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Cakes & Ale, A Dissertation on Banquets Interspersed with Various Recipes, More or Less Original, and anecdotes, mainly veracious

<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> <h3>RESTORATIVES</h3> <div class="poetry-container"> <div class="stanza"> “Raze out the written troubles of the brain, And with some antibilious antidote Cleanse the stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the soul.” </div> </div> <blockquote> William of Normandy—A “head” wind at sea—Beware the druggist—Pick-me-ups of all sorts and conditions—Anchovy toast for the invalid—A small bottle—Straight talks to fanatics—Total abstinence as bad as the other thing—Moderation in all things—Wisely and slow—Carpe diem—But have a thought for the morrow. </blockquote> “I care not,” observed William of Normandy to his quartermaster-general, on the morning after the revelry which followed the Battle of Hastings, “who makes these barbarians’ wines; send me the man who can remove the beehive from my o’erwrought brain.” This remark is not to be found in Macaulay’s History of England; but learned authorities who have read the original MS. in Early Norman, make no doubt as to the correct translation. “It is excellent,” as the poet says, “to have a giant’s thirst; but it is tyrannous to use it[Pg 262] like a giant.” And not only “tyrannous” but short-sighted. For the law of compensation is one of the first edicts of Nature. The same beneficent hand which provides the simple fruits of the earth for the delectation of man, furnishes also the slug and the wasp, to see that he doesn’t get too much. Our friend the dog is deprived of the power of articulation, but he has a tail which can be wagged at the speed of 600 revolutions to the minute. And the man who overtaxes the powers of his inner mechanism during the hours of darkness is certain to feel the effects, to be smitten of conscience, and troubled of brain, when he awakes, a few hours later on. As this is not a medical treatise it would be out of place to analyse at length the abominable habit which the human brain and stomach have acquired, of acting and reacting on each other; suffice it to say that there is no surer sign of the weakness and helplessness of poor, frail, sinful, fallen humanity than the obstinacy with which so many of us will, for the sake of an hour or two’s revelry, boldly bid for five times the amount of misery and remorse. And this more especially applies to a life on the ocean wave. The midshipmite who over-estimates his swallowing capacity is no longer “mast-headed” next morning; but the writer has experienced a cyclone in the Bay of Bengal, ere the effects of a birthday party on the previous night had been surmounted; and the effects of “mast-heading” could hardly have been less desirable. In that most delightful work for the young, Dana’s Two years before the Mast, we read: [Pg 263] “Our forecastle, as usual after a liberty-day, was a scene of tumult all night long, from the drunken ones. They had just got to sleep toward morning, when they were turned up with the rest, and kept at work all day in the water, carrying hides, their heads aching so that they could hardly stand. This is sailors’ pleasure.” Dana himself was ordered up aloft, to reef “torpsles,” on his first morning at sea; and he had probably had some sort of a farewell carouse, ’ere quitting Boston. And the present writer upon one occasion—such is the irony of fate—was told off to indite a leading article on “Temperance” for an evening journal, within a very few hours of the termination of a “Derby” banquet. But how shall we alleviate the pangs? How make that dreadful “day after” endurable enough to cause us to offer up thanks for being still allowed to live? Come, the panacea, good doctor! First of all, then, avoid the chemist and his works. I mean no disrespect to my good friend Sainsbury, or his “Number One Pick-me-up,” whose corpse-reviving claims are indisputable; but at the same time the habitual swallower of drugs does not lead the happiest life. I once knew a young subaltern who had an account presented to him by the cashier of the firm of Peake and