Would ye have fresh Cheese and Cream?
Julia’s Breast can give you them:
and if more: each Nipple cries,
To your cream, here’s Strawberries.

Man has been styled a speaking animal, a laughing animal, a bargaining animal, and a drunken animal, in contradistinction to all other animals, who neither speak, nor laugh, nor bargain, nor get drunk; but a cooking animal seems after all to be his most characteristic and distinguishing appellation. In the important art of cooking victuals he shines pre-eminent; here he taxes all his faculties, racks his invention, and gives unbounded range to his imagination. Nature has given to every other animal a peculiar taste, and furnished three or four kinds of food to suit that taste, but this sense in man accommodates itself to an innumerable quantity of materials. He has made copious selections from all things that dwell upon the face of the globe—from the birds of the air, from the fish of the sea, from the inhabitants of lake and river, yea, from the bowels of the earth has he extracted substances to minister to his palate, and the whole mineral and vegetable world has been ransacked with indefatigable industry for its gratification. Thousands of his species pass their lives in dreary mines, to send forth the simple but indispensable salt with which he seasons his viands; while others fit out frail vessels, and amid storm and tempest, traverse the wilderness of waters for certain spices that add piquancy to a favourite dish! But after he has collected all the products of the world together, that is only the commencement—the preliminary mustering of his forces. What are all these materials collectively, to the innumerable, the inconceivable quantity of dishes which he manufactures from them by skilful combinations or incongruous mixtures? — Twelve figures can be set down in thousands of different ways and no two alike; then out of those millions of primitive substances, what countless quintillions of dishes can he not compound! whilst every day new secrets are brought to light and added to the limitless list of gastronomic discoveries.
The ancients knew something as regarded these matters; but still they seemed to have studied expense and vanity more than real gratification. There are few that have not heard of the extravagances of an Heliogabalus; his brains of flamingos, his tongues of nightingales, and his heads of ostriches, six hundred of which were served up in a single dish, and for which single dish the deserts of Arabia must have been scoured and desolated—but there is no ingenuity in this, nothing remarkable, save its monstrous folly. At a later period the art took a more complex form. In 1577 the abstemious cardinal, Ascanius Colonna, gave an entertainment to the prince of Nassau, when the following unique olla podrida was produced, which was looked upon as one of the greatest achievements of the times, and was so admired and lauded by all who partook of it, that a certain holy father present at the feast, composed a Latin ode upon it, and handed the receipt down to an ungrateful posterity, who refuse to avail themselves of this chef d’oeuvre in the annals of cookery. The ingredients were “ten pounds of beef, three pounds of a pig, six wood pigeons, one pound of truffles, six thrushes, one capon, three pounds of turnips, six handsfull of green fennel seed, two pounds of sausages composed of curious materials, one pound of pepper, six onions, twelve larks, three lobsters, seven lampreys, four choice cardoons (a vegetable resembling celery), two heads of Bologna cabbage, three pounds of tallow, spices, salt, sugar, and other seasonings.” How stomachs were constructed in those days it is not stated.
The United States possess an advantage over all the nations of the earth in two things highly conducive to human happiness—oysters and peaches. Men may disagree about forms of government, or the fine arts, or the relative merits of poets, painters, and actors; and whether they are right or wrong, may be perfectly sincere and well meaning in their opinions; but whoever denies the complete supremacy of the oysters and peaches of that part of the world, must be given over as incurably infected with prejudice and perverseness. The peaches of England are nothing, and the oysters, generally speaking, no more to be compared to these, than a crab-apple to a pippin; though there ought to be an especial reservation made in favour of what is called the ” Colchester native,” the flavour of which must dwell in the grateful remembrance of all who have had the good fortune to taste them; they are uncommonly sweet, but small—a very choice oyster for ladies; but when taken into a tolerably capacious mouth, do not touch the palate at every point—there is still something wanting, and you do not experience that unalloyed gratification, that fulness of delight which is the necessary consequence of swallowing a large, fresh, fat, York-bay oyster. So extremely grateful are the latter to all who truly appreciate their estimable qualities, that every additional one only creates a keener desire for its successor,

