CHAPTER VABOUT THE PUDDING
Now, good digestion wait on appetiteAnd health on both.—Shakespeare.
Now, good digestion wait on appetiteAnd health on both.—Shakespeare.
Now, good digestion wait on appetiteAnd health on both.—Shakespeare.
Now, good digestion wait on appetite
And health on both.—Shakespeare.
“How do you make it?” asked a fair American of the proprietor.
The answer is not recorded, for in the manner of making chiefly lies the speciality of the Old Cheshire Cheese. The hand of the proprietor himself compounds the ingredients in a secret room, secure from the gaze of even his most inquisitive attendants.
Yet when we look on the immense bowl from which sixty or seventy people are to be fed, one cannot wonder at the lady’s desire to know how such a Brobdingnagian dish could be so exquisitely prepared.
The proportions of the bowl are emblematic of the profusion with which its contents are dispensed, and even Gargantua would find himself vanquished in presence of the “Cheese” hospitality.
Old “William,” for many years the head-waiter, could only be seen in his real glory on Pudding Days. He used to consider it his duty to go round the tables insisting that the guests should have second or third, ay, and with wonder be it spoken, fourth helpings.
“Any gentleman say pudden?” was his constant query; and his habit was not broken when a crusty customer growled:
“Nogentlemansays pudden.”
William either never saw the point or disdained to make reply.
The narrow limits of this volume are all too small for a complete collection of the prose and verse written in praise of the pudding. A few examples must serve.
In “Ye Lay of Ye Lost Minstrel,” printed in theWest London Observer(April, 1890), are a number of verses in praise of the “Cheese,” by Mr. William Henderson. We give the following extract from his poem:—
If you’d dine at your easeTry “Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.”At this famous resortIn the Wine Office CourtKickshaws, entrées or slopsYou’ll not get, but the chopsDevil’d kidneys and steaksHe will say who partakesAre all second to none—To a turn they are done!But the pudding!—oh my!You look on with a sigh,As it comes piping hotFrom the cauldron or pot—Oh the savour, the taste,Of its lining, its paste!How it wells! how it swells!In its bosom there dwellsFood for gods, meat for men,Who resort to Moore’s den.
If you’d dine at your easeTry “Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.”At this famous resortIn the Wine Office CourtKickshaws, entrées or slopsYou’ll not get, but the chopsDevil’d kidneys and steaksHe will say who partakesAre all second to none—To a turn they are done!But the pudding!—oh my!You look on with a sigh,As it comes piping hotFrom the cauldron or pot—Oh the savour, the taste,Of its lining, its paste!How it wells! how it swells!In its bosom there dwellsFood for gods, meat for men,Who resort to Moore’s den.
If you’d dine at your easeTry “Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.”At this famous resortIn the Wine Office CourtKickshaws, entrées or slopsYou’ll not get, but the chopsDevil’d kidneys and steaksHe will say who partakesAre all second to none—To a turn they are done!But the pudding!—oh my!You look on with a sigh,As it comes piping hotFrom the cauldron or pot—Oh the savour, the taste,Of its lining, its paste!How it wells! how it swells!In its bosom there dwellsFood for gods, meat for men,Who resort to Moore’s den.
If you’d dine at your ease
Try “Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.”
At this famous resort
In the Wine Office Court
Kickshaws, entrées or slops
You’ll not get, but the chops
Devil’d kidneys and steaks
He will say who partakes
Are all second to none—
To a turn they are done!
But the pudding!—oh my!
You look on with a sigh,
As it comes piping hot
From the cauldron or pot—
Oh the savour, the taste,
Of its lining, its paste!
How it wells! how it swells!
In its bosom there dwells
Food for gods, meat for men,
Who resort to Moore’s den.
A parody by the same author will appeal to the sentiment of those who scorn a foreign yoke. It is inscribed to Beaufoy A. Moore, and was published by Mr. J. H. Wadsworth, of Boston (U.S.A.):—
YE PUDDING’S REQUIEM
Air: Death of Nelson.
We sought “The Cheese,” with thirst and hunger prest,And own we love the pudding day the best.But no one quarrels with the chops cook’d here,Or steaks, when wash’d down by Old English beer!’Twas on Saint Andrew’s day,Our way thro’ Fleet Street lay;We sniff’d the pudding then!We scorn’d all foreign fare,True British food was there,To “cut and come agen.”Our landlord carved with manner grave,Brave portions to each guest he gave,Nor thought he of his booty,Nor thought he of his booty.Along the boards the signal ran,“Charlie” expects that ev’ry manWill pay and do his duty,Will pay and do his duty.And now the waiters pourPrime “Burton” foaming o’er“Old William” marks his prey!No tips that waiter claimed,Long be that waiter famed,Who smiles and makes it pay!Not dearly was that pudding bought,For ev’ry hungry Briton soughtA “follow” from that beauty,A “follow” from that beauty.With plate on plate each waiter ran;“Charlie” confessed that ev’ry manThat day had done his duty,That day had done his duty.At last the fatal sound,Which spread dismay around,The pudding’s off, the pudding’s off at last!“The vict’ry’s on your side,The day’s your own” Moore cried!“I serve and have to fast!However large that pudding be,No scrap is ever left for me!Content I do my duty!Content I do my duty!For to complain was ne’er my plan.”Let all confess that Moore, good man,Has ever done his duty,Has ever done his duty!
