“Yes, if one lives in New York one can buy all sorts of sweet herbs, and dry them. At the same time I don’t think Mr. Lennox likes them.”
“I have known many people who thought they did not like them because they had never had them properly used, or at least when properly used they enjoyed the dish without knowing that it contained herbs at all; in the same way I have known people who used Worcestershire sauce in everything, and who would even ruin clear soup by pouring it in, vow and protest they could never touch anything that had the faintest suspicion of garlic; Worcestershire sauce has more than a suspicion of garlic. I know others who will eat no pickles but Crosse & Blackwell’s, which likewise owe the subtle difference between them and all others equally to the effect of garlic; so carefully used however that only by making pickles with and without that suspicion of the malodorous herb can you see why many other pickles lack ‘just something.’”
“Well—I’m willing to be instructed, so willing that if I’d time and money I would go to New York and go through a course at a cooking-school.”
“Ah! If every young wife did that, what years of work and vexation she would save herself; it is such up-hill work teaching one’s self from books; it’s like trying to play a piece of music without having learned to count time; after months, if you knew the notes, you might, by your ear, make something out of it; but think of the toil! So it is with recipes,—without the key, how can any one cook? to be told what goes into a pot, and to ‘stew it gently’ so long, and you don’t know what gentle stewing is! You are told to put your meat in the oven and bake it ‘beautifully brown,’ and you don’t know that to brown beautifully your oven must be just so hot when it goes in, and that if you have water in your pan, it will steam, not bake; and so on.”
Molly smiled; Mrs. Welles was on her hobby.
“Yes, that’s all true, and I only wish I had the first year of my married life to go over again, before a family came in the way of my doing what I would like.”
“To revert to the question of flavorings,” put in Molly. “I found all I wanted at the grocery; they put up sweet herbs of all kinds now very nicely, in paper boxes, a box of thyme leaves (be sure and get the leaves rather than the powdered herb) or marjoram leaves cost but five cents each. Now while parsley is so plentiful and cheap I shall buy ten cents’ worth and dry it for winter.”
“I did not know parsley would dry and retain its flavor.”
“It will not if done as we dry other herbs; it must be quickly done by heat; if put in a cool oven with the door open, or in a plate-warmer, it will dry in a few hours; then it can be rubbed fine and put in a tin box. I think a box of lemon thyme, one of savory, one of marjoram, one of sage, with five cents’ worth of bay leaves,—twenty cents in all,—will give you all the herb flavorings generally called for, and last a year if you like them as sparingly used as I should use them. Spices most people have, I would almost say ‘unluckily,’ remembering how sadly too much spice mars much of our American cooking; but I will give you several recipes, and if you have difficulty with them let me know. I think perhaps when the cold weather comes in we might do a little economy together.”
“How?”