A sudden inspiration that Sergeant Sole was St. James's Hall came to me.
"And that," pointing to a gentleman with a red tie, "is the gentleman who does the socialistic writing for thePall Mall."
Three clean-shaven gentlemen were vaguely described as "artists," and after gazing at a lady in black with white hair for some time, M. Brice said, "That is an old woman." The two gentlemen sitting opposite this lady were the Messieurs Chose, of a firm in Old Broad Street, and the three Frenchmen at my table were big men in the greengrocery line, who come over two or three times a year to Covent Garden.
A clean-shaven, prosperous-looking gentleman, with a young lady in black, entered just then, and a note of admiration came into M. Brice's voice as he told me that this was the coachman of the Baron Alfred de Rothschild.
The turbot and caper sauce, which was the most expensive part of my dinner, costing asmuch as 8d., I did not care for very much; but, on the other hand, thegigot haricot, which followed it, was excellent. M. Brice, who kept up a running accompaniment of conversation to my dinner, told me that all the meat cooked at his restaurant was English.
There is no such thing as a wine list at the Restaurant des Gourmets, and I had ordered at a venture a pint ofvin ordinaire, which the waiter told me would cost sixpence. It is a rough, strong wine, and I suggested to M. Brice that it probably was of Corsican or Sardinian growth. M. Brice shrugged his shoulders and from somewhere produced a pint of claret, with the name of the late M. Nicol of the Café Royal, on it, and told me that he was able to sell that at a very moderate price.
The omelette that I had ordered was as light as a French cook always makes them, and the slice ofbriethat closed my repast was ascoulantas it should be.
Then M. Brice, still talking, made me out my bill on the back of one of the cards of his restaurant. Hors-d'œuvre, 2d.; pain, 1d.; potage, 2d.; poisson, 8d.; entrée, 6d.; omelette, 4d.; fromage, 2d.; half ordinaire, 6d.; total, 2s. 7d.
1st May.
I dined one day early last week at the Trocadero, a little specially-orderedtête-à-têtedinner over which the chef had taken much trouble—hisSuprêmes de sole Trocadéro, andPoulet de printemps Rodisiare well worth remembering—and while I drank the Moët '84, cuvée 1714, and luxuriated in some brandy dating back to 1815, the solution of a problem that had puzzled me mildly came to me.
An old friend was sending his son, a boy at Harrow, up to London to see a dentist before going back to school, and asked me if I would mind giving him something to eat, and taking him to a performance of some kind. I said "Yes," of course; but I felt it was something of an undertaking. When I was at Harrow my ideas of luxury consisted of ices at Fuller's and sausages and mashed potatoes carried home in a paper bag. I had no idea as to what Jones minor's tastes might be; but if he was anything like what I was then he would prefer plenty of good food combined with music and gorgeousnessand excitement to the most delicatemousseever made, eaten in philosophic calm. The Trocadero was the place; if he was not impressed by the dinner, by the magnificence of the rooms, by the beautiful staircase, by the music, then I did not know my Harrow boy.
Jones minor arrived at my club at five minutes to the half-past seven, and I saw at once that he was not a young gentleman to be easily impressed. He had on a faultless black short jacket and trousers, a white waistcoat, and a tuberose in his buttonhole. I asked him if he knew the Trocadero, and he said that he had not dined there; but plenty of boys in his house had, and had said that it was jolly good.
When we came to the entrance of the Trocadero, an entrance that always impresses me by its palatial splendour, I pointed out to him the veined marble of the walls and the magnificent frieze in which Messrs. Moira and Jenkins, two of the cleverest of our young artists, have struck out a new line of decoration; and when I had paused a while to let him take it in I told him that thechef de réceptionhad been a gallant Australian Lancer. Then I asked him what he thought of it, and he said he thought it was jolly good.
Mr Alfred Salmon, in chief command, and the good-lookingmaître d'hôtel, both saw us to our table, and a plump waiter whom I remember of old at the Savoy was there with the various menu cards in his hand. The table had been heaped with roses in our honour, and I felt that all this attention must impress Jones minor; but he unfolded his napkin with the calm ofunconcern, and I regretted that I had not arranged to have the band play "See the Conquering Hero Comes," and have a triumphal arch erected in his honour.
I had intended to give him the five-shillingtable-d'hôtemeal; but in face of this calm superiority I abandoned that, skipped the 7s. 6d.table d'hôteas well, and ordered the half-guinea one. I had thought that three-and-sixpennyworth of wine should be ample for a growing boy, but having rushed into reckless extravagance over the food I thought I would let him try seven-and-sixpennyworth of wine. I personally ordered a pint of 277, which is an excellent wine. I told Jones minor that the doctor told me not to mix my wines, and he said something about having to be careful when one got old that I did not think sounded at all nice.
