Molly’s expense-book at the end of the first week of her second month (October) stood as follows:
| 3 lbs. butter | $0.75 |
| Eggs | .50 |
| Milk | .60 |
| Tea | .40 |
| Fuel | .50 |
| Suet | .08 |
| Soup meat | .20 |
| Beef (flank), 3 lbs | .36 |
| Beets | .05 |
| Bacon | .15 |
| Cream | .10 |
| Flounder | .15 |
| Beans | .04 |
| Fowl | .45 |
| Oysters | .40 |
| Mutton (leg) | .75 |
| Bananas | .25 |
| Codfish | .24 |
| Sweetbread | .25 |
| Corn starch | .02 |
| $6.34 |
In addition to the usual week’s supplies, she had bought extra:
| Eggs | $0.25 |
| Ice | .10 |
| Milk, 3 pints | .12 |
| $1.47 |
The groceries for the month came to $10.02, against $11.22 for last month. The week’s proportion was therefore $2.56, making a total of $9.32.
Molly had not been specially economizing this last week, and had had some little extra expenses. She was rejoiced to see that, even so, she had a margin. Of course, towards the end of October would come an increase in the price of butter and eggs. This she proposed to avoid to some extent by ordering at once a pail of fine October butter at twenty-five cents, which would last for cooking through the winter, even if it should not continue sweet enough for such fastidious butter-eaters as herself and Harry to use at table. Of eggs, too, she had ordered a gross from a farmer at twenty-five cents. This would give one dozen a week for cooking through the twelve weeks when they were dearest, and within this dozen for cooking she meant to keep; as soon as they should be dearer, she would make fewer things that required eggs, and avoid their use whenever she could do without them. And, so far as she could, she would supply herself with everything that would keep during winter and grow dearer as the months passed; but as the margin she now had reassured her against any little accidental expenses, she might safely reckon it would not grow less, unless she knowingly increased her expenditure for any purpose, and she would have always a little reserve to meet contingencies without touching anything outside the ten dollars a week.
On Monday of the second week in October, Mrs. Welles was to arrive. Molly did not lay herself out in great preparations for her, for she knew her friend would be happiest in being allowed to help her, and do exactly as if she were in her own home. She knew she could give her no greater pleasure than by so ordering her table as to be as different as possible from anything that money alone could buy; and simple, old-fashioned dishes, that no hotel would supply in perfection, she would have during her stay. She did want to arrange, however, so that she need not even think of luncheon for a day or two, and would have something in the house. Happily, in doing this, she could gratify Mrs. Welles’s English taste, for she would make one of the veal and ham pies so dear to English palates, so rarely to be found in perfection out of England. Molly had been taught by Mrs. Welles herself to make them.
On Saturday, Molly had ordered two pounds of breast of veal and a pound of very fine ham, cut thin; she would not need much of it, but the rest would be nice for breakfast. The breast of veal was cut up into pieces two inches long and about an inch wide, and put on in boiling water to simmer very gently one hour, the bones with it. The water being just enough to cover the meat, no salt was added, for the meat should retain its juices. When done, the meat was removed from the broth, the bones left in it, and all gristly parts and bones that could not easily be removed when raw cut from it and thrown back into the saucepan; the meat was then put aside, and a salt-spoonful of salt, a quarter one of pepper, and half a bay leaf, with a small pinch of thyme, one of savory, and two sprigs of parsley, were put to the broth and bones, and it was left to cook gently two hours longer; then it was allowed to reduce to half a pint by boiling faster with the cover off, then strained and put away. Molly, at the same time, made some rough puff paste (see recipe, Chapter VI.), and left it on the ice till Monday.
