END OF CONTENTS TO THE KITCHEN OF THE WEALTHY.
SOYER’S SAUCE.
DIRECTIONS FOR USE.
For any kind of Cold Meat, Game, and Poultry.—Use it in moderation, as it is.
For Mutton, Lamb, Pork, and Steaks.—When properly broiled and seasoned, pour one tablespoonful or more, according to the quantity of meat, which you turn over in the dish with a fork several times, then you will have a most exquisite gravy.
Plain way for Hot Made-dishes.—In any sort of Hash it is a very great improvement.—For Made-dishes or Entrées, put four tablespoonfuls of Brown Sauce, six of Broth, and, when quite hot, add four tablespoonfuls of Soyer’s Sauce; just boil it, and pour over your Entrées.
For General Purposes.—Put eight tablespoonfuls of water into a stewpan; when boiling, add four ditto of the Sauce, half an ounce of fresh butter, mixed with a quarter of an ounce of flour; stir quick on the fire; add, if required, a little salt; boil one minute, and pour over your dish of meat, game, or poultry.
SOYER’S SAUCES, one for Ladies and one for Gentlemen.
Principal Agent—Messrs. CROSS & BLACKWELL, Soho Square; and Manufactured at 33, Frith Street, Soho.
LIST OF M. SOYER’S CULINARY PRODUCTIONS.
DÉLASSEMENTS CULINAIRES: containing La Fille de l’Orage—Le Rêve d’un Gourmet—Le Plat Pagodatique—and La Crême de la Grande Bretagne. Published byJeffs, Burlington Arcade. Price 3s.THE CREAM OF GREAT BRITAIN, in French and English. Published byJeffss Price 1s.6d.KITCHEN PLAN OF THE REFORM CLUB. Lithographed. Price 10s.SOYER’S CHARITABLE COOKERY; or the Poor Man’s Regenerator. Price 6d.
DÉLASSEMENTS CULINAIRES: containing La Fille de l’Orage—Le Rêve d’un Gourmet—Le Plat Pagodatique—and La Crême de la Grande Bretagne. Published byJeffs, Burlington Arcade. Price 3s.
THE CREAM OF GREAT BRITAIN, in French and English. Published byJeffss Price 1s.6d.
KITCHEN PLAN OF THE REFORM CLUB. Lithographed. Price 10s.
SOYER’S CHARITABLE COOKERY; or the Poor Man’s Regenerator. Price 6d.
Captain White’s Curry Paste and Powders.
Having used the above for a considerable time, I am quite satisfied that in the preparation of various dishes of Curry, none can be employed with better advantage, and of finer flavour. The several ingredients are so well proportioned, that Capt. White’s Curry Paste and Powder possess a delicacy of taste not always to be met with in India.—A. S.
Sold at 33, Frith Street, Soho Square.
A general, indeed almost universal, interest has been evinced for the loss of the late Madame Soyer, by reason of her celebrity as an artist, whose close adherence to nature procured for her in France (from her pictures which were exhibited in the Louvre in Paris) the famed name of the English Murillo. Her paintings evinced a great partiality for the same subject, and a like boldness of effect and sentiment were introduced in all her compositions, though never having copied or tried to imitate this celebrated master.[30]The amiable character of a life but too short, induces me to give an engraving from a portrait of herself, the finished touches of which were put upon the canvas but a few days previous to her lamented decease; her career was one, while it lasted, of great success, and must, had it not been so fatally brought to a close, have resulted in the highest fame; as it was, crowned heads of many nations paid homage at the shrine of her talents, and the cultivated sensibility of the aristocracy of this and other civilized nations has at once appreciated her artistic excellences by the spontaneous expression of admiration upon the examination of her works.
I feel, and am proud in the possession of such an emotion, most strongly—I trust not too much so,—upon this sensitive point. Such reasons, together with the fact that Madame Soyer being an English woman, are amongst my motives for giving here a short biography of her private and industrious life, which, although it appeared in nearly every journal of interest at the period of her unexpected death, will yet, I am assured, possess claims upon the sympathy of her countrymen and women.
In the fullness of my own individual regard for her memory and of her rare gifts, and with a view to perpetuate a memorial of her extraordinary genius, I have for some while been adding to my collection, and at any expense, all those of her paintings which may come within my reach.
The last purchase I made was No. 43 in the catalogue, a Buy-a-Broom Girl and Boy, from the celebrated Saltmarsh collection; this, and many of her other works are to be met with in the galleries of men of the greatest taste and judgment.
“August 29.Died in London, in her 29th year, Emma, the wife of M. Soyer, of the Reform Club House, Pall Mall.
