always be on the look out, is the giving of bad silver in the way of
change, as many foreign coinages are now obsolete, and one cannot be
too careful in this respect. It is usually a matter of date. The coin
is not a bad coin, but simply not current. The Swiss two-franc piece,
for instance, is all right if Madame Helvetia is depicted sitting
down, but all wrong if she be standing up. Then the Greek, Roumanian,
and Turkish coins are non-admissible, and certain Italian cart-wheels
or five-lire pieces no longer acceptable. It requires some experience
to recognize at a glance in a handful of silver how many coins are
right and how many wrong.
A fraud of this kind was defeated, and met with its own just reward,
only last summer at a French casino, a notorious haunt of the “slim”
waiter. An Englishman having had _consommations_ to the amount of two
francs, paid with a louis, and received eighteen francs change. Of
this change he subsequently found that seven francs, a five-franc and
a two-franc piece, were useless. He returned the next night with some
friends, found out the same waiter, ordered sundry refreshment, and
when paying-time came, settled the bill with the useless coins he had
received the night before. The waiter refused to accept them, the guest
refused on his part to pay in any other coin. The matter was referred
to an official of the casino, the matter explained, and the English
guest was supported. For once, therefore, the waiter was hoist with his
own petard.
It is common knowledge that the waiters among themselves have a regular
trade in these coins; they change hands at about one-third of their
face value, and the dupe is, nine times out of ten, the British tourist.
It would be unfair to suggest that all waiters are guilty of these or
similar wiles. There are hundreds of good, trustworthy waiters who
would disdain them, and who know by experience, precept, or intuition
that honesty is the best policy in the dining as in other worlds.
At a first-class waiters’ training school or college, such as the
well-known Radunski’s, at Frankfort-on-the-Main, or one or other of the
Swiss establishments, all such tricks are sternly discouraged, and the
budding _maître d’hôtel_ is strongly impressed with the golden rule
that it does not pay, in the long run, to cheat clients in any shape or
form.
This is especially true of the highest class of restaurant, for waiters
travel about Europe a great deal, and the man who waits on you at the
Carlton to-night may turn up at the Ritz in Paris next week, at Monte
Carlo next month, and at Homburg next year. If he has cheated you
badly, you will remember him (though not in the time-honoured waiter’s
sense), and his good name will be gone once and for all.
I referred just now to the foreign schools for waiters where they
are systematically, and one might almost say scientifically, trained
for their profession, which is neither an easy nor, in the end, an
unremunerative one. Many sons of well-to-do German, Swiss, and Italian
hotel and restaurant proprietors, lads who have been to good schools
and received a first-class education, are content to begin at the very
bottom of the ladder, even as _piccolo_ or boy attendant, and gradually
to work their way through all the ranks even to that of _maître
d’hôtel_.
A German lad who wishes to become a waiter goes, first to Radunski, at
Frankfort, or to some other regular training school for waiters. At the
end of two years’ hard work, if he has gained his certificate, he goes
to an hotel or restaurant as an improver, without salary, for two years
or more.
Then he comes to London, and, for the sake of learning English, enters
an English family at a very small wage. Having mastered English, he is
off to France to learn French on similar terms.
Finally, he returns to London as an “aid” waiter, and by attending to
business he can rise to be a superintendent or a manager.
But the Englishman wants to undertake skilled labour and earn full
money without a proper training. Look, on the other hand, at the case
of the English butler. He is renowned throughout the world, but then
he was content to begin as a page and pass through the second stage of
footman.
A well-known restaurant manager once said to me: “Though we are
patriotic, we cannot allow patriotism to stand in the way of
efficiency. We must, for our customers’ sakes, employ the best men
we can get, irrespective of nationality, although we should prefer
Englishmen, of course.”
Some attempt has been made, is being made in fact, to establish a
training school for British waiters, but its success is, I fear,
problematical. And this for various reasons. Few, if any, professional
men would dream of their boys being trained to be waiters; it would be
beneath their shoddy suburban dignity. Also, the class from which the
average British waiter is drawn seems to be constitutionally incapable
of acquiring even the merest smattering of a foreign language. He
despises any tongue but his own.
The British Waiters’ Association has done excellent work on the right
lines, but very much remains still to be accomplished.
