By the French the Germans are charged with having no cuisine that is worthy of the name, and having produced no poet of gastronomy or no work on the subject that merits serious attention. Dining at midday, and fond of Pumpernickel, what can they be but "barbarians," and how may they be expected to comprehend the finesse of an art which has been created for the elect among mankind? "Surely," argues De Quincey, "of the rabid animal who is caught dining at noonday, the homo ferus who affronts the meridian sun by his inhuman meals, we are entitled to say that he has a maw, but nothing resembling a stomach. A nation must be barbarous which dined in the morning." As with day's decline the sun illumes with fairest hues the western sky, and Nature gradually prepares for sleep by the restful hour of twilight, so it would seem that man, in like manner, after the cark and care of the day should refresh himself by the solace that waits upon the evening dinner and pleasant companionship ere he too retires for the slumbers that are to fit him for the exigencies of the morrow.

But habit is everything, and it is well not to accept these aspersions too seriously, and to remember that no nation surpasses the Germans in the important art of baking, including all forms of breadstuffs and pastry. From her inviting BÄckereis and Conditoreis floats an ambrosial fragrance that may not be equalled by the pÂtisseries of Paris, the variety of her products being as great as their cheapness and wholesomeness. One is born a poet, saith the adage; it is equally true that the German is a born baker who has no superior in his sphere. Perchance German cook-books and gastronomical literature have been summarily passed upon, and are not uninteresting reading, after all. It should be recollected that Frederick the Great wrote a poem in praise of his cook, that Martin Schookius composed a book on cheese entitled "De Aversione Casei," and that still another old German work has for its theme the zest of a lemon-peel—a topic that assuredly calls for consummate skill in its elaboration.

Since the latter half of the sixteenth century Germany has contributed her full share of manuals on cookery as compared with most countries. Already, about 1500, there appeared a work entitled "Ein nÜtzlichs Buchlin von der Speis des Menschen." Among the more important treatises of the same century were "Ein neu Kochbuch" (1587), by Marx Rumpolt, cook to the Elector of Mainz and to the Queen of Denmark, and Frau Anna Wecker's "Neu KÖstlich und nÜtzliches Koch-Buch" (1597). It was about this period that Montaigne, after his travels through Italy and Germany, declared that even in the inns the Germans paid far better attention to the furbishing of their plates and dishes than was the case with the hostelries of France. Treatises relating to "wohl-schmeckenden Speisen" and "vornehme Tafeln" have since continued to multiply in the Fatherland, until Germany has become fully satisfied with her own mode of cookery and such modifications of certain French and Italian dishes as accord with her chosen ideas of nutrition.

Yet the German cook-book presents serious drawbacks. For, apart from the inevitable tendency of the Zeitwort to twine itself around the end of well-nigh interminable sentences, the characters of the language itself are so trying that a scientific treatise may be perused only at the risk of being compelled to resort to spectacles forever afterwards. The melodious measures of Goethe and Schiller, the cadences of Heine and Lenau, will be found less formidable, the rhythm and flow carrying the eye over the typographical boulders with greater ease. A German cook-book, however, may well deter the most insatiable student from proceeding farther than the initial chapter. Think, for example, what the difficulties would be of absorbing a volume which presents such a title as this: "Die Feinere Kochkunst dargestellt nach den Erfordernissen unserer Zeit, mit BerÜcksichtigung der damit in Verbindung stehenden sonstigen Zweigen der Gastronomie."

Fancy endeavouring to solve the true inwardness of an ancient NÜrnberg treatise which bears this explanation of its contents: "VollstÄndig vermehrtes Trincier-Buch, von Tafeldecken Trinciren, zeitigung der Mundkoste, Schauessen und Schaugerichten, benebens xxiv Gast oder Tischfragen."

And when we reflect that the German author who undertakes to elucidate a given theme probes it to the very bottom as far as human understanding and science can fathom it, we may readily conclude that to master the literature of German gastronomy would call for stupendous patience on the part of an alien.