“Madame Soyer (formerly Emma Jones) was born in London in 1813. Her father died when she was only four years of age, and left her to the care of a fond mother, who sacrificed the prospect of an increasing fortune to devoteher time entirely to the education of her child, who showed great inclination for study. The usual instructions were received with success, the French and Italian languages soon acquired, and music became a favorite amusement; in fact, it appeared that whatever was undertaken was of easy accomplishment.
“About the year 1817, M. Simonau, a Flemish artist, pupil of the celebrated Baron Gros, visited London, and brought with him some of his works, which were purchased by an antiquary, who advised him to open an academy for drawing and painting, which he did, and in a short time gained great celebrity. Mrs. Jones having heard of the fame of M. Simonau, went to him with her little girl, and wished him to give her lessons; the extreme youth of the child at first made him hesitate, but at length he consented, and when Emma had been with him about six months, she showed such decided talent, that her mother proposed to remunerate him for the loss of all his other pupils if he would give his whole time to her daughter’s instruction; to this, after some consideration, he agreed, and every succeeding year her improvement was so great, that before the age of twelve she had drawn more than a hundred portraits from life with surprising fidelity.
“During the same time she advanced wonderfully in music, under the eminent pianist, Ancot, who, at that time, was patronized by her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent, and was a great friend of Rossini and Weber—the last of these heard little Emma play a passage of his ‘Der Freischutz’ with so much execution, that he declared, in the most flattering terms, that she would become a brilliant star in the musical world. M. Ancot strongly recommended that she should adopt music as a profession; and, as her mother feared that drawing would injure her health, his opinion was for some time adopted. Through the following circumstances, however, painting was finally chosen instead of music. Mrs. Jones (who, in 1820, had become the wife of M. Simonau) having gone to the continent for her health, young Emma one day looking out of a window at Dunkirk, saw some children blowing bubbles, and immediately, with a piece of charcoal, made a sketch of the group upon the wall: the execution of this rude drawing evinced so much power, that it was at once finally decided by her mother and M. Simonau to adhere to the original intention of making painting her principal study, and that music should only be cultivated as an accomplishment. A few years after a picture from this sketch was sold at Liverpool for sixty pounds.
“At an early age many original paintings and portraits bore ample testimony to the perseverance of the mother, the care of the master, and the genius of the young artist.
“In 1836, Miss Emma Jones was married to M. Soyer at St. George’s church, Hanover square.
“In 1839, the poor mother died, happy that her daughter had attained eminence by her talents, and enjoyed prosperity with the husband of her choice. But, alas! the happiness of nearly six years was destroyed in a few hours; Madame Soyer was taken in premature labour, and died on the same day, regretted by all who knew her. She was of a most amiable and cheerful disposition, a kind friend, excellent and affectionate wife, too modest to set much value upon her works, leaving the palette to attend to her household duties.
“The acuteness of her husband’s feelings was painfully increased by his unfortunate absence, being at Brussels at the time with the suite of the Duke of Saxe Cobourg-Gotha, who had seen M. Soyer in his culinary department at the Reform Club, and having greatly admired several of Madame Soyer’s pictures,did her the honour to subscribe for a print from her picture of the ‘Young Israelites,’ which has since been dedicated, by permission, to his Serene Highness.”[31]
“The death of this lady has been a source of great regret to all the lovers and encouragers of art. Cut off at a moment when her reputation was about to make her fortune, and when, in spite of all obstacles, her merits were become known to her countrymen, it is a sad reflection that she can no longer enjoy the encomiums she so justly deserves, nor share in those rewards which were about to be conferred on her. Besides an immense variety of drawings, sketches, and studies, she had painted upwards of 400 pictures, some of them of very high merit, and some of them which, when exhibited in the Louvre, obtained the highest meed of praise. No female artist has exceeded this lady as a colorist, and very few artists of the rougher sex have produced portraits so full of character, spirit, and vigour, and that boldness and breadth of light and shadow which constitutes one of the highest triumphs of art. She was exceedingly clever in recognizing the character of those who sat to her, so that her portraits convey the mind as well as the features of the sitters, their thoughts and sentiments. Her group, already mentioned, depicting Two Boys selling Lemons, has been recently engraved by Gerard of Paris, in mezzotint, and is a fine illustration of the talents of the deceased. It partakes of the style of Murillo; but, though in his manner, it has not the subserviency of imitation, nor the stiffness of copy. There are a few of Madame Soyer’s paintings at the Reform Club-house, which will well repay a visit from those who have a taste for genuine merit and real nature.”—Times.
