DOI issue:
January to June, 1849
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16548#0099
92
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
ome few words about dinners, my
dear friend, I know your benevo-
lent mind will expect. A man who
comes to Paris without directing
his mind to dinners, is like a fellow
who travels to Athens without
caring to inspect ruins, or an indi-
vidual who goes to the Opera, and
misses Jenny Lind's singing.
No, I should be ungrateful to that
appetite with which Nature has
bountifully endowed me—to those
recollections which render a con-
sideration of the past so exqui-
site an enjoyment to me—were I
to think of coming to Paris wit li-
the sommelier confidentially about the wine—a pint of Champagne, saj,
rvM crVM i; T^TATXTTT'T} Q AT "PARTS 'a bottle of Bordeaux, or a bottle of Burgundy , not more, for youi
! - -'■ |!' private drinking. He goes out to satisfy your wishes, and returns with
the favourite flask in a cradle, very likely. Whilst he is gone, comes old
Antoine, who is charmed to see Monsieur de retour ; and vows that
you rajeunnissez terns les mis, with a plate of oysters—dear little juicy
green oysters in their upper shells, swimming in their sweet native brine,,
not like your great white flaccid natives in England, that look as if they
had been fed on pork : and ah ! how kindly and pretty that attention is-
of the two little plates of radishes and butter, which they bring you in,
and with which you can dally between the arrival of the various dishes
of your dinner ; they are like the delicate symphonies which are played'
at the theatre between the acts of a charming Comedy. A little hread-
and-butter, a little raddish— you crunch and relish—a little raddish, a
little piece of bread-and-butter—you relish and crunch—wheu lo! up
goes the curtain, and Antoine comes in with the entree or the roast.
"I pictured all this in my mind and went out. I will not tell any of
my friends that I am here, thought I. Sir, in five minutes, and before I
had crossed the Place Vendome, I had met five old acquaintances and
out enjoying a few qniet evenings ^encls, and in an hour afterwards the arrival of your humble servant
~i rt.. ,frl_;f T3i_i_._H „.:nB„ was known to all our old set.
_ " My first visit was for Tom Dash, with whom I had business. That
friend of my youth received me with the utmost cordiality: and our
business transacted and our acquaintances talked over (four of them I
had seen, so that it was absolutely necessary I should call on them and
on the rest,) it was agreed that I should go forth and pay visits, and that
on my return Ton and I should dine somewhere together. I called upon
Brown, upon Jones, upon Smith, upon Robinson, upon our old Paris
set, in a word, and in due time returned to Tom Dash.
' Where are we to dine, Tom ?' says L ' What is the crack Restau-
at the Trois Freres, alone, with a
few dishes, a faithful waiter who
knows you of old, and my own thoughts ; undisturbed by conver-
sation, or having to help the soup, or carve the turkey for the lady of
the house; by the exertion of telling jokes for the entertainment of the
company; by the ennui of a stupid neighbour at your side, to whom
you are forced to impart them ; by the disgust of hearing an opposition
wag talk better than yourself, take the stories with which you have
come primed and loaded, out of your very mouth, and fire them off him-
self, or audaciouslv bring forward old Joe Millers, and get a laugh ,
from all the company, when your own novelties and neatest impromptus ™nt now ■ I am entirely m your hands ; and let us be oft early and go
and mots pass round the table utterly disregarded. to the play afterwards.' _
" I rejoiced, Sir, in my mind, to think that I shoidd be able to dine " ' °> hang restaurants,' says Tom—' I'm tired of 'em; we are sick of
alone; without rivals to talk me out, hosts or ladies lo coax and wheedle, t}|em here. Thompson came 111 just after you were gone, and I told him
or neighbours who, before my eyes fas they often have done), will take : >"<i coming, and he will be here directly to have a chop with me.'
