The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book by Alice B. Toklas

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The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book by Alice B. Toklas

Postby admin » Wed Mar 22, 2023 7:51 am

The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book
by Alice B. Toklas
© 1954 by Alice B. Toklas. Copyright renewed 1982 by Edward M. Burns.
With a Foreword by M.F.K. Fisher
Foreword copyright © 1984 by M.F.K. Fisher
Publisher's Note by Simon Michael Bessie
Publisher's Note copyright © 1984 by Simon Michael Bessie

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More than a cookbook and memoir, it could almost be called a work of literary modernism, a sort of pendant to Stein's tour de force "The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas.

-- Janet Malcolm, author of Two Lives: Gertrude and Alice




Table of Contents:

• A Happy Publisher's Note to the 1984 Edition by Simon Michael Bessie
• Foreword by M.F.K. Fisher
• A Word with the Cook
• Chapter 1: The French Tradition
• Chapter 2: Food in French Homes
• Chapter 3: Dishes for Artists
• Chapter 4: Murder in the Kitchen
• Chapter 5: "Beautiful Soup"
• Chapter 6: Food to which Aunt Pauline and Lady Godiva led us
• Chapter 7: Treasures
• Chapter 8: Food in the United States in 1934 and 1935
• Chapter 9: Little-known French Dishes suitable for American and British Kitchens
• Chapter 10: Servants in France
• Chapter 11: Food in the Bugey During the Occupation
• Chapter 12: Recipes from Friends
• Chapter 13: The Vegetable Gardens at Bilignin
• Index of Recipes

Book Highlights:

[T]he Cook Book was written while she was laid up for several months with hepatitis. Her naturally sallow face turned pumpkin-yellow, and while she waited for her insides to stop heaving and churning at the thought of food, she satisfied her emptiness by remembering better days, as when the two ladies chugged around France in their ancient Model T Red Cross ambulance called Aunt Pauline.

***

Place grouse on serving dish and pour over it the sauce. It is a delicious way to prepare grouse, and had lost none of its savour because my friend had shot it. She goes off intrepidly on her bicycle for miles to shoot a bird or catch a fish. These economies and pleasures permit her to keep a small but excellent wine cellar.

***

Friends (whom we had not met) of friends once asked us to one of their well-known Sunday lunches, well-known because of the superlative cooking and the agglomeration of their guests. We were indeed a numerous and disparate company -- the host a well-known international lawyer, a celebrated Italian cinema actress and her manager, a famous portrait painter, an American publisher and the rest of us of much lesser prominence. The house was an ancient royal hunting lodge in a large property some thirty miles from Paris. The menu and cooking were suitable to the beauty of the surroundings. The partridges had been shot by the host and his house guests, the vegetables, fruits and flowers came from the conservatories, the butter, cream and eggs from the dairy, the caviare from Russia -- the iron curtain was just descending -- and the wine from France, Germany and Hungary. But the fish course was French.

***

Another time we were invited by friends (whom we had never met) of a friend to dine on a mountain top near Lyon. This time it was at an ancient fortified farmhouse.

***

Our landlady had lately married an Army officer who was a professor of map and chart making at St. Cyr, one of the historic military schools. They were living in a simple little house which was however furnished with priceless heirlooms.

***

At the country home of friends in Burgundy we ate several delicacies. To our great delectation we had frogs' legs twice in three days, the first time

FRIED FROGS' LEGS: Marinate for an hour 100 frogs' legs in 1 cup olive oil and 1 teaspoon salt, turning frequently. Drain well and wipe dry. Cover them with this

BATTER FOR FRYING: Separate 2 eggs. Stir the yolks, add a pinch of salt and 2 tablespoons olive oil. When well mixed, add slowly, stirring with a wooden spoon, 1 cup and 1 tablespoon flour. Beat the whites of eggs and add them to mixture. Put aside for an hour before using.

***

Many years ago we had an unusual lunch in an unusual setting. Gertrude Stein and I were asked to join some friends at a property in the Camargue, a peninsula of some twenty-five square miles in the delta of the Rhone. We drove down one morning in the late autumn into the deserted marshlands over bridges of boats to the Domaine of S, where we were to meet and lunch. The house was old and not lived in except for a guardian. It was used by its owner when he and his friends went shooting and fishing in the neighbourhood. The men would be bringing back fish and game (the French do not care for it high) that we would eat for lunch. In the huge room a blazing log fire roared. The women were setting the table and unwrapping the prepared dishes they had brought with them, meat and chicken pates which would be heated, aspics and butter and eggs, glasses, silver and linen. Gertrude Stein and I were suddenly taken out of doors to see two flamingoes drinking and some small white bulls, descendants of wild ones. There was a warm noisy welcome for the men when they returned, the bags were emptied and the birds and fish chosen for cooking. They were given to the guardian to pluck and clean, with some supervision from one woman of us at a time. The fire was very quickly reduced to one suitable for roasting on a spit. The mallards which had been chosen would not take long. The spit would take eight at a time, and there would be a second roasting during the carving and eating of the first. The lampreys were skinned and cleaned -- the men were very proud of having found them at that season in the nearby Rhone -- and they were cut in long pieces, each one wrapped in a thin slice of fat back of pork, and grilled on charcoal while this sauce was being prepared in an immensely ancient silver chafing dish.

***

One day when Picasso was to lunch with us I decorated a fish in a way that I thought would amuse him.... But, said he, should it not rather have been made in honour of Matisse than of me.

***

The Baronne Pierlot, our neighbour, was chatelaine at Beon, some ten miles away. One day, before the war, we had driven over to a goute [a lavish afternoon tea-party] to which she had bidden us. It was being served in the summer dining-room whose windows and door gave on to a vast terrace. In the foreground was the marsh of the Rhone Valley lately reclaimed by the planting of Lombardy poplars, to the south the mountains of the Grande Chartreuse, to the left in the distance the French Alps and over it all the Tiepolo blue sky. The table in the dining-room set for twenty or more was elaborately decorated with pink roses. Madame Pierlot's observant eye passed quickly and lightly over each object on the table. I heard her tell the valet-de-chambre to ask the cook for the piece-de-resistance and to place it in the empty space waiting for it in the centre of the table. But Marc did not leave the room, he merely took a cake from the serving table and put it in the empty space. There was evidently some contretemps. I was enlightened when I caught knowing looks passing between Gertrude Stein and one of the daughters-in-law of the house. It was Gertrude Stein's white poodle, a very neat thief, who had done away with whatever had been in the centre of the table. Later when Madame Pierlot, to show that she had forgiven the dog, threw him a piece of cake we could not protest that it was against our principles to reward a misdeed.

***

Many times I held the thought to kill a stupid or obstinate cook, but as long as the thought was held murder was not committed. Then a gay and enchanting Austrian came to cook for me. He was a perfect cook. Quietly and expeditiously Frederich, as I shall call him, prepared the most intricate and complicated dishes for us, nothing was too much trouble for him to undertake. He would make us ice cream in individual moulds in the form of eggs on a nest of coloured spun sugar. He delighted in making cakes that represented objects appropriate to each person, a book for Gertrude Stein, a rose for Sir Francis Rose, a peacock for a very vain young lady and a little dog for me. He used to receive the visits of an extremely pretty young girl, Duscha, who looked as if she had stepped out of an Offenbach opera. Gertrude Stein and I were delighted with them. At Christmas we asked them to accept amongst their gifts a supper with champagne at the restaurant of their choice for the traditional reveillon. Gradually Frederich began to confide in me. Life was not as happy for him as it had been. In the beginning there was only his fiancee Duscha, his angel, but now there was a second, a devil, who wanted him to marry her and who was threatening to kill him if he didn't. And he told us that he and Hitler had been born in the same village and that anyone in the village was like all the others and that they were all a little strange. This was in 1936 and we already knew Hitler was very strange indeed.

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Re: The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book by Alice B. Toklas

Postby admin » Wed Mar 22, 2023 7:54 am

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A Happy Publisher's Note to the 1984 Edition

"OH," SAID ALICE, "I couldn't do that."

"Why not?" asked the young publisher from New York who had been trying to persuade her to write a book about her life with Gertrude Stein and about the many people and adventures they had shared.

"Because," said Alice in that cigarette-rough and sensuous voice, "Gertrude did my autobiography and it's done."

Since I could think of no response to that, I must have looked very sad; and since Alice had grown a bit fond of us in the years since Gertrude's death, she thought of something:

"What I could do," she said as tentatively as she was able, which was not very, "is a cook book." And then, "It would, of course, be full of memories." She kept her promise.

In the extraordinary book she then wrote, she says of the French, that, like their Bourbon kings: "They learn nothing, they forget nothing." Of Alice it can be said that she learned a great deal and forgot nothing. Into this modest (in size) volume, she put a generous sampling of what she had learned about food and cooking (French and American as she reinvented it), about the numerous and immensely varied and often very gifted friends and acquaintances whom she and Gertrude attracted, about life in Paris and in the country, about War and Occupation, about the U.S.A. in the 1950s, about servants (French, Swiss, Finnish and Asiatic), and, of course, about the celebrated woman who was the love and center of Alice's life.

During the writing of the book there were several memorable moments for the lucky publisher, whose sole qualification for having anything to do with a book about food and cooking was a prodigious appetite for food (and wine) and a fascination for anything Alice did or said. One such moment came when Alice decided to test several of her recipes on the publisher and her old friend Thornton Wilder. For some reason, probably money, which she then had very little of despite the immensely valuable things on the walls, Alice decided to do without a maid, which meant the tiny and aging figure spent most of the lunch running back and forth between kitchen and dining room. Wilder, one of the world's politest men, stood up every time Alice did. When she had put a huge platter of fried chicken on the table and Thornton was still at half-mast, she tried to help him to some chicken, saying curtly: "Thornie, for God's sake, sit down and I'll give you some chicken. Which do you prefer; light or dark?"

The great man turned to his sister Isabel and asked: "Which is it I prefer?" "Oh, God," said Alice, "help yourself, dear Thornie." And back to the kitchen.

When the book appeared in 1954 it caused a small sensation, partly because of the fuss about hashish fudge, but mostly because of what it was: a unique book by a unique person. Which, of course, is why it's stayed in print for thirty years and why there's this new edition, about which I presume to repeat what Alice once wrote when inviting us to lunch two days after we had lunched: The tiny words said: "If this seems too soon to you, remember what the young man said: If perfection is good, more perfection is better."

1954-1984 Simon Michael Bessie 17.vii.84

Foreword

WHAT AN EXTRAORDINARY PERSON! Miss Toklas has been an integral part of my life (sensate, thinking, sensuous, spiritual) since I was in adolescence. And when I was newly twenty-one and newly married, I could have met her.

My husband and I stopped in Paris in 1929 on our way to some three years in Dijon at the university, and we had an "introduction" to Miss Stein and Miss Toklas, but I could not bring myself to present it. I could not walk around the corner with the letter in my hand.

Many years and lives later ... and the fact remains that never did I meet this strange person, except through what other people wrote and said about her.

A while ago I re-read The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas, which the Columbia Encyclopedia says Gertrude Stein published in 1933 "as if by her secretary-companion." It is amazing, a literary tour-de-force, an almost great writer going with almost surgical sureness into the self of a loved one. It is amazing, because it feels and smells and is true; it is prescient. It is especially amazing for its detachment, its lack of vanity; it is not even condescending, the way a person is not condescending to his inner self/ It is, for the lover who was Gertrude and who can be me or any chosen soul, the person who was/is Alice B. Toklas, and no other.

People who knew Alice or even met her casually -- she often writes of "friends (whom we had never met) of friends of ours" -- always knew her at once and forever, the way I did when I read her "autobiography," the way Gertrude did when, a few minutes after she saw Alice, she said flatly that they were married for life. People have told me that when this small ugly woman was in a room they were keenly aware of her, before they even recognized her as Miss Toklas. She seemed to send out waves of inaudible sound, like bells clanging somewhere in another space than ours. And since I first read her so-called life, I am like everyone else, and know almost more about her and with her than I am really entitled to.

This was as true when I last lived in Paris as it had been the first time, in 1929, when I often walked past her door and knew she was behind it. By 1967 I had lived long enough to shed some of my first timidity, but she was hospitalized, too remote ever to welcome me as she might once have done.

I should perhaps try to explain how it happened that I missed my one last chance to meet her. In about 1938, my second husband and I were living in a vineyard south of Geneva, and we knew that now and then we must escape from our cautiously Calvinistic life as foreign land-owners. We decided that we could afford, for a year or so, to rent two small rooms in the servants' quarters of the old Hotel Continental in Paris, high in the attics about the Tuileries. We could leave books there, and perhaps some pictures, and city clothes. In the cold winters we could go up to La Capitale, escape the colder, duller, more structured life in Chexbres, feel warm and free before it was time to start spring planting and vineyard work ...

Death and war changed all that.

But when I was offered a summer job in France by Time-Life, more than twenty years later, I took it. I felt I must go back, and this was my chance to. I was scared about being in Paris alone, for the first time in my life. I'd been there countless times before, with parents, lovers, husbands, children. This time I was by myself, my self.

I asked to be lodged in the attic rooms my husband and I had planned to live in. By then they had become stylishly expensive, but thanks to the potent clout of my temporary employers I went straight from St. Helena, California, to the small, low-ceilinged cubbyhole we'd meant to use for our books, our workroom. Sounds arose filtered and thin through the one big window, and the thick green of the Tuileries in summer. And in the next room, where we had meant to sleep, lived a trespasser, a stranger who became my good true friend, an elderly writer named Janet Flanner.

I had for a long time admired her masterly letters from Paris in The New Yorker, and at first felt some of the shyness that had kept me so long from presenting my letter of introduction to the two ladies around the corner on the rue de Fleurus. And there Janet was, in our private special room! And indeed she was there, with her plain typing table, one beautiful cabinet of inlaid boiserie, always with a big fading garden bunch of roses or field flowers brought each weekend from her lover's country house, her little bathroom always hung with a drying elegant nightgown or some tiny high-style panties. There were perhaps a hundred books and no pictures, and her narrow bed made the little room seem almost austere, except for the hum of all Paris as it rose from far below, and the magnificent light that poured in and up from the Tuileries and the Seine and the Left Bank. (Not long after that summer, Janet had to move to another old hotel because the Continental was bought by a world airline, but she was never as truly "at home" as in the attic bedroom where once I had thought I would live forever.)

Janet was much spryer than I, but was used to deputizing her many disciples, so that I spent most of that summer happily puffing around Paris on errands for her, fending off her fans at concerts, sampling a new batch of Sancerre in a cool cellar under the Luxembourg, with an ancient vintner she had known for countless years ... It was fine, and instead of being alone and scared in Paris for the first time in my life, I was more alive and happy than I'd ever dreamed of, because of all the good people who had unwittingly prepared me for it. I felt strong with their strengths, so that the work I had to do for Time-Life, and all the wild errands and jobs Janet loaded on me, seemed child's play.

But there was one thing she refused flatly to let me help her with. She refused to let me join her. She refused to include me, even vicariously, when she went several times a week to the clinic in the suburbs where Alice B. Toklas lay like a sightless, speechless vegetable.

Janet said firmly and simply that I must not see her now. She said that Alice would refuse to let me come, if she could.

So I never met her. Ever, that is.

Almost every day I went with Janet to Fauchon or a couple of other fine pastry shops that made napoleons or truffles or palmiers that Miss Toklas had once approved of, and watched Janet pretend that she was not going to eat the little treats herself as she sat by the bed of her impotent old friend. Then we hurried to the Metro and I watched her run down the stairs on her stylish tiny feet, carrying her stylish tiny offering.

She had known Alice B. Toklas for decades, about as long as I had, but face to face, as I never would. She was filled with love, and with anger that her old friend must die poor and abandoned. I mourned for them both, and was glad that Janet would eat a dainty voluptuous tidbit as she sat faithfully in Miss Toklas' silent hospital room.

But how else would Alice have chosen to be, after Gertrude died in 1946? It is true that the years between then and her own withdrawal were full; some people said that she finally "came into her own" as a dynamic and important figure. This may have seemed true, whether or not there could have been some malice in it, and I know from several of her friends that she ran her life with spirit, and entertained well, and handled the increasing complications about Gertrude's papers and belongings with surprising skill, for a person who had spent most of her life as a willing shadow. Myself, I feel sure that she was simply proving that Gertrude Stein had taught her well about the art of survival, as one final and gracious proof of their shared confidence.

Of course I "know" exactly what Alice looked like, and so far have not seen a picture of her that matches my own inner ones. Most of them are timid about how ugly she was. She was probably one of the ugliest people anyone had ever seen, to draw or photograph. Her face was sallow, her nose was big or even huge, and hooked and at the same time almost fleshy, the kind that artists try not to draw. And she had a real moustache, not the kind that old women often grow, but the sturdy kind, which started when she was first going into adolescence. I don't think she ever tried to shave it, or have it plucked out or removed chemically or with hormones, as a woman might do today. She wore it unblinkingly, as far as I can tell, although of course as a person of unusual awareness she must have known that some people were taken aback by it. A friend of mine who admired her greatly, and often traveled with her in her last years, wrote that Miss Toklas wore her close-cropped hair, which stayed black well into her eighties, in bangs "faintly echoed by a dark down on her lip." This amuses me. It is typical of the general reaction to something that would have been unnoticed except for her obvious femaleness. Another friend said more aptly, or at least better for my own picture, that her strong black moustache made other faces look nude.

She had remarkable eyes, very large and lively, the kind that seem to send off sparks, that sometimes look glowing with an inner fire. Probably people who were intimidated at first by her fixed upon them with relief ... that is, until they forgot their shyness in the deft, supple way she moved and talked.

She was a tiny person, not five feet tall, I think, and she dressed with a studied daintiness, except for the clunky sandals on her pretty feet. They were almost an affectation, and almost offensive, the kind that Raymond Duncan and his followers wore as they ambled along the sidewalks of the Left Bank, unnoticed except by awestruck tourists. They wore togas of hand-woven wool or cotton, depending on the weather, with thongs criss-crossed up their bare legs from their open sandals, and Isadora's brother always strode a few paces ahead, with a twinkling Cartier wristwatch on the arm that wielded his long shepherd's staff. Of course a few young students imitated these Chosen Few, at least in footwear, but it was always funny to see the sandals on Miss Toklas, below her fastidiously tailored suits, her fine silk blouses, even her loose, beautifully sewn house clothes.

She loved dramatic hats, and after Miss Stein's death she wore them oftener in rare gaddings ...big extravagant creations with feathers and wide brims, and always the elegant suits and those clunky sandals. Nobody has ever written, though, that she looked eccentric. Perhaps it was because of her eyes....

According to the Autobiography, she cooked and Gertrude wrote. And according to her own cookbook, written several years after Gertrude's death, she cooked what she remembered eating when she was a girl in San Francisco, because her friend was homesick for American dishes now and then, so that from the time they first settled into their apartment on the rue de Fleurus in 1910 they served their own kind of "soul food" every Sunday night. But Alice had never been a housewife, in our sense of the word, so that the ways she evolved her down-home dishes stemmed more from nostalgia than kitchen experience, and the longer she lived in France and hired cooks there, and ate there, the less recognizable her "corn-pone and apple pie" became.

Of course Stein, who seldom skipped a good meal and knew thoroughly the pleasures of a well-tended palate, never boiled water, much less an egg, as far as is known. Her "secretary-companion" tended to all that, and her delicious food kept Gertrude's ink flowing for all their long life together. It is even possible that Miss Toklas honestly believed that she only cooked while Gertrude worked, and at the end of her famous Cook Book she says that when she told two friends that she was going to publish a book, "The first one gaily responded, How very amusing. The other asked with no little alarm, But, Alice have you ever tried to write. As if a cook-book had anything to do with writing."

And Alice B. Toklas honestly did not believe that it does, or even that it can. Probably she would shrug, and smile with pity and disbelief, to find that the cookbook she put together for publication in 1954 would immediately be recognized and then be issued again and again. It is of course a curiosity, for many reasons, like the fame of many of the artists and writers who came to talk and listen and eat in the Paris apartment of the two strange ladies from America. Alice knew why all of them were there, especially Gertrude. But she herself never believed that she could ever be more than their attentive loving nourishing shadow.

And yet probably not even Stein herself would have been able to write of a person she observed in a friend's house, "Like many first-rate women-cooks she had tired eyes and a wan smile." Miss Toklas made comments about the people and the recipes in her book exactly as she talked, so that she felt that her notes were not worthy of being called writing, which was to her a life apart, mostly occupied by Gertrude, with a few lesser geniuses lurking behind her mammoth shadow. And after Gertrude died, Alice went on talking, fortunately for all of us!

According to her, the Cook Book was written while she was laid up for several months with hepatitis. Her naturally sallow face turned pumpkin-yellow, and while she waited for her insides to stop heaving and churning at the thought of food, she satisfied her emptiness by remembering better days, as when the two ladies chugged around France in their ancient Model T Red Cross ambulance called Aunt Pauline. In 1916, Stein was "a responsible if not experienced driver. She knew how to do everything but go into reverse. She said she would be like the French Army, never have to do such a thing." And Aunt Pauline hauled food and wood and the wounded men dauntlessly, always forward ....

Later there was Godiva, so named because she came to them stripped of everything on her dashboard, naked as only a "two-seater open" Ford could be in France after World War I. And between her and the worn but willin' Aunt Pauline, the other ladies seemed to find good food at the end of every mission, wars or not. Tarte Chambord, saddle of mutton, peaches, grilled perch with fennel ... Alice never really loved Godiva, but always admired her.

Once after the war the sturdy Ford carried the two ladies to Vence, where Alice spent long mornings in a friend's vegetable garden. "It takes a long time to gather enough very young green beans for eight to ten people," she found. Between the vegetables and the roses her mornings were full, and she said happily, "To me this pleasure is unequalled."

Godiva took them much further along in their good lives, and had what both the ladies felt was an infallible gastronomical nose for sniffing out fine country restaurants for them. She was at last retired, not as a revered, respected remnant of the First World War, as Aunt Pauline had been, but respected nonetheless.

Of course it takes more than a lengthy jaundice attack to make a decent cookbook, much less a minor masterpiece, and there is no doubt that plain loneliness after the death of Gertrude Stein, as Alice always refers to her, meant that time had to be filled, with the quiet rich dignity that the tiny old "secretary-companion" had always shown. So in 1954 she finished a delightful collection of memoirs, Cook Book, and then in 1958, to international astonishment, she agreed to publish another book about food, when she was well past eighty, Aromas and Flavors of Past and Present.

In those days editors were still gracious enough to confess to the sins and errors of their proofreaders, so that a list was often inserted in a nicely designed book, giving words that had been omitted and phrases that slipped past the copyreaders. The first edition of The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book has one of these quaint courtesies, listing ten ERRATA, and I feel quite sure that the author herself dictated it. Only three are really important. The rest correct misspellings or direct that "Gastronomique Guide" be changed to "Guide Gastronomique." It was easier and cheaper to be finicky then than in 1984!

And collectors will always want this curious book for one omission caused by our American Puritanism, as well as for its good printing and its miserably inept illustrations: it could not print Miss Toklas' recipe for Haschich Fudge for legal reasons.

By now, of course, the sticky candy that sounds a little like chopped fruit balls that children make for their relatives at Christmas has become more like cookies or brownies, but always named for Miss Toklas and always made with marijuana. Her recipe, regretfully omitted in 1954, but reprinted in paperback in 1960, was contributed by her friend Brion Gysin, and calls for "a bunch of canibus sativa" pulverized. This plant is common in Europe, Asia, Africa, as hemp, and Miss Toklas kindly says that "In the Americas, while often discouraged, its cousin, called canibus indica, has been observed even in city window boxes."

I have never eaten one of our "Toklas fudge brownies," but am told they taste slightly bitter, depending on how much pot is put into them, and that (1) they are absolutely without effect and (2) they are potentially lethal. Her directions are more lyrical. She first says that "anyone could whip up [Haschich Fudge] on a rainy day," and continues, "This is the food of Paradise -- of Baudelaire's Artificial Paradises: it might provide an entertaining refreshment for a Ladies' Bridge Club or a chapter meeting of the DAR. In Morocco it is thought to be good for warding off the common cold in damp winter weather and is, indeed, more effective if taken with large quantities of hot mint tea. Euphoria and brilliant storms of laughter; ecstatic reveries and extensions of one's personality on several simultaneous planes are to be complacently expected. Almost anything Saint Theresa did, you can do better ...."

Was this Alice B. Toklas talking, or Brion Gysin? The chapter called "Recipes from Friends," which gives their later, much-distorted recipes, holds several other deviations from her way of stating things. They simply don't sound Toklas-ian. Mary Oliver of London, for example, gives a terse recipe called "Birthday Ice Cream for Adults" that really sounds dreadful, and I like to believe that Miss Toklas included it because she was fond of Mary Oliver. (One of my grandmothers was named that too, but as a teetotalling Irishwoman she would never have considered adding a cup of rum to anything.)

During the German occupation of France in the Second World War, food was austere at best, with milk, butter and eggs almost unknown even in the country near Belley, where the two American ladies lived in precarious security. Meat was rationed: a quarter pound a week per person. At best, they lived in what Toklas called a "protracted, even a perpetual Lent." And it was then that she did what people have always done in times of hunger: she betook herself to "the passionate reading of elaborate recipes in very large cookbooks."

Often I have sent Larousse Gastronomique or an American kitchen bible like Mrs. Rombauer's Joy of Cooking to students working their way through college, or to men in prison, and they have nourished themselves in many ways from their printed rations. And I know now as well as I did thirty years ago that Alice B. Toklas' Cook Book would feed my soul abundantly if I could find no other nourishment, just as it would make me smile in the midst of sadness, and feel braver if I risked faltering. It is a good book, "abundantly satisfying, imagination being as lively as it is...."

M.F.K. Fisher Glen Ellen, California 5.iv.84

A Word with the Cook

As cook to cook I must confide that this book with its mingling of recipe and reminiscence was put together during the first three months of an attack of pernicious jaundice. Partly, I suppose, it was written as an escape from the narrow diet and monotony of illness, and I daresay nostalgia for old days and old ways and for remembered health and enjoyment lent special lustre to dishes and menus barred from an invalid table, but hovering dream-like in invalid memory.

Illness sets the mind free sometimes to roam and surmise. Though born in America, I have lived so long in France that both countries seem to be mine, and knowing, loving both, I took to pondering on the differences in eating habits and general attitude to food and the kitchen in the United States and here. I fell to considering how every nation, for the matter of that, has its idiosyncrasies in food and drink conditioned by climate, soil and temperament. And I thought about wars and conquests and how invading or occupying troops carry their habits with them and so in time perhaps modify the national kitchen or table.

Such speculations led me to rout about among my huge collection of recipes and compile this cook-book. I wrote it for America, but it will be pleasant if the ideas in it, besides surviving the Atlantic, manage to cross the Channel and find acceptance in British kitchens too.

Paris, 1954 A.B.T.
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Re: The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book by Alice B. Toklas

Postby admin » Wed Mar 22, 2023 7:56 am

1. The French Tradition

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THE French approach to food is characteristic; they bring to their consideration of the table the same appreciation, respect, intelligence and lively interest that they have for the other arts, for painting, for literature and for the theatre. By French I mean French men as well as French women, for the men in France play a very active part in everything that pertains to the kitchen. I have heard working men in Paris discuss the way their wives prepare a beef stew as it is cooked in Burgundy or the way a cabbage is cooked with salt pork and browned in the oven. A woman in the country can be known for kilometres about for the manner in which she prepares those sublimated dumplings known as Quenelles, and a very complicated dish they are. Conversation even in a literary or political salon can turn to the subject of menus, food or wine.

The French like to say that their food stems from their culture and that it has developed over the centuries. It has its universal reputation for these reasons and on account of the mild climate and fertile soil.

We foreigners living in France respect and appreciate this point of view but deplore their too strict observance of a tradition which will not admit the slightest deviation in a seasoning or the suppression of a single ingredient. For example, a dish as simple as a potato salad must be served surrounded by chicory. To serve it with any other green is inconceivable. Still, this strict conservative attitude over the years has resulted in a number of essential principles that have made the renown of the French kitchen.

French markets without deep freezing are limited to seasonal produce which is however of excellent quality with the exception of beef, milk and a few fruits. Even the common root vegetables, carrots, turnips, parsnips and leeks (the asparagus of the poor), are tender and savoury, olive oil and butter are abundant and of a high grade and bread is nourishing and delicious.

Wars change the way of life, habits, markets and so eventually cooking. For five years and more the French were deprived of most of their foodstuffs and were obliged to use inferior substitutes when they could be found. After the Liberation the markets very slowly were supplied with a limited amount of material. The population had been hungry too long, they had lost their old disciplined appreciation of food and had forgotten or were ignoring their former critical judgment. So that even now French food has not yet returned to its old standard.

The crowded continent of Europe on which wars are fought inevitably suffers more privations than we do. Restrictions aroused our American ingenuity, we found combinations and replacements which pointed in new directions and created a fresh and absorbing interest in everything pertaining to the kitchen.

The French are indifferent to these new discoveries of ours, to the exact science that American cooking has become, to our time- and labour-saving devices. Nor do they like the food that issues from our modern kitchens. They say that it is either too imaginative or too exotic. One may say of the French what was said of their Bourbon kings: they learn nothing, they forget nothing. Since the war we Americans have learned a great deal from various sources and as teaching is natural to us we would like to share our knowledge.

French cooking for the use of American or British women is not hedged around with as many difficulties as most of them suppose. If they permit themselves to indulge in national prejudices they should admit the same privilege for the French. For example the French use butter, and of an excellent quality, for nearly all their cooking, not only because it gives a flavour that no substitute does but because it "marries" as they say, that is it amalgamates all the flavours of the dish to be prepared as well as thickening the sauce. Which brings us at once to a fundamental difference between French and American cooking. The famous five basic sauces do not prevent French cooking from being dry whilst American cooking is moist though devoid of sauces. The French drink wine with their lunch as well as with their dinner. Americans drink little wine if any with their meals but there are at least a dozen beverages from which they can choose an accompaniment to their food if they want to. Four of the five basic French sauces are certainly unknown even by name to half the population of France. Almost any Frenchwoman can prepare a white sauce, frequently and erroneously called by Americans a cream sauce. The French being realists look facts in the face and only call a sauce a cream sauce when it is made with cream. Some French sauces have a small amount of cream in them but that does not make them a cream sauce. The French never add Tabasco, ketchup or Worcestershire sauce, nor do they eat any of the innumerable kinds of pickles, nor do they accompany a meat course with radishes, olives or salted nuts. Respect for the inherent quality and flavour of each ingredient is typical of the French attitude to food and it gives a delicacy and poignancy to their cooking. Their discreet use of herbs is to be remarked. This restraint, le juste milieu they call it, the golden mean, is what makes them not only good cooks but good critics of food.

French cooking is founded upon the discoveries made in the seventeenth century when suddenly every one who could afford it became interested in food as a fine art. It was a century of advancement in the art of living and the art of cooking was greatly refined and widened. Expressing its time as any original endeavour must do, French cooking underwent the influences of the lavish eighteenth century and the extravagances of the nineteenth century. The first half of the twentieth century has been too disturbed by two major wars to have yet declared itself.

To cook as the French do one must respect the quality and flavour of the ingredients. Exaggeration is not admissible. Flavours are not all amalgamative. These qualities are not purchasable but may be cultivated. The haute cuisine has arrived at the enviable state of reacting instinctively to these known principles.

What is sauce for the goose may be sauce for the gander but is not necessarily sauce for the chicken, the duck, the turkey or the guinea hen.

BOEUF BOURGUIGNON (1) (Beef Stew as cooked in Burgundy)

2 lbs. of shoulder of beef without bones cut in squares of about 2-1/2 inches.
3 tablespoons lard.
3-1/2 ozs. salt pork cut in small squares.
12 small onions.
1 tablespoon flour.
2 cups old dry Burgundy red wine.
1 clove garlic, a bouquet tied together of about 2 inches orange peel, a bay leaf, a small sprig of thyme, a sliver of nutmeg. Salt, no pepper.

Melt the lard in a Dutch oven; when it smokes brown the salt pork and remove, brown the onions and remove. Then place the pieces of meat side by side and brown on all sides. Add the salt pork and flour, stirring with a wooden spoon. Add the wine well heated, stir well. Add the clove of garlic, the orange peel and the bouquet. Cover hermetically and cook over low flame for 3-1/2 hours. If the wine and juice have evaporated add a very small quantity of boiling water at a time. Add onions and cook for 15 minutes longer. Remove bouquet. Place meat and gravy on serving dish, sprinkle chopped parsley over top. [1]

Another version of this admirable dish will be found in Chapter IX.

QUENELLES (a short cut)

1-1/2 cups concentrated chicken broth.
1/2 cup butter.
1-1/2 cups sifted flour.
Salt, pepper, a pinch of nutmeg.
Yolks of 5 eggs.

Bring the concentrated chicken broth and butter to a boil in a saucepan. As soon as it comes to a boil remove from the heat and at once put into the saucepan as quickly as possible the sifted flour. With a wooden spoon working rapidly stir until it is perfectly smooth. Then place on a very low flame continuing to stir vigorously until the paste leaves the sides and bottom of the pan clean and small beads appear upon the surface. Remove from heat and cool for about 10 minutes. Then add the yolks of eggs, one at a time, beating each one with a high stroke that allows as much air as possible to enter. This should take about 20 minutes. Cover and put aside in a cool place, but not in the refrigerator, for 2 or 3 hours. Half an hour before time to serve put a large saucepan of water to boil. On a well-floured table take small pieces of dough and roll into finger lengths and gently drop into the boiling water. Reduce the heat -- they should poach not boil. When they rise to the surface and turn over remove pan from the flame and cover. This will cause them to swell. A few minutes will suffice for this. Remove gently with a flat perforated spoon. Serve in a cream sauce or in a mushroom sauce or a combination of both or surrounding fricasseed chicken or with a veal roast.

SUGGESTIONS LEARNED FROM THE FRENCH

About the use of wine in cooking: Add red wine to beef, white wine to chicken, veal and pork. White wine to sauces made with cream. Two tablespoons of cognac lighted and added to beef and mutton give an indefinable flavour. Mutton roasted and basted with port is out of this world. Try it.

Cream should be added to sauces at the last moment, only in time to heat thoroughly -- it should not boil. It is tilted in the saucepan, not stirred.

A piece of butter added to a sauce at the last moment, also tilted and not boiled, makes the sauce unctuous and lightly thickens it.

_______________

Notes:

1. A Dutch oven is a deep, round pot with a well-fitting cover and is used in the oven or over a low flame or hot-plate.
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Re: The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book by Alice B. Toklas

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2. Food in French Homes

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FOOD differs more from day to day in France than it does in the United States, not only in the variety of each day's menu but in the choice of the menu according to the persons to whom it is to be served. In the United States there is less difference between the choice for the family's menu and one for guests than there is in France. For example, this is the menu at a lunch party to which we were invited at a house whose mistress was a well-known French hostess and whose food was famous.

Aspic de Foie Gras
Salmon Sauce Hollandaise
Hare a la Royale
Hearts of Artichokes a la Isman Bavaldy
Pheasants Roasted with Truffles
Lobster a la Francaise
Singapore Ice Cream
Cheese
Berries and Fruit

This copious lunch was accompanied by appropriate and rare wines. There were at table ten guests and six of the family. The fine linen and beautiful crystal, porcelains and silver were of the same quality as the menu.

HEARTS OF ARTICHOKES A LA ISMAN BAVALDY

Prepare 12 artichokes by cutting the leaves to within 2 inches of the heart. As each one is cut, put it into a recipient of cold water to which the juice of 1 lemon has been added. When all the artichokes are ready, shake them well to clean them in a quantity of running water. Put them at once in a large saucepan of furiously boiling water to which 1 teaspoon salt and 1/2 teaspoon cardomom seeds and the juice of 2 lemons have been added, and cover. There should be enough water to float the artichokes until they are tender, about 25 minutes according to size. As soon as a leaf can be removed easily, remove from flame, drain at once, and put into recipient of cold water and under running water. When water is tepid remove artichokes, drain, gently remove all leaves and the chokes. Trim around the hearts if necessary. The leaves can be scraped with a silver spoon and mixed with a little cream to be used in an omelette or under mirrored eggs. Boil 3 lbs. of small green asparagus tied in bundles in a covered saucepan of salted water. Cover and boil for about 15 minutes or until tender, but be careful not to overcook.

After soaking a sweetbread weighing about 1 lb. in cold water for 1 hour, boil in water to which 1/2 teaspoon salt, 2 shallots and 6 coriander seeds have been added. Boil covered for 20 minutes. Plunge in cold water and when cool enough, remove tubes and skin. Strain with potato masher through strainer. Put 2 tablespoons butter in frying pan, when the butter begins to bubble reduce flame. Put the sweetbreads in frying pan. Stir constantly until they are well mixed with butter. Sprinkle on them 2 tablespoons flour. Mix thoroughly. Then slowly add 2 cups dry champagne. Cook gently until this sauce becomes stiff.

Cut the asparagus within 2 inches of the tip. With the left hand, hold an asparagus upright in the heart of an artichoke while a wall of the sauce is built around it with the right hand. The tips of the asparagus should show about 1/2 inch above the sauce. Cover the sauce with a thick coat of browned breadcrumbs. Pour 1 tablespoon butter over each asparagus tip and the bread crumbs. Place the artichokes in a well-buttered fireproof dish and brown in preheated 425 ͦ oven for 1/4 hour.

It does not take as long as it sounds to prepare this dish. The lemon, champagne and coriander seeds give an ineffable flavour.

SINGAPORE ICE CREAM

Stir 1-1/2 cups sugar with 12 yolks of eggs until they are thick and pale yellow. Slowly add 4 cups hot cream in which a vanilla pod cut in half vertically has been steeping. Mix thoroughly, pour into saucepan and stir constantly with a wooden spoon over lowest heat until the spoon is thickly covered. Remove from heat and pour through a fine sieve into bowl. Remove vanilla and wash the two pieces well in cold water. They may be used again. If you do not use vanilla bean, add 1 tablespoon vanilla extract. Stir the mixture from time to time until cold. Before putting to freeze, stir in 1 cup diced ginger as completely drained as possible of its syrup and 1 cup not too finely chopped blanched pistachio nuts. Then mix in 2 cups whipped cream. Put to freeze. It is not necessary to stir during freezing. When frozen take out of mould and decorate with 1 cup whipped cream flavoured with 2 tablespoons ginger syrup.

***

Sixteen of us sat down to table, and from these two dishes it is not difficult to appreciate the effort and expense of the menu prepared for guests. Nor is it difficult to appreciate the surprise with which we received this menu, when we were asked informally to stay for supper one evening.

Lentil Soup
Mirrored Eggs
Cold Ham with Lettuce Salad
Puree of Spinach with Croutons
Cheese
Berries and Fruit

The table was elaborately decorated with hothouse flowers, the linen, crystal, porcelain and silver were beautiful, though not as precious as for the lunch party, and the service was impeccable. The plates were changed for each of the six courses, the knives and forks were not except once for cheese and again for fruit. The knives and forks between courses were placed on silver rests. Two of the members of the family -- we were the only guests -- on either side of me methodically between courses wiped their knives and forks on pieces of bread. The contrast of the two menus was a revelation of the way life was led in a French family of fashion.

There is for the French no way of understanding the American habit of having such attractively furnished and arranged kitchens as not only to make it possible but pleasant to eat one's meals in them. To them a kitchen is a room in which a great deal of preparation for cooking, as well as the cooking, takes place. The walls of the kitchen are therefore covered with suspended pots and pans and kitchen utensils, and the tables have at least two mortars and pestles and endless bowls, graters and sieves in evidence. And all this without any disorder but lacking the taste that prevails in the other rooms of the home. Taste there undoubtedly is -- the cooking-culinary-gastronomic, taste. It is a puzzlement to Americans.

An old friend of ours, living alone for some years now in conditions requiring the strictest economy, has finally accepted a modern conception of working in her home. It has become a pleasure and no longer a drudgery. For a long time she brought the food that she cooked from the kitchen to a well-set table in the dining-room, course by course. She now eats not only in the kitchen but in what she calls the Anglo-Saxon manner. The meat course is served with the vegetables and potatoes or salad. She moved a fine seventeenth-century cupboard into the kitchen, in which she keeps all that is necessary to serve a meal for four people -- she does not have more than four guests as many times as that a year. In her kitchen, where she now reads, sews and writes letters in either of two fine winged arm-chairs, I have eaten a

BRAISED GROUSE

Clean the grouse, empty the cavity and wash it with a little milk. Pour the milk out. Put the grouse in a bowl and pour over it 1 cup milk. Leave it in the milk for at least an hour, turning it from time to time. Then dry and skewer the grouse so that the wings and legs remain neatly in place when served. Remove the skin if there is any on a slice of back fat of pork large enough to cover the grouse. Tie the lard securely around the grouse. Melt 1 tablespoon butter in a heavy saucepan or iron pot. Brown the grouse uncovered on all sides over medium flame for 1/4 hour. Skim off some of the fat, add salt and pepper, 1 cup cream and simmer covered for 20 minutes. Then add the juice of 1/2 lemon. After this do not allow to boil. Place grouse on serving dish and pour over it the sauce. It is a delicious way to prepare grouse, and had lost none of its savour because my friend had shot it. She goes off intrepidly on her bicycle for miles to shoot a bird or catch a fish. These economies and pleasures permit her to keep a small but excellent wine cellar.

***

She made an original but luscious puree to eat with the grouse.

***

PUREE OF CELERY ROOT (CELERIAC) AND POTATOES

Wash and peel a celery root weighing 1 lb., remove all fibres, cut in large cubes. Boil in salted water until the tines of a fork enter into it easily. Wash 3/4 lb. unpeeled potatoes and steam. Use the same test for them as for the celery root. Peel and mash 4 potatoes with the celery root and 1 hard-boiled egg, put through a strainer with a potato masher. Add 3 tablespoons butter, 1/2 teaspoon salt, a pinch of pepper, and heat over asbestos mat until hot, stirring from the bottom so that it does not burn.

This puree makes an equally novel salad. Instead of heating in butter add 1/3 cup cream, place in a mound on a flat plate, cover with a thick mayonnaise in which 1 teaspoon lemon juice has been mixed and surround the mound with hearts of lettuce. [1]

***

In France it is not unusual for some man in the family not only to be interested in the menu and the cooking of it but occasionally to wish to supervise or even cook a dish. This raises the standard of cooking in the home, the mistress is spurred to greater effort by a constant gentle criticism. Women are not supposed in France to be gourmets. It is rare to find a woman whose taste in wines is as keen and subtle as a man's. There are of course exceptional cases, like that of a daughter who, instead of a son, inherited her father's famous wine cellar. At her table the maitre d'hotel presents each dish for this lady's inspection before serving it to the guests. At a large lunch party to my surprise after carefully examining the aspic of foie gras, she, with a brusque gesture, brushed it aside. What it was that at a glance did not satisfy her is a question that still torments me. She has needed no man's criticism to keep her culinary taste up to an almost solitary peak.

One of my friends, an admirable housekeeper and provider, is not so attentive to the kitchen and not so sensitive to the preparation of food. It is her husband who is a gourmet and a student of gastronomy. He is constantly delving into books for more information concerning how, when and why cooking developed as it did and became what it is. This in a roundabout way has influenced the cooking his wife superintends. A meal in their home may include a recipe from The Treasure of Health printed in 1607 with a preface by Jean-Antoine Huegetan. The recipe is no other than our present filet de sole a la meuniere, though it is differently worded.

THE TROUT

Small trout emptied and the scales removed, cut from head to tail on either side and from the bone. Rub some salt in them and put aside for 2 hours. Then rub excess salt from the fillets and flour them. Fry in butter in a frying pan.

This recipe has not changed in three hundred and fifty years, so that for the menu any dishes that followed it would be suitable. At the lunch the salad served was excellent and original.

CAULIFLOWER SALAD WITH SHRIMPS

Boil large whole cauliflower in salted water until the flowerets are tender but no more than that. Drain and press head down in a bowl while still hot so that when cold and removed from the bowl it will keep its shape. Place cauliflower flat side down on a flat round serving dish. Place 1 lb. shelled giant shrimps between the flowerets, tails pendant. Serve apart:

SAUCE MOUSSELINE

A sauce Mousseline is made by placing in the top of a double boiler the yolks of 3 eggs, 1/4 teaspoon salt and a pinch of pepper and the same of nutmeg. Put over very hot but not boiling water. Stir constantly with a wooden spoon, particularly around the sides and at the bottom. Add in very small pieces 1/4 lb. butter. Allow each piece to melt before adding the next one. When all the butter has melted and the mixture has thickened, remove from heat and add very slowly 1 tablespoon lemon juice. When the sauce is tepid add 1/2 cup whipped cream. Stir gently and serve.

This sauce is suitable with cold fish, asparagus and shell-fish salads.

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At the home of a French friend, the wife of a painter not at that time celebrated -- and consequently in modest circumstances -- cooked plain and tasty food. She was one of those exceptional French women who made no excessive effort when she had guests. The table would be set with extra care, white linen instead of everyday coloured, the wedding silver would be brought forth, the glasses were of crystal, and a simple dessert was added to the usual fare. Her guests recognised that she was honouring them in these details. One of her very nice desserts was what is called in French, although it has no resemblance to our sweet,

FLOATING ISLAND

Separate 6 eggs. Beat the whites until stiff but not dry, adding a pinch of tragacanth, a powder that can be found at any good chemist's and which helps in the cooking of the whites of eggs and keeps them stiff. Add gradually, while beating, 5 tablespoons sugar. Place this in a mould, prepared by melting in it over very low heat 5 tablespoons sugar. Tip the mould in all directions so that the bottom and sides are completely covered. Place the beaten whites of eggs in this, gently tapping so that there are no air pockets. Put the mould uncovered in a recipient of hot water over low flame. The water should simmer but not boil. When a coarse darning needle -- kept in the kitchen for such use -- stuck in the centre comes out dry, remove from flame and water. When cold, carefully turn out into a hollow dish. Stir the yolks of the 6 eggs with 1/2 cup sugar until lemon coloured. Add gradually 3 cups hot milk. Pour into a saucepan and stir with a wooden spoon over very low flame until the spoon is well coated. Remove from flame and add 1 teaspoon vanilla extract and a few drops of extract of bitter almonds. Stir from time to time until cold. Pour around the caramelised whites of eggs just before serving.

Friends (whom we had not met) of friends once asked us to one of their well-known Sunday lunches, well-known because of the superlative cooking and the agglomeration of their guests. We were indeed a numerous and disparate company -- the host a well-known international lawyer, a celebrated Italian cinema actress and her manager, a famous portrait painter, an American publisher and the rest of us of much lesser prominence. The house was an ancient royal hunting lodge in a large property some thirty miles from Paris. The menu and cooking were suitable to the beauty of the surroundings. The partridges had been shot by the host and his house guests, the vegetables, fruits and flowers came from the conservatories, the butter, cream and eggs from the dairy, the caviare from Russia -- the iron curtain was just descending -- and the wine from France, Germany and Hungary. But the fish course was French.

FILLETS OF SOLE WITH LOBSTER SAUCE

Wash the fillets of 2 soles weighing about 3/4 lb. each, reserving the rest of the fish, that is, the heads, tails, fins and small side bones. Roll the fillets and skewer them. Bring to a boil in their juice 12 fine oysters. Remove from fire and reserve the juice. Bring to a boil without water in a covered saucepan 1 quart mussels. As soon as the shells open remove from heat. Remove mussels from shells, and reserve juice. Cook covered in a small saucepan 1/2 lb. fresh mushrooms in 1 tablespoon butter, 1 tablespoon water and 1 tablespoon lemon juice. Boil for 10 minutes, reserve juice. Bring to a boil covered 1 medium-sized carrot, 1 medium-sized onion, a bouquet of 1 stalk celery, 1 twig thyme, 1 laurel leaf, 1 clove, 1 cup dry white wine and 1 cup water. Add salt and pepper, the heads, tails and bones of the fish and the juice of the mussels, oysters and mushrooms. Simmer for 1/2 hour. Remove from heat and strain. This is a court-bouillon.

Shell 1/2 lb. shrimps, put aside with mussels, oysters and mushrooms. Put the court-bouillon in covered saucepan, bring to a boil. Put in the rolled fillets, simmer for 10 minutes. Put 3 tablespoons butter in a saucepan, add 2 tablespoons crushed lobster eggs pounded through a fine sieve with potato masher. Moisten with a little of the court-bouillon in which the fillets have cooked. Pour into the court-bouillon, whip with a whisk. Stir the yolks of 3 eggs and add 1 cup hot cream. Pour into court-bouillon over low flame, stir, do not allow to boil. Add oysters, mussels, mushrooms and shrimps. Add in very small quantities 1/4 lb. butter. Do not stir to mix but tip saucepan in all directions. Remove from flame, add a squeeze of lemon juice and serve.

This is a royal dish.

It was a lunch to be remembered.

Another time we were invited by friends (whom we had never met) of a friend to dine on a mountain top near Lyon. This time it was at an ancient fortified farmhouse. If the company was more numerous than the one at the lunch party just described, it was more homogeneous. The dinner was composed entirely of food special to Lyon. The meat course was

ROLLED SLICES OF BEEF IN CREAM

Bone 1/4 lb. anchovies. Chop very fine 3 stalks parsley and 1 medium-sized onion, and crush I clove of garlic. Mash these ingredients to a paste. Cut 1-1/2 lbs. fillet of beef into four slices and spread this anchovy paste on them. Roll these slices and tie together. Put 4 tablespoons butter in iron pot over medium heat. When hot, place the rolled slices of beef in the pot. Brown lightly on all sides, add 2 cups hot veal stock, add 1/2 teaspoon pepper and simmer over low flame for 1 hour. After 3/4 hour add 3/4 cup cream in which I tablespoon lemon juice has been mixed. Cook for 1/4 hour further. Remove the strings and serve with

GOURMET'S POTATOES

Peel 2 lbs. potatoes and cut as for shoestring potatoes. Butter generously a mould with a tight-fitting cover. Butter a piece of paper cut to fit the bottom of mould. On this place a layer of potatoes, a sprinkling of salt and of chopped truffle previously cooked in white wine, allowing two truffles for the dish. Melt 3/4 cup butter for the dish sprinkling each layer generously. Fill the mould with layers of potatoes, salt, truffles and butter until full. Butter the cover of mould and put in pre-heated 350 ͦ oven for 1 hour. After 1/2 hour, lift the cover to see if the potatoes are dry. If they are, add 2 or 3 tablespoons melted butter. Continue to watch the potatoes are not dry until they are done. Carefully turn out of mould.

We did not always eat so well in French homes. Our landlady had lately married an Army officer who was a professor of map and chart making at St. Cyr, one of the historic military schools. They were living in a simple little house which was however furnished with priceless heirlooms. It was a rare pleasure to see them. Alas the lunch was not such a pleasure. The service was disorderly and careless, and a fine old Sevres plate of the set being used for the meal was broken. The omelette was burned -- a unique omelette indeed -- the mutton chops were underdone, and the cream in the dessert was sour. The conversation and the wine, which had been inherited, redeemed the wretched cooking. Many years later we happened to meet the godfather of our young host at St. Cyr. He and his wife asked us to lunch to efface the memory of the disaster of the last one. It was unpretentious but exquisitely cooked. He had been stationed in Dumas where his wife had learned to cook some of the regional dishes. We had

KOBBE

Grind 4 cups lean mutton three times in the meat chopper. Add 1 teaspoon saffron, 1 teaspoon pepper, 1 teaspoon salt and 5 cups coarse corn meal. Mix these ingredients thoroughly with 1/2 cup oil of Sesame or other bland oil. In a frying pan heat 1/2 cup oil and add 10 chopped onions and 1/2 cup pine nuts. Brown well but do not burn. Oil a fireproof earthenware dish. Put a layer of a little less than one-third of the meat and corn-meal mixture into the dish, flatten it with the back of an oiled tablespoon or the palm of your hand. Flatten the browned onions and nuts on this layer. Cover with the rest of the meat mixture. Flatten and pour over it 4 tablespoons oil. Place in preheated 425 ͦ oven for 40 minutes. If the meat dries, add more oil, 1 tablespoon of oil at a time. [2]

It was explained that corn meal was the substitute purchasable in France that approached nearest the native wheat. In any case it made a succulent savoury dish. The pine nuts, saffron and sesame oil gave the dish an original flavour.