While we paused, waiting for thehors-d'œuvre, I drew his attention to all the gorgeousness of the grand restaurant, the cream and gold, the hand-painted ceiling-panels, on which the Cupids sport, the brocades and silks of the wall panels, the broad band of gold of the gallery running round the room, the crimson and gold draperies, the glimpse of the blue and white and gold of thesalonseen through the dark framing of the portières; I bade him note the morocco leather chairs with gold initials on the back, and the same initials on the collars of the servants. It is a blaze of gorgeousness that recalls to me some dream of the Arabian Nights; but Jones minor said somewhat coldly that he thought it jolly good.
We drank ourpotage vert-préout of silver plates, but this had no more effect on Jones minor than if they had been earthenware. I drew his attention to the excellent band up above, in their gilded cage. I pointed out to him amidst the crowd of diners two ex-Lord Mayors, an A.D.C. to Royalty, the most popular low comedian of the day, a member of the last Cabinet, our foremost dramatic critic and his wife, and one of our leading lawyers. Jones minor had no objection to their presence, but nothing more. The only interest he showed was in a table at which an Irish M.P. was entertaining his family, among them two Eton boys, and towards them his attitude was haughty but hostile.
So I tried to thaw him while we ate our whitebait, which was capitally cooked, by telling him tales of the criminal existence I led when I was a boy at Harrow. I told him how I put my foot in the door of Mr. Bull's class-room when it was being closed at early morning school time. I told him how I took up alternate halves of one exercise of rule of three through one whole term to "Old Teek." I told him how I and another bad boy lay for two hours in a bed of nettles on Kingsbury racecourse, because we thought a man watching the races with his back to us was Mr. Middlemist. And I asked him if Dr. Welldon had habitually worn a piece of light blue ribbon at Lord's.
This for a moment thawed Jones minor into humanity. The story about Dr. Welldon was jolly rot, and before the boy froze up again Ilearned that Bowen's had licked some other house in the final of the Torpid football matches, and that Eaton Faning had composed a jolly good song about the Queen.
Thefilets mignons, from his face, Jones minor seemed to like; but he restrained all his emotions with Spartan severity. He did not contradict me when I said that thepetites bouchées à la St-Hubertwere good; but he ate threesorbets, and looked as if he could tackle three more, which showed me that the real spirit of the Harrow boy was there somewhere under the glacial surface, if I could only get at it.
Mr. Lyons, piercing of eye, his head-covering worn a little through by the worries of the magnitude of his many undertakings, with little side whiskers and a little moustache, passed by, and I introduced the boy to him, and afterwards explained the number of strings pulled by this Napoleon of supply, and at the mention of a "grub shop in every other street" Jones minor's eyes brightened.
When Jones minor had made a clean sweep of the plate ofpetits fours, and had drained the last drops of his glass of Chartreuse, I thought I might venture to ask him how he liked his dinner, as a whole. This was what he had conscientiously eaten through:—
Hors-d'œuvre variés.Consommé Monte Carlo. Potage vert-pré.Petites Soles à la Florentine. Blanchailles au citron.Filets mignons à la Rachel.Petites bouchées à la St-Hubert.Sorbet.Poularde de Surrey à la broche.Salade saison.Asperges nouvelles. Sauce mousseux.Charlotte Russe.Soufflé glacé Pompadour.Petits fours. Dessert.
He had drunk a glass of Amontillado, a glass of '89 Liebfraumilch, two glasses of Deutz and Gelderman, a glass of dessert claret, and a glass of liqueur, and when pressed for a critical opinion, said that he thought that it was jolly good.
Impressed into using a new adjective Jones minor should be somehow. So, with Mr. Isidore Salmon as escort, I took him over the big house from top to bottom. He shook the chef's hand with the serenity of a prince in the kitchen at the top of the house, and showed some interest in the wonderful roasting arrangements worked by electricity and the clever method of registering orders. He gazed at the mighty stores of meat and vegetables, peeped into the cosy private dining-rooms, had the beauties of the noble Empire ball-room explained to him, and finally, in the grill-room, amid the surroundings of Cippolini marble and old copper, the excellent string band played a gavotte, at my request, as being likely to take his fancy.
Then I asked Jones minor what he thought of it all, and he said that he thought it jolly good.
I paid my bill: Two dinners, £1: 1s.; table-d'hôte wine, 7s. 6d.; half 277, 7s.; liqueur, 2s. 6d.; total, £1: 18s.; and asked Jones minor where he would like to go and be amused. Hesaid he had heard that the Empire was jolly good.
10th May.
I bearded Mr. J. Lyons in his den one fine spring day and told him that "Dinners and Diners" was going to appear in book form. He showed no visible sign of emotion. Next I asked him if he would tell me what theplatswere that the Trocadero kitchen prided itself on, and if he would give me therecetteofsuprême de sole Trocadéroof which I had a pleasant memory. He kindly said that I should have a list of the dishes, and not one but tworecettesif I wanted them. My remark was "Thank you."
Caviar glacé, huîtres à la Orientale, potage Rodisi, soles à la Glover, côtelettes de saumon à la Nantua, chapon de Bresse à la Trocadéro, poularde à la Montique, selle d'agneau à la Lyon d'or, salade d'Orsay, asperges nouvelles Milanaisesform a little list from which an admirable dinner could be designed.
