TWO LETTERS.
I am afraid that as this account of the doings of our three friends
unfolds itself, some of my readers may be tempted to complain that it
seems to be always meal-time at "The Rowans." Indeed, I must admit that
from their point of view the complaint is a just one, but I would beg
them to remember that my object is to give an account of the culinary
doings of the household; their meals, and how they were contrived, and
the cost thereof; and as, like the old woman in the nursery song,
"Victuals and drink were the chief of their diet,"
the food question must perforce be continually before us.
As a girl of fourteen I had to take the reins of government and direct
the house during my mother's long illness. It would certainly have
helped me greatly to have been able to follow the chronicles of some
young housekeeper and to have learnt how she arranged matters. But at
that time Marion and the Orlingburys were all in short frocks and had
no experiences to unfold for my benefit.
The trials of the members of our household during the time of my rule
were doubtless very severe. The chief thing that I remember is that
my favourite sultana pudding was served about four times a week, with
sauce; on the last point I was most particular.
I had always a great longing to go down in the kitchen and cook myself,
but my father forbade this, saying that if I worried the cook she
would probably give warning; and that, if in addition to my mother's
illness and other present ills (of which I fear my housekeeping was
one) we were left without a cook, he should not know what to do. This
was a sore disappointment, for as yet I had never been able to make
any attempt at cooking, except on one occasion, when at the age of
six I had been discovered surreptitiously frying chocolate creams
on the shovel in the dining-room, for which I was sent to bed. At a
yet earlier period, having heard somewhere that toffee was made with
butter and sugar, I put a small pat of butter and a tablespoonful of
sugar into an empty sweet-box, and, hiding it amongst my toys, waited
with anxiety for it to turn into toffee, looking in the box with keen
interest every morning and hoping for the joyful day when the sticky
mess should become a neat brown slab of finest toffee; a day, alas,
which came not, as was not strange, and the end of it was that the
nurse found the hidden treasure and promptly threw it away.
To come back to "The Rowans," where Marion, having finished her
morning's cooking, is reading a letter in the sitting-room. The letter
is from an old playmate, now grown up and lately married, who is living
on the other side of London.
"Tulse Hill,
"Jan. 10th.
"MY DEAR MARION,--Do not look for any interesting news in this letter,
and make up your mind to exercise all your good nature.
"I am writing to you for advice and consolation, for I am at my wits'
end. How I wish I were a clever housekeeper, like you, and how I envy
the Orlingburys for having secured you to live with them. I should so
like to run over for a chat, but you are such a busy woman, I do not
know when I should find you at home without disturbing you in your
work, and it would be too bad to make you talk business on your only
holiday--Saturday. Do tell me, Marion--in the strictest confidence--are
you afraid of your servant? I am of mine--horribly! Oh, dear me! When I
first married I thought I was going to do wonders; to do such a lot of
cooking, and to manage and contrive so cleverly. Let me explain a few
of my troubles.
"To begin with, I have a cook who was recommended to me as 'a perfect
treasure,' but I do not find her any sort of a treasure, and I am happy
to say she is now leaving. She has a terribly superior manner, and
resents it very much if I go into the kitchen at all. On days when I
have attempted to do any cooking she is frigid beyond words. She is
not a good cook herself--I could put up with a great deal if she were
that--and the only things we have that are nice at all are curries and
fricassees made in the stewing jar after your fashion. I heard about
the jar about a month ago from a mutual friend--your Aunt Anne.
"Cook makes the most abominable pastry and cannot roast at all; our
poor little joints of meat are shrivelled up and hard, so she has
really no need to give herself such airs. With regard to the roasting
I really am most perplexed, and hope you will be able to advise me. I
have by me a standard cookery book, which assures me most positively
that a joint should be put in a hot oven to make a casing to keep in
the juices, and then it is to be cooked more slowly. This, I know, has
been done, but the result is far from satisfactory, and I wonder if the
oven is too hot.
