The book of The Cheese

by Unknown

[6] Printed and sold by J. Purser in White Fryars, and G. Hawkins at Milton’s Head, between the Two Temple Gates, Fleet St. MDCCXXXVII.

CHAPTER XII
WHAT THE WORLD SAYS OF THE “CHEESE”

That all-softening, overpowering knell,

The tocsin of the soul—the dinner-bell.—Byron.

The “Diner Out,” in the Evening Standard of January 10, 1867, writes:—

“In each of the apartments on the ground floor is a full-length portrait, in oil, of a departed waiter—subscribed for upon his retirement by the gentlemen ‘using’ the house. The one which most strikes my memory at the moment is the representation of a portly, respectable—scrupulously respectable—middle-aged man, clad in a costume worn early in the century—that is to say, the coat is of blue, the buttons are gilt, the cravat is a cheerful roll surmounting a frilled shirt, and the legs know no trousers but the breeches and stockings of departed days, when well-made men ‘stood upon their legs’ in something more than the merely literal sense of the term. The background of the picture is a faithful representation of a section of the room in which it is hung. The box before which the waiter is standing, opening a bottle of port (I say port, because a man would never open a bottle of sherry with the same grave, but complacent, air of responsibility), is a speaking likeness, and so is evidently the representation of the guest for whom the order is being executed—a person even more respectable than the waiter, if possible, with a very high coat collar, his hair all brushed up to the top of his head, and a cute knowledge of wine depicted in every lineament of his countenance. You may be sure that no inferior quality is being opened for him. Indeed, the waiter is as incapable of deceiving as the guest of being deceived. The wine is evidently of that degree of excellence which impels people to talk about it while they drink it—a wine which is its own aim and end—not a mere stimulating drink, setting men on to be enthusiastic upon general subjects. The diner is plainly the model diner of the Cheshire Cheese, as the waiter is the model waiter.

“The Cheshire Cheese is famous for steak-pudding, agreeably tempered by kidneys, larks, and oysters. This dish, which is often ordered for private parties, and even for private houses, is frequently made the occasion of social gatherings of an extensive character—so much so, indeed, that Madame Roland might have extended her celebrated apostrophe to Liberty by saying—‘O Steak Pudding, how much conviviality is committed in thy name!’ Whatever you get at the ‘Cheshire’ is sure to be good and capitally cooked.”

From an article entitled “At the Cheshire Cheese,” which appeared in the Commercial Travellers’ Review, the following is taken:—“At one o’clock—the time at which the ‘Cheese’ is most frequented—we accompanied our friends up Fleet Street, and then by devious ways and turnings, more than enough to upset our geography, until we finally arrived at that part of Wine Office Court where the ‘Cheshire’ stands. We were ushered into what seemed most like the after cabin of a steamer, with comfortably arranged and well appointed miniature tables on either side, attended by trim obliging waiters, and everything else equally inviting, and fully justifying our friend’s previous good report. ‘Roast Lamb,’ ‘Roast Beef,’ ‘Boiled Beef,’ ‘Beefsteak Pie,’ and——‘Thanks—plates for four of the first with the various &c., and four tankards of stout.’ ‘Yes, sir’—and away vanishes our excellent friend, the waiter, to the unknown regions where cook holds sway and reigns supreme, only to return in less time than it takes to record the fact, with all that was calculated to make us content and comfortable.... We enjoyed one of the pleasantest afternoons it has been our good fortune to participate in for many a day. Pleasant dinner—pleasant company over a well-brewed bowl of palatably flavoured sipping punch, that engendered pleasant reflections on past assemblies and present associations—in the heart of dear old London—surely no alloy was possible in our midst, and nothing more was needed save the presence of some other far away friends to overflow the cup of pleasure at the ‘Cheshire Cheese.’”

In the World of December 24, 1884, there is an article on the “The Old Chop Houses,” in which the writer, drawing on the recollections of thirty years, says: “There was only one other house that excelled the old Cheshire Cheese for a steak, and that was the Blue Posts in Cork Street.... But as regards mutton, chops, the Cheshire Cheese was unrivalled in London, or anywhere short of Barnsley, where a mutton chop is about a third part of a loin, not reckoning the chump end, and where this doubled or trebled chop is so taperly trimmed and freed from its superfluous fat, that when cooked, by a process which I take to be rather roasting than grilling, and served with the fillet under, like a sirloin of beef, it might, by virtue of its shapely plumpness, be taken for a roast partridge or grouse.”

Under the head of “Public Refreshment,” in Knight’s “London,” vol. iv., p. 314, appears this passage:—