It is the practice in Antiguan cookery, when “melted butter” is used, merely to oil it, and send it to table in that state, which to many strangers proves disagreeable. Soon after my arrival in this country, I begged the cook to adopt some other plan, explaining at the same time, to the best of my abilities, how it was commonly done in England. The next day, at dinner, there was something “in such a” _very_ “questionable shape” upon the table, that I was fain to summon Mr. Cook from his tenement, to ask what it might be. “Melted butter, missis,” quoth the knight of pots and kettles. “_Melted butter!_—impossible! it has more the appearance of pudding, boiled like the French cook’s, without a cloth.” “Eh, eh, missis, war for you go call him pudding? you no tell me put flower in de butter—it _dat_ make him ’top so!” I was confounded. After my learned dissertation upon melted butter the day before, (which, by-the-bye, I borrowed from the worthy Dr. Kitchener himself,) to be served in this manner was too bad; however, it taught me never for the future to interfere with his department. They have some peculiarities in dressing different meats in Antigua which I have never heard of being practised in other countries, although it must be owned my knowledge in such matters is very limited, not having devoted much of my time to studying the “Cook’s Oracle;” indeed, (the truth must be spoken,) I am better pleased to form an acquaintance with ragouts, or any other dainties, when they are upon the table, than I am to inspect their various formations, or become versed in their different modes of cookery. But as some of my readers may, with Peter Pindar, be fond of peeping into pots and pans, I will, for their benefit, try to elucidate kitchen mysteries for once in my life, and expound to them the method of _doving_ meat, as the Antiguan cooks term such process. The first point to be achieved is, of course, to procure the meat, and then to see that the “igneous element,” as Mr. Dryden learnedly calls fire, has attained a sufficient degree of heat. These preliminary matters being adjusted, an iron pot is made thoroughly hot, the meat placed in it without the aid of water, and the utensil carefully covered over. In this fiery durance it is allowed to remain until one side becomes of an approved brown; it is then turned to another, until at length it arrives at that state of superexcellence, that, like “Sancho Panza’s cow’s heel,” it has only to cry “Come eat me, come eat me!”