The gunnery officer, using a fork prong for his calculations on the first ward tablecloth, announced,
We average 30 members in the mess; the mess bill runs about $30. That’s $900 a month, about $11,000 a year, call it. You give me $11,000 a year and I’ll feed this mess caviar and crepe suzettes and have a swell month’s leave on the profits at the end of the year.
Exaggeration? Not a bit of it. A professional caterer would jump at the chance of that contract.
Did you ever stop to think how large mess life looms in the average naval officer’s existence? To the bachelors it is “home.” It furnishes all officers three meals a day at sea and even the most confirmed “beach hounds” usually have two meals aboard in port.
In spite of this fact and the fact that while under way the meals in the mess are the chief relaxation and recreation of the day, much is neglected that might make them more pleasant.
Two points are noticeable in most messes. One is that many members who think nothing of spending $25 on a large evening at “Jack’s” or the “Casino de Dance” will utter a low wailing sound if the monthly mess bill is boosted $2.00.
The other is that a mess president, who would give everyone about him a splitting headache if he saw a coxswain wearing a frayed white hat in a boat and who would undergo prolonged spasms at the sight of a tarnished tampion, will very often regard with complete unconcern Jose Olivera or Washington Johnson, Mess Attendants, Second Class, dressed in a discarded white service blouse lacking its pockets and slightly out at the elbows (provided of course the blouse is “clean”). Chipped or cracked plates, battered spoons, a ten-cent-store salt shaker probably paired with a regulation wardroom pepper shaker, “lace” napkins, once invoiced as “linen,” seem to occupy the blind spot in his eye.
Though a ship can have the battle efficiency pennant, it may at the same time have a wardroom mess with the cuisine and equipment of the “Last Chance” just outside the navy yard gate, and it is by this wardroom that those outside the Navy and those in foreign navies are apt to judge us.
What can be done about this? Let’s start off by improving the material. Collect all the chipped plates, the fork with the bent prong, those greenish water glasses bought from the ten-cent store, those torn napkins. If the total is too large for a single requisition to correct, start a replacement program and stick to it until all the mess gear is in good shape. Call the mess attendants together; everyone should have at least three regulation style mess jackets—old officers’ blouses and white jumpers do not count.
Buy navy tablecloth material by the yard and have it cut and hemmed to fit each mess table. A signalman can do the job, even in a destroyer, on the bridge sewing machine.
Next, see that a proper place is available in the pantry for washing plates, silver, and glasses. This should be done by successive rinsings in dishpans or specially constructed pans built to hang in the pantry sink. Washing should not be done in the sink itself. Use a small quantity of ammonia in the water and make sure that glasses are rinsed in absolutely clear water and dried before being put away.
The next thing to do is to draw up a bill of “mess orders,” to be kept hanging in the pantry. It should cover duties of steward, cook, and various attendants, duties of watch boy in port and at sea, serving of food, distribution and stowage of laundry, defrosting frigidaire, airing officers’ bedding, etc. And it is well to have a paragraph or so pointing out that as a turret crew’s success is measured by the hits it gets at target practice, a staff of wardroom servants who are an integral part of the ship’s organization are judged by the smartness of the mess and the excellence of the food and service. These mess orders should be kept up to date as nothing is more useless than an obsolete “standing order.”
The next and most important step to be accomplished is also the most difficult; that is the adoption of the proper attitude by the members of the mess themselves. Each should feel responsible that the standard of excellence in his mess is the highest possible. He should realize the training of mess attendants, many of whom have never seen food served until they reach naval ships, is as much his job as it is the mess treasurer’s. Too often the mess has unloaded the job of treasurer on a harassed, busy officer, who has only too little time to devote to the task, and their only contribution to the cause will be their monthly mess bill and a morning grouse because their particular factotum is “in de galley” at the time they are champing for breakfast.
This may all sound rather trifling but it marks the difference between a good mess and a mere eating place.
