Sandwiches, Salads
Form a Basis for
Nourishing Lunches
Hot sandwiches are a welcome
treat for quirk lunches. They may
be prepared with ground meat,
cheese or cold meats and flavorfully
garnished with tomatoes, mustard,
onions or mayonnaise.
It's eat and run in most house
holds for lunch time because the
cmidren musi run
back to school
or husbands must
hurry back to -
work. If foods "
are prepared in
advance, however, even me quicn
lunch can be nourishing and satis
fying.
Sandwiches, of course, are an old
standby, but they should be rounded
out with soups and salads instead
of just a beverage and a piece of
cake. Cold meats are easy to use,
but they can be served warm to
add more appetite appeal to the
noon-day meal.
Left-over vegetableo from the
night - before dinner, when well
chilled and mixed with crisp greens,
make an appetizing salad. They
may also be used, along with left
over meat, for delicious soup which
is so welcome with a fairly dry
food like a sandwich.
If sandwiches are served, the des
sert should be preferably a pudding
or ice cream to give contrast.
These, too, are easily prepared in
the morning and will be ready to
serve for lunch.
I have chosen a number of sand
wiches called "burgers" which I
think you will find highly suitable
for that quick noon-day get-together.
Hamburger.
Combine 1H pounds of ground beef
with 1 egg, 1V4 teaspoons of salt and
V4 teaspoon pepper; mix thoroughly
but lightly. Shape into large patties
about Ms inch thick. Heat bacon drip
pings until slz-ling hot in a heavy
skillet, lay patties on it and brown
quickly on both sides. Reduce heat,
cover and cook slowly about 8 to 10
minutes. Place on plain or toasted
bun, serve with tomatoes, onion,
mustard or mayonnaise.
Liver Sausage Burger.
Remove casings from slices of
liver sausage and brush both sides
with butter. Pan fry in heavy skil
let. turning to brown on both sides.
Pan fry bacon until crisp Arrange
bacon and liver sausage on split
plain or toasted bun. Serve with
mustard or mayonnaise.
•Cheeseburger.
Mix lVfc pounds of ground beef
with V4 cup milk. 1 teaspoon salt
ana V4 teaspoon
pepper. Form Into
six patties about
3 inches in diam
eter. Cut six
slices of cheese
slightly smaller
than meat pat
ties. Mix Vi cup
chili sauce and 2
teaspoons horseradish. Pan fry
meat patties in bacon drippings or
butter slowly for 10 to 15 minutes,
turning several times as they cook.
Spread with chili sauce and horse
Lynn Says:
Make the most of your fruit:
Apples for baking are more at
tractive If the skin Is peeled in
stripes from the upper half of the
a.iple. Use a moderate oven for
baking.
All fruits should be washed be
fore using Spraying of the leaves
often leaves a deposit on the
fruit.
Bananas will not darken if
dipped in lemon Juice when
peeled.
Grapefruits and melons will
keep fresh if wrapped with
waxed paper when cut.
Roll oranges and lemons until
slightly soft before squeezing. The
Juice will flow more freely.
Lynn Chambers' Menus.
•Pepper Pot
•Cheeseburgers with Buns
Tomatoes Mustard
•Cranberry Parfait Cookies
Beverage
•Recipe given,
u———————
radish and top each pattie with a
slice of cheese. Broil until cheese
melts. Serve on plain or toasted buns
with tomatoes, onions, relish or
mayonnaise.
Here are two rich hearty soups
which you might like to serve with !
any type of sandwich. These, of
course, may be made ahead of time
as soup will improve in flavor on
standing.
•Pepper Pot.
(Serves 6)
1 onion, sliced
V* cup celery, diced
*4 cup chopped green pepper
% cup butter
% cup flour
1H quarts of meat stock
114 cups diced potatoes
1 tablespoon salt
1 teaspoon chili powder
1 cup cream, whipped
Simmer onion, celery and green
pepper in butter
about IS min
utes. Add (lour
and siir until
well blended;
then add meat
stock, potatoes
and seasoning. |
Cover and allow
to simmer one I
hour. Add cream Just beiore serv
ing.
Corn Chowder.
1 quart potatoes, diced
2 cups boiling water
2 tablespoons salt pork
1 medium onion, chopped
1 No. 2 size can of corn
2 cups milk
1 tablespoon salt
V4 teaspoon pepper
2 tablespoons chopped parsley or
celery leaves
V4 cup cream
Cook diced potatoes in boiling wa
ter for 10 minutes. Cut salt pork
in Vi-inch dice, saute and add onion.