These are therecettesofsuprême de sole Trocadéroand Saddle of Lambà la Pera—
Take two fillets of soles and stuff them with fish forced meat, put one slice of smoked salmon on the top of each, roll them together, then take a small sauté pan well buttered, and place the fillets in it, with salt, pepper, half a wineglassful of white wine, and the juice of half a lemon, cover it and let it simmer for from eighteen to twenty minutes. Dress them on a silver dish, and cover one fillet with real Dutch sauce mixed with some of the fish gravy, the second fillet you cover with real lobstersauce. Place one slice of truffles on each fillet and serve very hot.
Take one saddle of lamb, and place it in an earthenware roasting-dish and cook for about three-quarters of an hour. Prepare carrots, turnips, and potatoes in fancy shape, and half cook them, place them in bouquets round the saddle and put it back in the oven for twenty minutes. Prepare some stuffed aubergines in rows on the top of the saddle, the peas and French beans between each. To be served with a strong sherry sauce.
It was half-past seven, or it may have been even a little later, when I encountered the recorder of racing romances wandering along the eastern half-mile of Piccadilly, and both he and I had been too indolent to get into the conventional sables. To him it was a matter of no moment. Many racing campaigns had so "taken the corners off" him that, like that excellent warrior, but distinctly casual diner, Frederick the Great, he could sit himself down in any garb and return grateful thanks to Heaven for enough salt beef and cabbage for a meal—which may go to prove either that Frederick should have been enshrined among the martyrs, or that salt beef has monstrously degenerated.
A very good place in the old days for an undress dinner, the romancer declared when the subject was broached, was the American Bar at the Criterion, and further than this he went by telling me of the men who "knew their town," who swore by the succulent grilled pigs' feetto be had there at supper-time; so there we went.
Managers come and managers go at the big caravanserai at Piccadilly Circus, but the American Bar remains the same. The ceiling had been recently renovated, and the fine patriotic design of the national eagle, with its talons full of forked lightning, had been embellished with some extra gold-leaf; otherwise there is little change. There are the little carved cupids on the outside portals, the marble-topped tables which are deftly covered with table-cloths by the waiters in the usual French garb of white aprons and short jackets when the meal-times approach, the partitions of brass rail, the marble columns, the panels of glazed tiles, and, at the end of the room, the grill with a clock above it, where, shielded by a transparent screen, a stout cook all in white stands and turns the chops and the steaks on the great gridiron where the fat drips through and fizzles on the coals beneath. The great janitors, both of mighty girth, who stand at the outer doors, look in occasionally to give a message, for from about twelve in the morning to midnight the American Bar is as busy as a beehive, and each edition of the evening papers is anxiously bought and scanned by most of the habitués, who have, as a rule, a tinge of the racing man about them.
After ordering our soup, aconsommé Neversthat proved good, though we waited an unconscionable time for it, my guest fell to pointing out some of the many celebrities who were there, either sitting at the tables or standing atthe bar, where the many bottles on the shelves make a fine show, where the lager-beer engine is surmounted by a silvered statuette, and three white-coated tenders seem continually employed in mixing drinks in tumblers half-filled with crushed ice; and foremost amongst them was a Mr. Cockburn, a florid man of distinctly sporting appearance, whose cheeks still bore the unsightly scars that their wearer got in the now almost forgotten brawl with cutlasses in a house in Munster Terrace, Regent's Park. Near him was a spare, dark man, dressed in grey, wearing his bowler hat very much over one ear. This was Saville, Cockburn's fellow-sufferer in the battle of the blades, who, when the chief assailant, a Mexican card-cheat named Tarbeaux (now in penal servitude), was about to return to the attack on Cockburn, made the extraordinary appeal, "That's enough; don'ttwicehim!"
Then there was sitting at one of the tables a burly fellow, broad of back and lavishly bestudded with diamonds, who the romancer informed me was a redoubtable bookmaker. He it was, said my philosopher, who headed the Birmingham contingent at most of the prize-fights of recent years, and particularly in evidence were they at the Smith and Greenfield and the Smith and Slavin encounters at Le Vesinet and Bruges respectively. The names of the other prosperous-looking people who formed a group round the hero of the diamonds have slipped my memory, but they all seemed to have a nickname of some kind, and the racing romancer, when I asked for information about any of them, invariablybegan, "What, not know old—whatever the name might be?"
