Just as Caruso is prouder of the caricatures he draws than of his
achievements as the leading tenor of his time, so Rossini prided
himself more on his skill in dressing a salad than on his having
written successful operas. He frequently delighted his guests with
dishes prepared by himself, and used to declare, half seriously, that
he had missed his vocation.
One day, when a friend, taking him at his word, asked him why he had
not become a cook, he replied that he would have done so had not his
early education been too much neglected.
A famous French chef, proud of his profession, declared that while
there have been musicians and other artists who were already famous at
the age of twenty, preëminence in cooking has never occurred under the
more mature age of thirty.
Carême, at an early age, had the ambition, as he relates in his
memoirs, of elevating his profession to an art. For ten years he
studied with the most eminent chefs, besides reading books and taking
notes like a scholar.
Like all genuine artists, he was grateful for true appreciation of his
art. Of Talleyrand he wrote: "He understands the genius of a cook, he
respects it, he is the most competent judge of delicate progress, and
his expenditures are wise and great at the same time."
Why do not great culinary artists abound in America?
Because there is too little appreciation of their art.
Paderewski, in his château on the shores of Lake Geneva, where he
lives like a king of epicures, thanks to the intelligent and artistic
housekeeping of his devoted wife (the Baroness of Rosen), told me an
anecdote which illustrates this point.
During one of his first tours in the United States he enjoyed a dinner
which was equal to anything he could have expected in one of the best
Parisian restaurants. He was so surprised and pleased that he sent his
thanks and compliments to the chef.
A few years later, happening to be in the same city, he again went to
that restaurant. The meal he got was still far above the average, but
was not as good as before. However, on the occasion of a third visit,
he again tried the same place. The food was uninteresting from the
beginning of the meal to the end.
He asked the head waiter whether the former chef had left. He had not
left, the waiter informed him; and, on being pressed for an explanation
of the change in the quality of the meals, he said:
"If you had to play, night after night, before an audience of
barbarians who did not appreciate the best things in your performances,
would you continue, year after year, to play as well as you do now?"
Paderewski had to confess to him that, in all probability, he would not.