“Thank you; come again in about twenty minutes, and they shall be ready; or, if you are not in a hurry, stay.”
“No, sir, I am not; our supper business is over.”
“Well, now listen: first, I do not intend to criticise your bill of fare, which is as much varied, if not more so, than that offered at other large taverns, and it is quite as well executed. Now, respecting kidneys—you consume a large quantity of them?”
“So we do, sir.”
“Then I will give you a receipt or two for dressing them:—
No. 1.—Take two kidneys, split them lengthways as close to the sinew as possible without parting them; remove the thin skin, lay them flat upon the table, and season rather highly with salt and pepper; then run them crossways upon a wooden, metal, or silver skewer, forcing the sinew upwards; this will prevent their curling up again while cooking. Next dip them in some well-beaten eggs, to which you have added about a table-spoonful of dissolved butter; or rub them over with a paste-brush, which will do it more equally; roll them in fine bread-crumbs, and slightly beat them on both sides with the flat of your knife to cause the ‘crumbs to stick to the kidneys. Put them upon the gridiron, over a sharp fire, at a proper distance; they will require from five to eight minutes doing, according to size.
For the uninitiated, the following plan is the best to ascertain when they are properly done. Press with the prongs of a fork or the point of the knife upon the thick part of the kidney; if done through, it will feel firm and elastic to the touch. When the kidneys are done, slip them off the skewer on to a hot dish, and place in each a piece of butter, à la maître d’hôtel, about the size of a small walnut; send to table, and by the time it reaches the guest, the butter will be half melted; quite so when the kidney is cut by the customer, who, by turning the pieces and blending the butter with the gravy, will make a rich sauce, and partake of a delicious as well as a wholesome dish.
“Partaking of overdone kidneys at night is the forerunner of the nightmare.”
“You’re right, sir; that it is,” said Little Jack; “for at times we have some left, and keep them warm for supper; and they get as tough as pieces of leather, when after eating three or four—and I am always very tired at night—I never can sleep. Now I think of it, the tough kidneys must be the cause; and if I do sleep, Mr. Soyer, I have such awful dreams that I feel more fatigued when I rise than when I go to bed.”
“Of course,” I replied, “I am well aware of that; they cannot digest; therefore, you see the importance of having them properly done.”