No 932 – PIKE (Stewed in Wine)
Ingredients-
1 pike, weighing 3 or 4 lbs, forcemeat, N0 535, 1 pint of claret, 1 oz. Butter, 1 dessert-spoonful flour, pepper and salt.
Method-
Fill the pike with the forcemeat and tie up securely. Melt the butter, dredge in the flour, pepper, and salt gradually, stirring all the time, and cook for 3 or 4 minuutes, until a smooth brown thickening isprouced, then add the wine a little at a time, and lay in the pike, stew gently for 40 minutes to an hour, according to the size of the fish. Serve on a very hot dish with the sauce poured over.
Time - About 1 hour
Sufficient for 5 or 6 persons.
A Practical Dictionary of Cooking
1200 Tested Recipes
by
ETHEL S. MEYER
Second Edition
(Seventh Thousand)
LONDON
John Murray, Albermale Street 1899
Page 232
Wednesday, 3 March 2010
The Rummer Tavern
The following entry from Cunningham's London in 1850 harks back to the earlier century. However, is it possble to see some of the humour of the day in Cunningham's recording. Here we have a poem recalling an uncle's teaching of his nephew how to doctor wine with cider. The same uncle is then stoutly in defence of the claim that he has been shaving off bits of coin to "his own advantage". The offer of 10 guineas to uncover the identities of his accusers (before trial) is not the sign of a man who is happy for the law to take its own course! And then Cunningham, by way of footnote almost, lets us know that an infamous highway man started his career at this very pub.
RUMMER TAVERN (The) A famous tavern, two doors from Locket's, between Whitehall and Charing Cross, removed to the water-side of Charing Cross in 1710, and burnt down Nov 7th, 1750. No traces exist. It was kept in Charles II's reign by Samuel Prior, uncle of Matthew Prior, the poet.
The prior family ceased to be connected with it in 1702.
“My uncle, rest his soul! When living,
Might have contriv'd me ways of thriving:
Taught me with cider to replenish
My vats or ebbing tides of Rhenish
So when for hock I drew prikt white-wine
Swear't had the flavour, and was right wine.”
Prior to Fleetwood Shepeard.
“there having been a false and scandalous report that Samuel Pryor, vintner at the Rummer, near Charing Cross, was accused of exchanging money for his own advantage, with such as clip and deface his Majesty's coin, and that the said Pryor had given bail to answer the same. This report being false in every part of it, if any person who shall give notice to the said Pryor, who have been the fomenters or dispensers of this malicious report, so as a legal prosecution can be made against them, the said Pryor will forthwith give 10 guineas as a reward”
London Gazette, May 31st to June 4th, 1688.
Here jack Sheppard committed is first robbery by stealing two silver spoons. The Rummer is introduced by Hogarth into his picture of “Night”.
Jack Adams is a member of the Pub History Society and heartily encourages all who have an interest to enroll for the most reasonable of annual subscriptions, £10. Click on the logo below and life will never be the same again!
RUMMER TAVERN (The) A famous tavern, two doors from Locket's, between Whitehall and Charing Cross, removed to the water-side of Charing Cross in 1710, and burnt down Nov 7th, 1750. No traces exist. It was kept in Charles II's reign by Samuel Prior, uncle of Matthew Prior, the poet.
The prior family ceased to be connected with it in 1702.
“My uncle, rest his soul! When living,
Might have contriv'd me ways of thriving:
Taught me with cider to replenish
My vats or ebbing tides of Rhenish
So when for hock I drew prikt white-wine
Swear't had the flavour, and was right wine.”
Prior to Fleetwood Shepeard.
“there having been a false and scandalous report that Samuel Pryor, vintner at the Rummer, near Charing Cross, was accused of exchanging money for his own advantage, with such as clip and deface his Majesty's coin, and that the said Pryor had given bail to answer the same. This report being false in every part of it, if any person who shall give notice to the said Pryor, who have been the fomenters or dispensers of this malicious report, so as a legal prosecution can be made against them, the said Pryor will forthwith give 10 guineas as a reward”
London Gazette, May 31st to June 4th, 1688.
Here jack Sheppard committed is first robbery by stealing two silver spoons. The Rummer is introduced by Hogarth into his picture of “Night”.