This morning, therefore, she had nothing to do but put the pie together, which she did in the following way:
The ham she cut in very thin strips, using about a quarter of a pound. These she poured cold water upon, and put where they would come slowly to the boiling-point. Had she had any cold boiled ham, she would have used it in preference; but she could remove any strong taste by this parboiling. While it was doing, she made forcemeat balls thus:
Half a cup of fine bread crumbs, a tea-spoonful of finely chopped parsley, the eighth of a tea-spoonful each of powdered thyme and marjoram, one squeeze of lemon juice; flavor with nutmeg by just rubbing it once across the grater, a suspicion of lemon peel, a scant salt-spoonful of salt, a quarter one of pepper. Chop into this a good table-spoonful of butter (or finely chopped suet, she would sometimes have used); the whole made into a stiff paste, with an egg well beaten with a table-spoonful of water. It did not take all the egg; about a table-spoonful was left, which Molly reserved to glaze the pie. In making the forcemeat into paste, she was careful to handle lightly, not to squeeze or knead it, and when it was well mixed she sprinkled flour on her hands, took a tea-spoonful of forcemeat, and made it into a ball. She used the remainder in the same way.
Then she took a deep oval dish, and put at the bottom a layer of the ham, then one of veal, and four forcemeat balls (one at each corner), a little salt and pepper, and a few more bits of ham, another layer of veal, and half a dozen forcemeat balls. The dish was now full. She piled more meat and a little ham towards the centre till it was dome-shaped, and then filled every crevice with the strong jelly formed from the meat and bones.
Now she rolled out the paste, and cut a long strip the third of an inch thick and an inch wide. She wetted the lip of the dish, laid the paste round, and pressed it close on the inner side, so that the gravy could not boil up under it. Then she moistened the upper surface, laid the sheet of paste over the pie, and with both hands gently pressed the paste into the groove formed between the dome shape of the meat and the dish; then, with a sharp knife, she cut off the overlapping paste, so as not to drag it in the least; and then, with the back of her forefinger, laid on the top of the border, pressed the upper and under paste gently, but closely, together, but was very careful to leave the edges untouched.
She cut a hole in the centre to let out steam, rolled a piece of paste very thin, cut from it four diamonds two inches long from point to point, laid the four, with the points to the centre, round the hole; and, rolling another bit of paste as thin as paper, dusted it with flour, folded it up several times, then turned the four corners of the little many-folded square to form a little ball as large as an olive, and cut a cross deeply, and with a sharp knife, across the top; then turned back the corners as if she were opening a pond-lily bud; and there was a rough imitation of a flower. This she inserted in the hole in the pie, which it was large enough to cover, without closing up too much for the steam to get out. With a feather she now brushed the pie over with the yolk of an egg, not leaving a spot untouched, except the edge, which was not glazed. Molly explained to Marta, who asked the reason for the omission as she passed on her way to the boiler, for she was washing.
“If I washed the edges with egg, the paste could not rise so well; for the leaves would be glued together, as it were. This is the rule in all use of pastry: Leave the edges quite untouched; do not even smooth them with your finger. Smoothing them and pressing them with your thumb, which I have told you not to do, is the reason why your pies, even if I make the paste, are never as handsome as mine. You smooth the life out of the paste and squeeze all the air from between the leaves which one is at such trouble to make; and it is the air that causes the flakes.”
Molly put the pie in the oven, which was about the right heat for bread,—that is to say, she could count twenty-five while her hand was held in it. In an hour, it was pale brown all over. It was taken out of the oven, and left a few minutes on the table till the contents had ceased to boil; and then what remained of the jelly was warmed, the pastry “rose” was lifted gently from the centre, a funnel inserted in the hole, and the jelly, warmed, was poured carefully through it into the pie. Molly watched, while pouring slowly, that the last disappeared before adding more, for fear the pie might overflow; then the “rose” was replaced.
This pie is good hot, but in England is always eaten cold, and cold she knew Mrs. Welles would prefer it. The great thing to be desired in these cold pies is plenty of savory jelly in between the meat, and very light crust.
While the pie was baking, Molly had set the pastry back on the ice, while she made the filling for some cheese cakes.
Properly they should be made of sweet curd, dried and crumbled, hence the name. But Molly had eaten excellent ones in which ground rice, boiled to thick mush, was the foundation; others in which bread crumbs were substituted, the object being to get a body of some plain material other than flour, with which the rich ones could be incorporated; but her own favorite way was to use rolled cracker. She put two heaped table-spoonfuls in a bowl, and three table-spoonfuls of sugar. She beat two table-spoonfuls of butter, from which the salt had been washed, till it creamed, added the yolks of two eggs, and the juice of half a lemon, and the peel of one, grated. Then she blanched and chopped fine as possible two table-spoonfuls of almonds, and added to them a few drops of bitter almond; then all were put together, and a large table-spoonful of wine was added.
