ON visiting the vast collections of tinned provisions, sances, etc., at some of the large establishments at the Presidency, I have often wondered how a lady, commencing house-keeping, is guided in selecting the things she requires for her store-room. A majority, no doubt, of the fair chatelaines of Madras, do their shopping at their boudoir writing tables, filling up lists at the dictation of the butler at their elbow; for few, I take it,- very few care to go to the fountain head for what they want.

Now, a butler's ideas about stores are, on the whole, very mixed: he worships "Europe articles" and delights in filling the shelves of the store-room with rows of tins; of which some may perhaps be useful, but many need never be bought at all at Madras, and so remain for months untouched, lumbering the shelves of the cupboard. It has struck me, therefore, that having satisfied ourselves concerning the equipment of the kitchen, a few words regarding the choosing of stores may be acceptable.

I have long come to the conclusion that the fewer accessories you use in the way of hermetically sealed provisions in the cooking of a dinner the better. In Madras we have all the materials for soup-making at hand, we have excellent fish, very fair flesh and fowl, good wild fowl and game when in season, and vegetables from Bangalore and the Neilgherries in addition to the standard produce of the country. If, therefore, we concentrate our attention sufficiently upon what we can get from market, our demand on tinned food should be very small indeed.

Take now, for instance, a tin of the ordinary preserved mushrooms, - those made you know of white leather, - what is the use of them, what do they taste of? Yet people giving a dinner party frequently garnish one entree at least with them, and the Madras butler would be horrified if his mistress were to refuse him that pleasure. The stewed "black Leicestershire" are the best preserved mushrooms to be had, but even between them and the fresh fungus, there is a great gulf fixed.

A few years ago I met an officer of the Artillery, who, after having served in various parts of the world, had just been appointed to a command in this Presidency. Conversation happened to turn upon cookery, and the Colonel soon proved himself to be a man who had for years studied the science con amore. He had had little or no experience of Indian life, and he expressed himself agreeably surprised, rather than otherwise, at the style of living to which he had been introduced. "But," he said, "preserve me from your dinners of ceremony." He had arrived, he told me, quite unexpectedly a few evenings before, and had been at once invited to the Mess; the dinner, - just the ordinary daily one, - was, he thought, excellent, and so it was the next day, and the day following, but on the fourth day he was formally invited to dine as a Mess guest, and that was a very different affair. Considerable expense had been incurred, he observed, on this occasion in tinned provisions, but with the worst possible result. There was a dish of preserved salmon hot, and sodden; the entrees were spoilt by the introduction of terrible sausages, and mushrooms; and the tinned vegetables were ruined by being wrongly treated by the cook. "There are few men," the Colonel went on, "who have had more to do with preserved provisions than I have, but until I attended this big Indian dinner, I never saw such things actually regarded as delicacies, and put upon the table to the exclusion of the good fresh food procurable in the market." This is the proper way of looking at this question. There will be times and places when and where you will be obliged to fall back upon Messrs. Crosse and Blackwell, and be thankful. Until those evil days come upon you, however, do not anticipate your penance, but strive to make the food you can easily procure, palatable and good by scientific treatment.

I look upon tinned provisions in the hands of Rama-samy as the cloaks of carelessness, and slovenly cooking. He thinks that the 'tin' will cover a multitude of sins, so takes comparatively little pains with the dish that it accompanies.

There are many ladies who, when giving out stores for a dinner party, have no hesitation in issuing 'tins' to the value of many rupees, but if asked for extra cream, butter, eggs, and gravy-meat, - the true essentials of cookery, - begin to consider themselves imposed upon. The poverty of our cookery in India results almost wholly from our habit of ignoring these things, the very backbone, as it were, of the cook's art. If an English cook, surrounded with the best market supplies in the world, be helpless without her stock, her kitchen butter, and her cream and eggs, how much more should Ramasamy be pitied if he be refused those necessaries, for his materials stand in far greater need of assistance.

In the matter of firewood and charcoal too, I am aware that there is often a difference of opinion between the cook and his mistress, and I am inclined to think that Ramasamy is generally in the wrong. Still, we should be careful lest we limit his supply of fuel too closely - especially on a dinner party day. I once was a guest at a house where the dinner was served perfectly as far as the joint, when a sudden collapse took place; the game and dressed vegetable were stone-cold. The excuse the next day was, "charcoal all done finish, and Missis only got godown key in the pocket."

