<div class="rightalign"><i>Chapter<br/>Five</i></div><h2>Sixty-five Sizzling Rabbits</h2>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>That nice little smoky room at the "Salutation," which
is even now continually presenting itself to my
recollection, with all its associated train of pipes,
egg-hot, welsh-rabbits, metaphysics and poetry.</p>
<p class="author">Charles Lamb,<br/>
IN A LETTER TO COLERIDGE</p>
</div>
<p>Unlike the beginning of the classical Jugged Hare recipe:
"First catch your hare!" we modern Rabbit-hunters start off
with "First catch your Cheddar!" And some of us go so far as to
smuggle in formerly forbidden <i>fromages</i> such as
Gruyère, Neufchâtel, Parmesan, and mixtures
thereof. We run the gamut <!-- Page 51 --><SPAN name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></SPAN> of personal preferences in selecting the
Rabbit cheese itself, from old-time American, yellow or
store cheese, to Coon and Canadian-smoked, though all of it
is still Cheddar, no matter how you slice it.</p>
<p>Then, too, guests are made to run the gauntlet of
all-American trimmings from pin-money pickles to peanut butter,
succotash and maybe marshmallows; we add mustard, chill, curry,
tabasco and sundry bottled red devils from the grocery store,
to add pep and piquance to the traditional cayenne and black
pepper. This results in Rabbits that are out of focus, out of
order and out of this world.</p>
<p>Among modern sins of omission, the Worcestershire sauce is
left out by braggarts who aver that they can take it or leave
it. And, in these degenerate days, when it comes to
substitutions for the original beer or stale pale ale, we find
the gratings of great Cheddars wet down with mere California
sherry or even ginger ale—yet so far, thank goodness, no
Cokes. And there's tomato juice out of a can into the Rum Turn
Tiddy, and sometimes celery soup in place of milk or cream.</p>
<p>In view of all this, we can only look to the standard
cookbooks for salvation. These are mostly compiled by women,
our thoughtful mothers, wives and sweethearts who have saved
the twin Basic Rabbits for us. If it weren't for these Fanny
Farmers, the making of a real aboriginal Welsh Rabbit would be
a lost art—lost in sporting male attempts to improve upon
the original.</p>
<p>The girls are still polite about the whole thing and
protectively pervert the original spelling of "Rabbit" to
"Rarebit" in their culinary guides. We have heard that once a
club of ladies in high society tried to high-pressure the
publishers of Mr. Webster's dictionary to change the old
spelling in their favor. Yet there is a lot to be said for this
more genteel and appetizing rendering of the word, for the
Welsh masterpiece is, after all, a very rare bit of
cheesemongery, male or female.</p>
<p>Yet in dealing with "Rarebits" the distaff side seldom sets
down more than the basic Adam and Eve in a whole Paradise of
Rabbits: No. 1, <!-- Page 52 --><SPAN name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></SPAN> the wild male type made with beer, and No.
2, the mild female made with milk. Yet now that the chafing
dish has come back to stay, there's a flurry in the Rabbit
warren and the new cooking encyclopedias give up to a dozen
variants. Actually there are easily half a gross of valid
ones in current esteem.</p>
<p>The two basic recipes are differentiated by the liquid
ingredient, but both the beer and the milk are used only one
way—warm, or anyway at room temperature. And again for
the two, there is but one traditional cheese—Cheddar,
ripe, old or merely aged from six months onward. This is also
called American, store, sharp, Rabbit, yellow, beer, Wisconsin
Longhorn, mouse, and even rat.</p>
<p>The seasoned, sapid Cheddar-type, so indispensable, includes
dozens of varieties under different names, regional or
commercial. These are easily identified as
sisters-under-the-rinds by all five senses:</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p><b>sight:</b> Golden yellow and mellow to the eye. It's
one of those round cheeses that also tastes round in the
mouth.</p>
<p><b>hearing:</b> By thumping, a cheese-fancier, like a
melon-picker, can tell if a Cheddar is rich, ripe and ready
for the Rabbit. When you hear your dealer say, "It's six
months old or more," enough said.</p>
<p><b>smell:</b> A scent as fresh as that of the daisies
and herbs the mother milk cow munched "will hang round it
still." Also a slight beery savor.</p>
<p><b>touch:</b> Crumbly—a caress to the fingers.</p>
<p><b>taste:</b> The quintessence of this fivefold test.
