Irish Cream Cheese

Irish Cream Cheese. Take a quart of very thick cream, and stir well into it two spoonfuls of salt. Double a napkin in two, and lay it in a punchbowl. Pour the cream into it; turn the four corners over the cream, and let it stand for two days. Put it into a dry cloth within a little wooden cheese-vat; turn it into dry cloths twice a day till it is quite dry, and it will be fit to eat in a few days. Keep it in clean cloths in a cool place.
Bury, Lady Charolette, Campbell, The Lady's Own Cookery Book, and a New Dinner-tale Directory, 1844.
p.249

Stirrabout

DIALOGUE XXXVII.
* STIRABOUT.
Nancy, Rose.
Nancy. I'LL lhank you for a lock of meal60. I have not enough to thicken the stirabout.
Rose. You are very welcome to it, Nancy; but did any thing happen your meal, for you laid in more than we did?
Nancy. Indeed nothing happened, but what happens to "all the victuals —it was eat—but I wonder what happened to yours, to last so long. Have you any knack of spinning it out? , ,
Rose. I have a particular method of making stirabout.
Nancy. What's that, Rose? Myself thinks you have a knack at every thing.
Rose. To be sure. I let the water boil before I stir in e'er a grain; and when once it boils fast, I put in handful after handful, till I think there is near enough, stirring it very well all the time; then I lift the pot a hook or two higher, and cover it up for a good share of half an hour, very seldom stirring it.
Nancy. Sure it must be like paste. Tim likes the stirabout short.
Rose. Stay, Nancy, till I tell you. Just before I take off the pot, I stir in one handful, and it's good, wholesome, short stirabout, and not near so heating for the children, as when it does not get it's due of boiling, as well as more nourishing for Jem, besides making the meal go a great deal farther.

- Cottage dialogues among the Irish peasantry, with notes and a preface, M. Edgeworth,
Maria Edgeworth,1811, p.190.

Household Economy

Rose. Ah, never mind him! must not every poor man's wife work in and out of doors, and do all she can to help her husband? and do you think you could afford tea, on thirteen pence a day? Put that out of your head, entirely, Nancy; give up the tea for good and all.
Nancy. Rose, it is a folly to talk; I can't give up my tea; I'm so used to it now, and it was such a comfort to me when I was so hard worked at my last place.
Rose. But now you have other comforts. You have a loving husband, the best of all worldly comforts; and the way to keep him so, is to be a good wife; not only loving him, but managing and stretching his little earnings, Now if you both
take to drinking tea, (and sure you can't sit down to one thing, and he to another,) you must have a quarter of an ounce of tea, that is three halfpence at the lowest; and two ounces of sugar, that is three halfpence more; a fourpenny loaf will be tight enough; two ounces of butter, two pence; all that comes to nine pence, and hardly enough; and weak food for a man. Then a quart of oatmeal, which you will get for two pence halfpenny, and a pennyworth of milk, will give you the greatest plenty for your breakfast; and that is but three pence halfpenny; so you save five pence halfpenny every day, in that meal; and then you can afford to buy a little meat now and then, when it is cheap. You could buy a shin of beef, or a sheep's head in the season, and make very good broth, throwing in an onion, and marygolds, or whatever pot herbs you like, and thickening it with a handful of oatmeal. O, it is a comfortable dinner of a cold winter's day, for a labouring man!
Nancy. But a labouring man wants something to strengthen him of a hot summer's day too, and then meat is too dear to think about.
Rose. You could get a quarter of veal for two tenpennies, that would give you three dinners, stewed with onion, pepper, and salt, and a little fat bacon, and sliced potatoes; and that would stand you but in about seven pence a dinner. To be sure that same you could not have very often ; for there is the supper to be thought of, and the rent. Tim will work hard at his garden in the evenings; and while you are young and strong, and have no family, you will try to lay up something against a rainy day. If you could earn the price of a cow, I think you could get grass for it, and after a while, may be, take a field; and a cow would make handsomely for you, your good mistress Clinton taught you to make butter so well.
Nancy. The price of a cow! how would I earn the price of a cow? besides, Tim expects one from his father.
- Cottage dialogues among the Irish peasantry, with notes and a preface, M. Edgeworth,
Maria Edgeworth,1811, p.137.

