308 THE BOOK OF A NATURALIST 
substituting cream or butter for the oil, but it was 
the flavour of olive oil and vinegar combined with 
that of the potato which made it perfect. 
Other experimenters may have discovered this 
way of eating a potato, but the only approach to 
it I have found in reading is contained in an anecdote 
of Byron, at the time when he was the hero of 
London society. He dined with a friend who had 
got together a company of the poet’s ardent admirers 
to meet him. But he was in a difficult mood: he 
declined soup and fish and meats of all kinds. 
“What then will you eat?” asked his host, getting 
impatient. ‘Oh, a potato,” said Byron. And 
when a big potato was put before him, he broke it 
up, drenched it in vinegar and ate it, and this was 
his dinner. And dinner over, he took himself off, 
to the deep disappointment of all those who had 
come to gaze and listen and worship. 
“How long,” said one of them to his host, “ will 
his lordship be able to keep this dietary?” 
“How long—how long!” said his host. “As 
long as people think it worth while to pay any 
attention to what he eats.” 
The story goes on to say that, quitting his 
friend’s house, the poet walked to his club in 
Piccadilly and told the waiter to bring him an 
underdone beef-steak. He had perhaps discovered 
that a potato drenched in vinegar was good as an 
appetiser, but he probably did not know how 
much better it would have been with the addition 
of oil. 
