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HomeMy WebLinkAboutZurich Herald, 1956-08-16, Page 3/TABA EQTALItS dain e AIRY DESSERT L egg whites x teaspoon baking powder 1 cup line granulated or fruit sugar Beat egg whites until stiff. Sift baking powder with sugar and gradually beat into egg whites. Put into two well - buttered. cake or pies tins and bake a 350° F., for 20 minutes. Tura out. When cool put to- gether with sliced fruit mixed with whipped cream. Cover top with whipped cream. Chill well inrefrigerator before serving. 1''EACH DELIGHT 1 package lemon or orange jelly powder 1 cup boiling water. 1 cup cold water. 1 tablespoon lemon juice 1 cup diced peaches 3/2 cup blanched almonds, optional cup whipping cream Dissolve jelly powder in boil- ing water, add cold water and lemon juice. Chill. When slight- ly thickened, beat until frothy with rotary egg beater. Fold in peaches, almonds and whipped cream. Pour into one large or six individual moulds that have been rinsed in cold water. Chill until set. Yield: six servings. �. * ., CHERRY WHIP 1 eup (about 2 cups pitted) sour cherries, chopped 7/ cup sugar f;g. salt 2 egg whites 3/ teaspoon almond flavour- . ing (optional) Chop pitted cherries in food chopper. Add 1 tablespoon sugar and bring to the boil. Strain, Chill fruit and juice. Beat egg white and salt until frothy. Add 1 tablespoon cherry • juice and beat until stiff but not dry. Add remaining sugar, a little at a time and continue to beat until the mixture stands in peaks. Add flavouring. Chill. ' When. ready to serve, fold in pulp and serve immediately. Yield: 5 to 6 servings. NOTE: May be served• with custard or cherry sauce. * * " RASPBERRY MALLOW 3 cups raspberries 18y� ( Ib.) marshmallows 3 cup icing sugar 2 teaspoons lemon juice z/2 eup coconut 344 cup whipping cream Wash raspberries and place in refrigerator to chill. Cut each marshmallow into eight pieces and dust with icing sugar to keep pieces separate. Just be- fore serving, whip cream. Com- bine raspberries and lemon juice, then add coconut and sugared marshmallows. Fold in whipped cream and serve in SALLY'S SALLIES 64 h nn. -a ns�d.:.t .q Pi+. "You know, dear, 1 never learned to cook; Can you open the can, darling?" sherbet glasses. 'Yields: six ser- vings, * . * GLAZED SOUR CHERRY TARTS 4 cups sour cherries, pitted 114 cups sugar 1/16 teaspoon salt 1 tablespoon cornstarch 1/2 cup water red food colouring baked tart shells Combine cherries, sugar and salt in a saucepan and allow to stand a few minutes. Bring to the boil and drain cherries, re- serving juice. Arrange cherries in baked tart shells. Combine cornstarch with water and add to juice. Return. to the heat, stirring constantly until the glaze thickens and becomes clear. Add food colouring until glaze is a bright cherry red. Spoon glaze over cherries arranged in baked tart shells. Chill. Yield: 12 large tarts, 20 to 24 medium tarts. " IN * RASPBERRY DELIGHT. 11/2 cups fresh raspberries 2 tablespoons hot "water 2'/2 tablespoons granulated sugar 2 egg whites 34 cup granulated sugar Ye teaspoon salt 2 tablespoons lemon juice 3 tablespoons juice drained from fruit Dissolve the first quantity of sugar in hot water. Chill. Pour over the fruit and allow to stand a few minutes. Drain the fruit and reserve the juice. Combine 'unbeaten bgg whites, sugar, salt, lemon juice and fruit juice in the top of a double boiler. Place over boil- ing water and beat with a ro- tary beater until the mixture holds its shape — about 7 min- utes. Gently fold in the thor- oughly drained raspberries. Chill' before serving in sherbet glasses. Yield: 6 servings. Build Memorial To Puppet Now on view in the little Italian village of Collodi is the world's . first memorial to the puppet Pinocchio, central figure of a fairy story written in the village in 1880 by Carlo Loren- zini. Schoolchildren all over the world who have read the story of the "fairy with blue hair" or have seen Walt Disney's film car- toon about Pinocchio contributed coins to pay for the memorial. Pinocchio has, therefore, join ed the very select coinpany of purely fictitious characters who have their own memorials or statues. In Munich,' Little Red Riding Hood and her wolf are immor- talized in stone and at the Dutch village of Spaarndam, near Haarlem,. is a statue of Hans Brinker, the legendary Dutch boy who prevented a flood by stopping a hole in a dyke with his fist. •Familiar to thousands of tour- ists is the graceful bronze statue representing . Hans Andersen's "Little Mermaid," which was erected forty-three years ago at the entrance to Copenhagen Harbour. She sits on a huge boulder, looking as though she has just emerged from the sea. One of the most delightful of all London statues is that of Peter Pan in. Kensington Gar- dens. Another book character with the same Christian name is Shockheaded Peter, created by thn German writer, Dr. Hoffman. His statue was unveiled in Frankfurt in 1929, AFTER THE BRAWL. IS OVER—This wild melee, looking like the brawl to end brawls, is actually a staged fight scene, being filmed in Elstree, England. The shenanigans are necessary far al scene in the film, "The Good Companions," Out of the danger- *,us -looking pile-up of stars and extras, the actors emerged un- sa rced. . • `•P/:.:.::5:::;:%•:%s;;yY>•..::::<:. �::.:•YY:•:< .>:•YY + �r•i:Y>Y•:.:,r.:a ,•.;YY. fw H S CUP RUNNETH OVER Christopher, a five -month-old Rhesus monkey, doesn't appreciate the helping hand of cleanliness. Bathing is one of those things Christopher dislikes entirely., The monkey is a favorite at the "Pet's Corner" of the Whipsnade, England, zoo. Old -Fashioned .-Ice-Cream•--Yum! "Ice cream in a box. Ice cream in. a box — ten cents," announced the refreshment ven- dor, stopping at each seat as he made his way down the aisle 'of the train. For several weeks (ever since the day my brother telephoned to say he was going to the farm) I had been thinking about the. old-fashioned freezer ice cream we used to make on Saturdays at the farm. How my brother or I used to "sit" on the freezer, out back of the barn, while fa- therturned the handle. And: the view 'we had of the farmlands and the mountains, writes Har- riet Patchin Butham in The Christian Science Monitor. So one day last summer I bought a • train ticket to the farm. I hadn't been back :in twenty years. Not since we turn- ed over the title to Cousin Anne. Naturally, I expected some things would be different. There wouldn't be Joe (with rubber pad slung over his "ice" shoul- der) driving his wagon up to. the back door: fortifying himself against our onslaught of plead- ing for lead-ing-'for "pieces of ice to eat" While Rosalie, who always wore a straw hat in summer (both ears poking through), would give a disgusted stomp of a hoof a shake of her mane. Some- times while Joe was in the kit- chen, we would pull wild glow- ers and climbing to Rosalie's back twine them around her ears and hat. My brother and I were the only ones from whom she would tolerate such goings on. And I had been told the wind- mill was gone. For the many years it was retired from pump- ing water its days were easy- going. Accomplishing nothing. But that is unjust. For without it the scene would have been less beautiful. It was a memo- rial to a more leisurely age. And the breeze blew not in vain, for the windmill would yield to it as long as there was a sweep left upon it. As I now thought of it, I could not but regret the inroads that invention, survey- or, and engineer have made upon such timeless things. But I felt certain there, was one thing which would be the same. We'd have ice cream on Sunday — made in the old freezer set in its bucket of pine staves. That was a tradition. And Anne was great for carrying on. traditions. I was sure, too, it would be peach ice cream, be- cause it was then the peach sea- son. Ice cream in a box?" "Not on our farm," I reassured myself. Never did we buy ice cream, "Nothing but homemade," I even knew the recipe by heart. It was under "Philadelphia and Neapolitan Ice Creams" on page 105 of the blue -checked oilcloth -covered cookbook, "Scald one pint of cream; add one cup- ful granulated sugar, and stir continually. Cool. Add one pint cream whipped still, pinch of salt; vanilla or mashed fruit in season." On. Saturdays mother would give me fifteen cents to buy the cream. And I'd start for the neighboring farmhouse (we didn't have cows) with the two pint pails. My brother would start toward the village with his little yellow cart to get the pul- verized salt. (Joe always left chopped ice and the coarse pack- ing salt with Our regular lee or- der.) While mother scalded out the freezer and washed the buc- ket, setting them on the ledge in the shed to dry out, "Remember . - pulverized," she would call after my brother if he had brought home