The three following letters are selected from a numerous correspondence, as exhibiting at once sympathy for her loss, and admiration for her talents.
“Gotha, le 4 Janvier, 1843.A MONSIEUR ALEXIS SOYER.“Monsieur,“Je vous suis très obligé du dessin original fait du feue Madame votre épouse, ainsi que des gravures d’après le tableau des jeunes Israelites, que vous avez bien voulu m’envoyer.“C’est avec beaucoup d’intérêt que j’adjoindrai à ma collection de dessins les produits d’un talent aussi distingué que celui de feue Madame Soyer.“En vous disant mes remercîmens et en souhaitant que le temps adoucit votre grande et juste douleur sur sa perte prématurée, je vous assure encore de toute mon estime.“Ernest Duc de Saxe-Gotha.”
“Gotha, le 4 Janvier, 1843.
A MONSIEUR ALEXIS SOYER.
“Monsieur,
“Je vous suis très obligé du dessin original fait du feue Madame votre épouse, ainsi que des gravures d’après le tableau des jeunes Israelites, que vous avez bien voulu m’envoyer.
“C’est avec beaucoup d’intérêt que j’adjoindrai à ma collection de dessins les produits d’un talent aussi distingué que celui de feue Madame Soyer.
“En vous disant mes remercîmens et en souhaitant que le temps adoucit votre grande et juste douleur sur sa perte prématurée, je vous assure encore de toute mon estime.
“Ernest Duc de Saxe-Gotha.”
“Cambridge House, le 21 Mai, 1846.“Monsieur,“Je suis chargé de la part de S. A. R. Monseigneur le Duc de Cambridge de vous remercier pour l’envoi des trois tableaux, peints par feue Madame votre épouse, qui ont été dûment admirés et appréciés, non seulement par S. A. R., le Duc, mais aussi par Madame la Duchesse, ainsi que par ceux à qu’il a été donné de les voir.“J’ai l’honneur d’être, Monsieur,“Votre très humble et obéissant serviteur,“Le Baron de Knesebeck.”
“Cambridge House, le 21 Mai, 1846.
“Monsieur,
“Je suis chargé de la part de S. A. R. Monseigneur le Duc de Cambridge de vous remercier pour l’envoi des trois tableaux, peints par feue Madame votre épouse, qui ont été dûment admirés et appréciés, non seulement par S. A. R., le Duc, mais aussi par Madame la Duchesse, ainsi que par ceux à qu’il a été donné de les voir.
“J’ai l’honneur d’être, Monsieur,“Votre très humble et obéissant serviteur,“Le Baron de Knesebeck.”
“Stafford House, Vendredi.“La Duchesse de Sutherland présente ses compliments à M. Soyer, et accepte avec plaisir la dédicace de la gravure[32]d’après le tableau peint par feue Madame Soyer.“Elle a appris avec bien du regret la perte immense qu’il a faite.”
“Stafford House, Vendredi.
“La Duchesse de Sutherland présente ses compliments à M. Soyer, et accepte avec plaisir la dédicace de la gravure[32]d’après le tableau peint par feue Madame Soyer.
“Elle a appris avec bien du regret la perte immense qu’il a faite.”
“The inauguration of a splendid monument, erected to the memory of Madame Soyer, whose name is so intimately connected with the genius of art, took place on Sunday, before a numerous and distinguished party, at Kensal Green Cemetery. The design, which is quite new, is by M. Soyer, her husband, and reflects the greatest credit upon that gentleman, who is so well known from his position at the Reform Club. It consists of a pedestal, about twelve feet in height, surmounted by a colossal figure of Faith, with her right hand pointing towards heaven, and the left supporting a golden cross. At her feet, lightly floating upon clouds, are two cherubims, the one holding a crown over the head, and the other presenting a palm to a beautiful medallion of the deceased; the latter executed in white marble, and surrounded by the emblem of eternity. A palette and brushes, embellished with a wreath of unfading laurels, is gracefully placed beneath the medallion. M. Puyenbroaek, of Brussels, one of the principal sculptors to his Majesty the King of the Belgians, has added to his fame by this new example of his talent. Although the figures of the monument are larger than life, so light and elegant is their construction, that the observer might almost fancy they were leaving this terrestrial sphere, while the cherubims, poised upon the ascending clouds, convey such an idea of buoyancy, that one is led to believe that the heavy and solid stone (like the pure and eternal spirit of her who sleeps below) had taken its departure from earth, and was following that shade whose memory it was erected to perpetuate. We are informed that the palette and brushes, with the laurel and her initials, were sketched by the lamented artist the morning previous to her death, she being then in perfect health; while the medallion is from her portrait by M. Simonau, her father-in-law, and only master.
