PARIS RESTAURANTS CATER FOR ANIMALS.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 19108, 28 June 1930, Page 19 (Supplement)

PARIS RESTAURANTS CATER FOR ANIMALS.

MANY DELICACIES ARE PROVIDED FOR THEM

In the less expensive Paris restaurants the following notice is exhibited: “Those favouring this establishment with their esteemed custom are forbidden to nourish their dogs at the expense of the management.’* Elsewhere, however, the vexatious restriction does not exist, little “Toto” (often a. mongrel) is welcomed, a special bill of fare being provided for his delectation. He may ring the changes on minced chicken and rice, chopped liver, or dog biscuit, soaked in gravy and thus rendered less unpalatable. Should the pet be in small health, owing to a long course of unlimited over-eating, plain bread, with a dash of stewed vegetables and gravy, is provided. Cats also may be seen at these restaurants, the dishes placed at their disposal consisting of fish (boiled or fried), milky rice pudding and other plats to which “Minousse” is partial. Such vulgar things as cod's head are unknown in chic establishments; their presence would desecrate the place, even driving away clients. East week a provincial lady, who, accompanied by her orange tabby, was on a visit to Paris, entered one of these superior restaurants, and, depositing “minou’* on a chair by her side, had the nerve to demand cod’s head for pussy. The maitre d’hotel, though dreadfully shocked, noted the order, sarcastically adding: “Madame will be provided with the dish she fancies. And what may I have the honour of placing before the cat?’* The inexperienced luncher, realising that she had put her foot in it, hastily beat a retreat. The affair found its way into the papers, the proprietor of the restaurant being interviewed. “I was relieved,** quoth he, “when she left. Imagine the feelings of my distinguished clientele Lad the plobein dish been set before her cat!** Snob. Chemist’s Assistant in Trouble. Nothing, apparently, will put an end to “le crime passionnel,” not even the guillotine, the latest instance being furnished by a chemist’s assistant named Andre Dubois. Objecting to Rene Buffon, a handsome youth, having cut him out with Henriette Belliomme, a captivating girl, he waylaid and shot the pair as they left a “dancing.’* So unerring was the miscreant’s aim that a single cartridge apiece did for the pair. “De mortuis nil nisi bonura,” as the classics have it. Yet, Andre was not without excuse, for Henriette undoubtedly treated him badly, accepting his presents of highxy-odoriferous scent and chocolates, although she made a point of meeting Rene clandestinely and wheedling him into lavishing gifts upon her. So far as can be ascertained, the young lady was engaged to Andre, whose prospects were inferior to Rene’s, the last-named having been heir to a very thriving hardware business. The pharmacist, however, being cursed with a slight impediment in his speech, and having a wart on either side of a toopronounced Roman nose, made a poor show when compared with his rival, who might have posed for a statue of Apollo. Besides, Andre, though a most admirable person in the shop, lacks the dashing manner and quick wit so essential to success in the field of love. Indeed, double-faced Henriette, shortly before the foul deed was committed, taunted her fiance with the dual failing, and in Rene’s presence, the last-named brutally laughing at the young chemist’s discomfiture. All things considered, both Rene and Henriette were asking for it. . . . Despite the fact that Andre's guilt is certain to be proved, he doubtless will be let off lightly. French law is (very properly) dead against a hussy playing fast and loose with a respectable young man’s affections, discouraging such unworthy conduct by every means in its power. A term of incarceration probably is all that Andre is likely to get. Grasping Cafe Proprietor. An extremely astute provincial lawyer has fallen foul of the law, though not without securing the magistrate’s sympathy. Arriving in Paris on a public holiday, he seated himself at a table in a cafe, and ordered a vermouth dashed with cassis. Putting down a two-franc piece, with twenty-five centimes for the waiter, the visitor, his thirst assuaged, prepared to depart. Scarcely, however, did the legal luminary gain the door than the proprietor flourished in his face the little saucer on which the glass had rested ... “I do not collect porcelain,” waggishly quoth the lawyer. “Try someone else . . .** Boniface, now in a fury, pointed out the legend “four francs”—appearing in large black letters on the saucer. The legal light, drawing atention to a list of prices affixed to the wall, bade his would-be creditor note that two francs was the correct amount. ... “But not on holidays,” was the ready excuse. * “I then have the right to double all prices . . The provincial declining to “part,** the waiter, anxious no doubt for an outing, suggested adjourning to the neighbouring police station. Here the lawyer deposited the necessary bail, and the following day faced the magistrate, who, though relieving him of the balance at stake, gave plaintiff tli2 rough side of his tongue. Indeed, so eloquently—and furiously—did the upholder of justice condemn the grasping cafe-keeper and the rascally system, which, by the way, is general, that the newspapers have taken up the matter. It is thought that, when the next holiday comes round, the imposition will be done away with. High time, too. . .

During the absence of the proprietor at the seat of justice, his wife, helping herself to every franc on the premise”, bolted with the cashier. The husband is resigning himself to losing the lady, who possesses a shrewish disposition. But he sadly misses the cash.