“Gouffé, the celebrated French cook, who wrote a remarkable book for other cooks, was so particular that he explains exactly how much he means by weight when he says ‘a pinch of salt,’ and he directs one to weigh each carrot and turnip for soup till one’s eye is accustomed to the sizes.”
CHAPTER XVI.
RYE BREAD—OYSTER PATTIES—KNUCKLE OF VEAL, À LA MAÎTRE D’HÔTEL—A SAVORY DISH.
Molly knew the virtues of rye bread; and in perfection, as had she eaten it once in her life, she had enjoyed it much,—it had been so sweet, so light, and seemed to have the quality of never getting stale. She knew that to some people rye bread represented a loaf that cut like liver, that was sweet in flavor, but in wheaten bread would have been called heavy; and to others it was a sour, dark bread, much approved by Germans. But that rye bread need be neither of these she knew well, but she had no recipe. Then she remembered Mrs. Merit and her experience; perhaps she could help her with rye bread, as she was a famous economist.
She therefore paid a visit to her neighbor, and after a respectable amount of small talk broached her subject.
“Rye bread! laws yes—when my family was large we had it, because it don’t cost more than half as much as wheat flour does, and it’s as easy to make as mush. You just make a thick batter of one third white flour, two thirds rye; stir into each quart two tea-spoonfuls of baking-powder—and bake.”
This was a new recipe to Molly, and she meant to try it some day; but for the Gibbs family, she was satisfied that a properly yeast-leavened bread would be more wholesome, and she therefore resolved to see what she could do. She had quite a library of cook-books, but rye bread for general use did not seem to be in them. On thinking it over she couldn’t see why rye bread should not be made in the same way as white. Finally she went to work to make it exactly as white bread, making a sponge with a pint of white flour and half a cake of yeast, dissolved in a pint of warm water, a table-spoonful of sugar and two tea-spoonfuls of salt. When this was as full of holes as honeycomb, she put to it two pints of rye flour and used as much warm water as would make all into a soft dough. She kneaded it, but began to understand why it was usually stirred, for it stuck to her hands like bird-lime, and to use flour enough to free them would, she knew, spoil her bread. She worked on, regardless of stickiness, and when it was mixed divided the dough in three, put it in tins to rise, and when each was double the first size, they were baked in a very moderate oven one hour.
When they were done Molly saw she had attained the secret of her friend’s bread, for it was sweet, spongy, and with a tender crust. She kept one loaf for her own use and sent the rest to Mrs. Gibbs, with the remains of the liver made into savory collops, as follows: It was chopped fine, and an equal quantity of bread crumbs added, a quarter tea-spoonful of powdered marjoram, half one of thyme and pepper and salt; to these were put a few scraps of cold fried bacon and a little cold ham left from Wednesday morning’s breakfast, both chopped fine. The mince was just moistened with broth (from boiling down lamb bones with an onion), and a table-spoonful of flour stirred with it. Molly then made it into three good-sized balls, put them into a small, deep pan, poured in the rest of the broth, and put them to bake in the hot oven for half an hour.
It may be thought Molly was taking great trouble for Mrs. Gibbs. She knew that, and had she had it in her power to give money enough to be of substantial service to a destitute family, would not have done it. In this case, as with her husband’s income, she looked on her time as money, since by it she could make a little money go far. A dollar given to Mrs. Gibbs would have done little—bought bread for a week, perhaps, and a meal or two besides; the liver sent round to her cold would have been eaten so, and been miserable and insufficient for a dinner; the neck of lamb the same; but by the time, not an hour after all, she had double the value of what she could give, and the bread she would make from the flour would last three times as long as baker’s bread. In addition to this she went to the house where she bought her cream and asked what they did with their skimmed milk, and was told they made it into pot-cheese when they had much, but half the time they gave it away; she then obtained a promise that they would give Mrs. Gibbs two quarts a day if she sent for it. Being sure of milk, Molly felt that the best thing she could do now was to buy ten pounds of corn meal and send it to them for mush. This exhausted the dollar, and beyond making the bread and sending an occasional meal, to be concocted out of something that would not much enlarge her own expenses, she knew that she could do nothing, but did not despair of interesting others.