196 THE SALMON 



produce is barely a third of that. But the so-called 

 Rhine salmon is greatly appreciated on the Continent ; 

 the innumerable hotels keep up the price, and it 

 commands nearly half-a-crown a pound. We confess 

 to having very pleasant associations with it, enjoying 

 it on each annual arrival on the Continent, looking out 

 on the ; exulting and a bounding river : from a window 

 in the old Englischer Hof or the Hotel de Hollande, 

 before the great caravanserai of the Nord had en- 

 gulphed the rush of English. We always associate it 

 there with the apposite sauce Hollandaise, and with 

 that queer topa/-coloured vinegar in the cruets which 

 seems to be a speciality of Germany. Though, by the 

 way. unless the salmon were somewhat stale, it would 

 be sacrilege to taint the silky sauce Ilollandaise with 

 vinegar. We have eaten salmon in Paris often 

 enough, though never in perfection. Still, the accom- 

 panying sauce verte at Ledoyen's. in the Champs 

 Elysees will always linger a haunting memory. 



But after all, as good wine needs no bush, so 

 good salmon should be served sauceless, and only 

 with the water in which it is boiled. The veritable 

 sauce piquante is memory and association. The cut 

 or cutlet sends you back on the old tracks of sport 

 or touring. To the classic Tweed, from Clovenford, 

 dear to the Ettrick Shepherd, down to the long bridge 



