Everybody knows the great scene at the end of "A
Christmas Carol": Ebenezer Scrooge, reformed of his miserly
nature, wishes to give the best, fastest gift he can imagine
to the family of his downtrodden clerk Bob Cratchit,
preferably one which will keep his crippled son Tiny Tim
alive for awhile longer. What does he send them? A Christmas
goose, of course.
The Civil War, whatever its ill effects may have been, was
indisputably a historic high point in the creation of holidays.
Thanksgiving as we currently practice it was being invented out of
miscellaneous local legends and ethnic harvest festivals. Christmas,
although perfectly well known, had gone through some ups and downs
in America. The Puritans banished it altogether for having pagan
influences and being an encouragement to indulgence and frivolity.
In the mid 19th century it was undergoing the great transformation
from just another solstice feast to the High Victorian end of year
blowout we know today. Sure enough, the Puritans were right, and we
now wallow in pagan influences and frivolity and just enjoy the heck
out of it.
Dickens wrote of Ebenezer's redemption in 1843. The firm of Scrooge
and Marley, however, was based in the heart of London. England had
then, as it did for centuries, the greatest impact on American
customs in all things. Rebellion, revolution, two wars and the
passage of four score and some years had not yet cured the American
psyche of the tendency to feel like raw colonials always eager to
emulate the Mother Country.
One symptom of this can be seen in cookbooks. It was far from
unusual for a book published in Great Britain to simply be
republished on the other side of the Atlantic, possibly with a new
title but always with a new "author's" name attached. Whether the
original compiler or publisher received any recompense for this is
difficult to tell from this side of the historic divide, but seems
unlikely in most cases.
Then there was "The Cook's Oracle; and Housekeeper's Manual" which,
after the lengthy subtitle customary for such things, was attributed
to one William Kitchiner, M. D. This allowed publisher J & J Harper,
of No. 82 Cliff-Street New York, to note on its 1832 printing that
although it was "From the Last London Edition," the book had
nevertheless been "Adapted to the American Public By a Medical
Gentleman."
Slick, eh? They even claimed it contained "A Complete System of
Cookery for Catholic Families," an interesting gimmick given the
relative scarcity of Catholics in America at the time. (Despite the
pitch, the "complete system" consists mainly of notes on recipes for
fish and vegetable dishes that the items could be served on Fridays
and other fast days, a point which observant Catholics could no
doubt have deduced on their own without Dr. Kitchiner's assistance.)
We shall therefore explore primarily Dr. Kitchiner's recipes here,
as they are likely to be the sort most typically used by the
middle-to-upper class readers of the day. And even the poor, like
Bob Cratchit, were more likely to indulge in a better meal on this
day if it was the only one they got all year, unless their own
personal Ebenezer Scrooge underwent a moral uplift.
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Dr. Kitchiner's Goose
When a goose is well picked [feathers removed], singed [pin feathers
burned off by holding the bird over a small flame, usually gas], and
cleaned [internal organs, feet, wingtips and head/neck removed],
make the stuffing with about two ounces of onion*, and half as much
green sage, chop them very fine, adding four ounces, i.e. about a
large breakfast-cupful of stale bread-crumbs, a bit of butter about
as big as a walnut, and a very little pepper and salt (to this some
cooks add half the liver, parboiling it first), the yelk of an egg
or two, and incorporating the whole well together, stuff the goose;
do not quite fill it, but leave a little room for the stuffing to
swell; spit it, tie it on the spit at both ends, to prevent its
swinging round, and to keep the stuffing from coming out. From an
hour and a half to an hour and three-quarters, will roast a fine
full-grown goose. Send up gravy and apple sauce with it.
*If you think the flavour of raw onions too strong, cut them in
slices, and lay them in cold water for a couple of hours, or add as
much apple or potato as you have of onion.
Other Stuffings for Goose, Some with Recommended Gravy
Ham Stuffing #1
Make a stuffing of equal portions of minced onions, bread crumbs and
grated ham season it with butter, salt, pepper and sage; make it
moist with sweet milk, and work it together till it is well
incorporated....