Hand-Book of London
Past and Present
Peter Cunningham, F.S.A.
John Murray
Albemarle Street
London
1850
Past and Present
Peter Cunningham, F.S.A.
John Murray
Albemarle Street
London
1850
Jack Adams is a member of the Pub History Society and heartily encourages all who have an interest to enroll for the most reasonable of annual subscriptions, £10. Click on the logo below and life will never be the same again!
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
The Hare and Hounds, East Sheen.
A record regarding the Blanchard family (click on image to go to web page containing this extract) which shows one of their clan as the publican of the Hare and Hounds in East Sheen. A little over the edge of Victorian London but yet another scrap of information worthy of recording.
The pub as it is today.
Jack Adams is a member of the Pub History Society and heartily encourages all who have an interest to enroll for the most reasonable of annual subscriptions, £10. Click on the logo below and life will never be the same again!
The Monster
This mine of wealth—the present suburb, or rather city, of Belgravia, for such it has become—passed into the possession of the Grosvenor family in 1656, when the daughter and sole heiress of Alexander Davies, Esq., of Ebury Farm, married Sir Thomas Grosvenor, the ancestor of the present Duke of Westminster.
This Mr. Davies died in 1663, three years after the Restoration, little conscious of the future value of his five pasturing fields. "In Queen Elizabeth's time," observes a writer in the Belgravia magazine, "this sumptuous property was only plain Eabury, or Ebury Farm, a plot of 430 acres, meadow and pasture, let on lease to a troublesome 'untoward' person named Wharle; and he, to her farthingaled Majesty's infinite annoyance, had let out the same to various other scurvy fellows, who insisted on enclosing the arable land, driving out the ploughs, and laying down grass, to the hindrance of all pleasant hawking and coursing parties.
Nor was this all the large-hearted queen alone cared about; she had a feeling for the poor, and she saw how these enclosures were just so much sheer stark robbery of the poor man's right of common after Lammas-tide. In the Regency, when Belgrave Square was a ground for hanging out clothes, all the space between Westminster and Vauxhall Bridge was known as 'Tothill Fields,' or 'The Downs.' It was a dreary tract of stunted, dusty, trodden grass, beloved by bull-baiters, badger-drawers, and dog-fighters.
Beyond this Campus Martius of prize-fighting days loomed a garden region of cabbage-beds, stagnant ditches fringed with pollard withes. There was then no Penitentiary at Millbank, no Vauxhall Bridge, but a haunted house half-way to Chelsea, and a halfpenny hatch, that led through a cabbage-plot to a tavern known by the agreeable name of 'The Monster.'
Beyond this came an embankment called the Willow Walk (a convenient place for quiet murder); and at one end of this lived that eminent public character, Mr. William Aberfield, generally known to the sporting peers, thieves, and dog-fanciers of the Regency as 'Slender Billy.' Mr. Grantley Berkeley once had the honour of making this gentleman's acquaintance, and visited his house to see the great Spanish monkey 'Mukako' ('Muchacho') fight Tom Cribb's dogs, and cut their throats one after the other—apparently, at least—for the 'gentleman' who really bled the dogs and the peers was Mr. Cribb himself, who had a lancet hidden in his hand, with which, under the pretence of rendering the bitten and bruised dogs help, he contrived, in a frank and friendly way, to open the jugular vein. A good many of the Prince Regent's friends were Slender Billy's also. Mr. Slender Billy died, however, much more regretted than the Regent, being a most useful and trusty member of a gang of forgers."
This steps somewhat outside the Victorian remit however for a tavern called "The Monster" and tales of Slender Billy it is an exception with Merit!
This Mr. Davies died in 1663, three years after the Restoration, little conscious of the future value of his five pasturing fields. "In Queen Elizabeth's time," observes a writer in the Belgravia magazine, "this sumptuous property was only plain Eabury, or Ebury Farm, a plot of 430 acres, meadow and pasture, let on lease to a troublesome 'untoward' person named Wharle; and he, to her farthingaled Majesty's infinite annoyance, had let out the same to various other scurvy fellows, who insisted on enclosing the arable land, driving out the ploughs, and laying down grass, to the hindrance of all pleasant hawking and coursing parties.
