the cooking that goes on in the kitchens of the halls, used to be
made in the kitchens below No. 15 Cornhill, and the houses on either
side of it, and it used to be one of the free afternoon sights of the
City to see the kitchen-men carrying out through the little entrance
door the soup and the pastry, the jellies and the cakes for a City
banquet. When two great insurance offices squeezed in on either side of
the pastry-cook's shop, Messrs Ring and Brymer had to look for other
kitchens, and they now have a house in Bunhill Row, where on the top
storey there is a great kitchen for the cooking of the soup and other
delicacies, and where in the basement the turtles spend their last sad
days before being butchered to make a Lord Mayor's holiday. At Bunhill
Row there is also a cosy little office with the arms of many of the
City companies as its wall ornaments.
Old Tom Birch, who was the second of his line, the son of Lucas Birch
who succeeded the Hornton dynasty, was a man of many interests and a
great celebrity of the City. His Christian name was Samuel, but he was
"Tom" in the mouths of all City men. He was Lord Mayor of London in
1814, the only pastry-cook who has ever attained to that high dignity.
He was a great orator, and an enthusiastic supporter of Pitt; he was
Lieut.-Colonel of the first regiment of Loyal London Volunteers raised
at the time of the French Revolution, and he wrote several comedies
which were performed at Covent Garden and Drury Lane. There is still
extant a song of the day, which no doubt in its time had a great
success in City circles, in which a Frenchman coming to London, and
being taken round the sights, is surprised to learn that the colonel of
a regiment he sees on parade is old Tom Birch, the pastry-cook; that a
governor holding forth to the boys at St Paul's School; that an orator
in the Guildhall; and that the author of a comedy at Covent Garden, are
all one and the same estimable old Tom.
A Lord Mayor's Guildhall banquet to-day has all the same outward
pomp and gorgeousness that it had eighty or a hundred years ago.
But a Lord Mayor's banquet, so far as good things to eat and to
drink are concerned, is absolutely different to-day from what it was
half-a-century ago. This is the menu of the feast that Messrs Ring and
Brymer provided on Lord Mayor's day 1913 for the Guildhall banquet. The
baron of beef is, of course, just as much a civic dish as is the turtle
soup, but the dinner is, on the whole, quite a light one:
Turtle. Clear Turtle.
Fillets of Turbot Duglère.
Lobster Mousse.
Turban of Sweetbread and Truffles.
Baron of Beef.
Salad.
Casserole of Partridge.
Cutlets Royale.
Tongues.
Orange Jelly.
Italian Creams. Strawberry Creams.
Maids of Honour.
Princess Pastry.
Ices. Dessert.
The wines for this occasion were: Punch. Sherry--Gonzalez.
Hock--Rüdesheim. Champagne--Clicquot, 1904; Bollinger, 1904.
Moselle--Scharzberger. Claret--La Rose, 1899. Port--Dow's, 1896.
Bénédictine. Grande Chartreuse. Perrier. The cost of the dinner,
including wine, came to about two guineas a head.
And now as a contrast I give you the menu of the banquet given in the
Guildhall on Lord Mayor's Day, 1837. This was a Royal entertainment.
The menu is a yard in length, and it comprises the dishes at the Royal
table and the general bill of fare as well. I only give you the dishes
served at the Royal table, which form an extraordinary mass of flesh,
of fish, fruit, fowl, in season and out of season. The buffet, no
doubt, held the dishes for which there was not room on the table. The
wines served at this banquet are put down simply as Champagne, Hock,
Claret, Burgundy, Madeira, Port, Sherry:
THREE POTAGES.
Potage de Tortue à l'Anglaise.
Consommé de Volaille.
Potage à la Brunoise.
THREE PLATS DE POISSON.
Turbot bouilli garni aux Merlans frits.
Rougets farcis à la Villeroi.
Saumon bouilli garni aux Eperlans.
THREE RELEVÉS.