Yet Germany has contributed a volume in the French language respecting a province of the nation under consideration, wherein the table manners, customs, alimentation, and the public and private life of the old Germans are most picturesquely and minutely set forth.[23] The ancient province of Alsace, where forty-two varieties of pÂtÉs and countless varieties of cakes have been in use for several centuries, has ever been noted for the excellence of its cooks and its fondness for good cheer. In the tenth century Bishop Uthon of Strassburg viewed with alarm the table excesses of the priests of his diocese, which he attempted to check by establishing monastic schools. In the fourteenth century, on the other hand, Bishop de Lyne, who was termed Kappen-Esser, was charged with gross intemperance by the clergy, who averred he thought only of the pleasures of the table—gulÆ ebrietatique deditus—and that he was unable to hold morning audiences without having previously partaken of a rich soup and a fat capon.

Dating from early times, Alsace became known as the wine-cellar, granary, and larder of the surrounding countries—a paradise and a garden eminently favourable for good living. Charles GÉrard has proved the local Dumas, and his volume, besides its erudite presentation of the resources and olden customs of the country, contains many interesting gastronomical anecdotes, such as "Favourite dishes of celebrated personages," "Influence of a Rhein carp on a financier of the school of Fouquet," "Frying, its nature and effect on manners," etc. Assuredly should a nation be credited with a natural aptitude for gastronomy which in the early part of 1700 could devise an omelette of brook-trout (Forellen Eyerkuchen) and cold pÂtÉs of trout (Forellen Kalte Pasteten), to say nothing of a certain pÂtÉ of fish (PÂtÉ de langues de carpes et foies de lottes) composed of the tongues of carp, eels' livers, and the tails of crawfish—the invention of a Strassburg Koch, which he served to the Cardinal de Rohan, and which M. GÉrard defines as the supreme limit of epularly eminence.

The researches of M. GÉrard place the national dish, Sauerkraut, as an invention dating from beyond the middle ages and proclaim its origin as distinctly Alsatian. The date of the frog's leap into the frying-pan he places in the year 1280, and specifies Alsace as the discoverer of his edible qualities. The potage bisque or bisque d'Écrevisses has long been known to the epicures of the province, while the merits of stuffed crabs were pointed out in the "Oberrheinisches Koch-Buch" of Frau SpÖrlin, wife of a Protestant minister of Mulhausen. Among the strange customs described is that appertaining to the olden festival called Hirztag, at which time women and maids alone had the right to appear in the inns and liquid dispensaries and avail themselves of the privileges extended to men in eating and drinking. On these occasions any of the male sex who was brave enough to appear was seized, stripped of his hat and coat, and obliged to pay forfeit by a round of wine—a usage thus described by the poet Moscherosch:

No work on cookery in the German language, it is true, has obtained a great reputation outside of its own country. But although the Teuton is a midday diner, a custom that must prove inimical to gastronomical perfection and thereby the highest social evolution, it were extremely unjust to charge him with a lack of understanding in eating. On the contrary, no one, not even the Gaul, enjoys eating and drinking more than he, or eats and drinks amid pleasanter surroundings during a large portion of the year. The open-air restaurants and beer-gardens are a feature, and a most delightful feature, of German life. In the shaded bowers of the Wirthshaus, under the umbrage of horse-chestnuts and limes, to the plash of fountains in suburban Gasthof gardens, amid the consonance of viols and reeds in the attractive temples of Gambrinus, do the Germans voice the refrain,

It must not be forgotten that in the course of time the cookery of every nation gradually becomes complementary to the national beverages. Conversant with the popular drinks of a people, one may promptly form an opinion of their alimentation and characteristics. The cookery of Germany has become subservient to, and, as it were, revolves around MÜnchner and Pilsener, Hochheimer and Deidesheimer. If, therefore, one cannot appreciate its innumerable brews and the juices of the Riesling and the Traminer, its forms of nutrition will naturally prove distasteful, in the same manner that the virtues of French entrÉes would be found wanting if deprived of the ruby pressings of the Sauvignon and Pinot. The rosy Schweinerippchen, after its bath in saltpetre, and also Sauerkraut would be impossible without their syncretic accompaniment, beer or a German white wine; and it is only since the general use of beer in the United States that the last-named dish, from being considered a vulgar one has become so popular, notwithstanding it is usually but a shade of its original as one knows it in its own home. The same may be said of sausages, in the compounding of which the Teuton is master of the world. Different nations, like different individuals, enjoy things in their own way, and who shall determine whether the Gaul or the Teuton makes the most of the fleeting hour, which necessarily includes the pleasures attendant upon the daily nourishment of man?

