Then there’s a dish called “Snow Eggs” that’s just as inoffensive as it sounds. You beat the whites of four eggs to a stiff froth, and then drop them a spoonful at a time into boiling milk till they poach a bit. Take them out, thicken the milk with the yolks, adding sugar and any desired flavoring. Pour this over the poached whites, dish, and sprinkle with chopped macaroons before serving.
Omelette Soufflée
It wouldn’t be fair to omit any mention of an omelette soufflée in a chapter on eggs; so here it shall go, though for myself I don’t care for it. It has always seemed to me like a dessert to be served when a dessert wasn’t really needed or wanted, but because a dessert of some kind must go down to make the luncheon or dinner complete. Separate, then, the yolks and whites of five eggs. Beat the yolks and half a cup of sugar together for ten minutes. Flavor with a little rose-water. Then turn to the whites, and beat them to the stiffest kind of a froth. Butter a soufflé dish, and pour the mixture into it. Bake for twelve minutes, and send to table. The guests should always be waiting for an omelette soufflée, mind. Never force the omelet to do the waiting—it isn’t giving it a fair chance.
APRIL
“The best doctors in the world are Doctor Diet, Doctor Quiet, and Doctor Merryman.”
THE very first thing to be done on Easter morning is to get up in time to see the sun dance; for, as you probably know, not a bit of good luck will be yours for the year to come if laziness, or anything, in fact, save cloudy skies, prevents your beholding this phenomenon. But it is possible that you don’t know that this means nothing less than to be facing the east with eagle eye and steady nerve at a pretty early hour. Rather rough, isn’t it? How would it do, then, to sit up all night in order to be on hand to witness the fancy steps of the god of day? You could do that and then have a good long nap, after which you might be refreshed by a breakfast of shad roes (they’re about as inexpensive now as they will be), broiled to a turn, with a little melted butter and lemon juice, judiciously mixed, poured over them; dainty, crisp lettuce hearts, salted a bit; graham bread, thinly sliced, and toasted to that shade known the world over as “epicurean brown;” and lastly, instead of coffee, a steaming, fragrant, appetizing cup of English breakfast tea. My word for it, you will be tempted to linger over this breakfast, but stern duty permits no such loitering. No, indeed; you must be up and away, or how on earth are you going to make certain comparisons that shall confirm you in your belief that your new bonnet is nothing less than a dream? Dear knows, I hope you won’t see any headgear that will take the shine off your own, for then you will be sure to go home out of sorts, and the charming little dinner menu that I have compiled for your use and behoof might as well be of corned beef and cabbage for all the appreciation it will get from you.
Clam Cocktails
But in case that everything does go smoothly, and nothing happens to nick your peace of mind, could anything be more delectable than a dinner which would unfold itself to your delighted palate in this order? To begin with: Clam cocktails, made, of course, with the little-neck variety; they should be put in half-dozen lots into small glasses, and seasoned with lemon juice, tabasco, salt, and the tiniest suspicion of onion juice—just enough, you understand, to cause one to wonder if that delightful flavor is really onion.
And then to follow up the good impression left by the clam cocktails, have a soup of consommé of perfect flavor and delicacy—the sort, you know, that doesn’t jar with what has gone before or is to come.