Common Sense in the Household: A Manual of Practical Housewifery
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Title: Common Sense in the Household: A Manual of Practical Housewifery
Author: Marion Harland
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COMMON SENSE IN THE HOUSEHOLD: A MANUAL OF PRACTICAL HOUSEWIFERY ***
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COMMON SENSE
IN THE HOUSEHOLD
A MANUAL OF
PRACTICAL HOUSEWIFERY
BY
MARION HARLAND.
“We go upon the practical mode of teaching, Nickleby. When a
boy knows this out of book, he _goes and does it_. This is
our system. What do you think of it?”—_Nicholas Nickleby._
NEW YORK:
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1883.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER & CO.,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
COPYRIGHT, 1880, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS.
GRANT, FAIRES & RODGERS,
ELECTROTYPERS AND PRINTERS,
PHILADELPHIA.
TO MY
FELLOW-HOUSEKEEPERS,
NORTH, EAST, SOUTH AND WEST, THIS VOLUME,
THE GLEANINGS OF MANY YEARS,
IS CORDIALLY
DEDICATED.
INTRODUCTORY OF REVISED EDITION.
It is not yet quite ten years since the publication of “COMMON
SENSE IN THE HOUSEHOLD. GENERAL RECEIPTS.” In offering the work to
the publishers, under whose able management it has prospered so
wonderfully, I said: “I have written this because I felt that such
a Manual of Practical Housewifery is needed.” That I judged aright,
taking my own experience as a housekeeper as the criterion of the wants
and perplexities of others, is abundantly proved by the circumstance
which calls for this new and revised edition of the book. Through
much and constant use—nearly 100,000 copies having been printed from
them—the stereotype plates have become so worn that the impressions
are faint and sometimes illegible. I gladly avail myself of the
opportunity thus offered to re-read and so far to alter the original
volume as may, in the light of later improvements in the culinary art
and in my understanding of it, make the collection of family receipts
more intelligible and available. Nor have I been able to resist the
temptation to interpolate a few excellent receipts that have come into
my hands at a later period than that of the publication of the last,
and in my estimation, perhaps the most valuable of the “Common Sense
Series,” viz.: “THE DINNER YEAR-BOOK.”
I am grateful, also, to the courtesy of my publishers for the privilege
of thanking those to whom this book was, and is dedicated, “My
fellow-housekeepers—North, East, South and West”—for their substantial
endorsement of the work I have done in their behalf. A collection
of the private letters I have received from those who have used the
“General Receipts” would make a volume very nearly as large as this.
If I have, as the writers of these testimonials assure me—“done them
good,”—they have done me more in letting me know that I have not spent
my strength for naught. I acknowledge with pleasure sundry pertinent
suggestions and inquiries which have led me, in this revision, to
examine warily the phraseology of some receipts and to modify these,
I believe, for the better. But, by far, the best “good” done me
through this work has been the conscious sisterhood into which I have
come with the great body of American housewives. This is a benefit
not to be rated by dollars and cents, or measured by time. I hope my
fellow-workers will find their old kitchen-companion, in fresh dress,
yet more serviceable than before, and that their daughters may, at
the close of a second decade, demand new stereotype plates for still
another, and, like this, a progressive edition.
MARION HARLAND.
_October 1, 1880._
INDEX OF GENERAL SUBJECTS.
PAGE.
Blanc-mange 414
Bread 256
Brandied fruits 463
Butter 251
Cakes 299
Candy 468
Canned fruits 463
—— vegetables 463
Catsups 179
Clean, to, etc. 511
Company 140
Corn bread 283
Creams 432
Custards 432
Drinks 480
Eggs 239
Familiar talk 1
Fish 38
Fritters 403
Fruit, ripe, for dessert 442
Game 147
Gingerbread 330
Ices 432
Ice-cream 432
Icing 301
Jellies 414
Jellies, fruit 459
Meats 84
Milk 251
Nursery, the 511
Pancakes 403
Pickles 469
Pies 337
Preserves 445
Pork 114
Poultry 69
Puddings 371
Salads 187
Sauces for fish and meat 170
—— for puddings 408
Servants 358
Sick-room, the 492
Shell-fish 57
Soap 528
Soups 15
Sundries 517
Tarts 351
Vegetables 197
Vinegars, flavored 179
FAMILIAR TALK
WITH MY
FELLOW-HOUSEKEEPER AND READER.
A TALK as woman to woman, in which each shall say, “I” and “you,” and
“my dear,” and “you know,” as freely as she pleases. It would not be
a womanly chat if we omitted these forms of expression. An informal
preface to what I mean shall be an informal book—bristling with “I’s”
all the way through. If said bristles offend the critic’s touch, let
him remember that this work is not prepared for the library, but for
readers who trouble themselves little about editorial “we’s” and the
circumlocutions of literary modesty.
I wish it were in my power to bring you, the prospective owner of
this volume, in person, as I do in spirit, to my side on this winter
evening, when the bairnies are “folded like the flocks;” the orders
for breakfast committed to the keeping of Bridget, or Gretchen, or
Chloe, or the plans for the morrow definitely laid in the brain of that
ever-busy, but most independent of women, the housekeeper who “does her
own work.” I should perhaps summon to our cozy conference a very weary
companion—weary of foot, of hand—and I should not deserve to be your
confidant, did I not know how often heart-weary with discouragement;
with much producing of ways and means; with a certain despondent
looking forward to the monotonous grinding of the household machine;
to the certainty, proved by past experience, that toilsome as has been
this day, the morrow will prove yet more abundant in labors, in trials
of strength and nerves and temper. You would tell me what a dreary
problem this of “woman’s work that is never done” is to your fainting
soul. How, try as you may and as you do to be systematic and diligent,
something is always “turning up” in the treadmill to keep you on the
strain. How you often say to yourself, in bitterness of spirit, that
it is a mistake of Christian civilization to educate girls into a love
of science and literature, and then condemn them to the routine of a
domestic drudge. You do not see, you say, that years of scholastic
training will make you a better cook, a better wife or mother. You have
seen the time—nay, many times since assuming your present position—when
you would have exchanged your knowledge of ancient and modern
languages, belles-lettres, music, and natural science, for the skill of
a competent kitchen-maid. The “learning how” is such hard work! Labor,
too, uncheered by encouraging words from mature housewives, unsoftened
by sympathy even from your husband, or your father or brother, or
whoever may be the “one” to whom you “make home lovely.” It may be
that, in utter discouragement, you have made up your mind that you have
“no talent for these things.”
I have before me now the picture of a wife, the mother of four
children, who, many years ago, sickened me for all time with that
phrase. In a slatternly morning-gown at four in the afternoon, leaning
back in the laziest and most ragged of rocking-chairs, dust on the
carpet, on the open piano, the mantel, the mirrors, even on her own
hair, she rubbed the soft palm of one hand with the grimy fingers of
the other, and with a sickly-sweet smile whined out—
“Now, I am one of the kind who have no talent for such things! The
kitchen and housework and sewing are absolutely hateful to me—utterly
uncongenial to my turn of mind. The height of my earthly ambition is to
have nothing to do but to paint on velvet all day!”
I felt then, in the height of my indignant disgust, that there was
propriety as well as wit in the “Spectator’s” suggestion that every
young woman should, before fixing the wedding-day, be compelled by law
to exhibit to inspectors a prescribed number of useful articles as her
outfit—napery, bed-linen, clothing, etc., made by her own hands, and
that it would be wise legislation which should add to these proofs of
her fitness for her new sphere a practical knowledge of housework and
cookery.
If you have not what our Yankee grandmothers termed a “faculty” for
housewifery—yet are obliged, as is the case with an immense majority
of American women, to conduct the affairs of a household, bills of
fare included—there is the more reason for earnest application to your
profession. If the natural taste be dull, lay to it more strength
of will—resolution born of a just sense of the importance of the
knowledge and dexterity you would acquire. Do not scoff at the word
“profession.” Call not that common and unclean which Providence has
designated as your life-work. I speak not now of the labors of the
culinary department alone; but, without naming the other duties which
you and you only can perform, I do insist that upon method, skill,
economy in the kitchen, depends so much of the well-being of the rest
of the household, that it may safely be styled the root—the foundation
of housewifery. I own it would be pleasanter in most cases, especially
to those who have cultivated a taste for intellectual pursuits, to
live above the heat and odor of this department. It must be very fine
to have an efficient aide-de-camp in the person of a French cook, or
a competent sub-manager, or an accomplished head-waiter who receives
your orders for the day in your boudoir or library, and executes the
same with zeal and discretion that leave you no room for anxiety or
regret. Such mistresses do not need cookery-books. The few—and it must
be borne in mind that in this country these are _very_ few—born in an
estate like this would not comprehend what I am now writing; would not
enter into the depths of that compassionate yearning which moves me
as I think of what I have known for myself in the earlier years of my
wedded life, what I have heard and seen in other households of honest
intentions brought to contempt; of ill-directed toil; of mortification,
and the heavy, wearing sense of inferiority that puts the novice at
such a woful disadvantage in a community of notable managers.
There is no use in enlarging upon this point. You and I might compare
experiences by the hour without exhausting our store.
“And then”—you sigh, with a sense of resentment upon you, however
amiable your disposition, for the provocation is dire—“cookery-books
and young housekeepers’ assistants, and all that sort of thing, are
such humbugs!—Dark lanterns at best—too often Will-o’-the-wisps.”
My dear, would you mind handing me the book which lies nearest you on
the table there? “Dickens?” Of course. You will usually find something
of his in every room in this house—almost as surely as you will a
Bible. It rests and refreshes one to pick him up at odd times, and
dip in anywhere. Hear the bride, Mrs. John Rokesmith, upon our common
grievance.
“She was under the constant necessity of referring for advice and
support to a sage volume, entitled ‘The Complete British Family
Housewife,’ which she would sit consulting, with her elbows upon the
table, and her temples in her hands, like some perplexed enchantress
poring over the Black Art. This, principally because the Complete
British Housewife, however sound a Briton at heart, was by no means
an expert Briton at expressing herself with clearness in the British
tongue, and sometimes might have issued her directions to equal purpose
in the Kamtchatkan language.”
Don’t interrupt me, my long-suffering sister! There is more of the same
sort to come.
“There was likewise a coolness on the part of ‘The Complete British
Housewife’ which Mrs. John Rokesmith found highly exasperating. She
would say, ‘Take a salamander,’ as if a general should command a
private to catch a Tartar. Or, she would casually issue the order,
‘Throw in a handful’ of something entirely unattainable. In these, the
housewife’s most glaring moments of unreason, Bella would shut her up
and knock her on the table, apostrophizing her with the compliment—‘O
you ARE a stupid old donkey! Where am I to get it, do you think?’”
When I took possession of my first real home, the prettily furnished
cottage to which I came as a bride, more full of hope and courage
than if I had been wiser, five good friends presented me with as many
cookery-books, each complete, and all by different compilers. One day’s
investigation of my _ménage_ convinced me that my lately-hired servants
knew no more about cookery than I did, or affected stupidity to develop
my capabilities or ignorance. Too proud to let them suspect the truth,
or to have it bruited abroad as a topic for pitying or contemptuous
gossip, I shut myself up with _my_ “Complete Housewives,” and inclined
seriously to the study of the same, comparing one with the other, and
seeking to shape a theory which should grow into practice in accordance
with the best authority. I don’t like to remember that time! The
question of disagreeing doctors, and the predicament of falling between
two stools, are trivial perplexities when compared with my strife and
failure.
Said the would-be studious countryman to whom a mischievous
acquaintance lent “Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary” as an entertaining
volume,—“I wrastled, and I wrastled, _and_ I wrastled with it, but I
couldn’t get up much of an int’rest.”
My wrestling begat naught save pitiable confusion, hopeless distress,
and a three-days’ sick headache, during which season I am not sure
that I did not darkly contemplate suicide as the only sure escape from
the meshes that girt me. At the height—or depth—of my despondency a
friend, one with a great heart and steady brain, came to my rescue. Her
cheerful laugh over my dilemma rings down to me now, through all these
years, refreshingly as it then saluted my ears.
“Bless your innocent little heart!” she cried, in her fresh, gay voice,
“Ninety-nine out of a hundred cookbooks are written by people who never
kept house, and the hundredth by a good cook who yet doesn’t know how
to express herself to the enlightenment of others. Compile a receipt
book for yourself. Make haste slowly. Learn one thing at a time, and
when you have mastered it, ‘make a note on it,’ as Captain Cuttle
says—never losing sight of the principle that you _must do it in order
to learn how_.”
Then she opened to me her own neatly-written “Manual”—the work of
years, recommending, as I seized it that I should commence my novitiate
with simple dishes.
This was the beginning of the hoard of practical receipts I now offer
for your inspection. For twenty years, I have steadily pursued this
work, gleaning here and sifting there, and levying such remorseless
contributions upon my friends, that I fear the sight of my paper and
pencil has long since become a bugbear. For the kindness and courtesy
which have been my invariable portion in this quest, I hereby return
hearty thanks. For the encouraging words and good wishes that have
ever answered the hint of my intention to collect what had proved so
valuable to me into a printed volume, I declare myself to be yet more
a debtor. I do not claim for my compend the proud pre-eminence of the
“Complete American Housewife.” It is no boastful system of “Cookery
Taught in Twelve Lessons.” And I should write myself down a knave or
a fool, were I to assert that a raw cook or ignorant mistress can,
by half-a-day’s study of my collection, equal Soyer or Blot, or even
approximate the art of a half-taught scullion.
We may as well start from the right point, if we hope to continue
friends. You must learn the rudiments of the art for yourself.
Practice, and practice alone, will teach you certain essentials. The
management of the ovens, the requisite thickness of boiling custards,
the right shade of brown upon bread and roasted meats—these and dozens
of other details are hints which cannot be imparted by written or
oral instructions. But, once learned, they are never forgotten, and
henceforward your fate is in your own hands. You are mistress of
yourself, though servants leave. Have faith in your own abilities.
You will be a better cook for the mental training you have received
at school and from books. Brains tell everywhere, to say nothing of
intelligent observation, just judgment, a faithful memory, and orderly
habits. Consider that you have a profession, as I said just now, and
resolve to understand it in all its branches. My book is designed to
help you. I believe it will, if for no other reason, because it has
been a faithful guide to myself—a reference beyond value in seasons
of doubt and need. I have brought every receipt to the test of common
sense and experience. Those which I have not tried myself were obtained
from trustworthy housewives—the best I know. I have enjoyed the task
heartily, and from first to last the persuasion has never left me that
I was engaged in a good cause. Throughout I have had you, my dear
sister, present before me, with the little plait between your brows,
the wistful look about eye and mouth that reveal to me, as words could
not, your desire to “do your best.”
“In a humble home, and in a humble way,” I hear you add, perhaps. You
“are not ambitious;” you “only want to help John, and to make him and
the children comfortable and happy.”
Heaven reward your honest, loyal endeavors! Would you mind if I were
to whisper a word in your ear I don’t care to have progressive people
hear?—although progress is a grand thing when it takes the right
direction. My dear, John and the children, and the humble home, make
your sphere for the present, you say. Be sure you fill it—_full_!
before you seek one wider and higher. There is no better receipt
between these covers than that. Leave the rest to God. Everybody knows
those four lines of George Herbert’s, which ought to be framed and hung
up in the work-room of every house:—
“A servant, with this clause,
Makes drudgery divine;
Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws
Makes that and th’ action fine.”
I wonder if the sainted poet knows—in that land where drudgery is one
of the rough places forever overpast, and work is unmingled blessing—to
how many sad and striving hearts those words have brought peace?
And by way of helping John, not only by saving money and preparing
palatable and wholesome dishes for his table, but by sparing the wife
he loves many needless steps and much hurtful care, will you heed a
homely hint or two relative to the practice of your art? Study method,
and economy of time and strength, no less than of materials. I take
it for granted that you are too intelligent to share in the vulgar
prejudice against labor-saving machines. A raisin-seeder costs a trifle
in comparison with the time and patience required to stone the fruit in
the old way. A _good_ egg-beater—the Dover, for instance—is a treasure.
So with farina-kettles, syllabub churns, apple-corers, potato-peelers
and slicers, clothes wringers and sprinklers, and the like. Most of
these are made of tin—are therefore cheap and easily kept clean. Let
each article have its own place in the closet and kitchen, to which
restore it so soon as you have done using it. Before undertaking the
preparation of any dish, read over the receipt carefully, unless you
are thoroughly familiar with the manufacture of it. Many excellent
housewives have a fashion of saying loftily, when asked how such things
are made—“I carry all my receipts in my head. I never wrote out one in
my life.”
And you, if timid and self-distrustful, are smitten with shame, keep
your receipt-book out of sight, and cram your memory with ingredients
and measures, times and weights, for fear Mrs. Notable should suspect
you of rawness and inefficiency. Whereas the truth is, that if you have
a mind worthy of the name, its powers are too valuable to be laden
with such details. Master the general principles, as I said just now,
and for particulars look to your marching-orders. Having refreshed
your memory by this reference, pick out from your household stores,
and set in convenient order, within reach of your hand, everything you
will need in making ready the particular compound under consideration.
Then, take your stand in the midst—or sit, if you can. It is common
sense—oftentimes a pious duty, to take judicious care of your physical
health. I lay it down as a safe and imperative rule for kitchen
use—_Never stand when you can do your work as well while sitting_. If I
could have John’s ear for a minute, I would tell him that which would
lead him to watch you and exercise wholesome authority in this regard.
Next, prepare each ingredient for mixing, that the bread, cake,
pudding, soup, or ragoût may not be delayed when half finished because
the flour is not sifted, or the “shortening” warmed, the sugar and
butter are not creamed, the meat not cut up, or the herbs not minced.
Don’t begin until you are ready; then go steadily forward, “without
haste, without rest,” and think of what you are doing.
“Dickens again?”
Why not, since there is no more genial and pertinent philosopher of
common life and every-day subjects? To quote, then—
“It was a maxim of Captain Swosser’s,” said Mrs. Badger, “speaking in
his figurative, naval manner, that when you make pitch hot, you cannot
make it too hot, and that if you have only to swab a plank, you should
swab it as if Davy Jones were after you. It appears to me that this
maxim is applicable to the medical as well as the nautical profession.”
“To all professions!” observed Mr. Badger. “It was admirably said by
Captain Swosser; beautifully said!”
But it will sometimes happen that when you have heated your pitch, or
swabbed your deck, or made your pudding according to the lights set
before you, the result is a failure. This is especially apt to occur
in a maiden effort. You have wasted materials and time, and suffered,
moreover, acute demoralization—are enwrapped in a wet blanket of
discouragement, instead of the seemly robe of complacency. Yet no
part of the culinary education is more useful, if turned to proper
account, than this very discipline of failure. It is a stepping-stone
to excellence—sharp, it is true, but often sure. You have learned how
_not_ to do it right, which is the next thing to success. It is pretty
certain that you will avoid, in your second essay, the rock upon which
you have split this time. And, after all, there are few failures which
are utter and irremediable. Scorched soups and custards, sour bread,
biscuit yellow with soda, and cake heavy as lead, come under the head
of “hopeless.” They are absolutely unfit to be set before civilized
beings and educated stomachs. Should such mishaps occur, lock the
memory of the attempt in your own bosom, and do not vex or amuse John
and your guests with the narration, still less with visible proof of
the calamity. Many a partial failure would pass unobserved but for the
clouded brow and earnest apologies of the hostess. Do not apologize
except at the last gasp! If there is but one chance in ten that a
single person present may not discover the deficiency which has changed
all food on the table to dust and gravel-stones to you, trust to the
one chance, and carry off the matter bravely. You will be astonished to
find, if you keep your wits about you how often even your husband will
remain in blissful ignorance that aught has gone wrong, if you do not
tell him. You know so well what should have been the product of your
labor that you exaggerate the justice of others’ perceptions. Console
yourself, furthermore, with the reflection that yours is not the first
failure upon record, nor the million-and-first, and that there will be
as many to-morrows as there have been yesterdays.
Don’t add to a trifling _contretemps_ the real discomfort of a
discontented or fretful wife. Say blithely, if John note your
misfortune—“I hope to do better another time,” and do not be satisfied
until you have redeemed your pledge. Experience and your quick wit will
soon teach you how to avert impending evils of this nature, how to
snatch your preparations from imminent destruction, and, by ingenious
correctives or concealments, to make them presentable. These you will
soon learn for yourself if you keep before you the truism I have
already written, to wit, that few failures are beyond repair.
Never try experiments for the benefit of invited guests nor, when
John is at home, risk the success of your meal upon a new dish.
Have something which you know he can eat, and introduce experiments
as by-play. But do not be too shy of innovations in the shape of
untried dishes. Variety is not only pleasant, but healthful. The
least pampered palate will weary of stereotyped bills of fare. It is
an idea which should have been exploded long ago, that plain roast,
boiled, and fried, on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday,
cod-fish on Friday, with pork-and-beans every Saturday, are means of
grace, because economical. And with this should have vanished the
prejudice against warmed-over meals—or _réchauffés_, as our French
friends term them. I have tried, in the following pages, to set forth
the attractions of these, and their claims to your attention as being
savory, economical, nourishing, and often elegant. In preparing these
acceptably, everything depends upon your own taste and skill. Season
with judgment, cook just enough and not a minute too long, and dish
nicely. The recommendation of the eye to the palate is a point no
cook can afford to disregard. If you can offer an unexpected visitor
nothing better than bread-and-butter and cold ham, he will enjoy the
luncheon twice as much if the bread be sliced thinly and evenly, spread
smoothly, each slice folded in the middle upon the buttered surface,
and piled symmetrically; if the ham be also cut thin, scarcely thicker
than a wafer, and garnished with parsley, cresses, or curled lettuce.