Who that has visited the land of the three fluvial graces—the Rhein, the Neckar, and the Donau—does not retain pleasant memories of some native dish partaken of amid picturesque surroundings?—a Hasenbraten, a Pfannkuchen, a duck, a Bockwurst, Knackwurst, or a WienerwÜrstle that fairly melts in one's mouth. How lovely those trout which were served at the Wolfsbrunnen at Heidelberg, which you savoured in the cool of the evening after seeing them caught fresh from the spring itself! The SpÄtzle and Nudeln and sour sauce, too, which rival the national dish of Italy; the veal cutlets and sautÉd potatoes, which one never meets as perfect as in southern Germany, and that attain their supreme excellence in a summer Gasthof garden, must likewise ever be held in grateful remembrance. How golden the landscape looked through your Rhein wine RÖmer, how drowsily the clouds floated over the Odenwald, and how delightfully the evening breeze awoke the responsive chords of the beeches! In whatever direction one may turn, there is always a haven for the hungry and the thirsty. No hill is too high, no valley too remote for its font of refreshment, where the tap is invariably fresh and the shrine of more substantial "restoration" is seldom to be despised. On every hand one may find the welcome of an inn, as hearty as Shenstone's, and, where the nature of the surroundings will allow, one may readily verify the lines of the old poet:

Clearly, the GemÜthlichkeit of the Germans, a word for which an equivalent scarcely exists in any other language, may be traced to the national beverages and an alimentation with which they harmonise—with golden opportunities to cultivate it in the Wirthshaus, Gasthof, restaurant, and beer-garden.

In many of the larger restaurants and beer-gardens which are conducted on a scale that is well defined by the favourite term, "kolossal," the great Speisekarte, ornately decorated and rubricated in the olden style, is grandly in evidence. A typical index to good cheer may be taken from almost any of the vast breweries of Munich, with their long lists of Braten, Wildpret, Pfannengerichte, Eierspeisen, Salat and Compots. On some of these appears an epitome of the corps of assistants, including the white-aproned waitresses with their names and characteristics, and the great array of help that is necessary to slake the thirst and appease the hunger of a German multitude. The conclusion of the Speisekarte of the LÖwenbrÄukeller may be cited as an example:

Gesammt-Personal der Restauration LÖwenbrÄukeller MÜnchen

Concert-Saal oder Garten

50 Kellnerinnen

• 1 GeschÄftsfÜhrer
• 1 erster Cassier
• 2 zweite Cassiere
• 2 Ceremoniers
• 2 Billeteurs, 2 Controleurs
• 1 Programm-VerkÄufer
• 4 Postkarten-VerkÄufer
• 1 Garderobier
• 2 Garderobe-Cassiere
• 8 Garderobe-Gehilfen
• 1 Velociped-Aufbewahrer
• 1 erster Metzger
• 2 zweiter Metzger
• 1 Lehrjunge (Piccolo)
• 6 Schenkkassiere
• 6 Einschenker
• 1 Hausmeister
• 1 Hausschreiner
• 1 Monteur fÜr electrische Beleuchtung
• 1 HausgÄrtner
• 1 Hausknecht (Bieraufzieher)
• 1 Laufbursche
• 2 Besteckputzer
• 1 Buchhalterin und 1 Buffetdame
• 4 Buffetdamen
• 1 erste und 1 zweite KÜchenbeschließerin
• 1 Weißzeugbeschließerin
• 1 Ober-KÖchin (chef de cuisine)
• 1 erste KÖchin (fÜr Braten, GeflÜgel u. Wildpret)
• 1 zweite KÖchin (fÜr Pfannengerichte u. Ragouts)
• 1 dritte KÖchin (fÜr GemÜse und Eierspeisen)
• 1 vierte KÖchin (fÜr Spieß- und Rostbraterei)
• 4 Kochpraktikantinnen (KochfrÄulein)
• 1 erste und 1 zweite KÜchenmagd
• 1 Kupferputzerin
• 1 MÄdchen fÜr Speiseaufzug im BrÄustÜbel
• 1 MÄdchen fÜr Speiseaufzug im großen Saal
• 1 MÄdchen f. Speiseaufzug f. Gallerie u. Nebensaal
• 3 BiermÄdchen
• 1 ZimmermÄdchen
• 1 Waschmagd
• 6 HausmÄgde

