Egg Yourself on in Emergencies
Our favorite overnight tourist camp in New England has a sign in the dining room that bears the mystic message “Eggs Anyways,” but it was Mary MacHugh, bless her Scotch heart, who really taught me that first principle of the emergency shelf. By then the two children were grown up, I had acquired a job, and Mary took us and what my conservative brother-in-law called our “country club”—with reason, I am afraid—under her wing for two blissful years. Then “Me laigs is givin’ out, mum,”—small wonder, too, and “as good cooks go, she went.”
Wherever Mary is now, my thankful prayers followed her, when during the war, my husband was a ship-building inspector for the Navy. He left early each morning for a shipyard and we had no phone. At least once a week a station wagon in all its glory of battleship-gray paint drove down our farm lane well before our regular lunchtime and disgorged at the door not only the expected man of the house but two or three nice—and hungry—young ensigns, and frequently the captain who was chief officer of the naval district, a charming man and the acknowledged gourmet of Annapolis. Then it was that my thoughts went back to Mary and the peaceful day long before when arriving home once after lunch, I saw from the wreckage on the dining-room table that not only my college son but others had partaken of what, I supposed, had been a sparse menu.
“Eight boys there was, mum, and all hungry from that rowin’. Don’t you worry. I just give the lot of ’em aigs. Aigs is always handy in a house where there’s boys.” And that last sentence, with “boys” supplanted by “unexpected guests,” should be emblazoned on every refrigerator, painted on every kitchen wall, and learned by heart by every potential hostess.
Hard-boiled eggs are perhaps the best helpers-out, and if you have frequent unexpected guests it isn’t a bad idea to keep a half-dozen or so ready in the icebox. They can be stretchers for almost any creamed dish, such as chicken, dried beef, or plain hash, and can hardly be bettered by themselves, sliced in a curry (page 173) or in a well-seasoned white sauce (page 94), topped with the green of chopped chives or parsley. The family salad looks a little gayer, and goes further, with two or three put through the potato ricer and sprinkled on top.
STUFFED EGGS will make any dish of cold meat or salad appear more lavish. Cut hard-cooked eggs in half, mash the yolks well, and season highly with a bit of scraped onion, dry mustard, a small dash of Worcestershire sauce and plenty of tart vinegar with salt and black pepper. Heap this mixture into the empty whites, dust the tops with a bit of paprika, and there you are.
EGGS CHIMAY, delicious but no emergency dish, belong here only as a guide. Plain stuffed eggs (above) make a very fine hurried foundation, and the mushrooms can be replaced by deviled ham or caviar. Wash, but do not peel, ¼ pound mushrooms and grind or chop them finely. Sauté them 5 minutes over a medium heat in 2 tablespoons butter with 1 tablespoon each of chopped chives and parsley. Add salt and pepper to taste. Halve 6 hard-boiled eggs lengthwise and mash the yolks well. Add the mushroom mixture, taste for seasoning, and heap it in the halved whites. Place yolk side up on a greased shallow baking dish. Cover with white sauce (page 94) and dust with 2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese, 2 teaspoons bread crumbs, and a few bits of butter. Bake in a 400° oven for 15 minutes.
An OMELET is one of the more perfect luncheon dishes whether you are facing an emergency or not. My grandmother always maintained “Only a lady could make one,” but while I know I’ve come far from her definition of gentility, her old recipe of 2 eggs, ½ egg shell of milk or cream, a shake of salt, pepper, and flour, per person, still works. Beat the yolks slightly, add milk, flour and seasonings, then add the slightly beaten whites, and mix well.
Have an iron skillet hot and the bottom covered with a good layer of melted butter, and turn the pan so that it runs well up on the sides. Put in the omelet and as soon as it starts to set move to a low heat. Keep lifting the cooked part gently with a knife to let the raw egg run under, and just before it’s done put it in a medium oven for a few minutes. The top should be just solid. Rolling the finished product is a knack that unfortunately comes easily only with practice, but try grasping the pan in your left hand, standing it almost upright on the hot serving dish, and giving the top part of the omelet a start with a spatula or cake turner. The result should be almost professional.
