On December 15, 1910, the New York Times announced: "The first dinner at the new Ritz-Carlton Hotel, Forty-sixth Street and Madison Avenue, was served last night to 120 newspaper men and friends of the management." The speeches were quoted, the distinguished guests, international as well as New York celebrities, were listed, and the following menu appeared:
· Caviar d'Astrakhan
· Blinis à la Russe
· Tortus Verte en Tasse
· Sticky à la Polonaise
· Mousseline de Homard au Chablis
· Crevettes Rosés à l'Américaine
· Velouté Ducbesse
· Selle d'Agneau à la Broche
· Pommes Mireilles
· Flageolets au Beurre
· Neige au Clicquot
· Cailles de New York sur Croustades
· Salade Japonaise
· Parfait de Foie Gras au Porto
· Soufflé Walkyrie
· Feuilles Viennoises
· Mignardises
· Corbeilles de Fruits
· Amontillado Dry
· Saarburger Moselle Extra
· Ponset Canet 1900
· Giesler Brut 1904
· Martinez Old Port
· Denis Mounié 1865
· Grandes Liqueurs
That was on the fourteenth. On the fifteenth, the Oval Room, resplendent with its mirrors, soft green walls, and decorations in the architectural style of the Adams Brothers, served its first dinner to the public. Every table had been reserved months in advance; the long menu and carefully selected wine list left nothing to be desired. This was a gala night for the globe-trotting elite who now had one of their beloved Ritz Hotels in New York.
Few men, I suppose, have the opportunity of living through the entire life, from its very beginning to the final end, of a celebrated establishment. But when the Ritz-Carlton in New York closes its famous doors—as it will shortly—that will be my status. I am the only department head who has remained steadily at his post during all those forty crowded years. Older men, for the most part, guided the early days and. one by one, have passed on or retired to quieter ways of living. But I was pretty young in 1910, the youngest chef, they told me, ever to be handed such responsibility.
Anyone who has ever prepared to move into smaller quarters by clearing out the attic of a big house where the family was raised will understand how I feel. Familiar objects, now that they will be dispersed this way and that, evoke reminiscences, amusing, wistful, often sad, that are suddenly etched on the mind as sharply as a photograph. My memories of the Ritz are involved, as you might expect, with cooking and menus, with recipes and eating customs, but also with how they reflect the changing scene in New York and in the world. The unhurried elegance before World War I, the years of riotous spending after it, the Depression years, Prohibition and the lowered standards of eating and drinking that it brought about, the rationing of World War II—all bring back their own pictures that lead from an era of fine food leisurely enjoyed to the quickened meal tempo and the don't-waste-time-on-cooking ideas that are so prevalent today.
When the closing was announced some months ago, a gasp went around the circle of Ritz devotees. This couldn't be, they said, What would New York be without the Ritz? It was to them an institution, not just a hotel. The news made many stop to wonder how the Ritz had achieved this intangible but very definite connotation which makes even the word itself or any of its colloquial forms—Ritzy, à la Ritz, putting On the Ritz—a symbol of luxury and sophistication. To understand this, you have to understand the philosophy and ideals of one-man, César Ritz.
Ritz dreamed of a hotel, duplicated in important world centers, that would offer the ultimate in fine living to those who could afford and appreciate such luxury. Beautiful surroundings, unexcelled and unusual service, unsurpassed food and wine regardless of the cost in time, effort, and money, anticipation of the whims of the fortunate guests as well as satisfaction, an uncommonly careful selection and training of staff to give meticulous attention to the smallest details. All these ideals formed the keystone of the Ritz tradition of elegance and quality. César Ritz, of course, had no monopoly on dreams or ideas but he was unique because he managed to bring them to such splendid fruition.
It was Mr. Robert Walton Goelet, because he so appreciated the Ritz Hotels in Europe, who decided to give his own New York the last word in this type of luxury establishment. He and his friend Mr. William Harris, the president of the London Ritz and Carlton Hotels, later president of the New York Ritz-Carlton, put their heads together on plans for the new hotel. Fortunately, Mr. Whitney Warren, America's great architect, whose firm built the Grand Central Station and many buildings in that area, was an uncle of Mr. Goelet. So When his services were obtained, he took a personal as well as a professional interest in the project.
