each, and cut them into small, thin shreds; 1½lb. of flour; 1½lb. of
butter; 1lb. of dried cherries, which should be cut up, but not too
fine; 1½lb. of currants, which must be thoroughly washed, picked, and
afterwards dried; 8oz. of almonds, well pounded; eight eggs; the rind of
four oranges rubbed on to sugar; ½oz. of spices, consisting of ground
cinnamon, nutmegs, and cloves in equal proportions; about a tea-spoonful
of salt, and half a pint of good brandy. The butter should be well
worked with a wooden spoon in a large, strong basin, till it has a sort
of creamy appearance. The flour, eggs, and sugar should be added slowly,
while the spoon must be kept working the whole time. After this has been
thoroughly well mixed, the rest of the ingredients mentioned may be
added, only a little at a time, to insure the whole quantity being
properly mixed up. When this is done, it should be poured into a tin
hoop, placed on a metal baking-sheet. Two sheets of well-buttered paper
must be placed on the baking-sheet underneath, and the hoop itself must
be lined with a double band of well-buttered paper, or else the cake
will be sure to burn round the edges.
The cake may now be taken off to the baker’s oven, and as it will keep
good for a long time, and in fact improve in flavour by keeping, it
should be made some time beforehand. The icing of the cake should not be
done till a short time beforehand, as it of course has a tendency to get
dirty.
First the almond part—the only part of a wedding cake, to my mind, worth
eating.
Take ½lb. of almonds, and having skinned them by throwing them into
boiling water, rubbing off the skins and then throwing them into cold
water in order that they may not lose their colour, pound them very
thoroughly in a mortar with 1lb. of the finest white sugar, add a very
little orange-water, and sufficient white of eggs to make it all into a
soft paste; but take care not to fall into the common fault of making
the paste too soft. This paste may now be spread over the _top_ of the
cake, taking care to avoid its getting over the edge as much as
possible, and the cake must be placed in a dry place. When the paste is
sufficiently hard, the whole may then be iced over with sugar as
follows:—Take six whites of eggs, and add to them about 1½lb. of very
finely sifted, powdered white sugar. The whitest sugar must be chosen
for the purpose. This must be worked well together with a wooden spoon,
and a very little lemon-juice now and then dropped in while it is being
worked. The mixture should properly have a shiny appearance, and if it
is not thick enough it only requires a little more powdered sugar. This
must now be put all over the cake to about a quarter of an inch in
thickness. Some little skill will be necessary in order to avoid
unseemly ridges in the icing on the top of the cake, which when covered
must be put in a warm place in order to allow the icing to dry; only be
sure to put a piece of paper as soon as possible lightly over the top,
as should the dust settle while it is drying, the cake will not have
that snow-white appearance it should have.
Little knobs of icing may be arranged round the edge to make the cake
more ornamental, and on the day of the wedding a simple wreath of white
flowers and green leaves will be found quite sufficient an ornament; in
fact, a plain wreath of orange-blossoms, when it can be obtained, looks
far better than any more elaborate attempt at ornament.
A wedding-cake is an expensive thing to make at home, but a far more
expensive thing to buy. For a highly-ornamented wedding-cake almost
fabulous prices are asked; and there is something very satisfactory in
having it made at home. A little ingenuity will easily enable any one
whose fingers are gifted to make a small round centre ornament with
glazed white cardboard, a little silver paper, and orange-blossom. When
the cake is large, something raised in the centre is a great set-off to
its appearance.
I trust what I have written may be the means of enabling some young
couples to start in the world with some extra £20 or £30 in pocket than
otherwise; but it is not so much to them that I would speak as to the
conscience of the old boy, the bride’s father, that I would address my
remarks. You know you are really a little proud of what you think is
getting your daughter off your hands respectably. You know, too, that
you have never opened so many bottles of champagne in all your life
before. You know, too, that many members of your son-in-law’s family
will visit your house on this occasion, that will probably never visit
it again. Now has that fact anything to do with all this outlay, which
you know you can’t afford? Very likely: but then it is really very
snobbish. No, paterfamilias, don’t show off, and no one will think a
whit the worse of you for it. Pocket your £50, give quite a plain
breakfast—no champagne at all—brave the world, and then furnish a room
in the new house with the money, and instead of calling it “the
breakfast-room,” call it “the wedding-breakfast room.” One word in
conclusion. If you _will_ give champagne, give it good, or they will all
laugh at you—they will indeed, they will laugh. Young men, bachelor
friends of your son-in-law, will say, “Did you taste that fellow’s wine?
