Part 7
Nowadays it is said that guests at a royal banquet refuse the most artistic creations, and ask boldly for a cut of mutton.
However this may be, it can be taken for granted that royal banquets are much like other meals in so far as anticipation, appetite, realization, and digestion are concerned. The great Carême resigned his position as _Maître de Bouche_ to George IV, after only a few weeks’ service, and at an honorarium of one thousand guineas a year (guineas, mark you, there speaks the artist!), because His Majesty showed no appreciation of his finest efforts, but was continually asking for boiled beef.
Nevertheless, the royal cooks always rise to the occasion, as the following interesting document will show. The chef at Windsor in 1858 was M. Pierre Mouret. This is the menu of the wedding dinner of the (then) Crown Prince of Prussia, father of the present Kaiser, to our own Princess Royal, given by Queen Victoria at Windsor Castle on 18 January, 1858.
MENU
HER MAJESTY’S DINNER
_Potages_.
A la Tortue. A la Jardinière. Crème de riz à la Reine.
_Poissons._
Saumons bouillis. Turbots bouillis. Filets de sole frits.
_Relevés._
Pièces de Bœuf braisées, garnies de légumes. Chapons truffés à la Périgueux.
_Entrées._
Kromeskis de Crevettes. Ris de Veau piqués à la Macédoine. Timbales de Macaroni à la Milanaise. Côtelettes de Mouton à la purée de haricots. Petites Croustades à la purée de volaille. Côtelettes de Poulets à la Tartare. Perdreaux à la financière. Quenelles de Lièvre garnies d’escalopes.
_Contre-flancs._
Poulets à la royale.
_Rôts._
Bécasses. Poulardes.
_Relevés._
Gâteaux de Compiègne. Poires au riz. Puddings de gingembre.
_Entremets._
Epinards au velouté. Œufs brouillés aux truffes. Salade de Volaille. Aspic de Galantine. Biscuits et plombière. Dauphines à la fleur d’orange. Gelée de Vanille. Blanc-manger rubané.
_Buffet._
Sirloins of Beef. Saddles of Mutton. Haunches of Venison.
Among the cleverest and most _spirituel_ of _menus d’occasion_ is that of a French-Italian _déjeuner_ at the Carlton Hotel, composed, arranged, and designed by M. Escoffier.
MENU
L’ITALIE ET LA FRANCE À TABLE
F ritot d’œufs à la Verd I R ouget de roche à la Loube T A mourettes a’agneau à la Tosc A N onnettes de poulet Agnès Sore L C èpes à la Rossin I E ugénie crême Italienn E
The double acrostic is most skilfully introduced, and the lunch, as such, is quite a little work of art.
In the columns of the “Academy,” some little while ago, an ingenious contributor elaborated a menu without the use of a single French word. It is doubtful, however, whether it will ever come into the realms of practical gastronomic usage. It ran thus:--
MENU BILL OF FARE
(Old style, obsolete) (New style)
Hors d’œuvres. Raw Bits. Pot au Feu. Pot on the Fire. Purée de petits pois. Mash of Little Peas. Bouchées aux Huîtres. Mouthfuls of Oysters. Chaud-froid de Saumon. Hot-cold of Salmon. Vol-au-vent de Volaille. Fowl Fly-to-Wind. Petits Filets mignons à la “Ducksy” little Fillets Maître d’Hotel. to the Butler. Noix de Veau à la Nut of Veal in the way Jardinière. of the Gardener’s wife. Pommes de terre sautées. Jumped Potatoes. Asperges en branches: Asparagus in branches; Sauce Mousseline. Muslin Sauce. Timbales de Fruits. Mugs of Fruit. Crème renversée. Turned-up Cream. Petits Soufflés de Foie gras Little Blow-outs of fat Liver.
Such a meal as this, to be thoroughly appreciated, would no doubt have to be prepared by a Chief or a Blue Cord.
