V HOW SHOULD I DO PAPER-BAG COOKING?

To Editor Woman’s Page, which makes photographs of food and other amusements.

Dear Sir:

I am a Japanese Schoolboy employed as a servant girl, but I am not doing so this week, thank you. I am such a continual office-seeker around Employment Bureaus that Hon. Boss say, “Back again!” whenever he sees me arriving.

I shall tell you what happened last.

Mrs. S. W. Swingle, gentlemanly lady of red-haired beauty, say tackfully, “I will employ you at great risk. Please arrive to my home to-night.”

There I went. This S. W. Swingle lady reside with her husband and children respectively at Railroad View, N. J. Her Mr. Swingle, to which she is married, is a timetable as well as a husband. His soul is full of trains. He arrive home at 6.43 and require dinner at 6.59. He go to bed at 11.04 and demand breakfast at 7.22 so he can catch 8.12 train.

When I got on this job I dishcovered that my tranquillity was going to be very scarce. I must greet milkman at dawn-light and continue my domestic science all day until exhausted.

Mrs. S. W. Swingle, with sweethearted expression, say that busy folks is most happy. If this is truthful I should prefer to be slightly miserable on Sunday and Thursday afternoons.

Yet I remain stationary in employment until Monday when sorrow arrive wrapped up in a Paper Bag. I shall tell you how was.

At hour of 2.44 Mrs. S. W. Swingle arrive to kitchen with cutting expression peculiar to scissors.

“Togo, why for do you prepare such bad food?” she decry with angry rage. “There is no uplift in your biscuits. Your beef is boiled until it lose all originality. Mr. S. W. Swingle, who is far from strong, say your coffee is the same. And so forth. You must learn to discontinue this. If we cannot fare better you must farewell.”

My soul feel punctured by this conversation. It seem very brutal for me to go loose again when jobs is so infrequent to obtain.

While thusly I was thinking I find on tip-shelf of pantry one slight brown book. It was wrote by a Kitchen Professor and bore this remarkable title:

“PAPER-BAG COOKING.”

This paper-bag food was invented by a French professor, I read. How economical those French can be! I thought. I had oftenly heard how French chef could make stylish meals out of mere remnants. They are famus for deceiving pork till it taste like chicken and giving boiled codfish the same expression as turtle soup. To such genius paper bags is easy problem.

I read this book reverentially. It say for Introduction:

“Paper bags when cooked properly contain new flavours you never would imagine was there. It is considerable nourishing, as none of its juice escapes. You can learn to cook one by reading Instructions and becoming utterly fearless.”

My heart make happy laugh. I shall cook some of these paper bags for that dear Swingle family so they will forgive me for my previous food. So I read this book and learn how do-so. I am incomplete in the American language, but this is how I understand him to say:

“How to Cook Paper Bags

“Select one paper bag which is fresh and tender. Medium-size kind are most delicate, as large-size kind are apt to be tough, especially in the fall. Butter this bag inside and salt tastefully. Use meat or whatever pork chops are in icebox to stuff bag with. Add one vegetable until satisfied. The bag is now ready to roast.

“Next take one oven. Heat it to hotness of about 300 thermometers. Poke Hon. Bag inside this and see what happens. Occasionally make peek into oven to observe how bag behaves. If Hon. Bag catch afire, put out. Do not be discouridged. When he is sufficiently cooked, remove out and chop with shears. Serve hot. You will be surprised to taste it.”

I follow this literary directions with faithfulness peculiar to Samurai. First I got one small, young paper bag which formerly contained string beans. I supposed from what I read in that Book that paper bags should be stuffed like turkeys to make nicest roast. So I fill him with following food which I obtain from icebox:

1 lbs complete beafstake knifed into small pieces
½ bottel tomatoes catch up
Representative beets, onions, carots and potatus
Plentiful water moistened to taste

That Swingle kitchen contain one gas-stove of 40 horse-power capacity and includes one oven which is easily het up to angry rage. I light this oven. Great heat arrive. Then I place Hon. Paper Bag carefully in one drip-pan, pour over it some slight water, so it wouldn’t burn, and poke inside oven. Then I set down thoughtful and await the future.

