"Oh, no, sir; no chops, sir," he told us.

"Well then, what have you in the line of red meats?"

He was desolated to be compelled to inform us that there were no red
meats of any sort to be had, but only sea foods. So we started in with
oysters. Personally I have never cared deeply for the European oyster.
In size he is anæmic and puny as compared with his brethren of the
eastern coast of North America; and, moreover, chronically he is
suffering from an acute attack of brass poisoning. The only way by
which a novice may distinguish a bad European oyster from a good
European oyster is by the fact that a bad one tastes slightly better
than a good one does. In my own experience I have found this to be the
one infallible test.

We had oysters until both of us were full of verdigris, and I, for
one, had a tang in my mouth like an antique bronze jug; and then we
proceeded to fish. We had fillets of sole, which tasted as they
looked--flat and a bit flabby. Subsequently I learned that this lack
of savour in what should be the most toothsome of all European fishes
might be attributed to an insufficiency of fat in the cooking; but at
the moment I could only believe the trip up from Dover had given the
poor thing a touch of car sickness from which he had not recovered
before he reached us.

After that we had lobsters, half-fare size, but charged for at the
full adult rates. And, having by now exhausted our capacity for sea
foods, we wound up with an alleged dessert in the shape of three
drowned prunes apiece, the remains being partly immersed in a palish
custardlike composition that was slightly sour.