BOOK

OF THE
TABLE.
 1

The University Library

Leeds

LEEDS UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

Classmark:

cm(Ri

06 01 05 9945

COOKERY
 HIE ORIGIN OF

KETTNER'S RESTAU RANT.

—
HE author of this book was M. Auguste Kettner,
the noted Chef who, ‘having held remunerative
appointments in some of the leading Restaurants of
the Continent, accumulated enough capital to come
to London in 1867 and start a Restaurant of his
own in Church Street, Soho, W. Soho in those days was quite
a different locality to what it is at the present time, for then
Shaftesbury Avenue did not exist and the Palace Theatre was
a place oEthe future. Notwithstanding its geographical dis-
advantages Kettner’s Restaurant quickly became the rendezvous
of all the bon-viveurs of London, and in a very short time the
single house at 29, Church Street proved inadequate to
accommodate the rapidly increasing clientele. 1 he excellence
of the cuisine and wines rapidly attracted the leading
members ol Society, the Stag'e tend the Literary W ot Id, and
M. Kettner was compelled to enlarge the Restaurant in order
to cope with the ever increasing demand on his accommodation.

In 1877 M. Kettner was persuaded by his good friends

and clients, Mr. Geo. Augustus Sala and Mr. J. J. Dallas, to
give the benefit of his skill and knowledge of cookery to the
English-speaking people, and there is no doubt that those
two gentlemen well-known in the literary world of the day
rendered him invaluable assistance in the compilation of this
book, as in addition to a superlative culinary knowledge,
it exhibits, literary ability of the highest
order.

In the same year M. Kettner, after a very short illness,

was called from the region where he had so well catered for
the alimentary requirements of his fellow mortals, leaving his
business, then firmly established as one of the institutions of
London, to Madame Kettner.

Madame Kettner ere long took another partner both in

the business and matrimonial sense in the person of M.
Giovanni Satigiorgi whq, with his vast experience in both
Hemispheres, was equally as well qualified as his predecessoi
to cater for the requirements of an ever increasingly disci iminat-
ing and fastidious public. Under his guiding hand Kettner s
Restaurant grew' in popularity, additional houses were acquired,
parts of the premises rebuilt, and ultimately the Restauiant
as it is now known by all who appreciate good food
in

preference to elaborate decoration, was completed.

 I i

Specimen Menu of TABLE D HOTE LUNCHEON.

As served in
Restaurant, Price 3/6

TtLlRHONS Telegr»m»
No. B436 QERRARD KETTNERS. LONDON.

Hors d’osuvre Varies

Potage Parmentier

Blanchailles Diablees

Saute d’agneau Printanier.

Pommes nature.

Poulet Grille i I'anglaise

Salade.

Compote de fruits,

Glace.

'om /till 3 O'Cloek.

Specimen Menu of TABLE D’HOTE DINNER.
As served in
Restaurant. ) I Price 7 6

Suppers after the Sheatres.

Sable jMnefusonsfrom /till <3 O'Cloek..
Specimen Menu of TABLE D HOTE DINNER.
As served in
Restaurant.

ffuppers after the ^theatres.

'Ilia die cPyfdte fune/ieons from / till 3 O’Cloek.
 i !

Specimen Menu of “THEATRE” DINNER.

As served in
GrillRoom. I Price 3/6

Telephone Tele«n»me
NO. 5436 GERRARD KETTNER3, LONDON

Hors d’ceuvre

Consomme Xavier,

Creme Georgette.

Filet pique Japonaise,

Pommes Chateau.

Caille de vigne rotie,

Salade.

Glac£ panachee,

Suppers after the theatres,

fjabla cLf(bte J^mekkon^jfom / till <3 O’Cloek.
 :

Specimen Menu of SPECIAL GRILL SUPPER.

As served in
Restaurant. Price 3/

Telegrams
Telephone .

KETTNERS. LONDON.
NO. 5436 OERRARD

Consomme double.

Filets de sole frite Sauce Tartare.

Cotelette d’agneau grillee

Pommes allumettes.

Biscuit glace Kettner

Rapee de Haddock

^uppers after the Sfheatres.

/JablaSTQte /jmc/faonsfrom /till 3
One of the Special Features of

Kenner's Restaurant
Kitchens are on
& is that its

the Ground Floor, immediately

main entrance.
opposite the
Inspection is always invited.

A CORNER OF THE KITCHEN.

Some dishes described in Kettner's Book of

Table may present difficulties to the

the

ordinary cook.

The Chef of Kettner’s Restaurant will at any

time be pleased to explain and demonstrate the

preparation of them to any patrons ot the

Restaurant.
 Kenner's Restaurant,
t t »
In addition to the spacious Restaurants, Lounge and
Grill Room on the ground floor, and Ladies' Dining
Room on the first floor, Kettner’s have extensive acconv
modation for private parties.

T * ¥

Cbe Cudor Room,

which was constructed at the time of the last extension of

the premises, is a very handsome apartment completely

panelled in fumed oak, and is an ideal place for the

accommodation of parties up to a number of forty. It

has adjoining reception rooms and is in every way

adapted for the purpose for which it was built. It is used
extensively for political, literary and masonic dinners,
and much appreciated for its privacy and cosiness.

^ +
There are many other rooms suitable for similar

parties,

Cbe Pink Suite

in particular being a most charming rendezvous for
twelve to fifteen people.

The management are always prepared to give quota'

special menus for this class of
tions and suggested
party.
THE BOOK OF THE TABLE.
ALAS HOW SIMPLE TO THESE CATES COMPARED
!

WAS THAT CRIDE APPLE THAT DIVERTED EVE.

Paradise Regained

All Rights Reserved

 KETTNER'S

BOOK OF THE TABLE

A MANUAL OF COOKERY
PRACTICAL
THEORETICAL
HISTORICAL

These are not (ruits forbidden : no interdict

Defends the touching of these viands pure ;

Their taste no knowledge works, at least of evil,

But life preserves, destroys life’s enemy,

Hunger, with sweet restorative delight.

Paradise Regained.

LONDON
KETTNERS LTD., CHURCH STREET, W.
Original Edition, 1877
Reprinted, 1912
S. I
 DEDICATION
TO FIRST EDITION.

TO

GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA.

most accomplished men of his time., the readiest

One of the

of writers the ,
rarest of humourists a most winning
,

orator, a most cunning draughtsman, laden with a learn-

ing which would crush most men, and blest with a heart

which is almost that of a woman ;

i he probably knows

more about the history of cookery in all countries of the

world than any man alive, and to him therefore these

pages are inscribed with sincere admiration.

 PREFACE
TO THE

SECOND EDITION.

Years have rolled by since Kettner’s Book of the Table

first saw the light. The moment it made its debut in the

world of letters its success was assured. It came, was read,

A loud, a unanimous, and a rapturous cho> us
and conquered.
of approval welcomed its appearance. To it might with j ustice
greatest of lexico-
have been applied the words in which the
immortal work *
graphers expressed his appreciation of another
“ the critics and delights mankind.’
It satisfies
The heads

the culinary profession accepted it as the last word, le

of
cri, as our neighbours on the other side of the Channel
dernier
The “plain cook who was
would say, upon their art.

in simple but
fortunate enough to secure a copy found
its

scientific formula a guide at once infallible and easy to follow.

exceeded the wildest anticipations. Like

The demand for it

it was
“ longed for,’ even
the apple-pie of the nursery legend
” or “ had ” was not, so to speak,
“ fought for,” and when “ got
while when lost or
merely “ bit ” or “ ate,” but devoured,
mislaid it was deeply ‘
' mourned for.” It made its way equally

and the lowly cottage

into the regal palace, the ancient
hall,

pauperum tabernas, regumque turres the splendid

the luxurious club, the hunting-box, and the

town mansion,
batchelor’s bungalow.

*Milton’s V Allegro and II Penseroso.

 Wherever it entered Kettner’s Book of the Table brought

with it happiness, domestic peace, content. The reader may

ask how and why ? The explanation is simple.
“ Feed the brute ! ” was the advice given to the youthf ul

bride by the experienced matron, when consulted as to the

best way managing a husband. Excellent advice, although

of

the terms in which it was conveyed leave something to be desired.

But how was the gentleman to be alimented, to use a Scottish

expression ? Ay, there was the rub ! In ancient times the

daughters of the house were initiated into the mysteries of

boilingand stewing, baking and roasting, grilling and frying.
The secret of making soup or ragout, pastry or preserve,
and omelet, sweet or savoury, yes, and how they should be
served too, was taught to the fair demoiselles who lived in
thedays of the Crusaders and the Barons' Wars. But times

have changed, autres temps, autres mceurs. The kitchen

and the larder know not the society lady , and know too seldom

the wife of the ordinary well-to-do citizen. Indeed, the entry

of either into such sacred precincts would be resented as an

intrusion. The modern wife, alas ! has not learned how to

cater for her mate, whether he happens, or does not happen,

to be a “ brute,” which, in the matter of eating, at all events,

he most frequently is not. Au contraire he is often very much

the reverse, requiring to have his meals properly cooked,

sufficiently diversified, and served with neatness, taste, and

elegance. What a difference do such things make, especially

the first-named ! Like true wit, good cooking

“ Is nature to advantage dressed.”
" To-night,” writes Li Hung Chang, the great Chinese

philosopher and statesman, in his diary now in course of

publication in the Observer, “ To-night I am to attend
another banquet given by the 1 sar, which, I hope, will not

continue as long as the one last night. It is true that they

prepare foods especially for me, but,” he adds pathetically,

“ they do not taste like the foods at home, or those of our own

cooks which we have brought along.’ By the way, he does

not tell us howhe dressed those two ducks which he admits
not
he stole, cooked and ate, and for which his father could
therefore received two hundred sound strokes of the
pay and
bamboo. In China they appear to visit the sins of the children

on the parents. It is lucky for some of us that the same law

does not prevail here. We might otherwise have to cultivate

rather than a sedentary attitude. But this is a

an upright
digression. Revenons a nos moutons. As we were saying
when the Chinese gentleman interrupted us, a man of refine-
cooked,
ment, even though married, requires his food properly
frequently varied,and served with neatness, taste and elegance.
such
To this surely he is entitled. It costs no more to provide
insipid or ill-savoured
a repast than it does to dish up an
moles,
mass of badly cooked victuals, crudis indigestaque
perhaps also
“ Overdone or come tardy off,”

as Shakespeare — or was it Bacon ?—said through the lips

the melancholy Dane. Besides, it is a well established

of
physiological fact that the very appearance
and aroma of a

dish promote an appetite.

“ .4 s if increase of appetite had grown

By what it fed on,”

to quote again from the same author, whom we forbear to name

a
lest we should rekindle in some reader’s mind the flames of
to be hoped, dying out. It is moreover
controversy now, it is

with relish
equally well established that what is partaken of
the more easily digested and all the more perfectly
is all

assimilated.
that Kettner’s Book of the Table comes in
Now here it is

so usefully. When the “ brute,” as lie has been designated,

returns home after an anxious day —a day in the course of

lost a heavy case

which, being perchance a lawyer, he has ,

a respected
or being a doctor, has stood beside the death-bed of
patient or being a financier, has seen a
[and lucrative) ;

promising deal fall through—and sits down disconsolately

to that awful infliction and affliction, a bad dinner, it is the

last straw. Can one wonder if he curses his hard fate, the

cook, and lamentabile dictu, even the wife of his bosom ?

If on the other hand he is presented with a really good dinner,

well chosen, well cooked, well served, tempting, the cloud on
his brow disappears gradually with each successive course,
and by the time he has had a fragrant cup of coffee, and a
liqueur, and has lighted a good cigar, he finds himself taking

a different and brighter view of life.

Then again, there is that announcement which strikes terror

into an unprepared hostess :

“ I am bringing a friend home
to dinner ! " Or, what is worse still, a friend brought horn
to dinner without previous warning, “to take pot luck!’’
How is the poor lady to break the news to an irascible cook

of whom under the most favorable circumstances she stands

in profound awe ? But to the most autocratic tyrant of the
kitchen such an emergency presents no difficulty and therefore

constitutes no casus belli if she is armed with Kettner’s

Book of the Table. She knows that with its aid she can, out

of unconsidered trifles, add something to a menu which will

transform what was a frugal meal for two into a feast for three.

Of course it is not only when a man is down in his luck that

the boon of a nice little dinner is appreciated. When his affairs

are prospering it adds to his happiness and caps the climax.

Then his heart expands, and his purse-strings relax. How
many a smart frock, and how many a costly ornament, owe
their existence to the gratification which a hungry but dis-
criminating spouse derives from a nice little dinner !

The numerous copies of the first edition of Kettner’s Book

of the Table which were struck off. have been long since
exhausted. The work has been for a lengthy period out of
print. Was there any motive to reproduce it ? The name and
fame of Kettner’s were established. Nothing could increase
them or put them on a firmer foundation. Personal motive,
therefore, there was none. But what of the Public ? Was the

present generation to be deprived of a priceless boon which

their predecessors had enjoyed and had so highly appreciated ?
No! Kettner’s Book of the Table must be republished,

and it is.

But it is time to bring this preface to a close, otherwise

some ill-natured person might perhaps harbour a vague

sus-

picion that there was an intention to praise the

work ; than
our minds.
which, needless to say, there is nothing further from
We now conclude by saying to the reader, and
shall therefore
whose benefit Kettner s Book of the Table is
to all those for

now republished,
“ May good digestion wait on appetite
And health on both."

November, 1912.
 INTRODUCTION
TO FIRST EDITION.

HOEY ER writes a new book on cookery has

to begin with an apology — there are so many,
and most of them so bad. All contain good
ideas, original or borrowed; but most of
them
are chaotic and overlaid with rubbish.
—
the wildest con-
fusion of eceipts, distinctions without differences, and
1

endless repetitions, the result of stupidity,

of vanity,
and of slavish deference to authority. A trifling varia-
tion is given to a well-known dish; a new name is
bestowed upon it to flatter somebody’s vanity; and then
follows another and another receipt to choke
up the
cookery books and to bewilder their readers.
People
run after novelties which are not novelties at
all, and in
the tui moil ol details lose sig'ht of the
central idea which
ought to govern the composition. Much as the folly
of
new names and the slavishness of imitation may have to
do in producing such intolerable confusion,
the worst
pait of it unhappily due to sheer ignorance and
is

stupidity, as a few examples will show.

In the fiist place, we find a multitude of receipts
where
one is enough. 1 here well-known soup which
is a
appears in cookery books under nine or ten different
names— Brunoise, Jardiniere, Printanier, Chiffonnade,
Macedoine, Julienne, Faubonne, Paysanne, Flamande,
Mitonnage, Croute au Pot. The same book may not
use all these names, but it is puzzling to find
one book
using one name and another another. One
of them, the
i
9 Introduction

Julienne, peculiar, but the peculiarity is nearly

is
lost m
all ten
modern cookery; and we may say that practically
same soup, with differences which are
are one and the
variety of vege-
wholly accidental. Put into the soup a
tables such as a gardener’s wife might
filch m
her apron,
also the soup
and there is the soup a la Jardiniere. It
is

a la Macedoine. Put into it

the early spring vegetables,
it the modest
and there is the spring soup. Put into
assortment, the onion and the cabbage,
which a peasant s
wife might command, and which corresponds very much
to the limited supply of any
winter garden, and there is
crusts of bread, either
the soup a la Paysanne. Put in
you are afraid
because vegetables are scarce, or because
and there is Croute an Pot. Put m Brussels
of them,
sprouts, and there is something to
suggest a new name—
capital of the
Flemish soup— because Brussels is the
scientific in this. It is
Flemish country. There is nothing
a mere senseless heaping up of
names and receipts, to
of
the ruin of cooks and to the incessant disappointment
the dinner-table.
where we might
In other cases we have a single receipt
aspic jelly. The
well have half a dozen— as witness
so proud of its achievement in
science of the kitchen is

rests in its triumph, makes no

this one receipt, that it

with one eternal co

attempt at variety, and afflicts us
often satirised for
meat sauce. The English have been
their one sauce—the so-called
melted butter. But hrench
ought to be ashamed of
cookery with all its pretensions,
aspic. In England especially
the monotony produced by
request, the monotony of
where cold meats are in great
aspic is too palpable. The dinner of Englishmen, far
large joint of meat
more than of foreigners, implies a
cold. There is cold
which has afterwards to be eaten
luncheon, cold meat at
meat at breakfast, cold meat at
supper, cold meat all the
day-which is eaten with pickles
good sauce. Here was a great opportunity
for lack of
 S ;

Introduction o

for cooks to provide appropriate sauces. The most

appropriate sauce for cold meat is a jelly, or half jelly, of
some sort; and the French have invented one jellied
sauce to go with cold viands — aspic. It is not to be
supposed that one and the styne sauce will suit every
meat alike, every taste alike, or even the same taste at
different times. We
cannot take the same everlasting
aspic with cold meat
all the year round. But the cookery

books, with scarcely an exception, give one single

receipt for savoury jelly, and they call it aspic, though it
does not contain a particle of aspic in it. What aspic is
will be explained in
proper place. Here it must be
its

enough to point out that, be it what it may, it is absurd

to use this one precious jelly with a false name, morning,
noon, and night, and all the year through, with fish,
flesh, and fowl, in season and out of season. Francatelli
—and he may be taken as a type of the great all French
cooks — gives a most elaborate receipt for aspic jelly; and
he is so satisfied with it that, having to
prepare a cold
supper for 300 people, he works it up in every one of his
fifty-six dishes which are not sweet nor hot. At the end
of his great work, now in its twenty-third edition, and o f
such authority that many of the best people swear by it,
he gives a great many bills of fare which are set forth as
models for imitation. Most of these are for hot dinners
but in two of them he shows what modern cookery can
do in the way of a cold refection. It will be enough to
quote his bill for the cold viands of his supper: —
Ball Supper for 300 Persons— ummer.

8 Grosses Pieces on ornamental stands.

2 Raised pies of fowls and 2 Hams ornamented with as-
ham with truffles, garnished pic jelly.
with aspic jelly. 2 Boars’ heads ornamented
2 Galantines of poulards, with with aspic jelly.
aspic jelly.
 Introduction
4
silver plates.
48 Cold Entrees, dished up on

plovers’ eggs, 6 Mayonnaises of fowl.

6 Groups of
6 Mayonnaises of fillets of
garnished with aspic jelly.

6 Plates of cold roast fowls salmon.

with aspic jelly (cut up). 6 Entrees of lamb cutlets a la
Bellevue.
6 Plates of tongue in slice's,
garnished with aspic jelly. 6 Entrees of chaud-froid fri-
6 Lobster salads.
casse of chicken.

be kept in reserve for the

36 cold roast fowls and 4 tongues, to
eaten.
purpose of replenishing these entrees as they are

thus
It be observed that in some of the dishes
may
ubiquitous
enumerated there is no appearance of the
their preparation,
aspic; but in turning to the receipts for
that they
even to that for lobster salad, it will be found
the aid of aspic jelly. And this is the lesult of
all call in

science— this the height of art. It produces, with such

elaborate forms and majestic ceremonies, an

aspic jelly
can pro-
without aspic, that, exhausted in the effort, it
here at last, in
ceed no further, and seems to think that
resting-place the
this supreme sauce, we have a sure
—
true blessedness the ewigkeit.
much art in cookery may be as fatal as too little
Too ;

and it is impossible to read some of the receipts of the

master-cooks without wishing that they could foiget
high art and come down to common sense. For an odd
take the sauce which is called Robert—
illustration,
originally a Roebuck sauce, now a sauce for broiled or
will be found
roasted pork and for goose. Its history
under its proper name. English taste has long since
for roasted or
found out what are the proper adjuncts
and mustard. The
broiled pork— namely, onion, apple,
sage, are presented in
onions, combined sometimes with
acidity: there
a mash; there is apple sauce with a gentle
is the pungent bitter
of the mustard and each of these
;

The
flavouring elements is kept apart upon
the plate.
combination;
old French cooks determined on a
similar
 —

Introduction 5

but the ingredients weremixed together in the kitchen,

and served up as Sauce Robert. It was simply a mash
of onions well browned in butter, with the addition
of
some French mustard, containing, it is needless to say,
tarragon vinegar, the acid of which takes the place of
the apple in the parallel English arrangement. Simple
as it is, it would be difficult, by the most elaborate
devices, to concoct a sauce better suited for its purpose
and more relished. The receipt for it will be found, in
all its simplicity, in the classical work of Beauvilliers
the first cookery book which had any pretension to
scientific accuracy.
But ask for the Sauce Robert at clubs and restaurants,
whether in Paris or London it is impossible to recognise
:

it in the liquid which is

now served under its name. The
8 eat
1 chefs cannot rest content with the simplicity of the
old leceipt. 1 hey glory in high art and
all the wonders
of science; and they have improved upon the sauce
until
its fine gusto is lost in a weak civilisation.
The Sauce
—
Kobeit was bountiful in its onions indeed, illimitable.
In the sauce of the modern Boulevards the quantity is
i educedonions are not polite enough and sometimes
. —
they are intermingled with chopped gherkins. In the
Sauce Robei t there w as no thought of wine or ketchup,
r

nor any thought of vinegar beyond the little tarragon

v inegaiinvolved in French mustard. But one set of
aitists (Bernard, Dubois, and Gouffe at their
head) now
load it with wine, and even ketchup another set (Franca-
;

telli at their head) drench

with vineg'ar, making it a
it

kind of Sharp sauce; while there are cookery books

whose writers think that they cannot have too much of a
good thing, and drown the sauce in wine and ketchup as
w ell as vinegar. If cooks wish to invent a new sauce, let
them give it a new name; and if diners want to have with
theirpork-chops a sharp sauce like that served on the
—
Boulevards, let them have it the taste is intelligible.
6 Introduction

to get
But if they want Sauce Robert, they surely ought
which is peifect in
it in the simplicity of the old receipt,
the name
itsway. It is absurd to spoil a good sauce in
of high art, and to muddle our cookery
books by a vain-
glorious falsification of the receipts.
Take another example of mystification, and it must be
—
added, of exceeding folly to use no stronger
epithet. It

is connected with the illustrious

name of Chateaubi iand.
One of the foremost clubs in London one day changed
members were astonished to find that
its cook; and its

the steak which had formerly been served to

them under
announced as
the name of filet dc bccuf was now always
account. V\ hat
a Chateaubriand. The cook was called to
was the meaning of the new name? Why should
plain

Englishmen be puzzled with a new name— the slang of

the kitchen? Why should they not, as of old, get the

fillet which they were accustomed?
to
The cook had
a Chateau-
really nothing to say. He could only tell
that

briand was the fashionable name in Paris for a steak cut

from the best part of the fillet, and that it was thicket
than the ordinary fillet-steaks — nearly two inches. The

members of the club were not satisfied with this explana-

and to the great disgust of the chef, who felt the
tion;
name of Chateaubriand, the order was
sublimity of the
should be
given that henceforth a steak from the fillet
time-honoured
announced as before on the bills under the
name of filet de bccuf.
They were quite right; and even if the cook, better

informed, had been able to give them the true history

be
and meaning of a Chateaubriand, there can
little

arrived at the same

doubt that they would have still

decision. He was correct in stating that a Chateaubriand

is cut from the best part of the fillet, and is nearly twice
but is this all ? is this
the ordinary thickness of a steak
:

Chateaubriand? The
enough to suggest the name of
a peculiar method of
thickness of the steak involves
 . ;

Introduction 7

cooking- so thick that by the ordinary method

it. It is
it might be burnt on the surface when quite raw inside
—
and therefore though the new method is neglected and
is even forgotten very much —
it was put upon the fire

between two other slices of beef, which, if burnt upon

the grill, could be thrown away. It may still be asked,
what has do with Chateaubriand, that his name
this to
should be attached to a steak so prepared ? Here we
come into a region of culpable levity. Chateaubriand
published his most famous work under the name of
Lc Genie du C hristianisme The profane wits of the
kitchen thought that a good steak sent to the fire
between two malefactor steaks was a fair parody of the
Genie du C hristianisme If I remember rightly it was at
.

Champeaux in the Place de la Bourse that this eccentric

idea took form and burst upon Paris. As to the amount
of sense or of folly displayed in the selection of a name,
it is needless to say a word; as to the good
sense of the
mode of cooking the steak, judgment is pronounced in
the fact that, though the Chateaubriand still remains as
thick as ever, it is rare now to see it grilled between two
other steaks — that
being too extravagant. Indeed, in
Gouffe’s great works on cookery, which must always be
mentioned with respect for the good sense and good
tastewhich pervade it, there is not a hint given that the
Chateaubriand is to be cooked, or was ever cooked,
between the two robber steaks. Most cookery books
say not one word of the Chateaubriand, which ranks now
as the prime steak of the French
table, and which appears
in Parisian dinner bills to
bewilder the benighted Eng-
lishman with a magnificent but unintelligible name.
It is scarcely worth while to speak of minor follies.
When we most popular cookery books of
find in the
France that roast mutton and lamb are designated Rosbif
de mouton, and Rosbif d’agneau, we recognise that no
great harm is done, and only laugh at the awkwardness
8 Introduction

of a people who cannot detect their own word buuf

when they see it in a different spelling. Or again, when
in English cookery books we find that Palestine soup is
—
not what we should expect a soup common in the Holy
—
Land, but one made of tubers derived from America,
and by corruption of Girasole, Jerusalem arti-
called,
chokes, we may rejoice over a jest, and need not com-
plain of practical injury. The disease of the cookery
books goes very much deeper than this. • Dr. Johnson
“ could write.’ he says,
hit the truth a century ago. I

••
book of cookery than has yet been written. It
a better
should be a book upon philosophical principles. Phar-
macy is now made much more simple. Cookery may be
made so too. A prescription which is now compounded
of five ingredients formerly had fifty in it. So in
cookery. If the nature of the ingredients be well known,
much fewer will do.” There is no need to talk heie of
philosophy: all that is wanted is common sense. And
—
one thing is pretty evident that whereas in the labora-
tory of the chemist elements are minimised and processes
are simplified to the last degree, in the laboratory of the
kitchen we see the very reverse, and it is considered the
height of science and of art to multiply ingredients and
to make processes as intricate and ceremonious as pos-
sible. An artistic chef seems to be ashamed of a simple
receipt; although should be the pride of science to
it

reduce labour and to aim at unity. The preparation of

a French sauce will soon be as full of forms and
cere-

monies as the dances and incantations round the witches’

cauldron, with its

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork and blindworm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing.

The multiplication of ingredients and processes with a

long tedious ritual, more than half of which is idle, leads
 Introduction 9
dn ectly to the multiplication of receipts one scarcely —
differing from another. There is an old saying that too -

many cooks spoil the broth; and much the same is true of
cookery books. The multiplication of receipts destroys
their usefulness and drives the reader to despair. It is
the ambition of an author to make his book as complete
as possible and to neglect nothing of value. But he
soon
finds that every one who starts a new receipt is fanatical
over it : there is nothing
nothing to be compared
like it,

—
with it a new light has dawned upon the world since
it

—
was discovered and whoever has not got his pet secret
is in outer darkness.
The pet secret may turn upon a
detailwhich is of no importance—but all the same, his
fancy has vivified it; and whoever uses black
pepper
where he would use cayenne, or should venture on claret
where he declares for port, is a miserable ass bereft of
undei standing. The author, having to choose a receipt
is overwhelmed by the resounding asseverations of
enthusiastic
gastronomers; and unable to pick and
choose among them, or to assert his independence of
judgment, determines to be on the right side, and puts
down higgledy-piggledy all the applauded receipts that
come in his way. There has scarcely ever been a cookery
book written of which the most cursory reader could not
say that from this cause alone the multiplicity —
of uncer-
tain eceipts contains an immense
i it
amount of sur-
plusage. It is a garden full of weeds and good plants
iun to seed. I he prescriptions confuse
and sometimes
confute one another, and not one-half of them are con-
vincing. The last new cookery book published in this
country proclaims as its recommendation that it contains
10,000 receipts; and nearly all the popular handbooks in
the same strain advertise the immense number of their
nostrums. Who wants io.ooo prescriptions in a country
where most of us get on all our lives with a few dozen
good dishes, and where even the fancies of an epicure
 .

IO Introduction

are limited to a few scores ? has been calculated that

It

there are something like 5 °° soups; and Careme

used to

boast that he had turned out about 300. By far the

but once
greater number of these he probably prepaied
his life; and it is quite certain that the
great majority
in
of them were one of another. How
trifling repetitions
seen in the
soups can be multiplied we have already
gravy is used.
various forms of garden soups, where clear
all, it is probable that receipts
After would not be so
fallacy
multiplied in the books but for a great piactical
It is always assumed that a cookery
book will make a
or a woman
cook. Nothing can be more false. If a man
will
has not the soul of a cook, the most minute leceipts
only end in failure. Sganarelle is made to say by
— —
Moliere “Roti, bouilli meme chose;” and it is
a literal

verity that there are persons pretending to

be cooks who
what
are as ignorant as Sganarelle, and who
cannot tell
of roasting, or why some
is the essential peculiarity
If on
meats are to be roasted and others only stewed.
there, it is almost
the other hand the soul of the cook is
leading prin-
always enough to give general rules and
accoid-
ciples, and to leave the cook to make variations
in Italy, ga\ e
ing to his taste or his means. Lord Byron,
the most minute directions for his
plum-pudding it came
,

tureen. There are

out like a broth, and was served in a
cooks in the best kitchens who have been
shown ever so
fail, and have to tn
often how to clarify broth; yet they
The gi eat
over and over again before they can succeed.
is to teach a
thing, it cannot be too often repeated,
special cases follows
principle, and then its application to
learnt to broil a steak
as a matter of course. He who has
broiling a
properly does not require a special receipt for
dozen sauces
mutton chop; and he who can make half a
has really learnt how to make half a
hundred without
extra receipts. .

receipts; but it is idle to

It is well to be particular in
 1

Introduction 1

put out of sight the fact that particulars vary every day,
in every country, and in every household. The sugar of
England is a good deal sweeter than the sugar of France.
The salt of France is much more salt than that of Eng-
land. The quantities to be used therefore must continu-
ally vary. Again, everybody knows that vegetables are
not alike in flavour. Some apples are comparatively
tasteless; so aresome carrots; and one lemon is sharper
than another. Therefore in one kitchen a lemon, an
apple, or a couple of carrots will go further to flavour a
sauce than double the number in another kitchen.
Careme praised the beef of England : he said it was
perfectly beautiful, tender, delicious to taste, pleasant to
behold; but he also said that it wanted the unctuositv of
the French beef, and would not lend itself to sauces and
rich consommes without using up far more than would
be required in France. What does this mean, but that
the quantities of beef used for soup in one country will
not do for the same soup in another country ? It depends
on the butcher. It is the same with ham, the flavour —
of which is not to be measured by weight. A hundred
pounds of French ham will not yield the flavour con-
tained in ten pounds of Spanish, German, or English
hams. It would be easy to multiply such examples,

showing that quantities are deceptive, because they are

unintelligible from quality.
apart When the reader
comes to the article on Soups, he will find that the very
highest authorities differ widely on the grand point as to
the quantity of water with which beef broth should be
made. Some tell us to make it with equal quantities of
beef and water; others tell us to us four times as much
water as beef. The broth which results varies pro-
digiously in strength; so that the simple broth of one
cook is often as good as the double broth or consomme
of another. Add to this the uncertainty of the heat of
fires, on which some flavours greatly depend, and it must
I 2 Introduction

detail
be evident that the attempt to attain precision of
in receipts is wholly illusive. We can at best give
indications and approximations, but numerical
accuracy

is out of the question.

within our
In one point, however, accuracy is well
reach, and nearly all the cookery books
even those
produced under the eyes of great artists make a
mock
of we can be accurate in language. In the whole
it :

to be
range of literature and science, there is nothing
of
found comparable to the inaccuracy and corruption
It is something astounding.
It
culinary language.
had conspired
seems as if all the ignorances in the world
There
together to darken speech and to stupefy cooks.
science of cookery possible without a
conect
is no
clear and
phraseology. Science is but another name for
classified knowledge and the first step
;
to it is precision

It is for this reason that in

the following
of speech.
paid
pages the reader will find more than usual attention
to the naming and to their histoiy. At the
of dishes
is a mass of
present moment the vocabulary of dinner
is every day
confusion and ridiculous mistakes, which
ignorant
becoming worse and worse through the
themselves bad
importation of French names (originally
of abomin-
enough) into English bills of fare. It comes
able pretension. A leg of good English mutton—the
of Pre Sale.
best inthe world— will be entered as a Gigot
earth has become of the English Southdowns
What on
as a French Marsh?
Salt
that they should be described
have seen
tomatos entered as
a fillet-steak served with
I
“ Filet de Boeuf a l’Orientale,” under a notion that
and not from the
tomatos came originally from the East
are given to beef.
West, and that the people of the East
perfidy, h ou oidei
This is not merely pretension: it is
the Oriental fillet expecting
one thing, and you get
something quite different.

Some people may innocently argue.—" What harm is

 Introduction
3
l
there in a wrong word
so long as the dish is good ? We
eat the foodand not the name.” But this is to mistake
human nature. A hungry taste is apt to be querulous,
and resents disappointment. Also there is a peculiar
fastidiousness in what has never yet been thoroughly
analyzed — that known as Acquired
peculiar condition
taste. Perhaps there is no such thing in persons who
are grown up as a perfectly pure and natural taste. The
taste may be sound and even fine, but it is always
more
or less influenced by custom and by association, until it
breeds an Acquired taste which is not to be reasoned with
and which will not be denied. he Greenlander takes to
1

tallow; the southern Frenchman glories in garlic;

the
East Indian is mighty in pepper. No force of reasoning
can prove to them that other tastes are better; they have
an Acquired taste which insists on being pampered. And
precisely thesame phenomenon occurs, though in a less
marked wav, when we get a dish which we know, which
we expect, and which does not correspond to its name.
A very pleasant Julienne soup can be made without
sorrel but those who look for the sorrel always
;
feel that
without it the Julienne is a failure. An acquired taste
has been cieated, which suffers under disappointment
as
cruelly as when the Greenlander is deprived of his
whale-
blubber, the Gascon of his garlic, and the East
Indian
of his curry.
Bad as it is, however, it is not on the perfidy or the
pi etension of wrong names that it is most necessary to
insist. The great wrong about them is that they are a
bai to all chance of science and of progress in cookery.
Aii idea has got abroad and has been
much fostered by
French authorities, that cookery as practised by the
gi eat artists is perfect, and that there is
nothing more to
be done except to ring the changes on what these artists
ha\ e achieved. It is probable enough that we shall not
get many more new foods or combinations of savour;
14 Introduction

of science
but it quite certain that with the progress
is
and shoiter
we ought to attain our results by simpler
with success more
processes, with aim more precise and
But nothing at all is possible until we first
of
assured.
about
allunderstand each other by agreeing upon terms
this reason
which there shall be no mistake. It is for
dwelt so much upon
that in the following pages I have
of the kitchen. Till
the mere grammar and vocabulary
in talking.
we have settled our definitions there is no use
follow
And therefore, while in the receipts which are to
I have done utmost to simplify processes, to discard
my
mere subtleties and variations, and to cut
down useless
first and fore-
expenses and tedious labour, I have gone
of all m the
most on the principle that the greatest waste
the waste of words. simple fact of
It is a
kitchen is
evidence,
which I undertake to produce overwhelming
of the kitchen is a language
not
that the language
understanded of the people.” There are scores upon
are little understood
scores of its terms in daily use which
the face of this
and not at all fixed and there is not upon
;

earth an occupation which is carried

on with so much of
of apes as that of
unintelligible jargon and chattering
preparing food. Not only cooks but also the most
a great part of the
learned men in France have given up
comprehension.
language of the kitchen as beyond all
All the
We" want Cadmus among the cooks.
sorely
world remembers he taught the Greeks their
that
that he was cook to
alphabet. It is well-nigh forgotten
I cannot help thinking
that cooks
the king of Sidon.
their cookery, like
would do well to combine with
Cadmus, a little attention to the alphabet.
want o
Although cookery is not to be excused for
its

it is
science and still less for its deficiency in letters,
chemistry of food is. at least m
essential to add that the
as its cookery. Of
point of science, nearly as backward
scientific in their
course the chemists are extremely
 .

Introduction >5

methods and dogmatic in their conclusions; but if the

object of science be knowledge, and not mere show, I
should what has chemistry with all its para-
like to ask,
phernalia done for the science of food ? Here is its last
result, embodied in a little table, which is borrowed
from Dr. Henry Letheby’s book On Food. It is a table
of what is called “ Nutritive Equivalents calculated —
according to the amounts of Nitrogen in the dry sub-
stances — human milk being ioo.” There never was a
greater farce than the following table of Nutritive
Values :
—
Vegetable
Rice 81 Oats
.
• 138
Potatoes 84 White Bread
•
. 142
Maize IOO Black Bread . 166
Rye 106 Peas • 239
Radish 106 Lentils 276
Wheat 119 Haricots • 283
Barley 125 Beans
•
. 320

Animal
Human Milk .
100 Lamb •
833
Cow’s Milk •
237 White of Egg •
845
Yolk of Egg- .
305 Lobster- .
850
Oysters ,
305 Skate
•
850
Cheese 331 Veal
•
•
873
Eel Beef
.
• 434 . 880
Mussel 528 Pork
•
893
Ox liver .
• 570 Turbot . 898
Pigeon 756 Ham
•
. . 910
Mutton 773 Herring
• .
• 914
Salmon .
• 776

appears from this that white of egg is more than

It

twice as nourishing as the yolk, and that a red herring is

more than nine times as nourishing as mother’s milk.
W hat can be the worth of a science that works out such
incredible results ? Dr. Letheby has himself pointed out,
i esults even if they were trustworthy — be valueless,
 «“ .

.
Introduction

that iht only would these

with his wonted” candour, abou
since they take no
account of the festive
also ha
different substances, but
required to utilise the that
received chemical doctrine
:

they cast doubt on the nutntiou

of food are the most
.

the nitrogenous elements confess

Irnanother part of the
same work he is driven to
physicians talk about our
that, much as
secretion of bile, their
true function in the

food is at present unknown.

not one creature in the
It is noto ™“’
universe knows what •
anatomists and physiologists
^
digestion off

are still
the spleen; and the sweetbread.
the pancreas or
discussing what means
of all questions
When thus, upon the simplest
science of food, chemists
and physicians a.e alike
“
at fault ^
too hard upon the
cooks
not be
and impotent, we need much fo
in science and lisp ,
because they also are weak
BOOK OF THE TABLE
 BOOK OF THE TABLE.

BSIN I HE. — There are two terrible verses in

the Revelation of St. John. “ And the third
angel sounded his trumpet, and there fell a
great star from the heavens, burning like a
lamp, and it fell upon a third part of the rivers and upon

the fountains of waters. And the name of the star was

called Absinthe; and the third part of the waters became
Absinthe, and many men died of the waters because they
were made bitter.” Of all the liqueurs, absinthe has the
reputation of being the most pernicious. It is harmless
enough in a small or occasional dose; but the French
army got into the way of drinking it largely and con-
stantly in the Algerian campaigns of 1844-7; from them
it spread to the boulevards of Paris, where it became so
much a favourite that the five o’clock gossip at the cafes
every day came to be named the hour of absinthe; and
Switzerland, which is supposed to make the best sort,
imports into France yearly more than 2,000,000 gallons
of it. Wh en taken
excess, or when taken regularly, it
in
isfound to be so hurtful that it is now forbidden in the
French army and navy. The Swiss absinthe, which is so
much admired and which is so baneful, is, it may be
added, not made entirely from wormwood proper, but
from plants related to it
— suchas southernwood, and
another which takes its name from the invulnerable
Achilles.
 Achilles

ful giill cook.

Achilles, named the godlike, a wondei
of his wrath,
The most famous of the poets made an epic
Achilles is more
and describes how he cooked a steak.
—
than an individual he is a type.
He is the type of a
of state to luxuriate
great chief unbending from the cares
father
in art. matter of history that Abraham, the
It is a
cutlet. Louis XVIII.
of the faithful, could cook a veal
great discovery in
(Louis le Desire) has the credit of a
a puree of
cookery— a dish of truffles to be eaten with
ortolans. He not only invented this dish, but kept it a
prepared it with his
secret of his cabinet, and invariably
own hands add that all great chiefs have not
It is fair to
raised
shown such discernment. A statue of
Achilles is

in Hyde Park to the honour

of the Duke of Wellington,
the table. His
who was indifferent to the triumphs of
him, and came with teai s
cook, Felix, could not stay with
in his eyes to Lord
Seaford, begging that he would
wages at all. for he
engage him at reduced wages or no
Apsley House. Has
was determined not to remain at
asked Lord Seaford.
the Duke been finding fault?”
“ I would stay if he had
he :

“ Oh no.” said poor Felix;

serve
is the kindest and
most liberal of masters; but I
or Francatelh burst
him a dinner that would make Ude
I go out. and leave
him
with envy, and he say nutting;
dine on a dinner badly dressed
by the kitchen-maid,
to
and he say nutting. Dat hurt my feelings.”

Acqua d’Oro.— There are many names for this

German, and English; but if we are to

liqueur. French,
to the Italian name, which
be just we shall always hold
is the Italians who
invented
every one understands. It
thirteenth century, and they brought it
the liqueur in the
Catherine of Medic. (iS33)
with them into France when
as
wife of Henry II. 1 hei e \j
joined the French court as
like that
at first no gold in it—
only a golden coloui
But as the chemists of
which we now see in Chartreuse.
 Albert Pudding' o t

the middle ages, and even of the

renascence, nursed their
dreams of golden transmutations; as there
was much
talk of the sovereign virtues of the
king of metals; and
as it was supposed that the grandest
of all elixirs must
be “ aurum
potabile,” the makers of the liqueur deter-
mined to justify its name in the most palpable
manner.
1 hey put chips of gold-leaf into it; and so there
could
be no doubt of the fact that to drink
acqua d’oro was to
diink gold. A change then became necessary in the
appeal ance of the liqueur. Gold-leaf would not show
m a gold-coloured liquid;
and therefore the liquid, which
had before been yellow, was rendered colourless,
to dis-
play the gold better. It is possible that
Dantzic may have
led the way in perfecting some such
change of colour,
and may thus have succeeded giving
in its name to the
liqueui . Its real character,
however, was due, as above
said, to the Italians, who brought with
them into France
at least two liqueurs this acqua d’oro, with a predomi-
nant flavour of rosemary; and rossolis,
with a pre-
dominant flavour of sundew.
Brillat-Savarin mentions it as a well-known
fact that
liqueurs were first invented to soothe the
old age of
Louis XIV.. and on his authority the story
has been
widely accepted. Any one who thinks for a moment
must doubt that it was reserved for so late a period
as the
old age of Louis XIV. to invent
the combination of
spiritswith highly-perfumed syrups; and the history of
acqua d 010 is a positive proof to the contrary.

Alberi Pudding. It would be a misfortune if the

gi eat and good Prince had not
been commemorated at
our tables. He has been commemorated in
a pudding
v hicli is as simple as
it is agreeable, which the poor man

may enjoy, and which the most opulent and fastidious

cannot resist. It is sometimes called Albert pudding;
sometimes the Great and Good. An angry Welshman
22 Alderman s Walk
Prince Albert was born this
may say that long before
as a Snowdon one-
pudding was known in Taffy-land
at the foot of Snowdon
giving much fame to the hotel
hill. It may be so; but the
Welshman should be proud
that his pudding has now
been raised to the throne. _

into a cream, and stir into

Beat half a pound of butter
a pound of flour, six ounces
itthe yolks of five eggs, half
the
of sifted sugar, half a
pound of sultana raisins, and
the eggs
zest of a emon. Last of all add the whites of
mould, first well buttered
we„ whlked. Have ready a
had an artistic eye) gracefully
and then (for the Prince
o ci on
and slices, stars and lozenges
i

lined with threads

figures
and orange peel and angelica, in geometrical
school of design
worthy of the South Kensington
and which glories ,n its
which' the Prince fostered,
mixture into this mould
geometrical drawing, Pour the
a cloth, and steam it
o.
cover it with oiled paper and
Turn out the mould, and sene
it t
three hours.
with a little sugar and
English butter sauce, sweetened
glass of sheiiy.
flavoured with lemon and a
given to the
Alderman’s Walk.—An interesting name
uhete
of mutton or venison,
long incision on a haunch
are to be found.
the most delicate slices
Divinity,
Aldrich —Dean Aldrich was a Doctor of
logic Oxford. His name
at
,s
and the great master of
verses, which aie hover
ei
attached 'to the following
only a translation :
, . ,

There are,do rightly think,

if I
should drink:
Five reasons why a man
or being dry,
Good wine, a friend,
by-and-by.
Or lest you should be
Or anv other reason why.
who wrote m
The real author was a Romish priest,
Latin,
sunt
Si bene commemini, cans* futu
prresens sitis; atque ,

Hospitis adventus;
quadibet altera causa.
Aut vini bonitas; aut
 a

A lleniande
It issomething- to know that such cogent reasons for
drinking are sanctioned bv masters of logic and of
theology.

Alexander or Alisander. —This almost for-

plant is

gotten, though it may still be found in Covent Garden.

It belongs to the parsley and celery order, and was at one

time much used as a salad, but it fell into neglect when

the Italians brought celery into vogue towards the end
of the seventeenth century. The French called it “ persil
de Macedoine,” because it was supposed to have come
from Macedon. For this reason alone it is mentioned
here. The French authorities are much puzzled to ex-
plain how a medley of vegetables or of fruits should now
be called a Macedon — “une Macedoine.” Their explana-
tions are conjectural, are wholly insufficient; and even if

nothing better could be substituted for them must be

discarded as much too ridiculous and far-fetched. Amid
these guesses it is well to keep hold of fact, even though
the fact may not seem to give us any assistance. And
the fact is ago the word Macedoine in
that 200 years
French cookery meant not what we now understand —
medley, but simply the parsley of Macedon, or, in Eng-
lish. the Alexander. In a cookery book entitled Lc
Cuisinier Methodiquc, and published in 1662, the eighth
chapter is devoted to salads. One of the receipts is headed
“ Persil de Macedoine;” another “ De Macedoine cuit;”
a third “ De racines de Macedoine.” The next is for
celery, and is dismissed with this one direction — “ De
mesme faqon que laMacedoine.” This is the oldest use of
the word I can find. The book is in the British Museum.

Allemande —
that is. Sauce Allemande. or Sauce of
Almayne. In old English and in old French cookery
there was always a broth of Almayne, but it gives one
no idea of what is now understood by the Almayne sauce,
which is nothing else than Velvet-down thickened with
24 A lisp ice
yolks of eggs, say four to a pint, smoothed with a pat of
the freshest butter, and flavoured with lemon-juice some- ;

times also, but not always, with essence of mushrooms.

How this sauce got its name is not quite clear; but it is
plain that, not only have the Hollander and the
German
long been more or less confounded togethei as Dutchmen
(Deutsch), but also that the sauce Allemande or sauce
of

Almayne is of the same character as the well-known

Dutch sauce or sauce Hollandaise, and is probably an
has a
attempt to improve upon it. Now, Dutch sauce
best and
reputation among epicures of being at once the
the same time
the most useful of all the sauces, while at
it has all the simplicity
for which Mynheer is renowned.

It is nothing but butter and eggs,

with a little water.
Suddenly, no doubt, it entered into some Frenchman s

lefine upon
brain to improve upon this simplicity, and to
the Dutch. He dismissed the water, and put Velvet-down
instead of and, finding the result too rich, he educed
it,
1

the quantity of butter. Make a note of this theiefoie .

different forms of
that Dutch and Almayne sauce are but
the same idea. In Dutch or Holland sauce there is good
is the finest
water; in German or Almayne sauce there

V elvet-down.
the Poulette sauce is another
Note another point:
form of the same idea. If the Almayne may be
desci ibed

as an attempt to improve upon

Holland sauce, the
Poulette may be described as a mock
Almayne. In true
Holland sauce there is no flour. But the mock
Almayne.
known as Poulette, attempts by means of flour to simu-
inti oduced into ti ue
late the effects of the Velvet-down
Almayne.
—
Allspice. A name of great distinction
given to

pimento, because it is supposed to

combine the flavour
of cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves.

Almond.— There is no touches the fancy so

fruit that

quickly and at so many points as the almond. It we can-

 Almond
not say that it is the most useful of fruits —a title which it
disputes with the apple— it is the most versatile and the
most poetical. The very form of the almond is delight-
ful, and there are phrases in which
we liken to it things so
diverse as the eyes and finger-nails of beautiful
women.
Theie is something startling to the imagination also
in
the knowledge that this fruit, so fine of shape,
so sweet
and soft to the palate, so soothing and medicinal in its in-
fluence, contains within itself the
most potent and rapid
of poisons— hydrocyanic acid. It is another striking fact
that the almond blossoms before its leaves
come out
When “ thro’ wild March the throstle calls,” “ the sunlit
almond blossom shakes ” not only round the Queen’s
palace walls, but in thousands of gardens
throughout the
land; and it is one of the joys of early spring
about Lon-
don— indeed, all over England— to see this, about the
earliest of the flowering shrubs, with its
pink blossoms
upon bare branches, suggesting images of hope in sorrow
and triumph m desolation. Strange, too, that the
almond
is a peach and a nectarine at
the same time. It is not
only the parent of these fruit trees, but there
are almond
trees in which almonds will be found in
a state of transi-
tion to peaches, and with both peaches
and nectarines on
the same branch. Another curious point is the caprice
of the almond in bitterness. There are not only bitter
almond trees, but a number of bitter almonds will
be
found growing on sweet almond trees, and no
one can be
absolutely certain whether the kernel he is
about to taste
will be sweet or bitter. To all this is to be added that the
almond goes form the most tempting sweetmeats of
to
children, who revel in nougat and
macaroons, in hard-
bake, in sugared almonds or pralines
and in the fond
union of almonds and raisins, happy pairs of
bride and
bridegroom, entering into that rosy chamber of bliss—
the pearl-barred mouth of a red-lipped child.
The usefulness of the almond is wonderful. The phy-
sician knows this well. Mention has already been made
26 A linond
it— prussic aci
of themost rapid of poisons derived from
—which in weak doses holds a great place
m the pharma-
copoeia. The almond provides
an admirable salve for the
relieves a variety of cutaneous
skin and either cures or
have been
diseases. few almonds eaten after dinner
A
heartburn. Almond
known to give instant relief from
first-rate medium for the
com-
paste or emulsion forms a '

and presentation of drugs; and almond mi

bination
with sugar and watei has
that is, almond triturated
animal milk, and forms a
many of the characteristics of pleasant
in fever, as well as a
very soothing beverage
summer drink. ,

To the perfumer thealmond is a perfect treasure, it^

Ivalydor. the still more cele-
oil is the basis of Rowland’s
Lotion; the oui
brated Macassar Oil, and Gowland’s
been extracted goes to
which remains after the oil has
call Pate d Amandes,
form what the French beautifiers then
in alkaline matter that
and the husks are so rich
vield isturned into soap. ,

valuable; for the almond

To the cook it is not less
some of his white soups,
cream will smooth and improve
sweet entremets its uses are
and in the preparation of his
preserved whole and employed
in
illimitable, whether
lost to view to reappear
in
decoration, or pounded and
chicken
flavour. Blancmanger was originally a white
added; it is now a sweet
soupwith a cream of almonds
without soup or chicken but
entremet of almond cream,
allowed to cool m a mould,
bo i

isinglass instead, and

originally orgeate-a bar ey
was that almond milk was
added to ,t to enrich it and hey
water. Almonds were
;

all-sufficient by themselves
that they
have been found so called
barley, and the drink is still
are used alone without
of which almonds
oreeate For most of the good things
it is best to go
to the confec-
all the chief ingredient, t, m
they play a subordinate pa,
tioner for those in which
as orgeate and blancmange
;

appear under new names—

 A Imond 27

the receipts, will be found under special heading. Here

itmust be enough to describe almond cream or milk, and
the almond pudding.
Almond Milk Cream, or Paste Sweet almonds are
, .
—
brayed in a mortar with a slight sprinkling of bitter ones,
and from time to time, to prevent oiling, with a few drops
of cold water. According to the quantity of water, this
is either a paste, a cream, or milk. Add sugar or syrup to
taste. For orgeate, or almond milk to drink, it used to
be the rule to let the water and pounded almonds infuse
for several hours on cinders or on the angle of the stove.
Now it is considered enough to let it rest in a cool place
for about a couple of hours. When the flavour of the
almonds is extracted, the infusion is to be strained
through a napkin, to have a dash of orange-flower water
added to it, to be diluted to the thinness of a drink, and
to be kept in ice or in a very cold place, lest
it should like

milk turn sour. It is very refreshing in fever or in hot

weather; and is considered especially good for orators
and all who have to use the throat much. In his great
speech of i860, when he lost his voice, and the country
was kept waiting a week for his famous wine budget,
Mr. Gladstone might be seen drinking small glassfuls of
what had all the appearance of almond cream though —
whether it was so or not I cannot say.
—
Almond Cream Sauce Blanch an ounce of Jordan
.

almonds and four or five bitter ones. Pound them with

four ounces of sugar and a tablespoonful of orange-
flower water, and then add a gill of cream and two raw
yolks of eggs. Take this to the angle of the stove in a
saucepan or enamelled bowl whisk it into a thickish
;

froth, and it will become a very pretty sauce for puddings.

—
Almond Pudding Take half a pound of sweet
.

almonds with half a dozen bitter ones, and having

blanched them, bray them to a smooth paste with a little
orange-flower water to prevent their oiling. Mix this
28 Ambigu
gradually with the beaten yolks of eight and the whites
buttei and
of four egg's, with four ounces of clarified ,

—
with sugar to taste say from six to eight ounces.
The
to
next step is not necessary, but it is advisable in oidei
secure the consistency of the pudding throughout.
Put
it into a saucepan and stir it
constantly ovei a slow fh e
till it Then add to it a wineglassful of
begins to thicken.
sherry or a liqueur-glass of noyau some say
curacoa.—
Next pour it either into a pie-dish which has been lined
rubbed
with a thin puff paste, or into one which has been
of sweet almonds, in order that it may
afterwards
with oil
for half an
turn out, and put it into the oven to bake
hour. Serve it with a fruit syrup.
The best almonds are those called the tender-shelled

best of these the Jordan— and the best Jordan

the
Malaga.
almonds come not from the Jordan but fiom
There is no doubt, however, that this variety came
origi-

from Palestine. Every reader of the Bible must

nally
know that the Hebrews rejoiced in their almond trees.

Aaron’s rod that blossomed yielded almonds,

and Plebrew
Needless to
poetry abounds in allusions to the almond.
after dinner with the
say, that almonds go admirably
little roasting.
wine. They may be pleasantly varied by a
Plutarch describes how a Roman physician, who w’as

expected by his host to drink warded off

largely,

drunkenness by eating bitter almonds between his cups.

Ambigu.— A convenient French name for a repast of

together with
one course— all the dishes, hot and cold,
the dessert, being on the table at
once— as at a ball
supper.
great defect in this volume,
America.— There is a

nothing being said in it American cookery, though

of

much has to be said in every cookery book of food which

we owe to America — as the turkey, the potato, the
a futm
tomato, vanilla, red pepper. Let us hope
that in e

edition there will be no such gap.

 —;

Anchovy 29
—
Amphitryon. Few names are more highly honoured
than this yet none is more ambiguous nor more curiously
;

linked with shame and ridicule. The true Amphitryon

was thoroughly befooled and dishonoured. He was thus
injured by the king of gods, who took his name and
his
form, entered his house, and made love to his wife-.
When the two Amphitryons were brought face to face,
and each claimed against the other to be the true one, the
false Amphitryon —
Jupiter invited the assembled com-
pany to dine, whereupon his friend Mercury exclaimed
that this settled the question and resolved all
doubts
Le veritable Amphitryon
Est 1’ Amphitryon ou Ton dine.
It is a good story to laugh at. Moliere brought out all
its humour with superlative gaiety, and with sly allusion
to Louis XIV. and the husband of Madame de Montes-
pan : but what a tribute it is to the genius of the comedian
that no one now
objects to the name, and it is always
accepted as a title of honour! The one Amphitryon is
dishonoured, the other dishonours him. No matter:
dishonoured or dishonouring, he is the true Amphitryon
who gives a dinner, and everybody is proud of deserving
the name.

Anchovy is the most

renowned herring in the world,
and is the foundation of the celebrated sauces of classical
times garum and alec. Dr. Badham says, with perfect
tiuth, that the anchovy “ was to the ancient world what
the herring is to the modern — compensating' in some
degree for its inferiority to the, last while fresh by sur-
passing when cured the very herring itself as a relish
and furnishing the materials for the finest fish sauce
either on record or in use.’’ The best that come to
England hail from Gorgona.
Anchovy Butter is made with any quantity of butter
fi om half an ounce
to an ounce for each anchovy. The
 30 Anchovy
Skin and
half-ounce scale is the best for ordinary use.
with a little
bone the anchovies; pound them in a mortar
with the back of
of the butter; rub them through a sieve
a wooden spoon; mix the rest of
the butter with them;
tint them with
and if they are to be served at table cold,
rose pink and mould them into shape.
—
Anchovy Essence The essence of anchovies
.
sold in
it is wise to know how
so often adulterated that
J

shops is
anchovies, and pound
to be independent of it. Clean six
capers, two
them in a mortar with a tablespoonful of
stew-
shalots,and two red chillies. Put them in a small
pan, with thyme, bayleaf, mace,
and a wineglassful of
for five
mushroom ketchup, and let them simmer gently
of good broth and
minutes. Then add two wineglassfuls
Press it through a sieve, and finish
it
reduce rapidly.
it
lemon-juice
with a small piece of glaze and
a little

of colour, which in the essence of

Never mind the want
minerals.
the shops too often the result of baneful
is

Anchovy Sauce is the English sauce made

with an-
or otherwise,
chovy butter instead of ordinary butter;
and flavoured
English sauce made in the ordinary way
with essence of anchovies.
Anchovy Toast .— Cut slices of bread as for sandwiches,
they become brown
and fry them in clarified butter till
spread them with
without becoming hard and crisp;
of anchovies, and
anchovy butter, upon this lay fillets
serve them hot.

Andouillette is the name of a sausage

made from
chitterlings. Andomlle
—
andouille the French name for
itself originally meant a
sausage, being no other than the
—
Latin inductilis a duct into which
minced meat has been
inducted. We know little of the andouillette in England.
a great favourite; but it can be had in
In France it is
Prince’s Street, Leicester
perfection at Dumas’, 55,

Square. It is to be grilled and eaten very hot.

 :

A nise-seed 3i

Angelica is not only thus gloriously called in ordinary

speech : its scientific name is A ngelica Archangelica; and
its were supposed to be so wonderful that it has
virtues
also been called The Holy Ghost, while the Carthusian
monks of the monastery at Grenoble have appropriated
the sacred plant to themselves, and made of it a liqueur —
—
Chartreuse the name of which they stoutly defend in
the law courts as their monopoly. The great virtues of
this angelic drink, which the holy fathers claim to be
alone possessed of, are sudorific, diuretic, and carmina-
tive. It is interesting to think of the angelic plant, and

the holy fathers who cultivate it, being so kindly to the

bowels of the human race, and ever intent on defeating
the wind and coaxing perspiration. The plant has a fine
pungent flavour; and the holy fathers know how to allure
the senses, for they invest their distillation with lovely
tints, making a green as well as a yellow or golden
Chartreuse. In the olden time angelica used to be
blanched for salad like celery. In this respect it has
shared the fate of the alisander or parsley of Macedon
it is no longer used for salad. The stems, however, the
stalks, and the midribs of the leaves, are candied, and are
used candied orange and citron peel to flavour and
like
ornament sweet dishes. The Laplanders, however, to
thisday roast the stalks, and eat them for hoarseness, for
coughs, and to produce perspiration. This shows that if
the plant be indeed worthy of the celestial personages
whose names it has received, they must be very favour-
able to copious perspiration and to diuretics.

Anise-seed, Anisette. —Anise belongs to a class of

plants, including carraway or carvy, cumin, dill, and
coriander, which are supposed to have a carminative
virtue. It is therefore much prized in nurseries where
the infants suffer from flatulence. It is also supposed to
increase the supply of milk in mothers. The French seem
to prize greatly the liqueur known as Anisette of Bor-
 Appetite

deaux. Doubtless it has its virtues, but it has a sickly

bottles of
taste, and may well be left among the medicine
the nursery.
The most admirable employment of anise-seed in

England is in simulating the odour of a fox. To vary the

amusement of foxhunting and to make suie of a good
run, the huntsman goes forth in the morning
dragging
after him a bag of anise-seed, and choosing
the best line
tide.
across country for an exhilarating and not too eas\
The hounds are afterwards put upon the scent, and
follow it as a genuine fox to the finish.

Appetite. —The place of appetite at the dinner-table

cannot be more happily described than by
Careme. He
who
was for a time chef to the Prince Regent in England,
philosophical dis-
devoted about an hour every day to a
and dinneis
course with the great artist on dinners past
to come. One day said the Prince, “ Careme, you will
make me die of indigestion. I want to eat everything you
send to table, and the temptation is too great — en
vcritc.” The last two words are no doubt the French
language.
way of rendering the Regent’s double-shotted
“Sir.” answered Careme truly,“my business is to

provoke your appetite; it is not for me to regulate it.

Apple is the best known and most useful fruit in Eng-

land. The crab or wild apple is indigenous the cultivated

;

times, beginning
kinds have been introduced at different
and had a pro-
with the Romans, who were fond of them,
verb founded on the fact that a Roman
meal set out with
usque ad mala."
eggs and ended with apples—” ab ovo
account for the
There has long been a theory current to
scarcity of certain kinds of apples—
and it is sure to live
for agesamong the fruiterers, although it is now quite
that an apple lasts
exploded among scientific gardeners—
original tree. Say that the tree lasts
no longer than its

the end of that time the slips and

grafts
for 200 years : at
 A pplc 33
which have been taken, at ever so many removes,
from this
tree will cease to bear, though themselves
quite recent. If
there is a scarcity of any kind of apple, it is through
The redstreak, which Sir Isaac Newton loved, and
neglect.
which was our most popular apple in the
seventeenth
century, is dying out, simply because it is not sufficiently
prized : it is replaced by berter varieties
everywhere, except
in the cider counties, where it is found useful.
The oldest
apple of which we have any record in
England is the
pearmain : it dates many centuries back, and it shows no
sign of decay. It is a curious fact, however, with regard to
the old winter pearmain, which is supposed to be the father
ol all the other varieties of pearmain, that it ripens in
December. Now, the earliest
of the pearmain record
occurs in a tenure
county of Norfolk, which bears
in the
the date 1200, and requires that
200 pearmains and four
hogsheads of pearmain cider should be paid into the
Exchequer yearly at Michaelmas.
This surely implies that
the pearmain was ripe before Michaelmas, and there is —
indeed a pearmain, by some called the summer,
by others
the autumn pearmain, which ripens early in September.
Dr. Hogg, however, who is the chief authority on apples
in this country, has decided that the old pearmain is the
winter variety. He has also explained that the last
syllable of the name is the same as in the old spelling of
Charlemaine. Pearmain therefore means an apple like
a great pear.
here are about 1,500 varieties of apple named. It will
I

be enough here to give the names of about fifty of

the best,
in the order of the months in which
they ripen. The names
of the months mentioned after them show the length
ol time they ought to keep il well looked after. It is curious
to note that, unlike other fruits, the
best apples, and those
which keep the longest, are those which ripen latest.

3
34
Apple

Dessert Apples.

June —Joannetting (August.) This is commonly called

It
June-eating, and the dictionaries spell it jenneting.
really means
“ little John,” after John the Baptist, whose
It is the earliest
day, the 24th of June, ought to see
it ripe.

seldom count on
of all the apples but in England we can
;

it before July. It does not keep long.

July— Early Harvest. (August.) Of American origin.

Margaret. (August.) A conical, green-yellow apple,

named after St. Margaret’s day, 20th July, when it ought
to be ripe. It soon turns mealy.

of the Pippins. (September.) Ovate

August— King
or conical.

September — Summer Pearmain. (October.) Graven-

stein. (October.) An apple of German origin.

the
October— Another King of the Pippins, but not
Golden Winter
true; better called Hampshire Yellow, or
Lasts January. Golden Reinette
Pearmain. till

or Lady Apple. (April.) Named from

(January.) Api,
discovered.
the forest of Api, in Brittany, where
first

November — Fearn’s
Pippin. (February.) Blenheim
Pearmain. (Feb-
Pippin. (February.) Herefordshire
(March.) The favourite app e
ruary.) Ribston Pippin.
(April.) One of the oldest
of England. Golden Pippin.
Catherine of Russia was so
English apples. The Empress
fond of it year she had supplies of it sent fiom
that every
paper. Reinette
England, each apple wrapped in silver
Nonpareil (April.)
de Canada (April.)
'
Bradiclc’s

Winter Pearmain - the oldest of English apples.

(April.)
(April.) A German
December— Dutch Mignonne.
(April.) Newtown
apple. Downton Nonpareil
Pippin. (April.) Named after Newtown, Long Island.
 Apple 35
This apple is imported from America. For more than
a hundred years the English gardeners have tried to
. t produce it, but they cannot reach the flavour of the
American stock. Send to Liverpool for a barrel of them.
1 hey are cheap enough.

January Nonpareil, (May.) A Jesuit brought this

over from France. Boston Russet. (May.) With a
Ribston flavour.

February Sturmer Pippin. (June.) The last of the

Mohicans.

Kitchen Apples.
Most of these are called codlings- —from the old verb to
coddle, to boil a
stew or simmer.
little, The peculiar
virtue of a kitchen apple is expressed in
a phrase which is
a constant reminder of the Garden
of Eden— to fall. An
apple is said to fall when on being cooked it forms a pulpy-
mass of equal consistence. Some of the dessert apples
as the Wormsley pippin, summer pearmain, golden winter
pearmain, Fearn s, Blenheim and Ribston pippins, Here-
fordshire pearman, reinette de Canada, Dutch mignonne,
Downton nonpareil —have this falling virtue, and may
therefore be used in the kitchen. The following are said
to be unfit for dessert, and are used only for cooking.
But all depends on taste, and a lad)' of very good taste has
been heard to say that Sops-in-wino is the most heavenly
of the apples, and might well tempt an innocent in
Paradise or reward a goddess on Mount Ida.
August Keswick Codling. (September.) Carlisle
^
Codling (December.)
October Hawthornden Codling. (December.) An
apple found in the poetical garden of Drummond of
Hawthornden. Beauty of Kent. (February.) Sops-
in-Wine. (February.) A very ancient English culinary
and cider apple.
 Apple

November — Spitzemberg.
Newtown (February.)

Named by William Cobbett “the matchless.” Bedford-

shire Foundling. (March.)

December — Norfolk Beefing. (June.)

Pleasant as the apple is by needs assistance in

itself, it

to be heightened
cooking. Its taste requires nearly always
with spices, to be
by other fruity flavours, to be crossed
in contrast with
enriched with butter, or to be magnified
sugars and creams. For the fruity flavour it mixes best
a mash or marmalade of either
with apricots or quinces ;

excellent in any of the cooked

preparations;
of these is
imperative. For
and the addition of lemon-juice is almost
was to add cloves to
spicy additions the old English way
especially to apple-pie;
every form of baked apple; but
and
now it is usual to employ ground cinnamon
more ;

or oranges, are also

nutmeg, and the zest of either lemons
gives a
in favour. Butter, in combination with sugar,
but for the most part
peculiar richness to cooked apples ;

added till the last moment— and not

at all
it should not be

eaten cold. Sugar helps the apple

if the apples are to be

much —even a sweet one—in the cooking; but if d is

there is more of a flavour
necessary to add sugar at table,
in some of the best
brown
that goes well with the apple
generally
sorts than inpounded loaf-sugar. Cream also is
world knows how its bland-
added at the table, and all the
into relief the fine acid o
ness contrasts with and brings
of these helps shall be
chosen for the
the fruit. Which
individual taste and to the accidents
apple must be left to
lor
of time and place. They are more or less required
and the reader will understand
every form of cooked apple,
should be made of their necessity
this if no further mention
receipts.
in some of the following
they
Two words more. The first— that apples, as fast as
thrown into cold water to keep
are peeled and cut, must be
them white; and lemon-juice will recover their whiteness
it they should happen to lose it. The second that it is —
always good to (ollow the Continental plan of dividing
cooked apples into' two portions the one to- be cooked :

longer than the other, and reduced to a mash or marmalade.

In a pie, for example,
place a mash or marmalade of
apples at the bottom of the dish, and heap on this the
raw slices, which are to be baked enough, but not so- much
as to lose their solidity.

Black Caps .
—This is When Eve
the primitive form.
cooked apples Adam, she must have baked them in their
for
skins. T he form is kept up when its meaning has departed.
Apples were baked skins upon ashes, or under or
in their
before a from which there was danger of ashes. The
fire

skins were often burnt on one side, and made black

caps.
But now what do we do? We punch out the cores, and
the apples have no longer a protection from ashes. We
therefore bake them in an oven or in a casserole and
;

then, to- make believe that we cooked them before the fire,
we pass salamander over them, to produce the primaeval
a
black caps. Some people would imagine that it was time
to seek another world il black caps were abolished. They
are essential to the existence of the human race.
Baked Apples . — he apples
peeled, cored, and
1
are
arranged on a dish. lie hollows are filled with sugar
I

and sprinkled with cinnamon. Some sugar may be placed

round them, with a spoonful or two or water. They are
then baked in the oven.

Buttered Apples .
—The same as the foregoing, with this
difference that the hollows of the apples arc filled with
butter as well as sugar; and that, instead of putting water
in the dish, there is a mash or
marmalade of apples, or it
may be ol apricots.

Stewed Apples or Compote Simmer the apples, peeled.

—
and cored, with clarified sugar and lemon-juice; also- a
38 Apple

scrape of the lemon-rind. Serve them with custard or

cream.

Apples and Rice. — Either proceed as for buttered apples,

but placing' them in a bed of sweetened and buttered

rice

apples
instead of the apple marmadade; or else take stewed
arrange them on rice which has been cooked in sugar,
and
milk and salt, with lemon-peel. In either case finish them
in the oven.

Apples and Bread. —This

one of the most perfect of
is

the apple combinations. In its most refined form it is

called a Charlotte, and will be found described

under that
name, which equally applies to apricots and other fruits.
A more rough and read}' receipt goes by the name of
Brown Betty, whose name may be also consulted.
Apple Pie. —This English pie is famous all over the

world. Prepare the apples according to the general direc-

tion given above. Put them in a pie-dish with quinces,
for which the preparation will be found
under the propei
name, with sugar and with whatever spice may
be pre-
puff paste, or No. 7,
ferred. Make a paste— either No. 4, a
a short paste. Cover the pie with this paste, first placing
round the wetted edge of the dish; trim
it
a band of it

nicely decorate it with leaves of paste egg it over, and

:

bake it in the oven for three-quarters of an

hour.

—
Apple Tart. Sufficiently described once for all under
confounded with pie.
the head of tart, which is not to be
Pies are covered ;
tarts open.

Apple Turnover. —Roll out a short paste, and cut it in

rounds. Put some stewed apples, with proper seasoning,
paste so as to
on one side of the round turn over the ;

bake
make a semicircle. Close the edges, trim them, and
them in a moderate oven for twenty minutes.
—
Apple Padding. Cut a dozen apples in
quarters, toss
spices, over a slow
them with an ounce of butter, sugar and
 Apricot 39
fire till they begin to soften, and then let them get cold.
Line a pudding-basin with paste No. 8; put in the apples,
cover all over, tie it in a cloth, and boil it for an hour and
a half.

Apple Pudding of Nottingham Arrange the apples in .

—
—
baking the hollows filled with sugar and
a pie-dish as for
sprinkled with cinnamon. Pour over them a light batter
— the best is described among the fritters, No. i — and
bake for three-quarters of an hour.

Apple Fritters .
— Steep
the apples for an hour before-
hand in brandy and sugar, and then proceed as for other
fritters.

Apple Sauce may be made by stewing the apples; but

best by baking or roasting them. -
When they have fallen,
beat them smooth with a wooden spoon, pass them through
a sieve, and add to them a very little sugar. Nearly all
the receipts recommend a tiny bit of butter; but the
quantity is so small as to be inappreciable, and is only
mentioned because cooks are afraid of simplicity. No
butter, therefore.

Apricot. — The old form of the name is apricock, and

this is nearer the right word. The last two syllables are
the two of precocious, with the same meaning. It is
first

a Latin word which went to Arabia, which was there used

1

with the definite article Al-precoc, —

like Al-koran and
—
Algebra which thence passed to Spain as Albarcoque, and
came over to England as Apricock. We owe the fruit in
England to a Catholic priest, named Wolfe, who became
gardener to King Henry VIII. But the best of all our
apricots, the Moorpark came over much later. It
variety,
was at one time called the Temple apricot, from an idea
that we owe to Sir William Temple. It was also called
the Anson, because Lord Anson was supposed to have
introduced it; but the probability is that it came over to
Moorpark much later, when Lord Dunmore resided there.
40 Architecture of the Table

There is a great controversy, which is still undecided

among' the gardeners, whether it is or is not identical with
the peach-apricot. has a peculiarity in this that the
It
—
stone is perforated, so that a pin can be passed through it.
The aperture is not easy to find. It is in a small groove
on the thin side, near the base. A very fine fruit, it

scarcely deserves the name of Apricock —the early ripe — for

it does not ripen till the beginning or middle of August.

The apricot is cooked in all the ways prescribed for

apples. There the Charlotte of apricots with bread;

is

there is the beignet, or fritter, of apricots with batter;

there is the Conde of apricots with rice and there is the ;

pie or tart of apricots with pastry. Of all the English

fruit pies or tarts, a green one has long been

apricot
deemed by far the finest; but Mr. Hayward will have it
that a green apricot pudding is a much better thing. Of
marmalades and compotes it is needless to speak.

Careme took a great deal of pains to describe how

apricots and other fruits may be boiled, passed through a
hair sieve, and worked into' a Bavarois or Bavarian

cheese. It is better, however, to' keep the cream separate,

according to one of Francatelli’s receipts :

Apricot Jelly with Cream .— Put eighteen ripe apricots,

from which the stones have been removed, into a preserv-

spring
ing pan, with a pound of loaf sugar and a gill ot
water. Stir this on a brisk stove fire until all the fruit is

dissolved. through a hair sieve, mix two ounces of

Rub it

clarified isinglass with it, and fill a jelly

mould with it.
When the jelly has set firm, turn it out on a dish, and fill
centre with whipped cream. So with pears, apples
and
the
quinces.

Architecture of the Table. — Ibis is a department of

the grandest
the art of cookery which has given rise to
enthusiasm and to the gravest discussions. A dish
should

look tempting and a table should look brilliant ;

but when
 A rchitecture of the Table 4i

we peer into a kaleidoscope we have no desire to eat the

variegated patterns ;
and it is not to be supposed that food
will be more relished for being arranged as a landscape or
a garden, or for being built into picturesque ruins and
handsome statuary. There is something childish in this
desire to make our edibles pictorial. It may be left to
children to eat gingerbread kings and saccharine horses.
Nevertheless a great cook, perhaps the greatest of this
century — Careme, though he had other titles to our grati-
tude, is most of all famous for his picturesque pastry and ;

some of his structures may still be seen in the storerooms

of the Tuilleries, if they were not burnt
1871. It is a in
mistake, however, to suppose that Careme originated this
kind of ornament. Horace Walpole describes how in the
last century the Intendant of Gascony gave a magnificent

banquet on the birth of the Duke of Burgundy. The

centrepiece was covered with wax figures moved by clock-
work, which at the conclusion of the feast were set in
motion, and gave a representation of the labour of the
Dauphiness and the happy birth of an heir to the monarchy.
He also tells an anecdote of Lord Albemarle’s cook in this
country, who prepared a middle dish of gods and goddesses
eighteen feet high, and complained bitterly because Lord
Albemarle would not demolish the ceiling of his dining-
room to make room for the gorgeous structure. In the
previous century an English cook, Robert May, contrived
—
an astonishing trophy a ship with guns charged with
veritable powder, and a castle of piesfull of live frogs and

birds. After the guns were fired the ladies were directed
to take eggshells full of perfume and throw them at each
other, “ to sweeten the stink of powder.” Then the lids
were to be removed from the castle of pies ;
the frogs
would jump out, making the ladies shriek the birds would ;

fly forth, putting out the candles; and nobody knows what

kisses and struggles and pretty adventures might happen

when the lights were out. When the candles were lit again,
 ,

42 A rrowroot
the company might proceed to the more serious business of

mastication.

Arrowroot is nothing" but starch ;

and it has the same

nutritive value as expressed in chemical symbols,

however
in
and wherever it is obtained. It contains, that is to say,
of
a hundred parts, eighteen of water and eighty-two
This is a great fact for grocers who sell one
kind
starch.
of arrowroot for another. There is absolutely
no difference
constitution
that can as yet be detected in the chemical
starch each. There is another difference,
of the in

however. It isclear to the microscopic eye in the size

and form of granules belonging to one starch and to

another. Still more, there is a marked difference in the

taste and in the digestibility of the different kinds. An

invalid can take the Bermuda and Jamaica arrowroots,
made from the root of the Mcircinici cirundinacea when he
Indian,
can take no other. The other arrowroots— East
Brazilian, Tahitan, British—may be wholesome
enough,
roots (British from
but they are made from different
the true West
potatoes), which are not to be compared with
Indian arrowroot, obtained from a root that
was in close
alliance, if not identical, with some
supposed remedy for
poisoned arrows.
lemon sauce, thickened with
Arrowr ouL Sauce is a

arrowroot.

Artichoke. — It is good for a man to eat thistles, and to

remember that he is an ass. But an artichoke is the best
of thistles, and the man who enjoys it has the satisfaction
of feeling that he is an ass of taste. There are several
elaborate ways of dressing the artichoke
— the Barigoule

way and the Lyonnese way, for example, which have little
Each is a
to recommend them but their elaboration.
is not
mountain of labour for a mouse of result. 1 he result
always melancholy to see waste and in art
bad, but it is

destroyed when we are made

especially the pleasure of it is
 A spai'agus 43
conscious of effort. The Barigoule and Lyonnese receipts are
frantic attempts to paint the lily
and to perfume the violet.
When a great cook brings the whole battery of his kitchen
to bear upon a simple artichoke bottom, one is reminded of
Victor Hugo’s comparison “ It is as if the Deity were to
:

bombard a lettuce with a thunderbolt.” Depend upon it

that the simplest way of dressing the artichoke is the best.

Trim it, boil it in salt and water, and let it be eaten with
oil and vinegar, with English sauce or with Holland sauce.
I here is a special receipt for these sauces when served with
vegetables. Some French cooks, before sending the arti-
choke to remove the choke, or as they
table, are careful to
call it, the hay. For this purpose the artichoke must either
be allowed to cook, or must be dipped in cold water, and
heated again after the removal of the hay which might too —
vividly remind us how much we are asses. That hay in the
artichoke certainly raises a delicate question, and it must
be left to the good feeling of cooks whether they will or
will not send it up to table.

Ascai.on. — Ever
to be remembered as the place where
the Crusaders found the loveliest of onions, which they
brought back to Western Europe and named after the
place of its nativity. 1 he name is now corrupted into
eschalot, shalot, and scallion. The giant Philistines who
founded Ascalon are no more. The tiny onions of Ascalon
live for ever.

Asparagus. — Ihere is no cooked vegetable which raises

expectation and lures the fancy so much as the asparagus.
We are attracted to it, as to the chief salad-plants, by some-
thing more than the craving for food, — it is a charm.
When we know that it is a lily, near of kin to the lily-

of-the-valley, we are not surprised at power over us.

its
When we hear that it is ranked with the asphodels, we are
ready to believe that the fields of asphodel in which the
blessed roam in Elysium must be beds of asparagus. It is
 — ;

44 Asparagus

gratifying to know that this truly Elysian —though

lily it

does not look like a lily when it comes to table— is a

native of England. Of kindred plants, besides the lily-of-
the-valley, there are also in England Solomon’s seal and
butcher’s broom. Both of these have young shoots which
may be eaten like asparagus and the latter is a great
;

curiosity, having a flower which grows out of the leaf. All

these plants have a certain narcotic and soothing influence,
which is due to a peculiar principle named by the chemists,
after their wont, asparagin. ft is a pretty name, but it

does not tell us much. We have banished asparagus from

the British pharmacopoeia, but the French still hold to it

chiefly, however, making use of the root. It is supposed

to' still and soothe the action of the heart, like foxglove;

it is also supposed to act as a lithic in preventing gravel

and it is known to have a marked and very rapid action

on the kidneys. Whatever may be its medical virtues, we
in England know them only through the charm of the

vegetable when it comes to the table. And certainly

nowhere is it cultivated to such an extent as in the neigh-
bourhood of London. It grows wild near the seaside. At
Ky nance Cove, in Cornwall, there is an island called

Asparagus Island, because of its abundance there. London,

who ought to know, declares that nowhere, unless in
Holland, is the plant brought to such perfection as in
—
England; and he adds without any exception whatever
— that the asparagus beds of Mortlakc and Deptford are
the most extensive in the world.

The greatest defect of the English arrangement of dinner

is that almost always vegetables are of no
account save as
adjuncts. It is not understood, except in the dinners of the

poor, that a vegetable may make an excellent dish to be

eaten by itself alone. however, there are two

To this rule,

—
exceptions made in favour of artichokes and asparagus.
is due to a pure
It is a question whether this exception

admiration of the vegetable, or to the circumstance that,

 Asparagus 45

having to be eaten with the fingers, it is necessary to put

down either knife or fork in order to seize the vegetable.
The probability is, that if the Creator had thought fit, in
His wisdom, to endow the Englishman with three or four
hands, he would never be seen eating the artichoke or the
asparagus alone, but always in conjunction with some
other food.

Asparagus in Stalks .
—After washing and trimming the
stalks, tie them in a bundle, or bundles, of about a score in
each, and cut the white ends even. Put them in hot water
with a small handful of salt, and boil them for twenty

minutes. Drain them then on a napkin, and serve them

on toasted bread which has been dipped in the water they
have boiled in. Send them to' tabic with English butter
sauce, for which there is a special direction. Some, how-
ever, prefer to eat them with oil and vinegar. In this
case they are, as the French say, to be refreshed with cold
water.

Fontenelle was passionately fond of asparagus, but he

liked them with oil. His friend, the Cardinal Dubois,
liked them not less fervently, but he preferred them with a
butter sauce; Fontenelle had a great bundle of asparagus
sent to him he told the Cardinal of it, invited him to
;

dinner, and promised faithfully that half should be served

with oil and half with sauce. The Cardinal accepted but ;

just upon the dinner-hour came a message to his host that

he had fallen in a fit, and was dead, or dying. Fontenelle
rushed towards the kitchen :
“ All with oil ! all with oil !

he cried, fearing that the cook would not send up enough

of his favourite sauce to eat with all ;
and then, having paid
thishonour to the asparagus, he returned to his dining-
room to lament over his friend. So* great is the influence
which asparagus, with oil, has been known to evert over
the human soul.

Asparagus Peas .
—These are the points of young green
46
Aspic

asparagus cut into peas, and served, like peas, along with

fricandeaux, sweetbreads, or cutlets, they are also served

exactly
separately, as an entremet, and are then prepared
as peas in the French fashion.

Asparagus Soup . — Cut all that is tender from a bundle

of asparagus, and boil it with some about half a

salt in

gallon of water. Spinach may be added for colour, and

parsley and spring onions for flavour. When boiled
the
enough, strain off the liquor and keep it in reserve at
same time separating the asparagus from the other vege-
tables, and braying it in a mortar. Then take about two
ounces of flour, the same quantity of butter, and a spoonful
of white sugar. Pass minutes o\ er the
this for five or six

fire, to make a white roux. Mix the pounded asparagus

a few
with it, add a little of the liquor, let it boil for
stiainei,
minutes, and pass it through a tammy, or a fine
of
back into the pan which contains the chief portion
Finally, mix two yolks of eggs with half a
tumbler
liquor.
of cream, a little melted butter, and a
pinch of grated
ready
nutmeg. Stir this into the hot soup, and it is then
to be served, with some fried crusts apart.
There is no broth in the foregoing, and it is not needed.

But those who wish it can use chicken broth in place of

the water.

Asparagus with Eggs . —

One of the most distinguished of
omelets is made by cooking asparagus in the usual way,
cutting the ends into- peas, and mixing them with
pepper

and salt in the omelet. In the same way they aie excel-

lent mingled with scrambled egg's (ceufs brouilles).

Aspic. —There are most elaborate receipts for making-

aspic jelly, and on g'reat occasions let these receipts be
followed. But as it comes constantly into use, and ought
to be ever at hand, it is necessary to make
the preparation

as simple and easy as possible. Boil down calves’ feet

with a faggot of potherbs (Faggot, No. 6). When this is

 As/>/c 47

ready, add to it for final flavour sherry or Marsala, and

some tarragon vinegar in which a faggot of ravigote herbs
have- boiled. Test the strength of the jelly, clarify it

with white of egg, and strain it through a jelly bag.

And now it Why is it called aspic? There
may be asked :

is upon most curious ignorance, although the

this point the
explanation lies upon the surface. Most Englishmen think
it must have to do with the asp, and the more readily since

they remember the question of Cleopatra, bitten by the

—
snake “ Have I the aspic in my lips? ” Even French-
men, who ought to be better informed, make a similar
mistake. The great lexicographer, M. Littr6, who has pro-
duced the standard dictionary of the French Language a —
monument of learning — says that aspic is so called because
it is cold as a snake, which is proverbially cold The !

absurdity of thismust be evident if it is remembered

that aspic is sometimes served hot and yet one way;

or another all the dictionaries connect

it with the asp. It

has nothing to do with anything so venomous. It

in truth
—
means lavender in old French, espic or spic in good old ;

English, spike, lavender-spike, and spikenard. Lavender-

spike is Roman cookery it is
to be found in the sauces of ;

mentioned among the pot-herbs used in France five hun-

dred years ago one of the spikes— the spikenard of Spain
;

— is in English books of the same period mentioned as

a flavouring ingredient of Hippocras ;
and a couple of
centuries ago Parkinson, the botanist, describes a decoction
of lavender, horchonnd, fennel, and asparagus, which was
considered a wonderful tonic —a stomachic, a cure for the
toothache, for epilepsy, for faintness, but most of all potent
in the maladies of women. To come down still later, at
the time of the French Revolution the great master in the
art of distillation was Dejean, who wrote a book on the
subject. His thirty-second chapter is devoted to the
preparation of waters, spirits, and extracts of aspic, thyme,
basil, and sage. Later still, Grimod de la Reyni&re, in one
 ,

of the volumes Almanack dcs Gourmands has a

of his

chapter on sauces and their names. He comes to the

sauces named from vegetables a la ciboule, a
—
1 aspic, a la

ravigote, an fenouil. He, the most learned authority of

his time on cookery, has no notion that aspic is other than
the well-known plant. Lavender, however, is not a good
while still the
seasoning, and it dropped out of account
name remained. In the present day the French cooks,
mean only to put
when they propose to aspiquer a sauce,
lemon-juice or reduced vinegar into it. And so in the
belongs to the
course of time it has come about that aspic
dispossessed of their
long list of things which, like houses
first owners, retain names no
longer their own cervelas
blancmanger with-
without brains, orgeate without barley,
cheesecakes without
out fowl, galantine without galingale,
Julienne without wood-
curd, pomatum without apple,
sorrel, bisque without
wood-pigeon, marmalade without
the following
quince, vinegar without wine. Many times in
this curious list.
pages it will be necessary to refer to
animal
Ass. persons are aware that this excellent
Few
of Bologna and of
contributes of its flesh to the sausages
Such unobtrusive
Lyons, which they enjoy so much.
opinion of mankind.
merit ought to raise him high in the
It is said that Lyonnese
and Bolognese, coming to London,
Ironmonger Lane,
have been known to rush to the City, to
with the good little beast.
to extend their acquaintance
manger Fane.
They read the name of the street Irons
so assured of the
The lower classes of the French arc
knowing the marvellous
excellent qualities of the ass, that,
and setting to sleep,
properties of laudanum for soothing
“ l’eau
under the name of
they ask the chemists for it
l A ) )

d anon.
many books, and must be
Aurora sauce appears in
looked for; but it is
mentioned here because it will be
useless and has no meaning
beyond its name.
 Badminton 49
Like a lobster boiled the morn
From black to red begins to turn.

The coral of lobster added to English sauce makes Aurora

— something pretty to look at; but what is it to taste? The
taste of coral is must be helped out with
so insipid that it

essence of shrimps or of anchovies in which case, how-

:

ever, the sauce were much better called after the shrimp or
the anchovy.

ABA, Use paste No. 9, mixed

or Polish Cake.
with two glasses of rum instead of water
and tinted with saffron.

Bacon, to be boiled, must be put into plenty of cold

water and brought slowly to the boiling point. It is then
to be simmered, and it takes a long time say an hour —
and a half for a couple of pounds. Remove the rind when
it is cooked and sprinkle it with bread-raspings. Those
who dislike to eat this when cold can have it cut into
rashers, sprinkled with
bread-crumb, and toasted in a
Dutch-oven, or by means of a wire toaster. Raw bacon
can be either grilled or toasted in rashers it is best —
toasted. Togood bacon is to- show ingratitude to the
fry
generous animal that lived and died for your benefit in the
hope that feeding on his flitch you might one day become
another Lope de Vega. See further on about Lope and
his devotion to the flitch.

Badminton must have a word here, because the name

is exceptional. There are crowds of French dishes named
after the titles and country houses of the French nobility.
In England the Earl of Sandwich in the last century gave
his name to a. well-known article of food — and that is all,

4
50 Bain Marie

if we except Badminton, the seat of the Duke of Beaufort,

which up a vision not of food but of drink claret cup

calls

without the sug'ar and the curaqoa. Attempts no doubt

have been made to immortalise great English names in
the

preparations of the table; but not one has achieved

a

universal renown except the Sandwich and possibly Bad-

minton. If any English peer in this century could have had
his name written in comestibles, we should have expected it

might have been the late Duke of Beaufort, who gloried in

I his great artist went
a Neapolitan cook named Raffaelle.
one night to hear the opera of L Elisiv d Amove. In the
middle of the night the Duke was roused from sleep by a
” he cried.
knock at his bedroom door. “ Who’s there?
“ It’s only me, Signor Due, said Raffaelle, opening the
’

door. “ I have been to the opera; I have been dreaming

of the music; and I have an idea. 1 have invented a
sorbet —have named it the sorbet a la
I
Donizetti and I
;

could not resist coming to tell your Grace.

-
Surely the

Duke who showed his appreciation of a cook so enthusi-

astic deserved to have his good taste recorded in the breast

of a partridge or on a neck of venison.

Bain Marie (Mary’s Bath). —This Mary was a Jewess

who lived in the fourth century of our era, and was devoted
to alchemy. She required a bath that would retain heat
long at an equable temperature for the metals and vessels
upon which she made her experiments. To this end she
heated sand and plunged her vessels into it. dhe modern
Mary bath is an imitation in hot water, which is not so
good as sand, since it has no special aptitude for retaining

beat, but has the advantage of being easily kept hot by

—
connection with the boiler and kept thus hot at a tem-
perature which can never exceed 212 degrees Fahrenheit.
Transferred with this change of sand into water from the
laboratory to the kitchen, the Mary-bath is exceedingly
 —

Bake

useful as a means of keeping things hot with no danger of

their being too hot. Practically, however, this heat is a

good way below the boiling point and it is a mistake to ;

suppose that the same bain marie will at once do for cook-
ing and for keeping things hot. In ihe language of the
French kitchen, to cook an bain marie means simply to
cook in a double saucepan —the water in the outer saucepan
being kept continuously at boiling point. This should be
remembered by English people, who are disappointed when
they find that the grand new bain marie they have ordered
for their kitchens, though good for keeping things hot after
they are cooked, will not at the same time cook like a
double saucepan. The fault is probably with the French,
who give a more extended use to the name of Mary’s bath
than that ingenious Jewess thought of. A bain marie in her
view, and as commonly understood, is. but ai means of
retaining heat. To cook au bain marie is to create a heat
by means of a double saucepan which, rising to>2i2 degrees
of Fahrenheit, shall have no chance of getting beyond that
temperature. Let there be no mistake, therefore, as to a
fact so elementary. A bain marie cannot have water in

it which is both at boiling point for cooking purposes and

below boiling point for keeping things hot.

Bake. The chemist who will tell us what is the precise

difference between baking and roasting will confer a benefit

on mankind. YVe all see, or fancy that we see, a difference

in the results ;
but what it is nobody has yet been able to
define. The difference in the process is clear enough. In
roasting, the meat is swinging or turning in free air before
a bright fire. meat is motionless in a con-
In baking, the
fined space, and whatever heat comes to it is dark. The
degrees of heat as marked by the thermometer may be the
same in either case. Is there any difference in taste due
to the fact that in the one case the rays of heat fire bright
and act in a free current of air, while in the other the rays
 —

52 Bakewell Pudding-

of heat are dark and act upon a surface from which cur-
rents of air are excluded? If chemists were practical, they
would work out this problem, which is of more interest to
mankind than all their researches into the nature of ele-
mental-)'- nothings with na nes longer than the titles of a
Spanish grandee.
It will be observed that baking is here understood in a
peculiar sense. By rights, we can speak of baking in the

sun, or of baking anything before a clear fire. In common

parlance, however, to bake meat is to put it on a baking-
dish into a closed oven. A good oven can be made out of
a common saucepan. This is an important point for those
who are interested in impromptu cookery for the cam- —
paigner who wishes to roast his game at a doubtful fire
for the kitchenmaid who is suddenly called upon for a nice
hot supper when the fire has gone down. Rub your bird
with butter, and put it with more butter into a good copper-
pan on the doubtful The pan becomes, when tight
fire.

closed, a small oven,which can be occasionally opened to

give the bird a turn and a baste. Such a pan has many
and many a time baked a partridge in twenty minutes, a
woodcock in fifteen and m> one has guessed that it has
;

not been roasted before a brilliant fire.

Bakewell Pudding is the glory of Derbyshire. One

might have expected some miracle of excellence for the
palate from the ducal residence of Chatsworth, with all its
fame and its splendour, and the highest fountain jet in the
world. But, although a Duchess of Devonshire once kissed
a butcher, the great house of Cavendish has done nothing
for our tables which can compare with the humble achieve-
ment of some unknown genius in the small town of Bake-
well, nigh to the prodigious Chatsworth.
Line a pie-dish with a light paste. Place on this a

thickish layer of any preserved fruit from the most common

to the most refined — let us say peaches or apricots. The
 —

Banting 53

Bakewellians are in the habit of intermingling- this with

candied citron or orange-peel cut into thin strips —a part
of the ceremony which may be safely omitted. Make a
custard of six yolks and three whites of eggs, from four to
five ounces of clarified butter, six ounces of sifted sugar,
and three spoonfuls of what the Bakewellians call lemon-
—
brandy that is, brandy which has been flavoured by long
maceration with the zest of lemons. A little of the zest of
a lemon may be used instead, or any other flavour that
may be preferred. Pour the custard over and among the
apricot jam, and bake the pudding in a moderate oven for
three-quarters of an hour.

Banting. The following is the diet of Mr. Banting, by

which in a year —
fifty-two weeks —
he reduced himself in
weight 5 2 lbs., to his great advantage. Pic began with
202 lbs., and to his joy and comfort he came down
to
150 lbs. “ For breakfast,” lie says, “ at nine a. in., I take
five or six ounces of either beef, mutton,
kidneys, broiled
fish or cold meat of any kind excepting
pork or veal a ;

large cup of tea or coffee without milk or sugar; a little

biscuit or one ounce of dry toast, making together six
ounces of solid and nine of liquid. For dinner, at two p.m.,
five or six ounces of any fish except salmon, herrings or
eels, any meat except pork or veal; any vegetable
except
potato, parsnip, beet-root, turnip or carrot one ounce of
;

dry toast fruit out of a pudding, not sweetened any kind

;
;

of poultry or game and two or three glasses of good

;

claret, sherry oi —
Madeira champag-ne, port and beer for-
bidden, making together ten or twelve ounces solid and
ten liquid. Por tea, at six p.m., two or three ounces of
cooked fruit, a rusk or two, and a cup of tea without milk
or sugar making together two to four
; ounces of solid and
nine liquid. For supper, at nine p.m., three or four ounces
of meat or fish, similar to dinner, with a glass or two of
claiet or sherry and water; making together four ounces
54
Barbel

For nightcap, if required, a tumbler

solid and seven liquid.
glass or
ofgrog (gin, whisky, brandy, without sugar), or a
two of claret or sherry.”

Barbel is hardly ever eaten in England. Our anglers

either throw it away, or keep it for the cat.
This is pro-
speak
bably because its roe is pernicious. But the French
well of the little carp, and have a special admiration for its

head and tongue, or the sort of palate which is called

its

the tongue in carps. They sometimes admit, however,

that the body of the fish is insipid, and requires
a good

sauce.

Bard an old English as well as an old French word,

is

of origin uncertain, for horse-armour. It was also used

for armour in general. 1 hus the chronicler Stowe speaks

of 1,500 men “ barded and richly trapped.” Noun or
verb, the word is not now used save in the language of
the kitchen, where it refers to the thin slices of bacon in

which any kind of flesh likely to dry up in cooking, but

more especially in roasting, is swathed. The metaphor has
been as far as this particular word is concerned borrowed
from the French kitchen. In England in the time of

Chaucer, and in the kitchen of Richard II., a bird coated

in this way with bacon was said to- be armed or
enarmed.
The learned and reverend editors of the cookery-books

which remain from that timp seem to be not a little

to us

puzzled when they read of cranes and herons being armed

” and fancy it must mean
or enarmed with lards of swyne,
larded in the modern acceptation. It means barded; and
ifone could recover the old MS. of The Forme of Cury,
the receipt-book of Richard’s court, it would
probably be

found that in many instances in which the editor, Dr.

Pegge, read lard, the scribe wrote bard.

Barley Broth. —Any soup with barley in it may be

called barley broth. The French make it by simply boiling
 —

Batter 55

barley and adding -

it to a clear gravy-soup, or to any of

the vegetable soups. The name in this country is almost
always confined to what is otherwise called Scotch broth
or mutton broth, the principleEngland of which is in

but half understood. One of the most important and

practical questions in cookery turns upon it, and it will be
found explained under the head of Scotch Broth.

Barley Cream .
—The soup which the French call Creme
d’orge. Wash and blanch half a pound of pearl barley,
and boil it water or with broth about a
either with —
quart. When thoroughly well done, rub it through a sieve
and add it to chicken broth. Sometimes there may be
added also a purde of chicken or of veal. Sometimes
chickens newly roasted are cut to pieces and served in
this soup.

Basil, or sweet Basil, is a plant belonging to the

labiate which abounds in pot-herbs mint, mar-
family, —
joram, savory, and the rest. Its leaves have a strong

flavour of cloves, and are sometimes used in salads as well

as in the pot. Basil is an annual which grows in English
gardens, but we have nearly always to' send to Italy for
the seeds.

Bath Bun. Use paste No. 9.

Batter, for fritters and for frying meat and vegetables.

Take equal quantities of flour and of liquid. Say there
are ten ounces of flour —the liquid will be represented by

two ounces of melted butter and half a pint (eight ounces)

of lukewarm water. Mix these well together with a little
salt, which will be increased in quantity if the batter is

to be used for meat or vegetables. According to' the

purpose to be served, some part of the water may be
replaced by milk, by wine, by brandy or by beer. In the

German batter there is beer. Whether yolks eggs should

of

be added is a moot point. For a rich cream add two yolks,

56 Bavarois

but also in this case add somewhat to the quantity of water,

and indeed must be remembered as modifying the above
it

measurements that some kinds of flour require more water

than others. Work the mixture perfectly smooth. When
wanted for the fire add to it two or three whites of eggs
which have been whisked into a firm froth.

Italian Batter .
—The peculiarity of this is that there is

no water in it and no butter. The liquid part is formed of

oil, eggs and of milk. Those who are disposed
of yolks of
to play pranks may leave out the milk and put white wine
or cider instead. The batter is finished as usual with
frothed whites of eggs.

Batter Pudding .
—There are several varieties of it —as
the Batter Pudding, the Hasty Pudding, and the York-
shire Pudding; but none is to be commended except the
last.

Bavarois. — Bavarian Cheese. Boil as much of the

best milk as will half fill the mould or moulds to be used.
Sugar it, and add whatever flavour may be chosen — coffee.,

vanilla, fruit syrups, or aught else. Mix in (say for a

quart of milk) eight yolks of eggs ;
and let the mixture
thicken with a low heat on the corner of the stove, stirring
it Add an ounce of dissolved isinglass then pass
well. ;

it through a tammy and let it cool. Being cool, it is to

be mixed well with some whipt cream, poured as swiftly
as possible into amould which has been rubbed with oil of
sweet almonds, and given over to the ice-box. Above all
things let there be no delay between the mixing in of the
whipt cream and the chilling with ice. It will take an

hour and a half for the cheese to set well, and then it can
be turned out.

Bay Leaf. —This is indeed poetry in pot— Daphne

the
at our There is scarcely a
lips. savoury dish made which
is not perfumed with a faggot of herbs and one ol these
 Bearnaise 57

herbs is a bay leaf. the only use to which we now

It is

put our laurels. The Greeks had their crowns of laurel

and of parsley. We with all humility cast our crowns of
laurel and of parsley into the pot. What a glorious thing
itwould be if the bays we have given over tO' our oooks
would bring them the inspiration of great Apollo and
ensure to us dinners worthy of the gods !

Beans are more than beans, good for food and pleasant
to the taste : they are a moral lesson. The priests of
Egypt held it a crime even to look at beans the very sight —
of them unclean. Lucian introduces a philosopher in hell
declaring that it would be difficult to say which were the
greater crime —to eat beans, or to eat one’s father’s head.
Pythagoras forbade his disciples to eat beans, because they
are formed of the rotten ooze out of which man was created.
The Romans ate beans at funerals with awe, from the idea
that the souls of the dead were in them. Two thousand
years pass by, and here are we now eating beans with the
most thorough enjoyment and the most perfect unconcern.
—
Moral Get rid of prejudice and call nothing unclean.
Windsor beans are the best so* called because this —
variety was first cultivated at Windsor by Dutch gardeners.
There is still a garden near Eton called the Dutchman’s
Garden. Whether for a garnish or for a dish by them-
selves, they are to be simply boiled with salt and served with
aMaitred’Hotelora Poulette sauce. It is a question whether
in being sent to table they are to be skinned or not. The
skins are troublesome —therefore skin them. The skins,
although not swallowed, have an agreeable bitter — there-
fore leave them on. Each one must choose for himself.
The kidney or French bean is of a different species, and
it is in every way most convenient to call it by the well-
known name of haricot, accepted throughout Europe.

Bearnaise. — Filet a la Bearnaise. This is not a local

dish, as the name seems to’ indicate. It is a mode of
 ;

58 Beauvilliers

serving' the steak invented by the great chef who left

fillet

the service of the Duchess of Berri to preside over the

Hotel Henri Quatre at St. Germains, which is to Paris
what the Star and Garter at Richmond is to London. In
honour of Henri IV. he named the sauce for his
steak (equally good for a mutton chop) Bearnaise. It —
is a butter-sauce, and may be described shortly as a
hot

mayonnaise. Many cooks make a fuss about this sauce,

and pretend that it requires a long preparation. It is very

simple, as will be seen from the receipt, and can be pro-
duced perfectly in a quarter of an hour. The only diffi-

culty about it is, that it requires the addition of chopped

tarragon, which is not always in season.

Bearnaise Sauce is made with yolks of eggs and

ounces of butter in equal numbers— say four — as follows.

Put the yolks of eggs with one ounce of butter and a little
salt and pepper on the fire, and stir them till they
begin

to thicken. Take them off the fire, add a second ounce of

butter, and stir them over the fire for two minutes more.
Take them again for the third ounce, and yet again for
off

the fourth ounce, and proceed as before. Lastly, add a

tablespoonful of chopped tarragon, or one of ravigote and a

teaspoonful of tarragon vinegar.

