342 IN AFRICA 



two weeks was springing culinary coups that ex- 

 cited intense interest on our part. He had a way 

 of assembling a few odds and ends together that 

 finally merged into a rice pudding par excellence, 

 while his hot cakes were so good that we spoke of 

 them in rapt, reverential whispers. There wasn't 

 a twinge of indigestion in a "three by six" stack of 

 them, and when flooded with a crown of liquid 

 honey they made one think of paradise and angels' 

 choruses. 



Quite naturally, in my wanderings of nine 

 months there were moments when my thoughts 

 dwelt upon such material things as "vittles," and 

 it was instructive to compare the various kinds of 

 food served on a dozen ships, a score of hotels, and 

 a hundred camps. Some were good and some were 

 bad, but as viewed in calm retrospect I think that 

 Abdullah excelled all other chefs, taking him day in 

 and day out. 



Upon only three occasions was he vanquished, 

 but these were memorable ones. As food is a pleas- 

 ant topic, perhaps I may be pardoned if I dwell 

 fondly upon these three red-letter days in my mem- 

 ory. 



One was in Paris. The night that we started for 

 Africa a merry little company dined at Henry's. 

 That distinguished master was given carte blanche 

 to get up the best dinner known to culinary science, 

 and he had a day's start. Everything was delicious. 

 The dinner was a symphony, starting in a low key 

 and gradually working up in a stirring crescendo 