The famous French OMELETTE AU FINES HERBES is just the same recipe, with a tablespoon or so of finely minced chives or green onion tops and parsley, and perhaps a few leaves of tarragon and a tiny pinch of thyme, mixed in the eggs, and I hope I don’t have to tell you that a SPANISH OMELET has stewed tomatoes—leftover or fresh—mixed with chopped onions and some sliced stuffed green olives oozing from its folds. Chopped green peppers can go in this, too. A can of green asparagus tips, or string beans, are good heated and rolled in either the plain or fines herbes model, and try a small cupful of leftover chicken, ham, or both, put through the coarse grinder or just chopped finely and mixed with plenty of white sauce (page 94), as a filling. For a very de luxe version, fold in red or black caviar, top the finished product with sour cream, and herald OMELET ROMANOFF.
And JELLY OMELET for a quick dessert! Make a plain omelet (above) but go easy on the salt and no pepper. Break up a glassful of tart currant or grape jelly with a fork, use it as a filling, dust the top plentifully with granulated sugar, and slide the whole dish for a minute into a hot oven to start the jelly melting. If you wish, pour a few teaspoons of rum or brandy over the top and bring it to the table flaming. Peach or apricot jam is good in this, too.
If you like FLUFFY OMELETS, and a few eggs do go a long distance cooked that way, allow only 1, or perhaps 1½ eggs per person. Beat the whites, with a pinch of salt, till dry and ready to stand in peaks, then pour your beaten yolks over them, and fold over and over carefully. Then into a buttered skillet, and after the bottom just sets, put it into a hot oven for about fifteen minutes. The best trimming for this is brown, crisp bacon, and it must be served at once. As a matter of fact no omelet likes to be kept waiting too long.
CHEESE SOUFFLÉ. Melt 1½ cups of grated sharp cheese in 2 cups of white sauce. Add ½ teaspoon of salt and a few grains of cayenne. Let cool and beat into 4 egg yolks. This part may be made ahead. When ready to cook fold in 4 stiffly beaten egg whites and pour into a greased baking dish. Set in a shallow pan of water and bake at 350° or 325° for 1 hour. 2 tablespoons of cooked chopped bacon are good in this.
POACHED EGGS are not only invalid food, as so many people seem to think, but a fine luncheon dish, too. Have the water for them boiling and deep enough to cover, with an inch or so to spare. Add a tablespoon of vinegar and the same of salt to each quart, slide the shelled eggs carefully in, cover, and keep the heat very low for 5 minutes. Dropping a few “poaches” on the kitchen floor, with vain cursing of the usual flat egg turner, led to the discovery that the best instrument for removing them from their hot bath is a large slotted mixing spoon. Have all your trimmings for the eggs ready before you start poaching. Serve the eggs on toast with one of the ready-canned tomato sauces and a few pieces of bacon or frizzled ham. Leftover spinach can be used under them, too, and a white sauce (page 94) laced with plenty of snappy cheese is good on top, or you can just let the cheese melt in the oven on the toast and put the egg and tomato sauce on top of that. For a more elaborate dish, try a thick slice of broiled tomato on a toasted half of an English muffin, top it with a poached egg and the cheese sauce with bacon again as a garnish.
I hope I don’t have to remind you of the old reliable EGGS BENEDICT—a toasted English muffin plus a slice of Virginia ham topped with a poached egg and hollandaise sauce (page 97) over all. I was first introduced to this at Philadelphia’s famous old L’Aiglon Restaurant and while I long ago mastered its uncomplicated recipe it still remains, in my opinion, a most glamorous dish.