“Amongst the parties present at the inauguration we perceived the fair Cerito, bestowing upon the shrine of her sister artist a wreathfunéraire, made from a crown placed upon her head in La Scala, at Milan, before several thousands of her country people. Such feeling impressed all with the highest respect for that fairy child of Terpsichore, and deserves a distinguished place in the history of art. The wreath, together with the palette of the artist, will be placed in a glass case, and fixed at the back of the pedestal. The inscription upon the pedestal will be simply the words ‘To Her,’ without any addition whatever.”—Morning Post, 1844.
“L’Angleterre sera vengée par une femme de l’échec dont Messieurs Foggo sont tombés les victimes. Madame Soyer de Londres nous a envoyé deux morceaux exquis; si nous pouvions disposer d’une couronne au plus digne, c’est assurément à elle que nous rendrions cet hommage; ne pouvant pas présenter de lauriers, donnons lui la première place dans nos colonnes: pour la correction du dessin, la vigueur, le modèle et la pureté du coloris, cesont là les qualités qui seraient enviées par les plus habiles de nos maîtres. Mais ce que nous admirons par-dessus tout, dans son sens le plus vrai, est la touche delicate, la douceur du coloris, toujours plein de souplesse et de naïveté.”—La Revue des Deux Mondes.
“Une Glaneuse, par Madame Soyer, de Londres, a passé inaperçu. Les critiques et le public se sont bien gardés d’en parler, parce que ce tableau, quoique renfermant de très grandes qualités, ne plaît pas au premier abord. Nous ne connaissons point Madame Soyer; nous ne pourrions même dire si ce nom est un pseudonyme, ou s’il est véritablement celui de cette artiste. Ce qu’il y a de singulier, c’est que jamais aucune femme n’a peint avec autant de verve, de chaleur et d’entrain. Madame Soyer (en supposant toujours que Madame Soyer soit une femme) est aux autres peintres ce que Madame George Sand est aux littérateurs. Nous verrons plus tard si cette femme-peintre se soutiendra, et si ses productions prochaines vaudront celles de cette année.”—La Capitole,
“The appearance of a very beautiful engraving of the picture of ‘The Jew Lemon-sellers’ reminds us of the loss which art has sustained in the death of Madame Soyer. This gifted lady, better known, perhaps, as Miss Emma Jones, has been snatched away in the midst of a career, the opening success of which fully justified the most flattering anticipations of her numerous friends. Some of Madame Soyer’s pictures exhibited here were the subjects of very general admiration, and such of our readers as visited the last exhibition at Paris (where Madame Soyer was even more popular than in England) will recall with pleasure her picture, in the style of Murillo, of ‘The Two Israelites,’ which received so much praise from the French critics. The devotion of Madame Soyer to the art which she so much adorned by her talents is illustrated as much in the number as in the excellence of her works, which form the basis of a lasting and honorable fame. Although but twenty-nine years of age when she died, she had already painted no less than 403 pictures. Many of them are in the possession of the most distinguished collectors in this country.”—Morning Chronicle.
“We copy the following, by the Vicountess de Malleville, from the last number of theCourrier de l’Europe. Without subscribing to the justice of all the writer’s remarks, we think, as the opinion of an intelligent foreigner, that the article will be read with some interest.
“‘We now quit the upper regions and follow the secretary of the club, and the politest and most obliging cicerone in the world. Theatrically speaking, we have as yet only seen the stage and its sumptuous decorations from the boxes and pit; we now go behind the scenes, among the scene-shifters and the machinists. But unlike in a theatre, we see no naked walls behind the scenes—no tattered draperies—no floors strewed with sawdust. This fine apartment is the kitchen—spacious as a ball-room, kept in the finest order, and white as a young bride. All-powerful steam, the noise of which salutes your ear as you enter, here performs a variety of offices: it diffuses a uniform heat to large rows of dishes, warms the metal plates, upon which are disposed the dishes that have been called for, and that are in waiting to be sent above; it turns the spits, draws the water, carries up the coal, and moves the platelike an intelligent and indefatigable servant. Stay awhile before this octagonal apparatus, which occupies the centre of the place. Around you the water boils and the stewpans bubble, and a little further on is a moveable furnace, before which pieces of meat are converted into savouryrôtis—here are sauces and gravies, stews, broths, soups, &c.; in the distance are Dutch ovens, marble mortars, lighted stoves, iced plates of metal for fish, and various compartments for vegetables, fruits, roots, and spices. After this inadequate, though prodigious nomenclature, the reader may perhaps picture to himself a state of general confusion, a disordered assemblage, resembling that of a heap of oyster-shells. If so, he is mistaken. For, in fact, you see very little, or scarcely anything, of all the objects above described; the order of their arrangement is so perfect, their distribution as a whole, and in their relative bearings to one another, all are so intelligently considered, that you require the aid of a guide to direct you in exploring them, and a good deal of time to classify in your mind all your discoveries.