Set on mustard and pickles; let the table-cloth and napkin be white
and glossy; the glass clear, and plate shining clean; and add to these
accessories to comfort a bright welcome, and, my word for it, you need
fear no dissatisfaction on his part, however epicurean may be his
tastes. Should your cupboard be bare of aught more substantial than
crackers and cheese, do not yield to dismay; split the crackers (if
splittable), toast the inside lightly, and butter while hot. Grate your
cheese into a powdery mound, garnishing the edges of the plate. If you
have no beverage except water to set before him, let this be cool, and
pour it out for him yourself, into an irreproachable glass. A dirty
table-cloth, a smeared goblet, or a sticky plate, will spoil the most
luxurious feast. A table well set is half-spread.
I have not said one-tenth of that which is pressing upon my heart and
mind, yet I fear you may think me trite and tedious. One suggestion
more, and we will proceed to the details of business.
I believe that, so far as care can avail in securing such a result, my
receipts are accurate. But in the matter of seasoning and other minor
details, consult your judgment and John’s taste. Take this liberty with
whatever receipt you think you can improve. If I chance to find in
your work-basket, or upon the kitchen dresser, a well-thumbed copy of
my beloved “Common Sense,” with copious annotations in the margin, I
shall, so far from feeling wounded, be flattered in having so diligent
a student, and, with your permission, shall engraft the most happy
suggestions upon the next edition.
For the speedy issue of which, the petitioner doth humbly pray.
MARION HARLAND.
NOTE.
In looking over this book the reader will notice certain
receipts marked thus—✠. I do not claim for these greater
merit than should of right be accorded to many others. I
merely wish to call the attention of the novice to them as
certainly safe, and for the most part simple. Every one
thus marked has been tried by myself; most of them are in
frequent, some in daily use, in my own family.
My reason for thus singling out comparatively a small number
of receipts from the rest, is the recollection of my own
perplexities—the loss of time and patience to which I have
been subjected in the examination of a new cookery-book,
with an eye to immediate use of the directions laid down
for various dishes. I have often and vainly wished for a
finger-board to guide me in my search for those which were
easy and sure, and which would result satisfactorily. This
sort of directory I have endeavored to supply, taking care,
however, to inform the reader in advance that, so far as I
know, there is not an unsafe receipt in the whole work.
Of course it was not necessary or expedient to append the
above sign to plain “roast and boiled,” which are in common
use everywhere.
SOUPS.
THE base of your soup should always be uncooked meat. To this may be
added, if you like, cracked bones of cooked game, or of underdone beef
or mutton; but for flavor and nourishment, depend upon the juices of
the meat which was put in raw. Cut this into small pieces, and beat the
bone until it is fractured at every inch of its length. Put them on in
cold water, without salt, and heat very slowly. _Do not boil fast at
any stage of the operation._ Keep the pot covered, and do not add the
salt until the meat is thoroughly done, as it has a tendency to harden
the fibres, and restrain the flow of the juices. Strain—always through
a cullender, after which clear soups should be filtered through a
hair-sieve or coarse bobbinet lace. The bag should not be squeezed.
It is slovenly to leave rags of meat, husks of vegetables and bits of
bone in the tureen. Do not uncover until you are ready to ladle out
the soup. Do this neatly and quickly, having your soup-plates heated
beforehand.
Most soups are better the second day than the first, unless they are
warmed over too quickly or left too long upon the fire after they are
hot. In the one case they are apt to scorch; in the other they become
insipid.
VEGETABLE SOUPS.
GREEN PEA. (No. 1.) ✠
4 lbs. beef—cut into small pieces.
½ peck of green peas.
1 gallon water.
½ cup of rice-flour, salt, pepper and chopped parsley.
Boil the empty pods of the peas in the water one hour before putting
in the beef. Strain them out, add the beef, and boil slowly for an
hour and a half longer. Half an hour before serving, add the shelled
peas; and twenty minutes later, the rice-flour, with salt, pepper and
parsley. After adding the rice-flour, stir frequently, to prevent
scorching. Strain into a hot tureen.
GREEN PEA (No. 2.)
2 qts. of strong veal or beef broth.
½ teaspoonful sugar.
1 tablespoonful butter.
1 qt. shelled peas.
Bring the broth to a boil; put in the peas, and boil for twenty
minutes. Add the sugar, and a sprig of green mint. Boil a quarter of an
hour more, and stir in the butter, with pepper and salt, if the broth
be not sufficiently salted already. Strain before serving, and send to
table with small squares of toasted bread floating upon the top.
SPLIT PEA (_dried_). ✠
1 gallon water.
1 qt. split peas, which have been soaked over night.
1 lb. salt pork, cut into bits an inch square.
1 lb. beef, cut into bits an inch square.
Celery and sweet herbs.
Fried bread.
Put over the fire, and boil slowly for two hours, or until the quantity
of liquor does not exceed two quarts. Pour into a cullender, and press
the peas through it with a wooden or silver spoon. Return the soup to
the pot, adding a small head of celery, chopped up, a little parsley,
or, if preferred, summer savory or sweet marjoram. Have ready three or
four slices of bread (stale) which have been fried in butter until they
are brown; cut into slices and scatter them upon the surface of the
soup after it is poured into the tureen.
PEA AND TOMATO. ✠
This is made according to either of the foregoing receipts, in summer
with green—in winter with dried and split peas. Just before straining
the soup, add a quart of tomatoes, which have already been stewed soft;
let the whole come to a good boil, and strain as above directed. If
the stewed tomato be watery, strain off the superfluous liquid before
pouring into the pea soup, or it will be too thin.
BEAN (_dried._) ✠
The beans used for this purpose may be the ordinary kidney, the rice
or field bean, or, best of all, the French mock-turtle soup bean.
Soak a quart of these over night in soft lukewarm water; put them
over the fire next morning, with one gallon of cold water and about
two pounds of salt pork. Boil slowly for three hours, keeping the pot
well covered; shred into it a head of celery, add pepper—cayenne, if
preferred—simmer half an hour longer, strain through a cullender, and
serve, with slices of lemon passed to each guest.
Mock-turtle beans, treated in this way, yield a very fair substitute
for the fine calf’s-head soup known by the same name.
BEAN AND CORN. ✠
This is a winter soup, and is made of white beans prepared according to
the foregoing receipt, but with the addition of a quart of dried or
canned corn. If the former is used—and the Shaker sweet corn is nearly,
salted corn quite as good for the purpose as the more expensive canned
green corn—soak it overnight in warm water—changing this early in the
morning, and pouring on more warm water, barely enough to cover the
corn, and keeping it in a close vessel until ready to put on the beans.
Let all boil together, with pork as in the bean soup proper. Strain out
as usual, rubbing hard through the cullender. Some persons have a habit
of neglecting the use of the cullender in making bean soup, and serving
it like stewed beans which have been imperfectly drained. The practice
is both slovenly and unwholesome, since the husks of the cereal are
thus imposed upon the digestive organs of the eater, with no additional
nutriment. To the beans and corn may be added a pint of stewed tomato,
if desired.
ASPARAGUS (_White soup._)
3 lbs. veal. The knuckle is best.
3 bunches asparagus, as well bleached as you can procure.
1 gallon water.
1 cup milk.
1 tablespoonful rice flour.
Pepper and salt.
Cut off the hard green stem, and put half of the tender heads of the
asparagus into the water with the meat. Boil in closely covered pot for
three hours, until the meat is in rags and the asparagus dissolved.
Strain the liquor and return to the pot, with the remaining half of
the asparagus heads. Let this boil for twenty minutes more, and add,
before taking up, a cup of sweet milk (cream is better) in which has
been stirred a tablespoonful of rice-flour, arrow-root, or corn-starch.
When it has fairly boiled up, serve without further straining, with
small squares of toast in the tureen. Season with salt and pepper.
ASPARAGUS (_Green soup._)
3 lbs. veal—cut into small pieces.
½ lb. salt pork.
3 bunches asparagus.
1 gallon water.
Cut the entire stalk of the asparagus into pieces an inch long, and
when the meat has boiled one hour, add half of the vegetable to the
liquor in the pot. Boil two hours longer and strain, pressing the
asparagus pulp very hard to extract all the green coloring. Add the
other half of the asparagus—(the heads only, which should be kept in
cold water until you are ready for them), and boil twenty minutes more.
Then proceed as with the asparagus white soup, omitting the milk,
thickening, and salt. The pork will supply the latter seasoning.
TOMATO (_Winter soup._) ✠
3 lbs. beef.
1 qt. canned tomatoes.
1 gallon water.
A little onion.
Pepper and salt.
Let the meat and water boil for two hours, until the liquid is reduced
to little more than two quarts. Then stir in the tomatoes, and stew all
slowly for three-quarters of an hour longer. Season to taste, strain,
and serve.
TOMATO (_Summer soup_). ✠
2½ lbs. veal, or lamb.
1 gallon water.
2 qts. fresh tomatoes, peeled and cut up fine.
1 tablespoonful butter.
1 teaspoonful white sugar.
Pepper and salt. Chopped parsley.
Boil the meat to shreds and the water down to two quarts. Strain the
liquor, put in the tomatoes, stirring them very hard that they may
dissolve thoroughly; boil half an hour. Season with parsley or any
other green herb you may prefer, pepper, and salt. Strain again, and
stir in a tablespoonful of butter, with a teaspoonful of white sugar,
before pouring into the tureen.
This soup is more palatable still if made with the broth in which
chickens were boiled for yesterday’s dinner.
TURNIP.
Knuckle of veal, well cracked.
5 qts. water.
Cover closely and stew gently for four hours, the day before the soup
is wanted. On the morrow, skim off the fat and warm the stock gradually
to a boil. Have ready an onion and six large winter or a dozen small
summer turnips, sweet marjoram or thyme minced very finely. Put these
into the soup and let them simmer together for an hour. Strain:
return to the fire and add a cup of milk—in which has been stirred a
tablespoonful of rice-flour or other thickening—and a tablespoonful of
butter. Season with salt and pepper, let it boil up once, stirring all
the time, as is necessary in all soups where milk is added at last, and
remove instantly, or it will scorch.
POTATO.
A dozen large mealy potatoes.
2 onions.
1 lb. salt pork.
3 qts. water.
1 tablespoonful butter.
1 cup milk or cream.
1 well-beaten egg.
Chopped onion.
Boil the pork in the clear water for an hour and a half, then take
it out. Have ready the potatoes, which, after being peeled and
sliced, should lie in cold water for half an hour. Throw them into
the pot, with the chopped onion. Cover and boil three-quarters of an
hour, stirring often. Beat in butter, milk and egg. Add the latter
ingredients carefully, a little at a time; stir while it heats to a
final boil, and then serve.
This is a cheap wholesome dish, and more palatable than one would
suppose from reading the receipt.
GRAHAM SOUP. ✠
3 onions.
3 carrots.
4 turnips.
1 small cabbage.
1 bunch celery.
1 pt. stewed tomatoes.
Chop all the vegetables, except the tomatoes and cabbage, very finely,
and set them over the fire with rather over three quarts of water. They
should simmer gently for half an hour, at the end of which time the
cabbage must be added, having previously been parboiled and chopped
up. In fifteen minutes more put in the tomatoes and a bunch of sweet
herbs, and give all a lively boil of twenty minutes. Rub through a
cullender, return the soup to the fire, stir in a good tablespoonful of
butter, pepper, and salt, half a cup of cream if you have it, thickened
with corn-starch; let it boil up, and it is ready for the table.
OCHRA, OR GUMBO.
Ochra, or _okra_, is a vegetable little known except in the far South,
where it is cultivated in large quantities and is very popular. A
favorite soup is prepared from it in the following manner:—
2 qts. of ochras, sliced thin.
1 qt. of tomatoes, also sliced.
4 tablespoonfuls of butter.
2 lbs. of beef, cut into small pieces.
½ lb. corned ham or pork, also cut up.
Put the meat and ochras together in a pot with a quart of cold
water—just enough to cover them—and let them stew for an hour. Then
add the tomatoes and two quarts of _boiling_ water—more, if the liquid
in the pot has boiled away so as to expose the meat and vegetables.
Boil three-quarters of an hour longer, skimming often with a _silver_
spoon. When the contents of the vessel are boiled to pieces, put in
the butter, with cayenne pepper and salt, if the ham has not seasoned
it sufficiently. Strain and send up with squares of light, crisp toast
floating upon it.
CORN. ✠
1 large fowl, cut into eight pieces.
1 doz. ears green corn—cut from the cobs.
Boil the chicken with the cobs in a gallon of water until the fowl is
tender—if tough, the boiling must be slow and long. Then, put the corn
into the pot, and stew an hour longer—still gently. Remove the chicken
with a cupful of the liquid, if you wish to make other use of the meat.
Set this aside, take out the cobs, season the corn-soup with pepper,
salt, and parsley; thicken with rice or wheat flour, boil up once, and
serve without straining, if the corn be young and tender.
A tolerable fricassee may be made of the chicken, unless it has
boiled to rags, by beating up an egg and a tablespoonful of butter,
adding this to the cupful of reserved liquor from which the corn must
be strained. Boil this for a moment, thicken with flour, throw in a
little chopped parsley, pepper, and salt; pour, while scalding, over
the chicken, which you have arranged in a dish; garnish with circular
slices of hard-boiled eggs and curled parsley.
MEAT SOUPS.
BEEF SOUP (_à la Julienne_). ✠
6 lbs. of lean beef. The shin is a good piece for this purpose.
Have the bones well cracked, carefully extracting the marrow,
every bit of which should be put into the soup.
6 qts. of water.
The stock must be prepared the day before the soup is needed. Put the
beef, bones and all, with the water in a close vessel, and set it where
it will heat gradually. Let it boil very slowly for six hours at least,
only uncovering the pot once in a great while to see if there is danger
of the water sinking too rapidly. Should this be the case, replenish
with boiling water, taking care not to put in too much. During the
seventh hour, take off the soup and set it away in a cool place, until
next morning. About an hour before dinner, take out the meat, which
you can use for mince-meat, if you wish; remove the cake of fat from
the surface of the stock, set the soup over the fire, and throw in a
little salt to bring up the scum. When this has been skimmed carefully
off, put in your vegetables. These should be:—
2 carrots.
3 turnips.
Half a head of white cabbage.
1 pt. green corn—or dried Shaker corn, soaked over night.
1 head celery.
1 qt. tomatoes.
These should be prepared for the soup by slicing them very small, and
stewing them in barely enough water to cover them, until they break to
pieces. Cook the cabbage by itself in two waters—throwing the first
away. The only exception to the general dissolution, is in the case
of a single carrot, which should likewise be cooked alone and whole,
until thoroughly done, and set aside to cool, when the rest of the
vegetables, with the water in which they were boiled, are added to the
soup. Return the pot to the fire with the vegetables and stock, and
boil slowly for half an hour from the time ebullition actually begins.
Strain without pressing, only shaking and lightly stirring the contents
of the cullender. The vegetables having been added with all their
juices already cooked, much boiling and squeezing are not needed, and
only make the soup cloudy. Cut the reserved carrot into dice and drop
into the clear liquor after it is in the tureen,—also, if you like,
a handful of vermicelli, or macaroni which has been boiled tender in
clear water.
The seasoning of this excellent soup is a matter of taste. Some use
only salt and white pepper. Others like with this a few blades of mace,
and boil in the stock a handful of sweet herbs. And others fancy that,
in addition to these, a glass of brown sherry imparts a flavor that
renders it peculiarly acceptable to most palates. Send to table very
hot, and have the soup-plates likewise heated.
VEAL SOUP WITH MACARONI. ✠
3 lbs. of veal knuckle or scrag, with the bones broken and meat
cut up.
3 qts. water.
¼ lb. Italian macaroni.
Boil the meat alone in the water for nearly three hours until it is
reduced to shreds; and the macaroni until tender, in enough water to
cover it, in a vessel by itself. The pieces should not be more than an
inch in length. Add a little butter to the macaroni when nearly done.
Strain the meat out of the soup, season to your taste, put in the
macaroni, and the water in which it was boiled; let it boil up, and
serve.
You can make macaroni soup of this by boiling a pound, instead of a
quarter of a pound, in the second vessel, and adding the above quantity
of veal broth. In this case, send on with it a plate of grated cheese,
that those who cannot relish macaroni without this accompaniment may
put it into their soup. Take care that the macaroni is of uniform
length, not too long, and that it does not break while stewing. Add
butter in proportion to the increased quantity of macaroni.
BEEF SOUP (_brown_).
3 lbs. beef cut into strips.
3 onions.
3 qts. water.
Put beef and water into the saucepan and boil for one hour. Meanwhile,
slice the onions and fry them in butter to a light brown. Drop into the
pot with a teaspoonful of cloves, half as much pepper, same quantity
of mace as pepper, a pinch of allspice, and a teaspoonful of essence
of celery, if you cannot get a head of fresh celery; also half a
teaspoonful of powdered savory or sweet marjoram, and a teaspoonful of
Worcestershire sauce. Stew all for two hours more, or until the beef
has boiled to pieces. Strain the soup and return to the fire. Salt to
taste, and just before taking it off, pour in a glass of brown sherry
or Madeira wine.
MUTTON OR LAMB BROTH. ✠
4 lbs. mutton or lamb—_lean_—cut into small pieces.
1 gallon water.
½ teacupful rice.
Boil the unsalted meat for two hours, slowly, in a covered vessel.
Soak the rice in enough warm water to cover it, and at the end of this
time add it, water and all, to the boiling soup. Cook an hour longer,
stirring watchfully from time to time, lest the rice should settle and
adhere to the bottom of the pot. Beat an egg to a froth and stir into a
cup of cold milk, into which has been rubbed smoothly a tablespoonful
rice or wheat flour. Mix with this, a little at a time, some of the
scalding liquor, until the egg is so far cooked that there is no danger
of curdling in the soup. Pour into the pot, when you have taken out the
meat, season with parsley, thyme, pepper, and salt. Boil up fairly, and
serve. If allowed to stand on the fire, it is apt to burn.
This soup may be made from the liquor in which a leg of mutton has been
boiled, provided too much salt was not put in with it. It is especially
good when the stock is chicken broth. For the sick it is palatable and
nutritious with the rice left in. When strained it makes a nice white
table soup, and is usually relished by all.
VERMICELLI SOUP. ✠
4 lbs. lamb, from which every particle of fat has been removed.
1 lb. veal.
A slice of corned ham.
5 qts. water.
Cut up the meat, cover it with a quart of water, and set it back on the
range to heat very gradually, keeping it covered closely. At the end
of an hour, add four quarts of boiling water, and cook until the meat
is in shreds. Season with salt, sweet herbs, a chopped shallot, two
teaspoonfuls Worcestershire sauce, and when these have boiled in the
soup for ten minutes, strain and return to the fire. Have ready about
a third of a pound of vermicelli (or macaroni), which has been boiled
tender in clear water. Add this; boil up once, and pour out.
MOCK-TURTLE OR CALF’S HEAD SOUP. ✠
1 large calf’s head, well cleaned and washed.
4 pig’s feet, well cleaned and washed.
This soup should always be prepared the day before it is to be served
up. Lay the head and feet in the bottom of a large pot, and cover with
a gallon of water. Let it boil three hours, or until the flesh will
slip easily from the bones. Take out the head, leaving in the feet,
and allow these to boil steadily while you cut the meat from the head.
Select with care enough of the fatty portions which lie on the top of
the head and the cheeks to fill a teacup, and set them aside to cool.
Remove the brains to a saucer and also set aside. Chop the rest of the
meat with the tongue very fine, season with salt, pepper, powdered
marjoram and thyme, a teaspoonful of cloves, the same of mace, half
as much allspice, and a grated nutmeg, and return to the pot. When the
flesh falls from the bones of the pig’s feet, take out the latter,
leaving in the gelatinous meat. Let all boil together slowly, without
removing the cover, for two hours more; take the soup from the fire
and set it away until the next day. An hour before dinner, set on the
stock to warm. When it boils strain carefully, and drop in the meat you
have reserved, which, when cold, should be cut into small squares. Have
these all ready as well as the force-meat balls. To prepare these, rub
the yolks of five hard-boiled eggs to a paste in a Wedgewood mortar,
or in a bowl, with the back of a silver tablespoon, adding gradually
the brains to moisten them, also a little butter and salt. Mix with
these two eggs beaten very light, flour your hands, and make this paste
into balls about the size of a pigeon’s egg. Throw them into the soup
five minutes before you take it from the fire; stir in three large
tablespoonfuls of browned flour rubbed smooth in three great spoonfuls
of melted butter, let it boil up well, and finish the seasoning by the
addition of a glass and a half of _good_ wine—Sherry or Madeira—and
the juice of a lemon. It should not boil more than half an hour on the
second day. Serve with sliced lemon. Some lay the slices upon the top
of the soup, but the better plan is to pass to the guests a small dish
containing these.
If the directions be closely followed, the result is sure to be
satisfactory, and the task is really much less troublesome than it
appears to be.
GIBLET SOUP.
Feet, neck, pinions, and giblets of three chickens, or of two
ducks or two geese.
1½ lb. veal.
½ lb. ham.
3 qts. water.
Crack the bones into small pieces, and cut the meat into strips. Put
all together with the giblets over the fire, with a bunch of sweet
herbs and a pinch of allspice. Stew slowly for two hours. Take out the
giblets and set them aside in a pan where they will keep warm. Take up
a teacupful of the hot soup and stir into this a large tablespoonful of
flour which has been wet with cold water and rubbed to a smooth paste;
then, two tablespoonfuls of butter. Return to the pot and boil for
fifteen minutes; season at the last with a glass of brown sherry and a
tablespoonful of tomato or walnut catsup. A little Worcestershire sauce
is an improvement. Finally, chop and add the giblets, and boil up once.
BROWN GRAVY SOUP.
3 lbs. beef.
1 carrot.
1 turnip.
1 head of celery.
6 onions, if small button onions—one, if large.
3½ qts. water.
Have ready some nice dripping in a frying-pan. Slice the onions and
fry them brown. Take them out and set them by in a covered pan to keep
warm. Cut the beef into bits an inch long and half an inch thick, and
fry them brown also, turning frequently lest they should burn. Chop the
vegetables and put them with the meat and onions into a covered pot.
