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Published 1932
We are told we have no special soup: we have a great number, both clear and thick, but some of the richer heavier ones such as our famous hare soup should never be served to preface even a small modern dinner of four courses. It is a meal in itself and a very good one; nothing could be better for luncheon on a cold November day; and it will not be found too heavy even in town if followed by nothing more substantial than apple pie or apple fritters, or a salad, or even by an omelet, although this is not such a good gastronomic contrast as a salad, unless we can have one stuffed with mushrooms or tomatoes. It is a mistake to say we can’t make omelets in England. The best I ever tasted — a perfect one! —was made at Stoodleigh Rectory in the eighteen-nineties and served for luncheon. It was not what is known as a French omelette, nor exactly American, but a cross between the two: light and puffy — but creamy in the middle more like those served in Holland.
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