[Gravy]: Having boiled the heart and liver, mince them fine, and put
them in the drippings, with a large spoonful of brown flour, and a
few minced sage leaves; do not pour it round the goose, but serve it
in a boat, and have upon the table apple sauce, or stewed peaches,
and green peas or mashed potatoes.
Ham Stuffing #2
Prepare a goose as before directed, fill it with white potatoes,
which have been boiled tender, mashed fine, and highly seasoned with
salt, pepper, butter and cream.
[Gravy]: In the mean time, take some scraps or trimmings of fresh
beef, or veal, stew them in a small quantity of water, till the
gravy is extracted, strain the liquid into a clean sauce-pan, add to
it two spoonfuls of butter, one of flour, two minced onions, a few
minced sage leaves, a tea-spoonful of pepper, a grated nutmeg, a
glass of port wine, and the giblets, which should be previously
boiled and minced fine. When the goose is well done, serve it with
apple-sauce and smoked tongue.
Both of the ham stuffings above are from Lettice Bryant's "The
Kentucky Housewife" of 1839
HAM
Dr. Kitchiner was, it seems, no great fan of ham, or at least not of
the product as it was usually produced and consumed in his day. It
is here, however, that the underlying English origins of "his" book
show through particularly clearly:
Though of the bacon kind [family], ham has been so altered and
hardened in the curing, that it requires still more care.
Ham is generally not half-soaked; as salt as brine, and hard as
flint; and it would puzzle the stomach of an ostrich to digest it.
The salt, seasoning, and smoke, which preserves it before it is
eaten, prevent its solution after; and unless it be very long and
very gently stewed, the strongest stomach will have a tough job to
extract any nourishment from it. If it is a very dry Westphalia ham,
it must be soaked, according to its age and thickness, from 12 to 24
hours; for a green Yorkshire or Westmoreland ham, from four to eight
hours will be sufficient. Lukewarm water will soften it much sooner
than cold, when sufficiently soaked, trim it nicely on the
underside, and pare off all the rusty and smoked parts till it looks
delicately clean.
Give it plenty of water-room, and put it in while the water is cold;
let it heat very gradually, and let it be on the fire an hour and a
half before it comes to a boil; let it be well skimmed, and keep it
simmering very gently: a middling-sized ham of fifteen pounds will
be done enough in about four or five hours, according to its
thickness.
If not to be cut till cold, it will cut the shorter and tenderer for
being boiled about half an hour longer. In a very small family,
where a ham will last a week or ten days, it is best economy not to
cut it till it is cold, it will be infinitely more juicy.
Pull off the skin carefully, and preserve it whole as possible; it
will form an excellent covering to keep the ham moist; when you have
removed the skin, rub some bread raspings through a hair-sieve, or
grate a crust of bread; put it into the perforated cover of the
dredging-box, and shake it over it, or glaze it; trim the knuckle
with a fringe of cut writing-paper. You may garnish with spinage or
turnips, &c.
Westphalia, Yorkshire and Westmoreland are of course towns or
regions in England. Dr. K should have perhaps changed this to
"Smithfield, New Orleans and Charleston hams" or just grabbed
American town names at random to substitute here, but as it is a
little late to criticize his editors on this point we will just
snicker behind his back and press on.
As potatoes and "spinage"--better known today as spinach, and better
appreciated by cartoon characters than diners raised on versions of
the vegetable popular in the 1950s--are recommended, let's look at
some treatments the good doctor suggests for these items:
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VEGETABLES
Wash them, but do not pare or cut them, unless they are very large.
Fill a sauce-pan half full of potatoes of equal size (or make them
so by dividing the larger ones), put to them as much cold water as
will cover them about an inch: they are sooner oiled, and more
savoury, than when drowned in water. Most boiled things are spoiled
by having too little water, but potatoes are often spoiled by having
too much: they must merely be covered, and a little allowed for
waste in boiling, so that they may be just covered at the finish.
