The haricot blanc, or white kidney bean, deserves to be introduced more generally into our kitchens. There are various methods of dressing them; but the best is to have them softened in the gravy of a leg of mutton; they are then a good substitute for potatoes. They are nearly as good, dressed with oil or butter; and Napoleon was exceedingly fond of them, dressed as a salad. Of course, we allude here to the bean which, in full maturity, is taken from the pod, and eaten in winter. In England we eat the pod itself, (in summer,) split, and served with roast mutton and venison. The mature bean, however, makes an excellent dish.
And, à-propos to Monarchs, it is to Alexander that we are indebted for the Indian “haricot;” and the vegetable had a fashion in Greece and Rome worthy of its distinguished introducer. But this fashion was not a mere consequence; for grey peas were as universally eaten. The people were so fond of these, that political aspirants bought votes of electors in exchange for them. They formed the principal refreshment of the lower citizens at the circus and the theatre, where, instead of the modern cry of “Oranges, biscuits, porter, and bill of the play!” was to be heard that of “Peas! peas! ram peas! grey peas! and a programme of the beasts and actors!”
Green peas were not known in France until the middle of the sixteenth century. They were grown, but people no more thought of eating them than we do the sweet pea. The gardener Michaux was born, and he it was who first sent green peas to a Christian table.
When Alexander, son of Pyrrhus, wished to keep all the beans that grew in the Thesprotian Marsh for his own eating, the gods dried up the marsh, and beans could never be made to grow there again. So, when King Antigonus put a tax on the healing spring that flowed at Edessa, the waters disappeared; and the people were not, in either case, benefited. What lumbering avengers were those heathen deities!
The cabbage has had a singular destiny,—in one country an object of worship; in another, of contempt. The Egyptians made of it a god; and it was the first dish they touched at their repasts. The Greeks and Romans took it as a remedy for the languor following inebriation. Cato said that in the cabbage was a panacea for the ills of man. Erasistratus recommended it as a specific in paralysis; Hippocrates accounted it a sovereign remedy, boiled with salt, for the colic; and Athenian medical men prescribed it to young nursing-mothers, who wished to see lusty babies lying in their arms. Diphilus preferred the beet to the cabbage, both as food and as medicine,—in the latter case, as a vermifuge. The same physician extols mallows, not for fomentation, but as a good edible vegetable, appeasing hunger and curing the sore-throat at the same time. The asparagus, as we are accustomed to see it, has derogated from its ancient magnificence. The original “grass” was from twelve to twenty feet high; and a dish of them could only have been served to the Brobdignagians. Under the Romans, stems of asparagus were raised of three pounds’ weight,—heavy enough to knock down a slave in waiting with. The Greeks ate them of more moderate dimensions, or would have eat them, but that the publishing doctors of their day denounced asparagus as injurious to the sight. But then it was also said, that a slice or two of boiled pumpkin would re-invigorate the sight which had been deteriorated by asparagus. “Do that as quickly as you should asparagus!” is a proverb descended to us from Augustus, and illustrative of the mode in which the vegetable was prepared for the table.
The gourd does not figure at our repasts as commonly as it did in the east of Europe in mythological times, when it was greedily eaten, boiled hot, or preserved in pickle. The readers of Athenæus will remember, how a party of philosophers lost their temper, in a discussion as to whether the gourd was round, square, or oblong,—how a coarse-minded doctor interrupted the discussion by a very incongruous remark,—and how the venerable sage who was in the chair called the rude man to order, and then bade the disputants proceed with their argument.
A still more favourite dish, at Athens, was turnips, from Thebes. Carrots, too, formed a distinguished dish at Greek and Roman tables. Purslain was rather honoured as a cure against poisons, whether in the blood by wounds, or in the stomach from beverage. I have heard it asserted in France, that if you briskly rub a glass with fingers which have been previously rubbed with purslain, or parsley, the glass will certainly break. I have tried the experiment, but only to find that the glass resisted the pretended charm.
Broccoli was the favourite vegetable food of Drusus. He ate greedily thereof; and, as his father, Tiberius, was as fond of it as he, the master of the Roman world and his illustrious heir were constantly quarrelling, like two clowns, when a dish of broccoli stood between them. Artichokes grew less rapidly into aristocratic favour; the dictum of Galen was against them; and, for a long time, they were only used by drinkers, against headache, and by singers, to strengthen their voice. Pliny pronounced artichokes excellent food for poor people and donkeys! For nobler stomachs he preferred the cucumber,—the Nemesis of vegetables. But people were at issue touching the merits of the cucumber. Not so, regarding the lettuce, which has been universally honoured. It was the most highly esteemed dish of the beautiful Adonis. It was prescribed as provocative to sleep; and it cured Augustus of the malady which sits so heavily on the soul of Leopold of Belgium,—hypochondriasis. Science and rank eulogized the lettuce, and philosophy sanctioned the eulogy in the person of Aristoxenus, who not only grew lettuces as the pride of his garden, but irrigated them with wine, in order to increase their flavour.
But we must not place too much trust in the stories either of sages or apothecaries. These Pagans recommended the seductive, but indigestible, endive, as good against the headache, and young onions and honey as admirable preservers of health, when taken fasting; but this was a prescription for rustic swains and nymphs,—the higher classes, in town or country, would hardly venture on it. And yet the mother of Apollo ate raw leeks, and loved them of gigantic dimensions. For this reason, perhaps, was the leek accounted, not only as salubrious, but as a beautifier. The love for melons was derived, in similar fashion, probably, from Tiberius, who cared for them even more than he did for broccoli. The German Cæsars inherited the taste of their Roman predecessor, carrying it, indeed, to excess; for more than one of them, as may be seen in another page, submitted to die after eating melons, rather than live by renouncing them.
I have spoken of gigantic asparagus: the Jews had radishes that could vie with them, if it be true that a fox and cubs could burrow in the hollow of one, and that it was not uncommon to grow them of a hundred pounds in weight. It must have been such radishes as these that were employed by seditious mobs of old, as weapons, in insurrections. In such case, a rebellious people were always well victualled, and had peculiar facilities, not only to beat their adversaries, but to eat their own arms. The horse-radish is, probably, a descendant of this gigantic ancestor. It had, at one period, a gigantic reputation. Dipped in poison, it rendered the draught innocuous, and, rubbed on the hands, it made an encounter with venomed serpents mere play. In short, it was celebrated as being a cure for every evil in life,—the only exception being, that it destroyed the teeth. There was far more difference of opinion touching garlic, than there was touching the radish. The Egyptians deified it, as they did the leek and the cabbage; the Greeks devoted it to Gehenna,—and to soldiers, sailors, and cocks that were not “game.” Medicinally, it was held to be useful in many diseases, if the root used were originally sown when the moon was below the horizon. No one who had eaten of it, however, could presume to enter the Temple of Cybele. Alphonso of Castile was as particular as this goddess; and a Knight of Castile, “detected as being guilty of garlic,” suffered banishment from the royal presence during an entire month.