19 March 1881 - 'Pies and Tarts' by Phillis Browne - 'Short Paste, Suet Paste, and Raised Pies'

I said in our last lesson that the idea in puff paste is to have the butter and paste separate, so that the paste shall be made up of a number of layers, divided from each other by layers of butter. In short-paste, on the other hand, the idea is  for the butter to be mixed with the  flour by kneading, not rolling. Indeed, one great secret in making good short-crust is to roll it as little as possible. After the butter and flour have been moistened with water, the paste would be rolled once only to make it smooth and of a good shape.

Short paste is much more wholesome than puff paste. It is used chiefly for fruit pies and tartlets. It is made more easily, and is much more commonly met with than puff paste, which is usually regarded as a luxury.

In short paste, as in puff paste, the addition of an egg and of a few drops of lemon-juice enriches the paste, and helps to make it workable. These ingredients are not, however, absolutely necessary, and very good pastry may be made without them.

Short paste is "superior," or "good," or "plain," according to the quality and quantity of the materials used in making it. In very rich pastry equal quantities of butter and flour would be used. Superior crust might, however, be made with less than half the weight of butter than of flour, and good economical pastry may be made with a smaller proportion of butter and a little baking-powder. Good plain pastry may be made with sweet soft beef dripping, such as is obtained from joints, or produced by rendering down ox flare or other kinds of soft beef fat.

A great many people have a strong objection to pastry made with dripping. I cannot quite understand the delicacy of appetite which refuses good beef dripping and accepts cheap common butter. If butter is wanted, let good butter be used; but if it is a question between dripping that is fresh, soft and sweet, and questionable or cooking butter, I should say by all means choose the dripping. A large proportion of the composition sold under the name is not butter at all - it is coloured animal fat. Why should we not use the animal fat, i.e., dripping, and omit the colouring? The difference in price between the adulterated article and the real one is worth consideration. And I hope the girls who attend our class will be too sensible to scorn economy in cookery. A really good cook is never a wasteful one, and it is wasteful to purchase cheap butter for every-day pastry when there is in the larder sweet dripping that could be employed instead. IN making pastry a light cool hand is worth more than a pennyworth of colouring matter.

It must not be supposed, however, that I recommend the use of all kinds of dripping in making pastry. Fresh soft beef dripping is excellent  for the purpose, but mutton dripping is to so. It has a way of making pastry taste like tallow-candles, and as Europeans have not the same tastes as the Esquimaux, this flavour is not popular. Though mutton dripping is not to be made into pies, however, good hard mutton fat, finely-shred, is almost as good as beef suet for making paste for boiled puddings. Lard is much liked by some cooks for making pastry. It is, however, better when mixed with butter or dripping than when used alone. Bacon fat also, if not too much smoked, may be employed to make pastry for meat pies.

The water used in mixing pastry should be added gradually and mixed thoroughly. If a large quantity is poured in at once the pastry may be made over moist, and then an undue proportion of flour will have to be added before the pastry can be rolled. It should be remembered that it is scarcely possible to give the exact measure of water that will be needed in making pastry because some flours absorb more moisture than others. An experienced cook could tell in a moment by touching the pastry whether or not it was of the right consistency. All one can say to the inexperienced is that pastry should be smooth and stiff, but not too stiff.  If over moist it will stick to the rolling-pin or the pastry-board, if too stiff it will not be light when baked.

We will suppose, therefore, that we wish to make superior short crust; how shall we proceed? We must put six ounces of flour on a board, and mix with it a very small pinch of salt. We then rub into it with the fingers four ounces of sweet butter, and keep rubbing until the butter is quite lost to sight and the flour looks like fine oatmeal. If the pastry is intended for a fruit-pie or tartlet, an ounce of finely powdered white sugar may now be added. We then make a well in the centre of the flour, and break into it the yolk of an egg. We put on this two drops of lemon-juice and a very little (about a tablespoonful) of cold water; mix all flour, egg, and water together with two fingers (or if the cook has not a cool hand she may mix the paste with the blade of a clean knife), and add more water gradually till there is a smooth stiff paste; knead this lightly, roll out once, and the pastry is ready. Of course, if the egg is not considered necessary it must be omitted.

If plain short crust is wanted, we put one pound of flour into a bowl with a pinch of salt and a heaped teaspoonful of baking powder. Rub into this six ounces of clarified dripping; add cold water to make a smooth stiff paste, knead lightly, roll out once and use.

The excellence of pastry depends very much upon its being properly baked. The best pastry that ever was mixed would be spoilt if the oven was not exactly right. If an oven is not hot enough the pastry will sink away from the edges of the dish and will be heavy. If the oven is too hot the pastry will be burnt or will stiffen without rising. The surest way of testing the heat of the oven is to bake a small piece of pastry before putting the pie or tart into it. Another way is to sprinkle a little flour upon the oven shelf. If it turn a bright brown in a few seconds the oven is hot enough. If it turn black the oven is too hot; if it remains pale in colour the oven is too slow.

Pastry should be put in the hot part of the oven  for the first five minutes, after which is should be removed to a cooler part that it may be cooked through. Large pies containing fruit or meat, which must be thoroughly cooked, should have a sheet of paper placed over them as soon as the pastry has risen, to prevent their acquiring a dark brown colour before the contents of the pie are done.

Pastry which is to be boiled is lighter when made with suet than it is when butter, lard, or dripping is used. Beef suet is generally used for this purpose, but mutton suet is more wholesome and can be chopped the more easily of the two. With one pound of flour, four, six, eight or ten ounces of suet may be taken, according to the degree of richness required. Very good suet crust may be made with six ounces of suet, one teaspoonful of baking powder, a pinch of salt, and a pound of flour. The suet should be skimmed, and the fibres and sinews should be removed, and it should then be chopped till it is far as fine as oatmeal, and rubbed into the flour; water should be added gradually. To make a very stiff paste, the pastry should be rolled out once and it is ready for use.

Making raised pies, that is pies baked without either dishes or pattypans, is very interesting work, and like a good man other things it is very mysterious until we know how to do it, and very easy when we do. I will try to describe the method of making these pies very clearly. If there are any girls who feel inclined to follow the instructions given, and make the attempt, I would advise them to begin by making small pies, and when they have become quite proficient in the art, they may try their hand on large ones.

Raises pies may be made with every kind of meat, game, or poultry, provided only that whatever is used is free from bone. It must be remembered, therefore, that all meat must be boned before it is used for this purpose. The meat also must be pleasantly seasoned, and the gravy must be reduced until it will form a stiff jelly when cold. This strong gravy is put in after the pie has been taken from the oven, and it should, if possible, be made the day before it is wanted.

We will suppose, therefore, that we wish to make either one moderate sized pork pie, or two small ones. Take one pound of lean pork, one pound of flour, a quarter of a pound of lard, half a pint of cold water, six dried sage leaves, one egg, and a little pepper and salt. Weigh the flour and put it into a bowl with a little salt; put the lard and cold water into a saucepan, and set it on the fire until it is boiling hot. Pour the boiling liquor into the flour, and mix it with a wooden spoon till it is a firm smooth paste. It cannot, of course, be mixed with the fingers in the first instance, because it will be too hot.

Mix the sage leaves with a little pepper and salt on a plate. While the water and lard are heating, cut the meat into small neat pieces and set them aside till wanted.

As soon as the paste is made we must be as expeditious as possible, because the pie is to be moulded while the paste is warm and soft. As it gets cold it will become hard, and then we cannot shape it as we wish. First we cut off one-fourth of the quantity of paste (that is if we are going to make one moderate sized pie), put it on a plate, and set it over a saucepan of hot water to keep it soft; it is intended  for the lid of the pie. We then take the remainder of the paste, form it with both hands to an oval lump, and lay it on the table. We keep pressing the centre of the lump with the knuckles of the right hand to make a hollow; we put the thumb of the right hand inside the hole thus formed, whilst keeping the four fingers outside it, and with the help of the left hand we work the shape round and round till we have a firm thin wall to the pie with a solid foundation. We shall find that the walls will show a tendency to grow wider than the bottom, and incline outwards. This cannot be allowed, they must inline inwards, and so if they get wide they must be doubled over and then pressed smooth, just as children double over part of a seam when they are in danger of "puckering" it. When we acquire skill in our work there will be no fear of our thus "puckering" our pork pie, and so we shall not need to fold it over, but while we are learners we must do our best, and leave the rest.

Another mistake into which we shall be likely to fall will be that of making our walls or sides thinner in some places than in others. This also must not be allowed. When the pie is filled and is in the oven, these thin places will, if left, burst through, and the pie will be spoilt. Care must be taken, therefore, to make the walls of an even thickness all round, and if any portion should inadvertently become thin and weak we must either double it over and make it thick again, as in the former case, or lay a little patch of pastry inside it to strengthen it.

Girls will see now how necessary it is to be quick in this business. The paste is soft when we begin to work upon it, but every minute it is getting harder. If it were to get quite hard we should have to put it on a plate over hot water to soften it again, and then it would not be so good as when freshly made.

When the pie is shaped we fill it to within half an inch of the top with the pieces of meat, first dipping each one into cold water and afterwards rolling it in the seasoning which was mixed ready for us a little while ago on the plate. We then roll out the piece of paste which was set apart  for the cover to the proper shape and size, and lay it over the meat; egg the edges, and press them securely together, and make a hole in the centre of the pie through which the gravy can be poured when the pie is baked. All that now remains to be done is to ornament our work, brush it all over with beaten egg, and bake it in a moderate oven, then pour the gravy into it. The ornamentation must be left to taste. The pie will look very pretty if leaves of pastry are laid all round the outside, and if the rim at the top is notched finely and evenly with scissors. I once saw a pie made to look very pretty by placing what the artist called "wheatsheaves" (that is, strips of pastry rolled up, then cut finely at one end to make them look something like wheatsheaves) at regular intervals, with leaves of pastry between. Of course these ornaments had to be fastened firmly to the pie with white of egg.