Allen, of the great continent of India, for nearly 300 rupees; and the items in said account were entirely chloric ether, extract of cardamoms—with the other component parts of a high-class restorative, and interest. Saddening! The next thing to avoid, the first thing in the morning, is soda-water, whether diluted with brandy or[Pg 264] whisky. The “peg” may be all very well as an occasional potation, but, believe one who has tried most compounds, ’tis a precious poor “livener.” On the contrary, although a beaker of the straw-coloured (or occasionally, mahogany-coloured) fluid may seem to steady the nerves for the time being, that effect is by no means lasting. But the same panacea will not do in every case. If the patient be sufficiently convalescent to digest a <h4>Doctor</h4> (I do not mean a M.R.C.S.) his state must be far from hopeless. A “Doctor” is a mixture of beaten raw egg—not forgetting the white, which is of even more value than the yolk to the invalid—brandy, a little sifted sugar, and new milk. But many devotees of Bacchus could as soon swallow rum-and-oysters, in bed. And do not let us blame Bacchus unduly for the matutinal trouble. The fairy Ala has probably had a lot to do with that trouble. A “Doctor” can be made with sherry or whisky, instead of brandy; and many stockbrokers’ clerks, sporting journalists, and other millionaires prefer a <h4>Surgeon-Major,</h4> who appears in the form of a large tumbler containing a couple of eggs beaten, and filled to the brim with the wine of the champagne district. <h4>A Scorcher</h4> is made with the juice of half a lemon squeezed into a large wine-glass; add a liqueur-glassful of[Pg 265] old brandy, or Hollands, and a dust of cayenne. Mix well, and do not allow any lemon-pips to remain in the glass. <h4>Prairie Oyster.</h4> This is an American importation. There is a legend to the effect that one of a hunting party fell sick unto death, on the boundless prairie of Texas, and clamoured for oysters. Now the close and cautious bivalve no more thrives in a blue grass country than he possesses the ability to walk up stairs, or make a starting-price book. So one of the party, an inventive genius, cudgelled his brains for a substitute. He found some prairie hen’s eggs, and administered the unbroken yolks thereof, one at a time, in a wine-glass containing a teaspoonful of vinegar. He shook the pepper-castor over the yolks and added a pinch of salt. The patient recovered. The march of science has improved on this recipe. Instead of despoiling the prairie hen, the epicure now looks to Madame Gobble for a turkey egg. And a <h4>Worcester Oyster</h4> is turned out ready made, by simply substituting a teaspoonful of Lea and Perrins’ most excellent sauce for vinegar. <h4>Brazil Relish.</h4> This is, I am assured, a much-admired restorative in Brazil, and the regions bordering on the River Plate. It does not sound exactly the sort of stimulant to take after a “bump supper,” or a “Kaffir” entertainment, but here it is: Into a[Pg 266] wine-glass half full of curaçoa pop the unbroken yolk of a bantam’s egg. Fill the glass up with maraschino. According to my notion, a good cup of hot, strong tea would be equally effectual, as an emetic, and withal cheaper. But they certainly take the mixture as a pick-me-up in Brazil. <h4>Port-flip</h4> is a favourite stimulant with our American cousins. Beat up an egg in a tumbler—if you have no metal vessels to shake it in, the shortest way is to put a clean white card, or a saucer, over the mouth of the tumbler, and shake—then add a little sugar, a glass of port, and some pounded ice. Strain before drinking. Leaving out the ice and the straining, this is exactly the same “refresher” which the friends of a criminal, who had served his term of incarceration in one of H.M. gaols, were in the habit of providing for him; and when the Cold Bath Fields Prison was a going concern, there was a small hostelry hard by, in which, on a Monday morning, the consumption of port wine (fruity) and eggs (“shop ’uns,” every one) was considerable. This on the word of an ex-warder, who subsequently became a stage-door keeper. One of the most unsatisfactory effects of good