Chow Chop Suey. (Bits of Pork Chops.)
Ham ob Dan.
(Preserved Eggs with Ducks’ Gizzards.)
Ob Gan Bow Vo Toway.
(Ducks’ Livers and Boiled Ham.)
Chow Ju Aw. (Boiled Pork.)
Bow Ny Gwei. (Cuttle Fish.)
Yen Wo Gong.
(Pigeon Eggs and Birds’ Nest Soup.)
Bow Hai. (Boiled Crabs.)
Yuen Tsyai. (Rice Cakes.)
Bow Ob. (Duck Tongues and Mushrooms.)
Ju Tow Ny Gow.
(Fried Roofs of the Mouths of Pigs.)
Chow ob Jun. (Ducks’ Feet.)
Lein Chi Gong. (Lily-seed Soup.)
Hong Yin Gong. (Almond Soup.)
Dein Som. (Sweetmeats.)
Yueh Biung. (Mincemeat.)
Gwoy Zoo. (Fruits.)
Kwoh Zuh. (Seeds.)
Cha Sam Soo. (Tea and Rice Whisky.)
From China to Japan is not a far cry, but I fear you cannot dine
Japanesily in the East; you must come West, and even then engage a
special cook from the Legation or the Japanese Club. Still it is to be
done, and this menu gives a series of titbits which are in themselves
most appetizing. You may feel inclined afterwards to go elsewhere and
eat a chop, but that is not the fault of the Japanese cuisine, but of
your own large appetite.
MENU
Luimano. (Fish Soup.)
Shira. (Bean Soup.)
Ohira. (Vegetable Soup.)
Sashimi. (Raw Sliced Fish.)
Nizakana. (Boiled Fish.)
Teriyaki. (Roast Fish.)
Shiwoyaki. (Roast Fish.)
Muchitori. (Vegetables.)
Umani. (Fish and Vegetables.)
Trubonomoni. (Vegetables.)
Gozen. (Rice.)
Tsukemono. (Pickles.)
Shoyu. (Sauce.)
Saki.
In Scandinavian restaurants, which are to be found in the neighbourhood
of the docks, where Danes, Swedes, and Norwegian sailors mostly
congregate, the food is quite excellent. Simple, well cooked, and
very toothsome. The Swedish menu which I have given is not, of course,
the sort of dinner that a Dalarne peasant would get, but the sort of
thing that, if you give proper notice, can be prepared for you by a
knowledgeable Scandinavian cook.
MENU
Kraftor. (Crayfish.)
Korvel Soppa. (Chervil Soup.)
Kokt Halmstad Lax. (Boiled Salmon.)
Stekt Sjotunga. (Roasted Soles.)
Kalfbrass Arter.
(Stewed Veal and Peas.)
Brytbonor. (Broad Beans.)
Farska Carotter. (Fresh Carrots.)
Kyckling. (Chicken.)
Ungorre.
Tomatsallad.
Blandad Fruvt. (Fruit Salad.)
Jordgubbar. (Strawberries.)
Glacemarenger. (Ice Pudding.)
For those who do not object to oil and garlic there is much that is
attractive in the Spanish cuisine. There is only one place--as yet--in
London where a real Spanish dinner is to be had, and then it must
be specially ordered; but there are several Spanish chefs who, on
persuasion, can be bribed to cook a dinner on the lines indicated.
MENU
Entremeses variados. (Hors d’œuvre.)
Sopa. (Soup.)
Ostras a la Espanola. (Oysters.)
Pescado Chambord. (Fish.)
Pichones a la Provenzal.
Jamon y Pavo con Jalea de Grosellas.
(Ham and Gooseberry Jelly.)
Salomillo de ternera con trufas.
Ensalada. (Salad.)
Esparragos. (Asparagus.)
Quesos Variados. (Sweets.)
The Italian style of cookery must not be judged by the examples of it
in the thousands of cheap restaurants scattered throughout London. As
a matter of fact they are mostly run by Swiss, either French-Swiss,
German-Swiss, Italian-Swiss, or Swiss-Swiss. The real Italian style
of feeding is quite excellent, and at most of the best West End
restaurants they have at least one Italian cook, who, if the dinner be
intelligently ordered, will be only too delighted to show his skill.
MENU
Antipasto.
Vermicelli al Brodo.
Minestrone alla Milanaise.
Rombo, salsa Olandese.
Gnocchi alla Piemontese.