Just cuddle a crumb with your tongue and if it tickles the
taste buds it's prime. When it melts in your mouth, that's
proof it will melt in the pan.</p>
</div>
<p>Beyond all this (and in spite of the school that plumps for
the No. 2 temperance alternative) we must point out that beer
has a <!-- Page 53 --><SPAN name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></SPAN>special affinity for Cheddar. The French
have clearly established this in their names for Welsh
Rabbit, <i>Fromage Fondue à la Bière</i> and
<i>Fondue à l'Anglaise</i>.</p>
<p>To prepare such a cheese for the pan, each Rabbit hound may
have a preference all his own, for here the question comes up
of how it melts best. Do you shave, slice, dice, shred, mince,
chop, cut, scrape or crumble it in the fingers? This will vary
according to one's temperament and the condition of the cheese.
Generally, for best results it is coarsely grated. When it
comes to making all this into a rare bit of Rabbit there
is:</p>
<p><b>The One and Only Method</b></p>
<p>Use a double boiler, or preferably a chafing dish, avoiding
aluminum and other soft metals. Heat the upper pan by simmering
water in the lower one, but don't let the water boil up or
touch the top pan.</p>
<p>Most, but not all, Rabbits are begun by heating a bit of
butter or margarine in the pan in which one cup of roughly
grated cheese, usually sharp Cheddar, is melted and mixed with
one-half cup of liquid, added gradually. (The butter isn't
necessary for a cheese that should melt by itself.)</p>
<p>The two principal ingredients are melted smoothly together
and kept from curdling by stirring steadily in one direction
only, over an even heat. The spoon used should be of hard wood,
sterling silver or porcelain. Never use tin, aluminum or soft
metal—the taste may come off to taint the job.</p>
<p>Be sure the liquid is at room temperature, or warmer, and
add it gradually, without interrupting the stirring. Do not let
it come to the bubbling point, and never let it boil.</p>
<p>Add seasonings only when the cheese is melted, which will
take two or three minutes. Then continue to stir in the same
direction without an instant's letup, for maybe ten minutes or
more, until the Rabbit is smooth. The consistency and velvety
<!-- Page 54 --><SPAN name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></SPAN>smoothness depend a good deal on whether or
not an egg, or a beaten yolk, is added.</p>
<p>The hotter the Rabbit is served, the better. You can sizzle
the top with a salamander or other branding iron, but in any
case set it forth as nearly sizzling as possible, on toast
hellishly hot, whether it's browned or buttered on one side or
both.</p>
<p>Give a thought to the sad case of the "little dog whose name
was Rover, and when he was dead he was dead all over."