"Only last night a beautiful little piece of loin of mutton was served
nearly black and as hard as a brick. I was so distressed for poor
Arthur's sake. It does so worry me to think of his coming home hungry
from his office to such a dinner. He was most amiable over it and only
smiled, telling me not to worry, I would soon learn. But the question
is, how long will he keep on smiling if he often has bad dinners? One
must look these matters in the face, must one not?
"I do not want to vex him too often; in fact, I do not want to vex
him at all, but what can I do? And then his mother is coming to stay
in a week or two, and although she is kindness herself, and very fond
of me, I feel quite sure that she will feel a profound pity for her
unfortunate son if she sees a black joint on the table.
"Her pastry--I mean cook's, of course--is so bad, that a week ago I
plucked up my courage. Venturing into the kitchen, I tried my hand at
making some. I rubbed seven ounces of dripping into a pound of flour
that had first been mixed with a teaspoonful of baking powder--that was
right, was it not? Then I mixed it with water to a dough and rolled
it out. It kept sticking to the board, and I got very nervous, for
I felt the cold, unsympathetic glance of the cook was upon me. But
I persevered and made it up into a pie and baked it; but every time
I went to the oven to take a peep--about every three minutes--the
dripping was running out as fast as it could. Surely pastry is very
wasteful. What is the use of putting it in if it only runs out again?
And to eat, it was hard beyond words! And to see cook's scornful smile
when, on the following day, she asked politely if I wished the remains
sent up to table.
"Now, as I tell you, she is leaving shortly. I have heard of a girl who
might do. She makes good soups, cooks vegetables well, roasts and boils
fairly well, and she is very clean. I know she is a nice girl, and not
at all inclined to be refractory, if I could only make up my mind as to
the best way of starting. As I tell you, my mother-in-law is coming to
stay soon. Marion, do advise me.
"Your perplexed friend,
"MADGE HOLDEN."
Marion read all this very carefully and thought it over. Then she
answered Mrs. Holden's letter.
"MY DEAR MADGE,--I shall be only too pleased if I can help you, but
you must not overrate my powers, as I think you are inclined to do.
To begin with, I have had opportunities of learning housekeeping such
as few have. You see, we all have to help at home, and mother is such
a good manager; it would be odd if I had not picked up some of her
household knowledge. You ask if I am afraid of my servant. If you
could see her, I think your own question would amuse you. She is only
fourteen, and she knew absolutely nothing when she came to us; by dint
of great exertions, I am gradually teaching her to dish up our dinners
and to wait at table. She can also turn out a room (with assistance)
and wash up, but as she has learnt this under me, it would be odd if
I felt afraid of her. If I had a real cook and housemaid like you, I
might perhaps tremble in my shoes, but really I think there is no need.
I am glad you find the stewing jar useful. If your cook cannot even
roast a small joint of meat without spoiling it, she has nothing to be
very conceited about.
"The rule you quote from your cookery book is quite correct for large
joints, but it does not do for small ones. If you put a big joint into
a hot oven, it crisps the outside nicely, but a small joint put into
the same temperature will soon become hard right through. Put small
joints in a gentle oven and cook them slowly, basting often. Shortly
before you serve it, let the oven get hot or else finish it before the
fire, so that it may brown. Of course, the oven must not be too slow or
the meat will not cook at all. This point you will gradually learn, and
so will your new cook if she is intelligent. I am glad you allude to
her as a 'girl.' A young person is, as a rule, more teachable, although
an older person will probably know more. As Dr. Johnson remarked of
Scotchmen, 'Much may be done with them if you catch them young.' When
you engage your new cook, just say that you are in the habit of cooking
occasionally--mention it as a matter of course. Do not start by being
afraid of her. It is really most absurd.
"With regard to the pastry. You do not seem to have made it quite
rightly, as it should not stick to the board. You made it too wet, and
your oven cannot have been hot enough if the dripping ran out. Pastry
should go into a hot oven, then the starch grains in the flour burst
and enclose the particles of dripping; but if the oven is not hot
enough, the reverse happens; that is to say, the dripping melts and
encloses the starch grains so that they cannot burst. Try again.