living is that the demon invoked over-night does not always assume the same shape in your waking hours. Many sufferers will feel a loathing for any sort of food or drink, except cold water. “The capting,” observed the soldier-servant to a visitor (this is an old story), “ain’t[Pg 267] very well this morning, sir; he’ve just drunk his bath, and gone to bed again.” And on the other hand, I have known the over-indulger absolutely ravenous for his breakfast. “Brandy and soda, no, dear old chappie; as many eggs as they can poach in five minutes, a thick rasher of York ham, two muffins, and about a gallon and a half of hot coffee—that’s what I feel like.” Medical men will be able to explain those symptoms in the roysterer, who had probably eaten and drunk quite as much over-night as the “capting.” For the roysterer with a shy appetite there are few things more valuable than an <h4>Anchovy Toast.</h4> The concoction of this belongs to bedroom cookery, unless the sitting-room adjoins the sleeping apartment. For the patient will probably be too faint of heart to wish to meet his fellow-men and women downstairs, so early. The mixture must be made over hot water. Nearly fill a slop-basin with the boiling element, and place a soup-plate over it. In the plate melt a pat of butter the size of a walnut. Then having beaten up a raw egg, stir it in. When thoroughly incorporated with the butter add a dessert-spoonful of essence of anchovies. Cayenne ad lib. Then let delicately-browned crisp toast be brought, hot from the fire. Soak this in the mixture, and eat as quickly as you can. The above proportions must be increased if more than one patient clamours for anchovy toast; and this recipe is of no use for a dinner, or luncheon toast; remember that. After the meal is finished turn in between[Pg 268] the sheets again for an hour; then order a “Doctor,” or a “Surgeon-Major” to be brought to the bedside. In another twenty minutes the patient will be ready for his tub (with the chill off, if he be past thirty, and has any wisdom, or liver, left within him). After dressing, if he live in London and there be any trace of brain-rack remaining, let him take a brisk walk to his hair-dresser’s, having his boots cleaned en route. This is most important, whether they be clean or dirty; for the action of a pair of briskly-directed brushes over the feet will often remove the most distressing of headaches. Arrived at the perruquier’s, let the patient direct him to rub eau de Cologne, or some other perfumed spirit, into the o’er-taxed cranium, and to squirt assorted essences over the distorted countenance. A good hard brush, and a dab of bay rum on the temples will complete the cure; the roysterer will then be ready to face his employer, or the maiden aunt from whom he may have expectations. If the flavour of the anchovy be disagreeable, let the patient try the following toast, which is similar to that used with wildfowl: Melt a pat of butter over hot water, stir in a dessert-spoonful of Worcester sauce, the same quantity of orange juice, a pinch of cayenne, and about half a wine-glassful of old port. Soak the toast in this mixture. The virtues of old port as a restorative cannot be too widely known. <h4>St. Mark’s Pick-me-up.</h4> The following recipe was given to the writer by a member of an old Venetian family. [Pg 269] Ten drops of Angostura in a liqueur-glass, filled up with orange bitters. One wine-glassful of old brandy, one ditto cold water, one liqueur-glassful of curaçoa, and the juice of half a lemon. Mix well together. I have not yet tried this, which reads rather acid. For an <h4>Overtrained</h4> athlete, who may not take kindly to his rations, there is no better cure than the lean of an underdone chop (not blue inside) hot from the fire, on a hot plate, with a glass of port poured over. A <h4>Hot-pickle Sandwich</h4> should be made of two thin slices of crisp toast (no butter) with chopped West Indian pickles in between. And for a <h4>Devilled Biscuit</h4> select the plain cheese biscuit, heat in the oven, and then spread over it a paste composed of finely-pounded lobster worked up with butter, made mustard, ground ginger, cayenne, salt, chili