Honey in comb for a summer breakfast treat. Crash in with the fork, spill out the white clover sweetness, a bee's content distilled with a trace of the basswood bloom, a pinch of the nectar of the apple blossom, this something extra, a gift of the furry architects thrown in for good measure. An epicurean delight on toasted muffins, on wheat cakes. About 14 ounces to a comb, 4 combs ＄2.50. You pay the express from Smith-town Bee Farm, Jericho Turnpike, Smithtown, New York. The farm has liquid honeys, too, and very fine.
A new pickle in H. J. Heinz “57” line, a processed dill, a crisp-skinned juicy one with a loud smack of dill in its flavor, packed in 25-ounce jars, sells in local groceries and delicatessens, in national distribution.
This pickle, like all Heinz pickles, is a quality job. It has a homespun flavor and has been subjected to rigid kitchen and laboratory tests before getting into commercial production. Heinz is a firm not satisfied with the ordinary run of crooked little cucumbers so often found in home pickle crocks. Their horticulturists have developed a strain of cucumbers especially suited for the jar. These cucumbers have thin skins, are straight as toothpicks, tender-hearted, a pickle that can easily absorb the savors of spiced vinegar.
The seeds of this pedigreed pickle stock are distributed by the Heinz Company to independent farmers in Michigan, Wisconsin, Indiana, Colorado, California, and Iowa, who grow the pickle harvest under contract. It takes about one and one-half months for the crop to mature, and during this period, Heinz field specialists are on twenty-four-hour call to answer questions or actually to pitch in and help the grower with any plant crisis. Different pickle varieties require chat cucumbers be picked at different stages, and each day, as the cucumbers reach varying sizes, they are hand-gathered. The pickles are packed in special crates designed to prevent bruising and trucked to a near-by Heinz plant for immediate processing. Not only are Heinz cucumbers of top quality but so are the seasonings; spice-buyers for the firm cover the globe selecting the best grades of spices. Heinz's own jewel-toned vinegars are used for the processing.
Spoor's Mosterd of Holland, that's one for your book, made by royal recipe and for five hundred years. The business was founded by an emperor who fled Portugal in the fifteenth century, when his family was assassinated and he himself badly wounded. It was at Culemborg in the Netherlands that he was nursed back to health in the country home of the Count of Gelderland, near the Count's castle. There on the castle grounds the exiled emperor found employment by grinding seeds in an old windmill.
First product to come from the mill was this imperial mustard made according to a family formula already centuries old. Today the largest mustard factory in the Netherlands, known as N. V. Mosterdfabriek, W. A. Spoor, Jr., stands on the original site of the castle. The old windmill is still there; so is the count's country home, made into offices. The picturesque mill serves as a landmark, also a trademark, its reproduction appearing on every label of the Spoor products.
The mustard has unusual smoothness; this, the importer tells us, is achieved in the processing of the seeds. Its sharp, delightful flavor is the result of a special blending job.
Last year, Spoor's opened a new addition to their plant to meet a growing world demand. Henry Greenebaum, of M. H. Greenebaum, 165 Chambers Street, New York, is the importer of the mustard and the sole American agent for Spoor's. The first shipment is selling in New York at Hammacher Schlemmer, 145 East 57th Street, 35 cents for 4 ½ ounces.
Leftover Sunday hum will bask again in family esteem if passed with the new Persian Mustard Sauce made by Fred Fradkin, It's Fred Fradkin, violinist and radio conductor, who has brewed this concoction of mustard with fruits, with vinegar and oil, and sweetened it mildly with honey so cleverly spiced. The sauce was made originally for his home table, then by demand for his friends, now for the stores. Mr. Fradkin describes his sauce as having a velvety singing tone on the tongue. We say, simply, it's a hot but smooth blend. The recipe had a ten-year workout in the Fradkin kitchen before its market debut. Why call it Persian? Because an Oriental cook in the home of one of Fradkin's friends made it originally and gave him the recipe, which he has been tinkering with ever since, trying to improve on perfection.
Good on other things than ham; cry it on lamb, use it on corned beef, or tongue, or with cold meat loaf, or on a hot Bowser. Serve it hot, serve it cold. Heating doesn't change the consistency one speck. It's a sauce that keeps indefinitely at pantry shelf temperature, selling in 7 ½-ounce jars at B. Altman's, New York City, 65 cents.
Corn has been married to onion under the name Onion-ette. A fine team they make stepping out at gay parties, holding forth at the best bars. This newest appetizer is corn, plain corn, soaked, ground, then cooked with salt and plenty of onion juice. The paste is run through a hydraulic press which spews it out in thin, narrow ribbons to drop into a tank of boiling vegetable oil. A minute to brown, then out to drain and cool on large trays. The ribbons are broken into short lengths, packed into bags and glass jars. These corn shreds are like Fritos but a brand-new flavor, reminding us of the crisp little hush puppy.
The new product is having a landslide in popularity. Since its debut early in February, it has found shelf space in a thousand stores in New York and Brooklyn. The honeymoon started in the town's best bars, university clubs, and quality hotels. Retail outlets in New York are Charles and Company, 340 Madison Avenue; Vendome Table Delicacies, 415 Madison Avenue; Hicks and Company, 50 West Fifty-seventh Street, these offering 7-ounce jars, price 49 cents to 55 cents. In Brooklyn, Abraham & Straus's grocery carries the item.
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