It is quite true that I have
pronounced views as to the preparation and serving of food, and I dare
say I embarrassed the worthy fellow without at all meaning to do so,
for too many of his culinary efforts betray the fumbling touch of the
amateur. And as I worked over the open fire, doing the trout to a
turn, stirring the beans, and perfecting the stew with deft touches of
seasoning, I worded to myself for the first time a most severe
indictment against the North American cookery, based upon my
observations across the continent and my experience as a diner-out in
Red Gap.
I saw that it would never do with us, and that it ought, as a matter
of fact, to be uplifted. Even then, while our guest chattered gossip
of the town over her brown paper cigarettes, I felt the stirring of an
impulse to teach Americans how to do themselves better at table. For
the moment, of course, I was hampered by lack of equipment (there was
not even a fish slice in the establishment), but even so I brewed
proper tea and was able to impart to the simple viands a touch of
distinction which they had lacked under Cousin Egbert's
all-too-careless manipulation.
As I served the repast Cousin Egbert produced a bottle of the brown
American whiskey at which we pegged a bit before sitting to table.
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