vinegar, and (if liked) a little curry powder. Reheat the biscuit for a minute or two, and then deal with it. Both the last-named restoratives will be found valuable (?) liver tonics; and to save future worry the patient had better calculate, at the same time, the amount of Estate Duty which will have to be paid out of his personalty, and secure a nice dry corner, out of the draught, for his place of sepulture. A [Pg 270] <h4>Working-Man’s Livener,</h4> (and by “working-man” the gentleman whose work consists principally in debating in taverns is intended) is usually a hair of the dog that bit him over-night; and in some instances where doubt may exist as to the particular “tufter” of the pack which found the working-man out, the livener will be a miscellaneous one. For solid food, this brand of labourer will usually select an uncooked red-herring, which he will divide into swallow-portions with his clasp-knife, after borrowing the pepper-castor from the tavern counter. And as new rum mixed with four-penny ale occasionally enters into the over-night’s programme of the horny-handed one, he is frequently very thirsty indeed before the hour of noon. I have seen a journalist suck half a lemon, previously well besprinkled with cayenne, prior to commencing his matutinal “scratch.” But rum and milk form, I believe, the favourite livener throughout the district which lies between the Adelphi Theatre and St. Paul’s Cathedral. And, according to Doctor Edward Smith (the chief English authority on dietetics), rum and milk form the most powerful restorative known to science. With all due respect to Doctor Smith I am prepared to back another restorative, commonly known as “a small bottle”; which means a pint of champagne. I have prescribed this many a time, and seldom known it fail. In case of partial failure repeat the dose. A valuable if seldom-employed restorative is made with [Pg 271] <h4>Bovril</h4> as one of the ingredients. Make half-a-pint of beef-tea in a tumbler with this extract. Put the tumbler in a refrigerator for an hour, then add a liqueur-glassful of old brandy, with just a dust of cayenne. This is one of the very best pick-me-ups known to the faculty. A <h4>Swizzle,</h4> for recuperative purposes is made with the following ingredients:—a wine-glassful of Hollands, a liqueur-glassful of curaçoa, three drops of Angostura bitters, a little sugar, and half a small bottle of seltzer-water. Churn up the mixture with a swizzle-stick, which can be easily made with the assistance of a short length of cane (the ordinary school-treat brand) a piece of cork, a bit of string, and a pocket knife. A very extraordinary pick-me-up is mentioned by Mr. F. C. Philips, in one of his novels, and consists of equal parts of brandy and chili vinegar in a large wine-glass. Such a mixture would, in all probability, corrode sheet-iron. I am afraid that writers of romance occasionally borrow a little from imagination. The most effectual restorative for the total abstainer is unquestionably, old brandy. It should be remembered that a rich, heavy dinner is not bound to digest within the human frame, if washed down with tea, or aerated beverages. In fact, from the personal appearances of many worthy teetotallers I have known digestion cannot be their strong suit. Then many abstainers[Pg 272] only abstain in public, for the sake of example. And within the locked cupboard of the study lurks a certain black bottle, which does not contain Kopps’s ale. Therefore I repeat that the most effectual restorative for the total abstainer—whether as a direct change, or as a hair of the dog—is brandy. Our ancestors cooled their coppers with small ale, and enjoyed a subsequent sluice at the pump in the yard; these methods are still pursued by stable-helpers and such like. A good walk acts beneficially sometimes. Eat or drink nothing at all, but try and do five miles along the turnpike road within the hour. Many habitual roysterers hunt the next morning, with heads opening and shutting alternately, until the fox breaks covert, when misery of all sorts at once takes to itself wings. And I have heard a gallant warrior, whilst engaged in a Polo match on York Knavesmire, protest that he could distinctly see two Polo balls. But he was not in such bad case as the eminent jockey who declined to ride a horse in a hood and blinkers, because “one of us must see, and I’m hanged if I can!” It was the same jockey who, upon being remonstrated with for taking up his whip at the final bend, when his horse was winning easily, replied: “whip be blowed! it was my balance pole: I should have fell off without it!” <h4>Straight Talks.