Raised pies must be baked in a moderate oven, because they are solid, and have to be cooked throughout. A pie such as I have described would need to bake from two to three hours; a large pie would require from four to five hours. Sometimes these raised pies are made in a mould, then the bottom is rolled and laid in the tin; the sides are put on separately, the edges being fastened together with white of egg, and the lid is laid on and fastened in the same way. These moulds are not, however, to be found in every kitchen, and it is a very good thing when we are able to dispense with them.

Girls who wish to become adepts in the art of making pastry must always remember that the most perfect theories are of little use without practice. Practice alone will enable us to make good pastry. We may measure quantities and observe rules with the utmost precision, but until we have had practice we shall creep painfully along instead of marching bravely forward with our pies in our hands.

26 February 1881 - 'The Difficulties of a Young Housekeeper' by Dora Hope - Chapter Five

Look, Margaret, it's not as though your maidservant's previous employer told you she didn't have a drinking problem.

"My dear Joanna -

Do you know, Spooner has her faults! I know you will be surprised to hear it after the description I sent you of her. I am very loth to confess it even to myself, because I did really think she was so perfect when she first came.

"For one thing, she is unpunctual and procrastinating. Every meal is a few minutes late, and nothing is ever done till the last possible moment. But I cannot blame her very much for that, because I feel too painfully that it would be a case of the kettle scolding the pot for being black. I remember your telling me that was my chief failing, and that I had perverted an excellent proverb into: 'Never do to-day what you can possibly leave till to-morrow.' But I am improving, I assure you, and Spooner is a solemn warning to me. She never does anything thoroughly; the knife handles are always dirty and rough, and the crockery and glass smeary, and when I complain, she says, it is because it is poor glass, but that cannot be true, for under Betsy's reign they were always bright. In strict confidence, I do not know how to wash them properly myself; I suppose there is some particular knack in doing it, but I am afraid you overlooked that departments of my education.

"But that is not the end of my grievances; the table-cloth never looks fit to use a second time, because she has quite a genius for avoiding the proper creases in folding it up, so that it is crumpled and untidy. I have told her and shown her how to do it properly, and it was better for a day or two, but now is as bad as ever again.

"She does not at all approve of the stock-pot, and when I insist, she neglects to scald it out every few days, so the soup is often sour.

"Then the sink! You should see it. It is generally piled up with dirty plates and dishes waiting to be washed, a saucepan standing in a frying-pan, and most of the holes of the sink stopped up because she will empty the teapot straight into it, leaves and all, and even the scraps of the plates are left there till the end of the week, when she has a great clean up for Sunday.

"Perhaps I am not stern enough; I read the other day in a curious old book of maxims that if you are of a hasty temper you should never scold your servants till the day after the offence has been committed, but it does not answer at all in my case, as my rage has quite evaporated by the next day, and Spooner is not in the least affected by my mild insinuations.

"But, to be honest, I am afraid the real cause of my non-success in making her mend her ways is that I cannot teach others what I do not understand myself, and I really have no idea what is the correct thing to do with the contents of a half-empty tea-pot, for instance; nor why some people make glass look quite dazzlingly bright, while others never do, even with the best intentions (for I tried in private myself, and the result certainly was not equal to Betsy's).

"If you could send me a few hints about these matters, and others of the same kind, you would confer the greatest kindness on

"Your loving sister,

"MARGARET COLVILLE.

"P.S. - I had such a beautiful bouquet sent me on Valentine's Day; I cannot think who it could be from."

A few days after Margaret had written this letter, Mrs. Trent called to ask how she liked her new servant.

"She looks nice, does she not, Mrs. Trent?"

"At the first glance, yes; but feeling rather responsible for her, I took the liberty of looking more particularly at her than I should otherwise have done, and, on closer inspection, I am afraid she is not at all neat. I notice that pins too often take the place of hooks or buttons, or a fold of her dress is carefully arranged to hide a hole which ought to be darned."

"I think that is a very fair index to her whole character; as long as one does not notice details it is all right."

"But the details are just what a good house wife does particularly notice. You know the old saying: 'If you would thrive most prosperously, You yourself must ever corner see.'"

"Yes, I suppose that is true; but Spooner cannot bear my going downstairs and poking about amongst the cupboard, so I shrink from doing so, as it always raises more or less of a tempest. Though I must say that very fact makes me the more uneasy; for, do you know, Mrs. Trent, I hardly like to suggest such a thing, but I am very much afraid she drinks rather more than she ought I found several bottles which I did not remember in a cupboard, and when I smelt them to see what they contained I felt certain it was spirits, and two or three times she has seemed so very strange and excited, that I was quite afraid of being alone in the house with her. But if she had any weakness of that kind, her mistress would have been sure to mention it in her character, would she not?"

"No, I am afraid you cannot depend upon that. So many mistresses, from a false idea of kindness, give most deceptive characters, quite forgetting that honesty and truthfulness are quite as much a duty in domestic affairs as in anything else. They quiet their consciences by not actually stating anything false, but nevertheless they do not hesitate to give an entirely wrong impression by being silent on disagreeable points; and no doubt that is the reason the character you received was so carefully worded."

"But it seems to me absolutely dishonest, and I do not see that it is really a kindness to the servants, for if they are allowed to go from place to place with impunity, a bad habit of that kind is never likely to be checked."

"You are quite right, but people yield to a feeling of compassion without properly considering the facts of the case; of course, it is equally wrong, if not worse, to give a bad character to a servant who has simply been discharged in a temper, or because of some slight fault. What is wanted is a stronger sense of justice and honesty, and a desire to act honourably by both the lady and the servants. But in the meantime I am not helping you out of your difficulties; I would offer to speak to Spooner for you, but she would naturally resent my interference."

"Yes, I am afraid I had better speak to her myself, but I do so dislike doing it; and besides, it *might not have been spirits."

"I certainly should not advise you to say anything till you are sure; but the next time you think her manner strange, wait a little while till she has had time to get over it, and then ask her to explain it."

The opportunity Margaret wanted came only too soon. That very evening, on going into the kitchen to give some directions, there was such an unmistakable odour of whiskey, and Spooner looked so confused at Margaret's sudden entrance that there was no choice but to ask the meaning of it. She protested that it was imagination, and that she did not smell anything, but Margaret insisted that she was right, and asked further what were those bottles in the cupboard. At the mention of the bottles, Spooner lost her temper, and putting on an air of injured innocence, said that no one had ever accused her of such a thing before, and if she was not trusted she had better leave.

"Not at all," said Margaret; "I do not want to send you away; and if you can prove that I am wrong I will not only trust you entirely  for the future, but apologise for having accused you falsely now. All I want at present is to know what is in those bottles, so if you will tell me it will settle the matter at once."

This, however, Spooner absolutely declined doing, and answered so rudely that Margaret could not but say she had better leave; and after a private consultation with her father, told her she had better go the next day, and she should have a month's wages, instead of the usual month's warning.

The next morning, Margaret went to tell her troubles to her unfailing adviser, Mrs. Trent, and asked her advice as to how to get another servant.

"I should recommend you," said that lady, "to call at the shops at which you deal, and inquire if they know of anyone likely to suit you. Respectable servants in want of a place very frequently mention it to the tradespeople with whom their mistresses have dealt; and if that does not succeed, you must either go to a registry office, or answer another advertisement; but in any case let this be a lesson to us both; never again to be satisfied with a written character. It is time I had learnt that already, but I confess I was deceived by the girl's quiet, respectful manner.

"Even if it involves a good deal of trouble, you should make a point of seeing the girl's former mistress It is the only way in which you can be sure of getting at the truth, and also by the appearance of the house in which she has lived you will know the kind of work to which she has been accustomed."

"I have heard just the same tale from a bachelor friend of mine," said Wilfred, who had come in during the conversation. "He had a very evasive sort of character for a man servant; but being ignorant of the convenient equivocations practised by masters in giving characters, he supposed it was all right, and engaged the man; but now he finds that as soon as he has gone to bed, this estimable servant slips quietly out of the house, and spends the first few hours of the night carousing with his friends, leaving a window open through which to return quietly, which of course is equally convenient  for the easy entrance of robbers."

Margaret was much impressed, and went to ask of the tradespeople if they could tell her of a good servant.

While she was still prosecuting her inquiries in the neighbourhood, she had a letter from Betsy, saying that her mother was dead, and as she was no longer required at home, if only her "dear Miss Margaret" would take her back, she would work as much as two servants.

This put Margaret rather in a dilemma. She had now learnt to appreciate Betsy's honesty and good temper, but it was a trial to have to go back to her rough ways and untidy habits. Accordingly she wrote her a letter, telling her frankly the state of the case, and saying that she could not take her again unless she would promise to be more careful and thoughtful over her work and neater in herself.

All this Betsy eagerly agreed to, adding that her mother, who was as "gentle as a real lady," had talked about her rough noisy ways, and she had promised her to try to be more "perlite in her behaviour."

So once more Betsy was installed in the kitchen, and peace reigned in the house of Colville.

But before her arrival, Margaret had received a long letter from Joanna, in which, after condoling with her troubles, she went on to answer her questions as follows -

"The knives are very often a difficulty as servants persist in putting the whole knife into hot water and soda, which not only discolours and cracks the handle, but in time loosens the cement which fastens the blade to the handle in cheap knives. The blades only should be dipped one at a time, not left in, and wiped at once; the handle is then washed quickly in warm water without soda. You will find that very few servants are willing to take this trouble, but you should insist upon it, or your knife handles will soon be spoiled.

