human
I never dished such stuff i' my life afore; it's not fit for dogs. Notwithstanding Sarah's scorn, it was a savoury repast enough. The soup was a sort of purée of dried peas, which mademoiselle had prepared amidst bitter lamentations that in this desolate country of England no haricot beans were to be had. Then came a dish of meat--nature unknown, but supposed to be miscellaneous--singularly chopped up with crumbs of bread, seasoned uniquely though not unpleasantly, and baked in a mould--a queer but by no means unpalatable dish. Greens, oddly bruised, formed the accompanying vegetable; and a pâté of fruit, conserved after a recipe devised by Madame Gérard Moore's
gpt
and from the taste of which it appeared probable that