The cult of the chafing dish

I do not advise the fabrication of elaborate entries in the Chafing Dish. They can be and have been done, but I mistrust them and find ample scope for ingenuity, inventiveness, and novelty in the cates I have already described, without venturing into the fields of fancy. Vol-au-Vent, for instance, or Brains k la Poulette, or Spanish Cream Pudding are all within the range of feasibility, but I leave the recipes to those less timorous than myself. In fact, in this case, I am at one with the waiter in the " Bab Ballads " who hurled the most awful threat in culinary literature at his flighty sweetheart : " Flirtez toujours, ma belle, si tu oses, Je me vengerai ainsi, ma chere : Je lui dirai d'quoi on compose Vol-au-Vent a la Financiere ! " The good things of this life are mostly plain and wholesome (with a few delightful exceptions), and we can all qualify to live in Bengodi, Boccaccio's country of content, where they tie up the vines with sausages, where you may buy a fat goose for a penny, and have the giblets thrown in into the bargain. In this place there is a mountain of Parmesan cheese, and the people's employment is making cheese-cakes and macaroons. There is also a river which runs Malmsey wine of the very best quality. There are no cheap excursions to Bengodi. "We have to tramp there on foot — and earn our bread on the road as we travel thither. " Will a man give a penny to fill his belly with hay ? Or can you persuade the turtle-dove to live upon carrion like the crow ? " John Bunyan (" Pilgrim's Progress"), The first vegetarian was probably Nebuchadnezzar, and he has many followers. With the utmost love and respect for all vegetables, without exception, I refuse to accept them as the staff of life, or indeed as anything more than a delicious aid thereto. It is possible that the internal economy of certain very worthy folk may be more easily conducted on a vegetarian basis, and indeed every man is at liberty to feed as suits him best; but as a matter of preference, predilection and experience, 1 decline to follow his example. If they are content to let me go my way unmolested, I have no desire to interfere with their tastes. But no proselytising, please ! Here in England, although we shine in our roasts, our beef, our chops, and maybe a few other trifles, we are woefully and culpably ignorant of vegetable cookery. The average British cook has but one idea with vegetables. She cooks them in water, with lumps of coarse soda, whi ch she thinks makes them soft and keeps their colour. As a matter of fact, this process, especially the soda, practically destroys their health-giving properties. Vegetables want the kindliest care, the most delicate handling, the most knowledgeable treatment. Otherwise they become mere parodies of their better selves. What could be more terrible, more depressing, than the usual slab of wet cabbage doled out at the ' average London restaurant ? It is an insult to the cabbage, to the guest, and to the ' Art of Cookery. And it is so easy to cook it decently — even in a Chafing Dish. Again, the average British household knows and uses only a very limited range of vegetables, ignoring, wilfully or otherwise, scores