135 Personen

The cookery of Germany is, on the whole, both appetising and wholesome. In the better class of restaurants and hotels it has absorbed many modes of preparation from France, combining these with its own. Where cookery has stood still in the latter country, it has advanced in the former; and one may dine as well, perhaps, in many of its smaller towns as in most provincial hostelries beyond its borders. Its private cookery remains more distinct and preserves its local flavour. If the French are more successful with the chicken, the Germans may be relied upon to do full justice to the goose and duck. Nowhere does the fowl which saved Rome rise to the sublime heights that it does in the district of the Vosges, not only as a roast with "Compot," but in its more ethereal perfection—the goose-liver "Pastete," or pÂtÉ de foie gras.

If one desires a roast goose after the German mode, let him proceed after the following manner: Rub a young dressed goose overnight with salt, pepper, sage, thyme, and sweet marjoram inside and out; in the morning prepare a dressing as follows—a large handful of stoned raisins and Zante currants, bread crumbs, a couple of sour apples chopped fine, and one mealy potato, with butter mixed in, and all well rolled together, but put no spices in the dressing. For the gravy, boil the giblets in a little water and mash the liver in a spoonful of flour, chop the gizzard, stir these in the liquid they were boiled in, add it to the gravy in the dripping-pan, sprinkle in a little thyme, sage, and sweet marjoram, and it is done. Serve the gravy separately. When cooked and served, garnish with sliced lemons and parsley. A "Compot" of some kind, like Hagenmark, cherries with Kirsch, or even applesauce, if not too tart, should complete the dish.

The duck may be similarly treated; but a goose or duck À l'Allemande would scarcely meet with favour in France, where the rules are laid down so strictly that even a slight deviation from accepted canons would be met by a hiss from parquet and gallery alike. Thus the "Almanach des Gourmands," in speaking of the young wild duck, or albran, which in October becomes a canardeau and in November a canard, mentions, among various ways of preparing it, that of serving it with turnips, adding that this honour belongs more strictly to monsieur son pÈre. This gastronomic slip—that of serving turnips with a wild duck—on the part of La ReyniÈre, who is rarely caught napping in anything relating to foods or food preparations, aroused the ire of Savarin, who protests against it in these vigorous words: "The adjunction of such a vegetable as this to this noble game would be for a young wild duck an improper and even injurious proceeding, a monstrous alliance, a dishonourable degradation." On the other hand, Savarin himself was roundly denounced by M. de Courchamps for assigning a truffled turkey a place among the roasts instead of among the large pieces of the first service. This culinary heresy, he states, has lessened the esteem in which M. Brillat-Savarin has been held in other respects, and seriously hurt the reputation of his book. The ethics of gastronomy, it will be seen, are as marked as those of society, and the arrangement of a bill of fare calls for as much finesse as do the functions of a chaperon.

While the pÂtÉ de foie gras is a dish of modern times, the ancients nevertheless knew the secret of enlarging the liver of the goose; but with the relapse into barbarism the secret became lost, to remain undiscovered until the beginning of the seventeenth century. Alsace is the chosen home of the goose, and this fowl has rendered its capital more celebrated than the siege of 1870 or the marvellous faÇade and clock of its MÜnster. "My idea of heaven," said the Rev. Sydney Smith, referring to the Strassburg product, "is eating foies gras to the sound of trumpets!" For although the pÂtÉ is produced in numerous localities on the Continent, in no other place does it attain the superlative bloom and delicacy that it does in the more important manufactories of the historic city on the Ill. To think of Strassburg is to think of Doyen and his confrÈres and their incomparable productions, around which rise the Gothic glories of the mediÆval fane, the quaintly gabled houses embellished by the craft of the wood-carver, the statues of Gutenberg and Kleber, and the town's great girdles of fortifications and inner ramparts.

It is said the pÂtÉ de foie gras is the invention of a Norman cook named Close, who was in the employ of the MarÉchal de Contades, military commandant of the province from 1762 to 1788. On the retirement of the marÉchal, his cook remained in Strassburg, and began the manufacture of the dish which had rendered the table of his employer famous. There were truffles in the Wasgenwald, with trained dogs to hunt them; the goose everywhere stood ready for sacrifice; while the near-by vineyards of Neuwiller, Morsbrunn, and Westhausen contributed their wines in abundance as its fluid concomitant. But the pÂtÉ did not reach its highest excellence until some time afterwards, when Doyen, a pastry-cook of great genius, already celebrated for his chaussons of veal and inimitable apple-puffs, substituted the blacker, larger, and more fragrant truffle of PÉrigord, adding a bouquet-garni composed of numerous spices. Upon the proper blending of these depends to a large extent the success of the dish, just as the special flavour of a brand of champagne results from the precise adjustment of its liqueur.