Beauvilliers, starting in 1782, was for many years the

most famous restaurateur in Paris. He was the first to

make the restaurant perfect in every detail as we have it

now, with an elegant dining-room, with well-appointed

tables, with waiters properly attired, in addition to a first-
rate cellar and a perfect kitchen. He made and lost his

fortune several times over, so that his success was variable

but when lie was at his best no one ever surpassed him
in his profession. As he spoke many languages, he was in

special favour with foreigners, and he had a rare tact in

entertaining his guests. In the latter part of his career

(1814) he published in two volumes L'Art du Cuisinier.

 ;

Becafico 59

It was the book that had ever been pub-

best cookery
lished—simple, methodical and exact. It is now out of

date, but it be consulted with advantage. Careme

may stiil

was very jealous O'f the book, and he and his follow-
ing were fond of pointing out that its author was no
great cook. Beauvilliers, though an admirable manager,
may not have been a great cook, but still his work is of

immense authority. Nestor Roqueplan has asserted, but I

know not on what grounds, that lie was assisted in its pre-

paration by Brillat-Savarin. Ihe book is a great landmark

in the history of the kitchen. Its receipts are classical,

and show precisely the position of the art on the fall of the
French Empire. Beauvilliers and Carfimc may be taken
as representative men at the head of two opposite schools
of cookery, which have been playfully described by Mr.
Hayward as the classical and the romantic. “ Having
spoken,” says Mr. Hayward, “ of Beauvilliers and Careme
as chiefs of two rival schools of art, we may naturally be

expected to distinguish them. We should say that

Beauvilliers was more remarkable for judgment and

Careme for invention — that Beauvilliers exhausted the old
world of art and Careme discovered a new one that
—
Beauvilliers rigidly adhered to the unities and Careme
snatched a grace beyond them — that there was more
aplomb in the touch of Beauvilliers, more curious felicity in

Caremc’s — that Beauvilliers was greait in an entre and

Careme sublime in an entremet — that we would bet Beau-

villiers against the world for a r6t but should wish

Careme prepare the sauce were we under the necessity
to
of eating up an elephant or our grandfather.”

Becafico. —The fig-pecker,

a small bird something like
a nightingale which feeds on figs and grapes, that give to
its flesh in the autumn a peculiar delicacy. It has been
said that the becafico were only as big as a pheasant it
if

would be worth an acre of land. As it is rarely to be seen

6o Bechamel

at an English table, it belongs to the category of pleasures

to be dreamt Bacon said that some books are to be
of.

read thoroughly, some are to be tasted only, and others

may be read by deputy. Unfortunately for us, the beca-
fico has to be eaten by deputy and enjoyed in a reverie.

Bechamel which takes its name from Louis

is a sauce
de Bechameil or Bechamel, Marquis de Nointel, who is
described as a financier, but is chiefly known as Maitre
d ’Hotel (Lord Steward of the Household) of Louis XIV.
He died in Paris in 1703, and must have been a poor sort
of creature if the story which St. Simon tells of him be
true. He fancied that he resembled the Comte de Gram-
moot, and being- too proud of it, did all he could by dress
and manner to nurse the illusion. One day Grammont
saw him walking in the Tuileries, and determined to make
sport of him. He asked the bystanders what they would
bet against his giving a kick to the Marquis de Nointel in

what is commonly considered the most honourable part of

the body, and against the kick being received as a compli-
ment. Bets were made and the kick was given. Bechamel
turned round astonished. Grammont hastened to explain
that the kick was intended for his nephew —he really
landed that it was his nephew
lie saw before him. Becha-
mel was instantly appeased, and strolled away arm-in-arm
with Grammont, to his own great delight, and amid the
laughter of the court. A prodigy of meanness, a gigantic
parasite, an inspired idiot, this Bechamel invented a sauce
which will shed a halo round his name through endless
ages. Nothing can be more simple. When once it is
described we wonder that it was never thought of before.
The white sauce known as Velvet-down is mixed with an
—
equal quantity of cream that is all, and there is Bechamel.
The learnedest of men and the cunningest of cooks had
been compassing heaven and earth to find out a new and
perfect sauce. It was left for the most fortunate of ninnies
 1

Bechamel 6

and the most superfluous of puppies to hit upon a com-

bination which has every day since then, for one hour
out of the twenty-four, contributed more to the peace and
satisfaction of mankind than any other relish in the range
of cookery. In presence of such a fact as this one half
understands and sympathises with those races of men who
worship their idiots. It is difficult to venerate fools, but
at least henceforth let us not despise them. One is always
inclined to kick a sublime puppy, forgetting that to him
also, as to another Bechamel, may be revealed in vision

secrets of art which are concealed from the wise and good.

Bechamel, as above mentioned, composed of Velvet-

is

down and cream in equal proportions. Cream, however,

is a wide word, and may mean almost anything from milk
to the richest double cream. There are some dairies whose
milk is as good as the cream of others. This accounts for
the fact that in some of the receipts for Bechamel we are
told tO' take cream, to reduce it to half its volume by rapid
boiling, and then to mix it in equal quantities with Velvet-
down.

Cold Bechamel — for cold chicken, turbot and other

viands. Mix with the Bechamel, so as to siffen it when
cold, a few spoonfuls of any clear white stock that has
turned to jelly— as the jelly of chicken broth, veal broth,
or calves’ feet.

Mock Bechamel .
— Put into a saucepan four ounces of
butter, with a sliced onion, a sliced carrot, a faggot of
nutmeg, pepper and salt. Let them stew
parsley, a little
slowly for twenty minutes or half an hour. Then stir in
about four ounces of flour and a pint of new milk, a little
at a time. Boil this gently for half an hour till the milk is

well reduced, taking every care to avoid burning. Lastly

pass it through a strainer. Some cooks when they find the
sauce too thin, through the thinness of the milk, choose to
 — ;

62 Beef

thicken it with yolks of egg. This may be very nice, but

it destroys the character of the Bechamel.
Beef. The influence of the ox on human society, and
more especially on the temperament of Mr. John Bull,
deserves a chapter to room for but a word.
itself. There is

No animal has been so often taken for a god as the bull,

or for a goddess as the cow and though we may not;

allow them SO' much honour, it cannot be denied that those

races of men who own the best of them and partake the
most of them have attained the highest civilisation. From
the age of myth to these ages of doubt, Europa in her
most perfect form has been borne on the back of Jupiter
Bos.

Roasi Beef . —
The French and the English kitchens have
long been at variance as to the best mode of utilising beef.
The French are loud in their praises of beef broth, and
stick with wonderful devotion to boiled beef. In England
the value of beef broth is fully admitted but boiled beef ;

is a byword; and “ The Roast Beef of Old England

” is

known all over the world. It is served with the simplest

of meat gravies, nothing like what the French call by that
name, which is a thick cullis— a strong and extravagant
decoction of beef, veal and ham, boiled down to a glaze.
The only other sauce which is much used with it is horse-
radish sauce; but it is excellent also with a Bearnaise
sauce, or with Robert. It is nearly always accompanied
by Yorkshire pudding, and potatoes in some form or other;
but it would be well to popularise also, as an attendant,
the white haricot bean, either plain or worked up in the

Breton way.

There is an odd disagreement about the fillet of beef.

Many people seem to regard it as the best part of the
sirloin. Perhaps they do so because of its tenderness
but its taste is such that when the French roast a whole
fillet, as they often do by itself, they lard it with bacon,
 Beef 63

they steep it for twenty-four hours in wine, oil, salt,

pepper and onions, to give it a flavour they anoint it ;

with thick meat gravy, and they serve it with sharp sauce.
This is not saying much for the fillet, which the hrench,
however, delight to honour in the form of steaks.

Beefsteak is England than roast

even more popular in

beef, and there is a common saying that the dinner which

the Englishman most enjoys is just such a dinner as the
—
Beefsteak Club composed of very choice feeders was —
started to ensure. There is more variety, too, in a beef-
steak than many people imagine. The favourite in this
country appears to be a rump-steak. What the French
understand by a bifteck is cut from the sirloin. Besides
which there is the rib-steak or entrecote, cut from the ribs
of beef ;
and also that which is perhaps most prized of all

—certainly it commands the highest price — the fillet-steak.

Needless to say that the steak which has attained pre-

eminence in England is always grilled (sec Grill), is
served as hot as possible, with the taste of the fire on it,
and is eaten for the most part plain, in the juice that oozes
from it, or with a pat of fresh butter upon it.

Beefsteak with Oyster Sauce. —When an Englishman

takes a sauce with his steak, this is what he first thinks
of. But there is a particular way of making the sauce for
broiled meat', which is not the same as for fish.

Beefsteak a la Maitre d’Hotel. —This is the best known

of the French steaks. It is cut usually from the sirloin,
and is served with a piece of maitre d ’hotel butter melting
upon it in the dish.

Beefsteak with Anchovy Butter. -—Served with a piece of

anchovy butter melting upon it, as it is taken from the
fire.

Beefsteak aux Fines Herbes. — A steak with some ravi-

gote butter melting upon it.
64 Beef
Beefsteak of Bordeaux (Entrecdte k la Bordelai.se).—-A
rib-steak with a piece of maitre d ’hotel butter, into which
has been worked a chopped shalot. See Bordeaux.
Beefsteak a la Bearnaise. —A fillet-steak with a Bear-
naise sauce poured over it.

Beefsteak a la Chateaubriand. -
— See Chateaubriand. It

is twice the thickness of ordinary steaks.

For a garnish to any of these steaks potatoes hold the

first place- —cooked in various ways. Sometimes fried
onions are in request, but in this case it would be much
better to- order potatoes done up with onions in the Lyon-
nese way. Grilled mushrooms or tomatoes are among
the best garnishes for beefsteak ;
after which may rank
cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, haricot pods and haricot
beans.

Beefsteak Pie. —Take two or three pounds of rump-

steak, clear it of fat, and cut it into- collops two or three
inches in diameter. Put them into a pie-dish, layer upon
layer, dredged with a little flour, and duly seasoned with
pepper, salt, and chopped onion or shalot. Pour over
—
them some good gravy or broth good enough when the
pie is cold to- turn to jelly. Most cooks are content with
water, but as the pie is very often eaten cold, the result is

an odious watery sauce. Cover the pie up in the usual

way, and let it bake for an hour or so. The pie is mightily
improved by the addition of a dozen 03'sters and their
liquor for every pound of beef.

Beefsteak pudding contains either the same ingredients

as the foregoing, or the same as kidney pudding.

Beefsteak Tossed. — in French, sauti. These are steaks

either of the usual size, or cut up into thin collops about
two or three inches in diameter. English cooks frequently
do their steaks in the frying-pan when they have not got
a fire good enough to broil them. In that case they should
 Beef 65

do- so frankly, and not make a pretence of broiling. Put

the steak or the collops with a piece of butter into the pan,
and fry them briskly on each side, but take care not to
burn the butter. When done take it out.
the meat is

Then dredge in a little flo-ur into the pan, and add a ladle-
ful o-f gravy or broth, which after being stirred on the fire

for a minute or two may be strained into a saucepan ;

intowhich also put a quantity of olives, or of mushrooms,

or of oysters, which have been previously prepared, and
heat them up in the sauce. A glass of sherry or Marsala
may go with them, or may take their place. This is not a
very brilliant substitute for a good grilled steak ;
but the
French take to- it — in the form of the Filet saute aux olives,

aux champignons, aux truffes, au vin de Madfere.

Beefsteak Stewed .
— Have a large and thick rump-steak,
— even more than may be necessary, for this is a dish
which, if the sauce be good and plentiful, seems to surpass
itself when cold, and comes in graciously at breakfast and

at supper. Put the steak with butter into an oblong pan

that will hold it nicely laid out at length brown it on ;

both sides, dredging it lightly with flour; and when it has

taken colour pour over it broth enough to- cover it and
more than cover it. Sometimes water is used ;
but this
is a mistake, as it is important that the sauce when cold
should be almost a jelly. Set the steak to- boil, skim it,

add to it a Mirepoix of red wine, and let it simmer gently

for two or even three hours. A quarter of an hour before
itought to be ready, see how the sauce is in consistence
and in taste. This is especially necessary for those cooks
who- moisten the steak with water or with broth which is
too thin. The sauce should be a cullis, and if it is not so
it may be well to stir into As for
it a little corn-flour.
taste it is perilous to attempt to improve upon a good
Mirepoix; but mushroom ketchup sometimes comes in
well if used with discretion ;
pepper may be needed ;
and

5
66 Beef

all mention of salt has been hitherto omitted because of the

bacon and the ham in the Mirepoix.

Beef a la mode .
—Take some of the vein)'' piece, the thick
Hank or the rump, and let it be five inches thick. Cut
some bacon fat for larding-, and let the lardoons be of
considerable size —say half an inch thick. Dip them first

into vinegar, and then into a mixed powder made up of

pepper, salt, thyme, bayleaf and parsley, very finely
chopped. Lard the beef with them’ through and through.
Melt some fat in a large brazier or stewpan put the beef ;

into it and fry it for a quarter of an hour. Next add to it

two calf’s feet, half a pint of white wine, half a pint of
broth and half a pint of water, together with salt. Let
it boil and skim it. Then add two or three carrots, two
or three onions, two or three cloves, and a faggot of sweet
herbs. Cover up the brazier or the stewpan tight, so that
there may be no evaporation, and' let it stew very gently
for five or six hours. The beef is to be served with the
calf’s feet cut up and the carrots. The gravy is to be

strained, freed from fat, reduced to half, and poured over

the beef. In addition to the pieces of calf’s feet and the
carrots for a garnish, it is usual to provide a quantity of
small onions browned and cooked apart.
Salted and Spiced Beef .
—The salting and spicing may
for the most part be left to the butcher who provides the
meat —round, edgebone, silverside, brisket, or whatever it

be. The following, however, are the usual quantities :

—
For salting —reduce to a fine powder one ounce of salt-
petre with three of sugar, and rub this well into the meat,
then rub in three-quarters of a pound of salt, also pow-
dered. Rubbing and turning every day, a piece of beef-
—
say sixteen pounds should be ready in nine or ten days.
Observe that there arc sixteen ounces of pickle for sixteen
pounds of meat.
—
For spicing say a good-sized Round. Rub into the
 ; •

Beetroot 67

beef half a pound of brown sugar, and leave it for two

days. Then make a powder consisting' of one pound of
salt, two ounces of saltpetre, two ounces of black
pepper,

two ounces of allspice, two ounces of juniper berries—well

mixed together. Rub this into the beef and turn it daily
it will be ready in three weeks.
For cooking — the usual way is to wash off the salt
and spice; to boil the ordinary salt beef in water, and
to serve it with some of its liquor also with a garnish ;

of greens, and sometimes dumplings.

carrots, But if
people take for three weeks the trouble to get up a Round
of beer —
one of the boasts of English cookery— they may
as well cook it in the best way, which is to place it, with
a very little water — a cupful will do— in a pot of its own
size, metal or earthen, to surround it and cover it with
beef-fat chopped, and to bake it in the oven for five or
six hours. The difference is incredible between the ten-
derness and succulence of a Round boiled in water, at

a temperature below 2 12 0 and one baked ,

in beef-fat at

400 0 or 400 0 . The Miniature round of beef— that is, ribs

of beef,boned and rolled— may be done in the same way

with admirable effect, though of course the measurements
must vary. The larger round of beef may be reckoned
at twenty-five pounds. What is called Pressed Beef is

nothing but the brisket, pickled as above with salt, sugar,

saltpetre and mixed spices — left in this pickle for a week,
boiled till tender, and pressed under a heavy weight until
cold.

Beetroot. —The Greeks held the beet in such esteem

that they used to offer it to Apollo at Delphi on silver, and
they preferred its leaves to lettuce. The leaves are hardly
ever used now unless they may be so in Brabant, where in
Flemish cookery — and these Flemings were good judges —
they took the place of spinach, which belongs to the

same family. We make use only of the root now, and that
but little save for the manufacture of sugar. After the
potato it is the most nourishing' of all the roots, but its

taste is mawkish when cooked, and it is not valued except

for salads. Beetroot and Spanish onion make a capital
winter salad ;
so also beetroot and celery or beetroot and
celeriac. Even to g'reen salads, as the cabbag-e lettuce,
a slice or two- is a welcome addition.

Beignet one of those words abounding- in the F rench

is —
kitchen, and more there than in the kitchen of any other
—
country which seem to defy explanation. All we ca.n say
of it is that it means a fritter.

Bentley, Richard, one of the greatest scholars of

modern and certainly the most learned man of his
times,
day. He made this incisive observation to one of his
pupils,
—“ Sir, if you drink ale you will think ale,” which
Brillat-Savarin has refined and generalised into* the apho-
rism :
“ Dis-moi ce que tu manges, je te dirai ce que tu es. ”

Betsy Prig helped herself too often from the leapot

which contained not tea but rum. It was more than
Mrs. Gamp could bear. She stopped the hand of Mrs.
Prig- with her own and said with great feeling,
— “No,
Betsy. Drink fair, whatever you do> !
” And this supreme
rule has therefore in history been associated indissolubly
with the name of the forgetful Betsy.

—
Bigaeade Sauce. Bigaradc is the French name for a
Seville orange, and the sauce is described under its English
name of Orange Gravy Sauce.
Bisque is one of those words which when he has the
clue to them become the delight of a philologcr. It presents
as pretty a puzzle as exists in any language. The French
lexicographers have given it up as insoluble. Brachet and
Littrd say frankly that its origin is unknown ;
the German
Scheler follows suit. And, after all, a very little research
 ,

Bisque 69

might have led the learned Frenchmen to the true meaning

of the word. They have been put off the scent by trusting
to modern usage. Littre defines a bisque as a soup of cray-
fish, and that is what it usually means in our day. He has
failed however to observe that purists in France never call

the soup of crayfish a bisque — they

always say a bisque
d’ ecrevisses implying that there may be a bisque of some-
thing else. In some of the old French cookery books the
crayfish soup is described perfectly as Potage aux c'erivisses
en facon de bisque. The word is now employed exactly as
we employ such words as marmalade, wine, pomatum,
orgeat, saveloy. Marmalade is a conserve of quinces —we
give the name to a conserve of oranges. Wine is the juice
of the grape; but we speak of cowslip and gooseberry
wine. Pomatum is a cosmetic of apples, and never
1
now
does an apple enter into it. Orgeat ought to be no other
than barley-water— it is now made
almonds without a of
grain of barley. Saveloy, from the French cervelas, for-
merly cervelat, is a sausage made of brains, and now there
are no brains in it. Precisely in the same way, bisque was
a soup of wood-pigeons, and it is now never made of wood-
pigeons, but nearly always of crayfish.

Piscium et summa genus hfesit ulmo

Nota qure sedes fuerat columbis.

Any one who will go back to the French cookery books

of the seventeenth century will find invariably that the
bisque is made of pigeons, or else of small birds such as
quails or partridges, which may be supposed superior to
them. It was not merely a soup one of the books de- :

scribes it accurately as a soup with a ragout in it and for ;

the precise meaning of Ragout in the French turn to the

word. La Varenne, the greatest cook of the seventeenth
century before Vatel, gives two receipts for pigeon soup,
neither of which he denotes by the name of bisque ;
but he
also gives two, and only two, receipts for bisque, and they
 ;

;o Bisque

are both soups of pigeon with a ragout: or rich garniture

added —something between the Financial and the Turtle
Relish, if the reader goes on turning the pages ofLa Va-
renne’s book he will come to a receipt for roasting wood-
pigeons ;
he will find that they are called bisets and he will
there at once detect the origin of the bisque or wood-pigeon
broth. The bisque was a soup of the biset —with the biset
added to it in the tureen together with a ragout or relish.
Having reached this point, the discussion might fairly
come to an end. The explanation of the bisque is there,
even if we can go no further. There is a detail, however,
which it would be well to account for. How are we to
account for the fourth letter in bisque, which does not
appear in biset? This involves the further question, How
does the wood-pigeon come to be called biset ? And here,
ifwe go to the Frenchmen for assistance, we find that they
—
are all wrong or if not absolutely wrong, helpless. They
say that biset comes from the adjective of colour, bis —
brown or whitey-brown and they candidly confess that
;

they know not whence bis in this sense comes. It is impos-

sible tomention the name of Littre without respect for his
extraordinary merits as a lexicographer, and yet he too
seems to be infected with the Frenchman’s wildness in ety-
mology. The real root of biset is to be found in hois, and
the root of hois is the Low Latin boscus, which in English
survives in bosk, busk, and bush, and which turns up in
French as bisque, and buisson. Just as the Latin
buis, buis,
discus dropt the k sound and was transformed into dais,
while at the same time there survived a doublet retaining it

—disque; so the Latin boscus has survived with the k sound

in bisque, and without it in bois and biset. I find in my
notes a statement which I am unable for the moment to
verify—that Humboldt has derived the name of Basque, or
Biscay, from Basoa, a forest, and Baso-coa, belonging to a
forest. It would be curious if this should turn out to be the

same word, but it is immaterial to the argument. Enough

 Bisque 7i

has been stated to show that a consonant has dropped out

of biset, and that the word is by rights bisquet. It does not
follow from this that the French etymologists are abso-
lutely wrong in connecting biset with the colour bis light- —
brown ;
but if there is any justification for them, it is not
because the wood-pigeon is of a light-brown colour, but

because light-brown is the colour of wood, and it is not im-

possible that the colour as well as the pigeon may be named
from the wood. Neither, again, does it follow that, taken
literally and by themselves, bisque and biset mean anything

more than wood or belonging to a wood. Just as tree came

to signify the cross, and iron fetters, the name of the wood
might easily pass to' the pigeon, and the name of the pigeon
to the soup. It is still in the French idiom to' add the
word pigeon to biset, saying pigeon biset.—
The reader will probably expect to find here the old
receipt for Bisque, and give him with pleasure the receipt
I

of La Varenne, which runs as follows “ Bisque of Young :

—
Pigeons. Take young pigeons, cleanse them well and
truss them up, which you shall do in making a hole with a
knife below the stomach, and thrusting the legs through
it. Whiten them then put them in the pot with a small
;

faggot of fine herbs, and fill the pot with the best broth
you have, and have a special care that it may not become
black.” The grand object was to make it red— to produce
a bisque rouge; and in fact it was to develop redness that

the crayfish came into play and in the end displaced the
pigeon. ‘‘Then dry your bread and stew it (mitonnez) in
the pigeon broth. Then take it up (dressez), altei it is
(that
well seasoned with salt, pepper and cloves, garnish it
is the bisque) with the young pigeons,
cockscombs, sweet-

breads, mushrooms, mutton-juice, pistachios. Serve, and

garnish the rims of the dish with slices of lemon.

This, it will be observed, is a soup of pigeons with the
pigeons and a Ragout (see Ragout) in it. hat is now W
called Bisque is neither a soup of pigeons, nor is it a soup
 72 Black Cock

of any kind with what is properly called a Ragout in it.

For the crayfish soup of fame we must go to the pages
allotted to' the crayfish, and not seek for it in the nest of the
wood-pigeon.

Black Butter.— See Butter.

Black Cock is a kind of Grouse and to be treated as

such.

Black Puddings (Boudins Noirs) are made of pig’s

blood. This sounds gross enough, not to say offensive and
horrible. Nevertheless, with the gore of the unclean beast
there mingled an adorable onion flavour which redeems
is

it from odium, and seduces mortals like another Circe.

The human beings who have been able to resist the san-
guinolent puddings of the hog are few indeed. In France,
among the middle classes, it is considered a sacred duty to
eat them on Christmas eve, after returning from the mid-
night mass. The English do not make much of Christmas
eve, but these black puddings are a fair excuse for making
more of it. Only it is best to eat them not in the French
but in the Flemish style. The French eat them as they
are; the Flemings with a companion dish of baked apples.
It corresponds to the English plan of taking apple sauce
with pork or goose.

Blanc.— See the Faggot of Pot-herbs.

Blanch. —To scald vegetables (but sometimes also meat)
by placing them for a few minutes with salt in boiling
water, after which they are passed into cold water. This,
in the case of vegetables, is to tone down too strong a
taste, and in the case of meat (as calf’s head and feet) to
soften it.

Blancmanger. —
It is needless to give the old receipt for

this,because nobody would eat it. In the days of the

English king Richard II. it was a fowl first roasted, then
 Blancmange/' 73

cut to and served in syrup which was whitened

pieces
with milk, rice and almond paste. As late as the days of
Madame de Maintenon —that is, at the end of the reign of
Louis XIV. —the court physician, Fagon, ordered it to be
prepared of the breasts of fowls and almond milk for
consumptive patients ;
and later on, when we come to the
article Gallimawfrey, it will be seen that the title of the
dish implies a fowl.
For the modern receipt, the best and simplest is that of
Careme, and depend upon it when Careme is simple he has
right upon his side. He is loud in his praise of it, and
hazards the prophecy that Blancmanger prepared in his
simple way will always be preferred to other creams, and
even to the most beautiful jellies, because of the pleasant,
nourishing, and soothing qualities of the almond. Unhap-
pily for his renown as a prophet, Blancmanger is losing its
popularity, because although the almonds may be as good
and as loved as ever, the world has ceased to believe in
isinglass, and laughs to scorn the gelatine which is too
often used instead of it.

Blanch a pound of sweet almonds and twenty bitter

ones. Pound them in a mortar, moistening them from time
to time with half a spoonful of water to keep them from
turning to oil. When they are pounded quite smooth, pass
them into- a bowl, and mix them with five wineglassfuls of
filtered Then arrange a napkin over an oval dish,
water.
so that the almond milk may be poured into it and strained
through it by twisting it at either end. Add twelve ounces
of sifted sugar, and when this is dissolved pass the Blanc-
manger a second time through the napkin. Next mix into
it, somewhat more than warm, an ounce of clarified isin-

glass. Last of all pour it into' a mould which has been

rubbed with sweet oil of almonds, and which has been
settled on ioe. The Blancmanger thus prepared will be de-
lightful in itself, but any flavour wished for may be added to
it — as rum, lemon, vanilla, coffee, chocolate, strawberry.
74 Blanquette

Blanquette is as good a name as one could get for a

white sauce, and it is a name which might well be adopted
in England, where it would be thoroughly understood.
There is absolutely no difference between a Blanquette
sauce and the so-called Allemande or German sauce, unless
it be this —that occasionally there is chopped parsley put
into the former. A Blanquette of fowls, of sweetbreads,
or of veal, means simply the serving' of these things in
the white Allemande. The white parsley and butter sauce
which is so* common in England with boiled chickens is

but a rough and ready Blanquette. The Poulette sauce

is the same thing, with sometimes chopped mushrooms
added and with a squeeze of lemon.

Bleu (au bleu). —A phrase of the French kitchen for

the simplest method of cooking fish. It means cooking
it either in plain salt and water, or in white wine with
parsley and onions. Originally the wine was red ;
and
hence the name blue (petit bleu), as we say small beer
in England. What with the old style and the new, how-
ever, there is an odd medley of colours, white, red, and
blue.

Blonde de Veau is described at length in the article on

Soup. It is a double veal broth, which is much in request
for mixing with soups and sauces for its smooth gelatinous
texture, and also for its fine colour and flavour, which are
brought out by making it fall to a glaze at an early stage
of its preparation. Perhaps it is overrated ;
it certainly
was at one time. Early in the last century it became all

the rage in France. There is a letter of Voltaire’s in which

he invites Lambert to visit him at Cirey. “ Come to
St.

Cirey,” he says. “ There Madame du Chatelet will not

poison you. There is not a spoonful of beef gravy (jus) in
her kitchen everything is done with blond de veau
;
we :

shall live a hundred years, and you will never die.”

 —

Boarshead 75

Boarshead, even as a Christmas dish, has gone so com-

pletely out of use, that it is needless to give any receipt
for its preparation. But one thing about it deserves to
be remembered. We all more or less, while the edge o!

hunger is upon us, look forward to our lood with some

eagerness. But what approach can we make to the lusty
feeling of our forefathers, who when they brought on
the boarshead honoured it with a procession from the
kitchen, and made merry before and after with a song?
Imagine the frankness of the feeling which breathes in

the following stanzas; and let us ask ourselves — Are we

better than our fathers because we should be rather

ashamed to lead a procession of the boarshead and to give

utterance to their jolly anticipations of the coming feast?

Caput apri defero

Reddens laudes Domino.
The boar’s head in hand bring I,
With garlands gay and rosemary ;

I pray you all sing merrily,

Qui estis in convivio

The boar's head, I understand,

Is the chief service in this land ;

Look wherever it be found,

Servite cum cantico.

Be glad, both more and less,

For this hath ordained our steward,
To cheer you all this Christmas
The boar’s head and mustard !

Caput apri defero

Reddens laudes Domino.

Do not let us deceive ourselves. Ihere is more

gluttony now in the world than ever there was, and none
the less because we are quiet over it — and pretend to think
a great deal more of the ewigkeit. Perhaps our dinners
would agree with us better and we should have less of that
dyspepsia which distresses modern civilisation if we could
 —

76 Boiling

go to our food with singing like our ancestors, and if

we
could lender thanks for it to God with a sense of enjoy-
ment as lusty as theirs.

Boiling. If one might judge by the use of the word,

there is no mode of cookery so common as boiling'. As
a matter of fact, however, true boiling' is extremely rare,
and isnearly always of short duration. Boiling in the
strict sense is a word of the widest and vaguest
meaning.
Milk will boil at a comparatively low temperature; so will
spirits; on the other hand, fats and oils have their boiling"
point at a prodigious heat but in common parlance, and
;

in the language of the kitchen, to boil means to produce

—
the temperature of boiling' water that is, 212® Fahrenheit.
Now, we may speak of boiling as much as we like; but in
point of fact there is very little cooking performed at this
heat of 212 0 Nearly all cooking is done either a little
.

below thisdegree or very much above it. The cooking

which is done above the boiling point (as broiling, baking',
frying, roasting) develops the peculiar roast flavours at a
temperature of 400 0 and upwards. The cooking which is
done below the boiling point, and is known as stewing,
simmering, seething, slow-boiling, works itself out often
as low as 170 0 but always below 212 0
, If all cookery is
.

performed either a little below the boiling point of water

or very high above it, the question may be asked Is there —
any good in boiling proper, and what is the object of it ?
Boiling heat is required almost solely for two purposes,

and no more. 1. In the first place, for rapid reduction.

One wants to evaporate the water from a sauce, an infusion,
or a decoction, from vinegar, from wine, from milk. For
this purpose of reduction, the cook resorts to the most

brisk and violent ebullition within his means. 2. Violent

boiling has also its use as a preliminary step in the cooking

ol meat and of most vegetables. Let us say that a leg'

of mutton is to be boiled it will not really be boiled except
:
 Boiling 77

lor the first few minutes. All depends on the question

whether a piece of meat is going- to- be eaten or not. ll
:

it is not to be eaten, and we only want to get all the good-

ness out of it in the form of a broth or stock, the meat is

put into cold water which is gradually heated, and then

only seethed or simmered or slow-boiled considerably below
the degree of 212. If the meat is to be eaten, however,
it is a great and most important object to keep the juices
within it. The leg of mutton is therefore at once plunged
into the hottest boiling water, which coagulates the albu-
men on and produces a thin but perfect coat of
the surface,
mail round the meat, through which the juices cannot
all

escape. Five minutes of quick boiling at the outset, or even

less, having produced this coat of mail, there is no further
need of so great a heat. The quick boiling is, by the
addition of cold water, brought down to slow boiling or
simmering; and though we still speak of the leg of mutton
as boiled, it is really not boiled at all, but only simmered,
save in the first five minutes.
It will thus be seen that boiling, as distinct from slow-
boiling, simmering or seething, is an operation of very
limited scope
in cookery. It may be described as the

middle, not to say neutral point of culinary heat. It is

notorious that the kitchen produces two kinds of cookery
the brown and the white, or, as the French sometimes
express it, the brunette beauty and the blonde. The one
comes ol intense heat, far above the boiling point, pro-
ducing the roast savours and the brown appearance; the
other comes of gentle heat, a little below the boiling point,

producing mild decoctions, pale of tint and with natural

flavours. But genuine boiling at a temperature of 212 0
yields no such characteristic results. It is a temporary

process, of short duration and of limited use, being chiefly

available, as above mentioned, for two things to’ coagulate —
and harden the surfaces of food, and to reduce liquids by
evaporation.
78 Boiling

When meat begins to boil a scum rises to the surface

of the water and continues to do so for some little time.
This must be carefully removed as fast as it rises, for
it soon sinks again, rendering it difficult afterwards to
clarify the liquor. Salt helps the scum to rise.

I IME-TABLE FOR BOILING.

must be clearly understood that in the following table

It

boiling means, for the most part, under-boiling or simmer-

ing. In some cases also, chiefly in vegetables, now and
then also in fish, any time-table is insufficient, and it is
possible to ascertain whether the cooking is enough only
by probing. The following figures therefore are to be
taken with a certain latitude

Hours. Minutes.
Round of beef, 20 lbs 5 Greens, quick boiling 25
Edgebone, 14 lbs . 3 Cabbage ,, 25
Brisket, 10 lbs 3 Asparagus 25
Ham, 12 lbs 4 Artichokes 35
Leg' of pork, 8 lbs 3 Green peas 15 to 20
Hand, 6 lbs 24 Carrots 15 to 50
Bacon, 2 lbs. 14 Turnips 15 to 50
Pig’s cheek 24 French beans 30
Pig’s feet 3 Broccoli - 15 to 20

Ox tongues, fresh 2 Cauliflower 15 to 20

Leg of mutton, 9 lbs 2 to 3 Brussels sprouts 10 to 15
Neck, 7 lbs 2 Beetroot 150
Breast of veal, 7 lbs 24 Parsnips 35
Neck of veal, 5 lbs 2 Spinach 12

Knuckle, 7 lbs 24 Girasole artichokes ... 30

Calf’s head 3 Onions, whole 60
Calves' feet 3 Turbot, 15 lbs 30
Tripe S Cod's head and shoulders ... 60
Turkey, small 14 Salmon 60
Ditto, large 2 Slices of cod or salmon 15

Fowl, large 1 to 14 Soles 6 to 12

Chicken Skate 12 to 20
4 to 4 ...

Partridge 4 Herrings 10
Pigeon 4 Mackerel - 15 to 20

Rabbits | Lobsters or Crabs 20 to 30

 Borage 79

Bologna has given birth to- eight Popes, to Francia,

Domeriichino, the Caracci, Guido, Alban i, and to the most
magnificent and renowned of all the sausages. Who shall
say that, among these mighty ones, the sausage is the

least ?

Bonne Femme. —The name given to a remarkable soup

in which an attempt has been made to> paint the character
of a good woman. Why not? Beethoven in his Pas-
toral Symphony has by music alone set before us a land-
scape and why should not a cook be able in a soup to
;

symbolise womanhood? The two most important symbols

which he selects are the acidity of sorrel and the softness
of cream. There is a gracious suavity in the soup, with
a subacid flavour to' remind one pleasantly of the little

gleams of temper without which this exquisite creation

could not be a woman. There is an addition ot fowl or
chicken broth in memory of Dame Partlet and her sisters,
who love, honour, and obey the sultan of the hen-roost.
And there is a good allowance of butter, to symbolize the
adulation of courtship and the praises which the poet says
are the wages of the sex.
Take a pound and cut it first into narrow
of sorrel
ribbons then slantwise into diamonds.
;
Put it into a
stewpan and stir it on the fire, with |lb. of butter, with
salt, and it may be with one ounce of flour. Then add five
or six pints of fowl or chicken broth, and let it simmer
gently for half an hour. Take it off the fire, and
add a leason of six volks of eggs and a tumblerful of
good cream. Finish it with a bit of butter and serve it
with crusts.

Bonne Femme Maigre —

Omit the flour, put water
. for

broth, and use cream O'f rice instead of cream.

Borage. —There is an old rhyme, Ego borago gaud in

semper ago, which has been freely translated “I borage —
bring courage.” It had a wonderful repute for cheering
 So Bordeaux
the heart ofman, and was accordingly ranked among the
four cordial flowers —
that is, flowers which acted upon the
heart and made it merry. The four flowers were alkanet,
borage, roses and violets. This is what Lord Bacon says
of it : “The borage hath an excellent spirit to
leaf of the
repress the fuliginous vapours of dusky melancholy and
so to cure madness. ... It will make a sovereign drink
for melancholy passions.” I he juice of the leaves abounds
in nitre, and the withered stalks have been seen to burn
like matchpaper. The young leaves and tender tops used
to be taken in salad. Now the plant is scarcely ever used
except for flavouring claret-cup. It resembles, in this
respect, burnet and cucumber.
Bordeaux, Bordelese. —The famous capital of the
Gascon country has given name
to a sauce, to a method
its

of serving the entrecote or ribstead, and to the cooking

of crayfish.

Sauce Borclelaise —
Properly speaking, there is no such
.

sauce, and very few of the books care to describe it. What
is so called is a variety of the Genevese Sauce, and got its

name probably because of the Bordeaux wine in it. Take

a good brown sauce, Spanish if possible, boil it down with
a tumblerful of red Bordeaux, with one or two shalots
chopped small, and by rights also with a clove of garlic
crushed.

Entrecote a la Borclelaise .
— One would imagine that tins
must be a ribsteak with Bordelese sauce. It is nothing of
—
the kind for, as we have said, there is, strictly speaking,
no such sauce. It is a ribsteak grilled in the ordinary way
and served with (either upon it or under it) a piece of cold
maltre d ’hotel butter, into which has been wrought some
choped shalot. To those who love onion flavours the idea
seems good, but many persons regret the order they have
given for the Entrecote a la Bordelaise, from not taking
into account that the shalot is raw.
 — 1

Bouchees 8

Crayfish a la Borclelaise are a passion with some people,

especially in the season when game fails. They take the
place of game towards the end of dinner. Chop a faggot
of Mirepoix fine, pass it in butter, and add a tumblerful
of white wine to it. Boil it up, put the crayfish into it

alive; they are soon dead and red, although to' be

thoroughly cooked they must be tossed for at least twenty
minutes. When done, pile them in a noble monument on
the dish; take the sauce, finish it with a little fresh butter,
and pour it fondly on the monument you have raised.

Given the crayfish, there comes a terrible question,

How are they to be got at? how are they to be eaten?
Prigs and foolish virgins are aghast to find that knives and
forks are of no use. Then comes a moment of great trial

toweak nerves. What becomes of our boasted civilisation

when it is known that the crayfish are to be boldly eaten

with the fingers, and that when the dish is consumed
finger-glasses go round?

Botargo— Roe of the Grey Mullet.

Bouchees — Morsels. —These are small \ ol-au-vents, and

the way to make them is described under that heading.
They are filled with a salpicon of chicken, game or fish,

well moistened with a white sauce-— Bechamel or Ahe-

rn ande.

Bouchdes a la Reine .
— Filled with a salpicon of chicken,
— that is, a fine mince of chicken with tongue, mushrooms
and truffles. The queen after whom they are named was
Marie Lesczinska, the wife of Louis XV., who' gave the
French cooks their idea of the Baba or Polish cake and
the Kromeski or Polish croquette.
Bouchees of game in the same way.
Bouchees of lobsters or of shrimps are filled with either
of these cut small, but not mixed with anything else save
the white sauce.
G
 82 Bouillabaisse

Bouillabaisse is a lisli soup for which the i’rover^al

fishing- towns arc famous — chiefly Marseilles- Garlic is

essential to it, as to nearly all the Provencal cookery ;

hut
those who eschew g-arlic may still obtain from it a g-ood
idea of how to concoct a savoury fish soup. Thackeray’s
Ballad of Bouillabaisse has g-iven it a great name in
England, but most Englishmen find it disappointing. It
is a soup to be mightily loved or to be abhorred.

This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is —

A sort of soup or broth or brew,
Or hotch-potch of all sorts of fishes
That Greenwich never could outdo :

Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffern,

Soles, onions, g-arlic, roach and dace ;

All these you eat at Terra's tavern

In that one dish of Bouillabaisse.

Choose a variety of fish — soles, red mullets, dorys,

whitings, flounders, perch-— avoiding the oily sorts, as
the herring and the eel. The mussels mentioned by
Thackeray are a pleasant addition. Reckon from half
to three quarters of a pound for each person to be served.
For every pound of fish put a pint of water into a stew-
pan, a quarter of a pint of white wine, and a tablespoonful
of oil. Then supposing there are four or five persons to
—
be provided for add two sliced onions, two cloves, two
bayleaves, two leeks — the white only, but chopped, four
cloves of garlic, a tablespoonful of chopped parsley, a little
-orange or lemon zest, half an ounce of chopped capsicums,
a teaspoonful of saffron (but man)' tastes crave a whole
tablespoonful), pepper and salt. Into this mix the fish,
which have been well trimmed as well as cut into pieces,
and boil them for half an hour. The MarseilLese declare
lor rapid boiling on a brisk fire — pointing out that the
name Bouillabaisse means Bouillon-abaiss6— that is, broth
rapidly reduced by evaporation. This rule, however, is

not always followed. When the soup is to be served, drain

 Brains 83

the and put them on a dish apart, making', spite of

fish

Thackeray, a pretty good clearance of herbs and spices.

Strain the soup by itself into a tureen, with it may be
sippets of toast in it. It is more common, but not so
good, to' serve soup and fish together.

Bouillon. —Why should we be expected to say Bouillon

when we have the good English word broth ? — for every-
thing pertaining to- which see Soup.

Bourgeois, a i.a Bouroeoise. — It has always been

difficult to translate these phrases into English, and the
attempt to do' SO' now would be absurd They belonged
to an order of things when there was a more marked
gastronomical distinction between the nobleman and the
townsman than we can now find. The nobleman had
a fine way of cooking, the burgess had a less refined

way. It is better in the present day to contrast the

set dinner or the dinner ol state with the family dinner.

We make greater preparation for invited guests than for
every-day home use. Throughout these pages, therefore,

what the French call a Bourgeois dish —or one prepared

a la Bourgeoise — will be described as a family dish or one
prepared in a familiar way.

Bouquet. —The technical name for this in English is a

Faggot of parsley—a little bunch of parsley and spring

onions. See Faggot.

Bouquet garni .
—A faggot of herbs— that is, a faggot of
parsley with the addition of thyme and bayleaf.

Brains. — Hath a calf, which is the emblem of stupidity,

brains? It is one of the glories of cookery that it recog-

nises good in —
everything good even in a calf’s organ of
intelligence. It is only the cerebral matter of calves that
is deemed worthy of being shaped into lordly dishes. They
are first picked clean, then cooled for at least an hour.
84 Brandade

They are then either to he boiled or fried. If boiled (this

is the favourite way), they are to be simmered for thirty
minutes in water with salt and vinegar, then drained, and
they are to be served with Maitre d ’Hotel sauce, with
black butter, or with Montpellier butter. If fried, they are
to be first parboiled for ten minutes in water, salt and
vinegar, and they are to be served with Ravigote butter.

Brandade. —The first receipt for a brandade which

appeared in print was written by Grimod de la Reynifere,
and is as follows :
— “ Among the provincial ragouts in
most distinguished favour in Paris are the brandades of
salt fish. A restaurateur of the Palais Royal is well
known to have made his fortune by his method of preparing
them. We give the receipt as it was communicated to us
in a village of Languedoc
which enjoys a reputation for
this very article at once brilliant
and merited. The
singular name of brandade, though not found in any
dictionary, is derived doubtless from the old French verb
brandir, which means to shake; and this action, almost
continual, is in fact indispensable to render the ragout
what it ought to be. Soak for twenty-four hours a fine
piece of salt fish. Put it on the fire in sufficient water,
carefully taking it off when it begins to boil. Put butter,
oil, parsley and garlic into a stewpan upon a gentle fire-

In the meantime skin the fish and divide it into small bits.
Put the pieces into the stewpan, and add from time to time
more oil, butter or milk, as the whole is perceived to
thicken. Shake the stewpan for a long time over the fire,

so' as to reduce the salt fish to a kind of cream. The

receipt is do not cease to repeat that
very simple, but we
the success of the brandade depends on shaking the
stewpan for a very long time. This alone can effect the
extreme division or disunion of all the parts of the naturally
tough fish and metamorphose it into a sort of cream.”
It may be a dreadful heresy, but it is difficult not to add
 —

Braze 85

that there an effective instrument called a spoon which

is

is not once mentioned in the foregoing' sentences, and

which if properly stirred would save a good deal of
shaking. Let it be furthermore added, that though
Grimod dwells emphatic way on the creamy
in his usual

nature of a brandade, it is by no means to- be classed with

—
spoon meat it is a very thick cream to be heaped on the
dish with fried crusts round it.

Brawn. One word about brawn, not for itself so

much as for connection with galantine.

its It is, in fact,

a galantine of pig’s head. In the oldest English receipts

we are told how to make a galantine with the brawn or

flesh of fowls, as well as with that of swine; but in the

course of ages has come about that the galantine of pig

it

is especially called brawn, and it is scarcely ever made

in

private’ houses. We
buy it as we buy sausages, in the
shops. would save a great deal of trouble if galantine
It

were treated in the same way. ihe wholesale dealers can

make it better and cheaper than any private family.

Brawn Sauce . — Brawn has a sauce all to itself. Add

mustard and sugar to oil and vinegar in proportions which
must be left to individual taste. Some insist that the sugar
must be brown. This is not necessary; but if white sugar
be chosen, then the juice of a sweet orange, together with
a few gratings of the zest, may be worked in with great
effect. Say two tablespoonfuls of oil, one of vinegar, two
mustardspoonfuls of mustard, a dessertspoonful of sifted
sugar, the juice of one and the rind of half a sweet
orange.

Braze — to braze. — Brazing is a combination of stewing

and baking. The meat, which is nearly always boned, is

put into a copper stewpan with broth and vegetables, and

set upon embers or upon the corner of the stove, to simmer
very gently. • Thus far it is the easiest-going stew that can
 86 Braze

be imagined. It is at the same time on its upper surface

subjected to another process of heat. The lid is tightly

closed upon it, sometimes with clay or dough, and is in a
lorm to hold burning embers which ought to generate upon
the surface of the stew a heat thatif applied below and in

contact with the metal bottom might burn it. Below, there
is a slow stew going on above, the meat is in a sort of
;

miniature oven, baking and browning. It is a favourite

mode of cooking with the French, and is supposed to create
unusual flavour — combining the advantages of roasting and
boiling. Whether it does so is another question. Brazed
meat is no doubt an improvement upon boiled but it ;

never reaches the flavour of roast. This, however, is a

matter of opinion and French cooks often put paper over
;

delicate meat which is to be brazed— say a fowl or turkey

— to make sure that the heat of the brazier above will not
give it too much of a taste.
Braze is a common name for the ingredients which are
put into the brazing-pan to stew with the meat and to give
it a flavour. Obviously in this sense the braze may be as
variable as the viands which are to be stewed and as the
tastes which have The Mirepoix, men-
to be consulted.
tioned later, will be found a very good braze indeed, and
it does not differ much from what is commonly called a

—
braze that is, a few slices of bacon, some carrots, four or
five onions, one of which is made a pincushion for cloves,

two bayleaves, a little thyme, and a bunch of parsley-

Indeed, the multiplication of names is one of the greatest
follies of the kitchen and mention is made here of braze
;

not with approval, but only to prevent disappointment.

To judge by the would be extremely
current receipts, it

difficult to make out a' clear difference between Braze,

Blanc, Poele, and Mirepoix. Each and all are a confusion
of well-favoured vegetables and herbs, one heaped upon
another, with little regard to quantity and none to com-
bination. See more upon this point under Faggot.
 —

Bread 87

Bread. When Dr. Lister, the physician of Queen

Anne, went to Paris in the beginning of last century,
he declared that the French bread made London was in

better than that made in Paris. It is the same now.

English bread itself is not good. Even baker’s bread is
poor stuff ;
and home-made bread realizes pretty well the

image of a son asking his father lor bread and receiving a

stone. Nevertheless, observe two* things : the best bread
for cooking purposes is known in the French kitchen as
pain Anglais — it is the English pan loaf ;
and the best
bread in the world is made in London—but it is made by
French bakers from Hungarian flour. The chemists tell

us that this bread is not SO' nourishing as the coarser kinds ;

but what is the worth of their analysis we have already seen

at page 15. We may take the navvy as a good practical
judge. He knows what suits him best, and lie will always
be found eating the finest bread he can get.
The English bread, as a rule, is so bad that at our dinner-
tables it has been displaced by the potato. The English-
man wants comes before him
a potato with every dish that
—
-
he cannot do without it, no matter what other vegetables
are provided. The Frenchman, on the other hand, eats
bread throughout dinner; and many have been heard to
complain that at an English dinner they are quite ashamed
of the number of times they have to ask for bread — they
can never get enough. The bread or potato thus eaten
throughout a meal serves two ends : it supplies the farina-
ceous element of food, and it acts upon the palate as a
sponge 1o prepare it for a new experience. Which for the
latter purpose is the more serviceable the French or — the
English style — the bread or the potato ? Suppose one were
tasting wines : will the English wine-taster ever come to

eating potatoes between his sips of the different vintages?

He eats bread, which is the best thing possible tor the
renovation of his taste- Here is a marked point in which
the French arc ahead of the English in understanding the
 ;

88 Bread
laws of gustation. They leave
the potato to Englishmen
they choose bread for themselves, and they take care to
have their bread of the best.

—
Bread and Butter with Fruit a favourite sweet entremet
described under the name of Charlotte.

—
Breadcrumbs, Raspings, Crusts much used in cookery,
but scarcely needing explanation. The bread for crumbs
should be stale and well sifted. A more common kind is
made by baking any pieces of bread until hard, braying
them in a mortar, and passing them through a sieve.

—
hiead Pudding. When one is in the humour to eat
bi ead-pudding one wants it very simple
therefore the —
simplest receipt is the best, and the less we say of currants
and candied citron the better. The rule is to pour upon
fine breadcrumbs about three times the quantity of liquid-
in the form of rich milk and butter. Say there are six ounces
of bread, —
on this put two ounces of fresh butter, and then
pour boiling hot a pint (sixteen ounces) of the creamiest
milk to be obtained. Cover this over, and let it stand
until the bread is well soaked —which will take about half
an hour. Then mix in three ounces of sugar, the yolks of
five eggs, the whites of three, and a little nutmeg. Pour
it into a dish, and bake it for half an hour.

Bread Sauce. — Phis is a serious matter, and is rarely

turned out well. Many cooks think
it enough to serve up

mere milk-sop, and there are very few of the receipts which
allow for it more than ten minutes’ preparation. The sauce
is very simple, but worth some care.
it is The following
receipt is borrowed from Miss Acton “ Put into a sauce-
:

pan nearly half a pint of fine breadcrumbs, the white part

of a large but mild onion cut into quarters, three-quarters
of a pint of new milk; and them very gently, keeping
boil
them often stirred until the onion is perfectly tender, which
will be in from forty minutes to an hour- Press the whole
 —

Brill 89

through a hair sieve; reduce the sauce by quick boiling-

should it be too thin; add salt, nutmeg, an ounce of butter,
1

and four spoonfuls of cream and when it is of proper :

thickness, dish and send it quickly to table.” Let it be

added, however, that if the onion is chopped instead of
being- cut into- quarters, the sauce will take much less time.

Breton. The Celts of Brittany have immortalised them-

selves and their mutton by means of a few onions and
haricot beans. In the first place they have invented the
Breton sauce. the counterpart of Soubise, only that
It is

the one is brown, the other white. When these noble

Bretons eat roast mutton they make a quantity of their
lovely brown sauce, they boil about an equal quantity of
white haricot beans, they mix the two together for a

garnish, and there is the Gigot a la Bretonne. lo' be

exact, let us say that there are two pints of garnish :
— one
pint should be the brown puree of onions, the other pint
white haricots nestling in the brown.

Breton Sauce is to Soubise what brown is to white. Peel,

trim, and mince a good quantity of onions —no stint.

Pass them in butter with a little salt, perhaps also some

sugar, till they are of a rich red colour, and then set

them to stew in their own juice with a faggot of sweet

herbs. When they are done, take out the faggot and add a
brown sauce to them — the best is not too good. The books
direct that after this the onions and the sauce together
should be reduced to a glaze, which is quite unnecessary.
The object is to develop the roast flavour of the onions,
which is developed enough if they have been fried enough
at first. through a tammy, and
Pass all finish it with a
piece of butter and a squeeze of lemon.

Brill. — Of all good fish, brill is the most odious, because

it is used, either ignorantly or maliciously, to do duty for
turbot. No doubt this is proof of its goodness; it would
 ;

90 Brillat- Savarin

be impossible to pass off a bad fish for turbot. But a brill

in reality is to turbot as lead is to silver,
and as cider to
champagne. It may seem incredible, but it is a fact that
there are heathens who> do not know what a turbot is, who
despise its fin and its skin, who think the thick fleshy part
ol it the best, and who naturally, therefore, can see no great
difference between brill and turbot. A brill is to them as
good as a turbot, for it only wants what in their view is
well wanting —
the gelatinous fins and the skin. The fish-
monger finds it easy to impose upon these innocents
and they in turn do> not see the enormity of imposing
brill upon guests who are entitled
to turbot. The fish
t° >
l(
readily lends itself
to* this frightful system of impos-

ture, and has caused much cruel disappointments to those

who hold the turbot in regard that it is naturally in bad
odour.
There isnot a word, however, to be said against brill in
its own —
place a very fair middle-class fish. Like a large
sole, it may be fried whole or in fillets. It may be served
an gratin, a matelote of the ordinary kind, or a Nor-
in

mandy matelote. Also it may be boiled in slices, in fillets

or whole, and served with Holland sauce, caper sauce,
nut-brown butter, or indeed with any of the butter sauces.

Brillat-Savarin. —
A French magistrate, born at
Belley in 1775, dying at St. Denis in 1826. He is the
most delightful and seductive of all the writers on gastro-
nomy, though lie might never have written if Grimod
de la Reyni£re had not led the way. His work entitled
Physiologic du Gout, is a masterpiece. It was published
anonymously the year before his death, so that he had
not the happiness of reaping' his reward and seeing' his
renown. He gave to> the pleasures of the table a poetry
littlethought of before, and though his works are in
prose lie is to be ranked as one ol the most original of
poets. He has himself reported what one of his friends
 Brozvn Betty 9i

said to him— “ You have but one fault: you eat too
quickly.” That, however, is a great fault in a gourmet,

and it is a fault which is much too common in England.

Napoleon lost the two great battles of Borodino and Leipsic

too
through indigestion brought on by his habit of eating
fast. Let the frivolous pause and think of this the chance
ol the
of losing an empire through unseemly disregard
dinner-table.

Brioche. — Nobody knows the origin of this name- It

is made No. 9 in any shape which may be chosen,

of paste
It forms a most
and baked in an oven for half an hour.
estimable cake, but is still more delicious as fritters. Sec

Fritters, No. 6; also Dauphi ness.

Brocoli. —T he same directions as lor cauliflower.

Broil. — See Grill. Whichever the word, to both the

rule of Macbeth applies :

—
If il were clone, when tis clone, then twere well
It were done quickly.

Broth. —The French appear to make some distinction

between a soup and a potage, but 1 have never been able

to define it. In England it is assumed that there must be
some distinction between soup and broth, but again I have
never been able to make out what is meant. 1 his is the
worst of culinary terms. They might be used with pre-
cision; but one cook who treats his business as a
for
science, there are a myriad who know nothing
and turn
everything into confusion. Although the usage in England
is not certain, the tendency is to restrict the name of broth

to the juice of meats more or less highly wrought before

Broth, in short, is to soup
they take special form as soup-
what cloth is to dress.

Brown Betty is the English cousin of the Continental

Charlotte. Like Charlotte, she has a taste for bread and
92 Browning
butter and bakes it with fruit, chiefly apples. How
Charlotte makes the combination may be seen under her
name. The English receipt for Brown Betty is as follows :

Pare and slice a number of apples, and prepare a quantity

of breadcrumbs. Put a layer of breadcrumbs in a pie-dish ;

then a layer of apples ;

then over the apples brown sugar
and pieces of butter. Put on more layers of crumbs,
apples, sugar and butter, until the dish is full. Pour over
all a small teacupful of water, and then cover the whole

with thin slices of bread and butter, forming a good solid

roof for the pie. Bake it slowly, sprinkle it with sugar,
and serve it either with or without cream. The apples will
not be the worse for having a clove or two- among them.
Brown Betty admits of many variations. One is known
—
country as Swiss pudding pounded rusks, soaked
in this

in milk,being used for the breadcrumbs. Cover it with

pounded rusks, and pour melted butter over it.
Browning. — On
all occasions the best is caramel it is —
the least apt to create an unlooked-for flavour. Roux and
burnt onions are often enough in use, however. These
brownings are admirable in soup as Robert Browning
in poesy —
but they are apt to be harsh.

Brunoise, Chiffonnade, Croute au Pot, Jardiniere,

—
Julienne, Paysanne, Spring Soup.- -The basis of all these
soups is a brown clear broth or double broth- Vegetables
are added according to the season, and they are usually cut
into small fancy shapes. They may be carrots, turnips,
leeks, onions, celery, peas, kidney beans, lettuce, cabbage,
Brussels sprouts, cauliflowers, asparagus, tarragon, chervil,
and woodsorrel.
parsley, sorrel, Do not overload the soup,
but make a good selection and when carrots, turnips,
;

celery, leeks, or onions are used, prepare them first by

frying them in a stewpan with two ounces of butter, a
sprinkling of salt, and a teaspoonful of pounded sugar.
The other vegetables may be simply blanched. Crusts of
 Bumper 93

bread may be added, large or small, according to taste.

When thissoup has an abundance of vegetables and crusts
in it— thus becoming almost a garbure it is sometimes —
convenient to serve it in two separate tureens, one contain-
ing nothing but the clear broth, the other the vegetables
and crusts, with just enough broth to float them. It is

easier in this way to apportion the soup and the vegetables

on each successive soup-plate.
For more about this soup and its varieties, the reader
may turn to the Introductory Chapter and to the article on
Julienne. As for the name Brunoise, although extremely
common, it has not been adopted by any of the classical
French dictionaries. Some of the cookery books call the
soup Potage h la Brunoy.

—
Brussels Sprouts. To be boiled like cabbages in
abundance of water and a little salt for fifteen minutes, to
be drained and dried, to be tossed in butter, with pepper
and nutmeg. For garnish a little butter will do. For an
entremet use more butter, and it may be also a veal gravy
or white cullis. There is a superfluity which was once in
favour —buttered toast beneath the sprouts when served as
an entremet, or else sippets of toast around them.

Bubble and Squeak. —Chop some boiled white cabbage,

season it with pepper and salt, and toss it in butter. Pepper
and broil some slices of cold salted beef — if underdone,
so much the Put the cabbage into a dish, lay
better.
round it the shoes of beef, garnish it if you will with slices
of carrot, and serve it very hot.

Bumper. —There is a fine distinction between a bumper

and a brimmer which ought not to drop out of sight. A
brimmer is a glass so full of wine that it touches the brim.
But this may happen by force of attraction the wine ciimb- —
ing up to the brim, leaving a slight hollow in the central
surface. Add a few more drops of wine, and this central
 —

94 Burnet

depression will not only be filled up, but a bump of wine

will rise like a hill in the centre of the glass, which may
then be described as a bumper. The difference between a
brimmer and a bumper may be tested with a small piece of
cork. In a brimmer it will float to the edge of the glass;
in a bumper it will remain in the centre.

Burnet, called Salad Burnet and Garden Burnet,

also*

to distinguish it from the Great Burnet, and by the French

called pimpernel, —a plant quite from the English
distinct
pimpernel, which poison, — had a great reputation
is the in
olden time. It was used chiefly, as borage now, to improve
the taste of claret cup. It was also used as now in salads,
to give them a finer relish. was supposed to quicken
It

the spirits, to* lighten the heart and to make it merry. Its
modern use is confined to salads and sauces. It is one of
the four herbs — tarragon, and chervil
burnet, chives,
which form what the French call ravigote or “ pick me up. ”
It is blanched and chopped with these herbs to be strewn

on the salad to be mingled with butter so as to form ravi-

;

gote butter or to be added to a mayonnaise to make green

;

mayonnaise. There is one great advantage in burnet it —

continues green through the winter, when most of the
other salad plants are useless.

Butter. — On the whole

must be admitted that the
it

English do* not with

all their rich pastures make good
butter- All the best butter with the rich creamy taste sup-
plied to the clubs of London comes from Ostend, from Nor-
mandy, or from Brittany. No such butter is to begot in the
British Isles save in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, where
somehow they have learned the art of producing butter
which vies with that of Ostend and Normandy. Cambridge
creamy flavour but it is notorious
butter, too, has this fine ;

that what has been called Cambridge butter is a mixture

of foreign butters. The French export, chiefly to England
 Butter 95

and Brazil, about 50,000 tons of butter a year, the produce

of nearly 500,000 cows.
Most Englishmen would be appalled if they entered
a French kitchen and saw the quantity of butter which
the cook uses. We digest a French dinner with ease;
but let people see the butter absorbed in it — all their pre-
judices rise, and they have a fit of dyspepsia. Butter and
oil are the most delicate forms of fat, and the Englishman
who fancies they are ruinous to his digestion will notwith-
standing partake abundantly of the coarser fats. Beef fat
and mutten fat he will eat to any extent ;
greasy pork
with nice crackling is a great joy to him ;
and as for the
streaky fat of bacon, he thinks it peculiarly wholesome.
The French and the English consume about the same
quantities of fatty matter ;
the chief difference between
them is that the French prefer the more delicate fats and
the English are content with the coarser.
Nominally and theoretically, the grand sauces of
French cookery are made from reduced essences of meat.
But really and truly the most popular, the most useful,
and the most admired of all the sauces are the butter
sauces — chief among which are the Dutch sauce and the
English sauce commonly called melted butter. (See
Dutch and English.) The butter sauces are the most
simple of all, no preparation yet they
and require little or ;

are very palatable, and many persons enjoy them more

than the finest gravies and the most elaborate creams.
They generally figure in the books under the name of
Small Sauces; but they are the grand unfailing resources
of cottage kitchens and impromptu cookery. They are of
infinite variety, and when once the simple principles on
which they are formed have been mastered, the cook, like a

pianist who presents a well-known air with many varia-

tions, may show his or her ingenuity in ringing the
changes upon them.
There are various preparations of butter used for sauce, —
 r —

g6 Butte

as Maitre d’Hotel butter, Ravigote butter, Anchovy butter,

Montpellier butter, which will be found described under

their proper names. Here it must be enough to enumerate
the three simplest preparations of butter for sauce.

r. Oiled Butter — Anybody can make this; and if other

sauces fail, it can be got ready in a minute. It is plain

fresh butter melted, but not allowed to brown. 1 here is

sometimes a milky sediment in the butter which has to be

got rid of in the strainer. Add salt in serving the oiled

butter.

2. Nut-brown Butter, the French Beurre a la Noisette.

This is fresh butter melted in a small saucepan and allowed

not to brown, but to begin to brown. A delicious and
very delicate flavour is developed if the butter is whipt oft

the fire the moment it begins to roast. The moment the

light hazel tinge shows itself, the operation is complete,
and you have, especially for one of the most perfect
fish,

of sauces, to which in serving may be added a squeeze

of lemon-juice and a dash of salt.

3. Black Butter — the French Beurre noir, much used

and the like.
for skate, for calf’s brains, This is a sharp
sauce. Proceed as for nut-brown butter, but let the
browning go further till the butter becomes dark-brown,
though without being burnt. Take the butter from the
fire,and next proceed to reduce some vinegar rapidly to
about two-thirds of its volume. Mix the butter and the
vinegar together, add a little salt and pepper, and pass all
through the pointed strainer. It is not necessary to use the
best butter for this sauce. Its peculiar flavour would be
destroyed in the cooking.
 — ;

Cabbage 97

ABBAGE is the general name for a vegetable

that presents itself in several varieties,

which, putting the coleworts or wild sort out

of account, may be ranged in three classes,
That with loose, open leaves known as
i. —
greens, kale, and borecole. 2. That which is closed up

the white, sometimes called the Milan cabbage, the red cab-
bage, the Savoy (distinguished from the other closed ones
by its wrinkled leaves), and Brussels sprouts, which are
generally ranked as a variety of the Savoy. 3. The flowering
sort — namely, cauliflower and brocoli, white and purple.
In a loose way, the name of cabbage is given to all of

these, except to Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, and brocoli

which shall therefore be noticed under their own special
names. The other varieties of cabbage do not call for
much remark. Though used in soups and for garnish,
they are hardly ever served as entremets, unless we make
an exception in favour of sauerkraut, which however nearly
always implies the accompaniment of sausages or bacon.
Another apparent exception is the Chartreuse. I his looks

like a dish of cabbage to be eaten by itself and for itself.

But the sly monks of the Grande Chartreuse taught our
cooks to hide dainty morsels of partridge within the
cabbage leaves.

Cabbage for Garnish . —The English way is simple

enough, and applies equally to Brussels sprouts, turnip-
tops, endive, and lettuce. After being carefully trimmed
and washed, the cabbage— halved and quartered— is thrown
into boiling water, which has not only salt in it but often a
little carbonate of soda to' keep it green. A large quantity
of water is used, especially in the case of turnip-tops, which
are to be treated as a kind of greens or open cabbage; or
else several waters are used to carry off bitterness of taste
and rankness of odour. The cabbage is boiled lor thirty-

7
98 Cabbage

five or forty minutes, and being drained, it is supposed to

have finished its education and to* be fit for table. In this
state, however, it is dry and insipid. Be it cabbage,
greens, Brussels sprouts, turnip-tops, endive, or lettuce,
it should be tossed with butter, pepper, and perhaps nut-
meg, before ascending to the dignity of the table.
The French way of dressing cabbage is indicated in the
English practice of boiling greens to take with boiled beef.
These are not boiled with the beef, lest they should impart
toomuch of their flavour to it ;
but they are boiled with
some of the liquor of the beef and with its top fat. The
French take cabbages —white ones by preference —cut
them into quarters, wash them well, cast them with salt
into boiling water, boil them for ten minutes, steep them
for half an hour in cold water, press them and dry them
well, tie them up, put them into a stewpan with a piece of
bacon previously blanched, a faggot of sweet herbs, an
onion stuck with two cloves, and pepper, cover them with
broth, and so let them cook, till they are tender and
thoroughly impregnated with the surrounding juices.

Cabbage Soup is much the same as the foregoing but ;

put into the stewpan, say for each cabbage half a pound of
bacon, and half a pound of gravy beef, with half a gallon
of water, or even three-quarters bring it to the boiling ;

point, skimand then simmer it for three hours. Finally,

it,

cut up the cabbage and serve it in its broth, keeping back

the beef, the bacon, and the faggot.

Cai.f’s Feet are for the most part boiled in salt and
water alone, for the purpose of making sweet Jelly (which
sec) or with a faggot of pot-herbs for the purpose of
;

making Aspic (which also see). In either case, after hours

of boiling, the feet,which have parted with much of their
gelatine, still remain good enough to make a very nice
little dish. The best way is to heat them up in a Poulette
Relish.
 Calipash 99

Calf's Head. Plain boiled . —The English way. Take

a whole or haJf a head. Scald it well, and let it soak for
an hour or two in cold water. Then simmer it for an hour

and a half in water enough to make it swim, and with a

iaggot of pot-herbs. Serve it with maitre d ’hotel sauce
(parsley and butter) poured over it ;
and let it be garnished
with bacon or pig’s cheek, with the tongue nicely trimmed,
and with the brains which have been cooked apart.
The French way. The head or half-head is first boned,
then blanched as above, then cut in pieces, keeping the ear
apart with a good base to it, then simmered for an hour
and a half with a faggot of pot-herbs. The pieces of calf’s
head are next drained, the tongue is trimmed, and all are
served in naked simplicity on an oval dish the ear-pieces, ;

which are considered the tit-bits, being made conspicuous

in the arrangement. It is eaten either hot or cold with a
cruet sauce. As many people like to make this sauce in
proportions selected by themselves, it is usual to serve
with it, on a plate and in separate heaps, capers, chives
and parsley — the last two chopped.
Calf’s Head en Tortue .
— Prepared as above in the French
way, but heated up and served in a Turtle Relish.
Calf’s Head d la Financiere .
— As before, but with the
Financial Relish.

Calf’s Head Soup (better known as Mock Turtle). — See

Turtle-

Calipash and Calipee. — Calipash is a corruption of

carapace, the upper shell of the turtle; but it is used to
signify only the green fat or gelatinous matter which
adheres to the upper shell, while calipee is the name given
to- the yellow fat or gelatine which is attached to the under
shell. The Green Fat is never to be appoached in a frivo-
lous spirit —always with profound obeisance and thoughts
that do lie too deep for words. “ Sir,” said an alderman at
a city dinner to a loquacious companion, “ let us be silent

I
ioo Cambridge

for a moment. In listening to your discourse, and trying'

to answer you, I have swallowed two pieces of Green Fat
without doing them justice. Pray let me enjoy my present
happiness, and when it is ended you shall discourse as
”
much as you please.
Cambridge. —The rivalry of the twin universities has

extended to the Oxford has its sausage and its

table.

punch. Cambridge has its sausage and its punch too.

But there is an originality in the Oxford preparations to
which Cambridge can make no approach. Ihe Oxfoid
sausage is a crepinette, can be made at home, and affords
infinite scope for variety of flavour. The Cambridge
sausage is always put into skins, and that is a business of
itself which had better be left to the pork
butcher. There

is therefore a uniformity about it

which is a little too
suggestive of mathematics.
The Cambridge milk punch also is scarcely worthy of

the great university. punch made without water, but

It is

with hot milk instead, and with the addition of

one or two

beaten eggs.

—
Canterbury. Celebrated for its archbishops and its

brawn, Primates of England and prime of pig-cheek.

Capers are the buds of a plant which were at one time

a good deal cultivated in England and which might
— well

be. grown in chalk pits, on clifls and

on walls. W e get
our chief supplies from Italy, and our sauces are so much
indebted to them that it is difficult to explain why
the

plant is now rarely to be seen in England. Pei haps if

known, a greater interest

the history of the plant were
would be felt inDr. Royle has proved that it is the
it.

wall.”
hyssop of Scripture, “ which springeth out of the
bramble, and it was
It has long trailing branches like the

on one of these that the sponge filled with vinegar was

“They filled a sponge
offered to our Saviour on the cross.
 Carbonade ioi

with vinegar, and put it upon hyssop.” It was with a

branch same that the Israelites sprinkled

of the their

doorposts with blood when they ate the passover.

Caper Sauce .
— English butter sauce with a tablespoon-
ful of capers added, not forgetting' a little of their vinegar.

Let some of the capers be minoed, so as to flavour the

sauce more effectually.
Cakamel is to soup and sauce what rice powder is to the
face — it gives complexion. It is difficult to find a sub-
stance which will colour soup and yet not alter its flavour.

Burnt onions are sometimes used, but they are as rouge to

the countenance —
not to be trusted. The most innocuous
substance is caramel, or burnt sugar, which is prepared as
follows : Put a pound of sifted sugar into a brass skellet or
preserving pan, and melt it on a slow fire, stirring it with
a wooden spoon. After remain on the
it has melted let it

fire till it becomes the colour of mahogany, stirring it from

time to time to make the tint uniform. This may be dark

or light at pleasure; but care must be taken to avoid a
quick fire, which will burn the sugar and make it black.
When the proper tint is gained add three tumblers of water.
Then stir up the fire and reduce the caramel to' a syrup-
Pour it out, cool it, and bottle it for use.

Carbonade. — If cookery is ever to be a science

1
it must
be exact in its nomenclature, and cooks must not be allowed
to confuse common-sense with their ignorant use of terms.

The carbonade has degenerated in France into a stew,

having meant originally a grill and attempts are made
;

to introduce the word into England as corrupted by the

French cooks. So long as Shakespeare and the Elizabethan
dramatists are prizes in England this new style will not
be tolerated. The carbonade was ‘‘a rasher on the coals ;

and the rasher was first of all slashed or scored, to increase

the broiling surface and to permit the penetration ol pepper
and salt. It was in fact a devil. ‘‘He scotcht him and
 —

102 Ccireme

notch t him like a carbonado,” we read in Shakespeare;

and in Beaumont and Fletcher-
Has he bespoke ? what, will he have a brace,
Or but one partridge, or a short-legged hen
Daintily carbonadoed ?

What has this to do with stewing? In England a car-

bonade will always mean something which is first scored
and then grilled. Only nowadays it is not usual except —
for devilling —
to score meat which is to he grilled, since
1

to do' so would let out the juices too freely and dry it.
For further remarks turn to the Shoulder of Mutton,
which is the principal piece of meat submitted to the
carbonade; and to do- justice to the French cooks, let
us explain how it is that the carbonade of mutton has
with them come to' be a stew. It was because it was
thought good to' parboil the shoulder before sending it to
the grill.

The only carbonade of beef which is much in favour is

better known as broiled or grilled bones.

A

Careme is certainly the most celebrated cook of the

present century. Ffe had a great genius;
he had rare
opportunities and he has done more than
;
any other one
man that can be named to determine the arrangements
and the provisions of the dinner-table as we have it now.
Mr. Hayward has done honour to his genius in a passage
remarkable for its epigrammatic point, which will be found
quoted in our notice of Beauvilliers. But he was a fearful
egotist and coxcomb, and his national vanity is pitiful ;
so
that sometimes a labour to go through his works.
it is It

is strange also to see that though he could be very simple

when it pleased him, he had a perfect mania for elaboration

and show and lie paid such excessive attention to the
;

architecture of the table and the outward adorning of his

dishes, that he has left an example which has perhaps done
more harm than good- To succeed as he succeeded, a cook
 Carps 103

must not only be a cook—he must be a draughtsman, a

sculptor, and a colourist; and the time and taste which a
cook spends on the arts of design, to prepare food for the
eye, are so much time and taste diverted from the more
1

important business of preparing food for the mouth.

Carps are a great family, and include, besides the carp

proper, tench, barbel, gudgeon, gold-fish, loach, bream,
chub, roach, dace, minnow, and bleak. The carp has a
remarkable tenacity of life. He not only lives to a great
age — some say 200 years : he survives terrible afflictions.

He has been found alive in the muddy bottoms of empty

ponds he may be taken out of the water, packed in moist
;

moss, and with a mouthful of bread steeped in brandy, to

be repeated from stage to stage, may be transported to
almost any distance ;
both himself and his wives have been
cut open for their roes, they have been sewn up again and
returned to the pond, where they have afterwards, like

capons and oxon, fattened amazingly and improved in

flavour. Nature has provided that not only the carp shall
live long, but also that he shall increase and multiply

prodigiously. He abounds in roc, and one of his wives

alone will produce 700,000 young in a year. The soft roe

of the carp is one of the most prized of fishy delicacies, and

is served by sometimes as an entree or as a soup.
itself

(See Roe.) His tongue or false tongue is likewise con-

sidered a rare morsel, and for the sake of it some people
will buy only carps’ heads and make a dish of them.
As for the body of the carp, it is not superb, and requires
all the rhetoric of the saucepan. If people choose to' boil,

fry, or grill him, they must take the consequences, and do

the best they can with caper sauce, Holland sauce, or black
butter. He should be either stewed or brazed; and how-
ever he is cooked, it is important first of all to extract from
his head the gallstone, which else would impart a bitter
flavour to the flesh.
104 Carp

For a stew, dress him either in a matelote or a la poulette.

In this case he can be served either whole or in pieces, and
in company with his friends —the eel, the tench, the perch,
and the gudgeon. But the grand style of announcing the
fishwas invented at Chambord, and is known as
Carp a la Chambord —
-There is a great lake in this royal
.

demesne where carp abound. The fish is best in running

water; in still water it partakes too much of mud, and
needs an extraordinary effort on the part of the cook to
prepare human association-
it for At Chambord it was
deemed necessary to make this effort, and the result was so
successful that it has sometimes been applied to fish like

the salmon, which it is quite impossible for art to improve

upon. A great idea struck one of the cooks at Chambord
— to- lard the carp. It is lamentable that in our degenerate
days cooks who pretend to serve a fish in the Chambord
manner neglect the most important point of all the lard- —
ing, and are content to bard him with slices of bacon
in the cooking. This is not enough the larding is essen- :

tial ;
and if a cook does not dare to lard a salmon — (where
is the cook who could be guilty of such profanation?) he
must not call it saumon a la Chambord.
First of all, after being duly cleaned, the carp is to be
stuffed with ordinary veal stuffing or with quenelle of .

whiting. then to be removed from head to tail

The skin is

wherever the larding needle is to' be applied. Ibis simply

means that the skin may be left on his shirtfront for the
better preservation of his stuffing. He is next to be larded
with bacon in geometrical lines, but if the day should
happen be Friday, the strips of bacon may be replaced
to 1

by strips of eel or of cooked truffles, in which case he must

at least in the brazier be enfolded in shoes of bacon. He
is, thus attired, to' belaid in state —that is, not on his side,

but in the position of life — on the drainer of a fishkettle, and

to be somewhat more than half immersed in a Mirepoix of
white wine. He is to be covered over with buttered paper
 Carving 105

and brazed gently. In an hour he will be fit for the dinner

of a king. Fiat.
Needless to say that the carp to be treated in this royal

fashion is a large one : obtain, if possible, a large Rhine

carp. He can be served in his own sauoe, or if this is not

deemed enough, it with Allemande.

can be finished oft

But it is always a point of honour to make the dish look

well, and to give the carp a la Chambord a glorious retinue
of good things. Glaze his head ;
diaper him with slices ol
truffle; and surround him in ordered masses with truffles,

with crayfish and crayfish tales, with quenelles of whiting,

and with regiments of soft roes furnished by himself and
brethren of his tribe.

Carrots were first introduced into England by blemish

gardeners in the time of Elizabeth ;
and in the reign ol

James I. they were still so uncommon that ladies wore

branches of them on their hats and on their sleeves instead
of feathers. They are now, next to the onion, the most
important vegetable in all soups and sauces ;
but —though
they are also used to garnish various dishes, especialy salt
—
beef they are rarely presented at table as an entremet by
themselves. The only important entremet in which they
appear is called after the Flemings, who first grew them
for the English in Kent-

Carrots in the Flemish way .

—The carrots must be young.
Blanch them, slice them or turn them, and simmer them
for half an hour in an ounce of butter, a wineglassful of
water, and a little salt and pepper. Finish them with a
leason of two yolks of eggs, a little milk or cream, a pinch
of sugar, and a dash of chopped parsley.
Carrot Soup is known under the name of Crccy.

Carving. — Wynkyn de Worde printed in the year 1508

“The Booke of Kervinge. ” Some of the words are
curious, and throw light on the names of dishes which
 —

io6 Cassis

have been corrupted by process of time. Where the

meaning is quite plain the spelling" is modernised, but not
-

otherwise.
“ The terms of a carver be as
here followeth. Break
that deer —
lesche (leach) that brawn— rear that goose —
lift that swan —
sauce that capon spoil that hen frusche — —
(Truss) that chicken-— unbrace that mallard — unlace that
coney —dismember that heron — display that crane— dis-
figure that peacock — unjoint that
—untache that bittern
curlew —alaye that felande— wing
that partridge— wing
that quail —mine that plover — thigh that pigeon — border
that pasty— woodcock— thigh
-thigh thait manner small all of
birds — timber that — that egg—chine that salmon
fire tire
—string that lamprey—splat that pike—sauce that plaice
—sauce that tench — splay that bream— side that haddock
— tusk that barbel —culpon that trout— that chevin— fin

trassene that — tranch that sturgeon— undertranch that

cel
porpoise — tame that crab —barb that Here endeth lobster.
the goodly terms of Carving.”

Cassis — the
French name for black currants and for
the syrup made from them. The cassis of Dijon has a
great reputation throughout France as a cooling drink.
There is nothing in England made from the same fruit
that can approach it ;
but that stiff-necked generation
the Commissioners of Customs —have put a prohibitive
duty upon it, so that it is impossible to import it. This is

because there is a drop or two of alcohol in it. The alcohol

is infinitesimal, not enough to upset the equilibrium of a
fly, very much less than there is in the cheap clarets which
are charged only a duty of ad. a bottle yet the custom-
—that
;

house levies a duty on it of as. qd. a bottle is, even

more than on neat brandy, the duty on which is but is. gd.
a bottle. It is amazing that the English manufacturers,

being thus protected, are unable to do anything to rival

the French in the preparation of this delicious and most

 Caviare T °7

innocent liquer, which Sir Wilfrid Lawson himself might

drink without a suspicion of the still.

Cauliflower is to be had nearly all the year round,

and it is at its best in England. The Dutch send to
England for their cauliflower seeds, and there was al one
time, if there is not still, a considerable export to France of
the cauliflowers themselves.
They are to be carefully and (to eject the
trimmed
insects) soaked for some time in cold water and salt.
They are then to be boiled in abundance of water with
enough of salt for twenty minutes more or less. The —
time must be ascertained by pressure. Drain them well,
and send them to table with English sauce acidulated with
lemon-juice or vinegar. It can be thus served either for a
garnish or for an entremet. If for a garnish, the acid
should be scarcely perceptible, and the caulifloaver may be
a little less cooked than for an entremet.
Cauliflower au Gratin. — Entremet- In this case all the
green leaves are to be removed, and the cauliflowers to be
boiled as above, but rather underdone. No harm if they
are cut into quarters to shorten the time of boiling. Pre-
pare an English sauce according- to the receipt, only that
less butter may be two ounces of
used, and instead of it

—
grated cheese half Gruyere, half Parmesan being best.
Break up some of the cauliflower, arrange it on a dish,
and pour over it some of the sauce. On this bed heap up
the rest of the cauliflower unbroken ;
pour over it the
remainder of the sauce; powder it with the finest bread-
crumbs or raspings, and with more grated cheese lastly, ;

bedew it with a spoonful of oiled butter. Put this into

a hot oven till it takes a golden colour say from ten —
to fifteen minutes. If the colour is imperfect, use the
salamander. Serve it in the dish in which it has been
cooked.

Caviare. — If it were not a pleasure it would be an

io8 Cayenne Peppei'

imperative duty to eat caviare, for reasons which will be

given when we come to sturgeon, of which it is the roe.
It is to- be spread on toast, with a squeeze of lemon;

Cayenne Pepper would be much better called Red

pepper, for it does not come exclusively from Cayenne.
It is the powder of the dried pods and seeds of the cap-

sicum. The name of Chillies is a Mexican name for the

pods.

Celery and Celeriac are cultivated varieties of a wild

plant common enough in England smallage. It was the —
Italian gardeners who- educated smallage into celery, and
brought it into European notice towards the middle of the
seventeenth century. Celeriac came about the same time
— its distinction being that whereas in celery the gardeners
brought the stalks to perfection, in celeriac they spent their
skill upon the root. Unfortunately celeriac, though on the
Continent much in favour, is little known in England ;
yet

in some respects it is more useful than celery', being reared

with greater ease and at less expense, being also- fit for use

during eight months of the year. The name of celery is

derived from the Greek for parsley ;

and it is curious that
celeri-ac contains the Latin name (apium) added to the
Greek. Ac is to be identified with the French ache,
and with the final syllable of smallage ;
and all three arc
transmutable into apium on the same principle that the

Scottish Mac and the Welsh Ap are dialectical varieties

of one and the same word.
Celery is most seen at table in England raw, to be eaten

with cheese or sometimes in salad ;

but its presence at
(able is felt in other ways, lor like parsley it is in constant

demand for pot and pan to heighten soup and sauce. Also

itmakes a soup of itself it makes a sauce of itsell

;
;
it is

excellent plain boiled, as sea-kale; it will stew to perfec-

tion ;
and it makes a salad which is not only good in itself,
 Chambord 109

hut also doubly good because it may be had when other

salads fail.

Celery Soup. — To' be made on the same principle as

asparagus soup.
Celery Sauce .
— For poultry or game. Slice very thin

four or five heads of celery, and put it into a saucepan

with pepper, salt, a pinch of sugar, a sliced onion, and for
everv head of celery an ounce of butter. Let it stew very
slowly till the celery is melted only take care not to ;

brown it. Then add four ounces of flour, with about a

pint of milk; let it cook for twenty minutes more, and

rub it through a sieve.

Puree of Celery is the same as the foregoing, but thicker.

Use more celery and less milk. Finish it with a pat of
butter, and serve it as a garnish for cutlets.

Celery for Garnish.— Plain boiled the same as sea-kale.

Another way is to work it like endive or spinach.

Celery in Salad is excellent by itself, and may be eaten

every whit as the French eat it — that is, root, branch, and
leaf. For additions to it try any or all of these in slices :

beet-root, Spanish onion, kidney potato.

Chambord.- —The name of a royal castle near Blois, built

in the most florid style of the renascence by Francis I.

(1526) on his return from captivity in Madrid. It was here

that he wrote with a diamond on a pane of glass the
couplet —
Toute femme varie—
Bien fol est qui s’y fie,

which his descendant, Louis XIV., put away to please

Mademoiselle de la Valliere. The castle is remarkable in
many ways. It is a splendid specimen of architecture, and
some of the most famous scenes in French history were
enacted in its precincts. But, after all, it is most widely
iio Chantilly Basket

known throughout the world for one little detail of

cookery which was first practised in its kitchen. Before
the time of Francis there was no- special merit in French
cookery. It was no better than English or Flemish.
The French, with all their strength were barbarians as
compared with the Italians. It was in the Italian cities

that the arts revived, and that all the refinements of wealth
and commerce were best cultivated. Francis the First
married his son to Catherine of Medici, who brought with
her to Paris and to Chambord all the graces and muses of
Florence. Through her the Italians taught the French
manners, enlightened them in criticism, schooled them in

art,showed them how to cook. They brought the frican-

deau with them from Italy, and when they were installed
in the kitchen at Chambord they applied the principle of
the fricandeau to the fish which abounds in the neighbour-
hood. The commune of Chambord has more, than a dozen
considerable ponds, allabounding in carp, a fish which is
sometimes poor in flavour. But veal also is apt to be
insipid, though it adopts and appropriates extraneous
flavours with rare docility and with beautiful results- The
Italian artists determined to lard the carp as they larded
the cushion of veal to* make a fricandeau. The effect was

so good that the method of dressing carp la Chambord

spread over France, thoroughly established itself in the
French kitchen, and is celebrated over the world as among
the triumphs of French art. Unhappily the later French
cooks make the most dreadful blunders in the application of
the Chambord method. Some are quite ignorant of what
the method really and those who seem to
is ;
be aware of
it are weak enough to apply it to fish which are not of the

same character as the carp and do not need to be larded.

See Carp.

Chantilly Basket.— The original Chantilly basket was

a Savoy cake scooped out and filled with whipt cream.
 —1;

Char 1 1

The idea thus started has been elaborated into a toy.

hirst of all,a dish or mould has to' be chosen, shaped like
a basket. Next a syrup of sugar is boiled to' crackling-
point. Then the mould is lined with delicate little cakes-
ratafias the best, which are made to stick together edge to
edge by being dipt in the sugar. The bottom of the dish
may be lined in like manner with sponge cakes or maca-
roons, to absorb any liquid from the frothed cream. A
basket is in this way formed which may easily be removed
from the mould to a proper dish, and then filled with whipt
cream.

Chantilly Cream — the French name for whipt cream

but it is very absurd to' give local names to a simple prepa-
ration known to all the world. When the great ones of
the earth invent a good dish let them have the credit of it

but itmere usurpation to' describe whipt cream in an

is

epithetwhich represents it as the peculiar property of the

House of Conde.

Chantilly Soup. — Look for Esau’s Pottage of lentils.

Char is, salmon tribe, about nine

like trout, a fish of the
inches or a loot long. Very few come to London but it ;

is worth a visit to the English, the Welsh, or the Scotch

lakes to enjoy them. With a char on the table and with

Windermere and Rydal Mount in view, we are truly in the
heart of the Lake Poetry. The char is to' be treated like
trout, but it is generally understood, and Francatelli insists
that this fine laker —worthy associate of Wordsworth and
Southey — is the best of all fish for waterzootje. This was
to be expected. We ail know that the Lake school of
poetry is not to be surpassed in its simplicity.
The name of the fish means red from the redness of the —
belly. St. Evremond, in one of his poems- an— epistle— —
recommends his correspondent to make a trial of a certain
—
poisson rouge meaning the char, which is peculiar to
 —

I I 2 Charlotte

England. The char is known in Scotland as the Lochleven

trout — also as the cardhui, the red-black.
Charlotte. —The grateful heart will always inquire
Who was whose name the apple and other
this Charlotte in

fruits are enchanted with a new charm, and become as it

were the enchanted apples of story? I have seen English
books which aver that she was Queen Charlotte, the wife
of Farmer George. There is only so much truth in this that
Charlotte was a German. She was at one time the most
famous of her name in Europe. Napoleon read Goethe’s
romance of Werther no less than six times, and Charlotte
was the heroine of the romance.

Werther had a love for Charlotte

Such as words could never utter.
Would you know how first he met her?
She was cutting- bread and butter.

Her name has been given to the combination of bread

and butter with apples, which can be prepared either with
or without a mould- If without a mould, the Charlotte is

simply a quantity of buttered apples (which see), piled upon

a dish, and hedged round with sippets of bread fried in
butter. If with a mould, it is the same thing reached by a

different process. The Charlotte mould is a perfectly plain

cylinder about five inches deep. This is lined with thin
slices of bread which have been dipped in clarified butter.
The great art of the composition consists in the arrangement
of the lining, cutting the bread into shape, like the pieces
of a wooden pail, so- as either to fit. exactly into the mould,
or to make the staves overlap one another. When the

little bread pail is formed within the mould, it is filled with

buttered apples already prepared ;

it is covered with a

round lid of bread dipped in butter ; the mould is put into

the oven ;
and it is left there for five or ten minutes, so
that the bread and butter may take a fine golden tint.

of the mould into a dish, and

Then turn the Charlotte out
 Chartreuse

pour round it some diluted apricot jam. The same receipt

applies to pears, apricots, and other fruits.

Charlotte Russe .
—The Russian Charlotte
something of is

a libertine. As least she has much freedom of choice. She

began by using finger biscuits for bread, and by choosing
to have them with their contents cold, which at once put
butter out of the question. A pail of finger biscuits was
formed in a round mould, and filled in alternate layers with
a cold marmalade of apples and apricots alone. After-
wards cream was considered a desirable addition, and it
was added. The Charlotte was filled with whipt cream, or
with a Bavarian cheese flavoured with fruit, or with a fruit
jelly and cream such as that described at page 40. Some-
times the finger biscuits of the Charlotte concealed a
blancmanger or some other simple jelly. But it is always
expected that the Charlotte Russe shall be well chilled upon
the ice.

Chartreuse. —-The monks of Grande Chartreuse are

very proud of this liqueur, and jealous of their exclusive
right to sell it —
a right which brings them in a gross
return of 2,000,000 francs a year- It is curious to re-
member that the monastic order to which they belong was
founded by Saint Bruno' in order to surpass the Benedictine
rule in austerity of life. The Benedictine friars chose
pleasant places for their abode, in fertile valleys, amid lovely
gardens, and by clear streams abounding in fish. Saint

Bruno went into the desert and chose for the site of his

monastery the most desolate and barren spot he could find

in the mountains of Dauphine. But these unhappy, self-
denying Carthusians, who live on vegetables and are strictly
forbidden the flesh of bird or beast, have made up for the
misery which they have accepted as their own lot in life by
the delights which they have imagined for their fellow-men-
They have invented the Chartreuse of Partridge for days of
fasting. The wing of a partridge is disguised in an enve-

4
 ;

fI 4 Chartreuse

lope of cabbage. We satisfy our consciences in apparently

taking nothing but cabbage upon our plates, when — lo !

a wonder —we find partridge in our mouths, the reward

of merit. A still greater feat is the invention of the
liqueur known as Chartreuse, the fame of which has spread
to the ends of the world. It is made chiefly from a plant
having the beatific name of Angelica Arc.hangelica
gathered with an Ave, concocted nigh the fumes of burning
censers, distilled amid spiritual songs, bottled by dedicated
hands, corked with fervid ejaculations,- labelled with the
holy sign of the cross on the trade mark, packed in straw
and hammered in cases to the tune of vesper-bells and
matin-bells, and charged with a blessing for the entrails of
the faithful, to help digestion, to spur the kidneys, and to
make happy after dinner.
the soul Benedicite.
It is the most precious of all the liqueurs made in

France, and raises the Carthusians above every monastic

order, for the benefits which in these modern times they
have conferred upon Christendom. The yellow Chartreuse
is the best. The green is fiery. There is a third kind —
white —the mildest of all.

Chartreuse of Partridges has perhaps been sufficiently

described in the foregoing paragraph. It is simply Perdrix

aux choux —partridge and cabbage done up in a fanciful

manner. The French think it so good a jest against the
holy friars to conceal a carved partridge in cabbage, that
they have constructed several elaborate ways of making
the concealment, calling in the aid of carrots and turnips
—not so much for their taste as for the contrast of colour
which they afford, red against white, in fashioning orna-
mental vegetable moulds.
k

Chateaubriand. — It is not necessary to add to the

account of this given in the introduction, and 1 am not
anxious to repeat the story. The peculiarity of the steak
is in its thickness, and in the way of broiling it; but
 Cherry ”5
sometimes also it is served with a peculiar sauce, namely,
Spanish sauce diluted with white wine, then considerably
reduced and at the moment of serving enriched with a pat
of maitre d ’hotel butter-

Cheesecakes. —There is a curious mistake going about

—that the incomparable cheesecakes of Benreddin Hassan,
which only he and his mother could make, were strewn
with pepper. Sir Walter Scott, among other, makes this
mistake in the “ Heart of Midlothian.” It is an error of

precisely the same kind as one committed in regard to

himself in the great encyclopaedia of Larousse, where it is

stated that as a boy lie could not repeat his lessons unless
his fingers were twirling one of the buttons of his waistcoat.
The cheesecakes were strewn with grains of pomegranate
and sugar; and Benreddin was beaten for a pretended
—
fault that he ought to have put pepper upon them, and
did not.
Cheesecakes are now made with almost any kind of
custard ;
but the following is the old orthodox method :
—
Take half a pound of dry curd, six ounces of sugar, six
yolks of eggs, two ounces of butter, some nutmeg, salt, and
the zest of two lemons. Pound all into ai soft paste ;
dis-

tribute it into tartlet pans which have been lined with

puff-paste; put citron-peel, currants, or sultanas on the
top of each ;
and bake them in a moderate oven.

Cherry. —There has long been wanted a good classifica-

tion of cherries. The least confusing is one lately made by
Dr. Robert Hogg. He first of all divides them into Geans
and Griottes. Tn the Geans, the fruit is heart-shaped, or
nearly so, and the juiceis sweet in the Griottes, it is :

round or oblate, though sometimes, as in the Morelia,

inclining a little to the heart shape, and the juice is acid
or sub-acid. There is a marked difference also in the
form of the trees. The Geans again are divided into
those which have the flesh tender and melting and those
1 16 Chestnuts

which have the flesh only half tender, firm, and crackling'.
The first of these are called Geans proper, and are sub-
divided into Black Geans and Red Geans; the second are
called Black Hearts and White Hearts. The Griottes are
likewise divided into two kinds, according to the shapes of
the trees ;
and these are again sub-divided into Black
Dukes and Red Dukes, according to the colour of the
skin, Black Morellos and Red Morellos the last being the —
Kentish cherry. Thus there are eight kinds i Black :

Geans; 2. Red Geans; 3. Black Hearts; 4. White

Hearts (where it is to be observed that the word heart
refers to the shape); 5. Black Dukes; 6. Red Dukes;
7. Black Morellos 8. Red Morellos.
;

Cherry Brandy . —Take Black Geans or Black Morellos—

but remember that the former are sweet, the latter acid
and and there will be a great difference in the
bitter,

results. They must not be over-ripe. Take off the stalks,

and if you choose prick them with a pin. Fill a bottle

with them three-quarters, pcur in brandy to the neck,

cork it up. It will be ready in a month.

Compote of Cherries .
—White Hearts boiled in syrup for
three minutes. Sometimes a little noyau is put into the
syrup when ready to' serve.

Chestnuts. — If the truth were known, many persons

would confess that chestnuts never look so tempting as
when they are seen at the corner of a street on the rude
baking contrivance of a vagabond roaster. If they only

had the courage to do so in the face of day, they would

gladly stop to buy a pennyworth and consent to pay a
shilling. Nobody has been known to feel in the same way
to boiled chestnuts, unless it be the Portuguese, and those
who have learnt their style, which is to top them (that is,
nip off their points) and to boil them with anise-seed half —
an ounce to fifty chestnuts.
 — 1

Chicken 1
7

Puree of Chestnuts . —
The outer and the inner skins
being removed, put fifty chestnuts in a stewpan with a
pint of milk, and boil them slowly over the fire till they
are quite done. Next drain away the milk and rub them
hot through a wire seive. Put the puree thus obtained
into a stewpan with a pat of butter, a little sugar, a wine-
glassful of cream, pepper and salt. Make it hot without
boiling it, and serve it with cutlets, goose, duck, or
turkey.

Chestnut Soup . — Make the puri-e as above, using broth

instead of milk. Add to' it three or four pints of broth,
double broth, or good brown gravy.

Chestnut Forcement will be found under Forcemeat.

Chestnut Pudding .
—The only very good one is the
Nesselrode; but that is superb, and is described under its

name.

Chicken. There are many fine but rather useless dis-

tinctions made among fowls, according to their age and
quality. There is the infant,— the spring chicken, or
poulet a la Reine; the boy pullet, or poulet de grain; the
young gentleman, or coq vierge; the young lady, or
poularde; the capon, the hen, and the old cock. Among
these the poulette, or girl chick, is rarely, if ever, men-
tioned ;
but her name is given
which to the Poulette sauce,
is always much favoured with boiled fowls of every descrip-
tion, with many other kinds of white meat, and with fish.

Her brother the name to most

pullet, or poulet, gives his
of the preparations of fowl, male or female, young or old,
ft was to give honour to the pullet that Napoleon fought

the battle of Marengo it is the pullet that is always sup-

;

posed to be immolated in a fricassee; and the name of

chicken broth is given by courtesy to the dissolution of the
toughest old cock, whose crow has many a year been heard
from farm to farm, and almost from shire to shire.
 8 ; —

1 1 Chicken

Chicken Broth will be found described as Fowl Broth

in the article on Soup- Add to it rice and finely chopped
parsley.

The Queen’s Chicken Broth (Pot age a la Reine) —the

queen being Marguerite of Valois. This was in the old
receipt, and in the style of the sixteenth century a fowl —
or fowls half-roasted first, then boiled, then boned, the
flesh hacked to pieces, brayed in a mortar with rice, and
diluted with milk or cream of almonds. It was a sort of
blancmanger as then made, but without sugar. Modern
taste will hardly now tolerate the almond milk in soup
not because it is in any way bad, but because the palate is
curiously dependent on habit and association, and almonds
are associated with luscious preparations overpowered with
sugar, which are not to be thought of at the beginning of
dinner. But whoever wishes for the true chicken broth
of Queen Margaret can always add to it almond milk or
cream. As for half-roasting the fowls first, that was very
common in the olden time, and the roast flavour thus pro-
duced was deemed essential to fowl in almost all its forms.
In modern cookery it is a principle that white soup should
be white, and that it loses its character, ceasing to be white,
when the roast flavour proper to i
however
brown cookery is,

slightly,added to it. In the present day, the Queen’s

chicken soup is to> be made with a couple of chickens boiled
for an hour in a gallon of beef broth, veal broth, or in
simple water, with a sparing supply of vegetables — two
carrots and two onions. The broth is then to be strained
and freed from fat the chickens are to be skinned, boned,
their flesh (picked clear of fat) to be chopped and brayed
in a mortar with half a pound of boiled rice; after which
the mash of chicken and rice be added to the strained
is to

broth, and all passed through a tammy. Warm it up, and

add to' it nearly a pint of hot cream, which, according to
the old receipt, should partly at least be almond cream.
 —

Chicken 1
19

Spatchcock is the name for a broiled chicken. It is pre-

cisely the same word as “spitclicock,” the name for a broiled
eel; and both are a corruption of “spitstuck,” referring to
the fact that the chicken or the eel to be broiled must, like
a kidney, be stuck on a little spit or skewer, to spread it
out. (See the word itself further on.) The chicken is to be
split open at the back, spread upon a skewer, sprinkled
with salt and pepper, rubbed with butter, and then grilled

the inside surface first of all taking the fire.

Roast Chicken . — See that when the fowl is trussed the

nefarious habit of keeping back the liver is departed from-
The wing is always the best part of a roast fowl.
liver
Very young chickens being dry in flesh, are often barded ;

but full-sized and well-fed fowls do not require it. Let

them be dusted with flower, and basted frequently with
butter. A large capon takes an hour, or even more, to’
roast a chicken about half the time.
;
They are usually
served with a garnish of cresses which have been sprinkled
with salt and vinegar. The garnish, however, would be
more welcome if it were less frequent.

Boiled Chicken or Fowl .

— In the English way the fowl is

boiled, or rather stewed, in plain salt and water. In the

French way it is rubbed with lemon-juice, slices ol lemon

are laid upon its breast, slices of bacon are tied over all, it

is put into the pot surrounded with carrots, onions and a

faggot of sweet herbs, and it is boiled or stewed or brazed
in broth or double broth. With boiled fowl the livers and
gizzards are not served; but the English mode of boiling
the fowl is so simple that it is always insipid unless accom-
panied with some salt meat tongue — or bacon :
to' create a
contrast. The sauce that goes with it and is poured over
it is a blanquette or white sauce. It may be the maitre
d ’hotel sauce known
England as parsley and butter
in

sauce; it may be the poulette sauce, which is a kind ol

mock Allemande; or it may be Bechamel. To one and all
i 20 Chicken

the name of Blanquette rightly applies, though as a rule it

is not so often given to a whole fowl as to pieces of fowl

served in the white sauce.

Chicken with rice (Poulet au riz). — Boil the chicken in

the French way for half an hour with a faggot of pot-
herbs in broth. pound of rice apart,
Boil a quarter of a
either in water the one remove the
or in broth- From
faggot aind drain the rice, which is then to be added to
;

the chicken and cooked with it for a few minutes. Serve

the rice on a dish well moistened with the liquor of the
chicken put the chicken on the top of it, and add a
;

ladleful of the best gravy.

Chicken with tarragon (Poulet a l’estragon). — Boil the

chicken as above, but with the addition of tarragon to the
seasoning. When
the chicken is to be served, strain and
skim the and strew into it and over the chicken in
liquor,
the dish a spoonful of chopped tarragon.

In the foregoing receipts the chicken or fowl is supposed

to be whole ;
in the following it is dismembered.
Chicken Cutlets. —The white parts of the fowl being often
used in dishes by themselves, what is to be done with the
legs? Remove the thighbone, but leave the drumstick. Let
the legs thus prepared be slowly brazed in some seasoned
stock ;
let them be taken out and pressed between two
dishes until cold; they are then to be egged, breadcrumbed,
fried ;
and serve with a Bechamel sauce, together with a
vegetable garnish.

Horly of Chicken. —The fillets marinaded and fried.

See Horly.
Epigram of Chicken. — See Epigrams.
Supreme of Chicken. —The of several
fillets fowls are
taken and separated from the minion fillets. The fillets

are to be trimmed into something of a cutlet or pear shape,

removing skin and nervous tissue; the minion fillets may
 1

Chicken i 2

be contised, as the French oooks say — that is, inlaid with

truffles or with tongue. They are to be lightly tossed in

butter, taking care not to colour them. The butter is to

be poured off, and Supreme sauce put in lieu of it, in which

the are to be tossed, but not allowed
fillets
At the to boil-

same time have as many slices of tongue as there are fillets ;

stamp them with a round cutter to range in size with the

fillets, and heat them in some double broth.
Then prepaie
a dish with button mushrooms heaped in the centre,
with

truffles, or with any other garnish which may be desired.

Arrange round it alternately the fillets and the slices ol

tongue. On the top array thfe minion fillets. Pour some

Supreme sauce round the dish, taking care not tO' mask the

pieces of tongue.

Friteau of Chicken .
—
Cut up two fowls, and marinade
them for a couple of hours in oil, lemon-juice, chopped
parsley and onion, pepper and salt. Then take out the
pieces,wipe them dry, dip them in milk, flour them well,
fry them in hot fat to a golden colour, drain them,
dish

them on a napkin, garnish them with fried parsley, and

serve them with tomato sauce.

