Part 23

2 lbs. lean fresh beef, boiled, and when cold, chopped fine. 1 lb. beef-suet, cleared of strings and minced to powder. 5 lbs. apples, pared and chopped. 2 lbs. raisins, seeded and chopped. 1 lb. sultana raisins, washed and picked over. 2 lbs. currants, washed and _carefully_ picked over. ¾ lb. citron, cut up fine. 2 tablespoonfuls cinnamon. 1 teaspoonful powdered nutmeg. 2 tablespoonfuls mace. 1 tablespoonful cloves. 1 tablespoonful allspice. 1 tablespoonful fine salt. 2½ lbs. brown sugar. 1 quart brown Sherry. 1 pint best brandy.

Mince-meat made by this receipt will keep all winter in a cool place. Keep in stone jars, tied over with double covers. Add a little more liquor (if it should dry out), when you make up a batch of pies. Let the mixture stand at least twenty-four hours after it is made before it is used.

Lay strips of pastry, notched with a jagging-iron, in a cross-bar pattern, upon the pie, instead of a top-crust.

I take this opportunity of warning the innocent reader against placing any confidence whatever in dried currants. I years ago gave over trying to guess who put the dirt in them. It is always there! Gravel-stones lurking under a specious coating of curranty-looking paste, to crucify grown people’s nerves and children’s teeth; mould that changes to mud in the mouth; twigs that prick the throat, not to mention the legs, wings, and bodies of tropical insects—a curious study to one interested in the entomology of Zante. It is all _dirt!_ although sold to us at _currant_ prices.

Wash your currants, therefore, first in warm water, rolling up your sleeves, and rubbing the conglomerate masses apart, as you would scrub a muddy garment. Drain them in a cullender, and pass them through three more waters—cold now, but cleansing. Then spread them upon a large dish, and enter seriously upon your geological and entomological researches. “Sultanas”—sweet and seedless—are nearly as troublesome, but their specialty is more harmless, being stickiness and stems.

Nevertheless, since John has a weakness for mince-pies (I never saw an un-dyspeptic man who had not), it is worth your while to make them, having this consolation, that if you are wise you need not engage in the manufacture oftener than once, or at most, twice a winter. But let the children taste them sparingly, and never at night, if you value their health and your own sound slumbers.

APPLE MINCE-MEAT.

2 lbs. apples—pared and chopped. ¾ lb. beef suet—cleared of strings and powdered. 1 lb. currants. ½ lb. raisins, seeded and chopped. ½ lb. sultana raisins. ¼ lb. citron, cut into shreds. 1 lemon—juice and grated rind. 1 tablespoonful cinnamon. 1 teaspoonful cloves. 1 teaspoonful mace. 1 tablespoonful allspice. 2 lbs. brown sugar. Half-pint best brandy. A glass of wine. 2 teaspoonfuls salt.

Pack down in a stone jar, with close cover, and keep in a cool place.

MOCK MINCE-MEAT. ✠

6 soda crackers—rolled fine. 2 cups cold water. 1 cup molasses. 1 cup brown sugar. 1 cup _sour_ cider. 1½ cup melted butter. 1 cup raisins—seeded and chopped. 1 cup currants. 2 eggs—beaten light. 1 tablespoonful cinnamon and allspice mixed. 1 teaspoonful nutmeg. 1 teaspoonful cloves. 1 teaspoonful salt. 1 teaspoonful black pepper. 1 wineglass of brandy.

“Mince-pie in summer is a pleasant rarity,” was the remark of a party of hungry travellers, in semi-apology for the fact that every plate made a return journey to the comely landlady, who was dispensing generous triangles of pie. She smiled gratifiedly, but said nothing in reply, until, when the gentlemen had strolled off to the woods with their cigars, she came upon me, seated alone on the piazza, and grew confidential under the influence of that sort of free-masonic understanding housekeepers have with one another, almost at sight.

“I had to laugh,” said the good soul, “when they praised my mince-pies. They’re healthfuller in summer time than the real thing.”

