The American novelist Nathaniel Hawthorne visiting London describes in his diary a breakfast party given by Monckton Milnes in 1857. Breakfast parties were then fashionable opportunities to discuss books and politics:
“Mr Milnes introduced me to Mrs Browning [Elizabeth Barrett Browning, wife of Robert]. She is a small, delicate woman, with ringlets of dark hair, a pleasant, intelligent face, and a low, agreeable voice. She looks youthful and comely, and is very gentle and ladylike. And so we proceeded to the breakfast room, which is hung round with pictures, and in the middle of it stood a large round table, worthy to have been King Arthur’s, and here we seated ourselves without any question of precedence or ceremony. On one side of me was an elderly lady with a very fine countenance, and in the course of breakfast I discovered her to be the mother of Florence Nightingale. One of her daughters (not Florence) was present. Mrs Milnes, Mrs Browning, Mrs Nightingale and her daughter were the only ladies at table; and I think there were as many as eight or ten other gentlemen, whose names—as I came so late—I was left to find out for myself or leave unknown. It was a pleasant and sociable meal, and thanks to my cold beef and coffee at home, I had no occasion to trouble myself much about the fare; I just ate some delicate chicken, and a very small cutlet, and some dry toast, and thereupon ceased my labours.”
Algernon Bastard, in his Gourmet’s Guide to Europe, 1903, describes a Venetian breakfast at Quadri’s in the Piazzo San Marco:
“When you go the restaurant do not be induced to go upstairs where the tourists are generally invited, but take a little table on the ground floor, where you can see all the piazza life, and begin with a Vermouth Amero, in lieu of a cocktail. For hors d’oeuvre have some small crabs, cold, masked up with Sauce Tartare, and perhaps a slice or two of Prosciutto Crudo, raw ham cut as thin as cigarette paper. After this a steaming Risotto, with Scampe, somewhat resembling gigantic prawns. Some cutlets done in the Bologna style, a thin slice of ham on top and hot Parmesan and grated white truffles and Fegato alla Veneziana complete the repast, except for a slice of Strachino cheese. A bottle of Val Policella is exactly suited to this kind of repast, and a glass of fine-champagne (De Luze) for yourself… makes a good ending. The maitre-d’hotel, who looks like a retired ambassador, will be interested in you directly he finds that you know how a man should breakfast.”
The writer George Augustus Sala describes his usual breakfasts to his physician in 1863:
“I used to eat a mutton chop, or a rump steak, or a good plateful from a cold joint, or a couple of eggs broiled on bacon, or a haddock, or a mackerel, or some pickled salmon, or some cold veal-and-ham pie, or half a wild duck, or some devilled partridge, with plenty of bread-and-butter, or toast, or muffins, and perhaps some anchovy sauce, or potted char, or preserved beef; the whole washed down by a couple of cups of tea or coffee.”
“Mr Milnes introduced me to Mrs Browning [Elizabeth Barrett Browning, wife of Robert]. She is a small, delicate woman, with ringlets of dark hair, a pleasant, intelligent face, and a low, agreeable voice. She looks youthful and comely, and is very gentle and ladylike. And so we proceeded to the breakfast room, which is hung round with pictures, and in the middle of it stood a large round table, worthy to have been King Arthur’s, and here we seated ourselves without any question of precedence or ceremony. On one side of me was an elderly lady with a very fine countenance, and in the course of breakfast I discovered her to be the mother of Florence Nightingale. One of her daughters (not Florence) was present. Mrs Milnes, Mrs Browning, Mrs Nightingale and her daughter were the only ladies at table; and I think there were as many as eight or ten other gentlemen, whose names—as I came so late—I was left to find out for myself or leave unknown. It was a pleasant and sociable meal, and thanks to my cold beef and coffee at home, I had no occasion to trouble myself much about the fare; I just ate some delicate chicken, and a very small cutlet, and some dry toast, and thereupon ceased my labours.”
Algernon Bastard, in his Gourmet’s Guide to Europe, 1903, describes a Venetian breakfast at Quadri’s in the Piazzo San Marco:
“When you go the restaurant do not be induced to go upstairs where the tourists are generally invited, but take a little table on the ground floor, where you can see all the piazza life, and begin with a Vermouth Amero, in lieu of a cocktail. For hors d’oeuvre have some small crabs, cold, masked up with Sauce Tartare, and perhaps a slice or two of Prosciutto Crudo, raw ham cut as thin as cigarette paper. After this a steaming Risotto, with Scampe, somewhat resembling gigantic prawns. Some cutlets done in the Bologna style, a thin slice of ham on top and hot Parmesan and grated white truffles and Fegato alla Veneziana complete the repast, except for a slice of Strachino cheese. A bottle of Val Policella is exactly suited to this kind of repast, and a glass of fine-champagne (De Luze) for yourself… makes a good ending. The maitre-d’hotel, who looks like a retired ambassador, will be interested in you directly he finds that you know how a man should breakfast.”
The writer George Augustus Sala describes his usual breakfasts to his physician in 1863:
“I used to eat a mutton chop, or a rump steak, or a good plateful from a cold joint, or a couple of eggs broiled on bacon, or a haddock, or a mackerel, or some pickled salmon, or some cold veal-and-ham pie, or half a wild duck, or some devilled partridge, with plenty of bread-and-butter, or toast, or muffins, and perhaps some anchovy sauce, or potted char, or preserved beef; the whole washed down by a couple of cups of tea or coffee.”