“‘The man who devised the plan of this magnificent kitchen, over which he rules and governs without question or dispute, theartistewho directs by his gestures his subalterns tricked out in white, and whose eye takes in at a glance the most difficult combinations in the culinary art—in a word, thechefby whom everygourmetadmitted within the precincts of the Reform Club swears, is M. Soyer, of whom it may justly be said that he is not more distinguished as a professor of the science of the Vatels and Caremes, than as a well-behaved and modest man. Allow him, therefore, to give you the history of his discoveries and improvements; let him conduct you into the smallest recesses of his establishment, the cleanliness of which would shame many a drawing-room; and listen to him, also, as he informs you that those precious pictures which crowd his own parlour are from the pencil of a wife who has recently been taken from him by a premature death. Of this you might almost doubt till he again affirms it, for, judging from the poetry of the composition, and the vigour of the colouring and the design, you might swear that these pictures were the work of Murillo when he was young.
“‘Let all strangers who come to London for business, or pleasure, or curiosity, or for whatever cause, not fail to visit the Reform Club. In an age of utilitarianism, and of the search for the comfortable, like ours, there is more to be learned here than in the ruins of the Coliseum, of the Parthenon, or of Memphis.’”—Chambers’s Journal.
“Workhouse Cookery.—The disclosures in the Andover Union have thrown quite a new light on the science of cookery, which not even the inspiration of a Soyer could have hit upon. That ingeniouschef de cuisinehas blended together pastry and politics; with considerable skill he has invented a Crême d’Angleterre, consisting of charms borrowed from the female aristocracy; but those ingredients, imaginary and unsubstantial as they are, must be considered as solids when compared with the materials used for constituting the dishes served up to the paupers in the Andover Union. Butter, according to the new poor law cookery, is made from the skimmings of grease pots, and parochial tea is made from boiling old leaves which have already had their strength drawn out of them.
“A new cookery book, edited by M’Dougal, the master of the Andover Union, is evidently a desideratum in culinary literature, which even Soyer’s universal genius has hitherto left unsupplied.”—Punch.
THE GASTRONOMIC REGENERATOR.
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
THE TIMES.
The Gastronomic Regenerator.—The Modern Cook.—“Any body can dine,” says the clever and profound author of the ‘Original,’ “but very few know how to dine so as to ensure the greatest quantity of health and enjoyment.” The pith and truth of this remark are unquestionable; and, indeed, we know nothing more painful than that utter disregard of the very first principles of gastronomic science evinced by so many unprincipled and reckless individuals of the present day, who eat as though the sole object of eating were to sustain life. Not that they take the best means for accomplishing even that ignoble end. The rules, whose observance renders eating a luxury and an art, also conduce in the highest degree to health. Sacrifices to Ceres and Bacchus, in the very act of the offering, should have a sweet fragrance in the nostrils of Hygeia.
Who shall affix a boundary to the possible progress of an art? Let the vulgar do so, who, struck by apparent perfection, conclude at once that the force of genius “can no further go.” We assert fearlessly that the limits of human creation and improvement are yet unknown. Least of all are they to be defined with reference to that great art which has been styled “the standard and gauge of human civilization,” and which Montaigne, with less respect, denominated thescience de la gueule. Sceptics were they who, revelling at the table of Louis XIV in the sauces of a Bechamel, or lingering at the board of the great Condé over thechefs d’œuvreof a Vatel—that illustrious martyr to a point of culinary honour!—or inhaling gently and delicately, and degustating slowly, and with marvellous discrimination, the exquisite and quintessential results of the vigils of an Ude, who refused, in their turns, to believe that the science professed by these great men could be capable of improvement, or was susceptible of higher elevation. Alas! have we not lived to vote the resources of allperruqueandrococo, and to behold the precious laurels that wreathed the temples of the culinary demigods of the 18th century, transferred by acclamation in the 19th to the mighty brows of a Carême and a Beauvilliers, a Soyer and a Francatelli—great names every one—poetizers of the spit, philosophers of the larder, sublime fire-worshippers, high priests of a kitchen fuller than Druidical groves of deep and sacred mysteries?