I took down the receipt on the spot from her lips. If any one doubts the merits of the counterfeit, let her do as I did—try it.

APPLE PIE (_No. 1._) ✠

Pare, core, and slice ripe, tart winter apples—Pippins, Greenings, or Baldwins—line your dish with a good crust, put in a layer of fruit, then sprinkle light-brown sugar thickly over it, scatter half a dozen whole cloves upon this, lay on more apples, and so on, until the dish is well filled. Cover with crust and bake. Sift powdered sugar over the top before sending to table.

APPLE PIE (_No. 2._) ✠

Stew green or ripe apples, when you have pared and cored them. Mash to a smooth compote, sweeten to taste, and, while hot, stir in a teaspoonful butter for each pie. Season with nutmeg. When cool, fill your crust, and either cross-bar the top with strips of paste, or bake without cover.

Eat cold, with powdered sugar strewed over it.

APPLE CUSTARD PIE. ✠

3 cups stewed apple. Nearly a cup white sugar. 6 eggs. 1 quart milk.

Make the stewed apple very sweet, and let it cool. Beat the eggs light, and mix the yolks well with the apple, seasoning with nutmeg only. Then stir in gradually the milk, beating as you go on; lastly add the whites; fill your crust and bake without cover.

APPLE MÉRINGUE PIES. ✠

Stew and sweeten ripe, juicy apples, when you have pared and sliced them. Mash smooth, and season with nutmeg. If you like the flavor, stew some lemon-peel with the apple, and remove when cold. Fill your crust, and bake until just done. Spread over the apple a thick méringue, made by whipping to a stiff froth the whites of three eggs for each pie, sweetening with a tablespoonful of powdered sugar for each egg. Flavor this with rose-water or vanilla; beat until it will stand alone, and cover the pie three-quarters of an inch thick. Set back in the oven until the méringue is well “set.” Should it color too darkly, sift powdered sugar over it when cold. Eat cold.

They are very fine.

Peach pies are even more delicious, made in this manner.

PIPPIN PIES.

12 fine ripe pippins, pared and grated. 1 lb. white sugar. ½ lb. butter. 6 eggs—whites and yolks separately beaten. 1 lemon—grated peel and juice, with nutmeg.

Cream the butter and sugar, stir in the beaten yolks, then the lemon, nutmeg, and apple; lastly the whites, very lightly. Bake in paste, with cross-bars of the same on top.

PUMPKIN PIE (No. 1.) ✠

1 quart stewed pumpkin—pressed through a sieve. 9 eggs—whites and yolks beaten separately. 2 scant quarts milk. 1 teaspoonful mace. 1 teaspoonful cinnamon, and the same of nutmeg. 1½ cup white sugar, or very light brown.

Beat all well together, and bake in crust without cover.

PUMPKIN PIE (No. 2.)

1 quart pumpkin—stewed and strained. 1 quart milk. 1 cup sugar. 7 eggs—beaten very light. 1 teaspoonful ginger, and same of mace and cinnamon each.

SQUASH PIE

Is made precisely like pumpkin pie, except that, being less rich, it requires one more egg for each pie.

SWEET-POTATO PIE (No. 1.)

Parboil, skin, and slice crosswise firm sweet potatoes. Line a dish with paste, put in a layer of sliced potato, sprinkle thickly with sugar, scatter among them a few whole cloves, and cover with more slices. Fill the dish in this order; put a tablespoonful of melted butter in each pie; pour in a little water; cover with crust, and bake.

Eat cold.

SWEET POTATO PIE (No. 2.) ✠

1 lb. mealy sweet potatoes. The firm yellow ones are best. ½ cup butter. ¾ cup white sugar. 1 tablespoonful cinnamon. 1 teaspoonful nutmeg. 4 eggs—whites and yolks beaten separately. 1 cup of milk. 1 lemon, juice and rind, and glass of brandy.