Pour on the water and let all stew together for two hours. Then throw
in salt and pepper and boil one hour longer, skimming very carefully.
Strain; put back over the fire; boil up once more to make the liquid
perfectly clear, skim, and add a handful of vermicelli that has been
boiled separately and drained dry. The safest plan is to put in the
vermicelli after the soup is poured into the tureen. Do not stir
before it goes to table. The contents of the tureen should be clear
as amber. Some add half a glass of _pale_ Sherry. This is a fine show
soup, and very popular.
VEAL AND SAGO SOUP.
2½ lbs. veal chopped fine.
¼ lb. pearl sago.
1 pt. milk.
4 eggs.
3 qts. water.
Put on the veal and water, and boil slowly until the liquid is reduced
to about one-half the original quantity. Strain out the shreds of meat,
and put the soup again over the fire. Meanwhile the sago should be
washed in several waters, and soaked half an hour in warm water enough
to cover it. Stir it into the strained broth and boil—stirring very
often to prevent lumping or scorching—half an hour more. Heat the milk
almost to boiling; beat the yolks of the eggs very light; mix with the
milk gradually, as in making boiled custard, and pour—stirring all
the while—into the soup. Season with pepper and salt; boil up once to
cook the eggs, and serve. Should the liquid be too thick after putting
in the eggs, replenish with boiling water. It should be about the
consistency of hot custard.
This soup is very good, if chicken broth be substituted for the veal.
It is very strengthening to invalids, and especially beneficial to
those suffering from colds and pulmonary affections.
CHICKEN SOUP. ✠
2 young fowls, or one full-grown.
½ lb. corned ham.
1 gallon of water.
Cut the fowls into pieces as for fricassee. Put these with the ham into
the pot with a quart of water, or enough to cover them fairly. Stew for
an hour, if the fowls are tender; if tough, until you can cut easily
into the breast. Take out the breasts, leaving the rest of the meat
in the pot, and add the remainder of the water—boiling hot. Keep the
soup stewing slowly while you chop up the white meat you have selected.
Rub the yolks of four hard-boiled eggs smooth in a mortar or bowl,
moistening to a paste with a few spoonfuls of the soup. Mix with these
a handful of fine bread-crumbs and the chopped meat, and make it into
small balls. When the soup has boiled in all, two hours and a half, if
the chicken be reduced to shreds, strain out the meat and bones. Season
with salt and white pepper, with a bunch of chopped parsley. Drop in
the prepared force-meat, and after boiling ten minutes to incorporate
the ingredients well, add, a little at a time, a pint of rich milk
thickened with flour. Boil up once and serve.
A chicken at least a year old would make better soup than a younger
fowl.
VENISON SOUP. ✠
3 lbs. of venison. What are considered the inferior pieces will do.
1 lb. corned ham or salt pork.
1 onion.
1 head of celery.
Cut up the meat; chop the vegetables, and put on with just enough water
to cover them, keeping on the lid of the pot all the while, and stew
slowly for one hour. Then add two quarts of boiling water, with a few
blades of mace and a dozen whole peppers. Or, should you prefer, a
little cayenne. Boil two hours longer, salt, and strain. Return the
liquor to the pot; stir in a tablespoonful of butter, thicken with a
tablespoonful of browned flour wet into a smooth thin paste with cold
water; add a tablespoonful of walnut or mushroom catsup, a teaspoonful
of Worcestershire or other pungent sauce, and a generous glass of
Madeira or brown Sherry.
HARE OR RABBIT SOUP.
Dissect the rabbit, crack the bones, and prepare precisely as you would
the venison soup, only putting in three small onions instead of one,
and a bunch of sweet herbs. Hares which are too tough to be cooked in
any other way, make excellent game soup. Also, the large gray squirrel
of the Middle and Southern States.
OX-TAIL SOUP.
1 ox-tail.
2 lbs. lean beef.
4 carrots.
3 onions.
Thyme.
Cut the tail into several pieces and fry brown in butter. Slice the
onions and two carrots, and when you remove the ox-tail from the
frying-pan, put in these and brown them also. When done, tie them in a
bag with a bunch of thyme and drop into the soup-pot. Lay the pieces of
ox-tail in the same; then the meat cut into small slices. Grate over
them the two whole carrots, and add four quarts of cold water, with
pepper and salt. Boil from four to six hours, in proportion to the size
of the tail. Strain fifteen minutes before serving it, and thicken with
two tablespoonfuls of browned flour. Boil ten minutes longer.
FISH SOUPS.
OYSTER SOUP (No. 1). ✠
2 qts. of oysters.
1 qt. of milk.
2 tablespoonfuls butter.
1 teacupful water.
Strain the liquor from the oysters, add to it the water, and set it
over the fire to heat slowly in a covered vessel. When it is near
boiling, season with pepper and salt; add the oysters, and let them
stew until they “ruffle” on the edge. This will be in about five
minutes. Then put in the butter with the milk which has been heated in
a separate vessel, and stir well for two minutes.
Serve with sliced lemon and oyster or cream crackers. Some use mace
and nutmeg in seasoning. The crowning excellence in oyster soup is to
have it cooked just enough. Too much stewing ruins the bivalves, while
an underdone oyster is a flabby abomination. The plumpness of the main
body and ruffled edge are good indices of their right condition.
OYSTER SOUP (No. 2).
2 qts. of oysters.
2 eggs.
1 qt. of milk.
1 teacupful of water.
Strain the liquor from the oysters into a saucepan, pour in with it
the water. Season with cayenne pepper and a little salt, a teaspoonful
of mingled nutmeg, mace, and cloves. When the liquor is almost
boiling, add half the oysters chopped finely and boil five minutes
quite briskly. Strain the soup and return to saucepan. Have ready some
force-meat balls, not larger than marbles, made of the yolks of the
eggs boiled hard and rubbed to a smooth paste with a little butter,
then mix with six raw oysters chopped very finely, a little salt, and
a raw egg well beaten, to bind the ingredients together. Flour your
hands well and roll the force-meat into pellets, laying them upon a
cold plate, so as not to touch one another until needed. Then put the
reserved whole oysters into the hot soup, and when it begins to boil
again, drop in the force-meat marbles. Boil until the oysters “ruffle,”
by which time the balls will also be done. Add the hot milk.
Serve with sliced lemon and crackers. A liberal tablespoonful of butter
stirred in gently at the last is an improvement.
CLAM SOUP.
50 clams.
1 qt. milk.
1 pint water.
2 tablespoonfuls butter.
Drain off the liquor from the clams and put it over the fire with a
dozen whole peppers, a few bits of cayenne pods, half a dozen blades
of mace, and salt to taste. Let it boil for ten minutes, then put in
the clams and boil half an hour quite fast, keeping the pot closely
covered. If you dislike to see the whole spices in the tureen, strain
them out before the clams are added. At the end of the half hour add
the milk, which has been heated to scalding, not boiling, in another
vessel. Boil up again, taking care the soup does not burn, and put in
the butter. Then serve without delay. If you desire a thicker soup stir
a heaping tablespoonful of rice-flour into a little cold milk, and put
in with the quart of hot.
CAT-FISH SOUP. ✠
Those who have only seen the bloated, unsightly “hornpouts” that play
the scavengers about city wharves, are excusable for entertaining a
prejudice against them as an article of food. But the small cat-fish
of our inland lakes and streams are altogether respectable, except in
their unfortunate name.
6 cat-fish, in average weight half a pound apiece.
½ lb. salt pork.
1 pint milk.
2 eggs.
1 head of celery, or a small bag of celery seed.
Skin and clean the fish and cut them up. Chop the pork into small
pieces. Put these together into the pot, with two quarts of water,
chopped sweet herbs, and the celery seasoning. Boil for an hour, or
until fish and pork are in rags, and strain, if you desire a regular
soup for a first course. Return to the saucepan and add the milk, which
should be already hot. Next the eggs, beaten to a froth, and a lump
of butter the size of a walnut. Boil up once, and serve with dice of
toasted bread on the top. Pass sliced lemon, or walnut or butternut
pickles with it.
EEL SOUP.
Eel soup is made in precisely the same manner as cat-fish, only boiled
longer. A chopped onion is no detriment to the flavor of either, and
will remove the muddy taste which these fish sometimes acquire from
turbid streams.
LOBSTER SOUP.
2 qts. veal or chicken broth, well strained.
1 large lobster.
2 eggs—boiled hard.
Boil the lobster and extract the meat, setting aside the coral in a
cool place. Cut or chop up the meat found in the claws. Rub the yolks
of the eggs to a paste with a teaspoonful of butter. Pound and rub the
claw-meat in the same manner, and mix with the yolks. Beat up a raw
egg, and stir into the paste; season with pepper, salt, and, if you
like, mace; make into force-meat balls, and set away with the coral to
cool and harden. By this time the stock should be well heated, when,
put in the rest of the lobster-meat cut into square bits. Boil fifteen
minutes, which time employ in pounding the coral in a Wedgewood mortar,
or earthenware bowl, rubbing it into a fine, even paste, with the
addition of a few spoonfuls of the broth, gradually worked in until it
is about the consistency of boiled starch. Stir _very_ carefully into
the hot soup, which should, in the process, blush into a roseate hue.
Lastly, drop in the force-meat balls, after which do not stir, lest
they should break. Simmer a few minutes to cook the raw egg; but, if
allowed to boil, the soup will darken.
Crab soup may be made in the same way, excepting the coralline process,
crabs being destitute of that dainty.
GREEN TURTLE SOUP.
A glass of Madeira.
2 onions.
Bunch of sweet herbs.
Juice of one lemon.
5 qts of water.
Chop up the coarser parts of the turtle-meat, with the entrails and
bones. Add to them four quarts of water, and stew four hours with the
herbs, onions, pepper, and salt. Stew very slowly, but do not let it
cease to boil during this time. At the end of four hours strain the
soup, and add the finer parts of the turtle and the green fat, which
has been simmered for one hour in two quarts of water. Thicken with
browned flour; return to the soup-pot, and simmer gently an hour
longer. If there are eggs in the turtle, boil them in a separate
vessel for four hours, and throw into the soup before taking it up.
If not, put in force-meat balls; then the juice of the lemon and the
wine; beat up once and pour out. Some cooks add the finer meat before
straining, boiling all together five hours; then strain, thicken,
and put in the green fat, cut into lumps an inch long. This makes a
handsomer soup than if the meat is left in.
For the mock eggs, take the yolks of three hard-boiled eggs, and
one raw egg well beaten. Rub the boiled eggs into a paste with a
teaspoonful of butter, bind with the raw egg, roll into pellets the
size and shape of turtle-eggs, and lay in boiling water for two minutes
before dropping into the soup.
_Force-meat balls for the above._
Six tablespoonfuls turtle-meat chopped very fine. Rub to a paste with
the yolks of two hard-boiled eggs; tablespoonful of butter, and, if
convenient, a little oyster-liquor. Season with cayenne, mace, and half
a teaspoonful of white sugar. Bind with a well-beaten egg; shape into
balls; dip in egg, then powdered cracker, fry in butter, and drop into
the soup when it is served.
Green turtle for soups is now within the reach of every private family,
being well preserved in air-tight cans.
FISH.
BOILED CODFISH. (_Fresh._) ✠
Lay the fish in cold water, slightly salted, for half an hour before it
is time to cook it. When it has been wiped free of the salt and water,
wrap it in a clean linen cloth kept for such purposes. The cloth should
be dredged with flour, to prevent sticking. Sew up the edges in such
a manner as to envelop the fish entirely, yet have but one thickness
of the cloth over any part. The wrapping should be fitted neatly to
the shape of the piece to be cooked. Put into the fish-kettle, pour on
plenty of hot water, and boil briskly—fifteen minutes for each pound.
Have ready a sauce prepared thus:—
To one gill boiling water add as much milk, and when it is
scalding-hot, stir in—leaving the sauce-pan on the fire—two
tablespoonfuls of butter, rolled thickly in flour; as this thickens,
two beaten eggs. Season with salt and chopped parsley, and when, after
one good boil, you withdraw it from the fire, add a dozen capers, or
pickled nasturtium seeds, or, if you prefer, a spoonful of vinegar in
which celery-seeds have been steeped. Put the fish into a hot dish,
and pour the sauce over it. Some serve in a butter-boat; but I fancy
that the boiling sauce applied to the steaming fish imparts a richness
it cannot gain later. Garnish with sprigs of parsley and circles of
hard-boiled eggs, laid around the edge of the dish.
ROCK-FISH.
Rock-fish and river-bass are very nice, cooked as above, but do not
need to be boiled so long as codfish.
BOILED CODFISH. (_Salt._)
Put the fish to soak over night in lukewarm water—as early as eight
o’clock in the evening. Change this for more warm water at bed-time and
cover closely. Change again in the morning and wash off the salt. Two
hours before dinner plunge into _very_ cold water. This makes it firm.
Finally, set over the fire with enough lukewarm water to cover it, and
boil for half an hour. Drain well; lay it on a hot dish, and pour over
it egg-sauce prepared as in the foregoing receipt, only substituting
the yolks of two hard-boiled eggs, rubbed to a paste with butter, for
the beaten raw egg.
This is a useful receipt for country housekeepers who can seldom
procure fresh cod. Salt mackerel, prepared in the same way, will repay
the care and time required, so superior is it to the Friday’s dish of
salt fish, as usually served.
Should the cold fish left over be used for fish-balls—as it should
be—it will be found that the sauce which has soaked into it while hot
has greatly improved it.
CODFISH BALLS. ✠
Prepare the fish precisely as for boiling whole. Cut in pieces when it
has been duly washed and soaked, and boil twenty minutes. Turn off the
water, and cover with fresh from the boiling tea-kettle. Boil twenty
minutes more, drain the fish very dry, and spread upon a dish to cool.
When perfectly cold, pick to pieces with a fork, removing every vestige
of skin and bone, and shredding very fine. When this is done, add an
equal bulk of mashed potato; work into a stiff batter by adding a lump
of butter and sweet milk, and if you want to have them very nice, a
beaten egg. Flour your hands and make the mixture into balls or cakes.
Drop them into boiling lard or good dripping, and fry to a light brown.
Plainer fish-cakes may be made of the cod and potatoes alone, moulded
round like biscuit. In any shape the dish is popular.
SALT CODFISH STEWED WITH EGGS.
Prepare the fish as for balls. Heat almost to boiling a pint of rich,
sweet milk, and stir into it, gradually and carefully, three eggs, well
beaten, a tablespoonful of butter, a little chopped parsley and butter,
with pepper, lastly the fish. Boil up once and turn into a deep covered
dish, or chafing dish lined with buttered toast. Eat hot for breakfast
or supper.
CODFISH AND POTATO STEW. ✠
Soak, boil, and pick the fish, if salt, as for fish-balls. If fresh,
boil and pick into bits. Add an equal quantity of mashed potatoes, a
large tablespoonful of butter and milk, enough to make it very soft.
Put into a skillet, and add a little boiling water to keep it from
burning. Turn and toss constantly until it is smoking hot but not dry;
add pepper and parsley, and dish.
BOILED MACKEREL. (_Fresh._) ✠
Clean the mackerel and wipe carefully with a dry, clean cloth; wash
them lightly with another cloth dipped in vinegar; wrap each in a
coarse linen cloth (floured) basted closely to the shape of the fish.
Put them into a pot with enough salted water to cover them, and boil
them gently for three quarters of an hour. Drain them well. Take a
teacupful of the water in which they were boiled, and put into a
saucepan with a tablespoonful of walnut catsup, some anchovy paste or
sauce, and the juice of half a lemon. Let this boil up well and add a
lump of butter the size of an egg, with a tablespoonful browned flour
wet in cold water. Boil up again and serve in the sauce-boat. This
makes a brown sauce. You can substitute egg-sauce if you like. Garnish
with parsley and nasturtium blossoms.
BROILED MACKEREL. (_Fresh._)
Clean the mackerel, wash, and wipe dry. Split it open, so that when
laid flat the backbone will be in the middle. Sprinkle lightly with
salt, and lay on a buttered gridiron over a clear fire, with the inside
downward, until it begins to brown; then turn the other. When quite
done, lay on a hot dish and butter it plentifully. Turn another hot
dish over the lower one, and let it stand two or three minutes before
sending to table.
BROILED MACKEREL. (_Salt._)
Soak over night in lukewarm water. Change this early in the morning
for very cold, and let the fish lie in this until time to cook. Then
proceed as with the fresh mackerel.
BOILED HALIBUT. ✠
Lay in cold salt and water for an hour. Wipe dry and score the skin in
squares. Put into the kettle with cold salted water enough to cover
it. It is so firm in texture that you can boil without a cloth if you
choose. Let it heat gradually, and boil from half to three-quarters of
an hour, in proportion to the size of the piece. Four or five pounds
will be enough for most private families. Drain and accompany by
egg-sauce—either poured over the fish, or in a sauce-boat.
Save the cold remnants of the fish and what sauce is left until next
morning. Pick out as you would cod, mix with an equal quantity of
mashed potato, moisten with the sauce, or with milk and butter if you
have no sauce, put it into a skillet, and stir until it is very hot. Do
not burn. Season with pepper and salt.
BAKED HALIBUT. ✠
Take a piece of halibut weighing five or six pounds, and lay in salt
and water for two hours. Wipe dry and score the outer skin. Set in the
baking-pan in a tolerably hot oven, and bake an hour, basting often
with butter and water heated together in a saucepan or tin cup. When
a fork will penetrate it easily it is done. It should be of a fine
brown. Take the gravy in the dripping-pan—add a little boiling water
should there not be enough—stir in a tablespoonful of walnut catsup, a
teaspoonful of Worcestershire sauce, the juice of a lemon, and thicken
with browned flour, previously wet with cold water. Boil up once and
put into sauce-boat.
There is no finer preparation of halibut than this, which is, however,
comparatively little known. Those who have eaten it usually prefer it
to boiled and broiled. You can use what is left for the same purpose
as the fragments of boiled halibut.
HALIBUT STEAK. ✠
Wash and wipe the steaks dry. Beat up two or three eggs, and roll out
some Boston or other brittle crackers upon the kneading-board until
they are fine as dust. Dip each steak into the beaten egg, then into
the bread crumbs (when you have salted the fish), and fry in hot fat,
lard, or nice dripping.
Or, you can broil the steak upon a buttered gridiron, over a clear
fire, first seasoning with salt and pepper. When done, lay in a hot
dish, butter well, and cover closely.
DEVILLED HALIBUT.
Mince a pound of cold boiled or baked halibut, or the fragments of
halibut steak, and make for it the following dressing: The yolks
of three hard-boiled eggs rubbed smooth with the back of a silver
spoon, or in a Wedgewood mortar, and when there remain no lumps in
it, work into a soft paste with a tablespoonful salad oil. Next beat
in two teaspoonfuls white sugar, a teaspoonful made mustard, a pinch
of cayenne, teaspoonful salt, one of Worcestershire sauce, a little
anchovy paste if you have it, and finally, a little at a time to
prevent lumping, a _small_ teacupful of vinegar in which celery-seed
have been steeped. It is easy to keep a bottle of this on hand for
salads and sauces. Stir all thoroughly into the minced fish, garnish
with a chain of the whites of the eggs cut into rings, with a small
round slice of pickled beet laid within each link, and you have a
_piquant_ and pretty salad for the supper-table.
BOILED SALMON. (_Fresh._) ✠
Wrap the fish, when you have washed and wiped it, in a clean
linen cloth—not too thick—baste it up securely, and put into the
fish-kettle. Cover with cold water in which has been melted a handful
of salt. Boil slowly, allowing about a quarter of an hour to each
pound. When the time is up, rip open a corner of the cloth and test
the salmon with a fork. If it penetrate easily, it is done. If not,
hastily pin up the cloth and cook a little longer. Skim off the scum as
it rises to the top. Have ready in another saucepan a pint of cream—or
half milk and half cream will do—which has been heated in a vessel set
in boiling water; stir into this a large spoonful of butter, rolled in
flour, a little salt and chopped parsley, and a half-gill of the water
in which the fish is boiled. Let it boil up once, stirring all the
while. When the fish is done, take it instantly from the kettle, lay it
an instant upon a folded cloth to absorb the drippings; transfer with
great care, for fear of breaking, to a hot dish, and pour the boiled
cream over it, reserving enough to fill a small sauce-boat. Garnish
with curled parsley and circular slices of hard-boiled yolks—leaving
out the whites of the eggs.
After serving boiled salmon with cream-sauce, you will never be quite
content with any other. If you cannot get cream, boil a pint of milk
and thicken with arrow-root. It is not so nice, but many will not
detect the difference—_real_ cream being a rare commodity in town.
You may pickle what is left, if it is in one piece. Or devil it, as I
have directed you to treat cold halibut. _Or_ mince, mixed with mashed
potato, milk, and butter, and stir into a sort of stew. Or, once again,
mix with mashed potato, milk, butter, and a raw egg well-beaten; make
into cakes or balls, and fry in hot lard or dripping. At any rate, let
none of it be lost, it being at once one of our most expensive and most
delicious fish.
BAKED SALMON. ✠
Wash and wipe dry, and rub with pepper and salt. Some add a soupçon of
cayenne and powdered mace. Lay the fish upon a grating set over your
baking-pan, and roast or bake, basting it freely with butter, and,
toward the last, with its own drippings only. Should it brown too fast,
cover the top with a sheet of white paper until the whole is cooked.
When it is done, transfer to a hot dish and cover closely, and add
to the gravy a little hot water thickened with arrow-root, rice, or
wheat flour,—wet, of course, first with cold water,—a great spoonful
of strained tomato sauce, and the juice of a lemon. Boil up and serve
in a sauce boat, or you can serve with cream sauce, made as for boiled
salmon. Garnish handsomely with alternate sprigs of parsley and the
bleached tops of celery, with ruby bits of firm currant jelly here
and there. This is a fine dish for a dinner-party. A glass of Sherry
improves the first-named sauce.
