Part 8
The "big dinner" of the week is, in most homes, eaten on Sunday. Then the men of the family are at home for the day, the children have no claims of school or play to hurry them through their meals, and there is a general impression of delightful leisure which seems favorable to the eating and digestion of an excellent and hearty dinner. This repast is usually served at midday, in order that the servants may have the afternoon and evening to themselves; and it is not uncommon for the mistress of the house to prepare the Sunday-evening tea herself.
The old-fashioned idea of always having a cold dinner on the Sabbath is almost obsolete. Some people who have been brought up in the habit clung for a long while to the compromise of serving a piece of cold meat at the Sunday dinner, although the vegetables were hot; but even that is changed now, and there are few homes where as large an array of smoking viands is not spread upon
"The day that comes between The Saturday and Monday"
as is ever offered on any non-religious holiday.
The reasons given at the beginning of this chapter are quite sufficient to account for this almost universal practice. The good housekeeper enjoys seeing her culinary handiwork appreciated, and she generally reserves any especially tempting _bonnes bouches_ for Sunday, when she knows that those for whom she delights to cater will have the time and inclination to give her cookery its meed of attention. Without cavilling at this, one must at the same time deprecate the amount of additional work that the Sunday dinner often involves upon what should be, both physically and spiritually, a day of rest as well as of refreshment. A little thought will often enable the housekeeper to so minify the amount of work to be done on Sunday that the domestic labors will be perceptibly lightened, and the dinner in no wise injured. So much of the preparation for the meal can be made the day before that the business of finally getting it ready for the table will seem comparatively light.
In one family of strong Sabbatarian principles the omission of soup from the Sunday bill of fare was evidently considered a means of grace. The tureen and ladle always enjoyed a rest upon the first day of the week, but by some curious process of ratiocination no harm was thought of having at dinner a course of salad which cost as much time to prepare, and demanded the use and washing of as many dishes as would have sufficed to serve the tabooed soup. Yet the hostess would always say, with an air of conscious virtue, "Oh, we never have _soup_ on Sundays," as though the non-appearance of that dish upon the first day of the week was proof positive of a high order of piety.
In spite of this, the soup course may be made a very trifling affair. To say nothing of two or three excellent brands of canned soups, which, with a little "doctoring" in the way of seasoning, may be rendered quite equal to those freshly made, there are many soups which can be brought on Saturday into a state of such complete readiness that all that is necessary on Sunday is to heat them for the table. Of these are chicken, mutton, and veal broths, _consommé_, Julienne, ox-tail, mock-turtle, black or white bean and pea soup—indeed, nearly every soup with a meat stock. Cream soups, like tomato, celery, potato, cauliflower, green pea, and corn soups, are better prepared just before using, and these may be served on week-days and yet leave a large variety of _potages_ from which to make a choice for the Sunday dinner.
Leaving the soup, something should be said concerning the introduction of _entrées_, etc. They are not necessary at a repast so essentially domestic as the first-day feast. Even if they are prepared the day before, their insertion in the bill of fare compels the use and washing of another set of plates. The man-servant and maid-servant within our gates merit a little consideration upon a day which should bring to them too a modicum of rest. Still, if an _entrée_ is occasionally desired, there are those which may be made on Saturday, and will need only warming to be fit for the table, such as _pâtés_ of various kinds. For these both pastry shells and filling may be prepared the day before, so that simply heating them and putting them together will comprise the work involved in getting them ready for the table.
When the meat course is reached it becomes less easy to shirk Sunday labor. The roast may be bound and skewered, the turkey or chickens trussed for roasting, the bread crumbed for the stuffing, on Saturday, but the stuffing must not go in until the last moment, nor must the meats, to be at their best, be put into the oven until just in time to permit their being done in season for dinner. With vegetables, too, much of the excellence depends upon brisk cooking. Few of them are, like spinach, benefited by each time of warming over. Since this heavy work cannot be avoided, all the housekeeper can do is to make the rest of the meal as easy as possible for herself and her servants. At the best, there will be enough to do.
If a salad is served, the mayonnaise dressing, if this is used, is no whit injured by keeping on the ice even for two or three days. The fish, flesh, or fowl, when such enter into the composition of the salad, may be minced the day before, and kept in a cold place until needed. Or if, as is better at dinner, a simple salad of lettuce, celery, or something of the kind is used, upon which the hostess bestows an ordinary French dressing after it is brought to the table, the washing and picking over of the salad are a trifling matter.
As to desserts, it is a peculiar taste which refuses to be satisfied with some one of the many that can be made in part or entirely the day before.
