Chapter M: G. H

=Rice Croquettes.=—Put a quarter of a pound of Carolina “head” rice, one pint of milk, three tablespoonfuls of powdered sugar, a walnut of butter, and a teaspoonful of _best_ extract of vanilla into a saucepan; simmer gently until the rice is tender and the milk absorbed. It must be boiled until thick and dry, or it will be difficult to mould it into croquettes. Beat it thoroughly for three or four minutes; turn it out on a flat tin, and when cold and stiff form it into balls or cones; dip these in beaten egg, roll lightly in crumbs, and fry in hot fat or butter.

_VEGETABLE ENTREES._

=Stuffed Tomatoes.=—Take six ripe tomatoes of equal size; cut off the tops and scoop out the insides; press the pulp through a sieve and mix with it a little salt and cayenne, two ounces of butter broken into little pieces, and two heaping tablespoonfuls of bread-crumbs; fill the tomatoes with the mixture, and bake in a moderate oven. Before serving them brown the stuffing by holding a salamander or a small shovel containing hot coals over them.

Any good force-meat may be used to stuff tomatoes; the remains of game or poultry minced, and mixed with herbs and bread-crumbs, seasoned and bound together with yolk of egg, will suit the most fastidious.

=Stuffed Egg-Plant.=—Cut the egg-plant in two; scrape out all the inside and put it in a saucepan with a little minced ham; cover with water and boil until soft; drain off the water; add two tablespoonfuls grated crumbs, tablespoonful butter, half a minced onion, salt, and pepper; stuff each half of the hull with the mixture; add a small lump of butter to each and bake fifteen minutes.

=Stuffed Egg-Plant, No. 2.=—Pare off the purple rind of the egg-plant and quarter it; round off the edges as neatly as possible, then place them in salt and water for an hour. Take them out of the water, scrape out the centre, and mix it with a force-meat of veal, bread-crumbs, seasoning, and yolk of egg; put the mixture in the hollow egg-plant, with a lump of butter upon the top of each, and bake a light brown.

=Stuffed Potatoes.=—Take a number of firm-skin potatoes of equal size; clean them well and bake them. When done cut off a piece of the end of each potato and scoop out as much of the inside as can be obtained without injury to the skin; mash it with cream and butter; add a little salt; set the dish on the range to keep hot. Take the whites of three eggs, whip them to a froth, and add to the potatoes; mix all together; simmer until quite hot; fill up the skins with the potato paste; fasten the covers with white of egg, and bake fifteen minutes.

=Potato Balls.=—Boil a small potful of potatoes; wash them well, and mix with them butter, salt, chopped parsley or chives, grated nutmeg, and two raw eggs; work the paste into small balls, dip in beaten egg, roll in cracker-dust or flour, and fry.

=Potato Cake.=—Take half a pound of dry mealy potatoes, either baked or boiled; mash them until they are free from lumps; mix with them three ounces of flour, salt and pepper, and as much lukewarm milk and butter as will make a smooth, firm dough; add one egg and half a teaspoonful of Royal Baking Powder. Roll the paste out with a rolling-pin till it is nearly two inches thick; dredge a little flour over it, and cut it out the exact size of the frying-pan. Rub the pan over with butter; lay the cake carefully into it; cover with a plate; shake it every now and then to prevent it burning; when it is half done on one side turn it over carefully on the other. Serve on a hot dish with plenty of good fresh butter.

Cold potatoes, if dry and mealy, may be warmed up in this manner.

Sweet potatoes make very good potato cake.

=Potato Fritters.=—Burst open four nicely-baked potatoes; scoop out the insides with a spoon, and mix with them a wineglassful of cream, a tablespoonful of brandy, two tablespoonfuls of powdered sugar, the juice of one lemon, half a teaspoonful of Thurber’s best extract vanilla, and the well-beaten yolks of four and the whites of three eggs; beat the batter for several minutes until it is quite smooth, and drop large tablespoonfuls of the mixture into boiling fat, and fry a light brown; dust powdered sugar over them, and send to table.

