Category Archives: Meat and Three Veg

Mr Abbott: early adapter of technology

No it’s not that ‘Mr Abbott’, although the man I want to bring to your attention, Edward Abbott, was also politician. He was born in Sydney in 1801 and in 1864 he was the first Australian to produce a cookbook, The English and Australian Cookery Book. Cookery for the Many, as Well as for the “Upper Ten Thousand” (2014 marks the sesquicentenary of its publication). To the modern cook accustomed to culinary manuals with detailed and consistently formatted lists of ingredients, step-by-step instructions, additional information on procurement and substitution illustrated with glossy photographs all laid out in easy reading format Abbott’s ‘cookery book’ might be unrecognizable as such. He familiarly categorises his recipes under headings such as soups, roasting, made dishes, condiments, puddings and pies, bread and breakfast cakes and salads but there is no standard format to these; many are no more than a list of ingredients, method is often non-existent and measurements absent. This lack of detail was quite standard in nineteenth century cookery manuals; a practice considered to indicate a presumption on behalf of the writer that the cook employing the book had some understanding of the dish and the processes required to produce it.

In addition to the recipe chapters Abbott has included sections on an extraordinary range of topics related to cookery and dining, for example, “Dinner According the Count D’Orsay’ (a notoriously profligate English aristocrat), ‘Dinner Party Precedence’, ‘Magical Drinks’, ‘Ice’, ‘Soy’ (yes in 1864), “Why Animals To Be Eaten Must Be Killed’, ‘Orange Flower Water’, Convivial Maxims’, ‘Chocolate’, Mosses (not just a recent ‘super food’ discovery), ‘Smoking’, Al Fresco Parties’, Copper Saucepans and the type of fish to be found in various of the colonies. Indeed the contemporary cook or gastronome might be surprised at the breadth of interest in food and cookery demonstrated by Abbott given the persistent stereotype of colonial Australians as a people who ‘grubbed’ on little more than ‘mutton and damper’ and did not care about food. Interwoven with the recipes are advice, principles, a stanza of poetry, dramatic lines and maxims drawn from popular and highbrow newspapers, books and journals, authors, poets, commentators including Shakespeare, Byron, Edmund Burke, Descartes, Thackeray and Tennyson (see example below). Sometimes these snippets relate to the dish or food types under discussion but the inclusion of others seems random though I believe that Abbott would have had a rationale as to where he placed these ‘appropriate quotations and racy extracts’. You can see an example of a typical page below:


The eclectic nature of the material in Abbott’s book has led it to be described as a ‘gastronomic miscellany’[1] and its scrapbook style is what I wanted to draw attention to for it represents a ‘technology’ of his time and the process through which stories went ‘viral’ before the internet[2]. Prior to his entering the Tasmanian parliament as the member for Clarence, Abbott founded a newspaper, the Hobart Town Advertiser, and acted as editor and publisher. It was common practice for newspaper editors to cut out interesting items from other publications and place them in their own or file these away for inclusion when they needed to fill space. Abbott would have applied this practice during the time he produced the Advertiser and seems to have applied it to compiling his book (given the dates on some of the items he uses it seems likely he had been collecting material for quite some time). In was in this way that items would go ‘viral’, as they were cut from one paper and appeared in others. It was a slow process and an item might appear over several years in different papers as it made its way into print across the globe. This process is exampled on the title page of Abbott’s book where he ascribed authorship of it psudenomously to an ‘Australian Aristologist’ (it does not appear to have been a secret as to who the author was though), a term he took from an article on gastronomy by Thomas Walker that appeared in a London magazine in 1835 and was re-cast in publications so often that it still had currency thirty years later when Abbott referenced it.

Reconsidered in this light Abbott’s work can be seen to be not unlike the ‘scrapbooks’ of ideas, re-tweets, likes, links and photographs that we so avidly post on various internet sites. If he were alive today I reckon Edward Abbott would be posting on every available medium.

