The Classic Restaurants — The “ Smart ” Restaurants — The
Summer Restaurants — 'Across the River — The Restaurants
of the Parisians — Restaurants of the Quartier — Montmartre
Restaurants — Foreign Restaurants — The Cheap Restaurants —
The Restaurants of the Suburbs — The Bill and Tips — Parisian
Clubs — “ After Dinner.”
An Englishman who loved his Paris beyond any other
city of the world once said to me, as we stood chatting
in the Place de l’Opera, “If you find the central spot
of this square, you may rap your stick upon it and say,
4 This is the centre of the world.’ ” Paris is certainly
the culinary centre of the world. Wherever the great
cooks are born — and most of them as a matter of fact
see the light in the Midi — they all come to Paris to
learn their art, and then go out through the whole
civilised world as culinary missionaries preaching that
there is but one cuisine, and that the Haute Cuisine
Franchise.
France is the country of good soups, of good fish,
of good vegetables, of good fowl, of good sweets.
Hors cTceuvre are a Russian invention, and are only to
be tolerated when at a restaurant they keep a diner
in good temper while the chef is cooking the fish.
Oysters, prawns, and caviare may, I think, be excused
from this anathema ; but the real gourmet who orders
a dozen Cancales or Marennes with which to commence
2
c The Gourmets Guide to Europe
a dinner rarely introduces fish into his menu. Caviare,
be it black or grey, be it sent from the land of the
Volga or the states of the Danube, is too excellent to
be a mere relish. It is a dish for dejeuner ; and the
man before whom has been placed a jar of good
caviare sunk in cracked ice, who has a fresh lime and
some Brittany butter at his elbow, and who is brought
relays of hot toast, may well leave the consideration
of the plat which is to follow until his appetite for
caviare is appeased. Curiously enough, the squeeze
of lime or lemon juice on the caviare was not originally
intended to give a contrast of taste. When transport
was less rapid, the caviare which reached Western
Europe was not always as fresh as it should be, and
the lemon juice was used to disguise any musty taste.
Soup, in my humble opinion, should be the hors d’ oeuvre
of a dinner ; and a thimbleful of strong hot soup to
commence a meal would, I believe, stimulate without
cloying, and leave a diner with an appetite unimpaired
for the dishes that are to come. This, however, is my
own little pet heresy, and I do not wish to insist upon
it. Russia is the only country the soups of which
can compare with those of France. Ever since the
days when Henry IV., whose memory is honoured in
the name of more than one soup, vowed that every
French peasant should have a fowl in his pot, soup,
from the simplest bouillon to the most lordly consommes
and most splendid bisques , has been better made in
France than anywhere else in the world.
Every great cook of France has invented some
particularly delicate variety of the boiled fillet of sole,
and Duglere achieved a place amongst the immortals
by his manipulation of the brill — I always find, may I
say in parenthesis, that a safe card to play in any Paris
restaurant and in any good restaurant of the provinces
is to ask for the “sole of the house ” at the fish stage
of the dinner and the u fine of the house ” with the
'•Paris 3
Page 2
Presented as published in 1903. Historical recipes may not meet modern food-safety standards. Cook from the modern interpretation, not the original instructions.
AI-modernized reading of the original text
The Classic Restaurants — The “ Smart ” Restaurants — The Summer Restaurants — 'Across the River — The Restaurants of the Parisians — Restaurants of the Quartier — Montmartre Restaurants — Foreign Restaurants — The Cheap Restaurants — The Restaurants of the Suburbs — The Bill and Tips — Parisian Clubs — “ After Dinner.”
An Englishman who loved his Paris beyond any other city of the world once said to me, as we stood chatting in the Place de l’Opera, “If you find the central spot of this square, you may rap your stick upon it and say, 4 This is the centre of the world.’ ” Paris is certainly the culinary centre of the world. Wherever the great cooks are born — and most of them as a matter of fact see the light in the Midi — they all come to Paris to learn their art, and then go out through the whole civilised world as culinary missionaries preaching that there is but one cuisine, and that the Haute Cuisine Franchise.
France is the country of good soups, of good fish, of good vegetables, of good fowl, of good sweets. Hors cTceuvre are a Russian invention, and are only to be tolerated when at a restaurant they keep a diner in good temper while the chef is cooking the fish. Oysters, prawns, and caviare may, I think, be excused from this anathema ; but the real gourmet who orders a dozen Cancales or Marennes with which to commence
c The Gourmets Guide to Europe
a dinner rarely introduces fish into his menu. Caviare, be it black or grey, be it sent from the land of the Volga or the states of the Danube, is too excellent to be a mere relish. It is a dish for dejeuner ; and the man before whom has been placed a jar of good caviare sunk in cracked ice, who has a fresh lime and some Brittany butter at his elbow, and who is brought relays of hot toast, may well leave the consideration of the plat which is to follow until his appetite for caviare is appeased. Curiously enough, the squeeze of lime or lemon juice on the caviare was not originally intended to give a contrast of taste. When transport was less rapid, the caviare which reached Western Europe was not always as fresh as it should be, and the lemon juice was used to disguise any musty taste. Soup, in my humble opinion, should be the hors d’ oeuvre of a dinner ; and a thimbleful of strong hot soup to commence a meal would, I believe, stimulate without cloying, and leave a diner with an appetite unimpaired for the dishes that are to come. This, however, is my own little pet heresy, and I do not wish to insist upon it. Russia is the only country the soups of which can compare with those of France. Ever since the days when Henry IV., whose memory is honoured in the name of more than one soup, vowed that every French peasant should have a fowl in his pot, soup, from the simplest bouillon to the most lordly consommes and most splendid bisques , has been better made in France than anywhere else in the world.
Every great cook of France has invented some particularly delicate variety of the boiled fillet of sole, and Duglere achieved a place amongst the immortals by his manipulation of the brill — I always find, may I say in parenthesis, that a safe card to play in any Paris restaurant and in any good restaurant of the provinces is to ask for the “sole of the house ” at the fish stage of the dinner and the u fine of the house ” with the
'•Paris 3