SALMON STEAKS. ✠
Dry well with a cloth, dredge with flour, and lay them upon a
well-buttered gridiron, over clear hot coals. Turn with a broad-bladed
knife slipped beneath, and a flat wire egg-beater above, lest the steak
should break. When done to a light brown, lay in a hot dish, butter
each steak, seasoning with salt and pepper, cover closely, and serve.
PICKLED SALMON. (_Fresh._) ✠
Having cleaned your fish, cut into pieces of a convenient size to go
into the fish-kettle, and boil in salted water as for the table. Drain
it very dry, wipe it with a clean cloth, and set it aside in a cool
place until next morning.
Make pickle enough to cover it in the following proportions: 2 quarts
vinegar, a dozen blades of mace, dozen white peppers, dozen cloves, two
teaspoonfuls made mustard, three tablespoonfuls white sugar, and a
pint of the water in which the fish was boiled. Let them boil up once
hard, that you may skim the pickle. Should the spices come away with
the scum in large quantities, pick them out and return to the kettle.
Set the liquor away in an earthenware jar, closely covered, to keep
in the flavor. Next morning hang it over a brisk fire in a bell-metal
kettle (covered), and heat to boiling. Meanwhile, prepare the salmon
by cutting into pieces an inch and a half long and half an inch wide.
Cut cleanly and regularly with a sharp knife. When they are all ready,
and the liquor is on the boil, drop them carefully into the kettle. Let
the pickle boil up once to make sure the salmon is heated through. Have
ready some air-tight glass jars, such as you use for canning fruit and
tomatoes. Take the salmon from the kettle, while it is still on the
stove or range, with a wire-egg-beater, taking care you do not break
the pieces. Drop them rapidly into the jar, packing closely as you go
on; fill with the boiling pickle until it overflows, screw on the top,
and set away in a dark, cool place. Proceed in the same way with each
can until all are full. Salmon thus put up will keep good for _years_,
as I can testify from experience, and will well repay the trouble of
preparation. You can vary the seasoning to your taste, adding a shallot
or two minced very fine, some celery and small pods of cayenne pepper,
which always _look_ well in vinegar.
Be sure that the contents of the kettle are boiling when transferred
to the cans, that they are not allowed time to cool in the transit,
that the elastic on the can is properly adjusted, and the top screwed
down tightly, and success is certain. I would call the attention of
those who are fond of the potted spiced salmon, sold at a high price in
grocery stores, to this receipt for making the same luxury at home. It
costs less by one-half, is as good, and is always on hand.
PICKLED SALMON. (_Salt._)
Wash the salmon in two or three waters, rubbing it lightly with a
coarse cloth to remove the salt-crystals. Then soak over night in tepid
water. Exchange this in the morning for ice-cold, and let the fish
lie in the latter for three hours. Take it out, wipe dry, and cut in
strips as directed in the foregoing receipt. Drop these, when all are
ready, in a saucepan of boiling water, placed alongside of a kettle of
pickle prepared as for fresh salmon. Beside these have your air-tight
jars, covers laid in readiness, and when the salmon has boiled five
minutes—fairly boiled, not simmered—fish out the pieces with your wire
spoon, pack rapidly into your can; fill up with the boiling pickle from
the other kettle, and seal instantly. In two days the pickled salmon
will be fit for use, and is scarcely distinguishable from that made of
fresh fish. It has the advantage of being always procurable, and of
comparative cheapness, and in the country is a valuable stand-by in
case of unexpected supper company.
SMOKED SALMON. (_Broiled._)
Take a piece of raw smoked salmon the size of your hand, or larger in
proportion to the number who are to sit down to supper. Wash it in two
waters, rubbing off the salt. Lay in a skillet with enough warm—not
hot—water to cover it; let it simmer fifteen minutes, and boil five.
Remove it, wipe dry, and lay on a buttered gridiron to broil. When
it is nicely browned on both sides, transfer to a hot dish; butter
liberally, and pepper to taste. Garnish with hillocks of grated
horse-radish interspersed with sprays of fresh or pickled fennel-seed,
or with parsley.
Raw smoked salmon is in common use upon the supper-table, cut into
smooth strips as long as the middle finger, and rather wider; arranged
neatly upon a garnished dish, and eaten with pepper-sauce or some other
pungent condiment.
BOILED SHAD. (_Fresh._) ✠
Clean, wash, and wipe the fish. A roe shad is best for this purpose.
Cleanse the roes thoroughly, and having sprinkled both shad and eggs
with salt, wrap in separate cloths and put into a fish-kettle, side
by side. Cover with salted water, and boil from half an hour to
three-quarters, in proportion to the size. Experience is the best rule
as to the time. When you have once cooked fish to a turn, note the
weight and time, and you will be at no loss thereafter. A good rule
is to make a pencilled memorandum in the margin of the receipt-book
opposite certain receipts.
Serve the shad upon a hot dish, with a boat of drawn butter mingled
with chopped eggs and parsley, or egg-sauce. Lay the roes about the
body of the fish. Garnish with capers and slices of hard boiled eggs.
BOILED SHAD. (_Salt._)
Soak the fish six or seven hours in warm water, changing it several
times; wipe off all the salt and immerse in ice-cold water. When it has
lain in this an hour, put into a fish-kettle with enough fresh water to
cover it, and boil from fifteen to twenty minutes, in proportion to the
size. Serve in a hot dish, with a large lump of butter spread over the
fish.
BROILED SHAD. (_Fresh._) ✠
Wash, wipe, and split the fish. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, and lay
it upon a buttered gridiron, inside downward. When the lower side is
browned, turn the fish. One of medium size will be done in about twenty
minutes. Serve upon a hot dish, and lay a good piece of butter upon
the fish.
BROILED SHAD. (_Salt._)
Soak over night in lukewarm water. Take out in the morning and transfer
to ice-cold for half an hour. Wipe very dry, and broil as you do fresh
shad.
FRIED SHAD.
This is a popular dish upon Southern tables, and is good anywhere.
Clean, wash, and wipe a fine roe-shad; split and cut each side into
four pieces, leaving out the head, and removing fins and tail. Sprinkle
with salt and pepper, and dredge with flour. Have ready a frying pan of
boiling hot lard or drippings; put in the fish and fry brown, turning
at the end of five minutes to cook the other side. Fry the roe in the
same way; lay the fish in the middle of the dish, and the roe outside
of it; garnish with water-cresses and sprigs of pickled cauliflower,
and eat with catsup.
BAKED SHAD. ✠
Clean, wash, and wipe the fish, which should be a large one. Make a
stuffing of grated bread-crumbs, butter, salt, pepper, and sweet herbs.
Stuff the shad and sew it up. Lay it in the baking-pan, with a cupful
of water to keep it from burning, and bake an hour, basting with butter
and water, until it is tender throughout and well browned. Take it up,
put in a hot dish and cover tightly, while you boil up the gravy with
a great spoonful of catsup, a tablespoonful of browned flour which has
been wet with cold water, the juice of a lemon, and, if you want to
have it very fine, a glass of Sherry or Madeira. Garnish with sliced
lemon and water-cresses. You may pour the gravy around the fish, or
serve in a sauce-boat. Of course you take out the thread with which it
has been sewed up before serving the fish.
BOILED SEA-BASS.
Clean and put the fish into the fish-kettle, with salted water
enough to cover it when you have enveloped it in the fish-cloth. A
medium-sized fish will be done in a little over half an hour. But do
not boil too fast. When done, drain and serve in a hot dish. Lay sliced
boiled eggs upon and about it, and serve with egg-sauce, mingled with
capers and nasturtium seed.
FRIED SEA-BASS.
Use smaller fish for this purpose than for boiling. Clean, wipe dry,
inside and out, dredge with flour and season with salt. Fry in hot
butter or dripping. A mixture, half butter, half lard, is good for
frying fish. The bass should be done to a delicate brown—not to a
crisp. The fashion affected by some cooks of drying fried fish to a
crust is simply abominable.
Fried bass are a most acceptable breakfast dish.
STURGEON STEAK.
Skin the steaks carefully and lay in salted water (cold) for an hour,
to remove the oily taste, so offensive to most palates. Then wipe each
steak dry, salt, and broil over hot coals on a buttered gridiron. Serve
in a hot dish when you have buttered and peppered them, and send up
garnished with parsley and accompanied by a small glass dish containing
sliced lemon.
_Or,_
You can pour over them a sauce prepared in this way:—
Put a tablespoonful of butter into a frying-pan, and stir until it is
brown—_not_ burned. Add a half-teacupful of boiling water in which has
been stirred a tablespoonful of browned flour previously wet with cold
water. Add salt, a teaspoonful Worcestershire sauce or anchovy, the
juice of a lemon, and let it boil up well. Pour over the steaks when
you have arranged them in the dish.
BAKED STURGEON.
A piece of sturgeon weighing five or six pounds is enough for a
handsome dish. Skin it and let it stand in salt and water for half an
hour. Parboil it to remove the oil. Make a dressing of bread-crumbs,
minute bits of fat salt pork, sweet herbs, and butter. Gash the upper
part of the fish quite deeply, and rub this force-meat well in; put in
a baking-pan with a little water to keep it from burning, and bake for
an hour.
Serve with a sauce of drawn butter, in which has been stirred a
spoonful of caper sauce and another of catsup.
This is a Virginia receipt, and an admirable one.
MAYONNAISE. (_Fish._)
Take a pound or so of cold boiled fish (halibut, rock, or cod), cut—not
chop—into pieces an inch in length. Mix in a bowl a dressing as
follows: the yolks of four boiled eggs rubbed to a smooth paste with
salad oil; add to these salt, pepper, mustard, two teaspoonfuls white
sugar, and, lastly, six tablespoonfuls of vinegar. Beat the mixture
until light, and just before pouring it over the fish, stir in lightly
the frothed white of a raw egg. Serve the fish in a glass dish, with
half the dressing stirred in with it. Spread the remainder over the
top, and lay blanched lettuce-leaves around the edges, to be eaten with
it.
BAKED SALMON-TROUT. ✠
Those who have eaten this prince of game fish in the Adirondacks,
within an hour after he has left the lake, will agree with me that he
never has such justice done him at any other time as when baked with
cream.
Handle the beauty with gentle respect while cleaning, washing, and
wiping him, and lay him at full length, still respectfully, in a
baking-pan, with just enough water to keep him from scorching. If
large, score the back-bone with a sharp knife, taking care not to
mar the comeliness of his red-spotted sides. Bake slowly, basting
often with butter and water. By the time he is done—and he should
be so well-looked after that his royal robe hardly shows a seam or
rent, and the red spots are still distinctly visible—have ready in a
saucepan a cup of cream—diluted with a _few_ spoonfuls of hot water,
lest it should clot in heating—in which have been stirred cautiously
two tablespoonfuls of melted butter and a little chopped parsley. Heat
this in a vessel set within another of boiling water, add the gravy
from the dripping-pan, boil up once to thicken, and when the trout is
laid—always respectfully—in a hot dish, pour the sauce around him as he
lies in state. He will take kindly to the creamy bath, and your guests
will take kindly to him. Garnish with a wreath of crimson nasturtium
blooms and dainty sprigs of parsley, arranged by your own hands on the
edge of the dish, and let no sharply-spiced sauces come near him. They
would but mar his native richness—the flavor he brought with him from
the lake and wild-wood. Salt him lightly, should he need it, eat and be
happy.
If the above savor of bathos rather than “common sense,” my excuse is,
I have lately eaten baked salmon-trout with cream-gravy.
BOILED SALMON-TROUT. ✠
Clean, wash, and dry the trout; envelop in a thin cloth fitted neatly
to the shape of the fish, lay within a fish-kettle, cover with salted
water (cold), and boil gently half an hour or longer, according to
the size. When done, unwrap and lay in a hot dish. Pour around it
cream-sauce made as for baked salmon-trout—only, of course, with the
omission of the fish-gravy—and serve.
FRIED TROUT.
Brook trout are generally cooked in this way, and form a rarely
delightful breakfast or supper dish.
Clean, wash, and dry the fish, roll lightly in flour, and fry in butter
or clarified dripping, or butter and lard. Let the fat be hot, fry
quickly to a delicate brown, and take up the instant they are done.
Lay for an instant upon a hot folded napkin, to absorb whatever grease
may cling to their speckled sides; then range side by side in a heated
dish, garnish, and send to the table. Use no seasoning except salt, and
that only when the fish are fried in lard or unsalted dripping.
FRIED PICKEREL. ✠
The pickerel ranks next to trout among game-fish, and should be fried
in the same manner. Especially—and I urge this with groaning of spirit,
in remembrance of the many times in which I have had my sense of
fitness, not to say my appetite, outraged by seeing the gallant fish
brought to table dried to a crisp throughout, all his juices wasted and
sweetness utterly departed—especially, do not fry him slowly and too
long; and when he is done, take him out of the grease!
CREAM PICKEREL. ✠
Reserve your largest pickerel—those over three pounds in weight—for
baking, and proceed with them as with baked salmon-trout—cream-gravy
and all. If you cannot afford cream, substitute rich milk, and thicken
with rice or wheat flour. The fish are better cooked in this way than
any other.
FRIED PERCH, AND OTHER PAN-FISH.
Clean, wash, and dry the fish. Lay them in a large flat dish, salt, and
dredge with flour. Have ready a frying-pan of hot dripping, lard, or
butter; put in as many fish as the pan will hold without crowding, and
fry to a light brown. Send up hot in a chafing-dish.
The many varieties of pan-fish—porgies, flounders, river bass,
weak-fish, white-fish, etc., may be cooked in like manner. In serving,
lay the head of each fish to _the tail of the one_ next him.
STEWED CAT-FISH. ✠
Skin, clean, and cut off the horribly homely heads. Sprinkle with salt,
to remove any muddy taste they may have contracted from the flats or
holes in which they have fed, and let them lie in a cool place for an
hour or so. Then put them into a saucepan, cover with cold water, and
stew very gently for from half to three-quarters of an hour, according
to their size. Add a chopped shallot or button-onion, a bunch of
chopped parsley, a little pepper, a large tablespoonful of butter, a
tablespoonful of flour mixed to a paste with cold water; boil up once,
take out the fish carefully, and lay in a deep dish. Boil up the gravy
once more, and pour over the fish. Send to table in a covered dish.
FRIED CAT-FISH. ✠
Skin, clean, and remove the heads. Sprinkle with salt, and lay aside
for an hour or more. Have ready two or three eggs beaten to a froth,
and, in a flat dish, a quantity of powdered cracker. Dip the fish
first in the egg, then in the cracker, and fry quickly in hot lard or
dripping. Take up as quick as done.
CAT-FISH CHOWDER.
Skin, clean, and cut off the heads. Cut the fish into pieces two inches
long, and put into a pot with some fat pork cut into shreds—a pound
to a dozen medium-sized fish, two chopped onions, or half a dozen
shallots, a bunch of sweet herbs, and pepper. The pork will salt it
sufficiently. Stew slowly for three-quarters of an hour. Then stir in a
cup of milk, thickened with a tablespoonful of flour; take up a cupful
of the hot liquor, and stir, a little at a time, into two well-beaten
eggs. Return this to the pot, throw in half a dozen Boston or butter
crackers, split in half; let all boil up once, and turn into a tureen.
Pass sliced lemon or cucumber pickles, also sliced, with it. Take out
the backbones of the fish before serving.
STEWED EELS. ✠
Inquire, before buying, where they were caught, and give so decided a
preference to country eels as to refuse those fattened upon the offal
of city wharves. Nor are the largest eels the best for eating. One
weighing a pound is better for your purpose than a bulky fellow that
weighs three.
Skin and clean, carefully extracting all the fat from the inside. Cut
into lengths of an inch and a half; put into a saucepan, with enough
cold water to cover them; throw in a little salt and chopped parsley,
and stew slowly, closely covered, for at least an hour. Add, at the
last, a great spoonful of butter, and a little flour wet with cold
water, also pepper. Serve in a deep dish. The appearance and odor of
this stew are so pleasing as often to overcome the prejudices of those
who “Wouldn’t touch an eel for the world! They look like snakes!” And
those who have tasted them rarely enter a second demurrer.
FRIED EELS.
Prepare as for stewing; roll in flour, and fry, in hot lard or
dripping, to a light brown.
CHOWDER (_No. 1._) ✠
Take a pound of salt pork, cut into strips, and soak in hot water
five minutes. Cover the bottom of a pot with a layer of this. Cut
four pounds of cod or sea-bass into pieces two inches square, and
lay enough of these on the pork to cover it. Follow with a layer of
chopped onions, a little parsley, summer savory, and pepper, either
black or cayenne. Then a layer of split Boston, or butter, or whole
cream crackers, which have been soaked in warm water until moist
through, but not ready to break. Above this lay a stratum of pork,
and repeat the order given above—onions, seasoning, (not too much,)
crackers, and pork, until your materials are exhausted. Let the topmost
layer be buttered crackers, well soaked. Put in enough cold water to
cover all barely. Cover the pot, stew gently for an hour, watching
that the water does not sink too low. Should it leave the upper layer
exposed, replenish constantly from the tea-kettle. When the chowder
is thoroughly done, take out with a perforated skimmer and put into a
tureen. Thicken the gravy with a tablespoonful of flour and about the
same quantity of butter. Boil up and pour over the chowder. Send sliced
lemon, pickles, and stewed tomatoes to the table with it, that the
guests may add, if they like.
CHOWDER (_No. 2._)
Slice six large onions, and fry them in the gravy of fried salt pork.
Cut five pounds of bass or cod into strips three inches long and one
thick, and line the bottom of a pot with them. Scatter a few slices
of onion upon them, a little salt, half a dozen whole black peppers,
a clove or two, a pinch of thyme and one of parsley, a tablespoonful
tomato or mushroom catsup, and six oysters; then comes a layer of
oyster crackers, well-soaked in milk and buttered thickly. Another
layer of fish, onions, seasoning, and crackers, and so on until all
are used up. Cover with water, boil slowly for an hour and pour out.
Serve with capers and sliced lemon. A cup of oyster liquor added to the
chowder while boiling improves it.
SHELL-FISH.
TO BOIL A LOBSTER.
Choose a lively one—not too large, lest he should be tough. Put a
handful of salt into a pot of boiling water, and having tied the claws
together, if your fish merchant has not already skewered them, plunge
him into the prepared bath. He will be restive under this vigorous
hydropathic treatment; but allay your tortured sympathies by the
reflection that he is a cold-blooded animal, destitute of imagination,
and that pain, according to some philosophers, exists only in the
imagination. However this may be, his suffering will be short-lived.
Boil from half an hour to an hour, as his size demands. When done,
draw out the scarlet innocent, and lay him, face downward, in a sieve
to dry. When cold, split open the body and tail, and crack the claws
to extract the meat, throwing away the “lady fingers” and the head.
Lobsters are seldom served without dressing, upon private tables, as
few persons care to take the trouble of preparing their own salad after
taking their seats at the board.
DEVILLED LOBSTER.
Extract the meat from a boiled lobster, as for salad, and mince it
finely; reserve the coral. Season highly with mustard, cayenne, salt,
and some pungent sauce. Toss and stir until it is well mixed, and put
into a porcelain saucepan (covered), with just enough hot water to
keep it from burning. Rub the coral smooth, moistening with vinegar
until it is thin enough to pour easily, then stir into the contents
of the saucepan. It is necessary to prepare the dressing, let me say,
before the lobster-meat is set on the fire. It ought to boil up but
once before the coral and vinegar are put in. Next stir in a heaping
tablespoonful of butter, and when it boils again, take the pan from the
fire. Too much cooking toughens the meat. This is a famous supper dish
for sleighing parties.
LOBSTER CROQUETTES. ✠
To the meat of a well-boiled lobster, chopped fine, add pepper, salt,
and powdered mace. Mix with this one-quarter as much bread-crumbs, well
rubbed, as you have meat; make into ovates, or pointed balls, with two
tablespoonfuls of melted butter. Roll these in beaten egg, then in
pulverized cracker, and fry in butter or very nice sweet lard. Serve
dry and hot, and garnish with crisped parsley. This is a delicious
supper dish or _entrée_ at dinner.
DEVILLED CRAB. ✠
This is prepared according to the receipt for devilled
lobster—substituting for the coral in the vinegar some pulverized
cracker, moistened first with a tablespoonful of rich cream. You can
serve up in the back-shell of the crab if you like. Send in with cream
crackers, and stick a sprig of parsley in the top of each heap, ranging
the shells upon a large flat dish.
CRAB SALAD.
Mince the meat and dress as in lobster salad. Send in the back-shell of
the crab.
SOFT CRABS. ✠
Many will not eat hard-shell crabs, considering them indigestible,
and not sufficiently palatable to compensate for the risk they run in
eating them. And it must be owned that they are, at their best, but an
indifferent substitute for the more aristocratic lobster. But in the
morning of life, for him so often renewed, his crabship is a different
creature, and greatly affected by epicures.
Do not keep the crabs over night, as the shells harden in twenty-four
hours. Pull off the spongy substance from the sides and the sand bags.
These are the only portions that are uneatable. Wash well, and wipe
dry. Have ready a pan of seething hot lard or butter, and fry them to a
fine brown. Put a little salt into the lard. The butter will need none.
Send up hot, garnished with parsley.
WATER-TURTLES, OR TERRAPINS.
Land-terrapins, it is hardly necessary to say, are uneatable, but the
large turtle that frequents our mill-ponds and rivers can be converted
into a relishable article of food.
