Memories of La Tour d’Argent

I enjoyed Rita Murray’s comments about her meals in Paris at La Tour d’Argent very much (May ’04, pg. 52). I wonder if ITN readers might be interested in reading about how different things were in Paris and at the Tour d’Argent in 1952.

I was in my early twenties and living and working for the U.S. Army in Germany. Europe had not yet made an economic recovery from the Second World War and there were few tourists.

My friend Bev and I arranged for a 4-day weekend in Paris. We took the Orient Express, which came through Stuttgart at midnight and arrived in Paris the next morning at about 6. We wandered around on our own in the morning, had lunch on the second level of the Eiffel Tower (no reservations needed in those days) and took a half-day city tour in the afternoon. When our bus passed La Tour d’Argent, the guide pointed it out as the best restaurant in Europe. Bev and I looked at each other and nodded.

At what we considered an appropriate hour we had a taxi drop us off at the restaurant. The door was ajar, so we went in and found ourselves in a sort of lobby. A young man in white tie came down the stairs and told us the restaurant wouldn’t open for another hour or so. It was winter and cold, so we found a little café down the street and had bread, cheese and wine — and played with the resident cat — until it was time to go back.

When we did, we were escorted up a flight of stairs to what was apparently the only dining room open at the time. On the landing where the stairs turned there was a full-length portrait of, then, Princess Elizabeth of England. She had made a recent visit to promote tourism.

We had no reservations but were immediately seated at a window table overlooking the Seine. Throughout the meal there was a waiter standing behind our table in the dim light. When I took out a cigarette (nearly everyone smoked in those days), a hand shot out with a light.

We were young and inexperienced and didn’t know we probably should have ordered a first course, so we just ordered the pressed duck. We also ordered a bottle of wine. And we skipped dessert. (All that bread, Camembert and wine with the cat.)

The duck, already roasted, of course, was prepared elaborately at the table. It was carved, and then the carcass was put in a press and the resulting juices poured over our servings.

We also were given postcards with our ducks’ numbers on them. I am sitting here with my foot in a cast, so I can’t look for mine right now, but I’d love to know how many ducks have been served between mine and Ms. Murray’s.

I no longer remember how much the meal cost — probably between $5 and $10. Post-war inflation had not yet hit Europe. A dollar bought a lot of francs, labor costs were low and food was incredibly cheap.

On our way back to Germany we learned of the death of George VI and that the pretty princess in the picture was now Queen of England.

SUE KLINGER
Encinitas, CA