And Now for Easter Pudding.

The Easter food theme continues today with three very different versions of Easter Pudding.
Firstly, from The Original Buckeye Cookbook (1905)

Easter Pudding.
One pint sweet milk, yolks of three eggs, two tablespoons corn-starch, three of sugar, and a little salt. Put milk in custard kettle, and when boiling add sugar, then starch dissolved in
a little cold milk, and lastly yolks ; beat, and let cook a few minutes, and turn out in broad dish to cool. When it stiffens around the edges, transfer it, a few spoonfuls at a time, to a bowl, and whip vigorously with an egg beater. Flavor with rose-water. It should be like a yellow sponge; when put into a crown mold.
Make day before wanted. When ready to serve turn out upon dish, fill centre with whipped cream, flavored with vanilla and heaped up as high as it will stand. Pile more whipped cream about the base.
Or With Fruit, while the corn-starch mixure is still hot put a little in a large mold and turn to let it run and leave a thin coating all over inside. Ornament by sticking candied cherries to this in any regular forms liked, fill loosely with fresh or preserved fruits, macaroons and crumbed sponge cake, soaked in orange juice, and a little citron cut very thin; then pour in slowly until full remainder of corn-starch, which must have been kept warm by standing in hot water so that it would not stiffen.
Let stand in cold place all night to become very firm and serve with Marigold Sauce.
Marigold Sauce.
Four tablespoons butter seven of best powered sugar, half cup fruit juice, cup cream, half a nutmeg, yolk of six eggs ; scald cream in custard kettle, beat butter, sugar and eggs together; add nutmeg, pour hot cream over all, add juice and serve.

Secondly, a very elegant dish for gentlefolk, from The Country Gentleman’s Magazine (London, 1868) – a recipe which appears, of course in the section for Country Gentlewomen.


An Easter Pudding.
To 4 oz of fresh rice flour. add by slow degrees half a pint of cold new milk. being careful to keep the mixture free from lumps. Pour it into a pint of boiling milk. and stir it without intermission over a very clear and gentle fire for three or four minutes; then throw in 2 oz. of fresh butter and 2 of pounded sugar, and continue the boiling for eight or ten minutes longer. Let the rice cool down, and give it an occasional stir to prevent the surface from hardening. When it has stood for fifteen or twenty minutes, pour to it a quarter of a pint of cold mil,k and stir well into it a few grains of salt, the grated rind of a large sound lemon, five full sized or six small eggs properly cleared and well whisked, first by themselves and then with two additional ounces of pounded sugar. Beat up these ingredients thoroughly together, pour them into a deep dish which has been rubbed with butter, and in which about a tablespoonful should be left liquefied, that it may rise to the surface of the pudding; strew lightly upon it 4 oz. of clean dry currants, and bake it gently from three quarters of an hour to a full hour. Some nutmeg, a spoonful or two of brandy, and an ounce or two of citron sliced thin can be added if thought desirable. The pudding will be excellent if the baking be well conducted. A border of ratafias laid on the edge of the dish and fastened to it with a little beaten white of egg mingled with a dust of flour, after it is drawn from the oven, will give a nice finish to its appearance; or cakes of pale puff crust not so large as a shilling, may be used for the purpose when preferred. Should a richer pudding be liked, use for it the yolks of seven or of eight eggs and the whites of four, and if it be baked in an American oven, let it be placed sufficiently high in front of the fire for the heat to be well reflected to the under part; for when this is not attended to, recipes will often fail from want of more uniform baking - the surface of a dish being even overdone, while the inside has been but slightly acted on by the fire. When time will permit it, is better to allow the rice for this pudding to become nearly or quite cold before the eggs are stirred to it.

And last, but by no means least, a dish guaranteed to delight the little ones. From the San Rafael Cook Book (1906), I give you the recipe for a nest of Easter eggs:

Easter Pudding.
Make 1 quart of wine, orange or lemon jelly; mold in a round basin in the center of which you have three saucers turned upside down. Save 1 dozen egg shells opened at the small end, and put them in cold water. Make 1 quart of corn starch blanc mange; fill three of the shells, and stand them in a pan of bran or meal. Bruise a few spinach leaves, squeeze out a few drops of the color, add to a little of the mixture, and fill three more shells. Color some with chocolate, some with the yolks of eggs, and some pink from a little of Knox’s pink gelatine. While you are preparing the eggs, have the skin from 2 oranges or 2 lemons boiling; when tender, remove all of the white inside [and discard], and cut [the colored peel] in little strips with scissors; then boil in syrup until clear, and spread out to dry. The next day, turn out the jelly; around the edge of the nest put the peel for straw. Remove the shells from the eggs and pile in the nest; put whipped cream all around the jelly. This is a very pretty dish and delights the children.

Quotation for the Day.

The best part of Easter is eating your children’s candy while they are sleeping, and then trying to convince them in the morning that the Easter rabbit came with one ear.
Anna Quindlen.