_Parboil_ the potatoes, and grate them when quite cold. If grated hot, they are sticky and heavy. Cream the butter and sugar; add the yolk, the spice, and lemon; beat the potato in by degrees and until all is light; then the milk, then the brandy, and stir in the whites. Bake in dishes lined with good paste—without cover.

You may make a pudding of this by baking in a deep dish—well buttered, without paste. Cool before eating.

IRISH POTATO PIE (_or pudding._) ✠

1 lb. mashed potato, rubbed through a cullender. ½ lb. butter—creamed with the sugar. 6 eggs—whites and yolks separately. 1 lemon—squeezed into the potato while hot. 1 cup of milk. 1 teaspoonful nutmeg, and same of mace. 2 cups white sugar.

Mix as you do sweet potato pudding, and bake in open shells of paste. To be eaten cold.

LEMON PIE (_or Transparent Pudding._) ✠

½ lb. butter. 1 lb. sugar. 6 eggs—whites and yolks separately. Juice of one lemon. Grated rind of two. 1 nutmeg. ½ glass brandy.

Cream butter and sugar, beat in the yolks, the lemon, spice, and brandy, stirring in the whites at the last.

Bake in pie-crust, open.

You may, if you wish to have these very nice, beat up the whites of but four eggs in the mixture, and whip the whites of four more into a méringue with four tablespoonfuls sugar and a little lemon-juice, to spread over the top of each pie.

Eat cold. They are very nice baked in pattypans.

LEMON PIE (No. 2.) ✠

1 apple, chopped fine. 1 egg. 1 lemon, chop the inside very fine and grate the rind. 1 cup sugar. Butter, the size of a walnut.

This is just enough for one pie. Take the thick white rind off the lemon before you chop it. Take out the seeds carefully.

LEMON CREAM PIE. ✠

1 teacup powdered sugar. 1 tablespoonful butter. 1 egg. 1 lemon—juice and grated rind, removing the seeds with care. 1 teacupful boiling water. 1 tablespoonful corn-starch, dissolved in cold water.

Stir the corn-starch into the water, cream the butter and sugar, and pour over them the hot mixture. When quite cool, add lemon and the beaten egg. Take the inner rind off the lemon and mince very small.

Bake in open shell.

LEMON PIE (No. 3.)

3 eggs. 1 great spoonful butter. ¾ cup white sugar. Juice and grated peel of lemon. Bake in open shells of paste.

Cream the sugar and butter, stir in the beaten yolks and the lemon, and bake. Beat the whites to a stiff méringue with three tablespoonfuls powdered sugar and a little rose-water. When the pies are done, take from the oven just long enough to spread the méringue over the top, and set back for three minutes. This mixture is enough for two small, or one good-sized pie.

Eat cold.

ORANGE PIE. ✠

3 eggs. ¾ cup of white sugar. 2 tablespoonfuls butter. 1 orange—juice and half the grated rind. ½ lemon—juice and grated peel. Nutmeg to taste.

Cream the butter and sugar, beating in the orange and lemon until very light; add the beaten yolks, fill two pastry shells and bake. Beat the whites stiff with two tablespoonfuls powdered sugar, and when the pies are done, spread over them, returning to the oven for three or four minutes.

LEMON TART.

1 cup sugar. 2 lemons—all the juice, and a teaspoonful grated peel. 1 teaspoonful corn-starch, dissolved in a little cold water. A dozen raisins stewed, cut in two and seeded.

Beat up well, and bake with upper and lower crust.

ORANGE TARTLETS.

2 fine Havana oranges, juice of both, and grated peel of one. ¾ cup of sugar-½ cup if the oranges are very sweet. 1 tablespoonful of butter. ½ lemon—juice only, to wet 1 teaspoonful corn-starch.

Beat all well together, and bake in tartlet shells without cover.

