ABSTRACT
Archangelic smiles must broaden into silent laughter at the mere mention of "a Potage of Green Geese". It is a conceit redolent of the olden time, when gaiety was still ranked among the cardinal virtues, and men ate their fill with no fear of a dyspeptic to-morrow. Into the gloom, settling down thicker and more throttling than November's fog, there flutters and waddle a big white bird, a saviour of men. A half a pound of butter separates bird from pastry cover. If we would boil a goose, see, as we respect our stomach, that it be first salted for a week. With onion sauce it may be becomingly adorned, or again, with simple cabbage, boiled, chopped small and stewed in butter. Stuffed with onions and chestnuts, boiled in company with carrots and celery and onions and parsley and cloves, floated in tomato sauce, it is as chock full of playful surprises as the Cartuja of Granada.