Medaglione di Manso all’ Italiana.
Patate Novelle.
Anitra arrosto.
Insalata.
Pere al Nebiolo.
Gelato alla Vaniglia.
There is an Indian restaurant in Stafford Street which appeals to all
Anglo-Indians--and to many others who appreciate a real curry, either
dry or wet, Madras, Ceylon, Bombay, or any other style. The menu as
follows can be cooked to perfection, and it is quite quaint to be
greeted by white-robed, blue-turbaned attendants with a polite “Salaam,
sahib!” They make good waiters, too; silent, quick, and deft.
MENU
Bhurta. (Hors d’œuvre.)
Shorwa. (Soup.)
Muchee Salna. (Fish Curry.)
Hulvan Kabbab. (Lamb Cutlets.)
Teeter Pallow. (Partridge Pilaff.)
Subzie Chichkey. (Vegetable Curry.)
Mithau. (Sweets.)
Meva. (Fruit.)
Kava. (Coffee.)
Where so many are good it would be invidious to say which is the best
German restaurant in London, and it would also be a gross mistake to
imagine that a German dinner is all sauerkraut and sausage. On the
contrary, good German cookery (whether north or south) is as good
as in any other part of Europe, and in some respects better. It can
be sampled in several German restaurants in London. I would advise
all visitors at a German restaurant to try the Prinz Pückler, an
ice-pudding, which may be singled out as being especially worthy of
imitation.
About French cookery there is nothing new to be said, because every
one knows--or ought to know--that when it is good it is very good
indeed, and when it is bad--it is horrid. In London it is not difficult
to obtain examples both of the good and the horrid French styles. The
horrid will not be needed twice! The real cuisine bourgeoise, which
does not attempt to disguise the true flavour of the meats with unholy
sauces, is nearly the very best in the world.
Last, but not least, of all, in all probability best of all, is a real
English menu, and it is really difficult to say where it may best be
ordered, for the _maître d’hôtel_ of a big restaurant looks askance at
a bill of fare without one single French word in it, not even an _à la_.
A dear lady whose wit was better than her French pronunciation once
said at a little dinner, “It is not so much the menu that matters, as
the men you sit next to.” And really the programme is not by any means
as important as the cooking thereof.
Old-fashioned Christmas cookery was, no doubt, of a heavier and more
serious nature than ours of to-day, although the compounding of the
historic plum-pudding seems to have been much the same. Here is the
recipe of Mr. Richard Briggs, “many years cook at the Globe Tavern,
the White Hart, and now at the Temple Coffee House.” It appears in his
“English Art of Cookery,” published in 1788:--
Take a pound of flour, and mix it into batter with half a
pint of milk; beat up the yolks of eight and the whites
of four eggs, a pound of beef suet shred fine, a pound of
raisins picked, a pound of currants, washed and picked,
half a nutmeg grated, a teaspoonful of beaten ginger,
a little moist sugar, a glass of brandy, and a little
lemon-peel shred fine. Mix it well together, tie it up in
a cloth, and boil it four hours. When it is done, turn it
out into a dish, and garnish with powder sugar, with melted
butter, sweet wine and sugar, mixed in a boat.
This is a curious recipe, which, I think, might work out very well. My
copy of this old book bears the following quaint inscription on the
fly-leaf: “The gift of Andrew Newton, Esquire, to the Dean and Chapter
of Lichfield for the use of the Library of that Cathedral.” What _can_
the Dean and Chapter have wanted with a cookery book?
“You can’t please everybody,” as the old fisherman remarked to the
grumbling angler who brought up a red-herring at the end of his line,
and there are doubtless some--many, maybe--who prefer a less seasonable
dinner than the stereotyped Christmas meal. For such this dainty and
simple menu is humbly suggested:--
Potage poule au pot Henri IV.
Merlans à la Bretonne.
Filet de Bœuf à la Provençale.
Chapons du Mans rôtis.
Ragout de truffes.
Fonds d’Artichauts demi-glace.
Bombe Chantilly.
As a matter of fact, this was the dinner given a short while ago in
Paris by the _Société des Amis des Livres_, who know as much about
cookery as they do about bookery. It is worthy of record for its
simplicity and completeness.
For those who like to be thoroughly conventional, and yet at the same
time to let sweet reasonableness attend their feasts, let me recommend
a Christmas dinner fashioned on somewhat the following lines:--
Consommé with Italian paste.