Free Range Pigs

Rose. You see, Nancy, it would have been cheaper for you to have built a separate place for your pig, as Jem advised you, and not to have given it the way of going into the cabin to be fed. Indeed I wonder you can bear to have it eat out of the same vessel that boils food for your husband and children.
Nancy. Why, the neighbours'.pigs would be eating it's victuals, if J fed it out of doors.
Rose. Not if you built a sty for it; besides, you .know I am your nearest neighbour, and my pigs are shut up. Jem is going to make an addition to their little place, but the walls of the new part will be high enough to hinder them from getting out, so that they can have light and air, and move about, without doing rawchief toourselves, or others; and their food can be put in over the wall.
Nancy. Why, what do they want with light and air?
Hose. All animals intended for food, are wholesomer, and sweeter to eat, for not being debarred from them; besides, I hate,to shut up any living creature, day and night, in a dark hole. The Almighty has given us the beasts for our service, but has forbidden us to torment them; and I think we should do all we can to save them from unnecessary pain. Indeed this is generally our interest, as well as our duty. It is very well known by the great jockies, as they call them, that a horse will thrive
and fatten twice as well with gentleness, and good treatment, as he will with ill usage and blows, though he got the same quantity of food46.
Nancy. Now, Rose, do you believe that of a brute beast?
Rose. I believe it, because I have heard it from those who have made their fortune by horses, and have the best right to know them47. Besides^ half the shocking accidents that happen from their restiveness would be avoided, if men treated them with quietness and good temper.

- Cottage dialogues among the Irish peasantry, with notes and a preface, M. Edgeworth,
Maria Edgeworth,1811, p.137.

Kitchen Tools

Nancy. Now what need you bother yourself with so many things to take care of++, your gridiron, and your frying-pan, and your pots of different sizes, and your saucepans? Indeed I don't wonder at your having a tea-kettle; but it looks as if you did not use it often. I may say the same of every thing else, they.
look as if they were just come out of the shop.
Rose. Indeed, Nancy, I have none of these things for pride; I have use for them all.
Nancy. Then T can do well enough with less. My big pot does to boil our potatoes, and feed the pig in, and. heat the water to wash, and wash in after; and I want no gridiron; I can broil a herring on the tongs. What's that thing with the cover for?
Rose. To stew a bit of meat in, when we can get it. It gets the good out of it finely.

- Cottage dialogues among the Irish peasantry, with notes and a preface, M. Edgeworth,
Maria Edgeworth,1811, p.133.

Bread and servitude

DIALOGUE IX.
SERVITUDE.
Rose, Nancy.
Rose. DON'T you bake all your bread at Mr. Clinton's?
Nancy. vEvery bit, indeed!
Rose. How do you manage to get barm, it's very scarce, and I believe you have no brewery near you?
Nancy. Why then, I'll tell you that; for my mistress never wants barm, and I have so often made the mixture by her directions, that I can't but remember it. She gets a quart of good barm, and then she boils flour and water together very well, till it is a nice, smooth, thinnish paste; when that is about blood warm, she mixes the barm with it, and puts all together into a vessel large enough to let it work, and keeps it in a place neither hot nor cold, and covers the vessel close.
Rose. And how much of that works the bread?
Nancy. At first very little more than if it was all barm, but it takes more time to rise the flour. Every few days add as much more paste, and you may do so fof a month, or more, in mild weather, till the strength of the barm is gone. But, according as you add paste, it will take more and more of the mixture to rise the flour. A pint of the strongest, left in a spunge, like batter, for some hours, does a stone of flour. If you leave it all night, let the batter be the thicker. After you work the bread, leave it a few hours more.
Rose. Well, I'm obliged to you; this may be of use sometime or other to me.
Nancy. I don't like the trouble of it, if I could help it. I'd rather put in a good dash of barm at once, to hurry up the bread; but my mistress won't allow that, she says it makes the bread bitter, and wastes the barm.
Rose. Sure you are happy to have such a good housekeeper for a mistress, especially if she be goodhumouretl, which I believe good housekeepers often are, because they time business for themselves and their servants, and things go on so regular that there is no room for fretting.

- Cottage dialogues among the Irish peasantry, with notes and a preface, M. Edgeworth,
Maria Edgeworth,1811, p.46.

Butter=Kitchen

From Notes:
P. 129. 41' Onions are very good to help ' out kitchen.'
Kitchen means butter, or any kind of sauce that is eaten with meat or vegetables, to make them more palatable. Two kitchens to one bread,— means butter and milk eaten with one piece of bread. 1

- Cottage dialogues among the Irish peasantry, with notes and a preface, M. Edgeworth,
Maria Edgeworth,1811, p.169.