Continue cooking until pork is brown
and crisp and onions are soft and
yellow; then add these, with the
corn, to the potatoes. Boil gently
until potatoes are tender; add milk,
salt and pepper. Bring to the
boiling point again and add parsley
or celery leaves and cream. Serve
piping hot.
Two desserts which come to
mind for meals such as I've just
described are a Cranberry Parfait
and a Flufly Fruit Ice. They are
light enough to contrast well with
soup and sandwich luncheons and
easy to make.
Light, fruity desserts offer taste
and color contrasts to rich, heavy
meals. Here, Cranberry Farfalt is
served in lull glasses lopped with
a square of jelly to make the des
sert more attractive.
•Cranberry Farfait.
H can cranberry sauce
2 tablespoons powdered sugar
1 egg white
H pint cream
1 teaspoon almond extract
Beat the cranberry sauce and
powdered sugar with a fork. Whip
the egg white and cream Combine
the two mixtures. Flavor with the
almond extract and chill. Serve with
a square of cranberry sauce.
Fluffy Fruit Ice.
2 tablespoons untiavored gelatin
2 tablespoons cold water
2 tablespoons sugar
*4 cup water
1 cup syrup from mixed fruit
2 tablespoons lemon juice
teaspoon salt
1 egg white, beaten
1 tablespoon sugar
Soften gelatin in colu water
Bring sugar and water to a boil.
Add gelatin and stir until dissolved.
Cool. Add syrup, lemon juice and
salt. Pour Into refrigerator tray.
Freeze until Arm. Place In a chilled
bowl, break into pieces, and fold In
egg white which has been beaten
with remaining sugar Return to
refrigerator tray and freeze until
Arm. Mixed cooked or canned fruit
may be served as a garnish.
Released b.t VV*»c»rn Newspaper Union.
am.au x uiVii i iciii, vy uinn,
IV. L
White
INSTALLMENT FOUR
""
Russian newspapers and news
reels carry only small amounts of
news about the outside world, and
never anything which might arouse
Internal discontent with the Party’s
rule or the Soviet Union’s standard
of living. Now and then, of course,
there is a slight miscalculation. For
instance, Soviet newsreels, which
specialize in strikes or disorders in
the Western countries, ran many
feet showing the Detroit race riots,
including a vivid closeup of a cop
beating a young Negro. The effect
on the Soviet audience was elec
tric. Some Russians even stood up.
"Look”—they cried—"at that won
derful pair of shoes the Negro is
wearing!”
Almost never do the authorities
admit any book or movie which
would give a straightforward pic
ture of American life and the aver
age American living standard. It
is true that Soviet intellectuals have
read and appreciate the artistry of
"The Grapes of Wrath."
These curious, insubordinate mal
contents would arouse little sympa
Russians welcomed news of Sta
lin's meeting with Roosevelt.
thy in the Soviet Union, and the only
possible happy ending would be to
have one of the younger boys join
the Komsomols out in California,
loyally squeal on the whole disrup
tive tribe, whereupon the NKVD
would give chase and after excit
ing sequences, overtake and liqui
date them at the,base of the statue
of Stalin.
Few American films are shown in
Moscow and those are picked with
the greatest care. The American
films best known are Chaplin’s
‘‘Gold Rush” and ‘‘The Dictator,”
a Sonja Henie skating picture and
Deanna Durbin’s “One Hundred
Men and a Girl," after the Russian
subtitles were written in to bring
out a heavy class-exploitation angle.
When I was in Moscow, the most
popular foreign pictures were "Jun
gle” and “Thief of Bagdad.” Both
were heavily attended. With the
usual Hollywood skill, the scene of
one is a Hindu village and the other
is medieval Bagdad, neither por
trayed normal life in the Western
world and so were safe.
I did see, however, one excellent
Russian picture, and did not need
the language to understand and be
moved by it. The story concerned
a green cadet, very much on his
good behavior, who arrives with his
kit bag to join a veteran fighter
squadron. He is at first genially
hazed by the rest, gradually gets
experience, shows his mettle and is
slowly accepted. It depicted some
highly corned-up and improbable
shots of air fights, but these flights
of fancy were no more distorted than
the ones dreamed up in Hollywood
swivel chairs.
All nations tend to play up their
own battle exploits and to neglect
their Allies, and America is, in
this respect, a frequent offender.
But certainly Red Army advances
are decently covered in stories,
maps, and pictures both in Amer
ican newspapers and newsreels.
