Like the tomato, Celery is a “hextra”—and a very important one. If you buy the heads at half-a-crown per hundred and sell them at threepence a portion, it will not exercise your calculating powers to discover the profits which can be made out of this simple root. Celery is simply cultivated “smallage”; a weed which has existed in Britain since the age of ice. It was the Italians who made the discovery that educated smallage would become celery; and it is worthy of note that their forefathers, the conquerors of the world, with the Greeks, seem to have known “no touch of it”—as a relish, at all events; though some writers will have it that the “Apium,” with which the victors at the Isthmian and other games were crowned was not parsley but the leaf of the celery plant. But what does it matter? Celery is invaluable as a flavourer, and when properly cultivated, and not stringy, a most delightful and satisfactory substance to bite. In fact a pretty woman never shows to more advantage than when nibbling a crisp, “short” head of celery—provided she possess pretty teeth.
With boiled turkey, or ditto pheasant, celery sauce is de rigueur; and it should be flavoured slightly with slices of onion, an ounce of butter being allowed to every head of celery. The French are fond of it stewed; and as long as the flavour of the gravy, or jus, does not disguise the flavour of the celery, it is excellent when thus treated. Its merits in a salad will be touched upon in another chapter.
The Parsnip is a native of England, where it is chiefly used to make an inferior kind of spirit, or a dreadful brand of wine. Otherwise few people would trouble to cultivate the parsnip; for we can’t be having boiled pork or salt fish for dinner every day. The Vegetable Marrow is a member of the pumpkin family and is a comparatively tasteless occupant of the garden, its appearance in which heralds the departure of summer. In the suburbs, if you want to annoy the people next door, you cannot do better than put in a marrow plant or two. If they come to anything, and get plenty of water, they will crawl all over your neighbour’s premises; and unless he is fond of the breed, and cuts and cooks them, they make him mad. The frugal housewife, blessed with a large family, makes jam of the surplus marrows; but I prefer a conserve of apricot, gooseberry, or greengage. Another purpose to which to put this vegetable is—
Scoop out the seeds, after cutting it in half, lengthways. Fill the space with minced veal (cooked), small cubes of bacon, and plenty of seasoning—some people add the yoke of an egg—put on the other half marrow, and bake for half-an-hour.
This Baked Marrow is a cheap and homely dish which, like many another savoury dish, seldom finds its way to the rich man’s dining-room.
The Artichoke is a species of thistle; and the man who pays the usual high-toned restaurant prices for the pleasure of eating such insipid food, is an—never mind what. Boil the thing in salt and water, and dip the ends of the leaves in oil and vinegar, or Holland sauce, before eating. Then you will enjoy the really fine flavour of the—oil and vinegar, or Holland sauce.
The so-called Jerusalem Artichoke is really a species of sunflower. Its tuber is not a universal favourite, though it possesses far from a coarse flavour. The plant has nothing whatever to do with Jerusalem, and never had. Put a tuber or two into your garden, and you will have Jerusalem artichokes as long as you live on those premises. For the vegetable will stay with you as long as the gout, or the rate-gatherer. Pheasants are particularly partial to this sort of crop.
By far the best vegetable production of the gorgeous East is the
Brinjal
’Tis oval in shape, and about the size of a hen’s egg, the surface being purple in colour. It is usually cut in twain and done “on the grating”; I have met something very like the brinjal in Covent Garden; but can find no record of the vegetable’s pedigree in any book.