Set them on a moderate fire till they boil; then take them off, and
put them by the side of the fire to simmer slowly till they are soft
enough to admit a fork (place no dependence on the usual test of
their skins' cracking, which, if they are boiled fast, will happen
to some potatoes when they are not half done, and the insides quite
hard.) Then pour the water off (if you let the potatoes remain in
the water a moment after they are done enough, they will become waxy
and watery), uncover the sauce-pan, and set it at such a distance
from the fire as will secure it from burning; their superfluous
moisture will evaporate, and the potatoes will be perfectly dry and
mealy.
You may afterward place a napkin, folded up to the size of the
sauce-pan's diameter, over the potatoes, to keep them hot and mealy
till wanted.
Kitchiner is such a fan of potatoes that he provides no less than
"Sixteen Ways of dressing Potatoes" in a convenient list. We will
note here some of the more interesting ones. These all refer to
white, or as they were known in the day "Irish" potatoes:
Potatoes Fried in Slices or Shavings
Peel large potatoes; slice them about a quarter of an inch thick, or
cut them in shavings round and round, as you would peel a lemon; dry
them well in a clean cloth, and fry them in lard or dripping. Take
care that your fat and frying-pan are quite clean; put it on a quick
fire, watch it, and as soon as the lard boils, and is still, put in
the slices of potato, and keep moving them till they are crisp. Take
them up, and lay them to drain on a sieve: send them up with a very
little salt sprinkled over them.
[You are now entitled to scoff, mock, and openly jeer at any replays
of a recent special on the History Channel which claimed that
"potato chips" were invented at a hotel in Syracuse, NY in the
1850s. Impress your friends with your superior knowledge!]
Potatoes Mashed
When your potatoes are thoroughly boiled, drain them quite dry, pick
out every speck, and while hot, rub them through a colander into a
clean stew-pan. To a pound of potatoes put about half an ounce of
butter, and a table-spoonful of milk; do not make them too moist;
mix them well together.
Potatoes Mashed with Onions
Prepare some boiled onions by putting them through a sieve, and mix
them with potatoes. In proportioning the onions to the potatoes, you
will be guided by your wish to have more or less of their flavour.
[Duh!]
[On a more constructive note though, we have tried this and found
that it is somewhere between monstrously difficult and downright
impossible to scrape a boiled onion across a grater, much less push
it through a sieve. Use of a food chopper, processor or blender can
be rationalized on the basis that people in the 19th century were
crazy about kitchen gadgets and would no doubt have used such
mechanical devices with great glee if they had had them, and places
to plug them in.]
Spinage
Spinage should be picked a leaf at a time, and washed in three or
four waters; when perfectly clean, lay it on a sieve or colander, to
drain the water from it.
Put a large sauce-[an on the fire three parts filled with water, and
large enough for the spinage to float in it; put a small handful of
salt in it; let it boil; skim it, and then put in the spinage; make
it boil as quick as possible till quite tender, pressing the spinage
down frequently that it may be done equally; it will be done enough
in about ten minutes, if boiled in plenty of water; if the spinage
is a little old, give it a few minutes longer. When done, strain it
on the back of a sieve; squeeze it dry with a plate, or between two
trenchers; chop it fine, and put it into a stew-pan with a bit of
butter and a little salt: a little cream is a great improvement, or
instead of either some rich gravy [meat broth]. Spread it in a dish,
and score it into squares of proper size to help [serve] at table.
Grated nutmeg, or mace, and a little lemon-juice, is a favourite
addition with some cooks, and is added when you stir it up in the
stew-pan with the butter garnished.
See? No vinegar mentioned anywhere. This is often suspected as the
source of the aversion many people have to cooked spinage...er, we
mean "spinach." Try serving this if you have access to fresh spinach
leaves; even if no one eats it you can take credit for nutritional
virtuousness.
