetition. As a second -curve emphasises the grace of the first, so strawberries at supper -carry out with great elegance the strawberry scheme of afternoon tea. -Pretty hillocks of sugar, and deep pools of cream, make a rich setting -for this jewel among fruits. - -The wine, clearly, should be white, and it, too, should be -iced--remember the month is June. Few Rhine wines could consistently -refuse to be pressed into service. But French vineyards have greater -charm than German, though the Lorelei may sing in near waters, and to -Graves, or Barsac, preference will be wisely proffered. - -Be fearful of striking a false note. See that the coffee, black and -strong though it be, is as cold as wine and salmon, chicken and salad. -And pour the green Chartreuse into glasses that have been first filled -with crushed ice. And as you smoke your cigarette, ask yourself if the -Sunday evening supper tradition be not one crying for preservation at -all costs. - -When another week has rolled by and disappeared into the _Ewigkeit_, -vary the _menu_. An element of the _bizarre_, the strange, the -unaccustomed, often lends irresistible piquancy. Be faithful to the -refrigerator, however fickle to other loves. Open the banquet with a -stirring salad fashioned of red herring and potatoes, and, perhaps, a -few leaves of lettuce. It savours of the sensational, and stimulates -appetite. - -That disappointment may not ensue, desert well-trodden paths, and, -borrowing from Germany, serve a dish of meat, amusing in its quaint -variety. Slices of lamb may provide a pretty centre, surrounding them, -scatter slices of the sausage of Brunswick and Bologna, here and there -set in relief against a piece of grey _Leberwurst_. As garniture, -encircle the dish with a garland of anchovies, curled up into -enchanting little balls, and gherkins, and hard-boiled eggs cut in -delicate rounds. Memories will crowd fast upon you as you eat; -memories of the little German towns and their forgotten hilltops, -visited in summers long since gone, of the little German inn, and the -friendly land-lord, eager to please; of the foaming mugs of beer, and -the tall, slender goblets of white wine. Before supper is done, you -will have travelled leagues upon leagues into the playtime of the -past. - -Cheese now is as essential as it would have been intrusive in the -other _menu_. Gruyère should be your choice, and if you would have it -of fine flavour, seek it not at the English cheesemonger's, but at the -little German _delicatessen_ shop. Brown bread would best enter into -the spirit of the feast. - -As epilogue, fruit can never be discordant, and what fruit in early -June insists upon being eaten with such sweet persistency as the -strawberry. But, on your German evening, fatigue it with Kirsch, leave -it on its icy couch until the very last minute, and memories of the -Lapérouse will mingle with those of the smoky inn of the Fatherland. - -Is there any question that Hock is the wine, when sausage and red -herring and Gruyère cheese figure so prominently in the _menu's_ -composition? Drink it from tall slender glass, that it may take you -fully into its confidence. Coffee need not be iced. In fact, it should -positively be hot--can you doubt it? And Cognac now will prove more -responsive to your mood than Chartreuse. There is no written law to -regulate these matters. But the true artist needs no code to guide -him. He knows instinctively what is right and what is wrong, and -doubts can never assail him. - - - - -ON SOUP - - -"When all around the wind doth blow," draw close the curtains, build -up a roaring fire, light lamp and candles, and begin your dinner with -a good--_good_, mind you--dish of soup. Words of wisdom are these, to -be pondered over by the woman who would make her evening dinner a -joyful anticipation, a cherished memory. - -Soup, with so much else good and great, is misunderstood in an England -merrier than dainty in her feasting. Better is this matter ordered -across the Border. For the healthy-minded, Scotch mists have their -compensation in Scotch broth; odoriferous and appetising is its very -name. But in England, soup long since became synonymous with turtle, -and the guzzling alderman of legend. Richness is held its one -essential quality--richness, not strength. Too often, a thick, greasy -mess, that could appeal but to the coarsest hunger, will be set -before you, instead of the dish that can be comforting and sustaining -both, and yet meddles not with the appetite. It should be but a -prelude to the meal--the prologue, as it were, to the play--its -excellence, a welcome forecast of delights to follow, a welcome -stimulus to light talk and lighter laughter. Over _Julienne_ or -_bisque_ frowns are smoothed away, and guests who sat down to table in -monosyllabic gloom will plunge boldly into epigrammatic or anecdotic -gaiety ere ever the fish be served. - -Magical, indeed, is the spell good soup can cast. Of its services as -medicine or tonic, why speak? Beef tea gives courage to battle with -pain and suffering; _consommé_ cheers the hours of convalescence. Let -all honour be done to it for its virtues in the sick-room; but with so -cheerful a subject, it is pleasanter to dwell on its more cheerful -aspects. - -More legitimate is it to consider the happy part it plays in the -traveller's programme. And for this--it must be repeated, as for all -the best things in the _gourmand's_ life--one journeys to France. But -first remember--that contrast may add piquancy to the French -_menu_--the fare that awaits the weary, disconsolate traveller at -English railway station: the stodgy bun, Bath and penny varieties -both, and the triangular sandwich; the tea drawn overnight, and the -lukewarm bovril, hopelessly inadequate substitute for soup freshly -made from beef or stock. At a luncheon bar thus wickedly equipped, -eating becomes what it never should be!--a sad, terrible necessity, a -pleasureless safeguard against pangs of hunger, a mere animal -function, and therefore a degradation to the human being educated to -look upon food and drink--even so might the painter regard his -colours, the sculptor his clay and marble--as means only to a perfect -artistic end. - -Or, consider also, to make the contrast stronger, the choicest banquet -American railways, for all the famed American enterprise, provide. To -journey by the "Pullman vestibuled train" from New York to Chicago is -luxury, if you will. Upon your point of view depends the exact amount -of enjoyment yielded by meals eaten while you dash through the world -at the rate of eighty miles an hour, more or less, and generally -less. There is charm in the coloured waiters, each with gay flower in -his buttonhole, and gayer smile on his jolly, black face; there is -pretence in the cheap, heavy, clumsy Limoges off which you eat, out of -which you drink, in the sham silver case in which your Champagne -bottle is brought, if for Champagne you are foolish enough to call. -But bitterness is in your wine cup, for the wine is flat; heaviness is -in your breakfast or dinner, for bread is underdone and sodden, and -butter is bad, and the endless array of little plates discourages with -its suggestion of vulgar plenty and artless selection; and all is -vanity and vexation, save the corn bread--the beautiful golden corn -bread, which deserves a chapter to itself--and the fruit: the bananas -and grapes, and peaches and oranges, luscious and ravishing as they -seldom are on any but American soil. Nor will you mend matters by -bestowing your patronage upon the railway restaurants of the big towns -where you stop: the dirty, fly-bitten lunch counters. Pretentious, -gorgeous, magnificent, they maybe; but good, no! All, even the -privilege of journeying at the rate of eighty miles an hour, would -you give for one bowl of good soup at the Amiens _buffet_. - -For, when everything is said, it is the soup which makes travelling so -easy and luxurious in France. A breakfast, or a dinner, of courses, -well-cooked, and well-served into the bargain, you may eat at many a -wayside station. Wine, ordinary as its name, perhaps, but still good -and honest, is to be had for a paltry sum whenever the train may stop. -Crisp rolls, light _brioches_ tempt you to unwise excesses. Not a -province, scarce a town, but has its own special dainty; nougat at -Montélimart, sausages at Arles, _pâté de foie gras_ at Pèrigueux; and -so you might go on mapping out the country according to, not its -departments, but its dishes. These, however, the experienced traveller -would gladly sacrifice for the delicate, strong, refreshing, -inspiriting _bouillon_, served at every _buffet_. This it is which -helps one to forget fatigue and dust and cinders, and the odious -Frenchman who will have all the windows shut. _Bouillon_, and not -wine, gives one new heart to face the long night and the longer miles. -With it the day's journey is well begun and well ended. It sustains -and nourishes; and, better still, it has its own æsthetic value; -perfect in itself, it is the one perfect dish for the place and -purpose. No wonder, then, that it has kindled even Mr Henry James -into at least a show of enthusiasm; his bowls of _bouillon_ ever -remain in the reader's memory, the most prominent pleasures of his -"Little Tour in France." - -Equally desirable in illness and in health, during one's journeys -abroad and one's days at home, why is it then that soup has never yet -been praised and glorified as it should? How is it that its greatness -has inspired neither ode nor epic; that it has been left to a -parody--clever, to be sure, but cleverness alone is not tribute -sufficient--in a child's book to sing its perfections. It should be -extolled, and it has been vilified; insults have been heaped upon it; -ingratitude from man has been its portion. The soup tureen is as -poetic as the loving cup; why should it suggest but the baldest prose -to its most ardent worshippers? - -"Thick or clear?" whispers the restaurant waiter in your ear, as he -points to the soups on the bill of fare. "Thick or clear,"--there you -have the two all-important divisions. In that simple phrase is -expressed the whole science of soupmaking; face to face with first -principles it brings you. But whether you elect for the one or the -other, this great fundamental truth there is, ever to be borne in -mind: let fresh meat be the basis of your _consommé_ as of your -_bisque_, of your _gumbo_ as of your _pâtes d'Italie_. True, in an -emergency, Liebig, and all its many offshoots, may serve you--and -serve you well. But if you be a woman of feeling, of fancy, of -imagination, for this emergency alone will you reserve your Liebig. -Who would eat tinned pineapple when the fresh fruit is to be had? -Would you give bottled tomatoes preference when the gay _pommes -d'amour_, just picked, ornament every stall in the market? Beef -extract in skilful hands may work wonders; the soup made from it may -deceive the connoisseur of great repute. But what then? Have you no -conscience, no respect for your art, that you would thus deceive? - -Tinned soups also there be in infinite variety, ox-tail, and -mock-turtle, and _Julienne_, and gravy, and chicken broth, and many -more than one likes to think of. But dire indeed must be your need -before you have recourse to them. They, too, will answer in the hour -of want. But at the best, they prove but make-shifts, but paltry -make-believes to be avoided, even as you steer clear of the soup -vegetables and herbs--bits of carrot and onion and turnip and who -knows what?--bottled ingeniously, pretty to the eye, without flavour -to the palate. One does not eat to please the sense of sight alone! - -When, heroically, you have forsworn the ensnaring tin and the -insinuating bottle, the horizon widens before you. "Thick and clear": -the phrase suggests but narrow compass; broad beyond measure is the -sphere it really opens. - -Of all the Doges of Bobbio, but one--if tradition be true--sickened of -his hundred soups. Three hundred and sixty-five might have been their -number with results no more disastrous. Given a cook of good instincts -and gay imagination, and from one year's end to the other never need -the same soup be served a second time. - -A word, first, as to its proper place on the _menu_. The conservative -Briton might think this a subject upon which the last word long since -had been spoken. If soup at all, then must it appear between _hors -d'oeuvre_ and fish: as well for Catholic to question the doctrine of -infallibility as for self-respecting man to doubt the propriety of -this arrangement. But they don't know everything down in Great -Britain, and other men there be of other minds. Order a dinner -in the American West, and a procession of smiling, white-robed -blacks--talking, alas! no more the good old darkey, but pure -American--swoop down upon you, bringing at once, in disheartening -medley, your blue-points, your gumbo, your terrapin, your reed birds, -and your apple pie. What sacrilege! In the pleasantest little -restaurant in all Rome, close to the Piazza Colonna, within sound of -the Corso, was once to be seen any evening in the week--may be still, -for that matter--a bemedalled major finishing his dinner with his -_minestra_ instead of his _dolce_. But if a fat, little grey-haired -man once consent to wear a coat scarce longer than an Eton jacket, may -not, in reason, worse enormities be expected of him? Truth to tell, -the British convention, borrowed from France, is the best. If, in -good earnest, you would profit by your _potage_, give it place of -honour at the top of the _menu_. Leave light and frivolous sweets to -lighter, more frivolous moments, when, hunger appeased, man may unbend -to trifles. - -What the great Alexandre calls the _grand consommé_ is the basis of -all soup--and sauce making. Study his very word with reverence; carry -out his every suggestion with devotion. Among the ingredients of this -consummate _bouillon_ his mighty mind runs riot. Not even the -adventures of the immortal Musketeers stimulated his fancy to wilder -flights. His directions, large and lavish as himself, would the -economical housewife read with awe and something of terror. Veal and -beef and fowl--a venerable cock will answer--and rabbit and partridges -of yester-year; these be no more than the foundation. Thrown into the -_marmite_ in fair and fitting proportions, then must they be watched, -anxiously and intelligently, as they boil; spoonfuls of the common -_bouillon_ should be poured upon them from time to time; there must be -added onions and carrots, and celery and parsley, and whatever -aromatic herbs may be handy, and oil, if you have it; and after four -hours of boiling slowly and demurely over a gentle fire, and, next, -straining through coarse linen, you may really begin to prepare your -soup. - -If to these heights the ordinary man--or woman--may not soar, then -will the good, substantial, everyday _bouillon_, or _pot-au-feu_--made -of beef alone, but ever flavoured with vegetables--fulfil the same -purpose, not so deliciously, but still fairly well. In households -where soup is, as it should be, a daily necessity, stock may be made -and kept for convenience. But if you would have your _pot-au-feu_ in -perfection, let the saucepan, or _marmite_--the English word is -commonplace, the French term charms--be not of iron, but of -earthenware: rich tawny brown or golden green in colour, as you see it -in many a French market-place, if the least feeling for artistic -fitness dwells within your soul. Seven hours are needed _pour faire -sourire le pot-au-feu_--the expression is not to be translated. Where -soups are concerned the English language is poor, and cold, and -halting; the speech of France alone can honour them aright. - -With good _bouillon_ there is naught the genius may not do. Into it -the French _chef_ puts a few small slices of bread, and, as you eat, -you wonder if terrapin or turtle ever tasted better. With the addition -of neatly-chopped carrots and onions, and turnips and celery, you have -_Julienne_; or, with dainty asparagus tops, sweet fresh peas, tiny -stinging radishes, delicate young onions, _printanier_, with its -suggestions of spring and blossoms in every mouthful. This last, -surely, is the lyric among soups. Decide upon cheese instead, and you -will set a Daudet singing you a poem in prose: "_Oh! la bonne odeur de -soupe au fromage!_" _Pâtes d'Italie_, _vermicelli_, _macaroni_, each -will prove a separate ecstasy, if you but remember the grated Parmesan -that must be sprinkled over it without stint--as in Italy. Days there -be when nothing seems so in keeping as rice: others, when cabbage hath -charm, that is, if first in your simmering _bouillon_ a piece of -ham--whether of York, of Strasbourg, or of Virginia--be left for three -hours or more; again, to thicken the golden liquid with tapioca may -seem of all devices the most adorable. And so may you ring the changes -day after day, week after week, month after month. - -If of these lighter soups you tire, then turn with new hope and -longing to the stimulating list of _purées_ and _crèmes_. Let -tomatoes, or peas, or beans, or lentils, as you will, be the keynote, -always you may count upon a harmony inspiriting and divine; a rapture -tenfold greater if it be enjoyed in some favourite corner at -Marguery's or Voisin's, where the masterpiece awaits the chosen few. -Or if, when London fogs are heavy and life proves burdensome, comfort -is in the very name of broth, then put it to the test in its mutton, -Scotch, chicken, or dozen and more varieties, and may it give you new -courage to face the worst! - -But if for pleasure solely you eat your soup, as you should, unless -illness or the blue devils have you firm in their grasp, a few -varieties there be which to all the rest are even as is the rose to -lesser flowers, as is the onion to vegetables of more prosaic virtue. -Clams are a joy if you add to them but salt and pepper--cayenne by -preference--and a dash of lemon juice: as a chowder, they are a -substantial dream to linger over; but made into soup they reach the -very topmost bent of their being: it is the end for which they were -created. Of oysters this is no less true. Veal stock or mutton broth -may pass as prosaic basis of the delicacy; but better depend upon milk -and cream, and of the latter be not sparing. Mace, in discreet -measure, left flowing in the liquid will give the finishing, the -indispensable touch. Oh, the inexhaustible resources of the sea! With -these delights rank _bisque_, that priceless _purée_, made of -crayfish--in this case a pinch of allspice instead of mace--and if in -its fullest glory you would know it, go eat it at the Lapérouse on the -Quai des Grands Augustins; eat it, as from the window of the low room -in the _entresol_, you look over toward the towers of Notre Dame. - -Be a good Catholic on Fridays, that, with _potages maigres_--their -name, too, is legion--your soups may be increased and multiplied, and -thus infinity become your portion. - - - - -THE SIMPLE SOLE - - -Have you ever considered the sole: the simple, unassuming sole, in -Quaker-like garb, striking a quiet grey note in every fishmonger's -window, a constant rebuke to the mackerel that makes such vain parade -of its green audacity, of the lobster that flaunts its scarlet -boldness in the face of the passer-by? By its own merits the sole -appeals; upon no meretricious charm does it base its claim for notice. -Flat and elusive, it seems to seek retirement, to beg to be forgotten. -And yet, year by year, it goes on, unostentatiously and surely -increasing in price; year by year, it establishes, with firm hold, its -preeminence upon the _menu_ of every well-regulated _table d'hôte_. - -But here pause a moment, and reflect. For it is this very _table -d'hôte_ which bids fair to be the sole's undoing. If it has been -maligned and misunderstood, it is because, swaddled in bread-crumbs, -fried in indifferent butter, it has come to be the symbol of hotel or -_pension_ dinner, until the frivolous and heedless begin to believe -that it cannot exist otherwise, that in its irrepressible bread-crumbs -it must swim through the silent sea. - -The conscientious _gourmand_ knows better, however. He knows that -bread-crumbs and frying-pan are but mere child's play compared to its -diviner devices. It has been said that the number and various shapes -of fishes are not "more strange or more fit for contemplation than -their different natures, inclinations, and actions." But fitter -subject still for the contemplative, and still more strange, is their -marvellous, well-nigh limitless, culinary ambition. Triumph after -triumph the most modest of them all yearns to achieve, and if this -sublime yearning be ever and always suppressed and thwarted and -misdoubted, the fault lies with dull, plodding, unenterprising humans. -Not one yearns to such infinite purpose as the sole; not one is so -snubbed and enslaved. A very Nora among fish, how often must it long -to escape and to live its own life--or, to be more accurate, to die -its own death! - -Not that bread-crumbs and frying-pan are not all very well in their -way. Given a discreet cook, pure virginal butter, a swift fire, and a -slice of fresh juicy lemon, something not far short of perfection may -be reached. But other ways there are, more suggestive, more inspiring, -more godlike. Turn to the French _chef_ and learn wisdom from him. - -First and foremost in this glorious repertory comes _sole à la -Normande_, which, under another name, is the special distinction and -pride of the Restaurant Marguery. Take your sole--from the waters of -Dieppe would you have the best--and place it, with endearing, -lover-like caress, in a pretty earthenware dish, with butter for only -companion. At the same time, in sympathetic saucepan, lay mussels to -the number of two dozen, opened and well cleaned, as a matter of -course; and let each rejoice in the society of a stimulating mushroom; -when almost done, but not quite, make of them a garland round the -expectant sole; cover their too seductive beauty with a rich white -sauce; re-kindle their passion in the oven for a few minutes; and -serve immediately and hot. Joy is the result; pure, uncontaminated -joy. If this be too simple for your taste, then court elaboration and -more complex sensation after this fashion: from the first, unite the -sole to two of its most devoted admirers, the oyster and the -mussel--twelve, say, of each--and let thyme and fragrant herbs and -onion and white wine and truffles be close witnesses of their union. -Seize the sole when it is yet but half cooked; stretch it out gently -in another dish, to which oysters and mussels must follow in hot, -precipitate flight. And now the veiling sauce, again white, must have -calf's kidney and salt pork for foundation, and the first gravy of the -fish for fragrance and seasoning. Mushrooms and lemon in slices may be -added to the garniture. And if at the first mouthful you do not thrill -with rapture, the Thames will prove scarce deep and muddy enough to -hide your shame. - -Put to severest test, the love of the sole for the oyster is never -betrayed. Would you be convinced--and it is worth the trouble--experiment -with _sole farcie aux huîtres_, a dish so perfect that surely, -like manna, it must have come straight from Heaven. In prosaic -practical language, it is thus composed: you stuff your sole with -forcemeat of oysters and truffles, you season with salt and carrot -and lemon, you steep it in white wine--not sweet, or the sole is -dishonoured--you cook it in the oven, and you serve the happy fish -on a rich _ragoût_ of the oysters and truffles. Or, another tender -conceit that you may make yours to your own great profit and -enlightenment, is _sole farcie aux crevettes_. In this case it is wise -to fillet the sole and wrap each fillet about the shrimps, which have -been well mixed and pounded with butter. A rich _Béchamel_ sauce and -garniture of lemons complete a composition so masterly that, before -it, as before a fine Velasquez, criticism is silenced. - -_Sole au gratin_, though simpler, is none the less desirable. Let your -first care be the sauce, elegantly fashioned of butter and mushrooms -and shallots and parsley; pour a little--on your own judgment you have -best rely for exact quantity--into a baking-dish; lay the sole upon -this liquid couch; deluge it with the remainder of the sauce, -exhilarating white wine, and lemon juice; bury it under bread-crumbs, -and bake it until it rivals a Rembrandt in richness and splendour. - -In antiquarian moments, _fricasey soals white_, and admit that your -foremothers were more accomplished artists than you. What folly to -boast of modern progress when, at table, the Englishman of