I HOUSEHOLD
♦*-* -V w
Stew and Dumplings Are a Point-Saver
, (See Recipes Below)
Meat Magic
In 1944 the average civilian ate
143 pounds of meat. This year the
outlook per civilian is estimated at
about 134 pounds per person.
It doesn’t take much mental arith
metic to make us see that vye’ll be
doing with less
meat this year
than before—but
then, you've prob
ably already no
ticed that trend
at your butcher’s.
As a nation
we're greater
pork eaters than beef eaters, says a
recent survey made by the govern
ment, but that will have to change
at least for this year. Pork loins,
bams, shoulders, spareribs and ba
con will continue to be scarce. The
higher grades of beef are going to
the armed forces, while lower grades
of beef, though not abundant, will be
more abundant Veal supplies are
quite scarce as are the top grades
of lamb.
All of this means one thing for
Mrs. America. She will get less
meat, and if she wants to get meaty
flavor it will have to be stretched.
If she doesn’t do that, she will have
a few meals with meat and others
without.
There are good ways to stretch
meat — old-fashioned ways like
dumplings, bread dressings and
stuffings, rice, macaroni, noodles and
spaghetti. For those of you who
choose having meat “as is” in your
menus, there are delightful fish
dishes to fill in the days when meat
la unobtainable.
When you want those precious red
points to do the most work for you,
buy the low-point cuts and dress
them up with herbs, flavorful gravies
and colorful vegetables. Here’s a
lineup of recipes you’ll well appre
ciate these days:
Lamb Stew With Dumplings.
(Serves 6)
2 pounds lamb
2 tablespoons flour
Salt and pepper
2 tablespoons lard
6 small potatoes
6 carrots
6 small onions
1 cup water
Cut lamb breast, flank or neck
meat into 1V4 inch cubes. Dredge in
flour, then brown
well on all sides
in hot lard. Sea
son, add water
and simmer 1V4
hours. Add vege
tables. Cover and
continue cooking
until vegetables are tender. Drop
dumplings on top of meat and vege
tables. Cover and cook without re
moving lid for IS minutes.
Dumplings.
2 cups sifted flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons lard
1 *gg
About 94 cup milk
Lynn Says:
Meat Needs Stretching: Bread
and cracker crumbs are natural
for extending ground meats like
lamb, beef, pork or veal. Use for
meat loaves and patties.
Vegetables should start coming
into their own for stretching
stews, short ribs, roasts, etc.
Carrots, onions, potatoes, green
beans, tomatoes and cabbage are
all mighty fine.
Don’t neglect such dishes as
meat pies with biscuit or mashed
potato crusts. The meat mixture
may be extended with gravy
and vegetables.
Make surprise meat balls with
rice tucked inside. Or, stretch
the roast or braised meat with
noodles and rich gravy.
Spaghetti and macaroni make
a meal complete even if only a
little meat is used. Use cream
sauces with diced egg, seasoned
tomato sauce or tasty gravy.
Lynn Chambers’
Point-Saving Menus.
•Lamb Stew with Dumplings
Fresh Pears-Lime Gelatin Salad
Bran-Raisin Muffins
Orange Marmalade
•Chiffon Pie Beverage
•Recipe given.
Sift together dry ingredients. Cut
in lard. Break egg into a one-cup
measuring cup. Beat slightly with
fork and add enough milk to make
1 cup liquid. Add liquid to dry in
gredients. Stir lightly. Drop by
spoonfuls into boiling broth or stew.
Cover tightly and cook for 15 min
utes without peeking. Do not re
move cover. Serve at once. This
recipe makes six large dumplings.
Liver is known as a variety meat
because it has variety of texture and
flavor. Here is a grand way to (lx it:
Liver Supreme.
(Serves 6)
pounds liver, sliced
% cup french dressing
6 carrots, sliced
6 onions
1 green pepper, sliced
M cup water
Marinate (soak) liver in french
dressing for 30 minutes in refrigera
tor. Brown liver
in hot drippings.
Top with vegeta
bles and odd the
water. Cover
tightly and cook
slowly until both
liver and vegeta
bles are tender.
Beef and pork liv
er require 45 min
utes cooking time while lamb and
veal liver need 30 minutes.
Whenever it’s possible, use a com
bination of veal, pork and beef in
your meat loaves. In the following
recipe, the tastiness is increased by
using sour cream, prepared mus
tard, paprika and Worcestershire
sauce. Lemon juice adds piquancy
to the meat when used, while brown
sugar gives a bit of sweetening that
you will enjoy. Use a large sized
loaf pan for baking or shape into
loaf when baking in a utility pan.
Spicy Meat Loaf.
