blessed with a keen sense of humor and as keen a perception of the
fitness of things. She adopted the phrase on the spot. “Butter-balls
to make” became with us the synonym for needless hurry and flurry
and worry. When used interrogatively, it was the cabalistic formula
that caused a precipitate and a settlement of many a muddy whirl of
anxieties, the open sesame to a “chamber the name of which was Peace.”
Half of the perturbations that chase the housemother “clean out of
her wits” are as purely imaginary as those that beset the heroine of
our wee scrap of a story. That other American Martha who cried out
on Monday morning: “Washing to-day! Ironing on Tuesday! Baking on
Wednesday! Bless my life, half the week gone and nothing done!” is
hardly a caricature of the national housewife. Worry is a whirlwind
that throws the weightier matters of the law of life out of plumb, and
raises such a dust of minor duties and possible hindrances that the
blinded victim can see nothing aright.
One of the fixed principles of the universe is that two objects can not
occupy the same place at the same time. Another, which we are more slow
to admit, is that no two duties are cast for one and the same instant.
The throngs of homely tasks that obscure our toiler’s vision in the
anticipation of “another day’s work,” drifting and dancing in the light
of the new day—a flood of elusive moths—have really sequence and order.
Let her take hold of her astral or inner self, by the shoulders, and
hold her steady until she can weigh and classify the importunate atoms.
The pretty fairy-tale of the tasks set for Graciosa by her wicked
stepmother supplies another and a pat illustration. The poor girl had
to sort a roomful of feathers of all colors and sizes. After laboring
vainly for hours, she called tearfully for her fairy lover, who, with
one stroke of his wand, laid each kind in a separate heap from the rest.
[Illustration: RANGE-SCREEN LOWERED TO SHUT IN HEAT]
Your wand—and my wand—dear Martha, is the cool, long breath of sober
reflection that gives us time to say: “All these things can not be
done at once. Some of the less important can be laid over into the
convenient season which must fall into the lot of even an American
housekeeper. I must keep each in its place. I will”—a strong “will,” a
long “will,” and many “wills” altogether—“I will think of but one thing
at a time, and do it as if there were nothing else in the world for me
to do.”
The discipline of thought and nerves that must attend upon such a moral
and mental effort will train lawless impulses and teach concentration
of thought as well as the much-vaunted higher mathematics could. Work
need not, of necessity, be worry. Industry does not imply haste.
“Count five and twenty, Tattycoram!” entreated Mr. Meagles, when the
foundling’s temper was likely to get away from her.
In the same tone of affectionate warning, I pass on my homely test
of facts and values—“Butter-balls to make!” First, make sure of what
you really have to do, and to do today. Secondly, having screened
and sifted the mass, assort the ore before you begin to smelt it—and
yourself!
In place of counting five and twenty, accept my formula—“Draw ten deep
breaths” before you make up your mind that you have not time for one.
The world is full of fresh air and it owes us all we can take in
leisurely and thankfully.
No matter how heavy your burdens, your experience reflects that of
hundreds of others. It may be a mean kind of misery that loves company.
The knowledge that others are fighting and toiling bravely along the
same line with ourselves; that others have conquered the circumstances
which oppose us, braces us for renewed effort. What woman has done,
woman may do again.
You are far from being hopelessly “mired;” you have what is called “a
good fighting chance” for life and usefulness. You have one tremendous
advantage, a solid foothold to begin with, in the certainty that you
are in the right path.
The confident assurance of this is half the battle. The other half is
in doing your work as it comes to your hand. Don’t cultivate “a long
reach.” It never pays. You “don’t get ahead one inch.” Perhaps God
means for you to move by quarter-inches. He has ten thousand ways of
disciplining His children, and so teaching them to make the very best
of themselves. It is as certain as that He rules the heavens, that He
knows just what sort of training is good for you. Your husband, your
children, your home, are your working capital, a loan from Him—your
talents, if you like that figure better. They are more than worth all
the labor and the worries that fall into your lot.
Husband, children, home, work and worry fill to-day full. Hence the
folly, and the danger, and the sin of “the long reach.” The one coming
guest whom you should never welcome is to-morrow’s possible troubles.
The children are not to be educated today, nor is John ill or dead at
the present moment, and the “lonesome” maid does not go until her month
is up. The faith that removes mountains wears short-sighted glasses and
brings them to bear upon the work in hand.
This is not preaching, but practical philosophy. Try how it will work
for a week—then a month—then a year.
