our caterers have made giant strides in the last dozen years. A member of a large firm once told me that it was "out of the question" to supply joints, chops, and steaks in the dining-rooms of a grand stand, distant far from his base of operations, London. "Impossible, my dear sir! we couldn't do it without incurring a ruinous loss." But the whirligig of time has proved this feat to be not only possible, but one which has led to the best results for all concerned. In the matter of chops and steaks I hope to see further reforms introduced. These succulent dainties, it cannot be too widely known, are not at their best unless _cut fresh_ from loin or rump, just before being placed on the gridiron. The longer a cut chop (raw) is kept the more of its virtue is lost. It might, possibly, cause a little extra delay, and a little extra expense, to send off loins and rumps from the butcher's shop, instead of ready-cut portions, but the experiment would answer, in the long run. The same rule, of course, should apply to restaurants and grill-rooms all over the world. During the autumn and winter months, race-course caterers seem to have but one idea of warm comforting food for their customers, and the name of that idea is Irish stew. This is no doubt an appetising dish, but might be varied occasionally for the benefit of the habitual follower of the sport of kings. Why not pea-soup, jugged hare (hares are cheap enough), hot-pot, Scotch broth, mullagatawny, hotch-potch, stewed or curried rabbit, with rice, shepherd's pie, haricot ox-tails, sheep's head broth (Scotch fashion), and hare soup! What is the matter with the world-renowned stew of which we read in _The Old Curiosity Shop_--the supper provided by the landlord of the "Jolly Sandboys" for the itinerant showmen? Here it is again: "'It's a stew of tripe,' said the landlord, smacking his lips, 'and cowheel,' smacking them again, 'and bacon,' smacking them once more, 'and steak,' smacking them for the fourth time, 'and peas, cauliflowers, new potatoes, and sparrowgrass, all working up together in one delicious gravy.' Having come to the climax, he smacked his lips a great many times, and taking a long hearty sniff of the fragrance that was hovering about, put on the cover again with the air of one whose toils on earth were over. "'At what time will it be ready?' asked Mr. Codlin faintly. 'It'll be done to a turn,' said the landlord, looking up at the clock, 'at twenty-two minutes before eleven.' "'Then,' said Mr. Codlin, 'fetch me a pint of warm ale, and don't let nobody bring into the room even so much as a biscuit till the time arrives.'"