</h4> In the lowest depth there is a lower depth, which not only threatens to devour, but which will infallibly devour the too-persistent roysterer.[Pg 273] For such I labour not. The seer of visions, the would-be strangler of serpents, the baffled rat-hunter, and other victims to the over-estimation of human capacity will get no assistance, beyond infinite pity, from the mind which guides this pen. The dog will return to his own vomit; the wilful abuser of the goods sent by a bountiful Providence is past praying for. But to others who are on the point of crossing the Rubicon of good discretion I would urge that there will assuredly come a time when the pick-me-up will lose its virtue, and will fail to chase the sorrow from the brow, to minister to the diseased mind. Throughout this book I have endeavoured to preach the doctrine of moderation in enjoyment. Meat and drink are, like fire, very good servants, but the most oppressive and exacting of slave-drivers. Therefore enjoy the sweets of life, whilst ye can; but as civilised beings, as gentlemen, and not as swine. For here is a motto which applies to eating and drinking even more than to other privileges which we enjoy: <div class="poetry-container"> <div class="stanza"> “Wisely, and slow; They stumble who run fast!” </div> </div> A resort to extremes is always to be deprecated, and many sensible men hold the total abstainer in contempt, unless he abstain simply and solely because a moderate use of “beer and baccy” makes him ill; and this man is indeed a rarity. The teetotaller is either a creature with no will-power in his composition, a Pharisee, who thanks Providence that he is not as other men, or a[Pg 274] lunatic. There can be no special virtue in “swearing off” good food and good liquor; whether for the sake of example, or for the sake of ascending a special pinnacle and posing to the world as the incarnation of perfection and holiness. In the parable, the Publican was “justified” rather than the Pharisee, because the former had the more common sense, and knew that if he set up as immaculate and without guile he was deceiving himself and nobody else. But here on earth, in the nineteenth century, the Publican stands a very poor chance with the Pharisee, whether the last-named assume the garb of “Social Purity,” or “Vigilance,” or the sombre raiment of the policeman. This is not right. This is altogether wrong. The total abstainer, the rabid jackass who denies himself—or claims that he does so—the juice of the grape, and drinks the horrible, flatulent, concoctions known as “temperance beverages,” is just as great a sinner against common sense as that rabid jackass the habitual glutton, or drunkard, who, in abusing the good things of life—the gifts which are given us to enjoy—is putting together a rod of rattlesnakes for his own back. There is nothing picturesque about drunkenness; and there is still less of manliness therein. There is plenty of excuse for the careless, happy-go-lucky, casual over-estimater, who revels, on festive occasions, with his boon companions. ’Tis a poor heart that never rejoices; and wedding-feasts, celebrations of famous victories, birthday parties, and Christmas festivities have been, and will continue to be, held by high and[Pg 275] low, from the earliest times. But there is no excuse, but only pity and disgust, for the sot who sits and soaks—or, worse still, stands and soaks—in the tavern day after day, and carries the brandy-bottle to bed with him. I have lived through two-thirds of the years allotted to man, and have never yet met the man who has done himself, or anybody else, any good by eating or drinking to excess. Nor is the man who has benefited himself, or society, through scorning