Since the days of Kublai Khan, the Great, whose Tartar hordes swept over China centuries ago, swallows nest soup has been a luxury to grace the table of epicures and kings. The exquisite taste of this typical Oriental delicacy so delighted the palates of the Tartar kings, says tradition, that tidings of it were carried back to Europe by traders and wanderers. So in time the news reached Paris and Chinese swallows nests soon were brought from the far East--priceless luxuries for the delectation of the anointed. The nests, which are gathered in cliffs, are composed of a gelatinous substance, said to be the spawn of fish, and impart a delightful piquancy to chicken stock. Alexander Dumas--as celebrated a gastronomer as a writer--upon tasting the consomme pronounced it a dish fit for the gods. Only the choicest of these nests--collected from the most perilous ledges along the Asiatic Coast--are used by the Congress chefs in preparing this culinary rarity. [Illustration] _"This Bouillabaise a noble dish is-- A sort of soup or broth, or brew, Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, That Greenwich never could outdo: Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffron, Soles, onions, garlic, roach and dace: All these you eat at Terre's tavern In that one bowl of Bouillabaise._ _"Indeed, a rich and savoury stew 'tis; And true philosophers, methinks, Who love all sorts of natural beauties, Should love good victuals and good drinks. And Cordelier or Benedictine Might gladly, sure, his lot embrace, Nor find a fast-day too afflicting, Which served him up a Bouillabaise."_ --_Thackeray's "Ballad of Bouillabaise"_ _Bouillabaise_ Its fragrant aroma, its sweet spiciness and its unmatched sauce in which mussels and other denizens of the deep have been brewed to a wondrous flavor have won for Bouillabaise the appellation: "The Dish of Kings." In the stirring days just before the Third Empire of France it wooed the palates of famous bon vivants who thronged the cafes of Paris--among them William Makepeace Thackeray. And beef-fed Briton that he was--upon being initiated into the delightful mysteries of Bouillabaise, Thackeray was moved to write a ringing ballad in its praise. As the smoking Bouillabaise comes from the sanctum of the Congress Chef to your table, it wafts an incense upon which, alone, "man could live and thrive." And its flavor--well if Thackeray could feast with you who knows but that he would be inspired to pen a postlude to his charming roundelay. [Illustration] _"Tom, whom to-day no noise stirs, Lies buried in these cloisters. If at the last trump He does not quickly jump, Only cry: 'Oysters!'"_ --_Epitaph on a Grave at Colchester, England_ _Oysters Bourguignonne_