Keep your house as well as you can for John, for the babies, for
yourself, and let the neighbors run theirs to suit themselves.
Comparisons, according to Dogberry, are “odorous.” Comparison of this
sort savors of discontent and trouble. Mind your own business and take
your business in sections.
“Magnify your office.” You are as important in your kingdom as was
Queen Victoria in hers, and have not one worry where she had a thousand.
Dust may be disease in embryo, and should be done away with by the use
of all reasonable means. Overwork and worry kill more women in one
year than the neglected deposit upon picture cords slays in a century.
“Let all things be done decently and in order” is a capital working
motto, but reserve the right of private judgment in determining what
constitute order and decency. Study what you can leave undone, or what
may be laid over for another day with least discomfort to yourself and
others.
Spare yourself, and study Slighting (so-called) as a Useful,
Life-lengthening Art.
THE FAMILY LUNCHEON
Fifty years ago luncheon expressed the most desultory and haphazard
meal possible to enlightened humanity. School children carried
lunch-boxes and parcels in the corners of book-bags when they left
home after breakfast. Picnic, berrying and nutting parties stowed away
bountiful luncheons in baskets and hampers. There were three meals a
day, breakfast, dinner and supper, or in New England, tea. Households
in which people sat down, even upon “occasions,” to a luncheon set
forth in orderly fashion upon a table, to be eaten in courses with
knives and forks, were as few as those in which afternoon tea was
served.
The change that, by pushing the dinner hour nearer the close of day
has made expedient, if not needful, a substantial noon-day meal, has
come about naturally and gradually. The down-town of men workers and
the up-town of homes have receded from each other until the head of
the house can no longer spare time to dine at home at midday. And the
stately sequence of soup, fish, meat and sweets is a tedious sham when
there are no men to be cooked for. In the country the increasing army
of commuters have but two meals at home during the week day. Wives,
compassionately reminiscent of the hasty bit and sup that stays their
stomachs during a day’s shopping, assume that the respective Johns fare
no better. John’s breakfast is a touch-and-go affair. He shall have
abundant recompense for that and the wretched sandwich and lukewarm
coffee that mocked fainting Nature at the noon spell.
By these and others stages luncheon has become an American institution,
and has come to stay. It is, to most women, the pleasantest meal of
the day, even when partaken of at home, with none present but “the
children” and the grown women of the household. It breaks up the
monotony of daily tasks; it is eaten without flurry or hurry, because
with little ceremony. “Pick-up” dishes and accidental _entrées_ figure
conspicuously in the menu, things for which men, as a rule, care little
and their wives and daughters much. Tea and toast, cake and preserves
can be enjoyed without fear of bantering comment, and a harmless dish
of gossip can be uncovered without provoking severe strictures.
The family luncheon is the best medium I know of for acquiring the
valuable French art of concocting _entrées_ out of “left-overs.”
Some Johns have a rooted dislike for “made dishes,”—a prejudice which,
I may remark, adds sensibly to the sum of household expenses. It would
double them but for the canny housewife’s use of cold cuts and scraps
for the midday meal “just for the children and myself.”
Women don’t cook for themselves! But for the saving clause “the
children,” our economist would starve herself upon toast and tea.
Being a mother she brings forth strengthening soups, savory stews and
relishful compositions of fish and vegetables out of most unpromising
materials, unconsciously becoming a culinary artist.
The Ladies’ Luncheon, which has grown into one of the most important of
modern social functions, will be considered later.
LUNCHEON DISHES
OYSTERS
Fricasseed oysters
Drain the liquor from a quart of oysters and bring to the boiling
point. Stir into it two tablespoonfuls of cracker crumbs rolled very
fine. Set at the side of the range while you scald a half pint of cream
in which you have dissolved a tiny pinch of soda. Meanwhile melt three
tablespoonfuls of butter in a saucepan and cook the oysters in this
until their edges “ruffle,” when they must be removed and laid on tiny
slices of toast on a hot water dish. Turn the melted butter remaining
in the saucepan into the oyster liquor and pour this slowly, stirring
all the time, on the hot cream, season with salt and paprika, and pour
immediately over the oysters and toast.
Deviled oyster pâtés
Drain the liquor from a quart of oysters. Chop the oysters and mix with
them a cup of cracker crumbs, two tablespoonfuls of melted butter and
enough oyster liquor to soften the whole. Season with salt, paprika
and a few drops of Tabasco sauce, with a teaspoonful of tomato catsup.
Butter small pâté-pans, fill these with the mixture, sprinkle cracker
crumbs on top, and bake.
Creamed oysters
Drain the liquor from a quart of oysters.
Cook together three tablespoonfuls of butter and two of flour, and when
they bubble pour upon them a cupful of oyster liquor and a cupful of
rich milk (cream is better), in which you have dropped a bit of soda
the size of a pea. Stir until the sauce thickens, then turn into it the
oysters. Cook until the oysters are heated through; add, a few drops at
a time, the beaten yolks of two eggs, keeping your spoon moving all the
time. Do not allow it to cook a minute after the last drop of egg is
added.
Broiled oysters (No. 1)
There are several methods of broiling oysters. For all of them a good
large oyster is needed. I give the simplest method first.
Dry your oysters on a towel; sprinkle them with salt and a little red
pepper and lay them within an oyster-broiler. Turn them so that they
may brown on both sides, put them on a hot dish, dress at once with
butter, and serve as soon as this has melted.
Broiled oysters (No. 2)
Drain and dry your oysters, sprinkle them with salt and pepper and roll
them in bread-crumbs. Broil them over a clear fire, turning them until
they are brown. Serve on buttered toast. Put a bit of butter on each
oyster and squeeze on it a few drops of lemon juice.
Broiled oysters with brown sauce
Sprinkle large drained oysters with salt and pepper, dip in beaten
egg, then roll in cracker-dust, and lay on the ice for an hour before
cooking upon an oyster-broiler over a clear fire to a delicate brown.
Put on a hot platter and cover with a brown sauce.
Brown sauce for broiled oysters
Cook together a scant tablespoonful, each, of butter and browned flour;
pour upon a half pint of cleared consommé; season with salt, pepper, a
dash of Worcestershire sauce, a little mushroom catsup and a few drops
of kitchen bouquet. Add a dash of lemon juice and serve.
Scalloped oysters
Drain the oysters and dispose in a buttered bake-dish in the following
order:
In the bottom have a light layer of crushed cracker crumbs; season
with paprika and salt, drop bits of butter upon them and wet with
oyster liquor and milk mixed in equal quantities. Now comes a layer of
oysters, similarly seasoned, next a layer of crumbs. Go on thus until
the dish is full or the materials are used up. The top layer should be
crumbs with a double allowance of butter. Cover closely and bake half
an hour, then uncover and brown lightly.
Oyster scallops
Prepare as above, but bake in pâté-pans or in shells, covering each
with fine crumbs. In tide-water Virginia, notably near Williamsburg,
the first capital of the state, large, fluted shells are dug up many
feet below the surface, which, when cleaned, make the best possible
receptacle for scalloped oysters. All who have eaten fresh oysters,
just from York river, cooked in these fossil remains, will agree with
me that they are incomparably savory.
Send sliced lemon around with them.
Fried oysters
They must be large, plump and fresh. Drain well; spread upon a clean,
soft towel, and cover with another, patting them gently to dry them on
both sides. Roll each over and over in salted cracker-crumbs; set on
the ice for an hour; dust more crumbs over them, and fry, a few at a
time, in boiling hot butter, cottolene or other fats.
Drain, garnish with parsley and serve.
Oysters creamed and baked
Heat a large spoonful of butter in a clean frying-pan, rub in a
tablespoonful of flour, and stir to a white roux. Remove to the
table. Season with salt and white pepper. Have ready pâté-pans or
scallop-shells arranged in a baking-pan; put three or four fine oysters
in each, cover with the white sauce and cook in a quick oven about
eight minutes, or until the oysters “ruffle.” Serve in the shells. The
white sauce should be thick, as the liquor from the oysters will thin
it.
Stewed oysters
Drain in a colander one quart of oysters. Put the liquor over the fire
in a saucepan, with a good tablespoonful of butter. Add half as much
boiling water as you have liquor, pepper and salt to taste, and bring
to a boil. As soon as this is reached, put in the drained oysters and
cook quickly. When they “ruffle”—in five minutes or thereabouts—add
half a cupful of milk heated in another vessel with a tiny bit of soda
to prevent curdling, and half a teaspoonful of corn-starch wet with
cold milk, stirred in. Pour upon the oysters, cook for one minute and
dish.
Most stewed oysters are cooked into insipid toughness.
Oyster stew
Heat the liquor from a quart of oysters to boiling. While it is growing
hot put over the fire in another vessel a pint of milk. When this is
heated stir into it a tablespoonful of butter rolled in as much flour.
