His father, a gentleman of Gloucestershire, sent him abroad to
make the grand tour, upon which journey, says our informant, young
Rogerson attended to nothing but the various modes of cookery, and
methods of eating and drinking luxuriously. Before his return his father
died, and he entered into the possession of a very large monied fortune,
and a small landed estate. He was now able to look over his notes of
epicurism, and to discover where the most exquisite dishes were to be
had, and the best cooks procured. He had no other servants in his house
than men cooks; his butler, footman, housekeeper, coachman, and grooms,
were all cooks. He had three Italian cooks, one from Florence, another
from Sienna, and a third from Viterbo, for dressing one dish, the _docce
piccante_ of Florence. He had a messenger constantly on the road between
Brittany and London, to bring him the eggs of a certain sort of plover,
found near St. Maloes. He has eaten a single dinner at the expense of
fifty-eight pounds, though himself only sat down to it, and there were
but two dishes. He counted the minutes between meals, and seemed totally
absorbed in the idea, or in the action of eating, yet his stomach was
very small; it was the exquisite flavour alone, that he sought. In nine
years he found his table dreadfully abridged by the ruin of his fortune;
and himself hastening to poverty.
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