'Fate cannot harm me, I have dined to-day.'"
This is the original and more familiar "A Recipe for Salad," as given by the author's daughter, Lady Holland, in her "Memoir"—a recipe that was subsequently placed by the gifted divine in somewhat altered form, slightly abridged, and the quantity of the ingredients in one or two instances slightly changed. In the variant it will be seen that the portions of potato and anchovy were increased and the relative quantities of oil and vinegar were amended.[58]
It is a question whether this celebrated recipe, so enthusiastically expressed and so tempting to the uninitiated who would naturally be led astray by the climax of the ode, has done more harm or more good in the important interests of salad-making—whether the evil inculcated in the prescription as a whole has not overbalanced the good results of extolling the virtues of salad itself. The niceties of salad-making are so subtle—so little may make or mar—it were unwise to prescribe either eggs or potato to the inexperienced. The anchovy sauce must, perforce, be banished as fatal; while mashed potatoes should always be used with discretion. In corn-salad a little potato assuredly adds to the unctuousness; and where lettuce is inclined to be tough or stringy, it may be advantageously employed. It is likewise eminently useful where the vinegar may have been dealt out too liberally. But with tender, brittle, well-blanched cos or endive, who would think of utilising either egg or potato! And how may mustard be appropriately blended with chicory, water-cresses, or radishes, so rich themselves in pungency? In the employment of condiments one should ever well consider the special greenmeat to be treated, or what Montaigne has termed "the differences of Sallets according to their seasons." Cayenne, tabasco, and garlic are yet more dangerous in unpractised hands, and may readily, like the brass of an orchestra run riot, drown with their dissonance the arpeggio passages and more dulcet notes of the other instruments.
All things considered, the counsels to the little boys and girls in the olden French reader, "Rôti-Cochon," such as "the ham of the pig, well minced, is good to eat, but not without drinking," and "fresh eggs and salt herrings are good for Lent and other days either fat or meagre, according to one's appetite and the state of the market," are perchance safer gastronomic guides than the recipe of the worthy English prebendary. For in any formula bearing upon the fashioning of salads for the benefit of the many, it is better to hold strictly to oil, vinegar, pepper, salt, and onion, and thus create no confusion in the mind of the tyro, who should proceed by degrees until he becomes proficient in the art,—
"And thus, complete in figure and in kind,
Obtains at length the salad he designed."
But Sydney Smith has contributed such a host of good things, that any slight divergence from orthodoxy in his salad may be freely forgiven. Infinitely more baneful than anchovy sauce is the bottled "salad-dressing" of commerce, in whatever guise it may appear—that milky, mysterious compound which is set upon certain restaurant and hotel tables, and through the cajoleries of the merchant-grocer or blandishments of the advertiser often even invades otherwise respectable households. As for the abominations that so frequently masquerade as "pure olive-oil," and boldly flaunt themselves as "wine vinegar" in many hostelries, they are too dreadful to consider; and one's only recourse is to order them off, with the catsup, pepper-sauce, sour pickles, and other "incongruities of good cheer," and subsist in imagination on the salads that have been.
If oil has been termed the soul of a salad, it is no less true that vinegar is its vivendi causâ. There should be no trouble in procuring excellent virgin olive-oil, French or Italian, at a moderate price. It should be bright and limpid, and possess a delicate, not a strong flavour of the olive from the first gentle pressing of the slightly underripe fruit. The juice expressed by heavy crushing of overripe fruit is to be avoided, being dark in colour and possessed of a strong taste. No other product, however refined or clarified, or however vaunted in the interests of trade, can take the place of olive-oil. For those who are indifferent to quality, cottonseed oil, as well as the juices of countless other seeds, will continue to be supplied or used as adulterants in connection with olive-oil. Good oil, like good wine, is a gift from the gods. The grape and the olive are among the priceless benefactions of the soil, and were destined, each in its way, to promote the welfare of man.
It is even more rare to find good vinegar than good oil or wine on the average hotel, restaurant, or household table. Pure cider or sound wine vinegar should alone be employed, and this is best obtained by making it one's self and not trusting to the labels and brands of commerce. The best wine vinegar is that made from red Bordeaux or red or white Burgundy; the best cider vinegar being the product of fine, selected apples like the Russet or Northern Spy, with absolute cleanliness in manufacture. The liquid should draw clear and be possessed of a fresh vinous fragrance; and no other material should be mixed with it than what is necessary of the same kind for replenishing the barrel. Where vinegar is excessively sharp, it may be corrected, when using, by the addition of a little Bordeaux wine. Lemon juice is an excellent substitute for vinegar where this may be lacking in quality; and by some is preferred in the dressing of delicate salads like cos and lettuce. The use of tarragon vinegar is extremely unadvisable in company dinners. To many it is very disagreeable; and even to those who might not be averse to it occasionally, its frequent abuse causes them to anathematise instead of bless the architect of the salad.
As regards pepper, the adulterated powdered article is far superior to the genuine Piper nigrum; the white pepper being the same condiment freed from its outer husk by maceration in water and subsequent rubbing. The genuine black peppercorn is much too spicy and high-flavoured to enter largely as a salad component; and where it is laboriously ground out from a mill at table, as is often the case,—the host preoccupied with the task where he should be considering the sequence and temperature of his wines,—it is always coarse; while its pronounced resemblance to allspice mars the delicacy which is the charm of a salad. Moreover, the energy which should be expended upon the mixing, where the nature of the salad renders it advisable to be made just before serving, is largely spent upon the exacting process of turning the box-wood mill.[59]