The French pastry cases at Henri's, 15 East Fifty-second Street, offer row upon row of little inspirations, little melting dreams. There are thirty-two kinds of petit fours baked daily, and twelve of the lot are made with almond paste in the pastry. We sample a coffee eclair small as the little finger, then a golden ball, a stuff all coconut, that feathers away in the mouth.
“Try this, try that,” the proprietor urges. He lifts the silver tongs and drops one, two, three lovely nothings on the tasting plate. What's this? A miniature cherry tartlet. Here's a wee ball of meringue stuffed with something tasting exactly like a chestnut. “Price?” we ask fearfully. “＄1.50 a pound.”
It's there, too, you go to buy the big, soft macaroons about four inches across. These are much softer than you expect a macaroon to be. There is no pull to the teeth, yet they have chewiness. The inside is moist. Handsome cakes they are, of even round shape, goldenrod color outside, pure white within. These macaroons would make a fine base for ice cream or to use for an ice cream sandwich with a hot fudge sauce. Chocolate and almond flavors seem made for each other. And isn't it a relief to find an ice cream base that doesn't fly off the plate at the touch of the fork?
Peter Greig's oyster sauce that came to market last year has been discovered and is applauded by the residents of Chinatown. They use it to substitute for bo-yo, a sauce once imported, a rich purée of oysters seasoned with herbs, too Oriental for utterance. But the new American sauce is almost as good— “clever these Americans,” to quote the Chinese. The dark brown liquid is made from oysters treated in dehydrated fashion, with yeast added, and soy bean, the inevitable. The result is a sauce of concentrated oyster goodness.
It's marvelous over baked fish, the liquid helping to defeat the fish's usual dryness. It does a pleasant something, too, in pointing up flavor. Try a splash in stewed tomatoes. For a spur-of-the-moment oyster soup add one tablespoon of the sauce to a cup of milk heated with a half cup of water—and delicious! The sauce is everywhere about. Recently we spied it all the New York Exchange for Women's Work, 541 Madison Avenue.
The deluxe Dutch process coca, made for many years by Walter Baker and Company for the ice cream trade and the better soda fountains of the country, has gone into retail distribution, appearing for the first time in food specialty shops of the city. R. H. Macy, Broadway and 34th, for one, has the product, priced at 22 cents for a half-pound.
This domestic-made cocoa offers all the fine points of the Holland imported of pre-war years, but is lower in price. Selection of a quality bean is just as important as the processing procedure. The processing includes a treatment by mineral salts which only the better grades of cocoa beans can take and come through carrying full flavor. For this blend, costly, rare beans have been chosen from equatorial areas of South America, and from the tropical islands of the Caribbean.
The new cocoa is announced as a beverage for connoisseurs. Into its creation has gone all the 178 years of experience and skill of this venerable house. So sure is the maker of your liking the drink, that each tin bears the offer to refund the cost if, after one taste, you are dissatisfied with the purchase. But only the taste-blind will fail to appreciate the rich delight of the brew, its mellow cocoa aroma, its appetizing color.
Bridseye quick-frozen Boston baked beans are made with California's pea beans, with salt pork for rich zest, dark molasses for tang. Brown sugar is there to stamp the beans authentic early American. Open a box, take a good look— dark brown little morsels, glistening in syrupy sweetness. Sniff the fragrance of the pork, catch the perfume of the spices.
Chicken à la king, that's still another addition to the Birdseye line. Here is chicken à la king made in the usual manner, using both dark and light meat in a sauce of chicken broth and gravy all smooth and nicely seasoned. Little mushrooms thinly sliced are in the combination; so are bright bits of pimientos and snippets of green pepper. The 11-ounce package provides enough meat and gravy to stretch for a threesome, or a generous dinner for two. Open the package, place the frozen block in a thick-bottomed pan over low heat, and add three-fourths cup of milk to help thin the sauce. When the block melts to a smooth, creamy consistency, and bubbling hot, serve quickly over crisp waffles, or rice, or baking powder biscuits.
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