Drop the oysters into the hot liquid and let them cook until they
ruffle. Pour the milk into the saucepan with the oysters, season to
taste with salt and pepper, and serve.
This is the old-fashioned stew and is better than many more modern
inventions.
Oysters fried in batter
Make a rather thick batter of one egg, a cupful of milk and about half
a cupful of flour, sifted twice, with a scant half teaspoonful of
baking-powder and half as much salt. Drain fine oysters, roll each in
flour, let them stand half an hour, then dip in the batter and fry in
boiling butter, cottolene or other fat. Drain off every drop of grease
in a hot colander and serve.
Steamed oysters
Wash shell oysters and arrange, flat side up, in the steamer. Cover
closely, and set over water at a hard boil. In twenty-five minutes lift
the steamer from the fire. If the shells gape, the oysters are done.
Pry off the lower shell, put a bit of butter on each, and send _at
once_ to table. Pass salt and pepper and sliced lemon with them. They
are delicious if eaten piping hot, preserving the flavor far better
than stewed or panned oysters can hold it.
Panned oysters
Fit rounds of buttered toast into the bottom of pâté pans; lay on these
as many oysters as the pans will hold, season with salt and pepper, lay
a dot of butter upon each panful and set in your covered roaster to
cook in a quick oven about ten minutes, or until the oysters “ruffle.”
Serve in the pans.
An appetizing luncheon or supper dish.
Creamed panned oysters
Cook as in last recipe, and when the oysters are done add to each pan a
large teaspoonful of cream heated to scalding, putting in a tiny pinch
of soda to prevent curdling.
Instead of the cream you may make a dish of
Deviled panned oysters
When ready for the table add to each pan a dozen drops of Tabasco
sauce, stirred into a saltspoonful of French mustard and the same
quantity of lemon juice. Beat together, stir lightly into the oysters
with a fork, heat one minute and serve.
Curried oysters
Into two tablespoonfuls of white roux stir a few drops of onion juice
and a teaspoonful of curry powder. Add a cupful of scalding oyster
liquor, and, when well incorporated, pour over broiled or fried
oysters laid upon toast in a chafing-dish. Rice croquettes are nice
served with this dish.
Oyster pie or pâtés
Make pastry shells or a pie shell of puff paste, bake, and when cold,
fill with a filling made thus: Cook together a tablespoonful, each,
of butter and flour; pour on them a cup of cream and a gill of oyster
liquor and stir to a smooth sauce. Drop in the oysters and cook,
stirring steadily until the edges begin to curl; remove from the fire
and beat in gradually the yolk of an egg. Pour into the pastry shells
and set in the oven until the pastry and contents are very hot.
Oyster cocktails (No. 1)
Into a tablespoonful of tomato catsup stir a half tablespoonful of
grated horseradish, a half tablespoonful of Worcestershire sauce, a
tablespoonful of lemon juice, a quarter teaspoonful of Tabasco sauce,
half a tablespoonful of vinegar and a saltspoonful of salt. Set in the
ice for an hour. Into very cold little glasses put five small oysters
that have been chilled, and fill the glasses with the cold sauce.
Oyster cocktails (No. 2)
For six of these provide thirty small oysters. Make a sauce by mixing
together a tablespoonful, each, of lemon juice and tomato catsup, a
teaspoonful of grated horseradish, a pinch, each, of salt and cayenne
pepper and six drops of Tabasco sauce. Have all very cold, and the
cocktail or claret glasses thoroughly chilled before you put five
oysters in each and divide the sauce equally between them. Lay a slice
of lemon on top of each cocktail.
Oysters with mushrooms
(Contributed)
Drain about twenty-five oysters, put them into a hot pan with a
teaspoonful of butter and toss them until they are plumped and ruffled
on both sides. Then place them in a hot dish. To the oyster liquor add
the juice of half a pint of chopped mushrooms and enough milk to make
a pint. Thicken this with a tablespoonful of flour moistened with a
little milk and cook three minutes; stir in the mushrooms and cook two
minutes longer; add a half teaspoonful of salt, a half teaspoonful of
lemon juice, a teaspoonful of onion juice, the beaten yolks of two eggs
and a heaping tablespoonful of butter. Put in the oysters and as soon
as the preparation reaches the boiling point turn into a hot dish.
Pigs in blankets
(Contributed)
Take large oysters and allow them to remain in the following dressing:
The juice of two lemons, half a teaspoonful of salt and a dash of
cayenne pepper. Now wrap each oyster in a thin slice of bacon and
fasten with a toothpick, fry in a little butter until the bacon is
crisp. Have nicely browned slices of toast and lay the oysters on them.
