PARISIAN GAMBLING CLUB 



Baron Seidlitz, a man who was known to London but 

 particularly well acquainted with Paris and Parisians. 

 Seidlitz was an artist in gastronomy. He acquired his 

 first knowledge in Germany, for his father was a leading 

 Minister of State in Prussia. The son — the one I knew 

 — had to be most careful of his diet through intestinal 

 troubles, but would nevertheless take the most serious 

 pains over every part of dinners at the Capucines. 

 He would remark on every plat, and where he had 

 tasted the best food in the world. It is flattering to 

 English private house life that he considered that the 

 finest dishes w^re produced in British kitchens; he 

 was particularly eloquent about our turbot, saddles of 

 mutton and vegetables. " The only country in the 

 world where the best part of the turbot is left for the 

 table," he would exclaim, as if considering higher art. 

 He would talk all through dinner of his wish to make 

 me a special sauce with the cold boar's head when it 

 arrived, and would mix a kind of Cumberland sauce 

 which beat everything ever tasted. The hure de 

 sanglier would be brought in two thick slices, and the 

 Baron would work without ceasing, blending in the 

 red-currant jelly with the Worcester Sauce, vinegar 

 and mustard until he had it perfect : every film of 

 jelly properly dissolved. Then he would give a final 

 whisk, and over the two luscious slices would go the 

 appealing syrup. He would then watch my face to see 

 the result. I must be a bit of an actor, for I would 

 regulate my appreciation and put the due expression 

 into the trial — each time — of that great achievement 

 of his. There was the gourmet's look of anticipation, 

 followed by the raising of the first bit on the fork, then 

 the smile of recognition of the taste, and the wind up 

 of putting my hand across the table to shake his ; 

 the extension of a rare compliment. He would be 



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