"As for the glasses, they are generally smeary through careless drying. They should be washed in cold water (Spooner probably used it nearly boiling), and rubbed first with a coarse glass cloth, and then polished for a moment with a soft leather or old cloth. This sounds troublesome, but really takes hardly a minute longer than drying with only one cloth, which probably is wet through before you get to the end of your task. It is a great mistake to be too saving of your cloths.

"Crockery looks dull from various causes. If you were to go into the kitchen some day when your domestic is washing the tea-things, you would very likely find her emptying the contents of the cups into the water she was using; and it is more than possible that there would be a pile of greasy plates at the bottom of the pan; of course if that is the case you cannot expect to have china bright. There should always be a basin at hand into which to drain all the cups and jugs. The plates should be put aside till the smaller things are finished, and then when all the pieces have been collected and thrown into the fire (failing a pig or fowls who will devour them with a relish), wash the plates in hot water, not luke-warm, give them one rinse in a pan of cold water, and put them on the rack without drying them. If they are very greasy a little soda or soap may be added, and above all, do not be sparing of water, but change it frequently.

"I am very sorry to hear of your difficulties about the sink, because it is really an important matter. Take great care that nothing that can possibly clog the holes is ever thrown in. The tea-pot may be drained through the spout into the sink, if it is really necessary to waste the tea, then the leaves should be taken out and thrown behind the fire, unless you are likely to want some for sweeping the carpets, in which case you should lay them in an old plate or basin, till they are required, but they must have the air on them or they will go mouldy. Do not use more than are quite necessary, as they are apt to leave a stain on the carpet. The tea-pot must then be rinsed out with hot water, but not emptied into the sink, as the water will wash out the small leaves which have remained in the pot, and they will certainly clog the holes.

"There are very nice little wooden sink tidies to be bought now, with a division for soap and others for sand or flannel, which would help you to keep the place in order. I suppose you have a sink brush, if not, you should get one at once, and insist upon its being used every day. They are made very much like those for saucepans, but an old scrubbing brush does quite as well.

If, as you say, your kitchens are left in a dirty disorderly condition, I advise you to have a charwoman before your new servant comes, to thoroughly clear up everything, and rearrange it all according to your own taste, you will find it much easier than making alterations after she has arrived.

I think that it is the end of your questions. But there are one or two other suggestions I have to make to you on other domestic matters.

"The first is that pork is just in season. I am quite aware that you do not like it, but probably the boys do, and at any rate it is less expensive than other meat, and it is considered unwholesome after March, so I should advise you to have it once or twice before it is too late. But you must take especial care that it is very well done; when undercooked it is most indigestible. I always have a little sweet oil rubbed on the pork with a brush or feather, it makes the crackling more crisp and brown than dripping does. Do not forget the apple sauce; besides being a nice addition, it also renders the pork more wholesome by assisting its digestion.

"Certain vegetables will soon be over too, in particular savoy cabbages, celery, and beetroot, though the latter may sometimes be obtained all through the year. Beetroots are cooked in so many different ways, nearly every family who eat them have a favourite mode of their own. They need careful handling or they will lose all their beautiful colour. After washing, they must be put into a saucepan of boiling water, and boiled till tender, which will take about an hour and a half; then lift them out very carefully, so as not to break the skin, and lay them in a dish till quite cold before attempting to peel them, unless they are to be served hot as a vegetable, in which case they must be peeled and cut into slices as quickly as possible, and sent to table covered with melted butter. They are sometimes strewed with onions, but perhaps the nicest way, and one which I am sure you will find will please the boys, is to boil a little vinegar with some spice in the proportion of a small half ounce of peppercorns and three cloves to a pint of vinegar. Many people add pounded ginger, and horseradish or capsicums, but I do not think you would care for it. When cool, strain this, and pour it over the sliced beets. This pickle can be used at once, but is improved by keeping two or three days.

"The particular attraction of this dish for boys is, that they feel they are eating pickle, which they always like; but at the same time they may be safely allowed to take as much as they please of it, which is not generally permitted with ordinary pickles.

"You must remember the pancakes on Shrove-Tuesday. Lest you have not a recipe for them, I send you mind, which is a good one. Put a quarter of a pound of flour into a basin, break into it two eggs, with a little nutmeg, and half a pinto f milk. Mix as smoothly as possible; the consistency should be like cream. Put a little butter in the frying-pan, and when melted pour in two tablespoonfuls of the batter. As soon as one side is done toss over to the other. When well browned lay on a dish, one on the other, till all are done, then sift sugar and squeeze a little lemon juice on each, roll them up, cut them in two, and serve directly. Should there chance to be any snow at the time of year, it takes the place of eggs, allowing two heaped tablespoonfuls to one egg. In this case the batter should stand an hour or two in a cool place before cooking.

"As to marmalade, which you asked me about, you must watch your opportunity for buying the Seville oranges when they are cheap and good. The best time is usually about the end of March or beginning of April. Choose the largest oranges, with nice clear skins; cut them into thin slices, carefully removing all the pips, of which there are innumerable small ones. Put the sliced fruit in a pan, cover with water, and leave for twenty-four hours. Then boil till the pieces of rind become soft, and let stand another twenty-four hours. Now add sugar in the proportion of one pound and a half to one pound of fruit and juice together. Then boil up again for about an hour, or until the peel looks transparent and the juice thickens. This is a much simpler recipe than that ordinarily used, and will, I think, please you better.

"I have neglected to tell you before to look occasionally at the covers on the sides of the mattresses, to see that they are not dirty. You will notice, if you have not already done so, that before I left home I made new covers of glazed Holland, which I tacked on with strong thread, to cover the edges of the mattresses. They are sewn with long stitches, so that they are easily taken off to be washed when necessary. I did not use them when I first began housekeeping thinking them one of the unnecessary fads of housewives, but I soon changed my mind,  for the sides of one bed became so dirty that I had to take the whole bed to pieces to wash the tick."

This letter came just in time to allow Margaret's following the advice it contained, to have the kitchens well cleaned and re-arranged before Betsy's return.

She bought a sink-tidy and brush, and arranged the kitchen drawers and cupboards according to her own fancy, so that on Betsy's around she was able to take her round her domain, and show her that there was to be a place for everything, and everything in its place.

15 January 1881 - 'Pies and Tarts' by Phillis Browne - Chapter One

All girls, I imagine, like making pastry. Indeed in a girl's mind a cook is usually a person who can make a pie. If we try to persuade a girl to practise cookery, and she is inclined to yield to our persuasion, the first thing she will do to show her willingness will be to offer to make some pies.

On the whole I think she would act very sensibly in doing this. Making pastry is very pleasant work, and when pies are well made and well baked they are very satisfactory things to look at as well as to eat, and they exist as tangible proofs of the skill of the maker. Somehow a pie is not such a fleeting evanescent object as a stew or a soup. These are generally demolished as soon as they are accomplished facts, and in the course of a couple of hours their glory is a thing of the past; but pies remain (for a short time only). They are carried off into the larder, and are allowed to go cold, and the cook can if she likes pay them a visit and look at them and feast her eyes on the work of her hands.

We will therefore spend a little time in talking over the methods to be adopted in making pastry; and first we have to consider our utensils and materials.

A good cook always collects together everything that she is likely to want before she begins to work. By this means she saves time. If she were to put her hands into the flour and then leave it and clear them while she fetched a rolling-pin or a dish, she would be half as long again over her business as she needed to be. She is wise when she "lets her head save her heels" - as the saying is - by first thinking over and then collecting her utensils and ingredients and putting them in one place, so that they will be at hand when wanted.

In order to make pastry it is necessary to have a pastry board, a rolling pin, a flour dredger, a knife, some flour, salt, butter, or sweet dripping, water, an egg or two, a little sugar, and, if approved, some baking powder. There must be also a clean basin, some pie dishes, tartlet tins, baking sheets, and either meat, fruit, jam, or whatever else is intended to constitute the contents of the pies or tarts. With these contents, however, I have at present nothing to do. I shall confine myself entirely to the pastry.

It is, I suppose, scarcely necessary to say to young ladies that every one of the utensils used in making pastry must be scrupulously clean; that goes without any saying.

Pastry boards are usually made of common wood; although superior boards are made of box-wood. Marble slabs are, however, much better than board to roll pastry upon, because they are cold; and in order to make pastry light and puffy it is very desirable that the paste should be kept cool. It is on this account t a cool light hand is wanted, and that pastry should be made in a cool place. When a marble slab is not to be had, a large slate, or even a smooth tile, is sometimes made to fill its place. Girls will find that their hands will be cooler if washed in hot water a few minutes before setting to work. The best biscuit flour is usually taken for making pastry. When superior pies are wanted, however, it is worth while to use what is called Vienna flour, which is flour that has been passed through silken sieves in order to make it very fine. This flour is a good deal more expensive than biscuit flour, and it makes finer, lighter pastry. For ordinary purposes, however, the biscuit flour will be quite good enough.

There is a great deal of difference of opinion about the use of baking-powder in making cakes and pastry. For my own part, I am in favour of baking-powder for ordinary purposes. For one thing, its use is to be recommended on economical grounds, because less butter or shortening is needed when baking-powder is used. Also, baking-powder makes pastry lighter, and consequently more digestible. It must be remembered, however, that when baking-powder is used the pastry should be mixed quickly and baked as soon as possible after it is mixed.

There are four kinds of pastry in constant use amongst us; puff paste, short paste, suet crust for boiled puddings, and what is called hot-water paste for raised pies. Puff paste is considered the best of these; it is the richest and lightest, most difficult to make, and very indigestible. A good course of puff paste would, I should think, be enough to give an elephant dyspepsia. Nevertheless, it is very much liked, and I expect the girls would be disappointed if I did not describe how it should be made. There is one consideration that may encourage us in trying it, and that is that if we can make good puff paste we can make all other kinds of pastry. It will not do, however, for us to be discouraged if our first attempt is not successful. Nothing but practice will give skill in this direction.

