It has now been many months, at the present writing, since I have had a nourishing meal, but I shall soon have one—­a modest, private affair, all to myself.  I have selected a few dishes, and made out a little bill of fare, which will go home in the steamer that precedes me, and be hot when I arrive—­as follows: 

Radishes.  Baked apples, with cream
Fried oysters; stewed oysters.  Frogs. 
American coffee, with real cream. 
American butter. 
Fried chicken, Southern style. 
Porter-house steak. 
Saratoga potatoes. 
Broiled chicken, American style. 
Hot biscuits, Southern style. 
Hot wheat-bread, Southern style. 
Hot buckwheat cakes. 
American toast.  Clear maple syrup. 
Virginia bacon, broiled. 
Blue points, on the half shell. 
Cherry-stone clams. 
San Francisco mussels, steamed. 
Oyster soup.  Clam Soup. 
Philadelphia Terapin soup. 
Oysters roasted in shell-Northern style. 
Soft-shell crabs.  Connecticut shad. 
Baltimore perch. 
Brook trout, from Sierra Nevadas. 
Lake trout, from Tahoe. 
Sheep-head and croakers, from New Orleans. 
Black bass from the Mississippi. 
American roast beef. 
Roast turkey, Thanksgiving style. 
Cranberry sauce.  Celery. 
Roast wild turkey.  Woodcock. 
Canvas-back-duck, from Baltimore. 
Prairie liens, from Illinois. 
Missouri partridges, broiled. 
’Possum.  Coon. 
Boston bacon and beans. 
Bacon and greens, Southern style. 
Hominy.  Boiled onions.  Turnips. 
Pumpkin.  Squash.  Asparagus. 
Butter beans.  Sweet potatoes. 
Lettuce.  Succotash.  String beans. 
Mashed potatoes.  Catsup. 
Boiled potatoes, in their skins. 
New potatoes, minus the skins. 
Early rose potatoes, roasted in the ashes, Southern style, served hot. 
Sliced tomatoes, with sugar or vinegar.  Stewed tomatoes. 
Green corn, cut from the ear and served with butter and pepper. 
Green corn, on the ear. 
Hot corn-pone, with chitlings, Southern style. 
Hot hoe-cake, Southern style. 
Hot egg-bread, Southern style. 
Hot light-bread, Southern style. 
Buttermilk.  Iced sweet milk. 
Apple dumplings, with real cream. 
Apple pie.  Apple fritters. 
Apple puffs, Southern style. 
Peach cobbler, Southern style
Peach pie.  American mince pie. 
Pumpkin pie.  Squash pie. 
All sorts of American pastry.

Fresh American fruits of all sorts, including strawberries which are not to be doled out as if they were jewelry, but in a more liberal way.  Ice-water—­not prepared in the ineffectual goblet, but in the sincere and capable refrigerator.

Americans intending to spend a year or so in European hotels will do well to copy this bill and carry it along.  They will find it an excellent thing to get up an appetite with, in the dispiriting presence of the squalid table d’ho^te.

Foreigners cannot enjoy our food, I suppose, any more than we can enjoy theirs.  It is not strange; for tastes are made, not born.  I might glorify my bill of fare until I was tired; but after all, the Scotchman would shake his head and say, “Where’s your haggis?” and the Fijian would sigh and say, “Where’s your missionary?”