For our second course we tooksaumon, sauce Gervoise, and very good and well-cooked it was, though again we had some time to wait for it; and here it was that many eyes noted the entrance of a well-known Oriental banker, a gentleman of great wealth, and one of the last personages one would have expected to see dining solus and in the plainest manner possible. That it was a favourite resort of his seemed apparent from the fact that he walked straight to a table at which a chair had been turned up, and the manager of the room himself came forward to proffer those few words of advice which relieve the diner of so much hazardous speculation. Yet other newcomers were a stalwart ex-major of the Royal Artillery, and a music-hall agent, who in the halcyon past had half the proprietors of variety theatres in London at his feet. To each and all of them "Charlie," the well-groomed head bar-keeper with the accurately-parted and immaculately plastered hair, had something of paramount interest to impart, and he seemed so bland that one wondered how he ever survived the friendly raids of the olden days when a certain festive youth and his companions were wont to take the place by storm, and on one occasion escaladed the bar, took possession of the tills, and scrambled the shillings among the chronic needy. What wild extravagances were they not capable of! It was here that the undefeated racing man who used to be known as the best-looking youth in London, and was to be seen daily in Piccadillywith a black poodle decorated with bows of yellow ribbon, once mixed, for the entertainment of his friends, his fearful and wonderful "fruit-salads"—generally a couple of sovereigns' worth of hothouse fruit steeped in the oldest cognac of Justerini and Brooks, andliqueurs variées, the effects of which the friends aforesaid found the greatest possible difficulty in sleeping off by dinner-time.
But our entrée arrives, afilet sauté Béarnaise, than which I desire to eat no better. A new arrival of guests, most of them fresh from Kempton, with their racing-glasses hung over their shoulders, included a young man with a familiarly known nickname, who in the first Jubilee years galloped through his money and earned his jubilant title; another racing man, with the name of a philanthropist of a past generation, who at one time owned a property with two racecourses on it; and a gentleman who used to drive a yellow-bodied coach with four piebald horses, which he alluded to humorously as his mustard-pot and guinea-pigs, who having run through one fortune seems likely to make another. A sporting baronet, who takes an interest in yachting; a dramatist, who has written more than one racing play, and no doubt finds the American Bar useful for his local colour; our cleverest caricaturist, and a dozen or two less well-known people, formed a solid mass before the bar, and occupied all the available tables. We had finished our Burgundy, which for its price was exceptionally good, and my guest had eaten some cheddar cheese, when the roving disposition of the racingromancer asserted itself, and for our coffee and liqueurs we must needs go to the hospitable Eccentric Club across the way, so I called for the bill: Two consommé, 2s.; two salmon, 4s.; two filets sautés, 6s.; cheese, 6d.; Burgundy, 5s.; total, 17s. 6d.
17th May.
"So you are the man who is writing those articles about 'Dinners and Diners,'" said old Sir George, when I dined quietly last week with him and Lady Carcanet. "Good Lord! Who'd have thought it!"
This sounded rather a dubious compliment; but pretty Miss Carcanet, "Brighteyes" as her family nickname is, began to take more interest in me than she had ever shown before.
Did I go alone, or did I really take the people I said I did? she asked. And I told her that I really did take the people I described. "Why don't you take Brighteyes to do one with you," said Sir George. "It's her first season, and she is seeing everything that London has to show. She has figured in print after the Drawing-Room, and one of the ladies' papers has had a portrait of her as a débutante of the season. Now you might lend your aid to immortalise her."
Miss Brighteyes said she would like it immensely, and though Lady Carcanet did not think it at all the thing for a young girl to dine ata restaurant alone with a gentleman, Sir George said something about there being no harm in being seen with an old buster, old enough to be her father—which was a doubtful compliment to my grey hair. I, of course, was delighted, and asked Miss Brighteyes to choose her day and her restaurant. There was the Berkeley, which had then just been reopened, the Avondale, which is going ahead with its new managers, Dieudonné's, the Continental. I wanted to dine at all of these, and would she take her choice.
"Is the Continental the hotel with a ruddy face and red pillars to its portico at the bottom of Regent Street?" Miss Brighteyes asked, and when I said that it was, she made that her choice.
"Dear me! Isn't that restaurant considered a little—well, a little fast?" came from Lady Carcanet, who very evidently disapproved of the whole of the proceedings; but I was able to reassure her on that subject. The ladies who sup in the upstairs rooms may not all be duchesses and countesses in their own right; but there is no more respectable place to dine at, and there is no bettertable d'hôtethan is served in the downstairs room. I told Miss Brighteyes that if she wanted to see the restaurant at its best we should have to dine early, for most of the guests were sure to be going on to the theatre either as spectators or players.
On Thursday Miss Brighteyes was going to the Opera to hear the "Huguenots," and was to join her aunt there, so I was asked if Thursday would suit, and said "Perfectly." Lady Carcanet looked discouragingly on the whole matter; butsaid, very freezingly, that in that case we had better have the brougham, which could wait and take Miss Brighteyes to the Opera afterwards.
"Why didn't you come to my Drawing-Room Tea?" was the beginning of the cross-examination that I went through in the brougham, on our way to the restaurant; and I explained that as a recorder of dinners I considered myself exempt from teas, an answer which did not satisfy Miss Brighteyes, who pouted, and said that I might have made an exception in her favour.