Something very similar happens with a Rabbit that's allowed to
cool down—when it's cold it's cold all over, and you
can't resuscitate it by heating.</p>
<div class="cats">
BASIC WELSH RABBIT</div>
<p><ANTIMG src="images/pointer.gif" width="58" height="41" alt="picture: pointer" /> <b>No. 1 (with beer)</b></p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>2 tablespoons butter<br/>
3 cups grated old Cheddar<br/>
½ teaspoon English dry mustard<br/>
½ teaspoon salt<br/>
A dash of cayenne<br/>
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce<br/>
2 egg yolks, lightly beaten with<br/>
½ cup light beer or ale<br/>
4 slices hot buttered toast</p>
<p>Over boiling water melt butter and cheese together,
stirring steadily with a wooden (or other tasteless) spoon
in one direction only. Add seasonings and do not interrupt
your rhythmic stirring, as you pour in a bit at a time of
the beer-and-egg mixture until it's all used up.</p>
<p>It may take many minutes of constant stirring to achieve
the essential creamy thickness and then some more to slick
it out as smooth as velvet.</p>
<p>Keep it piping hot but don't let it bubble, for a boiled
Rabbit is a spoiled Rabbit. Only unremitting stirring (and
the best of cheese) will keep it from curdling, getting
stringy or rubbery. <!-- Page 55 --><SPAN name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></SPAN> Pour the Rabbit generously over crisp,
freshly buttered toast and serve instantly on hot
plates.</p>
</div>
<p>Usually crusts are cut off the bread before toasting, and
some aesthetes toast one side only, spreading the toasted side
with cold butter for taste contrast. Lay the toast on the hot
plate, buttered side down, and pour the Rabbit over the porous
untoasted side so it can soak in. (This is recommended in Lady
Llanover's recipe, which appears on page 52 of this book.)</p>
<p>Although the original bread for Rabbit toast was white,
there is now no limit in choice among whole wheat, graham,
rolls, muffins, buns, croutons and crackers, to infinity.</p>
<p><ANTIMG src="images/pointer.gif" width="58" height="41" alt="picture: pointer" /> <b>No. 2 (with milk)</b></p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>For a rich milk Rabbit use ½ cup thin cream,
evaporated milk,<br/>
whole milk or buttermilk, instead of beer as in No. 1.
Then, to<br/>
keep everything bland, cut down the mustard by half or
leave<br/>
it out, and use paprika in place of cayenne. As in No. 1,
the<br/>
use of Worcestershire sauce is optional, although our
feeling is<br/>
that any spirited Rabbit would resent its being left
out.</p>
</div>
<p>Either of these basic recipes can be made without eggs, and
more cheaply, although the beaten egg is a guarantee against
stringiness. When the egg is missing, we are sad to record that
a teaspoon or so of cornstarch generally takes its place.</p>
<p>Rabbiteers are of two minds about fast and slow heating and
stirring, so you'll have to adjust that to your own experience
and rhythm. As a rule, the heat is reduced when the cheese is
almost melted, and speed of stirring slows when the eggs and
last ingredients go in.</p>
<p>Many moderns who have found that monosodium glutamate steps
up the flavor of natural cheese, put it in at the start, using
one-half teaspoon for each cup of grated Cheddar. When it comes
to pepper you are fancy-free. As both black and white
<!-- Page 56 --><SPAN name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></SPAN>pepper are now held in almost equal esteem,
you might equip your hutch with twin hand-mills to do the
grinding fresh, for this is always worth the trouble.
Tabasco sauce is little used and needs a cautious hand, but
some addicts can't leave it out any more than they can swear
off the Worcestershire.</p>
<p>The school that plumps for malty Rabbits and the other that
goes for milky ones are equally emphatic in their choice. So
let us consider the compromise of our old friend Frederick
Philip Stieff, the Baltimore <i>homme de bouche</i>, as he set
it forth for us years ago in <i>10,000 Snacks</i>: "The idea of
cooking a Rabbit with beer is an exploded and dangerous theory.
Tap your keg or open your case of ale or beer and serve
<i>with</i>, not in your Rabbit."</p>
<p><ANTIMG src="images/pointer.gif" width="58" height="41" alt="picture: pointer" /> <b>The Stieff
Recipe</b> BASIC MILK RABBIT</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>(<i>completely surrounded by a lake of malt
beverages</i>)</p>
<p>2 cups grated sharp cheese<br/>
3 heaping tablespoons butter<br/>
1½ cups milk<br/>
4 eggs<br/>
1 heaping tablespoon mustard<br/>
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce<br/>
Pepper, salt and paprika to taste—then add more of
each.</p>
<p>Grease well with butter the interior of your double
boiler so that no hard particles of cheese will form in the
mixture later and contribute undesirable lumps.</p>
<p>Put cheese, well-grated, into the double boiler and add
butter and milk. From this point vigorous stirring should
be indulged in until Rabbit is ready for serving.</p>
<p>Prepare a mixture of Worcestershire sauce, mustard,
pepper, salt and paprika. These should be beaten until
light and then slowly poured into the double boiler.
