A Woolf at the kitchen table

 

"It is a curious fact that novelists have a way of making us believe that luncheon parties are invariably memorable for something very witty that was said, or for something very wise that was done. But they seldom spare a word for what was eaten. It is part of the novelist's convention not to mention soup and salmon and ducklings, as if soup and salmon and ducklings were of no importance whatsoever, as if nobody ever smoked a cigar or drank a glass of wine. Here, however, I shall take the liberty to defy that convention and to tell you that the lunch on this occasion began with soles, sunk in a deep dish, over which the college cook had spread a counterpane of the whitest cream, save that it was branded here and there with brown spots like the spots on the flanks of a doe. After that came the partridges, but if this suggests a couple of bald, brown birds on a plate you are mistaken. The partridges, many and various, came with all their retinue of sauces and salads, the sharp and the sweet, each in its order; their potatoes, thin as coins but not so hard; their sprouts, foliated as rosebuds but more succulent. And no sooner had the roast and its retinue been done with than the silent servingman, the Beadle himself perhaps in a milder manifestation, set before us, wreathed in napkins, a confection which rose all sugar from the waves. To call it pudding and so relate it to rice and tapioca would be an insult. Meanwhile the wineglasses had flushed yellow and flushed crimson; had been emptied; had been filled. And thus by degrees was lit, half-way down the spine, which is the seat of the soul, not that hard little electric light which we call brilliance, as it pops in and out upon our lips, but the more profound, subtle and subterranean glow which is the rich yellow flame of rational intercourse. No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself. We are all going to heaven and Vandyck is of the company--in other words, how good life seemed, how sweet its rewards, how trivial this grudge or that grievance, how admirable friendship and the society of one's kind, as, lighting a good cigarette, one sunk among the cushions in the window-seat."

(A Room of One's Own)

Who is this woman, you may start wondering, who is this person who dares questioning the rightfulness of the inclusion of dinner parties in literary works due to their importance in the plot? On the other hand, why would it be so? Why do participants in parties and/or dinner parties always have to be witty? Why aren't they just as dull as many people and relatives we ask to visit us?

"Adeline Virginia Woolf (/ˈwʊlf/; 25 January 1882 – 28 March 1941) was an English writer, and one of the foremost modernists of the twentieth century.
During the interwar period, Woolf was a significant figure in London literary society and a central figure in the influential Bloomsbury Group of intellectuals. Her most famous works include the novels Mrs Dalloway (1925), To the Lighthouse (1927) and Orlando (1928), and the book-length essay A Room of One's Own (1929), with its famous dictum, "A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virginia_Woolf)

Although her life is very interesting for those craving for data and facts, it is her writing style that has some interesting features:

" In Mrs Dalloway, all of the action, aside from the flashbacks, takes place on a day in June. It is an example of stream of consciousness storytelling: every scene closely tracks the momentary thoughts of a particular character. Woolf blurs the distinction between direct and indirect speech throughout the novel, freely alternating her mode of narration between omniscient description, indirect interior monologue, and soliloquy.^[3] The narration follows at least twenty characters in this way but the bulk of the novel is spent with Clarissa Dalloway and Septimus Smith.
Because of structural and stylistic similarities, Mrs Dalloway is commonly thought to be a response to James Joyce's Ulysses, a text that is often considered one of the greatest novels of the twentieth century (though Woolf herself, writing in 1928, apparently denied this^[4]). In her essay "Modern Fiction," Woolf praised James Joyce's Ulysses, saying of the scene in the cemetery, "on a first reading at any rate, it is difficult not to acclaim a masterpiece."^[5] The Hogarth Press, run by her and her husband Leonard, had to turn down the chance to publish the novel in 1919, because of the obscenity law in England, as well as the practical issues regarding publishing such a substantial text." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mrs_Dalloway#Style)

Now that we know more about her writing style, the question is: What did people eat in this period?

"Eating was an event in the wealthy Victorian home. Even the breakfast meal featured a variety of fruits, scones, omelettes, bacon and more. 
From the daily ritual of serving afternoon tea and the opportunity to show off the lady's finest silver, china and linen, to 
elaborate banquets attended by noblemen and their guests, there was always something on the stove in a Victorian kitchen.

