_Jonathan's Table.--Danger of Steel Knives.--The Americans are
Water-drinkers.--I discover a Snake in my Tumbler.--The Negro
Waiter Comforts Me.--Accommodation for Travellers.--The
Menu.--Abbreviated Dinner.--The Little Oval Dishes.--Turkey
and Cranberry Sauce.--A not very Tempting Dish.--Consolation
of Knowing that the Waitresses are well cared for.--Something
to Eat, for Heaven's Sake!--Humble Apologies to Mine Host._
The great mass of the American people live on tough meat uncooked, and
iced water unfiltered.
I take it for granted that sheep and cattle are born at as tender an age
in America as elsewhere; but the Society for the Protection of Animals
probably prevents their being killed for food while they are young
enough to enjoy life, and so the patriarchs alone are reserved for the
table.
That which renders the problem of dining almost past solving is, that
the meat has to be attacked with plated knives, which tear but do not
cut it. I suppose that, as half the lower-class Americans still eat with
their knives, it was necessary to abandon the idea of having steel
knives, for fear of their accidentally gashing their faces. If sharp
steel knives were in general use in America, the streets would be full
of people with faces scarred and seamed like those of the Heidelberg
students.
The Americans drink little else but water at table, and one cannot help
wondering how it is that the filter seems to be an almost unknown
institution in the land. Leave your glass of water untouched on the
table, and, in a few moments, a thick sediment of mud or sand will be
visible at the bottom of it.
Down south it is worse still.
At Jacksonville, I was waited upon at table by an extremely obliging
negro.
One day he brought me some water, put ice in it, and discreetly withdrew
behind my chair.
I took up the glass, and minutely inspected its contents.
"Epaminondas!" said I.
"Dat's not my name, sah; I'm called Charles."
"Charles, look at this water; there is a snake in it."
Charles took the glass, looked at it, and then, with a reasurring grin,
announced:
"It's dead, sah."
"That is comforting," said I; "but it may have left eggs, which will
come to life by thousands inside me."
Charles was facetious, and was not to be put out of countenance for such
a trifle. He took up the glass again, re-examined it, and replaced it on
the table.
"Dere's no danger, sah; it's a male," he said.
In almost all hotels throughout the south, the waiters are coloured men.
The service is but poor. The negroes are slow: it is the guests who do
the "waiting."
* * * * *
At Delmonico's especially, and in the principal hotels of New York,
Boston, Washington, Philadelphia, and Chicago, you can dine admirably.
In the smaller towns you feed.
But let us take our seats at the _table d'hote_ of the best hotel in any
second-rate town that you please in Ohio, Pennsylvania, or some other
State of the Union.
No printed _menu_. A young woman, with an elaborate coiffure of curls,
rolls, and bangs, but no cap, approaches, darts a look of contempt at
you, and, turning her back upon you, gabbles off in one breath:
"Croutaupoturbotshrimpsauceroastbeefturkeycranberrysaucepotatoes-
tomatoesspinachappletartmincepiecheesevanillacream."
Do not attempt to stop her; she is wound up, and when she is started is
bound to go to the end. You must not hope that she will repeat the
_menu_ a second time, either. If you did not hear, so much the worse for
you. Unfortunately, the consequences are grave: it is not one dish that
you miss, it is the whole dinner. You are obliged to order all your
repast at once; and the whole is brought you, from soup to cheese, at
one time.
I was so ill-inspired one day as to order some soup to begin with. The
waitress refused downright to bring me anything more.
"That is all you ordered," she said to me; "you do not suppose I can
make twenty journeys to the kitchen for you."
I rose and sought the hotel-keeper. I made the humblest apologies;
pleaded that I was a foreigner who had only been in America a fortnight,
and was not yet accustomed to the habits of the Americans. I promised
solemnly never to transgress again in this way. Mine host went to the
young person who was at the head of the battalion of harpies in the
dining-room, and interceded for me with her. I had the happiness of
being forgiven, and was allowed to appease my hunger.
From that day forward, as soon as one of these witching damsels began
her incantation, I cried out:
"Hold! Enough! Bring it all in."
Then I would eat the least distasteful of the messes, and leave the
rest. I can assure you the hotel did not make much profit out of me.