Colcannon
Boil potatoes and greens, or spinage, separately; mash the potatoes;
squeeze the greens dry; chop them quite fine and mix them with the
potatoes, with a little butter, pepper and salt; put it into a
mould, buttering it well first; let it stand in a hot oven for ten
minutes.
Green mashed potatoes? This is almost guaranteed to be a spectacular
hit with either of two groups: dedicated foodies and young persons
through early adolescence. Remember that the other use for spinach
juice is as a very indelible dye for cloth and do not serve this if
food fights are even remotely possible, unless all diners are naked.
Sweet Potatoes: A Footnote
Sweet potatoes, otherwise called Carolina potatoes, are the roots of
the Convolvulus batatas, a plant peculiar to and principally
cultivated in America. It delights in a warm climate, but is raised
in Connecticut, New-York, and all the states of the Union south of
New-York. It is an excellent vegetable for the dinner-table, and is
brought on boiled. It has an advantage over common potatoes, as it
may be eaten cold; and it is sometimes cut into thin slices and
brought to the tea-table, as a delicate relish, owing to its
agreeable nutritious sweetness.
Whatever you might think of Dr. K's cooking knowledge, he--or more
likely his British source, since the dash in "New-York" is more a UK
than US usage-- is right on the money with his taxonomy.
But back to food, specifically the vegetable courses:
Broccoli
Set a pan of clean cold water on the table, and a sauce-pan on the
fire with plenty of water, and a handful of salt in it.
Broccoli is prepared by stripping off all the side shoots, leaving
the top; peel off the skin of the stalk with a knife; cut it close
off at the bottom, and put in into the pan of cold water.
When the water in the stew-pan boils, and the broccoli is ready, put
it in; let it boil briskly till the stalks feel tender, from ten to
twenty minutes; take it up with a slice [straining spoon], that you
may not break it; let it drain, and serve up. If some of the heads
of broccoli are much bigger than the others, put them on to boil
first, so that they may get all done together.
Red Beet-Roots
Are not so much used as they deserve; they are dressed in the same
way as parsnips, only neither scraped nor cut till after they are
boiled; they will take from an hour and a half to three hours in
boiling, according to their size. When young, large and juicy, it is
a very good variety, an excellent garnish, and easily converted into
a very cheap and pleasant pickle.
Parsnips
Parsnips are cooked in just the same manner as carrots ["Let them be
well washed and brushed, not scraped. When done, rub off the peels
with a clean coarse cloth, and slice them in two or four, according
to their size"]. They require more or less time according to their
size; therefore match them in size; and you must try them by
thrusting a fork into them as they are in the water; when that goes
easily through, they are done enough. Boil them from an hour to two
hours, according to their size and freshness. Parsnips are sometimes
sent up mashed in the same way as turnips, and some cooks quarter
them before they boil them.
After parsnips are boiled, they should be put into the frying-pan
and browned a little. Some people do not admire this vegetable, on
account of its sickish sweetness. It is, however, a wholesome, cheap
and nourishing vegetable, best calculated for the table in winter
and spring. Its sweetness may be modified by mashing with a few
potatoes.
We confess: we do not really expect very many of our readers to
actually served parsnips at their Christmas dinner. We just had to
include it to get the instructions on how to prepare the beets. Thus
do we display our dedication to bringing you historic recipes in
their precise original form. Be impressed.
SOUP
It would be a rather fancy party to have a separate soup course, but
what the heck, here are a couple of the less complicated potages
from Dr. Kitchiner's collection:
Winter Hotch-Potch
Take the best end of a neck or loin of mutton; cut it into neat
chops: cut four carrots, and as many turnips into slices; put on
four quarts of water, with half the carrots and turnips, and a whole
one of each, with a pound of dried green pease, which must be put to
soak the night before; let it boil two hours, then take out the
whole carrot and turnip; bruise and return them; put in the meat,
and the rest of the carrot and turnip, some pepper and salt, and
boil slowly three-quarters of an hour; a short time before serving,
add an onion cut small and a head of celery.
