Henrietta Sowle

“Some said ‘John, print it,’ others said, ‘Not so,’

Some said ‘It might do good,’ others said ‘No.’”

IT’S the month when, by a logical amount of reasoning, the housekeeper is persuaded that she can easily treat her family to roasted veal, at least once a week, without any member of it entering a complaint. She tries it. The second time serving it threatens to go a-begging, and the third time there is so much left over that it can’t be worked up in seven days—when, by her reckoning, another knuckle is due. People do tire of veal in short order, even those who have a liking for it, for some reason or other. I am inclined to think that a good many times the “tired feeling” sets in because of the way it is served—not enough is done to prepare the palate for it.

Veal, then, more than any other roast, needs to have the way prepared for it, very gingerly and very delicately. Let us discuss a way for doing this. First, have pitted olives that you have filled with caviare. Rest these olives on little rounds of toast that have been spread with caviare, and sprinkled with lemon juice.

Now, for a soup. Soak over night a pint of green dried peas. Drain, and cook in plenty of fresh water till perfectly tender. Then press through a sieve. Have cooked, at the same time, a peck of spinach, and press through a sieve also. Then put the two purÉes together, season with salt and pepper; heat well, adding half a pint of milk. Just before taking up, pour in a pint of cream, and serve with tiny squares of fried bread in the tureen. Ever heard of this before? It’s a soup that is rich and delicate, but not so hearty that it does more than whet the appetite for what is to follow.

Shall we say salmon comes next? It’s a thought high as yet, perhaps, but you only need a little of it—a pound for four, where a roast is to follow. But, to tell the truth, my insisting on your having it comes almost wholly from a desire I have to tell you of a new sauce for boiled or broiled salmon. It is nothing more than mayonnaise, a half pint, with a heaping tablespoonful of horse-radish stirred through it. Oh, you will like it fast enough! And you will like it with cold salmon, just as well.

By the time the fish is a thing of the past, you will all be ready for the roasted veal. On this, of course, you have had tied thin slices of salt pork before it is roasted. With it, will you have a duchesse sauce? I think you will. For this you have a pint of good stock, thickened a bit with butter braided with flour. After it is heated, there is added to it a wineglass of any white wine.

Or, if I have made a mistake, and you will have none of it, do let me suggest an onion sauce. Peel and chop three onions, and let simmer in plenty of butter, closely covered, for an hour. Let them brown, a trifle, at the last, and add a tablespoonful of flour with pepper and salt. Then add to them half a pint each of white stock and cream. Pour this into the pan in which the veal was roasted, after it is taken out, set the pan on top of the range and let boil gently for five minutes. It’s an improved sauce Soubise, you may say, if any of your guests are led to ask the name of it. But, if they ask for directions for making it, don’t give them up. Advise, instead, buying this book to learn, as you did, how to concoct such a bit of deliciousness.

Really, I wouldn’t have more than one vegetable with the veal, and that asparagus, as it’s the season for it. Or, have something else, if you prefer, and have an asparagus salad.

For the dessert, why not a rhubarb sherbet? Cut up two pounds of it, and boil with a few drops of water and plenty of sugar, the rind of a lemon, and a little liquid carmine to color it prettily. Let this get cool; strain through a sieve, and add to it a pint of claret and two tablespoonfuls of rum. Freeze, and have ready to decorate it, when serving, some strips of candied ginger. You will find it all that you have reason to think it should be, coming from this source.

But, if you prefer an apricot charlotte, it shall be my pleasure to tell you how to make one. Line the same charlotte mould you always use with sponge drops, or fingers, carefully trimmed to fit. In fact, you want to give them a regular tailor-made fit. Then fill with a pint of preserved apricots, which have been stewed till tender enough to rub through a sieve. Stir into it an ounce of gelatine, dissolved in a little water. Let it get perfectly cool, and then whip into it a pint of already whipped cream. Turn into the mould and set away to harden. And you have the most ungrateful family in the neighborhood if they don’t count this dinner as a red-letter event in their lives.

Think you that upon one of these mornings, when the mercury shows a sullen determination to do nothing but climb, climb, climb, you can prepare a more tempting dish for breakfast than one of shrimps, which have been boiled in fresh water, then salted and cooled, and finally sent to table upon chopped ice? You will find them at the market for the rest of this month, at least, in excellent condition, and at a reasonable price. And should you elect to serve them according to the foregoing suggestion, place near them on the table a dish of crisp, fresh watercress, lightly piled, ministering thereby to the eye’s pleasure as well as to the appetite’s desire.

But if, some fine morning, a breath of winter comes o’er the land, via an east wind, then you will, perhaps, crave food served hot, in which case have veal cutlets (veal is in fine shape now); dip them in melted butter and then broil over the coals; you will find this an infinitely better way of cooking them than by frying, which so many housekeepers consider the standard method. Or, if you do not care for veal, try thin slices of bacon, broiled, and served on toasted graham bread. As a fruit, for leading up to either of these dishes, I think you will prefer pineapples, for they are of delicious quality now, and sold at a price which also recommends them to your notice. Quite as appetizing, however, you might find cherries, but, though they are of fairly good flavor, they are a bit expensive, as they have a right to be, coming from such a distance.

