"You are quite right," the Count was saying to Mr. Heard. "The ideal
cuisine should display an individual character; it should offer a menu
judiciously chosen from the kitchen-workshops of the most diverse lands
and peoples-a menu reflecting the master's alert and fastidious taste.
Is there anything better, for instance, than a genuine Turkish pilaf?
The Poles and Spaniards, too, have some notable culinary creations. And
if I were able to carry out my ideas on this point I would certainly
add to my list of dishes a few of those strange Oriental confections
which Mr. Keith has successfully taught his Italian chef. There is
suggestion about them; they conjure up visions of that rich and glowing
East which I would give many years of my remaining life to see."
"Then why not do what I have proposed several times already?" queried
the millionaire. "I am in the East every winter; we reckon this year to
reach Bangkok the first fortnight in November. We can find room for you
on board. We'll make room! Your company would give me more pleasure
than I can say."
Count Caloveglia was probably the only male person on earth to whom the
owner of the FLUTTERBY would have extended such an invitation.
"My dear friend!" replied the other. "I shall never be able to repay
your kindness, as it is. Alas, it cannot be done, not now. And don't
you think," he went on, reverting to his theme, "that we might revive a
few of those forgotten recipes of the past? Not their over-spiced
entremets, I mean--their gross joints and pasties, their swans and
peacocks--but those which deal, for example, with the preparation of
fresh-water fishes? A pike, to my way of thinking, is a coarse,
mud-born creature. But if you will take the trouble, as I once did, to
dress a pike according to the complicated instructions of some obsolete
cookery-book, you will find him sufficiently palatable, by way of a
change."
"You would make an excellent chef!"
"It is plain," added Mr. Heard, "that the Count does not disdain to
practise his skill upon the most ancient and honourable of domestic
arts."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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