“What’s the matter?” asked Damer.
“The matter, Monsieur le Colonel! Did you see that man who has just gone out? Well, he ordered a red mullet for his dinner. I made him a delicious little sauce with my own hands. The price of the mullet marked on the carte was two shillings; I added sixpence for the sauce. He refuses to pay the sixpence. The imbécile apparently believes that the red mullets come out of the sea, with my sauce in their pockets!”
Major Chambre in his amusing Recollections of West-End Life, tells us that these free suppers “were on so grand a scale, and so excellent, that the Club became the refuge of all the undinnered members and gourmets, who flocked in after midnight from White’s, Brookes’, and the Opera, to partake of the good cheer, and try their fortunes at the hazard-table afterwards. The wines were of first-rate quality, and champagne and hock of the best growths peeped out of ice-pails, to cool the agitated nerves of those who had lost their money. Some who had begun cautiously, and risked but little, by degrees acquired a taste for the excitement of play, and ended by staking large sums.”
Crockford’s
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During the Parliamentary Session, supper was served from twelve to five, and the fare was such as to satisfy the most refined gourmet, and the most experienced “kernoozer.” Crockford started the business of life by keeping a fish-stall hard by Temple Bar.
“In the play-room might be heard the clear ringing voice of that agreeable reprobate, Tom Duncombe, as he cheerfully called ‘Seven,’ and the powerful hand of the vigorous Sefton in throwing for a ten. There might be noted the scientific dribbling of a four by ‘King’ Allen, the tremendous backing of nines and fives by Ball Hughes and Auriol, the enormous stakes played for by Lords Lichfield and Chesterfield, George Payne, Sir St Vincent Cotton, D’Orsay, and George Anson, and, above all, the gentlemanly bearing and calm and unmoved demeanour, under losses or gains, of all the men of that generation.”
The English Spy speaks quite disrespectfully of Crocky’s: “We can sup in Crockford’s pandemonium among parliamentary pigeons, unfledged ensigns of the Guards, broken-down titled legs, and ci-devant bankers, fishmongers and lightermen.…” Apparently unkindly wags spoke of the Club as “Fishmongers’ Hall.”
“Seven’s the main! Eleven’s a nick!”