Mortadello

PREFACE vii I returned to the austere paths of self-denial and the Café Riche. The colour of the Homard Cardinal was too exciting, clearly ; I replaced it by Filets de Sole Dugléré. This might have served but for my weakness and folly in passing from the Truffles direct to Soufflé Rothschild. This will be remarked in the incident of the Rialto, which is so terribly out of tone. Of course, I have always one excuse. I do not like any of the brandies at the Café Riche. So that every climax was in some sense marred ; the little rift appeared in the lute of the perfect dinner. Again, the only proper wine (as far as colour goes) is tawny port or old brown sherry ; and these are not possible with Filets de Sole Dugléré ; they would even tend to over-whelm the truffles. I resolved upon an austere and ceremonial course. Cold consommé after the melon—pale dawns of the rich gold of that Ineffable Champagne Sauce—to serve as a lustration, an asperging. Then Oeufs aux Ecrévisses—the sunrise tinged with blood—the puri- fication by fire. Then the full rage of that awful noon of God—the Truffles themselves. Then, as if to hold the blaze in heaven, the brandy