VERREY'S (REGENT STREET)
The little curly-headed, light-haired page, who is the modern Mercury,
in that he gives warning when one is rung up at the telephone in the
club, came to me in the reading-room and told me that a lady at the
Hotel Cecil wished to speak to me.
"Hullo! Are you there?" was answered by a "Yes" in a lady's voice, and
in a few seconds I was informed that Myra Washington was in London,
that she would like to see me, that she would be busy all the afternoon
shopping, but that if I was not otherwise engaged I might take her out
to dinner and to a show afterwards.
Mrs. Washington is a lady whom it is a liberal education to have the
honour of being acquainted with, for she knows most people who are
worth knowing in Europe, has been to most places worth seeing, and is
in every way cosmopolitan. She is generally taken for a Russian, until
she speaks, chiefly, I think, because of her hair, which is so light
that it is almost white, and because she smokes cigarettes at every
possible moment. She is to be found in Paris, where she has a flat in
one of the avenues branching from the Arc de Triomphe, and where she
is kind enough, most years, to give me _déjeuner_ on the morning of
the Grand Prix. But her movements are always erratic. I first made her
acquaintance at Suez, where I had the honour to be recorded on the
tablets of her memory as having delivered her from some impertinent
Arab hawkers, and she showed me what American hospitality is during the
exhibition at Chicago, in which city her husband, John P. Washington,
is always making or losing fortunes in the wheat pit.
I was glad, therefore, to hear the pretty lady's voice again, even
though filtered through a telephone, and I proposed innumerable plans
to her. She had come to London from Cannes to meet John, who was
running over from America for a couple of days on business, and wanted
to do as much as possible in the shortest time. She had been to the
Gaiety after dining at the Savoy her first night in London, had lunched
at Willis's and seen a matinée at Daly's, dined at the Princes' Hall
and spent the evening at the Palace on the second, and now I was to be
responsible for her evening's amusement on the third evening.
Did she know Verrey's? And as a reply I was asked whether I thought she
knew her own name. Then would she dine with me at the restaurant in
Regent Street, and I would have a box for her at the Empire afterwards?
and Mrs. Washington said she would. "If I may, I will come and call
for you at a little before eight," I said promptly, and Mrs. Washington
wanted to know whether there were bandits in Regent Street. Eventually,
I was told that if I was cooling my feet in the entrance at 8 to a
second I should have the felicity of helping her out of her cab.
To give Mrs. Washington a satisfactory dinner is not one of the easiest
things in the world, for she understands the art of dining, and is,
as well, a most excellent cook herself when she chooses; so it was
with a full sense of the responsibility I had incurred that I sought
Mr. Krehl, the elder of the two brothers in whose hands Verrey's now
is, and found him in the café. He knew Mrs. Washington, of course,
and hearing that it was she who was to be my guest, he called in his
brother Albert, almost a twin in resemblance to him, who now devotes
all his time to the management of the restaurant, and we held a solemn
council of three. I am a very strong believer myself in small dinners,
but it was difficult to make up a menu which would be sufficiently
substantial, without appearing gluttonous, for two. I held out against
the second entrée; but the sense of the house was distinctly against
me, and the _pouding Saxon_ was an addition that I did not approve of,
but gave in, being outvoted. This was the dinner that we settled on
before I started home to dress:--
Petite marmite.
Œufs à la Russe.
Soufflé de filets de sole à la Verrey.
Timbale Lucullus.
Noisettes d'agneau à la Princesse.
Petits pois à la Française.
Pommes Mirelle.
Aiguillettes de caneton à l'Orange.
Salade Vénétienne.
Pouding Saxon.
Salade de fruits.
Mrs. Washington, enveloped in a great furry white cloak, and with
a lace covering to her head, was punctual to the second, and as we
settled down to our table in the dining-room, with its silver arches
to the roof, caught and reflected a hundred times by the mirrors, and
its suave dark-green panels, which formed an excellent background to
the cream-coloured miracle of a dress that Mrs. Washington was wearing,
she told me a few of the events of the last few weeks. She had stayed
in New York for the second Assembly, and had gone from New York to the
Riviera, where Cannes had been her headquarters, and I incidentally was
given full particulars as to doings of the ladies' club there. Now,
pausing for one night in Paris to see the new Palais Royal piece, which
is a play, so Mrs. Washington says, that no respectable girl could take
her grandmother to see, she had run over to England to meet John, and
afterwards was going to leisurely travel to Seville, getting there in
time for the Holy Week processions.
The soup, admirably hot, had been placed before us by the waiter,
in plain evening clothes, while Mrs. Washington talked and pulled
off her long white gloves, and before using her spoon she took in
the company dining at the many little square tables, lighted by
wax red-shaded candles, in one comprehensive glance; smiled to the
well-known journalist whose love for dogs forms a bond between him and
the Messrs. Krehl, themselves powers in the dog world; thought that the
ruddy-haired prima donna looked well and showed no signs of her recent
illness; wanted to know if it was true that the celebrated musician,
who was dining with his wife, was to be included in the next birthday
list of honours; and nodded to a gentleman with long black whiskers,
her banker in Paris, who was entertaining a party of a dozen.
