At Home on the Range

My father adored city life. “Lowing cattle!” he’d say, “Give me clanging trolleys,” and only a strong sense of family duty forced him to the purchase of a suburban home when I was about eight. There, for six years, he unhappily shoveled snow, ran for trains, and evaded Mother’s attempts to interest him in gardening, consoled by the thought that his children were being raised in health-giving “country air.”

Poor Miss Follansbee! A pathetic expatriated worshipper of Alfred, Lord Tennyson, we held her completely responsible for the loss of our sociable school life, and her mild, “My dears, not so much vulgarity” was a feeble restraint on young hooligans long inured to a frequently applied parental hairbrush. Spring saw her welcome departure for, I hope, a happier situation, leaving us with temporary Oxford accents, a fine contempt for all things English, and a permanent loathing of her favorite poem “Crossing the Bar.” “Sunset and evening star…” Piffle! Turned loose every summer in small boats, we knew able seamen had no time to waste on scenery when over dangerous shoals, and we scorned the Victorian tearjerker as well as its landlubber author. But with age has come a belated appreciation of the Dear Queen’s beloved Poet Laureate, even though neither he nor his ruler would approve of my modern interpretation of the lyrics. Nevertheless far too much moaning still goes on when the average female is confronted with the task of mixing and serving drinks.

There is no gainsaying the accepted male responsibility for the liquid refreshments, but when the hostess lives alone and likes it or the host is delayed beyond the arrival of the guests, any halfway intelligent woman should be able to produce a drinkable cocktail, for no matter how men delight in making the mixing mysterious, a dry martini, for instance, takes even less time and much less skill than baking a plain cake, and no loss of femininity ever follows the discovery that the contents of the cook’s frosty shaker are palatable. Rather, there comes the assurance that the meal to follow will be even more delicious than expected, and an added charm to her already becoming apron.

Eschew fancy glasses and shakers. Plain, clear crystal, expensive or cheap, allows the contents to meet the eye of its consumer boldly and untroubled by garish tints or ungrippable tortured stems. When a wealthy friend proudly displayed her latest set of imported glassware—“reasonable facsimiles” of the Goddess of Liberty bearing a colored bowl on her head—my only reaction was not envy but a slight nausea which was only cured by going home to gaze with renewed affection at my own three-for-a-quarter window-pane tumblers. Another advantage of plain glass is its easy replacement. Great-grandmother’s dinner china may descend complete to generation after generation but it’s rare when a dozen highball glasses remain intact through as many months. Put your money in unobtrusive patterns or into “open stock” that can be filled without showing too glaring a difference.

Measure ingredients carefully with a regulation jigger, have plenty of ice, for much good liquor has been ruined by inadequate chilling, and finally go easy on the garnishing of the drinks. Dashing members of the Tuesday luncheon and bridge club may relish a sweet weak cocktail with trimmings that resemble low tide at Coney Island but a true bon vivant prefers the bouquet of his liquor unspoiled.

Attention, female bartenders! Let’s go. The first lesson is a recipe for the drink that, according to Dr. Gallup and his fellow snoopers, is the most popular, a simple DRY MARTINI. 3 parts gin and 1 part French vermouth, poured over egg-sized pieces of ice in a pitcher. Stir lightly until cold but do not shake, for too vigorous treatment is supposed to “bruise” the mixture. Strain and serve in glasses with a green olive in the bottom of each and a twist of lemon peel on top. Make only enough at one time for a single round. Small pickled onions may replace the olives, without the drink losing social standing, although the same can’t be said of the drinkers, and a handful of fresh mint leaves in the mixing pitcher is approved by many.

An OLD-FASHIONED COCKTAIL should be leisurely in both the mixing and imbibing. Using good-sized tumblers with thick bottoms—eight ounces aren’t a bit too large—put 1 teaspoon of sugar or half a lump in each. Add 1 tablespoon of water and muddle or crush the sugar. Add 1 dash of Angostura bitters and 1 jigger of rye whisky. Put in 2 or 3 chunks of ice, twist a bit of lemon peel over the top, and give a glass to each guest with a small muddler or spoon, to stir and sip at his ease. These are best not attempted in bulk. One dear old soul I know sought to cheer the local “Ladies Aid” on a chilly day by mixing old-fashioneds and serving them from a teapot. Some of the members are still a little hazy as to what went on at the meeting afterwards. Old-fashioneds can be made with Scotch whisky, when they become ROB ROYS, or with bourbon and a few leaves of mint crushed with the sugar. These last are called BABY’S MINT JULEP, though heaven help the infant that downs one.

