Most Cookery-Books are bosh. I have read them all--from the [Greek:
Archimageiros] of FRANCATELLIDES (1904 B.C.) to the _Ayer Akberi_: or
_Million Recipes of RUNG JUNG JELLYBAG_, compiled in Sanskrit, Pali,
Singhali, Urdu, Hindustani, Bengali, and the Marowsky language, for
the "Kitchens measureless to man" (see COALRIDGE), of the Golden
Dome of Kubla Khan; from Mrs. GLASSE to Dr. KITCHENER; from UDE to
ALEXANDRE DUMAS; from CARÊME to Mrs. MARKHAM (who is said to have
adopted the pseudonym of "RUNDELL" for her culinary mistress-piece);
and from Miss ACTON (who was also the distinguished authoress of
_Austen Fryers, Pies and Prejudice, Sense and Saltcellars_, &c.) to
SOYER. The only modern culinary manual which (_with one exception_) is
worth anything is by Mrs. DE SALIS, whose name has a happy affinity
to that of The Only Trustworthy Authority as a Cookery-Bookerist, and
whose immortal contributions to mageiristic lore are appearing weekly
in _Sal---- (Here the M.S. is firmly scored out by the Editorial blue
pencil; but, faintly legible, is, "circulation, 2,599,862-3/8."_) From
this "Golden Treasury" of gormandising I have been permitted to cull
a few recipes. Here are two or three for scholastic bed-room suppers.
The first will be invaluable in Seminaries for Young Ladies:--
[Illustration]
_Saucissons en Petite Toilette._--Purchase your sausages on the sly,
and keep them carefully in your glove-box, or your handkerchief case
till wanted. Prick them all over with a hair-pin before cooking.
Sprinkle them lightly with violet powder, and fry in cold cream
(bear's grease will do as well) on the back of your handglass over the
bed-room candle. If the glass gets broken, say it was the housemaid,
or the cat did it. Turn with the curling-tongs. When done to a rich
golden brown, put your sausages on a neatly folded copy of S----
(_Editorial blue pencil again_), and serve hot. Thin bread and butter,
plum-cake or shortbread may accompany this appetising dish, and a
partially ripe apple munched between each sausage will certainly
give it a zest; but it would perhaps be as well not to eat too many
chocolate creams afterwards.
_Soufflé de Fromage de Hollande._--This is a very favourite dish for
the dormitory in Young Gentlemen's schools. Procure, on credit, a fine
Dutch cheese, keep it carefully in your play-box or in your desk; but
don't let your white mice get at it. Before cooking in the dormitory,
you and your young friends can have a nice game of ball with the merry
Dutchman, only refrain from trying his relative hardness or softness
by hammering the head of MUGG, the stupidest boy in the school, with
it. Now cut up your cheese into small dice and carefully toast them on
a triangular piece of slate, which you will cause "GYP Minor" to hold
over a spirit-lamp. When, as the slate grows hotter, "GYP Minor" will
probably howl, box his ears smartly, and the cheese will thus become
a "_soufflé_," or rather "_soufflet_." Serve _à la main chaude_, but
I must indignantly protest against the practice of some youths of
eating peppermint drops with this "_plat_." A bath bun is much better.
Beverage, gingerbeer or a little ginger wine.
_Tournedos à la Busby._--It is a very astonishing thing that I never
could persuade school-boys that this is a most succulent, scholastic
supper-dish, exceptionally brisk and pungent in its flavour. Perhaps
their aversion to it is based on the fact that the _tournedos_ is
usually served very hot indeed towards the conclusion of the repast
by the Rev. Principal. It is accompanied by a brown sauce made of a
_bouquet de bouleau_ full of buds and marinaded in mild pickle.
_Curried Rabbit._--Proceed to Ostend and procure a rabbit; honestly if
possible, but procure it. Pinch its scut or bite its ears, and when
it exclaims, "Miauw!" it is not a genuine rabbit, but a grimalkin in
disguise. Some cats are very deceitful at heart. Bring your rabbit
home, and then send to the nearest livery stables and borrow a
curry-comb, then proceed to curry your rabbit. If Bunny resists, hit
him over the head with the comb. He will possibly run away to rejoin
his brethren at Ostend, or in New South Wales; but at all events you
will have the curry-comb. One can be good and happy without returning
the things you borrow. See my "Essay on Books, Cartes-de-visite,
and Umbrellas," in the next number of _Sala's J----_ (_Editorial
blue-pencil again_.)
_Potage à la Jambe de Bois_ (Wooden-leg Soup).--Procure a fine fresh
wooden-leg, one from Chelsea is the best. Wash it carefully in six
waters, blanch it, and trim neatly. Lay it at the bottom of a large
pot, into which place eight pounds of the undercut of prime beef,
half a Bayonne ham, two young chickens, and a sweetbread. To these
add leeks, chervil, carrots, turnips, fifty heads of asparagus, a few
truffles, a large cow-cabbage, a pint of French beans, a peck of very
young peas, a tomato cut in slices, some potatoes, and a couple of
bananas. Pour in three gallons of water, and boil furiously till your
soup is reduced to about a pint and a-half. As it boils, add, drop
by drop, a bottle of JULES MUMM's Extra Dry, and a gill of Scotch
whiskey; then take out your wooden leg, which wipe carefully and serve
separately with a neat frill, which can be easily cut from the cover
of _Sala's Jo----_ (_Editorial blue pencil again_), round the top. The
soup itself is best served in a silver tureen, or in a Dresden china
punch-bowl. The above obviously is intended neither for school-boys
nor school-girls, nor is it meant for the tables of the wealthy and
luxurious. It is emphatically a Poor Man's Dish, otherwise it would
never have found a place in the cookery column of that essentially
popular periodical, _Sala's Journal_. Hurrah! the Editor has
gone out to "chop," and there was no blue pencil to mar the last
touching allusions. N.B.--Circulation, eight millions, nine hundred
and thirty-three thousand, two hundred and sixty-one and a-half.
Guaranteed by five firms of Magna Chartered Accountants.