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Title: A Poetical Cook-Book
Author: Moss, Maria J.
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.

*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "A Poetical Cook-Book" ***

Microsoft for their Live Search Books site.)

Transcriber's Note

The original text used both symbol and numbered footnote markers. This
text maintains the distinction. Obvious typographical errors have been
corrected. A list of corrections is found at the end of the text along
with a list of inconsistently spelled words.

[Decorative illustration]

    We may live without poetry, music, and art;
    We may live without conscience and live without heart;
    We may live without friends; we may live without books;
    But civilized man cannot live without _cooks_.
    He may live without books--what is knowledge but grieving?
    He may live without hope--what is hope but deceiving?
    He may live without love--what is passion but pining?
    But where is the man who can live without _dining_?
                    OWEN MEREDITH'S "LUCILE."

[Decorative illustration]



    [Illustration: Author's initials]

    "I REQUEST you will prepare
    To your own taste the bill of fare;
    At present, if to judge I'm able,
    The finest works are of the table.
    I should prefer the cook just now
    To Rubens or to Gerard Dow."




Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864,


In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Eastern District of Pennsylvania.


    "What's under this cover?
        For cookery's a secret."--MOORE.

When I wrote the following pages, some years back at Oak Lodge, as a
pastime, I did not think it would be of service to my fellow-creatures,
for our suffering soldiers, the sick, wounded, and needy, who have so
nobly fought our country's cause, to maintain the flag of our great
Republic, and to prove among Nations that a Free Republic is not a myth.
With these few words I dedicate this book to the SANITARY FAIR to be
held in Philadelphia, June, 1864.

March, 1864.

    Through tomes of fable and of dream
    I sought an eligible theme;
    But none I found, or found them shared
    Already by some happier bard,
    Till settling on the current year
    I found the far-sought treasure near.
    A theme for poetry, you see--
    A theme t' ennoble even me,
    In memorable forty-three.

    Oh, Dick! you may talk of your writing and reading,
    Your logic and Greek, but there is nothing like feeding.

    Upon singing and cookery, Bobby, of course,
    Standing up for the latter Fine Art in full force.

    Are these the _choice dishes_ the Doctor has sent us?
    Heaven sends us good meats, but the Devil sends cooks.
    That my life, like the German, may be
    "Du lit a la table, de la table au lit."--MOORE.


    Though cooks are often men of pregnant wit,
    Through niceness of their subject few have writ.
    'Tis a sage question, if the art of cooks
    Is lodg'd by nature or attain'd by books?
    That man will never frame a noble treat,
    Whose whole dependence lies in some _receipt_.
    Then by pure nature everything is spoil'd,--
    She knows no more than stew'd, bak'd, roast, and boil'd.
    When art and nature join, the effect will be,
    Some nice _ragout_, or _charming fricasee_.
    What earth and waters breed, or air inspires,
    Man for his palate fits by torturing fires.
    But, though my edge be not too nicely set,
    Yet I another's appetite may whet;
    May teach him when to buy, when season's pass'd,
    What's stale, what choice, what plentiful, what waste,
    And lead him through the various maze of taste.
    The fundamental principle of all
    Is what ingenious cooks the _relish_ call;
    For when the market sends in loads of food,
    They all are tasteless till _that_ makes them good.
    Besides, 'tis no ignoble piece of care,
    To know for whom it is you would prepare.
    You'd please a friend, or reconcile a brother,
    A testy father, or a haughty mother;
    Would mollify a judge, would cram a squire,
    Or else some smiles from court you would desire;
    Or would, perhaps, some hasty supper give,
    To show the splendid state in which you live.
    Pursuant to that interest you propose,
    Must all your wines and all your meat be chose.
    Tables should be like pictures to the sight,
    Some dishes cast in shade, some spread in light;
    Some at a distance brighten, some near hand,
    Where ease may all their delicace command;
    Some should be moved when broken, others last
    Through the whole treat, incentive to the taste.
    Locket, by many labors feeble grown,
    Up from the kitchen call'd his eldest son;
    Though wise thyself (says he), though taught by me,
    Yet fix this sentence in thy memory:
    There are some certain things that don't excel,
    And yet we say are tolerably well.
    There's many worthy men a lawyer prize,
    Whom they distinguish as of middle size,
    For pleading well at bar or turning books;
    But this is not, my son, the fate of cooks,
    From whose mysterious art true pleasure springs,
    To stall of garters, and to throne of kings.
    A simple scene, a disobliging song,
    Which no way to the main design belong,
    Or were they absent never would be miss'd,
    Have made a well-wrought comedy be hiss'd;
    So in a feast, no intermediate fault
    Will be allow'd; but if not best, 'tis nought.
    If you, perhaps, would try some dish unknown,
    Which more peculiarly you'd make your own,
    Like ancient sailors, still regard the coast,--
    By venturing out too far you may be lost.
    By roasting that which your forefathers boil'd,
    And broiling what they roasted, much is spoil'd.
    That cook to American palates is complete,
    Whose savory hand gives turn to common meat.
    Far from your parlor have your kitchen placed,
    Dainties may in their working be disgraced.
    In private draw your poultry, clean your tripe,
    And from your eels their slimy substance wipe.
    Let cruel offices be done by night,
    For they who like the thing abhor the sight.
    'Tis by his cleanliness a cook must please;
    A kitchen will admit of no disease.
    Were Horace, that great master, now alive,
    A feast with wit and judgment he'd contrive,
    As thus: Supposing that you would rehearse
    A labor'd work, and every dish a verse,
    He'd say, "Mend this and t'other line and this."
    If after trial it were still amiss,
    He'd bid you give it a new turn of face,
    Or set some dish more curious in its place.
    If you persist, he would not strive to move
    A passion so delightful as self-love.
    Cooks garnish out some tables, some they fill,
    Or in a prudent mixture show their skill.
    Clog not your constant meals; for dishes few
    Increase the appetite when choice and new.
    E'en they who will extravagance profess,
    Have still an inward hatred for excess.
    Meat forced too much, untouch'd at table lies;
    Few care for carving trifles in disguise,
    Or that fantastic dish some call _surprise_.
    When pleasures to the eye and palate meet,
    That cook has render'd his great work complete;
    His glory far, like _sirloin knighthood_[xi-1] flies
    Immortal made, as _Kit-cat_ by his pies.
    Next, let discretion moderate your cost,
    And when you treat, three courses be the most.
    Let never fresh machines your pastry try,
    Unless grandees or magistrates are by,
    Then you may put _a dwarf into a pie_.[xi-2]
    Crowd not your table; let your number be
    Not more than seven, and never less than three.
    'Tis the _dessert_ that graces all the feast,
    For an ill end disparages the rest.
    A thousand things well done, and one forgot,
    Defaces obligation by that blot.
    Make your transparent sweetmeats truly nice
    With Indian sugar and Arabian spice.
    And let your various creams encircled be
    With swelling fruit just ravish'd from the tree.
    The feast now done, discourses are renewed,
    And witty arguments with mirth pursued;
    The cheerful master, 'midst his jovial friends,
    His glass to their best wishes recommends.
    The grace cup follows: To the President's health
    And to the country; Plenty, Peace, and Wealth!
    Performing, then, the piety of grace,
    Each man that pleases reassumes his place;
    While at his gate, from such abundant store,
    He showers his godlike blessings on the poor.

[Decorative illustration]


[xi-1] Charles I, dining one day off of a loin of beef, was so much
pleased with it, knighted it.

[xi-2] In the reign of Charles I, Jeffry Hudson (then seven or eight
years old, and but eighteen inches in height) was served up to table in
a cold pie at the Duke of Buckingham's, and as soon as he made his
appearance was presented to the Queen.

"Despise not my good counsel."




The mistress of a family should always remember that the welfare and
good management of the house depend on the eye of the superior, and,
consequently, that nothing is too trifling for her notice, whereby waste
may be avoided.

Many families have owed their prosperity full as much to the conduct and
propriety of female arrangement, as to the knowledge and activity of the

All things likely to be wanted should be in readiness,--sugars of
different qualities should be broken; currants washed, picked and dry in
a jar; spice pounded, &c. Every article should be kept in that place
best suited to it, as much waste may thereby be avoided. Vegetables
will keep best on a stone floor if the air be excluded. Dried meats,
hams, &c., the same. All sorts of seeds for puddings, rice, &c., should
be close-covered, to preserve from insects. Flour should be kept in a
cool, perfectly dry room, and the bag being tied should be changed
upside down and back every week, and well shaken. Carrots, parsnips, and
beet-roots should be kept in sand for winter use, and neither they nor
potatoes be cleared from the earth. Store onions preserve best hung up
in a dry room. Straw to lay apples on should be quite dry, to prevent a
musty taste. Tarragon gives the flavor of French cookery, and in high
gravies should be added only a short time before serving.

Basil, savory, and knotted marjoram, or London thyme, to be used when
herbs are ordered; but with discretion, as they are very pungent.

Celery seeds give the flavor of the plant to soups. Parsley should be
cut close to the stalks, and dried on tins in a very cool oven; it
preserves its flavor and color, and is very useful in winter. Artichoke
bottoms, which have been slowly dried, should be kept in paper bags, and
truffles, lemon-peel, &c., in a very dry place, ticketed.

Pickles and sweetmeats should be preserved from air: where the former
are much used, small jars of each should be taken from the stock-jar, to
prevent frequent opening.

Some of the lemons and oranges used for juice should be pared first, to
preserve the peel dry; some should be halved, and, when squeezed, the
pulp cut out, and the outsides dried for grating.

If for boiling any liquid, the first way is best. When whites of eggs
are used for jelly, or other purposes, contrive to have pudding,
custards, &c., to employ the yolks also.

Gravies or soups put by, should be daily changed into fresh scalded

If chocolate, coffee, jelly, gruel, bark, &c., be suffered to boil over,
the strength is lost.

The cook should be charged to take care of jelly bags, tapes for the
collared things, &c., which, if not perfectly scalded and kept dry, give
an unpleasant flavor when next used.

Hard water spoils the color of vegetables; a pinch of pearlash or salt
of wormwood will prevent that effect.

When sirloins of beef, loins of veal or mutton come in, part of the suet
may be cut off for puddings, or to clarify; dripping will baste
everything as well as butter, fowls and game excepted; and for kitchen
pies nothing else should be used.

Meat and vegetables that the frost has touched should be soaked in cold
water two or three hours before they are used, or more if much iced;
when put into hot water, or to the fire until thawed, no heat will
dress them properly.

Meat should be well examined when it comes in, in warm weather. In the
height of the summer it is a very safe way to let meat that is to be
salted lie an hour in cold water; then wipe it perfectly dry, and have
ready salt, and rub it thoroughly into every part, leaving a handful
over it besides. Turn it every day and rub the pickle in, which will
make it ready for the table in three or four days; if it is desired to
be very much corned, wrap it in a well-floured cloth, having rubbed it
previously with salt. The latter method will corn fresh beef fit for
table the day it comes in; but it must be put into the pot when the
water boils.

If the weather permits, meat eats much better for hanging two or three
days before it be salted.

The water in which meat has been boiled makes an excellent soup for the
poor, when vegetables, oatmeal, or peas are added, and should not be
cleared from the fat. Roast beef bones, or shank bones of ham, make fine
peas soup, and should be boiled with the peas the day before eaten, that
the fat may be removed. The mistress of the house will find many great
advantages in visiting her larder daily before she orders the bill of
fare; she will see what things require dressing, and thereby guard
against their being spoiled. Many articles may be redressed in a
different form from that in which they are first served, an improve the
appearance of the table without increasing the expense.

In every sort of provisions, the best of the kind goes farthest; cutting
out most advantageously, and affording most nourishment.

Round of beef, fillet of veal, and leg of mutton, bear a higher price;
but having more solid meat, deserve the preference. It is worth notice,
however, that those joints which are inferior may be dressed as
palatably, and being cheaper ought to be bought in turn; and when
weighed with the prime pieces, the price of the latter is reduced.

In loins of meat, the long pipe which runs by the bone should be taken
out, being apt to taint, as likewise the kernels of beef.

Rumps and aitch bones of beef are often bruised by the blows the drovers
give, and that part always taints: avoid purchasing such.

The shank bones of mutton should be saved, and after soaking and
bruising may be added to give richness to gravies and soups, and they
are particularly nourishing for the sick.

Calves' tongues, salted, make a more useful dish than when dressed with
the brains, which may be served without.

Some people like neats' tongues cured with the root, in which case they
look much larger; but should the contrary be approved, the root must be
cut off close to the gullet, next to the tongue, but without taking away
the fat under the tongue. The root must be soaked in salt and water, and
extremely well cleaned before it be dressed; and the tongue laid in salt
for a night and day before pickled.

Great attention is requisite in salting meat, and in the country, where
great quantities are cured, it is of still more importance. Beef and
pork should be well sprinkled, and a few hours after hung to drain,
before it be rubbed with the preserving salts; which mode, by cleansing
the meat from the blood, tends to keep it from tasting strong; it should
be turned daily, and, if wanted soon, rubbed. A salting tub may be used,
and a cover should fit close. Those who use a good deal of salt will
find it well to boil up the pickle, skim, and when cold pour it over
meat that has been sprinkled and drained. In some families great loss is
sustained by the spoiling of meat. If meat is brought from a distance in
warm weather, the butcher should be charged to cover it close, and bring
it early in the morning.

Mutton will keep long, by washing with vinegar the broad end of the leg;
if any damp appears, wipe it immediately. If rubbed with salt lightly,
it will not eat the worse. Game is brought in when not likely to keep a
day, in the cook's apprehension, yet may be preserved two or three days
if wanted, by the following method:

If birds (woodcocks and snipes excepted, which must not be drawn), draw
them, pick and take out the crop, wash them in two or three waters, and
rub them with a little salt. Have ready a large saucepan of boiling
water, put the birds in it, and let them remain five minutes, moving it,
that it may go through them. When all are finished, hang them by the
heads in a cold place; when drained, pepper the inside and necks; when
to be roasted, wash, to take off the pepper. The most delicate birds,
even grouse, may be kept this way, if not putrid.

Birds that live by suction, &c., bear being high: it is probable that
the heat might cause them to taint more, as a free passage for the
scalding water could not be obtained.

Fresh-water fish has often a muddy taste, to take off which, soak it in
strong salt and water; or, if of a size to bear it, give it a scald in
the same, after extremely good cleaning and washing.

In the following, and indeed all other receipts, though the quantities
may be as accurately set down as possible, yet much must be left to the
discretion of the persons who use them.

The different taste of people requires more or less of the flavor of
spices, garlic, butter, &c., which can never be directed by general
rules, and if the cook has not a good taste, and attention to that of
her employers, not all the ingredients with which nature or art can
furnish her will give an exquisite relish to her dishes.

The proper articles should be at hand, and she must proportion them
until the true zest be obtained.

March, 1864.

Poetical Cook-Book.



    Sons of Apicius! say, can Europe's seas,
    Can aught the edible creation yield
    Compare with _turtle_, boast of land and wave?

                        And, zounds! who would grudge
    _Turtle soup_, though it came to five guineas the bowl?

