A CHAPTER ON GENERAL MANAGEMENT IN VERY SMALL FAMILIES.
A VERY small family, "a young _ménage_," for instance, is very much more
difficult to cater for without waste than a larger one; two people are
so apt to get tired of anything, be it ever so good eating, when it has
been on the table once or twice; therefore it would be useless to make
galantine or the large pies I have indicated, except for occasions when
guests are expected; but, as I hope to aid young housekeepers to have
nice dishes when alone, I will devote this chapter to their needs.
The chapter on "Warming Over" will be very useful also to this large
class.
In the first place it is well to have regard, when part of a dish leaves
the table, as to whether it, or any particular part of it, will make a
nice little cold dish, or a _rechauffé_; in that case have it saved,
unless it is required for the servants' dinner (it is well to manage so
that it is not needed for that purpose); for instance, if there is the
wing and a slice or two of the breast of a chicken left, it will make a
dainty little breakfast dish, or cold, in jelly, be nice for lunch.
There is always jelly if you have roast chicken, if you manage properly,
and this is how you do it:
Carefully save the feet, throat, gizzard, and liver of your chickens;
scald the feet by pouring boiling water over them; leave them just a
minute, and pull off the outer skin and nails; they come away very
readily, leaving the feet delicately white; put these with the other
giblets, properly cleansed, into a small saucepan with an onion, a slice
of carrot, a sprig of parsley, and a pint of water (if you have the
giblets of one chicken), if of two, put a quart; let this _slowly_
simmer for two hours and a half; it will be reduced to about half, and
form a stiff jelly when cold; a glass of sherry, and squeeze of lemon,
or teaspoonful of tarragon vinegar, makes this into a delicious aspic,
and should be added if to be eaten cold. The jelly must of course be
strained.
In roasting chickens, if you follow the rule for meat, that is, put no
water in the pan, but a piece of butter, and dredge a _very little_
flour over the chicken, you will have a nice brown glaze at the bottom
of the pan, provided it has been cooked in a _quick oven_; if in a cool
oven there will be nothing brown at all; but we will suppose the bird is
browned to a turn; pour your gravy from the giblets into the pan, take
off every bit of the glaze or osma-zone that adheres, and let it
dissolve, rubbing it with the back of the spoon; then, if you are likely
to have any chicken left cold, pour off a little gravy in a cup through
a fine strainer, leaving in your pan sufficient for the dinner; in this
mash up the liver till it is a smooth paste which thickens the gravy,
and serve. Some object to liver, therefore the use of it is a matter of
taste. If you dress the chickens English fashion, you will _need_ the
liver and gizzard to tuck under the wings; in this case, stew only the
feet and throat, using a little meat of any kind, if you have it, to
take their place; but on no account fail to use the feet, as they are as
rich in jelly as calves' feet in proportion to their size.
The jelly laid aside will be enough to ornament and give relish to a
little dish of cold chicken, and changes it from a dry and commonplace
thing to a _recherché_ one. If two chickens are cooked it is more
economical than one; there is, then, double the amount of gravy,
generally sufficient, if you lay some very nice pieces of cold chicken
in a bowl, to pour over it and leave it enveloped in jelly; you still
then, if from dinner for two people, have perhaps joints enough to make
a dish of curry or fricassee, or any of the many ways in which cold
chicken may be used, for which see chapter on "_Warming Over_."
