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Fried Mush, Breaded

Take the pan of cold boiled mush, prepared as already described, and having slightly warmed the bottom, turn it upside down on a clean paste-board, kept for the purpose. Cut the mush into blocks, square or diamond-shaped, or else into slices or fancy forms, according to the use intended. For every quart of mush one egg is required, to be beaten up with an equal amount of water.

Roll the pieces in this, and then in the meal made by pounding and sifting crackers.

Have a saucepan half full of lard made hot enough to hiss loudly when a drop of water touches it, but yet not smoking. Drop in the mush a few pieces at a time; fry them yellow-brown--about ten minutes--then place them in a colander set in a pan, and in a hot place, to drain and dry before serving. Wonder by what mischance in the distribution of names, it happened that we drew mush from German mus, when the other corn-raising peoples nearly all drew Latin polenta?

For it is not to be supposed that we have the monopoly of mush, excepting the poor word itself. That, indeed, does not seem to be known even to the English as a household word, for our mush, if they take it as an experiment, they call maize porridge, our oatmeal mush is the Scotch oatmeal porridge, our cracked-wheat mush is the English frumenty, and mush they will not say at all. France, which raises annually thirty million bushels of corn, makes mush and mush puddings, but calls mush polenta.

The term is specially applied to pudding made of the meal of chestnuts, the same that, possibly, Count Nesselrode was fond of, for, improved to a superlative degree, we now find a pudding of chestnuts called Nesselrode pudding; but the Italian polenta, a corn meal pudding, is also made in France, and polenta for mush has a general application. Portugal raises fifteen million bushels of corn, and makes corn food, and there it is not prosaic mush but musical polenta. Italy exceeds them all, raises forty-five million bushels, makes mush, and calls it polenta. Also, Brillat-Savarin, enumerating the various articles contributed by different countries to make a perfect cuisine, says that Italy sends polenta liqueuers, and in the want of better knowledge, the supposition is unavoidable that he meant Italian corn whisky or its compounds. Even our neighbor, Brazil, raising and using large amounts of corn does not call mush our tasteless way, but speaking Portugese no doubt sups on mellifluous polenta.

Now mush does well enough for every day use, but we want something for Sunday and company times, and mush, look at it any way you please, is positively too homely and humble to be elevated to any conspicuous position. The article mush is wanted to go to table with some very nice entrees; it is pleasant to the sight and good for food, and can be cut handsomely and browned prettily and set up ornamentally, and is good for canapes and fleurons, and croustades; but the word mush will never fit in gracefully where mush ought to be; it will not harmonize with the grand surroundings of notable opening days and splendid banquets at gilt-edged hotels; it will hardly be admitted to the finest bills of fare, to be printed in gold on satin, with borders of Japanese mocking-birds and garlands of roses from Bendemere's Stream, now will it? But you cannot say the same of polenta, the difference is immense. Polenta is Italian, and used to mocking-birds and roses and all that. Mush is Cinderella, but polenta is Cinderella changed to the princess. If this difference is not already apparent, let us put it to the test. You cannot imagine mush being introduced with propriety into any line of tragic or heroic verse, but polenta can be, and can hold its own. Take this example: "O, Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?"--instead of a member of some other family--and it will be seen that without the least loss of dignity our impassioned Juliet might shout: "O Polenta, Polenta! wherefore art thou Polenta?"--instead of bread-crumbed trout. With due care taken to give the true lisp to the "t" in polenta, as it would be heard in some old moss-grown inn in Granada, under the shadow of the Alhambra or any other Castle in Spain, the paraphrase possesses a depth of plaintive passion that would set the mock heroics which do so murder the original at defiance. And yet polenta is mush, but note the difference: "O Mush, Mush! wherefore art thou Mush?"--instead of Polenta. No use; even capitals do not help it--will not ring in right at all, but you immediately think of Bottom, the weaver, and Starveling, his mate, and "O Bottom, Bottom! thou art translated!"

This is an idle fancy, but it is serious, too, for we want to put mush, at least fried mush, on the finest bills of fare that are gotten up--bills for the Capulets and Montagus, stately as Romeo, dainty as Juliet, if not so tragical. Some of the finest bills of fare extant have, for a dainty dish, "Marrow on Toast." Mush might well take the toast's place, yet, it is hard to say why, "Marrow on Mush" does not seem so stylish. "Border of Mush, Filled" with something, would not cut as grand a figure among the entrees as "Bordeur de Polenta Garnies" now would it?

Speaking of Juliet, isn't it Juliet who says: "That, which we call a rose, By any other name would smell as sweet?"

Literally taken, millions have agreed to that, but there is something behind the literal; words are beguiling. "Who is't," quoth he, "that there reposes, Upon you bank of summer roses?" Here the idea conveyed by reposes on roses is so pleasant that you forget about the probable thorns and go on reading to see what other pleasant things there are, and it is the same with eating as with reposing. Let a person spend a season at some delightful winter resort and write home about the "exquisite mush," and all the people written to would surely laugh. But let it be the other case, and let the expression be "O, the divine polenta," and they would no more laugh than they would at the divine Piccolomini or the divine Celestina, but would go on reading to see what other good things you were having, and would forget about the probable cheapness of polenta, which would be the thorn in this case. Thus, it is seen, mush has a very bad case, and it is hard to see what is to be done about it. Perhaps somebody will help out this philological difficulty, and we will go right along with our receipts.