Visit https://testbankdeal.

com to download the full version and

explore more testbank or solution manual

Introduction to Java Programming Comprehensive

Version 9th Edition Liang Test Bank

_____ Click the link below to download _____

https://testbankdeal.com/product/introduction-to-java-
programming-comprehensive-version-9th-edition-liang-
test-bank/

Explore and download more testbank at testbankdeal

 Recommended digital products (PDF, EPUB, MOBI) that
you can download immediately if you are interested.

Introduction to Java Programming Comprehensive Version

10th Edition Liang Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/introduction-to-java-programming-
comprehensive-version-10th-edition-liang-test-bank/

testbankdeal.com

Introduction to Java Programming Comprehensive Version

10th Edition Liang Solutions Manual

https://testbankdeal.com/product/introduction-to-java-programming-
comprehensive-version-10th-edition-liang-solutions-manual/

testbankdeal.com

Introduction to Java Programming Brief Version 10th

Edition Liang Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/introduction-to-java-programming-
brief-version-10th-edition-liang-test-bank/

testbankdeal.com

Window on Humanity A Concise Introduction to General

Anthropology 6th Edition Kottak Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/window-on-humanity-a-concise-
introduction-to-general-anthropology-6th-edition-kottak-test-bank/

testbankdeal.com
Computed Tomography Physical Principles Clinical
Applications and Quality Control 3rd Edition Seeram Test
Bank
https://testbankdeal.com/product/computed-tomography-physical-
principles-clinical-applications-and-quality-control-3rd-edition-
seeram-test-bank/
testbankdeal.com

Canadian Organizational Behaviour 8th Edition McShane

Solutions Manual

https://testbankdeal.com/product/canadian-organizational-
behaviour-8th-edition-mcshane-solutions-manual/

testbankdeal.com

Canadian Advertising in Action Canadian 10th Edition

Tuckwell Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/canadian-advertising-in-action-
canadian-10th-edition-tuckwell-test-bank/

testbankdeal.com

Economy Today 13th Edition Schiller Solutions Manual

https://testbankdeal.com/product/economy-today-13th-edition-schiller-
solutions-manual/

testbankdeal.com

Preface To Marketing Management 15Th Edition Peter Test

Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/preface-to-marketing-management-15th-
edition-peter-test-bank/

testbankdeal.com
Accounting Information Systems 2nd Edition Richardson Test
Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/accounting-information-systems-2nd-
edition-richardson-test-bank/

testbankdeal.com
 Name:_______________________ CSCI 1302 OO Programming
Armstrong Atlantic State University
(50 minutes) Instructor: Y. Daniel Liang

Part I:

(A)
B’s constructor is invoked
A’s constructor is invoked

(B)
(a) The program has a syntax error because x does not have the compareTo
method.

(b) The program has a syntax error because the member access operator (.) is
executed before the casting operator.

(C)
(1) false
(2) true
(3) false (because they are created at different times)
(4) true

(D) Will statement3 be executed?

Answer: No.

If the exception is not caught, will statement4 be executed?

Answer: No.

If the exception is caught in the catch clause, will statement4 be

executed?
Answer: Yes.

(E) The method throws a checked exception. You have to declare to throw
the exception in the method header.

Part II:

public static Comparable max(Comparable[] a) {

Comparable result = a[0];

for (int i = 1; i < a.length; i++)

if (result.compareTo(a[i]) < 0)
result = a[i];

1
 return result;
}

public class Hexagon extends GeometricObject implements Comparable {

private double side;

/** Construct a Hexagon with the specified side */

public Hexagon(double side) {
// Implement it
this.side = side;
}

/** Implement the abstract method getArea in

GeometricObject */
public double getArea() {
// Implement it ( area = 3 * 3 * side * side )
return 3 * Math.squr(3) * side * side;
}

/** Implement the abstract method getPerimeter in

GeometricObject */
public double getPerimeter() {
// Implement it
Return 6 * side;
}

/** Implement the compareTo method in

the Comparable interface to */
public int compareTo(Object obj) {
// Implement it (compare two Hexagons based on their areas)
if (this.side > ((Hexagon)obj).side)
return 1;
else if (this.side == ((Hexagon)obj).side)
return 0;
else
return -1;
}
}

Part III: Multiple Choice Questions:

1. A subclass inherits _____________ from its superclass.

a. private method
b. protected method
c. public method
d. a and c
e. b and c
Key:e

2
#
2. Show the output of running the class Test in the following code:

interface A {
void print();
}

class C {}

class B extends C implements A {

public void print() { }
}

public class Test {

public static void main(String[] args) {
B b = new B();
if (b instanceof A)
System.out.println("b is an instance of A");
if (b instanceof C)
System.out.println("b is an instance of C");
}
}

a. Nothing.
b. b is an instance of A.
c. b is an instance of C.
d. b is an instance of A followed by b is an instance of C.
Key:d

