"_Fill up the bowl, then, fill it high--
Fill all the glasses there, for why
Should every creature drink but I;
Why, man of morals, tell me why?_"
WHEN all the world adopts the Pythagorean menu as its standard of good
living then I will bestir myself and concoct the daintiest dishes
possible from those "foods that are freshly chemicalized by the sun's
rays," and will gladly give you the benefit of my experiences. But I'm
no reformer, and until that day of universal self-denial arrives I
will continue the tenor of my way along the old line, and try to
idealize commonplace, every-day viands into dishes that pique the
appetite, and make of eating a delicate delight. A very material
vocation, it is true, but as matters stand a highly useful one. Eh?
Now there are smelts, as plump and inviting a fish as can be found in
the market, and at their best, too. But how many housekeepers are
there who ever think of serving them in any way but just simply fried?
Frequently, of course, they do serve them with a tartar sauce, but
nine times out of ten it would be better for all concerned if the
sauce were neglected or forgotten, or upset, or anything that would
keep it away from the table.