But I have heard of this, I swear by Vesta,
That when the cook at home makes any blunder,
The flute-player is always beaten for it.
And Philyllius, or whoever the poet may have been who wrote the play of The Cities, says—
Whatever blunders now the cook may make,
The flute-player receives the stripes for them.)
And I mean the device about the pig half-roasted, half-boiled, and stuffed, without having had any apparent incision made in him. The fact is, the pig was stuck with a very short wound under his shoulder; (and he showed the wound.) Then when the greater part of the blood had flowed from it, all the entrails, with the intestines, I washed (and the word ἐξαίρεσις, O you revellers who think so much of words, means not only a taking out, but also the entrails themselves) carefully in wine several times, and hung the pig up by his feet. Then again I washed him in wine; and having boiled up beforehand all the seasonings which I have spoken of with a good deal of pepper, I pushed them in at his mouth, pouring in afterwards a quantity of broth very carefully made. And after this I plastered over one half of the pig, as you see, with a great quantity of barley-meal, having soaked that in wine and oil. And then I put it in an oven, placing under it a brazen table, and I roasted it at a gentle fire, so as not to burn it, nor, on the other hand, to take it away before it was quite done. And when the skin began to get roasted and brown, I conjectured that the other side was boiled enough. And so then I took off the barley-meal, and brought it up in that condition and set it before you.
27. But as to the word ἐξαίρεσις, my excellent friend Ulpian, Dionysius the comic poet, in his drama called Things having the same Name, speaks thus, representing a cook speaking to his pupils—
Come now, O Dromon, if you aught do know,
Wise or accomplish'd in your business,
Or fit to charm the eyes, reveal it straight
To me your master. For I ask you now
For a brief exhibition of your skill.
I'm leading you into an enemy's country;
Come gaily to the charge. They'll weigh the meat
And count the joints they give you, and they'll watch you:
But you, by boiling them to pieces, will
Not only make them tender, but confuse
The number of the pieces, so as quite
To upset all their calculations.
They bring you a fine fish;—his tail is yours.
And if you filch a slice, that, too, is yours.
While we are in the house: when we've got out
It then belongs to me. Th' ἐξαιρέσεις,
And all the other parts, which can't be counted,
In which you cannot easily be found out,
Which may be class'd as parings and as scrapings,
Shall make a feast for you and me to-morrow.
And let the porter share in all your spoils,
That you may pass his gate with his good-will.
Why need I say much to a prudent man?
You are my pupil, I am your preceptor,
Remember this, and come along with me.
LEARNED COOKS.
28. And so when we had all praised the cook for the readiness of his discourse, and for the exceeding perfection of his skill, our excellent entertainer Laurentius said—And how much better it is for cooks to learn such things as these, than as they do with one whom I could mention of our fellow-citizens, who having had his head turned by riches and luxury, compelled his cooks to learn the dialogues of the incomparable Plato, and when they were bringing in dishes to say, "One, two, three, but where is the fourth, O most excellent Timæus, of those who were guests yesterday, but who are hosts to-day?" Then another made answer, "An illness has overtaken him, O Socrates,"—and so they went through the whole dialogue in this manner, so that those who were at the feast were very indignant, and so that that all-accomplished man was laughed at and insulted every day, and that on this account many most respectable men refused all invitations to his entertainments. But these cooks of ours, who are perhaps just as well instructed in these things as he was, give us no little pleasure. And then the slave who had been praised for his cleverness as a cook, said,—Now what have my predecessors ever devised or told us of a similar kind to this? and is not my behaviour moderate enough, since I do not boast myself? And yet Coroebus the Elean, who was the first man who ever was crowned as victor in the Olympic games, was a cook; and yet he was not as proud of his skill and of his art as the cook in Straton in the Phœnicides, concerning whom the man who had hired him speaks thus—
29.
'Tis a male sphinx, and not a cook, that I
Seem to have introduced into my house.
For by the gods I swear there's not one thing
Of all he says that I can understand,
So full is he of fine new-fangled words.
For when he first came in, he, looking big,
Ask'd me this question—"How many μέροπες[28] now
Have you invited here to dinner? Tell me."—
"How many μέροπες have I ask'd to dinner?"—
"You're angry."—"Do you think that I'm a man
To have acquaintance with your μέροπες̣?
It is a fine idea, to make a banquet
And ask a lot of μέροπες to eat it."
"Then do you mean there'll be no δαιτύμων (guest)?"
"No Dætymon that I know of."—Then I counted—
There'll be Philinus, and Niceratus,
And Moschion, and this man too, and that—
And so I counted them all name by name;
But there was not a Dætymon among them.
"No Dætymon will come," said I. "What! no one?"
Replied he in a rage, as though insulted
That not a Dætymon had been invited.
"Do you not slay that tearer up of th' earth,"
Said he, "the broad-brow'd ox?" "In truth, not I;
I've got no ox to kill, you stupid fellow."
"Then you will immolate some sheep?" "Not I,
By Jove; nor ox, nor sheep, but there's a lamb."
"What! don't you know, said he, that lambs are sheep?"
"Indeed," said I, "I neither know nor care
For all this nonsense. I'm but country bred;
So speak more plainly, if you speak at all."
"Why, don't you know that this is Homer's language?"
"My good cook, Homer was a man who had
A right to call things any names he pleased;
But what, in Vesta's name, is that to us?"
"At least you can't object when I quote him."
"Why, do you mean to kill me with your Homer?"
"No, but it is my usual way of talking."
"Then get another way, while here with me."
"Shall I," says he, "for your four dirty drachmas,
Give up my eloquence and usual habits?
Well, bring me here the οὐλόχυται." "Oh me!
What are οὐλόχυται̣?" "Those barley-cakes."
"You madman, why such roundabout expressions?"
"Is there no sediment of the sea at hand?"
"Sediment? Speak plain; do tell me what you want
In words I understand." "Old man," says he,
"You are most wondrous dull; have you no salt?
That's sediment, and that you ought to know;
Bring me the basin."—So they brought it. He
Then slew the animals, adding heaps of words
Which not a soul of us could understand,
μίστυλλα, μοίρας, σίπτυχ᾽, ὀβελούς[29]—
So that I took Philetas' Lexicon down,
To see what each of all these words did mean.
And then once more I pray'd of him to change,
And speak like other men; by earth I swear,
Persuasion's self could not have work'd on him.