Tea à la Russe.
Slice a fresh lemon; take off all the skin; lay the slices, with powdered sugar strewed over them, in a plate, pour out the tea, hot and strong, with plenty of sugar, and pass the lemon with it. Serve without cream. I shall never forget a surprise that was startling as well as a disappointment, that came to me one day, when, sinking under the depression of an incipient headache, brought on by miles of picture galleries, I called for a cup of hot tea in a foreign restaurant, and was served with what I instantly pronounced to be “poison!” “Molto buono,” protested the waiter, opening the tea-urn to show me a whole lemon, skin and all, swimming upon the steaming decoction of leaves. The combination of rind and the cream with which I had “trimmed” my share of the too-fragrant beverage, was indescribable. Still, I—rather—like tea à la Russe without lemon-peel and cream.
Third Week. Tuesday.
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Soup and Bouilli.
Stewed Potatoes. Mixed Pickles.
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Alice’s Pudding.
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