        ”As if increase of appetite had grown 

         By what it fed on,”

until the stomach signifies its incapacity to receive a farther supply of the luscious and delectable food.
Man is naturally a self-opiniated contrary animal, and feels a natural inclination to disagree with his species on all earthly questions; but still he divides into parties and subdivides into factions, and it is possible to find half a dozen people who have the same views in politics, religion, and literature; but perhaps no two were ever formed since the creation with exactly the same tenets respecting the stomach. They may hold on together for some time, and confess that they both like boiled salmon or roast ducks; but let them speak upon the subject of eating for a quarter of an hour, and a hundred minute but important differences of taste discover themselves. Indeed, two men alike in this respect would be a much greater rarity than the two Dromios. There are few points on which there is a more unanimous opinion entertained than on oysters. All agree as to their virtues in the first instance; but whether they are best raw, or stewed, or fried, or broiled, or pickled, is the subject of endless cavillings, and interminable harangues. The longest dispute I ever listened to was whether it was best to devour these creatures with black pepper or red; and such was the earnestness of the disputants that the man employed in opening them, making a mistake, kept helping the red pepper advocate with black and the black pepper zealot with red; and to the infinite amusement of the lookers on, neither found out the difference until they were told, when both instantly declared they thought the oysters had a very peculiar taste! Just as newspapers or politicians will now-a-days commence a fiery dispute concerning democratic and aristocratic parties, or the powers of the general and local governments, until they unconsciously change sides in the course of the argument, without being anything the wiser; and just so trivial and undistinguishable are half the disputes into which we poor brainless bipeds plunge with such uncontrollable fury, to the infinite amusement of all calm and dispassionate spectators. But it will not do to go on grounding general reflections on an oyster. It was made for better things than to be a theme from which to extract a questionable moral. I would if I could be eloquent in thy praise, thou best and gravest of fish — thou most nutritious and digestible of moluscous substances — thou stanchest friend and steadiest supporter of Afric’s trampled sons, for whom thou daily effectest more than Wilberforce can ever hope to compass—much do I regret that the insatiable appetites of the citizens are robbing their bay of its greatest boast; like the boy who killed the goose for the golden eggs, they are not content with the yearly produce of thy fruitful beds, but they leave them oysterless, seize on both interest and principal, and expect a miracle to provide for the future. It is easy to foresee the ruinous consequences of such atrocious conduct— but it is not in common prose that thy merits and sufferings should be commemorated. I will take my harp, and sweep its softest strings.

With feelings strange and undefined I gaze upon thy face,
Thou choice and juicy specimen of an ill-fated race;
How calmly, yea, how meekly thou reclinest in thy shell,
Yet what thy woes and sufferings are man may conjecture well!

For thou hast life as well as he who recklessly seeks thine,
And, couldst thou speak, might draw forth tears as briny as thy brine;
For thou wast torn from friends and home and all thy heart could wish,
Thou hapless, helpless, innocent, mute, persecuted fish.

Perhaps thou wast but newly joined to some soft plump young bride,
Who op’d her mouth for food with thee when flowed the flowing tide,*
Perhaps thou hast a family, from whom thou hast been torn,
Who sadly wail for him, alas, who never will return!

Thou wast happy on thy native bed, where blithesome billows play,
Till the cruel fisher wrench’d thee from thy ‘home, sweet home,’ away;
He stow’d thee in his coble and he rowed thee to the strand—
Thou wast bought and sold and opened, and placed in this right hand!

I know that while I moralize thy flavour fades away,
I know thou shouldst be ate alive,* before thy sweets decay!
I know that it is foolishness, this weak delay of mine,
And epicures may laugh at it as sentimental whine.

Well, let them laugh, I still will drop a tear o’er thy sad fate,
Thou wretched and ill-fated one! thou sad and desolate! 

O’er thee and o’er thy kindred hangs one all-consuming doom, 

To die a slow and lingering death, or, living, find a tomb!

Like the Indian from the forest—like the roebuck from the glen,
Thy race is dwindling silently before the arts of men ;
Ye are passing from the river, from the sea-bank and the shore,
And the haunts that long have known ye, shall know ye soon no more!

