 | The sayings of Dr. Bushwhacker, and other learned men |  |
VI.
A Peep into a Salad-Bowl.
“MY dear, learned friend,” said the Doctor, “a
Bowl of Lettuce is the Venus of the dinner
table! It rises upon the sight cool, moist and beautiful,
like that very imprudent lady coming out of the
sea, sir! And to complete the image, sir, neither should
be dressed too much!”
When Dr. Bushwhacker had issued this observation,
he drew himself up in a very portly manner, as if he felt
called upon to defend himself as well as his image. Then,
after a short pause, he broke—silence.
“Lactuca, or lettuce, is one of the most common vegetables
in the world; it has been known, sir, from time
immemorial; it was as common, sir, on the tables of
the ancients as it is now, and was eaten in the same way,
sir, dressed with oil and vinegar. We get, sir, from
Athenæus some idea of the condiments used: not all of
these contributed to make a salad, but it shows they had
the materials:
Newly boiled down, and asafœtida, (pah!)
And cheese, and thyme, and sesame, (open sesame,)
And nitre too, and cummin-seed,
And sumach, honey, and majorum,
And sauce of onions, mustard and capers mixed,
And parsley, capers too, and eggs,
And lime, and cardimums, and th' acid juice
Which comes from the green fig-tree; besides lard,
And eggs and honey, and flour wrapped in fig-leaves,
And all compounded in one savory force-meat.'
`Pepper from Lybya take, and frankincense.'
would have dressed a salad for you with Samian oil, and
Sphettian vinegar, sir, pepper from Lybia, and salt from
—ah—hm—”
“Attica, doctor.”
“Attica, my learned friend; thank you. Now, sir,
there was one thing the ancients did with lettuce which
we do not do. They boiled it, sir, and served it up like
asparagus; so, too, did they with cucumbers—a couple
of indigestible dishes they were, no doubt. Lettuce, my
dear friend, should have a quick growth, in the first place,
to be good; it should have a rich mould, sir, that it may
spring up quickly, so as to be tender and crisp. Then,
sir, it should be new-plucked, carried from the garden a
few minutes before it is placed upon the table. I would
suggest a parasol, sir, to keep the leaves cool until it
reaches the shadow of within-doors. Then, sir, it must
be washed—mind you—ice-water! Then place it upon
the table—what Corinthian ornament more perfect and
symmetrical. Now, sir, comes the important part, the
DRESSING. `To dress a salad,” says the learned Petrus
a counselor to dispense the salt, a miser to dole out the
vinegar, and a madman to stir it.' Commit that to
memory, my learned friend.”
“It is down, Doctor.” (Tablets.)
“Let me show you,” continued Dr. Bushwhacker,
“how to dress a salad. Take a small spoonful of salt,
thus: twice the quantity of mustard—`Durham'—thus:
incorporate: pour a slender stream of oil from the cruet,
so: gently mix and increase the action by degrees,”
(head of hair in commotion, and face brilliant in color;)
“dear me! it is very warm—now, sir, oil in abundance,
so; a dash of vinegar, very light, like the last touches of
the artist; and, sir, we have the dressing. Now, take up
the lettuce by the stalk! Break off the leaves—leaf by
leaf—shake off the water, replace it in the salad-bowl,
pepper it slightly, pour on the dressing, and there you
have it, sir.”
“Doctor, is that orthodox?”
“Sir,” replied Dr. Bushwhacker, holding the boxwood
spoon in one hand and the box-wood fork in the other;
“the eyes of thirty centuries are looking down upon me.
I know that Frenchmen will sprinkle the lettuce with oil
until it is thorougly saturated; then, sir, a little pepper;
then, sir, salt or not, as it happens; then, sir, vinaigre
by the drop—all very well. Our people, sir, in the State
of New Jersey, will dress it with salt, vinegar, and pepper—perfectly
barbarous, my learned friend; then comes
the Rev. Sidney Smith, sir, gives us a recipe in verse,
that shows how they do it there, and at the same time,
exhibits the deplorable ignorance of that very peculiar
people. I quote from memory, sir:
Smoothness and softness to the salad give;
Of mordant mustard add a single spoon,
Distrust the condiment that bites too soon,
But deem it not, Lady of herbs, a fault
To add a double quantity of salt.
Four times the spoon with oil of Lucca crown,
And twice with vinegar procured from town;
True flavor needs it, and your poet begs
The pounded yellow of two well-boiled eggs.
Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl,
And, scarce suspected, animate the whole.
Then lastly in the flavored compound toss
One magic spoonful of anchovy sauce.
O great and glorious! O herbaceous treat!
'T would tempt the dying anchorite to eat;
Back to the world he'd turn his weary soul,
And plunge his fingers in the Salad Bowl!'
is not to be thought of. No, sir! Take some of my
salad, and see if you do not dream afterwards of the
Greek mythology.”
| The sayings of Dr. Bushwhacker, and other learned men | |