Cut a terrapin in small pieces, about one inch long, after boiling it.
Put the pieces in a saute pan with two ounces of sweet butter, salt,
pepper, a very little celery salt, a pinch of paprika. Simmer for a few
minutes and then add one glass of sherry wine, which reduce to half by
boiling. Then add one cup of cream, bring to a boil and thicken with two
yolks of eggs mixed with a half cup of cream. Let it come to a near boil
and add half a glass of dry sherry and serve.
You may thicken the terrapin with the following mixture: Two raw yolks
of eggs, two boiled yolks of eggs, one ounce of butter, one ounce corn
starch. Rub together and pass through a fine sieve.
Uncle Tom's Cabin, Tony Oakes, the Hermitage, and Cornelius Stagg's were
noted road-houses where fine meals were served, but these are scarcely
to be considered as San Francisco Bohemian restaurants.
The Reception, on the corner of Sutter and Webb streets, which continued
up to the time of the fire, was noted for its terrapin specialties, but
it was rather malodorous and ladies who patronized it usually went in
through the Webb street entrance to keep from being seen. The old
Baldwin Hotel, which stood where the Flood building now stands, at the
corner of Market and Powell and which was destroyed by fire some
fourteen years ago, was the favorite resort of many of the noted men of
the West, and the grill had the distinction of being the best in San
Francisco at that time. The grill of the Old Palace Hotel was also of
highest order, and this was especially true of the Ladies' Grill which
was then, as now, noted for its artistic preparation of a wondrous
variety of good things.
Probably the most unique place of the pioneer and post-pioneer eras was
the Cobweb Palace, at Meiggs's Wharf, run by queer old Abe Warner. It
was a little ramshackle building extending back through two or three
rooms filled with all manner of old curios such as comes from sailing
vessels that go to different parts of the world. These curios were piled
indiscriminately everywhere, and there were boxes and barrels piled with
no regard whatever for regularity. This heterogeneous conglomeration was
covered with years of dust and cobwebs, hence the name. Around and over
these played bears, monkeys, parrots, cats, and dogs, and whatever sort
of bird or animal that could be accommodated until it had the appearance
of a small menagerie. Warner served crab in various ways and clams. In
the rear room, which was reached by a devious path through the debris,
he had a bar where he served the finest of imported liquors, French
brandy, Spanish wines, English ale, all in the original wood. He served
no ordinary liquor of any sort, saying that if anybody wanted whiskey
they could get it at any saloon. He catered to a class of men who knew
good liquors, and his place was a great resort for children, of whom he
was fond and who went there to see the animals. The frontispiece of this
book is from one of the few existing (if not the only one) photographs
of the place.
Equally unique, yet of higher standard, was the Palace of Art, run by
the Hackett brothers, in Post street near Market. Here were some of the
finest paintings and marble carvings to be found in the city, together
with beautiful hammered silver plaques and cups. Curios of all sorts
were displayed on the walls, and among them were many queer wood growths
showing odd shapes as well as odd colorings. A large and ornate bar
extended along one side of the immense room and tables were placed about
the room and in a balcony that ran along one side. Here meals were
served to both men and women, the latter being attracted by the artistic
display and unique character of the place. This was destroyed by the
fire and all the works of art lost.