Preface
PREFACE TO REVISED NINTH EDITION.
In this edition a considerable number of dishes have been added, and such alterations made as are demanded by the changes of fashion.
Dishes of a very elaborate character have, for the most part, been rejected. They are often merely (what a botanist would term) "sports" from well-established originals, differing from them, perhaps, only in some details of fantastic decoration, the fashions of which are very short-lived, and are quickly succeeded by some newer fancy.
With regard to decoration, it is suggested that very fanciful effects should be avoided. In a zeal for originality in this respect, the object of all decoration-viz. to render the dish attractiveseems occasionally to be forgotten, and a contrary effect is produced. Dishes are presented more fit to adorn a confectioner's window than to appear at a gentleman's table. viii PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION.
Compounds of preserves and ices have actually been made to represent, with painful accuracy, boiled legs of mutton, boars' heads, etc., etc It is a mistake, too, to give fantastic names to the dishes. A menu is intended to convey information, not to mislead or confuse; and few people care to bestow sufficient attention to the subject to enjoy a succession of "surprises."
Neither is a dish more generally appreciated for bearing an extravagant name-even when under such a name as Sastartées à la Malay are revealed the homely aspects of curried veal! One is reminded of the old saying, "Fine feathers do not make fine birds." au Names given to quenelles, creams, etc., often have reference to the fancy moulds in which they are dressed. For instance, Petites crèmes Chevalier are creams steamed or set in moulds made to represent little horseshoes. So petites cignes, petits chevaux, papillons, etc., refer to the moulds.
Even petites langues, petits jambonneaux, petits poulets, do not necessarily imply something made of tongue, ham, or chicken.
Very few such names are introduced in these pages. They are obviously only the passing fashion of the moment, and do more credit to the
The preface is the key to the rest of the book and worth reading before any other page. It says what the book is for, and it warns against two habits of the trade that make a menu unreadable.
- A menu book, not a cookbookThe entries throughout are one-sentence identifications. They tell you what a name means and what the dish looked like. There are no weights, no times and no methods anywhere in it. As a decoder it is excellent; as a recipe book it will leave you stranded.
- A name may describe the mouldThe preface gives the rule that unlocks hundreds of entries. Petites crèmes Chevalier are creams set in little horseshoe moulds, and petites langues, petits jambonneaux and petits poulets contain no tongue, ham or chicken — they are shapes. If a name sounds like an ingredient and the description never mentions it, the mould is doing the talking.
- SportsThe author borrows a botanist’s word. Elaborate dishes are sports from well-established originals, variations thrown off by an existing form and differing only in details of decoration. Most of them were cut from this edition because the fashions that produced them had already passed.
- Decoration had gone wrongThe complaint is specific. Preserves and ices were being moulded to imitate boiled legs of mutton and boars’ heads, and dishes were arriving fit for a confectioner’s window rather than a table. The stated purpose of decoration is to make a dish attractive, and the preface argues the fashion had inverted it.
- Honest namesA menu is meant to convey information, not to mislead or confuse. The example given is Sastartées à la Malay, which turns out to be curried veal. The advice holds for anyone writing a menu now: a name that has to be explained at the table has failed.
This is the ninth revised edition, and the preface says what the revisions were for — not better cooking but changed fashion, with the most elaborate dishes dropped because the fancies behind them were short-lived. What the page really records is anxiety. The reader being addressed is responsible for a gentleman’s table and afraid of looking absurd at it: afraid of serving something pretentious, of using a name the guests will laugh at, of decoration that tips over into vulgarity. The remedy offered is restraint and plain description, clinched with an old proverb about fine feathers and fine birds. An entire social position is being defended with a menu card.