Oyster soup.
Turbot, Hollandaise sauce with capers.
Brill and Tartare sauce.
Turkey stuffed with chestnuts or fresh truffles.
Fillet of beef, horse-radish sauce.
Soufflé of fowl.
Westphalian goose breast with winter spinach.
Stewed celery.
Plum pudding, brandy sauce.
Mince pies.
Chartreuse of oranges.
Welsh rabbit.
Devilled biscuit.
This is a special Christmas dinner prepared by the late Sir Henry
Thompson, whose views on food and feeding are well known. It is
most certainly a very happy combination of the necessities and the
delicacies of the season, and as such needs no further recommendation.
It is perhaps especially applicable to country-house parties, where
both sexes are wont to have a pretty appetite.
“Science can analyse a pork chop, and say how much of it is phosphorus
and how much is protein, but science cannot analyse any man’s wish for
a pork chop, and say how much of it is hunger, how much nervous fancy,
how much a haunting love of the beautiful. The man’s desire for the
pork chop remains literally as mystical and ethereal as his desire for
heaven.” Now, who wrote that ingenuous passage? _Je vous le donne en
trois._ Charles Lamb? No. G. A. Sala? No. Mr. Lecky? Certainly not! It
is by that inimitable humorist, G. K. Chesterton. And it’s quite true.
There is a most delectable little part of the turkey which the French
euphoniously call _le sot l’y laisse_. Grimod de la Reynière, the
celebrated gourmet, was wont to say that it was the most exquisite
morsel of flesh in the world.
Travelling one day some miles from his country-seat, he pulled up at
a roadside inn for dinner. The host regretted that he had nothing to
offer the stranger. “But,” said the latter, “I see five turkeys hanging
up there. Why not give me one of them?” The innkeeper was sorry, but
they were all ordered by a gentleman staying in the house. “Surely he
cannot want them all himself. Ask him to permit me to share his meal.”
Again the innkeeper had to refuse. The gentleman in question was very
particular. He only ate one tiny little piece from each bird--_le sot
l’y laisse_, in fact. More anxious than ever to know who this rival
gourmet was who had the same tastes as himself, de la Reynière insisted
on making his acquaintance. He found it was his own son.
This is the menu of the Queen’s Guard Dinner, St. James’s Palace, for
Friday, 23 March, 1855. Considering that it is only fifty years old,
and therefore well within the memory of many living men, it makes
curiously quaint reading.
MENU
Les Huîtres.
Potage à la Crécy aux croûtons.
Potage de Macaroni au consommé.
La Merluche sauce aux œufs.
Les truites grillées à la Tartare.
Saddle of Mutton.
Les Poulets garnis d’une langue.
Les Côtelettes de mouton à la Soubise.
Le vol au vent aux écrévisses.
Les Kromeskys de ris de veau.
Les filets de bœuf piqués sauce poivrade.
Les pigeons and la pintade piquée.
Les Pommes au riz.
Les fondus en caisses.
La gelée au noyeau.
Les meringues à la Chantilly.
Les Epinards au jus.
La moëlle aux croûtons.
Such a deal of fine, confused feeding would be deemed vulgar and
ostentatious to-day. The dinner could not have been served and eaten in
less than a couple of hours, and there is an appalling ponderosity of
substantials which must have tried the mid-Victorian digestion to the
uttermost.
In pleasing contrast to the foregoing, I will quote a charming
little dinner given in Paris by a hostess who understands the art of
menu-fashioning in the highest degree.
MENU
Huîtres de Marennes.
Potage Bonne Femme.
Filets de Soles Joinville.
Selle d’agneau bouquetière.
Salmis de bécasses aux truffes.
Foie gras à la Souwaroff.
Poulardes à la Parisienne.
Cœurs de laitues à la Russe.
Pointes d’asperges à la crème.
Glace Lavallière.
Gauffrettes.
Few people know why an extra thick fillet of beef is called a
_Chateaubriand_, and fewer still know how it ought to be cooked. You
may ask all the chefs in town, and it is about thirty-three to one
against your getting any historically precise information on the
subject.
