Oxford Democrat

Original Designs in Cookery.
(By Mrs. E. B. Gittings.)

There is a certain friend of mine whose invitations to "take pot-luck" with her are always eagerly accepted. Common decency often impels me to restrain too open manifestations of joy at these invitations, lest she suspect that my own cuisine is so deficient as to cause my ready acceptance of her hospitality.

Why do I so especially enjoy her table? Not because she is an unusually expert cook, for I have many friends quite her equal in this line, but the charm lies in the novelty of the viands that furnish her unpretentious meal. There is generally something just a little "different."

Her always savory salads have some unusual ingredient. Her sandwiches have a flavor that might be described by Dean Swift's famous line on the onion in salad, "and half suspected, animates the whole." As for her puddings, their name is legion and scarcely two are alike, and her soups would make a chapter of their own. Ask her for a recipe for some particularly toothsome dish and she will probably reply:

"I'm afraid I can't tell you exactly, I just worked over what I happened to have in the house."

Pressed for details, she will sometimes enlighten you as to what she "happened to have in the house." For example, some delicious pastry, cinnamon rolls at luncheon one day elicited the following:

"These rolls? O, they are a modification of those 'mother used to make.' I can remember watching her do them. There would be a little left-over pie crust,—we didn't call it pastry' then,—which she would roll thin and cut into little squares, sprinkle liberally with cinnamon and sugar and roll up, carefully pinching together the ends, and bake them a delicate brown. When I came to make them for myself, having lost my growing girl appetite, I suppose I was a bit critical, and thought them too dry to be real good. Yesterday when making squash pies there was some crust left over, and also a tiny bit of filling. Suddenly I thought, 'Cinnamon rolls with a little of this squash custard on each to keep them moist,' and here you have them. Nothing like 'original designs' in cookery."

So here was the secret. A few fundamental principles, embodying harmonious combinations of foodstuffs and flavors, a good deal of mother wit to discover new possibilities, and not only were the family appetites whetted with that keenest of appetizers, variety, but many a dime was saved by this careful use of "left-overs."

Asked about her plum puddings, she answered:

"You know most anything can go into plum pudding. This particular one? Let me see. First a spoonful of cooked breakfast food left this morning, then a piece of corn bread from yesterday's dinner, a little bit of canned raspberries, too small to put on the table again, half a cup of the browned-and-ground bread crumbs, which I always keep on hand, yolks of two eggs, left-from cake frosting, a remnant of boiled custard in place of milk; then, of course, raisins, citron, spice and sugar—O yes, a spoonful of mapleine and some ground chocolate to darken it—I believe that's all. Is it good?"

"Good! It's a delicious revelation of skill and economy."

"There's almost no limit to the things that can go into plum pudding or mince meat, if you just remember the simple formula of 'sugar and spice and everything nice,' and that the pudding must have something for body and for a 'binder.' That is what the breakfast food, bread crumbs and egg furnish. Lacking egg, cornstarch or flour will answer."

Speaking of the rolled bread crumbs, they, too, have almost limitless possibilities. For a quick, plain pudding try a cup of crumbs, a cup of milk, raisins, sugar and spice; cook in double boiler and serve with any good sauce or cream. I forgot to say that a teaspoonful of baking powder will keep your pudding from being heavy or 'pasty.'"

As I went home with the subtle flavor of that pudding lingering in my memory, I thought: If more house mothers made this careful study of the everyday meal with the double thought of economy and toothsomeness in mind, what a marked stretching of family income would ensue, and how much less of that expensive and tiresome "tin-can and paper-sack" meal getting would be in vogue. Why not give, at least, as much thought to "original designs" in cookery as in planning our wardrobes or fancy work?—With soups, salads, puddings

provided—not to mention the time honored "hash," it must be a very stubborn left-over, indeed, that could escape to the garbage can or the chicken feed: and as for cats and dogs, under this regime, they become a luxury to be paid for in hard cash.