This lunch compensated largely for the one served at the godson's table.

The best foreign cooking is in the homes of the French who have been forced for one reason or another to live in their colonies. Even Italian dishes are rarely well prepared by the French. As for American dishes, they are scarcely recognisable. But after two or three years in Indo-China or Africa they return not only with the recipes of the local cooking but with the materials unobtainable in France and a knowledge of how to prepare them. This is one we ate in several different homes.

MUTTON CROQUETTES (ALGERIA)

Put through meat chopper three times 4 cups lean mutton. Chop 4 onions very fine, mix well, add 2 raw eggs, 1 teaspoon salt, 1 teaspoon Spanish pepper (purchasable in any Spanish and some other grocery stores) and 1/2 teaspoon powdered cumin. Mould in floured palms of hands into round flat croquettes. Fry in oil over medium flame for 6 minutes on each side.

VEGETABLES AND EGGS

Skin 2 sweet peppers, remove seeds and chop. Chop 4 tomatoes, skins removed, 2 medium-sized unpeeled Italian squash. Add 2 peeled egg plants cut in thick slices. Place these vegetables in frying pan with 1/4 cup olive oil over medium flame with 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1 clove of mashed garlic. Stir with a wooden spoon, do not allow to burn. After 1/4 hour add 4 eggs beaten as for an omelette. Remove from heat, turn into well-oiled fireproof earthenware dish and place in preheated 425 ͦ oven just long enough to set the eggs. [3]

This is a pleasant change from an omelette with only one of these vegetables.

These are delicious fried cookies as made in Tunis

FRIED COOKIES

Mix 4-1/3 cups flour, 1/2 cup sugar and a pinch of salt. Beat as for an omelette 3 eggs. Add slowly to dry mixture and add only enough water to hold the mixture together. If the eggs are large it may not be necessary to add any water. Mix until the dough is smooth. Roll out on a floured board to about 1/10 of an inch thickness. Cut with cookie cutter or simply in squares with a knife. Fry in very hot deep oil only long enough to slightly colour them. Remove with perforated flat spoon. Place on absorbent paper and as quickly as possible paint with pastry brush one side of the cookies with honey and sprinkle generously with not too finely chopped pine nuts.

These Colonial dishes add variety to what are frequently in middleclass French families well-cooked but monotonous menus. Often either the master or the mistress of the household comes from a different province from the other, and this gives more variety to their menus. And then there are the dishes that over the years have been introduced by various cooks. Friends have told me that this has compensated for the annoyance and trouble of changing cooks.

At the country home of friends in Burgundy we ate several delicacies. To our great delectation we had frogs' legs twice in three days, the first time

FRIED FROGS' LEGS

Marinate for an hour 100 frogs' legs in 1 cup olive oil and 1 teaspoon salt, turning frequently. Drain well and wipe dry. Cover them with this

BATTER FOR FRYING

Separate 2 eggs. Stir the yolks, add a pinch of salt and 2 tablespoons olive oil. When well mixed, add slowly, stirring with a wooden spoon, 1 cup and 1 tablespoon flour. Beat the whites of eggs and add them to mixture. Put aside for an hour before using.

And then,

FROGS' LEGS WITH CREAM

Put 100 frogs' legs with 1/4 cup butter into frying pan over medium heat, add 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Stir them with wooden spoon until browned. Remove from pan, place on preheated serving dish. Keep hot. Add to frying pan 1 cup hot heavy cream mixed with 1/2 cup Bechamel sauce. Mix with butter in pan, stirring sides and bottom. Add 4 tablespoons butter. Do not allow to boil. Stir until melted, strain and pour over frogs' legs. Sprinkle with 1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley. Serve at once.

This is the best way to cook frogs' legs.

Many years ago we had an unusual lunch in an unusual setting. Gertrude Stein and I were asked to join some friends at a property in the Camargue, a peninsula of some twenty-five square miles in the delta of the Rhone. We drove down one morning in the late autumn into the deserted marshlands over bridges of boats to the Domaine of S, where we were to meet and lunch. The house was old and not lived in except for a guardian. It was used by its owner when he and his friends went shooting and fishing in the neighbourhood. The men would be bringing back fish and game (the French do not care for it high) that we would eat for lunch. In the huge room a blazing log fire roared. The women were setting the table and unwrapping the prepared dishes they had brought with them, meat and chicken pates which would be heated, aspics and butter and eggs, glasses, silver and linen. Gertrude Stein and I were suddenly taken out of doors to see two flamingoes drinking and some small white bulls, descendants of wild ones. There was a warm noisy welcome for the men when they returned, the bags were emptied and the birds and fish chosen for cooking. They were given to the guardian to pluck and clean, with some supervision from one woman of us at a time. The fire was very quickly reduced to one suitable for roasting on a spit. The mallards which had been chosen would not take long. The spit would take eight at a time, and there would be a second roasting during the carving and eating of the first. The lampreys were skinned and cleaned -- the men were very proud of having found them at that season in the nearby Rhone -- and they were cut in long pieces, each one wrapped in a thin slice of fat back of pork, and grilled on charcoal while this sauce was being prepared in an immensely ancient silver chafing dish.

SAUCE FOR LAMPREYS OR OTHER GRILLED FISH

For 1-2/3 lbs. fish, melt 4 tablespoons butter in a saucepan, add 1 tablespoon flour. Stirring constantly, slowly add 1 cup hot water, 1 cup Madeira or port, 1/2 lb. chopped mushrooms, I small chopped onion, 1/4 teaspoon salt, 3 crushed cloves of garlic, 6 whole peppers, I small sprig of thyme and 1 stalk of basil. Simmer until it is reduced by half. Strain and skim.

The straining and skimming were omitted with the general informality that prevailed.

The ducks, carefully basted with the butter from the dripping pan and their juice dripping from them into it, were cooked longer by a quarter of an hour than if roasted in an oven. They would be cooked longer than Gertrude Stein and I cared for them to be. The French dislike to see red juice when game is carved, they prefer their mutton underdone. The fish and the ducks were cooked to perfection. It was, with the endless dishes preceding and following the two courses, a Gargantuan feast. The guests drove to their homes in various directions, but a group of us went to spend the night at the inn at Les Baux to see the Camargue in the moonlight. Providently in my handbag was a little jar of American powdered coffee, which was a blessing for our breakfast and a novelty to our French friends.

There have been many more of these invitations to meals in French homes of which the greater number so much resembled each other that in a very short time they became indistinguishable. And this is not a reproach from a guest. It is a quality that limits them to what the French consider suitable -- and that is their ideal. They achieve a harmony, experience in their preparation and a justifiable pride in the finely balanced French cooking.

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Notes:

1. The variety of celery grown exclusively for the edible properties of its root is known as celeriac.

2. Sesame is an East Indian annual plant cultivated for its seeds which give a delicate faintly sweet oil much used in African and Oriental dishes. Peanut oil is a fair substitute.

3. Italian squash (Zucchini) are a sort of small vegetable marrow.
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Re: The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book by Alice B. Toklas

Postby admin » Wed Mar 22, 2023 8:01 am

3. Dishes for Artists

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BEFORE coming to Paris I was interested in food but not in doing any cooking. When in 1908 I went to live with Gertrude Stein at the rue de Fleurus she said we would have American food for Sunday-evening supper, she had had enough French and Italian cooking; the servant would be out and I should have the kitchen to myself. So I commenced to cook the simple dishes I had eaten in the homes of the San Joaquin Valley in California -- fricasseed chicken, corn bread, apple and lemon pie. Then when the pie crust received Gertrude Stein's critical approval I made mince-meat and at Thanksgiving we had a turkey that Helene the cook roasted but for which I prepared the dressing. Gertrude Stein not being able to decide whether she preferred mushrooms, chestnuts or oysters in the dressing, all three were included. The experiment was successful and frequently repeated; it gradually entered into my repertoire, which expanded as I grew experimental and adventurous.

BASS FOR PICASSO

One day when Picasso was to lunch with us I decorated a fish in a way that I thought would amuse him. I chose a fine striped bass and cooked it according to a theory of my grandmother who had no experience in cooking and who rarely saw her kitchen but who had endless theories about cooking as well as about many other things. She contended that a fish having lived its life in water, once caught, should have no further contact with the element in which it had been born and raised. She recommended that it be roasted or poached in wine or cream or butter. So I made a court-bouillon of dry white wine with whole peppers, salt, a laurel leaf, [1] a sprig of thyme, a blade of mace, an onion with a clove stuck in it, a carrot, a leek and a bouquet of fines herbes. This was gently boiled in the fish-kettle for 1/2 hour and then put aside to cool. Then the fish was placed on the rack, the fish-kettle covered and slowly brought to a boil and the fish poached for 20 minutes. Taken from the fire it was left to cool in the court-bouillon. It was then carefully drained, dried and placed on the fish platter. A short time before serving it I covered the fish with an ordinary mayonnaise and, using a pastry tube, decorated it with a red mayonnaise, not coloured with catsup -- horror of horrors -- but with tomato paste. Then I made a design with sieved hard-boiled eggs, the whites and the yolks apart, with truffles and with finely chopped fines herbes. I was proud of my chef d'oeuvre when it was served and Picasso exclaimed at its beauty. But, said he, should it not rather have been made in honour of Matisse than of me.

Picasso was for many years on a strict diet; in fact he managed somehow to continue it through the World War and the Occupation and, characteristically, only relaxed after the Liberation. Red meat was proscribed but that presented no difficulties for in those days beef was rarely served by the French except the inevitable roast fillet of beef with sauce Madere. Chicken too was not well considered, though a roast leg of mutton was viewed with more favour. Or we would have a tender loin of veal preceded by a spinach souffle, spinach having been highly recommended by Picasso's doctor and a souffle being the least objectionable way of preparing it. Could it not be made more interesting by adding a sauce. But what sauce would Picasso's diet permit. I would give him a choice. The souffle would be cooked in a well-buttered mould, placed in boiling water and when sufficiently cooked turned into a hollow dish around which in equal divisions would be placed a Hollandaise sauce, a cream sauce and a tomato sauce. It was my hope that the tri-coloured sauces would make the spinach souffle look less nourishing. Cruel enigma, said Picasso, when the souffle was served to him.

The only painter who ever gave me a recipe was Francis Picabia and though it is only a dish of eggs it merits the name of its creator.

OUEFS FRANCIS PICABIA

Break 8 eggs into a bowl and mix them well with a fork, add salt but no pepper. Pour them into a saucepan -- yes, a saucepan, no, not a frying pan. Put the saucepan over a very, very low flame, keep turning them with a fork while very slowly adding in very small quantities 1/2 lb. butter -- not a speck less, rather more if you can bring yourself to it. It should take 1/2 hour to prepare this dish. The eggs of course are not scrambled but with the butter, no substitute admitted, produce a suave consistency that perhaps only gourmets will appreciate.

When the Germans in 1940 were advancing we were at Bilignin and had no precise information concerning their progress through France. Could one believe the radio. We didn't. We heard cannon-fire. Then it grew louder. The next morning dressing at the window I saw German planes firing on French planes, not more than two miles away. This decided me to act in the way any forethoughtful housekeeper should. We would take the car into Belley and make provision for any eventuality as I had done that April morning of 1906 when the fire in San Francisco had broken out after the earthquake. Then I had been able to secure two hams and my father had brought back four hundred cigarettes. With these one might, he said, not only exist but be able to be hospitable. So at Belley we bought two hams and hundreds of cigarettes and some groceries -- the garden at Bilignin would provide fruit and vegetables. The main road was filled with refugees, just as it had been in 1914 and in 1917. Everything that was happening had already been experienced, like a half-awakening from nightmare. The firing grew louder and then the first armoured car flew past. Crushed, we took the little dust road back to Bilignin. The widow Roux, who for many summers had been our devoted servant and later during the Occupation proved to be our loyal friend, opened the big iron gates to let the car through and we unloaded the provisions. What were we to do with the two enormous uncooked hams. In what could we cook them and in what way so that they would keep indefinitely. We decided upon Eau-de-Vie de Marc for which the Bugey is well known. It seemed madly extravagant but we lived on those two hams during the long lean winter that followed and well into the following spring, and the Eau-de-Vie de Marc in which they were cooked, carefully bottled and corked, toned up winter vegetables. We threw nothing, but absolutely nothing away, living through a war in an occupied country.

The Baronne Pierlot, our neighbour, was chatelaine at Beon, some ten miles away. One day, before the war, we had driven over to a goute [2] to which she had bidden us. It was being served in the summer dining-room whose windows and door gave on to a vast terrace. In the foreground was the marsh of the Rhone Valley lately reclaimed by the planting of Lombardy poplars, to the south the mountains of the Grande Chartreuse, to the left in the distance the French Alps and over it all the Tiepolo blue sky. The table in the dining-room set for twenty or more was elaborately decorated with pink roses. Madame Pierlot's observant eye passed quickly and lightly over each object on the table. I heard her tell the valet-de-chambre to ask the cook for the piece-de-resistance and to place it in the empty space waiting for it in the centre of the table. But Marc did not leave the room, he merely took a cake from the serving table and put it in the empty space. There was evidently some contretemps. I was enlightened when I caught knowing looks passing between Gertrude Stein and one of the daughters-in-law of the house. It was Gertrude Stein's white poodle, a very neat thief, who had done away with whatever had been in the centre of the table. Later when Madame Pierlot, to show that she had forgiven the dog, threw him a piece of cake we could not protest that it was against our principles to reward a misdeed.

Madame Pierlot was an old friend of Paul Claudel and there had been a long controversial correspondence over the years, largely on religious subjects; Claudel a devout Catholic, Madame Pierlot not. Bernard Fay said that she had been converted once and forever by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. She told Gertrude Stein one day that Claudel's letters were beginning to bore her and she was equally bored by having to answer him. She had written to him saying that they would no longer defend their opinions, that they would no longer write to each other, but they would remain the same good old friends they had always been. Claudel could not resist having the last word. He wrote that in spite of her continuously avowed unbelief he was certain that when he died he would find her in Heaven welcoming him with arms extended, to which she replied -- Who tells you that I am to die before you.

If Madame Pierlot was known as an exquisite hostess it was not only for her wit and charm or for her impeccable taste in choosing her guests and her menus, but also for the care with which her old cook, Perrine, prepared the menus. Madame Pierlot told me that when she was engaging her to come to be her cook she asked her if she knew how to prepare several complicated dishes which she mentioned. She saw that Perrine had had a large experience. As she was well recommended, I decided, Madame Pierlot told me, to engage her, but I told her that it was on the condition that she would forget everything she knew and follow the recipes and the instructions I would give her.

Our enchanting old friend was as original in her housekeeping as in everything else. Long ago the Figaro which was then the newspaper read by the fashionable world asked well-known society women to contribute recipes which were to be printed in a special column. When Madame Pierlot was asked to be one of the contributors she sent the recipe for

GIGOT DE LA CLINIQUE

A surgeon living in the provinces, as fond of good cheer as he was learned, invented this recipe which we acquired by bribing his cook. No leg of venison can compare with a simple leg of mutton prepared in the following manner. Eight days in advance you will cover the leg of mutton with the marinade called Baume Samaritain, composed of wine -- old Burgundy, Beaune or Chambertin -- and virgin olive oil. Into this balm to which you have already added the usual condiments of salt, pepper, bay leaf, thyme, beside an atom of ginger root, put a pinch of cayenne, a nutmeg cut into small pieces, a handful of crushed juniper berries and lastly a dessertspoon of powdered sugar (effective as musk in perfumery) which serves to fix the different aromas. Twice a day you will turn the gigot. Now we come to the main point of the preparation. After you have placed the gigot in the marinade you will arm yourself with a surgical syringe of a size to hold 1/2 pint which you will fill with 1/2 cup of cognac and 1/2 cup of fresh orange juice. Inject the contents of the syringe into the fleshy part of the gigot in three different spots. Refill the syringe with the same contents and inject into the gigot twice more. Each day you will fill the syringe with the marinade and inject the contents into the gigot. At the end of the week the leg of mutton is ready to be roasted; perfumed with the condiments and the spices, completely permeated by the various flavours, it has been transfused into a strange and exquisite venison. Roast and serve with the usual venison sauce to which has been added just before serving 2 tablespoons of the blood of a hare. [3]

Everyone thought that the syringe was a whimsy, that Madame Pierlot was making mock of them. Not at all. Years later I found it in that great collection of French recipes, Bertrand Guegan's Le Grand Cuisinier Francais. The Baronne Pierlot's recipe is classified, it has entered into the Grande Cuisine Francaise.

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Notes:

1. The leaf must come from Apollo's Laurel (Laurus Nobilis), better known outside France as the bay.

2. Here, a lavish afternoon tea-party.

3. A marinade is a bath of wine, herbs, oil, vegetables, vinegars and so on, in which fish or meat destined for particular dishes repose for specified periods and acquire virtue.
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Re: The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book by Alice B. Toklas

Postby admin » Wed Mar 22, 2023 8:03 am

4. Murder in the Kitchen

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COOK-BOOKS have always intrigued and seduced me. When I was still a dilettante in the kitchen they held my attention, even the dull ones, from cover to cover, the way crime and murder stories did Gertrude Stein.

When we first began reading Dashiell Hammett, Gertrude Stein remarked that it was his modern note to have disposed of his victims before the story commenced. Goodness knows how many were required to follow as the result of the first crime. And so it is in the kitchen. Murder and sudden death seem as unnatural there as they should be anywhere else. They can't, they can never become acceptable facts. Food is far too pleasant to combine with horror. All the same, facts, even distasteful facts, must be accepted and we shall see how, before any story of cooking begins, crime is inevitable. That is why cooking is not an entirely agreeable pastime. There is too much that must happen in advance of the actual cooking. This doesn't of course apply to food that emerges stainless from deep freeze. But the marketing and cooking I know are French and it was in France, where freezing units are unknown, that in due course I graduated at the stove.

In earlier days, memories of which are scattered among my chapters, if indulgent friends on this or that Sunday evening or party occasion said that the cooking I produced wasn't bad, it neither beguiled nor flattered me into liking or wanting to do it. The only way to learn to cook is to cook, and for me, as for so many others, it suddenly and unexpectedly became a disagreeable necessity to have to do it when war came and Occupation followed. It was in those conditions of rationing and shortage that I learned not only to cook seriously but to buy food in a restricted market and not to take too much time in doing it, since there were so many more important and more amusing things to do. It was at this time, then, that murder in the kitchen began.

The first victim was a lively carp brought to the kitchen in a covered basket from which nothing could escape. The fish man who sold me the carp said he had no time to kill, scale or clean it, nor would he tell me with which of these horrible necessities one began. It wasn't difficult to know which was the most repellent. So quickly to the murder and have it over with. On the docks of Puget Sound I had seen fishermen grasp the tail of a huge salmon and lifting it high bring it down on the dock with enough force to kill it. Obviously I was not a fisherman nor was the kitchen table a dock. Should I not dispatch my first victim with a blow on the head from a heavy mallet? After an appraising glance at the lively fish it was evident he would escape attempts aimed at his head. A heavy sharp knife came to my mind as the classic, the perfect choice, so grasping, with my left hand well covered with a dishcloth, for the teeth might be sharp, the lower jaw of the carp, and the knife in my right, I carefully, deliberately found the base of its vertebral column and plunged the knife in. I let go my grasp and looked to see what had happened. Horror of horrors. The carp was dead, killed, assassinated, murdered in the first, second and third degree. Limp, I fell into a chair, with my hands still unwashed reached for a cigarette, lighted it, and waited for the police to come and take me into custody. After a second cigarette my courage returned and I went to prepare poor Mr. Carp for the table. I scraped off the scales, cut off the fins, cut open the underside and emptied out a great deal of what I did not care to look at, thoroughly washed and dried the fish and put it aside while I prepared

CARP STUFFED WITH CHESTNUTS

For a 3-lb. carp, chop a medium-sized onion and cook it gently in 3 tablespoons butter. Add a 2-inch slice of bread cut into small cubes which have previously been soaked in dry, white wine and squeezed dry, 1 tablespoon chopped parsley, 2 chopped shallots, 1 clove of pressed garlic, 1 teaspoon salt, 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper, 1/4 teaspoon powdered mace, the same of laurel (bay) and of thyme and 12 boiled and peeled chestnuts. Mix well, allow to cool, add 1 raw egg, stuff the cavity and head of the fish, carefully snare with skewers, tie the head so that nothing will escape in cooking. Put aside for at least a couple of hours. Put 2 cups dry white wine into an earthenware dish, place the fish in the dish, salt to taste. Cook in the oven for 20 minutes at 375 ͦ. Baste, and cover the fish with a thick coating of very fine cracker crumbs, dot with 3 tablespoons melted butter and cook for 20 minutes more. Serve very hot accompanied by noodles. Serves 4. The head of a carp is enormous. Many continentals consider it the most delectable morsel.

NOODLES

Sift 2 cups flour, 1 teaspoon salt and a pinch of nutmeg, add the yolks of 5 eggs and 1 whole egg. Mix thoroughly with a fork and then knead on a floured board, form into a ball, wrap in a cloth and put aside for several hours. Divide into three parts. Roll each one in turn on a lightly floured board to tissue-paper thinness. Dry for 1/2 hour, roll up and cut into strips 1/4 inch wide. Bring 1 quart water with 1 teaspoon salt to a hard boil. Place noodles a few at a time into boiling water, stir gently with a fork, reduce heat and boil slowly for 10 minutes. Drain off all the water and add 3 tablespoons melted butter. These noodles are very delicate. Serves 4.

It was in the market of Palma de Mallorca that our French cook tried to teach me to murder by smothering. There is no reason why this crime should have been committed publicly or that I should have been expected to participate. Jeanne was just showing off. When the crowd of market women who had gathered about her began screaming and gesticulating, I retreated. When we met later to drive back in the carry-all filled with our marketing to Terreno where we had a villa I refused to sympathise with Jeanne. She said the Mallorcans were bloodthirsty, didn't they go to bullfights and pay an advanced price for the meat of the beasts they had seen killed in the ring, didn't they prefer to chop off the heads of innocent pigeons instead of humanely smothering them which was the way to prevent all fowl from bleeding to death and so make them fuller and tastier. Had she not tried to explain this to them, to teach them, to show them how an intelligent humane person went about killing pigeons, but no they didn't want to learn, they preferred their own brutal ways. At lunch when she served the pigeons Jeanne discreetly said nothing. Discussing food which she enjoyed above everything had been discouraged at table. But her fine black eyes were eloquent. If the small-sized pigeons the island produced had not achieved jumbo size, squabs they unquestionably were, and larger and more succulent squabs than those we had eaten at the excellent restaurant at Palma.

Later we went back to Paris and then there was war and after a lifetime there was peace. One day passing the concierge's loge he called me and said he had something someone had left for us. He said he would bring it to me, which he did and which I wished he hadn't when I saw what it was, a crate of six white pigeons and a note from a friend saying she had nothing better to offer us from her home in the country, ending with But as Alice is clever she will make something delicious of them. It is certainly a mistake to allow a reputation for cleverness to be born and spread by loving friends. It is so cheaply acquired and so dearly paid for. Six white pigeons to be smothered, to be plucked, to be cleaned and all this to be accomplished before Gertrude Stein returned for she didn't like to see work being done. If only I had the courage the two hours before her return would easily suffice. A large cup of strong black coffee would help. This was before a lovely Brazilian told me that in her country a large cup of black coffee was always served before going to bed to ensure a good night's rest. Not yet having acquired this knowledge the black coffee made me lively and courageous. I carefully found the spot on poor innocent Dove's throat where I was to press and pressed. The realization had never come to me before that one saw with one's fingertips as well as one's eyes. It was a most unpleasant experience, though as I laid out one by one the sweet young corpses there was no denying one could become accustomed to murdering. So I plucked the pigeons, emptied them and was ready to cook

BRAISED PIGEONS ON CROUTONS

For 6 pigeons cut 1/2 lb. salt pork in small cubes, place in Dutch oven with 6 tablespoons butter, place pigeons in oven, brown slightly, cover and cook over low flame for 1 hour turning and basting frequently. While pigeons are cooking wash and carefully dry 2 lbs. mushrooms. Chop them very fine, and pass through a coarse sieve, cook over brisk fire in 1/4 lb. butter until liquid has evaporated. Reduce flame and add 1 cup heavy cream sauce and 1/2 cup heavy cream. Spread on 6 one-half-inch slices of bread that have been lightly browned in butter. Spread the puree of mushrooms on the croutons. Place the pigeons on the croutons. Skim the fat from the juice in the Dutch oven, add 2 tablespoons Madeira, bring to a boil and pour over pigeons. Salt for this dish depends upon how salty the pork is. Serves 6 to 12 according to size of pigeons.

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The next murder was not of my doing. During six months which we spent in the country we raised Barbary ducks. They are larger than ordinary ducks and are famous for the size of their livers. They do not quack and are not friendly. Down in the Ain everyone shoots. Many of the farmers go off to work in the fields with a gun slung over a shoulder and not infrequently return with a bird or two. Occasionally a farmer would sell us a pheasant or a partridge. An English friend staying with us, astonished to find farmers shooting, remarked, When everyone shoots no one shoots. Our nearest neighbour had a so-called bird dog, mongrel she certainly was, ruby coat like an Irish setter but her head was flat, her paws too large, her tail too short. We would see Diane on the road, she was not sympathetic. The large iron portals at Bilignin were sometimes left open when Gertrude Stein took the car out for a short while, and one morning Diane, finding them open, came into the court and saw the last of our Barbary ducks, Blanchette, because she was blue-black. Perhaps innocently perhaps not, opinion was divided later, she began to chase Blanchette. She would come running at the poor bewildered duck from a distance, charge upon her, retreat and recommence. The cook, having seen from the kitchen window what was happening, hastened out. The poor duck was on her back and Diane was madly barking and running about. By the time I got to the court the cook was tenderly carrying a limp Blanchette in her arms to the kitchen. Having chased Diane out of the court, I closed the portals and returned to my work in the vegetable garden supposing the episode to be over. Not at all. Presently the cook appeared, her face whiter than her apron. Madame, she said, poor Blanchette is no more. That wretched dog frightened her to death. Her heart was beating so furiously I saw there was but one thing to do. I gave her three tablespoonsfuls of eau-de-vie, that will give her a good flavour. And then I killed her. How does Madame wish her to be cooked. Surprised at the turn the affair had taken, I answered feebly, With orange sauce.

There was considerable talk in the hamlet. While we were walking along the road someone would say What a pity, or Your beautiful bird! to which we would answer that we would have had to be eating her soon anyway. But Diane's master did not know what attitude to take until I sent his wife a basket of globe egg plants, almost white and yellow tomatoes and a few gumbos (okra), none of which she had seen before. Then he came to thank us for his wife and presented a large pot of fresh butter she had sent us. He knew our cook felt that his dog had caused the death of our duck. We wiped out the memory of the misadventure in thanking each other for the gifts. So Blanchette was cooked as

DUCK WITH ORANGE SAUCE

Put the bird aside and cook the rest of the giblets including the neck in 2 cups water with 1 teaspoon salt, 1/4 teaspoon pepper, 1 small onion with a clove stuck in it, a shallot, 1/2 laurel leaf, a sprig of thyme and a small blade of mace. Cover and cook slowly. When the juice has reduced to 1 cup put aside. Cut 1 peeled orange into half a dozen pieces and put inside the duck. Cut the orange peel into small pieces and boil covered in 1/2 cup water for 10 minutes. Roast the duck in a 400° oven in a pan with 3 tablespoons butter for 1/2 hour, basting and turning the duck three times. Put the orange peel and the liver in a mortar. Moisten with 1/3 cup of the best white curacao and crush to an even paste. Add to this the cup of giblet juice and the juice in the pan from which the fat has been skimmed. Heat thoroughly but do not allow to boil, strain and serve in preheated metal sauce boat. Place very thinly sliced unpeeled oranges on the duck and serve. Sufficient for 4.

Many times I held the thought to kill a stupid or obstinate cook, but as long as the thought was held murder was not committed. Then a gay and enchanting Austrian came to cook for me. He was a perfect cook. Quietly and expeditiously Frederich, as I shall call him, prepared the most intricate and complicated dishes for us, nothing was too much trouble for him to undertake. He would make us ice cream in individual moulds in the form of eggs on a nest of coloured spun sugar. He delighted in making cakes that represented objects appropriate to each person, a book for Gertrude Stein, a rose for Sir Francis Rose, a peacock for a very vain young lady and a little dog for me. He used to receive the visits of an extremely pretty young girl, Duscha, who looked as if she had stepped out of an Offenbach opera. Gertrude Stein and I were delighted with them. At Christmas we asked them to accept amongst their gifts a supper with champagne at the restaurant of their choice for the traditional reveillon. Gradually Frederich began to confide in me. Life was not as happy for him as it had been. In the beginning there was only his fiancee Duscha, his angel, but now there was a second, a devil, who wanted him to marry her and who was threatening to kill him if he didn't. And he told us that he and Hitler had been born in the same village and that anyone in the village was like all the others and that they were all a little strange. This was in 1936 and we already knew Hitler was very strange indeed. Frederich was perhaps not so much strange as weak, loving wine, women and song. But he continued to be a perfect cook. He had been for several years a cook at Frau Sacher's restaurant and frequently baked us the well-known

SACHER TORTE

Cream 1/2 cup butter, gradually add 1 cup sugar, the grated peel of 1 lemon, 4 ozs. melted chocolate, the yolks of 6 eggs, fold in the beaten whites of 6 eggs and 3 tablespoons flour. Butter and flour a flat cake pan and bake for 40 minutes in a 325 ͦ oven. Let cool in pan. When perfectly cold, cut in half and spread the following mixture between the two layers.

2 ozs. chocolate melted, to which add 1 teaspoon powdered coffee dissolved in 1/2 cup hot water. When perfectly smooth beat in 2 yolks of eggs. Beat 1 cup heavy cream sweetened with 3 tablespoons icing sugar. Add first mixture to the whipped cream.

Cover the cake with apricot jelly or strained apricot jam and ice with chocolate icing.

Frederich also liked to serve

LINZER TORTE

1/2 cup powdered almonds, 1 cup flour, 1/2 cup butter, 1/2 cup sugar, the yolks of 2 boiled eggs sieved, a pinch of cinnamon, a pinch of nutmeg, grated peel of 1/2 lemon. Cut the butter and flour with knives or pastry blender, add the other ingredients in the above order, finally add 3 teaspoons rum. Put aside in the refrigerator for a couple of hours. Roll out three-quarters of the dough and fit into buttered pie plate with detachable bottom, fill with raspberry jam. Roll out rest of dough, cut with pastry wheel into strips 1/2 in. wide and place on pie in lattices. Paint lightly with beaten egg. Bake in 350 ͦ oven for 1/2 hour.

Here is the last dish Frederich served us.

GYPSY GOULASH

1-1/2 lbs. fillet of beef in slices of 1/4 inch thickness, cut in lengths of 1/4 inch width, browned in lard with 1 teaspoon salt, 1 tablespoon paprika and 1 tablespoon flour, 4 large onions sliced, 3/4 lb. potatoes sliced. When lightly browned add 2 cups red wine, 1 cup sour cream and enough bouillon to cover. Put in covered casserole in 375 ͦ oven for 1 hour. Add 1/2 cup sour cream before serving. Serve with noodles. Serves 4.

One afternoon as Gertrude Stein and I were coming home someone came out of our door and passed in the court. She had small snappy dark eyes. The devil, Gertrude Stein inquired. Presumably, I answered. The glimpse I had of her left me uneasy for Frederich. We wanted him to be happy and to stay with us as our servant. Later I went into the kitchen to see him. He was sitting at the table, his head in his arms. He jumped up when he saw me. What is it, I asked. The devil, Madame, the devil came to see me with a bottle of precious Tokay as a gift. The devil wanted to poison me, to kill me. The fiend poured a glass and passed it to me. Just as I was about to toast her I noticed that she had poured none for herself, her glass was empty, and that she had not taken out the cork with a corkscrew. She was going to poison me. I threw the bottle at her. I shoved her about. I threw her out. Oh Madame, the devil will get me yet or she will kill me. I sent him off to his room.

The next morning there was no Frederich in the kitchen. Towards noon I asked the concierge to go up to his room to see what had happened. He returned to report that the door was open, the room empty except for a strapped trunk. He had not seen Frederich all morning but the dark lady had been there about two hours ago. What could we do. Nothing but wait for Duscha to turn up which she did late in the afternoon. As pretty, dainty and as elegant as usual but her eyes red and swollen. She had had a wire from Frederich as long as a letter which proved, she said, how distraught he was. He had gone off with the devil, useless to hunt for them, they were leaving Paris. He would always love his angel but their happiness together was over forever. She should go to tell this to the good ladies, they would pay her what they owed him, for three weeks and six days, and with this she should buy herself a frivolite as a last souvenir of her adoring Frederich.

While I was reading this Duscha was gently sobbing into a delicate white handkerchief. I led her into the big room and left her with Gertrude Stein while I prepared tea. She came running when she saw the tray with three cups. But she put her handkerchief away and quietly drank several cups of tea and ate the last of Frederich's perfect Viennese pastry that we were to taste. What are you going to do, we asked Duscha. Go on with my work with the good kind Princess, she will understand. When my eyes are no longer red and I shall have forgotten sweet weak Frederich life will begin again. Then I paid her her faithless lover's wages. She thanked me and counted the bills. With a sob and a sigh she neatly folded and put them in her handbag. Let us hear from you, I said as she left.

But for months we didn't, then we received wedding announcements. In France this is done by the bride's family to the left, by the groom's family to the right. Duscha's family way off in an unpronounceable village in Austria had the honour and so on and then the groom's family, two grandmothers and a grandfather, his parents, his brothers, his sisters, all sprinkled with military medals and Legions d'Honneur and civil titles, announced that the son was marrying Duscha. She had entered a well-established bourgeois family with nothing more to fear.

This is the last souvenir of Frederich,

A TENDER TART

1/2 cup and 1 tablespoon butter, 1 cup and 2 tablespoons flour, 1 egg yolk, blend with knives or pastry blender, add only enough water to hold together, knead lightly, put aside in refrigerator. Stir 2 eggs and 1 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar for 20 minutes. Do not beat. Add 1 teaspoon vanilla and 1 cup finely chopped hazel nuts. Roll out a little more than half the dough, place in deep pie plate with detachable bottom, fill with egg-sugar-nut mixture. Roll out remaining dough and cover tart, press the edges together so that the bottom and top crusts adhere. Bake for 1/2 hour in 350 ͦ oven. Exquisite.
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Re: The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book by Alice B. Toklas

Postby admin » Wed Mar 22, 2023 8:05 am

5. "Beautiful Soup"

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FROM murder to detection is not far. And here is a note on tracking a soup to its source. It was as a result of eating gazpacho in Spain lately that I came to the conclusion that recipes through conquests and occupations have travelled far. After the first ineffable gazpacho was served to us in Malaga and an entirely different but equally exquisite one was presented in Seville the recipes for them had unquestionably become of greater importance than Grecos and Zurbarans, than cathedrals and museums. Surely the calle de las Sierpes, the liveliest, most seductive of streets, would produce the cook-book that would answer the burning consuming question of how to prepare a gazpacho. Down the narrow Sierpes where only pedestrians are permitted to pass, with its de luxe shops of fans, boots and gloves, toys and sweets, its smart men's clubs on either side whose members sit three tables deep sipping iced drinks and evaluating the young ladies who pass, at the end of the street was the large book shop remembered from a previous visit forty years before. Cook-books without number, exactly eleven, were offered for inspection but not a gazpacho in any index. Oh, said the clerk, gazpachos are only eaten in Spain by peasants and Americans. Choosing the book that seemed to have the fewest French recipes, I hurried back to Zurbaran and Greco, to museums and cathedrals.

At Cordoba there was another and suaver gazpacho, at Segovia one with a more vulgar appeal, outrageously coarse. There was nothing to do but to resign oneself to an experimental laboratory effort as soon as a kitchen was available. Upon the return from Spain my host at Cannes, a distinguished Polish-American composer, a fine gourmet and experienced cook, listened to the story of the futile chase for gazpacho recipes, for their possible ingredients. Ah, said he, but you are describing a chlodnik, the Polish iced soup. Before he had had time to prepare it for us a Turkish guest arrived and he hearing about the gazpachos and the chlodnik said, You are describing a Turkish cacik. Perhaps, said I. It was confusing. He said he would prepare a cacik for us. It was to be sure an iced soup, but the Turk had not the temperament of a great cook, he should not have accepted olive oil as a substitute for the blander oil of sesame. Then we had the chlodnik, a really great dish worthy of its Spanish cousins. But that was not the end. There was the Greek tarata. Yes indeed, it was confusing, until one morning it occurred to me that it was evident each one of these frozen soups was not a separate creation. Had the Poles passed the recipe to their enemy the Turks at the siege of Vienna or had it been brought back to Poland much earlier than that from Turkey or Greece? Or had it been brought back by a crusader from Turkey? Had it gone to Sicily from Greece and then to Spain? It is a subject to be pursued. Well, here are the seven Mediterranean soups.

GAZPACHO OF MALAGA (Spanish)

4 cups veal broth cooked with 2 cloves of garlic and a large Spanish onion.
1 large tomato peeled, with its seeds removed, and cut in minute cubes.
1 small cucumber peeled, with its seeds removed, and cut in minute cubes.
1/2 sweet red pepper, skin and seeds removed, cut in minute cubes.
4 tablespoons cooked rice.
2 tablespoons olive oil.

Mix thoroughly and serve ice-cold. Sufficient for 4 though double the quantity may not be too much!

GAZPACHO OF SEVILLE

In a bowl put 4 crushed cloves of garlic.
1 teaspoon salt, 1/2 teaspoon powdered Spanish pepper.
Pulp of 2 medium-sized tomatoes crushed.
Mix these ingredients thoroughly and add drop by drop 4 tablespoons olive oil.
Add 1 Spanish onion cut in tissue-paper-thin slices.
1 sweet red or green pepper, seeds removed and cut in minute cubes.
1 cucumber peeled, seeds removed and cut in minute cubes.
4 tablespoons fresh white breadcrumbs.
Add 3 cups water, mix thoroughly.
Serve ice-cold.

GAZPACHO OF CORDOBA

2 cloves of crushed garlic, 2 cucumbers peeled, seeds removed and minutely cubed.
2 tablespoons olive oil.
2 cups water.
2 cups heavy cream.
2 teaspoons cornflour.
1 teaspoon salt.

Mix thoroughly the first three ingredients. Bring the water to a boil with the salt. Mix the cornflour with 3 additional tablespoons water, add to the boiling water. When the cornflour is cooked and the water thickened pour it over the garlic, cucumbers and oil. Let it cool and gradually add the cream. Serve ice-cold.

GAZPACHO OF SEGOVIA

4 cloves of garlic pressed.
1 teaspoon ground Spanish pepper.
1 teaspoon salt.
1/2 teaspoon cumin powder.
2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh basil or 3/4 tablespoon powdered basil.
4 tablespoons olive oil.
1 Spanish onion cut in minute cubes.
2 tomatoes peeled, seeds removed and cut in minute cubes.
2 cucumbers peeled, seeds removed and cut in minute cubes.
1 red sweet pepper, seeds removed and cut in minute cubes.
2 tablespoons fresh white bread crumbs.
4 cups water.

Put the first six ingredients in a bowl and add drop by drop the olive oil. When this has become an emulsion add the dry bread crumbs and the prepared onion, cucumbers and the tomatoes. Then add the water. Mix thoroughly. Serve ice-cold.

CHLODNIK (Polish)

2 ozs. lean veal cut in small pieces cooked in water to cover.
2 ozs. beets cooked until tender and crushed through a sieve. Keep the water in which they were cooked.
1 teaspoon chives cut in very small lengths.
1 teaspoon powdered dill.
10 prawns, can be replaced by 16 large shrimps.
1 teaspoon salt, 1/2 teaspoon pepper.
1 cucumber peeled, seeds removed and very thinly sliced.
2 cups sour heavy cream.
6 hard-boiled eggs sliced.

Add the cucumber to the beets and the water in which they were cooked, then the veal and its juice. Stir in the sour cream gradually, add the dill, salt and pepper, the chives, the prawns or the shrimps. Add the eggs carefully. Serve ice-cold.

CACIK (Turkish)

6 cucumbers peeled, seeds removed and cut in slices.
6 cups heavy yoghourt.
1 teaspoon salt.
6 tablespoons oil of sesame, a bland oil may be substituted.

Mix thoroughly and serve ice-cold.

TARATA (Greek)

3 green peppers, skinned and seeds removed.
6 egg plants, skinned and seeds removed.

Cook gently in 6 tablespoons olive oil without browning. Mash fine and mix thoroughly with 4 cups heavy yoghourt. Add 1 teaspoon salt, 1/2 teaspoon pepper, a pinch of cayenne, a pinch of powdered mint and 2 pressed cloves of garlic. Serve ice-cold.

After this chapter was completed further news of gazpacho came from Santiago de Chile in South America. Did the conquistadores take the recipe, along with their horses, to the New World? Senora Marta Brunet, a distinguished Chilean writer, is of Spanish or rather Catalan descent and she describes gazpacho as a meal of the Spanish muleteers. And meal it seems, in this version, rather than soup. These muleteers, she says, carry with them on their journeyings a flat earthenware dish -- and garlic, olive oil, tomatoes and cucumbers, also dry bread which they crumble. Between two stones by the wayside they grind the garlic with a little salt and then add the oil. This mixture is rubbed all round the inside of the earthenware vessel. Then they slice the tomatoes and cucumbers and put alternating layers of each in the dish, interspersing the layers with layers of breadcrumbs and topping off the four tiers with more breadcrumbs and more oil. This done and prepared, they take a wet cloth, wrap it round the dish and leave it in a sunny place. The evaporation cooks the contents and when the cloth is dry the meal is ready. Too simple, my dear Watson.
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Re: The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book by Alice B. Toklas

Postby admin » Wed Mar 22, 2023 8:11 am

Part 1 of 2

6. Food to which Aunt Pauline and Lady Godiva led us

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WHEN in 1916 Gertrude Stein commenced driving Aunt Pauline for the American Fund for French Wounded, she was a responsible if not an experienced driver.

She knew how to do everything but go in reverse. She said she would be like the French Army, never have to do such a thing. Delivering to hospitals in Paris and the suburbs offered no difficulties, for there was practically no civilian traffic. One day we were asked to make a delivery to a military hospital in Montereau, where we would lunch after the visit to the hospital. It was late by the time that had been accomplished and the court of the inn that had been recommended was crowded with military cars. When Gertrude Stein proposed leaving Aunt Pauline, for so our delivery truck had been baptised -- not in champagne, only in white wine -- in the entrance of the court, I protested. It was barring the exit. We can't leave it in the road, she said. That would be too tempting. The large dining-room was filled with officers. The lunch, for wartime, was good. We were waiting for coffee when an officer came to our table and, saluting, said, The truck with a Red Cross in the entrance to the court belongs to you. Oh yes, we proudly said in unison. It is unfortunately barring the exit, he said, so that none of the cars in the court can get out. I am afraid I must ask you to back it out. Oh that, cried Gertrude Stein, I cannot do, as if it were an unpardonable sin he were asking her to commit. Perhaps, he continued, if you come with me we might together be able to do it. Which they did. But Gertrude Stein was not yet convinced that she would have to learn to go in reverse.

If Aunt Pauline had led us to Montereau on her first adventure, she was soon doing better. The committee of the American Fund had asked us to open a depot for distributing to several departments with headquarters at Perpignan. Aunt Pauline -- Model T, bless her -- made no more than thirty miles an hour, so we were always late at inns, hotels and restaurants for meals. But at Saulieu they would serve us for lunch Panade Veloutee, Ham Croquettes and Peches Flambees. They were cooked with delicacy and distinction. I got the recipe for

FLAMING PEACHES

Fresh peaches are preferable, though canned ones can be substituted. If fresh, take 6 and cover with boiling water for a few minutes and peel. Poach in 1-1/2 cups water over low flame for 3 or 4 minutes. Place in a chafing dish, add 1/4 cup sugar and 3/4 cup peach brandy. Bring to the table and light the chafing dish. When the syrup is about to boil light and ladle it over the peaches. Serve each peach lighted. This is a simple, tasty and effective dessert.

As we came into the dining-room I had noticed a man wandering about whose appearance disturbed me, he looked suspiciously like a German. German officer prisoners did occasionally escape. When the maitre d'hotel received our compliments for the fine cooking, I asked him who the man was and he said he was the proprietor of the hotel and had just been released from Germany where he had been a civilian prisoner. He had been chef for a number of years to the Kaiser, which not only accounted for the quality of the food but for the clothes which had misled me.

Aunt Pauline took several days to get us to Lyon where we were to lunch at La Mere Fillioux's famous restaurant. As a centre of gastronomy it was famous for a number of dishes, so La Mere Fillioux's menu was typical of Lyon. It is the habit in Lyon and thereabouts for restaurants and hotels to have set menus called le diner fin and le dejeuner fin, the choicest dinner and the choicest lunch. We had her choicest lunch, Lavarets au beurre, [1] hearts of artichokes with truffled foie gras, steamed capon with quenelles and a tarte Louise. Lyon is an excellent marketing centre. Fish served at lunch is caught in the morning, vegetables and fruits are of that morning's picking, which is of first importance in their preparation. Mere Fillioux was a short compact woman in a starched enveloping apron with a short, narrow but formidable knife which she brandished as she moved from table to table carving each chicken. That was her pleasure and her privilege which she never relinquished to another. She was an expert carver. She placed a fork in the chicken once and for all. Neither she nor the plate moved, the legs and the wings fell, the two breasts, in less than a matter of minutes, and she was gone. After the war, she carved a fair-sized turkey for eight of us with the same technique and with as little effort. When the fish appeared at our table she came to it and passed her hand about an inch above our plates to see that they were of the right temperature. Later she returned and with her little knife carved the largest and whitest chicken I ever saw. A whole chicken was always dedicated to each table, even if there was only one person at it. Not to have any small economies gave style to the restaurant. What remained of the chicken no doubt became the base of the forcemeat for the quenelles that were made freshly each morning.

STEAMED CHICKEN MERE FILLIOUX

The very best quality of chicken was used for steaming, as we use the best steel for gadgets, which is a very smart thing to do. The chicken has very thin slices of truffles slipped with a sharp knife between the skin and the flesh, and before trussing it the cavity is filled with truffles. Place the bird in the steamer over half white wine and half veal broth with salt and pepper and the juice of a lemon. The latter will give a flavour, but above all will keep the chicken white. The chicken was gigantic but so young that less than an hour had sufficed to cook it. This she told me when she came to carve it. She looked at it critically, then proudly. She was an artist.

Aunt Pauline eventually got us to Perpignan where we settled down to work. At the quiet hotel we had selected there was a banquet hall, closed for the duration of the war. I made arrangements to use it as a depot from which to distribute, the greater part to serve as a warehouse for the material already awaiting us at the station, and a corner to be screened off to serve us as an office where we could receive doctors and nurses who would come with lists of their individual needs. The hotel was delightful. There were wartime restrictions, and a few privations, but each guest was hoveringly cared for by one or more members of a family of four. The cooking was excellent, southern -- not Provencal but Catalan. The Rousillon had been French for little more than 150 years. One of the local dishes was a dessert frequently served called

MILLASON

Pour slowly 2 cups boiling milk over 1-1/2 cups white cornflour and 1 cup sugar. Stir carefully to prevent lumps from forming. The mixture must be quite smooth. Boil stirring constantly about 20 minutes until quite stiff. Turn into a bowl, add 2 well-beaten eggs, 4 tablespoons melted butter and 1 tablespoon orange-flower water. Pour on to buttered platter and when cool enough to handle form into cakes and fry in oil in frying pan until golden on each side. Sprinkle with powdered sugar and serve at once.

They made the millason very large at Perpignan. They would be daintier if smaller. They are, surprisingly, not unlike our Southern fried corn bread.

The little lobsters in Perpignan were common, cheap and tender. They were cooked with a thick rich sauce and one day the very young waiter about to be mobilised was so eager to please that in rushing to serve us he all but spilled the sauce over my new uniform, of which I was inordinately proud.

PERPIGNAN LOBSTER

Cook 4 small lobsters not weighing more than 1 lb. each in boiling water, salted, for 18 or 20 minutes. During this time melt in a saucepan 4 tablespoons butter and heat in it 1 large carrot cut in thin rings and 2 medium-sized onions with a clove stuck on one of them and the white of 1 leek. When they are coated in butter sprinkle 1 tablespoon flour over them, mix well. Add little by little 1 cup hot dry white wine and 1cup hot bouillon, 1 large bouquet of parsley, fennel and basil, salt, pepper, a pinch of cayenne, a pinch of saffron, 4 cloves of crushed garlic and 4 tablespoons tomato puree. Cover and cook slowly for 1 hour. Cut the lobsters longitudinally, take out the meat and place the 8 pieces in a hot casserole, take out the meat from the claws and place in the interstices of the lobster meat in the casserole. Take out of the sauce parsley, fennel and basil if you wish. They did not in Perpignan. Pour the sauce over the lobster meat into the casserole. Serve piping hot. [2]

There had been difficulty in getting gasoline on the coupons the army gave us. The major who was in charge of this distribution had been very helpful. Gertrude Stein did not like going to offices -- she said they, army or civilian, were obnoxious. To replace her, I had introduced myself with her official papers and had allowed the major to call me Miss Stein. What difference could it make to him. We were just two Americans working for French wounded. By the time the difficulties had been overcome we had become quite friendly. At the last visit he said, Miss Stein, my wife and I want to know if you both want to dine with us some evening. It was time to acknowledge who I was. He drew back in his chair and with a violence that alarmed me said, Madame, there is something sinister in this affair. My explanation did not completely reassure him, but Gertrude Stein waiting in Aunt Pauline in the street below would. I asked him if he wouldn't go down with me to meet her. He did. Her cheerful innocence was convincing, and his invitation was repeated and accepted. They were delightful. Madame de B. was training a local cook to cook as she believed cooking should be done.

During wars, no game is allowed to be shot in France except boar that come down into the fields and do great damage. To prevent this a permit is given to landowners to shoot them on their property. A farmer had shot one and brought the saddle to Madame de B. So we had

ROASTED SADDLE OF YOUNG BOAR

Even young boar is put in a marinade. One carrot and 1 onion cut in rings, 2 shallots cut in half, salt, pepper, a very large bunch of rosemary with just enough good dry red wine to cover the saddle is all that is needed for a light marinade. Four hours in the marinade turning the meat twice will suffice. An hour before it is time to put in the oven, take the saddle from the marinade and dry thoroughly. Strain the marinade into a saucepan, discard the vegetables but retain the branch of rosemary. For roasting allow 18 minutes a lb. in a 450 ͦ oven for the first 10 minutes, reduce to 350 ͦ . Roasting meat in an earthenware dish that can be brought to the table is a time-saver. Put a piece of butter in the dish that when melted will amply cover the dish. When the butter bubbles, place the saddle in the dish with 3 tablespoons melted butter on the meat. After 10 minutes baste with the branch of rosemary. If there is not enough melted butter and juice in the dish add 4 or 5 tablespoons hot marinade. Baste every 12 minutes, adding hot marinade as needed. While the roast is in the oven peel, boil and skin enough chestnuts to garnish the roast with a double wreath of them. Skim the juice before adding the chestnuts. Allow the chestnuts to cook in the skimmed juice for 15 minutes. Then serve in a sauce boat at the same time this

GAME SAUCE

Melt 1-1/2 tablespoons butter in a saucepan until it is golden brown, add 1 tablespoon flour, stir until light brown. Add slowly over low heat 1 cup of the hot marinade, the juice of 1 lemon, 1 tablespoon grated lemon peel, 1 tablespoon grated orange peel, a good pinch of cayenne, 3/4 cup currant jelly.

Venison may be cooked in the same way and pork is particularly good in this manner, except that the marinade should be of good dry white wine and the meat remain in it for 24 hours, turning four or five times. The game sauce is required for boar or venison, but should not be served with pork.

In one of the dark narrow back streets of Perpignan there was a small, remarkably good restaurant whose reputation was well known in Paris. After an excellent lunch we decided to ask Madame de B. and the Major to dine with us. Consulting with the chef, this was the menu decided upon:

Creamed chicken soup a la Reine Margot
Spring duckling with
Asparagus with Virgin Sauce
Coupe Dino

The chef generously gave me the recipe for Virgin Sauce which accompanied the steamed green asparagus.

VIRGIN SAUCE

For 1 person, place 5 tablespoons butter in a hot bowl, add 1/4 teaspoon salt, beat with a whisk until the butter foams, put it over hot but not boiling water for an instant. The butter must not melt. When the butter foams, add drop by drop, never ceasing to whisk 1 teaspoon lemon juice and 1 tablespoon tepid water. When they are well amalgamated with the foaming butter, add 1 tablespoon whipped cream and serve at once. This sauce is delicious with cold fish. It is something apart.

We had visited all the hospitals in the region and had reported on their future needs. Having made our last distributions we closed the depot at Perpignan and returned to Paris for another assignment. By this time, 1917, the United States had broken relations with Germany and had declared war. At last we were no longer neutral. On the road to Nevers, as Gertrude Stein was changing spark plugs -- and when was one not in those days -- we were told that a detachment of Marines was expected there that afternoon. Aunt Pauline was pushed to her utmost speed that we might be there for the entry. Thrilled by the first sight of the doughboys, we were unprepared for their youth, vigour and gaiety compared to the fatigue and exhaustion of the French soldiers. We were asked by some of their officers to meet the soldiers that evening and tell them about France. They had dozens of questions to ask, but what they wanted most to know was how many miles they were from the front and why the French trucks made such a noise. Though they were disappointed in our answers we had a wonderful and exciting evening together. It was their first contact with France and ours with our army.

In Paris the A.F.F.W. proposed we should open a depot at Nimes where in advance of our arrival they would send several car-loads of material. News of our household was not so encouraging. During our absence our competent faithful Jeanne had gotten herself married. An excellent cook who worked by the hour consented to spend with us the few days we were to be in Paris. Severe rationing of meat, butter, eggs, gas and electricity had gone into effect. A small reserve of coal and assorted candles gave meagre heat and light. Ernestine accomplished much with little which permitted us to ask for lunch some of the Field Service men and volunteer nurses on leave in Paris. For them she made

KNEPPES

Remove skin and nerves from 1 lb. calves' liver, chop very fine, pound into paste, add 3 crushed shallots and 1 clove of garlic previously heated in butter, salt, pepper, 3 tablespoons flour, a pinch of mace, and mix thoroughly. Add one at a time the yolks of 2 eggs. When well amalgamated add gently the whites of 2 eggs well beaten but not dry. Drop by tablespoons into boiling salted water, and boil for 1/2 hour. They will rise to the surface. Drain thoroughly. Place on serving dish and pour over them 1/2 cup browned butter and 2 tablespoons dry breadcrumbs.

Ernestine said she learned this dish from a Belgian cook but we suspected he was of Alsatian origin. She also made for us

SWEETBREADS A LA NAPOLITAINE

Soak a pair of sweetbreads in cold water for an hour. Rinse and boil for 10 minutes in salted water. Rinse, remove all skin, cut into thin slices and brown lightly in 4 tablespoons butter in a saucepan. Add 1 cup sherry, 1 cup bouillon, 1 tablespoon tomato puree, salt, pepper, 1/2 cup diced ham. Place slices of sweetbread in this sauce. Cover and cook over low flame for 20 minutes. Prepare 4 thin slices Bologna sausage chopped fine, 1 large chopped onion, brown together in 2 tablespoons butter in an iron pot, add 1/2 lb. well-washed rice, turn with wooden spoon until rice is covered with butter. Add 1 cup boiling bouillon. Continue to stir until bouillon is absorbed, then add 1/2 lb. finely chopped mushrooms and 1 tablespoon puree of tomatoes, add 1 cup boiling bouillon, salt, pepper, a pinch of saffron. Continue to turn with fork slowly adding 2 more cups hot bouillon, 1 quart in all. When the rice has absorbed all the bouillon, it should be sufficiently cooked. Add 1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese and serve with sweetbreads.

The luxury hotel at Nimes was in a sad way. The proprietor had been killed at the war, the chef was mobilised, the food was poor and monotonous. Aunt Pauline had been militarised and so could be requisitioned for any use connected with the wounded. Gertrude Stein evacuated the wounded who came into Nimes on the ambulance trains. Material from our unit organised and supplied a small first-aid operating room. The Red Cross nuns in the best French manner served in large bowls to the wounded piping

HOT CHOCOLATE

3 ozs. melted chocolate to 1 quart hot milk. Bring to a boil and simmer for 1/2 hour. Then beat for 5 minutes. The nuns made huge quantities in copper cauldrons, so that the whisk they used was huge and heavy. We all took turns in beating.

Monsieur le Prefet and his wife, Madame la Prefete, whom we got to know and to like a lot, sent us word that a regiment of American soldiers was expected, that a camp was being prepared for them and that he would like us to be at the station with him when they arrived. Nimes was agog with excitement and welcomed them as best it could -- green wreaths, bunting and flags. Thanksgiving Day was some ten days after the soldiers arrived. Even the most modest homes were inviting our soldiers to lunch or to dinner to celebrate the day. That evening we had for dinner a large tableful of soldiers from camp. The manageress of the hotel, a large buxom blonde, had a group of American officers at her table. They were perhaps too noticeably gay.

At dinner one night -- the inevitable whiting with its tail in its mouth was our monotonous fare -- what appeared undoubtedly to be a German passed our table. This is really going too far, I said to Gertrude Stein. How dare an escaped prisoner show himself so publicly, so brazenly. Not your affair, let the authorities deal with him, she answered. After dinner the too-gay manageress said to me, There is a gentleman who has been asking to speak to you. I will send for him. It was the German. In perfect English he said he wished to speak to us alone a moment, and he pointed to some chairs. Gertrude Stein, always cheerful, agreeable and curious, sat down but not I. Who are you and what do you want of us, I asked. I do want some information from you, but first let me introduce myself. I am Samuel Barlow and we have several friends in common, but I am here as an officer in the secret service, in civvies naturally, to find out what is going on between yonder gay blonde and the American officers. The Prefet reported the case to us. He says he has reason to believe she is a German. Well, said I relieved, rather she than you. I mistook you for a German. My only civilian clothes, he said, were from Germany where I was a prisoner. This ended my concern with escaping German prisoners.

At Christmas the English wife of a prominent Nimois organised, with the aid of the English companions and governesses who had posts in Nimes, a dinner and dance for the British convalescent officers and men stationed there, and requisitioning for their army at Aries. After dinner we took turns dancing with the men. It was as gay as we could make it but the British Army was not cheerful. A few days later I had a visit from the prettiest of the young governesses. She said there had been an unfortunate incident after the party was over. She was preparing to turn out the light in her bedroom when there was a tap on the door which evidently connected with another room, and a voice asked, I say, Miss L., should I light my fire. Too surprised to answer, she was silent for a moment. The question was repeated, I say, Miss L., should I light my fire. Not for me, thank you, she answered. Of course the voice was unrecognisable, she ended, so I will never know which one of them it was.

Suddenly one day there was the Armistice and a telegram from the Comite -- If you speak German, close the depot immediately, return to proceed Alsace civilian relief. If we had missed the spontaneous outburst of joy in Paris on Armistice Day we were going into liberated Alsace. One starlit morning we started in Auntie to make the six hundred odd kilometres to Paris before night. Gertrude Stein ate her share of bread and butter and roast chicken while driving. Paris was still celebrating, and here the streets were commencing to be filled with the French Army, on the move into occupied Germany, and a certain number of Allied officers and men.

Having secured a German-French dictionary and fur-lined aviator's jackets and gloves, cumbersome but warm, we got off on the road again. The French Army was moving in the same direction Auntie was taking us. Near Tulle the mules dragging the regimental kitchen became unruly, swerved to the left and bumped into Auntie. A mudguard, the tool box and its contents scattered on the road and into the ditch. There was, of course, no way of recovering them. Starting off again, Gertrude Stein found the triangle so damaged as to make driving on the icy road not only difficult but possibly dangerous. We got to Nancy exhausted, too late for dinner, but Dorothy Wilde sweetly found two hard-boiled ducks' eggs, a novel but very satisfying repast. While Auntie was being repaired next day at the garage of the Comite, we had our first meal without restrictions. For a first course we were served

QUECHE DE NANCY

Prepare the evening before baking a pie crust made with 1 cup and 2 tablespoons flour, 5 tablespoons butter, a pinch of salt, 4 tablespoons water. The butter should be worked into the flour lightly but the mixture needs be no finer than rice. Roll on a slightly floured board into a ball, cover with waxed paper and put aside for at least 12 hours. Then roll lightly and fit into deep pie plate 9 inches in diameter. Place on the crust 1/2 cup cubed ham. Remove the skin from lean salt pork, cube 5 ozs., and place on crust having previously cooked the cubes in boiling water for 10 minutes, drained them and wiped them dry. Beat 3 eggs, pepper and salt, with 1/2 cup cream. Pour over ham and salt pork in pie crust. Dot with 12 small pieces of butter. Bake in preheated 450 ͦ oven for 15 minutes, reduce heat to 300 ͦ and bake for 20 minutes more. Remove from oven but not from pie plate for 10 minutes.

After which Aunt Pauline took us through no-man's-land to Strasbourg, still celebrating the Liberation. That night there was a torchlight procession of soldiers and civilians, the young girls in their attractive costumes (the black ribbon head-dress they had worn since 1870 changed to all the colours of the rainbow), with military bands. It was more like a dream than a reality. We were now in the land of plenty.

The next morning the director of civilian relief sent us to Mulhouse, the centre of the devastated area. Our material was already waiting there, and we got to work at once. For several days we unpacked the material, saw mayors, clergymen and priests from the ruined villages to which the refugees were returning on foot, by trucks, by any means they could find. It was very sad. Their determination and courage, however, were very heartening. We settled down to a winter of outdoor distributing to each village in turn. At Mulhouse we were not uncomfortable, first in the large hotel, then when that was requisitioned for officers in a purely Alsatian inn. There was an abundance of food, real coffee, large hams, real milk. Queues formed to look at them and buy them. The patisseries were filled with specialities of Alsace and the classic cakes of France. The French soldiers ate unlimited quantities and even sent them to their families and friends in France. At our inn they made a most satisfactory

SOUP OF SHALLOTS AND CHEESE

For each person lightly brown in butter on each side 1 slice of bread. Put in soup tureen, sprinkle with 1 tablespoon grated cheese and keep hot. Cook over low flame 4 sliced shallots in 1 tablespoon butter, add 1 teaspoon flour. Stir with wooden spoon, add 1-1/2 cups hot bouillon, cook covered over lowest flame, add salt and pepper, for 1/2 hour. Strain, add 2 tablespoons cream. Pour over bread and cheese in tureen and serve hot.

The quality of the material was excellent but there was no variety in the vegetables. They were all of the cabbage family, sauerkraut, cabbage, brussels sprouts and cauliflower. There were potatoes, to be sure, and apple sauce, which was considered a vegetable.

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At Cernay we were helped in our distribution by little Abbe Hick, who had returned after the Armistice to find his church bombed, and the presbytery with the exception of one room in ruins. He asked us however to lunch with him the next time we were distributing in his neighbourhood. He met us at the door of his room and said, Welcome, come into the salon and warm yourselves. Excuse me while I go into the bedroom and wash my hands. He went to the far end of the room past a set dining-room table. Presently he returned and said, Now we will go into the dining-room and have lunch. All this without the least suspicion of the ludicrous. A refugee had cooked the simple but succulent lunch. The abbe's mother had sent him some good white wine from Riquewehr where she lived.

On Sundays we frequently lunched with the hospitable Mulhouseens who were gradually returning to the lives they had led before the war. Everything was in the French manner, with great elegance and luxury. They had really kept the manner of living of pre-1870. They had refused everything German. It was the memory of the way our French friends in San Francisco had lived come to life again.

At Monsieur B.'s there was for dessert, to my delight, a

TARTE CHAMBORD

Beat until foamy and thick with a rotary beater 1 cup and 1 tablespoon sugar and 8 eggs, gently stir in 2 cups and 3 tablespoons thrice-sifted flour. Add 1 cup and 1 tablespoon melted unsalted butter. Bake in a deep buttered and floured cake pan in 350 ͦ preheated oven for 30 minutes. Take from oven, let stand for 10 minutes, take out of pan, place on grill. When cold, cut horizontally four times, making five layers.

CREAM FOR CAKE

Turn with a wooden spoon in an enamelled saucepan the yolks of 10 eggs and very slowly add 1-1/2 cups icing sugar. Turn until thick and pale yellow. Put over lowest flame with 4 tablespoons butter for 2 minutes and as soon as butter is melted, stirring constantly, remove from flame and when the mixture is cold add drop by drop 3 tablespoons cold water. Return to flame stirring until the mixture is even. Remove from flame and when the cream is cold add drop by drop 1/4 cup kirsch or curacao. Cover the layers and re-form the cake. Cover the top and sides with the cream and put in the refrigerator.

COFFEE FROSTING

In an enamelled saucepan put 3/4 cup very strong black coffee. Add enough icing sugar to make a very heavy cream. Warm over low heat. Pour on cake and with a spatula cover top and sides of cake. Sprinkle thickly with finely ground pistachio nuts.

We worked very hard all that cold winter distributing in the open air. Then one day there were fruit blossoms and storks. By this time the refugee relief was organised by the Government. We closed the depot, said goodbye to the officials and the people we had met and started off for Metz to see the battlefields of 1870 and to see Verdun. It was still a shambles. We wandered about locating the spots where the defence of the poilus had made history. It was the middle of the afternoon when Gertrude Stein finally asked, Where did you say we were going to lunch. I've gotten hungry. We got into Aunt Pauline and made our way slowly over the fields to something that had been a road. There we came upon a military car filled with officers. They said if we followed them we could find something to eat -- in fact, they were eating there. They stopped at a corrugated iron hut and sure enough the man who presumably lived there made us an omelette with fried potatoes and a cup of real coffee, so rare in those days that at once I realised that the officers must have brought their own provisions with them and that we were sharing them. And then I remembered the two boxes of cakes the abbe's mother had sent to us the day before. So we got them out of Auntie. The little Alsatian cakes were of her own baking and delicious. We took a few of each kind and gave the rest to the officers whose unwitting guests we had been. These are their recipes.

SCHANKELS OR SCHENKELS

Cream 1/2 cup butter, add slowly 1/2 cup sugar, add slowly 4 eggs, one at a time. Add about 5 cups flour, depending upon size of eggs, with 1 teaspoon baking powder and 1 cup skinned and very finely ground almonds. The dough should be just firm enough to hold its shape when rolled in the hands into finger-length sausages. Fry in deep lard only enough of the cakes to cover the surface. Turn once to brown on both sides. Take from fat and place on absorbent paper. Sprinkle while still hot with plenty of icing sugar. They are a nice accompaniment to a glass of white wine or a cup of coffee. They keep well in a well-covered box.

LAEKERLIS

The Alsatians claim that Laekerlis are their creation, but the Swiss answer that they have two different kinds, one from Berne and one from Basle. This is Madame Hick's from Riquewehr. Warm 2 lbs. honey and skim, add 3 cups and 3 tablespoons sugar, 1 teaspoon cinnamon, 1/2 teaspoon cloves, 1/4 teaspoon powdered cardamom, 1/2 teaspoon allspice, 1 teaspoon mace, 1/4 teaspoon powdered anise, 1 cup finely chopped orange peel, 1/4 cup finely chopped lemon peel, 1/2 cup finely chopped citron and 2 cups finely chopped almonds. Mix thoroughly and gradually work in 7 cups sifted flour. Roll on a lightly floured board to 1/3-inch thickness. Cut in rectangles, place on lightly buttered baking sheet. If you have not a number of baking sheets, roll out the dough and leave on the floured board. Put aside for 24 hours in a temperate room and then bake in 350 ͦ oven. When baked, remove from baking sheet and place on grill. While still warm, paint with brush with this mixture:

Dissolve over very low flame 2 cups sugar and 3 tablespoons hot water. If this crystallises during the time the Laekerlis are baking, add a little hot water. These are of long conservation, as the French say.

We were lunching the next day with our friends from Nimes, Madame T. and the Prefet, who were now installed at the Prefecture of Chalons-sur- Marne. We spent the night at the Hotel Mere Dieu -- a sacrilege in English. Chalons-sur-Marne is near Rheims and the wine cellar of the Prefecture is supplied by the Government with the best wines of the region. Lunch was served with ceremony and elegance worthy of the menu, the cooking and the wines. Of the menu I only remember the

SADDLE OF MUTTON MAINTENON

Put a saddle of mutton with salt, pepper and 3 tablespoons butter in a Dutch oven covered in a 350 ͦ oven. Turn every 10 minutes. Allow 10 minutes per lb. for the cooking of the saddle. When it is three-quarters cooked, remove from oven, place the meat on a carving board and with a very sharp knife slice very thinly both sides of the saddle. Be careful to lose none of the juice. Having cooked 1 chopped onion in butter, put it into 3/4 cup stiff Bechamel sauce with 1/2 cup chopped mushrooms cooked for 5 minutes in butter. Mix these ingredients thoroughly, spread on each slice of mutton, replace the slices on the saddle. Cover the saddle with three chopped onions, melted butter, breadcrumbs, more melted butter. Skim the juice in the Dutch oven, pour into preheated earthenware dish, place the saddle in the juice and the dish into a quick oven to brown the meat.

With this serve hearts of artichokes and small boiled potatoes maitre d'hotel.

As we were leaving the Prefecture, Gertrude Stein confided to me that she was going to show me a tank that the Prefet had told her was still in a field on the road to Rheims. It would not be much out of our way and it was certainly worth seeing. Auntie took fields so well. As we went along the national highway, Auntie and her driver were happily swaying and serpentining along. The wine at lunch was undoubtedly to blame for their lack of responsibility. They nevertheless negotiated the field. We saw the tank and got on our way to spend the night with Mildred Aldrich at the Hillcrest. It was from there she had seen the first Battle of the Marne and the German retreat. In her garden that evening I wrote the last report to the Comite.

The next morning we were back in Paris, more beautiful, vital and inextinguishable than ever. We commenced madly running about, to see our friends and theirs. It was gay, a little feverish but pleasurably exciting. Auntie Pauline took us to lunch and dinner parties. Our home was filled with people coming and going. We spoke of each other as the chauffeur and the cook. We had no servant. We had largely overdrawn at our banks to supply the needs of soldiers and their families and now the day of reckoning had come. We would live like gypsies, go everywhere in leftover finery, with a pot-au-feu for the many friends we should be seeing. Paris was filled with Allies, the Armies, the Peace Commission and anyone who could get a passport. We lunched and dined with a great many of them, at their messes, headquarters, homes and restaurants. One evening Aunt Pauline had taken us out to the Bois de Boulogne to dine with friends in the garden of one of its restaurants. While dinner was being served the maitre d'hotel asked me to please follow him, someone wished to speak to me. It was a policeman to announce that trucks were not allowed in the Bois. They had been tolerated during the war, but an Armistice had been signed. So would Madame see that her truck did not appear there again. When I got back to the table an excellent dish was being served.

HARICOT

(yes, that is its seventeenth-century name)

Take an oxtail, separate the joints, put them in a pot with some marrow, salt, 1 clove, a twig of sage, 1 laurel leaf and a little water. When the meat is half cooked add 1 lb. sliced turnips, 1 lb. peeled and skinned chestnuts and 10 slices of any highly spiced sausage. Cook until the meat is tender and the juice reduced. Then add 8 slices of toast on which 3 tablespoons vinegar have been sprinkled. There are some who like a few prunes or raisins added. Our haricot's sauce had raisins in it. They had previously been swollen by soaking in hot water. They are an agreeable addition and cut the acid of the vinegar.

In the spring of 1919 we went to Normandy to stay with friends. A calf that they wished to sell at the local fair was put into Auntie, and she brought the first potato harvest to market, so that a thorough cleaning of Auntie was required on our return. On the way to Paris we stopped at Duclair. The hotel was on the Seine, its cooking was famous. It was there we had

SOLE DE LA MAISON

Poach gently in milk the fillets of sole with salt and pepper. Cover and simmer gently for about 15 minutes, depending upon the thickness of the fillets. Drain thoroughly. Place on a preheated carving dish and keep hot. Poach only long enough to heat 4 oysters and 4 large shrimps for each fillet. Place them alternately on the fillet. Cover with heavy cream sauce made with heavy cream and flavoured with 2 tablespoons best dry sherry.

At Duclair everything was cooked in cream: chicken, cabbages, indeed all vegetables and most meats. We stayed there several days before this bored us. At nearby Rouen butter replaced the cream. The butter was of such an excellent quality that it seemed advisable to make arrangements to have a weekly delivery to us in Paris. At a recommended creamery this was discouraged. Parcel post was not yet reliable. So I bought 12 lbs. to take back to friends and for our use. To my delight each pound was packed in a porous black earthenware jar of exactly the same form as the Gallo Romaine ones that we had been seeing in the museums. I kept two of them until last year when I gave them to a friend who would not believe they were not originals and that I was not parting with treasures.

When we returned to Paris our friends convinced us that the time had come to transform Auntie into something more suitable for the use we were making of her. The state of her engine did not warrant the purchase of a new body. We had her high canvas cover lowered so satisfactorily that we had her painted, but, neglecting to choose a colour, she returned to us painted a funereal black. This and her new form suggested a hearse -- for an enterrement de troisieme classe. She would continue to be risible to the end.

Gradually we realised that poor Auntie was weakening. It was no longer advisable to take her too far on the road. We would go to Mildred Aldrich's and in summer have a picnic lunch in her garden, and indoors in her cosy little home in winter when Amelie, her devoted friend, neighbour and servant, would make us the very best we ever ate

CREME RENVERSEE

Put 4 lumps of sugar in a metal pudding mould over a very low heat. When melted add 1-1/2 teaspoons cold water. Turn the mould in all directions to cover it completely with the caramel. Heat 2 cups evaporated milk with 1/2 cup sugar. Put aside to cool. Stir 4 eggs until thoroughly mixed, add 2 teaspoons orange-flower water. Strain into the cold cream. Pour into prepared mould, set mould into pan of hot water reaching to half the height of the mould. Place in preheated 350 ͦ oven for 40 minutes. The water should not boil. When a knife gently stuck into the creme comes out dry, remove from oven and remove mould from water. Do not attempt to turn out of mould until cold. This is very nice served with chocolate sauce.

I was aghast to find Amelie using tinned milk in a country of excellent fresh milk. She explained that it was the milk Madame's friends had sent her in such quantities after the war. She assured me that even fresh milk did not adequately replace it. It was the only time in my experience that a French woman recommended American tinned products to replace French fresh ones.

Auntie held out for another year and then one day as we were passing the entrance to the Palais du Luxembourg she stopped short. Nothing Gertrude Stein did was of any avail, she would not budge. We were quickly surrounded by an amused crowd and by half a dozen not at all amused policemen. One of them asked if we didn't know that it was an infraction of the law to obstruct the entrance to a public building, particularly the Senate, where the Prime Minister was expected any minute to drive through. Indeed soldiers on motor bicycles had already arrived and a large car was being held back. We jumped out of Auntie, the police shoved her out of the way and the big car passed through with Monsieur Poincare's beautiful head out of the window to see the cause of the commotion. We basely deserted Auntie and went home on foot. Gertrude Stein telephoned to the garage to haul her in and repair her at once. The answer next day was that she was beyond repair. Nothing daunted, Gertrude Stein went to the garage with our good friend, Georges Maratier. She wanted his help and his advice to realise it. He said the two of them would drive to the country garage of his parents where there was plenty of room. There Auntie would be an honoured war souvenir. Her odyssey was the subject of the following winter's conversation. She is still there, but I have never had the courage to go to see her.

At no matter what sacrifice it was unthinkable that we should be without a car. Fords were still scarce in France, but Gertrude Stein inveigled a promise that she would have a two-seater open one within two weeks. As we were driving her to a beautiful new box fortunately secured in our neighbourhood for her I remarked that she was nude. There was nothing on her dashboard, neither clock nor ashbox, nor cigarette lighter. Godiva, was Gertrude Stein's answer. The new car was baptised without benefit of clergy or even a glass of wine. The reason for her name soon disappeared with all the gifts she received, but Godiva remained her name.