It is with intent and purpose that I do not suggest that everlasting Americanism, beefsteak for breakfast; to my mind, it seems far more suitable for the luncheon table, and just now, with mushrooms so plenty, and as inexpensive as they ever are, a well-broiled, tender, juicy sirloin steak, with a mushroom sauce, makes a dish fit for the gods, and yet not a whit too good for human nature’s daily food. Just as good, in its way, for luncheon, is a herring salad, made of smoked herring. Omit the use of caviare, which many cook-books recommend, for you want nothing that will encroach upon the flavor of the herring, but rather something which will act as its complement. For this purpose use one-third cold sliced potatoes to two-thirds herring, a plentiful sprinkling of capers, and the ordinary oil and vinegar dressing, with the salt put in by a miserly hand. Another salad, suitable for luncheon, especially if cold tongue is served, is made of the little Bermuda onions, which are abundant now; they should be minced finely and served ice-cold to win your highest admiration.

And now, just one more dish before leaving the luncheon table. Have you ever prepared a baked-chicken hash? If not, allow me to suggest that you chop quite finely the cold meat of chicken or fowl, season it with salt and white pepper, moisten it with cream or with milk and butter, scatter bread-crumbs over the top and brown in the oven, and behold, you have one of the homeliest dishes in the annals of housekeepers glorified to suit the palate of a veritable epicure.

Whenever, at this season of the year, I go to market in search of fish for the dinner-table, it is only by the exercise of great will power that I am able to refrain from buying soft-shell crabs. They are so delicious, whether broiled or fried, that it seems positively wicked they should be so expensive. Still, the fish dealer assures me that almost any day the price may “break” and, other fish being plentiful, we can afford to wait patiently for the “drop.” Delicious trout, of either the lake or brook variety, are abundant, and in whatever way they are served are one of the pleasures of the present day.

Although the month of roses is generally known as the month of salmon, it is in first-class condition now, and obtainable at a fairly low figure. No other fish is so capable of reserving; little scraps left may be warmed in cream and served on toast for breakfast, made into a salad for luncheon, or shaped into croquettes for dinner the following day.

In the vernacular of the marketman, “spring lamb is getting down on to the earth.” Which, being interpreted for ears polite, means that the price is getting lower each week, but that the flavor remains unsurpassed; in fact “none but itself can be its parallel.” Bits of lamb left from dinner may be prepared in the way suggested for baked-chicken hash, and will, I am sure, merit your favor.

When lamb is suggested, there follows, as a natural sequence, the thought of green peas; and if the peas in market to-day were only as good as they look, the thought would be a happy one. As matters stand, however, for those who know not the delight of eating peas in less than three hours from the time they are gathered from the vines, the representatives of this vegetable to be had now will pass muster. For myself, I prefer either cauliflower or egg plant, both of them plenty and in good condition now. The former if boiled and served with a white sauce, or baked with cheese is especially gratifying when served with a roast of lamb, while the egg-plant will be quite as much of a success if broiled, or stuffed and baked.

Of course asparagus has attained perfection, and is so in evidence on every hand that it is not necessary to mention it here. However, there are many persons of the belief that it is impossible to have too much of a good thing, and most decidedly asparagus is entitled to come under that head.

Shall I tell you of three little dinners and how to make them grow? Give ear, then, and you may hear. The first shall have a foundation of tomato soup. Now please don’t make a wry face and begin to say unkind things about tomato soup having a past until you have heard me through; for I want to tell you of an economical and really delicious way of making this soup that is not known to every one. Just at this season almost all housekeepers will be sure to have on hand two or three kinds of cooked vegetables, little scraps of each I mean. Now, suppose the list to comprise three new potatoes, boiled, half a cupful of string beans and about the same quantity of green peas; to these, or to any others which you may prefer to use, should be added two raw onions finely minced and a handful of chopped parsley. Put them into a saucepan with two ounces of butter, a sprinkling of pepper and salt, and, after they have simmered for ten minutes, add a can of tomatoes. Season then with a teaspoonful of whole allspice, a tablespoonful of sugar, and more pepper and salt if need be, and cook slowly for half an hour. At the end of that time strain through a fine hair sieve, put back on the stove and thicken with a scant teaspoonful of cornstarch mixed with a teaspoonful of melted butter. Have little sippets of fried bread in the soup tureen, pour the soup over them and serve. And there you have a soup possessed of all the flavors that make a tomato soup worth the eating, while it has none of the heaviness of soup made with a rich stock.

And the next dish for dinner No. 1 shall be of dainty little lamb chops broiled to a turn. Have in the centre of the platter a mound of mashed potato, lean the chops against it, and serve in this way.