It is always a great help to understand the idea of a thing as well as the method. The idea in puff pastry is to have the butter and the paste separate, so that the pastry shall form a kind of sandwich, in which very thin light layers of paste shall be separated from each other by layers of butter, and the lighter and thinner these layers can be made the better the puff paste is. A very clever cook, once said that puff paste to be perfect must consist of eighty-four thin films of paste, alternated with eighty-three of butter. I do not think there are many cooks who could achieve these conditions. But at any rate girls will understand that is the ideal, and the nearer they can approach to it the more successful they will be.

It is  for the purpose of keeping these films perfect and separate that the pastry is cooled between the "turns." If the paste were to be sticky and the butter hot, the films could not be kept distinct; therefore, between the rollings or turns of puff paste is put away on ice or in a cool place, that the layers may become firm and not mix together in a mass. In winter time ice may be dispensed with, and the pastry can be put in a cool larder for half an hour. But in summer time it is very desirable that ice should be at hand.

Now as to the method to be adopted. Supposing we wished to make a quantity of puff paste sufficient for a small pie, we should take a quarter of a pound of flour which has been sifted and is thoroughly dry, a small pinch of salt, the yolk of one egg, a quarter of a pound of butter which has been squeezed in a cloth to free it from moisture, and six or eight drops of lemon-juice. We pile the flour on the pastry board or slab, and mix the salt with it, make a little well in the centre, and put into it the egg yolk, and add very gradually as much water as is required to mix the whole, till the paste is of the consistency of the butter. When this point is reached, the paste should be worked and kneaded on the slab till it feels smooth, soft and elastic, when it may be left untouched for a minute or two.

The next thing to be done is to flour the slab lightly, put the paste upon it, flour this also, and roll it gently till it is large enough to hold the squeezed butter. If too much flour is used the pastry will be spoilt. We then place the butter in the centre of the paste, and fold the four sides over to cover it completely. WE make the edges meet by pressing them together, and put the paste thus prepared upon ice or in a cool place for about ten minutes. We now roll it till it is about the third of an inch thick, and in doing this we must be careful that the butter does not break through the paste in any direction. Also we must remember to have the paste straight before us, and to roll it straight, otherwise the flakes will be one-sided. We then fold the paste into three equal parts, flatten it lightly with the rolling-pin again, then turn it round so that we leave the rough edges towards us, and roll it again, fold it, and put it away for a quarter of an hour, and repeat until it has had seven turns or rolls, and been put upon ice three times, or after every other turn. When the last turn has been given we again leave it in a cold place for a few minutes, roll it till it is a quarter of an inch thick, and it is ready for use.

Pastry thus made will rise to five times its original height.

When a girl has once learnt to make puff pastry well she may vary her method a little, without doing much harm; that is to say, she may use rather less butter, or rather more flour, or in cold weather she may shorten the time allowed for cooling; her experience will enable her to decide how far she may depart from the regulated routine. It will be obvious that the method I have described is rather a troublesome one. It need not be so, however, if other cooking is being done at the time, for nothing can be easier than to put the pastry away, proceed with other work, then at the right time fetch it out, give it a roll, put it away again, and repeat until it is finished.

I have known cooks make very good flaky pastry without putting it to cool at all. They simply made the paste, rolled it out, divided the butter into equal portions, spread one portion upon the paste as they would spread butter upon bread, floured it well, folded it over, and rolled it; then buttered, floured, and rolled it again until the requisite quantity of butter had been used. If there were time to let it lie they would seize the opportunity of doing so, but otherwise they would leave it.

It will be understood that puff paste is used for superior pastry of all kinds, meat pies, tarts, patties, and vol-au-vents. There is, however, an easier way of making superior pastry which answers excellently for pies and tarts. The following is the method adopted in making it. Take half a pound of flour, six ounces of butter, a pinch of salt, six drops of lemon-juice, and the yolk of an egg. Prepare the ingredients as for true puff paste; that is, squeeze the butter to free it from moisture, and be sure that the flour is dry and sifted. Chop the butter in the flour with a knife; then pile the flour on the board; make a well in the centre, and put into it the salt, egg yolk, and lemon-juice. Add the water gradually, and mix it in lightly with the fingers, to make a light not over stiff paste. Flour the rolling-pin and the board to prevent the pastry sticking, but do not put too much flour in, or the pastry will be spoilt. Roll it well three times, and after each roll fold it in two and turn it with the rough edges to the front. If it makes a crackling sound as it is being rolled it is a sign that it is good. If liked, this pastry may be made with half a pound of flour, four ounces of butter, half a teaspoonful of baking-powder, and dripping may be used instead of butter.

Short paste is used more than puff paste; it is suitable for fruit pies and tartlets. The idea with it is to rub the shortening into the flour before making the paste. Short paste is more wholesome and much more easily made than puff paste. It may be made to be most delicious if only pains, good ingredients, and a light cool hand are brought to the work. I am afraid, however, that space will not permit me to speak of it to-day; so I will reserve it, as well as suet paste, and hot-water paste  for the raised pies which are so popular at this time of the year, till our next lesson.

29 May 1880 - 'Bread and Bread-Making, in two chapters' by Ruth Lamb - Chapter One

I wonder how many out of the millions of people who sit down two, three or even four times a day to eat bread together ever bestow a thought as to the origin of the loaf of which they partake so frequently, and which forms a portion of nearly every meal. Most of us know that our ordinary bread is made from wheaten flour, water, salt and yeast in some form. Everybody eats it, from the Queen upon the throne to the meanest of her subjects, and knows  that to want bread is deemed one of the most terrible calamities that can fall on any person.

Yet bread, being such a very common thing, we are rather apt to class it with water, and to look upon it as a mere matter of course.

Few of us consider how many experiments must have been tried, failures experienced, and inventions perfected before the fair white loaf, as we have it now, was ever placed upon a table, to say nothing of the endless varieties which have sprung from it.

When I was a little girl, and for a good many years afterwards, it used to be considered no mean accomplishment to make good bread; and children were taught to do it very early, especially in country homes. Well can I recall the feeling of pride when as a little mite of a lass I was first allowed to try my hand at bread-making. How I put on my wide pinafore, and scrubbed and washed at hands and nails until they satisfied my mother, one of the most particular of human beings as to cleanliness. We children had nothing but short sleeves in those days, so there were none to tuck up, and I plunged my little red arms up to the elbows in flour in a sort of ecstasy of delight.

I felt positively almost grown-up, so impressed was I with the importance of my work as family bread-maker.

Betty, our old kitchen servant, looked on approvingly, and was little less interested than myself. I had seven pounds of flour in a yellow earthenware pancheon, a small handful of salt, some brewer's yeast, and a large jug of warm water, and I supposed nothing else was wanted. But Betty said - "Now, Miss Ruth, if you want your bread to be real good, you must not stint it of one thing."

"What is that?" I asked. "Mother told me there were only these four things wanted to make my bread with."

Betty replied to my question b asking another. "Do you remember going with me to my old mother's cottage last summer, and asking what made the round table that was turned up in the corner, as bright as a looking-glass?"

"Yes, and you told me 'nothing but elbow grease.'

"I asked where it was bought, and you all laughed at me; but when I came home mother told me it meant good rubbing, which exercised elbows, and was called in joke 'elbow grease.'"

"That's it, my dear," said Betty, "and you want plenty of it in bread too; not in the way of rubbing, but kneading. Work it well. Don't spare labour and the bread will pay for it."

"So it did. I thought no loaf had ever tasted so sweet as did my first. My little arms ached, but I forgot that when they all praised my bread next morning; but I never forgot Betty's lesson, though conveyed in a homely fashion, that one  great secret of good bread-making is good kneading, or, in her words, plenty of elbow-grease.

I cannot help regretting that amongst city girls especially bread-making is daily becoming a rarer accomplishment.

I have asked many girls, "Have you learned to make bread?" and the almost invariable answer has been, "No, the baker brings ours." I am tempted to wish that they might all in turn be transplanted for a few weeks to some out-of-the-way country place, where a baker's visits are unknown, and obliged to make and bake their bread before they ate it.

The world was more than two thousand years old when bread, as such, was mentioned in the Bible, as being brought out by Melchisedek  for the refreshment of victorious Abram. But of what kind it was we know nothing.

It is, however, possible to tell what the first loaves ever used were made of, and there is at present no kind of bread which at all corresponds with them. The grain was neither ground nor bruised. IT was soaked, or in some cases boiled wheat, pressed into shape and dried. A very sticky indigestible sort of cake this would be, not too pleasant to the taste; probably a little of it would go a very long way.

The next step was when the happy thought struck somebody to bruise or pound the grain. Hard work it would be, and even when another step was achieved and corn was actually ground, the labour was very great, as it was all done by hand. The women slaves were employed to do the grinding by means of portable millstones, the uppermost being turned by a sort of wooden handle.

Such mills were used in Egypt, as named in Exodus. Such were still in existence in this country not so many generations back, and they were called querns.

Who first found out the art of making leavened bread is as much a mystery as the inventor of the first mill, and the process of fermenting dough by means of leaven was as tedious as the primitive mode of grinding corn and separating the husk from the finer portion of the grain, which we call flour.

This would be the reason whether Abraham, Lot and, several centuries later, Gideon offered unleavened cakes baked on the hearth to their angel visitants. The use of leaven was known; but leavened bread could not be quickly prepared, baked and served fresh and hot from the hearth like those cakes made without it.

Look back, dear girls of this nineteenth century, some nineteen hundred years more, beyond  the era from which we date, and try to realise what sort of a batch of bread was baked by Sarah  for the entertainment of the guests who were espied by her husband as he stood at his tent door on the plains of Mamre.

