"But this is a hot tartar sauce, mum; I asked for the 'tartar,' and the maid gave it to me; I supposed you wanted a cream-of-tartar sauce."
The corrective for such a state of things is difficult to prescribe, unless it be a better understanding on the part of the housewife and the establishment of cooking-classes in all female schools. Another remedy might be to imitate the French of two hundred years ago, and provide an entertaining illustrated text-book for children, artfully designed to foster a love of gastronomy. Thus, in a work of this nature entitled "Roast Pig," the text is freely interlarded with appetising pictures of viands and table scenes, accompanied by such maxims as these: "A well-minced ham is fine eating, but not without something to drink"; "pâté of venison and craquelins are not intended for naughty children"; "damask prunes are delicious to eat for those who deserve them"; "venison is better in a pâté than with any sauces, if it is well seasoned and accompanied with wine."[32]
"RÔTI-COCHON"
Facsimile page from volume, 1696
The excellence of the morale of a work of this nature cannot fail to impress itself on those of mature years whose incentive to learning in youth was more often the ruler and the rod than sugar-plums and wine. But while the advantages of such a method for moulding the youthful taste are to be extolled, it presents the objection that much valuable time must elapse before the results would become tangible, and hence its benefits would accrue too late save for the younger generation and its successors.
It were well, withal, in furtherance of the advance of the art, if a society were formed for the suppression of the filet, the consommé with whipped cream, and also the sweetbread in its usual form, which are so frequently employed in "company" dinners, the bill of fare of which is left by the housewife to the cook or the purveyor who is engaged for the day. In such cases the guest often needs no menu to know what is forthcoming—the lukewarm Blue Points, the flavourless broth, the overdone halibut, the tasteless tenderloin and green peas, and the half-mixed salad deluged with tarragon vinegar. As for the wines, one may be reasonably sure of a woody-tasting sherry, a sour and watery "claret," and a still more asperous brut champagne that is doled out, when appetite has waned, to chill the dessert and render the sweets the more indigestible. Not that this menu is the general rule by any means in the United States, but it is of far too frequent occurrence, and should be placed under ban—a charge that concerns the host and hostess alike. For whatever difficulty the mistress may experience in procuring trained culinary skill, a simple bill of fare, daintily served, is always at her command; while there can be no excuse on the part of the master for presenting a sharp brut champagne at the end of the repast, if indeed it be presented at all; and as for a reputable Bordeaux, if such be not in his cellar, it is or should be obtainable at his club. Where champagne is permitted to diffuse its sunshine, it goes without saying it should be of irreproachable quality and dealt out with a liberal hand. To stint in Ay or Sillery is as unpardonable as to ice one's Burgundy. The host should watch the various brands attentively from year to year, noting their improvement or deterioration, judging them by their quality only, and choosing them irrespective of their vogue or the plaudits of those who may not be capable of judging.
The introducer of the dry flint cracker in place of fresh bread to go with the cheese, though never definitely ascertained, is said to have been a dentist who in this wise succeeded in obtaining many wealthy patients. A person who is guilty of offering hardtack to his friends may be expected to pour a mayonnaise dressing over his cucumbers and beat up his lettuce and tomatoes in a salad. To serve cheese with the salad is a syncretism, besides being a great injustice to the roast to which the salad rightly appertains. The absence of butter which is often noticeable at formal repasts has no raison d'être. It is wanted at most dinners, particularly for corn, baked potatoes, etc., and is always needed for bread; its non-employment in Europe is only a consequent of economical custom. A vice it were seemingly useless to protest against, so universal is the practice, is the serving of raw fruit after a hearty dinner. As long as courses are presented in a tempting way, so long will the unthinking majority continue to taste them, even if it be fruit,—"gold in the morning, silver at noon, and lead at night,"—- after the final sweets. The only one who has exclaimed against this custom, to the writer's knowledge, is the Ettrick Shepherd in the "Noctes": "As for frute after fude, it's a downricht abomination, and coagulates on the stomach like sour cruds."
Nor may the wineless dinner be passed unnoticed, at which unfortunate guests sometimes find themselves unwittingly present with no means of escape. To those who are unaccustomed to their glass of claret or other vinous beverage at home its exclusion may not materially signify, though at a protracted repast there are not a few among such who find it a great aid to digestion. In the case of those who are habituated to it its absence becomes of serious moment, much the same as if a meal were deprived of salt or the post-prandial cigar were proscribed. In vain may the unfortunate guest attempt to philosophise on the virtues of abnegation as he contemplates his glass where the gold gleams without, instead of sparkling from within, and he mournfully recalls the couplet of Monselet and the dinners that are past: