Oh, better no doubt is a dinner of herbs,
When season'd with love, which no rancour disturbs
And sweeten'd by all that is sweetest in life
Than turbot, bisque, ortolans, eaten in strife!
But if, out of humour, and hungry, alone
A man should sit down to dinner, each one
Of the dishes which the cook chooses to spoil
With a horrible mixture of garlic and oil,
The chances are ten against one, I must own,
He gets up as ill-tempered as when he sat down.
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She would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have
cleft his club to make the fire too.
She would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have
cleft his club to make the fire too.
Ever a glutton, at another's cost,
But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.
Ever a glutton, at another's cost,
But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.
Digestion, much like Love and Wine, no trifling will brook:
His cook once spoiled the dinner of an Emperor read more
Digestion, much like Love and Wine, no trifling will brook:
His cook once spoiled the dinner of an Emperor of men;
The dinner spoiled the temper of his Majesty and then
The Emperor made history--and no one blamed the cook.
Hallo! A great deal of steam! the pudding was out of the
copper. A smell like a washing-day! That read more
Hallo! A great deal of steam! the pudding was out of the
copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A
smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each
other, with a laundress's next door to that. That was the
pudding.
I seem to you cruel and too much addicted to gluttony, when I
beat my cook for sending up read more
I seem to you cruel and too much addicted to gluttony, when I
beat my cook for sending up a bad dinner. If that appears to you
too trifling a cause, say for what cause you would have a cook
flogged.
And nearer as they came, a genial savour
Of certain stews, and roast-meats, and pilaus.
Things which read more
And nearer as they came, a genial savour
Of certain stews, and roast-meats, and pilaus.
Things which in hungry mortals' eyes find favour.
Would the cook were o' my mind!
Would the cook were o' my mind!
Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine,
And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.
Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine,
And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.
Cookery is become an art, a noble science; cooks are gentlemen.
Cookery is become an art, a noble science; cooks are gentlemen.
