The Captain, my friend M. Giraldo, and myself, formed the trio of degustators of the Grand Provençale dish called the bouillabaisse, as well as another celebrated one called the olio. The first one I, with veneration and justice, recognised as worthy of being immortalized in the archives of cookery. The olio, like many of its companions, so admired by the Marseillais, is only to be appreciated by the inhabitants of that city, who must have sprung from a bed of garlic, instead of that more genteel and more sweetly-perfumed one, the parsley-bed--so well known to the juveniles, who are made to believe they were found ruralizing amidst that delicate aromatic plant. The bouillabaisse pertains to Marseilles, as the whitebait to Greenwich and Blackwall. Even at Marseilles it is only at a few houses that you can get it in perfection, among which the celebrated “Restaurant de la Reserve” ranks as A 1, and next, the “Grand Hôtel des Colonies.” After all, the “Reserve” is the principal place. This beautiful and picturesque restaurant, with its pavilion and slim turrets, is gracefully situated on the top of the high rock at the entrance of the old seaport. When required, the proprietor procures the particular fish alive, at the threshold of his door, and shell-fish required for the composition of this dainty dish.[7] In less than an hour--during which time we had partaken of a few small oysters, and some shell-fish peculiar to Marseilles--the bouillabaisse was upon the table, smoking hot, and perfuming the room with its aroma. Although the bouillabaisse can be made with any kind of firm fish, in all countries, and at all seasons of the year, I should be deceiving my readers were I to say that it could be made in the same perfection as at Marseilles; nevertheless, it can be made good if the receipt is closely followed. The choice of fish for the purpose in England, although not as suitable as those of the Marseillaise coast, being of a different nature, will still produce an excellent, dainty dish. Though this _petit déjeuner_ was very _recherché_, the bouillabaisse threw all the accessory dishes into the shade. The landlord, who favoured us with his company at dessert, informed me he made it himself; and at my request, favoured me with the receipt, and the names of the fish composing it. I returned my best thanks for the condescension and trouble on his part in so doing. “Ah, Monsieur Soyer,” said he, “you may thank your name for that. I have often seen you mentioned in our papers, and should have been sorry if you had left our seaport without tasting our national dish in perfection.” He observed, in handing it to me, “You are, of course, aware that this dish cannot be made except at a seaport.”