Cottage Life, Housekeeping, Day One: Mrs. Bishop’s Lessons for the Cook
$10 Enough
ON the 1st of September our young couple took possession of their new house.
It was a small house, or rather cottage, in the fashionable New Jersey town of Greenfield, and contained a dining-room, sitting-room and kitchen on the first floor, and four rooms above arranged as bedroom, guest-room, servants’ room and sewing-room. It was as slightly built as a house could be, probably, yet in better taste than most houses of its class, and Mrs. Winfield’s taste in furnishing was excellent, so that even Harry’s fastidious eye was satisfied.
As for Molly, she spent her first hour in the house promenading from room to room, such a luxurious idea of freedom and space did that small house give her.
“Think, Harry! We can actually change rooms when we like.”
” Poor little Molly, I did not know that you had hated boarding so, or I should not have refused to try this experiment long ago. I did it for your sake.“
“Never mind, we’ll have such a good time now, that we won’t think of anything else.”
“What time is your cook to arrive?”
“Yes, Marta. She came an hour ago, while you were seeing to the baggage, and is busy down stairs, where I must go to her if we are to have any lunch, while you put your books in order.”
“Oh, lunch! Never mind lunch today, bread and cheese will do.”
“Oh, no ! ” said Molly, shaking her head and laughing. “I’ve brought you from the land of abundance; I must take care that you are not made to suffer the first day.“
Marta, Molly’s servant, was a newly arrived German girl whom she had had the courage to take from Castle Garden [immigration depot, wiki].
“She will be as green as grass, Molly,” Harry had said.
“Yes, I know, but at least it is better she should know nothing than know how to do things badly as it is easier to teach than to unteach.”
“All right, my dear, we will go to Castle Garden, then, and interview a new arrival from Germany.“
They did so, and found a thick, short, strong. but stupid-looking girl was the only one whom it seemed possible to take into the house. Molly was a little crestfallen, so far did Marta seem from what she had hoped to meet with. Yet she asked only $10 per month [2020s conversion = $315.00 per month plus room and board!]
“That is $2.00 to the good,” thought Molly, “and by promising her $12 when she can do my work as I wish, she will have something to work for. I believe that is where people make a mistake in our country. The incompetent girls, if they have only impudence enough to ask it, get as good wages as the competent.”
Marta had arrived with two very large trunks, each of them no doubt the Thuringian [wiki] equivalent for a Saratoga [google], at which excess of baggage Molly had marveled. Molly had taken her to her room, and told her to go down when ready and begin taking things out of the kitchen closets. This she had heard her doing when Harry had asked when she was to arrive.
Molly found Marta attired in what seemed a green baize [wiki] skirt, very short; worked zephyr slippers with thick soles, quite new and very large, over gray knitted worsted stockings, also apparently new. Over the skirt she wore a clean cotton [etiquipedia] camisole or sacque. Evidently Marta was dressed with strict attention to her debut in a new place, and was satisfied that her slippers were as attractive as they were no doubt comfortable.
Molly wanted to know exactly what was in the kitchen closets, so that she might see what she had to work with, therefore she had set Marta to clean them out, although Mrs. Winfield had left everything in such excellent order that it was not absolutely necessary this first day.
It was eleven o’clock, and Molly, although she had laughed at Harry’s anxiety to eat bread and cheese, had decided that it would be best to have a luncheon that would be as little trouble as possible, yet one that should not seem at all a makeshift, so sensitive was she to Harry’s good-natured criticism.
Food Delivery
She ordered in the morning what she thought might be a month’s supplies of groceries, and for the day’s
use:
- 2 heads of lettuce, 6 cent
- 1 melon, 10 cents
- 2 quarts peaches, 12 cents
- 1 can of boned chicken, 50 cents
- Forequarter of lamb, 8 pounds, $1.12
- 2 pounds of butter, 50 cents
- 2 dozen eggs, 50 cents
- Total, $2.90
Milk had been left at the house by Mrs. Winfield’s man, and ice also, and bread by the baker.
She intended to have for lunch today chicken salad, omelette and drop biscuit and coffee, all of which could, she knew, be prepared in three quarters of an hour, so she helped Marta dust and replace the utensils in their places, and made notes of what was lacking for her use, although, as economy was her object, she decided to do with as little addition to what was in the house as possible.
She called Marta’s attention as they replaced each article, telling her its English name, and bidding her remember its place and keep it there.
