Quite different from the veal we get in England.
And that aromatic wine went uncommonly well with them. It was his own
growth, I suppose."
"Very likely. From that little vineyard which produces so many good
things." He chuckled softly. "As to English veal--I never yet tasted any
worth eating. If you don't slaughter a calf till it's grown into a
cow--why, you're not likely to get anything but beef."
"They say the English cannot cook, in spite of the excellence of their
prime materials."
"I think the prime materials are at fault. They sacrifice everything to
size. It's barbaric. Those greasy Southdown sheep! It's the same with
their fowls; they're large, but insipid--very different from the little
things you get down here. Now a goose is capital fodder. But if you
grow him only for his weight, you destroy his quality and flavour; you
get a lump of blubber instead of a bird."
"Apple sauce?"
"I don't like apples in any shape. A sour kind of potato, I call them.
They eat an awful lot of apples in our country.
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