Soyer's Culinary Campaign: Being Historical Reminiscences of the Late War.: With The Plain Art of Cookery for Military and Civil Institutions

passed into oblivion. The various offices which were from morning to night crowded, as well as the residence of General Storks, are now occupied by the commanding officers of the Turkish army, by whom business seems to be transacted quietly by signs, salutations, and kissing of hands, such being the Turkish fashion, scarcely a word being spoken by these living automatons. We were very politely shown through the building, accompanied by several officers. The large kitchen in the yard, which I had the fitting of, still remains, the partition which formerly divided it to form an extra-diet kitchen only being removed, making it now one vast cook-house. The twenty-four large boilers, set in marble, were in use for making the daily meal for the troops, which that day was the meat Pilaff, a dish suitable for the million of any nation, it being composed principally of rice, and the addition of a little spice or curry-powder will make it highly palatable to the English soldier. The kitchen-floor, after the Turkish fashion, was anything but cleanly; but in their cooking apparatus the contrary exists, the copper boilers being well tinned and very clean. The meat-house, store-rooms, &c., present but a meagre appearance contrasted with that, when filled with meat and provisions of all kinds, during their occupation by the English. Returning thence, we were attracted to the building by a band of music rehearsing in the Malakoff ward, the brassy sounds of which in former days would have proved anything but harmonious to the ears of the patients: several airs arranged by the late Donizetti, the Sultan’s band-master, and brother of the celebrated maestro, were performed for us with great precision, especially “God save the Queen” and the “Sultan’s March,” though still with the Oriental twang, which at first is anything but agreeable or pleasing to a European ear. We then walked round the barracks, through those I recollect once encumbered, but now empty corridors, the immensity of which is almost indescribable: the centre of the pavement alone, which in some parts is nearly worn out by the daily traffic between