THE GOURMET'S
GUIDE TO EUROPE

Publisher's Announcement

DINNERS AND DINERS:

Where and how to Dine in London

By Lieut.-Col. Newnham-Davis

New and Revised Edition Small Crown 8vo. Cloth. 3/6

WHERE AND HOW TO DINE IN PARIS

By Rowland Strong

Fcap. 8vo. Cover designed cloth. 2/6

London: GRANT RICHARDS

The

Gourmet's Guide

To Europe

BY

LIEUT.-COL. NEWNHAM-DAVIS

AND

ALGERNON BASTARD

EDITED BY THE FORMER

London
GRANT RICHARDS
48 LEICESTER SQUARE, W.C.
1903

The pleasures of the table are common to all ages and ranks, to all countries and times; they not only harmonise with all the other pleasures, but remain to console us for their loss.

Brillat Savarin.

PREFACE

Often enough, staying in a hotel in a foreign town, I have wished to sally forth and to dine or breakfast at the typical restaurant of the place, should there be one. Almost invariably I have found great difficulty in obtaining any information regarding any such restaurant. The proprietor of the caravanserai at which one is staying may admit vaguely that there are eating-houses in the town, but asks why one should be anxious to seek for second-class establishments when the best restaurant in the country is to be found under his roof. The hall-porter has even less scruples, and stigmatises every feeding-place outside the hotel as a den of thieves, where the stranger foolishly venturing is certain to be poisoned and then robbed. This book is an attempt to help the man who finds himself in such a position. His guide-book may possibly give him the names of the restaurants, but it does no more. My co-author and myself attempt to give him some details—what his surroundings will be, what dishes are the specialities of the house, what wine a wise man will order, and what bill he is likely to be asked to pay.

Our ambition was to deal fully with the capitals of all the countries of Europe, the great seaports, the pleasure resorts, and the "show places." The most acute critic will not be more fully aware how far we have fallen short of our ideal than we are, and no critic can have any idea of the difficulty of making such a book as we hope this will some day be when complete. At all events we have always gone to the best authorities where we had not the knowledge ourselves. Our publisher, Mr. Grant Richards, quite entered into the idea that no advertisements of any kind from hotels or restaurants should be allowed within the covers of the book; and though we have asked for information from all classes of gourmets—from ambassadors to the simple globe-trotter—we have not listened to any man interested directly or indirectly in any hotel or restaurant.

Hotels as places to live in we have not considered critically, and have only mentioned them when the restaurants attached to them are the dining-places patronised by the bon-vivants of the town.

Over England we have not thrown our net, for Dinners and Diners leaves me nothing new to write of London restaurants.

In conclusion I beg, on behalf of my co-author and myself, to return thanks to all the good fellows who have given us information; and I would earnestly beg any travelling gourmet, who finds any change in the restaurants we have mentioned, or who comes on treasure-trove in the shape of some delightful dining-place we know nothing of, to take pen and ink and write word of it to me, his humble servant, to the care of Mr. Grant Richards, Leicester Square. So shall he benefit, in future editions, all his own kind. We hear much of the kindness of the poor to the poor. This is an opportunity, if not for the rich to be kind to the rich, at least for those who deserve to be rich to benefit their fellows.

N. Newnham-Davis.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

PARIS

The "Cuisine de Paris"—A little ancient history—Restaurants with a "past"—The restaurants of to-day—Over the river—Open-air restaurants—Supping-places—Miscellaneous.

Paris is the culinary centre of the world. All the great missionaries of good cookery have gone forth from it, and its cuisine was, is, and ever will be the supreme expression of one of the greatest arts in the world. Most of the good cooks come from the south of France, most of the good food comes from the north. They meet at Paris, and thus the Paris cuisine, which is that of the nation and that of the civilised world, is created.

When the Channel has been crossed you are in the country of good soups, of good fowl, of good vegetables, of good sweets, of good wine. The hors-d'œuvre are a Russian innovation; but since the days when Henry IV. vowed that every peasant should have a fowl in his pot, soup from the simplest bouillon to the most lordly consommés and splendid bisques has been better made in France than anywhere else in the world. Every great cook of France has invented some particularly delicate variety of the boiled fillet of sole, and Dugleré achieved a place amongst the immortals, by his manipulation of the brill. The soles of the north are as good as any that ever came out of British waters; and Paris—sending tentacles west to the waters where the sardines swim, and south to the home of the lamprey, and tapping a thousand streams for trout and the tiny gudgeon and crayfish—can show as noble a list of fishes as any city in the world. The chef de cuisine who could not enumerate an hundred and fifty entrées all distinctively French, would be no proficient in his noble profession. The British beef stands against all the world as the meat noblest for the spit, though the French ox which has worked its time in the fields gives the best material for the soup-pot; and though the Welsh lamb and the English sheep are the perfection of mutton young and mutton old, the lamb nurtured on milk till the hour of its death, and the sheep reared on the salt-marshes of the north, make splendid contribution to the Paris kitchens. Veal is practically an unknown meat in London; and the calf which has been fed on milk and yolk of egg, and which has flesh as soft as a kiss and as white as snow, is only to be found in the Parisian restaurants. Most of the good restaurants in London import all their winged creatures, except game, from France; and the Surrey fowl and the Aylesbury duck, the representatives of Great Britain, make no great show against the champions of Gaul, though the Norfolk turkey holds his own. A vegetable dish, served by itself and not flung into the gravy of a joint, forms part of every French dinner, large or small; and in the battle of the kitchen gardens the foreigners beat us nearly all along the line, though I think that English asparagus is better than the white monsters of Argenteuil. A truffled partridge, or the homely Perdrix au choux, or the splendid Faisan à la Financière show that there are many more ways of treating a game bird than plain roasting him; and the peasants of the south of France had crushed the bones of their ducks for a century before we in London ever heard of Canard à la Presse. The Parisian eats a score of little birds we are too proud to mention in our cookery books, and he knows the difference between a mauviette and an alouette. Perhaps the greatest abasement of the Briton, whose ancestors called the French "Froggies" in scorn, comes when his first morning in Paris he orders for breakfast with joyful expectation a dish of the thighs of the little frogs from the vineyards. An Austrian pastry-cook has a lighter hand than a French one, but the Parisian open tarts and cakes and the friandises and the ice, or coupe-jacque at the end of the Gallic repast are excellent.

Paris is strewn with the wrecks of restaurants, and many of the establishments with great names of our grandfathers' and fathers' days are now only tavernes or cheap table-d'hôte restaurants. The Grand Vefour in the Palais Royal—where the patrons of the establishment in Louis Philippe's time used to eat off royal crockery, bought from the surplus stock of the palaces by M. Hamel, cook to the king, and proprietor of the restaurant—has lost its vogue in the world of fashion. The present Café de Paris has an excellent cook, and is the supper restaurant where the most shimmering lights of the demi-monde may be seen; but the old Café de Paris, at the corner of the Rue Taitbout, the house which M. Martin Guépet brought to such fame, and where the Veau à la Casserole drew the warmest praise from our grandfathers, has vanished. Bignon's, which was a name known throughout the world, has fallen from its high estate; the Café Riche, though it retains a good restaurant, is not the old famous dining-place any longer; and the Marivaux, where Joseph flourished, has been transformed into a brasserie. The Café Hardi, at one time a very celebrated restaurant, made place for the Maison d'Or, and the gilded glory of the latter has now passed in its turn. The Café Veron, Philippe's, of the Rue Mont Orgueil, and the Rocher de Cancale in the Rue Mandar, where Borel, one of the cooks of Napoleon I., made gastronomic history, Beauvilliers's, the proprietor of which was a friend of all the field-marshals of Europe, and made and lost half-a-dozen fortunes, the Trois Frères Provençeaux, the Café Very, and D'Hortesio's are but memories.

The saddest disappearance of all, because the latest, is the Maison d'Or, which is to be converted, so it is said, into a brasserie. The retirement of Casimir, one of the Verdier family, who was to the D'Or what Dugleré was to the Anglais, precipitated the catastrophe, and in the autumn of 1902 the house gave its farewell luncheon, and closed with all the honours of war. Alas for the Carpe à la Gelée and the Sole au vin Rouge and the Poularde Maison d'Or! I shall never, I fear, eat their like again. There was much history attached to the little golden house; more, perhaps, than to any other restaurant in the world. From its doors Rigolboche, in the costume of Mother Eve, started for her run across the road to the Anglais. At the table by one of the windows looking out on to the boulevard Nestor Roqueplan, Fould, Salamanca, and Delahante used always to dine. Upstairs in "Le Grand 6," which was to the Maison d'Or what "Le Grand 16" is to the Anglais, Salamanca, who drew a vast revenue from a Spanish banking-house, used to give extraordinary suppers at which the lights of the demi-monde of that day, Cora Pearl, Anna Deslions, Deveria, and others used to be present. The amusement of the Spaniard used to be to spill the wax from a candle over the dresses, and then to pay royally for the damage. One evening he asked one of the MM. Verdier whether a very big bill would be presented to him if he burned the whole house down, and on being told that it was only a matter of two or three million francs he would have set light to the curtains if M. Verdier had not interfered to prevent him. The "beau Demidoff," the duelling Baron Espeleta, Princes Galitzin and Murat, Tolstoy, and the Duc de Rivoli gave their parties in the "Grand 6"; and down the narrow, steep flight of steps which led into the side street the Duke of Hamilton fell and broke his neck. The Maison d'Or was the meeting-place, in the sixty odd years of its existence, of many celebrities of literature. Dumas, Meilhac, Emmanuel Arène used to dine there before they went across the road for a game of cards at the Cercle des Deux Mondes, and later Oncle Sarcey was one of the habitués of the house.

Two restaurants in particular seem to me to head the list of the classic, quiet establishments, proud of having a long history, satisfied with their usual clientèle, non-advertising, content to rest on their laurels. Those two are the Anglais and Voisin's, the former on the Boulevard des Italiens, the latter in the Rue St-Honoré. The Café Anglais, the white-faced house at the corner of the Rue Marivaux, is the senior of the two, for it has a history of more than a hundred years. It was originally a little wine-merchant's shop, with its door leading into the Rue Marivaux, and was owned by a M. Chevereuil. The ownerships of MM. Chellet and de L'Homme marked successive steps in its upward career, and when the restaurant came into the market in '79 or '80 it was bought by a syndicate of bankers and other rich business men who parted with it to its present proprietor. The Comte de Grammont Caderousse and his companions in what used to be known as the "Loge Infernale" at the old Opera, were the best-known patrons of the Anglais; and until the Opera House, replaced by the present building, was burnt down, the Anglais was a great supping-place, the little rabbit-hutches of the entresol being the scene of some of the wildest and most interesting parties given by the great men of the Second Empire. The history of the Anglais has never been written because, as the proprietor will tell you, it never could be written without telling tales anent great men which should not be put into print; but if you ask to see the book of menus, chiefly of dinners given in the "Grand Seize," the room on the first floor, the curve of the windows of which look up the long line of the boulevards, and if you are shown the treasure you will find in it records of dinners given by King Edward when he was Prince of Wales, by the Duc de Morny and by D'Orsay, by all the Grand Dukes who ever came out of Russia, by "Citron" and Le Roi Milan, by the lights of the French jockey club, and many other celebrities. There is one especially interesting menu of a dinner at which Bismarck was a guest—before the terrible year of course. While I am gossiping as to the curiosities of the Anglais I must not forget a little collection of glass and silver in a cabinet in the passage of the entresol. Every piece has a history, and most of them have had royal owners. The great sight of the restaurant, however, is its cellars. Electric light is used to light them, luminous grapes hang from the arches, and an orange tree at the end of a vista glows with transparent fruit. In these cellars, beside the wine on the wine-list of the restaurant, are to be found some bottles of all the great vintage years of claret, an object-lesson in Bordeaux; and there are little stores of brandies of wondrous age, most of which were already in the cellars when the battle of Waterloo was fought.

From a gourmet's point of view the great interest in the restaurant will lie, if he wishes to give a large dinner, in the Grand Seize or one of the other private rooms; if he is going to dine alone, or is going to take his wife out to dinner, in the triangular room on the ground floor with its curtains of lace, its white walls, its mirrors and its little gilt tripod in the centre of the floor. Dugleré was the chef who, above all others, made history at the Anglais, and the present proprietor, M. Burdel, was one of his pupils; and therefore the cookery of Dugleré is the cookery still of the Anglais. Potage Germiny is claimed by the Café Anglais as a dish invented by the house, but the Maison d'Or across the way also laid claim to it, and told an anecdote of its creation—how it was invented by Casimir for the Marquis de St-George. The various fish à la Dugleré there can be no question concerning, the Barbue Dugleré being the most celebrated; and the Poularde Albufera and the Filet de Sole Mornay (which was also claimed by the Grand Vefour) are both specialities of the house. You can order as expensive a dinner as you will for a great feast at the Anglais, and you can eat rich dishes if you desire it; but there is no reason that you should not dine there very well, and as cheaply as you can expect to get good material, good cooking, and good attendance anywhere in the world. The "dishes of the day" are always excellent, and I have dined off a plate of soup, a pint of Bordeaux, and some slices of a gigot de sept heures—one of the greatest achievements of cookery—for a very few francs. I always find that I can dine amply, and on food that even a German doctor could not object to, for less than a louis. For instance, a dinner at the Anglais of half-a-dozen Ostende Oysters, Potage Laitues et Quenelles, Merlans Frits, Cuisse de Poularde de Rôtie, Salade Romaine, cheese, half a bottle of Graves 1^e Cru, and a bottle of St-Galmier costs 18 francs.

Voisin's, in the Rue St-Honoré, the corner house whose windows, curtained with lace, promise dignified quiet, is a restaurant which has a history, and has, and has had, great names amongst its habitués. Many of these have been diplomats, and Voisin's knows that ambassadors do not care to have their doings, when free from the cares of office, gossiped about. When I first saw Voisin's, it looked as unlike the house of to-day as can be imagined. I was in Paris immediately after the days of the Commune and followed, with an old General, the line the troops had taken in the fight for the city. In the Rue St-Honoré were some of the fiercest combats, for the regulars fought their way from house to house down this street to turn the positions the Communists took up in the Champs Elysées and the gardens of the Tuileries. The British Embassy had become a hospital, and all the houses which had not been burned looked as though they had stood a bombardment. There were bullet splashes on all the walls, and I remember that Voisin's looked even more battered and hopeless than did most of its neighbours.

The diplomats have always had an affection for Voisin's, perhaps because of its nearness to the street of the Embassies; and in the "eighties" the attachés of the British Embassy used to breakfast there every day. Nowadays, the clientèle seems to me to be a mixture of the best type of the English and Americans passing through Paris, and the more elderly amongst the statesmen, who were no doubt the dashing young blades of twenty-five years ago. The two comfortable ladies who sit near the door at the desk, and the little show-table of the finest fruit seem to me never to have changed, and there is still the same quiet-footed, unhurrying service which impressed me when first I made the acquaintance of the restaurant. It is one of the dining-places where one feels that to dine well and unhurriedly is the first great business of life, and that everything else must wait at the dinner-hour. The proprietor, grey-headed and distinguished-looking, goes from table to table saying a word or two to the habitués, and there is a sense of peace in the place—a reflection of the sunshine and calm of Provence, whence the founder of the restaurant came.

