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Cobb's Bill-of-Fare
This book was converted from its physical edition to the digital format by a community of volunteers. You may find it for free on the web. Purchase of the Kindle edition includes wireless delivery.
59 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1913
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About the author
Irvin S. Cobb
316 books18 followers(Irvin Shrewsbury Cobb)
American author, humorist, editor and columnist from Paducah, Kentucky who relocated to New York during 1904, living there for the remainder of his life.
He wrote for the New York World, Joseph Pulitzer's newspaper, as the highest paid staff reporter in the United States.
Cobb also wrote more than 60 books and 300 short stories. Some of his works were adapted for silent movies. Several of his Judge Priest short stories were adapted for two feature films during the 1930s directed by John Ford.
American author, humorist, editor and columnist from Paducah, Kentucky who relocated to New York during 1904, living there for the remainder of his life.
He wrote for the New York World, Joseph Pulitzer's newspaper, as the highest paid staff reporter in the United States.
Cobb also wrote more than 60 books and 300 short stories. Some of his works were adapted for silent movies. Several of his Judge Priest short stories were adapted for two feature films during the 1930s directed by John Ford.
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
January 14, 2023
Humorous short pieces
Review of free Kindle edition
Product Details
ASIN: B004TPCGQ8
Publication date: March 24, 2011
Language: English
File size: 200 KB
Simultaneous device usage: Unlimited
Text-to-Speech: Enabled
Screen Reader: Supported
Enhanced typesetting: Enabled
X-Ray: Not Enabled
Word Wise: Not Enabled
Sticky notes: On Kindle Scribe
Print length: 59 pages ( The description at Goodreads lists 150 pages and is incorrect.)
No illustrations in this free Kindle edition.
For a volume written in 1912, these are surprisingly modern sounding, observations, complaints, quibbles and sometimes lauditory comments about food, music, art, and sport. I found them to be entertaining and frequently very funny. Some dated references to people and things. I highlighted and noted some of those which were not easy to find on the web.
Cobb was from Kentucky but moved to New York in the early 1900's. He became a noted newspaper man, columnist and writer.
The Peter Newell described as the author at the Amazon listing was actually an illustrator of the period and not the man described.
Review of free Kindle edition
Product Details
ASIN: B004TPCGQ8
Publication date: March 24, 2011
Language: English
File size: 200 KB
Simultaneous device usage: Unlimited
Text-to-Speech: Enabled
Screen Reader: Supported
Enhanced typesetting: Enabled
X-Ray: Not Enabled
Word Wise: Not Enabled
Sticky notes: On Kindle Scribe
Print length: 59 pages ( The description at Goodreads lists 150 pages and is incorrect.)
No illustrations in this free Kindle edition.
For a volume written in 1912, these are surprisingly modern sounding, observations, complaints, quibbles and sometimes lauditory comments about food, music, art, and sport. I found them to be entertaining and frequently very funny. Some dated references to people and things. I highlighted and noted some of those which were not easy to find on the web.
Cobb was from Kentucky but moved to New York in the early 1900's. He became a noted newspaper man, columnist and writer.
The Peter Newell described as the author at the Amazon listing was actually an illustrator of the period and not the man described.
May 26, 2013
Cobb's humour is dated on occasion, and he was prone to repetition, but at other times he nails it. This is the best description I've ever read of a piano recital (probably the only one I've read, but never mind):
"She starts gently. She throws her head far back and closes her eyes dreamily, and hits the keys a soft, dainty little lick — tippy-tap! Then leaving a call with the night clerk for eight o'clock in the morning, she seems to drift off into a peaceful slumber, but awakens on the moment and hurrying all the way up to the other end of Main Street she slams the bass keys a couple of hard blows - bumetty-bum! And so it goes for quite a long spell after that: Tippy-tap! — off to the country for a week-end party, Friday to Monday; bumetty-bum! — six months elapse between the third and fourth acts; tippetty-tip! — two years later; dear me, how the old place has changed! Biffetty-biff! Gracious, how time flies, for here it is summer again and the flowers are all in bloom! You sink farther and farther into your chair and debate with yourself whether you ought to run like a coward or stay and die like a hero. One of your legs goes to sleep and the rest of you envies the leg. You can feel your whiskers growing, and you begin to itch in two hundred separate places, but can't scratch....
All of a sudden the lady operator comes out of her trance. She comes out of it with a violent start, as though she had just been bee-stung. She now cuts loose, regardless of the piano's intrinsic value and its associations to its owners. She skitters her flying fingers up and down the instrument from one end to the other, producing a sound like hailstones falling on a tin roof. She grabs the helpless thing by its upper lip and tries to tear all its front teeth out with her bare hands. She fails in this, and then she goes mad from disappointment and in a frenzy resorts to her fists.
As nearly as you are able to gather, a terrific fire has broken out in one of the most congested tenement districts. You can hear the engines coming and the hook-and-ladder trucks clattering over the cobbles. Ambulances come, too, clanging their gongs, and one of them runs over a dog; and a wall falls, burying several victims in the ruin. At this juncture persons begin jumping out of the top-floor windows, holding cooking stoves in their arms, and a team runs away and plunges through a plate-glass window into a tinware and crockery store. People are all running round and shrieking, and the dog that was run over is still yelping — he wasn't killed outright evidently, but only crippled — and several tons of dynamite explode in a basement.
