“Have you nothing else?”
“Yes, sir, grilled fowl and scalloped oysters; only they will take some time preparing.”
“Well, give me scalloped oysters, and my favourite Welsh rare-bit, made in my style—you know; a pint of port wine, and fresh toast for the rare-bit.”
“Yes, sir; the cook knows—I’ll tell him it is for you.”
“But how is it you never vary your supper bill of fare? it is very scanty of choice for such a large tavern as this. I do not mean to complain, but give a little change now and then, by introducing a few new dishes.”
“Ah! you’re right, sir; it would please the customers, and be much better for us waiters, to have something new to offer; but, bless you, sir! I have been many years in this place, and it was always the same; and no doubt will remain so for as long again, unless a gentleman like you takes it in hand—they would then attend to it; but, of course, you have something else to do.”
“So I have; yet I don’t see why, in my next book upon cookery, I should not devote a few pages to the London suppers. I intend doing so, and, when published, I shall be happy to present you with a copy.”
“That will be first-rate, sir; I thank you, and wont I recommend the new dishes à la Soyer, as some of our customers call them!”
“Well, my man, upon second thoughts, as you seem so anxious about it, and I am not going to join my friends, give me a pen and ink, and while supper is preparing, I will write a few practical receipts, which can be easily introduced without interfering with your duty or the kitchen; they will, no doubt, prove agreeable to your customers, who are in general a class of bon vivants, fond of good things as well as of variety in the bill of fare.”
“Here is the pen, paper, and ink, sir.”