Travellers will find in the Refreshment Room (Buffet of the
Station) which is in direct communication with the Custom
Office, luncheon and dinner at the price of 3 frs., wine
included.
* * * * *
Porridge.
* * * * *
Slender at the Saint Germain.
Pike forced meat ball sauce of the financial
Beef to bake vegetables.
Poultry snow-drop of the Bresse at the
Jelly.
Salad of the time.
Side dish, chees and desert.
(½ bottle of wine.)
* * * * *
The prolonged stoppage of this train to Modane is long enough to
allow travellers to lunch and look over their baggage at the
Custom Office.
People when on a journey in old days were not very particular about
their food; indeed, too often thoroughly tired and worn out, they were
thankful to get anything to eat at all. Now pretty well every one who is
able to afford it is luxurious, and Spartan habits are at a discount.
Nevertheless there seem to be no noted gourmets to-day such as used to
exist in the past. Foremost amongst those, of course, was Abraham
Hayward, whose _Art of Dining_ is, I suppose, but little read at the
present time, when many of his gastronomic ideas would be considered
quite out of date. His contention, for instance, that the comparative
merits of pies and puddings present a problem difficult to decide, would
seem somewhat ridiculous to _bons vivants_ of the present day, when
puddings, formerly so popular, are, except in the sick-room, rarely
seen. Plum-pudding, of course, still maintains its ancient place. It may
not be generally known that it originated from plum-porridge, a first
course always served at Christmas in the seventeenth century. This was
prepared by boiling beef or mutton with a broth thickened by brown
bread, raisins, currants, cloves, nutmegs, ginger, and other condiments
being inserted when it was half-cooked.
The English are very contemptuous of many excellent things which their
country affords. Amongst these is the truffle, which, though perhaps not
equal in flavour to that of Périgord—called by Brillat Savarin the
diamond of the kitchen—is yet most delicious when properly cooked.
Besides this, owing to the small esteem in which it is held, its price
is exceedingly moderate, English truffles being purchasable in Covent
Garden Market at about one-eighth the price of the French variety. Years
ago, when staying at the Grange in Hampshire, I asked my host, the late
Lord Ashburton, whether he had ever thought of hunting for truffles in
his park, abounding as it did in beech trees, under which, in this
country, these esculents are found. He told me that he believed there
were plenty of truffles, but it was not worth the trouble of searching
for them, as no one cared for English truffles. I assured him that he
was wrong, for they were excellent; and, yielding to my entreaties, he
sent out orders for search to be made, and the next evening we had
English truffles for dinner, which were served merely as truffles,
without any announcement as to their nationality. Every one ate them,
and every one said they were delicious, and from that day to this the
English truffle, when in season, has continually been included in the
menu of the dinners served at the country house in question. Truffles
exist also at Goodwood and in Highclere Park—in fact, pretty well
everywhere where there are beech trees. The difficulty in obtaining them
seems to lie in the paucity of truffle-hunting dogs, which, of course,
have to be specially trained for their work. No doubt, were some easy
means discovered of finding truffles, their excellences would become
better known, and a home-grown delicacy, which is now almost overlooked,
would take its proper place in public appreciation.
Crayfish are excellent eating, as I believe the Germans realised when
they entered France in 1870. I was told that for years afterwards the
supply of _écrevisses_ was very limited indeed.
Many years ago, at a time when I was living in Sussex, I formed the idea
of attempting to acclimatise the crayfish in a little stream which
appeared suitable to their habits, and accordingly, after everything had
been prepared under expert direction, a consignment of _écrevisses_,
sent from France, were duly placed in a pool specially enclosed with
gratings, and furnished with everything that the most luxurious crayfish
could possibly desire. The experiment, however, proved totally
unsuccessful, for after a time not so much as even a morsel of shell was
to be found. Another consignment shared exactly the same fate, and Lord
Onslow, who made a similar experiment in acclimatisation, informed me
that his efforts, like mine, had also ended in disaster. For a long time
I was much puzzled as to what might have caused the death and also the
mysterious disappearance of any remains of these _écrevisses_, but am
now convinced that it was the result of raids by predatory water-rats,
the possibility of which we had left out of our calculations.
A rather curious thing in connection with gastronomy is that for the
last two hundred years the dinner hour in England has been getting later
and later.
In Addison’s time people dined at two o’clock, but gradually dinner was
put off and put off till four or five became the popular hour for dining
amongst the well-to-do classes. With the beginning of the nineteenth
century came a further postponement, and the dinner hour soon came to be
fixed at some time about seven o’clock; since which period further
encroachments upon the evening have taken place, and now half-past eight
is by no means an unusual hour.
The old English dinner which I remember in my childhood was, of course,
simplicity itself as compared with the elaborate banquets of to-day.
Nevertheless, a well-cooked English dinner, now almost unobtainable, was
not by any means a thing to be despised.
A small turbot, some well-roasted lamb or duckling, with green peas,
followed by a good apple or apricot tart, are, when well cooked, as Lord
Dudley used to say, a dinner for an emperor, and, in addition, far more
healthy than many a more costly and ambitious repast.
I well remember, as a child, my father sitting at the head of the table
and carving the joints himself, even when he gave a dinner-party. In
consequence of this we were in terror of asking for a second helping,
for even when only the family was present it was as much as he could do
to find time to eat his own dinner. The modern system is without doubt
much more convenient for everybody.