As the crashing reverberations die away the lady arises, wan but game, and bows low in response to the applause and backs away, leaving the wreck of the piano jammed back on its haunches and trembling like a leaf in every limb."
"She starts gently. She throws her head far back and closes her eyes dreamily, and hits the keys a soft, dainty little lick — tippy-tap! Then leaving a call with the night clerk for eight o'clock in the morning, she seems to drift off into a peaceful slumber, but awakens on the moment and hurrying all the way up to the other end of Main Street she slams the bass keys a couple of hard blows - bumetty-bum! And so it goes for quite a long spell after that: Tippy-tap! — off to the country for a week-end party, Friday to Monday; bumetty-bum! — six months elapse between the third and fourth acts; tippetty-tip! — two years later; dear me, how the old place has changed! Biffetty-biff! Gracious, how time flies, for here it is summer again and the flowers are all in bloom! You sink farther and farther into your chair and debate with yourself whether you ought to run like a coward or stay and die like a hero. One of your legs goes to sleep and the rest of you envies the leg. You can feel your whiskers growing, and you begin to itch in two hundred separate places, but can't scratch....
All of a sudden the lady operator comes out of her trance. She comes out of it with a violent start, as though she had just been bee-stung. She now cuts loose, regardless of the piano's intrinsic value and its associations to its owners. She skitters her flying fingers up and down the instrument from one end to the other, producing a sound like hailstones falling on a tin roof. She grabs the helpless thing by its upper lip and tries to tear all its front teeth out with her bare hands. She fails in this, and then she goes mad from disappointment and in a frenzy resorts to her fists.
As nearly as you are able to gather, a terrific fire has broken out in one of the most congested tenement districts. You can hear the engines coming and the hook-and-ladder trucks clattering over the cobbles. Ambulances come, too, clanging their gongs, and one of them runs over a dog; and a wall falls, burying several victims in the ruin. At this juncture persons begin jumping out of the top-floor windows, holding cooking stoves in their arms, and a team runs away and plunges through a plate-glass window into a tinware and crockery store. People are all running round and shrieking, and the dog that was run over is still yelping — he wasn't killed outright evidently, but only crippled — and several tons of dynamite explode in a basement.
As the crashing reverberations die away the lady arises, wan but game, and bows low in response to the applause and backs away, leaving the wreck of the piano jammed back on its haunches and trembling like a leaf in every limb."
January 12, 2019
In these four essays, Irvin S Cobb, writing from the perspective of an American in the early 20th century, discusses his views on, and his experiences with, four important interests of the average ‘civilized’ member of society: gastronomy, music, art, and sports. All four essays follow similar tacks: what is popular, what is considered ‘good’ and ‘proper’, what is highly valued and esteemed—whether it’s a Chopin or a Mona Lisa, an haute cuisine dish or a trip in a sailboat, in the teeth of a storm—is not necessarily heartwarming, comfortable, or really enjoyable.
That’s the gist of it, but what Cobb does is to express it in a hilarious manner, self-deprecating at times, using brilliantly funny metaphors at other times, to present a picture that was for me quite literally laugh out loud. Here are some samples:
“If it's an Old Master we probably behold a Flemish saint or a German saint or an Italian saint—depending on whether the artist was Flemish or German or Italian—depicted as being shot full of arrows and enjoying same to the uttermost.”
“Let us say, then, that you have mortgaged the old home and have acquired enough fishing tackle to last you for a whole day… you get into a rowboat that you undertake to pull yourself and that starts out by weighing half a ton and gets half a ton heavier at each stroke. You pull and pull until your spine begins to unravel at both ends, and your palms get so full of water blisters you feel as though you were carrying a bunch of hothouse grapes in each hand.”
“He could beat me climbing, but at panting I had him licked to a whisper. He was a person without sympathy. In his bosom the milk of human kindness had clabbered and turned to a brick-cheese.”
Despite the dated (though fortunately very occasional) references that smack of a society where racism and sexism were perfectly acceptable, a delightful book. Cobb’s style reminded me a lot of Jerome K Jerome, especially in the sections where he writes about camping and boating—I could’ve sworn I was reading Three Men in a Boat. A quick, easy read.
That’s the gist of it, but what Cobb does is to express it in a hilarious manner, self-deprecating at times, using brilliantly funny metaphors at other times, to present a picture that was for me quite literally laugh out loud. Here are some samples:
“If it's an Old Master we probably behold a Flemish saint or a German saint or an Italian saint—depending on whether the artist was Flemish or German or Italian—depicted as being shot full of arrows and enjoying same to the uttermost.”
“Let us say, then, that you have mortgaged the old home and have acquired enough fishing tackle to last you for a whole day… you get into a rowboat that you undertake to pull yourself and that starts out by weighing half a ton and gets half a ton heavier at each stroke. You pull and pull until your spine begins to unravel at both ends, and your palms get so full of water blisters you feel as though you were carrying a bunch of hothouse grapes in each hand.”
“He could beat me climbing, but at panting I had him licked to a whisper. He was a person without sympathy. In his bosom the milk of human kindness had clabbered and turned to a brick-cheese.”
Despite the dated (though fortunately very occasional) references that smack of a society where racism and sexism were perfectly acceptable, a delightful book. Cobb’s style reminded me a lot of Jerome K Jerome, especially in the sections where he writes about camping and boating—I could’ve sworn I was reading Three Men in a Boat. A quick, easy read.
June 21, 2024
Persnickety
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews