A Poetical Cook-Book Part 15

Mountown! the Muses' most delicious theme, O, may thy codlins ever swim in cream!

The rasp and strawberries in Bordeaux drown, To add a redder tincture to their own!

Thy white wine, sugar, milk, together club, To make that gentle viand--_syllabub_!

KING.

Not all thy plate, how formed soe'er it be, Can please my palate like a bowl of thee.

BARLOW.

In a large china bowl put a pint of port and a pint of sherry, or other white wine; sugar to taste. Milk the bowl full; in twenty minutes cover it pretty high with clouted cream; grate over it nutmeg; put pounded cinnamon and nonpareil comfits. It is very good without the nonpareil comfits.

BEER OR ALE.

O, Peggy, Peggy! when thou goest to brew, Consider well what you're about to do; Be very wise, very sedately think That what you're now going to make is _drink_; Consider who must drink that drink, and then What 'tis to have the praise of _honest_ men; For surely, Peggy, while that drink does last, 'Tis Peggy will be _toasted or disgraced_.

Then if thy _ale_ in gla.s.s thou wouldst confine, To make its sparkling rays in beauty s.h.i.+ne, Let thy clean bottle be entirely dry, Lest a white substance to the surface fly, And floating there disturb the curious eye; But this great maxim must be understood, "_Be sure, nay very sure, thy cork be good_."

Then future ages shall of Peggy tell, That nymph that _brewed and bottled ale so well_!

KING.

Twelve bushels of malt to the hogshead for beer, eight for ale; for either, pour the whole quant.i.ty of water, hot, but not boiling, on at once, and let it infuse three hours, close covered; mash it in the first half hour, and let it stand the remainder of the time. Run it on the hops, previously infused in water; for beer, three quarters of a pound to a bushel; if for ale, half a pound. Boil them with the wort, two hours, from the time it begins to boil. Cool a pailful; then add three quarts of yeast, which will prepare it for putting to the rest when ready next day; but, if possible, put together the same night. Sun, as usual. Cover the bunghole with paper, when the beer has done working; and when it is to be stopped, have ready a pound and a half of hops, dried before the fire; put them into the bunghole, and fasten it up.

Let it stand twelve months in casks, and twelve in bottles before it be drank. It will keep, and be very fine, eight or ten years. It should be brewed in the beginning of March. Great care must be taken that bottles are perfectly prepared, and _the corks are of the best sort_.

The ale will be ready in three or four months, and if the vent-peg be never removed, it will have spirit and strength to the last. Allow two gallons of water, at first, for waste.

After the beer or ale is run from the grains, pour a hogshead and a half for the twelve bushels; and a hogshead of water, if eight were brewed.

Mash, and let stand; and then boil, &c.

ORIGIN OF MINT JULEPS.

'Tis said that the G.o.ds, on Olympus of old, (And who the bright legend profanes with a doubt!) One night, 'mid their revels, by Bacchus were told, That his last b.u.t.t of nectar had somehow run out.

But determined to send round the goblet once more, They sued to the fairer mortals for aid In composing a draught, which till drinking were o'er, Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade.

Grave Ceres herself blithely yielded her corn, And the spirit that lives in each amber-hued grain, And which first had its birth from the dews of the morn, Was taught to steal out in bright dew-drops again.

Pomona, whose choicest of fruits on the board Were scattered profusely, in every one's reach, When called on a tribute to cull from the h.o.a.rd, Express'd the mild juice of the delicate peach.

The liquids were mingled, while Venus looked on, With glances so fraught with sweet magical power, That the honey of Hybla, e'en when they were gone, Has never been missed in the draught from that hour.

Flora then from her bosom of fragrancy shook, And with roseate fingers pressed down in the bowl, All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook, The _herb_ whose aroma should flavor the whole.

The draught was delicious, each G.o.d did exclaim, Though something yet wanting they all did bewail; But _juleps_ the drink of immortals became, When Jove himself added a handful of hail.

HOFFMAN.

PUNCH.

Four elements, joined in An emulous strife, Fas.h.i.+on the world, and Const.i.tute life.

From the sharp citron The starry juice pour; Acid to life is The innermost core.

Now, let the sugar The bitter one meet; Still be life's bitter Tamed down with the sweet!

Let the bright water Flow into the bowl; Water, the calm one, Embraces the whole.

Drops from the spirit Pour quick'ning within, Life but its life from The spirit can win.

Haste, while it gloweth, Your vessels to bring; The wave has but virtue Drunk hot from the spring.

TRANSLATED FROM SCHILLER.