#
3. When you implement a method that is defined in a superclass, you
__________ the original method.

a. overload
b. override
c. copy
d. call
Key:b

#
4. What is the output of running the class C.

public class C {
public static void main(String[] args) {
Object[] o = {new A(), new B()};
System.out.print(o[0]);
System.out.print(o[1]);
}
}

class A extends B {
public String toString() {
return "A";
}
}

3
class B {
public String toString() {
return "B";
}
}

a. AB
b. BA
c. AA
d. BB
e. None of above
Key:a

#
5. What is the output of running class C?

class A {
public A() {
System.out.println(
"The default constructor of A is invoked");
}
}

class B extends A {
public B(String s) {
System.out.println(s);
}
}

public class C {
public static void main(String[] args) {
B b = new B("The constructor of B is invoked");
}
}
a. none
b. "The constructor of B is invoked"
c. "The default constructor of A is invoked" "The constructor of B
is invoked"
d. "The default constructor of A is invoked"
Key:c

#
6. Analyze the following code:

public class Test1 {

public Object max(Object o1, Object o2) {
if ((Comparable)o1.compareTo(o2) >= 0) {
return o1;
}
else {
return o2;
}
}
}

a. The program has a syntax error because Test1 does not have a main
method.

4
b. The program has a syntax error because o1 is an Object instance
and it does not have the compareTo method.
c. The program has a syntax error because you cannot cast an Object
instance o1 into Comparable.
d. The program would compile if ((Comparable)o1.compareTo(o2) >= 0)
is replaced by (((Comparable)o1).compareTo(o2) >= 0).
e. b and d are both correct.
Key:e

#
7. The method _____ overrides the following method:

protected double xMethod(int x) {…};

a. private double xMethod(int x) {…}

b. protected int xMethod(double x) {…}
c. public double xMethod(double x) {…}
d. public double xMethod(int x) {…}
Key:d

#
8. Which of the following possible modifications will fix the errors in
this code?

public class Test {

private double code;

public double getCode() {

return code;
}

protected abstract void setCode(double code);

}

a. Remove abstract in the setCode method declaration.

b. Change protected to public.
c. Add abstract in the class declaration.
d. b and c.
Key:c

#
9. Analyze the following code.

class Test {
public static void main(String[] args) {
Object x = new Integer(2);
System.out.println(x.toString());
}
}

a. The program has syntax errors because an Integer object is

assigned to x.
b. When x.toString() is invoked, the toString() method in the Object
class is used.
c. When x.toString() is invoked, the toString() method in the
Integer class is used.
d. None of the above.

5
Key:c

#
10. What exception type does the following program throw?
public class Test {
public static void main(String[] args) {
Object o = new Object();
String d = (String)o;
}
}

a. ArithmeticException
b. No exception
c. StringIndexOutOfBoundsException
d. ArrayIndexOutOfBoundsException
e. ClassCastException
Key:e

#
11. What exception type does the following program throw?
public class Test {
public static void main(String[] args) {
Object o = null;
System.out.println(o.toString());
}
}

a. ArrayIndexOutOfBoundsException
b. ClassCastException
c. NullPointerException
d. ArithmeticException
e. StringIndexOutOfBoundsException
Key:c

6
Other documents randomly have
different content
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The cult of the
chafing dish
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the
laws of the country where you are located before using this
eBook.

Title: The cult of the chafing dish

Author: Frank Schloesser

Release date: May 7, 2024 [eBook #73560]

Language: English

Original publication: London: Gay and Bird, 1904

Credits: Alan, Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file
was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CULT OF

THE CHAFING DISH ***
THE CULT OF THE
CHAFING DISH
“What does cookery mean? It means the knowledge of Medea, and
of Circe, and of Calypso, and of Helen, and of Rebekah, and of the
Queen of Sheba. It means knowledge of all herbs, and fruits, and
balms, and spices, and of all that is healing and sweet in groves, and
savoury in meat. It means carefulness and inventiveness,
watchfulness, willingness, and readiness of appliances. It means the
economy of your Great-grandmother, and the Science of modern
chemistry, and French art, and Arabian hospitality. It means, in fine,
that you are to see imperatively that every one has something nice
to eat.”
RUSKIN
 The·cult·
of·the·
Chafing·
Dish·

BY·
FRANK·
SCHLOESSER·

LONDON
GAY·AND·BIRD
1905
Published May 1904
Second Edition March 1905
 To

THE ONLY WOMAN

WHO COULD TURN
ME FROM
BACHELORDOM
 CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE

I. The Chafing Dish 1

II. Preliminaries 19
III. Soups 38
IV. Fish 54
V. Flesh and Fowl 79
VI. Vegetables and Salads 108
VII. Eggs and Savouries 138
VIII. Sauces 159
IX. Sweets and Oddments 177
X. Amenities of the Table 192
Index 207
 THE·CULT·OF·THE·CHAFINGDISH···

CHAPTER·1·THE·CHAFING·DISH
“There does not at this blessed moment breathe on the Earth’s
surface a human being that willna prefer eating and drinking to all
ither pleasures o’ body or soul.”—The Ettrick Shepherd.