The Blue-point and the Shrewsbury* are vanishing away, 

And clamless soon will be our streams, and oysterless our bay; 

Rapacious man, before your prime, ordains that ye shall die, 

And drags ye from your cool retreats to boil and stew and fry!

Why were ye made so racy, rich, and luscious to the taste?
“T’is that has stripped your thickest banks, and made your beds a waste;
“Your virtues have proved sanctified and holy traitors to ye,”
And that which was your proudest boast has served but to undo ye!

E’en I, the friend of all thy kind, when I think of what thou art, 

When I ponder o’er the melting joys thy swallowing will impart,

Can delay thy fate no longer; one look, it is my last! 

A gulp—one more—a silent pause—a sigh—and all is past!

*Oysters taken from the river and kept in fresh water, open their mouths at the time of the flowing of the tide, in expectation of their accustomed food —Dr. Kitchiner.
*Those who wish to enjoy this most delicious restorative in the utmost perfection must eat it the moment it is opened, with its own gravy in the under shell; if not eaten while absolutely alive, its flavour and spirit are lost.—Dr. Kitchiner.
*Two famous species, found adjacent to New-York, now nearly extinct.

The china gleams in blue and white,
    The twilight hour is swift approaching;
Entranced I note with shy delight,
    No other callers are approaching.

A cup she designates as mine,
    With motion of her dainty finger.
the kettle boils — oh! drink divine,
    In mem’ry shall thy fragrance linger.

Her kerchief’s made in style of yore,
    Some fairy surely put the hem on.
Held sugar such a charm before?
    Was e’er such magic in a lemon?

She turns away with manner coy,
    The firelight shows her beauty clearer;
Oh, why is teasing such a joy!
    I wish she’d come a little nearer.

Wi sit and sip — the time flies fast,
    My cup needs filling — project clever!
She comes and I grown bold at last
    Say “Darling, make my tea forever!”

Such nice distinctions pertain essentially to the aesthetics of gastronomy. All deipnophilists¹ know that repaître signifies to take nourishment, to feed, to eat. Therefore to feed, which is synonymous with to eat, may strictly be applied to the act of eating whether in the case of lower animals or of human beings. But in gastronomy the distinction between feeding and eating is admitted as justifiable. Surely the manner of feeding of certain lower animals is not pleasing to the sight or hearing of refined persons; the rodentia crunching noisily their hard nutriment; the herbivora browsing, nibbling the grass and chewing the cud; the carnivora growling while tearing and voraciously bolting the bleeding flesh; the omnivorous swine grunting while avidly and disgustingly gulping their food. Human creatures there are who, in imitation of these beasts, crunch noisily, brouse, nibble, munch, tear, bolt or gulp ravenously their aliments and even growl or grunt while doing so. Hence it is that such men are styled gormandisers or gluttons. There are also those who eat, as it were, mechanically, distractedly, without regard to the nature of the food, to its taste, or to its nutritive properties. They eat without thinking of, or caring what they are eating. But the wise man, “L’homme d’esprit,” knows what, when, and how to eat. He is careful of the choice of his food, of its mode of preparation and of its service. He assures himself of its special properties, selects such substances as are known to be of easy digestion at the same time that they are pleasing to the taste and to other senses, consumes them slowly, deliberately and thoughtfully, and thus not only satisfies hunger but gratifies appetite and promotes health.

[1]
It comes from two Greek words, deipnon, the chief meal or dinner, and sophistes, a master of his craft, a clever or wise man. The Oxford English Dictionary says it refers to a master of the art of dining, which might be somebody versed in the culinary arts or appreciative of fine food, a gastronome or gourmet.

Said Stiggins to his wife one day,
    ”We’ve nothing left to eat;
if things go on this queer way,
    We shan’t make both ends meet.”

The dame replied, in words discreet,
    ”We’re not so badly fed,
If we can make but one end meat,
    And make the other bread.”

“The most indispensable quality of a cook is exactitude: it should be also that of the guest.”

