Six Little Cooks; or, Aunt Jane's Cooking Class

A children's story from 1877 that smuggles in a whole cooking course — six little cooks, Aunt Jane's kitchen, and 160 numbered recipes woven through the tale.

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Seventh Day: Grace

Scrape or chop fine a little raw beef from a tender, juicy piece; season with pepper and salt, and spread on a thin slice of thinly buttered bread; cover with a similar slice, and cut into three or four neat-looking pieces, according to the size of the loaf. "Raw beef!" exclaimed Grace, "that must be awful!

I hope nobody will ever give me any!" "Most people find it exceedingly nice, Gracie; and if you had such a sandwich put into your hands, without knowing what it was made of, I've no doubt you would do the same. Raw beef is very nourishing and easily digested; that is why it is recommended for sick people." No 94 TOAST-WATER.

Toast two thin slices of bread thoroughly, but without burning them. It is a great mistake to think that toast with the black edge scraped off, is as nice as that which is only well browned at first. While hot, pour one quart cold water over the slices, and let them stand in a covered pitcher until wanted.

No. 95-EGG NOG.

Beat the yolk of an egg in a tumbler, with two teaspoonfuls brandy and the same of sugar, measured even; beat the white to a dry froth, mix it thoroughly with the yolk, and fill the glass with milk.

Several variations may be made on this recipe. Some patients cannot take egg, but must have brandy and milk alone; some can not use milk, but take the brandy and egg without it, while others again, and they, perhaps, the largest class, are best nourished by an egg beaten up very thoroughly with half the stated quantity of sugar, stirred into a glass of rich milk or cream.

No. 96-FLAX-SEED LEMONADE.

Take four even tablespoonfuls whole flax-seed, upon which pour one quart boiling water. Let it stand three hours in a covered pitcher, then add the juice of two lemons, and sweeten to taste. If too thick, thin with a little cold water or ice. * "Aren't there any recipes for making cocoa, Aunt Jane?" asked Grace. "Yes, plenty; but as they are sure to come on the packages of cocoa, or broma, or 'racahout des Arabes,' or alkethrepta, or whatever other name the preparation is called by, I don't think it worth while to give you any. There is one drink, though, I used to think delicious when I drank it fresh from the mill where it was made-cocoa shells. Did you ever see any?"," "No; I never heard of them." "I've no doubt that they are to be had at the grocers, and I'll give you the directions. Miss Bremer, when she was in this country, used to call this drink, 'De nectar of de gods."

No. 97-CoCOA SHELLS.

One quart boiling water, two oz. cocoa shells, sometimes called nibs, wet first with a little cold water; boil an hour and a half, strain, add one quart milk (better if you can have it part cream), let it heat nearly to boiling, then take off and serve. "Now, as the doctor said Mamma might eat a little something besides her gruel to-day, suppose we try how she likes a poached egg on toast, with a cup of tea? It will be a pleasant little surprise to her."

For the Modern Kitchen Do not make this as written.

This is a page of invalid cookery — the sickroom drinks and light foods that closed most nineteenth-century household manuals. Two of the five items are built on raw animal protein fed to the sick, which is exactly the population that cannot absorb the risk; the remaining three are harmless and still pleasant.

A Little History

This comes from Six Little Cooks; or, Aunt Jane's Cooking Class (Elizabeth Stansbury Kirkland, Chicago, 1877), a children's cookery book framed as a story: an aunt teaches a group of girls, and the girls talk back, which is why Grace's horror at raw beef is written into the recipe itself. Sickroom cookery commonly came at the end of such books, and here the doctor's permission — "the doctor said Mamma might eat a little something besides her gruel" — governs what comes out of the kitchen. Raw or barely warmed beef, scraped rather than ground so it would be "easily digested," was common medical advice for consumptives and the wasting sick in the later nineteenth century, before bacterial contamination of meat was understood. The "Miss Bremer" who called cocoa-shell tea the nectar of the gods was Fredrika Bremer, the Swedish novelist who travelled the United States around 1850 and published her impressions as The Homes of the New World; cocoa shells were then a cheap by-product of chocolate mills.

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