SUPPER
“We are such stuff
As dreams are made of.”
Cleopatra’s supper—Oysters—Danger in the Aden bivalve—Oyster stew—Ball suppers—Pretty dishes—The Taj Mahal—Aspic—Bloater paste and whipped cream—Ladies’ recipes—Cookery colleges—Tripe—Smothered in onions—North Riding fashion—An hotel supper—Lord Tomnoddy at the “Magpie and Stump.”
That cruel and catlike courtesan, Cleopatra, is alleged to have given the most expensive supper on record, and to have disposed of the bonne bouche herself, in the shape of a pearl, valued at the equivalent of £250,000, dissolved in vinegar of extra strength. Such a sum is rather more than is paid for a supper at the Savoy, or the Cecil, or the Metropole, in these more practical times, when pearls are to be had cheaper; and there is probably about as much truth in this pearl story as in a great many others of the same period. I have heard of a fair declassée leader of fashion at Monte Carlo, who commanded that her major domo should be put to death for not having telegraphed to Paris for peaches, for a special dinner; but the woman who could melt a pearl in vinegar, and then drink——halte la! Perhaps the pearl was displayed in the deep shell of the oyster of which the “noble curtesan” partook? We know how Mark Antony’s countrymen valued the succulent bivalve; and probably an oyster feast at Wady Halfa or Dongola was a common function long before London knew a “Scott’s,” a “Pimm’s,” or a “Sweeting’s.”
Thanks partly to the “typhoid scare,” but principally to the prohibitive price, the “native” industry of Britain has been, at the latter end of the nineteenth century, by no means active, although in the illustrated annuals Uncle John still brings with him a barrel of the luscious bivalves, in addition to assorted toys for the children, when he arrives in the midst of a snow-storm at the old hall on Christmas Eve. But Uncle John, that good fairy of our youth, when Charles Dickens invented the “festive season,” and the very atmosphere reeked of goose-stuffing, resides, for the most part, “in Sheffield,” in these practical days, when sentiment and goodwill to relatives are rapidly giving place to matters of fact, motor cars, and mammoth rates.
The Asiatic oyster is not altogether commendable, his chief merit consisting in his size. Once whilst paying a flying visit to the city of Kurachi, I ordered a dozen oysters at the principal hotel. Then I went out to inspect the lions. On my return I could hardly push my way into the coffee-room. It was full of oyster! There was no room for anything else. In fact one Kurachi oyster is a meal for four full-grown men.
More tragic still was my experience of the bivalves procurable at Aden—which cinder-heap I have always considered to be a foretaste of even hotter things below. Instead of living on coal-dust (as might naturally be expected) the Aden oyster appears to do himself particularly well on some preparation of copper. The only time I tasted him, the after consequences very nearly prevented my ever tasting anything else, on this sphere. And it was only the comfort administered by the steward of my cabin which got me round.
“Ah!” said that functionary, as he looked in to see whether I would take hot pickled pork or roast goose for dinner. “The last time we touched at Aden, there was two gents ’ad ’ysters. One of ’em died the same night, and the other nex’ mornin’.”
I laughed so much that the poison left my system.
Yet still we eat oysters—the Sans Bacilles brand, for choice. And if we can only persuade the young gentleman who opens the bivalves to refrain from washing the grit off each in the tub of dirty water behind the bar, so much the better. And above all, the bivalves should be opened on the deep shell, so as to conserve some of the juice; for it is advisable to get as much of the bivalve as we can for the money. Every time I crunch the bones of a lark I feel that I am devouring an oratorio, in the way of song; and whilst the bivalve is sliding down the “red lane” it may be as well to reflect that “there slips away fourpence”; or, as the Scotsman had it, “bang went saxpence!”