Every bachelor has a wife of some sort. Mine is a Chafing Dish; and
I desire to sing her praises.
My better half—I love to call her Chaffinda, and to dwell upon the
doubled consonant—is a nickel-plated dish on a wrought-iron stand,
with a simple spirit-lamp wherewith to keep herself warm. I bought
her at Harrod’s Stores for twelve shillings and ninepence—and she
has sisters.
It has been borne in upon me that many quite nice folk may be glad
to learn something of the possibilities of Chaffinda. Whether married
or single, there are moments in the life of nearly every man and
woman when the need of a quick, hot, and light little meal is worth
much fine gold. To such I would politely address myself.
The ordinary domestic cook is a tireless enemy of the Chafing Dish.
She calls it “fiddle-faddle.” Maybe. But inasmuch as it is clean,
economical, speedy and rather simple, it would naturally not appeal
to her peculiar sense of the culinary art.
To bachelors, male and female, in chambers, lodgings, diggings, and
the like, in fact to all who “batch”; to young couples with a taste for
theatres, concerts, and homely late suppers; to yachtsmen,
shooting-parties, and picnickers; to inventive artists who yearn for
fame in the evolution of a new entrée; to invalids, night workers,
actors and stockbrokers, the Chafing Dish is a welcome friend and
companion.
It has its limitations, of course, but they are few and immaterial, and
its obvious advantages and conveniences far outweigh its trivial
drawbacks. At the same time it must be remembered that it is a
serious cooking apparatus, and by no means a mere toy.
It is quite erroneous to imagine that the Chafing Dish is an American
invention. Nothing of the sort. The earliest trace of it is more than a
quarter of a thousand years old. “Le Cuisinier Français,” by Sieur
François Pierre de la Varenne, Escuyer de Cuisine de Monsieur le
Marquis d’Uxelles, published in Paris in 1652, contains a recipe for
Champignons à l’Olivier, in which the use of a Réchaut is
recommended. A translation of this work, termed “The French Cook,”
was published in London in 1653, and the selfsame recipe of
Mushrooms after the Oliver contains the injunction to use a Chafing
Dish; moreover, the frontispiece, a charmingly executed drawing,
shows a man-cook in his kitchen, surrounded by the implements of
his art; and on the table a Chafing Dish, much akin to our latter-day
variety, is burning merrily. This was in 1653. The Mayflower sailed in
1620.
So much for the antiquity of the Chafing Dish. At the same time our
mitigated thanks are due to America for its comparatively recent
reintroduction, for until quite lately, in Great Britain, its use was
practically limited to the cooking of cheese on the table. The Chafing
Dish is much esteemed across the Atlantic, although one is forced to
admit that it is sometimes put to base uses in the concoction of
unholy stews, which have not the natural flavour of fish, flesh or
fowl, or even good red herring. Still, if the Americans are vague in
their French nomenclature, unorthodox in their sauces, eclectic in
their flavourings, and over-lavish in their condiments, yet they have
at any rate brought parlour cooking to a point where it may
gracefully be accepted as an added pleasure to life.
When two or three are gathered together, and one mentions the
magic word “Chafing Dish,” the second invariably chimes in with
“Welsh Rabbit.” This is an error of taste, but excusable in the
circumstances. Chafing Dishes were not created for the exclusive
canonisation of Welsh Rabbits, although a deft hand may
occasionally play with one in a lightsome mood. There are other and
better uses. All the same, a fragrant and delicate Rabbit is not to be
despised, although it must not be made conceited by too great an
elevation into the realms of high cookery.
My Chaffinda has at least seventeen hundred and four different
charms, therein somewhat exceeding the average number
appertaining to her sex, but it would require volumes to mention
them separately, and it must suffice to indicate roughly a few of the
more prominent.
I suppose that every nation has the cooks that it deserves, and, if
this be accepted as an axiom, the general degeneration of the Plain
Cook of the middle classes amply accounts for the growing cult of
the Chafing Dish. The British school of cookery, in its mediocre form,
is monotony exemplified. Too many broths spoil the cook; and hence
we derive our dull sameness of roast and boiled.
Sweet are the juices of diversity, and whilst there is no reason for
the Chafer to elaborate a sauce of thirteen ingredients, the cunning
manipulation of three or four common articles of the domestic store-
cupboard will often give (intentionally or otherwise) surprising
results. This I shall hope to explain more fully later on.
Imagination and a due sense of proportion are as necessary in
cooking as in any other art—more so than in some, for
Impressionism in the kitchen simply means indigestion. Digestion is
the business of the human interior, indigestion that of the doctor. It
is so easy to cook indigestible things that a savoury cunningly
concocted of Bismuth and Pepsine would seem an almost necessary
adjunct to the menu (or Carte Dinatoire, as the French Revolutionists
called it) of the budding Chafist.
But the demon of indigestion may easily be exorcised with a little
care and thought. Three great apothegms should be borne in mind.
Imprimis: Never worry your food; let it cook out its own salvation.
Item: Use as few highly spiced condiments as possible; and, lastly,
keep to natural flavours, juices, and sauces.
Much modern depravity, for instance, I attribute to the unholy cult of
Mayonnaise (or Mahonnaise, or Bayonnaise, or Magnonaise,
according to different culinary authorities). At its best it is simply a
saucy disguise to an innocent salmon or martial lobster, reminding
the clean-palated of an old actor painted up to look young. I once
knew a man who proposed to a girl at a dance-supper simply
because he could not think of anything else to say, and suddenly
discovered that they both hated Mayonnaise. I have no reason to
suppose that they are unhappy.
At the same time I am in no wise against trying new dishes, new
combinations of subtle flavours, if they do not obliterate the true
taste of the basis. An experimental evening with Chaffinda, when
one is not sure how things are going to turn out, is, I find, most
exhilarating, and a sure cure for the blues. But I am fain to admit
that on such occasions I always provide a chunk of Benoist pressed
beef as a stand-by in case of emergency.
There is nothing final about the Chafing Dish.
Another point about having a wife in the shape of a Chafing Dish is
somewhat delicate to explain. Coarsely indicated, it amounts to this.
Continuous intercourse with such a delicious, handy and resourceful
helpmeet tends to a certain politeness in little things, a dainty
courtesy which could not be engendered by the constant
companionship of a common kitchen-range. Chafing-Dish cookery
bears the same relation to middle-class kitchen cookery that the
delightful art of fencing does to that of the broadsword. Both are
useful, but there is a world of subtle differentiation between the two.
The average rough and tumble of the domestic saucepan contrasts
with the deft manipulation of the miniature battery of tiny pans.
And politeness always pays; moreover, it is vastly becoming. I gave a
little tea-party recently to some dear children. Some of them were
twins. Edith, a female twin of nine, asked me to help her to some
more blackberry jam. “Certainly, Edith,” I said; “but why don’t you
help yourself?” The maid was even politer than she was hungry:
“Because I was afraid I should not take enough.” And thus we learn
how things work among manikinkind.
There are some who delight in the flavour of onions. I do myself—
but then I am a bachelor. Politeness and onions form one of life’s
most persistent inconsistencies. His Most Gracious Majesty King
George IV., it is recorded, attempted to kiss a royal housemaid, who
said: “Sir, your language both shocks and appals me; besides which,
your breath smells of onions!” And again, in a Cambridge dining-
room, a framed notice on the wall stated: “Gentlemen partial to
spring onions are requested to use the table under the far window.”
Nevertheless, the benefits of onions toward the human race are
probably not less than those attendant on the discovery of steam. It
is a vegetable whose manifold properties and delights have never
been properly sung. As a gentle stimulant, a mild soporific, a
democratic leveller of exaggeration in flavour, a common bond
between prince and peasant, it is a standing protest of Nature
against Art.
On my wall, as I write, hangs a delightful oil study of a clump of
onions in flower, which the deft artist aptly dubs Le Fond de la
Cuisine. Dr. William King said that “Onions can make even heirs or
widows weep”; and the “Philosopher’s Banquet,” written in 1633,
seems to meet the case excellently:

“If Leekes you like, but do their smelle disleeke,

 Eat Onyons, and you shall not smelle the leeke;
If you of Onyons would the scente expelle,
Eat Garlicke, that shall drowne the Onyon’s Smelle.”

I would not go quite as far as the poet, but I confess to a weakness

for chives. A judicious touch to many salads and made dishes is very
desirable. Chives are to onions as the sucking-pig is to pork, a baby
scent, a fairy titillation, an echo of the great Might Be.
Charles Lamb had a friend who said that a man cannot have a pure
mind who refuses apple dumplings. In the plural, mind you, not the
singular. Appetites have vastly changed since then, probably not for
the better, but the test even to-day seems adequate and noteworthy.
I do not propose to recommend either onions or apple dumplings as
Chafing-Dish experiments, but merely adduce them as worthy
examples of the toothsomeness of simplicity.
The late lamented Joseph, of the Savoy and elsewhere, once said in
his wisdom, “Make the good things as plain as possible. God gave a
special flavour to everything. Respect it. Do not destroy it by
messing.” These are winged words, and should be inscribed (in
sugar icing) above the hearthstone of every artist in pots and pans.
The Chafing Dish is a veritable Mephistopheles in the way of
temptation. It is so alluringly easy to add just a taste of this or that,
a few drops of sauce, a sprinkling of herbs, a suggestion of
something else. But beware and perpend! Do not permit your
culinary perspective to become too Japanesque in the matter of
foreground. Remember your chiaroscuro, take care of the middle
distance, and let the background assert its importance in the whole
composition. “I can resist anything—except temptation” is the cry of
the hopelessly weak in culinary morality.
Lest I should be hereafter accused of contradicting my own most
cherished beliefs, let me hasten here and now to assert that
condiments, esoteric and otherwise, were undoubtedly made to be
used as well as to be sold; and I am no enemy of bolstering up the
weak and assimilative character of—say—veal, “the chameleon of
the kitchen,” with something stronger, and, generally speaking, of
making discreet use of suave subtleties to give completeness to the
picture. But the watchword must always be Discretion! To those who
muddle their flavours I would commend the words of the Archbishop
in Gil Blas: “My son, I wish you all manner of prosperity—and a little
more taste!”
Sidney Smith thought Heaven must be a place where you ate pâté
de foies gras to the sound of trumpets. There is a late Georgian
ingenuousness about this which is refreshing. The liver of the
murdered goose and the scarlet sound of brass! Nowadays a
Queen’s Hall gourmet would compare the celestial regions to a
continuous feast of Cailles de Vigne braisées à la Parisienne to the
accompaniment of Tschaikowsky’s “Casse Noisette” suite, which is
more complicated, but perchance not less indigestible.
The typical crude British cookery, if carelessly performed, is a
constant menace to its disciples. If well cooked there is nothing
more wholesome, save perhaps the French cuisine bourgeoise, but
—“much virtue in your If.” As a matter of fact, in nine households
out of ten, in the middle-middle classes (and the upper too) the fare
is well-intentioned in design, but deadly in execution, with a total
absence of care and taste.
There is a curious old book, probably out of print nowadays, which
deals tenderly, if severely, with the shortcomings of British cookery.
It was published in 1853, and is called “Memoirs of a Stomach,
written by Himself.” A typical passage runs: “The English system of
cookery it would be impertinent of me to describe; but still, when I
think of that huge round of parboiled ox-flesh, with sodden
dumplings floating in a saline, greasy mixture, surrounded by
carrots, looking red with disgust, and turnips pale with dismay, I
cannot help a sort of inward shudder, and making comparisons
unfavourable to English gastronomy.”
This is fair comment, and brings me back to the advantages of the
Chafing Dish. An old German fairy tale, I think one of Grimm’s, says:
“Nothing tastes so nice as what one eats oneself,” and it is certain
that if one cooks so as entirely to satisfy oneself (always supposing
oneself to be a person of average good taste), then one’s guests will
be equally satisfied—if not more so.
In dealing with Chaffinda we may, after a minimum of practice, be
almost certain of results. If one is naturally clean, neat and dainty in
one’s tastes, then one’s cooking should display the same
characteristics. One’s individuality shines forth in the Chafing Dish
