THE HOTEL CECIL (THE STRAND)
It was in the noble cause of conversion of fellow-man that I dined at
the Hotel Cecil. One of my uncles, the Nabob--so called by us because
he spent many years in the gorgeous East--affects the belief that
there is no good curry to be had outside the portals of his club,
the East India; and for that reason, when he is not dining at home,
dines nowhere but there. I would not dare to trifle with the Nabob's
digestion, for I have reason to believe that he has remembered me in
his will; but I also thought that he should not be allowed to go to his
grave with the erroneous impression that curry can only be made out of
India in St. James's Square. I have eaten good curry at the Criterion,
where a sable gentleman is charged with its preparation, and I also
remembered that at the Cecil they make a speciality of their curries.
The Nabob, doubting much, said that he would dine with me; and, with
the possibility of the alteration of the terms of that will always
before me, I went down to the Hotel Cecil to interview M. Bertini on
the morning of the day of the dinner.
Three gentlemen in gorgeous uniforms, and with as much gold lace round
their caps as a field-marshal wears, received me at the door. A clerk
in the reception bureau took my card, wrote something mysterious on a
slip of paper, and sent a page-boy in blue off on the search for M.
Bertini, while I stood and contemplated the great marble staircase.
M. Bertini would see me directly, I was told; and I went down a floor
or two in the lift and was shown into a comfortable room, the big table
in the centre covered with papers, a telephone at either side of the
armchair by the table, and on the walls sketches for the uniforms of
the gentlemen with gold-laced caps who had received me, a caricature of
M. Bertini, and drawings of various Continental hotels. A yellow dog
which had been asleep under the chiffonier rose, stretched himself,
inspected me, and apparently thought me harmless, for he went to sleep
again. Presently in came M. Bertini himself, looking cool and neat, his
beard closely clipped, his moustache brushed out. I had interfered with
his morning round of inspection; but he could spare a minute or two to
talk over my needs for the evening. I told him at once what I wanted: a
dinner for two with the curry course as the most important item, and M.
Bertini, who is an expert in cookery, took a slip of paper and sketched
out a menu. Here it is:--
Hors-d'œuvre variés.
Consommé Sarah Bernhardt.
Filet de sole à la Garbure.
Côtes en chevreuil. Sauce poivrade.
Haricots verts à la Villars.
Pommes Cécil.
Mousse de foie gras et jambon au champagne.
Curry à l'Indienne.
Bombay Duck, etc. etc.
Asperges.
Bombe à la Cecil.
Petites friandises choisies.
We had a table in the corner of the great restaurant, with its dozen
marble pillars, its walnut panelling, its tapestries, the gilt Cecil
arms on a great square of red velvet, its great crystal lamps that
hold the electric light, its fireplaces of Sicilian marble, its gilt
ceiling, its musicians' gallery in one corner. The waiters with their
white aprons bustled silently about setting down the _hors-d'œuvre_,
the important person with the silver chain round his neck took the
order for a bottle of Deutz and Gelderman, and the curry cook, clothed
in white samite, and with his turban neatly rolled, came up to make
his salaam, and was immediately tackled by the Nabob, who in fluent
Hindustani put him through an examination in the art of curry-making,
which was apparently satisfactory, for he was dismissed with a _Bot
atcha_.
Then the Nabob, hook-nosed, clean-shaven, except for two thin
side-whiskers, turned to me. "When I was at Mhow, in '54, Holkar--not
the present man, but his grandfather, had a curry cook named Afiz,
who----" and just then the waiter brought the soup, which I was glad
of, for I knew my uncle's story of Holkar and Afiz, and how the cook
was to have been beheaded for giving his Highness a mutton curry
instead of an egg one, and was saved by the Nabob's interference,
and I knew that it took half an hour in the telling. The _consommé
Sarah Bernhardt_, which has a foundation of turtle, to which is added
_consommé de volaille, quenelles_ and parsley, was worthy of M. Coste,
erstwhile of Cubats', the gorgeous restaurant in the Champs Elysées,
who has deserted the banks of the Seine for those of the Thames; and
the _filet de sole à la Garbure_, over the description of the cooking
of which M. Guy Gagliardelly, the most attentive of _maîtres d'hôtel_,
waxed eloquent, was another masterpiece of the kitchen. It is a
variation of the _filet de sole Mornay_, having vegetables added to it.
Then came a pause, and with it the Nabob's opportunity. "Holkar never
gave a great curry feast without asking me to it, for he said that
I was the only European who understood what a curry should be----"
and just then the waiter put down our cutlets before us, and M.
Gagliardelly was at my elbow to explain that the _haricots verts_ were
prepared with flour and egg and then fried like a sole, and M. Laurent,
the _chef du restaurant_, who had been going the round of the tables,
told us the secret of _pommes Cecil_.
My uncle drew a long breath, and I knew what was coming, when luckily
a lady with a great dog-collar of diamonds passed and attracted his
attention, and I staved off the dissertation on curries for a few
minutes by telling him of the wonderful diamond stomacher the lady
possessed, which made the collar look only like a row of brilliants. I
called the Nabob's attention, too, to a quiet, almost shabbily-dressed
gentleman, dining with his wife and two little girls, for he is a man
with an estate in Australia big enough to form a principality in the
Balkans, and people talk of the revenue he gets from his flocks and
herds with a sort of awe. A little French chansonnette singer; the
editor of a Society newspaper; a well-known musician and his daughter,
who is a rising young actress, were other people of interest to be
pointed out; and by that time our two wedges of the delicately-coloured
_mousse_, with its flavouring gained from tongue and champagne and
old brandy, were before us. The _mousse_ was the only dish in the
dinner that was really open to criticism, and I do not think that I am
captious when I say that I prefer it made less solidly than M. Coste's
creation at the Cecil.
