I am tempted by a good liqueur or two this week, and I am going to start with Chartreuse. The name of this yellow/green liqueur name tells its origins very simply, for it is said to have been developed in the Maison Chartreuse – the monastery of the Carthusian monks - in Grenoble, France. Orders of monks have been responsible for many classic liqueurs because many of them began as distillations of medicinal herbs – and herb gardens and medicine preparation was an important function of religious orders in medieval times. It is said that the Carthusian monks of Grenoble have been making this liqueur since the 1740’s – but I suspect that they had in fact been making it for a very long time, but the ‘branding’ and commercial marketing dates from this era. So many stories to research, and so little research time…..
What I have been unable to fathom is the connection between religious orders and the ‘other’ chartreuse, which the Oxford English Dictionary gives as ‘an ornamental dish of meat or vegetables cooked in a mould’, and also ‘fruits enclosed in blancmange or jelly.’
The first citation given for this meaning of chartreuse in English is from John Simpson’s A Complete System of Cookery (1806). It is for a Chartreuse of Roots and Sausages, which I was going to make the recipe for the day, until I realised that in the past we have had recipes for Chartreuse of Mutton and Chartreuse, or Casserole, of Fish. Instead, I give you Chartreuse of Apples and Fruit, from The French Cook, (1822) by Louis Eustache Ude, because we should have a recipe from a Frenchman – and he explains the method in detail, which is useful.
Chartreuse of Apples and Fruit.
A Chartreuse is the same thing as a suédoise, only instead of raising the fruit with the hand over the marmalade, you oil a mould of the same size as the dish you intend to use, and arrange symmetrically fruit of different colours, such as angelica, preserved oranges, lemons, &c. in short, whatever may offer a variety of colours. Apples and pears are in more general use for the outside, but then they must be dyed as directed above, No. 3*. When you have decorated the middle or bottom, proceed to decorate the sides. Next use some thick marmalade of apples to consolidate the decorations. When you have made a wall sufficiently strong that you may turn the Chartreuse upside down, take the whitest apple jelly you can procure, some stewed pears cut into slices the size of a half-crown piece, and some cherries, &c. and mix the whole with the jelly, so as to represent a Macedoine. Do not fill the cavity too full with the miroton, as you are to close it with apple-marmalade that has more substance in it. Then turn over the Chartreuse and dish it. Glaze the fruit over with some thick syrup. This syrup gives additional lustre to the colours, and a fresh gloss to the fruit.
* To dye them you need only dilute with syrup a little carmine or saffron; and give them a boil. Next let the apples cool in the syrup, that the colour may be spread equally over them.
Quotation for the Day.
Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker.
Ogden Nash
Showing posts with label fruit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fruit. Show all posts
Monday, March 07, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
An Australia Day Menu, 1922.
Today is Australia Day, so naturally I feel obliged to have an Australian theme. My problem is that all of my historical Australian cookery books remain in boxes. The excuse(s) I am touting is a rapid sequence of events in my life - “house move + Christmas fun/chaos + beach holiday + Brisbane floods and no power for 10 days”. Oh! And no bookshelves (yet) to store the books, so no point in unpacking them anyway. I am not sure how much longer this excuse will be viable.
The Internet has come to my rescue (Thank You, Cyber-Gods) and I give you the “All Australian Menu” from the Australia Day dinner to Sir Joseph Cook, in London on January 23, 1922. The menu comes to you from the Sydney Morning Herald, which noted that “It was the first occasion in London that Australian products had been served at a public function.”
For the recipe for the day, I give you some pineapple recipes from The Brisbane Courier of November 8, 1923.
Pineapple Preserves.
Cut fruit in slices, chips, or quarters. To each pound of fruit add a cup of water. Put in a preserving pan, cover, and boil slowly until tender and clear. Then take from water in a dish. Add to the water, sugar, pound for pound. Stir till all is dissolved, put in pineapple, cover the pan, and let boil slowly until transparent, then take out the fruit and put in glass jars. Let the syrup cook till thick and rich,then pour over fruit.
Pineapple Marmalade.
To one pound of grated pineapple allow one-half pound of sugar. Scatter sugar over fruit and let stand three hours, then put on stove, and let simmer slowly one hour. Store in air-tight jars.
Pineapple Fritters.
Sift together a cupful of flour, a few grains of salt, a tablespoonful of sugar, and half a level tablespoonful of baking powder. Beat an egg, add a third of a cupful of milk, and gradually stir into the dry ingredients, then add a cupful of pineapple, chopped or cut up into small pieces. Drop by spoonfuls into the fat, and fry a golden brown. Drain on soft paper and serve hot, sprinkled with powdered sugar.
Pineapple Pudding or Pie Filling.
Peel pare and chop a pineapple; sprinkle with sugar and let stand an hour. Arrange in a buttered pudding dish slices of bread over which pour the juice from the pineapple and sugar.
Beat the yolks of three eggs, with half cup of sugar, adding last the whites, which should have been, beaten separately. A tablespoonful of white wine, and half a cup of chopped almonds will improve this. Pour over the juice-soaked slices and bake. '
Previous Australia Day stories can be read (or re-read) at the following links: 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010.
Quotation for the Day.
In Australia, what they do to eggs is incomprehensible-they serve them with spaghetti at breakfast. They cook the eggs for nine hours until all moisture is removed, then they cosy them up to thick chewy noodles, warmed in the can not moments before.
Jon Carroll.
The Internet has come to my rescue (Thank You, Cyber-Gods) and I give you the “All Australian Menu” from the Australia Day dinner to Sir Joseph Cook, in London on January 23, 1922. The menu comes to you from the Sydney Morning Herald, which noted that “It was the first occasion in London that Australian products had been served at a public function.”
Tasmanian Tomato Soup.
New South Wales Grilled Rabbits and Victorian Green Peas.
South Australian Lamb and Victorian Celery Sauce.
Potatoes
Fruit Salad (New South Wales Peaches, Victorian Pears, and Queensland Pineapple)
West Australian Passionfruit
Mildura (Victorian) Grape Sweets
Wines: Australian “Imperial Reserve” (Red and White)
For the recipe for the day, I give you some pineapple recipes from The Brisbane Courier of November 8, 1923.
Pineapple Preserves.
Cut fruit in slices, chips, or quarters. To each pound of fruit add a cup of water. Put in a preserving pan, cover, and boil slowly until tender and clear. Then take from water in a dish. Add to the water, sugar, pound for pound. Stir till all is dissolved, put in pineapple, cover the pan, and let boil slowly until transparent, then take out the fruit and put in glass jars. Let the syrup cook till thick and rich,then pour over fruit.
Pineapple Marmalade.
To one pound of grated pineapple allow one-half pound of sugar. Scatter sugar over fruit and let stand three hours, then put on stove, and let simmer slowly one hour. Store in air-tight jars.
Pineapple Fritters.
Sift together a cupful of flour, a few grains of salt, a tablespoonful of sugar, and half a level tablespoonful of baking powder. Beat an egg, add a third of a cupful of milk, and gradually stir into the dry ingredients, then add a cupful of pineapple, chopped or cut up into small pieces. Drop by spoonfuls into the fat, and fry a golden brown. Drain on soft paper and serve hot, sprinkled with powdered sugar.
Pineapple Pudding or Pie Filling.
Peel pare and chop a pineapple; sprinkle with sugar and let stand an hour. Arrange in a buttered pudding dish slices of bread over which pour the juice from the pineapple and sugar.
Beat the yolks of three eggs, with half cup of sugar, adding last the whites, which should have been, beaten separately. A tablespoonful of white wine, and half a cup of chopped almonds will improve this. Pour over the juice-soaked slices and bake. '
Previous Australia Day stories can be read (or re-read) at the following links: 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010.
Quotation for the Day.
In Australia, what they do to eggs is incomprehensible-they serve them with spaghetti at breakfast. They cook the eggs for nine hours until all moisture is removed, then they cosy them up to thick chewy noodles, warmed in the can not moments before.
Jon Carroll.
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
Mangoless Mangoes.
The mango season is just getting underway here in sunny Queensland, and if the early samples are anything to go by, a lusciously sweet and sticky time we are going to have of it this year. It occurred to me that I have not dedicated a post to this most delicious of all fruits, a fruit which compensates somewhat for the heat and humidity we suffer during summer in this state.
The mango (according to the Oxford English Dictionary) is ‘a sweet orange-fleshed drupe which is much eaten as dessert, especially in the tropics, and is used in its unripe state to make chutney and jam.’ It is the fruit of various species of the genus Mangifera, the most common of which is Mangifera indica (the Common or Indian mango), and which is native to India and Myanmar.
The OED gives several other definitions of the word mango. Two of these have nothing at all to do with food, but they too much fun not to share with you. A mango may also be
- ‘a dealer in slaves, esp. in prostitutes ( a 19th C usage, perhaps deriving from an ancient Greek word indicating ‘means of charming or bewitching others’ or perhaps from an Indo-European word ‘mangonel’, meaning to deceive.)
- In Ireland in the 19th C it was also ‘a substance used in the bleaching of linen’(perhaps related to ‘mangle’)
There is a third use, in evidence since the last half of the seventeenth century. A mango may also be ‘A pickle resembling that made of green mangoes; (later) spec. a pickle made of whole fruits stuffed with spices; a whole fruit stuffed and pickled in this way.’ This gave rise to the verb ‘to mango’, or ‘to pickle as green mangoes are pickled.’
The only mangoes to reach Britain in the early days were not the ripe variety, for obvious reasons, which gave rise to this last usage. A nineteenth century article explains it all:
The above magazine then went on to give a recipe for pickled melons, but today I give you a recipe for another common alternative – cucumbers – from a century earlier.
To Mango Cucumbers.