Fricassee of Chicken is but a boiled chicken cut to pieces

and heated up in a Paulette sauce, to which the Paulette
Relish of mushrooms, and sometimes parsley, sometimes
shalots or button onions, has been added. (See Poulette
Sauce.) This is all that is essential to the receipt, but the
dish is a favourite,and may be enriched tO' any extent,
both in the way of taste and of ornament.

Chicken a! la —
Marengo the chicken alter battle; the —
warrior’s chicken. The chicken of the battle betrays
hastiness of preparation, and turns the fault into victory.
It is fried and this oil is afterwards worked into
in oil,

sauce. But whereas all other sauces must be carefully

freed from the appearance of oils and fats which have not
incorporated with them — and this is often a tedious process
 122 Chiffonnade

the chicken of the battle is sent to table with the super-

fluous oil floating loose about the dish and on the surface
of the sauce. It is not everyone who can stand this, but
those who have their appetites and digestions prepared for
it by a great field day, declare that the battle of Marengo
was well fought as a preliminary to the chicken of the
name. This chicken is cut up as for fricassee, and is fried
for twenty minutes or thereabouts, until it takes a good
colour, in half a tumblerful of oil seasoned with pepper and
salt. Those who object to oil may use clarified butter in-
stead. When the chickens are nearly cooked, add to them
a clove of garlic, a couple of shalots, and a faggot of sweet-
herbs. At the end of twenty or twenty-five minutes, take
out the pieces of chicken and keep them hot. Add to the
sauce a tablespoonful of tomato puree, a ladleful of Spanish
sauce or good gravy, and a very small pinch of sugar. Stir
it boiling over the fire for a few minutes, pass it through
the pointed strainer, and finish it with a little lemon-juice.
Arrange the chicken in a dish, pour the sauce over it, and
add a garnish of fried bread and of eggs fried in oil.

Chicken Saute or Tossed is in principle the same as the

foregoing. Cut up the chicken, and fry it in butter, pepper,
and salt for twenty or twenty-five minutes, till it becomes
of a golden tint. The legs may be cooked for a few minutes
before the other pieces are put into the pan, as they take
longer time. Add at the last, as for the chicken a la
Marengo, ai clove of garlic, two shalots, and a faggot of
sweet-herbs. Then stir into the pan a spoonful of flour,
together with a glass of Marsala and a little broth, and toss

it on the fire till it boils. Arrange the chicken on a dish,

strain the sauce over it, and add to it a garnish of mush-
rooms with a sprinkling of lemon-juice.

Chicory.— See under Endive and Salad.

Chiffonnade. —The word scarcely is classical, and, mean-
ing Odds and Ends, is not too exalted for so refined a soup
 W —

Cibol

as that which we know better under the name of Spring

Soup. In what is perhaps the most popular cookery book
in France— that of Viard — it is down as Pot-age Prin-
set
tanier ou Chiffonnade. In the present work it is described
under the name of Brunoise. means a selection
It usually
of vegetables, nicely cut, served in a good consomme but ;

sometimes, instead of the consommt4 the French serve ,

them in a green-pea soup-

Chives (anciently cive, but in modern French ciboulettc

and civette), the smallest and finest of the onion tribe
Allium schamoprasum. It is a very hardy perennial plant,
and said to be a native of the British soil. The Spaniards
call it cibollino de Inglaterra— the little wee onion of
England. Its bulbs are slender and not worth speaking
of it is the leaves and young tops of the plant that are
;

used as a pot-herb and for salads. When the leaves are

gathered for use and cut close, others will grow in succes-
sion, and a bed will thus last three or four years. It is the

chive or cive that gives its name to what the French call
civet of hare or of roebuck.

Cibol, in French ciboule, in Latin cipulla, a little onion.

—There come a time when, under the fostering care of
will

Sir Henry Cole, who succeeds in all that he undertakes,

and under the tutorship of Mr. Buckmaster, who has carved
out a great place for himself as in point of time the first
Professor of Cookery, those who aspire lo a name as cooks
will have to pass through an examination and receive a
diploma ;
and one of the foremost questions to be put to
the candidates for a degree will be — 7
hat is a cibol?
what do the French cooks mean by the ciboule which they
so often prescribe? It is a simple thing to answer that it

is the Allium fistulosum —

best known in England as the
Welsh onion —a hardy perennial of strong flavour, with
no bulbs, and used only in the stalks, like leeks. '1 hat
answer is correct; but it is apt to be conlused by the fact
 2

1
4 Cider

that the cibol or Welsh onion is often called by country

people Scallion- —a name which is also given to- all sorts of
onions that do not produce bulbs. The word scallion comes
from Ascalon, and belong of right to the shalot or onion
of Ascalon. The name was afterwards given to a hollow
leek grown in South Wales, with roots in clusters like those
of shalots. It was then transferred by mistake to the
Welsh onion or cibol ;
then again to all spring onions, as
they are called — that is, the strong green tops of onions
which do not bulb, or the shoots from bulbs of the pre-
ceding year.

Cider. — White wine is much used in French cookery,

but especially in the cooking of fish. Cider is an excellent
substitute for it in English kitchens ;
and indeed the white
wine in which a French oook boils his fish is often so thin
and acid that it may well cost less than a bottle of good
cider and also be less wholesome. Pray remember that
good cider is better than vile wine.

Cinnamon is about the oldest known spice in the world,

and comes from the bark of a species of laurel. In America
and on the continent of Europe it is often confounded with
cassia, which goes by the name of Chinese cinnamon. The
true cinnamon is the cinnamon of Ceylon but it also comes ;

from Madras, Bombay, and Java, though of inferior quality-

The Cassia or Cassia lignea, which comes chiefly from China,
has the appearance and the qualities of cinnamon but it is ;

coarser in flavour and not so sweet. 1

It is in great request,
however, in Turkey, in Russia, and in Germany, where the
true cinnamon is not deemed strong enough. Pereira
speaks of a merchant who* sent cinnamon worth 3s. Od. a
pound to Constantinople, and found it unsaleable, while
his cassia at 6d. a pound was in great request. The chief
consumers of cinnamon are the chocolate makers of Spain,
Italy, and Franoe, and they are not to be put off with

cassia when they can get the true bark. When the Dutch
 Cinnamon I2 5

held possession of Ceylon, they were known at times to

burn the cinnamon, in order to limit the supply and to
keep up the price. But the supply is limited in any case,
for though the bark grows again upon the cinnamon trees,
it takes three years to do so and a crop which comes but ;

once in three years cannot be considered abundant. More-

over the tree is otherwise exhausted, for the Cingalese
express from the root a juice that hardens into camphor,
the medical virtues of wjiich are nearly as famous as those
of the cinnamon bark.
There are points of interest about cinnamon in connec-
tion with old cookery; and three of these may be noted.
The first is that when we hear of sweet powder, or
poudre douce, in the dainty dishes of our ancestors, this
means cinnamon and sugar.
a mixture of Some recent
writers have seen this powder mentioned as pulvis dulcis,
have misread it pulvis ducis, and have rendered it Poudre
de Due, and Duke’s powder.
The second. There was a Cameline sauce used in the
middle ages the name of which is a terrible puzzle to the
French. According to French accounts, the sauce was
composed of cinnamon, ginger, cloves, paradise grains
(that is, cardamums), bread, and vinegar. According to
old English receipts, dating from the time of Chaucer, it

was made of currants, kernels of nuts, crusts of bread,

ginger, cloves, flour of cinnamon, and salt brayed well and
mixed with vinegar. Littr^ says that the sauce must have
been called Cameline because of some supposed resemblance
to camelot or camlet —a tunic made originally of camel’s
hair ! It is true that we have a modern sauce called Velvet-
down from its smoothness ;
but to derive cameline from
camelot is too big a camel to swallow. The origin of the
term is not far to seek. It was usual in those days to- name
a dish from one of its many ingredients, and we are sur-
prised to find that the ingredient selected for the name is

often by no' means the most prominent- There was a mus-

 ;

i 26 Cinnamon
tard soup, in which the mustard was a very small part.
1 here was a galantine in which the galingale was as modest
as the pistachio is now. And so here the sauce is named
lrom the cinnamon, which the French named canelle. Il
will be asked, How came the n to be transformed into m ?

Jt is especially noted in the English receipt that the canelle

— spelt canel — and the old French name for
is to be in flour,
this must have been canelmine. Large salt, what we call
rock salt, was salgrenu or saugrenu (hence our word
corned beef) ;
small, fine salt was salmenu or salmine On
the same must have said for fine flour of
principle they
cinnamon canelmine, which was no doubt transposed and
corrupted into cameline.
The There was another sauce known at the Eng-
third.
lish court of Richard II. as Cvne, Cynee, Syne, Synee,
and Sene. If this was not mustard (sinapis), which was
formerly called senvy, the name most probably had to do
with cinnamon, which appears sometimes, though not
always, in the sauce. Note, however, that in this case
the name would be derived not from the first syllable of
cinnamon, but from China or Sina. To this day the
French know cassia as the Chinese cinnamon; and the
name of China in connection with cinnamon goes so far
back that three hundred years ago we find Scaliger sneer-
ing at those learned men who seemed to confound the
name cinnamon or kinnamon with China or Sina. It is
of
possible, therefore, that here we have the origin of the
Cynee or Synee which has so much puzzled antiquarians
and if this conjecture should prove to be correct, then
Cynee and Cameline are but varieties of one and the same
sauce. The chief objection to the explanation is that
cinnamon is not always present in Cynee. On the other
hand, the readers of this dictionary will have evidence
enough before them of names being retained when that
which they signified is no more. There is cervclas with-
out brains, orgeat without barley, bisque without pigeons,
 Cleanliness 127

galantine without galingale, cheesecakes without curd,

pomatum without apple, vinegar without wine, blanc-
manger without fowl, marmalade without quince, capillaire
without maidenhair, and vinegar without wine. And why
not cyn.ee now and then without cinnamon?

Civet ( civet cle lievre ) is one of the last remains of a

very old way of naming dishes. The literal English of it
is chives of hare; the meaning is hare stewed with chives
or tiny onions. It is a variation of jug'ged hare : which see.

Clarify, To — is to render a liquid transparent, be it

juice of meat, dissolved isinglass, dissolved gelatine, syrup,

or melted butter. The juices of meat are clarified with
white of egg and by use of the tammy; isinglass or gela-
tine with white of egg and lemon-juice sugar also with ;

egg; and melted butter by passing it through a cloth.

Claude, the great landscape painter. It is sad to' think

that he failed as a cook, though his very name was Jelly —
— in The pastry-cook to whom he was
French, Gelee.
apprenticed turned him away for his stupidity. One can-
not excel in all arts alike, and I feel as I contemplate
the mellow landscapes of this master that he lacked but
little to have reached a still greater position in creating
the serene enjoyments for which a Laguipierre and a
Careime weie afterwards renowned.

Cleanliness. —There are few satires on modern civilisa-

tion which bite deeper than the incessant inculcation of
cleanliness in the cookery books. It appears not to be 1

enough to insist in general terms on this virtue, and to take

for granted that it will be observed. It would be possible

to quote hundreds of receipts in which the writers cannot

mention a single utensil of the kitchen without on each
occasion stipulating in an adjective that it shall be clean.
This is to' be put into a clean saucepan, that shall be passed
through a clean napkin. Here care must be taken that the
128 Cleopatra ' s Supper

spoon shall be perfectly clean there it is necessary that ;

the mortar shall be free from all impurity. There arc

some books in which the word clean is repeated so often
with a severe injunction, that if all these phrases were cut
out and collected together into an appendix, they might
make up a chapter of thirty or forty pages. What a
satire on our ways of living if these reiterated injunctions
are really needed ! Let it be enough here to repeat once
for all the fine old saying that Cleanliness is next to good-
liness. This has been exaggerated into Cleanliness is

next to godliness ;
and if it includes a clean heart as well
as clean hands it is no exaggeration at all.

—
Cleopatra's Supper. "Two only pearles there were
together, the fairest and richest that ever have been known
in the world and those possessed at one time by Cleo-
;

patra, the last Queen of Egypt, which came into her hands
by the means of the great kings of the East, and were left
unto her by descent. This princesse, when M. Anthony
had strained himself to doo' her all the pleasure he possibly
could, and had feasted her day by day most sumptuously,
and spared for no cost, in the height of her pride and
wanton travesie (as being a noble curtesan and queene
withal), began to debase the expense and provision of
Anthony, and make no reckoning of his costly fare When
lie demanded again how it was possible to go beyond this

magnificence of his, she answered again that she should

spend upon him in one supper 100 hundred thousand
sestertii (io millions).* Anthony, who would needs know
how that might be (for he thought it was impossible), laid

a great wager with her about it, and she bound it again
and made it good. The morrow after, when to be this was
tried, and the wager to be either won or lost, Cleopatra

made Anthony a supper (because she could not make

default and let the day appointed to passe) which was
* Ten million’sestertii are equal to twenty million pence
 Clove 1
29

sumptuous and royaJ enough; howbeit there was no

extraordinary service seen upon the board whereat :

Anthony laughed her to scorne, and by way of mockerie,

required to see a bill with the account of the particulars.
She againe whatsoever had been served up already
said, that
was but the overplus above the rate and proportion in
question, affirming still that shoe would yet in that supper
make up the full summe that she was seezed at; yea, herself
alone would eat above that reckoning, and her own supper
should cost 600 hundred thousand sestertii (60 millions),
and with that commanded the second service to be brought
in. The servitours that waited at her trencher (as they had
in charge before) set before her one only cruet of sharpe
vinegar, the strength whereof is able to dissolve pearles.
Now she had at her eares hanging those two most precious
pearles, the singular and onely jewels of the world, and
even nature’s wonder. As Anthony looked
wistfully upon
and expected what shee would do, shee took one of them
from her eare, steeped it in vinegar, and so soon as it was
liquefied, dranke it off. And as she was about to do the
like by the other, L. Plancus, the judge of that wager, laid

fast holdupon it with his hand, and pronounced withal that

Anthony had lost the wager. Whereat the man fell into a
passion of anger. There was an end of one pearle but the ;

fame of the fellow thereof may go- with it for after that ;

this brave Queene, the winner of so great a wager, was

taken prisoner, and deprived of her royal estate, that other
pearle was cut in twaine, that in memorial of that one
half supper of theirs it should remaine unto posteritie,
hanging at both eares of Venus at Rome in the temple
Pantheon. ”

Clove. —There is little to< be said of the clove which is

not perfectly well known. Suffice it to say that, belonging

to the order of myrtles, and best cultivated in the Moluccas,
the clove tree is singular in its thirstiness. It so absorbs

9
130 Cock-a-Leekie

moisture that nothing- will grow under it ; and the cloves

themselves— that is, the unexpanded flowers of the clove
tree, which looked drier than the driest teetotaler will, if —
water is placed near them, miraculously increase their
weight few hours. Hence a good amount of cheating
in a

on the part both of growers and dealers.

It is a pity that the meaning of this word is lost in

English. It conveys the most vivid description of the spice

to which it refers, for the word is no other than the French
clou de girofle — that is, a nail of the caryophyllum. One
of the charms of gastronomy is in its names and the in-
teresting associations which they awaken. It is always

to be regretted, therefore, when on the one hand, as too

often happens, names are multiplied without reason, and
when on the other hand happy names are forgotten or lost
in corruption.

It may be added that a clove of garlic does not mean a

nail ;
it means something cloven.

Cock-a-leekie is the modern and Scottish version of a

very old English dish that went by the name of Malachi in

the fourteenth century —ma being the old name for a fowl,
as will be seen by reference to the article on Gallimawfrey.
The old receipt for Malachi has not come down to us, but

it is easy to gather what it was from parallel receipts with

corresponding names. These receipts were nearly all

alike. The fowl was roasted, or half roasted, and then

boiled in broth ;
it was next hacked to pieces and it was ;

served in a pottage with a variety of vegetables, onions

predominating, sometimes with syrup, always with spices,
and often with and currants.
raisins
The Scottish version. Put a capon in broth, and when
the broth boils add to it half the quantity of the white of
leeks which it is intended to use, cut in lengths of an inch.
Skim the liquor carefully, and after half an hour’s boiling
cut the fowl to pieces, removing bones. Put it back into
 ;-;

Cockle 131

the pot with the remaining half of the leeks, with pepper
and and with prunes and raisins free from stones. In
salt,

another half-hour or so it ought to be ready.

The name of the soup takes its rise in Scotland from an
idea which was once prevalent that there was nothing so
good for soup as an old cock. This ancient bird has given
way to a capon, and sometimes it never appears in the

soup. It will also be observed that extraordinary stress is

laid upon the leeks — too great a stress, indeed, for most
tastes. due to a misreading of the name, which was
It is

at first malachi, or maleachi —

meaning fowl sliced. Sawney
failed to catch the true meaning, thought it had something

to do- with leeks, and forthwith magnified leeks beyond

everything in the soup. Latterly the .Scotch cooks have
been inclined to dispense with the prunes. Talleyrand
greatly enjoyed the soup, and recommended that the prunes
should be stewed in it but not served- Soyer writes :
—
“With due respect to Scotch cookery, I will always give
all

the preference in the way of soup to their cock-a-leekie,

even before their inimitable hotch-potch.”

Cockle is the same as the French coquille, a little shell

so that the phrase “cockleshell” is a pleonasm. The name

is given to a well-known shell which pilgrims were in the

habit of wearing in their hats to show that they were going

to sea or had been seafaring. The sign of travel ensured
them consideration; and moreover the shell, as having
often a rude drawing of the Virgin or the Crucifixion on
it, or as having been blessed by the priest, was supposed to
protect them like a charm. Were it for these associations
alone, the cockle ought not to be allowed to pass out of

public regard. In point of fact, it makes an excellent

fish sauce, which may agreeably take the place of oyster,
mussel or shrimp sauce at any time, but more especially in
those months when oysters and mussels are unseasonable
or it may be used with great effect in the garniture of mate-
 —

132 Cod

lotes and other fish stews. What is it to Europe if some of

the pompous French names which are used to glorify cer-
tain dishes should We might well
be utterly forgotten?
afford to forget many
them; but it is something to re-
of
member the Crusades and all the interesting details of
modern civilization which are bound up with the pilgrim-
ages of holy palmers. Why should we forget that these
holy palmers brought the shalot from Ascalon, and that
the cockle must ever live in history as the badge they wore
after they had devoured its inmate?
How should I your true love know,
From another one ?
By his cockle hat and staff,
And his sandal shoon.

It is to Francatelli’s credit that he alone of the great

cooks in our day has a word to say in favour of cockles.
He recommends them scolloped like oysters. They are
very good with a Poulette sauce.

Cod. Of all the fish we eat, the cod is perhaps the most
voracious. It has been calculated that the cod which come
to market eat as many millions of herring as all the people
of these islands manage to- consume in a year. They not
only devour herrings ;
they will digest crabs. A cod has
been caught with no less than thirty-five crabs in his
stomach, none less than a half-crown piece. If a haddock
be left on a line for a tide over a codbank, it will disappear,

and a cod be found to occupy its place on the hook. Its

gastric juice is so potent that it will turn a lobster red as if

boiled in the stomach of the cod. Gifted with so good

an appetite, it sublimes inferior fish into a very delicate
edible of the most easy digestion : at least, this is the case
from October to Christmas — the whole of the family, from
the ling to the whiting, being at their best in the colder
months. London, too, is fortunate in being well supplied
with this dainty. On the Continent it is scarce. The cod
 Cod 133

- caught chiefly on the Doggerbank — are brought alive to

the Thames in well-boats, so that there is no excuse for

stale fish at the fishmongers’. These well-boats were first

built at Harwich in 1712, so that the system is of long
standing; the fish are kept in store at Gravesend, where
the Thames water is sufficiently salt; and they are brought
up to Billingsgate as occasion requires.

Boiled Cod . — If the fish is perfectly fresh, there is no way

of preparing it so' good as boiling. It is seldom that a
whole cod has to be boiled, and it is almost impossible to' do
it successfully without dividing the tail part from the shoul-
ders, and afterwards making a pretence of joining them on
the dish. By the time the tail part is cooked, the upper
part will be underdone. It is well that the fish submits

nobly to the operation of being sliced. In this case choose

the slices for boiling as near the shoulder as possible. The
tail part is best fried. The boiling takes place in plain salt
and water — nothing else. A whole cod will take half an
hour to boil — slices from ten to fifteen minutes. When the
cod is served it should be garnished with some of the
liver; but this should be boiled separately, for the super-
fluous oil escapes and would affect the flavour of the cod.
The sauces that may be served with it are oyster sauce,
plain English sauce, egg sauce, mustard sauce, or simply
oiled butter. Boiled cod is one of the few fish with which

potatoes may be served as a garnish.

— “This was a—great

Cod’s Head and Shoulders The Scotch way, described
by Meg Dods : affair in its day. It is

still a formidable, nay, even a respectable-looking dish,

with a kind of bulky magnificence, which, at Christmas-
tide,appears imposing at the head of a long board. Have
a quart of good stock ready for the sauce, made of beef or
veal, seasoned with onion, carrot, and turnip. Rub the fish
(a deep-sea or rock cod) with salt over night, taking off
the scales, but do not wash it. When to be dressed, wash
i34 Cod

it dash hot water over the upper side,

clean, then quickly
and with a blunt knife remove the slime which will ooze
out, taking- care not to break the skin. Do the same to
the other side of the fish then place it on the drainer, ;

wipe it clean, and plunge it into a fish-kettle of boiling

water, with a handful of salt and a half-pint of vinegar. It

must be entirely covered, and will take from thirty to' forty
minutes’ slow' boiling. Set it to drain, slide it carefully on
a deep dish, and glaze with beaten eggs, over which strew
fine breadcrumhs, grated lemon-peel, pepper and salt.

Stick numerous and place it

bits of butter over the fish,

before a clear fire, strewing more crumbs, grated lemon-

peel, and minced parsley oyer it, and basting with the
butter. meanwhile thicken the stock with butter
In the
kneaded in flour, and strain it, adding to it half a hundred
oysters nicely picked and bearded, and a glassful of their
liquor,two glasses of Madeira or sherry, the juice of a
lemon, the hard meat of a boiled lobster cut down, and the
soft part pounded. Simmer this sauce for five minutes,
and skim it wipe clean the edges
well ;
of the dish in w hich
the fish is crisping, and pour the half of the sauce around
it, serving the rest in a tureen.” be found, how’ever,
It will

that French white wine is better for a fish sauce than sherry
or Madeira. And the lobster added to the oysters is a

superfluity.

Baked Cod . —This in reality is but a variation of the

foregoing, and is known in France as Cabillaud & la St.

Menehould. In the first place, the cod is stuffed with

Forcemeat No. 5, commonly called veal stuffing, and sewed
up; the fish in its thick part being at the same time scored

and slashed wdth a sharp knife. It is then placed on a

baking dish; half a pound of oiled butter is poured over
it pepper and salt are sprinkled on it and it is put into
;
;

the oven with some oyster liquor, which mingling wdth the
oiled butter is to be used for frequent basting. It wdll take
 Cod 135

an hour and a half to cook in this way in a moderate oven ;

but when it is about half done it is 'to be dredged several

times at intervals with fine raspings of breadcrust alter-
nated with basting. The same sauce as for the foregoing,
omitting the lobster.

Fried Cod .
—The middle or tail part cut in slices may be
best done in this way. When the French fry fish they
dip it in milk and dredge it with flour. The English way
is to smear it with egg and roll it in fine breadcrumbs
mixed with a seasoning of pepper and salt —sometimes also
of minced herbs. Either way is good.

Fried Cod a la Dieppoise .

— Dieppe is one of the chief
fishing towns of Normandy, and gives its name to fried cod
served with the relish of the Normandy matelote all round
it. See Relish No. 7.

Grilled Cod .
—This was a favourite dish of the Duke of

Wellington’s. an inch thick, dipped in

Slices of cod half
oil or oiled butter, dredged with flour, pepper and sail, and

broiled over a clear fire. Serve them with a piece of maitre

d ’hotel butter under each slice, and perhaps — with some
maitre d ’hotel sauce in a boat apart.

Cod d la Religieuse .
—Take a small piece of cod and boil

it, or use some cold cod. Break it into flakes and toss it

in a stewpan with Bdchamel, oyster or egg sauce- Garnish

it when served with boiled parsnips.

Cod with Cream au gratin .- The remains of turbot are —

most commonly served in this way, and the receipt will be
found under the name of that fish.

Salt Cod .
—To be soaked for twelve hours at least ;
to

be put into the fish-kettle with plenty of cold water ;

to- be
heated very slowly ;
to be simmered but never boiled for
close upon an hour; to be skimmed very carefully from
time to time; to be garnished with parsnips, and to be
served with egg sauce.
 — ; ;

136 Colbert's Sole

Brandade of Cod . —This is a more elaborate method of

dressing salt -

fish. It is a Provencal dish, and is described

under the name of Brandade.

Colbert s Sole. The great French minister who

organised the financial system under which, to a very
large extent, France still exists, would seem to have a
surer title to fame in the soup and the fish which he ad-
mired than in all his toils of office. So it has been from
time immemorial, to the frustration of human effort. A
man s greatest works, in which he took pride, perish, and
he lives by some trifle of which he thought nothing for
;

the race is not to the swift nor the battle to the strong.
What is great indeed and what is little we know not and
times makes wonderful havoc in our estimate of magnitudes.
The sole of Colbert is now of a surety more to mankind
than all his statesmanship.
It is a fried sole, which after being cooked is boned and
then filled with maitre d ’hotel butter and with lemon-
juice. Trim the
sole well, removing the head, a good part
of the and the black skin. On the side from which the
tail,

skin has been removed make a slit down the backbone

slide the knife in so as to sever as much as possible the
fleshfrom the ribs, and with the handle of the knife break
the backbone in several places, so as to render it easy of
removal after the fish is cooked, he sole is then to be
fried in the ordinaryway; when fried and drained the bones
will come away without trouble; the inside of the fish is
to be filled with maitre d ’hotel butter into which lemon-
juice has been worked and it is to be sent to table with
;

slices of lemon and fried parsley. The sole of Colbert

typified his taxes. He ate his fish without bones, and the
Government devoured his taxes without a thought of the
groans which had been wrung out of them.

Colbert’s Soup. —A clear broth or double broth with

poached eggs in it. Sometimes a few of the more delicate
 —

Conde 137

vegetables are added — as peas or asparagus points. The

soup is named in honour of the same great French minister
of finance who gave his name to the Sole k la Colbert, just
described.

Coligny. —The great Admiral. There truly was a man

with an appetite. He ate his toothpicks : we are not told,
however, what his toothpicks were composed of. There
was a time when they were made of fennel root and ap-
peared at table making porcupines of the preserved fruits.

To eat fennel root was said to be good for the sight.

Collop.- This word is too plain and too simple for

cooks to use. They have transformed it into scollop. Let
them read the Bible it will do them good in many ways.
:

Last and least, it will enlighten them as to* the nature of a

collop. (Job xv. 27.)

Columbus.—To him modern table owes more than

the
to any other that can be named. The discovery of America
has enriched our tables with the turkey, the canvas-backed
duck, the potato, the tomato*, cocoa, vanilla, the Jerusalem
artichoke, the sugar-cane, red pepper, and a host of good
things. Yet the master-cooks of Europe, who* lavish their
honours on nobodies and confuse their cookery books with
a mob of ridiculous names, have not thought it worth their
while to* consecrate a single dish to his memory —not even
the humble egg which he taught his friends to set on
end.

Cond£. — It is only necessary to note here that this is

the fanciful name given to a soup and to a sweet. The soup

is a puree of red haricot beans. The sweet is the combina-
tion of apricots with rice, more or less elaborated. There
is no particular reason why we should cherish the name of
Conde. The name of Condi’s castle, Chantilly, is given
to Esau’s pottage of lentils. It would be much better to

call it Esau’s soup.

138 Consomme

Consomme. —This
is a fine word, and worthy to rank

with the “ mobled queen” in Hamlet. ‘‘That’s good,”

says Polonius; “ mobled queen is good.” So is consomme.
To the innocent English mind it suggests something con-
summate. It really means broth, which by boiling has

been consumed away till it has become very strong. The

best English rendering of it is Double Broth. It will be
found further on, in the article on Soup, that though there
might be many kinds of consomme, there are in fact but
—
two namely, Consomme and Blonde de Veau. What is

called Consomme de Volaille is not distinctive enough to

justify the new name.

Contise. —There are words in the French kitchen

which have a precarious existence in the dictionary, and
this is one of them. Contiser means to inlay with truffles
or tongue cut into nice shapes any kind of viands, but
chiefly white meat, as the fillets of fowl. It comes from
an old Provencal verb, coiniir. to adorn. From this came
a noun, cointise, adornment, which has budded forth into
a second verb, cointiser, or as we have it now, contiser.
The root of the word exists in English as quaint, nice and
neat, with a prim sort of elegance. So that contiser is in

English to make quaint or neat looking. Carfime appears

not tohave liked the word, and fancying that it had
something to' do with conte, a tale, invented historier
in place of it, which is very quaint indeed. A dish
adorned with geometrical or other figures worked into
or upon it by means of truffles, tongue, jelly, sugar or
anything else, was in his language — historied.

—
Cook. The truest alchymist and the best physician.
M. Ilenrion de Pensey, formerly President of the Court
of Cassation, made an observation worthy of a great
judge: he made it to Laplace, the great astronomer. ” I

regard the discovery of a new dish as a far more inter-

esting event than the discovery of a star, for we have

 — —

Court- Bouillon 139

always stars enough. I shall not regard the sciences as

sufficiently honoured nor appropriately represented among

us, so long as I do not see a cook in the first class of the

”
Institute.

Cool. The French say Rafraichir. To cool is to< put

vegetables in cold water after blanching them, in order to
preserve their colour. One cools calf’s head in the same
way and for the same purpose, though without first scald-
ing it.

Corned Beee.-—Many people ask, What is corned as

distinct from salt beef? It same
is the thing. Salt is

either coarse or fine. The small salt was said to' be in

powder- — the French salmenu or sahnine. The large salt

with which beef was pickled was said to be in grains
or corns —the French saugrenu. And hence the term
corned.

Cornwall. — It is said that the devil never goes to

Cornwall, because they put everything into' a pie there,
and he is afraid of being put into one too. For the great
Cornish pie see Irish Stew.

Court-Bouillon. This is a favourite term of the

French kitchen for which we have no corresponding term
inEnglish. More than two* hundred years ago an English
cook and he rendered it short broth
tried to translate it, !

(See a translation of La Varenne’s “ French Cook,” 1653.)

It would be better English after the analogy of small beer

to say ‘‘small broth.” But anyway the phrase has an odd

sound. It really means the thin liquor in which fish is

boiled, made up of water, vinegar or white wine, which

has been seasoned with pepper, salt, onions, carrots, and a
faggot of herbs. by no means exact.
But the term is

There is a Court-Bouillon called after the town of Nantes —

—
a la Nantaise which is half water, half milk, with pepper
and salt. And often to cook fish in a Court-Bouillon means
 —

140 Crab

no more than to cook it au bleu. If the reader will turn to

see what is meant by cooking fish in the blue, he will find
that it may mean nothing but vinegar and water. For a
fair example of Court-Bouillon, see the .Sole au Vin Blanc.

Crab.— It is a wise provision of nature that crabs and

lobsters should come into season when oysters and mussels
go out. They are in perfection from April to October.
There is a difference between the male and the female crab.
The female has smaller claws and a wider flap of tail.
Those who* like claws best, therefore, give their prefer-
ence to the male. But the female makes up for the small-
ness of her claws by the largeness of her liver and the
creamy fat which surrounds it. The liver is the soft yellow
substance which fills the body of the crab. Those who
enjoy liver, therefore, prefer the female.

Cold Crab .
— Pick out all the meat from the claws and
the breastplate, and shred it. Reserve a little of this, but
mix the chief part of it with the liver and cream of the
back, with vinegar, mustard, cayenne and salt. Put it

back in the shell —the substance of two crabs may indeed

be heaped on one —and strew over the meat of the
shell it

claws which has been reserved.

Hot Crab .
—The same as the foregoing, only that bread-
crumbs are added (one-fourth to three-fourths of crab) and
with them little pieces of butter or else some oil. To be
thoroughly heated in the oven.

Crayfish. There are two kinds so called one huge, :

belonging to the sea; the other small, belonging to rivers.

The former, sometimes also called crawfish, and in French
langouste, are larger and coarser than lobsters ;
they are
not prized in England; but the French seem to cherish
them and to prefer them, even to lobsters, though they
lack the large claws which glorify the last. No one ever
 ; —

Crayfish 141

sees a salt-water crayfish at a first-class London table ;

but
in Paris enter a shop like Chevet’s or a restaurant like
Bignon’s, and the horrible monster will be seen in the
windows of the one or on the tables of the other, offered
among the most tempting delicacies of the season. There
is much more to be said for the French love of the river

crayfish, which it would be much more accurate to call

the river lobster. The crayfish of English rivers are
not very abundant, and being rather small, are more for
ornament than food. The best crayfish in London come
in a curious roundabout way from Berlin. They are
not to be found in —
London shops and one has to send to
Paris express for a hamper of two or three hundred, which
will be delivered all alive. The French rivers are not equal
to the demands of the Paris market. The German rivers
are therefore laid under contribution, and 10,000 at a
time are sent from Berlin. An immense number of the
smaller crayfish are used in Paris for the mere decoration
of dishes ;
but apart from this use of them the crayfish are
chiefly consumed in two ways. They are eaten bodily with
a rich which is described under the name of
sauce
Bordeaux, the dish being known as Ecrevisses a la Borde-
lais e and they are worked into a soup which is commonly
called Bisque (see that word), and which shall here be
called more simply
Crayfish Soap Heat up .
— to boiling point a plentiful
Mirepoix of white wine, and cook two dozen crayfish in it

for from twenty to twenty-five minutes, tossing them from

time to time. When
they are perfectly red take them off
the fire and them cool. Then shell them, all but the
let

claws. The shells and the claws go into the mortar to'
make crayfish butter; the flesh of the tails is reserved to
be put into' the soup at the last ;
the body part goes back
which two quarts of water (or broth)
into the Mirepoix, to
may now be added, together with four ounces of blanched
rice. In the meantime it is necessary to prepare the cray-
 —

142 Cream

fish butter. Remove the black eyes, and pound shells and
claws mortar with about an ounce of butter. AVhen
in a

thoroughly pounded they are to be added to the Mirepoix,

and all is to be simmered for an hour and a half, after
which it is to be passed through a sieve, heated up, and
finished with a piece of butter. Add now the crayfish tails
nicely trimmed and a pinch of cayenne pepper.Add also,
it may be, quenelles of whiting prepared with some of the
crayfish butter.

Cream. There are so many things called cream that it

is difficult to know what we are talking about when the

name is mentioned. Almost anything with the consistence,

even without the colour, of cream, is called by its name;
and nobody seems to remember the rightful name of cullis.
Putting genuine cream, however, out of account, the chief
thing known in the French kitchen by that name is what
-

in England is known as a custard. Tire most com-

mon name in France for a custard is English cream; and

it was so called almost universally until Carfime put a stop
to it. He was indignant that England should get the

credit of the custard ;

and now it is known by his followers

simply as Cr&me au bain-marie. Careme, however, who

refused petulantly to give the name of Crferne Anglaise to
the custard, put a little bit of isinglass into it and then
insisted that it should be called Crfeme Fran?aise! A bit

of stiffening makes all the difference between French and

English. There are dozens of these creams all with a
the flavour vanilla, coflee,
separate name according to'

should
orange, maraschino, apricot; and if whipt cream
a
be added, that makes another long series, each with
separate name. The receipt for Custards will be found in

alphabetical order.

Crecy — is the name which F rench have given to

the

best carrot soup, because the most famous

of their
their
 Cress 143

carrots are grown there ;

and the English accept the name
because they like to remember the great battle of the 26th
August, 1346, when they watered the carrots of Crecy with
the best French blood. The French were to the English
in the battle as five to one; and it was on this occasion

that the Black Prince, a boy of sixteen, won his spurs.

To commemorate the event he took the crest of the slain
Bohemian king— three ostrich feathers with the motto of
Ich Dien —which has ever since been the crest and the
motto of the Princes of Wales. It follows that on the 26th
of August the Prince of Wales and all his friends invari-
ably eat two platefuls of Crdcy.
Take a plentiful Mirepoix, and after it has passed, put
a quantity of carrots cut slanting on the top of it. Moisten
it with broth, and keep it moist and simmering till the
carrots are done. The length of time will depend on the
size towhich the carrots have been cut. Then take all,
pound it in a mortar, and pass it through a tammy or fine
sieve. It ought to be at this stage a thick puree. Thin it
down with broth ;
sugar it — the proportion is generally a
tablespoonful of sugar to two gallons; put it on the fire to
heat; finish it with some fresh butter; and in serving it

add either crusts or rice.

Crepe.—The French for pancake, at root the same as

crape and crisp. In the English of Chaucer’s time a pan-
cake was called a crisp or a cresp.

Crepinette. —A flat sausage enveloped in pig’s caul.

Buy it ready made at Dumas’, 55, Prince’s Street,

Leicester Square.

Cress. — It is ungrateful to say a word against cresses,

but it may be as well to remember that in England at
least they have come to mean curses. “ I don’t care a,

curse ” really means, “ I don’t care a cress.” Perhaps we

have too much of them. They are (putting asparagus out
—

144 Croquettes

of account, which has a short season and a dear price)

the one vegetable eaten by rich and poor in England, for
health even more than for food. The Greeks had a proverb
•
“Eat cress and gain wit.” If this were only true, how
clever must those good people be wbo are always eating
cresses for breakfast ! On the contrary, their lives are a
stupid routine. In a stupid routine also' live those French
cooks who insist upon sending to table a bunch of cresses
with roast fowl- —even when there is a salad besides.
To those who have a passion for watercresses, the
Flemish soup of them will not be unpleasing-. It is usually
reserved for meagre days. Take a large bunch of cresses,
wash them, cut them up, and set them to boil with water,
salt, and it may be a thought of vinegar. Add to them
a quantity of peeled potatoes of the mealy sort. When
these have broken into a mash, the soup is ready, and
may be finished with butter.

Croquettes are made of chicken, game, sweetbreads, fat

livers, oysters, shrimps — and generally the lighter kinds of

meat. The meat (most commonly chicken) is finely minced ;

it is mixed with a seasoning of minced truffles, mushrooms,

shalots or chives, as also of nutmeg pepper and salt; it is
bound together with a stiff Allemande sauce; it is turned
into- shapes of cork or ball it is dipped into egg and rolled
;

in breadcrumbs it is fried crisp of a golden hue

;
it is ;

sprinkled with salt, and served on a napkin with a garnish

of fried parsley. It is also served in a dish with a sur-
rounding of tomato sauce. When the croquette is finished
differently—that is, when, instead of being dipped in egg

and rolled in breadcrumb, it is wrapped in a thin puff

paste — it is called a Rissole; and when it is wrapped in a thin
sheet of veal udder or of bacon fat, it is called a Kromeski.

Milanese Croquettes .
—A mince of chicken, tongue,
truffles, and macaroni, with a seasoning of grated
Parmesan. All the rest as before,
 — —

Cucumber H5
CroOte-au-pot. A clear soup which may have nothing
but crusts in it, but generally has an assortment of the
more homely vegetables. See Brunoise.

Cruet is a better word than the French vinaigrette, to

express what the French mean by that term— a vinegar
and oil sauce, in which the oil predominates. Cruet is a
little cruise— it may be for oil or vinegar or anything else;
but to most English ears the word cruise will instantly
suggest the widow’s cruise of which was always full oil

and that is the sort of cruise most needed for the sauce
which the French name Vinaigrette. Mix well in a bowl
or saucer three tablespoonfuls of oil, not more than one of
vinegar— perhaps less, a pinch of and a little pepper,
salt,

black or white. We call this the French salad mixture,

but it is known in connection with the Spanish
much better
proverb which says that we ought to be spendthrifts of the
oil, misers of the vinegar, counsellors in regard to salt — and
which is silent as to pepper. The Italians are so- chary of
salt in this mixture that they have a proverb — “ insalata
ben salata. ” The worth of the sauce turns chiefly on the
proportion of oil to vinegar, and this must depend a good
deal on the nature of the vinegar selected— whether of
malt, of wine or of tarragon.
Judiciously made, the cruet sauce is delicious without
any further addition, and goes magnificently with salmon
hot or cold, turbot, calf’s head, and other viands, as well
as with salads. But it is usual to add a garniture. For
salads the garniture is a chopped ravigote, or else spring
onions and parsley chopped. For calf’s head add mustard
with a garniture of chopped parsley, capers, and shalots.
For fish, chopped parsley.

Cucumber. —Raw —The cucumber

. is peeled, sliced, and
served in a cruet sauce. But on the Continent it is usual,
before the sauce is poured on the slices, to sprinkle them
well with salt, and to let them lie in this pickle for two-

10
146 Cull is

or three hours. This is supposed to render them more

digestible; and one rarely sees abroad the crisp, fresh-cut
cucumber common enough in England.

Brown Cucumber Garnish Entremet .-—The French

or
call this the English fashion. The cucumbers are peeled,
split into quarters, and freed from their pips they are next ;

floured, peppered, and fried lightly in butter; some broth

or gravy is then added, and they are stewed slowly for
twenty minutes. The sauce, thickened with flour and
butter, and seasoned with salt, pepper and vinegar or
lemon-juice, is to be poured over the pieces of cucumber
when they are dished.

White Cucumber Garnish or Eyiiremet .- This is the —

—
French fashion the cucumber being boiled till tender in
salt and water, and served in a Bechamel or a plain
English sauce.

Cullis is a word which at root means something

smoothly gliding. Thus the sliding scenes of a theatre,
that slip along in grooves, are called coulisses ; and a
liquid which is thick enough and smooth enough to slide
is called coulis in French, cullis in English. Spanish sauce
is often described as a brown cullis ;
and Velvet-down as a
white one. The French also give the name of coulis to what
they call otherwise English cream that is, a custard. —In
England a cullis generally means a white cullis
and a ;

white cullis is any rich juice of meat which has been re-
duced to a certain thickness without being in any way
browned. A dissolved jelly is a cullis. Unhappily the
word is going out of use now, being replaced very much by
the word cream, which has quite enough duty to perform
in its own proper sense. YVe speak of a creme d’orge or
barley cream, meaning a cullis of barley.

CuRAfOA, as made at Amsterdam by Wynand Fockink,

is certainly a liqueur of the first class. It is so perfect and
 Currants i47

so valuable that there are many imitations of it; but all are
far behind the great original, which is made from the peel

of an orange very difficult to obtain. It is a bitter orange

which grows in the island of Curacoa, and falls from the
tree before The peel of this is dried, and is known
it is ripe.

in commerce as the Cura£oa of Holland, to distinguish

it from other Curacoas which have not the same

property, though they are often sold in place of it. The
Dutch distillers naturally keep their process a secret, but
the French ones declare the Dutch secret to be simply
this —
that five kilogrammes of dried peel of the Curaijoa of
Holland, and the zests of eighty fresh oranges are sub-
mitted to the action of sixty litres of very strong alcohol
(85°, French measurement); and that there is no' real

difference between white curacoa and brown.

Currants — properly, Corinths. —These are a small

stoneless grape, which now come chiefly from Zante, but
originally from Corinth, whence the name. There are
more of these currants used in England than in all the
world besides. It is a question whether the English par-
them is reasonable, for they are very indigestible,
tiality for

though cheap and in moderation pleasant. The Zantiotes

scarcely understand what we do with them they fancy we —
must use them for a dye; and they tread them in barrels
with their feet so hard, that sometimes the mass of cur-
rants can only be broken with a mattock. No doubt the feet
of these illustrious Greeks enhance the relish of the fruit,
and add an unsuspected joy to our puddings and cakes.

Currants —properly, Currans. —We are now speaking

of the berry which botanists callRibes, and which known is

inEngland in three leading families — the gooseberry, red

and green the red currant with a white variety
; ;
and the
black currant ;
the first being large and prickly, the other
two small and smooth. 'They are said to derive their name
from their resemblance to the currants of the Levant ;
but
148 Currants

this isa mistake which is the more provoking because it

has led to a theory that these currants, having a foreign
name, cannot be natives of the British soil. It is quite
wellknown that they are indigenous in these islands; and
we must therefore look out for an indigenous name. Now,
it isremarkable that most of the old writers, and good ones
too, when they speak of currants, write currans. English
custom evidently taught them to drop the t when speaking
of the familiar currant-bush. We are confirmed in this
view when we discover that in our provincial dialects the
name for a gooseberry is carberry ;
we are settled in this
view if we remember that belonging to a different family
there is the cranberry, and if we know why it is so called.
The dictionaries declare that it is called after the crane,
“ because its slender stalk has been compared to the long
legs and neck of a crane.” It is really so called because
cran means red, and it has nothing whatever to do with
the crane, unless that bird is so called from its red eyes.
There a flower called cranebill, which has just as much
is

to do with the crane, though we are told that it has an

appendage to the seed-vessel which resembles the beak of
a crane or stalk. The word is really a corruption of cran-
bell— a red bell as distinct from a blue bell. Those who
take an interest in the herring fishery may have read of
boats catching so many crans of fish. These are baskets
of the red osier. We find the root car, red, spreading
far away through many European languages — in Greek,
inLatin and its later dialects, in Gaelic, in Welsh, in Old
German, and in Old English. We have it in the first

syllables of carnation (flesh colour), carmine, crimson,

cramoisie, carrot —which in Gaelic is curran, cargoose —an
old name grebe which has a chestnut-red kind of
for the
head, a brown-red back and red eyes carbon, carbuncle, —
—
char (the verb to burn), char, the fish which has a red
belly, and I will add cherry, in spite of the etymologists,
who' go to some long-forgotten place, Kerasos in Asia
 •

Curry i
49

Minor, for the name of this ruddy fruit. The list might
be multiplied —
have said nothing of coral or crocus-—
1

but examples enough have been given to- enable the reader
to return with his eyes open to the spelling of the currant

— curran, and to the provincial English name of the goose-

berry — the carberry. ought to be clear that in the olden
It

time the currant and the cranberry were both called by the
same name or names, as similar as dialectical varieties
permit —the red berry, and that the term red curran is

a reduplication — the red red.

All this about words — order
in to prove that the British
currant has a British name, however much it may be
twisted about. As for the currant itself there is little to
be said. Its praise is in all our mouths. The gooseberry
or carberry shall have a paragraph to itself. The black
currant has little to do with cookery, except as the faithful
attendant of Roly Poly, but its grandest title to fame is

trumpeted forth under the name of Cassis. For the red

currantlet the roast mutton, hare, and venison, prove how

much it is in demand.

Curry. —There are few dishes which it is so difficult to

get well done as a curry. In France, under the name of
Kari, it is always bad. In England the vulgar theory is
that, with the addition of some curry-powder, any good
stew becomes a good curry. It is a great mistake. First
of a curry differs from other stews in being always
all,

eaten with a dessert-spoon and fork— never, when rightly

understood, with a knife and fork. This implies that it is
exceedingly well done, and is cut or shred small. Secondly,
it has no other accompaniment than the rice. Curry is
never to- be eaten at a house where the host offers you a
potato with the rice. It is a sign that there is no garnish in
his curry —no onions, no apples, no- cocoanut : else he
would not overlay all these with potatoes in addition to rice.
On the difficulty of procuring a good curry-powder it is
1
5° Curry

useless to insist —
indeed, few people see the difficulty.
There are good curry-powders at the shops, and that is
enough for them. They have not grasped the fact that
curry-powder is like salad dressing a compound and that — ;

as in the salad dressing some people like plenty of vinegar

and little oil, while others wish for plenty of oil and very
littlevinegar, so in the curry-powder there are ingredients
which should be increased or decreased to suit different
tastes, and to combine with the different meats which are
to be curried. All over India there is a curry for almost
every province : at Madras one kind
of curry in Bengal ;

another. would never dream of taking

In Ceylon they
curry-powder out of a bottle. The curry mixture is there
made fresh on the day it is to be used in cooking and it ;

consists of a piece of green ginger, a few coriander and

cumin seeds, two cloves of garlic, six small onions, one
chili, eight peppercorns, a small piece of turmeric, a tea-
spoonful of butter, half a cocoanut, and half a lime. In
England, the ginger of this receipt, the coriander and cumin

and the turmeric, are powdered, and sold in

seeds, the chili
bottles under the name of curry-powder; and this is sup-
posed to be all that is wanted— the English cook, for the
most part, ignoring the garlic and onion, the cocoanut and
the lime; and expecting that, any other flavour is needed,
if

it will be supplied at table from the bottle of Bengal Chut-

ney. Supposing a good powder is at hand say Halford’s —

— it is to be used in the following manner, which is a

modification of a well-known receipt.

Take the white heart of a cabbage or a lettuce peeled
down to the size of an egg chop it fine, and add to
;
it two
apples in thin slices, the juice of a lemon, a saltspoonful of
black pepper, and a tablespoonful of curry-powder to be —
all well mixed together. Then take havesix onions that

been chopped fine and fried brown, a clove of garlic minced

small, two ounces of fresh butter, two of flour, and one pint
of beef gravy boil them up, and when boiling add to them
;
 — —;

Custards 151

the other set of ingredients containing the acids and spices.

Let all be well stewed, and then add to it —cut or shred
the fish, flesh or fowl for which this savoury mess has been
prepared. Serve it with abundance of rice- — every grain
of which should be separate. It is the rice in this combina-
tion that is the great attraction for many people. But in

following this receipt the cook must use some discretion

first in regard to the acids, second in regard to the onions.
One apple may contain as much acid as two>; and onions
are of all sizes. So that here the reoeipt is very indefinite,
and the cook has to be cautious.

Custards. These have been known for some time on

the Continent as English creams but latterly simply as ;

creams— vanilla cream, lemon cream, chocolate cream,

according to the flavour. One receipt will be enough.

Lemon Custard .
— Beat up the yolks of eight eggs to

a strong white cream. Mix into this very slowly a pint of

boiling hot cream, together with the zest and juice of two
lemons, and sugar to taste. Stir this on the fire till it

thickens —but do not boil it. Add also, when nearly ready,
a wineglassful of sherry and a tablespoonful of brandy.
Keep stirring it till it cools, and serve it in cups with grated
nutmeg.
A wonderful flavour is given to these creams or custards
by boiling the cream or milk with which they are made
a laurel-leaf —that is, not a bay-leaf, but a leaf of the
cherry laurel. Great care, however, must be used ;
for

the cherry laurel is poisonous.

 - :

'
52 Dab

AB. — Who ever heard of dab a fashionable at

dinner or a in fare? Nevertheless
fine bill of
a dab — the French limande — better than is

any flounder; and as Mr. Bugg changed his

name to Norfolk Howard, the poor little
dab aspires to fame under the name of a Thames flounder,
which is the best of all flounders. Lei us give dab his due.
His name is as plebeian as Snooks or Blogg but he is an ;

honest fish, with a good taste and a faculty of making

himself agreeable in society which his friends with great
names might well envy.

Damson, the small plum Damascus, to be used in

of
the ordinary way for fruit pies, with no end of sugar.
Take it for praise, or take it for blame, the damson has
a tart resemblance to “ the perfect woman ” described by
the poet as —
not too good
For human nature’s daily food.

Dantzic. — Not much of a town for beauty, but it has

one great fame in the world of art it has pro-
title to
duced the liqueur which is the most beautiful of all to look
at —gold-water, a bright colourless liquid like water, with
chips of gold-leaf floating in it. Unfortunately, as made
in Dantzic this beautiful drink is somewhat fiery, and
ladies, who in general love the liqueurs, rarely touch it,

preferring the sweeter and softer imitations made in

Amsterdam and elsewhere. The fact is, that though the

liqueur is nearly always to-day associated with the name of
Dantzic, it is of Italian origin, and is perhaps the oldest
extant liqueur in Europe. The Italians brought it into
France in the time of Catherine de Medici. See Acqua
d’Oro.

Dariole is one of the most interesting words in the

 Dariole 153

English language, and it is a pity to see it going out

of use because it is not understood. It is much more
used in France than in England, but the French authori-
ties declare that it is a perfect mystery to them: — its origin
utterly unknown. In England it seems to be regarded as
a new-fangled French name for a cheesecake, and too
foreign as well as too new for common use. It is in fact
one of the oldest words in the English language, and is

frequently to be found in the cookery books of Chaucer’s

time. means as nearly as possible a maid of honour;
It

and it is curious to imagine how the word dariole should

survive for more than five centuries in a kind of lost
language, its meaning unknown, and how it should turn
up on Richmond Hill correctly translated into maid of
honour. The clue to the meaning of the word is given by
Junius under the word dairy, the first syllable of which he
declares to be identical with the first syllable of Dariole.
Now we get puzzled, and have to ask, What is the first

syllable, and how do we account for the succeeding ones?

All the information given by Junius is that a dairy means
a milk-house, and that a dariole means something made of
milk. There we are left hanging in the air, and have to*
find solid earth for ourselves.

It is well known that in the West of England a dairy

is or was till lately called a dey-house; and it has been
supposed that dey must mean milk. Even those who see 1

in the word a different meaning— namely, maad confess —

that through some
have not clearly been
links which
traced out it may have some connection with Swedish
and Danish words which mean suckling, as well as with
the English dug which yields the milk. That however
is obscure, and we may dismiss it to dwell upon what is
clear.

We are dealing with one of the most venerable words

in human speech, which has been singularly preserved in
languages far apart. The English child born in India has
 —

1
54 Dariole

a nurse called a da’i. Some who read this page may

remember Mrs. Sherwood’s nursery tale of Lucy and her
Daye. If any one will look into Shakespear’s Hindustani
dictionary he will see that while in one dialect this word
means a nursemaid, in means more generally a
another it

maidservant. In the Northern dialects of Europe in —

Swedish, in Danish,
it be found that the
in Icelandic — will
cognate word means sometimes generally a maid, some-
times more particularly a milkmaid or a nursemaid. In
the Scotch dialect a dey is a milkmaid. In old English
the word meant either a maid or a milkmaid. In the
wide sense of maid or woman it remains to’ this hour
in the second syllable of la-dy — the bread-maid. How
the same word should mean properly a maid, and yet in
some cases should be applied particularly now to a milk-
maid and now to a nurse, will be apparent in the history
of another word —
say groom, which means a young man,
a lad, and is recognised as such in bridegroom, but which
is also applied specially to’ a stable-lad, on board ship
to' a cabin-boy (grommet), and in French to a wine-
merchant’s man (gourmet). A dairy or deyry is the place
for the deys or maids, as faery is the place of the fays and
eyrie is the nest for the eggs.
Let us now return to Dariole, which Junius identifies
with dairy, and declares to mean something made of milk
laitiron. As a matter of fact it is made of milk it is a —
cheesecake ;
but this is not necessarily expressed in the
word. The root is da or dey, a maid the final syllable —
of lady. And what is the rest of the word? The old
spelling is Daryol or Daryal, and it means Da.-royal, a
maid of honour. If any one should be surprised at the
application in those early times of so fanciful a name to a
cheesecake, he has only to look into any cookery book of
the period —that of Chaucer — and he will find in close
proximity to Maids of honour, a Douce Arne, which is after
all but a stewed fowl.
 ;

Dariole 155

There is a curious fact about this word which has yet

to be explained, and which raises it into something like a
literary landmark. The French have a word Dariolette,
the name for a lady’s maid, and they profess to derive it

from the lady’s maid of the Princess Elisene in the

romance of Amadis of Gaul, who was called Dariolette.
Now this romance, which was spared from the flames by
the licentiate in Don Quixote, is generally considered as of
either Spanish or Portuguese origin. Southey insists on the
Portuguese knight Vasco Lobeira, wlm died 1403, being
its author. How came
from the pen of a Portuguese
writer the Anglo-Norman word Dariolette? A French
writer, the Comte de Tressan, has attempted to prove that
the romance was originally written in French, that it was
translated from the French into Portuguese, and thence
into Castilian, in which language we have the oldest
version that remains to us. He has not proved his point,
and Southey ridicules his theory. It is quite certain that
the Comte de Tressan attempted prove too much; but,to' 1

on the other hand, permit us to quote from what we have

written elsewhere. “ Southey has not allowed weight
enough to the fact that the Amadis of Gaul is the first
work of romance which appeared in the Portuguese and
Castilian languages that it was preceded for more than
;

a century by other romances of Anglo-Norman origin

and that in its idea, in the character of its incidents, and
inmuch of its geography, it belongs to' the world of Anglo-
Norman romance. What though we cannot lay our hands
on the French original from which Lobeira translated, any
more than we can lay our hands on Lobeira’s own work
from which the Castilian version has been made? We still
know that all the ideas and materials, all the design, all
the machinery of Amadis of Gaul, belong to the Anglo-
Norman cycle of romance which was in vogue before
Lobeira was born.” To' this it is now to be added, that
here is the name Darioleta of the Castilian or Portuguese
156 Dauphiness

romance, borrowed directly from the Anglo-Norman dialect

to be the proper name for the Princess Elisene’s maid of
honour.
The old receipt for the Dariole is as follows. It bears
the date of 1381. words are given here in
All the
modern spelling “ Take cream of almonds or of cow-
-
.

milk, and beat them well together; and make small coffins
[that is, cases of pastry], and do- it [put it] therein; and do
[put] thereto sugar and good powders. Or take good fat
cheese and eggs and make them of divers colours, green,
red or yellow, and bake them or serve them forth.”
Modern — Put
into a spouted basin two table-
reoeipt.
spoonfuls of flour, two of sifted sugar, one-and-a-half of
melted butter, one whole egg, three volks of eggs, a pinch
of salt, and whatever flavouring -

,
of almonds or lemons,
orange, vanilla or coffee, may be liked best. Mix these
well togetherand then add to them a tumblerful of cream.
When the batter is ready pour it into pattypans which
have been lined with light puff paste, and top them with
candied orange-flowers place the pattypans upon a
;

baking-sheet and set them in a quiet oven. When the

darioles are ready they are lightly strewed with sugar and
served hot.
There is an immense consumption of these in Paris. In
1856 there were 128 darioleurs and darioleuses — that is,

makers of darioles, who hawked them about, using up

annually 3,000,000 lbs. of flour.

Dauphiness — Beignets h la Dauphine. This is a French

name given to a German invention, — the Dauphiness being
Marie Antoinette. Throughout Germany they are known
as Berliner Pfannkuchen; throughout Austria as Wiener
Krapfen. In plain English they are Brioche Fritters, and
will be found among the Fritters, No. 6.

Devonshire farhous for— its butter, its cream, its cider,

and its pie. The butter is the best English butter that comes
 Devils i5 7

into London but it is not so good as that of Brittany,

;

Normandy, and Ostend. The clubs are chiefly supplied

with Ostend butter. The cream, called clotted cream, is
the richest cream there is, short of butter. New milk is
strained into shallow metal pans, which after standing for
twelve hours are passed on to a hot plate with a fire below,
to heat the milk to scalding without boiling or even simmer-
ing it. The pans are then carried back to the dairy,
allowed to stand for another twelve hours, and the cream is

drained off. This is Devonshire or clotted cream. Devon-

shire cider is simply the finest in the world. Devonshire
pie, called also Squab pie, is made of Devonshire apples and
of Devonshire (that is Dartmoor) mutton, or else of pork.
See Irish Stew.

Devils. — It is the great fault of all devilry that it knows

no bounds. A moderate devil is almost a contradiction
in terms ;
and yet it is quite certain that if a devil is not
moderate he destroys the palate, and ought to have no
place in cookery, the business of which is to tickle, not
to annihilate, the sense of taste. Devils are of two kinds
—the dry and the wet. The dry devil is a Carbonade,
scored, peppered, salted, mustarded or otherwise spiced ;

the wet devil is a Bernardine Salmi. See Salmi.

Sauce a la Diable .- —The

French cooks’ idea of the devil
is that he has a passion for shalots. Mr. Masson has
written an essay on the Three Devils namely, Luther’s, —
Milton’s, and Goethe’s. There is room for yet another
essay, yea, a volume, on the Frenchman’s idea of the devil,

much given to the onions of Ascalon. Take three or four

shalots, and mince them well with a clove of garlic, a
fagot of sweet herbs, and as much pepper as may be dared ;

simmer all for half an hour in brown sauce and red wine,
pass it through a tammy, and know of a surety that this
will much- rejoice all French devils.
 :

158 Dill

Dili, is a plant which, like anise,

caraway and coriander,
was supposed to be a good stomachic. Dill-water is still
to be found among
the bottles of the apothecary. It was
also, like fennel, a good deal used in soups and sauces.
That we should now make very little use of it in the
kitchen is probably no great loss to us ;
but it is certainly
a mystery. It is many a time how repu-
impossible to tell

tations grow and how they pass away. By all the rules of
human conduct ought
be ihe most prized herb in
dill to
the English kitchen garden and yet it is of the smallest
;

account. William the Conqueror had a cook named

Tezelin, who one day served him with a white soup called
dillegrout. Ihe monarch was so pleased with its exquisite
flavour that he sent for the cook and made him for his
dill soup Lord of the Manor of Addington. When a great
work of art is thus rewarded we might expect that the
fame of it would live for ever, that all the cooks of Eng-
land would bear it in mind, and that it would still be
fashionable. But such is the caprice of fame and fortune,
there is probably not a living creature in England who has
ever tasted dill broth, and the name of Tezelin is known
but to a very few. There are monuments in Westminster
Abbey to heroes who have achieved less than the Lord of
the Manor of Addington.

Dinner. — There are two theories as what this means.

to
The first maintains that dinner is to dejeuner what priest is
to presbyter ;
and we all know by this time that presbyter
is but priest writ large. Dinner, therefore, according to
this view is breakfast.
The other theory is that it is a contraction for dixi^me
heure, ten o’clock, the ancient time of dining. There is

an old French rhyme to this effect —

Lever k six, diner A dix,
Souper k six, coucher k dix,
Vous feront vivre dix fois dix.
It is evident that we are fast returning to the ancient
 ;

Dory 1
59

dinner-hour. A fashionable dinner is at full tide not far

from ten o’clock— only it is now ten at night instead of, as
formerly, ten in the morning -

Dory. —This a fish regarded by many as the most

is

delicious of all. The ancients named him after the king of

gods — Zeus. The moderns have honoured him with the
patronage of no less than three saints— Peter, Christo-
pher and Martin. St. Peter found the tribute-money in a
dory, and left thumb-marks upon him for ever afterwards
so that he is known to be the fish of St. Peter, who as the
gate-keeper of heaven — in Italian janitore — provided for
him the name which has been corrupted into John Dory.
Other learned authorities deny that the dory exists in the
fresh-water lake of Galilee, and maintain that the marks
upon his body came from the fingers of St. Christopher,
who took hold of the fish in order to amuse the infant
Jesus when he was carrying Him upon his shoulders
across the sea. And others yet again declare that the
dory is best appropriated to St. Martin, because although
he is good at all seasons lie is most perfect at Martinmas.

Anyhow, we have a good excuse for making acquaintance

with the fish on the days of all three saints. His name
comes really from the colour of his skin, which is doree or
gilded ;
and we may be grateful in the knowledge that
the best dorys in the world are caught upon our southern
shores, off Plymouth and off Brighton.
Clear away his excessive finery of fins ;
fill him with
veal stuffing or oyster stuffing, boil him in salt and water,
and serve him with nut-brown butter, English sauce or
Holland sauce. Quin, the actor, was a great lover of this
fish,and would travel to Devonshire expressly to eat him.
He and
insisted that the fish should be boiled in sea-water
that the best sauce was one which brought Miss Ann Chovy
into union with Mr. John Dory. John is at his best from
September to January.
 —

i6o Duck
Duck. The French notion of the tame duck is perfectly
given by Grimod de la Reynifere. “ He appears rarely
in a roast at refined tables. His modesty adapts itself
better to a couch of turnips after he has been cooked in
a succulent braze.” The general order is, that the wild
duck is to be roasted the tame duck or duckling either
;

stewed or brazed. If ever the latter is allowed the honours

of the spit, he must be barded. In England the duck
brazed in turnips is rarely seen, and the roast duck or
duckling is in great favour.
Roast Duck or Duckling .- —A duck should always be
stuffed ;
a duckling may, or may not. The stuffing is the
same as for geese, and will be found among the force-
meats. Also duck or duckling should be well done. Per-
haps one of the reasons for the dissatisfaction which the
roast duck gives in France is that it is roasted, if roasted at
all, like the wild duck— very much underdone. Gouff'd allows
only sixteen minutes for roasting a duck. A duckling will
take at least half an hour of a brisk fire; a duck perhaps an
hour. When the time comes for serving these birds, let
them have a good brown gravy not upon them but around
them, and in a boat apart; or else one made from their
necks, gizzards and livers stewed down with some browned
onions, sweet-herbs and spioe. The most common vegetable
garnish is green peas or sometimes cresses but try also ;

cooked endive or celery, turnips browned in butter, and

almost any kind of salad. As for potatoes with duck never. —
Brazed Duck .
—
The name is given not merely to duck
brazed in the ordinary way, but to any arrangement by
which it may be botli stewed and roasted, which is the
object of brazing. Let the duck be half roasted and then
stewed or let it be baked slowly in a stewpan and two
;

or three ounces of butter till it is well browned, and then

be stewed. This last is the simplest of the methods.
let it

Between the baking and the stewing, dredge in two table-

spoonfuls of flour, and stir it until well mixed with the
 1

Dutch 1 6

butter. Then pour in with salt, pepper, and a faggot of

pot-herbs, stock enough to cover the duck; let it boil up,
let it be skimmed, and let it simmer slowly for three-

quarters of an hour. Twenty or twenty- five minutes

before the duck is ready, turnips are to be put in with it,
which have been cut to shapes and browned in butter.
At last strain the sauce, remove the grease, see that the
seasoning is right, and if the sauce should be too thin, boil
itdown. Send the duck to table with the turnips. This
combination of duck and turnip is supposed in France
to belong as surely to- the eternal fitness of things as in
England it is held that the pre-established harmonies of the
universe reach their acme in roast duck and green peas.
There is an immense deal of nonsense talked, chiefly
in France, about the superlative qualities of the Rouen

—
duck as if Rouen meant the place. It is a corruption

of roan and the Roan duck is simply the tame duck which
;

has preserved the ruddy plumage of the wild one. The

French in a fine burst, of patriotism vow that all the ducks
of empurpled hue come from Rouen.

—
Dumplings. Half a pound of beef fat finely chopped ;

half a pound of flour half a pound of breadcrumbs, three

;

eggs, a tumblerful of milk, with salt and pimento are to' be

mixed well together, divided into balls the size of a turkey’s
egg, tied in cloths, and boiled three-quarters of an hour.

Norfolk Dumplings .
—A tumbler of milk, three eggs,
salt, and as much flour as will make a stiff batter. Drop
the batter in spoonfuls into boiling water, and let them
boil for ten minutes.

Fruit Dumplings .
—Fruit enveloped in paste No. 4. Line
a basin with the paste, put. in the fruit, cover it over, tie

it in a cloth, and boil it for a couple of hours.

Dutch schools of painting and of cookery have been

fond of the sea and of fish. Their fish sauce is pre-eminent

11
162 Duxelles

in Europe, producing so much goodness of result by such

simplicity of means, that it is perhaps the most useful
of all the sauces. Pray always bear in mind the precise
difference between the Dutch or Plolland and the English
sauce. Whereas the English use flour to make the vehicle
of their melted butter, the Dutch use yolk of egg ;
in the
one no egg, in the other no flour.

Dutch or Holland Sauce . — Sauce Hollandaise.- Heat —

to the boiling point two tablespoonfuls of water with
pepper, nutmeg and salt. Stir well into this two yolks
of eggs, but do not let it boil again. Melt gradually
into it four ounces of fresh butter with a whisk. It ought
to be a smooth, thick cream, and should be finished with
lemon-juice. It is an admirable sauce for fish, but when

served with vegetables (as asparagus, artichoke, cauli-

flower), it is usual to increase the quantity of acid.
An easier way for beginners. — Put all the above-named
ingredients together into a saucepan, which is to be placed
in a second saucepan half filled with cold water. Put it on
a moderate fire, stirring the inner saucepan continually. As
soon as the water in the outer one boils the sauce is ready.

Duxelles is the name given to a combination of mush-

rooms, parsley, and shalots, which are chopped together
finely and used for flavouring. It is convenient to have

a short name by which to refer to such combinations.

Others of the same order will be found, along with Dux-
elles, in the article on Faggots. But as Duxelles is to
most persons a word perfectly unintelligible Beauvilliers —
wrote it Ducelle, Viard Durcelle it has been proposed by —
the later authorities, Dubois, Bernard and Goufte, to
change the name to' that of Fine Herbs, which is even more
objectionable, as expressing too much. The mushroom is,

strictly speaking, a herb, but it would not obviously be

understood as and the mushroom is the central
such ;

figure of the Duxelles. Then, again, the epithet of fine,

 Duxelles 163

which has reference not to flavour, but to the mincing

-

can scarcely be claimed for the Duxelles as against other

faggots —the Ravigote, for example. The name of Dux-
elles will probably hold, because it commemorates, though
indirectly, the name of the artist who first brought the
combination into, prominence. La Varenne was the first

great French cook of modern times; and his cookery

book, published in Paris about 1650, may be described as,
on paper at least, the starting-point of modern cookery.
He was lord of the kitchen of the Marquis d’Uxelles; and.
he describes himself on the title-page of his book as
“ Escuyer de Cuisine de M. le Marquis d’Uxelles. It

was not he, however, who gave the name of Duxelles to

his mushrooms he called them Champignons a ’olivier.
: 1

What is the meaning of this name is not quite clear, but

the successors of La Varenne brushed it aside, and adopted
Duxelles instead, which did at least this much honour to.
—
La Varenne that it connected the mushroom alliance
which he favoured with the kitchen where it. originated.
The original receipt for the Mushrooms i 1 ’olivier is
worth quoting, for it will serve to show how the more
recent Duxelles differs from it. “ Cut them (that is, the
mushrooms) in quarters, and wash them in several waters.
Place them between two plates, with an onion and salt,
and then upon the chafing-dish that they may get rid of
their moisture. Press them between two plates. Then
take fresh butter with parsley and cibol, and fry (fricassez)
them. After that, set them to stew, and when they are
”
well done, you may add cream them or blancmanger.
to
In the course of time this receipt became developed
—
into what is now known as Duxelles- which is composed
of equal weights of mushrooms, parsley and shalots. These
are chopped very fine, and fried for five minutes in a
saucepan, with rasped bacon, pepper and salt. That is
the receipt of Beauvilliers, and it has been followed ever
since, though one may have leave to doubt whether it
164 Eel

is The parsley and the shalots,

altogether satisfactory.
each of equal weight with the mushrooms, overlay
being'

them and rob them of the importance which La Varenne

gave to them. The mushrooms become still further dwarfed
in the composition if an equal weight of truffles or truffle

trimmings should be added. It would be much better in

taste, and more respectful to La Varenne, to reduce the
quantity of parsley and shalots.

Duxelles Sauce is made by adding Duxelles to about

six times as much of Brown or Spanish sauce, and letting
it simmer for a little. In the receipt of Beauvilliers the
sauce is finished with yolks of eggs well beaten, but not
allowed to boil, and with lemon. These additions are not
necessary, and tend to load the sauce.

L.
— “ The eel,” says Badham, “ is found in

the East and West Indies, wriggling under

the ice of Greenland, and winding his way
without let or hindrance through the very
heart of the Celestial Empire : enjoying
every temperate latitude, and ubiquitous over the globe as
man himself. The all but universal spread of this species
makes its absence from some waters the more remarkable
and difficult to explain. Sometimes physical obstructions
seem sufficient to account for this, —as for instance for its

absence from the lake of Geneva, there being no inlet

hitherward up the Rhine but neither is it found in the
:

Danube, where no such difficulty occurs, and into which,

had eels the will, they might easily like other fish find a
way.” But eels are ways; and how
mysterious in their

little we know of therm may be gathered from a single

fact —that far and wide as they are spread, and long as they
have been loved by the races of mankind, we know next
to nothing of their matrimonial arrangements and their
 Eel 165

manner of birth. If there are births and marriages among

them, they certainly take care not to announce it in the
newspapers. No male, no female has ever been found
in roe. All we know is that there happens to be an
everlasting supply of infant eels ;
that the full-grown eels
have a suspicious way of not being very well in the months
of April, May and June; and that ever since the time of
Aristotle they have been observed to be pushing their
snouts up the rivers in spring and downwards in autumn.
Never has a secret been so well kept; never have clandes-
tine marriages been so successful.
The London market is chiefly supplied with eels from
Holland ;
but there are none so good as those caught in
the Thames, which are the most There are silvery of all.

four kinds the snig, the grig, the broad-nosed and the
:

sharp-nosed. The broad-nosed are the darkest and least

valued the sharp-nosed are the brightest and best and
; ;

those caught in the Thames, besides being remarkable for

their silvery appearance, surpass the Dutch eels in sweet-

ness of taste.
Skinning eels alive is a needless barbarity. Kill the
eel by piercing the spinal marrow just behind the head
with a skewer; but take care not to cut off the head, or
the eel will wriggle as if it were alive.

When a fish is naturally rich the simplest way of cooking

it ought always to be the There are excellent judges
best.
who prefer the eel plain-boiled in salt and water, sprinkled
in the dish with parsley and sage, and served with English

butter-sauce, sharpened with lemon-juice. Some, indeed,

enjoy it waterzootje. Strange to say, however, this very
rich fish is most appreciated when it is most disguised.
Take for example
Collared Eels .
—
This is the most approved method of
boiling the eel, if he is to be boiled at all. Skin, split
and bone a large Thames eel. Season it well, by rubbing
it with chopped parsley, sage, a sprig of lemon-thyme, and
1 66 Eel
mixed spices finely pounded. Roll it up, collar it with
tape,and boil it in salt and water. Serve it with a sharp
sauce —or say English sauce with plenty of lemon-juice.
Spitchcock — The name for a broiled
. though eel; it

might be applied to anything else done in the same way.

The word is so corrupt that it has come be used
to
ignorantly. It is a corruption of spitstuck, and is equi-
valent to the French en brochette. Anything done en
brochette, or on a skewer, might be called spitstuck or
spitchcock. It is really broiled and the following
;
is the
receipt for broiled eels. Slit up the eel and bone it ;
wash
and dry it; cut it in pieces about three or four inches
long ;
dredge these with flour, which is to be wiped off so
as to leave all dry. Dip the pieces in a thick batter made
of melted butter, yolk of eggs, minced parsley, sage,
shalot (very little shalot), pepper and salt. Roll them next
in fine breadcrumbs or in pounded biscuit. Dip them in
the batter again, and roll them again on the bread-crumbs.
The pieoes may now, to’ justify the name of spitchcock,
be impaled on small spits, or as the French say, en bro-

chette. But whether thus impaled or not, they are to be

broiled on or before a clear fire to a light-brown tint.

Eels may thus, too, be broiled whole, or they may be

roasted in a Dutch oven. Let them be sent to< table gar-
nished with parsley fried crisp, and with a sauceboat of
English butter-sauce sharpened with lemon-juice.

Fried, Eels, or Eels a la Tartare . —Cut the eels in pieces

three or four inches long, and them cook for .twenty let

minutes in a Mirepoix of red wine; let them also cool

in the liquor, which ought to> be nearly a jelly when cold.

Take out the pieces, and roll them in fine breadcrumbs,

dip them in two or three yolks of eggs which have been
beaten up in the liquor. Roll them again in the bread-
crumbs, and fry them. Serve them with Tartar sauce.
The English way is much more simple. If they are to be
 Eel 167

boiled at all beforehand, it is enough to do so in water,

salt and vinegar. But this preliminary process is often
dispensed with. The eels are cut in pieces and boned,
rubbed with salt, pepper, and mixed spices, brushed with
egg, and rolled in crumbs. They are then fried, and
sent to table with fried parsley and Tartar sauce. Fried
eels come to be expensive inasmuch as the fat in which they
are fried will not serve for other fish.

Stewed Eels .
—Chop small two shalots and pass them
in a little butter for five or six minutes. Add some red
wine and a faggot of parsley, together with a spoonful
of vinegar, nutmeg, pepper and salt. Put the pieces of
eel into this, and let them stew for twenty-five or thirty
minutes. Take the eel out and keep it hot till its sauce is

ready, which sauce will be made in the following manner :

— Add butter and flour to' the liquor in which the eel has
stewed, together with a little essence of anchovies. Cook
this for about ten minutes. Then dish the eel and strain
the sauce over Stewed eels may also take the form of
it.

a matelote with any amount of garniture; or they may be

served in a poulette sauce.

Eel Pie .
—This used to be a famous pie, but we hear
little of it now. The Richmond receipt :
following is the —
Skin, cleanse, and bone two Thames eels. Cut them in
pieces and chop two small shalots. Pass the shalots in

a little butter for five or six minutes, and then add to

them a small faggot of parsley chopped, with nutmeg,
pepper, salt, and two glasses of sherry. In the midst
of this deposit the eels, add enough water to cover them,
and set them on the fire to boil. When the boiling point
is reached, take out the pieces of eel and arrange them

in a pie-dish. In the meantime add to the sauce two

ounces of butter kneaded with two ounces of flour, and
let them incorporate by stirring over the fire. Finish
the sauce with the juice of a whole lemon, and pour it
 1 68 Eggs
among- and over the pieces of eel in the pie-dish. Some
slices of hard-boiledegg may be cunningly arranged on
the top and in among the lower strata. Roof the whole
with puff-paste bake it for an hour and lo a pie worthy
; ;
!

of Eel-pie Island. It is a great question, debated for ages

on Richmond Hill, whether this pie is best hot or cold.
It is perfect either way.

Eggs. —There an old philosophic question Which

is —
was produced first, the egg or the hen? Theologians might
perhaps decide for the egg, on the ground that all birds’
eggs are innocent and good for food, but all the birds
themselves are not. It is difficult, however, to imagine

how the world got on before the barndoor fowl was tarned
and taught to lay regularly. The culture of the egg is one
of the great events of civilisation, and has yielded an ali-
ment of the rarest delicacy, of unfailing resource, and of
magical variety. Nothing in the way of food more simple
than an egg, and nothing so quick and marvellous in its
manifold uses and transformations. There are said to be
about 600 ways of serving an egg -

,
over and above the uses
to which it may be put in creams, custards, leasons, sauces,
and cakes. Here it is possible to enumerate only a few of
the most popular receipts, omitting the pancake and the
omelette, which will be described under their proper names.
In general, it will be found that the simpler preparations
are the most in favour. The 'egg may be said to come
ready cooked from the hand of nature — a masterpiece not
easily to be improved by mortal cooks.

Boiled Eggs .
—These Columbus,
are, like the egg of
simplicity But a word may be useful on the way
itself.

to cook eggs at table in a bowl. Pour boiling water over

a couple of them in a bowl, and cover them with a plate.
In from twelve to fifteen minutes they are ready. The
delicious little eggs of the guinea-fowl are ready in ten
minutes.
 ;

Eggs 169

I’oached Eggs. — Have water with a

and a dash little salt

of vinegar in it simmering in a shallow saucepan. Break

each egg into a teacup, and quickly turn the cup over into
1

the saucepan, so as to stand bottom upwards in the water

with the egg inside. In a few seconds the egg will be set,
and the cup can be removed. Proceed in like manner with
the other eggs, them simmer
and let till done enough.
Serve the eggs when done on buttered toast, on spinach,
in soup, or on the top of minced meat.

Fried. Eggs, according to the English way, are not to

be thought of they are a villainy.
: The egg is fried with
a very little butter or bacon fat, in a large frying-pan —
spreads out, and becomes on its edges thin and hard as
parchment. There are but two> ways of frying an egg
properly. One is the Proven£al method of poaching it in
hot oil or fat the other is known by the odd name of

Eggs on the Dish, or Buttered Eggs —because they are

generally served on the dish in which they are cooked.
This dish is a small flat saucer, which used to be of tinned
iron, but is now made of earthenware to stand the fire. It

may be of any size 1

—to hold a single egg or any number

—the wall of the dish hemming the egg or eggs round so
as to prevent too much spreading. Melt a little butter in
the dish, sprinkle it with salt, break into it the required
number of eggs, fry them for a couple of minutes on a
spirit-lamp or on the top of the stove, shake salt and pepper
over them, and they are ready.

Eggs in Black Butter. — Use somewhat more butter than

for the foregoing, and before putting the eggs in let the
butter become a rich brown. Put in the eggs let them ;

fry for a couple of minutes and at the last pour over

;

them a small spoonful of hot vinegar.

Eggs in sunshine (CEufs au soleil'l called by the Italians —
Eggs in purgatory. Take some eggs on the dish, and when
they are finished pour over them some tomato sauce.
170

Eggs in moonshine take their name from the well-known

fact that the moon is made of green cheese. Prepare some
eggs on the dish as above, and sprinkle them with grated
cheese —
Parmesan or Gruyfere. Also some cheese may be
melted with the butter in the bottom of the dish before it

receives the eggs.

Scrambled Eggs (GEufs brouillds). — Six eggs, two ounces

of butter, a wineglassful of milk, with pepper, salt, and, if

liked, a little nutmeg. Whip these in a saucepan over the

fire with a wire whisk till the eggs begin to set : then take
the saucepan off, but keep on stirring for a couple of
minutes more. Serve it with fried crusts or with buttered
toast. Variety is given to these eggs by mixing them with
asparagus points, or chopped parsley, or truffles, or mush-
rooms, or bacon, according to taste.

Fondue is a name given to scrambled eggs intermingled

with grated Gruyere —but there is a difference in the pro-
portion used. Weigh the eggs-— an egg is supposed to
weigh from one-and-a-half to' two ounces. Take one-third
of their weight of grated Gruyere, and one-sixth of their
weight of butter. Stir all in ai saucepan on the fire, and
then off the fire, as directed for scrambled eggs, and add
pepper. Why the name Fondue (melted) — and Fondue
in the feminine, too —
should be reserved for this, and this
alone, is not quite clear.

Eggs and Onions —sometimes called Eggs h la tripe. —

Cut some onions in slices, blanch them, drain them, pass
them add a spoonful of Hour with pepper and
in butter,

salt, and moisten them with a tumblerful of milk or of

broth. Stew them slowly in this for half an hour. Then

take six hard-boiled eggs, cut the white in slices, mix them
with the onion, and serve them, placing the hard yolks on
the top uncut.
The Monster Egg . — Break a dozen or two of eggs,
separating the whites from the yolks. — Tie up the yolks in
 ;

Endive 1 7i

a pig ’s bladder, boil them hard, and take them out again.
In a still larger bladder place the whites; into the midst
of this put the yolk ;
tie up the bladder tight ;
and boil

the whole till the white hardens. Uncover the monster

egg, and serve it on a bed of spinach or other vegetable.
This is a French jest in imitation of the great Madagascar
eggs of the Epiornis Maximus, which would contain about
twelve dozen hens’ 'eggs.

Egg Sauce . — Boil three or four eggs for a quarter of an

hour, chill them in cold water, remove the shells, cut them
into dice, stir all into a boatful of English sauce, and
serve hot. The best egg sauce is made with turkey’s eggs
and perhaps a better way of presenting the eggs is to cut

only the whites into dice, but to press the yolks through a
wire sieve, in which case they will come out like vermicelli.

Endive, as known at our tables, is of three kinds, one of

which may be dismissed with a word. It is the wild endive
or succory, called in France Barbe de Capucin, and ex-
cellent as a salad in the winter time. The other two kinds
are the curly-leaved endive, often called chicory, and the
broad-leaved or Batavian endive, always known in France
as the escarole. Many persons in England when they eat
this last never know that it is endive — it looks so like a
cabbage-lettuce.

Endive for garnish —

Boil it like cabbage for twenty-five
.-

minutes cool it, drain it, and press out the water. Then
;

chop it very fine, salt it, and toss it in a stewpan with an

ounce of butter and one of flour. Add to it gradually
about half a pint of broth, still tossing and stirring. Last
of all, finish it with another ounce of butter and some
' grated nutmeg.

Endive Salad .
—When the French prepare this salad,
they always like to have with it, as what they call fourniture,

giving an accessory flavour, a chapon. This is the name

 172 English Sauce

by which a crust of bread rubbed with garlic is known.

The chapon, thrown into the salad and mixed with it
vigorously, imparts its garlic flavour to the endive. Many
people may not enjoy this garlic. Let them try instead
slices of a raw tomato intermingled with the endive.

English Sauce — the so-called melted butter, said to be

the one English sauce. We might expect the one English
sauce to be always made in perfection, and especially as
nothing can be more simple. On the contrary, it is pro-
verbial for its villainy and its resemblance to bill-stickers’
paste, which is the result not only of carelessness but very
often of stinginess. People who will go to great expense
for fish will, to save twopence-halfpenny, stint the quantity
of butter necessary for a good sauce. The sauce is the
result of two processes which are quite distinct; and all
the many failures of it are due, even where there is no
stint of butter, to the fact that as commonly made it is the
result of but one process.
Act First. Knead an ounce of fresh butter into a paste
with an equal quantity of sifted flour, some salt, nutmeg
and mignonette pepper; dilute it with a gill, or even a
gill and a half, of warm water; stir it on the fire till it

boils let it boil for three minutes that is, till the flour is —
—
;

cooked and then pass it through the pointed strainer.

This is what many people call melted butter : they think
that with the first act there is an end of the business. But
even if four times the quantity of butter were used it would
not produce a good sauce, for butter cooked in this way
loses much of its flavour. The first act makes no melted
butter; it only makes a vehicle for the melted butter which
is to come.
Act Second. The vehicle being boiling hot, mix in at
the last, when the sauce is to be served, three more ounces
of butter, stirring it quickly with a wire whisk. This
butter is not to be cooked —only melted, as its name indi-
 —

Entrees 173

cates; and in order to melt it quickly without cooking- it,

the butter, which should be of the best, is often divided

into small pieces before being thrown in. Take it off the
firein the moment of melting, add to it a few drops of

lemon-juice, and serve it at once. Act First may be per-

formed at any time, hours before the sauce, which may be
kept hot. in the bain marie, is wanted. Act Second is to be
deferred till the last moment.
When this sauce is served with asparagus or cauliflower
add a tablespoonful of cream to it, and either increase the
lemon-juice or use a teaspoonful of white-wine vinegar.

Entrecote. A rib-steak. This is prized in France as

next to the fillet-steak. There are good judges in England
who declare that the rib-steak of English or Scotch beef is

the best of all steaks.

—
Entrees and Entremets. Few English people have a
clear idea what is the difference between entries and entre-
mets, and yet upon this hangs the whole significance of
the French arrangement of dinner, which has certainly
been thought out with great care and with the finest
artistic feeling. The same cannot be said of the English
dinner good as it is, the arrangement is not good, and
:

comes down as an evil legacy from ancestors who were

undoubtedly giants in their powers of mastication and
digestion. It is one of the rules of English life that, after
the soup, a dinner must always begin with fish, which is

never to appear later on, unless perhaps in the form of

crab pie or lobster salad when game fails. The rule, in
its first part of ancient standing, belonged also to the old
French service of the table and Careme, when he under-
;

took to rearrange the order of the dinner, did not dare to

put it aside for great occasions, though for small dinner
parties of six or nine he invariably rejected it. The
aphorism of Brillat-Savarin is not to be disputed, that
the progression of dishes should be from the more sub-
 ;

i74 Entrees

stantial to the light and delicate. Fish is usually con-

sidered more delicate and less substantial than meat
but always in an English dinner it is attacked first,

when the appetite ismost robust, and it would be an

appalling breach of good manners to ask for it in the later
stages of the repast, when the appetite is satisfied, declines

all serious business, and will only play with food. The
theory of the English dinner is that we are to work up by
slow degrees to the grand event of the dinner — the Joint.
The fish and the side-dishes are but the walk and the canter
before the race. This is all very well as a metaphor, but
metaphors are misleading. There are two great objections
to the system. The first is that it makes no provision

for persons of weak digestion, who come faint to a late

who resolve to
dinner, content themselves with the joint,
and who have to wait an hour or more while the
for it

side dishes are being devoured. The second is that whereas

the order of dishes lead up to the joint, this joint is nearly
always a roast, and immediately afterwards the second
course begins with another roast namely of game. These —
two roasts, one upon the heels of another, are surely a
mistake, and extremely inartistic.
The French service of the table, as remodelled by Careme,
is better devised, and proceeds upon the principle

already mentioned of a progression from the more solid and

plain dishes to the lighter and more curious. The dinner
has two courses and two only, which are signalised by the
two names of entrees and entremets. The first course
consists of entries with a joint to begin with. Tire second
course consists of entremets with a roast to begin with.
First Course .
—The soup is served with the first course,
but it is, properly speaking, no part of it, and is rather a
natural preface to the whole dinner. We sit down tired,

and want a few mouthfuls of something to set us up. We

imbibe the soup, our spirits are restored, and we are then
ready to begin the dinner in its first course— the entries.
 Entrees 1 75

These are of two kinds, the great and the small. The small
ones we all know; the large ones are not always reckoned
as such, because they are known by other names — Releves
in French, Removes in English, so called simply because
they take the place of the soup tureens. And here the Eng-
lishman begins to get confused. These removes or large
entrees do not seem to him to have the character of entrees
at all. Perhaps one of them is a fish probably the other is
;

what the French call an entree de broche-—what he would

call a joint. One of the removes being a fish, he is willing
to discuss it at once, though he would be gravely scanda-
lised at the nation of calling it an entree —
a name which he
always associates with made dishes but the other being a
;

joint, and probably a roasted or brazed one, he thinks it

ought to be postponed to the place in the dinner which is

especially allotted to the roast, so that he may eat all his

roasts together. In the French, or at least in the original

idea, the removes are entries not less than the little dishes
which are commonly so called, though it must be allowed
that in later practice it is usual to class them as something
distinct from entries. But be the name what it may, if
people must have a joint, or remove, or pi&ce de resistance
to fall upon, then the proper place for it, in the French
idea, is at the beginning of the first course and not at the
end. There are only two limitations as to the nature of
these joints, removes or large entrees, and neither of these
is very strict. The first is that to give them the character
of an entrde they should be accompanied bv a good sauce
or dainty vegetable garnish ;
the second that they should
not include fowl or winged game, which are best reserved
for the roast proper.
Second Course .
—
As the first course began with sub-
stantial and rather plain dishes, the removes, tapering off
into the more delicate entries, it is assumed that the dinner
is now prepared to run a second race of entremets, begin-
ning with something plain and substantial in the form of a
 176 Entrees

little roast. But in France, the word Roast has a wider

signification than in England — it includes a Friture. Frying
is indeed but a mode of roasting, and it would be orthodox
in France, though not too common, to begin the second
course with a fried fish. If a choice of several roasts were

offered, one of them might well be a fried fish, and the list
of roasts in France would include a baked haddock, an eel
from the spit, and all manner of pies. Try and imagine the
countenance of an Englishman aghast at the sight of fried
gudgeons offered to him for a roast at the commencement
of the second course. And yet —for all depends on the
previous selection —
gudgeons may at this point of the
fried
dinner be perfectly artistic. There is truly no reason in the
Englishman’s hard-and-fast rule of eating fried gudgeons
only at the beginning of dinner. It is to be presumed

that when the second course has come most persons want
only to nibble and the French service of the dinner keeps
:

this wish clearly in view and ministers to it. The roast

to begin with is not too solid, and the entremets in succes-
sion are 'as light as possible, confined for the most part to
vegetable dishes, delicate pastry, eggs, cakes, creams,
tarts,and sweets. By way of example, take the minutes of
—
two of Careme’s dinners the first for February', the second
for November.

Fevrier : Menu de six k neuf couverts.

Un potage - - Le potag-e au c^leri.

I.

line gross e piece La pi&ce de bceuf k la Flamande.

Deux entries Les papillotes de filets de carpe & la Duxelles.
Les perdreaux k la Pib-igord.

II.

Un plat de rot - Le ehapon au cresson.

Deux entremets - Les oeufs k la Dauphine.
Le gel^e de fraises (conserve).
Pour extra - - Les darioles k l'orang-e.
 — -

Epicure 1 77

Here it is to be observed that the dinner begins with the

joint, and that the fish is among the entries — the game also.

Novembre : Menu de six ii neuf couverts.

Un potage - - - Le potage de semoule au consommL

I.

Une grosse piece - La pi&ce de boeuf 4 la Mar^chale.

Deux entries - - Les perdreaux a la Perigueux.
Les poulets d^pec^s k l'ltalienne.

II.

Un plat de rot - Les merlans frits patios k l’Anglaise.

Deux entremets - Les epinards au veloutL
La gel4e au vin de Madfere.
Pour extra - - - Les manons d’abricots.

Here, again, it will be seen that the grosse pi&ce, or joint,

comes first; and see what the roast is fried whitings with —
their tails in their mouths and breadcrumbed after the
English fashion.
In 1856
Dubois and Bernard published their great work,
La Cuisine Classique, and laid down clearly the law of
the F rench table as regards roasts and joints and there :

has been no change since then. They give a list of forty-

five roasts —of which nine are different sorts of fish —
whitings, cod, smelts, carp, mullets, trout, etc.— to be fried
or grilled all the rest being fowl or game. They point out
;

that in some countries lamb appears among the roasts, but

insist that this is an infraction of the g'ood rule that joints
of butcher’s meat should be eaten at the beginning of
dinner —an infraction which would never be tolerated except
in a repast without ceremony, what the French call a
bourgeois and the English a family dinner.

Epicure. The name of Epicurus is a standing proof of

-

the irony and bitterness of life. A philosopher who mag-

nified the pleasures of the mind, his name is appropriated
to those who cultivate the pleasures of the body. Happi-

12
 “ ;

i/8 Epigram

ness for him lay in calm, in content, in contemplation

happiness for all those who take his name lies in the
and the ceaseless ministering
restless titillation of appetite
to insatiable desire. No doubt the philosopher went too
far in the exaltation of spirit but that is no reason why ;

those who usurp his name should go still further in the

exaltation of the senses. We are not all mind, neither are
we all body but the master was much nearer the truth than
;

his so-called disciples who reverse his doctrines. Appetite

is a mean thing by itself alone, and though we cannot get
rid of it, the less we say of it the better. Call it hunger
or thirst or lust, there is in it by itself something mean and
unlovely ;
it is not until it rises out of itself, inspired with
wit and imagination, with romance and remembrance,
with kindness of heart and all the tenderness, it may some-

times be which link us to

folly, each other and make up
the delight of life and the courtesies of society, that love
turns to poetry, and hunger and thirst, as at a banquet
of the gods, compel the feast of reason and the flow of
soul.

Epigram. —
I have been dining,” said a French noble-

man toone of those wealthy but often ignorant tax-farmers

who used to be called financiers in France “ I have been
—
dining with a poet who regaled us at dessert with a choice
epigram.” The financier went home to his cook, and asked
him, “ How comes it that you never send any epigrams to
my table? ” The next day the cook sent to table an

Epigram of Lamb .
— Poetical epigrams are generally
written in alternate verse; and epigrams of lamb consist
of alternate cutlets. One set of cutlets are of the ordinary
kind, cut from the neck, and fried plain in clarified butter :

the other kind are made out of the breast of lamb, which
is brazed, boned, pressed between two dishes, and when
cold carved into cutlet shapes, with a bit of bone stuck into
each at one end to complete the likeness. These cutlets
 — —

Essence 179

are breadcrumbed before they are fried. To serve them,

pile in the centre of the dish a garnish of asparagus points,
of peas, or of Macedon ;
arrange round it alternately the
plain cutlets and the breadcrumbed ones, and let them be
convoyed to table by a boatful of Bechamel.

Epigram of Fowl . — Here the fillets of fowl supply the

place of the plain cutlets ;

the legs, boned and brazed, are
made into breadcrumbed ones, and the sauce is Supreme,
with the same garnish as for Lamb; or else the Toulouse
relish supplies the place of garnish and sauce.

Esau's Pottage. —The soup of lentils —commonly called

Chantilly. The same process as for pea soup.

Escalopes. — English bad enough in their

cooks are
corruptions, but the French ones beat them hollow, and
then the English ones, to show off their learning, take up
the absurd French names and flourish them as titles of
nobility. The sandwich has gone over to France, and has
been transformed into a Snit mich the veal cutlet has ;

passed into a Wil cotelette the mince-pies are Miss Paes

;
:

and whisky, or rather usquebagh, has become Scubac. I

expect every day to see the Snit mich, the Wil cotelette,
the Scubac, and Miss Paes come back to England. So
there are many cooks here who now begin to speak of
escalopes of veal and of other meat. The man who says
escalope when he means collop deserves a whipping. I am
reminded of two lines in Shakespeare
God knows thou art a collop of my flesh,
And for thy sake I have shed many a tear.

Espagnole. — See Spanish.

Essence. There is something of humbug in this. We

have essence of ham, essence of truffles, essence of chicken,
essence of game. These are decoctions or purges contain-
ing as much as possible of the flavours which the cook, by
 i8o Faggots

his processes, can concentrate into a little space —and that

much is very little indeed. It is the old story of Bertrand,
cook to the Prince of Soubise, pretending to put a whole
ham into a scent-bottle. It is a jest which Charles Lamb
imagined when, in describing the manner of Munden the
actor, he said that it seemed as if he could see a leg of
mutton in its quiddity.

SGOTS are to the kitchen garden what

bouquets or nosegays are to the flower
garden, and the French indeed use the word
bouquet to designate some of the combina-
tions which are here called faggots in exten-
sion of a well-known phrase. It is useful to be able by a

word to nameonce a constantly recurring assortment of

at
vegetables or herbs used for seasoning. When we speak of
a faggot of parsley, a faggot of herbs, a faggot of ravi-
gote, it is at once known what
sort of a posy we want to
make The term, however, is here extended to any
up.
other known and useful collection of pot-herbs such —
as the Duxelles and the Mirepoix. But it Is important
in fixing upon a name to be sure that it is distinctive.
Any inexperienced person looking through the cookery
books will be sorely puzzled to make out the difference
between the faggots peculiar to Braze, White Braze,
Blanc, Poele, and Mirepoix. Where one cook makes a
difference, another makes none. All the highly-flavoured
vegetables, herbs and spices seem to be amassed in every
combination, as if it would be improper to leave any of

them out. There is not only seldom a marked difference

—
between one and other there is never any general agree-
ment as to what the difference shall be. The reader must
accept the following enumeration not as perfect nor as
 — 1

Faggots 1 8

universally received, but as an attempt to make out a list

which shall be at once clear and free from useless

repetition :

1. Faggot of Parsley. —This is a little bunch of parsley

tied up with cibols or spring onions. It is in French

called a bouquet.

2. Faggot of Sweet-herbs. —What the French call a

bouquet garni. This used to be described as a faggot of
parsley with the addition of a bayleaf and a sprig of thyme.
As in practice, however, when this faggot is used, there
are onions or shalots besides, the cibols or spring onions
of the parsley faggot come to be of small account. It is

better, therefore, to leave out the cibols, and to describe

it as made up of parsley, bayleaf and thyme.

3 Faggot of Ravigote. Tarragon, chervil, burnet,

- —
and chives. Sometimes there is parsley, but it is quite un-
necessary besides the tarragon and the chervil ;
and a
it is

good illustration of the indiscriminate fashion in which

cooks throw in one good thing after another. It is the
old story of the artist who could paint a cypress and
therefore put a cypress into all his pictures, no matter
what the subject. Parsley is a good thing, and therefore
cooks will strew it everywhere. See the article on Ravi-
gote —only here note that for the most part this faggot is

got together to be chopped.

4. Faggot Dubois and Bernard have

of Duxelles. —
called this Fine Herbs
and Gouffe, without adopting the
;

name, has given his opinion in favour of it. There are

reasons why we should still keep to the old French name
of Duxelles —
which see. Ever since Beauvilliers laid down
the law, the faggot of Duxelles has consisted of equal
weights of mushrooms, parsley, and shalots, minced finely
together and fried for five minutes with rasped bacon,
pepper and salt. In later times, those who can get it add
an equal weight of truffles. It is a question, however,
 182 Feast

whether the quantity of parsley and of shalots is not

excessive. mind of the inventor the mushrooms
In the
were intended to predominate. But if to half a pound of
mushrooms you put half a pound of parsley, and on the
top of that half a pound of shalots, it scarcely stands to
reason that the mushrooms should have much the best of
it.

Faggot of Mirepoix
5. .
—
Two carrots, two onions, two
shalots, two bayleaves, a sprig of thyme, a clove of garlic,
half a pound of fat bacon, and possibly half a pound of
ham. Chop these finely and pass them in butter for five
minutes, with pepper and salt. For further explanation
see Mirepoix.

6. Faggot of Pot-Herbs .- —The following receipt is nearly

identical with what the French cooks call Poele, only that
it wants veal and ham for reasons which will be found
in the article Mirepoix. Take two carrots, two onions,
two cloves, and a faggot of sweet-herbs ;
mince all finely

with half a pound of beef fat, and melt it on a slow fire

with a little broth and salt, and the juice of at least one
lemon. It will be observed that the chief difference between
this and the Mirepoix is that it has less of the onion tribe in
it, that it has a quantity of lemon-juice, and that fresh fat is

substituted for the smoky bacon fat. If this faggot be put

into a saucepan with no broth, but plenty of water (say
three quarts), together with some flour, and if it be then
boiled for half an hour and strained, the resulting liquor is
what the French cooks call Blanc.

Fawn — to be stuffed and roasted like a hare, barded

with bacon.

Feast. — “ The Great Feast at the enthronisation of the

Reverend Father in God, George Neville, Archbishop of
York and Chancellor of England, in the sixth year of the
 —
Finance 183

reign of King Edward IV. (1466). And first, the goodly

provision made for the same :

Wheat - -v qrs. 300 Pigeons - - - - 4000

Ale - - tuns 300 Coneys - - - - 4000
- 204
Wine _ - tuns 100 In bitterns - -

Hippocras - - pipe 1 Heronshaws - - - 400

Oxen - - 104 Pheasants - - - - 200
Wild Bulls - _ 6 Partridges - - - 500
Muttons - - _ 1000 Woodcocks - 400
Veals - - 304 Curlews - - - - 100
Porks - - 304 Egrettes - 1000
Swans - - 400 Stags, bucks and roes 500 & more
Geese _ _ 2000 Pasties of venison cold 4000
Capons - - 1000 “ Parted ” dishes of jelly - 1000
Pigs - - 2000 Plain dishes of jelly - 3000
Plovers - - 400 Cold tarts baked 4000
Quails - - 1200 Hot pasties of venison 1500
Of the fowls called Reeves 2400 Hot custards - - - 2000
In peacocks - - 104 Pikes and breams 608
Mallards and teals - 4000 Porpoises and seals - 12
In cranes - - - 204 Spices, sugared delicates
In kids - - 204 and wafers - Plenty.”
In chickens - - 2000

Fennel Sauce.- — Fennel blanched, chopped, and added

to English butter sauce. Generally reserved for boiled

mackerel.

Feuilletage. — Puff paste.

Finance, to which French cookery paid homage, meant

taxes; and the Financiers were tax-farmers, who filled
the coffers of the state, and made their own fortunes too,
amid the groans and execrations of the people. The words
have a larger meaning now but still financing has from
;

age to age the same characteristics, and the money-making

class the same tastes and foibles. Newly rolling in wealth,
the financiers are apt to be gaudy in their tastes and
luxurious in their lives. 1 he cooks have done them the
honour to invent for their especial behoof the Financiers
 184 Fine Herbs

Ragout or Relish. The receipt for it is given among the

Relishes (No. 1). It abounds in mushrooms to remind them
of their upstart origin; in truffles to signify by the fra-
grant fruits of earth-grubbing the precious results of
money-grubbing ;
in cocks’ combs emblematic
of conceit; in
quenelles, a delicate transformation of chicken, hinting
at
the transfiguring influence of wealth; and in collops of
sweetbread to melt in the mouth, and make the financier,
though his heart be hard, feel the softness of life. These
and other dainties are bathed in the
Financiers Sauce, which is the finest Spanish sauce
mingled with essences of mushrooms, truffles, and
chicken, exhilarated with Madeira wine and reduced to a
cullis.

Fine-Herbs. —Dubois, Bernard, and Gouffe, the chief

recent authorities France, have proposed
in give to this
name to a Duxelles — that mince mushrooms,
is, a of
parsley and shalots. Have they any right to disturb the
more ancient meaning of the phrase? Everybody has
heard of the omelet with fine-herbs. Are we to understand
this henceforth as an omelet with minced mushrooms in it

as well as minced parsley and onions? If not, what is the

use of confusing terms? Fine-herbs are indefinite: in the
omelet they mean one combination in the beefsteak they ;

may mean another, for they often include tarragon ;

and
there is something arbitrary in proposing to confine them
to the Duxelles assortment.

