y, in my wanderings of nine months there were moments when
my thoughts dwelt upon such material things as "vittles," and it was
instructive to compare the various kinds of food served on a dozen
ships, a score of hotels, and a hundred camps. Some were good and some
were bad, but as viewed in calm retrospect I think that Abdullah
excelled all other chefs, taking him day in and day out.

Upon only three occasions was he vanquished, but these were memorable
ones. As food is a pleasant topic, perhaps I may be pardoned if I dwell
fondly upon these three red-letter days in my memory.

One was in Paris. The night that we started for Africa a merry little
company dined at Henry's. That distinguished master was given _carte
blanche_ to get up the best dinner known to culinary science, and he had
a day's start. Everything was delicious. The dinner was a symphony,
starting in a low key and gradually working up in a stirring crescendo
until the third course, where it reached supreme heights in climacteric
effect. That third course, if done in music, would have sent men
cheering to the cannon's mouth or galloping joyously in a desperate
cavalry charge.

[Photograph: One of Our Askaris]

[Photograph: By courtesy of W.D. Boyce. Hassan Mohammed]

The dish was called "poulet archduc," although I should have called it
at least poulet archangel. In this divine creation Henry reached the
Nirvana of good things to eat. I beseeched him for the recipe, which he
cheerfully wrote out, so now I am happy to pass it along that all may
try it. It really ought to be dramatized.

I transcribe it in M. Henry's own verbiage:

The chicken must be well cleaned inside. Next put in it some butter,
salt and pepper, a little paprika, and into full of sweet corn, then
close the chicken. Next put it in a saucepan with other more sweet
corn, against butter, salt, pepper, a little whisky; cook about half
of one hour.

The best sweet corn is the California sweet corn in can.

The sauce is done with white of chicken. Squeeze two yolks of eggs and
butter like for a sauce mousseline and finish it with a little whisky.

And there you are.

The second occasion came some months later. We had been on _safari_ for
several weeks and had returned to Nairobi for two or three days. It was
the "psychological moment" for something new in the way of food. The
stage was all set for it, and it came in the form of a pudding that
would have delighted al