PART II

The second half of this little book is composed chiefly of recipes for
dishes that can be made in haste, and by the inexperienced cook. But such
cook can hardly pay too much attention to details if she does not wish to
revert to an early, not to say feral type of cuisine, where the roots
were eaten raw while the meat was burnt. Because your dining-room
furniture is Early English, there is no reason why the cooking should be
early English too. And it certainly will be, unless one takes great
trouble with detail.

Let us suppose that at 7:30 P.M. your husband telephones that he is
bringing a friend to dine at 8. Let us suppose an even more rash act. He
arrives at 7:15, he brings a friend: you perceive the unexpressed
corollary that the dinner must be better than usual. In such a moment of
poignant surprise, let fly your best smile (the kind that is practiced by
bachelors' widows) and say "I am delighted you have come like this; do
you mind eight or a quarter past for dinner?" Then melt away to the cook
with this very book in your hand.

I take it that you consider her to be the junior partner in the
household, you, of course, being the senior, and your husband the
sleeping partner in it. Ask what there is in the house for an extra dish,
and I wager you the whole solar system to a burnt match that you will
find in these pages the very recipe that fits the case. A piece of cold
veal, viewed with an eye to futurity, resolves itself into a white creamy
delightfulness that melts in your mouth; a new-laid egg, maybe, poached
on the top, and all set in a china shell. If you have no meat at all, you
must simply hoodwink your friends with the fish and vegetables.