Chapter V: Part 5

Or try broiling them, if you like. Split the fish, using only the largest size, down the backs; remove the backbones, wipe well and then rub them with a little oil and season with salt and a bit of white pepper. Broil in a double broiler for three minutes on each side, over a hot fire. Have spread on the bottom of the dish in which they are to be served a layer of Béarnaise sauce; arrange the smelts carefully and daintily on this and sprinkle over them a scanty bit of chopped parsley. You'll find this far and away ahead of the eternal "fried smelts and sauce tartare."

Fried Smelts with Parsley

But if you really feel that you must fry them, then go about it in this way: First of all, fry some thinly sliced bacon and in its fat fry to a delicate brown the smelts which you have previously dipped in sweet, rich cream, and then dredged with flour to make a thick paste around them. Serve garnished with the bacon and with fried parsley. The frying of parsley is as you know, a somewhat ticklish job; it must be perfectly dry, put into a frying basket and then plunged into hot fat for just a few minutes--don't have the fat too hot--this is where you must think and act simultaneously--or the parsley will lose its color, and then you will have to begin all over again. After it is put on the dish squeeze a few drops of lemon juice over it. My word for it you will find this an acceptable dish, whether it is prepared for breakfast, luncheon or dinner.

Bluefish--Newport Style

I didn't mean you to understand that I considered smelts to be the only fish in the market at present; I simply wanted to call your attention to them as being as good as any other, and a good deal better than they, themselves, are at any other time of year.

Bluefish are good now, too; they are excellent, really, and a bluefish at its best is hard to beat. Have you ever tried cooking them in the oven? Have them split, you know, as for broiling, then put them into a well-greased baking pan. Have ready half a cupful of melted butter with the juice of an onion in it and likewise the juice of a lemon, with a reasonable amount of salt and of cayenne pepper. Before the fish goes into the oven moisten it well with the prepared butter, and baste with the butter every ten minutes while it is in the oven. When it is of a good even brown it is done. Now, don't serve with the bluefish cooked in this way potatoes of any sort or kind. Have cucumbers, hothouse, of course, and have them fried. Cut them into thick slices and remove the seeds; then soak them in equal parts of ice-water and vinegar, well salted, for one hour. Take them out, drain and wipe dry and fry in boiling lard until a light brown. They are not only good when served with bluefish cooked in this way, but they are appetizing bits to accompany pork or lamb chops when you are serving them with a brown sauce.

So much for to-day's fish story. As for meat, anybody can get good meats at any time of the year if they will go to a man who knows how to cut them, and won't insist on dickering with him about the price.

Domestic ducks are now in good condition. You might get one of them and try preparing it in some new way to be used, if it's a success, on Thanksgiving Day. Say stuffing it with mushrooms; use one can of mushrooms to three heaping cupfuls of stale bread-crumbs; one-half a cupful of melted butter, with salt and pepper. If the stuffing appears to be too dry moisten it with a bit of milk. Split the mushrooms and use all their liquor; if the duck is too small to require the full amount you may add some of the mushrooms to the giblet gravy to be served with it.

And there is plenty of material in market for green salads; there are celery and lettuce, the stand-bys; watercress, escarolle, romaine, and chicory. Try this latter some time soon, using a plain dressing of oil, vinegar, salt and pepper for it, with bits of Roquefort cheese sprinkled over it. If any among you object to eating this cheese because of its odor, rest easy, for you may have at hand a counteracting force in the Bar-le-Duc currants. They do, as you probably are aware, put the finishing touch to almost any sort of dinner, but when particularly strong cheese has been served they are nothing short of a godsend.

* * * * *

To the ordinary reader the name of Bontoux conveys nothing; to the Parisian of a generation or two ago it was synonymous with all that was delightful in the way of food and drink. The shop over which Madame Bontoux presided remains in the Rue de l'Échelle, but Madame, herself, has been gathered to her forefathers. Originally she had been a cordon bleu, and in the early forties opened a small establishment in the Rue Montesquieu, which establishment, if I mistake not, is mentioned in Sue's "Seven Cardinal Sins." Thence she moved to the Rue de l'Échelle, where she died. Acting on the whim of the moment, she would sell her wares only to those whom she liked, and those whom she did not like might offer her a hundred times their value in vain. The Rue de l'Échelle being near the Comédie Française, Rachel, who was a gourmet of the first water, frequently went to the shop after rehearsals. One afternoon she went in while one of the shopmen was busy packing a hamper for Nicholas I. Among the delicacies there were a dozen magnificent quails on a skewer. "I want those," said Rachel in the imperious way she adopted now and then. "You will have to want, my little woman," replied Madame, shaking her head in her enormous bonnet, which seemed a fixture; no one had ever seen her without it. Then Rachel toned down. "I will give you ten francs apiece for them," she said. "Not for ten crowns apiece," came the retort, and in a voice which left the great actress no doubt as to its meaning.