RUM OLD-FASHIONEDS demand light rum in place of whisky, can be garnished with lime instead of lemon, and are otherwise made just as in the preceding recipe. A most refreshing drink for a hot evening, we first learned of them on a trip to those lovely and little-known West Indian islands that dot the Caribbean Sea below Cuba like the beads of a broken necklace. Rhum Martinique was their foundation then, and the harassed bar steward of our crowded British freighter considered us real “quality” because we ordered them only before dinner and stuck to a bottle of Guinness with lunch.

STRAWBERRY BLOSSOM. Press the juice from 1 quart of ripe strawberries. Strain and add 1 tablespoon of lemon juice to each cupful. Sweeten slightly, the amount of sugar varying with the tartness of the berries. Add 1 jigger of gin and 1 tablespoon of heavy cream to each jigger of juice, shake well with plenty of ice, and serve in martini glasses. This is a perfect porch drink for the more daring “girls” and so is the following mild DAIQUIRI: Dissolve 1 teaspoon of powdered sugar in the juice of 1 lime. Add 1 jigger of Bacardi rum, stir, and pour slowly into a Champagne or fruit compote glass that has first been packed with finely crushed ice. Decorate with a strawberry or cherry and sip through a short straw.

SHERRY or GIN “AND” are English aperitifs much superior to most of that island’s cooking. Put a good dash of Angostura bitters in a sherry glass and roll it around until the inside is thoroughly coated. Drain out any drops that remain and fill the glass with gin or dry sherry. A twist of lemon peel is an optional garnish and, with the recipes coming from overseas, there naturally need be no chilling of either drink.

For that dreaded but often necessary large party, with no assistant bartender, a drink that can be made well ahead of time is usually easier to serve than cocktails. FISH HOUSE PUNCH, known and appreciated by George Washington, is without a peer in this category, but should be served with caution to the uninitiated. Looking and tasting almost as mild as Coca-Cola, it has scored more knockouts than Joe Louis himself. So keep a watchful eye on any rich unsophisticated maiden aunt’s trips to the source of supply, for while with her second cup she may well begin writing checks in your favor for astronomical amounts, after the third or fourth beaker her illegible signature is likely to leave the way open for later unjustified charges of forgery. Facing possible results cheerfully, proceed with the mixing. Thoroughly dissolve ¾ pound of sugar (lump if possible) in just enough water to take up the sugar. Add 1 quart of fresh strained lemon juice, 2 quarts Jamaica rum, 1 quart cognac, 2 quarts water, and ½ cup peach brandy. Allow this to brew 2 or 3 hours or overnight, in a corked demijohn in a cool spot, then an hour or two before serving pour it into a punch bowl over a big piece of ice.

My father always said that SAUTERNE or RHINE WINE CUP had no equal as a cooler on a hot summer day. He “imported” the wine by the barrel inexpensively from California and a particularly hideous cut glass pitcher was kept sacred to its mixing. I was sometimes allowed a small sip after the ice had become well melted, and was almost grown-up before I realized that white wine didn’t carry a delicate scent of cucumber. When I married and made—to him—an incomprehensible move to the suburbs, he always saw that we too had a plentiful hot weather supply of his favorite vintage, and I learned to have the cup ready and waiting whenever he took the “exhausting” 15 minute journey to discover how things were progressing out in the sticks. Its mixing requires very little effort and few ingredients. Put 1 teaspoon of sugar into a tall pitcher, dissolve it with a little water, then put in 2 or 3 good-sized pieces of ice. Carefully insert 2 long slices of well-washed cucumber rind between the ice and the glass to lend their cool green glow to the drink. Pour in 1 bottle of Rhine wine or dry sauterne and 1 pint, or a little more, of sparkling water, give it a stir, and “drink till cold.” This can be braced a bit with a jigger of brandy and a few slices of orange or lemon, although the original is hard to improve upon. To those uneducated souls who complain of the cucumber flavor, simply murmur with raised eyebrows that the emerald garnish gives the drink the exact taste of borage, an herb that since Charlemagne’s day has been considered the perfect partner of white wine.

For years, one of the city’s leading physicians was our near neighbor. So beloved he was by his patients that when he entered politics it was rumored that many about-to-be-mothers planned their infants’ arrivals with Election Day and a vote for their adored doctor in mind. His busy life left little room for entertaining. Only his New Year’s afternoon remained sacred, and below is the recipe for the famous EGGNOG he and his pretty wife dispensed then to numerous friends. Beat the yolks of 6 eggs thoroughly with ¾ cup of sugar. Slowly stir in 2 quarts of rich milk and, just as slowly, 1 pint of rye whisky and 1 tablespoon of rum. Fold in the stiffly beaten whites of 6 eggs and chill overnight if you wish. Dust with nutmeg before serving.

