St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1908-03-07
Food for Reflection
BY D. M. CORY
tCopyright,)


My window faces the domestic Of
fees Of the house opposite. Between
the branches of a spreading cedar
can see right into the beautiful kitchen
with its modern, polished range, it's
regiments of shining copper pans, its
rows of warm-tinted casseroles and
terrines Better still, l can watch the
white gowned priestess who presides
over the culinary temple what time
she prepares delicacies for the lucky
beings who are privileged to employ
her.
do not know them: / have never
seen them. am merely a desolate
stranger come to look for summer in
country village, and, by hazard, an
chored in cottage rooms overlooking
a little Tudor manor house.
AS for the summer it has not come.
In its place is caricature, done in
dull, damp, depressing greys. For my
self, ache for nutriment. For they
give me nothing to eat in the cottage
at least, they give me nothing eata-
BILE. have suffered barbaric dietary
of tepid chops, leathery steaks and
sodden vegetables for nearly fort
night and so, when the kitchen win
dows opposite are thrown open, as
they are to-day, my eyes search the
view within with a longing both Of
emptiness and the remembrance of
past good cheer.
The ghosts of real, dainty, satisfying
repasts haunt me as l watch the
proceedings of the cook. Something
is toward: there is activity in the
kitchen, and lucky chance has given
me front seat for the show.
Food! 1t surrounds the interesting
creature in the kitchen. Even at this
distance l can distinguish its main
features. Coral-tinted red mullet,
those ''woodcock of the sea-" lie re-
posefully, like We're de Veres, in row.
Near them is heap of sweetbreads,
white and round. Beyond, is an open
dish full of the tender portions of
most spring-like chickens, and in the
foreground, a dainty saddle of noun
tain lamb. 1t is powdered DER like a
lady's face, through which a sweet
rose-blush peeps. No living picture
can compare with it!
And all around, on the table by the
window and adjoining shelves, are the
accessories of civilized cookery. Con-
diments and sweet herbs; the glazes,
the pralins and the fondants in jars;
the essences and the flavorings in bot
ties. Molds, strainers, bain-marie, a
cisel, daubiere-everythi from
fonds de cuisine to the last word in
culinary material abounds in this Lu-
cullian fairy-land.
There are noises. in the cottage be-
hind me-commonplace, sordid noises
that irritate. But l put my fingers
over my ears and lean further out of
my loaded easement in order to con-
centrate the whole of my attention on
the scene that is unfolding before my
eyes.
Instinctively know that am about
to witness the operations of an adept
"a Gordon bleu. There is deftness,
light touch, about her that convinces
me of it. She has done with prelim-
inaries now, and applies herself to a
special process soup, evidently.
A pan is removed from the stove
and brought to the table by the win
dow. In it spy white roux Of creamy
cy-undoubtedly a roux Of
-four and clarified butter-probably
seasoned with mushrooms. The scent
of it seems to come to me, across the
road,-the scent of hazel-nuts! There
white delicacieg!-and when she be-
gins rubbing these through sieve and
adds them to some veal stock, and
then scatters cubes of chicken and
gated tongue into the basin, / know
this queen of purees to be no less than
Veloute Agnes sorel!
The pan goes back to the fire, and
she turns her attention to the red
mullet. How shall describe what
follows? Bald words can do no
justice to her treatment of these cor
aline dreams, tell nothing of the deft
way in which she makes the cisel
along their sleek sides. My mouth
waters as / watch her sprinkle lemon
juice upon them. What emotions stir
me as she dips them in the marinade
of white wine favored with thyme,
bay leaves, parsley and shallot? I'M
agine the fragrance! see her scatter
chopped fennel over all, before they
disappear in envelopes of oiled paper
to be gently grilled and served las
they stand!"
At this juncture, something takes
her out of sight and l suffer agonies
lest this be the end of the enhancing
diatetic treat. But no, have need
lessly alarmed myself. She is back
again, drawn by those alluring sweet
breads, as | might have guessed a
creature of her artistic temperament
would be!
A new happiness surges through me
while she lards them with bacon and
truffies. How tenderly she places
them in the shallow cocotte and sur
rounds them with a garnish of already
prepared vegetables cut en- iulienne!
How sWeetly perfect to observe her
addition of the brazing liquor, and the
powder of minced truffies that crown
her work and give the hallmark to
Ris de Veau Demidoff
Now it is the turn of the selle dag
neau Happy, happy little saddle!
You are to be treated l'anglaise be-
fore the open fire until you become
sascinatingly golden-brown, and so
reach the esculantly perfect state for
which nature designed you!
Nor shall you go to table in solitary
splendor, for see, your mistress has