THE APPEAL TO THE EYE
No one, least of all the French cook, calculates to feast the eye at the expense of the sense of taste, yet it is his experience after long years that good digestion is much more likely to wait upon the appetite that has been stirred to a preliminary enthusiasm by the attractive appearance of a dish. So they serve little fritters of vegetables, dabs of jelly, slices of hard boiled eggs, pickles, parsley, cress and nasturtiums with meats, put sprigs of fresh green in their gravies, decorate desserts with nut-meats, flowers and fruits, and in so doing add a bit to the gayety of the table, satisfied that the trifling extra expense, time and energy incurred is more than compensated for in the pleasure the results afford. A fair trial of this pleasant idiosyncrasy of the French is convincing that the appearance of a dish has more bearing on the relish of a meal than we over here have fully realized.
They are particular, however, to be consistent in the use of garnishings. Flowers and fruits are reserved for sweet dishes, except in the case of nasturtiums, which they regard as much a vegetable as a flower and use freely with meats.
A stew or a creamed dish is merely a more or less indifferent something to eat when it is dished up any old way and set upon the table. But if it is heaped daintily on a pretty platter, surrounded by a ring of brown mashed potato, its sides decorated by dainty shapes of toasted bread, perhaps buttered and sprinkled with minced parsley, it has become something to awaken the slumbering or indifferent appetite and at practically no extra expense of time or money.
If the yolks of two hard boiled eggs are minced and mixed with part of the raw white of one, the paste then formed into balls like marbles and dropped into boiling water, one has little yellow spheres to lend an enlivening color note to clear soups. Two or three of these dropped into each plate just before serving makes a pleasing change from the usual croutons.
Sprigs of fresh chickory make the daintiest of garnishes for cold meats, and a few of the tender green stalks will add to the appearance of practically any salad. As for water-cress and pepper-grass and, of course, parsley, minced and otherwise, no French chef would think of preparing a meal without a plentiful supply of them on hand.
It isn't essential that every dish should be turned into an elaborate work of art, as if it were to be entered at the annual exhibition of the Société des Chefs de Cuisine, but neither is there any reason, even with modest means at command, for giving cause for that old slogan of the great American dinner table: “It tastes better than it looks.”