The _œufs à la Russe_, with their attendant _vodkhi_, met with Mrs.
Washington's approval: there were no flies on them, was her expression.
We did not quite agree as to the _soufflé_, I daring to say that
though the fish part of the dish was admirable I thought the _soufflé_
covering might have been lighter, a statement which my guest at once
countered, and, by her superior knowledge of culinary detail reduced me
to silence, overcome but certainly not convinced. As to the _timbale_,
with its savoury contents of quenelles, foie gras, cocks'-combs, and
truffles, there could be no two opinions; it was excellent, and the
same might be said of the _noisettes_, each with its accompanying
_fond d'artichaut_, and the new peas with a leaf of mint boiled with
them. Mrs. Washington would have preferred _pommes soufflées_ to
_pommes Mirelle_, but I could hardly have known that when ordering
dinner. The Venetian salad, a little tower of many-coloured vegetables,
looking like poker chips, Mrs. Washington said, peas, beans, truffles,
potatoes, beetroot, flavoured by a slice of _saucisson_ and dressed
with whipped white of eggs, was one of the triumphs of the dinner, and
so was the _salade de fruits_. For Mrs. Washington to praise a fruit
salad is a high honour, for she is one of the favoured people for whom
François, late of the Grand Hotel, Monte Carlo and now of the Hotel
Cecil, deigns to mix one with his own hands. The gourmets of Europe say
that as a salad maker no man can approach François. I personally uphold
the fruit salads that Frederic, of the Tour d'Argent, makes as being
perfection, but Europe and America vote for François. I was told that
the _pouding Saxon_ was an unnecessary item, and I was rather glad, for
I had shied at it when ordering dinner.
I reminded Mrs. Washington, who was sipping her Perrier-Jouët lazily,
that the Empire ballet begins comparatively early, and to be in time
for it, which she insisted on, we had to hurry over our coffee (which
is always admirable at Verrey's) and liqueurs, and the cigarette, which
is a necessary of life to the lady. Then, while Mrs. Washington drew
on the long white gloves again, I paid the bill:--hors-d'œuvre, 1s.;
potage, 1s. 6d.; poisson, 3s.; entrées, 2s. 6d. and 3s.; pommes, 6d.;
légumes, 1s.; rôti, 10s. 6d.; salade, 1s.; entremets, 3s.; café, 1s.;
liqueur, 2s.; cigarettes, 2d.; Perrier-Jouët, 1889, 13s.; total, £2:
4: 2.
22_nd March_.
* * * * *
I asked Mr. Albert Krehl to give me an idea of any special dishes which
Verrey's is proud of, and pausing by the way to tell me how the house
has always tried to wean its patrons from the cut from the joint at
déjeuner time, and to induce them to eat small and light dinners, he
said that entremet ices were one of the delights that Verrey's prides
itself on, dwelt lovingly on a description of an _entrecôte Olga_, and
then reeled off _œufs à la Russe, omelette foies de volaille, sole
Polignac, filets de sole à la Belle Otero, glace Trianon, sole à la
Verrey,_ which has a flavouring of Parmesan, _moules à la Marinière,
poulet Parmentier en casserole_.
If the Messrs. Krehl counsel small dinners in the salle, they do not
always do so for the private rooms upstairs. This is the menu of a
dinner at which H.R.H. the Prince of Wales was present:--
Œufs à la Kavigote
(Vodkhi).
Bisque d'écrevisses. Consommé Okra.
Rougets à la Muscovite.
Selle de mouton de Galles.
Haricots panachés. Tomates au gratin.
Pommes soufflées.
Timbale Lucullus.
Fonds d'artichauts. Crème pistache.
Grouse.
Salad Rachel.
Biscuit glacé à la Verrey.
Soufflé de laitances.
Dessert.
Mr. Krehl gave me the _recette_ of the _timbales à la Lucullus_. Here
it is--
TIMBALE LUCULLUS
_La garniture Lucullus se compose de: crêtes de coq, rognons de coq,
truffes en lames, quenelles de volaille truffées, champignons, foie
gras dans une demi-glace bien réduite, un filet de madère, et un jus de
truffes._
[Illustration]
The Lucullus garnish is composed of cocks' combs, cocks' kidneys,
truffles cut in slices, chicken quenelles, made with truffles,
mushrooms, foie-gras well stewed down in a semi-liquid glaze,[1] with
just a suspicion of Madeira, and a gravy made from truffles.
[1] Or a glaze which has not been boiled down so as to make it a very
stiff jelly.