WITH THE CASSEROLE
The French name “casserole” has a certain amount of terror for the American housewife. The foreign word startles her and awakens visions of cooking as done by a Parisian chef, or by one who has made the culinary art his profession. She, a plain, every-day housekeeper, would not dare aspire to the use of a casserole.
And yet the casserole itself is no more appalling than a saucepan. It is simply a covered dish, made of fireproof pottery, which will stand the heat of the oven or the top of the range. And the dainty cooked in this dish is “casserole” of chicken, rice, etc., as the case may be. Like many another object of dread this, when once known, is converted into a friend.