to-day is -but a brute savage compared with his ancestors of a hundred years and -more ago! But take heart: be humble, read this golden book, and the -day of emancipation cannot be very far distant. Make your _fricasey_ -as a step in the right direction. According to the infallible book, -"skin, wash, and gut your soals very clean, cut off their heads, dry -them in a cloth, then with your knife very carefully cut the flesh -from the bones and fins on both sides. Cut the flesh long ways, and -then across, so that each soal will be in eight pieces; take the heads -and bones, then put them into a saucepan with a pint of water, a -bundle of sweet herbs, an onion, a little whole pepper, two or three -blades of mace, a little salt, a very little piece of lemon peel, and -a little crust of bread. Cover it close, let it boil till half is -wasted, then strain it through a fine sieve, put it into a stew-pan, -put in the soals and half a pint of white wine, a little parsley -chopped fine, a few mushrooms cut small, a piece of butter as big as -an hen's egg, rolled in flour, grate a little nutmeg, set all together -on the fire, but keep shaking the pan all the while till the fish is -done enough. Then dish it up, and garnish with lemon." And now, what -think you of that? - -If for variety you would present a brown _fricasey_, an arrangement in -browns as startling as a poster by Lautrec or Anquetin, add anchovy to -your seasoning, exchange white wine for red, and introduce into the -mixture truffles and morels, and mushrooms, and a spoonful of catchup. -The beauty of the colour none can deny; the subtlety of the flavour -none can resist. - -Another step in the right direction, which is the old, will lead you -to sole pie, a dish of parts. Eels must be used, as is the steak in a -pigeon's pie for instance; and nutmeg and parsley and anchovies must -serve for seasoning. It is a pleasant fancy, redolent of the days gone -by. - - - - -"BOUILLABAISSE"; - -_A Symphony in Gold_ - - -Hear Wagner in Baireuth (though illusions may fly like dust before a -March wind); see Velasquez in Madrid; eat _Bouillabaisse_ in -Marseilles. And eat, moreover, with no fear of disenchantment; the -saffron's gold has richer tone, the _ail's_ aroma sweeter savour, -under hot blue southern skies than in the cold sunless north. - -How much Thackeray is swallowed with your _Bouillabaisse_? asks the -cynical American, vowed to all eternity to his baked shad and -soft-shelled crab; how much Thackeray? echoes the orthodox Englishman, -whose salmon, cucumberless, smacks of heresy, and whose whiting, if it -held not its tail decorously in its bread crumbed mouth, would be cast -for ever into outer darkness. Sentiment there may be: not born, -however, of Thackeray's verse, but of days spent in Provençal -sunshine, of banquets eaten at Provençal tables. Call for -_Bouillabaisse_ in the Paris restaurant, at the Lapérouse or -Marguery's (you might call for it for a year and a day in London -restaurants and always in vain); and if the dish brought back -something of the true flavour, over it is cast the glamour and romance -of its far southern home, of the land of troubadours and of Tartarin. -But order it in Marseilles, and the flavour will all be there, and the -sunshine and the gaiety, and the song as well; fact outstrips the -imagination of even the meridional; the present defies memory to outdo -its charm. - -And it must be in the Marseilles that glitters under midsummer's sun -and grows radiant in its light. Those who have not seen Marseilles at -this season know it not. The peevish finder of fault raves of drainage -and dynamite, of dirt and anarchy. But turn a deaf ear and go to -Marseilles gaily and without dread. Walk out in the early morning on -the quays; the summer sky is cloudless; the sea as blue as in the -painter's bluest dream; the hills but warm purple shadows resting upon -its waters. The air is hot, perhaps, but soft and dry, and the breeze -blows fresh from over the Mediterranean. Already, on every side, signs -there are of the day's coming sacrifice. In sunlight and in shadow are -piled high the sea's sweetest, choicest fruits: mussels in their -sombre purple shells; lobsters, rich and brown; fish, scarlet and gold -and green. Lemons, freshly plucked from near gardens, are scattered -among the fragrant pile, and here and there trail long sprays of salt, -pungent seaweed. The faint smell of _ail_ comes to you gently from -unseen kitchens, the feeling of _Bouillabaisse_ is everywhere, and -tender anticipation illumines the faces of the passers-by. Great is -the pretence of activity in the harbour and in the streets; at a -glance, mere paltry traffic might seem the city's one and only end. -But Marseilles' true mission, the sole reason for its existence, is -that man may know how goodly a thing it is to eat _Bouillabaisse_ at -noon on a warm summer day. - -But when the hour comes, turn from the hotel, however excellent; turn -from the Provençal version of the Parisian Duval, however cheap and -nasty; choose rather the native headquarters of the immortal dish. -Under pleasant awning sit out on the pavement, behind the friendly -trees in tubs that suggest privacy, and yet hide nothing of the view -beyond. For half the joy in the steaming, golden masterpiece is in the -background found for it; in the sunlit harbour and forest of masts; in -the classic shores where has disembarked so many a hero, from ancient -Phenician or Greek, down to valiant Tartarin, with the brave camel -that saw him shoot all his lions! A _coup de vin_, and, as you eat, as -you watch, with eyes half blinded, the glittering, glowing picture, -you begin to understand the meaning of the southern _galéjade_. Your -heart softens, the endless beggars no longer beg from you in vain, -while only the slenderness of your purse keeps you from buying out -every boy with fans or matches, every stray Moor with silly slippers -and sillier antimacassars; your imagination is kindled, so that later, -at the gay _café_, where still you sit in the open street, as you look -at the Turks and sailors, at the Arabs and Lascars, at the Eastern -women in trousers and niggers in rags, in a word, at Marseilles' -"Congress of Nations," that even Barnum in his most ambitious moments -never approached, far less surpassed, you, too, believe that had Paris -but its Canebière, it might be transformed into a little Marseilles on -the banks of the Seine. So potent is the influence of blessed -_Bouillabaisse_! - -Or, some burning Sunday, you may rise with the dawn and take early -morning train for Martigues, lying, a white and shining barrier, -between the Etangs de Berre and Caronte. And there, on its bridges and -canal banks, idly watching the fishing-boats, or wandering up and down -its olive-clad hill-sides, the morning hours may be gently loafed -away, until the Angelus rings a joyful summons to M. Bernard's hotel -in the shady _Place_. Dark and cool is the spacious dining-room; eager -and attentive the bewildered Désirée. Be not a minute late, for M. -Bernard's _Bouillabaisse_ is justly famed, and not only all -Marseilles, but all the country near hastens thither to eat it on -Sundays, when it is served in its _édition de luxe_. Pretty -Arlésiennes in dainty fichus, cyclists in knickerbockers, rich -Marseillais, painters from Paris join in praise and thanksgiving. And -from one end of the world to the other, you might journey in vain in -search of an emotion so sweet as that aroused by the first fragrant -fumes of the dish set before you, the first rapturous taste of the -sauce-steeped bread, of the strange fish so strangely seasoned. - -But why, in any case, remain content with salmon alone when -_Bouillabaisse_ can be made, even in dark and sunless England? Quite -the same it can never be as in the land of sunburnt mirth and jollity. -The light and the brilliancy and the gaiety of its background must be -ever missing in the home of fog and spleen. The gay little fish of the -Mediterranean never swim in the drear, unresponsive waters that break -on the white cliffs of England and the stern rocks of the Hebrides. -But other fish there be, in great plenty, that, in the absence of the -original, may answer as praiseworthy copies. - -After all, to cut turbot and whiting and soles and trout in small -pieces, to cook them all together, instead of each separately, is not -the unpardonable sin, however the British housewife may protest to the -contrary. And as to the other ingredients, is not good olive oil sold -in bottles in many a London shop? Are sweet herbs and garlic unknown -in Covent Garden? Are there no French and Italian grocers in Soho, -with whom saffron is no less a necessity than mustard or pepper? And -bread? who would dare aver that England has no bakers? - -It is not a difficult dish to prepare. Its cooks may not boast of -secrets known only to themselves, like the maker of process blocks or -patent pills. Their methods they disclose without reservation, though -alas! their genius they may not so easily impart. First of all, then, -see to your sauce: oil, pure and sweet, is its foundation; upon _ail_ -and herbs of the most aromatic it depends for its seasoning. In this, -place your fish selected and mixed as fancy prompts; a whiting, a -sole--filleted of course--a small proportion of turbot, and as much -salmon, if solely for the touch of colour it gives--the artist never -forgets to appeal to the eye as to the palate. Boil thoroughly, -sprinkling at the last moment sympathetic saffron on the -sweet-smelling offering. Have ready thick slices of bread daintily -arranged in a convenient dish; just before serving pour over them the -greater part of the unrivalled sauce, now gold and glorious with its -saffron tint; pour the rest, with the fish, into another dish--a bowl, -would you be quite correct--and let as few seconds as possible elapse -between dishing this perfect work of art and eating it. Upon its smell -alone man might live and thrive. Its colour is an inspiration to the -painter, the subtlety of its flavour a text to the poet. Montenard and -Dauphin may go on, year after year, painting olive-lined roads and -ports of Toulon: the true Provençal artist will be he who fills his -canvas with the radiance and richness of _Bouillabaisse_. - -Would you emulate M. Bernard and make a _Bouillabaisse de luxe_ it may -prove a tax upon your purse, but not upon your powers. For when thus -lavishly inclined, you but add lobster or crab or crayfish and the -needed luxury is secured. It is a small difference in the telling, but -in the eating, how much, how unspeakable is this little more! Easily -satisfied indeed must be the prosaic mortal who, having once revelled -in _Bouillabaisse de luxe_, would ever again still his cravings with -the simpler arrangement. - - - - -THE MOST EXCELLENT OYSTER - - -If, in cruel December, the vegetable fails us, in another direction we -may look for and find--if we be wise and liberal--novelty without -stint. From the oyster, when it is understood aright, spring perpetual -joy and rapturous surprises. But, sad to tell, in England men have -slighted it and misdoubted its greatness. Englishmen eat it and -declare it good; but, as with salad, they know not how to prepare it. -Because it is excellent in its rawness, they can imagine no further -use for it, unless, perhaps, to furnish a rich motive for sauce, or -sometimes for soup. Even raw--again like salad--they are apt to -brutalise it. To drown it in vinegar is the height of their ambition; -an imperial pint was the quantity needed by Mr Weller's friend to -destroy the delicacy of its flavour, the salt sweetness of its aroma. -The Greeks knew better: according to Athenæus, boiled and fried they -served their oysters, finding them, however, best of all when roasted -in the coals till the shells opened. As early as the seventeenth -century, the French, preparing them _en étuvée_ and _en fricassée_, -included them in their _Délices de la campagne_. The American to-day -exhausts his genius for invention in devising rare and cunning methods -by which to extract their full strength and savour. Why should -Englishmen tarry behind the other peoples on the earth in paying the -oyster the tribute of sympathetic appreciation? - -Its merit when raw, no man of sensibility and wisdom will deny. -Base-minded, indeed, must be he who thinks to enhance its value by -converting it into a defence against influenza or any other human ill. -The ancients held it indigestible unless cooked; but to talk of it as -if it were a drug for our healing, a poison for our discomforting, is -to dishonour, without rhyme or reason, the noblest of all shell-fish. -Who would not risk an indigestion, or worse, for the pleasure raw -oysters have it in their power to give? Was there one, among the -wedding guests at the "Marriage of Hebe," who feared the course of -"oysters with closed shells, which are very difficult to open but very -easy to eat"? - -Easy to eat, yes; but first you must decide which, of the many -varieties of oyster the sea offers, you had best order for your own -delight. There are some men who, with Thackeray, rank the "dear little -juicy green oysters of France" above the "great white flaccid natives -in England, that look as if they had been fed on pork." To many, the -coppery taste of this English native passes for a charm--poor deluded -creatures! To others it seems the very abomination of desolation. But -the true epicure, who may not have them, as had oyster-loving Greeks -of old, from Abydus or Chalcedon, will revel most of all in the -American species: the dainty little Blue-Point, or its long, sweet, -plump brother of the north--to swallow it was like swallowing a baby, -Thackeray thought. - -Once your oysters are on the half shell, let not the vinegar bottle -tempt you; as far as it is concerned, be not only temperate, but a -total abstainer. A sprinkling of salt, a touch of Cayenne, a dash of -lemon juice, and then eat, and know how good it is for man to live in -a world of oysters. For a light lunch or the perfect midnight supper, -for an inspiring _hors d'oeuvre_, without rival is this king of -shell-fish. If for the midnight meal you reserve it, you may be -kindled into ecstasy by the simple addition of a glass of fine old -Chablis or Sauterne--be not led astray by vulgar praise of stout or -porter--and brown bread and butter cut in slices of ethereal thinness. -Linger over this banquet, exquisite in its simplicity, long and -lovingly, that later you may sleep with easy conscience and mind at -rest. - -With raw oysters alone it were folly to remain content. If you would -spread a more sumptuous feast, fry the largest, plumpest grown in sea -or river, and the gates of earthly paradise will be thrown wide open -in the frying. No more familiar cry is there in American restaurants -than that for "an oyster fry!" Dark little oyster cellars, reached by -precipitous steps, there are, and friendly seedy little oyster shops -in back streets, where the frying of oysters has been exalted into a -holy cult. And if you will, in paper boxes, the long, beautiful, -golden-brown masterpieces you may carry away with you, to eat with -gayer garnishing and in more sympathetic surroundings. And in winter, -scarce a beer saloon but, at luncheon time, will set upon the counter -a steaming dish of fried oysters; and with every glass of no matter -what, "crackers" at discretion and one fried oyster on long generous -fork will be handed by the white-robed guardian. But mind you take but -one: else comes the chucker-out. Thus, only the very thirsty, in the -course of a morning, may gain a free lunch. But, in England, what is -known of the fried oyster? - -It requires no great elaboration, though much rare skill in the -cooking. For this purpose the largest oysters must be selected: the -fattest and most juicy. In the half-shell they may be fried, after -seventeenth-century fashion, a touch of butter and pepper on each; -verjuice or vinegar, and grated nutmeg added once they are served. Or -else, taken from the shell, they may be dipped into a marvellous -preparation of vinegar, parsley, laurel leaves, onion, chives, -cloves, basil, and in the result the mighty imagination of the great -Alexandre would rejoice. Or, again, in simpler American fashion, -enveloped in unpretentious batter of eggs and bread crumbs, fry them -until they turn to an unrivalled, indescribable golden-brown, and in -the eating thereof the gods might envy you. - -If a new sensation you court, grill or broil your oyster, and you will -have cause to exult in a loud triumphant _magnificat_. No bread crumbs -are needed, neither laurel nor sweet spice. With but a bit of butter -for encouragement, it will brown gently in the grilling, and become a -delicious morsel to be eaten with reverence and remembered with -tenderness. - -Or, stew them and be happy. But of rich milk, and cream, and sweet -fresh butter, as Dumas would put it, must your stew be made: -thickened, but scarce perceptibly, with flour, while bits of mace -float in golden sympathy on the liquid's surface. It is the dish for -luncheon, or for the pleasant, old-fashioned "high tea"--no such -abomination as "meat tea" known then, if you please--of Philadelphia's -pleasant, old-fashioned citizens. And a worse accompaniment you might -have than waffles, light as a feather, or beaten biscuits, the pride -of Maryland's black cooks. Men and women from the Quaker city, when in -cruel exile, will be moved to sad tears at the very mention of Jones's -"oyster stews" in Eleventh-street! - -But the glory of Penn's town is the oyster croquette--from Augustine's -by preference. A symphony in golden brown and soft fawn grey, it -should be crisp without, within of such delicate consistency that it -will melt in the mouth like a dream. Pyramidal in shape, it is of -itself so decorative that only with the rarest blue and white china, -or the most fairy-like Limoges, will it seem in perfect harmony. It -would be discourteous, indeed, to serve so regal a creation on any -stray dish or plate. - -Exquisite pleasure lurks in scalloped oysters, or oysters _au gratin_, -whichever you may choose to call this welcome variation of the oyster -motive. Layers of judiciously seasoned bread-crumbs alternate with -layers of the responsive shell-fish, and the carefully-studied -arrangement is then browned until it enchants by colour no less than -by fragrance. And, if you would seek further to please the eye, let -the dish to hold so fine a work of art be a shell, with a suggestion -of the sea in its graceful curves and tender tints. Or, if imagination -would be more daring, let the same shell hold _huîtres farcies_, -cunningly contrived with eels and oysters, and parsley and mushrooms, -and spices and cream, and egg and aromatic herbs. So fantastic a -contrivance as this touches upon sublimity. - -In more homely and convivial mood, roast your oysters, as the Greeks -loved them. But to enjoy them to the utmost, roast them yourself in -the coals of your own fire, until the ready shells open. A dash of -salt and cayenne upon the sweet morsel within, and you may eat it at -once, even as you take it from off the coals, and drink its salt, -savoury liquor from the shell. A dish of anchovy toast will not seem -amiss. But let no other viands coarsen this ideal supper. For supper -it should be, and nothing else. The curtains must be drawn close, -while the fire flames high; one or two congenial friends--not more; a -dim religious light from well-shaded lamps and candles; a bottle of -good old Chablis, and others waiting in near wine-cellar or sideboard; -and thus may you make your own such unspeakable happiness as seldom -falls to the lot of mortals. - -Or if to the past your fancy wanders, prepare your oysters, -seventeenth century-fashion, _en étuvée_, boiled in their own liquor, -flavoured with ingredients so various as oranges and chives, and -served with bread-crumbs; or else, _en fricassée_, cooked with onion -and butter, dipped in batter, and sprinkled with orange juice. Or -again, in sheer waywardness, curry or devil them, though in this -disguise no man may know the delicacy he is eating. Another day, bake -them; the next, put them in a pie or a patty; the third, let them give -substance to a _vol-au-vent_. Hesitate at no experiment; search the -cookery-books, old and new. Be sure that the oyster, in its -dictionary, knows no such word as fail. If in sheer recklessness you -were, like young Mr Grigg in the Cave of Harmony, to call for a -"mashed oyster and scalloped 'taters," no doubt the "mashed" would be -forthcoming. - -As basis of soup or sauce, the oyster is without rival. Who would not -abstain on Fridays all the year round, if every Friday brought with it -oyster soup to mortify the flesh! But alas! four months there be -without an R, when oysters by the wise must not be eaten. And is not -turbot, or boiled capon, or a tender loin-steak but the excuse for -oyster sauce? in which, if you have perfection for your end, let there -be no stint of oysters. Then, too, in the stuffing of a fowl, oysters -prove themselves the worthy rival of mushrooms or of chestnuts. - -It is a grave mistake, however, to rank the oyster as the only -shell-fish of importance. The French know better. So did the Greeks, -if Athenæus can be trusted. Mussels, oysters, scallops, and cockles -led the list, according to Diocles, the Carystian. Thus are they -enumerated by still another authority:-- - - A little polypus, or a small cuttle-fish, - A crab, a crawfish, oysters, cockles, - Limpets and solens, mussels and pinnas; - Periwinkles, too, from Mitylene. - -The mussel is still the delight of the French _table d'hôte_ -breakfast. Charming to look at is the deep dish where, floating in -parsley-strewn sauce, the beautiful purple shells open gently to show -the golden-grey treasures within. Well may the commercial in the -provinces heap high his plate with the food he loves, while about him -hungry men stare, wondering how much will be left for their portion. -But who in England eats mussels? Only a little lower the Greeks ranked -periwinkles, which now, associated as they are with 'Arriet and her -pin, the fastidious affect to despise. It has been written of late, by -a novelist seeking to be witty, that there is no poetry in -periwinkles; but Æschylus could stoop to mention them in his great -tragedies. The "degradation of the lower classes" the same weak wit -attributes to overindulgence in winkles. With as much reason might the -art and philosophy of Greece be traced to "periwinkles from Mitylene." -Cooked in the good sauce of France, the humble winkle might take rank -with the Whitstable native at three-and-six the dozen, and thus would -the lowly be exalted. The snail, likewise, we might cultivate to our -own immeasurable advantage. - - - - -THE PARTRIDGE - - -With September, the _gourmand's_ fancy gaily turns to thoughts of -partridges. For his pleasure sportsmen, afar in autumn's cool country, -work diligently from morn to eve; or, it may be, he himself plays the -sportsman by day that he may prove the worthier _gourmand_ by night. -And the bird is deserving of his affections. It has been honoured -alike in history and romance. - -Among moderns, a Daudet is found to study and consider its emotions -under fire; among ancients, few neglected it, from Aristophanes to -Aristotle, who declared it "a very ill-disposed and cunning animal; -much devoted, moreover, to amatory enjoyment." With such a character, -its two hearts count for little; far gone, indeed, must be the -sentimentalist of our moral age who would stay its slayer's hand. What -if it be true, as Chamæleon of Pontus said of old, that from listening -to its singing in desert places man arrived at the art of music? -Alive it may have an æsthetic value; but if it be without morals -should it not perish? In eating it, therefore, does not man perform a -solemn duty? Nay, should not the New Woman exult in flaunting its -sober feathers in her masculine hat? - -So might reason the apostle of social purity. But the _gourmand_ -questions nothing save the daintiness of the bird's flesh, the merit -of its flavour. And the practical answer to this questioning silences -all doubts. Clearly the partridge was created that he might eat it and -find it good. - -It is because of the rare excellence of the pretty bird, in autumn -making a feathered frieze in every poulterer's window, that too much -consideration cannot be given to its treatment in the kitchen. Its -virtues can be easily marred by the indifferent, or unsympathetic -_chef_. Left hanging too short a time, left cooking too long, and it -will sink into commonplace, so that all might wonder wherefore its -praises have been ever loudly sung. Hang it in a cool place, and leave -it there until the last moment possible--you understand? Now that -winds are cold, and a feeling of frost is in the air, to banish it a -fortnight would not be unwise. - -To roast a partridge may seem a sadly simple device when so many more -ingenious schemes are at your disposal. But for all that, none can be -recommended with enthusiasm more keenly felt. For in the roasting none -of its sweet savour is lost, none of its natural tenderness sacrificed -on the one hand, exaggerated on the other. The process requires less -intelligence than an artistic touch. Truss your birds in seemly -fashion, when, as if in birdlike emulation of Hedda Gabler, they cry -for vine leaves on their breast. Over the vine leaves tie less -romantic, but more succulent, bacon, cut in slices of the thinnest. -Then, in front of a quick, clear fire baste prodigally with butter. A -little flour, judiciously sprinkled, will add richness to the -nut-brown colour the susceptible birds develop in the roasting. Now -they are ready to serve, remember that "partridges should have gravy -in the dish, and bread-sauce in a cup"--it is Mrs Glasse who has said -it. It would be no crime to add watercress, or parsley, as garniture, -or toast as a soft bed for the happy victims. And to eat with them, -prepare a crisp lettuce salad, to which the merest suspicion of -tarragon leaves, well chopped, has been added. And the gods themselves -might envy you your joy and gladness in the eating. - -A word as to the carving, or "dissection of the partridge," as it was -called in days when England understood and gloried in the arts of the -kitchen. Thus was the _Grand Escuyer Tranchant_--the Great Master -carver, that is--instructed: "A partridge is for the most part carved -and served whole, like a pigeon; but yet he may be served in pieces; -but when you will carve him to serve whole, you must only cut the -joints and lay them abroad; but if you serve him by pieces, you must -begin to serve with a wing." Why not carve and serve according to -tradition, and so lend new dignity to your feasting? - -If of roast partridge you weary, and from France would take a hint, -seek novelty and happiness in _Perdrix aux choux_. For this, birds of -an older generation will answer as well as their more tender young, -since for two hours, in a wrapping of bacon and buttered paper, they -must simmer gently on their couch of cabbage. To evolve the required -flavour, into the same pot must go a saveloy, and perhaps salt pork in -slices, a bunch of fragrant herbs, onions and carrots and cloves and -salt and butter _à discrétion_. The birds must be drained before they -pass from the pot to the dish; around them the cabbage, likewise -drained, must be set as a garland, and the saveloy, in pretty pieces, -may be placed here and there. Behold another of the many good gifts -France has presented to us. - -_Perdrix à l'Espagnole_ may again vary anew the delicious monotony. In -this variety the partridges are boiled, covered with a rich gravy, and -plentifully adorned with green peppers. It was in a moment of divine -inspiration the Spaniard invented so piquant an arrangement. But the -resources of boiled partridges, apt to be forgotten or overlooked, are -well-nigh limitless, and as charming as they are many. Very important -is it that the birds be well boiled, quickly, in much water. The rest -depends upon the sauce. This may be of cream and butter alone; or else -of celery and cream, seasoned with mace and pepper. Or else of -mushrooms and cream, or of the livers and parsley and butter; or of -white wine; or of any and every good thing that goes to the making of -superlative sauce. What a chance, too, to exercise your imagination, -to reveal your ingenuity! Five long months are before you; see that -you make the most of them. - -If your soul delight in the fantastic, let few days pass before you -have tested the quaint joys of _Partridge Mettenes_. The recipe shall -be printed word for word as written by the Master Cook, Giles: "Take -Partridges and roast them, then take Cream"--these with capitals, -observe--"and Grapes, with Bread, scorched against the Fire, and beat -all this together; but first steep your Bread in Broth or Claret-Wine; -then strain all this through a strainer with Spice, Cinnamon, and a -little Mustard; set all a-boyling with a pretty deal of Sugar, but -take heed that it doth not burn too, and when you would serve away -your Partridge, put them into a Dish, and your Sauce under them, and -garnish your Dish with Sweetmeats and Sugarplums." - -Here is another device, fantastic chiefly in name: "Partridges _à -l'eau béniste_ or Holy Water." It has the virtue of simplicity. "Take -partridges and rost them, and when they are rosted, cut them into -little pieces, and put them into a Dish with a little fair Water and -Salt, and make them boyl a little, and so serve them away." Or else, O -pleasant alternative! "you may make a Sauce with Rose-water and Wine, -the Juice of Apples and Oranges, but there must be three times as much -Rose-water as Wine." - -Reading this, who will dare deny that Master Cook Giles is an -authority to be respected, of whose recipes the poor prosaic modern -kitchen may not receive too many? Space, therefore, must be yielded to -at least one more: "Partridges à la Tonnelette." "Take a partridge and -rost it, then put it into a Pot; this done, take white Bread and -scortch or toste it very brown, but not burn it, and put it a-steeping -in good Claret-wine, and when it is well steep'd strain it through a -strainer with some good Broth, and a few Onions fryed in Lard, with a -little Cinnamon, Cloves, and Nutmegs, and other small Spices, and a -little Sugar, and put into it a handful of Currants, and make that -which you have strained out boyl all together, and when it is time to -serve your Partridges, put your Sauces into a Dish, and lay your -Partridges upon it, and so serve it." - -Such pretty fancies, it were a shame to follow with bald prose. Yet, -bear in mind that partridges may be braised with mushrooms or -truffles; that they may be broiled or baked; that they disgrace -neither pie nor pudding; and that they offer welcome basis for a -_salmi_ and _purée_. Lay this to heart. - - - - -THE ARCHANGELIC BIRD - - -Michaelmas is a season of sad associations. The quarter's rent is due, -alas! The quarter's gas, alas! and, alas a hundred times! the -half-yearly rates. Bank accounts dwindle; spirits sink; life seems but -a blank and dreary desert. - -Into the gloom, settling down thicker and more throttling than -November's fog, there flutters and waddles a big white bird, a saviour -of men. It is the noble goose, the goose, ridiculed and misunderstood, -that comes chivalrously and fearlessly to the rescue; the goose that -once saved Rome's Capitol, the goose still honoured as most alert of -sentinels within Barcelona's cathedral precincts, the goose that, -followed by a goose-girl, is the beloved of artists. Because of its -nobility of character, its devotion, wherein it rivals benevolent -mastiff and kindly terrier, its courage, its strength, St Michael, -glorious and effulgent archangel, took it for his own bird of birds, -to be so intimately connected with him that now to show respect to -the Saint is to eat the goose. The Feast of Michaelmas, to the -right-minded and the orthodox, means roast goose and apple sauce. -Soulless authorities, burrowing in mouldy records, can find no better -reason for this close relationship than that, at September's close, -great is the number of geese cackling in homely barnyard, great their -perfection. Numerous generations since England's fourth Edward sat -upon the throne (and who can say how many before his time?), have held -the cooking of the goose for dinner as no less sacred a ceremony on -the Angel's feast day than the morning's service in church. And this, -would the pugnacious Michael have permitted for such gross material -considerations? Never; let it be said once and for all: never. He knew -the goose for the bird that lays the golden egg; he knew full well its -dignity and might that make it still a terror to be met on lonely -common by them who use its name as symbol of silliness; he knew that -strong as well as faint hearted hesitate to say "Bo" discourteously to -any goose, whether it be a wanderer in French pastures or one of the -dust-raising flock, in the twilight, cackling homeward over -Transylvanian highways. In a word, Michael knew his bird; and our duty -it is to believe in it a dish for Michaelmas with the blind, -unquestioning allegiance of perfect faith. Coarse its flesh may be in -comparison with the dainty duck and tender chicken; commonplace in -comparison with the glorious grouse and proud partridge. The modest, -respectable _bourgeois_ it may seem among poultry. And yet, if the -Archangel has chosen it for his own, who shall say him nay? Study -rather to disguise its native coarseness, to enliven its excellent -dulness. - -To roast it is the simplest form the Michaelmas celebration allows. -See first that your fire be very good; take care to singe the -sacrificial goose with a piece of white paper, and baste it with a -piece of butter; drudge it (the word is Mrs Glasse's) with a little -flour, and when the smoke begins to draw to the fire, and it looks -plump, baste it again and drudge it with a little flour, and take it -up. In sober mood, stuff it with sage and onion; in more flamboyant -moments, let your choice rest upon chestnuts. Tradition insists upon -a little good gravy in a basin by itself, and some apple-sauce in -another; but sauce of gooseberries, not to be had fresh, however, for -Michaelmas, is the _gourmet's_ choice. - -A hint as to carving. How many a beautiful bird, or majestic joint, -has been shamelessly insulted by ill-trained carver! Of old the master -of the household accepted the "dissection of a goose" after the High -Dutch fashion and the Italian both, his own predilections leaning -rather toward the High Dutch, "for they cut the breast into more -pieces, and so by consequence fill more Plates"--good thrifty burghers -that they were. Learn then, and master "the order how they carve and -how they send it away; as (1), on the first Plate a thigh; (2), -another thigh; (3), a side of the rump, with a piece of the breast; -(4), the other side of the rump, with another piece of the breast; -(5), a wing; (6), the other wing; (7), the rest of the stomach, upon -which, if there be little of the brawn left, you may joyn the two -small forked bones; to the eighth, the merry-thought, with the rest of -the rump, and any else, at your discretion. If you will, you may join -some of the breast with the best piece which you always present to the -most considerable person at the table first, and take notice too, by -the bye, the brawn of the breast ought to be for the most part served -out first." Give heed unto these directions, and far wrong you may not -go. - -Days are when simple expression of faith is all too inadequate. The -devout yearns for something more ornate, something more elaborate. Let -the outcome of this yearning be _oie à la chipolata_, and Michael in -Paradise will smell the sweet savour and smile. It is difficult, but -delicious. Cover the bottom of your stew-pan with lard; place upon it -two or three slices of beef and ham, a bouquet of parsley and chives, -three carrots and two or three onions, a touch of garlic, a few -cloves, thyme, laurel leaves, basil, and salt, and thus you will have -prepared a sweet, soft bed for your goose. Immediately disturb the -bird's slumbers by pouring over it a glass of good Madeira, a bottle -of white wine, a glass of cognac, and two or three spoonfuls of strong -bouillon made of fowls. Now put your pan on the fire, stew your goose -for an hour, lift it out, arrange it on a fair dish, and envelop it in -the very richest _chipolata_ it is in your power to make. And what is -a _chipolata_? An Italian creation half sauce, half _ragoût_; -fashioned of carrots and turnips, and chestnuts and onions, and -sausage and mushrooms, and artichokes and celery, and strong veal -gravy. - -Archangelic smiles must broaden into silent laughter at the mere -mention of "a Potage of Green Geese." It is a conceit redolent of the -olden time, when gaiety was still ranked among the cardinal virtues, -and men ate their fill with no fear of a dyspeptic to-morrow. Since it -is an ancient masterpiece, in the ancient words must it be explained, -or else it will be dishonoured in the telling. "Take your Green-geese -and boyl them the usual way, and when they are boyled take them up and -fry them whole in a frying-pan to colour them, either with the fat of -bacon or hog's-lard, called nowadays _manège de pork_; then take -ginger, long pepper, and cloves; beat all this together, and season -them with this spice; a little parsley and sage, and put them into a -little of the same broth that they were boyled in, and sprinkle a -little grated cheese over them, and let them have a little stew, and -then dish them up with sipets under them." A brave disguise, truly, -for humblest goose. - -In a pie likewise--unless the fashioning thereof be entrusted to the -indiscreet cook--it presents a brave appearance. Walls of crust line a -spacious dish; a pickled dried tongue is boiled; a fowl and a goose -are boned; seasoning is wrought of mace, beaten pepper, and salt; and -then, Oh the marvel of it! fowl is lain in the goose, tongue in the -fowl, goose in the dish. A half a pound of butter separates bird from -pastry cover. And, hot or cold, pleasure may be had in the eating. Not -the highest pleasure, perhaps, but still pleasure not to be scorned. - -If you would boil a goose, see, as you respect your stomach, that it -be first salted for a week. With onion sauce it may be becomingly -adorned, or again, with simple cabbage, boiled, chopped small, and -stewed in butter. Or, plunge gaily into the _rococo_ style, and -decorate it _à l' Arlésienne_; stuffed with onions and chestnuts, -boiled in company with carrots and celery and onions and parsley and -cloves, floated in tomato sauce, it is as chock full of playful -surprises as the _Cartuja_ of Granada. Another device to be -recommended is the grilling of the legs and the serving them with -_laitues farcies_--and Michael will laugh outright; or _à la -Provençale_, and words fail; or _aux tomates_, the love-apples that -not the hardest heart can resist. Of the great and good Carême these -are the suggestions; treasure them up, therefore, where memory may not -rust or aspiration decay, for the dinner may come when you will be -glad to have them at hand. - -Of the giblets and liver of the goose is there not a long, exultant -chapter yet to be written? In far Strasburg geese, in perpetual -darkness and torture, fatten with strange morbid fat, that the -sensitive, who shrink from a bull fight and cry out against the -cruelty of the cockpit, may revel in _pâté de foie gras_. So long as -the world lives, may there still be this delectable _pâté_ to delight. -But why not be honest: admit that between the torture of the bull that -we may see, and the torture of the goose that we may eat, difference -there is none? Give sensitiveness full play, and sordid vegetarianism -is the logical result. - - - - -SPRING CHICKEN - - -Gluttony, it has been written--and with wisdom--deserves nothing but -praise and encouragement. For two reasons. "Physically, it is the -result and proof of the digestive organs being perfect. Morally, it -shows implicit resignation to the commands of nature, who, in ordering -man to eat that he may live, gives him appetite to invite, flavour to -encourage, and pleasure to reward." But there is a third reason, too -often overlooked even by the professional glutton: love of good eating -is an incentive to thought, a stimulus to the imagination. The man of -the most active mind and liveliest fancy is he who eats well and -conscientiously considers each dish as it is set before him. - -The test seldom fails. Run through the list of poets and painters of -your acquaintance; do not they who eat best write the finest verse and -paint the strongest pictures? Those who pretend indifference and live -on unspeakable messes are betrayed in the foolish affectation and -tedious eccentricity of their work; those who feel indifference are -already beyond hope and had better far be selling tape across counters -or adding up figures in loathsome ledgers. Memory, borrowing from her -store-house of treasures, lingers with tender appreciation and regret -upon one unrivalled breakfast, exquisitely cooked, exquisitely served, -and exquisitely eaten, when lilacs were sweet and horse-chestnuts -blossoming in the boulevards and avenues of Paris. And he upon whose -table the banquet was spread is an artist who towers head and -shoulders above the pigmies of his generation. It were rash, indeed, -to maintain that because he eats daintily therefore he paints like the -master he is; but who, on the other hand, would dare aver that because -he paints supremely well therefore is he the prince of _gourmets_? -Here cause and effect are not to be defined by cold logic, not to be -labelled by barren philosophy. One thing alone is certain; if love of -good eating will not create genius it can but develop it. - -Consequently, it would be impossible to think too much of what you are -eating to-day and purpose to eat to-morrow. It is your duty above all -things to see that your food is in harmony with place and season. The -question now is, what beast or bird is fitting holocaust for the first -warm months of spring? Beef is too heating, too substantial; mutton -too monotonous, veal too prosaic. Lamb hath charm, but a charm that by -constant usage may be speedily exhausted. Does not mint sauce, pall at -times? Place, then, your trust in the poultry-yard that your pleasure -may be long in the spring. - -To begin with, poultry pleases because of its idyllic and pastoral -associations. The plucked birds, from shop windows, flaunting their -nakedness in the face of the world, recall the old red-roofed -farmhouse among the elms, and the pretty farmer's daughter in neat, -fresh gingham, scattering grain in the midst of her feathered -favourites; they suggest the first cool light of dawn and the -irrepressible cock crowing the glad approach of day; in a word, they -are reminders of the country's simple joys--unendurable at the time, -dear and sacred when remembered in town. - -The gentle little spring chicken is sweet and adorable above all its -kindred poultry. It is innocent and guileless as Bellini's angels, -dream-like and strange as Botticelli's. It is the very concentration -of spring; as your teeth meet in its tender, yielding flesh, you -think, whether you will or no, of violets and primroses, and hedgerows -white with may; you feel the balmy breath of the south wind; the world -is scented for you with lilac and narcissus; and, for the time being, -life is a perfect poem. But--why is there always a but?--your cook has -it in her power to ruin the rhythm, to make of melodious lyric the -most discordant prose. No less depends upon the being who cooks the -chicken than upon the hen who laid the egg. If hitherto you have -offended through heedlessness, see now that you approach the subject -with a determination to profit. - -Of all ways of cooking a spring chicken, frying is first to be -commended; and of all ways of frying the American is most sympathetic. -Fried chicken! To write the word is to be carried back to the sunny -South; to see, in the mind's eye, the old, black, fat, smiling -_mammie_, in gorgeous bandana turban, and the little black -piccaninnies bringing in relays of hot muffins. Oh, the happy days of -the long ago! It is easy to give the _recipe_, but what can it avail -unless the _mammie_ goes with it? Another admirable device is in -broiling. One fashion is to divide your chicken down the back and -flatten it, seeing, as you have a heart within you, that no bones be -broken. Set it lovingly on a trivet placed for the purpose in a -baking-tin into which water, to the depth of an inch, has been poured. -Cover your tin; bake the sweet offering for ten minutes or so; take it -from the oven; touch it delicately with the purest of pure olive oil, -and for another ten minutes broil it over a good brisk fire. And if in -the result you do not taste heaven, hasten to the hermit's cell in the -desert, and, for the remainder of your days, grow thin on lentils and -dates. - -Or, if you would broil your chicken after the fashion of infallible -Mrs Glasse, slit it as before, season it with pepper and salt, lay it -on a clear fire at a great distance, broil first the inside, then the -out, cover it with delicate bread-crumbs, and let it be of a fine -brown, but not burnt. And keep this note carefully in your mind: "You -may make just what sauce you fancy." - -To roast a spring chicken will do no harm, but let it not be overdone. -Twenty minutes suffice for the ceremony. Bacon, in thinnest of thin -slices, gracefully rolled, is not unworthy to be served with it. In -boiling, something of its virginal flavour may be sacrificed, but -still there is compensating gain; it may be eaten with white mushroom -sauce, made of mushrooms and cream, and seasoned with nutmeg and mace. -Here is a poem, sweeter far than all songs of immortal choirs or the -weak pipings of our minor singers. - -As the chicken outgrows the childish state, you may go to Monte Carlo -in search of one hint at least, for its disposal. There you will learn -to cut it into quarters, to stew it in wine and shallots, to add, at -the psychological moment, tomatoes in slices, and to serve a dish that -baffles description. Or you may journey to Spain, and find that -country's kitchen slandered when you eat _poulet au ris à l' -Espagnole_, chicken cooked in a _marmite_ with rice, artichokes, green -and red chillies, and salad oil, and served, where the artist dwells, -in the blessed _marmite_ itself--in unimaginative London, even, you -may buy one, green or brown, whichever you will, at a delightful shop -in Shaftsbury-avenue. Again, you may wander to Holland--it is a short -journey, and not disagreeable by way of Harwich--and be ready to swear -that no fashion can surpass the Dutch of boiling chickens with rice or -vermicelli, spicing them with pepper and cloves, and, at table, -substituting for sauce sugar and cinnamon. But to omit these last two -garnishments will not mean a mortal sin upon your conscience. In more -festive mood hasten at once to France, and there you will be no less -certain that the way of ways is to begin to broil your chicken, -already quartered, but, when half done, to put it in a stew-pan with -gravy, and white wine, salt and pepper, fried veal balls, onions, and -shallots, and, according to season, gooseberries or grapes. Do you not -grow hungry as you read? But wait: this is not all. As the beautiful -mixture is stewing--on a charcoal fire if possible--thicken the liquor -with yolks of eggs and the juice of lemon, and for ever after bless -Mrs Glasse for having initiated you into these noble and ennobling -mysteries. - -Braise your chicken, fricassee it, make it into mince, croquettes, -krameskies; eat it cold; convert it into galantine; bury it in aspic; -do what you will with it, so long as you do it well, it can bring you -but happiness and peace. - - - - -THE MAGNIFICENT MUSHROOM - - -From remote ages dates the triumph of the mushroom--the majestic, -magnificent mushroom. Glorious Greeks feasted on it and were glad. -What say Poliochus and Antiphanes? What Athenæus? In verse only, could -be duly praised those fragrant mushrooms of old, which were roasted -for dinner and eaten with delicate snails caught in the dewy morning, -and olives tenderly pounded; washed down with wine, good if not over -strong or of famous vintage. O the simple, happy days of long ago! - -There are times when the classic simplicity and dignity of the Greek -you may emulate, and your amusement find in mushrooms dressed with -vinegar, or honey and vinegar, or honey, or salt. But then, all other -courses must be in keeping. The snails and olives must not be omitted. -Maize there must be, well winnowed from the chaff, and rich, ripe -purple figs. And, who knows? the full flavour thereof might not be -yielded to the most earnest adventurer were couches not substituted -for stiff, ungainly chairs. By many a lesser trifle has digestion -been, if not ruined, influenced for ill. - -But the classic experiment, if repeated too often, might seem very -odious. The modern _gourmand_, or artist, is a romanticist, whether he -will or no. No screaming red waistcoat marks the romantic movement in -the kitchen, and yet there it has been stronger even than in art and -literature. The picturesque must be had at any cost. Simplicity is not -spurned, far from it; but it must be seasoned with becoming sprinkling -of romance. What could be simpler than the common mushroom grilled, so -self-sufficient in its chaste severity that it allows but salt and -pepper and butter to approach it, as it lies, fragrant and delicious, -on its gridiron, calling, like another St Lawrence, to be turned when -one side is fairly done. And yet when, ready to be served, its rich -brown beauty is spread upon the paler brown of the toast, and above -rests butter's brilliant gold, have you not an arrangement as -romantic in conception as the "Ernani" of the master, or the pastoral -of Corot? Paltry meats and undesirable vegetables should not be -allowed to dispute supremacy with it. Serve it alone, as you respect -yourself. Do not make your breakfast or dinner table as preposterous a -blunder as the modern picture gallery. - -Should simplicity pall upon you--and moments there are when it cannot -fail to pall--enrich your grilled mushrooms with a sauce of melted -butter and onions and parsley, and a single note of garlic, and the -result will be enchanting mushrooms _à la bourdelaise_. If _au beurre_ -you would eat them, to accord with your passing mood of suave -serenity, stew them gently and considerately in daintiest stew-pan -your kitchen can provide, and let cayenne and powdered mace exult, as -the romantic elements of the stirring poem. - -A still more poetic fancy may be met and sweetly satisfied by _ragoût_ -of mushrooms. Listen reverently, for it is food fit to be set before -the angels. Over the mushrooms, first boiled on a quick fire, pour a -gill of pure red wine--and the best Burgundy thus used will not be -wasted; then scatter spices, mace, and nutmeg, with a discreet hand; -boil once more; pour the marvellous mixture upon five or six--or more, -if wanted--yolks of eggs, hard-boiled; garnish the dish with grilled -mushrooms, and bless the day that you were born, predestined, as you -were, from all eternity for this one interval of rapture. - -Possibility of rapture there is likewise in a white _fricassée_ of -mushrooms, which, if you have your own happiness at heart, you cannot -afford to despise. Secure then, without delay--for who would play fast -and loose with happiness?