Table Setting
Marta spoke no English! but Molly spoke fair German, and she managed to make her understand. As the clock struck twelve, Molly took her into the dining-room to lay the luncheon cloth; she showed her how it must be done, that the fold must be just in the centre, the saltcellars [wiki] always neat and smooth, a soiled knife never put on, and as she went through these necessary instructions, the thought crossed her mind, how frivolous and useless these little niceties must seem to a girl to whom perhaps even a table-cloth had hitherto been an unknown luxury. [editor’s note: is this true for a young German in 1880s?] What wonder that it was it these small things so difficult to train one?
When the table was ready, Molly ran into the little garden, and gathered a few red geranium flowers and their leaves, and arranged them in a glass for the centre of the table.
“This is one of the charms of the country; even in a tiny garden like this, one can always have a spray of flowers for the table,” thought Molly.
It was now a quarter past twelve, and one thing that Marta must be taught was punctuality. At one o’clock lunch was to be, and as Molly would prepare it today, it should not be a minute behind.
Biscuits
“Come, Marta, I want to show you how to make biscuit; but first we must look to the fire.“
Molly had made it herself before Marta arrived, and knew it was good and the oven hot, but she wanted to impress on her handmaiden the necessity of assuring herself that it was good, before beginning to cook.
“I set the damper [air-regulator for a wood-burning stove] this way, so that the oven would heat as soon as the fire is burning well, Marta. You see it is hot, and also,” taking off the stove lid, “that there is fire enough to last; always make sure of that, so that you will not find yourself with a poor fire in the middle of cooking.“
This Molly managed to convey by words and actions, and Marta nodded comprehension.
“Now then, as we are such a small family, I take a pint of flour only, and a scant dessert-spoonful of butter, and rub it in the flour this way, do you see? until it is just like sand. Now I add a salt-spoonful of salt, two teaspoonfuls of sugar, and a small tea-spoonful of baking powder; be very careful of the proportions, for it is just by doing this that you are sure never to have days when things turn out wrong; they cannot do that, if you are exact and right.
“Now mix all thoroughly, and you see I take this scant half pint of milk; I make a hole in the flour and pour it partly in, stirring as I do it, and if I see it needs more in order to keep it the stiffest kind of batter or the softest kind of dough, I add it; it takes all the half pint, you see, but with flour you can’t be quite sure of the exact quantity, and a tea-spoonful too much would make it too thin. Now, you see, it is so very thick I can hardly stir it, yet it is far from being stiff enough to knead. Butter that tin pan and give it to me.“
Marta understood the order, but began slowly to spread butter from the end of a knife. Molly took a bit of white paper, and taking the pan from her quickly, for the biscuit had now to be got into the oven as soon as possible, she rubbed a bit of butter over it.
“Too many cooks spoil the broth, Marta. If I had been working quite alone I should have greased my pan before beginning ; it is very bad management to leave it.” As she spoke she was taking the paste on the end of her spoon, and dropping it in little oblong mounds on the pan, about two inches apart. In another minute they were in the oven, which was very hot.
“My mother used to pride herself on these biscuits, and gave herself fifteen minutes to make and bake them. Now for the salad.”
Chicken Salad
Molly quickly opened the can of chicken she had bought, and cut the contents in half; one portion she turned out on a dish, and set the other aside to go into the ice-box. Then she set Marta to open olives and salad oil, while she herself cut the chicken into small pieces, removing every bit of skin that was on it. When the olives were open, she took a small, sharp, knife and calling Marta’s attention to an olive, she cut into it till the edge of the knife touched the stone, and then began to peel that stone, as it were, being careful not to break the peel, and keeping close to the stone. When the knife had passed all around, the stone was in her left thumb and finger, the peel or stalled olive in her right. The stone was bare except at the ends, and the olive peel curled back into its old form, minus those ends.
“Now, Marta, see if you can stone six olives as I did that. Never mind if you break the first.“
Molly saw Marta start right, then she poured out a tablespoonful of oil and a half one of vinegar, a saltspoonful of salt, and a scant half one of pepper. These she mixed thoroughly and poured over the chicken, taking care that it should go well through it. Then she looked into the oven. The biscuits had been in five minutes; they had puffed up and were nearly done.
When first the groceries had come, Molly, mindful of her mayonnaise, had put an egg, bowl, and spoon in the ice-box, and, had the day been hot, she would have put the oil there too. She went for them now, and knew that the minute it took her to get them had sufficed to give the biscuit just the tint she wanted, a pale golden brown; she took them out and set them in the warming closet of the range, and returned to her salad. She wanted Marta to wash the lettuce, but having set her to stone olives was careful not to take her from that task.
“My bad management,” she thought. “I ought to have set her to wash the lettuce, and leave it drying in a cloth while she did the olives.”
