The first battle is over the soup, and here
there is a vast difference of opinion. In this
country, where our servants are oftentimes
unskilled, and have a charming habit of
occasionally giving ladies a soup shower
bath, I invariably discard two soups, and
insist to the protesting chef that there
shall be but one. Of course, if there are
two, the one is light, the other heavy.
Fortunately for the period in which we live,
our great French artists have invented
the Tortue claire, which takes the place
of our forefathers' Mock Turtle soup, with
forcemeat balls, well spiced, requiring an
ostrich's digestion to survive it. We have
this, then, as our soup. The chef here
exclaims, "Monsieur must know that all
petites bouchées must, of necessity, be
made of chicken." We ask for a novelty,
and his great genius suggests, under
pressure, mousse aux jambon, which is
attractive to the eye, and, if well made,
at once establishes the reputation of the
artist, satisfies the guests that they are in
able hands, and allays their fears for their
dinner.
There is but one season of the year
when salmon should be served hot at a
choice repast; that is in the spring and
HYLAND
