CHAPTER V.

HELPS OVER HARD PLACES--HINTS TO THE HOSTESS--DON'TS FOR THE TABLE--THE EMERGENCY MISTRESS--PASSING THE LOVING CUP.

One's dinner should be distinguished by that elusive element of informality, which tactfully introduced, is the making of a dinner, in quite the same proportion that its ineffectual simulation is the marring of the feast.

The housewife has many emergencies to face. How to work out of difficulties never met with before taxes all of her ingenuity. She must not allow her perplexity to appear if she is dealing with children or servants, as that would cause them to lose faith in her infallible wisdom.

Does company come in without warning and the sense of hospitality constrain one to invite them to lunch or dinner, the careful Martha is ready for the emergency, and if too late to send to market and what is prepared must be supplemented with something else, she has plenty of canned goods in her storeroom and improvises some dainty dish without a suggestion of flurry. If not so thoughtful she graciously serves her guest with what she has, and never by word or look implies that the call is inopportune.

The true "emergency mistress" is the quiet woman whose friends characterize her as having "plenty of common sense." She stores her mind with useful knowledge and her pantry shelves with abundance of supplies; her work basket always has thread of all colors and needles of every size therein. She has patches to match every garment worn by her children.

The American eatertainer is prone to excess in the quantity which he offers to his guests. He does this out of a mistaken idea of hospitality, not from any fear of being called mean if he should give only a small repast.

As a rule a dinner should consist of not more than five or six chief courses, i. e., soup, fish, _entree_, roast and vegetable, each one served separately, followed by an _entremet_ of some sort, and fruit.

The art of dinner-giving consists in properly combining such dishes as are appropriate to follow each other on the same evening. I have seen a _menu_ composed of turtle soup, salmon, venison and woodcocks, all excellent things in their way, but when brought together only leaving a sense of excessive oiliness and richness.

As an _entree_ the _roti_ should consist of game, and vice-versa. The salad served with poultry and game should be green salad with a simple dressing of oil and vinegar. No set rules can be laid down.

It is true the caterer is an important element in the modern art of dinner-giving--he "saves all the trouble;" but he is a stereotyped quantity. You know just what he will serve, just how he will serve it, and how enthusiastically grateful you would be if he would occasionally leave out croquettes, for instance, and surprise you with a less hackneyed delicacy.

Make no attempt to vary your usual bill of fare. Your guest will infinitely prefer the newness of your dishes to an imitation of her own. If you live in the country, the home-made bacon and ham will be a real treat; and a bass, fresh from the river, will be a revelation to one who has only eaten fish after it has been packed in ice. If you live in the city do not attempt to serve spring chicken to your country guest. It is impossible for a town chicken ever to become the tender, toothsome morsel she is used to at home. But the juicy steaks and roasts you are so tired of, are a treat she can seldom enjoy at her distance from markets.

Oriental sweetmeats have become so popular for afternoon tea tables in New York that many shops keep an extensive selection of these piquant novelties. Among the first favorites are candied Chinese oranges; dates, plums and other stone fruit crystallized by foreign processes and stuffed with nut mixtures; Turkish pastes and East Indian goodies of unpronouncable names.

When a plate is taken to be replenished always leave the knife and fork on it.

Don't drink green chartreuse. Take the yellow. Also beware of the man who takes sweet soda with his brandy, and a man who wants claret from the ice box.

Use your napkin with a finger behind it, drawing it around or across the mouth. Don't use it like a mop and your mouth as if it were the deck of a fishing sloop.

When two or more forks are at your plate, use the smaller one for fish, or whatever the first course may be. The steel knife is for meat. When you have finished, place the knife and fork on your plate crossing each other. Any good servant will know that you have finished.

Don't fold your napkin unless you are dining at home and intend using it again. And if you are entertaining guests, do not do it then, as you thus indicate that you are determined to save the washing of at least one bit of linen.

Tucking a napkin under the chin as if the user was now to be stuffed like a turkey, is in very bad taste. Lay your napkin across your lap. If it falls to the floor, quietly beckon the servant at a convenient time to restore it.

It is no longer the thing to perfume the water in finger glasses, or to offer the _bowls_ with slices of lemon in them. So many people have a positive objection to perfume of any kind that its use in this way is discontinued. The pretty Japanese custom of dropping a flower or flower petals in the glass is, however, growing in favor. Usually the flower chosen corresponds with those used in the centerpiece. A few rose petals floating in the clear water are most attractive. Two or three scented violets are charming. At a little luncheon given in honor of an English woman visiting in this country, each bowl contained a water lily.

Some time ago it was necessary to eat asparagus with one's fingers, while to do so today would be to commit an unpardonable sin in the eyes of society.

Don't decorate with strong scented flowers.

Don't serve boiled fish without potatoes.

Don't serve hot _entrees_ on cold plates.

Don't serve more than two vegetables with meat.

Don't serve asparagus with meat.

Don't force a guest to eat more than he wishes.

Don't apologize for the cook.

Don't make excuses for anything.

Don't mention the cost of any dish.

Don't talk politics or religion at dinner, where guests are of miscellaneous beliefs.

Don't pronounce _menu_ "may-nu," but "men-ue."

Don't pronounce the a long in "a la."

Don't decorate the table with too many flowers.

Don't place more than one plate at each place.

Don't use individual butter dishes.

Don't use the same knife for more than one course.

Don't use the same fork for more than one course.

Don't use a spoon for ices or ice-cream.

Don't serve peas, beans, cauliflower, etc., with meat.

Don't eat too much.

Don't eat too fast.

Don't eat too soon after exercise.

Don't eat much for breakfast.

Don't eat much when traveling.

Don't eat between meals.

Don't eat after 10 o'clock P. M.

Don't eat fish with a knife.

Don't eat ices with a spoon.

Don't eat boiled eggs from a tumbler.

Don't eat everything that you like.

Don't eat anything that you don't like.

Don't eat to please anyone but yourself.

Don't drink when over-heated.

Don't always drink when thirsty.

Don't drink ice-water with hot food.

Don't drink water from a city river.

Don't drink tea with meat.

Don't drink _cafe-au-lait_ for dinner.

Don't drink beer after wine.

Don't drink wine after beer.

Don't drink much at meals.

Don't drink much between meals.

Don't serve oysters after fish.

Don't serve soup twice to any guest.

Don't use a knife for green salads.

Don't overload either the table or the guest with food.

Don't bite off a piece of bread.

Don't scold the servant at the table.

PASSING THE LOVING CUP.

The host and hostess drink first from the loving cup, then the guest of honor drinks and then the others. The cup is passed around the table and each takes a sip and gives a sentiment or toast. If it is an affair given for a guest and not a wedding anniversary, the guest of honor drinks first and christens the cup, then the host and hostess and the guests drink. It is passed at the close of the dinner and may be wine, cider, claret cup or fruit punch.