Cottage Cookery

COOKERY.
Nancy, Rose.
Nancy. WE are just after dining off the nice stew that you showed me how to make; and now can you tell me any thing else, for I am so light and happy, after rising out of that scrape, and so thankful to Tim, that I can do any thing now.
Rose. Well, Nancy, these pease that you think so little about, make a fine dish, when they are too old for boiling.
Nancy. I thought pease were never fit to eat after they were turning their colour.
Rose. Then I assure you they are. Take two quarts of old pease, and stew them in four quarts of water, on a slow fire, for two hours. Take them up then, and put to them a little pepper, salt, and onion; and also throw in bits of meat, either fresh or salt; if you have not meat, a little butter rolled in flour, or nice lard will do instead. Then stew half an hour longer. It is very good; and then you have it when the new potatoes are scarce; for you know one don't like to run over the ridge too fast, but to spare them to grow as long as one can. There is also another way of dressing pease and beans when they are old; first, by soaking in water for twenty four hours; then put them into a jug, or pitcher, which will hold them, and hold a bit of fat bacon too, or a pig's foot, taken out of the pickle, with the salt sticking to it. The meat is put at top, and a piece of greasy brown paper tied over the pitcher. At night, put it on the hearth, and turn a pot over it; or, put it in a pot, and leave in the fire, and hang it high over the fire. In the morning it is sufficiently done; and keep it on the hearth, hot, till dinner, when the meat will he tender, and the juice got among the pease and beans: then it is eat with spoons. The common gray pease, and the small horse beans, are what answer best for this dish; some put a few leeks, or onions cut small, and a little pepper, into the pitcher, before it is baked. And I find great use in my French beans, which you thought I was very conceited for sowing in my little garden. Instead of eating them as the quality do, pods and all, when they are young, and but an insipid dish, I let them grow till the beans are ripe, then shell them, and lay them by. They are very good and nourishing, particularly when you're nursing, boiled with a bit of butter, or lard, and some herbs chopped through it, or even without the herbs; and they are very nice under a bit of bacon, and will keep all the winter. I learned this of Mr. Browne's French cook.
Nancy. Ay, Rose, you are always ready and willing to learn, and managing and saving every thing; and yet you are not stingy, but you are a good warrant to share with a neighbour, or give a bit to a poor traveller.
Rose. It's by saving, and not wasting any thing, that poor people are able to share their bit with a friend, or with a poor fellow-creature. There's a fine way of making soup, and I believe next winter, when I can get a beef's head, I'll make it of a Saturday, and sell, to the neighbours. A pint of it and a bit of meat, will give a man his dinner.
Nancy. Do, Rose, dear, I am sure Tim will be glad to buy it; and then I need not be slaving myself of a Sunday, dressing his dinner.
Rose. I'll tell you how to make it, whether you will buy it or not. It's half a beef's head put down in about twenty gallons. of water, with half a stone of potatoes, a good handful of onions, and pepper, and salt with any garden stuff you like, or can get. This is boiled till about one third is boiled away, and then you have your comfortable soup. . •
Nancy. But where will you get a pot to boil so much in?
Rose. My big pot, that I boil my linen and my yarn in, I believe, will do; it will be good use to put it to in the winter. If I had not that, I could begin on a less quantity, in a smaller pot, till my soup would earn a big one for me". There's a way of dressing herrings too, that gives a little variety on a fast day, and makes them go farther.
Nancy. How is that?
Rose. Put three salt herrings in a pipkin, fill it with sliced potatoes, and a little water. Put it on a griddle, and turn a pot over it, and bake it that way; or, I believe, putting it on the warm hearth, when the ashes are swept out of the way, and covering it with the pot, will do. When I happen to have a bit of fresh meat, I put the bones into a dish, with some potatoes peeled, or the skin grated off, and put plenty of water, the potatoes take so much; I make a crust with hog's lard, for it makes it better than butter, put it over the bones and potatoes, bake it under the pot, and you can't think how nice a pie it is.

- Cottage dialogues among the Irish peasantry, with notes and a preface, M. Edgeworth,
Maria Edgeworth,1811,p.173.

Irish Potato Pudding

Irish Potato Pudding.

One pound of mashed potatoes, three quarters of a pound of butter, three quarters of a pound of sugar, seven eggs beaten light, a gill of brandy and one of rose-water. Beat the butter and sugar together, and add the other ingredients, and whites last of all. Bake in paste.