--a quart of fresh mushrooms. Clean them with -hands as tender as if bathing a new-born babe. In three spoonfuls of -water, and three of milk, let them boil up three times. See that -temptation leads you not to violate the sanctity of this thrice-three. -Nutmeg, mace, butter, a pint of rich thick cream alone, at this -juncture, will appease the saucepan's longings. Shake well; and all -the time, mind you. Be careful there is no curdling, or -else--damnation. The masterpiece once triumphantly achieved and set -upon a table covered with a fair white cloth, great will be the -rejoicing in the Earthly Paradise of your dining-room. - -Another sensation, another thrill awaits you in mushrooms _au gratin_. -Here, indeed, is romanticism gone mad. Grated bacon, shallots, a -_bouquet garni_, mace, pepper and salt, eggs and butter share the -baking-dish with the mushrooms; bread-crumbs complete the strange, -subtle combination, upon which you may break your fast, dine, sup and -sleep, as Valentine upon the very naked name of love. A sorry plight -were yours if love, fickle and fading, could be preferred to a dish of -mushrooms fashioned so fantastically. - -"And oh! what lovely, beautiful eating there is in this world!" It is -Heine who said it--Heine who, for a good dinner, would have given -twice the three hundred years of eternal fame offered by Voltaire for -a good digestion. But lovely and beautiful are but feeble words when -it is a question of the mess of mushrooms, for which who would not -sacrifice eternal fame for ever, in all cheerfulness and glee? - -The reigning sultana in the mushroom's harem is the brilliant golden -egg. Sweet symphonies in brown and gold are the dishes their union -yields. _OEufs brouillés aux champignons_--has not the very name a -pretty sound? It is a delight best suited to the midday breakfast; a -joyous course to follow the anchovy salad, the eel well smoked, or -whatever dainty _hors d'oeuvre_ may stimulate to further appetite. The -eggs, scrambled and rivalling the buttercup's rich gold, are laid -delicately on crisp toast, and present a couch, soft as down, for a -layer of mushrooms. Let Ruskin rave of Turner's sunsets, let the glory -of the Venetians be a delight among art critics; but when did Turner -or Titian or Tintoret invent a finer scheme of colour than egg and -mushroom thus combined for the greater happiness of the few? A silver -dish or one of rarest porcelain should be frame for a picture so -perfect. - -Borrow a hint from the Hungarians, and vary the arrangement to your -own profit. Make a _purée_ of the mushrooms, as rich as cream permits, -and offer it as foundation for eggs poached deftly and swiftly: a -harmony in soft dove-like greys and pale yellow, the result. It is an -admirable contrivance, a credit to Szomorodni-drinking Magyars. And -there is no known reason why it should not be eaten on Thames side as -on the banks of the Danube. Szomorodni, in its native splendour, alas! -is not to be had in London town. But, without sacrilege, Chablis or -Graves, or Sauterne may take its place. To drink red wine would be to -strike a false note in the harmony. - -Another day, another dish, which you cannot do better than make -_omelette aux champignons_. And if you will, you may eat it even as it -was prepared for Royal Stuarts by Master Cook Rose, who wrote almost -as prettily as he cooked. Thus:--"Stove your champignons between two -dishes, season them with salt, pepper, and nutmeg, then make an -omelette with a dozen of eggs, and when he is ready cover him over -with your champignons, and fold him up, triangle-wise, and serve him -with the juice of lemons over him." A royal dish, indeed. - -Creatures of infinite resources, eggs and mushrooms meet in cases to -produce a new and distinct joy. The mushrooms, stewed in milk -thickened with the yolks of raw eggs and bread-crumbs, line the little -fluted china cases; into each a fresh egg is broken; then more -mushrooms and bread-crumbs are spread gently above; a shallow pan, its -bottom just covered with hot water, receives the cases, and ten -minutes in the oven will complete a triumph which, once tasted, you -may well remember all the days of your life. - -The kidney is loved by the mushroom scarce less tenderly than the egg. -_Rognons aux champignons_, fragrant rich, ravishing, may also be -claimed by the happy midday hour. And like so many a noble dish, it -lavishes upon you the pleasures of anticipation. For the kidneys, cut -in slices and laid in thickened gravy, must stew slowly, slowly--never -boiling, unless you would have them vie with leather in consistency. -At an early stage the mushrooms, also in pieces, may be added, and -pepper and salt according to inclination. And slowly, slowly let the -stewing continue. At the last supreme moment pour in a glass of -generous red wine, or if it please you more, Marsala, and serve -without delay. Chambertin, or Nuits, at peace in its cradle, is -surely the wine decreed by fate to drink with so sublime a creation. - -With the tender _filet_, mushrooms prove irresistible; with the -graceful cutlet they seem so ravishing that even _sauce Soubise_, the -once inseparable, may for the moment be easily forgotten. And veal is -no less susceptible to its charms: let _noisettes de veau aux -champignons_ be the _entrée_ of to-morrow's dinner, and you will -return thanks to your deliverer from the roast! - -As sauce, mushroom is the chosen one of fowl and fish alike. Join your -mushrooms to _Béchamel_, one of the great mother sauces, and you will -have the wonder that Carême, its creator, served first to the -Princesse de B. How resist so aristocratic a precedent? _Grasse_, or -_maigre_, you can make it, as the season demands. Or to a like end you -may devote that other marvel, _purée de champignons à la Laguipierre_, -whose patron was the great Louis de Rohan, and into whose mysteries -Carême was initiated by the "Grand M. Dunan." Ham, tomato, nutmeg, -pepper, lemon juice, are the chief ingredients that enter into its -composition. Who, after testing it, will dare find naught but vexation -and vanity in the reign of the Sixteenth Louis? Subtle variation may -be had by substituting as foundation, _sauce à la régence_ or _sauce à -la princesse_ for _sauce Béchamel_; while a sensation apart springs -from the lofty alliance between oysters and mushrooms. - -How natural that for masterpieces in mushrooms royalty so often has -stood sponsor! Upon the Prince of Wurtemberg rests the glorious -responsibility of Seine shad _à la purée de champignons_. If history -records not his name, a prince--in spirit at least--must also have -been the first happy man to eat red mullets _aux champignons_, or eels -_aux huîtres et aux champignons_; show yourself as princely before you -are a week older. While a king was he who first smiled upon that -kingly _ragoût_ of mushrooms, mussels, and shrimps. Be you a king in -your turn--there are few pleasures equal to it. - -"For white fowls of all sort," Mrs Glasse recommends her mushroom -sauce, thus giving loose reins to the artist's fancy. The fowl may be -boiled, and then rich with cream must be the sauce that redeems it -from insipidity. It may be roasted, and then let the mushrooms be -somewhat more in evidence. Or it may be broiled, and then mayhap it -would be wise to grill the mushrooms whole, instead of converting them -into sauce. Or--here is another suggestion, and be thankful for -it--mince your chicken, which toast will receive gladly as a covering -and set upon it, as already upon _oeufs brouillés_, the mushrooms -grilled in butter. Long might you live, far might you wander, before -chancing upon another delicacy so worthy. Though, truth to tell--and -where gastronomy is the subject it is always best to be -honest--_croquettes de poulet aux champignons_ seem well-nigh -worthier. If you would decide for yourself, try both, and joy go with -you in the trying. - -An afterthought: dress livers with mushroom sauce, and this is the -manner in which it should be done. "Take some pickled or fresh -mushrooms, cut small--both if you have them--and let the livers be -bruised fine, with a good deal of parsley chopped small, a spoonful or -two of catchup, a glass of white wine, and as much good gravy as will -make sauce enough; thicken it with a piece of butter rolled in flour. -This does for either roast or boiled." - -For the rest, how count the innumerable ways in which the mushroom -adds to the gaiety of the gourmand? What would the _vol-au-vent_ be -without it? What the "Fine Pye," made otherwise of carps and -artichokes and crayfishes' feet and lobster claws and nutmeg and -cloves alone? What, according to the "Complete Court Cook," so proper -for the second course as the patty all of mushrooms? What garniture -fairer for "ragoo" or _fricassée_, according to the same authority, -than mushroom _farcis_? But, however they may be served and eaten, -mushrooms you must make yours at any cost. To say that you do not like -them is confession of your own philistinism. Learn to like them; -_will_ to like them, or else your sojourn on this earth will be a -wretched waste. You will have lived your life in vain if, at its -close, you have missed one of its finest emotions. - - - - -THE INCOMPARABLE ONION - - -Too often the poet sees but the tears that live in an onion; not the -smiles. And yet the smiles are there, broad and genial, or subtle and -tender. "Rose among roots," its very name revives memories of pleasant -feasting; its fragrance is rich forecast of delights to come. Without -it, there would be no gastronomic art. Banish it from the kitchen, and -all pleasure of eating flies with it. Its presence lends colour and -enchantment to the most modest dish; its absence reduces the rarest -dainty to hopeless insipidity, and the diner to despair. - -The secret of good cooking lies in the discreet and sympathetic -treatment of the onion. For what culinary masterpiece is there that -may not be improved by it? It gives vivacity to soup, life to sauce; -it is the "poetic soul" of the salad bowl; the touch of romance in the -well-cooked vegetable. To it, sturdiest joint and lightest stew, crisp -rissole and stimulating stuffing look for inspiration and charm--and -never are they disappointed! But woe betide the unwary woman who would -approach it for sacrilegious ends. If life holds nothing better than -the onion in the right hand, it offers nothing sadder and more -degrading than the onion brutalised. Wide is the gulf fixed between -the delicate sauce of a Prince de Soubise, and the coarse, unsavoury -sausage and onion mess of the Strand. Let the perfection of the first -be your ideal; the horrid coarseness of the latter shun as you would -the devil. - -The fragrance of this "wine-scented" esculent not only whets the -appetite; it abounds in associations glad and picturesque. All Italy -is in the fine, penetrating smell; and all Provence; and all Spain. An -onion or garlic-scented atmosphere hovers alike over the narrow -_calli_ of Venice, the cool courts of Cordova, and the thronged -amphitheatre of Arles. It is only the atmosphere breathed by the Latin -peoples of the South, so that ever must it suggest blue skies and -endless sunshine, cypress groves and olive orchards. For the traveller -it is interwoven with memories of the golden canvases of Titian, the -song of Dante, the music of Mascagni. The violet may not work a -sweeter spell, nor the carnation yield a more intoxicating perfume. - -And some men there have been in the past to rank the onion as a root -sacred to Aphrodite: food for lovers. To the poetry of it none but the -dull and brutal can long remain indifferent. - -Needless, then, to dwell upon its more prosaic side: upon its power as -a tonic, its value as a medicine. Medicinal properties it has, as the -drunkard knows full well. But why consider the drunkard? Leave him to -the tender mercies of the doctor. _Gourmandise_, or the love of good -eating, here the one and only concern, is opposed to excess. "Every -man who eats to indigestion, or makes himself drunk, runs the risk of -being erased from the list of its votaries." - -The onion is but the name for a large family, of which shallots, -garlic, and chives are chief and most honoured varieties. Moreover, -country and climate work upon it changes many and strange. In the -south it becomes larger and more opulent, like the women. And yet, as -it increases in size, it loses in strength--who shall say why? And -the loss truly is an improvement. Our own onion often is strong even -unto rankness. Therefore, as all good housewives understand, the -Spanish species for most purposes may be used instead, and great will -be the gain thereby. Still further south, still further east, you will -journey but to find the onion fainter in flavour, until in India it -seems but a pale parody of its English prototype. And again, at -different seasons, very different are its most salient qualities. In -great gladness of heart everyone must look forward to the dainty -little spring onion: adorable as vegetable cooked in good white sauce, -inscrutable as guardian spirit of fresh green salad, irreproachable as -pickle in vinegar and mustard. - -Garlic is one of the most gracious gifts of the gods to men--a gift, -alas! too frequently abused. In the vegetable world, it has something -of the value of scarlet among colours, of the clarionet's call in -music. Brazen, and crude, and screaming, when dragged into undue -prominence, it may yet be made to harmonise divinely with fish and -fowl, with meat, and other greens. Thrown wholesale into a salad, it -is odious and insupportable; but used to rub the salad bowl, and then -cast aside, its virtue may not be exaggerated. For it, as for lovers, -the season of seasons is the happy spring time. Its true home is -Provence. What would be the land of the troubadour and the Félibre -without the _ail_ that festoons every greengrocer's shop, that adorns -every dish at every banquet of rich and poor alike? As well rid -_bouillabaisse_ of its saffron as of its _ail_; as well forget the -_pomme d'amour_ in the sauce for _macaroni_, or the rosemary and the -thyme on the spit with the little birds. The verse of Roumanille and -Mistral smells sweet of _ail_; Tartarin and Numa Roumestan are heroes -nourished upon it. It is the very essence of _farandoles_ and -_ferrades_, of bull-fights and water tournaments. A pinch of _ail_, a -_coup de vin_, and then-- - - Viva la joia, - Fidon la tristessa! - -And all the while we, in the cold, gloomy north, eat garlic and are -hated for it by friends and foes. Only in the hot south can life -_ail_-inspired pass for a _galejado_ or jest. - -To the onion, the shallot is as the sketch to the finished picture; -slighter, it may be; but often subtler and more suggestive. Unrivalled -in salads and sauces, it is without compare in the sumptuous seasoning -of the most fantastic viands. It does not assert itself with the fury -and pertinacity of garlic; it does not announce its presence with the -self-consciousness of the onion. It appeals by more refined devices, -by gentler means, and is to be prized accordingly. Small and brown, it -is pleasant to look upon as the humble wild rose by the side of the -_Gloire de Dijon_. And, though it never attain to the untempered -voluptuousness of the onion, it develops its sweetness and strength -under the hottest suns of summer: in July, August, and September, does -it mature; then do its charms ripen; then may it be enjoyed in full -perfection, and satisfy the most riotous gluttony. - -Shallots for summer by preference, but chives for spring: the delicate -chives, the long, slim leaves, fair to look upon, sweet to smell, -sweeter still to eat in crisp green salad. The name is a little poem; -the thing itself falls not far short of the divine. Other varieties -there be, other offshoots of the great onion--mother of all; none, -however, of greater repute, of wider possibilities than these. To know -them well is to master the fundamental principles of the art of -cookery. But this is knowledge given unto the few; the many, no doubt, -will remain for ever in the outer darkness, where the onion is -condemned to everlasting companionship with the sausage--not -altogether their fault, perhaps. In cookery, as in all else, too often -the blind do lead the blind. But a few years since and a "delicate -diner," an authority unto himself at least, produced upon the art of -dining a book, not without reputation. But to turn to its index is to -find not one reference to the onion: all the poetry gone; little but -prose left! And this from an authority! - -The onion, as a dish, is excellent; as seasoning it has still more -pleasant and commodious merits. The modern _chef_ uses it chiefly to -season; the ancient _cordon bleu_ set his wits to work to discover -spices and aromatic ingredients wherewith to season it. Thus, -according to Philemon,-- - - If you want an onion, just consider - What great expense it takes to make it good; - You must have cheese, and honey, and sesame, - Oil, leeks, and vinegar, and assafoetida, - To dress it up with; for by itself the onion - Is bitter and unpleasant to the taste. - -A pretty mess, indeed; and who is there brave enough to-day to test -it? Honey and onion! it suggests the ingenious contrivances of the -mediæval kitchen. The most daring experiment now would be a dash of -wine, red or white, a suspicion of mustard, a touch of tomato in the -sauce for onions, stewed or boiled, baked or stuffed. To venture upon -further flights of fancy the average cook would consider indiscreet, -though to the genius all things are possible. However, its talents for -giving savour and character to other dishes is inexhaustible. - -There is no desire more natural than that of knowledge; there is no -knowledge nobler than that of the "gullet-science." "The discovery of -a new dish does more for the happiness of the human race than the -discovery of a planet!" What would be Talleyrand's record but for that -moment of inspiration when, into the mysteries of Parmesan with soup, -he initiated his countrymen? To what purpose the Crusades, had -Crusaders not seen and loved the garlic on the plains of Askalon, -and brought it home with them, their one glorious trophy. To a pudding -Richelieu gave his name; the Prince de Soubise lent his to a sauce, -and thereby won for it immortality. - -A benefactor to his race indeed he was: worthy of a shrine in the -Temple of Humanity. For, plucking the soul from the onion, he laid -bare its hidden and sweetest treasure to the elect. Scarce a sauce is -served that owes not fragrance and flavour to the wine-scented root; -to it, _Béarnaise_, _Maître d'Hôtel_, _Espagnole_, _Italienne_, -_Béchamel_, _Provençale_, and who shall say how many more? look for -the last supreme touch that redeems them from insipid commonplace. But -_Sauce Soubise_ is the very idealisation of the onion, its very -essence; at once delicate and strong; at once as simple and as perfect -as all great works of art. - -The plodding painter looks upon a nocturne by Whistler, and thinks how -easy, how preposterously easy! A touch here, a stroke there, and the -thing is done. But let him try! And so with _Sauce Soubise_. Turn to -the first cookery book at hand, and read the _recipe_. "Peel four -large onions and cut them into thin slices; sprinkle a little pepper -and salt upon them, together with a small quantity of nutmeg; put them -into a saucepan with a slice of fresh butter, and steam gently"--let -them smile, the true artist would say--"till they are soft." But why -go on with elaborate directions? Why describe the exact quantity of -flour, the size of the potato, the proportions of milk and cream to be -added? Why explain in detail the process of rubbing through a sieve? -In telling or the reading these matters seem not above the -intelligence of a little child. But in the actual making, only the -artist understands the secret of perfection, and his understanding is -born within him, not borrowed from dry statistics and formal tables. -He may safely be left to vary his methods; he may add sugar, he may -omit nutmeg; he may fry the onions instead of boiling, for love of the -tinge of brown, rich and sombre, thus obtained. But, whatever he does, -always with a wooden spoon will he stir his savoury mixture; always, -as result, produce a godlike sauce which the mutton cutlets of -Paradise, vying with Heine's roast goose, will offer of their own -accord at celestial banquets. What wonder that a certain famous French -count despised the prosaic politician who had never heard of cutlets -_à la Soubise_? - -However, not alone in sauce can the condescending onion come to the -aid of dull, substantial flesh and fowl. Its virtue, when joined to -sage in stuffing, who will gainsay? Even chestnuts, destined to stuff -to repletion the yawning turkey, cannot afford to ignore the -insinuating shallot or bolder garlic; while no meat comes into the -market that will not prove the better and the sweeter for at least a -suspicion of onion or of _ail_. A barbarian truly is the cook who -flings a mass of fried onions upon the tender steak, and then thinks -to offer you a rare and dainty dish. Not with such wholesale brutality -can the ideal be attained. The French chef has more tact. He will take -his _gigot_ and sympathetically prick it here and there with garlic or -with chives, even as it is roasting; and whoever has never tasted -mutton thus prepared knows not the sublimest heights of human -happiness. Or else he will make a _bouquet garni_ of his own, entirely -of these aromatic roots and leaves, and fasten it in dainty fashion to -the joint; pleasure is doubled when he forgets to remove it, and the -meat is placed upon the table, still bearing its delicious decoration. -Moods there be that call for stronger effects: moods when the blazing -poppy field of a Monet pleases more than the quiet moonlight of a -Cazin; when Tennyson is put aside for Swinburne. At such times, call -for a shoulder of mutton, well stuffed with onions, and still further -satiate your keen, vigorous appetite with a bottle of Beaune or -Pomard. But here, a warning: eat and drink with at least a pretence of -moderation. Remember that, but for an excess of shoulder of mutton and -onions, Napoleon might not have been defeated at Leipzig. - -But at all times, and in all places, onions clamour for moderation. A -salad of tomatoes buried under thick layers of this powerful esculent -must disgust; gently sprinkled with