The day before you dress a turtle, chop the herbs, and make the
forcemeat; then, on the preceding evening, suspend the turtle by the two
hind fins with a cord, and put one round the neck with a heavy weight
attached to it to draw out the neck, that the head may be cut off with
more ease; let the turtle hang all night, in which time the blood will
be well drained from the body. Then, early in the morning, having your
stoves and plenty of hot water in readiness, take the turtle, lay it on
the table on its back, and with a strong pointed knife cut round the
under shell (which is the callipee),--there are joints at each end,
which must be carefully found,--gently separating it from the callipash
(which is the upper shell); be careful that in cutting out the gut you
do not break the gall. When the callipee and the callipash are perfectly
separated, take out that part of the gut that leads from the throat;
that with the hearts put into a basin of water by themselves, the other
interior part put away. Take the callipee, and cut off the meat which
adheres to it in four quarters, laying it on a clean dish. Take twenty
pounds of veal, chop it up, and set it in a large pot, as directed for
espagnoles, putting in the flesh of the turtle at the same time, with
all kinds of turtle herbs, carrots, onions, one pound and a half of lean
ham, peppercorns, salt, and a little spice, and two bay leaves, leaving
it to stew till it take the color of espagnole; put the fins--the skin
scalded off--and hearts in, half an hour before you fill it, with half
water, and half beef stock, then carefully skim it; put in a bunch of
parsley, and let it boil gently like consommé. While the turtle is
stewing, carefully scald the head, the callipee, and all that is soft of
the callipash, attentively observing to take off the smallest skin that
may remain; put them with the gut into a large pot of water to boil till
tender; when so, take them out and cut them in squares, putting them in
a basin by themselves till wanted for the soup. The next thing is the
thickening of the soup, which must be prepared in the same manner as
sauce tournée. The turtle being well done, take out the fins and hearts,
and lay them on a dish; the whole of the liquor must pass through a
sieve into a large pan; then with a ladle take off all the fat, put it
into a basin, then mix in the turtle liquor (a small quantity at a
time), with the thickening made the same as tournée; but it does not
require to, neither must it, be one-twentieth part as thick. Set it over
a brisk fire, and continue stirring till it boils. When it has boiled
gently for one hour put in the callipee and callipash with the guts,
hearts, and some of the best of the meat and head, all cut in squares,
with the forcemeat balls and herbs, which you should have ready chopped
and stewed in espagnole; the herbs and parsley, lemon, thyme, marjoram,
basil, savory, and a few chopped mushrooms.

It must be carefully attended to and skimmed, and one hour and a half
before dinner put in a bottle of Madeira wine, and nearly half a bottle
of brandy, keeping it continually boiling gently, and skimming it, then
take a basin, put a little cayenne into it, with the juice of six lemons
squeezed through a sieve. When the dinner is wanted, skim the turtle,
stir it well up, and put a little salt, if necessary; then stir the
cayenne and lemon juice in, and ladle it into the tureen. This receipt
will answer for a turtle between fifty and sixty pounds.


    The _chicken broth_ was brought at nine;
    He then arose to ham and wine,
    And, with a philosophic air,
    Decided on the bill of fare.

Take the remaining parts of a chicken from which panada has been made,
all but the rump; skin, and put them into the water it was first boiled
in, with the addition of a little mace, onion, and a few pepper-corns,
and simmer it. When of a good flavor, put to it a quarter of an ounce of
sweet almond beaten with a spoonful of water; boil it a little while,
and when cold take off the fat.



    His soup scientific,--his _fishes_ quite prime;
    His patés superb, and his cutlets sublime.

Let your fish be cleaned and salted; save your melts or kows. Cut three
onions and parsley root, boil them in a pint of water; cut your fish in
pieces to suit; take some clever sized pieces, cut them from the bone,
chop them fine, mix with them the melts, crumbs of bread, a little
ginger, one egg well beaten, leeks, green parsley, all made fine; take
some bread, and make them in small balls; lay your fish in your stewpan,
layer of fish and layer of onions; sprinkle with ginger, pour cold water
over to cover your fish; let it boil till done, then lay your fish
nicely on a dish. To make the sauce, take the juice of a large lemon and
yolk of an egg, well beaten together, teaspoonful of flour; mix it
gradually with half a pint of the water the fish was done in, then with
all your water put in your balls; let it boil very quick; when done
throw the balls and gravy over your fish.


    Behold, the dishes due appear!
    _Fish_ in the van, beef in the rear.
    Ah! all the luxury of fish,
    With scalding sauce.

Boil six onions in water till tender, strain, and cut them in slices.
Put your fish, cut in slices, in a stewpan with a quart of water, salt,
pepper, ginger and mace to suit taste; let it boil fifteen minutes; add
the onions, and forcemeat balls made of chopped fish, grated bread,
chopped onion, parsley, marjoram, mace, pepper, ginger and salt, and
five eggs beat up with a spoon into balls, and drop them into the pan of
fish when boiling; cover close for ten minutes, take it off the fire,
and then add six eggs with the juice of five lemons; stir the gravy very
slowly, add chopped parsley, and let it all simmer on a slow fire,
keeping the pan in motion until it just boils, when it must be taken off
quickly, or the sauce will break. A little butter or sweet oil added to
the balls is an improvement. If you meet with good success in the
cooking of this receipt, you will often have stewed fish.


    Here haddock, hake, and flounders are,
    And eels, and _perch_, and cod.

Having scalded and taken out the gills, put the perch into a stew-pan,
with equal quantities of stock and white wine, a bay leaf, a clove of
garlic, a bunch of parsley, and scallions, two cloves, and some salt.

When done, take out the fish, strain off the liquor, the dregs of which
mix with some butter and a little flour; beat these up, set them on the
fire, stewing till quite done, adding pepper, grated nutmeg, and a ball
of anchovy butter. Drain the perch well, and dish them with the above


                       Here stay thy haste,
    And with the _savory fish_ indulge thy taste.

Have your fish cleaned, the melts or kows being taken out whole; salt
your fish, and let it lay half an hour. Cut your onions in slices, fry
them with parsley-root, cut in long thin slices, in half a teacup of
sweet oil, till they become a fine brown. Wash and dry your fish, cut it
in pieces, put it in your stewpan, layer of fish and layer of browned
onion, &c. Take a quart of beer, half a pint of vinegar, quarter pound
of sugar, two tablespoonfuls powdered ginger, mixed well together, pour
over your fish till covered. When putting your fish in the pan, split
the head in two, and place it at the bottom, the smaller pieces on the
top, the rows uppermost; let them cook very quick. Take out your fish,
lay it nicely on a dish, mix a little flour in your gravy, give it a
boil, throw it over the fish, and let it stand to cool.


    Your betters will despise you, if they see
    Things that are far surpassing your degree;
    Therefore beyond your substance never treat;
    'Tis plenty, in small fortune, to be neat;
    A widow has cold pie, nurse gives you cake,
    From generous merchants ham or _sturgeon_ take.

Take a large piece of sturgeon, or a whole small one, clean and skin it
properly, lard it with eel and anchovies, and marinade it in a white
wine marmalade. Fasten it to the spit and roast it, basting frequently
with the marinade strained. Let the fish be a nice color, and serve with
a pepper sauce.


    Red speckled trouts, the _salmon's_ silver jole,
    The jointed lobster and unscaly sole,
    And luscious scallops to allure the tastes
    Of rigid zealots to delicious feasts;
    Wednesdays and Fridays, you'll observe from hence,
    Days when our sins were doomed to abstinence.

Put on a fish-kettle, with spring water enough to well cover the salmon
you are going to dress, or the salmon will neither look nor taste well
(boil the liver in a separate saucepan). When the water boils put in a
handful of salt, take off the scum as soon as it rises; have the fish
well washed, put it in, and if it is thick, let it boil very gently.
Salmon requires as much boiling as meat; about a quarter of an hour to a
pound of meat; but practice can only perfect the cook in dressing

A quarter of a salmon will take as long boiling as half a one. You must
consider the thickness, not the weight.

_Obs._ The thinnest part of the fish is the fattest, and if you have a
"grand gourmand" at table, ask him if he is for thick or thin.

Lobster sauce and rye bread should be eaten with boiled salmon.


    But soon, like _lobster boil'd_, the morn
    From black to red began to turn.

Those of the middle size are best. The male lobster is preferred to eat,
and the female to make sauce of. Set on a pot with water, salted in
proportion of a tablespoonful of salt to a quart of water. When the
water boils, put it in, and keep it boiling briskly from half an hour to
an hour, according to its size; wipe all the scum off it, and rub the
shell with a little butter or sweet oil, break off the great claws,
crack them carefully in each joint, so that they may not be shattered,
and yet come to pieces easily, cut the tail down the middle, and send
the body whole.


    The man had sure a palate cover'd o'er
    With brass or steel, that on the rocky shore
    First broke the oozy _oyster's_ pearly coat,
    And risk'd the living morsel down his throat.

Common people are indifferent about the manner of opening oysters, and
the time of eating them, after they are opened. Nothing, however, is
more important in the enlightened eyes of the experienced oyster-eater.
Those who wish to enjoy this delicious restorative in its utmost
perfection must eat it the moment it is opened, with its own gravy in
the under shell. If not eaten while absolutely alive, its flavor and
spirit are lost.


    You shapeless nothing, in a dish!
    You, that are but almost a fish!

The largest and finest oysters should be chosen for frying. Simmer them
in their own liquor for a couple of minutes; take them out, and lay them
on a cloth to drain; beard them, and then flour them, egg and breadcrumb
them, put them into boiling fat, and fry them a delicate brown.

A much better way is to beat the yolks of eggs, and mix with the grated
bread, a small quantity of beaten nutmeg and mace, and a little salt.
Having stirred this batter well, dip your oysters into it, and fry them
in lard, till they are a light brown color. Take care not to do them too
much. Serve them up hot. For grated bread, some substitute crackers
pounded to a powder, and mixed with yolk of egg and spice.


    By nerves about our palate placed,
    She likewise judges of the taste.
    Who would ask for her opinion
    Between an _oyster_ and an onion?

Stew with a quart of oysters, and their liquor strained, a glass of
white wine, one anchovy bruised, seasoned with white pepper, salt, a
little mace, and a bunch of sweet herbs; let all stew gently an hour, or
three quarters. Pick out the bunch of herbs, and add a quarter pound of
fresh butter kneaded in a large tablespoonful of flour, and stew them
ten or twelve minutes.

Serve them garnished with bread sippets and cut lemon. They may be
stewed simply in their own liquor, seasoned with salt, pepper, and
grated nutmeg, and thickened with cream, flour, and butter.


    _'Tis no one thing_; it is not fruit, nor root,
    Nor poorly limited with head or foot.

Cut off the tops of some small French rolls, take out the crumb, fry
them brown and crisp with clarified butter, then fry some breadcrumbs;
stew the requisite quantity of oysters, bearded and cut in two, in their
liquor, with a little white wine, some gravy, and seasoned with grated
lemon-peel, powdered mace, pepper and salt; add a bit of butter, fill
the rolls with oysters, and serve them with the fried breadcrumbs in a


    What will not luxury taste? Earth, sea, and air,
    Are daily ransack'd for the bills of fare.

Stew the oysters slowly in their own liquor for two or three minutes,
take them out with a spoon, beard them, and skim the liquor, put a bit
of butter into a stewpan; when it is melted, add as much fine
breadcrumbs as will dry it up; then put to it the oyster liquor, and
give it a boil up; put the oysters into scallop shells that you have
buttered, and strewed with breadcrumbs, then a layer of oysters, then
breadcrumbs, and then again oysters; moisten it with the oyster liquor,
cover them with breadcrumbs, put about half a dozen little bits of
butter on the top of each, and brown them in a Dutch oven.

Essence of anchovy, ketchup, cayenne, grated lemon-peel, mace, and other
spices are added by those who prefer piquance to the genuine flavor of
the oyster.



    Thanks, my lord, for your _venison_; for finer or fatter
    Never ranged in a forest or smoked in a platter.
    The haunch was a picture for painters to study,
    The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy.

The haunch of buck will take about three hours and three quarters
roasting. Put a coarse paste of brown flour and water, and a paper over
that, to cover all the fat; baste it well with dripping, and keep it at
a distance, to get hot at the bones by degrees. When near done, remove
the covering, and baste it with butter, and froth it up before you
serve. Gravy for it should be put in a boat, and not in the dish (unless
there be none in the venison), and made thus: cut off the fat from two
or three pounds of a loin of old mutton, and set it in steaks on a
gridiron for a few minutes, just to brown one side; put them in a
saucepan with a quart of water, cover quite close for an hour, and
gently simmer it; then uncover, and stew till the gravy be reduced to a
pint. Season only with salt.


    And now that I think on't, as I am a sinner!
    We wanted this venison to make out the dinner.
    What say you? a _pasty_! it shall and it must,
    And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust.
    "What the de'il, mon, a pasty!" re-echoed the Scot.
    "Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for that."
    "We'll all keep a corner," the lady cried out;
    "We will all keep a corner!" was echoed about.

Cut a neck or breast into small steaks, rub them over with a seasoning
of sweet herbs, grated nutmeg, pepper and salt; fry them slightly in
butter. Line the sides and edges of a dish with puff paste, lay in the
steaks, and add half a pint of rich gravy, made with the trimmings of
the venison; add a glass of port wine, and the juice of half a lemon or
teaspoonful of vinegar; cover the dish with puff paste, and bake it
nearly two hours; some more gravy may be poured into the pie before
serving it.


    And aye a rowth, a _roast beef_ and claret:
          Syne wha wad starve!

The noble sirloin of about fifteen pounds will require to be before the
fire about three and a half to four hours; take care to spit it evenly,
that it may not be heavier on one side than on the other; put a little
clean dripping into the dripping-pan (tie a sheet of paper over to
preserve the fat); baste it well as soon as it is put down, and every
quarter of an hour all the time it is roasting, till the last half hour;
then take off the paper and make some gravy for it. Stir the fire, and
make it clear; to brown and froth it, sprinkle a little salt over it,
baste it with butter, and dredge it with flour; let it go a few minutes
longer till the froth rises, take it up, put it on the dish, and serve


    In short, dear, "a Dandy" describes what I mean,
    And Bob's far the best of the gems I have seen,
    But just knows the names of French dishes and cooks,
    As dear Pa knows the titles and authors of books;
    Whose names, think how quick! he already knows pat,
    _A la braise_, petit patés, and--what d'ye call that
    They inflict on potatoes? Oh! maître d'hotel.
    I assure you, dear Dolly, he knows them as well
    As if nothing but these all his life he had eat,
    Though a bit of them Bobby has never touched yet.
    I can scarce tell the difference, at least as to phrase,
    Between _beef à la Psyché_ and _curls à la braise_.

Bone a rump of beef, lard it very thickly with salt pork seasoned with
pepper, salt, cloves, mace, and allspice, and season the beef with
pepper and salt; put some slices of bacon into the bottom of the pan,
with some whole black pepper, a little allspice, one or two bay leaves,
two onions, a clove of garlic, and a bunch of sweet herbs. Put in the
beef, and lay over it some slices of bacon, two quarts of weak stock,
and half a pint of white wine. Cover it closely, and let it stew between
six and seven hours. Sauce for the beef is made of part of the liquor it
has been stewed in, strained, and thickened with a little flour and
butter, adding some green onions cut small, and pickled mushrooms. Pour
it over the beef.


