Let me omit the regulation long moan over the dis- appearance of the great restaurants, the dining-places which made much culinary history. The Riche, the Cafe Veron, Hardi’s, D’Hortesio’s, Bignon’s, the Trois Freres Provencaux have either disappeared or have been converted into brasseries or tavernes, and men swill beer in the Marivaux where poor Joseph flourished his knives over ducks of surpassing juiciness. Varis 5 The Maison Doree and the Grand Vefour have been the most recent additions to the list of casualties. At the Maison Doree I was one of those friends of the house who were allowed to choose any two dishes from the luncheon carte for a quite ridiculously small sum of money, and the old waiter who wore the decoration for long service treated me with as much respect and as great deference as though I had thousands of francs to spend. At the Grand V efour, the house to which M. Hamel, cook to the king, brought in the time of Louis Philippe the surplus crockery from the palaces, that his clients might dine from royal china — but now, alas ! turned into a tavern and an American bar — I, while still a very small boy at Harrow, made my first essay in selecting a dinner at a Parisian restaurant. I ordered one dish, quite at random, and then sat, very small and rather afraid, looking at the mirrors and the gilding, wondering what I had ordered, whether it would be very long in making its appear- ance, and whether I should have enough money to pay for it when I had eaten it. When my dish did appear, it was a strange, dark-looking thing, which I eventually discovered was a rable de lievre. I fancy that the stately maitre d'hotel , who carved the dish for me with all dignity, must have been inwardly much amused at the disappointment of the small patron. I had hoped that something very sweet, with plenty of cream and sugar in unexpected places, would appear, for I had chosen far down the bill of fare. The Grand Vefour has gone the way of all flesh, and the Verdiers, now that the Maison Doree is no more, are scattered about Paris. Casimir, the great cook of the Maison Doree, went to the Champeaux, and I have, at various times, heard of others of the family at the restaurant on the Isle de Jatte, where the duellists, breakfast after scratching each other on the forearm, and at the Restaurant des Fleurs, which now calls 6 The Gourmet's Guide to Europe itself Le Grand Vatel. But, as I have written, I do not propose to deliver a funeral oration over the dead restaurants. Some of the classic restaurants still survive, and happily flourish. The Classic Restaurants Two restaurants in particular, the Cafe Anglais and Voisin’s, have undisputed right to classic honours, and Paillard’s I think may be allowed to scrape into this category. The Cafe Anglais, the white-faced house at the corner of the Rue Marivaux, has a history of more The Cate Anglais, than a hundred years. It was originally 13 Boulevard des a little wine-merchant’s shop, with its itaiiens door Xeading into the Rue Marivaux,

AI-modernized reading of the original text

Let me omit the regulation long moan over the disappearance of the great restaurants, the dining-places which made much culinary history. The Riche, the Cafe Veron, Hardi’s, D’Hortesio’s, Bignon’s, the Trois Freres Provencaux have either disappeared or have been converted into brasseries or tavernes, and men swill beer in the Marivaux where poor Joseph flourished his knives over ducks of surpassing juiciness. Paris The Maison Doree and the Grand Vefour have been the most recent additions to the list of casualties. At the Maison Doree I was one of those friends of the house who were allowed to choose any two dishes from the luncheon carte for a quite ridiculously small sum of money, and the old waiter who wore the decoration for long service treated me with as much respect and as great deference as though I had thousands of francs to spend. At the Grand V efour, the house to which M. Hamel, cook to the king, brought in the time of Louis Philippe the surplus crockery from the palaces, that his clients might dine from royal china — but now, alas ! turned into a tavern and an American bar — I, while still a very small boy at Harrow, made my first essay in selecting a dinner at a Parisian restaurant. I ordered one dish, quite at random, and then sat, very small and rather afraid, looking at the mirrors and the gilding, wondering what I had ordered, whether it would be very long in making its appearance, and whether I should have enough money to pay for it when I had eaten it. When my dish did appear, it was a strange, dark-looking thing, which I eventually discovered was a râble de lièvre. I fancy that the stately maître d'hôtel , who carved the dish for me with all dignity, must have been inwardly much amused at the disappointment of the small patron. I had hoped that something very sweet, with plenty of cream and sugar in unexpected places, would appear, for I had chosen far down the bill of fare. The Grand Vefour has gone the way of all flesh, and the Verdiers, now that the Maison Doree is no more, are scattered about Paris. Casimir, the great cook of the Maison Doree, went to the Champeaux, and I have, at various times, heard of others of the family at the restaurant on the Isle de Jatte, where the duellists, breakfast after scratching each other on the forearm, and at the Restaurant des Fleurs, which now calls 6 The Gourmet's Guide to Europe itself Le Grand Vatel. But, as I have written, I do not propose to deliver a funeral oration over the dead restaurants. Some of the classic restaurants still survive, and happily flourish. The Classic Restaurants Two restaurants in particular, the Cafe Anglais and Voisin’s, have undisputed right to classic honours, and Paillard’s I think may be allowed to scrape into this category. The Cafe Anglais, the white-faced house at the corner of the Rue Marivaux, has a history of more The Café Anglais, than a hundred years. It was originally 13 Boulevard des Italiens, a little wine-merchant's shop, with its door leading into the Rue Marivaux,

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