chopped-up chives or shallots, it -enraptures. Potatoes _à la Lyonnaise_, curried eggs, Irish stew, -_Gulyas_, _ragoût_, alike demand restraint in their preparation, a -sweet reasonableness in the hand that distributes the onion. - -For the delicate diner, as for the drunkard, onion soup has charm. It -is of the nature of _sauce Soubise_, and what mightier recommendation -could be given it? Thus Dumas, the high priest of the kitchen, made -it: a dozen onions--Spanish by preference--minced with discretion, -fried in freshest of fresh butter until turned to a fair golden -yellow, he boiled in three pints or so of water, adequately seasoned -with salt and pepper; and then, at the end of twenty full minutes, he -mixed with this preparation the yolks of two or three eggs, and poured -the exquisite liquid upon bread, cut and ready. At the thought alone -the mouth waters, the eye brightens. The adventurous, now and again, -add ham or rice, vegetables or a _bouquet garni_. But this as you -will, according to the passing hour's leisure. Only of one thing make -sure--in Dumas confidence is ever to be placed without doubt or -hesitation. - -Dumas' soup for dinner; but for breakfast the unrivalled omelette of -Brillat-Savarin. It is made after this fashion: the roes of two carp, -a piece of fresh tunny, and shallots, well hashed and mixed, are -thrown into a saucepan with a lump of butter beyond reproach, and -whipped up till the butter is melted, which, says the great one, -"constitutes the speciality of the omelette;" in the meantime, let -some one prepare, upon an oval dish, a mixture of butter and parsley, -lemon juice, and chives--not shallots here, let the careless note--the -plate to be left waiting over hot embers; next beat up twelve eggs, -pour in the roes and tunny, stir with the zeal and sympathy of an -artist, spread upon the plate that waits so patiently, serve at once; -and words fail to describe the ecstasy that follows. Especially, to -quote again so eminent an authority, let the omelette "be washed down -with some good old wine, and you will see wonders," undreamed of by -haschish or opium eater. - -When the little delicate spring onion is smelt in the land, a shame, -indeed, it would be to waste its tender virginal freshness upon sauce -and soup. Rather refrain from touching it with sharp knife or cruel -chopper, but in its graceful maiden form boil it, smother it in rich -pure cream, and serve it on toast, to the unspeakable delectation of -the devout. Life yields few more precious moments. Until spring comes, -however, you may do worse than apply the same treatment to the older -onion. In this case, as pleasure's crown of pleasure, adorn the -surface with grated Gruyère, and, like the ancient hero, you will wish -your throat as long as a crane's neck, that so you might the longer -and more leisurely taste what you swallow. - -Onions _farcis_ are beloved by the epicure. A nobler dish could scarce -be devised. You may make your forcemeats of what you will, beef or -mutton, fowl or game; you may, an' you please, add truffles, -mushrooms, olives, and capers. But know one thing; tasteless it will -prove, and lifeless, unless bacon lurk unseen somewhere within its -depths. Ham will answer in a way, but never so well as humbler bacon. -The onion that lends itself most kindly to this device is the Spanish. - -One word more. As the _ite missa est_ of the discourse let this -truth--a blessing in itself--be spoken. As with meat, so with -vegetables, few are not the better for the friendly companionship of -the onion, or one of its many offshoots. Peas, beans, tomatoes, -egg-plant are not indifferent to its blandishments. If honour be paid -to the first pig that uprooted a truffle, what of the first man who -boiled an onion? And what of the still mightier genius who first used -it as seasoning for his daily fare? Every _gourmet_ should rise up and -call him blessed. - - - - -THE TRIUMPHANT TOMATO - - -The triumph of the tomato has given hungry men and women a new lease -of pleasure. Sad and drear were the days when the _gourmet_ thought to -feast, and the beautiful scarlet fruit had no place upon his table. -The ancient _chef_ knew it not, nor the mediæval artist who, even -without it, could create marvellous works the modern may not hope to -rival. Like so many good things, it first saw the light in that happy -Western Continent where the canvas-back duck makes its home and shad -swim in fertile rivers. What, indeed, was life, what the gift of -eating, before the Columbus of the kitchen had discovered the tomato, -the turkey, and the yellow Indian corn? Reflect upon it, and be -grateful that you, at least, were not born in the Dark Age of cookery! - -Poor, stupid man! a treasure was presented to him freely and -generously, and he thrust it from him. The tomato offered itself a -willing sacrifice, and he scorned it, mistaking gold for dross. The -American--and long years in purgatory will not redeem his -fault--looked upon it with suspicion. To-day, it is true, he honours -it aright: in the summer-time he bows down before its gay freshness; -in the winter he cherishes it in tins. It has become as indispensable -to him as salt or butter. He values it at its true worth. But still, -half a century has not passed since he doubted it, heaping insults -upon its trusting sweetness. He fancied poison lurked within it. O the -cruel fancy! There it was, perfect and most desirable, and he, blind -fool, would not touch it until endless hours of stewing had lessened, -if not utterly destroyed, its fresh young charms. And the Englishman -was no wiser. Within the last decade only has he welcomed the stranger -at his gates, and at the best his welcome has been but halting and -half-hearted. The many continue obstinately to despise it; the few -have pledged their allegiance with reservations. The Latin, and even -the wild Hun, were converted without a fear of misgiving while the -Anglo-Saxon faltered and was weak. Many and beautiful are the strange -dishes the tomato adorns in Magyarland. Was there ever a _menu_ in -sunny Italy that did not include this meat or that vegetable _al -pomodoro_? The very Spaniard, whom rumour weds irrevocably to garlic, -nourishes a tender passion for the voluptuous red fruit, and wins -rapture from it. And deep and true is the Provençal's love for his -_pomme d'amour_; is not the name a measure of his affection? The Love -Apple! Were there, after all, tomatoes in Judea, and were these the -apples that comforted the love-sick Shulamite? - -Now that the tomato has forced universal recognition; now that in -England it lends glory of colour to the greengrocer's display; now -that the hothouse defeats the cruel siege of the seasons, and mild -May, as well as mellow September, yields apples of love, pause a -moment, turn from the trivial cares of life, to meditate upon its -manifold virtues. - -The tomato as a vegetable should be the first point of the meditation. -Let us reflect. Stewed, though not as in America of old, until all -flavour is lost, it has the merit of simplicity by no means to be -underestimated: drained of the greater part of its juice, thickened -slightly with flour, it cannot disappoint. _Au gratin_, it aspires to -more delirious joys: the pleasure yielded develops in proportion to -the pains taken to produce it. Into a baking dish olive oil is poured -in moderation; a sprinkling of salt and pepper and fragrant herbs well -powdered, together with bread-crumbs duly grated, follows; next the -tomatoes, eager and blushing, whole or in dainty halves, as the -impulse of the moment may prompt; more bread-crumbs and pepper and -salt and herbs must cover them gently, more oil be poured upon the -stirring harmony; and an hour in the oven will turn you out as pretty -a side-dish as was ever devised by ingenious Mrs Glasse, who--O the -pity of it--lived too soon for fond dalliance with love's crowning -vegetable. - -_Farcies_ tomatoes may not easily be surpassed. Upon your whim or -choice it will depend whether you stuff them whole, or cut them in -half for so ineffable a purpose. And upon your whim likewise depends -the special forcemeat used. Chopped mushrooms, parsley and shallot, -seasoned with discretion, leave little to ask for. Prepare, instead, -sausage meat, garlic, parsley, tarragon, and chives, and the tomatoes -so stuffed you may without pedantry call _à la Grimod de la Reynière_. -But whatever you call them, count upon happiness in the eating. - -Second point of the meditation: the tomato as an auxiliary. If you -have learned the trick of association, at once you see before you a -steaming harmony in pale yellow and scarlet, the long soft tubes of -_macaroni_ or _spaghetti_ encompassed round about by a deep stream of -tomatoes stewed and seasoned; at once you feast upon _macaroni al -pomodoro_ and Chianti, and Italy lies, like a map, before your mind's -eye, its towns and villages marked by this dish of dishes. With rice, -tomatoes are no less in pleasant, peaceful unity; in stuffed -_paprika_, or pepper, they find their true affinity. Grilled, they -make a sympathetic garniture for _filet piqué à la Richelieu_; -stuffed, they are the proper accompaniment of _tournedos à la Leslie_; -neatly halved, they serve as a foundation to soles _à la Loie Fuller_. -Chickens clamour for them as ally, and so does the saltest of salt -cod. In a word, a new combination they might with ease provide for -every day in the year. Enough will have been said if this one truth is -established: there is scarce a fish or fowl, scarce any meat or -vegetable, that is not the better and the nobler for the temporary -union with the tomato. - -And now, the third point of the meditation, which, too often, escapes -the prosaic, unmeditative islander: the tomato as a dish for -breakfast. Only recently it was thus that two of rare beauty and sweet -savour fulfilled their destiny: on a plate fashioned by barbarous -potters on the banks of the Danube, where the love-apple grows in gay -profusion, stretched a thin, crisp slice of bacon decoratively -streaked with fat and grilled to a turn; it bore, as twin flowers, the -two tomatoes, also grilled, fragrant, tender, delectable. Surely here -was a poetic prelude to the day's toil. To Belgium all praise be given -for teaching that, stewed and encircling buttered or scrambled eggs, -tomatoes may again enliven the breakfast table, that bitter test of -conjugal devotion; to France, the credit of spreading them at the -bottom of plate or dish as a bed for eggs artistically poached or -fried. History records the names of generals and dates of battles, -but what chronicler has immortalised the genius who first enclosed -tomatoes in an omelet? This is a brutal, ungrateful world we live in. - -And now pass on to the fourth heading, and new ecstasies: the tomato -as salad. Remember that the tomatoes must be deftly sliced in their -skins or else the juice escapes; that a touch of onion or garlic is -indispensable; that the dressing must be of oil and vinegar, pepper -and salt; unless, of course, a _mayonnaise_ be made. Another weird -salad there is with qualities to endear it to the morbid and neurotic. -Let it be explained briefly, that lurid description may not be thought -to exaggerate lurid attraction: drop your tomatoes, brilliantly red as -the abhorred Scarlet Woman, into hot water in order to free them of -their skins; place them whole, and in passionate proximity, in a dish -of silver or delicate porcelain; smother them under a thick layer of -whipped cream. For the sake of decoration and the unexpected, stick in -here and there a pistachio nut, and thank the gods for the new -sensation. - -In soup, thin or clear, the tomato knows no rival; in sauce, it -stands supreme, ranking worthily with the four classical sauces of the -French _cuisine_. And here, a suggestion to be received with loud, -jubilant _Alleluias_! Follow the example of Attila's heirs, and, as -last touch, pour cream upon your tomato sauce. He who has known and -eaten and loved _paprika gefüllte_ in the wilds of Transylvania, will -bear willing witness to the admirable nature of this expedient. - -The more devout, the professed worshipper, will eat his love-apple -without artificial device of cookery or dressing, with only salt for -savour. For this excess of devotion, however, unqualified commendation -would not be just. Unadorned the tomato is not adorned the most. - -But cook or serve it as you will, see that it be eaten by you and -yours--that is the main thing. The tomatoes that make glad the heart -of the loiterer in Covent Garden are fresh as the sweet breath of May. - - - - -A DISH OF SUNSHINE - - -"The weather is regarded as the very nadir and scoff of conversational -topics." How can the ingenious housewife talk of aught else in the -Winter season? Not because, as Mr Stevenson argues, "the dramatic -element in scenery is far more tractable in language, and far more -human both in import and suggestion, than the stable features of the -landscape," but because upon it she is dependent for ease and success -in making her every luncheon and dinner a culinary triumph. - -Of what avail the morning's conference with the greengrocer's boy, or -even the conscientious visit to the greengrocer's shop or the ramble -through the market--unless, perhaps, and happily, her pockets be lined -with gold, when hothouse vegetables, and out-of-season delicacies, -must be paid for with the alacrity of a Croesus? Otherwise, dark, -hopeless despair seizes upon her? Must she not brood in abject -melancholy when the hideous truth is revealed to her that earth's -resources are limited to turnip-tops and Brussels sprouts, with, it -may be, a few Jerusalem artichokes thrown in? Celery, the lordly, is -frozen. Cauliflower, the fragrant, frost-bitten irretrievably, will -not yield to the most urgent inducements of hot water. Lettuce is a -thing of the past and of the future. Sad and drear indeed is the -immediate prospect. For surely turnip-tops are a delusion, and against -the monotony of sprouts the aspiring soul rebels. - -It is at this crisis that hope flames right in a strangely neglected -corner. Italian sunshine and blue skies, concentrated in flour paste, -wrought into tubes and ribbons, squares and lozenges, come to gladden -the sinking heart and cheer the drooping spirits. Why despair when -_macaroni_ is always to be had, inestimable as a vegetable, unrivalled -as an _entrée_, a perfect meal, if you choose, in itself? - -Upon the imagination of those to whom food is something besides a mere -satisfaction to carnal appetite, _macaroni_ works a strange, subtle -spell. The very name conjures up sweet poetic visions; it is the -magic crystal or beryl stone, in which may be seen known things, dear -to the memory: smiling valleys where the vines are festooned, not as -Virgil saw them, from elm to elm, but from mulberry to mulberry; and -where the beautiful, broad-horned, white oxen drag, in solemn dignity, -the crawling plough; olive-clad slopes and lonely stone palms; the -gleam of sunlit rivers winding with the reeds and the tall, slim -poplars; the friendly wayside _trattoria_ and the pleasant refrain of -the beaming _cameriere_, "_Subito Signora; ecco!_"--a refrain -ceaseless as the buzzing of bees among the clover. In a dish of -_macaroni_ lies all Italy for the woman with eyes to see or a heart to -feel. - -Or visions more personal, more intimate, she may summon for her own -delight; the midday halt and lunch in Castiglione del Lago on its -gentle hill-top, the blue of Thrasymene's lake shining between the -olives, and all fair to behold, save the _padrone_ with his -conscienceless charges for the bowl of _macaroni_ that had been so -good in the eating. Or else, perhaps, the evening meal in the long -refectory at Monte Oliveto, with the white-robed brothers; or, again, -the unforgettable breakfast at Pompeii's _Albergo del Sole_, the good -wine ranged upon the old tree trunk that serves as central column, the -peacock, tail outspread, strutting about among the chairs and tables, -the overpowering sweetness of the flowering bean stealing, from near -fields, through open doors and windows. Or, still again, the thought -of Pompeii sends one off upon the journey from its ruined streets to -Naples--on one side the Bay, on the other the uninterrupted line of -villages, every low white house adorned with garlands of _macaroni_ -drying peacefully and swiftly in the hot sun. And a few pence only -will it cost to dream such dreams of beauty and of gladness. - -Many as are the devices for preparing this stuff that dreams are made -of, none can excel the simplest of all. Eat it the way the Italian -loves it, and for yourself you open up new vistas of pleasure. And -what could be easier? In water well salted--upon the salt much -depends--the _macaroni_, preferably in the large generous tubes, is -boiled for twenty minutes, or half an hour, until it is as soft as -soft may be without breaking. A capacious bowl, its sides well -buttered and sprinkled with grated Parmesan cheese, must wait in -readiness. Into it put the _macaroni_, well drained of the water, into -its midst drop a large piece of sweet, fresh butter, and sprinkle, -without stint, more of the indispensable Parmesan; mix wisely and with -discrimination; and then eat to your soul's, or stomach's, content. To -further your joy, have at your side a flash of Chianti, pure and -strong, standing in no need of baptism. The gods never fared better. -But, one word of advice: if this dish you serve for luncheon, defy -convention, and make it the first and last and only course. It may -seem meagre in the telling. But to treat it with due respect and -justice much must be eaten, and this much makes more impossible even -to the hopeful. - -Another word of advice: never break or cut the _macaroni_ into small -pieces; the cook who dares to disobey in this particular deserves -instant and peremptory dismissal. Where is the poetry, where the art, -if it can be eaten with as little trouble and planning as an everyday -potato, or a mess of greens? Who, that has seen, can forget the -skilful Italian winding the long steaming tubes around and around his -fork, his whole soul and intelligence concentrated upon the pretty -feat of transposing these tubes from his fork to his mouth. It is -difficult; yes, especially for the foreigner; but where is the -pleasure without pain? As well tear your Troyon or your Diaz into -shreds, and enjoy it in bits, as violate the virginal lengths of your -_macaroni_. - -In more lavish mood, prepare it _al sugo_, and no cause need you fear -for regret. It is well-nigh as simple; the _macaroni_, or better still -_spaghetti_, the smaller, daintier variety, once boiled, is taken from -the water only to be plunged in rich gravy, its quantity varying -according to the quantity of _spaghetti_ used; let it boil anew, or -rather simmer, until each long tube is well saturated; then, add the -cheese and butter, and say your _Benedicite_ with a full heart. - -Or, would you have it richer still, and so tempt Providence? Make -tomato the foundation of the gravy, spice it with cloves, bring out -the sweet _bouquet garni_, serve with butter and Parmesan cheese as -before, and call the result _Macaroni à la Napolitaine_. _Spaghetti_, -here again, will answer the purpose as well, nor will the pretty, -flat, wavy ribbon species come amiss. To court perfection, rely upon -mushrooms for one of the chief elements in this adorable concoction, -and the whole world over you may travel without finding a dish worthy -to compete with it. _Macaroni_ can yield nothing more exquisite, -though not yet are its resources exhausted. - -_Au gratin_ it is also to be commended. The preliminary boiling may -now, as always, be taken for granted. With its chosen and well-tried -accompaniments of butter and Parmesan cheese, and steeped in a good -white sauce, it may simmer gently over the fire until the sympathetic -butter be absorbed; then in a decently prepared dish, and covered with -bread-crumbs, it should bake until it is warmed into a golden-brown -harmony that enraptures the eye. Or with stronger seasoning, with -onion and pepper and cayenne, you may create a savoury beyond compare. -Or combined with the same ingredients you may stew your _macaroni_ in -milk, and revel in _macaroni sauté_; worse a hundred times, truly, -might you fare. - -But, if you would be wholly reckless, why, then try _Macaroni à la -Pontife_, and know that human ambition may scarce pretend to nobler -achievements. For a mould of goodly proportions you fill with -_macaroni_ and forcemeat of fowl and larks and bits of bacon and -mushrooms and game filleted; and this ineffable arrangement you -moisten with gravy and allow to simmer slowly, as befits its -importance, for an hour; eat it, and at last you too, with Faust, may -hail the fleeting moment, and bid it stay, because it is so fair! - -In puddings and pies _macaroni_ is most excellent. But if you be not -lost beyond redemption, never sweeten either one or the other; the -suggestion of such sacrilege alone is horrid. Into little croquettes -it may by cunning hands be modelled; _en timbale_, in well-shaped -mould, it reveals new and welcome possibilities. With fish it -assimilates admirably; in soup it is above criticism. It will -strengthen the flavour of chestnuts, nor will it disdain the -stimulating influence of wine, white or red. And in the guise of -_nouilles_, or nudels, it may be stuffed with forcemeat of fowl or -beef, and so clamour for the rich tomato sauce. - - - - -ON SALADS - - -To speak of salads in aught but the most reverential spirit were -sacrilege. To be honoured aright, they should be eaten only in the -company of the devout or in complete solitude--and perhaps this latter -is the wiser plan. Who, but the outer barbarian, will not with a good -salad, - - A book, a taper, and a cup - Of country wine, divinely sup? - -Over your hot meats you cannot linger; if alone with them, and read -you must, a common newspaper, opened at the day's despatches, best -serves your purpose; else, your gravies and sauces congeal into a -horrid white mess upon your plate, and tepid is every unsavoury morsel -your fork carries to your mouth. But over any one of the "salad -clan"--lettuce or tomato, beans or potato, as fancy prompts--you can -revel at leisure in your Balzac, your Heine, your Montaigne, which, -surely, it would be desecration to spread open by the side of the -steaming roast or the prosaic bacon and eggs. There has always seemed -one thing lacking in Omar's Paradise: a salad, he should have -bargained for with his Book of Verses, his Jug of Wine, and Loaf of -Bread "underneath the Bough." - -Far behind has the Continent left Great Britain in the matter of -salads. To eat them in perfection you must cross the Channel--as, -indeed, you must in the pursuit of all the daintiest dishes--and -travel still farther than France. The French will give you for -breakfast a bowl of _Soissons_, for dinner a _Romaine_, which long -survive as tender memories; even the humble dandelion they have -enlisted in the good cause. With the Italian you will fare no less -well; better it may be, for, with the poetic feeling that has -disappeared for ever from their art and architecture, they fill the -salad bowl at times with such delicate conceits as tender young violet -leaves, so that you may smell the spring in the blossoms at your -throat, while you devour it in the greens set before you. But in -Germany, though there may be less play of fancy in the choice of -materials, there is far greater poetry in the mixing of them. As an -atonement for that offence against civilisation, the midday dinner, -the Germans have invented a late supper that defies the critic: the -very meanest _Speise-Saal_ is transfigured when the gaslight falls -softly on the delicious potato or cucumber or herring salads of the -country, flanked by the tall slim glasses of amber Rhenish wine. But, -excelling Germany, even as Germany excels France, Hungary is the true -home of the salad. It would take a book to exhaust the praise it there -inspires. To die eating salad on the banks of the Danube to the wail -of the Czardas--that would be the true death! What, however, save the -ideals realised, is to be effected in a land where tomatoes are as -plentiful as are potatoes in Ireland? - -The Briton, it must be admitted, has of late progressed. Gone is the -time when his favourite salad was a horror unspeakable: an onion and a -lettuce served whole, chopped up by himself, smothered in salt and -pepper, and fairly sluiced with vinegar. To understand the full -iniquity of it, you must remember what an excess of vinegar the -stalwart Briton was equal to in those days, now happily past. An -imperial pint, Mr Weller's friend, the coachman with the hoarse voice, -took with his oysters without betraying the least emotion. As -benighted, smacking no less of the Dark Ages, is the custom of serving -with cheese a lettuce (of the long crisp species known as _cos_ in the -cookery books), cut ruthlessly in halves. You are supposed to dip the -leaves into salt, and afterwards return thanks with a grateful heart. -Many there are who will still eat lettuce in this fashion with their -tea; the curious student of evolution can point to it as a survival of -the old barbarism; to the mustard and cress or cucumber sandwiches -which have replaced it, as a higher phase of development. - -But, though these sorry customs still survive here and there, even as -superstitions linger among ignorant peasants, British eyes are opening -to the truth. The coming of the salad in England marks the passing of -the Englishman from barbarous depth to civilised heights. Has he not -exchanged his old-love Frith for Whistler, and has he not risen from -G. P. R. James to George Meredith? Not a whit less important in the -history of his civilisation is his emancipation from that vile, -vinegar-drenched abomination to the succulent tomato, the unrivalled -potato, well "fatigued" in the "capacious salad-bowl." - -Of every woman worthy of the name, it is the duty to master the secret -of the perfect salad, and to prepare it for her own--and man's--greater -comfort and joy in this life, and--who knows?