“A servant, with this clause,
Makes drudgery divine;
Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws
Makes that and th’ action fine.”
I wonder if the sainted poet knows—in that land where drudgery is one of the rough places forever overpast, and work is unmingled blessing—to how many sad and striving hearts those words have brought peace?
And by way of helping John, not only by saving money and preparing palatable and wholesome dishes for his table, but by sparing the wife he loves many needless steps and much hurtful care, will you heed a homely hint or two relative to the practice of your art? Study method, and economy of time and strength, no less than of materials. I take it for granted that you are too intelligent to share in the vulgar prejudice against labor-saving machines. A raisin-seeder costs a trifle in comparison with the time and patience required to stone the fruit in the old way. A good egg-beater—the Dover, for instance—is a treasure. So with farina-kettles, syllabub churns, apple-corers, potato-peelers and slicers, clothes wringers and sprinklers, and the like. Most of these are made of tin—are therefore cheap and easily kept clean. Let each article have its own place in the closet and kitchen, to which restore it so soon as you have done using it. Before undertaking the preparation of any dish, read over the receipt carefully, unless you are thoroughly familiar with the manufacture of it. Many excellent housewives have a fashion of saying loftily, when asked how such things are made—“I carry all my receipts in my head. I never wrote out one in my life.”
And you, if timid and self-distrustful, are smitten with shame, keep your receipt-book out of sight, and cram your memory with ingredients and measures, times and weights, for fear Mrs. Notable should suspect you of rawness and inefficiency. Whereas the truth is, that if you have a mind worthy of the name, its powers are too valuable to be laden with such details. Master the general principles, as I said just now, and for particulars look to your marching-orders. Having refreshed your memory by this reference, pick out from your household stores, and set in convenient order, within reach of your hand, everything you will need in making ready the particular compound under consideration. Then, take your stand in the midst—or sit, if you can. It is common sense—oftentimes a pious duty, to take judicious care of your physical health. I lay it down as a safe and imperative rule for kitchen use—Never stand when you can do your work as well while sitting. If I could have John’s ear for a minute, I would tell him that which would lead him to watch you and exercise wholesome authority in this regard.
Next, prepare each ingredient for mixing, that the bread, cake, pudding, soup, or ragoût may not be delayed when half finished because the flour is not sifted, or the “shortening” warmed, the sugar and butter are not creamed, the meat not cut up, or the herbs not minced. Don’t begin until you are ready; then go steadily forward, “without haste, without rest,” and think of what you are doing.
“Dickens again?”
Why not, since there is no more genial and pertinent philosopher of common life and every-day subjects? To quote, then—