Plunge the turtle into a pot of boiling water, and let him lie there
five minutes. You can then skin the underpart easily, and pull off the
horny parts of the feet. Lay him for ten minutes in _cold_ salt and
water; then put into more hot water—salted, but not too much. Boil
until tender. The time will depend upon the size and age. Take him
out, drain, and wipe dry; loosen the shell carefully, not to break
the flesh; cut open also with care, lest you touch the gall-bag with
the knife. Remove this with the entrails and sand-bag. Cut up all
the rest of the animal into small bits, season with pepper, salt, a
chopped onion, sweet herbs, and a teaspoonful of some spiced sauce, or
a tablespoonful of catsup—walnut or mushroom. Save the juice that runs
from the meat, and put all together into a saucepan with a closely
fitting top. Stew gently fifteen minutes, stirring occasionally, and
add a great spoonful of butter, a tablespoonful of browned flour wet
in cold water, a glass of brown Sherry, and lastly, the beaten yolk of
an egg, mixed with a little of the hot liquor, that it may not curdle.
Boil up once, and turn into a covered dish. Send around green pickles
and delicate slices of dry toast with it.
STEWED OYSTERS.
Drain the liquor from two quarts of firm, plump oysters; mix with it
a small teacupful of hot water, add a little salt and pepper, and
set over the fire in a saucepan. Let it boil up once, put in the
oysters, let them boil for five minutes or less—not more. When they
“ruffle,” add two tablespoonfuls of butter. The instant it is melted
and well stirred in, put in a large cupful of boiling milk and take the
saucepan from the fire. Serve with oyster or cream crackers, as soon as
possible. Oysters become tough and tasteless when cooked too much, or
left to stand too long after they are withdrawn from the fire.
FRIED OYSTERS. ✠
Use for frying the largest and best oysters you can find. Take them
carefully from the liquor; lay them in rows upon a clean cloth, and
press another lightly upon them to absorb the moisture. Have ready some
crackers crushed fine. In the frying-pan heat enough nice butter to
cover the oysters entirely. Dip each oyster into the cracker, rolling
it over that it may become completely incrusted. Drop them carefully
into the frying-pan, and fry quickly to a light brown. If the butter
is hot enough they will soon be ready to take out. Test it by putting
in one oyster before you risk the rest. Do not let them lie in the pan
an instant after they are done. Serve dry, and let the dish be warm. A
chafing-dish is best.
OYSTER FRITTERS. ✠
Drain the liquor from the oysters, and to a cupful of this add the
same quantity of milk, three eggs, a little salt, and flour enough for
a thin batter. Chop the oysters and stir into the batter. Have ready
in the frying-pan a few spoonfuls of lard, or half lard, half butter;
heat very hot, and drop the oyster-batter in by the tablespoonful. Try
a spoonful first, to satisfy yourself that the lard is hot enough, and
that the fritter is of the right size and consistency. Take rapidly
from the pan as soon as they are done to a pleasing yellow brown, and
send to table very hot.
Some fry the oyster whole, enveloped in batter, one in each fritter.
In this case, the batter should be thicker than if the chopped oysters
were to be added.
SCALLOPED OYSTERS. ✠
Crush and roll several handfuls of Boston or other friable crackers.
Put a layer in the bottom of a buttered pudding-dish. Wet this with a
mixture of the oyster liquor and milk, slightly warmed. Next, have a
layer of oysters. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, and lay small bits of
butter upon them. Then another layer of moistened crumbs, and so on
until the dish is full. Let the top layer be of crumbs, thicker than
the rest, and beat an egg into the milk you pour over them. Stick bits
of butter thickly over it, cover the dish, set it in the oven, bake
half an hour; if the dish be large, remove the cover, and brown by
setting it upon the upper grating of oven, or by holding a hot shovel
over it.
BROILED OYSTERS. ✠
Choose large, fat oysters; wipe them very dry; sprinkle salt and
cayenne pepper upon them, and broil upon one of the small gridirons
sold for that purpose. You can dredge the oyster with cracker-dust
or flour if you wish to have it brown, and some fancy the juices are
better kept in in this way. Others dislike the crust thus formed.
Butter the gridiron well, and let your fire be hot and clear. If the
oyster drip, withdraw the gridiron for an instant until the smoke
clears away. Broil quickly and dish hot, putting a tiny piece of
butter, not larger than a pea, upon each oyster.
CREAM OYSTERS ON THE HALF-SHELL.
Pour into your inner saucepan a cup of hot water, another of milk,
and one of cream, with a little salt. Set into a kettle of hot water
until it boils, when stir in two tablespoonfuls of butter and a little
salt, with white pepper. Take from the fire and add two heaping
tablespoonfuls of arrow-root, rice-flour, or corn-starch, wet with
cold milk. By this time your shells should be washed and buttered, and
a fine oyster laid within each. Of course, it is _selon les régles_
to use oyster-shells for this purpose; but you will find clam-shells
more roomy and manageable, because more regular in shape. Range these
closely in a large baking-pan, propping them with clean pebbles or
fragments of shell, if they do not seem inclined to retain their
contents. Stir the cream _very_ hard and fill up each shell with a
spoon, taking care not to spill any in the pan. Bake five or six
minutes in a hot oven after the shells become warm. Serve on the shell.
Some substitute oyster-liquor for the water in the mixture, and use all
milk instead of cream.
OYSTER OMELET. ✠
12 oysters, if large; double the number of small ones.
6 eggs.
1 cup milk.
1 tablespoonful butter.
Chopped parsley, salt, and pepper.
Chop the oysters very fine. Beat the yolks and whites of the eggs
separately as for nice cake—the white until it stands in a heap. Put
three tablespoonfuls of butter in a frying-pan, and heat while you are
mixing the omelet. Stir the milk into a deep dish with the yolk, and
season. Next put in the chopped oysters, beating vigorously as you add
them gradually. When they are thoroughly incorporated, pour in the
spoonful of melted butter; finally, whip in the whites lightly and with
as few strokes as possible. If the butter is hot, and it ought to be,
that the omelet may not stand uncooked, put the mixture into the pan.
_Do not stir it_, but when it begins to stiffen—“to set,” in culinary
phrase, slip a broad-bladed, round-pointed dinner-knife around the
sides, and cautiously under the omelet, that the butter may reach every
part. As soon as the centre is fairly “set,” turn out into a hot dish.
Lay the latter bottom upward over the frying-pan, which must be turned
upside-down dexterously. This brings the browned side of the omelet
uppermost. This omelet is delicious and easily made.
OYSTER PIE. ✠
Make a rich puff-paste; roll out twice as thick as for a fruit-pie
for the top crust—about the ordinary thickness for the lower. Line a
pudding-dish with the thinner, and fill with crusts of dry bread or
light crackers. Some use a folded towel to fill the interior of the
pie, but the above expedient is preferable. Butter the edges of the
dish, that you may be able to lift the upper crust without breaking.
Cover the mock-pie with the thick crust, ornamented heavily at the
edge, that it may lie the more quietly, and bake. Cook the oysters as
for a stew, only beating into them at the last two eggs, and thickening
with a spoonful of fine cracker-crumbs or rice-flour. They should stew
but five minutes, and time them so that the paste will be baked just
in season to receive them. Lift the top crust, pour in the smoking hot
oysters, and send up hot.
I know that many consider it unnecessary to prepare the oysters and
crust separately; but my experience and observation go to prove that,
if this precaution be omitted, the oysters are apt to be wofully
overdone. The reader can try both methods and take her choice.
PICKLED OYSTERS. ✠
100 large oysters.
1 pt. white wine vinegar.
1 doz. blades of mace.
2 doz. whole cloves.
2 doz. whole black peppers.
1 large red pepper broken into bits.
Put oysters, liquor and all, into a porcelain or bell-metal kettle.
Salt to taste. Heat slowly until the oysters are very hot, but not to
boiling. Take them out with a perforated skimmer, and set aside to
cool. To the liquor which remains in the kettle add the vinegar and
spices. Boil up fairly, and when the oysters are almost cold, pour over
them scalding hot. Cover the jar in which they are, and put away in a
cool place. Next day put the pickled oysters into glass cans with tight
tops. Keep in the dark, and where they are not liable to become heated.
I have kept oysters thus prepared for three weeks in the winter. If you
open a can, use the contents up as soon as practicable. The air, like
the light, will turn them dark.
It is little trouble for every housekeeper to put up the pickled
oysters needed in her family; and besides the satisfaction she will
feel in the consciousness that the materials used are harmless, and
the oysters sound, she will save at least one-third of the price
of those she would buy ready pickled. The colorless vinegar used by
“professionals” for such purposes is usually sulphuric or pyroligneous
acid. If you doubt this, pour a little of the liquor from the pickled
oysters put up by your obliging oyster-dealer into a bell-metal kettle.
I tried it once, and the result was a liquid that matched the clear
green of Niagara in hue.
ROAST OYSTERS.
There is no pleasanter frolic for an Autumn evening, in the regions
where oysters are plentiful, than an impromptu “roast” in the kitchen.
There the oysters are hastily thrown into the fire by the peck. You may
consider that your fastidious taste is marvellously respected if they
are washed first. A bushel basket is set to receive the empty shells,
and the click of the oyster-knives forms a constant accompaniment to
the music of laughing voices. Nor are roast oysters amiss upon your
own quiet supper-table, when the “good man” comes in on a wet night,
tired and hungry, and wants “something heartening.” Wash and wipe the
shell-oysters, and lay them in the oven, if it is quick; upon the top
of the stove, if it is not. When they open, they are done. Pile in a
large dish and send to table. Remove the upper shell by a dexterous
wrench of the knife, season the oyster on the lower, with pepper-sauce
and butter, or pepper, salt, and vinegar in lieu of the sauce, and you
have the very aroma of this pearl of bivalves, pure and undefiled.
Or, you may open while raw, leaving the oysters upon the lower shells;
lay in a large baking-pan, and roast in their own liquor, adding
pepper, salt, and butter before serving.
RAW OYSTERS.
It is fashionable to serve these as one of the preliminaries to a
dinner-party; sometimes in small plates, sometimes on the half-shell.
They are seasoned by each guest according to his own taste.
STEAMED OYSTERS.
If you have no steamer, improvise one by the help of a cullender and
a pot-lid fitting closely into it, at a little distance from the top.
Wash some shell oysters and lay them in such a position in the bottom
of the cullender that the liquor will not escape from them when the
shell opens, that is, with the upper shell down. Cover with a cloth
thrown over the top of the cullender, and press the lid hard down upon
this to exclude the air. Set over a pot of boiling water so deep that
the cullender, which should fit into the mouth, does not touch the
water. Boil hard for twenty minutes, then make a hasty examination of
the oysters. If they are open, you are safe in removing the cover.
Serve on the half-shell, or upon a hot chafing dish. Sprinkle a little
salt over them and a few bits of butter; but be quick in whatever you
do, for the glory of the steamed oyster is to be eaten hot.
OYSTER PÂTÉS. ✠
1 qt. oysters.
2 tablespoonfuls of butter.
Pepper, and a pinch of salt.
Set the oysters, with enough liquor to cover them, in a saucepan upon
the range or stove; let them come to a boil; skim well, and stir in
the butter and seasoning. Two or three spoonsful of cream will improve
them. Have ready small tins lined with puff paste. Put three or four
oysters in each, according to the size of the _pâté_; cover with paste
and bake in a quick oven twenty minutes. For open _pâtés_, cut the
paste into round cakes: those intended for the bottom crust less than
an eighth of an inch thick; for the upper, a little thicker. With a
smaller cutter, remove a round of paste from the middle of the latter,
leaving a neat ring. Lay this carefully upon the bottom crust; place a
second ring upon this, that the cavity may be deep enough to hold the
oysters; lay the pieces you have extracted also in the pan with the
rest, and bake to a fine brown in a _quick_ oven. When done, wash over
with beaten egg, around top and all, and set in the oven three minutes
to glaze. Fill the cavity with a mixture prepared as below, fit on the
top lightly, and serve.
_Mixture._
Boil half the liquor from a quart of oysters. Put in all the oysters,
leaving out the uncooked liquor; heat to boiling, and stir in—
½ cup of hot milk.
1 tablespoonful butter.
2 tablespoonfuls corn starch, wet with a little milk.
A little salt.
Boil four minutes, stirring all the time until it thickens, and fill
the cavity in the paste shells. These _pâtés_ are very nice.
SCALLOPS.
The heart is the only part used. If you buy them in the shell, boil and
take out the hearts. Those sold in our markets are generally ready for
frying or stewing.
Dip them in beaten egg, then in cracker-crumbs and fry in hot lard.
_Or,_
You may stew like oysters. The fried scallops are generally preferred.
SCALLOPED CLAMS.
Chop the clams fine, and season with pepper and salt. Cayenne pepper
is thought to give a finer flavor than black or white; but to some
palates it is insufferable. Mix in another dish some powdered cracker,
moistened first with warm milk, then with the clam liquor, a beaten
egg or two, and some melted butter. Stir in with this the chopped
clams. Wash as many clam-shells as the mixture will fill; wipe and
butter them; fill, heaping up and smoothing over with a silver knife
or teaspoon. Range in rows in your baking-pan, and cook until nicely
browned. Or, if you do not care to be troubled with the shells, bake
in patty-pans, sending to table hot in the tins, as you would in the
scallop-shells.
CLAM FRITTERS. ✠
12 clams, minced fine.
1 pint of milk.
3 eggs.
Add the liquor from the clams to the milk; beat up the eggs and put to
this, with salt and pepper, and flour enough for thin batter; lastly,
the chopped clams. Fry in hot lard, trying a little first to see that
fat and batter are right. A tablespoonful will make a fritter of
moderate size. Or, you can dip the whole clams in batter and cook in
like manner. Fry quickly, or they are apt to be too greasy.
CLAM CHOWDER. ✠
Fry five or six slices of fat pork crisp, and chop to pieces. Sprinkle
some of these in the bottom of a pot; lay upon them a stratum of clams;
sprinkle with cayenne or black pepper and salt, and scatter bits of
butter profusely over all; next, have a layer of chopped onions, then
one of small crackers, split and moistened with warm milk. On these
pour a little of the fat left in the pan after the pork is fried, and
then comes a new round of pork, clams, onion, etc. Proceed in this
order until the pot is nearly full, when cover with water, and stew
slowly—the pot closely covered—for three-quarters of an hour. Drain
off all the liquor that will flow freely, and, when you have turned
the chowder into the tureen, return the gravy to the pot. Thicken with
flour, or, better still, pounded crackers; add a glass of wine, some
catsup, and spiced sauce; boil up, and pour over the contents of the
tureen. Send around walnut or butternut pickles with it.
POULTRY.
Poultry should never be eaten in less than six or eight hours after
it is killed; but it should be picked and drawn as soon as possible.
There is no direr disgrace to our Northern markets than the practice of
sending whole dead fowls to market. I have bought such from responsible
poultry dealers, and found them uneatable, from having remained undrawn
until the flavor of the craw and intestines had impregnated the whole
body. Those who are conversant with the habit of careful country
housewives, of keeping up a fowl without food for a day and night
before killing and dressing for their own eating, cannot but regard
with disgust the surcharged crops and puffy sides of those sold _by
weight_ in the shambles. If you want to know what you really pay for
poultry bought in these circumstances, weigh the offal extracted from
the fowl by your cook, and deduct from the market weight. “But don’t
you know it actually poisons a fowl to lie so long undressed?” once
exclaimed a Southern lady to me. “In _our_ markets they are offered for
sale ready picked and drawn, with the giblets—also cleaned—tucked under
their wings.”
I know nothing about the poisonous nature of the entrails and crops. I
do assert that the custom is unclean and unjust. And this I do without
the remotest hope of arousing my fellow-housekeepers to remonstrance
against established usage. Only it relieves my mind somewhat to grumble
at what I cannot help. The best remedy I can propose for the grievance
is to buy live fowls, and, before sending them home, ask your butcher
to decapitate them; the probabilities being greatly in favor of the
supposition that your cook is too “tinder-hearted” to attempt the job.
One word as to the manner of roasting meats and fowls. In this day
of ranges and cooking-stoves, I think I am speaking within bounds
when I assume that not one housekeeper in fifty uses a spit, or even
a tin kitchen, for such purposes. It is in vain that the writers of
receipt-books inform us with refreshing _naïveté_ that all our meats
are baked, not roasted, and expatiate upon the superior flavor of
those prepared upon the English spits and in old fashioned kitchens,
where enormous wood-fires blazed from morning until night. I shall
not soon forget my perplexity when, an inexperienced housekeeper and
a firm believer in all “that was writ” by older and wiser people, I
stood before my neat Mott’s “Defiance,” a fine sirloin of beef ready
to be cooked on the table behind me, and read from my Instruction-book
that my “fire should extend at least eight inches beyond the roaster
on either side!” I am not denying the virtues of spits and tin
kitchens—only regretting that they are not within the reach of every
one. In view of this fact, let me remark, for the benefit of the
unfortunate many, that, in the opinion of excellent judges, the
practice of roasting meat in close ovens has advantages. Of these I
need mention but two, to wit, the preservation of the flavor of the
article roasted, and the prevention of its escape to the upper regions
of the dwelling.
ROAST TURKEY.
After drawing the turkey, rinse out with several waters, and in next to
the last mix a teaspoonful of soda. The inside of a fowl, especially
if purchased in the market, is sometimes very sour, and imparts an
unpleasant taste to the stuffing, if not to the inner part of the legs
and side-bones. The soda will act as a corrective, and is moreover very
cleansing. Fill the body with this water, shake well, empty it out,
and rinse with fair water. Then prepare a dressing of bread-crumbs,
mixed with butter, pepper, salt, thyme or sweet marjoram. You may, if
you like, add the beaten yolks of two eggs. A little chopped sausage
is esteemed an improvement when well incorporated with the other
ingredients. Or, mince a dozen oysters and stir into the dressing. The
effect upon the turkey-meat, particularly that of the breast, is very
pleasant.
Stuff the craw with this, and tie a string tightly about the neck, to
prevent the escape of the stuffing. Then fill the body of the turkey,
and sew it up with strong thread. This and the neck-string are to be
removed when the fowl is dished. In roasting, if your fire is brisk,
allow about ten minutes to a pound; but it will depend very much upon
the turkey’s age whether this rule holds good. Dredge it with flour
before roasting, and baste often; at first with butter and water,
afterward with the gravy in the dripping-pan. If you lay the turkey in
the pan, put in with it a teacup of hot water. Many roast always upon
a grating placed on the top of the pan. In that case the boiling water
steams the underpart of the fowl, and prevents the skin from drying too
fast, or cracking. Roast to a fine brown, and if it threaten to darken
too rapidly, lay a sheet of white paper over it until the lower part is
also done.
Stew the chopped giblets in just enough water to cover them, and when
the turkey is lifted from the pan, add these, with the water in which
they were boiled, to the drippings; thicken with a spoonful of browned
flour, wet with cold water to prevent lumping, boil up once, and pour
into the gravy-boat. If the turkey is fat, skim the drippings well
before putting in the giblets.
Serve with cranberry sauce. Some lay fried oysters in the dish around
the turkey.
BOILED TURKEY.
Chop about two dozen oysters, and mix with them a dressing compounded
as for roast turkey, only with more butter. Stuff the turkey as for
roasting, craw and body, and baste about it a thin cloth, fitted
closely to every part. The inside of the cloth should be dredged with
flour to prevent the fowl from sticking to it. Allow fifteen minutes to
a pound, and boil slowly.
Serve with oyster-sauce, made by adding to a cupful of the liquor in
which the turkey was boiled, eight oysters chopped fine. Season with
minced parsley, stir in a spoonful of rice or wheat flour, wet with
cold milk, a tablespoonful of butter. Add a cupful of hot milk. Boil up
once and pour into an oyster-tureen. Send around celery with it.
TURKEY SCALLOP. ✠
Cut the meat from the bones of a cold boiled or roasted turkey left
from yesterday’s dinner. Remove the bits of skin and gristle, and chop
up the rest very fine. Put in the bottom of a buttered dish a layer of
cracker or bread-crumbs; moisten slightly with milk, that they may not
absorb all the gravy to be poured in afterward; then spread a layer of
the minced turkey, with bits of the stuffing, pepper, salt, and small
pieces of butter. Another layer of cracker, wet with milk, and so on
until the dish is nearly full. Before putting on the topmost layer,
pour in the gravy left from the turkey, diluted—should there not be
enough—with hot water, and seasoned with Worcestershire sauce, or
catsup, and butter. Have ready a crust of cracker-crumbs soaked in warm
milk, seasoned with salt, and beaten up light with two eggs. It should
be just thick enough to spread smoothly over the top of the scallop.
Stick bits of butter plentifully upon it, and bake. Turn a deep
plate over the dish until the contents begin to bubble at the sides,
showing that the whole is thoroughly cooked; then remove the cover,
and brown. A large pudding-dish full of the mixture will be cooked in
three-quarters of an hour.
This, like many other economical dishes, will prove so savory as to
claim a frequent appearance upon any table.
Cold chicken may be prepared in the same way
_Or,_
The minced turkey, dressing, and cracker-crumbs may be wet with
gravy, two eggs beaten into it, and the force-meat thus made rolled
into oblong shapes, dipped in egg and pounded cracker, and fried like
croquettes, for a side dish, to “make out” a dinner of ham or cold meat.
RAGOÛT OF TURKEY.
This is also a cheap, yet nice dish. Cut the cold turkey from the bones
and into bits an inch long with knife and fork, tearing as little as
possible. Put into a skillet or saucepan the gravy left from the roast,
with hot water to dilute it should the quantity be small. Add a lump
of butter the size of an egg, a teaspoonful of pungent sauce, a large
pinch of nutmeg, with a little salt. Let it boil, and put in the meat.
Stew very slowly for ten minutes—not more—and stir in a tablespoonful
of cranberry or currant jelly, another of browned flour which has been
wet with cold water; lastly, a glass of brown Sherry or Madeira. Boil
up once, and serve in a covered dish for breakfast. Leave out the
stuffing entirely; it is no improvement to the flavor, and disfigures
the appearance of the ragoût.
ROAST CHICKENS.
