The cult of the chafing dish

The classic form of the eel is as a Matelote, originally a marine dish, and quite within Chafing Dish's compass. Have your eel cut into inch-and-a-half lengths, about one pound in all ; put a large walnut of butter, or two tablespoons of oil in the Chafing Dish, also a dozen small peeled onions ; let them brown thoroughly and frizzle well ; add a tablespoon of flour, a teaspoon of Paprika, and half as much salt. Heat up and stir well until it is all thoroughly amalgamated, then put in six small mushrooms, flat or button (fresh of course), add a good squeeze of lemon, and if the mixture is thicker than cream, pour in a little water. Now put in a tumbler (halfpint) of good claret, a couple of cloves, a bay leaf, and a teacup of bouillon. Let the mixture simmer for eight minutes, after which put in the eel and a liqueur glass of brandy, and cook for another ten minutes ; then serve very hot. An orthodox variation is to set light to the brandy before pouring it in and if the boiling wine catches fire it gives a peculiar savour. A well-made Matelote is a thing of joy, a combination of harmonies, culminating in one grand Amen. Izaak Walton designates such a dish a " Hogoo." Grandfather's Bloaters. Finally, here Is a dish which is superlative in its simplicity. It is not a Chafing-Dish recipe, but is yet not altogether out of place. It is called Grandfather's Bloaters. Put two fine bloaters into a soup-plate, pour over them enough whisky just to cover them. Set light to the whisky, and let it burn itself out. The bloaters will then be done — and done exquisitely. The dish is attributed to Charles Sala, the father of the late George Augustus Sala. It reads much more bibulous than it really is. As a matter of fact, it is almost a temperance dish. " Alas ! how simple to these cates compared Was that crude apple that diverted Eve r " Milton ("Paradise Regained"). It has always been a puzzle to me why folks take flesh and fowl so much more seriously than fish and vegetables. Your fair neighbour at a dinner-party will prattle gaily through soup and fish, of polo or pantomime, according to the season, but as soon as meat or bird makes its appearance she, all unconsciously, dives into deeper topics, and talks of palaeontology or premature burial. Why ? Of course, if this had only happened to myself, I should know that I was a sepulchral bore, but I find, on inquiry, that it is the experience of nine men out of ten. In W. H. Mallock's "New Republic," some quite nice people find before them at dinner a menu of the conversation expected of them, as well as of the food to be eaten. It was arranged something after the fashion of the bill of fare of a great dinner where the wines are indicated against each course. Thus instead of 'fortue Claire — Amontillado, something like this, Creme d" Asperges — Our Foreign Policy, was printed on the card. Mr. Mallock relates that the scheme was not found practicable, but the idea, in itself, seems alluring and full of possibilities. Anyhow, it is obvious to the most casual diner-out that there is a direct, if indefinable, link, between Gates and conversation, and that the tide of talk ebbs and flows through the menu according to a certain unascertained but more or less fixed law. The great question of Sauce has broken up many DamOn-Pythias friendships, and brought havoc into sundry happy homes. No two people think exactly alike on Sauces, There are so many schools. The Flamboyant, the Renaissance, the Simplicists, the Natural FJavourltes, the Neo-Soho, and many others. The only way to gastronomic salvation is to steer a careful course between extremes, and to take that which is best and most expedient from each and every school,