The great glory of Voisin's is its cellar of red wines, its Burgundies and Bordeaux. The Bordeaux are arranged in their proper precedence, the wines from the great vineyards first, and the rest in their correct order down to mere bourgeois tipple. Against each brand is the price of the vintage of all the years within a drinkable period, and the man who knew the wine-list of Voisin's thoroughly would be the greatest authority in the world on claret.

Mr. Rowland Strong, in his book on Paris, tells how, one Christmas Eve, he took an Englishman to dine at Voisin's, and how that Englishman demanded plum-pudding. The maître-d'hôtel was equal to the occasion. He was polite but firm, and his assertion that "The House of Voisin does not serve, has never served, and will never serve, plum-pudding" settled the matter.

If the Anglais and Voisin's may be said to have much of their interest in their "past," Paillard's should be taken as a restaurant which is the type and parent of the present up-to-date restaurant. The white restaurant on the Boulevard des Italiens has kept at the top of the tree for many years, and has sent out more culinary missionaries to improve the taste of dining man than any other establishment in Paris. Joseph, who brought the Marivaux to such a high pitch of fame before he emigrated to London, came from Paillard's and so did Frederic of the Tour d'Argent, of whom I shall have something to say later on. Henri of the Gaillon, Notta, Charles of Foyot's—all were trained at Paillard's.

The restaurant has its history, and its long list of great patrons. Le Désir de Roi, which generally appears in the menu of any important dinner at Paillard's, and which has foie gras as its principal component, has been eaten by a score of kings at one time or another, our own gracious Majesty heading the list. The restaurant at first was contained in one small room. Then the shop of Isabelle, the Jockey Club flower-girl, which was next door, was acquired, and lastly another little shop was taken in, the entrance changed from the front to its present position at the side, the accountant's desk put out of sight, and the little musicians' gallery built—for Paillard's has moved with the time and now has a band of Tziganes, much to the grief of men like myself who prefer conversation to music as the accompaniment of a meal. The restaurant as it is with its white walls and bas-reliefs of cupids and flowers, its green Travertine panels let into the white pilasters, its chandeliers of cut glass, is very handsome. M. Paillard, hair parted in the middle and with a small moustache, irreproachably attired, wearing a grey frock-coat by day, and a "smoking" and black tie in the evening, is generally to be seen superintending all arrangements, and there is a maître-d'hôtel who speaks excellent English, and a head waiter with whiskers who deserted to Henri, but subsequently returned, who is also an accomplished linguist.

Amongst the specialities of the house are Pomme Otero and Pomme Georgette, both created, I fancy, by Joseph when he was at Paillard's, Homard Cardinal, Filet de Sole à la Russe, Sole Paillard, Filet de Sole Kotchoubey, Timbale de queues d'Ecrevisses Mantua, Côte de Bœuf braisé Empire, Pommes Macaire, Filet Paillard, Suprême de Volaille Grand Duc, Rouennais Paillard, Baron d'agneau Henri IV., Poularde Archiduc, Poularde à la Derby, Poularde Wladimir, Filet de Selle Czarine, Bécasse au Fumet, Rouennais à la Presse, Terrine de Foie Gras à la gelée au Porto, Perdreau et Caille Paillard.

Two menus of dinners M. Paillard has given me, one a very noble feast, to the length of which I am a conscientious objector but which I print, presently, in full, and the other a banquet of lesser grandeur with Crème Germiny, Barbue Paillard, Ortolans en surprise, Salade Idéale, and many other good things in it from which I select the following dishes as making a typical little Paillard feast for two, the price of which would not be a king's ransom:—

Caviar frais.
Consommé Viveur.
Filets de Sole Joinville.
Cœurs de Filet Rachel.
Pommes Anna.
Haricots Verts à la Touranquelle.
An Ice or some iced Fruits and some Coffee.

And this repast might well be washed down by a bottle of Montrachet 1885, with a glass of Fine Champagne Palais de St-Cloud to follow.

This is the menu of the banquet:—

What the cost of this feast would be it is difficult to estimate, and I will not even hazard a guess.

I asked, last spring, an Englishman who knows his Paris better than most Parisians, what he would consider a typical breakfast, dinner, and supper in Paris, and he answered, "Breakfast chez Henri at the Gaillon, dine at the Ritz, and sup at Durand's."

There are two Henri's in Paris, one is the little hotel and English bar, and the other is in the Place Gaillon. Henri's Restaurant Gaillon had its days of celebrity in the Second Empire, and then sank, as the Maison Grossetête, from grace until Henri Drouet, leaving Paillard's, established himself there. When I first knew the restaurant it had Paillard's cookery, but not Paillard's prices; but now that the whole of the monde qui dîne has found it out, I fancy that the scale of prices has risen to a level with that of the parent restaurant. The first room is the best one to breakfast or dine in, for the others on hot days are apt to be very stuffy; and it is well to order a table by telephone in advance. Henri's, it always seems to me, has a more tempting table of cold viands, patés, and tarts and friandises set out than any other restaurateur's, and many of the habitués at lunch-time order eggs or fish, and then turn their attention to the cold buffet.

When dining at Henri's the Consommé Fortunato, the filets de sole of the restaurant, the Noisettes de Veau Port Mahon, the Crêpes des Gourmets should be remembered. If you want a dinner for twelve, you cannot do better than order the following, or rather select dishes from it, for it is unreasonably lengthy as it stands:—

Hors-d'œuvre à la Russe.
Potages.
Consommé Viveur.
Pailles et Parmesan.
Poisson.
Timbale de Homard à l'Américaine.
Entrées.
Baron de Pauillac à la Boulangère.
Endives Pochées au jus.
Escalopes de Foies grand Opéra.
Rôti.
Bécasses Flambées au fumet.
Salade Port Mahon.
Mousse Bohémienne glacée.
Truffes au Champagne à la gelée.
Légumes.
Asperges fraîches. S^ce Mousseline.
Entremets.
Soufflé Valenciennes.
Poires Gaillon.

There are several other restaurants which claim to be quite first class, and which are smart and amusing. Two such are the restaurants facing the Madeleine, Durand's, and La Rue's. It was in one of the little rooms on the first floor of Durand's that the Brav' General sat debating in his mind whether he should initiate a coup d'état, and the crowd outside waited and watched, expecting something to happen. Nothing did happen. General Boulanger thought so long, that the decisive moment passed, and he went home to bed. Boulanger has gone, but his friends, grey-headed now, breakfast daily at Durand's. La Rue's was also a restaurant in favour with General Boulanger, and I fancy that the little dinner-parties he gave there helped much to bring the place into celebrity. Both these restaurants have lately been enlarged and redecorated, and La Rue's advertises a great deal, which no doubt has increased its clientèle, but which has not decreased its prices. Parisian Society has decreed that it is "smart" to sup at Durand's, and I always find it an excellent place at which to breakfast. The last time that I took my morning meal there I found all the younger members of the British Embassy breakfasting there, a sure sign that the place is just now on the crest of the wave.

Some of the specialities of Durand's are Potage Henri IV., Consommé Baigneuse, petits diables, Barbue Durand, Poulet Sauté Grand Duc, Salade Georgette, Soufflé Pôle Nord, and of course a variation of the inevitable canard à la presse and the woodcock subjected to an auto-da-fé.

This is the supper that the Restaurant Durand gave its clients on the greatest supping night of the year, Christmas Eve, 1902. The boudin of course all Paris has for supper on the night before the great Christmas feast:—

Consommé de Volaille au fumet de Céleris.
Boudin grillé à la Parisienne.
Ailerons de Volaille à la Tzar.
Cailles à la Lucullus.
Salade Durand.
Ecrevisses de la Meuse à la nage.
Crêpes Suzette.
Dessert.
Champagnes.
Clicquot Brut, Pommery Drapeau Américain.
Gde Fine Napoléon.

At La Rue's I have felt inclined sometimes to protest when I have been charged 2 francs for half-a-dozen prawns, and to think that the vermillion-coloured seats are being paid for too quickly out of profits; but I rarely pass through Paris without breakfasting there, and eating the cold poached eggs in jelly, the Grenouilles à la Marinière, or one of the dishes of cold fish which are excellently served. Some of the specialities of the house are Potage Reine, Barbue à la Russe, Caille à la Souvaroff, Tournedos à la Rossini, Caneton de Rouen au Sang, Bécasse Flambée, Salade Gauloise, Crêpes Suzette, Glace Gismonda, Pêches Flambées and from this list any one could choose either a little dinner or a big one.

Of restaurants attached to hotels I do not propose to write in this article, with one exception, for there are few of the hundreds of hotels at which one cannot get a very fair dinner; and at some, such as the Elysée Palace, over which Caesario presides, one can get an excellent one; but the purpose of this book is to give information to the man who wishes to dine away from hotels. The one exception is the Ritz, in the Place Vendôme, and I include this in my list because the Ritz is a restaurant firstly, and an hotel secondly, and because as a dining place it holds an exceptional position in Paris. It is the restaurant of the smartest foreign society in Paris, and the English, Americans, Russians, Spaniards, dining there always outnumber greatly the French. It is a place of great feasts, but it is also a restaurant at which the maîtres-d'hôtel are instructed not to suggest long dinners to the patrons of the establishment. In M. Elles' hands or that of the maître-d'hôtel there is no fear of being "rushed" into ordering an over-lengthy repast. This is a typical little dinner for three I once ate at the Ritz, and as a feast in the autumn it is worth recording and repeating:—

Caviar.
Consommé Viveni.
Mousseline de Soles au vin du Rhin.
Queues d'Ecrevisses à l'Américaine.
Escalopes de Riz de veau Favorite.
Perdreaux Truffés.
Salade.
Asperges vertes en branches.
Coupes aux Marrons.
Friandises.

In the afternoon the long passage with its chairs, carpets, and hangings all of crushed strawberry colour is filled with tea-drinkers, for the "5 o'clock" is very popular in Paris, and the Ritz is one of the smartest if not the smartest place at which to drink tea. In the evening the big restaurant, with its ceiling painted to represent the sky and its mirrors latticed to represent windows, is always full, the contrast to a smart English restaurant being that three-quarters of the ladies dine in their hats. Sometimes very elaborate entertainments are given in the Ritz, and I can recall one occasion on a hot summer night, when the garden was tented over and turned into a gorge apparently somewhere near the North Pole, there being blocks and pillars of ice everywhere. The anteroom was a mass of palms, and the idea of the assemblage of the guests in the tropics and their sudden transference to the land of ice was excellently carried out. I give the menu of another great dinner at the Ritz because, not only has it some of the specialities of the house embodied in it, but that it is a good specimen of what a great dinner should be, being important but not heavy:—

Caviar frais. Hors-d'œuvre.
Royal Tortue Claire. Crème d'Artichauts.
Mousseline d'Eperlans aux Ecrevisses à l'Américaine.
Noisettes de Ris de Veau au fumet de Champignons.
Selle de Chevreuil Grand Veneur. Purée de Marrons.
Poularde de Houdan Vendôme.
Sorbets au Kirsch.
Ortolans aux Croûtons.
Cœurs de Laitues.
Asperges vertes en branches. Sauce Mousseline.
Ananas voilé à l'Orientale.
Friandises.
Corbeilles de Fruits.
Vins.
Château Caillou 1888.
Château Léoville Lascases 1878 (Magnums).
Lanson Brut 1892 (Magnums).
Château Yquem 1869.
Grande Fine Champagne 1790 (Ritz Réservé).

There are a score of capital restaurants in Paris which may be called "bourgeois" without in any way detracting from their excellence. An excellent type of such a restaurant is Maire's, at the corner of the Bd. St-Dennis, owned by the company which controls the Paillard's Restaurant of the Champs Elysées. It is a good place to dine at for any one going to the play at the Porte St-Martin, the Renaissance, the Théâtre Antoine, or any of the music halls or theatres in the west of Paris. Mushrooms always seem to me to play a great part in the cookery at Maire's, and the Poulet Maire is a fowl cooked with mushrooms; but the restaurant has a long list of specialities of all kinds, and the mushroom only appears in some of them. Charbonnier is the especial dinner wine of the house, and it is said that the name was originally given to the wine owing to the discovery of a quantity of it stored under sticks of charcoal in the days when Maire's was only a wine-shop.

Next door to the Gymnase Theatre is Marguery's, which always seems to be full, and where the service is rather too hurried and too slap-dash to suit the contemplative gourmet; but Marguery's has its special claim to fame as the place where the Sole Marguery was invented, and though I have eaten the dish in half a hundred restaurants, there is no place where it is so perfectly cooked as in the restaurant where it was first thought of, for nowhere else is the sauce quite as good or as strong.

Notta, 2 Bd. Poissonière, and Noel Peters in the Passage des Princes, both have claims to celebrity for their cooking, and the fish dishes at the latter, the Filet de Sole Noël for instance, are a speciality. The Bœuf à la Mode, Rue de Valois, near the Palais Royale, is a place of good cookery.

There are two restaurants to which I generally go if I want good food but have not time to linger over it, having cut my time rather close when going to a theatre or to catch a train. One of these is Lucas's in the little square opposite the Madeleine, and the other is the Champeaux, Place de la Bourse. Lucas has rather an old-fashioned clientèle and his restaurant is not very bright, but the cooking is good, and if in a hurry one is served very quickly. The Hareng Lucas is an exceptionally stimulating hors-d'œuvre, and there is a selection of old brandies to choose from as liqueurs which I fancy cannot be surpassed at any restaurant in Paris. The Champeaux, with its garden and trees growing through the roof, is the restaurant of the Bourse. It has a good cook, it has its specialities of cuisine, and it has a particularly good cellar of wines. One can dine there in the leisurely manner in which a dinner should be eaten by sane men; but the maîtres-d'hôtel used to business men know that there are occasions when it is necessary to be in a hurry, and they can serve a dinner very quickly. At the Champeaux, which has much history behind it, the Chateaubriand was invented which gives eternal honour to the restaurant.

I am told that Sylvain's remains a good dining place, but I have not been within its doors since the days when it attained celebrity as a supper place in favour with the butterfly ladies of Paris.