                The funeral _bak'd meats_
    Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.

Boil some potatoes, peel, and pound them in a mortar with two small
onions; moisten them with milk and an egg beaten up, add a little salt
and pepper. Season slices of beef or mutton-chops with salt and pepper,
and more onion, if the flavor is approved. Rub the bottom of a
pudding-dish with butter, and put a layer of the mashed potatoes, which
should be as thick as a batter, and then a layer of meat, and so on
alternately till the dish is filled, ending with potatoes. Bake it in an
oven for an hour.


    Is there, then, that o'er his _French ragout_,
    Looks down wi' sneering, scornful view,
                              On sic a dinner?

Take a rump of beef, cut the meat from the bone, flour and fry it, pour
over it a little boiling water, about a pint of small-beer, add a carrot
or two, an onion stuck with cloves, some whole pepper, salt, a piece of
lemon-peel, a bunch of sweet herbs; let it stew an hour, then add some
good gravy; when the meat is tender take it out and strain the sauce;
thicken it with a little flour; add a little celery ready boiled, a
little ketchup, put in the meat; just simmer it up.


    Or one's _kidney_,--imagine, Dick,--done with champagne.

Having soaked a fresh kidney in cold water and dried it in a cloth, cut
it into mouthfuls, and then mince it fine; dust it with flour. Put some
butter into a stewpan over a moderate fire, and when it boils put in
the minced kidneys. When you have browned it in the butter, sprinkle on
a little salt and cayenne, and pour in a very little boiling water. Add
a glass of champagne, or other wine, or a large teaspoonful of mushroom
ketchup or walnut pickle; cover the pan closely, and let it stew till
the kidney is tender. Send it to table hot, in a covered dish. It is
eaten generally at breakfast.


    _Time was_, when John Bull little difference spied
    'Twixt the foe at his feet or the friend at his side;
    When he found, such his humor in fighting and eating,
    His foe, like _beefsteak_, the sweeter for beating.

    If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well,
    It were done quickly.

Cut the steaks off a rump or the ribs of a fore quarter. Have the
gridiron perfectly clean, and heated over a clear quick fire, lay on the
steaks, and with meat-tongs, keep turning them constantly, till they are
done enough; throw a little salt over them before taking them off the
fire. Serve as hot as possible, plain or with a made gravy and sliced
onions, or rub a bit of butter on the steaks the moment of serving.
Mutton-chops are broiled in the same manner.


    Fair fa' your honest sonsie face,
    Great chieftain o' the puddin' race;
    Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
              Painch, tripe, or thairm,
    Weel are ye wordy of a grace
              As langs my arm.
    His knife see rustic labor dight,
    An' cut you up with ready slight,
    Trenching your gushing entrail bright
              Like onie ditch,
    And then, O! what a glorious sight,
              Warm reekin' rich.
    Ye powers wha mak mankind your care,
    And dish them out their bill of fare,
    Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
              That jaups in luggies,
    But if ye wish her grateful pray'r,
              Gie her a _Haggis_.

Make the haggis bag perfectly clean; parboil the draught, boil the liver
very well, so as it will grate, dry the meal before the fire, mince the
draught and a pretty large piece of beef, very small; grate about half
the liver, mince plenty of the suet and some onions small; mix all these
materials very well together with a handful or two of the dried meal;
spread them on the table, and season them properly with salt and mixed
spices; take any of the scraps of beef that are left from mincing, and
some of the water that boiled the draught, and make about a choppin
(_i. e._ a quart) of good stock of it; then put all the haggis meat into
the bag, and that broth in it; then sew up the bag; put out all the wind
before you sew it quite close. If you think the bag is thin, you may put
it in a cloth.

If it is a large haggis, it will take at least two hours boiling.

N. B. The above is a receipt from Mrs. MacIver, a celebrated Caledonian
professor of the culinary art, who taught and published a book of
cookery, at Edinburgh, A. D. 1787.


    The British fleet, which now commands the main,
    Might glorious wreaths of victory obtain,
    Would they take time, would they with leisure work,
    With care would _salt their beef_, and cure their pork.
    There is no dish, but what _our_ cooks have made
    And merited a charter by their trade.

Make a pickle of rock salt and cold water strong enough to bear an egg,
let a little salt remain in the bottom of the tub; two quarts of
molasses and a quarter pound of saltpetre is sufficient for a cwt. of
beef. It is fit for use in ten days. Boil the beef slowly until the
bones come out easily, then wrap it in a towel, and put a heavy weight
on it till cold.


              Silence is commendable only
    In a _neat's tongue_ dried.

Cut off the root, leaving a little of the kernel and fat. Sprinkle some
salt, and let it drain till next day; then for each tongue, mix a large
spoonful of common salt, the same of coarse sugar, and about half as
much of saltpetre; rub it well in, and do so every day. In a week add
another heaped spoonful of salt. If rubbed every day, a tongue will be
ready in a fortnight; but if only turned in the pickle daily, it will
keep four or five weeks without being too salt. Smoke them or plainly
dry them, if you like best. When to be dressed, boil it extremely
tender; allow five hours, and if done sooner, it is easily kept hot. The
longer kept after drying, the higher it will be; if hard, it may require
soaking three or four hours.


    Pray a slice of your _liver_.

Wash and wipe it, then cut a long hole in it, and stuff it with crumbs
of bread, chopped, an anchovy, a good deal of fat bacon, onion, salt,
pepper, a bit of butter, and an egg; sew the liver up, lard it, wrap it
in a veal caul, and roast it. Serve with good brown gravy and currant


          A cook has mighty things professed;
    Then send us but two dishes nicely dressed,--
    One called _Scotch Collops_.

Cut veal in thin bits, about three inches over and rather round, beat
with a rolling-pin; grate a little nutmeg over them; dip in the yolk of
an egg, and fry them in a little butter of a fine brown; have ready,
warm, to pour upon them, half a pint of gravy, a little bit of butter
rubbed into a little flour, to which put the yolk of an egg, two large
spoonfuls of cream, and a little salt.

Do not boil the sauce, but stir until of a fine thickness to serve with
the collops.


                      In truth, I'm confounded
    And bothered, my dear, 'twixt that troublesome boy's
    (Bob's) cookery language, and Madame Le Roi's.
    What with fillets of roses and _fillets of veal_,
    Things garni with lace, and things garni with eel,
    One's hair and one's cutlets both en papillote,
    And a thousand more things I shall ne'er have by rote.

Bone, lard, and stuff a fillet of veal; half roast and then stew it with
two quarts of white stock, a teaspoonful of lemon pickle, and one of
mushroom ketchup. Before serving strain the gravy, thicken it with
butter rolled in flour, add a little cayenne, salt, and some pickled
mushrooms; heat it and pour it over the veal. Have ready two or three
dozen forcemeat balls to put round it and upon the top. Garnish with cut


    And the dish set before them,--O dish well devised!--
    Was what Old Mother Glasse calls "_a calf's head surprised_."

Clean and blanch a calf's head, boil it till the bones will come out
easily, then bone and press it between two dishes, so as to give it a
headlong form; beat it with the yolks of four eggs, a little melted
butter, pepper and salt. Divide the head when cold, and brush it all
over with the beaten eggs, and strew over it grated bread, which is put
over one half; a good quantity of finely minced parsley should be mixed;
place the head upon a dish, and bake it of a nice brown color. Serve it
with a sauce of parsley and butter, and with one of good gravy, mixed
with the brains, which have been previously boiled, chopped, and
seasoned with a little cayenne and salt.


    Good L--d! to see the various ways
    Of dressing a calf's head.

Wash and clean it well, parboil it, take out the bones, brains, and
tongue; make forcemeat sufficient for the head, and some balls with
breadcrumbs, minced suet, parsley, grated ham, and a little pounded veal
or cold fowl; season with salt, grated nutmeg, and lemon-peel; bind it
with an egg beaten up; fill the head with it, which must then be sewed
up, or fastened with skewers and tied; while roasting baste it well with
butter; beat up the brains with a little cream, the yolk of an egg, some
minced parsley, a little pepper and salt; blanch the tongue and cut it
into slices, and fry it with the brains, forcemeat balls, and thin
slices of bacon.

Serve the head with white or brown thickened gravy, and place the tongue
and forcemeat balls round it. Garnish with cut lemon. It will require
one hour and a half to roast.


    Long as, by bayonets protected, we Watties
    May have our full fling at their _salmis_ and patés.

Cut off the best parts of a couple of roasted wild ducks, and put the
rest of the meat into a mortar, with six shallots, a little parsley,
some pepper, and a bay leaf; pound all these ingredients well, and then
put into a saucepan, with four ladlesful of stock, half a glass of white
wine, the same of broth, and a little grated nutmeg; reduce these to
half, strain them, and having laid the pieces on a dish, cover them with
the above; keep the whole hot, not boiling, until wanted for table.


    I give thee all my kitchen lore,
      Though poor the offering be;
    I'll tell thee how 'tis cooked, before
      You come to dine with me.
    The duck is truss'd from head to heels,
      Then stew'd with butter well,
    And streaky bacon, which reveals
      A most delicious smell.

    When duck and bacon, in a mass,
      You in a stewpan lay,
    A spoon around the vessel pass,
      And gently stir away;
    A tablespoonful of flour bring,
      A quart of water plain,
    Then in it twenty onions fling,
      And gently stir again.

    A bunch of parsley, and a leaf
      Of ever verdant bay,
    Two cloves,--I make my language brief,--
      Then add your peas you may;
    And let it simmer till it sings
      In a delicious strain;
    Then take your duck, nor let the strings
      For trussing it remain.

    The parsley fail not to remove,
      Also the leaf of bay;
    Dish up your duck,--the sauce improve
      In the accustom'd way,
    With pepper, salt, and other things
      I need not here explain;
    And if the dish contentment brings,
      You'll dine with me again.


    Our courtier walks from dish to dish,
    Tastes from his friends of _fowl_ and fish,
    Tells all their names, lays down the law,
    "Que ça est bon." "Ah! goutez ça."

Make a forcemeat of grated bread, half its quantity of minced suet, an
onion, or a few oysters and some boiled parsley, season with pepper,
salt, and grated lemon-peel, and an egg beaten up to bind it. Bone the
breast of a good sized young fowl, put in the forcemeat, cover the fowl
with a piece of white paper buttered, and roast it half an hour; make a
thick batter of flour, milk, and eggs, take off the paper, and pour some
of the batter over the fowl; as soon as it becomes dry, add more, and do
this till it is all crusted over and a nice brown color, serve it with
melted butter and lemon pickle, or a thickened brown gravy.


    But man, cursed man, on _turkeys_ preys,
    And Christmas shortens all our days.
    Sometimes with oysters we combine,
    Sometimes assist the savory chine.
    From the low peasant to the lord,
    The _turkey_ smokes on every board.

Make a stuffing of bread, salt, pepper, nutmeg, lemon-peel, a few
oysters, a bit of butter, some suet, and an egg; put this into the crop,
fasten up the skin, and boil the turkey in a floured cloth to make it
very white. Have ready some oyster sauce made rich with butter, a little
cream, and a spoonful of soy, and serve over the turkey.


    And something's here with name uncivil,
    For our cook christens it "_A Devil_,"
    "_A Devil_, in any shape, sweet maid,
    A parson fears not," Syntax said;
    "I'll make him minced meat; 'tis my trade."

Take cold roast turkey legs, score them well, season them with salt and
plenty of cayenne pepper and mustard, then broil them. Serve them


    In good roast beef my landlord sticks his knife,
    The _capon_ fat delights his dainty wife.

Take a quart of white wine, season the capon with salt, cloves, and
whole pepper, a few shallots, and then put the capon in an earthen pan;
you must take care it has not room to shake; it must be covered close,
and done over a slow charcoal fire.


    Gargilius, sleek, voluptuous lord,
    A hundred dainties smoke upon his board;
    Earth, air, and ocean ransack'd for the feast,
    In masquerade of foreign olios dress'd.

Reduce two spoonfuls of veloute or sauce tournée, and add to the yolks
of four eggs; put to this the white meat of a chicken, minced very
small, and well mixed with the sauce; take it out, and roll it into
balls, about the size of a walnut; roll them in breadcrumbs, giving them
an elongated form; then beat them in some well-beaten egg; bread them
again, and fry them of a light brown.


    But hang it, to poets, who seldom can eat,
    Your very good _mutton's_ a very good treat.

Cut off the shank bone, and trim the knuckle, put it into lukewarm water
for ten minutes, wash it clean, cover it with cold water, and let it
simmer very gently, and skim it carefully; a leg of nine pounds will
take two and a half or three hours, if you like it thoroughly done,
especially in very cold weather.

The liquor the mutton is boiled in, you may convert into good soup in
five minutes, and Scotch barley broth. Thus managed, a leg of mutton is
a most economical joint.


    Or urged thereunto by the woes he endured,
    The way to be _smoked_, is the way to be _cured_.

    But to the fading palate bring relief,
    By the _Westphalian ham_ or Belgic beef.

When the weather will permit, hang the ham three days; mix an ounce of
saltpetre with one quarter of a pound of bay salt, ditto common salt,
ditto of coarsest sugar, and a quart of strong beer; boil them together,
and pour over immediately on the ham; turn it twice a day in the pickle
for three weeks. An ounce of black pepper, ditto of pimento in finest
powder, added to the above, will give still more flavor. Cover with bran
when wiped, and smoke from three to four weeks, as you approve; the
latter will make it harder, and more of the flavor of Westphalia. Sew
hams in hessings, _i. e._ coarse wrapper, if to be smoked where there is
a strong fire.


    Each mortal has his pleasure; none deny
    Scarsdale his bottle, Darby his _ham pie_.

Take two pounds of veal cutlets, cut them in middling sized pieces,
season with pepper and a very little salt; likewise one of raw or
dressed ham, cut in slices, lay it alternately in the dish, and put some
forced or sausage meat at the top, with some stewed mushrooms, and the
yolks of three eggs boiled hard, and a gill of water; then proceed as
with rumpsteak pie.

N. B. The best end of a neck is the fine part for a pie, cut into chops,
and the chine bone taken away.


    Turkey and fowl, and ham and chine,
    On which the cits prefer to dine,
    With partridge, too, and eke a _Hare_,
    The luxuries of country fare,
    She nicely cooked with bounteous care.

Cut the skin from a hare that has been well soaked, put it on the spit,
and rub it well with Madeira, pricking it in various places that it may
imbibe plenty of wine; cover it entirely with a paste, and roast it.
When done, take away the paste, rub it quickly over with egg, sprinkle
breadcrumbs, and baste it gently with butter (still keeping it turning
before the fire), until a crust is formed over it, and it is of a nice
brown color; dish it over some espagnole with Madeira wine boiled in it;
two or three cloves may be stuck into the knuckles, if you think proper.


    Your _rabbits fricaseed_ and chicken,
    With curious choice of dainty picking,
    Each night got ready at the Crown,
    With port and punch to wash 'em down.

