Culinary jottings

Young pumpkins, "dil-pussund," or marrows, gathered prematurely (when the size of a duck's egg) boiled, and served as described for artichoke bottoms, are exceedingly nice. Purees of sweet potatoes, and yams, if assisted by cream, are very eatable. Fritters of the former are nice if the slices be marinaded in a little brandy and lime-juice, and then dipped in a well-made batter. Yams may be treated in most of the ways recommended for potatoes. In short, if we look about us, and try our best to make the most of the vegetables of the country, by careful cookery of the reformed school, we need never be without a pleasant dish to relieve the ding-dong monotony of our market supplies. The more you hunt about amongst the produce of the native gardens, the more surprised you will be at the opportunities afforded you of practising your culinary ingenuity. For over a century we have been contented to see a few country vegetables sent up in curries, and in curries only, never attempting to develop their latent good qualities by artistic treatment. There are times when the supply of vegetables grown from English seed may fail us, or when we cannot expect to procure them ; when on the line of march, for instance, out in the jungles, or when quartered at some little place far from the busy haunts of our fellow white men ; the amateur who has studied native vegetables will then discover that his time has not been thrown away. [illustration: Chapter heading] Rechauffes. If the art of dishing up nicely the remains of cold meat, of fish, and vegetables, were more closely studied than it is, the fair chatelaine would not look upon cold mutton, cold beef, &c., with the feelings of despair that I fear too often possess her, there would be much less wastefulness, and our breakfast and luncheon tables would be far more easily supplied than they are. Has not- some thrifty professor of kitchen lore actually dedicated a little book to the mysteries of cooking cold mutton, and how to penetrate them ? I have never seen the work, but, without boasting, I think I could fill a couple of chapters myself upon a similar theme. The mistake most of us make is one on the side of sameness. We pick up a tasty recipe for warming up fish, a cunning method of treating cold vegetables, or a marvellously good wrinkle about a hash, and ring the changes on our small stock of knowledge ad nauseam. The most artistic rechauffe will lose its charm if repeated too often, and the appetite, — especially the Anglo-Indian appetite — soon tires of a flavour too frequently offered it. There is no fault that a native cook is more likely to acquire than this, so we should take pains to remove from his control materials which are likely to minister to his failing. Let all your pungent sauces, and essences, be kept under lock and key, and give out, from time to time, tlie doles that are necessary for delicate flavouring. If you do this, your hashes will cease to be slices of meat, cooked up in hot water and Worcester sauce, thickened with flour; neither will your minces, croquettes, cassolettes, &c., be presented with a sauce similarly composed. There are certain hard and fast laws to be observed generally with regard to the treatment of cold meat, &c., which ought never to be forgotten. Let me enumerate them : —