Nothing now remains to be done except to stir and cook down
to proper consistency over a fairly slow flame. The finale
has not arrived until you can drip the rabbit from the
spoon and spell the word <i>finis</i> on the surface.
<!-- Page 57 --><SPAN name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></SPAN> Pour over two pieces of toast per
plate and send anyone home who does not attack it at
once.</p>
<p>This is sufficient for six gourmets or four
gourmands.</p>
</div>
<p><i>Nota bene</i>: A Welsh Rabbit, to be a success, should
never be of the consistency whereby it may be used to tie up
bundles, nor yet should it bounce if inadvertently dropped on
the kitchen floor.</p>
<p><ANTIMG src="images/pointer.gif" width="58" height="41" alt="picture: pointer" /> <b>Lady Llanover's Toasted Welsh
Rabbit</b></p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>Cut a slice of the real Welsh cheese made of sheep's and
cow's milk; toast it at the fire on both sides, but not so
much as to drop (melt). Toast on one side a piece of bread
less than ¼ inch thick, to be quite crisp, and
spread it very thinly with fresh, cold butter on the
toasted side. (It must not be saturated.) Lay the toasted
cheese upon the untoasted bread side and serve immediately
on a very hot plate. The butter on the toast can, of
course, be omitted. (It is more frequently eaten without
butter.)</p>
</div>
<p>From this original toasting of the cheese many Englishmen
still call Welsh Rabbit "Toasted Cheese," but Lady Llanover
goes on to point out that the Toasted Rabbit of her Wales and
the Melted or Stewed Buck Rabbit of England (which has become
our American standard) are as different in the making as the
regional cheeses used in them, and she says that while doctors
prescribed the toasted Welsh as salubrious for invalids, the
stewed cheese of Olde England was "only adapted to strong
digestions."</p>
<p>English literature rings with praise for the toasted cheese
of Wales and England. There is Christopher North's eloquent
"threads of unbeaten gold, shining like gossamer filaments
(that may be pulled from its tough and tenacious
substance)."</p>
<p>Yet not all of the references are complimentary.</p>
<p>Thus Shakespeare in <i>King Lear</i>:</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<!-- Page 58 --><SPAN name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></SPAN> <span>Look, look a
mouse!<br/></span> <span>Peace, peace;—this
piece of toasted cheese will do it.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>And Sydney Smith's:</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>Old friendships are destroyed by toasted cheese, and
hard salted meat has led to suicide.</p>
</div>
<p>But Khys Davis in <i>My Wales</i> makes up for such
rudenesses:</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p><i>The Welsh Enter Heaven</i></p>
<p>The Lord had been complaining to St. Peter of the dearth
of good singers in Heaven. "Yet," He said testily, "I hear
excellent singing outside the walls. Why are not those
singers here with me?"</p>
<p>St. Peter said, "They are the Welsh. They refuse to come
in; they say they are happy enough outside, playing with a
ball and boxing and singing such songs as '<i>Suspan
Fach</i>'"</p>
<p>The Lord said, "I wish them to come in here to sing Bach
and Mendelssohn. See that they are in before sundown."</p>
<p>St. Peter went to the Welsh and gave them the commands
of the Lord. But still they shook their heads. Harassed,
St. Peter went to consult with St. David, who, with a
smile, was reading the works of Caradoc Evans.</p>
<p>St. David said, "Try toasted cheese. Build a fire just
inside the gates and get a few angels to toast cheese in
front of it" This St. Peter did. The heavenly aroma of the
sizzling, browning cheese was wafted over the walls and,
with loud shouts, a great concourse of the Welsh came
sprinting in. When sufficient were inside to make up a male
voice choir of a hundred, St Peter slammed the gates.
