OBSERVATIONS ON CARVING.

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“‘Have you learned to carve?’ for it is ridiculous not to carve well.

“A man who tells you gravely that he cannot carve, may as well tell you that he cannot feed himself; it is both as necessary and as easy.”—Lord Chesterfield’s 211th Letter.

Next to giving a good dinner, is treating our friends with hospitality and attention, and this attention is what young people have to learn. Experience will teach them in time, but till they acquire it, they will appear ungraceful and awkward.

Although the art of carving is one of the most necessary accomplishments of a gentleman, it is little known but to those who have long been accustomed to it; a more useful or acceptable present cannot be offered to the public than to lay before them a book calculated to teach the rising generation how to acquit themselves amiably in this material part of the duties of the table.

Young people seldom study this branch of the philosophy of the banquet, beyond the suggestion of their own whims and caprices; and cut up things not only carelessly, but wastefully, until they learn the pleasure of paying butchers’ and poulterers’ bills on their own account.

Young housekeepers, unaccustomed to carving, will, with the help of the following instructions, soon be enabled to carve with ease and elegance; taking care also to observe, as occasion may offer, the manner in which a skilful operator sets about his task, when a joint or fowl is placed before him.

It has been said, that you may judge of a person’s character by his handwriting; you may judge of his conscience by his carving.

Fair carving is much more estimable evidence of good nature than fair writing: let me see how a gentleman carves at another person’s table, especially how he helps himself, and I will presently tell you how far he is of Pope’s opinion, that

“True self-love and social are the same.”

The selfish appetites never exhibit themselves in a more unmasked and more disgusting manner than in the use they excite a man to make of his knife and fork in carving for himself, especially when not at his own cost.

Some keen observer of human nature has said, “Would you know a man’s real disposition, ask him to dinner, and give him plenty to drink.”

“The Oracle” says, “invite the gentleman to dinner, certainly, and set him to carving.” The gentleman who wishes to ensure a hearty welcome, and frequent invitations to the board of hospitality, may calculate with Cockerial correctness, that “the easier he appears to be pleased, the oftener he will be invited.” Instead of unblushingly demanding of the fair hostess, that the prime “tit-bit of every dish be put on his plate, he must receive, (if not with pleasure or even content,) with the liveliest expressions of thankfulness, whatever is presented to him; and let him not forget to praise the cook (no matter whether he be pleased with her performance or not), and the same shall be reckoned unto him even as praise to the mistress.”

“If he does not like his fare, he may console himself with the reflection, that he need not expose his mouth to the like mortification again. Mercy to the feelings of the mistress of the mansion, will forbid his then appearing otherwise than absolutely delighted with it, notwithstanding it may be his extreme antipathy. If he like it ever so little, he will find occasion to congratulate himself on the advantage his digestive organs will derive from his making a moderate dinner; and consolation from contemplating the double relish he is creating for the following meal, and anticipating the rare and delicious zest of (that best sauce) good appetite, and an unrestrained indulgence of his gourmandizing fancies at the chop-house he frequents.”

The following extract from that rare book, Giles Rose’s School for the Officers of the Mouth, 16mo. 1684, shows that the art of carving was a much more elaborate affair formerly than it is at present.

Le grand escuver tranchant, or the Great Master Carver. “The exercise of a master carver is more noble and commendable, it may be, than every one will imagine; for suppose that life to be the foundation of all that is done in the world, this life is not to be sustained without maintaining our natural heat by eating and drinking.”