For small households large joints are to be avoided, but even a small
roast is a large joint when there are but two or three to eat it. For
this reason it is a good plan to buy such joints as divide well. A
sirloin of beef is better made into two fine dishes than into one roast,
and then warmed over twice. Every one knows that "_Filet de b[oe]uf
Chateaubriand_" is one of the classical dishes of the French table, that
to a Frenchman luxury can go no further; but every one does not know how
entirely within his power it is to have that dish as often as he has
roast beef; how convenient it would be to so have it. Here it is: When
your sirloin roast comes from the butcher, take out the tenderloin or
fillets, which you must always choose thick; cut it across into steaks
an inch thick, trim them, cover them with a coat of butter (or oil,
which is much better), and broil them ten minutes, turning them often;
garnish with fried potatoes, and serve with _sauce Chateaubriand_, as
follows: Put a gill of white wine (or claret will do if you have no
white) into a saucepan, with a piece of glaze, weighing an ounce and a
half; add three quarters of a pint of _espagnole_, and simmer fifteen
minutes; when ready to serve, thicken with two ounces of _maître
d'hôtel_ butter in which a dessert-spoonful of flour has been worked.
That is how Jules Gouffé's recipe runs; but, as no small family will
keep _espagnole_ ready made, allow a little more glaze (of course the
recipe as given may be divided to half or quarter, provided the correct
proportions are retained), and use a tablespoonful of roux and the
_maître d'hôtel_ butter, both of which you have probably in your
store-room; if not, brown a little flour, chop some parsley, and add to
two ounces of butter; work them together, then let them dissolve in the
sauce, for which purpose let it go off the boil; let the sauce simmer a
minute, skim, and serve.
The sirloin of beef, denuded of its fillet, is still a good roast; and
as you can't have your cake and eat it too, and hot fresh roast beef is
better than the same warmed over, warm ye never so wisely, I think this
plan may commend itself to those who like nice _little_ dinners.
A nice little dinner of a soup, an _entrée_, or made dish, salad, and
dessert, really costs no more than frequent roast meat, or even steak
and pudding, by following some such plan as this:
Sunday.--_Pot-au-feu_ and roast lamb, leg of mutton or other good joint,
etc.
Monday.--Rice or vermicelli soup made with remains of the _bouillon_
from _pot-au-feu_. If the Sunday joint was a fore or hindquarter of lamb
it should have been divided, say the leg from the loin, thus providing
choice roasts for two days, and yet having enough cold lamb--that
favorite dish with so many--for luncheon with a salad; and, surprising
to say, after hot roast lamb for dinner Sunday, cold lunch for Monday,
another roast Monday, and cold or warmed up for lunch Tuesday, there
will still be (supposing as I do, in preparing this chapter, that the
family consists only of gentleman, lady, and servant) remains enough
from the two cold joints to make cromesquis of lamb (see recipe), a
little dish of mince, or a delicate _sauté_ of lamb for breakfast. It is
surprising what may be done with odds and ends in a small family; a tiny
plate of pieces, far too small to make an appearance on the table, and
which, if special directions are not given, will seem to Bridget not
worth saving, will, with each piece dipped into the batter _à la
Carême_, and fried in hot fat, make a tempting dish for breakfast, or an
_entrée_ for dinner or luncheon. Two tablespoonfuls only of chopped meat
of any kind will make croquettes for two or three people; hence, 'save
the pieces.' But to return to our bills of fare: I have given the two
roasts of lamb for consecutive days, because the weather in lamb season
is usually too warm to keep it; when this can be done, however, it is
pleasanter to leave the second joint of lamb till Tuesday. Should a
forequarter (abroad held in greater esteem than the hindquarter) have
been chosen, get the butcher to take out the shoulder in one round thick
joint, English fashion; this crisply roasted is far more delicious than
the leg; you then have the chops to be breaded, and an excellent dish of
the neck and breast, either broiled, curried, stewed with peas, or
roast.
Yet how often we see a whole quarter of lamb put in the oven for two or
three people who get tired of the sight of it cold, yet feel in economy
bound to eat it.