=Parsnip Fritters.=—Boil four good-sized parsnips in salted water until tender; drain them, beat them to a pulp, and squeeze the water from them as much as possible; bind them together with a beaten egg and a little flour. Shape them into cakes, and fry in hot fat.

=Oyster-Plant Croquettes.=—Wash, scrape, and boil the oyster-plant till tender; rub it through a colander, and mix with the pulp a little butter, cream, salt, cayenne, and lemon-juice; mix the ingredients thoroughly together to a smooth paste, and set the dish in the ice-box to get cold; then shape it into small cones, dip them in beaten egg and roll in crumbs, and fry crisp and brown.

=Fritters.=—The following receipt will serve for many kinds of fruit or vegetable fritters: Make a batter of ten ounces of flour, half a pint of milk, and two ounces of butter; sweeten and flavor to taste; add a glass of brandy, rum, or sherry; stir in the whites of two eggs well beaten; dip the fruit in the batter, and fry. Small fruit and vegetables should be mixed with the batter.

=Arrowroot for Batters and Sauces.=—Arrowroot may be used to thicken batters, sauces, etc., for those who object to butter, as invalids very often do. Mix a tablespoonful of Beatty’s Bermuda Arrowroot smoothly with a little cold water, and stir it into a pint of the batter or sauce.

=Omelettes.=—Numerous kinds of omelettes may be served as the last entrée, and, if properly made, they generally give satisfaction. As a rule an omelette is a wholesome, inexpensive dish, but yet one in the preparation of which cooks frequently fail owing to ignorance of detail. The flavoring and the ingredients used may be varied indefinitely, but the process is always the same. In making an omelette care should be taken that the frying-pan is hot and dry. The best way to ensure this is to put a small quantity of fat into the pan, let it simmer a few minutes, then pour it out; wipe the pan dry with a towel and put in a little fresh fat, in which the omelette should be fried; care should be taken that the fat does not burn, thereby spoiling the color of the omelette.

It is better to make two or three small omelettes than one large one. The eggs should be but slightly beaten, just long enough to mix them, and no more; a tablespoonful of cream to every two eggs will be found an improvement. Salt _mixed_ with the eggs prevents them from rising and gives the omelette a flabby appearance; without salt your omelette will taste insipid; sprinkle a little salt on the omelette just before turning out on the dish.

=Oyster Omelette.=—Stew six oysters in their own liquor; remove the oysters and thicken the liquid with butter rolled in flour; season with salt, cayenne, and mix with it a teaspoonful chopped parsley. Chop up the oysters and add them to the sauce; simmer gently until the sauce thickens. Beat three eggs lightly with a tablespoonful and a half of cream, and fry until they are delicately set; before folding over put a few spoonfuls of the mixture in the centre; turn it out carefully on a hot dish, with the balance of the sauce round it, and serve immediately.

If small oysters are used put them in the centre of the omelette, whole, fold and serve with sauce round it.

=Rum Omelette.=—Fry an omelette in the usual way; fold it with a little salt, and turn it out on a hot dish; dust sugar over it, and singe the sugar into stripes with a hot iron rod; pour a wineglassful of warm rum round the omelette, set a light to it, and send to table flaming.

=Omelette Souffle.=—Break six eggs into separate cups; beat four of the yolks, and mix with them a teaspoonful of flour, three tablespoonfuls of powdered sugar, very little salt, and any flavoring extract that may be preferred. Whisk the white of the six eggs to a firm froth; mix them lightly with the yolks; pour the mixture into a greased pan or dish, and bake in a quick oven. When it is well risen and lightly browned on the top it is done; take it out of the oven, dust a little powdered sugar over it carefully, and send to table immediately. It must be served in the same dish in which it is baked.