A purely English dinner, however, is not so difficult to describe in plain straight-forward language. Such a one, for instance, as the Festival Dinner of the Royal Society of St. George, which ran thuswise:--
Appetizers. Imperial “Clear” Soup. Boiled Hampshire Salmon and Cucumber. Thames Whitebait devilled. Norfolk Sweetbreads and Truffles. THE ROAST BEEF OF OLD ENGLAND (Devon Baron). Yorkshire Pudding. English New Potatoes and Beans. Royal Navy Iced Punch. Roast Buckinghamshire Duckling and Apple Sauce. Peas. Lettuce Salad. Colchester Asparagus. Braised Berkshire Ham. Trafalgar Pudding. Colonial Ice Pudding. Dessert. Coffee.
The menu of a Japanese luncheon given by the Mikado at Tokio makes curious reading, although I am assured that its purely local features are assuaged by a leaven of European delicacies.
MENU
Suimono (Soup). Night Heron and Shimeji (a species of Champignon). Kuchitori (Hors d’Œuvres). Wild Duck. Awabi (Haliotis, etc.). Iashami (uncooked Fish). Tai, Kawatsukuri and Arai (two modes of preparing uncooked Fish). Sunomono (Mixed Salad). Iced Whale and Mustard Sauce. Yakimono (Entrées). Baked Ai Fish (chawaninushi Eel Soup). Fried Chicken and String Beans. Anago and Imo (a species of Eel and Potato). Rice Soup and Quail. Pickles. Cake. Fruit.
A friend has sent me a curiosity from Havana in the shape of a menu, into the composition of every dish of which the banana entered in some shape or form. As a triumph of skill and ingenuity I respect the menu, but am thankful that I was not invited to partake of the repast. Here it is.
MENU
Soupe à la Banane avec Croûtons de Banane. Crèpes de Banane avec Gelée de Banane. Poulets à l’Etuvée avec Bananes Ciselées. Poulets Rôtis avec Bananes Dressées. Rôti de Bœuf avec Gelée de Banane. Gâteau à la Gelée de Banane. Galettes de Bananes. Gâteau de Banane aux Fruits. Café de Banane.
The subjoined menu is a quaint attempt to please adult lovers of “Alice in Wonderland,” and deserves notice in that it really does contain a number of references, more or less apt, to that perennially delightful work.
MENU
_Hors d’œuvres._
Huîtres, Larmes Amères. Snickersnacks.
_Potages._
Manxommé. Jabberwock’s-tail.
_Poisson._
Walrus à la Charpentier. Snark, sauce Boojumoise.
_Entrées._
Momerath de lait. Tweedledum aux Tum-tumatoes
_Roti._
Aloyau de Jabberwock. Selle de Gryphon.
_Volaille._
Bandersnatch, sauce évitée. Jubjub sauté. Salade: Feuilles de Tumtum tulgeuses.
_Entremets._
Crême au Jour Frabjoise. Omelette Whifflée. Glace à la Duchesse.
_Savory._
Œufs de Borogove Gimblées.
The following menu is that of a dinner given in Paris by Prince Léon Galitzine, and deserves to be placed on record as an example of a real _diner fin_, elaborate, but not too elaborate, cleverly designed, and thoroughly well executed.
MENU
Bisque d’écrevisse et Exly frais à la Russe. Melon glacé. Crevettes de Dieppe. Hareng frais de Hollande. Soles à la Maréchale. Noisettes d’agneau avec crème d’Argenteuil. Foie gras à la Rossini. Quenelles d’esturgeon à la Joinville. Sorbets au Porto blanc. Granite grande fine Champagne. Canetons de Rouen flanqués d’ortolans en brochettes. Chaudfroid de Paons en Bellevue. Flageolets nouveaux au beurre. Pois à la Française. Ecrevisses de la Meuse au vin de Saumur. Bombe Galitzine. Poires Cressanes. Dessert.
This is really a rather noble dinner. Observe the dignity of the sturgeon and the peacock. There is very good precedent for the serving of the _hors d_’_œuvre_ after the soup. It is done at many of the best French tables.