The number of cold desserts is legion, and ranges all the way from ices and frozen creams through charlottes, jellies, and the like, to the simple blanc-manges and custards, to say nothing of preserved or brandied fruit. Pies of countless kinds there are which can readily be heated, if a hot dessert is wished, and there are delicious cakes which are almost a dessert in themselves. Besides all these, in this favored period, there is scarcely a day in the year when an attractive dish of fresh fruit is beyond the reach of people of moderate means.
While anything approaching a desecration of the Sabbath is to be avoided, there should yet be a cheerfulness, a pleasant freedom of speech at the Sunday dinner-table that ought to render it the happiest meal of the week. It is not the season for ceremonious entertaining—a large Sunday dinner-party is not in America in the best form, even in so-called worldly society—but it is the time for making a place within the circle of the home for solitary men or women far from their own people, who have only boarding-places or restaurants at which to eat their Sunday dinner. To them even a simple meal, eaten in a private house and among friends, is a choice treat, and inviting them is a deed which may fitly be classed among the works of mercy which even the Westminster Catechism permits.
THE SMALL DINNER-PARTY
There has been so much written about the giving of dinner-parties that the manager of a small household may well shrink in dismay from the labor that obedience to such rules would lay upon her. When she reads descriptions of tables spread with the most costly glass, silver, and china, of courses consisting of delicacies prepared from intricate directions, and served by three or four trained servants—her heart sinks with dismay, and she gives up then and there the attempt to entertain her friends at dinner.
Such instructions may be of value to those _nouveaux riches_ who are at a loss how to conduct a feast where expense is no object. Even for them it seems as though it would be easier to consign a big dinner to the charge of a professional caterer than to drill their own servants into fitness for preparing and serving such a repast as some of these manuals describe. But there are many women who wish to entertain gracefully, and yet who have neither the means nor the inclination to attempt doing so on a large or costly scale. Possessing plenty of pretty napery, silver, and china, having tolerably good cooks and well-trained waitresses, they feel themselves fairly equipped for giving small dinners, especially when they may order some of the most difficult dainties from outside. They need not be appalled by the list of what are to the majority of them unattainable adjuncts, that are declared by writers on the complete art of dining to be indispensable to a correct dinner. Those who are fitted by circumstances to follow these are few indeed compared with the army of the moderately well-to-do who find such elegance quite beyond their modest means. So let these pluck up heart of grace, and, instead of obeying the quite natural impulse which ensues upon the perusal of the aforesaid discouraging guide-books to entertaining and renouncing their plans of hospitality, resolve rather to use their own common-sense and good judgment, and give dinners in consonance with these.
Of course there are certain rules for setting the table, directing the proper sequence of courses, and for the waiting, whose observance marks familiarity with the etiquette of dining, and whose absence denotes ignorance; but these are so simple, so universal, and so readily learned that once known it is easier to follow them than to devise new ways. Among the many advantages of practising every day the proper methods of serving and waiting is especially this, that when an emergency of this sort arises, there need be only an extension of daily customs, not a total departure from ordinary habits.
The etiquette of a small dinner is essentially the same as that of a large one. Any woman who is sure of her _cuisine_, and who has a waitress accustomed to her work, can give a pretty little dinner, and there is no pleasanter way of entertaining a few friends whom one especially wishes to honor. For a party of this sort, six is a good number. When one goes beyond that, the necessity for a more ceremonious etiquette, a more imposing bill of fare, arises, and this the woman who gives only little dinners wishes to shun.
In setting the table, care must be taken to avoid the one extreme of over-crowding, and the other of placing the guests so far apart that _tête-à-tête_ conversations are difficult. In as small a company as this the talk is apt to be general, but occasionally there is an opportunity for a duet if the seats are near enough together to allow two of their occupants to carry on a low-voiced chat without distracting the attention of the other guests from their own topics of discussion.
In the arrangement of dishes, knives, forks, etc., about the same rules are followed that apply for luncheon-parties. A fork and a knife for each course—the forks laid at the left of the plate, the knives at the right, the soup spoon across the top of the plate—the usual array of salt-cellar, butter-plate (the latter is often omitted at dinner), the glasses for wine and for water, the folded napkin holding a dinner roll, the card, the _menu_, the individual flowers—all are much the same as at a luncheon. The table-cloth should be of the heaviest and handsomest damask, the centre-piece, the floral decorations, the candelabra, with their candles and silk shades, the dishes, containing _hors-d'œuvres_, bonbons, _glacé_ fruits, etc., differ little from the similar array on the table at a formal luncheon. The same general plan is to be followed in serving the courses. The dinner usually begins with oysters or clams. Next comes a soup—_consommé_, or a cream soup of some really choice variety. A clear soup is to be preferred as being light and easily digested, and since one does not wish to begin the meal by overloading the stomach, it is better on that account than a cream soup or a _purée_.
