She measured the table-spoonfuls of corn starch very carefully, for nothing is more disagreeable than too much, and she boiled it in a saucepan set in another of water, so that the starch might be long cooked without burning. She removed it from the range to the table, and allowed it to go slightly off the boil before stirring in the eggs; then returned it to the range and stirred till it came to the boiling-point again.
When all was mixed, she poured it into an oiled mould and set it in the ice; and then prepared to watch Marta, who was delighted with her accomplishment, and to see it so much appreciated. Her face fairly beamed as she found herself giving instead of taking instruction. She said very little, but Molly stood by and noted what she did.
She beat one egg till it frothed, put to it a pinch of salt, and then worked in as much flour as it would take, about three table-spoonfuls; she kneaded it till it was a smooth and firm, yet elastic, paste. This she rolled out on the pastry-board (very slightly flouring it) till it was as thin as writing-paper. So far, this was exactly the recipe for home-made vermicelli noodles, which was familiar to Molly. When the paste was as thin as she could get it on the board, Marta lifted the sheet of yellow paste, laid a cloth folded on the board, and then the paste on that; this enabled her to roll it still thinner; then she removed the cloth and folded one-half the paste, and asked Molly for her thimble. Molly washed it and gave it to her, and Marta stamped a couple of dozen little disks out of the double paste. They were so closely stuck together that they looked like little circles of yellow card. Marta now took a little pint iron saucepan, put into it two large table-spoonfuls of lard, and set it to get smoking hot. While this was reaching the point of heat required, she took the little sheet of paste she had not used, and which was still single and had got very slightly dry, while the disks were being made, which she explained it was necessary for it to do. She then rolled up the thin sheet closely, and cut it at intervals of the third of an inch; the paste now looked like so much yellow tape; and these, she informed Molly, were either to be dried near the fire on a sieve and kept for soups, or to be boiled in water and dressed with butter. As she spoke, she tossed the shreds up lightly with a fork for some little time. The fat was now hot; as hot, Molly remarked, as for croquettes, proved by the fact that the little disks when dropped into it (they became balls the minute they were in the fat) took a pale, golden hue; one-half minute colored them all alike; they were then lifted out with a skimmer, and Marta laid them on a clean cloth. Molly said nothing, because she did not want at this time to interfere with what was Marta’s specialty, but in doing them herself would use paper to drain them instead of greasing a cloth.
“I am ever so much obliged, Marta; these are a real novelty. Now we will have the others boiled for luncheon and some day you can make them for dinner. Mr. Bishop is so fond of anything of the sort. I want to see you cook them.”
It was time for them to be cooked now, Marta declared, and she put on water to boil with a tea-spoonful of salt in it; then she grated about a table-spoonful of cheese, and when the water was fast boiling dropped the “noodles” into it. She knew no other name than this for both the balls and the ribbons. They were to boil a quarter of an hour, she said, and every now and then she carefully stirred them up with a fork not so as to break them, but to keep them separate. She put a large table-spoonful of butter in a little saucepan and set it to get hot. When the noodles were strained off, the grated cheese was sprinkled over them with a little pepper and salt, then the butter was put to get boiling hot, and immediately poured over them. They were again stirred up with the fork, and, when the butter was well through them, Marta pronounced them ready; it was of course quite a small dish, but Molly told Marta if it proved half as good as it was pretty, she would be called on to make it very often.
It did not belie its appearance. “Marta, this is quite a discovery! I wonder if you can make any more German dainties?”
Marta smilingly said she knew only one or two really nice things.
“Then you shall make them; but don’t you see, you silly girl, that when you knew how to fry those little balls you knew how to fry many other things?”
“I see it now, but I did not before. I thought everything else had to be done in a different way in a flat pan.”
“Well, when you make these ribbon noodles again, you will have to take the whole of the paste made from the egg, and double the butter dressing; for I’m sure Mr. Bishop will be delighted with them.”