Across the River

On the south side of the Seine there are three restaurants worthy the consideration of the gourmet,—the Tour d'Argent, La Peyrouse, and Foyot's. The Tour d'Argent is on the Quai de la Tourelle, just beyond the island on which Notre Dame stands. It is a little old-fashioned place with a narrow entrance hall and a low-ceilinged parlour. Frederic is its proprietor, and since Joseph of the Marivaux died Frederic remains the one great "character" in the dining world of Paris. In appearance he is the double of Ibsen, the same sweeping whiskers, the same wave of hair brushed straight off from the forehead. He is an inventor of dishes, and it is well to ask for a list of his "creations," which are of fish, eggs, meat, and fruit, and are generally named after some patron of the establishment,—Canapé Clarence Mackay, Filet de Sole Gibbs, Filet de Lièvre Arnold White, Œufs Claude Lowther, Poire Wannamaker, and so on. A marquis, M. de Lauzières de Themines, has written a long poem about Frederic, which is printed on the back of the list of "creations," and an artist has painted a portrait of the great man which will be shown to you if you have proved yourself a real gourmet. Madame Frederic, or his daughter, will hold the canvas for your inspection, and Frederic himself, brushing back his whiskers, will stand beside it in order that you may see what an excellent likeness it is. It is as well to interest Frederic in the ordering of your meal, and if you give him an idea of your requirements, he will select two or three of his "creations" which will make up a perfect meal. I always ask for a Filet de Sole Cardinal, which is one of his best dishes, and look to him to group a couple of other plats with it to make a perfect breakfast, for I look on the Tour d'Argent as being a better place to breakfast at than to dine at, owing to its distance from the centre of Paris. Frederic thinking out his dishes drops into a reverie and turns his eyes up to the ceiling. I once took a lady to breakfast at the Tour—she had selected it as being quite close to the Morgue, which she wanted to see after lunch, having a liking for cheerful sights—and she had the daring to interrupt Frederic's reverie. "And for the eggs?" I had said insinuatingly to the creator of dishes, and he had dropped into deepest thought. "Uffs à la plat," said the lady, who fancied we were both at a loss as to how eggs could be cooked. Frederic came back from the clouds and gave the lady one look. It was not a look of anger, or contempt, but simply an expression of pity for the whole of her sex. Frederic, as Joseph did, holds that a dinner to be good must be short, which is, I believe, the first axiom that every true gourmet should enunciate and hold by, and an excellent proof that he holds to his tenets was once given me. When the Behring Sea Conference sat in Paris, the American and English members used frequently to dine together after their labours. Lord Hannen had heard of the Tour d'Argent, and sent his secretary, a clever barrister, to order dinner there for all the members. He went to the Quai de la Tourelle, saw Frederic, and sketched out to him a regular Eaton Square dinner, two entrées, a joint, sorbet, game, an iced pudding, a savoury, and fruit. Frederic heard him out, and then very politely suggested that he should go elsewhere, for such a barbarous feast could not be served in the Tour d'Argent. If you are in great favour Frederic will cook you a dish himself, and will bustle into the room with the "creation" in his hands and great beads of perspiration, drawn out by the kitchen fire, on his broad brow. I am sorry, however, to have to write that the last time I saw Frederic, at the close of 1902, he was very ill. He complained of his chest, said that the weather oppressed him, and lamented the death of Joseph which had taken a friend and a brother artist away. His hair had lost its bold curve and his whiskers their glory. I told him in all sincerity that he must get over his malady, for that as there are so few "creators" and great maîtres-d'hôtel left we cannot spare one of the most original and most accomplished of them.

La Peyrouse on the Quai des Grands Augustins, is a little house with many small rooms. It is known to the students of the "Quartier" as "Le Navigateur." It is a favourite resort of the members of the Paris bar, has its special dishes, one of which is, as a matter of course, Filets de Sole La Peyrouse, and a most excellent cellar of Burgundies and white Bordeaux. The Cérons at 3 francs is excellent money's worth.

The Restaurant Foyot is almost opposite the Luxembourg Gallery, and is a very handy restaurant to dine at when going to the Odéon. Potage Foyot, Riz de Veau Foyot, Homard Foyot, and Biscuit Foyot are some of the dishes of the house, and all to be recommended. The anarchists once tried to blow up Foyot's with a bomb; but the only person injured was an anarchist poet, who has so far been false to his tenets as to dine in the company of aristocrats, and was tranquilly eating a Truite Meunière, in company with a beautiful lady, when his friends outside let off their firework. The hors-d'œuvre at Foyot's are particularly good. It is, however, a restaurant at which it is exceptionally difficult to get one's bill when one is in a hurry.

Summer Restaurants

Of the restaurants in the Champs Elysées, Laurent's and Paillard's are the most aristocratic. At Laurent's I generally find in summer some of the younger members of the staffs of the Embassies breakfasting under the trees behind the hedge which shuts the restaurant off from the bustle of Paris outside. Of the special dishes of the house the Canard Pompéienne remains to me an especially grateful memory. It is a cold duck stuffed with most of the rich edible things of this world, foie gras predominating, and it is covered with designs in red and black on a white ground.

Paillard's bonbonnière, in the Champs Elysées, is in the hands of the company which also owns Maire's Restaurant, to which I have already alluded. M. Paillard and the company formed under his name settled a disagreement in the law courts, with the result that M. Paillard retained the restaurant at the corner of the Chaussée d'Antin as his property, and the company took possession of the Restaurant Maire and the Pavillion des Champs Elysées. This, however, is mere history, for the Pavillion serves its meals with all the quiet luxury of the parent house, and I have a memory of a Potage Crème d'Antin which was especially excellent.

Ledoyen's has attained a particular celebrity as the restaurant where every one lunches on the vernissage day of the Salon. At dinner-time, on a fine evening, every table on the stretch of gravel before the little villa is occupied, and the good bourgeois, the little clerk taking his wife and mother-in-law out to dinner, are just as much in evidence, and more so, than the "smarter" classes of Parisians. The service is rather haphazard on a crowded night, and scurrying waiters appeal to the carvers in pathetic tones to wheel the moving tables on which the joints are kept hot up to their particular tables. The food is good, but not always served as hot as it should be—the fault of all open-air dining places. The wine-list is a good one, and I have drunk at Ledoyen's excellent champagne of the good brands and the great years at a comparatively small price. Guillemin, who was cook to the Duc de Vincennes, brought Ledoyen's into great favour in the fifties of the last century.

The Bouillon Riche, just behind the Alcazar, with its girl waiters I have generally found even more haphazard than Ledoyen's. Its food is neither noticeably good nor is it indifferent.

The Ambassadeurs prides itself on being quite a first-class restaurant, and it is one of the special experiences of the foreigner in Paris to dine at one of the tables in the balcony looking towards the stage, and to listen to the concert while you drink your coffee and sip your fine champagne. I have kept the menu of one such dinner, very well cooked and well served in spite of the crowded balcony and general hubbub of the evening, on a Grand Prix night. What the amount of the bill was that the host of the party had to pay I did not inquire, but I feel sure that it was a very long one.

This is the menu:—

Melon.
Potage Ambassadeurs.
Hors-d'œuvre.
Truite Gelée Mâconnaise.
Ris de Veau Financière.
Demi-Vierge en Chaud-Froid.
Poulets de Grain Rôtis.
Salade de Romaine.
Asperges Froides.
Coupes Jacques.
Dessert.
Petites Fraises.

The cold trout was excellent, and the wine was De St-Marceaux '89.

The Alcazar has a restaurant somewhat similar to that of the Ambassadeurs.

Chevillard's, at the Rond Point des Champs Elysées, is not an out-of-doors restaurant, but it is a favourite place to breakfast at on the way out to the races. The cooking is good. Sometimes the restaurant is crowded, and it is as well to secure a table in advance.

There are half-a-dozen cafés, farms where milk is sold, and other refreshment places in the Bois; but the two restaurants which the travelling gourmet is likely to dine at are the Pavillion d'Armenonville and the Château de Madrid. The first is very "smart," and the glass shelter which runs round the little house is filled on a summer night with men, all in dress-clothes, and ladies in flowered or feathered hats. The world and the half-world dine at adjacent tables, and neither section of Paris objects. The tables are decorated with flowers, and two bands, which play alternately, make music so softly that it does not interfere with conversation. The cooking is good, and the prices are rather high. There are tables under the trees surrounding the building, and some people dine at these; but "all Paris" seems to prefer to be squeezed into the least possible space under the glass verandah.

At the Château de Madrid the tables are set under the trees in the courtyard of the building, and the effect of the dimly seen buildings, the dark foliage, and the lights is very striking. The Madrid has always been an expensive place to dine at, but its reputation for cookery is good. Last year I dined at the Château one hot summer's night and found there M. Aubanel, who had left his little hotel at Monte Carlo, during the great heats, to take temporary command at the Madrid, striving to serve a great crowd of diners with an insufficient staff of waiters. I trust that the proprietors have made better arrangements since to meet any sudden inrush of guests. The Madrid has a capital cellar of wine.

On a race-morning I have eaten a little breakfast, well enough served, at the restaurant of the Café de la Cascade.

Supping-Places

The fickle Parisian crowd changes its supping-places without any apparent cause. A few hundred francs spent in gilding a ceiling, a quarrel between two damsels in gigantic hats as to which of them ordered a particular table to be reserved, and the whole cloud of butterflies rises to settle elsewhere. Julien's, Sylvain's, La Rue's, the Café de La Paix, Maire's, Paillard's all had their time when there was not a vacant seat in their rooms at 1 A.M. Durand's, in the summer of '92, was the society supping-place. At the Café de Paris, where M. Mourier, a former maître-d'hôtel of Maire's reigns, the British matron and the travelling American gaze at the haute cocotterie—who patronise the right fork of the room as you enter. At Maxim's, any gentleman may conduct the band if he wishes to, and the tables are often cleared away and a little impromptu dance organised. At the Café Américain, the profession of the ladies who frequent it at supper-time is a little too obvious. You should take your wife to Durand's. She will insist on going to the Café de Paris. You should not take her to Maxim's, and you cannot take her to the Américain. Of course, the supping-places I have enumerated are but a few of the many, for there is no Early Closing Act in France, every restaurant in Paris keeps open till 2 a.m., and some later, and supper is to be had at all of them. Personally, I am never happier at supper-time than when I am sitting in the back room at the Taverne Pousset picking crayfish out of a wooden bowl where they swim in savoury liquid, pulling them to pieces, and eating them as they were eaten before forks and spoons put fingers out of fashion. The Restaurant des Fleurs, the newest of the Parisian restaurants, in the Rue St-Honoré, is making a bid with its decoration in the "new art" style to capture those who sup.

Miscellaneous

Since Cubat in dudgeon gave up his restaurant in the Avenue of the Champs Elysées, there has been no prominent foreign restaurant in Paris. Cubat, whose restaurant in St. Petersburg is so well known, brought Russian cookery to Paris; but though the Parisians are fond enough of cheering for the Dual Alliance, they did not dip into their pockets to keep the Russian restaurant in existence. An expensive German restaurant, a relic of the last exhibition, showed its lights just off the great boulevards, but after a time disappeared. There are Viennese restaurants on the boulevards and in the Rue d'Hauteville, and Spanish and Italian establishments may be found by the curious who wish to impair their digestion. The Englishman or American who has been feeding on rich food for any length of time, often yearns for perfectly simple food. At Henry's, at the Club Restaurant, and at most of the English and American bars with which Paris is now studded, a chop is obtainable, and a whisky and soda which is not poison; but I, personally, when Paté de Foie Gras becomes a horror, truffles a burden, and rich sauces an abomination, go to one of the Tavernes, the Royale in the Rue Royale, or the Anglais in the Rue Boissy d'Anglas (where you get Lucas's food at lower prices than in the restaurant by the Madeleine), or into one of the many houses of plain cookery on the boulevards, and order the simplest and least greasy soup on the bill of fare, some plainly grilled cutlets, and some green vegetables. A pint of the second or third claret on the wine-card washes down this penitential repast. At Puloski's, an uninviting-looking little establishment in the Rue St-Honoré, I have eaten excellent dishes of oysters cooked according to American methods, and that dry hash which boarding-house keepers across the Atlantic are supposed to serve perpetually to their paying guests, but which an American abroad is always glad to meet. You will find a great variety of oysters, Marennes, Ostendes, Zélandes, at Prunier's, in the Rue Duphot, and the dishes of the house—soup, sole, steak—are all cooked with oysters as a foundation, sauce, or garnish. Prunier's is the house at which the travelling gourmet generally tastes his first snails, the great Burgundian ones with striped shells, or the little gray fellows from the champagne vineyards. If you eat Prunier's oysters you should drink his white Burgundy. If you eat his snails, you should drink his red wine, for he has some excellent red Burgundy.

Most travellers at least once in their lives go the round of Montmartre and its Bohemian shows. I have dined with the great Fursy in the restaurant attached to the Tréteau de Tabarin, and was given good substantial bourgeois cookery. I asked the singer of the "Chansons Rosses" how it was that he, who girds at all things bourgeois and commonplace, ran the restaurant on such simple and non-eccentric lines; and he shrugged his shoulders, which I took to mean that you may trifle with a man's intellect but not with his stomach. About two in the morning, in the upstairs room at the Tréteau, there is often some amusement forward. Upstairs at the Rat Mort, you may dine in comfort with Soupe à l'Onion and Tournedos Rat Mort in the menu; and at the Abbaye de Thélème, and at the Restaurant Blanche in the place of that name, you will find the artists and sculptors of the Butte.

In the Quartier, Thurion's in the Boulevard St-Germain is an interesting restaurant for a wandering Anglo-Saxon to become acquainted with, for there he will see most of the young Americans and English who are climbing up the ladder of pictorial fame. It is a Parisian "Cheshire Cheese." The floors are sawdusted, the waiters rush about in hot haste, and the chickens stray in from the courtyard at the back and pick up the crumbs round the tables. The place has its traditions, and you can hear tales of Dickens and Thackeray from the plump lady who makes up the bills.

Good Cheap Restaurants

I feel tempted in connection with this heading to write as did the naturalist of snakes in Iceland; but besides the tavernes and bouillons, which give wonderful value for the money spent but do not require any lengthy mention in a book dealing with temples of the higher art, there are one or two interesting table-d'hôte restaurants where the meals are very cheap. One of these is Philippe's, on the first floor of the Palais Royal, next door to the Petit Vefour, and another is the Dîner Français, 27 Bd. des Italiens.

St-Germain

The Pavillion Henri IV., on the terrace of St-Germain, where every travelling Briton and American breakfasts once during his summer stay in Paris, is "run" by the management of the Champeaux, and one gets very excellent cookery and service in consequence, the prices not being at all exorbitant. One groans, sitting at the little tables on the terraces and looking at the view, to think of the chances some of our hotels near London, with even finer views, throw away through lack of enterprise.

St-Cloud

The Pavillion Bleu at St-Cloud, the proprietor of which, M. Moreaux, bought the greater portion of the "grands vins" of the Maison d'Or, deserves a special word of commendation.

N.N.-D.

CHAPTER II

FRENCH PROVINCIAL TOWNS

The northern ports—Norman and Breton towns—The west coast and Bordeaux—Marseilles and the Riviera—The Pyrenees—Provence—Aix-les-Bains and other "cure" places.

I propose to take you, my gastronomic reader, first on a little tour round the coast of France from north-east round to south-east, pausing at any port or any watering-place where there is any restaurant of any mark, and then to make a few incursions inland.

Calais is, of course, our starting-place, and here my experience of leaving the buffet at the Terminus and exploring in the town is that one goes farther and does not fare so well. The buffet at Calais always has had the reputation of being one of the best in Europe, and though the Englishman new landed after a rough passage generally selects clear soup and stewed chicken as his meal, it is quite possible to obtain an admirably cooked lunch or dinner in the room off the restaurant; and the cold viands, the cream cheese, the vegetables and fruit are all worthy of attention. The "wagons-restaurants" which are attached now to most of the express trains, no doubt have cut into the business of the buffet restaurant; but as a contrast to the ordinary British station refreshment- and dining-room the Calais buffet deserves to be mentioned.

Boulogne

At Boulogne there is a restaurant in the Casino, but I think it adds very little to the revenues of the establishment. Most people take their meals contentedly or discontentedly in their hotels, but the little restaurant on the pier, which used to belong to the widow Poirmeur but is now the Restaurant Garnier, with its miniature terrace and its windows which look out on to the waves when the tide is up, has an individuality of its own, and is one of the haunts of the gourmet who enjoys a meal with unusual surroundings. In the winter the little restaurant hibernates. If customers appear the wife of the proprietor cooks dinner or lunch for them, and cooks very fairly; but with the advent of summer a cook is engaged for the season, and it is a matter of importance to the sojourner in Boulogne whether that cook ranks as "fair" or "good." He generally is good. Fish, of course, is always fresh at Boulogne and generally excellent in quality, and the shell-fish are above suspicion—at least I never heard of anybody suffering from eating moules,—therefore a Sole Normande or any similar dish generally forms part of a déjeuner on the pier, and this with an entrecôte and an omelette au rhum makes a fine solid sea-side feast. The buffet at the station, since it was taken in hand by the South-Eastern Railway, is not the dreadful place of ill-cooked food it used to be. At the terminus of the tramway which runs into the forest a little cabaret gives a simple meal, and the trip out and back is the pleasantest short excursion from Boulogne. At Wimille it is wise to inquire what charge the new hotel proposes to make before sitting down to a meal. Ambleteuse is another little watering-place to the north on the coast. Here the mid-day meal at the principal inn is lengthy if nothing else.