Fish one of the greatest luxuries of the table, and is

is

so abundant, at least near the seaboard, that it ought to be

within reach of the poorest. Unfortunately it is, after
game, the dearest of all food, and it is not easy to under-
stand why. The Irish died of starvation in their famine of
potatoes ;
they had an inexhaustible supply of fine fish
about their coasts, which were of little or no use to them.
No one can say that fish is undervalued in London we :
 Fish 185

are all eager for it; but it is excessively dear, whereas it

ought to be excessively cheap. If it were the fishermen

who demanded the big price, we could sympathise with
them ;
they risk their lives for our good, and they should
be well paid. But a first-class trawler considers himself
well paid he can 3d. a pound for the best of his fish.
if

Why are we to pay in London and all over England

is. and is. 6d. a pound for fish which the trawlers deliver

on the shore to the salesmen at 2}4d. and 3d. a pound?

There is no great trade in the world which is allowed to
make such profit as that of the fish salesmen; and there is

no trade with which co-operative societies could interfere

more advantageously for the benefit of families.
—
For cooking fish one thing is clear if it is of the first :

order and perfectly fresh, do not give too much heed to

French directions. The only safe guides are the English
and the Dutch. The French, when they settled their
methods of cooking fish, did not get it so fresh as it was to
—
be had in England and in Holland it was generally a day
older. When a noble fish— a salmon or a turbot is quite —
fresh, the simplest way of cooking it is the best, and it is
impossible to improve upon the English and Dutch
methods. On when the fish is poor, or a
the other hand,
day older than need French cooks can give many a
be, the
good hint, and their rich sauces and garnishings, their
marinades and matelotes have a magical effect. There are
few dishes more worthy of honour than a carp a la Cham-
bord, a sole in a Normandy matelote, the remains ol a
turbot in a cream au gratin, or the tasteless little river cray-
fish done up a la Bordelaise.

With regard to the freshness of fish, however, there is a

remarkable difference to be noted. Some fish will keep
perfectly sweetand fresh longer than others and we can ;

even detect a law in this distinction. Divide fish into

those which keep to the surface of the water and those
which hold to the ground. It may be presumed that the
 —
i86 Flounder

former require more air than the latter, and that when
they cease to breathe freely they deteriorate. As a matter
of fact we find that those fish which disport near the
surface of the water —mackerel, salmon, trout, herring
die and decay soon. They cannot be cooked too fresh. On
the other hand, fish that haunt the bottom of the sea or of
rivers —carp, eels, skate, and all the flat fish — are tenacious
of and may be kept quite fresh
life, for some time after
they have left the water.

Fish Broth . —There are the most elaborate soups of fish.

Gouffe gives one which he calls a consomme, and which
requires among other ingredients a kilogramme of turbot-
heads. Where is one to get a kilogramme of the heads of
a fish which singly costs in the season from 15s. to 30s.?
In general a fish broth is very simple. Take almost any
kind of removing the skin from those which may be
fish,

too fishy, and stew them down with vegetables in the same
way as for beef broth. Some people choose to add white
French wine; some add beef broth; and one of the charms
of a fish soup is to have pieces of fish served in it. The
grand point is first of all to get the fish broth good, clear,
and free from fat. In France and the Channel Islands the
—
conger eel skinned and sliced is much used for boiling —
down to broth, which when clarified is served with rice and
minced parsley, together with flakes of cod, haddock or
salmon, fillets of sole, whiting or flounder, pieces of crab or
lobster, or with oysters, mussels, prawns, shrimps.

Flounder. —The best of all the flounders is not a

flounder, but a dab. As, however, it would be impossible
for any respectable person to eat a fish with the name of
dab, it has been agreed that the dab shall be called a
Thames flounder. These flounders are the fish most
favoured at Greenwich for waterzootje, and when they
are small and plump, they are sweet and melt in the

mouth. If a flounder is to be fried, it is best to fry it in

 Force7iieat 1
87

fillets. The true flounderbe distinguished from all

may
other flat fish by having on his upper side a row of sharp
little spines along the junction of his fins with his body.

Fontenelle must remembered at table

always be
because he said a very stupid thing which he fancied was
—
wise “ Let men,” he said, ‘‘ reason from this and from
that about my present existence I am only a stomach :
:

it is very little, but I am content with it.” Magnify the

pleasures of the table as we may, he is a poor wretch who
is content with his stomach, and thinks it all in all.

Fontenelle also said that the secret of happiness is to have

the heart cold and the stomach warm. This is not well
said ;
what one should expect from a gourmet.
neither is it

The nature of the gourmet is to be genial, not cynical.

The stomach and the heart are the Damon and the Pythias
of the human frame, and when the heart is wretched the
stomach will often console it. Henry Beauclerc was never
known to smile after the death of his son, but he found
solace in lampreys, and died from a surfeit of them. The
Marshal de Mouchy discovered that pigeons were con-
solatory. When a friend or relative died, he would say to
his cook —
“ Roast pigeons to-day. 1 notice that when I
have eaten two pigeons, 1 rise from table comforted.”

Forcemeat.- —The French name for it is farce, and their

use of it tends to farce— a display of the prowess of Jack-

pudding. They swell out their viands, and surround them
with farce, quenelles of whiting, quenelles of chicken,
godiveau plain, godiveau with herbs, boudin, gratin, force-
meat shaped into balls, shaped into eggs, shaped into
corks, farce inside the meat, farce coating it and masking
it, farce swimming around it ;
so that often the dish pro-
fessing to be solid meat proves to be mainly farce. When
a French cook he takes every morsel of the
stuffs a carp,

fish except the head and the tail, he pounds it with other
ingredients into stuffing, which he moulds into the likeness
 1 88 Forcemeat

of the dear departed, putting the head at one end and the
tail at the other to look like nature. Certainly the French -

make excellent farce; but a little goes a long way,

of it

especially with people who are not dependent upon pap,

and who have not yet come to substitute the action of
pestle and mortar for that of their own good grinders.
We, therefore, who
are in good health, and have not lost
our powers of mastication, must entreat the cooks to be
moderate in their farces, and to spare their stuffing.
I

1. Quenelle. I his
the finest of the French force-
is

meats, and will be described under its own name, both on

account of its pre-eminence, and because it involves a little
critical discussion.

2. Godiveau —
lake veal and ox-kidney fat in propor-
.

tions which vary according to taste and the season of the

year. The never less than the veal sometimes it is
fat is
;

double the quantity most commonly it is between the two

;

— namely, half as much again as the veal let us say, :

eight ounces of veal to twelve of beef fat. They are both

to be picked perfectly free of skin and thready fibres, and
to be chopped very small. Season them with pepper, salt,
nutmeg and, still chopping, add two whole eggs one at —
a time—
;

until they are well mixed. Then transfer all to a

mortar, along with a spoonful or two of very cold water in
winter, or an ounce or two of ice in the
summer; and it is in
summer, by the way, that the quantity of fat must be a
minimum, for fear of its turning. Keeping all as chilly as
possible, pound it briskly until into a smooth
it is mixed
paste. If any sign of melting, use more ice, or
there is

take the godiveau out upon a plate and chill it in the ice-
box. When the godiveau has become soft and smooth, it
is to be rolled on a marble slab with flour, and divided into

balls or sticks lightly powdered over with flour, which are

finally to be poached in water or broth, and used for a

garnish of various dishes.

 ;

Forcemeat 189

3. Godiveau with herbs. —When shalots, chives and

parsley are chopped and pounded with the above, we have
the Godiveau aux fines herbes, useful in various ways, but
especially as an addition to pies.

4. Oyster Forcemeat. — Beard

a dozen oysters, mince
them, and mix them with four ounces of fine breadcrumbs.
Add an ounce and a half of butter, the zest of half a lemon,
a teaspoonful of parsley, some nutmeg, cayenne and salt
and mix all well with the yolk of an egg and a little of the
oyster liquor. Divide it into balls and poach them ;
or put
it whole in the breast of a turkey. It is also excellent as a
John Dory. And it is mightily
stuffing for fish, such as
improved by being pounded to a smooth paste with another
half-ounce of butter.

5. Fat Forcemeat, often called Veal Stuffing —not be-

cause made of veal, but because used for stuffing veal,
turkey, and fish, — ismade of equal quantities of fat and
fine breadcrumbs. The fat is generally ox-kidney fat, but
the udder of vealis to be preferred, or else butter. Take,
however, six ounces of the suet which is most commonly in
use, mince mix it with the breadcrumbs, add to it
it finely,

chopped parsley, thyme and shalot (the two latter

sparingly), nutmeg, pepper and salt. Work all up with
two yolks of eggs and a spoonful of milk, and pound it
smooth in a mortar.

6. Hare Stuffing is the same as the foregoing, with the

addition of the hare’s liver parboiled and chopped.

7. Sage and Onion Stuffing — for ducks, geese, pork. —

Chop (but not together) four large onions and a dozen sage-
leaves. Scald them for two or three minutes, drain them,
put them into a stewpan with breadcrumbs (six ounces),
butter (two ounces), pepper and salt, let them simmer
very slowly for ten or fifteen minutes, and then the stuffing
is ready. With more cooking and with the addition of a
190 Fowl
little brown gravy, this stuffing may be used as a sage
and onion sauce, served in a boat.

8. Chestnut Forcemeat — chiefly used for stuffing tur-

keys. — Roast slowly andtwo or three dozen chestnuts,
peel
according to the size of the birds. Mix them up whole
with fat forcemeat (No. 6), and stuff the turkey.

Fowl. —From times very far back there has been a

controversy in France as to the comparative merits of old
fowls and young chickens. The argument on either side
will be found in the article on the soup called Restaurant.
In these modern times the chicken seems to get the best
of it ;
and what is to be said of older fowls in the way of
culinary preparation is little else than a repetition of the
directions already given for dealing with chickens.

Fricandeau a Provengal word meaning something

is

nice. Fricandela is a nice girl; Fric, or Frique (allied

to the English freak), meant brisk; Fricaud, dainty;
Fricot, a dainty dish; and here is Fricandeau belonging
to the same and applied especially to a dainty dish
series,

of veal, which was invented by one of the cooks of Pope

Leo X. The neatest receipt for it is that of Gouffe, who
is peculiar, however, in selecting for the dish a piece of
the fillet of veal instead of the most commonly
part
employed —the cushion. “ Take three pounds,” he says,
“ bone, trim and lard the outside with thin strips of bacon.
Put in the glazing stewpan the trimmings of the meat,
with two ounces of sliced carrot, two of onion, pepper and
salt. Then lay the fricandeau on the top ;
add half a pint
of broth ;
reduced and becomes thick
boil the broth till it is

and yellow; add a pint and a half more broth, and simmer
then
for an hour and a quarter— the stewpan half covered ;

baste the
close the stewpan and put live coals on the top ;

fricandeau with the gravy every four minutes till

it is

glazed take out the fricandeau and put it on

sufficiently ;
 Fritters 191

a dish. Strain the gravy through the pointed strainer,

skim the fat from it, and pour it over the meat.” The
fricandeau may be served either thus simply, or with a
garnish of sorrel, endive, or spinach.

Fricassee. (See Chicken). —The root word is

of the

supposed to be akin to that of the English freak. For

etymology see previous article.

Fritters. — -1. Simple Fritters. —Take some batter, for

which see the receipt. Add a little sugar to it, and pro-
foundly weigh whether yolks of eggs should enter into it
or not. Better say yes, although the use of yolks tells
with more distinct effect in the custard Drop
fritter.

this in spoonfuls into the frying-kettle, and serve them

with sprinkled sugar.

2. Custard Fritters. — Make a good custard, and steam

it in a pudding-dish which has been first rubbed with butter.
When it is done, let it cool, cut it into squares, dip them in

the batter, and fry them. They are excellent by them-

selves, but they may be served in a dish with jam or fruit

syrup round them.

3. Pudding Fritters. —The remains of any kind of pud-

ding, not forgetting plum-pudding, may be served in the

same way with excellent effect.

4. Fruit Fritters. —For these the chief fruits used are

apples, oranges, peaches or pineapples. The apples and
oranges are usually steeped in a little brandy and sugar
for an hour beforehand. The peaches and pineapples may
go into Kirschenwasser and sugar. Needless to say any-
thing about peeling, trimming and cutting. Dip the
fruit into the batter (in which, however, there should
not

be any yolks), and fry it as before, dropping spoonfuls of

combined fruit and batter into the kettle.

5. Balloon Fritters (Beignets Souffles). For this there —

batter.
is a little difference in the way of preparing the
 192 Fritters

Take as for ordinary batter equal quantities of solid and

liquid —say,
half a pound of flour as against half a pint of
water and take three eggs and an ounce of sugar as
;

against four ounces of butter. Put the water, butter,

sugar, and a pinch of salt in a saucepan on the fire, and as
soon as it boils dredge in the flour and stir it over the
fire for four or five minutes. When
removed from the it is

fireput in a few drops of flavouring essence as orange or —

—
almond, lemon or vanilla or do without flavouring alto-
gether. The three eggs are next to be broken into it and
carefully mixed —
one at a time. The paste should be stiff
enough now to hold together but if too stiff, break another
;

egg into it, or half one. Make round balls the size of
small walnuts, and put them on strips of buttered paper.
Dip them into the frying kettle, holding on by the strip of
paper, from which the balls will soon detach themselves. As
the balls are frying move them about in the kettle till they
reach a fine colour and puff well out. Then drain them,
sprinkle them with sugar, and serve them on a napkin.

6. Brioche Fritters —Take

paste No. 9, using half the
.

quantity of butter, and milk instead of water. Cool it on

ice, and then roll it out thin. With a paste-cutter make
circles about two inches in diameter. Put a small spoonful
of apricot or other jam upon each ;
purse it up like a little
dumpling, and drop it for ten minutes into hot fat. This
is the German fashion — the dainty being of German origin.
Alwaj's on New Year’s Eve, or St. Silvester’s night as it

is called, these fritters are eaten throughout Deutschland.

Marie Antoinette brought the remembrance of them with
her from Vienna to Paris, and instructed the French cooks
to make them for her, she being then the Dauphiness. They
cut the paste as follows :
—With an inch-and-a-half cutter
they made circles, upon which they dropped the apricot jam
—not much— the size of a cobnut. With a two-inch cutter
they made large circles, which they placed above the jam.
 Fry ing 1
93

They pinched round the edges, and then set them to swim
for five or six minutes on the one side, then for five or six

minutes on the other in the hot fat. They were afterwards

drained, sprinkled with sugar, piled on a napkin, and
dubbed Beignets a la Dauphine. The German names are
— at Vienna, Wiener Krapfen and at Berlin, Berliner
;

Pfannkuchen.

Frogs are at their best in the spring, and therefore it is

only in Lent that they are to be seen at Parisian tables.

The hind-legs alone are eaten. They are skinned, they
are blanched, they are boiled, and they are served either
with a poulette sauce or fried in butter.The French have
a theory that frogs, having a mighty power of croaking,
are good for the chest and sovereign over a cough.
Their final cause in fact is the cure of the con-
sumptive.

Frying. — Because fat, oil or butter is essential to fry-

ing, the common idea is that the food cooked in this way
must be rich and greasy. There cannot be a greater
mistake. The fats are essential to it, not because of their
richness, but because of the great heat which they can
transmit. If water could be heated up to 300
0 or 400 0 it ,

would produce all the effect of frying. In the article on

boiling it has been explained how meat plunged into

boiling water (212 0 ) has the albumen coagulated on the

surface in the first five minutes— which
is as it were a coat-

of-mail through which the water cannot penetrate and the

juices cannot escape. Much more is this coat-of-mail
rapidly and decidedly formed if the food is plung'ed into a
fluid at the temperature of 300 0 or 400
0 That fluid is fat, .

and it neither penetrates into fish, flesh or vegetable, nor

does it allow their juices to exude. It has not only this
preservative effect on the interior of the food — it also devel-

opes the roast appearance and flavour on the exterior, lhe

difference between roasting and boiling is not a difference

13
 194 Frying

between the mediums, be it water, fat, air, or steam, which

may surround the food in the process of cooking it is a :

difference entirely of temperature; and frying, which by

means of the fats conveys heat to the food at a tempera-
ture varying from the boiling point of water upwards to
• 300 0 400 0 500 0 and even higher, is in fact a species of
, , ,

roasting. Any one who likes may try this experiment,

which ought to enlighten him as to the nature of frying.
If he wishes to be very accurate, he can send to E. Cetti
and Co., 11, Brooke Street, Holborn, London, who will
provide him with a thermometer registering up to 500 0
Fahrenheit for three shillings. Negretti and Zambra will

charge double and four times the sum. Put a leg of

mutton into a kettle of fat at the frying temperature of
400 0 . In 1 yi or hour (it depends on the size) that is, —
in half —
the ordinary time it will come out a perfectly
roasted gigot, and nobody at the table who is not warned
of a difference will discover any between it and a leg of
mutton roasted in the ordinary way. This is a little secret
for those who have to study the arts of impromptu cookery ;

and here it is let out only to illustrate the nature of frying,

and to show that it is but a manner of roasting the most —
certain and expeditious manner of safely transmitting the
roasting heat.
If the reader has grasped this explanation and will

superintend this experiment, he will be prepared to appre-

ciate clearly the distinction between frying proper and the
half-frying which is so often in England supposed to be
the same thing as whole-frying — the distinction, in short,
between a frying-kettle and a frying-pan. In the kettle
the thing to be fried is completely immersed in the liquid
fat, the heat is transmitted to every part alike, above and

below, and a crisp unbroken surface is on every side

created which excludes grease ;

so that whatever is thus
fried will when drained appear at table without any oiliness.

In the flat frying-pan, which is best known in England, it

 Frying 195

is not so. There is so little butter, fat or oil in it, that

the food —say a sole, —which is on its lower surface
subjected to a very high temperature, is on its upper
surface open to the air at a much lower temperature. The
cooking is thus unequal ;
and worse than this, the sole
is knocked about in. the flat frying-pan, to prevent burning ;

the skin breaks ;

and while the fish is being cooked on
its under side the bubbling fat splutters on to the broken
upper surface, which being at a low temperature, incapa-
ble of resistance, absorbs these splutterings, so that when
presented at table it is decidedly greasy. If the sole be
cooked whole in a frying-kettle, instead of being half-fried
in a frying-pan —that is, half at a time —there will be no
such complaint of greasiness. It must not be supposed
that the frying-kettle is expensive because of the large
quantity of fat required for it. The fat lasts,and can be
used over and over again with little waste, whereas there
is great waste of fat in the frying-pan.
One of the reasons why frying is supposed to be a
greasy mode of cooking is because lard is so much used
for it. Lard is the very worst of
fats which could be
selected for and invariably makes the food look
frying,
greasy. Probably there is nothing so good as oil but it ;

is not in general suited to English tastes, it is expensive,

and it requires extraordinary care — for it must be heated
very slowly, and is always apt to boil over. Butter also
is expensive, and requires much care and slowness of
heating. The best of all the fats for frying is the cook’s
perquisite —the clarified dripping of roast meat and the
top fat of the stockpot ;
but in small households there is

never quite enough of it. Practically the fat which is

found to be most available is beef fat. Break it to pieces,

melt it slowly, and then strain it for use — taking care,
however, that it is not so hot as to melt the solder of the
strainer. When the strained fat is to be used, let it reach
the proper heat before anything is put into it. The proper
196 Galantine

heat is usually ascertained by throwing a small bit of bread

into it. If the fat is hot enough, the bread will fizz, and
give out airbells.

N.B. —There must be no salt in the fat nor in the food

fried in it. The salting takes place afterwards.

LANTINE. — About this curious word the

French philologers, Littre and Brachet at

their head, Everybody
are in a thick fog.
knows that galantine is not gelatine. These
are two words for two things which are as
different as possible. Nobody dreams that a fowl or any-
thing else in a galantine means the same thing as one in a
jelly But the French etymologists, without a
or gelatine.
shadow of misgiving, insist that because in old writings
they cannot find mention of galantine, whereas they do find
mention of galatine, they must both mean the same thing
(which indeed they do), and that this same thing must be
gelatine,- —
which it is not. Oddly enough, M. Brachet
winds up his proofs that galantine must be gelatine by
quoting from a MS. account-book of the thirteenth century
this item, “ De duodecim lampredis portatis in
galatina,

which he does not actually translate, but which he assumes

with the most perfect assurance to mean —Twelve lampreys
served in a jelly or gelatine. Now it so happens that in

England we can hands upon the receipt for doing

lay our
the lampreys in a galantine, and the moment it is
explained

it will be seen that it has nothing whatever

to do with a

gelatine. It means, or rather it meant, a

preparation

flavoured with the powdered root of the sedge called galin-

gale, or galangale, to which Tennyson refers when he
speaks of “ meadows set with slender galingale.
 Galantine 197

About the end of the fourteenth century —say

1390 —
the master-cooks of King' Richard II., after taking counsel-

with the physicians and philosophers of the court, made a

collection of their most approved receipts, which they put

together under the name of the Forme of Cury, and which
gives valuable information as to the dishes most in request
among the courtiers of that time. The MS. has unfortu-
nately been lost, but it has been twice reprinted by learned
doctors of the Church — first the Reverend Doctor Pegge,

then the Reverend Doctor W arner, who may be relied on

for the accuracy of the text, though they have not been too
successful in its elucidation. In this collection of 198
receipts, the galantine, or galyntyne as it was spelt, is

mentioned not once but many times, and always in con-

nection with galyngale. Here is the receipt for making
—
galyntyne Number 138. “ Take crusts of bread and
grind them small. Do [add] thereto powder of galyngale,
of canel gyngynes [ginger], and salt it.
[cinnamon],
Temper it with vinegar and draw it up through a strainer
and mess [dish] it forth.” There are other receipts for
making sippets of galyntine, fillets of pork in galyntine,
lampreys in galyntine, lamperns in galantyne. They are
all in the same strain, and always imply the powder of

galyngale, generally but not always mixed with bread-

crumb. The word has passed out of the modern French
which acknowledge the plant referred to only
dictionaries,
under the name of Souchet. But that the name existed
in old French as it still exists in English may be ascer-
tained by referring to an authority which all Frenchmen
respect — Cotgrave. In this Englishman’s dictionary of

the French language, published in 1640, he gives as the

French equivalent of galingale —galange, galangue,
galingal. And for the plant itself, which belongs to the

family of the sedges, and is technically known as Cyperus,

this is what Sowerby says ‘‘The root is perennial,

of it:
long, creeping, twisted, astringent, chiefly remarkable for
198 Galantine

an agreeable spicy odour, in which it resembles the roots

of some East Indian grasses that, when moistened, are
used by the English to perfume their houses.” In Parkin-
son’s time —that is, about 1650— it was still used in con-
fectionery and cookery ;
but he says that the use of it was
then dying out, and that it was chiefly employed for the
perfume of houses. He describes also the extraordinary
virtues which the plant was supposed to possess for the
internal organs of men and women, while for a wonder he
ventures to cast a doubt on their efficacy.
Although it is perfectly clear that the galantine of old
times (which, by the way,was not a solid as it is now, but
a sauce with a garniture in it —
what in the language of
the modern kitchen is known as a ragout) was a prepara-
tion of the galingale or galangale, it is not so clear how
the word galantine came to be formed ;
and it is important
to explain this, because it has a curious bearing on a sub-
sequent discussion. It is the key to a whole class of words
beginning with gallimawfrey. The first step is to deter-
mine the meaning of galingale. The final syllable is a
generic term indicating the nature of the plant we have ;

something parallel in sea kale. The first two syllables

(which find their kindred in gala and regale) declare
that the gale in question is a galing or regaling gale,
and their meaning has survived in the modern English
name for the plant —the sweet. Cyperus, in the sense in
which we speak of sweet herbs, as sweet Basil and sweet
Marjoram. And what then is galantine? At first sight
one is staggered by the termination, which suggests a Latin
origin — but it is a good English word. Tine is a generic
term which here takes the place of gale. As we have an
old English mistle-tine as well as mistletoe, so there was
galintine as well as galingale. In the old receipts the)'
said indifferently —powder of galingale or powder of galin-
tine. In dictionaries of provincial and obsolete English
anybody will find the root tine preserved in various words
 Galantine 199

that refer to brushwood, hedges and hedging, thorns and

figuratively sorrow.
Galantine, as we know it, is quite a recent inven-
tion. There was a certain Marquis de Brancas, who kept
a great kitchen in the end of the last century, at the head
of which was a cook named Prevost. The Revolution
made an end of the Marquis, extinguished his kitchen fire,

and threw Provost out of work. What was the great

artist to do? Fortunately the Revolution, though it hated
kings and nobles, had a great respect for cooks and loved
good cheer. Prevost set his wits to work, and created the
galantine of modern times —a new preparation with an old
name. He took into partnership with himself Philippe,
who afterwards became celebrated for his restaurant in the
Rue Montorgueil. For fifteen years they made galantines
together, and sold them to the Parisians under the Re-
public, the Directory, the Consulate, the Empire. About
1805, when Nelson was sweeping the seas and culminating
in Trafalgar, when Napoleon was traversing Europe and
culminating the field of Austerlitz- — the fame of the galan-
tine rose to its height, and Paris was informed that it had
changed its domicile. The possession of the galantine was
sold to M. Perrier —
a pastrycook in the Rue Montorgueil.
Provost went out of the business altogether, but it was
arranged that Philippe should continue to construct the
galantines which Perrier was to sell. Between them they
brought the galantine into fashion, and achieved for it a
great position —indeed, the very highest position among
cold viands.
The reader who expects a receipt for making galantine
in this place will be disappointed. One might as well give
a receipt for making a Bologna sausage, a Strasborg pie,
or turtle soup. These are dainties which belong to spe-
cialists, and are not fit for ordinary kitchens. To make a
galantine well, you must make a business of it, and it is

much the best way to go to M. Dumas, of 55, Prince’s

200 Gallimawfrey

Street, Leicester Square, and buy it. The terrines which

are sold in the shops under the name of Yorkshire pies
are not Yorkshire pies, but galantines in pots. Buy them
if —
you have not near you worthy namesake and rival of
the great Alexander —
a Dumas who can make a romance
out of the breast of a turkey, and a scene out of the merry-
thought of a chicken, raise a pheasant into a personage,
put wit into a pistachio, and endue a truffle with the soul
of poetry.

Gallimawfrey or Galimafre, and Galimatias. — I" or

several hundred years these words have defied the learning

of Europe, and so completely that not only has every

etymologist, great and small, given them up in despair,
but furthermore —the last theory concerning them, uttered
by a competent scholar, Mr. Hensleigh Wedgwood, is
virtually that they are nothing but gabble to signify gabble.
It may therefore seem hardy for any one to pretend at
this

time of day to have solved the riddle. But the fact is that

the solution has hitherto been withheld, for the simple

reason that the literary world has not deemed cookery
books worthy of much notice.
Perhaps the unsafest of all guides to take in searching
for an etymon would be Menage; yet he was quite right,
and most persons have felt that he was right, in asserting
that there is a connection between Galimafre and Gali-
matias. They have the same meaning. It is known that
Galimafre or Gallimawfrey was originally a fricassee of
fowl, though we hear of it afterwards as a mess of mutton
and even of sheep’s head. Galimatias, on the other hand,
as far back as we. can trace has always passed for a
it,

jumble of nonsense; but it has also been connected with

fowls through the explanation of it contained in the cock-
and-bull story of the lawyer who, having to argue his case
of the stolen cock in Latin, blundered it by waxing
eloquent

over Galli Matthias instead of Gallus Matthiae.

 1

Galliinaivfrey 20

The key to both words is to be found in the Forme of

Cury, and in the other Rolls of Cookery edited successively

by the Reverend Doctors Pegge and Warner, fhese are
a mine of wealth to the philologer, and have not received
half the attention they deserve. The F orme of Cury is
especially valuable. It was compiled by the master-cooks

of Richard II., assisted by all the doctors of philosophy

and men of taste who took an interest in the elaborate

gastrology of that court. Let it be remembered that

Richard II. stands out in the history of the world as one

of the most lavish and luxurious princes that ever lived.
Known throughout Europe as Richard of Bordeaux because,
the English dominion then including Gascony, he was born
there, and his father the Black Prince there held the seat
of English Government in France, we are told by his cooks
and the doctors who worked with them that he “ was
accounted the best and ryallest viander of all Christian

kings.” It is to the early part of his reign, and all the

luxury of it as described in the chronicles, that the poet

Gray refers in the lines which have almost passed into

proverbs :

Fair laughs the morn and soft the zephyr blows,

While, proudly riding on the azure realm,
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes,
Youth on the prow and pleasure at the helm.

The common tradition is that Richard died of hunger ;

but

while he reigned he had in his kitchen a staff of several

hundred cooks; he entertained at his table 10,000 coin tiers
and followers, for were killed every day 28 oxen
whom
and 300 sheep, besides innumerable quantities of fowl
and game. All the care and skill which the wealth and

knowledge of the time could command were expended on

the preparation of the viands. The cleverest cooks, the

learncdest doctors, and the daintiest courtiers, put their

heads together to range the earth for curious food, to invent
new dishes, and to treasure up the most approved receipts
202 Gallimdwfrey

oi old ones. The result was the Forme of Cury —which

was the old English way of spelling Queuerie — the business
of a Queux or Cook. It was book in which the
a cookery
most cursory reader will detect the work of many hands,
repetitions, varieties, here a new receipt in the language of
the period, there an old one in a corrupt or forgotten
language, further on a recently-worded explanation under
an antique heading, and there again another set off with
foreign phrases. M. Wallon has devoted two considerable
volumes to the life of Richard II. he has not said a word
:

in it about this book and the gastronomic rage of the court.

English scholars have given it the most superficial atten-

tion, and have strangely neglected its hints. The language

has puzzled them sorely, and they have put it aside as

beneath them.
Nevertheless this cookery book, and the contemporary
Rolls of Cookery, some of which have been published, while
others still remain in MS., chiefly among the Sloane MSS.
in the British Museum, is to those who care to read it a

mine of wealth. We can see in our own time how there

still remain in the kitchen the relics of an antiquated
speech unknown to books and 500 years ago in the
;

kitchen of the English king it was the same. There

remained the fragments of a language which was not only
unknown to books, but was also scarcely understood by
those who employed it, —
words which had passed out of
general acceptance, which had become unrecognisable, and
which are now to the philologist what an oyster-shell on a
hillside is to the student of geology, and the bones of bear,
hyaena and lion in the London clay to a palaeontologist.
We light upon words which do not belong to the current
language, and which are foreign to it, but which must at
one time have been current somewhere in an antecedent
speech and we are driven back to the conception of an
—
;

extremely remote language not Sanscrit, but perhaps a

brother or a cousin to it, from which the European dialects
 Gallimawfrey 203

have sprung. We have resembling, indeed identical, frag-

ments of words scattered more or less throughout the

—
European languages classical, romantic, Celtic, Teutonic,
—
Scandinavian which are not to be accounted for except
on the theory of a lost antecedent language, their progeni-
tor, transmitting through many centuries tiny details of
likeness that here get broken into pieces, and there get
mixed and crossed with new features. No need now,
however, to lose ourselves in the contemplation of this
shadowy language of far-distant ancestors ;
it is enough
that receding only five centuries, to the days of the
Canterbury Tales, and listening to the discourse of the
—
cooks not forgetting Chaucer’s cook, who

could roast and seethe and broil and fry,

Maken mortrewes and well bake a pie,

who could make blancmanger with the best, and who

travelled with the pilgrims to boil their chickens and look
after the galingale— we
come upon traces of a language
which had passed away, but which yet retained life enough
in the rotting leaves it left behind to account for forms of
speech that endure to this very day, and that, without the
assistance of King Richard’s cook, might have remained
for ever an impenetrable mystery.
In all previous inquiries into the nature of Gallimawfrey
and Galimatias, the searcher has been thrown off the scent
by not knowing the meaning of the firsttwo syllables.
He knew that the words referred to something about a
fowl, and he looked for mention of the fowl in these early
syllables. We now know, from proofs drawn out in the
article on Galantine, that these two syllables, if they do not
actually refer to thepowdered root of the galingale which
was used in flavouring the fowl, which was in great request
among King Richard’s cooks, which is mentioned as promi-
nent in two or three dozen English receipts belonging to
that time, and which Chaucer in the description of his cook
 —

204 Ga liiviawfrey
singles out alone among plants as belonging to his craft,
must have the same first two syllables of that
force as the
—
word the n in Galinmawfrey being elided before m.
Having arrived at this point, we can go further; for it has
been ascertained that the Galingale means the sweet gale,
an epithet which survives in the more modern name of sweet
Cy perus, and which as applied to herbs — sweet basil, sweet
marjoram, and the rest — means not saccharine, but savoury.
We are not unprepared, therefore, to hear of the dish
whatever it be —having a different savour, to be more fitly

expressed by Sal and Sauce, which is short for Salsa. It

will on this view be evident that the same explanation which

will account for Gali-ma-fre and

Gali-ma-tias
will also account for Sal -ma-gundi, the old English form,
Sal -mi-gondis, the French form, and
Sal -mi.

There are other words to lollow but in the meantime we;

confine our attention to this group of four; to a fifth word

which contains their solution, appearing as it does many
times in the old English rolls of cookery Mawmene, or
—
—
Mawmenny and to a sixth Malachi which is of the same
;
—
order, although not so common, and which has a still more
modern interest if it should ultimately prove to be related
to Cock-a-leekie, Miching Malicho and Mullagatawny.
In all these words the ma, maw, or mi, means a fowl.
In proof of this point, letbe observed, to begin with, that
it

we have the English word mew, the Scotch maw, to

signify a gull and that at the same time we have to
this
;

day preserved the usage of seamew and seamaw, implying

that there are other mews besides those of the sea.
Next
note, that though by itself mew or maw in English
and

the kindred languages means always a gull, it may some-

to
times either in a compound or a derivative be applied

In German we come upon a pigeon the

other birds.
 Gall ivi a wfrey 205

turbit variety —which is called mowchen. In Icelandic,

the name of a gull is mar (plural mavar) ;

but a crow is

ben-mar and blod-mar a raven Iggjar-mar, Odin’s mar.

;

In French there is mauviette, which is supposed to mean

a lark but it has no such meaning in literary language.
;

No French poet could by any possibility speak of a

mauviette instead of an alouette singing in the sky;
and M. G6nin has shown that it is an old kitchen term for
any little bird. It is the remains of a lost language which
has survived among Again, see the number of
the pots.
names of birds, besides those mentioned, which begin with
this syllable or a similar one Mallard, marrot (the great
:

auk), mavis, macreuse, machette (French for an owl),

merle, merlin, martin, missel, merganser. I do not give

every word in this list as coming certainly from an ante-

cedent root — maw, ma or mi ;

but at least they demand
a note of interrogation, and the received account of them
cannot be accepted as final. It is not at all clear that

mallard, for example, means, as the French etymologists

will have it, a male that the mavis is a bird bad (mal) for
;

the vines and that merganser is a merging or diving

;

anser. I am not bound to explain what all these words

really mean a full and correct account of them would
:

take too much space and time. It is enough for present

purposes to make out a primd-facie case for the interpreta-

tion of ma or maw as the g'eneric name for a bird or fowl
in the lost language from which the European languages
have descended. That lost language might go further
back even than Sanscrit, which has mayara and maruka as
the name for a peacock, marala and marula for a duck, and
mallika for a goose; but still, as far as we know, does not
yield ma or maw as a generic name to include all three.

The nearest hold we have of maw or mav as a generic

word for bird or fowl is in the Latin language, if we may
accept a conclusion to which all the evidence points, though
it has not yet been absolutely proved —that avis may origi-
206 Gallimawfrey

nally have been mavis, which survives in English as the

name of a thrush. Let it be remembered that in Latin
there was a curious tendency to get rid of the m sound,
whether initial or final. How in Latin prosody the final

m disappears before a vowel is one of the first metrical

facts whipped into a schoolboy. As for the disappearance
of the initial in, we are familiar enough with it in this
country, where it is notorious that the ap of the Welshman
is no other than the mac of the Caledonian. That this
tendency to drop the initial in existed in Latin may be
shown by two marked words. The Greek monos appears
in Latin as wins; and the English milk, the Anglo-Saxon
miluc, appears in Latin as lac. It is therefore strictly
within the rules to suggest that the Latin avis may origi
nally have been mavis, and was identical with the maw, ma,
or mi, which has the meaning of a fowl in the language of
the old English kitchen. It would be out of place here to

follow up this suggestion by turning it to the elucidation

of the names of birds. Still I venture upon three predic-

tions : first, that the old name of marrot for the great auk

will be found to be an exact translation of the great auk,

which means a g'reat bird (auca, avica, avis) ;
second, that

the martin, otherwise known as martelet or marrelet, will

be found to derive name, not from March, the time of its
its

arrival, nor from Martinmas, the time of its departure,

being a ma with a habitation either in the
but from its

sand or in the house-roof; and thirdly, that mallard,

which is also spelt in old English maulard and maiidelard,
bird
has no reference whatever to gender, but implies the
or maw which has been decoyed.
Scanty though our knowledge of the word be, there
is

the
evidence enough to show with absolute certainty that
and
ma or maw of mawfrey, matias, magundi, mawmene,
malachi, is a fowl. 1 here are at least a dozen
receipts for

mawmene or every one of them has to do

mawmenny, and
brayed,
with fowl minced, teased, pulled, frayed, pounded,
 Gallimawfrey 207

ground, bruised, carved, hacked to pieces, smitten to

gobbets, hewed small. It is odd to see the variety and
quaintness of the terms which, in the numerous receipts
for mawmene, and in others of the same character not
yet mentioned, are used to enjoin first the roasting or
half-roasting- of the fowl, and then the shredding and
mincing of it. 1 he receipts vary in their names, and have
a crowd of varying ingredients, but they agree in this —
that they areall such a confused and nonsensical jumble of

innumerable incongruous elements, solid and liquid, animal

and vegetable, sour and sweet, hot and bitter, growing at
home and fetched from over the seas, as we still understand
by gallimawfrey and galimatias; that it is exceedingly
difficult to distinguish one from another this one with a —
score of flavours and garnitures, but wanting perhaps the
galingale or the vinegar, from that other with nearly the
same score, but wanting the milk or the sugar and that in ;

one and all the fowl is pulled to pieces to be either chopped

or brayed in a mortar. The constant refrain is this :
“ Take
brawn [that is, flesh] of capons y-teased, or of pheasants
teased small “Take the chese [that is, the chopper, from
which we have the diminutive chisel] and of flesh of capons
or of hens hack small in a mortar;” “Take brawn of hens
or of capon and hew them small as thou may;” “Take the
thighs or the flesh of capons, skin them and carve them
”
small.
This invariable rule has found expression in the final
syllables of mawmene, mawfrey, matias, magundi, and
malachi. Mawmene or mawmenny is a fowl minced menu. —
Mawfrey, or mafrd as the French write it, is a fowl frayed
what we still call pulled chicken. Matias is a corrupt
rendering of the order given in one of the above extracts
to tease the fowl. Magundi, or, as the French spell
it, migondis, is to the like effect, though not expressed in a
form which will so readily catch the modern ear. The
earliest known form of the word is in the Sanscrit khnnd,
 ,

208 Gallimawfrey

to
—
break, whence khanda sugar which is broken,
lump
sugar, and the modern candy. But with loss of the n the

same word still exists in French as coteT, to break or bruise ,

it has relations with the first syllable of the English cudgel

and it also exists in a curious word which the French

authorities unable to explain, Godi-
profess themselves
veaLl —
that is, veal minced and pounded to a soft forcemeat.
As for malachi, it will be intelligible to any one who
will

of terms
turn back to read Wynkyn de Worde’s inventory
to lesche it. The
for carving. He says that to carve brawn is
at
word is otherwise written leach, and it is to be identified
In
root with lash, slash, and (in the beating
sense) lick.

provincial English to malahawk is to carve

awkwardly and
cut to pieces. This malachi (fowl leached or licked) has
magundi,
had a fate different from that of mawfrey, matias,
though in
and mawmene. It survives to the present day,
an altered form. For the name of a fowl ma substitute — —
cock-a-leekie. They
cock, and there is the Scottish dish of
the word refers to
fancy in Scotland that the latter part of
pottage. This is a
the leeks which are used to flavour the
mistake : it the fact that the cock is to be leached
refers to
— as the French said, alachi.
If the foregoing ex-
But now we can go still further.
Salmagundi, Salmi,
planation of Gallimawfrey, Galimatias,
new light
Mawmene, and Malachi be sound, it throws a
some of which no difficulty
upon certain other words, in

has hitherto been

Madame, Miching
suspected — Sauce
Of these in
Malicho, Blancmanger, and Mullagatawny.
their order.
examine the old receipts, amounting
Any one who will
hundreds, collected together in Dr. Warner’s
to several
even five centuries
Antiquitates Culinarice, will feel that
the cookery books were compiled,
when
maw in the
ago,
as a simple word,
sense of fowl was altogether obsolete
scarcely if at all
and as part of a compound was archaic,
easily corruptible. It was then as now
understood, and
 Gallimawjrey 209

in the receipts of the there were new-fangled

kitchen :

names for old receipts,

and there were old, unintelligible,
corrupt names for receipts couched in the current lan-
guage. Thus we have Douce Ame as the name for a dish of
minced fowl exactly like those already described. Remem-
bering that in those days the mute e had a decided pro-
nunciation almost like an o, it is difficult to escape the
suggestion that Douce Ame was a courtly attempt to put
a pretty meaning into a phrase which, as involving the
—
word ma or maw let us, to be definite, say Galima had —
become unintelligible and perhaps vulgar. This becomes all
the more probable when we look into the Sauce Madame.
Sauce Madame was a goose.
no one be misled
Let
by the word sauce. It was not then, as now, strictly a

noun it was hovering between a noun and an adjective,

;

being used in the sense of its original salsa, and like the
first syllables of salmagundi, salmi, salpicon, saugrenu,
saupiquet, etc. The word, therefore, had the force of
sauced Madame, and Madame was
a goose. The name
was evidently invented to endue with a new and pleasant
meaning some word on a par with mawfrey, matias, ma-
gundi, mawmene, and malachi, which had become stale
and obscure. Probably that word was malachi, mispro-
nounced maladi, confounded with my lady and translated
madame. The following is the receipt for Sauce Madame :

“Take sage, parsley, hyssop, and savory, quinces and

pears, garlicand grapes, and fill the geese therewith, and
sew the hole that no grease come out and roast them ;

well, and keep the grease that falleth thereof. Take

galintine and grease and do in a posnet porringer]. |

When the geese be roasted

enough take and smite them in
pieces. And take that that is within and do it in a posnet,
and put therein wine if it be too thick. Do thereto powder
of galingale, powder douce and salt, and boil the sauce
and dress the geese in dishes and lay the sowe (sauce)
onward.” This is all fairly expressed in the language of
14
2 10 Gall hn a wfrey

the time, and when we expect to read for the title of it

Hashed Goose, or something equivalent, enigma we find the

of Sauce Madame. Why this meaningless French title?

The title first appears in a French cookery book that of —
Taillevent, which was written twenty or thirty years before
the cooks of Richard of Bordeaux set to work and we ;

may therefore conclude that it was the attempt of a

Frenchman some appearance of sense to an older
to give
— —
English title Malachi which had become dark to the
English, and to Frenchmen wholly unmeaning. The same
thing occurred in the case of the Sauce Robert. The
English cooks had their Roebroth or Roebrewit — that is,

a stew of roebuck with a peculiar sauce. The French cook

Taillevent did not understand the word, determined to put
a meaning and made it Robert. So we have now
into it,

the Sauce Robert as something distinct from Roebuck

Sauce.
We have next to deal with Miching Malicho. It will be
remembered that before the mimic play begins in Hamlet,
there is a dumb show in which the spectators are treated to
a revelation of the murder which had been committed and
of the love which the murderer made to the dead man s

wife. There occurs the following dialogue

Ophelia .
— What means this, my lord?
Hamlet. — Marry, this miching malicho
is : it means mischief.

Ophelia .
— Belike this show imports the argument of the play.

Ophelia answers, and answers truly, her own question but :

what is the meaning of Hamlet’s answer? The explanation

of the commentators is far from satisfactory. Ihey say
that mich is an old English verb meaning to lurk, and that
there is a Spanish word malheco meaning a crime. Ham-
let’s reply therefore would come to the truism “Marry, —
this is hidden crime, and crime means mischief.” The
explanation is not so satisfactory that we are bound to
accept it, and I venture to suggest another “Marry, this —
is cooking the goose; it means mischief.” The difficulty
 1

Gallimazvfrey 2 1

in the way of this interpretation lies not with malicho,

which, after the account above rendered of Malachi and
Madame, ought to be plain enough, but with miching.
To mich means to lie hid and to muffle up what has this :

to do with cooking? It has this to do with it— that the

French have a verb mijoter (old form, migeoter), which
means up and to simmer or stew, and to this day
to muffle
it is the common French term for slow-boiling. A similar

double meaning will be found in the English word coddle,

which in the codling apple means an apple for stewing.
But the word mijoter is evidently derived from a shorter
one, which the French are at their wits’ end to discover,
and which for want of a better they take to be mie or mige,
a crumb of bread. Now here is a much more likely root,

the English mich or miche, which has been long known in

one of the senses of the French mijoter— to lie hid, to

nurse up, but which has not hitherto been found in the
more common sense of stewing or simmering. Is it un-
reasonable to suggest that it had this sense? that we have
indications of it in other English words, as mishmash and
mess, as well as in the German meischen, to stir the malt
in hot water? and that we have it in full bloom in Hamlet’s
phrase of miching malicho —cooking the goose and settling
the hash?
And now for Blancmanger, a word which is as different
from what it must have been originally as the thing we thus
name — a jelly of isinglass, almonds, water and sugar — is

from the original mess, a fowl pounded in milk, rice and

syrup, or in almonds, rice, broth and sugar. It is indiffe-

rent whether we take for analysis the word as we now

write it —
Blancmanger, or as it was more anciently
written —
Blanc Mangier or Blanc Mengier but at least it ;

will be useful to bear in mind the older spelling. And this

being premised, I proceed to show that the word is resolv-
able into Blanc Ma-en-sire, and means white fowl-in-syrup
— the whiteness referring not to the fowl by itself, but to
2 1 2 Gcill imawfrey

the fowl-in-the-syrup. There will be no difficulty in making

this good ;
but before going into the proof of it, observe
that Ma-en-sire, if this be indeed the original expression,
would naturally become slurred into mangier, through
contraction of the vowels and through the nasal n joining
with the sh sound of sire to form g. Independently of the
fact that the first syllable of syrup is connected with the
first syllable of sherbert, we know that in a number of old
French words there was a tendency in the sibilant to be-
come in England and Northern France thickened into
sh and ch : thus cive became chive, and we have such words
as sure and sugar pronounced shure and shugar. Ma-en-
sire would therefore very easily run into mangier and
mengier.
But was the word really Blanc Ma-en-sire? It is not to
be found in this particular form, which must have been
very ancient ;
but there is a considerable number of other
words and phrases for the same thing perfectly parallel to
it, and making it as unreasonable to doubt that it (that is,

Blanc Ma-en-sire) is identical with Blanc Mangier as it

would be to doubt that daisy is day’s eye and foxglove is

folk’s glove. Here follow two receipts in succession and ;

though they show differences of detail, I defy the reader to

discover any essential difference between them.
Number one :
—
“Put rice in water all a night, and at morrow wash
them clean. Afterwards put them to the fires fort [strong|
that they burst, and not too much. Then take brawn of
capons or of hens sodden and draw it small. After take
milk of almonds and put it to the rice and boil it, and when
it is yboiled put in the brawn and alloy it therewith, that
it be well chargeant [stiff], and mingle it [stir it] finely well

that it sit not to the pot. And when it enough and

is

chargeant do thereto sugar good part ;

put therein almonds
fried in white grease and dress it forth.”
Number two :
—
 —

Gallimawfrey 21 3

“
Take brawn of hens or of capons sodden without the
skin, and hew them as small as thou may. And grind
them in a mortar. After take good milk of almonds and
put the brawn therein, and stir it well together and do
them to seethe and take flour of rice and amidon [starch]
;

and alloy it, so that it be chargeant; and do thereto sugar

a good plenty, and a plenty of white grease. And when
it is put in dishes strew upon it blanch powder.”
Now the title of number one is ‘‘For to make Blanc
Manger, and the title of number two is “ For to make

Blanc Desire.” 1 his Blanc Desire

is but a variety of Blanc

Manger— a fowl served syrup whitened with almonds,

in a
with rice and sometimes with milk. It is to be presumed
that the original word Blanc de Sire had become doubtful
and dim, and had to be touched up into Blanc Desire to
give it a pretty meaning, just as in the same way Blanc

Ma-en-sire had been worked up into Blanc Manger. There

had been other forms of the word which still survived, and
which perhaps were equally unintelligible as Blanc de- —
sorre, Blanc desurre, Blanc de Sorry, Blanc de Surry, and
—
Blanc Surry all for a fowl in syrup. Surry was one of the
old names for Syria —
#

They drew up sail of brighte hew,

The wind them soon to Surry blew,

and syrup was at one time known as the Syrian juice.

Ihe name Blanc Desire, therefore, which is so common,
meant white of sire or syrup, and though strictly speaking
itbelonged not to the fowl, but to the sauce in which it was
served, it was used to signify a preparation which is not
distinguishable from Blanc Manger or Blanc Mangier. In
all the receipts for Blancmanger there is syrup, and here
we have a parallel series of receipts for the same thing in
which the syrup distinctly enters into the title.
Further: although we have not yet found the precise
words ma-en-sire save only in the contracted and corrupted
 —

214 Gallimaivfrey

form mangier, they were in a manner translated in the

title of another parallel receipt — Capons in Confy (that is,

confit), where, however, the confection was made without

sugar. Here is the receipt :

“ Capons in Confy Take capons and roast them

. — till

they be nigh enough then take them : and chop off the spit

them in gobbets with broth of beef, temper them and do

them in a pot with almond milk and do thereto flour of ;

rice or bread steeped in the same broth, and draw it through

a strainer and powder of cloves and of canel (cinnamon)

and of maces. And take hard eggs seethed, and take out
the yolk all whole, and cut the white small, and do it in the

pot and colour it and dress it

with saffron, and let it boil,

up on dishes, and lay the yolks whole upon and cloves

’ ’

therewith.
If syrup had been used here, the title would have been
Capons in Sire or in Surry, a more modern rendering of

the archaic ma-en-sire. And the title of Blanc is excluded

from it because it is made Tawny with saffron. These
illustrations make it probable that the final syllable of

Blanc Mangier stands for sire or syrup; and it is quite

certain that to the end of the reign of Louis XIV. the
central fact of the blancmanger was a fowl, and that
without a fowl it was impossible. May we not therefore

fairly conclude that the indispensable fowl flaps its wings

immortalized in the ma syllable of Blancmanger?
After all the facts marshalled in the foregoing pages,
Mullagatawny does not look like a word that could present
much difficulty. It looks word and thing like a modern—
version of one of the old receipts. It is a soup made of a

fowl which has been “ chopped to gobbets, which is

mingled with rice, and which is made lawny, if not with

saffron at least with curry. It looks like our old friend

malachi, simplified to suit modern tastes, and spiced and
coloured with the curry which has superseded the older
spices and colourings. But great authorities assure 11s,
 Garlic 215

though without giving any reasons, that it is not an English

word at all, that it is not even an Aryan word, that it
comes from a language outside the Aryan group Tamil, —
and that it means pepper water. It may be so I do not ;

dispute the point and only note that the coincidence is

;

remarkable of a Tamil name and a Tamil receipt for fowl

broth which exactly corresponds, save in the substitution of
curry for saffron, with an old English name and an old
English receipt.

Garbure is a name in the south of France for a soup

which is to be eaten with a fork. In heraldic English a
sheaf of corn is The wheatsheaves which
called a Garb.
appear in the Grosvenor arms are garbs and those who ;

are curious in etymology will see in the term the first

syllable of harvest. Metaphorically, a soup with garbs

in and requiring the use of a fork, took the name ol
it,

Garbure. The later French cooks, who do not understand

the meaning of the word, insist that a Garbure should
always have crusts in it but this is arbitrary. A garbure
;

may have anything in it that, like a sheaf, needs the use of

a fork.

Garlic is so little used in England that it seems of little

use to refer to it. A recent traveller (see Monteire’s

“ Angola and the River Congo,” vol. ii. p. 240) writes: ,

“ Garlic I consider a most valuable article of food in a hot

climate, especially eaten raw. I never travelled without a
supply of garlic, and I found its beneficial effects on the
stomach and system most marked. When very hungry
and fatigued, I have found nothing to equal a few'
pieces of raw garlic, eaten with a crust of bread or
a biscuit, for producing a few minutes after a delightful
sensation of repose, and that feeling of the stomach
being ready to receive food, generally absent when
excessive emptiness or exhaustion is the case. Yet it >s

against this same garlic that Horace exclaims, when he

 —— a

2 16 Gelatine

calls mind the tough digestion of the mowers “ O

to —
dura messorum ilia!” The oddest contradictions arise.
Henry of Navarre (Henry IV. of France) had his lips
rubbed the moment he was born with a clove of garlic —
time-honoured custom in his native place. On the other
hand, garlic was forbidden by statute of Alonzo XI. to his
knights of La Banda and Don Quixote cautions Sancho
;

Panza to be chary of it, as unseemly in the Governor of

Barataria. Honest Sancho must beware of the garlic which
the king of France had rubbed the first thing upon his
infant gums. To English taste the pronounced flavour of
g'arlic is insupportable ;
but many people do not know that
some of the most successful compounds owe their excellence
to an unsuspected undertone of garlic.

Gelatine. This is what Liebig says in his Letters on

11
Chemistry : It had been long observed that soup made
by boiling meat, when concentrated to a certain point,
gelatinises or forms a jelly ;
and people without any
sufficient reason adopted the opinion that the substance
(gelatine) was the most important, indeed the chief, con-
stituent of good soup. Thus it came to pass by degrees
that people took to the gelatinising matter for the true
soup ;
and as manufacturers found that the best meat did
not yield the finest jelly tablets, but that tendons, feet,
cartilage, bones,and hartshorn yielded the most
ivory,
beautiful and transparent jelly tablets, which were cheaply
obtained and sold at a high price, ignorance and the love
of gain exchanged the valuable constituents of flesh for
gelatine which was only to be distinguished from common
joiners’ glue by its high price. It has now been proved

by the most convincing experiments, that gelatine, which

by itself is tasteless and when eaten excites nausea, pos-
sesses no nutritive value that it is not capable of support-
;

ing the vital process and that when added to the usual
;

diet it diminishes the nutritive value of the food. Its use

 — — 7

Geneva 2 1

has been shown to be hurtful rather than beneficial. . .

We now know that the active ingredients of soup are found

ready formed in the aqueous infusion of and are not flesh,
products of the culinary operations. The gelatine of soup
is formed by long boiling of the flesh from the cellular

membrane of the muscular tissue. Since these things have

been ascertained, the use of gelatine as a nutritive and
invigorating substance has been entirely given up and it ;

only retains a place in the domain of unscientific cookery.

The gelatinous soups made in China from the air-bladder
of fishes, and in England from the flesh of turtle, are a
fertile source of disturbance in the digestive process.”
Other experiments prove that though gelatine by itself
may have no nutritive value, it serves a good purpose
which is not yet understood. There is no gelatine in the
blood of animals there is no gelatine in the milk on
;

which an infant thrives. But there is a curious experi-

ment which has yet to be worked out, and which shows
that gelatine has its use in food. Bischoff and Voit
took a dog weighing 80 lbs.- —and that is a good-sized dog.
They fed on very nearly 18 ounces of meat a day, and
it

at the end of four days the dog- lost a pound weight. They
then fed it on the same quantity of meat, to
for three days
which they added daily seven ounces of gelatine. At the
end of the time, not merely had the dog lost nothing in
weight, but also it gained four-and-a-half-ounces.

Geneva. This town seems doomed to misrepresentation.

It gains credit which does not belong to it, and loses credit
which it has nobly won. Because its name resembles that
of juniper inDutch —
genever it is given by many people
to gin, with which it has nothing to do. Because it re-
sembles that of Genoa it is in danger of losing the credit
of an excellent fish sauce which is all its own. Also
because in this sauce there is red wine, some cooks using
Bordeaux make a variation of it, which they call Sauce
2 I 8 Genevese Sauce

Bordelaise, and other cooks using Burgundy make another

variation, which theySauce Bourguignonne.
call What
between the names of Genoa, Bordeaux, and Burgundy,
there has arisen a confusion, in the midst of which the
claims of Geneva stand a good chance of being superseded.
The sauce was invented at Geneva, for the especial behoof
and benefit of the trout which populate the lake. The
fame Geneva for its trout is of old standing.
of “It is
well known,” said Izaak Walton, two centuries ago,
“ that

in the Lake Leman —

the Lake of Geneva there are trouts—
taken of three cubits long (4^ feet). And Mercator says the
trouts that are taken in the Lake of Geneva are a great
”
part of the merchandise of that famous city.

Genevese Sauce . —Take half a bottle of red wine (the

Genevese generally stuck to Burgundy), a chopped onion,

two chopped shalots, a clove of garlic crushed (they prefer
two in the South), two cloves of spice and a faggot of
sweet-herbs. Put them into a saucepan, and let them
simmer till the onions are done. Then add a ladleful of
Spanish or good brown sauce. Reduce all to the thickness
of a cullis, skim it, and pass it through a tammy. Lastly,

boil it up again, add a pinch of sugar and (partly for salt)

a good lump of anchovy butter.
Variation First. There is a feebler way, which may be
mentioned for the sake of economy, but it has the dis-
advantage of requiring the fish to be cooked first beiore
beginning the sauce, and it is possible only when the
fish has been cooked in a court bouillon of wine
with

flavouring herbs and spices. Take two ladlefuls of the

court bouillon, add to it a ladleful of Spanish sauce, pass

it through the tammy, add a pinch of sugar, and finish it

with anchovy butter.

Variation Second the so-called Bordelese Sauce, made
is

with Bordeaux wine, with no onion, nor sweet-herbs, noi

anchovy butter, and not strained.
 —

Glaze 2 19

Variation Third. The Burgundian Sauce is not distinct

enough to be noted.

Genoa has given its name to a cake, and runs a race

with Naples in the production of Italian pastes. Is not
that glory enough? What do the Genoese know of

salmon and trout, that they should be credited with the

sauce for which Geneva is famous?

German Sauce. — See Allemande.

Girasol (commonly called Jerusalem) Artichokes.
Put them for a quarter of an hour in water, with a pat of
butter and a little salt. Drain them, dish them, and pour
over them some English sauce.

Girasol Sauce —commonly and

called Palestine. — Peel
slice about a peck of them. Slice also four onions and a

head of celery. Simmer them in a stewpan for an hour,

with two ounces of butter, three pints of veal stock, nut-
meg, pepper, salt, and an ounce of sugar. Pass it through
a sieve, heat it over the fire, add a pint of hot cream, and
serve it with fried crusts.

Glaze has three distinct meanings. 1. To glaze a sauce,

or boil it down to a glaze, is really to roast it. The sauce
is reduced by boiling till it catches the pan and browns.

Further explanation of the identity of glazing and roasting

will be found in the article on Sauces. The process of
reducing to glaze is the chief distinction in all the brown

preparations of food as distinct from the white ;

and it

is not only every day performed in soups, sauces, and

gravies, but the cook gets ready and keeps by him a

quantity of glaze, which he uses for finishing his sauces

and anointing his meats. To make this glaze, it is found
that the best substance is veal — the juices of which, being
very gelatinous, take a fine colour and yield a rich odour.
Take knuckle of veal and gravy beef together, but twice
 ;

220 Goose

as much of the one as of the other ;

and make a good broth
of this in the ordinary way, by adding vegetables and
using half a gallon ol water for every three pounds of
meat. The broth is then to be strained through a napkin,
freed from fat, and put on the fire again for reduction to
a cullis. When the cullis roasts, it forms glaze, and care
must be taken that it does not burn. The glaze, if well
made, is the concentrated extract of meat, and better than
Liebig.
2. To glaze meat is to paint it before sending it to table
with a brush which has been dipped in glaze.
3. To glaze cakes or other sweets is to coat them in like
manner with sugar.
Godiveau. — See Forcemeats Nos. 2 and 3; also the
article on Gallimawfrey.

Goose. — To be stuffed with sage and onions, or with

chestnuts. (See Forcemeats Nos. 6 and 7.) To be served
with apple sauce or gooseberry sauce. A green goose is

rarely stuffed, but his inside is pretty well seasoned with

pepper and salt. Sauerkraut is considered a good garnish.

Gooseberry comes under the name of Currant or Curran,

but may here obtain a word or two for itself. It is known
in some of the English shires under the name of Carberry,

because it is red, or was known chiefly as red of Fea- ;

berry, because it was deemed good for fevers and of ;

Wineberry, because of the wine it made why it has been :

called Gooseberry is not so clear. The older herbalists

always insisted that it was so called because it was used
as a sauce for goose and the analogy of wineberry and
;

feaberry would seem to beai them out. If this should

not be satisfactory, we have to fall back upon the old

English gorst, in modern English gorse, in Shakespeare,
goss an etymology which will at the same time account
for the Scottish name of the berry, which varies between
groset and grosart. The Scotch, it must be remembered,
 Gooseberry 22 1

are great in gooseberries. It is a northern fruit. When

there was not a tree nor found in the a shrub to be
Shetland islands and the Orkneys, there were gooseberry
bushes in abundance and it was an old joke against the
;

Shetlanders, that when they read their Bibles and tried to

picture to themselves Adam hiding among the trees of the
garden, they could only call up in vision a naked man
cowering under a grosart bush. The gooseberries of
Scotland are the perfection of their race, and for flavour
and variety far beyond those of the south just as English —
gooseberries are better than those of the Continent. On
the Continent they are little prized, and not very well
known. The French have no name for them, distinct from
that of red currants.
The gooseberry cookery
is used as a fruit pie; as a
in

sauce for mackerel and as Gooseberry Fool.

; This last
word does not mean a fool, but comes from the French
fouler, The following statement is borrowed,
to crush.
with a few slight alterations, from an old book of mis-
cellaneous receipts.

Gooseberry Fool .
— “ The good people of Northampton-
shire maintain that all our best London cooks, in making
gooseberry fool, are themselves little better than fools.
There is no way, they insist, equal to their own, which is
as follows :
— After topping and — that
tailing- is, taking off
clean the two ends of the gooseberries—scald them suf-
ficiently with a very little water till all the fruit breaks.
Too much water will spoil them. The water must not
be thrown away, being so rich with the finest part of the
fruit, that if left to stand till cold it will turn to jelly.
When the gooseberries are cold, mash them all together.
Passing them through a sieve or colander spoils them.
The fine natural flavour which resides in the skin no art
can replace. The skins must therefore remain unseparated
in the general mash. Sweeten with fine powdered sugar,
222 Gourmand

but add no nutmeg or other spice. Mix in at the last

moment some rich cream, and it is ready. The young

folks of Northamptonshire, after eating as much as they
possibly can of this gooseberry fool, are said frequently
to roll down a hill and begin eating again.”

Gooseberry Sauce . —
Boil half a pint of unripe goose-
berries, and having poured off the water, rub them through
a hair sieve. Mix the pulp thus obtained with a pat of
butter, make and serve it for mackerel. This is
it hot,
enough; but a little ginger may be added, and taste may
be consulted for sugar and for salt. The greening of
spinach juice, which French cooks add, is very doubtful.

Gourmand, Gourmet. —Gourmand is a word of foreign

origin, but it is perfectly naturalised among us, for we

understand and accept its meaning. Gourmet, on the other
hand, is a good English word in its origin, but it is doubt-
ful whether it will ever pass current among us in the

sense which the French have put upon it. The word is

really diminutive of groom — a young man, a lad. In its

broadest sense it survives in bridegroom. It is peculiarly

applied to the young man who looks after horses; and

gromet or grummet is an old sailor s word for a cabin-

boy. In French the word was transposed to gourme, the

diminutive being gourmet, a lad in general, then the wine-

merchant’s then a wine-taster, next a good judge of

lad,

wine whether professional or not, and lastly any one with a

and delicate in his feeding.
fine taste

There is such an obvious difference between the gour-

mand and the gourmet, and it is so clearly possible to be
the one without the other, that some people wonder at the

difficulty of bringing the name for the latter into popular

The fact is, that the words are too nearly alike in
use.
sound. To this it may be replied that they are alike in

French as well as in English, and that therefore we should

French.
expect the distinction to be as easy in English as in
 Gourmand
There is a difference, however. In French the words gour-
mand and gourmandise do not express the same amount of
gluttony as do the corresponding words in English. Kings
and queens of France, princes of the blood, and the most
beautiful ladies of the court, thought it no shame to be
gourmands. They took a pride and pleasure in cookery ;

they invented and suggested dishes; and their names are

handed down to posterity in connection with the triumphs
of the kitchen. The most delicate lady in France does
not proclaim herself a glutton and need not blush because
she enrols herself among those to whom the Almanack des
Gourmands is addressed. But gormandising in the English
idea is sheer gluttony—and no one dare own to it, however
much he may indulge in it. To an English ear, accordingly,
theword gourmet is too suggestive of the gourmand, the
gourmand is too suggestive of the glutton, and the sound
is altogether unpleasant. Therefore, in spite of all ex-
planations, it is doubtful whether the word gourmet will
survive in the English language, much as we need some
such term to indicate a fine taste as distinct from voracity.
English is singularly weak in this way. “ Some people,”
said Dr. Johnson to Boswell, ‘‘have a foolish way of not
minding or pretending not to mind what they eat. For
my part, I mind my belly very studiously and very care-
fully; for I look upon it that he who does not mind his
belly will hardly mind anything else.” Here, by the use
of a strong word which is identified in our minds with
belly -gods and gluttony, the great moralist appears to give
a gross meaning to what is perfectly innocent. For belly
say food or eating, which is all he meant, and no one need
be offended. As some people can make love passionately,
but cannot do it lightly and gracefully, so others cannot
show that they are particular as to their eating without
showing eagerness and greed.
It would be a good thing if some English poet would

invent a phrase to denote nicety of taste at table without

 —

224 Grace before Meat

implying the rage of appetite. It is certainly odd that

Englishmen should have such an exalted idea of the sense
of taste that they bestow its name upon the faculty of
estimating all that is most sublime and beautiful in nature
and art, while they have no name left for the fine appre-
ciation of food, for the enjoyments of the table, for the
divine art of banqueting, which does not confuse dining
with g'orging and the gratification of the palate with the
repletion of a sot.

Grace before Meat.

Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it ;

But we can eat and we hae meat ;

And sae the Lord be thankit — Robert Bums. .

Grape.- — Strange that the grape is of no use in cookery,

save in the form of raisins, wine, vinegar and verjuice.

In its natural condition it is nothing, save when an
occasional grape appears in a Macedon or medley of

fruits.

Gratin, au Gratin, is something toasted or baked so

as to produce a surface that grates. A sole or a cauli-
flower au gratin is a sole or cauliflower strewed with
breadcrumbs or raspings, and baked in the oven to a golden
tint. ought to apply equally
In strict reason, the phrase
to a sole fried with breadcrumbs. But language is not
obedient to reason, and custom has ordained that what is
called a Gratin shall be baked.

— The claims of Gravy are discussed the

Gravy. in article

on Sauces. But a word may here be necessary by way

of

protest against, gravy —which, even when good, not it is is

always desirable. French cooks have a diabolical habit of

—
masking all their viands painting them with glaze, and
are
anointing them with the royal sauces of which they
so proud. They will cover a slice of hot ham with a thick
 ;

Gravy 225

sauce. Some one has said that hot ham should never be
eaten at all; but certainly, if eaten, or if worth eating, it

needs no sauce —unless on rare occasions it may be a spoon-

ful of champagne. But to have the good ham
slice of
covered with a thick sauce, which is partly made from ham,
is atrocious. Also, as a rule, it is wickedness to drench
roast game with sauce. Sydney Smith says, in describing
a dinner at which he was present: “ I heard a lady who
sat next me say in a low, sweet voice
— ‘ No gravy, sir !
’

I had never seen her before, but I turned suddenly round

and said, Madam I have been looking for a person who
‘

disliked gravy all my life; let us swear eternal friend-

ship.’ She looked astonished, but took the oath, and what
”
is better, kept it.

Its own Gravy .

—The gravy which is served in England
with roast meat is too often a mockery. While the sirloin
is turning before the fire, the cook takes a boatful of boil-
ing water, which she colours with caramel and seasons
with salt. She pours this gradually over the sirloin, she
catches it again in a dish below, takes off the fat ;
and
that is what she calls “ own gravy.” There is none of
its

the juice of meat in it save what may afterwards ooze out

from the beef when it is placed on the dish and begins to
contract by cooling. It is not merely in small and stingy
households that this is done. It is common enough in very
good houses and there is probably not a regimental mess
;

in the kingdom that is not served to gravy with the

roast joint in the same way. I have seen the cook of a

crack regiment take about a gallon of boiling water, and
with it water several magnificent roasts, to provide gravy
for the most brilliant set of officers in the British service.

Beef —
Gravy the French Jus dc boeuf Gravy is the .
—
result of two processes of cooking roasting and boiling. —
1. Line the bottom of the saucepan with slices of onion;
spread over them a little beef fat on the top of this lay

15
226 G ravy
about two pounds of gravy beef cut to pieces, and add a
gill of water —
the beef fat, when melted, making with the
water half a pint of liquid. Set the pan on a brisk fire, to

boil sharply until the contents are well browned and the

liquor reduced to a glaze. Watch carefully during this

process, which is really a process of roasting (see Glaze), so

that there may be no burning. 2. Then add a quart of

boiling water, and leave it for a little, so that the glaze may
have time to melt and detach itself from the pan. After-
wards set it on to boil with some salt, skim it carefully,
and throw in a carrot, a head of celery, both cut up, a
faggot of parsley, a couple of cloves, a blade of mace and
a pinch of pepper. Simmer it for two hours, pass it
through a tammy, take off the fat, and the result should
be about a pint-and-a-half of beef gravy.
Veal Gravy .
—Take
two pounds of the leg, knuckle or
neck of veal, free from bone. Put it into a stewpan with
a half-pint of water, and reduce it slowly to an amber
glaze, from time to time turning the meat and piercing it
with a knife, to make the juices flow. This is the roasting
process. Then for the boiling or simmering, proceed as
for beef gravy, perhaps adding an onion.

Rich Gravy .
— In the foregoing receipts the process of
making gravy ought be clear, and other gravies from
to

other meats may be made in the same way. A very rich

gravy is made by combining beef, veal and ham in the
first process of reducing the meat to glaze, and in adding
a fowl or part of a fowl to the second process of decoction.

Cold Gravies .
— All these gravies turn to a savoury jelly,

and are excellent with roast meat. But if it should be

foreseen that they are required for cold meat, the beef
gravy may be stiffened by the rind of bacon or ham, and
the veal gravy by a calf’s foot. These additions, how-
ever, are not to be made until after the first process of
roasting the beef or the veal is complete ;
and they
 — ;

Grill 22 7

involve the addition of more water for the second or sim-

mering process
-
—say a pint; as well as longer simmering
-

Greening. This is nearly always produced by means of

spinach. Either a handful of spinach is boiled in the
soup; or as much as may be needed is passed through
a sieve, or brayed in a mortar.

Greens. — See Cabbage.

Grey Mullet. — It is a sore point with the red mullets

that an inferior race withwhom they have no relations
whatever should swim the sea, and be known to fame as
grey mullets. Grey they may be, but mullets they are
not. They are prepared for table as red mullets are, but
have not the same distinction. As the glory of the red
mullet is the liver, that of the grey is the roe, hard
and which is dried, salted and preserved on the
soft,

Mediterranean coast in the form of a sausage, called

botargo, much admired by topers for the thirst which it

produces. So the fish, if it cannot create much appetite for

itself, creates a great appetite for something else, and is

useful in its generation.

Grill. — It is most ancient and the

curious that the
most simple mode of cookery should be in some respects
the most perfect, and in England certainly the most
esteemed. The first cooked food that man ate was a broil
and in England the steak or chop from the gridiron is
more in request than any other form of food. Though it
is the simplest mode of cooking, and does not need much

skill, it needs more care than any other method of applying

heat to food. The cook can turn his back on his pots and
—
pans, his oven and his spit but sure as fate if he turns his
back upon the grill it will play him a trick. He has con-
stantly to be watching the fire to see that it is clear and —
the meat to see that it does not get burnt, dried or smoked.
First for the meat the English seldom give it any pre-
;
228 Grog

paration for the grill except when it is to be breadcrumbed.

The French sprinkle it and brush it
with pepper and salt,

with oil or Butter; and they are right. For breadcrumbing,

the French plan is to dip the cutlet into oil or butter and
then to roll it in crumbs. The English smear it first with
egg-yolk, and then roll it in crumbs but when this is
;

broiled it forms too dry a crust round the cutlet ;

and
therefore it is always best after rolling it in the crumbs to
sprinkle it with clarified butter.
For the grill, it should be placed with a slant over a very
bright fire. The slant is to ensure that any fat as it melts
shall run away, and not drop under the meat so as to raise
a smoky flame. The surface of the steak should have a
certain degree of firmness when it leaves the grill and the ;

great art of grilling is to reach this degree —avoiding

equally the flabbiness of a bad French steak and the hard-
ness of a bad English one. The French rarely get this firm
surface on their steaks, because they do not put them near
enough and they do not put them near enough to
to the fire ;

the fire because they have laid down a law which is never to
—
be infringed on any account that a steak upon the grill is
never to be turned more than once. In the English manner
of grilling, the steak is turned many times (with a tongs
let be noted, never with a fork), and it can be brought
it

nearer to the fire than a French steak and to a fiercer fire

than the French allow to act briskly on the surface, which
can be quickly turned so as to prevent burning.

Grog.- would be scarcely necessary to say anything

It

about this, but that the French have seized upon the word,
and given it a currency which it was fast losing in England.
The French seem to use the word quite seriously; in
England the word has almost always carried with it a
humorous under-meaning a disparagement of the drink. —
There was an Admiral Vernon who was called Old Grog
by the sailors because in rough weather he used to pace
 Gurnard 229

the quarterdeck encased in a grogram or grogran cloak, —

in French gros grain, a coarse stuffmade of silk and
mohair. He it was who first served out rum on board
ship mixed with water. The sailors after him called the
mixture grog.

Grouse — the finest of all winged game : nothing to

approach it. We cannot have everything; and when we
lament the lack of ortolans and becaficos let us remember
thatwe have something still better in England the grouse. —
To be roasted like the partridge, and served on bread
toasted and buttered.

Gudgeon. —
What gudgeons are we men :

Every woman’s easy prey !

Though we've felt the hook — again

We bite and they betray, —
sings the poet Gay. But this is scarcely fair, for it appears
that gudgeons are mostly of the weaker sex there being —
about six females to one male. The fish has long been noted
as a dainty for invalids. It is a carp by race but a smelt by
character, and is fried like the smelt, to be served with fried
parsley. A house of great renown, the Pavilion Henri IV.,
at St. Germain, used to be, and still is famous for its fried
gudgeon; and the fish is so relished in If ranee that it is

sometimes served at the end of dinner among the entremets.

Guinea Fowl, to be roasted, must either be larded or

barded. Serve it with gravy apart, and bread-sauce.
Time to roast, nearly an hour. As the Guinea fowl is in

season from February to June, when game is scarce, it

makes a good substitute. The eggs of this bird are very

delicate.

Gurnard or Gurnet is neither common enough nor

interesting enough to deserve much notice. His name
means — grunter, from the noise he makes. He is some-
230 Haddock

times called cuckoo for the same reason. The ancients

called him a lyre, and supposed him to be under the special
protection of Apollo. Those who eat him can make a guess
what flying fish is like — for the flying fish, beloved of
poets, is a gurnard. So also are sticklebacks, which
engaged the philosophical mind of Mr. Pickwick.
Stuff him with veal stuffing, and boil him or bake him.
But first banish his fins.

DDOCK is called by the French aigrefin —-

a sharper, an impostor. It is a very good

fish notwithstanding. It has two black spots,
one on each shoulder, which are said to be
the mark of St. Peter’s finger and thumb
when he took the tribute-money out of its mouth. People
do not adorn a bad fish with these fine legends. Some of
the best haddocks come to London from Devonshire and
Cornwall; and the Dublin Bay ones are famous. They are
very good boiled with plain English butter-sauce but still ;

better baked, having first been stuffed with oyster forcemeat

or with veal stuffing. Also a haddock makes one of the best
But the Scotch are the greatest masters of the
of curries.
haddock. It is their fish par excellence. They have their
—
Loch Fyne herring, it is true but it has rivals in the Yar-
mouth bloater and the Dutch herring. There is nothing,
however, in the way of haddock that can approach the
Rizzared haddock and the Finnan haddock of the Scotch.
Nobody who has not been to Scotland in the winter time,
or not deeply studied the Scotch books, can imagine
who has
to what heights of glory a simple haddock can leap up.
There will always be doubts about the haggis or a singed
sheep’s head, but the Scottish treatment of haddock is

incontrovertible.
 Haddock

The Rizzared Haddock of the Waverley Novels. — The

haddocks (similarly also whitings) are to be skinned and
rubbed inside and out with salt. In this courtly powder
they are to hang for twenty-four hours ;
but less time will
do. Next morning, for breakfast, take off their heads, rub
them with butter, dredge them with a little flour, broil
them, and serve them with pats of fresh butter. There
are Scotchmen who eat this for breakfast every day of their
lives, and it goes far to account for the great reputation of

Scotch breakfasts. When an English cook broils a had-

dock, she neither salts it nor skins it. The last of these

faults is fatal. The object of a broil is to get the taste of

fire upon the food which is to be eaten— the toasted flavour.
The broiled flesh haddock is delicious
of a ;
the broiled
skin is worthless, and nobody eats it.

Finnan Haddock —
Finnan is a hamlet about six miles
.

—
from Aberdeen and the humble fishermen of this little
straggling hamlet have perhaps done more for the happi-
ness of mankind than all the fast clippers of the port of
Aberdeen that scour the seas for a first cargo of tea, or
than all the learned Professors of King’s College and
Marischal College. It is kindly ordered that happiness
should be the result of very simple arrangements, and not
of gigantic efforts. What joyous breakfasts among Scot-
tish hills, what jovial suppers at untimely hours in London
streets, have been the result of the Finnan haddock ! Well
may Walter Scott describe it as incomparable
Sir But !

see that it be cooked in the Scotch manner that is, skinned. —

The Scotch gentlemen dispense with their breeches the ;

Scotch haddocks dispense with their coats. We must

have the nude simplicity of these gentle hyperboreans.
English cooks sometimes complain that it is not so easy to
skin Finnan haddocks. It is the modesty of the creatures,

and there is all the greater reason to make them unrobe.

When they have parted with their garments, they are to be
rubbed with butter, broiled, and served with pats of cold
fresh butter.

Haggis. — The Scotch would never forgive us if their

national dish should be left out of the list of good things.
Few English cooks, however, would dare to attempt a
haggis, even with the most elaborate receipt before them.
Therefore anybody wishes to taste of the mighty Cale-
if

donian pudding which Burns calls the “ Great Chieftain

of the Pudding race,” he had better send to Edinburgh or
Glasgow for it. The pudding is a great traveller, does
not suffer from travelling, and heats up with a most lordly
grace. The Londoner can always order it at St. James’s
Hall. Mr. Grieve, as a worthy Scot, proud of his native
—
heath and his Scottish mutton from the inward parts of
—
which the haggis takes its rise will be only too pleased
to make known the boast oT his country to ignorant
Southerners.
Still, canny Scots who are scat-
for the benefit of the
tered over the world, and who may be found eating sheep’s
head and every other morsel of the mutton on the South
Seas, on the African sands, and on the Himalayan summits,
I append a grand receipt for the Haggis furnished by
Meg Dods. This receipt is historical, and is the result
of a competition of Haggises held in Edinburgh. The
Haggis herein described gained the first prize; the second
being adjudged to one superintended by Christopher North,
of Ebony fame.
The Edinburgh receipt. — “ Clean a fat sheep’s pluck
thoroughly. Make incisions in the heart and liver, to
allow the blood to flow out, and parboil the whole, letting
the windpipe over the side of the pot to permit the
lie

phlegm and blood to disgorge from the lungs. The water

may be changed after ten minutes’ boiling for fresh water.
The lights cannot be overboiled. A half-hour’s boiling
will be sufficient for the rest ;
but throw back the half of
 Hake 2 33

the liver to boil till when cold it will grate easily. Take
the heart, the half of the liver and part of the lights, trim-
ming away all skins and black-looking parts, and mince
them together finely. Mince also a pound of good beef
suet. Grate the other half of the liver. Have four mild
large onions peeled, scalded, and minced, to mix with the
haggis-mince. Have also ready some finely ground oat-
meal toasted slowly before the fire, till it is of a light-brown
colour and perfectly nutty and dry. A large teacupful
of meal will do for this quantity of meat. Spread the
mince on a board and strew the meal lightly over it, with
a high seasoning of black pepper, salt, and a little cayenne,
first well mixed. Have a haggis-bag (that is, a sheep’s
paunch) perfectly clean, and see that there be no thin part
in it, else your whole labour will be lost by its bursting.
Some cooks use two bags or a cloth as an outer case. Put
the meat in the bag with good beef gravy or
half a pint of
as much strong stock. Be careful not to fill the bag too
full, but allow the meal and meat room to swell. Add the
juice of a lemon or a little good vinegar. Press out the
air and sew up the bag. Prick it with a long needle
when it first swells in the pot, to prevent bursting. Let it
boil slowly for three hours if large.
“ Observations. A haggis boiled for two hours may be
kept for a week or two, and when cold gets so firm that
haggises are often sent from Scotland to distant countries.
They must in this case be made very dry, and covered with
oatmeal ;
nor will a haggis keep so well if there is onion
put to For some tastes the above receipt prescribes too
it.

much onion. Haggis meat, by those who cannot admire

the natural shape, may be poured out of the bag and served
in a deep dish. No dish heats up better. A ragout of cold
haggis, heated up in a stewpan in which a little shred onion
with pepper is first fried, is better than on the first day.”

Hake is one of the cod family —a coarse cod. Very

234 Halibut

few come to London, but they appear not unfrequently in

Paris under the name of merluche or sea pike which —
English visitors take to mean haddock. The French name
for a haddock is not merluche, but aigrefin, sometimes
spelt aiglefin.
The hake has a peculiarity which gives him a certain
superiority over the haddock, and indeed over all fish — it

iseasy to get backbone. After the fish is opened

rid of his

and cleaned, as all fish of this kind are, take his backbone,
from where it begins, between the finger and thumb.
Slide finger and thumb along the edges of the bone down
the body as far as it has been opened. The bone can then
be drawn out quite free from the flesh. You have there-
fore a fish which, as the fins can easily be removed, is all

fish and no bone, and which can be manipulated in a soup,

in a stew, in cutlets, in curry, with an ease delightful to
those who are afraid of fish bones.

Halibut, or Holibut. —The praise of this flat-fish has

been sung by a true poet— Cowper, who
grew rapturous
over one sent to him by a friend, and named immortal
probably because it was large and lasted a long time. To
save the reputation of the poet, let us remember that at a
period when people made their wills before they left home
on a short journey, he lived in an inland village where
any kind of fish would naturally enough be a rare luxury.
The most fitting appellation which has been given to the
halibut is —workhouse turbot. To do the creature justice,
however, he makes a good curry.
Ham. —Good, boiled; better, baked; best of all, roasted.
But roast ham is rare because it is difficult ;
baked ham is

easier, and boiled easiest of all.

Boiled Ham — Soak

. an English ham for twenty-four,
a Spanish one forty-eight hours. Scrape and cleanse it
it

carefully. Boil it or braze it in liquor and seasoning enough

to cover it. For very simple tastes water alone is used,
 Ham 235

together with carrots, onions, celery, cloves, mace, thyme

and bayleaves. For a very fine ham use a Mirepoix into
which about a pint of wine enters, and add broth to make
up the remainder of the liquor. For something between
these two take a quart of old cider, together with carrots,
onions, and a faggot of sweet-herbs, using water for what-
ever else of liquor may be required. Simmer it or braze
it very slowly indeed for four or five hours, according to
size. Then lift it out of its pan — take off the rind and let

it dry for a minute or two in the oven — after which it is

to be trimmed, and it may be either glazed in the French

fashion, or in English fashion strewed with raspings. If

the ham is to be served cold let it cool in its liquor, then

remove the rind, trim it, cover it either with glaze or with
raspings, and garnish it with aspic jelly and picked
parsley.

Baked Ham .- — Prepare the ham as above, and let it

simmer slowly for an hour in plain water. Then put it in

a large baking-dish, with Mirepoix of wine and a little

stock. Cover it over with oiled paper, and that again with
a plain flour-and-water paste as for a meat pie. Put it in

a slow oven to bake for three or four hours, according to

size, and adding moisture if need be. Finish as before.

Roast Ham . — Soak the Ham, cleanse it, trim it, and
simmer it for an hour slowly in plain water. Then let

it soak for twenty-four hours in a Mirepoix ol red wine,

turning it occasionally. It is afterwards to be removed

from the Mirepoix and wrapt up like a haunch of venison

first with oiled paper, then with water paste, then with

another wrapping of paper tied with a string. Put it into

a cradle-spit, and with much basting roast it for three
or four hours, according to size, before a moderate fire.

Finish the ham as before, and serve it with a boatful of

gravy made of the Mirepoix liquor which has been used in

basting it.
236 Hare
Hare. —Roast Hare. —To
be stuffed with Forcemeat
No. 6; to be barded and to be roasted on a spit for forty-
;

five minutes before a brisk fire and during the roasting ;

to be frequently basted with butter or dripping. Five

minutes before the hare removed from the fire,
is to be
take off the bards, sprinkle it with salt and flour, and baste
it with fresh butter. When this froths up and the hare is
brown, dish it with brown gravy underneath and currant
jelly in a boat. The ears are considered a delicacy, and
care should be taken not to burn them. They should be
scalded and freed from hair before the roasting begins.

Jugged Hare .
— Old
Cut the hare into pieces,
Receipt.
season it high, and put it in a stone jar or jug with half a
pound of ham or bacon (fat and lean cut up together), six
shalots, two onions, and some thyme, parsley, savory,
marjoram, lemon-peel, mace, cloves and nutmeg all well —
mixed with the meat. Pour over it a tumblerful of red
wine, another of broth, and the juice of a Seville orange.
Tie the mouth of the jar tight with bladder or leather and
brown paper, and place it in a pan of boiling water deep
enough to heat it well, but not to have a chance of boiling
over and into the jar. In this situation the jug or jar is
to remain three or four hours, the water boiling all the
time and more added as it boils away. Then take out the
hare, strain the liquor, skim off the fat, and add a thick-
ening of roux. If in the meantime the hare should cool,
put it back into the jug with the thickened gravy, and set
it in the pot of boiling water till it gets hot, but by no
means suffer it to boil. Serve it hot with slices of lemon
and with currant jelly.

Civet of Hare is practically the same thing —only it is

not done in a closed jug. More liquor may therefore be

used, both of wine and of broth, to make up for evapora-
tion ;
and the name of the dish is to be justified by serving
up with it not indeed chives —which have very insignifi-
 Hare 237

cant bulbs —but other small onions in great abundance.

The pieces of hare are to be fried in butter for ten minutes
before being set to stew; and so also the small onions are
to be browned in butter before being -
simmered with the
stew.

Hare Soup .
—The Scotch way
blood —with
after Meg :

Dods. “ Skin and clean the hare thoroughly, saving

the
blood. Cut a dozen or more of very small chops from the
back, shoulders and rump. Put what remains of the hare
and the bones into a pot, with four pounds of fresh shin or
neck of beef, four quarts of water, a couple of turnips, two
carrots, six middle-sized onions, a half-ounce of black and
Jamaica peppercorns, an ounce of salt, a faggot of sweet-
herbs, and a large head of celery. Boil for three hours,
and strain. Brown the small chops nicely in a saute-
pan, add them to the strained stock, and simmer for an
hour and a half. Strain the blood; rub it with flour,
rice-flour, or arrowroot, and a half-pint of the soup, as
if making starchadd more hot soup, and put the whole
;

into the soup, which must be kept only at the point of

boiling for ten minutes, lest the blood curdle. The soup
may be further thickened with the parboiled liver, pounded
in a mortar with the pieces of hare boiled for stock. When
enough done, skim, put in a glass of catsup, and one or
more of red wine, what more salt, pepper and cayenne is
required, and also essence of celery. Serve with the hare-
steaks in the tureen.
Observations. Red wine, in the proportion of a
quarter-pint to a tureen of soup, is reckoned an improve-
ment by some gourmands; and those of the old school
still like a larg'e spoonful of currant jelly dissolved in the
”
soup.

Hare Soup 1 he — —
English way -without blood: after
.

Miss Acton. “ Cut down a hare into joints, and put into a
soup-pot or large stewpan, with about a pound of lean ham
 , ;

238 Haricot

in thick slices, three moderate-sized mild onions, three

blades of mace, a faggot of thyme, sweet marjoram, and
parsley, and about three quarts of good beef stock. Let it

stew very gently for full two hours from the time of its first

beginning to boil, and more if the hare be old. Strain

the soup, and pound together very fine the slices of ham
and all the flesh of the back, legs, and shoulders of the
hare, and put this stewpan with the liquor in
meat into a
which it was boiled, the crumb of two French rolls, and
half a pint of port wine. Set it on the stove to simmer
twenty minutes; then rub it through a sieve, place it
again on the stove till very hot, but do not let it boil

season it with salt and cayenne, and send it to table

”
directly.

Haricot is a word which in French means two dif-

ferent things —a savoury stew and a kidney-bean. The

French etymologists are much exercised to explain how
it can mean either of these things, and they are at
their

wit’s end to explain how it can mean both. The explana-

tion is really very simple and lies on the surface ;
but the
French have an old reputation for loving far-fetched

etymologies, and they would be untrue to themselves if

they did not lose themselves in endless subtleties to unravel
the mystery of the haricot. In the seventeenth century

Menage proved clearly that the word might come from the
Latin name for a bean fcibci, which might beget —
jcibarius, which might beget jabciricotus which might beget ,

faricotus which might beget hciricotus. Unhappily there

was no authority whatever for the intermediate links of
the genealogical chain leading from fciba to haricot. And,
still worse, the name of haricot as a stew was
in existence

for 300 years before any one thought of giving the same
name to the bean. In presence of this fact the French
philologers of our day have been driven to a new expla-

nation. It has been invented by M. Genin, and it has

 Hai icoi 239

been accepted by the leading French authority, M. Littrt;,

as well as by the German authorities, Scheler and Diez.

The oldest mention of the word is to be found in a
cookery book which supposed to bear the date of 1393
is —
Le Menager de Paris. There is a receipt there given for
“ hericot de mouton,” the first sentence of which says
that the mutton must be cut into pieces. M. Genin has
seized upon this sentence and has connected it with a very
old French word —
haligote or herligote, which he derives
from the Latin aliquot Whatever its derivation, its
!

meaning was a piece or morsel, and it had a corresponding

verb harigoter, to cut to pieces. That, said M. Genin, is
haricot —
it means anything cut to pieces. And this word,
he continues, came to be applied from the stew to the
kidney-bean, because, no doubt, some one saw a dish of
kidney-beans cut to pieces and thought it resembled a
mutton hash ! One cannot always account for the play
of fancy. A crust of bread is rubbed with garlic; it is

thrown into a chicory salad to give it a flavour and all ;

the world (at least in French) agree to call it, for some
—
unknown reason a capon. And so, no doubt, for some
inexplicable reason a dish of kidney-beans was called after
a mutton stew- —a haricot.
It is almost incredible that men of learning and sense,
who call each other spirituel in quoting this explanation,
should allow themselves to be deceived by such follies. It

is all more wonderful inasmuch as they cannot touch

the
upon the question without using words which on the very
surface contain the real explanation. They have always to
begin by pointing out that a haricot of mutton is nothing
more or less than a ragout of mutton and yet it never ;

seems to have occurred to them that haricot is radically

the same word as ragout. In England, however, we are
familiar with the fact that the French do not recognise
their own words when returned to them from abroad.
Ages ago the English took the French word been/ and
240 Haricot

turned it into beef. When the name of roast beef came

to France the French did not recognise their own word,
and for two hundred years they have been speaking
of rosbif d’agneau and rosbif de mouton. It is not merely

the ignorant who fall into such a locution : men of educa-

tion, with a fine ear for the delicacies of language, such
as Jules Janin, will adopt the blunder with childish sim-
plicity. Now what has happened to them in a blunder
this is

of lower depth with regard to their word ragout. It came

back to them altered from the German frontier,' and they
altogether failed to recognise it. It came back to them

pronounced as ricot. The vowel changes can easily be

explained, and will scarcely be surprising to us who have
transmuted bceuf into beef. The only change of conso-
nant, the hardening of g into c, is characteristic of the
pronunciation of French on the Rhine. So far there
is no difficulty. The difficulty arises when we have to
account for the initial syllable of haricot. It has been
shown by Mr. Max Muller that there are many words
aspirated in French purely through the contageous in-

fluence of the German pronunciation. Thus the Latin

word altus ought to be in modern French aut : it is

liaut through contagion of the German hoch. Again

the Latin ululare ought to be in French urler, or as in

old French idler : was huller and it is hurler through

it

contagion of the German heulen. But more than this the :

word we are considering begins with r, to which the

Germans gave such a strong guttural pronunciation that

it might be represented in writing as hricot and the :

French caught this up as haricot or hericot. There is a

case in point. The French have adopted the German word
rang and have caught it up quite correctly- But they
have also caught up wrongly. The guttural pronuncia-
it

tion of the German r made the word sound like hrang, and
they caught it up as harangue. So rang and harangue,
which are a't root one and the same word, exist in modern
 Haricot 241

trench as two distinct words, all through the guttural r

of the Germans, which seemed to make an additional
syllable of itself. And what has happened
this is precisely
to ragout. It went over to Germany and came back in

German pronunciation haricot or hericot, which was all

the more easily accepted as in Provence there was a
word fricot, which is still in use, which means, like haricot,
a savoury stew, and which seemed to give it a sort of
fraternal right.
So much for the stew as regards its name and for ;

more of a practical nature turn to Ragout and Navarin.

We have now to account for the name of the bean.
And here the French have gone astray through a false
notion that the word is still the same. Haricot, the
bean, is a distinct word which has nothing whatever to
do with a ragout. It means a snail. There has been
a peculiar tendency to designate this kind of bean in a
simile. The ancients called it Phaseolus —a little boat, and
Linnaeus has fixed this for the name of the tribe. We in
England call it a kidney-bean; and the Portuguese called
one of its varieties a caracol or snail, the Italians a
caraco or caracolla. This is the word which the French
have transfigured into haricot and have allotted to the
species. They turned the 1 at the end into t, just as they
made apricoque into abricot and l’oriole into loriot. That
the initial should be transmuted into a simple aspirate is

quite in accordance with the possibilities of a language

which has chat for cat, and of a word which in one
form (said to be Arabic) appears as garagol. Com-
pare garb (a sheaf) with harvest. To one particular
variety of the kidney-bean Linnaeus gave the name of
Phaseolus Caracalla, and the French recognise it as haricot
limagon, whichis a reduplication of the original name, the

meaning of which has been lost. Such reduplications are

common enough. Thus in English we speak of a cockle-
shell — forgetful of the fact that cockle (coquille) is itself a

16
242 Haricot

shell. Or again we speak of a dog-kennel, forgetful of the

fact that kennel (canile) is itself a dog-house, and that
therefore to say dog-kennel is in effect to say dog-dog-
house.
Unhappily, in England, the haricot is little known
except in the unripe pod. It is the only vegetable which
we eat in the pod, and the technical name for it in this
condition is green haricots, or
in French haricots verts.

It would be more convenient, however, to speak of them as

haricot pods, to distinguish them from the haricot seeds
which are also green, as peas or beans are, and not merely
white and red. In England the only kinds of haricot
that come to perfection are the dwarf kidney-bean, known
as the French bean, a native of India introduced into
England three centuries ago and the scarlet runner, a ;

native of South America, introduced in 1663, but so little

regarded as an article of food that up to the end of last

century it was chiefly used as an ornamental flower, or
petted as a curiosity among twining plants because it is

the only one which twines the opposite way of the sun.
But neither of brought to such perfection in
these is

England that the seeds are cared for, and the seeds used
here are mostly imported from France. Of these there
are three chief kinds, which may be rudely described as
—
four the Green, the White, the Red, and the broad haricot
of Soissons. It must be clearly understood, however,
that the first two are the same and differ only as green
peas from yellow.

1. Haricot Pods —what the French call haricots verts;

called also French beans, and, in old French, Roman
beans.

Plain boiled. This is called the English fashion. Pick

and clear of strings about a pound of them, cut them in
pieces lengthways, and boil them in an uncovered stew-
pan with salt and much water till they are tender. Drain
 Haricot 243

them well in a colander, and when serving- them put a g-ood

piece of butter among- them.

Tossed. and having- drained them

Boil as before,
thoroughly, toss them with two ounces of butter for nearly
ten minutes on a brisk fire. Add a pinch of salt, a squeeze
of lemon, and a sprinkling of parsley chopped fine.

En Poulette. Boil and drain them as before, and serve

them in a Poulette sauce without the mushrooms, but with
a sprinkling of chopped parsley.
hi salad. Cut them
diamond shapes, blanch them
in
well, cook them, cool them, drain them, mix them with oil
and vinegar, and with a garnish of chopped ravigote. To
this salad may be added, in the Lyonnese fashion, slices of
onion baked in cinders, or indeed baked any way.

2. Haricot Beans .
—
These are the seeds first, the ;

flageolets, which are green and are to be had fresh from

July to October, dried always; second, the white
or
haricots, which are the green ones ripened; third, the red
haricots; fourth, the large Soissons beans.

Plain boiled. If the beans are fresh they are thrown

into boiling water; if dry into cold. It was once the
custom to soak the latter for a long time — perhaps twenty-
four hours — in cold water before use; but this was irksome,
for it implied that we could not have haricots without a
day’s notice beforehand. It has since been found that by

a particular process of boiling the previous soaking can be

dispensed with. The art is this, and it applies to dried peas
as well : Put the beans into cold water, bring them to
the boiling point and simmer them for half an hour then ;

put in a gill of cold water, bring the beans to the boil-

ing point again and simmer as before; every half-hour
repeat the cold water, the boiling and the simmering, till
the beans are tender. Salt is taken for granted, it is
needless to say.
244 Harlequin Comfits

Tossed, in Butter. Toss them in two ounces of butter,

a wineglassful of the liquor they have boiled in, salt and
chopped parsley. Sometimes when tossed in this way,
these haricots are mixed with haricot pods which are then —
called haricots panaches.

A la Bretonne. Mixed half and half with Breton Sauce

and served with roast or broiled mutton. See Breton.

Puree of White Haricots for Garnish. Boil them with

an onion and a faggot of parsley, which latter is after-
wards to be put aside, and then pass the haricots and the
onion through a sieve, moistening- with milk or broth to
help them through. Warm
them up with butter, salt and
a little sifted sugar, and keep them warm in the bain marie
till the moment of serving, when they may be brightened
up with another piece of fresh butter. For a slightly

different treatment, see the article Puree.

Stew of Red Plaricots. Let them be plain boiled, but not

for nearly the full time. Then put them into a stewpan
with about half a pound of streaky bacon in small slices,
a pinch or two of flour, the same two glasses of
of pepper,
red wine, two glasses of the water they have boiled in, and
simmer them for from twenty to thirty minutes. When
all is ready add an ounce of butter and serve. This is the

French idea of beans and bacon.

Haricot Soups, white and red, are prepared like pea
soup, for which see the receipt. The red haricot soup goes
always by the name of Cond6, the white by that of
Clermont.

Harlequin Comfits. — Caraway seed coated with sugar

of various and sprinkled as an ornament over
colours
cakes and creams.' They are not much used now, and
certainly not by pastrycooks who think of fashion. They
have, in fact, become vulgar. But a rose is sweet by
whatever name it is known, and whether it grows in a
 ;

Herbs 2 45

garden or a hedge; and these harlequin comfits, with their

variety of pretty tints, pleased us as children, and will
please us too as men, so long as we retain simplicity of
taste.

Hartshorn. — How wise we can be after a folly has

been exposed ! We now laugh at ourselves for eating
stag s horn, and imagining that because reduced to
shavings and dissolved in water it gave solidarity to liquids,
it must add strength to food. It was the same with ivory
filings. We who would have laughed
at the notion of
eating horn and sucking ivory, thought that water turned
into jelly by one or the other must abound in strength.
And we who have eaten horn and ivory because they are
strong are the very persons who jest at the ancients
because they ate nightingales to make them musical, and
at the French because they eat frogs by way of cure for
croaking.

Hebe —Jupiter’s parlour-maid. Always, if possible,

have a Hebe to wait. It is incalculable how much a
pretty parlour-maid adds to the poetry of the table.

Herbs. — There is a curious classification of gardeners

which I have never been able to understand. A certain
number of plants are called herbs, and they are divided
into Pot-herbs and Sweet-herbs.

Pot-herbs are —parsley, purslane, tarragon, fennel, bor-

age, dill, chervil, horseradish, Indian cress, and marigold.
Sweet-herbs —thyme,
sage, savory, clary, mint, mar-
are-

joram, basil, rosemary, lavender, tansy and costmary.

Ihis list is taken from Loudon’s “ Encyclopaedia of
Gardening,” and shows the requirements of a modern
English kitchen garden, from which it is needless to say
that many plants formerly in use, and classed as pot-herbs
or sweet-herbs, are omitted. I he French have something
similar in their list of potageres but the selection is widely
 ;

246 Herring

different. In either case the classification is not scientific

and will not bear analysis. It represents an old-world

arrangement which has passed away.

Pot-herbs from Wild Plants .
— Black bryony, charlock,
oxtongue, and spotted hawkweed, to be used like turnip-
tops or greens, in spite of the fact that bryony is commonly
considered poison. Burdock and willow-herb have their
tender shoots boiled and eaten as asparagus. Fat-hen,
sea-orach, sea-beet, sow-thistle, and the stinging-nettle

may be treated like spinach. Chickweed is said to be

remarkably good, and once was common at table. Sauce-
alone, or Jack-by-the-hedge, has a taste of garlic, and has
some repute as a pot-herb. Wild rocket is something like
mustard, and may be used either as pot-herb or salad.

Herring. —Amsterdam is said to be built on herring-

bones and the herring has certainly made the fortune of
;

Holland. It is one of those productions, says Lacepede,

which decide the destiny of empires. It is not so much to

look at, this little creature, but it is as the sea-sand for

multitude, and the poets have discovered that they mean
living men.
Ye may ca’ them caller herring,
Women ca’ them — lives o’ men.

They cost men’s lives, it is true; but it is also true that

whole nations live The Emperor Charles V.

by them.
made a pilgrimage to the tomb of the Dutchman who is
supposed to have invented pickled herrings. He was not
really the creator of this commodity but that is nothing—
what is admirable is the hero-worship of a great Emperor
bending his head and casting his crown before the tomb of
a herring-salter. This is a case of hero-worship which
Carlyle has curiously omitted. We have heard of the hero
as king, as poet, as prophet we have still to hear of him
;

the
as a humble but most useful herring-pickler, adding to
wealth of the world and the happiness of his people bv a
 Herring 247

simple but far-reaching and wonder-working discovery in

food. Io Triumphe cries the Frenchman Lacepede
! “if it
—
was a citizen of Biervliet who first originated the idea of
saltingand barrelling herrings, let us glory in the remem-
-

brance that it was a citizen of Dieppe who first taught the

world how to smoke them.’’ Herrings were salted and
smoked long before the said citizens of Biervliet and
Dieppe opened their eyes upon the fishing fleets ;
but all
the same the hero-worship of the Republican Lacepede
is as interesting and honourable as that of the Imperial
Charles.
he most varied accounts are given as to the time when
I

herrings are in season. A great authority, Grimod de la

Reyni^re, announces to the Parisians in his calendar the
arrival ol the herring in
There are English November.
books which announce November as the very end of the
season for the herring. The fact is that there is more than
one kind of herring. The common kind comes to our
shores in April or May, and spawns in the end of October
or beginning of November, after which it is good for
nothing. There is another kind, which Yarrell calls
Leach’s herring, which is heavy with roe in January
and which does not spawn till the middle of February.
In the Baltic there are three distinct species —a spring, a
summer, and an autumn herring. Practically we have
the herring in England all the year round save the spring
months.