Take two fine white rabbits, and cut them in pieces; blanch them in
boiling water, and skim them for one minute; stir a few trimmings of
mushrooms in a stewpan over the fire, with a bit of butter, till it
begins to fry, then stir in a spoonful of flour; mix into the flour, a
little at a time, nearly a quart of good consommé, which set on the
fire, and when it boils put the rabbits in, and let them boil gently
till done; then put them in another stewpan, and reduce the sauce till
nearly as thick as paste; mix in about half a pint of good boiling
cream, and when it becomes the thickness of bechamelle sauce in general,
squeeze it through the tammy to the rabbits; make it very hot, put in a
few mushrooms, the yolk of an egg, a little cream, and then serve it to



    Little birds fly about with the _true pheasant taint_,
    And the geese are all born with the liver[56-*] complaint.

Chop some fine raw oysters, omitting the head part, mix them with salt
and nutmeg, and add some beaten yolk of egg to bind the other
ingredients. Cut some very thin slices of cold ham or bacon, and cover
the birds with them, then wrap them in sheets of paper well buttered,
put them on the spit, and roast them before a clear fire.


    With all the luxury of statesmen dine,
    On daily feasts of _ortolans_ and wine.

Put into every bird an oyster, or a little butter mixed with some
finely sifted breadcrumbs. Dredge them with flour. Run a small skewer
through them, and tie them on the spit. Baste them with lard or fresh
butter. They will be done in ten minutes. Reed birds are very fine made
into little dumplings with a thin crust of flour and butter, and boiled
about twenty minutes. Each must be tied in a separate cloth.


    And as for your juries--who would not set o'er them
    A jury of tasters, with _woodcocks_ before them?

Woodcocks should not be drawn, as the trail is by the lovers of "haut
gout" considered a "bonne bouche." Truss their legs close to the body,
and run an iron skewer through each thigh, and put them to roast before
the fire; toast a slice of bread for each bird, lay them in the
dripping-pan under the bird to catch the trail; baste them with butter,
and froth them with flour; lay the toast on a hot dish, and the birds on
the toast; pour some good beef gravy into the dish, and send some up in
a boat. Twenty or thirty minutes will roast them. Some epicures like
this bird very much underdone, and direct that the woodcock should be
just introduced to the cook, for her to show it to the fire, then send
it to table.


     "It tastes of the _bird_, however," said the old woman, "and she
     cooked the _rail of the fence_ on which the crow had been sitting."

When birds have come a great way, they often smell so bad that they can
scarcely be borne from the rankness of the butter, by managing them in
the following manner, they may be as good as ever. Set a large saucepan
of clean water on the fire, when it boils take off the butter at the
top, then take the fowls out one by one, throw them in the saucepan of
water half a minute, whip it out, and dry it in a cloth inside and out,
continue till they are all done; scald the pot clean, when the birds are
quite cold, season them with mace, pepper, and salt according to taste,
put them down close in a pot, and pour clarified butter over them.


    What say you, lads? is any spark
    Among you ready for a _lark_?

These delicate little birds are in high season in November. When they
are thoroughly picked, gutted, and cleansed, truss them; do them over
with the yolk of an egg, and then roll them in breadcrumbs; spit them
on a lark spit; ten or fifteen minutes will be sufficient time to roast
them in, before a quick fire; whilst they are roasting, baste them with
fresh butter, and sprinkle them with breadcrumbs till they are well
covered with them. Fry some grated bread in butter. Set it to drain
before the fire, that it may harden; serve the crumbs in the dish under
the larks, and garnish with slices of lemon.


[56-*] The process by which the liver of the unfortunate goose is
enlarged, in order to produce that richest of all dainties, _the foie
gras_, of which such renowned pâtés are made at Strasbourg and Toulouse,
is thus described in the "Cours Gastronomique:" "On deplumes l'estomac
des oies; on attache ensuite ces animaux aux chenets d'une cheminée, et
on le nourrit devant le feu. La captivité et la chaleur donnent a ces
volatiles une maladie hepatique, qui fait gonfler leur foie."



    Poor Roger Fowler, who'd a generous mind,
    Nor would submit to have his hand confined,
    But aimed at all,--yet never could excel
    In anything but _stuffing of his veal_.

Good stuffing has always been considered a chief thing in cookery. Mince
a quarter of a pound of beef suet or marrow, the same weight of
breadcrumbs, two drachms of parsley leaves, a drachm and a half of sweet
marjoram or lemon thyme, and the same of grated lemon-peel and onion
chopped as fine as possible, a little pepper and salt; pound thoroughly
together with the yolk and white of two eggs, and secure it in the veal
with a skewer, or sew it in with a bit of thread.


    And own they gave him a lively notion,
    What his own _forced meat balls_ would be.

Take an equal quantity of lean veal scraped, and beef suet shred, beat
them in a marble mortar, add pepper, salt, cloves, pounded lemon-peel,
and nutmeg grated, parsley, and sweet herbs chopped fine, a little
shallot and young onion, a few breadcrumbs grated fine, and yolk of egg,
sufficient to work it light; roll this into balls with a little flour,
and fry them.


    Boy, tell the cook I love all nicknackeries,
    Fricasees, _vol au vents_, puffs, and gimcrackeries.

Roll off tart paste till about the eighth of an inch thick, then with a
tin cutter made for that purpose cut out the shape (about the size of
the bottom of the dish you intend sending to table), lay it on a
baking-plate with paper, rub the paste over with the yolk of an egg.
Roll out good puff paste an inch thick, stamp it with the same cutter,
and lay it on the tart paste; then take a cutter two sizes smaller, and
press it in the centre nearly through the puff paste; rub the top with
yolk of egg, and bake it in a quick oven about twenty minutes, of a
light-brown color when done; take out the paste inside the centre mark,
preserving the top, put it on a dish in a warm place, and when wanted
fill it with a white fricasee of chicken, rabbit, ragout of sweetbread,
or any other entree you wish. Serve hot.


     _De Beringhen._ In the next room there's a delicious pâté, let's
     discuss it.

     _Baradas._ Pshaw! a man filled with a sublime ambition has no time
     to discuss your pâtés.

     _De Beringhen._ Pshaw! and a man filled with as sublime a pâté has
     no time to discuss ambition. Gad, I have the best of it.
                    BULWER'S RICHELIEU.

Beard a quart of fine oysters, strain the liquor and add them to it. Cut
into thin slices the kidney-fat of a loin of veal; season them with
white pepper, salt, mace, and grated lemon-peel; lay them on the bottom
of a pie-dish, put in the oysters and liquor, with a little more
seasoning; put over them the marrow of two bones. Lay a border of puff
paste around the edge of the dish, cover it with paste, and bake it
nearly three quarters of an hour.


    Seducing young pâtés, as ever could cozen
    One out of one's appetite, down by the dozen.

Cut the crumb of a loaf of bread into square or round pieces, nearly
three inches high, and cut bits the same width for tops. Mark them
neatly with a knife; fry the bread of a light-brown color in clarified
beef-dripping or fine lard; scoop out the inside crumb; take care not to
go too near the bottom; fill them with mince-meat prepared as for
patties, with stewed oysters or with sausage meat; put on the tops, and
serve them on a napkin.


    Where so ready all nature its cookery yields,
    _Macaroni au Parmesan_ grows in the fields.

Lay fried bread pretty closely round a dish; boil your macaroni in the
usual way, and pour it into the dish; smooth it all over, and strew
breadcrumbs on it, then a pretty thick layer of grated Parmesan cheese;
drop a little melted butter on it, and put it in the oven to brown.


    What will not _Luxury taste_? _Earth_, sea and air
    Are daily ransacked for the bill of fare.

The truffle, like the mushroom, is a species of fungus, common in France
and Italy; it is generally about eight to ten inches below the surface
of the ground. As it imparts a most delicious flavor, it is much used in

Being dug out of the earth, it requires a great deal of washing and
brushing. It loses much of its flavor when dried.


    Muse, sing the man that did to Paris go,
    That he might taste their soups and _mushrooms_ know.

Take a pint of white stock; season it with salt, pepper, and a little
lemon pickle, thicken it with a bit of butter rolled in flour; clean and
peel the mushrooms, sprinkle them with a very little salt, boil them for
three minutes; put them into the gravy when it is hot, and stew them for
fifteen minutes.



                              If you please,
    I'll taste your tempting toasted cheese,
    Broiled ham, and nice _mushroom'd ketchup_.

If you love good ketchup, gentle reader, make it yourself, after the
following directions, and you will have a delicious relish for made
dishes, ragouts, soup, sauces, or hashes. Mushroom gravy approaches the
nature and flavor of made gravy, more than any vegetable juice, and is
the superlative substitute for it; in meagre soups and extempore
gravies, the chemistry of the kitchen has yet contrived to agreeably
awaken the palate and encourage the appetite.

A couple quarts of double ketchup, made according to the following
receipt, will save you some score pounds of meat, besides a vast deal of
time and trouble, as it will furnish, in a few minutes, as good sauce as
can be made for either fish, flesh, or fowl. I believe the following is
the best way for preparing and extracting the essence of mushrooms, so
as to procure and preserve their flavor for a considerable length of

Look out for mushrooms, from the beginning of September. Take care of
the right sort and fresh gathered. Full-grown flaps are to be preferred.
Put a layer of these at the bottom of a deep earthen pan, and sprinkle
them with salt; then another layer of mushrooms, and some more salt on
them, and so on, alternately, salt and mushrooms; let them remain two or
three hours, by which time the salt will have penetrated the mushrooms,
and rendered them easy to break; then pound them in a mortar, or mash
them well with your hands, and let them remain for a couple of days, not
longer, stirring them up, and mashing them well each day; then pour them
into a stone jar, and to each quart add an ounce and a half of whole
black pepper, and half an ounce of allspice; stop the jar very close,
and set in a stewpan of boiling water, and keep it boiling for two hours
at least.

Take out the jar, and pour the juice, clear from the settlings, through
a hair sieve (without squeezing the mushrooms), into a clean stewpan;
let it boil very gently for half an hour. Those who are for superlative
ketchup, will continue the boiling till the mushroom juice is reduced to
half the quantity. There are several advantages attending this
concentration: it will keep much better, and only half the quantity
required; so you can flavor sauce, &c., without thinning it; neither is
this an extravagant way of making it, for merely the aqueous part is
evaporated. Skim it well, and pour it into a clean dry jar or jug; cover
it close, and let it stand in a cool place till next day; then pour it
off as gently as possible (so as not to disturb the settlings at the
bottom of the jug), through a tamis or thick flannel bag, till it is
perfectly clear; add a tablespoonful of good brandy to each pint of
ketchup, and let it stand as before; a fresh sediment will be deposited,
from which the ketchup is to be quietly poured off and bottled in pints
or half pints (which have been washed in brandy or spirits). It is best
to keep it in such quantities as are soon used.

Take especial care that it is closely corked and sealed down. If kept in
a cool dry place, it may be preserved for a long time; but if it be
badly corked, and kept in a damp place, it will soon spoil.

Examine it from time to time, by placing a strong light behind the neck
of the bottle, and if any pellicle appears about it, boil it up again
with a few peppercorns.


    Who praises, in this _sauce enamor'd_ age,
    Calm, healthful temperance, like an Indian sage?

Claret or Port wine and mushroom ketchup, a pint of each; half a pint of
walnut or other pickle liquor; pounded anchovies, four ounces; fresh
lemon-peel, pared very thin, an ounce; peeled and sliced eschalots, the
same; scraped horseradish, ditto; allspice and black pepper, powdered,
half an ounce each; cayenne, one drachm, or curry powder, three drachms;
celery seed, bruised, one drachm; all avoirdupois weight. Put these into
a wide-mouthed bottle, stop it close, shake it every day for a
fortnight, and strain it (when some think it improved by the addition of
a quarter of a pint of soy or thick browning), and you will have "a
delicious double relish." Dr. Kitchener says, this composition is one of
the chefs d'oeuvres of many experiments he has made, for the purpose
of enabling good housewives to prepare their own sauces; it is equally
agreeable with fish, game, poultry, or ragouts, &c.; and as a fair lady
may make it herself, its relish will be not a little augmented, that all
the ingredients are good and wholesome.

_Obs._ Under an infinity of circumstances, a cook may be in want of the
substances necessary to make sauce; the above composition of the several
articles from which the various gravies derive their flavor, will be
found a very admirable extemporaneous substitute. By mixing a large
tablespoonful with a quarter of a pint of thickened melted butter, or
broth, five minutes will finish a boat of very relishing sauce, nearly
equal to drawn gravy, and as likely to put your lingual nerves into good
humor as anything I know.


    "Live bullion," says merciless Bob, "which I think
    Would, if coined with a little _mint sauce_, be delicious."

Wash half a handful of nice, young, fresh-gathered green mint (to this
add one-third the quantity of parsley), pick the leaves from the stalks,
mince them very fine, and put them into a sauce-boat, with a teaspoonful
of moist sugar and four tablespoonfuls of vinegar.


    Our fathers most admired their _sauces sweet_,
    And often asked for sugar _with their meat_.

Wash a quart of ripe cranberries, and put them into a pan with just
about a teacup of water; stew them slowly and stir them frequently,
particularly after they begin to burst. They require a great deal of
stewing, and should be like marmalade when done. When they are broken
and the juice comes out, stir in a pound of white sugar. When they are
thoroughly done, put them into a deep dish, and set them away to get
cold. You may strain the pulp through a cullender or sieve into a mould,
and when it is a firm shape send it to table.

Cranberry sauce is eaten with roast fowl, turkey, &c.


                          Along these shores
    Neglected trade with difficulty toils,
    Collecting slender stores; the sun-dried grape,
    Or _capers_ from the rock, that prompt the taste
    Of luxury.

To make a quarter of a pint, take a tablespoonful of capers and two
teaspoonfuls of vinegar. The present fashion of cutting capers is to
mince one-third of them very fine, and divide the others in half; put
them into a quarter of a pint of melted butter, or good thickened gravy;
stir them the same way as you did the melted butter, or it will oil.
Some boil and mince fine a few leaves of parsley or chevrel or tarragon,
and add to the sauce; others, the juice of half a Seville orange or


    Grateful and salutary Spring! the _plants_
    Which crown thy numerous gardens, and invite
    To health and temperance, in the simple meal,
    Unstain'd with murder, undefil'd with blood,
    Unpoison'd with rich sauces, to provoke
    The unwilling appetite to gluttony.
    For this, the _bulbous esculents_ their roots
    With sweetness fill; for this, with cooling juice
    The green herb spreads its _leaves_; and opening _buds_
    And _flowers_ and _seeds_ with various flavors tempts
    Th' ensanguined palate from its savage feast.

As to the quality of vegetables, the middle size are preferred to the
largest or smallest; they are more tender, juicy, and full of flavor,
just before they are quite full grown. Freshness is their chief value
and excellence, and I should as soon think of roasting an animal alive,
as of boiling a vegetable after it is dead.

To boil them in soft water will preserve the color best of such as are
green; if you have only hard water, put to it a teaspoonful of carbonate
of potash.

Take care to wash and cleanse them thoroughly from dust, dirt, and
insects. This requires great attention.

