WHEN all the world adopts the Pythagorean menu as its standard of good living then I will bestir myself and concoct the daintiest dishes possible from those “foods that are freshly chemicalized by the sun’s rays,” and will gladly give you the benefit of my experiences. But I’m no reformer, and until that day of universal self-denial arrives I will continue the tenor of my way along the old line, and try to idealize commonplace, every-day viands into dishes that pique the appetite, and make of eating a delicate delight. A very material vocation, it is true, but as matters stand a highly useful one. Eh?

Now there are smelts, as plump and inviting a fish as can be found in the market, and at their best, too. But how many housekeepers are there who ever think of serving them in any way but just simply fried? Frequently, of course, they do serve them with a tartar sauce, but nine times out of ten it would be better for all concerned if the sauce were neglected or forgotten, or upset, or anything that would keep it away from the table.

The next time you are to have smelts try cooking them in this way: After they are cleaned have them wiped till perfectly dry, and lay them in a baking dish; over them pour a wineglass of white wine, add a sprinkling of salt and pepper, according to your judgment, half a dozen whole fresh mushrooms, and pour over them one-half a pint of Spanish sauce. Sprinkle ever so lightly with bread-crumbs and a little warmed butter, and bake in a hot oven for twenty minutes. This is the way you would prepare a dozen or fifteen of the fish; of course for a larger number the amount of seasoning, etc., would be increased proportionately. Garnish the smelts before serving with thinly sliced lemon, each slice sprinkled with chopped parsley.

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.”

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.

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.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.