The story of the matter is briefly this. The dish was first cooked in
the year 1802 at Champeaux Restaurant, in the Place de la Bourse. It
was just at the period when Chateaubriand published his most brilliant
work, “Le Génie du Christianisme.” “The profane wits of the kitchen”
thought that a good steak sent to the fire between two malefactor
steaks was a fair parody of the title of the book. The fillet or steak
was cut so thick that by the ordinary method of cooking it might be
burned on the surface whilst quite raw inside, and therefore--although
the original and authentic method is ignored nowadays--it was put upon
the fire between two other slices of beef, which, if burned, could be
thrown away. Thus only is the Chateaubriand properly cooked.
The title has really nothing to do with the garnishing or the
sauce, although the average _maître d’hôtel_ will insist otherwise.
Nevertheless the true story is as above. Chateaubriand was French
Ambassador at the Court of St. James in 1822.
It may be of interest to put on record here His Majesty the King’s
Derby Day dinner at Buckingham Palace to the members of the Jockey
Club. Here it is:--
MENU
Tortue Claire.
Crême de Pois Comtesse.
Whitebait au Naturel et à la Diable.
Suprêmes de Truites à la Valenciennes.
Zéphires de Cailles à la Montagne.
Hanches de Venaison, Sauce Aigredoux.
Selle d’Agneau froide à la Niçoise.
Pommes de Terre à la Jaucourt.
Ortolans Rôtis.
Poussins sur Canapés.
Salade de Cœurs de Romaines.
Asperges d’Argenteuil, Sauce Mousseline.
Pêches à la Reine Alexandra.
Patisseries à la Parisienne.
Cassolettes à la Jockey Club.
Petites Glaces Printanières.
Friandises.
Dessert.
From trustworthy accounts I am constrained to believe that royal
banquets are like many other mundane things. They look well, they read
well, possibly they taste well, but there is inevitably the sub-acid
flavour of Dead Sea apples, and the thoughtful observer may echo
Talleyrand’s remark that whenever he perused a royal menu his thoughts
involuntarily turned to _pot-au-feu_.
[Illustration: LES RÊVES D’UN GOURMAND
(A. B. L. Grimod de la Reynière inv. 1808)
[To face page 135]
Although some kings (and queens too) were undoubtedly valiant
trenchermen (and women), yet it is an ascertained fact that the more
luxury appears on the bill of fare, the more frugal is the repast of
majesty. The third Napoleon, towards the end of his reign, was forced
to be so abstemious that, when the most tempting _plats_ jostled one
another on his table, he found himself obliged to dine off a cutlet and
a cup of rice.
Nowadays it is said that guests at a royal banquet refuse the most
artistic creations, and ask boldly for a cut of mutton.
However this may be, it can be taken for granted that royal banquets
are much like other meals in so far as anticipation, appetite,
realization, and digestion are concerned. The great Carême resigned his
position as _Maître de Bouche_ to George IV, after only a few weeks’
service, and at an honorarium of one thousand guineas a year (guineas,
mark you, there speaks the artist!), because His Majesty showed no
appreciation of his finest efforts, but was continually asking for
boiled beef.
Nevertheless, the royal cooks always rise to the occasion, as the
following interesting document will show. The chef at Windsor in 1858
was M. Pierre Mouret. This is the menu of the wedding dinner of the
(then) Crown Prince of Prussia, father of the present Kaiser, to our
own Princess Royal, given by Queen Victoria at Windsor Castle on 18
January, 1858.
MENU
HER MAJESTY’S DINNER
_Potages_.
A la Tortue. A la Jardinière.
Crème de riz à la Reine.
_Poissons._
Saumons bouillis. Turbots bouillis.
Filets de sole frits.
_Relevés._
Pièces de Bœuf braisées, garnies de légumes.
Chapons truffés à la Périgueux.
_Entrées._
Kromeskis de Crevettes.
Ris de Veau piqués à la Macédoine.
Timbales de Macaroni à la Milanaise.
Côtelettes de Mouton à la purée de haricots.
Petites Croustades à la purée de volaille.
Côtelettes de Poulets à la Tartare.
Perdreaux à la financière.
Quenelles de Lièvre garnies d’escalopes.
_Contre-flancs._
Poulets à la royale.
_Rôts._
Bécasses. Poulardes.
_Relevés._
Gâteaux de Compiègne. Poires au riz.
Puddings de gingembre.
_Entremets._
Epinards au velouté. Œufs brouillés aux truffes.
Salade de Volaille. Aspic de Galantine.
Biscuits et plombière.
Dauphines à la fleur d’orange.
Gelée de Vanille. Blanc-manger rubané.
