Nibbling Our Way Down New Bond Street

We’ve talked about the center of London shopping in the early nineteenth century before, for example here and here. Bond Street called to young ladies and gentlemen, offering the latest and finest in everything from clothing to housewares and literature. It was also the home of Gentleman Jackson’s boxing emporium and Angelo’s fencing school. But recently I became aware that Bond Street also featured any number eateries, and some of their wares sound downright yummy.

Take Barker’s Repository of Confectionery, at No. 106. They provided “sweets from the Indies” according to The Epicure’s Almanack, a guide to eating and dining from the period. I have been trying in vain to determine what these might have entailed, with little luck. Perhaps rum cake, cookies with coconut, and pastries with mango. Regardless, the shop was said to be popular with the ladies, as the proprietor gave out samples. The shop also supplied sweets to the Royal Family.

Then there’s Owen and Bentley’s Fruit Shop, near the corner of Oxford and New Bond Street. The shop was said to boast every sort of fruit grown in Britain as well as items imported from around the world. It also sold jellies, ices, and liqueurs.

Henster and Company, a littler farther down, displayed all sorts of fish, including sturgeon, trout, and carp. I love their title. It simply rolls off the tongue: Fishmongers to His Majesty and the Royal Family.

Lambe’s, also suppliers to the Royal Family (do you sense a theme, here?), had a large warehouse of bottled spa and mineral water. I had no idea this could be purchased away from the spas.

I must notify the Spa Corporation in Grace-by-the-Sea. Perhaps they can broker a deal.

The Butler Did It

This is another in our occasional series on servants young ladies of the upper classes would have encountered in the 19th century. We have already discussed ladies’ maids here and governesses here and here.

So what did the butler do?

Perhaps a better question might be, what didn’t the butler do?

In a 19th century household, the butler was often the chief of staff. In extremely grand and important families, especially where several houses were owned, there might be a house steward or comptroller whose job it was to supervise all household staff including hiring and firing and take care of all household accounting. But in an average wealthy or upper middle class household, the chief servant was probably the butler.

Looking back in history, the butler’s job revolved around the keeping of the household’s beverage supply and dishware, and in the 19th century, these would still be among his jobs. It was up to the butler to maintain the household wine cellars (including beer, ale, and other spirits, as well as the wine) and choose and serve wines for the family table…no small job, when you think about the quantities and sheer number of different wines that were served at meals as well as the fact that wine was purchased by the barrel or pipe and had to be decanted into bottles and properly recorded and stored in the correct part of the cellar for its type. Some butlers might actually be brewmasters as well, and brew the household’s beer, ale, or cider. Needless to say, alcoholism was considered to be an occupational hazard of butlery! The butler also oversaw the household plate: it was his job to keep any silver (or gold!) gleaming when in use, and safely stored under lock and key when it wasn’t.

The duties of a butler, as laid out in the fascinating book The Complete Servant, published in 1825 by Samuel and Sarah Adams, a married butler and housekeeper, were quite specific: he aided in the setting of tables, supervising the under-butler and footmen in laying out dishes and utensils, and remained in the dining room during meals with footman or two or three to assist in serving food and wine, direct clearing of the table between courses, and assist in any way needed. He also would bring tea trays in at tea time and hand round cups…and it was his job to make sure there were sufficient candles in each room where needed.

But the butler was also, as the Adamses state, “supposed….to represent his master”, which meant he also might be occupied in hiring and firing lower servants, keeping accounts and paying household bills apart from those which fell under the housekeeper’s purview, and generally keeping the household in order in addition to his wine and serving duties. Supervision of all male indoor servants (under-butlers, footmen, “boys”, and porters) was generally up to the butler, if the household did not have a comptroller. He was where the buck stopped; a good butler who could keep a household running smoothly would be treasured by his employers, and be more or less assured of a job for life, with a good pension when he retired. Butlers often rose through the ranks to achieve their positions: they started out at an early age "in service" first as boot boys or pages, then progressed to footman, then first footman or under-butler, where, if they wanted to, they could train specifically in a butler's duties.

Because of his responsible position, a butler could earn as much as ₤50-80 per year, according to The Complete Servant—not a bad salary in 1825. Just as ladies’ maids could supplement their salaries with the cast-off clothing of their mistresses, butlers could supplement theirs by selling candle ends (Yes, really! Beeswax candles were very expensive)…and a great many must have received nice tips from the wine-merchants and other tradesmen they dealt with.

