The Taste of Marble: A Tuesday Night at Casa Tadema

It is 11:00 PM in St. John’s Wood, and the music has finally stopped.

The last notes of a Brahms rhapsody, played upon the legendary silver-domed piano, still vibrate in the air of the studio. For hours, the room has been a sanctuary of sound—Anton Rubinstein may have been at the keys, or perhaps George Henschel has been singing, his voice mingling with the scent of the hundreds of roses Laura Tadema insists upon for these nights.

But now, the air shifts. The intellectual tension of the concerto dissolves into a more terrestrial hunger.

A gentle, collective movement begins. The Prince of Wales, diplomats, and the luminaries of the Holland Park Circle rise from their seats. They move toward the dining room, where the Roman fantasy of Alma-Tadema’s art becomes a tangible, Victorian reality.

The Host at the Sideboard

At the center of this transition is Sir Lawrence himself.

He is no longer the "Painter of the Ancient World" lost in a dream of Pompeii. He is something far more intimate: the genial Dutch householder. Standing at the great sideboard, he takes up the carving knife.

For a man of his immense stature—a knight of the empire with scores of servants at his command—the act was a calculated piece of theatrical hospitality. In a house where every surface was marble and every servant moved with silent precision, to see the master of the house personally slicing through a massive, honey-glazed cold ham was a profound gesture of intimacy.

It bridged the gap between the monumental artist and the flesh-and-blood man. This was the hallmark of the Tuesday night "At Homes." The hospitality was, in the words of contemporary observer Ethel Mackenzie McKenna, "boundless."

A Palette of Cold Luxury

The menu was a masterclass in the Victorian "Cold Supper." It was a strategic selection, designed to allow the music to take center precedence while offering a lavish reward in the final hours of the night.

The table shimmered with the pale pink of soused salmon and the deep, rich crimson of sliced tongue. But the centerpiece of any high-status gathering in the 1890s was the lobster salad. It was more than a dish; it was a social signal, a declaration of luxury that mirrored the opulent textures of the marble and silk Tadema so meticulously painted.

One might imagine the clatter of silver against fine china, the rustle of heavy gowns, and the low hum of conversation that traveled effortlessly from the latest exhibition at the Royal Academy to the quality of the claret.

The Geography of Wine

Tadema was a "cheerful lover of wine," and his cellar was as curated as his collection of antiquities.

While the lighter, crisp notes of German Hock were favored by the musical set after their performances, the red wines were Tadema’s pride. He spoke with particular glee in his letters to George Henschel about acquiring shipments of Chambertin.

But there were quieter, more private landscapes of taste as well. Later in the night, as the larger crowd thinned, the men would often retreat to the smoking room. Here, the atmosphere thickened with cigar smoke, and the formal claret was often replaced by the sharper, more visceral memory of the Netherlands: Dutch Genever or heavy, dark beers.

The Lingering Note

As the carriages arrived at 17 Grove End Road to take the guests back into the London night, the taste of the supper remained—a lingering resonance of salt, wine, and honey.

We often think of Alma-Tadema as a painter of static, marble silences. But these Tuesday nights remind us that he lived in a world of profound noise and flavor. His art was not merely seen; it was felt, heard, and—most importantly—shared at a table where the host himself carved the ham.

The marble in his paintings may be cool to the touch, but the house that contained them was always, inevitably, warm.