Unless they are tiny, and called navets, and served with duck, in Paris, by a handsome waiter (with a French accent, naturally), turnips lack both elegance and sex-appeal, methinks. Not that I don’t like them, but we are talking image here. Turnips are most likely to evoke ideas of robust peasant farmers and cold days and thick soup, and they are hardly featured in early cookery books, which describe the food of the well-to-do. Nevertheless, useful things are, well, useful, and we must celebrate useful too, must we not?
The turnip is defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as ‘the fleshy, globular or spheroidal root of a biennial cruciferous plant, Brassica Rapa, var. depressa, having toothed, somewhat hairy leaves, and yellow flowers, cultivated from ancient times as a culinary vegetable, and for feeding sheep and cattle; also, the plant itself, of which the young shoots (turnip-tops) are frequently boiled as greens.’ As I said, not elegant or sexy, but an ancient, hairy-leaved, animal food. The first quotation in the OED supports its useful, nourishing quality: from Elyot’s Castel of Helth (1533) we read ‘Turnepes beinge well boyled in water, and after with fatte fleshe, norysheth moche.’ I note that the entire list of quotations is devoid of reference to turnip flavour or other deliciousness.
How useful are turnips, really? They turn up in the medicinal chapter of The Queen’s Closet Opened. Incomparable Secrets in Physick, Chirugery, Preserving, Candying, and Cookery (1655)
Syrup of Turneps.
First bake the Turneps in a pot with houshold bread, then press out the liquor between two platters, put a pint of this liquor to half a pint of Hysop water, and as much brown Sugar Candy as will sweeten it, and boyl it to the consistence of a Syrup. It is very good for a Cold or Consumption.
And how much more useful can a recipe be than the following one from the same era – cheap bread for the poor, with medicinal qualities to boot?
Turnip bread.
Take about half a Bushel of middling sort of Turnips, not sticky, but such as will boil soft: being pared and boiled, press out the Water very hard until they are quite dry, beat them in a Mortar, and mix with the Pulp about two pound of fine Wheat-flower, and two ounces of Carraway-seeds; put in a pint, or somewhat more of new Ale-yeast, mould it up as other Bread, and let it be well soaked, and it will not only look, but tast like Bread. This is not only made for saving Charges in poor Families in a dear Year, but of late has been much in esteem for Consumptions, and those troubled with shortness of Breath and Ptissick; being very wholesome and nourishing.
William Salmon’s Household Companion (1695)
Wine is pretty useful too, although I doubt if there were some good shiraz grapes around that this recipe would be popular.
To make Turnip Wine.
Take good many turnips, pare, slice and put them in a cyder press, and press out all the juice very well. To every gallon of juice have three pounds of lump-sugar, have a vessel ready just big enough to hold the juice, put your sugar into a vessel, and also to every gallon of juice half a pint of brandy. Pour in the juice and lay something over the bung for a week, to see if it works. If it does you must not bung it down till it has done working; then stop it close for three months, and draw it off in another vessel. When it is fine, bottle it off.
The Art of Cookery made Plain and Easy, Hannah Glasse (1774)
Quotation for the Day.
A degenerate nobleman is like a turnip. There is nothing good of him but that which is underground.
English saying.
Showing posts with label medicine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label medicine. Show all posts
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Chowder Beer.
Yesterday we considered chowder – the fish stew/soup claimed by New Englanders as one of their own dishes (although it may have roots in medieval England?). Once upon a time there was also a thing called chowder beer. Beer made from fish? Fish-flavoured beer?
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, ‘chowder beer’ is ‘a liquor made by boiling black spruce in water and mixing molasses with the decoction.’ In other words, it is spruce beer. According to the OED, in the fifteenth century (in Britain) ‘spruce beer’ was ‘Beer from Prussia’, and also (simultaneously?) ‘a fermented beverage made with an extract from the leaves and branches of the spruce fir.’ It appears therefore that British spruce (or ‘chowder’) beer well and truly precedes fish chowder stew/soup - which seems to have popped up, linguistically speaking, in eighteenth century America. The ‘American’ connection is presumably the addition of molasses?
I am comfortable with the connection between beer and Prussia, but am baffled by the possible associations between beer and Prussia and fish, soup, and spruce trees. The OED fails to hazard a guess at the connection, but on further examination there does appear to be a vaguely fishy connection. A clue appears in The history of Cornwall, civil, military, religious.., by Richard Polwhele (1816):
It was known well before this time that ‘spruce beer’ was good for ‘inward bruises’ (which could have been caused by scurvy?) So, the connection may be that this spruce (chowder) beer was useful for those embarking on long fishing voyages – perhaps to the distant cod banks of New England??? Remember the possible jowter (fish peddlar)/chowder connection mentioned in yesterday’s post??? Please do be opinionated on this topic, for I am very intrigued.
In the meanwhile, Richard Polwhele’s book gives a very basic recipe for chowder beer:
Quotation for the Day
Scurvy: A disease characterized by general debility of the body, extreme tenderness of the gums, foul breath, subcutaneous eruptions and pains in the limbs, … Now recognized as due to insufficient ascorbic acid (vitamin C) in the diet.
Oxford English Dictionary.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, ‘chowder beer’ is ‘a liquor made by boiling black spruce in water and mixing molasses with the decoction.’ In other words, it is spruce beer. According to the OED, in the fifteenth century (in Britain) ‘spruce beer’ was ‘Beer from Prussia’, and also (simultaneously?) ‘a fermented beverage made with an extract from the leaves and branches of the spruce fir.’ It appears therefore that British spruce (or ‘chowder’) beer well and truly precedes fish chowder stew/soup - which seems to have popped up, linguistically speaking, in eighteenth century America. The ‘American’ connection is presumably the addition of molasses?
I am comfortable with the connection between beer and Prussia, but am baffled by the possible associations between beer and Prussia and fish, soup, and spruce trees. The OED fails to hazard a guess at the connection, but on further examination there does appear to be a vaguely fishy connection. A clue appears in The history of Cornwall, civil, military, religious.., by Richard Polwhele (1816):
In the London Mag for September 1764, a correspondent communicates “the experiences of Mr Peter Kingwood, of Topsham, in Devonshire (who had been many years in the sea service, and continued to his death to be concerned in shipping) in regard to a the utility of a cheap and easily prepared drink, called by him chowder beer, for preventing the scurvy in long voyages, or for the cure of it where it may have been contracted.
It was known well before this time that ‘spruce beer’ was good for ‘inward bruises’ (which could have been caused by scurvy?) So, the connection may be that this spruce (chowder) beer was useful for those embarking on long fishing voyages – perhaps to the distant cod banks of New England??? Remember the possible jowter (fish peddlar)/chowder connection mentioned in yesterday’s post??? Please do be opinionated on this topic, for I am very intrigued.
