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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Cecil Brooke
3 Feb 36
Dear Cecil Brooke
Many thanks for your letter of yesterday. For once in the world's history, it is not your money I want. It is your brains, and perhaps, to some extent, your connections.
In the 'Exotic' I want to get a reputation not only for original cocktails, of which I invented several, cocktails that really do get on with the job without arguments, and produce insatiable appetite or some of the more refined forms of intoxication as the Magus in charge is inspired to direct, but rare and unusual wines, some actual curiosities, some normal but of the class that the best places never put on their wine lists and only bring out for the princes of the royal blood.
I gather that such wines are not obtainable at all except in very small parcels, and the possession of such stocks would draw people to a very small and exclusive restaurant where the cooking was in step with the wine.
I am appealing to you as an artist.
There is an important publicity end to this scheme. I know Tattersall of the Mail and Tom Driberg (William Hickey) of the Daily Express, and Lord Donegall of the Sunday Dispatch very well personally, and it would be easy enough to rope in my Lord the Viscount Castleroage with the aid of any reputable cowboy.
We must revive the art of eating and drinking.
The travelled Englishman can always be moved to unjustifiable expenditure by appeals to his memory of happy days and nights in civilised countries. The monotony of English food, or shall I say the food obtainable in London, is simply revolting. I have never seen sarcelle on the menu in England yet. One hardly ever sees ortolans, famous as they are in literature. Who knows of 'potted char', which passes like a rapturous dream for ten days in every year? Why not shad, whose mere name will rouse any American from a drunken stupour? Who can enumerate the varieties of kropoek?
I can imagine your playing a mental accompaniment in terms of wine to these remarks.
Let me know what day will suit you for lunch next week. Only—until my plans are realised there will be nowhere to take you.
Yours sincerely.
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