In respect to quantity, spinach is desperately deceitful. I never see
it drained after it is boiled without bethinking myself of a picture
I saw many years since, illustrative of the perils of innocent
simplicity. A small (lucky) boy and big (unlucky) one have been
spending their holiday in fishing. While the former, well satisfied
with the result of his day’s sport, is busy putting up his rod and
tackle, the designing elder dexterously substitutes his own string of
minnows for the other’s store of fine perch. The little fellow, turning
to pick it up, without a suspicion of the cruel cheat, makes piteous
round eyes at his fellow, ejaculating, “How they have _swhrunk_!”
A young housekeeper of my acquaintance, ordering a spring dinner for
herself and husband, purchased a quart of spinach. When it should have
appeared upon the table, there came in its stead a platter of sliced
egg, she having given out one for the dressing. “Where is the spinach?”
she demanded of the maid of all work. “Under the egg, ma’am!” And it
was really all there.
_Moral._—Get enough spinach to be visible to the naked eye. A peck is
not too much for a family of four or five.
Pick it over very carefully; it is apt to be gritty. Wash in several
waters, and let it lie in the last half an hour at least. Take out
with your hands, shaking each bunch well, and put into boiling water,
with a little salt. Boil from fifteen to twenty minutes. When tender,
drain thoroughly, chop _very_ fine; put into a saucepan with a piece of
butter the size of an egg, and pepper to taste. Stir until very hot,
turn into a dish and shape into a flat-topped mound with a silver or
wooden spoon; slice some hard-boiled eggs and lay on top.
_Or,_
Rub the yolks of the eggs to a powder; mix with butter, and when your
mound is raised, spread smoothly over the flat top. Four eggs will
dress a good-sized dish. Cut the whites into rings and garnish, laying
them on the yellow surface. This makes a pleasant dressing for the
spinach.