The Cook's Decameron Part 2

Menu--Lunch

Tenerumi di Vitello. Breast of veal.

Piccione alla minute. Pigeons, braized with liver, &c.

Curry

Menu--Dinner

Zuppa alla n.a.z.ionale. Soup alla n.a.z.ionale.

Salmone alla Genovese. Salmon alla Genovese.

Costolette alla Costanza. Mutton cutlets alla Costanza.

Fritto misto alla Villeroy. Lamb's fry alla Villeroy.

Lattughe al sugo. Stuffed Lettuce.

Dindo arrosto alla Milanese. Roast turkey alla Milanese.

Crema montata alle fragole. Strawberry cream.

Tartufi alla Dino. Truffles alla Dino.

The Third Day

"I observe, dear Marchesa," said Mrs. Fothergill at breakfast on Thursday morning, "that we still follow the English fashion in our breakfast dishes. I have a notion that, in this particular especially, we gross English show our inferiority to the more spirituelles nations of the Continent, and I always feel a new being after the light meal of delicious coffee and crisp bread and delicate b.u.t.ter the first morning I awake in dear Paris."

"I wonder how it happens, then, that two goes of fish, a plateful of omelette, and a round and a half of toast and marmalade are necessary to repair the waste of tissue in dear England?" Van der Roet whispered to Miss Macdonnell.

"It must be the gross air of England or the gross nature of the--"

The rest of Miss Macdonnell's remark was lost, as the Marchesa cried out in answer to Mrs. Fothergill, "But why should we have anything but English breakfast dishes in England? The defects of English cookery are manifest enough, but breakfast fare is not amongst them. In these England stands supreme; there is nothing to compare with them, and they possess the crowning merit of being entirely compatible with English life. I cannot say whether it may be the effect of the crossing, or of the climate on this side, or that the air of England is charged with some subtle stimulating quality, given off in the rush and strain of strenuous national life, but the fact remains that as soon as I find myself across the Channel I want an English breakfast. It seems that I am more English than certain of the English themselves, and I am sorry that Mrs. Fothergill has been deprived of her French roll and b.u.t.ter.

I will see that you have it to-morrow, Mrs. Fothergill, and to make the illusion complete, I will order it to be sent to your room."

"Oh no, Marchesa, that would be giving too much trouble, and I am sure you want all the help in the house to carry out the service as exquisitely as you do," said Mrs. Fothergill hurriedly, and blushing as well as her artistic complexion would allow.

"I fancy," said Mrs. Sinclair, "that foreigners are taking to English breakfasts as well as English clothes. I noticed when I was last in Milan that almost every German or Italian ate his two boiled eggs for breakfast, the sign whereby the Englishman used to be marked for a certainty."

"The German would probably call for boiled eggs when abroad on account of the impossibility of getting such things in his own country. No matter how often you send to the kitchen for properly boiled eggs in Germany, the result is always the same cold slush," said Mrs. Wilding; "and I regret to find that the same plague is creeping into the English hotels which are served by German waiters."

"That is quite true," said the Marchesa; "but in England we have no time to concern ourselves with mere boiled eggs, delicious as they are. The roll of delicacies is long enough, or even too long without them. When I am in England, I always lament that we have only seven days a week and one breakfast a day, and when I am in Italy I declare that the reason why the English have overrun the world is because they eat such mighty breakfasts. Considering how good the dishes are, I wonder the breakfasts are not mightier than they are."

"It always strikes me that our national barrenness of ideas appears as plainly in our breakfasts as anywhere," said Mrs. Gradinger. "There is a monotony about them which--"

"Monotony!" interrupted the Colonel. "Why, I could dish you up a fresh breakfast every day for a month. Your conservative tendencies must be very strong, Mrs. Gradinger, if they lead you to this conclusion."

"Conservative! On the contrary, I--that is, my husband--always votes for Progressive candidates at every election," said Mrs. Gradinger, dropping into her platform intonation, at the sound of which consternation arose in every breast. "I have, moreover, a theory that we might reform our diet radically, as well as all other inst.i.tutions; but before I expound this, I should like to say a few words on the waste of wholesome food which goes on. For instance, I went for a walk in the woods yesterday afternoon, where I came upon a vast quant.i.ty of fungi which our ignorant middle cla.s.ses would p.r.o.nounce to be poisonous, but which I--in common with every child of the intelligent working-man educated in a board school where botany is properly taught--knew to be good for food."

"Excuse me one moment," said Sir John, "but do they really use board-school children as tests to see whether toadstools are poisonous or not?"

"I do not think anything I said justified such an inference," said Mrs.

