The Englishman or American who has been feeding
on rich food for any length of time, often yearns for perfectly simple
food. At Henry's, at the Club Restaurant, and at most of the English and
American bars with which Paris is now studded, a chop is obtainable, and
a whisky and soda which is not poison; but I, personally, when _Pate de
Foie Gras_ becomes a horror, truffles a burden, and rich sauces an
abomination, go to one of the _Tavernes_, the Royale in the Rue Royale,
or the Anglais in the Rue Boissy d'Anglas (where you get Lucas's food at
lower prices than in the restaurant by the Madeleine), or into one of
the many houses of plain cookery on the boulevards, and order the
simplest and least greasy soup on the bill of fare, some plainly grilled
cutlets, and some green vegetables. A pint of the second or third claret
on the wine-card washes down this penitential repast. At Puloski's, an
uninviting-looking little establishment in the Rue St-Honore, I have
eaten excellent dishes of oysters cooked according to American methods,
and that dry hash which boarding-house keepers across the Atlantic are
supposed to serve perpetually to their paying guests, but which an
American abroad is always glad to meet. You will find a great variety of
oysters, Marennes, Ostendes, Zelandes, at Prunier's, in the Rue Duphot,
and the dishes of the house--soup, sole, steak--are all cooked with
oysters as a foundation, sauce, or garnish.
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