FRIEND.

    Right honest Cook! thou wak’st me from their dreams!

Another cook informs us that he adapts his repasts to his personages.

    I like to see the faces of my guests,
    To feed them as their age and station claim. 
    My kitchen changes, as my guests inspire
    The various spectacle; for lovers now,
    Philosophers, and now for financiers. 
    If my young royster be a mettled spark,
    Who melts an acre in a savoury dish
    To charm his mistress, scuttle-fish and crabs,
    And all the shelly race, with mixture due
    Of cordials filtered, exquisitely rich. 
    For such a host, my friend! expends much more
    In oil than cotton; solely studying love! 
    To a philosopher, that animal,
    Voracious, solid ham and bulky feet;
    But to the financier, with costly niceness,
    Glociscus rare, or rarity more rare. 
    Insensible the palate of old age,
    More difficult than the soft lips of youth,
    To move, I put much mustard in their dish;
    With quickening sauces make their stupor keen,
    And lash the lazy blood that creeps within.

Another genius, in tracing the art of cookery, derives from it nothing less than the origin of society; and I think that some philosopher has defined man to be “a cooking animal.”

COOK.

“The art of cookery drew us gently forth
From that ferocious life, when void of faith
The Anthropophaginian ate his brother! 
To cookery we owe well-ordered states,
Assembling men in dear society. 
Wild was the earth, man feasting upon man,
When one of nobler sense and milder heart
First sacrificed an animal; the flesh
Was sweet; and man then ceased to feed on man! 
And something of the rudeness of those times
The priest commemorates; for to this day
He roasts the victim’s entrails without salt. 
In those dark times, beneath the earth lay hid
The precious salt, that gold of cookery! 
But when its particles the palate thrill’d,
The source of seasonings, charm of cookery! came. 
They served a paunch with rich ingredients stored;
And tender kid, within two covering plates,
Warm melted in the mouth.  So art improved! 
At length a miracle not yet perform’d,
They minced the meat, which roll’d in herbage soft,
Nor meat nor herbage seem’d, but to the eye,
And to the taste, the counterfeited dish
Mimick’d some curious fish; invention rare! 
Then every dish was season’d more and more,
Salted, or sour, or sweet, and mingled oft
Oatmeal and honey.  To enjoy the meal
Men congregated in the populous towns,
And cities flourish’d which we cooks adorn’d
With all the pleasures of domestic life.