CHOCOLATE TARTS. ✠

4 eggs, whites and yolks. ½ cake of Baker’s chocolate, grated. 1 tablespoonful corn-starch dissolved in water. 3 tablespoonfuls milk. 4 tablespoonfuls white sugar. 2 teaspoonfuls vanilla. 1 saltspoonful salt. ½ teaspoonful cinnamon. 1 teaspoonful butter, melted.

Rub the chocolate smooth in the milk and heat to boiling over the fire, then stir in the corn-starch. Stir five minutes until well thickened, remove from the fire, and pour into a bowl. Beat all the yolks and the whites of two eggs well with the sugar, and when the chocolate mixture is almost cold, put all together with the flavoring, and stir until light. Bake in open shells of pastry. When done, cover with a méringue made of the whites of two eggs and two tablespoonfuls of sugar flavored with a teaspoonful of lemon-juice. Eat cold.

These are nice for tea, baked in pattypans.

COCOA-NUT PIE (No. 1.) ✠

½ lb. grated cocoa-nut. ¾ lb. white sugar (powdered.) 6 oz. butter. 5 eggs—the whites only. 1 glass white wine. 2 tablespoonfuls rose-water. 1 tablespoonful nutmeg.

Cream the butter and sugar, and when well mixed, beat very light, with the wine and rose-water. Add the cocoanut with as little and as light beating as possible; finally, whip in the stiffened whites of the eggs with a few skillful strokes, and bake at once in open shells. Eat cold, with powdered sugar sifted over them.

These are very pretty and delightful pies.

COCOA-NUT PIE (No. 2.)

1 lb. grated cocoa-nut. ½ lb. butter. ½ lb. powdered sugar. 1 glass of brandy. 2 teaspoonfuls lemon-juice. 4 eggs—white and yolks separated. 2 teaspoonfuls vanilla.

Rub the butter and sugar together; beat light with the brandy and lemon-juice; stir in the beaten yolks; lastly the cocoa-nut and the whites, alternately. Bake in open shells.

Eat cold, with powdered sugar sifted over it.

COCOA-NUT CUSTARD PIE. ✠

1 lb. cocoa-nut, grated. ½ lb. powdered sugar. 1 quart milk, _unskimmed_. 6 eggs beaten to a froth. 1 teaspoonful nutmeg. 2 teaspoonfuls vanilla or rose-water.

Boil the milk, take it from the fire, and whip in gradually the beaten eggs. When nearly cold, season; add the cocoa-nut, and pour into paste-shells. Do not boil the egg and milk together. Bake twenty minutes.

Some put the custard quite raw into the pie-dishes, but the cocoa-nut is apt, in that case, to settle at the bottom.

You may, however, pour the raw mixture into cups, and bake by setting in a pan of boiling water, stirring well once, as they begin to warm. This is cocoa-nut cup-custard, and is much liked.

CHOCOLATE CUSTARD-PIE.

1 quarter-cake of Baker’s chocolate, grated. 1 pint boiling water. 6 eggs. 1 quart milk. ½ cup white sugar. 2 teaspoonfuls vanilla.

Dissolve the chocolate in a very little milk, stir into the boiling water, and boil three minutes. When nearly cold, beat up with this the yolks of all the eggs and the whites of three. Stir this mixture into the milk, season, and pour into shells of good paste. When the custard is “set”—but not more than half done—spread over it the whites, whipped to a froth, with two tablespoonfuls sugar.

You may bake these custards without paste, in a pudding-dish or cups set in boiling water.

CORN-STARCH CUSTARD PIE. ✠

6 eggs. 3 pints milk. 6 tablespoonfuls white sugar. 2 tablespoonfuls corn-starch. 2 teaspoonfuls essence bitter almonds.

Boil the milk, stir in the corn-starch wet in a little cold milk, and boil one minute. When nearly cold, stir in the sugar, the yolks of all the eggs, and the whites of two; flavor, and pour into your paste-shells. Whip the remaining whites to a méringue, with two tablespoonfuls white sugar and a teaspoonful of vanilla, and when the custard is just “set,” draw your pies to the edge of the oven to spread this over them. Do it quickly, lest the custard fall by exposure to the air.