Rachel was disappointed, and rose from her chair to go. Just when she had reached the door an idea flashed on her. She turned round and began to recite the famous lines from Corneille's "Horace." The effect was electrical on the shopman, who dropped the quails. Madame Bontoux was not so easily impressed. She kept shaking her head just as if to say "You may save yourself the trouble, my girl;" but all of a sudden, when Rachel brought out the last line--

"_Moi seule en être cause et mourir de plaisir_,"

she jumped up. "Give her the dozen quails and a pheasant besides." Wonderful to relate, the enormous bonnet had got pushed on one side.

Now, there's a very pretty question to be discussed at your dinner table o' Sunday night: Were those birds _à bon marché_ for Rachel, or did Madame Bontoux, in the language of to-day, "get the best of the bargain?"

When you go to market in search of game in these days, and the marketman, leading you in the direction of the ice-box wherein he keeps his choicest wares, says, "Look at 'em; ain't they beauties?" you will be quite safe in acquiescing by a plain yea or a nod, but do not go to the extent of ordering a dozen quail, or woodcock, or snipe, or any other game bird, in fact, until you have ascertained if the legs are smooth and the quill feathers soft, which facts prove them to be young birds. Furthermore, be sure that the breasts are hard, firm, and well-covered with flesh, for this will show them to be in good condition.

Once the birds are under your roof-tree see to it that the cook does not draw the trail from the woodcock or snipe, for by all gourmets this is reckoned a great delicacy, and, by the way, though, of course, it is a matter of common knowledge, the heads of these birds are the most delicious morsels of all. Another point to be borne in mind is that when preparing game for cooking it should never be washed inside, but merely well wiped with a clean cloth.

Toast for Game

Partridges, grouse and quail are of so fine a flavor that it is little short of a criminal act to serve them in any way but roasted or broiled. If they are to be broiled and served on toast, then a delicious way of preparing the toast is to have the giblets boiled till they are so tender that they can be pounded to a paste with a little of the water in which they were boiled, and then, when mixed with an equal amount of butter, spread over the toast. This giblet butter may be varied to suit a variety of tastes. A little chopped parsley may be added, or a squeeze of lemon juice, or both, in which case a complementary dash of cayenne must be added. The meat of the partridge is so dry that it is well to serve with it a sauce made of melted butter, slightly seasoned with onion and a dash of white wine, or a tartar sauce is really excellent with broiled partridge.

Sauce for Partridge

If these birds--partridges, grouse, and quail--are to be roasted, the garnishing in either case must consist of seasoned watercress. With the partridge is served a bread sauce, but it's a custom as old as the hills, and for that very reason I have tried many experiments to find a sauce more to my liking. I have found it, and this is the way I prepare it: half a pint of clear stock, preferably white, seasoned with onion juice, a bunch of parsley, a bay-leaf, and four cloves, strained through a napkin before using. The birds will be much better if an ounce of butter is placed inside of them before cooking, and if they are occasionally basted with melted butter during the process of roasting.

Roasted Grouse

Grouse need no sauce, especially if before they are put into the oven they are stuffed with one slice of bread each which has been toasted and dipped in Madeira wine. They may be larded, or barded, or basted with melted butter while roasting, if it is thought likely to improve their flavor.

Roasted Quail

Beware of cooks who assure you that they know how to roast quail until you have seen their skill put to the test. It is a failing common to too many cooks to over-roast these dainty little birds. Fourteen to sixteen minutes in a hot oven is quite long enough to cook them to the point favored by epicurean palates. They should be served on bread sliced and fried, and with them, if desired, a very little of the clear sauce above recommended for partridges.

Any of the pieces left from these birds roasted may be daintily served with a mayonnaise dressing, and you may be willing to assert that the last state of that bird was better than the first.

Velvet Soup.
Sherry, Amontillado.
Baked halibut with Parmesan cheese.
Roasted duck with olives.
Burgundy, Romanee.
Cauliflower with bread crumbs.
Lettuce and cucumber salad.
Macaroon charlotte.
Toasted crackers.
Cream cheese. Coffee.

It was with the intention of preparing a dinner according to the above menu that I went about my duties "all on a market day," for it seemed to me upon looking it over to be a dainty repast for four people, and one wherein neither parsimony nor extravagance held the trick hand. And a safe middle course in one's daily regimen tends quite as much to health and prosperity in individual and nation as does the same policy in seemingly weightier matters.

Velvet Soup

The velvet soup is easy of accomplishment, as one need only to have a quart of some simple white stock on hand, made from veal or poultry remnants, into which is stirred the minced red part of four carrots seasoned with pepper and salt and stewed till tender in butter, two tablespoonfuls of tapioca which has been soaked for four hours in cold water, and then let the whole boil for nearly an hour before straining and serving. It is not only easily prepared, but it is easily digested, as a soup should always be which precedes a rather rich fish course similar to that given above.