If you are not familiar with Abbott’s book you can take a look at a digital copy here.

[1] See entry on Abbott in the Australian Dictionary of Biography:

[2] Visit the Infectious Texts project for more on ‘going viral’ in the 19th century.


Modern Goldrush

Regular patrons of Melbourne food and beverage dispensaries would have noticed a distinct increase in young people with Irish, English, French, Scandinavian, Spanish, or other exotic accents, serving them of recent time. Many of these fresh faced foreigners have come to escape the economic doldrums of Europe for a time, drawn by glowing international reports of our prosperity. It is a contemporary situation that has a little explored nineteenth century precedence, yet both share the same impetus: natural resources. In 1851 rich seams of gold were discovered in Victoria. When the news of this hit international headlines, people from all around the world set sail for the antipodes to try their luck at gold mining. The great majority of them disembarked in Melbourne to begin their journey to the goldfields in central Victoria, but some divined that more assured profit could be made in this burgeoning colonial metropolis rather than leaving it to providence on the diggings. With so many people passing through Melbourne, and successful miners returning there looking to show off newly acquired wealth, the provision of food and drink to them offered many ‘golden’ opportunities.

The stuff of our current resources boom is of different colour and located much further away—although it is now quicker to fly to Kununurra than it was to walk to the goldfields from Melbourne in the 1850s—but the multiplier effect of this boom contributes to many of us having a good enough disposable income to spend regularly enjoying ourselves in bars and restaurants. It is this modern ‘gold rush’ that has again attracted people to Melbourne—perhaps just to earn a modest living rather than make their fortune—to work in a vibrant hospitality industry begun more than a hundred and fifty years ago by other young (and youngish) people from the other side of the world. So let’s meet some of Melbourne’s hospitality pioneers (and pat yourself on the back for picking up on other contemporary parallels in this story).

By 1853 the ‘Yankee’ Samuel Ross had opened the up-market Criterion Hotel at 38 – 40 Collins Street West, which reportedly served ‘excellent cuisine’ in the Anglo-French style of the nineteenth century London based French celebrity chef, Alexis Soyer. Ross’ nasally twang would not have been a lone one in the first floor dining room of his hotel as he employed American barmen who performed skilful tricks with glasses and bottles when mixing cocktails for patrons, and other of his entrepreneurial countrymen had come out to see what they could make of the gold boom. It was Americans who introduced ice, cable cars (aka trams) and elevators to Melbourne. The ice was cut from the frozen lakes of Massachusetts, packed in sawdust, and sent south on fast clipper ships, conveniently refrigerating companion shipments of crayfish and champagne to satisfy the demand for luxury products in the cashed up colony. The Criterion bar was the repository of the first shipment of Massachusetts ice to arrive in Melbourne. When a sign —ICE-ICE-ICE—was hung out over the portal of the hotel to announce its arrival the bar was besieged with patrons eager to enjoy the novelty of a truly cold beverage.

In 1852, 25-year-old Frenchman Antoine Fauchery arrived in Melbourne en-route for the goldfields. He considered stopping in the town to take up a job as a hotel cook as the wages on offer were lucrative due to a shortage of staff to work in the numerous eating establishments that had opened . In the end it was his lack of English rather than his lack of culinary skill that decided him against this option. He returned to the city two years later from the diggings with sixty hard-won pounds in his pocket. He expended this setting up the Café-Estaminet Français in a small house at 76 Little Bourke Street where he served lunches, cold suppers, wine, brandy and beer. The place, furnished with sofas and a billiard table, quickly became the rendezvous for Swiss, Italians, Canadians, Mauritians and ‘other such nationalities ending in –ian’ in Melbourne. Fauchery did not hold a licence to sell liquor but the police reportedly turned a blind eye to this as his patrons were quite and never unruly: unlike the rowdy revellers that packed the larger hotels.

