FROM A CLUBMAN’S CHAIR

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXIX, Issue 20064, 22 March 1935, Page 16

FROM A CLUBMAN’S CHAIR

A LIKING FOR FROGS’ LEGS MR SPEAKER’S BREWERY STEEDS (Specially written for “ The Timaru Herald ” by Charles Martin.) LONDON, February 21. Every seasoned diner-out in London is primed with anecdotes of Auguste Escoffier, greatest chef of modern times, who has just died on the Riviera at the age of 88. For it was Escoffier who first put the West End “on the map” as a gourmets’ rendezvous second only to Paris. London’s affection for Escoffier is yet one more example of the way we lose our hearts to those who tell us our faults. Escoffier was not above spending half a lifetime as chef at the Savoy, the Ritz and the Carlton, and he did not despise the £2OOO-a--year salary he earned. But he despised English cooking and English ways of eating. He never even attempted to learn English all the time he was here. “I am afraid that if I learn your language I might begn to cook in your fashion,” he used to say. He Hated Tea But most of all the great chef hated and despised the English habit of taking tea late in the afternoon. It broke his heart to see the “five o’ clock” growing more and more popular among his own fellow-countrymen in Paris.

“The bread and butter, the jam, the cake, the pastries!” he exclaimed. “Oh, they sear my soul! For how can one eat and enjoy a dinner —the king of meals —an hour or so later?” Beloved Critic A cup of tea and a dainty slice of bread and butter was the most he would admit in the way of afternoon refreshment. Even that should be eaten no later than four o’ clock. England loved him for is passionate condemnation of our national meal. And we have gone on eating our hearty English teas. Frogs’ Legs Another thing that pained Escoffier about the English was that they would never take kindly to frogs’ legs as an item on the menu. He used to say that King Edward was the only Englishman who really liked the dish. There is a celebrated story, good enough to be retold, of how Escoffier tried to foist frogs’ legs upon London by stealth. He did it on a grand scale, at a banquet for 700 diners at the Savoy Hotel. The Secret Out The 700 guests were introduced to a new dish, which the famous chef called “nymphe ala rose.” Everyone liked not only its poetic name, but its exquisite taste. The fame of “nymphe a la rose” spread through London, and diners began to order it regularly at the Savoy. Then one night came revelation. The new dish was set before a woman guest, who had scarcely tasted it when she pronounced: “This is frog!” It was, indeed, Escoffier’s beloved frogs’ legs, heavily disguised with paprika sauce. But in spite of the tastiness of “nymphe a la rose,” and in spite of the Royal example, London has steadfastly refused to this day to accept frogs’ legs. Indian Prince House-Hunting One business which will enjoy a healthy boom in London during the Jubilee weeks is the house agents’ trade. Most of the big suites in the fashionable hotels have already been booked weeks ago, and visitors who want spacious accommodation are renting houses for the Jubilee celebrations. An Indian Prince, I see, is advertising for a large Mayfair house. He is coming over in April—a month before the Jubilee anniversary—and staying four and a half months in London. Here is a chance for an agent with one of those large, unwanted’houses on his hands. For the Prince wants a place with twelve bedrooms and no fewer than six bathrooms. He adds that he is ready to pay “a good rent.” Mr Speaker’s Coach What must be the most rarely-used vehicle in London is being refurnished in readiness for the Jubilee processions. It is the State Coach of the Speaker of the House of Commons. I confess I did not know until the other day that Mr Speaker possessed a coach, and no doubt most other Londoners shared my ignorance. Pardonable ignorance, perhaps—for the coach has not seen the light of day for 25 years. It was last used at the Coronation. Lent by a Queen It does not seem quite clear how Mr Speaker came by the coach he so seldom uses. Apparently it was lent by Queen Anne to one of the Speakers during her reign, and in course of time the loan became a gift. It would also seem that the English carriage-horse of Queen Anne’s day was a sturdier steed than its successor in modern times. The coach is a huge, gilded affair weighing nearly three tons. When Mr Speaker Lowther (now Lord Ullswater) got it out for the Coronation, he had difficulty m finding horses strong enough to draw the vehicle. Brewery to the Rescue Eventually a London brewery came to the rescue with powerful horses accustomed to pulling heavy drays. During a long wait before the Coronation procession the horses grew hungry— and nosebags are no part of Mr Speaker’s State equipment. But food, of a kind, was near at hand. Scenting hay or straw in the paddinground the pole of the coach, the horses bit through the leather covering and regaled themselves on fodder as old as Queen Anne. Why Not a Motor-Coach Now that we have glimpsed the Speaker’s coach (it passed through the streets this week on its way to be overhauled), I cannot help wishing that he would use it oftener. With its ornate and gilded body, its painted panels and its plush upholstery, it would make a fine splash of colour in the drab street scene of these modern days. Perhaps since the State does not provide Mr Speaker with horses, he might have his coach “mechanised” and mounted on a motor chassis. But since the Speaker lives in the precincts of the Houses of Parliament, right “on the job,” I fear it might be argued that he has no need to travel about town on the nation’s business.