Baked Halibut with Parmesan

About a pound and a half of halibut, at eighteen cents the pound, will be required, and it should be boiled till tender enough to flake lightly; then, if you have a rather deep dish, with a border of mashed potato about the inside, all will go smoothly. Into the bottom of the dish put a layer of white sauce made of half a pint of boiling milk, three ounces of butter and a little salt, thickened with flour; sprinkle in flakes of the fish, then a layer of the sauce, adding a little milk if it promises to be too dry, and so on till the dish is full, having a layer of sauce on top. Then scatter grated Parmesan over all, and brown to a tempting shade.

Roasted Duck with Olives

With ducklings tender and toothsome, as they should be in this month, it is plainly seen that the next course is capable of being a _pièce de résistance_ at a far more stately affair even than the one which we are considering. But if they are roasted in the ordinary way known to every housekeeper in the land, stuffed with bread crumbs, highly seasoned, and have a giblet sauce, quite an extraordinary flavor will be given them if, just before serving, half a pint of pitted and quartered olives are added to the sauce. It's only a trifling addition to the old way, you see, but the improvement is so great you will wonder that every one doesn't know of the gastronomical harmony existing between duck and olives. Now, the flavor of the ducks is so rich and altogether satisfying that it takes only the simplest and mildest-flavored vegetable to complement this course. And nothing will answer the purpose better than cauliflower. If they are cut into pieces of uniform size, they cook in a much more satisfactory manner, and they should boil as gently as possible; do not add the salt to the water till they are nearly tender. When taking them up, drain well, and over all pour melted butter thickened with browned bread-crumbs, and send to table. I fancy you will find them more to your liking served in this way than in the old rutty way of so many cooks, namely, with a white sauce, which varies in different households from a fair quality of flour paste to a very rich and fairly cloying concoction of cream and melted butter.

There is nothing like a simple salad to prepare one's palate for the sweets which come at the last, and with hothouse cucumbers now in evidence and lettuce always with us, the making of a salad is a delight in more ways than one. It is not so many years ago that we had to pay from thirty-five to fifty cents each for cucumbers at this season of the year, but the large number of cucumber hothouses near every city is fast bringing this desirable vegetable to a state where it will be known as an all-the-year-round commodity.

Macaroon Charlotte

There are a good many people, and the number is increasing, who declare that to them a dinner is finished by a bit of cheese after the salad, and finished quite to their satisfaction, too. But for those whose dinner is incomplete without a bit of sweetness, I would recommend a macaroon charlotte made by lining a dish with broken macaroons and then filling the dish with whipped cream which has been sweetened and flavored to taste; adding to it at last half a pound of crystallized cherries.

As to the wines, of course, it's a matter of purse and principle whether or not they shall be served. I have suggested the kinds appropriate to the courses, for the reason that I have heard many a hostess "on hospitable thoughts intent" wonder "what wine goes with what."

* * * * *

To be sure, I went a-marketing t'other day, and I was able to collect a stock of valuable information which I came home prepared to dish up for the delectation of any who chose to read and profit by it. But by some chance, or mischance, it occurred to me that All-Hallows Eve is near at hand, and that when it comes you girls will be up to all sorts of pranks. Now, years and years ago I was a girl myself, and I can dimly recall that the playing of pranks on the fairies' anniversary night induced a desire for liquid refreshment, either for the purpose of chirking up one's spirits when the omens proved unfavorable or for helping out the general merry-making when the signs foretold bliss.

Claret Tipple

And a drink that seemed to me at that time apropos of either event we used to make by slicing half a dozen juicy apples and three lemons as a starting point. Then we would lay them alternately in a large bowl, sprinkling each layer plentifully with sugar, and over all would pour a quart of claret. Then we would let it stand for fully six hours, pour it through a muslin bag, and it was ready for use.

Hot Spiced Claret

If you desire a hot drink, and it is likely that you will, if the tricks you have on hand call you out of doors at midnight, you might prepare one in this way: Have half-a-dozen lumps of sugar, the juice of half a lemon, four whole allspice, two whole cloves and half a teaspoonful of ground cinnamon in a dish; over it pour half a pint of claret and let it boil for just two minutes, stirring it all the time. Strain it into hot glasses and grate just a little nutmeg on top as you serve it. At the first sip the good qualities of this libation will present themselves to you.

Hot Claret Egg-nog

And for an encore you might vary it a little bit in this way: Stir together two tablespoonfuls of sugar, the juice of half a lemon, half a teaspoonful of mixed spices and half a pint of claret. Boil this for two minutes and then pour it over the yolks of two eggs that have been beaten well with a teaspoonful of sugar. Stir all the while that you are pouring the wine slowly over the eggs. Grate a little nutmeg over the top after you have poured the mixture into hot glasses. Now mind, don't get confused and pour the eggs into the wine, for that would spoil everything; pour the wine over the eggs. And be thankful that you have lived long enough to concoct such a satisfying drink as this always proves itself to be.

