The Stag Cook Book: Written for Men by Men

Years ago there was some sort of a Centennial Exposition out in Nashville, Tenn. I don't remember what they had to celebrate, but at any rate I had to take it in. I didn't know a soul and good old Al Williams, the snake man — ^who died last year — ^gave me a letter of introduction to the Turk who ran the Hoochy-Koochy show on the midway. It is the only time I ever used a letter of introduction with confidence and delectation. This Turk — ^who, incidentally, was one of the finest looking chaps I ever saw, and a man of education — ^welcomed me with open arms. First of all I had to see the show, and I was so enthusiastic about the gyrations of the sumptuous beauties that he did me the great honor of asking me to dine with him, en famille. It was a great experience. All the Hoochy-koochy dancers were there, in their stage costumes, with ma and pa and mother-in-law, and mother's great uncle and a rabble of other folks, large and small. We had a lot of funny things to eat, but there was one dish that really appealed to me. They called [191] it "Salada" and I ate of it in such copious portions that my friend, the Turk, insisted on showing me how it was made. I have made it many times since for my own pleasure, at least — and most folk who try it once will try it again. It is a salad of ripe tomatoes, cucumbers and onions. The main point is that you must not slice them up but — ^after you peel your onions, cucumbers and tomatoes — put them whole into a chopping bowl, and chop them into chunks with a chopping knife. The chunks should be about as large as the end of your thumb. After the chopping operation, put the whole business on the ice until it gets good and cold. Then drain off the juice. Add a sharp French dressing, get a big spoon and a plate and go to it. If it doesn't taste good, I'll eat it myself. PANDORA FRENCH DRESSING I have discovered that the secret of French dressing, to my way of thinking, is to use plenty of salt. When I make it at home — say for five or six people — I take an ordinary salt dish or saucer and cover the bottom with a lot of salt. Add black pepper and some of that Chili powder that comes from a place down in Texas. This Chili powder has a better flavor than paprika, and has a sort of onion taste to it, but don't use too much of it. Then I cover this with a good quantity of olive oil and beat it up with a fork until it gets stiff. It is a good idea to have the olive oil cold. Then add your vinegar [192] — good, old-fashioned cider vinegar. There is a lot of it around nowadays because, while it is easy to turn sweet cider into hard, it is a good deal easier to turn hard cider into vinegar. You add the vinegar to suit your taste — and this depends a good deal on the kind of salad you are going to have. For asparagus I like the dressing a little tart. For lettuce, not so tart. But this is a matter you can easily adjust to your own satisfaction. WELSH RABBIT A LA MORGAN ROBERTSON I wonder how many folk who read these pages remember Morgan Robertson. Poor old Morgan is dead and gone, now, but in his day he wrote some of the best sea stories ever put into English. He used to keep bachelor hall in a funny little studio down on 25th Street, off Sixth Avenue, New York — and when his friends came to call his special delight was a Welsh Rabbit. He told me how to make it, and I am trying to pass the recipe on. The beauty of Robertson's rabbit was that it never got stringy.