Marta had managed to cut three or four olives into small pieces, but had evidently not seized the idea. Molly stoned another one for her, and then Marta once more began.
“Now, Marta, I want you to stone those and then to wash the lettuce, putting each leaf on a clean cloth as you do it. I am going to make a mayonnaise sauce, which I must show you another day.”
She broke the egg, putting the white into a cup. the yolk into her ice-cold bowl, and began to stir it. This she did for a few seconds, and then added a few drops of oil, stirred just long enough for it to disappear in the yolk. then added a very little more, and so on, stirring steadily, waiting till the last oil was blended before adding more. When it had once assumed the pale opaque yellow that told her the mayonnaise had” come,” she added oil in rather larger quantities. Five minutes after this point the mayonnaise was as thick as butter in warm weather; a little more oil and it could no longer be stirred, for it clung to the spoon.
“Now, Marta, you see when it gets like this I add a few drops of vinegar, which changes the color, – whitens it, – but stirring a few seconds blends the vinegar, and it now is like very thick cream. I can go on adding oil now till it is very thick again.“
When it had again reached the unmanageable point Molly put to it, gradually, a half dessert-spoonful of vinegar (which she had ordered to be very strong), a saltspoonful of salt, and a very little white pepper‘; she then tasted it and found it would stand a few drops more vinegar for Harry’s taste, as he liked it rather sharp.
Marta had finished the olives fairly well, and had the lettuce drying on the cloth.
“Grind two tablespoonfuls of coffee, Marta. Wait, I ‘II tighten the screw of the mill, while you put that French coffee-pot on the back of the stove to get warm.”
Molly placed the dry end of the cloth over the lettuce leaves and patted them, resolving that a salad-basket must be an immediate purchase. She took the leaves, now free from water, and laid them over the salad-dish, reserving the whitest for the border; then she placed the chicken in the centre, mixing with it the pieces of olive Marta had broken in her first attempts, and smoothing it with a knife.
The mayonnaise would have been all the better if it could have stood in the ice-box: half an hour; and, another time, she would have it made early on the day it was wanted; however, it was thick enough to mask the chicken, only less would have answered the purpose had it been ice cold. She spread it with a knife evenly, then laid the stoned olives around at intervals – and the salad was ready.
Omelette
The coffee being ground, she gave the salad to Marta to take to the ice-box for the twenty minutes that would elapse before lunch-time, while she broke three eggs and separated them, and when Marta returned gave her the whites to beat to a high froth. While she was doing that, Molly got the frying-pan, put a table-spoonful of butter in it, and set both to get hot; then she poured boiling water through the coffee-pot (in case it might not have been used, lately), threw it out, and put two full table-spoonfuls of coffee (ground much finer than the grocer does it, being, in fact, about like coarse corn meal) into the fine strainer, replaced the coarse one over it, and then took a tin pint measure, filled it with boiling water, and poured half into the coffee-pot; the other half she set on the stove to keep at boiling-point, while the first dripped through; then she put half a pint of milk to boil, and, seeing the butter was melted, she drew back the frying-pan that it might not burn till the omelette was ready.
Marta had not yet reached the point of snow with the whites of eggs, and Molly took them from her to finish herself.
“Now, Marta, put that little fringed napkin on the dish, and with a fork take up those biscuits.“
She watched her while she performed her task, dropping two or three on the floor, of course, but that did not ruffle Molly’s good temper, for she knew the girl could not have been accustomed to doing things daintily, that if she followed her instinct, it would no doubt be to tumble them all out pell-mell together.
“Now take those to the table, set them on the mat I showed you, and come back at once.“
The eggs were now ready, and as the omelette was to be the very last thing cooked, she poured the rest of the water on the coffee, told Marta to get the waiter ready, and then pour the boiling milk into the pitcher and set it on it.
“Now, Marta, take the chicken salad into the dining room, and at the same time take the melon from the icebox and bring it here as you come back.“
The coffee had now all dripped through; she took a cup and poured it full of coffee, and then poured it back to run through again,—then she directed Marta to cut the melon in half, remove the seeds, and lay the halves in a dish with a piece of ice in each half. Knowing Marta would not understand cracking ice, Molly had put some ready, when she had gone for the bowl and egg for mayonnaise.
“Now. Marta, I will run up stairs and get ready for lunch; while I am gone take the melon into the dining room and put it on the table at the side opposite the biscuit. Remember, at luncheon everything may go on the table at once. The butter is ready on a dish in the icebox; place that, and by that time, I will be down.”
