Henrietta Sowle

“For her own breakfast she’ll project a scheme,

Nor take her tea without a stratagem.”

CLAMS are good and plentiful now,” said the fish dealer one day, and as I was in the frame of mind to take him at his word I hastily ran over in my mind the various ways in which this delectable fish may be prepared, the while I ordered from him the quantity I thought I could use. It doesn’t take very long to sum up the gastronomical possibilities of the clam that are cherished in the minds of most housekeepers, you will admit. But, with time and opportunity favoring, there is room for expansion of ideas with regard to clams. For instance, this is one way to expand: Poach, say, a pint of them in their own liquor, then drain off the liquor, adding to the clams milk thickened with egg yolks and seasoned with pepper and salt; forget economy and put in the butter you know it requires to make the flavor perfect, and on top of all have some tiny rice croquettes. You can’t know till you try it just what this dish may reveal served at breakfast. But I will not spoil the story by telling you in advance. If, however, it’s for luncheon that you would be thinking of having them cooked in this way, add the juice of an onion to them.

If you trust to me so far as to adopt the foregoing way of cooking clams you certainly will try this next way of preparing them at the slightest provocation. Have as many as you like and chop them. Add to them an equal quantity of chopped boiled lobster. Sprinkle in some parsley, also chopped, and butter to the amount above recommended. Season with white pepper and salt, and with the mixture fill some of the deepest clam shells, sprinkle bread crumbs over the top and brown in a hot oven. This may be counted on at any time for a luncheon dish when you are planning to go some persons who have entertained you at least one better.

Before I forget it I am going to tell you of a dish that to my sorrow is rather uncommon, even among those who think they dine well. It’s nothing less than a stuffed, baked cucumber—that is, those are the essentials of the dish. The potentials are to be classified by you after you have partaken of it. Cut the cucumbers in two lengthwise without peeling them, scoop out all the seeds, and fill to heaping each half with a highly seasoned mixture of bread crumbs; moisten with melted butter and brown in a hot oven. Vary this stuffing at your own sweet will—add a few chopped olives or some chopped pimientos—Spanish sweet peppers you know—but have bread crumbs enough to insure the dish getting browned in shape.

If the idea of cooking cucumbers assimilates itself harmoniously with your ideas of gastronomy you may not hesitate to try a dish of fried cucumbers. And don’t let any one infect your mind with the idea that they are especially indigestible. They’re not. Peel them first, then slice them into quarter-inch slices, say, then dip in beaten egg, then in crumbs, and then fry to a delicate brown in a little butter. Try either way of cooking the cucumbers with a tender spring chicken broiled. For if you are not deprived of your rights nowadays you should be finding “broilers” in good condition and not too high in price. You see of game there is little to be said in the Eastern markets during this month; so if you are trying to do the handsome thing in the bird line you’ve not much of a list from which to make a selection. To be sure you have a right to inquire at market for brant just now, come to think of it. You will be apt to find them, and in good condition, too. Roasted shall we say? With them new potatoes of course. Don’t tell me you can’t afford them, I know better. And you can also afford to secure some new summer squash to go with the roasted brant. Don’t ask me where it comes from. I only know that in every up-to-date market it is on sale. So are young, sweet little carrots that appeal to you for a white cream sauce like that you serve with cauliflower.

By now you may reasonably be ordering blackberries if you are longing for a change. But my advice is to stick to the strawberry while it will stick to you. By the way, if you are to “do up” strawberries, get the first “natives” that come to town. Get them, you know, before they are soft from overripeness, and next winter when set on your table just as they are, or with the syrup of them jellied with a bit of gelatine, you will see the wisdom of being forehanded with them. “Give us breakfasts; tell us housekeepers what we can put before our families for the first meal of the day in summer that shall drive away the morning sulks.”

Thus did a matron young neither in years nor in experience beseech me as I set out for market one day. And while I was parleying with the marketman as to the ways and means and the whys and wherefores of things edible that plaintive “Give us breakfasts” rang so insistently in my ears that I could pay no attention to viands essentially suitable for later meals, but fell to thinking and planning breakfasts which should be antidotes—antidotes for that ill which more than any other human ailment is strengthened by recognition, the “morning sulks.”

And my first definite plan took shape in this wise: Cherries, for this is the month par excellence for that delicious fruit, cherries with some green leaves piled upon cracked ice in such a manner that the sight of them refreshes, while to taste of them leads one to think “All’s well with the world.” And then, to follow, there must be croquettes of fish; all kinds are so abundant now that it is only a case of paying one’s money and taking one’s choice. But whatever fish is chosen, the croquettes should be smaller than those for use at luncheon or dinner, for the eye is repelled at breakfast-time by sight of large portions. With croquettes the daintiest and lightest parsley omelette imaginable should be served, it seems to me, and there you have a simple breakfast, easy of accomplishment, but one sure to be appreciated by King Sulks himself.

