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FOREWORD Page

The Difficulties of Dining xvii

FOREWORD

THE DIFFICULTIES OF DINING

It requires a certain amount of bravery, a little consciousness of knowledge, for the ordinary man looking down a list of dishes to put his finger on every third one and ask, "What is that?" He is much more likely, the head waiter, who has summed him up, prompting him, to order very much the dinner that he would have eaten in his suburban home had he been dining there that night.

Mr. Echenard, late of the Savoy, in chatting over the vagaries of diners, shook his head over the want of knowledge of the wines that should be drunk with the various kinds of food. No man knows better what goes to make a perfect dinner than Mr. Echenard does, and as to the sinfulness of Britons in this particular, I quite agreed with him. In Paris no man dreams of drinking champagne, and nothing but champagne, for dinner; but in London the climate and the taste of the fair sex go before orthodox rules. A tired man in our heavy atmosphere feels often that champagne is the one wine that will give him life again; and as the ladies as a rule would think a dinner at a restaurant incomplete without champagne, ninety-nine out of a hundred Englishmen, in ordering a little dinner for two, turn instinctively to the champagne page of the wine-card. It is wrong, but until we get a new atmosphere and give up taking ladies out to dinner, champagne will be practically the only wine drunk at restaurants.

On the subject of tips it is difficult to write. I have always found that a shilling for every pound or part of a pound, or a shilling for each member of a party brings a "thank you" from the waiter at any first-class restaurant. I should be inclined to err a little on the liberal side of this scale; for waiters do not have an easy life, are mainly dependent on the tips they get, and have it in their power to greatly add to, or detract from, the pleasure of a dinner. I always find that the man who talks about "spoiling the market," in this respect is thinking of protecting his own pocket and not his neighbour's.

The following little essay on the duties of a ma?tre d'h?tel which Mons. Joseph has sent me speaks most eloquently for itself:

MON CHER COLONEL--

Vous me demandez pour votre nouveau livre des recettes. M?fiez-vous des recettes. Depuis la cuisini?re bourgeoise et le Baron Brisse on a chant? la chanson sur tous les airs et sur tous les tons. Et qu'en reste-t'il; qui s'en souvient? Je veux dire dans le public aristocratique pour qui vous ?crivez, et que vous comptez int?resser avec votre nouvelle publication, cherchez le nouveau dans les ? propos de table, donnez des conseils aux ma?tresses de maison, qui d?pensent beaucoup d'argent pour donner des d?ners fatiguants, trop longs, trop compliqu?s; d?tes leur qu'un bon d?ner doit ?tre court, que les convives doivent manger et non go?ter, qu'elles exigent de leur cuisinier ou cuisini?re de n'?tre pas trop savants, qu'ils respectent avant tout le go?t que le bon Dieu a donn? ? toutes choses de ne pas les d?naturer par des combinaisons, qui ? force d'?tre raffin?es deviennent barbares.

On a beaucoup parl? du cuisinier. Si nous exposions un peu ce que doit ?tre le Ma?tre d'H?tel.

LE MA?TRE D'H?TEL FRAN?AIS

La plus grande force du Ma?tre d'h?tel fran?ais, je dis ma?tre d'h?tel fran?ais ? dessein, car si le cuisinier fran?ais a su tirer parti des produits de la nature avec un art infini, pour en faire des aliments aimables, agr?ables, et bienfaisants, le Ma?tre d'h?tel fran?ais seul est susceptible de les faire accepter et d?sirer. Or voil? pour le Ma?tre d'h?tel le champ qu'il a ? explorer. Champ vaste s'il en f?t, car d?viner avec tact ce qui peut plaire ? celui-ci et ne pas plaire ? celui-l?, est un probl?me ? r?soudre selon la nature, le temp?rament et la nationalit? de celui qu'il doit faire manger. Il doit donc ?tre le conseil, le tentateur, et le metteur en sc?ne. Il faut pour ?tre un ma?tre d'h?tel accompli, mettre de c?t?, ou du moins ne pas laisser percer le but commercial, tout en ?tant un commer?ant hors ligne . Il faut donc agir sur l'imagination pour fair oublier la machine que l'on va alimenter, en un mot masquer le c?t? mat?riel de manger. J'ai acquis la certitude qu'un plat savamment pr?par? par un cuisinier hors ligne peut passer inaper?u, ou inappreci? si le ma?tre d'h?tel, qui devient alors metteur en sc?ne, ne sait pas pr?senter l'oeuvre, de fa?on ? le faire d?sirer, de sorte que si ce mets est servi par un ma?tre d'h?tel qui n'en comprend pas le caract?re, il lui sera impossible de lui donner tout son relief, et alors l'oeuvre du cuisinier sera an?anti et passera inaper?u.

