The things most generally forgotten are the knives and forks and the
salt. The most awful thing of all to forget is the hamper containing the
drinkables. One indispensable thing for the comfort of a picnic on a hot
day is a large lump of ice. If this is well covered in sawdust, and
wrapped round with a blanket or thick cloth, it is wonderful how little
will melt even in a long journey.
We will run hastily through the ordinary picnic dishes, with a word or
two to say on each.
First, cold lamb and mint sauce. Bear in mind that the former is very
apt to turn quickly, in hot weather, especially if packed close, or put
in a hamper near the top exposed to the sun. Pepper the joint, and wrap
it up in cool cabbage-leaves. The mint sauce must be put in a small
bottle, a stone ginger-beer bottle being as good as anything.
Second, lobster salad. This of course is dressed on the ground. Take
care, however, in packing the lobsters, that they do not impart a fishy
flavour to everything else. A few hard-boiled eggs should be taken to
garnish the salad.
Pigeon pie. A good pigeon pie ought to have plenty of gravy, and this
gravy when cold should be properly a firm jelly. I recollect once in a
picnic the pigeon pie had leaked, and the gravy had soaked quite through
the table-cloth, which had been placed folded up near it in the hamper.
Now a very little trouble would have avoided this in making the gravy
for the pie, bearing in mind the time of year, and how unlikely gravy is
to set firm unless made exceedingly strong. All the cook has to do is to
put in a little gelatine. This will insure the gravy being firm when
cold.
A cucumber properly dressed is an exceedingly nice accompaniment to cold
fowl and cold meat in hot weather, and perhaps never appears to better
advantage than at a picnic. A cucumber improperly dressed is a very
different thing, however. Who has not at times at hotels or restaurants
met with the small glass dish containing thin slices of cucumber soaked
in vinegar, on which float a few spots of oil, looking more like the fat
on beef-tea before it is cold?
How utterly uneatable is the cucumber in question, simply because the
waiter was too ignorant to know how to dress it! The cucumber must be
sliced very thin, and of course all the green peel removed before
slicing. These slices must next be placed in a dish with a good-sized
pinch of salt, and then covered with fresh oil, and well mixed up; they
may now be peppered and mixed again, the vinegar, in very small
quantities, being added last of all. The cucumber, being well covered
with oil to begin with, will not soak up the vinegar and taste like sour
pickle.
I have already given directions how to make claret-cup. When claret-cup
is required for a picnic, it will be found best to take ready mixed in a
small bottle some plain syrup, and also in another bottle a little
sherry, brandy, and noyeau, mixed in the proportions I named before.
All, therefore, that is required is a strip of the peel from the
cucumber and a slice of lemon to be added to a bottle of claret, the
mixed wine and spirit out of the bottle next, a little syrup, a lump of
ice, and a couple of bottles of soda-water to finish with.
An exceedingly delicious and at the same time unintoxicating drink is
some syrup of pineapple added to a bottle of soda-water and a lump of
ice. This syrup can be obtained at S. Sainsbury’s, 177, Strand—I mention
the name, as I do not know of any other place where it can be obtained;
and really in the present day anything that assists temperance deserves
mention. Perhaps the most important element towards the success of a
picnic is good temper and the absence of selfishness. Just as on board
ship there seems a sort of mutual understanding that every one must be
pleasant, so is there in these little happy gatherings. Of course, too,
much depends on the selection of the company. Avoid asking those who
invariably act as wet blankets on anything approaching to fun or
merriment.
But, however hot the weather, we cannot have a picnic every day, though
some may have thoughts on the subject similar to the little jockey-boy,
who wished it was Derby-day all the year round. We must eat to live,
which is better than simply living to eat.
Mushrooms _au gratin_ form a very good dish for hot weather, but as fish
is eaten first I should remind those who suffer from the heat, and
consequent loss of appetite, that what is known as fish souchet is an
admirable thing to start dinner with. Those who have dined at fish
dinners at Greenwich, or, still better, Gravesend, as the latter is
nearer the sea, will remember how exceedingly nice was the flounders
souchet which generally constitutes the first course at those admirable
little dining-places like the “Old Falcon,” at Gravesend. The
neat-looking thin slices of brown bread and butter somehow make one
hungry to look at them, so suggestive of the _real_ whitebait to follow.