As nearly as can be calculated those three measures of mine meal - they had learned the art of sifting it, you see, in those days - made fifty-six pounds weight of bread, all baked in thin cakes on the hearth.

This would be heating by means of a fire which was burning on the bread stone, while the meal was simply mixed with salt and warm water into a stiff dough, and rolled out into very thin cakes. Then the hearth-stone was clean swept, the cakes placed on it and hot cinders above them. In this primitive fashion was the great batch of unleavened bread prepared; and by whom?

Not by servants, but by a lady, a princess by station, who had a vast retinue of attendants ready to do her bidding; the wife of an enormously wealthy man, who was the ally of kings, the friend of God Himself!

A beautiful lady, too, - so fair, indeed, that twice in her life, at the age of sixty-five and at ninety, she was admired and sought after by kings. But when Abraham bade her get ready the meal, knead the dough, and bake the cakes, she simply and cheerfully obeyed him whom she called "lord."

Not many of you, dear girls, are born to fill such a position as here was; but I am afraid plenty of modern young ladies are to be found who would rebel if requested even to superintend such a baking. But if any of you should be tempted to despise what may appear in your eyes such menial work, think of this princess of a bygone age, rich and fair, and learn a lesson as you catch a glimpse of her on a baking-day.

In these days unleavened bread still appears in many forms, and as this is the most primitive kind we will look at its varieties first. Amongst these are the Jewish Passover cakes - extremely thin, crisp biscuits, still eaten for a week by Jews during the seven days of the Passover.

Scotch oat bread, made of oatmeal, salt and water, into a stiff paste, rolled thin and baked on an iron girdle or thick plate of iron with semi-circular handle. In the North Riding of Yorkshire girdle or griddle cakes used to be baked on the top of a flat stone heated from below in the same way as the iron article. It was called a bak'ston', or bakestone, by country folk.

A farmer's wife was made extremely happy by the gift of an iron girdle; but she retained the old name for her baking apparatus, and was wont to shout to her serving maid, "Jenny, bring me the iron bak'ston'."

American damper is made without leaven, but the cakes are thicker than the Scotch oaten bread.

Then there are corn cakes," made of the meal of Indian corn. "Hominy cake," the same grain boiled to a pulp, and afterwards baked in thin cakes.

In Lincolnshire, my native country, unleavened cakes are very common. They are precisely the same thing as those made by Abraham's wife, only they are rolled out round and thin, and baked in the oven instead of on the hearth.

In the mowing season and during the harvest the labourers' wives would be up between four and five in the morning to bake these cakes for their husbands. They were eaten very hot, and either split open and buttered or accompanied by thin slices of fat bacon. Then a goodly pile of these bacon sandwiches, prepared while hot, would be packed up  for the good man's refreshment when afield.

I asked the wife of one why she got up so early to bake every morning, and made this kind of cake. "Oh!" she said, "they stay on the stomach longer, and a man can work far better on these than on lighter bread. I never grudge the trouble for our George (her husband), for mowing's hard work."

It was easy to understand this explanation. These hot cakes were less digestible than ordinary bread; and hard work in the open air, with the profuse perspiration caused by labouring in the broiling sun, made him require frequent nourishment and of a very solid kind.

"He'd feel empty and hungry directly on light bread. 'Sad cakes' are best," said she, "for working men."

A visitor in my old home heard the expression "sad cakes" - meaning unleavened - and inquired what kind of things they were. On being told, she looked much astonished, and said, "I thought they must be cakes used for funerals."

"Sad bread" is simply heavy bread, whether made without yeast or any kind or with yeast that has done its duty imperfectly, and has left the loaf close and sticky, instead of light and full of small holes.

Before leaving the unleavened varieties of bread, I should like to show you how those large, thin, crisp sheets of oat-cake are made and baked in the west of Yorkshire, where I spent one very happy year as a girl in a country parsonage.

I was told when I went there from a county in which oat cake was unknown that I should soon learn to like it. And so I did; and I was curious to know how these large sheets could be rolled to such a delicate thinness.

"They are not rolled at all," said my friend, "they are thrown."

I was more puzzled than before, and asked what she meant.

"You had better go to our baker's and see the process," she replied, "and you will understand it much better than by my description. To-morrow is a baking day and you can go in the morning with Lily," meaning her daughter. "Many of the cottagers take their own meal to the baker, or bakeress. Mrs Marsden, and she charges them three-halfpence per four pounds weight for making and baking it."

The next morning we went to the bakehouse and found Mrs Marsden literally at full swing with her oat cake. Her stove was a thick iron plate, about two feet long, set in brickwork, and heated by a fire underneath it. Beside her stood a wooden vessel like a barrel churn, containing a batter made of oatmeal, salt and water. I am inclined to think a little yeast was used to lighten this, as bubbles kept rising on the surface. A bowl of dry meal, a pasteboard scored in diamonds instead of being smooth as is usual, a wooden ladle, and an oblong piece of coarse linen, completed her materials. First throwing a handful of dry meal o board, she next poured on it a ladleful of the batter, and shook it into an even shape. Then she dexterously transferred the latter from the board to the mealy cloth, which she lifted with both hands, laying lightly hold of opposite corners. Then, with a rapid movement, she threw the batter in a large oblong sheet on the heated iron plate, dropping the lower corner of the cloth as she did so. In half a minute the cake was ready to be turned with a wooden spatula, and in a similar time to be taken off and hung across a wooden rail.

The rapidity with which this operation was performed showed the fruits of long practice, together with the steady hand and correct eye of the baker. The stream of batter always ran along the iron plate almost to its edges, and so thinly was it spread that it was absolutely in small holes, yet without ever being broken. T throw oat cake very thin is deemed a mark of an accomplished hand.

Whilst we stood waiting and looking on, piles of these newly baked and perfectly soft cakes were brought away by the neighbouring cottagers. Each had with her a clean towel, folded lengthways in the middle. This was thrown across one arm, opened, the dozen of oat cakes placed on it; then they were covered with the other portion, and so carried home to be hung on the rack - a wooden frame suspended from the kitchen ceiling. IN a few hours, the cakes would be perfectly crisp and as brittle as thin glass.

Biscuits of various substantial kinds contain no leaven, especially those used at sea. They are made with very little water, and dried very much in the baking. The name means twice baked.

In another short chapter an account will be given of the various kinds of leaven, yeasts, and of plain and fancy breads now in use in various countries, with reliable recipes for young readers to follow, if they wish to become good bread-makers.

22 May 1880 - 'Our Cookery Class' by Phillis Browne - 'The Gridiron'

There is no more excellent way of cooking small things than broiling them. There are all sorts of advantages connected with broiling. It is quickly done, makes meat or fish tasty, and it preserves the goodness of the meat. When it is well done it is always approved, and when it is once understood it is not at all difficult. The only thing that we need make up our minds to about it is, that while it is going on it must be looked after and cared for. We may put meat in the oven or hang it o spit, or place it in a saucepan and leave it for awhile; but if we tried to attend to any other business while engaged with the gridiron, most woeful would be the result.

Therefore,  if you have made up your mind to broil anything (and there is no greater delicacy than a well broiled chop or steak), determine that you will give your exclusive attention to it during the ten or twelve minutes that it is on the fire.

And in order that you may do this you must think about all the outside details beforehand. The first of these is the meat. Small portions of food are reserved for broiling, and as the method adopted for one thing calls for knowledge that is useful with all, I will take a steak as a sample of what is to be done. There are various kinds of beef-steak, but the best kinds of all for broiling are rump-steak and fillet-steak; and of these, in my opinion, rump-steak is to be preferred. Fillet-steak is exceedingly tender, but it does not contain quite as much favour as rump-steak. The beef should have been well kept, and the steak should be freshly cut from it. Also, it should be cut an inch, or very nearly an inch, thick. I daresay there will be a little difficulty in getting the butcher to cut it of an equal thickness all the way along. If he is simply ordered to do it he won't do it; but if you go and stand by him while he cuts it off, and impress what you want upon him, you will very likely get it. But supposing - and it is always well to be prepared for all sorts of "supposings" - the weather is frosty and the meat is frozen; then we must be careful to put our steak into a warm kitchen for an hour or two, that it may thaw before it is cooked. If it were cooked as it is it would most certainly be tough.

The next consideration is the fire. This must be perfectly clear, bright and red; and in order that it may be so it must be made in good time, so that the coal may have time to get hot throughout, and not be smoky and throwing out little jets of gassy flame. Broiling could not be satisfactorily done with a fire that had been lately mended, and had only black smoky coal on the top. The best fire  for the purpose is either a coal fire that has burnt low or a fire that was made up with cinders free from dust.

Then there are the gridirons, for there should be two gridirons in every kitchen, one for meat and one for fish; indeed, it would be an advantage if three gridirons were provided, and one of them kept especially for bloaters, which are so strongly flavoured that they generally leave their odour behind them. There are various kinds of gridirons. The ordinary thick iron ones answer very well indeed for ordinary purposes, though there is a superior kind with fluted bars, by means of which a good deal of the gravy that would otherwise be wasted is saved.

Very much more important, however, than the kind of gridiron is its cleanliness. Perhaps you will say, "Oh, cleanliness; of course, everything we use is clean. That goes without saying." IT does, and, I am afraid, very often without doing either. At any rate, I don't think there is a gridiron now in use that I should like to use without giving it a little additional rub beforehand. Meat comes into direct contact with the bars of a gridiron. When we fry anything the meat is covered with the fat; when we boil anything it is surrounded by water; when we roast or bake anything it is basted with dripping; but there is nothing between it and the gridiron, and if the latter is left at all dusty or grimy, both the food and those who partake of it get the benefit thereof. This is why it is desirable to have a distinct gridiron for fish. Beef-steak a la bloater is not agreeable.