Molly tasted to see if the bitter almond was pleasantly perceptible, and then rolled out the paste and lined patty-pans with it, taking care to press only the centre to make it adhere, not the edges; then a large tea-spoonful was put into each (the patty-pans were small), and they were put in the oven and baked a beautiful pale brown. They needed watching closely, as the filling would easily burn.
The dinner was to be a homely English one, which would not necessitate her being in the kitchen at all after her friend arrived, as it would consist of:—
The soup, for which the stock was made on Saturday, could be left to Marta; also the vegetables. The pudding required three hours’ constant boiling, and therefore could be made and be cooking before Charlotte arrived. The trifle, also, could be ready.
She had bought in the morning half a dozen small sponge cakes and a dozen macaroons. She now made some very thick custard with the yolks of two eggs, a small tea-spoonful of corn starch and half a pint of milk, and sugar to taste.
The milk was put on to boil, the corn starch mixed with a very little of it, cold, and stirred into the hot milk. Both were boiled together five minutes; then it was allowed to cool very little, and the beaten yolks and sugar added. The object of boiling the corn starch is to cook it, as, after the eggs are in, the custard must not boil, but only be kept at boiling-point till they thicken. (See directions for boiling custard, Chapter XXIX.)
When the custard was made, it was flavored with almond, set to cool, and Molly laid the sponge cakes in a glass dish, about two inches deep. She poured a glass of wine over them, moistening them thoroughly, and sprinkled them with sugar thickly. Over this she spread a layer of raspberry jam half an inch thick; then the macaroons were laid over it. Then she poured the cold custard on it. While it had been getting cold, she whipped half a pint of cream, sweetened and flavored with vanilla. This was now piled high over the custard, and it was put in the ice-box to get very cold. At the last it was to be decorated with little knobs of red currant jelly and blanched almonds cut in strips.
Now there was the pudding to make. She was getting all done early, because she was going to meet Mrs. Welles; but the pudding would not be injured by standing half an hour before it went into the water, which it should do at three o’clock.
She had a pound and a half of very fine, juicy round steak. This she cut into pieces an inch or so square, rejecting all gristle and skin, but using a very little of the fat. This meat she seasoned highly with pepper and salt, stirring it up among the pieces. Then she made a suet crust (see recipe, Chapter XIII.) and greased very well a quart bowl. When the crust was rolled to an even half inch thick, she laid the sheet in the bowl, pressing it gently all round. Into this she put the meat, and, when the bowl was full, poured in a half cup of water; then she gathered up the overlapping paste, and pinched it together to form a cover, leaving no cracks through which the gravy could get out. A floured cloth was now put over the pudding, and a string passed twice round the flaring parts and tied securely. The four ends of the cloth were brought over the top and tied. The pudding could be lifted by these knotted ends as if it were a basket or bundle.
Marta had now done washing and cleared up, and was able to attend to Molly’s directions.
“Marta, I shall see this pudding in the pot before I go to the train, and watch it come to the boiling-point quickly again; but you must remember it must never cease boiling, or it will be heavy. When you go to take it up, remove the cloth and string; then run a thin knife round close to the bowl, and turn it out gently on a hot dish, trying not to break the pudding in doing so.”
Molly had the water on in a pot, that it might be ready boiling by three; and, although she had warned Marta to keep it boiling, she did not mean to trust entirely to her for it, but would come herself to look at it every half hour or so.
Early in the morning the eggs had come, and Molly had waiting ready a keg half filled with lime-water, made by dissolving one pound of quicklime in a gallon of water, allowed to stand all day and then poured clear from the sediment. The sediment was rather more than the mere sprinkling it should have been, and she feared it might be too strong, and added more water and again let it settle, when it nearly all dissolved; the rule being to put in as much lime as will just dissolve, leaving only sediment enough to show that this point is reached. She then very carefully put in the eggs, washing every soiled one, and warned Marta never to stir them, and, when taking them out, to be very careful, as one broken or cracked would spoil the whole; if this occurs, fresh lime-water must be used.