—The best British herring by far the

Fresh Herrings .
is
—
Loch Fyne herring and the most approved method of cook-
ing it is that which is practised on the Clyde. A fresh
herring nearly always and everywhere broiled.
is The
Clyde fashion is to broil or fry it as follows The heads, :
—
tails, and fins of a couple of herrings are clipped off. The
fish when thoroughly cleaned are split open by the back
and boned. I hey are then dusted with pepper and salt,
248 Holland Sauce

and enriched with a little butter. They are next placed

one on the other, the skins being outside, and skewered or
sewn together.
The English way is to broil each herring by itself, either
splitting itand boning it, which is best, or leaving it entire.
But in reference to any of these processes a question
suggests itself. Do you, or do you not, eat the skin of the
herring? If you do, there is no more to be said and no
fault to be found. If you do not, then why give the
pleasant taste of broiling or frying to the surface which
is to be rejected?Arrange that the taste of the fire
shall go upon the flesh of the herring and not upon the
skin.

Salt Herrings —These

on the Continent are generally
.

eaten after the manner of the Dutch raw. Cut off head, —
tail, and fins remove also the backbone soak them for a
; ;

time in milk and water; dry them, cut them in pieces,

and arrange them in a boat or deep dish, with slices of
roasted onions and of raw apples add oil and vinegar, and ;

eat. Sometimes, however, in France, these herrings, after

being soaked, are grilled and served on a puree of peas,
French beans, or lentils.

Bloaters and Kippers —There only one way

. is of doing
these, and it is perfect — them a maitre
to grill la d’hdtel.
But mark: the French remove the skin, and there ought
to be a stringentlaw to this effect set up in all kitchens,
and parlous punishment inflicted for its violation.
Red Herrings — French way
Soak them for some time
. :

in them in a marinade
milk, and having wiped them, place
of oil, pepper, parsley, shalot, and mushrooms finely
chopped. Breadcrumb them, grill them, and serve them
with bread and butter.

Holland Sauce (Sauce Hollandaise)- —another name

for Dutch sauce.
 —

Horseradish 249

Horly a la Horly — is a mode of describing fillets of

anything, but generally of and the whiter game,
fish, fowl,
first marinaded for a couple of hours, then drained and

dried, then dipped in batter and fried, then again drained

and served with crisp parsley and a boatful of sauce. The
chief Horlys are fillets of chicken and fillets of sole, and
they are both done alike. The usual sauce to go with them
is Tomato. For the marinade take either of the uncooked
ones.

Hors d’ceuvre. —There

was a time when these
v
little

articles good deal of attention. They are now

demanded a
of the smallest account and are little more than the
;

trifles —
prawns, olives, radishes, anchovies which keep the —
customer occupied in a restaurant while the dinner he has
ordered is getting ready. — as the
The hot Hors d ’oeuvres
—
Bouchees, Rissoles and Croquettes are now classed among
the entrees.

—
Horseradish. Old Parkinson said that it ought to
be called Clown’s mustard, “ for it is too strong for any
tender stomach.” Nevertheless, there are many persons
to whom roast beef without horseradish is nearly as great
a failure as without mustard. It is scraped and served as
a garnish. Better still, it is grated and made into a sauce,
which is usually cold, though sometimes heated.

Horseradish Sauce .
— Grate a young root finely. Add
to it a gill of cream, a dessertspoonful of sugar, a little

salt,and rather more than a tablespoonful of vinegar, and

mix all well together. Some persons add mustard.

Another receipt. —Add to the grated radish the zest and

juice of an orange, three tablespoonfuls of oil, a table-
spoonful of panada, a good tablespoonful of vinegar, a
teaspoonful of sugar, and a good pinch of salt. Mix well
together and serve in a boat. See Polish Sauce.
250 Hospitality

Hospitality. —But be not thou like the too flowery

Chinese, of whom the Abbe Hue gives the following
account — the hero of the tale, observe, being not a heathen,
but a Christian, Chinee. “ During the time when we were
at our Northern Mission, we were witnesses of a most
curious fact, which was wonderfully characteristic of the
Chinese. It was one of our feast days, and we were to
celebrate the Holy Office at the house of the First Catechist,
where there was a tolerably large chapel to which the
Christians of the neighbouring villages were in the habit
of coming in great numbers. After the ceremony the
master of the house posted himself in the middle of the
court, and began to call to the Christians who were leaving
the chapel—* Don’t let anybody go away. To-day I invite
every one to eat rice in my house and then he ran from ’
;

one group to another urging them to stay. But every one

alleged some reason for going, and went. The courteous
host appeared quite distressed. At last he spied a cousin
of his, who had almost reached the door, and rushed
towards him saying
—
What, cousin! are you going too?
‘

Impossible, this is a holiday, and you really must stop.’

‘
do not press me; I have business at
No,’ said the other, *

home that I must attend to. Business W’hat to-day’

‘
!
—
a day of rest! Absolutely, you shall stop; I won’t let
you go !And he seized the cousin’s robe, and tried to
’

bring him back by main force, while the desired guest

struggled as well as he could, and sought to prove that his
was too pressing to allow of his remaining. ‘Well,
-

business
said the host at last, ‘
since you positively cannot stay to
eat rice, we must few glasses of wine
at least drink a

together. I should be quite ashamed if my cousin went

away from my house without taking anything. Well, -

replied the cousin, ‘

it much time to drink a
don’t take
glass of wine,’ — and fie turned back. They re-entered the
house, and sat down in the company room. The master
then called in a loud voice, though without appearing to
 Hotch Potch 251

address any one in particular, ‘

Heat some wine and fry
’
two eggs !

“ In the meantime, till the hot wine and fried eggs should
arrive, the two lighted their pipes and began to gossip, and
then they lit and smoked again but the wine and eggs ;

did not make their appearance. The cousin, who most

likely had some real business, at last ventured to ask of
his hospitable entertainer how long he thought it would
be before the wine would be ready. ‘
Wine !
’
replied the
host: ‘wine! Have we got any wine here? Don’t you
know very well that I never drink wine? It hurts my
stomach.’ ‘In that case,’ said the cousin, ‘surely you
might have let me go. Why did you press me to stay?
’

Hereupon the master of the mansion rose and assumed

an attitude of lofty indignation. Upon my word,’ said ‘

he, ‘
anybody might know what country you come from.
What ! I have the politeness to invite you to drink wine,
and you have not even the politeness to refuse ! Where
in the world have you learned your rites? Among the
Mongols, I should think,’ And the poor cousin, under-
standing that he had been guilty of a dreadful blunder,
stammered some words of apology, and, filling his pipe once
more, departed.
“ We were ourselves present at this delightful little

scene and as soon as the cousin was gone, the least we

;

could do was to have a good laugh but the master of ;

the house did not laugh he was indignant. He asked us —

whether we had ever seen such an ignorant, stupid, absurd
man as his cousin and he returned always to his grand
;

principle — that is to say, that a well-bred man will always

render politeness for politeness, and that one ought kindly
what another kindly offers; otherwise,’ he cried,
to refuse '

‘what would become of us ?’ ’’—Hue’s Chinese Empire,

vol. i., chap. 7.

Hotch Potch implies confusion and variety ;

and as
252 Hotch Potch

confusion may be infinite and variety indescribable, it is a

word of wide application. The Scotch, however, seem to
have set their hearts upon this word rhyming to their name,
and have fixed upon a magnificent dish which
it for ever
they call a soup, but which looks more like a stew. It is a
soup of the class which the French call a Garbure. The
principle of it and of the other mutton broths will be
explained hereafter in the article .Scotch Broth. When Prince
Albert paid his first visit Highlands he was profoundly
to the
interested in this great national dish the Scotch Hotch —
Potch, which is devoured by rich and poor alike with
incredible gusto. He made his first acquaintance with it on
was dipping his spoon into a
a hillside, where a herd-laddie
The Prince asked the boy what he had for dinner,
tin can.

and was told it was Hotch Potch. “ And what is Hotch

Potch? ” said the Prince. “There’s carrots intil’t,” said the

boy, “there’s neeps (turnips) intil’t, there’s peas intil’t,

there’s cabbage intil’t ” The Prince stopped him “Yes, :

my little man, but what’s intil’t,’?” “There’s peas intil’t,”

continued the boy, “there’s carrots intil’t.” “Yes, yes,”

rejoined the Prince, “but want know what’s ”
I to ‘intil’t,’

“I’m telling ye- —there’s carrots intil’t, there’s cabbage

intil’t, there’s peas intil’t.” “Still I don’t know what is
”
‘intil’t.’ “Did ye ever hear the like?” said the boy; “am
n’t I telling you that there’s peas intil’t?” —and so forth.
The Prince was not enlightened until one of his gillies came
up and informed him that in the language of the country
“intil’t,” means into it or in it :
“ There’s peas in it, there’s
carrots in it.” The following receipt is taken from the
cookery book of Mrs. Dalgairns, which I always read with
awe because the great Wizard of the North, Sir Walter
himself, is said to have contributed to its pages. Who
knows but this receipt came in all its robust simplicity
from his hands?
“ Cut in dice a good quantity of young turnips and
carrots, and boil them gently, with one or two lettuces cut
 — — — -

Indigestion 253

small, the tops of some and a pint of full-grown

cauliflower,
peas in four quarts of boiling water for two hours. Cut in
neat chops a loin or the best end of a neck of mutton add ;

them to the vegetables with salt, pepper and some onions

cut small, and let them boil an hour and a half. Lastly,
add three pints of green peas and an hour longer,
boil half

when it is ready to serve.” two hours and a half

In all

the mutton being put in half an hour after the vegetables.

Distrust the English imitations of this receipt, which all
—
miss the chief point of it- a superabundance of peas, a
portion of them being put in from the first, and after 2 )/2
hours’ boiling being reduced to a mash. Compare with
this the Flemish dish of peas and lettuce, which will be
found under the heading of Paysanne.
N.B. —No barley. In England it is supposed that there
must be barley in all Scotch broth. It is a mistake. Hotch
Potch will accept almost any addition except barley.

Humble Pie. If ever you should be told to eat humble

pie, beg that you may be permitted to do so- for it is very —

good. It is made of the humble or numbles of a deer —
that is, the inward parts. The Scotch make a wonderful
pudding out of the inward parts of a sheep the haggis. —

NDIGES1 ION. — There no such cure for

is

indigestion as that prescribed by Harry the

Eighth and recorded as follows by Thomas
Church History
Fuller in his :

‘‘King Henry VIII., as he was hunting in

W indsor Forest, either casually lost or (more probably)
wilfully losing himself, struck down about dinner-time
to
the abbey of Reading, where, disguising himself (much for
delight, more for discovery, to see unseen), he was invited
to the abbot s table, and passed for one of the King’s guard
 — —

2 54 Inn

—a place to which the proportion of his person might

properly entitle him. A sir-loin of beef was set before him
(so knighted, saith tradition, by this King Henry), on which
the King laid on lustily, not disgracing one of that place
for whom Well fare thy heart,’ quoth
he was mistaken. ‘

the abbot, and here in a cup of sack I remember the health

‘

of his grace your master. I would give an hundred pounds

on the condition I could feed so heartily on beef as you
do. Alas my weak and queasy stomach will hardly
!

digest the wing of a small rabbit or chicken.’ The King

pleasantly pledged him, and heartily thanked him for his
good cheer ;
after dinner departed as undiscovered as he
came thither. Some weeks after, the abbot was sent for by
a pursuivant, brought up to London, clapt in the Tower,
kept a close prisoner, fed for a short time on bread and
water; yet not so empty his body of food, as his mind was
filled with fears, creating many suspicions to himself, when
and how he had incurred the King’s displeasure. At last a i
sir-loin of beef was set before him, on which the abbot fed as hi

the farmer of his grange, and verified the proverb that two
hungry meals make the third a glutton. In spring's King
a
Henry out of a private lobby, where he had placed himself,
the invisible spectator of the abbot’s behaviour.
‘
My lord,’
a
quoth the King, ‘ presently deposit your p£ioo in gold, or
else no going hence have been
all the days of your life. I

your physician to cure you of your queasy stomach, and

here, as I deserve, I demand my fee for the same. ’
The
abbot down with his dust ;
and glad he had escaped so,
returned to Reading, as somewhat lighter in his purse, so
much more merrier in heart than when he came thence.

Inn.

Whoe’er has travelled life's dull round,

Where'er his changes may have been,
Will sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome at an inn. Shenstone.
 Irish Stew 255

Irish Stew.—There are two possible reasons for the

name of this dish. The first is Hibernian — it is unknown in

Ireland; the second is that the stuff of which Irishmen are

made is redundant in it — potatoes. The Irish are not cooks.
They are the most agreeable of companions at table, but
they have done nothing to furnish the table except in the
-

way of Usquebagh —water of life —which, however, it must

be admitted is an immense achievement, worthy of the
magicians, and proving beyond a doubt that in the olden
time Ireland was the abode of giants.
Irish stew is a white ragout of mutton with potatoes
for the chief garnish. Most ragouts are brown it being —
always easier to heighten the flavour of a sauce by
browning it than by trusting to mere decoction. What is
called the haricot of mutton, for example, is browned.
The beautiful simplicity of the Irish stew would be lost if

it were allowed in any way to brown. The potatoes are so

important in it that they are always double the weight of

the meat, and the only other vegetable that they go with is
the onion —
which may be much or little according to taste.
In the true Irish stew, too, both potatoes and onions are
exceedingly well done, so that they are half reduced to a
mash.
lake the neck of mutton and divide it into cutlets,
well trimmed of the fat. No objection to some of the
breast divided into squares. Season the pieces plentifully
with pepper and slightly with salt. Place the meat in a
deep stewpan with six or eight onions cover it with water, :

and let it simmer for half an hour. As Irish stew must

not be greasy, the liquoris then poured off, and poured

back again after the grease has been removed. In the

meantime potatoes have been got ready, parboiled and
peeled. They should amount after peeling to twice the
weight of the meat. They are added to the stew with a
pint of broth or else a like quantity of water; and the
whole is left to simmer for an hour and a half. See in
256 Isinglass

serving it that it has salt enough and a decided flavour of

the pepper pot.
In Scotland they produce exactly such a stew, cover it

over with a crust, and call it Shepherd’s pie. In Devon-

shire and Cornwall they make this pie, put apples into it
instead of potatoes, and announce it as Devonshire, Cornish,
or Squab pie. The Shepherd’s pie of Scotland is evidently
too farinaceous —potatoes within and paste without. The
housewives of Devonshire and Cornwall are much more
artistic in keeping to one kind of farina the paste, and —
putting inside the pie only apples and
-
onions. As the
combination of apples and onions in the way of garniture

has been long dedicated in England to pork, the Devonians

and Cornishmen have also decided that their pie shall do
honour to pork as often as to mutton- —perhaps oftener.

Isinglass. —The
remarks of Liebig upon gelatine apply
equally to isinglass, which must henceforth be regarded
rather as a vehicle of ornament than as an article of
nourishment. At least there is this in its favour — it is more
delicate than gelatine. It is the best simple means at our
command for giving firmness to liquids. It is made from

the sound or swim-bladder of various fishes, but chiefly the

sturgeon, which yields the best; and the mode of drying

it has given rise to a number of confusing names —as purse,

pipe and lump honeycomb, staple and book
isinglass, leaf,
isinglass. All depends on whether the sound is opened or
unopened before being dried, and whether, being opened, it
is folded again, left unfolded, or rolled out.

Italian Sauce. — Most of the cookery books are curi-

ously uncertain about this sauce. Some make it white,
some make it brown, and others make it both white and
brown. It is a white sauce. People may say that they
have a right to reproduce it in brown if they please. So
they have but the result in that case is so nearly allied to
;
 ;

Jam 2 57
some other brown sauces that it seems absurd to make a
confusion of names for a trifling difference.
Put into a saucepan a tablespoonful of parsley, half one
of shalot, —
and another of mushroom all finely chopped
half a bottle of white wine; and butter about the size of
an egg. Put it on the fire to boil and reduce it well, but
without browning it. Then add two ladlefuls of Velvet-
down and one of double broth. Set it on the fire to boil
and to throw up its scum. Remove scum and grease, and
it is ready.

M —one most unfortunate words ever

of the
introduced into the English language. Of
foreign,probably Oriental origin, it has
been only too easy to confound it in meaning
with the English word to jam or crush to-
gether. 1 he English make their conserves of fruit into a
jam something pressed hard together which they some-
—
;

times also most appropriately call a cheese. They have no

notion, for example, in making strawberry jam, of keeping
They do not understand a medium
the berries separate.
between smashing the fruit and jamming it together into
a solid cheese on the one hand, and on the other preserving
it like bottled fruits in a thin syrup. In the one case the
flavour of the conserve isoverdone — in the other under-
done; and no justice is done to the fruit. There might
be some excuse for such a treatment of raspberries, which
easily break and run together. Nobody who has eaten
the Scotch or the French conserve of strawberries, where
the fruit is kept whole, will care to look at the English
jam.
Every rule has its exception. There is a good straw-
berry jam to be found in London. The maker’s name is

oddly spelt — Buszard. There is a curious indecision which

17
 ;

258 Jardiniere

interests the philosophic mind in that 5 which fears to

duplicate itself, and that 2 which refuses to vanish alto-
gether. There is no indecision in the jam, however and —
I hand down to the admiration of posterity the immortal
name of W. Buszard, 350, Oxford Street the only place —
in London where strawberries are decently preserved.

Jardiniere. — It is an amusing idea, this of the

gardener’s wife, who is supposed to go into the garden to
see her husband, who filches here a carrot or two, there a
turnip, now an onion or a few pods of peas, and who
returns home with a medley of small vegetables in her
apron. A soup with her thrown into it is
little collection

called a soup a la Jardiniere (see Brunoise) and a steak, ;

a cutlet or a ragout served with a similarly medley is said to

be a cutlet, a steak or a ragout after the fashion of the

gardener’s wife. As the word Macedon is used in the
same way medley of vegetables, and as we do
to express a
not always want the same combination of garden stuff, it
is a pity that one of these words is not used for one
sort

of medley and the other for another. But here we have

two words for one and the same thing —any conceivable

medley of vegetables.

Jelly. — No doubt the counterblast of Baron Liebig

against gelatine and jelly was much needed. The world
had an exaggerated notion of the value of jelly as nutri-

ment. The counterblast of the chemist was aided by the

discovery that gelatine is often derived from obnoxious

—
sources such as horses’ hoofs. The consequence is that
jelly has gone very much out of fashion. This is a pity
for
—
whatever the chemists may say and their results, as
may be seen under the head of Gelatine, are by no means
clear —
the palate enjoys a good calf’s-foot jelly, and we
are not yet so corrupted by civilisation that we cannot
afford to be ruled by the promptings of nature. A sick
man will often swallow with enjoyment a calf’s-foot jelly
 Jelly 2 59

when he can take nothing else. “ It cannot do you any

good,” says the chemist, “ because cannot place
— “a
I find it

in my scale of diet.” All the sick man can say is I like

—
it
my stomach will tolerate this jelly when it can tolerate
nothing else. No chemist has ever yet been able to express
in figures good that coffee does, or tea and when I
the ;

can take a good jelly with pleasure, why should I refuse

it merely because the chemist is at fault with his weights

and measures, cannot find gelatine in the blood, and cannot

what part it plays in the body, where nevertheless
tell for
some useful purpose it abounds? ”

Calf’s-foot Jelly . — -Jelly can be made from bones, from

hartshorn, from isinglass, from prepared gelatine, from
moss. The
best, however, is made from meat, and the
most expeditious from calves’ feet. Calves’ feet are
extremely useful in this way, and may as opportunity
serves be helped out with knuckle of veal, pig’s skin,
or any other gelatinous substance at hand. Under the
head of Aspic will be found a receipt for calf’s-foot jelly
flavoured with vegetables, to be eaten with cold meat.
The same receipt, barring the vegetables, holds forwhat is
commonly called calf’s-foot jelly a sweetened — jellywhich
belongs to the entremets. When the calf’s feet have been
boiled down, and the liquor has been passed through a
sieve as well as freed from grease, sugar is added, and
spices such as cinnamon and coriander seeds. All this is
dissolved over the fire, together with half a bottle of sherry
(but some prefer rum, punch, or noyau), the juice of six
and zest of two lemons. The liquor is then clarified with
whites of eggs, and it is tested for strength. If it is not
strong enough some isinglass is added, or else some per-
fectly trustworthy gelatine; it is then passed through a
jelly-bag and a mould.
left to set in

English cooks boast of calf’s-foot jelly as their own

peculiar invention, and the French freely accord this glory
260 Jerusalem Artichoke

to the English kitchen. But here is a refinement which

must be left to There is a sect
the learned to decide upon.
of philosophers who declare that jelly in a mould is not
nearly so nice as the same jelly broken up and served in
fragments.
'
Another refinement. It makes a very pretty combina-
tion with good cream, and perhaps it may be well and of
good omen to give rest to the shade of Baron Liebig by
adding the nourishment of cream to the no nourishment of
jelly.

Again a refinement —but this is more for the eye than

for the taste. Careme introduced the practice of serving
this jelly when flavoured with oranges in the orange skins,
divided in half. But in orange jelly there is no wine, and
very often no calves’ feet. It is made mostly with isinglass,
dissolved in a great deal of the juice and a little of the zest
of oranges.

Meat Jelly is chiefly made from veal, because it is most

gelatinous. To every pound of veal add a calf’s foot, half
a pound of the leg of beef, and half a pound of the rind of
fresh pork — in short, pigskin. Make a broth of this in the
ordinary way, using the smallest quantity of water which
is considered allowable — say a pint to apound add vege- ;

tables and salt; see that it has been well skimmed; simmer
it for three hours; and strain through a napkin.
it If

there is any doubt as to its strength for jelly test it on ice,

and if it is not stiff enough, reduce it. Lastly, clarify it.

Here is a clear white jelly for use in all the white prepara-
tions of food ;
as glaze and the gravies are used in the
brown preparations.
Jerusalem Artichoke. — See Girasol Artichoke.

—There a strong feeling against these learned

Jesuits. is

fathers, but whenever we inclined denounce themfeel to

let us pause — us remember that they introduced
let into

Europe and propagated the turkey and us — : let reflect

 Julienne 261

what would Europe, what would civilisation now be with-

out this excellent creature? What would become of our
Christmas dinner? The English name of the turkey is

wrong, and comes from an error as to the origin of the

bird. The French name of dindc — that is, cocj d’lnde, is
right in that the name of Indies was applied formerly to
America. We speak in England of the cinchona bark as
Jesuit’s bark. The turkey is in like manner the Jesuits’

bird.

Joint. — The Grosse-pi&ce of the French, or the Pifece de

resistance, is too well known in England to call for any
remark in and by itself but there is a controversy be-
;

tween the French and the English as to its proper place

in a dinner. The French place it at the beginning after
the soup the English place it at the end before the
;

entremets. I he question has already been discussed in the

article on Entrees and Entremets.

Julienne. —The history of the soup called Julienne is

remarkable, though it is lost in the darkness of the past.
It is the most popular soup in Christendom, and yet the
meaning of its name is utterly unknown. For a time it
was supposed to be named after some cook who invented
it;
but it was in existence long before the time when any
cook was in a position to give his name to a dish and all ;

the best French etymologists have given up the word as a

hopeless puzzle. I think that in the sequel I can give a
clear explanation of the name; but before doing so it is

necessary first of all to note down certain traditions which

have been preserved from immemorial date, though not
always concurrently, in regard to this soup.
1. There is a curious tradition about Julienne soup,
which has been most carefully preserved, and which is
so incomprehensible until we get the clue to it that it
looks like a superstition. It is ordered that the carrots,
turnips, and other vegetables in the soup shall be cut into
 —

262 Jidienne
long strips or straws. There are cookery books which
make absolutely no distinction whatever between Julienne
—
and other spring soups but this that whereas in the other
soups the roots may be cut into dice or shaped into peas,
or may have any convenient form whatever, in Julienne
they must be cut into little straws. The tradition is not
invariably observed,and plenty of receipts (especially in
England) may be found in which there is no mention of the
vegetable straws as an essential characteristic of the soup.
There were cooks who naturally argued that the shape of
the vegetables could not affect the quality of the soup, and
refused to bow to the superstition which compelled them to
be cut into strips. Reason or no reason, the usage is almost
invariable in France, where a master-cook would consider
himself disgraced if it could be said of him that he had put
carrots into his Julienne without cutting them into straws.
And the usage is so well understood that in prescribing- the
arrangement of other dishes, it is always enough to say
cut the vegetables as for Julienne.
2. There is another tradition — that Julienne must always
have sorrel in it. Some cooks neglect this, and fail to

put sorrel in the Julienne; or they forget the peculiarity

of Julienne, and put sorrel into all the soups of similar
character. Francatelli is an excellent cook, but he has
not the historical instincts of a Frenchman, and he will
tell his pupils to put sorrel alike into Brunoise and into

Julienne, but not into spring soup. Frenchmen like

Dubois and Bernard will allow to Brunoise the same vege-
tables as to Julienne, but always except the sorrel, which is

peculiar to the latter. A Parisian physician, Dr. Roques,

who had a great authority as a gastronomer, gave a warn-
ing to the French cooks of the last generation not to forget
sorrel in the Julienne. “ Certes,” he said, “ votre Julienne
”
serait manquee, si l’on y avait oublie l’oseille.
But even with these traditions ringing in our ears,
how are we nearer to a solution of the question as to the
 julienne 263

meaning- of Julienne? We are no nearer to this goal

until we make an assumption — namely, that the sorrel
proper to Julienne is not the common sorrel but wood-
sorrel. It is an assumption suggested by the earliest
known receipt for making the soup. We are told to take
each sorrel leaf and give it two cuts of the knife. Why
two cuts, and only two? Two cuts administered to each
sorrel leaf will divide it into three and suggest the trefoil

of the woodsorrel. The common sorrel in which is used

our kitchens is a sort of dock. The woodsorrel has a more
delicate acid, is said to be more wholesome, and belongs to
a different family. It is not much used in cookery, but it is

still classed among pot-herbs both by the French and by

the English. Now this woodsorrel has many names. In

France it is known as la petite oseille, l’oseille a trois
feuilles, trfefle aigre, surelle, herbe de bceuf, and pain de
coucou. England it is known as woodsorrel, stubwort,
In
sour trefoil, and cuckoo’s meat. But over and above these
names there is another, common to both countries and
belonging also to Italy and to Spain Alleluia or Allelujah. —
There is a tradition that the woodsorrel is the true and
original shamrock, and that when St. Patrick beheld this
emblem of the Trinity in his favoured island he fell to

praising God. no doubt from a sentiment of this

It is

kind that the name of Allelujah for the woodsorrel arose in

the south of Europe, in Italy and in Spain, and spread
northward to France and to England. But the name was
subject to corruption. All persons have not the strong-
religious sentiment which would lead them to cry Allelujah
at the sight of a sour trefoil. In England and also on the
Continent the word was corrupted into Lujula. This cor-
ruption got such hold of the men of science that they
insisted upon its being the true word, and the Pharma-
copoeia of theLondon College gave directions for a conserve
of woodsorrel to be made under the scientific name of Con-
serva Lujuloe. In the south of Italy another corruption was
 ;

264 Jul icnne

produced : Juliola — little Julia. In France it was natural
that there should be a corruption too, but apart from the
name of the soup which we are considering we know not
what it was. Is it incredible that the word which in
England and in some parts of the Continent passed authori-
tatively into Lujula, and which was transformed in Calabria
into Juliola, became in France fashionable as Julienne?
The French philologists may on this hint be able to trace
in greater detail the corruption of Alleluia into Julienne;
but for the present there is only this much further to be
said of it : that the process of corruption which ended in
Julienne probably began in Italy and was foreign to
France. It one of the traditions of Julienne that it
is

is distinct from the ordinary French soups; and probably

the name as well as the receipt for it came into France
with the Italian cooks of Catherine de Medici, who first
taught the French the refined and scientific cookery of
modern They would bring with them from Italy
times.
Juliola, or some such corruption, which the French with
their wonderful habit of Frenchifying foreign names would
transform into Julienne.
Let it be observed, too, that in the above statement of
the case the argument is put with extreme caution and
needless moderation, for it assumes that Juliola is a cor-
ruption and that Allelujah is the true name. Now the
existence of the name Juliola is known only through
Scaliger in his commentary on Theophrastus Dc Causis
Plantar urn and his assertion is that the Calabrian name
Juliola is the true word, Alleluia being a barbarous and
ridiculous corruption. His very decided statement is

entitled to the more weight inasmuch as, being himself

named Julius, he may be supposed to have inquired into
the name of the plant with a special interest. If, then,

Juliola be the true and original word, and not a chance or

local corruption, it is all the more natural that it should
reappear in French as Julienne.
 Julienne 265

And now comes a curious point in confirmation of this

view. Woodsorrel is a small low-lying plant in which
grows at the end of a slender threadlike stalk.
the trefoil
Take a handful of these stalks, boil them in water, and
this result will ensue : The leaves will nearly disappear,
dissolved in the liquid, and the stalks will remain. The
slender stalks in the soup became a characteristic of it,

and people learned to see that Julienne was not Julienne

unless the fine straws of the woodsorrel remained in it.
The cooks recognised this, and when instead of woodsorrel
they took to the use of common sorrel, they deemed it a
point of honour to put threads of carrots and turnips and
celery into represent the stalks which
their Julienne to
would be missed. There are receipts for making Julienne
without any carrots, turnips, or celery whatever. These
were introduced cut into threads or straws by cooks who
felt bound to save appearances and to make up for the want

of woodsorrel stalks.
With this explanation in his hands the reader can now
understand what Julienne soup according to the original
idea ought to be. It is a clear broth or consomme with a

large bunch of woodsorrel melted in it, leaving the stalks

to be chewed. It was probably found in process of time
that were not pleasant in the mouth, and
these stalks
they were replaced by threads of carrots, turnips, celery,
lettuce, cabbage, leek, onion —
whatever would cut into
strips and could be made tender by cooking while at the
;

same time common sorrel took the place of the Allelujah.

The following is the ordinary modern receipt. Cut the
red part of four carrots, four turnips,
three onions, the
white of one head of celery, and of six leeks, in straws
about one inch long put them in a stewpan with a
;

quarter of a pound of butter and a pinch of pounded

sugar; them over the fire to a light-brown colour;
fry
moisten them with three quarts of clear broth or double
broth simmer all very slowly on the stove-corner for
;
 ;

266 Ketchup

three hours ;
and twenty minutes before serving, add a
cabbage lettuce and a handful of sorrel cut in the same
way as the other vegetables, and previously blanched
skim off the fat, and serve.
If this receipt has a fault it is one which will easily be
forgiven and can be soon amended. The sorrel in it is

not sufficiently pronounced to represent the old idea of the

soup. For modern tastes, however, there is probably quite
enough of it. Still the cook must never be allowed to forget

that the distinction of Julienne consists in being a wood-

and he ought to be reminded of this when he
sorrel soup,
conforms to the perfectly useless but always venerable
custom of cutting the vegetables into threads.

ETCH UP. — No need to say much about this,

which we owe, as we do soy, to the Japanese.

It is a godsend to Englishmen, being not
only full of flavour in itself, but the founda-
tion of some of the best store-sauces — Harvey
—
and Worcester to which they fly when their cooks fail. It
is the refuge from bad cookery. Pity that nobody seems
to know how to spell it. Some write ketchup, others
catsup, and 1 am told that the true Japanese word is

kitjap. Here is indeed a puzzle for the spelling bees !

Kickshaws or Quei.que Chose is a name now given

to any dish prepared with extraordinary nicety. People
should be careful, and the name may be allowed to drop.
It was a name originally given not to any preparation of

the kitchen, but to the substance prepared. It was some-

thing not to be named. And now that this kickshaws or

 Kidneys 267

quelque chose is never eaten except by the poorest of the

population, might be as well to give up referring
it to it as
a delicacy enjoyed by the rich and luxurious.

Kid. —There are stories of kid being sold for house-

lamb. It is sad to think what the flesh of this little
creature will grow to when it becomes a goat, or when
old enough to be weaned. Too soon it turns to wickedness
and folly. While it is still a suckling, however, it is very
good, and may be roasted either as lamb or as hare
clothed with bacon.

Kidneys nearly always mean sheep’s kidneys or lamb’s,

and these alone are of much account.

Broiled..- — Skin them, split them, and

them on skewers. fix

Dip them in oil or in them with a little

butter, sprinkle
pepper and salt, and broil them first within and then with-
out. They should be underdone and when served a piece ;

of maitre d ’hotel butter should be placed in the hollow of

each. It is essential that the cut surface of the kidney
should be first presented to the fire. When it is after-
wards turned away from the fire it forms a little cup with
its own gravy in it.

Tossed — Split
.- the kidneys, slice them, and toss them
in two or three ounces of butter, with pepper and salt.

Five minutes should be enough. Then shake a little flour

over them, add a glass of sherry, another of good gravy, a
shalot chopped fine, and mushrooms either whole, which
is most pleasant (only in this case they have to be passed
in butter beforehand), or sliced, which is least troublesome.

Let them cook for ten minutes. Another way is to leave

out the mushrooms and serve the kidneys with a border of
mashed potatoes.
Kidney Pudding —
Line a basin with puff paste No. 4.
.

Cut up some kidneys and put them into it with steak,

pepper and salt. If further seasoning be wanted take a
 — —

268 Kirschenwasser

hint from the faggot of Duxelles. Cover and pinch it up,

tie it in a cloth, and steam it or boil it for an hour and a
half.

—
Kirschenwasser. This cherry-water is an excellent
and wholesome liqueur made in the Black Forest from
geans. It is sometimes fiery, and many persons are afraid
of it who have no fear of maraschino, which is also made
from geans. The flavour of the Black Forest cherry-
water is, however, much more simple than that of the
Dalmatian liqueur, and pleases the palate longer only ;

to put the two liqueurs on a level for fair comparison

it is necessary to manipulate the Kirchenwasser. Put
some into a strong glass, or better, into a saucer. Take a
lump of sugar, dip it into the liquid, set fire to it, and
replace it in the saucer so that the whole may take flame.
When the flame expires and the sugar is dissolved, taste
the cherry-water, and see if it be not superior to any
Maraschino. It whiles away ten minutes after dinner in a
pretty little blue-flamed game to burn the cherry-water
and bring it to the perfection fit for my lady’s taste.

Kit-kat. Truly the name of this gentleman deserves

to live, though it has had an evil influence on the mutton-
pies in which he excelled. Mr. Christopher Katt —
familiarly known as Kit-kat —was an admirable pastry-
cook. A celebrated club used to meet at his house-
Addison and Steele among the number and took the —
name of the Kit-kat Club. Their portraits were painted
by Sir Godfrey Kneller of three-quarter size— hence any
portrait of the same size is called a Kit-kat. But the
mutton-pies Katt were so good that they have
of Mr.
raised an unhappy prejudice against all succeeding ones.
* People always asked for the mutton-pies of Katt. The
sound of the name lived when its meaning was forgotten,
and no one now ever sees a mutton-pie without wondering
whether it comes of cat.
 Kiimmel 269

Kromeski is a Polish word, which means no more than

the. French croquette, and which in its first syllable might
find a fair equivalent in the English crumb. If it were
lawful to invent a word, it might be translated crumbikins.
The kromeski or Polish croquette is made in the usual
way with an addition. It is any croquette formed into a
little roll and wrapped round with a thin slice of the udder
of veal, or failing that with thin bacon. The veal udder
(which always best) or the bacon is boiled beforehand,
is

is then sliced and wrapt round the croquette, which is

finally dipped into batter and consigned to the frying-pan,
from which it should come out crisp. This is the most
seductive of all the forms of croquette.

Kummel. —There is a class of umbel flowers, including

anise,caraway or carvy, cumin, dill and coriander, which
have long had a reputation for their pungent flavour and
for their medicinal virtues — the chief of these virtues being
to correct flatulence. was famous at one time
Dill-water
inEngland anise-seed is not unknown in English nurseries,
;

and the Anisette of Bordeaux has a good name as an

after-dinner liqueur on theThree hundred
Continent.
years ago caraways at English tables always came on with
dessert, and were supposed to be carminative and digestive.
Caraways in palpable form have now disappeared from
our tables —but only to return in the spirit — in Russian
bottles labelled Kummel. Of all the liqueurs of this class,
it is the only one which seems likely to hold its ground.
It has a pleasant stimulating taste, and it is supposed
to be When Russian kummel is old it forms
wholesome.
crystals at thebottom of the bottle. The name, which is
German, is probably derived from a confusion of the
caraway or carvy with its neighbour cumin.
2JO Ladies’ Delight

ADIES’ DELIGHT. — Put eight ounces of

apples, eight of onions, and two of chilies,

all chopped, into a pickle-bottle. Pour over
them a pint of white-wine vinegar which has
been boiled with a dessertspoonful of salt.
In a couple of days it is ready for use, and forms an agree-
able pickle, to which oil may sometimes be added on the
plate. Lady Harriet St. Clair gives this receipt as Gunner’s
Delight. Why Gunner’s?

Lady. —
thou be indeed a lady, remember thou art by
If

name a cook, or at least a baker. La- means a loaf of

bread; -dy means a maid; and lady means the breadmaid.

Lamb. —There is no serious difference none whatever—

of principle — in the treatment of lamb and of mutton.
One takes, however, more deliberately to cold lamb than
to cold mutton. And with lamb goes the mint sauce.

Mint was a sweet but saucy girl transformed by Proser-

pine into a fragrant plant, and the pretty girl goes always
now with the tender lamb. The cooks are generally playful
on the subject of lamb. See the Epigram of lamb. Also
when lamb most fiequent to sur-
cutlets are sautees it is

round them with a border of truffles- -which is called demi-

deuil —a kind of half-mourning for the gentle creature.

—
Lamprey. -Considering the ancient renown of the
lamprey, one might expect to hear a good deal moie
of it

than we do at modern tables. Dr. Badham maintains

that
imposed
the name is English, and that the English have
Europe. One of the English
theirname on the rest of

names for a small river lamprey is pride, which has the

meaning of prick ;
and the word lamprey means a lang
prey or pride.
This peculiar fish, which killed an English king by its

Thames, but is best in the

attraction, is found in the it
 Larks 2/i

Severn, which it ascends in April and May in order to

deposit its spawn. They are so rare at Christmas that
they are said to be worth a guinea apiece. The question
will be asked —Who England eats lampreys at a guinea
in

apiece? It is an old custom for the city of Gloucester in

token of its loyalty to present a lamprey pie at Christmas
to the English sovereign, and the fish must be got at any
price. One would imagine that the kings and queens of
England would prefer to have the lampreys when they are
best —
in April and May.

The lamprey should always have the gristle which sup-

plies backbone extracted, and he may be
the place of a
cooked any of the ways proper to eel but in memory
in
;

of the orchards of Worcestershire and the whole Severn

country it is usual in those cases wherein wine might be
—
required to substitute cider which is indeed often used for
white wine with other fish.

Larks. — What is the use of laughing at the French

because they eat redbreasts, blackbirds, thrushes, the
humble and the familiar sparrow? Do we not
chaffinch,
eat skylarks, fieldfares, and wheatears in plenty? A great
number of larks are sent to London from Cambridge but ;

the chief supply for now 200 years appears to come from
Dunstable. Why Dunstable? Is there any mysterious
connection between larks and straw hats? Why must we
go to Bedfordshire for a lark? Is it there and there only
that the sky falls ? Wherever the sky falls and these birds
are caught, the physician of Queen Anne, Dr. Lister, like
his royal mistress a great gastronomer, judged of their
goodness by their weight. He laid down the rule, which
has ever since been held sound, that twelve larks should
weigh thirteen ounces, and that if below that weight they
are not good.

Roast Larks —
There is a difference between the French
.

—
and the English way but both agree in taking' out only
272 Laver

the gizzard. The French put the larks on a little larkspit,

which, running from side to side, pins on them at the same

time bards of bacon. The larks are then roasted briskly

for eight or and served upon toast.

ten minutes, The
English season the larks with chopped parsley, pepper,
salt and nutmeg, rub them with yolk of egg, roll them in
breadcrumbs, sprinkle them with oiled butter, roll them
in crumbs again, run them on a larkspit, roast them for
fifteen minutes before a bright fire, basting them with
butter, and serve them with plenty of fried breadcrumbs.

Lark Pudding or Pie . —

For the perfection of a lark
pudding, go to the Cheshire Cheese, in Fleet Street, and
ask for one. The contents of either pudding or pie
are the same. Take the gizzards out of two dozen larks,
and fry them lightly. Then put them into the pie dish or
the pudding bowl, with a pound of veal and another pound
of ham cut into small collops, seasoned with chopped
parsley, shalot, 'mushrooms, pepper and salt which are —
first,however, to be boiled for a minute of two in a tumbler-
ful of broth and with a tablespoonful of flour. Bake the pie
or boil the pudding for an hour and a quarter.

Laver. — Many an old-fashioned English gentleman

will be glad to see laver mentioned here and to be
re-

minded of its excellence with roast mutton. It used to be

common enough in London now it is scarce, though
;

there are clubs in Pall Mall and private families that ne\
er

fail of it. That it should fall into neglect is one of the

unfortunate results of modern civilisation, which prodiu
es

—
uniformity of fashion the same cookery and the same
a great boast foi the
dishes all over the world. It is

French cooks that they have spread their system every-

where, and no doubt they deserve their success but it
has ;

been one of the misfortunes attending upon this success

sometimes into utter
that it has cast into the shade and
oblivion good things which happen to be unknown to
the
 Leas on

French system. This laver is an example. The French

know it not —and for that matter indeed they are far behind
England and Holland in their knowledge of all marine
products. W
hen French cookery took form there were no
railways, and the great metropolis of cooks was too far
away from the seaboard to enable them to do justice to
sea-fish. England, being nearly all seaboard, was in a
much better position to pronounce upon the way in which
salt-water fish should be cooked. ‘And here upon their sea-
board the English can get any quantity of laver; on the
coast of Scotland there is delicious dulse; in Ireland there
is the carrageen or Irish moss. These and other seaweeds
that might be named are wonderfully nutritious, are
full and are to be had for the gathering.
of fine flavour,
If French cooks had made their mark in England,
the
would they have let the laver fall into disuse? They
would have made it as famous as the truffles of Pdrigord.
There is a charm about the weed which ought to have
kept it in the front as one of the distinctions of English
cookery.
To prepare the laver, steep it in water to reduce the
salt. Sometimes a little carbonate of soda is added, to take
away bitterness. It is then stewed in water till it becomes
tender, and can be worked
like spinach with broth or with
milk or with a pat of butter and a squeeze or two of
lemon-juice.

Leason — the French liaison — is a name given to any-

thing employed in sauces to give them body such as :

flour, cream, yolk of egg, cullis, caramel and glaze. It is

sometimes also in English called Thickening. Grimod de
la Reyni&re quotes with approbation the saying of a cook
he knew, that the immoderate use of these leasons had been
for more than a century the charlatanism of the French
kitchen. Calcined bones, burnt sugar, and torrefied juices
— the wildest extravagances— had been pitched upon to bind

18
2/4 Leek

sauces and give them character. Still these leasons have

and Grimod had a right to add, “ The
their appointed place,
art of leasons is one of the great secrets of the kitchen for ;

the grand point is not to make the sauces thick, but

unctuous, and to bind together all the parts of a ragout so
that no one shall dominate.”

1. Leas on of Flour .
—This may be dredged into the sauce

by itself; but sometimes, to make sure of escaping knots,

the flour may be mixed with water, milk, or broth, and
passed through a strainer. Arrowroot is sometimes better
than flour.

2. Leason of Roux is made of butter and flour twice —

as much flour as butter. Mix them well and let them sim-
mer on a slow fire till they turn a bright red —but beware
of burning. The French have also their White Roux and
their Blonde Roux.
3. Leason of Butter.
—The name is enough. But observe
that it should be added at the last moment; for the less

it is cooked, and the more it conveys of its fresh natural

taste, the better.

Leason of Butter and Cream. This also explains
4.
—
itself, and should be left to the very last. It is used chiefly

in soups.
Leason
3. of Eggs is made by beating the yolks and by
mixing them in a basin with some of the sauce. This pre-
caution of a separate basin is to prevent the curdling which

might ensue if the yolks were poured directly into boiling

sauce.
Leasons of caramel, cullis, and glaze need no explanation.
The leason of blood once common has gone almost wholly
out of use, save with game — as in hare soup.

Leek. —This one time so much cultivated in

was at

England that the very name for a garden was leac-tun,

and the very name for a gardener was leac-ward. Still,
however, lire plant holds a respectable place in the
 Lettuce 2/5

flavouring of soups. The Scotch have a soup Cock-a- —

leekie — which makes much of the leek; and in the French
or rather Flemish kitchen the Leek soup and the Potato-
and-leek soup (that is, leeks added to potato soup) are in
considerable repute.

Lemon-Sauce. — Put the thin rind of a lemon with three

tablespoonfuls of sugar to simmer for twenty minutes in a
tumblerful of water. Some persons think it enough to
grate the lemon with lumps of sugar- —but this detracts
from the clearness of the sauce. When the simmering is
ended take out the lemon-peel and add the strained juice
of the lemon. This is extremely simple, but it is nicer than
many a much more laboured sauce. Perhaps it is not
quite fair to add that it is sometimes supplemented with
gin. To be used with sweet entremets.

Lentils. — For a garnish or as an cntremet to be cooked

as haricots. For soup it is made as pea-soup and called
Chantilly, but by rights it should be called after Esau, who
loved it well and sold his birthright for it.

Lettuce is not much cooked England, and when

in
cooked is not much better than a cabbage but when raw,
;

and eaten has a peculiarly pleasant taste, and

in salad, it

has a sedative action upon the nervous system which makes

one return to it eagerly, as one returns to tobacco and to
opium. The chemists obtain from the lettuce an inspissated
juice — called sometimes lactucarium, cometimes lettuce-
opium —whichis said to allay pain, to slacken the pulse,

to reduce animal heat, and to conduce to sleep. When

Adonis died, it is reported that Venus threw herself on a
lettuce-bed to lull her grief and cool her desires.
The lettuce known
at our tables in two leading-
is

varieties— the cabbage and the Cos lettuce. What Cos

means is not very clear : it is supposed to be equivalent to
the first, syllables of gooseberry and horseradish, which are
to be identified with gross, and mean big. The French
276 Ling

know this lettuce as the Roman, and there are two accounts
of its introduction into France. One is that it came with
the Pope to Avignon ;
the other that Rabelais admired it

mightily on his visit to Rome, and brought it back with

him to his native land. When the French make a salad
of either lettuce, they usually add to it, by way of garniture,
a chopped ravigote.
For the mode of cooking Lettuce, see the French way of
cooking cabbage or under the name of Peasant, see the
;

Flemish way of preparing it with peas.

Ling. —James I. said that were he to invite the devil to

dinner he would give him a ling’s head, a pig, mustard,
and a pipe of tobacco. His Britannic Majesty meant that all
these were horrible punishments which might righteously
be inflicted on his Satanic Majesty. If the Prince of Dark-
ness be a gourmet as well as a gentleman, it is probable
that he would have enjoyed his dinner. Many English-
men would no doubt agree with the king in disparaging
the ling but they are in error.
;
Ling is the largest
species of cod, and we generally find that the largest cod
are the best. This great cod is certainly not to be despised.
His head, his tongue, his swimbladder or sound, his roe
and his liver are as good as in any cod. It is the liver of
the ling which makes most of the cod-liver oil prescribed
by physicians. Welcome the giant in the kitchen, and treat
him in every way as the more familiar cod.

Liver. — Tell it not in Gath —but yet it is notorious that

there are three dishes which, if put upon the bill of fare in

a club, are devoured before all else ;

so that at seven or
eight o’clock, when most members dine, there is nothing
left of them but the tempting words on the dinner-bill.

These dishes are, Irish stew, tripe and onions, liver and
bacon. What a tribute this to the homely cookery of
England We shall speak of this calf’s liver directly,
!

but it must give place to that of the goose, which in the

 —

Liver 2 77

pies of Strasbourg and Perigord has a surpassing renown

as the most delicate meat in the world.
Goose Liver Foie Gras —
“To obtain these livers,” .
—
says Grimod de la Reyniere, “ it is necessary to sacrifice the
person of the animal. Crammed with food, deprived of
drink, and fixed near a great fire, before which it is nailed

by on a plank, this goose passes, it must be owned,

its feet

an uncomfortable life. The torment would indeed be almost

intolerable, if the idea of the lot which awaits
him did not
serve as a consolation. But this perspective makes him
endure his sufferings with courage and when he reflects ;

that his liver, bigger than himself, larded with truffles, and
clothed in a scientific pate, will diffuse all over Europe the
glory of his name, he resigns himself to his destiny, and
suffers not a tear to flow.” These liver pies come over to
England chiefly in terrines, and they keep longer in this
way ;
but they are nicest of a pat^ coming over
all in —
fresh in October and November. They also come in tins
that is, the livers alone, without the accompanying force-
meat — to be used in croquettes, kromeskis, and various
relishes. But, on the whole, this The goose
is a waste.
liver is too good to be chopped up and thrown away upon
other foods; also it loses something when eaten hot. It is
always best cold. If it is desired for an entremet, cut it

into pieces and imbed them in the amber of aspic jelly.

Duck Liver —
The liver of the Toulouse duck is prepared
.

in the same way, and is by most good judges preferred

even to that of the Strasbourg goose.
I owl Liver
1
—
There is a little dish which one never sees in
.

Paris at a first-class restaurant but it is a great favourite

;

at the second-class ones with sanded floors in bye-streets.

Impale the livers on a skewer or larkspit, putting a small
piece of bacon between each, and toast them before the fire.
Calf s Liver. This is the dish which the Lord Chancellor
Eldon was so fond of, and which, when he dined with
George the Fourth, was always prepared for him. Cut
 ;

278 Liqueur

slices of liverand thin rashers of streaky bacon. Fry the

bacon first and drain it. Then flour the slices of liver, fry
them in the fat of the bacon till well browned, and dish
them in alternate order with the rashers of bacon. Pour
over them a sauce made by adding some good meat gravy,
with a dredging of flour, salt, and pepper, to the fat in the
frying-pan. Some people like a little acid in the sauce
and to sujt their taste sliced gherkins or pickled walnuts
may be added to it.

Liqueur.—There is an idle question as to whether

brandy is a liqueur or not. Is rum? is gin? is whisky?
We can make arbitrary distinctions whenever we like; but
it seems absurd to say that there shall be no liqueur which

is not sweetened. There is not much sweetness in whisky,

but the French long ago took usquebagh and raised it to
the rank of a liqueur with the wonderful name of Scubac.
The oldest of the very sweet liqueurs is undoubtedly
acqua d’oro; but long before it was produced by the
Italians and brought into France by Catherine de Medici,
the aqua vitae was in use. There is an old receipt of 500
—
years ago that is, of the time of Chaucer in which direc- —
tions are given to prepare a fowl, to serve it in syrup, and
then, as we now do plum-pudding at Christmas, to pour
aqua vitae over it and set fire to it. In the face of such
facts it is singular to find Frenchmen repeating one after
another that liqueurs were first invented by Frenchmen
to comfort the old ag'e of the Grand Monarch. Long
before Louis XIV. was born, Sully in 1604 complained
that the luxuries on which the F rench wasted most money
were festivities and liqueurs. There were two liqueurs at
that time in the greatest favour —
Populo and Rossolis, the
former made of musk, amber, anise and cinnamon the ;

latter of sundew, angelica, coriander, fennel, anise and

lemon; and both, needless to say, warmed with alcohol and
mellowed with syrup. The Great King was particularly
 —

Lobster 2/9

fond of the Rossolis, and one of the makers gave it his

name, whence arose the myth. Loraine was then famous
lor its liqueurs, and is said to be the native place of Parfait
Amour. This is more than doubtful. The Parfait Amour
of Lorraine was in great request, but there is reason to
think that it was originally Italian.

The religious orders were great distillers, and it is curious

to see how they patronise, bless and manufacture liqueurs.
It began in the mediceval search for the quint-essence
and the elixir of life it has ended by the monks of La
;

Grande Chartreuse insisting on a monopoly of their tipple

and fighting for their trademark in the courts of law.
There are only two liqueurs, however, in the present day
which are the genuine manufacture of holy friars,—
namely Chartreuse, produced by the Carthusians of the
great monastry near Grenoble, and Trappistine, distilled
by the good fathers of the Grace of God in the Doubs.
There is another liqueur, Benedictine, which is said to come
from the Abbey of Fecamp, and which is consecrated with
the letters A. M. D. G. (Ad majorem Dei gloriam). It

really comes from Fecamp, and from the Abbey; but the
Abbey has now no more to do with monks than Woburn
Abbey. It is the private factory of a layman who chooses
to make use of the religious name.
Putting the purer spirits out of account, the best known
liqueurs in the present day are Chartreuse, Curaqoa,
Maraschino, Kirschenwasser, Acqua d’Oro, Parfait Amour,
Noyau, Absinthe, Vermouth, Kiimmel.

Lobster.-Government commissioners report that lob-

sters are getting fewer and smaller every year, and we all
know that they are getting dearer. The chief reason of
this is our own folly — -a stupid admiration of coral. The
coral andspawn of the lobster, though nothing to taste, is
most excellent in colour, and for the sake of it millions
upon millions of eggs are annually destroyed. And yet a
 —

2 So Lobster

colour quite as good may be obtained by pounding the

shell in a mortar, mixing it with butter, cooking it in

the bain-marie for an hour, and then passing it through

a tammy ;
or if this red be not bright enough, it can
easily be made perfect with cochineal.
Lobster Butter is roughly described in the last sentence.

Add here that the coral and spawn are commonly used
either with or without the pounded shell. If the former
alone are used, pound them well, mix them with twice their
weight of butter, season them with salt and pepper, and
pass them through a silk sieve —but do not in any way
cook them. If the lobster shells are used, take equal
weights of and butter, pound them together, and
shell

cook them for an hour but mark that for the sake of
;

the colour the cooking is to be done in the bain-marie

that is, at a temperature much below the boiling point of
water. When the butter thus coloured has been properly
cooled in water, seasoned with cayenne pepper and salt,
and passed through silk, it may be mixed with an equal
quantity of fresh butter. The reason of dividing the butter
into two quantities in this way is that the process of
cooking destroys the natural flavour of the fresh butter.
Therefore only half is used to cook the lobster shells, and
the other half is added uncooked when the first half is got
clear of shell.
Lobster Sauce . — Split a lobster, and use the coral, the

spawn, the shell, and the pith of the body to make lobster
butter as above described. Then make English sauce but —
only Act First (that is, the vehicle) and into this vehicle, ;

quite hot, put the tail and the claws, cut into small dice.

For the Second Act, the completion of the sauce, add the
lobster butter, and finish with a squeeze of lemon. Most
English receipts put in a word for a little essence of
anchovies. Let the anchovies be kept in their own place,

and not suffered to interfere with the delicate flavour of the

lobster.
 Lope de Vega 281

Lobster Salad and Mayonnaise of Lobster A cookery .

—
book without a paragraph on the lobster salad would be
considered sadly wanting. But this is sheer stupidity. A
lobster salad is nothing but the pickings of a lobster sur-
rounded with a salad. A Mayonnaise of lobster is precisely
the same thing with a Mayonnaise sauce instead of the
ordinary cruet sauce used in mixing the salad. If there is

anything more to be said, it has only to do with the orna-

mental arrangement of the dish —which, as so much de-
pends on the juxtaposition of colour, it is impossible to
teach in a book.

Lope de Vega.— To the philosophical chemist this is

one of the most interesting personages in the whole range
of history. He was a poet he was a dramatic poet he
; ;

was the most prolilic dramatic poet on record. He

required for the composition of his dramas a diet of bacon.
Toda es cosa vil
'A donde falta un pernil.

This is a fact most important to the dramatists of England

— them feed on bacon. It is all the more important
let

when we remember that Fuseli prepared himself for his

great pictures with underdone pork-chops, and that Thurtell
committed one of the most celebrated murders of modern
times after supping on the same dainty. In all three,
Lope de Vega, Fuseli, and Thurtell, we detect the domina-
tion of melodrama.
It is a pity that we have few such facts to put together.
We know that Dryden and Byron found Epsom salts a
wonderful help to their poetical invention ;
and we know
that Napoleon made his great campaigns on chicken and
coffee, not unaccompanied with rum. Newton loved
tobacco and a redstreak apple. What would we not give
to know what were the aliments that nourished the brain
of Plato and directed the pen of Shakespeare?
Was Lord Eldon a dramatic character? He was a very
282 Love in Disguise

slow but sure old judge, who started in life with a roman-
tic marriage—running away with his bride. He was
devoted to liver and bacon, and whenever he dined with
George IV. the cook had orders to have always ready a
dish of them. Here we find that whereas a diet of bacon
made Lope de Vega a dramatist, the combination of bacon
with liver fixed Lord Eldon ever more and more firmly on
the woolsack. These little contrarieties have to be studied,
and a vast field of science opens before us.

Love in Disguise is a calf’s heart stuffed, then sur-

rounded with forcemeat, next rolled in vermicelli, lastly
deposited in a baking dish with a little butter, and sent to
the oven. Serve it in the dish with its own gravy.

ACARON1 is in England a common name

given to many preparations of Italian paste,
as well as to that particular kind which
Theodore Hook described as “tobacco-pipes
made easy. ” We are not too well acquainted
with the technical names for the ribbons, lozenges, ruffles,
straws and strings into which this pleasant paste is formed,
and for all the nice varieties of Genoese and Neapolitan
manufacture. would be classed in an
Even vermicelli
English kitchen among the macaronis which is the oldest —
known name for the species. In Chaucer’s time the English
name was macrow, and it was applied especially to little
balls or puddings of paste.
Macaroni is a form of wdieat-flour —a bread, in fact —
so palatable, so cheap, and so easily managed in cookery,
that it is a wonder to see it so little used in this country.

Macaroni and cheese is the most digestible form in which

bread and cheese can be presented the only form — in which
many weak vessels can tolerate it.
 ;

Macaroni 283

Macaroni ci l’Italienne t
—
Put some macaroni into eight
times its weight of boiling water. A pound and a pint
being equivalent quantities, there should be four pints of
boiling water for half a pound of the paste. Let it simmer
with a little pepper and salt for twenty minutes- — more or
less, according to the quality of the macaroni, particularly
its freshness. Test a piece between the fingers to know
when it is done enough. Then drain
from the water in it

a colander, and put it back in the stewpan with as much

broth or gravy as it can absorb in a further simmering of
a minute or two. Half a pound of macaroni will take
about half a pint of broth or gravy. Some cooks omit
this process altogether, and in England it is common to
use milk instead of broth ;
but our business at present is

with the Italian fashion — Macaroni a l’ltalienne. In the

meantime have ready pound of macaroni) four
(for half a
or five ounces of grated cheese, half Parmesan, half
Gruyere, and an ounce of butter. Shake half the cheese
into the macaroni, and toss it well then mix in the ounce ;

of butter; finally shake in the remainder of the cheese,

and when all is well mixed by tossing, and it begins to get
stringy, serve it. Some people like the cook to be liberal
with the pepper-pot in this dish.

Macaroni a la Milanaise is the same as the foregoing,

with tomato sauce sprinkled over it in the dish but gene- ;

rally in this case there is some addition of meat — say a

cutlet — served over the macaroni.

Macaroni au gratin is still prepared in the same way. It

is then heaped up on a dish which will stand the fire. It is

sprinkled with grated cheese and with fine bread-raspings

it is bedewed with melted butter it is put into the oven till
;

it becomes of a golden hue and if the oven is not hot

;

enough, it may be finished with the salamander.

Macaroni Pudding. — Simmer macaroni in boiling water

284 Mace
for fifteen minutes, strain away the water, add some new
milk to it, and let it cool. When cold, mix into it three
or four beaten yolks of eggs ;
sweeten it with sugar, and
season it with nutmeg, cinnamon, and a glass of noyau.
Put it into a pudding-dish with a layer of orange marma-
lade or apricot jam in the centre, and bake it.

Macaroni Soup .—- Some macaroni added to a clear broth

or consomme. When any of the Italian pastes are used in
this way, they should be boiled first for five minutes in
water, otherwise they may dim the clearness of the broth.
Talleyrand laid down the law that with all the soups in
which macaroni, vermicelli, and other Italian pastes are
used, grated Parmesan should be served apart, and a glass
of Madeira afterwards.

Mace is but the outer shell of the nutmeg, and resembles

it in flavour. The nutmeg has been laughed out of cookery,
and is chiefly now represented in the aromas of the kitchen
—
by its husk the mace.

Macedon, or in French Macedoine, is a name which is

supposed to have been used in the first instance to signify

a medley of vegetables, but which has so pleased the

French ear that it has been applied to almost any kind
of medley. It would not be classical, but it would be

unimpeachable, to translate The Princess a Medley, into :

La Princesse une Macedoine.

: The French
are at a loss
to account for this locution, which they have themselves
invented, and can only suggest, one after another, that it
must have had its rise in the fact that the Macedonian
Empire was a medley of many strange nations and races,
and that its name therefore was appropriate in the first
instance to a mixture of vegetables, and afterwards to any
mixture remarkable for its variety. The explanation is

characteristic of our friends across the water, and is even

worthy of Manage.
 ;

Macedon 285

Under the name of Alexander it has been already ex-

plained that in France, in the middle of the seventeenth
century, a Macedon was the parsley of Macedon, which
in England was known as the Alexander. At the same
time this plant was being fast displaced by the celery,
which the Italians brought to perfection ;
so that early in
the last century was of little or no account, and the
it

name^ of Macedon became disengaged. It was given to

a medley of vegetables, not because they were a medley,

but because they were, so to speak, fricassded —that is,

cut to pieces and served with a white fricassee sauce. What

is the connection? Alexander the Great was supposed to
have brought haricots from India, and was said to have
liked —
them fricasseed at least, that is the expressive word
used by the Marquiss de Gussy ( L’Art Culinaire, chap. viii. ),
who has preserved the tradition, though without being very
sure of his classical authorities. Add to the haricots a
variety of other vegetable; fricassee all together in the
fashion approved by the great Alexander —and what could
be more natural than to name the dish either Legumes a
l’Alexandre, or L^g'umes & la Macedoine? In point of
fact, the Macedon, as at first created, was just such a dish
and it still survives as the standard form of the Macedon.
In course of time, it was forgotten that the name of
Macedon was given to the vegetables on account of the
(supposed) Macedonian method of serving them, and
popular imagination fixed upon variety as the most notable
mark of the dish.The name of Macedon came thus to be
transferred from the mode of cooking the vegetables to
their great variety afterwards it was applied to a variety
;

of fruits, and now it is used as a playful synonym for

mdlange.
Macedon of Vegetables .
—This is the Alexandrian or
Macedonian fricassee as imagined by the French cooks,
and transferred from the haricots, which the great
commander loved, to a medley of vegetables. Choose
 —

286 Mackerel

the most delicate vegetables — haricot pods, haricot beans,

peas, asparagus, carrots and turnips. Shape the carrots
and turnips into peas and dice ;
cut the haricot pods into
little lozenges; take the asparagus points. Whatever the
vegetables chosen, boil them separately in salt and abun-
dance of water. Then drain them well and put them to-
gether in a stewpan to stir on the fire (but not so as to
mash them), with a good piece of butter, a slight dredging
of flour, some powdered sugar, and a spoonful or twosalt,

of broth. After a few minutes’ simmering in this way,

finish them either with some spoonfuls of Bechamel, or

with a leason of yolks and cream.

Salad of Macedon. —Choose, cut, boil and drain the

vegetables as before. Serve them either in one heap,
indiscriminately mixed together, or arrange them orna-
mentally in separate heaps. Cruet sauce.

Macedon of Fruits .
— A variety of fruits embedded in a
mould of jelly.

Mackerel. A great authority, Grimod de la Reyni^re,

says: “The mackerel has this common with good in

—
women he is loved by all the world. He is welcomed by
rich and poor with the same eagerness. He is most com-
monly eaten a la maitre d’hbtel. But he may be prepared
in a hundred ways ;
and he is as exquisite plain as in the
most elaborate dressing’’ (au maigre comme au gras).
This is immense praise, and is a complete justification of
the common English method of serving him—plain boiled,
with fennel or with gooseberry sauce. Nevertheless I give
my vote to those who assert that there is but one perfect
way of cooking a mackerel—to split him by the back,
broil him, and serve him with maitre d’h6tel butter. Still

better, take his fillets and serve them in the same way.
The name of mackerel is supposed to be a corruption of
nacarel, a possible diminutive of nacre —from the blue and
 —

Madeira 287

mother-o ’-pearl tint of the skin. In one of the dialects

of the south of France he is called peis d’Avril, the April
fish-r-or as we should say, an April fool, both because he is

a fool coming- easily to the net, and because he first comes

in April. He is not only quickly caught, but he spoils so
quickly that the law accords him a peculiar privilege :

he is the only fish that may be hawked about the streets

on a Sunday. For the same reason he is the only fish
besides the salmon that is much soused or marinaded in
this country.

The mackerel which comes to our shores is a great

puzzle to the philosophers. He has no air-bladders, yet he
is as buoyant and lively as fish can be. What then is the
use of an air-bladder?

Madeira. one thing could more decidedly than

If

another prove the low estate to which cookery has de-

scended in Paris, and expose the hollowness of the grand
receipts which still figure in the cookery books, it is

Madeira. There is scarcely any wine of great repute

which it is so difficult to procure genuine, and when
genuine it commands an exhorbitant price. Yet from
morning to night, and from year’s end to year’s end, in
every restaurant in Paris, down to the meanest cabaret,
the assembled world is invited to eat beefsteaks cooked in
Madeira. In all the world there is not Madeira enough

for a week’s consumption of the filet au Mad^re in Paris.

Besides which, the shopman has a wonderful
Parisian
fancy for imbibing Madeira by way of fillip. He goes into
any cafe or cabaret and asks for a Madere. It is poured
—
out for him a glass at three or four sous and he is happy —
with the pernicious stuff that bears the fine name. So in
the cookery books the great chefs, with an astonishing air
of grandeur, direct that a bottle of Madeira must go into
this sauce and half a bottle into that. Where are these
bottles and half-bottles of Madeira to be found? It is a
 ;

288 Maids of Honour

vice of the —
French system this grand style. There is a
receipt for making Spanish sauce which sets out in the
most noble of strains: “Take twelve ducks, a ham, two
”
good old Madeira, and six pounds of fine truffles.
bottles of
Old Madeira too Even if the old Madeira, worth a
!

guinea a bottle, were forthcoming, it would be spoilt in

such a decoction, without doing it more good than the
same quantity of Marsala worth twenty-one pence a bottle.
Would it not be better at once to come down to common
sense, and to pour out frankly the humble Marsala, which
is good enough for cooking purposes, and is certainly
quite
better than any Madeira that finds its way into the kitchen?
—
Take this for a verity that if any one who knows Madeira
can lay his hand upon a bottle of it, he will drink it, and
he will not leave a drop for the stewpan.

Maids of Honour. — It surely redeems the act of eating

from grossness that imagination can so work upon us as
its

to transform a simple cheesecake into a maid of honour.

At Richmond we are permitted to touch with our lips a
countless number of these maids — light and airy as the
“airy, fairy Lilian.” What more can the finest poetry

achieve quickening the things of earth into tokens and

in

foretastes of heaven, with glimpses of higher life and

ethereal worlds? See Dariole.

Maintenon. —The
widow Scarron, afterwards Madame
de Maintenon, was married to Louis XIV. in his old age,
nursed him well, made him say his prayers, and fed him
with mutton cutlets carefully deprived of fat, for his poor

worn stomach. The old king' was in a deplorable condi-

tion he had lost his

: teeth ;
caries of the jawbone set in

and the liquid which he tried to swallow came out at his

In his younger days he had been tremendous
with
nose.
The Duchess of Orleans tells us in her
his knife and fork.
memoirs that she often saw him eat four platefuls of soup,
a whole pheasant, a partridge, a plate of salad, mutton
 Mnitre d’ Hotel 2S9

hashed with garlic, two considerable ham, a dish

slices of
of pastry, and afterwards fruit and sweetmeats. The
Duchess, by the way, thought herself a very delicate
feeder and it may help to show what pigmies we are
;

nowadays in the way of eating, if we recall what she says

of her own diet: “ I seldom breakfast, and then only on
bread-and-butter. I take neither chocolate, nor coffee, nor
tea, being unable to endure these foreign drugs. I am
German in all my habits. 1 eat no soup but such as I

can take with milk, wine, or beer. I cannot bear broth—

it makes me sick, and gives me the colic. When I take
broth alone I vomit even to blood, and nothing can restore
the tone of my
stomach but ham and sausages.” It is not
at all surprising that princes and princesses who fed after
this fashion ruined their digestion, and that Madame de
Maintenon had to keep a sharp eye on the mutton cutlets
destined for the interior of her royal spouse the Grand —
Monarch. The cutlets of the Marquise were done up in
curl-papers and it is to be hoped that the old king liked
;

them better for their nocturnal attire, and the thoughts

they might call up in vision of the lady the last of his —
loves— in her nightcap.
Maintenon
Cutlets a la . —
The curl-papers of Madame de
Maintenon having been found inconvenient for a broil, and
not less so the pig’s caul which has been sometimes substi-
tuted for them, Gouffe has suggested the following more
simple way of preparing these cutlets Take a neck of :
—
mutton and cut it into cutlets, leaving two bones to each
cutlet. Remove one of them, and flatten and trim the
cutlets. Split them in two with a knife, without separating
them at the bone. Spread some reduced Duxelles sauce
inside. Refold the cutlets, and broil them for four minutes
on each side. Put a layer of Duxelles on a dish lay the ;

cutlets on it; pour over them some Duxelles sauce; put

the dish in a hot oven for four minutes, and then serve.
—
MaItre d'HOtel the House Steward ought to com- —
19
 ;

290 Maraschino

mand the best that is in the house and it shows his under- ;

standing of good cookery that he chooses for himself the

most simple of sauces.
Maitre d’Hdtel Butter —
Knead cold fresh butter on a
.

plate with chopped parsley, pepper, salt and lemon-juice.

The parsley should be first washed and scalded. A pat of
this butter is served either upon or under broiled meat or
fish, and melts on the dish. When a dish is said to be k la
Maitre d ’Hotel, it is almost always served with this butter,
and rarely with what is called

Maitre d'Hotel Sauce, which is but English butter sauce

with parsley (scalded and chopped) added to it.

Mallard.— See Wild Duck.

Maraschino. — A bitter-sweet liqueur made at Zara from
the kernel of the Marasco cherry or gean of Dalmatia.
The word implies bitterness ;
but the liqueur is made so
sweet that women take to it as flies to honey and as moths
to candles. It is a curious fact in natural history that the
fairsex prefer a sweet liqueur to the finest wine and they ;

have such a tendency to Maraschino, that Mr. Hayward

has proposed that whereas the toast most honoured among
men is Wine and Women, they should adopt as their
own return toast —
Men and Maraschino. The French
have produced several variations of the true Maraschino of
Zara, and notably one which they call Marasquin de peches.
The true Maraschino of Zara is made with but a small
quantity of peach kernels. It is made from a small black
gean, which is fermented first with honey, then with the
leaves and kernels of the fruit, and is at last distilled and
sweetened with sugar.

Marinade is a brine, souse or pickle, used sometimes to

prepare fish, flesh or fowl for the fire; sometimes to pre-
serve them after they have left it. A marinade is either
cooked or raw but it is not usual for the books to give
 Matelote 291

any account of the raw ones. The two following, which

are very simple, may be mentioned because they are of
frequent use in Horlys —that is, fillets of chicken, sole, or
game, which are dipped in batter and fried after enduring
two hours of the pickle.
Raiv Marinade. — No. n A branch of parsley and half
an onion, chopped and mixed with pepper and salt into the

juice of a lemon. No. 2. A faggot of sweet-herbs and an

onion chopped and mixed with pepper and salt into oil and
vinegar.

Cooked Marinade .
— A faggot of sweet-herbs, an onion, a
shalot, a clove of garlic, a carrot, and four ounces of bacon,
chopped together first, then fried with an ounce of butter,
then salted and peppered, and boiled for a minute or two
in a pint of liquid, half water, half vinegar.

Marmalade is a word which we have come to use very

much as the French say Rosbif de mouton and Rosbif
d’agneau. It means a confection of quince — from the
Portuguese marmolo, a quince. But we say apple mar-
malade and orange marmalade.

Matelote is a stew of fresh-water fish. Take different

kinds —carp, eel, pike, tench, perch—and cut them up; but
it must be remembered that some of these fish, as the eel
and the pike, may require some previous cooking to put
them on the same level with the others. Put the pieces
into a stewpan with two sliced onions, a faggot of sweet-
herbs, two cloves of garlic crushed, two cloves, pepper and
salt. Moisten all so as to be well covered with a liquor
composed of red wine two-thirds and broth one-third.
Cock it on a brisk fire for twenty minutes then pass ;

the liquor through a tammy and keep the fish hot

in the pan. In the meantime the Relish or Ragout of the
fish willhave been got ready as follows. Put half a pound
of butter into a saucepan, and toss in it till they take a fine
292 Matelote

colour two dozen small onions ;

take out the onions, and
put in their place two good spoonfuls of flour, which is to
be worked into a roux. Add to this the strained liquor of
the fish, the little onions, and a like quantity of mushrooms.
Let the cooking go on till onions and mushrooms are suffi-

ciently done and then reduce the sauce on a quick fire

;

and remove the grease from it. Lastly, make a pyramid

of the fish upon a dish, pour the sauce over it, and garnish
it with crayfish and fried crusts of bread. The sauce thus
prepared, with a garnish of onions, mushrooms, crayfish,
and crusts, is known as the Matelote Relish or Ragout.

White Matelote .
—This
commonly called in France the
is

Matelote Vierge must not be mistaken for the

;
and it

Normandy Matelote, which is also white. It is most fre-

quently used for eel, but it is good also for other fish. Cut
the eel into lengths of two or three inches, and set them to
boil for four or five minutes in salt and water, together
with two tablespoonfuls of vinegar. This preliminary step,
though necessary for eel, is not so for other fish. Melt in a
saucepan a piece of butter with a spoonful of flour; dilute
it with half white wine (French) and half broth, and add

to it pepper, salt, and a faggot of sweet-herbs. Place the

fish in it with a number of small onions and mushrooms,

and letcook for twenty or twenty-five minutes. When

it

cooked, remove the fish, onions, mushrooms and faggot,

thicken the sauce with yolk of egg, finish it with lemon-
juice, and strain it over the fish, which will also be
garnished with the onions and mushrooms and with fried
crusts of bread. In effect this sauce is but a variety of the
white-wine sauce prescribed hereafter for sole.

Normandy Matelote .
—This is the grand white Matelote
—a magnificent dish, but unhappily only possible during
the months when oysters and mussels are in season. It is

excellent for a brill or a chicken turbot; but it was first

of all invented for the benefit of a large sole, and the

 ;

Mayonnaise 293

original receipt for it will be found under the title of Sole

a la Normande.

Mayonnaise is nothing else than the ordinary French

salad mixture of oil, vinegar, pepper and salt, with the
addition of raw yolks of eggs but its excellence depends ;

on the mode of working it up, which is very elaborate.

If properly handled, a raw yolk will incorporate into a

thick cream no less than a quart of oil. To make a good

Mayonnaise it is enough that two raw yolks should incor-
porate in this way a tumblerful of olive oil and a small
wineglassful of tarragon vinegar or of lemon-juice. The
result will be that those who object to oil will, if it be
good, forget that it is there, and those who object to raw
eggs will detect no trace of their rawness. The yolks,
white pepper and salt are worked smooth with a first

wooden spoon in a bowl a few drops of oil and a few of ;

vinegar are added, and the spoon goes to work again

again a few drops, and the spoon is plied with great
patience and so on till the mixture thickens and the
;

whole of the and vinegar is absorbed.

oil It is a long,

tedious process of stirring, although as it goes on the oil

may be added in larger and larger quantities. If great
care is not taken the mixture will decompose in the very
act of working it smooth ;
sometimes in the heat of
summer it is necessary to manipulate it, holding the bowl
on ice. This is the sauce in its simplicity, and so made it

ought to be perfect.

Green Mayonnaise — For . ordinary purposes a simple

receipt will suffice — namely, this : Add to the Mayonnaise
after it is finished a quantity of chopped ravigote. But
a more perfect receipt is as follows -

Take a good faggot of ravigote, and blanch it for five or

six minutes in boiling water and salt. Then take it out to
get cold, and wipe it dry. Pound it in a mortar with a
spoonful of Mayonnaise, and pass it through a tammy.
294 The Lady Mayonnaise

Mix this with the Mayonnaise already prepared, and if the

colour is too pale, add a little spinach-green.

Mayonnaise oj Jelly .
—There are no eggs in this, but
aspic or savoury jelly instead. Melt half a tumblerful of
jelly, and when it is cold but not yet firm, add to it a
wineglassful of olive oil, a tablespoonful of tarragon
vinegar, some salt and white pepper. Place the bowl if

possible upon ice or very cold water, and whip it with a

wire whisk till the sauce thickens and whitens. A little

lemon-juice added will improve its whiteness. For many

people this is enough ;
but those who rejoice in oil will

go on adding it in the full proportion required for the

Mayonnaise made with eggs. Those also who like the
ravigote will add it as in the Green Mayonnaise. The
sauce is smoothest when it is not made until the last

moment. It has the great advantage over the Mayonnaise

—
made with eggs that it can be made very quickly in any
quantity, and that it does not decompose if care is taken
to keep it cold. There are some also who consider this
Mayonnaise more delicate in taste than that made with
eggs.
These three receipts for Mayonnaise, a fourth receipt for
Remoulade, which is made with hard-boiled yolks, and a
fifth for Tartar sauce, which is the bedevilment of either

Mayonnaise or Remoulade, are all that it is necessary to

know for practical purposes. But there is much more to

be said as to the history of the Mayonnaise, and I proceed

to show that La Mayonnaise was a lady.

The Lady Mayonnaise. — We need lay no stress on the

fact to begin with that the word Mayonnaise is more often
used as a noun than as an adjective. Rightly or wrongly,
it is used sometimes as an adjective; for we say Sauce
Mayonnaise just as people sometimes also say Sauce
Bechamel. Rightly or wrongly, too, the mote word is still

often used as a substantive, as when we say a Mayonnaise;

 The Lady Mayonnaise 295

and there is no other name of a sauce so frequently thus

used save those which, like Bechamel, are substantives
confessed. This, however, is so deceptive that at starting
we must not rely upon it. Many a time it happens that
an adjective is for shortness turned into a substantive.
But if it can be proved independently that the word is a
noun, the name of a lady, and not an adjective, then here
we have an important corroborative fact to return to that :

whereas most other French sauces have names indicated

—
by adjectives Sauce Italienne, Espagnole this one has —
a name which is much more often used as a substantive.
'

The name is a great puzzle to the French themselves.

Why Mayonnaise? What can be the meaning of it?
The last syllable (nearly always in French representing
the Latin termination -ensis) would seem to imply that it
is an adjective of place — as Franfais or Franqaise, from
France, Marseillais or Marseillaise, from Marseilles. But
there is no such place as Mayonne, and there lies the
difficulty. In the beginning of the century Grimod de la
Reyni&re suggested that there was some corruption in the
word, and that it ought to be Bayonnaise, after the town
of Bayonne on the Spanish frontier. His suggestion was
deemed so important that the sauce is so named in a
number of approved dictionaries, and there are purists to
this day who always mention it as Bayonnaise. Grimod,
however, also pointed cut another solution. The word
might be Mahonnaise, in honour of Marshal Richelieu’s
achievement in capturing the great stronghold of Mahon
in the island of Minorca. It was in attempting to relieve
this fort, it may be remembered, that the English Admiral
Byng made the failure for which he was shot— “pour en-
courager les autres,” as Voltaire says in Candide. But on
the whole it was considered that this explanation was not
so good as the other ;
and for the moment it was discarded.
Then came Car6me— a great cook, but not much of a
linguist, and a very conceited man, with an egotistical,
296 The Lady Mayonnaise

arrogant style. He was very angry with Grimod for

daring-to say that the language of the kitchen is not
remarkable for its purity. It is in the great kitchens, he
said,
—“ c’est la que les puristes resident :
” a very startling
statement to those who
are aware that no sets of terms in
either the French or the English language are so corrupt
and obscure as those connected with food.
Be that as if may, Careme declared loudly that with
regard to this particular word it was the men of letters
squabbling over the comparative merits of Mayonnaise,
Bayonnaise, and Mahonnaise, who were corrupt and igno-
rant ;
that the cooks knew better —they
were the true
guides to pronunciation — and with them the genuine word
was Magnonnaise. He maintained that an)' one could
see at a glance that the name was intended to suggest
the difficult process of manipulating the sauce. It came
from the verb manier, and referred to the continual manie-
ment which is needed to produce it. Careme was not
always of this opinion, for he has in one curious passage,
in which he enumerates the list of dishes named after
French localities, mentioned Magnonnaise among them, as
if this sauce too were taken from the name of a place.
There is no such place as Magnon, however, and no one
with the instincts of a philologer could derive Magnonnaise
from the verb manier —-which, to say no more, does not
account for the introduction of the n at the commencement
of the third syllable. The grammarians could only deride
Careme ’s attempt at etymology, and they dismissed his
theory on the spot as not worthy of notice.
These are discussions which belong to the first quarter
of the century and now that we have come to the last
;

—
quarter it will be asked What are the final opinions of
French philologers, after fifty years of research which have
thrown a flood of light on the sources of the French
language? The leading dictionaries of the present day
have no clear opinion to express upon the subject they ;
 The Lady Mayonnaise 297

resort to conjecture ;
and their conjecture is that the ex-
planation which was least regarded in the beginning of
the century may after all be right —
Mahonnaise, in honour
of the siege of Mahon. Littre and others give this now as
the probable but not certain origin of the word. There is
a great difficulty, however, in the way of accepting it —a
difficulty which the lexicographers would have seen clearly
if they had not thought it beneath them to pay much
attention to the very curious literature of the French
kitchen. The capture of Mahon was effected in 1726, and
there is no other known instance at that period, or for
long after it, of a dish or dainty being named after a
victory. Dishes were named after the places where they
were invented, the races who partook of them, or the great
nobles who patronised them. It was not till the battle of
Marengo —seventy-four years after the fall of Mahon —
that the field of a great victory
gave its name by a mere
accident to a dish Marengo. To guess,
;
the chicken a la
therefore, that Mahonnaise comes from the siege of Mahon
is to antedate enormously a modern phantasy; and further-

more to assume an exceptional phraseology, when the

analogy of a la Marengo would lead one to expect a la
Mahon as the name for a sauce which does not properly
belong to Mahon and has only an honorary connection
with it.

What thenword is the true — Mayonnaise, Bayonnaise,

Magnonnaise or Mahonnaise? I am about to maintain
that the last of these spellings, now adopted by the chief
authorities, is the most correct— that is, nearest to the
original ;
but to suggest a different explanation for it.

The fact is that though Careme made a great mistake in

working out his explanation, he is entitled to more atten-
tion that he has received in his statement as to the
tradition of the kitchen. He does not say absolutely, but
he leaves it to be understood, that in his culinary circle the
name of the sauce was everywhere supposed to bear special
 ,

298 The Lady Mayonnaise

reference to the mode of That is an

its manipulation.
important fact, and it gives a clue to the mystery if we
follow it up. Careme, we have seen, fixes upon the verb
manier not only as indicating the meaning of the word,
but also as indicating its root. This is clearly wrong.
But may there not be some other word ?
In the old Provencal tongue, the dead language of
the Troubadours, which contains the earliest literature of
Modern Europe, which seemed one time as if it would
at

be the dominant speech of France, and which though

finally displaced by the dialect of the North, by French,

the language of the Trouveres, yet contributed to it very

many words and forms of words, many that we know, but
not a few doubtless that we never suspect, — in this ancient
tongue, which spreads over Southern France and gave its
name to Languedoc, there was a verb one of the forms
of which was mahonner and one of the meanings of which
was to fatigue. The verb was spelt in many and extremely
diverse ways —
not only mahonner and majhonner, but
mechaigner, mehagner, maganhar mehenier, and others
—
, ;

it had also many and extremely diverse meanings, to

strike, to kill, to wound, to mutilate, to box, to maltreat,
as well as to worry and fatigue. If the reader is inclined

to allow that the verb mahonner, still more majhonner

from
its spelling, has a fair surface claim to be
deemed the
original ofMahonnaise and Mayonnaise he may still kick —
at its meaning and ask how are we to get a salad
mixture

out of a verb meaning to fatig'ue? The process is very

simple. One of the most common French phrases for
mixing a salad is to fatigue it and this phrase is so odd
;

that in connection with it a tradition has always been

preserved, and is known most persons of any information,
to

that it is of Provencal origin. The verb mahonner, as

the mixing of a salad, conveyed an image
of
applied to
that exaggerated and picturesque kind which we associate

with slang or cant. I do not mean anything coarse 01

 ;

The Lady Mayonnaise 299

vulgar — in this case quite the contrary; I mean only

words which are lifted out of their natural sense into a
special, figurative and technical meaning, and which have
a peculiar currency on the lips of the initiated. Springing
up in the dialect ol the South, it would always be strange
and sometimes incomprehensible to those who spoke the
dialect of the North. For them —for the French — it would
be translated into fatigtier, and the two verbs mahonner
and fatiguer would exist concurrently in French. The
former at length dropped out of sight altogether, surviving
only in the derivative Mahonnaise or Mayonnaise, with a
vague tradition preserved in the kitchen down to the time
of Careme that the name had reference to the manner of
mixing or fatiguing the sauce.
The' explanation, however, is not yet complete; there
is a flaw in the evidence. How are we to account for
the final syllable of Mahonnaise, which usually belongs to
adjectives connected with place? and how
we to con- are
struct any from the active verb Mahonner?
likely adjective
In this case we must be prepared to accept any word
which could by licence be twisted into anything like
Mahonnaise, for the Provencal spelling is so loose and
takes so wide a range (as will have been seen above in
the second syllable of Mahonner, mechaigner, mehagner,
maganhar, mehenier), that even a distant resemblance
might satisfy us. But from an active verb mahonner
there is no such adjective possible. The nearest thing
we can create is a participal adjective mahonnant or
mahonnante, or such a word as mahonnable and these
are nothing like what we want. The fact is that the
word Mahonnaise is not an adjective at all, but a feminine
substantive, to women.
applied According to the laws
of modern French spelling, it ought to be Mahonneur for
the masculine, and Mahonneuse for the feminine- one —
who fatigues. So we have danseuse from danser, char-
meuse from charmer, and the old word gouverneuse from
300 The Lady Mayonnaise

gouverner. About the spelling we need not trouble be-

cause of its extreme laxity the Mahonneuse of modern
;

French spelling might very easily be Mahonnaise in the

old corrupt and diversified Provencal pronunciation it ;

will not confound any one who catches the analogy

in Trouveur and Trouvere. The real difficulty is in the
sense. Unable to make a likely adjective from the
verb, we have made a feminine noun and what have —
we gained? We have gained a noun which curiously
and unexpectedly fits into what is more than a tradition
like Careme's tradition of the kitchen it is a historical —
fact. We have gained a sudden and undesigned coinci-
dence which is one of the tests of truth. In the olden
time a salad was mixed by pretty women, and they did
it with their hands. This was so well understood that
down at least to the time of Rousseau (Littre gives a
quotation from the Nouvelle Heloise, vi. 2 ), the phrase
retourner la salade avec les doigts was used to describe a
woman as being still young and beautiful. “ Dans le

si&cle dernier,” are Littre ’s own words— “ les jeunes

femmes retournaient la salade avec les doigts ;
cette locu-
tion a disparu avec 1
’usage lui-meme. ” And this is the
meaning of the feminine noun. A feminine adjective, if such
could be found, would present no difficulties it would neces- ;

sarily be Sauce Mahonnaise. But if a likely adjective

from the verb mahonner is impossible, and we have only
a noun to fall back upon, why not Mahonneur a man who —
fatigues the salad? It is Mahonneuse or Mahonnaise a —
woman, because it was she in her youth and beauty who
fatigued the sauce ;
it was she who with her fingers

fatigued the salad.

If these considerations be well founded, the proper name
for the sauce is not Sauce Mayonnaise, but Sauce k la

Mayonnaise— or more simply La Mayonnaise. And

still

we can now see why the word is more often used as a

noun than as an adjective.
 Meringues 3oi

Melon. —T ry a slice of melon as an adjunct to any fish

eaten with a cruet sauce.

Melted Butter is a correct name for that which has

been described as the one English sauce; but it is not
distinctive enough, inasmuch as there are other melted
butters. The french call it White Sauce, which again is

correct but not distinctive. It is best to accept as a

compliment the name which was meant as a reproach, and
to call it the English Sauce. This name will also bring
it more distinctly into juxtaposition with the other great
sauce — Dutch Sauce —-with which it runs a. race. Turn
therefore to English Sauce.

Menu. — Why
will Englishmen always describe the
minute of a dinner as the menu? Why do they not
speak of a receipt as a re?u? Surely it is impossible to
get a better word than the English minute or minutes.

Meringues are made with a batter composed of white

°f e gg and sugar, in the proportion of ten whites to a
pound of sugar. Whip the whites into a firm froth, mix
in the sugar, and then arrange spoonfuls of the batter in
egg-shape upon sheets of paper. Next sprinkle some
coarsely sifted sugar over them, leave them alone for a
couple of minutes, and then shake off the loose sugar.
Place the sheets ol paper on baking-boards, and put them
oven till the meringues take a light-buff tinge.
into a slack
Take them out again, and with a dessert-spoon scoop out
the insides, taking care not to alter the shape of the
meringues. After this put them again into the oven to
dry, but care must be taken not to deepen the colour. Fill
the meringues with whipt cream or iced cream join them ;

together two-and-two, and pile them upon a napkin.

It is apparently not known why they are called merin-
gues. There are several curious explanations of the name,
 ;

302 Meringues

not one of which is satisfactory. I therefore venture to

make a conjecture. It wants but one little fact, which
may hereafter be found, to raise the conjecture into a
demonstration.
The chief point to be observed is that a meringue is

white of egg worked into shape. It is therefore in the

first instance to be presumed that the name means white
of egg, or simply white. The fact which I have failed to
find, and which if found would be decisive, is that merin-
gue means white but there are other
;
facts which distinctly
point that way. First of all, look at some parallels in the
English language. We
have white, white of egg, whiting
the fish, and whiting the chalk. Now, in French the
name for a whiting is merlan, in old French, merlenc and
mellenc. In French, also, the name for white clay is

marne, formerly merle and marie. Is it not a fair infer-

ence that, as in and whiting
English whiting the fish

the chalk are connected with the root white, so in French

merlan the fish and marne the chalk are equally con-
nected with a root meaning white, which would also yield
meringue for the white of egg? There is something to
confirm this view in the Latin language. The French
marne (in the old form and in the English language
marie) comes from the Low Latin margila, a diminutive
of marga. But it has already been shown in these pages
(see Gallimawfrey) how easy it is in various languages to
drop the initial m. The Mac of the Gael becomes the Ap
of the Welsh. The monos of the Greeks becomes the anus
of the Latins. Seize this fact thoroughly, and it will be
understood that the Low Latin margila is a doublet of the

classical Latin argilla and we know that must be

argilla

traced back to argos, white. If, therefore, argilla had a

dialectical variety — margila, it may reasonably be inferred
that argos had also a dialectical variety — margos, which
would have the meaning of white, and contain the germ
of meringue, as something white. There can be no more
 —

303

difficulty in tracing meringue back margos, a supposed

to
form of argos, than in tracing marne back to margila.

Mignonette Pepper. White pepper whole, not ground.

Milk. —The greatest discovery in the way of food which

has been made in this century is the half-discovery which
has been made about milk. When the discovery is com-
plete it will go far to make something- like a revolution in
cookery, although for the present it can be turned to little

practical result. It is an immense step in advance to be

able to condense and preserve milk as we have it now;
when we are able to do so without destroying the milk
for cooking purposes by the addition of sugar, a new day
willdawn. There is no aliment more valuable than milk,
more pleasurable, and more capable of being burned to
variety of account; but it is too thin for cooking purposes,
and too apt to turn sour. It is a great gain to be able
to have it now cheap, condensed to any desirable degree
of thickness, and in a condition to keep sweet not only
in the storeroom but also on the stomach. Its mixture

with sugar, however, confines any use that can be made of

it to the region of sweet entremets, where milk could always
be turned to account. At present we have double cream put
into sauces and soups. This is expensive, and economical
housewives fight shy of it, while at the same time a goodly
number of people with weak stomachs are afraid of its

richness. Its use therefore in cookery is extremely limited,

apart from sweets. But if the chemists will one day give us
a thick milk, cheap, free from sugar, and easy of digestion,
cooks will then have full swing, and can do what they like
with it. The whole system of sauces will surely be re-

modelled — the white sauces will have more of a chance

again the brown — and we shall no more have the cooks
flying for flavour to their everlasting ham, and for a smooth
mucilage to insipid veal.
 ;;;;

304 Mincemeat
—
Mincemeat. Two pounds of unsalted bullock’s tongue
two pounds of ox-kidney fat two pounds of stoned raisins
;

three pounds of currants two pounds of good apples

;

half a pound of blanched almonds, with a few bitter ones

mince all these separately, then mix them and add to them
minced —half a pound of candied citron and orange peel
one ounce of best cinnamon and cloves the juice and zest ;

of three lemons ;
half an ounce of salt ;
half an ounce of
allspice ;
one pound of sifted sugar ;
half a pint of sherry
half a pint of brandy or pineapple rum ;
half a pint of
orange-flower water. Mix the solids well before the liquids
are added. Press all into jars, which are to be close covered
and put aside for some days before use.

Mince Pies. —Line some patty-pans with a rich puff-

paste, No. 4 or 5. Fill them with mincemeat; roof them

over,making a small hole in the centre with a fork, and

bake them for half an hour.

—
Mincing Knife. In most English kitchens there is used
a chopper with a single blade, which does its work with a
great expenditure of labour and loss of time. Try and get
a large three-bladed knife. Imagine a semicircular blade
like the Turkish scimitar which we see in pictures and

sometimes in museums. Imagine three of these fixed

parallel together, an inch apart, with one handle for all at
'2ach end. Imagine the ease of working such a knife by
rocking it from end to end as compared with the ham-
mering of a single-bladed chopper commonly in use.

Mint Sauce. —Two tablespoonfuls of green mint,

chopped fine; a tablespoonful of (or more,

brown sugar
according to taste) and not far from a tumblerful of
;

vinegar.

Mirepoix. — probable that one of these days the

It is

common sense of mankind will rise in rebellion against

-
 ;

Mirepoix 305

this word and abolish it. What is theDuke of Mirepoix

to us because his wife was amiable to Louis XV. ?
If she be not fair to me,
What care I how fair she be ?

The Duke of Mirepoix made himself convenient to the

king, and his name is now convenient to the people-— the
convenient name for the faggot of vegetables that flavours
a stew or a sauce.
Take two carrots, two bay-
two onions, two shalots,
leaves, a sprig of thyme, a clove of garlic; mince them very
small with half a pound of fat bacon and half a pound of
raw ham, and pass them in butter with pepper and salt.
The Mirepoix is from this moment complete. It will after-
wards, according to need, be moistened and heated with
wine, and then it will be a Mirepoix of white wine or of red
— to be added to stock or to sauce, to simmer in it and give
it a flavour.
The published receipts say nothing about the mincing.
The direction is to simmer the Mirepoix for a couple of
hours in order to extract the flavour, and then to strain it.

On the other hand it will be found that to mince the

Mirepoix fine with a three-bladed mincing knife (see
Mincing Knife) will in ten minutes save a vast amount
of time in cooking. It may require two hours to cook
an onion or a carrot whole and to extract all their flavour
but onions, carrots, and bayleaves reduced to minute par-
ticles yield all their excellence in a minute or two.
In another point the foregoing receipt differs from the
received authorities. They enjoin a quantity of veal and
much more ham. But the veal is waste — there is little or
no flavour in the infant beef, and its only use is to render
the Mirepoix gelatinous. There is not the same objection to
the ham ;
but it is not too much to say that since Spanish
notions on cookery became fashionable in France, now nigh
two hundred years ago, the great cooks of Europe have
become demented about ham, and have made all their

20
 ;

306 M oisten

sauces run upon gammon. More about this ham infatua-

tion when we come to discuss the theory of the sauces.
Moisten. —A mild word to be understood in the sense
of Mrs. Gamp, who wished to have the gin-bottle near her
on the chimney-piece in order that she might moisten her
lips when so dispoged. To moisten is to put upon meat in
—
a stewpan as much liquid be it water or broth as will —
stew it.

Mullagatawny has been already discussed in the article

on Gallimawfrey. It may be described as a cock-a-leekie

without the leeks and the prunes, but with rice instead,
and with spices, which are of the curry class.
Cut down a fowl and boil it for half an hour in two quarts
of water, with two apples, four onions and a clove of garlic,
which have been cut to dice and fried in butter. Then
take a curry powder consisting of coriander, cassia, pepper,
and turmeric mix it with some rice-flour stir it into the
; ;

fowl broth and let all simmer till the soup is smooth and
;

thick as cream. Flavour it with the juice of a lemon

pass through a strainer, to get rid of onion shreds serve
it ;

the fowl and soup in a tureen —

and rice either apart, which
is the better way, or in the soup.

Mullet. — See Red and Grey.

Mushrooms require a volume to themselves. It is not

them more than a few lines. Their
possible here to give
and there is yearly an immense waste
varieties are inlinite;
of them, through our inability to discern between the
edible and the poisonous ones. Professor Schiff has de-
monstrated that the non-edible mushrooms have a common
poison, muscarina, and that its effects are counteracted
either by atropine or daturine. Italian apothecaries now
keep these alkaloids in where the con-
the rural districts
sumption of the non-edible fungi is apt to occur. Those
mushrooms which are edible are full of nourishment and
 Mussels 307

of the most exquisite have seen people with

flavour. I

their eyes mushrooms-— a variety which the

shut eat
—
French call ceps and heard them declare that they were
eating- flesh. Of the enormous value of the mushroom in
sauces and ragouts the reader has seen ample proof in the
course of these pages. For the treatment of mushrooms
by themselves there are two leading receipts.

Stewed Mushrooms —
These are the Mushrooms & l’oli-
.

vier invented by La Varenne, and since developed into the

Duxelles. See Duxelles and see also Truffles & l’ltali-
;

enne, which is but another form of the same receipt with the
substitution of truffles for mushrooms.

Grilled Mushrooms.-— Peppered, salted, buttered and

grilled. When, in addition to this, they are served with a
sauce of oil or melted butter, to which parsley, young
onions and garlic chopped) are added, together with
(all

the juice of a lemon, they are called Mushrooms k la

Bordelaise.

Mussels are the oysters of the poor, said Grimod de la

Reyniere, and they ought to be favoured also by the rich,
for there is scarcely a shell-fish which surpasses them in
flavour. Especially in these days, when oysters are dear,
mussels might occasionally take their place in sauces
and stews. The French are wise, for they still hold the
mussel regard— it is one of the chief attractions of that
in

noble ragout, the Normandy Matelote. In England be —

it said with shame —
the mussel is chiefly used for bait it
—
;

is rarely to be seen at any good English table it is only

in houses where the French style of cookery reigns that it

is to be had. People are afraid of mussels because once
or twice they have proved to be hurtful. So have mush-
rooms ;
so have melons : but still mushrooms and melons
are eaten. Mussel-poisoning must be extremely rare- — or
we should know more about it. Our science is not so
?o8 Mustard

backward that if, among the myriads of mussels which the

French consume, the cases of poisoning were numerous,
we should not be able to detect the cause. If care is taken
not to eat the mussels in those months which have no
letter R in their names there is little danger.

Mussel Sauce. — Proceed as for oyster sauce. Let there

be no lack of mussels, and remove the hard parts.

Mustard, in the form which at present prevails in

England, was not known before 1729. Its old English

name was senvy, from sinapis. The seeds, either whole or

coarsely pounded, were boiled in vinegar or must whence
—
the name, meaning a kind of pickle. The French to this
day adhere very much to the old form they grind the ;

seeds to a fine flour, mix them with tarragon vinegar, and

present them for use thus moistened. English mustard
as we now have it was the invention of an old lady,

Mrs. Clements, of Durham. She ground the seeds in a

mill exactly like wheat, and sold it as a very fine flour.

She kept her secret and made a little fortune out of it,
trotting about from town to town on a packhorse for
orders, and contriving to secure the patronage of George I.
From her place of manufactory it came to be called Durham
mustard; though in fact it was no longer mustard- — that
is, something steeped in must.

Mutton. —
hope it will not be found very inconveni-
I

ent, but there has been so much to say about

mutton under
left for
special and interesting names, that there is little
remark under its own proper name. The subject of mutton
Broth
broth has been discussed under the names of Scotch
have
and Hotch Potch. The principles of boiled mutton
been set forth in the article on Boiling. The principles
of
Roasting, on
roast mutton are set forth in the articles on
the Saddle of Mutton, and on the Breton way of serving

the gigot or leg. The Carbonade has an article to itself,

 Navarin 309

and further handled in the articles on the Shoulder of

is

Mutton and on the Prince of Soubise. The stews of mutton

willbe found amply described under the various names of
Haricot of Mutton, Hotch Potch, Irish Stew, Navarin, .and
Ragout of Mutton. There remain the mutton chops and
cutlets, for which directions will be found in the articles on
the Grill, on the cutlet a la Bretonne, a la Maintenon, h la
Soubise. The mutton pie, otherwise known as the Devon-
shire, the Cornish or Squab pie, is described in the article
on Irish Stew. The smaller mutton pie should have been
described in recording the merits of the celebrated Kit-
Kat. And there is more about mutton in the articles on
Kidneys, Sheep’s Head, Sheep’s Trotters and Epigrams.

AVAR1N is a stupid word which has arisen

from a desire to get rid of the unintelligible
and misleading name, Haricot de mouton,
without falling back on the vulgar phrase,
Ragout de mouton. It was at first selected
with a thought of punning upon the navet or turnip, which
is so prominent in the Plaricot de mouton as not exactly

to have suppressed, but to have thrown into the back-

ground and concealed in the sauce, the other vegetables —

carrots and onions —which went along with it. On this
understanding the word may be allowed to pass, although
punning titles are not to be desired. Let us say, therefore,
that a navarin is a ragout of mutton in the garniture of
which the navet or turnip is supreme. When the combined
English and French fleets gained the battle of Navarino,
Lord Aberdeen, who was the English Foreign Minister
1
described it as an untoward event,” and the phrase has
never been forgotten. Let it be a warning to the cooks,
 ,

3io Navarin

and never let it be said that the Navarino of the kitchen is

an untoward event.
Take the breast of mutton and cut it in pieces, which
are to be well trimmed of fat. Line the bottom of a
saucepan with slices of onion, on which lay the mutton,
and with it two two bayleaves, some
sliced carrots,
thyme, and half a pint of broth, which is to be boiled
until it falls to a glaze. Then add two ladlefuls either
of broth or of boiling water, together with salt, and let all
simmer for two hours at the end of which time the
;

sauce, all except the thyme and bayleaf, is to be pressed

through a sieve, and the meat may be boned. Now turn

some turnips nicely, and pass them in butter till they are
of a fight-brown tint dredge them with a tablespoonful
:

of flour, give them a shake, pour over them the sauce of

the mutton, add a pinch of sugar, and let them cook.
When they are done enough, see that the sauce is not too
thin. If too thin, reduce it, first taking out the turnips.
In any case, remove the top fat. Then add turnips and
sauce to the mutton, and let them get hot together.
—
A quicker way. Cut the mutton (be it neck, shoulder
or breast) in pieces, and trim them. Make a roux of
butter and flour, in which as soon as it takes colour

the meat is to be fried for a quarter of an hour. Hot

water is then and the meat turned in it
to be added,
till it boils; and the scum can be removed.
In the mean-

time turnips are prepared as before, and are added to the

mutton, along with pepper, salt, a faggot of herbs, and an
onion pricked with a couple of cloves. Cook this for three-
quarters of an hour. Finally take out the onion and the
faggot of herbs get rid of all grease, add a pinch of sugai
;

and see that the salting is right.