The average British waiter at the ordinary railway refreshment-room is
usually a terribly slow and untidy individual. True, one has learned
not to expect too much at a railway station. _A la gare, comme à la
gare!_
Mr. Jerome K. Jerome has an amusing tirade on the subject. He says:
“The slowest waiter I know is the British railway refreshment-room
waiter. His very breathing, regular, harmonious, penetrating,
instinct as it is with all the better attributes of a well-preserved
grandfather’s clock, conveys suggestion of dignity and peace. He is
a huge, impressive person. There emanates from him an atmosphere of
Lotusland. The otherwise unattractive room becomes an oasis of repose
amid the turmoil of a fretful world.”
Of course the waiter’s life is a trying and arduous one. There is much
worry by thoughtless clients. There are disappointments, and swindlers,
and rogues. Then the actual pedestrian exercise is not little. A
waiter in a restaurant in Christiania one day provided himself with
a pedometer before starting his work. According to his calculations
he took rather under 100,000 steps, covering some thirty-seven miles,
between 8 a.m. and 12.30 a.m. Working and walking four days a week, he
calculated that he covered more than 7000 miles in a year.
Another danger is threatened by the waiter’s serviette. In the
_Deutsche Medizinische Wochenschrift_ Professor Kron inaugurated a
crusade against the napkin which the waiter flourishes as a sign of
his profession, but which, in the Professor’s opinion, is a deplorably
unhygienic piece of linen and should be summarily abolished in all
civilized countries.
Dr. Kron notices how waiters carry this thing, now in their hands, now
in their trousers pockets, and sometimes under their arm. They wipe
table-tops with it, wipe glasses, knives, forks with it, wipe the manly
perspiration from their brows and the beer froth from their lips. No
civilized man should tolerate its presence, and the Professor closes
his article with the war-cry, “Away with the waiter’s napkin!” The
Professor, it will be noticed, refers to the “rough” waiter only, and
not to the civilized kind. He also fails to suggest a substitute for
the serviette.
In a book entitled “Trouble in the Balkans” Mr. J. L. C. Booth says of
Athenian waiters: “Robbery among the Greeks is not a cultivated art; it
is a gift. They are all born with it. There is only one known method of
getting square with an Athenian waiter, and that is to dine twice at
the same place, near the door. You pay the first night.”
Enough of Waiters, however; let us to a more congenial, if allied
topic, the edible Snail.
It is surely quite superfluous to enter upon any defence of Snails as
an article of food. If you like them, well, you like them. If you do
not, then you probably detest them. No one ever just tolerated snails.
There is good historical precedent, as shall be shown hereafter, for
their systematic cultivation. They are most nutritious, containing, it
is alleged, twice the amount of proteid possessed by the oyster. Be
that as it may, they have been a desirable article of food for many
centuries past.
Paris, according to the “Figaro,” consumes eight hundred thousand
kilogrammes of snails annually. High though this figure is, it will
probably be exceeded, for, after having been in disgrace for some time,
the _escargot_ has reconquered the favour of the gourmets.
Burgundy and the two departments of Savoy are the great sources of
supply. There they are bought for 8 fr. or 9 fr. the thousand. The
interesting molluscs are first sent to Auxerre, whence they are resold
to Paris as coming from the vines of Macon and Dijon.
A number of intelligent speculators also practise the breeding of
snails, which they place in parks enclosed in fences made of smoothly
planed planks covered with tar to prevent their climbing out and
escaping.
Snails, too, play a very important part in our ordinary daily food,
although the snail-hater would scoff at the idea. But it is even so.
What think you imparts to South Down and Dartmoor mutton its fine
flavour and highly nutritive properties? Snails! The grass upon which
they feed teems with small snails of the _Helix caperata_ species, and
these, with or without the will of the sheep, form part of the diet of
the latter, taken with the grass.
The Burgundy snail, however, has become more and more scarce during
the past few seasons. The Council General of the Department of the
Côte d’Or seriously took up the question, and asked the Prefect of the
department to authorize a close time for snails between 15 April and 15
June. The Prefect replied that he had no power to make such an order,
as the snail was not game. The Council thereupon voted a protest, and
expressed the hope that the snail might rank in the category of game,
and be accorded a close time.