In the meanwhile, Richard Polwhele’s book gives a very basic recipe for chowder beer:
The method of preparation of chowder beer is as follows: take twelve gallons of water, and put therin three pounds and a half of black spruce. Boil it for three hours; then take out the fir, and put to the liquor seven pounds of melasses, and just boil it up. Then take it off, strain it through a sieve, and when milk warm, put to it about four spoonfuls of yeast to work it. For common drink for seamen, two gallons of melasses may e sufficient to an hogshead of liquor. It soon works. In two or three days stop the bung in the cask, and in five or six days, when fine, bottle it for drinking.
Quotation for the Day
Scurvy: A disease characterized by general debility of the body, extreme tenderness of the gums, foul breath, subcutaneous eruptions and pains in the limbs, … Now recognized as due to insufficient ascorbic acid (vitamin C) in the diet.
Oxford English Dictionary.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Losing it with Liquorice.
I am leaving Sydney today to return to Brisbane after a marvellous weekend. Just for the fun of it, I decided that for my final Sydney-themed post I would try to find at least one food-related story in the Sydney newspapers of one hundred years ago today.
Sadly for us, the Sydney Morning Herald of 20 September 1910 (a Tuesday) did not contain any recipes. There was mention of the Lord Mayor’s dinner the previous evening, with an extensive discussion of the speeches, but none of the bill of fare. Several other articles covered the success (or not) of the market for Australian products such as oranges, butter, and chilled beef in Britain. And there was this interesting ‘scientific’ article:
It seems that the weight loss industry was already alive and well a hundred years ago. So, how efficacious would this ‘remedy’ have been? It might actually have worked – at a price. The active ingredient was Marmola - a patent medicine of the time containing ‘thyroid substance’ which was sold over the counter as a cure for obesity. Sufficient of this product would cause the equivalent of an over-active thyroid gland, so it would certainly have had the potential to cause weight loss – or death due to heart damage. The American inventor of this product, Edward D. Hayes, had for several decades been the subject of much activity on the part of government agencies in his own country, over his claims for the benefits of several of his snake-oil nostrums, including Marmola. The dangers and controversy must not have reached Australia – so the marketing in Australia may well have been a clever move on Mr Hayes’ part.
The other ingredients were presumably in the product for reasons of taste and texture.
Glycerine (glycerol) is a sweet, viscous liquid obtained from the saponification of fats and oils, and which has many applications in the food, pharmaceutical, medical, and beauty industries. Glycyrrhiza is an ingredient derived from the rhizome (‘root’) of the plant Glycyrrhiza glabra – commonly known as licorice (or liquorice). Licorice was used for medicinal purposes since at least since the early middle ages - long before it became used as a sweetmeat (beware: nowadays, ‘licorice’ candy is frequently actually flavoured with anise.)
The story seems a good excuse to give you a recipe for licorice. If you take out the thyroid extract, the ‘remedy’ for corpulence given above would probably make a quite delicious ‘tea’, but I thought you would want more. I had a mind to give you a recipe for licorice toffee, but was unable to find a convincing historical version. Instead, I give you licorice tablets – intended presumably for medicinal use, but quite an acceptable confection, methinks. There are two particularly interesting points about this medicine/confection. One is that the resulting cake is white, not black as we think of liquorice today. The other is that it takes three hours beating (never suffering it to stand still during that time) – in the days well before electrical appliances were available! Kitchen hands must have had a lot of stamina in those days.
Cakes, Liquorice.
Take hyssop and red rose water, of each half a pint, half a pound of green liquorice, the outside scraped off, and then beat with a pestle; put to it half a pound of aniseeds, and steep it all night in the water; boil it with a gentle fire till the taste is well out of the liquorice; strain it, put to it three pounds of liquorice powder, and set it on a gentle fire till it is come to the thickness of cream; take it off, and put to it half a pound of white sugar candy seered very fine; beat this well together for at least three hours, and never suffer it to stand still; as you beat it, you must strew in double-refined sugar finely seered, at least three pounds; half an hour before it is finished, put in half a spoonful of gum dragon [gum traganth], steeped in orange-flower water: when it is very white then it is beat enough; roll it up with white sugar; and if you want it perfumed, put in a pastil or two.
The cook's own book, and housekeeper's register, by Mrs. N. K. M. Lee (1854)
Quotation for the Day.
Not on morality, but on cookery, let us build our stronghold: there brandishing our frying-pan, as censer, let us offer sweet incense to the Devil, and live at ease on the fat things he has provided for his elect!
Thomas Carlyle.
Sadly for us, the Sydney Morning Herald of 20 September 1910 (a Tuesday) did not contain any recipes. There was mention of the Lord Mayor’s dinner the previous evening, with an extensive discussion of the speeches, but none of the bill of fare. Several other articles covered the success (or not) of the market for Australian products such as oranges, butter, and chilled beef in Britain. And there was this interesting ‘scientific’ article:
CURED OF CORPULENCY.
SCIENTIFIC CERTAINTY NOW RECOGNISED.
The marvellous progress of modern medical science shines all the more markedly for the acknowledged ignorance of old-time practitioners in their treatment of many diseases – especially that of obesity, with which nobody can deny that they boggled [?] deplorably. Nowadays the matter is simple. Any over-fat person can make up the following efficacious prescription, or get his (or her) chemist to do so: Take one ounce of fluid extract of Glycyrrhiza B.P., one ounce of pure Glycerine R.P., one half-ounce of Marmola, and mix with peppermint water, to make six ounces in all. Dose: Two teaspoonfuls after each meal. The rapid reduction of weight effected by this simple and harmless remedy is delightful to every stout person who tries it, especially as there are no exacting dietary or other restrictions imposed. The tonic value of this remedy is as highly appreciated as is its reductive properties; the entire digestive system undergoes a beneficial change. Health, vigour, pure rich blood, renewed muscular development, are amongst the valuable results of this truly scientific and reinvigorating treatment, which leaves no wrinkles, however great the reduction effected.
It seems that the weight loss industry was already alive and well a hundred years ago. So, how efficacious would this ‘remedy’ have been? It might actually have worked – at a price. The active ingredient was Marmola - a patent medicine of the time containing ‘thyroid substance’ which was sold over the counter as a cure for obesity. Sufficient of this product would cause the equivalent of an over-active thyroid gland, so it would certainly have had the potential to cause weight loss – or death due to heart damage. The American inventor of this product, Edward D. Hayes, had for several decades been the subject of much activity on the part of government agencies in his own country, over his claims for the benefits of several of his snake-oil nostrums, including Marmola. The dangers and controversy must not have reached Australia – so the marketing in Australia may well have been a clever move on Mr Hayes’ part.
