Gastronomic Triumph

"England," complained the Marquis di Caraccioli, a discriminating Neapolitan foreign minister in the 18th century, "has more than 60 different religions and only one sauce—melted butter." Other Continental gourmets, to whom the savoring of a delicately shaded sauce is almost a religion in itself, have shared his uncomplimentary views of English cookery. But the English, firmly entrenched behind impenetrable ramparts of bubble & squeak, cold shape and suet pudding, have gone right on boiling their Brussels sprouts and slicing their mutton too thick.

Last week British obstinacy won a surprising victory over Continental superiority. After a two-day stay at the 300-year-old Castle Hotel in Taunton, a visiting chevalier of the Cercle Gastronomique de Belgique went home to Belgium and talked his fellow epicures into awarding the English hotel its Grand Prix for the year. He was eloquent in praise of the roast duckling, the apple tart, the port-touched Stilton. Castle Chef Charles Instep accepted the prize (a silver cup, 18 inches high) for himself and England with becoming modesty. "We can't always please 100% of our customers," he said. "I just try to please 99&½%."