=Welsh Rarebit.=—Select the richest and best American factory cheese—the milder it is the better, as the melting brings out the strength. To make five rarebits take one pound of cheese, grate it, and put it in a tin or porcelain-lined saucepan; add ale enough to thin the cheese sufficiently, say about a wineglassful to each rarebit; stir until all is melted. Have a slice of toast ready for each rarebit (crusts trimmed); put a slice on each plate, and pour cheese enough over each piece to cover it. Eat while hot.

=To make a “Golden Buck.”=—A “Golden Buck” is merely the addition of a poached egg, which is put carefully on the top of the rarebit.

“=Yorkshire Rarebit.=”—This is the same as a “Golden Buck,” only it has two thin slices of broiled bacon on the top.—_George Browne, in Thurber’s Epicure._

[See Vegetables, page 90.]

_ROASTING._

Roasting is an excellent method of rendering food wholesome and nourishing. Without making any great change in the chemical properties of meat it renders it more tender and highly flavored, while there is not so much waste of its nutritive juices as in baking. But where can the average American get a slice of _roast_ beef? Our homes are not provided with spits, bottle-jacks, Dutch ovens, and the like; and as a very sensible writer in the New York _Times_ stated, “ninety-nine _roasts_ in the United States are baked in ovens, and there is no help for it.” I can see no possible way out of the dilemma but to submit gracefully to baked meats for ever. The leading hotels and restaurants overcome the difficulty by purchasing the very best of beef, and keeping it from eight to fifteen days in their ice-houses. Thus the excellent quality of the beef overcomes, in a measure, the bad effects created by the superheated volatile portions that escape from the beef during the process of baking.

No finer, better, or sweeter piece of meat was ever tasted, either in England or America, than the Astor House roast beef; and the secret is in securing the best quality, and taking proper care of it before submitting it to the oven.

=Roast Beef.=—The best roasting-pieces are the fore and middle ribs and the sirloin. The chuck-ribs, although cheaper, are not as profitable to families, there being too much waste in the carving of them. The ends of the ribs should be removed from the flank, and the latter folded under the beef and securely fastened with skewers. Rub a little salt into the fat part; place the meat in the dripping-pan with a pint of stock or water; baste freely, and dredge with flour half an hour before taking the joint from the oven.

Should the oven be very hot place a buttered paper over the meat to prevent it scorching while yet raw, in which case it will need very little basting; or turn the rib side up towards the fire for the first twenty minutes. The time it will take in cooking depends entirely upon the thickness of the joint and the length of time it has been killed. Skim the fat from the gravy and add a tablespoonful of prepared brown flour and a glass of sherry to the remainder.

=Roast Loin of Veal.=—Make an incision in the flank or skirt of the loin of veal, and into the cavity thus made, just over the end of the bone, put a well-flavored veal force-meat. Roll in the flank to cover the kidney-fat, and bind it firmly with string or tape. Place a few small veal bones with a few assorted vegetables, cut up, in a dripping-pan; put the loin upon this bed, add half a pint of stock or water, and set it in the oven for twenty minutes; in the meantime work together a tablespoonful of flour with two tablespoonfuls of melted butter; draw the joint from the oven, baste it with the flour and butter, return it to the oven again, and baste occasionally until done.

Veal should be thoroughly done. When it is underdone it is decidedly indigestible and should be avoided.

The breast of veal boned, with a layer of force-meat spread over the inside and rolled and tightly bound, may be substituted for loin of veal.

=Mutton.=—The choicest mutton in the United States comes from the mountainous regions of Pennsylvania. The animals are semi-domestic and almost as shy and as timid as a deer. In 1878 Col. Duffy, one of Pennsylvania’s fish commissioners, dined a party of English gentlemen on mountain-mutton, and they pronounced it the finest-flavored morsel of _venison_ they had ever eaten.

