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Updated: May 21, 2025
It was the apparently inoffensive sentence, "New potatoes will boil in thirty minutes," that brought fresh terror to Billy's soul, and set her to fluttering the cookbook leaves with renewed haste. If it took new potatoes thirty minutes to cook, how long did it take old ones? In vain she searched for the answer. There were plenty of potatoes.
It was Rebecca Mary who was laughing somewhere out there that she wanted to see. The next day was Sunday, and in the quiet of the long afternoon Rebecca Mary read aloud again to Thomas Jefferson. It was from the little cookbook diary. Thomas Jefferson was pecking about the long grass of the orchard. "Oh, listen!" cried Rebecca Mary, her eyes unwontedly shining. "Listen to this, Thomas Jefferson!
It has something to do with the same effect one gets out of studying. On Tuesday one can read a page of textbook and not grasp a word of it. Successive readings help only a little. Then in about a week it all becomes quite clear, just as if the brain had sorted it and filed it logically among the other bits of information. Well, what about that cookbook?" "Yes," said Mrs.
Once she went to her room and studied the cookbook during an entire evening, finally writing out a menu for the week, which left her harassed with a feeling that, after all, she had accomplished no good that was worth the name. But that evening Edna finished her dinner alone, with forced deliberation. Her face was flushed and her eyes flamed with some inward fire that lighted them.
She was working at a marble-topped table trying to compose a cake according to a very complicated inspiration in a cookbook that weighed seven pounds. Miss Joy had a vague idea that her cake, not a large cake, was going to weigh more. It was going to be very dark and rich, something like a wedding-cake. Martha came at last from the dining-room, and examined the mixture which Miss Joy had made.
It was in her pocket where she'd put her hand in and felt round! So all that fuss for noth " Suddenly Aunt Olivia stopped, for without warning, out of a box at the bedside stalked a great white rooster and flew to the foot board and "crew": "Cock-a-doodle-do-ooo! It was glass that glittered in the grass, And all the time I knew-oo-ooo!" "My grief?" Aunt Olivia gasped. The Cookbook Diary
If you ask for a Mamie Taylor she gets it confused in her mind with a Sally Lunn and sends out for yeastcake and a cookbook; and while you are waiting she will give you a genuine Yankee drink, such as a brandy and soda or she will suggest that you smoke something and take a look at the evening paper. If you do smoke something, beware oh, beware! of the native English cigar.
"I couldn't help it if they didn't rise in the oven. Go rag the cookbook." Joy could stand it no longer. Forgetting her real state, she rushed out on them, where they wrestled with the dinner and Tiddy. They were playing handball with the biscuits by this time. "Oh, Tiddy! You didn't put yeast in those biscuits!" she reproached him.
You can cook fish to perfection, for I've tried you, and make good bread, and you are naturally neat and dainty, which goes for much. Take my cookbook home, and study up a few simple, nice recipes this winter, so's to be ready. Don't try for too much, but do excellently well all you undertake; and try it. You know I'll help you all I can; I believe you'll succeed!" "But what rooms have I?"
First she read with great care the directions in the cookbook, and then looked rather helplessly at the stove. "This is the front draught, of course," she murmured, "but where's the oven draught? Betty, do tell me where the oven draught is on this stove." Betty flew over from the further side of the big kitchen, and pointed out the oven draught.
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