There are two or three interesting points about the following Savoy Hotel menu which are worth consideration.
MENU DU DINER
Hors d’Œuvres. Melon Cantaloup Rafraîchi. Poule-au-Pot Henri IV. Crême Santé. Truite d’Ecosse à la Nantua. Filets de sole en Goujon. Cailles en Terrines aux petits pois. Selle de Pré-Salé à la Favorite. Haricots verts au Beurre. Mousse de Volaille en Bellevue. Caneton de Rouen à la Rouennaise. Salade Victoria. Aubergines Parisiennes. Bombe Pralinée. Pêches Cardinal. Canapés Pompadour.
The _poule-au-pot Henri IV_ recalls, of course, one of the most charming kings in history, who wished that every one of his subjects might have a fowl in his pot every Sunday all the year round. The fillets of sole _en goujon_ are a clever variation of the same thing _en blanchailles_ to which one is somewhat accustomed. They are rather larger, but equally crisp and succulent. The _cailles en terrines_ are very seasonable, and contrast remarkably well with the following saddle of mutton.
There has been much discussion lately in France as to the healthiness or otherwise of the hitherto justly esteemed and much-eaten _Canard à la Rouennaise_. Certain it is that some little while ago a few people became very ill after eating it; but, on the other hand, the preparation of the bird is so simple that there hardly seems room for anything deleterious.
Anyhow, the matter has been set at rest once and for all by the appointment under the auspices of _La Société Scientifique d’Hygiène Alimentaire et de l’Alimentation Rationnelle de l’Homme_ (heavens, what a name!) of a committee which thoroughly tested and examined the question of the delinquent duck. This committee consisted of M. A. Dastre, _membre de l’Institut_; M. Lapicque, _maître de Conférences à la Sorbonne_, M. S. de Raczkowski, _chémiste principal au Laboratoire Municipal_, and M. E. Kohn-Abrest, _du Laboratoire de Toxicologie_. These eminent authorities were well able to give a definite and reassuring reply.
Those who are interested in the duck question may remember a delightful little sketch by the brilliant Alfred Capus, entitled “Emile,” in which a _Canard à la Rouennaise_ and a solemn _maître d’hôtel_ played prominent parts.
The following menu of a ball supper which was served quite recently at a London dance is all that a self-respecting ball supper need be. It seems to me to be excellently designed and thought out, for it provides for all tastes and palates, and appeals to the débutante as well as the sapient middle-aged supper eater.
MENU DU SOUPER
Consommé de Volaille. Suprême Truite Alexandra. Médaillons de Homard Moscovite. Côtelettes d’Agneau Princesse. Chaudfroid de Mauviettes Carême. Aspic de Foie Gras Lucullus. Cailles à la Jeannette. Galantine Volaille Périgourdine. Bœuf Braisé à la Moderne. Poularde du Mans à l’Andalouse. Jambon d’York. Langue à l’Ecarlate. Salade Impériale. Gelée Orientale. Charlotte Souveraine. Crême Victoria. Macédoine de Fruits aux Liqueurs. Gâteau Fédora. Pâtisserie Parisienne. Glaces Bouquetières. Friandises. Dessert.
We all know, in a vague sort of way, that the best, in fact the only real _pâté de foie gras_ comes from Strasburg. This succulent if somewhat dyspeptic dish claimed as inventor for a long time a certain Mathieu, chef in the Prince Bishop of Strasburg’s household (Cardinal Rohan). But this is an error. The real originator was one Close, chef to the Maréchal Saxe, who came to Strasburg in the train of his famous master and took up his permanent abode there, marrying Mathieu’s widow. It was he and none other who started the goose-liver tureen business in a small shop in the Meisengasse, where, according to comparatively recent reports, it is still carried on. His imitators, of course, are numberless, and some of them very good.