I think we do fail to recognize how young many of the people were —and it was mainly men— who came to Melbourne during the gold rush years, as the pictures we see of them formally posed in their well-buttoned up clothing and bushy beards make them appear much older to our eyes. A case in point is the portrait of Felix Spiers and Christopher Pond below (source).



Spiers was 23 when he arrived in Melbourne in 1856, where he teamed up with, the somewhat more mature, 29 year old Christopher Pond and opened the Café de Paris at 71-75 Bourke Street. Their English accents were not ‘foreign’ but Pond was from Essex, and Spiers had grown up between London and France so each would have had a different vocal intonation. Because our modern experience of ‘diversity’ has been shaped by living in a city that is home to people of many varied ethnic backgrounds we seem to have limited our understanding of it to just that, and accept the premise that colonial Australia was ‘mono-cultural’ and therefore lacking in diversity: this is far from the truth. Colonial Melbournians did not see themselves as all the ‘same’, they indentified as English, Irish, Welsh and Scottish; Catholic, Protestant, Quaker and Jew; teetotal and drinkers, and might have considered themselves as different to each other as a German would from a Spaniard. The accented voices of men —for women were not allowed—of all these backgrounds, joined by those of the French waiters who recited the menu to customers, would have filled the air of the grand dining room of the Café de Paris with a multi-tenored hum.

‘Important to mercantile men, professional men, men of leisure, men of toil, important to all’’

Thus ran the opening advertisement for the Café de Paris in June 1858. This pitch for patrons was to men of all classes—the trader, the lawyer, the gentleman, the labourer —because strong class divisions were another form of endogenous diversity amongst colonial Melburnians. A fancy restaurant such as the Strand in London — on which Spiers and Pond modeled their Melbourne establishment —would never have so blatantly encouraged the patronage of shopkeepers and bank clerks. It was unlikely that these men could have afforded to sit at its tables anyway as there was a distinct correlation between money and class in Britain. Despite the best efforts of the socially advantaged in Melbourne to maintain such distinctions the Victorian gold rush had leveled the economic playing field. If a man had the money, no matter how he had come by it, Spiers and Pond were not shy of publically welcoming his business. The Criterion was also ‘caste’ free: Cuthbert Featherstonhaugh, newly arrived in Melbourne from England, was quite taken aback to see the man who had carted his luggage from the dock to his lodgings taking his dinner in the up-market surrounds of the Criterion.

While money could buy a nouveaux riche man a bowl of real turtle soup, a ‘choice’ steak or chop, broiled before him on the ‘colossal’ coal-fired grill that was a feature of the Café de Paris dining room, by a chef with a ‘continental’ accent; several glasses of good Bordeaux, perhaps recommended by Spiers himself who was also a wine merchant; and a cup of café au lait —equal to that found in the ‘city on the banks of the Seine’—at the Café de Paris, it could not buy him ‘breeding’. And what Melbourne’s self made men wanted most was to be considered respectable and civilised, or well-bred, but they could not learn the subtleties of etiquette and table manners directly from their social superior,s because they would not have them at their domestic dining tables. They could though, because they had money, dine at the Café de Paris and there start to learn how to progress, as one enamoured patron commented, in the ‘art of surrounding [yourself] with the elegances and comforts of life’.  In the dining room of the Café the self-made man could, by observing the dining practices and etiquette of the upper- class gentlemen at the next table, gain an education in how to behave and eat and drink in the most ‘civilised’ way. By opening their doors to ‘all ‘Spiers and Pond, and Ross, contributed to the leveling of social distinctions and to the development of the egalitarian ethos of Australian society.

Ross, Fauchery and Spiers and Pond had all returned to their respective native lands by the early1860s but they left behind the foundations of a hospitality industry that was enlarged upon by other young men of foreign birth as Melbourne continued on its gold money fuelled trajectory towards the booming metropolis it was to be in the 1880s. It will be interesting to see how our current cohort of young European émigrés might influence our modern eating and drinking habits.