ROMANO'S
Sometimes after a period of depression one wants a tonic in dinners,
as one does in health. My gastronomic malady had been a family feast
at which I had sat next to a maiden aunt who, after telling me that I
was getting unpleasantly fat, recounted anecdotes of my infancy and
childhood all tending to prove that I was the most troublesome baby
and worst conducted small boy that ever was. Something had to be done
to banish that maiden aunt and her anecdotes from my memory. The happy
thought came to me that, as the antidote, I had better, as I wanted
cheering up, ask Miss Dainty, of the principal London theatres, to be
kind enough to come out and dine at any time and at any restaurant she
chose to name. I sent my humble invitation by express early in the day,
and received her answer by telegram:--"Yes. Romano's. Eight. See I have
my pet table. I have been given a beautiful poodle--Dainty. Be good,
and you will be happy."
At luncheon time I strolled down to the restaurant, the
butter-coloured front of which looks on to the Strand, and the
proprietor, "the Roman," as he is called by the habitués of the
establishment, being out, I took Signor Antonelli, his second in
command, into my confidence, secured the table next to the door,
sheltered by a glass screen from the draught, which I knew to be Miss
Dainty's pet one, and proceeded to order dinner. Antonelli--I must drop
the Signor--who has all the appearance of a cavalry colonel, led off
with _hors-d'œuvre_. I followed with, as a suggestion for soup, _crème
Pink 'Un_, a soup named after a light-hearted journal which practically
made "the Roman's" fortune for him. Then, as there were some beautiful
trout in the house, the only question was as to the cooking of them.
_Truite au bleu_, my first thought, was too simple. _Truite Chambord_,
the amendment moved by Antonelli, was too rich; so we compromised by
_Truite Meunière_, in the sauce of which the lemon counteracts the
butter. _Côtelettes de mouton Sefton_ was Antonelli's suggestion, and
was carried unanimously; but I altered his pheasant, which sounded
greedy for two people, into a _perdreau en casserole_. Salad, of
course. Then, taken with a fit of parsimony, I refused to let English
asparagus go down on the slip of paper, and ordered instead _artichauts
hollandais_. Vanilla ice _en corbeille_ and _petits fours_ wound up my
menu.
When the handsome lady arrived--only ten minutes late--she swept like
a whirlwind through the hall--past the flower-stall, where I had
intended to ask her to pause and choose what flowers she would--in a
dress which was a dream of blue with a constellation of diamonds on it,
and as she settled down into her seat at the table, not quite certain
whether to keep on the blue velvet and ermine cloak or let it drop, I
was told the first instalment of her news at express speed. I need not
look a crosspatch because she was late, the pretty lady said. It was
the fault of the cabman, who was drunk, and had driven her half-way
down Oxford Street. What was a good name for a poodle? The one she had
been given was the dearest creature in the world. It had bitten all the
claws off the Polar bear skin in the drawing-room, had eaten up a new
pair of boots from Paris, had hunted the cat all along the balcony,
breaking two of the blue pots the evergreens were in, and had dragged
all the feathers out of the parrot's tail. Was Sambo a good name? Or
Satan? Or what? Why couldn't I answer?
My humble suggestions as to a name for a poodle having been treated
with scorn, Miss Dainty turned her attention to the _hors-d'œuvre_.
There were no plain sardines among the numerous little dishes on the
table, and the ordinary tinned sardine was what her capricious ladyship
wanted--and got. The _crème Pink 'Un_ was highly approved of, and I
did my best to explain at length how the combination of rice with
a Bisque soup softened the asperity of the cray-fish. Miss Dainty,
changing the subject, demanded to know what the seascapes, which are
framed all round the room, in mauresque arches, were. I told her
that the distemper paintings of deep blue sea and castles and islands
and mosques, which are the principal features of the room, a room in
which everything, the clock, the musicians' gallery, the electric
light brackets, are of Eastern type, were views on the Bosphorus;
and, thinking to amuse, related how when the paintings were first put
up, a celebrated battle-painter and myself had volunteered to give an
up-to-dateness to them by adding some Armenian atrocities to lend life
to the pictures, and of "the Roman's" horror, under the impression that
we really meant to do as we said. My humorous anecdote fell rather
flat, for Miss Dainty, who did not care much for her trout, though I
thought it very excellent, but a trifle too buttery, said that that was
just the sort of silly thing I would do.
