Nevertheless, from habit, he obeyed his daughter, giving her credit
for a certain amount of perspicuity and cleverness.
The kitchens of the Grand Babylon Hotel are one of the wonders
of Europe.
Only three years before the events now under narration Felix
Babylon had had them newly installed with every device and
patent that the ingenuity of two continents could supply. They
covered nearly an acre of superficial space.
They were walled and floored from end to end with tiles and
marble, which enabled them to be washed down every morning
like the deck of a man-of-war.
Visitors were sometimes taken to see the potato-paring machine,
the patent plate-dryer, the Babylon-spit (a contrivance of Felix
Babylon's own), the silver-grill, the system of connected
stock-pots, and other amazing phenomena of the department.
Sometimes, if they were fortunate, they might also see the artist
who sculptured ice into forms of men and beasts for table
ornaments, or the first napkin-folder in London, or the man who
daily invented fresh designs for pastry and blancmanges. Twelve
chefs pursued their labours in those kitchens, helped by ninety
assistant chefs, and a further army of unconsidered menials. Over
all these was Rocco, supreme and unapproachable. Half-way along
the suite of kitchens, Rocco had an apartment of his own, wherein
he thought out those magnificent combinations, those marvellous
feats of succulence and originality, which had given him his fame.
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