Frontispiece of the Second Canto of "La Conversation" of the Abbé Délille, 1822
"The Art of Dining" also forms the title of a work by the scholarly essayist Abraham Hayward, a rearrangement of two articles he had contributed to the "Quarterly Review" in 1835 and 1836.[42] By few writers has the subject been treated so invitingly. There is no taint of grossness throughout his review; and if it be true that next to partaking of a good dinner is to read about one, we must thank him for the enjoyment he has contributed. A distinguished scholar and epicure, he had travelled widely, and was equally at home in the French and English capitals. All the celebrated restaurants, chefs, and maîtres-d'hôtel of Paris were familiar to him, while few have shown themselves as conversant with the literature of his theme. He had, moreover, an entrée into the most distinguished circles; and, last but not least, possessed a marvellous memory to recall the people he had met, and the dinners and festivities at which he had assisted—with the bon-mots, repartees, and anecdotes that the popping of corks without number had set free. As a raconteur, with an unlimited repertory of incidents concerning the notables who were prominent in society, politics, and gastronomy, he is said to have been unsurpassed.
His subject, he states, has been discussed with the object of facilitating convivial enjoyment and promoting sociability; and in these matters he will be found both a brilliant causeur and connoisseur. Passing by his anecdotal review of Parisian cookery, his reference to the simple expedients by which the success of a dinner may be insured will serve to show his resources, and his grasp of the practical side of the topic:
"We have seen Painter's turtle prepare the way for a success which was crowned by a lark pudding. We have seen a kidney dumpling perform wonders; and a noble-looking shield of Canterbury brawn from Groves's diffuse a sensation of unmitigated delight. One of Morell's Montanches hams, or a woodcock pie from Bavier's of Boulogne, would be a sure card; but a home-made partridge pie would be more likely to come upon your company by surprise, provided a beefsteak be put over as well as under the birds, and the birds be placed with their breasts downwards in the dish. Game or wild fowl is never better than broiled; and a boiled shoulder of mutton, or boiled duck or pheasant, might alone found a reputation. A still more original notion was struck out by a party of eminent connoisseurs who entertained the Right Hon. Sir Henry Ellis at Fricœur's, just before he started on his Persian embassy. They actually ordered a roasted turbot, and were boasting loudly of the success of the invention when a friend of ours had the curiosity to ask M. Fricœur in what manner he set about the dressing of the fish. 'Why, sare, you no tell; we no roast him at all; we put him in oven and bake him.'"
Some there are who would seriously object to boiled mutton as opposed to roast, and who assuredly would cry out in horror at a duck or game-bird boiled. Yet boiled mutton with capers is orthodox—like corned beef and cabbage, or the Rindfleisch with horseradish sauce, which blends so well with the Münchner where one meets it in the middle of the day in Germany. A broiled teal, wood-duck, or butterball, by all means; but a roast canvasback, redhead, or mallard in preference always.
"Marrowbones are always popular" [the author continues]. "So is a well-made devil or a broil. When a picture of the Dutch school, representing a tradesman in a passion with his wife for bringing up an underdone leg of mutton, was shown to the late Lord Hertford, his lordship's first remark was, 'What a fool that fellow is not to see that he may have a capital broil!' A genuine hure de sanglier, or wild boar's head, would elevate the plainest dinner into dignity. The comparative merits of pies and puddings present a problem which it is no easy matter to decide. On the whole, we give the preference to puddings, as affording more scope to the inventive genius of the cook. A plum-pudding, for instance, our national dish, is hardly ever boiled enough. A green apricot tart is commonly considered the best tart that is made: but a green apricot pudding is a much better thing. A cherry dumpling is better than a cherry tart. A beefsteak pudding, again, is better than the corresponding pie; but oysters and mushrooms are essential to its success. A mutton-chop pudding with oysters, but without mushrooms, is excellent."
Never having tried the last-mentioned "remove," the writer is willing to trust to its excellence, and to the general good taste of Hayward. But one has his doubts sometimes, the proof of the pudding being in the eating; and possibly a mutton-chop and oyster compound may be spoiling two things intrinsically good in themselves, and the dish deserve to be placed in the same category with a boiled pheasant or a wild fowl. Moreover, what may taste or appear excellent in one place does not always appear the same in another, this holding true with many things besides dishes, which may be affected by the climate, the surroundings, or one's mood at the time.
The topic of fish is particularly well treated by Hayward. On the subject of game, he has this to say concerning a native marsh-bird of the sandpiper tribe, highly prized for its eggs and flesh, which has become even yet more rare with the draining of the English meres and fens:
"Ruffs and reeves are little known to the public at large, though honourable mention is made of them by Bewick. The season for them is August and September. They are found in fenny countries (those from Whittlesea Meer in Lincolnshire are best), and must be taken alive and fattened on boiled wheat or bread and milk mixed with hemp-seed, for about a fortnight, taking good care never to put two males to feed together, or they will fight à l'outrance. Prince Talleyrand was extremely fond of ruffs and reeves, his regular allowance during the season being two a day: they are dressed like woodcocks. These birds are worth nothing in their wild state; and the art of fattening them is traditionally said to have been discovered by the monks in Yorkshire, where they are still in high favour with the clerical profession, as a current anecdote will show. At a grand dinner at Bishopthorpe (in Archbishop Markham's time) a dish of ruffs and reeves chanced to be placed immediately in front of a young divine who had come up to be examined for priest's orders, and was considerately (or, as it turned out, inconsiderately) asked to dinner by his grace. Out of sheer modesty, the clerical tyro confined himself exclusively to the dish before him, and persevered in his indiscriminating attentions to it till one of the resident dignitaries (all of whom were waiting only the proper moment to participate) observed him, and called the attention of the company by a loud exclamation of alarm. But the warning came too late: the ruffs and reeves had vanished to a bird, and with them, we are concerned to add, all the candidate's hopes of Yorkshire preferment are said to have vanished too.
"A similar anecdote is current touching wheatears, which, in our opinion, are a greater delicacy. A Scotch officer was dining with the late Lord George Lennox, then commandant at Portsmouth, and was placed near a dish of wheatears, which was rapidly disappearing under his repeated attacks. Lady Louisa Lennox tried to divert his attention to another dish. 'Na, na, my leddy,' was the reply, 'these wee birdies will do verra weel.'"