Fish comes next, and this should be, as is everything else served at a dinner, either choice on account of its rarity, or because of the excellent fashion in which it is cooked. A piece of salmon or of baked halibut with a _sauce hollandaise_ is good, or, in their season, salmon trout or any other game fish. Potatoes in some form are served with this course. This is succeeded by an _entrée_, and that in turn by the principal meat course of the dinner, usually _filet de bœuf_, accompanied by one or two fine vegetables. Next comes Roman punch, then game or poultry, followed or accompanied by salad, and after that is the dessert—pastry, ices, creams, fruits, coffee, etc. As may be seen by comparing this outline with the directions given for a luncheon, the two are very much alike. The chief difference is in the kinds of food. Those served at a dinner are generally of a more solid character than those prepared for a luncheon. The latter consists chiefly of _petits plats_.
A small dinner should not last much more than an hour and a half. It is readily disposed of in that length of time if the cook has the courses ready promptly, and if the waitress understands her business. All the carving should be done off the table. The plates should be put in front of the guests from the right side, and removed from the left. Of course, whatever dish is passed must be offered from the left side. To prevent mistakes the hostess should write out a full list of all the courses, what dishes each comprises, and from what china they are to be served, noting, too, when there is a change of silver. A copy of this schedule should be in the hands of the cook, while the butler or waitress should have a duplicate pinned up in a convenient place in the butler's pantry, to serve as a reference in case the memory of one of them should play false.
While caterers can be found who will supply almost any dish which may be suggested, a graceful touch of individuality is imparted to a dinner if certain _plats_ are prepared at home. Only, they must be well done, or they were better omitted altogether. The ices, biscuit, and Charlottes usually come from outside, but the _entrées_ and salads, as well as soup, and the fish, meat, and game, may be prepared in the house, and be none the worse on that account.
Coffee is sometimes served in the dining-room, but quite as often passed in the parlor. It is never in good taste to have a large assortment of wines at a small dinner. Claret and champagne are quite enough, or even claret alone is sufficient.
When the hostess is ordering her dinner, she should bear in mind who her guests are to be, and arrange her bill of fare in accordance with her bill of company. The advisability of this is illustrated in the anecdote told of an English restaurateur who, on being ordered to prepare a dinner for twelve clergymen, begged respectfully to know if they were High-Church or Broad-Church, "for hif 'Igh-Church, they wants more wine; hif Broad-Church, more wittles."
It is not worth while to prepare highly spiced _entremets_ and dishes of mushrooms and terrapin for guests who would be better suited with plainer viands; while, on the other hand, a very simple dinner is not the thing to set before a company of epicures.
A LARGE DINNER
Thus far the descriptions of breakfasts, luncheons, and dinners have been given from the standpoint of the housekeeper. The outline of this, a more ceremonious meal than any before described, will be from the point of view of the guest, who regards everything as a mere spectator, and not with the eyes of the hostess, who has studied every step of the repast from its inception to its completion.
Two weeks before the dinner the guest receives his invitation, which may have been sent either by private hand or by post. The latter method in these days of "magnificent distances" is rapidly growing in favor. The invitation card, which is about three and a half inches wide by four and a half long, is engraved in a dashing script as follows:
_Mr. and Mrs. Pelham Blank request the pleasure of Mr. —— ——'s company at dinner on —— —— —— at half-past seven o'clock, —— Gramercy Square._
The name of the guest and the date of the dinner are written in the blank spaces on the card. To this invitation he sends an immediate reply.
The guest reaches the house of his entertainers on the appointed evening at a few minutes before the dinner hour. In the coat-room he finds a man-servant in attendance, ready to assist in any trifling matters of the toilet, who hands each gentleman, on a silver tray, a tiny envelope, enclosing a card bearing the name of the lady he is to take in to dinner. Descending to the drawing-room, the name of the guest is announced at the door by a servant, who draws aside the portière to allow him to enter. His first address is, of course, to Mr. and Mrs. Blank, who stand near the door receiving. The young man, Fidus by name, congratulates himself inwardly that he at least is on time, and, seeing at a glance how few of his fellow _convives_ have arrived, marvels anew, as he has done often before, that well-bred people will be so careless of the laws that regulate good society as to arrive at a house ten, fifteen, and even twenty minutes after the hour fixed for dinner.
As Fidus has never met the young lady whose name is written on the card presented to him in the dressing-room, he promptly requests an introduction of his hostess, and chats with his fate for this evening until—all of the fourteen invited guests having arrived—a servant draws back the portières and announces by a bow that dinner is served. Mr. Blank offers his arm to the guest for whom the dinner is especially given—a charming Englishwoman—and the rest of the party follow them to the dining-room. There is no suggestion of precedence, except as the younger guests naturally give way to the elders of the company. Mrs. Blank and her attendant cavalier come last.