Poulets bouillis, aux Langues de Veau Glacés, garnis de
Croustade à la Macédoine.
Noix de Veau en Daube décorée à la Bohémienne.
Filet de Bœuf à la Sanglier en Chasse.
EIGHT ENTREMETS.
Ris d'Agneau piqués à la Turque aux petits Pois.
Sauté de filets de Faisans aux Truffes.
Pâté chaud aux Bécassines à l'Italienne.
Casserole de pieds d'Agneau aux Champignons.
Sultanne de filets de Soles à la Hollandaise, garnis aux Ecrevisses.
Timbale de Volaille à la Dauphine.
Filets de Lièvre confis aux Tomates.
Côtelettes de Perdreaux au Suprême.
BUFFET.
Potage à la Turque.
Hochepot de Faisan.
Tranches de Cabillaud.
Eperlans frits.
Langue de Bœuf.
Jambon à la Jardinière.
Bœuf rôti. Mouton rôti.
Agneau rôti. Agneau bouilli.
Hanche de Venaison.
Pierre grillé au Vin de Champagne,
Petit Pâtés aux Huîtres.
Croquettes.
Côtelettes d'Agneau aux Concombres.
Dindon rôti aux Truffes à l'Espagnole.
SECOND SERVICE.
THREE PLATS DE RÔTI.
Faisans.
Bécasses.
Cercelles.
THREE RELEVÉS.
Souflet de Vanille.
Pommes à la Portugaise.
Gaufres à la Flamande.
FOUR PÂTISSERIES MONTÉES.
Vase en Croquante garni de Pâtisserie aux Confitures.
Fontaine Grecque, garnie aux petit-choux.
Vase de Beurre frais aux Crevettes.
Fontaine Royale garnie de Pâtisserie à la Genévoise.
TWELVE ENTREMETS.
Crème d'Ananas garnie.
Gelée au Vin de Champagne garnie aux fruits.
Homards à la Rémoulade.
Mayonnaise de Poulet à l'Aspic.
Fanchonettes d'Orange, garnies aux Pistaches.
Compôte des Pêches, en petits Panniers.
Tartelettes aux Cerises, en Nougat.
Petites Coupes d'Amarids à la Chantilly.
Culs d'Artichauts en Mayonnaise.
Anguille au Beurre de Montpellier.
Gelée au Marasquin, décorée.
Gâteaux de Pommes en Mosaïque, à la Crème d'Abricot.
BUFFET.
Poulets rôtis.
Bécassines rôties.
Canards Sauvages rôtis.
Tourte aux Pommes.
Tourte aux Cerises.
Beignets de Pommes.
Fondu de Parmesan.
Trifle à la Crème.
Plum Pudding.
Mince Pies.
No wonder our grandfathers mostly died of apoplexy!
XLVIII
A CITY BANQUET
THE MERCERS' HALL
I do not think that of all the dinners I have eaten with various
hospitable City Companies in their halls I could select a more
representative one than one I ate with the Mercers. That we drank 1884
Pommery at the banquet shows that it did not take place yesterday.
* * * * *
If there was one City Company that I was anxious to dine with it
was the Mercers, for most of my forebears had been of the guild. My
great-great-uncle, who was Lord Mayor and an M.P., and who fell into
unpopularity because he advocated paying the debts of George IV., was
a Mercer; my great-uncle was in his turn Master of the Company, and my
grandfather, who was a very peppery and litigious old gentleman, has
left many pamphlets in which he tried to make it warm for everybody
all round because he was not raised to the Court of Assistants when
he thought he should have been. I had looked out Mercers' Hall in
the Directory, and found its position put down as 4 Ironmonger Lane,
Cheapside; so a few minutes before seven o'clock, the hour at which
we were bidden to the feast, I found my way from Moorgate Street
Station to Ironmonger Lane, and there asked a policeman which was the
Mercers' Company Hall. He looked at me a little curiously and pointed
to some great gates, with a lamp above them, enshrined in a rather
dingy portal. I passed a fountain, of which two cherubs held the jet
and three stone cranes contemplated the water in the basin, and found
myself in a great pillared space. A servant in a brown livery, of whom
I asked my way, pointed to some steps and said something about hurrying
up. At the top of the steps a door led me into a passage, on either
side of which were sitting gentlemen in dress clothes. I looked at them
and they looked at me, and I thought for a second that the Mercers'
guests were rather a queer lot; and then the true inwardness of the
situation burst on me. I had come in by the waiters' door.