coarse salt the week before.' Occasion- ally, he would forget to specify and have to take the coarse salt back. Thinking it would impress him' with . the importance of bringing pulverized, father had explained that too coarse a salt did not dissolve and thereby produce cold in the cream rapid- ••ly enough. So the pulverized salt was used with the ice for packing, to help keep the cream frozen. But in spite of this my brother forgot once in a while. My brother and I would carry, the freezer to the back of the barn. Father would bring out two pails from the shed — one filled with the pulverized salt and the other with the chop- ped ice. And after we had put the ice and salt around the freezer can, mother would pour the cream mixture into it.. The promised reward of "licking" the dasher made sitting on the freezer enviable and alleviated the discomforts which three layers of old rugs failed to as- suage. When a friend offered to build a gadget to hold the bus- - ket steady there were vocifer- ous protests from us. "We can hold it steady enough by sitting on it," we• insisted. We thought we might miss out on the dash- er' Usually alter ten minutes or so of "turning" the cream was frozen. The one who had "sat" waited eagerly for the dasher, midst great pleading by the other one for sharing of the rich mixture which would be cling- ing to be blades. Followed by our begging father not to "scrape off so much." And I could re- member father and my brother carrying the bucket and pails back to the shed, followed close- ly by the cat who always 'seem- ed hopeful that through some good fortune a bit of cream would have found its way to the outside of the bucket. It would walk around the two pails and the freezer until convinced there was nothing to be had. Or un- til we scraped some ice cream off the dasher for it. And I vivid- ly recall its dislike of the green and whitebrine-soaked blanket which we threw over the .whole bucket as a sort of added insula- tion. All this I thought about as I rode along. At the store on the corner of by street there hangs a sign, "Old-fashioned freezer -made ice cream." But 1 never have bought any. "Why?" I now asked my- self. "Why am I riding five hun- dred miles for old-fashioned ice cream when I can get it within a five-minute walk from my home?" The answer did not come at .once. Then suddenly I knew. It wasn't alone the old -'fashioned ice cream, or even licking the dasher. It was the purple peaks of mountains rising between the dips of distant hills; and oaks, two hundred years old or more, leaning against an azure sky; and yellow butterflies over the trailing squash vines — flying wide apart, then close together. Their wings crossing back and forth like a dancer's entrechats. It .was these things blending with the songs of locusts and crickets; and the caws of crows; and the sound.of grind- ing wagon wheels, as Ned lum- bered up the hill with a load of feed; and the breeze carrying the voices of my playmates across the fields. And I had but to turn my head to see the dark patterns made by drifting clouds pass- ing over the treetops and squares of farmlands, on the hills ac- ross the valley. Now and then I could hear the rhythmic pound- ing of a hammer echoing up the ravine. Here and there a red- dened maple leaf seemed an in- truder. And I would find my- self thinking, "Not yet. A little more time to run barefoot, to swim in the pond, to lie watch- ing the gold and black butter- flies clinging to the purple clo- ver's stem — folding and un- folding their winks. More time to lie face down and breathe the sun -drenched earth." And I remembered the peach orchard. The fruit suspended like baubles from a Christmas tree. My brother would climb to the branches that were be- yond my reach, placing the fruit ih baskets (oh, so' gently) set in crotches of the trees. And when we had filled all the bas- kets, father would drive through the orchard and we would load them into the wagon. Then we climbed on Ned's broad back for the ride to the house. With what anticipation we carried the fruit into the shed. Most of it was set aside for conning, but some was held out for the ice cream. And like the chil- dren's sugar -plum' visions, vi- sions of ice cream danced in our heads. "It's my turn to sit on the freezer this week," I would sometimes say to my brother (with a slight twinge of con- science) as we placed the last basket. "No