Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1908-01-04
Was the Critic Grouchy or the Fifty
Wrong9
SEEKING THE sURE-EN0UGH
Trouncing the Little Manhattanese
for Their Love Of Wallowing and
Lack Of Appreciation.
Special Correspondence Of The stars

| special Correspondence OF Inc StarS
NEW YORK, January 3, 1908.
>TIS an affecting thing-more or less
to see a whole cityful' en-
gagged in rubbing its head. That
is what New York is doing yet
after its grand annual gargantuan good
time in celebration of the New Year.
Nothing is to be gained by dwelling upon
any of the phases of what has come to
be New Yorks acknowledged annual all
hands-around-drunk There isn't any
thing pretty or picturesque about it, IT
has simply become a permissible wal
lowing on the part of a great population.
1t lacks all of the grace of a fiesta. 1t is
just an allowable" souse, participated in
by tens of thousands of men and women
who imagine that they're having regular
saturnalia of a time. The affair is al
ways described with open admiration
and enthusiasm in most of the New York
newspapers, and nobody wants to steal
from them what they consider one of their
best annual subjects for big write-up.'
The ever-present point is, the actual
simplicity of the supposed-to-be sophisti-
Gated New Yorker. A favorite mild
amusement of this writer is to watch
some dead-wise New York acquaintance
going over what he considers to be some
wonderful table d'hote route that he has
picked out for himself or been led to by
some of the other dead-wise ones. OF
course, the qualification of such mild
form Of amusement, in about nine cases
out Of ten, involves the mere gazing at,
instead of eating. of dinner that is
sloppy, tasteless, absurd conglomeration
of mysteries. Still, one has the compensa-
ton Of watching the really boylike New
York man while he is engaged in the
act of buncoing himself into the belief
that he really is partaking of good food
and drink amid what he calls bizarre
and Bohemian surroundings. One of
the qualities Of mind that few New York
ers possess is a sense Of humor, and
therefore, If. during the slow progress of
the table d'hote meal to which he hales
you In triumph he catches you in the
act Of furtively smiling. he will attribute
your smiles to be the ecstasy of the occa-
sion and never to your innate sense of the
ridiculous.
Very recently I was thus led Gas usual,
in triumph) to a table d'hote far over on
the West Side, down town, that is in the
endowment Of an immense vogue just now
among those who really know, you know,
what is sure enough Bohemian" and
there l found, not alone furtive smile,
but good round laugh-after it was over,
and I was out of the hands of my en-
thusiastic conductor.
A Tower Of Babel.
1t is in quarter, this table d'hote,
within the purleus of which you might
hover for week without ever hearing the
English language spoken by any human
being save only by the weary COP on the
beat You will hear Yiddsh and the
French of st. Antoine. and Plattdeutsch
and the patois of Corsica and the Scilies,
and the jargon here and there of the
orient, near and far; but of English
speech. literally none. 1t is what the mag
azine special writer calls a composite
neighborhood," and brawling little chill
dren, wearing hardly any clothing even
in the raw weather, get into your way at
every few steps, on your path to the table
d'hote. demanding backsheesh in all of
the languages of Babylon and others. The
building where this Bohemian table
dhote is established is one of the many
tumbledown brown-stone front affairs
which. many years ago in that forgotten
neighbOrhood, belonged to the quality
There is no sign or placard or legend or de-
vice whatsoever on the exterior of the build
ing to indicate that food OF any kind is
are supposed to be one of those sad dogs
of Bohemians and to have the know
about the institution in order to make
your way there.
And that, you see, is the fine part of
it, says your New York conductor, speak
ing of the obscureness of the table dhote
NO circusing of the place, you see. No
fool black-cat of chimney-corner business
Being off the earth, so to speak, why, of
course, the mob is kept away. It's only
frequented by the right people. The ordi-
nary run of table dhoters never find out
about 1t, you see.'
To gain access to this table d'hote you
sneak in at the basement door. stumbling
over filled ash or garbage can or so in
the semi-darkness of the areaway. Then
you follow your New York friend down
long basement hallway, zimmerman in
its gloom AS you approach the end of
In ho1 ft1N Eno% hna 81, IL
as the heat of the stokehole of a man-o'-
war under forced draught, and, looking
to your right and to your left. you per-
ceive greasy, Observation-Disclosures rooms
wherein greasy Frenchmen and greasy
Frenchwomen. all of them in the final
stages of personal neglect, bent over bat
tered ranges, cooking or experimenting
cooking.
A "Plain Air" Affair.
You gasp for air, and your New York
friend. leading the way opens the rear
door of the hall and your find yourself
in the yard: in the backyard, yes The
yard? you ask your friend. Surely, din
ner is not served in the backyard? But
YOU look about and you see a lot of
wooden tables scattered about. An open
air fireplace. the smoke carried off
through battered arrangement of stove
chimneys. is in the rear. and is sup
posed TO dltfuSe heat and the proper
Bohemian glow to the surroundings A
big awning, made of dirty sail canvas,
is spread over the entire yard. A dozen
or so of property palms shudder in the
chill and seem to lean longingly toward
the open-air fireplace the heat from
which seems, too like the property kind.
tiny fountain, spouting dirty water in
4 basin filled with Misunderstanding
gold fish. stands in the middle of the
grisly place. On one side of the yard
IS hinge danb, supposed to denict a
heavy lout of a Chausseur d'Afriuue.
standing AiaX-wise on knoll of pre-
sumablv desert sand. engaged in lop-
png off the heads of few score of
burnoosed Arabs who rush at him.
pretty Bohemian. ph?" gays your
New York friend proudly. Dining al
fesco for fair in midwinter. Ell? A bit
crude. Of rourse-but that's the charm |
oh. after all of the ornate. parish places !
where the ordinary gang dine in this 4
town."
You take your scot at one IF the tables |
there is no tablecloth. but a large, |