Cut a little slip out of the side of the cucumber, and take out the seeds, but as little of the meat as you can; then fill the inside with mustard seed bruised, a clove of garlick, some slices of ginger, and some bits of horse-radish; tie the piece in again, and make a pickle of vinegar, salt, whole pepper, mace, and boil it, and pour it on the mangoes, and do so for nine days together; when cold, cover them with leather.
The Compleat Housewife, or, Accomplished Gentlewoman’s Companion, E.Smith, 1728
Quotation for the Day.
The number of mangoes that a practiced person may eat with impunity is astonishing.
Sketches of India, 1850
The mango (according to the Oxford English Dictionary) is ‘a sweet orange-fleshed drupe which is much eaten as dessert, especially in the tropics, and is used in its unripe state to make chutney and jam.’ It is the fruit of various species of the genus Mangifera, the most common of which is Mangifera indica (the Common or Indian mango), and which is native to India and Myanmar.
The OED gives several other definitions of the word mango. Two of these have nothing at all to do with food, but they too much fun not to share with you. A mango may also be
- ‘a dealer in slaves, esp. in prostitutes ( a 19th C usage, perhaps deriving from an ancient Greek word indicating ‘means of charming or bewitching others’ or perhaps from an Indo-European word ‘mangonel’, meaning to deceive.)
- In Ireland in the 19th C it was also ‘a substance used in the bleaching of linen’(perhaps related to ‘mangle’)
There is a third use, in evidence since the last half of the seventeenth century. A mango may also be ‘A pickle resembling that made of green mangoes; (later) spec. a pickle made of whole fruits stuffed with spices; a whole fruit stuffed and pickled in this way.’ This gave rise to the verb ‘to mango’, or ‘to pickle as green mangoes are pickled.’
The only mangoes to reach Britain in the early days were not the ripe variety, for obvious reasons, which gave rise to this last usage. A nineteenth century article explains it all:
It is much the fashion in this country to imitate the Indian mangoes as they are pickled at Bombay, namely, by being gathered green, cut open, the stone taken out, and bound together with string. Young melons are usually employted for this purpose, though they have not in taste the most remote resemblance to the flavour of the mango, which, when ripe and of a good species, is the most delicious as well as the most wholesome of fruits, and when unripe is more like the unripe apple than any other of our European fruits, And this similitude is so strong, that in India we have ourselves often had tarts made of the unripe mango to resemble the apple tarts of England. The apple is therefore the best fruit to pickle in imitation of the Bombay pickle ….
The Magazine of domestic economy, London 1839
The above magazine then went on to give a recipe for pickled melons, but today I give you a recipe for another common alternative – cucumbers – from a century earlier.
To Mango Cucumbers.
Cut a little slip out of the side of the cucumber, and take out the seeds, but as little of the meat as you can; then fill the inside with mustard seed bruised, a clove of garlick, some slices of ginger, and some bits of horse-radish; tie the piece in again, and make a pickle of vinegar, salt, whole pepper, mace, and boil it, and pour it on the mangoes, and do so for nine days together; when cold, cover them with leather.
The Compleat Housewife, or, Accomplished Gentlewoman’s Companion, E.Smith, 1728
Quotation for the Day.
The number of mangoes that a practiced person may eat with impunity is astonishing.
Sketches of India, 1850
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Thanksgiving Food: Cranberry Sauce
The idea of a sharp fruity sauce served with rich meat is an old one which we explored very recently. Today, of course, we have to consider cranberry sauce,
The following article found in the Southport Telegraph of Wisconsin, in 1846, might explain (at least in part) why and where the tradition of cranberry sauce with turkey really became established.
Economy In Cooking Cranberries.
Owing to the scarcity of apples, pears, peaches, &c., prevailing throughout the states, as well as to the great abundance and excellent properties of cranberries, the latter are much used for sauce. In preparing them for the table, hundreds of dollars may, no doubt, be saved by the people of Michigan, by observing the following directions, and that, too, without causing the sauce to be made any less palpable.
To each quart of berries, very shortly after the cooking of them commenced, add a tea-spoonful of pulverized saleratus. This will so much neutralize the acidiferous juice, which they contain, as to make it necessary to use only about one fourth part as much sugar would have been requisite had they been cooked without using saleratus.
Indeed, the simplest recipe for cranberry sauce is “take cranberries and stew with sugar.” There are of course variations on even this most simple of themes. Here are my selections for your enjoyment.
Cranberry Sauce [Moulded]
Wash, and pick over one quart of cranberries, put them to stew with a little water, and a pound of sugar, in a porcelain-lined sauce-pan. Let them stew slowly, and closely covered for an hour, or more. They can then be set away ready for use, or they can be put into a mould and turned out in form the next day.
Another, and nicer way is to stew them soft, then strain off the skins, add pound of sugar to quart of fruit, and boil all up together again for fifteen minutes. This will make a fine jelly for game, if put into a mould.
Jennie June's American Cookery Book, 1870.
Cranberry Sauce
Wash and pick a quart of cranberries; put them into a stew-pan, with a teacupful of water, and the same of brown sugar; cover the pan and let them stew gently for one hour; then mash them smooth with a silver spoon; dip a quart bowl in cold water, pour in the stewed cranberries, and leave till cold. Serve with roast pork, ham, turkey or goose.
La Cuisine Creole, by Lafcadio Hearn, 1885
Frozen Cranberry Sauce:
Gives a new tang to game, roast turkey, capon or duck. Cook a quart of cranberries until very soft in one pint water, strain through coarse seive, getting all the pulp, add to it one and a half pints sugar, the juice – strained - of four lemons, one quart boiling water, bring to a boil, skim clean, let cool, and freeze rather soft.
Dishes & Beverages Of The Old South, by Martha McCulloch-Williams, 1913
Cranberry Jelly.
Cook until soft the desired quantity of cranberries with 1 ½ pints of water for each 2 quarts of berries. Strain the juice through a jelly bag.
Measure the juice and heat it up to boiling point. Add one cup of sugar for every two cups of juice; stir until the sugar is dissolved; boil briskly for five minutes; skim and pour into glass tumblers or porcelain or crockery moulds.
8 lbs, of Cranberries and 2 ½ lbs. of sugar makes 10 tumblers of delicious jelly.
Winnipeg Free Press, October 3, 1919.
Quotation for the Day.
It has been an unchallengeable American doctrine that cranberry sauce, a pink goo with overtones of sugared tomatoes, is a delectable necessity of the Thanksgiving board and that turkey is uneatable without it.
Alistair Cooke
The following article found in the Southport Telegraph of Wisconsin, in 1846, might explain (at least in part) why and where the tradition of cranberry sauce with turkey really became established.
Economy In Cooking Cranberries.
Owing to the scarcity of apples, pears, peaches, &c., prevailing throughout the states, as well as to the great abundance and excellent properties of cranberries, the latter are much used for sauce. In preparing them for the table, hundreds of dollars may, no doubt, be saved by the people of Michigan, by observing the following directions, and that, too, without causing the sauce to be made any less palpable.
To each quart of berries, very shortly after the cooking of them commenced, add a tea-spoonful of pulverized saleratus. This will so much neutralize the acidiferous juice, which they contain, as to make it necessary to use only about one fourth part as much sugar would have been requisite had they been cooked without using saleratus.
Indeed, the simplest recipe for cranberry sauce is “take cranberries and stew with sugar.” There are of course variations on even this most simple of themes. Here are my selections for your enjoyment.
Cranberry Sauce [Moulded]
Wash, and pick over one quart of cranberries, put them to stew with a little water, and a pound of sugar, in a porcelain-lined sauce-pan. Let them stew slowly, and closely covered for an hour, or more. They can then be set away ready for use, or they can be put into a mould and turned out in form the next day.
Another, and nicer way is to stew them soft, then strain off the skins, add pound of sugar to quart of fruit, and boil all up together again for fifteen minutes. This will make a fine jelly for game, if put into a mould.
Jennie June's American Cookery Book, 1870.
Cranberry Sauce
Wash and pick a quart of cranberries; put them into a stew-pan, with a teacupful of water, and the same of brown sugar; cover the pan and let them stew gently for one hour; then mash them smooth with a silver spoon; dip a quart bowl in cold water, pour in the stewed cranberries, and leave till cold. Serve with roast pork, ham, turkey or goose.
La Cuisine Creole, by Lafcadio Hearn, 1885
Frozen Cranberry Sauce:
Gives a new tang to game, roast turkey, capon or duck. Cook a quart of cranberries until very soft in one pint water, strain through coarse seive, getting all the pulp, add to it one and a half pints sugar, the juice – strained - of four lemons, one quart boiling water, bring to a boil, skim clean, let cool, and freeze rather soft.
Dishes & Beverages Of The Old South, by Martha McCulloch-Williams, 1913
Cranberry Jelly.
Cook until soft the desired quantity of cranberries with 1 ½ pints of water for each 2 quarts of berries. Strain the juice through a jelly bag.
Measure the juice and heat it up to boiling point. Add one cup of sugar for every two cups of juice; stir until the sugar is dissolved; boil briskly for five minutes; skim and pour into glass tumblers or porcelain or crockery moulds.
8 lbs, of Cranberries and 2 ½ lbs. of sugar makes 10 tumblers of delicious jelly.
Winnipeg Free Press, October 3, 1919.
Quotation for the Day.
It has been an unchallengeable American doctrine that cranberry sauce, a pink goo with overtones of sugared tomatoes, is a delectable necessity of the Thanksgiving board and that turkey is uneatable without it.
Alistair Cooke
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Sour Sauces.
I want to wrap up, for the time being, the topic of fruit with meat. Yesterday we looked at pork (and goose) with apple. In previous posts we have explored the quite ancient ideas of pairing chicken with pears, turkey with raspberries or pomegranate (a much older idea than with cranberries, it seems), and duck with orange (originally, and much more deliciously, the bitter Seville orange). If we extend the idea of ‘meat’ to include other forms of animal protein, then we have also met the idea of eggs with orange (Seville oranges again) in a recipe from Hannah Glasse’s famous cookbook The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy.