it isn't," he would insist forcefully. "You sat last week." And as usual, father would call out, "Children, is it that dasher again?" And he would settle the matter by making me own up that I knew very well it was my brother's turn. But I always managed to extract a promise of a "lick." "Last chance to buy your ice cream — ten cents," called the vendor again. And I found my- self repeating, "No ice cream in a box on our farm." And I couldn't help adding, "It will be homemade, too." So when Anne met me at the station, after greetings were done with and we were seated in her car, I said, "Of course there'll be ice cream for des- sert on Sunday." "Oh, yes, indeed," she re- plied. "We've carried on the tra- dition — ice cream on Sundays. And your brother knew you'd want peach ice cream." "Hurrah for both of you," I almost shouted. "May I sit on the freezer," I asked eagerly, "Out back of tha barn where .1 can see the moun- tains and fields and orchard --- just -just as 1 used to do? And of course I want to lick the dash-. er," I went on, hardly atking a. breath. "I've been looking for- ward to this for weeks." "Just in time," my brother said as I wandered around to the shed. "Just in time to help me carry the bucket and freez- er to the back of the barn. I've' got the ice and salt and we can get the bucket packed by the time Anne has the cream mix- ture ready." "I won't help you do anything unless you let me sit on the freezer," I said with feigned. petulance. Anne came to the kitchen door. "Children . she be- gan,shaking her finger in mock reproof: " . , is it that dasher again?" we finished out in chorus. About Henry— The enry— The Handy Man For those of us suburbanites gaudy enough to have a sum- mer place up in the mountains -or at the shore, the Man of the Hour, practically any hour, is a man in a blue denim shirt, dis- reputable pants and perfectly disgraceful hat .. He's the handyman. He knows somebody who knows, how to do everything under the sun or a leaky roof. He can bank salt grass around the foundations and put leaves and burlap around the shrubs and put a cap on the chimney against winter snows and drain the water sys- tem . and pack the apples for shipping home and store things so they won't mildew and put the shutters on and discon- nect the electric generator and check up on the lightning rods and make the barn door stay shut and find a home for the cat that wandered in from some- where . . The first Henrys were probab- ly fishermen, or hired hands from nearby farms, who were prevailed upon to help some cottager pry open an attic win- dow or get rid of a wasps' nest in a highly undesirable place. Whatever they started as, they developed into a startling breedl of men. With a broken -bladed knife and a small Stinson wrench they will tackle, sue- cessfully, everything from a col- lapsed back stoop to a magneto. Still another of the • .Henry's must have been pretty nearly the archetype. Fittingly, he was always called mister—Mr. Todd. He could seemingly do anything, find anything, and invent any- thing. Onehouse needed a few slate shingles. There wasn't another slate -roofed house with- in twenty miles or a slate quarry within a hundred. Mr. Todd went off to his own place, and ui his fabulous shed, under some flowerpots and a few teeth for an old horse rake, • he found a dozen slates he'd sort of "been holdin' onto" . He found a clock face to re- furbish an antique from an auc- tion sale. He found a piece of basswood he'd "been keepin' "3 and fitted it into a chipped bit of inlay on a table. He happened to have some old brass -headed tacks which were just the thing for a fireplace bellows. He charged for everything he dug up, but most often it was, "Wei), ha'f a dollar'd be about right.' —From "Slightly Cooler in the Suburbs", by C. B. Palmer. "Good morning, doctor," said the young man. "1 just dropped in to tell you how much 1 bene- fitted trom your treatments." "But you're not a patient o3 mine," the doctor said. "No. It was my uncle. .I'm his heir." HEAT GOT YOU BEAT? GRIN AND BARE IT—On e summer is with a cool pool. Witness the ladies in bronze partner enjoy the fountain in the Place section of the same city, a young lady strips for suit at a local pool. surefire nethod of surviving the sizzling wading, left. Martine Dowling and her silent de la Concorde in Paris, France. In another action, prior to o cooling dip in her birthday