Evening Star Newspaper, June 19, 1932, Page 73

Among the “Host Chefs” of Washington Proving That Eating Still Is a Fine Art in the Nation’s Capital and One Which Plays a Major Role in the Social and Political Life of the City. BY KATHLEEN READ COONTZ ROM the outside looking in Washing- ton is a merry-go-round of dollars, dockets and diplomacy, parlors and precedents. Those on the inside will always add—and chefs! Chapters might be written on the tremendous role the homely art of cookery plays in the social and political life of the Capital City. How congressional bills have been passed or de- feated by the food served at an important din- ner; how aspiring feet have stepped up a rung or so on the social ladder because of gastro- nomical creations. Dame Pashion's stern dic- tates for slender lines are powerless to down the culinary lure in Uncle Sam's town. Per- haps it is because men still make the ultimate decisions in our official life and men are less vigilant of waistlines than of waste. The wife of an ex-Senator is fond of telling —from the sidelines—of the time when she took her husband to task for voting contrary to her own and his confederates’ expectatiors on a certain measure. “But, my dear,” de- fended the solon, “anyone who can combina eggs and cheese as can the Senator from can make the political lion and lamb lie down together!” The senatorial convert was just one of many whose every prejudice wavers before the culinary skill of one of the Capital's famous chef hosts. There is a goodly coterie of them. Men, young and old, married and single, hail- ing from every circle of that geometrical prob- lem known as Washington society, who are artists, gastronomically speaking. No other host can compete with them in the small ex- clusive parties given for particular reasons or for no good reason at all, when the kitchen apron donned becomes an artist’s smock to those who know what to expect, and the long- handled spoon a regal scepter. The diplomatic and State Department “If @ Washington host-chef invites you to a meal of his own creation, don’t let an invitation to the White House keep you from accepting it.” circles abound in chef hosts. Whether or not the cooking hobby has been developed as a defensive measure in meeting the culinary problems which remote foreign posts frequently present, or because of the strategic value of self-prepared food is a question. The fact re- mains that each year adds to the number of “Dips,” or prospective “Dips” who wield this ancient and persuasive art. OT so long ago when a much-sought-after society belle gave her heart, hand and money bags into the keeping of a poor but so- cially prominent young man, a knowing dowager exclaimed: “His cooking turned the trick, my dears. J.——was never so charm- ing as when exchanging his clever repartee over some culinary creation of his own mak- “An invitation for Thursday and one of Max’s divine bouillabaisse,” exclaims the “deb" as she tuns away from the phone. And ac- cordingly, as a concession to her diet program, she foregoes breakfast and lunch in order that she may enjoy with no qualm of calories that super-fish delicacy so toothsomely condimented with lobster, orange skin, saffron, thyme, celery, parsley, bay leaves and tomato. And so it goes! “Parlor cooking,” scornfully re- marked a veteran hotel chef when told of the prowess in his chosen field enjoyed by certain of the social elect. Postmaster General Walter Brown may be & wizard in handling the mails but & charmed circle is likewise convinced that he is a wizard in cooking. His chicken a la Brown has joined that long line of chef-d'oeuvres in the Capi- tal’s kitchen blue book. When the Postmaster General assumed office tn Washington he discovered that an unused closet near his private office might, with little alteration, be converted into & one-man kitchen. ‘The changes were made and Postmaster Gen- eral Brown's kitchenette became another Capi- tal institution. Here he finds relaxation from pressing official cares. For the Postmaster General likes to cook and isn't ashamed to ad- mit it and the fortunates who have sampled his gustatorial masterpieces live for the next in- vitation. Daily he is pressed for his kitchen— not Cabinet—secrets, but he only smiles the smile of the prudent, who know that once an intriguing recipe is publicized it loses its charm to its creator. Congressman Numa Montet hails from the State which carries