(Serves 6 to 8)
1 pound ground beef
1 pound ground pork or veal
1/4 cups bread crumbs
2 eggs, slightly beaten
1 cup milk
Salt and pepper
H cup sour cream
1 teaspoon prepared mustard
1 teaspoon paprika
V* cup lemon juice or tomato catsup
2 teaspoons brown sugar
Dash of Worcestershire sauce
[ V4 cup hot water
Combine ground meat or have it
ground together. Mix next four in
gredients into meat mixture. Pack
into a loaf pan. Mix remaining in
gredients in order given and pour
over loaf. Bake in a moderate oven
(350 degrees F.) for lt4 hours.
You’ll like trout whether you’re a
fish lover or not. Enhance its subtle
taste with these seasonings:
Baked Trout With Tomato Sauce.
(Serves 6)
2 pounds trout
2 cups tomatoes
1 cup water
1 slice onion ,
3 cloves
H teaspoon sugar
3 tablespoons bacon drippings
3 tablespoons flour
% teaspoon salt
% teaspoon pepper
Cook tomatoes, water, onion,
cloves and sugar 20 minutes. Melt
drippings, add flour and stir into hot
mixture. Add salt and pepper. Cook
10 minutes and strain. Clean fish and
place in baking dish. Pour half the
sauce over it and bake 35 minutes in
a moderate oven, basting occasion
ally. Remove to hot platter and
pour remaining sauce (hot) over
fish. Garnish with parsley.
J Released by Western Newspaper Union. J
^CLARK MCMEEKIN
THE STORY THUS FAR: Lark Shan
non. whole horse, Mador, was sold to
; clear a debt when her father died, sails
from England for America. David North,
whom she loves, was to make the trip
wltb ber but disappoints her by sailing
j the night before. Lark's ship goes down
but she reaches land, and Galt Withe, a
bound servant to Innkeeper Cony, Rnds
her on an Island and brings ber food.
The two manage to get a halter on Lanc
er, a Sne horse, who had escaped from
the sinking ship. Galt leaves for the
mainland In his boat, but refuses to take
Lark along, which causes her much won
der and concern. In the evening he re
turni with Cony, who questions Lark
closely about everything.
CHAPTER VIII
If Cony should beat him ... If
•he had only listened to Galt, had
trusted him, when he tried to tell
her In his Inarticulate way that she
mustn’t come alone to the inn. . . .
She thought of Red RaskaU out on
the island, alone, hobbled. . , , He
could get food and water, of course.
But suppose the ponies came back
and he tried to follow them into
the ocean and was drowned. . . .
Galt tied up the yawl and Cony
scrambled out, picking up a conch
shell and blowing a long fluttering
wailing note. The figure of a wom
an appeared in the inn doorway, and
Cony called:
“Un, Mag! Bide an’ see Galt's
fish! Galt he hooked up a wench
for un!" He reached for Lark’s
hand, pulling her to the flat.
Mag said nothing, made no greet
ing, but simply stared at Lark while
Cony told his story. They were
walking up the beach now, past
great mountains of oyster shells,
gleaming in the last of the saffron
sunlight. When Cony mentioned
Lark's threat to appeal to David
North, Mag grunted.
Mag ladled out a bowl of chowder
for Lark and gestured her to a
shuck-bottomed chair. As she sipped
a little of the hot, strong soup.
Lark heard a scuffling whining sound
in the back of the cooking quar
ters. Cony stepped to a slatted door,
near the chimney, opened it, and
let two gaunt black and brown
hounds in. They came at once to
Lark, noses twitching, great jaws
slack, panting in the warmth. Like
Mag, they stared at Lark, stared
solemnly and with a foolish sullen
wonder, and then one hound dropped
his big bulging head to his paws
and began a long, remote thread of
sound, a heaving, sighing, wavering
moan that rose, trembled, broke,
rose again, getting stronger, rolling
in from all the walls of the room
like the purring of a wildcat, a throt
tling, hurting, miserable howl.
Lark dropped her wooden spoon
and clapped her hands over her ears
until the sound shivered and died at
last.
“Did Old Dog scare un, sweet—”
Cony broke off, glancing uneasily at
Mag. "Old Dog don’t like un’s
smell, Lark."
Mag s eyes were fixed on Lark
with clear hostility. ‘‘She be ill
luck. Let her get on to Norfolk,
I say. Put her out.”
Cony snapped his fingers and the
two hounds huddled back in the cor
ners of the hearth. "Us keep 'em
chained at times,” Cony said, "an,
lets ’em free at others. . , . Old
Dog he got whiff o' Galt about Lark,
Mag. Old Dog never cared for Galt.
She ben’t bad luck, Mag. The Car
goe Riske’U pay dear for her.”
Mag came to Lark and fingered
the stuff of her dress.
“It's none so fine,” she said brief
ly. "An’ suppose us gits the Car
goe Riske on our necks, an’ no mon
ey for the wench?”
"Matson, then,” Cony whined.
