Part 2

VEAL comes into market earlier than genuine spring lamb, and is seasonable all the summer through. Be sure it is not that most objectionable variety of what is rated by dieticians as a decidedly objectionable meat—known in slang usage as “bob-veal.” No calf should be slaughtered until at least six weeks old. The meat should be a clear, pale red, the fat very white, the texture firm. Veal may be innutritious, but the knuckle and, indeed, all the bony parts are invaluable for soups, containing much gelatinous matter. The breast, the fillet and loin are the most popular roasting pieces. Veal chops are really better eating and cheaper than the cutlet, and should be better known to the frugal housewife.

A calf’s head, scraped free of hair and well-cleaned, may be bought in country markets for fifty cents, and can be made into a dainty dish fit for John and John’s unexpected friend.

Sweetbreads are an acknowledged delicacy, and liver, properly cooked, will be approved by all.

By the way, lamb’s liver costs less than calf’s liver, and is more toothsome.

In choosing POULTRY, slip your bare forefinger under the wing where it joins the body and press hard with the nail. If the skin breaks easily, the fowl is probably young. Then try the tip of the breast-bone. If the cartilage gives readily and springs back slowly, the signs are still favorable. Next, look for hairs on the body and hard horny scales on the legs; for scrawny necks and a livid hue in the flesh—all unfavorable indications. Tough fowls should be cheaper far than tender. If your market-man calls them frankly “fowls,” commend his honesty, and if you contemplate a fricassee or chicken pie, reward his integrity by a purchase. Chickens may be “fowls,” yet good,—that is, nourishing and amenable to judicious “tendering.”

A veteran housewife, with a reputation to support, tells me she has but one method of securing really excellent meats for her table: “When a market-man sells me tough flesh, or superannuated poultry, or ancient fish, I give him warning. At the second offense, I transfer my custom to another dealer. The rule works well!”

It is especially useful when one would be certain of getting FRESH FISH. Now that fish and oysters are bedded in ice until the wiliest connoisseur may be mistaken in their age, it behooves the housemother to know, first of all, that she is dealing with a man with a conscience as free from reproach as she would have her halibut, salmon and oysters.

CARE OF HOUSEHOLD STORES

APPLES, POTATOES, TURNIPS, CARROTS, BEETS, etc., if stored in bins or barrels, should be picked over every week. The defective should be thrown away, and if there be any sign of sweating, the good should be spread out on the floor for a day or two to dry before they are repacked. Fruit should be handled with care. Bruises are incipient decay.

Particularly FINE FRUIT—apples and pears—should be wrapped, each separately, in soft, unprinted paper and, when packed, covered with fine, dry sand. Thus protected, they will keep plump and sweet for months, and need no overhauling meanwhile.

When practicable, keep VEGETABLES in large quantities elsewhere than in the cellar under your dwelling. Putrefying roots, cabbages and apples were responsible for much of the winter and spring diseases that puzzled our forefathers and mothers. Even now many a farmhouse reeks with “cellar smells,” as subtile and dangerous as sewer gas.

Keep EGGS in a cool place, yet not where they will be liable to freeze. If you store them in large quantities, pack in dry salt, the small end down. As an additional precaution, grease the shells, and pour melted lard upon the topmost layer of salt.

DRIED BEANS AND PEAS should be kept in wooden or tin boxes with close tops.

Have canisters with tight lids for COFFEE AND TEA, and keep them shut. Coffee loses strength and flavor when exposed to the air. Tea softens and molds.

In buying CRACKERS give the preference to those packed in tin cases. If they come in paper boxes, set these in tin receptacles, or in stone crocks with snugly fitting tops. Never throw away a tin cracker-box. It is always useful.

After CHEESE is cut, wrap in tin-foil, or in soft (unprinted) paper and keep in tin, or in stoneware.

CRUSTS, BITS OF TOAST, BROKEN CRACKERS AND STALE SLICES of bread should be kept in the kitchen closet until perfectly dry; then set in a moderate oven for an hour before crushing them with a rolling-pin. Keep these crumbs in a glass jar with a close top. They are invaluable for breading chops and croquettes, and for scallops.

