Henrietta Sowle

“The best doctors in the world are Doctor Diet, Doctor Quiet, and Doctor Merryman.”

THE very first thing to be done on Easter morning is to get up in time to see the sun dance; for, as you probably know, not a bit of good luck will be yours for the year to come if laziness, or anything, in fact, save cloudy skies, prevents your beholding this phenomenon. But it is possible that you don’t know that this means nothing less than to be facing the east with eagle eye and steady nerve at a pretty early hour. Rather rough, isn’t it? How would it do, then, to sit up all night in order to be on hand to witness the fancy steps of the god of day? You could do that and then have a good long nap, after which you might be refreshed by a breakfast of shad roes (they’re about as inexpensive now as they will be), broiled to a turn, with a little melted butter and lemon juice, judiciously mixed, poured over them; dainty, crisp lettuce hearts, salted a bit; graham bread, thinly sliced, and toasted to that shade known the world over as “epicurean brown;” and lastly, instead of coffee, a steaming, fragrant, appetizing cup of English breakfast tea. My word for it, you will be tempted to linger over this breakfast, but stern duty permits no such loitering. No, indeed; you must be up and away, or how on earth are you going to make certain comparisons that shall confirm you in your belief that your new bonnet is nothing less than a dream? Dear knows, I hope you won’t see any headgear that will take the shine off your own, for then you will be sure to go home out of sorts, and the charming little dinner menu that I have compiled for your use and behoof might as well be of corned beef and cabbage for all the appreciation it will get from you.

But in case that everything does go smoothly, and nothing happens to nick your peace of mind, could anything be more delectable than a dinner which would unfold itself to your delighted palate in this order? To begin with: Clam cocktails, made, of course, with the little-neck variety; they should be put in half-dozen lots into small glasses, and seasoned with lemon juice, tabasco, salt, and the tiniest suspicion of onion juice—just enough, you understand, to cause one to wonder if that delightful flavor is really onion.

And then to follow up the good impression left by the clam cocktails, have a soup of consommÉ of perfect flavor and delicacy—the sort, you know, that doesn’t jar with what has gone before or is to come.

The “to come” in this case might be, say, of trout, broiled to a nicety and served with tartar sauce. But if for financial reasons you object to the trout, why, then you may get good salmon from the West, or pompano, and bluefish of fairly good flavor. But whatever fish you decide upon, have it broiled, so that you may serve it with some delicious hothouse cucumbers. Quite a little fall in the price of cucumbers you will see within the next two or three weeks.

And the price of spring lamb has dropped perceptibly too by this time. Now, please, whichever part of the lamb you select, don’t have it roasted. Have it sliced for steaks, and broiled to the stage most in favor in your family circle, then salted well, but buttered sparingly, as you must—there is no use in trying to dodge the issue—serve a BÉarnaise sauce with lamb steak. Have lobster salad without the lobster, omit the crabs from devilled crabs, if it pleases you, but never under any circumstances serve a lamb steak without a BÉarnaise sauce. It would be barbarism—nothing short of it! And to make the sauce? Well, put into a saucepan a gill of vinegar and water, equal parts, half a teaspoonful of minced onion, and a few tarragon leaves. Let this cook, tightly covered, till reduced one-half; then take it off the fire, and when cold mix with it the well-beaten yolks of four eggs; season with salt and mignonette, and return to the fire; add slowly to it three ounces of melted butter, stirring continually till it thickens to the consistency of mayonnaise. Then strain it through a fine sieve, and add to it chopped tarragon, a teaspoonful, and the same quantity of chopped parsley.

And there’s just one way to cook potatoes so that they seem quite good enough to accompany a lamb steak, and that way is called potatoes soufflÉes. The potatoes should be trimmed to ovals two and a quarter inches long by one and a quarter wide, and then sliced lengthwise, having the slices half an inch in thickness. When they are sliced, put them into ice-water to remain twenty-five minutes. Then have ready two pans of frying fat, one just hot and the other piping hot. Into the former put the potatoes, in a frying-basket, and let them cook without browning till tender; take them out, place on a sieve to cool and dry somewhat, and then plunge them into the pan containing the piping hot fat; stir them about, and they will begin to souffler; then they must be taken out, salted and served.

Now, if anything happens to prevent this course from turning out the howling success that I predict for it, I want you to go to my favorite dining place the next time you are in New York and order “the same.” You will know then what these two dishes are in perfection.