Almond Milk Anyone?.

Yesterday’s recipe for ‘Brewet Of Almony’ reminded me that I have been intending to talk about almond milk for some time. It is difficult to imagine today how important almond milk was in medieval times in the kitchens of the extremely wealthy. It is also difficult to imagine what it must have been like for the lowliest kitchen workers of the time to be faced with a sack of expensive imported almonds and a mortar and pestle and to be told to get them all ground up and made into almond milk in time for the dinner shift to use!

Almond milk has been an ingredient in many of the recipes given in this blog over the years – in a fragrant fish dish, a risotto-like rice dish, and a dish of eggs for Lent, for example. It often seems to be suggested that almond milk came to the fore during Lent, but in fact, in the kitchens of the wealthy, it was prized above ‘cow mylke’ for many reasons – its fine flavour and fragrance of course, but also the labour-intensive production method itself presupposed sufficient wealth to be able to support a great kitchen, making it a desirable quality product by definition. After all, any lowly peasant could get access to rough farm animals such as cows.

But judge the method for yourself. How would you like to make many gallons of almond milk by this method, without a food processor?

Almond Milk.
Take blake sugre, an cold water, an do hem to in a fayre potte, an let hem boyle to-gedere, an salt it an skeme it clene, an let it kele; than tak almaundus, an blawnche hem clene, an stampe hem, an draw hem, with the sugre water thikke y-now, in-to a fayre vessel; an yf the mylke be noght swete y-now, take whyte sugre an caste ther-to.
Two Fifteenth-Century Cookery-Books; Thomas Austin.

Almond milk also had medicinal uses, as this early eighteenth century recipe-remedy shows:

Almond Milk
Take Barley-Water one Pound, sweet Almonds blanch’d; make an Emulsion (to which add Barley-Cinnamon-Water one Ounce, a little Sugar,) of which drink plentifully.
‘This is a cooling and diluting Drink, and serves to quench the Thirst of Persons in Fevers, as well as to nourish ‘em; and when there is Danger of the Fever’s turning up to the Head, it cools that Fervor, and keeps ‘em sensible.’
Pharmacopoeia Radciffeana: or, Dr Radcliffe’s prescriptions … (1716) by John Radcliffe

We must not forget the culinary use of almond milk of course. I am not entirely sure that I should include the following recipe as the almonds are ground in a bit of water before being added to the cream, but are not actually made into milk – but the grinding being the difficult part I am going to include it as I absolutely love the recipe.

My Lady of Exeter’s Almond Butter .
Take a good Handful of Almonds blanch’d in cold Water, and grind them very small in a stone Mortar; mingle them well with a Quart of sweet Cream, and strain them through a Cushion Canvas Strainer; afterwards take the Yolks of nine or ten Eggs, the Knots and Strings being taken away clear, and well beaten; mix them very well with the Cream and set it in a silver Skillet on a quick Fire, stirring it continually till it begins to curdle; then take it off the Fire, put it into your Strainer, and hang it up that your Whey may pass from it; that done break the Curd very well in your Dish with a Spoon, and season it with Rose water and Sugar to your Taste.
The Housekeeper’s Pocket-book: and compleat family cook (1739), by Sarah Harrison.


Quotation for the Day.

Blossom of the almond trees,
April's gift to April's bees.

Sir Edwin Arnold, Almond Blossoms

Anchovies anyone?

Today I want to consider one more of the classic compound butters – made with anchovies - before I move on to another topic tomorrow.

People seem to either love or hate anchovies, but I suspect that many of those who admit to hating them have been prejudiced by the cheap, over-salty, pasty-textured versions packed in unidentified oil and stored for far too long. Perhaps their minds might be changed with exposure to some of the admittedly more expensive anchovies which still resemble little fish, not gritty, salty, mush.

The anchovy is ‘a small fish of the Herring family (Engraulis encrasicholus) found on the European coasts, especially in the Mediterranean, where it is extensively caught, and pickled for exportation (Oxford English Dictionary).

I don’t remember seeing anchovy butter in any modern textbooks or restaurant menus, but it certainly used to be a staple in kitchens with a long British heritage. Nowadays virtually the only way most of us meet an anchovy is on a pizza or in a Caesar salad.

An enjoyment of salty, fishy condiments is common to many cultures. The British no doubt got a taste for it thanks to the Roman garum, and this taste was no doubt reinforced by contact with food discovered during their Empire adventures – such as the Asian fish sauce we are familiar with today.

As we found with garlic butter, there are many interpretations of the simple concept. This one clearly shows the influence of the Empire:

Anchovy Butter.
Put anchovy essence into a boat with a little lemon pickle and corach; put melted butter to it.
A Complete System of Cookery, by John Simpson, 1808


This one is in the strictly European classic tradition:

Anchovy Butter Sauce, Sauce au Beurre d'Anchou.
Take three or four anchovies; wash them well; rub them so that no scales may remain; take off the flesh, beat them with the size of an egg of butter, gather it together; hare four skimming spoonfuls of Espagnole; warm the sauce without allowing it to boil; having put in the anchovy butter just at the moment of serving, add the juice of one or two lemons to freshen it; pass it through a search [sieve] and vannez it well; if too thick add a little comommé and serve.
Art of French Cookery, Antoine B. Beauvilliers. 1827

And finally, from that classic cookery book Modern Cookery (1845) by Eliza Acton, another which demonstrates the British love of cayenne pepper – another legacy from the Empire.