"Matson’d pay nice for a Cargoe
Riske man’s woman. Be un North’s
woman. Lark?”
Mag and Cony talked quite as
freely os if Lark had been deaf.
Matson was clearly a man they
obeyed and feared. Lark gathered
that he had a rendezvous here, that
he was due in from a sea trip at
any time, that neither Mag nor
Cony knew David North except by
name and his connection with the
Cargoe Riske Company. Mag, su
perstitious and plainly Jealous of Co
ny, was in favor of starting Lark
for Horntown, and not holding her
for ransom. Old Dog was a sure
out sign-giver, Mag held. But in
the end, Cony over-rode her. Cony’s
argument and her own unconcealed
greed.
The next few days were filled with
the very feel and pull of active,
anxious waiting. Lark, doing the
rough duties Mag and Cony gave
her, had no idea what they expect
ed to do with her. Both of them
were busy, preoccupied, watching the
sky-line from time to time, smelling
the wind, when it rose, like animals.
"Smellin’ for the Runnymeade,”
Cony explained to Lark, one clear
morning, licking his finger, holding
it up, snififing it, then. "She’s got a
stink like a dead whale, sweetmeat.”
Never, in these six days, had Lark
had a chance to talk to Galt, alone.
She was half wild with anxiety for
him, for Red Raskall out on the is
land, for herself. She wasn't sure
Galt had been beaten that first night,
but there was no hint about this
surly, hangdog creature, of the
quick, brave young man who had
emerged for a little time, from the
Guinea-shell of Galt, that short time
she had spent with him on the is
land.
Lark couldn't run away. She was
too carefully watched. And always
there were the two great hounds,
chained when Mag and Cony were
at leisure, freed when they were
busy with their chores.
It was on this seventh day, Sep
tember twelfth, according to her
reckoning, that a sail was sighted.
Immediately a feel of hurry and
excitement caught the place. Cony
took a cart and drove to market
for fresh meat. Mag changed the
filthy brown calico for a pink one,
set Lark and Galt to sanding the
tables, swabbing benches, watering
the dusty earthen floor.
It was then that Lark and Galt
had a chance to talk, just a little—
scant words when Mag left the room.
It was the Runnymeade, all right,
Galt said, Matson and one of his
filthy blackbirders. . . . Maybe,
Just barely maybe, he and Lark
might get away during the confu
sion of the landing. . . . Red Ras
kall was safe. Galt had been to the
island twice to see to him. ... If
the yawl was left unchained he
would contrive to let Lark know,
and they could try again to get
away, try to go for the horse, and
sail on down the coast with him.
. . . Galt had been half-crazed with
worry over Lark’s safety. He re
fused to answer when she asked
about the lashing, but he was frantic
to get her away before Matson saw
her, he said as much. The Runny
would weigh anchor about dusk, he
thought. That would be better than
broad day. He watched the sky. . . .
Cony had gone out to meet her
in a dory. Galt was to follow in the
yawl. Mag was at the river point,
Lark thanked him and put them on.
watching, waiting for the excitement
of the landing. It was then that
Galt managed to get Lark unseen,
into his shack.
"Bide un here." He was alert, ea
ger, now. "I’ll cargo in a load and
pick un up from this window hole.
Bide now, quiet!”
He gave her his little spy-glass,
fetched lately from his treasure
cache and hidden here. "I lend it
to un,” he said, and Lark smiled and
said she would be careful.
Coloring, he reached into his pock
et and brought out the string of blue
beads. “This be yourn,” he said
hesitantly. "I give this to un—to
you. I want you should have this,
Lark.”
Lark thanked him and put them
on. He left the shack and soon the
yawl slid out of her berth. The Run
ny was still, now. Lark could see
the sailors hurrying about on her
reddish aged decks, could see the
anchors take water, hear the shouts
and excitement of coming to land. In
the dying light she could see the
casks and baskets lowered into the
waiting boats, into Cony’s and
Galt’s, and onto a great awkward
barge, poled by Negroes who had
come down the hill path from the
mysterious gray structure among
the higher trees.
Wild Negro slaves. Lark could
see them, chained, herded off the
ship to the waiting small boats. . . .
Several boatloads of gipsies, chat
tering, arguing, gesticulating,
swarmed over the ship’s sides. The
sailors, every color, every nation
ality, it seemed to Lark, looking
through Galt's little glass now, were
putting their sea-sacks over, hurry
ing the landing. It was a scene of
color, of contrast, of quick living
beauty, but with it was the stench of
filth and misery, the moans of the
manacled slaves.
Again and again the boats made
the trip to shore and back. Each
time, Galt eased the yawl a little
nearer the river shack, and Lark
felt, now, this time, he’ll beckon me
and we’ll try to get away—it’s near
ly dark, nearly. . . .