Following the coast along, Paris-Plage has not as yet developed any restaurant of note, and the inn at Etaples, which is the town on the railway whence the walk or drive to Paris-Plage has to be undertaken, is more famous for having given shelter to generations of artists, some of whom have paid their bills with sketches, than for its food, though some of the best pré-salé mutton in France comes from the fields over-flowed by the estuary at high tide. A goodly proportion of the shrimps and prawns one has to pay so highly for as hors-d'œuvre in the restaurants of Paris come from Paris-Plage, Le Touquet, and their neighbour down the coast, Berk. Indeed, if any gourmet has a penchant for shrimps and asses' milk, Berk would be his paradise. Tréport requires no description, but

Dieppe

is a place of importance, and in the days of the Second Empire Lafosse's Restaurant in the Grande Rue used to be one of the very best dining places in the provinces of France. Good cooking is now to be looked for from Cabois, 74 Grande Rue, from Beaufils, Rue de la Barre, and from Lefebvre, Rue de l'Hôtel de Ville. M. Ducordet, the proprietor of the Grand Hotel, who was the happy man chosen to supply M. Félix Faure with a banquet when he visited Dieppe, caters for the Casino and the Golf Club. The Casino restaurant is worthy of all commendation. The buffet at the Gare Maritime is above the average of buffets in its cookery.

The restaurant of the Hôtel Château at Puys, a mile and a half from Dieppe, is owned by Mons. Pelettier of local celebrity, who has collected an excellent cellar of wine.

At Pourville, two miles from Dieppe, Mons. Gras is responsible for the entertainment at the Hôtel Casino. The restaurant has a special reputation, made by "Papa" Paul Graff, who was formerly one of the many chefs de cuisine of Napoleon III., and who left the Tuileries to keep the hotel. The proprietor is very proud of his kitchens and larders, and is delighted to show them to visitors.

Havre

is one of the towns in which the Englishman or American crossing to Southampton or coming thence often finds himself for some hours. Tortoni's in the market-place has a reputation for good cooking, but judging from the two or three dinners I have eaten there, both à la carte and the table-d'hôte one at 5 francs, the cookery is of the good solid bourgeois order, eight courses and a pint of wine for one's money. In days long gone by there used to be this footnote to the carte du jour at Tortoni's, "Les hors-d'œuvres ne se remplacent pas," which was translated for the benefit of the English, "The out-of-works do not replace themselves." Tortoni's Hôtel Restaurant must not be confounded with the Brasserie Tortoni quite close to it, which is a bachelor's resort; but which I, as a bachelor, have found very amusing sometimes after dinner.

Frascati's Restaurant, an adjunct to the big hotel on the sea-shore, is the "swagger" restaurant of the place, and many a man who has come over by the midnight boat and has stayed for a bathe and a meal at Frascati's before going on to Paris by the mid-day train has breakfasted there in content. The Ecrevisses Bordelaises, the Croûtes aux Champignons, the Salade Russe here have left me pleasant memories. In the winter the chef retires to Paris or elsewhere, and the restaurant is not to be so thoroughly trusted; and sometimes when a crowd of passengers are going across to Southampton by the night boat to catch an American steamer, I have found the attendance very sketchy, owing to the waiters having more work than they can do satisfactorily. The restaurant is in the verandah facing the sea.

So much from my own experience. Other people with larger knowledge all have a good word to say for Frascati's, but all a word of caution as to its prices. It is wise to look at the price of the champagnes, for instance, before giving an order. The official dinners at Havre are always given at Frascati's, and it is here that the British colony holds its annual banquet on the King's birthday. I append a menu of a dinner of ceremony at Frascati's which, though it is miles too long, is a very noble feast:—

Tortue claire à la Française.
Crème Du Barry.
Rissoles Lucullus.
Caisses de laitances Dieppoise.
Barbues dorées à la Vatel.
Selle de Chevreuil Nemrod.
Poularde du Mans Cambacérès.
Terrines d'Huîtres à la Joinville.
Cailles de vigne braisées Parisienne.
Granités à l'Armagnac.
Faisans de Compiègne rôtis.
Truffes au Champagne.
Salade Chrysanthème.
Pains de pointes d'Asperges à la Crème.
Turbans d'Ananas.
Glace Frascati.
Dessert.

The Hôtel de Normandie is another hostel at which the cooking is good and the wines excellent. This is a menu of a table-d'hôte dîner maigre served there on Good Friday, and it is an excellent example of a meal without meat:—

Bisque d'Ecrevisses.
Reine Christine.
Filets de Soles Normandy.
Nouillettes Napolitaine en Caisse.
Saumon de la Loire Tartare.
Sorbets Suprême Fécamp.
Coquille de Homard à l'Américaine.
Sarcelles sur Canapé.
Salade panachée.
Asperges d'Argenteuil Mousseline.
Petits Pois au Sucre.
Glace Quo Vadis.
Petits Fours. Corbeille de Fruits.
Dessert.

The cooking at the Continental Hotel is reported as being good, but its wine-list does not meet with so much praise. The Burgundies, red and white, at the Hôtel du Bordeaux are highly praised.

One of my correspondents sends me an account of Perrier's, a little restaurant, which I give in his own words. "The quaintest and most original place in Havre is a little restaurant on the quay, opposite where the Trouville boats start from. It is known equally well as 'Périer's' or the Restaurant des Pilotes. It is kept by one Buholzer, who was at one time chef at Rubion's in Marseilles. He afterwards was chef on one of the big Transatlantique boats, where he learnt to mix a very fair cocktail. The entrance is through a tiny café with sanded tiled floor. Thence a corkscrew staircase leads to a fair-sized room on the first floor. All the food you get there is excellent, and Bouillabaisse or Homard à l'Américaine 'constructed' by the boss, is a joy, not for ever, but in the case of the first named, for some time. The house does not go in for a very varied selection of wines, but what there is is good. Ask for their special roll." The same correspondent goes on to tell me that the proprietor of the Broche à Rôtir at St-Adresse, who used to be his own chef, and attained much local celebrity, has sold the goodwill, but that the place is still to be commended, and that Béquet of the Restaurant Béquet can, if he likes, cook the best dinner in the department; but that you must find him in the mood.

Of cafés in Havre, the Café Prader, near the theatre, and the Paris are the two where the drinkables are sure to be of good quality.

Rouen

At Rouen the gourmet has a right to expect the Caneton Rouennaise and the Sole Normande to be cooked to perfection; and outside the hotels, some of which have excellent cooking, there is a restaurant, the Français, in the Rue Jacques le Lieur, a street which runs behind the Hôtel d'Angleterre, parallel to the Quai de la Bourse. Of course the Rouen duck is not any particular breed of duck, though the good people of Rouen will probably stone you if you assert this. It is simply a roan duck. The rich sauce which forms part of the dish was, however, invented at Rouen. The delights of the Sole Normande I need not dilate on. A good bottle of Burgundy is the best accompaniment to the duck. The Restaurant de Paris, in the Rue de la Grosse Horloge, is a very cheap restaurant, where you get a great deal to eat at dinner for 2 francs, and where you will find the Choux Farcies and other homely dishes of Normandy as well as the excellent little cream cheeses of the country.

Crossing the Seine, one is in the land of cider and Pont l'Evêque cheese. At Honfleur you will find a very good table-d'hôte at the old-fashioned Cheval Blanc on the Quai; and at the Ferme St-Siméon up on the hill, in beautifully wooded ground, there is to be obtained some particularly good sparkling cider. Honfleur has a special reputation for its shrimps and prawns.

Trouville Deauville

During the Trouville fortnight, when all the world descends upon Trouville, the various big hotels and the Casino have more clients than they really can cater for. At the Roches Noires one is likely to be kept waiting for a table, and at the Casino a harassed waiter thrusts a red mullet before one, when one has ordered a sole. The moules of Trouville are supposed to be particularly good, and also the fish. There are table-d'hôte meals at the restaurants of the Helder and De la Plage, the second being the cheaper of the two, and food is to be obtained at the little Café Restaurant on the edge of the promenade des planches. But Trouville in the season may be taken to be exiled Paris in a fever, half as expensive again, and not half so "well done."

Of the little bathing-places immediately east of Trouville—Houlgate-Beuzeval, Dives, Cabourg—there is little or nothing to say. At Cabourg the Hôtel des Ducs de Normandie has some kiosks with a full view of the sea, where it is pleasant to breakfast, and the Casino can always be taken for granted as a pis aller at all these little bathing-places. The quaintness of the old inn Guillaume le Conquérant at Dives counts for something, and the 5 franc table-d'hôte dinner there is good of its kind.

Caen

Tripes à la mode de Caen may be a homely dish but it is not to be despised, and it can be eaten quite at its best in the town where it was invented. I have eaten it with great content at a bourgeois restaurant, opposite to the Church of St-Pierre, the Restaurant Pépin, if my memory serves me rightly, and a Sole Bordeaux to precede it. The proprietor, M. Chandivert, was very anxious that I should add a Caneton Rouennaise to the feast, but I told him that "to every town its dish." He gave me a capital pint of red wine, and impressed on me the fact that he had obtained a gold medal at some exhibition for his andouillettes. Caen is the town of the charcutiers, and you may see more good cold viands shown in windows, in a walk through its streets, than you will find anywhere else outside a cookery exhibition. Caen is an oasis in the midst of the bad cookery of Western Normandy; and the restaurant at the Hôtel d'Angleterre and the Restaurant de Madrid are very much above the average of the restaurant of a French country town. In both restaurants you can dine and breakfast in the shade in the open air, the Madrid having a good garden, the Angleterre a great tent in the courtyard,—a welcome change from the stuffy rooms, full of flies, of most Normandy hotels. I have a most pleasant memory of a Homard Américaine, cooked at the Hôtel d'Angleterre, which was the very best lobster I ever ate in my life. The old chef who made the fame of the Angleterre has retired, but his successor is said to show no falling off in the art of preparing a good dinner. I would suggest to the wayfarer to breakfast in the garden of the Madrid and dine at the Angleterre. There is a little restaurant, A la Tour des Gens d'Armes, on the left bank of the canal which is much frequented by students, and where an al fresco lunch is served at a very small price. The food is good for the money, and there is always a chance of finding some merry gathering there. A note of warning should be sounded as to the cider and vin ordinaire supplied as part of the table-d'hôte dinners in Caen, and indeed everywhere in Normandy. There is almost invariably good cider to be had and good wine on payment, but the cider and wine usually put on the table rival each other as throat-cutting beverages. Vieux Calvados is an excellent pousse café. It reads almost like a fairy-tale to be able to recount that the delicious oysters from the coast-villages of Ouistreham and Courseulles can be bought at 50 centimes the dozen or very little more.

Cherbourg

This calling-place for Atlantic steamers is a very likely place for the earnest gourmet to find himself stranded in for a day, and I regret that there is no gastronomic find to report there. A most competent authority writes thus to me on the capabilities of the place:—

"There are no restaurants, in the true sense of the word, in Cherbourg.

"The leading hotel, where most of the people go, and which is the largest, with the best cuisine and service, is the Hôtel du Casino. This hotel is managed by Monsieur Marius, and though partially shut during the winter season, travellers can always get a good plain dinner there. During the summer season, that is from May till October, the hotel is fully open, and has a petits chevaux room, entry free of course, and also good military music in the gardens, twice a week. The gardens are also very prettily illuminated very often, whilst from time to time firework displays help to pass away the evenings. The dining-hall faces the only nice portion of beach in the town, and being entirely covered in with glass, is warm in winter and cool in summer, when it can all be open. The meals are usually table-d'hôte, but it is possible also to order a dinner if one prefers to do so. Here also the traveller will find a little English spoken among the waiters and management, which may be useful to him. The wines are pretty good, but there is no very special brand for which the place is known; also good Scotch and Irish whisky can be obtained at a reasonable price; the hotel does not boast of any special plat either.

"The Hôtel de France, another fair-sized hotel, is the one patronised mostly by the naval and military authorities of the town, but is not so amusing a place for the traveller to stay at or dine at; though I understand that the dinner to be obtained there is in every way satisfactory.

"Finally, I might mention two other hotels at which one can dine comfortably; these are the Hôtel d'Amirauté and the Hôtel d'Angleterre, at both of which a good plain dinner is served.

"The chief joint obtainable here to be recommended is of course the mutton, as Cherbourg is noted for its pré-salé all over France; but beyond this the food is of the usual ordinary kind to be obtained in most French towns of this size."

M. Roche, who made a little fortune in London in Old Compton Street, has taken a little hotel near Granville, and as he learned cooking under Frederic of the Tour d'Argent, he may be depended upon for an excellent meal.

Breton Resorts

Of the land of butter and eggs I have not much to write. Correspondents at St-Malo say a good word of the feeding both at the Hôtel de l'Univers and the Hôtel du Centre et de la Paix; but I cannot speak of either of these from personal knowledge, nor do I know anything of Dinard, though it is said that the best cookery in the province is found there. Cancale of course has its oyster-beds, and the esculent bivalve can be eaten within sight of the mud-flat on which it erstwhile reposed. The one restaurant in this part of the world for which every one has a good word is that of Poulard Aîné at Mont St-Michel, where there is a cheap table-d'hôte and where a good meal à la carte is also to be obtained.

Artichokes, prawns, potatoes, langouste, eggs, lobsters, crabs, are good all along the Breton coast; and at Quimper, at the Hôtel de l'Epée, you can—if you are in luck—get fresh sardines.

Here is a typical Breton menu, one of the meals at the Hôtel des Bains de Mer, Roscoff:—

Artichauts à l'Huile.
Pommes de terre à l'Huile.
Porc frais froid aux Cornichons.
Langouste Mayonnaise.
Canards aux Navets.
Omelette fines Herbes.
Filet aux Pommes.
Fromage à la Crème.
Fruits, biscuits, etc.
Cidre à discrétion.

This is rather a terrible mass of food ranged in the strangest order, but I insert it to show the traveller in Brittany that he need never think his meal ended when he reaches the omelette, and that he had better take a gargantuan appetite with him.

Apart from being a good homely place to stay at, La Villa Julia at Pont Aven is worth a visit, for it has been the temporary home of many of the greatest French painters, notably poor Bastien Lepage. They are welcome, and are provided with studios, only being charged 5 francs a day "pension." "The country is charming" writes an enthusiastic correspondent "and one lingers there, and the food is excellent. Even were it not, dear old Mlle. Julia is worth a journey. She is one of the most delightful of French landladies. In the old inn the walls of one large room are covered with pictures and sketches given her by her chers artistes."

Brest

This great naval town has better cafés than it has dining or lunching places; the Café Brestois in the Rue de Siam, and the Grand Café in the same street being both good. Besides the restaurants attached to the Hôtels des Voyageurs, Rue de Siam, Continentale, and de France in the Rue de la Mairie, there are the Restaurant Aury and the Brasserie de la Marine, both on the Champ de Bataille, but I have no details concerning them.