Mr. Goelet spared no expense on the construction, equipment, and furnishings, and during the ensuing years made every change and addition required for the needs of the growing establishment. For example, by 1912 it became obvious that the important social functions were all coming to the Ritz, which had been designed not so much for large functions as for serving a very restricted clientele. So the Crystal Room and Ballroom were added in such a way that a wall composed of doors could be opened at one end of the Oval Room onto a wide, curving staircase down to the Crystal Room and up to the Ballroom, making a tremendously impressive setting for any huge affair. I remember that when Queen Marie of Rumania visited this country in the twenties, she said on seeing it. "Why, this is as beautiful as my palace."
Mr. Goelet still wasn't satisfied. It bothered him that we had nothing comparable to the French terrasse, the outdoor or garden spot where Parisians love to sip their vermouth cassis or have a light meal. Busy and dusty, Madison Avenue certainly offered no suitable place for this. But Mr. Warren found a solution. He designed a garden for outdoor eating in the space between the Ritz Hotel and Carlton House, which is the connecting building of huge apartments served by the Ritz. The décor was Japanese, tables ranged under pagodalike awnings along a winding, rockstrewn stream with tiny islands, goldfish darted through the water, and bird cages hung from trees. The whole effect was one of exquisite charm.
But Mr. Goelet felt we needed still another eating place, for evening dinners in summer. And again, Mr. Warren found an answer; this time he arranged a Roof Garden Restaurant in the space which opened off the fourth floor over the newly completed ballroom addition. No high buildings interfered, there were only private houses on the side streets off Madison Avenue. When they did rear up and overshadow our Roof Garden, we closed it.
I worked directly with Mr. Albert Keller, the general manager who eventually followed Mr. Duncan Harris as president of the Ritz-Carlton, and I considered myself very fortunate. Trained by César Ritz himself, Mr. Keller had already made a reputation as a manager and as an international gourmet before coming to this country. To me, who knew the Paris and London hotels so well, he had the genuine Ritz touch. The guests loved his graciousness, and the employees were devoted to him. A typical gesture was the one he made when he received the Légion d'honneur decoration for the contribution he had made to French culinary art. He ordered case upon case of champagne sent to the kitchen and then came down and treated everyone right down to the Senegalese who mopped the floors—at least a hundred chefs and other help.
The food served at the Ritz, and that has been my responsibility, has always been of prime importance. Mr. Goelet, Mr. Harris, and Mr. Keller each made it very clear to me that our cuisine could nor be second to any in the world. And they all enjoyed a world-wide experience in line food. Money was no object; leave it to the wine cellar to show the profit—or to the rooms. I was even scolded once by Mr. Harris for making too much money on the kitchen. He thought I was not giving the guests the best that the market offered. I had to convince him that efficient management and elimination of waste could be the cause of profit. When I showed the Board of Directors that it was impossible to serve the perfect meals of a Ritz cuisine in a Roof Garden five flights from the kitchen and on the other side of the building, they never questioned it but gave me a free hand to plan and equip a kitchen near the Garden to take care of dishes that must be cooked immediately before being served and must be brought to the table without any delay.
Our food facilities were as complete as we could make them. Many were unusual. For example, we bought green coffee, roasted it daily, and ground it before each meal. The blend was decided on by coffee connoisseurs—twelve pounds of Maracaibo, eighteen of Mocha, and thirty of Java. I recall Frank Munsey, who was most particular about coffee, saying that there was no cup of coffee so good as ours no matter where he went.
We made the finest chocolates and bonbons in our own confectionery kitchen and packed them in very beautiful imported boxes. None of them was for sale, however, but were gifts for our guests. Everyone living in the hotel received a beautiful box on Christmas morning—unless Mr. Keller knew that a jar of Strasbourg pâté de foie gras would be preferred. Every lady in the cleaning room was given a box on the opening night of the Horse Show, and it was specially designed for the occasion, sometimes in the shape of a horseshoe.
