 | The sayings of Dr. Bushwhacker, and other learned men |  |
III.
The Radiant Dinner Castor.
WE begin to think there is wisdom in Dr. Bushwhacker.
“There are other things to study
geography from, besides maps and globes,” is one of his
favorite maxims. We begin to believe it. “Observe
my learned friend,” said he, “how the reflected sunshine
from those cut bottles in the castor-stand, throws long
plumes of light in every direction across the white damask.”
We leaned forward, and saw the phenomenon
pointed out by the index-finger of the Doctor, and as we
knew something was coming from his pericranics, kept
silent of course. “Well,” said he, inflating his lips until
his face looked like that of a cast-iron caryatid, “well,
my dear friend, every pencil of light there is a point of the
compass, and the contents of that castor come from places
as various as those diverging rays indicate. The mustard
is from England, the vinegar from France, China furnishes
the soy, Italy the oil, we have to ask the West
Indies to contribute the red-pepper, and the East Indies
to supply the black-pepper.” We ventured to remark
that those facts we were not ignorant of, by any means.
“True, my dear learned friend,” said the Doctor, with a
sort of snort; “but God bless me! if one-half of the
Doctor Bushwhacker, not at all discomfited, “comes
from Durham, in the north of England—that is, the best
quality. The other productions of this county do not
amount to much, nor is it celebrated for any thing,
except that here the Queen Philippa, wife of King
Edward the Third, captured David Bruce, King of Scots,
for which reason no Scotchman can eat Durham mustard
except with tears in his eyes. We get our grindstones
from this English county, my learned friend; and when
you sharpen your knife or your appetite hereafter, it will
remind you of Durham. That long pencil of light from
the next bottle points to France, where they make the
best wine-vinegar we get. Just observe the difference
between that sturdy, pot-bellied mustard-bottle, which
represents John Bull, and this slender sharp, vinegarcruet,
which represents Johnny Crapeau; there is a
national distinction sir, in cruets as well as men. The
quantity of vinegar made in France is very great, the
best comes from Bordeaux; sometimes it is so strong that
the Frenchmen call it `vinaigre des trois dents,' or vinegar
with three teeth; but the finest flavored vinegar I
ever met with came from Portugal, and for a salad, nothing
could equal its delicate aroma. Well, sir, then there
is the red-pepper, the Cayenne; that I presume is from
Jamaica?” We assented.
“The best and strongest kind is made partly of the bird
pepper, and partly of the long-pod pepper of the West
tropics it is indispensable; there is a maxim there, sir,
that people who eat Cayenne pepper will live for ever.
Like variety, it is the spice of life, sir, at the equator.
Our own gardens, sir, furnish capsicum, and in fact it
grows in all parts of the world; but that from the West
Indies is esteemed to be the best, and I think with justice.
Now, sir, the next pencil of light is reflected from
the Yellow Sea!”
“The soy, Doctor?”
“The soy, my learned friend; the best fish-sauce on
the face of the globe. The soy, sir, or `soya,' as the
Japanese call it, is a species of bean, which would grow
in this country as well as any other Chinese plant. Few
Chinamen eat anything without a mixture of this bean-jelly
in some shape or other. They scald and peel the
beans, then add an equal quantity of wheat or barley,
then the mess is allowed to ferment, then they add a little
salt, sometimes tumeric for color, water is added also, in
the proportion of three to one of the mass, and after a
few months' repose the soy is pressed, strained, and ready
for market. That, sir, is the history of that cruet, and
now we will pass on to the black pepper.”
“A glass of wine first, Doctor, if you please.”
“Thank you, my dear friend; bless me, how dry I
am.”
“Black pepper, piper nigrum, is the berry of a vine
that grows in Sumatra and Ceylon, but our principal
Island of Java; and we have to pay our web-footed
Knickerbockers, across the water, a little toll upon that,
as we do upon many other things of daily consumption.
The pepper-vine is a very beautiful plant, with large,
oval, polished leaves and showy white flowers, that would
look beautiful if wound around the head of a bride.”
“No doubt, Doctor, but I think the less pepper about
a bride the better.”
