Fair carving is much more estimable evidence of good nature than fair writing: let me see how a gentleman carves at another person’s table, especially how he helps himself, and I will presently tell you how far he is of Pope’s opinion, that
“True self-love and social are the same.”
The selfish appetites never exhibit themselves in a more unmasked and more disgusting manner than in the use they excite a man to make of his knife and fork in carving for himself, especially when not at his own cost.
Some keen observer of human nature has said, “Would you know a man’s real disposition, ask him to dinner, and give him plenty to drink.”
“The Oracle” says, “invite the gentleman to dinner, certainly, and set him to carving.” The gentleman who wishes to ensure a hearty welcome, and frequent invitations to the board of hospitality, may calculate with Cockerial correctness, that “the easier he appears to be pleased, the oftener he will be invited.” Instead of unblushingly demanding of the fair hostess, that the prime “tit-bit of every dish be put on his plate, he must receive, (if not with pleasure or even content,) with the liveliest expressions of thankfulness, whatever is presented to him; and let him not forget to praise the cook (no matter whether he be pleased with her performance or not), and the same shall be reckoned unto him even as praise to the mistress.”
“If he does not like his fare, he may console himself with the reflection, that he need not expose his mouth to the like mortification again. Mercy to the feelings of the mistress of the mansion, will forbid his then appearing otherwise than absolutely delighted with it, notwithstanding it may be his extreme antipathy. If he like it ever so little, he will find occasion to congratulate himself on the advantage his digestive organs will derive from his making a moderate dinner; and consolation from contemplating the double relish he is creating for the following meal, and anticipating the rare and delicious zest of (that best sauce) good appetite, and an unrestrained indulgence of his gourmandizing fancies at the chop-house he frequents.”
The following extract from that rare book, Giles Rose’s School for the Officers of the Mouth, 16mo. 1684, shows that the art of carving was a much more elaborate affair formerly than it is at present.
Le grand escuver tranchant, or the Great Master Carver. “The exercise of a master carver is more noble and commendable, it may be, than every one will imagine; for suppose that life to be the foundation of all that is done in the world, this life is not to be sustained without maintaining our natural heat by eating and drinking.”
Never trust a cook teaser with the important office of carver, or place him within reach of any principal dish. I shall never forget the following exhibition of a selfish spoiled child: the first dish that Master Johnny mangled, was three mackerel; he cut off the upper side of each fish: next came a couple of fowls; in taking off the wings of which the young gentleman so hideously hacked and miserably mangled every other part, that when they were brought for luncheon the following day, they appeared as if just removed from a conclave of dainty cats, rather than having been carved by a rational creature. When the master of the family, who was extremely near-sighted, sat down to his nooning, in expectation of enjoying the agreeable amusement of having a