Molly had cut, as she spoke, some little cubes of bread.
“Come and watch, Marta. This fat is very hot, but I doubt if it is hot enough, although it begins to smoke.”
She dropped in one bit of bread, it sizzled, but after waiting a few seconds remained white.
“It is not hot enough or that bread would have colored. Get the colander, set it on the stove with this sheet of grocer’s paper in it. When you take any fried article out of the fat, lay it first on the paper, then on a hot dish. Now let us try the fat again.”
Another bit of bread was dropped into the fat, and this time it colored in a few seconds.
“Remember, if I had six chops instead of three I should let the fat get hotter yet, because they would cool it so much. Now drop each chop gently in,—that’s the way. If they were very thick, as soon as they were brown I would draw back the fat, and leave them longer; as it is, two minutes will brown them beautifully, and they will be cooked through.”
“Two minutes!” murmured Marta, in expostulating tones. She could hardly be expected to credit that.
“Yes; you forget this fat is far hotter than any oven would be, and they are completely immersed in it. You can take up the potatoes if they are done, wipe them and lay them on the plate, and I will take up the muffins. The two minutes are up; look at the chops: you see they are most beautifully brown all over alike!”
Marta exclaimed, “Schön!” and stolidly attentive as she had been to all else, the golden chops evidently appealed to some hidden well of enthusiasm. They were taken up, laid first on the paper, then on the dish, and put to keep hot while the breakfast was taken to the table.
When the chops were going in, Molly said, “When we are settled, I shall want you always to put a little parsley on the dish with fried things.”