Then came the dish of the evening, a tender spring-chicken for the
foundation of the curry, and all the accessories, Bombay duck, that
crumpled in our fingers to dust, paprika cakes, thinner than a sheet
of note-paper, and chutnees galore, to add to the savoury mess. It was
a genuine Indian curry, and the curry cook, his hands joined in the
attitude of polite deference, stood and watched rather anxiously the
Nabob take his first mouthful. I myself think the Malay curries the
best in the world, those wonderful preparations of prawns, fish, fowl,
meat, or vegetable, with one great curry as the foundation swimming
in the delicious semi-liquid, which has always the taste of fresh
cocoa-nut, with half a dozen subsidiary curries, and then a host of
_sambals_, little dishes of _ota-ota_, which is fish brains pounded in
cream, fresh cocoa-nut and chili, beans, shredded ham, Bombay duck, and
a hundred other relishes; and I put next to it the Ceylon curry. But
the Nabob swears by the curries of India, and even the old Quai Haies
of his club pay attention when he gives his decision on a question of
feeding. "Er, um, yes, good," said the old gentleman, and the cook
salaamed. "Good, decidedly. I don't say as good as we get it at the
club"--he was bound to say this--"but decidedly good." The success of
the dinner was made, and I felt relieved in my mind as to the will.
The asparagus and the _bombe_, with an electrically illuminated ice
windmill as a background, were but the skirmishes after the pitched
battle had been won.
As I lighted a cigarette, the Nabob, who does not smoke, began again.
"Holkar always invited me and a fellow Afiz, whose life I saved--that's
a devilish good story that I must tell you some day--used to make one
special curry of lambs' tongues, which he called after me." "Pardon
me, uncle, while I pay my bill," I said as a last resource, and this
was the bill I paid:--Soup, 2s.; filet de sole, 3s.; côte de mouton,
3s.; haricots verts, 1s. 6d.; pommes, 1s.; mousse, 4s.; curry, 3s.
6d.; asperges, 7s. 6d.; bombe, 2s.; two cafés, 2s.; liqueurs, 3s.;
cigarettes, 1s.; wine, 15s.; total, £2: 8: 6.
29_th March_.
* * * * *
M. Bertini has left the Cecil and Mr. A. Judah, young, alert, with
something of the cavalry-officer in his appearance, reigns in his
stead. Mons. François has deserted Monte Carlo and the Grand Hotel
for the Strand and the Cecil, and now has charge of the restaurant.
François has seen the rise of Monte Carlo, having been a dweller in
Monaco before Mons. Blanc turned a rocky hill into a paradise by
establishing a hell in the centre of it. To hear him tell the story of
the early days of the Casino is very interesting. Mons. Laurent is now
the _maître d'hôtel_ at the Continental.
Mr. Judah was kind enough to give me the _recette_ for the _consommé
Sarah Bernhardt_, the soup I thought so excellent when I dined at the
Cecil, and I also asked him to suggest a dinner for six people, with
some specialities of the Cecil included in it.
Here is the _recette_, and here the menu, with an asterisk against the
dishes which are specialities of the Cecil cuisine:--
Caviar frais de Sterlet.
Consommé Sarah Bernhardt.
*Suprême de truite Astronome.
*Poularde soufflée Cecil.
Selle d'agneau de Pauillac rôtie.
Petits pois nouveaux.
Caneton de Rouen à la Presse.
Salade de cœurs de Romaine.
Asperges de Lauris. Sauce mousseline.
Pêches rafraîchies au marasquin.
Comtesse Marie glacée.
Paniers de petits fours.
Fruits.
_Consommé Sarah Bernhardt_
_II faut d'abord avoir un bon consommé de volaille; le lier avec
du tapioca grillé, que l'on jette dedans pendant qu'il bouille, et
laisser cuire environ trois quarts d'heure; y ajouter une infusion de
cerfeuil, estragon, coriandre, avec une pointe de cayenne, ainsi qu'une
ou deux eschalottes et un ou deux champignons émincés revenus au vieux
Madère sec; verser le tout dans le consommé et laisser cuire environ
dix minutes. Passer au linge fin ou à l'étamine; garnir de peluches,
de petites quenelles d'écrevisses et de ronds de moëlle coupés à
l'emporte, pièce d'environ un centimètre d'épaisseur._
You must first have a good stock, made from poultry, then add to it
roasted tapioca, which you throw in while the stock is boiling. Let it
cook for about three-quarters of an hour, then add to it an infusion of
chervil, tarragon, coriander, and a pinch of cayenne pepper, as well
as one or two shallots, and one or two minced mushrooms, which have
been soaked in old dry Madeira. Pour the whole into the stock, and let
it cook for about ten minutes. Pass through fine muslin or a sieve;
garnish with little quenelles of crayfish, grated bread-crumbs, and
rounds of marrow, cut out with the cutter, about three-quarters of an
inch in thickness.