Cocky-leeky Soup
Take a scrag [neck] of mutton, or shank of veal, three quarts of
water (or liquor in which meat has been boiled,), and a good-sized
fowl, with two or three leeks cut in pieces about an inch long,
pepper and salt; boil slowly about an hour; then put in as many more
leeks, and give it three-quarters of an hour longer: this is very
good, made of good beef-stock, and leeks put in at twice.
Carrot Soup
Scrape and wash half a dozen large carrots; peel off the red outside
(which is the only part used for this soup); put it into a gallon
stew-pan, with one head of celery, and an onion, cut into thin
pieces; take two quarts of beef, veal or mutton broth...when you
have put the broth to the roots, cover the stew-pan close, and set
it on a slow stove for two hours and a half, when the carrots will
be soft enough (some cooks put in a tea-cupful of bread-crumbs);
boil for two or three minutes; rub it through a tamis, or
hair-sieve, with a wooden spoon, and add as much broth as will make
it a proper thickness; put it into a clean stew-pan, make it hot,
season it with a little salt, and send it up with some toasted
bread, cut into pieces half an inch square. Some put it into the
soup, but the best way is to send it up on a plate, as a side-dish.
We take a vacation from our dedication to historical authenticity by
omitting a lengthy discussion on broth-making from roasted meat
bones. It is nearly impossible to find a soup recipe from this
period that does not involve meat as an ingredient, if only in the
form of broth, but if this were to be made with vegetable broth it
would be a nice option for any non-meat-eating dinner guests.
CHEESES/APPETIZERS
Toast and Cheese
Cut a slice of bread about half an inch thick; pare off the crust,
and toast it very slightly on one side so as just to brown it,
without making it hard or burning it.
Cut a slice of cheese (good fat mellow Cheshire cheese, or double
Gloster, is better than poor, thin, single Gloster) a quarter of an
inch thick, not so big as the bread by half an inch on each side:
pare off the rind, cut out all the specks and rotten parts, and lay
it on the toasted bread in a cheese-toaster; carefully watch it that
it does not burn, and stir it with a spoon to prevent a pellicle
forming on the surface. Have ready good mustard, pepper and salt. If
you observe the directions here given, the cheese will eat mellow,
and will be uniformly done, and the bread crisp and soft, and will
well deserve its ancient appellation of a "rare bit."
Dr. Kitchiner makes a joke here, as this recipe is quite identical
to the one commonly known as "Welsh rarebit" or by the vulgar as
"Welsh rabbit." Trust us, this is a real rip-snorter by the
standards of the period. If you think cooking has changed a lot
since the 19th century, try looking into their humor some time.
Pounded Cheese
Cut a pound of good mellow Cheddar, Cheshire, or North Wiltshire
cheese into thin bits; add to it two, and if the cheese is dry
three, ounces of fresh butter; pound, and rub them well together in
a mortar till it is quite smooth. Spread on bread. N. B.: The
piquance of this is sometimes increased by pounding with it curry
powder, ground spice, black pepper, cayenne, and a little made
mustard; and some moisten it with a glass of sherry. If pressed down
hard in a jar, and covered with clarified butter, it will keep for
several days in cool weather.
Pumpkin Chips
It is best to defer making this sweetmeat (which will be found very
fine) till late in the season when lemons are ripe and are to be had
in plenty. Pumpkins (as they keep well) can generally be procured at
any time through the winter.
Take a fine pumpkin of a rich deep colour, pare off the outer rind;
remove the seeds; and having sliced the best part, cut it into chips
of equal size, and as thin as you can do them. They should be in
long narrow pieces, two inches in breadth, and four in length. It is
best to prepare the pumpkin the day before; and having weighed the
chips, allow to each pound of them a pound of the best loaf sugar.