The preparation of flounders souchet is very simple. First boil the fish
in some water with a little salt till they are tender. Then take off
carefully all the scum, and lift the fish one by one into a
vegetable-dish nearly full of boiling water, taking care in so doing not
to break the fish. Throw in one or two sprigs of fresh green parsley,
and the dish is complete. Hand round with the fish some thin slices of
brown bread and butter. Eels souchet is very nice, and we described how
to make it under the heading of turtle soup. When flounders cannot be
obtained, those very small soles, sometimes called, I think, dabs, make
a capital souchet; a large dish need not cost sixpence; but pray don’t
forget the brown bread and butter.
It is wonderful sometimes, by a little forethought, how a dinner can be
improved. Out of the many hundreds who have enjoyed those fish souchets
at fish dinners, I wonder to how many the idea ever occurred—“I must
have this at home.”
Mushrooms _au gratin_ form a more elaborate dish. For this purpose only
large cup-mushrooms should be used. Suppose, then, we have eight or ten
fine cup-mushrooms—and by cup I mean the top of the mushroom round, and
capable of being made hollow. First cut off all the stalks, and peel
them, and also peel very carefully the cup-like part of the mushroom, so
as not to hurt the rim. Next scoop out the inside of these cups, and
chop it up with the stalks of the mushrooms. Take a piece of shallot
about as big as the top of the thumb down to the first joint, and
sufficient parsley when chopped fine to fill a tea-spoon, and sufficient
thyme to cover a shilling. Chop all these up together very fine, adding
a little cayenne pepper. Next take some raw bacon and scrape it. It will
be found that the fat will scrape easily, but not the lean. This latter
must occasionally be cut in strips. Continue scraping the bacon till you
have got about three ounces altogether. Chop the lean as fine as
possible, and put it with the fat into an enamelled saucepan. Add the
chopped mushroom, thyme, parsley, shallot, &c., and fry it all over the
fire for a time. If the mass is too dry, it shows there is not enough
bacon-fat; if it is too moist, add some bread-crumbs. Next fill the cups
of the mushrooms with this preparation, and shake some fine
golden-coloured bread-raspings. Place these cups in a covered stew-pan
with some butter or oil, and let them cook very gently till the cup part
of the mushroom is quite tender. They can be served either plain or with
some rich brown gravy poured _round_ them. It is rather a rich dish, and
of course not one off which it would be possible to dine; but it is
exceedingly good and savoury, and not nearly so troublesome to make as
would be imagined from reading this recipe.
Should these mushrooms _au gratin_ be required as an entrée, where great
excellence is desirable, an improvement will be found by adding two
yolks of eggs to the mass after it has been taken off the fire. These
yolks must be stirred in thoroughly, and have the effect of rendering
the insides of the mushrooms richer in appearance and taste. They are
not, however, in my opinion, necessary.
When there has been a large lobster salad or salads made, the cook is
often at a loss how to utilise the lobster that is left. In the first
place, lobster will not keep sometimes even one hot night. One very good
method of using up any remains is what is called bashawed lobster. Take
all the pieces of lobster left, and cut them up with a knife and fork;
chop up a little piece of onion, about the size of the top of the little
finger, and a small piece of parsley. Mix it with the pieces of lobster,
and a very little anchovy sauce and cayenne pepper. Cut up a piece of
butter into little pieces, and mix in, and fill the shell part of the
lobster—_i.e._, the two half-tails. Cover these shells over the top with
some fine bread-crumbs, and shake a few fine bread-raspings on the top.
Put the shells in the oven for ten minutes, or a little longer, and
serve hot. Some fried parsley makes a good garnish in contrast with the
red shell, and is also a great improvement to the flavour. This is a
capital supper dish after a hot day, can be made early in the afternoon,
and only requires what the cooks call “popping in the oven.”
