not only for itself but for what it may become.

SAVORIES: If you serve these, let them be, like an ankle, small and neat
and alluring. This dish is not obligatory; recollect that it is but a
culinary work of supererogation.

SOUP: Let your soup be extremely hot; do not let it be like the
Laodiceans. You know what St. John said about them, and you would be
sorry to think of your soup sharing the fate which he describes with such
saintly verve. Be sure that your soup has a good foundation, and avoid
the Italian method of making _consomme_, which is to put a pot of
water on to warm and to drive a cow past the door.

FISH: It is a truism to say that fish should be absolutely fresh, yet
only too many cooks think, during the week-end, that fish is like the
manna of the Hebrews, which was imbued with Sabbatarian principles that
kept it fresh from Saturday to Monday. I implore of you to think
differently about fish. It is a most nourishing and strengthening food
--other qualities it has, too, if one must believe the anecdote of the
Sultan Saladin and the two anchorites.

MEAT: If your meat must be cooked in water, let it not boil but merely
simmer; let the pot just whisper agreeably of a good dish to come. Do you
know what an English tourist said, looking into a Moorish cooking-pot?
"What have you got there? Mutton and rice?" "For the moment, Sidi, it is
mutton and rice," said the Moorish cook; "but in two hours, inshallah,
when the garlic has kissed the pot, it will be the most delicious
comforter from Mecca to Casa Blanca." Simmer and season, then, your
meats, and let the onion (if not garlic) just kiss the pot, even if you
allow no further intimacy between them. Use bay-leaves, spices, herbs of