This menu from the Carlton Hotel practically explains itself. If it err at all, which is doubtful, it is on the right side, namely, that of lightness and digestibility:--
Royal Natives, Caviar, Blinis. Stchi Germiny. Mousseline de Merlans aux Ecrevisses. Cailles au Nid. Selle de Chevreuil à l’Allemande. Haricots Verts. Volaille Truffée. Salade. Asperges Vertes Sauce Hollandaise. Biscuit Glaçé aux Perles des Alpes. Dessert.
The _Blinis_ served with the Caviar is annexed from the Russian cuisine, and is a kind of light sponge or yeast mixture, technically known as a “savarin” without sugar, baked in small pans, and sent to table hot with a sauce of sour cream. _Stchi_, or _Tschi_, is also Russian. It is primarily an army soup, or broth, made of beef, slightly thickened with a brown _roux_ and flavoured with sour cream. It is usually served with small, fried _choux_ paste-balls.
It is not usual to write the menu of a banquet in the language of ancient Rome, but it appears the practice survives in Bavaria. Witness the following in “Latin de Cuisine”:--
Epulum paratum die Consecrationis A.R.D. Baronis de Ow Episcopi auxil. Ratisbonnensis in aula Episcopali. Sorbitio cum globulis jecoralibus et lucanicis, Jes ex linguis bovinis factum cum panificio. Caro bovina cum brassica capitata. Assum vitulinum cum lactuca. Coffea. Potabimus cerevisiam ex hordeo bavarico coctam in officina cerevisiae Episcopali. Sit saluti!
This formidable-looking legend, on being translated, reads:--
Banquet prepared on the day of the consecration of the Right Reverend Baron von Ow, Suffragan Bishop of Regensburg in the episcopal palace.
Soup with liver and sausage. Ox-tongue broth with bread. Beef and cabbage. Roast veal and lettuce. Coffee. We shall drink Bavarian barley beer brewed in the episcopal brewery. May it do us good!
It is not on record, I think, who the original inventor of picnics was; nor does it much matter. There may be mention of them in Shakespeare, and certainly Nebuchadnezzar would seem to be one of the earliest picnickers in history; but whosoever may first have suggested the unpacking of a heterogeneous collection of cold cates on a greensward, under a summer sun, must have had a good digestion, a pair of knees that bent both ways, and (it is to be hoped) a positive passion for washing up.
Anyhow, it behoves me to make one or two diffident suggestions as to how the usual monotony of the convivial basket may be varied. Take the conventional pigeon pie, for instance--a truly good thing in its way, but capable of improvement. Angel Pie, according to Mr. Gubbins, is an agreeable change, and his recipe in “Cakes and Ale” may very well be followed. Eliza Acton’s pigeon pie is very good too; and it is quite worth the trouble to note the directions carefully.
But picnics need not be all pigeon pie. Let me recommend a toothsome _Chaudfroid de Foie-gras en caisses_, which is just round or oval-shaped slices of _foie gras_ masked with white or fawn _chaudfroid_ sauce, set in _soufflé_ cases, and decorated with slices of truffle. After the First, a _Ballotine de Perdreau Souvaroff_ is a pleasant change. The dainty bird is stuffed with goose-liver farce and truffles, done up like galantine, and braised, pressed, and glazed.
Although personally I am of those who prefer the unadulterated partridge, there are many quite worthy folk who do not, and for such I quote the above. Other suitable picnic dishes, rather out of the usual run, are _Cuisses de Volaille Belle Alliance_ (or Waterloo, if you will have it so); _Filets de Bœuf en Chaudfroid_; _Pain de Volaille aux Truffes_; and _Ris d’Agneau à l’Amiral_, which is lamb’s sweetbread in oval slices, masked with white sauce, decorated with slices of truffles, and dressed on a vegetable aspic border, with salad in the centre.
