For we
non-Frenchmen, be it understood, are all "des desequilibres" who demand
toast, hot water and such-like exotics; our complaints need not be taken
seriously; besides, foreigners are bound to pay in any case. But when a
countryman begins to find fault there is not only a possibility that
something, after all, may not be quite right with the cuisine or drainage,
but even a chance that one or two items will be coldly struck off the
reckoning. And that hurts!
They will tell you that there is nothing to be procured in the market; but
if you proceed to the spot, you will at least see succulent legs of mutton
exposed for sale. The _chef_ of the establishment, however, when making
his morning purchases, passes by these with scorn, and betakes himself to
a little booth whose table is strewn with dubious scraps of skin and
bones, which have already been fingered and contemptuously thrown aside by
fifty dirty Arabs (I speak as an eye-witness); he buys a few handfuls of
these horrors for three or four sous, and forthwith--hey, presto!--they
are transformed into a "ragout a la bretonne" for the famished traveller.
Pages:
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92