THRIFT.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 137, 11 June 1932, Page 4 (Supplement)

THRIFT.

NO WASTE ALLOWED

A CAREFUL MENU.

(By A FRENCH WOMAN.)

I am a French woman living in England. That is why 1 would ask the women, especially the poorer women: "Do you get value for your money? Is every farthing of your housekeeping allowance used to the best advantage?" I think perhaps not. A French woman in England sees with the eyes of a French woman. When she is in France she thinks all the time of how to get the most from what money she has. She does the same in England, and she cannot help her surprise when she looks at the dustbin of her neighbour, who is perhaps not so well off, and sees scraps that she herself would scorn to throw away. And she sees her English neighbour spending money so wastefully, money which can be ill afforded. Let me tell how my husband ard myself and three children live in comfort on £3 a week. I am married to an Englishman, and he earns a weekly wage of £2 10/. I earn perhaps 10/ by sewing and dressmaking, and sometimes cooking for other people. We have three little girls, all under seven. We live in three small rooms, for which wo pay 12/G, in a cheap neighbourhood, and, let me tell you, those rooms took a good deal of finding. The girls sleep in one room, my husband and I in another, and we use the third for scullery, kitchen, workroom and living room. We have then £3 a week for everything—runt, savings, washing, clothes, boots, light, cooking, small housekeeping, expenses, pocket money and food. And there are five mouths to feed. First, my husband keeps 10/ for his fares, tobacco and midday meal. From the £2 10/ that is left we must take 12/G for rent, leaving £1 17/0. And there is the rainy day that people so often forget. French women always save something, however little. I put 5/ away every week. There is left £1 12/0, and "we said nothing of lighting and heating. My average for lighting, by using gas in the sitting room and candles in the bedrooms, is 2/3, and coal will come to an average of 2/, by using briquettes and rubbish to bank the fire. There is £1 8/3 left, before we come to food. I have still to pay for soda, soap blackiug, matches, cleaning powder and floor polish —say 1/0. Out of the £1 0/9 I must huy all food and pay for mending clothes and boots. We will put aside £1 1/ for necessary food and keep 5/9 for clothing, repairs of all kinds. I seldom spend so much as 5/9 on this, because the only clothes we buy new are a suit very occasionally for my husband, and boots. These we pay out of our savings, but all the other clothes I make. So that, with care, I can often buy little luxuries to supplement the menu from this money. Sometimes we do without the luxuries and go to the cinema, and sometimes my husband will pay for this out of his 10/ or from occasional overtime. Before 1 tell you how I spend my guinea you shall see the kind of meals that I prepare.

Variety and Economy. The keynote of my menu, like that of every other French woman, is variety and economy. And the more economy you exercise, the more variety you get. To begin, we cannot have an expensive breakfast. In any case, I do not want more than a roll and tea, and the children come back from school a little after twelve, which means an early dinner for them. My husband ]ias bacon, sometimes with fried tomato, or iish, a little, butler, and different kind of jam every day. The children have tea or bread and milk and bread and jam. For the midday meal the children and myself have soup, different each day, even if made originally from the same tilings. Every other day I give them a little meat if they want it. Or perhaps they have rice or spaghetti or macaroni, or macaroni cheese, and occasionally an apple as a sweet. With the tea (about half-past four), which is the children's last meal, they have bread and butter or jam (different kinds), or bread and cheese, or scones which I make, or potted meat which I have put through the mincing machine. A change every day unless they want something repeated. Again, I do not eat much at tea. It is a meal I should never have in France, and my husband and I have our dinner at 6.30. For dinner we have soup again, perhaps what has been left from the midday meal, with something added. If, on the other hand, this is fresh soup, what is left will be used for the children's meal next day. This is followed by a little piece of steak, beaten almost flat, or an omelette with chopped meat or bacon inside, or perhaps a ragout made from the meat which was used for the soup or scraps bought very cheaply made into an appetising dish with the remains of vegetables. If there is enough of the right vegetables I make a salad. After this we have either cheese or a sweet. Often we have "petit pain perdu" for a sweet —that is, pieces of bread dipped in batter, thrown into boiling fat, and sprinkled with sugar.

When I have a shilling or two extra from the clothing money the children will" get some little delicacy for their midday meal, and I make an entree for our dinner. So on those days my husband and I have a meal of four courses. It cannot be done without saving every scrap and wasting nothing. It cannot be done by buying large joints at the weekend. It cannot be done without planning. The markets must be visited. Food must be prepared in the house, and not bought ready cooked. It means hard work and little rest. But it is the French way. And, believe me, French women think it worth while.