Wasn’t it awful?”—which will call forth the remark, “Ah, I don’t suppose
he had opened many before.” Therefore, whatever you do, give good
champagne, or none.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XX.—FOOD FOR INVALIDS.
The sick-room—what echoes does not the very name awaken in the memories
of the past! There are few moments in our lives’ history more solemn
than those when we have watched by the bedside of one we love, whose
life is trembling in the balance, and whose soul and body seem held
together by so slight a thread that a breath of wind would part them.
What vows have we not vowed, what good resolutions have we not formed,
and how chastened have our minds been in these our hours of agony! for
of very truth “adversity doth best discover virtue.”
Then—the doctor’s visit. With what an anxious look will the wife,
wearied with watching, try and read his eyes as he feels the pulse of
the languid patient! what a rush of joy fills her heart, as she sees the
doctor smile! for hope is brightest when it dawns from fears. The crisis
is past, the patient is pronounced much better, and is ordered some good
strong beef-tea. With burning eyes and bursting heart the thankful wife
turns away to give the necessary orders, not forgetful, let us trust, of
her vows vowed, of her resolutions made, or of the Great Physician who
alone can cause the blind to see and the lame to walk.
Like a calm sea to the tempest-tost, like a draught of water after
parching thirst, like a bed of down to the wearied traveller, do these
sweet hours of convalescence follow after those weary ones of watching,
when hope deferred made the heart sick—
“Oh! these were hours, when thrilling joy repaid
A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and fears.”
What pleasure, too, to watch the patient take his first cup of beef-tea
or his first chop with evident enjoyment, and to see the faint tinge of
colour return to the pale cheeks, foretelling of returning health and
strength, as surely as the first blush of dawn upon the eastern
mountain-tops foretells the coming day!
Again, too, the refreshment taken, the first long sound sleep, nature’s
great restorer, how different to watch now, to when the restless patient
tossed and turned and muttered, and seemed to suffer more than when
awake! There is something very beautiful in a calm and tranquil sleep—
“An infant when it gazes on the light,
A child the moment when it drains the breast,
* * * * *
Feel rapture, but not such true joy are reaping
As they who watch o’er what they love while sleeping.
“For there it lies, so tranquil, so beloved,
All that it hath of life with us is living,
So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved,
And all unconscious of the joy ’tis giving.”
But let us leave the convalescent chamber with the watcher and the
watched, and descend to the kitchen, and see what we there can do to
help on the recovery so happily going on above.
First let us take that probably most valuable of all invalids’
preparations—viz., beef-tea. The quickest and best method of preparing
good beef-tea is as follows:—Take a pound of good lean gravy-beef, cut
it up into little pieces, pour over them a pint of _cold_ water, and add
a little salt. Then take a fork and squeeze these pieces in every
direction, in order, as much as possible, to extract the juices out of
the pieces of meat. Next place it all—_i.e._, water and meat—in an
enamelled saucepan, and place it by the _side_ of the fire, not on the
fire, and gradually heat it, taking the greatest care that it does not
boil. Having continued this process for about an hour and a half or two
hours, during the last half-hour keeping the beef-tea hot without
boiling, strain the whole off through a strainer, pressing the meat
again with a spoon, so as to squeeze as much as possible all the
goodness out of it.
Then remove all the fat. This can be done by carefully skimming it, or,
if time will allow, by letting it get cold, when the fat will harden on
the top. Now, to my mind good beef-tea is one of the nicest things we
can take when ill, but sick persons often tire of it, and loathe it.
When this is the case, very often by adding a little sherry, and
allowing it to get cold—when, if properly made, it will be a
jelly—patients will take it in this form when they could not in the
liquid state.
Veal broth and mutton broth are made on exactly the same principles as
beef-tea, of course substituting either veal or mutton for the beef, and
taking equal care to remove all the fat, and not to let the liquor boil.
Another method of making beef-tea very simply, in a way in which no
careful watching is required, is to cut up a pound of gravy-beef as
before, and simply put it with a pint of water into a stone jar, and put
the jar in the oven; if the oven is not too hot—_i.e._, not hot enough
to absolutely make the liquid boil in the jar—this way will be found to
be very good. Or the jar may be tied over with a cloth, and placed in a
large saucepan of boiling water on the fire, the water in the saucepan
to be kept gently simmering.