It may be that a salad of new beets would be quite the thing on this occasion; if so, you will have no trouble in finding them in good condition, and as sweet as a new beet should be.

Here endeth my part of the lesson.

Set your own pace for a dessert.

Although I am prepared to sit up nights to sympathize with any one who is really deserving of having me share that emotion with her, I don’t have a particle of desire to weep with the woman who weeps because visitors have dropped in on her suddenly and caught her with her cupboard bare. In these days of canned things the woman whose larder doesn’t boast as a continuous performance at least half a dozen varieties was never meant for a housekeeper.

For my part, I should think I was remiss in the duties of a housekeeper if I did not have half a dozen varieties of canned soup alone from which to select in time of need.

Start, then, we will say, an impromptu lunch with a soup canned by any one of the sixteen firms, more or less, that so prepare them. Of course, there will be sardines—the stand-by of all housekeepers; but you will have sardine toast—a rarity with almost every one. Wipe the skin off the sardines with a dry cloth. The toasted bread is free from all crust, mind, and it is spread with butter mixed with lemon juice and chopped parsley. The sardines are laid on it, and the whole arrangement set in the oven to heat.

Just as tempting a bouchÉe is an anchovy toast. Chop the anchovies, and add to them bits of parsley, a suspicion of onion juice, a few drops of lemon juice, and some paprika. Spread this on toast which has been buttered, and heat quickly in the oven.

Then, there’s tunny-fish always to be depended upon to furnish an impromptu dish that seems like one planned long before. Drain it from the oil in which it is preserved. Lay it on a dish, sprinkle with lemon juice, chopped parsley, and capers; and keep your eyes open for the admiring glances your guests will be trying to hide from you when they first taste of it.

Then smoked, boneless herring, you know, are good almost any way; but broiled till they curl up a bit over a hot fire, and sent to table flanked by olives, water crackers, and a bottle or two of lager beer, they are leaders.

Of course, with two or three kinds of devilled meats in the house the making of sandwiches, even at short notice, is just a pastime; and with all the crackers now to be had it would be foolish to waste tears over the absence of bread. In fact, the world, the market, and the grocery store are filled to the brim with substitutes nowadays—substitutes that make it easy to forget originals. Although ’tis by signs of promises soon to be richly fulfilled that a market interests me chiefly at this season, there is no lack even to-day of a good supply of edibles, both substantial and delicate, and do I go a-marketing determined to buy everything on an economical basis I find Dame Nature and the marketman in league to help me furnish forth my table daintily and inexpensively. Or, if in a reckless mood of extravagance I betake myself to the vendor of viands, I find him and the dear old dame quite as helpful in carrying out my plans.

Naturally, in trips to market, my methodical mind leads me to inquire first what is suitable for breakfast; what is best calculated to minister to an appetite capricious in the fickle springtime. Numerous answers are forthcoming to my inquiry, the first of which says shad roes made into delicious croquettes with a garnishing of lettuce hearts. Very good, I say, very appropriate, but what else is there?—every one doesn’t care for that dish. And then, taking the matter into my own hands, as the marketman is perfectly willing that I should, I peer around to see what is to be had, and make notes mentally for future use. There are mackerel of finest flavor, which, if broiled to a turn and having as an accompaniment crisp, fresh radishes, are fit to put before a king. Another breakfast dish, which is also quite good enough for any royal person, is of kidneys broiled on skewers with alternate slices of bacon. A bit of parsley serves not only to decorate this last dish, but forms a piquant relish for it, and relishes for breakfast dishes are more of a necessity now than at any other season. The orange juice which has proved so potent an appetizer when the mercury ranges near to zero, fails to supply the needed zest for a springtime morning meal, and we must have recourse to a fresh green vegetable, in addition.

From breakfast fare to luncheon dishes I turn my attention logically, and learn that sweetbreads are particularly fine just now in whatever way they are served, but in my opinion they are never quite so good as when simmered gently in butter and served with cream sauce, to which has been added a few fresh mushrooms.

Spring chickens, tender and toothsome if broiled as they should be, are worthy of an honored place at any luncheon, and the marketman tells me those lately received are of excellent quality.

That dainty of dainties, in the estimation of many people, frogs’ legs, if broiled or served with a cream sauce, appeals to the most fastidious palate. And just now they are not only plentiful and in fine condition, but are quite inexpensive.