=Roast Leg of Mutton.=—Take a leg of well-kept mutton, rub it lightly with salt, and put it in a dripping-pan with a very little water; cut a potato in two lengthwise, and set it under the leg; baste with a little good dripping at first, and when within twenty minutes of being done, dredge it with flour to get it frothed. Turn the joint two or three times while cooking. Time, about a quarter of an hour to the pound.

=Loin of Mutton.=—Follow the directions given for roast leg of mutton, but trim off all unnecessary fat, cover the joint with paper until within twenty minutes of its being done, then remove, baste, and flour slightly; serve with currant-jelly. If properly cooked and served _hot_ it is a royal dish, but if the fat is not turned to account, a very expensive one.

=Lamb.=—Put a four or five pound joint of lamb in a dripping-pan with a gill of stock or water; salt and pepper; roll two ounces of butter in a very little flour, divide it into small pieces, and add it here and there upon the meat; set the pan in a moderate oven, and baste frequently until done.

Skim the fat from the gravy, and serve with the lamb; or serve mint sauce with the joint.

=Mint Sauce.=—Wash the sprigs of mint, let them dry on a towel, strip off the leaves, and chop them very fine; put in a sauce-boat with a cupful of vinegar and four lumps of sugar; let it stand an hour, and before serving stir all together. Mint sauce, if bottled, will keep for some time, and be just as good, if not better, than it was the first day.

=Saddle of Lamb.=—A saddle of lamb is a dainty joint for a small party. Sprinkle a little salt over it, and set it in the dripping-pan, with a few small pieces of butter on the meat; baste it occasionally with tried-out lamb-fat; dredge a little flour over it a few minutes before taking from the oven. Serve with the very best of currant-jelly, and send to table with it a few choice early vegetables. Mint sauce may be served with the joint, but in a very mild form.

=Pork.=—Pork, more than any other meat, requires to be chosen with the greatest care. The pig, from its gluttonous habits, is particularly liable to disease; and if killed and eaten when in an unhealthy condition, those who partake of it will probably pay dearly for their indulgence. Dairy-fed pork is the best; and knowing this fact, a number of our first-class hotels raise their own pork on farms connected with their country residences. Among them may be mentioned the Continental Hotel, Philadelphia; the Astor, Union Square, Sturtevant, Hoffman, Fifth Avenue, Windsor, and several other leading hotels in New York City. We are indebted to Chas. Lamb for the history of roast pig. In his essays he says: “The art of roasting, or rather broiling (which I take to be the elder brother), was accidentally discovered in the manner following: The swineherd Ho-ti, having gone out into the woods one morning, as his manner was, to collect mast for his hogs, left his cottage in the care of his eldest son, Bo-bo, a great, lubberly boy, who, being fond of playing with fire, let some sparks escape into a bundle of straw, which, kindling quickly, spread the conflagration over every part of their poor mansion till it was reduced to ashes. Together with the cottage, what was of much more importance, a fine litter of new farrowed pigs, no less than nine in number, perished. Bo-bo was in the utmost consternation, as you may think, not so much for the sake of the tenement—which his father and he could easily build up again with a few dry branches, and the labor of an hour or two, at any time—as for the loss of the pigs. While he was thinking what he should say to his father, and wringing his hands, an odor assailed his nostrils unlike any scent which he had before experienced. What could it proceed from? Not from the burnt cottage; he had smelt that before. Indeed, this was by no means the first accident which had occurred through the negligence of this unlucky firebrand. A premonitory moistening at the same time overflowed his nether lip. He knew not what to think. He next stooped down to feel the pig, if there were any signs of life in it. He burnt his fingers, and to cool them he applied them in his booby fashion to his mouth. Some of the crumbs of the scorched skin had come away with his fingers, and for the first time in his life (in the world’s, indeed, for before him no man had known it) he tasted—_crackling_! Again he felt and fumbled at the pig. It did not burn him so much now; still, he licked his fingers from a sort of habit. The truth at length broke into his slow understanding that it was the pig that smelt so and the pig that tasted so delicious; and surrendering himself up to the new-born pleasure, he fell to tearing up whole handfuls of the scorched skin, with the flesh next it, and was cramming it down his throat in his beastly fashion when his sire entered amid the smoking rafters, and, finding how affairs stood, began to rain blows upon the young rogue’s shoulders as thick as hailstones, which Bo-bo heeded not any more than if they had been flies. The tickling pleasure which he experienced in his lower regions had rendered him quite callous to any inconveniences he might feel in those remote quarters. Bo-bo’s scent, being wonderfully sharpened since morning, soon raked out another pig, and, fairly rending it asunder, thrust the lesser half by main force into the fists of Ho-ti, still shouting out, ‘Eat, eat! Eat the burnt pig, father! Only taste!’ It is needless to state that both father and son despatched the remainder of the litter. Bo-bo was strictly enjoined not to let the secret escape. Nevertheless strange stories got about; it was observed that Ho-ti’s cottage was burnt down now more frequently than ever. As often as the sow farrowed, so soon was the house of Ho-ti seen to be in a blaze. At length they were watched, the terrible mystery discovered, and father and son summoned to take their trial at Peking, then an inconsiderable assize town. Evidence was given, the obnoxious food itself produced in court, and verdict about to be pronounced, when the foreman of the jury begged that some of the burnt pig of which the culprit stood accused might be handed into the box. He handled it, and they all handled it; and burning their fingers as Bo-bo and his father had done before them, and nature prompting to each of them the same remedy, against the face of all the facts and the clearest charge which judge had ever given, to the surprise of the whole court, townsfolk, strangers, reporters (they had Howards and Raymonds in those days), and all present, without leaving the box, or any manner of consultation whatever, they brought in a simultaneous verdict of not guilty.”

