THE AVONDALE (PICCADILLY)
While I sat in the anteroom of the Hôtel Avondale and waited for the
Epicure, whom I had asked to come and dine with me, as a general
practitioner would call in a specialist in a delicate case, I pondered
over the vicissitudes which, during the past few years, have befallen
the hotel that has now come into the hands of the two young and
energetic men from the Savoy.
It opened with a great flourish of trumpets, I remember, as the Cercle
de Luxe, just at the time that Society seemed inclined to take to
dining clubs, and the Amphitryon was always full, and the Maison Dorée
glittered scarcely a stone's-throw away. I was much impressed then
with the gorgeousness of the staircase, with the walls of reddish
marble, topped by white, veined with black, and above that a broad
painted frieze, red in tone, studded with portraits of Elizabethan
worthies, which marbles and frieze and portraits remain to this day.
There were gorgeous pictures then in the smoking-room, downstairs, of
Elizabeth, or her nobles, going in State on the Thames, and hawking
and setting out to war, which pictures, when I peeped into the room
before going upstairs, seem to have vanished. The room in which I was
waiting for the Epicure was in those days a drawing-room of excessive
gorgeousness, and I can recall that I thought that it was not for a
simple ordinary man like myself to sit on yellow satin sofas that shone
like looking-glasses. Now the room has nice panels of old-gold brocade
and the sofas and curtains are in deep blue velvet. An American flag,
draped over the principal piece of furniture in the room, shows of what
nationality most of the guests at the Avondale at present are.
What was the cause of the non-success of the Cercle de Luxe, I do not
know, for the dining-room was charming, and the cookery was undeniable.
The next development of the house was as a cosy hotel, with the big
rooms broken up into little suites of apartments, the anteroom turned
into a dining-room, where a very good _table-d'hôte_ dinner was
served, and a bid made to attract well-to-do couples who liked hotel
life. I looked over the hotel at the time of this transformation, and
thought that if ever I married I would spend my honeymoon in No. 9,
which was a particularly charming suite of apartments. I am, however,
still in a state of single blessedness, and No. 9 has been converted
into the kitchen of the restaurant, for Messrs. Garin and Eugène have
broken down the partitions, restored the dining-room to its former
proportions, and are trying to make the Avondale a little Savoy in
Piccadilly.
The Epicure arrived on the stroke of the hour, and we went into the
dining-room, where I had retained a table by the window. It is a
pleasant room now, and will be even better when the new decorations
have toned down under the influence of the London climate. There are
pillars of black and white marble with gilded capitals and marble
mantels, and the walls are frescoed by some modern artist. Opposite
to us on the broadest space of wall a Diana worked in high relief in
plaster was backed by a view of the falls of the Rhine, and on either
side in panels were a lady in an Empire dress and a gentleman of the
same period teaching a _merveilleuse_ how to look through a telescope.
There was an appetising show of fruit on the table in the centre, the
strawberries being on the summit of a great block of ice. A Moorish
gentleman, who I expect does nothing more ferocious than make coffee,
made a fine splash of colour in his crimson and gold.
The Epicure having announced that he was not hungry, and that he could
not drink champagne, I felt that the menu which had been devised by the
management, and had met with my entire approval, might be too long for
him, and I thought regretfully of the bottle of Moët and Chandon which
I had ordered to be put in the ice-pail just long enough to get a chill
into the wine. This was our dinner:--
Hors-d'œuvre.
Bortsch.
Soles bonne femme.
Selle d'agneau de lait.
Petits pois française.
Pommes nouvelles.
Rouen Rouennaise.
Cœurs de Romaine.
Asperges de Paris.
Macédoine de fruits au Kirsch.
The Epicure looked at it, but said nothing; and I felt that so far
I, in company with Messrs. Garin and Eugène, had at least escaped
censure. The Epicure approved of the lights on the table, which were
like a bunch of three pink lilies, the cups all pointing inwards, but
thought that the globes suspended from the ceiling were too bright and
might dazzle the eyes, thereby interfering with the full enjoyment of
a dinner. M. Garin, who stood by in an immaculate frock coat, gave the
Epicure to understand that this should be put right at once.