t he best cutlet or favourite snipe out of the dish, as it is handed round, , " There was nothing for it. I had to sit down and dine with Thompson
or to whom you have to give all the breast of the pheasant or capon, : and Tom Dash, at the batter's charges—and am bound to say that the
when yon carve it. I dinner was not a bad one. As I have said somewhere before, and am
" All the way in the railroad, and through the tedious hours of night, J proud of being able to say, I scarcely recollect ever to have had a bad
I whiled away such time as I did not employ in sleeping, or in thinking I dinner.
about Miss Br—wn, (who felt, I think, by the way, some little pang in j , "But of what do you think the present repast was composed ? Sir, I
parting with me, else why was she so silent all night, and why did she give yon my honour, we had a slice of salmon and a leg of mutton, and
apply ner pocket-handkerchief so constantly to "her lovely amethyst boiled potatoes, just as they do in my favourite Baker Street,
eyes?)—all the way in the railroad, I say, when not occupied by other j " ' Dev'lish good dinner ' says Thompson, covering the salmon with
thoughts, I amused the tedium of the journey by inventing little bills j lots of Harvey sauce—and Cayenne pepper, from Portntjm & Mason's.
of fare for one,—solitary Barmecide banquets,—which I enjoyed in spirit,
and proposed to discuss bodily on my arrival in the Capital ol the
Kitchen.
" ' Monsieur will dine at the table d'hote ?' the laquais de place said
at the Hotel, whilst I was arranging my elegant toilette before stepping
forth to renew an acquaintance with our beloved old city. An expres-
sion of scornful incredulity shot across the fine features of the person
addressed by the laquais de place. My fine fellow, thought I, do you
think I am come to Paris in order to dine at a table d'hote?—-to meet
twenty-four doubtful English and Americans at an ordinary ? ' L.U-
culltjs dines with Lucullus to-day, Sir;' which, as the laquais de place
did not understand, I added, ' I never dine at a table d'hote, except at an
extremity.'
" I had arranged in my mind a little quiet week of dinners. Twice
or thrice, thinks I, I will dine at the Freres, once at Very's, once
at the Cafe de Paris. If my old friend Voisin opposite the Assomption
has some of the same sort of Bordeaux which Ave recollect in 1844, I
will dine there at least twice. Philippe's, in the Rue Montorgued,
must be tried, which, they say, is as good as the Rocher de Cancale
used to be in our time : and the seven days were chalked out already,
and I saw there was nothing for it but to breakfast a lafourchette at
some of the other places which I had in my mind, if I wished to revisit
all my old haunts.
" To a man living much in the world, or surrounded by his family,
there is nothing so good as this solitude from time to time—there is
nothing like communing with your own heart, and giving a calm and
deliberate judgment upon the great question—the truly vital question,
I may say—before you. What is the use of having your children, who
live on roast mutton in the nursery, and think treacle-pudding the
summit of cookery, to sit down and take the best three-fourths of a
perdreau truffe with you ? What is the use of helping your wife, who
doesn't know the difference between Sherry and Madeira, to a glass of
priceless Romanee or sweetly odoriferous Chateau Laffitte of '42 ?
Poor deai- soul! she would be as happy with a slice of the children's
joint, and a cup of tea in the evening. She takes them when you are
away. To give fine wine to that dear creature, is like giving pearls to—
to animals who don't know their value.
" What I like, is to sit at a Restaurant alone, after having taken a
glass of absinthe in water, about half-an-hour previous, to muse well over
the carte, and pick out some little dinner for myself; to converse with
Bonnez du Sherry a Monsieur Cantekbtj:ry,' says Tom Dash to
Prancois his man. ' There's porter or pale ale if any man likes it.'
" They poured me out Sherry ; I might have had porter or pale ale if
I liked; I had leg of mutton and potatoes, and finished dinner with
Stilton cheese; and it was for this that I had revisited my dear Paris.
