“I HOPE YOU ARE all enjoying yourselves.”
The words brought an immediate response from Joseph Tourcoing.
“Monsieur le Viscomte, this soufflé is magnificent! Never have I tasted better!”
Murmurs of agreement ran from seat to seat.
“Really superb, monsieur, really superb!” confirmed Alfred Rostaing, the other restaurateur in the room. He said it quickly so as to return at once to finishing the soufflé.
A waiter had placed this outstanding hors d’oeuvre before the viscomte as he sat down and he lost no time in dispatching it, nodding with satisfaction as he did so. Waiters flowed in, removing the soufflé dishes and replacing them with another dish. A wine was being poured and I contrived to get a glance at a label. It was a Musigny Blanc, a white burgundy that is lighter than most and fresh enough that it remained aloof from intruding on the meal.
The next dish was a mousse, just a tiny mound, and I heard Rostaing comment quietly that it was prepared from river trout. Flecked with minute chips of truffle, it was excitingly different and the small portion made it all the more tantalizing.
The excellence of the food had almost distracted me from the surprise of seeing our host. I was beginning to put the pieces of the puzzle together but that which concerned the identity of Monsieur la Viscomte had caught me completely unawares. I looked at him again. He gave me a smile and a nod and resumed his conversation with Monika. She was resplendent in an iridescent silvery gown that was a startling contrast to her usual sporty style.
Following the mousse came Goujonettes of Lotte, Mediterranean fish that had been cooked in nage. This is a recent development in French cuisine and comes with the trend toward lighter, lower-fat cooking. A nage is an infusion of herbs and vegetables used strictly for poaching fish. Previously thickened with cream, the modern way is to use vegetable puree. Scallions had been blanched in the nage and I guessed that the seasoning came from ginger, coriander, and lemon-grass. Slivers of truffle adorned the fish, and again murmurs of admiration rippled through the room.
There was a switch of wine at this point. This one was a Premier Cru from the Peregrine vineyard, more assertive than the Musigny but balanced and charmingly flavorsome. The viscomte must have acknowledged the quality of the best wines from Peregrine, I thought—then I realized that until now I had missed the point of this completely.
I looked again at our genial host, the Viscomte de Rougefoucault-Labourget, now discussing a fine point of vine growing with Gerard Girardet. Most of the aspects of the mystery were falling into place and I wondered just how many of those in the room had already known the identity of Monsieur le Viscomte …
He was Grant Masterson—millionaire businessman, owner of the spectacular yacht Windsong, and the man who had invited me to accompany him to the truffle market.
The table service continued to be ultra-smooth. The lotte was followed by Becasseau Truffée. Becasse is woodcock, one of the tastiest and tenderest of game birds. The becasseau is a bird under seven months old and the trick is to get birds right on that borderline of age so that they are large enough to be meaty but young enough for the flesh to be delicate. These were perfect, and although my mind was really on the viscomte … Masterson, I could not help being interested in the discussion between Tourcoing and Rostaing that concerned the cooking of the dish. They were concluding that it was sautéed in very hot butter, chicken livers and truffles were added, then it was finished with lemon juice and brandy. It was served with straw potatoes, the very fine crisp sticks, and accompanied by cardoons, popular in Provençal country cooking but seldom used by known chefs. This was clearly a shame because the large edible thistle is a close relative of the artichoke and, if attentively prepared, even more delicious.
The wine waiters poured a Pomerol with it—the Trotanoy that is made from several grape varieties, principally Merlot and Cabernet Franc. It was fruity but only enough to accent the game, and the steely tannin gave it character.
A lemon sabayon in a very tall fluted glass had champagne poured over it upon serving and cleaned the palate perfectly. Then came the dessert, Branched Truffle Fritters. The batter was light as a feather and a comment from Doctor Selvier that this was a very rare dish was quite true. It requires thick slices of truffle and these make it too expensive to calculate.
Conversations flowed on a dozen subjects but my participation was limited to nods and simple answers. Finally, Monsieur le Viscomte—as I had now come to think of him—announced that coffee and liqueurs would be served in the library. Cigars for the men, he stated, adding with a laugh that they were for the women too if they so wished.
In twos and threes, the assembly rose and proceeded in the direction of the library. As I passed the thronelike chair at the head of me table, the viscomte put a hand on my arm.
“Let’s go into my study. You and I have a few things to talk about…”