SUPPER
"We are such stuff
As dreams are made of."
Cleopatra's supper--Oysters--Danger in the Aden
bivalve--Oyster stew--Ball suppers--Pretty dishes--The _Taj
Mahal_--Aspic--Bloater paste and whipped cream--Ladies'
recipes--Cookery colleges--Tripe--Smothered in onions--North
Riding fashion--An hotel supper--Lord Tomnoddy at the "Magpie
and Stump."
That cruel and catlike courtesan, Cleopatra, is alleged to have
given the most expensive supper on record, and to have disposed of
the _bonne bouche_ herself, in the shape of a pearl, valued at the
equivalent of £250,000, dissolved in vinegar of extra strength. Such
a sum is rather more than is paid for a supper at the Savoy, or the
Cecil, or the Metropole, in these more practical times, when pearls
are to be had cheaper; and there is probably about as much truth in
this pearl story as in a great many others of the same period. I
have heard of a fair _declassée_ leader of fashion at Monte Carlo,
who commanded that her _major domo_ should be put to death for not
having telegraphed to Paris for peaches, for a special dinner; but
the woman who could melt a pearl in vinegar, and then drink----_halte
la!_ Perhaps the pearl was displayed in the deep shell of the oyster
of which the "noble curtesan" partook? We know how Mark Antony's
countrymen valued the succulent bivalve; and probably an oyster feast
at Wady Halfa or Dongola was a common function long before London knew
a "Scott's," a "Pimm's," or a "Sweeting's."
Thanks partly to the "typhoid scare," but principally to the
prohibitive price, the "native" industry of Britain has been, at the
latter end of the nineteenth century, by no means active, although in
the illustrated annuals Uncle John still brings with him a barrel of
the luscious bivalves, in addition to assorted toys for the children,
when he arrives in the midst of a snow-storm at the old hall on
Christmas Eve. But Uncle John, that good fairy of our youth, when
Charles Dickens invented the "festive season," and the very atmosphere
reeked of goose-stuffing, resides, for the most part, "in Sheffield,"
in these practical days, when sentiment and goodwill to relatives are
rapidly giving place to matters of fact, motor cars, and mammoth rates.
The Asiatic oyster is not altogether commendable, his chief merit
consisting in his size. Once whilst paying a flying visit to the city
of Kurachi, I ordered a dozen oysters at the principal hotel. Then I
went out to inspect the lions. On my return I could hardly push my
way into the coffee-room. It was full of oyster! There was no room
for anything else. In fact _one_ Kurachi oyster is a meal for four
full-grown men.
More tragic still was my experience of the bivalves procurable at
Aden--which cinder-heap I have always considered to be a foretaste
of even hotter things below. Instead of living on coal-dust (as
might naturally be expected) the Aden oyster appears to do himself
particularly well on some preparation of copper. The only time I
tasted him, the after consequences very nearly prevented my ever
tasting anything else, on this sphere. And it was only the comfort
administered by the steward of my cabin which got me round.
"Ah!" said that functionary, as he looked in to see whether I would
take hot pickled pork or roast goose for dinner. "The last time we
touched at Aden, there was two gents 'ad 'ysters. One of 'em died the
same night, and the other nex' mornin'."
I laughed so much that the poison left my system.
Yet still we eat oysters--the _Sans Bacilles_ brand, for choice. And
if we can only persuade the young gentleman who opens the bivalves
to refrain from washing the grit off each in the tub of dirty water
behind the bar, so much the better. And above all, the bivalves
should be opened on the _deep_ shell, so as to conserve some of the
juice; for it is advisable to get as much of the bivalve as we can
for the money. Every time I crunch the bones of a lark I feel that I
am devouring an oratorio, in the way of song; and whilst the bivalve
is sliding down the "red lane" it may be as well to reflect that
"there slips away fourpence"; or, as the Scotsman had it, "bang went
saxpence!"
In connection with Mr. Bob Sawyer's supper party in _Pickwick_, it may
be recollected that "the man to whom the order for the oysters had
been sent had not been told to open them; it is a very difficult thing
to open an oyster with a limp knife or a two-pronged fork: and very
little was done in this way."
And in one's own house, unless there be an adept at oyster-opening
present, the simplest way to treat the bivalve is the following. It
should be remembered that a badly-opened oyster will resemble in
flavour a slug on a gravel walk. So _roast_ him, good friends, in his
own fortress.
