Hospitality
But be not thou like the too flowery Chinese, of whom the Abbé Huc gives the following account-the hero of the tale, observe, being not a heathen, but a Christian, Chinee. "During the time when we were at our Northern Mission, we were witnesses of a most curious fact, which was wonderfully characteristic of the Chinese. It was one of our feast days, and we were to celebrate the Holy Office at the house of the First Catechist, where there was a tolerably large chapel to which the Christians of the neighbouring villages were in the habit of coming in great numbers. After the ceremony the master of the house posted himself in the middle of the court, and began to call to the Christians who were leaving the chapel-Don't let anybody go away. To-day I invite every one to eat rice in my house ; ' and then he ran from one group to another urging them to stay. But every one alleged some reason for going, and went. The courteous host appeared quite distressed. At last he spied a cousin of his, who had almost reached the door, and rushed towards him saying 'What, cousin! are you going too? Impossible! this is a holiday, and you really must stop.' 'No,' said the other, 'do not press me; I have business at home that I must attend to.' 'Business! What to-daya day of rest! Absolutely, you shall stop; I won't let you go!' And he seized the cousin's robe, and tried to bring him back by main force, while the desired guest struggled as well as he could, and sought to prove that his business was too pressing to allow of his remaining. 'Well,' said the host at last, 'since you positively cannot stay to eat rice, we must at least drink a few glasses of wine together. I should be quite ashamed if my cousin went away from my house without taking anything.' 'Well,' replied the cousin, 'it don't take much time to drink a glass of wine,' and he turned back. They re-entered the house, and sat down in the company room. The master then called in a loud voice, though without appearing to Hotch Potch address any one in particular, 'Heat some wine and fry two eggs!' "In the meantime, till the hot wine and fried eggs should arrive, the two lighted their pipes and began to gossip, and then they lit and smoked again; but the wine and eggs did not make their appearance. The cousin, who most likely had some real business, at last ventured to ask of his hospitable entertainer how long he thought it would be before the wine would be ready. 'Wine!' replied the host: 'wine! Have we got any wine here? Don't you know very well that I never drink wine? It hurts my stomach.' 'In that case,' said the cousin, 'surely you might have let me go. Why did you press me to stay?' Hereupon the master of the mansion rose and assumed an attitude of lofty indignation. 'Upon my word,' said he, 'anybody might know what country you come from.
What! I have the politeness to invite you to drink wine, and you have not even the politeness to refuse! Where in the world have you learned your rites? Among the Mongols, I should think.' And the poor cousin, understanding that he had been guilty of a dreadful blunder, stammered some words of apology, and, filling his pipe once more, departed. "We were ourselves present at this delightful little scene; and as soon as the cousin was gone, the least we could do was to have a good laugh; but the master of the house did not laugh he was indignant. He asked us whether we had ever seen such an ignorant, stupid, absurd man as his cousin ; and he returned always to his grand principle that is to say, that a well-bred man will always render politeness for politeness, and that one ought kindly to refuse what another kindly offers; otherwise,' he cried, 'what would become of us?'"-Huc's Chinese Empire, vol. i., chap. 7.
