قراءة كتاب The Myrtle Reed Cook Book

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The Myrtle Reed Cook Book

The Myrtle Reed Cook Book

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 4

to breakfast with a fickle appetite, and be greeted by a trumpet-toned “Good Morning” from the china.

Endless difference is allowed, however, and all the quaint, pretty jugs, pitchers, and plates may properly be used at breakfast. One is wise, however, to have a particular color scheme in mind and to buy all china to blend with it. Blue and white is a good combination, and is, perhaps, more suitable for the morning meal than anything else. As a certain philosopher says: “The blue and white look so pretty with the eggs!”

The carafe, muffin plate, platter, and all other bowls, platters, plates, and pitchers not on the individual cover have each a separate doily, with the protecting mat always under hot dishes. A well-set table is governed by a simple law—that of precision. Dishes arranged in an order little less than military, all angles either right or acute, will, for some occult reason, always look well. Informality may be given by the arrangement of the flowers, or by a flower or two laid carelessly on the table. But one must be careful not to trifle too much with this law of precision. Knives, forks, and spoons must all be laid straight, but not near enough together to touch, and napkins and dishes must be precisely placed, else confusion and riot will result.

The breakfast selected as a type consists of fruit, a cereal, salt fish, or salt meat, or eggs, or omelets, hot bread of some kind, and pancakes or waffles, or coffee cake, one dish from each group, and coffee. Six dishes in all, which may be less if desired, but never more. All six form a breakfast sufficiently hearty for a stone mason or a piano mover; one or two give a breakfast light enough to tempt those who eat no breakfast at all. For serving it are required small and medium-sized plates, knives, forks, spoons, egg cups, platters, service plates, cups and saucers, glasses, coffee-pot, pitchers, sugar bowl, and cream jug, syrup pitcher, and fruit bowl.

Fruit is said to be “gold in the morning,” and it is a poor breakfast, indeed, from which it is omitted. Even in winter it is not hard to secure variety, if time and thought be taken, for the dried fruits are always in the market and by careful cooking may be made acceptable to the most uncertain appetite.

Medical authorities recommend a glass of water taken the first thing upon rising, either hot or cold as suits one best. A little lemon-juice takes the “flat” taste from plain hot water, and clear, cool water, not iced, needs nothing at all. This simple observance of a very obvious hygienic rule will temper the tempestuous morning for any one. One washes his face, his hands, his body—then why not his stomach, which has worked hard a large part of the night, and is earnestly desirous of the soothing refreshment of a bath?

To those carping critics who cavil at the appearance of the stomach in a chapter entitled “How to Set the Table,” we need only say that the table is set for the stomach, and the stomach should be set for the table, and anyway, it comes very near being a table of contents, n’est-ce pas?


Wake, for the Alarm Clock scatters into Flight
The variegated Nightmares of the Night;
Allures the Gas into the Kitchen Range
And pleads for Rolls and Muffins that are Light.
Before the Splendor of the last Dream died
Methought a Voice from out my Doorway cried:
“When all the Breakfast is Prepared for him
Why doth my lord within his Crib abide?”
And, as the cat Purred, she who was Before
Within the Kitchen shouted: “Guard the Door!
Else this new Bridget will have Flown the Coop
And, once Departed, will Return no More!”
All maids in sight the Wise One gladly Hires
And one of them she Presently acquires,
Yet toward the Bureau does not fail to Look
Because all Maids, as well as Men, are liars.
For Mary Ann has gone, with all her Woes,
And Dinah, too, has fled—where, no one knows,
But still a Bridget from the Bureau comes
And many a Tekla of her Reference blows.
Come, fill the Cup, and let the Kettle Sing!
The Cream and Sugar and Hot Water bring!
Methinks this fragrant liquid amber here
Within the Pot, is pretty much the Thing.
Each Morn a thousand Cereals brings, you say?
Yes, but where leaves the Food of Yesterday?
And this same Grocer man that sells us Nerve
Shall take Pa’s Wheat and Mother’s Oats away.
For lo, my small Back Yard is thickly Strown
With Ki-Tee-Munch, Chew-Chew, and Postman’s Own
Where Apple-Nuts and Strength have been Forgot—
Ah, how these Papers by the Winds are Blown!
The tender Waffle hearts are Set upon
Is either Crisp or Soggy, and Anon
Like Maple Syrup made of corn and Cobs
Lasts but a scant Five Minutes, and is Gone.
I often think that never gets so Red
My flower-like Nose as when I’ve just been Fed
And after Breakfast, in the Glass I look,
And never Fail to Wish that I were dead.
And this faint Sallow Place upon my Mien—
How came it There? From that fair Coffee Bean?
Ah, take the Glass away! Make Haste unless
You want to see my Whole Complexion green.
When I was Younger, I did oft Frequent
The Married Bunch, and heard Great Argument
About the Fearful Price of Eggs, and How
To get a Dollar’s Work out of a Cent.
And when I asked them of their Recompense,
What did they Get for Keeping Down Expense—
Oh, many a cup of Coffee, Steaming Hot,
Must drown the Memory of their Insolence!
If I were Married ’t would be my Desire
To get up Every Morn and Build the Fire
For fear my Husband should use Kerosene,
And, without warning, be transported Higher.
Ah, with the Coffee all my Years provide!
Its chemicals may turn me