to a foreign land expected to stay there A o i j The Factory many years, and established wherever they settled in any numbers a social centre, a fortress of British ideas and British comfort. The Factory, which stands in the street which used to be called the Road of the Englishmen, but which was renamed out of compliment to a Portuguese hero, is a very solid building. It has a vaulted basement, walls as thick as those of any castle, and a granite staircase which has no visible supports climbs to the first story. The Factory is part institute, part club. It has a good library, to the enjoyment of which all British born ate welcome. The club is supported by a 308 The Gourmet’s Guide to Europe certain number of the British port wine firms, of which one member represents the firm in the club. The entrance fee is as high as *that of the British Yacht Squadron, and each member on joining lays down a pipe of vintage port for future consump- tion, and gives some wine for present drinking. No other club or association in the world has such a cellar of port, and the wine is treated with the deference due to it. The dining-room is a fine apartment, from one wall of which a Georgian worthy looks down with entire approval upon his successors. After dinner an adjournment is made to another great hall down the centre of which runs a long table of splendid mahogany. The bottles of port are placed on the shining wood, and the wine is enjoyed in an atmosphere free from all the gross odours of food. “ And the smokers ? ” I asked the hospitable gentleman who showed me the Factory. The smokers, I was told, sit like the sinners that they are, when port is on the table, at one end of the long table, while those who appreciate the wine so wisely that they forego a cigar sit at the other end. The British Club at Oporto is a charming and most hospitable knot of Britons in a house beautiful. „ , I cannot believe that I owe an apology to a body or good reilows, but I was told by a lady who visited Oporto soon after I did that some of the members were hurt that the best I could say concerning the club in an article I wrote in the Daily Mail was that it was “ clean.” I really said many appreciative things as well, and if the Oporto Club men know how delightful it is for a man who has spent weeks in Spanish and Portuguese hotels, where cleanliness is not a prominent virtue, to be brought into a house as fresh and airy and well- ordered and well-groomed as the British Club is, they will pardon my having rejoiced in the cleanliness of Portugal 309 their home and of having placed the virtue of cleanli- ness even before the hospitality of my hosts. From the little garden of the club, which is upon the roof of another house, one looks from a surrounding of flowers down on to the brown roofs of the town, and one sees the Douro winding all silver between its hills out to the sea. The cook of the British Club is an artist, and I was introduced there to a dish of fresh lampreys, that rich and tempting fish, a surfeit of which once killed a British king. Bussaco Of the feeding at the Hotel of Bussaco I cannot speak from experience, but I was very generally told in Portugal that M. Weissman, the „ & , 1^,11 Bussaco Hotel proprietor, has a good cook. I he hotel

AI-modernized reading of the original text

to a foreign land expected to stay there A o i j The Factory many years, and established wherever they settled in any numbers a social centre, a fortress of British ideas and British comfort. The Factory, which stands in the street which used to be called the Road of the Englishmen, but which was renamed out of compliment to a Portuguese hero, is a very solid building. It has a vaulted basement, walls as thick as those of any castle, and a granite staircase which has no visible supports climbs to the first story. The Factory is part institute, part club. It has a good library, to the enjoyment of which all British born are welcome. The club is supported by a 308 The Gourmet’s Guide to Europe certain number of the British port wine firms, of which one member represents the firm in the club. The entrance fee is as high as *that of the British Yacht Squadron, and each member on joining lays down a pipe of vintage port for future consumption, and gives some wine for present drinking. No other club or association in the world has such a cellar of port, and the wine is treated with the deference due to it. The dining-room is a fine apartment, from one wall of which a Georgian worthy looks down with entire approval upon his successors. After dinner an adjournment is made to another great hall down the centre of which runs a long table of splendid mahogany. The bottles of port are placed on the shining wood, and the wine is enjoyed in an atmosphere free from all the gross odours of food. “ And the smokers ? ” I asked the hospitable gentleman who showed me the Factory. The smokers, I was told, sit like the sinners that they are, when port is on the table, at one end of the long table, while those who appreciate the wine so wisely that they forego a cigar sit at the other end. The British Club at Oporto is a charming and most hospitable knot of Britons in a house beautiful. „ , I cannot believe that I owe an apology to a body or good reilows, but I was told by a lady who visited Oporto soon after I did that some of the members were hurt that the best I could say concerning the club in an article I wrote in the Daily Mail was that it was “ clean.” I really said many appreciative things as well, and if the Oporto Club men know how delightful it is for a man who has spent weeks in Spanish and Portuguese hotels, where cleanliness is not a prominent virtue, to be brought into a house as fresh and airy and wellordered and well-groomed as the British Club is, they will pardon my having rejoiced in the cleanliness of Portugal 309 their home and of having placed the virtue of cleanliness even before the hospitality of my hosts. From the little garden of the club, which is upon the roof of another house, one looks from a surrounding of flowers down on to the brown roofs of the town, and one sees the Douro winding all silver between its hills out to the sea. The cook of the British Club is an artist, and I was introduced there to a dish of fresh lampreys, that rich and tempting fish, a surfeit of which once killed a British king. Bussaco Of the feeding at the Hotel of Bussaco I cannot speak from experience, but I was very generally told in Portugal that M. Weissman, the „ & , 1^,11 Bussaco Hotel proprietor, has a good cook. I he hotel

The gourmet's guide to Europe