MANY hints with regard to rechauffés were given in
the first chapter, but it may be as well to risk repe-
tition in the attempt to enforce on the British cook
the fact that a rechauffé is not a twice-cooked dish,
deprived of all its goodness and succulence by over
cooking. It is not too much to say that there are
few dishes nicer than the despised hash, when well
made, and it may be added few nastier if the oppo-
site is the case. All meat intended for reheating
must be deprived of any string, sinew, skin, and
especially of all over-cooked parts, and fat, if too
predominant, must be judiciously trimmed away.
Now, if you contemplate a hash, cut this meat into
neat, moderately thick slices, dust these very lightly
with a little sifted flour, and pepper (white for
white, and freshly ground black for brown meats),
have the sauce whatever it may be, ready prepared,
and lay the meat in this, cover it down, and let it all
soak together till wanted; then allow it to heat as
gently and slowly as possible, being careful to
remove the meat the moment it shows the least sign
of cooking. As a general principle hashes are far
better if made in what our grandmothers called a
hash-dish, now better known as the American
chafing-dish (not the only thing by the way origi-
nally our own, that we have received back under a
new name from our thrifty cousins across the sea,
and many thanks to them for it). A chafing-dish
should form an indispensable part of the table
service in any daintily inclined household. Hashes
may be varied almost indefinitely according to the
meat to be served. Mention has been already made
of beef or mutton hash, and of salmi, which is
simply a hash of game specialized by its rather
strongly flavoured sauce; then there is the fricassee,
a hash of poultry usually, cut into neat joints
instead of being sliced (this, reckoned in England a
dainty name for a dish, lies under much the same
obloquy in France as does our corresponding word,
“hash,” at home, for, while we say of anyone
blundering that he or she “has made a hash of it,”
so the French contemptuously dub a bad cook a
fricasseur, and when wishing to describe an utter
muddle, say scornfully c'est une véritable fricassée);
then there is the émincé, like our own hash produced
from slices of beef or other meat, but in this case
the meat in question is actually allowed to simmer
steadily but gently for an hour exactly. It certainly
is a delicious dish as anyone who tries the émincé de
bœuf aux tomates given further on will readily
admit, but its chief merit depends on the exact
obedience paid to the cooking time, one hour,
neither more nor less. Then again there is the
gratin; this derives its name from the fact that the
ingredients at the bottom of the pan, and on its