Skipping Nantes as being out of the route of the Anglo-Saxon abroad, though in the Place Grasselin the Français and the Cambronne both deserve a word, and the Plages d'Océan which lie between Nantes and Bordeaux as being purely French, though Rochefort has a European reputation for its cheese, and Marennes for its oysters, I step down from the platform to make room for my co-author A.B., who will take up the parable as to

Bordeaux

Bordeaux is, of course, the home of claret, and good feeding goes with good liquor, the combination being essential. The result is that here you can procure a good dinner with the best of wines, which being consumed, so to say, on the spot where they have matured, are in perfection both as to flavour and condition.

The Hôtel Restaurant du Chapon Fin, under the management of MM. Dubois and Mendionde, is perhaps the best in the town. Here an excellent dinner à la carte is to be had and the service is très soignée. The cellar comprises the finest wines of the Gironde, Lafite, Haut Brion, Latour, Margaux Leoville, etc., with Pommery, Mumm, Cliquot as champagnes. But to my idea, any one asking for champagne at Bordeaux would order a pork pie at Strasbourg. The Chapon Fin is fairly expensive, but good food and good Lafite are not given away. The appointments of the hotel are excellent.

The Café de Bordeaux is a more popular establishment with brilliant decorations, and if you do not wish for an à la carte dinner, you are provided with a very good "set" déjeuner for 4 francs. Dinner can be had for 5 francs, with a concert thrown in.

Another good hotel and restaurant with fairly moderate terms is the Bayonne, also boasting of a fine cellar of wine and service à la carte. In fact many people aver that at the Bayonne one can get as good if not a better dinner than at any other restaurant in Bordeaux.

The Hôtel des Princes et de la Paix has the Restaurant Sansot attached to it, which is quite good.

The Restaurant de Paris, situated on the lovely Promenade des Allées de Tourny, is a first-class establishment with very moderate prices, where a capital déjeuner can be obtained for 2 francs 50 centimes, or a dinner for 3 francs. The proprietor, Mons. Debreuil, was chef at some of the best cafés in Paris, and he has a clientèle of many well-known epicures in Bordeaux.

All these restaurants have saloons for private parties in case you require them.

The principal spécialité of Bordeaux, besides claret, is lampreys, which, when cooked à la Bordelaise, are about as rich and luscious a dish as a most ardent candidate for a bilious attack can desire. If you are there in the autumn, don't forget to order Cèpes à la Bordelaise.

To the above of my worthy confrère, I would only add that the Chapon Fin is a winter garden, somewhat resembling the Champeaux Restaurant in Paris; there are rockeries and ferns, and a great tree-trunk runs up to the roof, the foliage and branches being no doubt outside. A speciality is the Potage Chapon Fin, a vegetable soup which is excellent. The restaurant of the Bayonne is in a great conservatory. Judging from the few meals I have eaten at each, I should class the Chapon Fin and the Bayonne as being equal in cookery. The first floor of the Café de Bordeaux is now decorated with mirrors and white walls, after the manner of the chic Parisian restaurants, but the Englishman who wishes to drink whisky and soda there—an unholy taste in a wine country—and who demands a special brand and Schweppe's soda, should ask how much he is going to be charged for it before he commits himself.

Arcachon

Of cooking at Arcachon there is nothing in particular to be said. The place has a celebrity for its oyster-beds, and a great number of the oysters we eat in England have been transplanted from the bay at Arcachon to the beds in British waters.

Biarritz

The average of cookery in the hotels at Biarritz is very good, for the competition is very keen, and as money is spent by the handful in this town on the bay where the Atlantic rolls in its breakers, any hotel which did not provide two excellent table-d'hôte meals would very soon be out of the running. In the basement of the building in which is the big Casino, "Mons. Boulant's Casino," as the natives call it, is a restaurant where a table-d'hôte lunch and dinner are served; but the restaurant of Biarritz is the one which Ritz has established on the first floor of the little Casino, the Casino Municipal, where one breakfasts in a glazed-in verandah overlooking the Plage and the favourite bathing-spot, and at dinner one looks across to the illuminated terrace of the other Casino. The decoration of this restaurant is of the simplest but at the same time of the most effective kind, being of growing bamboos which form green canopies above the tables. Biarritz depends but little on the surrounding country for its food, as the Pays Basque gives few good things to the kitchen. Fish is the one excellent thing that Biarritz itself contributes to all the menus, and the Friture du Pays is always excellent. Here is a menu of a little dinner for three at the Ritz. The Minestrone is an excellent Italian soup (which, by the way, Oddenino of the Imperial in London makes better than I have tasted it anywhere else out of Italy); the veal, I fancy, came from Paris, the ortolans from the far south:—

Melon.
Minestron Milanaise.
Friture du Pays.
Carré de Veau braisé aux Cèpes.
Ortolans à la broche.
Salade de Romaine.
Coupes d'Entigny.

I have not kept any bill for this, but I know that I regarded the total as moderate in a town where all things in September are at gambler's prices. The Royalty, in the main street at Biarritz, is the afternoon gathering place for the young bloods, who there drink cooling liquids through straws out of long tumblers, while the ladies hold their parliament at tea-time in Miremont the confectioner's.

Marseilles

Once more I step down from the platform to give place to my colleague A.B.

Two of the best hotels in Marseilles, with restaurants attached to them, are the Noailles and the Hôtel du Louvre; the latter is owned and supervised by Mons. Echénard, who with Mons. Ritz helped to create the popularity of the Savoy Restaurant in London, and is also his coadjutor in the management of the Carlton Restaurant; it is needless to remark that any cuisine that Mons. Echénard takes in hand is worthy of attention. Mons. Echénard has lately acquired the Réserve at Marseilles—a very pretty café and garden about half-an-hour's drive from the Cannebière, along the Corniche Road; it stands in a commanding position, with a lovely view of the bay and the surrounding mountains. It has furnished apartments attached to it, and for any one having to stay at Marseilles, either while waiting for the Messageries Maritimes liner or for the arrival of a yacht, it is infinitely preferable to the hot, stuffy town, and would be an excellent winter quarter. Like many similar seaside cafés abroad, it has its own parc au coquillages or shell-fish tanks, and you here get the world-renowned Bouillabaisse in perfection.

The best shell-fish are the praires and the clovisses, about the same size as walnuts or little neck clams; the clovisses are the largest, and rather take the place of oysters when the latter are not in season, in the same way the clam does in America; others are mussels, oysters, and langoustes. Langoustes differ as much as a skinny fowl from a Poularde de Mans. Mons. Echénard gets his from Corsica, and you then learn how they can vary. He has also a Poularde Réservé en Cocotte Raviolis, which is a dish to be remembered; and a small fat sole caught between Hyères and Toulon is not to be despised.

I am free to confess that the Tutti Frutti de la Mare, or stew consisting of the many lovely and variegated small fish that are caught in those waters, has no charm for me. Personally, I would as soon eat a surprise packet of pins, but of course, chacun à son goût. Anyway, if you are stranded in Marseilles for an afternoon or longer, you could go to many a worse place than the Réserve.

I suppose it is not necessary for me to add to A.B.'s discourse any description of what Bouillabaisse is, or how the Southerners firmly believe that this dish cannot be properly made except of the fish that swim in the Mediterranean, the rascaz, a little fellow all head and eyes, being an essential in the savoury stew, along with the eel, the lobster, the dory, the mackerel, and the girelle. Thackeray has sung the ballad of the dish as he used to eat it, and his récette, because it is poetry, is accepted, though it is but the fresh-water edition of the stew. If you do not like oil, garlic, and saffron, which all come into its composition, give it a wide berth. The Brandade, which is a cod-fish stew and a regular fisherman's dish, is by no means to be despised.

Before leaving the subject of Marseilles and its cookery and restaurants, let me record the verdict of a true gourmet and Englishman who always lives the winter through in Marseilles. He writes me that in Marseilles itself there are no restaurants worthy of the name, the best being Isnard's (Hôtel des Phocéens), Rue Thubaneau, and another good one that of the Hôtel d'Orléans, Rue Vacon, where the proprietor and the cook are brothers and charming people.

Those adventurous souls who wish to eat the fry of sea-urchins and other highly savoury dishes, with strange shell-fish and other extraordinary denizens of the deep as their foundation, should go to Bregaillon's at the Vieux Port. It is necessary to have a liking for garlic and a nose that fears no smells for this adventure; but if you bring your courage to the sticking point, order a dozen oursins, a petit poêlon, which is a tournedos in a casserole, and a grive. Cassis is the white wine of the house; and it has some good Château Neuf de Pape.

Cannes

Cannes is the first important town of the Riviera that the gourmet flying south comes to, and at Cannes he will find a typical Riviera restaurant. The Réserve at Cannes consists of one glassed-in shelter and another smaller building on the rocks, which juts out into the sea from the elbow of the Promenade de la Croisette. The spray of the wavelets set up by the breeze splash up against the glass, and to one side are the Iles des Lerins, St-Marguerite, and St-Honorat, where the liqueur Lerina is made, shining on the deep blue sea, and to the other the purple Montagnes de l'Esterel stand up with a wonderful jagged edge against the sky. Amongst the rocks on which the building of the restaurant stand are tanks, and in these swim fish, large and small, the fine lazy dorades and the lively little sea-gudgeon. One of the amusements of the place is that the breakfasters fish out with a net the little fishes which are to form a friture, or point out the bigger victim which they will presently eat for their meal. The cooking is simple and good, and with fish that thirty minutes before were swimming in the green water, an omelette, a simple dish of meat, and a pint of Cerons, or other white wine, a man may breakfast in the highest content looking at some of the sunniest scenes in the world. There is always some little band of Italian musicians playing and singing at the Réserve, and though in London one would vote them a nuisance, at Cannes the music seems to fit in with the lazy pleasure of breakfasting almost upon the waves, and the throaty tenor who has been singing of Santa Lucia gets a lining of francs to his hat. Most of the crowned heads who make holiday at Cannes have taken their breakfast often enough in the little glass summer-house, but the prices are in no way alarming. The ladies gather at tea-time at the white building, where Mme. Rumplemayer sells cakes and tea and coffee; and the Gallia also has a clientèle of tea-drinkers, for whose benefit the band plays of an afternoon.

Nice

At Nice the London House is one of the classical restaurants of France, and one may talk of it in comparison with the great houses of the boulevards of the capital. I am bound to confess that the great salon with its painted panels, its buffet and its skylight screened by an awning, is not a lively room; but the attendance is quiet, soft-footed, and unhurried, and the cooking is distinctly good. It has of course its spécialités du maison, and classical dishes have been invented within its walls; but the man who wants to take his wife out to dine, and who is prepared to pay a couple of sovereigns for the meal, will find that he need not exceed that amount. Here is the menu of a little dinner for two which I ordered last winter at the restaurant. With a pint of white wine, a pint of champagne, a liqueur, and two cups of coffee, my bill was 46 francs.

Hors-d'œuvre.
Potage Lamballe.
Friture de Goujons.
Longe de veau aux Céleris.
Gelinotte à la Casserole.
Salade Romaine et Concombre.
Dessert.

The little Restaurant Français, on the Promenade des Anglais, is one of the cheeriest places possible to breakfast at on a sunny morning. In the garden are palm-trees, and the tables are further shaded by great pink and white umbrellas. A scarlet-coated band of Hungarians plays inoffensive music under the verandah of the house, and the page and the chasseur water the road before the garden constantly with a fire-hose, in order that the motor-cars which go rushing past shall not smother the breakfast-eaters with dust. Broiled eggs and asparagus points, a trout fresh from the river Loup—if such a fish is on the bill of fare—and some tiny bird either roasted or en casserole, with some light white wine, is a suitable meal to be eaten in this garden of a doll's-house restaurant. The house has its history. It was formerly the Villa Würtz Dundas, where so many art treasures were collected in the salons Louis XV. and XVI. Mons. Emile Favre, the new proprietor, has added considerably to the old house.

The Restaurant du Helder, the white building in the arcade of the big Place, has good cookery, and its table-d'hôte meals are excellent.

On regatta days the world of fashion occupies all the tables of the restaurant on the jetée at breakfast-time.

Two resorts patronised by the young sparks of Nice are the Régence and the Garden Bar. The subjoined menu shows what the Régence can do when a big dinner is given there:—

Hors-d'œuvre variés.
Consommé à la d'Orléans.
Bouchées Montglas.
Filets de soles Joinville.
Pièce de bœuf Renaissance.
Chaud-froid de foie gras.
Petits pois à la Française.
Faisans de Bohême à la broche.
Salade niçoise.
Mousse Régence.
Pâtisserie. Dessert.

The great confectioner's shop in the Place Massena and the Casino Municipal are always crowded with ladies at tea-time.

Beaulieu

At Beaulieu the Restaurant de la Réserve is famous. It is just a convenient distance for a drive from Monte Carlo, and the world and the half-world drive or motor out there from the town on the rock and sit at adjacent tables in the verandah without showing any objection one to the other. The restaurant is a little white building in a garden, with a long platform built out over the sea, so that breakfasting one looks right down upon a blue depth of water. There are tables inside the building, but the early-comers and those wise people who have telephoned for tables take those in the verandah if the day be sunny. There are tanks into which the water runs in and out with each little wave and in these are the Marennes oysters and other shell-fish. Oysters, a Mostelle à l'Anglaise—Mostelle being the especial fish of this part of the world—and some tiny bit of meat is the breakfast I generally order at the Beaulieu Réserve; but the cook is capable of high flights, and I have seen most elaborate meals well served. The proprietors are two Italians who also own the neighbouring hotel, and who take their cook with them to Aix-les-Bains when they migrate during the summer to the restaurant of one of the casinos there. A little band of Italian singers and musicians add to the noise of this very merry little breakfasting place.

At Villefranche there are two unpretentious inns where men with an unnatural craving for Bouillabaisse go and eat it, and return with a strong aroma of saffron and garlic accompanying them, saying that they have partaken of the real dish, such as the fishermen cook for themselves, and not the stew toned down to suit civilised palates.

