MEG DODS'S COOKERY.1

[JUNE 1826.]

Most reviews of Cookery books that have fallen under our observation, have been so extremely witty, that it was not possible for us, who love facetiæ, to attend to the instruction conveyed along with the amusement; and consequently we are at this hour ignorant of the leading principles of several Systems, which it is the duty of every head of a house to understand. Now, in our opinion, cookery is by much too serious a subject for joking; and therefore, in this our short critique, we shall cautiously refrain from all sallies of imagination, and solemnly dedicate ourselves to the cause of science and truth.

Be it known, then, to all men by these presents, that this is a work worthy to be placed on the same shelf with Hunter, Glasse, Rundell, and Kitchener. We are confident that the Doctor will be delighted with it; and if any purchaser is known to give a bad dinner, after it has been a fortnight in his possession, the case may be given up as hopeless. The individual who has ingeniously personated Meg Dods, is evidently no ordinary writer, and the book is really most excellent miscellaneous reading. There has been a good deal of affectation of humour in some culinary authors-too much seasoning and spicery unnecessarily ornate garnishing of dishes that in their own native loveliness are, "when unadorned, adorned the most." But here we have twenty or thirty grave, sober,

1 The Cook and Housewife's Manual; containing the most approved Modern Receipts for making Soups, Gravies, Sauces, Ragouts, and Made-Dishes; and for Pies, Puddings, Pastry, Pickles, and Preserves; also for Baking, Brewing, making Home-made Wines, Cordials, &c.; the whole illustrated by numerous Notes, and Practical Observations on all the various branches of Domestic Economy. By MRS MARGARET DODS, of the Cleikum Inn, St Ronan's.

instructive, business-like pages, right on end, without one particle of wit whatever; then come as many more, sprinkled with facetiæ and then half-a-dozen of broad mirth and merriment. This alternation of grave and gay is exceedingly agreeable-something in the style of Blackwood's Magazine. But at the same time we are bound to say, in justice to Mrs Dods, that the Housewife's Manual is entirely free from that personality which too frequently disgraces that celebrated work.1

Mrs Dods prefaces her work by directions for carving, most of which are, we think, judicious, although, perhaps, they smack somewhat too much of the old school. A hint is thrown out, that the rudiments of the art should be taught practically in childhood," on plain joints and cold things," that in afterlife" provisions may not be haggled." Mrs Dods believes that although there are awkward grown-up persons, having, as the French say, two left hands, whom no labour will ever make dexterous carvers, yet that there is no difficulty in the art, which most young learners, if early initiated under the eyes of their friends, might not easily surmount. We believe this view of human nature to be just. Young persons of both sexes, of the most humble talents, provided they have ten fingers (five on each hand), may certainly be made fair carvers,

-and we have ourselves known not a few instances of boys, who were absolute dolts at the art, becoming men distinguished at the foot of the table.

The "carver's maxim" (which our readers may drink this afternoon in a bumper) is, according to Mrs Dods, " to deal small and serve all." No doubt at large parties it is so; and that is the fatal objection to large parties. Ten hungry men eye a small jigot "o' the black faced" with mixed pleasure and pain, when they all know that they must be helped according to the "carver's maxim." The best friends, so relatively placed, begin to dislike each other, and the angry wonder with them all is, why so many people of different characters and professions, perhaps countries, should agree in eating mutton? Therefore we love a partie quarré. No dish-unless absurdly small indeed—of which each of Us Four may not have a satisfactory portion. The "carver's maxim" is forgotten, or remembered only with a smile, and at such a board 1 Indeed?-C. N.

alone can liberty and equality at each side of the square preside.

At a large party, we hold that it is a physical impossibility to get anything to eat. Eating does not consist in putting cold, greasy, animal food into your mouth. That, we repeat, is not eating. Eating consists in putting into your mouth (chewing, swallowing, &c. of course), warm, juicy, thinnish or thickish, fat or lean, morsels of animal food, precisely at the nick of time. A minute too soon or five minutes too late, and you may cram, but to eat is impossible. What can one waiter do among so many? And if you have six waiters, what then? Confusion worse confounded. You see a great hulking fellow, perhaps with the ties of his neckcloth a yard long, powdered highly, and in a pawnbroker's coat, carrying off your plate to a greedy Whig on the opposite side of the table, who devours the Pope's Eye before your face, in all the bitterness of partyspirit. A sturdy, squat, broad-shouldered, red-headed scoundrel serves you the same trick, with an insolent leer, in favour of a Tory, a man of the same political principles with yourself, a member of the Pitt Club, and an occasional minor writer in Blackwood, who makes a show of sending the rich-freighted trencher round to you, its lawful owner, but, at the same moment, lets drop into the dark-hued gravy a plash of yellow beaten turnips, destined to his own maw. A grave-looking man, like a minister, comes solemnly behind your chair, and stretching forward a plate, which you doubt not is to make you happy at last, asks, in solemn accents, for a well-browned potato, and then lodges the deposit in the hands of mine host's accommodating banker. A spruce, dapper, little tarrier, who, during forenoons, officiates as a barber, absolutely lifts up, with irresistible dexterity, your plate the moment after he has put it down before you, and making apology for the mistake, carries it off to a red-faced woman of a certain age, who calls for bread with the lungs of a Stentor. Then will an aged man, with a bald head, blind and deaf as a dog in his teens, but still employed at good men's feasts on account of character, which saving almost constant drunkenness is unexceptionable, totter past with your plate, supported against his breast with feeble fingers; and unawakenable by the roar of a cannon, in spite of all your vociferation, he delivers up the largest prize in the lottery to a lout whom you hope, on no distant day, to see

