Originally these waffles were a home-kitchen specialty, baked in hand irons, then carefully spread with the syrup for a coffee-time sandwich, for holiday celebrations. Eventually the household tidbit evolved into a commercial wafer and is now turned out by the thousands of dozens to be in everyday use, passed with coffee, tea, cocoa, and wine. But even these factory-baked waffles are made by home recipes handed down the generations. Ten round waffle sandwiches are packed to a tin, each measuring 3 inches across, 85 cents a package at C. Henderson's, 52 East 55th Street. To mail-order, add extra for postage.
An aristocrat among seasoners is the Creole spice- and herb-scented vinegar made for seventy-five years by the A. M. Richter Sons Comapny. It adds flavor excitement when used to season salads, meats, fish, and vegetables. So many the way to put it to work, in marinades, soups, and sauces. It does something most special for a pot of baked beans. No sharpness as you might imagine, but smooth, a blend of three vinegars, cider, malt, and the distilled, mellowed by aging in wood. The elusive flavor which is typically Creole results from the use of certain French herbs known in Creole kitchens. A mail-order job, two pints ＄1.50 postpaid, address A. M. Richter Sons Company, Dept. G-2, Manitowoc, Wisconsin. No C.O.D.'s.
Bourbon balls were passed with the after-dinner coffee, something to sweeten and burn the blood. Rich and so tiny, about an inch through, a cuddlesome size for the mouth. We could eat three and no more—a trifle potent! We mean “reely!”
“Wherever did you get them?” “Made by a friend,” our hostess informed, “Nan MacDonald, 319 East 50th Street, New York.” We went calling on Mrs. MacDonald to see what in the world?
Crushed vanilla wafers with finely ground nuts and confectioners' sugar, that's the bourbon ball's backbone, the crumbs stuck together with eggs. Whisky added, all the crumbs can soak in. The balls are flavored two ways, with coffee or chocolate, price ＄1.25 a dozen, parcel post included.
The most expensive coffee to come our way is Sherry's Mayan, in a vacuum-packed, ＄1-a-pound tin. This is a coffee styled without consideration of price, styled to the taste of the late Lucius Boomer, Chairman of the Board of the Waldorf-Astoria and a great coffee lover, whose judgment of a brew was invariably unerring. Ten years ago Mr. Boomer, then president of the Louis Sherry Company, called a meeting of the executives and outlined a plan for a coffee blend, no expense to be spread. He himself would tour Mexico and Central America in search of the bean outstanding enough to provide the basic flavor.
It was in Guatemala that he tasted a coffee called Antigua, of exquisite flavor, yet with strength enough to bring it exactly to his liking. There was little of this coffee grown, no more than 20,000 bags annually—but that was no worry. A de luxe coffee such as Sherry's planned would be blended for the few, those with palate appreciation and the money to pamper their taste. Other coffees grown in the lands of the ancient Mayan civilization were chosen to build up the blend to the requirements that Mr. Boomer demanded as to body and richness of aroma and small subtleties of flavor.
The result was a really now coffee, unlike any other. This was roasted to precisely the right degree to bring out its mellow way, then vacuum-tinned under the brand name Mayan. War came, coffee was rationed, tin was at a premium, fine coffees were hard to get, Mayan was off and on the market, very hush about its fine self. Luxury coffee was not patriotic. Now Mayan is around again and telling the world it's a brew rich and dark with a certain dryness in flavor as a wine might be dry. The second cup is better than the first, all the flavor still there. We can't quite say why this coffee seems so different but, by Jove, we realize here is something unique. Our warning: one cup and you are well on the way to making Mayan a habit. Selling at Louis Sherry's, 300 Park Avenue, and the Louis Sherry shop at Fifth Avenue and 59th.
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