The French sportsman’s category of game is tolerably wide, and includes
birds which we do not rightly understand under that generic title.
Still, to include snails as game seems a trifle--well, far-fetched. It
would be difficult to shoot snails, save with a pop-gun at perhaps six
feet. It might be easier to stalk them. After all, we have a close time
for oysters, which are not much more game-like than snails. The point
for France surely is not whether snails should rank as reptiles or
insects, vermin or cattle, but whether they are worth preserving. And
the Burgundy snail is.
In the time of Pliny, we are told, a concoction of snails beaten up
in warm water was recommended for coughs. The Romans were very fond
of snails, which they fattened in special “cochlearia,” feeding them
with bran soaked in wine until they attained quite large dimensions.
Charles the Fifth of Spain died of indigestion brought on by eating
immoderately of snails.
Mrs. Delaney, writing in 1758, says: “Two or three Snails should be
boiled in the barley-water which Mary takes, who coughs at night. She
must know nothing of it. They give no manner of taste.”
The first importation of Snails into England has been attributed to
Sir Kenelm Digby (1645) for his wife. Also the apple snail was brought
to the South Downs of Surrey and Sussex, as well as to Box Hill in the
sixteenth century, by one of the Earls of Arundel for his Countess, who
dressed and ate them to promote the cure of consumption, from which she
suffered.
Snails did not really come into French vogue until the return of Louis
XVIII, in 1814, on which occasion the Bishop of Autun entertained
the Emperor Alexander of Russia. The popular host, who was a famous
gastronome, had in his service a most accomplished cook, the best in
Paris at that time; they put their heads together and hit upon Snails
as the most suitable novelty for presenting to the imperial guest.
Together with this dish, which was handed round, there appeared on the
card under the heading _Escargots à la Bourgignonne_ a description of
the delicious seasoning with which each shell was filled up.
In 1854, M. de la Marr, of Paris, set forth the virtues of _Helicin_ as
a glutinous extract obtained from snails, and which had long been given
in broth as a successful domestic remedy for pulmonary phthisis.
Gipsies are great snail eaters, but they first starve these
gasteropods, which are given to devour poisonous plants, and must be
rendered free from the same, for it is certain that Snails retain for a
time the flavour and odour of the vegetables on which they feed.
The above most interesting particulars may be read, at greater length,
in a compendious and reliable work, entitled “Meals Medicinal,” by Dr.
W. T. Fernie.
There is an increasing export of Snails from England to America. As
many as ten thousand are packed in a cask, of which hundreds are
shipped annually. But there is and always has been a large home
consumption, particularly in certain counties. In some Gloucestershire
towns they quite outclass whelks and winkles as a snack to accompany
a glass of beer, and they are commonly hawked by the basket, cooked
ready for eating, round the public-houses. Snail broth or stewed snails
is a well-known and thoroughly approved rural remedy for consumption,
and indeed all chest complaints. In Hampshire, to help weak eyes,
snails are made into a poultice with soaked breadcrusts. The glass men
at Newcastle have a Snail Feast once a year. They collect the snails
in the fields and hedgerows on the Sunday before the anniversary,
and their wives wash, clean, and stuff them according to established
tradition. According to the authority of Mr. F. H. Elsey, librarian of
the Surrey Archæological Society, the edible snail, _Helix pomatia_,
was most probably introduced into this country by the Romans from Gaul.
It is not peculiar to Surrey, for it is found in Kent; and Sowerby, in
his “Illustrated Index of British Shells,” gives the southern chalky
districts. It is no doubt confined to these by the large size of its
shell, requiring the secretion of lime for its formation. This snail
hibernates from October to April in a subterranean burrow.
It has been said this snail was brought to this country from Italy
by Thomas, Earl of Arundel (Earl Marshal). “His lady,” says Salmon,
“delighting in such food.” Evelyn remarks that “this huge and fleshy
snail was had in delicus by the Earl himself.” Mr. Elsey entirely
agrees with Lieut.-Col. Godwin-Austen, the well-known authority upon
mollusca, that the snail was here long before the Earl of Arundel’s
time.
