All new dishes fade—
The newest oft the fleetest;
Of all the pies now made,
The Apple's still the sweetest;
Cut and come again,
The syrup upward springing!
While my life and taste remain,
To thee my heart is clinging.
Other dainties fade—
The newest oft the fleetest;
But of all the pies now made,
The Apple's still the sweetest.
Who absurdly buys
Fruit not worth the baking?
Who wastes crust on pies
That do not pay for making?
Better far to be
An Apple Tartlet buying,
Than to make one at home, and see
On it there's no relying:
That all must be weigh'd,
When thyself thou treatest—
Still a pie home-made
Is, after all, the sweetest.
Who a pie would make,
First his apple slices;
Then he ought to take
Some cloves—the best of spices:
Grate some lemon rind,
Butter add discreetly;
Then some sugar mix—but mind
The pie's not made too sweetly.
Every pie that's made
With sugar, is completest;
But moderation should pervade—
Too sweet is not the sweetest.
Who would tone impart,
Must—if my word is trusted—
Add to his pie or tart
A glass of port—old crusted
If a man of taste,
He, complete to make it,
In the very finest paste
Will inclose and bake it.
Pies have each their grade;
But, when this thou eatest,
Of all that e'er were made,
You'll say 'tis best and sweetest.
LOBSTER SALAD.
AIR-"Blue Bonnets Over The Border."
Take, take, lobsters and lettuces;
Mind that they send you the fish that you order:
Take, take, a decent-sized salad bowl,
One that's sufficiently deep in the border.
Cut into many a slice
All of the fish that's nice,
Place in the bowl with due neatness and order:
Then hard-boil'd eggs you may
Add in a neat array
All round the bowl, just by way of a border.
Take from the cellar of salt a proportion:
Take from the castors both pepper and oil,
With vinegar, too—but a moderate portion—
Too much of acid your salad will spoil.
Mix them together,
You need not mind whether
You blend them exactly in apple-pie order;
But when you've stirr'd away,
Mix up the whole you may—
All but the eggs, which are used as a border.
Take, take, plenty of seasoning;
A teaspoon of parsley that's chopp'd in small pieces:
Though, though, the point will bear reasoning,
A small taste of onion the flavor increases.
As the sauce curdle may,
Should it: the process stay,
Patiently do it again in due order;
For, if you chance to spoil
Vinegar, eggs, and oil,
Still to proceed would on lunacy border.
STEWED STEAK
AIR—"Had I a Heart for Falsehood Framed."
Had I pound of tender Steak,
I'd use it for a stew;
And if the dish you would partake,
I'll tell you what to do.
Into a stew-pan, clean and neat,
Some butter should be flung:
And with it stew your pound of meat,
A tender piece—but young.