ABSTRACT
Soup, with so much else good and great, is mis-understood in an England merrier than dainty in her feasting. Tinned soups also there are in infinite variety, oxtail, and mock-turtle, and julienne, and gravy and chicken broth, and many more than one likes to think of. What the great Alexandre calls the grand consomme is the basis of all soup-and sauce making. But if for pleasure solely you eat your soup, as you should, unless illness or the blue devils have you firm in their grasp. Clams are a joy if you add to them but salt and pepper-cayenne by preference, and a dash of lemon juice. Veal stock or mutton broth may pass as prosaic basis of the delicacy; but better depend upon milk and cream, and of the latter be not sparing. Be a good Catholic on Fridays, with potages maigres, their name is legion, your soups may be increased and multiplied, and thus infinity becomes your portion.