Monte Carlo

The first time that I stayed for a week or so in the principality, I lodged at the Hôtel du Monte Carlo, on the hill below the Post Office. It was a dingy hotel then, not having been redecorated and brightened up as it has been now; but it had the supreme attraction to a lieutenant in a marching regiment of being cheap. When the first day at dinner I cast my eye down the wine-list, I found amongst the clarets wines of the great vintage years at extraordinarily low prices, and in surprise I asked the reason. The manager explained to me that the hotel was in the early days used as a casino, and that the wines formed part of the cellar of the proprietor—whether Mons. Blanc, or another, I do not remember. Most of them were too old to bear removal to Paris, and they were put down on the wine-list at ridiculously low prices in order to get rid of them, for, as the manager said, "In Monte Carlo the winners drink nothing but champagne, the losers water or whisky and soda." So it is. In Monte Carlo, when a man has won, he wants the very best of everything, and does not mind what he pays for it; when he has lost he has no appetite, and grudges the money he pays for a chop in the grill-room of the Café de Paris. The prices at the restaurants are nicely adapted to the purses of the winners; and there is no place in the world where it is more necessary to order with discrimination and to ask questions as to prices. At Monte Carlo it is the custom to entirely disassociate your lodging from your feeding, and you may stay at one hotel and habitually feed at the restaurant of another without the proprietor of the first being at all unhappy. Ciro's in the arcade is a restaurant only, and is very smart and not at all cheap. A story is told that an Englishman, new to Monte Carlo and its ways, asked the liveried porter outside Ciro's whether it was a cheap restaurant. "Not exactly cheap," said the Machiavelian servitor, "but really very cheap for what you get here." On a fine day grand duchesses and the haute cocotterie beseech Ciro to reserve tables for them on the balcony looking out on the sea, and unless you are a person of great importance or notoriety, or of infinite push, you will find yourself relegated to a place inside the restaurant. At dinner there is not so much competition. Ciro himself is a little Italian, who speaks broken English and has a sense of humour which carries him over all difficulties. Every day brings some fresh story concerning the little man, and a typical one is his comforting assurance to some one who complained of an overcharge for butter. "Alla right" said Ciro complacently, "I take him off your bill and charge him to the Grand Duke. He not mind." The joke is sometimes against Ciro, as when, anxious to have all possible luxuries for a great British personage who was going to dine at the restaurant, and knowing that plover's eggs are much esteemed in England, he obtained some of the eggs, cooked them, and served them hot. Ciro's Restaurant originally was where his bar now is; but when the Café Riche, almost next door, was sold, he bought it, redecorated it, and transferred his restaurant to the new and more gorgeous premises, putting his brother Salvatore—who, poor fellow, has since died—in charge of the bar which he established in his old quarters. I cannot put my hand on the menu of any of the many breakfasts I have eaten at Ciro's, so I borrow a typical menu from V.B's. interesting little book Ten Days at Monte Carlo. He and three friends ate and drank this at déjeuner:—

Hors-d'œuvre variés.
Œufs pochés Grand Duc.
Mostelle à l'Anglaise.
Volaille en Casserole à la Fermière.
Pâtisserie.
Fromage.
Café.
1 Magnum Carbonnieux 1891.
Fine Champagne 1846.

This feast cost 61 francs. The Mostelle, as I have previously mentioned, is the special fish of this part of the coast. It is as delicate as a whiting, and is split open, fried, and served with bread crumbs and an over-sufficiency of melted butter.

At Monte Carlo one is given everything that can be imported and which is expensive. The salmon comes from Scotland or Sweden, and most of the other material for the feasts is sent down daily from Paris. The thrushes from Corsica, and some very good asparagus from Genoa or Rocbrune, are about the only provisions which come from the neighbourhood, except of course the fish, which is plentiful and excellent. I was last spring entrusted with the ordering of a dinner for six at the restaurant of the Hôtel de Paris, the most frequented of all the dining places at Monte Carlo, and I told Mons. Fleury, the manager, that I wanted as much local colour introduced into it as possible. He referred me to the chef, and between us we drew up this menu, which certainly has something of the sunny south about it:—

Hors-d'œuvre et Caviar frais.
Crème de Langoustines.
Friture de Nonnats.
Selle d'Agneau aux Primeurs.
Bécassines rôties.
Salade Niçoise.
Asperges de Gênes.
Sauce Mousseline.
Dessert.
Vins.
1 bottle Barsac.
3 bottles Pommery Vin Nature 1892.

To crown this feast we had some of the very old brandy, a treasure of the house, which added 60 francs to the bill. The total was 363 francs 10 centimes.

In this dinner the Crème de Langoustines was excellent, a most delightful bisque. The nonnats are the small fry of the bay, smaller far than whitebait, and are delicious to eat. They are perhaps more suitable for breakfast than for a dinner of ceremony, and had I not yearned for local colour I should have ordered the Filets de Sole Egyptiennes in little paper coffins which look like mummy cases, a dish which is one of the specialities of the house.

Dining at the Hôtel de Paris one pays in comfort for its popularity, for on a crowded night the tables in the big dining-room are put so close together that there is hardly room for the waiters to move between them, and the noise of the conversation rises to a roar through which the violins of the band outside the door can barely be heard. Bachelier, the maître-d'hôtel at the Français, a disciple of François, is quite one of the foremost men of his calling.

The restaurant of the Grand Hotel, where MM. Noel and Pattard themselves see to the comfort of their guests, is also a fashionable dining place. I first tasted the Sole Waleska, with its delicate flavouring of Parmesan, at the Grand Hotel many years ago, and it has always been one of the special dishes of the house. Poularde à la Santos Dumont is another speciality. This is a menu of a dinner for six given at the Grand, as a return for the one quoted above as a product of the Hôtel de Paris:—

Crème Livonienne.
Filets de Sole Waleska.
Baron de Pauillac à la Broche.
Purée de Champignons.
Petits Pois Nouveaux.
Merles de Corse.
Salade.
Asperges. Sauce Mousseline.
Soufflé du Parmesan.
Friandises.

The Hermitage, in which MM. Benoit and Fourault are interested, shares the rush of fashionable diners with Ciro and the Paris and Grand, but I cannot speak by personal knowledge of its dinners.

There are other restaurants not so expensive as the ones I have written of, and further up the hill, which can give one a most admirable dinner. The Helder is one of the restaurants where the men who have to live all their life at Monte Carlo often breakfast and dine, and Aubanel's Restaurant, the Princess', which one of the great stars of the Opera has very regularly patronised, deserves a special good word. The Restaurant Ré, which was originally a fish and oyster shop, but which is now a restaurant with fish as its speciality, is also an excellent place for men of moderate means. Madame Ré learned the art of the kitchen at the Reserve at Marseilles, and she knows as much about the cooking of fish as any woman in the world. When it came to my turn in the interchange of dinners for six to provide a feast, I went to Madame Ré and asked her to give me a fish dinner, and to keep it as distinctive as possible of the principality, and she at once saw what I wanted and entered into the spirit of it. She met me on the evening of the feast with a sorrowful expression on her handsome face, for she had sent a fisherman out very early in the morning into the bay to catch some of the little sea hedgehogs which were to form one course, but he had come back empty-handed. The menu stood as under, and we none of us missed the hedgehogs:—

Canapé de Nonnats.
Soupe de poisson Monégasque.
Supions en Buisson.
Dorade Bonne Femme.
Volaille Rôtie.
Langouste Parisienne.
Asperges Vinaigrette.
Dessert.

The Soupe Monégasque had a reminiscence in it of Bouillabaisse, but it was not too insistent; the supions were octopi, but delicate little gelatinous fellows, not leathery, as the Italian ones sometimes are; the dorade was a splendid fish, and though I fancy the langouste had come from northern waters and not from the bay, it was beautifully fresh and a monster of its kind.

The Riviera Palace has a restaurant to which many people come to breakfast, high above Monte Carlo and its heat, and the cook is a very good one.

Any mad Englishman who like myself takes long walks in the morning, will find the restaurant at the La Turbie terminus of the mountain railway a pleasant place at which to eat early breakfast; and the view from the terrace, where one munches one's petit pain and drinks one's coffee and milk, with an orange tree on either side of the table, is a superb one.

After the tables are closed the big room at the Café de Paris in Monte Carlo fills up with those who require supper or a "night cap" before going home; and though a sprinkling of ladies may be seen there, the half-world much preponderates. The night-birds finish the evening at the Festa, some distance up the hill, where two bands play, and there is some dancing, and where the lights are not put out until the small hours are growing into big ones.

Mentone

Mentone has a splendid tea-shop at Rumpelmayer's, and a pleasant restaurant at which to lunch is that of the Winter Palace. Many people drive from Monte Carlo to lunch or take tea at the Cap Martin Hôtel, and it is a pleasant place with a splendid view from the great terrace, though sometimes people not staying in the hotel complain of the slowness of the attendance there.

The Pyrenees

As a gastronomic guide to the Pyrenees I cannot do better than introduce to you my very good friend C.P., who knows that part of the world as well as any native, and whose taste is unimpeachable. I therefore stand down and let him speak for himself:—

Throughout the Pyrenees, in nine hotels out of ten, you can obtain a decently cooked luncheon or dinner—neither above nor below the average.

But in order to depart from the beaten track of the ordinary menu, abandon all hypocrisy, oh, intelligent traveller! and do not pretend that you can turn a fastidious nose away from the seductions of the burnt onion and the garlic clove, the foundations upon which rests the whole edifice of Pyrenean cooking. Pharisaical density would be only wasting time, for these two vegetables will be your constant companions so soon as you decide to sample the cuisine bourgeoise of the country. You should on no account fail to venture on this voyage of exploration, as some of the dishes are excellent, all of them interesting, and, once tasted, never to be forgotten.

To attempt to enumerate them all, to describe them minutely, or to give any account of their preparation, hardly comes within the scope of these notes. Suffice it to give the names of two or three.

First comes the Garbure, a kind of thick vegetable soup containing Heaven knows what ingredients, but all the same sure to please you. Next comes the Confit d'Oie, a sort of goose stew, utterly unlike anything you have tasted before, but not without its merits. Next, the Cotelettes d'Izard mariné may interest you. The izard, or chamois of the Pyrenees, has been mariné or soaked for some time in wine, vinegar, bay leaves, and other herbs. It thus acquires a distinctive and novel flavour. Don't forget the Ragout and the Poulet, either chasseur or else paysanne; nor yet the Pie de Mars if in season. By way of fish you will always find the trout delicious, either fried or else à la meunière. (Don't miss the alose if you are at Pau.) Lastly, the Pyrenean pâtés, Gibier and Foie de Canard, are justly celebrated, and can more than hold their own in friendly and patriotic rivalry with any of those purporting to come from Strasbourg or Nancy.

At first acquaintance you will not care much for pic-à-pou or the wine of the country, but with patience you may possibly learn to appreciate the Vin de Jurançon. Tradition has it that Henri Quatre's nurses preferred to give this form of nourishment rather than the Mellin's Food of the time. Perhaps babies were differently constituted in those days.

In any case you will always be able to get a good bottle of claret, bearing the name of some first-class Bordeaux firm, such as Johnson, Barton Guestier, or Luze, etc. If you are lucky enough to obtain a glass of genuine old Armagnac, you will probably rank it, as a liqueur, very nearly as high as any cognac you have ever tasted.

A word of warning! Don't be too eager to order whisky and soda. The "Scotch" is not of uniform quality.

So much for eatables and drinkables. A few hints now as to where you might care to lunch or dine.

Pau

To begin with Pau. There is really a great artist there—a man whose sole hobby is his kitchen, and who, if he chooses, can send you up a dinner second to none. His name is Guichard. Go and have a talk with him. Hear what he has to say on the fond-de-cuisine theory. Let him arrange your menu and await the result with confidence. That confidence will not be misplaced.

For purely local dishes of the cuisine-bourgeoise type, you might try a meal at the Hôtel de la Poste. But for general comfort the English Club stands easily first. The coffee-room is run admirably, and as for wine and cigars, they are as good as money can buy. A strong remark, eh? But true, nevertheless. For a supper after the play you might give a trial to the restaurant at the new Palais d'Hiver. Other restaurants are at the Hôtel de France and the Hôtel Gassion.

For confectionery, cakes, candied fruits, etc., Luc or Seghin will be found quite A1. Whilst for five o'clock tea, Madame Bouzoum has deservedly gained a reputation as great as that of Rumpelmayer on the Riviera. But again a word of warning! Be discreet as to repeating any local tittle-tattle you may possibly overhear. So much for Pau.

Throughout the mountain resorts of the Pyrenees, such as Luchon—Bagnères de Bigorre, Gavarnie, St-Sauveur; Cauterets—Eaux Bonnes, Eaux Chaudes, Oloron, etc., you can always, as was stated previously, rely upon getting an averagely well-served luncheon or dinner, and nothing more—trout and chicken, although excellent, being inevitable. But there is one splendid and notable exception, viz., the Hôtel de France at Argelès-Gazost, kept by Joseph Peyrafitte, known to his intimates as "Papa." In his way he is as great an artist as the aforementioned Guichard; the main difference between the methods of the two professors being that the latter's art is influenced by the traditions of the Parisian school, while the former is more of an impressionist, and does not hesitate to introduce local colour with broad effects,—merely a question of taste after all. For this reason you should not fail to pay a visit to Argelès to make the acquaintance of Monsieur Peyrafitte. Ask him to give you a luncheon such as he supplies to the golf club of which Lord Kilmaine is president, and for dinner (being always mindful of the value of local colour) consult him, over a glass of Quinquina and vermouth, as to some of the dishes mentioned earlier in this article. You won't regret your visit.

In conclusion, should you find yourself anywhere near Lourdes at the time of the Pèlerinage National, go and dine at one of the principal hotels there—say the Hôtel de la Grotte. You will not dine either well or comfortably, the pandemonium being indescribable. But you will have gained an experience which you will not readily forget. Adishat!

Provence

Any one who is making a leisurely journey from Marseilles to the Roman cities of Provence, and who halts by the way at Martigues, the "Venice of Provence" should breakfast at the Hôtel Chabas; and if M. Paul Chabas is still in the land of the living, as I trust he is, and you can persuade him—telling him that he is the best cook in Provence, which he is—to make you some of the Provençal dishes, the Bouillabaisse, or that excellent vol-au-vent which they call a Tourte in the land of Tartaria, or the Sou Fassu, which is a cabbage stuffed with a most savoury mixture of vegetable and meat, you will be fortunate. At Arles the Hôtel Forum has a cook who is a credit to his native province; but if you stay in the house, make sure that you have a room to the front, otherwise you may only look into the well-like covered court of the house. At Tarascon, if you feel inclined to hunt for the imaginary home of the imaginary hero, a great man whom the town repudiates as having been invented in order that the world should be amused at its expense, take your meal at the Hôtel des Empereurs and ask for M. Andrieu. At Avignon the Hôtel de l'Europe is a very old-fashioned house with old furniture in the rooms, old latches to the doors. The servants seem to have caught the spirit of the place, and there is one old servitor, still, I trust, alive, who might have been the model for all the faithful old servants in the plays of the Comédie Française. The house is kept by an old lady; the cook is a man. Several people of my acquaintance choose Avignon as their halting-place on their way to the Riviera because of the quaintness of the old hotel and of the excellence of its cuisine. A breakfast on the Isle de Barthelasse, when the mistral is not blowing, is one of the holiday treats of the inhabitants of the town. At Remoulins the old Ledenon wine at the one hotel in the place is worth a note. At St-Remy, M. Teston, who keeps the hotel named after him, is an excellent cook. At Nîmes, at the Hôtel du Cheval Blanc, there used to be some excellent old Armagnac brandy, and probably some of it still remains.

"Cure" Places

Most of the French cure places are for invalids and invalids only, and the gourmet who goes to them has to lay aside his critical faculties and to be content with the simplest fare, well or indifferently cooked, according to his choice of an hotel.

Aix-les-Bains

The big Savoy town of baths is the principal exception to the rule, for the baccarat in the two Casinos draws all the big gamblers in Europe to the place, and one half of Aix-les-Bains goes to bed about the time that the other half is being carried in rough sedan chairs to be parboiled and massaged.

In the late spring there is an exodus from the Riviera to Aix-les-Bains; doctors, maîtres d'hôtel musicians, lawyers, fly-men, waiters move into summer quarters; and any one who has time to spare, and enjoys a three-day drive through beautiful scenery, might well do worse than make a bargain with a fly-man for the trip from the coast to the town on the banks of the lake. When a fly-man does not secure a "monsieur" as a passenger, he as often as not drives a brace of friendly waiters over just for company sake. Thus any gourmet who knows his Riviera finds himself surrounded by friendly faces at Aix-les-Bains. There are excellent restaurants in some of the larger hotels, and you can dine in a garden, under lanterns lit by electric light, or on a glassed-in terrace whence a glimpse of the lake of Le Bourget under the moon may be obtained; and there are at the big Casino, the Cercle as it is called, and at the smaller one, the Ville des Fleurs, quite excellent restaurants. These two restaurants are managed by first-class men from the Riviera—the proprietors of the London House at Nice and of the Reserve at Beaulieu, were, I believe, last year the men in command—and the King of Greece, who is a gourmet of the first water, sets a praiseworthy example when he is at Aix of dining one day at the Cercle and the next at the Villa. The prices are Riviera prices and the cooking Riviera cooking.