I was soon put right, my hat and coat taken from me, and my card of
invitation placed in the hands of a Master of the Ceremonies, who in
due time presented me to the Master, to the Senior Warden, and to the
House Warden, who stood in a line, arrayed in garments of purple velvet
and fur, and received their guests.
The ceremony of introduction over, I was able to look around me and
found myself in a drawing-room that took one away from the roar of
Cheapside to some old Venetian Palace. The painted ceilings, the
many-coloured marbles, the carved wood, the gilding and inlaying make
the Mercers' drawing-room as princely a chamber as I have ever seen.
While the guests assembled my host's sons took me away into another
room, which, with its long table, might have been a council chamber of
some Doge, and here were hung portraits of the most distinguished of
the Mercers. Dick Whittington looked down from a gilt frame, and so
did Sir Thomas Gresham, and there was Roundell Palmer in his judge's
robes. But, preceded by someone in robes carrying a staff of office,
the Master was going into the hall, and the guests streamed after him.
"It only dates from after the Fire," said my host, as I gazed in
admiration at the magnificent proportions of this banqueting-house,
the oak almost black with age, relieved by the colours of the banners
that hang from the walls, by the portraits of worthies, by some noble
painted windows, by the line of escutcheons which run round the room,
bearing the arms of the Past-Masters of the Company, and by the
carved panels, into all but two of which Grinling Gibbons threw his
genius, while the two new ones compare not unfavourably with the old.
At the far end of the hall is a musicians' gallery of carved oak. A
bronze Laocoon wrestles with his snakes at one side of the hall, and
on the other, on a mantel of red marble, a great clock is flanked by
two bronzes. Three long tables run up the room to the high table, at
the centre of which is the Master's chair, and behind this chair is
piled on the sideboard the Company's plate. And some of the plate is
magnificent. There are the old silver salt-cellars, there are great
silver tankards, gold salvers, and the gold cup given to the Mercers by
the Bank of England and the Lee cup and an ornamental tun and waggon,
the first of which is valued at £7000 and the second at £10,000.
"Pray, silence for grace," came in the deep bass tones of the
toast-master from behind the Master's chair, and then all of us settled
down to a contemplation of the menu and to a view of our fellow-guests.
This was the dinner that Messrs Ring and Brymer, who cater for the
Mercers, put upon the table:
Tortue. Tortue claire.
Consommé printanière.
Salade de filets de soles à la russe.
Saumon. Sauce homard.
Blanchaille.
Ortolans en caisse.
Mousse de foie gras aux truffes.
Ponche à la Romaine.
Hanches de venaison.
Selles de mouton.
Canetons.
Poulets de grain.
Langues de bœuf.
Jambons de Cumberland.
Crevettes en serviette.
Macédoines de fruits.
Gelées aux liqueurs.
Meringues à la crème.
Bombe glacé.
Quenelles au parmesan.
WINES.
_Madeira.
Hock. Steinberg_, 1883.
_Sauterne. Château Yquem_, 1887.
_Champagne. Pommery_, 1884.
_Burgundy. Chambertin_, 1881.
_Claret. Château Latour_, 1875.
_Port_. 1863.
I always rather dread the length of a City dinner, but in the case
of the Mercers a happy compromise seems to have been arrived at,
the dinner being important enough to be styled a banquet, and not
so long as to be wearying. Messrs Ring and Brymer's cook is to be
congratulated, too, for his _mousse de foie gras_ was admirable.
