An elegant Roman, meeting a friend, regretted he could not invite him to
dinner, "because my _number_ is complete."
When Archestratus acknowledges that some things are for the winter, and
some for the summer, he consoles himself, that though we cannot have
them at the same time, yet, at least, we may talk about them at all
times.
This great genius seems to have travelled over land and seas that he
might critically examine the things themselves, and improve, with new
discoveries, the table-luxuries. He indicates the places for peculiar
edibles and exquisite potables; and promulgates his precepts with the
zeal of a sublime legislator, who is dictating a code designed to
ameliorate the imperfect state of society.
A philosopher worthy to bear the title of cook, or a cook worthy to be a
philosopher, according to the numerous curious passages scattered in
Athenæus, was an extraordinary genius, endowed not merely with a natural
aptitude, but with all acquired accomplishments. The philosophy, or the
metaphysics, of cookery appears in the following passage:--
"Know then, the COOK, a dinner that's bespoke,
Aspiring to prepare, with prescient zeal
Should know the tastes and humours of the guests;
For if he drudges through the common work,
Thoughtless of manner, careless what the place
And seasons claim, and what the favouring hour
Auspicious to his genius may present,
Why, standing 'midst the multitude of men,
Call we this plodding _fricasseer_ a Cook?
Oh differing far! and one is not the other!
We call indeed the _general_ of an army
Him who is charged to lead it to the war;
But the true general is the man whose mind,
Mastering events, anticipates, combines;
Else is he but a _leader_ to his men!
With our profession thus: the first who comes
May with a humble toil, or slice, or chop,
Prepare the ingredients, and around the fire
Obsequious, him I call a fricasseer!
But ah! the cook a brighter glory crowns!
Well skill'd is he to know the place, the hour,
Him who invites, and him who is invited,
What fish in season makes the market rich,
A choice delicious rarity! I know
That all, we always find; but always all,
Charms not the palate, critically fine.
Archestratus, in culinary lore
Deep for his time, in this more learned age
Is wanting; and full oft he surely talks
Of what he never ate. Suspect his page,
Nor load thy genius with a barren precept.
Look not in books for what some idle sage
So idly raved; for cookery is an art
Comporting ill with rhetoric; 'tis an art
Still changing, and of momentary triumph!
Know on thyself thy genius must depend.
All books of cookery, all helps of art,
All critic learning, all commenting notes,
Are vain, if, void of genius, thou wouldst cook!"
The culinary sage thus spoke: his friend
Demands, "Where is the ideal cook thou paint'st?"
"Lo, I the man?" the savouring sage replied.
"Now be thine eyes the witness of my art!
This tunny drest, so odorous shall steam,
The spicy sweetness so shall steal thy sense,
That thou in a delicious reverie
Shalt slumber heavenly o'er the Attic dish!"
In another passage a Master-Cook conceives himself to be a pupil of
Epicurus, whose favourite but ambiguous axiom, that "Voluptuousness is
the sovereign good," was interpreted by the _bon-vivans_ of antiquity in
the plain sense.
MASTER COOK.
Behold in me a pupil of the school
Of the sage Epicurus.
FRIEND.
Thou a sage!
MASTER COOK.
Ay! Epicurus too was sure a cook,
And knew the sovereign good. Nature his study,
While practice perfected his theory.
Divine philosophy alone can teach
The difference which the fish _Glociscus_[124] shows
In winter and in summer: how to learn
Which fish to choose, when set the Pleiades,
And at the solstice. 'Tis change of seasons
Which threats mankind, and shakes their changeful frame.
This dost thou comprehend? Know, what we use
In season, is most seasonably good!
FRIEND.
Most learned cook, who can observe these canons
MASTER COOK.
And therefore phlegm and colics make a man
A most indecent guest. The aliment
Dress'd in my kitchen is true aliment;
Light of digestion easily it passes;
The chyle soft-blending from the juicy food
Repairs the solids.
FRIEND.
Ah! the chyle! the solids!
Thou new Democritus! thou sage of medicine!
Versed in the mysteries of the Iatric art!
MASTER COOK.
Now mark the blunders of our vulgar cooks!
See them prepare a dish of various fish,
Showering profuse the pounded Indian grain,
An overpowering vapour, gallimaufry
A multitude confused of pothering odours!
But, know, the genius of the art consists
To make the nostrils feel each scent distinct;
And not in washing plates to free from smoke.
I never enter in my kitchen, I!
But sit apart, and in the cool direct,
Observant of what passes, scullions' toil.
FRIEND.
What dost thou there?
MASTER COOK.
I guide the mighty whole;
Explore the causes, prophesy the dish.
'Tis thus I speak: "Leave, leave that ponderous ham;
Keep up the fire, and lively play the flame
Beneath those lobster patties; patient here,
Fix'd as a statue, skim, incessant skim.
Steep well this small Glociscus in its sauce,
And boil that sea-dog in a cullender;
This eel requires more salt and marjoram;
Roast well that piece of kid on either side
Equal; that sweetbread boil not over much."
'Tis thus, my friend, I make the concert play.