We had a chef charcutier in charge of making all the pork sausages, headcheese, pâtés and so on that we used for hors-d'oeuvre. The ice-cream plant was large enough to take care of freezing many differently flavored ice creams and all the special frozen desserts, sometimes thousands of individual molds, and also included equipment for making the large decorative forms of ice that are lighted up and displayed at banquets. Smaller forms were made daily because we always served melon in a molded piece of ice.
There was a tank for keeping fish, especially trout, so fresh that they could literally jump from water to stove. And an oyster bar was set up in the kitchen to take care of guests who were oyster fanciers and liked to eat them the instant they were opened—and keep on eating them, too, beyond the usual mere six. Every evening there was a group of bons vivants in evening clothes, tails and high hats, crowding around the oyster bar.
When Prohibition sneaked onto the scene, it didn't take long, however, for the trend to start away from fine cooking and gracious dining. Who is interested in the nuances of flavors if the palate has been dulled with bathtub gin? Or why should restaurants vie with each other to attract gourmets when everyone was being taken in by speakeasies? The Ritz-Carlton was more fortunate than many places because our guests continued to travel abroad and so kept the spark of the haute cuisine alive in this country. But fine cooking slipped badly during prohibition, mainly because the dining room was suddenly on its own and had to make a profit. No longer could the kitchen count on the bar and the wine cellar to supplement its earning. The lush years up to 1929 were able to carry us through this difficult period because people had so much money to spend, but when the crash came, even we found it rough going until repeal gave us a new lease. Again the Ritz-Carlton was more fortunate than many hotels in having most of its older men, who had come originally from the Ritz Hotels of Paris and London, still on hand to help restore the old standards. Dozens of my chefs had never worked anywhere else. Even now I have a chef boucher, Henri Baritaud, who has been with me since the opening and a first assistant, Louis Magnin, who has seen thirty-eight years in our kitchens.
The pride that men of this type have in their work and in maintaining the Ritz tradition of perfection is not found too often in this day and age. For instance, last year during the shad season I was showing the kitchens to a guest who became intrigued watching the fish chef bone a shad, a very complicated boning job which he can do in almost the twinkling of an eye. "Do you ever leave a bone in?" she asked. He looked horrified when he replied, "Then I would no longer work at the Ritz, madame."
The changes, when watched from day to day, are almost imperceptible. But when I compare the meals of 1910 and 1911 with those of 1950, the difference is startling. It's many a year since we have served one meal of sixteen courses. Our kitchens were then staffed with one hundred twenty to one hundred fifty chefs and helpers to take care of the dining rooms and prepare the banquets, even when we had a fifteen- or sixteen-hour day and a seven-day week. Long and hard ones, too. I recall that the chef who made the blinis à la Russe for that opening dinner in 1910 fainted from the fatigue and heat of standing over the range turning out almost two thousand blinis.
But maybe some of the changes are for the better. Our chefs no longer work until they faint. One of the first suggestions I made to Mr. Keller was to reduce the hours of work and the days per week for the help in our kitchens; I believe that the Ritz was the first of the New York hotels to do this. The trend toward simpler eating during recent years is undoubtedly a good thing, too. But mind you, by simpler I do not mean indifferent or hurried eating, with which I have no patience. Certainly fewer of our guests make the yearly trek to the spas of Europe for the gout cure, however, and fewer have trouble with their waistlines.
The mementos of four decades seem endless: books of recipes, many of which came with me on the old "Amerika" in October, 1910; stacks of menus—the records of banquets given either by or for royalty, diplomats, financiers, singers, actors, and actresses; letters of appreciation from plain John Doe and society leaders; an old box that held cigars that "even the Kaiser (a great cigar connoisseur) couldn't buy," given me long ago by a well-known ambassador; a valuable sapphire stickpin from Mr. Harris. Some will be saved, many tossed out. But remaining forever will be my memory of the skills of the hands and the lore of a great cuisine gained from forty years at the Ritz.
Of all the Ritz spécialités that I have originated, it seems to me vichyssoise was really the one that most thoroughly captured the fancy of Americans from coast to coast. But there have been many others which were equally popular with our own guests. Filet of sea bass Pershing, for example, has been a favorite ever since it was first served at the banquet given at the Ritz for General Pershing after World War I. And one of my favorite chicken dishes has been poulet sauté Gloria Swanson, which I concocted especially for the well-known actress and which I prepared for her recently on her television program.