-Dixie cookery; or, How I managed my table for twelve years:A practical cook-book for southern housekeepers, Maria Massey Barringer,Loring, 1867, p.67.

The Irish Kitchen help 187s

THE MORALS AND MANNERS OF THE KITCHEN.
R. FROUDE'S attempt to secure from the American public a favorable judgment on the dealings of England with Ireland has had one good result—though we fear only one—in leading to a little closer examination of the real state of American opinion about Irish grievances than it has yet received. He will go back to England with the knowledge—which he evidently did not possess when he came here—that the great body of intelligent Americans care very little about the history of "the six hundred years of wrong," and know even less than they care, and could not be induced, except by a land-grant, or a bounty, or a drawback, to acquaint themselves with it; that those of them who have ever tried to form an opinion on the Anglo-Irish controversy have hardly ever got further than a loose notion that England had most likely behaved like a bully all through, but that her victim was beyond all question an obstreperous and irreclaimable ruffian, whose ill-treatment must be severely condemned by the moralist, but whom no sensible, man can be expected to weep over or sympathize with. The agencies which have helped to form the popular idea of the English political character are well known; those which have helped to deprive the Irish of American sympathy—and which, if Mr. Fronde bad judiciously confined himself to describing the efforts made by England to promote Irish well-being now, would probably have made his lectures very successful—are more obscure. "We ourselves pointed out one of the most prominent, and probably most powerful—the conduct of the Irish servant girl in the American kitchen. To this must, of course, be added the specimen of "home rule" to which the country has been treated in this city; but we doubt if this latter has really exercised as much influence on American opinion as some writers try to make out. A community which has produced Butler, Banks, Parker, Bullock, Tweed, Tom Fields, Oakey Hall, Fernando Wood, Barnard, and scores of others whom we might name, as the results or good Protestant and Anglo-Saxon breeding, cannot really be greatly shocked by the bad workings of Celtic blood and Catholic theology in the persons of Peter B. Sweeny, Billy Mcmullen, Jimmy O'Brien, Reddy the Blacksmith, or Judge McCunn. Let us give the devil his due, and refrain from all sham and hypocrisy. It is in the kitchen that the Irish iron has entered into the American soul; and it is in the kitchen that a great triumph was prepared for Mr. Froude had he been a judicious man. The memory of burnt steaks, of hard-boiled potatoes, of smoked milk, would have done for him what no state-papers, or records, or correspondence of the illustrions dead can ever do; it had prepared the American mind to believe the very worst he could say of Irish turbulence and disorder. Not one of his auditors but could find in his own experience of Irish cooking circumstances which would probably have led him to accept without question the execution of Silken Thomas, the massacre of Drogheda, or even the Penal Laws, as perfectly justifiable exercises of authority, and would certainly have made it easy for him to believe that English rule in Ireland at the present day is beneficent beyond example.
Nevertheless, we are constrained to say that in our opinion a great deal of the odium which surrounds Bridget, and which has excited so much prejudice not only against her countrymen, but against her ancestors, in American eyes, has a very insufficient foundation in reason. There are three characters in which she is the object of public suspicion and dislike—(1) as a cook; (2) as a party to a contract; (3) as a member of a household. The charges made against her in all of these have been summed up in a recent attack on her in the Atlantic Monthly, as " a lack of every quality which makes service endurable to the employer, or a wholesome life for the servant." And the same article charges her with " proving herself, in obedience, fidelity, care, and accuracy, the inferior of every kind of servant known to modern society." Of course, there is hardly a family in the country which has not had, in its own experience, illustrations of the extravagance of these charges. There is probably nobody who has long kept servants who has not had Irish servants who were obedient, faithful, careful, and even accurate in a remarkable degree. But then it must be admitted that this indictment is a tolerably fair rendering, if not of the actual facts of the case, at least of the impression the facts have left on the mind of the average employer. This impression, however, needs correction, as a few not very recondite considerations will show.
As a cook, Bridget is an admitted failure. But cooking is, it is now generally acknowledged, very much an affair of instinct, and this instinct seems to be very strong in some races and very weak in others, though why the French should have it highly developed and the Irish be almost altogether deprived of it, is a question which would require an essay to itself. No amount of teaching will make a person a good cook who is not himself fond of good food and has not a delicate palate, for it is the palate which must test the value of rules. "We may deduce from this the conclusion, which experience, justifies, that women are not naturally good cooks. They have had the cookery of the world in their hands for several thousand years, but all the marked advances in the art, and indeed all that can be called the cultivation of it, have been the work of men. "Whatever zeal women have displayed in it, and whatever excellence they have achieved in it, have been the result of influences in no way gastronomic, and which we might perhaps call emotional, such as devotion to male relatives or a desire to minister to the pleasure of men in general. Few or no women cook a dinner in an artistic spirit, and their success in doing it is nearly always the result of affection or loyalty—which is of course tantamount to saying that female cookery as a whole is, and always has been, comparatively poor. As a proof of this, we may mention the fact—for fact we think it is—that the art of cooking among women has declined at any given time or place—in the Northern States of the Union, for instance—pari passu with the growth of female independence. That is, as the habit or love of ministering to men's tastes has become weaker, the interest in cookery has fallen off. There are no such cooks among native American women now as there were fifty years ago; and passages in foreign cookery books which assume the existence among women of strong interest in their husbands' and brothers' likings, and strong desire to gratify them, furnish food for merriment in American households. Bridget, therefore, can plead, first of all, the general incapacity of women as cooks; and, secondly, the general falling off in the art under the influence of the new ideas. It may be that she ought to cultivate assiduously or with enthusiasm a calling which all the other women of the country ostentatiously despise, but she would be more than human if she did so. She imitates American women as closely as she can, and cannot live on the same soil without imbibing their ideas; and unhappily, as in all cases of imitation, vices are more easily and earlier caught than virtues.