Gradinger in the same solemn drawl; "but I may remark that the children are taught from ill.u.s.trated manuals accurately drawn and coloured. Well, to come back to the fungi, I took the trouble to measure the plot on which they were growing, and found it just ten yards square. The average weight of edible fungus per square yard was just an ounce, or a hundred and twelve pounds per acre. Now, there must be at least twenty millions of acres in the United Kingdom capable of producing these fungi without causing the smallest damage to any other crop, wherefore it seems that, owing to our lack of instruction, we are wasting some million tons of good food per annum; and I may remark that this calculation pre-supposes, that each fungus springs only once in the season; but I have reason to believe that certain varieties would give five or six gatherings between May and October, so the weight produced would be enormously greater than the quant.i.ty I have named."

Here Mrs. Gradinger paused to finish her coffee, which was getting cold, and before she could resume, Sir John had taken up the parole. "I think the smaller weight will suffice for the present, until the taste for strange fungi has developed, or the pressure of population increased.

And before stimulating a vastly increased supply, it will be necessary to extirpate the belief that all fungi, except the familiar mushroom, are poisonous, and perhaps to appoint an army of inspectors to see that only the right sort are brought to market."

"Yes, and that will give pleasant and congenial employment to those youths of the working-cla.s.ses who are ambitious of a higher career than that of their fathers," said Lady Considine, "and the ratepayers will rejoice, no doubt, that they are partic.i.p.ating in the general elevation of the ma.s.ses."

"Perhaps Mrs. Gradinger will gather a few of her less deadly fungi, and cook them and eat them herself, pour encourager les autres," said Miss Macdonnell. "Then, if she doesn't die in agonies, we may all forswear beef and live on toadstools."

"I certainly will," said Mrs. Gradinger; "and before we rise from table I should like--"

"I fear we must hear your remarks at dinner, Mrs. Gradinger," said the Marchesa. "Time is getting on, and some of the dishes to-day are rather elaborate, so now to the kitchen."

Menu--Lunch.

Risotto alla Genovese. Savoury rice.

Pollo alla Villereccia. Chicken alla Villereccia.

Lingue di Castrato alla cucinira. Sheeps' tongues alla cucinira.

Menu--Dinner

Zuppa alla Veneziana. Venetian soup.

Sogliole alla giardiniera. Sole with Vegetables.

Timballo alla Romana. Roman pie.

Petto di Castrato alla salsa di burro. Breast of mutton with b.u.t.ter sauce.

Verdure miste. Mixed vegetables.

Crema rappresa. Coffee cream.

Ostriche alla Veneziana. Oyster savoury.

The Fourth Day

THE Colonel was certainly the most severely critical member of the company. Up to the present juncture he had been sparing of censure, and sparing of praise likewise, but on this day, after lunch, he broke forth into loud praise of the dish of beef which appeared in the menu. After specially commending this dish he went on--

"It seems to me that the dinner of yesterday and to-day's lunch bear the cachet of a fresh and admirable school of cookery. In saying this I don't wish to disparage the traditions which have governed the preparation of the delicious dishes put before us up to that date, which I have referred to as the parting of the ways, the date when the palate of the expert might detect a new hand upon the keys, a phrase once employed, I believe, with regard to some man who wrote poetry. To meet an old friend, or a thoroughly tested dish, is always pleasant, but old friends die or fall out, and old favourite dishes may come to pall at last; and for this reason I hold that the day which brings us a new friend or a new dish ought to be marked with white chalk."

"And I think some wise man once remarked," said Sir John, "that the discovery of a dish is vastly more important than the discovery of a star, for we have already as many stars as we can possibly require, but we can never have too many dishes."

"I was wondering whether any one would detect the variations I made yesterday, but I need not have wondered, with such an expert at table as Colonel Trestrail," said the Marchesa with a laugh. "Well, the Colonel has found me out; but from the tone of his remarks I think I may hope for his approval. At any rate, I'm sure he won't move a vote of censure."

"If he does, we'll pack him off to town, and sentence him to dine at his club every day for a month," said Lady Considine.

"What crime has this particular club committed?" said Mrs. Sinclair in a whisper.

"Vote of censure! Certainly not," said the Colonel, with an angry ring in his voice. Mrs. Sinclair did not love him, and had calculated accurately the carrying power of her whisper. "That would be the basest ingrat.i.tude. I must, however, plead guilty to an attack of curiosity, and therefore I beg you, Marchesa, to let us into the secret of your latest inspiration."

"Its origin was commonplace enough," said the Marchesa, "but in a way interesting. Once upon a time--more years ago than I care to remember--I was strolling about the Piazza Navona in Rome, and amusing myself by going from one barrow to another, and turning over the heaps of rubbish with which they were stocked. All the while I was innocently plagiarising that fateful walk of Browning's round the Riccardi Palace in Florence, the day when he bought for a lira the Romana h.o.m.ocidiorum.

The world knows what was the outcome of Browning's purchase, but it will probably never fathom the full effect of mine. How do his lines run?"