Not that there was so much as a morsel of turtle meat in the punch, with its recipe reading far more delightfully than its name. In truth it was a sweet alcoholic milk punch infused with lemon and orange zest; to which both rum and kirsch were copiously added.

​

The punch was the opening salvo of King Edward VII’s annual Derby Day dinner at Buckingham Palace, which was reportedly his favourite social event of the year. Royal chef, Gabriel Tschumi, recounted how “there were certain traditions about food served at such occasions, and King Edward liked to observe them… at the Derby night dinners there was always turtle soup and whitebait…”

​

The Queen, however, was never in attendance at these dinners. It was a gentlemen only affair that the King hosted for the roughly 50 members of the prestigious Jockey Club following the Epsom Derby horserace.  The annual dinner seems to have been initiated by George IV, while the Prince of Wales, and continued under William IV before being resumed by Edward VII in 1887 at his Westminster residence, Marlborough House, while still the Prince of Wales.

​

With the Band of the Scots Guards in the background, these nights always took the form of a buffet with all the King’s prized sporting trophies magnificently displayed amongst the dishes along the dining table and sideboard. Racing cups, hunting and yachting trophies, and gold and silver salvers were all magnificently displayed amongst the dishes, with the King sitting centre table with a full view of his sparkling and bejewelled winner’s loot.

​

The flower arrangements were hastily cobbled together to match the racing colours of the winning horse earlier that day; and the relatively relaxed ‘evening dress’ usurped the normal royal requirement for uniforms and orders.

​

Amongst the haunches of venison, saddles of lamb, roast ortolans, cold quails, jellied plovers’ eggs, tureens of turtle soup and platters of whole trout, was a small dish dedicated to the club’s members: Barquettes à la Jockey Club. These were small boat-shaped pastries filled with a base of scrambled eggs topped with foie-gras purée and then a layer of chopped sautéed calf’s kidneys before being drizzled with a Perigeuex sauce made from Madeira and braised truffles.

​

Halfway through the banquet came the Ortolans Rôtis sur Canapés served with a Still Sillery, 1865. Almost vanished today, Still Sillery was the non-sparkling white wines from the Champagne region. Ortolans – a small songbird hardly weighing 30 grams – were a delectable treat particularly celebrated in the 1800s and early 1900s.  Celebrity chef of the era, Auguste Escoffier, was unambiguous in his advice to “serve ortolans as plainly as possible; but the best method of preparing them is roasting” after each had been wrapped in a vine leaf. And that’s just how they were served at the King’s table this night.

​

His mother too, had a fondness for these little birds.  “Many thanks for the two supplies of ortolans, which were delicious”, appreciatively wrote a young Queen Victoria in 1839 to her uncle, the King of the Belgians.

​

While the King’s dinner was presented as a buffet, attendants brought each offering to each guest in the precise order appearing on the menu.  The lines printed between dishes on the menu-card make the order clear along with the itemised wines and spirits carefully paired.

​

Dressed in liveries of scarlet, blue and gold, one attendant was assigned to each attending member of the royal family, and one per two guests for all others.

​

On this night in 1903, the King’s guests included the Prince of Wales (future George V); the Dukes of Connaught and Cambridge; Prince Christian of Schleswig-Holstein and Prince Dimitry Soltykoff: based in England, the Russian was one of the most successful racehorse owners of the era and would die before year’s end.

​

After dinner, according to an account from the era: 

 

"... during which champagne usually makes its welcome appearance in hospitable magnums, coffee and liqueurs are served, and smoking becomes general, the Royal host—who throughout— has been the soul of geniality setting the example. Obviously there is much sporting conversation— retrospective and anticipatory – plenty of dignified badinage, good stories told, and bonmots uttered, but, alas! not recorded”.

​

“Then an adjournment is made to the large drawing-room, where, usually, tables are set for whist – many of the guests devoting their energies thereto until perhaps one or two o'clock in the morning, when the company depart with renewed expressions of hope to their Royal host that the year may see his colours triumphant, both on the turf, and on the element, which, by means of the Britannia [the King’s 122-ft racing yacht], he seems to have made specially his own”.