_Buffet._
Sirloins of Beef. Saddles of Mutton.
Haunches of Venison.
Among the cleverest and most _spirituel_ of _menus d’occasion_ is
that of a French-Italian _déjeuner_ at the Carlton Hotel, composed,
arranged, and designed by M. Escoffier.
MENU
L’ITALIE ET LA FRANCE À TABLE
F ritot d’œufs à la Verd I
R ouget de roche à la Loube T
A mourettes a’agneau à la Tosc A
N onnettes de poulet Agnès Sore L
C èpes à la Rossin I
E ugénie crême Italienn E
The double acrostic is most skilfully introduced, and the lunch, as
such, is quite a little work of art.
In the columns of the “Academy,” some little while ago, an ingenious
contributor elaborated a menu without the use of a single French word.
It is doubtful, however, whether it will ever come into the realms of
practical gastronomic usage. It ran thus:--
MENU BILL OF FARE
(Old style, obsolete) (New style)
Hors d’œuvres. Raw Bits.
Pot au Feu. Pot on the Fire.
Purée de petits pois. Mash of Little Peas.
Bouchées aux Huîtres. Mouthfuls of Oysters.
Chaud-froid de Saumon. Hot-cold of Salmon.
Vol-au-vent de Volaille. Fowl Fly-to-Wind.
Petits Filets mignons à la “Ducksy” little Fillets
Maître d’Hotel. to the Butler.
Noix de Veau à la Nut of Veal in the way
Jardinière. of the Gardener’s wife.
Pommes de terre sautées. Jumped Potatoes.
Asperges en branches: Asparagus in branches;
Sauce Mousseline. Muslin Sauce.
Timbales de Fruits. Mugs of Fruit.
Crème renversée. Turned-up Cream.
Petits Soufflés de Foie gras Little Blow-outs of fat Liver.
Such a meal as this, to be thoroughly appreciated, would no doubt have
to be prepared by a Chief or a Blue Cord.
A purely English dinner, however, is not so difficult to describe
in plain straight-forward language. Such a one, for instance, as
the Festival Dinner of the Royal Society of St. George, which ran
thuswise:--
Appetizers.
Imperial “Clear” Soup.
Boiled Hampshire Salmon and Cucumber.
Thames Whitebait devilled.
Norfolk Sweetbreads
and Truffles.
THE ROAST BEEF OF OLD ENGLAND
(Devon Baron).
Yorkshire Pudding.
English New Potatoes and Beans.
Royal Navy Iced Punch.
Roast Buckinghamshire Duckling and
Apple Sauce.
Peas. Lettuce Salad.
Colchester Asparagus.
Braised Berkshire Ham.
Trafalgar Pudding.
Colonial Ice Pudding.
Dessert.
Coffee.
The menu of a Japanese luncheon given by the Mikado at Tokio makes
curious reading, although I am assured that its purely local features
are assuaged by a leaven of European delicacies.
MENU
Suimono (Soup).
Night Heron and Shimeji (a species of Champignon).
Kuchitori (Hors d’Œuvres).
Wild Duck.
Awabi (Haliotis, etc.).
Iashami (uncooked Fish).
Tai, Kawatsukuri and Arai (two modes of preparing uncooked Fish).
Sunomono (Mixed Salad).
Iced Whale and Mustard Sauce.
Yakimono (Entrées).
Baked Ai Fish (chawaninushi Eel Soup).
Fried Chicken and String Beans.
Anago and Imo (a species of Eel and Potato).
Rice Soup and Quail.
Pickles. Cake.
Fruit.
A friend has sent me a curiosity from Havana in the shape of a menu,
into the composition of every dish of which the banana entered in some
shape or form. As a triumph of skill and ingenuity I respect the menu,
but am thankful that I was not invited to partake of the repast. Here
it is.
MENU
Soupe à la Banane avec Croûtons de Banane.
Crèpes de Banane avec Gelée de Banane.
Poulets à l’Etuvée avec Bananes Ciselées.
Poulets Rôtis avec Bananes Dressées.
Rôti de Bœuf avec Gelée de Banane.
Gâteau à la Gelée de Banane.
Galettes de Bananes.
Gâteau de Banane aux Fruits.
Café de Banane.
The subjoined menu is a quaint attempt to please adult lovers of “Alice
in Wonderland,” and deserves notice in that it really does contain a
number of references, more or less apt, to that perennially delightful
work.