Miss Brighteyes' cloak was deposited in a side room, my coat and hat were taken from me and put in a locker in the hall, and we settled ourselves down at a corner table in the room, dimly lighted by electric globes and by the red-shaded candles on the tables. It is a most effective room, as I pointed out to Miss Brighteyes, with its oil-paintings of figure-subjects framed in dark wood over the mantelpieces, its line of muslin-draped windows down one side, and on the other mirrors and thecomptoirof dark wood, where between two palms one catches a glimpse, under the glow of a red-shaded lamp, of the pretty face of the lady enthroned there. A screen of old gold comes pleasantly into the scheme of colour. "Isn't itdelightfullyimproper to be dining alone with a gentleman in a restaurant! I do wish Madame Quelquechose could see me now," Miss Brighteyes remarked, as I looked through the three menus, one at 10s. 6d., one at 7s. 6d., and one at 6s. 6d. Madame Quelquechose was, I may state, thehead of the celebrated Parisian school at which Miss Brighteyes had finished her education.
As the young lady had to be at Covent Garden at eight, and it was now seven, I thought the shortest of the menus—the 6s. 6d. one—would suffice. Besides, I hold that the best dinners are always short ones. Here it is:—
Hors-d'œuvre variés.Consommé Sévigné.Paupiettes de merlans Héloïse.Tournedos grillés Judic.Poularde rôtie.Salade.Asperges au beurre fondu.Soufflé glacé Victoria.Petits fours.
As Miss Brighteyes ate her plovers' eggs she wanted to be told who the different people dining at the tables might be. The bearded gentleman was one of the best-known singers, and his name a household word. The other man with the impress of the artist strong upon him was, I was able to tell her, the well-known Wagnerian conductor, who at the time was constantly travelling backwards and forwards between Bayreuth and Covent Garden. A pleasant-faced gentleman with a dark moustache, who had smiled at me as I came in, was a well-known comedian and manager; the gentleman dining with two ladies was a cricketer of fame. There was the London correspondent of theFigarodining with another French gentleman.
Our soup was excellent. There was in it a savour of the sea which reminded me of thebirds'-nest soup of China, and by that alone I should have judged M. Baptiste Commaille, the chef, to be an artist.
Before the fish arrived my cross-examination was continued. "Had I been to a Levee?" I was asked; and when I said I had not, and that the reason of the not having done so was that my practical study of the art of dining had made my tunic too tight for me, and that I was not sufficiently wealthy just at present to buy another to use for one occasion only in the year, I was told that I should learn to bike, and that if I did I might come sometimes and take Miss Brighteyes to the Park in the morning. Was I going to the big charity fancy ball at the Empress Rooms, and if so, as what? I was not, I regretted to say, my tunic not suiting better for balls than for levees, and my figure not being quite in keeping with a Romeo costume from Nathan's; but I learned that Miss Brighteyes was, and that she was going in a copy of a costume of one of her ancestresses, all light blue with the front laced across with pearls. The ancestress had real pearls, but Miss Brighteyes was only to have imitation ones.
The fish I did not care for much, amerlanbeing rather a tasteless denizen of the sea, but Miss Brighteyes admired the cream and pink of theplatimmensely, and thought that there was a suggestion for a dress in it. Then I heard all about the recent balls, how charming the pink peonies were at one house, and the lilies and palms at another, and so on; and was given a disquisition on the dresses at the Drawing-Room,of which all that I can recall is that one lady wore muslin with roses painted on it, and ropes of wonderful pearls.
Thetournedos, with their accompanying quarters of artichokes in batter and scarlet tomatoes, were excellent, very excellent indeed, and so was the chicken, delightfully brown, and done to a turn. Thesoufflé glacé Victoria, which was brought in triumph by M. Garin, themaître d'hôtel, was encased in a little summer-house of sugar, with the names of various papers blazoned on it—that of thePall Mallbeing over the door, I had finished my pint of excellent champagne and Miss Brighteyes had sipped her lemon squash, a sinful drink, even for a girl in her first season. I was selfish enough to take my coffee and liqueur before I told Miss Brighteyes that it was ten minutes to eight, which put her in a flutter, for she was anxious not to lose the overture.
This was the bill;—Two dinners, 13s.; half 88, 7s.; one lemon squash, 1s.; half tasse, 6d.; one liqueur, 1s.; total, £1: 0: 6.
There have been changes at the Hôtel Continental since I dined there with the intention of putting my experiences in print. There is a new board of directors, and the dining-room has put off its rather sombre livery of deep reds and browns, and has adopted instead a bright dress of white and gold and delicate greys. The curtains to the windows are pink, and the room is as bright now as a flower-garden. Mons. Laurent has replaced Mons. Garin asmaître d'hôtel.
While I sat in the anteroom of the Hôtel Avondale and waited for the Epicure, whom I had asked to come and dine with me, as a general practitioner would call in a specialist in a delicate case, I pondered over the vicissitudes which, during the past few years, have befallen the hotel that has now come into the hands of the two young and energetic men from the Savoy.