Never trust a cook teaser with the important office of carver, or place him within reach of any principal dish. I shall never forget the following exhibition of a selfish spoiled child: the first dish that Master Johnny mangled, was three mackerel; he cut off the upper side of each fish: next came a couple of fowls; in taking off the wings of which the young gentleman so hideously hacked and miserably mangled every other part, that when they were brought for luncheon the following day, they appeared as if just removed from a conclave of dainty cats, rather than having been carved by a rational creature. When the master of the family, who was extremely near-sighted, sat down to his nooning, in expectation of enjoying the agreeable amusement of having a

“Nice bit of chicken
For his own private picking,”

no sooner had he put on his specs, and begun to focus his fowl, than he suddenly started up, rang for the cook, and after having vociferated at her carelessness, and lectured her for being so extremely perfunctory and disorderly in not keeping the cat out of the cupboard, till his appetite for scolding was pretty well satisfied, he paused for her apology: the guardian genius of the pantry, to his extreme astonishment, informed him, that his suspicions concerning the hideous appearance which had so shocked him, was erroneous: such unsightly havoc was not occasioned by the epicurism of a four-legged brute, and that the fowls were exactly in the same state they came from the table, and that young Master Johnny had cut them up himself.

Those in the parlour should recollect the importance of setting a good example to their friends at the second table. If they cut bread, meat, cheese, &c. fairly, it will go twice as far as if hacked and mangled by some sensualists, who appear to have less consideration for their domestics than a good sportsman for his dogs.

A prudent carver will distribute the dainties he is serving out in equal division, and regulate his helps by the proportion his dish bears to the number it is to be divided among, and considering the quantum of appetite the several guests are presumed to possess.

If you have a bird, or other delicacy at table, which cannot be apportioned out to all as you wish, when cut up, let it be handed round by a servant; modesty will then prompt the guests to take but a small portion, and such as perhaps could not be offered to them without disrespect.

Those chop-house cormorants who

“Critique your wine, and analyze your meat,
Yet on plain pudding deign at home to eat,”

are generally tremendously officious in serving out the loaves and fishes of other people; for, under the notion of appearing exquisitely amiable, and killingly agreeable to the guests, they are ever on the watch to distribute themselves the dainties412-* which it is the peculiar part of the master and mistress to serve out, and is to them the most pleasant part of the business of the banquet; the pleasure of helping their friends is the gratification which is their reward for the trouble they have had in preparing the feast: such gentry are the terror of all good housewives; to obtain their favourite cut they will so unmercifully mangle your joints, that a lady’s dainty lapdog would hardly get a meal from them afterward; but which, if managed by the considerative hands of an old housekeeper, would furnish a decent dinner for a large family.

The man of manners picks not the best, but rather takes the worst out of the dish, and gets of every thing (unless it be forced upon him) always the most indifferent fare by this civility, the best remains for others; which being a compliment to all that are present, every body will be pleased with it; the more they love themselves, the more they are forced to approve of his behaviour, and gratitude stepping in, they are obliged, almost whether they will or not, to think favourably of him.

After this manner it is that the well-bred man insinuates himself in the esteem of all the companies he comes in; and if he gets nothing else by it, the pleasure he receives in reflecting on the applause which he knows is secretly given him, is to a proud man more than equivalent for his former self-denial, and overpays self-love, with interest, the loss it sustained in his complaisance to others.

If there are seven or eight apples, or peaches, among people of ceremony, that are pretty nearly equal, he who is prevailed on to choose first, will take that which, if there be any considerable difference, a child would know to be the worst.

This he does to insinuate, that he looks upon those he is with to be of superior merit; and that there is not one whom he does not love better than himself. Custom and general practice make this modish deceit familiar to us, without being shocked at the absurdity of it.

“If people had been used to speak from the sincerity of their hearts, and act according to the natural sentiments they felt within, till they were three or four and forty, it would be impossible for them to assist at this comedy of manners without either loud laughter or indigestion; and yet it is certain, that such a behaviour makes us more tolerable to one another, than we could be otherwise.”

The master or mistress of the table should appear to continue eating as long as any of the company; and should, accordingly, help themselves in a way that will enable them to give this specimen of good manners without being particularly observed.

“It belongs to the master and mistress, and to no one else, to desire their guests to eat, and, indeed, carving belongs to nobody but the master and mistress, and those whom they think fit to desire, who are to deliver what they cut to the master or mistress, to be by them distributed at their pleasure.”