There were some distinguished guests at the high table. At the far end,
where the Senior Warden sat, there were little splashes of colour from
the ribbons of orders worn round the neck, and the sparkle of stars
under the lapels of dress-coats.
The Master had on his right a well-known baronet, and on his left a
special correspondent who had just returned from the Far East, where
for a time he was a prisoner of war. Next to him was an ex-M.P. and
next to him again one of the House of Commons--an Irish Q.C., with
clean-shaven, powerful face.
At the long tables sat as proper a set of gentlemen as ever gathered to
a feast; but with no special characteristics to distinguish them from
any other great assemblage. The snow-white hair of a clergyman told out
vividly against the background of old oak, and a miniature volunteer
officer's decoration caught my eye as I looked down the table.
The dinner ended, the toast-master's work began again, and first from
the gold loving-cup and from two copies of it, the stems of which are
said to have been candlesticks used when Queen Elizabeth visited the
Company, we drank to each other "across and across the table." The
taste of the liquor in the cup was not familiar to me, and when my host
told me how it was compounded I was not surprised. It is a mixture of
many wines, with a dash of strong beer.
Grace was sung by a quartet in the musicians' gallery, and then the
company settled down to listen to speeches interspersed with song. By
each guest was placed a little cigar-case, within it two cigars; but
these were not to be smoked yet awhile. While we sipped the '63 Port,
we listened to an M.P. as he responded for "The Houses of Parliament."
Later the Irish Q.C., who spoke for "The Visitors," caught up the ball
of fun, and tossed it to and fro, and charming ladies and mere men
sang songs and quartets, and my host told me, in the intervals, of
the great store of the old Clarets and Ports that the Mercers had in
their cellars, which was enough to make a lover of good wine covet his
neighbour's goods. And still later, after the cigars had filled the
drawing-room with a light grey mist, I went forth, this time down the
grand oaken staircase, with its lions clasping escutcheons. I passed
into Cheapside with a very lively sense of gratitude to the Mercers in
general, and my hospitable host in particular.
XLIX
THE CAVENDISH HOTEL
A GREAT BRITISH WOMAN COOK
Often enough during the past quarter of a century I have heard
some hostess say reassuringly to someone whom she had asked to a
dinner-party to meet someone else of the first importance: "Mrs Lewis
is coming to cook the dinner." That short sentence has meant a great
deal, for Mrs Lewis is the most celebrated woman cook that this or
probably any other age has produced. I do not even except the great Mrs
Glasse. If in England there was a _cordon-bleu_ for women cooks Mrs
Lewis would be a Grand Officer of the Order.
She is the proprietress of the Cavendish Hotel, which occupies three
houses, 81 to 83 Jermyn Street, and it was to Jermyn Street that I
went to make her acquaintance. I waited in the tea-room of the hotel,
a room, round the walls of which hangs a line of photographs of some
of the great ones of the world, and I wondered what kind of a lady it
might be that I was presently going to meet, for though I had tasted
Mrs Rosa Lewis's handiwork often enough I had never set eyes on her in
the flesh.
Somehow my ideas of a successful petticoated ruler of the kitchen have
always been associated with portliness, majesty, black silk, a heavy
gold chain and cameo jewellery. I think that a boyish remembrance
of my mother's cook in her church-going attire must have left this
impression on my mind. But these vague ideas were shattered and sent
spinning into space when into the tea-room came a slim, graceful lady
with a pretty oval face and charming eyes, and hair just touched with
grey. She was wearing a knitted pink silk coat, and one of those long
light chains that mere men believe were intended to support muffs.
She was arm in arm with one of the prettiest of the young comediennes
of to-day, and when she told me that amongst the people she had asked
to lunch was an ex-Great Officer of the Household, a young officer of
cavalry, and an American editor, I began to feel that at last I was
moving in Court circles, and instead of formulating the questions that
I intended to ask about cookery began to babble of great houses and
coroneted personages just as though I was a newsman getting together my
column of society gossip.
