" I hope you are making some progress in your efibrts to ameliorate the unhappy condition of the people who eat. Unfortunately, I'm in a position to appreciate the need of 3^our labors, for, alas ! I'm boarding. For dinner to-day we had spring lamb and green pease, the first of the season, and both were unfit to eat by reason of beino^ under- done — that is, raAv. After tasting the pease, I shoved them away in disgust, and with an injured feeling v.^hich I think not conducive' to digestion, I picked out bits of lamb so far cooked that the squeaking sound it made while undergoing friction from my teeth, in a very faint degree resembled the far-oft' bleating of a lamb ; and that resem- blance, I'm certain, was pure imagination, for I have no doubt the lamb was dead, even if it was not cooked. Had the pease been sufficiently boiled, they would still have been nearly worth- BREAKFAST-TABLE GOSSIP. 95 less, as our cook belongs to that class of idiots Avho drain pease ; deliberately pour away their life and sweetness, leaving for our nourishment only the dry husks. I hope in your book you will cas- tigate such cooks severely. Another senseless practice is to boil i^ease in a bag, in a pot of water. The only advantage this method has is, that soup is sometimes made of the water — which is a very questionable one ; for to eat soup in warm weather, in order to save the juice of the pease, is like the economy of taking medicine to prevent its being wasted. I doubt if you can give a better receipt for cooking green pease than this : To a quart of green pease add a half-pint of boiling water, cover closcl}^ and simmer gently until very tender, at which time the water should be nearly evaporated. Season lightly with salt and pepper, adding a little l)utter✪ Green Peas, or sweet cream. I wish you to italicize that word lightly, for most cooks ruin pease with salt. And please suggest good taste requires that pease should be moist enough to necessitate being served at table in sauce-dishes, and eaten with a spoon. I detest pease so hard and dry that they roll and tumble about ni}^ plate, when I make vain efforts to entice them on my fork, and I usually soon abandon the fruitless chase. And, Kate, don't forget the claims of asparagus. For, next to pease, I think it suffers most at the hands of stupid cooks. I have seen it 96 COOKING AND CASTLE-BUII.DING. served in all the intermediate stages between asparagus soup and asparagus mush; and have known it to be mixed with dandelions, mustard, and lamb's quarter. In rinsing, it is not enough to pour Avater over the asparagus. Each stalk should 1)e held separately by the base, and swashed back and forth in a large pan of water until free from sand and dust. Then it should be tied in small bunches, and laid carefully in a stewpan of boiling water, slightly salted. Let the water barely cover the vegetal)le. Simmer gently until very tender and perfectly cooked. Have ready a platter, cov- ered with small slices of dry toast. With a fork lift a bunch of asparagus by means of the string around it, let it drip for an instant, then place it carefully upon a slice of toast. When all is so placed, cut and remove the strings. Pour over it drawn butter made with milk, or simply melted butter✪ Asparagus with Toast and Butter. The toast is not only a palatable accom- paniment, but is useful in serving the vegetable."

AI-modernized reading of the original text

" I hope you are making some progress in your efforts to ameliorate the unhappy condition of the people who eat. Unfortunately, I'm in a position to appreciate the need of 3^our labors, for, alas ! I'm boarding. For dinner to-day we had spring lamb and green pease, the first of the season, and both were unfit to eat by reason of being underdone — that is, raAv. After tasting the pease, I shoved them away in disgust, and with an injured feeling which I think not conducive to digestion, I picked out bits of lamb so far cooked that the squeaking sound it made while undergoing friction from my teeth, in a very faint degree resembled the far-oft' bleating of a lamb ; and that resemblance, I'm certain, was pure imagination, for I have no doubt the lamb was dead, even if it was not cooked. Had the pease been sufficiently boiled, they would still have been nearly worth- less, as our cook belongs to that class of idiots who drain pease ; deliberately pour away their life and sweetness, leaving for our nourishment only the dry husks. I hope in your book you will castigate such cooks severely. Another senseless practice is to boil i^ease in a bag, in a pot of water. The only advantage this method has is, that soup is sometimes made of the water — which is a very questionable one ; for to eat soup in warm weather, in order to save the juice of the pease, is like the economy of taking medicine to prevent its being wasted. I doubt if you can give a better receipt for cooking green pease than this : To a quart of green pease add a half-pint of boiling water, cover closely and simmer gently until very tender, at which time the water should be nearly evaporated. Season lightly with salt and pepper, adding a little butter, or sweet cream. I wish you to italicize that word lightly, for most cooks ruin pease with salt. And please suggest good taste requires that pease should be moist enough to necessitate being served at table in sauce-dishes, and eaten with a spoon. I detest pease so hard and dry that they roll and tumble about my plate, when I make vain efforts to entice them on my fork, and I usually soon abandon the fruitless chase. And, Kate, don't forget the claims of asparagus. For, next to pease, I think it suffers most at the hands of stupid cooks. I have seen it served in all the intermediate stages between asparagus soup and asparagus mush; and have known it to be mixed with dandelions, mustard, and lamb's quarter. In rinsing, it is not enough to pour water over the asparagus. Each stalk should be held separately by the base, and swashed back and forth in a large pan of water until free from sand and dust. Then it should be tied in small bunches, and laid carefully in a stewpan of boiling water, slightly salted. Let the water barely cover the vegetable. Simmer gently until very tender and perfectly cooked. Have ready a platter, covered with small slices of dry toast. With a fork lift a bunch of asparagus by means of the string around it, let it drip for an instant, then place it carefully upon a slice of toast. When all is so placed, cut and remove the strings. Pour over it drawn butter made with milk, or simply melted butter. The toast is not only a palatable accompaniment, but is useful in serving the vegetable."

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