Brown FLOUR by the quantity, and when cool put into glass jars ready for use.

SALT cakes and hardens in damp weather. Store it in your warmest and driest pantry. In very wet weather mix a little corn starch with that you put into the table salt-cellars.

FLOUR can not be kept too dry, nor can INDIAN OATMEAL, and all kinds of SUGAR. PULVERIZED SUGAR is as susceptible to humidity as salt. Tin boxes are absolutely necessary for keeping it tolerably free from lumps.

SPICES, PEPPER AND DRIED HERBS must also be shut up closely, and never be kept in open receptacles. Some brands of BAKING-POWDERS actually effervesce when exposed for days at a time to the open air. All are injured seriously by such exposure.

For all these staples and ingredients, have closely-fitting lids—_and keep them on_!

Store DRIED FRUITS in stone jars with covers; CANNED FRUITS AND PICKLES in glass jars; tumblers of JELLY AND MARMALADE should be kept in the dark. The light acts chemically upon the contents. If your storeroom be light, wrap jars and tumblers in thick paper tied on with strings.

As soon as MEAT comes home from market remove every bit of the brown paper enveloping it, and lay upon a clean dish near the ice—never upon it. FISH does not suffer from contact with ice. Meat does, becoming flabby and viscid. If your refrigerator is so arranged that you can hang the meat up, that the air can get at all sides of it, it will keep far better than when laid on a platter.

A good meat preserver is a box, as large as you can make room for in the refrigerator, the top and bottom of which are of wood, the sides of wire netting. Stout hooks are screwed into the inside of the top, and one of the netted sides is hinged, like a door. MEAT hung in this box will remain untainted and sweet much longer than when hung upon the side of the refrigerator. If you have a cool cellar, keep the meat box, thus prepared, upon a shelf in the darkest corner. The netting excludes insects, yet allows the air to enter, and by drying the surface forms an impervious coating which will keep in the juices.

Get large tin boxes for BREAD AND CAKE. Scald them frequently, drying thoroughly in the sun, and have clean, dry cloths in which to wrap each fresh batch of cake and baking of bread and biscuits.

It is an excellent plan to make cotton bags in which to put LETTUCE, CELERY, TOMATOES, SPINACH and other green things you wish to store in the refrigerator. The shelves and ice-box are kept clean, the esculents fresh. Many housewives have adopted the expedient within a few years, and none has abandoned it after a trial. The bags are of coarse, light cotton cloth, or of cheese-cloth, and go into the weekly wash.

TABLE BUTTER, wrapped in dampened cheesecloth squares, keeps sweet and firm. These squares are as large as a child’s pocket handkerchief, and hemmed to prevent raveling. Half a dozen will last a year, unless the “hired gurrel” takes them for dish-cloths.

BUTTER, made into balls for the table, should be kept in a bowl of cold water in the refrigerator, and the water changed every morning.

Keep in your own mind, and so far as you can, impress upon the conscience of servants, that whatever has been once in the refrigerator must be returned to cold storage, unless used. Meats soften and taint, butter turns rancid, fruits and vegetables decay when this precaution is neglected.

KITCHEN UTENSILS

It is not my purpose to discourage the housewife by a list of culinary furniture.

The readers of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” may recall that Mr. St. Clair declared the evolution of irreproachable course dinners through such means as his negro cook employed in a smoky little kitchen with scanty store of pots and kettles—to be “nothing short of genius.” I have, before now, visited kitchens environed with pot-closets, where hung a glittering assortment of every conceivable patented “indispensable”—and sat down in the dining-room to greasy, watery soups, scorched meats, soggy bread and curdled custards.

It is well to have a plentiful supply of tools. If there be not sense and skill behind them, failure is a foregone conclusion.

The object of this brief chapter is to tell our housemothers how to keep such pots and kettles, griddles and pans in working order, and how to make them last a reasonable time.

