CHAPTER IV.
JANE MAKES HERSELF USEFUL.
“I met Norah Villiers yesterday, girls,” said Ada Orlingbury to her sister and Marion as they all took their seats at the breakfast-table on a gusty February morning.
“I wonder you had the audacity to speak to anyone so grand!” laughed Jane.
Norah Villiers was an old school friend who had married a very wealthy man.
“Oh, Norah is very sensible! She never had any nonsense about her! Her money has not turned her head, as happens to some people. She looked perfectly charming in a sweet little toque all over violets, and she was so pleased to see me. But I could not help laughing to myself to find how very elderly and staid she had grown. Not in appearance, you know, but in manner.”
“I suppose she gave a great deal of motherly advice for the benefit of three young things living together in an unprotected condition!” said Jennie. “What did she advise? Burglar-proof window fasteners, or cork soles, or what?”
“Don't talk nonsense, Jane!” said Ada severely. “She has made some excellent discoveries in the course of her housekeeping, and now that she is so wealthy she hails any very economical discovery with glee, as so many do when there is no longer any reason to restrict oneself within narrow limits. We talked for ten minutes on the subject of Australian meat, and she charged me solemnly to deliver the glorious news to you.”
“What news?” asked Marion smiling.
“Norah declares that hardly anybody knows how to cook Australian meat properly; but that when it is treated in the right way, it is as good as any meat for which one could wish. And as it is much cheaper, that is good news to us if it be true.”
“What does she recommend should be done to it?” asked Jane. “It has always been tough whenever I have tasted it.”
“She says it should be properly thawed,” went on Ada. “You see one forgets that as it is frozen meat it must be thawed before it can be cooked. The consequence is that as a rule when the meat is supposed to be cooking, it is only thawing. Norah says that the meat should hang in the kitchen for the whole of the day before it is wanted, and then should be put quite near the fire for an hour before ever you attempt to cook it at all.”
“Well, we will certainly try it,” said Marion. “I think Mrs. Villiers might be able to afford herself English-fed beef, but I have few prejudices, and I am glad to hear of anything economical.”
“Well, let us then,” said Ada; “for Norah was so urgent in the matter that I should not like to have to face her again unless I could assure her with a clear conscience that I have taken her advice.”
“Well, on Thursday, then,” Marion agreed. “I will get in the mutton on Wednesday morning, and it shall hang in our spacious kitchen all the day before. All meat is better for hanging, and I often regret our delicious country joints.”
“You certainly always had splendid meat at Hawthornburrow,” said Ada. “I remember hearing one of the curates from Fosley admiring it to my father. But I thought it was because of those black-faced little sheep that your father always buys.”
“Partly that,” answered Marion, “but principally on account of the long hanging of all the meat. We often have joints hanging for a fortnight if the weather is cold—hanging with the thick end upwards, I mean, so that the juices shall not run out. Consequently the flavour of the meat is infinitely improved.”
“Marion talks like an elderly farmer!” cried Jane. “So much solid wisdom is overpowering to my giddy brain. Never mind, dear,” she went on, patting Marion's head, “we all appreciate it very much. I can't imagine what we should do if we had to go and live in a boarding-house now that we have become accustomed to your nice cosy little ways. Oh,” she cried suddenly as she helped herself to some marmalade, “to-day is Shrove Tuesday, and we must have some pancakes! I will fry them all if you will make the batter for them. No, I shall be home early and I will perform the whole operation. Gare aux crêpes!”
Making pancakes was Jane's favourite occupation as far as cooking was concerned. So the others laughingly acquiesced.
“How did they teach beginners to toss pancakes at the cookery school?” asked Marion.
“Oh, the teacher did the first one, and then we tried! There is no need to toss them really, you know; they are equally nice if you just slide a hot knife underneath when they are cooked on one side and turn it gently over. But, of course, no one was satisfied until she could toss them. I have seen an enthusiast work away with one long-suffering pancake until she could toss it and catch it again with ease, and each time it missed the pan, the blacker grew the pancake and the redder her face. How we laughed when it spun across the floor into a bowl of water! There is a great deal in not jerking the pan to the right or left, but just lifting your arm straight up when you toss it.”
“Very well, you shall give us a practical demonstration to-night and work off your superfluous energy,” said Marion as she helped Jane on with her jacket. “Ada and I will sit in state at the table and wait for relays.”
So a little before dinner-time Jennie went into the kitchen, first donning her professional apron and sleeves.
As she wanted the pancakes to be extra good, she allowed herself two eggs. She put four ounces of flour in a basin and stirred in the two eggs one by one with the back of a wooden spoon (first removing the tread and keeping the mixture very smooth). Then she stirred in half a pint of milk by degrees and beat all well with the front of the spoon. She then melted about two ounces of butter in a small saucepan and took off the scum and poured it off into a measure. This was to prevent the pancakes from sticking to the pan, as they would have done if she had left the scum (which is the salt) on. Before each pancake was made, a little of this was poured into the frying-pan to grease it well, and then poured off again.
For each pancake she poured about a tablespoonful and a half of the batter into the pan, doing this off the fire as, if it is done on the stove, the batter sets quickly and cannot be run over the bottom of the pan quickly enough to make nice thin pancakes.