It must be evident that the above ragout may be
made
to include other vegetables as a Jardiniere either—in —
place of turnips or in addition to them. The English
and
have long since made up their minds that turnips

-
 Nesselrode Pudding 31 i

—
mutton go well together but they always understand by
this, boiled mutton and turnips plain boiled or mashed.

Here it will be seen that the French are so far in accord,

but they insist upon a stew in which both the mutton and
the turnips shall be browned and to attain this fine con-
;

junction pure and simple, they have gradually put out of

sight, though they have not utterly swept away from their
world-famous ragout or haricot, the other vegetables, the
onions and carrots, which used to figure in it. May I
recommend my English friends to study this simplicity.
Better take one good friend the turnip —
to your breast —
of mutton, than trouble it with a crowd of vegetables.

Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, name in

a great
the chronology of the table. He invented salads, was
accused of eating grass, and like most originals was said
to be mad.
Nectarine is a smooth peach, and there are not a few
who maintain that it is the best of all peaches. It is a
curious fact that on a peach tree, not only may branches
be found bearing the nectarine perfectin every way, but
also on the same branch fruits will appear which are
peach on one side and nectarine on the other. Botanists
are unable to tell what makes the difference.

Nesselrode Pudding was invented many years ago by

Mony, cook to the famous Count Nesselrode. When
Careme heard of this, which is perhaps the most perfect
of the iced puddings, he almost burst with envy. He
could not but praise the pudding- —but he declared that
Mony took the ideia of it from the chestnut pudding
invented by himself. Moreover, he upbraided Mony for
conferring the name of a foreigner upon so good a
pudding. the good cooks, he insisted, are French,
All
and therefore all the good names should be French too.
Careme, however skilful as a cook, was a blazing cox-
 2

3 1 Nesselrode Pudding

comb he gave the names of his physician and private

;

friends to many of his dishes, and he fancied that the

world would care enough for his decree to accept these
names for ever. Surely if Mony had a right to accept
service with Count Nesselrode, he had a perfect right to
give his patron’s name to the great work of art which he
evolved under his roof. The following receipt is trans-

cribed from Gouffe, who announces that he had it direct

from his old friend Mony :

—
“ Peel forty chestnuts; blanch them in boiling water for
five minutes; peel off the second skin, and put them in

a stewpan with a quart of syrup at i6°, and a stick of

vanilla. Simmer gently till the chestnuts are done, drain
and press them through a fine hair sieve.
“ Put eight yolks of egg in a stewpan with half a pound
of pounded sugar and a quart of boiled cream. Stir over

the fire without boiling till the egg begins to thicken.

Add the chestnut puree, and press the whole through a
tammy cloth into a basin, and add a gill of Maraschino.
“ Stone one quarter-pound of raisins and wash and pick
one quarter-pound of currants. Cook both together in
0
one half-gill of syrup at 30 and one gill of water drain, ;

and let them cool.

“ Put a freezing pot in the ice; pour in the chestnut
cream and work it with the spatula when it is partly ;

frozen, add three gills of whipt cream, and continue work-

ing with the spatula until the cream is frozen then add ;

the currants and raisins, and put the pudding into an ice-
mould; close it, and put some butter on the opening, to
prevent any salt or water penetrating inside; embed the
mould in ice, and let it remain there for two hours.
Make the sauce as follows Put three gills of boiled
‘
‘ :

cream in a stewpan, with eight yolks of egg and a quarter-

pound of pounded sugar; stir over the fire without boiling
till the egg begins to thicken; take off the fire, and stir
minutes more. Strain the custard through a
for three
 Nozvell

tammy cloth and add half a gill of Maraschino. Put the

sauce on the ice until it is very cold, without freezing.
Turn the pudding- out of the mould on to a napkin on
a dish; and serve with the sauce in a boat.”
This is the most insidious of puddings, and it was a
matter of necessity to give it the name of some great
diplomatist. The quantities as above rendered are large,
but it is easy to take a half, a third, or a fourth.

Newton, Sir Isaac, was particularly fond of red-streak

apples — his one great animal passion. A curious illustra-
tion of the fact that a love of food concentrated in some
one direction may lead to the grandest discoveries. The
interest which he took in a falling apple led to the discovery
of the solar system.

Nottingham Pudding. — Under the heading of Apple.

Nowell. —
would be unpardonable, in a work which
It

treats seriously of good cheer, to forget the name of Dean

Nowell, classed by Fuller among the worthies of England.
This excellent divine had a truly apostolical character,
being a fisher of men as well as of fishes. To him we are
indebted for the Church Catechism, which instils into the
infant mind the elements of religious knowledge. To him
also we are indebted for the discovery of bottled beer. It

appears, according to F idler, was

that on one occasion he
fishing in the Thames — but
at the very time when he was
trying to catch perch to carry them to the gridiron, Bishop
Bonner was trying to catch him to tie him to the stake.
The reverend gentleman heard of it, and fled in haste,
leaving untasted in a safe place a bottle of beer which he
had filled in the morning. Bonner’s day did not last long,
and Dean Nowell was soon able to return to his old haunts.
Fishing as usual, he went to look after his bottle of beer,
and found that it had turned to something like a gun it —
went off like a shot. Thus Nature, which is ever kind,
3H Noyau
turned the martydom and misery of Bloody Mary’s reign
to —
good it brought about bottled beer. The Dean un-
bosomed himself of his great discovery to his clerical
friends, and the clergy gradually let it out to the laity. So
to one man —a kindly, good old man, fond of fishing, we
are indebted for our earliest instruction in heavenly things,
and for that bottled beer which nerves the soul to noble
deeds.
Noyau. —The French claim for themselves the glory of
being the first and the best liqueur makers in the world.
They are by no means the first in point of time and so ;

long as we can point to such foreign liqueurs as Acqua

d’oro, Maraschino, Kirschenwasser, Curaqoa, and Kummel,
it would be hard to allow them the pre-eminence in manu-

facture. Noyau, however, is peculiarly their own, and is

a good second-rate liqueur. It is made from a combina-

tion of white brandy with apricot kernels. Sometimes it

is coloured pink.
Nut-brown Butter. See Butter. —
—
Nutmeg. There was scarcely a dish in the olden time
which was not flavoured with nutmeg; and Boileau, in his

satire, could ask —

Aimez vous la muscade ? on en a mis partout.

It has been so ridiculed that we have now gone to the other

extreme; and it is rarely if ever used, except for sweet

dishes. no doubt one of these days recover a good
It will

deal of the favour it has lost, and we shall not confine

ourselves to mace, which is its husk.
 Oil 3i5

IL. — Pliny makes an interesting remark about

oil. “It is not with olive oil as with wine; lor
by age it acquires a bad flavour, and at the
end of a year it is already old. This is a wise
provision of nature. Wine, which tends
to drunkenness, she invites us to keep ;
but she has
not willed that we should be thus sparing of oil, and
so has rendered its use common and universal by the
very necessity of using it while fresh.” The French are
wonderfully proud of their olive-trees, but the chief supply
for England comes from Italy and Spain : from Italy we
get 12,000 tuns a year, from Spain 5,000. The next lar-

gest supplies come in order from Portugal, Tripoli, Malta,

Greece; and from France we
obtain no more than 300 tuns
—a tun being 252 gallons. The French pride themselves
on the fact that their olives are gathered in November
and December, while in Italy they are left on the tree all

winter and are culled February and March. The Olive

in

in poetry betokens fruitfulness; but if French accounts be

true, there is not much felicity in the emblem. An olive-

tree at twelve years of age yields on an average three kilo-
grammes of olives, making 240 grammes of oil, worth 60
centimes ;
at twenty years its yield is worth 1 fr. 50 c. ;
at

thirty years, 2 fr. 55 c. ;

at forty years 3 fr. 80 c. ;
and at a
hundred years 9 95 fr. c. The whole of this fruitful tree
being at twelve years old worth only sixpence, what are
the olive-branches worth of which we hear so much?
Good olive oil is not over abundant; and that is indeed
one of the reasons why many people in England cannot
bear it. About 1000 years ago (a.d. 817) it was so
scarce Europe
in that the council of Aix la Chapelle
authorised the priests to manufacture anointing oil from
bacon. Imagine divine right shed over kings in the
essential oil of swine; and imagine how, as the Hindoo
3i6 Olla Podrida

now dies of a cow in his hand, the good

happy with the tail

Christian those days went

of shining to heaven in the
extreme unction dropped from a flitch of bacon. We are
driven to no such straits in these days, when oil bubbles
up in wells, and fortunes are made by striking it from the
rock; but still it is not easy to get the oil of Lucca good,
and it is much adulterated with inferior kinds. The best
olive oil in London is to be had at the Italian shop of
Perelli-Rocco, No. 8 ,
Greek Street, Soho.

Olla Podrida. — “This word —Olla—means at once a

species of prepared food, and the earthenware utensil in
which it is dressed. . . The olla is only well made in

Andalucia, and there alone in careful, well appointed

houses : it is called a puchero in the rest of Spain, where
it is but a poor affair . . .

“The veritable olla is difficult to be made: a tolerable

one is never to be eaten out of Spain, since it requires
many Spanish things to and much care. It concoct it,

may be made in one pot, They must but two are better.
be of earthenware, like the French pot au feu. Put them
on their separate stoves, with water. Place into No. 1
garbanzos which have been placed to soak over night.
Add a good piece of beef, a chicken, a large piece of
bacon ;
let it boil once and quickly ;
then let itsimmer :

it requires four or five hours to be well done. Meanwhile

place into No. 2, with water, whatever vegetables are to
—
be had lettuces, cabbage, a slice of gourd, carrots, beans,
celery, endive, onions and long
and garlic, with beef
peppers. These must be previously well washed and cut,
as if they were designed to make a salad then add red ;

sausages or chorizos, half a pig’s face salted, which should

have been soaked over night. When all is sufficiently

boiled, strain off the water. Remember constantly to

skim the scum off both saucepans. When all is ready,

take a large dish, lay in the bottom the vegetables, the
 Omelet 3i7

beef in the centre, flanked by the bacon, chicken, and

pig’s face. The sausages should be arranged around en
couronne. Pour over some of the soup of No. 1, and serve
hot.” (Abridged from Ford’s Handbook of Spam.)
In spite of Ford’s protest, there is nothing in this receipt

which cannot be procured in London. The garbanzos are

chick peas, which are to be procured at Francisco Figul’s,
10, Woburn Buildings, Tavistock Square. But surely it

is not to be said that the .Spanish Olla depends on the

garbanzos, and that no other peas will do. The Chorizos
are also to be obtained at the same Spanish shop, which
was of old recommended by Ford. In the absence of
Chorizos use Frankfort sausages. As for the necessity
of an earthen pot — that is a delusion, if the true use of
earthenware is understood. See article Soup.

Omelet. —
was long supposed that an omelet derived
It

its name somehow from ovum, an egg, and might mean

oeufs meles. That etymology has been given up as imprac-

ticable by French scholars. It has been reserved for M.

J6r6me de Pichon, in his very able edition of the Mdnagier

de Paris, to declare that the word takes its rise from
lamina, a leaf or thin sheet, whence the Latin diminutive
Lamella, in English Lamel. He has not, however, clearly
traced out the steps by which we travel from Lamella to
Omelette. Menagier de Paris, composed about
In the

1390, the name an omelette is Alumelle, corrupted

for
into Alumette, which yet again appears as Aumelette.
If Alumelle comes from Lamella, whence came the initial

A? It is strictly in accordance with French law that A 1

should contract into Au but we have first of all to account

;

for the presence of that initial A. The explanation may

come hereafter. All we can vouch for now is that 500
years ago the name for an omelet was written Alumelle,
Alumette, and Aumelette.

Omelet — plain. — Break six eggs into a bowl, season them

3i8 Omelet

with pepper and salt, and beat them with a fork. Put two
ounces of butter into an omelet pan, and as soon as it

melts pour in the eggs. Stir them lightly with a fork and
keep them from catching the pan. When half-set, toss the
omelet, and keep stirring it till it is all set. The finishing
operation is performed in one of two ways. Practised
hands slant the pan downwards from the handle taking —
care, however, that the best of the fire is beneath the upper
or handle end : they 'then roll the omelet downwards till it
takes the form of an elongated oval. A more simple plan
is merely to fold over the omelet on both sides to the
proper elliptical shape. In either case the operation must
be performed rapidly.

—
Omelet until fine-herbs. Beat the eggs with a tablespoon-
ful of chopped parsley, and if the onion flavour is admired,

with a chopped shalot which has been first blanched.

Omelet with gravy (Omelette au jus). —The same as the

last, with a little gravy served round it.

Omelet with cheese. — Some grated Gruy&re added to the

beaten eggs instead of the fine-herbs, and afterwards

strewed over the omelet in the dish.

Omelet with bacon. — Boil a quarter-pound of bacon for

five or six minutes ;
cut it into small squares ;
them in
fry

a little butter, and then add them to the beaten eggs of the
first receipt — which, however, should have a diminished
allowance of salt.

Omelet with kidneys. —Cut up a couple of kidneys into

dice or into thin slices. Put them into the omelet pan
with butter and some of the kidney fat. When the butter
and the fat are melted, and the pieces of kidney are quite
hot, pour in the beaten eggs and proceed as before.
—
Omelet with asparagus. Boil the asparagus, take the
points and mix them with the beaten eggs.
 Omelet 3*9
—
Omelet with tomatos. Take the flesh of the tomatos free
from skin and pips, and mix with the beaten eggs.

Sweet Omelet. — Beat six egg's and add to them two tea-
spoonfuls of sugar, together with a few bits of butter. As
a rule the eggs for an omelet are not to be too much
beaten, but for the sweet omelet they may be beaten even
to frothing a little. Then pour them into the omelet pan,
and proceed as for the plain omelet; only, on account of the
sugar, which might burn, the fire must not be so brisk.
When the omelet is dished, it is sprinkled with sugar, and
with a red-hot iron skewer it is marked with cross-bars.

Omelet with rum. — This is a sweet omelet with a glass of

rum whipt into the eggs. It is sprinkled with sugar on
the dish, and at the moment of serving it a glass of rum
is poured over it and lighted.

Apricot Omelet. —This is the preserve which is the most

frequently used with the omelet. Proceed as for the sweet
omelet in every respect, only that before folding it up there
is to be placed in the centre of it a fitting quantity of
apricot jam.

Omelette Souffiee. —Take six eggs and break them,

dividing the whites from the yolks. All the whites are to
be used, but only half the yolks. Whip the whites to a
very firm froth. Then add to them the yolks, shake in
the best part of two ounces ol sifted sugar, and sprinkle
allwith orange-flower water. Make a smooth mound
with this upon an oval dish. In the centre of it put a
knife down, giving it a twist, so as to make a hole for the
heat to spread quickly into the middle of the omelet, which
may also be rudely ornamented by drawing slant lines with
the point of the knife all round its sides. Put it into a
brisk oven for seven minutes. It must be served instantly,
for the inflation rapidly subsides ;
but before serving
sprinkle it with what is left of the two ounces of sugar.
 :

320 Onion

Any other flavour than the orange-flower water may be

selected. Rub a little into the sugar, or mix some essence
of lemons with the yolks.

Onion. — In England we give the name of onion to all

the plants of the onion tribe. The leek is to us an onion,
and so is garlic and the shalot. In old English the leek was
the type, —and garlic was but a gar-leek — a spear-headed
leek. In the language of science, garlic is made the
standard, and the onion is but a species of allium or garlic.
It may be taken for granted that of all the flavouring
substances used in cookery the onion is, after salt, the
most valuable; and cunningly concealed in a sauce, in a

stew, or in a soup, it yields enjoyment even to those who

would carefully put it from them if they saw it.

Onion Sauce .-—

See the Soubise sauce, the Breton sauce,
and the Sauce Robert.

Onion Soup in France is supposed to have the most

amazing restorative virtue. The following is known as
the Marquis de Cussy’s favourite soup Peel twenty —
small onions, cut them in slices, and fry them of a good

colour in a stewpan with fresh butter and a little sugar.

Then moisten them with broth, and let them simmer for
an hour. Towards the end of the process add crusts of
bread and when about to serve the soup, throw in a
;

wineglassful of old brandy.

Fried Onions .
— One word as to the French way of
frying them, which results in something far more delicate

than the strong-smelling, overpowering English dish of

the same name. The onions ought to be fresh and juicy.
Slice them crosswise, so as Shake these
to produce ring's.

rings in flour till they are well covered. Then put them
into a wire basket, and dip them in the frying-kettle of
hot beef fat for five or six minutes. Drain them, sprinkle
them with a little salt, and serve them.
 Oxford 321

Orange Sauce, and other such fowl.

for wild ducks
Boil half a pint of brown gravy, and add a somewhat less
quantity of claret, with salt, cayenne, the strained juice of
two Seville oranges and a scraping of the zest.

Orgeate, as
its name shows, was formerly nothing but

barley water. This was flavoured sometimes with lemon,

sometimes with almonds. By degrees the almond flavour
began to predominate, and almond milk was found to be
so agreeable by itself that it displaced the barley altogether,
Orgeate now is nothing but almond milk. The old drink,
however, may still be obtained under the name of barley
water.

Ortolan or Garden Bunting. —Treat the ortolan as a

quail or as a lark. It is useless to say more in a country

where for the most part we have to eat the ortolan, like the
becafico, in imagination. As much as a guinea apiece has
been paid for ortolans in England. Fortunately in these
days of the railway they can be obtained at a much less
price ;
but the fat little monsters are still much too dear
for any but long purses and rare occasions.

—
Oxford. It is not a comforting reflection that our
two most ancient and renowned universities, with all their
scholarships, all the wisdom of the classics to command,
and all the heights of philosophy beneath their feet, have
been able to add to the enjoyments of the table nothing
more than an humble sausage. What is learning, what
is science, if this be its farthest reach — to evolve only a
sausage from the inner consciousness? Each University
has one but Oxford has certainly
; the best of it.

Whereas both of these great schools chop logic and pork,

Oxford in addition chops veal and the fat of beeves.

Oxford Sausage —
Mince one pound each of piime
.

young pork, veal, and the freshest beef fat, all cleared of
skin and sinews steep the crumb of a twopenny loaf in
;

21
 — ;

322 Oxtail

milk and water ;

grate a little zest of lemon, also a little

nutmeg ;
some thyme and
chop a few sage leaves and ;

pound a small quantity of long pepper and salt. Mix all

together and press it down close in a pan for use. It

may be stuffed in skins like other sausage meat; but is

generally rolled out as wanted, and either fried in fresh

butter of a fine brown colour or broiled over a clear fire.
This what
is ages of learning have taught the wise men
of the Isis to fix upon as the only preparation of food to
which the name of Oxford may worthily be linked.

Oxford Punch . —
The great characteristic of this punch
is its having a quantity of calf’s foot jelly dissolved in it.

The wise men of the Isis respect the name of their town-
ship, and have decreed that the kine from which it takes its

name should not only ford their river, but should also
enter into their sausages in the form of beef fat and youth-
ful undergraduate veal, and should, in the frisky form
of calf’s feet, gambol into their punch.

Oxtail. Mr. Punch not long ago gave a revised list of

the thirty-nine articles of an Englishman’s faith. I have

forgotten whether the first was Oxtail soup or Shakespeare,

and whether the second was Shakespeare or Oxtail soup
but at all events these were the first two. This oxtail,
in which we now take a national pride, was originally
Huguenot, and we. learned the taste for it from the poor
Protestant refugees who settled about Bermondsey. In

this region of the tanners there is or was a place known as

The Borgeney — Petty Burgundy. The Huguenots, when
they saw oxhides abounding around them, thought they
could make something of the tails, which were then sold with
the hides. They made an excellent soup. A philanthropist
who happened to be a lover of good cheer was in the habit
of visiting the homes of the poor Frenchmen here at Spital-
fields and there at Petty Burgundy. In Petty Burgundy
 Oysters

he came upon the oxtail soup; he opened his eyes, and he

made such a proclamation of. the goodness of the tanners’
soup that it became at once fashionable, and now Mr.
Punch can speak of it as among the first and foremost of
an Englishman’s thirty-nine articles of faith.

Oxtail Soup —Take . two large or three small oxtails,

divided at the joints, and soak them well in lukewarm water.
Then put them stewpan with a pound of ham or
into a
knuckle of bacon, three quarts of cold water, an ounce and
a half of salt; set them on the fire to boil, and remove
the scum. When the scum ceases to rise add three carrots,
three onions, two turnips, and a head of celery, a faggot of
sweet-herbs, six cloves, and a dozen peppercorns. Stew
all gently for three hours, and then take out the oxtails.
Strain the broth, get rid of the fat, put back the tails,
thicken the soup with arrowroot or rice-flour, and finish it
to taste with cayenne, salt, a spoonful of ketchup, and it

may be a glasslul of Marsala. If the oxtails are stew'ed

longer they will yield an extremely gelatinous soup, but
the meat will be in rags and unfit for presentation.

Stewed Oxtail —
Take an oxtail disjointed, and soak it
.

well in lukewarm water. Then put with it in a stewpan a

couple of onions, a couple of carrots, a faggot of sweet-
herbs, and broth enough to cover it. Or for another com-
bination put itstewpan with a Mirepoix of white
into the
wine, and with broth enough, as before, to cover all.
Simmer it very gently for two or three hours. The oxtail
may then be dished, and it may be sauced and garnished in
a variety of ways. If surrounded with its gravy (strained),

and garnished with lettuce brazed in the French way and

intermingled with carrots, it is called Queue de Boeuf en
hochepot. It may also be garnished with a Macedon of
vegetables, with a puree of lentils, or with either the
Soubise or the Breton purde of onions.

Oysters.-— More than two hundred years ago Thomas

324 Oysters

Fuller said that the best in England were the fat, salt,

green-finned sort bred near Colchester. Since then,

although the green-finned oysters are prized above all

others on the Continent, they have come to be slighted in

England through a fear that the greenness may be the

effect of copper. Mr. Frank Buckland, however, has
recently written : “I am glad to inform the public that
the green-bearded oysters native to the river Roach (not

far from Southend, Essex) are about to be introduced into

the London market. For over a hundred years this kind of
British oyster has been shipped vid Ostend to the Paris
and Continental markets, where, under the name of Les ‘

huitres verts d’Ostende,’ they have been and are considered

a great delicacy. The reason why oyster-eaters in England
have not hitherto availed themselves of these home-bred
oysters is that their beards (i.e., breathing gills) are in the

winter months more or less tinged with a green pigment.

This peculiar green is imparted to them by the sporules of
the seaweed called crow-silk, which grows abundantly in
the Roach river. Dr. Letheby’s analysis has pronounced
this pigment to be purely vegetable, without the slightest
trace of copper or other mineral. I consider that this
vegetable pigment imparts a peculiar taste and agreeable
flavour to the meat of these plump little oysters. For
many years I have been trying to persuade the Messrs.

J. and F. Wiseman, oyster merchants, of Paglesham, Roch-

ford, Essex, to send their natives to the home markets.
The present scarcity of oysters has now induced them to
supply the English rather than the French markets. The
shells are thin and porcelain-like, and the proportion of
meat to shell in my catalogue of oysters is one-fifth.

The English arc not only peculiar in their recent dislike

to the green-finned oyster; they are so likewise in their
manner In Scotland and in France
of opening all oysters.
oysters are always opened and left in the hollow half of the
shell which retains the brine in England the oyster is
;
 Oysters 325

lefton the flat shell from which the liquor drains off. If,

however, one could sometimes see the dirty liquor in which

the oysters lie ready for opening, and in which they are
opened behind the oyster bar of some fish shops, perhaps
there would be no desire to taste the oyster at all, and cer-
tainly none to see it in the hollow shell bathed in discoloured
brine.

Oyster Sauce — Boil

two dozen oysters very gently in
.

their own liquor for five minutes, always remembering

that quick boiling will harden them then drain them and ;

beard them. Go through the first step of making English

sauce, using the liquor of the oysters (strained, of course)
instead of water, and adding an equal quantity of milk.
-

Put in the oysters, heat up the sauce, and lastly melt into
it — but no more than melt —an ounce of butter. For a
broiled beefsteak it is preferable to use good brown gravy
instead of the milk.

Oyster Soup —Take twenty-four oysters remove the

. :

fins or beards and tendons, and put together— oysters, all

fins and tendons — simmer to minutes own

for ten in their
liquor,along with a small sole. The sole, the fins and the
tendons are then to be pounded in a mortar and passed
into a stewpan, with the liquor of the oysters, a quart of
water, or still better fish-stock, a faggot of sweet-herbs,
and a few peppercorns. Let it boil for fifteen or twenty
minutes, and then work into it an ounce of butter kneaded
into an ounce of flour till the flour be thoroughly cooked.
1 he soup can then be strained into a tureen thickened ;

with a leason composed of one yolk of egg and two table-

spoonfuls of cream seasoned with cayenne and salt and
;
;

finally populated with the oysters.

Oyster Forcemeat .
— See Forcemeat No. 4.

Scalloped Oysters. (Hultres en Coquille). —These are

oysters done either in scallop shells or in metal dishes made
326 Oysters

to imitate them. Blanch and beard the oysters —some

dozens. Then put them into a stewpan with their own
liquor, a little butter, some chopped parsley, some pepper,
and a glass of Chablis. Take out the oysters and put them
into the shells at the same time reducing the sauce and
;

adding to it a leason of two yolks and some lemon-juice.

Pour the sauce over the oysters intermingled with fine
breadcrumbs, heap breadcrumbs over all, bedew them with
melted butter, and brown them before the fire in a Dutch
oven, or in baking tins in an ordinary oven.

Oysters —called in France les-sots-y-les-lciissent — fools’

leavings. Two peculiarly succulent morsels found on the
backs of fowls. There is a story of Brillat-Savarin told
by Talleyrand and reported by Hayward. He was on his
way to Lyons, and proposed to dine at Sens. On his
arrival he sent for the cook and asked what there was for
dinner. The cook had very little to offer, and M. Savarin
determined to go to the kitchen to see for himself. In the
kitchen he found four turkeys roasting. “What is this?”
he said. “You told me you had nothing in the- house.

Let me have one of these turkeys.” “Impossible,” was

the reply; “they are all bespoken for a gentleman
upstairs.
” 5
“He must have a large party to need four
turkeys.” “No,” said the cook, “he dines by himself.”
“How I should like to see the man who orders four
turkeys for his own eating!” Brillat-Savarin went to

pay his respects to the stranger, and found his own son.
“What, you rogue, four turkeys all to yourself!” “\es,
sir,” said the son “you know that whenever I dine with
:

you, you eat up all the oysters; I was resolved to enjoy

myself once in a way —and here I am.”
 Pancakes 327

ALATES. —Those of the ox are alone worthy

of trouble. They are to be blanched for ten
minutes, cooled, drained, carefully scraped,
and divided in two lengthways. They are then
to be simmered for three hours, with, say,
half a pint of broth for each palate, half an ounce of butter,
fat or dripping', together with a faggot of sweet-herbs, an
onion, a carrot, a clove, and some salt. When they are
ready drain them on a cloth, remove fat, and serve them
with a Poulette sauce.

Palestine Soup. —The name given to soup made from

the Girasole, ignorantly called the Jerusalem artichoke.

—
Panada for forcemeat. Soak in warm water the
crumb of fine bread. W hen it is quite moist and soft put
it in a cloth and wring out the water. Then put it into
a saucepan with a lump of butter and a little salt, and beat
it smooth and dry over a very slow fire, taking care that
it browns in no way. Put it aside to cool. Instead of
butter, milk may be used, or a little white broth.

Pancakes. — It is a curious
unaccountable fact that if
cne asks for a pancake in Paris one has to wait nearly half
an hour for it, and if one asks for an omelet suddenly from
an English cook one has to wait about the same time.
Neither pancake nor omelet need take more than five
minutes at any time.

Pancakes plain .
— Beat any
number of eggs in a basin —
say four. Mix withit the same number of ounces of flour

or say a small spoonful for every egg. Add sugar, some

grated lemon-peel and nutmeg. Stir in milk enough to
make it a smooth batter. Toss a ladleful of this with
butter in a small frying-pan. If the cake is very thin it

need not be turned, but may be doubled up as it is with

sprinkled sugar inside. It is usually made thicker, and
 r ;

328 Parfait Avion

then it has to be turned. Serve it with pounded sugar

and sliced lemon.

Pancakes royal .
— Six eggs, five spoonfuls of flour, three

ounces of butter. All the rest as before.

Pancakes ornate .
— Spread with jam ;
apricot jam the
favourite.

Parfait Amour unhappily is a liqueur which lives by its

name and nothing else. We all like to taste that unknown

bliss which is not to be found on earth, and we hope to
find its semblance in the bottle. The liqueur is too true
as a satire. Starting with the idea that love is a bitter-
sweet, Parfait Amour is made of the bitter zest of limes,
mollified with syrup, with the spirit of roses, and with spicy
odours. It is in fact, a kind of orange bitters spoilt.

Whoever drinks of Parfait Amour says in his heart, This

is a mistake. And therein lies the success of the liqueur :

it has a rosy colour, it has a fine name, and it is nought.

One trial is enough.
In England in the olden time, when oranges were more
scarce than they are now, it was the custom for a lover to
give his sweetheart on New Year’s Day, as an emblem of
Perfect Love, an orange stuck all over with cloves.

Parmentier first introduced potatoes into France, and

the French, in gratitude, have affixed his name to their

potato soup. One might have expected a like honour,

in England at least, to the name of Sir Walter Raleigh,

who brought the potato from America in 1586. He was

in fact the discoverer of the potato, as Columbus was the

discoverer of the New World. But as the New World

has been named, not after Columbus but after his follower
Amerigo, so the potato throughout Europe is connected
with the name, not of Raleigh, but of Parmentier. The
town of Metz has raised a statue to Parmentier.

Parsley is the crown of cookery. It once crowned men

 Partridge 329

it now crownstheir food. We wreath our hsh with sprigs

of parsley would be impossible to eat cold meat without
;
it

garlands of it round the dish and the crowning grace of ;

many a sauce and stew comes from a shower of minute

parsley shed upon it at the last. There is no plant that is
so much used in this way for coronation.

Fried Parsley is indispensable for fried fish, croquettes,

rissoles. It should be crisp, and is only to be well done in
a wire basket dipped into the frying kettle. If the fat be

properly hot, a minute is enough, and more than enough.

Let the parsley be first washed and thoroughly dried.

Parsley Sauce is a name that might be given to several

sauces, but is generally in England given to what in the
French kitchen is known as maitre d ’hotel sauce.

Parsnips — dressed as carrots ;

but they require less
time.

Partridge. —-There is an old controversy about the

partridge. There is a tract called The Debate between the
Heralds of France and England, supposed to have been
written by Charles, Duke of Orleans, between 1458 and
1461, and published about 1500. The heralds proclaim
against each other the advantages of their several countries ;

and the French one, when it comes to his turn, boasts that
France has great red-legged partridges, while England has
none: “And believe me,’’ he cries, “these are delicious
birds, fitfor the palates of kings and princes.” To this
day in France the red-legged partridge or bartavelle is
considered superior to the grey-legged sort which abounds
in England, and always in the market it commands a
higher price. When that great gastronomer, Dr. Lister,
physician to Queen Anne, went to Paris in the beginning
of last century, he made acquaintance with the red-legged
partridge, and brought back word that it far excelled the
grey kind. Englishmen generally, however, have not been
33 ° Partridge

of this opinion, and some have gone so far as to declare

that red-legged partridges (which, by the way, are plentiful
enough in the Eastern counties) are not worth eating. It is

well that tastes should differ, and that when Jack Sprat
can eat no fat his wife can eat no lean. Each one must
speak for himself; and I give my vote with the French, in

favour of the red-legs. Perhaps the Englishman has a

spite against the red-legged partridge, because it does not
rise to his gun like the common one, and yields him less
sport. The French authorities lay down the maxim that
whereas the English or grey-legged partridge is best
young, the French or red-legged one is best at maturity.

Roast Partridge .- — InEngland the partridge goes nearly

always to the spit, though it sometimes also shows in a
salmi — in which case, however, it has still to be first of
all roasted. The French are mighty in stewed partridge,
and never send any but young birds to be roasted.
They have their perdrix and their perdreaux ;
the former
being the full-grown birds, the latter the chicks. It is

only the perdreaux that ever figure among the roasts in

France. It does not follow that the French are right:
no Englishman will allow this who remembers that they
object to roast duck with green peas, and prefer brazed
duck with turnips. But granting that partridges, young
or old, are always best roasted, there may still be reason
with the French, who seem never to delight more in the
bird than when it appears as

Perdrix aux Choux .

— Partridge with cabbage, salt pork,

and sausage. Put a couple of birds into a stewpan with butter

or good dripping, and pass them over the fire till they take
colour, along with a piece of the hand of pork and a couple
of onions, nailed with a couple of cloves. Moisten them
then with broth, and add two carrots, a bayleaf, and some
saveloy. Add trimmed, blanched, cut into quarters,
also,

and seasoned with pepper and salt, a Savoy cabbage; and

 Pastry

let all simmer together for an hour and a half. Then drain
the cabbage and make a low hayrick of it upon a dish. On
the top of the rick, or (for a Chartreuse) in the middle of
it, lay the partridges, and round them the sausages and
slices of pork, and over all a gravy made of the liquor

they have stewed in, assisted, if need be, with veal gravy.
Englishmen who are asked to admire this dish, which
h rench cooks elaborate with extraordinary care, lavishing
immense ingenuity on the Chartreuse of partridges, have
a right to observe that the proverb Toujours Perdrix is
eminently h rench, and would never have been thought of
but for the Perdrix aux choux.

Pass. —This is as great a word in cookery as it is in

legerdemain. “Pass!” says the juggler, and the pigeon
vanishes. A F rench
cook passes almost everything'
through a sieve, and according to the theory of evolution,
he will himself one day pass through the sieve and become
a puree. But the grand and peculiar use of the word for
which it has a place in this dictionary implies a process of
cookery. A cook
speak of passing a fowl, or a piece
will
of meat, or vegetables. In the French kitchen they have
not only the verb passer, but also (which is the same thing)
faire revenir. To pass is to pass in butter over the fire ;

in short, to fry lightly for a minute or two, so as to create

a rich surface on what it is intended to finish by a different
process of cooking — say by stewing. To pass in
a trifle of butter is to frying what the preface is to the
book, the prologue to the play and the overture to the
opera.

Pastry. — It has been said that the greatest discovery of

the modern kitchen is pastry, and it would be difficult to
name any other article of food which is better entitled to
this praise. The discovery of America added much to the
resources of the table ;
and we have an immense advantage
over the ancients in tea, coffee, and chocolate. We owe
332 Pastry

these good things, however, to navigation ;

whereas pastry
we owe to the kitchen. It was quite within reach of the
ancients to invent the modern pie, and they failed to hit

upon it.

The following are the pastes most frequently in use :

—
1. Hot-water paste for raised pies —that is, pies baked
without dishes or patty-pans. Melt four ounces of butter
in half a pint of hot water and work it with half an ounce of
salt into apound of flour. This is chiefly used in England.
The French prefer the following because of the eggs.
2. Cold-water paste for raised pies. Use the same
quantities as for No. i, but substitute three yolks of eggs
for an equal displacement of water. This also makes a
good short paste for ordinary pies.
3. Puff paste for a Vol-au-vent, the lightest and leafiest,
called by the French Feuilletage. This deserves to be
mentioned before the more common kinds because, although
it is the most difficult of all the pastes, it best illustrates
the principle of the puff pastes, and once mastered ensures
a mastery of all the rest.
Put a pound of flour on the pastry slab with about half
an ounce of salt. Make a well in it for cold water, of

which close on half a pint will be needed, and mix it into

a smooth paste. Dry it with flour until the slab is quite
cleared, but work it as little as possible, and leave it alone
for a minute or two to get cool from the heat of the hands
before the next process begins, which has to do with the
butter. Take a pound of butter, very cold, and with every
drop of milk or water squeezed out of it, and press it out
flat so as to form a square of something between nine and

ten inches. It is not essential in practice to be too par-

ticularabout these numbers, which are given chiefly to

make the principle clear. Roll out the paste to something
between thirteen and fourteen inches square, that is, such —
a size that when the butter square is put upon it diagonally,

the four corners of the paste square folded over and meet-
 Pastry 333

ing in the centre will completely envelope the butter. We

have here a simple sandwich of paste and butter, and this
is called the first turn, after it has been rolled out in one
direction to the extent of, say thirty inches. Give it now
a second turn — that is, fold it over in three, so as to renew
the square of ten inches, and roll it out again to thirty
inches, but this time in a cross direction. We have now a
triple sandwich in which there are four thin sheets of paste
alternated with three of butter. Give it three turns more,
—
•
in all five turns — each time rolling it crosswise. At the
end of the fifth turn we have a sandwich which, if the

rolling were delicate and even, and if the paste and the
butter were in perfect condition, ought, in theory at least,
to consist of eighty-four thin films of paste alternated with
eighty-three of butter. In practice this is not to be hoped
for. One’s touch is not always light and even; the paste
is apt to be sticky and the butter to melt ;
and many of the
films under pressure will smudge into one another. We
must be content we can make sure of a goodly number
if

of films remaining perfect. And to make sure of this, there

is a step in the process which has not yet been mentioned.
This is to cool the paste between the turns. How often
and how much it should be cooled will depend on the time
of year. In warm weather, when the butter is apt to
flow and the paste to stick, it should certainly be cooled,
if not between every turn, at least twice. done This is

by transferring the paste to a floured baking-sheet, and

placing it either on ice or in a draught of air. Say that
it is left to cool for half an hour between the second and

third turns, and for a quarter of an hour between the

fourth and fifth.
A piece of paste a quarter of an inch thick prepared
thus carefully will puff up to five, six, and even eight times
its original height. Dexterity is required, but the great
thing is to understand the meaning of the process. In
short paste the butter is kneaded with the Hour, and
0 0/4
o j4 Pastry

becomes part of the paste. In puff paste the butter and

the paste are separate and there is no mixing or kneading
—only what may be called fine sandwiching. The flour is
made into a paste by itself, which by successive rollings is

divided into thinner and thinner layers separated one from

another by layers of butter, which by the same rollings
are made thinner and thinner. The process of baking
separates the films and puffs them up one above another;
and the great art of the pastrycook is by delicacy and
rapidity of touch, also by guarding carefully the coldness
of the butter and its freedom from moisture, together with
the freedom of the paste from stickiness, to make sure that
as far as possible the thin flakes of butter and paste shall
not interpenetrate.
4. Puff paste for pies. When once the principle of the
puff paste is understood the cook can take liberties with it.
The foregoing receipt will produce the lightest puff paste,
rising several inches and fit for a Yol-au-vent ;
but for
ordinary pies less care is necessary and less butter — say
ten or twelve ounces of butter to the pound of flour. Also,
though it is always best to use butter, and it is imperative
to do so if any chance of the pie being eaten cold,
there is

— for a hot pie there is no objection to beef-fat pounded

with milk or sweet oil in a mortar to the consistency of
butter. Lastly, as one does not expect the crust upon a
pigeon-pie or an apple-pie to rise very much, one need
not be too anxious to multiply the films, and one can spare
a turn or two.
5. Puff paste for cheesecakes and tarts. Add about
three ounces of sifted sugar to the pound of flour. Some-
times two yolks are added, but with doubtful benefit.
6. Short paste. It has been already explained that for
short crust the intermixture of the butter with the flour is
by kneading, not rolling. For the best short crusts take
equal quantities of butter and flour. But even half of
butter will make a fair crust. For meat pies the lesser
 Paysanne JJJr
'i i

quantity desirable, with a pinch of salt. (See also No. 2.)

is

heather with white of egg- before putting it in the oven.

it

7. Short paste for tarts and fruit pies. As much butter

as can be allowed, no salt, and three ounces of sifted
sugar.
8. Paste for dumplings and puddings. No. 4 is best,
but the following is commendable : a pound of flour, six
ounces of butter, two well-beaten eggs, a little water, and
a pinch of salt, kneaded together.
9. Brioche paste. Take a pound of sifted flour, and with
a lourth of make a soft leaven by mixing it with a wine-
it

glassful of German yeast. Cover this up and set it for

twenty minutes in a warm place to rise. It ought to rise
to twice what it was. Take the remainder of the flour and
in the usual way knead with ten ounces
it into a paste
of butter, six or seven eggs, and a wineglassful
of water
in which a pinch of salt and a
teaspoonful of sugar have
been melted. Mix the ieaven with it lightly. Put it aside
for some hours, and then knead it,
roll it, fold it, break it,
toss it about, blend
thoroughly together.
it Roll it up in
a loose cloth dusted with flour, put it into
some covered
vessel, and keep it in a fair temperature till next day, if —
possible, when it will be fit to use and can be moulded
into
any shape— Brioche cakes, or Bath buns. Colour the
paste with saffron diluted in two glasses of rum, and it
makes a Baba.

Paysanne. The Peasant’s soup; but really a very

good soup for peer as well as peasant. It is a clear broth
with winter vegetables in it. See Brunoise, and also the
Introductory chapter.
I hat French peasant was evidently a woman of great
taste, and a desirable person to know. There is another
of her nice dishes which is sometimes called
Petits pois a
la Paysanne. It is one of the nicest vegetable
messes that
can be sent to table, and is described in the next article
 oA Peas
JO U
'y

under the name of Flemish peas. T he cookery of the

Peasant, in fact, and that of the Fleming are almost alike.

Peas. In the English way .

— Put them into boiling

water with some and a bunch of green mint, and let

salt

them boil briskly for twenty minutes. Drain them in a

—
colander and see that it is done thoroughly. After this,
all that is necessary is to mix them with fresh butter. The
most usual English way is simply to put a pat or two of
butter among them after they are dished. French cooks,
however, like to toss them with the butter on the fire for a

minute before serving.

—
Peas in the French way. i. The true French way is
to put a quart of peas with two ounces of butter
and
one of flour into a stewpan, and mix them over the fire till
the butter is melted. Add to them a faggot of parsley,
twelve small onions, two lettuces cut in the Julienne way, a
little salt and sugar, and a pint of broth
or gravy. Put

the lid on and stew the peas for half an hour on a

slow

fire. Then remove the faggot and add an ounce of butter,

together with chopped parsley, and serve.
2. The foregoing is the true French style for Frenchmen,
another style for outsiders, and this is what
but there is

England as Petits pois h la

is commonly known in

Franqaise. The peas are first of all to be boiled in the

ordinary English way, but without the bunch of mint.

of
They are then to be drained, and (supposing the quantity
peas to be a quart) they are again to be put
on the fire

flour, some
with two ounces of butter, a dessertspoonful of
tumblerful of
pepper, salt and sugar, together with a small
for five
the liquor they have boiled in. Simmer them thus
of a gill
minutes, and at the last finish them with a leason
of cream mixed into two yolks of eggs.

Peas in the Flemish way .

—Take about a pound of good
cut into small dice; pass it in butter, and moisten
bacon ;
it

it with a little broth. Next add to it two or three lettuces—

 —

Peach ">

30 /
"> H

cos-lettuce by preference, —
either whole or cut to pieces.
Fillup with water and boil for half an hour or even
more; for, though one can eat lettuces raw, they insist
on being boiled a good deal if they are to be boiled at all.
At the end of half an hour put in a pint of young peas
or any greater quantity. See that there is water and salt
enough, and let the boiling go on for another half-hour, so
that the lettuce may have at least an hour in all. There is %
a delightful dish of peas, which are made to go a long
way and to suggest no idea of stint, by means of the lettuce
which eke them out.

Pea Soup . —The following receipt applies to either fresh

peas or the dried ones, whether green or yellow. If they
are dried, however, they must be soaked for twelve
hours
beforehand. Put a quart of peas into a stewpan, with a
carrot, an onion, a leek, a faggot of parsley,
a pound of
streaky bacon, and three quarts of water. Boil them for
two or three hours; then’ remove the bacon, the carrot
and the faggot, pass all else, including the onion, through
a tammy, and the soup (if sufficiently hot) is ready.
When
this soup is made of fresh peas, the French
call it St.
fiermains, and serve it with a few whole peas floating on
the top to show what it is.

Peach is a corruption of the word Persia it is the —

amygdalus Persica, or Persica vulgaris. It has more than
once already, in these pages, been pointed out that an
almond, a nectarine, and a peach, have a curious identity
the same, but yet how different All three fruits may
!

be found growing on the same tree, and sometimes on

the same branch.More than this the fruit is some- :

times found to be a peach on one side, a nectarine on the

other. Both peaches and nectarines are divided into two
chief classes —
the Freestones and the Clingstones. The
former are always the best, and may be easily recognised,
lake a knife, and in the line of the equator cut round

22
338 Pepper

them to the stone; hemisphere may then be

the upper
lifted off clean, without any difficulty. These are the
peaches for dessert. The clingstones are not so good, are
firmer of flesh, and are best reserved for stewing and for
fritters. Before using them for fritters, pare them and
steep them for an hour in and sugar. Kirschenwasser
Stewing them in syrup is a very simple matter. The
peaches may then be presented alone in the syrup, with
the addition of a few of their kernels; or they may be
served, like apricots, with rice.
The rose-pink, whichsometimes used for colouring,
is

and which has been already mentioned in connection with

anchovy butter, is obtained from the peach tree.

Pepper isthe berry of a climbing Oriental shrub, bright

red when ripe and black when dried. This is black pepper.
Within the berry are seeds which, when removed from the
surrounding pulp and skin and dried separately, are called
white pepper. This is not so powerful as the whole or
black pepper, and Mignonette pepper before it
it is called

is ground, as unground black pepper is known by the name

of peppercorns.
Much as we value pepper, it is difficult to think of it as

being at one time Europe so precious and so scarce that

in

it was as good as money. In Prance, at that time, the

taxes might be paid in pepper so also church dues and ;

rent. We have all heard of a peppercorn rent. Pepper

was in fact cash and to pay in pepper, in spice, or in
specie — all
;

words meaning the same thing became equi- —

valent to paying in cash. In token of which to this day
specie is a common name for the hardest of hard cash

gold and silver as distinct from paper money.

Red pepper comes from a different shrub, the capsicum,
and was unknown before the discovery of America.

Pepsin. — It is no doubt all right and as it should be in

 —

Perch 339

But when in that sublimated

this best of all possible worlds.

future which is to come, which will make human nature

perfect and all the methods of food divine, the refined New
Zealander, who is- to write our history dilates upon the
manner of our eating, what astonishment will he not raise
when he comes to speak of pepsin We have our own !

pleasant thoughts upon the emetics which preceded a

Roman meal, and think with wonder of the great captain,
Julius Caesar, preparing himself for a fresh repast
by disgorging the undigested remains of the previous
one. But what shall be said of ourselves? “ In those
days it was usual, even for people of refinement, when
they could not themselves digest the dinner they had
swallowed, to take the pig for a deputy, to avail them-
selves of his stomach, and to rejoice in the potency of his
gastric They bathed their masticated food in
juices.
these juices taken at their supreme moment a point of —
time determined as follows. A young pig in the perfection
of rude health was ready. He was starved in order that
his gastric juices might be eager for work; with the edge
of hunger upon him, the most appetising food was placed
before him in order that the juices might flow abundantly
from the coats of his stomach, even as the mouth waters
at the sight of food. At this supreme moment the young
pig was killed, and his gastric juice carefully collected.
It was dried, and it was found that a few grains of it

swallowed after an aldermanic would create the

feast
digestive faculties of a hog,make a heavy dinner sit light
upon the soul as an aerial banquet, and renew the appetite
as though there were a dire famine in the land. These
noble Christians of the western world ate their meat like
men, but mated with swine for its digestion.”

Perch. He who has once partaken of the zander or

giant perch of the German waters —and it is worth going
all the way to Dresden to do so — will always think well of
 ;

34 ° Perigueux Sauce

this noble family. The zander, abundant in the Elbe, is

themost delicious of the perches but they are all delicious;

and refined. “That perch,” says Dr. Badham, “ require

clear fresh water for their very existence, accounts perhaps
for the wholesomeness of their flesh, always superior from
this circumstance to that of eel, carp, or tench, which, from
feeding everywhere, often taste of the weeds and feculence
where they dwell. The'ancients have not left us any hints
as to how perch were cooked. The present practice over
the Continent is to stew them in vinegar, fresh grape,
orange-juice, or other sour sauce; but though this is cer-

tainly the common way in some parts of Italy, at the Lago

Maggiore they are spitted in their scales, and basted
while roasting with the same acid juice; in Holland
butter is added. Though a scaly fish, they vitiate Aris-
totle’s dictum, and are best in roe.” To this add that they
make an admirable waterzootje, and that when they are
large (Yarrell says that one taken from the Serpentine in
Hyde Park weighed nine pounds) they may be fried in
fillets to the great glory of the finny tribe.
Ever since Galen, the perch has been described as
peculiarly the fresh-water fish for invalids, — it is so deli-
cate.

Perigueux Sauce —named from Pdrigord, where the

truffles abound. It is the best brown sauce, with a glass

of sherry or Marsala added to it, and a quantity of chopped
truffles.

Pheasant cooked fresh is not so good as a good

if

poularde it requires to be kept till the fumet is fully de-

:

veloped, and then it is beyond any fowl. So clear is this

in the French way of thinking, that with them the
verb

meaning to give the high flavour of game is faisander

and the French kitchen is that a pheasant is

rule of the
not fit to be eaten till, having been hung up by the tail, it
drops down. For most tastes this may be loo much; but a
 Pickles 34i

certain degree of highness in the flavour is essential to the

enjoyment of the bird.

Roast Pheasant . —The same as a roast partridge— barded

with bacon. recommended the larding of
Brillat-Savarin
the breast ;
but he has been furiously assailed for it.
Boiled Pheasant .
— Some people stare with astonish-
ment when they hear of a pheasant being boiled. This is
all very well till they try it. Serve it with Soubise sauce,
plain onion sauce, celery sauce, or oyster sauce.

Brazed Pheasant —This

Francatelli’s receipt, and he
. is

called Pheasant a la Gudewife. Truss a pheasant as for

it

boiling, and put it in a stewpan with half a pound of ham

cut in square pieces. Fry them together over a moderate
fire, and when the pheasant is browned all over, add four
sliced Spanish onions, some pepper and salt, and a spoonful
of Chutnee. Put the lid on, and set the whole to simmer
gently for about three-quarters of an hour, by which time
the pheasant will be done and the onions reduced to a
pulp. Place the pheasant on its dish. Stir the onions on
the fire, to give the sauce some consistency by further
reduction, if needed, and then pour it over the pheasant
and serve.
Pickles. — VVe should be sorry for those who have to eat
pickles. The craving for this condiment usually implies a
sickly digestionand a jaded appetite. It also implies bad
cookery— being the substitute for a sauce which the cook
ought to provide. But since pickles we must have, it is
desirable that they should be good and it is a sad thing
;

to chronicle that the craft of making

good pickles is
departing from
England. This country used to make
the most wonderful mixed pickles; and
the name for
them, together with the square green English
bottle for
them, has gone abroad over the earth. In the
deserts of
Arabia, and in the Mountains of the Moon,
the forlorn
traveller has lighted on empty bottles of Day and Martin’s
 — ;

342 Pie

blacking and of Crosse and Blackwell’s pickles, and his

heart has rejoiced at eve, as Mungo Park did over a solitary
flower in the burning- wastes of Africa. But now No More,
and alas ! No More. As Mr. Tennyson says
Oh sad No More! oh sweet No More!
Oh strang-e No More!
Surely all pleasant things had gone before,
Low buried fathom-deep beneath with thee, No More.

The mixed pickles, even those of the great magicians

best
of Soho, Crosse and Blackwell, are now made with a woe-
begone compound called Piccallilli. The good old sort is
neglected and the best English pickles of that kind come
;

at present from Bordeaux (from Louis Freres et Cie.), in

bottles of English shape, and with the English name of
Mix’d Pickles. Why is this? One cause may be excess
of competition —leading to lowering of price, cheapening
of vinegar, and general deterioration. But another, and
even more powerful cause, is to be found in a transition of
English taste. —strange, irrecognisable
East India pickles
compounds confused with curry, an amazing jumble of
hot,sweet, sour, and things —have come
bitter fashion. into

Manufacturers— even those who, Crosse and Blackwell,

like
—
take the highest rank truckling fashion, turn to this their

chief skill to put an Oriental tinge on their mixed pickles

and when they affect to produce these in all their original

simplicity, they do so almost as if the old English receipt

were no longer worthy of respect. The favour which has
been recently shown to the Bordeaux pickles of Louis
Fibres et Compagnie ought to teach them a lesson.

Pie. —W have dealt with a considerable number of

e
words belonging- to the French table, the origin of which
is frankly stated by the French authorities to be unknown.

We have now to do with a word peculiar to the English

table, which, although the subject of many conjectures, has
never yet been satisfactorily explained. The most authori-
 ; ;

A A
Pie o4j
'i

tative explanation is very curious. It was suggested by

the lexicographer Junius, more than two centuries ago; and
it holds ground among the very valuable etymologies
its

in Webster’s dictionary for which Dr. Mahn is responsible.

Junius put it forth only as a conjecture that pie or pye is

a corruption of pastie or pastye but Mahn states it as a

fact. Now, the fact is that pasty or paste, as used in

mediaeval English and French, is a later word than pie

and therefore pie could not well be contracted from it, even
if it were a likely form of contraction. It is odd that this

explanation should still hold its ground, seeing that a very

little inquiry into the history of food would have suggested
two other etymologies, either of which might singly account
for the word pie, though I believe that both have contri-
buted to it. In Le Grand d’Aussy’s work on the history
of private life in France, it is stated that the word pain
signified a pie before the word pate came into use. There
is a very probable etymology at once. If any Englishman

should have the audacity to call out in a French restaurant,

with a thoroughly English pronunciation, “Pie!” as one —
of Thackeray’s snobs was heard to call out “Oh !”- — then
the waiter would as surely bring him bread as the snob
got water. There may be English people who cannot
dissociate in their minds the pie from the pie-dish, and
may therefore find it difficult to understand how a pie
should have ever been considered as a pain — a loaf. They
must get rid of that idea, and think of the pie as originally
made—what we now call a raised pie all surrounded with —
crust, like a pain or loaf. But the two words pain and
pie in this sense fared very differently in France and in
England. The former was ambiguous meaning to the —
French ear a loaf as well as meat baked in a crust. When,
therefore, the word past6 or patd found its way into France
from Italy, it very quickly supplanted the word pain in the

latter sense, which completely disappeared. But the parallel

word pie in England had no such ambiguity to contend
344 Pig

with; it had one plain meaning, all its own; and it held
its own even after the word pasty came into fashion by the
side of it. This was due not merely to its own force, but
to the fact that there was another word piewhich came to
help From
it out. the beginning until now it has always
been most common for the pie to encase a bird or birds of
some sort. Now in France one of the most frequent names
for a bird to be eaten was pied
.- —a foot. Cotgrave, whose
dictionary is of the highest authority, notes a proverbial
phrase, — “a l’avocat le pied en main,” — and explains it as
applying to ‘‘partridges, pheasants, capons, etc., where-
with they (that is, the advocates) look to be now and then
presented.” To this day it is common enough in France to
speak of the smaller birds intended for the table as les
petits pieds. But the English form and spelling of pied was
pie —you have it in cap-a-pie. There appears, therefore,
to have been a blending of names two pies the one from — —
pain, denoting more immediately the crust, the other from
pied, denoting more immediately the contents of the pie, and
both combining to establish the name in opposition to the
newly introduced one of pasty. top of To this day on the
a pigeon pie there is, in allusion to the name, a show made
of the feet and in some parts of England an apple pie is
;

called an apple foot. If the reader asks, In what parts of

England? I cannot answer; but I can give my authority,
—namely, Todd in his edition of Johnson’s dictionary.
As for the making of pies, the receipts for the various
crusts will be found under the name of Paste; and those
for the contents —as Apple, Eel, Pigeon —under the head
of each.

Pig is a name reserved for sucking-pig. The gluttonous

creature of the sty is concealed under the name of pork.
It is difficult to wax eloquent on pork; but listen to
Charles Lamb on the sucking-pig :
—
“ Of all the delicacies in the whole mundus edibilis,” he
 ! —

Pig 345

says, “I will maintain it to be the most delicate —princeps

obsoniorum.
“I speak not of your grown porkers —things between
pig and pork— those hobbledehoys ;
but a young and tender
suckling, under a moon old, guiltless as yet of the sty, with
no original speck of the amor immunditice, the hereditary
failing of the first parent, yet manifest — his voice as yet
not broken, but something between a childish treble and a
—
grumble the mild forerunner or prceludium of a grunt.
“He must be roasted. I am not ignorant that our an-
cestors ate them seethed, or boiled but what a sacrifice of —
the exterior tegument !

“There is no flavour comparable, I will contend, to that

of the crisp, tawny, well-watched, not over-roasted, ‘
crack-
ling,’ asit is well called; the very teeth are invited to their

share of the pleasure at this banquet in overcoming the

coy, brittle resistance, with the adhesive oleaginous —O call
it not fat ! but an indefinable sweetness growing up to it —
the tender blossoming of fat — fat cropped in the bud, taken
in the shoot, in the first innocence —the cream and quin-
tessence of the child-pig’s yet pure food : the lean, no
lean, but a kind of animal manna, or rather, fat and lean
(if it must be so) so blended and running into each other,
that both together make but one ambrosian result or
common substance.
“Behold him, while he is ‘doing
seemeth rather a
’
: it

refreshing warmth than a scorching heat that

he is so
passive to. How equably he twirleth round the string !

Now he is just done. To see the extreme sensibility of

that tender age —he hath wept out his pretty eyes
radiant jellies, shooting stars !

“See him in the dish, his second cradle: how meek he

lieth Wouldst thou have had this innocent grow up to
!

the grossness and indocility whicfi too often accompany

maturer swinehood ? 1 en to one he would have proved
a glutton, a sloven, an obstinate, disagreeable animal,
346 Pig_

wallowing in all manner of filthy conversation. F rom

these sins he is happily snatched away :

Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,

Death came with timely care.

His memory is odoriferous; no clown curseth, while his

stomach half rejecteth, the rank bacon no coalheaver ;

bolteth him in reeking sausages he hath a fair sepulchre ;

in the grateful stomach of the judicious epicure and for —

such a tomb might be content to die.
“ Unlike to mankind’s mixed characters a bundle of —
virtues and vices, inexplicably intertwisted, and not to be
unravelled without hazard —he is good throughout. No
part of him is better or worse than another. He helpeth,
as far as his little means extend, all around. He is the
least envious of banquets; he is all neighbours’ fare.
“ I am one of those who
and ungrudgingly im-
freely

part a share of the good things of this life which fall to

their lot (few as mine are in this kind) to a friend
But a stop must be put somewhere. One would not,
like Lear, give everything. I make my stand upon pig.
’
‘

Methinks it is an ingratitude to the Giver of all good

flavours to extra-domiciliate, or send out of the house
slightingly (under pretext of friendship, or I know not

what), a blessing so particularly adapted — predestined, I

may say, to my individual palate. It argues an insensi-

bility.
“ ancestors were nice in their method of sacrificing'
Our
these tender victims. We
read of pigs whipt to death with
something of a shock, as we hear of any other obsolete
custom. The age of discipline is would be
gone by, or it

curious to inquire (in a philosophical light merely) what

effect this process might have towards intenerating and
dulcifying a substance naturally so mild and dulcet as the
flesh of young pigs. It looks like refining a violet. Yet
we should be cautious, while we condemn the inhumanity,
 Pigeon 347

how we censure the wisdom of the practice. It might

impart a gusto.
“ I remember an hypothesis, argued upon by the young
students, when I was
Omer’s, and maintained with
at St.
much learning and pleasantry on both sides, Whether, ‘

supposing that the flavour of a pig who obtained his death

by whipping (
per flagellationem extremam) superadded a
pleasure upon the palate of a man more intense than any
possible suffering we can conceive in the animal, is man
justified in using that method of putting- the animal to
death? I forget the decision.
’

“ His sauce should be considered. Decidedly, a few

breadcrumbs, done up with his liver and brains, and a dash
of mild sag-e. But banish, dear Mrs. Cook, I beseech
you, the whole onion tribe. Barbecue your whole hogs to
your palate, steep them in shalots, stuff them out with
plantations of the rank and guilty garlic — you cannot
poison them, or make them stronger than they are : but
consider, he is a weakling— a flower.”
All honour to Charles Lamb —but
!- still the innocent is

to be stuffed with the ordinary sage-and-onion forcemeat

(No. 7), and is then to be sewed up and roasted before a
brisk fire; the basting to be frequent, with a brush dipped
in salad oil. He is to be served with a good brown gravy
and with apple sauce. He had better be served whole; but
those who are not confident of their carving require that
(as Grimod de la Reyniere said) he should first be made a
gentleman — that is, be guillotined — and that he should be
halved down the back. In this case, let the halves be
placed on the dish, the outer or roasted sides uppermost;
and let the head also be halved —the one cheek to repose at
the one end, and the other at the other end of the dish.

Pigeon is a very great bird in France, and is cooked in

many ways. The most elaborate of the French soups-—
—
Bisque was originally a pigeon soup. In England the
 a

34 § Pigeon

bird is little noticed save in the form of pigeon-pie —but

that is the most favoured of all the pies.

Roast Pigeons .- — Barded with bacon; under the bacon a

vineleaf, when it is to be had. Roast them for twenty
minutes ;
when nearly ready, take off the barding to dust
them with flour and to froth them ;
but it will be no
disadvantage if the bacon is replaced in serving them.

Orange gravy will be found a good sauce to go with them.

Stewed Pigeons (Pigeons en compote).- Stuff them with —

a seasoning of mixed spices, salt, chopped parsley, butter,
and breadcrumbs. Half-roast them or fry them, and then
proceed to stew them gently in good broth with a
glass of wine in it. Add also an onion stuck with two
cloves, a faggot of sweet-herbs, and some cooks say — —
white cabbage or a lettuce cut in quarters. Take out the
pigeons and dish them remove also the vegetable ingre-
;

dients thicken the sauce with roux, and pour it over the
;

birds. Garnish them with the lettuce or cabbage, if that

has been selected in the preparation, but if not used, there
are other garnishes —such as peas, asparagus points, arti-
choke bottoms, mushrooms, sweetbreads, cockscombs.

Chartreuse of Pigeons is done in the same way as the

Chartreuse of partridges —and that is in principle the
same as the Perdrix aux choux or partridge with cabbage.
The only difference is, that in the Chartreuse the partridges
are. concealed in the cabbage to satisfy the consciences of
the fasting friars.

Broiled Pigeons —or Pigeons en crapaudine— trussed and

flattened like a toad. The pigeons are split at the back and
spread out, after the manner of the spatchcock. They
are placed in a stewpan with a morsel of butter, a faggot
of sweet-herbs, and some sliced onions. When half-cooked
they are taken out (the faggot and onion slices also), and
two yolks of eggs are mixed into the butter in which they
 Pike 349

have cooked. The pigeons are to be well smeared with

this mixture, and afterwards covered with breadcrumbs
which have been intermixed with some chopped shalot and
parsley. They can then go to the grill, and may be served
with a little clear gravy into which has been squeezed
some lemon-juice. The pigeons, it will be observed, are
split and half-cooked breadcrumbed and
before being
grilled ;
for otherwise the breadcrumbs would be burned
before the pigeons could be grilled enough.

Pigeon Pie .
—Cover the bottom of the dish with veal
and tender collops of beef, quite free from
cutlets or small
fat and bone, and season them with salt, pepper, and

nutmeg. Over these lay the birds, cut in halves, and

each half stuffed with some maitre d ’hotel butter mixed
with the livers parboiled and minced. Put half a
dozen hard-boiled yolks of eggs in among them, and
if the bottom of the dish has been lined with veal, a
few thin slices of ham may be placed above the birds.
Add some bits of butter and a good moistening- of veal
broth. Then cover over with paste in the usual way,
and bake it for an hour. It is usual to stick three or four
pigeons’ feet in the centre of the roof. This is a custom
of great antiquity, to which many good people object,
because they can see no use in it. These feet, however,
date from the origin of the pie, and contain an allusion to
its name. See Pie.

Pike.- —The pike, jack or luce is a dry fish, which is not

to be enjoyed unless prepared in grand style, with many
rites and gorgeous ceremonies. The following wise re-
ceipt is given from Izaak Walton in his Complete Angler :

— “First open your pike at the gills, and, if need be, cut
also a little slit towards the belly. Out of these take his
guts, and keep his liver, which you are to shred very small
with thyme, sweet-marjoram, and a little winter-savory;
 ;

350 Pike

to some pickled oysters, and some anchovies,

these put
two or three—both these last whole, for the anchovies will
melt, and the oysters should not; to these you must add
also a pound of sweet butter, which you are to mix with
the herbs that are shred, and let them all be well salted.
If the pike be more than a yard long, then you may put

into these herbs more than a pound, or if he be less, then

less butter will suffice : these, being thus mixed, with a
blade or two of mace, must be put into the pike’s belly :

and then his belly so sewed up as to keep all the butter in

his belly if it is possible ;
if not, then as much as you
possibly can. But take not off the scales. Then you are
to thrust the spit through his mouth, out at his tail. And
then take four, or five, or six split sticks, or very thin
laths, and a convenient quantity of tape or filleting
these laths are to be tied round about the pike’s body
from his head to his tail, and the tape tied somewhat
thick, to prevent his breaking or falling off from the
spit. Let him be roasted very leisurely, and often basted
with claret wine, and anchovies and butter mixed together,
and also with what moisture falls from him into the pan.
When you have roasted him sufficiently, you are to hold
under him, when you unwind or cut the tape that ties him,
such a dish as you propose to eat him out of, and let
him fall into it with the sauce that is roasted in his belly,
and by this be kept unbroken and
means the pike will

complete. Then, to the sauce which was within, and

also that sauce in the pan, you are to add a fit quantity of
the best butter, and to squeeze the juice of three or four
oranges. you may either put it into the pike, with
Lastly,
the oysters, two cloves of garlic, and take it whole out
when the pike is cut off the spit; or, to give the sauce
a hogoo [hciut goiU], let the dish into which you let the
pike fall be rubbed with it ;
the using or not using of this
garlic is left to your discretion. This dish of meat is too

good for any but anglers or very honest men ;

and I
 ;

Pilchard 351

trust you will prove both, and therefore I have trusted

you with this secret.”
One part of this receipt cannot now be permitted the —
spit. We do not apply steel to fresh fish. The pike must
be baked, and this too without neglecting the basting,
which is an important point.
There are of course other ways of doing the pike. He
may be cut in slices and fried, in which case he is to be
eaten with Dutch sauce; or he may be cut in fillets, and
served in most of the ways in which one serves salmon,
turbot, and soles. He has even been served in water-
zootje ;
but this does him too much honour. He is not
delicate enough. It much better to go to
is the other
extreme, and dress him in the Chambord style.

Ankham eel and Witham pike

In all Eng-land is none like.

Pilchard, called also the gipsy’s herring, is a fine fat fish

most abundant on the Devonshire and Cornwall coasts
but it is to be found all over the Channel, and on the
h rench coast it goes by the name of sardine. They are
large for sardines, but they are treated as such in Devon-
shire and Cornwall, and are now sold in tins under the
name of Cornish sardines. The
result is worthy of praise,
and ought to be the beginning of a successful industry.
It is the first attempt in England to preserve fish in
oil.
It would be too much to say that they are equal to
the best
French sardines —that was notto be expected in a first
experiment but ;
still they are good, well-flavoured sardines
— Tre,
;

and when the Cornish men Pol and Pen —have

thoroughly mastered the art of preserving fish in oil, their
fat little pilchards should be known as the finest sardines in

the world, and the perfection of preserved herrings.

We know little of the pilchard in London, or anywhere
far from the Land s End. The fact is, that being the most
sublime of herrings, with a richness which raises him
35 2 Pimento

almost to the nobleness of a salmon-trout, the pilchard,

with all his fatness, begins to spoil much too soon after he
has bidden adieu to his native element and he is by no
sublime—he
;

means is even rancid —when he reaches the

glorious Walhalla of fish in Billingsgate. Whenever a
pilchard is found fresh he is cooked as a herring of
to be
high degree. His season is between July and Christmas.
It is singular, considering the goodness of the pilchard,
that he is of no repute when cured, and is not to be named
beside the bloater of Yarmouth, the salt herring of the
Dutch, or the red herring of Scotland. Probably the
larger pilchards, with their salmon-trout flavour, might
make a name for themselves in the form of kipper ;
and
there is now every prospect that the smaller pilchards will
spread their renown in the guise of Cornish sardines.

Pimento. —Jamaica pepper, the dried berry of a West

Indian tree— the Eugenia pimento. It also bears the
honorary name of Allspice, as combining within itself the
flavours of clove, cinnamon and nutmeg.

Pimpernel deserves a word in order to guard against a

mistake which may be serious. The flower known by this
name in England is a rank poison. It is that named in
Tennyson’s famous song :
—
The slender acacia would not shake
One long inilk-bloom on the tree ;

The white lake blossom fell into the lake

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea :

that is, with closed flowers. Now Englishmen returning

from France, and loud in their praises of a French salad,
tell us that in order to make this salad in perfection it

ought to be garnished with four herbs minced : tarragon,

chervil, chives, and pimpernel. Mark well, and let the

gardener and the cook take heed that this pimpernel is not
pimpernel in England, but burnet.

Pintail, to be treated as widgeon or wild duck.

 Plums £
->

030
'y

Piquante. — See Sharp.

Plaice, called on the Sussex coast diamond plaice, from

the little orange lozenges on their backs, and for the same
reason called in France and the
carrelet, are the poorest
cheapest of all the flat fish. The worst cookery cannot do
them wrong, and the best cannot do them good. The
only way to eat them is in fillets prepared in any of the
ways prescribed for fillets of sole. The best plaice that
come to the London market are caught between Hastings
and Folkestone, and are named from their habitation
Dowers plaice.

Plovers. —The best are the golden They used

plovers.
to be, and often still are, roasted without being drawn as —
were also turtledoves and larks; “for,” says an ancient
author, “larks eat only pebbles and sand, doves grains of
juniper and scented herbs, and plovers feed on air.” Later,
the same rule was extended to the woodcock ;
and the
general rule now is to dress the plover as a woodcock.
Plovers’ Eggs must not be forgotten — delicious little

things hard-boiled, exquisite in a salad, perfect in a sand-

wich, most admirable of all set like large opals in the midst
of aspic jelly. The chief supply comes from Holland.
The first eggs that come over are sent to the Queen, and
are worth 7s. 6d. apiece.

Plums have a wide range of meaning. Linnaeus in-

cluded under the name, not only plums proper, but cherries
and apricots; and when we speak of a plum-pudding we
extend the designation to raisins. The plums best known
have each a special name as Orleans, Greengage, Magnum
:

Bonum, Damson, Mirabelle, and so forth. It is a pity to

cook them when they are sweet and ripe, unless with a
view to preserve them but there will always be young
;

people in the world, and old people with youthful tastes, to

whom stewed plums and plum tarts will never come amiss.

23
354 Plum Pudding
Plum Sauce .
— Stone about a pint of Orleans plums, and
stir them to a mash over a brisk fire, with a quarter-pint
of waterand a quarter-pound of sugar. Then pass them
through a sieve, and use them as a sauce for pudding.
Other plums may be used in the same way not to speak —
of peaches, nectarines and apricots.

Plum Pudding. — A pound

and a half of combined flour
and breadcrumbs; a pound and a half of chopped suet;
a pound and a half of combined raisins (stoned) and cur-
rants three-quarters of a pound of sugar three-quarters
; ;

of a pint of combined milk and eggs (say six eggs and the
rest milk) ;
three wineglassfuls of brandy ;
a quarter of a
pound of chopped apples ;
a quarter of a pound of candied
peel ;
half a teaspoonful of salt ;
half a nutmeg half an ;

ounce of mixed spice. Mix all thoroughly, tie it up in a

floured cloth, put it into boiling water, and let it boil from
five to six These proportions will make two good-
hours.
sized puddings, each of which will require to be boiled for
the time given. Punch sauce.

Poele is a word much used in the French kitchen. It

means a frying-pan but originally it meant any small
;

saucepan, and afterwards it was made to signify the con-

tents of the saucepan, or at least the array of vegetables
and condiments which were put into it for seasoning. In
this sense, or any sense, the term has dropped out
indeed in

of the English language, but we find it five hundred years

ago. In the Forme of Cury there is a receipt for “Hares
in Papdele,” which has greatly puzzled antiquarians. It

is a corruption of “Hares in Padell.” The Latin word

for a saucepan was patella, which became padell in Old
English, and pa£le, afterwards po61e, in French. The
assortment of vegetables which the French now under-
stand by a po61e will be found among the Faggots —
a Faggot of Pot-herbs.
 S

Pork 355
Poivrade Sauce is a peppery sauce. Put into a stew-
pan two or three sliced onions, two or three shalots, a clove
of garlic, a carrot, a parsnip, a faggot of
sweet-herbs, two
cloves, some cayenne or long pepper, stilt, a
gill of vinegar,
a pint of broth and possibly a glass of red wine. Simmer
it for an hour; add to it some roux made with one ounce
of butter and one of flour; simmer for another half-hour,
then strain it, skim it, and serve.

Polish Sauce
a highly decorated horseradish sauce.
is

The more simple sauce is eaten with roast beef. This is

supposed to belong to roast veal. Put the scrapings
-

of a
horseradish into some sauce Allemande, or into
a Poulette
sauce, with plenty of lemon-juice, a little
grated lemon-
zest, chopped parsley, nutmeg, salt, pepper, and some
sifted sugar.
0

Pork is so to be seen at
good tables, save in the
little

form of ham and bacon, that

it would seem to be a work

of supererogation to refer to it. It is however eaten—

indeed, largely consumed—on the sly, and
must have a
word or two.

Roast Pork is scored to make the crackling, and is in

the first instance put before the fire at a long distance,
that may
be well heated through before the skin hardens.
it

The reason of this is that pork takes more of the fire

than
any other meat, and there is danger of the outside
being
burnt before the interior is cooked. Sauces sage-and- :

onion sauce, together with apple sauce or else sauce ;

Robert by itself alone.

1 ork Chops and Cutlets .

—To be done precisely as those
of mutton, only they must be done thoroughly. Thurtell
ate pork chops before he committed the murder of Mr.
William Weare.

Potage a la Reine.— ee Chicken.

356 Potato

Potato. —The place of the potato in the English dinner

has been discussed when treating of bread, and the place it
holds on the French dinner-table. On account of the
badness of English bread, the potato has largely displaced
it at English tables; and it is now to be added that, on

account of the badness of other vegetables in English

cooking, the potato has gained a further importance far
beyond its merits. (See Bread; also Vegetables.) Yet, with
all this exaggerated importance, English cooks cannot
make the potato important enough to be eaten by itself.

Go into a first-rate restaurant in Paris —say the Cafe

Anglais —and at the end of dinner ask, by way of entre-

met, for a simple dish of potatoes tossed in butter : it will

turn out a beautiful little dish, and it will be charged in the

bill two or two-and-a-half francs. A couple of shillings

for three potatoes Who pay that price in England,
! will

where the potato is vaunted so much? The French pay the

price freely—which shows that they set a higher value on
a good potato than we do, though they do not eat so many
of them, nor suffer them to take the place of bread and to
dominate over other vegetables.

Boiled Potatoes .—The Irish way— that is, cooked and

served in their jackets—or, as the French say, en robe de
chambre. The potatoes are to be all of a size, and to be
well washed and brushed, but they are in no way to be
touched with a knife, even to clear what are called the eyes.
Pour cold water over them, just enough to cover them,
and when it boils, add plenty of salt —a large teaspoonful

for a quart of water. Simmer them gently with a tight

the length of time will depend on the size and
kind
lid :

of the potatoes, —
be from twenty to forty'-fi\e
it may
minutes but the last two or three minutes they should be
;

made to boil rapidly. Prick them with a fork, to see if

pot
they are done enough. Then lift off the lid and put the
aside, to let all the moisture escape in steam. The Irish
 Potato 357

will have them sent to the table as they are — in their skins.
Ordinary mortals have them peeled before being served.
The English way. Choose them all of a size, peel them,
and remove the eyes and other specks cover them with ;

cold water (but there is to be no salt at this stage), and

—
simmer them very gently the slower the better. They
have to be watched very carefully towards the last, to see
that they do not boil a minute more than is necessary,
— and this can only be ascertained by probing with a fork.
Pour off all the water, strew salt on the potatoes, and
leave the pot uncovered by the fire, shaking it from time to
time till the potatoes seem all dry and floury.

Potatoes Browned —with roast meat. — Peel them, parboil

them, drain them, flour them, and put them in an earthen
dish into the dripping pan under the meat. Baste them
freely from time to time, and when they are browned on
one side turn them.

Fried Potatoes .
— Kidney potatoes are best for this pur-
pose, and a kettleful of beef fat. But in English kitchens
the fried potatoes are very uncertain, because they are cut
in too thin slices also because they are done in a flat
;

frying-pan, with a sparing supply of butter or dripping.

Instead of cutting the potatoes, like the English, into shil-
lings, French cooks cut them into square plugs, about
the length and thickness of the little finger. These are put
into a wire basket and dipped into the kettle of boiling fat,
where they remain for five minutes, and are shaken from
time to time —the kettle resting on the stove, with only its
edge on the stove During these five minutes, how-
fire.

ever, the fat has been cooling, partly

through the coldness
of the potatoes immersed in it, partly through the kettle
being removed from the central heat of the stove fire to its
edge. Therefore, at the end of five minutes, take out the
wire basket, and put the frying-kettle over the stove fire,
to heat up. Take it off again so as to rest as before on
358 Potato

the stove, with only its edge over the hre put back the
;

wire basket into and in two minutes more the frying

it,

will be complete, and the potatoes beautifully crisp, of a

rich golden colour. The whole time for frying should
be as near as possible seven minutes —not counting, of
course, the time required for re-heating the fat. The
salting is not to take place till the last. Shake some salt
over them in the wire basket, give a shake of the basket,
and then another shake of salt. Let all the fat drain away,
and then serve.

Potatoes Soufflees . —These are done precisely as the fried

potatoes, and the inflation depends wholly on the manner
of cutting them. Cut in square plugs, the potatoes will
not inflate; cut in slices the eighth of an inch thick, they
will. best to cut them lengthwise, in slices of equal
It is

thickness and when putting these slices into the fat, care
;

must be taken that they do not adhere to one another.

Potatoes a la Maitre d’PIdtel .

— It is a great fault in the
preparation of these potatoes that English cooks will make
them pasty by putting flour with them — that is, they
do them with maitre d ’hotel sauce instead of with maitre
French kidney potatoes are the best to use.
d ’hotel butter.
Boil them ordinary way, and cut them in slices
in the
about the eighth of an inch thick. Put two pounds of
them into a stewpan, with two spoonfuls of broth and four
ounces of maitre d ’hotel butter or its ingredients that —
is, four ounces of fresh butter, with pepper, salt, chopped
parsley, and lemon-juice. Toss all over the fire until the
butter is melted and well mixed in with the potatoes.

Potatoes tossed in butter (sautees au beurre). — i. These

are for the most part boiled potatoes, sliced, seasoned
lightly with pepper and salt, and tossed in butter to a golden
tint. The chief difference between them and the potatoes a
 -

Potato 359
lamaitre d ’hotel is that the latter are not allowed to brown.
Potatoes cooked in this way are generally of the kidney
kind but if the round mealy ones
; —
Regents, that break
on tossing, and are all the more saturated with the
butter —
should be used, they will come as a pleasant
surprise.
English cooks stint the butter for this dish the
potatoes ;

come dry to table, and nobody cares much about them.

French cooks are liberal with the butter and the result is
;

so excellent, that in Paris nobody thinks anything of

paying from \]/2 to 2^ francs for three potatoes done in
this fashion.

Sometimes, however, raw potatoes are done in this

2.

way, after being peeled and cut into slices. This is what
is set down in many English cookery
books as fried
potatoes. But the quantity of butter used is so niggardly
that the result is in most cases a failure.
3. The raw potatoes which are most commonly cooked
in this way are the new ones. The skins are to be rubbed
offwith a course cloth; the potatoes are to be cast into
water and wiped dry. Melt butter in a shallow stewpan
;

put the potatoes into it, giving them room enough

fry ;

them very slowly, turning them from time to time, and

taking care that there is butter enough to cover them at
least a third. When the potatoes are golden of tint and
done enough, remove them from the butter in which they
have cooked, and put them into another stewpan
with
two or three ounces of fresh butter. Toss them without
letting this new butter fry. Dish them, pour the butter
over them, and sprinkle them with salt.

Lyonnese Potatoes (Pommes-de-terre a la Lyonnaise).

These are cooked potatoes combined with cooked onions.
The combination is made ways but the best and
in several
;

simplest is to take onions, to

chop or slice them finely, to
fry them in butter, to add to them
more butter, together
with boiled potatoes in slices, and to
proceed as for the
360 Potato

potatoes tossed in butter, No. i, not forgetting the pepper

and salt.

Mashed Potatoes (Potato puree).— Mealy potatoes are

best. These, when boiled in the usual way, are generally
rubbed down by English cooks with the back of a wooden
spoon. French cooks press them through a wire sieve,

which ensures a finer grain. The mash is then put into

a stewpan, with fresh butter, cream or very good milk,
sometimes a spoonful of broth, pepper, salt, and it may be
nutmeg ;
and it is vigorously stirred over the fire, to make
it light.

Potato Croquettes. —Take have passed

six potatoes that

through the sieve put them into a stewpan with an ounce

;

of butter, two yolks of eggs, pepper, nutmeg and salt, and

stir them well for a few minutes over the fire. They should
then be put aside between two plates, to get cold. When
required for use they should be rolled into shapes corks,

balls,and the like dipped in — beaten egg, rolled in bread-

crumbs, and fried in hot fat.

Potatoes for the Duchess. — Prepare the potatoes as for

croquettes. Shake someupon a pasteboard, and upon

flour

this shape the potato purde into little oval cakes fry them ;

first on one side, then on the other, in clarified butter, and

drain them on a cloth.

Potato Dumplings (Kldsse in German). — Pass a pound

of cold potatoes through a sieve, mix them with two ounces

of flour, four yolks and two whites of eggs,
pepper, salt,

nutmeg, and a dash of sugar. Knead all well together,

shape them like turkey’s eggs, and drop them into boiling
salt and water. In ten minutes they are ready, and make
an agreeable garnish.

Potato Salad. —Kidney potatoes boiled and cut in slices.

They may be combined with boiled celeriac, onion, beet-

root —
any, or all. They may also be combined with raw
 Poitlette Sauce 361

celery,and with red cabbage which has boiled for fifteen

minutes in water with an extra allowance of salt, and
which has been allowed to soak afterwards in a wine-
glassful of vinegar.

Potato Soup . —
Make a puree of three pounds of mealy
potatoes, and mix it with two quarts of boiling broth,
adding pepper and salt. Boil it for five minutes, removing
any scum that may rise, and finish the soup with a piece
of butter. Some people enjoy a flavour of onion in this
soup — in which case mince finely two ounces, fry them
lightly, and let them stew in the soup for ten minutes.

Pot-au-Feu. — See the chapter on Soup.

Poulette Sauce, in its best form, is no other than

. Allemande or Almayne sauce. Most commonly it is a
mock Almayne made as follows. Stir on the fire for a
quarter of an hour three ounces of butter, three of flour,
and nearly a pint of white broth, which in the case of
fowls will be the broth in which they have boiled. Then add
a leason of two or three yolks of eggs, and finish with
lemon-juice. Mushrooms, shalots and parsley are added
to form what is called the Poulette Ragout or Relish.
It has already been explained that the Almayne, or
Allemande, is an attempt to improve upon the Dutch
sauce and since Poulette is now described as a mock
;

Almayne, it may likewise be described as a parody of the

Dutch. It is a Dutch sauce with a little less of eggs and
a good deal less of butter ;
but with flour in it (which the
Dutchman never uses), and with white broth instead of
water.
Poulette means a hen chicken, and the Poulette sauce
is but the enrichment with eggs of the white parsley-and-

butter sauce so well-known in England as the clothing of

boiled chicken. It is sometimes in English books named
lemon sauce, because finished with lemon-juice.
362 Prawn
Prawn. —There is nothing' that need be said about
cooking- prawns, or in praise of them. One word, how-
ever, about the origin of the name, which seems to be
unknown. May I point out that one of the chief distinc-
tions of the prawn is a most formidable serrated prong,
jutting out between its eyes?

Ps and Qs. — A phrase most appropriate to taverns. In

the olden time, when the keeper of an alehouse chalked
on the wall or on the door the scores of what his customers
had drunk, it was usual to put down P for pint and Q for
quart. The customer who kept an eye on his score would
admonish Boniface to “ mind his Ps and Qs. ”

Ptarmigan is a kind of grouse, and to be entertained

with the ceremonies to which grouse are entitled.

Pumpkins. — Lady Llanover says : “Few vegetables are

so little understood and consequently so much undervalued
in Great Britain as pumpkins. Perhaps Gower in South
Wales is the only part of the United Kingdom where
pumpkins are grown as an article of diet by the rural popu-
lation and there they are to be seen, as on the Continent,
;

hanging from the ceilings for winter store, and any little
spare corner in the field or garden is made use of to place
the small mound on which to sow a few pumpkin seeds.
The varieties of this plant are so numerous that it would
be beyond the limit of any cookery book to attempt an
enumeration of comparative merits, from the vegetable
marrow to the Turk’s turban and the yellow pumpkin,
which grows to such a size as to fill a wheelbarrow but it ;

will not be out of place to note shortly a few of the modes

in which pumpkins are available. For white soup they can

be used alone, with merely the addition of onion, celery

and sweet-herbs for flavouring. They are excellent when
boiled, sprinkled with salt and sweet-herbs; or fried in egg
and crumbs like soles. Also plain, boiled in slices and
 ;

Punch
served with brown gravy. In Gower they are added to
hashed meat, made into pies with apples, and put
into soup.
Pumpkins have one peculiar quality in addition to a good
deal of natural sweetness they will
absorb and retain the
;

flavour of whatever they are cooked with.

If stewed with
plums it tastes exactly like them in puddings
and tarts
the same with apples, rhubarb or
gooseberries and for ;

savoury cookery it would be difficult to say in

what dish it
may not be used with advantage as an addition.”

Punch. Dr. Kitchener was once a considerable authority

on all questions of eating and drinking and he spread
;

abroad a statement which has helplessly been

repeated,
ctnd starts up unexpectedly in
out-of-the-way corners, that
Punch —both
the name and the drink— is of West Indian
origin,and means Five. He got the idea of West Indian
origin from the rum and the limes which
abound in it;
but the name is clearly of East Indian growth, and may
be recognised in Punjaub— the country of the Five rivers.
It is named Punch from the five ingredients which compose
it: i. spirit; 2. acid; 3. spice; 4. sugar; 5. water.
English Punch. —
1. The spirit is mostly of two kinds

brandy and rum, mixed in proportions which must

be left
to taste. The rum generally predominates. 2. The acid
is nearly always lemon-juice.
3. The spice is nearly always
lemon-peel, but sometimes tealeaf, sometimes
nutmeg; and
as for 4 and 5, the sugar and the water,
they explain them-
selves.

Glasgow Punch is made from the coldest spring water.

1 here are theorists who maintain that punch is always
made of hot water, grog of cold water; and that Glasgow
punch, therefore, is not punch but grog. Punch is a word
—
which simply means five it is a composition
of five ele-
ments; and our receipt for the liquor loved
by the West
India merchants of Glasgow is classical. It comes from
364 Punch

the pen of John Gibson Lockhart, and is to be found in

Peter’s Letters to his Kinsfolk. “ The sugar being melted

with alittle cold water, the artist squeezed about a dozen

lemons through a wooden strainer, and then poured in

water enough almost to fill the bowl. In this state
the liquor goes by the name of sherbet, and a few of the
connoisseurs immediate neighbourhood were re-
in his
quested to give their opinion of it for in the mixing of —
the sherbet lies, according to the Glasgow creed at least,

one-half of the whole battle. This being approved by an

audible smack from the lips of the umpires, the rum was
added to the beverage, I suppose in something about the
proportion from one to seven. Last of all, the maker cut
a few limes, and running each section rapidly round the
rim of his bowl, squeezed in enough of this more delicate
acid to flavour the whole composition. In this consists
the true tour-de-maitre of the punch-maker.”

Oxford Punch could not be separated from the name of

—
Oxford which see.

Cambridge Punch, in like manner, will be found under

the name of Cambridge.

Milk Punch. — Over the zest of four lemons and a

Seville oi'ange pour a pint of rum ;
cover it up, and let
it stand for twelve hours. Then strain it, and mix with it

another pint of rum, a pint of brandy, a pint of sherry,

half a pint of lemon-juice, a pineapple peeled, sliced and
pounded, a pint of green tea, a grated nutmeg, a pound of
dissolved sugar, the whites of two eggs frothed, two pints
of boiling water and two of boiling milk. Mix it well,
let it stand for a little time, strain it through a beaver
jelly-bag and bottle it. To be served after turtle soup.

Roman Punch. —A bottle of Chablis, the same quantity

of syrup at 35 0 half the quantity of strained lemon-juice.
,

Put it to freeze, and when pretty well frozen work into it

 —

Purees 365
two whites of egg- whipt with syrup. Put it to freeze
a gain, and when required for use add to it a glass of rum
and a pint of champagne. This used to be served between
the courses that is, immediately before the roast. It now
comes oftener after the roast.

Punch Sauce . — Make lemon sauce with half the quantity

of water ;
thicken
with two ounces of butter and a tea-
it

spoonful of flour; touch it up with a glass of rum, and

serve it very hot.

Punctuality. Of the qualities of a cook, the most

all

indispensable is punctuality. (Brilliat-Savarin.)

4

—
Purges. A pur^e meant at first peppery its original —
form being poivree. The old meaning of the word being
lost, it is now supposed to be something purified by
being-
passed through a sieve or a tammy.

Purde of dried vegetables, as peas, haricots, lentils.

Soak them over night in abundance of warm water. Next
day put them into the pot with cold water, a carrot, an
onion, a leek, a faggot of sweet-herbs and some salt, and
cook them they are perfectly tender.
till If it has not
been possible to steep them beforehand, it will be enough
to proceed as follows. At the end of half an hour pour
into the pot a wineglassful of cold water, and repeat this
every half-hour till the vegetables are done.
If they are
intended for soup, take out the carrot and the herbs, and,
without being too careful about draining them, pound them
in a mortar, and pass them through a hair sieve. If they
are intended for a garnish or for an entremet, they should be
well drained in order to be thick enough. After travelling
through the sieve they will take kindly to a tablespoonful
of shalot if chopped very finely and passed in a liberal
supply of butter. Mix shalot, butter, and pur^e well to-
gether ;
and further, according to need, use a moistening
366 Quails

of broth, of milk, or of the liquor in which the vegetables

have boiled.
For the Puree of fresh vegetables -
—whether these are
peas or beans; roots such as carrots, turnips, potatoes;
fruits such as the tomato or the gourd leaves like sorrel ;

and endive ;
or bulbs like the onion —the process is practi-
cally the same : first boiling, then the mortar, then the
sieve, next the seasoning,
and again, perhaps, the tammy,
if the Pur^e is fine.to be very
There are differences,
however, of seasoning which will be found in detail under
the name of each vegetable.
One of the leading points of difference between English
and French cookery turns on the greater carefulness of
the latter in making a Puree. It is not a question of
skill ;
it is wholly one of good faith. The English cook is

content with slovenly work : hence mashed potatoes full of

lumps, and spinach full of strings and coarse. The English
cook shirks the labour of the sieve. If the thing is worth

doing it is worth doing well and it must be repeated that

;

the result depends not upon skill but upon honesty. It

is the honesty of their work, as much as anything else,
that gives the French cooks their superiority in dressed
vegetables.

UAILS are a kind of dwarf partridge; and in

tbe summer months, when as yet the part-
ridge is inviolable, they are a pleasant substi-
tute. They come chiefly from Egypt, in con-
signments of perhaps 50,000 at a time, and
they bear travel so well that not more than seven per cent,
perish on the road. The French have many ways of dress-
ing the quail for table. The English have only one; but it
 , ; ;

Quenelle 367
is the best way of all. Let the quail be barded with bacon
under which tie a vineleaf ; roast him lor ten minutes before
a. brisk fire, and serve him on toast, with gravy in a boat
apart.

Queen Charlotte’s Pudding. two oranges and —Take

one lemon, grate the peels and mix with the juice,
into
which put four ounces of sugar and the yolks of five
eggs.
Then make a little paste for the bottom of the dish, into
which pour the mixture. Bake it slowly in a moderate
oven.

The Queen s Chicken Soup (the queen being Margue-

rite of Valois).— See Chicken.

Quenelle is one of the many words of the French

kitchen which Frenchmen —learned and —
simple have
given up as inscrutable. It is the name for the most deli-
cate forcemeat, which the French cooks prepare
sometimes
fiom chickens, sometimes from whitings, sometimes
from
game— but from young rabbits.
originally Quenelle is a
doublet of the old French name for a young rabbit
connil, —
a little cony and it is formed from the Latin
cuniculus in
the same way as the French name for a distaff,
Quenouille,
is formed from conucula, a
corruption of the Latin coJu-
culn. Quenelle of rabbit, therefore, is a pleonasm meaning
a little cony of rabbit
and quenelle of chicken is an
;

absurdity, meaning a little cony of chicken.

Mince, pound, and pass through a sieve, say half
a pound
of rabbit’s flesh, —
final weight after the sieve. With this mix
and pound a little more than half the quantity
of boiled
udder of veal, which has been treated in the same
way
say five ounces. To this again add the same quantity of
panada as of udder. Pound all well together, seasoned
with salt, and nutmeg, and softened with the
pepper,
yolks of two eggs and a tablespoonful of white
sauce or of
cream. Before this quenelle is put aside for use it should
368 Quince

be tested. Poach a tiny bit of it, and if it should come too

stiff, moisten the quenelle with another spoonful of white

broth or else cream. If udder of veal should fail, fresh

butter may be used instead in the same proportions

eight ounces of pounded rabbit, five of fresh butter, and
five of panada.
Chicken, game, and fish prepared in the same way are
also called little conies or Quenelles. The Quenelles of
whiting are in great favour; but it is to be noted that
in Ouenelles of fish there is never any veal udder,
the —
combination is always fish, butter, and panada, finished off

as before.

Quince has gone out of fashion ;

and it is natural that

when the best fruits of the tropics are brought to our

shores quickly in ships, we should neglect some of those
grown at home. be desired, however, that apple-
It is to

pie should never go out of fashion and quinces

have this
;

curious virtue that, being of little value themselves

:

not nearly so good as apples

— they improve an apple-pie
beyond the power of words to describe.

Quinces for addition to apple-pie. — Peel them and cut

them in quarters. To five pounds of fruit put three of

sugar and a wineglassful of water. Put them in pint

jars, cover them, place them in boiling water,
and simmer
Put the peels in w ith
them very gently for three hours.
them, and take them out when done. What is not wanted
at once can be bottled.
 Rabbits 369

ABBITS. — St. Evremond, about two hundred

years ago, praised the rabbits of England as
incomparable. Now the Ostend rabbit has
the great name. Of the wild rabbit, Grimod
de la Reyni£re says that “its flesh is whiter,
more tender, and more juicy than that of the hare, and when
young it is delicate and easily digested. Nourished on
thyme, wild thyme, and marjoram, barded with bacon, and
cooked to the proper point, it perfumes the mouth and
inundates the palate with delights. As for tame rabbits,
we insist on their proscription; for ever since Despreaux,
these game of the stableyard,

elev^s dans Paris,

Sentent encore le chou dont ils furent nourris.”

The young rabbit or cony (connil) has given his name to the
most delicate of the forcemeats, the Quenelle; and there is
an excellent

Rabbit Soap made after the manner of the Queen’s

Chicken broth —
the Potage ci la Reine.

Smothered Rabbit . —This is the name given in England

to boiled rabbit. It is smothered with a white onion sauce,
and it is served with boiled bacon.

Fricassee of Rabbit is done in the same way as fricassee

of chicken.

Gibelote of Rabbit —
Put a quarter of a pound of butter
.

into a stewpan with a spoonful of flour; make a white

roux of them, and pass in it for a short time the rabbit cut
into pieces, and some bacon cut into dice. Then add some
small onions, some mushrooms, a faggot of sweet-herbs,
pepper and salt, and moisten with half broth, half white
all

wine (French). Let all cook slowly till it is nearly ready,

then briskly, to reduce the liquid. Remove the faggot and
the fat from the gibelote, and serve it piping hot.

24
 ——

37o Radish

Radish. Not a word against the radish. Still, it may

be lawful to record that it is not of much use in cookery,
whatever it may be in eating. May I also venture to
say that it is a mistake in a salad — an intrusion ;
and
that the only way to get rid of it is to nibble it by itself

while waiting for the feast, or in any convenient interlude.

Be added that there are few combinations of colour so
it

beautiful and rich as the red and white of radishes against

the green of their leaves. In glass dishes upon a dinner-
table they are an ornament which may vie with the finest
flowers.

Ragout. The ordinary English use of the word for a

stew will be illustrated in the next article, which deals with
the Ragout of Mutton. Here it is to be observed that in
French the word is most commonly used in a sense which
it hardly ever bears in English. The proper English word
for what the French understand by a ragout is a relish. A
ragout in its name from the food
English always takes
which is and it means no more than a good
presented in it,

stew of that meat. In French a ragout takes its name

from the garnish in the sauce it is the savoury accom- :

paniment of the stew the relish. —

English cooks are
puzzled when they hear of the Financial ragout, which
covers a variety of stews or the Turtle ragout, in which
;

there is no turtle. It is right, therefore, that there may

be no mistake, to discard the puzzling French name, and
to give the plain English one. The list of French ragouts
will accordingly be found under the name of Relishes.

RagoOt of Mutton. —As there is no one word in

English for all that the French mean by Friture, so there is

no one word in French for all that the English mean by

Stew. Perhaps the nearest word is ragofit— which means
something tasted again; but the French are so little fond
of it, as the name of a stew, that they dismiss it whenever
and however they can find a substitute, Thus a stew of
 1;

Ragout of Mutton 37

fresh-water fish is called a matelote ;

of salt fish, a brandade
of winged game, a salmi of hare, a
;
civet ;
of rabbit, a gibe-
lote; of chicken, a fricasse; of pigeons, a compote; of beef,
a daube; of mutton, a haricot or a Navarin. They seem to
have been particularly pressed to find a name for the stew
of mutton. During many centuries they had been making
a stew of combined with turnips, carrots, and onions,
it,

which they called a ragout. The word was twisted about

on the German frontier till it came back to France un-
—
recognisable as haricot. Five centuries ago the French
adopted this odd new name for their favourite old dish,
which was still a stew of mutton with turnips, carrots, and
onions. But about two hundred years afterwards the name
of haricotwas given also to a kidney bean, and stuck to it
in such a way as to produce in the French
mind more
puzzle and confusion than all the mysteries of fate
and
free-will— especially as they reversed the order of things,
and got a notion into their heads that the name of haricot
for the stew came after the name of the bean.
Why should
a stew be called after a bean which has nothing to
do with
it? What means has been explained under the name of
it

Haricot. Here it is enough to say that the French, having

introduced the word haricot in place of ragout, felt,
after
many years of confusion, that they must introduce some
other word in place of haricot. They fixed upon Navarin
for this, —
among other reasons that it seemed to suggest,
in a loose, punning title, the navet or turnip, which
had be-
come all important in the famous haricot of mutton.
Anciently this ragout or haricot was adorned
with three
chief vegetables— turnips, carrots, and onions. Gradually
the last two came to be pushed into the
background, and the
first alone to be prominent.
The haricot of mutton settled
into a brown ragout of mutton and turnips,
which the
French cooks who wished to get rid of the word haricot
named after the battle of Navarin. The receipt for this stew
will accordingly be found under the head
of Navarin.
372 Ratafia

White Ragottt of Mutton .

—
This is sometimes called a
Navarin Blanc; but as the Navarin is supposed to pun a
little upon the navet, which is the leading feature of the
ancient haricot, and as here we can dispense with turnips
altogether, it is best to call it simply a white ragout.
1. Take the neck or the breast of mutton or lamb, cut it

into cutlets or other pieces, trim well away the fat, and

have all ready on a plate.

2. Put a shalot, four spring onions, a clove of garlic,
and a good faggot of sweet-herbs, with pepper, salt, and
powdered spices, into a saucepan half full of water.
3. Put the meat into this. See that it is well covered with
the water. Let it simmer very gently for four hours. The
sauce should then be reduced by half, but it should not be
allowed to brown. Remove the faggot of herbs.
4. In the meantime choose what garniture of vegetables,
either singly or in combination, is to enter into the stew :

new potatoes, peas, flageolet beans, rice

—or say, a medley
of all sorts. Put them in half an hour before dinner, and
let all boil briskly for that half-hour.
5. Observe that this is the simplest ragout in the world :

no roux in it, no flour, no fat, no butter. Observe also that

since the liquor will boil down to less than half, care must
be taken as to the quantity of salt.

For other white ragouts of mutton, see Irish Stew and

Hotch Potch.

Ratafia means no more than liqueur — an alcohol

sweetened with sugar and flavoured with fruit or vegetable

essences but there is a mystery made about its etymology,
;

and it is supposed to have a character of its own. One

wise philologer declares that the liqueur is so called be-
cause two persons who enter into a bargain ratify the con-
tract with a glass of this liqueur. It is really a corruption
of Rectify — rectified spirit, and is the proper equivalent
 —

Red Mullet 373

for the English word spirits, which may include anything'

from gin to maraschino.

Ravigote —Pick-me-up. It comes from the French verb

ravigoter, to cheer or strengthen. We give the name of
pick-me-up to various bitter draughts taken before dinner
to create an appetite. The French give the name of Ravi-
gote to an assemblage of four herbs — tarragon, chervil,
chives, burnet— minced small or used as a faggot, and
supposed by their fine flavour to have a rare faculty of
resuscitation. Ravigote (minced) is the favourite garni-
ture for salads ;
and in this case is usually served on a
saucer by each herb being kept apart in four
itself, little

heaps, to be used by the salad-maker at his pleasure.

Ravigote Butter . —Knead cold fresh butter on a plate,

with a chopped ravigote, pepper, salt, and lemon-juice. It
is usual to blanch the herbs before chopping them. A pat
of this butter is put cold on steaks or broiled fish, and
melts upon them.

Ravigote Sauce is simply the English butter sauce to

which a ravigote is added. Sometimes there is a little
tarragon vinegar added, to bring out the supremacy of the
tarragon in the ravigote class of herbs, but not to make
the sauce sharp.
A more expensive but hardly more effective edition of
this sauce is produced by heating and melting (observe
not boiling) two wineglassfuls of Allemande sauce with an
ounce of ravigote butter. When the butter is melted all

is ready. Tarragon vinegar may here also be used, so

long as it does not predominate too much in sharpening.
Perhaps editions de luxe are not of much real value.

