Chapter 4 (Bettina Gives a Luncheon)

Introduction

A week into married life and Bettina feels the urge to throw a party (to the celebrate the capture of and continuing possession of Bob’s scalp, one gathers).

OK. Eight ladies to feed, no modern appliances to be had, and “cunning” the theme of the day…a challenging meal, to say the least.

Part 1

The Menu

Strawberries au Natural

Kornlet Soup

Whipped Cream

Croutons

Salmon Timbales with Egg Sauce

Buttered Beets

Potato Croquettes

Pinwheel Biscuits

Butter Balls

Vegetable Salad

Salad Dressing

Wafers

Fancy Cakes

Coffee

Preparing the Scene

The Table

Usually I don’t fuss much about the table beyond putting down my nice plates ie the only set in the house that matches, and some decent flatware, but special occasions like a Bettina luncheon obviously require special effort.

Doilies

I made a stab or two at finding these on my pre-meal shopping expeditions but in the end was forced to make my own. Felt a bit childish snipping away at bits of white paper, but reading ahead I see Bettina herself spends a lot of time herself with crepe paper, scissors, and a paste pot.

Good enough. Who’s going to notice these anyway when they’re hidden beneath mounds of strawberries and powdered sugar?

Flowers

A simple matter—I have roses and geraniums growing in my yard. These cut flowers proved a little too short for my favorite vase, but a few pink and white napkins stuffed in the bottom fixed that up fine.

Tablecloth

I have my choice here of red or white. Both have advantages: the red--potential beet- and strawberry stains will camouflaged by the soldiers in a bush; the white: can be thoroughly bleached when the meal is over. So white it is.

 A pink gown for the hostess/galley slave

No dice. Bettina served (and, one imagines, cooked) this meal in a fancy gown, but here my pink and white bungalow apron will have to do. Add mukluks in place of B’s clattery heels and I’m good to go.

Preparing the Food

Strawberries au Natural

It seems a bit early for strawberries even in sunny California--I had a heck of time finding berries that were suitably ripe. Alas the only ones available looked like they sprouted in Paul Bunyan’s garden—so large four or five on each plate was more than enough.

Kornlett Soup

A Thousand Ways fails to give any reciped for this, and I was sorely tempted to skip it. But a second vegetable seemed like a good idea in this heavy-on-the-starches-and-sweets menu, so I broke out of BettinaLand long enough to find a recipe from the venerable Alice Bradley Menu-Cook-Book

Happily the soup called for canned corn rather than fresh, but the downside of this was that the jackets proved tough as nails. Even after simmering in milk for an hour they didn’t soften, and the sieve I ultimately forced them now looks somewhat the worse for wear.

Croutons

As per the recipe I cut stale bread into cubes,

mixed them with butter and spices, and put them back in the oven to brown. But thanks to the White Mountain Frosting disaster (see below) I got distracted and unwittingly let the them burn to a crisp.

Salmon Timbales

Thankfully another recipe calling for canned rather than fresh. But despite the fact that I followed the instructions to the letter, the stuff was supremely wet and practically oozed in the baking cups. I believe now that Bettina’s salmon was canned in oil—my choice of the water-packed stuff resulted in the semi-failure of the dish that followed.

Egg Sauce

The salmon juice used to prepare this dish was water rather than oil and probably the reason the sauce congealed into a cement-like lump that refused to leave the pan. After much fussing and re-boiling I was able to thin it out, but it required almost three cups of milk to do so.

Buttered Beets

The only beets I’ve ever eaten have been dumped from a can, and so through sheer ignorance I chose the largest and toughest specimens on the planet to prepare for this meal. Easily the size of Navel oranges these monster beets took a long time to soften—after boiling away for more than an hour they still resisted my efforts to pierce them with a fork.

Potato Croquettes

This retro dish is one I’ve made before and, knowing its requirements so well, I made sure to have mashed potatoes at the ready. Mixing up the ingredients was easy, but I realized very quickly after hauling out my deep-fryer that there was absolutely no space on the counter to place it. In the end it was an easy fix: place one arm on the countertop and sweep everything into the sink.