_Oysters in their own Juice._
With the tongs place half-a-dozen oysters, mouths
outwards, between the red-hot coals of the parlour or
dining-room fire--the deep shell must be at the bottom--and the
oysters will be cooked in a few minutes, or when the shells
gape wide. Pull them out with the tongs, and insert a fresh
batch. No pepper, vinegar, or lemon juice is necessary as an
adjunct; and the oyster never tastes better.
At most eating-houses,
_Scalloped Oysters_
taste of nothing but scorched bread-crumbs; and the reason is obvious,
for there is but little else in the scallop shell. _Natives only_
should be used.
Open and beard two dozen, and cut each bivalve in
half. Melt two ounces of butter in a stewpan, and mix into
it the same allowance of flour, the strained oyster liquor,
a teacupful of cream, half a teaspoonful of essence of
anchovies, and a pinch of cayenne--death to the caitiff who
adds nutmeg--and stir the sauce well over the fire. Take it
off, and add the well-beaten yolks of two eggs, a tablespoonful
of finely chopped parsley, and a teaspoonful of lemon juice.
Put in the oysters, and stir the whole over a gentle fire for
five minutes. Put the mixture in the shells, grate bread-crumbs
over, place a small piece of butter atop, and bake in a Dutch
oven before a clear fire until the crumbs are lightly browned,
which should be in about a quarter of an hour.
_Oyster Stew_
is thoroughly understood in New York City. On this side, the dish
does not meet with any particular favour, although no supper-table is
properly furnished without it.
Open two dozen oysters, and take the beards off. Put the
oysters into a basin and squeeze over them the juice of half a
lemon. Put the beards and the strained liquor into a saucepan
with half a blade of mace, half a dozen peppercorns ground,
a little grated lemon rind, and a pinch of cayenne. Simmer
gently for a quarter of an hour, strain the liquid, thicken it
with a little butter and flour, add a quarter of a pint (or a
teacupful) of cream, and stir over the fire till quite smooth.
Then put in the oysters, and let them warm through--they must
not boil. Serve in a soup tureen, and little cubes of bread
fried in bacon grease may be served with the stew, as with
pea-soup.
Be very careful to whose care you entrust your barrel, or bag, of
oysters, after you have got them home. A consignment of the writer's
were, on one memorable and bitter cold Christmas Eve, consigned to the
back dairy, by Matilda Anne. Result--frostbite, gapes, dissolution,
disappointment, disagreeable language.
_Ball Suppers._
More hard cash is wasted on these than even on ball dresses, which is
saying a great deal. The alien caterer, or _charcutier_, is chiefly to
blame for this; for he it is who has taught the British matron to wrap
up wholesome food in coats of grease, inlaid with foreign substances,
to destroy its flavour, and to bestow upon it an outward semblance
other than its own. There was handed unto me, only the other evening,
what I at first imagined to be a small section of the celebrated _Taj
Mahal_ at Agra, the magnificent mausoleum of the Emperor Shah Jehan.
Reference to the bill-of-fare established the fact that I was merely
sampling a galantine of turkey, smothered in some white glazy grease,
inlaid with chopped carrot, green peas, truffles, and other things.
And the marble column (also inlaid) which might have belonged to King
Solomon's Temple, at the top of the table, turned out to be a Tay
salmon, decorated _à la mode de charcutier_, and tasting principally
of garlic. A shriek from a fair neighbour caused me to turn my head
in her direction; and it took some little time to discover, and
to convince her, that the item on her plate was not a mouse, too
frightened to move, but some preparation of the liver of a goose, in
"aspic."
This said ASPIC--which has no connection with the asp which the fair
Cleopatra kept on the premises, although a great French lexicographer
says that aspic is so called because it is as cold as a snake--is
invaluable in the numerous "schools of cookery" in the which British
females are educated according to the teaching of the bad fairy
_Ala_. The cold chicken and ham which delighted our ancestors at the
supper-table--what has become of them? Yonder, my dear sir, is the
fowl, in neat portions, minced, and made to represent fragments of
the almond rock which delighted us whilst in the nursery. The ham
has become a ridiculous _mousse_, placed in little accordion-pleated
receptacles of snow-white paper; and those are not poached eggs atop,
either, but dabs of whipped cream with a preserved apricot in the
centre.
It was only the other day that I read in a journal written by ladies
for ladies, of a dainty dish for luncheon or supper: _croûtons_
smeared with bloater paste and surmounted with whipped cream; and
in the same paper was a recipe for stuffing a fresh herring with
mushrooms, parsley, yolk of egg, onion, and its own soft roe. I am of
opinion that it was a bad day for the male Briton when the gudewife,
with her gude-daughter, and her gude cook, abandoned the gude roast
and boiled, in favour of the works of the all-powerful _Ala_.