It is time to consider fish with fruit - over and above the ubiquitous but uninspiring wedge of lemon with every dish. A sour edge to an otherwise sweet or oily dish is not difficult to understand, but a much earlier pairing with fish was gooseberries. Citrus fruits were an expensive imported delicacy during the medieval era. It is recorded that the Leathersellers’ Company (one of the Liveried Companies of England) paid six silver pennies for a single lemon for a feast they gave to Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn in 1533.
Gooseberries, on the other hand, were very easily available, having been cultivated from ancient times, and persisting even in the wild. Think on that, you English fish-eating locavores and wild-foodies. Gooseberry sauce with fish, especially mackeral was a favourite combination in the relatively recent past, and perhaps the idea deserves re-discovering. What was a cook to do however, to get that desired sour note in the fish dish, if there were no lemons and no gooseberries for whatever reasons?
Use rhubarb, of course. No argument about its sourness, and no thorny bushes to harvest. Here are a couple of rhubarb sauces for you.
Rhubarb Sauce.
To make a mock gooseberry sauce for mackarel, reduce three dozen sticks of rhubarb to a marmalade [ie a thick puree], and sweeten it with moist sugar. Pass it through a hair sieve, and serve it up in a boat.
The cook and housekeeper's complete and universal dictionary, Mary Eaton, 1822.
Rhubarb sauce [to keep.]
Boil the stalks over a slow fire, till tender, in a small quantity of water with sugar and such spices as suit the taste, and strain off the liquor, squeezing the stalks dry, and when the liquid syrup or sauce is cold, bottle and cork it tight; this will keep for years.
The Farmers' Register, Edmund Ruffin , USA, 1841
Quotation for the Day.
My living in Yorkshire was so far out of the way, that it was eleven miles away from a lemon.
Sydney Smith (1771-1845)
It is time to consider fish with fruit - over and above the ubiquitous but uninspiring wedge of lemon with every dish. A sour edge to an otherwise sweet or oily dish is not difficult to understand, but a much earlier pairing with fish was gooseberries. Citrus fruits were an expensive imported delicacy during the medieval era. It is recorded that the Leathersellers’ Company (one of the Liveried Companies of England) paid six silver pennies for a single lemon for a feast they gave to Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn in 1533.
Gooseberries, on the other hand, were very easily available, having been cultivated from ancient times, and persisting even in the wild. Think on that, you English fish-eating locavores and wild-foodies. Gooseberry sauce with fish, especially mackeral was a favourite combination in the relatively recent past, and perhaps the idea deserves re-discovering. What was a cook to do however, to get that desired sour note in the fish dish, if there were no lemons and no gooseberries for whatever reasons?
Use rhubarb, of course. No argument about its sourness, and no thorny bushes to harvest. Here are a couple of rhubarb sauces for you.
Rhubarb Sauce.
To make a mock gooseberry sauce for mackarel, reduce three dozen sticks of rhubarb to a marmalade [ie a thick puree], and sweeten it with moist sugar. Pass it through a hair sieve, and serve it up in a boat.
The cook and housekeeper's complete and universal dictionary, Mary Eaton, 1822.
Rhubarb sauce [to keep.]
Boil the stalks over a slow fire, till tender, in a small quantity of water with sugar and such spices as suit the taste, and strain off the liquor, squeezing the stalks dry, and when the liquid syrup or sauce is cold, bottle and cork it tight; this will keep for years.
The Farmers' Register, Edmund Ruffin , USA, 1841
Quotation for the Day.
My living in Yorkshire was so far out of the way, that it was eleven miles away from a lemon.
Sydney Smith (1771-1845)
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
How to Cook a Rhinocerus.
Our culinary history insights today come, as they did yesterday, from a missionary. The Rev. John Campbell went to South Africa in 1822, and subsequently recorded his adventures in his book, Missionary Travels in South Africa, undertaken at the Request of the London Missionary Society: being a Narrative of a Second Journey in the Interior of that Country.
As with yesterdays source, it must be remembered that the views are those of a man firmly secured in his own heritage and prejudices, without any hint of today’s political correctness. The reverend gentleman also gives us some idea of how to cook a rhinocerus. The text below is taken from an extensive review of the book.
The quotation that was originally going to go at the bottom of this post makes it into the text today:
Tomatoes and oregano make it Italian; wine and tarragon make it French. Sour cream makes it Russian; lemon and cinnamon make it Greek. Soy sauce makes it Chinese; garlic makes it good.
Alice May Brock.
It is impossible to summarise “African” cuisine so easily. Before the continent was scrabbled over and subdued by competing European nations in the nineteenth century, its people belonged to a huge number of cultural groups and tribes – often in fierce opposition to each other, certainly, but with no concept of nationhood or its associated borders. Europeans, however, seemed to have an idea of what characterised African-style food, for a number of recipes for dishes à l’Africaine began to appear on menus.
There was no consensus however. There phrase à l’Africaine can refer to many dishes from consommé, to sorbet, to eggs to fish to chicken to ground meat patties to gateaux, and to many different combinations of ingredients. It would be perfectly possible to create a menu entirely of dishes styled à l’Africaine, without repeating any flavours.
Here are a few of the ideas, – you may be able to add more.
- in the classic French repertoire it often refers to a garnish of small balls of black or purple potatoes braised in butter with small marrows.
- many dishes containing horseradish
- stewed or ‘curried’ chicken or chicken with rice
- fish, fried, and garnished with fried bananas and a ‘devilled’ sauce.
- Escoffier has a Bombe à l’Africaine, made in a mould lined with chocolate ice and filled with an apricot ice.
Here are a couple more ideas for your dinner à l’Africaine.
Dates – Stuffed “à l’Africaine”
First blanch some pistachio nuts and stone some dates.
Pound the pistachio nuts with white sugar into a stiff paste.
Stuff the dates with this paste and glaze them with caramel mixture (mere sugar and water.)
Use for dessert.
[The Cookery Book of Lady Clark of Tillypronie, 1909]
Lamb Chops à l’Africaine.
Cut a lamb chop or cutlet, broil over a very sharp fire, turning it continually; when nearly done, season highly with salt and pepper and rub a spoonful of chutnee on both sides of each cutlet, put them again on the gridiron; broil for another minute and serve.
[Dainty Dishes: receipts collected by Lady Harriet Elizabeth St. Clair, 1866]
Quotation for the Day.
If African women were to stop working for one day, there would be no food, no caring for the sick, no sewing, no trading in the market - life would stop for that day.
Ruth Bamela Engo-Tjega, founder of Advocates for African Food Security
As with yesterdays source, it must be remembered that the views are those of a man firmly secured in his own heritage and prejudices, without any hint of today’s political correctness. The reverend gentleman also gives us some idea of how to cook a rhinocerus. The text below is taken from an extensive review of the book.
… Fond as they are of salt, they never take it out of the pond, but purchase it from others; and though they readily eat potatoes, they cannot be prevailed on to plant them, because they resemble nothing which has been handed down to them by their forefathers, to whose manners and customs they appear to be strongly not to say superstitiously attached. The women eat with their husbands at home, but are not allowed to be present at public feasts. If the wife should fail in providing a supper for her husband according to his liking, he proceeds to the door of the house and certifies her negligence with a loud voice to the whole neighbourhood. If on the contrary the husband takes the correction of his wife into his own hands, she repairs to the same spot, and publishes her grievance to such of her neighbours as may choose to listen to it. Something not much unlike this takes place we believe in countries nearer home
… The larger species of wild beasts were abundant; and gnoos, hartebeests, quachas and rhinoceroses supplied the party with plenty of food. Of the last mentioned animals, one, of a large size was shot near the waggons. ‘I was astonished,’ says Mr Campbell, ‘at its bulk, being eleven feet long, six feet in height, four feet broad or in thickness, three feet from the top of the nose to the ears length of the fore legs two feet, circumference of the upper part of the fore leg three feet, length of the hind leg three feet, and its circumference at the upper part three and a half feet, the circumference of the body about eleven feet. - The whole party set about cutting it up, and in less than an hour every inch of that monstrous creature was carried off,and nothing but a pool of blood left behind; and when they halted in the evening, no less than fifteen fires were set a blazing, and eighty nine persons all busily employed in roasting, frying, boiling, and devouring rhinoceros flesh with disgusting voraciousness.’ A dead quacha was brought in by way of a second course. In order to cook the lower legs and hoofs of the rhinoceros, ( the calipash and calipee of a Booshuana epicure,) an ant's nest is selected, being a structure of hard clay about three feet high, and shaped like a bee-hive; the inside is a cellular turfy substance, which being removed and the cavity heated by burning brushwood, within it an excellent oven is prepared for the purpose.
The quotation that was originally going to go at the bottom of this post makes it into the text today:
Tomatoes and oregano make it Italian; wine and tarragon make it French. Sour cream makes it Russian; lemon and cinnamon make it Greek. Soy sauce makes it Chinese; garlic makes it good.
Alice May Brock.
It is impossible to summarise “African” cuisine so easily. Before the continent was scrabbled over and subdued by competing European nations in the nineteenth century, its people belonged to a huge number of cultural groups and tribes – often in fierce opposition to each other, certainly, but with no concept of nationhood or its associated borders. Europeans, however, seemed to have an idea of what characterised African-style food, for a number of recipes for dishes à l’Africaine began to appear on menus.
There was no consensus however. There phrase à l’Africaine can refer to many dishes from consommé, to sorbet, to eggs to fish to chicken to ground meat patties to gateaux, and to many different combinations of ingredients. It would be perfectly possible to create a menu entirely of dishes styled à l’Africaine, without repeating any flavours.
Here are a few of the ideas, – you may be able to add more.
- in the classic French repertoire it often refers to a garnish of small balls of black or purple potatoes braised in butter with small marrows.
