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We next visited a general "stores," lined with the familiar Cadbury, Keiller, and Huntley & Palmer tins: there we invested in corned beef, tinned soup, potted meats, cheese, salt, macaroni, marmalade, tea, coffee, sugar, candles, soap, matches, etc. Things not to be forgotten were nails, hammer, rope, methylated spirit and etna.
When Italy joined the Allies, some soldiers of a front-line trench hoisted the placard, "Macaroni mit uns!" Again, when boasting placards of German successes in Galicia were displayed, the French poilus retorted, "You lie. You have taken ten thousand officers and ten millions of troops."
Boil as directed. Make a pint of white sauce or roux, as on p. 169, using milk if it can be had, though water answers. Have a cupful of good grated cheese. Butter a pudding-dish. Put in a layer of macaroni, one of sauce, and one of cheese, ending with cheese. Dust the top with sifted bread or cracker crumbs, dot with bits of butter, and bake fifteen minutes in a quick oven.
She then made me a present of a pair of sandalwood bracelets, beautifully carved, also a few rolls of brocade silk. She also informed me that she had ordered some macaroni in honor of my birthday. This was the custom. I again bowed and thanked her for her kindness and thoughtfulness.
"Sausages," said Donald, unloading his pockets. "A can of macaroni and an apple pie." "You disgraceful kid!" exclaimed Brian. "Whenever you get into a country store without a guard you kick over the traces and appear with something in your pocket that busts a road rule and obligates me to a sermon when I hate 'em. Pie, my son, is effete and civilized.
Pittrino, grateful, and fed with macaroni, set about propagating the reputation of this national dish, and from the time of its founder, he had rendered, with his indefatigable tongue, signal services to the house of Cropoli.
And what had she to do with this English world, and this young lord Felicia was to marry? Far within, she hungered, on the threshold of death, as she had hungered twenty years before, for the Italian sun, and the old Italian streets, with the deep eaves and the sculptured doorways, and the smells of leather and macaroni.
Grated macaroni in his soup, watercress and oil with his chicken, a curious salad and a wonderful cheese. Around him was the constant hum of gay conversation. Every one save himself seemed to have friends here, and many of them.
Only I must have that vase of flowers removed, Figgis; I can look at my flowers when Miss Mapp is not here. Now, what have we got for breakfast lunch, I should say?" The macaroni which Mr. Wyse had brought back with him from Naples naturally led on to Italian subjects, and the general scepticism about the Contessa di Faraglione had a staggering blow dealt it. "My sister," began Mr.
1 c. macaroni 2 qt. boiling water 2 tsp. salt 1-1/2 c. milk 2 Tb. butter 2 Tb. flour 1 tsp. salt 1/8 tsp. pepper 4 hard-boiled eggs 1/4 c. crumbs Break the macaroni into inch lengths, add it to the boiling salted water, and cook it until tender. Make a cream, or white, sauce of the milk, butter, flour, salt, and pepper as explained in the recipe given in Art. 90.
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