Cakes & Ale, A Dissertation on Banquets Interspersed with Various Recipes, More or Less Original, and anecdotes, mainly veracious
<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</SPAN></h2>
<h3>THE DAYLIGHT DRINK</h3>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><b>“Something too much of this.”<br/>
</b></span> </div>
<p class="center"><b>————</b></p>
<div class="stanza"> <b><span class="i0">“A nipping and an eager air.”</span></b><span class="i0"><br/>
</span> </div>
</div>
<blockquote>
<p>Evil effects of dram-drinking—The “Gin-crawl”—Abstinence
in H.M. service—City manners and customs—Useless to
argue with the soaker—Cocktails—Pet names for drams—The
free lunch system—Fancy mixtures—Why no Cassis?—Good
advice like water on a duck’s back.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Whilst holding the same opinion as the epicure
who declared that good eating required good drinking,
there is no question but that there should
be a limit to both. There is, as Shakespeare
told us, a tide in the affairs of man, so why should
there not be in this particular affair? Why
should it be only ebb tide during the few hours
that the man is wrapped in the arms of a
Bacchanalian Morpheus, either in bed or in
custody? The abuse of good liquor is surely as
criminal a folly as the abstention therefrom; and
the man who mixes his liquors injudiciously
lacks that refinement of taste and understanding<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</SPAN></span> which is necessary for the appreciation of a good
deal of this book, or indeed of any other useful
volume. Our grandfathers swore terribly, and
drank deep; but their fun did not commence
until after dinner. And they drank, for the
most part, the best of ale, and such port wine as
is not to be had in these days of free trade
(which is only an euphemism for adulteration)
and motor cars. Although mine own teeth are,
periodically, set on edge by the juice of the grape
consumed by an ancestor or two; although the
gout within me is an heritage from the three-,
aye! and four-, bottle era, I respect mine ancestors,
in that they knew not “gin and bitters.” The
baleful habit of alcoholising the inner sinner between
meal times, the pernicious habit of dram-drinking,
or “nipping,” from early morn till
dewy eve, was not introduced into our cities
until the latter half of the nineteenth century
had set in. “Brandy-and-soda,” at first only used
as a “livener”—and a deadly livener it is—was
unknown during the early Victorian era; and
the “gin-crawl,” that interminable slouch around
the hostelries, is a rank growth of modernity.</p>
<p>The “nipping habit” came to us, with other
pernicious “notions,” from across the Atlantic
Ocean. It was Brother Jonathan who established
the bar system; and although for the most part,
throughout Great Britain, the alcohol is dispensed
by young ladies with fine eyes and a
great deal of adventitious hair, and the “bar-keep,”
with his big watch chain, and his “guns,”
placed within easy reach, for quick-shooting
saloon practice, is unknown on this side, the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</SPAN></span> hurt of the system (to employ an Americanism)
“gets there just the same.” There is not the
same amount of carousing in the British army
as in the days when I was a “gilded popinjay”
(in the language of Mr. John Burns; “a five-and-twopenny
assassin,” in the words of somebody
else). In those days the use of alcohol, if
not absolutely encouraged for the use of the
subaltern, was winked at by his superiors, as
long as the subalterns were not on duty, or on
the line of march—and I don’t know so much
about the line of march, either. But with any
orderly or responsible duty to be done, the
beverage of heroes was not admired. “Now
mind,” once observed our revered colonel, in the
ante-room, after dinner, “none of you young
officers get seeing snakes and things, or otherwise
rendering yourselves unfit for service; or I’ll try
the lot of you by court martial, I will, by ——.”
Here the adjutant let the regimental bible drop
with a bang. Tea is the favourite ante-room
refreshment nowadays, when the officer, young
or old, is always either on duty, or at school.
And the education of the modern warrior is never
completed.</p>
<p>But the civilian—sing ho! the wicked
civilian—is a reveller, and a winebibber, for the
most part. Very little business is transacted
except over what is called “a friendly glass.”
“I want seven hundred an’ forty-five from you,
old chappie,” says Reggie de Beers of the “House,”
on settling day. “Right,” replies his friend
young “Berthas”: “toss you double or quits.
Down with it!” And it would be a cold day<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</SPAN></span> were not a magnum or two of “the Boy” to be
opened over the transaction. The cheap eating-house
keeper who has spent his morning at the
“market,” cheapening a couple of pigs, or a dozen
scraggy fowls, will have spent double the money
he has saved in the bargain, in rum and six-penny
ale, ere he gets home again; and even a
wholesale deal in evening journals, between two
youths in the street, requires to be “wetted.”
