cooks and maitres (Thotel from the Cafe de Paris at
Monte Carlo, and, I should also add, his prices. A stock
of that old brandy which all connoisseurs know has also
been laid down. The restaurant, with a stained-glass
roof, has windows which look across the walk on the
sea wall to the sea, and it is a remarkably pleasant place
in which to lunch or dine or take tea ; but the prices
are Monte Carlo prices. Let me give a personal ex-
perience. I went there by myself to lunch. The
carte du jour presented to the clients has no prices on
it, which much exercised the mind of a veritable John
Bull who was sitting at the next table to me and who
asked, “ How much is that ? ” concerning the dishes,
to which question he received soothing but quite non-
committal replies. I ordered a friture of langues d'avocat ,
the little flat-fish that somewhat resemble pointed
tongues ; and as the shooting season had just com-
menced, the maitre d’ hotel recommended two quails and
a p i lap of rice, which seemed to me to be an admirable
suggestion. I ordered half a bottle of Chateau Car-
bonieux and half a bottle of one of the mineral waters.
After my quails — little birds with brown firm flesh,
differing much in this from the fattened -up, im-
ported quail of the South which we eat in London — I
thought I would like a pear ; and the waiter brought
me, packed in cotton wool, a monster pear and two
apples with little landscapes traced with a graver upon
their rosy cheeks. I know those pears and apples of
old. If one happens to be giving dinner to a lady in
whose company one does not wish to appear mean,
and the waiter brings a box of those marvellous pears
and apples to her, one makes a swift mental calculation
of all the money one has in one’s pockets at the same
time that one wishes that the waiter might suddenly
be struck with apoplexy. In the present case, being
alone, I grinned at the waiter and told him to bring
me something cheap. He returned with some peaches.
Belgian T’o'wns 143
They also were packed in cotton wool, and the bigger
ones had a little collar and bow of black and gold
ribbon just like pet kittens. I imitated my John Bull
neighbour and asked the price. The waiter thought
that the big peaches were eight francs apiece and the
smaller ones five francs. “ I will bring you some
greengages, they are very cheap,” said the waiter, who
did not require to be told that I would be no peach-
eater. Now I happened to know that greengages were
very cheap that day. I had been round the market,
and knew that they were being sold at 30 centimes a
kilo at the stalls, and were 35 and 40 centimes a kilo in
the shops, just as I also knew that at Jean Bogaert’s
shop in the Grand Place the quail were priced at
1 franc each. The waiter brought me a big box of
greengages, and I took a handful, five in all. My bill
came to 20 francs 75 centimes, and I found that I
had been charged half a franc each for the greengages.
The cooking at the Palace and the service are admir-
able, for the major-domo always gives his guests of the
best ; but the man who dines or breakfasts there must
expect to pay gambler’s prices. My heart went out
to one of my friends who, when I laughingly told him
of the cheap greengages, informed me that one day at
the races his wife thought she would like to take tea
at the Palace, and invited half-a-dozen other ladies.
Page 79
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
cooks and maitres (Thotel from the Cafe de Paris at Monte Carlo, and, I should also add, his prices. A stock of that old brandy which all connoisseurs know has also been laid down. The restaurant, with a stained-glass roof, has windows which look across the walk on the sea wall to the sea, and it is a remarkably pleasant place in which to lunch or dine or take tea ; but the prices are Monte Carlo prices. Let me give a personal experience. I went there by myself to lunch. The carte du jour presented to the clients has no prices on it, which much exercised the mind of a veritable John Bull who was sitting at the next table to me and who asked, “ How much is that ? ” concerning the dishes, to which question he received soothing but quite noncommittal replies. I ordered a friture of langues d'avocat , the little flat-fish that somewhat resemble pointed tongues ; and as the shooting season had just commenced, the maitre d’ hotel recommended two quails and a pilaf of rice, which seemed to me to be an admirable suggestion. I ordered half a bottle of Chateau Carbonieux and half a bottle of one of the mineral waters. After my quails — little birds with brown firm flesh, differing much in this from the fattened -up, imported quail of the South which we eat in London — I thought I would like a pear ; and the waiter brought me, packed in cotton wool, a monster pear and two apples with little landscapes traced with a graver upon their rosy cheeks. I know those pears and apples of old. If one happens to be giving dinner to a lady in whose company one does not wish to appear mean, and the waiter brings a box of those marvellous pears and apples to her, one makes a swift mental calculation of all the money one has in one’s pockets at the same time that one wishes that the waiter might suddenly be struck with apoplexy. In the present case, being alone, I grinned at the waiter and told him to bring me something cheap. He returned with some peaches.
Belgian Towns 143
They also were packed in cotton wool, and the bigger ones had a little collar and bow of black and gold ribbon just like pet kittens. I imitated my John Bull neighbour and asked the price. The waiter thought that the big peaches were eight francs apiece and the smaller ones five francs. “ I will bring you some greengages, they are very cheap,” said the waiter, who did not require to be told that I would be no peacheater. Now I happened to know that greengages were very cheap that day. I had been round the market, and knew that they were being sold at 30 centimes a kilo at the stalls, and were 35 and 40 centimes a kilo in the shops, just as I also knew that at Jean Bogaert’s shop in the Grand Place the quail were priced at 1 franc each. The waiter brought me a big box of greengages, and I took a handful, five in all. My bill came to 20 francs 75 centimes, and I found that I had been charged half a franc each for the greengages. The cooking at the Palace and the service are admirable, for the major-domo always gives his guests of the best ; but the man who dines or breakfasts there must expect to pay gambler’s prices. My heart went out to one of my friends who, when I laughingly told him of the cheap greengages, informed me that one day at the races his wife thought she would like to take tea at the Palace, and invited half-a-dozen other ladies.