HOTCH POTCH implies confusion and variety ; and as Hotch Potch confusion may be infinite and variety indescribable, it is a word of wide application. The Scotch, however, seem to have set their hearts upon this word rhyming to their name, and have fixed it for ever upon a magnificent dish which they call a soup, but which looks more like a stew. It is a soup of the class which the French call a Garbure. The principle of it and of the other mutton broths will be explained hereafter in the article Scotch Broth. When Prince Albert paid his first visit to the Highlands he was profoundly interested in this great national dish-the Scotch Hotch Potch, wich is devoured by rich and poor alike with incredible gusto. He made his first acquaintance with it on a hillside, where a herd-laddie was dipping his spoon into a tin can. The Prince asked the boy what he had for dinner, and was told it was Hotch Potch. "And what is Hotch Potch?" said the Prince. "There's carrots intil't," said the boy, "there's neeps (turnips) intil't, there's peas intil't, there's cabbage intil't" The Prince stopped him: "Yes, my little man, but what's 'intil't'?" "There's peas intil't," continued the boy, "there's carrots intil't." "Yes, yes," rejoined the Prince, "but I want to know what's 'intil't." " telling ye there's carrots intil't, there's cabbage intil't, there's peas intil't." "Still I don't know what is 'intil't." " "Did ye ever hear the like?" said the boy; "am n't I telling you that there's peas intil't? "-and so forth. The Prince was not enlightened until one of his gillies came up and informed him that in the language of the country "intil't" means into it or in it: t: "There's peas in it, there's carrots in it." The following receipt is taken from the cookery book of Mrs. Dalgairns, which I always read with awe because the great Wizard of the North, Sir Walter himself, is said to have contributed to its pages. Who knows but this receipt came in all its robust simplicity from his hands? "I'm "Cut in dice a good quantity of young turnips and carrots, and boil them gently, with one or two lettuces cut Indigestion small, the tops of some cauliflower, and a pint of full-grown peas in four quarts of boiling water for two hours. Cut in neat chops a loin or the best end of a neck of mutton; add them to the vegetables with salt, pepper, and some onions cut small, and let them boil an hour and a half. Lastly, add three pints of green peas and boil half an hour longer, when it is ready to serve." In all two hours and a la'fthe mutton being put in half an hour after the vegetables. Distrust the English imitations of this receipt, which all miss the chief point of it a superabundance of peas, a portion of them being put in from the first, and after 21 hours' boiling being reduced to a mash. Compare with this the Flemish dish of peas and lettuce, which will be found under the heading Paysanne.
N.B.-No barley. In England it is supposed that there must be barley in all Scotch broth. It is a mistake. Hotch Potch will accept almost any addition except barley.
Buried in the anecdotes is a genuine receipt, taken by Dallas from Mrs. Dalgairns. It is a mutton and vegetable soup whose whole character depends on peas cooked to collapse, so read the timings before you start.
- The hinge: two batches of peasThe first pint goes in at the beginning and is meant to break down into a thick green mash that bodies the broth; the last three pints go in near the end and stay whole. Skip the first batch and you have a thin vegetable soup with peas floating in it, which is exactly the "English imitation" the book complains of.
- "Full-grown" versus "green" peas"Full-grown" here most likely means mature fresh peas rather than young ones, and it is their starch that lets the first batch break down; dried marrowfat or split peas are a rough modern approximation, though they need soaking and behave differently. The three pints added at the end are young garden peas; frozen peas are a fair stand-in and need only the last few minutes rather than half an hour.
- The timings contradict each otherThe receipt adds up to four hours (two for the vegetables, ninety minutes with the mutton, thirty more with the peas), while Dallas's summary claims two and a half hours in all with the mutton going in after thirty minutes. His shorter schedule is the more sensible one for meat and vegetables both; the four-hour version reduces everything but the late peas to pulp, which some cooks want here.
- The muttonA loin or best end of neck cut into chops means bone-in, fatty mutton — hogget or lamb neck and shoulder chops are the practical substitute, and lamb will be tender in about an hour rather than two. Mutton needs the longer end of the range.
- Skim, or it will be greasyNeck and loin chops release a great deal of fat over a long simmer and the original says nothing about removing it. Skim as it rises, or chill the pot and lift the set fat before reheating.
- Four quarts of waterIn imperial measure that is roughly 4.5 litres; with two hours of open boiling it will reduce considerably. Use a wide heavy pot and top up only if the vegetables threaten to catch.
- No barley, and no stockThe instruction is emphatic and worth honouring: the thickening comes from disintegrated peas, not grain. Nor is there any stock — the mutton bones and the vegetables make the broth in the pot.
- YieldAs written this is a large pot, comfortably eight to ten servings as a main course with bread. Halving it works, but keep the two-stage pea method intact.
Hotch potch comes into English from the Old French hochepot, a pot that is shaken or jostled — the same root that gives the legal term hotchpot, meaning property thrown together and divided equally. Dallas is right to file it beside the French garbure, the thick vegetable-and-meat potage of Gascony, and beside Scotch broth, all of them one-pot dishes in which the vegetables are cooked past the point of holding their shape. The receipt he prints is from Mrs. Dalgairns's The Practice of Cookery, an Edinburgh book of 1829 that ran through many editions; the notion that Sir Walter Scott contributed to it is a piece of book-trade lore Dallas himself reports only as something "said to" be true. The Prince Albert story belongs to the wider mid-century enthusiasm for all things Highland, when Scottish peasant dishes became fashionable reading for English households — which is precisely why Kettner's Book of the Table (1877) bothers to insist that the English get it wrong by adding barley and skimping on peas.