However, it is said that these are the only Welsh in
Heaven.</p>
</div>
<p>And, lest we forget, the wonderful drink that made Alice
grow and grow to the ceiling of Wonderland contained not only
strawberry jam but toasted cheese.</p>
<p><!-- Page 59 --><SPAN name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></SPAN> Then there's the frightening nursery
rhyme:</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span>The Irishman loved usquebaugh,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">The Scot loved ale called
Bluecap.<br/></span> <span>The Welshman, he loved
toasted cheese,<br/></span> <span class="i2">And made
his mouth like a mousetrap.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span>The Irishman was drowned in
usquebaugh,<br/></span> <span class="i2">The Scot was
drowned in ale,<br/></span> <span>The Welshman he near
swallowed a mouse<br/></span> <span class="i2">But he
pulled it out by the tail.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>And, perhaps worst of all, Shakespeare, no cheese-lover,
this tune in <i>Merry Wives of Windsor</i>:</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span>'Tis time I were choked by a bit of toasted
cheese.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>An elaboration of the simple Welsh original went English
with Dr. William Maginn, the London journalist whose facile pen
enlivened the <i>Blackwoods Magazine</i> era with <i>Ten
Tales</i>:</p>
<p><ANTIMG src="images/pointer.gif" width="58" height="41" alt="picture: pointer" /> <b>Dr. Maginn's Rabbit</b></p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>Much is to be said in favor of toasted cheese for
supper. It is the cant to say that Welsh rabbit is heavy
eating. I like it best in the genuine Welsh way,
however—that is, the toasted bread buttered on both
sides profusely, then a layer of cold roast beef with
mustard and horseradish, and then, on the top of all, the
superstratum, of Cheshire <i>thoroughly</i> saturated,
while, in the process of toasting, with genuine porter,
black pepper, and shallot vinegar. I peril myself upon the
assertion that this is not a heavy supper for a man who has
been busy all day till dinner in reading, writing, walking
or riding—who has occupied himself between dinner and
supper in the discussion of a bottle or two of sound wine,
or any equivalent—and who proposes to swallow at
least three tumblers of something hot ere he resigns
himself to the embrace of Somnus. With these provisos, I
recommend toasted cheese for supper.</p>
</div>
<p><!-- Page 60 --><SPAN name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></SPAN> The popularity of this has come down to us
in the succinct summing-up, "Toasted cheese hath no
master."</p>
<p>The Welsh original became simple after Dr. Maginn's supper
sandwich was served, a century and a half ago; for it was
served as a savory to sum up and help digest a dinner, in this
form:</p>
<p><ANTIMG src="images/pointer.gif" width="58" height="41" alt="picture: pointer" /> <b>After-Dinner Rabbit</b></p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>Remove all crusts from bread slices, toast on both sides
and soak to saturation in hot beer. Melt thin slices of
sharp old cheese in butter in an iron skillet, with an
added spot of beer and dry English mustard. Stir steadily
with a wooden spoon and, when velvety, serve a-sizzle on
piping hot beer-soaked toast.</p>
</div>
<p>While toasted cheese undoubtedly was the Number One dairy
dish of Anglo-Saxons, stewed cheese came along to rival it in
Elizabethan London. This sophisticated, big-city dish, also
called a Buck Rabbit, was the making of Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese
on Fleet Street, where Dr. Johnson later presided. And it must
have been the pick of the town back in the days when barrooms
