Filet of Sole Marguery
y originating this dish, an obscure restaurant keeper of Paris achieved a place among the immortals of cookery. The high relief of piquant sauce which sole requires, M. Marguery supplied in a flavoring with little mussels in it. So delightfully did it enhance the dish that a distinguished company of bon vivants who happened into the humble Marguery restaurant one night pronounced it a triumph.
The next day M. Marguery awoke to find himself and his sole famous. He soon was on the road to wealth and the dingy little eating shop grew into the magnificent establishment with which visitors to Paris are familiar.
The genius who presides over the range at the Congress is shown at his best in the reproduction of this exquisite culinary treat. The crisp tenderness of the browned sole and the piquant flavor of the sauce is the tribute of an artist to the immortal name of Marguery.
"Cookery is like matrimony—two things
served together should match."
—Yuan Mei, the Savarin of China
Noisettes of Beef Tenderloin
a la Rossini
ossini, a contemporary and friend of Dumas and Balzac—two famous fourchettes—was not only a distinguished composer, but also a cook of ability. This dish of his invention bears witness of his skill and rivals in seductiveness the sweet strains of "The Barber of Seville."
Dumas once complained to Rossini that he had tasted everything eatable and sighed, like Alexander, for new culinary worlds to conquer. Whereupon the musician promised the great romancist that his palate should enjoy a new sensation.
That evening at Rossini's table Dumas sat down before a wonderful dish. Dainty slices of tenderloin were fried in oil, portions of chicken liver sauted in butter were placed on these, the whole being capped with a slice of truffle and bathed in a delightful Madeira sauce. Dumas—himself a master juggler of the saucepans—pronounced the dish a more glorious creation than any of the composer's operas.
It is the proud boast of the Congress chef that the cookery of this dish requires an artist's delicate perception as truly as does the rendition of Rossini's sweetest arias.
Lucullus one day ate alone. Whereupon, his chef, thinking that a $500 dinner would suffice, acted accordingly.
At the end of the repast, his face flushed with Falernian, Lucullus sent for the chef and took him to task. There were no fig-peckers and the prized spawn of the sea lamprey was missing.
"But seigneur," said the chef, "you were alone."
"At such time," responded his master, "you must remember that Lucullus dines with Lucullus."