In reality, the Victorian menu wasn't terribly different from what is served in homes today, or at least in the homes where someone still cooks. Meat, fish and poultry were common and fresh or canned vegetables were served with most meals. Winter and Autumn meals usually included hearty soups and stews while chicken and lighter dishes prevailed in the summertime.
Holiday meals were special celebrations and called for the finest dishes including Roast Mutton, Pork or Turkey, Boiled Beef, Stewed Rabbits, Plum Pudding and Mince Pies. Baked good were plentiful and cooks were especially prized for their dessert-making skills.
Most evening meals were served in courses with raw or baked Oysters a popular appetizer. The second course featured cream soups or plain bouillon along with a serving of baked or broiled fish.
The main course, usually roasted poultry, pork or beef, accompanied by a variety of savory vegetables, fresh baked bread, and frequently some pasta, was presented by the serving maid in grand fashion and to the great delight of those seated around the table.
The dessert course featured several puddings, cakes and highly prized specialities such as Nesselrode and Plum Pudding. Of course a variety of cheeses and fresh fruit were often served when available.
Wine would be served at the end of each course. Madeira and sherry after. A glass of hock after white fish or claret and port after salmon. Following entrees chilled champagne, a favourite with the ladies, might be served." (http://www.thecooksguide.com/articles/food-and-drink.html



After all these, imagine Mrs. Woolf preparing for a big Sunday dinner party and making the last-minute preparation:

She's done everything she could. At that exact moment, she was feeling as if she travelled back to her childhood years. Her mom was giving the room a sweeping look, walked up to the table and carefully adjusted the table cloth just as she learned from her mother many years ago. She did the same thing. Walked over to the next spot and did it again. And again. She finally thought everything was in its place, so went out to the kitchen and looked around what was to be done. The turkey was eyeballing her carefully. She thought back to her childhood in the barn. Some years ago, she thought not having a calendar makes it awfully difficult to remember, I was running around my mother. My mother served as a nice dinner last time for the Woolfs. She did not like them on second thought. Of course, seeing that she was already cooked, it did not make a difference. She walked on and looked at the oysters. It was her son's favourite part of the meals. The appetizer. The idea of spreading the oyster on freshly made toasts gives him joy whenever he thought about it. I am not sure if it is the sight of the changing form or the fact that whenever I think about tasting it, I drool. She did not know either what is so joyful about it. The champagne, next to the bowl was a different story. He, her husband, loved it. What pleasure opening a bottle causes me. The anticipation I felt at my father's side during Christmas can't be even described. The countdown and the excitement until the stopper leaves the bottle, while champagne is spurting out on top. She did not like it. The new chandelier did not like the idea either. The stopper already scratched me last time when it went amok flying. That crazy stopper, I can still see it behind the drawer where it flew. Of course, she'll never find it. Ohh, the plum pudding. She just loves it. The sight and the smell. Delightful. Mrs. Wattson is just dying to find out all about the recipe. I will have to ask Mrs. Woolf and beg her to tell me the recipe, Otto just lives it. Of course, she won't tell me. Mrs. Woolf knew that she should not. It took her years to master it. That was the only dessert I could master. I struggled with all the other. That should be one of the things I will take to the grave with me. She looked around the kitchen and smiled. The thought of having a great party and not telling the secret always made her smile. The chandelier, the turkey, and the pudding watched her carefully. The last two knew it was their final moment in this world. Only the bottle stopper smiled. Nobody will ever move the drawer, I think.




Finally, an interesting fact from Mae's Food blog:

"Virginia Woolf was very dependent in her earlier life for servants to cook for her and even coax her to eat. (This had to do with her mental problems, which included various eating disorders, treated at length in the book.) My usual approach would be to ask What did Virginia Woolf eat? or What did she cook? The book also answers them in fascinating ways. As her life went on, she seemed to question her relationship with servants, and she became more interested in learning to cook, which was also a very interesting thing:

"Over the years she graduated to making soups, pies and roasts, rice pudding, curry; sometimes she'd rustle up a scratch supper -- 'macaroni cheese and bacon fry' -- baked haddock was a favourite standby." (p. 233)"

Sources:

http://leitesculinaria.com/10550/writings-virginia-woolf-at-the-table.html - Recipes

http://akitchenofonesown.blogspot.co.uk/2009/01/virginia-woolf-on-food.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mrs_Dalloway#Style 

http://maefood.blogspot.co.uk/2009/01/virginia-woolfs-kitchen.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virginia_Woolf