My second plan, when it assumes tangible shape, shall be like this: Watermelons, not cut up into ungainly chunks with juice and seeds playing at hide-and-seek in one’s plate, but with the pretty pink portion cut into two-inch cubes, say, with all the seeds removed, and sent to table after being well cooled, fancifully piled on shaven ice. If you don’t mind a little fuss and bother, you may after it is cut up sprinkle the melon well with powdered sugar, put it into the freezer and frappÉ but not freeze it, and then send it to table. To the palates of many of this day and generation watermelon well chilled comes as a boon, for the best of men now and then are afflicted with a thirst these warm mornings which nothing save ice-water seems to quench, but the physicians and moralists have held forth at such length on the subject that one feels like a guilty thing upon taking a drink of cold water before breaking fast. Now you are going to ask what will be quite good enough to follow watermelon, and for answer I shall recommend chicken, or fowl, boiled the previous day, and cut into neat pieces, then browned well in butter, with hot cream poured over it just before it is sent to the table. If you want a delightful adjunct for the chicken, let it be cold asparagus, with lemon juice and salt sprinkled over it. If you have never partaken of cold asparagus at breakfast, there is a new pleasure in store for you, for good as this vegetable is hot at dinner or luncheon, it seems especially apt when served cold in the morning.

Quite as attractive, and simpler in preparation, perhaps, you will find my third recipe for an antidote, it goes something like this: To begin with, blackberries, growing better and more abundant every day; to follow the blackberries smoked beef tossed in hot cream which has been seasoned with cayenne pepper, and thickened a trifle with corn starch, and—as a complement for the smoked beef you will desire something sour—try watercress dressed with lemon juice and salt, unless you are so enamored of tomatoes that you prefer them to any other vegetable in the morning, now.

My next (really I don’t mean this to read like an enigma) idea if you choose to put it into action will cause your breakfast table to answer to this description: Raspberries, sweetened a bit, tossed in whipped cream and put into paper cases which come on purpose for the carrying out of dainty table schemes, and then chilled on the ice for at least an hour before serving. Trouble? Oh, yes, there’s some trouble involved, but your reward will be swift and sure, my word for it. Something exceptionally dainty and palate-appealing must follow the raspberries so prepared, and how does the thought of veal, minced finely and seasoned perfectly, with poached eggs on top, coincide with your idea of the fitness of things?

Very soon we shall have currants in abundance, and it has always seemed to me that when one is to have ham for breakfast they go particularly well for a first course. And the ham is entitled to different treatment in summer from that which it receives in the cold weather. For instance, just now if you have slices of toast and sprinkle lightly over them grated ham mixed with grated cheese, and then put them in a hot oven till the cheese is dissolved, your family will be your debtor to the extent of one new and distinct gastronomical emotion.

You will soon be able to get desirable gooseberries in the market, and while the average housekeeper will be engaged in reckoning their possibilities if “baked in a pie,” you will, if you but follow my advice, cook them in sugar till tender, strain through a sieve, cool the purÉe, then boil it down and cool once more, that it may be in readiness for the next morning’s breakfast, served with whipped cream flavored with lemon. You will find that this will pave the way excellently for a fine bluefish, properly broiled, and flanked by a tomato omelet.

It is not in my province at present to prescribe the different cakes, muffins, and rolls that should accompany the foregoing dishes, for every cook-book sets forth an array of such recipes from which to select one for every day in the year. Neither do I presume to suggest to any woman in what she shall be clothed. No, when I go into the subject of dress for the breakfast table it will be to exploit my ideas upon the way that men should array themselves.

Whatever other faults the out-of-season strawberry may have it cannot be said of it that it induces satiety. And I wonder if the season of “natives” could be long enough to have that effect on the palate. Probably. But this isn’t the place to go into a discussion of that side of the question.

Serving strawberries is or should be an every-day occurrence while the season lasts. I have told you in other places of two or three ways of serving them that I hope you found worthy a place among your collection of recipes for dainty dishes. But I believe I’ve said nothing about strawberry fritters. And in case you have never tried them let me suggest that you have them soon prepared in this way: Get the very largest strawberries you can find. Take off the hulls and cover them entirely with any sort of marmalade, preferably apricot, then roll them in macaroon crumbs, dip them one at a time into the lightest frying batter you know how to make and fry them in very hot fat. Drain and roll them in powdered sugar before serving. A really delicious dish you will find these fritters, quite good enough to be served at dessert for the very best dinner you know how to arrange.