Therefore, let a gridiron be well cleaned as soon as it is done with, that is, washed thoroughly all over with hot water, soda and a little sand; no soap. If the bars are bright, to begin with, they should be kept so by being rubbed with scouring paper. Take particular care to rub in and between the bars; and when it is quite clean hang the gridiron in some airy place where it will be free from dust. Before using it make it hot, and wipe it well with a piece of clean paper; then make it hot again, rub it with clean mutton suet to prevent the meat sticking to the bars, and it is ready. As it is very important that the meat should be taken straight from the fire to the table, we must be quite sure, before we lay the meat on the gridiron, that everything is quite ready for it, and that the cloth is laid, the dish and plates quite hot, and everything likely to be wanted provided. If, when the steak is done, we have to spend a minute looking  for the salt here and two more making the dishes hot there, our broil will not be perfection, and, of course, nothing less will satisfy us. The French always season the steak with pepper and salt, and brush it over with oil before broiling it, and the plan, though unusual in English kitchens, is to be recommended. The gridiron should be placed slanting to begin with, and should be about two inches above the fire. It is our object to surround the meat as soon as possible with a brown coat that will keep in the juice, and therefore we expose it to a fierce heat at first. As the time goes on we may raise it to the height of about five inches. And, above all, we must remember to turn the steak every two minutes til it is done.

The French are, as a rule, so much cleverer than we in cookery, that when we do have the advantage of them I think we may be pardoned if we make the most of it; and this is such an opportunity. They make it a practice to turn the steak only once; we turn it continually, and our way is the more successful of the two as well as the more reasonable, because, by being continually turned, the inside of the meat is cooked gently, and so is made tender. Sometimes the steak is turned every minute, instead of every two minutes, and then it needs to be cooked a little longer.

I should hope that no one who had read these papers, and I am sure no one who had tried to carry them into practice at all, would think of putting a fork into the meat in order to turn it. It will have been seen that almost the chief object in cooking is to keep in the juices, and, of course, if a fork were thrust into the lean the gravy would escape through the holes made by the fork. Steak-tongs are frequently used to turn meat on the gridiron; but even with them care should be taken not to squeeze the meat. A spoon and a knife will help us to turn the steak as well as anything, the flat side of the knife being used. If a fork is used, it should be placed in the fat or skin of the meat.

I said that the gridiron should be held slantwise over the fire, and the object of this is that the fat which drops from the meat should run downwards instead of dropping into the fire, where it would be likely to make a smoky flare. This flare is not entirely objectionable, because it helps to harden the outside of the meat. If, however, there should be too much of it, the gridiron should be lifted up for a minute and a little salt sprinkled upon the coal, and this will do as much as anything to get rid of the blaze.

As to the time that a steak will take to broil, it is impossible to speak exactly. If the steak were an inch thick, and the fire fierce and clear, a gridiron were placed from two to five inches above the embers, and the steak were turned every two minutes, perhaps it would be safe to say it would take about twelve minutes. But experience alone can decide this for a certainty, and there are details which must cause variation. What is wanted is that the steak should look a very dark brown, almost black, outside, and a deep red, not blue, within. If when pressed the meat feels perfectly firm without being hard, it is most likely done. All that now remains is to raise the steak from the gridiron for a minute to let the fat drop from it, put it on a hot dish, and send it to table hot. It will be a dish fit for a king.

Broiling is sometimes carried on before, instead of over, a fire. The arrangement is necessary because with some closed ranges it cannot be done any other way. The same precautions need to be observed in the one case as in the other.

And now we have gone through the five principal processes of cookery. I have tried to describe them to you clearly, and I hope I have succeeded in showing you not only that we should do so and so, but why we should do it. A little later I hope to go farther into detail on the subject, and to give one or two particulars as to the cooking of various dishes. In all of them, however, we must remember to carry out these useful general principles. If any departure from them is desirable, there is a reason  for the change, and it will be well worth our while to find out what this is.

There is a good deal of talk at the present time about the higher education of women, and girls now pursue studies that would never have been dreamt of twenty-five years ago. I am very glad of it. I hope the result will be that they will do their work in the world better than their mother and grandmothers have done before them. Judging by those of my own acquaintances, I believe that the girls of to-day are earnest in purpose and wish to make the most of their opportunities. But amongst these other studies I do hope they will take an interest in, and endeavour to obtain a knowledge of, cookery and needlework. Latin and mathematics mare strengthen their minds, and enable them to take broader views of things, and so make them intelligent companions and friends; but cookery and needlework will teach them to do a woman's special work; which is to provide  for the comforts of everyday life and thus to render home happy.

3 April 1880 - 'Our Cookery Class' by Phillis Browne - 'The Frying Pan'

I always look upon a frying-pan as the pet utensil of an incompetent cook. Those who scramble through the preparation of food instead of cooking it intelligently generally rely upon a frying-pan to save them from the difficulties into which their want of punctuality and forethought lead them. The result is that food from their hands is usually presented either burnt, greasy, or hard, very often all three, and it is nearly always indigestible.

There is no method of cookery that is so popular amongst a certain class of cooks as what they call frying, and there is no process that is so little understood by them as real frying. I am going to try to explain very clearly what true frying really is, and the difference between it and half frying.

You will remember that when we were talking about boiling I said that if meat were plunged into boiling water and boiled for about five minutes the albumen would coagulate on the surface, and make a sort of case that would keep in the goodness of the meat.

Now, frying is boiling in fat, and the cause of the difference between boiling in water and boiling in fat is that fat can be made so very much hotter than water that the work can be done much more quickly, while at the same time a peculiar brown appearance and tasty flavour is given to the article fried. If we had a thermometer we should find that when water is boiling it reaches 212 degrees. WE might make a fire large enough to roast an ox, but we should never get water hotter than that. Fat, however, can be made more than twice as hot as water, and therefore it conveys heat much more quickly. We have, I dare say, all felt what it is to be scalded with boiling water and that is bad enough; but the pain is trifling compared to that which we suffer when we are burned with boiling fat. And that is because hot fat is so very, very hot.

If we were going to boil anything in water we should never think of pouring a little drop of water into the bottom of a pan and laying the meat upon it, then leaving it till it was sufficiently cooked. In the same way, when we are going to fry anything, we should not be content to put a little fat in a frying-pan and cook the meat in this. And yet how many people there are who think a spoonful or two of fat is quite sufficient for frying! They would be quite horrified if we said that we must cover the article to be fried with fat before we could fry it perfectly. "Where are we to get such a quantity of fat from?" I can imagine them saying. "It would take a couple of pounds or more of fat to fry in that way. How extravagant to use a couple of pounds of fat to fry one dish!" Ah! I don't feel that the charges of extravagance can be fairly laid against me. Where, I would ask, is all the fat that these friends of ours have used for frying during the last three or four weeks? Is it not true that most of it was burnt away, and that the remainder was thrown out as soon as it was done with? If it could be collected and brought here there would be quite enough for our purpose.

The fact is, it is not wasteful to use a quantity of fat at a time. Fat lasts heated in quantities, and if properly treated can be used again and again; indeed, I do not hesitate to say that with care it could be used thirty or forty times over.

Before we can fry perfectly, however, there are one or two more points to be considered besides the quantity of the fat. One of these is its temperature. Fat used in frying should be hot, so hot that it is still. This sounds strange, I dare say, but it is quite true. If we put a saucepan half-filled with water on the fire it would at first be still, and as it became hot it would move about, and when it reached the boiling point it would bubble away in the most lively manner. Fat, on the contrary, would very quickly begin bubbling; then, as it grew hot, it would, if properly clarified, become quite still, and a light blue vapour would be seen rising from it This stillness and the appearance of the vapour is the sign that it is at the proper heat for frying. It would not do to wait until the vapour became smoke, however, for that would mean that the fat was beginning to burn.

If we had a proper thermometer we might know that fat was hot enough for ordinary frying purposes when 350 degrees of heat were registered. For whitebait it would need to be higher than this, and should reach 400 degrees.

There are ways by which we can test the heat of fat without the thermometer, and, apart from the stillness of the fat, one is to throw in a little piece of the crumb of bread into the fat, and if it at once becomes a golden colour the fat is hot and ready for whatever is to be fried. Another way is to let one single drop of cold water fall into the fat, and if this produces a loud hissing noise, the fat is hot enough  for the purpose required.

Another point that must be looked after, if we would fry successfully, is that the article to be cooked should be dry. Unless it is, it will not brown properly. It is a good plan, in order to dry fish perfectly, to let it lie folded in a cloth for two or three hours before attempting to fry it, and it is very usually floured also to secure the same end. Of course the flour should be shaken off before the fish is put into the fat, especially if the fish is to be egged and breaded. Fish is, however, very good dipped in flour alone before being fried, thus saving the egg and bread crumbs.

It is evident that if we are to take as much fat for frying as I have said we ought to do we should never get on if we used only the flat shallow pan so common in English kitchens, and know as a frying-pan. Nor is it desirable that we should do so. In the kitchens of rich people there is found what is called a frying-kettle, or deep pan, for frying, which is provided with a wire lining, with a handle at each end. The cook lets her fat boil, puts whatever is to be fried on the wire, then plunges it into the hot fat, and when it has been in long enough, lifts the wire lining by the handle, and, of course, the fish or whatever is being fried is taken up with it, and the fat drains away as it rises. All that is then necessary is to place the fried article on kitchen paper for a minute or two, to take the grease from the surface, and they are ready to serve. I said, take the grease from the surface only, for if the fat is hot, and the fish has been plunged into it as I have described, there will be no fear that it will be greasy inside. The hot fat will have hardened the outside so securely, that not only will the goodness have been kept inside the case, but the grease will have been kept outside it.