Two very fine shells of this snail, one measuring 1¾ in. long, 1⅛ in.
broad, and 1⅛ in. high, can be seen in the Surrey Archæological Museum,
Castle Arch, Guildford. These two specimens were found by Mr. Elsey
a few years ago just below where Mr. W. P. Trench’s house is built
adjoining the Echo Pits, Guildford, in a hedge now grubbed up.
There is a suggestion in Spenser that the edible snail is the poor
man’s oyster, and Dr. Yeo confirms this. Some little while ago Canon
Horsley strongly recommended the more general adoption of snails as an
article of food, although he naively admitted that he had never eaten
one himself. Thereupon the “Lancet” said: “There is nothing to be said
against the proposal from a dietetic point of view; the snail is both
nutritious and tasty.” The professional journal goes on to say:--
“The snail has been called ‘the poor man’s oyster,’ though we do not
remember to have seen it eaten raw. We know, however, that it makes an
excellent fish sauce, and may be used for the same purpose as oyster
sauce. Possibly also a few snails in a steak-and-kidney pudding would
increase the tastiness of this popular food.
“Care must be exercised in the choice of the snail for food purposes,
as it is well known that snails feed on poisonous plants, and it is the
custom in France to allow a few days to elapse after they have been
taken from their feeding ground, in order that any poisonous matters
may be eliminated.
“According to analysis, very nearly 90 per cent of the solid matter
of the snail is proteid matter, available directly for repairing the
tissues of the body.
“Besides this, there is about 6 per cent of fat and 4 per cent of
mineral matter, including phosphates.”
According to an excellent gastronomic authority, the best snails
in Paris are to be found at Prunier’s, in the Rue Duphot, near the
Madeleine. He boils his snails in a liquid which is partly composed of
good white wine, with a little garlic and bay leaves, thyme, onions,
and carrots in it. The snails are served in small silver bowls, and the
weapon of offence is a two-pronged silver fork. The first time that one
holds a long black steaming thing on a fork, and hesitates whether to
put it into one’s mouth or not, is rather a strange moment.
Most people who try the experiment of snail-eating take the snail out
of their mouths quicker than they put it in. Burgundy is the correct
wine to drink with your snails.
The Hungarian manner of cooking snails is, after the boiling and
cleaning, to cut them small, mix them with chopped-up anchovies,
and to serve them hot on hot toast, a squeeze of lemon and a dash of
red pepper giving the dish its final touches. The curiosity of the
Hungarian method of cooking and serving the snails is that no man,
unless he was told, would know what he was eating.
Francatelli, in his “Modern Cook,” strongly recommends snails, and
gives a method of cooking them, nearly akin to the usual French way. In
fact, nearly all foreign cookery books give one or more recipes, either
as broth, stew, or _à la Bourgignon_.
The “London Gazette” of 23 March, 1739, tells us that “Mrs. Joanna
Stephens received from the Government five thousand pounds for
revealing the secret of her famous cure for stone in the bladder. This
consisted chiefly of egg shells and Snails, mixed with Soap, Honey, and
Herbs.” Rather earlier than this date “Lady Honeywood’s Snail Water”
was much used for complaints of the chest.
Defoe, writing in 1722, described a cookshop “where you may bespeak a
dinner for four or five shillings a head up to a guinea or what sum
you will”; one of the items being “a ragout of fatted snails.”
Has any literary critic ever noticed the curious similarity between a
verse of Sir John Suckling and Robert Herrick, who were, of course,
contemporaries? I am reminded of it because _Snails_ are used by the
latter where _Mice_ are referred to by the former.
In Sir John Suckling’s “Ballad upon a Wedding,” everybody knows the
lines:--
Her feet beneath her petticoat
Like little mice stole in and out.
In Robert Herrick’s poem, “On Her Feet,” occurs this verse:--
Her pretty feet like snails, did creep
A little out, and then
As if they played at bo-peep,
Did soon draw in again.
The comparison is interesting.
Quite recently a case brought under the Workmen’s Compensation Act in
Paris revealed the existence of a hitherto unknown industry. This was
none other than the manufacture of artificial snails.