The dining-room, a fine large apartment, is lighted only by candles; but there are plenty of these in sconces, in candelabra, in candle-sticks of odd and pretty designs. Flowers are all about wherever their use, either singly or massed, can produce a good effect.
The places at table are marked by plain white cards, each with the name of a guest painted on it in gold. The table decorations are quiet in effect, but in excellent taste. The cloth, of pure white plain damask, is covered through the centre with a scarf of elaborate drawn-work. In place of the towering épergnes once so fashionable, the floral ornaments, candelabra, etc., are all low. Pink roses, white lilacs, and maidenhair ferns are the flowers used; and these are not arranged in set form, but are simply massed in cut-glass bowls, three in number, placed here and there through the centre of the table. The candelabra are also of cut glass, which is used wherever it is possible, in preference to silver. A corsage bouquet of the flowers mentioned above, tied with a wide pink ribbon, awaits each lady at her place, while a _boutonnière_ lies beside the name card of each man. The candles are shaded with alternate pink and white shades, and the silver and china are of the daintiest and prettiest.
At each place are two large knives and a smaller one—one of these being supposed to be for fish, although it is decidedly _contre les règles_ to use a knife for fish—a small fork for fish, three large forks, a spoon for soup, and a small oyster fork. The knives are at the right, the forks at the left of the plate, and on the left is also the folded napkin containing the bread. The glasses for water and wine are on the right. There are generally four of the latter, for claret, sauterne, champagne, and sherry.
A plate holding raw oysters and a piece of lemon is at each place when the guests enter. When these have been eaten, soup is served, a _consommé_; and this is not brought to the table in the tureen, but is served from the side. Next comes the fish—a piece of salmon, with lobster sauce, it happens to be on this particular occasion—and it is followed by the _entrées_. To save time, three of these are served at once; but Fidus declines one, deeming it unwise to overload his plate and his stomach at so early a stage in the proceedings.
After the _entrées_ comes the roast, with one vegetable; and the sorbet or Roman punch succeeds this, and precedes the game. Salad, cheese, and bread-and-butter compose the next course, and, the table being cleared for dessert, ices make their appearance. After these are disposed of come the fruit, bonbons, etc.
Wine has, of course, flowed freely during the repast, but the drinking has been very moderate, after all, and each guest has felt at liberty to refuse any of the wines offered. Sherry has been served with the soup, sauterne with the fish, and claret with the roast, while after the first course or two champagne has had all seasons for its own. At some dinners a larger number of wines are served, but this, so far from being essential, is not considered strictly good form. Nor have there been favors given, as one would suppose, from perusing books of etiquette, that this is a common custom at ceremonious dinners. Such a proceeding, while it might in one way be agreeable to the guests, would entail a heavy burden of expense upon the hosts, and might, moreover, place the recipients of these mementos under an obligation which they would not thoroughly enjoy. If favors are given, they should be pretty but inexpensive trifles.
The dessert discussed, the ladies leave the gentlemen to their own devices for a while, and retire to the drawing-room. Coffee might have been served before they quitted the table, but in this case it is sent to the ladies in the drawing-room, where they sip it leisurely, while the men enjoy theirs with their cigars in the _salle à manger_, and partake of the tiny glasses of cordial that is supposed to serve as an aid to digestion. When they finally leave the table two hours and a half have passed since they seated themselves, and they are quite ready to stand about the drawing-room chatting for a while after their prolonged _séance_.
As no music or other entertainment beyond the dinner has been arranged for the guests, they remain only about an hour after the meal is ended, and then make their acknowledgments and adieux to the host and hostess, and wend their respective ways homeward.
FAMILY DINNERS FOR SPRING
1.
Lentil Soup. Fricasseed Chicken. Rice Croquettes. Buttered Sweet Potatoes. Peach Brown Betty.
_Lentil Soup._—One pint lentils, two quarts cold water, one onion, one tablespoonful flour, two teaspoonfuls butter, pepper and celery-salt to taste. Soak the lentils overnight in cold water; drain them the next morning, and put them over the fire with the two quarts of water and the onion; simmer for several hours until the lentils are very soft. If the water boils away too fast, replenish the amount from the tea-kettle. When the lentils are done, rub them through the colander and return them to the fire; cook the butter and flour together in a small saucepan until the mixture bubbles, and stir into the soup. Season to taste, and pour on tiny squares of fried bread laid in your tureen, and serve.
_Buttered Sweet Potatoes._—Boil good-sized sweet potatoes, scrape them, and slice them lengthwise; butter each piece, lay all in a pan, and set them in the oven until the butter is well melted into the potatoes.