124. Wise Food

Mr. Blake next followed Alpin to Nauta’s villa. There was no one at home there either. Alpin entered the kitchen and emptied it  Then he noticed that Augustus Caesar was leaning against the well near the villa.

                           

“Where are the cats?” said Augustus. “We meet here to exchange old saws and sayings and proverbs and such but they haven’t shown up.”

“I can exchange things like that with you now that my stomach is full,” said Alpin. “Nevertheless, I would rather they were on food. It’s what I know most about.”

“Our subject was to be health,” said Augustus.

“Then we’ll speak about healthy food. Since you are new to this game, you may start, Mr. Blake,” said Alpin.

Mr. Blake thought the game was to spout as many proverbs as one knew about the appointed subject and lose one’s turn when one was at a loss to spout another.

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away. When diet is wrong, medicine is of no use, when diet is right, medicine is of no need. A crust eaten in peace is better than a banquet partaken in anxiety. The only way to keep your health is to eat what you don’t want, drink what you don’t like and do what you’d rather not. One should eat to live, not live to eat. One should breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince and dine like a pauper.”

Mr. Blake could have gone on and on, but Alpin interrupted him because he didn’t like any of the advice Mr. Blake was giving. 

“I’d rather eat like a Roman emperor always. Is it true what they say about Roman emperors, Caesar? How they used to vomit so they could have seconds?”

“Not about me,” said Augustus. “Modus omnibus in rebus. Be moderate in everything.” 

“I don’t think I like speaking about health,” said Alpin. “Surely there’s other things that can be said about food.”

“Fabas indulcet fames?” suggested Augustus. “This means hunger sweetens beans.”

“I don’t need beans to be sweet to want to eat them,” said Alpin. “Don’t take what you won’t eat,” said Alpin. “Leave it for me. That’s one of my favorite sayings.”

“Where is your sister Fiona?” said Santichu Semeurtzi. The Basque cook had popped up in a cloud as white as his uniform. It smelled of olive oil.

“What’s cooking at the spa, Santi?” said Alpin.

“Half of what should be. I won’t be able to do without her help much longer. It’s the holiday season.”

“Maybe I can be of help,” said Alpin. He was not allowed to set foot anywhere near the spa and he thought this might be a chance to visit it.

Santichu vanished faster than he had appeared.