She can make, too, an economical defence of the most powerful kind to the attacks on her in this line, and it is this: that whether her cooking be bad or good, she offers it without deception or subterfuge, at a fair rate, and without compulsion ; that nobody who does not like her dishes need eat them ; and that her defects of taste or training can only be fairly made a cause of hatred and abuse when she does work badly which somebody else is waiting to do better, if she would get out of the way. She has undertaken the task of cooking for the American nation, not of her own motion, but simply and solely because the American nation could find nobody else to do it. She does not, therefore, occupy the position of a broken-down or incompetent artist, but of a volunteer at a fire, or a passer-by when yon are lying in the ditch with your leg broken. The plain truth of the matter is, that the whole native population of the United States has almost suddenly and with one accord refused to perform for hire any of the services usually called "menial" or indoor. The men have found other more productive fields of industry, and the women, under the influence of the prevailing theory of life, have resolved to accept any employment at any wages sooner than do other people's house-work. The result has been a demand for trained servants which the whole European continent could not supply if it would, and which has proved so intense that it has drawn the peasantry out of the fields en masse from the one European country in which the peasantry was sufficiently poor to be, tempted, and spoke or understood the American language. No such phenomenon has ever been witnessed before. No country before has ever refused to do its own " chores," and called in an army of foreigners for the purpose. To complain bitterly of their want of skill is therefore, under the circumstances, almost puerile, from an economical point of view; while, to any one who looks at the matter as a moralist, it is hard to see why Bridget, doing the work badly in the kitchen, is any more a contemptible object than the American sewing-girl killing herself in a garret at $3 a week, out of devotion to " the principle of equality."
As a party to a contract, Bridget's defects are very strongly marked. Her sense of the obligation of contracts is feeble. The reason why this particular vice excites so much odium in her case is, that the inconveniencies of her breaches of contract are greater than those of almost any other member of the community. They touch us in our most intimate social relations, and cause us an amount of mental anguish out of all proportion to their real importance. But her spirit about contracts is really that of the entire community in which she lives. Her way of looking at her employer is, we sincerely believe, about the way of looking at him common among all employees. The only real restraint on laborers of any class among us nowadays is the difficulty of finding another place. "Whenever it becomes as easy for clerks, draughtsmen, mechanics, and the like to " suit themselves " as it is for cooks or housemaids, we find them as faithless. Native mechanics and seamstresses are just as perfidious as Bridget, but incur less obloquy, because their faithlessness causes less annoyance; but they have no more regard in making their plans for the interest or wishes of their employer than she has, and they all take the " modern view" of the matter. What makes her so fond of change is that she lives in a singularly restless society, in which everybody is engaged in a continual struggle to " better himself"—her master, in nine cases out often, setting her an example of dislike to steady industry and slow gains. Moreover, domestic service is a kind of employment which, if not sweetened by personal affection, is extraordinarily full of wear and tear. In it there is no real end to the day; and in small households, the pursuit and oversight, and often the " nagging," of the employer, or, in other words, the presence of an exacting, semi-hostile, and slightly contemptuous person is constant. This and confinement in a half-dark kitchen produce that nervous crisis which sends male mechanics and other male laborers engaged in monotonous callings off "on a spree." In Bridget's case it works itself off by a change of place, with a few days of squalid repose among " her own people " in a tenement house. •
As regards her general bearing as a member of a household, she has to contend with three great difficulties—ignorance of civilized domestic life, for which she is no more to blame than Russian mouzhiks; difference of race ond creed on the part of her employer (and this is one which the servants of no other country have to contend with); and lastly, the strong contempt for domestic service felt and manifested by all that portion of the American population with which she comes in contact, and to which it is her great ambition to assimilate herself. Those who have ever tried the experiment of late years of employing a native American as a servant, have, we believe, before it was over, generally come to look on Bridget as the personification of repose, if not of comfort; and those who have to call on native Americans, even occasionally, for services of a quasi-personal character, such as those of expressmen, hotel clerks, plumlbers, we believe are anxious to make their intercourse with these gentlemen an brief as possible. Most expressmen are natives, and are freemen of intelligence and capacity, but th«y carry your trunk into your hall with the air of convicts doing forced labor for a tyrannical jailer. If the spirit in which they discharge their duties—and they ore specimens of a large class—were to make its way into our kitchens, society would go to pieces.
In short, Bridget is the legitimate product of our economical, political, and moral condition. We have called her, in our extremity, to do duties for which she is not trained, and having got her here have surrounded her with influences and ideas which American society has busied itself for fifty years in fostering and spreading, and which taking hold of persons in her stage of development work mental and moral ruin. The things which American life aud manners preach to her are not patience, sober-mindedness, faithfulness, diligence, and honesty, but self-assertion, discontent, hatred of superiority of all kinds, and eagerness for physical enjoyment. Whenever the sound of the new gospel which is to win the natives back to the ancient and noble ways is heard in the land, it is fair to expect that it will not find her ears wholly closed, and that when the altar of duty is again set up by her employers, she will lay on it attractive beefsteaks, potatoes done to a turn, make libations of delicious soup, and will display remarkable fertility in " sweets " and an extreme fondness for washing, and learn to grow old in one family.