The paint on the “Bar and Grill” that appeared surprisingly at a dusty crossroads was so new that we were almost afraid the spotless building was a mirage caused by famished heat-dazed eyes, for we had spent a long antiquarian morning searching the New Jersey barrens for the vanished foundations of a pre-Revolutionary iron furnace. While I attended to the ordering of our meal in a cedar-lined dining room, my husband disappeared into the bar and returned with two frosted glasses of draught ale. Placing them on our red-checked tablecloth, he put his head in his hands in such a silent fit of choking hysterics that I was sure the midday sun had done its worst. For minutes the only intelligible reply to my frenzied questions was “The sign! The sign!” Finally obeying his pleading gestures I tiptoed to the door of the crowded little bar and was immediately overcome with my own attack of repressed laughter. On the shining bar mirror, embellished with the flourishes beloved by bartenders since the world began, I too, had seen the words “Try our GUADALCANAL PIGEONS MILK. It restores Vitality and increases Productiveness.” The knowledge of this potion seemed a much more important addition to our country’s history than the once desired furnace site. Here is how the newly returned veteran host mixed it: Put ½ jigger of brandy, ½ jigger of rum, and 1 cup of rich milk into a shaker. Add 1 raw egg, 1 teaspoon of sugar, and 2 or 3 big pieces of ice. Shake until frothy, then strain into a highball glass. Since its discovery we have delighted many people with this, and while its qualities don’t entirely live up to the original advertisement, its quaffing is nevertheless nourishing and refreshing.

Of all our failings, our dislike of BARLEY WATER rankled most in Miss Follansbee’s heart. Here is how she drank it, for them that wants to follow her example. Wash 1 teaspoon of pearl barley, add to it 2 cups of boiling water, and cook 2 hours in a covered double boiler. Strain and add the juice of ½ lemon, a few slivers of the fruit, and 1 tablespoon or more of sugar. Chill, but leave out ice, and serve when stumps are drawn after the cricket match.

Good American LEMONADE is much more thirst quenching. Boil ¾ cup of sugar with 2 cups of water until dissolved. Cool slightly and add ½ cup or more of strained lemon juice. This foundation syrup can be kept covered in the refrigerator for 2 or 3 days. When ready to drink, dilute it to taste, with water and serve it in ice-filled glasses. Made in larger quantities, garnished with mint, strawberries and pineapple, this makes a very good temperance punch.

OLD-FASHIONED RASPBERRY VINEGAR, with its tart flavor, is a summer refresher that shouldn’t be forgotten. Cover 2 quarts of ripe crushed raspberries with 1 quart of good cider vinegar. Keep covered in a bowl or crock for 2 days, then drain and repeat with 2 fresh quarts of berries. Drain again, this time through a cloth. To every pint of juice allow a pound of sugar. Boil until the sugar is dissolved—about 5 minutes—then skim, and if it is not to be used immediately, bottle and seal as in the recipe for tomato catsup on page 129. To serve, put a jigger of the vinegar into a tall glass, add a few pieces of ice, and fill up the glass with carbonated water. This is much like the French “sirop” that boulevardiers enjoy. I loved it as a child and still do, but my own children preferred HOMEMADE ICE-CREAM SODAS. Put ½ cup of cold rich milk in a tall glass, add a good dollop of any preferred ice cream, and fill with carbonated water. Stir thoroughly to raise a professional-looking “head” on the soda, and serve with a straw and a long spoon. A fine light lunch with a few salty crackers on the side.

All drinks, be they nonalcoholic or the opposite, should be served in ample but not overwhelming quantities. Many a young tummy has suffered just as much from an excess of lemonade as one older and equally less wise from too frequent rounds of martinis. Better, of course, that the hostess be generous than stingy, still a happy medium should be firmly adhered to, for though King Solomon sang “Stay me with flagons” to the Queen of Sheba, she knew when to stop both the flagons and the staying, and history never mentions his hanging around her tent with his attendants, caroling the Old Testament equivalent of “Sweet Adeline” until the neighboring tribes complained.

Hors-d ’œuvres served in bulk have as deleterious an effect on a guest’s digestion as overindulgence in the cocktails they accompany and, in addition, are apt to deaden all interest in the meal to follow, a calamity no cook cares to contemplate. Something should be done about this menace to dinner-table enjoyment, and like all good Americans when faced with a problem, my first instinct is to form a “committee.”