Red Mullet is called the woodcock of the sea, because,

in theory at least, he is never gutted, and we are always
supposed to eat the trail. It is curious, however, to see
374 Red Mullet
how nearly all the books, after first laying down the rule that
it is wrong to clean this fish, at once proceed to explain how
the rule may be violated, and he is to be served with only
his liver. The fact is, that the red mullet is not a choice
feeder, and his trail is by no means the delicacy which the
rule so often violated would lead one to imagine. What,
then, is the reason of the rule? It is simply this : that the
liver of the red mullet is particularly good — so good that,

in order to preserve it intact, the epicures of ancient times

were content, cooking the fish whole, to have the other vis-
cera sent to table along with it. We know better now ;
and,
while careful to preserve every atom of the liver, reject the
trail Next to the liver in repute
without any compunction.
stands the head. Heliogabalus had a dish made of the
—
barbels alone but this was of a red mullet peculiar to the
Mediterranean.
Red mullets, on account of the tenuity of their skins,
are best cooked in paper cases. Make a paper cradle for
each fish,' oiling it and baking it for a few minutes in order
to harden it. Sprinkle the cradle with pepper and salt, and
lay on it a piece of the best fresh butter. On this couch
deposit the red mullet, and put a piece of fresh butter over
him. Arrange the paper cases in a flat stewpan, or even
in a baking-tin, and put them into the oven for twenty or

thirty minutes. At the end of this time the red mullets,

bedewed with lemon-juice, will be as pleasant to taste as
lovely to look at. Only never forget, amid the blaze of
vermilion tints, that the true worth of the fish resides not
in the glitter of the skin, but in the dull brown of the

liver, which may either lie exposed to view in the paper

cradle at the side of its owner, or may be hidden from
sight, as precious virtues often are, in the bosom of the

mullet.
A more highly seasoned method is the following :
— Put
into a stewpan, or into paper cases, butter, white wine,
minced shalots, pepper and salt. Arrange the mullets in
 Relish \ 75

the pan, and put a piece of butter over each. Do them

in the open, and when sending- them to table sprinkle them
with lemon-juice and minced parsley.
Red mullets may be had all the year round, but they
are best from midsummer to Christmas. The best used
to be caught at Weymouth. Their headquarters now
are Hastings and Jersey. Get into the confidence of any
good judge who understands the nature of John Dory, and
he will unbosom to you a great secret that the glory of —
fish is a Dory graced with the livers of red
mullets.

Relish. — It has already been explained that this is what

the French mean by ragout. Strictly speaking, a relish
and a garnish ought to be convertible terms they are both :

accompaniments. In practice the name of Garnish is given

to any one thing— generally to a vegetable,
more or less
plain, which is served with meat
and the name of Relish
to a — ;

combination as onions, mushrooms, truffles, cocks-

combs, quenelles, crayfish, oysters, and soft roes, which
are worked into the attendant sauce.

1. Financial Relish .
—Foremost among them stands the
Relish to the Financiers, who have an article to themselves
further back. Cockscombs and kernels, collops of sweet-
bread, quenelles, button mushrooms, and sliced truffles,
separately prepared, and then boiled together for
a moment
in the Sauce of the Financiers.

2. Toulouse Relish .
—The same as the foregoing-, only
tossed a minute or two in Allemande sauce.
for
It is
white, whereas No. i is brown.

3. lurtle Relish —
Take sweetbreads in little collops, a
.

few cockscombs, crayfish, hard-boiled yolks

of eggs, discs
of tongue or of ham, olives, green
gherkins, truffles, with
a large supply of mushrooms, and set
them on the fire for
a minute in a sauce made (equal
parts) of Spanish and
Tomato sauces.
376 Remoulade

4. Chipolata Relish —a great favourite for poultry.

Chipolatas are small sausages, about two inches long,
made of pork and bacon. Use instead of them either
Frankfort sausages by themselves, or if ordinary pork
sausages, add to them an equal number of little slices of
bacon made into rolls. Cook these apart, and add to
them equal quantities of carrots, turnips, mushrooms, and
chestnuts nicely turned, and also cooked apart. Set them
on the fire for a minute in Spanish sauce.

5. Poulette Relish —used with chicken, from which it

takes name, but more frequently with calves’ feet,

its

sheep’s trotters, and some kinds of fish notably eels. It —

consists of shalots and mushrooms passed in butter, and
served with chopped parsley in a Poulette sauce.

6. Matelote Relish. — Small onions and mushrooms in a

red-wine sauce, described under the name of Matelote.
Crayfish and fried crusts of bread are prepared apart and
added to the garnish in serving.

7. Relish of the Normandy Matelote. —A quantity of

oysters, mussels and mushrooms, prepared in a white-
wine sauce, to which the liquor of the mussels contributes.
For more detail consult the article on Sole a la Normande.
8. Relish of Soft Roes. — Parboil in some boiling water
mixed with salt and two tablespoonfuls of white-wine
vinegar, the soft roes of mackerel, carp or herring ;
drain
them on a napkin, and then tossthem in some white sauce
— Allemande or Supreme, to which may be added chopped
parsley, nutmeg and lemon-juice.

Remoulade. —This is in fact, as near as possible, the

ordinary English salad dressing. Or it may be otherwise
described as a Mayonnaise made with hard-boiled yolks of
eggs. Some of the French receipts give directions for
making it with raw yolks but ;
this is a mistake, as the
Remoulade would then become identical with a Mayon-
 Restaurant 377
naise. i lie name comes from the verb remoudre, to grind —
and refers to grinding to a fine flour the hard yolk. By
carefully and gradually grinding together the yolks of two
hard-boiled eggs, with five tablespoonfuls of oil, one or
one and a half of tarragon vinegar, and a little salt and
white pepper, it is possible to produce a Remoulade as

smooth as a Mayonnaise, and differing in no respect from

a good English salad dressing.
The Remoulade is thus far complete, and requires no
addition to justify its name. But some people choose to
add mustard to it; others, a chopped ravigote; and others,
again, both mustard and a ravigote. It then becomes a
Tartar sauce.

Restaurant —the Soup. Restaurant was originally

the name of a soup with a strange history. One of the
earliest accounts of it is to be found in a little book pub-
lished atLyons in 1557, and supposed to be the first work
of Bernard Palissy, the potter. It is an attack upon the
—
ignorance and blunders of doctors “ Declaration des Abus
des Medecins” and the name of the author is given, not as
;

Bernard Palissy, but as Pierre Braillier. Whoever be the

author, he showed for the first time the absurdity of the
fashionable soup.
He opens his attack upon it by ridiculing a detail which
is not essential, but is curious, and of interest to this
day. The physicians of those days recommended an old
hen or capon to make a good soup for invalids. Tire
tradition of this remains not only in the cock-a-leekie of
the Scotch, which is always supposed to be made of an old
cock (and they are in this respect only following rules
which they learned from the cooks patronised by Mary
Stuart and Mary of Guise), but also in the French kftchen
to this day. Nearly all the great French cooks recommend
an old hen for soups. Now here is something curious. In
the year 1557 Brailler, be he Palissy or another,
laughed
378 Restaurant

and insisted that a young one is much

to scorn the old fowl,
better — nourishment and of flavour.
fuller of For three
hundred years his advice has been set aside, and the old
fowl has been imperative in French kitchens for a good
soup. At the end of these three hundred years Gouffe
—
produces his book on cookery the best that has appeared
in France since the death of Careme. He has come to the
conclusion that the tradition of the French kitchen — the
old fowl — is a mistake; and he insists on the superiority of
a fowl in its prime. It is difficult to decide between the
two, and impossible to lay down a fixed rule to which no
exception can be taken. There is no rule more certain
—
than this- that four-year-old mutton is better than the two-
year-old meat which comes to market, and that full-grown
animals are better than the very young. But exceptions
crowd upon us. If the older meat is so good, why do we
take to lamb and to veal, and pay high prices for them?
Our affections are divided between the old and the young,
and we shall never probably be constant to either. We
get tired of the old because it is apt to be strong, and of
the young because it is apt to be insipid. The Marquis de
Cussy laid down the following rule:
— “Voyez-vous, les

meilleures viandes sont celles qui sont le moins viandes,

comme les poissons exquis sont ceux qui sont le moins
poissons : soyez convainqu de ce principe.” In plain En-
glish, good fish ought not to taste fishy, nor should meat be
meaty, nor should fowls taste of the henhouse. And these
faults are more liable to the old than to the young.
The great and almost incredible fault of the Restaurant,
however, was not in the substance it used, but in the
manner of using it. A fowl was to be minced small with
butchers’ meat, and was to be distilled in an alembic with
barley, roses,cinnamon, corianders, and currants. The
dew thus distilled, which was nothing but water without
substance and without flavour, was declared by the phy-
sicians of the sixteenth century to have a wonderful restora-
 Restaurant 379

tive virtue ;
nor did the soup lose its good name even
after Bernard Palissy exposed the fallacy of its pretensions.
A —
hundred years later, however to fix our ideas, say 1660,
when Louis the Great was in all his glory in Paris, and
Charles II. was coming to London —it would appear that

some doubts had sprung up in the minds of those who

consumed the Restaurant; for in nearly all the French
cookery books there are two receipts for it. One was the
old orthodox receipt for distillation the other may be de- :

scribed as a stultification of the distillery.

The dregs from
which the juice had been distilled were made into a sort of
puree, and then the distilled water was put back into it.
This farce amused the French imagination with a make-
believe of science; and the soup held its ground for another
hundred years, more or less, till in 1765 a tavern was
establishedwith the name of Restaurant, to supply the
wonderful soup and other aliments prepared in the like
grand style.

Restaurant — the lavern. “Sir,” said Dr. Johnson to

Boswell, “there is nothing which has been contrived by
man by which much happiness is produced as by a good
so
tavern ”; and on the same occasion the date is 1776— —
expatiating “ on the felicity of England in its taverns and
inns, he triumphed over the French for not having in any
perfection the tavern life.” The French, however, were
soon to change; and adopting the English idea, they so
improved upon it that we have consented to adopt their
name for it, and to forget the absurdities of the soup with
which it was first connected.
The first establishment of the kind in Paris was
started
by a humorist named Boulanger, who put a rather profane
—
motto Venite ad me, omnes qui stomaclio laboratis, et ego
—
vos restaurabo over his door in the Rue des Poulies.
He
set up a place with little marble tables. He was not allowed
table-cloths, and he was not allowed to interfere with the
380 Rice

ragouts which were to be had from the iraiteur. He

provided customers with soups and especially
his — the
restaurant divin; also with fowls and fresh eggs. He was
soon followed by others; but it was not till 1782 that a
restaurant was established such as we have it now, fit to

rival and outdo the English tavern, and perfect in all its

arrangements. This was set up by Beauvilliers, who, in

his standard work on cookery, takes credit to himself for
having introduced the English style of food into Paris.
He soon made his fortune ;
and the fashion which he started
spread till it became quite a feature of Parisian life.

Grimod de la Reynifere attributes to three chief causes the

rise and wonderful progress of the Restaurant in Paris.
First of all, to the rage for English fashions which marked
the latter years of Louis XVI. — “for the English, it is

well known, almost always take their meals in taverns/’

Next, to the sudden influx into the capital of legislators
under the new order of Government popular deputies —
without homes, who made the vogue, and drew all Paris to
the taverns and coffee-rooms. Lastly, to the break-up of the
great houses in the Revolution. The artists to whom they
gave employment were thrown out of work, and turned
their talents to catering for the public. Whatever were
the causes at work, the French cooks bent all their efforts

to perfect the system of the restaurant ;

with their rare
and taste they could not fail of success and they pro-
skill ;

duced a model which has been imitated all over the globe.

Rice is not too often seen at our tables. It can be made

very pleasant; it contains as much nourishment as the

potato; and it is digested in an hour—which can be

said of very few articles of food. It combines, like the

macaronis, with broth to form a variety of soups, with

milk and egg to form puddings, and with butter alone, or
butter and grated cheese, to form an entremet which is

light without being sweet. There is no sweet entremet

 ;;

Roasting 38i

more simple, and at the same time more effective, than the
combination of plain boiled rice with preserved or stewed
fruit and cream. It is not easy, however, to get rice

properly boiled. This is not because there is any difficulty

in it, but because there are many people who think rice
insipid, and not worth the trouble of cooking. They
cannot understand how other people should be almost
fanatical in their enjoyment of rice, should regard a curry
as nothing without -
it, and should insist on having the rice
perfectly dry — every grain apart.
Boiled Rice — Wash the
. —Carolina rice is the best — in
water. Throw it into plenty of boiling water. The pro-
portion is six pounds (that is, pints) of water to one of rice
therefore, three pints of water to half a pound of rice.
Boil it and skim it.
for five minutes, Add a wineglassful
of milk for half a pound of rice, and continue the boiling
for five minutes more. Then strain the rice, and return it
dry into the pot upon the corner of the stove or a slow fire
but at the same time pour into it an ounce of butter
melted into a spoonful of the hot milk and water in which
the was boiled, and add salt. In five minutes the
rice
rice,which should now and again be stirred, to swell, steam
and dry it, should be ready. Fifteen minutes in all.

Rissoles. —Take puff paste— the lighter the better, and

roll itout to the thickness of a penny. Cut rounds in it
about three inches in diameter. Into the centre of each
place some croquette meat. Double the paste over. Fry them
in hot fat, and serve them on a napkin with fried parsley.

Roasting. —The lesson which the cook has to learn

first

is to know what roasting is, and how it differs from other

modes of firing food. In one use of the term, roasting
is something distinct from baking, broiling, and frying;
according to another, it includes baking, broiling,and
frying. In the widest sense, to roast is
to cook food by
382 Roasting

the application to it of a roasting heat ;

and a roasting heat
may be described as the highest degree of heat which will
cook food without burning up and destroying it. Roast-
it

ing, commonly so called, broiling, baking, and frying, are

but different methods of applying this extreme heat. The
heat of a common fire is said to be equivalent to 1145
degrees of a thermometer on Fahrenheit’s scale; an
ordinary red head is said to be 980°. How near to such a
heat can we approach so as to roast meat without burning
it? A roasting heat varies from 350 0 to 450°- that is, —
about double the heat of boiling water; and as we have
defined roasting- (which includes roasting proper, baking,
broiling, and frying) to be the cooking of food by the
application to it of the utmost degree of heat which will
cook it without destroying it, so we may define boiling
(which includes boiling proper as well as simmering
and stewing) as the cooking of food by the application
to it of the lowest degree of heat which will cook it
in a reasonable time. This lowest degree of heat ranges
between 170 0 ,
for very slow stewing, and 212 0 for the ,

quickest boiling. The extreme heat required for roasting

evolves certain flavours which it is impossible to reach
by mere boiling; and it will be seen, by reference to the
numbers, that whereas a roasting heat is about half of what
is called red heat, a boiling heat is about the half of roast-
ing heat. It may be added, that between the two extreme
forms of cookery, roasting and boiling, with all that they
severally include, there are two modes of producing a
medium heat with a medium result. One is called brazing
—the meat being in a stewpan with live coals on the lid

above, whereby while the under part is stewing the upper

part is roasting. The other is called tossing in butter
(sauter),and is a process of frying in which the roasting
heat that would be developed if the pan were left still is
arrested by tossing its contents, so that they never reach the
browning point, which is the chief indication of roasting.
 — ;

Roasting 383

So much for the theory of roasting, which applies equally

to baking, broiling, and frying, and which will be found
further illustrated throughout this volume in many dis-
cussions on the cardinal division of cookery into brown and
white. For the rule of what is specially called roasting,
Mr. Buckmaster has summed up the chief points
to be
attended to in the pithy sentences which follow :

“ 1 believe I am regarded as
a sort of heretic on the
question of roasting meat. My opinion is that the essential
condition of good roasting is constant basting, and this the
meat is not likely to have when shut up in an iron box
and what is not easily done is easily neglected. Make up
your fire, not by shooting on a scuttle of coals, but laying
on the coals with your hands, using an old glove. Arrange
the lumps of coal so that air passes freely into the fire. By
this arrangement you may avoid stirring the fire which —
should be done as little as possible. Just before putting
down the meat (which may be suspended by a piece of
worsted, if you have no other arrangements), clear
up the
fireplace, and throw to the back of the fire
all the cinders
and a little small coal slightly wetted. This will prevent
waste of and throw the heat where you want it- in
fuel,

the front. If you have a meat screen, place it

before the
fire, so as to get moderately
heated before the meat is hung
to the fire. Heat reflected from bright metallic surfaces
never dries or scorches the meat. Arrange the dripping-
pan so that no ashes can fall into it, and just as far below

the meat as will enable you to baste it easily. If you have

a dripping or stock, put about a gill into the
little
dripping-
pan for basting. Place a newspaper on the floor; this
will keep your hearth clean.
There is a right and a wrong
way of hanging a piece of meat to roast. The thickest
part should hang a below the centre of the fire and
trifle
;

if this can be best

done by hanging the shank of a leg of
mutton downwards, do so. The time
required for roasting
will be modified by circumstances
and different kinds
; or
384 Roasting

qualities meat require somewhat different treatment.

of
The time usually allowed is from fifteen to twenty minutes
for a pound. Before removing the meat from the fire,
press the lean part with the thumb if the meat yield :

easily, or if the meat steam to the fire it is done. Never

sprinkle salt over the meat till about a quarter of an hour
before it is Pour away the dripping before using
ready.
the salt, because fat used for puddings and pies and frying
is better without salt. You may dredge a little flour over
it;
and every part should be of a nice pale brown if any :

part be scorched or blackened, you have failed in your

cooking. Pour off the dripping, leaving in the pan the
pure gravy free from fat. Have a gill or half a pint of
stock or broth, or water, ready ;
pour it into the dripping-

pan, rinse it round, strain it into the dish, and send it to

table as quickly as possible. Some cooks tie a piece of

buttered paper on the meat.”

Time-table for Roasting.

The following figures are not exact. A great deal

depends on the quality of the meat to be roasted, its dis-

tance from the fire, and the heat of the fire. In England,
the
said CarSme, all the women roast well but he attributed ;

success of English roasting to the constancy of a coal

fire

and to the regularity of the bottle-jack, which has not, like

the turnspit machine in France, to be wound up every
quarter of an hour.

Hours. Hours.
4 Forequarter, 8 lbs. 2
Reef, IS to 20 lbs
,, 7 or 8 lbs 2 Leg of Pork, 8 lbs.
Loin 6 lbs. 2
Veal, fillet, 10 lbs 3 ,,

Haunch of Venison .4 to 5
Neck or loin, 4 lbs 2
Leg of Mutton, 8 to 10 lbs .. 2 Hare H
Shoulder ,, 6 lbs H Turkey, 9 lbs 2

Leg of Lamb, 6 lbs H Goose, 6 lbs 1

 Robert 385
Minutes. Minutes.
Capon 15 to 20
PouLarde ...
Woodcock
Chicken Wild duck
Duck
Duckling- .

Pheasant ...

Robert, and his sauce. Who is this Robert Mr.

Hayward, who is generally accurate, and always amus-
ing, has had the bad luck to say that it was invented
by M. Robert, one of the leading cooks under the First
Empire. These cooks never invented anything so simple
—
as the Sauce Robert which is so ancient that Rabelais
describes it as necessary for “ ducks, rabbits, roasts, fresh
pork, poached eggs, salt hake, and a thousand other
viands.” It is, indeed, nearly three hundred years older
than Rabelais being
mentioned by the French cook
Taillevent, in the middle of the thirteenth century. It
is older even than Taillevent, and nobody can tell how
old it is. For the is fact
a myth. is,
It that Robert
is the corruption
an English name which the French
of
did not understand. There was then a very free inter-
change of French and English. Half of France be-
longed to England; and as there were French names of
dishes in England which the English did not understand,
so there were English names of dishes in France which
the French did not understand. The French had their
brouet de chevreuil ;
and the English had their Roebroth
and Roebrewet, for which there were a number of varying
receipts. One of these receipts the French picked up and ;

with that glorious faculty of altering names which has

never
failedthem since they appear in history, they thought its
name must be the same as that of their famous Norman
duke, and they called it Robert. In its original idea
Robert was Roebrewet— that is, Roebuck sauce. In the
present day there is to be found in cookery books a receipt

25
386 Robin Redbreast

for Roebuck or Chevreuil sauce, as well as for Sauce

Robert. It may be observed that roebuck is not once

mentioned by Rabelais among the viands for which the

-

Sauce Robert is necessary modern taste has confined it

;

almost exclusively to pork and to goose.

For the Sauce Robert there is a great variety of receipts;
and the later French cooks have a strong tendency to drench
it with vinegar and wine, and to make it distinctly a sharp

sauce. Beauvilliers’ receipt, which is much the best, is

very chary of acid. See the introductory chapter; and

here only note this much further —that the name Sauce
Robert is, according to the above explanation, tautological :

Robert ought to be enough.

Beauvilliers’ Receipt for Robert .
— Cut six large onions
—or —
more into dice, dredge them with flour,
even
and pass them in butter till they are of a fine brown tint.
Moisten them with a very little broth, and let them cook.
Add salt, mignonette pepper, and last of all French mus-
tard after which it ought not to go to the fire, as to cook
;

mustard spoils it. In lieu of French mustard use English

mixed with tarragon vinegar.

Robin Redbreast is a bird of the same order as the

famous fig-eater —or becafico. “The robin redbreast,

says Mr. Hayward, “ remarkable for a delicate bitter

is

flavour; but as our ingenuous recommendation of him

as

an eatable commodity has been occasionally regarded as

symptomatic of a latent tendency to cannibalism, it may be

as well to state that the popular notion of his amiability,

which rests upon the apocryphal story of the Children in
the Wood, is altogether a mistake. Ornithologists are

agreed that he is one of the most quarrelsome of birds and ;

his loneliness is in fact the natural result of his pugnacity.

Mr. Hayward, besides being a witty writer, is, when he

if the
likes a close reasoner; and he cannot but see that
friendliness of the Redbreast for mankind will not save
 ;

Roman Cookery 387

him from the, spit, he is
practically protected by his lone-
liness. 'I here
not enough of him to make it worth
is
any one’s while to put him on
a dish.
Roe— The roe of the sturgeon— caviare, the roe of the
grey mullet— botargo, and the
dried and smoked roe of
the cod, are prepared delicacies
which belong to the shops.
These too are all hard roes. It is
with the soft roes— the
milt, the laitance— that the
cook has to do.
Ragout of Soft Roes .
—A favourite relish of the French
kitchen. See Relish No. 8.

Erasmus’ Soup .
—The great scholar had a taste, and his
name given to a soup in which the soft
is
roes figure.
Take ten soil roes of the herring, and
cook them for ten
minutes in water, sait, and a little vinegar.
Then pass
them into salt and water for a time, to get rid of the
vinegar taste. Drain them, cut them in two, and heat
them upa sufficient quantity of clear broth
in
or
double broth, either with a quart of young
peas or with
crusts of bread and a spoonful of blanched
and chopped
fennel.

Roe Toast .— Slices of buttered toast with the soft roes of

fresh bloaters arranged upon them.
Roley Foley, or Rolled Jam Pudding. Roll out —
some puff paste (No. 4) about a quarter of an inch thick,
spread it with jam, roll it up, tie it loosely in a cloth, and
boil it.

Roman Cookery is a warning. The ridicule which

it now excites is a tribute to the more simple taste and
delicate manipulation of Mines of wealth modern times.
were spent upon pains were wasted upon it
it ;
infinite
the uttermost parts of the earth were
ransacked five ;

hundred peacocks were killed, to make with their

brains
a single dish —
and to what result? Any Picardy kitchen-
maid will turn out a better dinner for a few francs.
 —

388 Rook

All may be summed up in the convivial song of Captain

Morris :

Old Lucullus, they say,

Forty cooks had each day,
And Vitellius’s meals cost a million ;

But I like what is good.

When or where be my food,
In a chophouse or royal pavilion.

At all feasts (if enough)

I most heartily stuff,

And a song at my heart alike rushes,

Though I’ve not fed my lungs
Upon nightingale’s tongues,
Nor the brains of goldfinches and thrushes.

Rook. — “If this useful bird,” says Waterton, “were

not so closely allied to the carrion-crow in colour and in
shape, we should see it sent up to the tables of the rich as

often as we see the pigeon. But prejudice forbids the

appearance of broiled rook in the lordly mansion. If we

wish to partake of it, we must repair to the cottage of the

lowly swain, or here and there to the hall of the homely

country squire, whose kitchen has never been blessed by
the presence of a first-rate cook, and whose yearnings for

a good and wholesome dish are not stifled b) the fear of f

what a too highly polished world will say.”

For rook pie, take fillets and thighbones of the young
bird, and proceed as for pigeon pie; but they take
long

baking perhaps an hour and a half and may as

— —
well be

stewed a little first.

Roux means russet. and butter fried together

It is flour

to a russet hue. Then there is white roux that is, white —

russet —
a fine contradiction of terms. It is flour and

butter cooked together, but not allowed to brown.

—
Rum. The French make a much greater use in cookery
of rum than the English, who distil it. Their omelet with
rum is a delightful invention. The rum which they eat
 ;

Saffron 389
with plum-pudding is not so good. The English burn
brandy by preference over it and the plum-pudding
; is so
saccharine in itself, and so full of luscious flavours, that it
seems better in taste to give it for a sauce the
contrast of
brandy than the comparison of rum.
Dr. Edward Smith, the chief
English authority on
dietetics, declares that the most powerful restorative known
to him is the old-fashioned combination of rum
and milk.
Ye who are weak drink thimblefuls of rum in tumblerfuls
ofnew milk !

ADDLE OF MU II ON. — There is really but

one way of doing a saddle— to roast it;
but
the h rench have a way of sometimes
boning
it, rolling it up, and
brazing it. They might
as well boil it. They understand their
gigot
but they are not to be trusted with
a saddle, which is in
England very properly regarded as the prime
piece of the
mutton. Frenchmen would not be so ready
to interfere with
the bones of the saddle they knew
if of a little fact which is
quite familiar in England — that there is a distinct difference
of flavour between a roasted half-saddle and a roasted loin.
What is known as a half-saddle
comes from the butcher
with a rigid backbone. The loin of mutton is precisely the
same piece of meat; but when so called, the
vertebra of
the back are disjointed, so that it
can be carved in chops.
This may be a more economical way of cutting the meat,
but it injures the taste.

Saffron. — It is the elegiac muse that ought to write

the account of saffron, for its glory is departed. The
stigmas of autumnal crocus ( crocus sativus were once
this
) .

all important in European cookery, and were

supposed to
possess the rarest virtues and attractions.
Henry Stephen
said of it— “Saffron should be put
into all Lenten soups,
390 Sago

sauces and viands. Without saffron we could never have

a good puree, good peas, nor good sauce.” There was a
time when England was known as merry England and ;

Lord Bacon in his History of Life and Death says ‘‘The :

English are rendered sprightly by a liberal use of saffron

in sweetmeats and broth.” Saffron is now but little used
anywhere in human food to please the eye, to tickle the
palate, or to strengthen the stomach and in England it ;

has been so completely ousted by curry that what once

rejoiced the heart of man is now only sprinkled in water
to cheer the melancholy of canaries.
Compare the saffron with the bean. At one time it was
worse than parricide to eat beans ;
and beans are now in
great repute. At one time it was a superstition to flavour
and colour food with saffron and now it is a farce. So
;

the wheel goes round, and high becomes low and low
becomes high. Let us be thankful that one thing will last
—
while man lasts the saffron-coloured morn.

Sage and Onion Sauce. — See Forcemeat No. 6.

Sago. — All the starches to which sago belongs are

much overrated as articles of They are easily digested

diet.
—that is the best which can be said of them and they are ;

useful in giving body to soups and puddings. They do not

contain much nourishment, and sago is certainly one of the

most insipid of the series.

Salad.* — Sydney Smith wrote a neat little poem to

describe how salad should be prepared, and he promised

that if his directions were followed
—
Then, though green turtle fail, though venison's tough,
And ham and turkey are not boiled enough,
Serenely full, the epicure may say,
—
Fate cannot harm me I have dined to-day.

There spoke the perfect epicure; and the speech goes to

* The substance of this article has already appeared in print.

 ; ;

Salad 39i

prove that the supremacy of enjoyment is based on sim-

plicity of taste. There may be epicures who like to titillate
their jaded appetites and acquired tastes with unheard-of
luxuries and far-fetched combinations ;
but the world has
long- recognised that all the best and healthiest
since
pleasures keep well within bounds, and must never lose
sight of moderation. Every art has its monstrosities
gastronomy has not been behindhand and though he must ;

be a bold man who will venture to blaspheme the elegancies

of French cookery, there comes a time to every English-
man who may have wandered into a mistaken admiration
of sophisticated messes, when he longs for the simple diet
of his native land, and vows that the best cookery in the
world, and that which satisfies the most refined epicure-
—
anism, sets up for its ideal plainness of good food, and the
cultivation of natural tastes. Now a salad is simplicity
—
and here is a marvel it is the crowning grace of a
itself,

French dinner, while, on the other hand, it is little under-

stood and villainously treated at English tables. To that
system of cookery which prides itself on its art it gives the
charm of nature, and in the midst of the triumphs of gas-
tronomy it raises a fine protest in favour of simplicity. In
ourown system of cookery, which boasts of its naturalness,
and which therefore ought to hold the salad in highest
honour, occupies but an inferior place, and is nearly
it

always spoilt. In respect of salads, therefore, the French

and Italians have beaten us in our own line. swear by We
plain cookery ;
we turn up our noses at elaborate sauces
we profess to eschew messes, and to care only for simples
and yet we have no idea, like the French and Italians, how
to turn to splendid account a dinner of herbs. There is
a proverb which identifies such a dinner with meanness of
fare; but it is not mean. It is quite certain that the
majority of epicures agree with Sydney Smith that a really
good salad will glorify any dinner, and make up for the
lack of turtle and venison and the rarest dainties.
 —

392 Salad

The fact is is more than food, and we are

that a salad
attracted to it by more than hunger. I am not enough of
a chemist to go into details but here are two facts which
;

explain a good deal. One is that the most important herb

used abounds in a juice which has not
in salads, the lettuce,

only the effect of opium, but where opium would be hurtful

takes the place of it in pharmacy. The other is that the
plant of next importance for salads, the endive or chicory,
is largely used in its root as a substitute for coffee. These
and like facts point to the conclusion that salads have an
attraction for us over and above that of palatable food
an attraction which has its parallel in a man’s craving for
the tobacco-leaf, in a woman’s craving for the tea-leaf, and
in the passion which drives a Chinese to the poppyhead.
In other words, a salad is not merely a food, but has also
an action on the nervous system, stimulating or sedative,
which is immensely agreeable and acts like a spell. What-
ever be the nature of the charm it is a powerful one, and
renders the salad a sort of prince incognito among the
assemblage of dishes. It has an undefinable rank on the
table, which makes it more important than it seems.
Without it, in the eyes of the epicure, the finest dinner
has failed of its supreme relish and to a very common-
;

place dinner it gives an etheral grace.

Any one who works of the old herbalists will
dips into the
be astonished to see how they insist upon the virtues of the
salad plants. Many of these virtues are no doubt imaginery,
but some are real enough. Thus the herbalists praised
endive as a cure for the gout. We have forgotten all about
this, and are content to find the refreshment of coffee in

the root, the refreshment of a salad in the leaves. Here

and there the old theory survives. I remember hearing a
physician say to a patient who was much too apt at blue-
pill, “That is ruin. I will tell you what to do. Eat a
parboiled cauliflower three times a week by way of salad,
and be sure you eat the bitter stalks as well as the flower.
 Salad 393
It is the best medicine in the world.” As for lettuce, it is

recommended by Galen as a soporific, and the prepared

juice, lactucarium, is to be found in every chemist’s shop.
The old herbalists, however,had another theory. They
said that the lettuce was not only soothing
like opium, but
had the supreme virtue of enabling us to forget womankind.
It was the salad of all others for
monks and nuns to eat,
for it has a hallowing influence that makes one
oblivious of
love and all its fever. Lest the romantic lover should on
this account refuse lettuce,
let me remind him that tobacco
which not indeed a salad, but belongs to the order of
is

nightshades, that has yielded several salad-plants, such

as
—
the potato and the tomato was supposed to
have a like
effect;and there is a vulgar opinion that Sir Isaac Newton
never married because he smoked too much.
According
to the same old theory, there is no love-potion so efficacious
as an onion. Would you win a woman’s love give her
onions to eat, whatever the consequences.
—
The French,
too, have a proverb, that if a wife only knew
what a loving
charm there is in celery, she would send to Rome for it
every day to provide a salad for her husband.
If one
must, however, have a love-charm, there is the tomato,
the
old English name of which is love-apple. This reminds
me of an odd omission in the story of the loves of Mr.
Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell. Dickens nowhere explains
how it came to pass that when his hero ordered
tomato-
sauce with his mutton-chops, the sensitive soul
of Mrs.
Bardell took this for a proposal of marriage
and the voice
of love. There is not a hint even in
the speech of Serjeant
Buzfuz that the tomato is the love-apple, and
that the sauce
which Mr. Pickwick ordered was love-apple
sauce. There
is, no doubt, a great deal
of fancy in all this. We expect
certain effects, and they are produced by
the association of
ideas. But there is this always to go upon— that
most of
the salad-plants have an exhilarating
effect, a distinct action
upon the nervous system, and through the
nerves upon the
394 Salad

spiritual part of us, till at last people exalt the preparation

of a salad into a religion, and become fanatical about its

rites and ceremonies.

If Sydney Smith be right, and if the enjoyment of a salad
be the height of epicureanism, one would imagine that so
simple a taste might be easily gratified. It is a delicacy

which the poorest of us ought always to command. No

cooking is required. Give us a salad-bowl give us a few ;

raw herbs, and some common condiments, and there is a

pleasant repast assured, even if there is nothing to add to
it but cold meat. And yet in this England of ours it is

difficult to get a good salad — in an English eating-house

almost impossible. We have lots of vegetables, with every
variety of lettuce and of endive. But in the first place it

is a tradition of the English kitchen that salads must be

washed and kept in water until ready for use ;
the conse-
qunce is that they lose much of their flavour; they become
more watery than they are by nature and after the salad ;

is devoured one can often see a little pool of water at the

bottom of the salad-bowl which the green leaves have not

been able to absorb. The tradition of the French kitchen
is that no salad must be washed or see the water except the
corn salad, which is sometimes called lamb’s lettuce. But
it be said that a salad requires to be cleaned, and hence
may
the need of water. Of course it requires cleaning but the ;

French method is to pick the leaves and to clean every

separate one with a dry napkin. This is the reason of the
difference between the French mode of serving a salad and
ours. In an English house one often sees a lettuce sent
up to table whole ;
ithas been washed whole, and it can be
served whole. And when English people see a I* rench salad
served, the leaves severed and sometimes cut, they fancy
all

that this is a mere matter of convenience, the cook saving

us trouble. It is not so, but a necessary result of the

French process of cleaning the salad.

It is not enough, however, to get the herbs in perfection;
 Salad 395
there comes next a great question about the appropriate
mixture to go with them. There are numbers of English
who think that no mixture is necessary, and who limit their

fancy to the cos-lettuce, which they pluck leaf by leaf, and

eat with a little salt. It is no wonder that they fail to
appreciate the salad, and rob it of the importance which it

ought to attain at a well-appointed table,

when they do not
know, or do not care for, the art of educing its finer
qualities, and making of the simplest dish in the world
a
feast worthy of Olympus. Some people take to eating a
salad in this crude way because
vague theory that it of a
is good and others avoid it because of some
for the blood ;

theory that so much “green meat” cannot agree with them.

The one set never acquire the true gusto for salad, and the
other have a continual suspicion of it. Now these are
the only two classes for which the English eating-house
keeper thinks it worth his while to cater. It is a matter of
hard fact that a salad-bowl is a thing unknown in 999 out
of 1,000 eating-houses in England. In private houses and
in clubs of course it is to be found, because English gentle-
men of the class who belong to clubs know that a salad to
be enjoyed must be mixed, and that it cannot be properly
mixed without a good-sized bowl. But let us go into
one
of Spiers and Pond s establishments and in singling them —
out I pay them a compliment. They are at the head of
their profession, they
have deserved well of the public, and
if they any point we may be sure that the failure
fail in
belongs not to them individually, but to the English
sys-
tem. I have not been to all their establishments, but in
those I have visited this what I find. They keep an
is
immense bowl on the buffet, crammed with a confusion of
salad-herbs soaking in water. You ask for a salad. The
waiter brings you a wet lettuce cut in halves
upon a flat
plate, and he puts down beside it an annulated
bottle,
full of the abominable compound known as salad-mixture.
You politely hint to the waiter, first of all,
that you prefer
396 Salad

not to touch his prepared mixture. He takes it away,

wounded in his feelings, and assumes that you are going
to eat the lettuce with salt. You next make a demand for
oil and vinegar, and try to explain that a salad to be pro-
perly mixed must, according to the saying, be mixed by a
madman ;
it cannot, therefore, be mixed on a flat plate.

The waiter then brings a soup-plate you are not satisfied

;
if

with that he brings a vegetable-dish, then perhaps a slop-

basin and if you are still discontented, he tries you last of
—
;

all with a soup-tureen. As for a salad-bowl which one

can get at once in the paltriest French restaurant — it is

not, as a rule, to be found in the splendidly furnished

establishments of Spiers and Pond. This simply means
that a salad properly prepared does not belong to the
English system of the table, and does not enter into the
calculations of those who cater for it in public. I some-
times at English inns manage to get a salad-bowl by asking
for a punch-bowl. Mine host is nearly always prepared to
make punch, though he does not know what a salad is.
When the Englishman, still more the Englishwoman,
determines that a salad is not to be eaten with salt alone,
but must be bathed in some mixture, one discovers a
curious weakness in the national taste, a chariness of oil, —
and love of vinegar. An odd proof of this is to be found
in the scientific nomenclature of the gardeners. Like all
sciolists, they are fond of inventing new names. They are
not content to call salad-plants, as of old, salad-plants, —
that is, plants to be eaten with salt; they have invented
the name of acetarious plants, —that is, plants to be eaten
with vinegar. There is the true English idea a salad is —
the infancy of mixed pickles. We have a besotted love of
pickles in England, and never seem to understand that
vinegar in a salad must be doled out with a niggardly
hand. As for oil, little of it is used, and that little is often
overwhelmed with cream, with yolk of egg, with mustard,
with sugar, —a succession of incongruous expedients to
 ;
:

Salad 39 7
conceal the oil or to take the place of it. All this messing
is death to the salad and to the true taste of the
green
herb. About salad-oil two points are worthy of notice,
though it isnecessary to insist only on one. The first is,
that it is the most simple and digestible form in which
oleaginous matter can be presented to the stomach, and
that it has a medical value in its combination with
raw
herbs. English people would not be so timid of what
they call green meat if they could bring themselves to
’

swallow it saturated with oil. But here is the chief point

the oil is not only good and wholesome in itself, but it

catches up and preserves in a remarkable manner the

subtle flavour of the salad. There are certain oils and
fatty substances which have a peculiar affinity for odours
and it is well known that those chemists who make it
their business to prepare scents from rose-leaves, jasmine,
lavender, and other flowers, make use of these oils and
fats for storingup the perfumes, with which they become
quickly impregnated. One can see what oil as a custodian
of flavour in rivalry with vinegar is if one can remember
the taste of a sardine. howSee delicate the flavour is
preserved in oil, and imagine how would be lost
it in brine
—or English pickle. It is the glory of the Lucca
oil that
it acts in this way upon
the salad, bringing out and pre-
serving its delicacy of flavour; which, on the other hand,
is dissipated in water, and overpowered in a mess of cream
and egg, syrup and mustard. Be a counsellor with the
salt, isthe old saying; be a miser with the vinegar; but
be a spendthrift with the oil. And we English would be
happier with our salads if we could learn to put up
with
the beautiful oil of Lucca and to forego the
astonishing
combinations (sometimes including anchovy sauce
and
mushroom ketchup) with which we disguise our green
herbs, till, in opposition to the accepted
principles of
English cookery, they are irrecognisable.
The best
salad mixtures will be found described in the preceding
 ,

398 Salad

pages, under the names of Cruet Sauce, Mayonnaise, and

Remoulade.
As for the herbs to be used in salad, we are in England
rather limited in our tastes. Of the infinite variety of

salads which can be made from wild plants —the salad

burnet, the ladies’ smock, the stonecrop, the sea bindweed,

the sweet Cicely, the buckshorn plantain, and the ox-eyed
daisy — our people know next to nothing, and they allow
quantities of excellent food to be wasted on the cattle.
The dandelion, which is a favourite salad in France, and a
herb renowned for its virtues, we should be half ashamed
to see on our tables. Nothing will do for us in England
First of there is
but the most highly-cultivated kinds. all,

the lettuce, which is of two sorts —the cabbage-lettuce,

known France as the laitue pommee, and the cos-lettuce,

in

which the French term the laitue romaine. Of these and —

there are endless varieties of either we seem in
England —
to prefer the latter, with its long leaves, because it
can be

eaten by itself; while the French probably care more for

the former. Then comes the endive in three classes . first,

the broad-leaved or Batavian endive, which the

Fiench call
escarole —
a prime favourite;
next, the curly-leaved endive,

which the French call sometimes chicorie and sometimes

. laitue jrisee lastly, the wild endive or succory (succory
;

being but the old English word for chicory), which

is

called by the French barbe de capucin, and whose

roots are

supposed to make a very fair imitation of coffee. Perhaps

next in order of rank deserves to be mentioned
celery

but we only use the bare stalk, whereas the French

will

root at
put the whole plant into the salad-bowl, from the
the
one end to the leafage at the other. Even better than
celery is the celeriac,— that is, a celery with a turnip-like

root, which the celeri-rave of the French and the knott-

is

sellerie of the Germans. The latter are especially fond of

it, and go into ecstasies with moist eyes
and flowing mouth
when they talk of it. In England, although it may be
 Salad 399
cultivated with greater ease and at less
expense than the
common celery, it is not only slighted, but few persons
know where they can lay their hands upon it. Let it here
therefore be recorded that the celeriac roots
come over to
this country from Germany end of October, and are
in the
to be had in any quantity at a house which abounds in
foreign dainties of all sorts — Lingner’s Delicatessen Hand-
^un §") 46> Old Compton Street, Soho, with its
branch at
30, Fenchurch Street, City. Another salad which is too
much neglected in England is that of tomatos. The
wonder is how any one who knows what a superb thing is
a salad of raw tomatos can care to desecrate this glorious
apple by cooking it. I should weary the reader if
I went

on to sound the praises of the mustard and cress salad, the

corn salad, the beetroot salad, the potato salad, and
the
salade de Ugumes. One word, however, about the
last two.
Most persons are acquainted with Sydney Smith’s receipt
for a potato salad —
Two large potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve,
Unwonted softness to the salad give ;

Of mordant mustard, add a single spoon,

Distrust the condiment which bites too soon
;

But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault,

To add a double quantity of salt ;

Three times the spoon with oil of Lucca crown,

And once with vinegar, procured from town ;

True flavour needs it, and your poet begs

The pounded yellow of two well-boiled eggs
;

Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl,

And, scarce suspected, animate the whole
;

And lastly, in the flavoured compound toss

A magic teaspoon of anchovy sauce :

Then, though green turtle fail, though venison’s

tough,
And ham and turkey are not boiled enough,
Serenely full, the epicure may say,
Fate cannot harm me— I have dined to-day.

This appears to have been the receipt

which he finally
 — ;

400 Salad

sanctioned ;
but in his memoirs there is a different

edition, which contains four lines that ought not to be

forgotten

Oh, green and glorious oh, herbaceous treat

!
!

’Twould tempt the dying anchorite to eat

Back to the world he’d turn his fleeting soul,
And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl 1

It should be noted, however, that the receipt furnished by

dressing,
the witty canon is not for a salad, but for a salad
it is for a mixture which is to give
“unwonted softness
to the salad. ” A true potato salad not passed through a
is

sieve it is made of cold boiled kidney potatoes what the

French
;

call Vitelotte — cut in slices. Of all the cooked

which the French call the salade de
salads, however, that
legumes will always have the pre-eminence. It is exceed-
to get in England— even at a Pall Mall
club
ingly difficult
one has to order the day beforehand yet at the paltriest
it ;

be had at
French restaurant in London or in Paris it can
a few minutes’ notice. It is nothing but a cold Macedon,
a salad of
and the best English name for it would be
Macedon.
not enough to provide the salad
and the salad
It is
attended to—what
dressing there is one thing more to be
:

the French call fourniture, what

we may call garnish or
which,
garniture. This is a sprinking of chopped herbs
selected and applied, give a
gaiety and
when cunningly
For a salad of
sparkle to the composition of the salad.
lettuce, be it round or long,
the usual garniture is a
chervil, burnet, and
ravigote,— that is, chopped tarragon,
chives. When the curly endive comeS in, and we ask for
the waiter, if he
a salad of it in any French restaurant,
ou sans?
knows his business, will at once ask, “Avec
without a chapont
which means, Will you have it with or
clove of garlic has
that is, a crust of bread on which a
with the endive
been rubbed. This crust of bread is mixed
salad, gives it its bouquet, and
forms its garniture. What
 Salad 401
shall be the garniture
of any salad depends much on
place
an season. There are two sets of herbs
aromatic sort, such as tarragon,
—
used one of the
burnet, chervil, sometimes
even parsley; the other, the
onion tribe, from garlic, which
ue m England abhor, down
to the more delicate varieties
spnngonions, shalots and chives.
There are some persons
w 10 set their faces against the most
bashful and refined of
onions even against chives.
What is the use of saying as
some fanatics about salad do,
that to them a salad is impos-
sible. The garniture must be taken as
we like it or as we
md it. Early in the year, when the
cabbage-lettuce comes
m, there no tarragon or chervil, and
is
we must be content
wit spring onions and shalots;
if these are
objectionable
we fall back on tarragon vinegar
to mix with the oil. When
the cos-lettuce appears,
we have tarragon and vinegar in
perfection, and with it the
most innocent of the onion race
chives. When the curly endive comes in, the
. French
as above said, forego
tarragon, sometimes retain
thechervil’
mt revel in the odour of garlic. In
a week or two, when
Batavian endive— the escarole
ie
turn to the garniture used
—
is ready, they will
re-
for the cos-lettuce.
It is necessary to
conclude, and I conclude with
a lament,
here are salads in abundance,
and with a little trouble we
can have them in perfection.
But all modern salads want
ie finishing touch
which made them most exquisite
in
days of old. Our modern manners forbid that touch, for
it was found to be
not always convenient. In bygone
times the fairest and the
youngest lady at the table was
expected to mix the salad
with her fingers. This was
enchanting when the lady was
in the heyday of beauty and
iere were men who would be too
pleased to drink cham-
pagne out of her slipper. The fashion, however, had its
inconveniences it has passed away,
;
and it survives only
in the phrase, Ketourner
la salade avec les doigts,
which is
a way the French have of
describing a lady to be still
young and beautiful.

26
402 Sally Lunn

Sally Lunn an honoured name from the Land’s End

is

to John o ’Groats. But why should the reader be called

upon to meditate upon her virtues in these pages, in which
so little has been said about the Bath bun, the Banbury
cake, the Scotch shortbread, the Brioche, the Baba,
the

Savarin, the Gauffre, and many another noble thing?

The reason is that her name has been mixed up with a

little culinary scandal ;

and it is necessary to vindicate her
fair fame. The greatest cook of modern times, Careme,

came over to England to minister to the palate of the

Prince Regent. did not stay long, but he stayed long

He
enough to appreciate the charms of Sally Lunn and her
ever memorable cake. He was a great cook, but a fearful
—
coxcomb an immeasurable egotist. If ever he made the

slightest change in a dish, he vaunted the variation as an

original idea, and thenceforward set up as the
sovereign

creator of the dainty. So it was that he dressed up Sail}

Lunn a little, and presented her to the Parisian world as
his own — his Solilemne. The fact mignt well be foi gotten,
but there are stupid asses who will not let us forget it.

They come over England they send up, among the

to ;

the
sweets of a dinner, Sally and her teacake, rigged out in
height of French fashion and like an English
;
dancer or

singer who insists on Mademoiselle to her name, the

good
honest Sally that we know is announced as the incom-
parable Solilemne.

Salmi. — As to the meaning of the word some informa-

tion will be found in the article on Gallimawfrey. It

means a highly sauced preparation (sal) of some bird (mi).

Salmagundi- — in French salmigondis— is thesame thing,

with the additional indication that the bird, mi or ma,

is

smitten
pounded, or in the language of our ancient cookery
to gobbets.” The ordinary salmi admits of many varia-
tions, according to the nature of the bird,
which is fitst
heated
roasted, then allowed to get cold, then carved, then
 a

Salmi 403
up in what our ancestors intended by the syllable sal-, —
salmi sauce. The inside and the trimming’s of the roast
game aie chopped up and put into a stewpan, with a bay-
leal and a sprig’ oi thyme, to be fried in
a tablespoonful of
salad oil. Add
them afterwards a glass of French wine
to
(white or led), with half a pint of
brown sauce, and simmer
them for ten minutes. Skim off the grease, strain the
sauce, heat up the pieces of game in it, and serve.
7 he Bemardin Salmi has a little of the
pungency which
in England would procure for it the name
of a devil but ;

it is a mild devil, and a wet one too. The receipt takes its
name from the circumstance that it was given to Grimod
de la Reynifere by the prior of an abbey of Bcrnardins,
who made him promise that he would never attempt to put
it into practice at any table within twenty leagues of the
Abbey of Haute-Seille. The salmi, it should be understood,
is not prepared in the kitchen, but at table, before
the eyes
of the assembled guests, which proves its
simplicity but ;

as this might also excite the contempt of the reader,

Grimod
de la Reynifere adds the wise caution that care
must be
taken to serve the salmi on its passage to the mouth
with
a fork, for fear of devouring one’s fingers in case they
should touch the sauce. Take three woodcocks the sys-
tem applicable to other birds, such as ducks (wild
is
or
tame), widgeons, teal, plovers, partridges,
and even beyond
winged game to the melancholy hare; but the
woodcocks
will do for an example. Let them be roasted let them ;

come to table underdone; and let them be carved.

Take
a silver dish, and on this bruise the livers
and trails of the
woodcocks squeeze on them the juice of four lemons
;
and
grate the zest of one add the members of the
;
woodcocks,
seasoned with salt, with mixed spices (or with
nutmeg
instead), and with two spoonfuls of French
mustard pour ;

over all half a glass of very good white wine; and then
put the dish on a spirit lamp, to become very hot, but with-
out boiling. When it is near to boil, add a
dash of salad oil,
404 Salmon
lower the flame, and stir the salmi well until all the flavours
are harmoniously blended. It is to be noted that in this
salmi there no gravy and if the quantity of lemons seem
is ;

too much, it must be remembered that when woodcocks

come in, lemons are small, and their juice scanty.

Salmon. —There is a myth that salmon was once so

common that in the indentures of apprenticeship in New-
castle, Perth, and other towns, it was wont to insert a
stipulation that the apprentice should not be obliged to eat
of this fish for dinner more than thrice a week. Now
the said apprentice never sees it at table ;
and to prevent
the utter extermination of the king of fresh-water fish,
it has

been found necessary to establish a close time during the

spawning season, when he and his queen shall not be hunted
to death. Nevertheless, salmon is to be had in London
during a considerable portion of the closed season — but they
are salmon from the Rhine. The best salmon known in Eng-
land (and best chiefly because the freshest) is that caught
in the Severn and in the Scotch rivers. The sooner a
salmon can be cooked after it has been killed, the better;
and there is no comparison between a salmon
in flavour

cooked on the day it has been caught, and one cooked in

London three or four days afterwards. It is quite possible
to get on a London dinner-table in the evening salmon
which has been disporting in a Scotch river early in the
morning. Apply at Groves’, or any first-rate fishmonger’s.
The salmon will be killed in the Tweed at three or four in

the morning ;
it will be instantly crimped and parboiled,
and it will be in Bond Street by five or six in the evening.

Boiled Salmon .
—Whether whole, in parts, or in slices,
the salmon is to be boiled like other fish, beginning with
cold water and salt. It must be thoroughly well done,

thoroughly well drained, and served on a napkin. It is

common enough in England to take lobster sauce with it —

but this is much too heavy for so rich a fish. Better take
 Salmon
405
sJmnip sauce, Dutch sauce, caper sauce, or
Bearnaise.
Garnish of sliced cucumbers.

Salm0n -~ Ihe
best b °^d salmon is crimped,
1 the object of keeping
i
perfect what is called the cream
or curd of the fish lying
between the flakes. The process
nbed as follows
^
eS
on salmon
> ^ SirHumphrey Davy, in his book
fishing .—“We must now prepare him for the
pot. Give him a stunning blow
on the head to deprive
nun of sensation, and then
give him a transverse cut
just
ow e gi Is, and crimp him by
cutting to the bone on
each side so as almost to
divide him into slices, and
hold him by the tail that
now
he may bleed. There is a small
spring, I see, close under that bank, which, I daresay, has
mean temperature of
the
the atmosphere in this
climate,
and is much under 50°.
remain for ten minutes, and
then carry him to the pot,
Place him therCj and

and
^ ^
let the water and
salt boil furiously
before you put in a
slice and give time
to the water to recover its heat before

C \
eave the head
1[ another
and so with the whole fish,
out, and throw in the
>

thickest pieces
and
first.”
he process, be observed, consists of
it will
three stages •

first, transverse cutting to the bone;

second,
plunging into
' Cf} water; third, plunging into
boiling water. With-
out this process being
performed soon after the fish is killed
the cream turns to oil.

Salmon Waterzootje.-THs is but boiled pieces of salmon

served after a particular
method : which see.
Grilled Salmon.
Rubbed slightly with salad oil
sprinkled with pepper and
salt, and served either
with a
piece of maitre d’hhtel
butter or with Tartar sauce.
Salmon a la Genevoise is either
plain boiled or it is
stewed m
a Mirepoix of white
wine, and served with
Denevese sauce.

‘ P e '“ F
akeS 0f saImon laid i" a
“T, !
tcrnate layers, with forcemeat of whiting (see
pie-dish in
Quenelle),
406 Salpicon

seasoned with spiced salt, moistened with fish broth,

covered with a paste, sent to the oven, and eaten cold.

Salmon Omelet. — Hot flakes of salmon mixed with
Allemande sauce, and put into the omelet before folding it

up.

Aspic of Salmon. —
Flakes of salmon mixed with liquid
aspic, and left to get cold and stiff.

Kippered Salmon. —1 he kippering of salmon is a mystery

which must be left to experts. The kipper which comes to

London is so well kippered that lew can afford to eat
more than a very thin slice of it grilled with exceeding
swiftness. There are few dainties for breakfast, however,
more delicious and more harmless than salmon which is
—
but slightly kippered that is, salmon which,
being per-

fectly has undergone the kippering for not more

fresh,
than two or three days. Rub it with a little butter, and
grill it in any quantity. This is one of the glories of a
breakfast, and it is to the stomach of a
Scotch
Highland
baillie what turtle is to a London alderman.

Pickled or Soused Salmon.— Boil a salmon and spirt it.

has boiled
which addit
Take a quart of the liquor in
;

to it half an ounce of
peppercorns and pimento whole,
of salt, a couple of
half a pint of vinegar, a teaspoonful
and boil them
bayleaves, and a spring of lemon-thyme ;

cold, pour it over the salmon

and cover
together. When
The fish will keep good in this for several days.
it up.
afresh with more vinegar
To strengthen the pickle, boil it

and spice.

Salpicon. —A
mince of chicken or of game,
fine
with
gras.
tongue, mushrooms, truffles, and now
and then foie

has not only a

Salt tells for so much at table that it
names of sauce,
name by itself, but it reappears in the
sausage, salmi, and salad. What would our food be with-
out salt, sauce, sausage, salmi,
and salad? Extending the
 Salt 407
use of the term beyond chloride of sodium to salts in
general, Bernard Palissy (translated by Henry Morley^
has an eloquent passage, mixed with some considerable
errors, on its importance in the economy of nature. “ I

tell you, he says, speaking of salts, “ there is so great a

number ol them that it is impossible lor any man to name
them all and tell you further, that there is nothing in this
;

world which has no salt in it, whether it be in man, the

beast, the trees, plants, or other vegetable things, or even
in the very metals and tell you yet more, that no vegeta-
;

tive things could grow without the action of salt which is

in what is more,
seeds ; salt were taken from the body
il

of a man he would fall to powder in less than the winking

of an eye. If the salt were separated from the stones that

are in buildings, they would fall suddenly to powder. . . .

Salt bleaches everything; salt hardens everything; it

preserves everything ;
it gives savour to everything it
;

is a mastic which binds everything; and unites it collects

mineral matters, and of many thousand pieces makes one
mass. Salt gives sound to everything without salt no :

metal would yield a voice. Salt rejoices human beings ;

it whitens the flesh, giving beauty to reasonable creatures;

itpreserves friendship between the male and female by the
vigour given to the sexes; it gives voice to creatures, as
to metals.
”

“Theexperiments of Boussingault on animals” to —

—
quote Dr. Letheby “ have shown that although salt mixed
with the fodder does not much affect the quantity of flesh,
fat, or milk obtained from them, yet it seriously affects their
appearance and general condition for animals deprived ol ;

salt, other than that contained naturally in the food, soon

get heavy and dull in their temperament, and have a rough

and staring coat. Reulin states that animals which do not
find it in their food and drink become less prolific, and the
breed rapidly diminishes in number. This is confirmed by
Dr. Le Saine, who says in his prize essay on salt, that it
408 Sandwich

increases the fertility of the male and the fecundity of the

female, and it doubles the power of nourishing the foetus.
During the period of suckling, also, salt given to the
mother renders the milk more abundant and more nutri-
tious. It likewise accelerates growth, and gives a finer

condition to the skin and the flesh of animals fed with it

;

is better flavoured, and more easily digested than that of

animals which do not partake of it. In barbarous times

the most horrible of punishments, entailing certain death,
was the feeding of culprits on food without salt ;
and in
the experiments of the French Academicians, flesh deprived
of its saline constituents by being washed with water lost
its nutritive power, and animals fed on it soon died of
starvation. There was plenty of nutritious matter in
. . .

the food, but there was no medium for its solution and
absorption, and hence it was useless.”
Lastly, it would be ungrateful to forget that the
chloride of sodium is all the world over the most venerated
article of diet —the synonym of wit and of hospitality.
The saints are the salt of the earth. It is a fact, more-
over, which rests on the excellent authority of medi-
aeval doctors, that the devil never takes any salt in his
meat. They gave as a reason for this that salt is an
emblem and used by the divine command
of eternity in

sacrifices. They seem

to have overlooked the fact that to
be obliged to forego salt is a terrible punishment.

—
Sandwich. See how a man becomes immortal by his
good taste !Who would have remembered the Earl of
Sandwich if he had not brought the sandwich into vogue
in the last century? The gratitude of mankind has for
ever, and all over the habitable globe, honoured it with his
name. Nothing can be more simple. But the sandwich
is capable of infinite variety, and we ought not to make it

monotonous by confining it to beef and ham. It may be

made of fowl, game, fish, and eggs, not forgetting plovers’

 Sauce 409
eg-gs. How is it that these more delicate varieties of the
sandwich are so seldom be seen at balls and suppers
to
among those cold collations where
everything else is
choice and even curious?
Why not vary the sandwich,
too, by using crust of bread,
toast, or brown bread? An
admirable addition to the sandwich
in summer is mustard
and cress, or a lettuce finely shred
in winter some thin
;

slices of pickled gherkin.

Francatelli deserves great credit
for inventing what he calls
the Badminton sandwich, which
is made as follows
Cut slices of toast, and immediately
on taking them from the fire
split them with a sharp knife.
Spread the inner sides with anchovy
butter, and put fillets
o anchovy between. This is in fact a sort of anchovy
toast to be eaten cold.

Sardine.— It is a question whether there is

any dif-
ference between the sardine of the Mediterranean
and
the pilchardwhich abounds in the English
Channel and
on the Cornish coast-both
being a species of herring.
The preservation of this fish in oil
ought to be a lesson
to Englishmen, who are much too fond
of a briny pickle
or preserving their fish in
tins.Note how wonderfully
the flavour of the sardine
is preserved and even
height-
ened, and ask why we cannot
do as much for salmon See
Pilchard.

Sauce—Theory of
the Sauces.— The saying of
rillat-Savarm, that a cook can be made
but that a
roaster must be born, is
well known. It is not so well
known that his friend, the Marquis
de Cussy, asked him
to revise this aphorism,
and that before his death he did
revise it. We in England are more than all inclined to
ca it in question; for we find among us a scarcity of
good cooks and yet an
abundance of good roasters.
robably the best of French
cooks cannot roast so well as
any Meg or Moll in a homely
farmstead, or the trencher-
4io Sauce

man of a regimental mess. Alter long; and anxious dis-

cussions with his friend De Cussy, the great gastronomer

agreed to remodel his aphorism, and to say On devient

cuisinier, on devient rotisseur, on nait saucier
Cooking .

and roasting are things to teach it needs genius to make a

;

sauce. We may overwhelm the chemist of sauces with

rules and receipts ;
they are of little use without a natural
gift. To make a perfect sauce is indeed the height of

culinary art; but before the reader comes to the

end of

this article he will be constrained to

admit that the
saucemaker owes, in a sense of which Brillat-Savarin had
subtle
no conception, more than half of his success to a
skill in roasting which no ordinary cook
ever possesses,

and which invests with a new and unexpected meaning

the

celebrated aphorism in its original form.

The language of the English table suggests a distinction

between sauces and gravies and I have in my time listened
;

curious discussions as to what is and what is

not
to many
In common
a sauce, what is and what is not a gravy.
parlance, and in the chief dictionaries, gravy
always means

the juices of roasted meat in the kitchen and in the

;

cookery books it has been found necessary to extend

its

to the juice of meat however obtained, whether

meaning
from roasting or decoction. The word sauce, in its origin,
is a doublet of salt; in its modern use it nearly always
implies a liquid ;
and it may be defined in the most general
in the presentation
terms as any liquid seasoning employed
of food. Gravy, or the juice of meat, isalways a sauce,
although a sauce is not always gravy. On the other hand,
have giavv
the great sauces, as they are called in France,
most concentrated
for their foundation— this too in its

them, at
form and it would be more distinctive to call
;

least in England, gravies.

The French have two leading sauces—a brown and
a

—
white one which are the Adam and Eve of all
their other

preparations and reductions of gravy. We need not at

 1

Sauce 41

this point slay to inquire how the juices of meat are

obtained so as to make the one brown and the other white
:

it must be enough to say

that the one is called Espagnole
or Spanish sauce, the other Veloute or Velvet-down;
and
to dwell for a moment on this odd fact— that
whereas in
cookery a brown sauce is used about three times as often
as a white one, the French cooks recognise only one
form
of the more frequent sauce, and as many as three forms
of
the less frequent. Brown sauce
is always what they are

pleased to call Spanish; and white sauce, or Velvet-down,

has two variations,which are known as Bechamel and
Allemande or German. If it is curious that of the four
parent sauces or gravies of the French kitchen there should
be but a single brown to three white ones, it is still more
so,
when we consider it closely, that the one brown sauce should
be called Spanish. The fact is, that the traditions of the
french kitchen have been muddled and forgotten. Spanish
was 01 iginally but a variation of an older brown sauce
which flourished in f ranee long before Spanish tastes
began to prevail, and which was afterwards forgotten,—
much as if, among
the white sauces, Bechamel should
survive, and Velvet-down, from which it springs, should
be
heard of no more.
Let us ask — for
everything turns on this why is the —
sauce called Spanish? Ihere are people who imagine that
it means no more than brown.
I here is a hue which goes
by the name of Spanish brown the great Spanish painter,
:

Murillo, loved it well, and made it by roasting the bones

which his countrymen boiled down in their stews. Spanish
sauces, Spanish pictures, Spanish wines, Spanish
faces, all
seem to have a tawny hue; and was it not natural,
therefore, of the French cooks to pay a
compliment to
the Spanish alliance by dubbing their chief
brown sauce
a Spaniard? It is not necessary to run away
from this
view, it is natural; but it is not enough. People do
not change the name of an established preparation with-
 — —;

412 Sauce

out at the same time making -

a change, however trivial,
in its character and it is not to be supposed that the
;

French cooks would change the name of anything so

important as their chief brown sauce La Grande Sauce —
without some novelty in its nature. The novelty was this.
The French brown sauce was originally worked out of the
French pot-au-feu (though not in the same manner as
bouillon) ;
and tothis day there are popular cookery books
— that of Gogue, published by Hachette, is one which, —
although calling the sauce indifferently brown or Spanish,
give a receipt for the preparation of its elementary juice
or gravy which is nothing more than the ordinary contents
of the best beef broth worked down towards a glaze.
When the Bourbons made their way to the Spanish throne
under Louis XV. and when Spanish fashions came back
,

to Paris, the French cooks took a hint from the Spanish

— —
pot-au-feu the olla podrida and produced a variation of
their brown sauce which they called Spanish. The essen-
tial principle of the French pot-au-feu was beef; the
essential principle of the Spanish was bacon, ham, the red
Estremadura sausage — all well smoked. There is a rhyme
which says,
No hay olla sin tocino
Ni sermon sin Agustino,

more without bacon than a sermon

that an olla can be no
without a quotation from St. Augustine. The Due de
St. Simon sent home marvellous accounts of the hams of
Montanches there grew up a rage for Spanish hams and
; ;

the French were not to blame, for they have no hams of

their own which have any reputation. Great as they are
in pig’s flesh, they are poor hands at bacon and ham and;

the treasures of Montanches were a revelation to them.

They ran wild after ham. There is an amusing story
told of Bertrand, steward to the Prince of Soubise (see
Soubise), who ordered fifty hams for a little supper
which he had to prepare. Only one was to go to table
 Sauce 4*3
the other forty-nine were to be worked into sauces and
garnitures. And so, by introducing the flavour of the
Estremadura bacon and ham into the old brown sauce of
the French, there came into being the Spanish sauce.
It
—
was a grand hit this the introduction of
the hammy
taste. The fashion spread, and the word was passed
from
cook to cook as a secret worth knowing, that to
make the
brown sauce in perfection there was nothing
like a slice or
two of Spanish ham. But the best Montanches porkers
are fed on vipers; and a retribution
followed, as though the
vipers in the Spanish hams was warmed
to life and poisoned
the wits of the French cooks.
The hams of Montanches
are not too plentiful in this world
of sorrow, and the cooks
came to be satisfied with any ham — even with French ham,
which is littlebetter than salted pork. So the meaning of
the prescription was lost; the peculiarity
of the Spanish
sauce passed away, and its name became a puzzle. The
French ham, which is not properly
smoked, went for little
or nothing; and there is no
clear difference between the
old brown sauce and that
which is now called Spanish
Then followed The French cooks having a
this folly
tradition,
which they did not understand, that ham
was a
good thing for brown sauce, thought it
must be equally
good for white, and put it into their
Velvet-down, where
it is altogether a mistake, as will presently be shown;
only as was the tasteless French
it
ham which was thus
inserted, no result ensued except a pleasant
sensation for
the cooks that they were doing
their work in the grand
style and vindicating the title
of their art to the utmost
ceremony I he.
cooks of other nations looked on with
astonishment and seeing in the receipts
;
that slices of ham
are always to line the bottom
of the stockpot, laughed at
the useless niceties of the
French chemistry. The fact is,
that the very best brown sauce can be made without an
ounce of ham or bacon ;
and to make the true Spanish
sauce as understood by the old French cooks, a few
4M Sauce

Frankfort sausages, with their line smoky flavour, or some

of the Jewishsmoked heel, or the Jewish beef sausages —
chorissas —
are of more avail than a hundredweight of
French ham.
This analysis brings us back to our starting-point; and
three questions arise Are we to be content with the one
:

brown fundamental sauce of the French books? and —

arewe to call it Spanish?
To get at the root of the matter, we must come to a

clear understanding as to the real difference between the

brown and the white, into which all gravy sauces are
divided. The white sauces (which by the way are not
necessarily white, for be tinged to any colour
they may
— yellow with the yolks of eggs or scarlet with toma-
tos— and yet preserve their character) are the result of

decoction and no other heating process. To get a full

flavour in this way, however, implies a long decoction and

a reduction of much meat. And even when the sauce has

been thus reduced to a white cullis, the flavour of the

Velvet-down may be so flat that it requires to be enriched

with nearly its own volume of cream to make a good

Bechamel, or with butter and yolks of eggs to make a

good German sauce. And how is brown sauce different?

It may sound like a paradox to say so, but it is the simple

fact, only expressed in a novel phrase — that the essential

difference between brown and white sauce is that in

addition to the boiling and simmering processes,
which
produce a white sauce, the brown one has to go through a
a
process of roasting; and that this roasting creates
simple
superlative flavour which can be obtained by very
means. The meats are, at a particular
juices of certain
to a
period of their decoction, roasted, and then submitted
speak
further decoction. What nonsense, it may be said,
to

of roasting a liquid ! ever heard of roasting water?

Who
Nobody has ever been able to roast mere water; but we
have all heard of burning milk, of browning butter, and
 Sauce 4i5

oi making- a sauce fall to a glaze. To understand all that is

involved in browning a sauce, or in making it fall to a glaze,
it is better to use a more general expression, and to say
that it is roasted. If be objected that
it is not English
it

to speak of roasting anything in a pan, the reader must

be reminded of the roasted chestnuts which he can see at
every street corner, and of the coffee which is roasted in a
closed cylinder.
Now this roasting of coffee, with its result, affords a
good illustration of what happens in the roasting of a
sauce. It has never been properly explained how or why,
but we all know that the roasting of coffee develops in it
qualities certain salts and volatile oils, one of
them with a
wonder lul perfume which no amount of boiling can educe
from the raw berry. In five minutes after the coffee is
roasted and g'round, we get with boiling water a glorious
beverage, which mortal man never yet came near with
unroasted coffee. And it is to be
observed that the result
obtained by torrefaction is not merely a change of colour
and an access of fragrance, but also the development
of
qualities that palpably affect the human frame,
and ex-
hilarate the nervous system. There is no such extraordi-
nary contract in its effect upon our system between brown
and white sauce; but the coffee illustration may be
accepted
as the most extreme statement which could be given
of the
difference that may be created in precisely the
same ingre-
dients by roasting and not roasting them. There is a much
milder, but not less remarkable, illustration
within every-
body s reach. In five minutes the experiment can
be
made with two pats olTake one of these
the best butter.
and simply melt it in a ladle over a flame, making
oiled
butter. Take the other and roast it to a light hazel tint,
making what is called nut-brown butter. The difference
is astonishing. The roasting develops a fragrance in the
nut-brown butter than which nothing can be
more ex-
quisite, although nothing is more simple.
It is a perpetual
416 Sauce

miracle — the sudden generation by fire of a flavour which

was not there before. The chemists do not explain it :

their minds are occupied with much more distant matters

— such as tetranitronaphthalene and tungstosotungstic
bromide. It would be too much them to forget to expect
for a moment itamonochloropyrotartaric and hydropara-
coumaric acids, to attend to anything so common as a
complete statement of the chemical distinction between
oiled butter and nut-brown butter. Whatever it may be
that is developed by the process of roasting, it is typical
of the entire difference which separates every form of
brown sauce from every form of white.
Although the principle is ever the same, it is to be
observed that there are many ways of introducing into
brown sauce the roast flavours, i. The most direct method
of all is to create the proper flavour by roasting the sauce
itself —
that is, to use a common expression, by boiling the
juices of meat down to a glaze. This expression, how-
ever, is faulty for it seems to convey the notion that the
;

grand result is produced by boiling which it is not. A —

thin broth or gravy will roast or burn no more than water
will ;
but it may be boiled down to such a consistence that
the pan will then catch it as it catches butter, roast it, turn
it to glaze, and, if care is not taken, burn it. To boil down
the sauce only prepares for the change which is to follow :

the decisive change is produced by roasting. A pint

of good stock will boil down to but a spoonful or two
of such glaze, and a very little of this will go a long way
to flavour sauces and soups. 2. Another way is to put the

solid ingredients of the sauce, the meat and the vegetables,

into a pan with butter, to brown them for a time that is, —
really, to roast them and then to —
boil them down either in

water or bouillon. 3. A third way is to get the juices of

the meat by boiling it slowly for a short time, say half an
hour, in a small quantity of broth by then stabbing the;

meat, to make the juices flow out of it; by next boiling it

 Sauce 4i 7

rapidly, till solid and fluid roast together — that is, fall to a
glaze ;
and finally by filling the vessel with broth or with
water, and letting it simmer for hours till the decoction is
perfect. 4. It is very common to finish sauces by thicken-
ing them with roux and roux is nothing more than flour
;

which has been roasted in butter. One of the most 15.

ancient methods of the F rench kitchen for the perfection

of a brown sauce, or a superexcellent consomm^, is to
roast a fowl may be two, and then to boil them
first, or it

down in the stockpot and those cooks who are afraid

;

that some goodness may depart from the fowl in roasting

it before a clear fire stipulate for brazing it —which is only
another mode of roasting.
It will now be understood that a cook proficient in
sauces must have the most delicate skill in roasting; and
at the same time we reach the true meaning of the Spanish
sauce. The introduction of the Spanish ham into the
stockpot for brown sauce is but one out of many ways
of awakening that taste of the fire which ought to mark
it. Not that the ham has itself been roasted it has only :

been smoked. The roast flavour in this case is the flavour

of wood which has been roasted and burnt. The flavour
has risen in a vapour which has been identified with creo-
sote and pyroligneous acid, and which, seizing on the ham,
has incorporated with it. This incorporation may to some
extent soften and tone down the tarry flavour of charred
or roasted wood ;
but essentially the roast flavour, which
through the Spanish ham
supposed to improve a brown
is

sauce, is a modification of the flavour of charred pinewood.

Knowing this, we can rate at its true worth the direction
of the French cooks to put ham into all sauces and soups
which are to be very good. The introduction of ham or
of anything smoked, in however faint a degree, into white
sauce, is opposed to its character. It is quite possible that

the creosote in the ham may be too feeble to do any harm :

the question is, what good does it do? It is the nature of

27
—

418 Sauce

white sauce to be produced by decoction alone, so as to

keep it quite free from any of the igneous flavours ;
what,
then, is the object of tampering with it by putting into it
an ingredient whose special value is that it has an igneous

taste of Because two and a half cen-

a certain kind?
turies ago a French cook discovered that a Spanish ham
mightily improved the savour of his brown sauce, we have
slices of ham put into every soup and sauce and stew
served at a grand dinner. See the far-reaching and un-
expected consequences of great events. Because early in
the last century the blood royal of France and of Spain
intermingled, a Jew cannot now feast with the Lord
Mayor on the ninth of November without trembling for

his soul, and much smiting of conscience. 1 picture to

myself the perplexity and despair of the greatest cook of
this century, Careme, who left the service of the Prince
Regent in England to take office in the household of Baron
Rothschild in Paris. All the traditions of his art assured
him that soups and sauces are nothing without ham that —
ham is the trumpet obligato in the symphony of a sauce
-
and ham was denied to him. It was due to the genius

of Careme that the Baron’s dinner-table became the most

refined in Europe; but it did not require the genius of
Careme to prove that the absence of ham in the sauces

made no difference.
The following is an alphabetical list of the sauces
described in this volume :
—
Allemande. Cold Bechamel.
Almond cream. Mock Bechamel.
Anchovy. Big-arade.

Anchovy butter. Black butter.

Apple. Blanquette.
Arrowroot. Bordelese.
Aspic. Brawn.
Aurora. Bread
B^arnaise. Breton.
Bechamel. Caper.
 Satier Kraut 419
Celery. Oiled butter.
Cruet Orange gravy.
Devil. Parsley.
Dutch. Pth'igueux
Duxelles. Piquante.
E gg- Plum.
English. Poivrade.
Espagnole. Polish.
Fennel. Pouletle.
Financiers'. Punch.
Genevese. Ravigote.
German. Ravigote butter.
Gooseberry. Remoulade.
Gravy. Robert.
Its own gravy Sage and Onion.
Beef gravy. Salmi.
Veal gravy. Shalot.
Ricll* gravy.
Sharp.
Cold gravies. Shrimp.
Hollandaise. Soubise
Horseradish. Spanish.
Italian.
Supreme.
Lemon. Tartar.
Lobster. Tomato.
Maitre d'HStel. Velvetdown.
Mayonnaise. Mock Velvetdown.
Green Mayonnaise. Venetian.
Mint. Venison.
Nut-brown butter. White-wine.

Sal er Kraut. —There

are few things more wholesome
than the salted cabbage which is called
sauer kraut. It
will keep in good condition for
a long time but English ;

people do not seem to care enough about it

to take the
trouble of making it, and those who
delight in it are
content to buy it ready-made from the
Italian ware-
house. For the best go to Lingner’s, Old Compton Street,
Soho, and Fenchurch Street, City.
1 ake two pounds of it, and simmer it gently for three
or four hours in water. Drain off the water and toss it
over the fire in some fat broth of good flavour. Serve
 ,

420 Sauter — Saute

it with sausages- —Frankfort the best; or serve it with
streaky bacon. It is sometimes brazed with a duck, and
makes an excellent garnish.

Sauter, Saute. —One might suppose that the idea

which convey is unknown in English

these words
kitchens, since we find English writers trying to express
it by speaking of kidneys jumped in champagne. The
proper English word is toss; and English cooks know
perfectly well what it is to toss things over the fire. It

is to fry lightly in a little oil or butter. Frying proper is

done in a large quantity of butter, oil, or other fatty

matter, and creates a heat which, being far beyond that of

boiling water, has a roasting effect. To fry lightly is to

attempt frying with a mitigated heat, and to avoid roast-

ing. This is done by using a small quantity of fatty
matter and by tossing. The object of the tossing is partly

to stir what is in the pan, to prevent it from burning,

and to cook it equally throughout; but also to cool it

from time to time, and so to keep the heat below the

temperature which belongs to frying proper.

Saveloy —a name curiously corrupted from cervetas

which corrupted from cervelat. It was originally an

is itself

Italian sausage into which pigs’ brains entered.

The brains
Sausages with
are no longer used, but the name remains.
brains required to be cooked enough at the pork-butcher
s .

The name, therefore, is generally given to those sausages

being
which require little or no further cooking, and which,
the sausages
well cured keep for a length of time. Such are
of Bologna, Novara, Arles, Lyons, and
Brunswick.

Scallion. —
The same word as shalot the onion brought —
by the Crusaders from Ascalon.
mean by always talking
Scollops.—What do the cooks
of scollops — scollops ol beef, scollops of veal, scollops
of

the breasts of fowl? What are scollops? They mean

qollops. It is
little slices, and they are a corruption of
 1

Scotch Broth 42

one of the most curious things about the kitchen that,

either because cooks are in general very ignorant, or
because they love to mystify their dishes, the terms we
use for food are the most corrupt of any in the language.

Scotch Broth is to Scotland what the pot-au-feu is to

France, and involves an important question in household
economy. The pot-au-feu of the French housewife is
furnished for the most part with beef, which certainly is the
best of all meat for broth. The broth or bouillon it yields
may not only be made into first-rate soup, but is otherwise
available for working into the stock
-
which goes to form
the finest sauces. I his is no doubt a great advantage.
But on the other hand, the frugal French housekeeper
v/ants meat for her table as well as soup; she therefore
takes the boiled beef —or bouilli as it is called — out of the
pot, and serves this to her family nearly
every day of their
lives. Now we
have quite made up our minds in England
that this is “ most tolerable, and not to
be endured.”
That boiled beef we cannot away with. There is soup
and sauce made of the beef, but once used for that purpose,
it is rarely eaten. The Scotch take the same view but ;

they have for centuries set up another system, which they

still hold to wherever they are to be found, all
over the
world. They have their choice mutton ;
and they know
that, although boiled beef is poor stuff to eat, boiled
mutton is very good. They have therefore established a
pot-au-feu with mutton instead of beef. They have a
disadvantage in the broth which results. It is not to be
compared with beef broth for goodness. On the other
hand, it is good enough to make with vegetables a very
fairsoup. The fact is, that many of the most delicious
French soups are made without a spoonful of broth
witness the asparagus one. And further, to the advan-
tage of the account, there is a great gain — the
mutton is
eatable. It is notorious that in the clubs of London, with
422 Sea-kale

the best cookery at command, if Irish stew is put upon

the bill of fare it will be gone long before any other dish
on the list; and what is stew but one of the forms
Irish
of Scotch broth? The Irish have nothing to do with it.
The misnomer came from the French, who also call the
Scotch barley broth Orge a l’lrlandaise. The principle of
Scotch broth is to make a pot-au-feu of mutton, to work up
the liquor into soup with various assortments of vegetables,
and to present the mutton to be eaten along with it.
Therefore it is a mistake to confine the name of Scotch
or mutton broth to barley broth. It is a name which
equally belongs to the thick potato-and-onion soup known
as Irish stew, to the pea soup which Soyer has called
“ the inimitable hotch potch,” and to various other assort-
ments. It is not any particular soup, but a system of

soups set up in contrast to the French system of bouillon

and homely life.
bouilli in Perhaps the best example of
the Scotch or mutton broth is the Hotch Potch, which
will be found described under its own name. Here we
give the receipt only for what is especially in England
called Scotch broth.
Take about six pounds of the neck or breast of mutton
cut as for Irish stew, and carefully trimmed of fat. Put
it into the pot with six quarts of cold water, six ounces of
barley, and some remove the scum, and then
salt. Boil it,

let it simmer for an hour; after which put into it two

carrots, two turnips, three onions, and three heads of

celery, all cut into dice or sliced, with a fag'got of sweet-
herbs and a pinch of pepper. Let the simmering go on
for another hour, and the soup is ready. Tire cutlets can

be served cither with it or apart.

Sea-kale. — Careme made a discovery in London — sea-

kale, which he denominated sometimes sckals, and some-
times sik&les. “ They resemble,” he says, “ branches of
celery, and are to be served like asparagus with a butter
 Sharp Sauce 423
sauce; but I prefer to serve them with Espagriole.” About
twenty minutes’ boiling-.

Shad may be described as a fresh-water herring, that

migrates from the sea to the river, like salmon. Caught
in the sea they are not good taken from certain rivers;

they are excellent. The rivers of Germany and France

abound in the best shad, and there the fish is a favourite.
It is curious that even in the fresh water they exhibit
their love of the salt. They follow the salt barges of the
Seine ali the way to Paris in the spring.
England the In
fish is little known and not much valued.
It comes up
the Thames, however, in great numbers
to spawn and in ;

the month of May may be caught in any

quantity by
the Isle of Dogs. It may be sent to the grill like
a her-
ring, and served with mustard or caper
sauce, or with a
puree of woodsorrel.
It should be
added that Cuvier ranks the shad, on
account ol a deep notch on its upper lip, in a
class by
itself distinct from the herring, and that Yarrell
follows
in the same path.

Shalot— in French, Eschalote— a diminutive of Ascalon,

lrorn whence this onion came. Scallion is from the same
source. It resembles garlic in having its bulbs divided
into smaller bulbs called cloves, because cloven.
Shalot Sauce is the same as what is called
Sharp
Sauce or Sauce Piquante, with this only difference that
to —
the latter there is added pickled gherkins. See Sharp.
Sharp Sauce, or Sauce Piquante This is the same .
—
as the sauce known as Shalot sauce, with the sole differ-
ence that at the last moment pickled gherkins are added
to it. Chop finely (but apart) three tablespoonfuls— one
of shalots, one of gherkins, and one of parsley.
Put the
shalots into a stewpan with an ounce of butter, and
accord-
ing to the sharpness desired, from two to four tablcspoonfuls
, 424 Sheep’s Head Broth
of vinegar. Stir this over the fire till the vinegar is

reduced — and, indeed, till the shalots absorb the whole of

it that which will be indicated by the butter becoming
is left,

clear. Then add an ounce of flour, and a pint of broth,

together with pepper, and it may be salt but this will —
depend on the saltness of the broth. Let it boil for a
quarter of an hour, and let it be skimmed. Lastly, add

the parsley and gherkins. Boil it up again, and if need

be, skim again.

Sheep’s Head Broth (the grand Scotch receipt). —

A sheep’s head and trotters are singed, and are usually
sent for this purpose to a blacksmith’s forge. They might
kitchen, but it makes
be singed with a red-hot iron in the
a smell which is apt to steal through the house. After
singeing they are soaked in cold water or in several waters

for two hours and afterwards lightly scraped and trimmed

;

so as to remove excess of blackness, though without de-

stroying that burnt flavour which the singeing is meant to

produce. The head is then to be split and to be rubbed

over with the brains.
Put the head and the trotters on the fire with two gallons
of cold water and half a pound of Scotch barley. Add
pepper and salt, take off the scum as it rises, and simmer it
for at least four hours. When it is about half done throw
in a pint of carrots cut into dice. An hour before it is

ready put in the same allowance of turnips, together with

—
some chopped onions in summer-time a few green peas.
The soup may be served at once. The sheep’s head, by
universal consent, is best cold. In every manse throughout
Scotland the minister eats sheep’s head broth on Saturday
while he is preparing his sermon, and cold sheep’s head
for his Sunday dinner. That is why the sermons of the

Kirk are so good. As for the trotters, though they improve

seivc
the soup, they cannot be eaten cold, and it is best to
them separately in a Poulette sauce.
 Shoulder of Midton 425

Sheep’s Trotters in the Poulette way. Let them be

singed, well washed, blanched, and boned; then simmered
in a faggot of pot-herbs for four or five hours Faggot —
—
No. 6 drained and served in the Poulette relish Relish —
No. 5.

Shoulder of Mutton a joint about which there

is

would be less controversy if people knew how to carve it.

Always at the butchers’ ranked as a second-class joint,
many people will have nothing to say to it while others, ;

again, declare that it is the Cinderella of meat —a beauty

misunderstood and fit for princes. In nine cases out of
ten, when mine host carves this joint he takes the inferior
slices and sends down the best to be enjoyed by his ser-
vants. He helps himself from the bend of the joint, where
he can cut easiest, and he sends away the bladebone,
where the most perfect morsels lie. Many cookery books
give elaborate directions how
but not one pointsto carve ;

out that the best of the shoulder of mutton is to be found

on the upper surface of the bladebone, against the ridge,
and that after that the under part of the blade is richest in
dainty morsels.
The shoulder of mutton is usually roasted, but being fiat
and comparatively thin, is easily grilled; and a carbonade
of it, or to speak more strictly, of its blade, has for cen-
turies been a celebrated dish.But let no one be deceived
by hrench receipts. Let the reader go back to the word
carbonade, and understand what it really means. It is a
broil which has been first slashed and scored, as in devilled

meats, in order to be penetrated by pepper, salt, and other

condiments —but above
by the taste of the fire.
all This
we can understand. In this sense the bladebone of mutton
makes an admirable carbonade. But the French cooks
have determined, for the glory of the Prince of Soubise,
that in their sense a carbonade of mutton shall mean a
bladebone planted or larded all over with fat bacon and
426 Shrimp Sauce

then stewed or brazed with a goodly faggot of vegetables.

Let Mossoo have this if he likes; but John Bull, having
easy access to the Southdowns, where the wethers grow
fragrant on banks of thyme and trefoil, is apt to turn
almost an Israelite when he hears of a proposal to dibble
his shoulders ofmutton with splinters of bacon. The car-
bonade of mutton is sometimes called the Cavalier’s broil;
and sometimes also it is parboiled before being scored,
peppered, and sent to the grill. Whether roasted or car-
bonaded, the favourite garniture for shoulder of mutton
—
has long been stewed onions whole, or sliced, or mashed.
For whole onions choose Spanish; for a mash take the
Soubise or the Breton receipt.

Shrimp Sauce. — Make some English sauce, using for

water the liquor in which the shrimps have boiled. Then
throw in the shrimps without stint. It is not uncommon
to add essence of anchovies ;
but this overpowers the
delicate shrimp flavour.

Sirloin. —-There are sceptics who deny the story of

King Harry the Eighth having knighted this magnificent

joint; and it is true that originally it was surloin in —
French surlonge. But it was not kings alone who in the
olden time had the right of dubbing knights the general :

of an army could bestow the honour. The general of a

feast has in like manner the right of bestowing titles of

honour upon his chief dishes and the sirloin, which is
;

renowned over the world as the grand type of the Roast

Beef of Old England, may well be left with the title which
has been accorded to it for ages by many generals of many
feasts.

Skate. —To do him honour at table, there should be

music with the skate, for he loves it. One way of catch-

ing him used to be by playing on a fiddle. His love of

melody was such that he came to the boat and was cn-
 —

Smelts 42 7

snared. It is well, therefore, to honour him with pleasant

music when he is devoured. He comes in two distinct
tribes to the English market — thornbacks and tinkers the —
former much the better. He is generally sold at the fish-
monger’s crimped— that is, cut in strips and rolled round.

He is eaten in England plain boiled, with ordinary butter

sauce, to which mustard is sometimes added, or else capers
;

in Prance with black butter. And he ought always to be

served with some of his liver, which, if this organ be the
seat of the affections in fish, cannot but be good in the
skate the most affectionate fish in the world, a good
father, a good mother, and fond of family life.
Poi triumphant occasions, take the following receipt:
Boil the skate with a tumblerful of milk, a little
butter,
two pinches of flour, two cloves, two shalots, a bayleaf,
thyme, salt, and pepper. Take him out or this, and
strain the liquor. Put him next into a pie-dish, the
bottom which has been covered with grated Gruy^re
of
cheese. Intermix cunningly a dozen little onions, which
have been already cooked. Surround the dish with fried
crusts. Ihen pour upon the skate the strained sauce in
which he has been cooked; cover him with more
grated
cheese, and send him to the oven till he takes a fine
colour,
and rejoice over him. Improve the occasion, too, by
meditating on the domesticity of the thornback, and
the
goodness which has been the result of it.

Smelts French eperlans,

(in in Scotch spellings).
The most delicate and spirituel of all the fish that come to
our tables. Brillat-Savarin has named it the becafico of
the sea, as the turbot is the pheasant, and the red mullet
the woodcock. Happily we have not to enjoy the smelts,
as we do the becafico, by deputy. It is best to fry them
lightly in suet, dipping them first in then in beaten
flour,
egg, lastly in fine breadcrumbs. Serve them on a napkin,
with a garnishing of fried parsley, the bitter
of which is
 —

428 Snipe

in pleasant contrast with this little exquisite of the

ocean.
For a change, bake them as follows Pour some clari- : —
fied butter into the dish in which they are to be served ;

also a glass of white wine, a few drops of anchovy

sauce, and the juice of half a lemon. Arrange them
prettily in the dish sprinkle
;
them with salt, mace, and
cayenne cover them with fine breadcrumbs and moisten
; ;

the whole with more clarified butter. Put the dish into the
oven, and in ten or fifteen minutes it ought to be ready—
the crumbs light brown.
Everybody knows that smelts, ought to smell
if fresh,
like cucumber. I do not so well understand what Beau-

villiers means by saying that they smell like cucumbers or

violets. They are in season from October till May.

Snipe. —The French call it becassine —a little woodcock;

whereas the English would be rather disposed to call the

woodcock a large snipe. The generic name in England is

snipe; but the honours bestowed upon the family at our

tables are described in connection with the head of the
family — the woodcock ;
of whom
French writer observes
a :

“On venere tellement ce precieux oiseau qu’on lui rend

les memes honneurs qu’au Grand Llama. C’ent dire assez
que les non-seulement precieusement re-
dejections sont
cueillies sur des roties mouillees d’un bon jus de citron,

mais mangees avec respect par les fervents amateurs.”

Snowdon Pudding. It would not be surprising if a

great controversy should arise about this pudding, perilous

is a Welsh
to the peace of England and Wales. It

pudding with a Welsh name, which has been altered and

-

consecrated into the Albert pudding. 1 lie W elsh harpei s

are certain one day in their Eistedfodds to make a noise

about this tyrannous forgetfulness of their nationality.

Truth, however, must prevail, though the world and all

the Welsh hills should come to an end; and the
truth
 Sole 429
is, that a bad Albert pudding-, or one made with common
materials, will make a good Snowdon pudding.

Sole is certainly the most useful of all the fish that

visit us in London- — not only being delicate in flavour and
easily digested, but being also of convenient size large or —
small, as one could wish; being found in plenty; cheap
enough; in season all the year; and keeping sweet longer
than any of the finny tribe. He is boiled, baked, and
fried, but seldom stewed; and there is yet another mode
of making his acquaintance —namely, on the gridiron —
which is almost peculiar to England.

Broiled Sole —
1 he broiled sole of
.
England is worthy
of not less fame than the beef-steak and the mutton-chop.
It isnot often seen at dinner, but it is the favourite at the
breakfast-table and it is in its way among the varieties
;

of fish as perfect as a mutton-chop among the varieties of

flesh. Grill it in the simplest fashionsprinkle it with
;

pepper and salt ;

and serve it with a pat of fresh butter
rubbed over it.

Boiled Sole. Plain and water.

boiled Many
in salt
people like it, —mostly
women. Small soles or slips are
served in waterzootje at Greenwich, but not with very
brilliant success.

Sole au I in Blanc .
— Sole boiled in white wine, and served
with white wine sauce. Put the sole, carefully trimmed,
into a fiat fishpan of its own size. Surround it with slices
of a small onion, a faggot of sweet-herbs, a clove, four
peppercorns, and a Put upon it a piece of
little salt.
butter the size of a walnut, pour in white
French wine
enough to cover it, and closing the lid of the pan, set
it to
boil for ten or fifteen minutes, according to the size of the
sole. When
done put the sole on a dish, and keep it hot
for a moment while the sauce is
prepared from its liquor.
This is done by removing from it the
onion slices and
430 Sole

the faggot ;
by shaking into it, on the angle of the stove,
some yolk of egg, till it slightly thickens ;
lastly, by
straining it over the fish. Care must be taken not to use
too much egg. For a small sole half a yolk ought to be
enough.

Sole a la Normande (the Normandy matelote). —The

following' receipt, with the alteration of a word or two, is

borrowed from Gouffe, who says that he had it direct from

Langlais, the chef of the Rocher de Cancale, who invented
it. Butter a silver dish stew it with onions chopped
;

fine and previously blanched season the sole with pepper ;

and salt; put it on the dish; cover it with white French

wine, and cook it in the oven. In the meantime prepare
some mussels, oysters, mushrooms, fried smelts, and crusts
for garnish. Add the liquor of the sole and that of the
mussels to some mock Velvet-down, reduce it, and thicken
it with yolk of egg. Place the mussels, oysters, and mush-
rooms on the sole ;
pour over all some sauce ;
return
the dish to the oven for five minutes, being careful not to
brown the sauce, which should be of a richcream colour;
garnish the top with the fried smelts and the crusts and ;

serve the remaining sauce in a boat.

Baked Sole ( Sale au Gratin ). — Some people speak of the

Normandy matelote as being baked because it is done in the

oven ;
but an oven, like a fire, will boil as well as roast,

and the Normandy sole has no sign of baking or roasting

upon it. It is different with the sole au gratin. Take a
silver dish, or any other which will stand the heat of the
oven. Make a cut down each side of the backbone of the
sole ;
with salt and pepper put it into the dish
season it ;

with a lump of butter in the furrows and stew all about ;

the fish two teaspoonfuls of mushrooms, one of parsley,

and one of shalot. Moisten this with a glass of white

French wine; powder all well with bread-raspings, and
put it in the oven for fifteen or twenty minutes, to cook
 A

Sorrel 43i
and to take colour. The colour may afterwards be helped
out with the salamander. Fillets of sole may be done in
the same way.
Fried Sole. i he trench way has always
been to steep
the sole in milk for a few minutes, to
Hour it well, and
then to put it in the frying-kettle. But nobody ever uses
this method in Engdand; and even in France, when the
fish is wanted at its best, the Sole frite a l’Angdaise carries
the day. must be perfectly dry to begun with, and is
It

sometimes very lightly dredged with flour in order

to make
the breadcrumbs which are to follow
adhere the better.
After the Hour it is brushed with egg,
then laid on the
finest bread-crumbs, first one side then the other, then
passed into the frying-kettle for from six to
ten minutes.
Finally, sprinkle it with salt
and' serve it with half a
lemon and parsley fried crisp. As a rule cooks
do not
make the parsley crisp enough to be eaten with pleasure—
which is a great mistake, because delicate bitter
its goes
admirably with fried fish.

Colbert's Sole .
—This is the grand French way of frying
a sole, and is described under the name of Colbert.
Cried Fillets of Sole —
-These are done as a whole sole
.

would be, but the best are known

under the following
name :
—
Fillets of Sole a la Horly.—They are described among
the Horlys, and arc sent to table with fried parsley and
tomato sauce.

Sorbet ok Rum.— lemon ice with a

teaspoon ful or
two of rum to the glass. Served at dinner sometimes —
before, sometimes after the roast.

Sorrel.—The French eat a great deal of sorrel, not

merely because pleasant to the taste, but because they
it is

think it must be good for the health. More than any

other
people in Europe, they have preserved among them the
432 Sorrel

ancient habit of looking to the medicinal value of their

food. Most of us eat nowadays to satisfy hunger, or to
whereas our fathers saw a medical virtue
tickle the palate,
in every beast of the field and in every herb that grows.
The French keep up this old-world style, and have books
which tell them the healing properties and the digestive
capabilities of every morsel which enters their mouths.
They are a healthy people; but one would imagine them
to be sickly from the way they cherish a potage de sante,
and study the effects of dishes on every organ of their
frames. They have a grand idea that the best way to

secure health is to stimulate the alimentary system into

violent action. This is a little too suggestive of the African
tribesmentioned by Sir Samuel Baker, who believed in
Holloway’s Pills because of their rapid and irrepressible
results but it is interesting to see the similarity of human
culture— the
;

nature at opposite poles of savage and the

civilised. In the old herbal system, and in the French
practice of the present day, sorrel is much prized for its

cooling and cleansing virtues. It may be excellent in this

way but the medical botanists of our day point out that
;

—
the acid of sorrel oxalic acid
—
is a poison, and that too

Majendie
much sorrel cannot be eaten with impunity.
oxalic
has pointed out that the frequent consumption of
danger-
plants by persons disposed to calculous diseases
is

mulberry or oxalate of
ous, as they tend to produce the
of all the
lime calculus, which is not only the most painful
the most
stones found in the human bladder, but also
insidious— not giving the usual signs of alarm beforehand.
Pereira has with great caution confirmed this
only saying —
circumstances,
that the use of sorrel may, under some
This is no
dispose to the formation of mulberry calculi.
quantities,
reason why sorrel should be forbidden. In small
harmless, and
as a last flavouring to soups and sauces, it is
more form of woodsorrel.
delicate But
especially in the
as a dish by itself; taking a whole
the French will eat it
 ;

Soubise 433
peck ot the leaves to makego with a fricandeau
a puree to
of veal or with poached eggs. We all like some acid to
go with our veal, and sorrel is a favourite accompaniment
ol cei tain fish;but after all there is no acid comparable to
lemon-juice lor delicacy of flavour and for wholesomeness.
Let us reserve sorrel for Bonne Femme soup and woodsorrel
for Julienne.

Soubise. The Prince of Soubise is immortal in a

renown that has spread round the world because he had
a great cook, Bertrand, who gave the name of his master
to one of his sauces. he Prince was meritorious, for he
I

put infinite faith Bertrand. in On one occasion he pro-

posed a supper, and requested Bertrand to prepare a bill.
There was one little item in the bill of fifty hams. “What
is this? ” said the Prince. “ You must be mad, Bertrand.
Are you going to feast all my regiment? ” “ No, Mon-
seigneur,’’ said the chef —
“only one ham will appear at
table, but the rest are required for my sauces and gar-
nitures.’’ “Bertrand, you are robbing me,” cried the
Prince; I cannot allow this.” “ Monseigneur,” said the
artist, “you do not understand our resources;
quietly,
I you choose, put all the fifty hams which astonish
will, if

you so much into a glass vial no bigger than my thumb.”

The Prince withdrew his objection he had faith in genius
:

and that genius has immortalised him in the Soubise sauce.

Most persons will read this story, and enjoy it as a piece
of pleasantry. They are wrong. Bertrand, I have little
doubt, was perfectly serious. He lived at a period when
Spanish fashions, and with them the Spanish ham, were in
high favour. This ham has a fine smoky perfume, which
is not to be found in the half-smoked French ham. The
cooks then were trying to produce a Spanish sauce with
the flavour of the Spanish ham. It would probably
require French hams to produce the result of one
ten
Spanish one; and a chemist in our own day could, out of

28
434 Sonbise

a log of pinewood, provide us with a small vial of odorous

-

pyroligneous essence which a cook in the time of Louis

XIV. could not obtain without the decoction of fifty hams.
A cook is after all a chemist, and in those days the chemis-
try of the kitchen was very cumbrous and expensive.
The Soubise sauce intended for mutton will be found
below ;
but it may be doubted whether one Englishman
in a million who enjoys his mutton cutlet a la Soubise
dreams of what it ought to be as imagined by the
great chef Bertrand, and as accepted by the Prince of
Soubise. It has already been said that Bertrand was
an enthusiastic believer in ham and bacon. The chief
article of his worship was fumigated pig, and his notion
of mutton was that it should always be intersected
with bacon. Take a neck of mutton, trim it, parboil it,

cut it into them well with plugs of

thick cutlets, lard
bacon, broil them, and serve them with a white pur^e of
onions. Ditto for the shoulder of mutton. Englishmen
are of course scandalised at the idea of larding good
mutton ;
and accordingly they discard everything from
Bertrand’s receipt but the Soubise sauce. They are quite

right ;
but at the same time it is not difficult to guess at
the explanation of Bertrand’s proceedings. They probably
grew out carbonade of mutton is
of the carbonade. A
cold underdone mutton, scored and slashed and sent to
the grill. Bertrand had to do a carbonade one day, and
felt that the mutton already cooked would be dried up on

the grill. He tried to prevent this by interlacing it with

bacon and the result of the broil was so satisfactory to
;

him and to his master that henceforth he took to parboiling'

his mutton for the express purpose of larding' it first and
then carbonading it.

Soubise Sauce.- — Peel, blanch, and mince an abundance

of onions. Simmer them gently in white broth till they
are done. Then add some Bdchamel, or in default of
 Soup 435
Bechamel a tumbler of cream with two spoonfuls of Hour
and two pinches of sugar. Reduce this quickly, but
always taking care that it does not catch the pan and
lose colour. Pass it through the tammy and finish it
with fresh butter. See that it comes out decidedly
thick.

Soup. —There has been a good deal of needless con-

troversy about soup —
some people finding in it a dinner
and some refusing it as a weak wash fit only for
of itself,
babes and invalids. Grimod de la Reyni£re said that soup
is to dinner what a portico is to a palace, or an overture to
an opera; it is not only the commencement of the feast,
but should give an idea of what is to follow. On the other
hand, the Marquis de Cussy described soup as the preface
of dinner, and said that a good work can do without a
preface. Careme, on his death-bed, groaned over this
heresy and among his last words he said, “ Why should
:

the Marquis de Cussy wage war on soup? I cannot under-

stand a dinner without it. I hold soup to be the well-

beloved of the stomach.” What the Marquis de Cussy
contended for was little more than this : that it is folly to
load the stomach at the beginning of a long banquet with
—
an elaborate essence let the soup be light in quality, and
let a few spoonfuls suffice. People often sit down to a
late dinner faint and those who have observed
and irritable ;

how quickly a little liquid nourishment acts as a restora-

tive will never consent to dispense with soup as the best of
all preliminaries at dinner. It is quite true, however, that
to servesuch a purpose we do not require much weight of
matter; and the plain rule to follow is For a great dinner :

the soups should be as light as possible just enough to —

give a fillip;for a little dinner, with one or two dishes,
they may be as rich and satisfying as you please. De
Cussy is quite in accord here with Thomas Walker (of
the Original), who maintained that if he gave turtle soup
436 Soup

to his guests they would want little else- —whitebait and

a grouse.
It has been reckoned that there are about five hundred
kinds of soup ;
but this number is reached by giving the
dignity of a separate receipt to every little variation. Thus
there are a dozen sorts of Italian paste — vermicelli, maca-
roni, nouilles, lasagnes, and the rest. Each of these put
into a clear gravy gives rise to a different soup. If we
put into the very same fluid sago or tapioca, bread or rice
or barley, a puree of potatoes or peas, carrots or turnips,
tomatos or Jerusalem artichokes —we are supposed in-

stantly to create a new soup. It would be a waste of

time to attempt to enumerate all the possible combinations
of solids and liquids that may be called soup. The solids

are innumerable : the liquids are reducible to six —water,

milk, wine, and the juices of beef, veal, and fowl. The
cook finds the first three of these made to his hand ;
and
his chief business as a soupmaker is to produce the most
nutritive and tasteful broths from the viands furnished by
the ox, by his nephew the calf, and by poultry. He has
also other animals at command — such as mutton, game and
fish but his grand resources for the stockpot are beef,
;

veal, and fowl. From these he produces four different

—
broths two simple and two double which are the founda- —
tions of nearly all the soups that can be imagined: 1.

Beef broth or bouillon; Double broth or consommd; 3.

