26o THE COOKERY OF THE PHEASANT 



the pheasant up in well-buttered paper like a 

 mullet, but strip it of the paper before serving, 

 and for appearance's sake let it have another turn 

 or two of the fire. Then, as the Swiss aubergiste 

 said to Dumas when serving him the bear that had 

 been supping on a neighbour : Goiitez-moi ce gaillard- 

 la, et vous m!en direz nouvelles. 



I pass on to glance at some plats de luxe. Though 

 bound to notice them, I preface the remarks by pro- 

 testing against them generally as vicious refinements of 

 a sated civilisation, which will have variety or novelty 

 at any sacrifice. Yet many of them, though sounding 

 luxurious, are really economical, and suggest preten- 

 tious or savoury fashions of sending game to the table 

 a second time. In most, of course, the truffle again 

 comes into play ; we are tempted by the respective 

 attractions of salmi, suprhne, and souffle ; and the 

 simple gravy, limpid as golden sherry, is superseded 

 by the spiced and laden sauce Pdrigueux, or some- 

 thing resembling it in a pungency which is injurious 

 to the delicacy of the pheasant. The salmi, which 

 is simply English for the stew, comes most readily 

 within the compass of commonplace cooks. Yet 

 there are salmis and salmis,, and some are worthy 

 of the talent of a cordon bleu ; and we remember the 

 famous one which the mendacious Becky Crawley 