The _hors-d'œuvre_ the Epicure passed without any remarks, and I felt
that they at least were satisfactory.
Bortsch is a soup of which I am very fond, and I like the softness that
the spoonful of cream mixed with it gives. The Epicure did not take
cream in his, and I wondered why, but thought it wiser not to ask. He
said that the soup was good, and I began to feel reassured as to my
dinner, while the good-looking _maître d'hôtel_, who was hovering round
our table, positively beamed on him.
The _Soles bonne femme_, with their sliced mushrooms and excellent
sauce, I thought very good; but the Epicure felt that it was time to
assert himself, and said that though the dish was undeniably well
cooked, still it was not in sufficient contrast to the soup to be
exactly the right _plat_ for a perfect dinner. I did not exactly
understand what he meant; but I shook my head and said that no doubt
that was so.
Meanwhile, the room had been filling up. A well-known newspaper
proprietor who is also a celebrity in the hunting-field, was giving a
dinner to two pretty ladies, one of whom wore a beautiful necklet of
diamonds and the other a three-fold rope of pearls, and to two other
men. A magnate of the Stock Exchange had brought another member of the
House to dine, two or three couples--Americans, I think--the ladies
mightily smart, had come in and taken their places, and a well-known
explorer, who was giving a dinner-party, but whose guests had not
arrived, looked in to see that his table was all in order.
The saddle of lamb was excellent, and as the Epicure ate the delicate
white meat, cooked to a turn by the excellent M. Dutruz, the chef, he
launched out into anecdotes as to the great love that real epicures
have for these babes and sucklings, and of the personal inconvenience
to which they have even been known to put themselves to obtain their
flesh. The peas, with the suggestion of sugar and onion with them,
also met with high approval. But the Epicure would not pass the duck.
I should have eaten it and seen no harm in it; but not so the Epicure.
"C'est un peu faisandé," he said, and would not touch it. A cut was
brought from another duck; but he would have none of that either. Both
Messrs. Garin and Eugène were on the scene at once, and explained. All
their poultry came from Paris, a fresh stock each day, and they could
not imagine how such a thing could possibly be. The Epicure was stern.
He pointed out to them that it was a judgment on them for going to
Paris for their ducks instead of to London, and incidentally lectured
us on the method of preparation of the Rouen Rouennaise. I wanted to
eat my slice of duck, so I scraped off the luscious brown sauce, and
suggesting that it might be the sauce and not the duck that was at
fault, left a bare platter. The Epicure looked at me as a traveller
does at an Earthman, but said nothing.
The asparagus, the Epicure said, was delicious, and the atmosphere
cleared again, and he also approved highly of the _macédoine_. His
claret, he said, was good, and I know that my champagne was excellent;
but just as a parting salute to Messrs. Garin and Eugène, he rubbed
some of the liqueur brandy on the palms of his hands, smelt it, and
used it as a text on which to discourse of the failure of the grape
vine in Cognac and the ravages of the phylloxera.
When I asked for my bill I told Messrs. Garin and Eugène that I thought
they had given me an excellent dinner, and not to distress their
minds too much about the duck, as an epicure, if he was not severely
critical, would not be an epicure. This was the bill: Two dinners at
10s. 6d., £1: 1s.; one 127, 16s.; half 44, 3s. 6d.; one seltzer, 6d.;
two café double, 1s. 6d.; liqueurs, 3s.; cigar, 1s. 6d.; total, £2: 7s.
31_st May_.
* * * * *
Since writing the above the Avondale has firmly established itself as
one of the fashionable dining-places, and, following the example of
most of its elder competitors, has become a company with Hachett's, the
Whitehorse cellars, as a second asset of the company. Hachett's, of
which the dining-room, underground, has always had a good cheap _table
d'hôte_, is now managed by M. Eugène, while M. Garin is in command at
the Avondale. Amongst interesting dinners I have eaten at the Avondale,
one of the most interesting was a "Household Brigade Magazine" one,
a dinner which the staff of the Magazine, written by Guardsmen for
Guardsmen, hold from time to time. This was the menu of the feast, and
it is a good example of a dinner, not a very expensive one, for some
twenty guests--
Canapés à la Russe.
