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Studying Appearances

In addition to the first and primary principle of cooking--i.e., of supplying the body with nourishment--there are two other important principles to be constantly borne in mind: one is to please the palate, the other to please the eye. We have called them two principles, but in reality they are one, for the reason that the palate is pleased by means of the eye. There are some good old sayings pregnant with meaning, such as, "It makes one hungry to look at it," or "It makes one's mouth water." Have you ever observed a very hungry animal tied up, or in a cage, just before it is red, when a fine and to him tempting piece of juicy meat is brought in view? Making the mouth water is no figure of speech, but a reality that can be witnessed any day at the Zoological Gardens. I believe that in teaching young cooks one cannot begin too soon to impress upon them the importance of appearances.

For instance, in making a mayonnaise salad, it is almost as easy to make an elegant dish as a plain one. Why not therefore do so on every occasion? The lettuce, etc., inside, the sauce made as thick almost as butter, and spread over the salad. A little lobster coral or fine-chopped green parsley, sprinkled with a few bright green capers on the white sauce. A few little strips of red beetroot added, and, if the salad be a chicken one, a few slices of white chicken, stamped in the shape of a cock's comb, placed alternately with some similar shaped pieces of red tongue placed round the base; some filleted anchovies and stoned olives will be found an improvement. What a difference to all the ingredients being piled together in a dish anyhow without regard to appearances.

I will take another instance. In London, at times, in cheap eating-houses, will be seen a window with perhaps fifty or a hundred cold roast fowls all heaped up together, going cheap. Does it make your mouth water, even if you are hungry? No. Suppose however, we were to take one of these fowls, and put it on a nice bright silver dish, and ornament it with some green double parsley, and a few thin slices of cut lemon--the dish must be placed on a cloth as white as snow--what a difference!

Again, look at a sirloin of beef that has got cold in the dish in which it was originally cooked. The gravy has settled, and the whole joint is studded with wafers of fat; the edge of the dish, too, is greasy. Suppose some stupid servant were to bring up the joint just as it is. It is perfectly wholesome, but would it look tempting? On the other hand, look at a cold sirloin on the sideboard, in a large clean dish, with plenty of curly white horseradish and parsley. There are to my mind few dishes more tempting; and yet, bear in mind, the difference between the two is simply that of appearance. Take, again, butter--especially in summer time. The same butter on a smeary plate looking like pomatum, or in a bright cut-glass dish done up into neat little pats, with here and there a tiny piece of parsley to set it off. I have known cooks exclaim, "Oh, never mind what it looks like, as long as it tastes all right." This is, however, a great mistake. Now in boiling fish, not only should the cook endeavour to boil it properly--i.e., not too much or too little--but also endeavour to make the fish white. How, you may ask, can this be done? By bearing in mind that the colouring matter in fish is affected and partially dissolved by acids. Suppose you have a large turbot. Before putting it into the fish-kettle, all you have to do is to rub the fat, white side of the turbot with a slice of lemon, the effect of this being to render the fish far whiter when it is taken out of the water than it otherwise would be. Here, again, when you know the principle, it is a guide to boiling all large fish. Of course, too, in lifting the fish out of the water, the scum floating on the top of the water should in every case be first removed, as it would otherwise settle on the fish, and destroy not only the appearance, but even the flavour. In boiling all large white fish, regard should be had to appearances; no fish should be sent up quite plain. If the cook would always have in his or her possession a small quantity of lobster coral, a little could be easily sprinkled over the surface of the fish. It is wonderful how a fish is improved in appearance by such a simple means as this. If, in addition, some fresh parsley, cut lemon, and a few good-sized prawns are used by way of ornament, the fish that would otherwise present quite an ordinary appearance is made into a really elegant dish.

This principle of "making things look white" will extend beyond the region of fish. For instance, good cooks will put a few drops of vinegar into the water in which they poach eggs. Why? For the simple reason that the eggs will look whiter; the colouring matter mixed in with the eggs is more soluble in boiling water slightly acid than in ordinary water, and, consequently, poached eggs treated this way will come to table presenting that snowy appearance that renders them far more appetising--not that they taste better, but that the palate is affected through the eye.