These days, the travel-prone Mrs. E and I travel by armchair for the most part. So we live vicariously. Regular readers will know that I love to get postcards from our friends who alight in distant cafés in far-off lands. Yesterday’s mail brought something more. A lovely (in all senses of the word) couple who were married just a couple of weeks ago chose as their honeymoon destination one of the most romantic — Paris.

Being passingly familiar with The City of Light, La Belle M. E and I sent along a list of a few things to do. My suggestion (mine are always more “touristy” and over-familiar — or as I like to think “comforting”) was to liberate the bar at the Ritz as Hemingway did during the waning days of “The War.” Although he never drank in this room (It was a reading room, I believe — he was across the hall at the larger Bar Vendôme) there is today a smaller, friendly bar dubbed The Bar Hemingway.

Friends will continue to amaze you.

Imagine my surprise when the package pictured above arrived through my letterbox. The honeymooners had the privilege of being entertained by Mr. Colin Field (that’s his autograph on the magazine), dubbed by Forbes Magazine “The Best Bartender in the World.” And to top it all off, they thought of us, here in Richmond, VA, pining for the glory days of drinks at the bar in some far-flung capital. No “been there-done that t-shirt,” or even a most welcome and witty postcard is this truly elegant and thoughtful gift.

I wish I’d thought of it. Inexpensive (although I hope that the six napkins once each held a cocktail), yes. Easy, undoubtedly. Although it must have taken some effort after cocktails to remember to bring along the souvenirs. This is a charming keepsake (with hand-written note!) from a most charming couple. Easy and elegant.

I think I’ll frame the composition and hang it in the bar room, next to the poster (that friends brought back) of the Long Bar at Raffles Hotel.

If you’ve ever wanted to wear a bowler hat, Chelsea boots and carry a tightly rolled umbrella, tomorrow night is your time to shine. Halloween is one of those celebrations that lets you try on another persona in relative safety. I may have started out as a knight or soldier, but as an adult I started to skip the fantasy costumes (even the Vampire — tuxedos are hard to resist) and go for literary (or at least period movie) types. I’ve done the Brideshead aesthete, the Pink Panther cat burgler (Cary Grant proving too hard to pull off), played the ambassador in White Tie and Tails, and even tried on the main character from “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” which the ever-witty Mrs. E has dubbed “The Unbearable Longness of Movie.”

If I had a velvet collared suit, this year would be John Steed all the way. Halloween is the one day a year that I can get it out of my system without looking like an idiot to the average man.

Which is kind of my point. Fortunately, I have the eagle-eyed Mrs. E to save me from myself every other day of the year.

To paraphrase John Steed “Mrs. E, you’re needed.” Elegance, as Mrs. E so often points out, is quiet. The elegant person is not a standout in terms of clothing. Yes, (s)he pays attention to the details of his or her dress. But that elegance is achieved only in the absence of costume. In subtilty, for elegance begins and ends with discriminating taste. “The true dandy,” writes Max Beerbohm “must always love contemporary costume.” (And “dandy” doesn’t mean what you think it does either. Get lost in the extensive writings at Dandyism.net and discover the pursuit of elegance and its outward expressions.)

But for me, tomorrow holds a new test. My three-year old daughter has requested that I dress up “like a pumpkin.” And, of course, I will.

The divine Mrs. E. made a wonderful suggestion for our dinner party this weekend. “Beef Wellington,” she said. “We have that bit of paté de foie gras mousse truffée to use up.”

Yes, she really does say things like that.

I couldn’t wait for Saturday night. And on the appointed day, she looked at the clock and asked when I was going to get started making dinner… Me? Beef Wellington was her idea… and I didn’t have a recipe. Apparently I’d done one for a Christmas Dinner one year, so there was precedent.

How hard could it be? I did manage to find a recipe in The New Basics Cookbook for individual Beefs Wellington (?) that used potted mushrooms. Alright, I’d adapt it… I’d win the battle.

First of all, I had a whole tenderloin of roughly 2 lbs. And I didn’t have puff pastry, but I did have frozen Phyllo dough (I am half Greek…) The mushrooms called for scallions, which I did have, and leeks which I did not… . And then there was the question of the “paté dfgmt.”

The results are visible above and the reviews were good… a bottle of wine per person might have influenced the verdict. The only difficulty I had was the cooking time. 15 minutes of finishing wasn’t nearly enough in the end. So we did as they do in Windsor Castle when the Queen likes her Wellington done a bit more than medium-rare. The basically raw feast went into the microwave for 4 minutes. Voila! Medium rare’ish.

Beef Wellington (serves four with a salad and mashed potatoes.)

1 Beef tenderloin of about 2 lbs.
1/4 of a package of Phyllo Dough, thawed
Butter (maybe a 1/4 of a stick) melted.
Paté de foie gras mousse truffée — about the size of a deck of cards.
1 package of sliced mushrooms.
2 scallions, minced.
Thyme
Sea salt and pepper
Dijon mustard

Rub sea salt, pepper and two teaspoons of thyme into the meat. Sear the tenderloin on all sides in a skillet of melted butter. Set aside to cool to room temperature.

In the skillet, melt some more butter and add the minced scallions. Cook, stirring until they are translucent. Add about two teaspoons of thyme, salt and pepper. Add the mushrooms and cook until the liquid from them evaporates.

Preheat the oven to 425ºF.

Unroll your phyllo dough and drape a few layers (maybe 8?) across your baking sheet. Place the cooled tenderloin onto the middle of it. Brush the top with dijon mustard and smear it with the “paté dfgmt.” Pour on the mushroom mixture. Drape some more phyllo dough over the top and brush with melted butter while forming the whole thing into a package. (To be fair, Mrs. E. did this step as I can’t stand working with phyllo.)

Cook for longer than 15 minutes, I’d guess 20-25. If the phyllo starts to burn, cover it with some tin foil and continue to cook. Or stick with the 15 minutes and then nuke the result on high in the microwave for four minutes.

Serve with mashed potatoes, salad and a good red … we drank a Malbec.

If anyone gets more specific with the cooking times, please leave a note. I’d appreciate it (and I might have enough wine left to drink with the leftovers the next day….)