HELPS OVER HARD PLACES--HINTS TO THE HOSTESS--DON'TS FOR THE TABLE--THE
EMERGENCY MISTRESS--PASSING THE LOVING CUP.
One's dinner should be distinguished by that elusive element of
informality, which tactfully introduced, is the making of a dinner, in
quite the same proportion that its ineffectual simulation is the marring
of the feast.
The housewife has many emergencies to face. How to work out of
difficulties never met with before taxes all of her ingenuity. She must
not allow her perplexity to appear if she is dealing with children or
servants, as that would cause them to lose faith in her infallible
wisdom.
Does company come in without warning and the sense of hospitality
constrain one to invite them to lunch or dinner, the careful Martha is
ready for the emergency, and if too late to send to market and what is
prepared must be supplemented with something else, she has plenty of
canned goods in her storeroom and improvises some dainty dish without a
suggestion of flurry. If not so thoughtful she graciously serves her
guest with what she has, and never by word or look implies that the call
is inopportune.
The true "emergency mistress" is the quiet woman whose friends
characterize her as having "plenty of common sense." She stores her mind
with useful knowledge and her pantry shelves with abundance of supplies;
her work basket always has thread of all colors and needles of every
size therein. She has patches to match every garment worn by her
children.
The American eatertainer is prone to excess in the quantity which he
offers to his guests. He does this out of a mistaken idea of
hospitality, not from any fear of being called mean if he should give
only a small repast.
As a rule a dinner should consist of not more than five or six chief
courses, i. e., soup, fish, _entree_, roast and vegetable, each one
served separately, followed by an _entremet_ of some sort, and fruit.
The art of dinner-giving consists in properly combining such dishes as
are appropriate to follow each other on the same evening. I have seen a
_menu_ composed of turtle soup, salmon, venison and woodcocks, all
excellent things in their way, but when brought together only leaving a
sense of excessive oiliness and richness.
As an _entree_ the _roti_ should consist of game, and vice-versa. The
salad served with poultry and game should be green salad with a simple
dressing of oil and vinegar. No set rules can be laid down.
It is true the caterer is an important element in the modern art of
dinner-giving--he "saves all the trouble;" but he is a stereotyped
quantity. You know just what he will serve, just how he will serve it,
and how enthusiastically grateful you would be if he would occasionally
leave out croquettes, for instance, and surprise you with a less
hackneyed delicacy.
Make no attempt to vary your usual bill of fare. Your guest will
infinitely prefer the newness of your dishes to an imitation of her own.
If you live in the country, the home-made bacon and ham will be a real
treat; and a bass, fresh from the river, will be a revelation to one who
has only eaten fish after it has been packed in ice. If you live in the
city do not attempt to serve spring chicken to your country guest. It is
impossible for a town chicken ever to become the tender, toothsome
morsel she is used to at home. But the juicy steaks and roasts you are
so tired of, are a treat she can seldom enjoy at her distance from
markets.
Oriental sweetmeats have become so popular for afternoon tea tables in
New York that many shops keep an extensive selection of these piquant
novelties. Among the first favorites are candied Chinese oranges; dates,
plums and other stone fruit crystallized by foreign processes and
stuffed with nut mixtures; Turkish pastes and East Indian goodies of
unpronouncable names.
When a plate is taken to be replenished always leave the knife and fork
on it.
Don't drink green chartreuse. Take the yellow. Also beware of the man
who takes sweet soda with his brandy, and a man who wants claret from
the ice box.
Use your napkin with a finger behind it, drawing it around or across the
mouth. Don't use it like a mop and your mouth as if it were the deck of
a fishing sloop.
When two or more forks are at your plate, use the smaller one for fish,
or whatever the first course may be. The steel knife is for meat. When
you have finished, place the knife and fork on your plate crossing each
other. Any good servant will know that you have finished.
Don't fold your napkin unless you are dining at home and intend using it
again. And if you are entertaining guests, do not do it then, as you
thus indicate that you are determined to save the washing of at least
one bit of linen.
Tucking a napkin under the chin as if the user was now to be stuffed
like a turkey, is in very bad taste. Lay your napkin across your lap. If
it falls to the floor, quietly beckon the servant at a convenient time
to restore it.
It is no longer the thing to perfume the water in finger glasses, or to
offer the _bowls_ with slices of lemon in them. So many people have a
positive objection to perfume of any kind that its use in this way is
discontinued. The pretty Japanese custom of dropping a flower or flower
petals in the glass is, however, growing in favor. Usually the flower
chosen corresponds with those used in the centerpiece. A few rose petals
floating in the clear water are most attractive. Two or three scented
violets are charming. At a little luncheon given in honor of an English
woman visiting in this country, each bowl contained a water lily.
Some time ago it was necessary to eat asparagus with one's fingers,
while to do so today would be to commit an unpardonable sin in the eyes
of society.
Don't decorate with strong scented flowers.
Don't serve boiled fish without potatoes.
Don't serve hot _entrees_ on cold plates.
Don't serve more than two vegetables with meat.
Don't serve asparagus with meat.
Don't force a guest to eat more than he wishes.
Don't apologize for the cook.
Don't make excuses for anything.
Don't mention the cost of any dish.
Don't talk politics or religion at dinner, where guests are of
miscellaneous beliefs.
Don't pronounce _menu_ "may-nu," but "men-ue."
Don't pronounce the a long in "a la."
Don't decorate the table with too many flowers.
Don't place more than one plate at each place.
Don't use individual butter dishes.
Don't use the same knife for more than one course.
Don't use the same fork for more than one course.
Don't use a spoon for ices or ice-cream.
Don't serve peas, beans, cauliflower, etc., with meat.
Don't eat too much.
Don't eat too fast.
Don't eat too soon after exercise.
Don't eat much for breakfast.
Don't eat much when traveling.
Don't eat between meals.
Don't eat after 10 o'clock P. M.
Don't eat fish with a knife.
Don't eat ices with a spoon.
Don't eat boiled eggs from a tumbler.
Don't eat everything that you like.
Don't eat anything that you don't like.
Don't eat to please anyone but yourself.
Don't drink when over-heated.
Don't always drink when thirsty.
Don't drink ice-water with hot food.
Don't drink water from a city river.
Don't drink tea with meat.
Don't drink _cafe-au-lait_ for dinner.
Don't drink beer after wine.
Don't drink wine after beer.
Don't drink much at meals.
Don't drink much between meals.
Don't serve oysters after fish.
Don't serve soup twice to any guest.
Don't use a knife for green salads.
Don't overload either the table or the guest with food.
Don't bite off a piece of bread.
Don't scold the servant at the table.
PASSING THE LOVING CUP.
The host and hostess drink first from the loving cup, then the guest of
honor drinks and then the others. The cup is passed around the table and
each takes a sip and gives a sentiment or toast. If it is an affair
given for a guest and not a wedding anniversary, the guest of honor
drinks first and christens the cup, then the host and hostess and the
guests drink. It is passed at the close of the dinner and may be wine,
cider, claret cup or fruit punch.