The quiet person with a silver chain round his neck had brought our
bottle of _St-Marceaux_, and the clean-shaven little Italian waiter in
a white apron had replaced the trout with the cutlets _à la Sefton_.
For these Miss Dainty had nothing but praise, which I echoed very
heartily.
"Your dinner--everything go right, eh, Mister Esquire?" and "the
Roman," a dapper little Italian in faultless dress-clothes, with a
small, carefully tended moustache, a full head of black hair, turning
grey at the temple, and talking English with a free admixture of
Italian, stood by our table, going his round to see that all the diners
were satisfied. Miss Dainty did not ask for the deep-red carnation
that was in "the Roman's" button-hole; but before he had passed on she
was pinning it into her dress, and when I ventured a very mild remark
I was told that if I had not been mean enough to let her pass the
flower-stall without offering her a button-hole she would not have had
to accept one from anybody else--a retort which was scarcely fair.
I asked Miss Dainty if she knew who the pretty lady dining with a
good-looking grey-haired man at a table at the end of the room was.
She did know and gave me a full account of the lady's stage career,
and while the _perdreau en casserole_ was being cut up we ran over
the professions of the various diners who occupied the triple line of
little tables running down the room. The two men dining by themselves
were powers in the theatrical world. "May I ask them to come and take
their coffee and old brandy at our table?" I asked, and Miss Dainty
graciously assented. There were as well a well-known theatrical lawyer
talking business with the secretary to a successful manager; a dramatic
author, who was proposing plays to a colonial manager; a lady with
golden hair and a permanent colour to whom a small Judaic youth was
whispering with great earnestness; a well-known sporting lord, dining
by himself; a music-hall agent laying down the law as to contracts to a
journalist; two quiet ladies in sealskin coats; and many others, nearly
all connected with the great army of stage-land.
A little too much onion with the _perdreau en casserole_ we both
thought, otherwise admirable. Salad good, artichokes good, though we
preferred plain vinegar as a dressing to the _hollandais_ one, and the
ice delicious. Then Miss Dainty trifled with cherries cased in pink
sweetness and sections of oranges sealed in transparent sugar, and our
two friends from the table at the far end came across and took coffee
and liqueurs with us, and talked of the old days when Romano's was but
a quarter of the size it is now, when it was far more Bohemian than it
is now, when there was a little aquarium in the front window into which
the sons of Belial used to try and force each other late at night, much
to the consternation of the gold-fish, when everybody who took his
meals there knew everybody else and the chaff ran riot down the single
line of little tables, and when every Sunday morning a devoted but
Sabbath-breaking band were led across the Strand by "the Roman" to see
his cellars, "best in London," as he used to say.
All of a sudden Miss Dainty, whom these reminiscences did not interest
very much, remembered that the door of the parrot's cage had been left
open. She was quite sure that the poodle would be trying to kill the
bird, and she must go back at once to see to the matter.
I put Miss Dainty, who said that she had enjoyed her dinner, into a
hansom, two brown eyes full of laughter set in a pretty face looked out
at me as she told me to be good and that then I should be happy, the
cabman cried "Pull up" to his horse, and the pretty lady was off to the
rescue of the parrot.
Then I went back and paid my bill: Two couverts, 6d.; hors-d'œuvre,
2s.; crème Pink 'Un, 2s.; truite, 2s. 6d.; côtelettes de mouton, 2s.