All through Alsace, wherever ponds or streams exist, may be seen daily vast flocks of geese during the summer and autumn, screaming, splashing, and diving in the water. The landscape is white with them, and the plain resounds with their clamour. Each flock, which often numbers a thousand, has its goose-herd and goose-dog. At dawn the herder sounds his reveille, beginning to assemble his charges from the most remote part of the village or hamlet. These take their place in the procession of their own accord, until the ranks are complete, and they eagerly wend their way to the coveted goal. Here they remain until evening, when, at a summons from the herder, the return journey is accomplished, each individual flock leaving the phalanx on arriving near its home. Less idyllic is the life of the town goose, when large ponds and succulent herbage are not readily accessible, the birds being confined in yards where, in place of a daily round of bathing and gossiping, they are compelled to watch the flight of the storks overhead and mark the monotonous passing of the hours as they are tolled from the Rathhaus tower. Nearly every other house or yard of the poorer classes has its geese, the young fowls alone being utilised for their livers. In late October or early November the fattening begins, a process lasting usually from two to three weeks, the prized livers—the true "golden egg" of the bird of St. Michael—then weighing from two to three pounds.

The humanitarian will protest against the cruelty of gorging the fowl to repletion, depriving it of drink, and imprisoning it in close cages to gratify the voracity of man. Yet it must be admitted that hitherto everything possible to the maintenance of the health and pleasure of the subject has been lavishly supplied, and that a brief span at most would elapse ere time must claim its victim. The fox and the goose have always been closely associated, and what applies to one may well apply to the other. "Certainly," reasons Bulwer, "in the chase itself all my sympathies are on the side of the fox. But if all individuals are to give way to the happiness of the greatest number, we must set off against the painful fate of the fox the pleasurable sensation in the breasts of numbers which his fate has the honourable privilege to excite." Without the inconveniences that the Strassburg goose is compelled to undergo in behalf of the metamorphosis of its liver, the list of plats de prÉdilection were shorn of one of its greatest attractions, and a city now of world-wide fame must soon drag out a monotonous existence and be forgotten unless by the student of architecture—a fact duly set forth in the following stanza:

One should taste a pÂtÉ in Strassburg itself on a crisp November day, after a protracted stroll through the sleepy town. Then one may saunter anew through its mediÆval streets and labyrinthine corridors to view the MÜnster whose gargoyles glower so weirdly in the moonlight, ere pausing at the Luxhof or the Spaten, where cool fountains of MÜnchner continually flow.

That the pÂtÉ de foie gras is a factor of gout and a prolific cause of indigestion, as is commonly asserted, is true to the same extent that holds good with many other viands when inordinately indulged in or partaken of too frequently. It was never intended to be eaten by the "terrine," and much also depends upon its freshness and the source of its manufacture. A generous slice of a fresh authentic Strassburg pÂtÉ, eaten with bread, need hold no terrors for a healthy digestion, or prove other than a source of the most delightsome recollections. Savouring it, one may again summon the surroundings of its native land—the verdant meads of the Alsace plain, the herder tending his argent flocks, the soft contours of the Vosges outlined against the distant sky.

But the alimentary resources of Germany are nowhere revealed to greater advantage than in the innumerable forms of the sausage, and it may well be questioned whether the songs of the Lorelei are not, after all, inspired by the perfection of this product, rather than called forth by the beauties of the Lurlenberg or the merits of the vineyards of the Rheingau.

