At Home on the Range

Like the forever unsettled, “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?”, that other question “which is more necessary in the house, the bed or the stove?” has almost as much chance of being satisfactorily answered. Granted that the three most important happenings in life, birth, marriage and death, take place in bed; three equally vital occurrences, breakfast, lunch and dinner, daily owe their success to the stove.

There are substitutes for many household furnishings. Orange crates may pinch-hit for chairs, a barrel doesn’t make a bad table, and conscienceless borrowing, as we all know to our sorrow, has too often produced an impressive library, but there is no substitute for either good food or a comfortable bed. A meal cooked with difficulty is a sorry prelude to an undisturbed night’s sleep and vice-versa, as the Tweedles Dum and Dee used to say to each other. Perhaps the safest advice to budding householders with a thin pocketbook is to halve their budget, buy the best bed and stove they can afford, and raid the family attics for the balance of their furnishings. Don’t rush either purchase, for these important articles, like a husband, should last a lifetime if well selected.

Except under the heading of “entertainment,” advice on beds isn’t appropriate in a cookbook, but here goes on stoves, from a long and varied experience that begins with the wood-alcohol holocaust of my early youth, through later struggles in the galley of a small boat with a two-hole woodburning “Shipmate,” up to my present kitchen marvel that does everything but wag its tail on order.

Electric stoves are perhaps more modern and definitely cleaner than gas. They take a little longer to arrive at the desired heat, but once properly set the heat remains constant and a meal can be left cooking for any length of time, safe in the knowledge that nothing will boil over or burn. Nor will you be met at the kitchen door by a gust of asphyxiating air. For this last reason, I feel they are a “must,” if possible, in the house with small children. On the other hand, those who swear by a gas stove (and they are legion) stoutly maintain that their method of cooking is quicker and, in most localities, cheaper, too. A good combination is a gas stove and a large electric table oven for big slow pot roasts, or the extra pie or cake that there isn’t room for in an already full stove oven. Do try to have two ovens. One seems all that is necessary to a beginner but as you become more proficient you’ll often want to get a lot of baking over with at one time. Never will I forget the wonder on a young bride’s face when I complained that my present oven “only held four loaves of bread,” but within a year she was on the phone to inquire where a spare could be purchased.

With the stove once decided upon, the next question is, of course, its location in the kitchen, and this, too, should be given long deep thought. The dealer from whom you purchase it will probably be of help, but stand out for a good working light, plenty of room in front and at the sides, the correct height for you, and a shelf over it for seasonings. This last should be fairly narrow, but longer than you think necessary at first, for as time goes on more and more small bottles and boxes will find a home there. Mine at this moment supports not only the conventional salt, pepper and flour, but shakers of mustard, sugar, chili and curry powder, 4 or 5 different spices and herbs, bottles of meat sauces, and two cruets of cooking wine, for nothing so aggravates my impatient soul as to have to hunt for the desired flavoring just as a dish is nearly at perfection. A hook for pot-holders is a help, and some cooks like to keep their most-used small pots and pans hanging near.

Even with your stove installed you’re not through with it and I give you this last most important advice. Get acquainted with it before you look for its best performances. No one expects a newly bought puppy, no matter how beguiling, to be housebroken or to perform tricks, and very few people, thank Heaven, get unduly intimate when first introduced. Don’t think that the spotless new stove will show all its good—or bad—qualities the minute you meet. Like a friend-to-be, you’ll have to cultivate the good and ignore or kindly pass over its unpleasant traits. My present kitchen-confidante has unsatisfactory overhead light and the ingenuity of a graduate of M.I.T. is required to remove the drip pan, while I would no more think of gossiping about the bottom drawer’s habit of spilling out skillets than I would of criticizing a good friend’s new hairdo.

Pots and pans come next in your kitchen furniture. Go slow with your purchases here, too, and keep to the family motto that “only the best is good enough,” for utensils, like the stove, should last a long while. If you must economize, start with a few expensive ones, fill in from the five-and-dime, and then replace the cheaper articles as they wear—and wear out they will, never fear—with better quality.