Ce ma?tre d'h?tel doit ?tre aussi un observateur et un juge et doit transmettre son appr?ciation au chef de cuisine, mais pour appr?cier il faut savoir, pour savoir il faut aimer son art, le ma?tre d'h?tel doit ?tre un ap?tre.

Il doit transmettre les observations qu'il a pu entendre pendant le cours d'un d?ner de la part des convives, observations favorables ou d?favorables, il doit les transmettre au chef et aviser avec lui. Il doit aussi ?tre en observation, car il arrive le plus souvent que les convives ne disent rien ? cause de leur amphitryon mais ne mangent pas avec plaisir et entrain le mets pr?sent?: l? encore le ma?tre d'h?tel doit chercher le pourquoi. Il y a aussi dans un d?jeuner ou un d?ner un r?le tr?s important r?serv? au ma?tre d'h?tel. La vari?t? agr?able des hors-d'oeuvre, la salade qui accompagne le r?ti, le fa?on de d?couper ce r?ti avec ?l?gance, de bien disposer ce r?ti sur son plat une fois d?coup?, d?couper bien et vite, afin d'?viter le r?chaud qui s?che. Savoir mettre ? point une selle de mouton, avec juste ce qu'il faut de sel sur la partie grasse, qui lui donnera un go?t agr?able.

Pour d?couper le ma?tre d'h?tel doit se placer ni trop pr?s ni trop loin des convives, afin que ceux-ci soient int?ress?s, et voient que tous les d?tails sont observ?s avec go?t et ?l?gance, de fa?on ? tenter encore les app?tits qui n'en peuvent presque plus mais qui renaissent encore un peu aiguillonn?s par le d?sir qu'a su faire na?tre l'artiste pr?pos? au repas, et qui a su donner encore envie ? l'imagination, quand l'estomac commen?ait ? capituler.

Le ma?tre d'h?tel a de plus cette partie de la fin du d?ner, le choix d'un bon fromage, les fruits, les soins de temp?rature ? donner aux vins, la fa?on de d?canter ceux-ci pour leur donner le maximum de bouquet; le ma?tre d'h?tel ne peut-il encore ?tre un tentateur avec la fraise frapp?e ? La p?che ? la cardinal, qu'accompagne si bien le doux parfum de la framboise, l?g?rement acidul? d'un de jus de groseille, notre grand car?me qualifiait.

Certains plats de "manger des Dieux," combien l'expression est heureuse.

Depuis que je suis ? Londres j'ai trouv? un nombre incalculable "d'inventeurs de ma p?che ? la cardinal." Il me faudra leur donner la recette un jour que j'en aurai l'occasion.

N'est-ce pas de l'art chez le ma?tre d'h?tel qui tente et charme les convives par ces raffinements, et qui comme un cavalier sur une moture essouffl?e sait encore relever son courage et lui faire faire la derni?re foul?e qui d?cide de la victoire? Apr?s un bon repas le ma?tre d'h?tel a la grande satisfaction d'avoir donn? un peu de bonheur ? de pauvres gens riches, qui ne sont pas toujours des heureux.

PRINCES' HALL

I was too wise to take the full responsibility of anything so important, and in a council of three we ran down the list of dining places. Of those we paused over in consideration, the Princes' Hall was the nearest to Mrs. Daffodil's flat, and the little lady remembered that she had not dined there this year, and suddenly decided that it was the very place for a birthday dinner; and should she wear her new white dress, or would the black dress with the handsome bit of lace suit her better? Her husband looked a little helpless at the mention of dress, and I at a venture suggested the black, for I remembered that the roof of the grand salon of the Princes', with its heavy mouldings, was white picked out with gold, while the great panels of brick red, powdered with golden fleurs-de-lys and the palms filling-in the corners, would show up a black dress just as well as a white one.

Black it was to be, and, this important matter decided, I was sent off as an advance messenger in a hansom cab to order the best table available and a dinner, not too elaborate and not too small, which was to be ready by the time little Mrs. Daffodil had dressed and could drive down to the restaurant in her brougham.