If you wish to have vegetables delicately clean, put on your pot, make
it boil, put a little salt in it, and skim it perfectly clean before you
put in the greens, &c., which should not be put in till the water boils
briskly; the quicker they boil, the greener they will be. When the
vegetables sink, they are generally done enough, if the water has been
kept constantly boiling. Take them up immediately, or they will lose
their color and goodness. Drain the water from them thoroughly before
you send them to table.

This branch of cookery requires the most vigilant attention.


    Two large potatoes, pressed through kitchen sieve,
    Smoothness and softness to the _salad_ give;
    Of mordant mustard add a single spoon;
    Distrust the condiment that bites too soon;
    But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault,
    To add a double quantity of salt.
    Four times the spoon with oil of Lucca crown,
    And twice with vinegar procured from town;
    True flavor needs it, and your poet begs
    The pounded yellow of two boiled eggs;
    Let onion's atoms lurk within the bowl,
    And, scarce suspected, animate the whole;
    And, lastly, in the flavored compound toss
    A magic spoonful of anchovy sauce.
    O great and glorious! O herbaceous treat!
    'Twould tempt the dying anchorite to eat,
    Back to the world he'd turn his weary soul,
    And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl.
                    REV. SIDNEY SMITH.

If the herbs be young, fresh-gathered, trimmed neatly, and drained dry
and the sauce-maker ponders patiently over the above directions, he
cannot fail of obtaining the fame of being a very accomplished


    The things we eat, by various juice control
    The narrowness or largeness of our soul.
    _Onions_ will make e'en heirs or widows weep;
    The tender lettuce brings on softer sleep.

Peel a pint of button onions, and put them in water till you want to put
them on to boil; put them into a stewpan, with a quart of cold water;
let them boil till tender; they will take (according to their size and
age) from half an hour to an hour.


    Whose appetites would soon devour
    Each cabbage, _artichoke_, and flower.

Soak them in cold water, wash them well, then put them into plenty of
boiling water, with a handful of salt, and let them boil gently till
tender, which will take an hour and a half or two hours. The surest way
to know when they are done enough is to draw out a leaf. Trim them and
drain them on a sieve, and send up melted butter with them, which some
put into small cups, so that each guest may have one.


    Now fragrant with the _bean's_ perfume,
    Now purpled with the pulse's bloom,
    Might well with bright allusions store me;
    But happier bards have been before me.

These are generally considered the finest of all beans, and should be
gathered young. Shell them, lay them in a pan of cold water, and then
boil them about two hours, or till they are quite soft; drain them well,
and add to them some butter. They are destroyed by the first frost, but
can be kept during the winter by gathering them on a dry day, when full
grown, but not the least hard, and putting them in their pods into a
keg. Throw some salt into the bottom of the keg, and cover it with a
layer of bean pods, then add more salt, and then another layer of beans
in their pods, till the keg is full. Press them down with a heavy
weight, cover the keg closely, and keep it in a cool, dry place. Before
you use them, soak the pods all night in cold water, the next day shell
them, and soak the beans till you are ready to boil them.


    Leeks to the Welsh, to Dutchmen butter's dear;
    Of Irish swains, _potatoes_ is the cheer.

Wash them, but do not pare or cut them, unless they are very large. Fill
a saucepan half full of potatoes of equal size (or make them so by
dividing the larger ones), put to them as much cold water as will cover
them about an inch; they are sooner boiled, and more savory than when
drowned in water. Most boiled things are spoiled by having too little
water; but potatoes are often spoiled by having too much; they must be
merely covered, and a little allowed for waste in boiling, so that they
may be just covered at the finish. Set them on a moderate fire till they
boil; then take them off, and put them by the side of the fire to simmer
slowly till they are soft enough to admit a fork. Place no dependence on
the usual test of their skins cracking, which, if they are boiled fast,
will happen to some potatoes when they are not half done, and the
insides quite hard. Then pour the water off--(if you let the potatoes
remain in the water a moment after they are done enough, they will
become waxy and watery),--uncover the saucepan, and set it at such a
distance from the fire as will secure it from burning; their superfluous
moisture will evaporate, and the potatoes will be perfectly dry and

You may afterwards place a napkin, folded up to the size of the
saucepan's diameter, over the potatoes, to keep them hot and mealy till

This method of managing potatoes is in every respect equal to steaming
them, and they are dressed in half the time.

There is such an infinite variety of sorts and sizes of potatoes, it is
impossible to say how long they will take doing: the best way is to try
them with a fork. Moderate sized potatoes will generally be done enough
in fifteen or twenty minutes.


    Your infant _peas_ to asparagus prefer;
    Which to the supper you may best defer.

Young green peas, well dressed, are among the most delicious delicacies
of the vegetable kingdom. They must be young. It is equally
indispensable that they be fresh gathered, and cooked as soon as they
are shelled, for they soon lose both their color and sweetness. After
being shelled, wash them, drain them in a cullender, put them on, in
plenty of boiling water, with a teaspoonful of salt; boil them till they
become tender, which, if young, will be less than half an hour; if old,
they will require more than an hour. Drain them in a cullender, and put
them into a dish, with a slice of fresh butter in it. Some people think
it an improvement to boil a small bunch of mint with the peas; it is
then minced finely, and laid in small heaps at the end or sides of the
dish. If peas are allowed to stand in the water, after being boiled,
they lose their color.


                Every week dispense
    English beans or _Carolinian rice_.

Wash the rice perfectly clean; put on one pound in two quarts of cold
water; let it boil twenty minutes; strain it through a sieve, and put it
before the fire; shake it up with a fork every now and then, to separate
the grains, and make it quite dry. Serve it hot.


    On _turnips_ feast whene'er you please,
    And riot in my beans and peas.

Wash, peel, and boil them till tender, in water with a little salt;
serve them with melted butter. Or they may be stewed in a pint of milk,
thickened with a bit of butter rolled in flour, and seasoned with salt
and pepper, and served with the sauce.


    Much meat doth Gluttony procure,
      To feed men fat as swine;
    But he's a frugal man, indeed,
      That on _the leaf_ can dine.

Pick it very carefully, and wash it thoroughly two or three times; then
put it on in boiling water with a little salt; let it boil nearly twenty
minutes. Put it into a cullender; hold it under the watercock, and let
the water run on it for a minute. Put it into a saucepan; beat it
perfectly smooth with a wooden spoon; add a bit of butter, and three
tablespoonfuls of cream. Mix it well together, and make it hot before


    At early morn, I to the market haste,
    (Studious in everything to please thy taste);
    A curious fowl and _'sparagus_ I chose,
    (For I remembered you were fond of those).

Boil asparagus in salt and water till it is tender at the stalk, which
will be in twenty or thirty minutes. Great care must be taken to watch
the exact time of its becoming tender. Toast some bread; dip it lightly
in the liquor the asparagus was boiled in, and lay it in the middle of
the dish; melt some butter; lay the asparagus upon the toast, which must
project beyond the asparagus, that the company may see that there is


    And when his juicy salads fail'd,
    Slic'd _carrots_ pleased him well.

Let them be well washed and brushed, not scraped. If young spring
carrots, an hour is enough. When done, rub off the peels with a clean
coarse cloth, and slice them in two or four, according to their size.
The best way to try if they are boiled enough, is to pierce them with a


    With carrots red, and turnips white,
    And _leeks_, Cadwallader's delight,
    And all the savory crop that vie
    To please the palate and the eye.

Leeks are most generally used for soups, ragouts, and other made dishes.
They are very rarely brought to table; in which case dress them as
follows. Put them in the stock pot till about three parts done; then
take them out, drain and soak them in vinegar seasoned with pepper,
salt, and cloves; drain them again, stuff their hearts with a farce, dip
them in butter, and fry them.


    _Herbs_ too she knew, and well of each could speak
      That in her garden sipp'd the silvery dew,
    Where no vain flower disclosed a gaudy streak,
      But herbs, for use and physic, not a few
    Of gray renown, within those borders grew,--
      The _tufted basil_, _pun-provoking thyme_,
    Fresh _balm_, and _marigold_ of cheerful hue,
      The _lowly gill_, that never dares to climb,
    And more I fain would sing, disdaining here to rhyme.

It is very important to know when the various seasons commence for
picking sweet and savory herbs for drying. Care should be taken that
they are gathered on a dry day, by which means they will have a better
color when dried. Cleanse them well from dirt and dust, cut off the
roots, separate the bunches into smaller ones, and dry them by the heat
of the stove, or in a Dutch oven before a common fire, in such
quantities at a time, that the process may be speedily finished, _i. e._
"Kill 'em quick," says a great botanist; by this means their flavor will
be best preserved. There can be no doubt of the propriety of drying,
&c., hastily by the aid of artificial heat, rather than by the heat of
the sun. In the application of artificial heat, the only caution
requisite is to avoid burning; and of this a sufficient test is afforded
by the preservation of the color. The best method to preserve the flavor
of aromatic plants is to pick off the leaves as soon as they are dried,
and to pound them, and put them through a hair sieve, and keep them in
well-stopped bottles labelled.



    What lord of old would bid his cook prepare
    _Mangoes_, potargo, champignons, caviare!

There is a particular sort of melon for this purpose. Cut a square small
piece out of one side, and through that take out the seeds, mix with
them mustard seeds and shred garlic, stuff the melon as full as the
space will allow, and replace the square piece. Bind it up with small
new pack-thread. Boil a good quantity of vinegar, to allow for wasting,
with peppers, salt, ginger, and pour it boiling over the mangoes, four
successive days; the last day put flour of mustard and scraped
horseradish into the vinegar just as it boils up. Observe that there is
plenty of vinegar. All pickles are spoiled, if not well covered.


    Lives in a cell, and eats from week to week
    A meal of _pickled cabbage_ and ox cheek.

Choose two middling-sized, well-colored and firm red cabbages, shred
them very finely, first pulling off the outside leaves; mix with them
nearly half a pound of salt; tie it up in a thin cloth, and let it hang
for twelve hours; then put it into small jars, and pour over it cold
vinegar that has been boiled with a few barberries in it. Boil in a
quart of vinegar, three bits of ginger, half an ounce of pepper, and a
quarter of an ounce of cloves. When cold, pour it over the red cabbage.
Tie the jar closely with bladder.



    'Mongst salts essential, _sugar_ wins the palm,
    For taste, for color, and for various use.
    O'er all thy works let cleanliness preside,
    Child of frugality; and as the scum
    Thick mantles o'er the boiling wave, do thou
    The scum that mantles carefully remove.

                            Whereof little
    More than a little is by much too much.

To every three pounds of loaf sugar, allow the beaten white of an egg
and a pint and a half of water; break the sugar small, put it into a
nicely cleaned brass pan, pour the water over it; let it stand some time
before it be put upon the fire, then add the beaten white of the egg;
stir it till the sugar be entirely dissolved; when it boils up, pour in
a quarter of a pint of cold water, let it boil up a second time, take it
off the fire, let it settle for fifteen minutes, carefully take off all
the scum, let it boil again till sufficiently thick; in order to
ascertain which, drop a little from a spoon into a jar of cold water,
and if it become quite hard, it is sufficiently done, and the fruit to
be preserved must instantly be put in and boiled.


    He snuffs far off the anticipated joy,
    _Jelly_ and ven'son all his thoughts employ.

Currant, grape, and raspberry jelly are all made precisely in the same
manner. When the fruit is full ripe, gather it on a dry day. As soon as
it is nicely picked, put it into a jar, and cover it down very close.
Set the jar in a saucepan, about three parts filled with cold water; put
it on a gentle fire, and let it simmer for about half an hour. Take the
pan from the fire, and pour the contents of the jar into a jelly-bag,
pass the juice through a second time; do not squeeze the bag. To each
pint of juice, add a pound and a half of very good lump sugar pounded,
when it is put into a preserving pan; set it on the fire, and boil it
gently, stirring and skimming it the whole time (about thirty or forty
minutes), _i. e._ till no more scum rises, and it is perfectly clear and
fine; pour it warm into pots, and when cold, cover them with paper
wetted in brandy.

Half a pint of this jelly dissolved in a pint of brandy or vinegar will
give you an excellent currant or raspberry brandy or vinegar.

_Obs._ Jellies from the fruits are made in the same way, and cannot be
preserved in perfection without plenty of good sugar. The best way is
the cheapest.


    The board was spread with fruits and wine;
    With grapes of gold, like those that shine
      On Caslin's hills; pomegranates, full
    Of melting sweetness, and the pears
      And sunniest _apples_ that Cabul
    In all its thousand gardens bears.

Pare and mince three dozen juicy, acid apples; put them into a pan;
cover them with water, and boil them till very soft; strain them through
a thin cloth or flannel bag; allow a pound of loaf sugar to a pint of
juice, with the grated peel and juice of six lemons. Boil it for twenty
minutes; take off the scum as it rises.


    With rich conserve of _Visna cherries_,
    Of orange flower, and of those berries

Take the stones and stalks from two pounds of clear, fine, ripe
cherries; mix them with a quarter of a pound of red currants, from which
the seeds have been extracted; express the juice from these fruits;
filter, and mix it with three quarters of a pound of clarified sugar,
and one ounce of isinglass. Replace the vessel on the fire with the
juice, and add to it a pound and a half of sugar, boiled _à conserve_.
Boil together a few times, and then pour the conserve into cases.


    Nature hates vacuums, as you know,
    We, therefore, will descend below,
    And fill, with dainties nice and light,
    The vacuum in your appetite.
    Besides, good wine and dainty fare
    Are sometimes known to lighten care;
    Nay, man is often brisk or dull,
    As the keen stomach's void or full.

To four feet add four quarts of water; let them boil on a slow fire till
the flesh is parted from the bones, and the quantity reduced to half;
strain it carefully, and the next morning remove the feet and sediment.
Add the rind of two lemons, the juice of five lemons, one and a half
pounds of white sugar, a stick of cinnamon, a little nutmeg, a pint of
sherry wine, half a teacupful of brandy; beat the white of ten eggs to a
froth, and put them into the pan with their shells; let it boil ten
minutes, when throw in a teacupful of cold water. Strain it through a
flannel bag, first dipped into boiling water.


    And the _sun's child_, the _mail'd anana_, yields
    His _regal apple_ to the ravish'd taste.

Pare your pineapple; cut it in small pieces, and leave out the core. Mix
the pineapple with half a pound of powdered white sugar, and set it away
in a covered dish till sufficient juice is drawn out to stew the fruit

Stew the pineapple in the sugar and juice till quite soft, then mash it
to a marmalade with the back of a spoon, and set it away to cool; pour
it in tumblers, cover them with paper, gum-arabicked on.



    Though many, I own, are the evils they've brought us,
      Though R**al*y's here on her very last legs;
    Yet who can help loving the land that has taught us
      Six hundred and eighty-five ways to dress _eggs_!

Take as many eggs as you think proper; break them into a pan, with some
salt and chopped parsley; beat them well, and season them according to
taste. Have ready some onion, chopped small; put some butter into a
fryingpan, and when it is hot, put in your chopped onion, giving them
two or three turns; then add your eggs to it, and fry the whole of a
nice brown. You must only fry one side; serve the fried side uppermost.


    But, after all, what would you have me do,
    When, out of twenty, I can please not two?
    One likes the pheasant's wing, and one the leg;
    The vulgar boil, the learned _poach an egg_;
    Hard task to hit the palate of such guests,
    When Oldfield loves what Dartineuf detests.