6d.; petits pois, 1s.; pommes, 1s.; perdreau, 6s.; salade, 1s.;
artichauts, 2s.; glace, 2s.; champagne (107), 13s. 6d.; café, 3s.;
liqueurs, 5s.; total £2: 4s.
22_nd February_.
* * * * *
When I asked Antonelli for a specimen menu of a dinner of ceremony such
as is often given in the pretty Japanese room on the second floor he
looked pleased and said that I should certainly have it; but when I
asked for the _recette_ of the _crème Pink 'Un_ he looked as doleful
as if he had just heard of the death of his grandmother. But Signor
Romano came to the rescue. "The _chef_ he say that soup what-you-call-a
_secret du maison_; but I tell him no matter _secret_ or not he just
write it out for you." So I got my _recette_. This is the dinner, and a
noble feast it is, that Antonelli recommends for a party of twelve. The
_Homard sauté à la Julien_ is a speciality of Romano's; but I have some
respect for the feelings of Antonelli and the _chef_, and did not ask
for a _recette_ of _that_.
Huîtres natives.
Petite bouchée norvégienne.
Tortue claire.
Crème Dubarry.
Homard sauté à la Julien.
Aiguillette de sole. Sauce Germanique.
Zéphir de poussin à la Brillat-Savarin.
Selle d'agneau à la Grand-Veneur.
Petits pois primeur à la Française.
Pomme nouvelle persillade.
Spongada à la Palermitaine.
Jambon d'York braisé au champagne.
Caille à la Crapaudine.
Salade de saison.
Asperges vertes en branche. Sauce mousseuse.
Timbale Marie-Louise.
Bombe à la Romano.
Petits fours assortis.
Dessert.
Café.
_Pink 'Un Potage_
The _recette_ of the _crème Pink 'Un_ is as follows:--
_Mettez dans une casserole deux onces de beurre, deux
cuillères-à-bouche d'huile d'olive; coupez en petits morceaux une
carotte et un oignon, que vous laisserez cuire pendant cinq minutes
tout doucement. Avez ensuite vingt-quatre écrevisses vivantes, un
livre de crevettes et six tomates fraîches, que vous mettrez ensemble;
ajoutez une demi-bouteille de Chablis, et, après avoir assaisonné de
sel et poivre cayenne, couvrez votre casserole et donnez vingt minutes
d'ébullition._
_D'autre part prenez une livre d'orge perlée que vous aurez faite cuire
pendant trois heures dans un bouillon ordinaire, brayez dans un mortier
vos écrevisses et crevettes, ainsi que l'orge, mélangez, délayez avec
un litre de bouillon, passez ensuite a l'étamine; ceci fait, remettez
votre potage à chauffer sans lui donner de l'ébullition; additionnez
une réduction de cognac où vous y aurez mis une branche de thym,
deux feuilles de laurier, un petit bouquet de persil, d'estragon et
cerfeuil. Finissez votre potage en y ajoutant six onces de beurre frais
et servez avec croûtons._
[Illustration]
Put in a saucepan two ounces of butter and two teaspoonfuls of olive
oil. Cut a carrot and an onion into small pieces, and let them cook
gently for five minutes. Then take twenty-four live cray-fish, a pound
of prawns, and six fresh tomatoes. Put these in altogether, and then
add half a bottle of Chablis, and after having seasoned with salt and
cayenne pepper, put the lid on the saucepan, and let it boil for twenty
minutes. Have ready a pound of pearl barley which has been cooked for
three hours, in ordinary stock. Pound in a mortar the cray-fish and
prawns, with the barley, dilute with a pint and three-quarters of
stock, and pass through a fine sieve. This done, put the soup back to
warm again, without letting it boil. Add then a little cognac, in which
you have steeped a bunch of thyme, two laurel leaves, and a little
bunch of parsley, tarragon and chervil. Finish your soup by adding six
ounces of fresh butter, and serve with sippets of fried bread.