the inordinate appetite of all poor relations

Lord Lionel being an advocate of what he considered a neat, plain dinner, only two courses were served at Sale Park when the family dined alone. The first of these consisted of a tureen of turtle, removed with fish, which was in its turn removed with a haunch of venison. Several side-dishes, such as pork cutlets with Rober sauce, larded fillets of beef, tenderones of veal and truffles, and a braised ham, graced the board, but since his lordship was a moderate trencherman, and the Duke had a notoriously small appetite, the only person who did justice to the spread was Miss Scamblesby, who had (so his lordship had more than once remarked to his nephew) the inordinate appetite of all poor relations.

Georgette Heyer 

The Foundling (1948)

Not a particularly memorable Heyer, but the food sounds good. Maybe skip the turtle (fascinating article here)? On Rober Sauce: 

(A Complete System of Cookery, on a Plan Entirely New, Consisting of Every Thing that is Requisite for Cooks to Know in the Kitchen Business: Containing Bills of Fare for Every Day in the Year, and Directions to Dress Each Dish; Being One Year's Work at the Marquis of Buckingham's from the 1st of January to the 31st of December, 1805 by John Simpson, via googlebooks)

The same book gives a recipe for "tenderones of veal": 

 

red mullet, done somehow with lemons

The waiters hovered beside us, the courses came, delicious and appetizing, and the empty plates vanished as if by magic. I remember red mullet, done somehow with lemons, and a succulent golden-brown fowl bursting with truffles and flanked by tiny peas, then a froth of ice and whipped cream dashed with kirsch, and the fine smooth caress of the wine through it all. Then, finally, apricots and big black grapes, and coffee. The waiter removed the little silver filtres, and vanished, leaving us alone in our alcove. The liqueur brandy was swimming in its own fragrance in the enormous iridescent glasses, and for a moment I watched it idly, enjoying its rich smooth gleam, then I leaned back against the cushions and looked about me with the eyes of a patient who has just woken from the first long natural sleep after an anaesthetic. Where before the colours had been blurred and heightened, and the outlines undefined, proportions unstable, and sounds hollow and wavering, now the focus had shifted sharply, and drawn the bright little restaurant into sharp dramatic outline.

Mary Stewart

Madam, Will You Talk? (1954)

On the Mary Stewart formula.

Mary Stewart Reading Week, 

hosted by Gudrun's Tights