Anchovy Butter.
(Excellent.)
Scrape the skin quite clean from a dozen fine mellow anchovies, free the flesh entirely from the bones, and pound it as smooth as possible in a mortar; rub it through the back of a hair-sieve with a wooden spoon; wipe out the mortar, and put back the anchovies with three quarters of a pound of very fresh butter, a small half-saltspoonful of cayenne, and more than twice as much of finely grated, nutmeg, and freshly pounded mace; and beat them together until they are thoroughly blended, if to serve cold at table, mould the butter in small shapes, and turn it out. A little rose pink* (which is sold at the chemists') is sometimes used to give it a fine colour, but it must be sparingly used, or it will impart an unpleasant flavour: it should be well pounded, and very equally mixed with it. For kitchen use,

*I found this inclusion interesting. The OED says of ‘rose pink’ that it is ‘a pinkish pigment made by colouring whiting or chalk with a decoction of Brazil wood or other coloured wood. I have always wondered why some bottled anchovies have that strange pinkish colour. What are they coloured with today, I wonder?


Quotation for the Day.

Anchoua's, the famous meat of Drunkards, and of them that desire to haue their drinke oblectate the pallate.
T. Venner Via Recta 1620

Milk Soup.

No-one utters the phrase ‘milk soup’ anymore, which I guess means that no-one makes it. If one did want to make milk soup, one would first of all have to decide on the style of the soup, for it seems that there are several.

In the time of the inimitable Hannah Glasse, author of The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy (1747), milk soup was essentially a custard or a custardy bread pudding.

Milk Soup the Dutch Way
Take a quart of milk, boil it with cinnamon and moist sugar; put sippets in the dish, pour the milk over it, and set it over a charcoal fire to simmer, till the bread is soft. Take the yolks of two eggs, beat them up, and mix it with a little of the milk, and throw it in; mix all together, and send it up to table.

One of the early vegetarian medical men included two recipes for milk soup in his book, Dr Allinson’s Cook Book (1915) The first one is a wheatmeal and vegetable puree, the second one ‘for children’ is another milk pudding.

Milk Soup.
2 onions, 2 turnips, 1 head of celery, 3 pints of milk, 1 pint of water, 2 tablespoons of Allison fine wheatmeal, pepper and salt to taste. Chop up the vegetables and boil them in the water until quite tender. Rub them through a sieve, return the whole to the saucepan, add pepper and salt, rub the wheatmeal smooth in the milk, let the soup simmer for 5 minutes, and serve.

Milk Soup for Children.
1½ pints of milk, 1 egg, 1 tablespoonful of Allinson fine wheatmeal, 1½ oz of sultanas, sugar to taste. Boil 1¼ pints of milk, add the sugar, beat up the egg with the rest of the milk and mix the wheatmeal smooth with it; stir this into the boiling milk, add the sultanas, and let the soup simmer for 10 minutes.

For a decidedly savoury option, we have, from Modern Domestic Cookery, and Useful Receipt Book, by William Augustus Henderson (1828.)

Milk Soup with Onions.
Take a dozen of onions, and set them over a stove till they are done without being coloured. Then boil some milk, add to it the onions, and season with salt alone. Put some butter onions to scald, then pass them in butter and when tender add it to the soup and serve it up.

And finally, a soup (or is it a custard?) which can be savoury or sweet at whim, from Food in Health and Disease, by Isaac Burney Yeo (1890)


Vermicelli Milk Soup.
Into a quart of boiling milk put a level saltspoonful of salt (or celery salt); add slowly (stirring constantly) 2 oz. of vermicelli; keep stirring for fifteen or twenty minutes, until quite soft. The yolks of two eggs should be added when the soup is ready to be removed from the fire. This soup may also be flavoured with cinnamon and sugar.

Quotation for the Day.

There is no finer investment for any community than putting milk into babies.
Winston Churchill.

‘Foreign’ Recipes.

Part of the fun of exploring this week’s cookery book choice (Adam's Luxury and Eve's Cookery, or, the Kitchen-Garden display’d, published in 1744) has been considering old recipes as a source of new inspiration. I am sure I have gone on about this before, but I am constantly surprised, and more than a little disappointed, that modern cooks rarely seem to use history for inspiration. We are very comfortable with cultural inspiration however, and think nothing of incorporating ingredients and ideas from other countries in our recipes, even if we revert to familiar dishes for their comfort value.