The brougham drew up before the glass portico with its brass ornamentations, and Mrs. Daffodil in the wonderful black dress was helped out. She would bring her ermine cape in with her, she thought; and having arrived at the table smiled graciously at seeing her name-flowers there. I explained that the table by the door protected by the glass screens was my favourite one, and that I should have taken it if possible, but that it had been engaged for days, and Mrs. Daffodil was pleased to think the one we had obtained was quite as nice. Didn't she think the room, with its big panels, its few long mirrors, its clusters of electric lights and electric candles on the tables, and its musicians' gallery over the entrance to the offices and kitchen, very handsome? I asked. And as she helped herself to the caviar, each little ball as separate as if they had been pellets of shot, she assented; but to show that she was critical, thought there ought to have been more palms. Then the little lady took up the questioning, and wanted to know who everybody was who was dining. I was able to point out a well-known artist taking a quiet meal with his wife, who at one time was an ornament of the comedy-stage; a party of soldier officers up from Aldershot ; an ex-Gaiety girl who was the heroine of a breach of promise case, and who had at the table she occupied quite a crowd of gilded youths; a youngster whose good looks have won him a very rich but not too young wife--and there I had to pause, for though the room was full of well-dressed, smart-looking people, I knew no more of them by name.

And the bill. I asked my host to let me look at it, and here it is:--three couverts, 3s.; caviar, 3s.; tortue, 6s.; saumon, 6s.; fricass?e de poulet, 7s.; selle d'agneau, 8s.; pommes risol?es, 2s.; salade, 1s. 6d.; asperges, 10s. 6d.; mac?doine de fruits, 4s. 6d.; one '67 , 12s.; 1/2 140 , 7s. 6d., three caf?s special, 1s. 6d.; three liqueurs fine champagne , 6s.; total, ?4: 0: 6.

Le Signi du Volga. Les petits coulibiacs ? la Czarine. La cr?me Ste-Marie. Les supr?mes de truites ? la Princesse. Les poulardes ? la Georges Sand. Le Baron de Pauillac aux primeurs. Les b?casses au champagne. La salade Imp?riale. Les asperges d'Argenteuil Ste-Mousseleine. Le souffl? chaud succ?s. La glace Leda. Une corbeille de friandise. Les canap?s Diane. Dessert.

Dismember a large white fowl very carefully. Stew it in white stock, with a chopped onion, a good pinch of paprika, and two glasses of white wine, for about forty-five minutes. Take out the fowl, and pass the stock through the tammy. Flavour with a good cray-fish butter, and garnish with tails of cray-fish, large truffles, olives, and cro?tons of French puff-paste . Serve very hot.

THE CHESHIRE CHEESE

The easiest way was to dine at one of the Fleet Street hostelries, and I ran such of them as I know over in my mind. How they have changed since Herrick rang them into rhyme! Then they were the Sun, the Dog, the Triple Tun. Now they are the Rainbow, the Cock, Anderton's, the Cheshire Cheese, and a host more. It was a pudding day at the Cheshire Cheese, not the crowded day, which is Wednesday, but a day on which I was sure to get a seat in the lower room and be able to eat my meal in comfort and content; and that finally decided me in favour of the hostelry in Wine Office Court.

It is not a cheerful thoroughfare that leads up to the Cheshire Cheese. It is a narrow and dark passage, and the squat little door of the tavern itself is not inviting, for it is reminiscent of a country public-house. It is not until one is through the sawdusted passage and into the lower room that one is in warmth and comfort.

Most of the tables were full, but the long table, at the head of which Dr. Johnson is alleged to have sat with Goldsmith at his left hand, had some vacant places, and I took one of them. "Pudding?" said the head waiter. I assented, and Mr. Moore, the host, a dapper gentleman, with a wealth of dark hair and a dark moustache, who had been chatting to a clean-shaven young gentleman who had the seat opposite to mine, moved to the great bowl to give me my helping, for no one but the host touches the sacred pudding. The clean-shaven young gentleman relapsed into a newspaper, and while I waited the few seconds before the brown mixture of lark and kidney and oyster and steak was put before me I looked round at my neighbours. A gentleman, bald of head and with white whiskers, who was addressed as "Doctor," sat in the great lexicographer's seat, and talking to him was a bearded gentleman whom I put down at once as a press-man, a sub-editor probably. The only other guest at our table was a good-looking, middle-aged man in clothes that had the gloss of newness on them, a flannel shirt, a white collar, and a gaudy tie. He had finished his meal, was evidently contented with the world, and there was a conversational glint in his eye when he caught mine that made me look away at once; for I was hungry and downcast and not inclined for cheerful converse until I had eaten and drunk.