and is reflected in one’s sauces. Chaffinda conveys a great moral
lesson, and, as a teacher, should not lack in honour and reverence.
The late Prince Consort, being on a visit, wrote to a friend: “Things
always taste so much better in small houses”; if one substitutes
small dishes for small houses the Prince predicted the Chafing Dish.
The kitchen is the country in which there are always discoveries to
be made, and with Chaffinda on a neat white tablecloth before one,
half a dozen little dishes with food in various stages of preparation, a
few select condiments, an assortment of wooden spoons and like
utensils—and an inventive brain—there are absolutely no limits to
one’s discoveries. One is bound by no rule, no law, no formula, save
those of ordinary common sense, and though it might be too much
to expect to rediscover the lost Javanese recipe for cooking
kingfishers’ or halcyons’ nests, the old manner of treating a Hocco,
or the true inwardness of “the dish called Maupygernon”; yet there
are illimitable possibilities which act as incentives to the enterprising.
There is a Chinese proverb to the effect that most men dig their
graves with their teeth, meaning thereby that we all eat too much.
This is awfully true and sad and undeniable, and avoidable. The late
Lord Playfair asserted that the actual requirements of a healthy man
for a seven-day week were three pounds of meat, one pound of fat,
two loaves of bread, one ounce of salt, and five pints of milk. What a
contrast to the chop-eating, joint-chewing, plethoric individual who
averages five meals a day, and does justice to them all! Sir Henry
Thompson says: “The doctors all tell us we eat too fast, and too
often, and too much, and too early, and too late; but no one of them
ever says that we eat too little.”
The proper appreciation of Chaffinda may ameliorate this, for in
using her one speedily becomes convinced of the beauty of small
portions, an appetite kept well in hand, and the manifold advantages
of moderation. It is easy to feed, but nice eating is an art.
Bishop Wilberforce knew a greedy clergyman who, when asked to
say grace before dinner, was wont to look whether there were
champagne glasses on the table. If there were, he began: “Bountiful
Jehovah”; but if he only espied claret glasses he contented himself
with: “We are not worthy of the least of Thy mercies.”
Of course growing children and quite young grown-up folks require
proportionately more food than real adults, for they have not only to
maintain but to build up their bodies. But to such the Chafing Dish
will not appeal primarily, if at all, and they may even be found
impertinent enough to look upon it as a culinary joke, which it is not.
Chaffinda hates gluttons, but takes pleasure in ministering to the
modest wants of the discerning acolyte, fostering his incipient talent,
urging him to higher flights, and tempting him to delicate fantasies.
“Do have some more; it isn’t very good, but there’s lots of it.” So
said a friend of mine to his guests about his half-crown port. This is
the sentiment of the man who knows not the Chafing Dish. “Lots of
it” is the worst kind of hospitality, and suggests the quantity, not
quality, of the cheap-jack kerbstone butcher. Little and good, and
enough to go round, is the motto of the tactful house-husband. A
French cook once said that it was only unlucky to sit down thirteen
at table if the food were but sufficient for twelve.
There is such a deal of fine confused feeding about the ordinary
meals of even a simply conducted country house that imagination
boggles at the thought of the elaboration of the daily menus. With
four, or possibly five, repasts a day, few of them chaste, most of
them complicated, a careful observer will note that the cook has
been listening to the pipings of the Great God Sauce, and covers
natural flavours with misnamed concoctions which do nothing but
obliterate nature and vex the palate.
There are some few houses, great and small, town and country,
where the elemental decencies of the kitchen are manfully
preserved, where wholesome mutton does not masquerade as
Quartier d’Agneau à la Miséricorde, and the toothsome lobster is not
Americanised out of all knowing. To such establishments, all honour
and glory.
But to those whose means or opportunities do not permit of a
carefully trained cook, a home-made artist, I would in all diffidence
recommend the cult of the Chafing Dish, whose practical use I now
propose to discuss.
 CHAPTER II·PRELIMINARIES·

“Tout se fait en dinant dans le siècle où nous

sommes,
Et c’est par les diners qu’on gouverne les
hommes.”—Ch. de Monselet.