The cook who wishes to display her skill in poaching, must endeavor to
procure eggs that have been laid a couple of days; those that are new
laid are so milky, that, take all the care you can, your cooking of them
will seldom procure you the praise of being a prime poacher. You must
have fresh eggs, or it is equally impossible. The beauty of a poached
egg is for the yolk to be seen blushing through the white, which should
only be just sufficiently hardened to form a transparent veil for the
egg. Have some boiling water in a teakettle; pass as much of it through
a clean cloth as will half fill a stewpan; break the egg into a cup, and
when the water boils remove the stewpan from the stove, and gently slip
the egg into it; it must stand till the white is set; then put it on a
very moderate fire, and as soon as the water boils, the egg is ready.
Take it up with a slicer, and neatly place it on a piece of toast.


    On holydays, an _egg or two_ at most;
    But her ambition never reached to roast.

The fresher laid the better. Put them into boiling water; if you like
the white just set, about two minutes' boiling is enough. A new-laid egg
will take a little more. If you wish the yolk to be set, it will take
three, and to boil it hard for a salad, ten minutes. A new-laid egg
will require longer boiling than a stale one by half a minute.


    Go work, hunt, exercise (he thus begun),
    Then scorn a homely dinner if you can;
    _Fried eggs_, and herbs, and olives, still we see:
    This much is left of old simplicity.

Eggs boiled hard, cut into slices, and fried, may be served as a second
course dish, to eat with roast chicken.


    Never go to France,
      Unless you know the lingo;
    If you do, like me,
      You'll repent, by jingo.
    Starving like a fool,
      And silent as a mummy,
    There I stood alone,
      A nation with a dummy.

    Signs I had to make
      For every little notion;
    Limbs all going like
      A telegraph in motion;
    If I wanted _bread_,
      My jaws I set a-going,
    And asked for _new laid eggs_
      By clapping hands and crowing.

Put half a handful of breadcrumbs into a saucepan, with a small
quantity of cream, sugar, and nutmeg, and let it stand till the bread
has imbibed all the cream; then break ten eggs into it, and having
beaten them up together, fry it like an omelet.


    "Where is my favorite dish?" he cried;
    "Let some one place it by my side!"

Beat up the yolks of eight eggs, and the whites of four (set aside the
remaining whites), with a spoonful of water, some salt, sugar, and the
juice of a lemon; fry this, and then put it on a dish. Whip the four
whites which were set aside to a froth with sugar, and place it over the
fried eggs; bake it for a few minutes.



                            The _puffs_ made me light,
    And now that's all over, I'm pretty well, thank you.

Weigh an equal quantity of flour and butter, rub rather more than half
the flour into one-third of the butter; add as much cold water as will
make it into a stiff paste; work it until the butter be completely mixed
with the flour, make it round, beat it with the rolling-pin, dust it, as
also the rolling-pin with flour, and roll it out towards the opposite
side of the slab, or paste-board, making it of an equal thickness, then
with the point of a knife, put little bits of butter all over it, dust
flour over it and under it, fold in all the sides, and roll it up, dust
it again with flour, beat it a little, and roll out, always rubbing the
rolling-pin with flour, and throwing some underneath the paste to
prevent its sticking to the board.

It should be touched as little as possible with the hands.


    You that from pliant _paste_ would fabrics raise,
    Expecting thence to gain immortal praise,
    Your knuckles try, and let your sinews know
    Their power to knead, and give the form to dough;
    From thence of course the figure will arise,
    And elegance adorn the surface of your pies.

Make a rich puff paste, roll it out a quarter of an inch thick, cut it
into five or seven pieces with scalloped tin cutters, which go one
within another; leave the bottom and top piece entire, and cut a bit out
of the centre of the others. Place them upon buttered baking tins, and
bake them of a light brown. Build them into a pyramid, laying a
different preserved fruit upon each piece of paste, and on the top a
whole apricot with a sprig of myrtle stuck in it.


    Unless some _sweetness_ at the bottom lie,
    Who cares for all the crinkling of the pie!

Fruit pies for family use are generally made with common paste. Allow
three quarters of a pound of butter to a pound and a half of flour.
Peaches and plums for pies should be cut in half, and the stones taken
out. Cherries also should be stoned, and red cherries only should be
used for pies. Apples should be cut into very thin slices, and are much
improved by a little lemon-peel. Apples stewed previous to baking,
should not be done till they break, but only till they are tender. They
should then be drained in a cullender, and chopped fine with a knife or
edge of a spoon. In making pies of juicy fruit, it is a good way to set
a small teacup on the bottom crust, and lay the fruit round it. The
juice will collect under the cup, and not run out at the edges or top of
the pie. The fruit should be mixed with a sufficient quantity of sugar,
and piled up in the middle, so as to make the pie highest in the centre.

The upper crust should be pricked with a fork. The edges should be
nicely crimped with a knife. If stewed fruit is put in warm, it will
make the paste heavy. If your pies are made in the form of shells, the
fruit should always be stewed first, or it will not be sufficiently
done, as the shells (which should be made of puff paste) must not bake
so long as covered pies.

Fruit pies with lids should have loaf sugar grated over them.


    When Terence spoke, oraculous and sly,
    He'd neither grant the question nor deny,
    Pleading for tarts, his thoughts were on _mince pie_.

    My poor endeavors view with gracious eye,
    To make these lines above a _Christmas pie_.

Two pounds of boiled beef's heart or fresh tongue, or lean fresh beef
chopped, when cold; two pounds of beef suet chopped fine, four pounds of
pippin apples chopped, two pounds of raisins stoned and chopped, two
pounds of currants picked, washed, and dried, two pounds of powdered
sugar, one quart of white wine, one quart of brandy, one wine-glass of
rose-water, two grated nutmegs, half an ounce of cinnamon, powdered, a
quarter of an ounce of mace, powdered, a teaspoonful of salt, two large
oranges, and half a pound of citron cut in slips. Pack it closely into
stone jars, and tie them over with paper. When it is to be used, add a
little more wine.


    All you who to feasting and mirth are inclined,
    Come, here is good news for to pleasure your mind.
    Old Christmas is come, for to keep open house:
    He scorns to be guilty of starving a mouse.
    Then come, boys, and welcome, for diet the chief,--
    _Plum pudding_, goose, capon, minced pies, and roast beef.
    The cooks shall be busied, by day and by night,
    In roasting and _boiling_, for taste and delight.
    Provision is making for beer, ale, and wine,
    For all that are willing or ready to dine.
    Meantime goes the caterer to fetch in _the chief_,--
    _Plum pudding_, goose, capon, minced pies, and roast beef.
                    ANCIENT CHRISTMAS CAROL.

One quarter of a pound of beef suet; take out the strings and skin; chop
it to appear like butter; stone one pound of raisins, one pound of
currants, well washed, dried, and floured, one pound loaf sugar, rolled
and sifted, one pound of flour, eight eggs well beaten; beat all well
together for some time, then add by degrees two glasses of brandy, one
wine, one rose-water, citron, nutmeg, and cinnamon; beat it all
extremely well together, tie it in a floured cloth very tight, let it
boil four hours constantly; let your sauce be a quarter pound of butter,
beat to a cream, a quarter pound loaf sugar pounded and sifted; beat in
the butter with a little wine and sugar and nutmeg.


    Whatever was the _best pie_ going,
    In _that_ Ned--trust him--had his finger.

Take the thin brown skin off of a quarter pound of cocoa, wash it in
cold water, and wipe it dry; grate it fine, stir three and half ounces
of butter and a quarter pound of powdered sugar, to a cream; add half
teaspoonful of rose-water, half glass of wine and of brandy mixed, to
them. Beat the white of six eggs till they stand alone, and then stir
them into the butter and sugar; afterwards sprinkle in the grated nut,
and stir hard all the time. Put puff paste into the bottom of the dish,
pour in the mixture, and bake it in a moderate oven, half an hour. Grate
loaf sugar over it when cold.


    Where London's column, pointing to the skies,
    Like a tall bully, lifts the head and lies,
    There dwelt a citizen of sober fame,
    A plain, good man, and Balaam was his name;
    Religious, punctual, frugal, and so forth,
    His word would pass for more than he was worth;
    One solid dish his week-day meal affords,
    And _apple pudding_ solemnized the Lord's.

Make a batter of two eggs, a pint of milk and three or four spoonfuls
of flour; pour it into a deep dish, and having pared six or eight
apples, place them whole in the batter, and bake them.


    But man, more fickle, the bold license claims,
    In different realms, to give thee different names.
    _Thee_, the soft nations round the warm Levant
    Polanta call; the French, of course, Polante.
    E'en in thy native regions, how I blush
    To hear the Pennsylvanians call thee _mush_!
    All spurious appellations, void of truth;
    I've better known thee from my earliest youth:
    Thy name is _Hasty Pudding_! Thus our sires
    Were wont to greet thee from the fuming fires;
    And while they argued in thy just defence,
    With logic clear, they thus explained the sense:
    "In _haste_ the boiling caldron, o'er the blaze,
    Receives and cooks the ready-powdered maize;
    In haste 'tis served, and then in equal _haste_,
    With cooling milk, we make the sweet repast.
    No carving to be done, no knife to grate
    The tender ear, and wound the stony plate;
    But the smooth spoon, just fitted to the lip,
    And taught with art the yielding mass to dip,
    By frequent journeys to the bowl well stored,
    Performs the _hasty_ honors of the board."
    Such is thy name, significant and clear,--
    A name, a sound, to every Yankee dear;
    But most to me, whose heart and palate chaste
    Preserve my pure, hereditary taste.


                      The strong table groans
    Beneath the smoking sirloin, stretch'd immense
    From side to side; in which with desperate knife
    They deep incisions make, and talk the while
    Of England's glory, ne'er to be defaced
    While hence they borrow vigor; or amain
    Into the _pudding_ plunged at intervals,
    If stomach keen can intervals allow,
    Relating all the glories of the chase.

This pudding is especially an excellent accompaniment to a sirloin of
beef. Six tablespoonfuls of flour, three eggs, a teaspoonful of salt,
and a pint of milk, make a middling stiff batter; beat it up well; take
care it is not lumpy. Put a dish under the meat; let the drippings drop
into it, till it is quite hot and well greased; then pour in the batter.
When the upper surface is browned and set, turn it, that both sides may
be brown alike. A pudding an inch thick will take two hours. Serve it
under the roast beef, that the juice of the beef may enter it. It is
very fine.


    Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks;
    He takes his chirping, and cracks his jokes.
    Live like yourself, was soon my lady's word;
    And lo! _suet pudding_ was seen upon the board.

Suet, a quarter of a pound; flour, three tablespoonfuls; eggs two, and a
little grated ginger; milk, half a pint. Mince the suet as fine as
possible; roll it with the rolling-pin, so as to mix it well with the
flour; beat up the eggs, mix them with the milk, and then mix them all
together; wet your cloth well in boiling water, and boil it an hour and
a quarter. Mrs. Glasse has it: "When you have made your water boil, then
put your pudding into your pot."


    Of oats decorticated take two pounds,
    And of new milk enough the same to drown;
    Of raisins of the sun, stoned, ounces eight;
    Of currants, cleanly picked, an equal weight;
    Of suet, finely sliced, an ounce at least;
    And six eggs, newly taken from the nest:
    Season this mixture well with salt and spice;
    'Twill make a pudding far exceeding rice;
    And you may safely feed on it like farmers,
    For the recipe is learned Dr. Harmer's.


    If you want a good pudding, mind what you are taught:
    Take eggs, six in number, when bought for a groat;
    The fruit with which Eve her husband did cozen,
    Well pared and well chopped, take at least half a dozen;
    Six ounces of bread--let the cook eat the crust--
    And crumble the soft as fine as the dust;
    Six ounces of currants from the stalks you must sort,
    Lest they husk out your teeth, and spoil all the sport;
    Six ounces of sugar won't make it too sweet,
    And some salt and some nutmeg will make it complete.
    Three hours let it boil, without any flutter,
    And Adam won't like it without sugar and butter.


    _Charlotte_, from rennet apples first did frame
    _A pie_, which still retains her name.
    Though common grown, yet with white sugar stewed,
    And butter'd right, its goodness is allowed.

Pare, core, and mince fifteen French rennet apples; put them into a
frying-pan with some powdered loaf sugar, a little pounded cinnamon,
grated lemon-peel, and two ounces and a half of fresh butter; fry them a
quarter of an hour over a quick fire, stirring them constantly. Butter
the shape the size the Charlotte is intended to be; cut strips of bread
long enough to reach from the bottom to the rim of the shape, so that
the whole be lined with bread; dip each bit into melted butter, and put
a layer of fried apples, and one of apricot jam or marmalade, and then
one of bread dipped into butter; begin and finish with it. Bake it in an
oven for an hour. Turn it out to serve.


    A frugal man, upon the whole,
    Yet loved his friend, and had a soul;
    Knew what was handsome, and would do't
    On just occasion, coûte qui coûte.
    He brought him bacon (nothing lean);
    _Pudding_, that might have pleased a dean;
    Cheese, such as men of Suffolk make,
    But wished it Stilton for his sake.

Take six ounces of flour, a little salt, and three eggs; beat it well
with a little milk, added by degrees, till the batter becomes smooth;
make it the thickness of cream; put it into a buttered and floured bag;
tie it tightly; boil one and a half hour, or two hours. Serve with wine


    By the rivulet, on the rushes,
    Beneath a canopy of bushes,
    Colin Blount and Yorkshire Tray
    Taste the _dumplings_ and the whey.

Pare and scoop out the core of six large baking apples; put part of a
clove and a little grated lemon-peel inside of each, and enclose them in
pieces of puff paste; boil them in nets for the purpose, or bits of
linen, for an hour. Before serving, cut off a small bit from the top of
each, and put a teaspoonful of sugar and a bit of fresh butter; replace
the bit of paste, and strew over them pounded loaf sugar.


    If chronicles may be believed,
    So loved the pamper'd gallant lived,
    That with the nuns he always dined
    On rarities of every kind;
    Then hoards, occasionally varied,
    Of biscuits, _sweetmeats_, nuts, and fruits.

Cut small any sort of candied fruit, and heat it with a bit of fresh
butter, some good milk, and a little grated lemon-peel; when quite hot,
stir in enough of flour to make it into a stiff paste; take it off the
fire, and work in eight or ten eggs, two at a time. When cold, form the
fritters, fry, and serve them with pounded loaf sugar strewed over them.


    Methinks I scent some _rich repast_:
    The savor strengthens with the blast.

Take a dozen apricots, or any other fruit preserved in brandy; drain
them in half; then wrap them in wafers, cut round, and previously
moistened. Make the batter by putting a glass and a half of water, a
grain of salt, and two ounces of fresh butter, into a saucepan. When it
boils, stir in sufficient quantity of flour to make it rather a firm
batter; keep it stirring three minutes; then pour it into another
vessel: dip the fruit in this batter, and fry them; sprinkle them with
sugar, then serve.



    After dreaming some hours of the land of Cocaigne,
      That Elysium of all that is friand and nice,
    Where for hail they have bonbons, and claret for rain,
      And the skaters in winter show off on _cream ice_.