The other ingredients were presumably in the product for reasons of taste and texture.
Glycerine (glycerol) is a sweet, viscous liquid obtained from the saponification of fats and oils, and which has many applications in the food, pharmaceutical, medical, and beauty industries. Glycyrrhiza is an ingredient derived from the rhizome (‘root’) of the plant Glycyrrhiza glabra – commonly known as licorice (or liquorice). Licorice was used for medicinal purposes since at least since the early middle ages - long before it became used as a sweetmeat (beware: nowadays, ‘licorice’ candy is frequently actually flavoured with anise.)
The story seems a good excuse to give you a recipe for licorice. If you take out the thyroid extract, the ‘remedy’ for corpulence given above would probably make a quite delicious ‘tea’, but I thought you would want more. I had a mind to give you a recipe for licorice toffee, but was unable to find a convincing historical version. Instead, I give you licorice tablets – intended presumably for medicinal use, but quite an acceptable confection, methinks. There are two particularly interesting points about this medicine/confection. One is that the resulting cake is white, not black as we think of liquorice today. The other is that it takes three hours beating (never suffering it to stand still during that time) – in the days well before electrical appliances were available! Kitchen hands must have had a lot of stamina in those days.
Cakes, Liquorice.
Take hyssop and red rose water, of each half a pint, half a pound of green liquorice, the outside scraped off, and then beat with a pestle; put to it half a pound of aniseeds, and steep it all night in the water; boil it with a gentle fire till the taste is well out of the liquorice; strain it, put to it three pounds of liquorice powder, and set it on a gentle fire till it is come to the thickness of cream; take it off, and put to it half a pound of white sugar candy seered very fine; beat this well together for at least three hours, and never suffer it to stand still; as you beat it, you must strew in double-refined sugar finely seered, at least three pounds; half an hour before it is finished, put in half a spoonful of gum dragon [gum traganth], steeped in orange-flower water: when it is very white then it is beat enough; roll it up with white sugar; and if you want it perfumed, put in a pastil or two.
The cook's own book, and housekeeper's register, by Mrs. N. K. M. Lee (1854)
Quotation for the Day.
Not on morality, but on cookery, let us build our stronghold: there brandishing our frying-pan, as censer, let us offer sweet incense to the Devil, and live at ease on the fat things he has provided for his elect!
Thomas Carlyle.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Medicinal Chocolate.
Yesterday’s ‘medical’ source for an ice-cream sundae recipe reminded me of just how many ‘new’ ingredients have been used first for their medicinal properties. Rhubarb, which featured in a post a few weeks ago, is one such example. The tomato too, when it first came from the New World was suspected as a food, but got an early step up the familiarity ladder on the basis of its supposed therapeutic purposes.
Chocolate (also from the New World) met a different reception from the tomato and the potato when it was introduced to Europe. Not surprisingly, it was instantly embraced by the aristocracy for the sheer deliciousness of it – and for the same reason instantly suspected by the clergy, on the principle that if it was delicious, it must be sinful. A happy solution for all was the determination that chocolate had medicinal qualities, and was therefore acceptable.
Various therapeutic benefits were attributed to chocolate, and it really took off as a medicine in the seventeenth century. The opinion quoted below highlights how much our attitudes to ‘preserving health’ have changed since that time – when being fat was a health advantage!
Chocolate was useful also as a vehicle for other medications – and a significant step better than ‘a spoonful of sugar’ to make the medicine go down, methinks. One did not need a medical degree to publish medical advice in the seventeenth century, so there was no barrier to the famous scientist Robert Boyle (1627-1691) doing just that. Here is one of the remedies from his little book Medicinal Experiments, or, a collection of choice and safe remedies for the most part simple and easily prepared.
An Excellent Remedy for the Gonorrhoea.
Take of choice Amber [ambergris], and of Mastich, both reduc’d to very fine Pouder, and very well mixt, equal parts, and of this Mixture give half a Dram at a time in proper Vehicle, or in a draught of Chocolate. Continue this for three Weeks, or a Month, if need require, purging the day before you begin to take it, and once every Week afterwards, especially when you leave off the use of the Pouder.
Chocolate still had a firm place in the therapeutic armamentarium as the nineteenth century advanced. The first known recipe pamphlet issued by Walter Baker & Co. in the USA was entitled An Account of the Manufacture and Use of Cocoa and Chocolate and was published in 1876. It was followed by Chocolate Receipts, in about 1880. The medical and nutritional value of chocolate was heavily promoted by the company, with the usual expert testimonials for support. A German physician called Christoph Wilhelm Hufeland is quoted as saying “I recommend good chocolate to nervous, excitable persons; also to the weak, debilitated and infirm; to children and women. I have obtained excellent results from it in many cases of chronic diseases of the digestive organs.”
Modern medicine is catching up with this old idea too, as there seems to be good evidence for the health benefits of small amounts of dark chocolate in the diet.
For today’s recipe, I give you a treat from a cookery book heavily biased towards healthy food. It is Miss Beecher's Housekeeper and Healthkeeper: containing five hundred recipes for economical and healthful cooking; also, many directions for securing health and happiness ... published in New York in 1873. Miss Beecher’s Chocolate Cake is a variation of the basic recipe for One, Two, Three, Four Cake.
One, Two, Three, Four Cake.
Take one cup of butter (half a cup is better), two cups of sugar, three cups of flour, and four eggs. Mix butter, sugar, and yolks. Then add the flour very thoroughly, and lastly the whites in a stiff froth. Bake immediately, and the cake will be light, with nothing added. But it is equally light to omit the eggs and work two tea-spoonfuls of cream tartar into the flour, athen mix well first the butter and sugar, and then the flour. When ready to bake, mix very thoroughly and quickly a tea-spoonful of soda, or a bit of sal volatile dissolved in a cup of warm (not hot) water. This makes two loaves.
Chocolate Cake.
Bake the above in thin layers, only a little thicker than carpeting. When nearly cool, spread over the cake a paste made of equal parts of scraped chocolate and sugar wet with water. Place the cake in layers one over another, frost the top, and then cut in oblong pieces for the cake-basket.
Quotation for the Day.
Make a list of important things to do today. At the top of your list, put 'eat chocolate.' Now, you'll get at least one thing done today.
Gina Hayes.
Chocolate (also from the New World) met a different reception from the tomato and the potato when it was introduced to Europe. Not surprisingly, it was instantly embraced by the aristocracy for the sheer deliciousness of it – and for the same reason instantly suspected by the clergy, on the principle that if it was delicious, it must be sinful. A happy solution for all was the determination that chocolate had medicinal qualities, and was therefore acceptable.