It seems that ‘foreign’ food ideas were also appealing to cooks and diners in 1744. Here are a couple of recipes for peas with an international flavour, from Adam's Luxury and Eve's Cookery.

Peas the Portuguese Way.
Wash your Peas, cut in some Lettuce with a Lump of Sugar, some fine Oil, a few Mint Leaves, cut small, with Parsley, Onions, Shallots, Garlick, Winter Savory, Nutmeg, Salt, Pepper, and a little Broth; put some over the Fire, and when ‘tis almost ready, poach some new Eggs in it, making a Place for each Egg to lie in; then cover your Stew pan again, and boil your eggs with a little Fire upon the Cover; then slide them into your dish, and serve them.
Fine beans may be dress’d in the same manner, but you must blanch them, and put them in as they are, without putting them in Butter.


Peas the French Way.
Shell your Peas, and pass a quarter of a Pound of Butter, gold colour, with a Spoonful of Flower; then put in a Quart of Peas, four Onions cut small, and two Cabbages cut as small as the Onions; then put in half a Pint of Gravy, seasoned with Pepper, Salt, and Cloves. Stove this well an Hour, then put in half a Spoonful of fine Sugar, and fry some Artichokes to lay round the Side of the Dish; serve it with a forced Lettuce in the Middle.

Quotation for the Day.

LAUREL, n. The laurus a vegetable dedicated to Apollo, and formerly defoliated to wreathe the brows of victors and such poets as had influence at court.
Ambrose Bierce, Devil’s Dictionary.

Polite Management of the Kitchen.

I have been revisiting one of my favourite cookery books recently. It is A collection of above three hundred receipts in cookery, physick, and surgery, for the Use of all Good Wives, Tender Mothers, and Careful Nurses, by Mary Kettilby, published in 1714.

Now there is a book title we are not likely to see recycled any time soon - the modern ‘good wife or tender mother’ would not find much medical or surgical advice in the modern cookery book!
The lengthy preface includes the following insights:

The Directions relating to COOKERY are Palatable, Useful, and Intelligible, which is more than can be said of any now Publick in that kind ; some great Masters having given us Rules in that Art so strangely odd and fantastical, that 'tis hard to say, Whether the Reading has given more Sport and Diversion, or the Practice more Vexation and Chagrin, in spoiling us many a good Dish, by following their Directions. But so it is, that a Poor Woman must be laugh'd at, for only Sugaring a Mess of Beans ; whilst at Great Name must be had in Admiration, for Contriving Relishes a thousand times more Distastful to the Palate, provided they are but at the same time more Expensive to the Purse. 

The author hopes that the book will instruct ‘Young and Unexperienced Dames’ in ‘the Polite Management of their Kitchins, and the Art of Adorning their Tables with a Splendid Frugality.’ What a marvellous sentence, and a marvellous sentiment! Methinks the world would be a better place for the reinstatement of the concepts of polite management of the kitchen, and adorning the table with splendid frugality.

From the book, my recipe choice today is:

To Dress Hogs Feet and Ears, the best Way.
WHEN they are nicely clean'd, put them into a Pot, with a Bay-leaf, and a large Onion, and as much Water as will cover them; season it with Salt and a little Pepper; bake them with Houshold-Bread; keep them in this Pickle 'till you want them, then take them out and cut them in handsome pieces; fry them, and take for Sauce three spoon-fulls of the Pickle; shake in some Flower, a piece of Butter, and a spoon-full of Mustard: lay the Ears in the middle, the Feet round, and pour the Sauce over.

Quotation for the Day.

No one who cooks, cooks alone. Even at her most solitary, a cook in the kitchen is surrounded by generations of cooks past, the advice and menus of cooks present, the wisdom of cookbook writers.
Laurie Colwin.

On The Use and Abuse of Condiments.

The title of the following article from the South Australian Advertiser, of September 21, 1858, was irresistible - as was the urge to share it with you. It gives a little insight into some of the prevailing medical opinions and dietary ideas of the time.

On The Use and Abuse of Condiments.

(From the Family Herald)

Of the substances that find a place in the diet of mankind, many are used only to please the palate, the consideration of which belongs to the art of cookery. Apart, however, from epicurean taste, there are some condiments used to facilitate digestion, and to impart principles essential to the healthy condition of the body. These may be divided into five classes: 1. Saline; 2. Acid; 3. Aromatic; 4. Saccharine; 5. Oleaginous.

Saline condiments. – Common salt is the only necessary saline condiment. It is found in every fluid and soft part of the body, and also in some of the hard parts. It exists in large quantities in the blood, and forms a principal ingredient in the gastric juice. When taken in too large quantity, salt causes thirst, irritation of the alimentary canal, and various disorders. When too little is taken, or when it cannot be procured, as is the case at times in regions remote from the sea, putrid fevers may be produced, and worms are liable to be generated in the bowels. Some persons profess to abstain wholly from salt; but there is a certain amount in bread and many articles in common use, sufficient to save them from the evil consequences of their foolish theories. Salt provisions ought not to form too large a proportion of diet, being apt to produce scurvy, the tendency to which is counteracted by lemon juice, when fresh meat or vegetables cannot be procured.

