knife, and let them stand a few minutes before putting them in the oven. The remainder of the dough must then be worked up for loaves, and baked either in or out of shape. [114] [114] RYE AND INDIAN BREAD. Of wine she never tasted through the year, But white and black was all her homely cheer, Brown bread and milk (but first she skimmed her bowls), And rasher of singed bacon on the coals. Chaucer. Chaucer. Sift two quarts of rye, and two quarts of Indian meal, and mix them well together. Boil three pints of milk; pour it boiling upon the meal; add two teaspoonfuls of salt, and stir the whole very hard. Let it stand till it becomes of only a lukewarm heat, and then stir in half a pint of good, fresh yeast; if from the brewery and quite fresh, a smaller quantity will suffice. Knead the mixture into a stiff dough, and set it to rise in a pan. Cover it with a thick cloth that has been previously warmed, and set it near the fire. When it is quite light, and has cracked all over the top, make it into two loaves; put them into a moderate oven, and bake them two hours and a half. [115] [115] BUTTER. Vessels large And broad, by the sweet hand of neatness clean’d, Meanwhile, in decent order ranged appear, The milky treasure, strain’d thro’ filtering lawn, Intended to receive. At early day, Sweet slumber shaken from her opening lids, My lovely Patty to her dairy hies; There, from the surface of expanded bowls She skims the floating cream, and to her churn Commits the rich consistence; nor disdains, Though soft her hand, though delicate her frame, To urge the rural toil, fond to obtain The country housewife’s humble name and praise. Continued agitation separates soon The unctuous particles; with gentler strokes And artful, soon they coalesce; at length Cool water pouring from the limpid spring Into a smooth glazed vessel, deep and wide, She gathers the loose fragments to a heap, Which in the cleansing wave, well wrought and press’d, To one consistent golden mass, receives The sprinkled
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