Helpful advice is, as usual, offered in abundance. For example, one should wash the oysters so as not to offend fastidious guests. 
Let's be honest: who hasn't been duped by one of those city slicker eel merchants? And who really has time to consider the diets of urban eels compared to those of more pastoral climes?"Since eels do not keep diaries," the investigator, 19-year-old Sigmund Freud, wrote to a friend in the spring of 1876, the only way to determine gender was to cut and slice, "but in vain, all the eels which I cut open are of the fairer sex."
Every housekeeper knows how unfit for really nice cooking is the pressed lard sold in stores as "best and cheapest." It is close and tough, melts slowly, and is sometimes diversified by fibrous lumps. And even when lard has been "tried out" by the usual process, it is often mixed with so much water as to remind us unpleasantly that it is bought by weight.The best way of preparing the "leaf lard," as it is called, is to skin it carefully, wash, and let it drain; then put it, cut into bits, into a large, clean tin kettle or bucket, and set this in a pot of boiling water. Stir from time to time until it is melted; throw in a very little salt, to make the sediment settle; and when it is hot--(it should not boil fast at any time, but simmer gently until clear)--strain through a close cloth into jars. Do not squeeze the cloth so long as the clear fat will run through, and when you do, press the refuse into a different vessel, to be used for commoner purposes than the other.Most of the lard in general use is, however, made from the fatty portions of pork lying next the skin of the hog, and are left for this purpose by the butcher. Scrape from the rind, and cut all into dice. Fill a large pot, putting in a teacupful of water to prevent scorching, and melt very slowly, stirring every few minutes. Simmer until there remains nothing of the meat but fibrous bits. Remove these carefully with a perforated skimmer; throw in a little salt, to settle the fat, and when it is clear strain through a fine cullender (sic), a sieve, or a coarse cloth. Tip the latter in boiling water, should it become clogged by the cooling lard. Observe the directions about squeezing the strainer. If your family is small, bear in mind that the lard keeps longer in small than large vessels. Set away the jars, closely covered, in a cool, dry cellar or store room.In trying out lard, the chief danger is of burning. Simmer gently over a steady fire, and give it your whole attention until it is done. A moment's neglect will ruin all. Stir very often--almost constantly at the last--and from the bottom, until the salt is thrown in to settle it, when withdraw to a less hot part of the fire. Bladders tied over lard jars are the best protection; next to these, paper, and outside of this, cloths dipped in melted grease.
Florence writes:My aunt Jenny was oen of the most famous cooks in central Ohio forty years ago. Her kitchen was a huge room dominated by a coal range from which came aromas which touched off a stampede of children from all parts of the house.Best of all, especially in winter, were the big pans of apple dumplings, steaming at the top with apple jelly oozing out. They were supposed to be served cold, or nearly so. But we couldn't wait. We ate them hot with very cold, very thick cream.Here is her recipe. (Today's busy housekeepers may use ready mixed pie crust.)
.jpg)
Dinner at home, with mother cooking, is an important event now in the lives of Tricia and Julie Nixon, whose parents, the Vice President and Mrs. Nixon, are so busy with official duties that dining at home with the youngsters is a rare event. Mrs. Nixon has compiled a book of recipes that her husband and the children especially like, and she selects from them on the infrequent occasions when she can prepare the family dinner. Here are two Nixon specials:
Mrs. Eisenhower has never made any pretense at being a cook. But like most people with no flair for food, she has impractical specialties. Hers are fudge and mayonnaise. Fudge is still one of her favorites and this family recipe is popular at the White House.
TIME... October-December 1939PLACE... Warsaw, PolandCHARACTERS... Two newspaper Correspondents, Marian H. Jones and Stephanie SteinhausHome: former freight caboose, furnished with double bunk, pot-bellied iron stove, switchman's lantern, Aubusson tapestry over the one window. Cannon to the right, cannon to the left, bombs falling everywhere. Sunday nights we were "at home" to newspaper colleagues and other friends. This dish was a favorite.
I learned to cook at about 14 when my mother went on a three-month speaking tour for suffrage and left me to keep house. Whatever I saved out of the budget was mine, so I specialized in recipes for making cheap cuts of meat delicious, and managed without starving the family, to indulge in new clothes, theater tickets, and other things not covered by my allowance.These recipes are quickies that can be made between deadline time and when the guests arrive.
