Bancroft School - Blue Moon Yearbook (Worcester, MA)

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THE BLUE MOON 33 Returning from Sunday School, I would inevitably lind the faithful Margaret whacking ice in a brown cloth bag. She would groan and grunt, murmuring indignation over this Sunday dessert-making, and would acquiesce readily to my offer to churn it. That was the fun! .lust to sit and churn- and churn - watching the salt dissolve with the melting ice, and pondering how I could open the can for a sample without endangering it with the enveloping salty ice and water, a not unknown tragedy in the case of home-made ice cream. But at last the job would be finished. Then two hours until dinner was announced, and an interminable time, it seemed, before the eagerly awaited last course was served. The pink, yellow, and blue figured bowl steaming from its frozen contents was at last set in front of me. I can still taste the fresh strawberries, and feel the smooth cream sliding deliciously down my throat. Is there anything better than ice cream made at home? Sandwiches, salads, punch, puddings, candies, cakes: he is indeed a generous host who supplies any kind of refreshments. But when you do a thing, 'ADO it up brown, say I, serve ice cream! AMY LUCINDER LYSETH, 1932 ANDRIE ANDRE had been courting our French maid in his own gallant fashion for many months, and had ultimately persuaded her to marry him. I attended the marriage ceremony, a purely legal and unromantic affair, and was disappointed not only in Maria's wedding, but also in her husband. The newly-married couple secured a position in Florida for the summer but migrated North to work for us in the fall. When I saw Andre in our kitchen, I observed him carefully for the first time. A stocky man just over five feet tall, with muscular arms swinging ape-like at his sides, a small bullet-shaped head encircled by a fringe of brown hair upon which rested a starched chef's cap-that was Andre. As he smiled, I perceived a few widely separated teeth beneath his small mustache: his eyes visible behind uncommonly thick lenses, smiled too. Bonjour Mademo:'seIlel Du cafe ou du Init? Milk, please! And immediately Andre began discoursing upon the incomparable virtues of that beverage. He lit a Lucky Strike- Zey are better for ze sroat -and began to make breakfast. In the midst of buttering the toast, he commenced to sing Marie Madelaine in a rich baritone voice, stopping only to wipe his hands on his large white apron before he started preparing the cereal to Gounod's Berceuse. Andre felt at home. ' People often feel at home although the home does not suit them perfectly. Before Andre had resided with us many days, he had a list of utensils needed to make his culinary accomplishments the height of perfection. Mother,

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32 THE BLUE MOON and they begged him to share his tasty secret. They even offered him gifts and made great promises. When the little fellow decided he had the upper hand of his neighbors, he promised them a big dish of his delicacy that night. In the evening, all the village gathered around Oslow's hut. As usual, he appeared from behind his abode, but this time with a huge horn full of fulvous snow. They tried the mixture cautiously, a finger here and there thrust inside the horn and stuck into the mouth. The fingers increased from one to two- from two to three - until there was a general rush, and the frozen dainty disappeared, The strange treat was thoroughly enjoyed. In fact, the hamlet went quite honey-snow crazy, until so much wood had been consumed in warming people after frequent chills, that the supply became dangerously low. Thus came the first ice cream. New methods for making it have been discovered, and its quality has improved steadily until the smooth, rich cream of to-day has been contrived. Oh! what is better on a sweltering summer's day than a heaping dish of luscious ice cream! Cold, creamy, sweet! Refreshing as a breeze in summer, delicious as the sweetest honey! Give me a sprawling deck chair under a shady maple with a plate of frozen sweet. Or an open roadster beside the ocean: balmy breezes, silvery sails- soft lapping water-and always, a cone of ice cream, oozing-dribbling down the sides. Let the children laugh and-squeal at pink frozen Santas, round red apples, funny orange fish wreathed with spun sugar-wiry, prickly, chewy. Ice cream in any form pleases me! Think of the possible variety from which one may choose. There are strawberry, orange-pineapple, chocolate, maple-walnut, coffee, vanilla, frozen-pudding: tart, saccharine lemon sherbet, or velvety, fresh strawberry mousse. - Everyone to his taste! The child prefers chocolate or strawberry because of its color: his elders ask for frozen pudding or coffee to satisfy their sophisticated palates. The stout take mousse as a diversion from their diets: the skinny are prone to sherbet, and worry over their appetites. A woman always prefers the least beneficial kind, and fumes later because she has not made good her intentions to improve her figure. A supreme delight for me as a child, was a party at which we would have ice cream. I looked at my invitation, struggled through a properly written acceptance, dressed in my best frock, and played the games with enthusiasm, but the big moment was the drawing aside of the curtains, and the announce- ment, A'Now we will have a little ice cream and cake. How my mouth watered! But, be it added, if the ice cream failed to appear, my face was not the sole one to drop. , That night when answering questions at home, I would comment, 'AYes, it was a very nice party, but we didn't have much to eat qmeaning, as mother knew, that there was no ice creamj, Another exciting hour of my childhood came on Sunday morning.

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34 THE BLUE MOON thinking that a few new pans might be advisable, gave Andre permission to go to New York and buy what he wanted. But she knew better next time. The following day the postman was kept busy delivering packages: and by the time they had all arrived, we began to wonder if we would have to move to a larger house. Not only had Andre bought one of everything in sight, but he had also bought one of everything in every conceivable size and shape. Mother objected. Mais, Madame, je les en ai besoinf' said Andre, and Mother relented. I have seen him prepare a chicken using five different sized knives for various bones and pieces. He knew how to cook as only French chefs do, and for that Mother was thankful: but Andre also had his lapses. At times he would forget that he was not in the kitchen at the Ritz and would prepare enough for fifteen people, while we were only three. Mother told him to save what was left over when there was enough: but Andre said he did not want to mess up his ice-box with scraps. They finally decided to compromise and get chickens. This may sound absurd, but the connection lies in the fact that we would profit from the eggs and the chickens themselves, and Andre could feed them the left-overs. Peace reigned temporarily: and the chickens thrived equally well on baked beans or caramel custard. Andre was an amiable and loquacious fellow, and I often wandered toward the kitchen to visit with him. He always had a bit of local gossip to impart to me, or an amusing narrative to relate about his experiences. He enjoyed exhibiting for my benefit the veree best way to prepare certain complicated but delectable dishes. Father also used to drop into the kitchen to talk with him: and Andre was always glad to serve Father's favorite delicacy whenever asked. g An incident which brought out Andre's harmless pride was the killing of the cat. Father, who is exceedingly fond of birds, had noticed a cat perilously near his winged friends, and decided to get rid of it on the spot. He took his rifle and aimed, but unhappily he missed. Andre, unobserved, had been watching the procedure from the the kitchen window. Half an hour later I heard a sharp squeal, and ran outside to see what had happened. There wias Andre stationed by the unfortunate cat whose life he had ended by a blow from his potato masher. It was many weeks before he forgot that he had for once succeeded where Monsieur had failed. Andre was interested in our guests as well as our family. Naturally he knew that he was an excellent chef, but he beamed and glowed all over When- ever anyone complimented him on the perfection of his meals. Once a certain dish had been praised, he would .always remember that it was Mr. White who was so fond of macaroons, and Miss Lawrence who just loved his chocolate souflle. Much of Andres time was spent in his kitchen. Sometimes we would find him scrubbing the floor or making preserves at eleven o'clock at night. But