A new salad always adds lustre to the dullest picnic. Try this: Potatoes, cold, in slices, plentifully besprinkled with peas and a few broad beans. Or, again, red cabbage with cucumber. In either case the mixture must be carried separately in a bottle, and only poured out at the last moment; then “fatigue” the salad thoroughly, and see that all the liquid is absorbed from the bottom of the bowl. The following picnic menu is put up by Fortnum and Mason in convenient baskets, and when unpacked may be guaranteed to assuage the cravings of the hungriest.
MENU
Saumon, Salade de Concombres. Homard à la Parisienne. Chaudfroid de Mauviettes à la Chasseur. Poularde à l’Ivoire. Pigeon Pie. Jambon d’York. Pressed Beef. Tongues. Salade Panachée de Haricots Verts et Tomates. Gâteaux Parisiennes. Dessert. Café. Glaces Variées.
In addition to all these nice things, the baskets contain the necessary materials for tea, such as bread, butter, _petits fours_, cakes, and such-like.
The following menu is one of a dinner at Prince’s Restaurant, and calls for no special remark, save perhaps to emphasize the deft juxtaposition of the entrée, roast, and bird, which lead up to one another, so to say, in a subtle succession of delicately contrasted flavours.
MENU
Hors d’œuvre à la Parisienne. Potage Bortsch à la Czarine. Suprême de Saumon Crême d’anchois. Aiguillette de Volaille des Bacchantes. Noisette d’Agneau Edouard VII. Pommes Nouvelles à la Menthe. Bécasse rôtie à la Broche. Salad Mimosa. Salsifis à la Poulette. Bombe glacée. Diable Rose. Corbeille de Friandises. Canapé Princesse. Dessert. Café.
One of our French friends who came over here to enjoy _l’entente cordiale_--and British hospitality--was returning to France with an English acquaintance. On landing at Dieppe, after rather a rough crossing, John Bull asked Jacques Bonhomme, “Well, did you lunch on board?” “_Non, mon ami_,” was the reply, “_tout au contraire!_”
One may always trust the cuisine at the Savoy. There is a thoroughness of conception about every specially ordered dinner which bespeaks the eye, the hand, the brain of the master. Take the following menu, for example, which, charmingly printed on a graceful little silk Japanese fan, formed an exquisite meal of some originality.
MENU
Melon Cantaloup. Petite Marmite. Crême Portugaise. Truite à la Saatz. Whitebait Diablé. Caille Bridget. Medaillon de Béhague à l’Estragon. Petits Pois à la Française. Pommes Savoyarde. Soufflé de Jambon à la Hongroise. Neige au Kirsch. Caneton au Sang. Haricots verts et tomates en salade. Fonds d’artichauts à l’Italienne. Framboises glacées à la Vanille. Friandises. Pailles de Parmesan. Corbeille de Fruits.
Note the graceful juxtaposition of the Hungarian ham and the Kirsch, followed by duck and French beans. It is touches such as these which in their poetic elegance and subtlety force one to recognize what the high art of cookery really means.
To whom hath it not fallen to take the female faddist in to dinner?--I speak, of course, from the masculine point of view. The plethoric dame, for instance, who says, “Thank you, I only eat toast, and I prefer it _very_ crisp”; or the earnest spinster who talks for miles about proteids and other abominable scientific non-gastronomics; or the materfamilias who laments the absence of Benger from the dinner-party menu? Like the poor, such as these are always with us.
There are fashions in these things, as in everything else. Now and again one comes across a real Fletcherite, who chews his or her food eighty-seven times and allows it to disappear by a slow process of gradual deglutition. Mr. Horace Fletcher himself is, I am given to understand, a man of irreproachable morality, and the possessor, moreover, of a beautiful _Palazzo_ on the Grand Canal at Venice; but, whether for good or ill, he has introduced a deal of dullness into the modern dinner party. It is obviously impossible to keep up a ready flow of brilliant conversation when every mouthful has to be masticated unto seventy times seven times. Such a salutary procedure puts a damper on prandial discourse, and makes a dinner only one degree less lively than a funeral. It would seem preferable to suffer tortures of indigestion rather than act as a dinner-party wet-blanket.