Hot Sherry Egg-nog

But if you feel that you must find a use for the whites of the eggs dissolve a tablespoonful of powdered sugar in half a pint of hot water, add to it half a pint of sherry wine and let this come to a boil. Meanwhile have the whites of the eggs beaten to a froth and pour the hot mixture over them, stirring rapidly. Pour into hot glasses, grating a bit of nutmeg over the top of each. See to it that the vessel in which you boil the wine is thoroughly clean. You don't want even the faintest trace of a taste of anything besides the ingredients herein prescribed.

Orange Punch

An orange punch isn't just the innocent tipple that its name would seem to indicate. But that doesn't hinder its being a treat for the palate. Infuse the peel of three and the juice of six oranges with three-quarters of a pound of loaf sugar in two quarts of boiling water for half an hour. Strain and add to the juice a half pint of brandy and a liqueur glass of maraschino. And it is quite likely that you will think it needs a little more sugar; if so, add it. Now it may be that you will like this hot, or it may be that you will like it cold; in the latter case cool it on the ice for several hours before serving or ice it when serving. This is also an excellent recipe for lemon punch--substituting lemons for the oranges.

Cider Punch

If you really long for drinks which seem suitable for days the "saddest of the year," why then see to it that your cider jug is filled with sweet cider as a prerequisite, and go ahead. Call your first effort a cider punch. Peel a lemon and pour half a pint of sherry on the peeling; to the juice of the lemon add a cupful of sugar, a little grated nutmeg and a quart of cider. Mix this together thoroughly and then add to it the rind of the lemon and the sherry. Let it get perfectly cold on the ice, or if you are short of time ice it when serving. Now if you wish to make this punch a bit more insidious you can easily do so by adding to it a wineglass of brandy. It will be quite as palatable also, I think you will find.

Cider Egg-nog

And then cider egg-nog is well worth the making and the drinking. Use a large glass; beat up in it an egg and a scant teaspoonful of sugar; put in half a dozen small lumps of ice, fill the glass with cider and grate a little nutmeg on top. This is not only a very pleasant drink, but it is an extremely wholesome one. It will act as a pick-me-up many times when one is tired or not feeling quite up to the mark.

Quince Liqueur

Another delicious potation that will be found of use at all sorts of occasions is quince liqueur. Grate a sufficient number of quinces to make a quart of juice after it is squeezed through a jelly bag. With this juice mix a pound of sugar, six ounces of bitter almonds, bruised, a dozen whole cloves and a gill of brandy. Mix these all well together and set away in a demijohn for ten days at least. Then strain it through the jelly bag till it is perfectly clear, and bottle for use. Besides drinking this as a liqueur, you will find that you can vary and improve a number of your recipes for punch by adding just a suspicion of it to them.

Various Cups

At all times cups are alluring decoctions, don't you think? And there are many varieties of them. But they all begin in the same way. A cordial glass each of maraschino, benedictine and brandy put into a quart jug, and then if you fill the jug with champagne you have champagne cup, with Rhine wine you have Rhine wine cup, and with cider you have cider cup. If you use claret you add a few drops of lemon juice and double the quantity of maraschino.

Rhine Wine Seltzer

But it may be that you prefer to take your Rhine wine with seltzer; if so, just half fill the glass with the wine and pour enough seltzer to fill it. Both the wine and the seltzer should be kept on the ice for some little time before using.

Ginger Lemonade

If after all this array of non-temperance drinks you feel that you should turn your attention to something milder, and yet can't quite make up your mind to clear cold water, why not try a ginger lemonade? Have a teaspoonful of powdered sugar in a tumbler, add to it the juice of half a lemon and fill the tumbler with ginger ale that has been well iced. You will find this a pleasant change from the ordinary lemonade, and for many persons it serves to make ginger ale a deal more palatable.

Soda Cocktail

Now, if you should feel that you would like to serve a drink that is as innocent and harmless as so much milk, but that when judged by its name alone seems to be intended, oh, my! for very dissipated persons, indeed! let me suggest to you a soda cocktail. Fill a glass with lemon soda, put into it a dash of raspberry syrup and on top of it a thin slice of orange. And, your very good health.

NOVEMBER

"_From our own selves our joys must flow,
And that dear hut our home._"

ONCE upon a time, a somebody who was famous for his or her wit or wisdom, or for both qualities, remarked that oftentimes the easiest and best way to get over a difficulty was to go round it. To my great regret, I can't give you the name of the author of the very pithy saying, neither can I tell you just what conditions called it forth, but it's safe to say that its context was a suggestion or opinion offered for the settling of some great big question of state. But, what is more to the point, I can be of help in showing you, I hope, how to make a practical application of the epigram to every-day affairs. Because, just as sure as we are living, there is always a way to go round if one can't get over the very toughest hands that one gets in life's shuffle.

Now, there's the servant-girl question in its Sunday-night aspect. It exists; it can't be wiped out; and it is impossible to ignore it. She, or they, as the case may be, will have "the evening out," come what may, and guests are pretty sure to come o' Sunday nights. Of course you can't send them home supperless, and neither can you send your family to bed in a semi-famished condition. No; you must go round the situation. And it's not so hard. Indeed, my last trip to market, which included a call at the grocer's, was for the express purpose of picking up points that would make the circuit easy for you.