Mrs. S. W. Swingle arrive to kitchen with question-mark expression in her blue eye.

“What we shall have for dinner, Togo?” she ask out nervely.

“Ah, Mrs. Madam! If I should tell you, you would cease to be surprised. Yet it is something exalted I shall offer you. So different from those monotonous foods previously experienced!” All this I spoke.

That lady retreat away expectfully.

I watch this cookery by alarm clock to see it shall not be too long. Hon. Book say “When bag are stuffed with meat, cook 25 minute. When stuffed with vegetables, cook 20 minute.” I figure this arithmatic with lead-pencil. That bag was stuffed with both meat and vegetables, therefore 20+25=45. That bag must cook 45 complete minutes to be sifficiently delicious.

At end of 14 minutes I take slight peek to oven. O sakes! You would not know Hon. Bag for himself, he was so swole. He contain more uplift than one quart yeast. He was so baloonical in shape that I fear he might float upward containing meat and vegetables. Therefore I prick him slightly with fork.

POPP!!

Grand explode arrive. I am shot by out-rush of stewed steam which jump out amidst delicious flavour. Hon. Bag flop back completely exhausted. No more puff up for him. He droop amidst them meat and vegetables like a wet sail in a shipwreck. I close oven door deceptively. Hon. Book say nothing about this angry behaviour of food. Maybe that will improve its nourishing qualities.

After it had been some time in baking condition I was enabled to enjoy the perfume of this aroma. Each food when it cook make some odor of smell. Apple pie smell like joyful hunger of schooldays. Roast beef smell like powerful appetite of athelete. But paper bag smell like fire among newspapers. I notice this.

While this food was roasting I look out of window and observe Hon. Robert Jackson, near neighbour, approach and make knock to door.

“Mrs. Madam,” he report when that Swingle lady come to door, “I announce your house is afire.”

“How you know?” requesh she with pale voice.

“Because I smelt burned wall-paper distinctually!”

Loud screem by Mrs. S. W. Swingle. They rosh to cellar. Nothing was burning there—not even the furnace. They trot to roof. Nothing was smoking there—not even the chimbley.

“It must be Uncle Oliver burning autumn leaves,” explan Hon. Jackson. How could he know it was my cooking he smelt?

When nextly I peek into oven I observe Hon. Bag afire around edges. Otherwise he was cooking nicely. I put him out with slight splosh of water. He look quite contented swimming around in midst of juices containing vegetables. 17 more minutes remain to cook him.

Night approach. I notice by alarm clock that time have now relapsed for Hon. Paper Bag to be completely cooked. So I take him out on platter. He look somewhat quaint. Paper bags is like spinach; they seem most beautiful when raw. It was alarmed for to see how Hon. Bag had shrunk away. He seemed insufficient for healthful family of four persons. Next time I must cook two. Howeverly, it was necessary to make most of what was, so I rolled Hon. Bag out longwise like a omelet. Then I surround him with meat and vegetables in diagram of beautiful art.

“Togo!” holla Mrs. S. W. Swingle exploding into kitchen suddenly like a gun, “Togo, what you been cooking to make my home smell like a fire-insurance?” She cough in soprano.

“I have baked you a paper bag,” I report with words containing smiles. I point to plate where it was.

“Paper what?” she howell.

“Bag,” I repartee.

She walk to platter and poke Hon. Bag irreverently with fork. She make scorn with her nose. Then she open kitchen door and urge me to it with enraged broomstick.

“I give you your choice,” she say horesly. “Either you can go at once or depart immediately.”

“I shall not wait that long!” I collapse with cruel expression peculiar to eagles. “If you discharge me, I shall obtain mean revenge. I shall quit.”

Thusly speaking I promenade forth into unemployment. I am still there.

Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
Hashimura Togo.