She met me on the evening of the feast with a sorrowful
expression on her handsome face, for she had sent a fisherman out very
early in the morning into the bay to catch some of the little sea
hedgehogs which were to form one course, but he had come back
empty-handed. The menu stood as under, and we none of us missed the
hedgehogs:--
Canape de Nonnats.
Soupe de poisson Monegasque.
Supions en Buisson.
Dorade Bonne Femme.
Volaille Rotie.
Langouste Parisienne.
Asperges Vinaigrette.
Dessert.
The _Soupe Monegasque_ had a reminiscence in it of _Bouillabaisse_, but
it was not too insistent; the _supions_ were octopi, but delicate little
gelatinous fellows, not leathery, as the Italian ones sometimes are; the
_dorade_ was a splendid fish, and though I fancy the _langouste_ had
come from northern waters and not from the bay, it was beautifully fresh
and a monster of its kind.
The Riviera Palace has a restaurant to which many people come to
breakfast, high above Monte Carlo and its heat, and the cook is a very
good one.
Any mad Englishman who like myself takes long walks in the morning, will
find the restaurant at the La Turbie terminus of the mountain railway a
pleasant place at which to eat early breakfast; and the view from the
terrace, where one munches one's _petit pain_ and drinks one's coffee
and milk, with an orange tree on either side of the table, is a superb
one.
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