A Poetical Cook-Book
by Maria J. Moss
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Transcriber's Note

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

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

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




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


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


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

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

March, 1864.

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

"Despise not my good counsel."




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

March, 1864.

Poetical Cook-Book.



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

And, zounds! who would grudge Turtle soup, though it came to five guineas the bowl? MOORE.

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

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


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

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



His soup scientific,—his fishes quite prime; His pates superb, and his cutlets sublime. MOORE.

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


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

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


Here haddock, hake, and flounders are, And eels, and perch, and cod. GREEN.

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

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


Here stay thy haste, And with the savory fish indulge thy taste. GAY.

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


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

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


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

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

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

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

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


But soon, like lobster boil'd, the morn From black to red began to turn. BUTLER.

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


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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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


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

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

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



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

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


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

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


And aye a rowth, a roast beef and claret: Syne wha wad starve! BURNS.

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


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

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


The funeral bak'd meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. SHAKSPEARE.

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


Is there, then, that o'er his French ragout, Looks down wi' sneering, scornful view, On sic a dinner? BURNS.

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


Or one's kidney,—imagine, Dick,—done with champagne. MOORE.

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

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


Silence is commendable only In a neat's tongue dried. SHAKSPEARE.

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


Pray a slice of your liver. GOLDSMITH.

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


A cook has mighty things professed; Then send us but two dishes nicely dressed,— One called Scotch Collops. KING.

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

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


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

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


And the dish set before them,—O dish well devised!— Was what Old Mother Glasse calls "a calf's head surprised." MOORE.

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


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

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

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


Long as, by bayonets protected, we Watties May have our full fling at their salmis and pates. MOORE.

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


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

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

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

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


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

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


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

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


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

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


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

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


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

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


But hang it, to poets, who seldom can eat, Your very good mutton's a very good treat. GOLDSMITH.

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

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


Or urged thereunto by the woes he endured, The way to be smoked, is the way to be cured. ANONYMOUS.

But to the fading palate bring relief, By the Westphalian ham or Belgic beef. KING.

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


Each mortal has his pleasure; none deny Scarsdale his bottle, Darby his ham pie. DODSLEY.

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

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


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

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


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

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



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

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


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

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


And as for your juries—who would not set o'er them A jury of tasters, with woodcocks before them? MOORE.

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


"It tastes of the bird, however," said the old woman, "and she cooked the rail of the fence on which the crow had been sitting."

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


What say you, lads? is any spark Among you ready for a lark? MOORE.

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


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



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

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


And own they gave him a lively notion, What his own forced meat balls would be. MOORE.

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


Boy, tell the cook I love all nicknackeries, Fricasees, vol au vents, puffs, and gimcrackeries. MOORE.

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


De Beringhen. In the next room there's a delicious pate, let's discuss it.

Baradas. Pshaw! a man filled with a sublime ambition has no time to discuss your pates.

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

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


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

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


Where so ready all nature its cookery yields, Macaroni au Parmesan grows in the fields. MOORE.

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


What will not Luxury taste? Earth, sea and air Are daily ransacked for the bill of fare. GAY.

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

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


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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Who praises, in this sauce enamor'd age, Calm, healthful temperance, like an Indian sage? WARTON.

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

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


"Live bullion," says merciless Bob, "which I think Would, if coined with a little mint sauce, be delicious." MOORE.

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


Our fathers most admired their sauces sweet, And often asked for sugar with their meat. KING.

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

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


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

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


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

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

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

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

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

This branch of cookery requires the most vigilant attention.


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

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


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

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


Whose appetites would soon devour Each cabbage, artichoke, and flower. CAWTHORNE.

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


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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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


Every week dispense English beans or Carolinian rice. GRAINGER.

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


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

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


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

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


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

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


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

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


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

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


Herbs too she knew, and well of each could speak That in her garden sipp'd the silvery dew, Where no vain flower disclosed a gaudy streak, But herbs, for use and physic, not a few Of gray renown, within those borders grew,— The tufted basil, pun-provoking thyme, Fresh balm, and marigold of cheerful hue, The lowly gill, that never dares to climb, And more I fain would sing, disdaining here to rhyme. SHENSTONE.

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



What lord of old would bid his cook prepare Mangoes, potargo, champignons, caviare! KING.

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


Lives in a cell, and eats from week to week A meal of pickled cabbage and ox cheek. CAWTHORNE.

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



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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

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


With rich conserve of Visna cherries, Of orange flower, and of those berries That——. MOORE.

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


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

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


And the sun's child, the mail'd anana, yields His regal apple to the ravish'd taste. GRAINGER.

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

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



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

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


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

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

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