- many dishes containing horseradish
- stewed or ‘curried’ chicken or chicken with rice
- fish, fried, and garnished with fried bananas and a ‘devilled’ sauce.
- Escoffier has a Bombe à l’Africaine, made in a mould lined with chocolate ice and filled with an apricot ice.
Here are a couple more ideas for your dinner à l’Africaine.
Dates – Stuffed “à l’Africaine”
First blanch some pistachio nuts and stone some dates.
Pound the pistachio nuts with white sugar into a stiff paste.
Stuff the dates with this paste and glaze them with caramel mixture (mere sugar and water.)
Use for dessert.
[The Cookery Book of Lady Clark of Tillypronie, 1909]
Lamb Chops à l’Africaine.
Cut a lamb chop or cutlet, broil over a very sharp fire, turning it continually; when nearly done, season highly with salt and pepper and rub a spoonful of chutnee on both sides of each cutlet, put them again on the gridiron; broil for another minute and serve.
[Dainty Dishes: receipts collected by Lady Harriet Elizabeth St. Clair, 1866]
Quotation for the Day.
If African women were to stop working for one day, there would be no food, no caring for the sick, no sewing, no trading in the market - life would stop for that day.
Ruth Bamela Engo-Tjega, founder of Advocates for African Food Security
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Any Banana With That?
Sorry folks, I just couldn’t resist continuing yesterday’s theme. A banana, at its simplest, needs no effort – it is already dessert in a skin, is it not? A fruit with a very short shelf-life however, as those of us who have half a freezer full of the super-soft, blackly over-ripe specimens know only too well. There are only so many banana muffins and banana cakes that one little household can consume.
Because of its spectacularly short shelf life, the banana was a great luxury outside of its natural habitat until modern methods of transport and climate-controlled environments enabled it to be delivered to the eager markets of the temperate parts of the world. Recipes for bananas really only start to appear regularly in cookbooks towards the end of the nineteenth century, and then they were mostly for sweet dishes. That is not to say that the idea of a savoury banana (no doubt based on the use of the related plantain) did not exist at all.
To help you use up the over-supply of bananas in your fruit bowl before they become muffin-material, I give you the following recipes for savoury dishes.
Steak with Bananas
Peel one banana and slice in round pieces, and while the steak is cooking fry them in a little hot butter until they are brown. After the meat is on the platter, lay these pieces over it, arranging them prettily, and put the parsley round as before.
Bananas are very nice with steak.
A Little Cookbook for a Little Girl. 1905
Bananas Fried in Egg and Crumbs: for a Savoury.
Sift the following mixture over the banana before coating with egg and crumbs and also before serving:
One teaspoonful of salt, ¼ teaspoonful of dry mustard, ¼ teaspoonful of pepper, a little cayenne, and 1 teaspoonful of red or brown crumbs [of what, the author does not say!]. Mix well together and shake over the bananas.
The banana its cultivation, distribution and commercial uses, William Fawcett 1921
Banana Savouries.
Banana savouries are not unusual. Here is an excellent one. Melt some butter in a fireproof dish and season it with salt and paprika. Cook for a few minutes, stirring well. Then lay in sufficient bananas split lengthways. Turn them several times so that the sauce works in, then sprinkle with breadcrumbs and grated cheese and a very little paprika. Add a few pieces of butter and bake in the oven.
Recipes for Small Households, The Times, Monday, Mar 20, 1939
Quotation for the Day…
Bananas are more like flowers, ... you can't mess around with them.
Richard Benson.
Because of its spectacularly short shelf life, the banana was a great luxury outside of its natural habitat until modern methods of transport and climate-controlled environments enabled it to be delivered to the eager markets of the temperate parts of the world. Recipes for bananas really only start to appear regularly in cookbooks towards the end of the nineteenth century, and then they were mostly for sweet dishes. That is not to say that the idea of a savoury banana (no doubt based on the use of the related plantain) did not exist at all.
To help you use up the over-supply of bananas in your fruit bowl before they become muffin-material, I give you the following recipes for savoury dishes.
Steak with Bananas
Peel one banana and slice in round pieces, and while the steak is cooking fry them in a little hot butter until they are brown. After the meat is on the platter, lay these pieces over it, arranging them prettily, and put the parsley round as before.
Bananas are very nice with steak.
A Little Cookbook for a Little Girl. 1905
Bananas Fried in Egg and Crumbs: for a Savoury.
Sift the following mixture over the banana before coating with egg and crumbs and also before serving:
One teaspoonful of salt, ¼ teaspoonful of dry mustard, ¼ teaspoonful of pepper, a little cayenne, and 1 teaspoonful of red or brown crumbs [of what, the author does not say!]. Mix well together and shake over the bananas.
The banana its cultivation, distribution and commercial uses, William Fawcett 1921
Banana Savouries.
Banana savouries are not unusual. Here is an excellent one. Melt some butter in a fireproof dish and season it with salt and paprika. Cook for a few minutes, stirring well. Then lay in sufficient bananas split lengthways. Turn them several times so that the sauce works in, then sprinkle with breadcrumbs and grated cheese and a very little paprika. Add a few pieces of butter and bake in the oven.
Recipes for Small Households, The Times, Monday, Mar 20, 1939
Quotation for the Day…
Bananas are more like flowers, ... you can't mess around with them.
Richard Benson.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Any Oranges With That?
Lemon with fish is pretty much an incontrovertible rule in the kitchen, is it not? Break the rule and risk punishment by mass exodus of customers, and mass sackings of staff. Once upon a time citrus was used pretty commonly with meat too. Of course we are all familiar with the idea of duck with an orange sauce. Sadly, usually nowadays it comes as a tacky, sickly-sweet marmalade-y mess that is centuries away from the elegant original form made with the bitter Seville orange - a far better foil for the rich and fatty duck meat, methinks.
Here is an early version of the idea, from The good Huswifes Handmaide for the Kitchin (1594)
To boyle a Capon with Oranges after Mistres Duffelds way.
Take a Capon and boyle it with Veale, or with a mary bone [marrow bone], or what your fancie is. Then take a good quantitie of that broth, and put it in an earthen pot by it selfe, and put thereto a good handfull of Corrans [currants], and as manie Prunes, and a few whole Maces, and some Marie [marrow], and put to this broth a good quantitie of white wine or of Claret, and so let them seeth softly together: Then take your Orenges, and with a knife scrape of all the filthinesse of the outside of them. Then cut them in the middest, and wring out the ioyse [juice] of three or foure of them, put the ioyse into your broth with the rest of your stuffe, then slice your Orenges thinne, and haue upon the fire readie a skellet of faire seething water, and put your sliced Orenges into the water, & when that water is bitter, have more readie, and so change them still as long as you can finde the great bitternesse in the water, which will be sixe or seven times, or more, if you find need: then take them from the water, and let that runne cleane from them: then put close Orenges into your potte with your broth, and so let them stew together till your Capon be readie. Then make your sops with this broth, and cast on a litle Sinamon, Ginger, and Sugar, and upon this lay your Capon, and some of your Orenges vpon it, and some of your Marie, and towarde the end of the boyling of your broth, put in a little Vergious [verjuice], if you think best.
We did play with the idea of orange food once before, and our source was Aunt Babette's Cook Book: Foreign and domestic receipts for the household (Cincinnati, 1889). On that occasion I gave you four orange recipes – all sweet ones however - orange fritters, cake, ice, and orangeade. I was reminded of that post recently as I was browsing 365 Orange Recipes; an Orange Recipe for Every Day in the Year (c1909). Today, to match the numbers, I give you a further three recipes for the use of orange in savoury dishes, taken from the latter book.
Onions with Orange Sauce.
Boil 1 dozen onions in three changes of water until tender but not broken; drain them and add ½ cupful of melted butter mixed with a little grated rind, 1 teaspoonful of minced parsley and salt and pepper to taste. Serve very hot.
Calf’s Liver with Orange.
Cut 1 pound of calf’s liver in slices one-half inch thick, cover with boiling water for a minute, drain and cook brown in bacon fat. Chop one onion and brown in butter adding 1 peeled and chopped orange two minutes before removing from the fire; season with salt and pepper and place one spoonful of the sauce on each slice of liver.
Finnan-Haddie with Orange Butter.
Soak finnan-haddie for one hour in two changes of warm water, drain well and fry in butter or broil over slow coals. Melt ½ cupful of butter, stir into it the diced pulp and the grated rind of ½ an orange; spread over the fish and serve at once.
Quotation for the Day.
When life sucks and hands you lemons, I say beat the crap out of it and demand some Florida oranges as well.
By ?
Here is an early version of the idea, from The good Huswifes Handmaide for the Kitchin (1594)
To boyle a Capon with Oranges after Mistres Duffelds way.
Take a Capon and boyle it with Veale, or with a mary bone [marrow bone], or what your fancie is. Then take a good quantitie of that broth, and put it in an earthen pot by it selfe, and put thereto a good handfull of Corrans [currants], and as manie Prunes, and a few whole Maces, and some Marie [marrow], and put to this broth a good quantitie of white wine or of Claret, and so let them seeth softly together: Then take your Orenges, and with a knife scrape of all the filthinesse of the outside of them. Then cut them in the middest, and wring out the ioyse [juice] of three or foure of them, put the ioyse into your broth with the rest of your stuffe, then slice your Orenges thinne, and haue upon the fire readie a skellet of faire seething water, and put your sliced Orenges into the water, & when that water is bitter, have more readie, and so change them still as long as you can finde the great bitternesse in the water, which will be sixe or seven times, or more, if you find need: then take them from the water, and let that runne cleane from them: then put close Orenges into your potte with your broth, and so let them stew together till your Capon be readie. Then make your sops with this broth, and cast on a litle Sinamon, Ginger, and Sugar, and upon this lay your Capon, and some of your Orenges vpon it, and some of your Marie, and towarde the end of the boyling of your broth, put in a little Vergious [verjuice], if you think best.