Should sirloin of beef have been the Sunday dinner, you will know what
to do with it, from directions already given; and as a sirloin of beef,
even with the fillet out, will be more than required for one dinner, it
may serve for a third day, dressed in one of the various ways I shall
give in chapter on "Warming Over." You have still at your disposal the
bouilli or beef from which you have made your _pot-au-feu_, which, if it
has been carefully boiled, not galloped, nor allowed to fall to rags, is
very good eating. Cut thin with lettuce, or in winter celery, in about
equal quantities, and a good salad dressing, it is excellent; or, made
into hash, fritadella, or even rissoles, is savory and delicious; only
bear in mind with this, as all cooked meats, the gravy drawn out must be
replaced by stock or glaze; it is very easy to warm over bouilli
satisfactorily, as a cup of the soup made from it can always be kept for
gravy.
A leg of mutton makes two excellent joints, and is seldom liked cold--as
beef and lamb often are.
Select a large fine leg, have it cut across, that each part may weigh
about equally; roast the thick or fillet end and serve with or without
onion sauce (_à la soubise_); boil the knuckle in a small quantity of
water, just enough to cover it, with a carrot, turnip, onion, and bunch
of parsley, and salt in the water, serve with caper sauce and mashed
turnips. The broth from this is excellent soup served thus: Skim it
carefully, take out the vegetables, and chop a small quantity of parsley
very fine, then beat up in a bowl two eggs, pour into them a little of
the broth--not boiling--beating all the time, then draw your soup back
till it is off the boil, and pour in the eggs, stirring continually till
it is on the boiling point again (but it must not boil, or the eggs will
curdle and spoil the soup), and then turn it into a _hot_ tureen and
serve. Use remains of the cold roast and boiled mutton together, to make
made dishes; between the days of having the roast and boiled mutton you
may have had a fowl, and the remains from that will make you a second
dish to go with your joint.
The remains from the first cooked mutton, in form of curry, mince,
salmi, or _sauté_, will be a second dish with your fowl.
Veal is one of the most convenient things to have for a small family, as
it warms over in a variety of ways, and in some is actually better than
when put on the table as a joint. By having a little fish one day,
instead of soup, and a little game another, and remembering when you
have an especially dainty thing, to have one with it a little more
substantial and less costly, you may have variety at little expense.
For instance, if you find it convenient to have for dinner fritadella
(see "_Warming Over_") or miroton of beef, or cold mutton curried, you
might have broiled birds, or roast pigeon, or game. In this consists
good management, to live so that the expenses of one day balance those
of the other--unless you are so happily situated that expense is a small
matter, in which case these remarks will not apply to you at all. Then,
never mind warming over, or making one joint into two; let your poor
neighbors and Bridget's friends enjoy your superfluity. To the woman
with a moderate income it usually is a matter of importance, or ought to
be, that her weekly expenditure should not exceed a certain amount, and
for this she must arrange that any extra expense is balanced by a
subsequent economy.
Salads add much to the health and elegance of a dinner; it is in early
spring an expensive item if lettuce is used; but no salad can be more
delicious or more healthful than dressed celery; and by buying when
cheap, arranging with a man to lay in your cellar, covered with soil,
enough for the winter's use, it need cost but moderately. Celeriac, or
turnip-rooted celery is another salad that is very popular with our
German friends; it is a bulbous celery, the root being the part eaten;
these are cooked like potatoes, cut in slices, and dressed with oil and
vinegar, or mayonnaise, it is exceedingly good. Potato salad is always
procurable, and in summer at lunch, instead of the hot vegetable, or in
winter when green salad is dear, is very valuable. It may be varied by
the addition, one day, of a few chopped pickles, another, a little
onion, or celery, or parsley, or tarragon, a little ravigotte butter
beaten to cream with the vinegar, or with meat, as follows: Boil the
potatoes in their skins, peel them, cut them into pieces twice the
thickness of a fifty-cent piece, and put them into a salad bowl with
cold meat (bouilli from soup is excellent); put to them a teaspoonful of
salt, half that quantity of pepper, two tablespoonfuls of vinegar, three
or even four of oil, and a teaspoonful of chopped parsley. You can vary
this by putting at different times some chopped celery or pickles,
olives, or anchovies.