In order to have an economical mess it is necessary to know how many members will be at every meal and when an officer “signs up” to be ashore and then turns up at 6:15 with four guests and apologies, the fact that they can all be accommodated presupposes a certain amount of waste. The chances are the steward knew such arrangements were a habit in that mess and had bought and cooked some extra fillets of beef “just in case.” Also, the executive officer who pops down to luncheon fifteen minutes late cannot expect to have the roast chicken still sizzling when the mess is seated.
Having attended to these details let us next turn to the item around which all of this revolves—the food itself.
A wardroom mess has lots of advantages as an eating institution over most others, for instance, restaurants and clubs. It has (or should have) an easily predictable number of clients practically all of whom eat at the same time. In addition it has the privilege of buying from the general mess many of its staples at a very reasonable rate. Let us start just with the first meal of the day—breakfast.
A general criticism of most messes is that the breakfasts are too much the same from day to day. I knew of an officer who proudly reported having eaten scrambled eggs for 70 days in succession. However, eggs are a very estimable and ubiquitous breakfast food and the only suggestions are that for breakfast they be purchased fresh and that the style be varied. The fresh egg idea is really a good one and once a mess is used to eggs not having any “bite” to them and tasting rather flat they will never revert to cold storage ones, except, of course, for cakes, custards, sauces, etc. The cost is very little more. As for variety, there are cookbooks which deal with nothing but various ways in which to cook eggs, and a famous San Francisco hotel boasted twenty different ones.
It is suggested that some form of eggs be present each morning and that in addition another breakfast dish be prepared which can be varied from day to day. Some ideas are: waffles, pancakes, buckwheat cakes, sausages, scrapple, ham, bacon, salt fish (such as kippered herring, salt mackerel, etc.) pan fish, mushrooms on toast, “grilled bones” (made by grilling left-over chicken wings and legs in a mixture of butter and mustard), and deviled kidneys.
To speed up breakfast in port and to insure its being hot, a long electric hot plate can be rigged at one side of the wardroom, and on it can be placed dishes containing the hot items of food. The members can then help themselves as they come into the wardroom. Such an arrangement releases some of the mess attendants for other work. This particular idea is probably most adaptable to smaller ships, though if the engineer officer will stand for it there is no reason why each ward table cannot have its own hot plate in a large vessel.
As to coffee—when the quantity consumed daily by any ship is considered, it is remarkable to think how much bad coffee is tolerated. The answer to coffee is that any good standard brand will produce reasonably good coffee if properly handled. For shipboard use the Silex type of producer is recommended, not because it makes better coffee but because with it it is more difficult to make bad coffee. In using this apparatus, the things to remember are that coffee should be made stronger by adding more ground coffee before heating, not by successive boilings up; that the filter cloth must be soaked in clean water between lots of coffee, and that it should be discarded every two or three days. The most important thing is that each batch must be made fresh. Reheated coffee is bad coffee.
The best plan is to have the machines mounted in the wardroom where they can be seen and supervised. It is easy to make a shelf or bracket to hold them steady in a seaway, and by having them in the wardroom the watch boy can put in fresh ground coffee and water before turning in so that the late wanderer can make his own nightcap of coffee. It is as well to put one boy in charge of the coffee-making equipment, otherwise no one will know who broke the Silex. Incidentally, one apparatus lasted in a destroyer for 6 months and the replacements of glass parts aren’t expensive. The 6-cup size is suggested. Keep several spare heating element coils aboard.
The next meal we come to is luncheon. One criticism of most wardroom luncheons is that too much is served. The average outsider is appalled by the quantity we eat at luncheon time. Two courses should be standard, one of them being a salad or a simple dessert such as a compote of fruit, sliced oranges, bananas, or something similar. The main course will vary with the location of the ship and temperature of the day. A chop with peas, curried shrimp, clam chowder, gelatine of chicken, cold cuts, are typical suggestions.
Two things are fine at luncheon time and can be expanded upon. They are salad and cheese.
