THE UNDERWORLD OF THE CARLTON HOTEL.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVIII, Issue 2746, 26 February 1910, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE UNDERWORLD OF THE CARLTON HOTEL.

SOME FACTS ABOUT A WONDERFUL INSTITUTION.

Save for those few lucky people who chance to own a palac© of their own, tho Carlton Hotel probably represents tlie last word of luxurious living. At tho cost of a sovereign or so, a man may eat there a dinner that is a gastronomic dream of delight, in company with the on-oat ones of the earth: — the King himself has set his sign-man-ual to tlie place, by dining there in the public salle a manger—and amidst surroundings such as a multi-millionaire can hardly hope to command in his private life. It is a miracle of money and method —especially method. Havo you over reflected, as you settled down in your arm-chair in the palm room after finishing your friandises. and listened lazily to the. soft, sensuous music played by the hotel band, on the number of people who have worked that you inay eat ? There is a small army of them altogether. The cooks alone, and their assistants, number more than a hundred. Tho total staff of tlie entire hotel exceeds seven hundred men, women, and boys—th© population of a fair-sized village. —Wonderful Kitchens. —

To visit tlie underworld of tlie estab. lishment is a revelation to tho uninitiated. Hero ar© the kitchens, stretching in well-nigih endless perspective, all spotlessly clean, and fitted with the latest labor-saving a reliances. Their number is bewildering. Tiler© aro cold kitchens and hot kitchens, a ’kitchen in which only gam© is cooked, yet others whore -'oultry is dealt with and nothing besides, another for plain roasts, and so on.

Further along is one where a portly sub-chief and his assistants wrestle with entrees all day and every day, from year’s end to year’s end. There is a vegetable kitchen, a salad kitchen, a sauce kitchen, and a pastry kitchen. 'They aro all ranged in order. Thus, tihe hois d’oeuvros kitchen comes first; that wherein the coffee is prepared is at tho extreme end of the main central corridor, furthest awav from the double flight of stairs, down and up which the waiters descend and ascend. The reason for this arrangement is fairly obvious. The man who has dined is content to wait perhaps twenty seconds for his coffee. Tho man who has yet to din© is not content to wait ten for his hors d’oeuvres. When dinner is being served and in a- lesser degree during the luncheon hour, tills gastronomic underworld is a scene of bewildering confusion, or what seems such to anyone unaccustomed to it. To those who know it, on the other hand, it partakes more of the nature of a beautiful and intricate piece of mechanism, in which the different parts, the wheels and the cogs, are men and boys. —The Man With the Big Voice.— An important personage in tho scheme, and one which eye and ear—especially ear—at once single out from the human maelstrom that surrounds him, is the annonceur. He is a big ma.n, leather-lunged, with, a voice like a glorified fog-horn, or an exaggerated toast-master’s

It is his duty to announce, in advance, th© orders of the waiters in tones that will penetrate to the ears of tho expectant cooks in the. various kitchens. Thus, for example, a waiter dashes into tfi© fish kitchen for filets de sole Carlton, at tho same time he notifies tho annonceur that the entree that is to follow is, we wil say, noisettes de chevreuil, and that the game course will be ortolans aux raisins.

Forthwith, orders for these particular dishes are thundered forth, to reach, in the one case the ears of the chef in charge of the entree kitchen, and in the other case of him who presides over the game- kitchen. These at once set about fulfilling them so that the ordered dainties shall he in readiness tlie moment they are wanted. This goes on for two hours or more twice a day, the annonceur shouting out orders as fast as his lips can frame the words; yet although there are some twenty sub-chefs, each knows and acts upon the instructions that are intended for his particular ears. Away beyond the kitchens, so far away that even the voice of the leatherlunged annonceur fails to penetrate there, there stretches a labyrinth of other rooms. Some of these ar© kept locked, for it is death to enter them. That, for instance, whore tho electrical arrav gement® for tho hotel arc controlled. It is a chamber of livo wires, of rubber insulating mats, of red danger signals warning tint unwary that this and that other knob, lever, or orojeetibn must, on no account, be touched .

There is another door that shakes and trembles as though sorao gagged giant in agony were writhing inside in stupendous, but vain, efforts to escape from intolerable torment. This leads to the steel air chamber wherein the air for use in the hotel is kept stored under pressure, and wher© is is continually going through the process of being cooled in summer and heated in winter, preparatory t 0 being forced through filters made of shredded asbestos that looks like tho finest cotton wool. , ... To enter this chamber, too, when full of air under a. pressure of many atmospheres, would also, in all probability, spell death. But the feat would be difficult, if not, indeed, an impossible one, for if a person were to open tho door, the. blast of air that would rush out would sweep him backwards off his feet. Further afield yet, hut all underground, mind, ar© the dining-rooms for the staff, and one notes that win© is served with the meals, oven in the rooms set apart for the inferior grades, such as th© scullions and the men who spend their lives peeling potatoes. For there are divisions many and sharp in tbo service at tlie Carlton,-it must bo remembered, and- tbo gulf is veiy wide indeed between tho head _ potatopeeler and that magnificent being, the head porter, who is popularly said to make an income in excess of L2UUU a year. . . ' • , A tiny room, with a tmy but- exceedingly strong door, proves, on being opened, to- ho a veritable Aladdin s cave: It is the gold-plate room, and its only occupant is an elderly man whoso sole business it is to- clean golden plates, and dishes, and epergnes. and such-like trifles. Tho silver-plate is kept and cleaned in another and bigger room; all but tlie forks, which havo an apartment to-, themselves. For l-c----cle an mg is a. separate branch of platecleaning. It is not so easy to. cleans© a fork properly as many people imagine. There l are, too, a butcher’s shop, a baker’si shop, and a fish-monger s; the latter have many sub-divisions for between till© man wlio first handles tho fish, and the man who hands it ready for cooking to th© waiting chef, ar© many stages. And, of course, there are wine-cellars galore, and vast storerooms for non-perishable, comestibles. “M.A,P.”