A TRATTORIA DINNER PARTY.
[To the Editor of the SPECTATOR.] Sin,—A few days ago, some friends of the writer invited him to dinner to celebrate his birthday. It was one of those small intimate parties. A Chelsea studio had barely room for six diners at the round table. As I arrived I met on the stain one of my hosts carrying under his arm a bottle of wine. I had guessed that the wine would arrive in this way, but as knew a single gas-ring would provide but poor fare for six diners prepared to enjoy themselves, I confess to having won. dered whether our food would arrive in the same way. We sat down and someone drew a cork. Then, my host approached two large tins that were standing on the floor, From these he produced a quantity of smaller tins. Then I guessed. Here was a Trattoria dinner in London. To shorten the story, these magic tins provided us with a six- course dinner. We had soup—really hot ; we had fish ; we had a joint with vegetables—and these, too, were really hot i we had chicken ; and we had gooseberries bubbling half-an- hour or more after we had sat down. Finally, we had mush- rooms on toast. The gas-ring was only used for coffee. That evening was a great success. Every fear that the sweetness of good company would be made bitter by bad food was shat- tered. Everyone was delighted. Joviality does not radiate from good wine only.
The next day I made a point of visiting the source of such good things. Nor was I disappointed. London's only—so
far as I know—Trattoria is to be found in Chelsea, just off the King's Road. It is at present but a small affair ; hence, perhaps, the quality of its food. Here I was further initiated into the secrets of the Trattoria. I saw the little tins of food being slipped, one above the other, into their containers. A small asbestos mat placed between the dishes allowed hot and cold dishes to be sent in the same container. Every morning, I was told, customers are sent a menu from which they can choose their luncheons and dinners for themselves. The delivery of meals is the greatest difficulty of the Trattoria system. A great many meals are ordered for the same time at places far apart. This difficulty, of course, is considerably lessened by the fact that the air-proof containers keep the food hot for well over an hour. Many meals are sent to houses more than a mile away.
Here, at last, we have a solution to the servant problem— or, at any rate, to the problem of cook. If the Trattoria system became universal, housewives might become perennially happy and their cooks spend at least six evenings a week at the cinema. It is worth trying. A lead has been given to us in Chelsea—incidentally in a disused chapel of great cleanliness, —and everything there points to success. Let us follow the lead. The name and address of this Trattoria in being are Leslie's Kitchen, 5a Justice Walk, Church Street, Chelsea,
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