Free The Autobiography of Sherlock Holmes by Sherlock Holmes, Don Libey Page A

Watson’s extensive notes, I am amused by the attention paid to restaurants, food, wine and spirits. He wrote sparingly of gastronomy in his books, but his notebooks are full of details of dinners we had together in restaurants and our rooms, as well as tasting notes on wines we shared which are found in a quite remarkable tasting journal I never knew he kept. Apparently, Watson had quite an unseen side to his personality. The two of us dined often at Simpson’s-in-the-Strand and I continue to have dinner there twice weekly, usually on Tuesday’s and Friday’s. Simpson’s opened its doors in 1828 and has served traditional British food with few changes to the menu. The Grand Divan, Simpson’s formal dining room, is a dark mahogany room with massive crystal chandeliers where comfort, excellent waiters and fine Scottish beef served from domed silver trolleys have been the tradition for over a century and a half. Its cellars house the grand and premier crus wines of the great chateaux of Bordeaux and the Burgundy vintages are of the highest quality and age. My favourites over the years have been the roast Scottish beef, the Scottish salmon and the saddle of lamb. Watson usually chose the excellent steak and kidney pie or the Dover sole. On occasion, after returning to London on an early morning train, we would go to Simpson’s for the Great British Breakfast which has been unchanged since the restaurant’s early beginning. We would have our fill of Cumberland sausages, streaky and back bacon, Stornoway black pudding, fried mushrooms, baked tomato and poached or fried eggs, as well as toast and orange marmalade and pots of hot tea or coffee. Watson was a tea man in the morning; I preferred coffee.
    It was rare that Watson or I took lunch, although an ample tea at half-four each afternoon was looked to by Mrs Hunter. Her teas were quite splendid and our Scotland Yard friends often found good reasons to call for advice between four and half-four in expectation of her almond macaroons and orange cream pudding. Her breakfasts and dinners were quite good and she was always ready to see to our nourishment upon our arrival at any hour of the day or night. She still prepares tea today, but the housekeeper sees to light breakfasts and lunches and a few favourite dishes for our respective dinners.
    Watson and I also dined at Christopher’s at Number 18 Wellington Street, Covent Garden on occasion. The restaurant opened in an old papier maché factory and a casino was added in 1870. Watson made far too many racing bets from Christopher’s as it was a centre for gaming in the last quarter of the century.
    Another of our occasional haunts was Langbourn’s Coffee House in Ball-Alley, Lombard Street. Rebuilt in 1850, it had a broiling-stove in the coffee-room, from whence chops and steaks were served hot from the gridiron around the clock. Langbourn’s also had a wine and cigar room, embellished in a handsome old French décor. This was also one of my stops when I was intent on a case and needed only the necessities of nourishment: a glass of claret, a bit of cheese, and the rejuvenation of a good Cuban cigar.
    My own taste runs to French cuisine, doubtless the influence of my mother and her preference for the dishes of Belgium, France and the grand resorts of Europe. When on my own, I would often have dinner at Rouget’s in Castle Street, Leicester Square, where the French dishes were capitally done and the soup Julienne was as good as any to be had in London. Rouget’s also had the advantages of being inexpensive and quiet. Unfortunately, it closed in 1900.
    Whenever Watson and I required balm for our souls, we sought out Bertollini’s in St. Martin’s Place at the back of Pall Mall East. A wonderful man was Bertollini: a short heavily-built Ligurian from Recco on the Italian Riviera, who superintended every aspect of the restaurant himself: now instructing the kitchen; now decanting the wine; now pointing at table with his