This precept is warmly applauded by all lovers of good cheer who regard its violation as a serious breach of duty on the part of the cook as well as that of the invited guest. The bon vivant Grimod once said: “Un véritable gourmand ne se fait jamais attendre.” This punctuality is surely characteristic of the veritable gourmet, who knows of the habit of exactitude of good cooks, and of the sad consequences of the tardy arrival of guests. To be thus belated voluntarily or carelessly is an unpardonable crime of lèse gastronomy¹ punishable through the ingestion of cold victuals or over-done meats, besides the scorn and frowns of the punctual attendants who are suffering for the sin of the delinquent.

[1} Pun on lèse-majesté: the insulting of a monarch or other ruler; treason.

• Prep. Time: 10 min.
• Serves 4
• Measurements are U.S. standard and metric units.

INGREDIENTS
24 Fresh Oysters such as Malpeque, Kumamoto, Belon, or Blue Points
Chives
8 Tablespoons (120 ml) Balsamic Vinegar
Lemons
Red Pepper
Crushed Ice

DIRECTIONS

Scrub the oysters under cold water with a stiff brush to remove the dirt. Shuck the oysters with an oyster knife or dull butter knife. Bend the top shell back and discard it. Run the knife underneath the oyster to detach it completely from the bottom shell, but leave it inside the shell. Nestle the oysters in a bed of crushed ice.

Mince the chives very fine. Place the minced chives inside a little bowl. Add Balsamic Vinegar. Add Red Pepper (best if freshly grated). Mix well.

Distribute evenly the resulting Balsamic Vinegar Condiment on top of each one of the oysters on the half shell. Sprinkle fresh squeezed lemon juice on each one of the oysters.

Note
Remember the R month rule: oysters are best during the winter months from September to April (months with R in the them).

View TasteArts Collection Of Fine Balsamic Vinegars From Italy
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Initial Tasting To Gauge Aroma And Flavor

Traditional Balsamic Vinegar has different stages of evolution during which its aroma, flavor, and density undergo profound changes acquiring unique characteristics. Its final and most precious evolution culminates around the 25th year of aging. Alongside the natural chemical evolution, Traditional Balsamic Vinegar is affected by the artistry of the producer coupled with subtleties in production techniques. All together it can be said that a bottle of Traditional Balsamic Vinegar possesses its own intrinsic and unique personality. For this reason before use it’s a good idea to taste the Traditional Balsamic Vinegar in order to gauge its sweetness, bouquet, acidity, and density. This preliminary tasting (a tiny bit from the tip of a spoon) of the Traditional Balsamic Vinegar reveals general guidelines helpful to decide an optimum employment. For example, a rich sweet well-rounded dense Traditional Balsamic Vinegar goes well with a fresh salad or dessert, while a lesser intense one could be used for cooked meats or fish where in any case heat may compromises aroma and flavor of the Traditional Balsamic Vinegar. Moreover, it’s important to consider the intensity of the prevalent flavor of a given preparation: a too sweet Traditional Balsamic Vinegar can easily overpower the underlining flavor base of an entire dish. On the other hand, at times a perfect balance of flavor and taste is required between the main ingredient of the dish and the accompanying Traditional Balsamic Vinegar as for oysters and traditional balsamic vinegar. In short, an initial taste of the Traditional Balsamic Vinegar provides a starting point from which to create different dynamic flavor and aroma compositions. Of course, all things considered, the personal taste and experience of the cook remain the ultimate judge.

When To Add Traditional Balsamic Vinegar

Traditional Balsamic Vinegar whether from Modena or Reggio-Emilia should always be added last in the list of ingredients that go into any and all preparations where heat is applied. Most important, Traditional Balsamic Vinegar should never cook for extended periods of time; in most cases a couple of minutes are sufficient to have the Traditional Balsamic Vinegar impregnate the preparation. The reason for caution with heat is simple: excessive heat strips away aroma and flavor of the Traditional Balsamic Vinegar. For hot food already placed on a plate it’s a good idea to sprinkle Traditional Balsamic Vinegar uniformly right before serving. On the contrary, when no heat is applied to the preparation, as for example with fresh salads, the ideal sequence is salt, Traditional Balsamic Vinegar, and last extra virgin olive oil or any other ingredient or condiment (see “Essential Tip To Prepare Italian Balsamic Vinegar Dressing For Green Salads”).