=Dr. Kitchiner on Pork.=—“Take particular care it be done enough. Other meats underdone are unpleasant, but pork is absolutely uneatable; the sight of it is enough to appall the sharpest appetite, if its gravy has the least tint of redness. Be careful of the crackling; if this be not crisp, or if it be burned, you will be scolded.”

=The Turkey.=—The turkey, says Brillat-Savarin, “is the largest, and, if not the most delicate, at least the most savory of domestic poultry. It enjoys the singular advantage of assembling around it every class of society. When our farmers and wine-growers regale themselves on a winter’s evening, what do we see roasting before the kitchen fire, close to which the white-clothed table is set? A turkey! When the useful tradesman or the hard-worked artist invites a few friends to an occasional treat, what dish is he expected to set before them? A nice roast turkey stuffed with sausage-meat and Lyons chestnuts. And in our highest gastronomical society, when politics are obliged to give way to dissertations on matters of taste, what is desired, what is awaited, what is looked out for at the second course? A truffled turkey. In my ‘Secret Memoirs’ I find sundry notes recording that on many occasions its restorative juice has illumined diplomatic faces of the highest eminence.”

Now, the average American could not be induced to eat a turkey stuffed with sausage-meat; he would naturally say that if the useful tradesman “or the hard-working artist” experienced any pleasure over such a compound, he was welcome to it; to him sausage-meat was too suggestive of pork and—mystery. But the Lyons chestnuts—ah! yes, that will do, for he has tasted chestnut stuffing and has learned to like it. A dissertation on truffles, while waiting for the “truffled turkey” to be served, is all that is necessary to make him say he is passionately fond of them in any form, otherwise he would be apt to ask the waiter to remove the dressing from his plate, “as it was full of small pieces of charcoal” (an actual occurrence).

