It is not on record, I think, who the original inventor of picnics was; nor does it much matter. There may be mention of them in Shakespeare, and certainly Nebuchadnezzar would seem to be one of the earliest picnickers in history; but whosoever may first have suggested the unpacking of a heterogeneous collection of cold cates on a greensward, under a summer sun, must have had a good digestion, a pair of knees that bent both ways, and (it is to be hoped) a positive passion for washing up.
Anyhow, it behoves me to make one or two diffident suggestions as to how the usual monotony of the convivial basket may be varied. Take the conventional pigeon pie, for instance—a truly good thing in its way, but capable of improvement. Angel Pie, according to Mr. Gubbins, is an agreeable change, and his recipe in “Cakes and Ale” may very well be followed. Eliza Acton’s pigeon pie is very good too; and it is quite worth the trouble to note the directions carefully.
But picnics need not be all pigeon pie. Let me recommend a toothsome Chaudfroid de Foie-gras en caisses, which is just round or oval-shaped slices of foie gras masked with white or fawn chaudfroid sauce, set in soufflé cases, and decorated with slices of truffle. After the First, a Ballotine de Perdreau Souvaroff is a pleasant change. The dainty bird is stuffed with goose-liver farce and truffles, done up like galantine, and braised, pressed, and glazed.
Although personally I am of those who prefer the unadulterated partridge, there are many quite worthy folk who do not, and for such I quote the above. Other suitable picnic dishes, rather out of the usual run, are Cuisses de Volaille Belle Alliance (or Waterloo, if you will have it so); Filets de Bœuf en Chaudfroid; Pain de Volaille aux Truffes; and Ris d’Agneau à l’Amiral, which is lamb’s sweetbread in oval slices, masked with white sauce, decorated with slices of truffles, and dressed on a vegetable aspic border, with salad in the centre.
A new salad always adds lustre to the dullest picnic. Try this: Potatoes, cold, in slices, plentifully besprinkled with peas and a few broad beans. Or, again, red cabbage with cucumber. In either case the mixture must be carried separately in a bottle, and only poured out at the last moment; then “fatigue” the salad thoroughly, and see that all the liquid is absorbed from the bottom of the bowl. The following picnic menu is put up by Fortnum and Mason in convenient baskets, and when unpacked may be guaranteed to assuage the cravings of the hungriest.
MENU
Saumon, Salade de Concombres.
Homard à la Parisienne.
Chaudfroid de Mauviettes à la Chasseur.
Poularde à l’Ivoire.
Pigeon Pie.
Jambon d’York.
Pressed Beef. Tongues.
Salade Panachée de Haricots Verts et Tomates.
Gâteaux Parisiennes.
Dessert.
Café.
Glaces Variées.
In addition to all these nice things, the baskets contain the necessary materials for tea, such as bread, butter, petits fours, cakes, and such-like.
The following menu is one of a dinner at Prince’s Restaurant, and calls for no special remark, save perhaps to emphasize the deft juxtaposition of the entrée, roast, and bird, which lead up to one another, so to say, in a subtle succession of delicately contrasted flavours.
MENU
Hors d’œuvre à la Parisienne.
Potage Bortsch à la Czarine.
Suprême de Saumon Crême d’anchois.
Aiguillette de Volaille des Bacchantes.
Noisette d’Agneau Edouard VII.
Pommes Nouvelles à la Menthe.
Bécasse rôtie à la Broche.
Salad Mimosa.
Salsifis à la Poulette.
Bombe glacée. Diable Rose.
Corbeille de Friandises.
Canapé Princesse.
Dessert.
Café.
One of our French friends who came over here to enjoy l’entente cordiale—and British hospitality—was returning to France with an English acquaintance. On landing at Dieppe, after rather a rough crossing, John Bull asked Jacques Bonhomme, “Well, did you lunch on board?” “Non, mon ami,” was the reply, “tout au contraire!”