Chaffinda’s cooking battery is small, but select. The Chafing Dish

proper comprises the stand and lamp, and the dish, called the
“Blazer,” which has an ebony handle; and there is an ingenious spirit
diminisher which enables one to reduce the flame to a minimum,
just enough to keep the flame simmering, or to put it out altogether.
A second, or hot water pan, belongs to the outfit, and an asbestos
toast-making tray may be bought for a trifle. In addition, a couple of
green or brown dishes of French fireproof china, an egg-poacher, a
marmite, and perhaps a casserole, all of which are best from Bonnet
in Church Street, Soho, will come in very usefully. To these may be
added the usual complement of plates and dishes and several
wooden spoons of different sizes; a fish-lifter is also desirable, so is
a strainer, and a pair of graters come in very handily. This practically
completes the gear of the budding Chafist, though additional items
may be added from time to time as occasion demands.
The makers of the Chafing Dish sell a useful methylated spirit can,
with a curved spout to fill up the asbestos wick. It will be found that
a good filling will burn for thirty to forty minutes, which is ample for
all ordinary purposes. Much of course depends on the quality of the
spirit used, and, further, the wick will only become thoroughly
saturated after half a dozen usings, and will subsequently require
rather less spirit. I have found that water boils in the “Blazer,” or
handled Chafing Dish, in about ten minutes, and instructions on
bottled or preserved food, soups and the like, must be slightly
discounted. Thus if one is told to boil for twenty minutes, it will be
found that fifteen minutes in the Chafing Dish will be ample in nearly
all cases.
As this is mainly a true story of my own personal adventures among
the pots and pans, I can hardly do better than describe the first dish
I tried my ’prentice hand upon, with the devout wish that all
neophytes may be as successful therewith as I was.

Beef Strips.
The experiment, the preliminary exercise, if I may so term it, has no
name, although it savours somewhat of the Resurrection Pie,
unbeloved of schoolboys. Let us call it Beef Strips. Cut three thick
slices from a rather well-cooked cold sirloin of beef, cut these again
into strips a quarter of an inch wide and about three inches long.
Take care that they are very lean. Chop up half a dozen cold boiled
potatoes (not of the floury kind) into dice. Put the beef and the
potatoes into the Chafing Dish. Light the lamp and see that the heat
is steady, but not too strong. Add at once a good-sized walnut of
butter, a teaspoon of Worcester sauce, salt and pepper. For at least
ten minutes turn over the mixture continually with a wooden spoon
until it is thoroughly heated. Turn it out on to a hot dish, and garnish
with half a dozen tiny triangles of toast.
This is a simple luncheon or supper dish which takes little time, and
—to my taste at least—is appetising and satisfying. Like all Chafing-
Dish preparations, it can be cooked on the table, with no more
protection than a tray under the wrought-iron stand, and a square of
coloured tablecloth upon your white one to receive possible splashes
or drops.

Jellied Ham.
Now for exercise number two, which I have christened Jellied Ham,
and commend as a dish very unlikely to go wrong in the
manipulation.
Get your flame steady and true, and put a small walnut of butter in
the dish. When it is fluid, add a good dessert-spoonful of red currant
jelly, a liqueur glass of sherry, and three drops of Tabasco sauce.
Drop into this simmering mixture a few slices of cold boiled ham cut
thin and lean, and let it slowly cook for six to eight minutes. If you
wish to be extravagant, then instead of the sherry use a full wine-
glassful of champagne. It is by no means necessary to eat this with
vegetables, but if you insist on the conjunction, I would recommend
a purée of spinach, directions for which appear hereafter.
This Jellied Ham is an agreeable concoction, which I find peculiarly
soothing as a light supper after having seen an actor-manager
playing Shakespeare. This is, however, after all only a matter of
taste.
It has always seemed to me that different forms of the drama
require, nay demand, different dinners and suppers, according to the
disposition in which one approaches them. For instance, before an
Adelphi melodrama, turtle soup (mock if necessary), turbot and
rump steaks are indicated, whereas a musical comedy calls for an
East Room menu, and an Ibsen or G. B. Shaw play for an A.B.C.
shop or a vegetarian restaurant respectively. But I only hint at the
broad outline of my idea, which is capable of extension to an
indefinite limit.
Vegetarian meals do not appeal to me. There is a sense of sudden
and temporary repletion followed shortly afterwards by an aching
void, which can only be assuaged by a period of comparatively gross
feeding. Besides, judging from the appearance of my vegetarian
friends (in whom maybe I am unfortunate) they often seem so much
to resemble some of the foods they eat as to render themselves
liable to be dubbed cannibals. But this is probably mere prejudice.

Minced Chicken or Game.