Very often young children, and even babies, are ordered beef-tea. Now
all mothers know the difficulty at times of inducing sick children to
take anything, and beef-tea by no means recommends itself to a child’s
appetite. Forcing food down a child’s throat against its will should
never be resorted to, save as a last resource, and at the doctor’s
order. There are many means, however, by which little children can be
persuaded to take things, which sensible mothers probably know of. In
the case of beef-tea an admirable plan is, instead of using salt, use a
little sugar, and make the beef-tea sweet. Grown-up persons would
probably consider such a mixture nasty to a degree; not so, however, the
child. Young children have a natural taste for sweet things, and a
natural dislike to salt.
In very early life the food that nature has supplied for children is
sweet. Salt, on the other hand, is decidedly an acquired taste. Our dear
old friend Robinson Crusoe had considerable difficulty in inducing his
man Friday to eat salt; and when he did, it was only in very small
quantities.
The next dish of importance for consideration is arrowroot. First I
would strongly recommend the Bermuda arrowroot, and not the St. Vincent;
the latter is cheaper, but very inferior in quality. Bad arrowroot is
absolutely unwholesome, and a good deal of the bad arrowroot—too bad, in
fact, to be sold as arrowroot at all—is, I fear, used to mix with and
adulterate corn-flour.
The first point to ascertain is whether the patient will take the
arrowroot thick or thin; some persons have strong prejudices on this
point, and thick arrowroot will require double the quantity of thin.
Arrowroot is also made with water and milk, but the method is the same
for both. Take a spoonful or two of cold water or milk, as the case may
be, and mix in the powdered arrowroot in the cup or basin, and stir it
up thoroughly; then pour the boiling water or milk slowly on to it,
keeping it stirred the whole time. A little sugar may be added, and of
course, when allowable, a little wine or brandy is a great improvement.
When made with milk, a little grated nutmeg on the top also vastly
improves the compound both in flavour and appearance.
A great deal of the prepared cocoa sold is simply cocoa and arrowroot
mixed, consequently when the boiling water is poured on, the arrowroot
causes the cocoa to look thick and nourishing. If you want to make a
good cup of chocolate out of cake chocolate, all you have to do is to
mix a little arrowroot in the cup with it, and the result will be that
the chocolate will appear to be ten times as strong as it would
otherwise do.
With regard to chicken broth, that fashionable invalid’s preparation
many years ago, we ought to say a few words, and these few will be
unfavourable. There is, comparatively speaking, but little nourishment
in it. In any case, however, should you make any, bear in mind that it
is the bones, and not the flesh, that make the broth; so instead of
wasting the whole fowl over the broth, cut off the meat, which can be
made into nice rissoles or mince, and use the bones only for the broth.
Now minced mutton or chicken is often recommended for invalids, as being
easily digested; but pray remember that invalid mince is very different
from the ordinary mince of every-day life. In the first place, we all
know that in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred mince is made from meat
that has been cooked before. Now mince so made, though very nice and
wholesome for persons and children in ordinary health, yet is by no
means so easy of digestion—_i.e._, the remains of a leg of mutton minced
the second day would be less digestible than the cut off the joint on
the first day, the warming-up process having naturally a tendency to
harden the meat.
To make nice mince for an invalid, the meat must be minced raw. It must
then be sprinkled with a little salt, moistened with a little good
broth, and warmed slowly with the greatest care, as, should the broth
boil for one second, the mince will be rendered tough and indigestible.
It is obvious that mince made this way differs enormously from the
ordinary mince. A very few minutes is sufficient, if the meat has been
minced fine, to cook it—in fact, as soon as it is hot it is done.
Mince made in this manner is exceedingly nutritious, and it will often
be found that weak digestions can take this when they can take nothing
else.
Our two next preparations will be barley-water and toast-and-water. Two
very simple things, it will probably be thought, and very unnecessary to
describe. I will describe them, however, first as they generally are,
and next as they ought to be.
How very often do you find the barley-water dirty! For instance, when
you drink it out of a tumbler, you come to some black-looking stuff at
the bottom. Again, how often do you find the toast-and-water thick,
instead of bright! and far less appetising is it when it is so. Now both
these defects arise from thoughtlessness or want of care.
First, then, barley-water. Take a couple of ounces of pearl barley and
wash it thoroughly, and then place it in some boiling water, and boil it
for about ten minutes. This has the effect of dissolving the outside of
the barley. Strain it off, and put it into a couple of quarts of fresh
boiling water, and let it boil gently till it has nearly half boiled
away. Then strain it off, and flavour it with a little sugar and
lemon-juice, putting in a small piece of peel. Barley-water is often
made too thick. Patients, especially feverish ones, want something to
drink. By adding water to it, it can, of course, be made as thin as
wished. Barley-water should be kept in a jug, with a spoon in it, and
stirred up each time before it is poured out, and only the quantity
required poured out, as it settles and does not look nice—milky at the
bottom and watery at the top.