Having picked and drawn them, wash out well in two or three waters,
adding a little soda to the last but one should any doubtful odor
linger about the cavity. Prepare a stuffing of bread-crumbs, butter,
pepper, salt, &c. Fill the bodies and crops of the chickens, which
should be young and plump; sew them up, and roast an hour or more, in
proportion to their size. Baste two or three times with butter and
water, afterward with their own gravy. If laid flat within the dripping
pan, put in at the first a little hot water to prevent burning.
Stew the giblets and necks in enough water to cover them, and, when you
have removed the fowls to a hot dish, pour this into the drippings;
boil up once; add the giblets, chopped fine; thicken with browned
flour; boil again, and send to table in a gravy-boat.
Serve with crab-apple jelly or tomato sauce.
BOILED CHICKENS.
Clean, wash, and stuff as for roasting. Baste a floured cloth around
each, and put into a pot with enough boiling water to cover them
well. The hot water cooks the skin at once, and prevents the escape
of the juices. The broth will not be so rich as if the fowls are put
on in cold water, but this is a proof that the meat will be more
nutritious and better flavored. Stew very slowly, for the first half
hour especially. Boil an hour or more, guiding yourself by size and
toughness.
Serve with egg or bread sauce. (See _Sauces_.)
FRICASSEED CHICKEN. (_White._) ✠
Clean, wash, and cut up the fowls, which need not be so tender as
for roasting. Lay them in salt and water for half an hour. Put them
in a pot with enough cold water to cover them, and half a pound of
salt pork cut into thin strips. Cover closely, and let them heat very
slowly; then stew for over an hour, if the fowls are tender. I have
used chickens for this purpose that required four hours stewing, but
they were tender and good when done. Only put them on in season, and
cook very slowly. If they boil fast, they toughen and shrink into
uneatableness. When tender, add a chopped onion or two, parsley, and
pepper. Cover closely again, and, when it has heated to boiling, stir
in a teacupful of milk, to which have been added two beaten eggs and
two tablespoonfuls of flour. Boil up fairly; add a great spoonful of
butter. Arrange the chicken neatly in a deep chafing-dish, pour the
gravy over it, and serve.
In this, as in all cases where beaten egg is added to hot liquor, it is
best to dip out a few spoonfuls of the latter, and drop a little at a
time into the egg, beating all the while, that it may heat evenly and
gradually before it is put into the scalding contents of the saucepan
or pot. Eggs managed in this way will not curdle, as they are apt to do
if thrown suddenly into hot liquid.
FRICASSEED CHICKEN. (_Brown._) ✠
Clean, wash, and cut up a pair of young chickens. Lay in clear water
for half an hour. If they are old, you cannot brown them well. Put them
in a saucepan, with enough cold water to cover them well, and set over
the fire to heat slowly. Meanwhile, cut half a pound of salt pork into
strips, and fry crisp. Take them out, chop fine, and put into the
pot with the chicken. Fry in the fat left in the frying-pan one large
onion, or two or three small ones, cut into slices. Let them brown
well, and add them also to the chicken, with a quarter teaspoonful of
allspice and cloves. Stew all together slowly for an hour or more,
until the meat is very tender; you can test this with a fork. Take out
the pieces of fowl and put in a hot dish, covering closely until the
gravy is ready. Add to this a great spoonful of walnut or other dark
catsup, and nearly three tablespoonfuls of browned flour, a little
chopped parsley, and a glass of brown Sherry. Boil up once; strain
through a cullender, to remove the bits of pork and onion; return to
the pot, with the chicken; let it come to a final boil, and serve,
pouring the gravy over the pieces of fowl.
BROILED CHICKEN.
It is possible to render a tough fowl eatable by boiling or stewing
it with care. _Never_ broil such! And even when assured that your
“broiler” is young, it is wise to make this doubly sure by laying it
upon sticks extending from side to side of a dripping-pan full of
boiling water. Set this in the oven, invert a tin pan over the chicken,
and let it steam for half an hour. This process relaxes the muscles,
and renders supple the joints, besides preserving the juices that would
be lost in parboiling. The chicken should be split down the back, and
wiped perfectly dry before it is steamed. Transfer from the vapor-bath
to a buttered gridiron, inside downward. Cover with a tin pan or common
plate, and broil until tender and brown, turning several times; from
half to three-quarters of an hour will be sufficient. Put into a hot
chafing-dish, and butter very well. Send to table smoking hot.
FRIED CHICKEN (_No. 1_).
Clean, wash, and cut to pieces a couple of Spring chickens. Have
ready in a frying-pan enough boiling lard or dripping to cover them
well. Dip each piece in beaten egg when you have salted it, then in
cracker-crumbs, and fry until brown. If the chicken is large, steam
it before frying, as directed in the foregoing receipt. When you have
taken out the meat, throw into the hot fat a dozen sprigs of parsley,
and let them remain a minute—just long enough to crisp, but not to dry
them. Garnish the chicken by strewing these over it.
FRIED CHICKEN (_No. 2_).
Cut up half a pound of fat salt pork in a frying-pan, and fry until the
grease is extracted, but not until it browns. Wash and cut up a young
chicken (broiling size), soak in salt and water for half an hour; wipe
dry, season with pepper, and dredge with flour; then fry in the hot
fat until each piece is a rich brown on both sides. Take up, drain,
and set aside in a hot covered dish. Pour into the gravy left in the
frying-pan a cup of milk—half cream is better; thicken with a spoonful
of flour and a tablespoonful of butter; add some chopped parsley, boil
up, and pour over the hot chicken. This is a standard dish in the Old
Dominion, and tastes nowhere else as it does when eaten on Virginia
soil. The cream gravy is often omitted, and the chicken served up dry,
with bunches of fried parsley dropped upon it.
CHICKEN POT-PIE.
Line the bottom and sides of a pot with a good rich paste, reserving
enough for a top crust and for the square bits to be scattered through
the pie. Butter the pot very lavishly, or your pastry will stick to it
and burn. Cut up a fine large fowl, and half a pound of corned ham or
salt pork. Put in a layer of the latter, pepper it, and cover with
pieces of the chicken, and this with the paste dumplings or squares.
If you use potatoes, parboil them before putting them into the pie,
as the first water in which they are boiled is rank and unwholesome.
The potatoes should be sliced and laid next the pastry squares; then
another layer of pork, and so on until your chicken is used up. Cover
with pastry rolled out quite thick, and slit this in the middle. Heat
very slowly, and boil two hours. Turn into a large dish, the lower
crust on top, and the gravy about it.
This is the old-fashioned pot-pie, dear to the memory of men who were
school-boys thirty and forty years ago. If you are not experienced in
such manufactures, you had better omit the lower crust; and, having
browned the upper, by putting a hot pot-lid or stove-cover on top of
the pot for some minutes, remove dexterously without breaking. Pour out
the chicken into a dish, and set the crust above it.
Veal, beef-steak, lamb (not mutton), hares, &c., may be substituted for
the chicken. The pork will salt it sufficiently.
BAKED CHICKEN PIE ✠
Is made as above, but baked in a buttered pudding-dish, and, in place
of the potatoes, three hard-boiled eggs are chopped up and strewed
among the pieces of chicken. If the chickens are tough, or even
doubtful, parboil them before making the pie, adding the water in
which they were boiled, instead of cold water, for gravy. If they are
lean, put in a few bits of butter. Ornament with leaves cut out with a
cake-cutter, and a star in the centre. Bake an hour—more, if the pie is
large.
CHICKEN PUDDING. ✠
Cut up as for fricassee, and parboil, seasoning well with pepper,
salt, and a lump of butter the size of an egg, to each chicken. The
fowls should be young and tender, and divided at every joint. Stew
slowly for half an hour, take them out, and lay on a flat dish to cool.
Set aside the water in which they were stewed for your gravy.
Make a batter of one quart of milk, three cups of flour, three
tablespoonfuls melted butter, half a teaspoonful soda, and one spoonful
of cream tartar, with four eggs well beaten, and a little salt. Put
a layer of chicken in the bottom of the dish, and pour about half a
cupful of batter over it—enough to conceal the meat; then, another
layer of chicken, and more batter, until the dish is full. The batter
must form the crust. Bake one hour, in a moderate oven, if the dish is
large.
Beat up an egg, and stir into the gravy which was set aside; thicken
with two teaspoonfuls of rice or wheat flour, add a little chopped
parsley; boil up, and send it to table in a gravy-boat.
CHICKEN AND HAM. ✠
Draw, wash, and stuff a pair of young fowls. Cut enough large, thick
slices of cold boiled ham to envelop these entirely, wrapping them up
carefully, and winding a string about all, to prevent the ham from
falling off. Put into your dripping-pan, with a little water to prevent
scorching; dashing it over the meat lest it should dry and shrink.
Invert a tin pan over all, and bake slowly for one hour and a quarter,
if the fowls are small and tender—longer, if tough. Lift the cover from
time to time to baste with the drippings—the more frequently as time
wears on. Test the tenderness of the fowls, by sticking a fork through
the ham into the breast. When done, undo the strings, lay the fowls in
a hot dish, and the slices of ham about them. Stir into the dripping a
little chopped parsley, a tablespoonful of browned flour wet in cold
water; pepper, and let it boil up once. Pour some of it over the
chickens—not enough to float the ham in the dish; serve the rest in a
gravy-boat.
ROAST DUCKS.
Clean, wash, and wipe the ducks very carefully. To the usual dressing
add a little sage (powdered or green), and a minced shallot. Stuff,
and sew up as usual, reserving the giblets for the gravy. If they
are tender, they will not require more than an hour to roast. Baste
well. Skim the gravy before putting in the giblets and thickening. The
giblets should be stewed in a very little water, then chopped fine, and
added to the gravy in the dripping-pan, with a chopped shallot and a
spoonful of browned flour.
Accompany with currant or grape jelly.
TO USE UP COLD DUCK. ✠
I may say, as preface, that cold duck is in itself an excellent supper
dish, or side dish, at a family dinner, and is often preferred to hot.
If the duck has been cut into at all, divide neatly into joints, and
slice the breast, laying slices of dressing about it. Garnish with
lettuce or parsley, and eat with jelly.
But if a warm dish is desired, cut the meat from the bones and lay in
a saucepan, with a little minced cold ham; pour on just enough water
to cover it, and stir in a tablespoonful of butter. Cover, and heat
gradually, until it is _near_ boiling. Then add the gravy, diluted with
a little hot water; a great spoonful of catsup, one of Worcestershire
sauce, and one of currant or cranberry jelly, with a glass of wine and
a tablespoonful of browned flour.
_Or,_
You may put the gravy, with a little hot water and a lump of butter, in
a frying-pan, and when it is hot lay in the pieces of duck, and warm
up quickly, stirring in at the last a teaspoonful of Worcestershire
sauce and a tablespoonful of jelly.
Serve in a hot chafing-dish.
(For wild ducks, see GAME.)
STEWED DUCK.
This is a good way to treat an old tough fowl.
Clean and divide, as you would a chicken for fricassee. Put in a
saucepan, with several (minced) slices of cold ham or salt pork which
is not too fat, and stew slowly for at least an hour—keeping the lid
on all the while. Then stir in a chopped onion, a half-spoonful of
powdered sage, or of the green leaves cut fine, half as much parsley,
a tablespoonful catsup, and black pepper. Stew another half-hour, or
until the duck is tender, and add a teaspoonful brown sugar, and a
tablespoonful of browned flour, previously wet with cold water. Boil
up once, and serve in a deep covered dish, with green peas as an
accompaniment.
GUINEA FOWLS.
Many are not aware what an excellent article of food these speckled
Arabs of the poultry-yard are. They are kept chiefly for the beauty
of their plumage, and their delicious eggs, which are far richer than
those of chickens.
Unless young they are apt to be tough, and the dark color of the meat
is objected to by those who are not fond of, or used to eating game.
Cooked according to the foregoing receipt they are very savory, no
matter how old they may be. Put them on early, and stew _slowly_, and
good management will bring the desired end to pass. There is nothing
in the shape of game or poultry that is not amenable to this process,
providing the salt be omitted until the meat is tender.
But a pair of young Guinea fowls, stuffed and roasted, basting them
with butter until they are half done, deserve an honorable place upon
our bill of fare. Season the gravy with a chopped shallot, parsley,
or summer savory, not omitting the minced giblets, and thicken with
browned flour. Send around currant, or other tart jelly, with the fowl.
A little ham, minced fine, improves the dressing.
ROAST GOOSE.
Clean and wash the goose—not forgetting to put a spoonful of soda in
next to the last water, rinse out well, and wipe the inside quite
dry. Add to the usual stuffing of bread-crumbs, pepper, salt, etc., a
tablespoonful melted butter, an onion chopped fine, a tablespoonful
chopped sage, the yolks of two eggs, and some minute bits of fat pork.
Stuff body and craw, and sew up. It will take fully two hours to roast,
if the fire is strong. Cover the breast, until it is half done, with
white paper, or a paste of flour and water, removing this when you are
ready to brown.
Make a gravy as for roast duck, adding a glass of Sherry or Madeira, or
(if you can get it) old Port.
Send to table with cranberry or apple sauce.
GOOSE PIE.
An old goose is as nearly good for nothing as it is possible for
anything which was once valuable, and is not now absolutely spoiled,
to be. The best use to put it to is to make it into a pie, in the
following manner. Put on the ancient early in the morning, in cold
water enough to cover it, unsalted, having cut it to pieces at every
joint. Warm it up gradually, and let it stew—not boil hard—for four or
five hours. Should the water need replenishing, let it be done from
the boiling kettle. Parboil a beef’s tongue (corned), cut into slices
nearly half an inch thick; also slice six hard-boiled eggs. Line a deep
pudding-dish with a good paste; lay in the pieces of goose, the giblets
chopped, the sliced tongue and egg, in consecutive layers; season with
pepper, salt, and bits of butter, and proceed in this order until the
dish is full. If the goose be large, cut the meat from the bones after
stewing, and leave out the latter entirely. Intersperse with strips
of paste, and fill up with the gravy in which the goose was stewed,
thickened with flour. Cover with a thick paste, and when it is done,
brush over the top with beaten white of egg.
In cold weather this pie will keep a week, and is very good.
ROAST PIGEONS.
Clean, wash, and stuff as you would chickens. Lay them in rows,
if roasted in the oven, with a little water in the pan to prevent
scorching. Unless they are very fat, baste with butter until they are
half done, afterwards with their own gravy. Thicken the gravy that
drips from them, and boil up once; then pour into a gravy-boat. The
pigeons should lie close together in the dish.
STEWED PIGEONS.
Pick, draw, clean and stuff as above directed. Put the pigeons in a
deep pot with enough cold water to cover them, and stew gently for
an hour, or until, testing them with a fork, you find them tender.
Then season with pepper, salt, a few blades of mace, a little sweet
marjoram, and a good piece of butter. Stew, or rather simmer, for five
minutes longer—then stir in a tablespoonful of browned flour. Let it
boil up once; remove the pigeons, draw out the strings with which they
were sewed up, and serve, pouring the hot gravy over them. A little
salt pork or ham, cut into strips, is an improvement. This should be
put in when the pigeons have stewed half an hour.
BROILED PIGEONS OR SQUABS.
Young pigeons or “squabs” are rightly esteemed a great delicacy. They
are cleaned, washed, and dried carefully with a clean cloth; then split
down the back, and broiled like chickens. Season with pepper and salt,
and butter liberally in dishing them. They are in great request in a
convalescent’s room, being peculiarly savory and nourishing.
They may, for a change, be roasted whole, according to the receipt for
roast pigeons.
PIGEON PIE.
Is best made of wild pigeons. (SEE GAME.)
MEATS.
ROAST BEEF.
The best pieces for roasting are the sirloin and rib pieces. The latter
are oftenest used by small families. Make your butcher remove most of
the bone, and skewer the meat into the shape of a round. If you roast
in an oven, it is a good plan to dash a small cup of _boiling_ water
over the meat in first putting it down, letting it trickle into the
pan. This, for a season, checks the escape of the juices, and allows
the meat to get warmed through before the top dries by said escape. If
there is much fat upon the upper surface, cover with a paste of flour
and water until it is nearly done. Baste frequently, at first with
salt and water, afterward with the drippings. Allow about a quarter of
an hour to a pound, if you like your meat rare; more, if you prefer
to have it well done. Some, when the meat is almost done, dredge with
flour and baste with butter—only once.
Remove the beef, when quite ready, to a heated dish; skim the
drippings; add a teacupful of boiling water, boil up once, and send
to table in a gravy-boat. Many reject made gravy altogether, and
only serve the red liquor that runs from the meat into the dish as
it is cut. This is the practice with some—indeed most of our best
housekeepers. If you have made gravy in a sauce-boat, give your guest
his choice between that and the juice in the dish.
Serve with mustard, or scraped horse-radish and vinegar.
ROAST BEEF WITH YORKSHIRE PUDDING. ✠
Set a piece of beef to roast upon a grating, or several sticks laid
across a dripping-pan. Three-quarters of an hour before it is done,
mix the pudding and pour into the pan. Continue to roast the beef, the
dripping meanwhile falling upon the latter below. When both are done,
cut the pudding into squares, and lay around the meat when dished. If
there is much fat in the dripping-pan before the pudding is ready to be
put in, drain it off, leaving just enough to prevent the batter from
sticking to the bottom.
_Receipt for Pudding._
1 pint of milk.
4 eggs, whites and yolks beaten separately.
2 cups of prepared flour.
1 teaspoonful salt.
Be careful, in mixing, not to get the batter too stiff.
This pudding, which the cook who introduced it into my family persisted
in calling “_Auction_ pudding,” is very palatable and popular, and not
so rich as would be thought from the manner of baking. It should be a
yellow-brown when done.
BEEF-STEAK.
It is not customary to fry beef-steaks for people who know what
really good cookery is. To speak more plainly, a steak, _killed_ by
heat and swimming in grease, is a culinary solecism, both vulgar and
indigestible.
Cut the steak thick, at least three-quarters of an inch in thickness,
and if you cannot get tender meat for this purpose, it is best to
substitute some other dish for it. But since tender meat is not always
to be had, if the piece you have purchased is doubtful, lay it on a
clean cloth, take a blunt heavy carving-knife, if you have not a steak
mallet, and hack _closely_ from one end to the other; then turn and
repeat the process upon the other side. The knife should be so dull
you cannot cut with it, and the strokes not the sixtieth part of an
inch apart. Wipe all over on both sides with _lemon-juice_, cover, and
leave it in a cool place for one hour. Lay on a buttered gridiron over
a clear fire, turning very often as it begins to drip. Do not season
until it is done, which will be in about twelve minutes, if the fire
is good and the cook attentive. Rub your hot chafing dish with a split
raw onion, lay in the steak, salt and pepper on both sides, and put a
liberal lump of butter upon the upper. Then put on a hot cover, and
let it stand five minutes to draw the juices to the surface before it
is eaten. If you have neither chafing-dish nor cover, lay the steak
between two hot platters for the same time, sending to table without
uncovering. A gridiron fitting _under_ the grate is better than any
other. If a gridiron is not at hand, rub a little butter upon the
bottom of a hot, clean frying-pan, put in the meat, set over a bright
fire, and turn frequently. This will not be equal to steak cooked upon
a gridiron, but it is infinitely preferable to the same fried.
I shall never forget the wondering distrust with which my first cook,
a sable “professional,” watched me when I undertook to show her how
to prepare a steak for the third breakfast over which I presided as
mistress of ceremonies. And when, at the end of twelve minutes, I
removed the meat, “rare and hot,” to the heated dish in readiness, her
sniff of lofty contempt was as eloquent as indescribable.
“Call dat _cooked_! Folks ’bout here would ’a had dat steak on by
day-break!”
A remark that has been recalled to my mind hundreds of times since at
the tables of so-called capital housewives.
The best—nay, the only pieces for steak are those known as porter-house
and sirloin. The former is the more highly esteemed by gourmands; but
a really tender sirloin is more serviceable where there are several
persons in the family, the porter-house having a narrow strip of
extremely nice meat lying next the bone, while the rest is often
inferior to any part of the sirloin. If the meat be tender omit the
hacking process and lemon-juice.
BEEF-STEAK AND ONIONS.
Prepare the steak as above directed. While it is broiling put three
or four chopped onions in a frying-pan with a little beef-dripping or
butter. Stir and shake them briskly until they are done, and begin to
brown. Dish your steak and lay the onions thickly on top. Cover and
let all stand five or six minutes, that the hot onions may impart the
required flavor to the hot meat. In helping your guests, inquire if
they will take onions with the slices of steak put upon their plates. I
need hardly remind the sensible cook how necessary it is to withdraw
the gridiron from the fire for an instant, should the fat drip upon
the coals below, and smoke or blaze. Yet those who have eaten steaks
flavored with creosote may thank me for the suggestion.
BEEF À-LA-MODE. ✠
Take a round of beef; remove the bone from the middle, and trim away
the tougher bits about the edges, with such gristle, &c., as you can
reach. Set these aside for soup-stock.
Bind the beef into a symmetrical shape by passing a strip of stout
muslin, as wide as the round is high, about it, and stitching the
ends together at one side. Have ready at least a pound of fat salt
pork, cut into strips as thick as your middle finger, and long enough
to reach from top to bottom of the trussed round. Put a half pint of
vinegar over the fire in a tin or porcelain saucepan; season with
three or four minced shallots or button onions, two teaspoonfuls made
mustard, a teaspoonful nutmeg, one of cloves, half as much allspice,
half-spoonful black pepper, with a bunch of sweet herbs minced fine,
and a tablespoonful brown sugar. Let all simmer for five minutes, then
boil up once, and pour, while scalding hot, upon the strips of pork,
which should be laid in a deep dish. Let all stand together until
cold. Remove the pork to a plate, and mix with the liquor left in the
dish enough bread-crumbs to make a tolerably stiff force-meat. If the
vinegar is very strong, dilute with a little water before moistening
the crumbs. With a long, thin-bladed knife, make perpendicular
incisions in the meat, not more than half an inch apart, even nearer is
better; thrust into these the strips of fat pork, so far down that the
upper ends are just level with the surface, and work into the cavities
with them a little of the force-meat. Proceed thus until the meat is
fairly riddled and plugged with the pork. Fill the hole from which the
bone was taken with the dressing and bits of pork; rub the upper side
of the beef well with the spiced force-meat. Put into a baking-pan;
half-fill this with boiling water; turn a large pan over it to keep
in the steam, and roast slowly for five or six hours, allowing half
an hour to each pound of meat. If the beef be tough, you had better
stew the round by putting it in a pot with half enough cold water to
cover it. Cover tightly and stew very slowly for six hours; then set
in the oven with the gravy about it, and brown half an hour, basting
frequently.
