One large tomato, one smaller Spanish onion, one green chili, and a squeeze of lemon juice. Pulp the tomato; don’t try to extract the seeds, for life is too short for that operation. Chop the onion and the chili very fine, and mix the lot up with a pinch of salt, and the same quantity of sifted sugar.
I know plenty of men who would break up their homes (after serving the furniture in the same way) and emigrate; who would go on strike, were roast beef to be served at the dinner-table unaccompanied by horse-radish sauce. But this is a relish for the national dish which is frequently overlooked.
Horse-radish Sauce.
Grate a young root as fine as you can. It is perhaps needless to add that the fresher the horse-radish the better. No vegetables taste as well as those grown in your own garden, and gathered, or dug up, just before wanted. And the horse-radish, like the Jerusalem artichoke, comes to stay. When once he gets a footing in your garden you will never dislodge him; nor will you want to. Very well, then:
Having grated your horse, add a quarter of a pint of cream—English or Devonshire—a dessert-spoonful of sifted sugar, half that quantity of salt, and a tablespoonful of vinegar. Mix all together, and, if for hot meat, heat in the oven, taking care that the mixture does not curdle. Many people use oil instead of cream, and mix grated orange rind with the sauce. The Germans do not use oil, but either make the relish with cream, or hard-boiled yolk of egg. Horse-radish sauce for hot meat may also be heated by pouring it into a jar, and standing the jar in boiling water—“jugging it” in fact.
Celery Sauce,
for boiled pheasant, or turkey, is made thus:
Two or three heads of celery, sliced thin, put into a saucepan with equal quantities of sugar and salt, a dust of white pepper, and two or three ounces of butter. Stew your celery slowly till it becomes pulpy, but not brown, add two or three ounces of flour, and a good half-pint of milk, or cream. Let it simmer twenty minutes, and then rub the mixture through a sieve.