The evidence showed that a workman had had a finger broken by a machine
whose object was to cut boiled calves’ lights into portions shaped like
a small corkscrew for insertion into the empty shells of snails which
had been thrown into dustbins after their contents had been consumed,
and thence gathered by the _chiffonniers_, or ragpickers, and sold to
the proprietor of the factory. The revelation caused a sensation of
horror among the Parisian population, for whom the succulent snail is
a delicious delicacy partaken of on all occasions of festivity, and
purchased at prices ranging from 6d. to 8d. per dozen. It was stated
by the injured workman that by the substitution of calves’ lights the
fabricated “snails” could be sold at the factory at 2d. a dozen.
The small horticultural speculator in Germany has of late years been
taking a leaf from the book of his neighbours, and become an ardent
cultivator of the luscious edible snail, a delicacy Hans is now as
assiduous in tending for ultimate sale in the market as ever was
Jacques Bonhomme. July is considered the best month for collecting
this gasteropodous mollusc prior to fattening him for his final
appearance in the shape of a dainty parsley-and-butter-bespattered
_bonne bouche_ for some “good liver” in Berlin or elsewhere.
These large white snails come from the vineyards principally about the
Rhine and the Moselle; the breeder for gastronomic purposes, however,
confines his little flock, when once secured from amid the umbrageous
vines, to a special little “run” of their own, where henceforth their
whole duty consists in “doing themselves well.” The “run” is fixed up
on a sunny stretch of lawn, hemmed in with boards upon which is smeared
clay mixed with vinegar and salt and water--so as to prevent any
crawling out of bounds.
In the United States edible snails are frequently to be seen exposed
for sale; but they are not raised in that country, and those on sale
have been shipped to America alive from Europe.
In Vienna, again, during Lent there is a snail market, the snails
coming in barrels from Swabia. The great centre for the consumption
of snails, however, is Paris and some of the French provinces. There
is, indeed, a very large trade in this commodity in France, the large
white snail being in special demand in Paris, while the garden and wood
snails are in common use among poorer consumers in all parts of France.
The collecting of snails is carried on in the French provinces all day
long by men, women, and children, who with iron hooks search for them
at the foot of thorn hedges and under ivy, and in winter in old walls.
If lucky, a good searcher will collect from one thousand to fifteen
hundred snails. These are paid for according to their weight, about a
thousand snails averaging ten kilogrammes, and the payment varies with
the prices current in the Paris market, but it usually ranges from
twenty to forty centimes per kilo. The work, therefore, cannot be said
to be well paid.
A curious superstition existed for many years with regard to the Snail
in Southern Germany. Practically all snail shells have their volutes
or spirals (_Helix_--a snail--a screw--a spiral) twisting from right
to left. Once in about twenty thousand snails the twist is found to be
from left to right. This snail was then dubbed “The Snail King,” and
was sold at a fancy price as an amulet or luck-bringer. It would be
curious to know whether this custom has been noticed elsewhere.
In a biography of Adam Smith, by Francis W. Hirst, a nice snail story
is told of Professors Black and Hutton, the fathers of the modern
sciences of modern chemistry and modern geology.
It so chanced that Black and Hutton had held some discourse together
upon the folly of abstaining from feeding on the crustaceous creatures
of the land, when those of the sea were considered as delicacies.
Snails were known to be nutritious and wholesome, even “sanative” in
some cases. The epicures of ancient Rome enumerated the snails of Lucca
among the richest and rarest delicacies, and the modern Italians still
held them in esteem. So a gastronomic experiment was resolved on. The
snails were procured, dieted for a time, then stewed.
“A huge dish of snails was placed before them; but philosophers are but
men after all; and the stomachs of both doctors began to revolt against
the proposed experiment. Nevertheless, if they looked with disgust
on the snails, they retained their awe for each other; so that each,
conceiving the symptoms of internal revolt peculiar to himself, began
with infinite exertion to swallow in very small quantities the mess
which he loathed. Dr. Black at length ‘showed the white feather,’ but
in a very delicate manner, as if to sound the opinion of his messmate.
‘Doctor,’ he said, in his precise and quiet style, ‘Doctor, do you not
think that they taste a little--a very little green?’ ‘D----d green,
d----d green indeed! Tak’ them awa’--tak’ them awa!’ vociferated
Dr. Hutton, starting up from the table and giving full vent to his
feelings.”
As a final tribute to the usefulness of the Snail, it may not be
generally known that they are matchless as window cleaners.