If you roast the round, do not remove the cover, except to baste (and
this should be done often), until fifteen minutes before you draw it
from the oven. Set away with the muslin band still about it, and pour
the gravy over the meat.
When cold, lift from the gravy,—which, by the way, will be excellent
seasoning for your soup-stock,—cut the stitches in the muslin girdle,
remove carefully and send the meat to table, cold, garnished with
parsley and nasturtium blossoms. Carve horizontally, in slices thin
as a shaving. Do not offer the outside to any one; but the second cut
will be handsomely marbled with the white pork, which appearance should
continue all the way down.
I cannot too highly commend this as a side-dish at dinner, and a supper
and breakfast stand-by. In winter it will keep a week and more, and as
long in summer, if kept in the refrigerator—except when it is on the
table.
BREAKFAST STEW OF BEEF. ✠
Cut up two pounds of beef—not too lean—into pieces an inch long; put
them into a saucepan with just enough water to cover them, and stew
gently for two hours. Set away until next morning, when season with
pepper, salt, sweet marjoram or summer savory, chopped onion, and
parsley. Stew half an hour longer, and add a teaspoonful of sauce or
catsup, and a tablespoonful of browned flour wet up with cold water;
finally, if you wish to have it very good, half a glass of wine. Boil
up once, and pour into a covered deep dish.
This is an economical dish, for it can be made of the commoner parts
of the beef, and exceedingly nice for winter breakfasts. Eaten with
corn-bread and stewed potatoes, it will soon win its way to a place in
the “stock company” of every judicious housewife.
ANOTHER BREAKFAST DISH.
Cut thin slices of cold roast beef, and lay them in a tin saucepan
set in a pot of boiling water. Cover them with a gravy made of three
tablespoonfuls of melted butter, one of walnut catsup, a teaspoonful
of vinegar, a little salt and pepper, a spoonful of currant jelly, a
teaspoonful made mustard, and some warm water. Cover tightly, and steam
for half an hour, keeping the water in the outer vessel on a hard boil.
If the meat is underdone, this is particularly nice.
BEEF HASH.
To two parts cold roast or boiled corned beef, chopped fine, put one of
mashed potatoes, a little pepper, salt, milk, and melted butter. Turn
all into a frying-pan, and stir until it is heated through and smoking
hot, but not until it browns. Put into a deep dish, and if stiff
enough, smooth as you would mashed potato, into a hillock.
Or, you can cease stirring for a few minutes, and let a brown crust
form on the under side; then turn out whole into a flat dish, the brown
side uppermost.
Or, mould the mixture into flat cakes; dip these in beaten egg flour,
and fry in hot drippings.
The remains of beef _à-la-mode_ are very good prepared in any of these
ways. A little catsup and mustard are an improvement to plain cold
beef, thus hashed.
BEEF-STEAK PIE.
Cut the steak into pieces an inch long, and stew with the bone
(cracked) in just enough water to cover the meat until it is half-done.
At the same time parboil a dozen potatoes in another pot. If you wish
a bottom crust—a doubtful question—line a pudding-dish with a good
paste, made according to the receipt given below. Put in a layer of the
beef, with salt and pepper, and a very little chopped onion; then one
of sliced potatoes, with a little butter scattered upon them, and so
on, until the dish is full. Pour over all the gravy in which the meat
is stewed, having first thrown away the bone and thickened with browned
flour. Cover with a crust thicker than the lower, leaving a slit in the
middle.
CRUST FOR MEAT-PIES. ✠
1 quart of flour.
3 tablespoonfuls of lard.
2½ cups milk.
1 teaspoonful of soda wet with hot water, and stirred into the milk.
2 teaspoonfuls of cream-tartar sifted into the dry flour.
1 teaspoonful of salt.
Work up very lightly and quickly, and do not get too stiff.
If you can get prepared flour, omit the soda and cream-tartar.
BEEF PIE, WITH POTATO CRUST. ✠
Mince some rare roast beef or cold corned beef, if it is not too salt;
season with pepper and salt, and spread a layer in the bottom of a
pudding-dish. Over this put one of mashed potato, and stick bits of
butter thickly all over it; then another of meat, and so on until you
are ready for the crust.
To a large cupful of mashed potato add two tablespoonfuls of melted
butter, a well-beaten egg, two cups of milk, and beat all together
until very light. Then work in enough flour to enable you to roll
out in a sheet—not too stiff—and, when you have added to the meat
and potato in the dish a gravy made of warm water, butter, milk, and
catsup, with what cold gravy or dripping remains from “roast,” cover
the pie with a thick, tender crust, cutting a slit in the middle.
You can use the potato crust, which is very wholesome and good, for any
kind of meat-pie. It looks well brushed over with beaten white of egg
before it goes to table.
BEEF’S HEART—STEWED.
Wash the heart well, and cut into squares half an inch long. Stew them
for ten minutes in enough water to cover them. Salt the water slightly
to draw out the blood, and throw it away as it rises in scum to the
top. Take out the meat, strain the liquor, and return the chopped heart
to it, with a sliced onion, a great spoonful of catsup, some parsley, a
head of celery chopped fine, and cayenne pepper, with a large lump of
butter. Stew until the meat is very tender, when add a tablespoonful of
browned flour to thicken. Boil up once, and serve.
TO CORN BEEF.
Rub each piece of beef well with salt mixed with one-tenth part of
saltpetre, until the salt lies dry upon the surface. Put aside in a
cold place for twenty-four hours, and repeat the process, rubbing in
the mixture very thoroughly. Put away again until the next day, by
which time the pickle should be ready.
5 gallons of water.
1 gallon of salt.
4 ounces saltpetre.
1½ lb. brown sugar.
Boil this brine ten minutes; let it get perfectly cold; then pour over
the beef, having wiped the latter entirely dry.
Examine the pickle from time to time to see if it keeps well; if not,
take out the meat without delay, wipe it, and rub in dry salt, covering
it well until you can prepare new and stronger brine.
BOILED CORNED BEEF.
If your piece is a round, skewer it well into shape, and tie it up with
stout tape or twine when you have washed it in three or four waters and
removed all the salt from the outside. Put into a pot, and cover with
cold water. Allow, in boiling, about twenty minutes to a pound. Turn
the meat three times while cooking.
When done, drain very dry, and serve with drawn butter in a sauce-boat.
Send around mashed turnips with the meat. They should be boiled in a
separate pot, however, or they will impart a disagreeable taste to the
beef.
The brisket is a good piece for a family dinner.
BEEF TONGUE.
Soak over night in cold water when you have washed it well. Next
morning put into a pot with plenty of cold water, and boil slowly
until it is tender throughout. This you can determine by testing it
with a fork. Leave in the liquor until quite cold.
Pare off the thick skin, cut in round slices, and dish for tea,
garnishing with fresh parsley.
Tongue sandwiches are generally held in higher esteem than those made
of ham.
DRIED BEEF.
The most common way of serving dried or smoked beef is to shave it into
thin slices or chips, raw; but a more savory relish may be made of it
with little trouble.
Put the slices of uncooked beef into a frying-pan with just enough
boiling water to cover them; set them over the fire for ten minutes,
drain off all the water, and with a knife and fork cut the meat
into small bits. Return to the pan, which should be hot, with
a tablespoonful of butter and a little pepper. Have ready some
well-beaten eggs, allowing four to a half-pound of beef; stir them into
the pan with the minced meat, and toss and stir the mixture for about
two minutes. Send to table in a covered dish.
MUTTON AND LAMB.
ROAST MUTTON.
The parts which are usually roasted are:—
The shoulder,
The saddle, or chine, and
The loin and haunch (a leg and part of the loin).
The leg is best boiled, unless the mutton is young and very tender.
To roast—wash the meat well, and dry with a clean cloth. Let your
fire be clear and strong; put the meat on with a little water in the
dripping-pan. If you think well of the plan (and I do), let there be a
cupful of boiling water dashed over the meat when it is first put down
to roast, and left to trickle into the pan. I have elsewhere explained
the advantages of the method. Allow, in roasting, about twelve minutes
per pound, if the fire is good. Baste often—at first with salt and
water, afterward with the gravy. If it is in danger of browning too
fast, cover with a large sheet of white paper. Roast lamb in the same
manner, but not so long. Skim the gravy well, and thicken very slightly
with browned flour. Serve with currant jelly.
ROAST MUTTON _à la Venison_.
A Christmas saddle of mutton is very fine prepared as follows: Wash it
well, inside and out, with vinegar. Do not wipe it, but hang it up to
dry in a cool cellar. When the vinegar has dried off, throw a clean
cloth over it, to keep out the dust. On the next day but one, take down
the meat and sponge it over again with vinegar, then put it back in
its place in the cellar. Repeat this process three times a week for a
fortnight, keeping the meat hung in a cold place, and covered, except
while you are washing it. When you are ready to cook it, wipe it off
with a dry cloth, but do not wash it. Roast—basting for the first hour
with butter and water; afterward with the gravy, and keeping the meat
covered with a large tin pan for two hours. A large saddle of mutton
will require four hours to roast. When it is done, remove to a dish,
and cover to keep it hot. Skim the gravy, and add half a teacupful
of walnut, mushroom or tomato catsup, a glass of Madeira wine, and a
tablespoonful of browned flour. Boil up once, and send to table in a
sauce-boat. Always send around currant or some other tart jelly with
roast mutton. If properly cooked, a saddle of mutton, prepared in
accordance with these directions, will strongly resemble venison in
taste. An old Virginia gentleman whom I used to know, always hung up
the finest saddle his plantation could furnish _six weeks_ before
Christmas, and had it sponged off with vinegar every other day, until
the morning of the important 25th; and the excellence of his mutton
was the talk of the neighborhood. It can certainly be kept a fortnight
anywhere at that season.
BOILED MUTTON.
Wash a leg of mutton clean, and wipe dry. Do not leave the knuckle
and shank so long as to be unshapely. Put into a pot with hot water
(salted) enough to cover it, and boil until you ascertain, by probing
with a fork, that it is tender in the thickest part. Skim off all the
scum as it rises. Allow _about_ twelve minutes to each pound. Take
from the fire, drain perfectly dry, and serve with melted butter, with
capers, or nasturtium seed; or, if you have neither of these, some
cucumber or gherkin-pickle stirred into it. If you wish to use the
broth for soup, put in very little salt while boiling; if not, salt
well, and boil the meat in a cloth.
MUTTON STEW. ✠
Cut up from three to four pounds of mutton,—the inferior portions will
do as well as any other,—crack the bones, and remove all the fat. Put
on the meat—the pieces not more than an inch and a half in length—in
a pot with enough cold water to cover well, and set it where it will
heat gradually. Add nothing else until it has stewed an hour, closely
covered; then throw in half a pound of salt pork cut into strips, a
little chopped onion, and some pepper; cover and stew an hour longer,
or until the meat is very tender. Make out a little paste, as for the
crust of a meat-pie; cut into squares, and drop in the stew. Boil ten
minutes, and season further by the addition of a little parsley and
thyme. Thicken with two spoonfuls of flour stirred into a cup of cold
milk. Boil up once, and serve in a tureen or deep covered dish.
If green corn is in season, this stew is greatly improved by adding, an
hour before it is taken from the fire, the grains of half a dozen ears,
cut from the cob.
Try it for a cheap family dinner, and you will repeat the experiment
often. Lamb is even better for your purpose than mutton.
MUTTON CHOPS.
If your butcher has not done it,—and the chances are that he has not,
unless you stood by to see it attended to,—trim off the superfluous fat
and skin, so as to give the chops a certain litheness and elegance of
shape. Dip each in beaten egg, roll in pounded cracker, and fry in hot
lard or dripping. If the fat is unsalted, sprinkle the chops with salt
before rolling in the egg. Serve up dry and hot.
_Or,_
You may omit the egg and cracker, and broil on a gridiron over a bright
fire. Put a little salt and pepper upon each chop, and butter them
before they go to table. Cook lamb chops in the same way.
MUTTON CUTLETS. (_Baked_).
Cut them from the neck, and trim neatly. Lay aside the bits of bone
and meat you cut off, to make gravy. Pour a little melted butter over
the cutlets, and let them lie in it for fifteen minutes, keeping them
just warm enough to prevent the butter from hardening; then dip each in
beaten egg, roll in cracker-crumbs, and lay them in your dripping-pan
with a _very_ little water at the bottom. Bake quickly, and baste often
with butter and water. Put on the bones, etc., in enough cold water to
cover them; stew, and season with sweet herbs, pepper, and salt, with a
spoonful of tomato catsup. Strain when all the substance is extracted
from the meat and bones; thicken with browned flour, and pour over the
cutlets when they are served.
MUTTON HAM.
For a leg of mutton weighing 12 lbs., take—
1 ounce of black pepper, or ½ ounce of cayenne,
¼ lb. brown sugar,
1 ounce saltpetre,
1¼ lb. salt.
The day after the sheep is killed, mix the sugar, pepper, and
saltpetre, and rub well into the meat for nearly fifteen minutes, until
the outer part of it is thoroughly impregnated with the seasoning. Put
the ham into a large earthenware vessel, and cover it with the salt.
Let it remain thus for three weeks, turning it every day and basting
it with the brine; adding to this, after the first week, a teacupful
of vinegar. When the ham is removed from the pickle, wash with cold
water, then with vinegar, and hang it up in a cool cellar for a week,
at least, before it is used.
Soak an hour in fair water before boiling.
Or if you choose to smoke it for several days after it is corned, it
can be chipped and eaten raw, like jerked venison or dried beef.
Most of the receipts above given will apply as well to lamb as to
mutton. There are several exceptions, however, which you will do well
to note. Lamb should never be boiled except in stews. It is tasteless
and sodden cooked in this manner, on account of its immaturity. But, on
the other hand, a lamb-pie, prepared like one of beef or venison, is
excellent, while mutton-pies have usually a strong, tallowy taste, that
spoils them for delicate palates.
Roast lamb should be eaten with mint sauce (if you fancy it), currant
jelly, and asparagus or green peas. Lettuce-salad is likewise a
desirable accompaniment.
MUTTON OR LAMB RÉCHAUFFÉ. ✠
Cut some slices of cold underdone mutton or lamb; put them in a
frying-pan with enough gravy or broth to cover them. Or, if you have
neither of them, make a gravy of butter, warm water, and catsup. Heat
to boiling, and stir in pepper and a great spoonful of currant jelly.
Send to table in a chafing-dish, with the gravy poured about the meat.
_Or,_
You can put a lump of the butter in the bottom of the pan, and when it
boils, lay in the slices of meat, turning them before they have time
to crisp. As soon as they are thoroughly heated take them out, lay
upon a hot dish, sprinkle with pepper and salt, and serve with a small
spoonful of jelly laid upon each.
VEAL.
Despite the prejudice, secret or expressed, which prevails in many
minds against veal,—one which the wise and witty “Country Parson”
has as surely fostered among reading people, as did Charles Lamb the
partiality for roast pig,—the excellent and attractive dishes that
own this as their base are almost beyond number. For soups it is
invaluable, and in _entrees_ and _réchauffés_ it plays a distinguished
part. From his head to his feet, the animal that furnishes us with
this important element of success in what should be the prime object
of cookery, to wit, to please while we nourish, has proved himself
so useful as an ally that it behooves us to lift the stigma from the
name of “calf,” provided he be not _too_ infantine. In that case he
degenerates into an insipid mass of pulpy muscle and gelatine, and
deserves the bitterest sneers that have been flung at his kind.
ROAST VEAL.
LOIN.
Veal requires a longer time to roast than mutton or lamb. It is fair to
allow _at least_ a quarter of an hour to each pound. Heat gradually,
baste frequently—at first with salt and water, afterward with gravy.
When the meat is nearly done, dredge lightly with flour, and baste once
with melted butter. Skim the gravy; thicken with a tablespoonful of
flour, boil up, and put into the gravy-boat.
Should the meat brown too fast, cover with white paper. The juices,
which make up the characteristic flavor of meat, are oftener dried out
of veal than any other flesh that comes to our tables.
BREAST.
Make incisions between the ribs and the meat, and fill with a
force-meat made of fine bread-crumbs, bits of pork, or ham chopped
“exceeding small,” salt, pepper, thyme, sweet marjoram, and beaten egg.
Save a little to thicken the gravy. Roast slowly, basting often, and
the verdict of the eaters will differ from theirs who pronounce this
the coarsest part of the veal. Dredge, at the last, with flour, and
baste well once with butter, as with the loin.
FILLET.
Make ready a dressing of bread-crumbs, chopped thyme and parsley; a
little nutmeg, pepper and salt, rubbed together with some melted
butter or beef suet; moisten with milk or hot water, and bind with a
beaten egg.
Take out the bone from the meat, and pin securely into a round with
skewers; then pass a stout twine several times about the fillet, or
a band of muslin. Fill the cavity from which the bone was taken with
this stuffing, and thrust between the folds of the meat, besides making
incisions with a thin, sharp knife to receive it. Once in a while slip
in a strip of fat pork or ham. Baste at first with salt and water,
afterward with gravy. At the last, dredge with flour and baste with
butter.
SHOULDER.
Stuff as above, making horizontal incisions near the bone to receive
the dressing, and roast in like manner.
VEAL CUTLETS.
Dip in beaten egg when you have sprinkled a little pepper and salt over
them; then roll in cracker-crumbs, and fry in hot dripping or lard. If
you use butter or dripping, add a little boiling water to the gravy
when the meat is dished; thicken with browned flour, boil up once,
sending to table in a boat.
_Or,_
You can rub the cutlets well with melted butter, pepper, and broil on a
gridiron like beef-steak, buttering _very_ well after dishing.
VEAL CHOPS
Are more juicy and less apt to be tough and solid than cutlets. Trim
the bone as with mutton chops, and fry, dipping in beaten egg and
cracker-crumbs. Add a little parsley and a minced shallot to the gravy.
VEAL STEAK.
This should be thinner than beef-steak, and be done throughout. Few
persons are fond of rare veal. Broil upon a well-greased gridiron
over a clear fire, and turn frequently while the steaks are cooking.
Put into a saucepan four or five young onions minced fine, a great
teaspoonful of tomato catsup, or twice the quantity of stewed tomato,
a lump of butter the size of an egg, and a little thyme or parsley,
with a small teacupful of hot water. Let them stew together while the
steaks are broiling, thickening, before you turn the gravy out, with a
spoonful of browned flour. Add, if you please, a half-glass of wine.
Boil up once hard, and when the steaks are dished, with a small bit of
butter upon each, pour the mixture over and around them.
Spinach is as natural an accompaniment to veal as are green peas to
lamb.
VEAL PIES.
Let your veal be juicy and not too fat. Take out all the bone, and put
with the fat and refuse bits, such as skin or gristle, in a saucepan,
with a large teacupful of cold water to make gravy. Instead of chopping
the veal, cut in thin, even slices. Line a pudding-dish with a good
paste and put a layer of veal in the bottom; then one of hard-boiled
eggs sliced, each piece buttered and peppered before it is laid upon
the veal; cover these with sliced ham or thin strips of salt pork.
Squeeze a few drops of lemon-juice upon the ham. Then another layer of
veal, and so on until you are ready for the gravy. This should have
been stewing for half an hour or so, with the addition of pepper and a
bunch of aromatic herbs. Strain through a thin cloth and pour over the
pie. Cover with crust and bake two hours.
_Or,_
Butter a large bowl very thickly, and line with sliced hard-boiled
eggs. Then put in, in perpendicular layers, a lining of veal cut in
thin slices, and seasoned with pepper. Next, one of sliced ham, each
slice peppered and sprinkled with lemon-juice, more veal and more ham,
until the dish is packed to the brim. Cover with a thick paste made of
flour and hot water, just stiff enough to handle with ease. Press this
closely to the outside of the bowl, which should not be at all greasy.
Let it overlap the rim about half an inch. Some cooks substitute a
cloth well floured, but it does not keep in the essence of the meats
as well as the paste. Set the bowl in a pot of hot water, not so deep
that it will bubble over the top. It is better that it should not touch
the paste rim. Boil steadily—not hard—for at least three hours. Remove
the paste the next day, when bowl and contents are perfectly cold,
and turn out the pie into a large plate or flat dish. Cut in circular
slices—thin as a wafer—beginning at the top, keeping your carver
horizontal, and you have a delicious relish for the supper-table, or
side-dish for dinner. Set in a cool place, and in winter it will keep
several days.
This is the “weal and hammer pie” endorsed by Mr. Wegg as a good thing
“for mellering the organ,” and is a great favorite in England. It is
a good plan to butter the eggs as well as the dish, as much of the
success of the pie depends upon the manner in which it is turned out.
Also, upon the close packing of the sliced meat. The salt ham prevents
the need of other salt.
STEWED FILLET OF VEAL.
Stuff, and bind with twine as for roasting. Then cover the top and
sides with sliced ham which has been already boiled, securing with
skewers, or twine crossing the meat in all directions. Lay in a pot,
put in two large cups of boiling water, cover immediately and closely,
and stew gently—never letting it cease to boil, yet never boiling hard,
for four or five hours. A large fillet will require nearly five hours.
Remove the cover as seldom as possible, and only to ascertain whether
the water has boiled away. If it is too low, replenish from the boiling
kettle. Take off the strings when the meat is done; arrange the ham
about the fillet in the dish, and serve a bit with each slice of veal.
