“Not at all, sir; I see the importance of them.”
“Well, the other receipts will come quite plain and easy to you. To tell the truth, I have had those overdone kidneys upon my conscience for some time. Mind, I do not intend to erase the plain broiled kidneys from the supper bill of fare, for I am very fond of them when properly cooked.”
“They are very good; and many gentlemen will not have them any other way.”
“Well, I do not blame them, for they are both agreeable and nutritious that way; but here is another appetizing receipt, which we will call à la Roberto Diavolo.”
No. 2.—Put two plain kidneys upon a skewer, and with a paste-brush butter them over. Set them upon the gridiron as near the fire as possible, for they cannot be done too fast; turn them every minute, and when half done season with salt, pepper, and a small spoonful of cayenne; chop some gherkins and a little green chillies, if handy; or, instead of either, a table-spoonful of chopped picolilli with the liquor. Put these on a hot plate, with a tea-spoonful of lemon-juice and a pat of butter. Take up the kidneys, and slip them burning hot from the skewer to the plate; turn them round four or five times in the mixture, and serve immediately. A small piece of glaze added to the butter will prove a great addition. Three, four, or five minutes will do them, according to the size.
Kidneys à la brochette, Paris fashion.
The Parisian gourmet would not eat a kidney if it was not served upon the silver skewer; the only merit of which is, that they keep hot longer and look better than when the skewer is omitted; as they often shrink, especially if the sinew has not been properly divided in the splitting of them.
“As, no doubt, you have something to do, you had better leave me; I will write a few more receipts. Bring me my supper in a quarter of an hour, and they will be ready.”
“Very well, sir; I will give a look round and order your supper.”
To the minute Little Jack walked in with the scalloped oysters, which I must admit looked remarkably tempting. He handed me my supper, but upon reflection I did not hand him the receipts, only a list of their names, intending to put them into the cookery-book I had promised him, knowing well enough that it was not in his power to bring them out. He thanked me for my lecture on cookery, as he called it, and the following bill of fare. I paid my bill, and left.