We did play with the idea of orange food once before, and our source was Aunt Babette's Cook Book: Foreign and domestic receipts for the household (Cincinnati, 1889). On that occasion I gave you four orange recipes – all sweet ones however - orange fritters, cake, ice, and orangeade. I was reminded of that post recently as I was browsing 365 Orange Recipes; an Orange Recipe for Every Day in the Year (c1909). Today, to match the numbers, I give you a further three recipes for the use of orange in savoury dishes, taken from the latter book.
Onions with Orange Sauce.
Boil 1 dozen onions in three changes of water until tender but not broken; drain them and add ½ cupful of melted butter mixed with a little grated rind, 1 teaspoonful of minced parsley and salt and pepper to taste. Serve very hot.
Calf’s Liver with Orange.
Cut 1 pound of calf’s liver in slices one-half inch thick, cover with boiling water for a minute, drain and cook brown in bacon fat. Chop one onion and brown in butter adding 1 peeled and chopped orange two minutes before removing from the fire; season with salt and pepper and place one spoonful of the sauce on each slice of liver.
Finnan-Haddie with Orange Butter.
Soak finnan-haddie for one hour in two changes of warm water, drain well and fry in butter or broil over slow coals. Melt ½ cupful of butter, stir into it the diced pulp and the grated rind of ½ an orange; spread over the fish and serve at once.
Quotation for the Day.
When life sucks and hands you lemons, I say beat the crap out of it and demand some Florida oranges as well.
By ?
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Cheating with Fruit.
There is an apocryphal story of an Australian who visited Louisiana, and, having been told that the local specialty was ‘mirliton’, ordered it in a restaurant. After the usual anticipatory interval, the dish arrived – to be met with disgust by the Aussie who immediately noted that this delicacy was, in fact, ‘bloody choko!’
Sechium edule, a.k.a choko, mirliton, sayote, tayota, choko, chocho, chow-chow, christophine, and vegetable pear, is a native of Central and South America. It was perpetrated upon Australia at some time early in the country’s history, and there are some who believe that if the identity of the importer is ever found, then retrospective retribution will be applied. The choko grows on a vine, and to say that it is quick-growing and prolific in its country of adoption are understatements of great magnitude.
The particularly tenacious vine has a favoured tethering post in Australia. It is an accepted fact in this country that the sole purpose in life of the choko plant is to grow over (and therefore partially camouflage) the ‘dunny’ (the outside toilet shed). Its growth rate is so spectacularly rapid that it has entered the language as a metaphor for something happening ‘quicker than a choko vine growing over an outhouse.’ The ‘free’ fruit, in perennial back-yard surplus, was used in everything and anything, to the extent that for several generations of Australians, it represented far too much of a not-very good thing.
It stands to reason that any plant as ubiquitous and utilitarian (and intrinsically tasteless) as the choko, although it may not be despised, exactly, is not going to be loved in a gourmet-sort of way. In Australia, familiarity from the contemplative position of the dunny throne has led, if not to contempt, to lack of enthusiasm. Added to that is the ineradicable belief in the country that canned ‘pears’ were in fact cheating chokoes. More recently this has led to a similar accusation in relation to McDonald’s ‘apple’ pies. Whether or not the substitution actually happened at a commercial level, the story is testament to the very bland nature of the fruit.
The demise of the outdoor ‘dunny’ has meant that chokos are now actually purchased from greengrocers and supermarkets. Multiple generations of previous Australians are no doubt rolling their dead eyes in amusement and astonishment at the thought of people willingly parting with hard-earned money for the fruit of the dunny vine.
The mock pear story has some truth in it. I found the following recipe as proof. It was probably served as dessert at the same meal as corned beef, boiled chokos with white sauce (ersatz cauliflower), and choko chutney (no substitute for mango!). I wonder if there was choko cake?
Mock Pears.
Peel some chokoes, take out the seed pith, cut lengthwise into four, and put in a saucepan with enough water to cover. Add three tablespoonsfuls of sugar, juice of half a lemon, and a few drops of cochineal. Boil slowly till tender; serve with sauce or custard.
The Truth and Daily Mirror Cookery Book, c1943.
Quotation for the Day …
Vegetables are a must on a diet. I suggest carrot cake, zucchini bread, and pumpkin pie.
Jim Davis.
Sechium edule, a.k.a choko, mirliton, sayote, tayota, choko, chocho, chow-chow, christophine, and vegetable pear, is a native of Central and South America. It was perpetrated upon Australia at some time early in the country’s history, and there are some who believe that if the identity of the importer is ever found, then retrospective retribution will be applied. The choko grows on a vine, and to say that it is quick-growing and prolific in its country of adoption are understatements of great magnitude.
The particularly tenacious vine has a favoured tethering post in Australia. It is an accepted fact in this country that the sole purpose in life of the choko plant is to grow over (and therefore partially camouflage) the ‘dunny’ (the outside toilet shed). Its growth rate is so spectacularly rapid that it has entered the language as a metaphor for something happening ‘quicker than a choko vine growing over an outhouse.’ The ‘free’ fruit, in perennial back-yard surplus, was used in everything and anything, to the extent that for several generations of Australians, it represented far too much of a not-very good thing.
It stands to reason that any plant as ubiquitous and utilitarian (and intrinsically tasteless) as the choko, although it may not be despised, exactly, is not going to be loved in a gourmet-sort of way. In Australia, familiarity from the contemplative position of the dunny throne has led, if not to contempt, to lack of enthusiasm. Added to that is the ineradicable belief in the country that canned ‘pears’ were in fact cheating chokoes. More recently this has led to a similar accusation in relation to McDonald’s ‘apple’ pies. Whether or not the substitution actually happened at a commercial level, the story is testament to the very bland nature of the fruit.
The demise of the outdoor ‘dunny’ has meant that chokos are now actually purchased from greengrocers and supermarkets. Multiple generations of previous Australians are no doubt rolling their dead eyes in amusement and astonishment at the thought of people willingly parting with hard-earned money for the fruit of the dunny vine.
The mock pear story has some truth in it. I found the following recipe as proof. It was probably served as dessert at the same meal as corned beef, boiled chokos with white sauce (ersatz cauliflower), and choko chutney (no substitute for mango!). I wonder if there was choko cake?
Mock Pears.
Peel some chokoes, take out the seed pith, cut lengthwise into four, and put in a saucepan with enough water to cover. Add three tablespoonsfuls of sugar, juice of half a lemon, and a few drops of cochineal. Boil slowly till tender; serve with sauce or custard.
The Truth and Daily Mirror Cookery Book, c1943.
Quotation for the Day …
Vegetables are a must on a diet. I suggest carrot cake, zucchini bread, and pumpkin pie.
Jim Davis.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Avocadoes and advocaat for advocates.
I misread the word advokaat as avocado the other evening, in a moment of blurry-eyed confusion that made me realise it was time to go to sleep. Funny, though, that the words are so similar, I thought.
Avocado is one of my favourite foods, and one of my favourite food words, and was the subject of a post quite some time ago. Advokaat I knew as an eggy beverage with a Dutch heritage - but that is about all I knew about it. According to the dictionary (OED) the word is a short form of advocatenborrel meaning, roughly, the drink of lawyers. This sounded a bit far-fetched to me. Why egg-brandy drinks and the legal profession?
Another story is that Dutch colonists in Suriname used to make a beverage with avocadoes, and took their taste for it back to the Netherlands when they returned. Unfortunately their were no avocadoes in their home country at the time, but the texture of the old-fashioned thick drinks of posset and syllabub was similar. The original Aztec name of the fruit was ahuacatl which to the Spanish sounded almost the same as abogado, which means lawyer (hence, advocate). The coincidence of sounds, it is said, led the Dutch to associate the drink with the legal profession, and the dictionary to believe them. So – my confusion was reasonable, was it not?
Here is a nice 1960’s retro dish for you:
Avocado Pears with Prawns
Serves 6.
3 ripe avocado pears
6 crisp lettuce leaves
paprika pepper
For the sauce:
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
2 tablespoons double cream
2 tablespoons tomato ketchup
dash Worcestershire sauce
juice of ½ lemon
8 oz.peeled prawns.
Buy fully ripe avocado pears – they should feel very soft, especially at the narrow end. Prepare the sauce and set aside. In a small mixing basin, combine together the mayonnaise, cream, tomato ketchup, Worcestershire sauce and lemon juice, and mix well. Add the prepared prawns, and chill until ready to serv.
Using a knife cut each pear in half lengthwise and remove the stone. Rub the cut surface of the six halves with the cut side of a lemon, to prevent them from discolouring. Place each half on a washed crisp lettuce leaf and set on a plate.
Spoon the prawn mixture into the centre of each pear half, filling the hollow. Sprinkle with paprika pepper, and serve.
The Times, March 8, 1967.
Quotation for the Day …
[Avocado growers] denied publicly and indignantly, the insidious, slanderous rumors that avocados were aphrodisiac. Sales immediately mounted
Waverley Root.
Avocado is one of my favourite foods, and one of my favourite food words, and was the subject of a post quite some time ago. Advokaat I knew as an eggy beverage with a Dutch heritage - but that is about all I knew about it. According to the dictionary (OED) the word is a short form of advocatenborrel meaning, roughly, the drink of lawyers. This sounded a bit far-fetched to me. Why egg-brandy drinks and the legal profession?
Another story is that Dutch colonists in Suriname used to make a beverage with avocadoes, and took their taste for it back to the Netherlands when they returned. Unfortunately their were no avocadoes in their home country at the time, but the texture of the old-fashioned thick drinks of posset and syllabub was similar. The original Aztec name of the fruit was ahuacatl which to the Spanish sounded almost the same as abogado, which means lawyer (hence, advocate). The coincidence of sounds, it is said, led the Dutch to associate the drink with the legal profession, and the dictionary to believe them. So – my confusion was reasonable, was it not?
