Toasting the figs to enjoy with the wine cup is an old Italian tradition being given trial here. The Cresca Company is packing figs split, but not quite in half, each stuffed with an almond, then sprinkled lightly with anise. Split figs are layered, cut side down, one over another to make exactly a pound. Now a bay leaf goes on the top and a cellophane wrapping, the price 95 cents at B. Altman & Company, Fifth Avenue and 34th. Before serving, run the figs into a hot oven, just long enough to heat and make their juices more willing. And warming brings out that licorice taste of the anise. Serve the big halves with the spiritous cup, Port wine if you like, or a glass of Vermouth or the ubiquitous Sherry.
Snacks for six? Quick, the can-opener. There you are, friends without more ado. it's a new pâté made of pork livers, of fresh pork, or pork fat, of soup stock, of wheat germ. There's dried skim milk in the mixture, and French-fried onions, pulverized to powder, and dried brewer's yeast for its vitamin impact, and seasonings, of course! A tin of six ounces is priced around 17 cents and is selling right now in hundreds of stores in New York City and other cities right across the nation. Its name is Sell's Liver Pate, made by Henry B. Sell, of Sell's Planned Foods, 501 Madison.
This pâté is a great, great grand-daughter of the Rose Mill liver pâté, remember? That came along with the war. That Rose Mill pâté was the civilian version of a protein-fortified pâté Mr. Sell was packing—and still is, for that matter—for Red Cross shipment abroad. The new liver spread still carries a double-barreled load of nutrition, but nevertheless is sophisticated and pleasant eating. It makes a quick spread for sandwiches. it combines easily with other flavorful ingredients such as chopped celery and onion to heap on a cracker.
It's not a gourmet's delicacy such as that pâté de foie gras that once came from France, re-refrigerated every mile of the journey, that was made of the liver of the fatted goose of Strasbourg. It was truffled and sealed over with its own rich butter, a stuff smooth as silk and twice as subtle, exciting to the palate with its flavor so faintly decadent. Mr. Sell's pâté isn't like that, of course, but it doesn't cost you a fortune. It's a sound, simple pâté with a fresh, pleasant taste, and is not overly seasoned. It curls the mouth with anticipation—but not voluptuously.
Louisiana sends a natural brown rice to market partially pre-cooked, then dehydrated. This rice cooks tender in fifteen minutes, giving a fluffy character very like that of the wild crop, with the same speckly dark look. It has a faint something of the wild rice's smoky sweetness, but nothing of its war-time ritziness in price. It sells at the Vendome Table Delicacies, 415 Madison, for 25 cents a pound. Numerous restaurants of the city are using it as a substitute for wild rice, which is scarce as hen's teeth and at prices unthinkable except for the very special occasion.
If you want the real thing, order it from the Hammacher Schlemmer delicacy shop, 145 East 57th, the price ＄2.50 for the pound box, plus parcel post. That certainly should lend the Midas touch to your dining.
In “Little House” kitchen at Newtown, Conn., chutney's been brewing the long summer moths through, its recipe as guarded as coronation jewels. This we do know: it is a three-fruit, four-vegetable concoction, tanged up with vinegar, all highly spiced. The ingredients are finely cut, and cooked very tender. it is piquant, stimulating chutney lending a warming fillip to almost any meat flavor. IT informs you that hot spices are present. it informs you of tomato. little yellow tomato cooked to a golden-glass transparency, thin slivers of orange rind, and maybe there's melon. But you would never know one piece from the other by the taste test—all are so cozily bedded together in the hot sauce. Bellows' Gourmets' Bazaar, 67 East 52nd, handles the Currituck chutney, the sixteen-ounce jar ＄1.25.