To begin with—get good ware. The clumsy iron vessels that gathered grime and soot over the fires kept up by our grand-dames have been pushed aside by lighter and cleaner utensils of various sorts. Coppers—that must be as bright outside as they were within, and gathered unto themselves murderous verdigris, if not cleaned before each using, with salt and scalding vinegar—were banished, and righteously, long ago, in favor of galvanized, porcelain, granite, agate-iron and nickel-steel-plated wares that neither rust nor green-mold. These wares are as easily kept clean as stone china, and if less durable than iron and copper that descended from mother to daughter and even down to the third generation, last reasonably well when properly handled.

Pots, kettles and the like should be _set_ upon the range—not thumped and banged. A nicked cooking utensil is a disgrace to the handler thereof.

Cracks and scaling-off are still oftener the result of sudden overheating and of allowing an empty vessel to stand over the fire. The teakettle boils dry, the soup seethes and simmers until bones and meat stick to the bottom of the pot. To complete the wreck, the ignorant or indifferent cook snatches off the misused utensil and runs with it to the sink, turning the cold-water faucet upon the heated metal. Yet the mistress marvels at the semi-yearly necessity of replenishing kitchen tools!

Never put away a vessel which is not both clean and dry. Wash with hot water, good soap, and household ammonia. Use mop and soap-shaker, if you would spare your hands and do justice to bottoms, seams and sides of pot and pan. Rinse off the suds, wipe and set, upside down, upon the range for thirty seconds to make assurance doubly sure.

Hang up everything that furnishes the semblance of a loop by which it may be suspended. And always in its own place, so that you could find each in the dark.

Cover the shelves of the crockery closet with strips of scalloped oilcloth that come for the purpose, and the shelves on which you keep metal pie-plates and pans with stout paper, pinked at the edges.

If you use tin milk-pans, have them seamless, scald daily with boiling water into which you have stirred a little baking soda, rinse with pure water and stand in the sun.

Wooden ware should be scrubbed with a clean, stiff brush and soda-and-water, rinsed well, wiped and dried near the fire or in the open window.

Buy three qualities of dish-towels—the finest for glass, silver and china; the second best for crockery used in kitchen work; the third for heavy kettles, griddles, etc., and have them washed every day. Even when no grease adheres to them they have a musty odor if used several times without washing.

Rub gridirons and griddles with dry salt before each using, wiping it off with a clean towel.

Never undertake to polish your stove until it is quite cold, and do not rekindle the fire too soon when the polishing is done.

Next to the range, or stove, the sink is the most important feature of the kitchen.

“Let me see a woman’s sink, and I will tell you what sort of a manager she is!” was the saying of a shrewd housemother who had seen much of life and of cooks.

The waste-pipe should be flushed every day when the water in the boiler is hottest. During the flushing two tablespoonfuls of strong ammonia should be poured down the grating over the waste. Once a week in summer add a handful of crushed washing-soda. And _keep the sink, itself, clean all the time_!

Grease should never accumulate upon the sides and in the corners; tea leaves and other débris never be clotted over the vent.

A stout whisk-brush must hang above the sink and be used freely in scrubbing it. When the whisk becomes stained and flabby, burn it up and get another. A dirty brush, mop or dish-cloth makes—not removes—dirt.

Follow these directions, and if the outer drain-pipes are properly built, you will have no occasion to employ disinfectants and deodorizers.

The old New England kitchen was the family sitting-room in winter, and in thousands of farm-houses, this is still the custom. Since no device can make the sink and its appurtenances ornamental, or passably comely, have a tall folding screen that may be drawn in front of it when the day’s work is done. The mistress who never sits in her own kitchen, but wishes that her maids should have a pleasant resting-place in the evenings, may offer the screen for their use. The better class of “girls” will appreciate the kindly thought.

CHEMISTRY IN THE KITCHEN

Here again I shall be brief and practical. Nobody would read this page were I to prate learnedly (apparently) of proteids, phosphates, dextrine, hyposulphites and computed chemical and dietetic values. The purpose of the honest cook-book is to help, not hinder.

A few facts relative to chemical effects and changes in every-day cookery should be tabulated.