Here is a nice 1960’s retro dish for you:
Avocado Pears with Prawns
Serves 6.
3 ripe avocado pears
6 crisp lettuce leaves
paprika pepper
For the sauce:
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
2 tablespoons double cream
2 tablespoons tomato ketchup
dash Worcestershire sauce
juice of ½ lemon
8 oz.peeled prawns.
Buy fully ripe avocado pears – they should feel very soft, especially at the narrow end. Prepare the sauce and set aside. In a small mixing basin, combine together the mayonnaise, cream, tomato ketchup, Worcestershire sauce and lemon juice, and mix well. Add the prepared prawns, and chill until ready to serv.
Using a knife cut each pear in half lengthwise and remove the stone. Rub the cut surface of the six halves with the cut side of a lemon, to prevent them from discolouring. Place each half on a washed crisp lettuce leaf and set on a plate.
Spoon the prawn mixture into the centre of each pear half, filling the hollow. Sprinkle with paprika pepper, and serve.
The Times, March 8, 1967.
Quotation for the Day …
[Avocado growers] denied publicly and indignantly, the insidious, slanderous rumors that avocados were aphrodisiac. Sales immediately mounted
Waverley Root.
Monday, February 02, 2009
To keep Pears.
There are some wonderful and wonderfully awful recipes and remedies in a little book called The widowes treasure plentifully furnished with sundry precious and aprooued secretes in phisicke and chirurgery for the health and pleasure of mankinde: hereunto are adioyned, sundry pretie practises and conclusions of cookerie;with many pofitable and holesome medicines for sundrie diseases in cattell, published in London in 1588.
Amongst the formulae for artificial colours, ink, and a whole lot of other ‘secrets’ are specific remedies for ‘sundrie diseases’ in humans (such as ‘To cause one to pisse’ and ‘For one that is deafe’) as well as cattle - and a few recipes for preserving.
Food preservation methods were limited in the sixteenth century (no canning no refrigeration), but necessity breeds some very creative inventions, as you can see from these alternative 'conclusions', for prolonging the life of pears.
To keep Peares.
Put them in a vessell that they touche not each other, and make a bed of peares and an other of fine white Salt, and cover them close.
To make drye Peares.
Take faire water and Rosewater according to the quantitie of your peares, then take Honye as much as you thinke good and put in your Peares, then let them seethe very softlye that they breake not, then take them out and put them in a Collander and let them drain, then when you drawe your bread put them into the Oven in some earthen panne, and if they be not drye at the first, put them in againe until they be dry, then barrel them.
So, what do you think? I am most intrigued by the idea of pears kept in layers of salt. I guess they would take on a salty tang? And the honey-poached and then dried pears sound absolutely wonderful and eminently tryable today.
Quotation for the Day …
Pounding fragrant things - particularly garlic, basil, parsley - is a tremendous antidote to depression. But it applies also to juniper berries, coriander seeds and the grilled fruits of the chili pepper. Pounding these things produces an alteration in one's being - from sighing with fatigue to inhaling with pleasure. The cheering effects of herbs and alliums cannot be too often reiterated. Virgil's appetite was probably improved equally by pounding garlic as by eating it.
Patience Gray.
Amongst the formulae for artificial colours, ink, and a whole lot of other ‘secrets’ are specific remedies for ‘sundrie diseases’ in humans (such as ‘To cause one to pisse’ and ‘For one that is deafe’) as well as cattle - and a few recipes for preserving.
Food preservation methods were limited in the sixteenth century (no canning no refrigeration), but necessity breeds some very creative inventions, as you can see from these alternative 'conclusions', for prolonging the life of pears.
To keep Peares.
Put them in a vessell that they touche not each other, and make a bed of peares and an other of fine white Salt, and cover them close.
To make drye Peares.
Take faire water and Rosewater according to the quantitie of your peares, then take Honye as much as you thinke good and put in your Peares, then let them seethe very softlye that they breake not, then take them out and put them in a Collander and let them drain, then when you drawe your bread put them into the Oven in some earthen panne, and if they be not drye at the first, put them in againe until they be dry, then barrel them.
So, what do you think? I am most intrigued by the idea of pears kept in layers of salt. I guess they would take on a salty tang? And the honey-poached and then dried pears sound absolutely wonderful and eminently tryable today.
Quotation for the Day …
Pounding fragrant things - particularly garlic, basil, parsley - is a tremendous antidote to depression. But it applies also to juniper berries, coriander seeds and the grilled fruits of the chili pepper. Pounding these things produces an alteration in one's being - from sighing with fatigue to inhaling with pleasure. The cheering effects of herbs and alliums cannot be too often reiterated. Virgil's appetite was probably improved equally by pounding garlic as by eating it.
Patience Gray.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Mishmish at New Year, 1851
George T. Lowth was one of the nineteenth centuries intrepid travellers who turned his adventures into a book. He made his journey in 1850-1, and published his account under the title of The Wanderer in Arabia: Or Western Footsteps in Eastern Tracks. At the turn of the New Year he was ‘in the wilds of Upper Egypt’, and he and his fellow guests aboard the Cambria sat down to dinner presented by ‘the caliph and Selim.’
Lentisch-soup
A Nile fish, with Prince of Wales’ sauce (a small silver fish, delicate as a Thames flounder).
Pigeon-pie – lamb kufties, with wine sauce
Roast turkey and fried bacon.
Mashed potatoes – boiled native légumes – unknown.
Mince-pies – puddings of Damascus mishmish of apricot.
Gloucester cheese – pale ale.
Oranges, figs, almonds and raisins, dates from Mecca.
Nectar from Yemen – English biscuits.
The menu details are somewhat lost in interpretation. The dinner was clearly a mix of local and English ingredients and dishes: the lentsiche soup was presumably lentil soup, the kufties presumably meatballs (kofta, kofte.) The nectar from Yemen is a mystery – it is not likely to have been alcohol in any form, so perhaps was a sweetened fruit drink? The Gloucester cheese was, and is unequivocally English, and along with Cheshire cheese, was a seafaring staple for centuries.
I had thought at first that mishmish was a simple compote of apricots, but it is described in another book of travellers tales from Egypt as ‘an excellent dish of small apricots, dried and stewed, and served up in general with boiled rice.’ The dried apricots of Damascus are particularly admired, and some books refer to the apricots alone as the Mish-mish.I guess the name means the same as mish-mash, or ‘a confused mixture; a medley, hotchpotch, or jumble’. The OED ascribes a German origin to mish-mash, and admits to perhaps some Yiddish influence – but I would love to know what this dish is called in Arabic. Any experts out there?
The recipe for the day could easily be the simple description above, but I also offer you:
Compôte of Apricots.
Pick out the stones of twenty-five apricots that are not quite ripe, prick and blanch, but do not boil. Put them into a pound of clarified sugar, upon a slow fire, that the sugar may penetrate them; dish them in the compôtier, give the sugar a boil, and pour it over them: a kernel may be blanched and put in each.
Domestic Economy and Cookery, for rich and poor, by a Lady (1827)
Quotation for the Day …
Travel by sea nearly approximates the bliss of babyhood. They feed you, rock you gently to sleep and when you wake up, they take care of you and feed you again
Geoffrey Bocca.
Lentisch-soup
A Nile fish, with Prince of Wales’ sauce (a small silver fish, delicate as a Thames flounder).
Pigeon-pie – lamb kufties, with wine sauce
Roast turkey and fried bacon.
Mashed potatoes – boiled native légumes – unknown.
Mince-pies – puddings of Damascus mishmish of apricot.
Gloucester cheese – pale ale.
Oranges, figs, almonds and raisins, dates from Mecca.
Nectar from Yemen – English biscuits.
The menu details are somewhat lost in interpretation. The dinner was clearly a mix of local and English ingredients and dishes: the lentsiche soup was presumably lentil soup, the kufties presumably meatballs (kofta, kofte.) The nectar from Yemen is a mystery – it is not likely to have been alcohol in any form, so perhaps was a sweetened fruit drink? The Gloucester cheese was, and is unequivocally English, and along with Cheshire cheese, was a seafaring staple for centuries.
I had thought at first that mishmish was a simple compote of apricots, but it is described in another book of travellers tales from Egypt as ‘an excellent dish of small apricots, dried and stewed, and served up in general with boiled rice.’ The dried apricots of Damascus are particularly admired, and some books refer to the apricots alone as the Mish-mish.I guess the name means the same as mish-mash, or ‘a confused mixture; a medley, hotchpotch, or jumble’. The OED ascribes a German origin to mish-mash, and admits to perhaps some Yiddish influence – but I would love to know what this dish is called in Arabic. Any experts out there?
The recipe for the day could easily be the simple description above, but I also offer you:
Compôte of Apricots.
Pick out the stones of twenty-five apricots that are not quite ripe, prick and blanch, but do not boil. Put them into a pound of clarified sugar, upon a slow fire, that the sugar may penetrate them; dish them in the compôtier, give the sugar a boil, and pour it over them: a kernel may be blanched and put in each.
Domestic Economy and Cookery, for rich and poor, by a Lady (1827)
Quotation for the Day …
Travel by sea nearly approximates the bliss of babyhood. They feed you, rock you gently to sleep and when you wake up, they take care of you and feed you again
Geoffrey Bocca.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Thanksgiving Pie No.4
The most important apple pie in early America New England as they did in Old England, and in a mere orchard-establishing while, the country was awash with the fruit. Luckily the apple is easily dried – a great bonus at a time of limited preserving methods. Barrels of dried apples were a staple provision aboard the wagons on the great Westward treck, so that even a migrating family could regularly enjoy out of season apple-pies.
The New American Gardener of 1828 explained the very simple method of drying the apples.
“Every body knows that the apples are peeled, cut into about eight pieces, the core taken out, and the pieces put in the sun till they become dry and tough. They are then put by in bags or boxes in a dry place. But the flesh of the apple does not change its nature in the drying; and, therefore, the finest, and not the coarsest apples should have all this trouble bestowed upon them.”
