" Every animal but one keeps to one dish."—The Spectator.

Every bachelor is an epicure - or thinks he is. According to time and season and environment, the single man who has dabbled in cooking at all will tell you that he has " the best thing ever" - then promptly proceeds to " show you," as though you were straight from St. Louis.

Even the New England farmer has his specialties, which are apt, in summer, to include a famous dish of pepper grass, lettuce, and mustard leaves tossed together with salt, pepper, vinegar, and sugar, as a salad course; and from " Reuben " up to the Marquis de Dion, with his succulent snails or " Escargots de Bordeaux," he runs the gamut of edibles. The cowboy on the Western plains will show you how to do a " Mulligan " such as was never seen on the Emerald Isle, and the student just home from Heidelberg will tell you that no German restaurant ever serves sauerkraut with such delicious brown gravy as he learned to make in Germany - not even Tony Faust of St. Louis, who certainly has this continent beaten on the food of the Fatherland. The American Art Student home on his vacation will deftly prepare a Chateaubriand by grilling a thick fillet between two slices of rump steak, which contribute their juices, but are thrown aside while the fillet is being delicately browned over the hot coals before popping on the hot platter.

Among some of these good things collected from bachelors - and some benedicts, too - are a few so choice that they must be mentioned as a part of the stock of the Bachelor's Cupboard. " Tell me what a man eats and I'll tell you what he is " is generally a pretty good rule to follow, but have you ever tried to tell what a man eats by what he is? That is the more difficult psychological problem to solve.

There's David Belasco, for instance. One would imagine that the writer of " Zaza" and " DuBarry " and all the rest would be something of an epicure, and want his dishes highly seasoned. As he affirms, there's many a dish with excellent constituents that fails for lack of skill in combining them, just as many a good play is ruined in the building, though the raw material may be excellent. An artistic proportion should be maintained between ingredients, he says, just as between the characters of a play. His Salmi of Goose is his favorite entree, and this is how he has it prepared:

SALMI OF GOOSE Cut the remains of a roast goose in small oblong pieces, removing the skin and gristle. Take the bones and scraps and boil them down until the water is reduced to a cup of strong stock. Add to this a carrot, a young turnip, a tomato, an apple, and a stalk of celery, all cut in dice and previously parboiled together for ten minutes. Simmer in the gravy until they will go through a vegetable press, then put the meat in the stock and cook until tender. Thicken the stock with browned flour, put the goose on some slices of toast, and pour the gravy over and surround with the vegetable puree. This is guaranteed to please.

FINNAN HADDIE. Henry Miller selected for his gastronomic contribution the plebeian finnan haddie; but, as he says, its transformation makes it nothing short of divine, especially when accompanied by fried green peppers. The actor-manager who prepares them does them in a chafer with no fuss at all. " For finnan haddie," he says, " have the fish thoroughly washed, and after standing in cold water about an hour put in boiling water for five minutes, then wipe dry. Rub butter and lemon juice well into the fiber of the fish, then broil over a clear fire for fifteen minutes; or if the clear fire is not handy, put in the blazer in some

792352A butter, with the cover on tight. Serve either with hot butter sauce or tartare sauce - although I incline to the former.

"For the fried green peppers, split them and remove the seeds, then lay in salted ice water. When they feel crisp, wipe them off with a cloth. Melt some butter in the blazer, and when smoking hot fry the peppers in it until tender."

KARTOFFELKLOESSE. De Wolf Hopper does not hesitate to admit that if he were to cook his favorite dishes, they would no longer be favorites. "There are too many good things to eat," he says, "to pick one special dish and label it in preference to others." One of his favorite dishes was served to him in a German restaurant - " Kartoffel-Kloesse "- like American potato dumplings - only different. This is how:

Pare, boil, and mash potatoes and put aside to cool. Take three cups of potatoes, one cup of bread, two well-beaten eggs, beaten separately, pepper, salt, and the inevitable nutmeg to taste, and some chopped parsley which has been heated in butter. The bread should be prepared as for croutons, and crushed after being browned in butter in the oven. The mixture should be very stiff, then molded into small balls and dropped into salted water which boils very fast. The water should be kept boiling for fifteen minutes, when the "Kloesse" should be puffed about twice the original size and done through to the center. These will make anyone think himself transported to "Happyland."

Kyrle Bellew paraphrases the old maxim, and says, "When in France, eat what the Frenchmen eat" - and goes one better by adapting his tastes to the cookery of the country in which he happens to be eating at the moment. He admits, however, preferences for Hungarian Goulash, as served in Buda Pesth, and a Spanish Omelette from a Madrid cuisine.

THE GOULASH may be easily prepared, and the ranchman may find it a delightful change from his Irish stew. A pound of beef is cut into little squares and stewed gently an hour, without coming to the boiling point, when the " first dose of paprika" is put in. Also, two carrots and two onions cut in dice. Then more paprika. Half an hour before the meat is done add two potatoes and celery stalks cut fine -and more paprika. When all is tender, serve on a hot platter, with the vegetables surrounding the meat.