For example, the mission of the much-used and oft-abused bicarbonate of soda—familiarly called “baking-soda”—is imperfectly apprehended by those who handle it most frequently. The average cook does this handling heavily. “Soda makes bread and biscuits rise,” is the sum of her knowledge and the aim of her practice in this direction.

Soda should be measured as accurately as if it were a potent drug, and never used except in combination with an acid. Even then, lean to the side of mercy in measuring. One even teaspoonful of soda to two rounded teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar, one even teaspoonful of soda to two cupfuls of buttermilk, or “bonny clabber,” one even teaspoonful of soda to one cupful (one-half pint) of molasses, cause what may be considered an equitable effervescence, liberating gases that lighten dough and batter without making them unwholesome. The “greeny-yellowy” streaks in farmhouse quick biscuits are poisonous, but the alkali is not in fault. Soda should never be driven in single harness.

The first stage of incipient decomposition is acidity. If, when a slightly-suspected fowl or cut of meat is to be boiled or stewed, a teaspoonful of soda be thrown into the pot as soon as the boil begins, violent effervescence will attest the presence of the disturbing acid. This subsiding will leave the meat free from unpleasant taint.

Beefsteak and chops, which are just a trifle “touched,” may be restored to sanity by a bath of soda and water, well rubbed in. Butter that has suffered in quality through the neglect of the maker in not working all the milk out may be made tolerable for kitchen use by working it over in iced water in which a little soda has been dissolved. After which the butter should be wrapped in a salted cloth with a lump of charcoal in the outer fold.

Ammonia is another beneficent agent in correcting natural or artificial deficiencies. A bottle of household ammonia should be as invariably an adjunct to the kitchen sink and that of the waitress’s pantry as the soap-dish. It “kills” grease by a chemical combination with it, and lends luster to silver by the same.

Dry soda, laid upon a burn or scald, heals, but not merely by excluding the air. Flour would do that as well. The alkali acts directly upon the decomposing skin and vitiated juices of the flesh. The sting of a bee, wasp or hornet is formic acid; that of a mosquito something akin to it. Ammonia, applied instantly, neutralizes the venom and eases the smart.

In the composition of salad dressing, stirring the oil, vinegar, salt, pepper and dash of mustard together, long and skilfully, makes a chemical emulsion smoother and more palatable than the hasty slap-dash mixture too often served as “French dressing.”

Bread-dough which has begun to sour can be brought to terms by working into the batch a little saleratus dissolved in boiling water, which is then allowed to become lukewarm before it is kneaded faithfully through the dough. A like solution should be beaten hard into griddle-cake batter that has a pungent smell.

Vinegar and lemon juice are invaluable aids in the business of “tendering” tough meats. Beefsteak, covered for some hours with vinegar or lemon juice, and olive oil, is made eatable by the action of the acid upon the fibers which are further “suppled” by the oil.

Vinegar put into the water in which a fowl or mutton is boiled will serve the same purpose, and a dash of vinegar in boiling fish removes the strong oily taste that would otherwise cling to it.

Powdered alum stirred into turbid water—an even tablespoonful to four gallons—will cause a precipitate and a settlement. The clear water may be drawn off cautiously and used for washing and even for drinking, having no perceptible taste of the alum.

A bag of powdered charcoal sunk in a pork barrel will keep the brine sweet through the winter, without blackening it or the meat.

Javelle water, invaluable for removing mildew and rust-stains, may be made at home in the following manner:

Place four pounds of bicarbonate of soda in a large granite or porcelain-lined can, and pour over it four quarts of hot water.

Stir with a stick until the soda has dissolved, add a pound of chloride of lime and stir until this also has dissolved.

Allow the liquid to cool in the pan, strain the clear portion through thin cloths into wide-mouthed bottles or jugs and cork tightly for use.

The part that contains the sediment may also be bottled and used for cleaning sinks, kitchen tables, etc.

An excellent detersive for cleansing and sweetening a kitchen sink is washing soda. Dissolve a couple of handfuls in hot water and when boiling hot pour down the drain.

To prevent oil-lamps from smoking or giving forth a disagreeable odor, boil the wicks in vinegar, then dry in the sun.

