Soyer - The chef at war

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A Culinary Campaign first published 1857

This extract published in Penguin Books 2011

All rights reserved

Cover design based on a pattern from a mess plate for the English navy, c. 1840. Blue and white transfer-print on earthernware. (Photograph copyright Bridgeman Art Library.) Picture research by Samantha Johnson. Lettering by Stephen Raw

Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

ISBN: 978-0-24-195092-0

PENGUIN BOOKS GREAT FOOD

The Chef at War

Born in France, ALEXIS SOYER (18101858) was a celebrated chef and kitchen innovator. He became the first chef at the Reform Club in London, where he instituted many innovations in the kitchens, including cooking with gas and using refrigerators cooled by cold water and ovens with adjustable temperatures. His kitchens became so famous they were opened for tours, and his lamb cutlets Reform still features on the menu at the club today. Later on in his life, Soyer campaigned for better food, setting up soup kitchens in Ireland during the potato famine and offering his services to British soldiers during the Crimean War, training chefs, organizing provisions and using his own invention, the Soyer stove (a portable stove), in the field to cater for troops. The stove was still in use in the late twentieth century.

Hurrah! hurrah! bravo! bravo! For a few minutes rounds of applause and shouts of laughter from the juveniles were heard and loudly re-echoed throughout the vast cupola of Old Drury, sending home the delighted spectators, in fits of sneezing and coughing, through a variegated atmosphere. Sir Henry W, turning to me, exclaimed, Hallo, Mr. Soyer, the pantomime is over early this evening! and looking at his watch, continued, Why, it is only half-past eleven oclock.

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In a few minutes the theatre was nearly emptied of spectators, but still full of smoke. Considering myself that evening as free as a butterfly on a spring morning, though unable, like that light-hearted insect, to flit from flower to flower, I was trying to escape, with the swiftness of an eel, down the gigantic and crowded staircase, hoping to get off unobserved, as I had to start early in the morning for the country, when suddenly a friendly hand pressed me forcibly by the arm. The owner of the same cried, Stop! Stop! my friend; I have been hunting all over the theatre for you. I at once recognised an old Devonshire acquaintance, whom I was indeed much pleased to see, having received a most kind reception from him at my last visit to that delightful county so justly named the garden of England.

Well, my dear sir, said he, myself and several acquaintances of yours are here for a few days, and have ordered a supper this evening at the Albion. We heard you were at Drury Lane, and I have come to ask you to join us.

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Finding it almost impossible to get out of it, and my friend having promised we should break up early, I accepted, saying, You must allow me to go as far as the Wellington, as I have an appointment there; I will be back in about half-an-hour.

My incredulous country friend would not grant permission till I had assured him that I would faithfully keep my promise, and return.

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We parted, he going to the Albion, and I to the Wellington.

On my arrival there, I found that my friend had been and was gone. My intelligent cabby soon brought me back through the dense atmosphere to that far-famed temple of Comus, at which crowds of celebrities meet nightly some to restore themselves internally, others to sharpen their wits at that tantalising abode of good cheer. Upon entering, I inquired of a waiter, a stranger to me, if he could inform me where my six friends intended to sup.

Yes, sir, directly. Speaking down the trumpet: Below! a Welsh rarebit and fresh toast two kidneys underdone scalloped oyster a chop two taters! Look sharp below! To the barmaid: Two stouts, miss one pale four brandies hot, two without one whisky three gin pint sherry bottle of port!

What an intelligent waiter! thought I, to have so good a memory. Having waited till he had given his orders, I again said, Pray, my fine fellow, in which room are my friends going to sup? They have a private room, no doubt?

Yes, sir, a private room for two.

No, not for two for six.

Oh! I dont mean that, sir: I want a rump-steak for two, said he; stewed tripe for one three grogs bottle pale Bass. And off he went to the coffee-room.

Plague upon the fellow! said I to myself.

As the barmaid could not give me any information upon the subject, and I perceived through a half-opened door on the right-hand side of the bar a table laid for six, I went in, making sure it was for my friends, and that they had not yet arrived. Indeed, I had myself returned from my appointment much sooner than I had expected. I sat down, and was reading the evening paper, when a waiter came in. After you with the paper, sir.

I have done; you may take it.

Theres the Times, sir, if you have not seen it.

No, I have not; let me have a look at it. After reading one of the leaders, my attention was drawn to a long article written by the Crimean correspondent of that journal. When I had read it carefully a second time, a few minutes reflection on my part enabled me to collect my ideas, and established in my mind a certain assurance that I could, if allowed by Government, render service in the cooking of the food, the administration of the same, as well as the distribution of the provisions. These were matters in which I could detect, through the description of that eye-witness, the writer of the above-mentioned article, some change was much needed. I therefore wrote the following letter to the Times, it being then nearly one oclock in the morning:

THE HOSPITAL KITCHENS AT SCUTARI.

To the Editor of the Times

S IR , After carefully perusing the letter of your correspondent, dated Scutari, in your impression of Wednesday last, I perceive that, although the kitchen under the superintendence of Miss Nightingale affords so much relief, the system of management at the large one in the Barrack Hospital is far from being perfect. I propose offering my services gratuitously, and proceeding direct to Scutari, at my own personal expense, to regulate that important department, if the Government will honour me with their confidence, and grant me the full power of acting according to my knowledge and experience in such matters.