In more lavish mood, prepare it al sugo, and no cause need you fear for regret. It is well-nigh as simple; the macaroni, or better still spaghetti, the smaller, daintier variety, once boiled, is taken from the water only to be plunged in rich gravy, its quantity varying according to the quantity of spaghetti used; let it boil anew, or rather simmer, until each long tube is well saturated; then, add the cheese and butter, and say your Benedicite with a full heart.
Or, would you have it richer still, and so tempt Providence? Make tomato the foundation of the gravy, spice it with cloves, bring out the sweet bouquet garni, serve with butter and Parmesan cheese as before, and call the result Macaroni à la Napolitaine. Spaghetti, here again, will answer the purpose as well, nor will the pretty, flat, wavy ribbon species come amiss. To court perfection, rely upon mushrooms for one of the chief elements in this adorable concoction, and the whole world over you may travel without finding a dish worthy to compete with it. Macaroni can yield nothing more exquisite, though not yet are its resources exhausted.
Au gratin it is also to be commended. The preliminary boiling may now, as always, be taken for granted. With its chosen and well-tried accompaniments of butter and Parmesan cheese, and steeped in a good white sauce, it may simmer gently over the fire until the sympathetic butter be absorbed; then in a decently prepared dish, and covered with bread-crumbs, it should bake until it is warmed into a golden-brown harmony that enraptures the eye. Or with stronger seasoning, with onion and pepper and cayenne, you may create a savoury beyond compare. Or combined with the same ingredients you may stew your macaroni in milk, and revel in macaroni sauté; worse a hundred times, truly, might you fare.
But, if you would be wholly reckless, why, then try Macaroni à la Pontife, and know that human ambition may scarce pretend to nobler achievements. For a mould of goodly proportions you fill with macaroni and forcemeat of fowl and larks and bits of bacon and mushrooms and game filleted; and this ineffable arrangement you moisten with gravy and allow to simmer slowly, as befits its importance, for an hour; eat it, and at last you too, with Faust, may hail the fleeting moment, and bid it stay, because it is so fair!
In puddings and pies macaroni is most excellent. But if you be not lost beyond redemption, never sweeten either one or the other; the suggestion of such sacrilege alone is horrid. Into little croquettes it may by cunning hands be modelled; en timbale, in well-shaped mould, it reveals new and welcome possibilities. With fish it assimilates admirably; in soup it is above criticism. It will strengthen the flavour of chestnuts, nor will it disdain the stimulating influence of wine, white or red. And in the guise of nouilles, or nudels, it may be stuffed with forcemeat of fowl or beef, and so clamour for the rich tomato sauce.
ON SALADS
To speak of salads in aught but the most reverential spirit were sacrilege. To be honoured aright, they should be eaten only in the company of the devout or in complete solitude—and perhaps this latter is the wiser plan. Who, but the outer barbarian, will not with a good salad,