I'm not going to say a word, here, about the chafing-dish. And I will tell you why. It is the custom in a large number of families for the man of the house to preside at the chafing-dish Sunday nights, and while my stock of book-learning is very diminutive, I have learned that under no circumstances is it wise to offer suggestions to a man who thinks he can cook.

Frequently it is easy to have some little dish left ready by the cook which needs only to be heated before it is served, but in nine households out of ten cold viands are the staple commodity. And the singular sameness is surprising and saddening. If one is in the habit of dropping in to "pot luck" at the houses of one's _intimes_, one soon learns to reckon with a fair degree of certainty upon what will be likely to be set before one.

Now, there are sandwiches. Once let a housekeeper acquire a reputation for a particular brand of that edible, and it's like getting her to change her religion to induce her to try making any other sort. But it requires only a very little time, with a fair amount of common sense, to have a sandwich repertoire that will enable one to get through a fairly long season without repetitions.

Caviare Sandwiches

The next time you are to have caviare sandwiches, try using brown-bread, sliced as thinly as possible, spread with unsalted butter, and then with a layer of caviare and a sprinkling of lemon juice. And you will find them as good as they are uncommon.

Oyster Sandwiches; Fish and Game Sandwiches

Then there are oyster sandwiches. Cook the oysters a bit, or till they are firm, then when they are cool stir them into good stiff mayonnaise, with a seasoning of red pepper and just a few capers. Spread day-old bread with this mixture and finish off, sandwich fashion. You can use cold fish of any sort in this way; having the bits very small, and adding chopped gherkins to the mayonnaise. And, better yet, use in this way any bits of cold game, or poultry, using with them chopped olives and chopped truffles. In either case, you may if you like lay a lettuce leaf on the bread and put the mixture on that. But for myself I have always disliked the addition of lettuce to sandwiches.

Savory Butters

It is very easy to have savory butters, "beurres composés," so familiar to the French cuisine, and so give an infinite variety of taste to any kind of sandwiches. Take, for instance, unsalted butter and season it well with anchovy essence, some very finely chopped parsley, a bit of paprika, and spread thin slices of bread with it and then use a layer of any kind of cold meat. Or you can use shrimp essence, or in fact any essence or sauce that you think would prove to be a favorite.

Crust Sandwiches

One of the most palatable ways, it seems to me, in which to make sandwiches is to take paste, not puff paste that is too rich, and roll it out as thinly as possible; cut it into rounds of uniform size spread around with a certain mixture, then cover it with another round of the paste, pinch the edges together and bake them till they are brown. As to the mixtures, they may be made of an endless number of savory viands. Say bloater paste softened so that it will spread easily with a little melted butter. And then there are all sorts of potted meats and devilled things that seem almost as if they were made expressly to be used in this way. Believe me, you will find these sandwiches ever so dainty if you get them small enough and thin enough, and, by the way, they make a capital appointment for the five-o'clock tea-table.

Sweet Sandwiches

Now for the sweet sandwiches. They may be made with either white bread, cake, or wafers--preferably the last. Have some icing made by your favorite rule and sprinkle into it chopped nuts of any kind and spread the wafers with it. Or, use chopped crystallized fruits and cherries preserved in maraschino; and then try, the next time you make this sort of sweets, some brandied fruits with the icing. You might make a chocolate icing and add to that some chopped pistachios or almonds or preserved ginger. But surely you've enough now in the way of a ground plan for the making of any number of dainty and appetizing bouchées.

Savory Jelly

Just a word about jellied things. You can have a pint of stock, white if possible, season it with an onion, a bay-leaf, a bit of thyme, a clove, and pepper and salt. Then put in a good half-ounce of dissolved gelatine; and turn about one quarter of it, after straining, into a mould and set on ice to cool. Have the rest of the jelly in a liquid state, but perfectly cold. When that in the mould is set, have any sort of cold meat, chicken, turkey, ham or tongue cut into strips free of skin and bone, and pack it into the mould with alternate layers of the jelly, finishing with the latter. Now see how successful you can be in making such a dish a joy to the eye. Use sliced olives, gherkins, capers, truffles, fanciful shapes of beet or anything that your artistic eye will permit, and sprinkle these through the dish as you go along. Run a thin knife blade in between the jelly and mould and then plunge the mould into boiling water and the jelly will unmould easily.

Cheese Salad

Then there are salads. To make one of cheese rub the yolk of a hard-boiled egg in a basin with a tablespoonful of salad oil; add one teaspoonful of salt, a bit of cayenne and a little made mustard; when all is well mixed stir in about half a pound of grated Parmesan cheese, the juice of an onion, and a tablespoon of vinegar. Serve on lettuce leaves. You will find that this will go particularly well with sandwiches of bloater paste.