Unless you have tried to find out practically what can be done with the fish, flesh, fowl, and vegetables of this country, by studious cookery, you will scarcely believe the extent of your power, and how independent you really are of preserved provisions. It is absolutely annoying to read the nonsense people write about our style of living in India. I remember an article headed "Curry and Rice" which once appeared in Vanity Fair. The writer wrecked on the rock upon which many drift, who, with a little knowledge of the peculiarities of some particular part of the country, sit down with impudent confidence to treat of India generally, quite forgetting that the Peninsula is a large one, and that the manners and customs which obtain in one district, may never have been heard of in other parts of the Empire. The article was not applicable to any part of the Madras Presidency, and judging from the writer's suggestions as to the cookery of a tin of beef with yams, and worse still, the fabrication of soup from the fowl bones you picked and left at luncheon, I should say that Vanity had picked up not only an ignoramus, but an uncleanly ignoramus, as a contributor. Our friends at Home were told by this audacious man that no dinner was complete in India without a "burning curry," and that none was successful "without Europe tins." I think that, as we go on, I shall be able to prove that at Madras, at all events, we can do pretty well without either.

Although I am strongly against the use of tinned things to the extent that many allow, there are nevertheless many articles which you must have in the store-room :- pickles, sauces, jams, bacon, cheese, maccaroni, vermicelli, vinegars, flavouring essences, the invaluable truffle, tart fruits, biscuits, isinglass, arrowroot, oatmeal, pearl barley, cornflour, olives, capers, dried herbs, and so on. Grated Parmesan cheese (sold in bottles by Crosse and Blackwell) should never be forgotten, the salad oil should be the best procurable, and no store-room should be without tarragon vinegar, anchovy vinegar, French vinegar, and white wine vinegar. Amongst sauces I consider "Harvey" the best for general use; Sutton's "Empress of India," is a strong sauce with a real flavour of mushrooms; Moir's sauces and "Reading sauce" are very trustworthy, and there are others which, no doubt, commend themselves to different palates, but I denounce "Worcester sauce" and "Tapp's sauce" as agents far too powerful to be trusted to the hands of the native cook. Sutton's essence of anchovies is said to possess the charm of not clotting, or forming a stoppage in the neck of the bottle. I have a deep respect for both walnut and mushroom ketchup, soy, and tomato conserve. Then as special trifles, we must not forget caviare, olives farcies, and anchovies in oil.

The cook should be carefully shown the use of flavouring essences, and also that of dried herbs. He ought also to be taught never to run out of bread crumbs. Stale fine crumbs should be made every now and then, and kept corked down in bottles for use when required. The very unsightly appearance presented by fish, cutlets, etc., crumbed with fresh spongy crumbs should warn us, for stale bread is never to be had when we suddenly want it. Red currant jelly is very useful; the store-room should never be "out" of it. I shall treat of tinned vegetables hereafter in their proper place. Macedoines, fonds d'arti-Ghaut, petits pois, haricots verts and asperges are, of course, excellent, and the dried Julienne will be found admirable for soups. Preserved fish is not required at Madras, and we can get on without tinned meats, soups, and potted luxuries, for we can make better things at home.

In sweet things, however, we are not so independent, and jams, jellies, tart-fruits, dried and candied peel, currants, raisins, ginger, etc., etc., must all have room in the house-keeper's cupboard.

Of the invaluable qualities to the Anglo-Indian of good tinned butter, I shall speak on a future occasion.

In a chapter on stores it is impossible to pass over, without a few words of commendation, the excellent preserved fish, vegetables, and fruits, which have, of late, been imported from America. Besides being capital in quality these "canned" delicacies are decidedly cheap. The old English firms have now to compete with dangerous rivals. Let them look to their laurels.

Messrs. Brand & Co.'s preparations for invalids, potted meats, soups, and strong essences of beef, chicken, etc, are specialites in their way vastly superior to anything formerly in the market of a like description. Messrs. Moir and Son have however taken up the subject recently with great success.