"'Thank you,' says I, to Dash, cutting into the mutton with the
most bitter irony. ' This is a dish that I don't remember ever having
seen in England; but I have tasted pale ale there, and won't take any
this evening, thank you. Are we going to have Port wine after dinner?
or could you oblige me with a little London gin-and-water ?'
" Tom Dash laughed his mighty laugh; and I will say, we had not
Port wine, but Claret, fit for the repast of a pontiff, after dinner, and
sate over it so late that the theatre was impossible, and the first day
was gone, and might as well have been passed in Pump Court or Pall
MalL for all the good I had out of it.
" But, Sir, do you know what had happened in the morning of that
day during which I was paying the visits before mentioned ?
"Robinson, my very old friend, pressed me so to command dine
with him, and fix my day, that I could not refuse, and fixed Friday.
" Brown, who is very rich, and with whom I had had a difference,
insisted so upon our meeting as in old times, that I could not refuse ;
and so, being called on to appoint my own day—I selected Sunday.
" Smith is miserably poor, and it would offend him and Mrs. Smith
mortally that I should dine with a rich man, and turn up my nose at
bis kind and humble table. I was free to name any day I liked, and so
I chose Monday.
" Meanwliile, our old friend Jones had heard that I had agreed to
dine with Brown, with whom he too was at variance, and he offered
downright to quarrel with me unless I gave him a day: so I fixed
Thursday.
" ' I have but Saturday,' say s I, with almost tears in my eyes.
" ' O, I have asked a party of the old fellows to meet you,' cries out
Tom Dash ; ' and made a dinner expressly for the occasion.'
"And this, Sir, was the fact. This was the way, Sir, that I got my
dinners at Paris. Sir, at one house I had boiled leg of mutton and
turnips, at another beef-steak ; and I give you my word of honour, at
two I had mock-turtle soup ! In this manner I saw Paris. This was
what my friends called welcoming me—we drank Sherry; we talked
about Mr. Cobden and the new financial reform ; I was not allowed to
see a single Frenchman, save one, a huge athletic monster, whom I saw
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
ome few words about dinners, my
dear friend, I know your benevo-
lent mind will expect. A man who
comes to Paris without directing
his mind to dinners, is like a fellow
who travels to Athens without
caring to inspect ruins, or an indi-
vidual who goes to the Opera, and
misses Jenny Lind's singing.
No, I should be ungrateful to that
appetite with which Nature has
bountifully endowed me—to those
recollections which render a con-
sideration of the past so exqui-
site an enjoyment to me—were I
to think of coming to Paris wit li-
the sommelier confidentially about the wine—a pint of Champagne, saj,
rvM crVM i; T^TATXTTT'T} Q AT "PARTS 'a bottle of Bordeaux, or a bottle of Burgundy , not more, for youi
! - -'■ |!' private drinking. He goes out to satisfy your wishes, and returns with
the favourite flask in a cradle, very likely. Whilst he is gone, comes old
Antoine, who is charmed to see Monsieur de retour ; and vows that
you rajeunnissez terns les mis, with a plate of oysters—dear little juicy
green oysters in their upper shells, swimming in their sweet native brine,,
not like your great white flaccid natives in England, that look as if they
had been fed on pork : and ah ! how kindly and pretty that attention is-
of the two little plates of radishes and butter, which they bring you in,
and with which you can dally between the arrival of the various dishes
of your dinner ; they are like the delicate symphonies which are played'
at the theatre between the acts of a charming Comedy. A little hread-
and-butter, a little raddish— you crunch and relish—a little raddish, a
little piece of bread-and-butter—you relish and crunch—wheu lo! up
goes the curtain, and Antoine comes in with the entree or the roast.
"I pictured all this in my mind and went out. I will not tell any of
my friends that I am here, thought I. Sir, in five minutes, and before I
had crossed the Place Vendome, I had met five old acquaintances and
out enjoying a few qniet evenings ^encls, and in an hour afterwards the arrival of your humble servant
~i rt.. ,frl_;f T3i_i_._H „.:nB„ was known to all our old set.