With the chops serve string beans. Boil them till tender in salted water, drain them and put into a saucepan with two ounces of butter and two tablespoonfuls of cream to a quart of beans. Cook them for three minutes and send to the table very hot.

It would be a sin and a shame to arrange a dinner at this time of year without providing for the serving of asparagus. Even though the dinner is to consist of one course only, that course should be of asparagus. But in the dinner which we are now planning it is to make its appearance at the third course as a salad. It must be boiled till quite tender, then chilled for three or four hours on the ice, cut into inch lengths, and served with a dressing of the yolks of three hard-boiled eggs beaten up with three tablespoonfuls of oil, two tablespoonfuls of vinegar, a saltspoonful of salt and the same quantity of French mustard.

The last course shall include strawberries served in some way. Have them plain, with sugar and cream, and serve with them narrow strips of delicate puff paste; or make little tartlets, and when they are done lift the covers and put a teaspoonful of whipped cream into each.

And the cost of dinner No. 1? Well, at the price of “comestible wares” at this season, this dinner should not cost over one dollar for four persons. And really it will not require very close figuring to bring it within that sum.

But if that seems too small an amount to expend for a dinner intended to give pleasure to four persons, there will be no trouble in planning one to cost rather more. And for the first course let us have a bisque of clams. Get a quart of clams and a small piece of veal, about a pound of it. Cook the veal in a little more than a pint of water and the liquor drained from the clams. Season with one onion, a sprig of parsley, a bay leaf, salt, and white pepper. Cook very slowly for one hour, then strain and again place it in the kettle; rub a couple of tablespoonfuls of butter with an equal amount of flour and add to the soup when boiling. Chop up the clams very fine, and put them into the soup; let it boil for five minutes and then add half a pint of cream. Heat thoroughly, but don’t let it boil after adding the cream, and serve. And after you have partaken of this I’ll warrant you will be ready to declare that Grimod de la ReyniÈre had this especial kind of potage in mind when he said: “Soup is not only the commencement of a feast, but gives an idea of what is to follow.”

And its close follower in this instance should be some delicious little ducklings roasted. With the ducklings have new potatoes, from Bermuda or from the South, plainly boiled. And have, too, some asparagus—asparagus tops with cheese. Cut the tender part of the asparagus into inch lengths and cook in salted water till fairly tender; then drain and toss it about over the fire in a frying-pan with a little butter. Dress it on a vegetable dish, spread the surface smoothly with butter into which has been kneaded an equal quantity of grated Parmesan cheese and just a suspicion of cayenne pepper. Brown as quickly as you can in a piping hot oven, and serve.

And now for the salad. Does one of lettuce strike you favorably? If so, prepare it with a French dressing, as you always do, but after it is dressed sprinkle over it all some finely chopped chives. My word for it, you’ll find this a great improvement over the ordinary lettuce salad.

A tempting dessert with which to wind up this dinner would be frozen strawberries with whipped cream. Let me tell you how to prepare the dish, and see what you think about it. Make a syrup of a third of a pint of sugar and a pint of water. Into the syrup put a quart of fine ripe strawberries and let boil for five minutes. Then freeze the mixture. Whip half a pint of cream, work it into the strawberries, and serve in as dainty a fashion as possible.

And the amount of money required to furnish forth a table with dinner No. 2? Not a cent over two dollars for four persons.

But, for fear that to many that may seem too small an amount for just the kind of dinner they want to give, I will try again. Since we have decided that asparagus must appear in some form at every dinner while its season lasts, we will start dinner No. 3 with asparagus soup. This is made by cooking the tender parts of the asparagus in salted water for a few minutes. Before they get quite tender drain till dry and cold. If there are two bunches of asparagus put them into a saucepan with four ounces of butter, two finely chopped onions, a lump of sugar, and a little white pepper. Moisten with a pint of white broth and let cook for ten minutes. Then rub through a sieve, heat again and serve.

After the soup, crabs—soft-shell crabs dipped in beaten egg and crumbs and fried. Serve nothing but tartar sauce with them. Then have a couple of cunning little spring chickens broiled. Have new potatoes chopped and baked in cream served with the chickens, and have also new green peas. Try boiling with them a small bunch of mint and a small onion, both of which are to be removed before the peas are served. You will find that the peas have acquired a delightful flavor from their contact with the other vegetables. Of course salt and pepper and butter are to be added as when they are cooked in the ordinary way.

For a salad have some hothouse tomatoes peeled and sliced; lay them on a flat dish, and on each slice heap a little chopped lettuce mixed with mayonnaise.

Let us borrow the dessert from dinner No. 2 to put the finishing touch to this last dinner. I don’t know a better one, but if you do there’s nothing to prevent your using it.

And, do your best, if you are to serve dinner No. 3 for four persons you cannot make it cost over three dollars.

Are you satisfied, now, that I know how to make dinners grow?