Part 4
=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: