Common Sense in the Household 20

Common Sense in the Household 20

Serve with cranberry jelly.

 

 

MINCED VEAL.

 

Take the remains of a cold roast of veal fillet, shoulder, or breast,

and cut all the meat from the bones. Put the latter, with the outside

slices and the gristly pieces, into a saucepan, with a cup of cold

water, some sweet herbs, pepper, and salt. If you have a bit of bacon

convenient, or a ham-bone, add this and omit the salt. Stew all

together for an hour, then strain, thicken with flour, return to the

fire, and boil five minutes longer, stirring in a tablespoonful of

butter.

 

Meanwhile, mince the cold veal, and when the gravy is ready put

this in a little at a time. Let it _almost_ boil, when add two

tablespoonfuls of cream, or three of milk, stirring all the while.

Lastly, squeeze in the juice of a lemon, and a moment later half a

glass of Sherry or Madeira wine.

 

The mince-meat should be dry enough to heap into a shape in a flat dish

or chafing-dish. Lay triangles of buttered toast about the base of the

mound, and on the top a poached egg.

 

The remains of cold roast beef treated in this manner, substituting for

the toast balls of mashed potato, will make a neat and palatable dish.

 

Send around spinach or stewed tomatoes with minced veal; scraped

horseradish steeped in vinegar with the beef.

 

 

VEAL CUTLETS À LA MAINTENON.

 

The cutlets should be nearly three-quarters of an inch thick, and trim

in shape. Dip each in beaten egg, then into pounded cracker which has

been seasoned with powdered sweet herbs, pepper, and salt. Wrap each

cutlet in a half-sheet of note or letter paper, well buttered; lay them

upon a buttered gridiron and broil over a clear fire, turning often

and dexterously. You can secure the papers by fringing the ends, and

twisting these after the cutlets are put in. This is neater than to

pin them together. In trying this dish for the first time, have ready

a sufficient number of duplicate papers in a clean, hot dish. If your

envelopes are much soiled or darkened while the cutlets are broiling,

transfer quickly when done to the clean warm ones, twist the ends,

and serve. Cutlets prepared in this manner are sent to table in their

cloaks, ranged symmetrically upon a hot chafing-dish.

 

The expedient of the clean papers is a “trick of the trade,” amateur

housewives will observe with satisfaction. Epicures profess to enjoy

veal cooked in covers far more than when the flavor and juices escape

in broiling without them. Empty every drop of gravy from the soiled

papers into the clean over the cutlets.

 

 

CROQUETTES OF CALF’S BRAINS.

 

Wash the brains very thoroughly until they are free from membranous

matter and perfectly white. Beat them smooth; season with a pinch

of powdered sage, pepper, and salt. Add two tablespoonfuls fine

bread-crumbs moistened with milk, and a beaten egg. Roll into balls

with floured hands, dip in beaten egg, then cracker-crumbs, and fry in

butter or veal-drippings.

 

These make a pleasant accompaniment to boiled spinach. Heap the

vegetable in the centre of the dish, arrange the balls about it, and

give one to each person who wishes spinach.

 

 

CALF’S LIVER (_Roasted._)

 

Soak the liver in salt and water an hour to draw out the blood. Wipe

perfectly dry, and stuff with a force-meat made of bread-crumbs, two

slices of fat salt pork, chopped small, a shallot, pepper, salt, and

nutmeg; sweet marjoram and thyme, and if you choose, a little sage.

Moisten this with butter melted in a very little hot water, and two

raw eggs, well beaten. In order to get this into the liver, make an

incision with a narrow sharp knife, and without enlarging the aperture

where the blade entered, move the point dexterously to and fro, to

enlarge the cavity inside. Stuff this full of the force-meat, sew or

skewer up the outer orifice; lard with strips of salt pork, and roast

for an hour, basting twice with butter and water, afterward with the

gravy in the dripping-pan. Pour the gravy over the liver when done.

 

Roasted liver is very good cold, cut into slices like tongue.

 

 

CALF’S LIVER (_Fried_).

 

Slice the liver smoothly, and lay in salt and water to draw out the

blood. Lard each slice, when you have wiped it dry, with slices of fat

salt pork, drawn through at regular distances, and projecting slightly

on each side. Lay in a clean frying-pan and fry brown. When done,

take out the slices, arrange them neatly on a hot dish, and set aside

to keep warm. Add to the gravy in the frying-pan a chopped onion, a

half-cup of hot water, pepper, the juice of a lemon, and thicken with

brown flour. Boil up well, run through a cullender to remove the onion

and the bits of crisped pork that may have been broken off in cooking,

pour over the liver, and serve hot.

 

Pigs’ livers can be cooked in the same way.

 

 

CALF’S LIVER (_Stewed_).

 

Slice the liver and lay in salt and water an hour. Then cut into dice

and put over the fire, with enough cold water to cover it well. Cover

and stew steadily for an hour, when add salt, pepper, a little mace,

sweet marjoram, parsley, and a teaspoonful Worcestershire sauce. Stew

again steadily, not fast, for half an hour longer, when put in a

tablespoonful of butter, two of browned flour—wet with cold water, a

teaspoonful of lemon-juice and one of currant jelly. Boil five minutes

longer, and dish. A little wine is an improvement.

 

 

_Or,_

 

Put in with the liver-dice some of salt pork—say a handful—and when you

season, a chopped onion, and omit the jelly at the last, substituting

some tomato catsup.