Now we would go on excursions out of town again. On the road to Chartres we made acquaintance with an excellent little restaurant which unfortunately disappeared during the Occupation of the second war. There we ate

CHICKEN SAUTE A LA FORESTIERE

Put the chicken with 3 tablespoons butter in a Dutch oven over medium heat, keep turning it about. When lightly browned on all sides reduce heat and cover, in 1/4 hour add 1/2 lb. morels previously cooked in tepid water, brushed and well rinsed, 1/3 lb. pig's fat cooked previously for 5 minutes in boiling water and well drained, salt, pepper. Cover and simmer over low flame for 3/4 hour, depending upon size of chicken. When done remove from flame, place chicken on preheated serving dish, remove morels from sauce with perforated spoon and place around chicken. Skim juice and return pot to stove, add 1 cup good dry white wine and 1/2 cup stock. Boil uncovered for 5 minutes. Strain and pour over chicken. New potatoes browned in butter are almost obligatory for this dish. [3]
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Re: The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book by Alice B. Toklas

Postby admin » Wed Mar 22, 2023 8:12 am

Part 2 of 2

Godiva took us to Orleans where on the banks of the Loire we ate freshly caught

SALMON WITH SAUCE HOLLANDAISE AU BEURRE NOISETTE

The salmon was cold, decorated with tomatoes, hard-boiled eggs (yolks and whites) pounded in a mortar separately and thinly sliced cucumbers.

THE SAUCE

Sauce Hollandaise is easily and quickly prepared if you pay careful attention to this foolproof recipe. Put 4 yolks of eggs and a little pepper and salt in a small saucepan over the lowest possible flame. Stir continuously with a wooden spoon, adding drop by drop 1/2 lb. browned butter. Put 3/4 cup shelled hazel nuts in the oven. When they are warm remove from oven and roll in a cloth until all the skins are removed. Pound them in a mortar to a powder, adding from time to time a few drops of water to prevent the nuts from exuding oil. Strain through hair sieve. Replace in mortar and add 1 cup water. Mix with pestle or wooden spoon. When perfectly amalgamated commence to add in very small quantities at a time to the egg yolks in the saucepan, stirring continuously. If the contents of pan become too hot remove a moment from flame and add a small quantity of butter to cool the mixture before replacing over flame. When all the butter has been incorporated remove from flame and slowly stir into the sauce 1 tablespoon vinegar. Serve in sauce boat.

This is a rare sauce. Once the hazel nuts are prepared it takes little time to prepare. Do not take the time to think that almonds can successfully replace the hazel nuts which give the sauce its elusive and distinctive flavour.

Even though Godiva was what a friend ironically called a gentleman's car, she took us into the woods and fields as Auntie had. We gathered the early wild flowers, violets at Versailles, daffodils at Fontainebleau, hyacinths (the bluebells of Scotland) in the forest of Saint Germain. For these excursions there were two picnic lunches I used to prepare.

FIRST PICNIC LUNCH

A chicken is simmered in white wine with salt and paprika. Ten minutes before the chicken is sufficiently cooked add 1/2 cup finely chopped mushrooms. When cooked remove chicken and drain. Strain mushrooms. The juice may be kept in the refrigerator to be used as stock. Put the mushrooms in a bowl, add an equal quantity of butter and work into a paste. This is very good as a sandwich spread or may be thoroughly mixed with the yolks of 3 hard-boiled eggs and put into the hard-boiled eggs which have been cut in half.

For dessert fill cream-puff shells with crushed sweetened strawberries.

SECOND PICNIC LUNCH

One cup finely chopped roast rare beef, 1 teaspoon chopped parsley, 1 teaspoon crushed shallots, salt, pepper, 1 teaspoon tomato puree, 1 tablespoon sour cream, a pinch of dry mustard. Mix thoroughly. Lightly toast on one side only eight slices of bread. Butter generously the untoasted sides. Spread on the buttered side of four slices of the bread the meat mixture. Cover, with buttered side over meat, with the other four slices of bread.

To eat with these sandwiches, prepare lettuce leaves on which boiled diced sweetbreads are placed, 1-1/2 cups for four large lettuce leaves. On the sweetbreads place 4 chopped truffles that have been cooked in sherry. Roll the lettuce leaves round the sweetbreads and truffles, neatly trim with scissors and tie with white kitchen string in three places.

For dessert peel apples, core, cut in half and caramelise in 3/4 cup sugar and 1/4 cup water that has boiled to the caramel stage, for about 10 minutes. Completely coat the apples with the caramel. When dry wrap in square of puff paste, moistening the edges so that they will adhere. Fry in deep fat until golden brown on all sides. Remove from fat to absorbent paper. While still hot cover generously with sifted icing sugar. Excellent hot or cold.

Godiva had been taking us successfully to places in the neighbourhood of Paris. It was time to give her a wider field. In early spring she would take us to the Cote d'Azur. We had been asked to stay with a friend at Vence. We would wander down the Rhone Valley and see to what she would lead us. We would start early and spend the night at Saulieu to which Auntie had taken us several years before. To look at the church when we got there we parked Godiva in the square about 100 feet from the hotel. When we returned Godiva flatly refused to start. What were we to do. A red-liveried groom appeared and asked if he could help. Perhaps if he pushed the car -- which he did. Godiva's engine started. Before we knew what she was up to we were in the court of what turned out to be the rival hotel of the one we intended to go to. It was her first display of instinct to lead us to the real right place. It must be acknowledged that never later did she shine with equal lustre.

The Cote d'Or then had as its proprietor and chef a quite fabulous person. First of all he looked like a great Clouet portrait, a museum piece. He had great experience and knowledge of the history of French cooking from the time of Clouet to the present. From him I learned a great deal. At dinner that evening we realised that he was one of the great French chefs. Each dish had a simplicity and a perfection. Comparing the cooking of a dish to the painting of a picture, it has always seemed to me that however much the cook or painter did to cover any weakness would not in the least avail. Such devices would only emphasize the weakness. There was no weak spot in the food prepared by the chef at the Hotel de la Cote d'Or.

For dinner we had

MORVAN HAM WITH CREAM SAUCE

Four thick slices of ham from which the skin but not the fat have been removed are placed in a saucepan and browned lightly in butter with 1 onion, 1 carrot, 1 leek and the greens of 6 radishes. Add 1/2 cup Madeira or good dry sherry and 1-1/2 cups bouillon, salt, pepper and 1 crushed shallot. Cover and cook over very low flame for 2 hours. Be careful that it does not burn. If the pan is hermetically covered this will not happen. If not, it may be necessary to add more wine and bouillon in the above proportions. At the end of 2 hours remove from flame. Strain juice, reject vegetables, put ham aside. Skim juice and place 3/4 cup over medium heat uncovered. Reduce to 1/2 cup and place ham in saucepan. Glaze on both sides. Add rest of strained juice and 1 cup heavy cream. Bring to a boil and simmer for 2 minutes, tipping the saucepan in all directions.

Saulieu is in the Morvan, an old division of France and part of Burgundy and has always been famous for its ham, which is not unlike York ham.

We stayed on next day for lunch and again chose a simple dish --

THREE-MINUTE VEAL STEAK

Ask the butcher to cut very thin slices in a fillet of veal, remove bones, skin and fat. It is well to count upon two slices per person, eight slices for four people. Brown on both sides in 1/4 cup butter in Dutch oven over high flame, salt and pepper. When they are brown, cover and put in preheated oven at 400° for 5 minutes. Add 1 cup hot dry white wine. Take meat from oven and place on preheated serving dish. Skim juice, place over high flame and mix well with glaze at the bottom and sides. Reduce heat to very low, add in small pieces 6 tablespoons butter, shaking pot in all directions. Add a squeeze of lemon juice and pour over meat and sprinkle 4 tablespoons chopped parsley over meat and sauce. This is delicious if the preparation is not allowed to drag.

At Macon that evening for dinner we had

PUREE OF ARTICHOKE SOUP

Wash thoroughly 6 large artichokes, cut them in half vertically and remove chokes with a sharp knife. Put 3 tablespoons butter in a saucepan. When melted add artichokes. Stir them with wooden spoon until well covered with butter. Add 3 cups hot water and 3 cups hot chicken broth. Cover and boil steadily for 1 hour. Then add 2 cups thickly sliced potatoes. Cook for 1/2 hour more. Remove from fire and with a silver spoon scrape from all the leaves all the edible bits of artichoke. Crush this with the hearts and potatoes through a hair sieve with a potato masher. Strain juice in pan and add to strained artichokes and potatoes. Wash pan and place strained material in it. Heat over medium flame. If too thick add more chicken broth. Add salt and pepper. Before serving reduce heat and add 1 cup butter in small pieces. Tip saucepan in all directions and serve in preheated tureen in which you have placed very small unbuttered croutons. This soup is well worth the effort and time it takes to make it.

The chef at Macon was proud of his desserts. They were delicious, varied and abundant. He would come to your table as one after another was presented and his feelings would be hurt if you did not at least taste each one of them. There were always chocolate, coffee (or Mocha), caramel and pistachio creams and ice creams, berries in season with heavy but unwhipped cream in which a spoon stood upright, tartes of all kinds and one cake -- a Gateau de la Maison. For years this cake was a puzzlement to me. It wasn't until Lord Berners brought us one to Bilignin one summer when he was going to stay with us that I had enough courage to attempt an approach to the famous cake. How he had inveigled that cake out of the Macon hotel was not explained, but one suspected. This is as near as my experiments got me to

THE MACON CAKE

Brush four shallow-layer cake tins lightly with melted butter. At once sprinkle with sifted flour. Rap on back of tins to remove excess flour. Mix 1-1/4 cups powdered almonds and 1-1/4 cups sugar. Put aside. Put the whites of 8 eggs in a bowl and commence to beat them, gradually increasing the speed. Do not stop beating for an instant. When done they should form a stiff peak when whisk is removed. With a wooden spatula lightly mix in the sugar and powdered almonds. Fill the four layer pans and put at once in a preheated 300 ͦ oven for about 1/2 hour.

BUTTER CREAM FOR THREE LAYERS

Boil 3/4 cup water with 1 cup sugar for 10 minutes. Stir yolks of 8 eggs for 5 minutes and slowly add syrup. Pour into double boiler stirring continuously with wooden spoon until spoon is coated. Strain through fine sieve beating vigorously until cool. Then add 1 cup whipped cream. Put 3 cups butter in a heated bowl and beat until creamy. Then very slowly add the syrup, yolks of eggs, whipped-cream mixture. Put aside.

MOCHA CREAM

Take a third of above mixture and drop by drop add 4 tablespoons very strong black coffee. Spread 1-1/2 cups of this evenly on one of the meringue layers. Put aside the remaining mocha cream. Cover with another layer.

KIRSCH CREAM

Take another third of butter cream and add drop by drop 2 tablespoons best kirsch. Spread a third of this on layer of meringue covering mocha cream. Put aside the rest of kirsch cream. Cover kirsch cream with a third meringue layer.

PISTACHIO CREAM

Take the remaining third of butter cream and add 3/4 cup thrice-ground pistachio nuts. Spread a third of this evenly on layer of meringue covering the kirsch cream, and cover with fourth and final layer of meringue. Reserve the rest of the pistachio for the crowning operation which is

TO DECORATE THE CAKE

Take remaining mocha cream and spread evenly over a third of top of cake and a third of the sides of cake. Spread evenly remaining kirsch over centre third of cake and centre third of sides of cake. Spread evenly remaining pistachio cream over remaining uncovered part of cake and sides. Now form a design in centre of cake about 2 inches in diameter of crystallised apricots and angelica. It is effective to make petals of the apricots with surrounding leaves of angelica. On the outside of the cake make very small flowers of the apricots with surrounding small angelica leaves, one little bouquet for each slice of cake. Keep in a cool place until time to serve. The meringue layers can be baked in advance. This is of course not a cake but a dessert. It has an elusive subtle flavour and is quite worth the time it takes to make it.

At Macon we heard of a very small but highly recommended restaurant at Grignan, a village of six hundred inhabitants in the Drome, which is a department of France of fine cooking and romantic landscape. We wired to friends to meet us at Grignan for lunch. The name was familiar -- was it not the name of Madame de Sevigne's adored daughter? In the guide book I found that the Chateau de Grignan was still intact, that one could visit it, and that Madame de Sevigne was buried in the church in the village. We would make a pilgrimage to the spot after lunch. When we arrived in the village and saw how small the restaurant was, we wondered if there would be room for the four of us. Madame Loubet, the proprietress and cook, was of commensurable size. Like many first-rate women cooks she had tired eyes and a wan smile. This seemed a happy omen. She said for lunch there would be an omelette with truffles, a fricandeau of veal with truffles, asparagus tips and a local cheese. The little restaurant was of the seventeenth century, the uncovered tables and chairs of the same period. We said it was Shakespearian. So did our friends when they arrived. We were enchanted with the decor. Lunch would be worthy of it.

MADAME LOUBET'S ASPARAGUS TIPS

Early spring is the time for the first small green asparagus, very like the wild ones. Wash quickly -- do not allow to remain in water -- discard white stems. Tie into neat bundles, plunge into boiling salt water. Allow about 8 minutes for their cooking. They should not be overcooked; much depends upon their freshness. Put aside. Over very low flame put in a saucepan 4 tablespoons butter (for 1 lb. asparagus). When butter is melted, add asparagus tips still tied in bundles. Add 4 tablespoons heavy cream. Do not stir, but gently dip saucepan in all directions until the asparagus are coated with butter and cream. Then remove from flame. Place asparagus on preheated round dish with the points facing to the edge of the dish. Gently cut the strings with kitchen scissors. In the centre place 1/2 cup heavy whipped cream with 1/2 teaspoon salt mixed in it. Serve before cream has time to melt. This is a gastronomic feast. And a thing of beauty.

The cheese called Cochat, a speciality of the region, is made of the milk of very young ewes, and ripened in vinegar. It is then pressed under weight and served in the shell of a medium-sized onion. With this it is traditional to drink a red wine, preferably a good vintage of Chateauneuf du Pape.

Madame Loubet's cooking was delicate and distinguished, and we often returned to enjoy it. We would find nothing comparable before the end of our journey. That evening at Marseilles a bowl of soup sufficed.

After a long run down the coast of the Mediterranean we arrived at Vence to find a numerous party for dinner. Our friend was something of a gourmet, his Belgian cook had a well-organized kitchen and produced varied and succulent menus.

The vegetable garden was already producing spring potatoes, string beans, artichokes, salads and, before we left, asparagus. The gardener amiably allowed me to gather each morning the day's vegetables. It takes a long time to gather enough very young string beans for eight or ten people. Between the vegetable garden and the rose garden my mornings were happily occupied. To me this pleasure is unequalled.

From Vence we frequently drove down to Nice to have a fish lunch at a small and unpretentious restaurant on the sea. For us they made a local dish --

GRILLED PERCH WITH FENNEL

Wash and completely dry a perch weighing about 3 lbs. Rub salt and pepper inside the fish. Paint it with melted butter, paint the grill with butter. Place fish on grill and grill under flame for 25 minutes turning the fish twice and painting it with butter each time. Have a quart of fennel greens washed and dried thoroughly. When the perch is cooked place on a preheated metal dish that withstands flames -- not one of pewter, for example. Pour 1/2 cup melted butter over fish and completely cover with fennel greens. Take to the dining-room, light the fennel leaves. When flaming, serve. It is exciting and delicious, one of the rare Provencal dishes into whose preparation garlic does not enter.

On our trip back to Paris Godiva was no longer inspired. It was we who were obliged to take the initiative. As we were in haste we took no time to go out of the way to discover new places. We contented ourselves with the tried-and-not-found-wanting than which there is nothing more deadly. Once in Paris again she returned to her competent leadership. She took us to Les Andelys where we lunched out of doors at a bistro (cafe-restaurant where coarse and rarely good food is served) on fried fish caught from the Seine just below the terrace where we were lunching. Fish was followed by a really tender Chateaubriand and souffle potatoes. Back in Godiva and on the road again it was obvious that somewhere we had made a wrong turning. Was Godiva or Gertrude Stein at fault? In the discussion that followed we came to no conclusion. We were on the road to Nogent-le-Rotrou. We would see what we would find there. It was an enchanting landscape of thatch-roofed villages, fields coloured with the first poppies and cornflowers and hedges of blossoming hawthorn. Nogent-le-Rotrou was old, clean and sympathetic. The hotel was furnished with pale Restoration furniture, small figurines and wax flowers under globes were in all the rooms. The food was simple but skilful. We stayed there several days. It was a woman who cooked, quietly and expertly. She showed me how to make

RILLETTES

Grind in meat chopper 2 lbs. breast of pork. Melt in iron pot 1 lb. lard. When a pale gold, add chopped pork, 1 tablespoon salt, 1 teaspoon pepper, 1 teaspoon powder for poultry dressing. Simmer uncovered over very low heat for 4 hours, stirring to prevent burning. After 4 hours remove from flame. When cold enough, ladle into jelly glasses. See that meat is evenly distributed. When completely cold, cover with paper. In a cool place the rillettes will keep several months. They are nice served with salad or as hors d'oeuvre or for sandwiches.

On leaving Nogent we took dust roads through the same landscape we had driven through to get there. We were on our way to Senonches, on the edge of a forest. We were seduced at once by the little town, the hotel and the forest. We not only ordered lunch but engaged rooms to spend the night. While waiting for lunch to be cooked, we walked in the forest where Gertrude Stein, who had a good nose for mushrooms, found quantities of them. The cook would be able to tell us if they were edible. Once more a woman was presiding in the kitchen. She smiled when she saw what Gertrude Stein brought for her inspection and pointed to a large basket of them on the kitchen table, but said she would use those Gertrude Stein had found for what she was preparing for our lunch,

A FLAN OF MUSHROOMS A LA CREME

Lightly mix 1 cup and 1 tablespoon flour, 4 tablespoons butter, 1/2 tablespoon salt and 1 egg. Gently knead this dough on a floured board and roll out. Add 1 tablespoon heavy cream, knead and roll out. For the third and last time add 1 tablespoon heavy cream, knead and roll out. Roll into a ball, lightly flour, put in a bowl, cover and put in a cool place for 1 hour. After an hour's repose, roll out and bake in deep pie plate in preheated oven at 400 °. In the meantime prepare

SAUCE MORNAY

Put 2 tablespoons butter in a saucepan over low heat. When melted add 1 medium-sized onion cut in thin slices, 1 medium-sized carrot cut in thin slices and a stalk of celery cut in thin slices. Turn with a wooden spoon until the vegetables are lightly browned. Add salt and pepper and 1-1/2 tablespoons flour. Turn with a wooden spoon for 5 minutes. Then add slowly 3 cups hot milk. Be careful that there are no lumps. Simmer for 1/2 hour, stirring frequently to prevent burning. Remove from flame, strain and discard the vegetables. Add 3 tablespoons heavy cream to strained sauce and 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese. Wash and brush carefully but do not peel 1 lb. small mushrooms. Drain well and wipe dry. Melt 1 tablespoon butter in saucepan, add juice of 1/2 lemon and 1 tablespoon sherry, salt and a pinch of pepper, paprika, the mushrooms and 1/2 clove of mashed garlic. Cover and cook over low flame for 8 minutes. With a perforated spoon remove mushrooms and mix with Mornay sauce. Pour into baked pie crust and place in preheated 450 ͦ oven for 12 minutes. Be careful the bottom of the crust does not burn -- an asbestos mat under the pie is a protection.

This is a dish that every experienced cook in France prepares in his own way. If morels (edible fungi) are used the cheese is omitted from the sauce. A tomato sauce may be substituted for the Mornay sauce but is not as fine. Chopped ham may be added to the sauce or 4 or 5 boned and crushed anchovies. The variations are endless. The crusts vary too from a biscuit dough to a puff paste. It is a dish that is always well received.

During the winter two of our friends, Janet Scudder the sculptress and Camille Sigard of the Metropolitan Opera of its great days, suggested that they too buy a two-seater Ford and that in summer we should all go south. Janet was hunting a home, the house of her dreams. She was an admirable travelling companion and had a gift for locating good food and first-class wine. When summer came we started off one sunny day to lunch at a restaurant that Janet knew. It was indeed a good lunch but the view from the balcony where lunch was served was too distracting for the enjoyment of a well-prepared meal. We once stayed in the country with friends who had two young sons. At table they chattered to each other continuously but so quietly as not to interfere with our conversation. One day, sitting next to one of them who was silent, I asked why he was not talking to his brother. He explained that he never did when there were artichokes with Sauce Mousseline.

Janet in her search for a house would uncover a small bistro, but the food was not coarse at the ones Janet took us to. It became a joke whether she and not Godiva had the instinct for achieving the gastronomic bull's-eye. We were on dust roads all the way to Avignon. Maybe we helped, but Godiva led the way to Aramon, a village dominated by a fortified castle, where we lunched roughly but tastily on a dish of the region,

HEN A LA PROVENCALE

Take a not too old hen and cut into joints, 1 lb. breast or shoulder of mutton, 3 tomatoes, 3 hearts of artichokes, 3 small vegetable marrows, 3 sweet peppers, 1 cup chick peas that have been previously soaked, 3 turnips, 3 medium-sized onions with a clove stuck in each one, 1 teaspoon Spanish red pepper, 1/4 teaspoon cumin powder, salt and a pinch of cayenne. Put in a pot, cover with water, place over medium flame covered. When it boils reduce to low flame and simmer for 2 hours. Serve in a deep dish with chicken and mutton in centre, the vegetables around. Pour as much of the juice as the dish will hold, the rest in a sauceboat. This is not only nourishing and succulent but sufficiently satisfying, with cheese and coffee to follow, to make a meal.

Our friends not yet having found a home were ready to try the Cote d' Azur, expecting us to go too. But neither Gertrude Stein nor I found the Mediterranean coast sympathetic. The part of France that had seduced us by its beauty lay between Avignon and Aix-en-Provence, Orange and the sea. Saint Remy would be a point from which to radiate. Janet asked if we had ever eaten there. We were obliged to answer that we had not. We would find out. We had not selected it for its culinary possibilities. Saint Remy and the country about had a poignant beauty that would compensate for the deficiencies of the inn. The rough bare rooms they showed us and which I bespoke at once looked out on a pleasant garden. Lunch was mediocre. Janet ominously remarked that we would regret our choice. In the afternoon our friends drove over to Aix-en-Provence and we settled down for a long stay. We were where we wanted to be.

The mistral blew and the food was bad, but we were enchanted with our walks and drives in all directions. We commenced to look for a passable restaurant or bistro. After investigating the provision shops we concluded it was not reasonable to suppose that it could be a country of good cooking. This did not discourage us, it was just a fact. Marseilles was within easy reach and we could run down there for diversion, shopping and a good lunch.

We had had no news from the friends at Aix-en-Provence except a telephone message asking how we were supporting life at Saint Remy, when a telegram from Janet announced that we should come over at once to see the house she had found and was busy buying. We drove over next morning. The commonplace little house was built in a hollow -- therefore without a view -- in a large tract of treeless uncultivated land. Because it was unlike the taste of our friend we tried to dissuade her from buying it, but it had become a fixed idea. We were obliged at lunch to listen endlessly to Janet and her new home. Soon we were going over to see the interior decorations under way and what had been achieved in the well-planned garden.

During this time we had gone down to Marseilles and had tried at two of its best restaurants Marseilles' unique creation,

BOUILLABAISSE

The fish should be more than fresh, it should be caught and cooked the same day. This is what gives the dish its quality. There must be many different kinds of fish to give the proper flavour. It is not only the ingredients that go into the sauce -- which is not a sauce but a soup -- it is the flavour of the fish that predominates. There should be at least five different kinds of fish. In Marseilles where the Bouillabaisse was born there are frequently seven or more not counting the shellfish. It cannot be repeated too often that they must be very fresh. In France there are three different kinds of Bouillabaisse -- the unique and authentic one of Marseilles with Mediterranean fish, the one of Paris made of fish from the Atlantic, and a very false one indeed made of fresh-water fish.

Take 5 lbs. gurnards, red snapper, red fish, mullets, pike, turbot and dory, wash, scale, cut off the fins and heads. Cut the large fish in 1-inch slices, leave the smaller ones whole. Have two extra heads of any large fish. Wash very thoroughly and put them with the heads of the small fish with 1 carrot, 1 onion, 1 laurel leaf, a twig of thyme. Cover with 7 cups cold salted water, bring to a boil uncovered. Skim and cover, boil until reduced to half. Then mash with potato masher through fine sieve. Boil 1 large lobster and 1 crab. When cooked remove from water and drain. Cut the meat from the body of the lobster into four pieces. Put the meat from the crab and from all the claws together. Pour into a large saucepan 1/4 cup olive oil. When it is hot add 3/4 cup thinly sliced onions, 3 crushed shallots, 3 cloves of crushed garlic, 1/2 sweet pepper (seeds removed), 1 large peeled tomato cut in slices, 4 stalks of celery, 1 two-inch slice of fennel. Turn with a wooden spoon until well coated with oil, then add 1/4 cup olive oil, 3 twigs of thyme, 1 laurel leaf, 2 whole cloves, 1 piece of the zest of an orange, salt and pepper. Over very high heat add the bouillon of the fish heads. Boil covered for 5 minutes. Put the less quickly cooked fish into the saucepan. Boil furiously uncovered for 5 minutes. Add the rest of the fish and the lobster meat from the body. Boil furiously uncovered for 5 minutes. Remove from heat. Remove fish and lobster with perforated spoon, wipe whatever may be adhering to them. Place in a large deep dish and keep hot. Strain juice from saucepan, replace on stove, add crab meat and meat from clams. Put in a bowl 1/4 teaspoon powdered saffron, mix with 5 tablespoons boiling juice from the saucepan. Mix thoroughly and add to boiling juice. Put around the fish 1/2-inch slices of French bread. Pour over fish. Serve piping hot.

Very simple hors d'oeuvre to precede the Bouillabaisse -- neither vegetable nor fruit juice, please -- but raw baby artichokes, endives washed and cut in half, radishes and asparagus tips for example; with coffee to end a perfect lunch.

