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Add veal to mushrooms on medium heat. After 5 minutes remove veal to a hot platter.

Add the remaining wine to the pan. Add remaining butter. Bring to a boil, and then simmer for 4 minutes. Add parsley, and pour over the meat. Serve with steamed white rice.

Pâté

SERVES 8

2 pounds goose or duck or chicken livers

1 teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

All-purpose flour

12 tablespoons (1½ sticks) soft butter

½ pound ground veal

1 cup diced onions

¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon

¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg

½ cup Rémy Martin cognac

1 cup chicken stock

Preheat oven to 350°F. Liberally butter 9 × 3-inch loaf pan.

Clean livers of all veins, gristle, and fat. Season with salt and pepper, and dust with flour.

In large sautê pan, melt 4 tablespoons (Y2 stick) butter, and place veal and livers in pan. Sautê on medium heat until done. (When no blood comes from the veal and livers, they are done.) Cool, and remove from pan to warm plate.

Put remaining butter into pan. Melt, and add onions. Sautê on medium heat until translucent. Let cool.

Puree livers, veal, and onions. Mix in cinnamon, nutmeg, and cognac, then chicken stock.

Pour mixture into loaf pan. Bake 30 minutes. Remove and cool. Place in refrigerator with another loaf pan holding two 15-ounce cans vegetables on top of pate for 24 hours (to remove any air pockets in the baked mixture). Slice and serve cold.

Molded Eggs Polignac

SERVES 6

9 teaspoons butter, plus more for toast and garnish

6 truffle slices

6 large eggs

6 buttered toast rounds

2 teaspoons finely chopped fresh parsley

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Melt 1½ teaspoons butter in each of six small molds or ramekins. Lay a slice of truffle in the bottom of each mold. Break an egg into each mold, and set the molds in a pan of hot water. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes, or until the whites are set and the yolks a little soft.

Remove the molds from the hot water and let the eggs and truffles cool for a few minutes. Unmold each egg and truffle onto a small round of buttered toast, and garnish with melted butter and parsley.

THE LONDON DRAWING ROOM glowed beneath subdued lighting. Antique furniture showed its age gracefully, and our hostess, Sonia Orwell, was what she wanted to be: a picture of an upper-class hoyden.

I was introduced to the guests and told that they were great artists. One painter was the grandson of a famous psychiatrist, another painter had the same name as a renowned eighteenth-century English writer, and yet another was a trendy painter-photographer. Sonia shook her mane of blond hair and told them that I was writing a book.

The men gathered around me and asked pointed questions that seemed at odds in such amiable quarters.

“What on earth do you find in London that you don’t have in the States?” “Why do you come to England to write?”

“You can’t escape racism, you know. English say all wogs begin at Calley.”

True, I didn’t know from his accent that his Calley meant the French town Calais, nor at that time did I know that the word wog meant “nigger, ” but I knew they were being hostile to me, so I responded in kind.

“I wanted to be in familiar surroundings. And you’ve just shown me there are as many ignoramuses here as there are in the United States. I didn’t come here looking for anything. I brought everything I need with me. I know it is more blessed to give than to receive, so I’m willing to donate some of my wit to those who need it so badly.”

Sonia shook her hair and said, “You’ve found a match! ”The men laughed at my retorts.

We had become fairly friendly by the time we were asked to come downstairs to dinner.

We sat at a beautiful table festooned with personal nosegays at each plate.

The first course was an onion tart. I had never tasted anything better. I chewed slowly, registering each flavor. The shortness of the crust backed up the sweetness of caramelized onions. Voices intruded into my reverie.

“Maya, yes, Maya, what do