Filet of Sea Bass Pershing
Spread 1 1/2 tablespoons butter in a shallow pan and sprinkle over it 3 shallots, finely chopped, and 1 teaspoon finely chopped parsley. Season 6 filets of sea bass with salt and a little while pepper and arrange them in the pan. Add about 1/3 cup white wine and 1 cup fish stock. Bring to a boil, cover the pan, and simmer slowly for 10 to 12 minutes. Add 12 oysters and cook for 2 or 3 minutes. Remove the filets and oysters to a heated serving dish and put with them 12 cooked shrimp and 12 cooked mushrooms. Arrange small cooked potato balls around the fish.
Cook the liquid remaining in the pan until it is reduced to about 1/2 its original quantity. Thicken it with 3 tablespoons cream sauce and add 1 1/2 tablespoons butter. When the butter is just melted, fold in 3 tablespoons cream, whipped. Correct the seasoning and pour the sauce over the fish and its garniture of oysters, shrimp, and mushrooms. Set under a hot broiler flame until golden-brown.
Poulet Sauté Gloria Swanson
Cut 2 young chickens, each weighing about 2 1/2 to 3 pounds, into pieces for frying. Season the chicken with salt and a little white pepper. Melt 2 tablespoons butler in a shallow pan and cook the chicken in it until it begins to turn golden-brown. Add 12 mushrooms, cleaned and peeled, and cook for another 5 minutes. Add 2 shallots or 1/4 onion, finely chopped, to the fat in the pan and sprinkle in 1 tablespoon flour. Add 1/2 cup white wine and a faggot made by tying together I stalk of celery, 2 sprigs of parsley, a small piece of bay leaf, and a little thyme. Cover the pan partially and cook slowly for 30 to 35 minutes, or until the chicken is done. Discard the faggot.
Mix 1 egg yolk with 1/4 cup cream and add to this some of the liquid from the pan, combining it gradually. Turn off the heat under the chicken and carefully pour the egg yolk-cream mixture into the pan liquid, blending it by shaking and rotating the pan. Correct the seasoning with salt. Arrange the chicken on a heated platter and pour the sauce over.
While the chicken is cooking, prepare the following garnish: Pack cooked rice in 6 demitasse cups to make attractive molds. Sauté 6 peeled tomato halves in butter. Alternate the rice molds and the tomato halves around the chicken. Place a slice of truffle on each rice mold and put a little sauce and some chopped parsley on each tomato.
Coeur flottant à la Ritz has probably been served at more famous Ritz dinners than any other dessert. It is a praline-flavored mousse served with a vanilla sauce and decorated with chocolate leaves. We had hundreds of the heart-shaped forms in which it was molded, and these were frozen in ice and salt. It can be frozen, although less successfully, in the freezing unit of an automatic refrigerator.
Coeur Flottant à la Ritz
To make a páte à bombe, combine in the top of a double boiler 5 egg yolks a piece of vanilla bean, and a syrup made by cooking 3 cups sugar and 1 1/2 cups water for 7 minutes. Cook over simmering water until the batter becomes lukewarm, beating it with a whip all the time. Remove from the hot water and continue beating it until cool. Remove the vanilla bean. Chill the batter and add 1/2 cup almond praline (see below). Fold in 2 cups cream, whipped, to make the mousse.
Soak a few dice of spongecake in any liqueur and put in the center of a heart-shaped mold or individual molds. Fill with the mousse and place in the freezing unit of the refrigerator.
When ready to serve, invert the mousse on a serving dish and surround with vanilla sauce combined with a few pieces of fruit. Scatter chocolate leaves and trimmings around. The whole dish then may be masked in spun sugar.
Almond Praline
Mix equal quantities of blanched almonds and sugar in a very heavy frying pan and add a few drops of vanilla extract. Cook until it becomes well caramelized, stirring all the time. Turn the praline out on a buttered marble slab or into a cold heavy pan to cool. Chop it for garnishing or crush for mixing with ice cream and mousses.