Bohemian San Francisco

with understanding and speak the language of perception. Little Italy's charm has long been recognized by artists and writers, and many of them began their careers which led to fame and fortune in little cheap rooms on Telegraph Hill. Here have lived many whose names are now known to fame, and to name them would be almost like a directory of world renowned artists and writers. Here is still the memory of Bret Harte and Mark Twain. Here is where Keith had his early studio. Cadenasso, Martinez, and many others know these slopes and love them. To all these and many more the Latin Quarter of San Francisco possessed a charm they could find nowhere else, and if one desire to bring a saddened look to the faces of many now living elsewhere it is but necessary to talk of the good old days when Bohemia was on Telegraph Hill in San Francisco. Here they had their domicile, and here they foregathered in the little restaurants, whose claims to merit lay chiefly in the fact that they were rarely visited by other than the Italians of the quarter and these Bohemians who lived there. Here was the inspiration of many a good book and many a famous picture whose inception came from thoughts that crystallized amid these surroundings, and here many a needy Bohemian struggled through the lean days with the help of these kind-hearted Latins. Here they, even as we, were taught something of the art of cooking. Of course, if one desire to learn various methods of preparing food, it is necessary to keep both eyes open 7* and to ask many questions, seeking the information that sometimes comes from unlooked for sources. Even at that it is not always a good idea to take everything for granted or to ac- AROUND cept every suggestion, for you may LITILE meet with the Italian vegetable ITALY dealer who is so eager to please his customers that he pretends a knowledge he does not possess. We discovered him one day when he had on display a vegetable that was strange to us. "How do you cook it?" was our question. "Fry it." Then his partner shouted his laughter and derision. "Oh, he's one fine cook. All the time he say 'fry it.' One day a lady she come into da store an' she see da big bucket of ripe olives. Da lady she from the East and she never see olives like dat before. 'How you cook it?' say da lady. 'Fry it,' say my partner. Everything he say fry it." In another vegetable stand we found an Italian girl, whose soft lisping accent pronounced her a Genoese, and she diffidently suggested "a fine Italian dessert." "You take macaroons and strawberries. A FINE Put a layer of macaroons in a dish and then DESSERT a layer of strawberries, cover these with sugar, and then another layer of macaroons and strawberries and sugar until you have all you want. Over these pour some rum and set fire to it. After it is burned out you have a fine dessert." We bought the macaroons and strawberries on the way home and did not even wait for dinner time to try it. We pronounce it good. It was made the right way and we advise you to try it, for it is simple and leaves a most delicious memory. It was very early one morning. So early that one of us strenuously pretended sleep while the other gave urgent reminder that this was the day WHERE we were to go to Fishermen's Wharf.