A seat should be placed for the carver sufficiently elevated to give him a command of the table, as the act of rising to perform this duty is considered ungraceful.

The carving-knife should be light and sharp; and it should be firmly grasped; although in using it, strength is not as essential as skill, particularly if the butcher has properly divided the bones of such joints as the neck, loin, and breast of veal or of mutton.

The dish should not be far from the carver; for when it is too distant, by occasioning the arms to be too much extended, it gives an awkward appearance to the person, and renders the task more difficult.

In carving fish, care should be taken not to break the flakes, and this is best avoided by the use of a fish trowel, which not being sharp, divides it better than a steel knife. Examine this little drawing, and you will see how a cod’s head and shoulders should be carved. The head and shoulders of a cod contain the richest and best part of this excellent fish.

The first piece may be taken off in the direction of a b, by putting in the trowel at the back or thick part of the fish, and the rest in successive order. A small part of the sound should be given with each slice, and will be found close to the back-bone, by raising the thin flap d. It is known by being darker coloured and more transparent than the other parts of the fish. Almost every part of a cod’s head is considered good; the palate, the tongue, the jelly, and firm parts, e e, upon and immediately around the jaw and bones of the head, are considered as delicate eating by many persons.

A boiled fowl has the legs bent inward (see fig. 2), and fastened to the sides by a skewer, which is removed before the fowl is sent to table. A roasted fowl should not have any part of the legs cut off, as in the boiled fowl; but after they have been properly scraped and washed, they are drawn together at the very extremity of the breast. A boiled and a roasted fowl are each carved in the same manner. The wings are taken off in the direction of a to b (fig. 2). Your knife must divide the joint, but afterward you have only to take firm hold of the pinion with your fork, draw the wings towards the legs, and you will find that the muscles separate better than if you cut them with your knife. Slip your knife between the leg and the body, and cut to the bone, then with the fork turn the leg back, and, if the fowl be not a very old one, the joints will give way.

After the four quarters are thus removed, enter the knife at the breast, in the direction c d (fig. 3), and you will separate the merrythought from the breast-bone; and by placing your knife under it, lift it up, pressing it backward on the dish, and you will easily remove that bone. The collar-bones, e e, lie on each side the merrythought, and are to be lifted up at the broad end, by the knife, and forced towards the breast-bone, till the part which is fastened to it breaks off. The breast is next to be separated from the carcass, by cutting through the ribs on each side, from one end of the fowl to the other. The back is then laid upward, and the knife passed firmly across it, near the middle, while the fork lifts up the other end. The side bone are lastly to be separated; to do which turn the back from you, and on each side the back-bone, in the direction of g g (fig. 4), you will find a joint, which you must separate, and the cutting up of the fowl will be complete.

Ducks and partridges are to be cut up in the same manner; in the latter, however, the merrythought is seldom separated from the breast, unless the birds are very large.

Turkeys and geese have slices cut on each side of the breast-bone, and by beginning to cut from the wing upwards to the breast-bone, many more slices may be obtained than if you cut from the breast-bone to the wings, although I do not think the slices are quite as handsome as if cut in the latter method.

Pigeons (see fig. 6) are either cut from the neck to a, which is the fairest way, or from b to c, which is now the most fashionable mode; and the lower part is esteemed the best.

There are two ways of carving a hare. When it is young, the knife may be entered near the shoulder at a (see fig. 7), and cut down to b, on each side of the backbone; and thus the hare will be divided into three parts. The back is to be again divided into four parts, where the dotted lines are in the cut: these and the legs are considered the best parts, though the shoulders are preferred by some, and are to be taken off in the direction of c d e. The pieces should be laid neatly on the plates, as they are separated, and each plate served with stuffing and gravy. When the hare is old, it is better not to attempt the division down the back, which would require much strength; but the legs should be separated from the body at f, and then the meat cut off from each side, and divided into moderate sized pieces. If the brains and ears are required, cut off the head, and put your knife between the upper and lower jaw, and divide them, which will enable you to lay the upper jaw flat on the dish: then force the point of your knife into the centre, and having cut the head into two parts, distribute the brains with the ears to those who like them.