Cook will, of course, maintain that the remains of a lobster or lobsters
cannot be done this way properly. The reason is, lobster—and, in fact,
shell-fish generally—has particular charms for the kitchen. Servants are
partial also to cucumber, vinegar, liver and bacon, lamb’s fry, roast
pork and sage-and-onions, winkles, radishes, &c.—almost anything with
stuffing, onions—in fact, generally it may be said that anything that
possesses what is vulgarly known as the property of rising seems adapted
to them. They invariably dislike calves’ heads, and cold boiled beef,
or, in fact, any cold meat, especially Australian. Like Mrs. Gamp, they
scorn hash, but somehow like stewed steak, both dishes affording
admirable opportunities for displays of dexterity with the blade of the
knife.
The world, thanks to strikes, trades-unions, love of dress, drink, &c.,
is changing very rapidly. Where the class of servants is to come from
ten years hence, adapted to small families of limited incomes, is a
problem to be solved in the future.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XIII.—COOLING DRINKS.
What subject is so suitable for early summer? Who has not at times
experienced that strange and almost painful feeling that must exist in
the throat in order that the sensation may be worthy of the name of
“thirst?” I recollect many years ago either hearing or reading a
horrible story of the refinement of cruelty. A prisoner is supposed to
have been lowered into a deep dungeon, and to have been left for a whole
day without food. Ravenous with hunger, what are his feelings on seeing
the dungeon-top unclosed, and slowly lowered a silver dish containing
probably food. The dish is at length grasped and uncovered, and is found
to contain some bread and nicely cooked salt fish, both of which are
eagerly devoured. The dish is slowly drawn up, and the prisoner left
alone. What, however, were the pains of hunger that he felt, compared to
the raging thirst he now experiences, a thirst greatly increased by the
nature of the food he has eaten—viz., salt fish! Another twenty-four
hours of agony, tenfold greater than he experienced before, pass heavily
away, and again the dungeon opens, and a large and beautiful silver
goblet is seen slowly to descend, and sends a quiver of hope through the
frame of the poor agonised wretch, almost raving. The goblet is at
length clutched, somewhat like a drowning man would clutch a straw.
Alas! the goblet is found to be empty, and he is left to Death, more
merciful than his gaolers.
Horrible stories, too, have been told of travellers in the desert, who,
in their death-agony, have ripped open and ladled out a spoonful or two
of water from their camel’s stomach.
However, we live in a happier clime; certain is it that should any one
experience thirst in this country, it is not for want of opportunities
to drink.
Before, however, we proceed to discuss the various methods and recipes
for cooling drinks, such as claret-cup, champagne-cup, as well as
home-made lemonade, lemon-smash, &c., it will not be out of place to
compare (as we have already done in cooking) France and England, in
regard to drinking. If it is urged there is a good old saying that
“comparisons are odious,” we would add, so also is drunkenness. That
this latter vice is the curse of the country, and has been for many
years, no one will deny. That of late private tippling in families far
above the lower orders is also on the increase, is a fact so patent that
it deserves more notice than that it has hitherto met with in purely
medical journals.
Perhaps one of the simplest and most effective cures for the dangerous
habit we speak of is the substitution of some agreeable but at the same
time harmless drink, for the usual stimulant.
We believe that this point has not met with the attention it deserves.
The public-houses of London are essentially drinking-houses. A poor man,
to whom every penny is an object, is almost driven when thirsty to take
beer—too often, unfortunately, the beer in question being so adulterated
that it helps in the end to increase rather than alleviate thirst. On
the other hand, a Paris café contains a choice of drinks almost unknown
in London, many of which combine a delicious flavour with the advantage
of being non-intoxicating. I have known several cases of English lads
who, when in England, invariably took beer, who looked forward with
pleasure to the equally cheap glass of groseille and water when abroad.
These to whom I refer were in charge of some race-horses, had been
educated at Newmarket, and were constantly in the habit of travelling
between that place and Paris.
Young lads at the dangerous and susceptible age of seventeen too often
take to drinking more beer than is good for them, just in the same way
that they take to smoking—viz., because they think it will look manly,
and not because they really like it. The habit once formed, in nine
cases out of ten probably lasts a lifetime; but the good old saying,
that “prevention is better than cure,” was never more applicable than in
the case in point.
We could recommend some enterprising grocers during the present summer
to offer for sale glasses of syrup and water—say groseille—with a small
piece of ice in each glass, for a penny; the profit would be
considerable. Were every grocer’s shop in London to adopt this
suggestion, I believe more would be done towards checking intemperance
than all the efforts of the teetotal societies have done for years.
