The Chemistry of Cookery

just been tasting the various samples of dinner claret then remaining on the table, some of them expensive, and that he had chosen the same as I had, but what was my friend to do? Had he quoted 12_s._ per dozen, he would have lost one of his best customers, and sacrificed his reputation as a high-class wine-merchant; therefore he quoted 54_s._, and both buyer and seller were perfectly satisfied: the wine-merchant made a large profit, and the customer obtained what he demanded—a good wine at a ‘respectable price.’ He could not insult his friends by putting cheap 12_s._ trash on _his_ table. Here arises an ethical question. Was the wine-merchant justified in making this charge under the circumstances; or, otherwise stated, who was to blame for the crookedness of the transaction? I say the customer; my verdict is, ‘Sarve him right!’ In reference to wines, and still more to cigars, and some other useless luxuries, the typical Englishman is a victim to a prevalent commercial superstition. He blindly assumes that price must necessarily represent quality, and therefore shuts his eyes and opens his mouth to swallow anything with complete satisfaction, provided that he pays a good price for it at a respectable establishment, _i.e._ one where only high-priced articles are sold. If any reader thinks I speak too strongly, let him ascertain the market price per lb. of the best Havanna tobacco leaves where they are grown, also the cost of twisting them into cigar shape (a skilful workwoman can make a thousand in a day), then add to the sum of these the cost of packing, carriage, and duty. He will be rather astonished at the result of this arithmetical problem. If these things were necessaries of life, or contributed in any degree or manner to human welfare, I should protest indignantly; but seeing what they are and what they do, I rather rejoice at the limitation of consumption effected by their fancy prices. FOOTNOTES: [19] In repeating these experiments I find that the best form of silk is that which the Coventry dyers technically call ‘boiled silk,’