still had sawdust on the floor, for the learned Doctor endorsed
old Omar Khayyam's love of the pub with: "There is nothing
which has been contrived by man by which so much happiness is
produced as by a good tavern." Yet he was no gourmet, as may be
judged by his likening of a succulent, golden-fried oyster to
"a baby's ear dropped in sawdust."</p>
<p>Perhaps it is just as well that no description of the
world's first Golden Buck has come down from him. But we don't
have to look far for on-the-spot pen pictures by other men of
letters at "The Cheese," as it was affectionately called. To a
man they sang praises for that piping hot dish of preserved and
beatified milk.</p>
<p>Inspired by stewed cheese, Mark Lemon, the leading rhymester
of <i>Punch</i>, wrote the following poem and dedicated it to
the memory of Lovelace:</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<!-- Page 61 --><SPAN name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></SPAN> <span>Champagne will not a
dinner make,<br/></span> <span class="i2">Nor
caviar a meal<br/></span> <span>Men gluttonous
and rich may take<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Those till they make them
ill<br/></span> <span class="i4">If I've potatoes
to my chop,<br/></span> <span class="i4">And
after chop have cheese,<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Angels in Pond and Spiers's
shop<br/></span> <span class="i4">Know no such
luxuries.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>All that's necessary is an old-time "cheese stewer" or a
reasonable substitute. The base of this is what was once
quaintly called a "hot-water bath." This was a sort of
miniature wash boiler just big enough to fit in snugly half a
dozen individual tins, made squarish and standing high enough
above the bath water to keep any of it from getting into the
stew. In these tins the cheese is melted. But since such a
tinsmith's contraption is hard to come by in these days of
fireproof cooking glass, we suggest muffin tins, ramekins or
even small cups to crowd into the bottom of your double boiler
or chafing dish. But beyond this we plump for a revival of the
"cheese stewer" in stainless steel, silver or glass.</p>
<p>In the ritual at "The Cheese," these dishes, brimming over,
"bubbling and blistering with the stew," followed a pudding
that's still famous. Although down the centuries the recipe has
been kept secret, the identifiable ingredients have been
itemized as follows: "Tender steak, savory oyster, seductive
kidney, fascinating lark, rich gravy, ardent pepper and
delicate paste"—not to mention mushrooms. And after the
second or third helping of pudding, with a pint of stout,
bitter, or the mildest and mellowest brown October Ale in a
dented pewter pot, "the stewed Cheshire cheese."</p>
<p>Cheese was the one and only other course prescribed by
tradition and appetite from the time when Charles II aled and
regaled Nell Gwyn at "The Cheese," where Shakespeare is said to
have sampled this "kind of a glorified Welsh Rarebit, served
piping hot in the square shallow tins in which it is cooked and
garnished with sippets of delicately colored toast."</p>
<p><!-- Page 62 --><SPAN name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></SPAN> Among early records is this report of
Addison's in <i>The Spectator</i> of September 25,1711:</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>They yawn for a Cheshire cheese, and begin about
midnight, when the whole company is disposed to be drowsy.
He that yawns widest, and at the same time so naturally as
to produce the most yawns amongst his spectators, carries
home the cheese.</p>
</div>
<p>Only a short time later, in 1725, the proprietor of
Simpson's in the Strand inaugurated a daily guessing contest
that drew crowds to his fashionable eating and drinking place.