We went to Marseilles to spend the day two or three times a month and had a Bouillabaisse at the best of restaurants.

We stayed on at Saint Remy; summer was over, autumn was even more beautiful. If the mistral howled it not only made the sky bluer but all the landscape more vivid. One day we walked to a small Gothic chapel. In a bare field there was a single very large leafless and symmetrical Japanese persimmon tree heavily laden with its deep-orange fruit, silhouetted against the brilliant sky. It remains one of the loveliest of memories.

All day and all night we heard the sheep bells as the flocks were driven into the hills for the winter grazing. We were obliged to take the small roads. The flocks made an effective barrier on the main ones. Janet comfortably installed in her home could not understand why we didn't find Saint Remy thoroughly insupportable. The food at the inn even for the Christmas and New Year's celebrations was wretched. The only thing the little town produced, and that was first rate, was glace fruit, but one could not live upon that alone. French glace fruit differs from our crystallised kind. In France the syrup in which the fruit is cooked is not boiled long enough to crystallise. In Saint Remy there was a manufactory -- if anything as unpretentious and small could be called that -- of these fruits. They made a speciality of whole glace melons filled with the smaller fruits, cherries, apricots, plums and pears, delicious and attractive. They sent them to us in Paris until the outbreak of this last war. Like so many other good things, they disappeared with the catastrophe.

As winter wore on, we became restless. Perhaps it was too much mistral. It was foolish to leave before the spring came. One day in March, walking through a ploughed field, we were forced to admit that the climate was no longer bearable and that it would be best to leave at once. We took several days to have a last long look at all the places we so little wished to leave and then drove back to Paris.

It had become our habit to remain in Paris during the winter and only take short trips in spring, which however did not prevent us from discussing projects for the long summer vacations. At this time a series of booklets on the gastronomic points of interest in the various regions of France were being published. As each one appeared I would read it with curiosity. The author was paradoxically a professional gourmet. Of the places we knew I was not always in agreement with his judgment. However, when it became time to plan the route we were to take to meet the Picassos at Antibes we chose one based on the recommendations of the guides. The first of them was Bourg-en-Bresse.

In May we started off for Chablis, where we would find not only incomparable food but my favourite wine, Chablis. Monsieur Bergeran was an intelligent and gifted chef. His menus were a history of the French kitchen and he was its encyclopaedia. One day he said to us that a true chef should have no secrets, that anyone could know everything there was to know about cooking. There should be no tricks or secrets. To prove this he asked me to come and see him at work. This is the way I saw him prepare

CHICKEN SAUTE AUX DUCS DE BOURGOGNE

Cut a fine roasting chicken into six pieces. Brown them in 4 tablespoons butter over medium flame in Dutch oven. When browned add salt and pepper, cover and put in preheated 350° oven. Baste frequently and turn once. It will take between 3/4 hour to 1 hour to cook according to size of chicken. When the chicken is cooked remove from flame and place the pieces of chicken on preheated carving dish. Put the Dutch oven over medium flame and add 3/4 cup port, 1/2 cup brandy, 1/2 cup whisky and 1/4 cup best kirsch. Detach from oven with spatula any glaze that may be adhering to it. Mix well. In a bowl stir 2 yolks of eggs and slowly add 2 cups warm cream. Pour slowly into Dutch oven. Heat thoroughly but do not allow to boil. Tip in all directions. Do not stir. Pour over chicken and serve hot.

From Chablis we went to Dijon, where we had for dinner at the famous restaurant of the Three Pheasants

SUPREME OF PIKE A LA DIJONAISE

Cut the fillets from a pike, see that no bones adhere and then skin them. Interlard them as one does fillet of beef. Put them in a deep dish with 1/4 cup brandy, 1/2 cup sherry and 1 cup good dry red wine, salt and pepper and 4 shallots chopped fine and 4 bouquets each containing 1 stalk of celery, 1 small twig of thyme and 1/4 laurel leaf, each bouquet tied in a muslin bag. Baste with liquid and put aside. In winter keep for 48 hours, in summer for 24 hours, basting twice a day. When the fillets are ready to be cooked place in a deep earthenware dish which has been heavily coated with soft butter, the fillets, the four little bags and the strained marinade. Put into preheated oven 400° for about 20 minutes, basting frequently. When the fillets are well browned, remove from oven, add 2 tablespoons cream and 3 tablespoons soft butter. Baste and serve at once.

From Dijon our road led to Bourg-en-Bresse, recommended by the Guide Gastronomique, through the country renowned for its chickens of the large and thick breasts and short legs. Bourg is a well-known market town, not only for its fowl but for dairy produce and vegetables. We fell under its spell at once. The menu at the hotel for dinner was carefully chosen and delicately cooked. We were delighted and toasted the guide book which had led us there and decided to stay for a couple of days. In the morning we visited the market and the provision shops, regretting that we did not live in the region -- not suspecting that we were to spend six months a year for seventeen consecutive years within twenty-five miles of it. For lunch we had

TURNOVERS WITH CRAWFISH -- SAUCE NANTUA

Make a puff paste, roll in a ball and put aside in a cool place. Dice 2 medium-sized carrots, 2 medium-sized onions, cut 1 stalk of celery in rings. Put 2 tablespoons butter in saucepan and when melted brown the vegetables in it. When browned, put into the saucepan 1 cup dry white wine and 48 unshelled crawfish. Cover and cook over medium heat for 10 minutes. Remove the crawfish with a perforated spoon. Remove their shells. Put the crawfish aside, and the shells and the the diced vegetables into a mortar and pound until fine enough to strain through a fine sieve. Add 1 cup thick cream sauce, the strained juice in which the crawfish have cooked, 2 tablespoons soft butter, 1 teaspoon cognac. Mix well and cool. Roll out the puffpaste 1/4 inch thick. Cut in squares of 4 inches and put 4 crawfish towards one corner with 1 tablespoon sauce which must be cold. Turn the opposite corner over to cover the crawfish. Press around the edges firmly with the floured handle of a small knife. Paint lightly with a stirred egg and put on lightly buttered baking sheet and bake in preheated oven 400° for 20 minutes. While the turnovers are baking keep the rest of the sauce hot. When the turnovers are baked remove from oven and place on preheated plate, and pour some of the sauce on each one of them.

These turnovers are very popular in the Bresse and the Bugey for Sunday lunch, for baptisms and for weddings.

From the same source the advice that had taken us to Bourg took us to Belley. The short ride was through a pleasing country. Belley was a small town on a hillside with varied landscape on all sides. For our evening meal we ordered simply a poached fish with brown butter, a vegetable salad and raspberries. It was satisfactory. We took a walk round the outside of the town and were enchanted. Though not actually in the mountains Belley had mountain air from the not far distant Alps. The next morning early we drove in Godiva in all directions. The country was beautiful and diversified. The people on the roads and in the fields were upstanding and had an air of well being. The children were charmingly pretty. In the hills there were lakes and in the valleys there were streams. It was too good to be true. We got back to the hotel for lunch. It was only then that we remembered how enthusiastically the cooking at the hotel had been recommended. The menu was commonplace, the cooking undistinguished. Even so we would stay on to see more of the country. We wired to the Picassos that we were delayed, we would get to them within a week. The proprietress of the hotel -- her husband was the cook who preferred reading Lamartine in a corner to doing his work in the kitchen -- when she heard we were staying on moved us to larger rooms with a view over a garden with the hills in the background.

Everything had been so much to our taste that we had been indifferent to the cooking. It was mediocre and would probably not improve. For the moment at least this was of no importance. At the end of the week when we drove over to Aix-les-Bains and had an unpretentious well-cooked lunch at a restaurant by the lakeside we could laugh at the cooking of the hotel at Belley.

Gertrude Stein wrote to Picasso that we were not going south this year, we found Belley sympathetic and were spending the summer there.

One evening a beautiful woman sat at the little table next to us, her book turned towards us. After several days she suddenly asked, half turning her head, if we had Lavaret for dinner every night, to which we answered that we did. Several evenings later in the same fashion she asked why we had Lavaret every evening for dinner. Gertrude Stein told her that it was the most carefully prepared dish on the menu. Obviously, said the lady. One day we met her in the street and we stopped to talk. She told us of several restaurants in small towns, even in villages, in the region where we could eat extremely well. Godiva took us to all of them. We had not after all lost our taste for food. We went to the Haute Savoie and on the lake of Annecy had remarkably good lunches, to Artemarre which pleased us even more, and to Saint Genix where in a simple decor we enjoyed uncommonly good cooking. But our favourite restaurant was totally unlike these, both for its quality and its simplicity. It had been a bistro before Madame Bourgeois for family reasons had taken it over. Within a short time it had become known by French gourmets as one of the best restaurants in France. Madame Bourgeois was a perfect cook. To the simplest dishes was given as much attention as to the most complicated, which occasionally included the great dishes created in the last three centuries. We drove over often to Priay, a village of 341 inhabitants near the river Ain which is known for its superior fish, in a hunting district abounding in pheasants, partridges and grouse, and within easy driving distance of the great markets of Lyon. Monsieur Bourgeois was a great judge of wine and went each autumn to the annual auction at the Hospice at Beaune, returning with its best. We got to know the Bourgeoises very well and always spent a moment with them in the kitchen, which was thoroughly organised and equipped and very nearly noiseless. From Madame Bourgeois I learned much of what great French cooking was and had been, but because she was a genius in her way, I did not learn from her any one single dish. The inspiration of genius is neither learned nor taught.

After the vintage it had turned cold and we went back to Paris. By April we had returned to Belley to the same pleasant hotel and its poor food. Friends came to stay with us and we would drive them to lunch at Aix-les-Bains, Artemarre and Annecy, but above all to Priay.

Before the end of the summer we realised that we must either build, buy or rent a house somewhere in the country near Belley. But that was a large order. We spent two summers at it. The land we wanted to buy was either not for sale or had no water, the houses were not for sale or had little water. There were no houses to rent that we would have moved into. We were miserable until one afternoon we glimpsed the perfect house from across the valley. It was neither for sale nor to rent but this time nothing would prevent our securing the summer home of our dreams. It was let to an officer in garrison at Belley. How did one dislodge a tenant without a legal reason? We talked to the owner of the house who plainly showed he considered us quite mad, but he told us that his tenant was a captain, and that there were too many majors in the battalion. That was enough to inspire us. We would get two influential friends in Paris to have him promoted, he would be ordered to another garrison and the house would be free for us. Soon after our return to Paris the captain came up to Versailles to take his examinations. He failed to pass them. Our friends said we were not to worry, in three months he had the right to try again. And once more he failed. We were despondent. Someone suggested his being appointed to Africa, at advanced pay and tantamount to promotion. The captain accepted, the friends became active again and soon we were ecstatically tenants of a house which we had never seen nearer than two miles away.

Godiva was tired and old and Gertrude Stein in spring bought a new car and we drove down to Bilignin in it with a white poodle pup to find the house better than our dreams of it.

_______________

Notes:

1. Lavarets are fish found in the lakes of Switzerland and the Haute Savoie.

2. Bouillon is a "boiling", a stock made of veal, chicken or beef bones simmered in water with the special vegetables and herbs appropriate to the dish.

3. Morels are edible fungi.
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Re: The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book by Alice B. Toklas

Postby admin » Wed Mar 22, 2023 8:14 am

7. Treasures

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WHAT is the first food you remember, remember seeing it if not eating it? Well, the first food I remember from my early childhood in San Francisco in the early 'eighties was breakfast food: cracked wheat with sugar and cream, com meal with molasses and farina with honey. But after that the first food that I saw and clearly remember was souffle fritters which of course were not included in a diet prescribed for a child. Nora, my mother's cook, fortunately stayed on long enough for me to taste her fritters. Nora left my mother's kitchen when she was nearly forty years old to marry a well-paid workman and she proceeded to produce five or six children. Maggie, the nurse, would go to see her and on her return would tell the incredible story that Nora who had been such an exquisite cook was now feeding her family, including the youngest born, on canned food. She was a precursor. This is the way to prepare

NORA'S SOUFFLE FRITTERS

Put I cup water, 1/2 cup butter and a pinch of salt into a saucepan on the fire. When the butter has melted and the mixture is about to boil remove from the fire and quickly stir in 2 cups sifted flour. Stir vigorously with a wooden spoon. Place on a very low flame until the mixture leaves the saucepan dry. Turn into a large bowl. Cool for 10 minutes. Then continuing to beat vigorously add 8 eggs, one at a time, thoroughly incorporating each egg before adding another. While beating lift the mixture high in the air so that as much air as possible will enter. Do not stir but beat steadily for about 20 minutes. Put aside in a cool place, but not in the refrigerator, for 2 or 3 hours. When ready to use heat sufficient oil for deep frying to medium heat. You will have rolled the mixture into balls the size of a large walnut in the centre of which you will have placed 1/2 teaspoon currant jelly. Increase the heat. The fritters will rise to the surface, swell, turn over and become golden brown without your aid. At this point remove them at once from the oil, coat generously with confectioner's sugar and serve immediately.

Nora's ice cream is still remembered. It was frozen in a then lately invented "automatic" freezer, there was no cranking to be done. My mother revelled in each year's invention. How she would have enjoyed the present gadget of the week. I found the directions for the use of the "automatic" freezer pasted in the back of the cook-book she had bought for Nora. Many years after, Maggie told my mother that Nora was completely illiterate and so she had read aloud to Nora the recipes she needed and had written down the daily expenses every evening. Maggie had not wanted my mother to know this while Nora was in her service, she thought it would embarrass both of them.

NORA'S ICE CREAM

1 quart whipped cream sweetened with 3/4 cup icing sugar. Add 1-1/4 cups raspberry jelly slightly melted. Fold in the beaten whites of 5 eggs. Freeze.

It surprises me, recalling these two of Nora's delights, to find that my collecting of treasures commenced so very, very long ago and that many of them, consequently, are no longer treasures. One must have been more innocent and more inexperienced than one likes to think of one's self as having been. If taste is matter of choice, the quantity of rejections for this book is neither flattering nor encouraging. The wastepaper basket is too small. But if there are amongst the discards proofs of an undiscerning past, there will also, I hope, be signs of more recent perspicacity in those that are offered here.

My collecting of treasures began with Sweets -- cakes and ices, desserts and candies -- double evidence of their date. For when one is young, that is what interests one most; the rest follows. So this is one of the earliest.

SCHEHEREZADE'S MELON

Cut a piece from the stem end of the melon. Scoop out in as large pieces as convenient as much of the pulp as is possible without piercing the melon. Empty all the juice, dice the pulp in equal quantities (this will depend upon the size of the melon) as well as pineapple and peaches. Add bananas in thin slices, and whole strawberries and raspberries. Sugar to taste. When the sugar mixed with the fruit has dissolved put the fruit and their juice in the melon. Cover with four parts very dry champagne and one part each of Kirsch, Maraschino, Creme de Menthe and Roselio. Put in refrigerator overnight. [1]

This dessert and a complicated Bavarian cream which had a similar flavour from its including the same fruits and precisely the same liqueurs and cordials were early favourites. The recipe for Scheherezade's Melon is preserved in my mother's handwritten cook-book.

Another early recipe has for the last sixty years been known amongst my friends as

ALICE'S COOKIES

On a floured board sift 2 cups flour. You will require 2-1/2 cups unsalted butter, the yolks of 6 eggs and 1 cup icing sugar with which a vanilla pod has been pounded and sifted. With the tips of the fingers very lightly work in one-sixth of each of the ingredients until all of each of them has been worked in. It may take more flour, depending upon the size of the yolks of the eggs and the quality of the butter. Only add enough flour to roll. Roll to about 1/4-inch thickness. Cut with a round cookie cutter of any size that suits, but not more than 2-1/2 inches in diameter. Place on cookie sheets and bake in 300° oven for about 1/4 hour. The cookies should not be coloured. When done remove very carefully from cookie sheet with a metal spatula. They are as fragile as they are exquisite. Cover generously with sifted icing sugar. Do not put in tin box until cold. If the box has a cover that closes hermetically, the cookies will keep for two weeks or more.

As these cookies take some time to prepare, eventually they were replaced by an adaptation of Scotch short bread.

NAMELESS COOKIES

Cream 1 cup butter, very slowly add 1/4 cup sifted icing sugar and about 2 cups sifted flour. It should take about 20 minutes' active stirring. Do not beat but stir. When about half the flour has been worked in add a tablespoon best white curacao and I teaspoon brandy. The dough should only be stiff enough just to hold its shape when rolled by one's extended fingers into small sausages a thumb's length and width. Place on cookie sheet an inch apart -- they will spread in the oven, which should be preheated at 275°. The cookies should be very pale, indeed not coloured at all by the heat. Twenty minutes' baking will be sufficient. Remove carefully with metal spatula from cookie sheet and sieve icing sugar over them at once. In a well-covered tin box they will keep three weeks. These cookies have a less delicate texture than the Alice's cookies but are a time-saving substitute.

This recipe is one that was prepared at my request for a lunch celebrating a birthday to which some of my schoolmates had been invited. It is named after a cook.

KATIE'S CAPON

Brown a capon in 6 tablespoons butter in an enamelled pot over medium heat. Cover and reduce heat. After 1/4 hour add 3/4 cup hot water, 3/4 cup hot port wine, the zest of 1/2 orange, 1 teaspoon salt, 1/4 teaspoon pepper and a pinch of cayenne pepper. After 20 minutes, baste every 1/4 hour. The capon will be cooked in 3/4 hour. Remove from pot, place on heated serving dish. Skim juice in the pot and strain. Replace over lowest flame. Stir into pot 3/4 cup heavy cream. Add 4 tablespoons butter. Do not allow to boil, do not stir but tip pot in all directions. Serve very hot. The gravy is poured over the capon so that the juices of the capon when carved enter into the sauce. It is equally delicious cold. To serve cold the juice must have been thickened with rice flour or arrowroot -- as in those days one did for more delicate food -- and cooled before pouring over the capon.

When treasures are recipes they are less clearly, less distinctly remembered than when they are tangible objects. They evoke however quite as vivid a feeling-that is, to some of us who, considering cooking an art, feel that a way of cooking can produce something that approaches an aesthetic emotion. What more can one say? If one had the choice of again hearing Pachmann play the two Chopin sonatas or dining once more at the Cafe Anglais, which would one choose?

To return to our muttons.

LEG OF MUTTON A LA MUSCOVITE

Chop 3 large onions, 3 large carrots and 3 heads of celery. Brown them lightly in 4 tablespoons butter in a saucepan over medium heat. Add 1 cup boiling water and 1/4 cup boiling vinegar, 1 bay leaf, 2 cloves of garlic, 3 cloves, 1 teaspoon salt and 1/2 teaspoon pepper. Cover, reduce heat and boil for 20 minutes. Remove from heat and when cold, strain. Place the leg of mutton in a preheated 475 ͦ oven and after 20 minutes commence to baste with hot juice of vegetables. It will take about 1/2 hour to roast, according to the size of the meat.

MUTTON CHOPS IN DRESSING-GOWNS

Cook 6 mutton chops in a covered saucepan over medium heat in a hot bouillon that scarcely covers, with a very little salt and a bouquet of the usual herbs. When they are cooked, or in about 15 minutes, remove chops from bouillon. Return bouillon to medium heat and reduce to a glaze. Then replace chops in the saucepan and glaze them. Remove from saucepan and spread on each chop this mixture: finely chopped parsley, 1 finely chopped shallot, 2 chopped hard-boiled eggs, 1/4 lb. finely chopped mushrooms which have been cooked for 8 minutes in 2 tablespoons butter and 1 teaspoon lemon juice, 1/4 teaspoon salt and a good pinch of pepper. These ingredients are bound together with 3 tablespoons heavy cream. Paint the mixture on the chops with melted butter, dip in fine fresh bread crumbs. Place for IS minutes in a preheated 500 ͦ oven. Serve very hot.

In my collection of recipes there is one, Rosbif de Mouton, from a manuscript cook-book lent to me by a French friend. Rosbif is what the French call roast beef. It reminds one of the signs one used to see in Paris at smart tea shops -- Le Fif o'Clock a Toutes les Heures (the five o'clock (tea) at all hours). The recipe for the Roast Beef of Mutton is by no less a person than Alexandre Dumas, senior, author not only of the Three Musketeers but of The Large Dictionary of the Kitchen. This recipe is entirely devoted to the manner he recommends for skewering the hind half of a sheep that is to be roasted on the spit. For this reason it is not given, but there are in my collection two other of Dumas' recipes. They too are for the preparation of mutton. One is for

FOIE DE MOUTON A LA PATRAQUE

(Gimcrack Mutton Liver)

Put a sheep's liver cut in thin slices into very hot olive oil. Cook each side of the slices for 5 minutes. Remove the meat and add to the oil the juice of 2 lemons or the same amount vinegar, garlic and very finely rolled toast. Mix these well together for 2 minutes and return the meat and some chopped parsley, and saute until the liver is cooked. Serve hot.

It is dated by the use of toasted crumbs to thicken sauces; in fact, though, they were little used as late as Dumas senior's lifetime. This is the other Dumas recipe:

THE SEVEN-HOUR LEG OF MUTTON

In an earthenware pot place the rind of pork fat cut in small pieces. Interlard a leg of mutton with ham, garlic and lard. Put your leg of mutton into the pot with salt, pepper, 2 large onions, 3 glasses water, 1 glass white wine. Cover the pot with a plate and paste paper around the pot and the plate. In the plate pour some wine and allow it to simmer for 7 hours.

From the same rich fund that produced the two Dumas recipes there are others to offer, beginning with

CHICKEN A LA REINE MARIE

In a casserole over medium heat place 5 tablespoons butter and 1-1/4 lbs. veal knuckle cut in four pieces. Let them brown lightly on all sides and remove from casserole. Do not allow the butter to bum. Add 4 large onions cut in thick slices and brown them. Remove from casserole. Put 4 large carrots cut in thick slices in the casserole and brown them. Add the pieces of veal knuckle and the onions. Reduce heat and let them cook together for 1/4 hour, add 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Add a calf's foot cut in four pieces. Cover with 6 cups hot water and add 1 large bouquet. Cover the casserole and over lowest flame simmer for 4 hours. Watch carefully that the water does not completely evaporate. Then remove the veal knuckle, the calf's foot and the bouquet. Mash well through a sieve so as to extract all the juice the vegetables contain. Melt 4 tablespoons butter in a saucepan over low flame. Add 1 tablespoon flour and, constantly stirring with a wooden spoon, let it brown lightly. Very slowly add the strained juice. Let this sauce simmer until thickened. Cut a fine chicken into joints and place in an iron pot in which 7 tablespoons butter have been melted. Over medium heat brown all sides of the pieces of chicken. Add 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/4 cup good dry white wine. Cover and simmer for about 3/4 hour, depending upon the size of the chicken. The giblets will have been cooked slowly for about 2-1/2 hours with 1 carrot, 1 turnip and 1 leek. This should produce 1-1/2 cups concentrated bouillon. In a small saucepan melt 4 tablespoons butter over low heat. Add 1 tablespoon flour. Stir with a wooden spoon and mix thoroughly. Add the bouillon and when it commences to boil slowly pour in 1-3/4 cups heavy cream. Add 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Bring to the boil and remove from heat. Arrange the pieces of chicken in a manner to resemble an uncut chicken on a serving dish, and when the sauce is tepid pour over the chicken. Serve cold.

This is a very satisfactory principal dish for hot weather. A green salad accompanies it.

From the same source,

A SALMON PATE

For the crust, sieve 4 cups flour in a bowl with 1-3/4 cups butter, 1/4 teaspoon salt and mix with a pastry blender. Add only enough cold water to hold the dough together. Do not mix it too much. Put aside covered for 1/2 hour. Then roll it to a square of about u inches. Fold it from top to centre and from bottom to top. Fold the sides in the same manner. Put aside covered for 10 minutes. Roll and fold a second time. Put aside covered. (The dough can be rolled in wax paper in these modem days instead of covered, as this old recipe recommends.) Boil 2 eggs for 11 minutes. Boil 1 cup rice in 3 cups water for 15 minutes. Dry thoroughly in the oven. Roll the dough to a 1/4-inch thickness, then roll all around the edge to half that thickness. This will leave the centre with a double thickness. In the centre spread a layer of rice (it must be perfectly dry and cold) of about a 1/3 inch in thickness, salt and pepper. Cover with a layer of heavy cream, 1/3 inch in thickness. Then place on the cream 1 lb. raw salmon cut in three slices, let them overlap, salt and pepper them. Cover with another layer of heavy cream 1/3 inch in thickness. Sprinkle the 2 hard-boiled eggs finely chopped over the cream. Cover with a layer of rice of 1/3 inch in thickness, salt and pepper lightly. Paint the uncovered dough lightly with water and cover the filling from the top and bottom. Then from the sides. Paint the top and the sides with an egg mixed with 3 tablespoons water. Bind the sides of the pate with a piece of buttered paper and tie with a string to hold it in place. Prick the top of the pate with a fork in a number of places. In the centre of the top cut a small round opening of 1 inch in diameter, remove the small piece of dough. Slip the pate on to a lightly buttered baking sheet and place in a 500° preheated oven. Lower the heat in 10 minutes to 400°. As soon as the pate commences to colour, lower to 375°. In 1/2 hour remove the paper that binds the sides and bake for 1/4 hour longer. Remove from oven, pour into the hole in the centre 4 tablespoons melted butter and serve.

