&c. &c. &c.
You are all aware, honorable readers, of the continual tribulation in
carving at table, for appetites more or less colossal, and when all eyes
are fixed upon you with anxious avidity. Very few persons are perfect in
this useful art, which requires not only grace, but a great deal of
skill. Others become very nervous; many complain of the knife, which has
not the least objection to be found fault with; or else they say, this
capon, pheasant, or poularde is not young, and consequently not of the
best quality. You may sometimes be right, but it certainly often happens
that the greatest gourmet is the worst carver, and complains sadly
during that very long process, saying to himself, “I am last to be
served; my dinner will be cold.”
Reproaches of this kind are daily addressed to the culinary artiste, who
remembers perfectly well having burned his fingers whilst sending up
those important removes. To illustrate this just question I will relate
a curious and historic anecdote:--having one day served a _petit diner_,
_très recherché_, for five persons, in which was a poularde à
l’ambassadrice, a new and rather voluminous dish of mine, after the
first course a message was sent to me that the gentlemen had found
_that_ dish so good they regretted I had not sent two poulardes instead
of one; at first I took this message for a _pleasantry_, but a short
time after three parts of the poularde came down in a state that if
exposed over a laundry door would have served for a sign, without having
recourse to those popular words, “mangling done here;” the sight of a
dish so greatly disfigured made me collect a few of my little culinary
ideas. Nature, says I to myself, compels us to dine more or less once a
day; each of those days you are, honorable reader, subject to meet _en
tête-à-tête_ with a fowl, poularde, duck, pheasant, or other volatile
species; is it not bad enough to have sacrificed the lives of those
_animaux bienfaisans_ to satisfy our indefatigable appetites, without
pulling and tearing to atoms the remains of our benefactors? It is high
time for the credit of humanity and the comfort of quiet families, to
put an end to the massacre of those innocents.
Amongst other tribulations of carving I shall relate a most _boufonne_
anecdote. “If you should, unhappily, be forced to carve at table,” says
Launcelot Sturgeon, in his Essays, Moral, Philosophical, and Stomachic,
“neither labour at the joint until you put yourself into a heat, nor
make such a desperate effort to dissect it as may put your neighbours in
fear of their lives; however, if any accident should happen, make no
excuses, for they are only an acknowledgment of awkwardness. We
remember to have seen a man of high fashion deposit a turkey in this way
in the lap of a lady, but with admirable composure, and without offering
the slightest apology, he finished a story which he was telling at the
same time, and then, quietly turning to her, merely said, ‘Madam, I’ll
thank you for that turkey.’” My conscience will not allow me to swear to
the authenticity of the fact, but in the course of twelve months past I
have witnessed a very similar instance, only the party not possessing
the assurance of the fashionable above mentioned, did not continue the
conversation, but in his nervous anxiety, endeavouring to replace it on
the dish with vivacity, sent it rolling across the table to his
right-hand neighbour, who quickly perceiving the imminent danger in
which he was placed, fortunately arrested its further progress with his
fork. One hearty laugh of the remaining party terminated this scene of
confusion.
After a short consideration I found, by a most simple rule, and with the
greatest facility, that a bird that would take ten minutes to carve very
badly may be done well in two or three by the most inexperienced person.
From this process a number of advantages may be derived: first, you may
eat your dinner much hotter; secondly, you can make eight or ten pieces
of a fowl, or any other bird, where, previously, great difficulty was
experienced in making five or six; and each person will thereby be
enabled to choose a favorite piece; a large bird, such as turkey,
poularde, capon, &c., will be fit to reappear on your table in a very
inviting state. I must also observe that the birds are not in the least
disfigured, but, on the contrary, their appearance is much improved.