Nor was this all the large-hearted queen alone cared about; she had a feeling for the poor, and she saw how these enclosures were just so much sheer stark robbery of the poor man's right of common after Lammas-tide. In the Regency, when Belgrave Square was a ground for hanging out clothes, all the space between Westminster and Vauxhall Bridge was known as 'Tothill Fields,' or 'The Downs.' It was a dreary tract of stunted, dusty, trodden grass, beloved by bull-baiters, badger-drawers, and dog-fighters.
Beyond this Campus Martius of prize-fighting days loomed a garden region of cabbage-beds, stagnant ditches fringed with pollard withes. There was then no Penitentiary at Millbank, no Vauxhall Bridge, but a haunted house half-way to Chelsea, and a halfpenny hatch, that led through a cabbage-plot to a tavern known by the agreeable name of 'The Monster.'
Beyond this came an embankment called the Willow Walk (a convenient place for quiet murder); and at one end of this lived that eminent public character, Mr. William Aberfield, generally known to the sporting peers, thieves, and dog-fanciers of the Regency as 'Slender Billy.' Mr. Grantley Berkeley once had the honour of making this gentleman's acquaintance, and visited his house to see the great Spanish monkey 'Mukako' ('Muchacho') fight Tom Cribb's dogs, and cut their throats one after the other—apparently, at least—for the 'gentleman' who really bled the dogs and the peers was Mr. Cribb himself, who had a lancet hidden in his hand, with which, under the pretence of rendering the bitten and bruised dogs help, he contrived, in a frank and friendly way, to open the jugular vein. A good many of the Prince Regent's friends were Slender Billy's also. Mr. Slender Billy died, however, much more regretted than the Regent, being a most useful and trusty member of a gang of forgers."
source: Old and New London
Edward Walford
1878
Edward Walford
1878
This steps somewhat outside the Victorian remit however for a tavern called "The Monster" and tales of Slender Billy it is an exception with Merit!
Jack Adams is a member of the Pub History Society and heartily encourages all who have an interest to enroll for the most reasonable of annual subscriptions, £10. Click on the logo below and life will never be the same again!
The Bag of Nails
BAG OF NAILS, (properly the BACHANALS). A public house in Arabella-row, Pimlico, the corner house on the left hand side leading from Pimlico. It is now a gin shop.
source: Hand-Book of London Past and Present,
Peter Cunningham, F.S.A.
John Murray, London 1850.
Peter Cunningham, F.S.A.
John Murray, London 1850.
Sadly, another pub noted as lost to mother's ruin.
The Green Man, Marylebone
FARTHING PIE HOUSE, Marylebone, now "the Green Man," was kept by Price, a famous player on the salt-box. Of this Price there is a mezzotinto print. Farthing Pie-Houses were not uncommon in the environs of London in the reign of George II.
And later on, due reference was found! From "Notes and Queeries" August 20th, 1932.
Jack Adams is a member of the Pub History Society and heartily encourages all who have an interest to enroll for the most reasonable of annual subscriptions, £10. Click on the logo below and life will never be the same again!
source: Hand-Book of London Past and Present,
Peter Cunningham, F.S.A.
John Murray, London 1850.
Peter Cunningham, F.S.A.
John Murray, London 1850.
This is a fascinating entry which teases with the idea of a print lying undiscovered somewhere around London (hopefully). And if anyone can tell tales of the "salt-box" then that too would be fascinating.
And later on, due reference was found! From "Notes and Queeries" August 20th, 1932.
Jack Adams is a member of the Pub History Society and heartily encourages all who have an interest to enroll for the most reasonable of annual subscriptions, £10. Click on the logo below and life will never be the same again!
Monday, 1 March 2010
Financial Crisis: Identifying the Victims
The extract shown here is from the book "Piccadilly to Pall Mall" by Ralph Nevill and Charles Edward Jerningham, Duckworth & Co, London, 1908. This date may not fit into your immediate idea of 'all things Victorian' but then the text is a retrospective critique which bemoans the lost values of the past! This theme is very common in Edwardian times with Nevill and Jerningham imposing a withering condemnation of "new money" with all the arrogance and pomposity of gentlemen from the Victorian old school of those born to rule.
