Chapter XXXIV · OX-TAIL SOUP—GRISINI—STEWED LAMB AND PEAS—MÉRINGUES WITH CREAM.

Mrs. Welles’s trunk arrived the next morning and Molly found her friend had come as she said, “prepared and loaded for a kitchen campaign.” Several little things not easily obtained in a country town she had brought, and last of all she handed out a paper package.

“There, Molly, I thought, perhaps, you had none, and I have two or three recipes needing the stuff, so I made sure and brought it with me.”

Molly had meanwhile cut the strings and saw in the paper a thick roll of something wrapped in waxed paper.

“Ah, almond paste! I wished when I was chopping almonds the other day that I had some.”

The almond paste was a substance that looked, in color and appearance, like very heavy bread: it was almonds ground by machinery, and saved infinite time in preparing almonds for macaroons, cake, etc.

“There, Mistress Molly, you see we are going to make goodies while I am here.”

“I shall be glad to do my part and sit at your feet again.”

“Nonsense, Molly, I have nothing to teach you. You were too intelligent not to see, when you had the key to a few things, that the rest was a matter of experiment and practice; but while I was in London I had some recipes given to me, vaguely written, as amateur recipes usually are, but I want to try to get them right.”

Molly, mindful of her guest’s English tastes, had asked her butcher to save her two ox-tails, as they were very cheap things, and she prepared them for soup while Mrs. Welles finished her unpacking.

First, she cut up the tails into joints and each joint of the root of it into three, then put them on the fire, in cold water, let it come to the boiling-point, drained them off and pumped cold water on them. This was the process called “blanching,” so often directed in cooking-books without further explanation. They were then dried in a cloth, dusted with flour, put in a pot with a table-spoonful of butter, and fried a bright brown and frequently stirred round, to color them evenly; then she cut up a carrot, a turnip, and an onion, and put them into it, then added a bay leaf, three sprigs of parsley, half a salt-spoonful of thyme and marjoram, two cloves, a tea-spoonful and a half of salt, and half a salt-spoonful of pepper and two quarts of water. This was to simmer four hours; at the end of the second hour a few of the nicest joints of the tail were taken out to serve in the soup, the others left to boil down with it. Half an hour before dinner the soup was strained and a table-spoonful of brown thickening (recipe in Chapter XIII.) stirred into it to make it the consistency of very thin cream. As it boiled down it would grow thicker; then it was put to boil fast, without a cover, and every few minutes skimmed. When quite clear of fat, the joints of the tail were put in, a glass of wine added,[3] and the soup was ready to serve.

Mr. and Mrs. Bishop’s turn was near to receive the reading-club, and Molly had thought it would be pleasant to have it the week Charlotte was with her. The lady entertaining could, of course, invite any of her friends, and Molly asked Mr. and Mrs. Lennox. Mrs. Welles was delighted to help, and the afternoon was given to a discussion of what should be provided.

“We are wisely limited as to what is to constitute the refreshment. There must be no oysters or ice cream, only cakes and sandwiches and coffee and tea, or chocolate.”

“No bouillon?”

“Yes, that has been admitted in place of one of the other beverages, as so many can’t take coffee or tea at night.”

“Let’s say coffee and bouillon, then, and sandwiches. Are you limited to one kind?”

“No. Mrs. Framley, last week, had tongue, cheese and chicken.”

“Well, have chicken and lobster then. How many guests shall you expect?”

“About thirty-four.”

I suppose it is not necessary to go further into figures at this day to show that Molly was likely to do all she had undertaken to do on her allowance of ten dollars a week, but as her evening was a great success and cost very little, I will give the details to show how it was done and what the actual cost was. The flavorings formed part of Molly’s stores and the almond paste was given to her, yet I add the price here, for those who may wish to go and do likewise may not be so fortunate. Although the list of articles were ordered, they were not all used.

