Students of Pepys’ Diary must have gasped with amazement at learning of the prodigious quantities of food considered necessary in the seventeenth century for a dinner of a dozen people.  Samuel Pepys gives us several accounts of his entertainments, varying, with a nice sense of discrimination, the epithet with which he labels his dinners.  Here is one which he gave to ten people, in 1660, which he proudly terms “a very fine dinner.”  “A dish of marrow-bones; a leg of mutton; a loin of veal; a dish of fowl; three pullets, and two dozen of larks, all in a dish; a great tart; a neat’s tongue; a dish of anchovies; a dish of prawns, and cheese.”  On another occasion, in 1662, Pepys having four guests only, merely gave them what he modestly describes as “a pretty dinner.”  “A brace of stewed carps; six roasted chickens; a jowl of salmon; a tanzy; two neats’ tongues, and cheese.”  For six distinguished guests in 1663 he provided “a noble dinner.” (I like this careful grading of epithets.) “Oysters; a hash of rabbits; a lamb, and a rare chine of beef, Next a great dish of roasted fowl cost me about thirty shillings; a tart, fruit and cheese.”  Pepys anxiously hopes that this was enough!  One is pleased to learn that on all three occasions his guests enjoyed themselves, and that they were “very merry,” but however did they manage to hold one quarter of this prodigious amount of food?

The curious idea that hospitality entailed the proffering of four times the amount of food that an average person could assimilate, persisted throughout the eighteenth century and well into the “seventies” of the nineteenth century.  I remember as a child, on the rare occasion when I was allowed to “sit up” for dinner, how interminable that repast seemed.  That may have been due to the fact that my brother and I were forbidden to eat anything except a biscuit or two.  The idea that human beings required perpetual nourishment was so deep-grounded that, to the end of my father’s life, the “wine and water tray” was brought in nightly before the ladies went to bed.  This tray contained port, sherry and claret, a silver kettle of hot water, sugar, lemons and nutmeg, as well as two large plates of sandwiches.  All the ladies devoured wholly superfluous sandwiches, and took a glass of wine and hot water before retiring.  I think people would be surprised to find how excellent a beverage the obsolete “negus” is.  Let them try a glass of either port, sherry, or claret, with hot water, sugar, a squeeze of lemon, and a dusting of nutmeg, and I think that they will agree with me.

A custom, I believe, peculiar to our family, was the burning of church incense in the rooms after dinner.  At the conclusion of dinner, the groom-of-the-chambers walked round the dining-room, solemnly swinging a large silver censer.  This dignified thurifer then made the circuit of the other rooms, plying his censer.  From the conscientious manner in which he fulfilled his task, I fear that an Ecclesiastical Court might have found that this came under the heading of “incense used ceremonially.”