and vilifying good cheer, a familiar sight in our midst. “Keep in the middle of the road,” is the rule to be observed; and there is no earthly reason why the man who may have applied “hot and rebellious liquors” to his blood, as a youth, should not enjoy that “lusty winter” of old age, “frosty but kindly,” provided those warm and warlike liquors have been applied in moderation. I will conclude this sermon with part of a verse of the poet Dryden’s imitation of the twenty-ninth Ode of Horace, though its heathen carpe diem sentiments should be qualified by a special caution as to the possible ill effects of bidding too fierce a defiance to the “reaction day.” <div style="margin-left:20%"> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> “Happy the man, and happy he alone, He who can call to-day his own; He who, secure within, can say;— To-morrow, do thy worst, I’ve liv’d to-day!” </div> </div></div> <hr class="chap" /> [Pg 277] <h2>INDEX</h2> “Ala,” the fairy, 68 “Albion,” the, 77 Alexander Dumas, 80 Allowable breakfast-dishes, 14 Almanach des Gourmands, 79, 184 Anchovy toast, 267 Angel’s pie, 55 Apium, the, 129 Apricot brandy, 229 Artichoke, the, 130 Jerusalem, 131 Ascot luncheon, 54 Asparagus, 124 with eggs, 17 Aspic, 176 Athole brose, 241 Baksheesh, 100 Ball suppers, 175 Banquet, a vegetarian, 132 “Beano,” a, 121 Beans, 119 “Borston,” 120 Beef, “can’t eat,” 96 Bernardin salmi, a, 92 Birch’s, 37 Bischoff, 211 Biscuit, a devilled, 269 Bishop, 212 Bisque, 89 Bitters, 229 Blackmore, R. D., 247 Blue blazer, 243 Bombay duck, a, 146 Bones, grilled, 189 Bosom caresser, a, 239 Bouillabaisse, 88 Bovril, 271 Braddon, Miss, 247 Brandy, apricot, 229 cherry, 227 ginger, 230 orange, 230 sour, 243 Brazil relish, 265 Breakfast, allowable dishes at, 14 French, 27 Indian, 31 Mediterranean, 26 with “my tutor,” 32 Brillat Savarin, 106 Brinjal, the, 131 Broth, Scotch, 52 Buckmaster, 77 Bull’s milk, 240 Burmah, food in, 203 Burns, John, 234 [Pg 278]Cabbage, the, 115 Calcutta jumble, 16 “Cannie Carle,” 189 Canvass-back duck, a, 95 Carlton House Terrace, 91 Carlyle, Thomas, 246 Carrot, the, 121 Cassis, 244 Cauliflower, the, 115 Cedric the Saxon, 66 Celery, 129 sauce, 164 Champagne and stout, 225 Charles Dickens, 52, 248 Chateaûbriand, a, 70 Chef, Indian, 135 “Cheshire Cheese,” the, 39 pudding, 39 Chinaman’s meal, a, 91 Chops, 50 Chota Hazri, 29 Choufleur aû gratin, 116 Chowringhee Club, the, 135 Christmas dinner, a, 82 Chutnee, raw, 163 Chutnine, 163 Cinquevalli, Paul, 112 City dinners, 100 Clam chowder, 95 Cleopatra, 170 “Coal-hole,” the, 187 Cobbler, champagne, 226 sherry, 226 Cocktail, Bengal, 236 brandy, 235 champagne, 236 gin, 237 Manhattan, 236 Milford, 236 Newport, 237 Saratoga, 237 whisky, 237 Yum Yum, 236 Cod liver, 102 Coffee tree, the, 7 Cold mutton, 162 Collins, John, 218 Coloured help, 94 Corelli, Marie, 247 Cow, milking a, 205 Crécy soup, 122 Cremorne Gardens, 184 Cup, ale, 226 Ascot, 224 Balaclava, 223 Chablis, 222 champagne, 222 cider, 221 claret, 220 Crimean, 223 Moselle, 226 Curry, Benares, 134 dry Madras, 144 locust, 140 Malay, 140 Parsee, 136 powder, 139 Prawn, 143 rice for, 17, 145 what to, 142 when served, 141 Cyclone, a, 262 Dana, 263 Delmonico, 95 Devilled biscuit, a, 269 Dickens, Charles, 52, 248 Dingley Dell, 249 Dinner, afloat, 101 city, 100 Christmas, 82 an ideal, 101 Doctor, a, 264 Samuel Johnson, 71 Donald, 220 Duck, Bombay, 146 canvass-back, 95 jugged, with oysters, 46 Rouen, 87 -squeezer, 93 [Pg 279]Dumas, Alexander, 80 Dumpling, kidney, 190 Early Christians, 63 Closing Act, 181 Eggs and bacon, 13 Elizabeth, Queen, 66 Englishman in China, the, 92 Evans’s, 181 Fairy “Ala,” the, 68 kiss, a, 240 Fergus MacIvor, 67 Fin’an haddie, 23 Fixed bayonet, a, 91 Flash of lightning, a, 240 Flip, ale-, 216 egg-, 217 -flap, 241 Fowls, Surrey, 88 Free trade, 8 French soup, 97 Fricandeau, a, 104 Garlic, 128 Gin, sloe, 227 Ginger brandy, 230 Glasgow, the late Lord, 191 Goats, sacrifice of, 198 Goose pie, 56 Gordon hotels, 71 Green, “Paddy,” 182 Greenland, across, 110 Grilled bones, 189 Grouse pie, 48 Gubbins sauce, 14 Haggis, 63 Halibut steak, a, 20 Happy Eliza, 242 Hawkins, Sir John, 113 Hawthornden, 84 Help, coloured, 94 Highland