And now let us proceed to discuss the most homely supper of all, and
when I mention the magic word
_Tripe_
there be few of my readers who will not at once allow that it is
not only the most homely of food, but forms an ideal supper. This
doctrine had not got in its work, however, in the 'sixties, at about
which period the man who avowed himself an habitual tripe-eater must
have been possessed of a considerable amount of nerve. Some of the
supper-houses served it--such as the Albion, the Coal Hole, and more
particularly, "Noakes's," the familiar name for the old Opera Tavern
which used to face the Royal Italian Opera House, in Bow Street,
Covent Garden. But the more genteel food-emporiums fought shy of tripe
until within three decades of the close of the nineteenth century.
Then it began to figure on the supper bills, in out-of-the-way
corners; until supper-eaters in general discovered that this was not
only an exceedingly cheap, but a very nourishing article of food,
which did not require any special divine aid to digest. Then the price
of tripe went up 75 per cent on the programmes. Then the most popular
burlesque _artiste_ of any age put the stamp of approval upon the new
supper-dish, and tripe-dressing became as lucrative a profession as
gold-crushing.
There is a legend afloat of an eminent actor--poor "Ned" Sothern,
I fancy, as "Johnny" Toole would never have done such a thing--who
bade some of his friends and acquaintance to supper, and regaled them
on sundry rolls of house flannel, smothered with the orthodox onion
sauce. But that is another story. Practical jokes should find no
place in this volume, which is written to benefit, and not alarm,
posterity. Therefore let us discuss the problem
_How to Cook Tripe_.
Ask for "double-tripe," and see that the dresser gives
it you nice and white. Wash it, cut into portions, and place
in equal parts of milk and water, boiling fast. Remove the
saucepan from the hottest part of the fire, and let the tripe
keep just on the boil for an hour and a half. Serve with whole
onions and onion sauce--in this work you will not be told how
to manufacture onion sauce--and baked potatoes should always
accompany this dish to table.
Some people like their tripe cut into strips rolled up and tied with
cotton, before being placed in the saucepan; but there is really no
necessity to take this further trouble. And if the cook should forget
to remove the cotton before serving, you might get your tongues tied
in knots. In the North Riding of Yorkshire, some of the farmers'
wives egg-and-bread-crumb fillets of tripe, and fry them in the drip
of thick rashers of ham which have been fried previously. The ham
is served in the centre of the dish, with the fillets around the
pig-pieces. This is said to be an excellent dish, but I prefer my
tripe smothered in onions, like the timid "bunny."
Edmund Yates, in his "Reminiscences," describes "nice, cosy, little
suppers," of which in his early youth he used to partake, at the
house of his maternal grandfather, in Kentish Town. "He dined at two
o'clock," observed the late proprietor of the _World_, "and had the
most delightful suppers at nine; suppers of sprats, or kidneys, or
tripe and onions; with foaming porter and hot grog afterwards."
I cannot share the enthusiasm possessed by some people for SPRATS,
as an article of diet. When very "full-blown," the little fish make
an excellent fertiliser for Marshal Niel roses; but as "winter
whitebait," or sardines they are hardly up to "Derby form."
Sprats are not much encouraged at the fashionable hotels; and when
tripe is brought to table, which is but rarely, that food is nearly
always filleted, sprinkled with chopped parsley, and served with
tomato sauce.
This is the sort of supper which is provided in the "gilt-edged"
_caravanserais_ of the metropolis, the following being a _verbatim_
copy of a bill of fare at the Hotel Cecil:--
SOUPER, 5s.
Consommé Riche en tasses.
Laitances Frites, Villeroy.
Côte de Mouton aux Haricots Verts.
Chaudfroid de Mauviettes. Strasbourg evisie.
Salade.
Biscuit Cecil.
A lady-like repast this; and upon the whole, not dear. But roast loin
of mutton hardly sounds tasty enough for a meal partaken of somewhere
about the stroke of midnight. Still, such a supper is by no means
calculated to "murder sleep." Upon the other hand it is a little
difficult to credit the fact that the whole of the party invited by
"My Lord Tomnoddy" to refresh themselves at the "Magpie and Stump,"
including the noble host himself, should have slumbered peacefully,
with a noisy crowd in the street, after a supper which consisted of
"Cold fowl and cigars,
Pickled onions in jars,
Welsh rabbits and kidneys,
Rare work for the jaws."