Talking of VIRGINIA HAM—there is the perfect emergency ration. Really expensive to start with, I grant you, but such an article as to lean your back against. My last one cost $6, fed eight people at a buffet supper, and remained a comfort in the icebox for snacks, salads, sandwiches and “ekeings” for almost three months longer. Get one between 10 and 15 pounds. The larger ones are likely to have too much fat and be too difficult to handle, although they can be cut in half, while a smaller weight generally has too much bone to be really economical. To prepare one, take it out of its cotton bag and paper wrapping, if it comes that way, and with your stiffest vegetable brush scrub the whole thing thoroughly in a dishpan or sink full of water. If it seems particularly old and mouldy—a good sign—repeat the process with fresh water. Now fill up whatever pot you are going to boil it in and if you have no regular ham boiler don’t despair—an old wash boiler, or a canner, or a big pressure cooker will do. Soak your treasure at least 12 hours, or, if you have an antique, 24 hours with a change of water once is better. I’ve never been able to see any difference in whether the skin of the ham was up or down, although experts say “up.” After soaking, refill the big cooking pot, and if you’re using a pressure cooker leave the lid ajar, put in the ham, see that it’s well covered with water, and bring it to a low boil over a slow fire. Let it just simmer about 30 minutes to the pound and keep the water well up. When it’s done, a fork goes in easily and the end bone feels a little loose. Let it cool in the water it was cooked in, and then lift it tenderly out and carefully peel off the skin. Put it fat side up in a baking pan and score the fat into inch squares. Mix 1 cup brown sugar with 2 tablespoons of English mustard, and cover the ham with it. Get it well into the scored cuts. Now insert a whole clove into each square and slide the ham into a 350° oven for about 30 minutes, basting it from time to time gently with a little of the water in which it was boiled, or cider or sherry. When it’s brown and glazed let it get cool before its trip to the icebox for a thorough chill. Then approach it respectfully with your sharpest carver and watch the delicate pink slivers fall from the knife.
Any country-smoked ham appreciates the same treatment, and don’t forget that the place to keep your uncooked smoked ham is in the cellar, not the refrigerator.
The second inexpensive assistant to have in your icebox for quick meals is cold boiled potatoes, dull as it sounds, but their variations are almost as endless as those of eggs. Hashed Browns are my first thought, probably because I spent most of my young summer days on the New Jersey coast and a plate of crusty potatoes, soft inside and turned omelet-fashion from the sizzling pan always brings back memories of numerous fishing picnics and I can almost smell the driftwood smoke and see the sun setting over the water. The party generally consisted of three or four young sportsmen and the fortunate (so we thought) girls of their choice, and we started early and eagerly planning and providing food for our Izaak Waltons. First, we’d have two stuffed eggs apiece, made as I have told you, each half carefully clapped onto its mate and the whole wrapped in wax paper. Then a quart jar or so of whole peeled ripe tomatoes and a smaller one of sharp French dressing, thick with slices of onion and chopped celery, and perhaps a washed, chilly head of lettuce, well wrapped. One of the embryo housewives would produce a cake or a pie, for in those days girls thought their swains were impressed by their culinary skill, and with a great paper bag of cold boiled white potatoes and a pound or two of sliced bacon we were ready to go, accompanied by rattling frying pans, plates, cups, cutlery and a coffee pot. A trip by canoe or sailboat to the beach, and the boys busied themselves building a fire and then vanished with their fishing rods while we got ready for their return in what we felt was a truly domestic fashion. Coffee and water were measured into the big pot and set aside. The tomatoes and dressing were put in a shady, cool place, bread was sliced and buttered, and all hands began peeling and dicing the potatoes. At dusk, just before we expected our fishermen back, we started all the bacon frying and then put the brown slices to drain on a bit of paper. Some of the grease was saved for the fish that seemingly never failed to appear with the boys and into about ½ inch of the grease that was left went the diced potatoes and a few pieces of chopped onion and lots of salt and pepper. The whole mass was well pressed down into the hot pan and then moved to a “medium” corner of the fire, there to remain for about half an hour. When the fishing had been unusually good and we needed no extra meat, the bacon was broken up in the potatoes just before we served them, otherwise it went in between our buttered slices of bread. How good the ice-cold tomatoes with their spicy dressing tasted with the broiled fresh fish we basted with the bacon drippings, and how we argued over who should get the last crumb of brown potato before the pan was taken to the edge of the beach for its scrub with sand and sea water! Then big cups of strong black coffee and huge pieces of cake or pie and, while the sun set, someone stirred up the fire and a young voice started “Be My Little Baby Bumble Bee” or maybe a newer song like “By the Beautiful Sea.” Is it any wonder I like HASHED BROWN POTATOES. But even without my memories, try them made just the same way on a prosaic stove. Let the boiled potatoes be cold and dry and have the bacon grease and skillet hot. For home consumption a few chopped onion tops or chives are better than the lustier sliced onion, and a dusting of chopped parsley makes them more delicate. The finished product, with some of our faithful poached eggs resting on top and the bacon curled about the edge, is a one-dish luncheon that any man, particularly, will relish. Sliced tomatoes in sharp dressing just like that made at the picnic, hot coffee, gingerbread from a good package mix, topped with marshmallows when it’s half baked, fruit—and how long has it taken you? Not more than half an hour, including setting the table.
