[Illustration: Cook Personally Conducting.]
If you're anxious to eat without any repining,
Read THEODORE CHILD upon "Delicate Dining."
This sage gastronomic full soothly doth say,
That no mortal can dine more than once in the day;
Then he quotes LOUIS QUINZE, that the art of the cook
Must be learnt most from practice, and not from a book;
While you also will find in the readable proem,
Doctor KING said a dinner resembled a poem.
We shall next see a cook can have only the dimmest
Of notions of art, if he isn't a chemist.
So we learn here the names and the separate uses
Of muscular fibre, albumen and juices.
We are shown the right methods of roasting and boiling,
Of frying and stewing, decocting and broiling;
While our author in words there can be no mistaking,
Is dead against "roasting" in ovens--or baking.
Our asparagus then we are heedfully told,
[Greek: Iostephanos] should be like Athens of old:
With a violet head and a stalk very white
While this CHILD thinks that tepid it yields most delight.
On the artichoke too with affection he lingers,
And also advises you eat with your fingers,
_Petits pois à la Française_ are here, the receipt
That he gives is a good one but haply too sweet.
Our author is great upon salads and sauces,
To cool our hot palates, or tittivate _fauces_;
Here is all you need learn about GOUFFÉ'S _Béarnaise_,
And a charming receipt for the _Sauce Hollandaise_.
In England we know that in sauces we're weak,
And we've never attained to the _cuisine classique_;
But French Seigneurs of old gave full rein to their wishes,
And live on immortal in delicate dishes.
We are told how to give and receive invitations,
And eke how a table may need decorations.
We agree with the author who says when you dine,
It is very much better to stick to one wine,
Be it ruddy Bordeaux or the driest Champagne,
Let the latter be cool but your ice is no gain.
While on coffee and tea he is sound as a bell,
With all dexterous dodges for making them well.
No man ever escaped--to a cook who did wrong,
For his art ranks so high, said MENANDER's old song.
And the ancients we know loved both oysters and pullets,
When the [Greek: oinos kekramenos] slipped down their gullets.
While here is a man to have joined them when roses,
In classical fashion, were cocked o'er their noses.
So we'll take leave of CHILD and his capital book,
With a "Bon appetit" to the _gourmet_ and cook.
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