It opened with a great flourish of trumpets, I remember, as the Cercle de Luxe, just at the time that Society seemed inclined to take to dining clubs, and the Amphitryon was always full, and the Maison Dorée glittered scarcely a stone's-throw away. I was much impressed then with the gorgeousness of the staircase, with the walls of reddish marble, topped by white, veined with black, and above that a broad painted frieze, red in tone, studded with portraits of Elizabethan worthies, which marbles and frieze and portraits remain to this day. There were gorgeous pictures then in the smoking-room, downstairs, of Elizabeth, or her nobles, going in State onthe Thames, and hawking and setting out to war, which pictures, when I peeped into the room before going upstairs, seem to have vanished. The room in which I was waiting for the Epicure was in those days a drawing-room of excessive gorgeousness, and I can recall that I thought that it was not for a simple ordinary man like myself to sit on yellow satin sofas that shone like looking-glasses. Now the room has nice panels of old-gold brocade and the sofas and curtains are in deep blue velvet. An American flag, draped over the principal piece of furniture in the room, shows of what nationality most of the guests at the Avondale at present are.
What was the cause of the non-success of the Cercle de Luxe, I do not know, for the dining-room was charming, and the cookery was undeniable. The next development of the house was as a cosy hotel, with the big rooms broken up into little suites of apartments, the anteroom turned into a dining-room, where a very goodtable-d'hôtedinner was served, and a bid made to attract well-to-do couples who liked hotel life. I looked over the hotel at the time of this transformation, and thought that if ever I married I would spend my honeymoon in No. 9, which was a particularly charming suite of apartments. I am, however, still in a state of single blessedness, and No. 9 has been converted into the kitchen of the restaurant, for Messrs. Garin and Eugène have broken down the partitions, restored the dining-room to its former proportions, and are trying to make the Avondale a little Savoy in Piccadilly.
The Epicure arrived on the stroke of the hour, and we went into the dining-room, where I had retained a table by the window. It is a pleasant room now, and will be even better when the new decorations have toned down under the influence of the London climate. There are pillars of black and white marble with gilded capitals and marble mantels, and the walls are frescoed by some modern artist. Opposite to us on the broadest space of wall a Diana worked in high relief in plaster was backed by a view of the falls of the Rhine, and on either side in panels were a lady in an Empire dress and a gentleman of the same period teaching amerveilleusehow to look through a telescope. There was an appetising show of fruit on the table in the centre, the strawberries being on the summit of a great block of ice. A Moorish gentleman, who I expect does nothing more ferocious than make coffee, made a fine splash of colour in his crimson and gold.
The Epicure having announced that he was not hungry, and that he could not drink champagne, I felt that the menu which had been devised by the management, and had met with my entire approval, might be too long for him, and I thought regretfully of the bottle of Moët and Chandon which I had ordered to be put in the ice-pail just long enough to get a chill into the wine. This was our dinner:—
Hors-d'œuvre.Bortsch.Soles bonne femme.Selle d'agneau de lait.Petits pois française.Pommes nouvelles.Rouen Rouennaise.Cœurs de Romaine.Asperges de Paris.Macédoine de fruits au Kirsch.
The Epicure looked at it, but said nothing; and I felt that so far I, in company with Messrs. Garin and Eugène, had at least escaped censure. The Epicure approved of the lights on the table, which were like a bunch of three pink lilies, the cups all pointing inwards, but thought that the globes suspended from the ceiling were too bright and might dazzle the eyes, thereby interfering with the full enjoyment of a dinner. M. Garin, who stood by in an immaculate frock coat, gave the Epicure to understand that this should be put right at once.
Thehors-d'œuvrethe Epicure passed without any remarks, and I felt that they at least were satisfactory.
Bortsch is a soup of which I am very fond, and I like the softness that the spoonful of cream mixed with it gives. The Epicure did not take cream in his, and I wondered why, but thought it wiser not to ask. He said that the soup was good, and I began to feel reassured as to my dinner, while the good-lookingmaître d'hôtel, who was hovering round our table, positively beamed on him.
TheSoles bonne femme, with their sliced mushrooms and excellent sauce, I thought very good; but the Epicure felt that it was time to assert himself, and said that though the dish was undeniably well cooked, still it was not insufficient contrast to the soup to be exactly the rightplatfor a perfect dinner. I did not exactly understand what he meant; but I shook my head and said that no doubt that was so.
Meanwhile, the room had been filling up. A well-known newspaper proprietor who is also a celebrity in the hunting-field, was giving a dinner to two pretty ladies, one of whom wore a beautiful necklet of diamonds and the other a three-fold rope of pearls, and to two other men. A magnate of the Stock Exchange had brought another member of the House to dine, two or three couples—Americans, I think—the ladies mightily smart, had come in and taken their places, and a well-known explorer, who was giving a dinner-party, but whose guests had not arrived, looked in to see that his table was all in order.