MENU
_Hors d’œuvres._
Huîtres, Larmes Amères.
Snickersnacks.
_Potages._
Manxommé.
Jabberwock’s-tail.
_Poisson._
Walrus à la Charpentier.
Snark, sauce Boojumoise.
_Entrées._
Momerath de lait.
Tweedledum aux Tum-tumatoes
_Roti._
Aloyau de Jabberwock.
Selle de Gryphon.
_Volaille._
Bandersnatch, sauce évitée.
Jubjub sauté.
Salade: Feuilles de Tumtum tulgeuses.
_Entremets._
Crême au Jour Frabjoise.
Omelette Whifflée.
Glace à la Duchesse.
_Savory._
Œufs de Borogove Gimblées.
The following menu is that of a dinner given in Paris by Prince Léon
Galitzine, and deserves to be placed on record as an example of a real
_diner fin_, elaborate, but not too elaborate, cleverly designed, and
thoroughly well executed.
MENU
Bisque d’écrevisse et Exly frais à la Russe.
Melon glacé. Crevettes de Dieppe.
Hareng frais de Hollande.
Soles à la Maréchale.
Noisettes d’agneau avec crème d’Argenteuil.
Foie gras à la Rossini.
Quenelles d’esturgeon à la Joinville.
Sorbets au Porto blanc.
Granite grande fine Champagne.
Canetons de Rouen flanqués d’ortolans en brochettes.
Chaudfroid de Paons en Bellevue.
Flageolets nouveaux au beurre.
Pois à la Française.
Ecrevisses de la Meuse au vin de Saumur.
Bombe Galitzine.
Poires Cressanes.
Dessert.
This is really a rather noble dinner. Observe the dignity of the
sturgeon and the peacock. There is very good precedent for the serving
of the _hors d_’_œuvre_ after the soup. It is done at many of the best
French tables.
There are two or three interesting points about the following Savoy
Hotel menu which are worth consideration.
MENU DU DINER
Hors d’Œuvres.
Melon Cantaloup Rafraîchi.
Poule-au-Pot Henri IV.
Crême Santé.
Truite d’Ecosse à la Nantua.
Filets de sole en Goujon.
Cailles en Terrines aux petits pois.
Selle de Pré-Salé à la Favorite.
Haricots verts au Beurre.
Mousse de Volaille en Bellevue.
Caneton de Rouen à la Rouennaise.
Salade Victoria. Aubergines Parisiennes.
Bombe Pralinée. Pêches Cardinal.
Canapés Pompadour.
The _poule-au-pot Henri IV_ recalls, of course, one of the most
charming kings in history, who wished that every one of his subjects
might have a fowl in his pot every Sunday all the year round. The
fillets of sole _en goujon_ are a clever variation of the same thing
_en blanchailles_ to which one is somewhat accustomed. They are rather
larger, but equally crisp and succulent. The _cailles en terrines_
are very seasonable, and contrast remarkably well with the following
saddle of mutton.
There has been much discussion lately in France as to the healthiness
or otherwise of the hitherto justly esteemed and much-eaten _Canard
à la Rouennaise_. Certain it is that some little while ago a few
people became very ill after eating it; but, on the other hand, the
preparation of the bird is so simple that there hardly seems room for
anything deleterious.
Anyhow, the matter has been set at rest once and for all by the
appointment under the auspices of _La Société Scientifique d’Hygiène
Alimentaire et de l’Alimentation Rationnelle de l’Homme_ (heavens,
what a name!) of a committee which thoroughly tested and examined the
question of the delinquent duck. This committee consisted of M. A.
Dastre, _membre de l’Institut_; M. Lapicque, _maître de Conférences à
la Sorbonne_, M. S. de Raczkowski, _chémiste principal au Laboratoire
Municipal_, and M. E. Kohn-Abrest, _du Laboratoire de Toxicologie_.
These eminent authorities were well able to give a definite and
reassuring reply.
Those who are interested in the duck question may remember a delightful
little sketch by the brilliant Alfred Capus, entitled “Emile,” in
which a _Canard à la Rouennaise_ and a solemn _maître d’hôtel_ played
prominent parts.
The following menu of a ball supper which was served quite recently at
a London dance is all that a self-respecting ball supper need be. It
seems to me to be excellently designed and thought out, for it provides
for all tastes and palates, and appeals to the débutante as well as the
sapient middle-aged supper eater.
MENU DU SOUPER