But for a salad to be served with a jellied meat, make one of nuts, one kind or several, broken into bits, mixed with an equal quantity of sliced olives and spread with only a very little mayonnaise.

I did want to tell you of ways to make some very appetizing beverages, for the sort of occasions we are discussing, but they will have to wait. And perhaps it's just as well; already my conscience is troubling me for fear that you are going to be so taken up with the goodies I have told you of that you will have no inclination to think on "better things" when it comes Sunday. But it can't be helped now.

* * * * *

Last spring a certain Boston man with his family moved into the country. Not so far out, however, but that he could come to town daily to attend to business, and yet far enough from the gilded dome to be able to buy sufficient land for a small farm without paying all creation for it. The next move was the stocking of the farm. So a Jersey cow was bought to keep the family supplied with cream, a flock of prize hens was set at work in a bran new henhouse that there might be fresh eggs on hand, and last but not least, a pair of tiny young pigs were secured to provide the household with sweet, home-made pork when winter should set in. And having secured the stock, the owner proceeded at once to make pets, collectively and individually, of the whole equipment. Actually the cow would manage to look half-way intelligent when he stroked her neck and told her she was the sort that deserved to live in clover the year round; the hens really did add a note to their regular cackle when the master was about, to show him that they knew who gave them heaping measures of grain, and the pigs, which he called Tim and Jim, got in no time to know their names when they were spoken by his voice. Well, cold weather came on and with it those crisp, frosty mornings when a toothsomely seasoned sausage with a potato purée makes an ideal breakfast. So Tim and Jim went the way of all pork, and in due course of time their owner had the satisfaction of seeing on his own breakfast table pork "of his own raising." And what do you think happened then?

"Susan," said he to his wife, "I can't do it; if you will believe me, I can't eat that pork. Give it away--give it all away. Never have any more put on this table. Why, dash it all, Susan, I may be a ninny, but I was actually fond of Tim and Jim, and don't see what I was thinking of when I had them killed."

"Samuel," said the wife, a woman who knew how and when to point a moral, "you needn't call yourself a ninny; be thankful for the feeling you have, because it can give you a glimpse, though from afar off, of the mighty power that will make of us a nation of vegetarians, if we ever do become such."

And I, when I heard of this little episode, fell to wondering if it would be such terribly hard lines after all to be put on a strictly vegetarian diet. At any rate, I managed to turn out one dinner, sans fish, sans flesh, sans fowl, that didn't appear in the least like a substitute for something better. You shall have the menu:

Consommé with asparagus points.
Mushroom cannelons. Poached eggs with tomato.
Macaroni with cheese.
String beans with butter.
Walnut salad.
Lemon soufflé. Coffee.

Consommé with Asparagus

As I was determined to be thoroughly conscientious in the preparation of this dinner, using stock for the soup was quite out of the question, so I prepared it in this way: A couple of onions, a carrot and a bunch of herbs fried in plenty of butter till of a good brown. Add to them a bunch of celery chopped, with salt and pepper for seasoning, and a tiny bit of sugar. Cover with water and boil till the vegetables are quite tender. Strain and add to the liquid a dash of sherry, a few drops of lemon juice and some asparagus points that have been cooked by themselves till tender. Of course, the asparagus you will buy in tins or glass just now, but for use in this way it is quite as good as though freshly cut. You will be surprised, I fancy, when you see how savory a soup you have turned out.

Cannelons of Mushrooms

It isn't often that we feel justified in buying fresh mushrooms at this time of year, but at a dinner of this sort where one is not obliged to pay for a steak or for game, one can afford to be a little bit reckless in the matter of vegetables, especially when they are to be put to such a delicious use as the making of cannelons. Coarsely mince a pound or so of well-wiped mushrooms and toss them with a little minced parsley in butter till nicely browned; then season with white pepper and salt, adding a little more butter to moisten the mushrooms till they are quite cooked. Then stir in--off the fire--the yolks of three eggs, a squeeze of lemon juice, and set the whole aside to cool. Roll out some puff or very short paste thin, cut it out in oblongs, put a good spoonful of the mushroom mixture on each oblong, roll these up like sausages, moistening the edges to make them adhere, brush them over with egg and fry in plenty of oil or in butter. For myself, I prefer the oil, and the using of oil for frying purposes isn't the extravagant act that it seems at the first flush to be, because it wastes very little and can be used repeatedly for different purposes.

The cannelons are to be served with the poached eggs and tomato. And the directions for preparing the latter dish are to be found elsewhere in this book.

Macaroni with Cheese

The macaroni with cheese you know all about, I dare say. Is this your way of doing it? Break the macaroni into two-inch lengths and drop into boiling salted water. When it is quite tender pour cold water over it, drain and stir about in plenty of melted butter till each piece is well covered, then put into a baking-dish, strew grated Parmesan cheese over it and let brown in a hot oven. Just a little bit of cayenne added to the cheese improves the flavor wonderfully, to my thinking.

