The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;
My mistress made it one upon my cheek:
She is so hot because the meat is cold;
The meat is cold because you come not home;
You come not home because you have no stomach;
You have no stomach, having broke your fast;
But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray,
Are penitent for your default to-day.
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To make a ragout, first catch your hare.
[Fr., Poure faire un civet, prenez un lievre.]
To make a ragout, first catch your hare.
[Fr., Poure faire un civet, prenez un lievre.]
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.
Would the cook were o' my mind!
Would the cook were o' my mind!
If your slave commits a fault, do not smash his teeth with your
fists; give him some of the read more
If your slave commits a fault, do not smash his teeth with your
fists; give him some of the (hard) biscuit which famous Rhodes
has sent you.
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.
Cookery is become an art, a noble science; cooks are gentlemen.
Cookery is become an art, a noble science; cooks are gentlemen.
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.
The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg.
The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg.
Oh, better no doubt is a dinner of herbs,
When season'd with love, which no rancour disturbs
read more
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.