"I am wondering if it would help you to see a list of our dinners for
the week; I send one in case it may be of use and also my food bill.
The quantities will seem very small to you, but you must remember
we have no 'downstairs' to consider. Our girl only comes for a few
hours each day. This makes a great difference in our expenses. In
fact, if we did not make this arrangement, I do not think we could
continue our present mode of living. Now, do not worry. If you are so
anxious to have everything nice you will succeed in time, and if your
mother-in-law is so kind and so fond of you, I am sure she will not
pity her son too much, even if your cook does make one or two failures.
Could you not get her to postpone her visit until you are a little more
settled.
"Here is the dinner list--
_Sunday._
Stewed Steak. Mashed Potatoes.
Mince Pies.
(_Supper._) Poached Eggs on Toast; Cocoa.
_Monday._
Tripe à la Normandie.
Sago Pudding.
_Tuesday._
Sheep's Head.
Vegetables and Dumplings.
Baked Treacle Tart.
_Wednesday._
(_High Tea._) Fish Mould.
Gingerbread.
_Thursday._
Brown Soup.
Fish in Milk.
Cottage Pudding.
_Friday._
Mutton Cutlets.
Boiled Potatoes. Brussels Sprouts.
Macaroni Cheese.
_Saturday._
Celery Soup.
Minced Callops and Mashed Potatoes.
Cup Puddings.
"You see, we live very simply.
"The stewed steak was cooked the day before and warmed up; the mince
pies also.
"The 'tripe à la Normandie' is made with a thick brown gravy; the
tripe made in rolls with pieces of ham in each and a few mushrooms to
flavour. We have half a ham in the house just at present, so it was a
good time to have the dish. The brown soup on Thursday was made of the
broth in which the sheep's head was cooked; the fish mould is made by
pounding half a pound of breadcrumbs, one ounce of butter, a beaten
egg and a gill of thick white sauce; season this well and steam in a
buttered mould. The callops are minced beef, which I buy at threepence
each callop.
"Here is the food account--
£ s. d.
One pound and a half of chuck steak 0 1 3
Two pounds of best end of neck of mutton 0 1 8
One pound and a quarter of tripe 0 0 9½
One sheep's head 0 0 7
Half a pound of suet 0 0 3
Four callops 0 1 0
Quarter of a pound of mushrooms 0 0 3
Flavouring vegetables 0 0 4
One pound of sprouts 0 0 2
Eight pounds of potatoes 0 0 6
Plaice 0 0 6
Fresh haddock 0 0 6
Half a pound of macaroni 0 0 2
One tin of cocoa 0 0 6
Best eggs, one dozen 0 1 6
Six cooking eggs 0 0 6
One pound and a half of fresh butter at 1s. 4d. 0 2 0
Milk 0 1 7
Two pounds of demerara 0 0 3½
One pound loaf 0 0 2
Half a ham (three pounds and a half) 0 2 4
Half a pound of tea 0 0 10
Eight loaves 0 2 6
----------
£1 0 2
----------
"Let me know if I can be of any further use,
"Yours affectionately,
"MARION THOMAS."
Three weeks later Marion received a hurriedly-written note.
"Many, many thanks, my dear Marion, for your letter. I have been
waiting to profit by your instructions before writing to you, and now
I am so busy I can only write a few lines. The new cook is an amiable
girl, and I am getting on famously--thanks to you. Mrs. Holden is here,
and I am enjoying her visit very much. She is so kind and helpful. You
are quite right; it is ridiculous to be afraid of one's own cook, and I
now enter the kitchen with an easy mind. Also, my cooking has improved
so much, that I quite enjoy eating my own pastry, which I thought would
for ever be an impossibility.
"Your grateful friend,
"MADGE HOLDEN."
(_To be continued._)
ART IN THE HOUSE.