The cooks of the ancients appear to have been much more consummate in their art than our modern practitioners. Athenæus records various descriptions of their incomparable science. A new dish immortalized its inventor, and transmitted his name to posterity. Apicius’s cakes were called Apicians; and Aristoxenes had attained such perfection in curing hams, that the glorious appellation of Aristoxenians was bestowed upon them. Philosophers and poets gloried in their culinary science; the pleasures of the table were the subject of their writings and their conversation. Archestratus tells us with delight, that, although various delicacies can only be enjoyed in their proper season, yet we can talk about them with watering mouths all the year round.
One of these illustrious ministers of luxury attained such a degree of enviable perfection, that he could serve up a pig boiled on one side and roasted on the other, and moreover stuffed with all possible delicacies, without the incision through which these dainties were introduced being perceived. Supplicated to explain this wonderful secret, he swore solemnly by the manes of all the heroes who fell at Marathon, or conquered at Salamis, that he would not reveal this sacred mystery for one year. When the happy day arrived and he was no longer bound by his vows, he condescended to inform his anxious hearers, that the animal had been bled to death by a wound under the shoulder, through which the entrails were extracted; and afterwards hanging up the victim by the legs, the stuffing was crammed down his throat. One half of the pig was then covered with a thick paste, seasoned with wine and oil, put into a brass oven, and gently and tenderly roasted: when the skin was brown and crisp, our hero proceeded to boil the other moiety; the paste was then removed, and the boiled and roasted grunter triumphantly served up.
So refined was the taste of the ancient bons vivans, that Montanus, according to Juvenal, would proclaim, at the first bite, whether an oyster was of English produce or not. Sandwich is believed to have been the favoured spot whence Rome imported her oysters and other shell-fish. Shrimps and prawns must have been in great estimation, since we find Apicius quitting his residence at Minturnæ, upon hearing that the shrimps of Africa were finer than those he could procure in Campania. He instantly set sail for the happy coast, despite a gale of wind: after encountering a desperate storm, he reached the wished-for land of promise; but alas!—the fishermen displayed the largest prawns they could collect, and to his cruel disappointment, they could not vie, either in delicacy or beauty, with those of Minturnæ. He immediately ordered his pilot to steer a homeward course, and left Africa’s shore with ineffable contempt.
These ingenious gluttons had recourse to every experiment that could add to their enjoyment. Philoxenus, and many others, used to accustom themselves to swallow hot water, that they might be able to attack scalding dishes before less fireproof guests would dare to taste them.
Sinon maintained that cookery was the basis of all arts and sciences: natural philosophy taught us the seasoning of dishes; architecture directed the construction of stoves and chimneys; the fine arts, the beautiful symmetry of each dish; and the principles of war were applied to the drilling and marshalling of cooks, confectioners, and scullions, posting proper sentries to watch the fires, and videttes to keep off idle intruders. That man is a “cooking animal” is considered one of his proudest attributes, and a proper bill of fare may be considered as the ne plus ultra of human genius!
It may be easily imagined that when good living became a science, sponging upon the wealthy Amphitryons became an art amongst the needy bons vivants, and parasites, as in the present day, were ever seen fawning and cringing for their dinner. These sycophants stuck so close to their patrons, that they were called shadows. Thus Horace:
——Quos Mœcenas adduxerat umbras.
They were also called flies, γυῖας, by the Greeks, and Muscæ by the Romans; no doubt from their constant buzzing about the object of their devotion. Plautus calls an entertainment free from these despicable guests, Hospitium sine muscis. Horus Apollo tells us that in Egypt a fly was the symbol of an impudent fellow; because, although driven away, it will constantly return. We have, however, reason to believe that the term parasite was originally applied to the followers of princes, Patroclus was the parasite of Achilles, and Memnon of Idomeneus; it was only in later times that the appellation was given to despicable characters and “trencher friends.”
Our Shakspeare had adopted the term of the ancients, as appears in the following passages:
In such as you,
That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh
At each his needless heavings.