“Good, my learned friend; you are right; if I were
to get married again, sir,” continued the Doctor in a very
hearty manner, “I should be a little afraid of the contact
of piper nigrum.”
“What is white pepper, Doctor?”
“White pepper is the same, sir, as black pepper, only
it is decorticated, that is, the black husk has been rubbed
off. Now, sir, there is not much else interesting about
pepper, except that the best probably comes from the
kingdom of Bantam; and the quantity, formerly exported
from the seaport of that name in the Island of Java,
amounted, sir, to ten thousand tons annually; a good
seasonable supply of seasoning for the world, sir. Well,
sir, we are also indebted to Bantam for a very small breed
of fowls, the peculiar use of which no philosopher has as
yet been able to determine. Now, sir, we have finished
the castor, I think?”
“There is one point of light, Doctor, that indicates
Italy; what of the oil?”
“Ah! Lucca and Parma! Indeed, sir, I may say,
France, Spain, and Italy!
Both hemispheres proclaim its worth.'
days about that. It is from Pliny's History of Nature,
sir. (Liber. XV.) The olive in the western world
was the companion, sir, as well as the symbol of peace.
Two centuries after the foundation of Rome, both Italy
and Africa were strangers to this useful plant. It was
naturalized in those countries, sir, and at length carried
into the heart of Spain and Gaul. The timid errors of
the ancients, that it required a certain degree of heat,
and could not flourish in the neighborhood of the sea,
were insensibly exploded by industry and experience.
There, sir! But the timid errors of the ancients are not
more surprising than the timid errors of the moderns.
The olive tree should be as common here as it is in the
old world, especially as it is the emblem of peace. My
old friend, Dominick Lynch, sir, the wine-merchant, the
only great wine-merchant we ever had, sir, imported the
finest oil, sir, from Lucca, known even to this day as
`Lynch's Oil.' He it was who made Château Margaux
and the Italian opera, popular, sir, in this great metropolis.
Poor Dom! Well, sir, I suppose you know all
about the olive tree?”
“On the contrary, very little.”
“Well, the olive is as easily propagated as the willow.
You must go boldly to work, however, and cut off a limb
of the tree, as big as my arm, and plant that. No twig,
sir. In three years it will bear; in five years it will have
a full crop; in ten years it will be in perfection. If you
plant a slip, it will take twenty years or more to mature.
Its mode of bearing is biennial, and you can prune it
every other year, and plant the cuttings. Longworth
ought to take up the olive, sir; and he might have a
wreath to put around his head, as he deserves. Well,
my learned friend, when the olive is ripe—the fruit I
mean—it is of a deep violet color. Those we get in bottles
are plucked while they are green. The plums are
put between two circular mill-stones—the upper one convex,
the lower one concave; the fruit is thus crushed,
and afterward put into a press, and the oil is extracted by
means of a powerful lever. That is all, sir; an oil-press
is not a very handsome article to look at; but in the
South, I think it would be serviceable at least; butter
there is not always of the best quality in summer; and
olive oil would be a delightful substitute.”
“What of French and Spanish oil, Doctor?”
“Spanish oil is very good, sir. So is French; we get
little of the Italian oil now. The oil of Aix, near Marseilles,
is of superior quality; but that does not come to
our market. Lately I have used the oil of Bordeaux in
place of the Italian; it is very fine. But speaking of
olive oil, let me tell you an anecdote of my friend Godey,
man of that name in the world. Well, sir, Godey had
a new servant-girl; I never knew any body that didn't
have a new servant-girl! Well, sir, Godey had a dinner-party
in early spring, when lettuce is a rarity, and of
course he had lettuce. He is a capital hand at a salad,
and so he dressed it. The guests ate it; and—sir—well,
sir, I must hasten to the end of the story. Said Godey
to the new girl next morning: `What has become of that
bottle of castor-oil I gave you to put away yesterday
morning?' `Sure,' said she, `you said it was castor-oil,
and I put it in the castor.' `Well,' said Godey, `I
thought so.”'
| The sayings of Dr. Bushwhacker, and other learned men | |