To Bishop Paul: A Cook for His Kitchen

When I learned that all your cooks had quit your kitchen (I suppose because they were indignant at having to serve up cheap dishes of beans and peas), I sent you a little boy from our own workshop. He is quite skilled enough to cook pale beans, to pickle homely beetroot with vinegar and sauce, and to make cheap porridge for the jaws of hungry monks. He knows nothing, however, of pepper or of laser, but he is quite at home with cumin, and he is especially clever at working the noisy mortar with sweet-smelling herbs. [a]

He has one fault: he is no kindly foe to let into any garden. Once let in, he will mow down with a sword everything within his reach, and he will never be satisfied with slaughtering only the mallows. In getting himself firewood, however, he will not cheat you. He will burn whatever comes his way; he will cut down, and he will not hesitate to lay hands on buildings and carry off old beams from the house.

We present him to you, then, with this character and these virtues, and we want you to regard him not as a servant but as a son, because you are not ashamed to be the father of very small creatures. I myself would have wished to serve you in his place. But if good will can be taken as standing in some measure for the deed, then you, for your part, need only take care to remember me at your breakfasts and delightful dinners, because it is more fitting to be your slave than the master of others. Pray for me.