_ " My first visit was for Tom Dash, with whom I had business. That
friend of my youth received me with the utmost cordiality: and our
business transacted and our acquaintances talked over (four of them I
had seen, so that it was absolutely necessary I should call on them and
on the rest,) it was agreed that I should go forth and pay visits, and that
on my return Ton and I should dine somewhere together. I called upon
Brown, upon Jones, upon Smith, upon Robinson, upon our old Paris
set, in a word, and in due time returned to Tom Dash.
' Where are we to dine, Tom ?' says L ' What is the crack Restau-
at the Trois Freres, alone, with a
few dishes, a faithful waiter who
knows you of old, and my own thoughts ; undisturbed by conver-
sation, or having to help the soup, or carve the turkey for the lady of
the house; by the exertion of telling jokes for the entertainment of the
company; by the ennui of a stupid neighbour at your side, to whom
you are forced to impart them ; by the disgust of hearing an opposition
wag talk better than yourself, take the stories with which you have
come primed and loaded, out of your very mouth, and fire them off him-
self, or audaciouslv bring forward old Joe Millers, and get a laugh ,
from all the company, when your own novelties and neatest impromptus ™nt now ■ I am entirely m your hands ; and let us be oft early and go
and mots pass round the table utterly disregarded. to the play afterwards.' _
" I rejoiced, Sir, in my mind, to think that I shoidd be able to dine " ' °> hang restaurants,' says Tom—' I'm tired of 'em; we are sick of
alone; without rivals to talk me out, hosts or ladies lo coax and wheedle, t}|em here. Thompson came 111 just after you were gone, and I told him
or neighbours who, before my eyes fas they often have done), will take : >"<i coming, and he will be here directly to have a chop with me.'
t he best cutlet or favourite snipe out of the dish, as it is handed round, , " There was nothing for it. I had to sit down and dine with Thompson
or to whom you have to give all the breast of the pheasant or capon, : and Tom Dash, at the batter's charges—and am bound to say that the
when yon carve it. I dinner was not a bad one. As I have said somewhere before, and am
" All the way in the railroad, and through the tedious hours of night, J proud of being able to say, I scarcely recollect ever to have had a bad
I whiled away such time as I did not employ in sleeping, or in thinking I dinner.
about Miss Br—wn, (who felt, I think, by the way, some little pang in j , "But of what do you think the present repast was composed ? Sir, I
parting with me, else why was she so silent all night, and why did she give yon my honour, we had a slice of salmon and a leg of mutton, and
apply ner pocket-handkerchief so constantly to "her lovely amethyst boiled potatoes, just as they do in my favourite Baker Street,
eyes?)—all the way in the railroad, I say, when not occupied by other j " ' Dev'lish good dinner ' says Thompson, covering the salmon with
thoughts, I amused the tedium of the journey by inventing little bills j lots of Harvey sauce—and Cayenne pepper, from Portntjm & Mason's.
of fare for one,—solitary Barmecide banquets,—which I enjoyed in spirit,
and proposed to discuss bodily on my arrival in the Capital ol the
Kitchen.
" ' Monsieur will dine at the table d'hote ?' the laquais de place said
at the Hotel, whilst I was arranging my elegant toilette before stepping
forth to renew an acquaintance with our beloved old city. An expres-
sion of scornful incredulity shot across the fine features of the person
addressed by the laquais de place. My fine fellow, thought I, do you
think I am come to Paris in order to dine at a table d'hote?—-to meet
twenty-four doubtful English and Americans at an ordinary ? ' L.U-
culltjs dines with Lucullus to-day, Sir;' which, as the laquais de place
did not understand, I added, ' I never dine at a table d'hote, except at an
extremity.'