A dish which we cannot always obtain, and which is especially suitable for a midday meal, is of the Taunton River alewives smoked; they should be broiled, and there should be served with them, without fail, a potato salad made from the Bermuda potatoes, which are exceptionally desirable at this season.

In the ordering of a dinner I have always maintained that though it consists of only two courses, there is an opportunity for the exercise of great discretion. A knowledge of the eternal fitness of things is essential above all else in order to arrange a dinner at which the courses shall not be at war with each other. A certain famous lawyer remarked in my hearing not long ago that “he knew women who could play whist and play it as it should be, and he knew women who could order a dinner fit for the gods, but never had he known and never did he expect to know, a woman who could do both.” Perhaps he was right, but I believe there are women in plenty who are quite capable of doing both to perfection.

At this season, with oysters almost out of the running, little-neck clams may be depended upon to whet the appetite, while the soup which follows must be at once delicate and yet so rich that the first spoonful enchants. If the next course is to be of bluefish, or of salmon, or of striped bass, all of which are in first-class condition in this month, potatoes should be served in any desired shape if the fish is to be boiled or braised; should it be broiled or fried, then by all means let its accompaniment be cucumbers, which are plentiful, and are sold at a comparatively low figure, by now.

If you follow my advice you will avoid the heavy, clumsy, and unimaginative joint. Decide rather upon ducklings to be roasted or broiled, or upon squabs; or, if these are a thought too expensive, choose fowl, which should be good and plentiful. Have it parboiled and then fried Maryland style, or fricasseed, or boil it till quite tender and serve with a caper sauce.

As for vegetables, just now, and for several weeks to come, nothing can be better than asparagus, which improves, and is less expensive every day. Frequently I tire of it served on toast, in which case, after boiling it, I moisten it with melted butter, sprinkle grated Parmesan over the top and brown it in the oven. Or, if I wish to serve it as a salad, I have it ice-cold and pour over it a dressing made of oil, vinegar, pepper, and salt, with a suspicion of French mustard added.

For salads, tomatoes, perhaps, have first choice, for they are really very fine, coming in from the hothouses fresh every day. Watercress is at its best estate, and whether it be served as a salad or taken simply with a grain of salt, it is a delicacy worthy of honor.

It is hardly possible to serve fruit out of place at dinner; before the soup it is appetizing, as a compote for an entrÉe it is highly delectable, while at dessert its presence is time-honored, and I would that there were more varieties in market just now. However, the strawberries and pineapples due are quite sufficient to console us for the absence of other fruits.

With that most delicious vegetable asparagus as good and as plenty as it is bound to be for two months or so longer, it is but a waste of time to search for any other vegetable to take its place. The truth is, it hasn’t a rival, and it never had one—even in Pliny’s day, when it grew wild. But gardeners in those days cultivated it just as they do now, and it was no uncommon thing for them to produce stalks of which it took but three to weigh a pound. If any gardeners do raise such mammoth specimens in these days they keep very quiet about it. But perhaps they don’t taste any better than smaller ones. Why should they?

It will do to have asparagus boiled, just plainly boiled, two out of every three times that you have it. But the third times are those of which I would talk.

Suppose you cut off the tips into inch lengths, and boil very slowly in salted water till tender. Then drain and let get perfectly cold, after which you brown them a bit in butter in a frying pan. At the first threat to become brown cover the asparagus with cream, heat well and serve on toasted bread.

If this doesn’t satisfy you for a third try another way. Cut the asparagus up just the same and boil with it a few new green peas and some shredded lettuce. Season with pepper and salt, and flavor with a few drops of onion juice. Add an ounce or two of melted butter to them after draining off the water in which they were boiled, pour over them half a pint of white sauce thickened, and then go ahead with the serving on toast.

Then you can boil the asparagus tips and heap them mound shape in a baking dish, pour through them a Hollandaise or a BÉarnaise sauce, cover the top with grated Parmesan cheese and brown in a hot oven.

But for asparagus salad be sure that after the tips are taken from the boiling water they are plunged into ice water. Then cover, when serving, with a French dressing in which has been stirred a little French mustard.

Or take some asparagus tips boiled and cooled and serve them on shaved ice with a dressing of salt, lemon juice, and horse-radish, or tabasco, and with a little bit of your most charming persiflage you will be able to persuade some of your followers that you have produced an excellent substitute for little-neck clams.