To resume the cult of Chaffinda. Here is another dish which I
recommend to the beginner. It is a simple mince. Take any remains
of chicken or game, pheasant for choice, and mince it (or have it
minced) small, but not too small. Never use a mincing machine. Put
the mince aside, and mix in the Chafing Dish the following sauce: a
full walnut of butter, a tablespoon of flour, and a pinch of salt and
pepper; add gradually about a tumblerful of milk. Keep continually
stirring this and cook it well for five minutes, adding three drops of
Tabasco sauce and half a tablespoon of Worcester sauce, also a
squeeze of a lemon. When it is thoroughly amalgamated throw in
the mince and let it get hot without burning. Serve it with toast or
very crisp biscuits.
The only objection I know to this mince is that all cold birds,
especially cold pheasant, are so excellent that it seems almost
superfluous to hot them up. But there are occasions when the
gamey fumes from Chaffinda are very alluring, and, after all, it is
poor work eating cold cates at midnight, however tempting they
might be at breakfast.
Our forebears were unanimous in their praise of the lordly long-tail.
In a letter from Sidney Smith to “Ingoldsby” Barham, the worthy
cleric says: “Many thanks, my dear Sir, for your kind present of
game. If there is a pure and elevated pleasure in this world, it is that
of roast pheasant and bread sauce; barndoor fowls for Dissenters,
but for the Real Churchman, the Thirty-Nine times articled clerk, the
pheasant! the pheasant!”
Toast.
It should perhaps be mentioned that the making of toast on the
Chafing Dish is the easiest of functions. The asbestos tray, already
referred to, is placed over the flame, and on the metal side the
bread in rounds, triangles, or sippets; a few minutes serve to toast
the one side adequately, and on being turned over it can easily be
browned through. Mrs. Beeton is loquacious on the art of toast-
making, and lays down divers rules, but she knew not Chaffinda. A
modern essayist who discourses learnedly and most sensibly on
toast, makes a remark in his chapter on breakfasts, which although
not entirely germane to my subject, is so true and, to my thinking,
so characteristic, that I cannot refrain from quoting it. He is referring
to marmalade. “The attitude of women to marmalade,” he says, “has
never been quite sound. True, they make it excellently, but
afterwards their association with it is one lamentable retrogression.
They spread it over pastry; they do not particularly desire it at
breakfast; and (worst) they decant it into glass dishes and fancy
jars.”
How true, how profound, how typical!
But this is wandering from the point, which is cookery, not casuistry.
Women are never out of place in connection with the good things of
the table, although they do not often aspire to the omni-usefulness
of the well-meaning, if ill-educated, lady who applied for the position
of nurse to one of the field hospitals during the Boer war, and
mentioned as her crowning qualification that, “like Cæsar’s wife, I
am all things to all men.”

Mutton Cutlets.
After this little digression it will be well to turn to more serious things
—cutlets, for instance. Obtain from the butcher a couple of well-
trimmed mutton cutlets, and from the greengrocer sufficient green
peas that, when shelled, you will have a breakfast-cupful. Melt a
walnut of butter in the Chafing Dish. Into the melted butter drop a
tablespoonful of flour and a sprinkling of chopped chives. A
teaspoonful of Worcester sauce and three drops of Tabasco, together
with salt at discretion, will suffice for flavouring, and care must be
taken that the mixture does not boil. Put in the cutlets, and when
they begin to turn brownish add the peas, and half a cupful of milk.
About fifteen minutes should cook the meat through if your spirit
flame be strong, otherwise it may take somewhat longer. A very
good substitute for Worcester sauce, in this connection, is Sauce
Robert, which it is unnecessary to manufacture, as it can be bought
ready made, and well made too, of the Escoffier brand. With certain
meats it is an excellent condiment.
By the way, in some very old cookery books Sauce Robert was
termed Roe-Boat sauce, an extraordinary orthographic muddle. An
omelette was likewise known as a “Hamlet.”
This suggests the somewhat too sophisticated schoolboy’s
description of Esau as “a hairy, humpbacked man, who wrote a book
of fables and sold the copyright for a bottle of potash.”
It may be deemed superfluous, and in that case I apologise
beforehand, to insist on the most scrupulous cleanliness in dealing
with the Chafing Dish and its adjuncts. Not only should the dish itself
be kept spotless and thoroughly scoured, but the stand, the lamp,
the implements, and the glass and china should be immaculate.
Servants are easily persuaded to look after the cleaning process, and
do it with a certain amount of care, but it can do no harm to
understudy their duties and add an extra polish all round oneself. It
gives one, too, a personal interest in the result, otherwise lacking. I
recommend the use of at least three dishcloths, which should be
washed regularly and used discreetly. The Chafist who neglects his
apparatus is unworthy of the high mission with which he is charged,
and deserves the appellation of the younger son of Archidamus III.,
King of Sparta. Cleanliness is next to all manner of things in this
dusty world of ours, and absolutely nothing conduces more to the
enjoyment of a mealet that one has cooked oneself than the
knowledge that everything is spick and span, and that one has
contributed oneself thereto by a little extra care and forethought.
A word of warning here. Never use “kitchen butter,” or “kitchen
sherry,” or “kitchen eggs,” or “kitchen” anything else; use the very
best you can afford.
An armoury of brooms, brushes, scrubbers, soap and soda is in no
way necessary. A couple of polishing cloths and a little, a very little,
of one of the many patent cleaners is all that is required. A clear
conscience and plenty of elbow-grease does the rest.
The British equivalent of the continental charcutier is of inestimable
service to the Chafist. At his more or less appetising emporium,
small quantities of edibles can be purchased which are excellently
well adapted for the cult of Chaffinda, especially if one be inclined
towards the recooking of cold meats, instead of the treatment of
them in a raw state. Both have their advantages—and their
drawbacks. It is a general, but totally inaccurate, belief that meat
once cooked needs only to be hotted up again. Nothing could be
more fatal to its flavour and nutriment. A certain amount of the good
juices of the meat must inevitably have been lost during the first
process, and therefore great care must be taken in the second
operation to tempt forth, and, in some cases, to restore the natural
flavour. Cold cooked meat needs long and gentle cooking, a strong
clear flame, without sudden differences in temperature, and it may
be taken as a general rule that cold meat needs practically as long to
cook as raw meat.

