became a well-known character in
London, and was called "_the fashionable salad-maker_." In a few years
he amassed a large fortune by this means, and was in such request that
his carriage would drive from house to house, carrying him and his
various condiments--for he took with him everything that could give
variety to his concoctions--from one place, where his services were
needed, to another.

The contempt for this art of cooking is confined to this country, and to
the lower middle classes in England. By the "lower middle classes" I
mean, what Carlyle terms the gigocracy--_i.e._, people sufficiently
well-to-do to keep a gig or phaeton--well-to-do tradesmen, small
professional men, the class whose womenkind would call themselves
"genteel," and many absurd stories are told of the determined ignorance
and pretense of these would-be ladies. But in no class above this is a
knowledge of cooking a thing to be ashamed of; in England, indeed, so
far from that being the case, indifference to the subject, or lack of
understanding and taste for certain dishes is looked upon as a sort of
proof of want of breeding. Not to like curry, macaroni, or parmesan,
_pate de foie gras_, mushrooms, and such like, is a sign that you have
not been all your life accustomed to good living. Mr. Hardy, in his
"Pair of Blue Eyes," cleverly hits this prejudice when he makes Mr.
Swancourt say, "I knew the fellow wasn't a gentleman; he had no acquired
tastes, never took Worcestershire sauce."

Abroad many women of high rank and culture devote a good deal of time to
a thorough understanding of the subject. We have a lady of the "lordly
line of proud St. Clair" writing for us "Dainty Dishes," and doing it
with a zest that shows she enjoys her work, although she does once in a
while forget something she ought to have mentioned, and later still we
have Miss Rose Coles writing the "Official Handbook of Cookery."

But it is in graceful, refined France that cookery is and has been, a
pet art. Any bill of fare or French cookery book will betray to a
thoughtful reader the attention given to the subject by the wittiest,
gayest, and most beautiful women, and the greatest men. The
high-sounding names attached to French standard dishes are no mere
caprice or homage of a French cook to the great in the land, but
actually point out their inventor. Thus _Bechamel_ was invented by the
Marquis de Bechamel, as a sauce for codfish; while _Filets de Lapereau a
la Berry_