To become a connoisseur of sausages in all their protean phases is no simple task. Only a German may analyse intelligently all the species and varieties, from the huge Cervelat of Braunschweig and goose-liver TrÜffelwurst of Strassburg to the Salamis of Gotha and Blutwurst of Schwaben. And as the sausage is fashioned with a special view to its harmonious combination with beer, it is self-evident that one must be a beer-drinker of experience in order to pronounce upon the virtues of a given kind. "Wurst" and "Durst," Uhland long since pointed out, not only rhyme, but belong together in a material way. But by this he in no wise implied that one might choose a variety at random, with no thought of consonance as regards its liquid accompaniment, or even that one should be unmindful of climatic conditions. Thus the variety that blends best with the dark, potent Gerstensaft of NÜrnberg as one quaffs it in great Seidels thick with its head of creamy foam in the Mohrenkeller, or in cool Steins in the Bratwurst-GlÖcklein, would be entirely out of place as a complement to the amber Pilsener of Austria, the Weiss beer of Berlin, or even the many malt extracts of WÜrttemberg. It is likewise equally easy to understand that a particular sausage which might appeal to one in Hanover might be utterly incongruous to the climate of the Elbe or the Neckarthal.

The delicate Bockwurst, composed of veal and pork, should be used with Bock beer, for which it was especially designed. The juicy Knackwurst, with its flavour of garlic, which belongs to the family of the Frankfurt and Wienerwurst, is eminently worthy its exalted place as a garnish to Sauerkraut, where the Mettwurst and the Schwartenmagen would sound a discordant note. To determine the precise kind that should be taken with the MÜnchner Hof-BrÄu, as it is dispensed in the CafÉ and Garten of the Hotel Royal at Stuttgart, where the regal beer of Munich reaches its apotheosis, would require a more extended experience than might be contributed by the writer. A Knackwurst, possibly, may be suggested during the summer, and a Bratwurst in winter. And yet this would depend largely upon the hour of the evening, as well as on the recommendations of the Kellnerin. Not more dissimilar are the hams of the thick-jowled swine of Westphalia and those of the long-snouted brindled hogs of Rothenburg an der Tauber, than are the various sausages of different districts. Indeed, with the sausage alone Germany might form a rampart round the world, and float a navy upon her daily tide of beer.

Of the innumerable varieties, the well-known Cervelat is the largest, and of these the most colossal come from Braunschweig, which also produces the finest Knack-and ZungenwÜrste, the finest truffled geese-liver as well as calves'-liver sausages coming from Strassburg. Although the Plockwurst, the diminutive WienerbrÜhwÜrstchen, the tiny LÜbecker Saucisschen, the Schlackwurst, and very many other kinds are not included in the subjoined list relating to this specialty, its perusal will be found of absorbing interest by the connoisseur, and its study remind the too unobservant traveller who has sojourned in Germany of, alas! how many neglected opportunities. The quotations are given in marks and kilograms, the mark equalling twenty-five cents and the kilogram being equivalent to a little over two pounds. The record being that of a north-German shop, southern Germany is only meagrely represented, and the list sounds its own praises too well to call for comment:

Preis Verzeichniss.

How they shine in their silken skins, these triumphs of the Metzgerei, seen through the plate-glass of a Delikatessen shop—ebon and bronze, russet and red, blonde and grey, mottled and veined, of all hues and all sizes: long and slender, plump and fat, curved like a crescent, round-barrelled and egg-shaped, as if their juices and spices were eager to be set free; some that gain in succulence by time; others that, like the rose, have but their hour in which to be plucked.

An essentially south-German dish is the Metzelsuppe—the "bouillabaisse" of Swabia—in which the sausage plays an important role, but which, to be appreciated, requires an essentially German taste as well as a digestion without limit. This consists of several preparations of freshly killed pork, including soup, bacon, and sausages with Sauerkraut, the sausages usually being the Leber and the Blutwurst. It has found its Thackeray in Uhland, whose poem has become a classic, although, with the possible exception of the bacon and Sauerkraut, the alien will find the poem preferable to the dish.

With a choice of a different soup for every day in the year, the German does not lack for variety in the stepping-stone of the dinner. With all of these the stranger may not be in sympathy, and in none of them will he find the equal, as an all-round preface to the principal repast, of a perfect Julienne. But the potato soup, the native pot-au-feu, and even the soup in which beer is an important ingredient, have their merits when well prepared. Nor is the boiled beef with horseradish sauce, which usually follows the soup, to be despised, notably in warm weather, when rich and heavy viands cloy. One would be equally lacking in appreciation were he to lose sight of another dish we owe to Germany, the "marinirte," or sour-spiced herring—that offset to Katzenjammer and noon-restorer of a jaded appetite and a parched tongue. The SchmierkÄse, or whey-cheese, when cream is employed in its composition and the green of fresh chives enters as an adjunct to please the eye and the palate, surely requires no praises, whatever may be said to the contrary of the variety whose very name one thinks of in a whisper.

