ARROWROOT JELLY.—Rub two heaping teaspoonfuls of arrowroot smooth in a very little cold water, and stir it into a cupful of boiling water, in which should be dissolved two teaspoonfuls of sugar. Stir until clear, allowing it to boil all the time; lastly, add a teaspoonful of lemon juice. Serve cold, with cream and sugar if allowed.
ARROWROOT BLANCMANGE.—Rub two and a half tablespoonfuls of best arrowroot smooth in half a cup of cold milk, and stir slowly into two and one half cups of boiling new milk. When it begins to thicken, add three fourths of a cup of sugar, and cook, stirring constantly for several minutes. Turn into molds and cool. Serve with fruit juice or fruit sauces.
CURRANT JELLY.—Soak an ounce of Cox’s gelatine in half a pint of cold water for fifteen minutes, then pour over it a teacupful of boiling water; strain, and add one pint at currant juice, one tablespoonful of sugar, and set on ice to cool.
ICELAND MOSS JELLY.—Wash about four ounces of moss very clean in lukewarm water. Boil slowly in a quart of cold water. When quite dissolved, strain it onto a tablespoonful of currant or raspberry jelly, stirring so as to blend the jelly perfectly with the moss. Turn into a mold, and cool.
ICELAND MOSS BLANCMANGE.—Substitute milk for the water, and proceed as in the foregoing. Flavor with lemon or vanilla. Strain through a muslin cloth, turn into a mold, and let stand till firm and cold.
ORANGE WHEY.—Add the juice of one sour orange to a pint of sweet milk. Heat very slowly until the milk is curded, then strain and cool.
WHITE CUSTARD.—Beat the whites of three eggs to a stiff froth, add a little salt if desired, and two tablespoonfuls of sugar. A bit of grated lemon rind may also be used for flavoring. Add lastly a pint of new milk, little by little, beating thoroughly all the while. Bake in cups set in a pan of hot water. When firm in the center, take out and set in a cool place.
Regimen is better than physic.—Voltaire.
Many dishes have induced many diseases.—Seneca.
Dr. Lyman Beecher tells the following story of his aunt, which well illustrates a popular notion that sick people should be fed with all sorts of dainties, no matter what the nature of the disease. When a boy eight or nine years of age, he was one day suffering in the throes of indigestion, as the result of having swallowed a large amount of indigestible mince pie. His kind-hearted aunt noticed the pale and distressed look on his face, and said to him, with genuine sympathy in her voice, “Lyman, you look sick. You may go into the pantry and help yourself to a nice piece of fruit cake just warm from the oven.”
Fix on that course of life
which is the most excellent, and custom
will render it the most delightful.—Pythagoras.