The two bulky and important volumes before us are characteristic of the distinguished artists to whom we own them. Written, the one by a Frenchman, the other by an Englishman (for Mr. Francatelli, in spite of his name, boasts of an Anglican origin), they differ greatly in form, although in substance, as far as the uninitiated may judge, they are equally excellent. The Modern Cook enters upon his task in a grave and business-like fashion, never tempted into digression, never moved into metaphor, ever keeping in view his main object, which, we an proud to say, is eminently patriotic, for he seeks to elevate the character and position of the English Cook, and to produce a work creditable to the gastronomic knowledge of the nation. “The Gastronomic Regenerator” is a different personage. He can afford to garnish his prose with the flowers of fancy, as his material dishes are crowned withcroustadesandatelettes; he handles with equal ability the quill of Pegasus and the larding-needle, and records with the former the achievements of the latter, in a strain of enthusiasm and heroic sensibility that are not to be surpassed even in the odes of a poet laureate. We confess at the outset that there is much to marvel at in the recondite pages of the Regenerator, but there is nothing to admire more than his matchless modesty, his courteous urbanity, his devotion to the fair sex, and his occasional touching and highly imaginative digressions.
“Why do you not write and publish a Cookery-book? was a question continually put to me. For a considerable time this scientific word caused a thrill of horror to pervade my frame, and brought back to my mind that one day, being in a most superb library in the midst of a splendid baronial hall, by chance I met with one of Milton’s allegorical works, the profound ideas of Locke, the severalchefs d’œuvreof one of the noblestchampions of literature, Shakspeare; when all at once my attention was attracted by the nineteenth edition of a voluminous work: such an immense success of publication caused me to say, ‘Oh! you celebrated man, posterity counts every hour of fame upon your regretted ashes!’ Opening this work with intense curiosity, to my great disappointment what did I see,—a receipt for Ox-tail Soup! The terrifying effect produced upon me by this succulent volume made me determine that my few ideas, whether culinary or domestic, should never encumber a sanctuary which should be entirely devoted to works worthy of a place in the Temple of the Muses.”
Why, then, great artist, transgress this noble resolution? Why commit a desecration which, indeed, is no desecration, save to your own pre-eminent and too fastidious judgment? Ah, shall we confess it? It is the old story, familiar to the playgoing public, and to the printers of playbills. “The particular desire of several persons of distinction,” and especially of the ladies, to whose appeals M. Soyer Informs us he could never turn a deaf ear, has dragged the sage from his retirement, and compelled him to do violence to a settled conviction and a holy purpose. Some idea of the sacrifice which M. Soyer was called upon to make by the entreaties of the ladies and the distinguished individuals adverted to, may be gathered from the history of the hero during the composition of his work. For ten months he laboured at the pyramid which the remotest posterity shall applaud; and during the whole of that period he was intent upon providing the countless meals which a living generation have already approved and fully digested. Talk of the labours of a Prime Minister or Lord Chancellor! Sir R. Peel was not an idle man. Lord Brougham is a tolerably busy one. Could either, we ask, in the short space of ten months—ten “little months”—have written ‘The Gastronomic Regenerator,’ and furnished 25,000 dinners, 38 banquets of importance, comprising above 70,000 dishes, besides providing daily for 60 servants, and receiving the visits of 15,000 strangers, all too eager to inspect the renowned altar of a great Apician temple? All this did M. Soyer, and we back him for industry against even the indefatigable Brougham.
