Common-Sense Papers on Cookery — A Closer Reading

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Payne, A. G. (Arthur Gay), 1840-1894 Project Gutenberg 2020 Not confirmed
Cooking, English Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Words 62,393
Reading time 272 min
Text sections 24

The source record for Common-Sense Papers on Cookery — A Closer Reading measures this digital text at 62,393 words, 4 hr 32 min estimated reading time, and 24 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 25.6 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Cooking, English,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

A series of essays originally from Cassell's Magazine, blending recipes with anecdote and aimed at middle-class housewives. Payne argues that helpless mistresses create helpless servants, offering detailed instructions on frying-pan use, salad presentation, and picnic planning.
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elves can make allowances for the want of self-denial in others.

Great allowance should be made for those who, after a hard day’s mental work, return home on a hot day, irritable, thirsty, exhausted, without being hungry. There is a great art in adapting the food for the occasion. There are a certain class of persons, especially in this country, who seem to fail to perceive that what is suitable at one season of the year is quite unsuited at another. For instance, hot pea-soup, followed by an Irish stew, on a broiling July day, is quite as much out of character as ices at Christmas-time.

In England, too, people do not seem to understand how to make the most of the means at their disposal for making themselves comfortable. How many thousands there are who, having good gardens, yet never use them except to walk in! For breakfast or tea what better spot can be chosen than a shady corner of the lawn; yet how often do we find this done?

Probably many would say, “Oh, but the people next door can see us.” As a nation we are undoubtedly very shy and ungregarious. This latter quality, if one may be allowed to use the expression, is particularly shown at railway-stations. You may walk down a long train and find one man in each compartment, and each one glares at you if you attempt to enter.

The constitutional shyness of the middle classes has a strong ally in the constitutional rudeness of the lower.

Many years ago almost the only lunch obtainable in London was a Bath bun, washed down with tepid ginger-beer. But this bun had to be eaten under difficulties. First, the extraordinary height of the stool on which one was bound to sit made one giddy; then a crowd of small boys, with noses flattened white against the window outside, would carry on a running conversation, such as “Give us a bit, guv’nor,” &c. Unfortunately, the faster you tried to eat the bun, the more it choked you; and as to the ginger-beer, it too often refused to go anywhere except to the nose. A lunch is still a great difficulty in certain parts of London. It would be an interesting Parliamentary return—first, the number of licensed victuallers in London; secondly, the number of licensed victuallers who sold victuals.

Were any one, some hot day, to place a small table on the pavement, and sit down and eat an ice, like thousands do in Paris, the result would be such a crowd that one would probably be locked up for the night, for obstructing the public thoroughfare.

There is, perhaps, no dish so suitable for hot weather as curry. But there are curries and curries. I have seen some that have made me shudder to look at them. If you see pieces of meat on a large dish, almost swimming in a quantity of bright light-coloured yellow gravy, people will probably call it curry; but my advice is, don’t eat any if you can get anything else. I will try and describe how it ought to be done. Say the dish is curried sweetbreads. The sweetbreads must be fried as directed in the article entitled “Uses and Abuses of a Frying-pan.” The curry sauce must be poured round them directly they are done, and this sauce is made as follows:—

We will describe how to make enough for about six people.

First, take six large onions, and peel and slice them, and fry them a nice brown-colour in a stew-pan, using about two ounces of butter. Next take two apples, about the same size, or rather larger than the onions, and as sour as possible. Peel them, remove the core, slice, and add to the onions in the stew-pan, then add a pint of good strong stock. Stir it all up, and let the whole boil till the apples are quite soft. Add to this a large brimming dessert-spoonful of Captain White’s curry-_paste_, and a good-sized tea-spoonful of ordinary curry-powder. The whole of this must be rubbed through a fine wire sieve, with a large wooden spoon. If you have not patience to rub it all through, you can’t make curry.

The next point necessary is that this curry sauce should be made of the necessary thickness; and for the purpose, what I have alluded to before under the name of “brown thickening” is necessary.

Arthur Gay Payne’s Common-Sense Papers on Cookery (1880s) is not a conventional cookbook but a collection of magazine essays that mix recipes with social commentary. The preface declares the work is “intended more for the drawing-room than for the kitchen,” targeting middle-class women whom Payne blames for domestic incompetence. The opening paper, “Uses and Abuses of a Frying-Pan,” begins with the lament “We had such an awful time of it with Mary Ann!”—a complaint Payne turns back on the mistress, arguing that “the mistress makes the maid.”

The Mistress as Culprit

Payne’s central thesis, stated in the preface and echoed throughout, is that domestic servants fail because their employers fail to train them. He writes that “a helpless mistress too often makes helpless servants,” and the remedy lies with ladies themselves. This argument appears not in a separate chapter but as a framing device for practical advice. In the frying-pan paper, the complaint about Mary Ann is used to introduce a discussion of kitchen equipment and technique. The catalog subject “Cooking, English” captures the book’s content, but the secondary topic “letters-speeches” hints at its persuasive, essayistic tone. Payne is not merely instructing; he is lecturing his readers on their responsibilities.

Anecdote as Instruction

Payne explicitly aims to “mingle recipes with anecdote” so that the book may entertain as well as inform. The picnic chapter, for instance, opens with a romantic description of August days and the “wonderful institution” of picnics, complete with a poetic quotation (“Lift not the festal mask”). Only after this digression does he turn to practical matters like preventing meat from spoiling in heat. Similarly, the salad instructions in the fish chapter are preceded by a note on hard-boiled eggs discolouring silver dishes. These asides give the book a conversational, almost novelistic quality, far removed from the terse style of a standard cookery book. The excerpts show that Payne values narrative flow as much as recipe precision.

Detail Over Generality

Despite his essayistic style, Payne provides remarkably specific instructions. In the salad passage, he directs the cook to “pile the lettuce up in the centre of the dish as high as possible,” cover leaves entirely with sauce using “a silver knife or ivory paper-knife,” and ornament with “finely-chopped parsley” and “dried capers.” He even advises on timing: hard-boiled eggs should be peeled “within half an hour of the salad being eaten” to avoid discolouration. These details reveal a writer who expects his readers to execute dishes with care, not merely understand principles. The book’s catalog subject “Cooking, English” is accurate, but the excerpts show that Payne’s English cooking is specifically that of the aspiring middle-class household, concerned with presentation and economy.

Payne’s papers reward readers who approach them as period pieces as much as practical guides. The recipes are embedded in a social world where the mistress’s character determines the quality of her table. Readers interested in Victorian domestic ideology will find as much to analyse as those seeking instructions for mayonnaise or picnic fare. The book’s original magazine format explains its episodic structure; each paper can be read independently, but together they build a coherent philosophy of household management.

There’s something so tender about how Payne trusted women to learn by doing, not by being told they were failing. That same gentle faith lives in A Handbook of Fish Cookery: How to buy, dress, cook, and eat fish — Background and Themes, where the quiet care of preparing a meal feels like a kind of companionship. It stayed with me long after I closed it, like a warm kitchen that lingers on your clothes.

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