You must have several dozen of fine ripe lemons sufficient to
furnish a jill [note: 1 jill = 1/2 cup] of lemon-juice to each pound
of pumpkin. Having rolled them under your hand on a table to make
them yield as much juice as possible, grate off the yellow rind and
mix it with the sugar. Then having cut the lemons, squeeze out all
the juice into a pitcher. Lay the pumpkin chips in a large pan or
tureen, strewing the sugar among them. Then having measured the
lemon-juice in a wine-glass (two common wine-glasses making one jill)
pour it over the pumpkin and sugar, cover the vessel, and let it
stand all night.
Next day transfer the pumpkin, sugar and lemon-juice to a preserving
kettle, and boil it slowly for an hour or more, or till the pumpkin
becomes all through tender, crisp and transparent; but it must not
be over the fire long enough to break and lose its form. You must
skim it thoroughly. The chips should be so thin as to curl up at the
ends. When you think it is done, take up the pumpkin chips in a
perforated skimmer that the syrup may drain through the holes back
into the kettle. Spread the chips to cool on large dishes, and pass
the syrup through a flannel bag that has been first dipped in hot
water. When the chips are cold, put them into glass jars or
tumblers, pour in the syrup, and lay on the top white paper dipped
in brandy. Then tie up the jars with leather, or with covers of
thick white paper.
If you find that when cold the chips are not perfectly clear, crisp
and tender, give them another boil in the syrup before you put them
up.
This, if well made, is a handsome and excellent sweetmeat. It need
not be eaten with cream, the syrup being so delicious as to require
nothing to improve it. Shells of puff-paste first baked empty, and
then filled with pumpkin chips, will be found very nice.
To use as appetizers these chips should probably be dried off enough
to be handled without making diners' hands all gooey. Pack some up
in jars as directed, though, as the batch looks like it should make
enough that plenty will be left over, and they will serve as unique
handmade gifts. This recipe is from Eliza Leslie's Miss Leslie's
Directions for Cookery, 1853
DESSERTS
We promised you figgy pudding, because that's what's in the song. We
lied. Apparently, as best we can figure out from our personal
collection of more than two dozen 19th century cookbooks as well as
online searching, nobody in the Civil War period ever ate a pudding,
or anything else for that matter, whose principal constituent was
the fig. The best we can do is the following, from The Good
Housekeeper by Sarah Josepha Hale, 1841. At least it specifically
cites Christmas as the occasion for its making:
Plum Pudding
As Christmas comes but once a year, a rich plum pudding may be
permitted for the feast, though it is not healthy food; and children
should be helped very sparingly. The following is a good receipt:--
Chop half a pound of suet very fine; stone half a pound of raisins,
half a pound of currants nicely washed and picked; four ounces of
bread crumbs; four ounces of flour; four eggs well beaten; a little
grated nutmeg; mace and cinnamon pounded very fine; a spoonful of
salt; four ounces of sugar; one ounce candied lemon; same of citron.
Beat the eggs and the spices well together; mix the milk with them
by degrees, then the rest of the ingredients; dip a fine, close
linen cloth into boiling water, and place it in a hair sieve; flour
it a little, them pour in the batter and tie it up, allowing a
little room to swell; put it into a pot containing six quarts of
boiling water and fill up your pot as it wastes [evaporates]; be
sure to keep it boiling at least six hours--seven would not injure
it.
This pudding should be mixed an hour or two before it is put on to
boil; it makes it taste richer.
Oh, you noticed the minor ingredient not included in this "receipt"?
Yup. Not a plum to be seen anywhere. Apparently truth in advertising
laws were not what one might have hoped for back in the Olden Days
either. Sigh.