So that's what the butler did.

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One thing the butler didn't do was draw a winner for a signed copy of Jennifer Bradbury's Wrapped from among last week's commenters...instead, that happy duty falls to me. And the winner is...Lynn Lovegreen! Lynn, please send me your mailing address via the contact form on my website so we can get your book sent out to you.

I Have It on Good Authority That . . .

We’re back! Well, almost. Marissa and I told you we’d take a little break this summer by reposting some of our past personal favorites. I’m actually getting a jump on September, because I finished my manuscript a few days early and I just had to celebrate with a new post. The Irresistible Earl is winging its way to my editor’s desk, and I am going to spend the next week reading, a treat I had to deny myself for awhile to get everything done. I’m halfway through The Looking Glass Wars by Frank Beddor and loving every minute. I’m even going to splurge a little and go out to dinner with my husband at his favorite restaurant, Gustav’s in Leavenworth, Washington.

But if I were a young lady in nineteenth century England, I wouldn’t have to splurge on eating out. As long as I had a story to tell, I’d be welcome everywhere.

Remember this was a time before telephones, televisions, Internet, and many of the other sources of amusement and information we use today. One of the best ways to be entertained was to ask witty people to dine with you. And if they had a good story to tell, so much the better.

What kinds of stories? Well, some would have qualified for the evening news: disasters like fires or floods, crimes, and skirmishes with the enemy. “No, no, I swear to you, the Thames just swept them out to sea! You wouldn’t think a petticoat would act as a sail, would you?”

Celebrity sightings were also quite popular. “My dear, did I tell you I saw Prinny today? He was wearing a corset! I distinctly heard it creak. And what was he doing on Bond Street when he was supposed to be closeted with his ministers? I do believe it was his own closet he was furthering, if you take my meaning.”

Then there was family drama. “I have it on good authority that Lord and Lady Makebait intend to cut off their youngest son’s quarterly allowance. A bit too much of those funds made their way to the ponies and the ladies, and neither was particularly happy about the event.”

Or awards and honors. “Yes, and that’s how I was awarded the Grand Order of the Hippocampus Post Mentos, Second Degree.”

And romance. “I do believe an offer is imminent. Why else ask me what size shoes I wear?”

I teased Marissa that if this was the nineteenth century, I could dine out for a month on the story of how she won her latest literary award. What about you? What story would you tell if you have to sing for your supper?

A Toast!

So maybe I just couldn’t leave behind all this talk of food the last few weeks, or maybe it was the vegetarian cheese tart we had for Easter, but dinner remains on my mind. I’m sure it remained on the mind of many a nineteenth century young lady as well. We talked about the various dishes and how you couldn’t necessarily reach that scrumptious apple tart because it was far down the long table. But there were several other pitfalls awaiting the unwary when it came to dining in style.

First was the custom of toasting. Now we’re accustomed to occasions in which someone stands up, makes a little (or a long) speech about something, raises a glass, and proposes that everyone drink to a particular saying: “Here’s to Joe and Judy—may their marriage be long and happy!” “Here’s to Aunt Flo on her eightieth birthday!” You get the drift.

At a nineteenth century formal dinner, it was customary to make silent toasts. You caught the eye of the handsome officer near you and lifted your glass. He drank, you drank. Oh, that sizzling eye contact! It appears that the men more often than not did the first lifting, but as a young lady you would be expected to respond. The fellow on your right might toast you, the one on your left might toast you, the baronet down the table with pockets to let might toast you in hopes you’d think kindly on his offer to relieve you of your inheritance, oops I mean to marry you and make you the happiest of mortals. The elderly balding gentleman with the squint at the end of the table might toast you too (ew!), and the helpful footmen would just refill and refill your glass. It wasn’t uncommon for some to leave the table decidedly tipsy!

But even if you managed to survive the rounds of toasts, there was the challenge of conversing with your dinner companions. Forget about the manly earl across from you. Many a hostess brought out every bit of silver to prove her family was plump in the pocket. Between the ornate epergne overflowing with fruit, the candlesticks dripping in crystal, the finger bowls, the goblets, the vases, and the twenty dishes in that course, you’d be hard pressed to catch a glimpse of the person sitting opposite you. So, you often talked to those on your right or left instead. If those happened to be delightful young gentlemen, you might have a delightful dinner.

If they happened to be your mother and father, I imagine the food might still be good.