Very sad is it not? But, as anything which I—who
am popularly supposed to be something
resembling a roysterer, but who am in reality one
of the most discreet of those who enjoy life—can
write is not likely to work a change in the
system which obtains amongst English-speaking
nations, perhaps the sooner I get on with the
programme the better. Later on I may revert
to the subject.</p>
<p>Amongst daylight (and midnight, for the
matter of that) drinks, the <span class="smcap">Cocktail</span>, that
fascinating importation from Dollarland, holds a
prominent place. This is a concoction for
which, with American bars all over the Metropolis,
the cockney does not really require any
recipe. But as I trust to have some country
readers, a few directions may be appended.</p>
<h4><i>Brandy Cocktail.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>One wine-glassful of old brandy, six drops of
Angostura bitters, and twenty drops of curaçoa, in
a small tumbler—all cocktails should be made in
a small silver tumbler—shake, and pour into glass
tumbler, then fill up with crushed ice. Put a shred
of lemon peel atop.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</SPAN></span></p>
<h4><i>Champagne Cocktail.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>One teaspoonful of sifted sugar, ten drops of
Angostura bitters, a small slice of pine-apple, and a
shred of lemon peel. Strain into glass tumbler, add
crushed ice, and as much champagne as the tumbler
will hold. Mix with a spoon.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Bengal Cocktail.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>Fill tumbler half full of crushed ice. Add thirty
drops of maraschino, one tablespoonful of pine-apple
syrup, thirty drops of curaçoa, six drops of Angostura
bitters, one wine-glassful of old brandy. Stir, and
put a shred of lemon peel atop.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Milford Cocktail.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p class="center">(Dedicated to Mr. Jersey.)</p>
<p>Put into a half-pint tumbler a couple of lumps
of best ice, one teaspoonful of sifted sugar, one
teaspoonful of orange bitters, half a wine-glassful of
brandy. Top up with bottled cider, and mix with
a spoon. Serve with a strawberry, and a sprig of
verbena atop.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Manhattan Cocktail.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>Half a wine-glassful of vermouth (Italian), half
a wine-glassful of rye whisky (according to the
American recipe, though, personally, I prefer Scotch),
ten drops of Angostura bitters, and six drops of
curaçoa. Add ice, shake well, and strain. Put a
shred of lemon peel atop.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Yum Yum Cocktail.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>Break the yolk of a new-laid egg into a small
tumbler, and put a teaspoonful of sugar on it.
Then six drops of Angostura bitters, a wine-glassful<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</SPAN></span> of sherry, and half a wine-glassful of brandy. Shake
all well together, and strain. Dust a very little
cinnamon over the top.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Gin Cocktail.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>Ten drops of Angostura bitters, one wine-glassful
of gin, ten drops of curaçoa, one shred of lemon
peel. Fill up with ice, shake, and strain.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Newport Cocktail.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>Put two lumps of ice and a small <i>slice</i> of lemon
into the tumbler, add six drops of Angostura bitters,
half a wine-glassful of noyau, and a wine-glassful of
brandy. Stir well, and serve with peel atop.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Saratoga Cocktail.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>This is a more important affair, and requires a
large tumbler for the initial stage. One teaspoonful
of pine-apple syrup, ten drops of Angostura bitters,
one teaspoonful of maraschino, and a wine-glassful of
old brandy. Nearly fill the tumbler with crushed
ice, and shake well. Then place a couple of strawberries
in a small tumbler, strain the liquid on them,
put in a strip of lemon peel, and top up with
champagne.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Whisky Cocktail.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>Put into a small tumbler ten drops of Angostura
bitters, and one wine-glassful of Scotch whisky. Fill
the tumbler with crushed ice, shake well, strain
into a large wine-glass, and place a strip of peel
atop.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>But the ordinary British “bar-cuddler”—as
he is called in the slang of the day—recks not of
cocktails, nor, indeed, of Columbian combinations<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</SPAN></span> of any sort. He has his own particular “vanity,”
and frequently a pet name for it. “Gin-and-angry-story”
(Angostura), “slow-and-old” (sloe-gin
and Old Tom), “pony o’ Burton, please
miss,” are a few of the demands the attentive
listener may hear given. Orange-gin, gin-and-orange-gin,
gin-and-sherry (O bile where is thy
sting?), are favourite midday “refreshers”; and
I have heard a well-known barrister call for
“a split Worcester” (a small wine-glassful of
Worcester sauce with a split soda), without a
smile on his expressive countenance. “Small lem.
and a dash” is a favourite summer beverage, and,
withal, a harmless one, consisting of a small
bottle of lemonade with about an eighth of a
pint of bitter ale added thereto. In one old-fashioned
hostelry I wot of—the same in which
the chair of the late Doctor Samuel Johnson is
on view—customers who require to be stimulated
with gin call for “rack,” and Irish whisky is
known by none other name than “Cork.” The
habitual “bar-cuddler” usually rubs his hands
violently together, as he requests a little attention
from the presiding Hebe; and affects a sort of
shocked surprise at the presence on the scene of
any one of his friends or acquaintances. He is
well-up, too, in the slang phraseology of the day,
which he will ride to death on every available
opportunity. Full well do I remember him in
the “How’s your poor feet?” era; and it seems
but yesterday that he was informing the company
in assertive tones, “Now we <i>shan’t</i> be long!”