Various therapeutic benefits were attributed to chocolate, and it really took off as a medicine in the seventeenth century. The opinion quoted below highlights how much our attitudes to ‘preserving health’ have changed since that time – when being fat was a health advantage!
The confection made of Cacao called Chocolate or Chocoletto which may be had in diverse places in London, at reasonable rates, is of wonderful efficacy for the procreation of children … for it not only vehemently incites to Venus, but causes conception in women . . . and besides that it preserves health, for it makes such as take it often to become fat and corpulent, fair and amiable.
William Coles, Adam in Eden (1657)
Chocolate was useful also as a vehicle for other medications – and a significant step better than ‘a spoonful of sugar’ to make the medicine go down, methinks. One did not need a medical degree to publish medical advice in the seventeenth century, so there was no barrier to the famous scientist Robert Boyle (1627-1691) doing just that. Here is one of the remedies from his little book Medicinal Experiments, or, a collection of choice and safe remedies for the most part simple and easily prepared.
An Excellent Remedy for the Gonorrhoea.
Take of choice Amber [ambergris], and of Mastich, both reduc’d to very fine Pouder, and very well mixt, equal parts, and of this Mixture give half a Dram at a time in proper Vehicle, or in a draught of Chocolate. Continue this for three Weeks, or a Month, if need require, purging the day before you begin to take it, and once every Week afterwards, especially when you leave off the use of the Pouder.
Chocolate still had a firm place in the therapeutic armamentarium as the nineteenth century advanced. The first known recipe pamphlet issued by Walter Baker & Co. in the USA was entitled An Account of the Manufacture and Use of Cocoa and Chocolate and was published in 1876. It was followed by Chocolate Receipts, in about 1880. The medical and nutritional value of chocolate was heavily promoted by the company, with the usual expert testimonials for support. A German physician called Christoph Wilhelm Hufeland is quoted as saying “I recommend good chocolate to nervous, excitable persons; also to the weak, debilitated and infirm; to children and women. I have obtained excellent results from it in many cases of chronic diseases of the digestive organs.”
Modern medicine is catching up with this old idea too, as there seems to be good evidence for the health benefits of small amounts of dark chocolate in the diet.
For today’s recipe, I give you a treat from a cookery book heavily biased towards healthy food. It is Miss Beecher's Housekeeper and Healthkeeper: containing five hundred recipes for economical and healthful cooking; also, many directions for securing health and happiness ... published in New York in 1873. Miss Beecher’s Chocolate Cake is a variation of the basic recipe for One, Two, Three, Four Cake.
One, Two, Three, Four Cake.
Take one cup of butter (half a cup is better), two cups of sugar, three cups of flour, and four eggs. Mix butter, sugar, and yolks. Then add the flour very thoroughly, and lastly the whites in a stiff froth. Bake immediately, and the cake will be light, with nothing added. But it is equally light to omit the eggs and work two tea-spoonfuls of cream tartar into the flour, athen mix well first the butter and sugar, and then the flour. When ready to bake, mix very thoroughly and quickly a tea-spoonful of soda, or a bit of sal volatile dissolved in a cup of warm (not hot) water. This makes two loaves.
Chocolate Cake.
Bake the above in thin layers, only a little thicker than carpeting. When nearly cool, spread over the cake a paste made of equal parts of scraped chocolate and sugar wet with water. Place the cake in layers one over another, frost the top, and then cut in oblong pieces for the cake-basket.
Quotation for the Day.
Make a list of important things to do today. At the top of your list, put 'eat chocolate.' Now, you'll get at least one thing done today.
Gina Hayes.
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
To make you feel better.
The medical symbol ℞ (sometimes written Rx) which indicates a prescription is an abbreviation of the Latin recipere, which is an instruction to ‘take the following’. Clearly the word also gave rise to our word recipe. That food and medicine are closely related, and may indeed often be the same thing, has been well accepted for millennia, and I am particularly fond of this little word reminder.
I am also fond of finding recipes in unusual sources. The first edition of the great Encyclopaedia Britannica in 1768 provided the bread recipe for a previous blog post, and we have had some good recipes from agricultural journals, farmers magazines, and popular science magazines in the past. We have also had recipes from pharmaceutical sources on a number of occasions, and I want to revisit that idea again today. Admittedly, many ‘recipes’ in dispensatories and pharmacopoeia are excruciatingly medicinal, and far too clearly on the ‘remedy’ end of the prescription spectrum. Some, however, can be seen as culinary recipes in their own right, and of these I am particularly, inordinately fond.
I give you a selection of remedies/recipes from A new supplement to the latest pharmacopoeias of London, Edinburgh, Dublin ... by James Rennie (1833), in case you should feel poorly sometime soon.
Panada
Put a glass of white wine or half a glass of rum into two to four glasses of water, with a little sugar and lemon-peel, or nutmeg; bring to the boil, and then put in some grated bread till is of a proper thickness.
Garlic Vinegar
Peel and chop 2 ounces of garlic, pour on this a quart of good white wine vinegar, digest in a close vessel for seven days, shaking it every day; decant off and bottle up. A very few drops to flavour soup, to make mustard, &c.
Celery (Essence of) is prepared by steeping half an ounce of the bruised seeds in a quarter of a pint of brandy, or other spirit, for a fortnight. A few drops will flavour a pint of soup, or broth.
Ginger Beer is prepared by adding to a gallon of soft water 2lb of refined lump sugar, two lemons sliced, 2 ounces of powdered ginger, and a dessert spoonful of bitartrate of potass; simmer over a slow fire for half an hour, but do not let it boil; add a tablespoonful of yeast, ferment in the usual way, and bottle.
Pineapple Cream.
Grate 1 lb of fresh pine-apple; add half a pint of syrup, a pint and a half of cream, and the juice of two lemons; rub through a sieve, cut two slices of pine in small dice, and freeze.
[the book also had recipes for pineapple compote, jam, water ice, and preserved slices.]
Quotation for the Day.
Eat what you like and let the food fight it out inside.
Mark Twain
I am also fond of finding recipes in unusual sources. The first edition of the great Encyclopaedia Britannica in 1768 provided the bread recipe for a previous blog post, and we have had some good recipes from agricultural journals, farmers magazines, and popular science magazines in the past. We have also had recipes from pharmaceutical sources on a number of occasions, and I want to revisit that idea again today. Admittedly, many ‘recipes’ in dispensatories and pharmacopoeia are excruciatingly medicinal, and far too clearly on the ‘remedy’ end of the prescription spectrum. Some, however, can be seen as culinary recipes in their own right, and of these I am particularly, inordinately fond.
I give you a selection of remedies/recipes from A new supplement to the latest pharmacopoeias of London, Edinburgh, Dublin ... by James Rennie (1833), in case you should feel poorly sometime soon.