Pumpkin Pie (from the magazine Godey's Lady's Book, 1860)
Take out the seeds, and pare the pumpkin or squash; but in taking
out the seeds do not scrape the inside of the pumpkin; the part
nearest the seed is the sweetest; then stew the pumpkin, and strain
it through a sieve or colander. To a quart of milk for a family pie
three eggs are sufficient. Stir in the stewed pumpkin with your milk
and beaten-up eggs till it is as thick as you can stir round rapidly
and easily. If the pie is wanted richer, make it thinner, and add
sweet cream or another egg or two; but even one egg to a quart of
milk makes "very decent pies." Sweeten with molasses or sugar; add
two teaspoonfuls of salt, two tablespoonfuls of sifted cinnamon, and
one of powdered ginger; but allspice may be used, or any other spice
that may be preferred. The peel of lemon grated in gives it a
pleasant flavor. The more egg, says an American authority, the
better the pie. Some put one egg to a gill [note: same thing as the
"jill" cited above: 1/2 cup] of milk. [Pour into piecrust and] bake
about an hour in deep plates or shallow dishes, without an upper
crust.
Now that you have a selection of menu items, we conclude with a
description of just precisely what to do with all the goodies you
have just cooked. This dissertation presumes that you have an
extensive staff of not only kitchen personnel but servants to attend
to serving, waiting and cleanup, leaving you only the duties of
maestro over the orchestra. Good luck with that part of things:
The Christmas Dinner Party, or, Start by Laying Your
Tablecloth Right Side Up
(from The Practical Housekeeper, Mrs. E. F. [Elizabeth Fries] Ellet,
New York: Stringer and Townsend, 1857)
"The cloth being laid with its proper side uppermost, I order a
napkin, two knives, two prongs, two tablespoons, and two wineglasses
to be placed for each person, a saltcellar between every other; that
being a condiment which every one uses, though often wrongly; the
cruet-frames and other requisites are kept on the sideboards. I then
have the fish and soup served together; the potatoes and sauce on
the sideboard; I serving the soup, and Mr. B. the fish; and often a
little dish of fried fish, such as smelts, &c., to remove the soups.
This gives me an opportunity of seeing that my guests are properly
attended to, and also leisure to take wine with any gentleman who
challenges me. During the time this course has been progressing, the
cook has had time to dish up the removes nice and hot, and get all
up close to the door, as I like as little time as possible to
intervene in changing the dishes; and these consist generally of
variously dressed chickens, which I have before me, as this gives an
opportunity for the gentleman on my right to display his gallantry;
Mr. B., who is a capital carver, either has a saddle or a haunch of
mutton, or a quarter of lamb before him, the rest of the dishes
consisting of a tongue and entrees. I select those most easy to
carve, and also easy for the cook to prepare. This is a period of
dinner where a great deal depends upon the attendants; they should
know almost by the look what this lady or that gentleman requires,
and what kind of vegetables to hand them; a first-rate butler should
be able to judge by the physiognomy to whom he should offer mint
sauce with the lamb, and who prefers cayenne; on their attention and
hot plates depends the success of the substantial part of the
dinner.
"As soon as I see that all are served, and words are few in
consequence of the organ which utters them being employed in another
way, I give a look to the two servants which they understand, and
immediately two reports are heard--they are from two bottles of
champagne, opened at the same time by the attendants, who have each
a salver with six glasses on it; this takes but a short time to
serve, and prepares the palate for the entrees, which generally get
praised; indeed, my cook would think something was wrong if two of
the dishes did not go down empty. By having the champagne thus, I
find it goes much further than if only one bottle was opened at the
time, there being sufficient left in the bottles for a gentleman to
challenge a lady to take champagne with him. If I have game I remove
the top and bottom dishes with them, and make the sweets a separate
course, taking care to have cold plates for the jelly, and having
the liquors handed round when the sweets are on the table; one
cheese I place opposite Mr. B., and macaroni opposite myself. In the
dessert I generally introduce some new importation, such as bananas,
sugar-cane, American lady apples, prickly pears, &c.; these also
give a subject for the gentlemen to talk about when the ladies have
left, as free trade, colonial policy, &c. About half an hour after
the dessert is on the table, and when I see that the conversation is
becoming less general, I retire to the drawing-room; the servants
then remove the used glass and plates, and Mr. B. introduces some of
his choice claret or Burgundy in ice coolers."
Bon appetite, and a happy New Year to all.
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