Garnish with parsley and serve.
Baked oysters
(Contributed)
Select nice large oysters. Wash and scrub the shells free from sand.
Put them into a baking-pan and bake in a hot oven until the shells
open. Carefully remove the upper shell; put a bit of butter on each
oyster, sprinkle with salt and pepper and serve in the under shells.
Oysters with macaroni
(Contributed)
Put about four ounces of macaroni in plenty of boiling salted water
and cook for twenty minutes. Take out and drain well. Into a buttered
baking-dish put a layer of the macaroni, then a layer of oysters, dot
with bits of butter, season with pepper and salt; follow this with
another layer of macaroni, another of oysters and seasoning, and
finish with a layer of macaroni sprinkled thickly with grated cheese.
Bake in a moderate oven twenty minutes.
Oysters sautés
Drain the oysters well, season with pepper and salt, roll in fine bread
crumbs, and brown in a little clarified butter in a spider. Serve on a
hot platter.
Scalloped clams
Select one dozen large clams in the shell and two dozen soft ones. Use
care not to injure the shells which are to be used in cooking. Clean
the shells well and put two soft clams into each one. Add to each a
touch of white pepper and one and a half teaspoonfuls of minced celery.
Cut into small dice a few slices of bacon and add four of these to each
shell; sprinkle bread crumbs over the top, put a piece of butter on top
of each and bake in the oven till brown.
Roast clams
Wash the clams and lay them unopened in a bake-pan, and set on the top
of the very hot range. Cook until the shells open wide, then remove the
upper shell and transfer the lower—with the clam and juice still in
it—to a hot platter. Squeeze upon each clam a few drops of lemon juice
and serve in the shells. Pass tomato catsup or chili sauce with them.
Creamed clams
Drain the liquor from a pint of opened clams, and set the clams and
liquor on the range in separate double boilers to heat. Cook together a
large tablespoonful of butter and the same of flour until they bubble,
then pour upon them the heated liquor and cook until smooth and thick.
Have ready in another vessel a pint of hot cream, in which a pinch of
soda has been dissolved. Pour this gradually upon a beaten egg, and
return to the fire for a minute, stirring constantly. Add the chopped
and heated clams to the thickened liquor, season with paprika, stir
gradually into the hot eggs and cream, and pour upon squares of lightly
buttered toast.
Clam pâtés
Drain the liquor from a quart of clams. Cook together a tablespoonful
of butter and one of flour, and pour upon them a cup of hot milk (in
which a pinch of soda has been dissolved) and a cup of clam liquor.
Stew until you have a smooth, thick sauce, and then add the chopped
clams. Add a beaten egg, drop by drop, and when well mixed remove from
the fire, season and set aside to cool. Line pâté pans with good puff
paste, fill with the clam mixture, put pastry over the tops and bake to
a light brown. Serve hot.
Deviled clams (No. 1)
Steam in the shell as you have been told how to steam oysters. When
they gape, open, saving all the liquor in a bowl. Cut off the dark
end of each clam and set aside while you strain the liquor and bring
it quickly to a boil. Season with paprika, butter, lemon juice and a
few drops of Tabasco sauce; put in the clams and as soon as they are
smoking hot, turn into a heated covered dish. Send around buttered bars
of graham bread, or strips of buttered toast, or hot crackers, buttered
lightly.
Deviled clams (No. 2)
Take two dozen clams from the shells, drain and chop. Scald a cup of
rich milk and thicken it with two tablespoonfuls of flour rubbed into
one of butter; remove from the fire, add gradually the beaten yolks
of three eggs, paprika and celery salt to taste, a few drops of lemon
juice and the chopped clams. Wash the clam shells, fill with this
mixture, and set in a pan in the oven for ten minutes. Serve very hot.
Lobster à la Newburg
Stir a pinch of baking soda into a pint of cream; put this, the beaten
yolks of three eggs, and a wineglassful of sherry in a double boiler
and cook, stirring, until thick. Now add a pint of lobster meat,
seasoned with salt and cayenne, and stir until smoking hot; then serve.
Lobster timbales
Mix together a cup of cold boiled lobster, minced very fine, eight
blanched and chopped almonds, and season with celery salt and white
pepper. Stir in a half pint of whipped cream and the whites of four
eggs beaten very stiff and work in an ordinary Hollandaise sauce. Turn
into timbale molds and bake.