, the fillet of
veal, available for so many delicate dishes, all are ruthlessly turned
into the all-pervading hash. The curious thing is that people are not
fond of it. Men exclaim against it, and its name stinks in the nostrils
of those unhappy ones whose home is the boarding-house.

Yet hash in itself is not a bad dish; when I say it is a peculiarly
_American_ institution, I mean, that when English people speak of hash,
they mean something quite different--meat warmed in slices. Our hash, in
its best form--that is, made with nice gravy, garnished with sippets of
toast and pickles, surrounded with mashed potatoes or rice--is dignified
abroad by the name of _mince_, and makes its appearance as an elegant
little _entree_. Nor would it be anathematized in the way it is with us,
if it were only occasionally introduced. It is the familiarity that has
led to contempt. "But what shall I do?" asks the young wife
distressfully; "John likes joints, and he and I and Bridget can't
possibly eat a roast at a meal."

Very true; and it is to just such perplexed young housekeepers that I
hope this chapter will be especially useful--that is to say, small
families with moderate means and a taste for good things. In this, as in
many other ways, large families are easier to cater for; they can
consume the better part of a roast at a meal, and the remains it is no
great harm to turn into hash, although even they might, with little
trouble and expense, have agreeable variety introduced into their bill
of fare.

In England and America there is great prejudice against warmed-over
food, but on the continent one eats it half the time in some of the most
delicious-made dishes without suspecting it. Herein lies the secret.
With us and our transatlantic cousins the warming over is so artlessly
done, that the _hard_ fact too often stares at us from out the watery
expanse in which it reposes.

One great reason of the failure to make warmed-over meat satisfactory is
the lack of gravy. On the goodness of this (as well as its presence)
depends the success of your _rechauffe_.

The glaze, for which I have given the recipe, renders you at all times
independent in this respect, but at the same time it should not alone be
depended on. Every drop of what remains in the dish from the roast
should be saved, and great care be taken of all scraps, bones, and
gristle, which should be carefully boiled down to save the necessity of
flying to the glaze for eve