All who have studied the reformed system of dinner-giving will, I think, agree with me when I say that the menu of a dinner anywhere, but in India especially, should be reduced to the smallest compass possible. An hour at the outside should suffice for the discussion of the daintiest of bills of fare, so to ensure this, we should strike out of it all unnecessary encumbrances. Let the little card be clothed in the white garb of simplicity and completeness, and I am prepared to declare that all our lady guests, and a majority of the men we entertain, will rejoice at the result.

A cosy dinner to be perfect should be, it seems to me, a highly finished cabinet picture with every atom of detail carefully worked out, rather than a large pretentious canvas with an infinite amount of color expended in order to produce a satisfactory impression. Every line of the little menu should, therefore, be written with a loving hand, and both lights and shadows should be considered, for our guests must e'en partake of each dish we offer them.

Soup, fish, two well contrasted entrees served separately, one joint only, game, and a dressed vegetable, one entremets sucre, an iced pudding, cheese with hors d' ceuvres and dessert, will be found, if thoughtfully composed, ample fare for even the most hypercritical gourmet we can bid to our table. In the studied completeness of such a dinner as this will repose its chief attraction :- in good wine, no lack of ice, the brightest plate, snowy linen, well-toned light, and tasteful adornment of the table; with all minutiae remembered - from des petits pains in the deftly-folded napkins, to the artistic salad which in all modern menus is not expressed yet, like salt, understood to be present.

An extra joint may, of course, be given, but if the two entrees be really nice, and the game about to follow be the best in season, I fail to recognize the necessity of the addition.

And, here, it may not be altogether unprofitable to consider attentively certain points connected with the modern banquet upon which opinions differ, and concerning which a good many people find a difficulty in coming to a satisfactory decision.

The moot point or points to which I refer are associated with the general plan or arrangement of the menu, and in order to explain them, it will be necessary to trace their cause carefully.

In the days of old, our forefathers divided their bills of fare into a number of courses. Thus, the soup and fish comprised the first course; the entrees and joint the second; and the game and sweets the third; cheese and dessert being served independently. But of late years, we have simplified matters, and the modern menu, adapted to a great extent, of course, from that of France, is placed before us in two "services," as exemplified in the following table. -

In addition to the above, the custom of presenting oysters before the soup is becoming daily more fashionable, and many people have adopted the practice of sending round hors d' ceuvres, in the continental manner, as a prelude to the repast. A matter of this kind is obviously a matter of taste, touching which no writer on cookery should take upon himself to lay down an arbitrary law. I am personally decidedly in favour of the oyster, or, when oysters cannot be got, of a single, well selected, hors d' ceuvre. The dainty atom titivates the palate, as it were, and prepares it for the soup that is about to come. When, however, a relish of this description is given, it will be found decidedly advantageous, be it noted, if plates containing it be put upon the table in the places laid for the guest before dinner is announced. The time that would be taken up in handing the dishes round, is in this way economised.

Considerable diversity of opinion exists, I know, concerning the next point, viz., whether the entrees should precede the releves or follow them. Brillat Savarin's injunction was- "let the order of serving be from the more substantial dishes to the lighter;" and Sir Henry Thompson says:- "As a rule, to which there are few exceptions, the procession of dishes after the fish is from the substantial to the more delicate, then to the contrasts between more piquant flavour and sweetness."

Now, if we are to discuss this point properly, it seems to me that there is another very important factor in the debate that must not be lost sight of, viz., the rot, or roast. To this item of the menu Brillat Savarin gave, and Sir Henry Thompson gives, let us remember, its full and distinct value; and it can hardly be denied that, if the rot be served correctly, the releve must be put further forward in the bill of fare.

What, then, is the rot? Well, from personal observation, I am constrained to say that this is a matter upon which many dinner-givers appear to be somewhat hazy. The rot is, correctly speaking, a service of roast poultry or game: it should be accompanied by a nice salad, and it is often garnished with potato chips and water-cress. An entremets de legume may either be handed round with it, or follow it separately. In Brillat Savarin's time the truffled turkey appeared as a rot, and Sir Henry Thompson recommends the presentation at this period of the feast of the truffled pheasant or capon, the dindonneau (turkey poult), the fatted fowl, etc.

It is, therefore, pretty evident that if we serve our rots according to this - the undoubtedly correct interpretation - it would be absolutely preposterous to serve immediately before them a goodly joint of mutton or of beef with its concomitant vegetables. Between two courses so nearly equal in substance, there would plainly be no contrast, and the effect would be overpowering and common-place.

We are now at liberty to consider the releve. Strictly speaking, this word cannot be translated "joint." It should properly be interpreted the "remove," and in the French menu the dish of which it is composed is regarded as the piece de resistance of the dinner. To begin with, it ought, if possible, not to be roasted. According to the authorities I have named, it should rather be an artistic braise, fricandeau, or a whole fillet, larded and served with vegetables. Thus, the releve becomes very nearly as elaborate as a made-dish, and is scarcely what an Englishman means when he speaks of the "joint."