hanged. By this time anger has quelled appetite-and when, by some miraculous interposition of Providence in your favour, you find yourself in possession of the fee-simple of a slice of mutton at last, it is a short, round, thick squab of a piece, at once fat and bloody, inspiring deep and permanent disgust, and sickening you into aversion to the whole dinner.

When the party is large, therefore, adopt the following advice, and you may be far from unhappy, although one of twentyfour. Look out for a dish neither illustrious nor obscure-a dish of unpretending modest merit, which may be overlooked by the greedy multitude, and which the man of judgment can alone descry—a dish of decent dimensions, and finding, although not seeking, concealment under the dazzle of the epergne—a dish rather broad than high-a dish which thus but one of many, and in its unambitious humbleness almost lost in the crowd, might nevertheless be in its single self a dinner to a man and his wife at the guestless board ;-select, we say, such a dish— if such a dish there be-and draw in your chair quietly opposite to it, however ugly may be the women on either side of you, yea even if the lady of the house insist on your sitting higher up the table. Be absolute and determined-your legs are under the mahogany-rise not-pay a compliment to the fearsome dear on your right hand, and to the no less alarming spinster on the left-and, without any thoughts of soup or fish, help yourself plentifully, but carelessly, to your own chosen dish, and Da Capo. Don't betray yourself by any overheard demonstrations of delight, but, if possible, eat with an air of indifference and nonchalance. Lay down your knife and fork now and then, if you can bring your mind to submit to a moment's delay, and look about you with a smile, as if dedicated to agreeable conversation, badinage, and repartee. Should any one suspect your doings, and ask what is that dish before you, shake your head, and make a face, putting your hand at the same time to your stomach, and then, with a mischievous eye, offering to send some of the nameless stew. All this time there are people at the table who have not had a morsel, and whom you see crumbling down their bread to appease the cravings of hunger. You have laid a famous foundation for any superstructure you may be pleased at your leisure to erect-have drank wine with both fair supporters-and Peebles ale with the Bailie-are in a mood to say witty things, and say them

accordingly-and in the gladness of your heart, offer to carve a sinewy old fowl, safely situated two covers off, and who, when taken in hand by the gentleman to whom he of right belongs, will be found to be a tougher job than the dismemberment of Poland.

Contrive it so that you are done, on solemn entrance of the goose. Catch mine host's eye at that critical moment, and you secure the first hot slice, while the apple-sauce seems absolutely to simmer. Do not scruple to say, that you have been waiting for the goose, for by that egregious lie you will get double commons. Public attention, too, being thus directed to the waiter who holds your plate, he must deliver it safe up into your hands, and all attempts to interrupt it in its progress prove abortive. Having thus the start in goose, you come in early for macaroni-tarts and puddings-and as we suppose you to have a steady, not a voracious appetite, why, after cheese, which like hope comes to all, we really see no reason to doubt your having made a very tolerable dinner.

But perhaps you have got yourself so entangled in the drawing-room with a woman with a long train and a bunch of blue feathers, that you cannot choose your position, and are forced to sit down before a ham. An argument arises whether it be Westmoreland, Dumfriesshire, or Westphalia, and every person present expresses a determination to bring the point to the decision of the palate. Instantly avow, with a face of blushing confusion, that you would not attempt to haggle such a ham for worlds-that in early life you were little accustomed to carving, having lived with a minister of small stipend and low board, who on meat days always cut up the hough himself, so that he had never sent out an even tolerable carver from the manse. If that sort of excuse won't do, down with the middle finger of your right hand, and holding it out piteously, exhibit the effect of temporary cramp or permanent rheumatism. Should neither expedient occur or be plausible, then on with a determined countenance, a bold eye, and a gruff voice, and declare that you took an oath, many years ago, "never to help a ham," which you have religiously kept through good report and bad report, and which it would be, indeed, most culpable weakness in you to break, now that your raven locks are beginning to be silvered with the insidious grey. Then tell the waiter who is like a minister, to take the