That more than one of the 38 banquets were of the highest moment, and must at the time have engrossed the mind of their accomplished author, to the serious derangement of his literary avocations, admits of no question the moment we peruse one bill of fare which M. Soyer places before our dazzled and admiring eyes. A memorable dinner was given at the Reform Club, upon the 9th day of May of the present year, to a select party of ten highly-gifted connoisseurs; none of your gobble-and-gulp people, who, in their melancholy ignorance, swallow apotage à la Comte de Paris, or arissolette à la Pompadour, with the same frightfulnonchalanceas a sailor will devour his pea-soup, or a rustic bolt his bacon; but creatures of ethereal natures, devotees of what the painters call “high art;” men who feed their bodies only to give elasticity and vigour to their souls. TheDiner Lucullusian à la Sampayowas ordered with a magnificent contempt of expense. No money was to be spared in obtaining the most novel, luxurious, and rare compounds that ingenuity could discover or gold procure. Stimulated by the anxious and repeated visits of a noble-spirited, and judicious guide, a Grove and a Jay, a Townsend and a Morel, a Slater and a Solomon, surpassed themselves in the quality of the viands they purveyed. One dish, the “Buisson d’Ecrévisses Pagodatique au vin de Champagne à la Sampayo” cost something more than seven guineas—a trifle! Two large bottles of Perigord truffles, value four guineas, were stewed with theécrévissesin champagne. We have no heart to proceed, for “the author regrets that, in fulfilment of an agreement between him and M. Sampayo, he is restricted from giving the receipt of crawfishà la Sampayo.” Why was the dish mentioned at all, if the world is still to be deprived of the receipt? The loss is a national one. Doubtless it would have been very popular at the small clubs, and in great request with gentlemen of limited incomes! But to return to the incomparable dinner. There weredotrelles aux feuilles de vignes, and there wasmiroton de homard aux œufs de pluvier, and there were many other dishes, too, enough as you would think to crown the happiness of a cook, and to satisfy the ambition of the proudest caterer in Christendom. You know not cooks. At page 608 of ‘The Regenerator,’ the soft sigh of a Soyer falls painfully upon the reader’s ear; and no wonder! A brilliant thought—one of those superb inspirations, the property of great minds—had occurred to our author during the procreation of this matchless banquet. Mentioned by him to the mysterious and too exclusive Sampayo and his friends, they caught with joy the idea. Two dozen of ortolans and twelve of the largest and finest truffles were to be procured, and in each of the latter a hole was to be dug, wherein one of the unctuous and semi-transparent little volatiles was to be buried. Yes, the delicate native of Provence gloriously interred in the choicest production of Perigord; then must a piece of calf or lamb’s caul (exquisite minuteness of description!) cover the aperture and shelter the imprisoned bird; then was there to be braising in a gravy of fowls and Lachrymæ Christi, poached forcemeat upon the dish, the truffles in pyramid. Upon that, apuréewith thetruffle that bad been dug out of the graves, and agarnitureof roasted ortolans. Stupendous thought! we have read of superior minds overcoming obstacles long deemed insurmountable, and have gathered from the perusal strength for the difficult struggle of life. Such strength find we here. “An ortolan,” said Alexis Soyer, pondering on the difficult and self-appointed task, “an ortolan can hardly be truffled, but I will undertake that a truffle shall be ortolaned!” He might have added, “‘Tis not in mortals to command success; we’ll do more, Sampayo, we’ll deserve it;” for great as the Regenerator’s conception was, it was not destined to be realized. The elements were unpropitious, and the ortolans did not arrive in time from Paris, whence they had been ordered. This, however, was the only failure. Everything else was to the turn, the minute. At seven o’clock the Severn salmon arrived alive, and by express from Gloucester. Ten minutes later it smoked upon the board. Happy Sampayo!—happier guests!—immortal Soyer!
We turn to the pictorial portion of this notable book. After the agreeable portrait of the author, which faces the title-page, the first of the woodcuts that attracts attention is “The Table of the Wealthy,” with the motto, “Rien ne dispose mieux l’esprit humain à des transactions amicales qu’un dîner bien conçu et artistement préparé.” A great maxim of diplomacy! How many treaties of peace and commerce have owed their conclusion to the mollifying effects of a series of good dinners! What numerous misunderstandings have been arranged and thorny points happily settled, less by the wisdom of the ambassador than by the ability of the ambassador’s cook! On a judiciously-compounded sauce, or arôti cuit à point, or the seasoning of asalmi, or the twirl of acasserole, may depend the fate of a crowned head,—the marriage of a prince,—the weal or woe of a nation. Is cookery, then, no art? Truly is it—the highest, the noblest!
A second plate, “My Table at Home,” represents M. Soyer, in hisfoyers, presiding over a select party assembled round his hospitable and well-furnished board. Behold again the unrivalled gallantry of the country, and the individual finding a vent in a poetic and touching smile. “A gastronomicalréunion, without ladies,” says the chief cook of the Reform Club,” is a parterre without flowers, the ocean without waves, a fleet without sails.”