=Roast Turkey.=—Singe the bird, and in drawing it preserve the heart, gizzard, and liver; remove the gall-bag from the liver, and be very careful not to break it, as if any of the liquid touches the bird no amount of washing will remove the bitter taste. Cut off the neck close to the body, and before doing so push back the skin of the neck so that sufficient may be left on to turn over the back; remove a part of the fat adhering to the skin; split the breast-bone from the inside, or place several folds of cloth on the high breast-bone and break and flatten it a little with a rolling-pin to make the bird look plump. Fill the breast and body with stuffing; sew up the opening with coarse thread; turn the neck-skin over the back and fasten it; truss the legs close to the breast, the wings turn over the back, using skewers or twine to hold them in proper position. Put the turkey in the dripping-pan with a little hot water, dredge it with flour, and lay a few small pieces of butter upon it, and the feet, scalded and scraped, under it. Baste frequently. Time, from two to three hours, according to the size of the bird.

Should he prove to be of doubtful age and rich in spurs and scaly feet, parboil him. Put him in a saucepan or pot, cover with cold water, add a teaspoonful of salt, and when the water comes to a boil take out the bird and dry it well before stuffing it.

=Chestnut Stuffing.=—Roast a pint of chestnuts and peel off the outer and inner skin; weigh them, and simmer half a pound of them for twenty minutes in as much veal gravy as will cover them; drain and let them cool; then pound them in a mortar with four ounces of butter, three ounces of bread-crumbs, a trifle of grated lemon-peel and powdered mace, salt, and a pinch of cayenne; bind the mixture with the yolks of three eggs.

Chestnuts roasted or boiled may be added to almost any stuffing for fowl, etc., and give general satisfaction. I once made a stuffing of chestnuts, apple-sauce, bread-crumbs, and the proper seasoning for a ’possum, and all who tasted of it pronounced it a dainty dish. One of the party, Dr. H——, never tires of talking about “that ’possum with the chestnuts.”

=Oyster Stuffing.=—Remove the heart (or what some call the eye) from two dozen oysters, mince them finely, pound them to a paste, and mix with them five ounces of bread-crumbs, an ounce of butter, the grated rind of half a lemon, a tablespoonful of chopped parsley, a pinch of cayenne, an even teaspoonful of salt, and half a teaspoonful of pepper. When well mixed bind the mixture with the yolk of an egg and a small quantity of the oyster liquid added gradually.

=Bread Stuffing.=—Grate sufficient bread to fill the bird; moisten it with milk, and season with salt, pepper, sweet marjoram, and the grated rind of one lemon. Add a tablespoonful of butter, and bind the mixture with yolk of egg. Add a few raw whole oysters, if desired.

=Roast Capon.=—They should be managed in the same way as turkeys, and served with the same sauces. I cannot quite come to the conclusion that a roast capon is equal in flavor to one boiled and served with egg sauce.

=Roast Chicken.=—Singe your chickens and truss them carefully. Broilers, as they are called, are better without stuffing, unless they are very large. Season with salt, put small bits of butter over the meat, and place them in the pan with a little water or veal stock; baste occasionally and dredge with flour before taking from the oven. A few tarragon leaves with the sauce are acceptable.

A spring chicken cooked in any style is not to be despised by any means, but I quite agree with that appreciative epicure, Mr. Sam Ward, when he said:

“To roast spring chickens is to spoil ’em;
Just split ’em down the back and broil ’em.”

=Roast Pigeon.=—Raise the skin from the breast-bones of the pigeons with your finger; make a small quantity of finely-flavored stuffing, and stuff it between the skin and flesh, using care not to break the skin. Fasten a long, thin slice of bacon over the breasts of the birds with toothpicks; put them in a dripping-pan with a little water, and dredge with flour. When done remove the bacon, set them neatly around the edge of a dish, fill the centre with new green peas or Godillot French peas, and serve. (A favorite dish of the members of the Club of Lindenthorpe, on the Delaware.)

=Roast Domestic Duck.=—Americans, as a rule, do not take kindly to domestic duck, owing to its peculiar flavor and richness, and also to the fact of the bird being usually accompanied with a very highly-seasoned onion stuffing. Nevertheless, a young domestic duck stuffed with a bread stuffing seasoned with salt, pepper, sage, and a _suspicion_ of onion, is a dish that should often appear upon the tables of our American families. A pair of ducklings with no other stuffing than an onion placed inside the birds while roasting, and removed before serving, will make a splendid dinner for a family of five or six. Serve with apple-fritters or apple-sauce.