Camped around edges of Normandy apple orchards in 1944 campaign, cold and muddy and a mile and a half from the mess tent... Swapped off PX cigarettes for shell eggs from nearby farmers--change from powdered eggs... "Liberated" bit of butter or shortening from mess tent, and cheese from rations... "Liberated" a little gasoline from nearest jeep.
This entry comes from Sarah McClendon, of "Sarah McClendon Bureau". Mrs. Eugene Worley laughed when her husband, Federal Judge Worley of Washington, DC said he was bringing the President of hte United States home to dinner.Speaker Raybuurn, yes, or Chief Justice Vinson or Associate Justice Clark. They were regular chili "customers" at the Worley home. Even Judge Worley himself sort of gulped when President Truman, some years ago, picked him up on an invitation to a chili supper, saying "Why yes, I'll be over tonight."His wife was still laughing at the joke her husband thought he was playing on her when she began receiving calls from the Secret Service for directions to the Worley home. Frantically, she rushed out to the neighbors to borrow silver, china, and even a spare maid.Soon she began receiving telephone bulletins on the progress of the party from the Secret Service, saying "we are rounding such-and-such a corner and will arrive in 5 1/2 minutes." To her amazement, Secret Service men immediately dashed to the kitchen to taste the chili--not for flavor, but to make sure it was safe eating for a President.This is the recipe for Mrs. Worley's s famous chili which former Presendt Truman proclaimed "the best in Washington."
This recipe comes from Josephine Ripley who worked for the Christian Science Monitor's Washington Bureau.Giving dinner to Virginia-born Lady Astor presented an unexpected problem for my editor, Erwin Canham, and his wife. The Canham maid, also from Virginia, held her own opinion of highborn ladies from her State. When informed that Lady Astor was to be a dinner guest, she muttered ominously, "She'll be late." She was.When Lady Astor complimented the Gateau Fromage, Mrs. Canham rang for the maid to bring another serving to her distinguished guest. To her amazement, the servant announced flatly: "There ain't no more, ma'am."There was, as Mrs. Canham knew--but not apparently for Lady Astor.
This story and recipe come from Gretchen Smith, "Special Writer" (wonder what that means?)A popular dish for Sunday brunch is kidney stew and waffles. I often entertained friends in Hollywood with this morning repast when I was living not far from Sunset Boulevard.I won't offer a recipe for waffles; you'll find a good one on every package of waffle flour you buy. But kidney stew is another matter.Don't buy anything but veal kidneys. They never have that strong taste you frequently find in lamb or beef kidneys. Below is the recipe which will serve two bountifully. Just multiply it for the number you want to entertain.
Despite safaris to Italy, my favorite Italian spaghetti is still this American short-cut dish. It was, in fact, the first thing I learned to cook. Married while a reporter on Hearst's Detroit Times, I had never even opened a can. While covering a murder trial a few days after my wedding, a rival reporter asked in a stage-whisper if I knew how to cook.
At the shake of my head, she scribbled this recipe and advised me to concentrate on quick-to-cook meals. I tried it on Bob that evening and it was so foolproof that we've eaten it regularly ever since.
A highlight of one of the most perfect days I ever spent was this chocolate souffle. Leaving Pompeii,we traveled by car along the Amalfi Drive in Southern Italy. At dusk we reached quaint Ravello (where Greta Garbo once fled from the press for an idyllic sojourn with Leopold Stokowski). At the Hotel Caruso Belvedere, a quaint, ageless inn, we dined luxuriously in the patio with the entire bay of Salerno at our feet. This was the dessert--so superb that I wangled the recipe.
My cooking life started late. After college, when I went to work, I lived at a club. After marriage, when I went to Geneva, we lived at a hotel. On returning to the United States, I found Emma Smith, who lived with us for seventeen years. After Emma retired, I had to put my shoulder to the can opener. (Note to beginners: a hand is better.) My performance is spotty. But I can make a superb souffle, from an old family recipe.
Lunch today was what I'm calling a Moroccan salad. It started with Moroccan chicken and chick pea cakes, leftover from dinner last night. The cakes were based on an appetizer recipe which unfortunately I could not find online to share with you. I substituted cilantro for mint (because I had it), and added crushed sesame crackers to the meat mixture rather than using breadcrumbs as a coating. They were flavored with hot sauce and cumin. I sauteed them rather than deep frying followed by baking as the recipe specified.
