The Allure of the "Last Meal" on the Titanic

It is the 100^th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, a fact which all who haven’t been hiding under a rock will know very well. Memories of the ill-fated passage have been ubiquitous in the media – memorial cruises, documentaries, films, and personal profiles of survivors, victims and the descendants of both. As I sit writing this post I am simultaneously watching the new television rendition of Titanic written by Julian Fellowes and produced by the “creators of Downton Abbey.” So far, pre-iceberg, it is everything you would expect with such a pedigree – all imaginable stereotypes present and correct, Sir. Whether it will add anything useful to the collective narrative remains doubtful.

If the sinking of the Titanic was one of the landmark events of the twentieth century, it truly defined the Edwardian age. Newspapers were consumed with coverage for months thereafter (in the United States largely spurred by William Randolph Hearst and his vendetta against White Star chairman Joseph Bruce Ismay). It was one of the few dark events to blight the seemingly innocent and carefree days before the outbreak of the First World War. One historian recently theorized that the contrast of courage and cowardice demonstrated aboard the ship reflected the prime value Edwardians placed on both physical and moral bravery. The Titanic (as both an actual ship and as an “idea”) also emphasized the near limitless glamour and opulence of the Edwardian age for the wealthy, and the desperation and narrow opportunities of the world which the poor inhabited.

The food on board the Titanic has continued to fascinate, including the famed "last meal." Naturally at Eating Like an Edwardian we well understand the reason for this interest. Edwardian food, with its massive portions and rich offerings (which seem almost obscene to the modern observer), epitomized the age. Several years ago I looked through the book Last Dinner On theTitanic: Menus and Recipes from the Great Liner, though I must say that I have never attempted any of the recipes. It is full of facts, anecdotes and tasty offerings that fuelled 6,000 meals a day on board ship. (Some recipes listed here.)

The First-Class Menu As served in the first-class dining saloon of the R.M.S. Titanic on April 14, 1912

First Course

Hors D'Oeuvres Oysters

Second Course

Consommé Olga Cream of Barley

Third Course

Poached Salmon with Mousseline Sauce, Cucumbers

Fourth Course

Filet Mignons Lili Saute of Chicken, Lyonnaise Vegetable Marrow Farci

Fifth Course

Lamb, Mint Sauce Roast Duckling, Apple Sauce Sirloin of Beef, Chateau Potatoes Green Pea Creamed Carrots Boiled Rice Parmentier & Boiled New Potatoes

Sixth Course

Punch Romaine

Seventh Course

Roast Squab & Cress

Eighth Course

Cold Asparagus Vinaigrette

Ninth Course

Pate de Foie Gras Celery

Tenth Course

Waldorf Pudding Peaches in Chartreuse Jelly Chocolate & Vanilla Eclairs French Ice Cream

To coincide with the anniversary of the Titanic, a hotel in Hong Kong has reportedly recreated the last meal on the ship, for which participants forked out approximately $2000 to attend. The bill of fare was an exact replica of that served on the Titanic even if, as the executive chef Philippe Orrico suggested, the portions were reduced because people are no longer prepared to stomach gargantuan meals. Our general appetite for luxury might remain the same, even if the full scope of our appetite has been curbed.

Update: A story from Vanity Fair about New York "foodies" recreating the last meal on the Titanic.

Edwardians and Picnics - Or, Reasonable Eating Out of Doors

No climate in the world is less propitious than the climate of England, yet with a recklessness which is almost sublime, the English rush out of doors to eat a meal on every possible and impossible occasion.
-- Georgina Battiscombe, English Picnics (1951)

The Idle Historian has a confession to make. One which may cause something of a shock -- so please do have the proverbial smelling salts close at hand. I am not overly fond of eating outside. Or, at the very least, I dislike the unthinking compulsion in our society to eat out of doors -- despite the discomfort, the dodgy weather, and the logical difficulties involved. Worse still is the daft impulse to drag all and sundry contents of the kitchen (and barbecuing equipment) far afield (to a park or a beach) and proceed to laboriously prepare a meal. The effort involved is massive, the results often middling, and the mental state required to embark on such a project dubious. In short, I believe that we invented civilization so that we might eat within the comfort of four walls.