Dinner Is Served, Sort of

Candlelight dancing on silver, voices murmuring pleasantries, aromas wafting from delectable tidbits piled on platters — what’s not to like about a nineteenth century dinner?

As Marissa mentioned, during the nineteenth century, the time between the meals lengthened, so that dinner was pushed back to six in the evening in the country and for the middle class in town, and to nine or ten at night for the aristocracy, particularly if you were entertaining. Then of course there were the lovely midnight supper buffets at balls, when you simply couldn’t make another round of dancing without a little sustenance to see you through.

Dinners generally had several courses, but they were vastly different from the courses we think of today. Each course in the nineteenth century was made up of a number of removes—that is one dish started the course only to be removed to be replaced by something else. For example, the first course might start out with two soups, turtle and mulligatawny. After the soup had been served, the footmen would remove the tureens and replace them with platters of fish or meat. And you’re still in the first course.

In each course, it was considered classy to have the entire table covered in dishes, arranged to look colorful and delicious. The footmen lugged them all in and placed them where the hostess had decreed; they also took them all back again when it was time to go to the next course. The host generally carved the main meat such a beef, but a gentleman was supposed to carve whatever meat was placed closest to him. The footmen didn’t pass the dishes around, and guests did not pass platters to each other. You were basically expected to eat a bit of whatever you could reach. So, if you were sitting closer to the eels in aspic and you really wanted to try the cod’s head in cream, you had to manage to subtly signal a footman to pick up the dish and replace it near you or you were out of luck. It wasn’t until the 1870s that the English routinely began to have servants cut up and serve the various dishes to each guest.

Emily Hendrickson, author of the outstanding Regency Reference Book as well as over 40 Regency romances published both in the U.S. and England, offers some suggestions as to what would have been in each course:

• First course: roast venison surrounded by stewed eels, roast pig, marrow pudding, leg of lamb with boiled cauliflower, jugged hare, pigeons, and carp.


• Second course: partridge and quails, lobster, green peas, potted pigeons, fried sole, and sturgeon.


• Third course: pheasants removed by plum pudding, snipes removed by apple tart, apricot fritters, almond cheesecakes, and custards. Dessert, as I mentioned in an earlier post, might also include almonds and raisins.

Depending on the occasion, you might have anywhere from five to twenty-five different dishes, in each course! So, for those of you celebrating Easter with a feast of your own, be thankful you only have to worry about a few foods rather 15 to 75.

In other words, Happy Easter!

Moving to the Big Table

Marissa and I are about to embark on a new series on something near and dear to everyone’s heart: meals! (Yes, meals. It will be fun--trust us!) But before we tell you all about the delectable foods and entertaining traditions surrounding breakfast, luncheon, tea, dinner, and midnight suppers for young people in nineteenth century England, we thought we ought to set the stage a bit.

You see, for much of her life, a young lady wouldn’t even have been at the table!

For many upper-crust families, and even for the burgeoning middle class, children spent their time in another part of the house entirely. A nurse, nanny, or governess would accommodate meals sent up from the kitchen and perhaps served by a nurse maid or under footman, and the children would eat in the schoolroom or nursery. An indulgent Mama and Papa might visit the nursery and take tea with their children, but the adults were sure to be at the big table for any major meal. So when you were invited to dine with them, it was a Big Deal, and served as yet another symbol that you were growing up.

Now, every family had its own rules on when it was time to graduate to the big table, and some families were far more forgiving than others. You might move up for family meals only when you were old enough to sit and behave properly at table. You might move up when you were in your early teens and needed practice in dining with Society. You might not move up until you were officially out. And in some families, you might not move up until you were deemed sufficiently interesting to provide good dinner conversation!


This painting of the Ruspoli family from Italy (1806) illustrates some of the reasons why Mama and Papa might think twice about inviting the urchins to dine. The young lad at Mama’s elbow cannot even stay in his seat and is ready to demand second helpings, the young lady across from her has crumbled her crumpets onto the damask tablecloth and is seriously considering feeding the remainders to Fidolphus the family pet, and things are generally in an uproar, something to be avoided at all costs by the elegant members of the aristocracy and those who sought to copy them. And when you remember that washing still consisted of the laundress brushing, rubbing, and beating the material into submission, you can see why a few spills could be a major tragedy.

Ah, but life at the big table was full of surprises and delights. Tune in next week when Marissa and I give you the dish on dining (okay, you probably saw that pun coming).