Acid Condiments. – Of all the acids, vinegar is the best, and it is the most commonly used. It is antiseptic or corrective of the tendency to putrescence, and it also assists digestion if taken in moderate quantity. With shell-fish, uncooked vegetables, and oily substances, it forms a wholesome condiment. Vinegar formed part of the rations of the soldiers of ancient Rome, every man carrying a small stone bottle of it to correct the qualities of doubtful water which they might have to drink on their marches. It is sometimes used largely to reduce corpulency, but this effect can only be obtained at the cost of injury to the stomach. The vinegar at inferior oyster-shops and stalls, is commonly adulterated with oil of vitriol, and will be shunned by those who value their health. Tartaric acid, citric acid, lemonade, and other vegetable acids belong to this class of condiments. Moderate use of fruits, although not fully ripe is sometimes wholesome from the acidity. In other constitutions and states of the body, soda and alkalis are required for health.

Aromatic Condiments.- Mustard, pepper, cloves, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, horse-radish, and the various aromatic condiments are chiefly used in promoting the secretion of the gastric juice. In moderation they are beneficial, but when taken in excess the digestive power is weakened, and it is not easy again to diminish the quantity, as we see in the hot spices which old Indians continue to use after their return to this country. In hot climates, where less exercise are taken, the habit is acquired of artificially stimulating the appetite. With most kinds of vegetables it is advisable to take pepper, especially when the stomach is not strong. Cayenne pepper is very wholesome, but it must be remembered that, as sold in shops, it often contains a large amount of red lead, or other heavy poisonous mineral. Garlic, onions, shallots, and other vegetables of the class may be ranked among aromatic condiments by those who like their flavor, but they contain a sufficient amount of direct nutriment to entitle them to be classed with ordinary diet.

Saccharine Condiments:- Sugar in its great diversity of forms, including coarse and refined sugar from cane, molasses, honey, &c., is a nutritious as well as a palatable condiment. Being a corrective of acidity, it ought generally to be taken with fruit. When taken in excess it causes indigestion, and the large use of sweetmeats by the young is the source of frequent stomach disorders, which are aggravated by the noxious substances often mixed with the sugar in their preparation. Cases of death from the poisonous colouring matter of sweetmeats are not infrequent.

Oleaginous condiments:- Oily substances, moderately used, are of great benefit to the body, and the consumption of them, in the shape of butter, olive oil, ghee, and other forms is large amongst all nations. They are in themselves very nutritious, and they assist the digestion of vegetables and other articles of diet. Butter is the most wholesome of these condiments, but if taken in excess it causes indigestion and bilious disorders, and also leads to the formation of unhealthy fat instead of firm flesh in the body. Rich pastry is amongst the most indigestible of all articles of diet.

Mixed Condiments: - Combinations of condiments of various classes are made sometimes extemporaneously, as for salad, or for preserving in different kinds of seasonings and sauces. Ketchup is formed from fermented juice of mushrooms, to which salt, vinegar, and aromatics are added. Soy, and other Indian sauces, are made from various vegetables, with salt and spices. There are also various kinds of curry powders and other mixed condiments in the solid state. Of all these preparations, while it may be admitted that they help digestion, the chief object is to gratify the palate and to stimulate the appetite. The young ought not to accustom themselves to their use, and the healthy do not require them. Where there is a deficiency of appetite, or feebleness of digestion, they may be used with thankfulness.

As the recipe for the day I give you a spice cake – a variation of the seed cake recipe in The young cook's assistant, and housekeeper's guide; P. Masters, 1841.

A Seed Cake.
Take a little light dough as prepared for rolls. Warm six ounces of butter in a saucepan, and with two pounds of dough mix three eggs, a cupful of milk or cream, six ounces of sugar, and one of carraway seeds. Butter the shape, mix up the cake lightly, and put in enough to half fill it. Set it by the fire to rise to the top of the shape before baking.


A Spice Cake.
Prepare a cake as the seed cake, leaving out the caraway seeds only. Pound and sift some allspice, and put in a large teaspoonful. Finish as in the preceding.


Quotation for the Day.

Condiments are like old friends – highly thought of, but often taken for granted.
Marilyn Kaytor.

An Epitaph for a Foodie.

I fear I am leaning towards posts on food trivia, rather than food history of late, but this semi-retired life is incredibly hectic, and to keep up five days a week posting means that sometimes I have to err on the side of the quick and frivolous. The same excuse serves for my shameful failure in responding to those who have taken the time to comment on various recent posts. My apologies to one and all.

I do hope you are not disappointed in today’s gleanings from Morton’s Sixpenny Almanack and Diary for the year 1876. I do love almanacs. This one has the usual listings of anniversaries, astronomical events, tides, gardening and nature lore, postal rates and so on, but intermingled with these are a random lot of odd stories and anecdotes with no obvious relevance to anything almanacal (almanackial?).

