SHINGLES FROM AN OLD ROOF.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume IV, Issue 190, 2 September 1864, Page 2 (Supplement)

SHINGLES FROM AN OLD ROOF.

BY A FREE AND EASY SHINGLER. THE BILL OF FARE. The last time I was in town (I clont often come in, for I am w r eak enough to prefer the fresh breezes and green pastures of the country to the mud and impurities of Dunedin), I went for a dinner to the Commercial Hotel as had been my custom in the days whin the Commercial was lower in the world than it is now. But scarcely had I crossed the threshold when I was confronted by an individual with a limp neckcloth, who, flourishing a not over-clean napkin as an insignia of authority, assured me in accents of bland austerity*that[ |'l could ynot dine there. The old hostelry,£or rather its modern successor, [had transformed into a “ Club,” where the creme de la creme feasted sumptuously every day, and free and easy shinglers could on no account be permitted to intrude. So I was compelled to go “ othenvheres,” as a crafty loon expressed it in court the other day. Resisting the benevolent offer of that large-hearted restaurateur who“is always wanting the public to know that a first-class dinner, consisting of soups, joints, and pastry can always be had for the low charge of two shillings (and how he does it for the money I I strolled along the streets on prandial thoughts intent, till attracted by the fine kitchenry odors which pervaded a certain other hotel. I even followed my nose, and resigned myself to.the merciful attentions of the’presiding genius. Poor man ! how “I pitied him. He seemed to be oppressed with of cares attendant on his over-taxed functions. I thought what a chaos of calf’s head and Scotch broth his ideas must be]; and how, in the watches of the night, his couch must be haunted by visions of multitudinous orders. How heavily boiled rounds of beef must [lie lon 1? his conscience, or his stomach, for there is a much closer affinity between the two than ordinary people imagine ; how revengeful saddles of mutton ride on his chest, and myriads of spiteful chops hiss in his tortured ears, and vermicelli twine in and out of his brain, — after the manner of Alonzo the Brave—and skeleton flounders glare at him with lack-lustre orbits from the folds of his curtains. When you rap the table so impatiently, my dear Brown, because that dainty cutlet with sauce fit<juante is not brought to jmu at once, when you vociferate “ waiter !” so savagely, my beloved Jones, because you are kept waitiug for that morsel of cheese and salad, do you ever think of these things ? Not a bit of it. You are both—l say it with the utmost deference —in a hurry to get rich and you want to be off again to your, desk, or your counter, and consideration for others is not quoted in the mercantile price current. But it is a good profitable commodity’for all that, if your philosophy could but find it out. Well, the solemn waiter handed me the bill of fare with a melancholy smile, and I glanced down the extensive list of dishes with soine little berwilderment, for I am little accustomed to such things. The writing was a little cramped, and I bethought me of