We sought “The Cheese,” with thirst and hunger prest,And own we love the pudding day the best.But no one quarrels with the chops cook’d here,Or steaks, when wash’d down by Old English beer!’Twas on Saint Andrew’s day,Our way thro’ Fleet Street lay;We sniff’d the pudding then!We scorn’d all foreign fare,True British food was there,To “cut and come agen.”Our landlord carved with manner grave,Brave portions to each guest he gave,Nor thought he of his booty,Nor thought he of his booty.Along the boards the signal ran,“Charlie” expects that ev’ry manWill pay and do his duty,Will pay and do his duty.And now the waiters pourPrime “Burton” foaming o’er“Old William” marks his prey!No tips that waiter claimed,Long be that waiter famed,Who smiles and makes it pay!Not dearly was that pudding bought,For ev’ry hungry Briton soughtA “follow” from that beauty,A “follow” from that beauty.With plate on plate each waiter ran;“Charlie” confessed that ev’ry manThat day had done his duty,That day had done his duty.At last the fatal sound,Which spread dismay around,The pudding’s off, the pudding’s off at last!“The vict’ry’s on your side,The day’s your own” Moore cried!“I serve and have to fast!However large that pudding be,No scrap is ever left for me!Content I do my duty!Content I do my duty!For to complain was ne’er my plan.”Let all confess that Moore, good man,Has ever done his duty,Has ever done his duty!
We sought “The Cheese,” with thirst and hunger prest,And own we love the pudding day the best.But no one quarrels with the chops cook’d here,Or steaks, when wash’d down by Old English beer!
We sought “The Cheese,” with thirst and hunger prest,
And own we love the pudding day the best.
But no one quarrels with the chops cook’d here,
Or steaks, when wash’d down by Old English beer!
’Twas on Saint Andrew’s day,Our way thro’ Fleet Street lay;We sniff’d the pudding then!We scorn’d all foreign fare,True British food was there,To “cut and come agen.”Our landlord carved with manner grave,Brave portions to each guest he gave,Nor thought he of his booty,Nor thought he of his booty.Along the boards the signal ran,“Charlie” expects that ev’ry manWill pay and do his duty,Will pay and do his duty.
’Twas on Saint Andrew’s day,
Our way thro’ Fleet Street lay;
We sniff’d the pudding then!
We scorn’d all foreign fare,
True British food was there,
To “cut and come agen.”
Our landlord carved with manner grave,
Brave portions to each guest he gave,
Nor thought he of his booty,
Nor thought he of his booty.
Along the boards the signal ran,
“Charlie” expects that ev’ry man
Will pay and do his duty,
Will pay and do his duty.
And now the waiters pourPrime “Burton” foaming o’er“Old William” marks his prey!No tips that waiter claimed,Long be that waiter famed,Who smiles and makes it pay!Not dearly was that pudding bought,For ev’ry hungry Briton soughtA “follow” from that beauty,A “follow” from that beauty.With plate on plate each waiter ran;“Charlie” confessed that ev’ry manThat day had done his duty,That day had done his duty.
And now the waiters pour
Prime “Burton” foaming o’er
“Old William” marks his prey!
No tips that waiter claimed,
Long be that waiter famed,
Who smiles and makes it pay!
Not dearly was that pudding bought,
For ev’ry hungry Briton sought
A “follow” from that beauty,
A “follow” from that beauty.
With plate on plate each waiter ran;
“Charlie” confessed that ev’ry man
That day had done his duty,
That day had done his duty.
At last the fatal sound,Which spread dismay around,The pudding’s off, the pudding’s off at last!“The vict’ry’s on your side,The day’s your own” Moore cried!“I serve and have to fast!However large that pudding be,No scrap is ever left for me!Content I do my duty!Content I do my duty!For to complain was ne’er my plan.”Let all confess that Moore, good man,Has ever done his duty,Has ever done his duty!
At last the fatal sound,
Which spread dismay around,
The pudding’s off, the pudding’s off at last!
“The vict’ry’s on your side,
The day’s your own” Moore cried!
“I serve and have to fast!
However large that pudding be,
No scrap is ever left for me!
Content I do my duty!
Content I do my duty!
For to complain was ne’er my plan.”
Let all confess that Moore, good man,
Has ever done his duty,
Has ever done his duty!
1890.W.H.
The “Cheese” pudding has a far-extended sphere of influence. It boasts a clientèle much more numerous than are the actual frequenters of the ancient hostelry. Hundreds are sent out every yearto all parts of London, and, indeed, England. Some even have found their way to the United States, imported direct from “The Cheese” by enthusiastic Americans. The following extract from theCourt Journalof April 4, 1891, describes the misadventures of one owing to the operation of the McKinley Act: “The London lark pudding is renowned in many lands. The travelled American speaks with rapture of that lark pudding he partook of in Fleet Street. Mr. Burras, of New York, requested that such a lark pudding should be sent out to him from London, so that the stay-at-home ones might partake of the British culinary luxury. The delicacy duly arrived; the guests who were to aid Mr. Burras in eating it were duly invited—all was ready, indeed, when an unexpected difficulty arose. The Customs House authorities declined to give it up until the question as to what duty ‘lark pudding’ was liable to was settled. The McKinley Bill does not mention lark pudding. It takes cognisance of canned goods and potted meats, certainly; but larks in a pudding were unclassified, and they said it did not come under the head of manufactured articles, because it was food in a natural state. A week has elapsed while the authorities have been debating the point, and in the meantime the lark pudding is most probably turning sour, and Mr. Burras and his friends dancing with indignation. More trouble will ensue over this lark pudding, no doubt, than did upon the opening of the four-and-twenty-blackbird pie of yore! It may cause the establishment of Free Trade in the States.”
It is satisfactory to be able to state that the pudding eventually passed the Customs House none the worse for its detention. The guests were eloquent in its praise, and several of them have since visited England merely to track the pudding to the place of its nativity.
THE BAR.
THE BAR.
THE BAR.