In the education of young ladies in England too little attention is as a
rule, I think, devoted to the inculcation of the principles of sound
housekeeping, and in consequence a good many mistresses of households
are quite ignorant of the important details of domestic management. Many
jokes, I remember, were current about one of this sort, a distinguished
matron of society, whom I may mention as Lady Caroline, a dear, portly
dame of high degree. Entering the married condition rather late in life
(despite a good average weight of some sixteen stone) as second wife to
a West-Country squire of limited estates, she undertook the management
of his household with a firm determination to conduct it on unswerving
principles of domestic economy. This truly admirable resolution was
unfortunately unenlightened by even a glimmer of elementary knowledge of
housekeeping, and her unsuccessful attempts at starting greatly
entertained her numerous friends. Her prompt dismissal of her first cook
in particular created much amusement. In vain had the poor woman, when
taxed with dishonesty, tried to persuade her mistress that only two legs
of mutton pertained to each sheep; for had not the lady, as she somewhat
angrily declared, all through her life seen them grazing with four!
In these days, however, there are so many admirable books published
which deal with household management and cookery in general, that little
excuse can be found for those who wilfully remain ignorant of the
essential amenities of existence.
I have a good collection of cookery books which I began to get together
at the time when the famous Soyer, who had been cook to Lady
Blessington, was creating quite a sensation in London. I remember being
taken to see him, and I also recollect his wife, who was a woman of
considerable artistic attainments, executing very pretty little sketches
in water-colour.
Both Soyer and his wife are buried, I believe, in a sort of mausoleum in
Kensal Green Cemetery, and on Soyer’s tomb is the very appropriate
inscription, “Soyer tranquil.”
Gentlemen used formerly to sit long in the dining-room over their wine,
of which they often drank a considerable quantity; but all this has now
been changed, and to-day they soon join the ladies, whose society they
very naturally prefer to the mineral waters in which so many of them
indulge instead of wine. People certainly seem to me to drink much less
nowadays, and of late years, I am informed, the consumption of wine at
dinner-parties has sunk to a very small quantity indeed, many men
drinking almost no wine at all. These would, I fancy, be bad days for
people like Abraham Hayward, who, when a friend of his remarked, “Why,
Hayward, I believe you could drink really any quantity of port, couldn’t
you?” is said to have replied, “Yes, my dear fellow, any _given_
quantity.” On the other hand, I believe that ladies who, up to
comparatively recent years, nearly all drank water, take a good deal
more wine, especially champagne, than was formerly the case.
The old custom of people asking one another to have a glass of wine at
dinner has long since died out. No doubt its disappearance is a good
thing, though there were occasions when it distinctly conduced to
pleasant sociability. A shy man, for instance, at a dinner-party of
strangers was soon put at his ease by kindly intimations that Mr.
So-and-so would like to take a glass of wine with him. Not a few,
however, carried the old custom too far, and, besides this, a set could
be so easily made against any especial individual whom mischievous
schemers might wish to exhilarate unduly.
Cigarette-smoking after dinner has undoubtedly been a great factor in
the cause of temperance. In old days such a thing would have been
regarded with horror; indeed, I think the greatest minor change in
social habits which I have witnessed is that in the attitude assumed
towards tobacco-smoking, which in my youth, and even later, was, except
in certain well-defined circumstances, regarded as little less than a
heinous crime.
Smoking-rooms in country houses were absolutely unknown, and such
gentlemen as wished to smoke after the ladies had gone to bed used, as a
matter of course, to go either to the servants’ hall or to the
harness-room in the stables, where at night some sort of rough
preparation was generally made for their accommodation. To smoke in Hyde
Park, even up to comparatively recent years, was looked upon as
absolutely unpardonable, while smoking anywhere with a lady would have
been classed as an almost disgraceful social crime.
The first gentleman of whom I heard as having been seen smoking a cigar
in the Park was the late Duke of Sutherland, and the lady who told me
spoke of it as if she had been present at an earthquake!
Well do I remember the immense care which devotees of tobacco used to
take, when sallying forth in the country to enjoy it, not to allow the
faintest whiff of smoke to penetrate into the hall as they lit their
cigars at the door. The whole thing was really ridiculous, but I suppose
it would have still been going on had it not been for our present King,
who most sensibly took the lead in promoting the toleration of what is,
after all, a great addition to the pleasures of life.
Besides this, there can be no doubt that the cigarette-smoking now
practically universally prevalent after lunch and dinner has been a
considerable factor in the direction of temperance, and has ended the
practice of consuming large quantities of wine, which in old days was
more or less universal. On the whole, I believe that smoking does more
good than harm, in spite of the attacks sometimes levelled against it.
Cigarettes, of course, are a modern invention, but I believe they
already existed in a slightly different form at the beginning of the
nineteenth century, when old Peninsular officers used to smoke tobacco
rolled up tight in a piece of paper. They called this a _papelito_, and
I fancy it was much the same thing as a cigarette. The exact time when
cigars were introduced into England seems very uncertain. In _Westward
Ho!_ Charles Kingsley pictures Amyas Leigh smoking a cigar, and it is to
be presumed that he had authority for this. At the same time it is quite
clear that cigars were hardly known in England at all as late as 1730,
for the writer of a book published about that time, when describing the
adventures of certain English sailors taken prisoners by a Spanish
pirate in South America, notes with special astonishment that the
captives were presented with “segars,” of which he gives a detailed
description.
The greatest traditionary smoker is, of course, Dr. Parr, whose motto is
said to have been, “No pipe—no Parr.” He is also declared to have once
very wittily told a lady, who had triumphantly prevented him from
indulging in his beloved tobacco, that “she was the greatest tobacco
stopper in England.”