Panada
Put a glass of white wine or half a glass of rum into two to four glasses of water, with a little sugar and lemon-peel, or nutmeg; bring to the boil, and then put in some grated bread till is of a proper thickness.
Garlic Vinegar
Peel and chop 2 ounces of garlic, pour on this a quart of good white wine vinegar, digest in a close vessel for seven days, shaking it every day; decant off and bottle up. A very few drops to flavour soup, to make mustard, &c.
Celery (Essence of) is prepared by steeping half an ounce of the bruised seeds in a quarter of a pint of brandy, or other spirit, for a fortnight. A few drops will flavour a pint of soup, or broth.
Ginger Beer is prepared by adding to a gallon of soft water 2lb of refined lump sugar, two lemons sliced, 2 ounces of powdered ginger, and a dessert spoonful of bitartrate of potass; simmer over a slow fire for half an hour, but do not let it boil; add a tablespoonful of yeast, ferment in the usual way, and bottle.
Pineapple Cream.
Grate 1 lb of fresh pine-apple; add half a pint of syrup, a pint and a half of cream, and the juice of two lemons; rub through a sieve, cut two slices of pine in small dice, and freeze.
[the book also had recipes for pineapple compote, jam, water ice, and preserved slices.]
Quotation for the Day.
Eat what you like and let the food fight it out inside.
Mark Twain
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Is Gruel Cruel?
I have talked about gruel before, on this blog, but it is a rare (maybe non-existent) food topic that can be exhausted in one short story. Yesterday I delved into an interesting nineteenth century English book of home remedies and recipes called Cookery for Invalids: Persons of Delicate Digestion, and for Children. Given the author’s hearty enthusiasm for the medicinal value of sherry, brandy, champagne, and other alcoholic beverages, I wondered if perhaps she was also upbeat about some of the traditional dishes for invalids – including gruel.
There is often a real kill-joy tone in nineteenth century home medical texts – as if there was a deliberate attempt to be punitive towards the sickly person, or at the very least, to ensure there was no secondary gain in the sick role. The concept of tempting the invalid’s appetite seems seriously at odds with many of the awful-sounding recipes in these books – and ‘gruel’ is the epitome of these.
The word ‘gruel’ is derived from the Old French gruau meaning ‘ground grain’, and in England in the fourteenth century, this is what was meant. Also at this time the word referred to a thin soupy dish made from grain. Gruel could be made from any grain, but in particular oatmeal and barley were used. The liquid might be water, or ‘cow mylke’ - or almond milk for the wealthy, especially during Lent. Depending on circumstances or availability, almost anything could be added to enrich this basic potage – leafy greens, eggs, currants, or wine, for example.
I am sure that some of these early ‘gruels’ or grain potages were delicious as well as sustaining, but by the nineteenth century something had happened to its reputation. Perhaps the Poor Laws had something to do with it, when it became one of the staple foods of the workhouse, its miserably weak character reinforced by the image of Charles Dickens’ Oliver holding out his empty bowl and asking for more?
The word ‘gruel’ instantly evokes the idea of eternally unappeased hunger. It even sounds thin and tasteless. It makes us think of prisons and workhouses, of gruesome conditions and gruelling work, of chronic coughs and wasting illnesses. Doesn’t it?
So, what does the wine-approving Mary Hooper say on the subject of gruel?
The author gives many recipes for gruel made from barley, oats, or fine wheat flour. I give you two of the more interesting versions, for your use when the cold virus strikes.
Restorative Gruel.
This delicious substitute for Groat Gruel is made as follows:-one ounce of rice, one ounce of sago, one ounce of pearl barley; put three pints of water, and boil gently for three hours, when the liquor should be reduced to a quart. Strain it in exactly the same manner as groat gruel, and flavour with wine, brandy, or anything else that may be suitable.
If made a little thicker, say with an ounce and a half of each ingredient to three pints of water, a jelly will be produced, which may be eaten cold with sugar, fruit, syrups, or preserve.
Onion Gruel.
This is an old-fashioned remedy for a cold, but can never be recommended unless boiled for at least five hours. The long boiling takes away the pungent odour of the onions and the breath will not then be aflected by them.
Take two ounces of Embden groats and four large onions sliced, put them on in a quart of cold water. Let the gruel boil gently for five hours, stirring occasionally, adding water to keep the original quantity. When done, strain through a fine sieve, salt to taste, and serve with toasted bread. The yolk of an egg beaten up in the gruel
is a good addition.
P.S Other recipes for gruel have appeared in this blog. They are:
Water Gruel (17th C)
Oatmeal Gruel (early 18th C)
Barley Gruel (18th C)
Potato Gruel (19th C)
Quotation for the Day.
“I’ll dispose of my teeth as I see fit, and after they’ve gone, I’ll get along. I started off living on gruel, and by God, I can always go back to it again.”
S.J. Perelman.
There is often a real kill-joy tone in nineteenth century home medical texts – as if there was a deliberate attempt to be punitive towards the sickly person, or at the very least, to ensure there was no secondary gain in the sick role. The concept of tempting the invalid’s appetite seems seriously at odds with many of the awful-sounding recipes in these books – and ‘gruel’ is the epitome of these.
The word ‘gruel’ is derived from the Old French gruau meaning ‘ground grain’, and in England in the fourteenth century, this is what was meant. Also at this time the word referred to a thin soupy dish made from grain. Gruel could be made from any grain, but in particular oatmeal and barley were used. The liquid might be water, or ‘cow mylke’ - or almond milk for the wealthy, especially during Lent. Depending on circumstances or availability, almost anything could be added to enrich this basic potage – leafy greens, eggs, currants, or wine, for example.
I am sure that some of these early ‘gruels’ or grain potages were delicious as well as sustaining, but by the nineteenth century something had happened to its reputation. Perhaps the Poor Laws had something to do with it, when it became one of the staple foods of the workhouse, its miserably weak character reinforced by the image of Charles Dickens’ Oliver holding out his empty bowl and asking for more?
The word ‘gruel’ instantly evokes the idea of eternally unappeased hunger. It even sounds thin and tasteless. It makes us think of prisons and workhouses, of gruesome conditions and gruelling work, of chronic coughs and wasting illnesses. Doesn’t it?
So, what does the wine-approving Mary Hooper say on the subject of gruel?
“Thus it is that gruel, which in former times was said to ‘gratify nature’ and to be the king of spoon meats and the queen of soups, and which played so important a part in the sick dietary, has fallen into disrepute. The fact is that in these days few persons know gruel except as manufactured from the starchy preparations the chief merits ofwhich appear to be that they “can be made in ten minutes;” and it is, therefore, no wonder so much dislike is expressed for it.