CARVING

The present mode of serving meats after the manner of the table d’hôte—the carving done in the kitchen, and the results placed upon the platter to be served to the guests by butler or waiter—has in large measure done away with the demand for hints to the master or mistress of the home upon the art of carving. To those who adhere to the earlier custom, directions can be merely outlines; for the single means by which one may become an adept as a carver is in the repeated practice which is required for skill in any work of manipulation.

A prerequisite to carving is appropriate implements. The knife, the edge of which has been dulled upon the bread-board, or hacked in the offices of the kitchen, where it has been employed as the scullion’s tool, may puncture and tear, but it will not carve. In the hand of even the most skilful it is exasperation.

The mistress of the home owes it to the head of the table, as well as to the ease of mind of her guests, to see that the carving set—the knife and its companion fork—shall be in the best condition for their work.

To carve a roast of beef

This will depend upon the form in which the roast is placed upon the platter. If it include several ribs, furnishing sufficient room for a base of bone, it may be so put before the carver that he may cut perpendicularly in thin slices, passing the knife in a line parallel with the ribs. If, however, the roast be laid upon the side, as is usual, the same direction is to be observed as to the cutting in lines parallel to the ribs.

Where a tenderloin roast is to be carved—having but the one large bone which divides the tenderloin from the more solid portion—there is little choice whether the knife is drawn with or transversely to the grain: the tenderness of the meat is assured in either case. It may be more convenient to sever entirely the tenderloin from the firmer part of the roast before beginning to slice. This will leave the carver at liberty to serve a portion of each quality of the meat to every guest, as the tenderloin may not be of sufficient size to serve to all.

To carve a leg of lamb or mutton

If the small ribs—which are generally taken off for chops—are left with the leg, the carver is free to ask the preference of each guest for the rib or solid slice. The chops may be detached by drawing the point of the knife between the ribs, and—if the butcher has properly done his part—in severing the light cartilage at the backbone, as in parting vertebræ. The fleshy portion of the leg will be more tender if cut in slices at a right angle with the bone, as one would carve a ham; that is, across the grain. Some carvers, however, prefer to cut lamb or mutton with the grain, as it enables them to serve a portion more or less thoroughly cooked, according to the preference of those to be helped. These directions apply equally to carving a haunch of venison.

To carve poultry

The fowl—whether turkey, chicken or duck—should be placed on its back upon the platter. This will permit the carver to transfix the breastbone firmly with the fork; for, upon the stanchness of the hold here will depend the success of all further operations. The wing from the nearer side should first be dissevered by a gash of the knife underneath the socket. This, if the fowl be tender, is easily accomplished with a single cut. The first and second joints of the leg may next be separated, and the second or upper joint removed from its junction with the body, as was the wing. This is easily effected by a slight cut and pressure of the bone outward. The sidebone may be taken off by running the blade directly along the backbone; for it adheres only by a filament of skin and the soft fat that attaches to it on this line.

These joints having been taken off, the breast is now entirely exposed, and further carving is a very simple matter. The removal of the leg has laid bare the cavity, from which the dressing may be lifted with a spoon, and the cutting of a few slices from the breast, near the neck, will open the crop with the stuffing usually placed there to plump the fowl. The main joint and the pinion of the wing may be severed by cutting the cartilage at the junction of the two bones.

To carve fish

There is an art in carving fish, and it is confined to a single direction. It is to open with a knife at the back, drawing the blade the whole distance from head to tail just above the backbone, and pressing the meat loose from its fastening. Portions may then be served by cutting transversely with the backbone. Fish so carved is freed from the intricate mass of small bones which are sure to mingle with the flesh if it be cut in any other way. The head, if not already removed, should first be taken off, and the collar or shoulder-bone lifted from the fish.

SERVING AND WAITING

If a butler be engaged to do the family serving and waiting, he understands his business, or he should not apply for the place. The rules written out here are for the benefit of households where but one or, at the most, two maids are kept. I assume that the waitress takes charge of the table after the mistress has once shown her how it is to be set.