This is how the dinner is served:
The "duchess" begins by flinging a spoon and knife and fork down on the
table in front of you. It is for you to set them straight, and I would
advise you to do so without any murmuring. When you have taken your
soup, the said "duchess" brings you a plate, around which she places a
dozen little oval dishes in a symmetrical fashion that one can but
admire.
The first little dish contains fish, and a teaspoonful of sauce of some
kind. It is needless to inquire the name of this sauce. All the fish
sauces are the same; only the name varies. The second apparently
contains a little lump of raw beef; the third, a slice of roast turkey;
the fourth, mashed potatoes; the fifth, a stewed tomato; the sixth,
cranberry sauce; the seventh, chicken salad; the eighth, some
rice-pudding; and the last contains (_horrible dictu!_) a slice of
apple-tart, with a large helping of cheese in the middle of it. These
two things are eaten together, and are consequently served on the same
dish.
You begin at the left. The fish presents no obstacle but its bones, and
is soon disposed of. You turn your attention to the next dish on the
right, and attack the beef. It is impregnable; you can make no
impression upon it. You pass. The turkey is not obdurate, and you fall
to on that, making little raids on the potatoes, tomatoes, and cranberry
sauce between each mouthful. Thanks to the many climates of America (the
thermometer varies in winter from 75 above zero in the south to 45 below
in the north), you have turkey and cranberry sauce all the winter,
strawberries six months of the year, and tomatoes almost all the year
round.
Oh, the turkey and cranberry sauce! I ate enough of that dish to satisfy
me for the rest of my days. No more turkey with cranberry sauce for me,
though I should live to be a hundred!
Of course, all the meats placed around your plate soon begin to cool,
and you have no choice but to bolt your food, diving with knife and fork
into the little dishes right and left as dexterously as you can.
Finally you come to the apple-tart, on the extreme right. You carefully
lift the cheese, and, placing it aside, prepare to eat your sweets
without the strange seasoning. Unhappily, the pastry has become
impregnated with an odour of roquefort, and again you pass. A vanilla
ice terminates your repast.
Having disposed of this, you ask yourself why, in a free country, you
may not have your various courses served one after the other; why you
must bolt your food, and bring on indigestion; and, above all, why the
manager of the hotel, in his own interest as a man of business, does
not, before all else, study the comfort of his customers. The answer is
not difficult to find. It is the well-being of the "duchesses," and not
that of the traveller, that he devotes his attention to studying. The
traveller is obliged to come to his house, and he can treat him anyhow.
His "helps" will only consent to stay with him on condition he gives
them heavy wages and light duties. He has no choice but to submit to his
servants, or to close his hotel. The Americans, free though they may be
politically, are at the mercy of their servants, whether in public or
private life. This kind of tyranny is hateful. To throw off the yoke of
the superior classes is very well; but I am not aware that the yoke of
the common people is at all preferable. John Bull commands all his paid
servants; Jonathan obeys his.
Thus in the hotels of America, outside of the large towns, with the
rarest exceptions, the dinner is served from one o'clock to three, the
tea-supper from six to eight. You happen to arrive at half-past three,
tired out and famishing. You hope to be able to have a good meal without
delay. Illusion! You must wait until the dining-room door is opened, and
pass two hours and a half in wretchedness. How often have I entreated,
implored, "Could you not get a chop cooked for me, or an omelette, or
something? If that is impossible, for mercy's sake give me a slice of
cold meat." Prayers and supplications were unavailing. Occasionally a
landlord would express his regrets, and make excuses for his inability
to oblige me; but far oftener, I got no kind of response at all. Once or
twice I tried making a tempest, without any more success. Another time I
tried politeness. "Excuse me," I said, "if I am intruding. I hope that
by putting up at your house I shall not be too much in your way. I have
not the honour to be a citizen of the greatest Republic in the world,
but am only a poor European who does not know your ways. In future I
will take careful precautions. But this time, and just for once, I would
be so much obliged for something to eat. I should be distressed to
occasion any derangement in your household; but just for once--only
once." Sheer waste of breath. The hotel is as it is; you may use it or
stay away.
The Americans are quite right to study the comfort of their servants;
but the well-being of one class should not exist at the cost of the
well-being of another, and the people who travel are as interesting as
those who serve at table.
Tyranny from above is a sore; tyranny from below is a pestilence.