Quantity Of Traditional Balsamic Vinegar To Be Used In A Recipe

The expensive price tag of Traditional Balsamic Vinegar has diffused a tendency for an often exaggerated parsimonious usage. By and large, a correct amount is a scarce 2 (two) tablespoons (30 milliliters) per person. Obviously, for special preparations the intensiveness of the Traditional Balsamic Vinegar coupled with the experience and sensibility of the cook determines the proper amount.

How To Store Traditional Balsamic Vinegar Of Modena

Traditional Balsamic Vinegar should be stored in its own original glass little bottle. After use It’s sufficient to simply close the bottle with its original cork cap. It’s not necessary to seal the cork, simply cork it tight. The bottle should be stored away from substances with strong scents to avoid any possible contamination. Avoid strong temperature shocks and store away in cool dark place.

Balsamic Vinegar Of Modena Banda Rossa 5 Gold Medals By Giuseppe Giusti

THE members of the Boston Commercial Club are charming gentlemen. They are now the guests of the Chicago Commercial Club, and are being shown every attention that our market affords. They are a finelooking lot, well-dressed and well-mannered, with just enough whiskers to be impressive without being imposing.
    ”This is a darned likely village,” said Seth Adams last evening. “Everybody is rushin’ ’round an’ doin’ business as if his life depended on it. Should think they’d git all tuckered out ‘fore night, but I ‘ll be darned if there ain’t just as many folks on the street after nightfall as afore. We’re stoppin’ at the Palmer tavern; an’ my chamber is up so all-fired high that I can count all your meetin’-house steeples from the winder.”
    Last night five or six of these Boston merchants sat around the office of the hotel, and discussed matters and things. Pretty soon they got to talking about beans; this was the subject which they dwelt on with evident pleasure.
    ”Waal, sir,” said Ephraim Taft, a wholesale dealer in maple-sugar and flavored lozenges, “you kin talk ’bout your new-fashioned dishes an’ high-falutin vittles; but, when you come right down to it, there ain’t no better eatin’ than a dish o’ baked pork ‘n’ beans.”
    ”That’s so, b’gosh!” chorused the others.
    ”The truth o’ the matter is,” continued Mr. Taft, “that beans is good for everybody,
— ‘t don’t make no difference whether he ’s well or sick. Why, I ‘ve known a thousand folks — waal, mebbe not quite a thousand; but, — waal, now, jest to show, take the case of Bill Holbrook; you remember Bill, don’t ye?”
    ”Bill Holbrook?” said Mr. Ezra Eastman; “why, of course I do! Used to live down to Brimfield, next to the Moses Howard farm.”
    ”That’s the man,” resumed Mr. Taft. ” Waal, Bill fell sick, — kinder moped round, tired like, for a week or two, an’ then tuck to his bed. His folks sent for Dock Smith, — ol’ Dock Smith that used to carry round a pair o’ leather saddlebags, — gosh, they don’t have no sech doctors nowadays! Waal, the dock, he come; an’ he looked at Bill’s tongue, an’ felt uv his pulse, an’ said that Bill had typhus fever. 0I’ Dock Smith was a very careful, conserv’tive man, an’ he never said nothin’ unless he knowed he was right.
    ”Bill began to git wuss, an’ he kep’ a-gittin’ wuss every day. One mornin’ ol’ Dock Smith sez, ‘Look a-here, Bill, I guess you ‘re a goner; as I figger it, you can’t hoI’ out till nightfall.’
    ”Bill’s mother insisted on a con-sul-tation bein’ held; so ol’ Dock Smith sent over for young Dock Brainerd. I calc’late that, next to ol’ Dock Smith, young Dock Brainerd was the smartest doctor that ever lived.
    ”Waal, pretty soon along come Dock Brainerd; an’ he an’ Dock Smith went all over Bill, an’ looked at his tongue, an felt uv his pulse, an’ told him it was a gone case, an’ that he had got to die. Then they went off into the spare chamber to hold their consultation.
    ”Waal, Bill he lay there in the front room a-pantin’ an’ a-gaspin’ an’ a-wond’rin’ whether it wuz true. As he wuz thinkin’, up comes the girl to get a clean tablecloth out of the clothes-press, an’ she left the door ajar as she come in. Bill he gave a sniff, an’ his eyes grew more natural-like; he gathered together all the strength he had, an’ he raised himself up on one elbow, an’ sniffed again.”
    ” ‘Sary,’ says he, ‘wot’s that a-cookin’?’
    ” ‘Beans,’ says she, ‘beans for dinner.’
    ” ‘Sary,’ says the dyin’ man, ‘I must hev a plate uv them beans!’
    ” ‘Sakes alive, Mr. Holbrook!’ says she; ‘if you wuz to eat any o’ them beans, it’d kill ye!’
    ” ‘If I’ve got to die,’ says he, ‘I’m goin’ to die happy; fetch me a plate uv them beans.’
    ”Waal, Sary, she pikes off to the doctors.
    ” ‘Look a-here,’ says she. ‘Mr. Holbrook smelt the beans cookin’, an’ he says he’s got to have a plate uv ‘em. Now, what shall I do about it?’
    ” ‘Waal, doctor,’says Dock Smith, ‘what do you think ’bout it?
    ” ‘He’s got to die anyhow,’ says Dock Brainerd; ‘an’ I don’t suppose the beans ‘ll make any diffrence.’
    ” ‘That’s the way I figger it,’ says Dock Smith; ‘in all my practice I never knew of beans hurtin’ anybody.’
    ”So Sary went down to the kitchen, an’ brought up a plateful of hot baked beans. Dock Smith raised Bill up in bed, an’ Dock Brainerd put a piller under the small of Bill’s back. Then Sary sat down by the bed, an’ fed them beans into Bill until Bill could n’t hold any more.
    ” ‘How air you feelin’ now ?’ asked Dock Smith.
    ”Bill did n’t say nuthin’; he jest smiled sort uv peaceful-like, an’ closed his eyes.
    ” ‘The end hes come,’ said Dock Brainerd sofly. ‘Bill is dyin’.’
    ”Then Bill murmured kind o’ far-away-like (as if he was dreamin’), ‘I ain’t dyin’; I’m dead an’ in heaven.’
    ”Next mornin’ Bill got out uv bed, an’ done a big day’s work on the farm, an’ he hain’t hed a sick spell since. Them beans cured him! I tell you, sir, that beans is,” etc.