2.

veal stock or gravy (in French blonde de veau another —

double broth); and 4. Fowl broth which is simple.
This looks plain enough, and so it is; but the reader
who will compare the cookery books will soon find himself

lost in aconfusion of receipts with a puzzling variety of

names for the foundation-broths or gravies. It is because

cookery, though a science, is not and cannot be an exact

science while at the same time the professors of cookery
;

propound their receipts as if it were exact. They give

a receipt with so much particularity that they have to
 Soup 437
give another and another to cover a different set
of par-
ticulars not included in the first. I might quote receipts

furnished by the great masters —

Beauvilliers, Careme,
Dubois, Gouffe from which a logician could easily
prove,
setting one against another, that there is
no distinction
between beef broth and consomme, broth and double broth
;

and even that veal stock and fowl broth are in

substance
(though not in process of cooking) the same thing. Take
Gouffe, for example, who is the greatest living authority,
and rarely makes a mistake. According to him the animal
ingredients of the best veal stock are
4 lbs. of veal, 2 lbs.
:

of grav^ beet, 2 hens, and

5J4 quarts of beef broth, which
ought to represent 7 or 8 lbs. of beef; and those of
the
best fowl broth are 6 lbs. of veal, 2 hens, and
5 quarts of
similar beef broth. Compare the two. There is more
veal the fowl broth than in the veal stock; and
in
the
name of veal is given to that which contains least of it for
this only reason that before it is set to simmer in the five
quarts of beef broth, it is reduced to a glaze with
first
an extra pint of that broth. Further, taking liquid and
solid together, there is in the veal stock more of beef than
anything else — not farfrom ten pounds; and in the fowl
broth it is the same, though in less degree.
1 here is a remarkable difference
of opinion as to the
quantity of cold water to be added to beef and
beef-bone
in ordei to make broth or bouillon.
A pound of water is
exactly a and whereas some authorities (Liebig,
pint;
Dubois and Bernard the latest) declare that a good
broth
tequires equal quantities of solid and liquid
a pound of —
the one to a pint of the other —
the most recent authority of
all, and a very great one too
(Jules Gouffe), recommends in
one receipt 2^ pints, in another 3^-, in a third no less than
or pounds of water to the pound of beef.
4, pints Here is
an immense range; and between these extremes
there is
endless variety of opinion. The difference is incalculable
between a broth made by adding a pint of water, and
-

one
43 ^ Soup

made by adding four pints, to every pound of beef. And

observe that the difference goes further than the simple
broth of bouillon it affects the character of the double or
;

consumed broth which ensues. The first point of distinc-

tionbetween broth and double broth is in strength simply
—the liquid used for the first being cold water, the liquid
used for the second being the resultant broth of the first.
But it can easily be understood that simple broth or
bouillon made from equal quantities of beef and water
is stronger and better than double broth or consomme
which has been made from bouillon that has been diluted
with four times its weight of water. shows the
All this

danger of being over precise. A good deal must be left

to the judgment of the cook, who has to take into account
the result which he or she desires to obtain. A middle
rule was laid down by the French chemist Parmentier in

the last century let the water be double the meat

:
a —
quart for every pound. This is the ordinary practice of

French kitchens. If the bouillon is wanted very light,

redouble the water; if strong, reduce it.

and one not less important. 1 he dif-

Another detail,

ference between bouillon and consomme, broth and double

broth, is not merely in strength — it is also in character.

The bouillon is a beef broth ;

the consomme is a beef

broth which has been doubled with veal and fowl— the
flavour.
former to give it gelatine, the latter to give it

But read the receipts for making up the stockpot or

broth or bouillon. In all
pot-au-feu, and for producing its

of them it is stated that while beef is the essential con-

sideration,we are free to add to itwhatever else we have

at command; veal, calves’ feet, the remains of fowl, a

trussed fowl if a leg of mutton,

we want one for table,
even a
any trimmings of meat, pigskin, a ham-bone, or
whole ham if that should be in the way and some
of the ;

that the
great cooks (like Dubois and Bernard) insist
grand bouillon, to be properly made, must never be com-
 439
posed of beef alone it must be composed of beef, veal,
:

and fowl, the constituents of consomme, in the proportion

of 6 lbs. of beef to 2 of veal and 1 of fowl. Now see what
this means.
If Gouffe, though he heartily approves of any good
addition to the stockpot, allows you to make bouillon of
beef and beef-bone alone, concocted in four times its weight
of water; if his consomme is made by another concoction
of the broth thus obtained with a trio of beef, veal and
fowl; and on the other hand, Dubois and Bernard insist
if,

that bouillon the first instance to be made from a trio

is in

of beef, veal and iowl dissolved in no more than their own

—
weight of water indeed, rather less ;*• all this surely —
means that the first broth of Dubois and Bernard ought to
be as good as the second or double broth of Gouffe, and is
obtained by a much simpler process. The consomme or
double broth, as distinguished from plain broth or bouillon,
may thus be nothing but a grand name, meaning no more
than the celebrated phrase of Mr. Squeers “ Here’s rich- ’
—
ness, boys ” The simple bouillon of one kitchen is often
!

richer and better than the most elaborate soup of another.

It is a curious proof of the folly of laying down tight
French books one stumbles upon
rules, that often in the
the statement— “ Notez qu’on ne peut esperer faire un bon
bouillon que dans une marmite de terre ” and English ;

housewives will account for their bad soup by saying, “We

cannot have the pot-au-feu as in France because our pots
are metal.” The one advantage a great one, no doubt —
— of the French earthen pot is, that earthenware is a bad
—
conductor of heat slow to heat and slow to lose heat. The

* As it tnay seem extravagant to prescribe rather less than

pound for pound, it is right to give
their exact quantities for
bouillon. “ Proportions approximatives 14 kil. de boeuf, 5 kil. de
:

veau, 2 poules ou l’^quivalent de parures, 30 litres d’eau." This,

reduced to English measure, means as nearly as possible 46 lbs. of
meat to 43 lbs. or pints of water.
44 ° Soup

secret of making soup is to begin with cold water, to bring

it slowly to the boiling-point, a mere ripple on the surface,
to let it simmer gently and continuously for hours —never
boiling up and never ceasing to simmer. On these three
points — the gradual production of the heat, the moderation
of the boiling, and keeping it up to the end —the flavour
of the clarification of the broth largely depend ;
and it is

easy to manage this in an earthen vessel. But it is just as

possible with an iron or copper stockpot. It may not be
so easy upon an open fire, but there is no difficulty what-
ever on the closed ranges which are now so common. We
can regulate the heat perfectly by choosing any position for
the stockpot, from the corner of the stove to the centre.
There is another needless direction. Soup should never
be greasy. Every particle of fat should be removed. It

is tedious to do so, however, by the ordinary process of

skimming and so we are sometimes advised to make the
;

broth beforehand, and to make a supply for two days.

When the broth cools the fat will cake to the surface, and
may then be easily removed. The advice is good up to a
certain point. It saves labour to make a good supply of
broth at a time : two days, even in hot
it loses nothing in
weather, if kept in clean fresh vessels. But there is a
simple mechanical contrivance to get rid of grease which
ought for ever henceforth to render the little eyes which
appear on the surface of soup an impossibility. All the
fat rises to the top of the stockpot ;
if there is a tap at
the bottom of it the broth will flow out without a particle of
grease.
Common sense will tell the cook to beware of salt.
It is well to put it into the stockpot from the beginning,
because it make the scum rise but what is barely
helps to ;

enough for a full stockpot may be a great deal too much

when the liquid boils down to half. The liquid flies off in
steam, but the salt remains.
The advantage of sugar is not so well known. It is
 Soup 441
as much for the saccharine matter which they contain as
for anything- else that onions, carrots, and turnips are so
necessary to the stockpot. A little pinch of sug-ar at
table is oftenwonderful improvement to a tasteless
a
soup. But a soup too sweet is sickly and the cook must ;

be very careful in applying- it to the stockpot. She must

take into account not only the sweetness of the vegetables
in the pot, but also the sweetness of the
caramel with
which she probably have to give the finishing touch of
will
colour to the soup before sending it to table.

1. Beef Broth, Bouillon, or Stock Bone the beef first .

—
and what other meat is to be used along with it. Beef
alone is enough, but almost any other meat may be added,
or trimmings or remains. Put the bones in first, then the
meat, then twice as much water as bone and meat com-
bined— a quart a pound.
to Add a little salt, bring it
slowly to the boiling-point, and skim it. When skimmed
enough, add the vegetables —carrots,
turnips, parsnips,
celery, onions, leeks, a faggot of parsley, two or three
cloves, twice as many peppercorns, and a scrape
or two of
nutmeg. After simmering for five hours, it ought to be
ready. Strain it, clear away the fat, adjust the salt, colour
it if need be with caramel, and with the addition of toasted
sippets it is quite fit for table. Without the final salt, the
caramel and the sippets, it can be put aside as stock for
the preparation of other soups and for sauces.
2. Double Broth or Consomme The receipt for this .
—
depends a good deal on what beef broth the first consists of.
It may have been made with much or with
little water; it
may be composed of beef alone, or of a little beef heightened
with veal, fowl, mutton, ham, and all that is meant
by “pot
luck.’’ The great thing now is to produce a good stock,
strong with beef; smooth and gelatinous with
veal, with
calves’ feet, or with pigskin; and perfumed
with fowl or
wdd rabbits. It is impossible to state the exact propor-
442 Soup

tions, and chiefly because broth No. i is uncertain — it is

“pot luck.” Some cooks add no beef whatever, calcu-

lating- thatwhen the bouillon or beef broth which liquefies
the consomme is further reduced by five hours’ boiling,
there is quite enough beef in it already. If the first

beef broth has a good supply of beef in it, they are

quite right in adding none to the second. Assuming that
when boiled down it will be sufficiently strong in beef,
the next object is to make it smooth upon the tongue and
sapid. To this end add a knuckle of veal and a fowl, from
which the fillets have been removed. Instead of the veal
calf’s feet will do, or some pigskin —both rich in gelatine,
and giving the broth a velvety smoothness. Instead of
the fowl a wild rabbit will suffice. Pour on this meat

double the quantity of broth — that is, a quart for every

pound. Bring it gradually to the boiling-point, and skim
it. When the skimming is at an end, the usual order is

to garnish it with carrots, onions, leeks, and a little mace;

but this is because cooks so seldom know when they have
enough of a good thing; they forget that the broth which
goes into the pot is already charged with vegetables. Let
the whole simmer for five hours, at the end of which time
strain it, keep clear of the fat, look to the salt and the
caramel and there ought to be a fine soup ready for use.
;

Some of the French cooks recommend that the veal, but

more especially the fowl used as above, shall first be
roasted, baked or brazed —partly for the sake of the

colour so produced, partly for the flavour which it de-

velopes. This is too troublesome for every day, but it is

worth while to take the trouble on special occasions.

Veal Stock, or Blonde de lean
3. This is, although .
—
not so called, another consomme or double broth, but pre-
pared in a peculiar way. Butter a deep stewpan, and line
the bottom of it half an inch thick with slices of onion.
Upon this put a slice of ham, quite free from
cushion
fat, and a knuckle of veal which has been boned; put in
 Soup 443
also the bone, with any fresh trimmings of poultry, or a
whole fowl if there is one, and with nearly a pint of broth.
Put it on the stove fire, and boil it briskly until it is well
reduced. Then prick the veal with a sharp knife, to let the
juices flow out, and turning it frequently to prevent burn-
ing, boil it slowly, very slowly, till the glaze darkens to a
deep red. Next fill up the pan (a pint for a pound) with
boiling beef broth (No. i), or simply with boiling water if

it is not wanted very strong, and let the pan remain off
the fire for a few minutes, to detach and melt the glaze.
Put it on the fire again, boil it, skim it — and if the pot has
been filled with water, not with broth, garnish it with
carrots, turnips, celery, a faggot of parsley, some pepper-
corns, a blade of mace, and perhaps a pinch of sugar. It
should simmer on the angle of the stove for three or four
hours; and when strained through a napkin and clarified,
it should have a rich amber tint, as it is much used for
colouring the clear soups and for finishing sauces.
4.Fowl Broth —
This broth, as now ordered to be made
.

by some of the greatest authorities, differs in no essential

from ordinary consomme or double broth. Consomm^ is,
according to them, made of beef, veal, and fowl boiled in
beef broth consomme of fowl is made of fowl, veal and
;

beef boiled in broth and we have already seen that blonde

;

de veau is composed of the same materials veal, fowl and —

beef boiled in broth. This is mere thimble-rigging. The
fact is, that there is no such broth as consomme of fowl
distinct from ordinary consomme. A little more or a little
less fowl cannot constitute a difference of kind and the
;

difference of name only perplexes cooks, who, if they work

out a consommd in the proper way, are fairly entitled to
some freedom in the choice of quantities. It is a farce to

suppose that the addition of a second fowl to a consomme

alters its character, and entitles it to a new name; for the
name of consomme has a special meaning, which does not
apply to the following receipts.
 —

444 Soup

Let one or more fowls be half-roasted before a brisk

fire. Then put them in the pot with a pint or a pint and
a half of water for every pound. When the pot boils,
skim it, add vegetables and seasoning — carrot, onion, leek,
celery, turnip, clove, salt, pepper — and let it simmer for
three hours, at the end of which time strain the broth
through a napkin, and remove the fat.

White Fowl Broth, for use in white soups and sauces, is

made in the same way, but without the roasting.

The following is an alphabetical list of the soups

described in this volume :

Asparagus. Haricot Red.

Barley broth. Haricot White.
Barley cream. Hotch Potch
Bisque. Julienne.
Blonde de Veau. Leek.
Bonne Femme. Leek and potato.
Bouillabaisse. Lentil.
Broth. Macaroni.
Brunoise. Mutton.
Cabbage. Palestine.
Carrot. Paysanne.
Celery. Pea.
Chantilly. Potato.
Chestnut. Pot-au-feu.
Chicken. Pumpkin.
Queen’s Chicken. Restaurant.
Chiffonnade. St. Germain.
Cock-a-leekie Scotch Broth.
Colbert. Sheep's head.
CondtL Soup in general.
Consommth Spring.
Crayfish. Stock.
Crck'y. Tomato.
Cresses. Turtle.
Croftte-au-pot. Mock Turtle.
Esau's. Veal.
Fish broth. Vegetable Marrow.
Girasol. Vermicelli.
Hare.
 Spanish Sauce 445

Soy —a sort of ketchup made from theSoy bean ( Sojn

hispida), a native of China, Japan, and the Moluccas.
We. have got a way of calling it Indian Soy, because it
comes to us from India; but all the best is made in Japan
and China by a process which is perfectly well understood.
It is not quite clear, however, why, since we might import

though we cannot grow the Soy bean, which is like a

kidney bean, we cannot reproduce the sauce for ourselves;
and this mystery has led to a widespread superstition that
the Soy must be made from some of the horrors with which
the Chinese at least are known to indulge their appetites.
The bean suggests and there are numbers
a black beetle ;

of people who seriously believe that from black beetles the

Soy is made. Another point is not clear. From every
account of the process of making Soy we should expect a
sauce as salt as Anchovy sauce. It is said to be used like
salt at Oriental tables. But the Soy with which we are
familiar in Europe is not only as black as treacle, but also
as sweet.

Spanish Sauce has for more than a century been the

chief sauce in Europe. The name is rather absurd, and
now means no more than Brown Sauce of the finest quality.
For centuries there were Spanish sauces of one kind or
another adopted in was a new thing for the
France, but it

French in the last century to give the name of the Spaniard

to their most elaborate gravy. The great cooking authority
in the middle of last century, when Louis XV. reigned
in all his glory, was Menon and his books clearly show
;

what the sauce was intended to be. Its grand peculiarity

was to have a double supply of ham, which predominated
over every other ingredient. These were days when it
was supposed that no sauce could be made good without
ham. In Menon ’s receipts for family use nearly all the
sauces have for their foundation one slice of ham and one
slice of veal boiled down in beef broth. The Spanish sauce
446 Spinach

had two slices of ham

and grew into such favour that it
;

seemed to eclipse all the other brown sauces, and to be

worthy of the most lavish adornment. In later days, when
this system of adornment was at its height, one of the

receipts forit already quoted begins with the direction,

“ Take twelve ducks, a ham, two bottles of old Madeira,
and six pounds of While the ham was the
fine truffles.”

chief thing in the sauce, there was a reason for calling it

Spanish, which will be found in the general article on
Sauces. But gradually the influence of the ham has been
diminishing. The share of it allowed to Spanish sauce is
allowed to other sauces, and the quantity has been so much
reduced in proportion to beef and veal, that it is doubtful
whether it has any effect worth aiming at. .Spanish sauce
has no longer a Spanish characteristic brown- —save its

ness and at last a great cook (Gouffe) has been bold enough
;

to strike the ham wholly out of the sauce, which is in his

receipt but a good gravy of beef and veal finished with roux.
Follow the receipt (pp. 225, 226) for making beef or
veal gravy, but use beef and veal together in the pro-
portion of one to three, and moisten them with broth
instead of water, in both the small quantity required for
producing the glaze in the first part of the process, and
the larger quantity for simmering in the second. When
the juice is fairly extracted from the meat, it is to be

strained; it is to be thickened with roux; it is to be raised

to boiling point and reduced to a by simmering on

cullis

the angle of the stove ;

it is to be skimmed well and freed
from grease and ;
it is last of all to be strained again

through a tammy.

Spinach requires to be well washed and picked. If

young and tender, it requires but little water to boil it

little more than the moisture which adheres to it after

washing. If ripe and strong' of leaf, more water is needed

—but still not much. The water should be boiling, some
 Spitchcock 447

salt should be added, and in ten minutes for young-, fifteen

for full-grown spinach, it is cooked enough. After this the
spinach is drained in a colander, and the water squeezed
out. It is then either chopped finely, or — the better to get
rid of stalks and fibres —passed through a sieve ;
it is put
upon the fire with butter, pepper, salt again, and some
nutmeg ;
when it has absorbed the butter, it is dredged
with flour; it is stirred for a little on the fire to cook the
flour, and then at the last moment there is another piece
of butter melted into it to give it the finishing touch.
This is what the French regard as the English way of
preparing spinach, and they call it Epinards h. l’Anglaise.

Spinach with Gravy (Epinards au jus.)- — This is what

the French regard as peculiarly their own method. It is
the same as the foregoing, only that when dredged with
flour it is at the same time moistened with some good gravy.

Garnish with fried crusts.

Spinach with Cream —what paper-makers might call

cream-laid. Use cream, or very good milk, instead of the
gravy of the last receipt : otherwise there is no difference.
Spinach and Potatoes make a good combination. Take
a pound of each and make a puree of them, half and half,
mix them thoroughly, season them with salt, pepper and
nutmeg, add according to taste either gravy or cream,
and finish them with three or four ounces of fresh butter.
There is in this case to be no flour, the place of which is
more than supplied by the potatoes.

Spitchcock —sometimes Spatchcock. The former is a

name given to a broiled eel, the latter to a broiled chicken ;

but it is ludicrous to see how the dictionary-makers flounder

over the etymology. The first word comes from spit and
cock, they say, or else from spit and cook the second comes
—a
;

from despatch and cock quick way of despatching a

cock ! The first syllable is in both words at root the same
448 Sprats

—namely, spit—which survives with a diversity of meaning

in spud, and spade, and so accounts for the alteration of
vowel. In Somersetshire to spit is to dig — to use the
spade and in Northamptonshire a spitch is a spadeful.
;

But what is the last syllable? Anybody will find it out

who considers the meaning of the word. A spitchcock or
a spatchcock is something —be it eel or chicken — spread
out upon small spits or skewers, as kidneys are en brochette,
for the purpose of being broiled. In modern, though not
classical English, we should say that they are spitted.
Our ancestors, however, had not this past participle; for
having the verb to spit in another sense, they had not yet
invented the culinary verb to spit. They fell back upon
a circumlocution which still survives in the Dutch idiom.
To spit or put on a spit is Dutch
in a an een spit steken;
and spitted is spit gesteken. The old English parallel
must have been to stick on a spit, and to be spitstucken
or spitstocken. In process of time the final syllable
dropped off, and eels and chickens were said to be broiled,
spitstuck or spitstock. Corrupt the t of the second syllable
into c, which is very frequent, and there is spitscock or
spitchcock all alive.

Sprats and their euthanasia. The following receipt for

turning sprats into roses — the sublime of cookery — is

borrowed from a private — “ Some time since C

letter :

went to visit a friend in the country who had most mar-

vellous roses in full bloom. Every one exclaimed at their
beauty, and asked How can you get such?
‘
The gentle- ’

man who owned them was a man of few words, and only
said — 1
seems that he manured them with
Sprats. ’
It

loads of stinking sprats. Not long afterwards a man called

at my house with sprats. ‘Are they stinking? said I, ’

eagerly. ‘
No,’ said the man — ‘ quite fresh.’ ‘
Then bring
me the first stinking ones you have.’ In a few days he
came with a heavy heart, and offered me a large quantity
 •

Strazvberries 449
which had turned putrid on his hands. The result was that
on a very small bush I had thirty-six blossoms all at once
of magnificent Marshal Niels.”

Spring Soup. — A clear broth or double broth with early

vegetables in it. See Brunoise and the introductory
chapter.

Stewing is the easiest form of cooking, for it is cooking

at the lowest temperature possible. Easy though it be, it
enough on ordinary kitchen fires, because of the
is difficult

great heat which they give out. The boiling point being
2i2°, the stewing point is often as low as 170 0 and this
;

can only be well managed on the corner of the stove, or

on cinders. 1 here ought to be no difficulty with the im-
proved ranges which are now in use.

St. Germain —a
name for green-pea soup. It differs
from ordinary pea soup, or puree de pois, in being" made of
fresh peas, in token of which a few whole peas are gene-
rally strewn on the surface.

Stock is but another name for beef broth before it is

finished into soups and sauces.

Strawberries. — Nothing
can surpass the method of
eating strawberries with cream. The combination is not
only delicious in itself, but carries with it the happiest
remembrances of rural life and childish innocence. But
cream is not always to be had, and some people are afraid
of it. The Spaniards have another noble combination-—
moistening the strawberries with the juice of a sweet
orange. There are gastrologers who go further, and say
that an addition of orange-peel (by grating the zest with
a lump of sugar) is an immense improvement; and that
it must have been in this fashion the fruit was served
in the banquets of Mount Ida.
“ Physicians concur in placing strawberries in their small

29
 — —

450 Sturgeon

catalogue of pleasant remedies. They dissolve the tar-

tareous incrustations of the teeth. They promote per-

spiration. Persons afflicted with the gout have found
relieffrom using them so have patients in cases of the
;

stone and Hoffman states that he has known consumptive

;

people cured by them.” Abercrombie, quoted by Loudon.

Strawberry Pudding — Mash a quart of strawberries with

.

sugar to taste — probably three-quarters of a pound. Melt

an ounce and a half of gelatine in rather less than a
tumblerful of hot water, which, when cold, is to be mixed
with the strawberries. Put it into a mould, surround it

with ice till it sets- and gets as cold as may be. Turn it

out, and serve it with cream.

Stuffing. See Forcemeat.

Sturgeon. — It is some consolation to Englishmen, who

seldom see the sturgeon at their tables, that this royal,
although sharklike has a wonderful resemblance to
fish,

veal. It is therefore to be larded, like veal, in the Charn-

bord style, either with bacon, or with truffles and anchovies.

It is then to be either roasted, baked or brazed, and served,

with a puree of sorrel or of endive. It may also

like veal,
be stewed with excellent effect in a Mirepoix of white
wine. It, of course, means not the sturgeon (which some-
times weighs more than a ton), but such a manageable
portion of him as it may be possible to obtain. A slice

from the back, with its taste of veal, has the preference.
The belly part tastes of pork.
It is said that when sturgeons are in season, no less than
two-thirds of the female consists of roe. It is certainly
odd to think weighing perhaps 1,000 pounds,
of a fish

being two-thirds made up of eggs. Here is life rushing

into reproduction with a vengeance. At such a rate of
reproduction the world would soon become the abode of
sturgeons alone, were it not that the roe is exceedingly
 —

Supreme 45i

good, and the lovers of caviare are more general than

Shakespeare kne.w.

Sugar.
Every child understands the use of sugar in
sweet dishes; but the part which it plays in dishes which
are not recognised as sweet is not too clearly taught.
There was a time, centuries ago, when soups and sauces
were loaded with syrup, and when there was a kind of
proverb that sugar in a dish was never a fault. The vast
majority of cooks nowadays never clearly realise that in
one form or another there must be sugar in all their soups
and sauces. Not only will a pinch of sugar or a little
caramel at the last make all the difference between a good
and a bad soup or sauce — but those vegetables, carrots,
turnips, parsnips, onions, celery
and the rest, which go for
so much towards the goodness of soups and sauces what —
are they but somany reservoirs of finely-flavoured sugar?
Always the cook has to calculate whether the vegetables
which he puts into his messes are sufficiently saccharine
;

and they are not sufficiently saccharine, he has to make

if

up for it by so many grains of palpable sugar. Take this,

therefore, for a maxim —that the vegetable basket is the
sugar-basin of the saucemaker.

Supreme. —The supreme of a fowl or chicken is what is

supposed to be the best part of — the it fillets. But we
also hear of a Supreme sauce. Is there such a thing —as
distinct from a Fricassee sauce or an Allemande? The fact
is, that cooks are not agreed as to how they shall name the
chief white sauces. They are three. The chief of all is
Velvet-down. Then there is Bechamel, which is half velvet-
down, half cream. The third is named by some (Dubois
and Bernard) Supreme by others, and the greater number,
;

Allemande. If any of these sauces may be called Supreme,

itshould, by rights, be Velvet-down, which stands at the
head of the list.
452 Sweat

Sweat, To, is not a pretty phrase; but it expresses

clearly enough the act of making meat yield its juices by
being heated in a pan with little or no water. Necessarily
the heat applied must be low and slow.

Sweetbreads have to go through a certain dressing

before being cooked. They are to be soaked for an hour

or more lukewarm water, then blanched in cold water,
in

then passed into boiling water, where they are to simmer,

until they become firm and fit for the larding needle, then
cooled and dried, then pressed between baking-sheets into
the proper rounded shape, then larded with strips of bacon
about one-eighth of an inch thick. Put them next in a
stewpan, with a pint of broth and a pinch of salt. Thicken
the broth by reduction, then add another half-pint to it,
and cover it up with live coals on the lid. From time to
time baste the sweetbreads with the gravy, to glaze them.
When they have taken a dark-brown tint, serve them on
the dish, with the sauce poured over them. For garnish,
choose between endive, sorrel, peas, and a Macedon.

Roasted Sweetbreads .
—
This is what the French set down
as the Ris de veau d I’Anglaise. 1 he sweetbreads being
prepared as before, but not necessarily larded, are egged,
then breadcrumbed, then sprinkled with oiled butter, then
breadcrumbed again, then put into a fiat tossing-pan, with
two ounces of baked in a quick oven for
oiled butter, then
half an hour, with frequent basting from the butter in the
pan. When of a golden-brown, dish them with a plain
gravy or a tomato sauce, and garnish of vegetables as
before.

Syrup. — Only a word to explain that it is necessary to

be accurate in the use of it — there are so many possible

degrees of sweetness. There is a simple little instrument

to measure these degrees known by the of its in- name

ventor, Beaume. It is a sort of glass buoy with a measured
 Tart ,
Tartlet 453ul

mast, bottom there

fn the is a bulb containing a certain
weight of mercury. When this buoy is floated in pure
water, it sinks to the top of the mast, and marks the
highest, which is in fact the lowest degree. In syrup,
according to its and when the mast
thickness, it rises ;

is above the surface of the liquid the syrup is

entirely
at its strongest. Cetti and Co., of u, Brooke Street,
Holborn, supply these useful instruments for three
shillings.

APIOCA is one ol the best flavoured of the

arrowroots. got lrom the same root
It is

which yields the so-called Brazilian arrow-

root and the cassava bread. It would seem

when she planned the American

that Nature,
continent for the use of the savages, must have been think-
ing a good deal of the over-civilised invalids of Europe she —
has provided in the vegetation of the western world so much
medicine, and so much nourishment for the ailments of the
east. It is a common belief that from America must come
the regeneration of the world, and here at least is its tapioca
admirable giving substance to the soups and puddings
in

of our invalid cookery.

Tarragon is one of the most odoriferous of the pot-

herbs, and belongs to the same family as Southernwood

and Wormwood. The name is said to be equivalent to
Dragon —the tortuous form
of its roots suggesting the
dragon’s tail. dragon much esteemed, and wagging
It is a
its tail most agreeably in a green Mayonnaise, in a Bear-
naise sauce, in a dish of chicken & Testragon, and in the
ravigote which brightens many a salad.

1 art, Tartlet. — Many people connect this word in

 ;

454 Tart , Tartlet

their minds with the adjective tart, imagine that it must

have something to do with the tartness of fruit, and there-
fore identify it with a fruit pie. Under this hallucination
they cease to speak of an apple pie they insist on calling —
it an apple tart. A pie in their view is always for meat
a tart is and some of the most popular cookery
for fruit ;

books have caught the delusion and done their best to

spread it. A tart has nothing to do with tartness it is ;

identical with the French tourte and tarte, the old name
for a kind of loaf, and with tartine, which still exists as
a name for a slice of loaf. It is the Latin torta (from
torqueo), which answers nearly enough to our Roll of
bread. Now, our fathers were in the middle ages rather
deficient in plates, and it is curious to read of the little
odd contrivances by which at grand feasts they tried to
supply the want, and to make one plate do for two or three
guests. Some genius discovered that the undercrust of
bread would serve for a plate, and for a long period in

France the undercrust of the tourte or tarte was the most

—
common of dinner-plates at which period a family were
wont, after eating their dinner, to eat their dinner-plates.
These dinner-plates, made of dinner rolls, were in course of
time specially prepared, were made more cakelike, were
filled with dainty food, and were called, according to their
size, tart or tartlets. The strict meaning of a tart, there-
fore, is an open crust of the nature of a plate ;
and it is to

be hoped that after this explanation we shall not very often

hear anybody call an apple pie an apple tart.
A tart or tartlet being a flat cake or crust, in form of a
plate or dish, or little saucer, the question is how to make
it. It can be made of any of the pastes described in the

article on pastry; but in England it is generally made of

the lighter pastes, in France of the more solid. This is

because in England, save in the case of tartlets, the cake

is most part served with the dish on which it has
for the

been moulded, whereas in France the tourte is independ-

 Taste 455
ent of its mould, and is in effect but the under part of a
raised pie. It is best in most cases to bake the tart by
itself, and to fill it afterwards. Thus a Vol-au-vent, but
for its loose cover,would be a tart in the proper meaning'
of the word, and it is always prepared apart from its
contents. At least it is essential that if the tart and its
contents are to be baked together, the latter should have
been to some extent cooked beforehand, otherwise they
may be underdone while the former is overdone.
With regard to the contents, it is an unheard-of thing
inEngland to put anything into a tart which is not sweet.
The 1" rench tourte will take any delicate stew —savoury
as well as sweet, animal as well as vegetable. If English
people would come to understand that tart, the noun, has
nothing to do with tart, the adjective, they would then
discover that a tart may be as various as a pie, and that
there is no difference between the one and the other, save
that which arises from the one being open and the other
covered. A tart, in short, is but a kind of dinner-plate
fit to receive almost any kind of food ;
but with this
distinction —that it is a dinner-plate which may be eaten.

Tartar Sauce. —This, whether it refers to catching a

Tartar, or descending into Tartarus, is in effect the French
ideal of a devilled sauce. A French devil is never hot
like an English one — only a little pungent. Either a
Mayonnaise or a Remoulade may be taken as the basis of a
—
Tartar sauce the former being made of raw yolks, the
latter of hard-boiled ones. The devilling comes of French -

mustard, or else English mustard with some addition of

tarragon vinegar. 'lire amount of bedevilment must
depend on taste. It is usual, but not essential, to add a
chopped ravigote.

Taste is separated from the other senses by a curious

difference. The others flourish by themselves alone, and
456 Taste

often attain their highest perfection when deprived of

companionship. Hearing will become more acute with
loss of sight, and touch more sensitive with deafness.
But taste is made for marriage, and smell is its better half.
It loses all its delicacy when it cannot mate with a fine
olfactory nerve. Though thus deficient, it is by common
consent chosen as the type of all that is most refined in
human enjoyment —the worship of the beautiful. This is

a feather in the cook’s cap. It is the business of his life to

minister to the sense of taste —and taste is at once so fine

and so potent that it is selected from all the senses to
designate the standard of art and the power of detecting
all that it heaven and earth. We have one and
loveliest in
the same name for the faculty which comprehends a suck-
ing-pig and for that which delights in Beethoven for the —
appreciation alike of a Strasbourg pie and of the Elgin
marbles. The Greeks gave one and the same name to the
palate and to heaven — Uranus. It is very odd, however, to
seehow tastes differ in small things as well as in great, and
how fierce are the controversies waged round a dinner-plate.
He is an outer barbarian who does not agree with us about
a leek or a peppercorn, a bit of pig’s grease or a little

oatmeal. If there were no religious wars to waste us, there

would certainly be gastronomical ones and w'ho knows ;

but there is some hidden law which connects our creed

with our food? It has indeed been observed that in the
great schism of the Reformation the people who held to the
oil-jar and the wine-butt remained faithful to the Pope;
while those who drank good ale, and found in the keg' of
butter a sufficient feast of fatness, nearly all turned
Protestant. Philosophers have never adequately ex-
plained, and it will probably remain a mystery to the end
of time, how it comes that as in religion the wider differ-
ences of dogma seldom excite wrath, while the earth is
devastated by controversies about the smallest details — the
spelling of a diphthong or the lighting of a taper, — so in
—

Taste 457
matters of taste we are not put out by great differences,
but we wax furious over trifles. That an Eskimo should
eat tallow candles ;
that the Dutch should eat their pickled
herring raw ;
that the astronomer Lalande should enjoy the
nutty taste of spiders ;
that an Australasian savage should
stock his larder with his dog and his wife that widows in
;

tne Andaman Islands should have the skulls of their late

husbands nicely mounted, wear them dangling from their
necks, and use them as an English lady uses her bag, are —
matters of taste which do not rouse in us a tenth part of the
emotion produced by the suspicion of garlic in a sauce,
by the use of a spoon instead of a fork, steel instead of
silver. There is a characteristic anecdote told of the
Reverend Father de Madot, who towards the end of the
seventeenth century was appointed to the bishopric of
Belley. When he went to take possession of his see, the
people of Belley gave him a dinner. He partook of it with
remarkable satisfaction but more especially seemed to
;

enjoy a fondue of cheese, which gave a glory to the latter

end of the least. What was the surprise of his entertainers
to see that the man God ate it not with
of a fork but
with a spoon ! The company looked at each other with
astonishment in the corners of their eyes, but they were
too polite and reverential to say anything. Next day it

was over the town.

all “ Do know how the new bishop
eats a fondue? ” says one. “Ah, my dear sir,” says
another, “it is quite true —
I had it from an eye-witness

-
he eats it with a spoon.” The tidings were soon wafted
over the diocese, shook the minds of the faithful, and
imperilled the Church. The impression produced was also
a lasting one. A hundred years afterwards Brillat-Savarin
(born in that diocese) was told the story by one of his grand-
uncles, who was consumed with laughter at the notion of
a bishop eating fondue with a spoon. And so this worthy
father in God, De Madot, is for ever known in the history
of his country — not for his good works, his prayers and
 —

458 Teal

his blessings —but only for the shocking act of eating

fondue with a spoon !

Teal is surely the most delicate of all the wild water-

fowl. For the way to dress him, see the Widgeon and the
Wild Duck.

Tench is of the carp clan, and is a doubtful fish to eat

very good and very bad. He likes to lose himself in mud
and impurity, and then he is nasty to the taste. So it

happens that the Italians malign him. When he has lived

in good circumstances, in clear streams, he is quite another
creature. He is done in all the ways prescribed for carp,
but he has nearly always to be marinaded before cooking,
and after the fire to be overpowered with a decided sauce.
Try him as a matelote, or a la poulette. If he is to be

grilled, fill him with anchovy butter and fine herbs, and
serve him either with a puree of tomatos or with Sauce
Robert.
Dr. Badham in his Fishtattle makes a curious remark.
“ The skin (which from its thickness has procured for the
tench in Holland the name of shoemaker) is a first-rate
delicacy, and quite equal to turtle.” Is this what the
learned physician means by tattle?

Thunny is the most illustrious of the Mediterranean fish,

as salmon is the most illustrious of those which haunt our

Northern waters. No one who has partaken of both can
doubt the superiority of the salmon, not only to the thunny,
but to all fish whatsoever. Yet note this as a tribute to the
worth of the Mediterranean method of preserving fish in
oil that the tinned thunny which comes to London is much
:

better than the tinned salmon which is preserved in vinegar

and brine. The best part of the thunny, and much the best
for pickling, is the belly.
Probably, of all the fish in the sea, the thunny grows
with the greatest rapidity. In four months from his birth
 Tomatos 459
he will weigh more than two pounds ;
and he would be very
much more abundant than he is, but that his mother has
such an admiration lor her eggs that she eats them the
moment they become fertilised. Were it not for this
infanticide, the basin of the Mediterranean would be too
small for the thunny population.
had almost forgotten to say that the thunny is a
I

British fish —
haunting the Cornish coast; but the Cornish
fishermen are not clever enough to catch it except by the
merest chance. They have not hit upon a bait which will
tempt this fish.

1 ipsy Cake is a Savoy Cake, with sherry poured over

it, into which the juice of half a lemon has been mixed.

Tomatos. — Tomato Sauce.-—Take

a pint of the puree of
tomatos, either out of a tin or made from fresh tomatos,
and put them in a stewpan with pepper, salt, a good pinch
of sugar, a quarter of a pint of Mirepoix, a pint of gravy
or broth, an ounce of flour, and one of butter. Let them
simmer for three-quarters of an hour, then pass all through
a sieve.

Tomato Soup — is tomato sauce with three pints of gravy

or broth in it instead of one. Add at the last some
rice.

Roast Tomatos —
Roast them well in a Dutch oven, and
.

turn them often. Or bake them in a casserole, the bottom

of which has been buttered. They ought to be ready in
from ten to fifteen minutes, and to be served with roast
mutton, or mutton chops and cutlets.

Stuffed Tomatos —
Choose six or seven large and well-
.

shaped ones cut open the tops and scoop out the insides
;

carefully. Pass the pulp through a sieve to get rid of the

pips, and mix with it about two ounces of butter (the
r rench say oil), a chopped shalot, a chopped clove of
460 Toss

garlic, pepper and salt. Cook it for ten or fifteen minutes;

then stir into it a small cupful of breadcrumbs which have
soaked and the yolks of two eggs. When this
in broth,

is cold, fill the tomato skins with

it, shake some fine bread

raspings over them, and bake them briskly for ten or

twelve minutes.

Tomato-Salad . —Divide the tomatos horizontally, and

squeeze out the pips. Then cut up the halves and mix
them with a cruet sauce. For the tomato salad a dash of
mustard is not a bad addition, but the tomatos being juicy
in themselves, require less than the usual quantity of oil

and vinegar. For garniture, some chopped spring onions

or chives. One or two tomatos, cut up as above described,
make an excellent addition to a salad of cos-lettuce.

Toss. —This is the English for Sauter, which see. To

toss is to fry very lightly and the tossing is necessary
;

in order both to equalise the heat and to keep it down.

Frying proper on a steady fire evolves a roasting heat.
Tossing is, so to speak, opposed to frying. It is to fry and
not to fry. It is an attempt to produce some of the effects
of frying, and not the others. It is to fry without pro-
ducing the brittle surface of frying.

Toulouse Ragout. — See Relish No. 1.

Tournedos. —This word will not be found in any French

dictionary as applied to an article of food. Yet it is of
constant use in the French kitchen, and multiplies itself in

bills of fare. It really means a small collop of beef which

can be done almost while the cook turns his back. It is

at least a much better word than the escalopes which the

French cooks are so fond of, and which really means
nothing at all. A tournedos is a thin collop, which is put
upon the fire and is done on one side before the cook has had
time to turn round. He turns it over on the other side,
which is cooked in the same way in a twinkling. The
 Truffles 461

tournedos is first steeped for twenty-four hours in a

cooked marinade, it is lightly fried, and it is served with a
Poivrade or a Spanish sauce.

Tourte is the French way of spelling Tart.

Trifle. — Mix
early in the day a quart of good cream
with six ounces of sifted sugar, a glass of sherry, the juice
and zest of a lemon, and a little cinnamon. Whip it well,
and put the on a reversed sieve to drain.
froth, as it rises,
As draws near for using the trifle, put some sponge
the time
cakes, ratafias, and the like, on a deep glass or crystal dish.
Moisten them well with sherry, grate the zest of a lemon
on them, and add a layer of raspberry or strawberry jam.
Pour over them a goodly quantity of thick custard heap ;

over this the whipt cream and ornament it with colour ;

—
petals of flowers, harlequin comfits, or streaks of red jelly.

I rout. — The best are the salmon-trout, and they are to

be cooked in any of the ways allowed for salmon. Some
English cooks lay down a peremptory law that a trout is
never to be boiled. This is a mistake. The char is a
trout, and Francatelli has declared, with perfect justice,
that it is the best of all fish for a waterzootje. The smaller
trout, however, may well be fried or grilled. The larger
ones on being boiled take kindly to a good court bouillon.
Let it never be forgotten that the Genevese sauce was
invented for the good of trout.

Truffles. — It is time that the truth should be spoken

about truffles. The French praise them in high-flown
terms, which are not in the least extravagant. The
English, praising them in the selfsame terms, are very
extravagant indeed. When truffles are to be had fresh (and
they are in perfection with the turkeys at Christmas-tide),
itseems too much to believe that they have come out of the
earth and have been detected in their hiding-places by the
462 Truffles

snouts of pigs. They are beyond praise in the perfection

of their perfume. But once unearthed the perfume soon
fades, and by the time they reach London it becomes so
faint that if the truffles are not quickly disposed of they
are scarce to be recognised as the sublime of human food.
What they loseperfume they gain in price, and dealers
in

in London demand twelve and fifteen shillings a pound

for them. A bottle no bigger than one of those used for

hyacinth bulbs, containing preserved truffles, which are
not to be compared with fresh ones, is sold at half a guinea.
Now when we know that some French cooks require six
or eight pounds of truffles for a single dish, we can all

England is worth its price,

calculate whether a truffle in
and we shall not be astonished at the tale told by Mr.
Llayward of a magnificent turkey stuffed with truffles by
Morel and sold for something like 20 Common sense T -

tells us that a fresh mushroom gathered in English fields

and woods, and well cooked, is worth more than all but a
sprinkling of the truffles which cross the Channel but, all ;

the same, fashion is omnipotent, and a cook who should

abstain from cramming his sauces with essence of truffles,
and from adorning his meats with slices of them, would be
regarded as ignorant of his business, and fit only for the
lowest of low life. Let it be observed that much as the
truffle is vaunted, the civilised world has continued to do

without it until very recently. It was, indeed, known to

the Romans; but, says Brillat-Savarin, “ from the Romans
to our own day there is a long interregnum, and the resur-
rection of the truffle is recent enough. One may even say
that the generation which is now (1826) passing away,
has been witness of it.”

Truffles in a Napkin .
—
Wash and brush them several
times in cold water. Then stew them slowly in a Mirepoix
of white wine for half an hour or three-quarters. Drain
them and serve them in a folded napkin.
 Turbot 463
Truffes a J Italienne — Wash
and brush them well as
.

before, cut them in slices, and toss them for ten minutes
with an ounce of butter, chopped parsley, shalot, and salt.
Pour oil the butter, and in return put in a piece of fresh
butter, with a ladleful of the best brown gravy, the juice
of a lemon, and a sprinkling of cayenne. This is in effect
but a variety of the Duxelles originally invented by
La
\ arenne, only substituting truffles for mushrooms.

Turbot has been described as the pheasant of the sea,

and certainly the noblest of the flat fish.
is
According to
Yarrell, the great actor and gastronomer Quin
“is said
to have given it as his opinion that the
flesh on the
dark-coloured side of the turbot is the best meat; and as
examples occasionally occur that are dark-coloured on
both sides, some London fishmongers, from experience
in their good qualities, recommend such fish as deserving
particular attention.”

Boiled Turbot.- Let the turbot soak for some

little time
in cold salt and water, to remove the slime. Then with a
knife make an incision down
the backbone on the black
side, —which
the upper one of the fish in the sea, but its
is

under one on the dish. The object of this cut is

to pre-
vent the white skin cracking when the turbot begins to
heat and to swell in the kettle. It is to be boiled in plenty
of cold salt and water— nothing else. Let it come gradually
to the boil and thtnsimmer for half an hour or so.
let it
Ihe time of course is less for a small or chicken
turbot,
or for one of those slices into which a turbot
cuts up with
ease. In the h rench receipts an order is often given to cut
off the fins that is, the best part of the fish — and to boil
it milk; which sounds well, but is a mistake. When
in
the
turbot is ready, dish it on a hot napkin and
strew on it
and about it parsley leaves and nasturtium flowers.
It
may be garnished with potatoes, and it is to be served with
Dutch, Bearnaise, lobster or shrimp sauce.
 —

464 Turkey

Turbot a la Normande . —The Normandy Matelote of

Turbot. It is done precisely as the sole of the same
name.
Turbot with Cream au Gratin . — Break up some cold
turbot,removing the black skin, perhaps also the white.
Make it hot in some Bechamel sauce, which is half cream.
Arrange fish and sauce upon a dish which will stand the fire.
Strew over it some breadcrumbs and some grated Parme-
san. Also put round it a border of mashed potatoes. Put
it into the oven or before the fire to take a golden tint,

and if necessary use the salamander.

Turkey. —“ II faut etre deux,” said the Abbd Morellet,

“ pour manger une dinde truffee ;
je ne fais jamais autre-
ment. J’en ai une aujourd’hui; nous serons deux, la

dinde et moi. ” As it takes nearly two or three pounds of

truffles to stuff a turkey well, and as truffles are worth
twelve or fifteen shillings a pound, it is not every one
who can afford such a luxury. Tire turkey, however, is

excellent with much less costly stuffing, as fat forcemeat or

chestnuts —see Forcemeats Nos. 5 and 8. . If the turkey

is roasted,must be constantly basted, or it will be very

it

dry. The French nearly always bard it to prevent its

drying up. They are also partial to a brazed turkey.
Put it into a brazing-pan, with an abundant Mirepoix,
made with Madeira as the cooks say which means —
Marsala. The boiled turkey is rarely seen out of England.
For garnish and sauce, the English seem most to enjoy
sausages with a meat gravy or with celery sauce. A roast
turkey with a garnish of sausages goes by the name of an
Alderman in chains. The French, for sauce and garnish,
delight in a Perigueux sauce, and the rich garnish of a

Chipolata Ragout. See Relish No. 4.

Turn. To turn vegetables is to cut them into various

shapes — as bullets, olives, dice, corks, discs, orange-flakes.

 Tui'tle 465
Turnips. — There
are rich juicy kinds, which the
Russians eat raw as a whet before dinner. In England
we go to the other extreme, and the most common form
m which the turnip comes to table is thoroughly well
boiled and mashed.
Mashed Turnips.— Peel,
slice, and boil half a dozen
turnips. Drain them, pass them through a sieve, and then
mixing them with flour, nutmeg, pepper, salt, a
pat of
butter, and a little glaze, stir them over
the fire for ten
minutes.

Young Turnips .
— Peel them, make nice shapes of them,
and blanch them for five minutes. Then them with a
fry
little butter, dredge them with flour, and moisten them
with broth. them cook very slowly for twenty
Let
minutes, and add to them some Allemande sauce
with a
pinch of sugar. The French sometimes touch them up at
the last with some of their mustard.

Turnover the name of a pastry made in very simple

fashion. Roll out a sheet of paste : cut out a circle in it.
1 his, when doubled over
so as to form a semicircle, with
fruit or mincemeat inside, is the Turnover.

Turtle. — I he Soup
most elaborate of all, and
is the
quite beyond the reach of ordinary households. It must
be purchased ready made. For the Turtle Ragout or
Relish,
used chiefly with calf’s head, see Relish No.
3.

—
Mock Turtle Soup. Clear: After Francatelli. First
bone and then parboil a calf’s head in plenty of water
and a small handlul of salt for about twenty minutes.
Cool the head water and then trim away the rough
in cold
parts. Next place it in a large stewpan with a good-sized
knuckle of veal about a pound of raw ham two car-
;

rots ;
—
two onions one of them stuck with twelve cloves
;

a head of celery, a bunch of basil marjoram,

lemon thyme,
;

a sprig ol common thyme, some parsley, winter savory,

30
466 Turtle

spring- onions, and two blades of mace. Add a quart of

good stock, and set the stewpan over the fire to boil
sharply, until the liquid is reduced to a glaze. Next fill up
the stewpan either with stock or water, and when it boils
again skim it carefully, keeping it gently boiling by the
head is nearly done. The
side of the fire until the calf’s
head must now be carefully lifted out of the stock with a
skimmer, and after being washed in a large pan of cold
water, and well drained upon a sieve or cloth, placed in
press, between two large dishes in the larder to become
cold. The calf’s head stock is now to be strained into a
clean stewpan through a sieve, and the grease being entirely
removed from its surface, to be clarified by mixing into it

three whites of eggs previously whipt with a pint of cold

water. Set the stock on the fire, whisk it until it boils, and
then lift it to the side of the stove, there to boil gently until
it has become bright, which will take about twenty minutes.
The stock must now be strained through a napkin into a
soup-pot ;
the calf’s head cut into pieces an inch square,
and placed in the mock which add half a
turtle stock, to
pint of white wine (Marsala), a pinch of cayenne, and then
allow the soup to boil gently by the side of the fire until
the pieces of meat are thoroughly done. When about to
send to table add some very small quenelles or egg balls
and a little lemon-juice.

Mock Turtle Soup. — Thick. Prepare this as in the fore-

going receipt up to the point when

been the head has
placed in press, and the stock has been strained into a fresh
stewpan. To the stock add about a pound and a half
of roux, and stir it over the fire until it boils; then set it

on the side of the stove to simmer gently, and to throw up

all grease, etc., which must be skimmed off. Strain the
stock next through the pointed strainer, into a soup-pot,
add the calf’s head in pieces, and proceed as before.
 ;

Vanilla 467

DER is not over-abundant in the market ;

for heifers are too valuable to he killed, and

cow-beef is not greatly prized at the
butcher’s. When the udder of veal can be
obtained it is mostly used for kromeskis. It

is to be plain-boiled with salt, allowed to cool, and then cut

wrap round the croquette, which thus becomes
into slices to
a kromeski. It is also used instead of butter for the more

delicate forcemeats—-as quenelles. In days of old, how-

ever, appears that cow-udder had a recognised position in
it

French cookery. It was well washed; it was soaked in

water for hours, to clear it of blood it was then blanched ;

then trimmed; then boiled with a good seasoning- of vege-

tables; then allowed to get cool; lastly, cut up and prepared
for table in any of the ways applicable to tripe.

l\

A.NILLA, when discovered by the Spaniards,

had an unpronounceable name — tlilxochitl.
The Spaniards, in despair, called in vainilla
or baynilla —a little pod ( vaina or bayna).
It is an orchid — and being- the only orchid
of direct use to the human race, it takes rank as the most
important of all. It is a parasitical plant, twining- upon

trees to their topmost branches, like ivy. The best is to be

found in Mexico; but it also grows in Honduras, Guina,
Brazil, Peru. It is also cultivated in Ceylon. The fruit
has a powerful odour, which is said to intoxicate the
labourers who climb the trees to gather it. This odour,
which belongs to the cinnameine series, and which it shares
with a variety of vegetables, is said to be derived from the
benzoic acid, which is so abundant in the fruit as when
468 Vatel

dried to effloresce upon it in fine needles but Pereira ;

declares that the precise nature of the odorous principle

has not been satisfactorily made out. Be that as it may, it
is doubtful whether vanilla would have forits mere odour,

which can easily be imitated, the extraordinary acceptance

which it now enjoys. It is supposed to have extraordinary
virtues, to promote digestion, to exhilarate the mind, to
increase muscular energy, and, in a large dose, to be one
of the most powerful aphrodisiacs. Very little, however,
of the best kind comes to Europe. When ripe the fruit
yields from two to six drops of a liquid with an exquisite
odour, which i's said to possess the above-named virtues
in perfection ;
but not a drop of it comes to this side of
the Atlantic. Four sorts of vanilla come to the English
market, in packets of from fifty to one hundred pods.
The best comes from Mexico; but the consignment is not
more than five or six hundredweight, and it is so precious
that a pound weight worth ^5 or
of it is It may be

imagined that so commodity is not used for

rare a
flavouring penny ices. The other three sorts come from
Honduras, La Guayra, and Brazil. They are at once more
feeble and less delicate and the balsam of Peru is also
;

used to simulate the true odour of vanilla.

Vatel was a great cook ;

but he did more for his art by
his death than ever he did in his life. He was the house-
steward (maitre d ’hotel) of the Prince of Condd; and all
that we know of his touch in cookery is based on guess.
But Vatel’s death is the greatest event in the whole history
of cookery since Prometheus stole fire from heaven. When
the mythic hero stole that fire from the gods, he made
cookery possible ;
when Vatel stabbed himself in the royal
castle of Chantilly, he at once and for ever vindicated for
cookery its position among the noble arts. The Prince of
Condd was entertaining Louis XIV. and his court at

Chantilly; and Vatel had to superintend all the prepa-

 Vatel 469
from the roast meats to the fireworks. Through
rations,
some mischance, on the evening of the King’s
arrival the
roast was wanting at two of the
tables; and when night
came, the fireworks, which had cost
16,000 francs, failed
-as they often Vatel was troubled in spirit, and
will.
refused to be comforted. Next morning he rose at four,
determined to attend to everything himself. He found
everybody asleep. Soon afterwards he met one of the
purveyors with two packages of sea-fish. “
Is that all? ”
said Vatel. “ Yes, sir,” was the
reply. The man was not
aware that Vatel had sent to all the seaports. The other
purveyors did not arrive by eight o’clock.
Vatel ’s brain
began to burn he believed there would
:
be no more fish,
and that the failure of the roast and the fireworks would
be followed by that of the turbot. “ I shall never survive
this disgrace,” he said. He went up to his room, placed
his sword against the door,
and stabbed himself to the
heart. Soon the fish arrived from all quarters;
they
sought Vatel for orders; they went to
his room; they
knocked; they forced open the door;
they found him
bathed in blood. Few events have created a profounder
sensation than this tragedy, which has
ever since in the
gastronomical world invested the date, 24th
April, 1671,
with a melancholy interest. The Prince of Conde’ wept,’
and Madame de S^vign^, who tells the story,
describes
” le grand Vatel ” as a man of genius, with head
enough
to direct a state. When a man of such distinction could
killhimself for a turbot which he could not
provide to his
satisfaction for a king’s table, the world
began to see that
the art of the kitchen might engage
minds of rare capacity;
and that if there are cooks beneath
contempt, there are
others not unworthy to rank with
great artists, and to sit
among the Muses.
A few years afterwards died the great French Marshal
Turenne. Let the reader calmly lay his hand
upon his
heart and say —
Did Turenne do more for France or for
 — A

470 Veal

the happiness of mankind with his bciton than Vatel oi

the turbot with his glorious ladle? Turenne’s name is

in all the histories of France and in all the biographical

dictionaries, it is only a few years since that the great
name of Vatel was for the first time admitted into any
biographical dictionary.

Veal. When Dr. Lister, who was one of Queen Anne’s

physicians, went to Paris in the beginning of last century,

he declared that the French might have beef and mutton

—
equal to ours but we have far the best veal in Europe.
The judgment now must be reversed. There is no beef
or mutton that will take the prize from that produced in
England but the English veal is not great, and has no
;

pretension to be compared with that of France. This is

the fault, not of the calf but of the butcher, who bleeds the
animal a little at a time for days before it is slaughtered,

and tortures it by hanging its head downwards to drain

the blood more perfectly, d he result is that the veal come?
to table very white, like the wing of a chicken but it is

also too often tasteless and stringy. The truth is that the

treatment of veal not well understood in

is England, and
it is only in England that people have
turned it into a

byword. Macaulay hated Croker with a mortal hatred.

His detestation expressed itself in the phrase— “ I hate
him
worse than cold boiled veal. ” There is another well-known
saying, but it is not his — that to eat veal is as insipid as

kissing one’s sister.

Veal Broth— See Soup and Blonde de Veau.

.

Veal Gravy — See Gravy.

.

Boiled nation that refuses to eat boiled beef

Veal.—
is the staple
(that is, fresh boiled beef), which after bread
itself to set
food of France and Germany, can yet bring
down among its dainty dishes boiled veal. eil might V
Veal is not fit to eat unless
Macaulay exclaim against it !
 Veal 47 1

a roasting- heat in some form or other is brought to bear

upon it; and no receipt shall here be given for boiled veal.
The same interdict applies to stewed veal, except in those
cases when, as in brazing, the process of stewing can be
combined with that of roasting. In the list of stews
which follow, the veal is part baked, fried, or in some way
roasted.

Brazed, Veal .
— By rights this should be done in a
brazing-pan, with live coals on the
so that the meat lid,
may be baked on the upper side while being stewed under-
neath. The same
effect may be produced more simply by
taking three or four pounds of veal be it loin, fillet, or —
breast — freeingfrom bone, tying it up, and frying it in
it

a stewpan with an ounce of butter until it has a golden

tint all over. After that, stew it lor an hour and a half
in a quart of broth, with a carrot, an onion, a faggot of

sweet-herbs, pepper and salt. Then serve it, straining the

gravy, skimming off the fat, and adding- some lemon-juice.
Garnish it with sorrel, endive, or spinach.

Veal in ils own gravy (Veau a la Bourgeoise, ou dans

son jus). —This is another form of brazed veal, and must
be done very slowly. Take the cushion of veal and pass it

in butter till it colours well. Then put with it a tumblerful

of water, two or three onions, two or three carrots, a faggot
of sweet-herbs, pepper and salt. lid on, and Put a tight
'ive embers on the lid. Let it simmer as slowly as possible
for three hours on the corner of the stove. Skim away the
fat, and serve it with lemons.

—
Spring Slew of Veal .- Miss Acton’s receipt. “ Cut two
pounds of veal free from fat into small collops half an
them
inch thick; (lour well, and them in
fry butter, with
two small cucumbers sliced, peppered, and floured, one
moderate-sized lettuce, and twenty-four green gooseberries
divided lengthwise and seeded. When the whole is nicely
browned, lift it into a thick saucepan, and pour gradually
472 Veal

into the frying-pan from which it has been taken half a

pint or rather more of boiling water, broth, or gravy. Add
pepper and salt. Give it a minute’s simmering, and then
pour it over the meat
in the saucepan. Let the veal stew
gently for from three-quarters of an hour to an hour. A
bunch of green onions cut small may be added to the other
vegetables.
”

Veal in a Mirepoix .
—Take a cushion of veal, and lard
it or not at pleasure. Put it in a glazing stewpan with
half a pint of Mirepoix of white wine, which is to be
well reduced. Moisten it again with a pint of the
like Mirepoix and three gills of veal stock. Cook it for
two hours, basting the meat frequently, and glaze it a
quarter of an hour before it is done. Prepare a garnish
of endive ;
put it on a dish with the veal upon it. Skim
the fat off the gravy, pass it through a sieve into a sauce-
boat, and serve it with the meat.
Veal a la Marengo .
— See Chicken.
Fricandeau of Veal — See Fricandeau.
.

Roast Veal .
— The most usual pieces for this purpose are
the fillet, the loin, the neck, and the breast ;
and it is always
best to stuff them (using Forcemeat No. 5), though some-
times the loin is made an exception to this rule. As veal
takes long to roast —a fillet requiring from three-and-a-half
to four-and-a-half hours, it is often, either in whole or in

part, enveloped in buttered paper, lest the fat should all

melt away and the outer surface be too much done. In

this case the paper must be removed a little while before
the roasting is complete, and the joint must be dredged
with flour, basted with fresh butter, and frothed, before it

is dished up. Serve round it for a sauce some English

butter sauce which has been coloured with browning and
acidulated with lemon-juice. Serve at the same time in a
dish apart some boiled bacon or Bath chap, with greens.
For a variety, instead of the melted butter or English
 Veal 473
sauce, garnish the roast with the Financier’s or the
Toulouse Ragout. (See Relishes Nos. i and 2).

Roast Veal a la Creme. —When, as described in the

fore-going receipt, the buttered paper is to be removed
from the about twenty minutes before it is completely
joint
roasted, no more to be basted with butter, but either
it is

with a pint of rich cream, or of Bechamel, which is half

cream. This will form upon the roast a delicate golden
crust, which must be carefully handled in transferring the
veal from the spit to its dish. For a sauce, take some
Bechamel, mix with it the brown which has fallen from
the roast in basting -
with cream, and some stewed button
it

mushrooms, together with their juice.

Veal Cutlets .
— In England the most common way of
cooking them is called the French way. In France it is
called the English way. It is also called i la Zingara.
The cutlets are taken from the back
or some- ribs or loin ;

times they are simply small collops from the fillet. But
there is not a word to be said against the small cutlets
from the neck. Let them be nicely trimmed and freed
from fat, egged, breadcrumbed and fried. It is the egging
and breadcrumbing that is supposed to be peculiarly
English. Let there be slices of bacon or else of tongue to
correspond in number with the cutlets the bacon to be —
grilled or fried, the tongue to be heated in stock. For a
sauce, take the butter which the cutlets have
in fried,
dredge it with flour, and add to it a little broth and juice
ofmushrooms, together with lemon-juice and salt. In the
French way of doing these cutlets a la Zingara — — they
are fried without being egged and breadcrumbed.

Veal Cutlets broiled .

—This is the true French way — the
most simple of all. Take a cutlet from the neck ;
trim it

well of bone, gristle, and skin, and flatten it with a cutlet

bat. Sprinkle it with pepper and salt, brush it with oil
or melted butter, and send it to the grill. If this cutlet
 474 Veal

should have to be breadcrumbed, it is rolled in crumbs

after being smeared with oil or melted butter; and in
France no eggs are used for this purpose. With the
cutlet —
thus broiled— may be served a piece of maitre
d ’hotel butter, some tomato sauce, or a sharp sauce.

Veal Cutlets of Dreux —

It is not very much to the credit
.

of veal that it has to be in most cases combined carefully

with savoury adjuncts — forcemeat, bacon, tongue. The
cutlets of Dreux are larded with bacon, tongue and
truffles ;
fried for two or three minutes in butter ;
then
. stewed a Mirepoix of white wine further diluted with
in

an equal quantity of veal broth. Serve the cutlets on a

puree of sorrel or of turnips, or on French beans; then
skim the gravy, and strain it over all.

Veal Cutlets a la Milanaise are generally breadcrumbed

— either in the French way without, or in the English way
with, eggs. They are then fried or tossed in butter.

In being served they are garnished with slices of truffle

and of tongue punched into rounds), and— most
(the latter
—
important of all with macaroni which has been tossed for
a moment with grated cheese and a little tomato sauce
;

plays round the dish.

Veal Pie . —Take the back ribs or neck, get rid of all

—
bone which should never enter into a pie — and trim the
meat into small collops. At the same time cut some
streaky bacon into thin slices. Fry the veal and the bacon
with a faggot of Duxelles in about an ounce of butter.
Then lay them in order in a pie-dish intermixed with
forcemeat balls and hard-boiled yolks of egg it may be —
also with a scalded sweetbread cut into pieces. Let all be
seasoned with pepper and and moistened with half a
salt,

pint of gravy, to which the juice of half a lemon may be

added. Cover it with paste; bake it for an hour or an
hour and a quarter; and when the pie is done, lift the
top ornament and pour in some good gravy.
 Vegetables 475
There is much more, of course, to be said of veal under
other names —as Calf’s Head, Calf’s Foot, Liver, Heart,
Sweetbread.

Vegetables. —There are no finer vegetables to be found

anywhere than inEngland and the English do not know
;

how to eat them. The weak point of an English dinner is

always the vegetables. Some persons might fix upon the
made dishes as most wanting —but this would be wrong,*
seeing that we could have a very good dinner without a
single made dish. As far as animal food can go, there are
some dinners good soup, a little plain-
quite perfect, with a
boiled fish, and roast meat or game but the dinner fails —
because the vegetables are at fault. There are some good
remarks on this matter in the Original (see No. xix.). “ I
have observed,” says Walker, “ that whenever the vege-
tables are distinguished for their excellence, the dinner is
always particularly enjoyed and if they were served with
;

each dish, as they are most appropriate and fresh from the
dressing, it would be a great improvement on the present
style. With some meats something of the kind is prac-
tised — as peas with duck, and beans with bacon —and such
combinations are generally favourites ;
but the system
might be much extended, and with great advantage. With
respect to variety of vegetables, same rule I think the
applies as to other dishes. would not have many sorts
I

on the same occasion, but would study appropriateness and

particular excellence. This is a matter for study and com-
bination, and a field for genius. It is a reasonable object
for attention, asit is conducive to real enjoyment, and has

nothing to do with mere display.” This is very true; and

to the eye of the initiated nothing can be more ridiculous
than to see an English dinner-plate heaped up with a con-
fusion of vegetables, none of them too well dressed except
the potato —which always present, and generally good.
is

Do those English worthies who cannot now eat a morsel

476 Vegetables

of food unless accompanied with a potato ever try to

imagine what dinners were two centuries ago, when pota-
toes were as rare as truffles?

The great however, of the English treatment of

sin,

vegetables goes much deeper than Walker indicates; and

it is a moral fault, as well as one of taste
a great social —
wrong, as well as a gastronomical blunder. Take the
general run of English tables, putting out of account the
very poor and the highly refined from year’s end to
:

year’s end one will probably never on a single day see

there a vegetable dish to be eaten by itself alone. This is
a political error; for there is many a poor man obliged
most days to dine on vegetables with nothing else ;
and
our sleek middle-classes protest every day of their lives
—
against this fare for themselves they will never con-
descend to eat a vegetable by itself. A fine example for
their servants, who are taken from the poorer classes ;
and
a fine thought for the peasantry to know that not only will
theirmasters refuse a vegetable dinner but also they will —
never look at a vegetable as a thing to be eaten by itself !

Scorn of the peasants’ food is all the more remarkable inas-

much as a vegetable dish may be the greatest delicacy of
the table. This is one of the advantages which the Catholic
religion has contrived for the French : it has compelled
them to make the best of Lenten fare. In England this
is fiat popery ;
but it is a species of popery to which
the poor man is obliged to submit, and to which we ought
all to At a French table the vegetable dish
be converted.
at the end of dinner is as much coveted and counted on as
the pudding and the tarts are by children at an English
table. Almost the only vegetable which Englishmen eat
by itself is the artichoke, and this entirely because it cannot
be put on their plates with meat and eaten with a fork —
they have to strip it with their fingers. There is something
in asparagus, too, which conduces to the same arrange-

ment; but if, by possibility, an Englishman can get the

 ;

Vegetable Marrow 477

asparagus on the same plate with his meat, depend upon it
he will. He is not going to eat vegetables alone not he — !

Take this for a certainty the greatest single step in

:

advance for the English family dinner is to decree that

regularly every day, either in addition to the pudding or in
lieu of it, there shall be a dish of vegetables nicely
prepared.
It is not a difficult thing' to do; and there
is an immense
choice from the range of salads to asparagus, artichokes,
potatoes, cauliflowers, sprouts, peas, kidney beans, vege-
table marrows, and thence again to rice and Indian corn.
Let the cook stick to her broils and her roasts she pro- —
bably cannot in the way of meat do better but let her super-
;

add to her small modicum of accomplishments the very

simple craft of cooking vegetables in such a manner that
with their own fine flavour they can be eaten by themselves.
This is a very little thing to ask for—but the results will be
found to be immense.

Vegetable Marrow is little more than fifty years old

in England —
not appearing in the market before 1819. It
came from Persia where the gourds are in perfection
but no one seems to know who brought us the seeds.
Whoever brought them made a noble gift to his country.
Of all the gourds in Europe the latest known, it is in
England the most cultivated. It is, indeed, more prized
in England than in any other European country, and
can
be obtained so cheaply that it is in great favour with the

poor as well as with the rich. It is a watery vegetable

without much nutriment, but it has a fine mellow flavour;
and at the end of dinner, when we want something light
to play with, its juicy slices make a delicious entremet.
The simplest way of preparing
the best. Boil it,
it is

divide lengthwise, remove the tips, and serve it with the

it

English butter sauce.

Soup for the Shah.— It

is to be hoped that the land of

vegetable marrows sometimes makes a dish of them for the

478 Velvet-dozvn

—
Shah en Shah king of kings. Take some clear broth;
mix with it a mash of the vegetable marrow strew upon it ;

fried crusts,few peas or asparagus points, to

with a
represent the emeralds and topazes which the Persians
love and there is a soup fit for the Shah himself.
:

Velvet-down. (Gouffe’s receipt, slightly altered.) —

Take six pounds of veal and two hens with the fillets cut
off. Put them into a stewpan with a quart of stock for
every pound of veal and fowl combined. Boil it; skim it;
add to it two sliced onions, two carrots, a faggot of sweet-
herbs, a little salt, mignonette pepper and sugar; and
simmer all till the meat is cooked, when the stock should
be strained through a napkin and freed from fat. Mix,
without browning, three-quarters of a pound of clarified

butter with the same quantity of flour; add the stock to

it; stir it on the fire till it boils; then simmer it on the
stove corner for two hours to reduce it to a cullis ;
get rid
of all grease, and pass it through a tammy.
Mock Velvet-down.- — Practically, this is a variation of
what is called white-wine sauce, used with fish. One
way of making it has been already described in treating
of the Sole au vin blanc and the white Matelote, in both
of which the thickening is produced by yolk of egg. In
this case the thickening is made with white roux, and the
result more nearly approaches in character to velvet-down ;

while at the same time the white wine in it gives it a

special distinction. Mix together on the fire, without
browning, four ounces of butter and four of flour.
Moisten with half a pint of plain white broth or of fish
it

broth, and with another half-pint of French white wine.

Add to it a chopped shalot, an onion, a faggot of sweet-
herbs, some salt, and a little nutmeg. Boil it rapidly for
fifteen minutes, so as to reduce it well, but taking care not
to brown it in the least. Pass it through a tammy, and
it is ready.
 — ;

Venison 479
—
Venetian Sauce. This is an utterly useless name; but
it sometimes occurs and must be explained.
It is difficult
to say wherein it differs from tbe Poulette sauce, and we
have seen that the Poulette sauce differs little from Alle-
inande or German sauce. The Venetian may be described
as an Allemande made verdant with chopped parsley — to
remind one of the green slime of the lagoons.

Venison is one of the commonest of meats in Paris

but then it is roebuck venison, which is of small account
in England. Nobody who can command Southdown or
Scotch mutton country will ever condescend to
in this
roebuck, a leg of which has to be larded before it has any
value. It is a common remark in England, indeed, that
good mutton, if it can be had four or five years old, is
equal and more than equal to the only venison which is

prized here — that of the fallow deer, cultivated in parks.

Even of this fallow deer, the doe has
no repute, and it is
only the buck, while it is in season, from June of Michael-

mas, that attracts the regard of a connoisseur. The red

deer of the Scottish Highlands is, in honour of its prowess,
eaten with rejoicing by those who stalk it ; but it is coarse
of texture, rank of flavour, and not to be compared with
the fallow deer. Let the sportsman sing

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,

My heart’s in the
Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the deer and following the roe—
My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go :

but for the pleasure of the table give us neither a haunch

of the red deer from Scotland, nor a Parisian mess of
chevreuil —but
English park venison and for any useful ;

purpose that is all we need consider now.

Haunch of Venison. — It is one of the immutable laws of

gastronomy that if a haunch (also a shoulder or a neck)
of venison is not fat, it is not worth the trouble of roasting;
480 Verjuice

and if fat, all the art of the roaster is to be directed to

nursing the fat. The venison is to be well kept a —
fortnight at least, and when about to be cooked should be
lightly sponged with warm water, and then dried with a
cloth. Then lay over the fat a sheet of buttered writing-
paper —which on and butter on the outside once more.
tie

Over this lay a paste of flour and water which has been
rolled out about half an inch thick. Cover this again with
two sheets of buttered paper, and tie all securely with
twine. Lay the venison in a cradle-spit, before a strong,
clear fire, and basting it constantly, let it roast for four
hours. Twenty minutes before it is ready it must be
unswathed. Baste the meat in every part with butter;
sprinkle some salt on it ;
dredge in a little flour ;
and place
it nearer the fire to brown and froth. Send it up to table
as hot as possible, with brown gravy in a tureen, with
currant jelly, and with a dish of French beans for vegetable
garnish.

Venison Chops . —To be done like mutton chops, but

neither beaten nor trimmed of fat. Let them be peppered
and salted, and turned every two minutes. They take
twenty minutes to cook, and are served with a pat of
butter under them. Currant jelly apart.

Venison Sauce. — Sweet : Black or red currant jelly

melted in port wine. Sharp : Good brown gravy (if made

of the venison itself so much the better), three gills; red
wine, one gill ;
raspberry vineg'ar, half a gill.

Verjuice. —The sour juice of the crab-apple or of sour

grapes; France than in England, where
much more used in
—
an acid as lemon-juice, sorrel, or vinegar is wanted in —
cookery. For some purposes, indeed, it is better than
—
lemon-juice as, for example, in taking off the flatness of
apples or pears, and adding to the sharpness of pies.
Prepare it as follows :
—
Choose ripe crab-apples and lay
them in a heap to sweat. Pick away the stalks and any
 —

Vermicelli 481

signs of rottenness. Then mash the fruit and express

the juice. Strain it, leave it to ferment, and in a month
it will be ready for bottling.

Vermicelli. There are but three well-known in-

stances in Western Europe of disrespectful names being
given to the dainties of the table. The English call one
of their preparations of beef “toad in the hole.” The
French try to give the appearance of a toad to their
pigeons. And the Italians issue some of their best paste
in the form and with the
name of little worms. The poet
Cowper tells, in one of his letters, how his servant gave
some vermicelli soup to a poor beggar, who refused it
with disgust, saying, “ I am very poor and hungry; but
I am not able to eat maggots.” Spite of its name, and
because of its form, this vermicelli is one of the most
pleasant preparations of Italian paste. The fineness of
form proves the fineness of paste, and makes it melt in
the mouth. Vermicelli soup has accordingly, for many
generations, been one of the most popular, as well as
refined, soups in Europe; and has done honour to that
Italian genius which has produced so many- masterpieces
in sculpture, painting, and music. Its preparation is of
the simplest. From a quarter to half a pound of vermi-
broken gradually into hot water, and boiled in it
celli is

for a few minutes. It is then added to and boiled for a

few minutes more in a clear gravy, broth, or double
broth. The same principle applies to macaroni and the
other Italian pastes. If they are not boiled in water
first before being added to the soup, they destroy its

clearness. The French cooks sometimes add asparagus

points, or green peas, or sorrel leaves, or celery cut in
the Julienne fashion. But these additions are of doubtful
value. If the vermicelli is good, it ought to be enough
of itself. The most fashionable addition to it is one upon
which Talleyrand insisted as essential to all the macaroni
soups. Serve it with grated Parmesan cheese in a dish
 —

482 Vermouth

apart, and after it quaff a glass of Madeira or Solera

sherry.

Vermicelli Pudding, which holds a place in English

cookery, is a mistake. The perfection of vermicelli is to
be limp and moist, slipping on the tongue like a liquid.
In a pudding it becomes too firm and dry, and its liquid
melody is lost.

Vermouth is a wormwood wine, and so far differs

from Absinthe — which is wormwood and
an infusion of
allied plants in spirits. In Vermouth the wormwood is
commonly supposed to be infused in a white Hungarian
wine — St. George. Some of the Italian white wines
as White Capri, or White Lachryma Christi — would do
as well. See Wormwood.
Vinaigrette. — See Cruet.

Vinegar. — Said the prophet Mahomet, “ If there is

no vinegar house it is a sin

in a there is : no blessing
neither.” To the cook vinegar is far more than wine,
though wine also is much. Nearly all fresh fish will take
a dash of vinegar with advantage, either in the sauce
which accompanies it, or in the liquor in which it is
boiled. Most vegetables are improved with acid, not
only when they are eaten raw, as in salads, but when
likeasparagus, cauliflowers, artichokes they are pre- —
pared with a butter sauce for entremets. It is to be

remembered, however, that there is a great difference in

vinegars, so that it is difficult to be precise in naming
quantities. White-wine vinegar is often very sharp; red-
wine less so; malt vinegar is often mild enough; and
there is sometimes in like manner a difference between
-lemons, according to the tree or according to the ripe-
ness. which is nearly as well marked as the difference
between oranges.
“ Malt vinegar.” says Pereira, “ consists of water,
acetic acid, acetic ether, colouring matter, a peculiar
 Vinegar 483
organic matter commonly denominated mucilage, a
small portion of alcohol, and sulphuric acid. Vinegar
makers are allowed add one-thousandth part by
to
weight of sulphuric acid.” But good vinegar does not
require this addition. Perhaps the Prophet did not know
that there was alcohol in vinegar when he gave it his
blessing. Perhaps Sir Wilfrid Lawson and his friends
of the Band of Hope will give up vinegar, and consume
nothing but lemons, crabs, rhubarb, sorrel, and docks,
when they know of the poison which flourishes in their
cruets.
Wine vinegar has much the same chemical constitu-
tion as malt. The white-wine sort is to be had every-
where; but as it is difficult to procure the mild red-wine
vinegar in London, it may be well to state that it will be
found good at Perelli-Rocco’s, Greek Street, Soho.
The flavoured vinegars ought to be well known.
Tarragon vinegar plays a grand part in the kitchen, and
at table it becomes important for a salad in the season
when the tarragon leaf not to be had. It is best to
is

buy chili —
vinegar with the chilies in it that is, to buy a
bottle of West India chilies, to use the vinegar in which
they are immersed, and to renew at need. Still better,
any one who has a garden can make these and other
flavoured vinegars for himself. Put a few fresh
tarragon leaves, or a few dozen fresh-gathered chilies,
into a bottle of white-wine vinegar. In ten days the
vinegar will be sufficiently charged with the flavour.
And so for shalot, and for composite flavours. Vinegar
is easily made for private use; and many English families
in the shires delight in home-made
Primrose —
Vinegar for which take the following
receipt. Boil six pounds of moist sugar in sixteen
quarts of water for ten minutes, and carefully take off
the scum. Then shake into it a peck of primroses, and
before it is quite cold a little yeast. Let it ferment in a
484 Vol-au-vent

warm place all night; then put it in a barrel, and keep it

in a warm part of the kitchen till it has done working.

There should be an air-hole in the top of the barrel. It
will take several weeks before the fermentation is at an
end and the vinegar is quite fit for bottling.

Vol-au-vent is often made with great elaboration,

and in that case had better be ordered from a professed
pastry-cook. For a very simple vol-au-vent the follow-
ing receipt may The explanation will be clearest
suffice.
if we take the small vol-au-vents, commonly called
Petites Bouchees (Little mouthfuls). Roll out some of
the finest puff paste (No. 3) to about a quarter of an inch
in thickness. Cut out of it two circles, each the size of
a crown piece. The one is to be put on the top of the
other; but before doing so two things are required:
first, to cut a half-crown piece out of the topmost one,
which then be a half-crown with a ring round it;
will
next, to wet the lower piece all round its edge, so that
the ring of the upper piece may adhere to it. When the
two sheets thus joined are baked, they will together rise
to the height of two inches. The half-crown piece will
be loose in the middle; it can be lifted out, leaving a
hollow; and it will form a lid for the small vol-au-vent.
Fill the hollow with any of the ragouts the Financial —
one and the Toulouse are most in favour. A large vol-
au-vent is done in the same way —
only that according to
its size the paste is rolled out thicker say half an inch.—
The ornamentation of the paste in the wav of printing
or cutting must be left to fancy.

ALNUT. — When an Englishman thinks of a

nut, it is the filbert or the cobnut which
comes most readily into his fancy : the
walnut is to him what its name signifies —
a foreign nut. To the southern races of Europe it is the
 Waterzootje 485
nut of nuts. All the classical allusions which connect
nuts and marriage have reference to the walnut. The
nut was also supposed to be precious for its uses. Its oil
was good for bald heads, for the painter’s palette, for
lamps, and for worms. I conclude that our ancestors
must have been much troubled with worms for the —
number of plants which they cultivated with a view to
repelling the inroads of worms was extraordinary.
The
walnut not only cured worms; it cured hydrophobia;
and was such an antidote to poison that it was the chief
ingredient of the remedy on which Mithridates relied.
Then the timber of the tree was extremely valuable.
This we can see still in household furniture; but
the
wood was especially set apart for gunstocks. The tree
also has some peculiar influence forgood or for bad on
the vegetation around it. A walnut tree will kill the
strawberry beds in its neighbourhood. On the other
hand, it is said to be of some great benefit to field crops.
Long ago, around Frankfort, a young farmer was never
allowed to marry till he could prove that he had planted
a certain number of walnut trees. It may be added that
between the 45th and 48th degree of latitude in France
walnuts are more abundant than anywhere else in
Europe. It is fit that in the chief wine country of the
world the walnuts should increase and multiply. The
French are, however, backward in one respect: they do
not so much as the English appreciate the cooked, that
is the pickled, walnut —
the most simple of condiments
and one of the most distinguished.

Waterzootje— a term of Dutch origin for the most

simple way of dressing fish. It is used either for the
smaller fish, as slips and Thames flounders; or for
the
larger fish, as salmon cut into small pieces. The fish
must have a delicate flavour of their own to come well
out of this process, which consists of boiling them
in
486 Welsh Rabbit

some small stock or court and of serving them

bouillon,
up in this liquor, to which a few sprigs and sometimes
roots of parsley may be added. Boiled fish are usually
eaten with a sauce of some character. In this case the
fish are eaten with a dessert-spoon and a fork in their
own liquor. The favourite fish eaten at Greenwich in
this way are Thames flounders. Francatelli will have it

that the best of for waterzootje

all fish is the char.
The zootje is always eaten with thin slices of brown
bread and butter.

Welsh Rabbit. — Let the Welsh

— their own tale tell in

the words of Lady Llanover “ Welsh toasted cheese

:

and the melted cheese of England are as different in the

mode of preparation as is the cheese itself the one being
;

only adapted to strong digestions, and the other being

so easily digested that the Hermit frequently gave it to
his invalid patients when they were recovering from
illness. Cut a slice of the real Welsh cheese, made of
sheep and cow’s milk; toast it at the fire on both sides,
but not so much as to drop toast a piece of bread less
;

than a quarter of an inch thick, to be quite crisp, and

spread it very thinly with fresh cold butter on one side
(itmust not be saturated with butter); then lay the
toasted cheese upon the bread, and serve immediately
on a very hot plate. The butter on the toast can of
course be omitted if not liked, and it is more frequently
eaten without butter.”
quite intelligible that one cheese should be more
It is

wholesome than another but that there is any marked

;

difference in digestibility between cheese toasted and

cheese melted or stewed, it is difficult to believe.

In case the wandering Englishman should suddenly

feel in his travels a sort of home-sickness, and desire to
partake of Welsh rabbit, let it be known that in Viard’s
cookery book, which has a great reputation, the receipt
 Wheatears ,
oi' Fallowchat 487

is quite correctly given ; and that on this authority the

said Englishman may safely call either for Wouelche
Rabette, or for Lapin Gallois.

Westphalia Hams are exceedingly good — perhaps

better than ever they were;- but yet, and but yet — they
are not They made a name for them-
what they were.
selves in Europe, being hams of the wild boar. They
were among hams what game is among other flesh.
They are so no longer. They have lost their distinctive
quality. does not follow that they are less to be
It

desired they are indeed still so good that the Germans

:

eat them raw, and think it a desecration to cook them.

This of course implies that they are well smoked, and
that they are cooked enough by fumigation.

Wheatears, or Fallowchat, is a pleasant little bird

which is found to be very satisfactory at the end of the
Lordon season, while we are still waiting for the grouse
and the partridges. It winters on the shores of the

Mediterranean, but comes over to England to breed in

mid-March. Alighting on our southern coasts, it
spreads itself over the British Islands, even to Orkney
and Shetland. When the breeding season is over, then
is the time to catch it with advantage. This is not only
because we are disposed to give all birds their freedom
while they have families dependent on them; but also,
and chiefly, it is on their return south that the wheatears
can be caught in sufficient numbers to make it worth
while to pursue them. Towards the end of July old
birds and young ones, fat and plump, begin to collect on
the Sussex downs, meaning to cross the Channel in
search of their winter homes. On St. James’s day, the
25th of July, the shepherds of the South Downs begin to
set nooses and lay traps for them. All the traps and
nooses are ready by the 1st of August. One shepherd
488 Whey
has been known to catch a thousand birds in a day. He
can easily catch five hundred. And this system of
ensnaring goes on till the third week in September,
when the birds have nearly all left. Each bird is sup-
posed to be worth a penny to the shepherd. At least,
Southey tells the story of one of the amiable minor poets,
Hurdis, who used to let the birds out of the traps which
he found in his walks, but always left a penny in place of
each, to soothe the disappointment of the shepherds. A
penny is not much to give for a bird which has been
honoured with the name of the English ortolan. It is
needless to say that in Leadenhall Market, and in the
hotels of the Sussex watering places, the little birds,
generally sold by the dozen, are charged a good deal
more than a penny apiece. They are mightily prized in
the end of summer, when winged fowl, with the excep-
tion of the heroes and heroines of the barn-door, are
scarce at our tables; and they are to be treated as larks.
—
As to the name of the bird,- which is not wheatear,
—
but wheatears, it must be enough to say that it has
nothing to do with wheat, nor with any kind of ear,
whether of corn or of bird. In a very old cookery book
— —
that of La Varenne the name of the bird is given as
Thiastias. What does it mean?

Whey. — “ The whey of milk is the opalescent liquor

from which the curd has been removed in making cheese.
Although not highly nutritious, it still holds a little
caseine in solution, as well as the sugar and saline matter
of the milk. It is rarely used as food even by the poor,
but it given to pigs. In Switzerland, however, it is
is

considered to have medicinal virtues, especially for the

cure of chronic disorders of the abdominal organs; and
the treatment which sometimes fashionable goes by
is

the name of cure de petit lait. There is a popular notion

that the whey of milk is sudorific; and hence we have
 —

Whitebait 489
our wine whey, cream-of-tartar whey, alum whey,
tamarind whey, etc., when the milk has been curdled by
—
these several substances.” Dr. Henry Lctheby.

White. The use of this word is so frequent in

cookery that though itmany times explained,
has been
it may
be well to define it here again. It is no doubt
often used to denote a positive whiteness produced by
any pleasant pigment of almonds, milk, rice, or flour;
but it means chiefly a negation —the absence of browning
produced by cooking at a high temperature. This high
temperature roasts; and roasting produces at once
colour and flavour. A white soup, a white sauce, a
white stew, is one produced at a temperature which
never exceeds the boiling point, and therefore never
burns or browns.

Whitebait. Our ignorance of whitebait is odd. The

controversies that have arisen as to whence the whitebait
comes are as interminable, curious and furious, as those
concerning whither the lost Ten Tribes have gone. No-
body seems to know. It is said that the Scotch, with
their banking propensities, their love of the Sabbath,
and their aversion to pigs and eels, are the lost Ten
Tribes; and on much the same evidence it is proved that
whitebait are the fry of the common herring. It was for
a long time supposed that whitebait, which come up the
Thames as far as Blackwall, are the young of that fresh-
—
water herring the shad, which also comes thus far up
the river. They were then proved to be quite distinct
from the fry of the shad. It was next insisted that they
were a distinct species of herring. It was afterwards
pointed out that whitebait have never been found with
roe; and therefore they must be young. It is now de-
clared that they are the infant progeny of the common
herring, with all themanners of the parent fish save this
—that they travel up the Thames to haunts which their
490 Whitebait

ancestors, if they were ever there, no longer seem to

approve of.
To dress the whitebait: —
i. First of all, strew some
flour upon a cloth. Iobserve that some of the receipts
speak of egg. Have nothing to do therewith. Flour is
enough.
Take the whitebait out of the water with your
2.

hands, and drain them through your fingers. Some of

the receipts warn you not to handle them. This is non-
sense. The object of the warning is to prevent the
hands from warming the fish; but they need not be held
long enough in the hand to do so.
3. When they are drained throw them on the flour in

the cloth.
4. Let them roll in the flour, by shaking the corners
of the cloth successively. They will not stick together
if .they are fresh.
5. Pass them on to a large wooden sieve, to get rid
of superflous flour.
Put them into a wire frying-basket.
6.

7. Dip the basket into a frying-kettle of very hot

beef-fat. This point is important. Many of the receipts

—
say lard which is a mistake. Nothing so good as ox-
kidney fat.
8. There let them rest for three minutes upon the

fire motionless. At the end of that time give them a

light shake, though without taking them out of the fat.
In half a minute more perhaps another shake.
9. Four minutes —
at most five —
of the hot fat ought
to be enough for them, for they must not be allowed to
brown.
10. Take them out of the frying-kettle, and while they

are still in the basket sprinkle salt over them. Give

them a shake and then another sprinkle.
11. They are now ready for table, they ought to be

slightly crisp, and they are to be served with brown

bread and butter and quarters of lemon.
 Whiting
o 491

To devil whitebait .
—The proper process is at No. 10,
to sprinkle it either with red or black pepper —whichever
is preferred —along with the one of the
salt. But it is

tricks of the trade to take whitebait which has been

already cooked; to sprinkle it with pepper, then to dip it
a second time in the frying-kettle, and lastly to put a
fresh sprinkling of pepper upon it.

White Wine Sauce. — Strictly speaking there is really

no such distinct sauce. The phrase, however, is a con-
venient one for the mode of working up the liquor in
which a sole has been boiled into a pleasant condiment.
The sole thus prepared is called Sole au vin blanc (Sole
with white wine); and a description of it will be found in
the article allotted to Sole.

Whiting. —When we think of whiting we generally

a
see in vision a golden-brown from the frying-
little fish

pan, with his mouth — the symbol of eternity.

tail in his

The symbol is that he is everlasting at

justified in this :

the dinner-table; and he does not appear at dinner, it is

if

probably because he did duty at breakfast. In truth, the

whiting deserves this favour, being an exceedingly deli-
cate little fish —the delight of invalids, who can enjoy
him when they can digest little else. If the whiting is
bad, be it poor or coarse, take for granted in most cases
that it is no true whiting. There are myriads of codlings
and pollacks sold for the true silver whiting. Codlings
have a barbel; whitings have none. Pollacks have the
under jaw projecting beyond the upper one; whitings
project the upper jaw beyond the lower one. Putting-
out of account the month of January, when the whiting-
spawns, it may be assumed, eleven months of the year,
that a bad whiting is a codling or a pollack.
However good a whiting may be, it is absurd to boil
him: half the taste is boiled out of him. In any stew,
too. he is overpowered by the taste of the sauce. If we
492 Widgeon
really mean to taste the whiting, he must be either fried
or broiled. The French
fry him with his skin on, his
gashed and dusted with flour but there is no better
sides
;

way than that common in England, where the little

animal is skinned, takes his tail in his mouthto symbolize
and then, after a dainty
eternity, roll in egg, fine bread-
crumb and flour, disports himself in the frying-pan. For
broiling him there are two good ways of arranging his
toilet. Leave him in his skin, split him down the back,
and after dusting him well with flour, put him on the
grill. The worst of this method is that he is apt to fall
in pieces, and especially if any attempt is made
to get
rid of his backbone. Much the best way of grilling him
is in the Scotch fashion of rizzared haddock. (See
Ffaddock.) A rizzared whiting is so good, that those
who have been initiated into its mystery have been
known to be content with nothing else for breakfast all
the rest of their lives thereafter.

Fillets of Whiting au gratin .

—A delicate little dish,
done in the same way as the sole, or rather the fillets of
sole au gratin.

A Whiting Pudding is served at Greenwich dinners;

but beware of it — touch it not it is only a sponge in-
:

tended to wipe from the palate the impressions produced

by one dish of fish in order to prepare for another.

A Quenelle of Whiting is and is often

a different thing,
used with great effect in the embellishment of other fish.
(See Quenelle.)

Widgeon. — It will not do to inquire too curiously into

the food of all the animals we eat. It may be painful to
reflect that thehogs of Montanches which yield the most
superb hams are fed on vipers; that ducks dabble in the
gutter; that woodcocks live on earthworms; that a whole
family of snipes nourish themselves on Father long-legs;
 Wild Duck 493
and that red mullets are caught where they find their
victuals, beneath the mackerel shoals. But there is no
fear of our being shocked by the diet of the widgeon. It
is a nice little bird, which feeds wholly
on the short sweet
glass beloved by the goose. It is for this reason in
Lapland called the grass-duck. The nature of its food is
perfectly well ascertained; because, unlike its congeners
the mallard or wild duck, the poachard and the teal,
which feed by night, it feeds by day, and seems to have
noigreat fear of the human race. It comes to us from
the north in the end of September, and remains till the
beginning of April.
As a rule understood that winged game should be
it is

underdone; but with regard to wild-fowl the rule is

expressed in very strong terms—that the fowl should see
the fire and no more. It is obvious that this fashion will
not suit everybody’s taste. Much or little, the widgeon
is to be roasted before a brisk, bright fire, and
to be sent
to table with a crisp surface, with crusts or toast, and
convoyed by a boatful of orange gravy sauce. Some-
times only
the fillets are served with the pinions
attached. In this case they come to table piping hot in a
bath of orange gravy.

Wild Duck used to be called Mallard, but receives its

present name out of respect for our friends of the horse-
pond, whose forefather it is supposed to be. As such,
the wild duck is like nothing else that comes to our table,
unless it be the rabbit of the warren and the wild boar.
When we taste the tame duck of Rouen, or a rabbit of
the hutch, we are tasting civilization when we put the
:

breast of the wild duck into our mouths, or a shoulder of

the rabbit from the sand-burrow, we are embracing
savage life and enjoying nature. Let the philosopher
say which is best. In the case of the rabbit there can be
no doubt the wild coney is beyond the tame one. But
:
 —

4y4 IVoodcock

the superiority of the wild duck over the civilised one is

by no means established. A duckling with green peas is

indeed one of the triumphs of civilisation; and none of
your “ flappers ” (the name given to wild ducklings) can
approach it. Still there is an imposing minority who
vote for wild duck— especially if it is of their own shoot-
ing. The worst of the wild duck, however, and its

congeners, is that they are apt to have a fishy flavour;

though where this flavour comes from it is difficult to

say. The widgeon, for example, is known to feed wholly

or almost wholly on grass ;
and yet it has often a strong
fishy taste. get rid of this grossness that wild
It is to

fowl are sometimes stuffed with sage and onions and

other high and mighty principles. On the whole, how-
ever, has been discovered that stuffing is a useless
it

excess. The only stuffing that may be allowed is plain

crumb of bread well soaked in port or other red wine.
Let the roasting of the duck be as rapid as his flight
before a brisk fire on a jack that revolves with quick
music. Let him come up to table with a crisp, brown
surface, suggesting hot haste; but inwardly for the —
—
epicure he must be underdone. His sauce is orange
gravy.
I —
have spoken of him the drake, who indeed fetches
a higher price than the duck. But as a rule the duck is
better.

Woodcock. —The muse has sung the praises of the

woodcock in the following exalted strain: —
If partridge had the woodcock’s thighs,
’Twould be the noblest bird that flies;
If woodcock had the partridge breast,
’Twould be the best bird ever drest.
Tastes and a good many persons have been heard
differ;
to say that a woodcock and a partridge rolled into one
are not equal to a grouse of prime condition. In one
 —

Woodcock 495
respect, however, the woodcock and his little cousin, the
snipe — hehimself being a sort of snipe, a scolopax— is
more honoured than any other species of game. He is
never drawn, and every morsel of him is eaten, to the
last entrail. The first dainty bit to begin with is the
head, which is a glory in itself, and well-nigh worthy of
a nimbus. Then for the rest of the bird, — the wing is
something too good, and this is excellence in the posi-
tivedegree; comparative, the thigh is finer; superlative,
nothing can surpass the trail. What a tribute is this to
the woodcock’s diet of worms ! He will eat in a day
double his own weight of —
worms, and when we enjoy
a woodcock even to his trail, we ought always to give

some of our love and gratitude to those worms to which

—
we must all come at last to eat or to be eaten. The
woodcock comes all the way from Norway to eat them in
the end of autumn; and he goes on eating them here till
—
he departs in March though a few of his kind stay on
and breed among us.
It has been above stated that the woodcock is never

drawyi. This is quite true in theory; but in practice one

of two things occurs. The usual way of roasting the
bird is to wrap him in a slice of bacon, which is to be tied

round him with a thread to place under him some toast,

;

and to hang him tail downwards before the fire. As he

revolves, and is basted, and enjoys the heat, the trail will
drop out upon the toast beneath, and is to be spread
equally over it when served. It is sometimes, however,

found convenient to roast the bird in a different way

resting in a Dutch-oven, or even in a casserole. In this
case he is to be half-done, and then the trail is to be
taken out of him and to be used as follows, all except the
gizzard : —
Pound it in a mortar with about half its
volume little chopped shalot, some crumb
of bacon-fat. a
and pepper. Spread this upon toast; let it
of bread, salt
roast or bake by the side of the woodcock for the
 —

496 Wooctsorrel

remainder of which is from twenty to thirty

his time,
minutes and
;
let it be served under him with a lemon in

quarters at his side. For sauce, mix a little good beef

gravy with the butter which has basted him, and serve it
apart; or take an orange gravy. Furthermore, it is to
be remembered that the woodcock is supposed to be the
best of birds for the Barnardin Salmi.

Woodsorrel. —That this trefoil is the shamrock

which excited the devotional feelings of St. Patrick
when he landed in Ireland, is shown bv the fact that one
of the names for it throughout the west of Europe, in
Italy, Spain, France, as well as England, is Allelujah.
This name was corrupted in Italy and in England into
Lujula; in the south of Italy it was corrupted either from
or into Giuliola, and in France it appears as Julienne,
whence the name of the well-known soup. The wood-
sorrel ( oxalis acetosella), is now little used in cookery
being replaced by the more abundant, but also less deli-
cate dock or common sorrel, which as a Rumex belongs
to a different family. See the chapter on Julienne.

Woodworm was a good used in England to

deal
flavour and to preserve beer, before hops were known.
Hops were introduced in 1524, and encountered much
opposition —a petition having been presented to Parlia-
ment, which they are called “ a wicked weed.”
in 1528, in
They prevailed, however and wormwood went gradually
;

out of use in this country, notwithstanding the supposed

virtue which its name indicates. There are three related
—
shrubs wormwood, southernwood, and tarragon
(.Artemisia Absinthium, Artemisia Abrotanum, and
Artemisia Dracunculus)—all more or less narcotic.
Now, here is an odd thing that whereas tarragon is still
:

much used in diet, though it has never pretended to any

remarkable virtues beyond its fine flavour, its friends of
 Yorkshire Pie 497
greater pretensions — wormwood, renowned as a vermi-
fuge, and southernwood, which in the form of southern-
wood tea was much drunk by women to prevent hysteria
and —
other feminine maladies in England, at least,
passed almost entirely out of common account, and are
cared for only by herbalists and druggists. On the
Continent, however, the distillers have seized upon
them, and continue to proclaim their renown in the two
—
liqueurs Absinthe and Vermouth.

(ORKSHIRE PTE. — Yorkshire has won so

much glory by reason of its pudding, that
it has some claim to our attention when it

offers us a pie. What is sold in the Italian

warehouse under this name is but a galantine packed in
terrines of different sizes. The true Yorkshire pie is

made as follows, and one of the most noble features of

is

an English Christmas: —
Bone a goose and a large fowl.
Fill the latter with a stuffing made of minced ham or

tongue, veal, suet, parsley, pepper, salt, and two eggs;

or for a more highly-seasoned stuffing say minced ham, —
veal, suet, onion, sweet-herbs, lemon-peel, mixed spices,
cayenne, salt, worked into a paste with a couple of eggs.
Sew up the fowl, trussit, and stew it for twenty minutes

along with the goose in some good stock, and in a close

stewpan. Put the fowl within the goose, and place the
goose in a pie-mould which has been lined with good hot-
water paste. Let the goose repose on a cushion of
stuffing, and in the midst of the liquor in which he has
been stewed. Surround him in the pie with slices of
parboiled tongue and pieces of pigeon, partridge, or
hare. Fill the vacancies with more stuffing; put on a
49 ^ Yorkshire Pudding

good layer of butter; roof it with paste; bake it for three

hours and consume it either hot or cold. These pies are
;

sometimes made of enormous size, containing every

variety of poultry and game, one within another and
side by side. A Christmas pie of this kind, going from
Sheffield in 1832 as a tribute to the then
Lord Chancellor
Brougham, broke down by reason of its weight.
This pie reminds one of what Alexandre Dumas
regarded as his culinary triumph the Monte Christo —
anchovy. Put the anchovy into an
olive, the olive into a
lark, the lark into a quail, the quail into a pheasant, the
pheasant into a turkey, the turkey into a sucking-pig.
Roast it for three hours. Then peel off laver after layer,
—
throwing all out of the window, save the anchovy, for
which everything is to be sacrificed.

—
Yorkshire Puddtng. Of all the English counties
Yorkshire has contrived, with the rare spirit of adven-
ture and mother-wit which belongs to the Yorkshireman
in all his dealings, to take the foremost place for cookery
in the estimation of the world. It may be that this is the
result more of accident than of taste. to It is difficult
believe in the taste of a province which eats mustard with
apple pie; still the culinary reputation of the shire is a
fact. The Yorkshire ham is rivalled bv the Cheshire
cheese in renown.over Europe the Shesterre is
All
known jambon d’Yorck. But these are
as well as the
not properly the achievements of the kitchen. Wherever
the roast beef of Old England is heard of, there the
Yorkshire pudding is known and nothing like this can
;

be said of any other English county.

Take an equal number of eggs and of large table-
spoonfuls of flour. Whisk the eggs well, mix them
gradually with the flour, add salt with a trifle of nutmeg,
and pour in as much new milk as will reduce the batter
to the consistence of cream. Work the batter vigorously
 Zest 499
for ten minutes, to makeit light, and then at once pour

it into a baking-tin,which must be very hot, with two

ounces of dripping in it. Set the pudding to bake before
the fire under the roast meat for about half an hour
before it is taken up; and when it is ready, cut it into
squares and send it to table on a dish by itself. This is
—
the true Yorkshire method the pudding being only half
an inch thick, and not turned in the baking. But in most
other counties the plan is to make the pudding an inch
thick, and either to turn it on the baking-tin or to turn it
out of one baking-tin on to another, in order to brown
it on both sides. If the meat is not roasted but baked,
the pudding may still be placed under it, the meat resting
upon a tripod in the middle of the baking-tin.

EBU, the Indian ox with a sacred hump on

his back, which is the pinnacle of beef---
— —
supramundane heavenly not to be eaten.
When beef becomes a god, who dare
devour him? Who will make broth out of Jupiter Bos,
and turn the Brahminee bull into toad in the hole ? Yet
something like it has been done :
—
The Egyptian rites the Jebusites embraced.
Where gods were recommended by the taste;
Such savoury deities must needs be good.
As served at once for worship and for food.

—
Zest the pungent yellow on the surface of oranges
and lemons; the bitter skin of the walnut; anything with
a penetrating taste. But such is the vanity of human
happiness, that whereas we use the word zest to signify
whatever gives relish to life, the French use it not only
500 Zootje

for this, but for very nothingness. Zest ! Fiddlesticks !

It has been stated, and ought to be true if it is not,

it

that a German author has written a great book on the

zest of an orange —
the all and the nothing.
—
Zootje a Dutch word as near as possible in root and
in meaning to the English Seethed. All honour to the
inhabitants of sea and river that can afford to make our
acquaintance not dressed in the royal robes of curious
sauces, but in the naked simplicity of the bath in which
they have swum over the fire ! Their advent at our
tables in a vehicle of water is so creditable to them, and
so unusual, that it is always signalised in the name of
Waterzootje.

FINIS.

Hall & English Ltd., Printers, London and Birmingham.

Notes
Notes
Notes
RECORD OF TREATMENT, EXTRACTION, REPAIR, etc.

Pressmark:

Binding Ref No: 2t°»o

Microfilm No:

Date Particulars

- 4 - V Chemical Treatment

Fumigation

Deacidification c.p , Cl v

Lamination

Solvents

Leather Treatment

Adhesives

Remarks