the banner for delectable cuisine—that is, provided you like creole dishes. As the cherokee roses blanket every fence under the persuasions of the golden Louisiana sun- shine, so do culinary creations, savory with fille and leeks, spring up under the deft touch of this congressiornal chef. Professional cooks come to him to solve the difficulties which out- siders always have in making the food of La Louisiane taste as it should. “But,” explains the Congressman, “one must fe-el the proper biending of food!” Not very definite directions for preparing a creole chef D’'Oeuvre! How- ever, here is a recipe, approved by the culinary wizard. It is a famous creole recipe handed down from mother to daughter—or father to son—through generations of zestful cookery. GUMBO AUX HUITRES (Oyster Gumbo) Pour dozen oysters, two quarts of oyster liquor, one teaspoonful of lard or butter, quart of hot water, two tablespoonfuls flour, one large white onion, persley, thvme, bay leaf and fele, salt and pepper to taste. Melt the lard and add the flour, making a brown roux. When quite brown add the chopped omions, a sprig of parsley. Pry. Add the chopped bay leaf and a sprinkling of fele. Pour in the hot oyster liquor and then add the hot water. Bring all to a boil. Just before serving add the oysters, and cook a minute or two longer. Take off the stove and stir in gradually two tablespoonfuls of fele. Serve at once in wide open soup dishes into which a tablespoonful of rice, flakily cooked in Louisiana style, is placed. Your guests will forget if the dinner con- versation was stupid or sparkling, but this oyster gumbo will remain in their memory! ANOTHER solon on Capitol Hill guards his culinary skill as a sort of suppressed de- sire. Woe be to the guest who partakes of that famous planked steak—delectable castle, half concealed, half revealed in colorful tur- rets of vegetables and surrounded by buttery moats—and goes away to tell of it! The sen- tence—not another invitation—would be too hard to bear! It was the late popular Speaker of the House, Nicholas Longworth, who once asked the question, as he was presiding over a chafing dish rarebit, “Why is cheese, as a rule, not pcpular with women?” The answer is, “Be- cause it is too popular with men!” And speaking of Speakers of the House re- minds one of the culinary skill of the Garner team. Every now and then a tantalizing whiff of chile con carne is wafted along the House office corridors and a hungry solon hurrying along wishes that he was included in the lunch invitation for the real Mexican dish which Mrs. Garner prepares in the little kitchenette of the office suite. The Speaker himself is no mean cook, so say those who have gone camping with him, but as yet his skill along this line had not invaded the realm of “polite cookery.™ Several years ago the writer of this article started in to collect some of the recipes of her epicurean hosts, but gave it up in despair. To begin with, these masculine culinary artists hold a high scorn for cupfuls and spoonfuls even though the regard for measures and fig- ures is generally more pronounced with them than with women. Once, when asked for his recipe for prepar- ing his toothsome jugged rabbit, mine host started out bravely, “Spices, morels, bread crumbhs and a topping of currant jelly—" and then he broke off to add “But— one must know his rabbit, in order to tell the amount e = e = Senatorial prejudice wavers before culinary skill. of each which will be required to bring out the full rich flaver of the meat.” However, that rabbit was not easily forgotten and thanks to the maid who waited on mine host during his culinary activities, the recipe was finally assembled. It is the old English way of pre- paring a jugged hare, for which a good Ameri- can rabbit may be substituted. 