The huge barge, poled by the
four Negroes, came past the shack
where Lark waited. It was loaded
with gipsy wagons and a number
of their horses. It moved ponder
ously, precariously and uncannily j
toward the shore.
The captain’s boat, flag flying,
was coming now. A slim and rather
elegant-looking man in a black cape
stood in the stern, and when the
ship’s officers in the small-boat ad
dressed him obsequiously as “Dr.
Matson, sir,” Lark peered at him
with interested curiosity and uneasi
ness.
A small-boat of gipsies, losing its
course, careened across the path of
the captain's boat and was heartily
cursed. A gipsy man laughed impu
dently and bent his head over a fid
dle, sending a scrap of melody
across the water, tenuous, passion
ate. . . ,
And then Lark noticed the big gip
sy with the oars, the black-haired
gipsy behind the fiddler, the laugh
ing gipsy with the Red Raskall hand
kerchief twisted about his throat,
and she called once, “David!”
She rushed from the shack, then,
following the course of the boat,
but the big gipsy gave her no look
of recognition, and Lark knew that
she mustn’t call again, prayed that
nobody had heard her call his name,
a moment ago. Because it was Da
vid, and he must have made the
trip with the gipsies in an effort to
get the proof that he needed, of
Matson’s chicanery.
“See anybody you knowed, un
Lark?” Mag asked. "Did un call
out, just now?”
“No,” Lark said, conscious of
Galt’s reproachful back as he took
the yawl back on its last lap. “I was
just thinking how—beautiful they
are, gipsies. That young girl and
boy—there, with the old woman with
the white hair. They are twins,
aren’t they?”
Mag looked at Lark quietly for a
long moment. Then she said, "I
don’t know. I don’t care, and nei
ther does un, sweetmeat!”
It was early the next morning be
fore Lark got the chance for a word
with Galt. The courtyard was de
serted, and he crossed cautiously
from his hut to talk with her.
His eyes were reproachful, she
thought. “I’m sorry, Galt,” she
looked up at him. "I just couldn't
keep from calling out when I saw
David.”
“Be you sure it was North, dressed
in them gipsy rags?”
She nodded. “I couldn’t be mis
taken. It was David, right enough.”
"Did he see you? Did he give
heed to your call?”
“No,” Lark admitted with reluc
tance. “He didn’t speak, but he
had good reason not to. I know
that. I should have waited for a
sign from him before I called.”
“I would have spoke. Lark,” Galt
said with quiet assurance. "I would
have spoke you sure, had I been
David North.”
Lark said, "You don’t understand,
Galt. David knows what’s best.”
Mag came bustling into the court
yard then and said, "Galt, I told un
take the pony-beast and tumble-cart
and go haul the morning’s catch of
rock-fish up from the cove.”
oony naa oeen watching them.
He was squatting at the far side of
the courtyard opening the morning’s
haul of oysters with his little cobby
knife, dumping the plump bodies
into a dirty bucket and tossing the
empty shells onto the huge mound
which extended across the back of
the court, walling It in, almost.
The remainder of the morning was
spent in a bustle and confusion of
preparation for the night’s feast.
The only interruption was when the
gipsy fiddler and the white-haired,
gipsy with her twin boy and girl
whom Lark had noted last night
came down from the camp on the
hill to ask if they could buy a supply
of fish for the noon-pot.
Lark loved to question them about
David but got no chance to do so.
As Mag took a small silver coin
from the woman, bit it, and dropped
it into the leather pouch that hung
at her side, bidding them fill their
kettle from the load of rock-fish Galt
had brought in. Lark studied the
group.
As they scooped the shining fish
into their copper kettle, the fiddler
leaned lazily against the wall of the
inn. In a moment his languishing
eyes fastened on Lark and he be
gan to sing:
"Agur, Bettiri,
Ongi ethorri,
Bizi ziradeya oraino?
Bai, Bizi naiz eta bizi gogo
Hartzekoak bil arteraino.”
"I speak every language,” the
man boasted to Lark. “I am Ginko,
a great musician and singer. I
know the love songs of every nation
and of every tribe. In what speech
would you have me sing for you,
my little dove?”
The gipsy woman spoke to her
children with great dignity: "Chal,
Dosta, It is enough. We will have
fish a-plenty for the pirria.” She nod
ded like an empress to the inn
keeper and his wife. The boy and
girl smiled with shy friendliness at
Lark and slung the filled kettle be
tween them on a stout stave. Ginko,
with an exaggerately low bow, blew
a kiss in Lark's direction and fell in
line behind them, fiddling as he went.
Lark felt that if only she could fol- '
low them for a little way along the
wooded path she might be able to
lead them into talk and perhaps have
some word of David. Why, perhaps
it had been for this very reason they
had come to the inn. The sudden
thought came to her now as they
were leaving.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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