One dozen eggs $0.25

One lobster, 3 pounds .36

One can of boned chicken .50

One pound of almond paste .30

One pound of butter .25

Leg of beef .50

Half pound of coffee .15

Milk .12

Sugar .24

Bread .20

$2.87

The first thing was to make four loaves of nice bread; this Molly did, using two quarts of water and one cake of yeast (see recipe for bread, Chapter XV.). To save trouble of cutting, Mrs. Welles suggested pipe bread (grisini) to eat with the bouillon, and before the bread was put to rise a piece was broken from the dough of the size of a large orange; to this was added the white of an egg, whipped a little, a tea-spoonful of powdered sugar and a good tea-spoonful of butter softened. When it was all well incorporated, flour, warmed and sifted, was added to bring it to the consistency of stiffish bread-dough. It was kneaded long and well and set to rise. It took longer than the bread, because it was a little stiffer and also the bread and additional flour weakened the yeast. When it had swelled well, however, Mrs. Welles and Molly sat down together to roll it, while Marta attended to the dinner, which was to consist of soup, stewed lamb and peas, stuffed potatoes and méringues, with whipped cream.

The méringues had been made in the morning and the cream whipped. The stewed lamb was something so simple that it could be left to Marta, although in leaving any stewing or boiling to Marta, now or any other time, Molly never omitted an occasional glance to see that it neither left off simmering and that the simmering had not become boiling.

“The rolling out of grisini is a very tedious task,” said Mrs. Welles, “but the compensation is that they keep as well as crackers, once made.”

“You will have to direct me, Charlotte, as I have never made these before.”

“All you have to do is to roll a small piece of dough under your hands on the board, so, till it is no thicker than a pencil. If the dough is too soft—it should be stiffer than bread-dough, yet quite elastic—you can add a very little flour.” As she spoke she laid her two hands over a bit of dough as large as a hickory nut and began rolling, pressing pretty hard as she rolled.

“If they do not roll smooth, wet your palm with milk slightly.”

Molly followed directions. As each pipe was made it was laid on a baking-pan. They were irregular in length, but generally about nine or ten inches long.

It took them half an hour to roll them, for it was difficult at first for Molly to get hers of fairly even thickness all the way down, but practice brought facility. The dough made about three dozen, and they were put in a warm place to swell till as thick as a medium-sized cigar. Then they were to be baked in a cool oven half an hour. They were to be very lightly colored, when done, about like pilot biscuits, and should snap short; hence the slow oven, as they must dry as well as cook.

The bread had not been set till early in the morning, so that it might bake late in the day, for Molly’s reception was to be on Friday—this was Wednesday—and she wanted the bread to be as near as possible two days old, for sandwiches, yet not at all stale. The bouillon and cakes would be made Thursday, and there would be nothing but the sandwiches to cut and coffee to make on the day itself. Molly was anxious to get all done before that, so as to be quite fresh for her friends.

Before leaving the kitchen she went over the recipes she had written for Marta’s guidance, emphasizing all important points. For the stewed lamb there were some lean chops from under the shoulder (see Chapter III.); these were floured and laid in a stewpan with a little butter and fried brown, an onion cut up and a piece of carrot (half a small one), and enough hot water barely to cover them was poured on them with half a tea-spoonful of salt. They were to stew very slowly for two hours, then taken up and kept hot while the gravy was skimmed and allowed to boil down to half a pint, a large teaspoonful of brown thickening was put into it and a can of peas, and seasoned to taste, then the meat was returned and allowed to stew very gently a quarter of an hour more.

Harry had been told laughingly he was to expect a very plain dinner.

“And is that the result of having two expert cooks in the house? Mrs. Welles, I’ve been petting my digestion for the last month in order to cope with the culinary productions of the pair of you, and this is the result. I’ve heard before that too many cooks spoil the broth, but I didn’t know it extended to the whole dinner.”

Although Molly had made the méringues herself, she had written the recipe, which is as follows:

Beat the white of two eggs as stiff as possible, that is to say, till it will not slip out of the bowl, then stir into it very gently three ounces of powdered sugar, remembering the rule that anything to be mixed with white of egg must be done with a light lifting motion of the spoon, rather than stirring, which may liquefy the eggs. Fill a table-spoon with the mixture and turn on to a sheet of white paper placed on a board which has been made a little damp; the moulds should be oval, like half an egg. Put them in a very cool oven for fifteen or twenty minutes, then open the door and leave them ten minutes longer; the idea is to make the crust as thick as possible, which is done by the long slow drying; if firm enough remove them from the paper, take out the moist centre very carefully, and when cold fill them with cream, flavored, sweetened, and whipped solid (recipe Chapter XXVIII.), then put two together; they should be over full, and the cream show considerably between the two sides.

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