The Anglo-American bar, nearly opposite the principal entrance to the Cercle, a bar where a whisky and soda costs two francs, always has its tiny dining-room crowded. Durret's, also opposite the Cercle, a small restaurant, is good and cheap. There are half-a-dozen little restaurants in the street running down to the station, but the sampling of the most likely looking one did not encourage me to try any further experiments.

To keep up the illusion that Aix-les-Bains is a part of the Riviera, there is a Rumpelmayer cake-shop within two minutes' walk of the Villa des Fleurs.

Many of the excursions from Aix have a little restaurant as the point to be reached. At Grand Port, the fishing village on the borders of the lake of Le Bourget, there is a pleasant house to breakfast at, the Beaurivage, with a garden from which an excellent view of the lake and the little bathing place can be obtained. They make a Bouillabaisse of fresh-water fish at this restaurant which is well worth eating and which is generally the Friday fare there. At Chambotte, where there is a fine view of the lake, Lansard has a hotel and restaurant. At Marlioz, near the race-course and an inhalation and bathing establishment, the pretty ladies of Aix often call a halt to breakfast, Ecrevisses Bordelaises being a speciality. At one of the little mountain inns, I fancy that of La Chambotte, the proprietor has married a Scotch wife, and her excellent cakes, made after the manner of her fatherland, come as a surprise to the French tourists. The châlets at the summit of the Grand Revard belong, I believe, to Mme. Ritz, wife of the Emperor of Hotels, and the feeding there naturally is excellent.

Most people who go a trip to the Lac d'Annecy breakfast on the boat, though I believe there is a fair breakfast to be obtained at the Angleterre. On the boat a very ample meal is provided—the trout generally being excellent—which occupies the attention of the intelligent voyager during the whole of the time that he is supposed to be looking at waterfalls, castles, peaks, and picturesque villages.

Vichy

Outside the hotels, the restaurants attached to which give in most cases a good table-d'hôte dinner for six francs and a déjeuner for four, there are but few restaurants, for most people who come to Vichy live en pension, making a bargain with their hotel for their food for so much a day, a bargain which does not encourage them to go outside and take their meals. The Restauration, in the park close to the Casino, is a restaurant as well as a café, and is amusing in the evening. There are several small restaurants in the environs of Vichy. In the valleys of the Sichon and the Jolan, two streams which join near the village of Cusset and then flow into the Allier, are two little restaurants, each to be reached by a carriage road. Both the Restaurant les Malavaux near the ruins, and the Restaurant de l'Ardoisière near the Cascade of Gourre-Saillant, have their dishes, each of them making a speciality of trout and crayfish from the little river that flows hard by. At the Montagne Verte, whence a fine view of the valley of the Allier is obtainable, and at one or two other of the places to which walks and drives are taken, there are cafés and inns where decent food is obtainable.

Various

Men who know shake their heads when you ask them whether there is good food obtainable outside the hotels at Royat and La Bourboule, but I have a pleasant memory of an excellent dinner with good bourgeois cookery at Hugon's in the Rue Royale of the neighbouring town of Clermont-Ferrand. At Contrexeville I am told that the wise man finding his food good in his hotel, returns thanks and does not go prospecting elsewhere.

N.N.-D.

CHAPTER III

BELGIAN TOWNS

The food of the country—Antwerp—Spa—Bruges—Ostende.

I, the Editor, cannot do better in commencing this chapter than to introduce you to H.L., a littérateur and a "fin gourmet," living in Belgium, who has written the notes on "the food of the country" on Antwerp and Spa, and to whom I am indebted for the entire succeeding chapter on the Brussels' restaurants.

The Food of the Country

The Belgian is a big eater and a bird-eater. As a rule, in Belgium the restaurant that can put forth the longest menu will attract the most customers. There are people in Brussels who regularly travel out to Tirlemont, a little Flemish town nearly twenty miles away, to partake of a famous table-d'hôte dinner to which the guests sit down at one o'clock, and from which they seldom rise before five. The following is a specimen carte of one of these Gargantuan gorges served in December.

Huîtres de Burnham.
Potage Oxtail.
Saumon de Hollande à la Russe.
Bouchées à la Reine.
Chevreuil Diane Chasseresse.
Bécasses bardées sur Canapé.
Tête de veau en Tortue.
Surprises Grazilla (a Sorbet).
Pluviers dorés poire au vin.
Jambonneau au Madère.
Petites fèves de Marais à la Crème.
Salmis de Caneton Sauvage.
Faisan de Bohême.
Salade de Saison.
Dinde truffée Mayonnaise.
Glace Vanillée.
Fruits. Gâteaux. Dessert.

All this for five francs! with a bottle of Burgundy to wash it down, at any price from a crown to a pound. One thing that can safely be said about the Belgian restaurants is that a good bottle of Burgundy can nearly always be bought in both town and country. It is often told that the best Burgundy in the world is to be found in Belgian cellars. Whether this is a reputation maintained in honour of the Dukes of Burgundy who once ruled the land, or whether the good quality of the wine is due to the peculiar sandy soil, which permits of an unvarying temperature in the cellars, I will leave others to determine, but the fact remains that from a Beaujolais at 2 francs 50 centimes to a Richebourg at 20 francs, the Burgundy offered to the traveller in Belgium is generally unimpeachable. Ghent is another town famous for its big feasts. The market dinner on Friday at the Hôtel de la Poste is often quoted as a marvellous "spread," but the best restaurant in Ghent is undoubtedly Mottez's, on the Avenue Place d'Armes. This is an old-fashioned place with no appearance of a restaurant outside, and a stranger would easily pass it by. Here one dines both à la carte and at table-d'hôte; the table-d'hôte is well worth trying, though some of the dishes can be safely passed over. The wines at Mottez's are very good, and some special old Flemish beer in bottles should be asked for. A great local dish is Hochepot Gantois, a mixture of pork, sausages, and vegetables which only the very hungry or the very daring should experiment upon at a strange place. Flemish cooking as a rule is fat and porky, and there is a dish often seen on the carte called Choesels à la Bruxelloise, which is considered a delicacy by the natives, and it is supposed to be a hash cooked in sherry or marsala; it is, however, a dish of mystery. A plat always to be found in Belgium (especially in the Flanders district), is Waterzoei de Poulet, a chicken broth served with the fowl. This is usually very safe, and any one going to Mottez's at Ghent should try it there. Carbonades Flamandes is another Flemish dish which, if well done, can be eaten without fear. This is beef-steak stewed in "faro," an acid Flemish beer, and served with a rich brown sauce. Salade de Princesses Liégeoises is a salad made with scarlet runners mixed with little pieces of fried bacon. The bacon takes the place of oil, while the vinegar should be used with rather a heavy hand. When other salads are scarce, this makes a really toothsome dish. Of all the Belgian plats, however, first and foremost must be placed Grives à la Namuroise, which of course are only to be obtained in the autumn. I have said that the Belgian is a bird-eater, and throughout the country every species of bird is pressed into service for the table. A stranger visiting the Ardennes will be struck by the remarkable silence of the woods, which is caused by the wholesale destruction of the birds. How the supply is kept up it is difficult to say, but no Belgian dinner is considered complete without a bird of some sort, and when grives are in season, thousands must be served daily. A grive proper is a thrush, but I fear that blackbirds and starlings often find their way to the casserole under the name of a grive. They should be cooked with the trail, in which mountain-ash berries are often found. These give the bird a peculiar and rather bitter flavour, but the berry that must be used in the cooking is that of the juniper plant, which grows very plentifully in Belgium. A traveller through Belgium in the summer or early autumn should always make a point of ordering grives at a good restaurant. When grives go out of season, we have woodcock and snipe; and there are several houses which make a speciality of Bécasses à la fine Champagne. At Mons and at Liège, and I think at Charleroi also, there is every year a woodcock feast, just as there is an oyster feast at Colchester. At these festivities a little wax candle is placed on the table beside each guest, so that he can take the head of his bécasse and frizzle it in the flame before he attacks its brains. Then we have plovers and larks in any quantity, but I would not like to vouch for what are often served as alouettes and mauviettes. The one bird that we never get in Belgium is grouse, unless it is brought over specially from England or Scotland. It has always been found impossible to rear grouse in the country. In the neighbourhood of Spa there are great stretches of moorlands reaching almost to the German frontier, covered with heather, which look as if they would be the ideal home of the grouse. Here M. Barry Herrfeldt, of the Château du Marteau at Spa, a real good sportsman, has tried his very utmost to rear grouse; first he laid down thousands of eggs and set them under partridges, but this proved a failure; then he introduced young birds, but they all died off, and I think he has now given up the attempt in despair. Whilst speaking of partridges, I ought to mention that there is no partridge in the world so plump and sweet as one shot in the neighbourhood of Louvain, where they feed on the beetroot cultivated for the sugar factories. At a restaurant Coq de bruyère is often served as grouse, but this is a blackcock. One last note: outside the capital and at all but the best restaurants the Flemish custom is to "dine" in the middle of the day and "sup" at about seven.

Antwerp

It is strange that a big city and seaport like Antwerp, which is a favourite stopping place of English and American visitors to the Continent, should have so few good restaurants. None of the establishments near the quays can be classed as even third-rate, and it is in the neighbourhood of the Bourse that the best eating-houses will be found. At the Rocher de Cancale, usually called Coulon's (after the proprietor), the cooking and the wines are everything that can be desired, but the prices can hardly be called moderate. This restaurant is situated at the corner of the Place de Meir and the Rue des Douze Mois, a little street leading down to the Bourse. On the Place de Meir itself is Bertrand's, another restaurant of the same high character, which, to the regret of its regular frequenters, is shortly to be converted into a larger and cheaper establishment. Everything at Bertrand's has always been first class, and local people who "knew the ropes" could get there an excellent table-d'hôte lunch for 3 francs. This prix fixe, however, was not advertised, and the stranger eating the same meal à la carte, would probably find his bill 10 or 12 francs without wine. Antwerp has a grill-room that can be highly recommended in the Criterium, situated on the Avenue de Keyser, near the Central Railway Station. The Criterium is also known as Keller's, and has a large English clientèle. Besides chops and steaks from the grill, there are other viands, and a table-d'hôte dinner is supplied in the middle of the day at 2 francs 50 centimes. The food is of the best, while a special feature is made of English beers and other drinks usually sought after by the Briton travelling abroad. The restaurant at the Zoological Gardens is well managed and much frequented.

Spa

"Les jeux sont faits! Rien ne va plus." It is not the cry of the croupier, it is the proclamation of Parliament. What will happen now that the Cercle des Etrangers at Spa has been closed, in consequence of the Belgian Anti-gambling Bill which came into operation on the 1st January 1903, it is difficult to say; one thing is certain, the hotels and restaurants will suffer, for more people came to the pretty little town on the outskirts of the Ardennes to try their luck at roulette or trente et quarante than to drink the iron waters at the Pouhon and other springs, or to take the effervescing baths and douches. Once upon a time, Spa was one of the most fashionable and most frequented watering-places in Europe, but gradually its glories have departed, although its natural beauties remain. Of the Spa restaurants as they exist to-day, there is little to be said and less to be praised. To tell the truth, there is not a really first-class restaurant in the place. To nearly all the springs, which are located in easy proximity to the town, so-called restaurants are attached, but the patronage being intermittent and uncertain, the choice of plats is limited, and the service is slow and bad. The Sauvenière Spring is nearest to the town, but the drive there is all up-hill, monotonous, and dusty. The Géronstère is more prettily situated, and is a favourite resort for luncheon during the summer season; but unless the meal is specially ordered beforehand, the visitor will, as a rule, have to be content with eggs, beef-steaks, or cutlets. The Tonnelet is situated on the roadside, and the restaurant there is often uncomfortable and dusty. Those who make the Tours des Fontaines will be best advised to stop for lunch at the Source de Barisart, which is situated in a most picturesque part of the woods, 160 feet above the town, from which it is distant about a mile. The much-written-of Promenade de Meyerbeer is close at hand, and a stroll beneath the trees before or after lunch will be enjoyed, for the surroundings are charming and romantic. If previous notice for a meal can be given, so much the better: there is probably a telephone from the town. In trout time this fish should be included, as it is caught plentifully in the district, and is, as a rule, fresh and good. As before said, there is no good restaurant in the town,—excepting, of course, those in connection with the principal hotels, where a table-d'hôte is usually served at mid-day and in the evening. The Café Restaurant attached to the Casino is convenient, and will be found more than sufficient now that the gaming rooms have been suppressed. On the other side of the Casino is the Hôtel d'Orange, well appointed and with a beautiful garden, and M. Goldschmidt, the proprietor, looks well after his guests. His dining-room has all the character of a restaurant, being open to the outside public. The company there is as a rule gay—sometimes, it is said, even a little too gay, but everything is of the best and well served. Probably, however, the gourmet will find things more to his taste at the Grand Hôtel de l'Europe, where M. Henrard Richard always paid great attention to his cuisine. Although he no longer personally controls the management of L'Europe, the hotel is still under the direction of his family, and retains its high reputation. The following is a menu of a 6-franc table-d'hôte dinner served in September. It has not been specially selected, and is therefore a fair specimen:—

Bisque d'Ecrevisses.
Brunoise à la Royale.
Truites Meunière.
Filet de Bœuf garni Beaulieu.
Ris de veau Princesse.
Petits pois à la Française.
Perdreaux rôtis sur Canapés.
Glace Vanille.
Gaufrettes.
Corbeille de Fruits.

The wines here are good, the Moselle and Rhine wines being especially cheap. Other hotels with restaurants attached that may be mentioned are the Britannique (with a fine garden in which meals are served), the Bellevue, the Flandre, and the Rosette. The last mentioned is a small hotel attached to the Palace of the late Queen of the Belgians, and is run by Her Majesty's chef. The meals for the Palace were always cooked at the hotel, and the restaurant, though simply appointed, has latterly been excellent in its way. Strangers feeding there should try and secure a table on the little glass-covered terrace in front of the hotel. Mention might also be made of a couple of small restaurants that have in the past been supported by the professional players at the tables. One in a side street near the Casino, kept by a Frenchman, has a reputation for its cheap French wines; and the Macon, at a franc the bottle, is indeed drinkable. At the other, the Limbourg, the cooking is German in character and flavour. Both places may be recommended as wholesome and honest to people who want to "get through" on about 10 francs a day. There is no more to be said.

Bruges

It always seems to me that Bruges is the quietest city in the world. At least when one sits out in the garden of the Hôtel de Flandre, after sampling some of the excellent old Burgundy which reposes in its cellars, and listens to the chimes from the brown belfry, a feeling of perfect peace steals over one. There are few hotels in Belgium, if any, which have such a fine selection of Burgundy as the Flandre has, and the food, if not noticeably good, is at all events not noticeably bad. Otto, who used to be the head waiter at the Hôtel de Flandre, is now the proprietor of the Hôtel de Londres in the station square; and though the appearance of the hotel is not inviting, he can cook a sole au gratin as well as any cook in Belgium. The table-d'hôte lunch at the Panier d'Or, in the chief square, is very excellent for the money.