[Illustration: MRS. LEWIS]
But Mrs Lewis brought me back to Jermyn Street and my object in going
there by telling me at the lunch-table in the grey dining-room that
all the members of her kitchen brigade are girls, that she was going
presently to take me down to show me them at work, and that Margaret,
who is twenty-six years old, was responsible for the lunch we were
going to eat, even to the _pommes soufflés_, and she further declared
her entire belief that it was more satisfactory to have an accomplished
woman cook than an accomplished chef in a kitchen; for the women are
more resourceful, are less apt to make difficulties, and grumble less
at their work, but that, on the other hand, they are as a rule more
extravagant than the men cooks, for they do not understand the economic
side of kitchen finance.
And very excellent indeed Margaret's handiwork proved to be. Our first
dish was of grilled oysters and celery root on thin silver skewers,
and then came one of those delicious quail puddings which are one
of Mrs Lewis's inventions and for which King Edward had a special
liking. There was a whole quail under the paste cover for everyone at
table, with a wonderful gravy, to the making of which go all sorts
of good things and which when it has soaked into the bottom layer of
paste makes that not the least delicate part of the dish. Had not a
turn of the conversation taken Mrs Lewis off to a description of how
beautiful the twins just born to a member of the aristocracy are, I
should have liked to have heard more concerning King Edward's tastes
in cookery, for no one, except, perhaps, M. Ménager, who was his
Majesty's chef, knew them better than did Mrs Lewis, to whom many an
anxious hostess entertaining Royalty for the first time has looked as
her sheet-anchor. A turn of the conversation brought up the name of the
Duke of Connaught, who, I know, has the same admiration for Mrs Lewis's
handiwork that the late King so often expressed. Another appreciative
monarch for whose appetite Mrs Lewis has catered is the Kaiser, for she
ruled the kitchen at Highcliffe Castle during the Emperor's stay there
of three weeks. A personal gift of jewellery marked H.I.M.'s approval.
Mrs Lewis lays it down that three dishes are the right number at any
lunch, for she, like all other really great authorities on gastronomy,
is opposed to a long menu; but she, as great authorities sometimes do,
broke her own rule in giving us, after the quail pie, a dish of chicken
wings in bread-crumbs and kidneys before the pears and pancakes,
an admirable combination, with which our lunch ended. After lunch
Mrs Lewis took the little gathering that had congregated about the
lunch-table for coffee down in the lift to her kitchen, a splendidly
airy and spacious one, running the full length of the three houses,
and with its windows opening out on a courtyard at the back. It is as
cheerful and light and as well ventilated a kitchen as I have seen
anywhere. The rooms which should be cold for the keeping of provisions
are just at the right temperature, the lines of pots and pans shine
brilliantly, and bustling about were half-a-dozen girls of all ages,
from the light-haired Margaret, head of the kitchen, to a little girl
of fourteen, the youngest recruit, all wearing the white caps that
men cooks wear, which form a very becoming head-dress. And Mrs Lewis,
talking of "my girls," as she calls them, told me that she was a year
younger than the youngest of them when she first, with a pig-tail of
hair down her back, began to learn the art of cookery in the kitchen
of the Comtesse de Paris, and she added that she could show me the
character she received from her first place when, as a beginner, she
was earning the large sum of a shilling a week. Her second place was
with the Duc d'Aumale at Chantilly, and the first kitchen over which
she had complete rule was that of the Duc d'Orléans, when he was at
Sandhurst. She at one time controlled the kitchen of White's Club, and
Mr Astor, both at Hever and in London, puts his kitchens in Mrs Lewis's
charge when he gives his great parties.
No cook with her training completed leaves Mrs Lewis's kitchen for
another place at less than £100 a year, but her girls are never anxious
to go elsewhere, which I can quite understand, for they seemed a very
happy family down in that cheerful, airy kitchen.
