Late that night we had grilled bones for supper; not the ordinary
Grilled Bones
which you get in an eating house, but a vastly superior article. We, or rather my messmate, cut a rib from off the aforementioned beef, scored the flesh across, and placed the bone in the centre of a beautifully clear fire which had been specially prepared. It was placed there by means of the tongs—a weapon of inestimable value in Parlour Cookery—and withdrawn by the same medium. Some of the black wanted scraping off the surface of the meat, but the grill was a perfect dream. The Gubbins Sauce, already mentioned in this volume, had not at that time been invented; but as I was never without a bottle of Tapp Sauce—invaluable for Parlour Cookery; you can get it at Stembridge’s—we had plenty of relish. Then we severed another rib from the carcase, and served it in the same manner. For it was winter time and we had wearied of frigid ox.
Next morning the landlady’s face was a study. I rather think that after some conversation, we propitiated her with an order for two for the dress circle; but it is certain that we had tripe that evening.
An ideal supper in miladi’s boudoir is associated, in the writer’s mind, with rose-coloured draperies, dainty china, a cosy fire, a liberal display of lingerie, a strong perfume of heliotrope and orris root—and miladi herself. When next she invites her friends, she will kindly order the following repast to be spread:—
Clear soup, in cups.
Fillets of soles Parisienne.
Chaudfroid of Quails.
Barded sweetbreads.
Perigord pâté.
By way of contrast, let me quote a typical supper-dish which the “poor player” used to order, when he could afford it.
Kidney Dumpling.
Cut a large Spanish onion in half. Take out the heart, and substitute a sheep’s kidney, cut into four. Season with salt and pepper, join the two halves, and enclose in a paste. Bake on a buttered tin, in a moderate oven, for about an hour.
N.B.—Be sure the cook bakes this dumpling, as it is not nice boiled.