To Be A Chef

In Europe, a man who begins as a scullion may remain a scullion forever, ior all his effort, potatoes till there is so little sign of earth upon them that they might have fallen from heaven, and making1 salad herbs as free from soil as if they grew in air, unless he pays a liberal tribute inmoney to the cook just above him, and tvhen he has learned all that man knows, pays another and a larger sum to that man's superior, and so on through the whole round, till nothing1 remains to learn, and he has spent f ar more than his wages, and something like that which a liberal education costs. But, says a writer in Harper's Bazar, when he has reached that point he has mastered all points; he knows perfeetly how to cut, carve, truss, lard, roast, boil, bake, fry, broil, and knows, moreover, all about sauces, soups, pastries, sweets and fancy dishes. He expects to praetice no one of these branches himself with his own hands; he has, so to say, understudies in them all, or representatives; he himself is like the reader of the score and the director of a grand orchestra. Nor is this all he must know; usually he has made himself able to speak French, Germán, Spanish and English. He has some knowledge of the arts; he is a chemist, a modeier, a colorist, more or less of an artist, a designer, a man of taste, and necessarily of more or less reading. Ile must know something of natural history, the seasons of g-ame, the producís of far countries, the state of the markets, and must be acquainted with the events of the day, to which he is often obliged to adapt the names of his dishes. He must be an economist, too, allowing no waste by his subordinates, and in order to do this he must know the exact amounts required in everything; and then he must know all that can be done with sugar and ice, and the whole story of wines.