That said, of course, there must be exceptions that prove the rule. Our spring, summer, and glorious scenery exists for these small outings. But they should be few and far between, and furthermore well-chosen occasions. One should not run out to patios pell-mell, simply because the temperature has edged above 10C. The conditions in climes such as Canada and England are most often unfavourable, and the experience of the dining or social occasion thereby diminished. Not to mention that those with good circulation among us generally give no heed to those who might not be so blessed. The ubiquitous patio heater is often of little practical advantage on this score. Generally the individual is left freezing on one side and charred on the other -- quite aside from the carbon footprint of such activities.

Eating outdoors must be rationed carefully, like a fine brandy or a vintage claret. Special occasions must be chosen with a view to the probable weather, and reasonable provisions set aside in case of an inclement outcome. Of course even the best-planned excursions may encounter rain, and one must take this eventuality with the proper degree of stoicism. It is, I contend, much easier to countenance them with the knowledge that such miseries may occur but infrequently.

The Idle Historian's rules for outdoor eating are thus:
1. It should not require inordinate effort on the part of the participants. (Ideally, no effort at all. See the reference to hampers below.)

2. It should be a special treat, not an everyday mania.

3. It should be an experience that would fit aesthetically into a Evelyn Waugh novel or a Merchant Ivory film. Otherwise, take advantage of benefits our ancestors have bequeathed to us and eat indoors.

This leaves us with, essentially, an Edwardian picnic. This occasion was one of (at least in memory) perpetual sunshine, flowers, youth, copious amounts of food and drink: sandwiches, cold meats, cold pies, biscuits, fruit, Pimms. Picnic food -- not simply a replica of normal fare.

[A group of young Edwardians having a picnic. The photos of them are in

black and white. The experience was in vibrant colour.]

There were games of croquet, cards, bawdy songs, parasols for the ladies, sedate flirtations under the oaks. The Edwardians took advantage of a new appreciation for the pleasures of leisure and the English countryside (along with improved transport -- trains and automobiles) to visit it in large numbers.

The other vital element of the experience, one which the Edwardians understood, was that one should contribute as little effort as possible towards the food. It should come to one as if a gift from the heavens. This is why carting a vehicle filled with a barbecue and most of the accoutrements of the kitchen to a park or beach to cook the outdoor meal simply won't do. 

No, the ONLY thing for outdoor eating is the picnic hamper -- ideally packed by someone else. Such as Fortnum and Mason. The legendary qualities of Fortnum's hampers was the subject of an earlier post, "How to Travel in Culinary Style." A hamper answers quite nicely for the occasion, and since it is so difficult to get good domestic servants these days (and footmen are particularly in such short supply), it is easily portable by two people.

[The Classic Fortnum and Mason hamper. Eminently civilized.]

The hamper denotes civilization and, although it might seem luxurious or extravagant to some, it actually represents the height of restraint and -- I dare say -- even modesty. The hamper signals that the participants are not under the delusion that they must recreate ALL the elements of dining out of doors -- the cooking of meat for example. They understand that it is about the aesthetic merits of the outing and combining the best of all experiences in perfect moderation: the food and drink as minimalist accompaniment to the splendour of the outdoors.

[A do-it-yourself hamper. This sample has the right idea going --

one would NEVER purchase a hamper lacking claret glasses.]

The Idle Historian wishes all the readers of this blog a glorious spring and summer. For most of us the season is short, the days of sunshine teasing us with their swift appearance and disappearance. And by all means do invite me to a sedate hamper picnic, as this is certainly as much outdoor dining as the Edwardian soul can take. As life is, alas, filled with suffering I will not turn down a beach barbecue either, but I am not bringing meat to put on the grill.