The “free lunch” idea of the Yankees is only
thoroughly carried out in the “North Countree,”<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</SPAN></span> where, at the best hotels, there is often a great
bowl of soup, or a dish of jugged hare, or of
Irish stew, <i>pro bono publico</i>; and by <i>publico</i> is
implied the hotel directorate as well as the
customers. In London, however, the free lunch
seldom soars above salted almonds, coffee beans,
cloves, with biscuits and American cheese. But
at most refreshment-houses is to be obtained for
cash some sort of a restorative sandwich, or <i>bonne
bouche</i>, in the which anchovies and hard-boiled
eggs play leading parts; and amongst other restorative
food, I have noticed that parallelograms
of cold Welsh rarebit are exceedingly popular
amongst wine-travellers and advertisement-agents.
The genius who propounded the statement that
“there is nothing like leather” could surely
never have sampled a cold Welsh rarebit!</p>
<h4><i>Bosom Caresser.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>Put into a small tumbler one wine-glassful of sherry,
half a wine-glassful of old brandy, the yolk of an egg,
two teaspoonfuls of sugar, and two grains of cayenne
pepper; add crushed ice, shake well, strain, and
dust over with nutmeg and cinnamon.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>A Nicobine</i>,</h4>
<p>(or “Knickerbein” as I have seen it spelt), used
to be a favourite “short” drink in Malta, and
consisted of the yolk of an egg (intact) in a
wine-glass with <i>layers</i> of curaçoa, maraschino,
and green chartreuse; the liquors not allowed to
mix with one another. The “knickerbein”
recipe differs materially from this, as brandy is<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</SPAN></span> substituted for chartreuse, and the ingredients
are shaken up and strained, the white of the egg
being whisked and placed atop. But, either way,
you will get a good, bile-provoking mixture.
In the</p>
<h4><i>West Indies</i>,</h4>
<blockquote>
<p>if you thirst for a rum and milk, cocoa-nut milk
is the “only wear”; and a very delicious potion
it is. A favourite mixture in Jamaica was the
juice of a “star” apple, the juice of an orange,
a wine-glassful of sherry, and a dust of nutmeg.
I never heard a name given to this.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Bull’s Milk.</i></h4>
<p>This is a comforting drink for summer or
winter. During the latter season, instead of
adding ice, the mixture may be heated.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>One teaspoonful of sugar in a <i>large</i> tumbler, half-a-pint
of milk, half a wine-glassful of rum, a wine-glassful
of brandy; add ice, shake well, strain, and
powder with cinnamon and nutmeg.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Fairy Kiss.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>Put into a small tumbler the juice of a quarter of
lemon, a quarter of a wine-glassful each of the following:—Vanilla
syrup, curaçoa, yellow chartreuse,
brandy. Add ice, shake, and strain.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Flash of Lightning.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>One-third of a wine-glassful each of the following,
in a small tumbler:—Raspberry syrup, curaçoa,
brandy, and three drops of Angostura bitters. Add
ice, shake and strain.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</SPAN></span></p>
<h4><i>Flip Flap.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>One wine-glassful of milk in a small tumbler, one
well-beaten egg, a little sugar, and a wine-glassful of
port. Ice, shake, strain, and sprinkle with cinnamon
and nutmeg.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Maiden’s Blush.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>Half a wine-glassful of sherry in a small tumbler, a
quarter of a wine-glassful of strawberry syrup, and a
little lemon juice. Add ice, and a little raspberry
syrup. Shake, and drink through straws.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Athole Brose</i></h4>
<p>is compounded, according to a favourite author,
in the following manner:—</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“Upon virgin honeycombs you pour, according
to their amount, the oldest French brandy and the
most indisputable Scotch whisky in equal proportions.
You allow this goodly mixture to stand
for days in a large pipkin in a cool place, and it is
then strained and ready for drinking. Epicures
drop into the jug, by way of imparting artistic
finish, a small fragment of the honeycomb itself.
This I deprecate.”</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Tiger’s Milk.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>Small tumbler. Half a wine-glassful each of cider
and Irish whisky, a wine-glassful of peach brandy.
