I find myself extremely
busy at present, and all out of pre-written posts, so for the next few days I
must continue to let other writers do most of my work. Today it is the turn of a
Mrs. Praga (‘A Careful Cook’,) the author of a most useful work called Dinners of the Day, (London, 1899.) The section
I have chosen for you today is:
How to train a Cook.
In a past chapter I promised to give some hints as to the
training of a raw cook. Now this task is in reality by no means as formidable
as it sounds — provided always that the raw one be possessed of an average
intelligence and ability. As to selection, if possible choose a country girl.
No doubt just at first she will prove a little more raw than would her own-bred
sister. Her accent may be broad, and your preliminary instructions will
probably cause her to gape hugely. But what of that? She will not want an
accent to cook with, and gaping does no harm, when it proceeds from wonderment
and not from laziness. And one great virtue she will probably possess to start
with. She will be able to roast a joint and cook a potato decently. Further,
she will also be able to send up eggs and bacon which are eatable. Most country
girls whom I have met with have possessed the above accomplishment, and hence
my advice. Now, with a cook who can roast a joint well — really well, I mean —
all things culinary are possible. This sounds a large order; but I write from
experience, and have proved the truth of my words over and over again. If the
second joint the raw cook sends up be in a semi-baked, half-raw condition, with
the outside burnt to the semblance of a cinder, take my counsel, don’t attempt
to train her, for your efforts will be fruitless. Pay her the modicum of silver
due to her, and have done with her. Let her go her ways in peace, to make some
other household dyspeptically unhappy. Anything she likes, only have none of
her. You will notice that I said “if the second joint be spoilt.” My reason for
doing so is that a first failure is always forgivable, since it may proceed
from nervousness, natural enough in a young, untrained girl suddenly
transplanted from her cottage home to a London situation, and with that, to
her, terrible ordeal of the “first dinner” to get through somehow. Not so the
second; therefore waste not good efforts on bad material.
However, we will
suppose the newcomer has treated the first joint with the consideration due to
it, thereby proving herself capable of better things in the future, when she
shall have had the benefit of your teaching. Here let me lay down a few
important rules for your guidance. To begin with, don’t overload her with
instructions; commence by degrees — the simplest French dishes to start with.
These pages are full of the recipes for such. Impress upon her that she must
only use the exact quantities laid down therein. Provide her with a pair of
scales and see that she uses them, and forbid her strictly to trust to “guess-work,”
in any shape or form. Take care that she keeps a piece of clean soap and a
separate hand-bowl for washing her hands after each dish is duly finished in its
order; also a half of squeezed-out lemon wherewith to rub over her fingers when
she has handled or peeled onions, shallots, or leeks. Vanilla pastry or
strawberry tartlets are not improved
by a soupçon of “oniony” flavouring.
If she insists upon that most ungraceful badge of middle-class servantism, a
profusely-curled fringe, tell her it must be pinned back when cooking operations
are in progress. Go down each morning, look carefully through her pantries and
store cupboards, and note that they are kept scrupulously clean. Provide her
with a saucepan-stand of red enamelled iron (these are obtainable at any big
ironmonger’s and only cost 5s. 6d. each), have it kept in the scullery, if there
is one — if not, then in a corner of the kitchen. See that all the saucepans in
their graduated sizes are duly ranged upon it. And when you are on your morning
tour of inspection, look in each of the saucepans and observe that they have
been properly cleaned. The lids must not be kept upon them, but must be ranged
neatly upon a shelf, and polished once a week. Such a stand as I have advised
is a most useful article and serves a twofold purpose, for it enables the mistress
to see at a moment’s glance if all the stew-pans, etc., are kept in a properly
clean condition, and it does away with that pet abomination, the potboard, the corners
of which were so convenient for the hiding of dirty saucepans, which cook “hadn’t
time” (that is, was too lazy) to clean.
