When pine-apples are picked and eaten fresh in their own climate, they
seem to dissolve in the mouth, and the fibrous texture is hardly
perceived. Not so at our tables. Here I have sometimes partly resolved
that they are not much of a luxury after all, especially when the slices
are so tough as to require the knife and fork. They are better cut into
dice, saturated with sugar, and piled in the centre of a glass dish,
with a row _à la Charlotte_ of sponge-cake slices, or of ladies’-fingers
around the sides.
[Illustration]