--salvation in the -next. This secret is all in the dressing. It is easy enough to buy -in the market, or order at the greengrocer's a lettuce, or a cucumber, -or a pound of tomatoes. But to make of them a masterpiece, there's -the rub. Upon the dressing and "fatiguing" success depends. The -mission of the lettuce, the resources of the bean were undreamed -of until the first woman--it must have been a woman!--divined -the virtue that lies in the harmonious combination of oil and -vinegar. Vinegar alone and undiluted is for the vulgar; mixed -with oil it as much surpasses nectar and ambrosia as these hitherto -have been reckoned superior to the liquors of mere human brewing. Of -_mayonnaise_ nothing need as yet be said; it ranks rather with sauces, -irreproachable when poured upon salmon, or chicken, or lobster--upon -the simpler and more delicate salads it seems well-nigh too strong and -coarse. The one legitimate dressing in these cases is made of vinegar -and oil, pepper and salt, and, on certain rare occasions, mustard. - -As with sauces, it is simple to put down in black and white the -several ingredients of the good dressing. But what of the proportions? -What of the methods of mixing? In the large towns of the United States -where men and women delight in the pleasures of the table, are -specialists who spend their afternoons going from house to house, -preparing the salads for the day's coming great event. And perhaps, in -the end, all mankind may see advantages in this division of labour. -For only the genius born can mix a salad dressing as it should be -mixed. Quantities of pepper and salt, of oil and vinegar for him (or -her) are not measured by rule or recipe, but by inspiration. You may -generalise and insist upon one spoonful of oil for every guest and one -for the bowl--somewhat in the manner of tea-making--and then -one-third the quantity of vinegar. But out of these proportions the -Philistine will evolve for you a nauseating concoction; the initiated, -a dressing of transcendental merit. - -As much depends upon the mixing as upon the proportions. The foolish -pour in first their oil, then their vinegar, and leave the rest to -chance, with results one shudders to remember. The two must be mixed -together even as they are poured over the salad, and here the task but -begins. For next, they must be mixed with the salad. To "fatigue" it -the French call this special part of the process, and indeed, to -create a work of art, you must mix and mix and mix until you are -fatigued yourself, and your tomatoes or potatoes reduced to one-half -their original bulk. Then will the dressing have soaked through and -through them, then will every mouthful be a special plea for gluttony, -an eloquent argument for the one vice that need not pall with years. - -One other ingredient must not be omitted here, since it is as -essential as the oil itself. This is the onion-- - - Rose among roots, the maiden fair, - Wine-scented and poetic soul - -of every salad. You may rub with it the bowl, you may chop it up fine -and sprinkle with it the lettuce, as you might sprinkle an omelet with -herbs. But there, in one form or another, it must be. The French have -a tendency to abuse it; they will cut it in great slices to spread -between layers of tomatoes or cucumbers. But there is a touch of -grossness in this device. It is just the _soupçon_ you crave, just the -subtle flavour it alone can impart. You do not want your salad, when -it comes on the table, to suggest nothing so much as the stewed steak -and onions shops in the Strand! The fates forbid. - -"What diversities soever there be in herbs, all are shuffled up -together under the name of sallade." And Montaigne wrote in sadness, -knowing well that there could be no error more fatal. Have you ever -asked for a salad at the greengrocer's, and been offered a collection -of weeds befitting nothing so much as Betsy Prig's capacious pocket? -Have you ever, at the table of the indifferent, been served with the -same collection plentifully drenched with "salad cream"? But these are -painful memories, speedily to be put aside and banished for evermore. -Some combinations there are of herbs or greens or vegetables -unspeakably delicious, even in the thought thereof. But it is not at -haphazard, by an unsympathetic greengrocer, they can be made; not in -haste, from bottles of atrocities, they can be dressed. They are the -result of conscientious study, of consummate art. - -Besides, some varieties there be of flavour too delicate to be -tampered with: for instance, the cabbage lettuce, as the vulgar call -it, which comes in about Easter time, but which, at the cost of a -little trouble, can be had all the year round. For some reason -unknown, your hard-hearted greengrocer, half the time, objects to it -seriously, declares it not to be found from end to end of Covent -Garden. But let him understand that upon his providing it depends your -custom, and he fetches it--the unprincipled one--fast enough. The -ragged outer leaves pulled away, crisp and fresh is the heart, a cool -green and white harmony not to be touched by brutal knife. The leaves -must be torn apart, gently and lovingly, as the painter plays with the -colours on his palette. Then, thrown into the bowl which already has -been well rubbed with onion, and slices of hard-boiled egg laid upon -the top for adornment and flavouring alike, at once may the dressing -of oil and vinegar and salt and pepper be poured on, and the process -of "fatiguing" begin. You need add nothing more, to know, as you eat, -that life, so long as salads are left to us, is well worth the living. - -To say this is to differ in a measure from the great Alexandre, a -misfortune surely to be avoided. To this lettuce he would add herbs of -every kind; nay, even oysters, or tortoise eggs, or anchovies, or -olives--in fact, the subject is one which has sent his ever delightful -imagination to work most riotously. But, in all humility, must it -still be urged that the cabbage lettuce is best ungarnished, save, it -may be, by a touch of the unrivalled celery or slices of the adorable -tomato--never, if yours be the heart of an artist, by the smallest -fragment of the coarse, crude, stupid beetroot. - -The _romaine_, or _cos_, however, is none the worse for Dumas' -suggestions; indeed, it is much the better. Its long stiff leaves, as -they are, may not be "fatigued" with anything approaching ease or -success. It is to be said--with hesitation perhaps, and yet to be -said--that they make the better salad for being cut before they are -put into the bowl. As if to atone for this unavoidable liberty, dainty -additions may not come amiss: the tender little boneless anchovies, -fish of almost any and every kind--most admirably, salmon and a bit of -red herring in conjunction--cucumbers, celery, tomatoes, radishes--all -will blend well and harmoniously. Be bold in your experiments, and -fear nothing. Many failures are a paltry price to pay for one perfect -dish. - -Of other green salads the name is legion: endive, dandelion leaves, -chicory, chervil, mustard and cress, and a hundred and more besides -before the resources of France--more especially the Midi--and Italy be -exhausted. And none may be eaten becomingly without the oil and -vinegar dressing; all are the pleasanter for the _soupçon_ of onion, -and the egg, hard-boiled; a few gain by more variegated garniture. - -But these minor salads--as they might be classed--pale before the -glories of the tomato: the _pomodoro_ of the Italian, the _pomme -d'amour_ of the Provençal--sweet, musical names, that linger tenderly -on the lips. And, indeed, if the tomato were veritably the "love -apple" of the Scriptures, and, in Adam's proprietorship, the olives -already yielded oil, the vines vinegar, then the tragedy in the Garden -of Eden may be explained without the aid of commentary. Many a -man--Esau notably--has sold his birthright for less than a good tomato -salad. - -Dante's _Inferno_ were too good for the depraved who prepare it, as if -it were a paltry pickle, with a dosing of vinegar. It must first -receive the stimulus of the onion; then its dressing must be fortified -by the least suspicion of mustard--English, French, or German, it -matters not which--and if the pleasure that follows does not reconcile -you to Paradise lost, as well might you live on dry bread and cold -water for the rest of your natural days. The joys of the epicure, -clearly, are not for you. It seems base and sordid to offer for so -exquisite a delicacy hygienic references. But the world is still full -of misguided men who prize "dietetic principles" above the delights of -gluttony; once assured that from the eating of the tomato will come -none of the evils "to which flesh is _erroneously supposed_ to be -heir," they might be induced to put tomato salad, made in right -fashion, to the test. Then must they be confirmed faddists indeed, if -they do not learn that one eats not merely to digest. - -To the mystical German, the potato first revealed virtues undreamed of -by the blind who had thought it but a cheap article of food to satisfy -hunger, even by the French who had carried it to such sublime heights -in their _purées_ and _soufflés_, their _Parisiennes_ and -_Lyonnaises_. Not until it has been allowed to cool, been cut in thin -slices, been dressed as a salad, were its subtlest charms suspected. -To the German--to that outer barbarian of the midday dinner--we owe at -least this one great debt of gratitude. Like none other, does the -potato-salad lend itself to the most fantastic play of fancy. It -stimulates imagination, it awakens ambition. A thousand and one ways -there be of preparing it, each better than the last. With celery, with -carrots, with tomatoes, with radishes, with parsley, with cucumber, -with every green thing that grows--in greatest perfection with okras, -the vegetable dear to Hungarian and American, unknown to poor -Britons--it combines graciously and deliciously, each combination a -new ecstasy. And, moreover, it is capable of endless decoration; any -woman with a grain of ingenuity can make of it a thing of beauty, to -look upon which is to sharpen the dullest appetite. So decorative are -its possibilities, that at times it is a struggle to decide between -its merits as an ornament and its qualities as a delicacy. For truth -is, it becomes all the more palatable if dressed and "fatigued" an -hour or so before it is eaten, and the oil and vinegar given time to -soak through every slice and fragment. The wise will disdain, for the -purpose, the ordinary potato, but procure instead the little, hard -"salad potato," which never crumbles; it comes usually from Hamburg, -and is to be bought for a trifle in the German _delicatessen_ shops of -London. - -Poetic in the early spring is the salad of "superb asparagus"--pity it -should ever be eaten hot with drawn butter!--or of artichoke, or of -cucumber--the latter never fail to sprinkle with parsley, touch with -onion, and "fatigue" a good half hour before serving. Later, the -French bean, or the scarlet runner should be the lyrical element of -the feast. And in winter, when curtains are drawn and lamps lit, and -fires burn bright, the substantial _Soissons_, for all its memories of -French commercials, is not to be despised. But, if your soul aspires -to more ethereal flights, then create a vegetable salad--cauliflower, -and peas, and potatoes, and beans, and carrots in rhythmical -proportions and harmonious blending of hues. - - - - -THE SALADS OF SPAIN - - -They are still many and delicious as when Beckford ate them and was -glad, a hundred and more years ago. The treasures of the Incas have -dwindled and disappeared; the Alhambra has decayed and been restored -on its high hill-top; the masterpieces of Velasquez have been torn -from palace walls, to hang in convenient rows in public museums; the -greatness of Spain has long been waning. But the Spaniard still mixes -his salads with the art and distinction that have been his for -centuries. Herein, at least, his genius has not been dimmed, nor his -success grown less. And so long as this remains true, so long will -there be hope of a new Renaissance in the Iberian peninsula. By a -nation's salads may you judge of its degree of civilisation; thus -tested, Spain is in the van, not the rear, of all European countries. - -It is no small achievement to give distinctive character to national -salads, to-day that the virtue of vinegar and oil and the -infallibility of incomparable onion are universally acknowledged and -respected. And yet Spain, in no idle spirit of self-puffery, can boast -of this achievement. She has brought to her _insalada_ a new element, -not wholly unknown elsewhere--in Hungary, for instance--but one which -only by the Spaniard has been fully appreciated, constantly -introduced, and turned to purest profit. This element--need it be -said?--is the pepper, now red, now green. The basis of the Spanish -salad may be--nay, is--the same as in other lands: tomato, cucumber, -lettuce, beans, potatoes. But to these is added pepper--not miserably -dried and powdered, but fresh and whole, or in generous slices--and -behold! a new combination is created, a new flavour evolved. And it is -a flavour so strong, yet subtle withal, so aromatic and spicy, so -_bizarre_ and picturesque--dream-inspiring as the aroma of green -Chartreuse, stimulating as Cognac of ripe years--that the wonder is -its praises hitherto have not been more loudly sung, its delights more -widely cultivated. The trumpet-note struck by the glowing scarlet is -fitting herald of the rapturous thrills that follow in the eating. Not -more voluptuous than the salad thus adorned were the beauties of the -harem, who doubtless feasted upon it under the cypresses and myrtles -of Andalusia. - -The tendency of the Spaniard is ever to harmony, intricate and -infinite. Is not his dish of dishes his _olla cocida_? Is not his -favourite course of vegetables the _pisto_? And so likewise with his -salads: now he may give you tomato just touched with pepper, cucumber -just enlivened by the same stirring presence. But more often he will -present you an arrangement which, in its elaboration, may well baffle -the first investigation of the student. Peppers, as like as not of -both species, tomatoes, cucumber, onion, garlic cut fine as if for a -mince of greens--"pepper hash," the American crudely calls an -arrangement closely akin in motive--are mingled together so deftly, -are steeped in vinegar and oil so effectually, as to seem, not many in -one, but _the_ one in many, the crowning glory of the glorious -vegetable world of the South. Nothing in common has this delectable -salad with the _macédoine_, which the Spaniard also makes. Peas and -carrots, potatoes and tomatoes, beans and cauliflowers meet to new -purpose, when peppers, red and ardent, wander hither and thither in -their midst waging war upon insipidity, destroying, as if by fire, the -tame and the commonplace. Again, lettuce untainted by garlic, -resisting the slightest suspicion of complexity, may answer for the -foolish foreigner who knows no better. But in lettuce prepared for -himself the Spaniard spares not the fragrant garlic; neither does he -omit his beloved peppers, while he never rebels, rejoicing rather, if -occasional slices of cucumber and tomatoes lie hid between the cool -green leaves. - -But fish furnishes him with text for still more eloquent flights, -still loftier compositions. A _mayonnaise_ he can make such as never -yet was eaten under milder suns and duller skies; and a _mayonnaise_ -far from exhausts his all but unlimited resources. Sardines he will -take, or tunny, or any fish that swims, and that, already cooked, has -been either shut up long weeks in protecting tins or left but a few -hours to cool. Whatever the fish chosen, he places it neatly and -confidently at the bottom of his dish; above it he lays lettuce leaves -and garlic and long brilliant slices of scarlet pepper; round about it -he weaves a garniture of olives and hard-boiled eggs that reveal their -hearts of gold. The unrivalled, if cosmopolitan, sauce of vinegar and -oil is poured upon the whole and made doubly welcome. But details are -varied in every fish salad served in Spain; only in its perfection -does it prove unalterable. - -These, and their hundred offshoots were conceived in serious moments. -But once, in sheer levity of spirit and indolence, the gay Andalusian -determined to invent a salad that, to the world beyond his snowy -Sierras, would seem wildest jest, but to himself would answer for food -and drink, and, because of its simplicity and therefore cheapness, -save him many a useless hour of gaining his dinner at the sweat of his -brow. And so, to the strumming of guitars and click of castanets, now -never heard save in books of travel through Andalusia, _gaspacho_ -appeared; destined to be for ever after the target for every -travel-writer's wit, the daily fare of its inventor and his -descendants. To the Andalusian _gaspacho_ is as _macaroni_ to the -Neapolitan, _bouillabaisse_ to the Provençal, chops and steaks to the -Englishman. In hotels, grotesquely French or pretentiously English, -where butter comes out of tins, and salad is garlicless, _gaspacho_ -may be but surreptitiously concocted for the secret benefit of the -household. But go to the genuine Andalusian _posada_ or house, travel -in Andalusian boat, or breakfast at Andalusian buffet, and ten to one -_gaspacho_ figures on the _menu_. - -To describe it, Gautier must be borrowed from. What would you? When -the master has pronounced upon any given subject, why add an -inefficient postscript? When a readymade definition, admirably -rendered, is at your command, why be at the pains of making a new one -for yourself? Never be guilty of any work when others may do it for -you, is surely the one and only golden rule of life. Listen, then, to -the considerate Gautier: "_Gaspacho_ deserves a description to itself, -and so we shall give here the recipe which would have made the late -Brillat-Savarin's hair stand on end. You pour water into a soup -tureen, to this water you add vinegar" (why omit the oil, you -brilliant but not always reliable poet?), "shreds of garlic, onions -cut in quarters, slices of cucumber, some pieces of pepper, a pinch of -salt; then you add bits of bread, which are left to soak in this -agreeable mess, and you serve cold." It should be further explained -that, in the season, tomatoes are almost invariably introduced, that -they and all the greens are chopped up very fine, and that the whole -has the consistency of a _julienne_ supplied with an unusually lavish -quantity of vegetables. It is eaten with a spoon from a soup plate, -though on the _menu_ it appears as a course just before the sweets. -This explanation made, listen again to Gautier, who writes in -frivolous mood. "With us, dogs but tolerably well bred would refuse to -compromise their noses in such a mixture. It is the favourite dish of -the Andalusians, and the prettiest women, without fear, swallow at -evening great spoonfuls of this infernal soup. _Gaspacho_ is held to -be most refreshing, an opinion which to us seems a trifle daring, and -yet, extraordinary as it may be found at the first taste, you finish -by accustoming yourself to it, and even liking it." - -He was right. _Gaspacho_ has its good points: it is pleasant to the -taste, piquant in its very absurdity; it is refreshing, better than -richly-spiced sauces when the sun shines hot at midday. Andalusians -have not been labouring under a delusion these many years. The pepper -is a stimulant; vinegar, oil, and water unite in a drink more cooling -and thirst-quenching than abominable red wine of Valdepeñas. Would you -be luxurious, would you have your _gaspacho_ differ somewhat from the -poor man's, drop in a lump of ice, and double will be your pleasure in -the eating. - -Like all good things _gaspacho_ has received that sincerest form of -flattery, imitation; and, what is more gratifying, received it at -home. Lettuce, cut in tiny pieces, is set floating in a large bowl of -water, vinegar, and oil, well seasoned with salt. Refreshing this also -is claimed to be; though so strange a sight is it to the uninitiated -that a prim schoolma'am, strayed from Miss Wilkins's stories into -Andalusia, has been seen to throw up hands of wonder, and heard to -declare that that salad would find a niche in her diary, to which, as -a rule, she confided nothing less precious than her thoughts. Happy -Spain, to have so conquered! What is Granada to the possession of so -chaste a tribute? - - - - -THE STIRRING SAVOURY - - -First impressions have their value: they may not be dismissed in -flippancy of spirit. But for this reason must last impressions be held -things of nought, not worthy the consideration of ambitious or -intelligent man? First impressions at times are washed away by the -rich, fast stream of after-events, even as the first on a slate -disappear under the obliterating sponge; last impressions remain to -bear testimony after the more tangible facts have passed into the -_ewigkeit_. Else, where the use of the ballade's _envoy_, of the final -sweet or stirring scene as the curtain falls upon the play? - -It is the same with all the arts--with love, too, for that matter, -were there but space to prove it. Love, however, dwindles in -importance when there is question of dinner or breakfast. Life -consists of eating and drinking, as greater philosophers than Sir -Andrew Aguecheek have learned to their infinite delight, have -preached to the solace of others. Therefore, so order your life that -the last impressions of your eating and drinking may be more joyful, -more beautiful than the first; then, and only then, will you have -solved that problem of problems which, since the world began, has set -many a Galahad upon long and weary quest. It behoves you to see that -the feast, which opened with ecstasy, does not close with platitude, -and thus cover you with shame and confusion. A paltry amateur, a -clumsy bungler, is he who squanders all his talent upon the soup, and -leaves the savoury to take care of itself. Be warned in time! - -The patriotic claim the savoury as England's invention. Their -patriotism is pretty and pleasing; moreover, it is not without a -glimmering of truth. For to England belongs the glorious discovery -that the dinner which ends with a savoury ends with rapture that -passeth human understanding! The thing itself has its near of kin, its -ancestors, as one might say. Caviar, olives, lax, anchovies, herrings' -roe, sardines, and as many more of the large and noble family--do not -these appear as _antipasti_ in Italy? In Russia and Scandinavia do -they not, spread symmetrically on side table, serve the purpose of -America's cocktail? And among the palms, as among the pines, coldness -is held to be an essential quality in them. Hot from the ardent oven, -the Parisian welcomes their presence between the soup and the fish, -and many are the enthusiasts who declare this to be the one and only -time for their discreet appearance upon the _menu_. Reason is in the -plea: none but the narrow-minded would condemn it untested and -untried. He who prizes change, who rebels even against the monotony of -the perfect, may now and again follow this fashion so gaily