It comes to pass sometimes, you know, that one will have on hand a pint or so of strawberries that can hardly be called passÉe, still they have lost their pristine freshness and show symptoms of becoming soft. Well, the best way to serve them is to heat them through in a little syrup, not letting them lose their shape or their color. Then put them into a pudding dish and cover them with a half-inch layer of bread-crumbs. Make a custard of four eggs and a quart of milk, seasoning it with a little grated nutmeg, pour into the dish with the berries and bread-crumbs and bake for half an hour. It may be served either hot or cold. And you will have reason to be pleased with yourself for having turned out an appetizing sweet, and one that will help you to foster that pet belief of every housekeeper, namely, that you are past mistress in the art of domestic economy.

Another dainty sweet can be made by mashing a quart of strawberries with half a pint or so of sugar, and then letting them stand for half an hour while you are making a syrup of half a pint of sugar and the same quantity of water. When this syrup has boiled twenty minutes mix with it an ounce of gelatine dissolved in half a pint of water. Take the syrup from the fire and strain the strawberries through a fine sieve into it. Stand the bowl containing the mixture on the ice and whip briskly for five minutes, then add the whipped whites of four eggs and keep right on beating till it has the grace to thicken. Then turn it into a number of small moulds or one large one. When it is to be served unmould on the prettiest dish you own, sprinkle powdered sugar over the top and pour a little whipped cream round in a fanciful shape for a border.

If you are going to make a strawberry salad, and I think you will after I tell you how, you should have the strawberries as fresh as possible. Cut them in halves, and if they are the bouncer variety cut them in quarters. Put them into a basin with as much sugar as you think they will need; to one quart of berries add a wineglass of brandy, a tablespoonful of strained lemon juice, and then pack in ice till they are all but frozen. Dish up in a pile when serving and put a border of whipped cream round the salad.

A salad of almost any kind of fruit makes an appetizing dish for luncheon or for dinner. One of pears is really delicious if the pears are peeled, cored, and cut in thin slices, laid in a dish, sprinkled ever so lightly with powdered sugar, and have a few drops of brandy or rum poured over them. Of course this salad, like all others made of fruit, needs to be thoroughly chilled before it is served, to have its appetizing qualities at their best.

If a pineapple salad seems to you a fitting dessert for the particular luncheon you have in mind, it is easily prepared. Be sure that the pineapples, two of them we’ll say, are perfectly ripe; shred them thoroughly and throw away the core. Put the shredded fruit into a deep glass dish, and pour over it a good half-pint of powdered sugar mixed with a tablespoon each of brandy and curaÇoa. This salad should stand for about three hours before serving, so that the sugar may become quite dissolved.

And a salad of several kinds of fruits makes an altogether charming dish. Try it some time. Have half a pound of perfectly ripe cherries, remove the stalks and stones; have the same quantity of currants, but have a part of them red and the other part white, just to make the dish a bit prettier, and have a quarter of a pound each of raspberries and strawberries. Sprinkle over the fruit plenty of powdered white sugar and three tablespoons of brandy. Shake about lightly that the sugar may dissolve before it is served.

Some day when you have been so fortunate as to get some particularly large and good raspberries, fix them up in this way: Hull them, of course, and then dip them one at a time in the beaten white of an egg mixed with a tablespoonful of water. As you take the raspberries from the egg roll them, one at a time, in powdered sugar and put at short distances from each other on a sheet of white paper to become perfectly dry, which will take two or three hours. When dry keep on ice till served for dessert. And a dainty dessert you will find it, my word for it. Strawberries and blackberries, also, may be treated in the same way, but I doubt if they will find the favor that will be shown the raspberries.

And a raspberry cream is pretty sure to be a favorite dish in almost any company. It is very simple, too. Just press the raspberries through a fine sieve to remove the seeds; mix in well half a pint of cream and sufficient sugar to sweeten. Beat it well, and as fast as froth rises skim it off and put it on a hair sieve. Put the cream that is left in a glass dish, pile the whipped cream on the top, mounting it as high as possible, and serve.

Another delicious fruit cream is made by pressing half a dozen bananas through a fine hair sieve into a basin, mixing with the fruit one and one-half pints of cream, flavored with vanilla, and then passing the whole through a fine sieve. Freeze the cream a little—till it just thickens—and then add to it a pint of cream, two tablespoonfuls of sugar and a wineglassful of Madeira. Keep in the freezer for two or three hours before serving.

This you will find is also a tempting way in which to make a peach cream, but if the peaches are not perfectly ripe it will be a good idea to stew them for two or three minutes in a little syrup. The peaches, of course, will need more sugar than the bananas do, but no hard and fast rule can be given for the amount—just sweeten them according to your judgment. Have you noticed that with all I’ve had to say about strawberries herein, not once have I quoted Dr. Boteler’s remark concerning them? And yet I’ve heard it said that a woman finds it as impossible to refrain from mentioning the famous saying when writing about strawberries, if only half a dozen lines, as does a man to omit all mention of Izaak Walton when he has anything to say about going a-fishing.