Mrs. Rundell in A New System of Domestic Cookery (1824) gives the oven-drying method.
Dried Apples.
Put them in a cool oven six or seven times, and flatten them by degrees, and gently, when soft enough to bear it. If the oven be too hot, they will waste; and at first it should be very cool.
The biffin, the minshul crab, or any tart apples, are the sorts for drying.
Put them in a cool oven six or seven times, and flatten them by degrees, and gently, when soft enough to bear it. If the oven be too hot, they will waste; and at first it should be very cool.
The biffin, the minshul crab, or any tart apples, are the sorts for drying.
And now to prepare them for pie:
Dried Apple Pies.
Wash the apples in two or three waters, and put them to soak in rather more water than will cover them, as they absorb a great deal. After soaking an hour or two, put them into a preserving kettle with the same water, and with the thin peel of one or two lemons, chopped fine. Boil tender; when they rise, press them down, but do not stir them. When tender, add sugar, and boil fifteen or twenty minutes longer. Dried apples, soaked over night, are made tasteless, and are mashed up by being stirred. When cooked, stir in a little melted butter, some cinnamon, and powdered cloves. It is important that the apples should be of a tart kind.
Jennie June's American Cookery Book. 1870.
Jennie June's American Cookery Book. 1870.
Happy Thanksgiving to you all.
The natural term of an apple-pie is but twelve hours. It reaches its highest state about one hour after it comes from the oven, and just before its natural heat has quite departed. But every hour afterward is a declension. And after it is one day old, it is thence-forward but the ghastly corpse of apple-pie.
Henry Ward Beecher (1813-1887)
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Thanksgiving Pie No. 3
According to a gardeners’s manual of 1839, one cranberry plant requires two and a half square feet of land and will produce three and a half bushels of berries which will supply one hundred and forty pies. Even if modern horticultural methods have not increased the yield, that is an extraordinarily generous pie plant.
Living as I do in the nether part of the world, where fresh cranberries are as common as hen’s teeth and almost as expensive as fresh caviar, I am thoroughly entitled to be curious about cranberry pie. Most recipes give a cup for cup amount of sugar to berries. This is a jam proportion, is it not? Is the filling of the finished pie/tart jammy (or it that jelly-y?) I know that one year I will make it over the big water in time for Thanksgiving, and perhaps one of you will make me the real deal. I look forward to it.
In the meanwhile, only a gratuitious satisfaction of my curiosity is possible. It appears that cookbook writers over the years disagree as to whether the quintessential cranberry pie should be spiced or not, and the berries pre-cooked or not. There does seem to be consensus that cranberry pies are topless. In many parts of the world, a topless pie is a tart … but let me not start that debate again …
The extraordinarily versatile and prolific Lydia Maria Child (1802-1880) who must be considered an expert, comes out clearly in favour of topless cranberry pies. In her famous book The American Frugal Housewife (1841) says of them:
“Cranberry pies need very little spice. A little nutmeg, or cinnamon, improves them. They need a great deal of sweetening. It is well to stew the sweetening with them ; at least a part of it. It is easy to add, if you find them too sour for your taste. When cranberries are strained, and added to about their own weight in sugar, they make very delicious tarts. No upper crust.”
I have chosen a recipe for you today from an Iowa Nov 24, 1880 .
Cranberry Pie.
There are various ways to make a cranberry pie; some make it open like a custard or pumpkin pie. This is good, but not so good as to cover like an apple pie. Do not stew the berries, as some do before baking, but slit each berry with a knife. This will preserve the freshness of the fruit, which is quite an important thing. A cupful of berries aud an equal quantity of white sugar will make a medium-sized pie. .Those who like a sweet pie should have more sugar, also more berries if desired.
Bake as usual. A little flour sifted over the fruit gives it a thicker consistence.
One thing should not be forgotten, add a small teacupful of water.
Bake as usual. A little flour sifted over the fruit gives it a thicker consistence.
One thing should not be forgotten, add a small teacupful of water.
Do you, Oh Fresh Cranberry Pie Makers, really slit each and every berry individually before en-pastrying them? A great labour of love, that.
The cranberry is also, as I understand it, indispensible in the form of sauce for the turkey at Thanksgiving – no doubt an adaptation of the ancient indispensible currant sauce for various meats from the English tradition. I can buy it in a jar here in Oz, but it looks like breakfast jam. Maybe I will mortgage the house and buy some fresh berries to make it this year for our Christmas turkey. Please send me your best recipe for cranberry sauce from scratch.
Quotation for the Day …
It has been an unchallengeable American doctrine that cranberry sauce, a pink goo with overtones of sugared tomatoes, is a delectable necessity of the Thanksgiving board and that turkey is uneatable without it.
Alistair Cooke.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
More on Martinmas.
In the background of course, the pickling and preserving of the fruit harvest had been going on for many weeks. This particular duty – along with preparing the household remedies and “cordial waters” - was the responsibility of the lady of the house, no matter how fine a lady she might be. Even if she did not take a hand in it herself, she was expected to be knowledgeable about it, and supervise it carefully because the health (and nutrition) of the household depended on it, especially over winter.
Mrs Wooley’s Gentlewoman’s Companion (1673) is our seasonal inspiration this week. She is adamant that Candying, Conserving, and Preserving “are Curiosities which are not only laudible, but requisite and necessary in young Ladies and Gentlewomen.” She is using “Curiosities” in its old sense of “Proficiencies.” Her instructions still hold good today – and I particularly like the idea of pears with ginger in wine.
Pears Preserved.
Take Pears that are found, and newly gather’d from the Tree, indifferent ripe, then lay in the bottom of an Earthen-pit some dried Vine-leaves, and so may a lay of Pears and leaves till you have filled the pot, laying between each lay some sliced Ginger, then pour in as much old Wine as the pot will hold, laying some heavy thing on the Pears that they may not swim.
Green Pippins Preserved.
Take half a score of Green Pippins, (from the tree if you can), pare them, and boil them in a pottle of water, till they are like a Pulpe; strain them from the Cores, then take two pound of Sugar, and mingle it with the liquor or pulp so strained, then set it on the fire, and as soon as it boileth, put in your Pippins you intend to preserve, so let them boil leisurely; till they be enough; when they are preserved, they will be green; in like sort you may preserve Quinces, Plumbs, Peaches and Apricocks, if you take them green.
Quotation for the Day …
The jelly - the jam and the marmalade,
And the cherry-and quince-"preserves" she made!
And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear,
With cinnamon in 'em, and all things rare!
- And the more we ate was the more to spare,
Out to old Aunt Mary's! Ah!
James Whitcomb Riley.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
A Mango a Day (soon).
The first mangoes are here in the shops in
I can give no better a description of the mango than that in the very Victorian English Cassell’s Dictionary of Cookery (c1870)
“Of all the tropical fruit, the mango is one of the most grateful to Europeans. In form it is like a short, thick cucumber. The skin of the fruit is thick, and the interior consists of a pulp, which melts in the mouth with cooling sweetness.”
I love that old use of the word grateful in the sense of something ‘pleasing to the mind or the senses’.
The first mention of the fruit (as manga) in a European language was in Italian in 1510 - which is much earlier than I thought it would be, considering that not too many Europeans had travelled to its native countries of India and Burma (Myanmar) so early in the sixteenth century.
The interesting thing is that a mango in early English cookbooks also refers to any pickle resembling a mango, and particularly the sort made with whole fruit stuffed with spices and pickled (see the link below to the Cowcumber Pickle). India clearly gave the world this idea, and I am grateful for it. To pickle usually means to preserve by salting or immersing in vinegar, but the word is used loosely for other preserving methods, such as the following one, taken from a grand Anglo-Indian cookery book.
Mangoe Pickle in Oil.
Divide the mangoes into four parts rather more than half way down, having the bottom whole ; scoop out the kernel; stuff the space in each mangoe as full as it will admit of, with mustard seed, cayenne pepper, sliced ginger, sliced garlic, and grated horseradish; bind each mangoe with thread; put them into a quantity of oil sufficient to immerse the whole. Manner of preparing the mustard seed, &c. &c. - For fifty mangoes use five seers of mustard seed ; husk it, steep it in water for twenty- four hours, removing the water twice or thrice during the time, dry it afterwards for two days, reduce it into coarse powder; mix with it the ginger, garlic, cayenne pepper, and grated horseradish ; make the whole into a paste with vinegar; stuff the mangoes with it; reserve a fourth part of the mustard powder to mix with the oil into which the mangoes are to be immersed. The garlic, ginger, and horseradish are to be steeped in water, and allowed to dry for a day previous to being used.
Indian Domestic Economy and Receipt Book. By R. Riddell, 1860.
In case of a surplus of mangoes in your neighbourhood, please refer to the following recipes:
Queensland Christmas mincemeat
Cowcumbers, to Pickle in the likeness of Mangoes (1705).
Quotation for the Day …
We owe much to the fruitful meditation of our sages, but a sane view of life is, after all, elaborated mainly in the kitchen. Joseph Conrad.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The Laws of Eating.
Most sumptuary laws related to what you could or could not wear, but some determined what you could and could not eat. There are a number of reasons for the enactment of sumptuary laws. The moral, of course – to minimise the sins of pride, gluttony, or lust (the degree of neckline plunge has previously been legislated). The economic - to protect people from themselves by reducing the temptation to fall into debt; maybe also to provide jobs (enforcers) and raise revenue (fines)? And, perhaps most importantly - to reinforce the social structure in a very visible way, by ruling that only those of a certain rank could wear fur, or the colour scarlet for example, or have more than a couple of blackbirds in a dish.
