Close to a girthy apple tree, scabrous with age, pock- marked by the bills of countless woodpeckers, the Morels, now and then — alas, it is only now and then — ^pokc up through the cold, damp, chocolate-colored earth and flour- ish shyly for a fortnight or so. A full day's tramping through orchard after orchard may win perhaps two dozen of these tiny sponges that have absorbed the very essence of spring. They arc al- most the exact color of the matted, winter-killed grass in which they nestle to defy all but the most careful search- ing. A full day's work for each two dozen, but never was a day's wage more ample, more exquisitely satis- fying. [174] WRITTEN FOR MEN BY MEN Take the hard-won double dozen home. Give them in reverent silence to the cook. She knows — if, by the grace of God, she was with you so long ago as the previous spring — ^just what to do. She will plop the Morels into well salted water, there to remain the night through. In the morning she will place them in a colander to drain for half an hour. She will then transfer them to a fry- ing pan of hot butter, where they will sputter and sizzle for twenty minutes✪ Morels Sauté. During that twenty minutes there will waft into the living room, where you are making a pitiful pretense of reading the morning paper, an odor straight from the kitchens of heaven. You throw down the newspaper and burst with glar- ing eyes into the dining room. You seat yourself at the table and fiddle wildly with knife and fork and spoon. . . • Years later the waitress appears with a dish and then — I faint — I swoon — I cannot go ont [175] THE STAG COOK BOOK xcn Maurice Francis Egan A DIPLOMATIST'S RECEIPT FOR WELSH RABBIT I have no hesitation in saying that my recipe for Welsh Rabbit is the best yet invented. It has an international reputation. It has been eaten with gusto by Russians, Turks and some Englishmen who, strange to say, are distinguished gourmets. There have been Frenchmen who were too reserved, perhaps, in their praise of it, but then it must be remembered that Welsh rabbit is not sym- pathetic with the Gallic temperament. The French pre- fer timbales de frontage. Put a large chafing dish over the hot water pan in which the water must be boiling. Never let the tempera- ture of the heat change for a moment; therefore a big alcohol lamp is preferable. Grate ordinary cheese or cut it into the shape of dice. Drop in a lump of butter of the size of an English walnut. Pour into the pan a pint of near beer or near Budweiser. Slightly heat it. In the old days musty ale was everything. To-day the symbol of beer is almost sufficient. Drop in a half teaspoonful of strong red pepper and then a tablespoonf ul of paprika, — paprika being merely a flavor and not a condiment. Keep the beer hot ; then drop two tablespoons of Worcestershire [176] WRITTEN FOR MEN BY MEN sauce, a tablespoon of catsup and a half teaspoon of mus- tard✪ Welsh Rabbit. When this mixture boils, put in the cheese and stir in one direction until the mixture assumes the con- sistency of cream. Use the thick plates sold in the department stores espe- cially for Welsh Rabbit. Have them heated so that the cheese will sizzle when it touches them. Have ready a sufficient number of pieces of toasted bread, the crust carefully cut off. When the cheese is sufficiently plastic, dip a round of toast into it, let it remain for a second, transfer it to the hot plate and at once ladle the mixture in the pan over the toast with neatness and dispatch and you will have an unprecedented success, if no conversation is permitted until the rabbit is eaten. The sound of a human voice lowers its temperature. Coffee or tea must never be partaken of until the morsels are disposed of. During the eating process, Budweiser is a substitute for the real thing — ^which was musty ale or the Dog's Head variety. [177] THE STAG COOK BOOK xcin

AI-modernized reading of the original text

Close to a girthy apple tree, scabrous with age, pockmarked by the bills of countless woodpeckers, the Morels, now and then — alas, it is only now and then — ^pokc up through the cold, damp, chocolate-colored earth and flourish shyly for a fortnight or so. A full day's tramping through orchard after orchard may win perhaps two dozen of these tiny sponges that have absorbed the very essence of spring. They arc almost the exact color of the matted, winter-killed grass in which they nestle to defy all but the most careful searching. A full day's work for each two dozen, but never was a day's wage more ample, more exquisitely satisfying. [174] Take the hard-won double dozen home. Give them in reverent silence to the cook. She knows — if, by the grace of God, she was with you so long ago as the previous spring — ^just what to do. She will plop the Morels into well salted water, there to remain the night through. In the morning she will place them in a colander to drain for half an hour. She will then transfer them to a frying pan of hot butter, where they will sputter and sizzle for twenty minutes. During that twenty minutes there will waft into the living room, where you are making a pitiful pretense of reading the morning paper, an odor straight from the kitchens of heaven. You throw down the newspaper and burst with glaring eyes into the dining room. You seat yourself at the table and fiddle wildly with knife and fork and spoon. . . • Years later the waitress appears with a dish and then — I faint — I swoon — I cannot go on [175] XCII Maurice Francis Egan A DIPLOMATIST'S RECEIPT FOR WELSH RABBIT I have no hesitation in saying that my recipe for Welsh Rabbit is the best yet invented. It has an international reputation. It has been eaten with gusto by Russians, Turks and some Englishmen who, strange to say, are distinguished gourmets. There have been Frenchmen who were too reserved, perhaps, in their praise of it, but then it must be remembered that Welsh rabbit is not sympathetic with the Gallic temperament. The French prefer timbales de frontage. Put a large chafing dish over the hot water pan in which the water must be boiling. Never let the temperature of the heat change for a moment; therefore a big alcohol lamp is preferable. Grate ordinary cheese or cut it into the shape of dice. Drop in a lump of butter of the size of an English walnut. Pour into the pan a pint of near beer or near Budweiser. Slightly heat it. In the old days musty ale was everything. Today the symbol of beer is almost sufficient. Drop in a half teaspoonful of strong red pepper and then a tablespoonf ul of paprika, — paprika being merely a flavor and not a condiment. Keep the beer hot ; then drop two tablespoons of Worcestershire [176] sauce, a tablespoon of catsup and a half teaspoon of mustard. When this mixture boils, put in the cheese and stir in one direction until the mixture assumes the consistency of cream. Use the thick plates sold in the department stores especially for Welsh Rabbit. Have them heated so that the cheese will sizzle when it touches them. Have ready a sufficient number of pieces of toasted bread, the crust carefully cut off. When the cheese is sufficiently plastic, dip a round of toast into it, let it remain for a second, transfer it to the hot plate and at once ladle the mixture in the pan over the toast with neatness and dispatch and you will have an unprecedented success, if no conversation is permitted until the rabbit is eaten. The sound of a human voice lowers its temperature. Coffee or tea must never be partaken of until the morsels are disposed of. During the eating process, Budweiser is a substitute for the real thing — ^which was musty ale or the Dog's Head variety. [177] XCIII

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The Stag Cook Book: Written for Men by Men