 

 

IMITATION PÂTÉS DE FOIE GRAS. ✠

 

Boil a calf’s liver until very tender in water that has been slightly

salted, and in another vessel a nice calf’s tongue. It is best to

do this the day before you make your _pâté_, as they should be not

only cold, but firm when used. Cut the liver into bits, and rub these

gradually to a smooth paste in a Wedgewood mortar, moistening, as you

go on, with melted butter. Work into this paste, which should be quite

soft, a quarter-teaspoonful of cayenne pepper, or twice the quantity of

white or black, half a grated nutmeg, a little cloves, a teaspoonful

of Worcestershire sauce, salt to taste, a full teaspoonful of made

mustard, and a tablespoonful of boiling water, in which a minced onion

has been steeped until the flavor is extracted. Work all together

thoroughly, and pack in jelly-jars with air-tight covers, or, if you

have them, in _pâté_-jars. They give a foreign air to the compound, and

aid imagination in deceiving the palate. Butter the inside of the jars

well, and pack the _pâté_ very hard, inserting here and there square

and triangular bits of the tongue, which should be pared and cut up

for this purpose. These simulate the truffles imbedded in the genuine

_pâtés_ from Strasbourg. When the jar is packed, and smooth as marble

on the surface, cover with melted butter. Let this harden, put on the

lid, and set away in a cool place. In winter it will keep for weeks,

and is very nice for luncheon or tea. Make into sandwiches, or set on

in the jars, if they are neat and ornamental.

 

The resemblance in taste to the real _pâté de foie gras_ is remarkable,

and the domestic article is popular with the lovers of that delicacy.

Pigs’ livers make a very fair _pâté_. If you can procure the livers

of several fowls and treat as above, substituting bits of the inside

of the gizzard for truffles, you will find the result even more

satisfactory.

 

 

VEAL MARBLE.

 

Boil a beef-tongue the day before it is to be used, and a like

number of pounds of lean veal. Grind first one, then the other, in a

sausage-cutter, keeping them in separate vessels until you are ready to

pack. If you have no machine for this purpose, chop _very_ fine. Season

the tongue with pepper, powdered sweet herbs, a teaspoonful of made

mustard, a little nutmeg, and cloves—just a pinch of each; the veal in

like manner, with the addition of salt. Pack in alternate spoonfuls, as

irregularly as possible, in cups, bowls, or jars, which have been well

buttered. Press very hard as you go on, smooth the top, and cover with

melted butter. When this cools, close the cans, and keep in a cool, dry

place. Turn out whole, or cut in slices for tea. It is a pretty and

savory relish, garnished with parsley or the blanched tops of celery.

 

You can use ground ham instead of tongue. It is hardly so good, but is

more economical.

 

 

 

PORK.

 

At the South, where, in spite of the warm climate, the consumption

of pork is double that of the North, the full-grown hog is seldom

represented by any of his parts at the table, fresh or pickled, unless

it be during killing-time, when fresh spare-ribs, chine, and steak,

with other succulent bits, are welcome upon the choicest bills of fare.

The rest of the animal—ham, shoulders, and middlings—is consigned to

the packing barrel, and ultimately to the smoke-house. But, in cool

weather, “shoat”—_i. e._, pig under six months of age—is abundantly

displayed in market, and highly esteemed by all classes. The meat

is fine and sweet, and, unless too fat, nearly as delicate as that

of chicken—a very different-looking and tasting dish from the gross

oleaginous joints and “chunks” offered for sale in many other regions

as “nice young pork.” Those of my readers who can command “shoat”

are to be heartily congratulated. Those whose butchers dispense only

portions of the mature porker will do well, in my opinion, if they

rarely admit him to their families before he has been salted, and been

thereby purged of many unwholesome properties. Few stomachs, save those

of out-door laborers, can digest the fresh meat of a two or three, or

even one year old hog. This is the truthful, but, to unaccustomed ears,

offensive name for him at the South and West, where his qualities and

habits are best known.

 

The parts of a properly dissected hog are the hams, shoulders, griskin

or chine, the loin, middlings, spare-ribs, head, feet, liver, and

haslet. The choice portions are hams, shoulders, and, for roasting,

the loin. All hogs should be kept up and well fed for three weeks,

at least, before they are killed; their styes be frequently cleaned,

and furnished with abundance of water, renewed every day. Sir Grunter

would be a more cleanly creature if he were allowed more extensive

water privileges. If it were possible—and in the country this may

sometimes be done—to build his pen on the bank of a running stream,

he would speedily redeem his character from the stain cast upon it

by the popular verdict, and the superior quality of the meat repay

the thoughtful kindness of his owner. It is a disgrace to humanity,

hardly second to the barbarities of swill-milk manufactories, this

compulsory filth of any domestic animal. Those who, like myself,

have been loathing witnesses of the pig-pens upon the premises of

well-to-do farmers—the receptacles of the vilest slops and offal, never

cleaned except during the yearly removal of manure from barnyard to

field—cannot marvel at the growing prejudice against pork in all its

varieties that pervades our best classes. We feed the hog with the

offscourings (this is literal) of house, garden, and table; bed him

in mire, and swell him with acetous fermentation, not to say active

decomposition, and then abuse him for being what we have made him.

I am persuaded—and wiser people than I declare—that hog-scrofula

and cholera, and the rest of the train of fleshly ills that are the

terror of pork-raisers, have, one and all, their root in this unseemly

inhumanity. Eschew fresh pork we may, but we cannot dispense with hams,

shoulders, and, most valuable of all to the cook, lard and pickled

pork. Real sausage, porcine and home-made, is still sweet and pleasant

to the unpampered palate; and of roast pig, the gentlest and most

genial of English essayists did not disdain to become the eulogist. In

memory of his usefulness, in belief of the healthfulness which should be his birthright, and the safeguard of his consumers, let us treat Bristle well—I do not say philosophically, but sensibly and kindly.