My favourite is this:

In a village near Newmarket there is an iron dish fixed into a gravestone at the request of William Symons, who, at the age of eighty, a great gourmand, dying, left a request that the following lines should tell the story of his besetting sin:-

“Here lies my corpse, I was the man,

That loved a sop in the dripping pan;

But now, believe me, I am dead:

See here the pan stands at my head.

Still for sops till the last I cried

But could not eat, and so I died.

My neighbours, they perhaps will laugh,

When they do read my epitaph.”

In case you didn’t know it, the almanac (from 1876, I remind you), informs us that the quatern loaf sold for 1s. 10 ½ d. in the year 1801.

Breadth of stories may perhaps compensate for lack of depth, so I give you the following snippets:

A Monster Vine.

A vine, situated about three miles and a half from Santa Barbara, California, has a trunk 4ft. 4in. in circumference. It begins to branch out at about six or eight feet from the ground, and is then supported on framework, which it covers as a roof. The whole vine thus supported now covers over an acre of ground. Several of the limbs are as much as 10 inches in circumference at a distance of 25 or 30 feet from the trunk. The annual yield of grapes from this mammoth vine is from 10,000 to 12,000 pounds. The clusters average, when ripe, from 2 to 24 pounds each.

A Curious Table.

A novel dining-table is now in use in one of the palaces of the Emperor of Russia. The table is circular, and is placed on a weighted platform. At the touch of a signal, like a rub of Aladdin's lamp, down goes the table through the floor, and a new table, loaded with fresh dishes and supplies, rises in its place. But this is not all; each plate stands on a weighted disk, the table cloth being cat with circular openings, one for each plate. If a guest desires a change of plate he touches a signal at his side, when his plate disappears and another rises. These mechanical dining tables render the presence of servants quite superfluous.

To my absolute delight, the almanac also contains a scattered few recipes, thus filling up that bit of reserved space too. Please someone offer some suggestions as to the particular instruction in this recipe to ‘stir with the right hand’?

How to make a Good Old-Fashioned Soup.
Procure a soup bone, boil until tender, remove the meat, add to the soup a few onions, season to suit the taste; slice the onions very thin: set it to boil. Then take some flour in a bowl, drop sweet milk in by the drop, and keep stirring with the right hand, until you think you have enough to thicken the soup sufficiently, and you will have what we call flour rubbings. Add to the soup; let it boil up, stirring it all the time, and it is done. It is excellent warmed over for next day.

Quotation for the Day.

Shipping is a terrible thing to do to vegetables. They probably get jet-lagged, just like people.
Elizabeth Berry.

What in the world is Cangeraux?

I can answer the question “What in the (food) world is cangeraux?” I cannot, however, confidently explain the word itself.

‘Cangeraux’ is, to judge by the recipe in The Practice of Cookery and Pastry, by I. Williams (1862), the same thing as ‘kedgeree.’

Cangeraux.
Take the fish off a cold boiled haddock, or about the same quantity of cod, should you happen to have it beside you, two hard-boiled eggs, a breakfast-cupful of boiled whole rice, and mince it together. Add cayenne and a little salt; melt two ounces of butter in a frying-pan, and put it in; heat all thoroughly, and keep stirring it with a fork, so as to make it light.

Cangeraux another way.
Take the same quantity of fish and boiled whole rice, and mince them together; add cayenne, one table-spoonful of ketchup, one dessert-spoonful of mustard, and two eggs beat up a little; melt four ounces of butter in a pan, put it in, and stir till it is thoroughly done.

The one and only reference to the word that I can find is in The Practice of Cookery and Pastry, so regardless of what the explanation is, this particular word does not appear to have been plagiarised in either direction. Very odd. The words don’t sound sufficiently alike to me for it to be an auditory misinterpretation. Now if the recipe was for kangaroo, I would not be puzzled. The word is not hidden anywhere in the full text of the Oxford English Dictionary, including amongst the dozen acknowledged alternative spellings of ‘kedgeree.’ A simple mis-spelling of ‘kedgeree’ by a single writer seems a little far-fetched too.

Once again I am throwing a food-word puzzle out into cyberspace, in the hope that it will land on the computer screen of one of the food-word cognoscenti. I know you are out there.

Quotation for the Day.

Kedgeree is a capital thing for breakfast.
Bp. Fraser in Hughes Life (1887)

In Advance of Valentine’s Day.

It will be here on Monday, folks – that day of romance, sweethearts, kisses and gifts, or, if you are not a true believer, of crass commercialism, cheap chocolate, cheaper bubbles, and cheesy cards.
My gift to you for the day, given in advance to give you chance to use it for inspiration, is a wonderfully kitchy menu from the Café Bova, Boston, on Valentine’s Day 1912. The image of the menu I cannot give - it is too fuzzy, and if the resolution were any lower it would slide off the bottom of the page - so you will have to imagine the decoration of red hearts.

