The fly in the milk to me in the Place Gaillon is that, the dining tables being so close together, the serving tables have to be placed in the centre of the rooms, and no serving table can ever be a beautiful or appetis- ing sight. M. Marius has now extended his activities to the Chateau de Madrid on the border of the Bois de Boulogne, where he has built an hotel and rebuilt the old restaurant. La Rue’s and Durand’s are on either side of the Rue Royal, where it joins the open space before the church of La Madeleine. Both have a few little tables and chairs outside, forming what is known Durand’s, Place as a terrasse ; both are in high favour de la Madeleine with travelling Britons; both are as neat as new pins ; a porter of noble proportions is ready to call up the motors at each door ; a little page, who likes to be called Chasseur , is alert to do any small service which may be rewarded by a tip. Durand’s is to the east of the Rue Royale, and carriages cross the pavement to reach it. Jules Simon in marble looks longingly over his shoulder at the restaurant. On entering, a great pane of glass to one side forms a transparent wall to one of 6. Varis 1 7 the restaurant’s rooms. On a shelf against this glass are the little baskets of apples and pears and other fruits. The dames de comptoir are enthroned in the entrance hall. Durand’s has made enlargement after enlargement, and its interior at first sight looks as though one room were reflected in three or four great mirrors. In reality, three or four rooms have been opened one into the other. The waiters are mostly plump, and are all polite ; a table is swiftly pulled out, and space made for him who would break- fast or dine, and the gar^on, who has a quick eye for the nationality of the clients, and knows the shade of politics of his French customers, puts a newspaper — British, American, or French — on the table. One of the proprietors, brisk little men both, with a napkin over one arm, glances to see that the table is all in order, a comfortable mattre d'hbtel bows as he offers the carte de jour , and behind him the black-aproned sommelier waits for you to make a choice of wine. Durand’s has, of course, its specialties. Its Consomme Baigneuse , its Barbue Durand , its Poulet Saute Grand Due , and its Souffle Pole Nord are excellent. Durand's clients are drawn from many nations, and many of the Parisians breakfast and dine and sup there. A Parisian in Paris is more particular than the most strait-laced of the travelling British and Americans where he takes his women-folk at supper-time, and Durand’s at that hour combines smartness and respectability. The Brav’ General was a good patron of Durand’s, and many of his friends, grey-headed, military-looking gentlemen, still breakfast there. It was, I believe, in one of the little private dining-rooms at Durand’s that General Boulanger sat and doubted whether he should initiate a coup d'etat , and finally went home to bed. The Cafe Riche also claims to have been the house in which the General failed to make up his mind — perhaps the would-be Dictator had two evenings 1 8 T he Gourmet's Guide to. Europe of irresolution. I give the menu of the table d'hote supper Durand’s gave its customers one Christmas Eve, that being the night when all Paris, respect- able and not quite respectable, sups at one cafe or another : — Consomme de Volatile au fumet de Celeris.

AI-modernized reading of the original text

The fly in the milk to me in the Place Gaillon is that, the dining tables being so close together, the serving tables have to be placed in the centre of the rooms, and no serving table can ever be a beautiful or appetising sight. M. Marius has now extended his activities to the Chateau de Madrid on the border of the Bois de Boulogne, where he has built an hotel and rebuilt the old restaurant. La Rue’s and Durand’s are on either side of the Rue Royal, where it joins the open space before the church of La Madeleine. Both have a few little tables and chairs outside, forming what is known as a terrasse ; both are in high favour de la Madeleine with travelling Britons; both are as neat as new pins ; a porter of noble proportions is ready to call up the motors at each door ; a little page, who likes to be called Chasseur , is alert to do any small service which may be rewarded by a tip. Durand’s is to the east of the Rue Royale, and carriages cross the pavement to reach it. Jules Simon in marble looks longingly over his shoulder at the restaurant. On entering, a great pane of glass to one side forms a transparent wall to one of 6. Varis 1 7 the restaurant’s rooms. On a shelf against this glass are the little baskets of apples and pears and other fruits. The dames de comptoir are enthroned in the entrance hall. Durand’s has made enlargement after enlargement, and its interior at first sight looks as though one room were reflected in three or four great mirrors. In reality, three or four rooms have been opened one into the other. The waiters are mostly plump, and are all polite ; a table is swiftly pulled out, and space made for him who would breakfast or dine, and the garçon, who has a quick eye for the nationality of the clients, and knows the shade of politics of his French customers, puts a newspaper — British, American, or French — on the table. One of the proprietors, brisk little men both, with a napkin over one arm, glances to see that the table is all in order, a comfortable maître d'hôtel bows as he offers the carte de jour , and behind him the black-aproned sommelier waits for you to make a choice of wine. Durand’s has, of course, its specialties. Its Consommé Baigneuse , its Barbue Durand , its Poulet Saute Grand Due , and its Soufflé Pôle Nord are excellent. Durand's clients are drawn from many nations, and many of the Parisians breakfast and dine and sup there. A Parisian in Paris is more particular than the most strait-laced of the travelling British and Americans where he takes his women-folk at supper-time, and Durand’s at that hour combines smartness and respectability. The Brav’ General was a good patron of Durand’s, and many of his friends, grey-headed, military-looking gentlemen, still breakfast there. It was, I believe, in one of the little private dining-rooms at Durand’s that General Boulanger sat and doubted whether he should initiate a coup d'etat , and finally went home to bed. The Cafe Riche also claims to have been the house in which the General failed to make up his mind — perhaps the would-be Dictator had two evenings 1 8 T he Gourmet's Guide to. Europe of irresolution. I give the menu of the table d'hote supper Durand’s gave its customers one Christmas Eve, that being the night when all Paris, respectable and not quite respectable, sups at one cafe or another : — Consommé de Volaille au fumet de Céleri.

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