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.
31st May.