When Molly had cut the steak into finger-lengths, she floured the pieces lightly, and put an iron saucepan that held about three quarts on the stove, and, when it was hot, dropped in the fat of the steak, then the meat, and left them to fry at the bottom of the saucepan.
“I should think that would burn,” said Mrs. Lennox.
“No, because the meat fat is there; but it has to brown very quickly, or the meat will be hard; that is why I let the saucepan get so hot. Now I want a carrot, an onion, and a turnip—all of medium size.”
“I have only small onions.”
“Two of those, then.”
Molly washed and then began to peel them—the turnip thick, the carrot very thin.
“What can I do?” asked Mrs. Lennox.
“You can chop that suet very fine, taking away all skin and veins.”
Molly cut the vegetables into slices a quarter of an inch thick, made piles of half a dozen slices of carrot, then cut across them at even distances; it was more quickly done than the usual hit or miss way, and they looked far better; the turnip she did the same, and then she stirred the meat round, which was sending a savory odor through the house. The peeled onion she dropped into water, and then, with hands still in the water, cut it across at equal distances all the way through, then across again.
“What are you doing that in water for?”
“It prevents the odor clinging so much to the hands, and also mitigates its power to make me weep.” As she spoke she took all the vegetables to the saucepan, dropped them in and stirred them quickly round, then poured two kitchen cups of boiling water on the whole, and seasoned it with a tea-spoonful of salt and a quarter one of pepper.
“I want to watch that come to the boil, and then put it where it will just simmer.”
She had covered the saucepan close, and then turned to Mrs. Lennox. The suet in her unaccustomed hands was still far from being chopped fine, and the warmth of the kitchen had made it clog together. Molly said, “If suet gets soft while being chopped, shake a little flour into it, also flour the chopping-knife. When chopping it in winter for mincemeat, I let it get well frozen.” She chopped vigorously as she spoke, and it was soon so fine as to look like tapioca. She then turned to the saucepan, which had reached the boiling-point, and drew it aside, carefully changing the position until it just simmered. She then pointed out to Mrs. Lennox the little sizzling round the edge of the saucepan, barely perceptible, and told her that it should cook no faster.
“But that doesn’t appear to be cooking at all.”
“Oh, yes! and meat stewed so will always be tender. If you like we can go to the sewing now, as it is too soon to make the crust.”
She went upstairs and sewed till five o’clock, chatting the while, Mrs. Lennox expatiating on the privations of the whole family; and Molly could well understand how it came about, with a poor, weary mother sewing strenuously to make the children look well, and understanding so little of domestic economy that she did not see that, by a different mode of living, she would save enough in the month either to buy new clothes or to lessen her own incessant labor by getting help. Nor could Molly at this time make any suggestion.
At five o’clock Molly took a cup of the suet, and a scant two cups of flour, with a level tea-spoonful of salt, tossed all together in a bowl, then made a hole in the centre, and poured in half a cup of cold water, quickly and lightly made it into a dough with a knife, adding a few drops of water to bind the crumbs; there was no pressure, no attempt at kneading, and the dough was soft, but not sticky; then she turned it on the floured pastry-board, and rolled it quickly; it formed a fairly good round shape, an inch thick, and somewhat larger than the top of the saucepan. She laid it on the top of the meat and vegetables, after tasting the gravy to see if it was seasoned enough.
“You see it forms a sort of lid to the stew, which must now be put forward, as the cold crust has cooled it, till it boils again, or the crust will be heavy.” She placed it in the hottest spot as she spoke.
“But do you mean to say that crust will be light without baking powder?”
“Yes, quite light; if it is made quickly, rolled only once—just as you would biscuit dough, only not so soft—brought quickly to the boiling-point when in the saucepan, and then kept gently simmering an hour, not allowed to soak in the gravy without cooking. But if you choose you can add baking-powder; it makes a much more crumbly crust. Made as I have made it, it is considered very wholesome and nourishing, as beef fat and wheaten flour are two of the best kinds of food; lard and flour and baking-powder are by no means so wholesome a combination. When dishing it, cut the top crust pie-fashion, and lay it round the meat.”
“Well, ‘the proof of the pudding is in the eating,’ and if it is fairly good I shall be so glad to have some dish that is a change from our routine, and it is, after all, easy enough,” said Mrs. Lennox, washing potatoes for the oven.
“Oh, quite! It only needs strict attention to the little points, the slow simmering and the seasoning; the browning at first is not necessary, although it is better looking and better flavored by taking that little trouble.”
“Ah, my dear, it is the little trouble, that seems nothing to you, that makes so much difference to a busy woman like me.”
“If you like this dish, I have several others that I think you may find both very cheap and very nice, and I shall be very glad at any time to come over and give you a helping hand in the kitchen. And, by and bye, this suet crust is the foundation for several good puddings,—rolled out and spread with jam, and boiled one hour and a half as a roly-poly, it is excellent; with a cup of currants added, before wetting the flour and suet, it makes the ‘spotted Dick’ dear to English children; or, in place of currants, the juice of a lemon and the grated rind of two, with half a cup of sugar, makes a nice plain lemon pudding, but long, steady boiling is absolutely necessary to lightness. Excuse my telling you all this, but you know I am so fond of cooking, I can’t help it.”
“I am much obliged. I like to hear all about it, even if I can’t make the things.”
“Now about that leg of mutton: I propose you roast the loin end to-morrow, and there will be a little left cold, which you will not use on Monday, but cook the other half—have it boiled, with caper sauce, or roasted.”
“I will boil it, for that is a dish we all like; only what to do with cold boiled mutton I don’t know; that is why, though we like it, we never have it.”
“Tuesday, you will have the remains of the Sunday roast and the remains of Monday’s boiled mutton, and I will run in and show you how to make a nice dish of them; but be sure to boil the half leg in only just enough water, and very slowly, and keep the broth; if you boil a turnip and onion with it, it will be all the better for broth and meat.”
“Thank you; that sounds like a great improvement on hot meat Sunday and cold Monday and Tuesday. What about that kidney? I haven’t an idea how to cook it.”
“Soak it in salt and water an hour; cut it in pieces half an inch thick, leaving out the core; flour them; put them in a saucepan with half a table-spoonful of butter and a thin slice of onion, unless it is disliked; let them fry five minutes, then add half a tea-cup of boiling water, and stand the saucepan where it will just simmer ten minutes—if you leave it longer the kidney will be hard. I like to have it served on toast, but that is optional; only be sure it is served as soon as cooked, and with quite hot plates.”
“Thank you ever so much. Mr. Lennox will enjoy his breakfast, I’ve no doubt.”
“I hope you will, too,” said Molly.
“I dare say I shall, thanks to you.”
Molly hurried home, for she had her own dinner to attend to; and to-night she was going to look over her accounts and convince Harry that “Ten Dollars” is “Enough” to pay all the weekly expenses they would be likely to incur.