"Nothing, indeed, more suited to the English love of making concessions to respectability could ever have been devised than this easy and discreet method of toying with the goddess of chance.
The delightful thing about all of this is that many who are really nothing but confirmed and habitual gamblers are genuinely ignorant of their infirmity, and though themselves speculating in the most regular manner, have the audacity to denounce others who have a taste for the racecourse or card-table - no doubt financially disastrous, but yet not tainted with much humbug or hypocrisy.
Gambling will always exist - life itself is a gamble. Chance regulates our entry into, and also our exit from, this vale of tears - much seems ruled by Chance.
All legislative attempts to stamp out speculations of no matter whatever sort are doomed to complete, and absolute,failure. Legislatures may pass ridiculous laws; ecclesiastics may fulminate; philosophers may deplore; but the instinct of speculation is ineradicably implanted in the human heart, from which not even the most drastic measures will ever extirpate it.
What remedy there lies in sensible regulation and well-conceived enactments to ensure undeviating and strict probity in all financial dealings, whether in speculation or investment; the public should be given a fair chance, and all doubtful transactions ruthlessly branded and exposed.
The mania for speculation reached a climax in the year 1895, when what is known as the South African boom took place. Many large fortunes were made then, and people went mad about the colossal possibilities of an apparently unlimited rise in the price of shares.
The British public were, of course, not behind-hand in joining in this financial revel, eventually burning its fingers, as usual. Out of its pocket, indeed, came more gold than from the mines of the African veldt, which have anything but realised the brilliant forecasts once so generally believed.
As the promoters of many a new company well knew, the gold in the pockets of the British public was more easily extracted than the ore hidden deep in the bowels of the earth, and from England itself rather than from the new Golconda beyond the seas came most of the wealth which produced quite a new brand of millionaire."
This text reveals the beauty I see in collecting these old forgotten books. Little gems await only the effort of you digging through a few pages to reveal a seam of wit or the ore of wisdom. The timeless sense of these writings re-affirms one thing, times change but people most certainly do not.
"Nothing, indeed, more suited to the English love of making concessions to respectability could ever have been devised than this easy and discreet method of toying with the goddess of chance.
The delightful thing about all of this is that many who are really nothing but confirmed and habitual gamblers are genuinely ignorant of their infirmity, and though themselves speculating in the most regular manner, have the audacity to denounce others who have a taste for the racecourse or card-table - no doubt financially disastrous, but yet not tainted with much humbug or hypocrisy.
Gambling will always exist - life itself is a gamble. Chance regulates our entry into, and also our exit from, this vale of tears - much seems ruled by Chance.
All legislative attempts to stamp out speculations of no matter whatever sort are doomed to complete, and absolute,failure. Legislatures may pass ridiculous laws; ecclesiastics may fulminate; philosophers may deplore; but the instinct of speculation is ineradicably implanted in the human heart, from which not even the most drastic measures will ever extirpate it.
What remedy there lies in sensible regulation and well-conceived enactments to ensure undeviating and strict probity in all financial dealings, whether in speculation or investment; the public should be given a fair chance, and all doubtful transactions ruthlessly branded and exposed.
The mania for speculation reached a climax in the year 1895, when what is known as the South African boom took place. Many large fortunes were made then, and people went mad about the colossal possibilities of an apparently unlimited rise in the price of shares.
The British public were, of course, not behind-hand in joining in this financial revel, eventually burning its fingers, as usual. Out of its pocket, indeed, came more gold than from the mines of the African veldt, which have anything but realised the brilliant forecasts once so generally believed.
As the promoters of many a new company well knew, the gold in the pockets of the British public was more easily extracted than the ore hidden deep in the bowels of the earth, and from England itself rather than from the new Golconda beyond the seas came most of the wealth which produced quite a new brand of millionaire."
This text reveals the beauty I see in collecting these old forgotten books. Little gems await only the effort of you digging through a few pages to reveal a seam of wit or the ore of wisdom. The timeless sense of these writings re-affirms one thing, times change but people most certainly do not.
Piccadilly to Pall Mall
Ralph Nevill
and
Edward Jerningham
(Marmaduke)
Duckworth & Co
London
1908
Ralph Nevill
and
Edward Jerningham
(Marmaduke)
Duckworth & Co
London
1908
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