    Here _ice, like crystal firm_, and never lost,
    Tempers hot July with December's frost.

Put a quart of rich cream into a broad pan; then stir in half a pound of
powdered loaf sugar by degrees, and when all is well mixed, strain it
through a sieve. Put it into a tin that has a close cover, and set it in
a tub. Fill the tub with ice broken into small pieces, and strew among
the ice a large quantity of salt, taking care that none of the salt gets
into the cream. Scrape the cream down with a spoon as it freezes round
the edges of the tin. While the cream is freezing, stir in gradually the
juice of two large lemons or the juice of a pint of mashed strawberries
or raspberries. When it is all frozen, dip the tin in lukewarm water;
take out the cream, and fill your glasses, but not till a few minutes
before you want to use it, as it will melt very soon.

If you wish to have it in moulds, put the cream into them as soon as it
is frozen in the tin.

Set the moulds in a tub of ice and salt. Just before you want to use the
cream, take the moulds out of the tub, wipe or wash the salt carefully
from the outside, dip the moulds into lukewarm water, and turn out the
cream. You may flavor a quart of ice cream with two ounces of sweet
almonds, and one ounce of bitter almonds, blanched, and beaten in a
mortar with a little rose-water to a smooth paste.

Stir in the almond gradually, while the cream is freezing.


    Pudding our parson eats, the squire loves hare,
    But _whipped cream_ is my Buxoma's fare,
    While she loves _whipped cream_, capon ne'er shall be,
    Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me.

Sweeten with pounded loaf sugar a quart of cream, and to it a lump of
sugar which has been rubbed upon the peel of two fine lemons or little
oranges; or flavor it with orange flower water, a little essence of
roses, the juice of strawberries, or any other fruit. Whisk the cream
well in a large pan, and as the froth rises, take it off, and lay it on
a sieve placed over another pan, and return the cream which drains from
the froth till all is whisked; then heap it upon a dish, or put it into


    And _boiled custard_, take its merit in brief,
    Makes a noble dessert, where the dinner's roast beef.

Boil a pint of milk with lemon-peel and cinnamon; mix a pint of cream,
and the yolks of five eggs well beaten; when the milk tastes of the
seasoning, sweeten enough for the whole; pour it into the cream,
stirring it well; then give the custard a simmer till of a proper
thickness. Do not let it boil; stir the whole time one way; then season
with a large spoonful of peach-water, and two teaspoonfuls of brandy or
a little ratafia. If you wish your custards extremely rich, put no milk,
but a quart of cream.


    With _orange custards_ and the juicy pine,
    On choicest melons and sweet grapes they dine.

Sweeten the strained juice of ten oranges with pounded loaf sugar, stir
it over the fire till hot, take off the scum, and when nearly cold, add
to it the beaten yolks of twelve eggs and a pint of cream; put it into
a saucepan, and stir it over a slow fire till it thickens. Serve it in


    But nicer cates, her dainty's boasted fare,
    The _jellied cream_ or custards, daintiest food,
    Or cheesecake, or the cooling syllabub,
    For Thyrses she prepares.

Whisk for one hour the whites of two eggs, together with two
tablespoonfuls of raspberry or red currant syrup or jelly; lay it in any
form of a custard or cream, piled up to imitate rock. It may be served
in a cream round it.


            And from _sweet kernels_ pressed,
    She tempers _dulcet creams_.

Blanch and pound to a paste, with rose-water, six ounces of almonds; mix
them with a pint and a half of cream which has been boiled with the peel
of a small lemon; add two well-beaten eggs, and stir the whole over the
fire till it be thick, taking care not to allow it to boil; sweeten it,
and when nearly cold, stir in a tablespoonful of orange-flower or



    Not with the leaven, as of old,
    Of sin and malice fed,
    But with unfeigned sincerity.

One dozen of potatoes, two cupfuls of hops; put them together in a bag,
and place them in a pot with two quarts of water; let it boil till the
potatoes are done; a cupful of salt, a ladle of flour; then pour the
boiling water over it, then let it stand till lukewarm; add a cupful of
old yeast, cover it up, and put near the fire till it foments.


    His diet was of _wheaten bread_.

    Mixt with the rustic throng, see ruddy maids,
    Some taught with dextrous hand to twirl the wheel,
                                      Some expert
    To raise from _leavened wheat the kneaded loaf_.

    Her _bread_ is deemed such dainty fare,
    That ev'ry prudent traveller
    His wallet loads with many a crust.

              Like the _loaf_ in the Tub's pleasant tale,
    That was fish, flesh, and custard, good claret and ale,
    It comprised every flavor, was all and was each,
    Was grape and was pineapple, nectarine and peach.

Mix with six pounds of sifted flour one ounce of salt, nearly half a
pint of fresh sweet yeast as it comes from the brewery, and a sufficient
quantity of warmed milk to make the whole into a stiff dough, work and
knead it well on a board, on which a little flour has been strewed, for
fifteen or twenty minutes, then put it into a deep pan, cover it with a
warmed towel, set it before the fire, and let it rise for an hour and a
half or perhaps two hours; cut off a piece of this sponge or dough;
knead it well for eight or ten minutes, together with flour sufficient
to keep it from adhering to the board, put it into small tins, filling
them three quarters full; dent the rolls all around with a knife, and
let them stand a few minutes before putting them in the oven.

The remainder of the dough must then be worked up for loaves, and baked
either in or out of shape.


    Of wine she never tasted through the year,
    But white and black was all her homely cheer,
    _Brown bread_ and milk (but first she skimmed her bowls),
    And rasher of singed bacon on the coals.

Sift two quarts of rye, and two quarts of Indian meal, and mix them well
together. Boil three pints of milk; pour it boiling upon the meal; add
two teaspoonfuls of salt, and stir the whole very hard. Let it stand
till it becomes of only a lukewarm heat, and then stir in half a pint of
good, fresh yeast; if from the brewery and quite fresh, a smaller
quantity will suffice. Knead the mixture into a stiff dough, and set it
to rise in a pan. Cover it with a thick cloth that has been previously
warmed, and set it near the fire. When it is quite light, and has
cracked all over the top, make it into two loaves; put them into a
moderate oven, and bake them two hours and a half.


                                  Vessels large
    And broad, by the sweet hand of neatness clean'd,
    Meanwhile, in decent order ranged appear,
    The milky treasure, strain'd thro' filtering lawn,
    Intended to receive. At early day,
    Sweet slumber shaken from her opening lids,
    My lovely Patty to her dairy hies;
    There, from the surface of expanded bowls
    She skims the floating cream, and to her churn
    Commits the rich consistence; nor disdains,
    Though soft her hand, though delicate her frame,
    To urge the rural toil, fond to obtain
    The country housewife's humble name and praise.
    Continued agitation separates soon
    The unctuous particles; with gentler strokes
    And artful, soon they coalesce; at length
    Cool water pouring from the limpid spring
    Into a smooth glazed vessel, deep and wide,
    She gathers the loose fragments to a heap,
    Which in the cleansing wave, well wrought and press'd,
    To one consistent golden mass, receives
    The sprinkled seasoning, and of pats or pounds
    The fair impression, the neat shape assumes.


                  Warm from the cow she pours
    The milky flood. An acid juice infused,
    From the dried stomach drawn of suckling calf,
    Coagulates the whole. Immediate now
    Her spreading hands bear down the gathering curd,
    Which hard and harder grows, till, clear and thin,
    The green whey rises separate.

Warm three half pints of cream with one half pint of milk, and put a
little rennet to it; keep it covered in a warm place till it is curdled;
have a proper mould with holes, either of china or any other; put the
curds into it to drain, about one hour or less. Serve it with a good
plain cream, and pounded sugar over it.



    Do, dear James, mix up the cakes:
    Just one quart of meal it takes;
    Pour the water on the pot,
    Be careful it is not too hot;
    Sift the meal well through your hand,
    Thicken well--don't let it stand;
    Stir it quick,--clash, clatter, clatter!
    O what light, delicious batter!
    Now listen to the next command:
    On the dresser let it stand
    Just three quarters of an hour,
    To feel the gently rising power
    Of powders, melted into yeast,
    To lighten well this precious feast.
    See, now it rises to the brim!
    Quick, take the ladle, dip it in;
    So let it rest, until the fire
    The griddle heats as you desire.
    Be careful that the coals are glowing,
    No smoke around its white curls throwing;
    Apply the suet, softly, lightly;
    The griddle's black face shines more brightly.
    Now pour the batter on; delicious!
    Don't, dear James, think me officious,
    But lift the tender edges lightly;
    Now turn it over quickly, sprightly.
    'Tis done! Now on the white plate lay it:
    Smoking hot, with butter spread,
    'Tis quite enough to turn our head!


    Some talk of hoecake, fair Virginia's pride!
    Rich _Johnny cake_ this mouth has often tried;
    Both please me well, their virtues much the same;
    Alike their fabric, as allied their fame.

A quart of sifted Indian meal, and a handful of wheat flour sifted; mix
them; three eggs, well beaten; two tablespoonfuls of fresh brewer's
yeast, or flour of home made yeast, a teaspoonful of salt, and a quart
of milk.


    Friend, I am a shrewd observer, and will guess
    What cakes you doat on for your favorite mess.

Take a pint of warm milk, and a quarter pint of thick small-beer yeast;
strain them into a pan, and add sufficient flour to make it like a
batter; cover it over, and let it stand in a warm place until it has
risen; then add a quarter of a pint of warm milk, and an ounce of butter
rubbed in some flour quite fine; mix them well together; add sufficient
flour to make it into a dough; cover it over. Let it stand half an hour;
work it up again; break it into small pieces, roll them up quite round,
and cover them over for a quarter of an hour, then bake them.


    With all her haughty looks, the time I've seen
    When the proud damsel has more humble been;
    When with nice airs she hoist the _pancake_ round,
    And dropt it, hapless fair! upon the ground.

To three tablespoonfuls of flour add six well-beaten eggs, three
tablespoonfuls of white wine, four ounces of melted butter nearly cold,
the same quantity of pounded loaf sugar, half a grated nutmeg, and a
pint of cream. Mix it well, beating the batter for some time, and pour
it thin over the pan.


                              First in place,
    _Plum-cake_ is seen o'er smaller pastry ware,
    And ice on that.

Pick two pounds of currants very clean, and wash them, draining them
through a cullender. Wipe them in a towel, spread them out in a large
dish, and set them near the fire or in the hot sun to dry, placing the
dish in a slanting position. Having stoned two pounds of best raisins,
cut them in half, and when all are done, sprinkle them well with sifted
flour, to prevent their sinking to the bottom of the cake. When the
currants are dry, sprinkle them also with flour.

Pound the spice, two tablespoonfuls of cinnamon, two nutmegs, powdered;
sift and mix the cinnamon and nutmeg together. Mix also a large glass of
wine and brandy, half a glass of rose-water in a tumbler or cup. Cut a
pound of citron in slips; sift a pound of flour in a broad dish, sift a
pound of powdered white sugar into a deep earthen pan, and cut a pound
of butter into it. Warm it near the fire, if the weather is too cold for
it to mix easily. Stir the butter and sugar to a cream; beat twelve
eggs as light as possible; stir them into the butter and sugar
alternately with the flour; stir very hard; add gradually the spice and
liquor. Stir the raisins and currants alternately in the mixture, taking
care that they are well floured. Stir the whole as hard as possible, for
ten minutes after the ingredients are in.

Cover the bottom and sides of a large tin or earthen pan with sheets of
white paper well buttered, and put into it some of the mixture. Then
spread some citron on it, which must not be cut too small; next put a
layer of the mixture, and then a layer of citron, and so on till all is
in, having a layer of mixture at the top.

This cake will require four or five hours baking, in proportion to its

Ice it next day.


    Must see Rheims, much famed, 'tis said,
    For making kings and _gingerbread_.

Five eggs, half pound of brown sugar, half pound fresh butter, a pint of
sugarhouse molasses, a pound and a half of flour, four tablespoonfuls of
ginger, two large sticks of cinnamon, three dozen grains of allspice,
three dozen of cloves, juice and grated peel of two lemons. Stir the
butter and sugar to a cream; beat the eggs very well; pour the molasses
at once into the butter and sugar. Add the ginger and other spice, and
stir all well together. Put in the eggs and flour alternately, stirring
all the time. Stir the whole very hard, and put in the lemon at the
last. When the whole is mixed, stir it till very light. Butter an
earthen pan, or a thick tin or iron one, and put the gingerbread in it.
Bake it in a moderate oven an hour or more, according to its thickness,
or you may bake it in small cakes or little tins.


    And here each season do _those cakes_ abide,
    Whose honored names the inventive city own,
    Rendering through Britain's isle Salopia's praises known.

Sift one pound of sugar, some pounded cinnamon and a nutmeg grated, into
three pounds of flour, the finest sort; add a little rose-water to three
eggs well beaten; mix these with the flour, &c.; then pour into it as
much butter melted as will make it a good thickness to roll out.

Stir it well, and roll thin; cut it into such shapes as you like. Bake
on tins.


    In vain the circled loaves attempt to lie
    Concealed in flaskets from my curious eye;
    In vain the cheeses, offspring of the pail,
    Or _honeyed cakes_, which gods themselves regale.

One pound and a half of dried sifted flour, three quarters of a pound of
honey, half a pound of finely powdered loaf sugar, a quarter of a pound
of citron, and half an ounce of orange-peel cut small, of powdered
ginger and cinnamon, three quarters of an ounce. Melt the sugar with the
honey, and mix in the other ingredients; roll out the paste, and cut it
into small cakes of any form.


    Though I've consulted Holinshed and Stow,
    I find it very difficult to know
    Who, to refresh the attendants to a grave,
    Burnt claret first or _Naples biscuit_ gave.

Put three quarters of a pound of fine flour to a pound of powdered
sugar; sift both together three times; then add six eggs beaten well,
and a spoonful of rose-water; when the oven is nearly hot, bake them.


    Whence oft with sugared cates she doth 'em greet,
    And _gingerbread_, if rare, now certes doubly sweet.

To three quarters of a pound of treacle, beat one egg strained; mix four
ounces of brown sugar, half an ounce of ginger sifted, of cloves, mace,
allspice, and nutmeg, a quarter of an ounce; beat all as fine as
possible; melt one pound of butter, and mix with the above: add as much
flour as will knead it into a pretty stiff paste; roll it out, and cut
it in cakes.


    On _cake_ luxuriously I dine,
    And drink the fragrance of the vine,
    Studious of elegance and ease,
    Myself alone I seek to please.

Take the juice and grated rind of a lemon, twelve eggs, twelve ounces of
finely pounded loaf sugar, the same of dried and sifted flour; then,
beat the yolks of ten eggs; add the sugar by degrees, and beat it till
it will stand when dropped from the spoon; put in at separate times the
two other eggs, yolks, and whites; whisk the ten whites for eight
minutes, and mix in the lemon-juice, and when quite stiff, take as much
as the whisk will lift, and put it upon the yolks and sugar, which must
be beaten all the time; mix in lightly all the flour and grated peel,
and pour it gradually over the whites; stir it together, and bake it in
a large buttered tin or small ones; do not more than half fill them.


