Name: The Blue grass cook book
Author: Minnie C. Fox

THE BLU r^ "j L X mmm Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2007 witii funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation littp://www.arGliive.org/details/bluegrassGookbooOOfoxmiala THE BLUE GRASS COOK BOOK I THE B L L f; GRASS COOK BOOK Compiled by MINNIE C. FOX With an Intkoddction by JOHN FOX, Je. Frontispiece from a Photograph By A. L. CoBURN w NEW YORK DUFFIELD & COMPANY 1917 Copyright, 1904, by Fox, Dtjffield & Company ~» ^ LIBRARY T \ 5 UNIVERSiT V OF CALIFORNIA fL>5 ^^TA BARBARA Introduction TT is not wise for a man who can get sea- sick in a rowboat on a mill-pond to attack a Japanese dinner just after a seven- teen days' voyage across the Pacific. I was just that unwise, and for that reason perhaps can do but scant justice in this Land of the Rising Sun, to a soup in which floats bits of strange fishes from the vasty deep, unknown green things and an island of yellow custard ; to shces of many colored raw fish, tough cocks' combs (real ones) or even to the stewed chicken which at this dinner at least had been shorn of everything except bones and tough sinews. The other day I tried it again with no better success, and now with the prospect of rice for food three times a day in the field around Port Arthur and no THE BLUE GRASS COOK BOOK bread (there can be no more serious depriva- tion to a Southerner) I am suddenly asked to think of a Kentucky table and that tur- baned mistress of the Blue Grass kitchen, a Kentucky cook ! It is June in Japan, and it is June in that blessed land of the Blue Grass. The sun shines there, no doubt, right now : the corn top's ripe; the meadows are in bloom and along turnpike and out in the fields the song and laughter of darkies make gay the air. It is early morning. The singing of birds comes through the open windows — the chatter of blackbirds and the mid-air calls of far away meadow larks. Through those windows sleepy eyes see wood and field, with stretches of blossoming blue grass rip- pling in the wind. Another half-conscious doze for an hour, another awakening, and by your bed stands a black boy in a snowy apron, his white teeth shining, and in his kindly black paws a silver goblet on a silver tray. Heavens, how it hurts to smell that mint this far away ! The goblet is gleaming with frost, and the mint is still drenched vi INTRODUCTION with dew. Who was it sang of the ecstasy of awakening on a June morning and being in love? Well, to the wise one who has that blissful state only as a memory a hint is sufficient.

AI-modernized reading of the original text

THE BLU r^ "j mmm Digitized by tine Internet Archive in 2007 witii funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation littp://www.arGliive.org/details/bluegrassGookbooOOfoxmiala THE BLUE GRASS COOK BOOK THE BLUE GRASS COOK BOOK Compiled by MINNIE C. FOX With an Introduction by JOHN FOX, Jr. Frontispiece from a Photograph By A. L. CoBURN w NEW YORK DUFFIELD & COMPANY Copyright, 1904, by Fox, Duffield & Company ~» ^ LIBRARY T \ 5 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA fL>5 ^^TA BARBARA Introduction TT is not wise for a man who can get seasick in a rowboat on a mill-pond to attack a Japanese dinner just after a seventeen days' voyage across the Pacific. I was just that unwise, and for that reason perhaps can do but scant justice in this Land of the Rising Sun, to a soup in which floats bits of strange fishes from the vasty deep, unknown green things and an island of yellow custard ; to slices of many colored raw fish, tough cocks' combs (real ones) or even to the stewed chicken which at this dinner at least had been shorn of everything except bones and tough sinews. The other day I tried it again with no better success, and now with the prospect of rice for food three times a day in the field around Port Arthur and no bread (there can be no more serious deprivation to a Southerner) I am suddenly asked to think of a Kentucky table and that turbaned mistress of the Blue Grass kitchen, a Kentucky cook ! It is June in Japan, and it is June in that blessed land of the Blue Grass. The sun shines there, no doubt, right now : the corn tops ripe; the meadows are in bloom and along turnpike and out in the fields the song and laughter of darkies make gay the air. It is early morning. The singing of birds comes through the open windows — the chatter of blackbirds and the mid-air calls of far away meadow larks. Through those windows sleepy eyes see wood and field, with stretches of blossoming blue grass rippling in the wind. Another half-conscious doze for an hour, another awakening, and by your bed stands a black boy in a snowy apron, his white teeth shining, and in his kindly black paws a silver goblet on a silver tray. Heavens, how it hurts to smell that mint this far away ! The goblet is gleaming with frost, and the mint is still drenched with dew. Who was it sang of the ecstasy of awakening on a June morning and being in love? Well, to the wise one who has that blissful state only as a memory a hint is sufficient.