Sept. 20. Our last furloughed men have returned, and I have the promise of one next week, and am congratulating myself on the prospect of once more seeing home. I am anticipating a great deal when I get home; among other things the pleasure of once more sitting down to a clean, well-spread table, with a good square dinner before me. In anticipation of such an event, I send by this mail a small bill of fare of such dishes as I think I shall relish, and have ordered them to be ready and smoking hot on my arrival:
Roast—Sirloin of beef, spare rib of pork, breast of veal, turkey with cranberry sauce, chicken.
Baked—Bluefish, oyster dressing. Chicken pie.
Boiled—Halibut. Fried—Pouts.
Chicken salad. Lobster salad.
Oysters—Stewed, fried, escalloped. Clam chowder.
27 dozen Providence river oysters on the half shell.
Mashed potatoes, boiled onions, beets, turnips, squash, sweet corn, string beans, succotash, stewed tomatoes, tomatoes sliced with vinegar or sugar, apple dumplings with sugar sauce; mince, apple, berry, lemon, cream and custard pie.
Also one moderately sized pumpkin pie, say about thirty-six inches across and not less than eight inches deep; that is as small a pumpkin pie as I care to bother with.
Oranges, apples, pears, grapes, chestnuts, walnuts, cider.
N. B. No boiled salt pork, beef soup or rice and molasses. I don’t hanker for that.
With that bill of fare, and such other things as my folks will naturally think of, I reckon I can make a tolerable dinner.