"Pudding, sir," and the head waiter put the savoury mass before me; "and what else?" I ordered a pint of beer and stewed cheese. I ate my pudding, and being told that the cheese was not ready, ate a "follow" afterwards, for there is no limit to the amount of pudding allowed, and some of the "followers," as the host of the tavern calls them, have been known to have half a dozen helpings; and then the brown and fizzling cheese in its little tin tray, with a triangle of toast on either side, was put before me. The cheese, mixed with mustard and neatly spread on the toast, according to custom, eaten, the last drops of the bitter beer poured from the pewter tankard into the long glass which is supposed to give brilliancy to the malt liquor; and then, feeling a man again, I looked across at the flannel-shirted gentleman who had been smoking a pipe placidly, with a look which meant "Come on."

The ripple of conversation broke at once. He had been out in Australia for fifteen years, went out there as a mere lad, and to-day was his first day in town after his return. He had been used in past times to come to the Cheshire Cheese for his mid-day meal, and the first place he had sought out when he came to London was the old hostelry. He missed the old waiters, he said, but otherwise the place was much the same and as homely as ever.

The floodgates of the friendly stranger's speech once unloosed, he told me of his life in Australia, and the hard times he had had, and how matters had come so far right that he was able to come home to England and enjoy himself for six months; and the clean-shaven young gentleman--he was going on later to assist in an entertainment to the poor of Houndsditch, he told us--emerged from his newspaper, and we all found a good deal to say. Nothing would satisfy the returned wanderer but that he must be allowed to ask us to join him in drinking a bowl of the Cheshire Cheese punch, and Mr. Moore, the host, must make one of the party. The other guests--most of them, I should think, connected in some way or other with the Fourth Estate--had gradually drifted away, and Mr. Moore, who had been going from table to table, came and sat down. "No celebrities here to-night, Mr. Moore," I said somewhat reproachfully, and he admitted the soft impeachment, but Irish-wise told us of the great men of the present day that we had missed by not dining at the Cheese on any night but the present one. Every journalist of fame, every editor, has eaten within the walls of the old hostelry, and there is no judge that sits on the bench who has not taken some of his first dinners as a barrister in the little house up Wine Office Court.

The hot punch was brought in in one of the china bowls, of which there are three or four in a little corner cupboard in the old-fashioned bar across the passage, and an old silver ladle to serve it with; and the talk ranged back from the great men of the present day to those of the past. Thackeray knew the "Cheese" well; Dickens used to come in his early days and tell the present host's mother all his troubles, and so we got back to Goldsmith and Johnson, the latter of whom is the especial patron saint of the hostelry, for when he lived in Gough Square and Bolt Court the Cheshire Cheese is said to have been his nightly resort.

The punch ended, the time came for the reckoning. Of old the head waiters were all clean-shaven, like Henry Todd, whose portrait hangs aloft, and all the reckoning was done by word of mouth. But the present head waiter has introduced innovations; he wears a moustache, and makes out his bills on paper. This was mine--Ye rump steak pudding, 2s.; vegetables, 2d.; cheese, 4d.; beer, 5d.; total, 2s. 11d.

THE HOLBORN

The American Comedian and myself stood at a club window and looked out on London. He was rehearsing, and so enjoyed the rare privilege of having his evenings free to spend as he liked. I had no business, except to get myself a dinner somewhere, so we agreed to eat ours in company.

The difficulty was to decide where to dine. The Comedian dined at one club or another every day of his life before going to the theatre, so a club dinner was out of the question. Not having a lady to take out we agreed that we did not care to go to any of the "smart" restaurants: we wanted something a little more elaborate than a grill-room would give us, and more amusing company than we were likely to find at the smaller dining places we knew of.

The menu, which on a large sheet of stiff paper peeps out from a deep border of advertisements, is printed both in French and in English. This is the English side of it on the night we dined:--

SOUPS. Pur?e of Hare aux cro?tons. Spaghetti.

FISH. Supr?me of Sole Joinville. Plain Potatoes. Darne de saumon. R?moulade Sauce.

ENTR?ES. Bouch?es ? l'Imp?ratrice. Saut? Potatoes. Mutton Cutlets ? la Reforme.

REMOVE. Ribs of Beef and Horseradish. Brussels Sprouts.

ROAST. Chicken and York Ham. Chipped Potatoes.

SWEETS. Caroline Pudding. St. Honor? Cake. Kirsch Jelly.

ICE. Neapolitan.

Cheese. Celery.

DESSERT.

We agreed to drink claret, and I picked out a wine third or fourth down on the list.

The Comedian said he was hungry, and I told him that I was glad to hear it, for it might check the miraculous tales which he generally produces at meal-times.

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