There are several ways of making claret-cup, and many persons have their
own private recipe. It will also invariably be found that each person
thinks his own recipe the best. In this respect claret-cup may be said
to have taken the place of punch, disputes about the best method of
brewing a bowl of which are said in days of old to have even led to
duels being fought between the rival brewers.
I will give two recipes for making claret-cup—one, which may be called
strong cup, suitable for dinner, and another weaker cup, more adapted to
be drunk after cricket or rowing. There are, perhaps, few occasions when
a deep draught of a cool fluid is more grateful than after a long pull
on the river on a hot day.
Of course the basis of claret-cup is claret; but one word of warning
somewhat similar to that we gave in connection with turtle soup. It is
impossible to make a good cup out of really bad claret. I do not mean
cheap claret, but sour. It is quite possible to get a good sound wine
for twenty-four shillings a dozen, or even less; but at the same time it
is quite possible to pay more, and get a sour compound that would be
unfit for cup or any other purpose. On the other hand, to use really
good claret, such as Château Margaux or Château Latour, for making cup,
would be as bad as using 1834 port to make negus.
Perhaps the most difficult point to determine in making claret-cup is
its sweetness. Now, as this is purely a matter of taste, I would
recommend persons to err on the side of too little sugar rather than too
much, as it is always easy to add, but impossible to take away.
Take therefore about an ounce and a half of white sugar, and dissolve it
by pouring a table-spoonful of hot water on it, and afterwards adding a
little claret. I have always found this plan best, as otherwise the
sugar is apt to settle at the bottom of the cup or jug, thereby often
making the compound not quite sweet enough at starting, and a great deal
too sweet at the finish.
We will suppose, therefore, that the sugar is completely dissolved, and
added to a whole bottle of claret in the jug or cup selected for the
purpose. Add two thin slices of lemon—cut across the lemon, care being
taken to avoid any pips—and one thin slice of cucumber-peeling about as
long and as broad as the first finger, and the thickness of the blade of
a dinner-knife. Next add one sherry-glassful of sherry, one
table-spoonful of _good_ brandy—not some of that dreadful cheap brandy
that smells like naphtha—and one table-spoonful of noyeau or maraschino.
Rub a nutmeg about half a dozen times across the grater over the cup.
Let the cup stand for about a quarter of an hour, and then taste it.
Should the flavour of the cucumber be very decided, take out the piece
of cucumber; and the same as regards the lemon. Should the flavour of
the peel of the lemon be detected, take out the two slices of lemon, for
lemons vary immensely in strength.
Now add a large lump of ice and a bottle of soda-water, taking care to
pour the latter in carefully—_i.e._, to put the soda-water bottle almost
into the cup. I have seen persons pour the soda water from a height,
thereby losing half the carbonic-acid gas, which ought to go into the
cup to freshen it up, so to speak.
All that the cup now requires is drinking. It is by no means a very
cheap affair, as the sherry, brandy, and noyeau probably cost more than
the claret.
A cheaper form of cup, and one more suitable for use, as we have said,
after cricket or rowing, is a bottle of claret with the same quantity of
lemon, cucumber-peel, and sugar, two or three drops of essence of
almonds, a large lump of ice, and two bottles of soda-water.
One word, however, in reference to the lemon proper not only for
claret-cup, but for any other kind of cup. The lemon must be
fresh—_i.e._, when it is cut it must have a firm rim round it, yellow
outside and white inside. An old lemon, that is soft and pulpy, with a
hard, dry skin, and that smells sweet, is no good for claret-cup. In
making champagne-cup it is still more important to have a good lemon.
The method of making champagne-cup that I think best is so simple that
it barely deserves the name of a recipe. It is as follows:—A bottle of
champagne, one or two thin slices of lemon, a large lump of ice, and a
bottle of soda-water.