The saddle of lamb was excellent, and as the Epicure ate the delicate white meat, cooked to a turn by the excellent M. Dutruz, the chef, he launched out into anecdotes as to the great love that real epicures have for these babes and sucklings, and of the personal inconvenience to which they have even been known to put themselves to obtain their flesh. The peas, with the suggestion of sugar and onion with them, also met with high approval. But the Epicure would not pass the duck. I should have eaten it and seen no harm in it; but not so the Epicure. "C'est un peu faisandé," he said, and would not touch it. A cut was brought from another duck; but he would have none of that either. Both Messrs. Garin and Eugène were on the scene at once, and explained. All their poultry came fromParis, a fresh stock each day, and they could not imagine how such a thing could possibly be. The Epicure was stern. He pointed out to them that it was a judgment on them for going to Paris for their ducks instead of to London, and incidentally lectured us on the method of preparation of the Rouen Rouennaise. I wanted to eat my slice of duck, so I scraped off the luscious brown sauce, and suggesting that it might be the sauce and not the duck that was at fault, left a bare platter. The Epicure looked at me as a traveller does at an Earthman, but said nothing.
The asparagus, the Epicure said, was delicious, and the atmosphere cleared again, and he also approved highly of themacédoine. His claret, he said, was good, and I know that my champagne was excellent; but just as a parting salute to Messrs. Garin and Eugène, he rubbed some of the liqueur brandy on the palms of his hands, smelt it, and used it as a text on which to discourse of the failure of the grape vine in Cognac and the ravages of the phylloxera.
When I asked for my bill I told Messrs. Garin and Eugène that I thought they had given me an excellent dinner, and not to distress their minds too much about the duck, as an epicure, if he was not severely critical, would not be an epicure. This was the bill: Two dinners at 10s. 6d., £1: 1s.; one 127, 16s.; half 44, 3s. 6d.; one seltzer, 6d.; two café double, 1s. 6d.; liqueurs, 3s.; cigar, 1s. 6d.; total, £2: 7s.
31st May.
Since writing the above the Avondale has firmly established itself as one of the fashionabledining-places, and, following the example of most of its elder competitors, has become a company with Hachett's, the Whitehorse cellars, as a second asset of the company. Hachett's, of which the dining-room, underground, has always had a good cheaptable d'hôte, is now managed by M. Eugène, while M. Garin is in command at the Avondale. Amongst interesting dinners I have eaten at the Avondale, one of the most interesting was a "Household Brigade Magazine" one, a dinner which the staff of the Magazine, written by Guardsmen for Guardsmen, hold from time to time. This was the menu of the feast, and it is a good example of a dinner, not a very expensive one, for some twenty guests—
Canapés à la Russe.Petite marmite. Bisque d'écrevisses.Turbotin. Sauce mousseline.Volaille Derby.Selle d'agneau Richelieu.Bécassines rôties.Salade.Asperges vertes.Bombe Martinique.Ananas glacés.Petits fours.Soufflé Viennois.
I asked M. Garin to give me the recipe of Bortsch Soup, which I always think the best soup in the world, and here it is, as written out by M. Dutruz, the chef—
Ayez un bon consommé avec lequel vous manquez un morcelle la marmite comme il est l'usage pour le consommé extra, faites blanchir un morceau de poitrine de bœuf que vous ajoutez et une caneton que vous faites rôtir pendantquelques minutes, le tout étant cuit, coupez les filets du canard et le maigre du bœuf en petit carré d'un dessin centimètre, passez votre consommé à la serviette, ayez d'autre part une Julienne de légumes, avec beaucoup de choux. Servez notre potage en ajoutant aux légumes les morceaux de bœuf et canard plus un jus de betterave rouge de façon de lui donner une couleur rougeâtre et un peu de poivre moulu frais; envoyez une saucière de crème à part.
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Take a good stock, and nearly fill the saucepan with it, as is usual in the case of a rich soup. Blanch a piece of brisket of beef, add this, with a duckling which has been roasted for a few minutes. When all is cooked, cut some slices off the duck and cut them up into little squares of less than a quarter of an inch, cutting up the lean part of the beef in the same way. Pass your sauce through a linen strainer. Have ready some Julienne made with vegetables, with plenty of cabbages. Serve your soup, after adding the vegetables, the pieces of beef and duck, and also the juice of a beetroot so as to give the soup a red colour, and a pinch of freshly ground pepper. Send up a sauceboat of cream separately.
Not only did M. Garin give me the soup recipe, but he sent me therecetteofsoufflé de filet de sole à la d'Orléans, a dish invented by the Duc d'Orléans, who is one of the best patrons of the Avondale. It has a double interest, through being an interesting dish, and showing Monseigneur le Duc as being an expert in the detail of thehaute cuisine.