The foundation of an efficient batterie de cuisine is a large, heavy cast-iron skillet or frying pan with a tight-fitting lid. Unless it comes with more explicit directions from the manufacturer, before you use them scrub the pan and its lid well with steel wool, then dry them and coat the inside of each thoroughly with unsalted grease. Lard or cooking oil will do. Put them in a warm oven or over a low burner for 2 or 3 hours and at intervals swab on more grease, if the first has been absorbed. Like a dry skin, new iron takes to lubrication. Let them cool, wipe off any remaining grease with a paper towel, and they are ready to serve you. Again like a dry skin, water should touch the iron from now on as rarely as possible, so after frying bacon or potatoes in it, simply pour out the remaining grease and use the paper towel once more. With this tender treatment it will last for years, smooth and unrusted. I still possess the original I started housekeeping with many years ago, but have lost count of the cheaper thin ones I’ve discarded. While the lovely gleaming aluminum fryers are fine for chicken or deep-fat cooking, when it comes to sautéing or pan-broiling meat, or for hashed brown potatoes, nothing takes the place of an old black pal. It can be used to boil, stew or roast too, and a big fellow will do well by a small amount of food, but no vice versa in this case.

The next purchase should be a set of deep saucepans, also with tight lids. Aluminum comes into its own for these, as does the lovely and expensive stainless steel. They generally come two or three in a cozy nest, can be used for mixing bowls or a double boiler, and with them, your big skillet, and the coffee pot of your choice you can take your time about the rest of your equipment.

A paring knife is indicated here—possibly two—one with a short fat blade and the other with a long thin cutting edge. Many cooks claim that a good parer should cost at least seventy-five cents but if you cultivate a friendly butcher when it comes to the cutlery department, you’ll get better steel and a cheaper article. I successfully wheedled three allegedly worn-out small knives—at a small price, too—out of my meat provider and their efficient shape and keenness make them a constant joy. Add a couple of wooden spoons with their handles cut off halfway down for easy grasping, and you’re ready for fancy cooking, although an old-fashioned cook would be shocked at the absence of the tea kettle that once adorned every coal range. But what’s a saucepan for if not to boil water? After becoming used to a few kitchen utensils, you’ll know what other things you really need. Now consider a roaster, a few mixing bowls, earthenware casseroles, and pans for cake and pie. These last can be of glass, and if space as well as expense is a consideration, one shape can be used for both. Get your iron skillet collection started soon, too. I’ve finally ended up with four, the big one I began with, two of medium size, one of which I try to keep for fish, and a much smaller one that fries or scrambles one or two eggs, or browns a few onions for flavoring sauces or gravy.

Having a family known for their casual approach to the hours for meals, double boilers come next to skillets in my affection, and like the famous nursery bears, three of these food-warmers seem just an adequate number. The big daddy holds almost a gallon and comes out only for parties, when it is invaluable for keeping food at the right temperature; a middle-sized momma is used for the morning oatmeal and for making a custard or any dish to which eggs or cheese are to be added; and a baby, holding a pint, melts butter or chocolate, makes hollandaise or béarnaise sauce or fluffy icing, heats up leftover vegetables, and is, as a matter of fact, more useful than the other two together, although mine is the only kitchen in which I’ve seen its like. This is one of my favorite utensils and woe betide the helper who uses the top compartment as a “singleton.”

Sets of tin canisters and their big matching boxes for bread and cake are leftovers from Grandmother’s kitchen that we can well do without. Coffee and tea both arrive nowadays in their own airtight containers, while the refrigerator or freezer is the place for that extra loaf of bread. Cake takes to a cool place, too. Try to find a small tin or steel “dispatch” box that will hold the loaf in use and there will be just so much less clutter on your shelves. A heavy piece of cotton duck instead of a breadboard is another space-saver, and if you can have an old marble bureau top set in your work table that’s even better for rolling out piecrust or dough.

The only redeeming feature of the pipe my husband is never without and its consequent litter of ashes, cleaners and burnt matches is the lovely wide-mouthed glass jars in which his tobacco comes. These are just right for dry groceries like beans and lentils, barley, rice, other cereals, or crackers. Wash them and their tops with hot soap suds, give them a scalding bath, fit a fresh piece of waxed cardboard or paper into the lids, and behold cheap, airtight, sanitary, and easily stacked containers where you can see at a glance just when the contents need replenishing. Paint the tops and decorate them with cutouts or decalcomanias for real style. If your man isn’t a pipe addict, try wangling a few big empty candy jars out of the proprietor of the corner store. What you want is something large enough to get a hand or small measuring cup into.

