THE COOKERY OF THE PHEASANT 231 



with his usual epigrammatic terseness. The reverence 

 with which he approaches the subject is a subHme 

 tribute to the pheasant. 



' He is an enigma of which the solution is only 

 revealed to adepts : they only can appreciate the 

 savour in all its piquancy. . . . When the pheasant 

 is eaten within three days after his death, there 

 is nothing to distinguish him. He has neither the 

 delicacy of a capon nor the perfume of a quail. 



' When cooked at the exact moment, how mar- 

 vellous the transformation ! The flesh is tender, 

 sublime, and of the most recherche flavour, for it 

 blends the savour of fowl and venison. The most 

 delicate point is when the pheasant begins to de- 

 compose : then the aroma develops and combines 

 with an oil, which to etherealise itself needed some 

 measure of fermentation, like coffee-oil, which is only 

 to be obtained by excessive heat.' 



Then the practical philosopher goes on to indi- 

 cate the signs by which you may gather that the 

 bird is ready for the spit. These we may as well 

 pass over in silence, for the technicalities of the 

 kitchen are far from appetising. But Savarin sums 

 up the whole matter in the dictum that the moment 

 is suggested by intuition. The faintest odour floating 

 in the air will spare a veritable culinary genius the 