You may bake this as a pudding by omitting the pastry. Eat cold.

If you have not corn-starch, substitute arrow-root or rice-flour.

CUSTARD PIE.

4 eggs. 1 quart of milk. 4 tablespoonfuls white sugar. Flavor with vanilla or other essence.

Beat the yolks and sugar light, and mix with the milk; flavor, whip in the whites, which should be already a stiff froth, mix well, and pour into shells. Grate nutmeg upon the top.

Bake this as cup-custard, or a custard pudding, in cups or a deep dish set in a pan of boiling water.

PEACH PIE. ✠

Peel, stone, and slice the peaches. Line a pie-plate with a good crust, and lay in your fruit, sprinkling sugar liberally over them in proportion to their sweetness. Very ripe peaches require comparatively little. Allow three peach-kernels, chopped fine, to each pie; pour in a very little water, and bake with an upper crust, or with cross-bars of paste across the top.

Some simply pare the peaches and put in whole, packing them well, and sweetening freely. In this case they should be covered entirely with crust.

For one of the most delightful pies that can be made of any fruit, look for _apple méringue pie_, and substitute peaches. Peach méringue pie may be made in winter from canned peaches.

CHERRY PIE.

Line the dish with a good crust, and fill with ripe cherries, regulating the quantity of sugar you scatter over them by their sweetness. Cover and bake.

Eat cold, with white sugar sifted over the top.

BLACKBERRY, RASPBERRY, AND PLUM PIES

Are made in the same manner.

CURRANT AND RASPBERRY TART. ✠

To three cups of currants allow one of raspberries. Mix well together before you fill the crust, and sweeten abundantly. Cover with crust and bake.

Eat cold, with white sugar sifted over it.

CURRANT TART

Is made as above, with more sugar. The most common fault of currant pie is extreme sourness. Small fruits should be looked over carefully before they are cooked. Currants are troublesome, but they must nevertheless be looked after warily on account of their extreme stemminess.

GREEN GOOSEBERRY TART. ✠

Top and tail the gooseberries. Put into a porcelain kettle with enough water to prevent burning, and stew slowly until they break. Take them off, sweeten _well_, and set aside to cool. When cold pour into pastry shells, and bake with a top crust of puff-paste. Brush all over with beaten egg while hot, set back in the oven to glaze for three minutes.

Eat cold.

RIPE GOOSEBERRY PIE.

Top and tail the berries. Line your dish with crust, and fill with berries, strewing white sugar among them. Cover and bake.

DAMSON TART.

Pick over the fruit, put in a dish lined with pastry, sweeten very freely, cover and bake. Brush with beaten egg when done, and return to the oven for a few minutes to glaze.

CRANBERRY TART.

Wash and pick over the berries. Put into a porcelain saucepan with a very little water, and simmer until they burst open and become soft. Run through a cullender to remove the skins, and sweeten to taste. Bake in pastry shells, with a cross-bar of pastry over the top.

STRAWBERRY PIE.

Cap and pick over the berries, arrange in layers, besprinkle with a good coating of sugar, in a shell of pastry. Fill it very full, as strawberries shrink very much in cooking. Cover with crust and bake.

Huckleberry pie is made in the same way.

CREAM RASPBERRY TART. ✠

Line a dish with paste and fill with raspberries, made very sweet with powdered sugar. Cover with paste, but do not pinch it down at the edges. When done, lift the top crust, which should be thicker than usual, and pour upon the fruit the following mixture:—

1 small cup of milk—half cream, if you can get it, heated to boiling. Whites of two eggs, beaten light and stirred into the boiling milk. 1 tablespoonful white sugar. ½ teaspoonful corn-starch wet in cold milk.

Boil these ingredients three minutes; let them get perfectly cold before you put them into the tart. Replace the top crust, and set the pie aside to cool. Sprinkle sugar over the top before serving.

You can make strawberry cream tart in the same manner.