She ran the batter round the edge of the pan, and then tilted it quickly so that the bottom was quite covered. Then putting the pan over the stove she shook it briskly, loosening it at the edges with a knife; and as soon as it was a light golden brown she lifted it off the stove and tossed it deftly in the air, so that it fell in the pan with the cooked side uppermost. A few seconds more over the fire and it was done. Now to turn it on to a warm plate, squeeze lemon-juice and sift castor sugar over, and roll up is short work. She had two hot plates; one to turn the pancakes out on to, and the other to put them on when folded over. When the last pancake had been made there was a goodly pile of twelve upon the dish which Jane carried triumphantly to the sitting-room, first sifting them with castor sugar. It was as well that Abigail did not care much for pancakes, for alas! there were none left.
True to her promise, Marion provided some Australian mutton in the course of the week, and treated it according to Mrs. Villiers's directions. She bought the thick half of a leg of mutton on Wednesday morning, and all that day it hung in the kitchen on a hook. The hook went into one of the joists, and so was perfectly firm. She cut a fillet of about a third of an inch thick to keep for Friday's dinner, and cut it as for veal cutlet in round pieces about the size of the top of a tea-cup. These she egged, and fried a golden-brown, and served round a pile of mashed potatoes. On Thursday they had the rest of the joint boiled to a turn, surrounded by turnips cooked with the meat. Marion was too practical a cook to fall into the usual error of letting a so-called “boiled” joint actually boil for more than a minute or two, and so become hard. The joint, which weighed four pounds when the fillet was removed, was put in the fish-kettle, with enough cold water to cover it, and was brought very slowly to the boil. It was allowed to boil for two minutes, and then was well skimmed; then the turnips were put in, the lid put on again, the heat was lowered, and the joint kept barely at simmering-point for an hour. All this was done in the morning. An hour before dinner the joint was put on the stove again to finish cooking and re-heat; it was then put quickly on a hot dish, and parsley sauce poured over. The joint was beautifully tender, and the water in which it was cooked was used for making a delicious carrot soup on the following day, and which preceded the fillets, fried as we have described. Marion always arranged her dinners at the beginning of the week, and she found it would be more convenient to have the boiled joint on the day before the fillet, as the soup made from the stock would come in so nicely before a little meat dish like the fried fillets.
The small amount of mutton that remained was minced finely and made into some meat patties for Sunday's supper.
This is the dinner list for the week. They had fried bacon for breakfast on the mornings on which they did not take porridge.
Monday.
- Milk Soup.
- Toad in the Hole.
- Artichokes.
- Baked Potatoes.
- Apple Dumplings.
Tuesday.
- Lentil Soup.
- Fried Lemon Sole.
- New Carrots à la Flamande.
- Pancakes.
Wednesday.
- (High Tea.) Curried Scallops and Rice.
- Dough Nuts.
Thursday.
- Boiled Mutton and Turnips.
- Parsley Sauce.
- Welsh Rare Bit.
Friday.
- Carrot Soup.
- Fried Mutton Cutlets.
- Mashed Potatoes.
- Rice Pudding.
Saturday.
- Fried Steak and Onions.
- Boiled Potatoes.
- Steamed Marmalade Pudding.
Sunday.
- Roast Fowl.
- Baked Potatoes.
- Oranges in Snow.
The last-named dish is such a pretty one, and so exceedingly nice, that as Marion does not mind we will give the recipe in full.
Oranges in Snow.—Make a syrup of half a pint of water and half a pound of loaf sugar. Pare six oranges very carefully and put them in the syrup; let them simmer very gently until they are perfectly tender but quite whole. Lift them carefully out with a fish-slice, and put in two ounces of tapioca. Let the tapioca cook until clear and soft in the syrup, by which time most of the syrup will be absorbed. Pour this into a glass dish and let it get cold, stand the oranges upon it, sweeten some whipped cream and pile it upon them, and decorate with a few hundreds and thousands sprinkled over.
Now follows the food account for the week.
| £ | s. | d. | |
| 1¼ lb. rump steak | 0 | 1 | 3 |
| 5 lb. mutton at 7d. (Australian) | 0 | 2 | 11 |
| ¼ lb. suet | 0 | 0 | 1½ |
| 1 lb. fat for rendering | 0 | 0 | 2 |
| 1 lb. apples | 0 | 0 | 3 |
| ½ pint lentils | 0 | 0 | 1½ |
| Flavouring vegetables | 0 | 0 | 2 |
| Turnips | 0 | 0 | 3 |
| Carrots for soup | 0 | 0 | 3 |
| New carrots | 0 | 0 | 4 |
| Onions | 0 | 0 | 1½ |
| Lemon sole | 0 | 0 | 10 |
| 15 eggs | 0 | 1 | 3 |
| 2 lbs. bacon | 0 | 1 | 4 |
| Fowl | 0 | 2 | 6 |
| 1 lb. cheese | 0 | 0 | 7 |
| 9 scallops | 0 | 0 | 9 |
| 1 lb. marmalade | 0 | 0 | 6 |
| 1 lb. tea | 0 | 1 | 8 |
| Tin of cocoa | 0 | 0 | 6 |
| 1 lb. Demerara | 0 | 0 | 1¾ |
| 1 lb. loaf | 0 | 0 | 2 |
| 8 loaves | 0 | 2 | 2 |
| Milk | 0 | 1 | 9 |
| Cream | 0 | 0 | 6 |
| 8 lbs. potatoes | 0 | 0 | 6½ |
| 1 lb. artichokes | 0 | 0 | 1½ |
| 1 quartern household flour | 0 | 0 | 5½ |
| £1 | 1 | 8¾ |
(To be continued.)