Once settled with a stove and started off on a collection of adequate utensils, the sink is the next big problem. And again, don’t forget the family motto and the fact that it, too, needs plenty of light and room and must be installed at the correct height. The cost of a few extra inches of pipe will more than repay you for the backaches you won’t get. A mixing spigot and drain boards on both sides are helps towards really streamlined dishwashing, although mechanical marvels in that line are promised. Until these prove their worth, hie yourself to a good hotel supply store for a big wire dish drainer—one about half again as wide, high and long as the usual home variety. With its aid, and a plentiful supply of hot water, plates and pans for twenty people will be out of the way in as many minutes.

While on the subject of modern improvements watch with a leery eye the great stretches of linoleum work surfaces that architects are so busy installing in our kitchens. They are a sticky resting place for hot pans, and while the linoleum can be scraped or burnt off a favorite skillet or casserole, the lovely work surface suffers permanently. Hold out for a few useful stretches of old-fashioned hardwood near your serving table or stove. Linoleum on the floor, however, is a never-ending delight. Let it run from wall to wall if possible and pick your design not only for color but, even more important, for its nondirt-showing qualities. A beautiful clear pattern is likely to lose its appeal quickly when it calls for constant scrubbing.

The cook, who uses them most, should be allowed the final decision concerning the sink, stove, and its utensils, but the habits of the whole family should be taken into consideration when it comes to the last important purchase for the kitchen—the refrigerator. Too often only the electric type is considered, forgetting that while it heralds the welcome disappearance of the iceman, that bringer-in of mud and gossip and sex interest, there also often vanishes a really adequate, bountiful supply of ice. Millionaires, of course, have none of this problem but, for a large less-prosperous family with a passion for homemade ice cream and frequent guests, a big modern icebox is really much more practical than the smaller, equally priced electric refrigerator. For years I kept food cold and fresh in a large top-icer, constantly amused at the friends who laughed at my old-fashioned ideas but never hesitated to put in frantic calls for room to take care of an especially large roast or the “lend” of a piece of ice. When our family became smaller we stored the big box, being able to afford what was for the two of us an adequate electric refrigerator, and I would be the last to deny the superior comfort and delight it provides. But when the children began reappearing with wives, husbands and grandchildren, the old faithful friend was reinstated and it welcomed thrice weekly with open doors and roomy shelves not only twenty bottles of milk but the beer, Coca-Cola and ginger ale that our much increased group again demanded. Like an electric or gas stove, the two kinds of coolers both have their points and if you can’t swing financially the big electric refrigerator you know is necessary, either get a really good large modern icebox or buy the smaller electric article and find room in the cellar or on the back porch for an assistant, ready to be filled with ice and to take care of extras and leftovers.

All of this advice is just for the foundation of a culinary tool shop, and doesn’t even touch the department where most of us are complete pushovers and, as in other sadder matters, “stoop to folly and find too late that men betray.” Those intriguing kitchen gadgets! While glamour girls linger before Hattie Carnegie’s latest display, and men have to be dragged from a shop filled with sporting goods, any real woman will take a good country fair, there to watch entranced the slick demonstration of the latest can opener or apple corer. My kitchen walls look like an old-fashioned tin peddler’s cart. The shamefaced admission that a great many tricky articles have been thrown away almost as soon as bought eases the conscience. However, a surprising number of the devices purchased while under the hypnotic influence of a sideshow barker have turned out to be both useful and labor saving. What looks like a midget posthole digger removes the hard center from grapefruit with a minimum of effort. The “swivel” potato peeler takes off a thin rind that even the most Scotch housewife would approve, and the grater that I bore home so proudly from the Atlantic City Boardwalk shreds carrots or slices cucumbers paper thin with equal ease. But heed two warnings, kitchen gadgeteers! First follow the manufacturer’s directions when you try out your new treasure, and second, find it a resting place where it will be at hand when wanted. Even that super-gadget, an electric mixer, should stand ready to be put to work at the small jobs it does just as well as the big ones, and I ask, “What good is a wall can opener—and every kitchen should have one—if it remains in a drawer waiting for the never-present handyman to put it up?”

