Perhaps, at night, the shades of famous dishes of the past come forth from remodelled walls or forgotten cupboards and meet in the Park to recall the glories that once were.  For all about are memories.  Beyond where the Fifth Avenue was was the Hoffman House where one went to dine as well as to feast the eyes on the twenty-five-thousand-dollar Bougereau of “Nymphs and Satyr,” and “Pan and Bacchante.”  Then the Albermarle and Saint James, the Brunswick, and the famous south-west corner of the Avenue and Twenty-sixth Street.  The Brunswick had its adherents, who proclaimed its table the best in New York, and the land once rang with a Tammany dinner that was held there.  But that south-west corner.  It was famous as “Del’s” and it was famous when it was Martin’s.  Who that knew it will ever forget what was known as the “Broadway Room,” and the special soup for every day of the week, and the cuisine Russe with the plats du jour for luncheon and dinner, and the vodka that one might have if one wished?  And also, the chestnut soup!

If your palate of yesterday craved the exotic in the way of food there was the Indian Palace that once flourished at No. 325 Fifth Avenue.  In 1900, a Prince Ranji Something or Other, who claimed to be a son of the Sultan of Sulu or Beloochistan, opened it, establishing the first smoking room for women in the city.  He brought the aspect of the East in the shape of Indians, and dancing girls, and jugglers, and Hindoo tango dancers, and flower girls, and cigarette girls, and music girls, all in their native costumes.  There was prosperity for a time, and rich promise, until the Prince ran against the callous, unsympathetic Occident in the shape of the contract labour law.

On up the Avenue as far as the Plaza, where, as early as 1870, “Boss” Tweed attempted to erect a hotel on the site of the present Netherlands, the gastronomical trail of the past may be followed.  Five years ago it was said that New York had more good restaurants than any city in the world except Paris.  Today there is no longer the exception.  In the spirit that has long moved the people of Marseilles to the saying:  “If Paris had a Cannebiere it would be a little Marseilles,” an American city has said:  “Paris might cook as well as New Orleans if it only had New Orleans’s markets.”  To an even greater arrogance in its culinary past and present New York has a right.  Turning over some of the menus of yesterday is recalling when the world was young.  Lost youth is in the memory of “the wharves, and the slips, and the sea-tides tossing free; and the Spanish sailors with bearded lips, and the beauty and mystery of the ships, and the magic of the sea.”  It is also in the memory of the flavour of certain delectable, never-to-be-forgotten repasts.