cordial, 229 Hollingshead, John, 181 Home Ruler, 227 Horatius Flaccus, 112 Horse-radish sauce, 164 steaks, 191 Hotch potch, 53 Hotel breakfasts, 17 “Parish,” 21 Hot-pot, Lancashire, 42 Hunting luncheons, 48 Indian breakfasts, 31 Irish stew, 50 James I., King, 64 Japan, 92 Jesuits, the, 93 Johnson, Doctor, 71 John Collins, 218 “Jolly Sandboys,” the, 51 “Joseph,” 83 Jugged duck with oysters, 46 Jumping powder, 230 Kent Road Cookery, the, 109 Kidney dumpling, 190 in fire-shovel, 188 King James I., 64 Kiss, a fairy, 240 Kitchener, Doctor, 139 Knickerbein, a, 239 Lamb, Charles, 146 Lamb’s head and mince, 186 Lampreys, 106 Lancashire hot-pot, 42 Large peach, a, 15 Larks, such, 46 Lightning, a flash of, 240 Li Hung Chang, 91 Liver, cod’s, 102 Lorna Doone, 247 Louis XII., 60 XIV., 60 Lucian, 119 Luncheon, Ascot, 54 [Pg 280]race-course, 50 Simla, 58 Macaulay, Lord, 261 Madère, 94 Maiden’s blush, 241 Majesty, Her, 107 Mandragora, 231 Marrow, vegetable, 130 Marsala, 94 Mayfair, 85 Mayonnaise, 153 Mediterranean breakfast, a, 26 Mess-table, the, 105 Miladi’s boudoir, 190 Milk, bull’s, 240 Mint julep, 242 Mirepoix, a, 89 Mutton, cold, 162 Nansen’s banquet on the ice, 109 Napoleon the Great, 107 Nero, 62 New York City, 95 Nipping habit, the, 233 “No cheques accepted,” 18 Off to Gold-land, 25 “Old Coppertail,” 197 Onion, the, 128 Orange brandy, 230 sauce, 161 Orgeat, 224 Out West, 96 Oven, the, 76 Overtrained, 269 Oysters, Aden, 172 in their own juice, 173 Kurachi, 171 prairie, 265 sauce, 137 scalloped, 173 stewed, 174 Worcester, 265 “Paddy” Green, 182 Parsnip, the, 129 Parlour cookery, 187 Payne, George, 82 Peake and Allen, 263 Pea soup, 118 Pease, 117 “Peg,” a, 217 Pepper-pot, 195 Peter the Great, 106 Physician, an eminent, 108 Pick-me-up, “Number One,” 263 St. Mark’s, 268 Pickles, hot, 269 Pie, angel’s, 55 goose, 56 grouse, 48 pigeon, 55 pork, 49 Wardon, 5 woodcock, 47 Yorkshire, 49 Poor, how they live, 109 Pope, Doctor Joseph, 146 Possets, 242 Pork, roast, 45 Potato, the, 111 salad, 155 Port-flip, 266 Powder, jumping, 230 Pré salé, a, 90 Prison fare, 110 “Property” food, 258 Pudding, Cheshire cheese, 39 plover, 46 rabbit, 45 snipe, 41 Pulled turkey, 94 Punch, 206 ale, 214 Barbadoes, 214 Cambridge, 210 Curaçoa, 214 Grassot, 214 [Pg 281]Glasgow, 213 Halo, 212 milk, 208 Oxford, 210 Regent, 215 Queen Elizabeth, 66 Rabbit pie, 45 Race-course luncheons, 50 sandwich, 53 Rajah’s hospitality, a, 196 Raleigh, Sir Walter, 113 Rat snakes, 204 Regimental dinner, a, 99 Rice for curry, 17, 145 Richardson, 81 Roasting, 76 Romans, the, 59 Royalty, 85 Rouen ducks, 87 Salad, anchovy, 160 a memorable, 157 boarding-house, 150 celery, 156 cheese in, 158 corn, 158 Francatelli’s, 150 French, 151 fruit, 161 herring, 155 Italian, 159 lobster, 151 maker, a gentleman-, 156 orange, 161 potato, 155 Roman, 159 Russian, 160 tomato, 156 Salads, 147 Sala, George Augustus, 71 Salmi Bernardin, 92 of wild-duck, 93 Salmon steak, 24 Sandhurst R.M.C., 67 Sandwich, a race-course, 53 Sambal, 168 St. Leger, the, 84 Sauce, carp, 165 celery, 164 Christopher North’s, 165 currant, 167 goose, 168 gooseberry, 166 Gubbins, 14 hare, 165 horse-radish, 164 orange, 161 oyster, 137 Tapp, 190 Tartare, 166 Savarin, Brillat, 90 Saxon dining-table, a, 65 Scorcher, a, 264 Scott, Sir Walter, 67 Scalloped oysters, 173 Scotch broth, 52 Shandy gaff, rich man’s, 225 Shepherd’s pie, 45 Ship and Turtle, the, 38 Sidney, Harry, 183 Simla, luncheon at, 58 to Cashmere, 200 Sligo slop, 244 Sloe gin, 227 Smith, Sydney, 147 Snipe pudding, 41 Soup, French, 97 “Spanky,” 182 Spinach, 127 Sprats, 179 Staff of life, the, 7 Steaks, 50 salmon, 24 thoroughbred horse, 191 Steam-chest, the, 76 Stew, Irish, 50 “Jolly Sandboys,” 51 oyster, 174 [Pg 282]Stout and champagne, 225 Straight talks, 272 Suetonius, 61 Suffolk pride, 56 Such larks, 46 Supper, Hotel Cecil, 179 ball, 175 Surgeon-major, a, 264 Surrey fowls, 88 Swizzle, a, 271 Tapp sauce, 190 Tartar sauce, 166 Tea, 6 à la Française, 28 Thibet, 200 Thumb-piece, 53 Tiger’s milk, 241 Toddy, 215 whisky, 216 Tomato, the, 126 Tomnoddy, Lord, 180 Toole, John Lawrence, 258 Tournedos, a, 89 Tripe, 177 how to cook, 178 Tsar, the, 57 Tsaritza, the, 86 Turkey, the, 94 pulled, 94 