Beat up separately the white of an egg with a little
sugar, and add this. Fill up the tumbler with ice;
shake, and strain. Add half a tumbler of milk, and
grate a little nutmeg atop.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Wyndham.</i></h4>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</SPAN></span></p>
<blockquote>
<p>Large tumbler. Equal quantities (a liqueur glass
of each) of maraschino, curaçoa, brandy, with a little
orange peel, and sugar. Add a glass of champagne,
and a <i>small</i> bottle of seltzer water. Ice, and mix
well together. Stir with a spoon.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Happy Eliza.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>Put into a skillet twelve fresh dried figs cut open,
four apples cut into slices without peeling, and half
a pound of loaf sugar, broken small. Add two quarts
of water, boil for twenty minutes, strain through a—where’s
the brandy? Stop! I’ve turned over
two leaves, and got amongst the <i>Temperance Drinks</i>.
Rein back!</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Mint Julep.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>This, properly made, is the most delicious of all
American beverages. It is mixed in a large tumbler,
in the which are placed, first of all, two and a half
tablespoonfuls of water, one tablespoonful of
sugar (crushed), and two or three sprigs of mint,
which should be pressed, with a spoon or crusher,
into the sugar and water to extract the flavour.
Add two wine-glassfuls of old brandy—<i>now</i> we
shan’t be long—fill up with powdered ice, shake
well, get the mint to the top of the tumbler, stalks
down, and put a few strawberries and slices of
orange atop. Shake in a little rum, last of all,
and drink through straws.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Possets.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p class="center">(An eighteenth-century recipe.)</p>
<p>“Take three gills of sweet cream, a grated rind
of lemon, and juice thereof, three-quarters of a pint
of sack or Rhenish wine. Sweeten to your taste
with loaf sugar, then beat in a bowl with a whisk<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</SPAN></span> for one hour, and fill your glasses and drink to the
king.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>We are tolerably loyal in this our time; still
it is problematical if there exist man or woman
in Merry England, in our day who would whisk
a mixture for sixty minutes by the clock, even
with the prospect of drinking to the reigning
monarch.</p>
<h4><i>Brandy Sour.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>This is simplicity itself. A teaspoonful of sifted
sugar in a small tumbler, a little lemon rind and
juice, one wine-glassful of brandy. Fill nearly up
with crushed ice, shake and strain. <span class="smcap">Whisky Sour</span> is
merely Scotch whisky treated in the same kind,
open-handed manner, with the addition of a few
drops of raspberry syrup.</p>
</blockquote>
<h4><i>Blue Blazer.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>Don’t be frightened; there is absolutely no
danger. Put into a silver mug, or jug, previously
heated, two wine-glassfuls of overproof (or proof)
Scotch whisky, and one wine-glassful of <i>boiling</i> water.
Set the liquor on fire, and pass the blazing liquor
into another mug, also well heated. Pass to and
fro, and serve in a tumbler, with a lump of sugar
and a little thin lemon peel. Be very particular not
to drop any of the blazer on the cat, or the hearth-rug,
or the youngest child. This drink would, I
should think, have satisfied the aspirations of Mr.
Daniel Quilp.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>One of the most wholesome of all “refreshers,”
is a simple liquor, distilled from black-currants,
and known to our lively neighbours
as</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</SPAN></span></p>
<h4><i>Cassis.</i></h4>
<p>This syrup can be obtained in the humblest <i>cabaret</i> in France; but we have to thank the
eccentric and illogical ways of our Customs
Department for its absence from most of our own
wine lists. The duty is so prohibitive—being
half as much again as that levied on French
brandy—that it would pay nobody but said
Customs Department to import it into England;
and yet the amount of alcohol contained in cassis
is infinitesimal. Strange to say nobody has ever
started a cassis still on this side. One would
imagine that the process would be simplicity
itself; as the liquor is nothing but cold black-currant
tea, with a suspicion of alcohol in it.</p>
<h4><i>Sligo Slop.</i></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>This is an Irish delight. The juice of ten
lemons, strained, ten tablespoonfuls of sifted sugar,
one quart of John Jameson’s oldest and best whisky,
and two port wine-glassfuls of curaçoa, all mixed together.
Let the mixture stand for a day or two,
and then bottle. This should be drunk neat, in
liqueur-glasses, and is said to be most effectual
“jumping-powder.” It certainly reads conducive to
timber-topping.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Take it altogether the daylight drink is a
mistake. It is simply ruin to appetite; it is
more expensive than those who indulge therein
are aware of at the time. It ruins the nerves,
sooner or later; it is <i>not</i> conducive to business,
unless for those whose heads are especially hard;
and it spoils the palate for the good wine which<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</SPAN></span> is poured forth later on. The precept cannot be
too widely laid down, too fully known:</p>
<h4><i>Do not drink between Meals!</i></h4>
<p>Better, far better the three-bottle-trick of our
ancestors, than the “gin-crawl” of to-day.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</SPAN></span></p>
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