Pinwheel Biscuits

The primary breadstuff for the meal, and a good choice (or so I thought) because it doesn’t require yeast. I was also pretty happy for a chance to try out a newly-purchased pastry cutter—my old method of using two knives to slash the lard into the flour had proven hard on the mixing bowl, damaging to the cutlery, and murder on my arms.

The cutter worked like a charm, and with minimal effort I got the dough mixed and onto a floured board. It was only after I’d patted it down to the required height that I realized there was a problem: a 6 X 4 X 1 rectangle that was supposed to be rolled up lengthwise and somehow cut into 16 one-inch slices.

Chalking this weird dilemma up to a typo in the book I cut the dough into six pieces, popped them in the oven, and made a mental note to try to figure it out later.

Butter Balls

Unfortunately the only scoop in the house was designed for dishing out ice cream. Instead of Bettina’s dainty rounds of butter I ended up with spheres the size of golf balls.

Vegetable Salad

Easily the item on the menu I had the most fun with. Somewhat to my surprise I found these old-fashioned salads—essentially just slices of tomato and cucumber stacked on the ubiquitous lettuce leaf—utterly charming. A feast for the eyes, certainly, after hours of staring at beige-colored fish, egg sauce, and corn.

Salad Dressing

A dressing that was a cooked on the stove and stabilized with a generous addition (two tablespoons) of flour. I’d made it the day before, stored it in the fridge, and had only to thin with cream.

Wafers

The term “wafer” seems kind of vague—could be anything from a cannoli to a Triscuit. A Thousand Ways to Please a Husband provided no clarification, and for once I’m decided not to fuss—graham crackers or whatever was in the pantry would be fine.

Fancy Cakes

The sheet of cake itself I’d also made the previous day (figured I'd apply the fancy-shaped cookie cutter the day of the luncheon)—in part because I planned to whip the required egg whites with my (new) rotary egg beater and knew it would be difficult. At the time the process seemed a killer—but in retrospect mere child’s play after the effort involved in preparing the frosting (see below).

White Mountain Frosting

A disaster of epic proportions—think crash of the Hindenburg, the Serpent in the Garden, or Bettina’s mother-in-law taking over her kitchen.

Take 1

After finishing with the pinwheel biscuits I mixed up sugar, water, and cream of tartar into my trusty saucepan and set it on the stove to boil. After checking the temperature with a candy thermometer (a taboo item in any historical recreation, I know) I pulled it from the burner and only then noticed something shiny floating in the syrup.

Yup. In the space of just a few minutes I’d managed to boil away the saucepan’s inner coating and it was now coming off in flakes.

Take 2

After unceremoniously tossing the wrecked pot and its contents into the sink I doggedly hauled out another. I knew right away that it would be too large for a mere cupful or two of sugar syrup, but the fact that it was indestructible (no lining) mattered more, and so once again I measured out the sugar and water, plopped it on the stove, and quickly cranked up the heat.

Too quickly, as it turned out--in just minutes the syrup was turning amber. Quickly I grabbed for the candy thermometer, realized it had disappeared under the mess on the counters, and frantically begin to search--failing all the while to pull the pot off the burner.

By the time I located the thermometer the stuff in the pan was almost black and glued to the bottom and sides.

At this point the urge to hurl the pot to the floor, stamp my feet, and scream was almost overwhelming. But, marshaling the remaining bits of my self-control, I filled the pot with water, returned it to the stove, and grimly began to boil off the mess inside.

Take 3

In an hour’s time the pot was clean, the rest of the meal was almost finished, and like a stubborn fool I decided to try once more. For the third time I measured out the ingredients, set the sugar water to boil, and actually stood there watching it like a hawk.

Third time’s the charm—or the Spirit of Bettina intervened—planets lined up?—but the recipe finally worked. After pouring the syrup into the egg whites I was able to beat it into submission and, while it never became fluffy, it tasted fine and (amazingly enough) wasn’t gritty in the least.

So a success—after THREE agonizing tries.

Casualties: one saucepan, two hours of my life, and the cost of a box of hair dye for covering my first grays.

How It Looked