One word more
respecting saucepans. Never allow the cook under any pretext, no matter how
tired she may be after a dinner-party, or how late the hour, to go to bed and
leave even a single saucepan dirty. No doubt this seems a hard rule to enforce,
and partakes rather of the nature of slave-driving; but, believe me, it is a
good and salutary one, and your cook, when trained, will thank you for your
discipline of cleanliness. It is a rule I myself enforce strictly; if disobeyed,
well, there is a row next morning: for I have known that solitary neglected
saucepan lead to, oh! such dirty habits — frying-pans put away with half-cold fat
in them and left till next required, and a host of other minor evils, too
numerous to mention in detail. Now such a visite
d’inspection as I have described takes scarcely half a dozen minutes, and
does away with these innumerable small negligences on the part of the cook.
Punctuality is another great virtue you should endeavour to inculcate your
budding female Valentin with. But in many houses, notably those of professional
men, it is often a virtue that the master, by reason of the exigencies of his
business, finds it impossible to practise. Should this be the case in your own special
household, and you find yourselves really unable to sit down to a meal at its
appointed time, why then, teach your cook the all-important art of keeping
things hot. Now I do not mean, by hot, shrivelled up, uneatable. I mean hot and
palatable. This is by no means difficult if proper care and attention is given
to the various dishes when once they are cooked. Further, if unpunctuality is
the order of the day in your ménage,
you should yourself aid your cook by selecting for the daily
menu those dishes that will “ keep” best. You must eschew roast joints and
poultry, and, as far as possible, such things as fritters of various
descriptions; choosing instead from among the many recipes for ragouts,
curries, braises, vegetables cooked à la
creme, and steamed puddings which are given in great variety in this book.
All these things rather improve than deteriorate by prolonged cooking. And in
them, oh, forcedly unpunctual housewife, lies your culinary salvation.
Finally, and most
important rule of all, never do your cook’s work for her, no matter what errors
your raw chef may make. Correct her faults, and see that she duly rectifies
them; and she will learn by and from every mistake she has made; but never
under any consideration, save that of illness, do the actual work yourself. If
you do, you will not only never succeed in training her to a satisfactory
degree of efficiency, but you will, in all probability, sacrifice the respect
all servants should feel for their mistress. When I speak of work, I do not, of
course, mean such trifles as the flavouring or making of a specially difficult
dish or series of dishes upon the occasion of a dinner-party or little fête of
any kind, since these are things that a careful housewife and mistress should
undoubtedly see to herself if she wishes to train her handmaiden successfully;
indeed, it is a good plan to give the cook a first lesson in a new plat by doing it from the commencement
before her, and seeing that she watches with due care and attention. By work I
mean the ordinary everyday routine of her duties. Write these out clearly and
concisely for her upon a piece of cardboard, and nail it behind the kitchen
door ; then, if she follows out your orders, there will be no need for her to
complain that she is “rushed,” save upon some all-important occasion, such as a
dinner or supper party, when extra help should always be allowed. After all, you
pay her a reasonable wage to do your work; therefore, why lower yourself in her
estimation by paying her money for labour you afterwards carry out with your
own hands? Better by far save your purse and do without such so-called help, or
adopt the more sensible plan. Further, when engaging her, make her fully
understand that if her work is not performed to your full satisfaction she will
be cautioned twice, but not a third time, and that repeated faults of any
description will entail dismissal.
It seems that the
conversion of a raw country girl into a cook capable of preparing French-style
dishes for dinner-parties was a great skill in itself! The chapter does continue
with more advice about teaching the raw girl about specific culinary skills,
but these will have to wait until another day. There are other fascinating
chapters too, on such things as Emergency
Meals, Seaside Cookery, and The Gentle Art of Shopping, and I feel
sure I will also share some of these with you in the future.
As the recipe for the
day, I give you from the book, a nice steamed pudding, which should keep nicely
hot for a while, if the man of the house is running late for dinner.
Tartar Pudding.
Take four ounces each of breadcrumbs, chopped apples, brown
sugar, and finely chopped suet, mix well together; then add the yolks and
whites of two eggs, whisked separately, three large spoonfuls of golden syrup,
a gill of milk, and a little grated lemon-peel. Fill a buttered mould with this
mixture, and steam for two hours. Serve with wine sauce.