Turmeric, 139 Turnip, 127 Turner, Godfrey, 103 Vegetarian banquet, a, 132 Vitellius, 61 Vol-au-Vent financière, 90 Waiter, the, 112 Wardon pie, a, 5 Wellington, Duke of, 107 West Indies, the, 240 West, out, 96 Whisky, sour, 243 Wild-duck, salmi of, 93 William the Conqueror, 261 Woodcock pie, 47 Working man, the, 270 Wyndham, 241 Yates, Edmund’s Reminiscences, 178 York, New, 95 Yorkshire pie, 49 <hr class="chap" /> <h3>THE END</h3> <hr class="chap" /> <h5> MILLER, SON, AND COMPY., LIMITED, PRINTERS, FAKENHAM AND LONDON. </h5> <hr class="chap" /> <h2>FOOTNOTES:</h2> <div class="footnote"> [1] It is incorrect to speak of bread as the sole “staff of life.” Eggs, milk, cheese, potatoes, and some other vegetables, supply between them far more phosphoric acid than is to be got from bread, either white or brown. And a man could support existence on “beer and baccy” as well as he could do so on bread alone. </div> <div class="footnote"> [2] In most recipes for puddings or pies, rump steak is given. But this is a mistake, as the tendency of that part of the ox is to harden, when subjected to the process of boiling or baking. Besides the skirt—the thick skirt—there be tit-bits to be cut from around the shoulder. </div> <div class="footnote"> [3] The cannie Scot, however, never made his haggis from anything belonging to the pig. The dislike of the Scots to pork dates from very long ago, as we read in a note to Sir Walter Scott’s Waverley. King “Jamie” carried this prejudice to England, and is known to have abhorred pork almost as much as he did tobacco. His proposed banquet to the “Deil” consisted of a loin of pork, a poll (or head) of ling, with a pipe of tobacco for digestion. </div> <div class="footnote"> [4] This dish must somewhat resemble the “Fixed Bayonet,” which at one time was the favourite tit-bit of “Tommy Atkins,” when quartered in India. It consisted of a fowl, stuffed with green chilis, and boiled in rum. The fowl was picked to the bones, and the soldier wound up with the soup. Very tasty! </div> <div class="footnote"> [5] Kidney potatoes should always be boiled, as steaming makes them more “waxy.” </div> <div class="footnote"> [6] Doubtful starters. </div> <div class="footnote"> [7] Formerly Assistant-Surgeon Royal Artillery. A celebrated lecturer on “The Inner Man,” and author of Number One, and How to take Care of Him, etc. </div> <div class="footnote"> [8] “Of all the delicacies in the whole mundus edibilis I will maintain it to be the most delicate—princeps obsoniorum. I speak not of your grown porkers—things between pig and pork—those hobbydehoys; but a young and tender suckling, under a moon old, guiltless as yet of the sty, with no original speck of the amor immunditiae, the hereditary failing of the first parents, yet manifest—his voice as yet not broken, but something between a childish treble and a grumble—the mild forerunner or praeludium of a grunt. He must be roasted. I am not ignorant that our ancestors ate them seethed, or boiled—but what a sacrifice of the exterior tegument! “His sauce should be considered. Decidedly a few bread-crumbs, done up with his liver and brains, and a dash of mild sage. But banish, dear Mrs. Cook, I beseech you, the whole onion tribe. Barbecue your whole hogs to your palate, steep them in shalots, stuff them out with plantations of the rank and guilty garlic—you cannot poison them, or make them stronger than they are; but consider, he is a weakling—a flower.”—Lamb on Pig. </div> <div class="footnote"> [9] Our then commanding officer was noted for his powers of self-control. I once noticed him leave the table hurriedly, and retire to the verandah. After an interval he returned, and apologised to the President. Our revered chief had only swallowed a flying bug. And he never even used a big D. </div> <div class="footnote"> [10] An excellent aerated water and a natural one, is obtained from springs in the valley beneath the Long Mynd, near Church Stretton, in Shropshire. In fact, the Stretton waters deserve to be widely known, and are superior to most of the foreign ones. </div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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