And presently in the tea-room I gained Mrs Lewis's undivided attention
for a minute or two and drew from her some opinions as to the changes
in dinners that she had noticed since she first began to rule the
roast. One difference is a matter of finance, that people in Victorian
days were quite content to pay three guineas a head for a dinner, but
that now hostesses bargain that their dinners shall not cost them more
than a guinea a head. Dinners have become much shorter, but people
in society have a greater knowledge of gastronomy than they used to
possess. In past days a small jar of compressed caviare was all that
was needed for a dinner-party; nowadays a large bowl or jar of the
fresh unpressed caviare is required. People were satisfied at one time
with half a stuffed quail, but now a whole roasted quail is the least
that can be set before any one person. Again, in times now past, a
sliced truffle went a long way, whereas now each individual guest likes
to have a whole truffle "as big as your fist" offered her or him.
And, making the most of my opportunity, I asked Mrs Lewis what was
the time-table of her day when she went out to cook one of those
dinners that have made her so famous. It is a very long day's work.
She is at the market at five A.M. to buy her material; at seven her
staff is ready to help her in her own kitchen, and she begins with the
last dishes of the dinner, preparing the sweets and ices; next she
turns to the cleaning and preparation of the vegetables, and then to
the materials for the soup and the making of the cold dishes. By one
o'clock the meats and birds are all prepared for the cooking, and at
six all the things to be cooked at the house where the dinner is to be
given are put in hampers and taken over there.
To step for an evening into command of a kitchen, very often over the
heads of one or two men cooks, is not always an unmixed pleasure, and
Mrs Lewis, who has a very keen sense of humour, told me some of her
experiences in some kitchens which will make very amusing reading if
ever she writes her reminiscences, as she should do. Sometimes she is
asked to build up a tent for some great dinner, which she is ready
to do, and she often furnishes it, and ornaments its walls with china
and pictures. Sometimes when a host or hostess wishes to entertain
many guests to dinner and a ball Mrs Lewis takes a big vacant house
and furnishes it for one night, in all the rooms that are seen, as
completely as though its owners were still occupying it. "I have made
almost as much in the past year out of my gold chairs and my china as
I have out of my pots and pans," she told me. She has a little army of
devoted waiters who have been at her call for twenty years and who are
always ready to serve under her banner.
A menu of one of Mrs Lewis's ball suppers, at Surrey House, may well
find a place here. She, I believe, first made the great discovery that
young men who have danced an evening through prefer eggs and bacon and
Lager beer in the small hours of the morning to _pâté de foie gras_ and
champagne:
_Chaud_.
Consommé de Volaille.
Cailles Schnitten.
Poussin à la Richelieu.
Poulet grillé, Pommes soufflées.
_Froid._
Petites Crabes. Homard. Truite au Bleu.
Poularde en Gelée.
Dindonneaux Hezedia.
Canard pressé en Parfait.
Bœuf et Agneau à la Mode.
Mousse de Jambon en Belle-Veu.
Asperges.
Fraises du Bois Monte Carlo.
Mélange de Fruits.
Pâtisserie.
Café Noir (à deux heures).
Grenouilles à la Lyonnaise.
Œufs pochés au Lard.
Rognons grillés.
Pilsener Lager Beer.
She has cooked dinners for the regiments of the Household Cavalry
when they entertained a sovereign; when a good fellow, now dead, kept
open-house for all his friends in the club-room during Warwick Races,
Mrs Lewis undertook the difficult task of providing the best of lunches
for an unknown number, and she has contracted for many of the feasts of
the great Government Departments.
Mrs Lewis has the artist's appreciation of a critical judgment of her
handiwork, but to cook a dinner for people who cannot understand its
excellences is, in her opinion, like "feeding pigs on mushrooms." There
is not one iota of jealousy in Mrs Lewis, for when I told her that
in my opinion she held, as a woman ruler of the kitchen, a parallel
position to that which M. Escoffier holds as a man, she told me how
much she admires the great French Maître-Chef, not only as a great
cook, but as a great gentleman.