8kin, wipe with a towel dipped in boiling water to remove the loose hairs, dry well and cut in pieces, sprinkle with salt and pepper and fry brown. Prepare a mixture of two anchovies, a cup of bread crumbs, sprig of thyme, chop- ped parsley, a dash of nutmeg, mace cloves and tablespoonful of grated lemon peel. Into a wide-mouthed jug with a lid—a bean pot is geod for this—arrange the meat. First a thin layer of bacon, then a layer of meat, then a layer of the breadcrumb mixture and repeat until the jug is full Add a scant half pint of water, cover the jug closely, place in a pan of water and cook for three hours (according to the age of the rabbit, intercepted Mine Host!). The morels should be sauted in butter and when the rabbit is served, placed on top, with a scoop of currant jelly topping the whole. Pit for a king? It has been served to many a king, declared Mine Host—himself an Eng- lishman. If a young Harvardian who graced Washing- ton society a year or so ago finds any difficulty in putting across his diplomacy, he should, at least, be able to “say it with food,” for even in the veteran ranks of the Capital's host chefs he left a shining mark—culinarily. It was a great moment, indeed, for the guests when mine host proudly bore in one of his Oriental extravaganzas. It exuded a mysti- cal, tantalizing aroma and was as beautiful as a painting. Great pyramids of flaky white rice steaming with wiffs of tuneric, cardamon, coriander and a dozen other powdered roots, swooned in a curry sauce punctuated with al- monds, dates and generously spread with coco- nut. TO many people the name of Henry Ranger is associated only with superb landscapes that hang on the walls of our greatest art galleries, but to his friends it is also associated with superb culinary masterpieces. For Ranger could cook, even as he could paint. The time- stained battlements of Morro Castle in Porto Rico—painted as only Ranger oould paint them—never meet my eyes but what the artist arrayed in his smock—noté brush in hand but spoon in hand—stands before me. The making of French dressing partook of the nature of a rite when performed by the artist epicure. Pirst there was the cold bowl, caressed slowly and separately with garlic, onion and spice balls. Then followed the metic- ulous blending of the sugar, salt and oil. Then the vinegar drop by drop until not a suspicion of oil globules rose up to protest the union. “Dream, pray, philosophize over a French dress- ing—but never hurry,” was the culinary maxim he left with his entranced beholders, as he marinated his plump rosy Iobsters in his chef d’'oeuvre. The late beloved John Philip Sousa loved Portuguese croquettes and knew how to prepare them himself. He was fond of tellng low upon a certain enjoyable occasion he, Eddie Cantor and Flo Ziegfeld had a cooking party. Eddie Cantor is known in his New York circle There is just one thing that the guest, lucky enough to be bidden to a host-prepared dish, should bear in mind. Never, by fair means or foul, be led into adding salt to the chef- d’oeuvre! I did once. and mine host told me the fate of the Duc de Blanc. Back in the fifteenth century he was found dead with his face in a bow! of soup and a knife thrust in his back. No clues were found to the murder and the case passed into the dockets unsolved. Thirty years later an old man tottered up to the prefect's office and gave himself up. “It was I who murdered the Duc, I was his chef. AIl the world of fashion came to eat my creations. The Duc he order me to create a new soup. For days I brew and stir. .« . And if this be treason . . . then make the most of it!” Finally it is finished. I place it before the Duc with pride. He lean forward, sniff—and— reach for the salt! “I destroy him!” HE recipe for a marvellous fruit omelet is jealously guarded and demonstrated wpon rare occasions in & certain Washington home. It was bestowed upon a hostess by the Prince of Wales when he visited the Capital and the Prince toock back with him Thomas Nelson Page’s famous recipe for baking ham. “A man who invites friends to dinner and takes no interest in the preparation of the food is not worthy of friendship,” appears on the fly leaf of a cook book published in 1698 over the name Tobias Venner, A Gentleman. The book is one of a number of ancient cook books —all by men—being collected by one of the Capital's chef hosts. He points with pride— and a little condescension—to the fact that men were first in the field of cookery. As a matter of fact they have a long standing precedent with which to back their culinary hobbies. Going back to the neolithic age it was the cave man—so the legend goes—who dropped the piece of raw meat on the hot coals by accident and thus discovered that cooked food was palatable. He convinced the Mrs, and thereby started the important cooking racket. There is one thing certain. The gastronomic nirvana will never be relegated to cobwebs. Epicurius left too many apostles among his own sex to keep the homored old standard from trailing. If & Washington host-chef invites you to a