“There’s nothing beats a sheep’s head. We hae ane every Sabbath; it’s cheap, and very handy. There’s this gude thing about it, it needs little watchin’, and disna gang wrang wi’ ower lang boilin’: cleek it on, an’ get it fair through the boil, then cleek it up so as it’ll no’ boil ower an’ pit oot the fire, an’ ye may lock the door an’ gang a’ to the kirk, an’ come oot when you like. It disna matter for an hour or twa, either; ’deed it’s a’ the better o’ plenty o’ the fire—especially if ye hae a handfu’ o’ the ‘blue pat-pea’ in’t, an’ plenty barley. Then what’s like the broth on a cauld day? An’ then there’s the tongue for the bairns, an’ the head for the big folks. I like the feet best mysel’ [that’s like you, Bell]; an’ the broth’s grand next day—they’re a denner themsel’s.”
AFTER MEG DODS.
In cooking potatoes Bell could boil them till they were ragged in the “jackets,” but “mealy” all through; bake them in the oven with their skins on, so that with a little salt butter they were like eggs, and “suppit” as eggs are; fry them till they were “delicious;” beat and brown them with a little milk so as to render them a satisfying meal. Moreover, with the addition of a little dried fish, cod or ling, eggs or odd scraps, she made such dainty dishes as I cannot get reproduced. Possibly the potato disease may account for this.
I can speak from experience of her wonderful success with salt herrings,—“food for a king,” as Mr. Taylor used to say,—and am tempted to speak of her stews and “hashes,” and haggises and white puddings; for these were never too rich, but palatable, digestible, and tempting, and often they were made out of what modern cooks would put aside as unfit for family use. Out of common pot barley she made a delightful pudding, that beat rice pudding hollow. But I must not make this a cookery-book.
I asked Bell for some receipts on one occasion.
“There’s nae receipt about it, Mr. Martin,” said she; “just gang richt aboot it, an’ ye canna miss. It’s just as easy as A-B-buff when ye’re into the way o’t.”
“Just so, Bell; but how do ye get into the way o’t?”
“Tuts, Mr. Martin,” said Bell playfully, “that’s no’ a man-body’s parish; and as the sayin’ is, ‘Hunger’s gude kitchen;’ altho’, in ma way o’ thinkin’, there’s as muckle, if no’ mair, lies wi’ the cook as wi’ the flesher,—it are thae.”
Bell had always on hand what cooks call “stock,” on which she could fall back as occasion required for soups and gravies.
On a bitterly cold day, a Mr. Kirkwood called at Knowe Park by the desire of a Colonel Gordon, to make inquiries as to his relationship to Mrs. Barrie, whose maiden name, as already stated, was Mary Gordon.