There is no use in blinking the fact that it is to our lively neighbours that we owe the introduction of the salad proper. Often as the writer has been compelled, in these pages, to inveigh against the torturing of good fish and flesh by the alien cook, and the high prices charged for its endowment with an alien flavour, let that writer (figuratively) place a crown of endive, tipped with baby onions, upon the brows of the philanthropist who dressed the first salad, and gave the recipe to the world. That recipe has, of course, been improved upon; and although the _savant_ who writes in the _Encyclopædia_ proclaims that "salad has always been a favourite food with civilised nations, and has varied very little in its composition," the accuracy of both statements is open to question. "Every art," observes another writer, "has its monstrosities; gastronomy has not been behind-hand; and though he must be a bold man who will venture to blaspheme the elegancies of French cookery, there comes a time to every Englishman who may have wandered into a mistaken admiration of sophisticated messes, when he longs for the simple diet of his native land, and vows that the best cookery in the world, and that which satisfies the most refined epicureanism, sets up for its ideal--plainness of good food, and the cultivation of natural tastes." And yet the French have taught us, or tried to teach us, how to prepare a dish of raw herbs, in the simplest way in the world! "Now a salad," says the same writer, "is simplicity itself, and here is a marvel--it is the crowning grace of a French dinner, while, on the other hand, it is little understood and villainously treated at English tables." Ahem! I would qualify that last statement. At _some_ English tables I have tasted salads compared with which the happiest effort of the _chef_ deserves not to be mentioned in the same garlic-laden breath. And "garlic-laden breath" naturally reminds me of the story of Francatelli--of which anecdote I do not believe one word, by the way. It was said of Franc., whilst _chef_ at the Reform Club, that his salads were such masterpieces, such things of beauty, that one of the members questioned him on the subject. "How do you manage to introduce such a delicious flavour into your salads?" "Ah! that should be my secret," was the reply. "But I will tell him to you. After I have made all my preparations, and the green food is mixed with the dressing, I chew a little clove of garlic between my teeth--so--and then breathe gently over the whole." But, as observed before, I do not believe that garlic story.