An easily amused group, we have had numerous family clubs, some of short duration like the “Be-Kind-to-Daddy Association,” disbanded after its beneficiary and self-elected president of the “Eight Ball Society” found its purpose boring. “Ghouls Union, Local No. 1” seemed doomed, too, when its members, my daughter and I, mistakenly called her father’s attention to the prize find of an old New England tombstone which had his initials carved over an affecting epitaph, but it was revived during subsequent motor trips and we continue a happy correspondence on the Union’s discoveries in ancient graveyards.

The new club I am about to found deserves a larger permanent membership, all pledged to the dual objectives of limiting cocktail parties to a dozen well-selected guests and the serving thereat of not more than two kinds of appetizers. High time it is to curtail the big boring gatherings with their warm, badly-mixed drinks, and especially the trays of assorted foods that resemble a Sunday School picnic. Appetizers should be just what their name implies, not a full course meal, and a small selection with well-iced dry cocktails are all that any dinner needs for a perfect start.

CHEESE PÂTÉ NUMBER 1. This recipe was bribed years ago from the chef of a famous hotel where a high-priced slice still leads the list of hors-d’œuvres. Use a round-bottomed bowl and with a silver fork crumble and cream ¼ pound of well-aged Roquefort cheese until not a lump remains. Mix in 2 tablespoons of finely minced chives or ½ teaspoon of scraped onion. Add 2 small packages, or ¼ pound, of cream cheese, and blend well before thinning with ½ cup of dry sherry. Add ½ teaspoon of salt, ¼ teaspoon of hand-ground black pepper, a few grains of cayenne, and 1 tablespoon of Hungarian paprika. Replace the last item with the domestic if necessary. Mix all thoroughly, form the pâté into a roll, wrap it in wax paper, and let it season and harden overnight in the refrigerator.

SHRIMP PÂTÉ. Remove the black veins from 2 cups of canned or cooked shelled shrimps and put them twice through the fine cutter of the food chopper. Melt ¼ cup of butter with 1 bruised clove of garlic. Remove the garlic and add the butter to the shrimps. Stir in ¼ cup of tart mayonnaise, ½ teaspoon of salt, ¼ teaspoon of black pepper, and perhaps a few drops of Worcestershire sauce and tomato catsup. Form into a roll, wrap and chill as in Cheese Pâté, Number 1.

AVOCADO PÂTÉ. Using a silver fork again, make a paste of 1 ripe peeled avocado pear. Add ½ cup of minced watercress, 2 tablespoons of French dressing, 1 teaspoon of Worcestershire sauce, and a scrape of onion. Add ¼ teaspoon each of salt and black pepper and a good dash of cayenne, as this must be really hot. It is a Puerto Rican recipe and down there they like to overcome the bland flavor of the avocado. You might serve this heaped high in half of the avocado shell.

CHEESE WHIRLS can be made ahead. Use half the recipe for piecrust (page 117), divide the crust, and roll each half into a thin rectangle about 4 inches wide and cover each thickly with 1 cup of finely grated sharp American cheese. Add salt and a dash of cayenne. Roll up loosely and dampen the far edge of the crust with icewater and seal firmly. Chill. Cut each roll into ½-inch slices with a sharp knife, flick each with paprika, place on a greased cooky sheet, and bake 5 minutes in a 400° oven.

HAM PUFFS mustn’t be kept waiting. Mix ½ teaspoon of dry mustard with a 4 ounce can of deviled ham. Add ½ cup of finely grated Parmesan cheese and a few grains of cayenne. Fold into the stiffly beaten white of 1 egg. Toast 12 or 15 small rounds of bread on one side. Heap the teaspoonfuls of ham mixture on the toasted side, place on a cooky sheet, and bake 5 minutes in a 450° oven.

With the savings from their economical selection of appetizers club members will be able to afford more frequently the finest taste-teaser of all: CAVIAR, black or red. It too goes in a bowl, over chopped ice and tastes best resting on slivers of dark pumpernickel. A bylaw allows us to have on special occasions such as birthdays a CANAPÉ CAKE with its three distinct fillings. Remove the crusts and cut four thin slices from the center of a round loaf of rye or white bread. Butter the bottom piece lightly and spread with ½ cup of Cheese Pâté Number 1 (above). Cover with a second buttered slice and spread that with ½ cup of deviled ham mixed with 1 tablespoon of mayonnaise and a little hot mustard. Put on the third layer and butter. On that can go ½ cup of chopped cucumbers thinned with a little mayonnaise, or ½ cup of Shrimp Pâté (above). Clap on the fourth slice and ice the whole thing with 2 packages of cream cheese diluted with ½ cup of cream or top milk. Decorate the icing with curlicues of anchovy paste forced from the tube and tiny red cocktail onions for color. Place in a cool spot for 2 or 3 hours and let the guest of honor cut the first thin slice.