applauded -by _gourmets_ of distinction. But, remembering the _much_ that depends -upon last impressions, the wise will reserve his savoury to make -therewith a fair, brave ending. - -There still walk upon this brutal earth poor heedless women who, in -the innocence of their hearts, believe that the one destiny of cheese -is to lie, cut up in little pieces, in a three-cornered dish, which it -shares with misplaced biscuits and well-meaning rolls of butter, and, -it may be, chilling celery. But cheese, which in many ways has -achieved such marvels, may be wrought into savouries beyond compare. -As _soufflé_, either _au Gruyère_ or _au Parmesan_, it becomes light -and dainty as the poet's lyric, and surely should be served only on -porcelain of the finest. It is simple to say how the miracle is -worked: a well-heated oven, a proper saucepan, butter, water, pepper, -salt and sugar in becoming proportions, the yolks of eggs and grated -Parmesan, the whites of the eggs added, as if an afterthought; and -twenty-five minutes in the expectant oven will do the rest. But was -ever lyric turned out by rule and measure? Even the inspired artist -has been known to fail with his _soufflé_. Here, indeed, is a miracle, -best entrusted to none but the genius. - -_Canapé au Parmesan_ has pretensions which the result justifies. On -the bread, fried as golden as the haloes of Fra Angelico's angels, the -grated Parmesan, mingled with salt and pepper, is spread. A Dutch oven -yields temporary asylum until the cheese be melted, when, quicker than -thought, the _canapés_ are set upon a pretty dish and served to happy -mortals. _Ramaquins_ of cheese, in cases or out, can boast of charms -the most seductive. Nor in _gougère_ or _beignet_ or _bouchée_ will -Parmesan betray confidence. Again, in _pailles_, or straws, on fire -with cayenne, and tied with fluttering ribbons into enticing bunches, -this happy child of the South reveals new powers of seduction. So long -as there is cheese to command, the most fastidious need not wander far -in search of savouries. - -The anchovy may be made a dangerous rival to Parmesan. Whole, or in -paste, it yields enchanting harmonies, burning and fervent as lover's -prayer. Let your choice fall upon the boneless anchovies of France, if -you would aim at the maximum of pleasure and the minimum of labour. -True it is that labour in the kitchen is ever a joy; but, expended -upon one creation when it might be divided among many, must not -sacrifice of variety in sensation be the price paid? Fried after the -fashion of whitebait, sprinkled with _paprika_, and refreshed with -lemon juice, anchovies become quite irresistible as _Orlys d'anchois_. -Prepared in cases, like Parmesan, they are proof against criticism as -_tartelettes_. Now figuring as _petites bouchées_, now as -_rissolettes_, they fail not to awaken new and delicious emotions. -They simply clamour for certain exquisite combinations, to-day with -hard-boiled egg passed through a sieve, to-morrow with olives from -sunny Provence; thin brown bread and butter, or toast, the crisp -foundation. But rarely do they go masquerading so riotously as in the -garb of _croûtes d'anchois_: first, the golden _croûton_, then a slice -of tomato, then a slice of cucumber, then a layer of caviar, then a -layer of anchovies scarlet with _paprika_ and garnished with leaves of -chervil; and behold! you have a pyramid more memorable far than any -raised on Egyptian sands--a pyramid that you need not travel silly -miles to see: it is yours, any day and any hour, for the ordering. - -Lax laid lightly on toast is a pale rose triumph. _Olives -farcies_--caper and anchovy chief ingredients of the _farce_--come -like a flaming ray of southern sunlight. Haddock is smoked in the land -across the border solely that it may ravish the elect in its grandest -phase as _croustades de merluche fumée_. By the shores of the blue -Mediterranean, sardines are packed in tins that the delicate diner of -the far north may know pleasure's crown of pleasure in _canapé de -sardines diablées_. Caviar craves no more elaborate seasoning than -lemon juice and _paprika_ can give; herring roe sighs for devilled -biscuit as friendly resting-place. Shrimp and lobster vie with one -another for the honour either _bouchée_ or _canapé_ bestows. And ham -and tongue pray eagerly to be grated and transformed into bewildering -_croûtes_. The ever-willing mushroom refuses to be outsped in the -blessed contest, but murmurs audibly, "_Au gratin_ I am adorable;" -while the egg whispers, "Stuff me, and the roses and raptures are -yours!" - -But what would the art of eating be without the egg? In two strange -and striking combinations it carries the savoury to the topmost rung -in the ladder of gastronomy. Its union with inexhaustible anchovy and -Bombay duck has for issue "Bombay toast," the very name whereof has -brought new hope to staid dons and earnest scholars. Pledged to -anchovies once more and butter and cream--Mormon-like in its choice of -many mates--it offers as result "Scotch woodcock," a challenge to fill -high the glass with Claret red and rare. - -Endless is the stimulating list. For cannot the humble bloater be -pressed into service, and the modest cod? Do not many more vegetables -than spinach, that plays so strong a part in _Raviole à la Genoese_, -answer promptly when called upon for aid? And what of the gherkin? -What of the almond--the almond mingled with caviar and cayenne? And -what of this, that, and the other, and ingenious combinations by the -score? Be enterprising! Be original! And success awaits you. - - - - -INDISPENSABLE CHEESE - - -With bread and cheese and kisses for daily fare, life is held to be -perfect by the poet. But love may grow bitter before cheese loses its -savour. Therefore the wise, who value the pleasures of the table above -tender dalliance, put their faith in strong Limburger or fragrant -Brie, rather than in empty kisses. If only this lesson of wisdom could -be mastered by all men and women, how much less cruel life might be! - -Nor is cheese without its poetry to comfort the hater of pure prose. -Once the "glory of fair Sicily," there must ever linger about it sweet -echoes of Sicilian song sung under the wild olives and beneath the -elms, where Theocritus "watched the visionary flocks." Did not "a -great white cream-cheese" buy that wondrous bowl--the "miracle of -varied work"--for which Thyrsis sang the pastoral song? Cheese-fed -were the shepherds who piped in the shadow of the ilex tree, while the -calves were dancing in the soft green grass; cheese-scented was the -breath of the fair maidens and beautiful youths they loved. Is there a -woman with soul so dead, who, when in a little country inn fresh -cheese is laid before her, cannot fancy that she sees the goats and -kids among the tamarisks of the sun-kissed Sicilian hills, and hears -the perfect voices of Daphnis and Menalcas, the two herdsmen "skilled -in song"? - -Perhaps because cheese has been relegated to the last course at midday -breakfast, or at dinner, has it lost much of its charm for the -heedless. But who, indeed, playing with peach or orange at dessert, -knows the fruit's true flavour as well as he who plucks it fresh from -the tree while wandering through the peach orchards of Delaware or the -orange groves of Florida? Take a long walk over the moors and through -the heather, or cycle for hours along winding lanes, and then, at -noon, eat a lunch of bread and cheese, and--even without the -kisses--you will find in the frugal fare a godlike banquet. Time was -when bits cut from the huge carcase of a well-battered Cheddar, washed -down with foaming shandygaff, seemed more delicious far than the -choicest dishes at the Lapérouse or Voisin's. Memory journeys back -with joy to the fragrant, tough, little goat's cheese, with flask of -Chianti, set out upon the rough wooden table in front of some wayside -vine-trellised _albergo_, while traveller and cycle rested at the hour -when shade is most pleasant to men. How many a tramp, through the -valleys and over the passes of Switzerland, has been made the easier -by the substantial slice of good Gruyère and the cup of wine well -cooled in near snow-drifts! How many rides awheel through the pleasant -land of France have been the swifter for the Camembert and roll -devoured by the way! - -Places and hours there are when cheese is best. But seldom is it -wholly unwelcome. From dinner, whatever may then be its limitations, -some think it must never be omitted. Remember, they say, as well a -woman with but one eye as a last course without cheese. But see that -you show sympathy and discretion in selecting the variety most in -harmony with your _menu_, or else the epicure's labours will indeed be -lost. It is not enough to visit the cheesemonger's, and to accept any -and every kind offered. The matter is one requiring time and thought -and long experience. You must understand the possibilities of each -cheese chosen, you must bear in mind the special requirements of each -meal prepared. Preposterous it would be truly to serve the -mild-flavoured plebeian species from Canada or America after a -carefully ordered dinner at Verrey's; wasteful, to use adorable Port -Salut or aromatic Rocquefort for a pudding or a Welsh rabbit. - -Study gastronomic proprieties, cultivate your imagination, and as the -days follow each other fewer will be your mistakes. Heavy Stilton and -nutritious Cheddar, you will know, belong by right to undisguised -joint and irrepressible greens: to a "good old-fashioned English -dinner" they prove becoming accompaniments. Excellent they are, after -their fashion, to be honoured and respected; but something of the -seriousness and the stolidity of their native land has entered into -them, and to gayer, more frivolous moods they are as unsuited as a -sermon to a ballroom. If, however, to the joint you cling with -tenacity, and solemn Stilton be the cheese of your election, do not -fail to ripen it with port of the finest vintage or good old ale -gently poured into holes, here and there scooped out for the purpose, -and then filled once more with the cheese itself. - -Strength, fierce in perfume and flavour alike, lies in Limburger, but -it is strength which demands not beef or mutton, but _wurst_ and -_sauerkraut_. Take it not home with you, unless you would place a -highly-scented barrier between yourself and your friends; but, in deep -thankfulness of heart, eat it after you have lunched well and heartily -in the Vienna Cafe, which overlooks Leicester Square, or in that other -which commands Mudie's and Oxford Street. And thanks will be deepened -a hundredfold if, while eating, you call for a long refreshing draught -of Munich beer. - -Sweet, redolent of herbs, are gracious Gorgonzola, of which such -ribald tales are told by the irreverent, and royal Rocquefort, in its -silver wrapping; eaten after "the perfect dinner," each has merit -immeasurable--merit heightened by a glass of Beaune or Chambertin. -Then, too, is the hour for Port Salut, with its soothing suggestion -of monastic peace and contentment, alone a safeguard against -indigestion and other unspeakable horrors; if you respect your -appetite seek it nowhere save in the German _delicatessen_ shop, but -there order it with an easy conscience and confidence in the -white-coated, white-aproned ministering spirit at the counter. Thither -also turn for good Camembert; but, as you hope for pleasure in the -eating, be not too ready to accept the first box offered: test the -cheese within with sensitive finger, and value it according to its -softness, for an unripe Camembert, that crumbles at touch of the -knife, is deadlier far than all the seven deadly sins. It should be -soft and flowing almost as languid _Fromage de Brie_, indolent and -melting on its couch of straw. Beyond all cheese, Gruyère calls for -study and reflection, so many are the shams, by an unscrupulous market -furnished, in its place. As palely yellow as a Liberty scarf, as -riddled with holes as cellular cotton, it should be sweet as Port -Salut, and yet with a reserve of strength that makes it the rival of -Limburger. - -But blessed among cheeses, a romance in itself, is the creamy, subtle -little _Suisse_, delectable as Dumas calls it. Soft and sweet as the -breath of spring, it belongs to the season of lilacs and love. Its -name evokes a vision of Paris, radiant in the Maytime, the long -avenues and boulevards all white and pink with blossoming -horse-chestnuts, the air heavy laden with the fragrance of flowers; a -vision of the accustomed corner in the old restaurant looking out upon -the Seine, and of the paternal waiter bearing the fresh _Suisse_ on -dainty green leaf. Life holds few such thrilling interludes! You may -eat it with salt, and think yourself old and wise; but why not be true -to the spirit of spring? Why not let yourself go a little, and, eating -your _Suisse_ with sugar, be young and foolish and unreasonably happy -again? - -Authorities there be who rank the _Broccio_ of Corsica above the -_Suisse_, and credit it with delicious freshness and Virgilian -flavour. To taste it among its wild hills, then, would be well worth -the long journey to the island in the Mediterranean. In the meantime, -however, none need quarrel with _Suisse_. Hardly a country or district -in the world really that has not its own special cheese; he who would -discover them all and catalogue them must needs write a treatise on -geography. - -But to eat cheese in its many varieties, with butter or salt or sugar, -as the case may be, and to think its mission thus fulfilled, would be -to underestimate its inexhaustible resources. Innumerable are the -masterpieces the culinary artist will make of it. In an omelet you -would pronounce it unsurpassable, so long as kind fate did not set -before you the consummate _Fondue_. As a pudding you would declare it -not to be approached, if sometimes crisp cheese straws were not served -with dinner's last course. On an ocean voyage, Welsh-rabbit late at -night will seem to you the marvel of marvels; on a railway journey a -cheese sandwich at noon you will think still more miraculous--but let -the sandwich be made of brown bread, and mix butter and mustard and -anchovies with the cheese. The wonders that may be worked with -Parmesan alone--whether in conjunction with _macaroni_, or soup, or -cauliflower, or many a dish beside--would be eloquent text for a new -chapter. - - - - -A STUDY IN GREEN AND RED - - -You may search from end to end of the vast Louvre; you may wander from -room to room in England's National Gallery; you may travel to the -Pitti, to the Ryks Museum, to the Prado; and no richer, more stirring -arrangement of colour will you find than in that corner of your -kitchen garden where June's strawberries grow ripe. From under the -green of broad leaves the red fruit looks out and up to the sun in -splendour unsurpassed by paint upon canvas. And the country, with -lavish prodigality born of great plenty, takes pity upon the drear, -drab town, and, packing this glory of colour in baskets and crates, -despatches it to adorn greengrocer's window and costermonger's cart. -"Strawberries all ripe, sixpence a pound," is the itinerant sign which -now sends a thrill through Fleet Street and brings joy to the Strand. - -To modern weakling the strawberry is strong with the strength of -classical approval. The Greek loved it; the Latin vied with him in the -ardour of his affection. Poets sang its wonders and immortalised its -charms. Its perfume was sweet in the nostrils of Virgil; its flavour -enraptured the palate of Ovid; and at banquets under the shadow of the -Acropolis and on sunny Pincian Hill, the strawberry, cultivated and -wild, held place of honour among the dear fruits of the earth. - -Nor did it disappear before the barbarian's inroads. Europe might be -laid waste; beauty and learning and art might be aliens in the land -that was once their home; human enjoyment might centre upon a -millennium to come rather than upon delights already warm within men's -grasp. But still the strawberry survived. Life grew ugly and rue and -barren. But from under broad leaves the little red fruit still looked -out and up to the sun; and, by loveliness of colour and form, of -flavour and scent, proved one of the chief factors in reclaiming man -from barbarism, in leading him gently along the high road to -civilisation and the joy of life. - -Respect for its exquisite perfection was ever deep and heartfelt. -Gooseberries might be turned to wine and figure as fools; raspberries -and currants might be imprisoned within stodgy puddings. But the -strawberry, giver of health, creator of pleasure, seldom was submitted -to desecration by fire. As it ripened, thus was it eaten: cool, -scarlet, and adorable. At times when, according to the shifting of the -seasons, its presence no longer made glad the hearts of its lovers, -desire invented a substitute. As the deserted swain takes what cold -comfort he can from the portrait of his mistress, so the faithful -stayed themselves with the strawberry's counterfeit. And thus was it -made: "Take the paste of Massepain, and roul it in your hands in form -of a Strawberry, then wet it in the juice of Barberries or red -Gooseberries, turn them about in this juice pretty hard, then take -them out and put them into a dish and dry them before a fire, then wet -them again for three or four times together in the same juice, and -they will seem like perfect Strawberries." Master Cook Giles Rose is -the authority, and none knew better. - -If, in moment of folly, in an effort to escape monotony, however -sweet, the strawberry was robbed of its freshness, it was that it -might be enclosed in a tart. Then--how account for man's -inconsistency?--it was so disguised, so modified by this, that, or the -other companion in misery, that it seemed less a strawberry than ever -Master Rose's ingenious counterfeit. And, in witness thereof, read -Robert May, the Accomplished Cook, his recipe: "Wash the strawberries -and put them into the tart; season them with cinnamon, ginger, and a -little red wine, then put on the sugar, bake it half an hour, ice it, -scrape on sugar, and serve it." A pretty mess, in truth, and yet, for -sentiment's sake, worth repetition in this degenerate latter day. -Queen Anne preserved the tradition of her Stuart forefathers, and in -"The Queen's Royal Cooker," a little book graced by the Royal -portrait, Robert May's tart reappears, cinnamon, ginger, and all. So -it was handed down from generation to generation, cropping up here and -there with mild persistency, and now at last, after long career of -unpopularity, receiving distinction anew. - -One tart in a season, as tribute to the past, will suffice. It were a -shame to defile the delicate fruit in more unstinted quantities. -Reserve it rather for dessert, that in fragile porcelain dish or frail -glass bowl it may lose nothing of the fragrance and crispness and glow -of colour that distinguished it as it lay upon the brown earth under -cool green shelter. To let it retain unto the very last its little -green stem is to lend to dinner or breakfast table the same stirring, -splendid harmony that lit up, as with a flame, the kitchen garden's -memorable corner. But if with cream the fruit is to be eaten, then -comfort and elegance insist upon green stem's removal before ever the -bowl be filled or the dish receive its dainty burden. - -At early "little breakfast" of coffee and rolls, or tea and toast, as -you will, what more delicious, what fresher beginning to the day's -heat and struggles, then the plate of strawberries newly picked from -their bed? Banish cream and sugar from this initiative meal. At the -dawn of daily duty and pleasure, food should be light and airy and -unsubstantial. Then the stem, clinging fast to the fruit's luscious -flesh, is surely in place. Half the delight is in plucking the berry -from the plate as if from the bush. - -After midday breakfast, after evening dinner, however, it is another -matter. Cream now is in order; cream, thick and sweet and pure, -covering the departing strawberry with a white pall, as loving and -tender as the snow that protects desolate pastures and defenceless -slopes from winter's icy, inexorable fingers. Sprinkle sugar with the -cream, as flowers might be strewn before the altars of Dionysius and -Demeter. - -Cream may, for time being, seem wholly without rivals as the -strawberry's mate, the two joined together by a bond that no man would -dare put asunder. But the strawberry has been proven fickle in its -loves--a very Cressida among fruits. For to Kirsch it offers ecstatic -welcome, while Champagne meets with no less riotous greeting. To -Cognac it will dispense its favours with easy graciousness, and from -the hot embrace of Maraschino it makes no endeavour to escape. Now, it -may seem as simple and guileless as Chloe, and again as wily and -well-versed as Egypt's far-famed Queen. But with the results of its -several unions who will dare find fault? In each it reveals new, -unsuspecting qualities, subtle and ravishing. On pretty, white-draped -tea-table, rose-embowered, carnation-scented, the strawberry figures -to fairest advantage when Champagne holds it in thrall; in this hour -and bower cream would savour of undue heaviness, would reveal itself -all too substantial and palpable a lover. Again, when elaborate dinner -draws to an end, and dessert follows upon long procession of soup and -fish and _entrées_ and roasts and vegetables and salads and poultry -and sweets and savouries, and who knows what--then the strawberry -becomes most irresistible upon yielding itself, a willing victim, to -the bold demands of Kirsch. A _macédoine_ of Kirsch-drowned -strawberries, iced to a point, is a dish for which gods might languish -without shame. - -She who loves justice never fears to tell the whole truth and nothing -but the truth. To cook the strawberry is to rob it of its sweetest -bloom and freshness. But there have been others to think otherwise, as -it must in fairness be added. To the American, strawberry short-cake -represents one of the summits of earthly bliss. In ices, many will see -the little fruit buried without a pang of regret; and the device has -its merits. As syrup, distended with soda-water and ice-cream, the -conservative Londoner may now drink it at Fuller's. In the flat, open, -national tart, the Frenchman places it, and congratulates himself upon -the work of art which is the outcome. Or, accepting Gouffé as master, -he will soar, one day, to the extraordinary heights of _coupe en -nougat garnie de fraises_, and find a flamboyant colour-print to serve -as guide; the next he will descend to the mere homeliness of _beignets -de fraises_; and, as he waxes more adventurous, he will produce -_bouchées de dame_, or _pain à la duchesse_, _madeleines en surprise_ -or _profiteroles_, each and all with the strawberry for motive. The -spirit of enterprise is to be commended, and not one of Gouffé's list -but will repay the student in wealth of experience gained. The lover, -however, finds it not always easy to remember the student within him, -and if joy in the eating be his chief ambition, he will be constant to -the fresh fruit ever. - - - - -A MESSAGE FROM THE SOUTH - - -What know we of the orange in our barbarous North? To us it is an -alien, a makeshift, that answers well when, our own harvests over, -winter, sterile and gloomy, settles upon the land. But in the joyous -South all the year round it ripens, its golden liquid a solace when -heat and dust parch the throat, as when winds from the frozen North -blow with unwonted cold. The tree that bears it is as eager to produce -as the mothers of Israel, and, in its haste and impatience, often it -whitens its branches with blossoms while still they glow with fruit, -even as Beckford long since saw them in the groves of Naples. - -Bright, rich colour the costermonger's barrow, piled high with oranges -from distant Southern shores, gives to London's dingy streets; and not -a greengrocer's window but takes on new beauty and resplendence when -decorated by the brilliant heaps. But meretricious seems the -loveliness of the orange here, when once it has been seen hanging from -heavy-laden boughs, gleaming between cool dark leaves in its own home, -whether on Guadalquivir's banks or Naples' bay, whether in western -Florida or eastern Jaffa. What has a fruit that languishes in the -garden of Lindajara and basks in Amalfi's sunshine, to do with London -costermongers and fog-drenched shops? - -Wearied and jaded by the long journey, disheartened by the injustice -done to it when plucked in its young, green immaturity, it grows sour -and bitter by the way, until, when it comes to the country of its -exile, but a faint, feeble suggestion of its original flavour remains. -With us, for instance, does not the orange of Valencia mean a little, -thin-skinned, acid, miserable fruit, only endurable when smothered in -sugar or drowned in Cognac? But eaten in Valencia, what is it then and -there? Large and ample are its seductive proportions; its skin, -deeply, gloriously golden, forswears all meagreness, though never too -thick to shut out the mellowing sunshine; its juice flows in splendid -streams as if to vie with the Sierra's quenchless springs; and the -fruit is soft and sweet as the sweet, soft Southern maidens whose -white teeth meet and gleam in its pulp of pure, uncontaminated gold. A -fruit this for romance--a fruit for the Houris of Paradise; not to be -peddled about in brutal barrows among feather-bearing 'Arriets. - -In the South, it were a crime not to eat this fruit, created for the -immortals, just as God made it. Sugar could be added but to its -dishonour; the pots and pans of the sacrilegious cook would be -desecration unspeakable. Feast then, upon its natural charms, and as -the hot Southern breeze brings to you the scent of strange Southern -blossoms, and the sky stretches blindingly blue above, and _One_ sits -at your side feasting in silent sympathy, fancy yourself, if you will, -the new Adam--or Eve--for whom the flaming swords have been lowered, -and the long-closed gates of the Garden of Eden thrown wide open. - -But in the North, banish romance, banish imagination; bring to the -study of the orange the prose of necessity, and realism of the -earnest student. And sometimes, from prose--who knows?