Talking of fleets, let us pass on at once to the Turkeyà la Nelson, which deceased but much honoured bird is placed with its tail in the prow of a Roman galley, duly provided with anchor, sail, and all fitting appurtenances, and surmounted by fictitious ducklings, manufactured, as we are informed, but should never have divined, of the legs of fowls. Further on we have theGateau Britannique à l’Amiral, a comely corvette of cake, coppered with chocolate, displaying wafer sails and sugar rigging, tossing upon waves ofgelée à la Bacchante,—her canvas swelling to a favouring breeze,—her sides dripping with wine and marmalade,—her interior, even to the hatchways, filled with such a freight as none but Soyer could provide, and perfectgourmetsthoroughly appreciate. It is whispered that upon this gallant ship Commodore Napier did fearful execution in the presence of his quondam foe and present friend, Ibrahim Pacha, when that illustrious individual dined with the Commodore at his club. Assaulting the craft with the fierce impetuosity for which the hero of Acre is so renowned, and thrusting his boarding-pike—his spoon we would say—deep into the hold of the luscious craft, he destroyed in an instant Soyer’s labour of a day. Timbers were stove in or out,—sails came down by the run,—masts went by the board,—and all was wreck, where a second before all had been symmetry and perfection.
Nothing that relates to the kitchen or the table has been neglected or overlooked by the Regenerator. We have plans and drawings of kitchens of every description, from the matchless establishments of the Reform Club, with its ice drawers, slate wells, steam closets,bains marie, and fifty other modern refinements, to the unpretending cooking-places of the cottage or the bachelor. But perhaps the section of the book to be chiefly prized by the general reader and indifferent gastronome, is the short one relating to carving. Good carvers are almost as rare as good tenor singers. The proper dissection of flesh and fowl is a matter of high importance, rarely excelled in, but should be always studied. It is an accomplishment almost as indispensable as reading and writing, and quite as graceful. “If you should, unhappily,” says Launcelot Sturgeon, in his Essays, Moral, Philosophical, and Stomachic, “be forced to carve at table, neither labour at the joint till you put yourself in a heat, nor make such a desperate effort to dissect it as may put your neighbours in fear of their lives; however, if an accident should happen, make no excuses, for they are only an acknowledgment of[Pg xv] awkwardness. We remember to have seen a man of high fashion deposit a turkey in this way in the lap of a lady, but with admirable composure, and without offering the slightest apology, he finished a story which he was telling at the same time, and then quietly turning to her, merely said, ‘Madam, I’ll thank you for that turkey.’” To those who may not possess similar coolness, and the same stoical indifference to the fate of ladies’ dresses and the results of ladies’ indignation, M. Soyer’s improvements in carving are valuable indeed.
“Nature, says I to myself, compels us to dine more or less once a day; each of thosedays you are, honorable reader, subject to meet entête-à-têtewith a fowl, poularde, duck, pheasant, or other volatile species; is it not bad enough to have sacrificed the lives of thoseamimaus bienfaisansto satisfy our indefatigable appetites, without pulling and tearing to atoms the remains of our benefactors? it is high time for the credit of humanity and the comfort of quiet families, to put an end to the massacre of those innocents.”
Incomparable benevolence! Tenderest commiseration! Perfect humanity! “We will be sacrificers, not butchers, Caius Cassius.” The philanthropic progress of the century has reached the kitchen, and animal love is most intense in the vicinity of the stockpot. What would the kitchen of the Reform Club be without humanity and the liberal sentiments? No more will barbarous cooks be haunted by horrid visons of the night! Incipient porkers shall no longer pine away their sweetness, and strive to toughen their crackling in anticipation of a final flagellation. Eels shall no longer be required to give up their skins before their ghosts, and some humaner process than a surfeit of food, a deprivation of drink, and a gradual roasting near a scorching fire, will, let us hope, be discovered, to give to the livers of ducks that glorious expansion and pinguid richness so much appreciated by the epicure. We will not despair of witnessing, under the dominion of M. Soyer, the introduction and use of some instrument analogous to the guillotine, which by a stroke shall do its deadly necessary work: nay, might not advances lately made in Mesmerism be turned to good account in procuring painless death to those whom the feeling Soyer so beautifully calls our “benefactors?” A goose, in a state of coma, would be uncognizant of the penknife that divides its jugular; calves and sheep properly subjected to the action of the magnetic fluid would pass from life into the larder without a struggle or a groan. But to carving! For joints, our author gives most lucid directions, which, if properly studied, cannot fail to convert the merest tyro into an admirable carver. For game and poultry he has done more. He has invented an instrument, to be had at Bramah’s, in Piccadilly, and with which printed directions are given, by the aid of which the joints of birds are severed without the smallest detriment to their good looks. “Formerly,” he says, “nothing was more difficult to carve than wild fowl, the continual motion (when alive) of the wings and legs making the sinews almost as tough as wires, puzzling the best of carvers to separate them; my new method has quite abolished such a domestic tribulation.” For which, as well as for the many other benefits conferred by him upon the human race and the brute creation, we beg to reiterate our humble hearty thanks to the talented author of ‘The Gastronomic Regenerator.’