In 1517, early in the reign of Henry VIII, to reduce the excessive fare at feasts (isn’t that the whole point of feasts?), it was proclaimed that the number of dishes served depended on the rank of the highest person present. A feast with a cardinal could have nine dishes, a parliamentary lord, lord mayor, or knight of the garter could have six, and (to prove that money also talks) anyone who could spend ₤40 a year or whose fortune was worth ₤500 could have three. The problem with enforcing laws of that kind is that the enforcers are from the same class who enjoy the feasting too, so it has rarely worked in practice.
In 1541, Archbishop Cranmer (the man who facilitated Henry VIII’s divorce so that he could marry Anne Boleyn, converted to Catholicism during the reign of Mary I, then recanted and was burned as a Protestant heretic) took his clergy to task on their indulgent lifestyles. His reforming regulations said that a meal for an Archbishop could include not more than six dishes of meat, and four of ‘second dishes’(what we would now call ‘dessert’ dishes), a bishop five of meat and three of second dishes, a dean or archdeacon four of meat and two of second dishes, and the ordinary clergy only two dishes of meat. The rule was honoured more in the breach than in the observance, and everyone gave up on it after a few months. The details are more interesting in their original language, so here they are, in the words of Henry VIII’s antiquary, John Leland (1506-1552)
“In the yeare of our Lord MDXLI it was agreed and condescended upon, as wel by the common consent of both tharchbishops and most part of the bishops within this realme of Englande, as also of divers grave men at that tyme, both deanes and archdeacons, the fare at their tables to be thus moderated.
“First, that tharchbishop should never exceede six divers kindes of fleshe, or six of fishe, on the fishe days; the bishop not to exceede five, the deane and archdeacon not above four, and al other under that degree not above three; provided also that tharchbishop myght have of second dishes four, the bishop three; and al others under the degree of a bishop but two. As custard, tart, fritter, cheese or apples, peares, or two of other kindes of fruites. Provided also, that if any of the inferior degree dyd receave at their table, any archbishop, bishop, deane, or archdeacon, or any of the laitie of lyke degree, viz. duke, marques, earle, viscount, baron, lorde, knyght, they myght have such provision as were mete and requisite for their degrees. Provided alway that no rate was limited in the receavying of any ambassadour. It was also provided that of the greater fyshes or fowles, there should be but one in a dishe, as crane, swan, turkey cocke, hadocke, pyke, tench; and of lesse sortes but two, viz. capons two, pheasantes two, conies two, and woodcockes two. Of lesse sortes, as of patriches, the archbishop three, the bishop and other degrees under hym two. Of blackburdes, the archbishop six, the bishop four, the other degrees three. Of larkes and snytes (snipes) and of that sort but twelve. It was also provided, that whatsoever is spared by the cutting of, of the olde superfluitie, shoulde yet be provided and spent in playne meates for the relievyng of the poore. Memorandum, that this order was kept for two or three monethes, tyll by the disusyng of certaine wylful persons it came to the olde excesse.”
To assist you to flout the old law, here are a couple of nice recipes from a cookbook of the time – A Proper newe Booke of Cokerye (about 1545)
To make a Custarde.
A Custarde the coffyn must be fyrste hardened in the oven, and then take a quart of creame and fyve or syxe yolkes of egges, and beate them well together, and put them into the creame, and put in Suger and small Raysyns and Dates sliced, and put into the coffyn butter or els marrowe, but on the fyshe dayes put in butter.
For to make wardens in Conserue. [Pears in Syrup]
Fyrste make the syrope in this wyse, take a quarte of good romney and putte a pynte of claryfyed honey, and a pounde or a halfe of suger, and myngle all those together over the fyre, till tyme they seeth, and then set it to cole. And thys is a good sirope for manye thinges, and wyll be kepte a yere or two. Then take thy warden and scrape cleane awaye the barke, but pare them not, and seeth them in good redde wyne so that they be wel soked and tender, that the wyne be nere hande soked into them, then take and strayne them throughe a cloth or through a strayner into a vessell, then put to them of this syrope aforesayde tyll it be almost fylled, and then caste in the pouders, as fyne canel, synamon, pouder of gynger and such other, and put it in a boxes and kepe it yf thou wylt and make thy syrope as thou wylt worke in quantyte, as if thou wylt worke twenty wardens or more or lesse as by experience.
Quotation for the Day …
If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris Paris
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Blue Thoughts
We do eat with our eyes, which is partly why cooks like to play with food colours. What our eyes perceive as delicious is however, to some extent (or maybe full extent) pre-determined by ancestral and personal historic ‘knowledge’. Blue food, for example (a few M&M’s aside), is not relished. This is presumably because there is no truly blue food in nature. Blueberries are really purplish-black, and the veins in blue cheese are greenish, and from a colour point of view only serve to as a counterpoint to the creamy white background.
When blue food colouring is used, it generally performs the same visual function as these veins (think of the blue M&M’s). Occasionally it is used deliberately to be outrageous – such as in the luminescent blue ‘slushy’ drinks which stain the teeth of ghoulish pre-adolescents, who drink them because their parents hate them (the drinks, that is.) In the olden days, cooks used to use two very natural blue colourings: turnsole (Crozophora tinctoria) and lapis lazuli (a brilliant blue rock, finely ground and used also in paint). Today we have E133 abd E132, which may or may not be better than whatever chemical it is in turnsole that produces blue.
The movie director Alfred Hitchcock, who supplied the quotation yesterday was famous for his horror movies, and in real life apparently had a practical-joking sense of humor. He once famously held a ‘blue dinner party’, at which all of the food was dyed blue, just to see what effect it had on his guests. I have tried for years to find an authentic and detailed description of the event, but although I am certain it did happen, the details have escaped me. The menu is variously said to have included soup, trout, chicken, venison, fish, peaches, and ice-cream, with ‘even the bread and water dyed blue.’ It is said that the guests were repelled by the food and could not eat much of it, even though the flavour was not affected. It is also often quoted that Hitchcock did not like blue skies in film. I have no idea if this is true, but bright blue skies in horror films perhaps do not create the right mood.
Blueberries, as I have said, are purplish-black, really. Here is one way to make them even blacker. I am sure they would not taste like blueberries after a few weeks of this treatment however, so what is the point?
Pickled Blueberries.
Nearly fill a jar with ripe berries, and fill up with good molasses. Cover, and set away. In a few weeks they will be ready to use.
Miss Parloa’s New Cook Book. 1880
[Miss Parloa also gives us a Black Pudding (dessert not sausage-style) made from blueberries.]
Quotation for the Day …
I've often thought tomatoes are
Much better red than blue.
A blue tomato is a food
I'd certainly eschew.
William Cole, from A Song of Thanks.
Friday, September 05, 2008
The Aftermath of a Wedding.
A wedding sets up a train of events. Bliss, sometimes. Divorce, often. Children, frequenty. Queen Victoria Europe with spouses.
Apple pie is the universal Western symbol of motherhood, for reasons, I suppose, that apples and mothers are everywhere. In the case of my young friend who has inspired this week’s stories, it should be apricot pie – for reasons that I wont explain because no matter how funny they are, some stories should be kept within the family circle. Or at least not made public on the eve of the Bride’s Big Day.
The apricot originated in China Europe in the mid-sixteenth century. It required some clever horticultural work before it could be grown well there, and apricots did not become easily available in England
The recipe for apricot pie is not a secret, so here it is. The pie in the family story was a double crust pie – a ‘real’ pie, in my eyes, not a wimpy pot-pie style. And it was also made from canned apricots, for reasons that I wont go into, because that is part of the story. I know, because I made one for the girl-who-will-be-bride.
Apricot Pie.
Pare, stone, and halve the apricots. Place them in a pie-dish, piling them high in the middle. Strew over them a little sifted sugar, and a few of the kernels blanched and chopped small. Cover them with a good light crust, and bake in a moderate oven. Time to bake, three-quarters of an hour. Probable cost, 2s. for a moderate-sized dish. Sufficient for four or five persons.
Cassell’s Dictionary of Cookery, c1870’s.
Quotation for the Day …
Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine – good god, how fine. It went down soft, pulpy, slushy, oozy – all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like large beatified Strawberry. I shall certainly breed. John Keats.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Dinner Plans
This week I am going to give you a menu a day to help you answer the pesky question of what to have for dinner (and breakfast). Today it is from Cre-Fydd’s Family Fare, or Young Housewife’s Daily Assistant, published in 1864. The ‘Kitchen’ means the servants. I assume supper consisted of dinner leftovers (‘dinner’ was in this menu book, the
BREAKFAST
Potted tongue, pigeons, omelet.
DINNER
Broiled Mackerel.
Boiled Leg of Lamb (5 lbs.), Caper Sauce.
Mashed Turnips, Carrots, Potatoes.
Mould of Greengages, Devonshire Cream.
Cheese &c.
KITCHEN (i.e servants)
Mutton Pudding, Potatoes.
When you look at the whole spread of menus, it is easy to see the ‘progress’ of food. The following day, for example, the family had soup made from this day’s mutton liquor, and the servants had Cold Lamb and Salad.
I am enamoured of greengages – I am not sure why, in this fruit-fertile country – we cannot get them. I hope to feast on them in two weeks time when I am in
Rhubarb Mould.
Skin and cut into small pieces enough fresh young rhubarb to fill a quart measure; put it into a skillet, with a pound and a half of loaf sugar, the grated rind and strained juice of half a lemon, and twelve bitter almongs, blanched and chopped; boil fast; skin and stir till it becomes a rich marmalade. Add half an ounce of isinglass dissolved int two tablespoonfuls of boiling water; rub a mould with sweet almond oil, put in the fruit, and let it stand in a cool place till firmly set. Turn out, and serve, with Devonshire cream around it.
Greengage Mould.
Follow the preceding receipt, using three pints of greengages, and the kernels, blanched, instead of rhumbarb and almonds; whip a pint of sweet cream to a froth, and pour over; garnish with macaroons.
Quotation for the Day ..
Time is an illusion, lunchtime doubly so. David Adams.
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