Next, toast-and-water. First, “how not to do it.” You will find a
servant generally cut off a knobby piece of crust, stick a toasting-fork
in it, and toast it very black, put this in a jug, and pour boiling
water over it, and this great hunk of bread will be floating at the top.
This toast-and-water will be poor, muddy-looking, and have a slightly
floury taste. The proper method is to cut the bread _thin_, and toast
both sides _thoroughly_, and also have plenty of it. Let the bread be
toasted through—_i.e._, let the bread be toasted so as to be thoroughly
dried up. Then pour the boiling water on it, and, if liked, add a small
piece of lemon-peel. Let this be carefully drained off, so that no
crumbs remain in the fluid after it has got cold; and this
toast-and-water, which will look bright like sherry, will be a welcome
draught to the feverish invalid.
To make bread-and-milk, you must cut the bread up into small square
pieces, and pour boiling milk on them. There are a good many persons who
don’t fancy bread-and-milk, who yet will take toast-and-milk. For this
purpose you must pour the boiling milk over small pieces of toast
similar to those that would be handed round with pea-soup.
In making bread-and-milk for infants, it is generally recommended to
pour boiling water on the bread, and then drain it off, and then add the
milk, as the boiling water renders the bread softer; and as medical men
generally recommend a little water to be mixed with the milk for very
young children, it will not be weaker. It is not for me to put up my
opinion against the medical profession, but in London I would recommend
mothers to give their children the milk pure when they have to buy it. I
fear that many of the cows that supply London have iron tails, and that
the doctors’ recommendation has been already fully carried out—if
anything, probably too fully.
Another very refreshing drink for invalids, especially in hot weather,
is lemonade. This is too often made by simply squeezing a lemon into a
tumbler, picking the pips out with a spoon, and then adding sugar and
cold water. The best method of making lemonade is to peel the lemons, or
otherwise the lemonade will be bitter; cut them into slices, taking away
the pips, and then pouring boiling water on the slices, adding, of
course, sufficient sugar to sweeten. This, after being well stirred, and
the pulp pressed with a spoon, must be carefully strained through a
piece of fine muslin, and allowed to get cold. When cold, a piece of ice
is a great improvement. Cold, weak lemonade made this way, not too
sweet, is one of the most refreshing drinks for hot weather possible;
and in cases where there is a tendency to take fluids too often, a
tendency, we fear, rather of the age in which we live, a large jug of
lemonade, made in the manner we have described, will often prove a
harmless substitute for a glass of sherry, or a little drop of cold
brandy-and-water, or a glass of beer, as the case may be.
Gruel is a compound which I would despair of making palatable;
nevertheless, fortunately all palates are not alike. A table-spoonful of
groats—or, as I believe they are pronounced, grits—must be mixed in a
little cold water, and worked smooth with a spoon. About a pint of
boiling water must then be poured on them, and the whole quantity boiled
gently and stirred over a clear fire for about a quarter of an hour.
Gruel can, of course, be made with milk, or flavoured in a variety of
ways. For a bad cold, a table-spoonful of treacle is sometimes
serviceable, or a little sweet spirit of nitre, or a table-spoonful of
rum, a little sugar being of course added.
As a rule, in cooking for _real_ invalids, the aim should be nourishment
combined with the greatest simplicity of flavour. There are, however, of
course, many cases where the palate has to be tickled, while at the same
time the digestion has to be consulted. In these cases the cook’s art is
often put to the test. In many cases of diseases that may be termed
wasting, really rich but, at the same time, light dishes are requisite.
We would instance sweetbreads, stewed oysters, calves’ brains, lambs’
tails, &c.; but to enter into an elaborate account of the proper method
of preparing such delicacies would be out of place in an article on
invalid food, which is of necessity cursory.
Objections have, however, ofttimes been made to cookery as an art, when
the object in view has been simply to stir up the jaded appetite in the
overfed, whose proper treatment would be in accordance with the famous
advice of Abernethy to the dyspeptic alderman—viz., “Live on a shilling
a day, and earn it.” When, however, our object is to alleviate those who
suffer from disease, and who loathe food unless brought to them in a
palatable form, even those who lead lives that may be termed severely
simple will admit, skill in the preparation of food may at times vie
with, and even excel, skill in the preparation of drugs.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
INDEX.
