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Salads, Sauces, and Pickles

"To make this condiment, your poet begs The powdered yellow of two hard-boiled eggs; Two boiled potatoes, passed through the kitchen sieve, Smoothness and softness to the salad give; Let onions atoms lurk within the bowl, And, half suspected, animate the whole; Of mordant mustard, add a single spoon; Distrust the condiment that bites so soon; But, deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault To add a double quantity of salt; Four times the spoon with oil from Lucca crown, And twice with vinegar, procured from town; And lastly, o'er the flavoured compound toss A magic soupcon of anchovy sauce.

O, green and glorious! O, herbaceous treat! "Twould tempt the dying anchorite to eat; Back to the world he'd turn his fleeting soul, And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl; Serenely full, the epicure would say, 'Fate cannot harm me, I have dined to-day."