Scrape fine an ounce (one of the small squares) of
Baker’s or any other plain chocolate. Add two
tablespoonfuls of sugar, and put in a small saucepan
with a tablespoonful of hot water. Stir over a hot
fire for a minute or two, until it is perfectly smooth
and glossy, and then stir it all into a quart of boil-
ing milk, or half milk and half water✪ Chocolate. Mix thor-
oughly, and serve at once. If the chocolate is wanted
richer, take twice as much chocolate, sugar, and
water. Made in this way, chocolate is perfectly
smooth, and free from oily particles. If it is allowed
to boil after the chocolate is added to the milk, it
becomes oily, and loses its fine flavor. — New Cook-
Book : Miss Maria Parloa. Estes & Lauriat, Pubs.
{By per.)
CHAPTER XVII.
CONFECTIONERY.
CONFECTIONERY.
JESSIE’S BARGAINS.
When Uncle Feodorardo left this world of woes, — which doubt-
less he looks back upon with a sight that pierces the secret of the
storms and showers and sunshine of it, — he left a great gap in it for
all the children. What a blessing he was to child-kind, to be sure !
And what a peculiar blessing to one mite out of that kind, Jessie by
name !
How this little white mite would have kept alive at all, at one time,
instead of dissolving back into her elements, if Uncle Feodorardo had
not taken her in hand, is one of those dark questions to be worked out
with chemical equations. He reminded you, in the process, of those
Japanese jugglers who, with their fans, keep butterflies fluttering on
the air around them, which, if the fan ceased and they fell to the
ground, would be merely the original atoms of torn white paper again.
For the changeling was so slight a thing that you could see the sun
shine through her hand, and they had threatened to hang her up in
the window for a transparency ; and she was finally allowed to run
wild, in hopes that she might lose her blanched, house-plant look, and
get a little of the vigor of the out-door weeds.
It was with this end in view that Uncle Feodorardo, — no uncle of
hers, by the by, any more than of all the little people in town, but an
exile who had been adopted into every body’s heart in the new home,
— would entice the flaxen-haired piece of mischief into his garden
across the way, and, giving her a little spade, would set her to dig-
ging anywhere in the warm brown earth. “ She is our mother,” said
(Jncle Feodorardo. “ We are made of her dust. When we are peak-
ing, her touch is our best cure.” He offered Jessie wages for the work
she was to do with her little spade, — wages quite as large as Uncle
Feodorardo could afford, for he earned his own livelihood from his
garden ; and, at any rate, quite the market-value of the work performed,
— wages of a penny an hour, and which she was to claim when she
could conscientiously say she had delved sixty minutes. Sometimes it
took Jessie a whole week before she could honestly earn her penny,
for she had a thousand things in that garden to divert her, since Nature
and Feodorardo together conspired to keep her active when she could
be drinking in health from all the winds that blew about her. . . .
Page 84 · 1 recipe record on this page
Presented as published in 1887. Historical recipes may not meet modern food-safety standards. Cook from the modern interpretation, not the original instructions.
AI-modernized reading of the original text
Scrape fine an ounce (one of the small squares) of Baker’s or any other plain chocolate. Add two tablespoonfuls of sugar, and put in a small saucepan with a tablespoonful of hot water. Stir over a hot fire for a minute or two, until it is perfectly smooth and glossy, and then stir it all into a quart of boiling milk, or half milk and half water. Mix thoroughly, and serve at once. If the chocolate is wanted richer, take twice as much chocolate, sugar, and water. Made in this way, chocolate is perfectly smooth, and free from oily particles. If it is allowed to boil after the chocolate is added to the milk, it becomes oily, and loses its fine flavor. — New Cook- Book : Miss Maria Parloa. Estes & Lauriat, Pubs. {By per.)
CHAPTER XVII.
CONFECTIONERY.
CONFECTIONERY.
JESSIE’S BARGAINS.
When Uncle Feodorardo left this world of woes, — which doubtless he looks back upon with a sight that pierces the secret of the storms and showers and sunshine of it, — he left a great gap in it for all the children. What a blessing he was to child-kind, to be sure ! And what a peculiar blessing to one mite out of that kind, Jessie by name !
How this little white mite would have kept alive at all, at one time, instead of dissolving back into her elements, if Uncle Feodorardo had not taken her in hand, is one of those dark questions to be worked out with chemical equations. He reminded you, in the process, of those Japanese jugglers who, with their fans, keep butterflies fluttering on the air around them, which, if the fan ceased and they fell to the ground, would be merely the original atoms of torn white paper again. For the changeling was so slight a thing that you could see the sun shine through her hand, and they had threatened to hang her up in the window for a transparency ; and she was finally allowed to run wild, in hopes that she might lose her blanched, house-plant look, and get a little of the vigor of the out-door weeds.
It was with this end in view that Uncle Feodorardo, — no uncle of hers, by the by, any more than of all the little people in town, but an exile who had been adopted into every body’s heart in the new home, — would entice the flaxen-haired piece of mischief into his garden across the way, and, giving her a little spade, would set her to digging anywhere in the warm brown earth. “ She is our mother,” said (Jncle Feodorardo. “ We are made of her dust. When we are peaking, her touch is our best cure.” He offered Jessie wages for the work she was to do with her little spade, — wages quite as large as Uncle Feodorardo could afford, for he earned his own livelihood from his garden ; and, at any rate, quite the market-value of the work performed, — wages of a penny an hour, and which she was to claim when she could conscientiously say she had delved sixty minutes. Sometimes it took Jessie a whole week before she could honestly earn her penny, for she had a thousand things in that garden to divert her, since Nature and Feodorardo together conspired to keep her active when she could be drinking in health from all the winds that blew about her. . . .
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Chocolate