" But he sat down, and so did Ajib,
though his stomach was full of what he had eaten already and
drunken. Nevertheless he took a bit of the bread and dipped it in
the pomegranate conserve and made shift to eat it, but he found it too
little sweetened, for he was cloyed and surfeited, so he said, "Faugh,
what be this wild-beast stuff?" "O my son," cried his grandmother,
"dost thou find fault with my cookery? I cooked this myself and none
can cook it as nicely as I can, save thy father, Badr al-Din Hasan."
"By Allah, O my lady," Ajib answered, "this dish is nasty stuff, for
we saw but now in the city of Bassorah a cook who so dresseth
pomegranate grains that the very smell openeth a way to the heart
and the taste would make a full man long to eat. And as for this
mess compared with his, 'tis not worth either much or little."
When his grandmother heard his words, she waxed wroth with exceeding
wrath and looked at the servant and said: "Woe to thee! Dost thou
spoil my son, and dost take him into common cookshops?" The eunuch was
frightened and denied, saying, "We did not go into the shop, we only
passed by it.
Pages:
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308