There is an old saying to the effect that "all may eat, but ladies and gentlemen dine." The difference lies more in the preparation and manner of serving than in the food itself, and whether her evening meal is a banquet or a repast of the lunch-counter sort rests wholly with the housewife.

We pause long enough to pay our disrespects to that barbarous inst.i.tution known in America as the Sunday Dinner. On six days in the week, the average business man eats a light luncheon or none at all.

On the seventh day, at an unaccustomed hour, he eats a heavy meal, goes to sleep shortly afterward, and wonders why Monday is a "blue day."

Our uncivilized Sundays are responsible for our Monday morning headaches and for the gloom which, in many a household, does not wear off until Tuesday morning. If Sunday were a day of fasting instead of a day of feasting, Monday might be radiant occasionally instead of riotous or revolutionary.

We make Sunday a hard day for the women of the household, especially the servants, and the imperial liver appertaining to the Head of the Establishment balks sometimes at the strain. The American Sunday Dinner is one cause of the American Servant Problem--and everybody knows what that is.

In more than one household, a twelve or one o'clock breakfast has proved both hygienic and satisfactory. Coffee and rolls are served to those who want them at eight or nine o'clock, if they come into the dining-room. At noon the family sits down to a simple breakfast--fruit, broiled chicken, creamed potatoes, hot bread and coffee, for example.

The maid has few dishes to wash, is not too tired to enjoy her afternoon off, and gets away two or three hours earlier than her less fortunate sisters. Also she remains where she is hired--which has its advantages. Only a light lunch is needed in the evening which the mistress may serve, leaving the dishes to be washed in the morning.

Owing to the aforesaid American Servant Problem an increasing number of women do their own housework--not from choice, but from stern necessity. This book is intended for the woman in a small house or apartment, who is her own cook, who earnestly desires to do her duty by her family, yet be something more than a wearied and soul-sickened drudge; who has to look after her dimes and nickels, if not her pennies, and who wants more than the weekly "afternoon off" accorded to the stronger women who undertake domestic tasks.

Simplicity--and, as a general rule, economy--has been the standard by which each recipe has been judged. All are within the capabilities of the most inexperienced cook, who is willing to follow directions, and, in the case of such variable materials as flour and eggs, trust, now and then, to her own judgment.

THIRTY-FIVE CANAPeS

I

Cover thin circles of fried or toasted bread with chopped hard-boiled eggs, lay a curled anchovy in the centre of each piece and serve either hot or cold, garnishing with minced parsley or capers.

II

Cut thin slices of bread into fancy shapes, toast, spread with b.u.t.ter, and lay a curled anchovy in the centre around half a pimola. Fill the s.p.a.ces with the minced whites and sifted yolks of hard-boiled eggs and border with minced capers or parsley.

III

Serve pitted olives on rounds of fried bread with an anchovy curled around each olive. Fill the s.p.a.ce to the edge with chopped olives or rings of hard-boiled eggs. Garnish with cress.

IV

Fry small rounds of bread in clarified b.u.t.ter, sprinkle with grated cheese, season with salt and cayenne, and put in the oven until the cheese is melted. Fillets of anchovies may be laid on these canapes and they may be served hot or cold, garnishing with minced parsley.

V

Pound anchovies to a smooth paste with b.u.t.ter and season with cayenne and lemon-juice. Spread on strips of toast or bread and lay strips of anchovy on each piece. Fill the s.p.a.ces between with hard-boiled eggs chopped separately.

VI

Chop watercress and pickles with the yolks of hard-boiled eggs and rub to a smooth paste with b.u.t.ter. Spread on strips of fried or toasted bread and lay an anchovy on each one.

VII

Slice large tomatoes, cut circles of bread to fit, and toast or fry the bread. Lay a slice of tomato on each piece, put a pimola in the centre, curl an anchovy around it and border with stiff Mayonnaise, using the pastry bag and tube. Serve ice cold.

VIII

Beat together two eggs, a tablespoonful of melted b.u.t.ter, a teaspoonful of anchovy sauce, and salt and cayenne to season. Add three tablespoonfuls of grated cheese and one tablespoonful of flour wet with cream. Spread thickly upon small slices of toast and bake until brown.

IX

Chop two hard-boiled eggs fine, mix to a smooth paste with melted b.u.t.ter, season with anchovy essence, and serve on small circles or squares of b.u.t.tered toast.

X

Spread strips of toast with caviare rubbed to a smooth paste with b.u.t.ter, sprinkle with chopped watercress, and serve cold.

XI

Heat caviare with enough cream to moisten, spread on rounds of fried or toasted bread, and sprinkle with hard-boiled egg-yolks rubbed through a fine sieve. Garnish with cress.

XII

Spread thin rounds of toasted rye-bread with caviare, seasoned with lemon-juice. Lay a slice of hard-boiled egg on each one and serve with a garnish of parsley.

XIII

Spread thin squares of toast with caviare seasoned with lemon-juice, sprinkle with minced parsley, and border with chopped hard-boiled eggs. Garnish with lemon and parsley.

XIV

Chop fine, olives, pimentos, and cuc.u.mber pickles. Season caviare with lemon-juice and spread upon circles of fried or toasted bread. Cover with a thin layer of the chopped mixture.

XV

Spread b.u.t.ter upon thin round slices of rye-bread or Boston brown-bread and lay a thin slice of cuc.u.mber, which has been dipped in French dressing, on each piece. Remove the yolk from slices of hard-boiled egg, lay the ring of white on the cuc.u.mber, and fill the centre with caviare.

XVI

Season caviare with lemon-juice and spread upon rounds of toasted bread. Lay an oyster on each piece and serve on a plate with a garnish of cress and lemon.