The “tea shoppe” confection consisting of a lettuce leaf, a half canned pear, a walnut, a dab of mayonnaise and half a maraschino cherry can be classed by only the most liberal as salad. The base of a real salad is lettuce, romaine, or endive well covered with a good dressing. The best dressing is a properly made French one. The first essential in accomplishing this is a wooden salad bowl. Buy a large one—a wooden chopping bowl is not fancy but it does the job nicely. Have this bowl half filled with loose lettuce leaves from an ordinary lettuce (never use an iceberg one). Make sure the leaves are free from water by shaking them in a colander or by drying with a dish towel before putting them in the bowl. Next pour in a generous quantity of a good olive oil and with a wooden fork and spoon stir the leaves about until each is covered with a coating of the oil. Now, in a demitasse cup or vessel of about that size, put a half teaspoonful of French (dry powdered) mustard and about the same amount of very finely chopped onions, leeks, or chives; salt and sugar, and add pepper. Cover this mixture with three tablespoonfuls of a good, clear vinegar and pour the contents of the demitasse into the salad bowl, mixing as you pour. Continue to mix for two or three minutes and then have the salad served in its own bowl. Good? It is a marvelous salad. Much of its success depends on having good olive oil and vinegar, and of course the quantities given are only approximate. They are suitable for a mess or a single ward of eight or ten persons.
This salad can be varied in many ways. Tomatoes, celery, or chopped endive may be added before the mixing is begun.
The salad bowl should never be washed. If the various ingredients are set out on the table in small containers in front of the member mixing, just at the end of the preceding course, he can make the above salad in four or five minutes.
There are so many cheeses that books have been written about them and they can be so varied that having cheese every day for luncheon need not become monotonous. In general, use real cheeses in slabs and avoid process cheeses and cheeses done up in little containers. Pimento cheese would give a real gourmet a sinking spell. The king of cheeses is perhaps Camembert. It should be creamy throughout when ripe with no chalkiness remaining and should give easily when its crust is pressed with the fiat of a knife blade. Swiss cheese when good has a moist look to the hole cavities. Brie should be soft throughout and “runny” at the edges, rather like Camembert. Roquefort and Gorgonzola are at their best only when imported. They cost more than the domestic imitations but are worth it. A true Stilton is one of the best cheeses and can be bought through a good grocer.
To take advantage of the best foods in season and to get the best prices it is necessary actually to visit the markets. A large city market yields more variety and much more quality and economy than does the corner chain store. The steward should visit the market two or three times a week, and it is remarkable how much more efficient he becomes if the mess treasurer accompanies him occasionally on these trips. While a ship is in port, the dependence of the wardroom mess on the general mess should be cut to a minimum. Salt, sugar, cooking eggs, etc., and some meats can best come from the paymaster but in general other foods should be bought ashore. Biscuits, pies, and other breads should be cooked by wardroom personnel in the officers’ galley. Ham and bacon must be bought ashore. General mess bacon and ham is fine and wholesome but the mess will never revert to it after being served properly cured spiced ham or crisp breakfast bacon.
A good rule for use in port is “nothing shall come out of a tin.” Only laziness can account for tinned pineapple, tinned peas, tinned corn when the markets and grocery stores present such a variety of foods. With modern refrigerating systems, tinned milk is excusable only after voyages of a week or more.
We almost forgot the main meal of the day—dinner. The principal improvement to be effected with dinner is the serving of meats while they are hot and yet not overdone. This calls for careful timing on the part of the pantry force and also demands that the officers sit down to dinner promptly. The best solution is to carve at table. With a little practice it becomes quick and easy and each ward table can develop a champion carver. The juice and flavor of red meat are preserved if it is carved at the very last moment before being served. The same applies to various fowl. Parenthetically, in some large general messes because of the number of persons served it seems to be necessary to dismember chickens by the use of a cleaver, severing them with entire disregard of their anatomical structure. To have chicken, so treated, served in an officers’ mess is inexcusable and should not be tolerated.
Synthetic flavorings such as onion, banana, etc., are very bad. If onion is wanted, chop a real one up very fine and sprinkle throughout the dish, or rub the edges of the container with a slice of onion. Remember, not everyone can appreciate onion flavoring and it may be best to serve chopped onion separately.
Ice cream is a popular dessert. It should be made in the mess or bought from a good confectioner. Ship’s service ice cream made up from powders is usually not very good.