But you’re not half through with those cold boiled potatoes when you’ve hashed browned them; no, indeed. Cut them into thick slices and make COUNTRY FRIES in a little bacon or chicken fat, with chopped parsley and salt just before you serve them.
For POTATOES AU GRATIN dice them, mix with about ¼ their amount of grated cheese, put them into a well-buttered casserole, cover with white sauce, dot with butter and crumbs, and bake for 20 minutes at 375°; or just heat them in the sauce with or without the cheese in the double boiler—that’s a little quicker. For MACARONI AU GRATIN follow above.
Don’t forget the recipe for potato salad (page 103) and if you have no mayonnaise or boiled dressing and no time to make it, lots of people like French dressing just as well on this dish, and any gourmet would prefer it to the bottled axle grease that masquerades as salad dressing on most grocery shelves. I have made this last taste almost homemade by the addition of vinegar, lemon juice, celery salt, cayenne, and a little mustard, but it’s a thankless effort and takes almost as much time as whipping up a good dressing yourself.
An aspic jelly mix will produce TOMATO JELLY in little more that half an hour if you put it in individual moulds and in the coldest part of your icebox. Heat half the amount of tomato juice called for on the package to boiling, and dissolve the flavored gelatine thoroughly in it. Add the cool half of the juice, stir it well, then into the moulds and away to the freezer. One of the ever-handy hard-boiled eggs halved and put in the mould, cut side down, before the jelly goes in, makes this dressier, and if your pantry runs to a can of artichoke hearts, one of these is even better in the jelly, with half a stuffed egg—aren’t they wonderful—on the side at serving time. A can of anchovies rolled or in long pieces won’t set you back much and they are fine in salad or as a garnish on the aforementioned eggs in any style.
For a quick vegetable on the day when no cold boiled potatoes grace your icebox, try boiled BROAD NOODLES heaped in a dish with a generous dab of butter and a grating of cheese and bread crumbs on top. If neither the noodles nor the cooked potatoes are about don’t be worried but cut up two or three cups of raw potatoes into small dice, dust them with flour, 1 tablespoon for each cup, add a few dabs of butter, put them in a shallow pan (the good old skillet again), cover them with top milk, and simmer carefully for 10 minutes. Then salt and pepper, and the ever useful chopped chives or parsley if handy, and TOP-OF-THE-STOVE SCALLOPED POTATOES is what you have.
Dinner, I admit, is harder to “emerge” than the simpler lunch, and if you have frequent unexpected guests for that meal the least nerve-wracking system is to have one or two menus that can be prepared with the help of the cans on your pantry shelves. A friend of mine calls creamed dried beef—the meat from a jar and evaporated milk in the sauce—waffles made with a biscuit mix, canned whole baby string beans, a salad, and hot gingerbread from a package, a “number one dinner,” and a very good and filling one it is. A couple of jars of chicken à la king, touched up with sherry, would give a more elaborate air than the dried beef, but would likewise cost more. One of the canned luncheon meats like “Spam,” left whole and glazed with the Virginia ham mix (page 157) of brown sugar and mustard, stuck with cloves and heated for 15 minutes, is another idea to keep in the back of your mind. Serve the sweet sour sauce (page 97) and canned mashed sweet potatoes in a casserole with this. Beat them up with a little butter and a few drops of sherry, season them well, and dot the tops with a few canned walnut halves before they go into the oven. Have canned tomatoes cooked down with a scraping of onion to go along.
The advent of the home freezer and the new refrigerators with a compartment for frozen foods is a real boon to the hostess with frequent unexpected guests, and we are just beginning to realize their potentialities. A frozen broiler or two, a package of corn, another of little green lima beans, the ever-present potatoes, creamed with parsley or fried, and for dessert a quart of ice cream right out of its hiding place on the cold shelf, with a sauce of strawberries from the same spot—a perfect menu and it’s tucked away in an unbelievably small space.