CUPID’S MENU.

SOUP

Consommé De L’Amour

FISH

A Plaice in your Heart

JOINT

My Own Sweet Lamb

POULTRY

A Little Duck

SWEETS

You for my Sweetheart

ICES

Ice-simply adore You

I’m hungry for your sweet affection

So don’t leave me starving I pray

For the menu I’ve made a selection

Let me dine on the same every day.

The love-struck beau wishing to impress his sweetheart with this romantic meal had to dig relatively deep, for the time. The meal cost $2.00.

From Household Cookery Recipes (London, 1901), I give you a recipe for the fish course.

Fillets of Plaice with White Sauce.
1 medium-sized plaice.
1 teaspoon lemon juice.
¾ pint fish sauce.
Salt and pepper.
Wash and dry the plaice on a cloth, and remove the fillets carefully thus: Take a sharp knife and cut a clean cut right down the middle of the fish from head to tail; then raise the fillets from the bones, keeping the knife flat on the bone and taking long clean cuts (not jagging,
or the fish will be wasted) ; season the fillets and fold them into three, skin side inside, or they will unroll in the cooking ; place them on a buttered baking- tin, sprinkle the lemon over them, and cover closely with buttered paper. They should be kept quite white in the cooking.
Bake in a slow oven for from 7 to 15 minutes, according to the size; dish up nicely and coat over with the sauce. Decorate with red crumbs or chopped parsley.

Fish Sauce.
The bones of a plaice, sole or whiting.
1 oz. butter.
1 oz. flour.
1 small onion.
1 small bay leaf.
1 sprig parsley.
1 sprig thyme.
½ pint milk.
½ pint water.
1 small piece carrot.
1 small piece turnip.
1 small piece celery.
6 peppercorns.
Seasoning.
Cut the head off the bones, wash and break them up, put them into a saucepan with the vegetables left in blocks, the herbs and spice ; season and pour over them the milk and water; simmer the stock slowly for 10 minutes ; strain ; dissolve the butter and cook the flour in it slowly for 3 or 4 minutes to make the sauce shiny, then off the fire, mix in the stock, stir to the boil and cook for 5 minutes ; strain the sauce.


Quotation for the Day.
I don't understand why Cupid was chosen to represent Valentine's Day. When I think about romance, the last thing on my mind is a short, chubby toddler coming at me with a weapon.
Author Unknown

Ethical Eating, 1841.

Yesterday I gave you some extracts from a recent Google Books find - Popular Errors Explained and Illustrated (John Timbs) published in London in 1841. It reminded me that subjects such as sensible, seasonal eating are not new issues. In fact, these were not new issues in 1841 when Timbs wrote his quirky, opinionated book, they had already been fodder for food writers for several centuries.
Timbs’ book also proves that ethical eating is not a twenty-first century (or even twentieth century) idea. Here is his exposé of those who would do harm to shellfish, and his refutation of the argument that a cruel death results in tastier meat.

CRUELTY TO SHELL FISH.

It has been satisfactorily proved, by the experience of Mr Saunders, a respectable London fishmonger, that driving pegs into the claws of Lobsters, instead of tying them, is an act of unnecessary cruelty. The custom of boiling Lobsters alive to improve their flavour, is also found to be as erroneous as it is cruel. The best method is, before boiling, to deprive the Lobster of life by putting it into fresh water - the hardest pump-water answers best - in which the fish will live but a short time. Lobsters thus dressed have been declared to be improved rather than deteriorated in their quality: the tail will be found to lose much of its hardness and indigestibility; the watery taste is equally common to those dressed in the usual way, which arises from the fish having been sickly and diseased. The preceding observations apply to Crabs, Shrimps, Prawns, &c. The horrible cruelty of dressing Shell-fish alive is the same as if another fish, which does not possess their amphibious property, but soon dies when taken out of the water, were to be instantly conveyed out of its native water either into the frying pan or the saucepan.

Fish may be crimped* nearly as well a few days after death as when alive. A question, however, occurs why the epicure should give the preference to Fish after it has parted with a considerable portion of its rich and soluble parts in boiling water, as in dressing crimped fish?

*Crimping is “to cause (the flesh of fish) to contract and become firm by gashing or cutting it before rigor mortis sets in.”

From John Timbs’ contemporary, and yesterday’s recipe source, I give you an idea for your humanely-killed lobster. Recipe fashions come and go – surely this one is due for revival? Although on second thoughts, anything with ‘butter’ in the title or the ingredient list might have a hard time of it today in any shape or form – more’s the pity, I say.

Lobster Butter.
Pound to the smoothest paste the coral of one or two fine lobsters, mix with it about a third of its volume of fresh butter, and the same proportion of spices as are given in the preceding receipt**. Let the whole be thoroughly blended; set it by for a while in a cool place and pot it, or make it up into small pats and serve them with curled parsley round the dish or with any light foliage that will contrast well with their brilliant colour. The flesh of the lobster may be cut fine with a very sharp knife and pounded with the coral.
A New System Of Domestic Cookery, Formed Upon Principles Of Economy by Maria Rundell (1840)

** ‘a high seasoning of mace and cayenne, and a small quantity of finely-grated nutmeg.’

Quotation for the Day.