=Roast Goose.=—Singe, draw, and truss the goose, and, if an old one, parboil it. The best stuffing for a goose is a sage-and-onion stuffing. The way in which this is made must depend upon the taste of those who have to eat it. If a strong flavor of onions is liked the onion should be chopped raw. If this is not the case they should be boiled in one or two waters, and mixed with bread-crumbs, powdered sage, salt and pepper, nutmeg, and two small apples chopped fine; fill the bird with the stuffing, sew it up with coarse thread, sprinkle salt over it, and set it in a pan with a little warm water; baste frequently, and do not take it from the oven until thoroughly cooked.

=Ham a la Russe.=—If the ham be hard and salty soak it for several hours. If a fresh-cured Ferris ham it will not need soaking. Trim and cut away all the rusty parts, and cover it with a coarse paste of flour and water half an inch thick, and fasten it securely to prevent the juice escaping. Time, from three to four hours, according to size of the ham. Remove the paste and skin while the ham is hot, cover the fat with a sugar paste (see boiled ham) moistened with port, and return it to the oven a few minutes to brown.

The Continental Hotel, Philadelphia, makes a specialty of _Ham à la Russe_, and it is a splendid dish served with champagne sauce.

=Canvas-Back Duck.=—Pluck, draw, and singe the duck; wipe out the blood from the inside with a clean towel; cut off the head and neck, and put them in the body of the duck, allowing the head to protrude. Sprinkle a little celery-salt over the breast, with a bit of butter; put it on a small buttered pan, and set it in the oven for seventeen minutes. Serve with currant-jelly.

A few outer stalks of celery placed inside the duck will improve its flavor.

A red-head duck stuffed with grated bread, chopped celery, seasoning, and mixed with yolk of egg, will taste very much like a canvas-back.

A blue-winged teal duck is very nice broiled. Cut it down the back, brush a little melted butter over it, and broil, keeping the inner part of the duck to the fire most of the time. To roast a teal place a strip of bacon over the breast and set it in the oven for fifteen minutes.

=Roast Venison.=—Take a leg of well-kept venison, wipe it thoroughly, rub a little salt over it, and dredge with flour. Place it in a dripping-pan with the ragged pieces you have trimmed off of it, and a little water or wine. Put small bits of butter here and there over the meat, set it in the oven, and baste frequently till done. If the leg is not very fat it is a good plan to lard it with strips of bacon or pork. Serve with currant-jelly, and don’t forget the hot plates.

I am not a lover of venison à l’Anglaise, for I do not fancy the flour paste daubed over the meat as most English cooks prepare it, though the buttered paper is an advantage when cooking large joints of game.

=Roast Prairie Chicken.=—The bird being a little strong, and its flesh when cooked a little dry, it should be either larded or wide strips of bacon or pork placed over its breast. A mild seasoned stuffing will improve the flavor of old birds. Dust a little flour over them, baste occasionally, and serve.

Pheasants may be managed in the same manner.

=Roast Quail.=—Pluck and draw the birds, rub a little butter over them, tie a strip of bacon over the breasts, and set them in the oven for twenty to twenty-five minutes.

=Roast Woodcock.=—Pluck the bird carefully, do not cut off the head or draw the trail; punch a few holes in the back of the bird with a fork, and lay it in the pan on a piece of buttered toast. A little salt is all the seasoning required. Time, twenty minutes. A woodcock is the only gamebird I send to table without currant-jelly; its own fine flavor needs no bush.

=Roast Snipe.=—Pluck and draw the snipe, preserving the trail and head; tie a thin strip of bacon over the breast; chop up the trail and spread it on buttered toast (one slice for each bird); lay the birds in the pan with the toast between them, and roast twenty minutes. Remove the bacon, place the birds on the toast, and serve.