" I had arranged in my mind a little quiet week of dinners. Twice
or thrice, thinks I, I will dine at the Freres, once at Very's, once
at the Cafe de Paris. If my old friend Voisin opposite the Assomption
has some of the same sort of Bordeaux which Ave recollect in 1844, I
will dine there at least twice. Philippe's, in the Rue Montorgued,
must be tried, which, they say, is as good as the Rocher de Cancale
used to be in our time : and the seven days were chalked out already,
and I saw there was nothing for it but to breakfast a lafourchette at
some of the other places which I had in my mind, if I wished to revisit
all my old haunts.
" To a man living much in the world, or surrounded by his family,
there is nothing so good as this solitude from time to time—there is
nothing like communing with your own heart, and giving a calm and
deliberate judgment upon the great question—the truly vital question,
I may say—before you. What is the use of having your children, who
live on roast mutton in the nursery, and think treacle-pudding the
summit of cookery, to sit down and take the best three-fourths of a
perdreau truffe with you ? What is the use of helping your wife, who
doesn't know the difference between Sherry and Madeira, to a glass of
priceless Romanee or sweetly odoriferous Chateau Laffitte of '42 ?
Poor deai- soul! she would be as happy with a slice of the children's
joint, and a cup of tea in the evening. She takes them when you are
away. To give fine wine to that dear creature, is like giving pearls to—
to animals who don't know their value.
" What I like, is to sit at a Restaurant alone, after having taken a
glass of absinthe in water, about half-an-hour previous, to muse well over
the carte, and pick out some little dinner for myself; to converse with
Bonnez du Sherry a Monsieur Cantekbtj:ry,' says Tom Dash to
Prancois his man. ' There's porter or pale ale if any man likes it.'
" They poured me out Sherry ; I might have had porter or pale ale if
I liked; I had leg of mutton and potatoes, and finished dinner with
Stilton cheese; and it was for this that I had revisited my dear Paris.
"'Thank you,' says I, to Dash, cutting into the mutton with the
most bitter irony. ' This is a dish that I don't remember ever having
seen in England; but I have tasted pale ale there, and won't take any
this evening, thank you. Are we going to have Port wine after dinner?
or could you oblige me with a little London gin-and-water ?'
" Tom Dash laughed his mighty laugh; and I will say, we had not
Port wine, but Claret, fit for the repast of a pontiff, after dinner, and
sate over it so late that the theatre was impossible, and the first day
was gone, and might as well have been passed in Pump Court or Pall
MalL for all the good I had out of it.
" But, Sir, do you know what had happened in the morning of that
day during which I was paying the visits before mentioned ?
"Robinson, my very old friend, pressed me so to command dine
with him, and fix my day, that I could not refuse, and fixed Friday.
" Brown, who is very rich, and with whom I had had a difference,
insisted so upon our meeting as in old times, that I could not refuse ;
and so, being called on to appoint my own day—I selected Sunday.
" Smith is miserably poor, and it would offend him and Mrs. Smith
mortally that I should dine with a rich man, and turn up my nose at
bis kind and humble table. I was free to name any day I liked, and so
I chose Monday.
" Meanwliile, our old friend Jones had heard that I had agreed to
dine with Brown, with whom he too was at variance, and he offered
downright to quarrel with me unless I gave him a day: so I fixed
Thursday.
" ' I have but Saturday,' say s I, with almost tears in my eyes.
" ' O, I have asked a party of the old fellows to meet you,' cries out
Tom Dash ; ' and made a dinner expressly for the occasion.'
"And this, Sir, was the fact. This was the way, Sir, that I got my
dinners at Paris. Sir, at one house I had boiled leg of mutton and
turnips, at another beef-steak ; and I give you my word of honour, at
two I had mock-turtle soup ! In this manner I saw Paris. This was
what my friends called welcoming me—we drank Sherry; we talked
about Mr. Cobden and the new financial reform ; I was not allowed to
see a single Frenchman, save one, a huge athletic monster, whom I saw