“The flesh of the phenicopterus is a dish more sought after in Egypt than in Europe; however, Catesby compares it for its delicacy to the partridge; Dampier says it has a fine flavour, although lean; Dutertre finds it excellent notwithstanding its marshy taste; the tongue is the most delicious part.”--VIEILLOT. FIG-PECKER, OR, BECAFICO. The Duke of C---- had received from nature one of those culinary organizations which the vulgar assimilate with gluttony, and the man of art calls genius. Greece would have raised statues to him; the Roman emperor Vitellius would have shared the Empire with him. In France he gained the esteem of all parties by inviting them to sumptuous banquets. This rich patrician brought up with tender care a young _chef de cuisine_, whom his _major-domo_ had bequeathed to him on his death-bed, as Mazarin did Colbert to Louis XIV. The disciple profited by the learned lessons of the Duke; already the young _chef’s_ head, eye, and hand possessed that promptitude and certainty whose union is so rarely combined: there remained for him only the instruction of experience. One day, in the month of September, some guests of the highest class, all professed judges in the order of epicureans, met together at the residence of the noble Amphitryon, who often claimed the authority of their enlightened judgment. The learned Areopagitæ had to pronounce on certain new dishes: it was necessary, by dint of seduction, to captivate the favour and patronage of these judges by disarming their severity. Everything was served to the greatest nicety, everything was deemed exquisite, and they only awaited the dessert--that little course which causes the emotion of the great culinary drama to be forgotten--when the young _chef_ appeared, and placed in the centre of the table a silver dish, containing twelve eggs. “Eggs!” exclaimed the Duke. The astonished guests looked at each other in silence. The cook took one of the eggs, placed it in a little china boat, slightly broke the shell, and begged his master to taste the contents. The latter continued to remove the white envelope, and at length discovered a savoury and perfumed ball of fat. It was a fig-pecker of a golden colour--fat, delicate, exquisite--surrounded by a wonderful seasoning.[XX-71] The good old man cast on his pupil a look full of tenderness and pride; and, holding out his hand to him: “You are inspired by Petronius,” said he; “to imitate in such a manner is to create. Courage! I am much pleased with you.” This classic dish--a revival from the feasts of Trimalcio--enjoyed only an ephemeral glory. Europe was on fire; a warlike fever raged everywhere; and Paris soon forgot the eggs of Petronius. The fig-pecker merits the attention of the most serious gastronomists. The ancients reckoned it among the most refined of dishes.[XX-72] The Greeks made delicate pies of this bird, which exhaled an odour so tempting, that criticism was disarmed beforehand.[XX-73]