Petite marmite. Bisque d'écrevisses.
Turbotin. Sauce mousseline.
Volaille Derby.
Selle d'agneau Richelieu.
Bécassines rôties.
Salade.
Asperges vertes.
Bombe Martinique.
Ananas glacés.
Petits fours.
Soufflé Viennois.
I asked M. Garin to give me the recipe of Bortsch Soup, which I always
think the best soup in the world, and here it is, as written out by M.
Dutruz, the chef--
BORTSCH SOUP
_Ayez un bon consommé avec lequel vous manquez un morcelle la marmite
comme il est l'usage pour le consommé extra, faites blanchir un morceau
de poitrine de bœuf que vous ajoutez et une caneton que vous faites
rôtir pendant quelques minutes, le tout étant cuit, coupez les filets
du canard et le maigre du bœuf en petit carré d'un dessin centimètre,
passez votre consommé à la serviette, ayez d'autre part une Julienne de
légumes, avec beaucoup de choux. Servez notre potage en ajoutant aux
légumes les morceaux de bœuf et canard plus un jus de betterave rouge
de façon de lui donner une couleur rougeâtre et un peu de poivre moulu
frais; envoyez une saucière de crème à part._
[Illustration]
Take a good stock, and nearly fill the saucepan with it, as is usual
in the case of a rich soup. Blanch a piece of brisket of beef, add
this, with a duckling which has been roasted for a few minutes. When
all is cooked, cut some slices off the duck and cut them up into little
squares of less than a quarter of an inch, cutting up the lean part of
the beef in the same way. Pass your sauce through a linen strainer.
Have ready some Julienne made with vegetables, with plenty of cabbages.
Serve your soup, after adding the vegetables, the pieces of beef and
duck, and also the juice of a beetroot so as to give the soup a red
colour, and a pinch of freshly ground pepper. Send up a sauceboat of
cream separately.
Not only did M. Garin give me the soup recipe, but he sent me the
_recette_ of _soufflé de filet de sole à la d'Orléans_, a dish invented
by the Duc d'Orléans, who is one of the best patrons of the Avondale.
It has a double interest, through being an interesting dish, and
showing Monseigneur le Duc as being an expert in the detail of the
_haute cuisine_.
SOUFFLÉ DE FILETS DE SOLE À LA D'ORLÉANS
_Choisissez des filets de sole bien blancs, les parer et ciseler,
les farcir d'une farce de poisson aux truffes et rouler en forme de
paupiettes, faites pocher doucement avec du vin blanc, faire réduire
la cuisson, ajouter trois cuillères de béchamelle, le toute étant
bien réduit lier avec deux jaunes d'œufs et mélanger à votre appareil
en ajoutant de belles lames de truffes fraîches chauffées au beurre
assaisonné de sel et beaucoup de mignonette, placez vos paupiettes
sur un croûton très mince dans une timbale en argent et recouverte de
l'appareil à souffler, faites cuire pendant quinze minutes au four
en soupoudrant de parmesan (cheese) dessus de façon à prendre belle
couleur.--Ce plat doit être servi de suite._
[Illustration]
Choose very white fillets of sole, cut and shape them to the proper
size, stuff them with a fish stuffing made with truffles, and roll
them up _en paupiettes_ (in thin pieces, with the force-meat inside).
Well boil down the liquor, add three spoonfuls of Béchamel sauce,
and when the whole is well reduced add two yokes of eggs, and mix in
your soufflé pan, adding some nice slices of fresh truffles, warmed
in butter, seasoned with salt, and plenty of mignonette pepper. Place
your _paupiettes_ on a very thin crust in a silver timbale. Place in
the soufflé apparatus, cover over, and cook in the oven for fifteen
minutes, first having sprinkled it on the top with Parmesan cheese so
as to make it a good colour. This dish must be served immediately.