RHUBARB TART. (_Open._)

Skin the stalks with care, cut into small pieces; put into a saucepan with very little water, and stew slowly until soft. Sweeten while hot, but do not cook the sugar with the fruit. It injures the flavor, by making it taste like preserves. Have ready some freshly-baked shells. Fill up with the fruit and they are ready to serve.

_Or—_ ✠

You may, after sweetening the stewed rhubarb, stir in a lump of butter the size of a hickory-nut for each pie, also a well-beaten egg for each, and bake in pastry. Lay cross-bars of pastry over the top.

RHUBARB PIE (_Covered._)

Skin the stalks, cut in lengths of half an inch; strew lavishly with sugar, and fill the crusts with the raw fruit. Some scatter seedless raisins among the rhubarb. Cover, and bake nearly three-quarters of an hour. Brush with egg while hot, and return to the oven to glaze.

Eat cold, as you do all fruit-pies.

SERVANTS.

SOME years ago—more than I care to count over—I read a lively little book entitled, “The Greatest Plague of Life.” I have forgotten who wrote it, if I ever knew. It was in the form of an autobiography; the heroine called herself, with an amusing affectation of disguise, Mrs. S-k-n-s-t-n,“ and it was illustrated by George Cruikshank. I read it aloud in my home-circle, and many a hearty laugh we had over the poor lady’s perplexities and calamities.

Regarding the history as a clever burlesque, I suffered no appreciable draught upon my sympathies until time and experience brought me in contact with so many who echoed her plaint, that I could not but recur, now and then, with a half-sad smile, to her sufferings under the rule of Norah, who chased her up-stairs with a carving-knife; with Mary, who drank up the cherry-brandy, filled the bottle with cold weak tea, and kept her pitying employers up all night to pull her through an epileptic fit; with John, who never answered the parlor bell “unless they persewered;” whose stomach could not bear cold meat at dinner, but rallied bravely under a couple of pounds at supper. There was one nursery-maid who whipped Mrs. S-k-n-s-t-n’s child, and another who upset the perambulator in the park, and, too much absorbed in the suit of a whiskered Guardsman to note what had happened, went on dragging the carriage upon its side until the baby’s cheek was cruelly scarified by the gravel—besides a host of other _un_worthies set for the distress of Mrs. S-k-n-s-t-n’s mind, body, and estate.

“Douglas Jerrold wrote that book,” interrupts a friend at my elbow. “And, _apropos de bottes_, have you seen Punch’s recent article, ‘Servantgalism; or, What Shall Be Done With the Missusses?’”

“The malady in America must bear another name,” remarks a lady, gayly. “We have no servants—at least in this region. My cook is forty-seven years old, and my chambermaid a widow, who has buried two children; yet they would be highly affronted were I to speak of them except as ‘girls.’ It is a generic term that belongs to the class ‘who live out,’ from sixteen up to sixty. I had a lesson on this head not a month since. My laundress, who has lived with me six years, was thanking me for a service I had done her brother.

“‘I’ll never forget you for it, mem,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ll bless you for it, on me knees, night and morning.’

“I am glad I have been able to help your friends, Katy,” I said. “You have been a faithful servant to me——”

She cut my sentence in the middle by walking out of the room—I supposed, to conceal her emotions. I was undeceived, five minutes later, when her angry tones reached me from the kitchen, the door of which she had left open.

“I’ll never believe a person has a good heart, or deserves to be called a Christian, who names an honest, respectable girl, who tries to do her duty, a _servant!_ ‘A faithful servant!’ says she; ‘as if she was a queen, and meself a beggar!’”

“What did you say to the ungrateful wretch?” asks a listener, indignantly.

“Nothing. I went quietly out of hearing, reminded, for the hundredth time, of Solomon’s warning, ‘Take no heed unto all words that are spoken, lest thou hear thy servant curse thee.’ I recalled, too, the saying of a mightier than the Royal Preacher: ‘Whosoever will be greatest among you, let him be your _servant_.’”