Now let’s get on to the only kind of interior decorating—besides food—that belongs in this volume, and have a few recipes whose ingredients are the four walls that are about to hem in you and your stove. Poor Mrs. Rorer and her generation were committed to depressing bilious yellow or equally dirt-resisting chocolate-colored surroundings. Then came the other extreme, a passion for asepsis, with cold, white enamel and sanitary, snowy, uninspiring tile.

Kitchens nowadays have other standards. Besides efficiency, they should express their owner’s personality and be a happy spot in which to work. Men display their tastes and hobbies in their offices and why shouldn’t women do the same in their kitchens? So, if you’re a blond with an unsatisfied longing for pale pink and blue, go ahead, paint your “office” walls in one of those colors, the woodwork in the other, hang up sheer feminine curtains, and discover how much more pleasant even dull potato peeling is in a becoming environment.

One of the most charming kitchens I know, ruled over by a luscious brunette, has lipstick red trim and wide ruffled curtains of unbleached muslin billowing at the sunny windows, while the cream-colored unfinished plaster walls are marked off in half-yard squares where friends have written and autographed their favorite recipes. Effective, original and cheap! Another dark-haired chef basks against a chartreuse background, deep burgundy woodwork, and touches of bright royal blue. Around the walls runs a frieze of remarkable Navaho paintings done by a brave who was certainly the worse for numerous hookers of redeye and which was purchased on a Western honeymoon. A most amusing spot in which to work. It suits its owner to a T.

Struggles for individuality may take perseverance. My own most successful kitchen, which combined canary-yellow walls and Kelly-green woodwork with chinese-orange shelf and cupboard linings, was only achieved by the constant browbeating of a country painter. Two days it was that the house resounded to the irritated slap of his brush, accompanied by mutterings of “Never seed sech colors!” “This ain’t fittin’ fer a kitchen!” and the constantly repeated “She won’t like it when I done it.” She did, though, and so did her friends and even the “artist” rather shamefacedly admitted that “it weren’t too bad.”

Once satisfied with your surroundings, wallow in a little deserved selfishness and plan your own personal decoration by means of an ample supply of becoming aprons. The chances are you’ll be seen in them much more often than in that expensive formal gown that took hours of choosing, so put care into the selection. If you’re the type, ruffle away to your heart’s content and leave the tailored models to your tweedy sister. Be sure the donning won’t disarrange a newly brushed topnot, that they cover you adequately, and that they take to soap and water like a dish towel. In fact, a brightly printed dish towel makes a very good apron. Sew a loop of tape on one end about 8 inches apart and long enough to slip easily over your head, tack an 18-inch piece of tape on each long side at your waistline, slip it on, tie the strings, et voilà du chic, madame! Not to mention effective protection against the biggest splash.

Its designer’s former claim to fame, the invention of colored cocktail toothpicks, isn’t half so useful as the practical apron pattern on this book’s end papers. It only takes a yard of material and, made in a flowered print, and edged with eyelet embroidery will serve the gayest buffet supper, while its workmanlike heavy cotton twin hangs in the kitchen to help with the cleaning-up. Sew the leftover scraps into pot-holders and fasten them to the ends of a yard-long piece of tape, and with this handy contrivance slung around your neck while cooking, never again will you have to cast a wild look around for aid in picking up a hot dish.

Cookbooks, with their bright-colored jackets are decorative. Please don’t hide them away in the back of a dark pantry drawer, but flaunt your business library proudly on open shelves. Everyone has one tried and true dog-eared book of instruction which is as useful for looking up standard recipes as a dictionary for looking up words. Bring it out boldly, and since source books conveniently at hand make for much more varied and easier menus, let it have for companions not only those well-bound volumes containing the dishes you’ve always “meant to try,” but also the humbler paper pamphlets of recipes that so many food and domestic-appliance companies send out at the drop of a coupon. Biased these must be—hence their publication—but they often hide nuggets of real value. When a recipe has proved successful, write the name and page number on the flyleaf of its book or underline it in the index.