Whenever it is possible, a large, airy kitchen should be provided, with every thing to expedite and simplify the labor, and with every facility for perfect ventilation,—a most important point. In the homes of the wealthy there is no reason why the kitchen should not be in all respects so arranged and furnished that the cook must be inexcusable if she does not keep it and its belongings in the most perfect order.
But for those who cannot command the means to build and furnish a kitchen of this kind, the necessity for the greatest neatness and order in that department is still stronger. The occupants of second-class houses are often those who must themselves do or overlook much of the heaviest labor of the family, and therefore have no time to spend in the doubtful luxury of “clearing-up days.” Such days are generally wasted days. Those who find them a necessity are mostly a class who, for five days in the week, never put anything in its proper place, leaving all in disorder till Saturday. Then everything is hunted out of its hiding-place, washed, scoured, polished, and put where it really belongs. The improvement is so striking that one would suppose the kitchen would never again be a scene of disorder and confusion; but probably before Monday’s sun has set carelessness and misrule will have again regained their empire, and taken unto themselves seven spirits worse, if that be possible, than the first. And thus Saturday’s labor will have been given in vain. There is not one servant in a hundred who does not need the watchful eye of a methodical mistress to enforce the necessity of order and neatness in the kitchen. If it is made and furnished in the best manner, it should certainly be carefully kept; but if it be small, inconvenient, and have a meagre supply of utensils, neatness and order become an imperative necessity.
Jules Gouffe, a famous French cook, says: “The more inconvenient a kitchen may be, the more need for cleanliness, carefulness, and for plentiful and good utensils to simplify one’s work. Cleanliness! Cleanliness!—the great essential in all cooking operations—should, I maintain, at the risk of being thought over-particular, be written in large capitals on the door of every kitchen, large or small. A kitchen may be small, badly arranged and lighted, but it should never, on any plea, be dirty. Failure in cooking is often attributable to want of attention to cleanliness. Nothing more than a dirty saucepan is often sufficient to spoil the effect of a whole dinner. All kitchen utensils should be examined daily. Saucepans of all kinds cannot be kept too carefully; they should be washed, scoured with fine sand, and well rinsed each time they are used. The washing of many things in the same water should be carefully avoided; the greasiness this engenders adds much to the labor of cleaning. The brightness and cleanliness of the outside is very commendable; but the cleanliness of the inside must not be sacrificed to that.”
What would be Jules Gouffe’s sensations could he look into many of our kitchens? What would our good housekeepers themselves say—those of them that are not obliged to do the cooking for their families—if we should tell them that the pans in which their bread is baked are seldom washed out and dried, but are, unless thrown into the closet just as the bread was taken from them, wiped with a wet, greasy dishcloth, and bread baked in them over and over again, day after day, with no other cleansing? Said a good lady, “What is the reason that the bottom crust of my bread always tastes like rancid butter?” Examine your bread-pans, and you will no doubt find the reason, to your great surprise and vexation. How often, think you, is your molding-board set away without being washed after molding bread or rolling pastry, and the dough left to dry and sour on it, and the next batch molded on the same unwashed board? “That can’t be possible. I saw it hanging up in the store-room over the flour-barrel only this morning, and it was clean.” Turn it over, under side up, before you speak with too much certainty. How about the flour-sieve? Is it left in the flour-barrel,—thrown in with the sponge, from the cook’s wet hands, upon it, or a piece of unused pastry put in it? If so, when the barrel of flour is about half used, you will find that it has suddenly become sour.
Is it not well to watch over these things daily?
XIX.
HOW MUCH IS A WIFE WORTH?
A FEW weeks since, a party sitting near us in the cars were speaking of a young man, a wealthy farmer, who had just disturbed his friends by venturing to marry a poor girl. We judged by the conversation that he had been well educated, and for wealth and intelligence was quite looked up to by his townsmen. But he had married for love, not money or position, and these friends were liberally using friendship’s privilege to make rather severe remarks about him in his absence.
First, it was so foolish, after his fine education, instead of entering into one of the “professions,” to return to the homestead, the quaint old farm-house, and taking the care of his aged parents upon himself, settle down to a farmer’s life. So foolish!
But that was a trivial offence compared to taking a poor girl for a wife, with nothing but a common, practical education, good health, a loving heart, and willing hands to recommend her. With his cultivated and refined tastes, what happiness could he hope for in such companionship? But then he would be a farmer, and perhaps she would be all that a farmer’s wife need be.
We have often thought of the tone of this conversation. For what do men generally marry, and what estimate do they put upon their wives? How many really good husbands ever realize how large a share of the prosperity of their home, its comforts and success, they owe to their wives. The husband earns the money, it may be, but does he ever make an estimate, a fair business estimate of what it would cost, in dollars and cents, to buy the care and comforts that he receives through his wife’s labors, whatever may be their standing in the community? Particularly is this a pertinent question in regard to a farmer’s wife.