An epicure, I mean to sing
    The table, as a subject fitting;
‘T is certainly a useful thing,
    And friendship’s ties is ever knitting.
Censure its weapons may unsheathe,
    To stop my song it is unable;
So, fearless of the critic’s teeth,
    I here discourse upon the table.

A tribute must be due, of course,
    To such an universal mother.
Of life the table is the source;
    Indeed, my friend, I know no other.
The pillow, where you lay your head,
    Is soft, but raises visions sable:
The dying wretch is on his bed,
    The jolly dog is at his table.

A dish that scatters rich perfumes
    Must charm the sense beyond all measure,—
The anxious nose the steam consumes,
    Inhaling mighty draughts of pleasure:
Compared to feasting, songs, and mirth,
    All other joys are but unstable;
The coldest heart that beats on earth
    Is melted by a smoking table.

Two rivals hear the church clock tell
    The moment that their life will take fast;
The second knows his business well,
    Who asks them both to come to breakfast.
All anger soon in wine is drowned,—
    To do such wonders wine is able,—
The rivals had been underground,
    Had they not rather sat at table.

Fat Raymond’s door is every day
    Besieged by countless cabs and chaises,
City and court their visits pay,
    And all alike resound his praises.
“His virtues, then, must be most rare,
    That thus his fame mounts up like Babel.”
“Not so.” — “Then vast his talents are?”
    ”No; but he keeps a first-rate table.”

At table on affairs we muse,
    At table marriage contracts settle,
At table win, and sometimes lose,
    At table wrangling shows our mettle;
At table Cupid plumes his wing,
    At table we write truth or fable,
At table we do everything,
    So let us never leave the table.