-The Nation, Volume 16,The Nation Company, 1873, p.6.

Irish Sauce

Irish Sauce.—E. R.—Take five or six hundred green walnuts, according to the quantity of juice they will yield; scoop out all the whites, beat them in a mortar, and strain the juice through a cloth; let it stand a day and night, strain it, and pour it off clear; to a pint of this liquor put one pound of anchovies and half a pint of vinegar, and to each pint thus made a clove or two of garlic, two or three shalots, some horseradish, and one onion cut in quarters; boil it two hours, and then strain it off. When strained add to every pint of liquor half a quarter of an ounce of mace, the same quantity of cloves, of nutmeg, and of whole black pepper, half a pint of portwine, and two tablespoonfuls of soy. Boil them together for half an hour. Then pour it off into an earthen jar, and let it remain covered until it is cold; then bottle it off into clean dry bottles, distributing the spice equally in each; cork it down closely, and take care in boiling to keep the saucepan covered

.-A new system of domestic cookery: formed upon principles of economy…, Maria Eliza Ketelby Rundell, 1808.

Irish Puffs

Irish Puffs.—
E. R.—Pound a quarter of a pound of sweet, and an ounce of bitter almonds, but not too finely; take a quarter of a pound of loafsugar pounded and sifted, the whites of two eggs, beaten to a thick froth; mix all together, and put the puffs into pattypans covered with paste; then sift powdered sugar over them thickly, and bake them a light brown. The flavour may be improved by pounding the almonds with orange-flower water, or a little essence of lemon.

-A new system of domestic cookery: formed upon principles of economy…, Maria Eliza Ketelby Rundell, 1808.

1836 Cutlets A La Irish Stew

CUTLETS A LA IRISH STEW.
Take the best end of a neck of mutton, remove the under bone, and cut it into chops; season them with pepper, salt, a little mushroom powder and beaten mace. Put them into a stewpan, add a large onion sliced, some parsley and thyme tied in a bunch, and a pint of veal broth. Simmer the chops till three parts done, then add some whole potatoes peeled, and stew till done. Serve in a deep dish.
Let the parsley and thyme be taken out before serving.
- The Art of Cookery, Whittaker and Co., 1836.