FISH FOODS. 281 
in the soft flesh. Again, Whiting may be similarly allowed 
when baked in milk. Take a Whiting, half a pint of milk, half 
an ounce of fresh butter, and one quarter of an ounce of flour, 
with salt to taste. Place the fish in a small pie-dish, and pour 
over it the milk; cover closely, and bake in a slow oven for 
about twenty minutes; when the flesh leaves the bones readily 
it is done; then place the fish in a hot dish; knead the butter 
and flour together in a basin, and add to them the milk in which 
the fish has been cooked ; pour into a saucepan, and boil for 
five minutes, stirring all the time; serve hot. 
Concerning the fried fish of the Jews, their representative 
modern author of fiction, I. Zangwill, writes: “Fried fish! 
but such fried fish! Only a great poet might sing the praises 
of the national dish! and the golden age of Hebrew poetry is, 
alas, over.” ‘‘Israel is among other nations as the heart is 
among the limbs,” so sang the great Jehuda Haller. “ Even 
thus is the fried fish of Judea to the fried fish of Christendom, 
and heathendom!” With the audacity of true culinary genius 
Jewish fried fish is always served cold; the skin is of a beautiful 
brown, and the substance firm, and succulent; the very bones 
thereof are full of marrow, yea, and charged with memories 
of the happy past. Fried fish binds Judea more than all the 
lip professions of unity. Its savour is early known of youth, 
and the divine flavour endeared by a thousand recollections, 
entwined with the most sacred associations, draws back the 
hoary sinner into the paths of piety. It is mayhap on fried fish 
the Jewish matron grows fat. Moreover, there is “ gefzillite 
fisch,” a delicious thing in Jewish cookery, or fish stuffed without 
bones; but fried fish reigns above all in cold unquestioned 
sovereignty ; no other people possesses the recipe. As a poet 
of the century’s commencement has sung :— 
‘The Christians are ninnies: they can’t fry Dutch plaice ; 
Believe me, they can’t tell a Carp from a Dace.” 
Izaak Walton “ advised anglers to be patient, and to forbear 
swearing, lest they be heard of the finny tribe, and catch no 
fish.” Concerning whom Leigh Hunt wrote (1830): *‘ Angling 
does indeed seem the next thing to dreaming. It dispenses 
with locomotion, reconciles contradictions, and renders the 
very countenance null, and void. A friend of ours who is an 
admirer of Walton was struck, just as we were, with the likeness 