It is not every one, however, who possesses one of these convenient frying-kettles; and when we have not got a thing we must do as well as we can without it. It is always bad workmen who quarrel with their tools. Fortunately for small articles, an ordinary iron saucepan will supply all we want, if only it is perfectly clean. If there is anything sticking to the bottom, we must expect that it will burn and spoil our fat. If we can manage to procure a little wire frying-basket upon which our materials can be placed before they are plunged into the fat, we shall be as well off as the fortunate possessor of the finest frying-kettle in the world. A basket of this kind can be bought for about half-a-crown, or people with clever fingers can twist one together with two or three pennyworth of wire. If the basket is not to be had, we can take whatever is fried out with a skimmer, and for a great many things that will answer quite as well. If the article to be fried is large, such as a sole, for instance, we shall, if we have no frying-kettle, be obliged to use the frying pan, only we ought to have in it enough fat to cover the fish. Fortunately though soles are broad, they are thin, so that this can be done without much difficulty. Very thick soles are seldom fried, the flesh being usually lifted from the bone, and cooked in fillets or small slices.

And now I must say one word about the fat that is used for frying. Lard is commonly taken for this purpose, and, unfortunately, nothing worse could be chosen, because lard always makes food look greasy; besides which it often has a peculiar taste. Oil is very good, but it is expensive, and it is rather difficult to manage, because it quickly boils over. Butter is also expensive, and it needs to be very gently heated. The very best fat that can be selected is what is called kitchen fat, that is, the skimmings of saucepans and the dripping from joints that in nine English kitchens out of every ten is put on one side by the cook and sold as her perquisite for about fourpence a pound. When the good fat is well out of the way, inferior fat, that is lard, is bought at 8d or 9d per pound to take its place.

It is quite a puzzle to me to make out how this most absurd custom arose, and a still greater one that it can be kept up. It is a comfort to think that when ladies get to understand cookery, it will soon be put a stop to.  I have nothing to say against servants being well paid; if they do their work well, by all means let them have good wages; but why we should allow them to increase their wages by selling our excellent kitchen fat at less than half its value and then expect us to spend double the money in buying fat that is not nearly so good, is beyond my comprehension. I can only imagine that the practice was begun by some one who was ignorant, and kept up by someone who was dishonest. For fear of accidents we should let the boiling fat cool a minute or less in the basin before mixing the cold water with it, and we should add the cold water gradually.

But if, notwithstanding all our care, we are still short of the requisite quantity of fat, what are we to do? Make it up with lard? By no means. Rather gather together every piece of fat meat upon which you can lay your hands, cut it into small pieces, put these in a saucepan, and place this on a clear fire. Leave the lid off the pan, and boil the fat gently, stirring it every now and then to keep it from burning to the bottom of the pan. Afterwards we must pour the contents of the saucepan through a strainer into a basin, and then our fat is ready again for use.

If the pieces of fat taken from joints still do not afford as much dripping as we need, the best thing we can do is to buy what is called by the butchers ox flare, cut into pieces, and render it down in the same way. This flare can be had for about 6d per pound; it is much better than suet or hard fat because it produces a softer kind of dripping. A better fat still is the "twist" from the top side of the round of beef, but this can very seldom be obtained, as it is sold with the meat.

Fat does not need to be clarified each time it is used for frying. It requires only to be strained through a metal strainer to free it from any little pieces of meat or fish that are in it. Care should be taken, however, to remove it from the fire as soon as it is done with, to prevent its becoming discoloured, and also to let it cool a little before pouring it through the strainer, as otherwise it may melt the metal. The impurities will always settle at the bottom of the fat after melting, and they can be easily removed.

Fat that has been once used for fish is likely to have a fishy taste, therefore it should be kept exclusively for that purpose.

Now, perhaps you will feel inclined to say, Is there nothing we can fry without a large quantity of fat? Certainly there is. We fry pancakes and omelettes and slices of bacon with a small quantity of fat. Mutton chops and beefsteaks are often fried in the same way. Strictly speaking, however, this is not to fry them, but to sauté them. Chops and steaks, however should not be cooked in a frying-pan at all. They are sure to be greasy when thus prepared, and are much better broiled over a clear fire. And of broiling I will speak at our next lesson.

13 March 1880 - 'Our Cookery Class' by Phillis Browne - 'Baking'

In many parts of England baking is spoken of as if it referred to bread alone. I do not want us to consider it in that way, but rather as a means of cooking food of different kinds, such as meat, pastry and puddings, as well as bread. Baking is really but another form of roasting, the difference between the two being that in roasting the meat turns before the fire in the open so that a current of air can play upon it, and in baking the meat lies motionless in a confined space.

There is no doubt that meat roasted before a fire is very much superior to meat baked in the oven. Those who have been long accustomed to the first cannot enjoy the second. They can detect it at once, both by its taste and its smell, and consider it both unpalatable and unwholesome. 

The old-fashioned open ranges are certainly very objectionable, for a great many reasons. They consume a great deal of fuel, and they are exceedingly dirty, all saucepans that are put upon the fires becoming so soot that it is scarcely possible for those who have to use them to help being grimy also; and with them food becomes smoky very quickly; but there is no question that with them meat can be roasted to perfection.

We have, however, to do with things as they are, and these open ranges are rapidly becoming things of the past. We may quite expect that in the course of a few years they will be done away with altogether, and on the whole it will be a very good thing. The principal reason why I shall be glad to see close ranges universally used, is that I believe ladies will practice cookery more when they are common, than if it can possibility be expected they will when they cannot cook a mutton chop without blacking themselves and their dress. With closed ranges they can put on an apron and a pair of sleeves, and with their own hands prepare little delicacies for their husbands and fathers; remove the apron, and, without further trouble, take their places at the head of the table, looking as fresh as a summer flower.

And, in addition, they can practice cookery and still keep their hands white and soft. This may, to strong-minded people, seem a unimportant detail, and I do not quite know that I ought to speak of it here, but I may as well confess that I admire soft, white hands, and I think every girl is justified in taking pains to keep hers so. If she could not do this whilst doing useful work, I would certainly say, let your hands go; but this is not always the alternative.

And now  for the best way of roasting meat in the oven, or, to speak correctly, baking it. In the more modern closed ranges a special provision is made for ventilating the oven, in order that fresh air may enter and the vapours given off by the meat may be carried away, and so the saturated taste peculiar to baked meat be removed. Meat thus baked in a ventilated oven is generally called roast meat; and it is very nearly, though I cannot say I think it is quite, as good as that which is roasted before the fire.

The same general rules as to hanging meat and basting it will hold good in baking as in roasting. When first the meet is put in, the ventilator should be closed, and the joint should be placed for about five minutes in the hottest part of the oven, in order that the outside may become quickly browned, and so the goodness of the meat may be kept in. After this the ventilator should be opened, and the meat be gently baked till done. The opening of the ventilator will slightly cool the oven. A small vessel containing hot water should be put by the side of the meat in order to keep the air of the oven moist. When the air is dry the meat is more likely to become heard and scorched. Cold water must not, however, be put in, as it would lower the temperature of the oven.

Meat should be placed on a stand in the dripping tin, in order to raise it and prevent its soaking in its own dripping, and thus becoming saturated and disagreeable. Small stands made  for the purpose are to be bought for a few pence.

When placing the joint on this stand it is well to put the fat side uppermost in the first instance, in order that the fat may melt and drop down upon the leaner part. If there should be but little fat upon the joint, a piece of kitchen paper that has been thickly spread with dripping should be placed over it to keep it from burning too quickly - of course, printed paper will not do for this. In any case the meat should be turned over two or three times, or it will not be equally cooked.

As to the time that a joint should be baked. When the ventilator is made use of, the same rules may be followed as in roasting before the fire If there is no ventilator in the oven, ten minutes to the pound and ten minutes over will be quite sufficient. As in ordinary roasting, solid meat needs to be cooked longer than thin meat, and white meat longer than red meat. It must be remembered also that cakes and pastry should not be put into the oven when meat is being baked, as the steam t rises from it will be likely to make them heavy.

A very important point in baking is the temperature of the oven. No rules as to the time of cooking can be of the slightest use unless the oven is of the right heat. The very safest way of testing it is to have a thermometer set into the front of the oven and regulate the heat by this. Bakers in Paris and Vienna, who make most delicious bread, never bake it by guess, but are guided by a thermometer. If we have one of these useful articles in our oven door, we only need be careful that the quicksilver shall rise to 300 degrees for baking small articles of puff pastry, to 280 degrees for larger pieces of pastry, such as pies, tarts, etc., and to 240 degrees for cakes and meat. Bread will require 280 degrees of heat to begin with, but this heat should be lowered after the bread has risen.

Not many ovens, however, are provided with thermometers, and therefore we must have some other way of finding out the heat. Ovens are particular concerns. They need to be looked after and managed and understood, and if they are neglected they are sure to revenge the insult. There are so many varieties amongst modern stoves, that the particular kind each has to do with must be studied, or the most carefully mixed cake or the lightest pastry will be "spoilt in the baking". An experienced cook could tell by putting her hand into the oven whether it was of the right temperature; but until we can gain this experience we must adopt some simple test.

Perhaps the easiest way of testing the heat of the oven is to sprinkle a little flour in it. If this should turn black in one minute the oven is too hot. If it should be of a bright brown colour the oven is hot enough for baking. If it should remain uncoloured, the oven is slack.

An oven that is too hot is, however, to be preferred to one that is "slack". It is always easy to put an additional baking sheet underneath, or a strip of paper over what is to be baked; but an oven that is too slow never bakes well. It will make bread and cakes heavy, pastry hard, and meat dry and flavourless.