Molly had worn a homespun walking-dress [google images], and it had been the custom of herself and friend, Mrs. Welles, to try and emulate the neatness of the teacher at the cooking-school they had attended, who dressed handsomely, wore no apron, and left her class spotless. They had attained to great neatness, but Molly found herself more comfortable in a large apron. She did net yet remove it, but put on a clean collar, arranged a stray curl, and washed her face and hands, then ran down to finish her omelette. She put the frying-pan back to a hot place, stirred the yolks of eggs with a good pinch of salt and a little pepper, and mixed them gently with the whites, and poured both into the pan, which she turned about that the mixture might run into every part; and when it was “set” underneath, she lifted one side, tilted the pan and allowed the uncooked custard to run into its place; this she kept on doing, always turning the cooked part toward the centre, until in three minutes it was a light custard-like mass; then, with a cake-turner, she folded one side over and slipped the doubled omelette on to a hot dish, where it lay, a delicate golden-brown mound.
“Now, Marta, take in the coffee and milk.“
She heard Harry coming down stairs, and looking at the clock saw it was three minutes past one.
“Going up to dress did that,” she thought, “but it is not so bad, yet I am sorry Marta has the bad example.”
Lunch is Served
“Odors of Araby the blest!” [spice trade reference from Paradise Lost ] quoted Harry, as Molly, divested of her apron, the omelette in hand, followed him into the dining room. “I smell coffee! – real aromatic coffee! “
He stood and surveyed the pretty lunch table, looked at the Delmonico-like salad, the Frenchy omelette, and then at Molly.
“Humph, is this all cooking-school, or is it part caterer, —if there is such a being in Greenfield?”
“It is part cooking-school, and a tiny bit Molly;” said the young wife. “No, indeed, I have no acquaintance with caterers.“
“This omelette should not palpitate its excellence away; shall I help you, dear?”
“No; I devote myself to salad” —then to Marta, who was waiting, uncertain what to do:
” Marta, go into the kitchen and wash up, in quite hot water, the soiled pans and dishes.”
“Molly, this omelette is perfect; you have put forth your strength, indeed; but. my dear little girl, I am not going to have you spend all your time in the kitchen.”
“I don’t mean to, but I can give a couple of hours each day, and it will do me good.“
“But this luncheon is quite elaborate. Oh, I’ve heard of chicken salad and its intricacy, before now.”
Molly smiled ; she had known it too. “I will take some of it if you please.“
“Ah, Molly, I believe it’s worth while to give up boarding and to live on cold meat, to have such coffee as this, and such biscuit! “
” I think it is, although I don’t intend to live on cold meat; I don’t like it.“
“But I suppose we must do a good deal of that, or eat quantities of hash, for we can’t afford to throw our cold meat away.“
“Ah, Harry, what would be the good of my devotion to cooking-schools if I couldn’t do better than that?”
“If you learned to make chicken salad there, I swear by them forever.“
“You ‘ll forswear your ridicule, I hope.”
“I will, indeed, if only for the sake of this salad; there’s a tang, a something about it, that outdoes my previous conception of the dish. Now, Molly, eliminate yourself from the cooking-schools, and tell me which was the tiny bit of Molly.”’
“Ah, Molly was the’ something’ in the salad —and also what made it a very easy instead of a difficult dish to prepare. You have eaten, before, salad made of boiled or roast chicken. I made this of canned chicken, which saves all trouble of preparing, and is besides of far better flavor, for the jelly and all the goodness is sealed up in the can, instead of escaping into the water. I don’t like boughten canned things, usually, but the chicken is a success.“
“The salad was, at any rate. Now I ‘m going to smoke; shall we survey our domain?”
“Yes, I’ll be out in one minute, when I have shown Marta how to clear away.“
Harry left the room and Marta answered the bell. “Now, Marta, bring your tray, set it on that table and put these things in it.“
Molly, as she spoke, smoothed over the salt-cellars with a spoon, then put them away ; also the napkins, while Marta removed the dishes, etc.
“Now, Marta, never take off the cloth to shake it, but do as you see me do now.“
Molly had taken a folded napkin, and brushed the crumbs lightly into the crumb-pan.
“At dinner do this after the meat is removed. Now take the cloth by this centre fold, lift it from the table, lay it back double, and then fold again in the old creases, till it is just as it left the laundress. At dinner you shall do it yourself under my direction.”
Molly then went out to join Harry in the little garden. She had her trunks to unpack, and contents to arrange in the bureau drawers, but she meant to devote half an hour to her husband, on this first day of their home life.
to be continued…
