LETTER NO. III
Oatlands Cottage, Jan. 20, 1849.
DEAR HORTENSE,—I have inclosed the whole of the receipts which you have sent me for the breakfasts, properly classified, having omitted the cold meats (as you desired me) from this series, thinking, as you do, they are more suited for the luncheon. To save useless repetition, I have placed the receipts in numbers, by which references can be easily made, and any dish appearing in the dinner or luncheon series, but available for breakfast, can be directly found.
But one thing I remember when at your house was, that when the remains of a joint were rather large, you used to put it upon a side table, and let any one help themselves from it there; your idea being, I believe, that very few persons liked to have a large dish of meat before their eyes almost immediately after rising from their beds, or at the first meal of the morning. Respecting the way your table was laid out, to the best of my recollection, it was as follows:—First the large table-cloth, over which was laid a small napkin before each person, with cups and saucers for tea or coffee, at choice, small plates for rolls, and a size larger for meat, sausages, eggs, &c., a small knife and fork for each; the butter in a pretty freezing butter-glass, just covered with clear spring water, and garnished with a few sprigs of parsley or watercresses; the cream in a small china cream-jug, and a larger jug containing hot milk for coffee; orange marmalade in its original pot, honeycomb, watercresses, and once a few nice young radishes, which were excellent, although a little out of season; one day also dry toast was served, another day buttered, the next muffins, then crumpets, white and brown bread, and small rolls, thus making a continual change, but all so small and inviting. I shall always, when I have company, as you had then, arrange everything in the same manner, especially now that I have your receipts down. But when you are alone, you tell me, you never make any such display, which of course would be ridiculous; still even then you vary, by having either tea, coffee, or chocolate, which change I like as well as you. I eat meat but occasionally, but Mr. L—— generally likes a little broiled bacon, or boiled egg, things in themselves very simple and pleasant to have upon the table. Yours, in haste,
ELOISE.
EARLY LUNCHEONS.
LETTER NO. IV
MY DEAR FRIEND,—I feel perfectly satisfied with the manner in which you have classified my receipts respecting the breakfasts, and must say I felt very much interested in looking over them; I am confident they would prove interesting and instructive to any young housekeeper; I hope, therefore, you will preserve the originals, as I do not keep any copies, fearing they would confuse me by making reference to them; so that, if at any future time I should make a repetition in other series, you would be able to correct me, for I am as willing as yourself that we should complete our work by going through every series comprising meals of the day.
The next meal, then, to breakfast, in the ordinary course of events, is the luncheon. Although it is a meal we never touch ourselves, I am aware many small families make it a regular one, so our little journal would not be complete without some few remarks, which I intend making as short and concise as possible. When we were in business, our luncheons were comprised of any cold meats which were cooked for previous dinners; if a joint of cold roast or boiled meat, it requires to be nicely trimmed before making its appearance at table, but reserving the trimmings for hash, if of roast meat, or bubble-and-squeak, if salt beef, which is an excellent method of disposing of the remainder of a joint to advantage; if the joint happened to be cold veal, I used to send for a plate of ham to serve with it, unless there was a piece of bacon also left; if mutton, I used to dish up the leg with a pretty little paper frill upon the knuckle, also trimming the joint lightly, for you must be aware that, after four or five have dined from a leg of mutton, its appearance becomes quite spoiled, and looks blackish when cold. Pork I also serve the same; when parsley was cheap, I always laid a few branches round it, which used, as my visitors said, to make the meat look very refreshing and inviting. Our only addition was sometimes the remainder of game, which at that time used frequently to be presented to us—pheasants, partridges, or grouse; as it would then have been very extravagant to have purchased them, especially when they were so expensive. As an accompaniment to the meat, I always kept two different sorts of mixed pickles, good bread, butter, cheese, and a glass of excellent table ale; or, if our guest was some bosom friend or good customer, a bottle of sherry (not decantered), never any port, thinking that more fit for the dinner-table. Such was my plan in the first five years after my marriage: everything upon our table was of the first quality, and every one used to admire the neatness with which the table was laid out.
My method now, when luncheon is required (as we do not dine until half-past five o’clock, Mr. B. being engaged until four in the city), I have the cloth laid at twelve, and lunch at half-past; and that time being just after the nursery dinner, we generally have some sort of pudding or tart, made at the same time with theirs. For cold meat, I always serve that up which has been left from a previous dinner, if any, or any remains of poultry, game, ham, or tongue. When, however, we have six or eight friends from the country at Christmas, I feel proud to show them my style of doing things well and economically, for they are very intelligent people, and can appreciate good living, though at home they really live too plain for their incomes; but they say, “We do not understand how it is that you make a nice little dish almost out of nothing.” For should I have the remnants of any poultry or game not very inviting to the sight, I generally cut it up and show my cook how to hash it in a variety of ways; and I always remark, that they never partake of any cold meat whilst any of the hash remains. For the methods of making various hashes of fowl, game, hare, rabbit, beef, mutton, as also curries, minced veal and poached eggs, cold pies of game, poultry, mutton, beefsteak, or pigeon, as also plain mutton cutlets, steaks, and broiled bones, the whole of which may be served for luncheon, I must refer you to the series of receipts belonging to the dinner; any of these articles are placed in order upon the table, with the pickle-stand, two different cruet-sauces, orange marmalade, potatoes, butter, cheese, sherry and port wines. This style of luncheon will no doubt surprise you, but I can assure you it scarcely increases my expenditure, having the same number to provide for daily, so that the luncheon is generally made up from the remains of dinner, and the remains of luncheon will dine our three servants at half-past one. In the summer, I introduce a few dishes of fruit, and less meat; and when there are several ladies, I often introduce some English-made wine, which once I used to make myself, but which I can now buy cheaper.
THE NURSERY DINNER.
LETTER NO. V
DEAR FRIEND,—Now here I must call your especial attention to the way many people treat this department of domestic comfort, which is often very slight and irregular. Now, for my part, I have made quite a study of it, and could prove that health is always dependent on the state of the digestive organs; and that, if you should improperly treat young stomachs, by over or under supplying their wants, or using them to ill-cooked food, you not only destroy the functionary coating of the stomach, but also impede the development of the intellect. It is, then, as much a science to manage the food of children, as to cater for the palate of the gourmet, and I shall always consider that good food is to the body what education is to the mind.
My plan of managing the nursery meals is as follows:—At eight o’clock in the morning, which was my usual time, I used myself to prepare that glutinous food upon which our ancestors and race were first reared, rather unclassically denominated pap. My method was very simple:
46. —Put two ounces