a bird which at that period had probably not been invented. But the modern Scottish breakfast-table is not properly furnished without it. The genuine “Fin’an” is known by its appetising savour and by its colour—a creamy yellow, which is totally distinct from the Vandyke browny hue of the haddock which is creosoted in the neighbourhood of the Blackfriars Road, London, S.E. “Strip off the skin,” says the recipe in one cookery book, “and broil before the fire or over a quick clear one.” Another way—my way—is not to strip off the skin and to steam your haddies. Place them in a dish which has been previously heated. Throw boiling water on them, and cover closely with a plate; place on a hot stove, and in from 10 to 15 minutes the Fin’ans will be accomplished. Drain, and serve hot as hot, buttered, with a sprinkling of cayenne, and, maybe, a dash of Worcester sauce.
Salmon is naturally a welcome guest at the table of the land of his birth, served fresh when in season, and smoked or kippered at all times.
A Salmon Steak
with the “curd” between the flakes, placed within a coat of virgin-white paper (oiled) and grilled for 15 minutes or so, is an excellent breakfast dish. A fry of small troutlets, a ditto of the deer’s interior economy—Mem. When up at the death of a hunted stag, always beg or annex a portion of his liver—are also common dishes at the first meal served by the “gudewife”; and I once met a cold haggis at 9.30 A.M. But this, I rather fancy, was “a wee bit joke” at my expense. Anyhow I shall have plenty to say about the “great chieftain o’ the puddin’ race” in a later chapter.
Off to Gold-land!
Those that go down to the sea in ships, and can summon up sufficient presence of mind to go down to the saloon at meal times, have far from a bad time of it. Living was certainly better on the ocean wave in the days when livestock was kept on board, and slaughtered as required; for the effect of keeping beef, pork, and mutton in a refrigerating chamber for any length of time is to destroy the flavour, and to render beef indistinguishable from the flesh of the hog, and mutton as tasteless as infantine pap. But the ship’s galley does its little utmost; and the saloon passenger, on his way to the other side of the equator, may regale himself with such a breakfast as the following, which is taken from the steward’s book of a vessel belonging to the Union Line:—
Porridge, fillets of haddock with fine herbs, mutton chops and chip potatoes, savoury omelet, bacon on toast, minced collops, curry and rice, fruit, rolls, toast, etc., tea and coffee.
Cannot my readers imagine a steward entering the state-room of the voyager who has succumbed to the wiles and eccentricities of the Bay of Biscay, with the observation: “Won’t you get up to breakfast, sir?—I’ve reserved a beautiful fat chop, with chips, o’ purpose for you, sir.”
And the lot of the third-class passenger who is conveyed from his native land to the Cape of Good Hope, for what Mr. Montague Tigg would have called “the ridiculous sum of” £16: 16s., is no such hard one, seeing that he is allotted a “bunk” in a compact, though comfortable cabin, and may break his fast on the following substantial meal:—