Of course the menu is not very varied, but neither is the national Italian cuisine at any time. _Rancio_, a soup-like stew, made of meat and macaroni or some similar _pasta_, with a sufficiency of good, wholesome bread and a drink of red wine, should be sufficient to satisfy the appetite of any soldier. I made a meal of _rancio_ on many occasions after a long and cold motor run, and always found it so appetising and comforting that I wished I could have got it every day. This stew is the usual _plat du jour_ of the Italian soldier as is the _stchi_ in the Russian Army, and is always served out steaming hot. In advanced trenches, outposts or similar exposed positions, where culinary operations are, of course, impossible, the _rancio_ is taken to the men after dark in special receptacles for keeping it hot, known as _Cassette di Cottura_, which are constructed on the Thermos principle. The men would indeed begin to think things were going badly if the “food party” could not succeed in reaching them. So far as the officers are concerned, these mess arrangements, when up in the fighting line, of course, depend largely on circumstances, though these do not seem to be always governed by the difficulty of access to the position or its remoteness from the base. I had a pleasant proof of this at Pal Grande. The officers hospitably insisted on our taking “pot luck” with them, as they were just going to have lunch, and it turned out one of the best _al fresco_ repasts I have ever sat down to. The “mess-room” was a well-protected dug-out which had been fitted up in somewhat similar fashion to a settler’s hut in the Far West; it was quite snug, in fact, and we were a merry party crowded round the table that occupied nearly the whole of the interior, in spite of the continuous booming of the guns and the screech of the shells overhead. I had quite expected to get the roughest of meals in the circumstances; imagine, therefore, my surprise when we started with a fine macaroni soup; this was followed by beef steaks and fried potatoes; then came a jam omelette, and we finished up with cheese and fruit, the whole being washed down with excellent Verona wine. Black coffee was then brought in, and one of our hosts produced a bottle of cognac and a box of cigars. You could not have wished for a more delightful meal: it made one feel that even life in an entrenchment 8,000 feet up has its compensations at times. Of course it would not do to infer that in all positions the officers were able to indulge in so sumptuous a “pot luck” repast, but I gathered that whenever it is possible a mess is formed, a cook found from amongst the men, and meals served comfortably. [Illustration: Before us stretched the broad valley of the Adige (_see page 101_) _To face page 124_]