Such dishes as Szegediner Schwein's Goulash mit Sauerkraut, Paprica Schnitzel mit Ungarischem Kraut, and Ungarisches Goulash mit SpÄtzle—triumphs of the Hungarian and Viennese Kochkunst—seldom turn out satisfactory in alien hands. The SpÄtzle and Nudel are two farinaceous dishes that also call for a native cook to serve in perfection. The SpÄtzle is of south-German origin, and tastes best when it flanks a viand with a tart sauce and has a Rhein wine to keep it company. This observation applies more strictly to its native home, the virtues of German dishes and German cigars being most apparent amid their natural atmosphere. Indeed, who shall say that the "Pfarrer von Kirchfeld" or the colourful strains of "Sataniel" would seem the same if transported oversea? Climate, the hour, the environment—all the conditions of the entourage exercise a marked influence on many things, especially on the pleasures of taste. The Zeller that seems so delicious with the chicken in a south-German restaurant is apt to prove a delusion elsewhere; and even the best of Affenthaler and AssmanshÄuser, of which one may retain a pleasant remembrance, must fade before a good Bordeaux. The beer of Germany, when properly cared for and when allowed to rush swiftly from the wood, alone preserves a large portion of its delicious tonical freshness wherever partaken of. Like an omelette soufflÉ, beer has its moment, and once started towards the Seidel or Stein, its flow should be as uninterrupted as the course of a mountain brook that, with music and song and freighted with coolness, comes dancing down from the distant hills to slake the thirst of the vale below.

Of game, the hare and the partridge have always been held in great esteem by the Germans; and while the native Rebhuhn may not compare with our own prince of feathered game-birds, the ruffed grouse, the German hare has unquestionable merits when prepared as the favourite Hasenbraten, Hasenpfeffer, and HasenrÜcken gespickt with Sahnen sauce. Even Goethe sounds a "Hoch!" when he thinks of the game he has secured, and smacks his lips in anticipation of its appearance on the table.[26]

The mysteries of the sandwich in all its possibilities are unknown to Germany. But amends are made by the attractions of the Kalter Aufschnitt which takes its place, where slices of veal are surrounded by slices of Cervelat, ham, and tongue, and thin cuts of Leberwurst with pickles and hard-boiled eggs cut in rounds to form a frame, and rye bread and mustard À discretion. As for the Kuchen—light, wholesome, and inviting—its forms are legion, though these belong more strictly to the supper-table or to that phase of feminine entertainment termed "The Coffee." The common and often excessive use of the caraway-seed in cakes and breadstuffs is nevertheless to be deplored, however great its merits as a carminative.

Dumas tells the story of the excellent cake called madeleine, an entremets which all who have been in France will remember. Is it a flower of the Vosges, indigenous to Alsace, that has been transplanted across the border?—it must have been the invention of the German Kuchenkunst. This is the account of the madeleine as it appears in the "Grand Dictionnaire de Cuisine":

"A tourist-friend who was at Strassburg, and who started out on his travels a little late, expecting to reach the next village before dark, was unsuccessful in finding a shelter until nearly midnight, when he perceived the spire of a distant church, and soon afterwards the welcome rays of a light that seemed to emerge from some subterranean abode. Knocking at the door, a gruff voice demanded:

"'Who is it, and what do you want?'

"'I am a traveller, weary and worn, and well-nigh starved. For heaven's sake, let me in.'

"With this the door was unbarred by a man of savage aspect whose hair and beard were covered with flour, and who was naked to the waist.

"'Come in, and make haste,' he said in a cavernous voice; and a large room was disclosed to the traveller the interior of which was lighted by the fires of an immense oven. The door was then re-barred by the forbidding-looking occupant.

"'Pardon, Monsieur,' said the traveller, little at ease. 'I have just completed sixteen or eighteen leagues with scarcely a mouthful; cannot I buy something to appease my hunger, and have a couch to lie on?'

"'I have only my own bed,' replied the man, in his gruff voice; 'as to something to eat, that is not wanting—it remains to be seen if it will please you.'

"And opening a cupboard, he produced a basket containing a dozen or so of oval-shaped cakes of a fine golden hue.

