ABSTRACT
The triumph of the tomato has given hungry men and women a new lease of pleasure. The tomatoes that make glad the heart of the loiterer in Covent Garden are fresh as the sweet breath of May. In soup, thin or clear, the tomato knows no rival; in sauce, it stands supreme, ranking worthily with the four classical sauces of the French cuisine. And here, a suggestion to be received with loud, jubilant Alleluias! Follow the example of Attila's heirs and as last touch, pour cream upon our tomato sauce. Remember that the tomatoes must be deftly sliced in their skins or else the juice escapes; that a touch of onion or garlic is indispensable; that the dressing must be of oil and vinegar, pepper and salt; unless, of course, a mayonnaise be made. Let it be explained briefly, that lurid description may not be thought to exaggerate lurid attraction: drop our tomatoes, brilliantly red as the abhorred Scarlet Woman.
