brushing back his whiskers, will stand
beside it in order that you may see what an excellent likeness it is. It
is as well to interest Frederic in the ordering of your meal, and if you
give him an idea of your requirements, he will select two or three of
his "creations" which will make up a perfect meal. I always ask for a
_Filet de Sole Cardinal_, which is one of his best dishes, and look to
him to group a couple of other _plats_ with it to make a perfect
breakfast, for I look on the Tour d'Argent as being a better place to
breakfast at than to dine at, owing to its distance from the centre of
Paris. Frederic thinking out his dishes drops into a reverie and turns
his eyes up to the ceiling. I once took a lady to breakfast at the
Tour--she had selected it as being quite close to the Morgue, which she
wanted to see after lunch, having a liking for cheerful sights--and she
had the daring to interrupt Frederic's reverie. "And for the eggs?" I
had said insinuatingly to the creator of dishes, and he had dropped into
deepest thought. "_Uffs a la plat_," said the lady, who fancied we were
both at a loss as to how eggs could be cooked. Frederic came back from
the clouds and gave the lady one look. It was not a look of anger, or
contempt, but simply an expression of pity for the whole of her sex.
Frederic, as Joseph did, holds that a dinner to be good must be short,
which is, I believe, the first axiom that every true gourmet should
enunciate and hold by, and an excellent proof that he holds to his
tenets was once given me. When the Behring Sea Conference sat in Paris,
the American and English members used frequently to dine together after
their labours. Lord Hannen had heard of the Tour d'Argent, and sent his
secretary, a clever barrister, to order dinner there for all the
members. He went to the Quai de la Tourelle, saw Frederic, and sketched
out to him a regular Eaton Square dinner, two entrees, a joint, sorbet,
game, an iced pudding, a savoury, and fruit. Frederic heard him out, and
then very politely suggested that he should go elsewhere, for such a
barbarous feast could not be served in the Tour d'Argent. If you are in
great favour Frederic will cook you a dish himself, and will bustle
into the room with the "creation" in his hands and great beads of
perspiration, drawn out by the kitchen fire, on his broad brow. I am
sorry, however, to have to write that the last time I saw Frederic, at
the close of 1902, he was very ill. H