ABSTRACT
The treasures of the Incas have dwindled and disappeared; the Alhambra has decayed and been restored on its high hill-top. The masterpieces of Velazquez have been torn from palace walls, to hang in convenient rows in public museums; the greatness of Spain has long been waning. And yet Spain, in no idle spirit of self-puffery, can boast of this achievement. By a nation's salads may you judge of its degree of civilization; thus tested, Spain is in the van of all European countries. The basis of the Spanish salad may be the same as in other lands: tomato, cucumber, lettuce, beans and potatoes. But to these is added pepper, not miserably dried and powdered, but fresh and whole, or generous slices. These and their hundred offshoots were conceived in serious moments. But once, in sheer levity of spirit and indolence, the gay Andalusian determined to invent a salad that, to the world beyond his snowy Sierras, would seem wildest jest.