String Beans with Butter

You can find green string beans at the provisioner's yet, or you can get them tinned, as you choose. I shall not presume to advise you as to that, but for the cooking of them I will say a word or two. Boil them till perfectly tender, then drain well and place them in a pan with a tablespoonful or more of fine herbs (minced chives or minced shallot and parsley), with pepper, salt and lemon juice and two ounces of butter; toss them over the fire till the butter is melted and serve.

Perhaps this isn't the place to go into a discussion of the circumstances that have landed us as a nation at a point where we think we must have turkey on Thanksgiving Day, or be accused of showing a disrespect for the Declaration of Independence. But some time the matter will be attacked by somebody who will spend a decade or so in the Astor Library or the Boston Athenæum to discover who said "turkey" first and where they said it. Evidently it was said in one of those voices that are heard around the world and its echoes have not begun to diminish, so far as my ear can detect, even yet. So turkey it is, I suppose.

Grape Fruit with Rum

But this little talk shall be of the addenda of the dinner. Know what addenda means, don't you? Well, call them "fixin's," then. Nowadays grape fruit is a hard and fast "fixin'" of a Thanksgiving Day dinner. Before the soup it comes on cut in halves with the seeds removed and also all of the white pith in the centre of each half with a pair of sharp scissors. Then by the taste of them it is evident that about an hour before they were put on the table they had a lump of sugar and a teaspoonful of rum put into each half, after which little refection they reposed on the ice till wanted. Don't go on the principle that if a little rum is good more must be better and try to float the fruit in--that would have been hailed as a rank outrage even by Captain Shaddock himself--but just be content to see how potent a little bit of rum can be in good company.

Grape Fruit Sorbet; Fruit Salad

If you want a grape fruit sorbet, thinking it best to begin your dinner with oysters, you may pick out the pulp with a fork in sizable bits, free from seeds and pith, cover these bits with sherry and with a sprinkling of sugar and freeze. You know the rest--how to serve it and the like. But you may be firm in the conviction that when grape fruit comes to your table it doesn't make its appearance till dessert. If so, you will allow me to put in just a word, won't you? The word is to advise you to get the pulp out as recommended for the sorbet, mix with it an equal quantity of Malaga grapes cut in halves with seeds removed, covered with sugar and sherry and iced for three or four hours before serving.

I don't know whether it is true or not but it seems to me more than likely that the mushroom hunters for science' sake are doing "us folks" who like good things to eat a kind turn by getting out so many books on the subject of good, bad, and indifferent sorts. At any rate, they are getting to be more plentiful every year and consequently should be lower in price. Thanksgiving Day seems to be a pretty appropriate time for having them. You must spread yourself on that day, even if you live on bread and cheese for the rest of the month. Have them then and by themselves after the table is cleared of the "bird and its fixin's," and have them in croquettes.

* * * * *

Of course, you knew just what to have for dinner on Thanksgiving Day, and if perchance you didn't there were plenty at hand to tell you how the menu should be composed. So just let me advise you how to prepare two or three dishes, to be called Thanksgiving _en réchauffée_, if it will make things seem any more prosperous to you.

Broiled Turkey Legs

Yes, I shall begin with turkey, because in nine families out of ten, or perhaps ninety-and-nine out of a hundred would be a closer estimate, that bird formed the _pièce de résistance_. You know that if there's plenty to "go round" at the first serving of a turkey the legs are generally left untouched; the carver doesn't feel like giving them to any one, and when it comes to waiting on himself he thinks he is entitled to a choicer bit. And so he is. But you can use those legs all in good time. Just gash them three or four times with a very sharp knife, sprinkle them over with salt, pepper and a few drops of lemon juice and broil them over a hot fire till browned well; put them on a hot dish, pour a little melted butter over them and send to table. They will go uncommonly well, say for a Sunday morning breakfast to help out with a bacon omelet.

Broiled Devilled Turkey Legs; Potato Omelet

But if they are to do duty at luncheon, devil them before broiling. Season them with salt and pepper and then rub lightly with mustard which has been mixed with oil. Turn the legs often while they are broiling, basting them once in a while with a little melted butter. When they are dished pour a little rich brown gravy over them. And with them cooked in this way serve a potato omelet. Pardon the digression, and I will tell you how this is made. It may not prove a digression, however, as it is quite possible that you had a sufficient quantity of mashed potato left from the Thanksgiving Day dinner to make it. But if you didn't, boil four large potatoes and when soft mash them; beat four eggs with a cup of milk, mix it with the potatoes and season with salt and white pepper. Cut four or five ounces of bacon into tiny squares, fry till crisp and brown, then mix in the potatoes and stir over the fire till they are heated through. Let brown well, fold the omelet over and serve.

Minced Turkey with Mushrooms

If there is a considerable quantity of the white meat of the turkey left over cut it up into dice-shaped bits and add to it half its quantity of canned mushrooms cut in two; moisten well with béchamel sauce, season with pepper and salt and let heat for ten minutes, but don't stir it. Dish it on triangular pieces of toasted white bread. Or, if you like, you may use in place of the béchamel sauce, cream and butter; but, whatever amount of cream is used, let it heat till it reduces to one-half.