=Rail-Birds.=—Rail-birds are decidedly inferior to either snipe or woodcock. They should be skinned, as much of their rankness lies in the skin. The trail is a trifle too strong for the average American palate. They make a very good pie; manage them as you would snipe for roasting, broiling, etc.

=Reed-Birds.=—These delicious “lumps of sweetness,” as they are appropriately called, are always acceptable, but to thoroughly appreciate a reed-bird dinner one must mingle with the gunners on the Delaware River as guest or member of one of the many clubs whose houses are situated within a few hundred yards from the hunting-grounds.

After the judge’s decision as to who has _high boat_, the birds are plucked (and, at some of the club-houses, drawn), arranged neatly in a dripping-pan with bits of fresh country butter between them. They are allowed to cook on one side a few minutes, and with a long-handled spoon are turned over to brown the other side. A little salt is added, and they are then placed upon a hot platter _en pyramide_ and the gravy poured over them; they are then sent to table with fried chip potatoes. The scene that follows baffles description. Not a voice is heard, “at least as long as the birds last.” The painful silence is only broken by the sounds of crumbling bones between the teeth of the assemblage, and an occasional _More birds, Mr. Caterer!_ from that prince of gourmets, Mayor S——.

=Reed-Birds a la Lindenthorpe.=—On “Ladies’ Day” the members of this club are more particular than on “members’ day.” They prepare the birds by drawing the trail and removing the heads; they then take large sweet or Irish potatoes, cut them in two, scoop out the insides, and put an oyster or a small piece of bacon inside of each bird, and put the birds inside the potato, tie them up with twine, and bake until the potatoes are done. The common twine is then removed and the potatoes are tied with a narrow piece of white or colored tape, in a neat bow-knot, and sent to table on a napkin.

_SALADS._

There is not a dish in the gastronomic vocabulary that varies in composition more than a salad. And the reasons for it are many. Among them may be mentioned climatic influences and the personal habits of individuals. The individual who lives well, and who considers a meal imperfect without a wine or malt beverage, will sooner or later learn to use condiments to such an extent as to alarm the more temperate at table. A salad prepared for the majority, he will tell you, cloys on his palate; and, after the first mouthful he resorts to cayenne and vinegar to “tone up” the salad to suit his taste. After this ungenerous act the close observer will notice confusion upon the face of the salad-composer, who felt confident that he had prepared a salad to suit the taste of the most fastidious. But my friend the salad-mixer should not get offended; he should keep in view one fact—that a palate abused by the constant use of tobacco and other stimulants requires more sharp and pungent seasoning than one accustomed to these things only in moderation, and that a strictly temperate person requires less of condiments than either of them.

The dyspeptic’s case is entirely different. He will complain of a salad in any form, accusing the oil of causing all his trouble. But he is wrong. Let him stop flooding his food with liquids that only dilute and weaken the gastric juices of the stomach and he will soon be rid of dyspepsia and learn to love salads as much as other people. The habit of washing down each mouthful of food with liquids is a deplorable one, and the person that does it invites dyspepsia by so doing. Persons who are in the habit of eating salads late at night, and who complain of indigestion next morning, will find it to their advantage to add half a teaspoonful of chicken pepsin to each pint of Mayonnaise; by so doing digestion is assisted, and everyone will feel very much better next day.

In catering for families I invariably add pepsin to the dressing, but until now have kept it a secret, not liking the idea of being accused of mixing medicine with the food. Nevertheless I have been amply rewarded by receiving more orders than I could personally attend to.

The following letter will explain itself:

SHARPLESS & SONS, 801 to 807 Chestnut St.,
PHILADELPHIA, March 7, 1879.

_Mr. Murrey, Continental Hotel_:

DEAR SIR: Please send two quarts of chicken salad manipulated by
_yourself_; the last we had prepared by you left a pleasant
recollection. Send up promptly at five o’clock, and oblige,