The recipe for this omelette comes from the cook-book of Georges Sand. Should it not therefore be called

OMELETTE AURORE

Beat 8 eggs with a pinch of salt, 1 tablespoon sugar and 3 tablespoons heavy cream. Prepare the omelette in the usual manner. Before folding it, place on it 1 cup diced candied fruit and small pieces of marrons glacis which have soaked for several hours in 2 tablespoons curacao. Fold the omelette to keep the fruit in place, on fireproof serving dish. Surround with marrons glaces and candied cherries. Cover at once with this Frangipani cream, made by stirring 2 whole eggs and 3 yolks with 3 tablespoons sugar until they are pale-lemon coloured. Then add 1 cup flour and a pinch of salt, stirring until it is perfectly smooth. Add 2 cups milk and mix well. Put in a saucepan over lowest heat and stir until quite thick. It must not boil. Be careful that the cream does not become attached to the bottom or sides of the saucepan. When it has thickened remove from heat and add 2 tablespoons butter and 3 powdered macaroons. Stir and mix well. Pour over omelette and sprinkle 1/4 cup diced angelica over the cream. Then sprinkle 6 powdered macaroons on top and 3 tablespoons melted butter. Place the omelette in a preheated 550° oven only long enough to brown lightly.

Image

OMELETTE IN AN OVERCOAT

Put in a saucepan over medium heat 3 tablespoons butter with 1 tablespoon chopped parsley, 3/4 cup mushrooms cut in thin slices, stems included, 2 chopped spring onions and 2 shallots finely chopped. Stir them until they are coated with butter, then add 1-1/2 tablespoons flour and 1-1/2 cups milk. Continue to stir until the sauce thickens. Lower heat after it comes to a boil and simmer for 5 minutes. Pour into the serving dish. Place on it 6 mellow eggs, which are eggs placed for 4 minutes in boiling water, removed and placed under the cold-water tap, and when they are cold carefully shelled. They are then placed in a saucepan of boiling water, covered and allowed to stand in it for 5 minutes. Prepare a 6-egg omelette in the usual manner, entirely cover the eggs and sauce with it. Sprinkle the top with 2 tablespoons melted butter, then a thick covering of finely toasted breadcrumbs and once more a sprinkling of 2 tablespoons melted butter. Brown in preheated 550° oven. Serve at once.

And one more omelette, but without a name, so it will be called

OMELETTE SANS NOM

Stir in a bowl the yolks of 4 eggs with 3/4 cup heavy cream, a pinch of salt and 1 tablespoon grated Parmesan cheese. Mix well and add 5 tablespoons very soft butter. Beat the whites of 4 eggs and fold the egg-cream mixture into them at the same time as 1-1/2 cups tiny dices of ham. Put in a preheated fireproof well-buttered dish for serving and place in a preheated 500° oven for 5 minutes. Remove from oven and quickly cover with I cup heavy cream on which 1/4 cup tiny diced ham is sprinkled. Return to oven, lower heat to 400° and brown for a little less than 1/4 hour more. Serve at once.

ROAST KIDNEYS

Cook in a frying pan over medium heat a veal kidney. Cut into small pieces 6 tablespoons butter. Stir until all the pieces are covered with butter. Add salt, pepper, 1/2 cup hot Madeira. Lower heat and cover. Cook for 6 minutes. Remove pieces of kidney with a perforated spoon and put aside. Add to the frying pan 2 tablespoons butter and brown lightly on each side six slices of bread and remove from pan. Put kidney through the meat chopper. Add 7 tablespoons butter, 1 tablespoon chopped parsley, 1 chopped shallot, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1/4 teaspoon pepper and the yolks of 4 eggs. Mix well. Beat the 4 whites of eggs and fold into the chopped mixture. Place the browned bread on a fireproof serving dish, put a layer of the mixture on each piece and flatten the top with a knife. Cover with fine breadcrumbs and melted butter. Place in preheated 400 ͦ oven for 20 minutes. Serve with this.

RAVIGOTE SAUCE

Put in a small saucepan over low heat 1 cup of strong bouillon, 1 teaspoon vinegar, 1/3 teaspoon pepper, 1/4 teaspoon salt, 1 tablespoon butter mixed with 1 teaspoon flour. Stir until it commences to boil. Allow to simmer for 5 minutes. Then mix 1 teaspoon chopped chervil, 1 teaspoon tarragon, 1 teaspoon chopped capers, 1 teaspoon chopped parsley, 1 teaspoon chopped shallot and 1 crushed clove of garlic. Put in a mortar and pound well. Then add them to the sauce and heat. Stir until the sauce is green. Do not boil. If the herbs are not finely enough powdered -- which would be a mistake and a pity -- strain and reheat in another saucepan but do not allow to boil. Serve at the same time as the kidneys.

In the collection of recipes there are certainly a disproportionate number for the preparation of chickens, but the French when in doubt always answer chicken. This is a very witty way to present a

QUADRIPARTITE CHICKEN

Cut a fine chicken in four pieces. Cover each piece completely with a thin slice of fat back of pork and skewer or tie to keep in place. Put them in an iron pot over medium heat with 4 tablespoons butter, brown very lightly and add 1 truffle, 1 large slice of ham, a bouquet of parsley, a twig of thyme, 1/2 laurel leaf and several leaves of basil or 1/4 teaspoon powdered basil, 1 clove, salt, pepper and 3/4 cup dry white wine. Simmer covered for 3/4 hour. Chop the truffle, the slice of ham, the yolk of 1 hard-boiled egg and 10 capers, each of them separately chopped. Remove the pieces of chicken to the serving plate placing each piece to reconstruct the chicken, but flat. Skim the sauce through a strainer and replace over heat. Bring to a boil, stir the bottom and sides of the pot and add 1-1/2 tablespoons butter and 1 tablespoon flour which have been thoroughly mixed together. Stir and boil gently for 3 or 4 minutes until the sauce is thickened. Pour over the four pieces of chicken. Cover one with chopped ham, another with yolk of egg mashed through a sieve, another with chopped truffle and the last one with chopped capers.

This recipe for rice taught me how to judge when rice was sufficiently cooked. Besides this it is an excellent dish.

RICE A LA DREUX

Wash, drain and thoroughly dry 1-1/2 cups rice. Put on a saucepan over medium heat and melt 3 tablespoons butter. Add the rice and stir with a wooden fork until all the rice is covered with the butter. Lower heat and continue to stir for 10 minutes. Then add 3 cups chicken broth, 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper and cover. The rice is cooked when small holes appear on the surface. Put the saucepan uncovered in a very slow oven to dry the rice. Cut a veal kidney in thin slices, put in a saucepan in which 3 tablespoons butter have been melted. Over medium heat, brown lightly and add 1 tablespoon flour. Mix well and add 3/4 cup hot chicken bouillon and 1/4 cup hot Madeira. Reduce heat as soon as it commences to boil. Add 1/4 teaspoon salt, 1/8 teaspoon pepper and a pinch of powdered mace or nutmeg. Cover and allow to simmer for 10 minutes. Scramble 8 eggs in saucepan in which 2 tablespoons butter have been melted, add 1/4 teaspoon salt and 1/2 cup cream. Be careful not to overcook. The rice having been placed in a ring mould and tapped so that there will be no holes is now removed from mould on to the serving dish. The centre of the dish is filled with the scrambled eggs and the slices of kidney are placed around the rice and their sauce poured over them.

MUSHROOM SANDWICHES (1)

Mushroom sandwiches have been my speciality for years. They were made with mushrooms cooked in butter with a little juice of lemon. After 8 minutes' cooking, they were removed from heat, chopped and then pounded into a paste in the mortar. Salt, pepper, a pinch of cayenne, and an equal volume of butter were thoroughly amalgamated with them. Well and good. But here is a considerable improvement over them, also called

MUSHROOM SANDWICHES (2)

The method is the same as above up to a certain point. These are the proportions. For 1/4 lb. mushrooms cooked in 2 tablespoons butter add 2 scrambled eggs and 3 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese and mix well. The recipe ends with: This makes a delicious sandwich which tastes like chicken. A Frenchman can say no more. Which gave me the idea of introducing chicken sandwiches in which chopped and pounded chicken was substituted for the mushrooms. Naturally they were well received.

So we are back to chicken with some recipes for them, delicious or original. This one is both.

A HEN WITH GOLDEN EGGS

Put a hen in a saucepan over very high heat. It should be covered with cold water, and when it is about to boil, the water is skimmed. Then reduce the flame, add salt, pepper, a bouquet of laurel leaf and a sprig of thyme and parsley, 1 large onion, 1 large carrot, 1 leek and 2 large stalks of tarragon. It will depend upon the age of the hen whether it will be tender in 1-1/2 or 3 hours. It should not cook beyond being tender. Before the end, add 1/2 lb. mushrooms. Let them boil in the court-bouillon for 10 minutes. Remove chicken. If there is more than 3 cups bouillon, reduce and strain, add 1 cup heavy cream and 1 cup butter. Do not allow to boil. Do not stir but tip saucepan in all directions. In the cavity you will place the golden eggs that are made in this way. Boil 2 lbs. potatoes in their jackets. When tender, peel and put through the mechanical vegetable masher. Then beat hard while slowly adding 1/2 cup butter and the yolks of 6 eggs. Mould into balls and shape to imitate eggs, dip into a bowl of melted butter and cover generously. Put into frying pan in which 5 tablespoons butter has been melted over medium heat, heat thoroughly but do not brown. Stuff the cavity of the hen with these eggs. Pour the sauce over the chicken and surround with the rest of the golden eggs.

This is an amusing way to present a chicken. It is a delicious dish.

CHICKEN A LA COMTADINE

Cut a spring chicken into eight pieces, salt and pepper them. Lightly brown them in 4 tablespoons butter in a pan over medium heat. Lower heat and cover the pan, let them cook for 20 minutes, shaking the pan frequently. Remove from heat and pour over them the contents of the pan. Then pour into the pan 1/2 cup good sweet Italian vermouth (Cinzano or Rossi). Heat it and light it. While still lighted replace the pieces of chicken, extinguish flame. Stir to heat and add 1 tablespoon tomato jam, a good pinch of cinnamon, and one of cayenne pepper. Stir the chicken for 5 minutes to coat each piece with the sauce and serve.

And this fowl with wine --

DUCK IN PORT WINE

Put 24 figs in a wide jar to marinate for 36 hours in an excellent dry port wine and cover hermetically. Put the duck in a preheated 450 ͦ oven. After 1/4 hour commence to baste it with the port wine in which the figs have been macerating, and which has been heated. Continue to baste every 15 minutes. Turn the duck on each side so that the legs are browned. When all the port has been used for basting put the figs around the duck and baste with veal bouillon. Continue to baste. The duck will be cooked in an hour unless it is a very old duck indeed.

No duck interests me after the month of September. Ducks should be goslings and it is a pity that they are not hatched later in the season, for they are really a late autumn and winter dish.

This is a very pretty dish and, though original, not outrageous. On the contrary, it is a satisfactory combination of colour and flavour.

PINK POMPADOUR BASS

Bass should not be cooked in a court-bouillon. Put a 4 lb. bass into hot salted water. As soon as the water boils again reduce at once to low flame. The fish should simmer. The water should tremble or shudder, as the French say, for 3/4 hour. Remove from kettle and delicately remove the skin, and when quite cold place on serving dish and cover with a pale-green mayonnaise made with 2 yolks of eggs, 2-1/2 cups oil, the juice of 1 lemon, salt and pepper and enough cress, chervil and tarragon leaves in equal quantities pounded in a mortar until reduced to a smooth paste to make in all 4 tablespoons. Boil 2 lbs. potatoes in their jackets, peel and put in the electric blender with half the volume of boiled beetroots. When they are mixed add I tablespoon oil and juice of 1/2 lemon, salt and pepper and enough thick cream to put in the pastry tube, and decorate around the fish.

And this is another attractive and tasty dish.

GIANT SQUAB IN PYJAMAS

Completely cover a giant squab (young pigeon) with a thin slice of back fat of pork. Tie it to keep in place, cover with a thick coating of butter. If possible to secure, cover the pork fat with vine leaves. Place in a cocotte with an onion, a crushed clove of garlic, a bouquet, 1/3 cup diced skin of back fat of pork, 3 tablespoons butter and pepper, and 1/3 cup brandy. Cover and simmer over low heat for 2 hours. Remove lard and place squab on serving dish. Prepare an aspic by soaking 1 tablespoon gelatine in 1/2 cup water. Bring 3/4 cup port wine and 3/4 cup chicken bouillon to a boil. Melt the gelatine in the hot mixture. When it is cold and sufficiently thick, cover squab. Shred 1/2 red cabbage, season with 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Add 1-1/2 tablespoons olive oil and the juice of I lemon. Mix well and surround the squab with this salad. Surround the squab with a few nasturtium flowers and place a few around the edge of the salad.

PHEASANT WITH COTTAGE CHEESE

Fill the cavity of a pheasant with cottage cheese. Sew the cavity together securely. Tie round the pheasant a thin slice of fat back of pork and paint generously with melted butter. Put 3 tablespoons butter in a cocotte over medium heat. When the butter is melted place the pheasant in the cocotte and reduce heat. Add salt and pepper. Cover and cook over low heat for 1 hour, basting with the melted fat. One-quarter hour before the pheasant is cooked, remove the pork fat and brown the pheasant in the fat on all sides. After placing the bird on its serving dish, add 1/3 cup brandy to the cocotte, scrape the bottom and sides of the cocotte to mix the glaze that will have adhered. Pour over pheasant and serve.

MUSSELS WITH A CREAM SAUCE (1)

Put in a fish kettle 2 quarts thoroughly scrubbed and washed mussels, 3 tablespoons butter, 3 chopped shallots, 1 clove of crushed garlic. Cover and over highest heat cook for 4 or 5 minutes. As soon as the shells open, the mussels are cooked. Drain the mussels. Strain the juice in which they are cooked through a fine hair sieve. Remove the mussels from the shells. Pour the juice into a bowl. There will be a deposit in the bowl. Be careful that it is not poured into the saucepan. Put saucepan over low heat, and when the juice is hot pour a small quantity of it into a bowl. Add 1/2 tablespoon saffron and mix well. Add this to the juice. Add 2 tablespoons flour, stir until the sauce has thickened, about 5 minutes. Add mussels. Reduce heat and slowly stir in 3/4 cup heavy cream. When it is quite hot remove to deep serving dish, sprinkle with chopped parsley and serve.

The mussels can be served cold with a

FENNEL SAUCE

made by adding 1 whole fennel cooked covered in boiling salted water for 3 minutes, removed from water, drained, pressed and wiped dry. Then chop very very fine and add to a Sauce Mousseline.

If one likes mussels at all one likes them madly, and that is the reason there are so many recipes for their preparation amongst the treasure. Here is another and last one:

MUSSELS WITH A CREAM SAUCE (2)

Put in a saucepan over medium heat 3 tablespoons butter. When it is melted, add 1 large carrot cut in thin slices. Reduce heat, cover and cook for 1/2 hour, shaking the saucepan from time to time. Then raise heat to high, add 3 quarts scrubbed and washed mussels, 1/4 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Cover and cook for 4 minutes. Remove mussels, drain and remove from shells. Put in a saucepan over medium heat 2 tablespoons butter and 1-1/4 cups chopped mushrooms. When they are hot, add 3 tablespoons flour. Stir with a wooden spoon. Add slowly the juice of the mussels which has been strained through a hair sieve. Stir with a wooden spoon. Boil for 4 minutes. Reduce heat and add 5 tablespoons butter and 1/2 cup heavy cream. Do not allow to boil and do not stir. Mix by tipping saucepan in all directions. Remove from flame; a few drops of lemon juice may be added, for those who care for it.

Most of the treasures in this collection are French and this is intentional. Though collecting began in the United States, my cooking days have been spent in France. There are however some Italian and Spanish treasures, which doubtless in the United States now belong to the public domain. But one Spanish recipe is tempting. It must be confessed it came to me from a French friend and is therefore unquestionably a modified version of the original. Chauvinism apart, how can one feel otherwise than that it has been contaminated through a natural prejudice. Here it is:

FISH IN A SPANISH PIE

Mix 1/2 cup olive oil, 1 egg, a pinch of salt, a good pinch of powdered anis, 1-1/2 tablespoons brandy. When thoroughly mixed, add 2-1/4 cups flour, work with a pastry blender but do not overwork. Add only enough water to hold the dough together. Put on a floured board, knead it out thin with the palm of the hand to about 1/2-inch thickness. Roll into a ball and repeat the rolling and kneading. Roll into a ball and put aside for several hours in a cool place (6 hours is recommended). The kneading must be done quickly. This amount of dough will be sufficient for a fish weighing 2 to 2-1/2 lbs. Spaniards prefer trout to other fish -- they consume an incredible amount of it. So a trout it should be, but any fish that hasn't too strong a flavour will do. After the fish is cleaned, cut open down the stomach side. If one is not butterfingered, but oilfingered, with a sharp knife the backbone can be removed. In any case the fish is rubbed inside with salt and powdered nutmeg, painted with olive oil and stuffed with hazel nuts and seedless raisins in equal quantity. The nuts are placed in the oven to brown lightly. This helps to remove the skins by rubbing them in a dishcloth while still hot. Be sure that no skin remains. It is very unpleasant to encounter. Tie the fish together. Roll out the dough, place the fish on it, moisten the edges of the dough. Cover the fish completely. Press the edges of the dough together and place fish in a fireproof serving dish in a 450 ͦ oven for 35 to 40 minutes. It is a delicious dish.

The French make their version of pumpkin pie. It is a country dish, Paris does not know it. In the Bugey for the vintage they make one as we do in the United States, except for the omission of nutmeg or cinnamon flavour and of currants. When we told this to the daughter of a farmer who brought us one she had baked, she said they didn't grow spices, it was not hot enough, and their grapes were not suitable for drying and becoming currants. When it was suggested that nutmeg and currants could be bought in Belley, she was aghast and said that they never, but never, bought any provisions except coffee and sugar.

This is a pumpkin pie, but not a sweet one. It is called

THE CITROUILLAT

Take 5 lbs. pumpkin, peel it and cut it into 2-inch cubes. Place them in a bowl in layers with a sprinkling of salt between each layer. Let stand overnight. The recipe given above for the crust of Fish in a Spanish Pie is suitable if butter replaces the oil and the anis is omitted. In the morning wipe the cubes of pumpkin, and when dry place in a flat ovenproof dish, cover with the dough. Leave a 1-inch hole in the centre. The French like to decorate the opening by placing around it leaves cut from the dough. Place in preheated 400 ͦ oven for 3/4 hour. When it is removed from oven put into the hole in the centre as much heavy cream as the pie will accept, about a cupful, if the pie is inclined in all directions.

I did not think that com meal was much used by the French but it is in the Jura, even in Burgundy. This is one of their recipes for a cake.

CORN-MEAL CAKE

(the French call it Croquants, which would he Crispies to Americans)

Mix thoroughly 1 cup corn meal, 2 cups flour and 1 cup sugar. Over very low flame slowly melt I cup butter and pour it over the dry ingredients. Mix thoroughly with the back of a spoon. Pat into a buttered pie plate with a detachable bottom. Place in a preheated 400° oven for 15 or 20 minutes. Be careful that it does not bum. It can be covered with a water icing to which 1 teaspoon rum has been added. Cut while hot.

And now for some recipes for desserts.

An English friend told me that her grand-aunt who was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Victoria bought a camel-hair India shawl and wore it to go to the palace. To her everlasting shame, a label tag which had not been removed and which was plainly visible was read by one of the royal dukes: Chaste but Elegant. It is a suitable name for this dessert,

RICE WITH FRUIT

Put 2 cups well-washed rice in a saucepan of cold water over high flame. Bring to a boil over medium heat 4 cups milk, 1 cup sugar and the rice. As soon as it comes to a boil, remove and drain. Put under the cold-water tap and drain. Reduce heat to lowest flame. Put rice in 1 quart milk and simmer for I hour without stirring. Place an asbestos mat under the saucepan. When cooked, add 1 teaspoon rum and pour into lightly oiled ring mould (preferably oiled with sweet almond oil). When it is cold, turn out and chill. The centre is filled with sweetened whipped cream. Decorate with strawberries. Cover the rice and keep enough to fill a bowl with this sauce: equal parts of strawberries and raspberries mashed through a fine sieve sweetened with icing sugar and flavoured with juice of 1/2 lemon and 1 teaspoon rum.

How or when this next recipe came into the cook-book of a French family they were not able to say, but it was written in a handwriting they recognised as that of a great-grandmother. It is for

CREME MARQUISE

(Jean-Jacques Rousseau was underlined)

For three servings, melt 3 ozs. chocolate over hot water. When it is melted add in small quantities at a time 8 tablespoons butter. Stir continuously. Add the yolks of 3 eggs, one at a time, stirring in the same direction. Remove from heat and fold into the stiffly beaten whites of 3 eggs. Chill before serving. It is really an excellent version of a common French dessert.

This too is a recipe of a common dessert, but a very good one, for

EMPRESS RICE

Wash 1/2 cup and 1 tablespoon rice in several waters, then soak in cold water for 2 hours. Drain and put in a saucepan of boiling water. When the water reboils, remove rice after 2 minutes and put it into 2 cups boiling milk with 3/4 cup sugar and allow it to simmer over low flame for 3/4 hour. Boil 2 cups thin cream with 1/4 cup sugar. Stir yolks of 4 eggs, mix with hot cream. Stir with wooden spoon over lowest flame until spoon is coated with mixture. Remove from heat, add r tablespoon vanilla extract and stir occasionally until perfectly cold. Then add 1 cup whipped cream. Gently mix into the rice 1 cup thinly sliced mixed fruits -- bananas, berries, apricots and peaches that have been soaking in rum and in their juice, and 1/4 cup angelica cut in very small dice. Put into a lightly oiled mould in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours.

The French serve this dessert with a fruit or vanilla sauce, but perhaps we would prefer whipped cream.

An excellent ice cream is made with honey instead of sugar.

NOUGAT ICE CREAM

Heat 3 cups thin cream in saucepan over low heat. Stir 6 yolks of eggs and add the hot cream. Put over lowest heat and stir until spoon is coated. Remove from flame and stirring continuously pour it slowly over I cup honey (preferably orange flower). Add 1 tablespoon orange-flower water. Strain, and when cold incorporate 1-1/2 cups whipped cream and fold in 3 whites of eggs beaten stiff, 3/4 cup pistachio nuts that have been blanched, skinned and thoroughly dried, and 1/2 cup blanched almonds cut in half lengthwise (with the point of a knife they open very easily while still moist). Flavour with 1 tablespoon orange-flower water and freeze.

Here are four recipes, interesting at least for the names attached to them. To commence with one of Stephane Mallarme's in his own words. He calls it marmalade, but it is an incomparable dessert.

COCONUT MARMALADE

No one who has entered and taken up from a counter a coconut and bought it knows what to do with it. For Parisians this classic fruit from afar, amongst the pomegranates or oranges and pineapples, remains a useless curiosity. But here is one of the most delicate dainties, of which it is the principal ingredient, from the islands and their coasts. Put 2 cups sugar and 1/2 cup water in a copper kettle and boil until it comes to the little pearl, drop in the grated coconut and stir with a wooden spatula. After 15 minutes, put 2 eggs into another kettle, pour the coconut into it, stirring in the same direction. Flavour with vanilla, cinnamon or orange-flower water, return to the fire for 5 minutes, and after letting it cool for 5 minutes pour it into a compotier (fruit dish) and serve cold.

It is indeed a delicate dainty as the poet describes it, but the syrup must not cook for as long a time as his recipe advised. My dessert was an excellent candy resembling a Chinese sweet long before it was time to add the yolks of eggs. So now it is made with I cup water and boiled to 220°.

This is a

CUSTARD JOSEPHINE BAKER

Beat 3 eggs with 3 tablespoons sugar. Mix 2 tablespoons flour in a little milk and add 2 cups more milk. Mix with sugar-and-egg mixture and strain. Add 2 teaspoons kirsch and 3 tablespoons liqueur Raspail. Add 3 bananas cut in thin slices and a few tiny pieces of the zest or rind of a lemon. Mix well, pour into a fireproof dish and cook in preheated 400° oven for 20 minutes. Serve cold.

Raspail is a liqueur for which it will probably be necessary to substitute another.

Rossini, who was inordinately fond of truffles, created this salad, but only after Alexandre Dumas, junior, had put before the public a better version of it.

ROSSINI'S SALAD

Four parts boiled sliced potatoes and one part sliced truffles that have been cooked in champagne and are served with the usual vinaigrette dressing of three parts olive oil, one part vinegar, salt and pepper.

And here is the proof that the master is greater than the follower:

ALEXANDRE DUMAS JUNIOR'S FRANCILLON SALAD

This is the recipe as he gives it in his play Francillon, first produced at the Comedie Francaise.

ANNETTE: Cook some potatoes in bouillon, cut them in slices as for an ordinary salad, and while they are still warm season them with salt, pepper and a very good fruity olive oil, vinegar ....

HENRI: Tarragon?

ANNETTE: Orleans is better, but that is not of great importance. What is important is a half glass of white wine, Chateau Yquem if it is possible. A great deal of herbs finely chopped. At the same time, cook very large mussels in a court-Bouillon with a stalk of celery; drain them well and add them to the potatoes.

HENRI: Less mussels than potatoes?

ANNETTE: A third less. One should taste the mussels little by little. One should not foretaste them, nor should they obtrude. When the salad is finished, lightly turned, cover it with round slices of truffles; a real calotte (or crown) for the connoisseur.

HENRI: And cooked in champagne?

ANNETTE: That goes without saying. All this, two hours before dinner, so that the salad is very cold when it is served.

HENRI: One could surround the salad with ice.

ANNETTE: No, no, no. It must not be roughly treated; it is very delicate and all its flavours need to be quietly combined.

It is a combination that is exquisitely and typically a French one. Why it is more popularly known as Japanese Salad no one has been able to tell me.

The proportions for it as made today are -- 2 lbs. potatoes, 3 quarts mussels, truffles -- as many as the budget permits -- 3/4 cup olive oil, 4 tablespoons vinegar, 1 tablespoon herbs, 1/4 teaspoon peppers, little salt (the mussels are salty), 4 cups bouillon and 1 stalk of celery.

_______________

Notes:

1. Roselio is a Catalan liqueur or cordial which is also made round about Perpignan. It has not been imported into England since the war: Grenadine might replace it.
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