Americans intending to spend a year or so in European hotels
will do well to copy this bill and carry it along. They will
find it an excellent thing to get up an appetite with,
in the dispiriting presence of the squalid table d'ho^te.
Foreigners cannot enjoy our food, I suppose, any more than we
can enjoy theirs. It is not strange; for tastes are made,
not born. I might glorify my bill of fare until I was tired;
but after all, the Scotchman would shake his head and say,
"Where's your haggis?" and the Fijian would sigh and say,
"Where's your missionary?"
I have a neat talent in matters pertaining to nourishment.
This has met with professional recognition. I have often
furnished recipes for cook-books. Here are some designs
for pies and things, which I recently prepared for a
friend's projected cook-book, but as I forgot to furnish
diagrams and perspectives, they had to be left out,
of course.
RECIPE FOR AN ASH-CAKE
Take a lot of water and add to it a lot of coarse
Indian-meal and about a quarter of a lot of salt.
Mix well together, knead into the form of a "pone," and let
the pone stand awhile - not on its edge, but the other way.
Rake away a place among the embers, lay it there,
and cover it an inch deep with hot ashes.