Browned Tongue.
For example, take half a dozen slices of cooked tongue, spread on
each of them a modicum of made mustard, and let each slice repose
for about two minutes in a little bath of salad oil (about enough to
cover the bottom of a soup plate). Put the slices one on top of
another until they make a compact little heap. Put the heap of
tongue between two plates, so as to expel the superfluous oil. Let it
remain thus for half an hour. Then put a nutmeg of butter in the
blazer, dismember the heap of tongue, and put the slices into the
frizzling butter and turn them until they are brown. A little sauce,
Worcester, Robert, or Piquant, may be added to suit individual taste.
Serve very hot, with sippets of toast.
I have ventured to christen this dish Browned Tongue, which is
simple and descriptive, but every Chafist is entitled to call it what he
likes. There is little, if any, copyright in Chafing-Dish titles. Alexandre
Dumas, author and cook, protests against the mishandling of
names: “Les fantaisies de saucer, de mettre sur le gril, et de faire
rôtir nos grands hommes.”
Personally I object to cooking simple fare and then dubbing it à la
Quelque chose. Outside the few score well-known, and, so to say,
classic titles of more or less elaborate dishes, which are practically
standardised, there seems to me to be no reason to invent riddles in
nomenclature when the “short title,” as they say in Parliamentary
Bills, is amply descriptive.
It has been my ill-fortune to be introduced, at an otherwise harmless
suburban dinner, to a catastrophe of cutlets, garnished with tinned
vegetables, and to be gravely informed, on an ill-spelt menu, that it
was “Cutelletes d’Agneau à la Jardinnier,” which would be ludicrous,
were it not sad. Then how often does the kind hostess, without a
punitive thought in her composition, write down Soufflet when she
means Soufflé?
But mistakes are easily made, as witness that popular sign of a
French cabaret, particularly in the provinces, Au Lion d’Or. If you
look carefully at the signboard, you will find a man asleep, the
punning name of the hotel implying Au lit on dort.
But the whole question of Menus (Bills of Fare, if you please), and
their mistranslation, is too vast to enter upon here, alluring though
the subject may be. The language of the restaurant cook, save in
especial instances, is as bad, although in a quite different sense, as
that of the Whitechapel Hooligan. At the same time, it is absurd to
insist upon the literal translation of the untranslatable. “Out of
works” for “Hors d’œuvres”; “Soup at the good woman” for “Potage
à la bonne femme”; “Smile of a calf at the banker’s wife” for “Ris de
veau à la financière”; and, lastly, “Anchovies on the sofa” for
“Anchois sur canapé,” are all well enough in their way, but hardly an
example to be followed, although they make “very pretty patriotic
eating.”
It would be ridiculous to run away with the idea that because certain
folk misuse the language, French should be henceforward taboo at
our dinner-tables. Such a notion is ignorant and impossible. But the
Gallic tongue should be used with discretion and knowledge, and if
the enterprising Chafist invent a new dish of eggs, there is no law to
forbid his naming it Œufs à la Temple du Milieu. It would only show
the quality of his erudition and his taste. There seems no particular
reason why we should not replace Rôti by Roast, Entrée by Remove,
and Entremet by Sweet—except that it is not done; it is an
affectation of humbug, of course, but the greatest humbug of all
humbugs is the pretending to despise humbug.

Alderman’s Walk.
On revient toujours à son premier mouton—that is to say, let us get
back to Chaffinda. The next dish on the experimental programme is
“The Alderman’s Walk,” a very old English delicacy, the most
exquisite portion of the most exquisite joint in Cookerydom, and so
called because, at City dinners of our grandfathers’ times, it is
alleged to have been reserved for the Aldermen. It is none other
than the first, longest and juiciest longitudinal slice, next to the
bone, of a succulent saddle of mutton, Southdown for choice, and
four years old at that, though this age is rare. Remove this slice
tenderly and with due reverence from the hot joint, lay it aside on a
slice of bread, its own length, and let it get cold, thoroughly cold.
Then prepare in the Chafing Dish a sauce composed of a walnut of
butter, a teaspoon of Worcester, three drops of Tabasco, three
chopped chives, and an eggspoon of made mustard. Stir these
Welcome to our website – the ideal destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. With a mission to inspire endlessly, we offer a
vast collection of books, ranging from classic literary works to
specialized publications, self-development books, and children's
literature. Each book is a new journey of discovery, expanding
knowledge and enriching the soul of the reade

Our website is not just a platform for buying books, but a bridge
connecting readers to the timeless values of culture and wisdom. With
an elegant, user-friendly interface and an intelligent search system,
we are committed to providing a quick and convenient shopping
experience. Additionally, our special promotions and home delivery
services ensure that you save time and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Let us accompany you on the journey of exploring knowledge and

personal growth!

testbankdeal.com