I love the way you show the lineage from Horace (Ode 3.29) in John Dryden’s 1685 translation, “Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today,” to Smith’s line and then to the wonderful way P.G. Wodehouse played with it in a 1913 story: “His face wore a look of placid content and he had a general air of happy repletion, a fate-cannot-touch-me-I-have-dined-to-day expression. He was chewing gum.” The turn at the end to gum-chewing is hysterical!
Wait just a gosh-darned minute here, partner, this "account" is based on an almost entirely different poem, same title, different body about some "condiment" or other and many other differences:
"A RECIPE FOR A SALAD"
To make this condiment, your poet begs
The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs;
Two boiled [size unspecified] potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve,
Smoothness and softness to the salad give."
And then later it is now suddenly about "O, green and glorious! O herbaceous treat!"
And how did some random "dying anchorite" slip in here, maybe with the anchovies?
These two poems/recipes are not apples to apples, not even salad to salad dressing.
That's Lady Holland's recipe, mentioned and linked in the account below the poem. That earlier draft of Sydney Smith's recipe makes clear that it's instructions for a dressing.
I think you're overestimating the size of the potatoes, which would have been small at the time. A modern reconstruction would use two cooked and mashed baby red round potatoes — essentially a potato starch to thicken the dressing. This would produce something more viscous than typical salad dressings these days, but you shouldn't get hung up on the potatoes as an element in the salad. They're a thickening agent in the dressing for a large salad.
Respectfully disagree: it calls for "large" potatoes. There is not enough liquid to make a dressing. And the title and second line call it a salad. And he does not talk about dressing anything with it; instead, it is a dish to eat alongside the entree venison, ham, or turkey. To settle the matter, please make it (have someone on your no doubt large and dutiful staff) as by recipe and see if you have a salad or salad dressing.
I tremble to correct you. The original poem from this morning has large potatoes. But the second poem of the same name that our inestimable host has tried to foist on us only has "Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve." You will want to check out the spurious second poem from Mr Bottum: https://martindwyer.com/m/2007/05/29/rev-sydney-smiths-salad-dressing/
Again, that's Lady Holland's earlier version. As the note below the poem makes clear, with links, the poem reproduced here is Smith's final version from a letter.
Salad "dressing"? Sounds like potato salad to me . . . as we made it in still-Elizabethan-tinged isolated hillbilly Missouri, with mashed/sieved, not diced, potatoes.
As I noted to Francesca above, I think you're overestimating the size of the potatoes, which would have been small at the time. Amodern reconstruction would use two cooked and mashed baby red round potatoes — essentially a potato starch to thicken the dressing. This would produce something more viscous than typical salad dressings these days, but you shouldn't get hung up on the potatoes as an element in the salad. They're a thickening agent in the dressing for a large salad.
I googled ‘unwonted’ to see if one really put mashed potatoes in the salad. I am familiar with and still employ ‘want’ to mean lack, but I was confused by ‘unwont.’
An interesting note. Regional variation, maybe, or national? "Unwonted," meaning unusual or unexpected, was a little rare but not unknown in sermons and writing when I was growing up.
Ha! And here I though my aide memoire for my kids was such an original concept:
Take an avocado and you put it in the blender
Lemon juice and garlic and a bit of salt and pepper
Chop up a tomato and you put it-in-at-the end there
Ayyyy, guacamole!
Im hungry
I love the way you show the lineage from Horace (Ode 3.29) in John Dryden’s 1685 translation, “Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today,” to Smith’s line and then to the wonderful way P.G. Wodehouse played with it in a 1913 story: “His face wore a look of placid content and he had a general air of happy repletion, a fate-cannot-touch-me-I-have-dined-to-day expression. He was chewing gum.” The turn at the end to gum-chewing is hysterical!
An account of making the dressing, which compares its texture to mayonnaise:
http://martindwyer.com/m/2007/05/29/rev-sydney-smiths-salad-dressing/
And a picture of a result:
https://www.instagram.com/revsoup/p/CdVpyJnu_L5/
I saw a better link online some days ago but have lost it.
Wait just a gosh-darned minute here, partner, this "account" is based on an almost entirely different poem, same title, different body about some "condiment" or other and many other differences:
"A RECIPE FOR A SALAD"
To make this condiment, your poet begs
The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs;
Two boiled [size unspecified] potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve,
Smoothness and softness to the salad give."
And then later it is now suddenly about "O, green and glorious! O herbaceous treat!"
And how did some random "dying anchorite" slip in here, maybe with the anchovies?
These two poems/recipes are not apples to apples, not even salad to salad dressing.
That's Lady Holland's recipe, mentioned and linked in the account below the poem. That earlier draft of Sydney Smith's recipe makes clear that it's instructions for a dressing.
Poems A&M Challenge: who's going to be the first reader to make (and eat) this recipe?
Not sure when, but I'm going to try it! Without the anchovie sauce, though.
But what if the anchovy sauce is what makes it (apart from the potatoes, I mean)?
:) But what if I can't eat anchovies?!
Fair enough!
Right. Its mashed potato with some onions and dressing
I think you're overestimating the size of the potatoes, which would have been small at the time. A modern reconstruction would use two cooked and mashed baby red round potatoes — essentially a potato starch to thicken the dressing. This would produce something more viscous than typical salad dressings these days, but you shouldn't get hung up on the potatoes as an element in the salad. They're a thickening agent in the dressing for a large salad.
Respectfully disagree: it calls for "large" potatoes. There is not enough liquid to make a dressing. And the title and second line call it a salad. And he does not talk about dressing anything with it; instead, it is a dish to eat alongside the entree venison, ham, or turkey. To settle the matter, please make it (have someone on your no doubt large and dutiful staff) as by recipe and see if you have a salad or salad dressing.
It does say large potatoes
I tremble to correct you. The original poem from this morning has large potatoes. But the second poem of the same name that our inestimable host has tried to foist on us only has "Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve." You will want to check out the spurious second poem from Mr Bottum: https://martindwyer.com/m/2007/05/29/rev-sydney-smiths-salad-dressing/
Again, that's Lady Holland's earlier version. As the note below the poem makes clear, with links, the poem reproduced here is Smith's final version from a letter.
Well, there you go, the way it always is, just when we're having fun, someone has to come in with a voice of reason. Spoilsport.
Salad "dressing"? Sounds like potato salad to me . . . as we made it in still-Elizabethan-tinged isolated hillbilly Missouri, with mashed/sieved, not diced, potatoes.
As I noted to Francesca above, I think you're overestimating the size of the potatoes, which would have been small at the time. Amodern reconstruction would use two cooked and mashed baby red round potatoes — essentially a potato starch to thicken the dressing. This would produce something more viscous than typical salad dressings these days, but you shouldn't get hung up on the potatoes as an element in the salad. They're a thickening agent in the dressing for a large salad.
I googled ‘unwonted’ to see if one really put mashed potatoes in the salad. I am familiar with and still employ ‘want’ to mean lack, but I was confused by ‘unwont.’
An interesting note. Regional variation, maybe, or national? "Unwonted," meaning unusual or unexpected, was a little rare but not unknown in sermons and writing when I was growing up.
Yes, basically the reverse of "as he was wont to do."