Rabbits are carved in the same manner as a hare, except that the back is divided only into two pieces, which, with the legs, are considered the most delicate parts.

A ham is generally cut in the direction of a to b, (fig. 8) down to the bone, and through the prime part of the ham. Another way is to cut a small hole at c, and to enlarge it by cutting circular pieces out of it; this method brings you to the best part of the ham directly, and has an advantage over the other in keeping in the gravy.

A leg of mutton is more easily carved than any other joint, but nevertheless there is a mode of doing it neatly, which should be observed. The first slice should be taken out at a (fig. 9), between the knuckle b and the thick end; and the second and subsequent slices should be cut in this direction, until you are stopped by the cramp-bone at c; then turn it up, and take the remaining slices from the back, in a longitudinal direction. When the leg is rather lean, help some fat from the broad end with each slice. The best and most juicy slices are toward the broad end: but some persons prefer the knuckle: and where economy is an object, the knuckle should always be eaten when the joint is hot, as it becomes very dry when cold. If the joint is to be brought again to table, it has a much neater and more respectable appearance if it be helped, altogether, from the knuckle end, when it is hot. This direction may appear trifling; but a good economist knows the importance of carving, when the circumstances of a family require that a joint be brought a second time to table.

A haunch of venison (fig. 10) should be cut down to the bone in the direction of the line a b c, by which means the gravy is allowed to flow out: then the carver, turning the broad end of the haunch toward him, should cut in deep from b to d. He then cuts thin slices in the same direction, taking care to give to each person whom he helps a due proportion of fat, which is, by lovers of venison, highly prized: there is generally more of this delicacy on the left side of b d than on the other side.

A haunch of mutton is carved in the same manner as venison.

A saddle of mutton (fig. 11) is cut from the tail to the end on each side the back-bone, in the direction of the lines a b, continuing downward to the edge c, until it become too fat. The slices should be cut thin, and if the joint be a large one, they may be divided into two parts. The fat will be found on the sides.

A sucking pig is cut up before it is sent to table. The ribs may be divided into two parts as well as the joints. The ribs are considered the finest part, and the neck end under the shoulder. Part of the kidneys should be added to each helping.

A shoulder of mutton, if properly roasted, is supposed to yield many choice pieces, but this depends very much upon the carver. The first cut should be in the direction c b (fig. 12); and, after taking a few slices on each side of the gap which follows the first cut, some good slices may be obtained on each side of the ridge of the shoulder blade, in the direction c d. When the party is numerous, slices may be taken from the under side; and it is on this side, under the edge e, that the fat is found.419-*

Buttock of Beef

Is always boiled, and requires no print to point out how it should be carved. A thick slice should be cut off all round the buttock, that your friends may be helped to the juicy and prime part of it. The outside thus cut off, thin slices may then be cut from the top; but as it is a dish that is frequently brought to table cold a second day, it should always be cut handsome and even. When a slice all round would be considered too much, the half, or a third, may be given with a thin slice of fat. On one side there is a part whiter than ordinary, by some called the white muscle. In some places, a buttock is generally divided, and this white part sold separate, as a delicacy; but it is by no means so, the meat being coarse and dry; whereas the darker-coloured parts, though apparently of a coarser grain, are of a looser texture, more tender, fuller of gravy, and better flavoured; and men of distinguishing palates ever prefer them.

412-* He who greedily grapples for the prime parts, exhibits indubitable evidence that he came for that purpose.419-* Another way of carving a shoulder of mutton, and one which many persons prefer, is in slices from the knuckle to the broad end of the shoulder beginning on the outside. See the lines f and g.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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