The Soviet Union, by contrast, al
most never shows pictures of for
eign battle fronts in its popular thea
iers.
Anglo-American landings in Nor
mandy were shown to the intelli
gentsia and to high Red Army of
ficers. who might have a technical
interest in how we handle landing
operations, but they were not re
leased to the general public.
As a result, the average Russian
firmly and logically believes that his
government has until recently borne,
not most of the war burden, but all
of it.
From time to time Stalin makes
statements which are both realistic
and generous to his Allies. Rather
recently he predicted that Soviet
soil would soon be cleared of the in
vader and the armies could then
proceed to follow the Fascist beast
and crush him in his lair, adding
that this would not be possible with
out the combined efforts of all the
Allies.
This was, of course, printed in
Pravda but the average reader, sat
urated with news of the Red Army,
overburdened with personal prob
lems, and ignorant of the extent of
the Anglo-American sea air and
land effort, probably dismissed it as
the kind of perfunctory gesture
which all statesmen occasiohally
make.
Today another thundering big din
ner at Spiridonovka to which Eric,
Joyce, and I are asked. This time
only as humble spectators, for it is
given by Molotov and the guests of
honor are the British and American
ambassadors to celebrate the anni
versary of our aid agreement with
England.
Any artist could draw Molotov
with a ruler—a square body on short
legs, square head, jaw, nose, and
eyes, and there he stands. This
square face is as devoid of expres
sion as an Indian chief’s.
Litvinov is also present—a keen
face, thinning, sandy hair—intelli
gent, alert—a benign volcano. The
reporters say he is the only accessi
ble Kremlin resident. He will give
any of the more serious one hour or
so, explaining Soviet policy and
problems—provided, of course, they
don’t bother him too often.
The dinner is like Mikoyan’s, even
to the climatic suckling pig—or
rather his cousin, similarly shaved
and boiled. I am next to another
Foreign Office boy (Russians appar
ently keep their wives and daugh
ters away from ravening capitalist
wolves).
They are tremendously formal
people—not because they are Com
munists but because they are Rus
sians. When they throw an official
shebang, everything must be just
so, from oyster forks to medals. No
wonder they were ofTended when
Winston Churchill, visiting Moscow
during the raids, turned up at Stal
in’s dinner in his siren suit. A czar
ist grand duke might be understood,
but not these earnest Socialists. As
Russians they must be spectacularly
lavish; as Communists they must
worry about the forks.
In the middle of the good will
toasts, Molotov breaks a big piece
of news; tells us that today they are
launching an offensive to co-ordinate
with our Anglo-American landing
in Normandy.
In the major drive which present
ly followed toward Warsaw and East
Prussia, no one can say they did
not keep faith—scraping their man
power barrel, throwing \^ar-cripples,
semi-invalids, and boys into the line.
Their sacrifices from the standpoint
of manpower have been ghastly.
Back of the front you see no young
men who aren’t either in uniform
or limping with a wound, except the
few who are in high administrative
jobs. And you see absolutely no
men between sixteen and forty at
the factory benches.
Following the Molotov dinner, we
told the correspondents of the an
nounced attack, since it had already
been launched and, of course, they
filed the story. It was then stopped
in censorship. The censors pointed
out it had not yet appeared in Prav
da. It is a rule of Russian censor
ship that nothing is officially true
which has not been printed in a Rus
sian paper. Pravda got around to
printing the news of the offensive
three days later.
"Tomorrow,” said Kirilov, "we go
for ride in private steamboat down
to Volga River and return.” He
stops. "There will”—and here his
large sleepy eyes seem to be doing
their best to gleam—“be girls.”
Even our Russian hosts realize
that after our busy schedule, we
need a rest. Our idea of a program
for this would be a milk toast diet.
Theirs, of course, wins and differs
slightly. It is a trip by boat down
the famous canal connecting Mos
cow with the Volga River. Some
correspondents are also invited.
We are driven to tne landing
place—a huge and almost complete
ly deserted station about the size of
the Kansas City or the Cleveland
Union Terminals. Its architecture is
pretentious. It is over-ornamented
and built with shoddy materials.
It towers dramatically above the
canal, which is reached by a pre
posterously wide flight of steps—I
would guess fifty of them—which are
dominated by a titanic statue of
Stalin. At the bottom is our boat,
a streamlined version of a Missis
sippi River steamer.
To entertain us they have brought
three of the plump operetta artistes.
They were better by candlelight.
