Thrumps was equally as baffled. The Emporium never usually stayed put for more than one night, but here he was, the morning after the night before, as it were. He tapped the coaster and was rewarded with not just a steaming cup of coffee but a still warm freshly baked cinnamon bun, reminding him that it must still be Christmastime.
He gazed out into the main shop. it was now a culinary hive of activity, awash with people of various ages. The noise was deafening and the smell deliciously overwhelming.
The kitchen was obviously in full swing, readying a plethora of tasty goods for a banquet of some description, maybe for Christmas day lunch, but from his seat Thrumps could not really be sure.
A buxom young lass with unruly hair spouting out from under a hair band hurried over.
“Is this to your liking Sir?” she asked plonking a sample platter of piping hot pigs in blankets on the desk. He carefully picked the smallest one and rather foolishly popped it straight in his mouth. Blustering to draw in cold air he watched her smile as he hurriedly munched.
The coaster obligingly produced a glass of ice-cold water, much to Thrumps relief.
The taste was amazing. Honey coated sausage tightly wrapped in smoked bacon and sprinkled with thyme. The look of delight was enough to have her running back to the mayhem. Thrumps decided that if he was to be chief taster, he was in for a delightful morning, and how right he was.
He snapped his fingers, for want of a better way to attract attention. Instantly the same very young scullery maid stood before him, head lowered.
“Hello,” he said gently. She looked up at him, unsure as to what to do.
Thrumps smiled. “Can I see the menu?” he asked.
Without a word she scurried off into a back room and a few minutes later an apron clad woman, obviously the housekeeper judging by her air of self-importance presented one on a silver plate. The staff had taken that as a cue to make ready to present all dishes and were lining themselves up in the right order.
Thrumps scanned it.
A Traditional Christmas served in the style of the 1900s.
Roman Punch (to be served as guests arrive)
Frozen sugar water, topped with rum and lemons.
The housekeeper clicked her fingers and a crystal goblet was offered. Thrumps took a sip. It was remarkably sweet but refreshing.
With the next click of the fingers the first course arrived.
Horderves, Médaillons de Saumon Champenoise (salmon cooked with champagne) and served with Normandy peas and oysters pâtē. There was also a cup of clear vegetable broth on the side. Thrumps presumed this was in case someone didn’t like fish, but then if that was the case, they were scuppered with what followed.
Next came the fish course. Crispy fried smelts from the north Atlantic served with sauce tartare followed by Sweetbread patties. These little morsels were surprisingly tasty regardless of how unappetising the description was. Thrumps read it again and wished he hadn’t, chopped pancreas of lamb, seasoned with nutmeg and encased in puff-paste.
The coaster rattled the fresh glass of water, gratefully Thrumps took a sip as he scanned the extensive list of dishes still to come. At the click of the housekeeper’s fingers the desk was cleared and instantly covered with what could be considered as the main course.
Roast turkey, stuffed with breadcrumbs and onion, served with homemade cranberry port sauce and a selection of local vegetables. Potato slices boiled with nutmeg, rice croquettes, minced cabbage tossed in cream, brussels sprouts and glazed carrots, accompanied by those delicious pigs in blankets. Even though he was not keen on a lot of it, Thrumps recognised that protocol required him to take a morsel of each, not too much though as he knew they were nowhere near done yet.
Nesselrode pudding was not a variation on the traditional Christmas afters. Chestnuts were cooked in milk and egg yokes with raisins, then copious amounts of sherry was added and once frozen they were garnished with candied cherries and green gages. All this was followed by cheese and biscuits, fresh fruit, macaroons, slices of chocolate Yule log and mince pies, but when it came to the coffee the coaster slammed itself down on the desk making everyone jump. That was its domain and it was not about to be upstaged, to which Thrumps was eternally grateful. He liked his plain and simple but the menu explained that the stuff to be presented was made from fresh ground beans, boiled with the whites and shells of egg and served black with no sugar. That was definitely not the ideal way Thrumps would like to have ever finish any meal.
There was a note, written in red across the bottom of the page, ‘seating was to be at twelve o’clock promptly and that late comers would not be catered for’.
“This has already been circulated with the invitations so the guests will know?” Thrumps asked matter-of-factly, as if he already knew the answer but wished to confirm that the housekeeper also did, even though he himself had no real idea.
She simply nodded. Thrumps gave her a hard stare and with a wave of his hand dismissed her. Thankfully the fare for the staff would not be as elaborate and would be taken in the evening after the guests had retired to the care of the valet’s and the waiting staff engaged for the evening’s entertainments in the ballroom.
Thrumps sipped his mug of coffee. This was an undoubtedly well-oiled workforce. Everyone knew their duty and their place within the establishment, all that was … expect Thrumps.