Minced Turkey

A more savory hash may be made in this way: Use any or all bits of the turkey and chop them rather finely; add a little chopped parsley, a few drops of lemon juice, the juice of an onion or two, and white stock enough to moisten it sufficiently. Let it simmer for half an hour very slowly and then add a little white wine just before taking up. If you are in the habit of using wine in cooking you will know all about how much it will require to give just the right flavor; but if you are pledged to abstain from such practices you won't want to know and you won't need to know how much should be used, so I'll not go into particulars.

Goose Pie

But perhaps for good and sufficient reasons you didn't have turkey at all but had roasted goose, and if that is so please do use up the tidbits by making a goose pie. Cut all the meat from the bones and put the bones with the skin into a saucepan with a little water to boil slowly for two hours. Let it cool, and skim off all the fat; into the bottom of a deep dish put a scanty layer of boiled and mashed onions; sprinkle well with salt and pepper, put in a layer of the goose meat, then a layer of the onions, and so on till the dish is filled. Pour in the water in which the bones were boiled, cover with a good crust and bake in a moderate oven till the crust is done.

Stewed Goose

Let me tell you also that stewed goose is by no means a slow sort of dish. In fact, it is reckoned by a good many as being among the joys of earth. Take two onions, peel and chop, and put them in a saucepan with a tablespoonful of butter and fry until soft; dredge them with flour and stir in half a pint or so of the water in which the bones of the goose have been boiled. Cut up into dice-shaped pieces any or all of the cold cooked goose and put it into the saucepan with a wineglass of white wine and a tablespoonful of vinegar, and season to taste with salt and pepper. Cover closely and stew for half an hour slowly. Turn out and serve very hot.

Baked Squash

It is more than probable that, whatever else you had for dinner, you saw fit to have in addition squash boiled and mashed. And it is safe to say that some of it was left. So take this remnant and heat it well with plenty of butter over the fire and then put it into a baking dish. Scatter Parmesan cheese over the top and brown it very quickly in a hot oven. Serve this with your stewed goose, and the trick is yours.

Broiled Duck Fillets with Orange Sauce

And suppose you had ducks for your dinner, could you find a better way than this to serve up what was left of them? Cut as good-sized pieces as you can and dip them in a little melted butter; season with pepper and salt, and broil for a minute or so over a hot fire. Arrange the pieces on a hot dish and pour over them a sauce made in this way: Fry two or three slices of fat bacon and an onion together for five minutes; add the juice of an orange and a wineglass of port or sherry wine with what salt and pepper is needed. Strain it before using. You will find this so delectable, I dare say, that you will be ready to declare that the last days of those ducks were better than the first.

Duck Salad

Did you ever make a duck salad in this way? Rub the bottom of the salad bowl with a peeled onion, and squeeze in a few drops of lemon juice. Put the cold bits of duck in the bowl with what you consider a suitable amount of chopped whites of boiled eggs; over this sprinkle a few quartered olives and a handful or so of capers, and then put in a layer of chopped watercresses. Cover this with a layer of mayonnaise and serve. Now if you want to use a little turkey meat, or a little goose meat, or a little of each, to eke out what you have of cold duck, go right ahead and do so. The salad will be just as good as when duck alone is used and perhaps some will think it even better.

Fish Salad

Didn't you have a boiled or even a broiled fish of some kind for your dinner, either halibut, striped bass, or fresh cod? If you did, just take what was left of it and flake it up daintily; put a layer of it in a salad bowl that has been rubbed with an onion, sprinkle the fish with salt and lemon juice, put in a layer of shredded lettuce, dressing this also with lemon juice and salt, another layer of the fish and lastly one of lettuce. Cover it all with a layer of tartar sauce, and there you have a salad worth the eating. 'Twouldn't tempt a dying anchorite, perhaps, but it's quite good enough for human nature's daily food.

DECEMBER

"_And we meet, with champagne and chicken, at last._"

ANY one can go to market if she has the wherewithal and secure any kind of game that happens to be on the list and be happy in the purchase and eating of it, I dare say. But the happiest dames in these times are those who have a husband or sweetheart in the field shooting straight to the mark with all thoughts for the recipient of his day's work. So it comes to pass that by express to many a door there come on these fine crisp mornings boxes or hampers of game birds. The next thing, of course, is to get one's neighbors in to partake of them in order that they may be set by the ears with envy. I am with you. I will help you to make this envy business complete while you are about it.

There shall be a dinner given--a dinner which by a wise and palatable arrangement of courses shall lead up to the game.

Now, you know all about scallops, of course--and by "all" you mean fried and served with tartar sauce. Bah! to you and your stereotyped dishes. Novelty I beg of you, and then put in your way the means to do as I beg. Do you appreciate it, I wonder? I doubt it.

Scallops in Shells