[Sca-cooks] "All the King's Cooks"

[Ron Carnegie]

mooncat> I haven't seen the book, but I have seen the kitchens, and they are
mooncat> waaay cool!
mooncat> I remember seeing one of the boiling kettles--perfectly enormous thing,
mooncat> which fit into this alcove.  To stir the contents (or to fish something
mooncat> out, no doubt), one had to actually climb stairs next to the alcove.  My
mooncat> memory is insisting that the kettle was copper, but I could easily be
mooncat> wrong--or the kettle could be a later one of some kind.
mooncat> There was also this interesting area like a modern built-in counter,
mooncat> except it was a series of mini-stoves, for want of a better phrase. 
mooncat> There were places on top for smaller cooking vessels (like our
mooncat> saucepans), and underneath, room for charcoal or wood fires.  I think,
mooncat> though, that that part of the kitchen was 17th c., but I could be wrong.
mooncat> I know I took some pictures, but they didn't come out very well.  Some
mooncat> day I definitely gotta go back! <g>
mooncat> --maire
mooncat> 

   I know three of the cooks at Hampton Court and am very jealous of
them.  Not only do they have that great kitchen to play in but they have
a nice budget (they work for the Queen).   Much if not all of there
clothing is hand woven, hand dyed and hand sewn.  There equipment is
spot on.  Not only that they DON'T work in the busy season!  Apparently
the Palace gets so busy that they are prevented to work within.  The
ones I know are great guys.

    Let me know if you are seriously wondering about what sound like a
stew stove. I can email them and ask about it.



Ranald de Balinhard,
Ron Carnegie <r.carnegie at verizon.net>
	*************************************************
	"The poetry of history lies in the quasi-miraculous fact that
	 once on this earth, on this familiar spot of ground walked
	 other men and women as actual as we are today, thinking
	 their own thoughts, swayed by their own passions but now
	 all gone, vanishing after another, gone as utterly as we 
	 ourselves shall be gone like ghosts at cockcrow."
				G.M. Trevelyan
	*************************************************