Ostend

I do not think that there is much to be said in favour of the restaurants of the big hotels at Ostend. One gets an imitation of a Parisian meal at half again the Paris price. I have little doubt that the cessation of gambling will bring all the prices down at the hotels, but during past years gamblers' prices have been asked and paid. At the Continental there is a 10-franc table-d'hôte dinner, much patronised, because people know exactly what it will cost them; and at the Palace Hotel there is a table-d'hôte room where the food served is well cooked; but it lacks the life and bustle of the restaurant, and most people who go there for a meal or two revert to the restaurant with its à la carte breakfasts and dinner. There is a Château Laroque in the cellars of the Palace at 7 francs a bottle which is quite excellent. There is a little restaurant, called the Taverne St-Jean, in a side street, the Rampe de Flandre, kept by an ex-head waiter from the Restaurant Ré at Monte Carlo, at which the cookery is thoroughly bourgeois, but good of its kind and the prices low; and there is on the quay a house, kept by a fisherman who is the owner of several smacks, where the explorer who does not mind surroundings redolent of the sea can get a good fried sole, and a more than fair bottle of white wine.

Any one who wishes to see what a Belgian meal can be in the number of courses should go by train past Blankenberghe, which is a pale reflection of Ostend, to Heyste, and partake of a mid-day dinner there at one of the hotels patronised by the Brussels tradesmen and their families, who come to the little sea-town for change of air. Fifteen or sixteen plates piled in front, or at the side of each place, mark the number of courses to be gone through, and most of the guests eat the meal through from soup to fruit without shirking a single course.

CHAPTER IV

BRUSSELS

The Savoy—The Epaule de Mouton—The Faille Déchirée—The Lion d'Or—The Regina—The Helder—The Filet de Sole—Wiltcher's—Justine's—The Etoile—The Belveder—The Café Riche—Duranton's—The Laiterie—Miscellaneous.

Brussels must have been a gayer city than the Brussels of to-day when it earned the title of "a little Paris." There is at the present time very little indeed of Paris about the Belgian capital, and, in the matter of restaurants, there is a marked contrast between the two cities. Here the latter-day Lucullus will have to seek in queer nooks and out-of-the-way corners to discover the best kitchens and the cellars where the wines are of the finest crûs. The aristocracy of Belgium mostly dines en famille and the restaurants that cater for the middle classes are the most patronised. There are, however, several establishments which provide for more refined tastes, but they will not be found upon the big boulevards or the main thoroughfares. Four of the best restaurants in Brussels are in two narrow little streets, and their exteriors resemble old-fashioned London coffee-houses, rather than resorts of fashion. Brussels is particularly destitute of smart rooms where one can sup in gay company "after the opera is over." Until the Savoy was opened, we had, in fact, nothing beyond the ordinary restaurant with its little cabinets particuliers. When Mr. Arthur Collins of Drury Lane was in Brussels about a couple of years ago, he asked me to take him one evening, after leaving the Scala, to the local Romano's. "We haven't such a place," I explained, "but we can go to the Helder." "I dined there this evening," said A.C., "it was a very good dinner, but deadly dull; show me something livelier." We resolved to try the Filet de Sole thinking, as it was close to the Palais d'Eté, we were certain to meet some people there, but the place was empty. The fact is, Brussels has little night-life beyond the taverns and bars of low character, and the only high-class supper-room is the Savoy. If a stranger came to pass a week in Brussels, and wanted to be shown round the restaurants, I should start him with lunch at the Savoy on Monday morning, and finish him off with supper at the Savoy on the following Sunday night, for he would then be sure of beginning and ending well. The grill is excellent, and by no means dear. 1 franc 75 centimes is charged for a chop or steak, including pommes de terre well served. The hors-d'œuvre are a speciality at luncheon. There is great variety, and the pickled shrimps would tickle the most jaded appetite.

On Monday night I should send my friend to dinner at the Epaule de Mouton.

On Tuesday, I should say, "Lunch at the Faille Déchirée and dine at the Lion d'Or."

On Wednesday, "Lunch at the Régina and dine at the Helder."

On Thursday, "Lunch at the Filet de Sole and dine at Wiltcher's."

On Friday, "Lunch at Justine's and dine at L'Etoile."

On Saturday, "Lunch at the Belveder and dine at the Café Riche."

On Sunday, "Lunch at Duranton's, and, if it is summer time, dine at the Laiterie."

He will then have sampled all the restaurants in Brussels that are worth troubling about, and will be very unlucky if he has not alighted upon some dish worth remembering.

The Savoy is situated in the Rue de l'Evêque, by the side of the General Post Office. It was originally a kind of offshoot from the American bar and grill-room of the Grand Hotel. Being done in good spirit and with good taste, it soon acquired favour, and at certain times in the day the premises are almost too small. There are private dining-rooms upstairs, and a restaurant on the first floor has lately been added. Everything is à la carte. The café extra, for which 75 centimes is charged, is a speciality. The manager is M.A. Reynier who speaks English like an Englishman.

The Epaule de Mouton is in the Rue des Harengs, one of the little streets already alluded to, which run from the Grand Place to the Rue Marché aux Herbes. In this street, which is barely five yards wide, are some of the best restaurants of the town; but the stranger must be particular and not enter the wrong door, as they are all huddled together, and the names of some of the establishments are very similar. There is, for instance, a Gigot de Mouton next door to the Epaule de Mouton, and there is a Filet de Bœuf. It is at the Epaule, however, where the best cuisine will be found. Behind the door on entering a snug corner for a tête-à-tête is to be found. Although the title of the establishment suggests Simpson's and a cut off the joint, the cuisine will be found thoroughly French, and everything is well and tastefully done. In ordering, it must be remembered that one plat is enough for two persons, and this is the rule in most Belgian restaurants. The Burgundy at L'Epaule de Mouton is renowned.

La Faille Déchirée is at a corner of another little street, the Rue Chair et Pain, close by the Rue des Harengs. The construction and decoration are quaint; one sits in a kind of tunnel and eats Homard à l'Américaine which is a speciality of the house. Woodcock, when in season, is also a dish to be ordered here.

Le Lion d'Or is a small establishment in the Rue Grétry, and may safely be called the "chic" restaurant of Brussels. The salon downstairs is a perfect little bonbonnière, and the rooms above are extremely cosy and comfy. The proprietor is Adolph Letellier (of course called simply "Adolph" by habitués of the house), and he is extremely popular among the young sports of the town. The vrai gourmet will appreciate les plats les plus raffinés on which Adolph prides himself. Everything is à la carte, prices being plainly marked. They are not cheap. The restaurant and rooms upstairs are open till two in the morning.

The Régina is a new restaurant at the top of the town, near the Porte de Namur. Although only opened in 1901, it has been found necessary to enlarge the premises, and the alterations are in progress at the moment of writing. When completed, the restaurant on the first floor will be more commodious and comfortable than it is at present. It is the good kitchen that has made the reputation of the place, and if this is maintained, the Régina will become one of the best patronised restaurants in Brussels. Some people prefer to feed in the café on the ground-floor but it is best to go upstairs, and, if possible, to obtain a table on the glass-covered balcony in the front, which has a pleasant outlook on the boulevards. The proprietor is Jules; he may have a surname but no one seems to know what it is; to one and all he is "Jules," a capital patron who, having been a waiter himself, knows how to look after the personal tastes of his customers. These include the officers of the grenadiers, the crack Belgian regiment, whose barracks are close by, judges and barristers from the Palais de Justice, members of the King's household (the royal palace being nearly opposite), actors from the Molière Theatre, sportsmen who foregather here on race-days, and the better-class Bohemians. Jules has also a good English clientèle, and makes a speciality of certain English dishes. This is the only place on the Continent I know which serves a really well-made Irish stew. The Flemish dishes are also safe to try here. The prices are very moderate, and the plats du jour range from 1 franc to 1 franc 75 centimes, each plat being enough for two persons. Breakfast dishes, such as Œufs Gratinés aux Crevettes and Œufs Brouillés au foie de Volaille, are also well done here. Ecrevisses Régina is a special dish of the house. There are always two special plats du soir. The Médoc de la Maison at 3 francs the bottle is a La Rose and is very good. Although the prices are low, there is nothing of the cheap and nasty order about the place. I have before me the bill of a little lunch for two served in December, which can be taken as a fair specimen of the fare and the charges:—

At the same time, if one likes to lunch off a plat du jour, with a glass of Gruber's beer, it can easily be done at the Regina for less than 5 francs for two persons.

The Helder is in the Rue de l'Ecuyer, near the Opera House. It is a smart restaurant and one dines well there. It is frequented by a good class of people, but it has no particular character of its own. The proprietor is M. Dominique Courtade, formerly a chef, and he should be personally consulted if a special dinner is wanted. The Pontet Canet (only to be had in half bottles) should be sampled; it is very fine.

The Filet de Sole is in the neighbourhood of the markets and close by the Palais d'Eté. The proprietor is Emile Beaud. An excellent lunch can be obtained here at a fixed price, and one can also eat à la carte. Prices are lower than at most of the first-class restaurants, but the cuisine and wines are both safe and sound. The Cantenac at 4 francs is to be specially recommended, and the Médoc de la Maison at about 2 francs is also good. There are private rooms upstairs.

Wiltcher's, on the Boulevard de Waterloo, provides the best and cheapest table-d'hôte in Brussels. The price is only 3 francs, and is wonderful value for the money. The following is the menu of a dinner in January:—

Consommé à la Reine.
Filet de Sole à la Normande.
Quartier d'Agneau.
Mint Sauce à l'Anglaise.
Epinards à la Crème.
Poularde de Bruxelles en Cocotte.
Croquettes de Pommes de Terre.
Gangas du Japon à la Broche.
Compote de Mirabelles.
Salade de Laitue.
Glace Arlequin.
Biscuits de Reims.
Café.

In old Mr. Wiltcher's time a good many people came from outside for the excellent food here provided, but now so many families reside all the year round in the hotel, that it is difficult to get a table for dinner when it is not ordered beforehand. No matter what time of the year it is, there is always poultry and game on Wiltcher's carte, and one sometimes meets a strange bird here. Gangas is a Japanese partridge. The birds migrate to Northern Africa in winter and often cross to Spain, where they are caught in large numbers. The plumage of the gangas is very beautiful and the flesh is excellent eating. The outarde, or little bustard, is often to be had at Wiltcher's, and it is the only place at which I have eaten the great bustard, whose flesh is very much like a turkey's. White pheasant is another bird I remember here. Excepting in its plumage, it in no way differs from the ordinary pheasant. A feature of Wiltcher's dinner is that no fruit is ever included in the menu, although coffee is always served. The story goes that Wiltcher the First, who took great pride in his table, found it during one winter time almost impossible to give anything else as dessert beyond apples, oranges, pears, and nuts, there being no other fruit on the market. One day some diners rudely complained, and insisted on a change, expecting perhaps that pineapple should be included in a dinner at this price. "You wish a change in the dessert, I hear," said Mr. Wiltcher, in the suave and courtly manner which had earned for him the sobriquet of "the Duke"; "Very well, to-morrow you shall have a change." To-morrow, there was no dessert upon the menu. When the reason for this was demanded, he simply answered, "You wanted a change, and you've got it. I shall give no fruit in future." This has become a tradition. Notwithstanding, it is a remarkable dinner, and there is usually a good variety of sweets. As a tip to people who want to drink champagne and are sometimes deterred by the high prices demanded for well-known brands, while being always suspicious of the sugary tisanes supplied on the Continent, I may mention that the champagne wines bearing Mr. Wiltcher's own name and labelled according to taste as Dry Royal and Grand Crémant respectively, are specially bottled for his establishment at Rheims; and, though the price is little more than half that charged for les grandes marques, they will be found pure, wholesome, and to the English and American taste. Wiltcher's is rapidly becoming essentially an American house.

Justine's is a little fish restaurant on the Quai au Bois à Brûler, by the side of the fish market. It has distinctly a bourgeois character. It is not the sort of place you would choose to take a lady in her summer frocks to, but you get a fine fish dinner there nevertheless. There is no restaurant in the world where moules à la marinière are served in such perfection, and you can rely on every bit of fish supplied there being fresh. The exterior is unattractive, even dirty, and the service inside is somewhat rough. On Fridays the place is always crowded, and there may be a difficulty about retaining a room upstairs, where it is best to go when you wish to be specially well served. In the old days, it was the fashion to go on Fridays (or on any day for a fish lunch) to Le Sabot, a restaurant-estaminet of the same order a little lower down on the quay, which has a reputation for its manner of cooking mussels; but, since the death of old François, who kept it, the place does not appear to be so much in favour, and the tide of custom now flows towards Justine's. It must be remembered that this house is mentioned simply as a feature of Brussels life and not as a representative restaurant.

L'Etoile, in the Rue des Harengs, is the most famous restaurant in Brussels. In the time of Louis Dot, it certainly held rank as the first of all, both for cooking and for wine, and Emile Ollivier, Dot's successor, is doing his best to sustain the reputation. Neatly framed and hung on one of the walls is still to be seen the card signed by the late Henry Pettitt, the dramatist, attesting to the fact that he had just eaten the best lunch of his life. This card some years later was countersigned by a Lord Mayor of London; and a Lord Mayor surely should be a good judge of a lunch. Whatever place is visited in Brussels, L'Etoile should not be missed. The stranger should be very careful to go in at the right door. The wines at L'Etoile have always been good, and Dot used to have some Burgundy that was world-renowned. His fine champagne was also famous, and he had some extra-special for which he used to charge 4 francs 50 centimes a glass. I have heard Dot himself tell the story how a well-known restaurateur from London came one evening with two friends to see how things were done at L'Etoile. After dinner they sent for Dot, to compliment him and ask him to join them with a liqueur, and he was to give them some of his best brandy. They smacked their lips on tasting it, and the glasses were filled a second time; but the gentleman who paid the bill rather raised his eyebrows when he saw the item, "liqueurs, 36 francs." "He got even with me, however," said Dot, "for when I went to London I returned his visit. I had a good dinner (not so good, I think, as I should have served), and I sent for him to join me with the coffee. While we chatted, I ordered cigars, repeating his words, 'Give us some of your very best.' He did, and he charged me 7s. 6d. a piece for them." The rooms at L'Etoile are very small, and if any one wants to prove the establishment at its best, he should take the precaution of retaining a table and ordering dinner beforehand.

Le Belveder is in the Rue Chair et Pain; it has lately been opened by Jules Letellier, ex-maître-d'hôtel of the Filet de Sole and brother to Adolph Letellier of the Lion d'Or. Here the restaurant is à la carte, and a speciality is made of fish and game. Things are well done, and it is a safe place to "take on."

The Café Riche is opposite the Helder, and nearer to the Opera House. It was founded in 1865 by Gautier, the nephew of Bignon of Paris, who retains the proprietorship and management until the present time. It has always had an aristocratic clientèle, and is specially favoured by Parisians visiting Brussels. During the political troubles in France the Duc d'Orléans, Prince Victor Napoléon, and Henri Rochefort were all patrons of the Café Riche, and it required all the tact and savoir faire of the proprietor to keep apart and at the same time give satisfaction and pleasure to the conflicting parties. The Café Riche is one of the best places in Brussels for a banquet or a large dinner-party. Woodcock and snipe à la Riche are specialities. Although the prices are generally à la carte, one can have a lunch and dinner at fixed price by ordering beforehand.