"'Try these,' he said to the traveller, 'and tell me what you think of them.'

"When the basket was emptied, he asked, 'What do you think of my madeleines?'

"'Something to drink first,' muttered the traveller in a strangled voice.

"The cupboard was opened anew, and uncorking a bottle covered with dust, the baker filled two glasses, passing one to the stranger.

"'Drink,' he said; 'I don't wish my cakes to choke you.'

"The glass was emptied at a draught, when the visitor passed it to be refilled,—it was an excellent Bordeaux.

"'Your health, my friend; you have given me one of the most delicious repasts that I have ever had. But tell me what do you call these lovely cakes?'

"'What! don't you know the madeleines of Commercy?'

"'You mean to say I am at Commercy?'

"'Yes, and, without knowing it, you have eaten the best cakes in the world.'"

Se non È vero È ben trovato—the madeleine still remains to gladden the traveller. They bring it now in little boxes of a dozen—flat on the top and grooved like a shell underneath, the colour a rich golden brown—as the train halts for a moment at the town on the Meuse where Cardinal de Retz wrote his memoirs.

One of the earliest of German cook-books, published at Strassburg in 1516, and now of the utmost rarity, bears for its title "Kuchenmeisterey," or the mastery of cake-making. Perchance were one to turn its faded Gothic leaves, some forgotten master-stroke of the baker might reveal itself, to vie with the madeleine in popularity and add to the already endless list of farinaceous Leckerbissen and Frauenessen, wherein the Germans have no superiors.

The story of the madeleine suggests that of the Vienna roll, which, it is said, owes its origin to the investment of Vienna by the Turks. During the protracted siege of the city, when the town had become almost reduced to starvation and the position of the enemy was unknown, a baker was making his last batch of bread. His little son, who had been amusing himself with his marbles and drum, had gone to bed, leaving a marble on the drum-head. The baker kept on with his baking and attending to his ovens, sitting down between times to meditate on his probable fate when the final loaf was gone, and gleaming cangiars and ferocious janizaries had begun their work of carnage. Suddenly his attentive ear was arrested by an unaccustomed vibratory sound proceeding from the drum, while his eye perceived a continuous dancing movement of the marble. Soon it became apparent to him that the vibration was caused by forces working on the fortifications without—the steady pounding of mattock and pickaxe—and that the undermining of the walls had begun almost at his door. At once his loaves were forgotten, and, hastening to spread the alarm, the enemy was attacked unawares and successfully routed. The following day the baker was summoned before the emperor.

"What reward do you claim for your services?—you have saved the city," said the emperor.

"I would serve the bread for the palace," replied the artist of the loaves, "and I would have my rolls shaped like the Crescent we have conquered."

A favourite convivial song of the Fatherland, with its rollicking strain, may not be omitted from a German Speisekarte. The words are by a former minister of education, von Muehler, of Prussia; the music that of the dance "La Madrilena." It should be sung in chorus and led by one who is light on his feet and a master of the side-step, with the sonorous instrumentation of viols and horns to lend it additional spirit and swing:

[Listen]

BEDENKLICHKEITEN

(Heinrich von Muehler, 1842. Bis 1872 Preussischer Cultusminister.)

While the Germans have not yet adopted applesauce with green goose or cranberries with turkey, no fault can be found with their admirable choice of the "Compot" in general as an accessory and grace-note to the roast. One may even forgive them the taste which permits them to serve the noted hams of Westphalia uncooked, in view of the excellence of their beer, their admirable Kuchen, and the merits of their rolls and sweets. Besides cakes innumerable, the larder of the Hausfrau fairly groans with "Compots," some form of which is invariably served with roast meats, poultry, or game. And inasmuch as woman in Germany is created for the special purpose of ministering to the comforts, the tastes, and the selfish wishes of man, independent of her own inclinations, it may be assumed that her natural fondness for sweets is shared equally by the opposite sex.

One may or may not be impressed with the merits of the German Kochkunst in all its branches, which perhaps requires a native or a seasoned taste to be estimated at its just and proper worth. But that it comports with those whom it chiefly concerns, and that it is appreciated by all true sons of the Fatherland, will admit of little doubt when one considers the national GemÜthlichkeit, or views the profound deliberation that the perusal of a Speisekarte always evokes from the Gast, the Wirth, and the Herr Oberkellner.