    This happy hour elapsed and gone,
    The time of drinking tea comes on.
    The kettle filled, the water boiled,
    The cream provided, the _biscuits_ piled.
    And lamp prepared; I straight engage
    The Lilliputian equipage
    Of dishes, sauces, spoons, and tongs,
    And all the et ceteras which thereto belongs.

The weight of eight eggs in finely pounded loaf sugar, and of four in
dried flour; beat separately the whites and yolks; with the yolks beat
the sugar for half an hour; then add the whites and the flour, and a
little grated nutmeg, lemon-peel, or pounded cinnamon. Bake them as
French biscuits.


    Some bring a capon, some _Derby cake_,
    Some nuts, some apples, some that think they make
    The better cheesecakes, bring them.

Rub in with the hand one pound of butter into two pounds of sifted
flour; put one pound of currants, one pound of good moist sugar, and one
egg; mix all together with half pint of milk; roll it out thin, and cut
it into round cakes with a cutter; lay them on a clean baking plate, and
put them into a middling heated oven for about ten minutes.


    However, you shall home with me tonight,
    Forget your cares, and revel in delight;
    I have in store a pint or two of wine,
    Some _cracknels_, and the remnant of a chine.

Blanch half a pound of sweet almonds, and pound them to a fine paste,
adding to them by degrees six eggs, when thoroughly pounded; pour on
them a pound of powdered sugar, the same of butter, and the rinds of two
lemons grated; beat up these ingredients in the mortar; put a pound of
flour on a slab, and having poured the almond paste upon it, knead them
together till they are well incorporated; roll it out, and cut the
cracknels into such forms as you think proper; rub them with yolk of
egg, and strew over them powdered sugar or cinnamon; then lay them on a
buttered tin, and bake them in a moderate oven, taking great care they
do not burn.


    Treat here, ye shepherds blithe! your damsels sweet,
    For pies and _cheesecakes_ are for damsels meet.

Put two quarts of new milk into a stewpan; set it near the fire, and
stir in two tablespoonfuls of rennet; let it stand till it is set (this
will take about an hour); break it well with your hand, and let it
remain half an hour longer; then pour off the whey, and put the curd
into a cullender to drain; when quite dry, put it in a mortar, and pound
it quite smooth; then add four ounces of powdered sugar, and three
ounces of fresh butter; oil it first by putting it in a little potting
pot, and setting it near the fire; stir it all well together; beat the
yolks of four eggs in a basin with a little nutmeg grated, lemon-peel,
and a glass of brandy; add this to the curd, with two ounces of currants
washed and picked; stir it all well together; have your tins ready
lined with puff paste, about a quarter of an inch thick; notch them all
round the edge, and fill each with the curd.

Bake them twenty minutes.


    The bridal came; great the feast,
    And good the _bride cake_ and the priest.

Take four pounds of fresh butter, two pounds of loaf sugar, pounded and
sifted fine, a quarter of an ounce of mace and the same quantity of
nutmegs; to every pound of flour put eight eggs; wash and pick four
pounds of currants, and dry them before the fire; blanch a pound of
sweet almonds, and cut them lengthways very thin, a pound of citron, a
pound of candied orange, a pound of candied lemon, and half pint of
brandy; first work the butter to a cream; then beat in your sugar a
quarter of an hour; beat the white of your eggs to a very strong froth;
mix them with your sugar and butter; beat the yolks half an hour at
least, and mix them with your cake; then put in your flour, mace, and
nutmeg; keep beating it till your oven is ready; put in your brandy;
beat the currants and almonds lightly in; tie three sheets of paper
round the bottoms of your hoops, to keep it from running out; rub it
well with butter; put in your cake and the sweetmeats in three layers,
with cake between every layer; after it is risen and colored, cover it
with paper.

It takes three hours baking.


    "I never give a _kiss_," says Prue,
      "To naughty man, for I abhor it."
    She will not give a _kiss_, 'tis true,
      She'll take one, though, and thank you for it.
                    FROM THE FRENCH.

One pound of the best loaf sugar, powdered and sifted, the whites of
four eggs, twelve drops of essence of lemon, a teacup of currant jelly.
Beat the whites of four eggs till they stand alone. Then beat in
gradually the sugar, a teaspoonful at a time. Add the essence of lemon,
and beat the whole very hard. Lay a wet sheet of paper on the bottom of
a square tin pan. Drop on it at equal distances a small teaspoonful of
currant jelly. With a large spoon, pile some of the beaten white of eggs
and sugar on each lump of jelly, so as to cover it entirely. Drop on the
mixture as evenly as possible, so as to make the kisses of a round
smooth shape. Set them in a cool oven, and as soon as they are colored,
they are done. Then take them out, and place two bottoms together. Lay
them lightly on a sieve, and dry them in a cool oven, till the two
bottoms stick fast together, so as to form one oval or ball.


    Where _cakes_ luxuriant pile the spacious dish,
      And purple nectar glads the festive hour,
    The guest, without a want, without a wish,
      Can yield no room to music's soothing power.

Blanch a pound of sweet almonds; throw them into cold water for a few
minutes; lay them in a napkin to dry, and leave them for twenty-four
hours; at the end of that time, pound them, a handful at a time, adding
occasionally some white of egg, till the whole is reduced to a fine
paste; then take two pounds of the best lump sugar; pound and sift it;
then put it to the almonds with the grated rinds of two lemons; beat
these ingredients together in the mortar, adding, one at a time, as many
eggs as you find necessary to moisten the paste, which should be thin,
but not too much so, as in that case it would run; your paste being
ready, take out a little in a spoon, and lay the macaroons on sheets of
white paper, either round or oval, as you please; lay them at least an
inch apart, because they spread in baking, and, if put nearer, would

The whole of your paste being used, place the sheets of paper on tins in
a moderate oven for three quarters of an hour.

This kind of cake requires great care.


    Mountown! the Muses' most delicious theme,
    O, may thy codlins ever swim in cream!
    The rasp and strawberries in Bordeaux drown,
    To add a redder tincture to their own!
    Thy white wine, sugar, milk, together club,
    To make that gentle viand--_syllabub_!

    Not all thy plate, how formed soe'er it be,
    Can please my palate like a bowl of thee.

In a large china bowl put a pint of port and a pint of sherry, or other
white wine; sugar to taste. Milk the bowl full; in twenty minutes cover
it pretty high with clouted cream; grate over it nutmeg; put pounded
cinnamon and nonpareil comfits. It is very good without the nonpareil


    O, Peggy, Peggy! when thou goest to brew,
    Consider well what you're about to do;
    Be very wise, very sedately think
    That what you're now going to make is _drink_;
    Consider who must drink that drink, and then
    What 'tis to have the praise of _honest_ men;
    For surely, Peggy, while that drink does last,
    'Tis Peggy will be _toasted or disgraced_.
    Then if thy _ale_ in glass thou wouldst confine,
    To make its sparkling rays in beauty shine,
    Let thy clean bottle be entirely dry,
    Lest a white substance to the surface fly,
    And floating there disturb the curious eye;
    But this great maxim must be understood,
    "_Be sure, nay very sure, thy cork be good_."
    Then future ages shall of Peggy tell,
    That nymph that _brewed and bottled ale so well_!

Twelve bushels of malt to the hogshead for beer, eight for ale; for
either, pour the whole quantity of water, hot, but not boiling, on at
once, and let it infuse three hours, close covered; mash it in the first
half hour, and let it stand the remainder of the time. Run it on the
hops, previously infused in water; for beer, three quarters of a pound
to a bushel; if for ale, half a pound. Boil them with the wort, two
hours, from the time it begins to boil. Cool a pailful; then add three
quarts of yeast, which will prepare it for putting to the rest when
ready next day; but, if possible, put together the same night. Sun, as
usual. Cover the bunghole with paper, when the beer has done working;
and when it is to be stopped, have ready a pound and a half of hops,
dried before the fire; put them into the bunghole, and fasten it up.

Let it stand twelve months in casks, and twelve in bottles before it be
drank. It will keep, and be very fine, eight or ten years. It should be
brewed in the beginning of March. Great care must be taken that bottles
are perfectly prepared, and _the corks are of the best sort_.

The ale will be ready in three or four months, and if the vent-peg be
never removed, it will have spirit and strength to the last. Allow two
gallons of water, at first, for waste.

After the beer or ale is run from the grains, pour a hogshead and a half
for the twelve bushels; and a hogshead of water, if eight were brewed.
Mash, and let stand; and then boil, &c.


    'Tis said that the gods, on Olympus of old,
      (And who the bright legend profanes with a doubt!)
    One night, 'mid their revels, by Bacchus were told,
      That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out.

    But determined to send round the goblet once more,
      They sued to the fairer mortals for aid
    In composing a draught, which till drinking were o'er,
      Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade.

    Grave Ceres herself blithely yielded her corn,
      And the spirit that lives in each amber-hued grain,
    And which first had its birth from the dews of the morn,
      Was taught to steal out in bright dew-drops again.

    Pomona, whose choicest of fruits on the board
      Were scattered profusely, in every one's reach,
    When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard,
      Express'd the mild juice of the delicate peach.

    The liquids were mingled, while Venus looked on,
      With glances so fraught with sweet magical power,
    That the honey of Hybla, e'en when they were gone,
      Has never been missed in the draught from that hour.

    Flora then from her bosom of fragrancy shook,
      And with roseate fingers pressed down in the bowl,
    All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook,
      The _herb_ whose aroma should flavor the whole.

    The draught was delicious, each god did exclaim,
      Though something yet wanting they all did bewail;
    But _juleps_ the drink of immortals became,
      When Jove himself added a handful of hail.


    Four elements, joined in
      An emulous strife,
    Fashion the world, and
      Constitute life.

    From the sharp citron
      The starry juice pour;
    Acid to life is
      The innermost core.

    Now, let the sugar
      The bitter one meet;
    Still be life's bitter
      Tamed down with the sweet!

    Let the bright water
      Flow into the bowl;
    Water, the calm one,
      Embraces the whole.

    Drops from the spirit
      Pour quick'ning within,
    Life but its life from
      The spirit can win.

    Haste, while it gloweth,
      Your vessels to bring;
    The wave has but virtue
      Drunk hot from the spring.
                    TRANSLATED FROM SCHILLER.


  A la Braise, Beef, 37
  Artichokes, 75
  Asparagus, 80
  Apple Dumplings, 106
  Apple Pudding, 100
  Almond Creams, 111
  Ale, 133

  Broth, Chicken, 24
  Boiled Salmon, 29
  Beef, Roast, 36
  Beef, Baked with Potatoes, 38
  Beef, Ragout, 39
  Beef, Kidneys, 39
  Broiled Beefsteaks, 40
  Beef, Salt, 42
  Birds, Potted, 58
  Beans, Lima, 75
  Batter Pudding, 105
  Butter, 115
  Bread, 112
  Bride Cake, 128
  Biscuits, Naples, 123
  Biscuits, Sugar, 125
  Buckwheat Cakes, 117
  Beer, 133

  Calf's Liver, Roasted, 44
  Calf's Head, Surprised, 45
  Calf's Head, Roasted, 46
  Capon, 51
  Chicken Croquettes, 51
  Carrots, 81
  Cranberry Sauce, 70
  Caper Sauce, 70
  Cabbage, Pickled, 85
  Cocoanut Pudding, 100
  Charlotte des Pommes, 104
  Custards or Creams, 111
  Custards, Boiled, 110
  Cottage Cheese, 116
  Cheesecakes, 127
  Cracknels, 126

  Derby Cakes, 126

  Eggs, To Poach, 91
  Eggs, Boiled, 92
  Eggs and Bread, 93
  Eggs, Fried, 93
  Eve's Pudding, 104

  Fish White, To Stew, 25
  Fish White, Another Way to Stew, 26
  Fish Brown, To Stew, 27
  Forcemeat Balls, 60
  Fowl à la Hollandaise, 49
  Fruit Pies, 96
  Fritters, 107
  Fritters, Sweetmeat, 106

  Gingerbread, Lafayette, 121
  Gingerbread, 124

  Hams, To Cure, 52
  Ham Pies, 53
  Hare, Roasted, 54
  Herbs, 82
  Hasty Pudding, 101
  Honey Cake, 123

  Ice Cream, 109
  Indian and Rye Bread, 114

  Jelly, Currant, 87
  Jelly, Cherry, 89
  Jelly, Apple, 88
  Jelly, Calves' feet, 89
  Johnny Cakes, 118

  Ketchup, Mushroom, 65
  Kisses, 129

  Lobster, Boiled, 30
  Larks, 58
  Leeks, 81

  Mutton, Leg of, 52
  Macaroni Gratin, 63
  Mint Sauce, 69
  Mushrooms, To Stew, 64
  Mangoes, 84
  Mince Pies, 98
  Macaroons, Sweet, 130
  Muffins, 118
  Mint Juleps, Origin of, 135

  Naples Biscuit, 123

  Oatmeal Pudding, 103
  Oysters, 31
  Oysters, Fried, 31
  Oysters, Stewed, 32
  Oysters, Scalloped, 33
  Oyster Loaves, 33
  Oyster Pattie, 62
  Ortolans, To Roast, 56
  Onion Sauce, 74
  Omelet, 91
  Omelette, Soufflé, 94
  Orange Custards, 110

  Perch with Wine, 27
  Patties for Fried Bread, 62
  Pheasants, To Roast, 56
  Potatoes, 76
  Peas, 78
  Pineapple Preserve, 90
  Puff Paste, 95
  Pyramid Paste, 96
  Plum Pudding, 99
  Plum Cake, 120
  Pancakes, 119
  Punch, 137

  Roasted Sturgeon, 28
  Rabbits, Fricasseed, 54
  Rice, 79
  Rye Bread, 114

  Soup, Turtle, 21
  Scotch Haggis, 41
  Scotch Collops, 44
  Salmis of Wild Duck, 47
  Stewed Duck and Peas, 48
  Salad, To Dress, 73
  Spinach, 79
  Sponge Cake, 124
  Superlative Sauce, 68
  Syllabub, 132
  Sugar, To Clarify, 86
  Suet Pudding, 103
  Shrewsbury Cakes, 122

  Tongues, To Pickle, for Boiling, 43
  Truffles, 63
  Turkey, Boiled, 50
  Turkey, Devilled, 50
  Turnips, 79

  Venison, 35
  Venison, Pasty, 36
  Veal, Stewed Fillet, 45
  Veal, Stuffing for, 60
  Vol au Vent, 61
  Vegetables, 72

  Woodcocks, 57
  Whipped Cream, 109

  Yorkshire Pudding, 102
  Yeast, 112

Transcriber's Note

  The following typographical errors have been fixed:

  Page    Error
  44      stew the liver changed to sew the liver
  Footnote 56-*  leur foie.' changed to leur foie."
  74      KING changed to KING.
  77      uncover the soucepan changed to uncover the saucepan
  126     to night changed to tonight

  Inconsistently spelled words

  Cawthorn / Cawthorne
  fryingpan / frying-pan
  lemon juice / lemon-juice
  patés / pâtés
  peppercorns / pepper-corns
  stewpan / stew-pan

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "A Poetical Cook-Book" ***

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