The delicious, creamy, nourishing, one may almost say elegant, gruel, made by the hands of our grandmothers for their invalids, is now hardly known among us. It was either made from groats, crushed in the household mortar, or bought specially prepared, and known as “Embden groats,” and was in either case admirably suited for the purpose. After many hours' boiling the gruel was carefully strained, and was then ready to be served plain, or flavoured, as the case might require. We can hardly wonder in these days that gruel is so unpopular, being what it is - a “patent” hasty compound manufactured to suit the slovenly and impatient culinary habits of the period - or that doctors have almost ceased to order it as an especially useful and restorative diet.
The present writer well remembers her mother, whilst relating to her the sorrow and distress of the nation at the premature death of the Princess Charlotte of Wales, adding it was reported that the Princess shivered when a basin of gruel was presented to her, as though such antipathy was a measure of the hopelessness of her case. But it is no bad symptom now when ladies shiver at the :sight of gruel, but rather an indication of a true taste which revolts against impure and badly prepared articles of diet. Gruel made as it ought to be, is rarely disliked, and is more nourishing, andin many cases to be preferred, to arrowroot - an expensive thing, and one most difficult to procure genuine.”
The author gives many recipes for gruel made from barley, oats, or fine wheat flour. I give you two of the more interesting versions, for your use when the cold virus strikes.
Restorative Gruel.
This delicious substitute for Groat Gruel is made as follows:-one ounce of rice, one ounce of sago, one ounce of pearl barley; put three pints of water, and boil gently for three hours, when the liquor should be reduced to a quart. Strain it in exactly the same manner as groat gruel, and flavour with wine, brandy, or anything else that may be suitable.
If made a little thicker, say with an ounce and a half of each ingredient to three pints of water, a jelly will be produced, which may be eaten cold with sugar, fruit, syrups, or preserve.
Onion Gruel.
This is an old-fashioned remedy for a cold, but can never be recommended unless boiled for at least five hours. The long boiling takes away the pungent odour of the onions and the breath will not then be aflected by them.
Take two ounces of Embden groats and four large onions sliced, put them on in a quart of cold water. Let the gruel boil gently for five hours, stirring occasionally, adding water to keep the original quantity. When done, strain through a fine sieve, salt to taste, and serve with toasted bread. The yolk of an egg beaten up in the gruel
is a good addition.
P.S Other recipes for gruel have appeared in this blog. They are:
Water Gruel (17th C)
Oatmeal Gruel (early 18th C)
Barley Gruel (18th C)
Potato Gruel (19th C)
Quotation for the Day.
“I’ll dispose of my teeth as I see fit, and after they’ve gone, I’ll get along. I started off living on gruel, and by God, I can always go back to it again.”
S.J. Perelman.
Monday, May 03, 2010
Sherry Therapy
Last week I gave you a recipe for a treacle posset intended as a remedy for a cold. The source was Cookery for Invalids: Persons of Delicate Digestion, and for Children by Mary Hooper, published in London in 1876. I want to refer to this book again today, because it is a wonderfully refreshing home medical text for the era, for one particular reason.
The author is clearly in favour of alcohol for medicinal purposes – and not just any old alcohol. She stresses the importance of the lady of the house developing her palate for wine in order to ascertain its quality and avoid being cheated by dealers - if wine is a ‘necessity’ for her family.
If you like her attitude on wine in general, I am sure you will like her specific thoughts on champagne – and so true and important I fell they are that I hope to immortalise them by using them in the Quotation for the Day, which you will find, as usual, at the end of this post.
The author recommends weak brandy and water ‘as without doubt the safest and best beverage for persons of delicate digestion’. She also gives a recipe for ‘Orange Tonic’ which is essentially brandy infused for a month with the peel of Seville oranges, and which can be used to add value to a glass of sherry or claret cup! She also suggests brandy be added to egg-drinks, gruel, wine jelly, tapioca jelly, and custard cream.
Today, however, I want to share with you a selection of Mary Hooper’s recipes which use sherry. Naturally she adds sherry to various puddings and drinks as well as wine jelly. I particularly like the idea of her sweet Sherry Macaroni – it might be just the thing next time I feel a bit poorly.
Sherry Macaroni
Break half an ounce of best Italian macaroni into a quarter of a pint of sherry mixed with a quarter of a pint of water ; let it boil until it is tender and has absorbed the liquid. It can then be served dusted over with sifted sugar, mixed with a pinch of ground cinnamon, or be made into a pudding in the same manner as rice custard pudding.
Sherry Sponge Pudding.
Put two penny sponge-cakes into a buttered tart dish, pour over them a wineglassful of sherry, let them stand until the wine is absorbed. Boil half a pint of milk with two or three lumps of sugar, beat an egg up with it, pour it over the cakes, and bake in a slow oven until the custard is set, when turn out, and serve.
Quotation for the Day.
First class champagne is expensive, but when it is necessary must be looked upon as medicine, which nobody dreams of as getting second or third rate.
Cookery for Invalids: Persons of Delicate Digestion, and for Children; Mary Hooper, 1876
The author is clearly in favour of alcohol for medicinal purposes – and not just any old alcohol. She stresses the importance of the lady of the house developing her palate for wine in order to ascertain its quality and avoid being cheated by dealers - if wine is a ‘necessity’ for her family.
“Port and Sherry are costly wines, and it is difficult to procure them genuine; indeed, much sold under these names are chemical compositions or vile adulterations, and so uneducated is the public taste that it accepts anything described by the vendors as Port or Sherry. Ladies are very much at the mercy of unscrupulous merchants, and will do well to avoid advertising firms, and still better, if wine is a necessity for themselves or their families, to acquire a correct taste and judgment in the matter.”
If you like her attitude on wine in general, I am sure you will like her specific thoughts on champagne – and so true and important I fell they are that I hope to immortalise them by using them in the Quotation for the Day, which you will find, as usual, at the end of this post.
The author recommends weak brandy and water ‘as without doubt the safest and best beverage for persons of delicate digestion’. She also gives a recipe for ‘Orange Tonic’ which is essentially brandy infused for a month with the peel of Seville oranges, and which can be used to add value to a glass of sherry or claret cup! She also suggests brandy be added to egg-drinks, gruel, wine jelly, tapioca jelly, and custard cream.
Today, however, I want to share with you a selection of Mary Hooper’s recipes which use sherry. Naturally she adds sherry to various puddings and drinks as well as wine jelly. I particularly like the idea of her sweet Sherry Macaroni – it might be just the thing next time I feel a bit poorly.
Sherry Macaroni
Break half an ounce of best Italian macaroni into a quarter of a pint of sherry mixed with a quarter of a pint of water ; let it boil until it is tender and has absorbed the liquid. It can then be served dusted over with sifted sugar, mixed with a pinch of ground cinnamon, or be made into a pudding in the same manner as rice custard pudding.