Strain the gravy, thicken with flour, boil up once, and send in a boat.
Serve with stewed tomatoes and spinach.
STEWED KNUCKLE OF VEAL.
Put the meat into a pot with two quarts of boiling water, half a pound
of salt pork or ham cut into strips, a carrot, two onions, a bunch
of parsley and one of summer savory—all cut fine—two dozen whole
pepper-corns, and stew, closely covered, for three hours. When done,
take the meat from the pot and lay in the dish. Strain the gravy,
thicken with rice-flour, boil up once, and pour over the meat.
VEAL SCALLOP. ✠
Chop some cold roast or stewed veal very fine, put a layer in the
bottom of a buttered pudding dish, and season with pepper and salt.
Next have a layer of finely powdered crackers. Strew some bits of
butter upon it and wet with a little milk; then more veal seasoned as
before, and another round of cracker-crumbs, with butter and milk.
When the dish is full, wet well with gravy or broth, diluted with warm
water. Spread over all a thick layer of cracker seasoned with salt, wet
into a paste with milk and bound with a beaten egg or two, if the dish
be large. Stick butter-bits thickly over it; invert a tin pan so as
to cover all and keep in the steam, and bake—if small, half an hour;
three-quarters will suffice for a large dish. Remove the cover ten
minutes before it is served, and brown.
This simple and economical dish should be an acquaintance with all who
are fond of veal in any shape. Children generally like it exceedingly,
and I have heard more than one gentleman of excellent judgment in
culinary affairs declare that the best thing he knew about roast veal
was that it was the harbinger of scallop on the second day.
Try it, and do not get it too dry.
VEAL PÂTÉS.
Mince the veal as above, and roll three or four crackers to powder.
Also, chop up some cold ham and mix with the veal in the proportion of
one-third ham and two-thirds veal. Then add the cracker, and wet well
with gravy and a little milk. If you have no gravy, stir into a cup of
hot milk two tablespoonfuls of butter and a beaten egg. Season well to
your taste, and bake in pâté pans lined with puff-paste. If eaten hot,
send to table in the tins. If cold, slip the pâtés out and pile upon
a plate, with sprigs of parsley between. A little oyster liquor is a
marked improvement to the gravy.
STEWED CALF’S-HEAD.
Wash the head in several waters, and taking out the brains, set them
by in a cool place. Tie the head in a floured cloth and boil it two
hours in hot water slightly salted. Wash the brains carefully, picking
out all the bits of skin and membrane, cleansing them over and over
until they are perfectly white. Then stew in just enough water to cover
them. Take them out, mash smooth with the back of a wooden spoon, and
add gradually, that it may not lump, a small teacupful of the water
in which the head is boiled. Season with chopped parsley, a pinch
of sage, pepper, salt, and powdered cloves, with a great spoonful of
butter. Set it over the fire to simmer in a saucepan until you are
ready. When the head is tender, take it up and drain very dry. Score
the top, and rub it well over with melted butter; dredge with flour and
set in the oven to brown. Or, you can use beaten egg and cracker-crumbs
in place of the butter and flour.
When you serve the head, pour the gravy over it.
Never skin a calf’s-head. Scald as you would that of a pig. A little
lye in the water will remove the hair—as will also pounded rosin,
applied before it is put into the water.
CALF’S-HEAD (_Scalloped._) ✠
Clean the head, remove the brains, and set in a cool place. Boil the
head until the meat slips easily from the bones. Take it out and chop
fine, season with herbs, pepper, and salt; then put in layers into a
buttered pudding-dish with bits of butter between each layer. Moisten
well with the liquor in which the head was boiled. Wash the brains very
thoroughly, removing all the membrane. Beat them into a smooth paste,
season with pepper and salt, and stir in with them two eggs beaten
very light. Spread this evenly over the scallop, dredge the top with a
little flour, and bake to a delicate brown. Half an hour will be long
enough.
SWEET-BREADS (_Fried._) ✠
Wash very carefully, and dry with a linen cloth. Lard with narrow
strips of fat salt pork, set closely together. Use for this purpose a
larding-needle. Lay the sweet-breads in a clean, hot frying-pan, which
has been well buttered or greased, and cook to a fine brown, turning
frequently until the pork is crisp.
SWEET BREADS (_Broiled._) ✠
Parboil, rub them well with butter, and broil on a clean gridiron. Turn
frequently, and now and then roll over in a plate containing some hot
melted butter. This will prevent them from getting too dry and hard.
SWEET-BREADS (_Stewed._) ✠
When you have washed them, and removed all bits of skin and fatty
matter, cover with cold water, and heat to a boil. Pour off the hot
water, and cover with cold until the sweet-breads are firm. If you
desire to have them very rich, lard as for frying before you put in
the second water. They are more delicate, however, if the pork be left
out. Stew in a very little water the second time. When they are tender,
add for each sweet-bread a heaping teaspoonful of butter, and a little
chopped parsley, with pepper, and salt, and a little cream. Let them
simmer in this gravy for five minutes, then take them up. Send to table
in a covered dish, with the gravy poured over them.
If you lard the sweet-breads, substitute for the cream in the gravy a
glass of good wine. In this case, take the sweet-breads out before it
is put into the gravy. Boil up once and pour over them.
SWEET-BREADS (_Roasted._)
Parboil and throw into cold water, where let them stand for fifteen
minutes. Then change to more cold water for five minutes longer. Wipe
perfectly dry. Lay them in your dripping-pan, and roast, basting with
butter and water until they begin to brown. Then withdraw them for an
instant, roll in beaten egg, then in cracker-crumbs, and return to
the fire for ten minutes longer, basting meanwhile twice with melted
butter. Lay in a chafing-dish while you add to the dripping half a cup
hot water, some chopped parsley, a teaspoonful browned flour, and the
juice of half a lemon. Pour over the sweet-breads before sending to
table.
JELLIED VEAL.
Wash a knuckle of veal, and cut it into three pieces. Boil it slowly
until the meat will slip easily from the bones; take out of the liquor;
remove all the bones, and chop the meat fine. Season with salt, pepper,
two shallots chopped as fine as possible, mace and thyme, or, if you
like, sage. Put back into the liquor, and boil until it is almost dry
and can be stirred with difficulty. Turn into a mould until next day.
Set on the table cold, garnish with parsley, and cut in slices. The
juice of a lemon, stirred in just before it is taken from the fire, is
an improvement.
CALF’S-HEAD IN A MOULD.
Boil a calf’s-head until tender, the day before you wish to use it.
When perfectly cold, chop—not too small—and season to taste with
pepper, salt, mace, and the juice of a lemon. Prepare half as much cold
ham, fat and lean—also minced—as you have of the chopped calf’s-head.
Butter a mould well, and lay in the bottom a layer of the calf’s-head,
then one of ham, and so on until the shape is full, pressing each layer
hard, when you have moistened it with veal gravy or the liquor in which
the head was boiled. Pour more gravy over the top, and when it has
soaked in well, cover with a paste made of flour and water. Bake one
hour. Remove the paste when it is quite cold, and turn out carefully.
Cut perpendicularly.
This is quite as good a relish when made of cold roast or stewed veal
and ham. It will keep several days in cool weather.
VEAL OLIVES WITH OYSTERS.
Cut large, smooth slices from a fillet of veal, or veal chops will do
quite as well. Trim them into a uniform shape and size, and spread each
neatly with forced-meat made of bread-crumbs and a little chopped pork,
seasoned with pepper and salt. Over this spread some chopped oysters,
about three to a good-sized slice of veal. Roll them up carefully and
closely, and pin each with two small tin or wooden skewers. Lay them in
a dripping-pan; dash a teacupful of boiling water over them, and roast,
basting at least twice with melted butter. When they are brown, remove
to a chafing-dish, and cover, while you add a little oyster-liquor to
the gravy left in the dripping-pan. Let this simmer for three or four
minutes; thicken with a teaspoonful of browned flour, and boil up at
once. Withdraw the skewers cautiously, so as not to break the olives;
pour the gravy over and around them, and serve. If you have no skewers,
bind the olives with pack-thread, cutting it, of course, before sending
to table.
Serve with cranberry jelly.
MINCED VEAL.
Take the remains of a cold roast of veal fillet, shoulder, or breast,
and cut all the meat from the bones. Put the latter, with the outside
slices and the gristly pieces, into a saucepan, with a cup of cold
water, some sweet herbs, pepper, and salt. If you have a bit of bacon
convenient, or a ham-bone, add this and omit the salt. Stew all
together for an hour, then strain, thicken with flour, return to the
fire, and boil five minutes longer, stirring in a tablespoonful of
butter.
Meanwhile, mince the cold veal, and when the gravy is ready put
this in a little at a time. Let it _almost_ boil, when add two
tablespoonfuls of cream, or three of milk, stirring all the while.
Lastly, squeeze in the juice of a lemon, and a moment later half a
glass of Sherry or Madeira wine.
The mince-meat should be dry enough to heap into a shape in a flat dish
or chafing-dish. Lay triangles of buttered toast about the base of the
mound, and on the top a poached egg.
The remains of cold roast beef treated in this manner, substituting for
the toast balls of mashed potato, will make a neat and palatable dish.
Send around spinach or stewed tomatoes with minced veal; scraped
horseradish steeped in vinegar with the beef.
VEAL CUTLETS À LA MAINTENON.
The cutlets should be nearly three-quarters of an inch thick, and trim
in shape. Dip each in beaten egg, then into pounded cracker which has
been seasoned with powdered sweet herbs, pepper, and salt. Wrap each
cutlet in a half-sheet of note or letter paper, well buttered; lay them
upon a buttered gridiron and broil over a clear fire, turning often
and dexterously. You can secure the papers by fringing the ends, and
twisting these after the cutlets are put in. This is neater than to
pin them together. In trying this dish for the first time, have ready
a sufficient number of duplicate papers in a clean, hot dish. If your
envelopes are much soiled or darkened while the cutlets are broiling,
transfer quickly when done to the clean warm ones, twist the ends,
and serve. Cutlets prepared in this manner are sent to table in their
cloaks, ranged symmetrically upon a hot chafing-dish.
The expedient of the clean papers is a “trick of the trade,” amateur
housewives will observe with satisfaction. Epicures profess to enjoy
veal cooked in covers far more than when the flavor and juices escape
in broiling without them. Empty every drop of gravy from the soiled
papers into the clean over the cutlets.
CROQUETTES OF CALF’S BRAINS.
Wash the brains very thoroughly until they are free from membranous
matter and perfectly white. Beat them smooth; season with a pinch
of powdered sage, pepper, and salt. Add two tablespoonfuls fine
bread-crumbs moistened with milk, and a beaten egg. Roll into balls
with floured hands, dip in beaten egg, then cracker-crumbs, and fry in
butter or veal-drippings.
These make a pleasant accompaniment to boiled spinach. Heap the
vegetable in the centre of the dish, arrange the balls about it, and
give one to each person who wishes spinach.
CALF’S LIVER (_Roasted._)
Soak the liver in salt and water an hour to draw out the blood. Wipe
perfectly dry, and stuff with a force-meat made of bread-crumbs, two
slices of fat salt pork, chopped small, a shallot, pepper, salt, and
nutmeg; sweet marjoram and thyme, and if you choose, a little sage.
Moisten this with butter melted in a very little hot water, and two
raw eggs, well beaten. In order to get this into the liver, make an
incision with a narrow sharp knife, and without enlarging the aperture
where the blade entered, move the point dexterously to and fro, to
enlarge the cavity inside. Stuff this full of the force-meat, sew or
skewer up the outer orifice; lard with strips of salt pork, and roast
for an hour, basting twice with butter and water, afterward with the
gravy in the dripping-pan. Pour the gravy over the liver when done.
Roasted liver is very good cold, cut into slices like tongue.
CALF’S LIVER (_Fried_).
Slice the liver smoothly, and lay in salt and water to draw out the
blood. Lard each slice, when you have wiped it dry, with slices of fat
salt pork, drawn through at regular distances, and projecting slightly
on each side. Lay in a clean frying-pan and fry brown. When done,
take out the slices, arrange them neatly on a hot dish, and set aside
to keep warm. Add to the gravy in the frying-pan a chopped onion, a
half-cup of hot water, pepper, the juice of a lemon, and thicken with
brown flour. Boil up well, run through a cullender to remove the onion
and the bits of crisped pork that may have been broken off in cooking,
pour over the liver, and serve hot.
Pigs’ livers can be cooked in the same way.
CALF’S LIVER (_Stewed_).
Slice the liver and lay in salt and water an hour. Then cut into dice
and put over the fire, with enough cold water to cover it well. Cover
and stew steadily for an hour, when add salt, pepper, a little mace,
sweet marjoram, parsley, and a teaspoonful Worcestershire sauce. Stew
again steadily, not fast, for half an hour longer, when put in a
tablespoonful of butter, two of browned flour—wet with cold water, a
teaspoonful of lemon-juice and one of currant jelly. Boil five minutes
longer, and dish. A little wine is an improvement.
_Or,_
Put in with the liver-dice some of salt pork—say a handful—and when you
season, a chopped onion, and omit the jelly at the last, substituting
some tomato catsup.
IMITATION PÂTÉS DE FOIE GRAS. ✠
Boil a calf’s liver until very tender in water that has been slightly
salted, and in another vessel a nice calf’s tongue. It is best to
do this the day before you make your _pâté_, as they should be not
only cold, but firm when used. Cut the liver into bits, and rub these
gradually to a smooth paste in a Wedgewood mortar, moistening, as you
go on, with melted butter. Work into this paste, which should be quite
soft, a quarter-teaspoonful of cayenne pepper, or twice the quantity of
white or black, half a grated nutmeg, a little cloves, a teaspoonful
of Worcestershire sauce, salt to taste, a full teaspoonful of made
mustard, and a tablespoonful of boiling water, in which a minced onion
has been steeped until the flavor is extracted. Work all together
thoroughly, and pack in jelly-jars with air-tight covers, or, if you
have them, in _pâté_-jars. They give a foreign air to the compound, and
aid imagination in deceiving the palate. Butter the inside of the jars
well, and pack the _pâté_ very hard, inserting here and there square
and triangular bits of the tongue, which should be pared and cut up
for this purpose. These simulate the truffles imbedded in the genuine
_pâtés_ from Strasbourg. When the jar is packed, and smooth as marble
on the surface, cover with melted butter. Let this harden, put on the
lid, and set away in a cool place. In winter it will keep for weeks,
and is very nice for luncheon or tea. Make into sandwiches, or set on
in the jars, if they are neat and ornamental.
The resemblance in taste to the real _pâté de foie gras_ is remarkable,
and the domestic article is popular with the lovers of that delicacy.
Pigs’ livers make a very fair _pâté_. If you can procure the livers
of several fowls and treat as above, substituting bits of the inside
of the gizzard for truffles, you will find the result even more
satisfactory.
VEAL MARBLE.
Boil a beef-tongue the day before it is to be used, and a like
number of pounds of lean veal. Grind first one, then the other, in a
sausage-cutter, keeping them in separate vessels until you are ready to
pack. If you have no machine for this purpose, chop _very_ fine. Season
the tongue with pepper, powdered sweet herbs, a teaspoonful of made
mustard, a little nutmeg, and cloves—just a pinch of each; the veal in
like manner, with the addition of salt. Pack in alternate spoonfuls, as
irregularly as possible, in cups, bowls, or jars, which have been well
buttered. Press very hard as you go on, smooth the top, and cover with
melted butter. When this cools, close the cans, and keep in a cool, dry
place. Turn out whole, or cut in slices for tea. It is a pretty and
savory relish, garnished with parsley or the blanched tops of celery.
You can use ground ham instead of tongue. It is hardly so good, but is
more economical.
PORK.
At the South, where, in spite of the warm climate, the consumption
of pork is double that of the North, the full-grown hog is seldom
represented by any of his parts at the table, fresh or pickled, unless
it be during killing-time, when fresh spare-ribs, chine, and steak,
with other succulent bits, are welcome upon the choicest bills of fare.
The rest of the animal—ham, shoulders, and middlings—is consigned to
the packing barrel, and ultimately to the smoke-house. But, in cool
weather, “shoat”—_i. e._, pig under six months of age—is abundantly
displayed in market, and highly esteemed by all classes. The meat
is fine and sweet, and, unless too fat, nearly as delicate as that
of chicken—a very different-looking and tasting dish from the gross
oleaginous joints and “chunks” offered for sale in many other regions
as “nice young pork.” Those of my readers who can command “shoat”
are to be heartily congratulated. Those whose butchers dispense only
portions of the mature porker will do well, in my opinion, if they
rarely admit him to their families before he has been salted, and been
thereby purged of many unwholesome properties. Few stomachs, save those
of out-door laborers, can digest the fresh meat of a two or three, or
even one year old hog. This is the truthful, but, to unaccustomed ears,
offensive name for him at the South and West, where his qualities and
habits are best known.
The parts of a properly dissected hog are the hams, shoulders, griskin
or chine, the loin, middlings, spare-ribs, head, feet, liver, and
haslet. The choice portions are hams, shoulders, and, for roasting,
the loin. All hogs should be kept up and well fed for three weeks,
at least, before they are killed; their styes be frequently cleaned,
and furnished with abundance of water, renewed every day. Sir Grunter
would be a more cleanly creature if he were allowed more extensive
water privileges. If it were possible—and in the country this may
sometimes be done—to build his pen on the bank of a running stream,
he would speedily redeem his character from the stain cast upon it
by the popular verdict, and the superior quality of the meat repay
the thoughtful kindness of his owner. It is a disgrace to humanity,
hardly second to the barbarities of swill-milk manufactories, this
compulsory filth of any domestic animal. Those who, like myself,
have been loathing witnesses of the pig-pens upon the premises of
well-to-do farmers—the receptacles of the vilest slops and offal, never
cleaned except during the yearly removal of manure from barnyard to
field—cannot marvel at the growing prejudice against pork in all its
varieties that pervades our best classes. We feed the hog with the
offscourings (this is literal) of house, garden, and table; bed him
in mire, and swell him with acetous fermentation, not to say active
decomposition, and then abuse him for being what we have made him.
I am persuaded—and wiser people than I declare—that hog-scrofula
and cholera, and the rest of the train of fleshly ills that are the
terror of pork-raisers, have, one and all, their root in this unseemly
inhumanity. Eschew fresh pork we may, but we cannot dispense with hams,
shoulders, and, most valuable of all to the cook, lard and pickled
pork. Real sausage, porcine and home-made, is still sweet and pleasant
to the unpampered palate; and of roast pig, the gentlest and most
genial of English essayists did not disdain to become the eulogist. In
memory of his usefulness, in belief of the healthfulness which should
be his birthright, and the safeguard of his consumers, let us treat
Bristle well—I do not say philosophically, but sensibly and kindly.
A pig should not be allowed to eat anything for twenty-four hours
before he is killed. After he is butchered, great care should be
exercised to keep the pork from tainting; it spoils more readily, when
fresh, than any other meat. Cook all kinds of pork thoroughly. When
underdone it is not only unpalatable, but exceedingly unwholesome.
ROAST LEG OF PORK.
One weighing about seven pounds is enough, even for a large family.
If the pig be young, the leg will be even smaller. Score the skin
in squares, or parallel lines running from side to side, for the
convenience of the carver. Put it down to roast with a _very_ little
water in the pan below. Heat gradually until the fat begins to ooze
from the meat, when quicken the fire to a red, steady glow. Baste only
with its own gravy, and do this often, that the skin may not be hard or
tough. When done take it up, skim the gravy thoroughly, put in half a
cup of boiling water, thicken with brown flour, add pepper, salt, and
the juice of a lemon, and serve in a boat.
_Or,_
If the joint be that of a full-grown hog, rub into the top, after
scoring it deeply, a force-meat of bread-crumbs seasoned with sage and
chopped onion, wet with the juice of a lemon or a very little vinegar;
pepper and salt to taste. Rub this in hard until the cracks are filled.
With a sharp knife make incisions close to the knuckle-bone, and stuff
with the force-meat, tying a string tightly about it afterward, to
prevent the escape of the seasoning. Rub over once with butter, when
the meat is warm throughout; then baste with the fat. Skim all the fat
from the drippings that can be removed before making the gravy.
Send around tomato or apple sauce, and pickles, with roast pork.
LOIN OF PORK.
Cook as you would a leg, allowing twenty minutes to a pound in
roasting. This is a good rule for fresh pork, the flesh being coarser
and of closer grain than are more delicate meats.
A shoulder is roasted in the same way.
ROAST SPARE-RIB.
When first put down to the fire, cover with a greased paper until it is
half-done. Remove it then, and dredge with flour. A few minutes later,
baste once with butter, and afterward, every little while, with its
own gravy. This is necessary, the spare-rib being a very dry piece.
Just before you take it up, strew over the surface thickly with fine
bread-crumbs seasoned with powdered sage, pepper, and salt, and a small
onion minced into almost invisible bits. Let it cook five minutes and
baste once more with butter. Skim the gravy, add a half cupful of hot
water, thicken with brown flour, squeeze in the juice of a lemon,
strain, and pour over the meat in the dish.
Send tomato catsup around with it, or if you prefer, put a liberal
spoonful in the gravy, after it is strained.
ROAST CHINE.
A chine is treated precisely as is the spare-rib, except that the strip
of skin running along the back is scored closely. If you wish, you can
omit the bread-crumb crust, the onion and sage. In carving, cut thin
horizontal slices from the ribs. Chine is best cold. The meat next the
ribs is delicious when scraped off and made into sandwiches, or laid
upon buttered toast.
_Or,_
You can wash the chine over with beaten egg, dredge with
cracker-crumbs, seasoned with salt and pepper, and roast, basting with
butter and water once when the meat is heated through, afterward with
its own gravy. This is a palatable supper-dish when cold. Garnish with
cucumber pickles cut in round slices.
ROAST PIG.
A month-old pig, if it be well-grown and plump, is best for this
purpose. It is hardly possible tha
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