There is generally one part of the oven that is hotter than the other. I have already said that meat should go into this first, in order to brown the surface quickly; and also should cakes and pastry, and anything that contains flour or any starchy substance. The small starchy grains need to be burst with the heat, and after this is done the mixture can be allowed to bake more slowly. If it is not done the preparation will be heavy.

Bread requires peculiar management, which must be the result of experience. As a rule, brick ovens are to be preferred to iron ones for baking bread, because the heat in them is more equal. Iron ovens, such as are attached to kitchen ranges, quickly become over-heated, which causes the surface of the bread to become hard before the heat has reached the centre of the dough, and this keeps the bread from rising. Therefore, if an iron oven must be used for this purpose, it will be found that small loaves or rolls are more easily baked than large ones.

There is one thing in baking that we must bear in mind, and that is that "an oven will not look after itself". The numbers of carefully prepared delicacies I have seen spoilt through forgetfulness of this simple fact. Only the other day a young friend of mine announced her intention to make some buns. She collected her materials, selected the recipe, mixed the ingredients in the most satisfactory manner, and put her buns into the oven. The whole family was in a state of expectations, when suddenly an odour more strong than agreeable diffused itself through the house. The melancholy fact slowly forced itself upon us. The buns were burning.  My friend had forgotten to look after them whilst they were in the oven, and they were all burnt as black as our shoes.

One objection to an oven is that it is not always hot when it is wanted. Those who want to do a little cooking in a hurry and find that the oven is cold and the fire low, may make a substitute  for the oven out of a saucepan. Small pieces of meat, poultry, and game are excellent thus "baked in a pan". Take a common iron saucepan (a tinned or an enamelled one would not answer  for the purpose). Melt a slice of dripping in it, and rub the meat or bird that is to be cooked all over with dripping. Place it in the pan, put on the lid, and turn it about every two or three minutes till it is equally browned all over. Cover the pan closely, draw it to the side of the fire so that the meat can cook slowly, and turn and baste it frequently. It will be done in about the same time that it would take to cook in an ordinary oven, and few would guess that it had not been dressed as usual.

14 February 1880 - 'Our Cooking Class' by Phillis Browne - 'Boiling'

Before boiling meat of any kind whatever, we should always ask ourselves one question, and that is "Do I want to keep the goodness in this meat, or do I want to get the goodness out of it?" It is on the answer we give, that our course must depend.

If the meat is to be eaten, we want to keep the goodness in it. We shall not be able to manage this entirely, for, with all our care, some of it will escape into the water, but we may preserve a great deal of it. And the best means we can adopt for this purpose is to surround the meat as quickly as possible with a kind of shield, through which the juices cannot escape.

We all know that an egg when broken in a cup is liquid. If this same egg be turned into a saucepan containing boiling water it will in three minutes be quite different,  for the white part will e solid. Now, there is in meat a great deal of the same substance that white of egg is composed of - that is, albumen, the peculiar property of which is that heat makes it solid. When, therefore, we plunge meat into boiling water, the albumen in it becomes solid, just as the white of an egg does. Of course, the part that is nearest to the hot water, that is, the outside, gets hard first, and this makes our shield. after the meat has boiled for five minutes, or a little less, it is quite surrounded with a covering that will keep in the goodness that we so much want to preserve.

If any one doubts the truth of this, let her take a little piece of raw beef, divide it into halves, and put one half into cold water and the other into boiling water. In one minute the cold water will be tinged with red - the goodness will have begun to escape from the meat. The boiling water will be very nearly the colour it was before. If the beef is allowed to be in the cold water for about half an hour, the water will be quite red and the meat will be white; its juices will have passed into the water, and it will be valueless for nourishing purposes. It is on this account that, when we want to make beef-tea, we put the beef to soak for awhile in cold water to draw out the goodness, before we put it into a jar to e placed in a saucepan of water to simmer till it is done.

We must not suppose, however, that, when we have got our shield round the meat, we are to let it keep on boiling till it is sufficiently cooked. If we did this, the meat would be shield all the way through, and that would make unnecessarily hard work for both our teeth and our digestions. What we want is not only to keep in the goodness, but to make the meat tender. This can be done only by gentle stewing. We must therefore proceed in this way. First we plunge our meat into the fast boiling water; it instantly stops boiling,  for the cold meat cools the liquid, so we bring it to the boiling point again as quickly as we can, let it boil for five minutes, then draw it back to a cooler place, put a wine-glassful of cold water into it to lower the temperature, and keep it simmering gently till it is done.

If we had a thermometer at hand to put into the water, we should find that when it was boiling, the quicksilver rose to 212 degrees. When the saucepan was drawn back and the cold water put in, the quicksilver would fall to 180 degrees, and it is at this point it should be kept all the time.

I know of nothing more difficult than to persuade inexperienced cooks of the fact that meat is made tender by gentle simmering and not by quick boiling.

Somehow it seems as if, when the water in the saucepan is galloping away, progress is being made, and the meat will be done sometime; whilst, when it simmers only, things seem almost at a standstill. I have again and again explained this to pupils, as I thought, in the clearest manner, and then, if I turned away for a little time, I should be sure to find the water boiling hard on my return. At last I have come to look upon those who can calmly allow meat to simmer, instead of boil, with a great deal of respect, as being far on the way to make good cooks.

The rule applies to all fresh meat - beef, mutton, pork, poultry and fish. When once we understand the general rule, we do not need to look in a cookery book to see how different joints are cooked. The rule is for all; a neck of mutton, a leg of mutton, a chicken, or a salmon, we must treat them all alike - first surround the meat with a coat of mail to keep in the goodness, and then simmer it til gently done.

I know very well that it is very uncommon to observe this rule, so far as fish is concerned. But I know of no reason why this should be. It is true, fish does not contain so much albumen as meat; but it contains a little, and this, when hardened, will help keep in the goodness. The only exception should be with mackerel, which may be put into warm water, because the skin is so delicate that boiling water will cause it to break.

One would think, to hear people talk, that boiling was one of the commonest processes in cookery. The fact is that, when cookery is understood, real boiling is very uncommon, excepting for a few minutes at a time. If we used words that really expressed what we mean, we should say "simmered" rabbit and "simmered beef", instead of "boiled" rabbit and "boiled" beef. Boiling, as applied to meats, is useful chiefly for hardening the outside to keep in the goodness and for reducing the liquid to make sauces.

As soon as the water boils, after the meat is put in, it should be well skimmed. The impurities that are in the meat are dissolved by the hot water, and they rise to the surface in the form of scum. If this is not taken off at once, it will sink again and make the meat a bad colour, so it will be well to watch  for the scum and take it off as quickly as it appears; a little salt thrown into the liquid will help it to rise. The earliest scum should be thrown away, but in a little while the fat of the meat will melt and rise, and this should be taken off and carefully preserved, for there is no fat that we can get that is so useful for frying as the skimmings of saucepans. Of that I shall have to speak when we are talking of frying meat.

The time that meat should simmer must, as in roasting, vary with the thickness of the joint. The safe general rule for beef and mutton is a quarter of an hour to the pound and a quarter of an hour over. When meat is very thick and solid, half an hour over may be allowed. When meat is to be pressed under a weight, and eaten cold, half an hour per pound will not be too long for it to simmer. Pork and salt meat should have twenty minutes per pound, and fish ten minutes per pound, and ten minutes over if it is thick. The time should always be counted from the moment the meat is drawn back, after it has been surrounded by its shield. This, therefore, must be considered, and allowance made  for the time the water will take to boil again after the meat has cooled it.

This general rule of putting meat into boiling water holds good for fresh meat only. A difference must be made with salted meat. Salt gets into the pores of the meat and needs to be drawn out a little before the shield surrounds the joint, or the meat would be hard. Therefore salted meat put into lukewarm instead of billing water, or, if it has been very strongly salted, it may even be put into cold water. The liquid may then be brought to the boiling point, be skimmed, and be left to boil for five minutes, and boiled twenty minutes per pound and twenty minutes over.

I must not forget to mention one thing. When I was speaking of roasting meat I said that beef and mutton should hang as long as possible, before being put down to the fire. It is not so with meat that is to be boiled. If meat on the point of turning were boiled, it would neither taste well nor look well, and, more than that, the liquor in which it was cooked would be good for nothing.

I hope no one would even think of throwing away the liquor in which fresh meat has been boiled. As I said a little while ago, do what we will, some of the goodness of the meat will have gone into it, and this must not be wasted. We English have the character of being the most wasteful cooks in the world, and the greatest benefit that would follow the spread of the knowledge of cookery would be that there would not be so much waste. The meat liquor must be poured at once into a clean earthenware pan and kept in a cool place till wanted. Excellent soup may afterwards be made of it, or it may be used instead of water for gravy and sauces. The only precaution that is necessary in order to keep it good is to boil it every day in warm weather, and every three or four days in cold weather. The worst of salt meat is that the liquor can seldom be used again in this way, and especially when saltpetre has been plentifully used to redden salt meat. The best thing that we can do after salt meat has been boiled is to taste the liquor, and if it is very salt, to throw it away at once. If saltpetre has been sparingly used, the liquor may serve for pea or lentil soup, but for no other kind.

So much for boiling meat. And now for vegetables. The majority of these should be thrown into plenty of fast boiling salted water, and boiled with the lid off the pan. If this can be done, and the vegetables are of moderate age, they will be sure to be of a good colour. Sometimes, when they have to be cooked on an open range, the fire is smoke, and, therefore, the lid must be put on. They will not then be of such a good colour. Closed ranges are, however,  becoming every day more usual amongst us, and with them there need be no dif in preserving the colour of vegetables. An exception to the general rule of putting vegetables into boiling water is made in the case of old potatoes, which should be put into cold water and gently stewed. New potatoes may, however, be put into boiling water like the rest.