He would set forth a huge portion of cheese and wager champagne
and cigars for the house that no one present could correctly
estimate the weight, height and girth of it.</p>
<p>As late as 1795, when Boswell was accompanying Dr. Johnson
to "The Cheese," records of St. Dunstan's Club, which also met
there, showed that the current price of a Buck Rabbit was
tuppence, and that this was also the amount of the usual
tip.</p>
<p><ANTIMG src="images/pointer.gif" width="58" height="41" alt="picture: pointer" /> <b>Ye Original Recipe</b></p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>1½ ounces butter<br/>
1 cup cream<br/>
1½ cups grated Cheshire cheese (more pungent,
snappier, richer,<br/>
and more brightly colored than its first cousin,
Cheddar)</p>
<p>Heat butter and cream together, then stir in the cheese
and let it stew.</p>
<p>You dunk fingers of toast directly into your individual
tin, or pour the Stewed Rabbit over toast and brown the top
under a blistering salamander.</p>
<p>The salamander is worth modernizing, too, so you can
brand your own Rabbits with your monogram or the design of
your own Rabbitry. Such a branding iron might be square,
like the stew tin, and about the size of a piece of
toast</p>
</div>
<p>It is notable that there is no beer or ale in this recipe,
but not lamentable, since all aboriginal cheese toasts were
washed down <!-- Page 63 --><SPAN name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></SPAN>in tossing seas of ale, beer, porter,
stout, and 'arf and 'arf.</p>
<p>This creamy Stewed Buck, on which the literary greats of
Johnson's time supped while they smoked their church wardens,
received its highest praise from an American newspaper woman
who rhapsodized in 1891: "Then came stewed cheese, on the thin
shaving of crisp, golden toast in hot silver saucers—so
hot that the cheese was the substance of thick cream, the
flavor of purple pansies and red raspberries commingled."</p>
<p>This may seem a bit flowery, but in truth many fine cheeses
hold a trace of the bouquet of the flowers that have enriched
the milk. Alpine blooms and herbs haunt the Gruyère,
Parmesan wafts the scent of Parma violets, the Flower Cheese of
England is perfumed with the petals of rose, violet, marigold
and jasmine.</p>
<p><ANTIMG src="images/pointer.gif" width="58" height="41" alt="picture: pointer" /> <b>Oven Rabbit</b> (FROM AN OLD
RECIPE)</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>Chop small ½ pound of cooking cheese. Put it,
with a piece of butter the size of a walnut, in a little
saucepan, and as the butter melts and the cheese gets warm,
mash them together,</p>
<p>When softened add 2 yolks of eggs, ½ teacupful of
ale, a little cayenne pepper and salt. Stir with a wooden
spoon one way only, until it is creamy, but do not let it
boil, for that would spoil it. Place some slices of
buttered toast on a dish, pour the Rarebit upon them, and
set inside-the oven about 2 minutes before serving.</p>
</div>
<p><ANTIMG src="images/pointer.gif" width="58" height="41" alt="picture: pointer" /> <b>Yorkshire Rabbit</b></p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p><i>(originally called Gherkin Buck, from a pioneer
recipe</i>)</p>
<p>Put into a saucepan ½ pound of cheese, sprinkle
with pepper (black, of course) to taste, pour over ½
teacup of ale, and convert the whole into a smooth, creamy
mass, over the fire, stirring continually, for about 10
minutes.</p>
<p>In 2 more minutes it should be done. (10 minutes
altogether is the minimum.) Pour it over slices of hot
toast, place a piece of broiled bacon on the top of each
and serve as hot as possible.</p>
</div>
<p><!-- Page 64 --><SPAN name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/pointer.gif" width="58" height="41" alt="picture: pointer" /> <b>Golden Buck</b></p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>A Golden Buck is simply the Basic Welsh Rabbit with beer
(No. 1) plus a poached egg on top. The egg, sunny side up,
gave it its shining name a couple of centuries ago.
Nowadays some chafing dish show-offs try to gild the Golden
Buck with dashes of ginger and spice.</p>
</div>
<p><ANTIMG src="images/pointer.gif" width="58" height="41" alt="picture: pointer" /> <b>Golden Buck II</b></p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>This is only a Golden Buck with the addition of bacon
strips.</p>
</div>
<p><ANTIMG src="images/pointer.gif" width="58" height="41" alt="picture: pointer" /> <b>The Venerable Yorkshire
Buck</b></p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>Spread ½-inch slices of bread with mustard and
brown in hot oven. Then moisten each slice with ½
glass of ale, lay on top a slice of cheese ¼-inch
thick, and 2 slices of bacon on top of that. Put back in
oven, cook till cheese is melted and the bacon crisp, and
serve piping hot, with tankards of cold ale.</p>
</div>
<p>Bacon is the thing that identifies any Yorkshire Rabbit.</p>
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