the swell-mobsman who, when in a similar fix, being unable to read, pointed at random to two dishes, and was considerably horrified that he had ordered aluxurious but peculiarrepast consisting of padding and cabbage. I was too canny, however, to fall into that trap; and persevered in my investigation till I alighted on a promise of sheep’s head. “ A vulgar taste” —did you say. Madam ? True; but I am only an old Slangier you see. After all, there was nothing very formidable in that bill of fare. Stripped of all flourishes it might have been compressed into brief space, thus:—fish, mutton, beef, and pork. What else could there have been ? Without inquiring too curiously into the arcana of the domestic menage I may hazard the opinion that you my fairlady, employed your beartiful while teeth yesterday in the mastication of mutton roast or boiled. Our friend, Robinson, satiated that wonderful and fearful appetite of his, on beef ; and poor Jack Nokes of the Pen-knife and Blotting-paper department—who having a wife and five small olive-branches to maintain, and to keep up a respectable appearance besides, cannot always afford to provide the family table with beef and mutton at a shilling the pound, out of his surprising stipend of two hundred and fifty pounds a year—poor Nokes, I say, appeased the cravings of hunger with crispy barracoota. Thank God! fishes are cheap, and are not vexed with either scab or pleuro-pneumonia, or perhaps they would not be allowed to enter the Heads of Otago, and the mouths of the people. ’Tis strange that after nearly 6,000 years our tables should present so little variety. 19 centuries of civilization have not done much for us in this direction. For all practical purposes we are no better off than the patriarch who sojourned in the plains of Mamre. True it is that roast pork has been invented by Chinese conflagrationists, and I am free to confess that in a well roasted leg } sovoury with sage and onions, there resideth a marvellous appetency. But he who could devour the offal-fed abominations, sold under the name of pork, without incurring all the pains and penalties of nightmare and dyspepsia, must possess the stomach of au ostrich, and the digestive powers of an emu. Wild pork is another thing. Blessings on the brave and thoughtful old navigator who colonized Tavai Nuuuamon with pigs. There’a not a lady in all the land, but would smilingly send her plate three times for such dainty meat. As to the Maoris, there is reason to fear that —barring their recent return to original habits—the advance of civilisation lias deprived them of their choicest fare. ‘ Baked missionary’ no longer forms the piece, de resistance of their banquets, and spare-ribs of ‘ cold curate’ serve them not for un dejeune dine, as in the days of yore. But who knows; —perhaps such very oleaginous food disagreed with them, and so the aspirations of Sydney Smith have been realised. “ You see, my patient public, I want a change. A wider range of animal food would afford a healthy variation from the eternal beef and mutton —suggestive of all the horrors of incipient disease—and have a perceptible tendency to reduce the present exorbitant prices, and in both ways render Otago a more desirable country to live, or rather to feed, in. Have we no friends in England who will spare us a score or two of hares, and a covey of partridges from their well-stocked preserves. Are there no Scotch cousins amongst us who could induce some of the magnates of North Britain—their Graces of Argyie and Athol, say—to bestow upon us a few choice birds and beasts ? So that Brown could go ‘ A chasing the wild deer aud following the roe,’ over our bonny hills, and Jones course the swift-footed hare on our plains, and Robinson flush the black-cock or the partridge in our ferny braes. .And that reminds me that unless something is done, and that right speedily too, to stay the ruthless slaughter of our native wild-fowl, there will soon be not a duck or a quail left in the land. Already they have wholly disapper, ed from the places w-here not long since they could be put up in flocks. So, too, with fish. A fine, fat flounder is fast becoming a rarity. If you have a weakness for fish, my dear madam, your palate is mocked by a puny floundering, scarcely out of its swaddling scales, and as fusionless as a dry dacken—a thing which I defy the most expert of nealhanded Phyllises to render toothsome Our friends in Australia are making strenous aud successful efforts to locate the royal salmon and lordly trout in their rivert, and probably we too may some day come in for a share of those excellent things in fishes. But they have already the advantage of us in the possession of the Murray cod, which.

when deftly cooked, is really “ a dish to set before a king.” Has nobody sufficient public spirit to make the experiment of stocking our own streams with that splendid fish ? That very clever gentleman, M. Isidore Geoffrey St. Hilaire, President of “La Societe Imperials d’ ucclimatation,” tells us that the world furnishes us with a list of no less than 140,000 animals, and we poor patient settlers in New Zealand are content to breakfast, dine, and sup on three. Surely our bill of fare might without much difficulty be enlarged. From Australia we might procure the wild turkey, and many varieties of pigeons. I say nothing of the kangaroo,— though kangaroo-tail soup is not by any means to be despised. But what shall be said of the South African Eland—the noble “ Antelope Oreas,” —as large as an ox and as easily domesticated—upon a haunch of which a “ taste” consisting of professor Owen and other learned disciples' gustatory art, held an experimental banquet, at the Aldersgate Tavern, a short time since. Here is their decision, as communicated by the Professor to the Times. Let us read, mark, and learn—would that we could also inwardly digest:— - “ Committee unanimous as to its texture —the finest, closest, most tender, and masticable of any meat. In taste, the first impression was of its sweetness and goodness, without any strongly marked speciality of flavour; it was compared with veal, with capon: finally, the suggestion that it was (mammalian) meat, with v\souppn of pheasant flavour, was generally accepted.” Think of that, Master Brooke ! “ Meat with a soupron of pheasant flavour !” Think of that, I say, and then go and munch your miserable mutton, or pleuroeclbeefwith what appetite you may.