Much has been written by would-be purveyors on the art of cooking various mixtures. To many of these concoctions, some of which are unfit to be introduced into the human stomach, there have been ascribed names usually of French coinage, the purpose of which is both to disguise the commonplace ingredients used and to compensate in some measure for lack of attractiveness to the palate, by spicing the compound with a mysterious name of foreign derivation. On the other hand it may be interesting to the fastidious epicure to glance at some instructions for properly cooking one simple article in plain American style, _al fresco_, the recipe for which is prepared by an intelligent expert as the precipitate of personal experience. HOW TO ROAST POTATOES IN CAMP. First secure the potatoes. Wrap them separately in wet paper or something of a similar nature that may be available. Bury them in the hot ashes of the campfire and cover with hot embers. Let them remain an hour. Then call the boys. In serving they should not be cut open with a knife, but should be divided by breaking. This artless method of cooking this well-known tuber imparts to it a wholesomeness and palatableness that surpass all the countless _à la's_ with which caterers have deluded the public in its preparation. One such example of Wild West cooking may suffice in this connection. Possibly the _chef-d'oeuvre_ of our supper in Echo Canyon was the onions and bacon, the pleasant savor of which was doubtless heightened by our thirty-mile ride and tramp in an exhilarating atmosphere after a ten weeks' total abstinence from vegetable diet. The well-fed epicure may fail to grasp the full significance of these conditions, but it was expressed with unction at a banquet given by a venerable and wealthy bachelor, an acquaintance of the writer. Favorable comments were passing round the board concerning the excellence of various articles that were being served. One of the guests, who had been an intimate friend of the host for nearly a half century, facetiously said; "Gentlemen, even the excellent cook for this occasion, and, in fact, all of the modern caterers fail to impart to the viands they serve the peculiar and appetizing flavor that was given by the old mothers, when I was a boy, to all their domestic cookery." "Is that so, George? And how old was your palate then?" was the host's prompt repartee. All of which throws light on the vagaries of a man's appetite.