Much of an officer’s life is spent in standing watch and during these years it is necessary that he eat a number of meals after the rest of the mess have finished. The watch officer should have perhaps more consideration at meal time than anyone in the ship, yet the majority of messes have a single plate heaped unappetizingly high with food which is only too apt to be cold, shoved in front of the watch stander when he finally climbs down from the bridge or up from the engine-room. The rind of the cheese and the dregs of the iced coffee meet him as he slides into his place at mess. This is all wrong. A mess attendant should be instructed to keep food properly hot, see that there is plenty of it, and to serve the watch stander in the same style as his more fortunate messmates.
Avoid food “cycles.” It is laziness, more than anything else, which dictates that boiled ham, cabbage, and potatoes is as invariable at noon Saturday as is the inspection preceding it.
One of the most usual ways of entertaining visitors is to show them about the ship and then to serve them tea. Tea can also be a pleasant interlude in the day’s work, but it should be properly served. The first thing is to do away with the muslin tea balls. Put in a teaspoonful of good tea for each cup to be made and one extra for the pot. Add water, which should actually be boiling up to the moment of pouring. Pour the tea from the pot when it has steeped long enough to make a strong infusion and add hot water to taste in the cup. Make sure that the mess attendant keeps a constant supply of hot water on hand while tea is being served.
Besides improving the food itself and the silver and china much can be done to make the mess a more pleasant and better ordered place. The following are small points but they are ones which keep many wardroom messes from being the first-rate establishments they deserve to be. At mess parties, do not let overambitious attendants prepare a border of ornamental green or pink mashed potatoes or turnips carved into eagles for the meat platter. Do not allow pickles, apple sauce, or jellies, which belong on the dinner plate with meat, to be served before the main course so that they must be put on the butter plate. Use candles at dinner but eschew ones which are arsenic green or indelible ink purple—the white ones suit a man-of-war best. See that vases of the proper sizes and shapes are provided to take care of flowers when they are used. Don’t let the mess be set up at five o’clock for a 6:30 dinner. These are a very few improvements out of hundreds, which with a little thought and care can be put into effect in a mess to its betterment.
Another division of mess administration, which will repay any added attention given it, is the care of the officers’ rooms, clothing, and equipment. Most stewards and mess attendants of any experience know the general lines on which to take care of such belongings—it is the details which count. Take the item of shoe cleaning alone. How many messes have shoe forms on which shoes can be placed to be polished (these can be bought detachable so as to take up little room when dismounted) ; how many have individual polish brushes and shining brushes, both black and brown, so marked and kept inviolate? How many mess attendants have been taught to apply white polish without either soaking the shoe with water or leaving streaks of whitening? By the same token, how many mess attendants can lay out for an officer a single uniform outfit, say, mess dress, and have the proper collar, tie, studs, gloves, socks, and shoes all in order without the officer himself having to make drastic last minute changes before he rushes to make the boat?
What is the net reason for expending effort on all the above points, most of which, individually, are admittedly trivialities? It is this. An officer who completes all the grades spends about 20 years in a mess of one sort or another. It is well within the power of the officer body to make these years comfortable almost to the point of luxuriousness if they expend only as much thought and energy on their mess and the training of the attendants as they do on their motor cars or golf game. In addition, we do not excuse frayed bunting or a dirty side by saying to ourselves that we have the most efficient battery or engineering department in the squadron. The appearance of the ship is, if you like, a triviality, when compared to its battle readiness, but it is a definite part of it and must be kept to the highest standard. In exactly the same fashion the wardroom mess is an integer of the ship’s existence and can be permitted to be only the best possible.
★
. . . For war summons skill against skill, head against head, staying-power against staying- power, as well as numbers and machines against machines and numbers. When an engine “exerts itself” it spends more power, eats more fuel, but uses no nerve; when a man exerts himself he must bend his will to it. The extremer the physical effort, the greater the strain on the inner or moral powers. Hence the paradox of war; just because it calls for the maximum material performance, it calls out a maximum of moral resource. As long as guns and bayonets have men behind them, the quality of the men, the quality of their minds and wills, must be counted with the power of the weapons.—Hocking, Morale and Its Enemies.