Sherry Sponge Pudding.
Put two penny sponge-cakes into a buttered tart dish, pour over them a wineglassful of sherry, let them stand until the wine is absorbed. Boil half a pint of milk with two or three lumps of sugar, beat an egg up with it, pour it over the cakes, and bake in a slow oven until the custard is set, when turn out, and serve.
Quotation for the Day.
First class champagne is expensive, but when it is necessary must be looked upon as medicine, which nobody dreams of as getting second or third rate.
Cookery for Invalids: Persons of Delicate Digestion, and for Children; Mary Hooper, 1876
Friday, April 30, 2010
Treacle Beef.
A few days ago I marveled at the confusion created by the use of different words (shrimp and prawn) being used for essentially the same thing in America and Australia (and England). I am referring to ‘common usage’ of course – no doubt there is no doubt in the minds of zoologists – and I have to admit to having been mighty surprised at not being taken to task by one of those folk, in the wake of that post.
MY recent American visitor (blogger Kathryn McGowan) and I chatted at some length on this amusing issue of our two countries being divided by a common language. One topic of discussion was the difference (if any) between treacle and molasses. To my surprise, I find that I have covered the topic in a previous post. My memory must be failing me. The story also touched on ‘golden syrup’ – a great sugar substitute for the Brits during WW II, and absolutely essential in Australia for making Anzac biscuits and pouring over pikelets.
Treacle (see the previous post) really is a very marvelously versatile ingredient. It is used in many gingerbread recipes (below, in an earlier post this week, and in the Through the Ages with Gingerbread archive), and we have sampled it in treacle beer. It has popped up in many puddings, including the WW I ‘Peace Christmas Pudding’. Here it is in a recipe for preserved, smoked beef.
Dutch, or Hung Beef.
For fourteen pounds weight of the round, the rump, or the thick flank of beef, mix two ounces of saltpetre with the same quantity of coarse sugar; rub the meat with them in every part, and let it remain for two days, then add one pound of bay salt, four ounces of common salt, and one ounce of ground black pepper. Rub these ingredients thoroughly into the beef, and in four days pour over it a pound of treacle; rub and turn it daily for a fortnight; drain, and send it to be smoked. When wanted for table, lay it into plenty of cold water, boil it very slowly, and press it under a heavy weight while hot. A slice of this beef, from which the edges have been carefully trimmed, will serve to flavour soups or gravies as well as ham.
Beef, 14 lbs; saltpetre and coarse sugar, each 2 ozs.: 2 days
Bay salt, 1 lb.; common salt, 4ozs; pepper, 1 oz.: 4 days.
Treacle, 1 lb,: 14 days.
Obs. – Three quarters of a pound of coarse sugar may be rubbed into the meat at first, and the treacle may be altogether omitted: cloves and mace may be added in the same proportion for spiced beef.
Modern Cookery, Eliza Acton, 1845
Treacle has a long history of medicinal use too. I rather like the sound of this common cold remedy:
Treacle Posset
Boil a pint of milk, stir in two tablespoonfuls of treacle, let it boil up, and when the curds have well formed, strain the whey through a fine sieve into a basin, and serve hot at bedtime as a remedy for a cold.
Cookery for Invalids: Persons of Delicate Digestion, and for Children; Mary Hooper, 1876
And because we don’t make puddings nearly often enough these days, I give you for your winter delectation, an unashamedly very treacly treacle pudding from Queen Victoria’s chef.
A Treacle Pudding.
Ingredients: two pounds of flour, twelve ounces of treacle, six ounces of suet or dripping fat, a quarter of an ounce of baking powder, a pinch of allspice, a little salt, one pint of milk, or water. Mix the whole of the above-named ingredients in a pan, into a firm compact paste; tie it up in a well-greased and floured pudding cloth; boil the pudding for at least two hours and a half, and when done, cut it in slices, and pour a little sweetened melted butter over it.
Plain Cookery Book for the Working Classes, Charles Elmé Francatelli, 1861
Quotation for the Day.
A waffle is like a pancake with a syrup trap.
Mitch Hedberg.
MY recent American visitor (blogger Kathryn McGowan) and I chatted at some length on this amusing issue of our two countries being divided by a common language. One topic of discussion was the difference (if any) between treacle and molasses. To my surprise, I find that I have covered the topic in a previous post. My memory must be failing me. The story also touched on ‘golden syrup’ – a great sugar substitute for the Brits during WW II, and absolutely essential in Australia for making Anzac biscuits and pouring over pikelets.
Treacle (see the previous post) really is a very marvelously versatile ingredient. It is used in many gingerbread recipes (below, in an earlier post this week, and in the Through the Ages with Gingerbread archive), and we have sampled it in treacle beer. It has popped up in many puddings, including the WW I ‘Peace Christmas Pudding’. Here it is in a recipe for preserved, smoked beef.
Dutch, or Hung Beef.
For fourteen pounds weight of the round, the rump, or the thick flank of beef, mix two ounces of saltpetre with the same quantity of coarse sugar; rub the meat with them in every part, and let it remain for two days, then add one pound of bay salt, four ounces of common salt, and one ounce of ground black pepper. Rub these ingredients thoroughly into the beef, and in four days pour over it a pound of treacle; rub and turn it daily for a fortnight; drain, and send it to be smoked. When wanted for table, lay it into plenty of cold water, boil it very slowly, and press it under a heavy weight while hot. A slice of this beef, from which the edges have been carefully trimmed, will serve to flavour soups or gravies as well as ham.
Beef, 14 lbs; saltpetre and coarse sugar, each 2 ozs.: 2 days
Bay salt, 1 lb.; common salt, 4ozs; pepper, 1 oz.: 4 days.
Treacle, 1 lb,: 14 days.
Obs. – Three quarters of a pound of coarse sugar may be rubbed into the meat at first, and the treacle may be altogether omitted: cloves and mace may be added in the same proportion for spiced beef.
Modern Cookery, Eliza Acton, 1845
Treacle has a long history of medicinal use too. I rather like the sound of this common cold remedy:
Treacle Posset
Boil a pint of milk, stir in two tablespoonfuls of treacle, let it boil up, and when the curds have well formed, strain the whey through a fine sieve into a basin, and serve hot at bedtime as a remedy for a cold.
Cookery for Invalids: Persons of Delicate Digestion, and for Children; Mary Hooper, 1876
And because we don’t make puddings nearly often enough these days, I give you for your winter delectation, an unashamedly very treacly treacle pudding from Queen Victoria’s chef.
A Treacle Pudding.