Choisissez des filets de sole bien blancs, les parer et ciseler, les farcir d'une farce de poisson aux truffes et rouler en forme de paupiettes, faites pocher doucement avec du vin blanc, faire réduire la cuisson, ajouter trois cuillères de béchamelle, le toute étant bien réduit lier avec deux jaunes d'œufs et mélanger à votre appareil en ajoutant de belles lames de truffes fraîches chauffées au beurre assaisonné de sel et beaucoup de mignonette, placez vos paupiettes sur un croûton très mince dans une timbale en argent et recouverte de l'appareil à souffler, faites cuire pendant quinze minutes au four en soupoudrant de parmesan (cheese) dessus de façon à prendre belle couleur.—Ce plat doit être servi de suite.
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Choose very white fillets of sole, cut and shape them to the proper size, stuff them with a fish stuffing made with truffles, and roll them upen paupiettes(in thin pieces, with the force-meat inside). Well boil down the liquor, add three spoonfuls of Béchamel sauce, and when the whole is well reduced add two yokes of eggs, and mix in your soufflé pan, adding some nice slices of fresh truffles, warmed in butter, seasoned with salt, and plenty of mignonette pepper. Place yourpaupietteson a very thin crust in a silver timbale. Place in the soufflé apparatus, cover over, and cook in the oven for fifteen minutes, first having sprinkled it on the top with Parmesan cheese so as to make it a good colour. This dish must be served immediately.
It is not the least pleasant part of writing of dinners and those who eat them that it brings me some varied correspondence, and perhaps the pleasantest letter I have received was one asking me if I would like to dine with the Company of Mercers; for if I would, my correspondent offered to send me an invitation.
If there was one City Company that I was anxious to dine with it was the Mercers, for most of my forebears had been of the guild. My great-great-uncle, who was Lord Mayor and an M.P., and who fell into unpopularity because he advocated paying the debts of George IV., was a Mercer; my great-uncle was in his turn Master of the Company, and my grandfather, who was a very peppery and litigious old gentleman, has left many pamphlets in which he tried to make it warm for everybody all round because he was not raised to the Court of Assistants when he thought he should have been. I had looked out Mercers' Hall in the Directory, and foundits position put down as 4 Ironmonger Lane, Cheapside; so a few minutes before seven o'clock, the hour at which we were bidden to the feast, I found my way from Moorgate Street Station to Ironmonger Lane, and there asked a policeman which was the Mercers' Company Hall. He looked at me a little curiously and pointed to some great gates, with a lamp above them, enshrined in a rather dingy portal. I passed a fountain, of which two cherubs held the jet and three stone cranes contemplated the water in the basin, and found myself in a great pillared space. A servant in a brown livery, of whom I asked my way, pointed to some steps and said something about hurrying up. At the top of the steps a door led me into a passage, on either side of which were sitting gentlemen in dress-clothes. I looked at them and they looked at me, and I thought for a second that the Mercers' guests were rather a queer lot; and then the true inwardness of the situation burst on me. I had come in by the waiters' door.
I was soon put right, my hat and coat taken from me, and my card of invitation placed in the hands of a Master of the Ceremonies, who in due time presented me to the Master, to the Senior Warden, and to the House Warden, who stood in a line, arrayed in garments of purple velvet and fur, and received their guests.
The ceremony of introduction over, I was able to look around me and found myself in a drawing-room that took one away from the roar of Cheapside to some old Venetian palace. The painted ceilings, the many-coloured marbles, thecarved wood, the gilding and inlaying make the Mercers' drawing-room as princely a chamber as I have ever seen.
While the guests assembled my host's sons took me away into another room, which, with its long table, might have been a council chamber of some Doge, and here were hung portraits of the most distinguished of the Mercers. Dick Whittington looked down from a gilt frame, and Sir Thomas Gresham, and there was Sir Roundell Palmer in his judge's robes. But, preceded by some one in robes carrying a staff of office, the Master was going into the hall, and the guests streamed after him. "It only dates from after the Fire," said my host as I gazed in admiration at the magnificent proportions of this banqueting house, the oak almost black with age, relieved by the colours of the banners that hang from the walls, by the portraits of worthies, by some noble painted windows, by the line of escutcheons which run round the room, bearing the arms of the Past-Masters of the Company, and by the carved panels, into all but two of which Grinling Gibbons threw his genius, while the two new ones compare not unfavourably with the old. At the far end of the hall is a musicians' gallery of carved oak. A bronze Laocoon wrestles with his snakes in the centre of one side of the hall, and on the other, on a mantel of red marble, a great clock is flanked by two bronzes. Three long tables run up the room to the high table, at the centre of which is the Master's chair, and behind this chair is piled on the sideboard the Company'splate. And some of the plate is magnificent. There are the old silver salt-cellars, there are great silver tankards, gold salvers, and the gold cup given to the Mercers by the Bank of England and the Lee cup and an ornamental tun and waggon, the first of which is valued at £7000, and the second at £10,000.
"Pray, silence for grace," comes in the deep bass tones of the toastmaster from behind the Master's chair, and then all of us settle down to a contemplation of the menu and to a view of our fellow-guests.
This was the dinner that Messrs. Ring and Brymer, who cater for the Mercers, put upon the table:—