Their Tables, Like Their Compliments, Seem Equally A Caricature Of
The French.
The dishes are composed, as well as theirs, of a
variety of mixtures to destroy the native taste of the food without
being as relishing.
Spices and sugar are put into everything, even
into the bread; and the only way I can account for their partiality
to high-seasoned dishes is the constant use of salted provisions.
Necessity obliges them to lay up a store of dried fish and salted
meat for the winter; and in summer, fresh meat and fish taste
insipid after them. To which may be added the constant use of
spirits. Every day, before dinner and supper, even whilst the
dishes are cooling on the table, men and women repair to a side-
table; and to obtain an appetite eat bread-and-butter, cheese, raw
salmon, or anchovies, drinking a glass of brandy. Salt fish or meat
then immediately follows, to give a further whet to the stomach. As
the dinner advances, pardon me for taking up a few minutes to
describe what, alas! has detained me two or three hours on the
stretch observing, dish after dish is changed, in endless rotation,
and handed round with solemn pace to each guest; but should you
happen not to like the first dishes, which was often my case, it is
a gross breach of politeness to ask for part of any other till its
turn comes. But have patience, and there will be eating enough.
Allow me to run over the acts of a visiting day, not overlooking the
interludes.
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