Chauncey Depew’s Big Day

New York City,
1890 

Chauncey Depew was very busy on Monday, February 17, 1890. In addition to being the president of a railroad, Depew headed the World’s Fair Committee, charged with securing the upcoming Colombian Exposition for New York. It had been four months since the city's aristocrats had discussed the matter over dinner at Delmonico’s and time was running out; Congress was expected to make a decision by the end of the week. And yet, even at this late date, the state’s political leaders were still divided as to whether they wanted to host this massive event—the municipality was difficult enough to manage without the added burden of millions of visitors. Depew was now making one last effort to align the warring political factions. While the newspapers seemingly reported his every move, two menus provide additional information about his exact whereabouts on a day marked by striking contrasts.

William Waldorf Astor’s World’s Fair Dinner

This article was first published in the 2010 summer issue of Gastronomica. It is posted here as a prelude to the essay titled “Chauncey Depew’s Big Day.”

New York City,
1889

William Waldorf Astor

At grand dinners of the Gilded Age, canvasback duck was an upper-class autumnal dish, much appreciated for its subtle flavor of celery. In the fall of 1889, however, the species was suddenly scarce. There were reports from Havre de Grace, Maryland, a small town at the mouth of the Susquehanna River, that storms had driven mud over the wild celery upon which the canvasbacks liked to feed.1 Some feared the ducks had been overhunted.1 Whatever the trouble, Charles Ranhofer, Delmonico’s longtime chef, could not get his hands on them—not even for someone the New York Times would shortly proclaim “the wealthiest man in the world.”2

The Class of 1888

West Point,
1884-1887

When the Class of 1888 graduated from the U.S. Military Academy in June of that year, there were so few cadets that the New York Daily Graphic could easily publish their portraits on a two-page spread.1 Five rare menus transport us back to West Point in the 1880s. In addition to providing a glimpse of the food customs, some of the menus convey a deeper meaning about the long cycle of mourning caused by a sudden death, adding a poignant dimension to these minor historic documents.

The Russians Are Coming!

New York City
1863

In the 1966 comedy The Russians Are Coming, the Russians Are Coming, a Soviet submarine accidentally runs aground near a small New England town during the Cold War, sparking fear and chaos throughout the community. However, when the Russian navy actually arrived in force a hundred years earlier, it was greeted with open arms. That naval call, presumably an act of friendship during the American Civil War, was orchestrated by the Russian government. In reality it was a ploy, feigning an alliance with the Northern states to discourage the European powers from intervening in the Polish Rebellion which the Russians were brutally crushing. Still, Russia’s ulterior motives were of little interest to those caught up in the struggle to preserve the Union, as shown by menus from lavish entertainments during their visit. 

Come Fly with Me

American Airlines
1946

Restaurant critic Bryan Miller once observed, “The quality of food is in inverse proportion to a dining room’s altitude, especially atop bank and hotel buildings (airplanes are an extreme example).” It is not as if the airlines never tried. In the years following the Second World War, American Airlines had famous restaurants cater the inaugural meals on its new transatlantic routes, as shown by a large menu from its first flight to Copenhagen and Stockholm on February 1, 1946.1

The Russian Revolution

St. Petersburg, Archangel & Vladivostok
1912-1918

One of the most intriguing aspects of ephemera is that it reminds us of long-forgotten events. A case in point is provided by three scarce menus from the time of the Russian Revolution. Interestingly, they were saved by people who found themselves on the losing side of the conflict—Russia’s ill-fated bourgeoisie; foreign intelligence officers;  and the United States Army sent to fight the “Red” Bolsheviks.

The Butter Wars

New York City, 

1880

When five members of a congressional subcommittee came to New York in April 1880 to inspect the new factory of the Commercial Manufacturing Company, the firm rolled out the red carpet, hosting a dinner at Delmonico’s in their honor.  Typical for a grand banquet of the Gilded Age, the menus for the occasion were printed on satin of various colors. What is unusual about the menu shown below is what it doesn’t say—golden blocks of margarine were placed on the table to accompany the meal. What is more, the low-cost butter substitute was even said to have been used to prepare these classic French dishes.

General Lewis Cass

Paris, 
1842

Eight counties, ten small cities, thirty townships, and numerous streets, schools, parks, and lakes are named after Lewis Cass. Born in New Hampshire in 1782, Cass had a long and distinguished political career at a time when many places in the country needed names. After serving as a brigadier general in the War of 1812, the rugged-looking statesman was appointed governor of the Michigan Territory. In 1831, he became the Secretary of War and was later sent to France as the American Minister, a post he retained for six years. Shortly before returning to the United States in November 1842, Cass was honored by the American expatriate community at a farewell dinner at Les Trois Frères Provençaux in Paris. 

Here They Come!

New York City, 

1904

The scene is still funny. Appearing in the Sunday comic section of the New York World in March 1899, the first cartoon in a series, it shows a prosperous miner from Montana named “Slagg Diggins” stepping off the ferry with his wife and daughter, ready to enter high society.1 The headline warns the city’s well-established aristocrats, popularly known as “The 400,” of the arrival of this newly-minted millionaire, much to the amusement of the city’s masses who were well aware of the societal shift then taking place.

Compliments of George Kessler

Washington, D.C. & New York City

1902

There was an intriguing story behind the menu that supposedly came from the state dinner in 1902, hosted by President Theodore Roosevelt for Prince Henry of Prussia. The biggest issue was its monotone blue cover, unlike the full-color menus seen at the dinner. Then there were two small advertising cards still tucked inside, one noting that the menu was provided compliments of George Kessler, the clever importer of Moët & Chandon Champagne, and the other touting his product’s popularity. The menu reveals a curious incident in presidential history, orchestrated by Kessler to promote his products. Known as the “Champagne King,” he led a colorful life, distinguished by high living, intermittent disasters, and a celebrated act of atonement, making his one of those uniquely American stories.