A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it be lobster salad and Champagne, the only truly feminine and becoming viands.

Lord Byron.

Black Beetle Sauce.

I remember as a child growing up in the North of England in the 1950’s being told – and wholeheartedly believing – that the spaghetti beloved by Italians was actually worms. I understand that this was a common story perpetrated at the time. I do not know if the perpetrators were adults or other children, nor if it was done in jest or out of post-war jingoism, or simple monumental ignorance. How do these stories start?

Today I am going to give you one fine historical example of the process in action. I found it in Popular Errors Explained and Illustrated (John Timbs, London, 1841) – a book I am sure I am going to delve into again.

“SOY FROM BLACK BEETLES.”

Sailors have a notion that Soy is made from cockroaches; and however absurd the belief may appear the reason for it is worthy of investigation. The Chinese at Canton have a large Soy manufactory and they are particularly solicitous to obtain cockroaches from ships; from which circumstances sailors immediately conclude that it is for the purpose of making Soy from them. But it is better established that cockroaches are used by the Chinese as bait in fishing. The infusion of cockroaches is also used in medicine; and Mr Webster, surgeon of H.M.S. Chanticleer, states that common salt and water saturated with the juices of the cockroach, has all the odour and some of the flavour and qualities, of Soy; so that the sailors notion after all may not be far from the truth.

This story must not have had wide currency outside of the maritime community, I wouldn’t think, because soy sauce was eagerly taken up by the British - certainly by the second half of the eighteenth century, who imported it from the East Indies. The British seem to have an ancestral love of salty spicy sauces, perhaps as a result of that long Roman occupation, and exposure to their favourite salty, fishy garum?

As evidence for this popularity, I remind you that soy sauce was one of the indispensible inclusions in Kitchener’s ‘Magazine of Taste’, which he explains in The Cook’s Oracle (1817). In addition, I note (cooks being no exception to the concept of imitation being the sincerest form of flattery) that the nineteenth century was rife with recipes for imitation Soy and Worcestershire sauces.

Here is a recipe using soy sauce to make another ‘catsup’, from the inimitable Eliza Acton.

EPICUREAN SAUCE.

Mix well by shaking them in a bottle a quarter pint of Indian soy, half a pint of Chili vinegar, half a pint of walnut catsup, and a pint and a half of the best mushroom catsup. These proportions make an excellent sauce either to mix with melted butter and to serve with fish, or to add to different kinds of gravy, but they can be varied or added to at pleasure.

Indian soy ¼ pint; Chili vinegar ½ pint ;walnut catsup ½ pint; mushroom catsup 1 ½ pint .

Obs: A pint of port wine a few eschalots and some thin strips of lemon rind will convert this into an admirable store sauce. Less soy would adapt it better to many tastes.

Modern Cookery in all its Branches (1845)

Quotation for the Day.
A well made sauce will make even an elephant or a grandfather palatable.
Grimod de la Reynière

Mace & Maces.

Yesterday I talked about the two different sorts of cloves we use regularly in cooking. As I puddled around in the Oxford English Dictionary, mace suddenly jumped into my mind.

A mace is a nasty club used to hit your enemy on the head, isn’t it? Or a ceremonial version of the same thing, used by civic organisations in their less violent version version of Intimidate and Subdue the riff-raff.

What have these war-like connotations got to do with mace, the spice, you may ask? Before we go any further, it may bear repeating that mace, the spice, is the outer covering of the nutmeg, and has a clearly related aroma and flavour.

On the topic of mace, the weapon, I am a little confused by the entries in the Oxford English Dictionary. It appears that the word is ultimately derived from French mace or masse, but is unclear what this actually means - although it does sound weighty - and there is some suggestion that it might relate to classical Latin ‘mateola (rare) an agricultural implement, probably a maul or beetle.’

As for mace, the sweet spice, the OED says that it is the French name for the aril, or outer covering to the nutmeg, which hardly answers our question. It is now as clear as mud to me, and I eagerly await the comments from the wordsmiths amongst you.

Here is a nice way to use up some of those blades of mace you have lurking in your pantry. I don’t believe I have ever cooked fish with mace.

Strong Fish Gravy.
Skin two or three eels, or some flounders; gut and wash them very clean; cut them into small pieces, and put into a saucepan. Cover them with water, and add a little crust of bread toasted brown, two blades of mace, some whole pepper, sweet herbs, a piece of lemon-peel, an anchovy or two, and a tea-spoon of horseradish. Cover close, and simmer; add a bit of butter and flour, an boil with the above.
A New System of Domestic Cookery, Maria Rundell, 1814.

Quotation for the Day.
This is the icing on the gravy.
Lucas Glover.