-------
PAGE
Acetic Acid, Uses of, 64
Adaptation of Dinner to Guest, 86
Arrangement of Table, 49, 94
Arrowroot, 246
Asparagus Salad, 132
Aspic Jelly, 87
Balls, Stuffing, 178
Bashawed Lobster, 146
Beef, Roast, 196
Beef-tea, 243
Bloaters, 73
Bishop, Bowl of, 202
Books, Cookery, 11
Bread-and-Milk, 251
Bread-crumbs, Fried, 169
Bread-raspings, Uses of, 14
Breakfast Dishes, 68
Brown Thickening, 119
Butter, Lobster, 25
Melted, 33
Cake, Wedding, 236
Almond Paste for, 237
Icing for, 237
Camellias from Turnips, 97
Celery Sauce, 189
Chicken Broth, 247
Salads, 135
Cutlets, 86
Chops, Greasy, 19
To Grill, 20
Champagne-cup, 155
Christmas Cheer, 201
Dinner, 191
Pudding, 193
Claret-cup, 142, 152, 153
Claret, Mulled, 204
Coffee, How to Make, 78
Coriander-seeds, Uses of, 101
Copper, Dangerous Properties of, 109
Curry, 118, 123, 226
Sauce, 226
Curried Sweetbreads, 118
Mutton, 121
Shrimps, 232
Cutlets, Chicken, 86
Lobster, 25, 227
Cucumber, How to Dress, 141
Devil Sauce, 36
Dinner _à la Russe_, 82, 85
Dinners, Expense of old-fashioned, 82, 85
Dinner, How to Give a Nice Little, 79
Dishes, How to Make Look Nice, 56
Dyspepsia, Causes of, 77
Early Rising, Importance of, 71
Economy, 22
Eels, Stewed, 225
Souchet, 144, 216, 228
Fried, 228
Egg and Bread-crumb, To, 13
Eggs and Bacon, 73
Expenses of Dinners Compared, 85
Extravagancies of the Table, 32
Fat, Preservation of Frying, 18
Filters, Importance of, 158
Fish Dinners, 221
Fish, How to get Cheap, 39
Grilled for Breakfast, 76
Flounders, Fried, 228
Souchet, 144, 228
Flowers for Table, 83, 94
Forcemeat for Larks, 90
Forks, Relays of, 224
Food for Invalids, 247
Fry, To, 12
Fried Bread-crumbs, 169
Frying-pan, Uses and Abuses of, 9, 11
Game and Gravy, 160
Salmi of, 169
Glaze, 95
Goose, Roast, 161, 198
Golden-colour, To fry, 12
Gravy, 106
for Lamb, 108
for Game, 169
Groseille, 152
Grouse, Roast, 165
Gruel, 251
Ham, Potted, 38
and Eggs, 72
Ham, To Decorate, 98
Hare, How to Cook, 171
Roast, 172
Hare, Jugged, 177
Soup, 179
Horseradish Sauce, 206
Invalids, Food for, 247
Irish Stew, 187
Jelly, 101
Aspic, 87
Jugged Hare, 177
Kidneys, 76
Kitchen Economy, 22
Kromeskies, Russian, 35
Lamb, How to Roast, 106
Larks, 90, 91
Lemonade, 251
Home-made, 157
Lettuce, To dry, 130
Lobster, Bashawed, 146
Salad, 60, 135
Sauce, 23
Butter, 25
Cutlets, 27, 227
Loin of Mutton, 35
Luxury, Increase of, 127
Mayonnaise Sauce, 63, 135
Mince for Invalids, 247
Mince-meat, 197
Mince with poached Eggs, 47
Mint Sauce, 110
Mock-turtle Soup, Pig’s Head, 39
Mullet, Red, _en papillote_, 227
Mushrooms _au gratin_, 144
Mutton, Loin of, 35
Cold Leg of, 43
Curried, 121
Oil, English Prejudice against, 124
Ornaments for Lobster Salad, 64
Variety of, 66
Paper Cases for Larks, 90
Parsley, To fry, 17
Partridge, Red-legged, 162
Partridge, Roast, 165
Peas, Green, 108
Pea Soup, 184
Picnic Dainties, 138
Pig, Roast, Indian Method, 23
Pigs’ Heads for Mock Turtle, 39
Pigeon Pie, 141
Pine-apple Syrup, 142
Potatoes, New and Old, 110
Potato Salad, 133
Potted Ham, 38
Pudding, Corn-flour, 100
Plum, 193
Red Mullet, 227
Recipes, Extravagance of, 21
Rissoles, 46, 90
Rice for Curry, 122
Russian Kromeskies, 35