A good first course for dinner or lunch in an emergency or otherwise is ANTIPASTO as the Italians serve it. It’s a grand way to use up small amounts of leftover cooked vegetables, too. For each helping put a few leaves of lettuce on one of your prettiest salad plates, then a slice of tomato, half a hard-cooked egg (there I go again), cooked carrots, or a sliver or two of raw. The same goes for cauliflower, a stalk of celery, an anchovy or two or a sardine or a piece of tuna or salmon, a slice of bologna, ham or salami, spring onions, endive, any or all of these can go on the green. Pass the wine vinegar and a cruet of olive oil. It’s not only delicious but lends a fillip to a dull meal that may have to follow after.
A young married couple I know take one night a week to “finish the refrigerator” and sit happily at the table surrounded by small dishes that look for all the world like the service in an old-time country hotel. That’s not a bad way to get rid of leftovers, but antipasto seems much more subtle. The best way of all is to line up the remains of the last few meals and put your brains to work. One of our favorite dishes came from just such an effort and started with half of a cooked breaded veal cutlet, a few slices of fried eggplant, a saucer of string beans and a big dish of stewed tomatoes, all found in the icebox. I cut the veal and eggplant into narrow strips, put them in a casserole on top of a cupful of sliced onions previously softened in a little hot butter, poured the stewed tomatoes over all and baked it covered in a 375° oven for 45 minutes. Big potatoes went into the oven at the same time, and just before the casserole came out, the string beans were put in a circle on top of the meat and tomatoes. The result was so good that it was christened Veal à la Mama and is now a standard meal with us. It is just as delicious with leftover fried chicken, and cooked peas or asparagus tips are as good ingredients as the original string beans. You’ll find the whole recipe on page 55.
Even my imagination was temporarily strained when six unexpected supper guests arrived at our house late one Sunday afternoon. Our own supper for two was to follow a heavy family midday dinner, and I hadn’t given it much thought beyond being certain that there was enough cheese for a couple of sandwiches, a remnant of beefsteak, and half a cake about somewhere. All I could find to add to this was a head of lettuce, one big (fortunately) grapefruit, two oranges, half a lemon, a quart of milk and our six breakfast eggs. A frantic search brought to light one box of sardines tucked away on a shelf with my homemade pickles and jelly.
I often wonder why one of the numerous women’s magazines does not run a cook’s emergency contest to see just what can be produced with a minimum of material. Let’s have our own contest now; so before you read further think for a minute what you would serve eight people with only those materials available. Allow yourself staples such as flour and coffee, and go to it.
Here’s the meal I finally evolved. A platter at one end of the table was lined with the outside leaves of the lettuce and half filled with wafer thin slices of cold beefsteak, while the other half had sardines garnished with lemon slices. My biggest casserole almost overflowed with a cheese soufflé that was more milk, eggs and flour than cheese, but no one seemed to know the difference, and an equally large wooden bowl was heaped with lettuce, each leaf carefully torn and separated, in the midst of which a design of grapefruit and orange segments looked much more than it really was. Hot drop biscuits, dishes of jelly and my own pickles, and a big pot of coffee were on the table too, and by the time the guests came to the cake, which we almost had to divide with a slide rule, they were so full of what had the appearance, at least, of a big meal that the small piece seemed ample.
That hectic evening taught me a never-to-be-forgotten lesson and since then this has been my system, and a successful one I have found it. Plan one or two good simple meals for unexpected company and try to keep the ingredients for them always at hand, either in your icebox or on your pantry shelves. This is much better than a jumble of expensive trimmings crowding your storage space. When one item has been used up, fill its place immediately. Go into the fancy grocery department as far as your imagination and pocketbook will allow, but try to keep everything related. The price of a large jar of caviar or imported pâté de foie gras will stock your storeroom with what you need of canned tomatoes, string beans, Spam or a frozen chicken, and even leave enough for a can or two of anchovies and artichoke hearts.
Most of all, whether your emergency shelf and pocketbook allow you to start your meal with caviar and go on to tinned English pheasant, or whether, like most of us, you have to take a hurried look in the icebox to see what you can add to the eggs, try not to let those completely unexpected guests feel that you are embarrassed by their sudden appearance. Half the time they are a little embarrassed themselves. Keep cool, for both guests and hostess ill at ease hardly make for enjoyment, while a feeling all around the table of “Isn’t this pot luck fun” gets any meal off to a good start.
MINIMUM EMERGENCY LIST