Now we see a few double chins we
had overlooked. They arrive in
very formal dresses, but soon
change. It’s like date night at the
Old Ladies’ Home. Yet everybody
is trying pathetically hard to show
us a good time.
The paddles are churning —
through the new. white silk curtains
I see the bank moving so I go on
deck. On one of the long padded
wicker divans, Johnston is already
stretched out, shirtless for a sun
bath. Two sailors, under Kirilov’s
supervision, come trundling out a
radio-phonograph trailing a cable
This is set up in the middle of the
deck.
“Now,’* says Kirilov, “we will
have American music.” Whereupon
its loud speaker is aimed at Eric
and it begins to play, “Oh. Johnny,
j Oh, Johnny! How you can love!"
An excited male voice begins to sing
the words breathlessly, as though he
had first been chased around the
block.
The banks sliding by might be il
lustrations of a fairy tale. There
are tall birch forests and if it were
night, I am sure a distant light
would appear and walking toward it
we would find the old witch and her
house of stick candy.
Now and then we pass a clearing
and a village of logs, with those
beautifully carved doors and win
dow frames characteristic of Old
Russia. Occasionally naked girl
swimmers duck down as we go by.
This canal probably isn’t quite as
wide as the Panama but two of these
great steamers can pass. About ev
ery fifteen or twenty miles there is
a loading station almost as big as
the one where we came aboard—
but no towns are in sight. At each
station a mammoth metal statue of
either Lenin or Stalin commands the
canal. They hold the same poses
here and throughout the Soviet
Union. Stalin, in his heavy overcoat
and cap, strides along, swinging his
arms; Lenin always gesticulates
with arms outstretched.
How was the canal built, I ask.
By 3,000,000 political prisoners,
working with picks and shovels, and
it took them only a little over two
years.
We float for a while through soft
birch forest and sure enough, anoth
er statue looms ahead. For us they
disfigure the Russian landscape but
I suppose we are no more annoyed
than Russians would be at the bill
boards which line our highways.
However, the artists who paint our
cigarette ads are more skillful than
the monumental masons who de
signed these cigar-store Indians.
One of the British correspondents
who lives up on the fifth floor of the
Metropole invites me and half a doz
en other correspondents up for a
party, and I take as a contribution
my Bolshevik factory cake.
The party starts about 10 o’clock
with sandwiches and black coffee,
brewed over an electric stove—and
my cake. The host has persuaded
the Metropole maid, an old lady
of seventy named Nina, who has
looked after him for several years,
to serve and wash dishes afterwards
in his bathroom. At about ten-thirty
a couple of Russian girls arrive. One
is touching thirty, with the usual
sallow, pimply Moscow skin and
shabby clothing. The other is about
twenty-four and the prettiest Rus
sian girl I have seen. But the amaz
ing thing is how in Moscow she has
found enough vitamins to clear her
skin.
Our host calls for Nina to bring
cake plates and coffee cups for the
girls. Nina eyes them with intense
disapproval, shoves the plates into
their hands and goes out banging
the door.
Our host laughs.
“She’s adopted me. When, now
and then, a Russian girl does spend
the night, Nina puts the picture of
my wife and kids where it’s the
first thing I’ll see when I wake up.”
Now for a note on sex in Russia.
In the outside world Russians have
an awe-inspiring reputation for pro
miscuity. It is unfounded. It grew
up in the days when the Bolshevik
Party denounced fidelity as a bour
geois fetish and proclaimed the new
freedom in these matters, along with
legalized abortion and post-card di
vorce. But even in those days the
reputation was unfounded, for al
though divorce could be had for the
asking (and some individuals got
dozens), the rate for Russia as a
whole was less than the American
divorce rate. The average Russian
seemed reasonably content with one
wife.
Now divorce is difficult and abor
tion illegal in Russia and promiscu
ity politically unfashionable. Yet
life seems to go on at about the
Roosevelt tells Stalin of Normandy
invasion.
same cadence that it always did.
One gathers that these matters are
governed by deep instinct and are
little affected by the official preach
ings of church or state, and that
this is true not only of Russia, but
for the rest of the world as well.
Having said this. I must add that
the Moscow foreign colony is def
initely underprivileged in this rield.
In part this is due to matters of
taste, for the legendary Russian
beauty turns out to be mythical in
Moscow; at least she does not exist
in the absence of adequate amounts
of fresh fruit and tomai. es
iTO BE CONTINUED!
CARS, TRUCKS, TRAILERS
SEE ANDY FIKST.
Cars. Trucks. House Trailers. Loans. Sell
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