Back in the 1930’s my mother belonged to a very prestigious bridge club. That is to say, all the women would gussy up for the Friday night-once a month- event, with their hair fashioned in the latest ‘do’s’, and their faces painted with the latest purchases of make-up. Perched atop of the coif sat a perky and feathered hat with each owner trying her best to outdo the other.
My mother was the only one of the eight who was not a career woman but she tried her best to show off her creative bent to the others. She was also the only one who had children. The others were either single, married, without children, or divorced.
When it was my mother’s turn to have ‘club’, the week was spent scrubbing, cleaning, mopping; to the extent that even the tops of the doors were dusted. Many hours were devoted to making sure that the inside of the oven and refrigerator both were in pristine condition. I don’t recall the other seven making military rounds to inspect the cleanliness of our house, but like the Boy Scouts, I guess she thought it best to “Be Prepared.”
The tattered Better Homes and Garden cookbook would be brought out and she would ‘tweak’ it’s recipe for Chicken Ala King. This was her pride and joy, and I don’t recall her ever serving anything else for bridgeclub. My daddy, brother and I knew to keep out of the way during these harried days, and the evening of their arrival, after I was allowed to say hello to them (and marvel in their splendor.) I would be taken to the Nixon theater by my father. It was a short walk down to the end of our very own street, and each Friday night there would be a Boston Blackie movie (or so it seemed.) I was in love with Boston Blackie.
By the time we arrived back home, the fanciful women would have departed, the Noritake dishes washed, dried and out of sight. The only vestige that there had been visitors was the smoke, still layered in the air, mingling with eight different fragrances of stale perfume. The ashtrays were piled high with cigarette butts, which my mother left on the kitchen sink–refusing to toss them until morning, for fear of fire.
This is her doctored up recipe for Chicken Ala King:
3 or 4 cups bite-sized pieces of cooked chicken breasts, 1/4 cup each red, yellow, green and orange peppers in a small dice, 1/3 cup minced mild onion or shallots,2 tbls.butter,1 tbls. lemon juice, 2 tbls. flour, 3 egg yolks,2 cups half and half , 2 T dry sherry, 1/4 cup butter, melted, 1 cup frozen peas, 1 cup fresh mushrooms, salt and pepper to taste and a pinch or two of cayene pepper.
In a saucepan, sweat the peppers and onions in the 2T of butter. Blend in the flour. Stir in the half and half—stirring constantly until thick and bubbly. Add sherry and lemon juice. Blend the 1/4 cup butter with the 3 egg yolks and stir into the mixture. It can be refrigerated at this point until ready to serve.
To serve:
Warm the mixture over the stove, stirring constantly.
Saute the mushroms in a small amount of butter and add them, the peas and the chicken to the warmed mixture. Adjust the seasonings and add more sherry if desired. Today, I’d serve this over Pepperidge Farm Puff pastry shells. Back then, my mother would serve it over her home-made southern biscuits.
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