--poetry may -spring; from realism will be evolved wild dreaming. - -If the orange be from Jaffa, or "hail" from Florida, and care bestowed -upon it during its long voyaging, then will it need no Northern -artifice to enhance the pleasure in its power to give. True that -something--much, indeed--it will have lost; but something of its -Southern, spicy, subtle sweetness still survives--of the Orient's -glamour, of the mystery of the Western wilderness of flower and fruit. -Eat it, therefore, as it is, unadorned, unspoiled. Tear away tenderly -the covering that cleaves to it so closely; tear the fruit apart with -intelligent fingers; to cut it is to sacrifice its cooling juice to -inanimate china, and to deprive yourself of the first freshness of its -charms. - -When, however, as generally--to our sorrow, be it said--the orange -arrives a parody of itself, it were better to join it to one of its -several dearest affinities. In well-selected company, it may recover -the shadow, and more, of the splendour it elsewhere enjoys in solitary -state. Thus disguised, it may wander from dessert to the course of -sweets, and by so wandering save the resourceless from the monotony of -rice and rizine, batter and bread-and-butter puddings, whose fitting -realm is the nursery, and from an eternity of tarts which do not, like -a good design, gain by repetition. In cocoanut, the orange recognises -a fellow exile, and the two, coming together, yield a new flavour, a -new delight. For this purpose, the orange must be cut that the juice -may flow, and if in symmetrical rounds, the effect will be more -satisfying to the critical. Let the slices be laid at once in the bowl -destined to hold them at the moment of serving, that not a drop of -juice may escape, and arrange them so that over every layer of orange -reposes a layer of sugar. Then taking the cocoanut that has been well -drained, grate it as fine as patience will allow; under it bury the -orange until the gold is all concealed, and the dish looks white and -light and soft as the driven snow. No harm will be done, but, on the -contrary, much good, by preparing some hours before dinner. It is a -pretty conceit; half unwillingly the spoon disturbs this summery -snow-field. But well that it does, for the combination pleases the -palate no less than the eye. The orange summons forth the most -excellent qualities of the cocoanut; the cocoanut suppresses the -acidity and crudeness of the expatriated orange. - -With sugar alone, the orange--of this secondary order be it -remembered--comes not amiss, when the soul yearns for placidness and -peace. If more stirring sensations be craved, baste the cut-up oranges -and sugar with Cognac, and eat to your own edification. Again prepare -some hours before serving, and be not stingy with the Cognac: keep -basting constantly; and be certain that if the result please you not, -the fault lies not with the fruit and spirits, both exultant in the -unexpected union. - -The conservative, unused to such devices, envelop oranges in soulless -fritters and imprison them in stodgy puddings. Beware their example! -One followed, there is no telling the depths of plodding imbecility to -which you may be plunged. Not for the frying-pan or the pudding-bowl -was the golden fruit predestined. Better eat no sweets whatever than -thus degrade the orange and reveal our own shortcomings. - -Who will deny that in the world's great drinks the orange has played -its part with much distinction? In bitters it is supreme, if gin in -due proportions be added. And where would mankind be by now, had the -orange-evolved liqueurs remained undiscovered? How many happy -after-dinner hours would never have been! How insipid the flavour of -Claret and Champagne-cup! Even temperance drinks may be endured when -orange is their basis. Go to Madrid or Granada, drink _bebida helada -de naranja_, and confess that in Spain the teetotallers, if any such -exist, have their compensation. A _purée neigeuse, une espèce de glace -liquide_, Gautier described it in a moment of expansion; and, when art -is in question, what Gautier has praised who would revile? With the -Spanish _bebida de naranja_, the American orange water ice may dispute -the palm. - -In humbler incarnation it appears as marmalade, without which the -well-regulated household can do as little as without sapolio or -Reckitt's blue. Who throughout the British Isles does not know the -name of Keiller? Bread and butter might better go than this most -British of British institutions, the country's stay and support in -time of peace, its bulwark when war drives Tommy Atkins into action. -Thus has the North turned the South to its own everyday uses, and the -fruit of poets passes into the food of millions. - -In fruit salad, orange should be given a leading and conspicuous rôle, -the aromatic little Tangerine competing gaily and guilelessly with the -ordinary orange of commerce. There is scarce another fruit that grows -with which it does not assimilate, with which it does not mingle, to -the infinite advantage of the ardent _gourmet_. This, none knows -better than the Spaniard, slandered sorely when reported a barbarian -at table. If some of his refinements we could but imitate, artists -truly we might be considered. He it is who first thought to pour upon -his strawberries, not thick cream, but the delicate juice of the -orange freshly cut. Here is a combination beyond compare; and is there -not many another that might be tested as profitably? Orange and -apricot, orange and plum, orange and peach. Experiment; for even -where failure follows, will not a new sensation have been secured? The -failure need never be repeated. But to each new success will be -awarded life eternal. - - - - -ENCHANTING COFFEE - - -A perfectly wise man is he who is fully expert and skilful in the true -use of sensualities, as in all other duties belonging to life. In the -household where wisdom rules, dinner, from savoury _hors d'oeuvre_ to -aromatic coffee, will be without reproach--or suspicion. The foolish -devote their powers to this course or that, and in one supreme but -ill-advised endeavour exhaust their every resource. Invention carries -them no further than the soul; even discreet imitation cannot pilot -them beyond the _entrée_. With each succeeding dish their folly -becomes more obvious, until it culminates in the coffee, which, -instead of the divine elixir it should be, proves but a vile, -degrading concoction of chicory. Here is the chief among gastronomic -tests; the hostess who knows not how to prepare a cup of coffee that -will bring new light to her guests' eyes, new gaiety to their talk, is -not worthy to receive them; the guest, who does not know good coffee -when it is set before him deserves to be cast into outer darkness and -fed for evermore upon brimstone and treacle. Better far throw pearls -before swine, than pour good coffee into the cups of the indifferent. - -The sympathies of the gourmand are all for the mighty ones of old--for -an Epicurus in Greece, a Lucullus in Rome--to whom the gods had not -yet given the greatest of their gifts, coffee. Sad indeed the banquet, -dreamy the evening uncheered, unblessed by fragrant Mocha or mild -Mysore. Poor mortals still stood without the gates of Paradise, never -once foreseeing the exquisite joys to come, unconscious of the penalty -they paid for living so much too soon. And while they thus dwelt in -sorrowful ignorance, shepherds, leading their flocks through sweet -pasture-land, paused in their happy singing to note that the little -kids and lambs, and even staid goats and sheep, waxed friskier and -merrier, and frolicked with all the more light-hearted abandonment -after they had browsed upon a certain berry-bearing bush. Thyme and -lavender, mint and marjoram, never thus got into their little legs, -and sent them flying off on such jolly rambles and led them into such -unseemly antics. And the shepherds, no doubt, plucked the berry and -tasted it, and found it good. And one day--who knows how?--by chance, -they roasted it, and the fragrance was as incense in their nostrils. -And then, another time they pounded it, and, it may be by merest -accident, it fell into the water boiling over the fire for their -midday meal. And thus, first, coffee was made. - -To Abyssinia, otherwise an unknown factor in the history of good -living, belongs the credit of producing the first coffee-drinkers. All -honour where honour is due. The debt of the modern to Greece and Rome -is smaller far than to that remote country which not one man in ten, -to whom coffee is a daily necessity, could point out upon the map. - -Arabs, wandering hither and thither, came to Abyssinia as they -journeyed, and there drank the good drink and rejoiced. Among them -were pious Moslems, who at times nodded over prayers, and, yawning -pitifully as texts were murmured by lazy lips, knew that damnation -must be their doom unless sleep were banished from their heavy eyes -at prayer time. And to them as to the sheep and lambs, as to the goats -and kids, the wonder-working berry brought wakefulness and gaiety. And -into Arabia the Happy, they carried it in triumph, and coffee was -drunk not for temporal pleasure but for spiritual uses. It kept -worshippers awake and alert for the greater glory of Allah, and the -faithful accepted it with praise and thanksgiving. - -But, again, like the flocks in Abyssinian pastures, it made them too -alert, it seems. After coffee, prayer grew frolicsome, and a faction -arose to call it an intoxicant, to declare the drinking of it a sin -against the Koran. Schisms followed, and heresies, and evils dire and -manifold. But coffee fought a good fight against its enemies and its -detractors; and from Arabia it passed to Constantinople, from Turkey -to England, and so on from country to country, until in the end there -was not one in Europe, or in the New World (which men had not then so -long discovered), but had welcomed the berry that clears the clouded -brain and stimulates the jaded body. - -To all men its finest secrets have not been revealed. Dishonoured by -many it has been and still is. Unspeakable liquids, some thick and -muddy, others thin and pale, borrow its name with an assurance and -insolence that fool the ignorant. Chicory arrogantly and -unscrupulously pretends to compete with it, and the thoughtless are -deceived, and go their way through life obdurate and unrepentant, -deliberately blinding themselves to the truth. Others understand not -the hour and the place, and order it at strange moments and for -stranger functions. Americans there be who, from thick, heavy, odious -cups, drink it, plentifully weakened with milk, as the one proper and -fit accompaniment for dinner; a spoonful of coffee follows a spoonful -of soup; another is prelude to the joint; a second cup poisons the -sweet. On the other hand, be it admitted in fairness, no coffee is -purer and better than that of the American who has not fallen into -such mistaken courses. And he who doubts should, without delay, drop -in at Fuller's in Regent Street, or the Strand, where to taste is to -believe. - -In the afternoon, plump German matrons and maids gather about the -coffee-pot, and fancy, poor souls! that they, of all womankind, are -most discriminating in their choice of time and opportunity. Gossip -flows smoothly on; household matters are placidly discussed; and the -one and only end of coffee remains for them, now and always, unknown -and unsuspected. In their blameless innocence and guileless -confidence, may they have whatever happiness belongs by right to the -race of humble and unaspiring housewives. - -In England the spurious is preferred to the genuine; and rare, indeed, -is the house or restaurant, the hotel or lodgings, where good coffee -is the portion of blundering humanity. Over the barbarous depths into -which the soul-inspiriting berry has been dragged in unhappy Albion, -it is kinder to draw a veil. - -But in the inscrutable East, the cradle of mysticism, where no problem -discourages earnest seekers after truth, coffee may yet be had in full -perfection. In the West, France is not without her children of light, -and in the tall glass of the _café_ or the deep bowl of the _auberge_ -coffee sometimes is not unworthy of the name, though chicory, the -base, now threatens its ruin. However, Austria, nearer to the -mother-country, makes the coffee of France seem but a paltry -imitation, so delicious is the beautiful brown liquid, flowing in rich -perennial streams in every _café_, gilded or more modest. And yet -Austria, in her turn, is eclipsed, wholly and completely, by the home -of Attila and Kossuth. Drink, if only once, coffee on the banks of the -Danube, while gipsies "play divinely into your ear," and life will -never more seem quite so meaningless. - -It is not easy to understand why the multitude continue content with a -bad substitute when the thing itself, in all its strength and -sweetness, may be had for the asking. A little knowledge, a trifle -more experience, and good coffee may be the solace and stimulus of the -honest Briton, as of the wily Turk, the wandering Arab, and the fierce -Magyar. - -Know then, first, that your coffee berries must be pure and -unadulterated. Turn a deaf ear to the tempter who urges economy and -promises additional flavour. Against chicory, protest cannot be too -urgent or violent. It is poison, rank and deadly. The liver it -attacks, the nerves it destroys, and the digestion it disorganises -hopelessly, disastrously. To the well-trained palate it is coarse -beyond redemption. The fictitious air of strength it lends to the -after-dinner cup delights the ignorant and saddens the wise. But why -waste too recklessly good paper and type upon so degrading a topic? -Why not say once and for all that chicory is impossible and revolting, -an insult to the epicure, a cruel trial to the sybarite, a crime to -the artist? Renounce it before it is too late, and put your trust in -the undrugged berries from Arabia or Brazil, from Java or Porto Rico. -Mocha is irreproachable, though it loses nothing when blended with -Java or Mysore. - -As the painter mixes his colours upon his palette until the right tint -springs into being, so, if in befitting humility and patience, you -blend coffee with coffee, know that, the day is at hand when the -perfect flavour will be born of the perfect union. From venturing to -recommend one harmony above all others, the most daring would refrain; -Mocha and Java might inspire hymns of praise in Paradise; and yet -many _gourmets_ would yearn for a keener, stronger aroma, many sigh -for a subtler. As in matters of love, for yourself must you choose and -decide. - -Sacrilegious indeed it were if, after infinite trouble and tender care -in your choice, you delivered the blend of your heart to the -indifferent roasting pans, or cylinders, of any chance grocer. Roast -it yourself, so that the sweet savour thereof fills your house with -delicious memories of the Eastern bazaar and the Italian _piazza_. -Roast it in small quantities, no more at a time than may be needed for -the "little breakfast," or the after-dinner cup. And roast it fresh -for each meal. Be not led astray by the indolent and heedless who -prize the saving of labour above the pleasures of drink, and, without -a blush of shame, would send you to a shop to buy your berries -roasted. The elect listen not to the tempting of the profane. In a -saucepan, with lid, may the all-important deed be done. Or else a -vessel shaped for the solemn rite may be bought. But whichever be -used, let your undivided attention direct the process; else the -berries will be burnt. A small piece of pure, irreproachable butter in -the pan or "drum" will prove a friendly ally. While still hot, place -the brown berries--carefully separating those done to a turn from the -over-burnt, if any such there be--in the expectant mill, and grind at -once. - -If much depend upon the roasting, no less is the responsibility that -rests with the grinding. The working of the mill, soft and low as -heard from afar, makes most musical accompaniment to dinner's later -courses. It is guarantee of excellence, certificate of merit. Thus -trusted to the mill, when time presses, none of the coffee's essence -can escape, none of its aroma. And there is art in the grinding: -ground exceeding small it may answer for boiling, but not for -filtering or dripping; and so be wary. If picturesqueness of -preparation have charms for you, then discard the mill and, vying with -the Turks, crush the berries in a mortar with a wooden crusher. The -difference in results, though counted vast by the pedant, in truth -exists not save in the imagination. - -And now collect your thoughts in all seriousness and reverence, for -the supreme moment has come. The berries are roasted and ground: the -coffee is to be made! And how? That's the problem to the Englishwoman -to whom good coffee is a mystery as unfathomable as original sin or -papal infallibility. How? By a process so ridiculously easy as to be -laughed to scorn by the complex modern. In all art it is the -same--simplicity, the fruit of knowledge and experience, is a virtue -beyond compare. But poor blind humans, groping after would-be ideals, -seek the complicated, mistaking it to be the artistic. Arguing then, -from their own foolish standpoint, they invent strange and weird -machines in which they hope to manufacture perfection; coffee-pots, -globular in shape, which must be turned suddenly, swiftly, surely, at -the critical instant, else will love's labour all be lost; -coffee-pots, with glass tubes up which the brown liquid rushes, then -falls again, a Niagara in miniature; coffee-pots with accommodating -whistles blowing shrill warning to the slothful; coffee-pots that -explode, bomb-like, at the slightest provocation; coffee-pots that -splutter, overflow, burst, get out of order, and, in a word, do -everything that is dreadful and unseemly. Of these, one and all, fight -shy. Coffee calls not for a practical engineer to run the machine. - -In three ways, so simple a child may understand, so perfect a god -might marvel, can the delectable drink, that gives wakefulness and a -clear brain, be made. In the first place, in ordinary pot, it may be -boiled, allowing a tablespoonful of the ground berries to a cup of -water, taking the pot off the fire, once the beautiful, seductive -brown froth is formed on the top, pouring in a small teaspoonful of -water that the grounds may settle; serve without delay, linger over it -lovingly, and then go forth gaily to conquer and rejoice. - -In the second place--more to be commended--use a _cafétière_, or -filter of tin or earthenware, the latter by preference. Place the -coffee, ground not too fine, and in the same proportions, in the upper -compartment. Pour in slowly water that is just at the boiling point, a -little only at a time, keeping the kettle always on the fire that the -all-important boiling point may not be lost, and let the water filter -or drip slowly through the grounds spread in a neat layer. Some there -be who stand the pot or lower compartment in a pan of boiling water, -and they have reason with them. Others who, when all the water has -passed through to the pot below, set it to filtering, or dripping, a -second time, and they are not wholly wrong. But of all things, be -careful that the coffee does not cool in the process. Of life's many -abominations, lukewarm coffee is the most abominable. - -The third of the three ways yields Turkish coffee. The special pots -for the purpose, with their open tops and long handles, are to be -found in one or more large Regent-street and Oxford-street shops. Get -the proper vessel, since it answers best, and is, however, a pleasure -to the eye, a stimulus to the imagination of all who at one happy -period of their lives have dwelt in Turkey or neighbouring lands. Now, -grind your coffee finer, but be faithful to the same proportions. Into -the water drop first the sugar, measuring it according to your taste -or mood, or leaving it out altogether if its sweetness offend you. Put -your pot on the fire, and when the water is boiling merrily, drop in -the coffee. To a boil, as kitchen slang has it, let it come, but gay -bubbles on its surface must be signal to lift off the pot; put it on -the fire again, almost at once, remove it bubbling a second time, put -it on again, and again remove it. This device repeated thrice will be -enough, though a fourth repetition can do no harm. A teaspoonful of -cold water will compel unruly grounds to settle. Pour the thick, rich, -brown liquid, as it breaks into beautiful yellow froth on the top, -into the daintiest cups your cupboard holds, and drink it and -happiness together. - -To add cream or milk to Turkish coffee would be a crime; nor must more -sugar be dropped into its fragrant, luscious depths. Ordinary -after-dinner coffee should also be drunk without cream or milk, if -pleasure be the drinker's end. Indeed, a question it is whether it be -ever wise to dilute or thicken coffee and tea with milk, however well -boiled, with cream, however fresh. The flavour is destroyed, the aroma -weakened. But black coffee with breakfast would mean to begin the day -at too high a state of pressure, in undue exhilaration of spirits. To -speak honestly, coffee is no less a mistake in the morning hours than -Whisky-and-soda or Absinthe. But custom has sanctioned it; it has -become a bad habit from one end of the Continent to the other, in -innumerable otherwise wholly decorous British households. But slaves -of habit should wear their chains so that there is as little friction -and chafing as possible. Therefore, make your morning coffee strong -and aromatic and pure as if destined for after-dinner delights: but -pour into it much milk; half and half would prove proportions within -reason. Not out of the way is it to borrow a hint from provincial -France and serve _café-au-lait_ in great bowls, thus tacitly placing -it forever on a plane apart from _café noir_. Or else, borrow wisdom -from wily Magyar and frivolous Austrian, and exquisite, dainty, -decorative whipped cream heap up high on the surface of the morning -cup. Take train to-morrow for Budapest; haunt its _cafés_ and -kiosques, from the stately Reuter to the Danube-commanding Hungaria; -study their methods with diligence and sincerity; and then, if there -be a spark of benevolence within you, return to preach the glad -gospel of good coffee to the heathen at home. A hero you would be, -worthy countryman of Nelson and of Wellington; and thus surely should -you win for yourself fame, and a niche in Westminster Abbey. - - - - - * * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber's note: - -Minor spelling inconsistencies, mainly hyphenated and accented -words, have been made consistent. - -St. Estéphe changed to St. Estèphe. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FEASTS OF AUTOLYCUS*** - - -******* This file should be named 41696-8.txt or 41696-8.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/1/6/9/41696 - - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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