Francatelli is, however, so great an authority in cooking, and all his
recipes, so far as cooking is concerned, so invariably correct, that I
will give his recipe for making both champagne and claret-cup, merely
remarking that I have not tried either. Francatelli recommends—“One
bottle of champagne, one quart bottle of German seltzer-water, two
oranges sliced, a bunch of balm, ditto of burrage, one ounce of bruised
sugar-candy. Place the ingredients in a covered jug embedded in rough
ice for an hour and a quarter previously to its being required for use,
and then decanter it free from the herbs, &c.” I should think the fault
in this cup would be that it would taste too sweet.
For claret-cup Francatelli recommends—“One bottle of claret, one pint
bottle of German seltzer water, a small bunch of balm and burrage, one
orange cut in slices, half a cucumber sliced thick, a liqueur-glass of
cognac, and one ounce of bruised sugar-candy. Place these ingredients in
a covered jug well immersed in rough ice. Stir all together with a
silver spoon, and when the cup has been iced for about an hour, strain
or decanter it off free from the herbs, &c.” In this recipe I should
think there would be far too strong a flavour of cucumber.
One of the most refreshing drinks in very hot weather is lemonade; but
how rare is it that we meet with lemonade that is really nice! Of course
tastes differ, but I cannot understand how some people can drink the
ordinary bottled lemonade. It is, as a rule, so very sweet that it is
absolutely sickly, and at the same time in such a state of effervescence
that only peculiarly constituted throats can drink it at a draught.
Plain home-made lemonade can be made very cheaply, when lemons are not
too dear. The great secret is to use boiling water, and pour it on the
pulp of, say, three lemons, with a small piece of peel, but not too
much, as it will render the lemonade bitter. Add white sugar to taste;
of course, children like it sweeter than others. Let it get cold, and
then strain it. Care should be taken that all the pips are removed from
the pulp before the boiling water is added. A great improvement to this
kind of lemonade is the addition of a little _dilute sulphuric acid_,
about thirty drops to a quart. Thirty drops of dilute sulphuric acid,
when freely diluted, can be taken at one dose without any fear, though
of course such a dose must not be taken without a doctor’s order; but
the addition of it to a whole quart of lemonade has the effect of
rendering it much more palatable; and were a person to drink the whole
quart, which is improbable, it would not do them the slightest possible
harm. Dilute sulphuric acid is a simple but valuable medicine,
particularly useful in summer.
Those who prefer sparkling lemonade had better try the following method,
and then let them judge for themselves whether it is not infinitely
superior to the ordinary bottled lemonade:—Squeeze a lemon through a
little piece of muslin into a tumbler, and have the patience to wait
while a couple of lumps of sugar dissolve in it. Then add some iced
soda-water and stir it up, taking care it is not half lost by frothing
over the tumbler.
Soda-water can be bought now very good at one shilling and ninepence a
dozen. Mixed with a little fruit-essence or French syrup, or raspberry
vinegar, it makes most delicious drinks, especially if iced. Let me,
therefore, entreat ladies who, during this hot weather, when they feel
at times exhausted, have been in the habit of taking either weak
brandy-and-water or sherry-and-water, to try one of these kinds of syrup
instead. The effect of a stimulant is but short, and too often is
followed by a reaction far worse than the original feeling of lassitude.
There is one subject in connection with cooling drinks that I wish to
mention, though a trifle out of place in an article that purports
teaching cooking; yet its importance is so great that I trust I may be
pardoned for introducing it. When you use water for drinking, or for
mixing cooling drinks, take care that it is pure. No house ought to be
without a filter. Were the custom of first boiling and then filtering
water universal, tens of thousands of lives would be annually saved
throughout the country. Children are peculiarly susceptible to the
influence of impure water, and during hot weather especially drink a
great deal. The cost of a filter is small, and the trouble of boiling
the water also small.
Let me strongly advise mothers in small households, where no trustworthy
housekeeper is kept, to superintend the management of the filter
themselves. If my advice be the means of saving the life of even one
little one, it will not have been given in vain. Should any one say or
think that this is all rubbish, let that one ask any respectable medical
man for his opinion, and then act on it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XIV.—GAME AND GRAVY.
“The month ’tis now September; the season has begun when English customs
give us game, when dinner’s almost done.” Now for my own part I think we
often rather waste our game in this country, by bringing it in when
really everybody has dined; or if some one has what may be called
reserved himself, he probably finds he gets such an exceedingly small
portion that he runs considerable risk of going home hungry.