Ingredients: two pounds of flour, twelve ounces of treacle, six ounces of suet or dripping fat, a quarter of an ounce of baking powder, a pinch of allspice, a little salt, one pint of milk, or water. Mix the whole of the above-named ingredients in a pan, into a firm compact paste; tie it up in a well-greased and floured pudding cloth; boil the pudding for at least two hours and a half, and when done, cut it in slices, and pour a little sweetened melted butter over it.
Plain Cookery Book for the Working Classes, Charles Elmé Francatelli, 1861
Quotation for the Day.
A waffle is like a pancake with a syrup trap.
Mitch Hedberg.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
More on Marshmallows.
The tomato marshmallow recipe from a few weeks ago caused some interest, and in one other story I gave you a recipe for Mississippi Mud that contained marshmallows, but there is still a lot of fun to be had with them.
The marshmallow, before it was a puffy sweet was (is) a plant. It is known as Althaea officinalis, and it grows over wide areas of the world. As its name suggests, it grows in marshy areas. The ‘mallow’ part of the name comes from the Latin name for the plant – Malva. Which of course begs the question – what does Malva mean? The whole point of the plant seems to be the mucilaginous root, so presumably there is some meaning there. Any input from botanists or Latin experts would be gratefully received.
The mucilaginous quality of course is what made the plant valuable medicinally. Once upon a time, it was believed that the qualities of anything in the known world could be transferred to the eater/patient/victim, if the material was ingested. Coral red stones, ground up and added to medicine transmitted their red, bloody power, and mucilaginous mallow soothed and coated dry or inflamed parts of the body for example. Decoctions of mallow were therefore useful for all sorts of urinary and bowel problems, and irritable coughs.
Marshmallows today of course don’t contain any Marsh Mallow. Such is progress. I am not sure how the mucilaginous quality got translated to a spongy, jellied, powdery and decidedly dry sweetie, but life is full of mysteries, and all the better for it too. I guess when they are melted, the texture is approximated; but someone made them first, before they toasted them, surely?
This is how they used to be made, with the real plant.
Famous Tablettes de Guimauve,or French Lozenges of Marshmallows, being their grand Remedy for all sorts of Coughs.
These lozenges are of two sorts, the simple and the compound. For the first, cleanse and scrape roots if marshmallows, freshly taken out of the ground, and boiling them in pure water till they become quite soft, take them out, beat them in a marble mortar to the consistency of a fine smooth paste, and place it on the top of an inverted sieve to obtain all the pulp which can be forced through the sieve with the assistance of a wooden spoon, then boil a pound and a half of loaf sugar in six or seven ounces of rosewater, to a good solid consistence, and whisk it up, off the fire, with a quarter of a pound of the marshmallow pulp; after which place it over a gentle heat, to dry up the humidity, stirring it all the time, and when a good paste is formed, empty it on paper brushed over with oil of sweet almonds, roll it out with a straight rolling-pin, and cut it into lozenges with a tin lozenge cutter.
These lozenges are of two sorts, the simple and the compound. For the first, cleanse and scrape roots if marshmallows, freshly taken out of the ground, and boiling them in pure water till they become quite soft, take them out, beat them in a marble mortar to the consistency of a fine smooth paste, and place it on the top of an inverted sieve to obtain all the pulp which can be forced through the sieve with the assistance of a wooden spoon, then boil a pound and a half of loaf sugar in six or seven ounces of rosewater, to a good solid consistence, and whisk it up, off the fire, with a quarter of a pound of the marshmallow pulp; after which place it over a gentle heat, to dry up the humidity, stirring it all the time, and when a good paste is formed, empty it on paper brushed over with oil of sweet almonds, roll it out with a straight rolling-pin, and cut it into lozenges with a tin lozenge cutter.
The Universal Receipt Book, Patricia Homespun, 1818.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Candy for Health.
December 19 …
An article in the prestigious British Medical
I find this study immensely interesting, not only because of its value in reducing greed-guilt, but also on account of the wild and wonderful theories that can be inspired by it (not by the Harvard researchers I might add). Was it the preserving power of the sugar? Or were the ancient medicos right and sugar has medicinal benefits in its own rights, even if they were wrong on the dose (they thought tiny amounts were sufficient)? Would the same results apply to women? Are the results explained by the candy-eaters doing large amounts of exercise penance? Are candy-eaters more fun, and it is actually the fun that saves your life? Did the BMJ deliberately choose to publish this article before Christmas, as their gift to their reading public?
We have met several different forms of candy in this blog – chocolate occasionally (but not often enough), nougat (in relation to a crime), ‘sugar of roses’ (in an article about climbing mountains and eating mints), caraway comfits (in a story about lust and orgies), and ‘others too numerous to mention’ (or look up) by this lazy writer.
So what to choose by way of recipes, to reduce your mortality risk over the Christmas season?
I have so far neglected liquorice in this blog. Liquorice comes from the root of several species of shrubby plants of the genus Glycyrrhiza, especially G. glabra. It has been used for centuries as a medicine, and is said to be useful in – among other things – disorders of the gastrointestinal tract, which are prevalent in late December due to the festivites. It is timely then to address the omission.
‘Confectionary’ only fairly recently came to apply only to hard candy. Once upon a time it was part of the pastrycooks domain and also included all manner of conserves and sweetmeats as well as pastries. Pastrycooks of the early eighteenth century had a frighteningly large sphere of responsibility, if we are to judge by the information immediately below the title of today’s recipe source, which was published in 1705.
The pastry-cook’s vade-mecum: or, a pocket-companion for cooks, house-keepers, country gentlewomen, &c. ...
The “Good Old Days” Huh? When the local pastrycook had pretensions to chirugerie? No thankyou. I’ll take my varicosed veins to a real surgeon.
To make Liqourish Cakes.
Take 12 ounces of Liquorish scraped very thin, then take two pints and a half of Isop [hyssop?] Water, one pint and half of Coltsfoot Water, a pint and half of red Rosewater, two good handful of Rosemary flowers, one handful of Maiden-hair, keep all these together three or four days in a stew Pot or Jug that may be close stop’d, shaking them together two or three times a day, then put them all into a Skilet, and set them upon a soft Fire two hours, then strain it into a Silver Bason, put to it a pound of brown Sugar-candy so let it boil till it grow thick enough to beat to a Paste, when you find it grow pretty thick, take a little upon a Spoon, and beat it with a Knife till it be cold, and then you will find whether it be enough, when you take it off the Fire, it must be beaten with a good strength with a Spoon till it be white, then take some fine Sugare searced, and so roul it up in little Cakes, the best way is to keep beating it to the last, or else it will so crackle that it will never role handsomely, half this Receipt is enough to make at a time.
Mystery
Quotation for the Day …
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Kitchen Bags.
November 8 ...
A bag (whether or not you call it a ‘belly’, as we did yesterday) is a very useful culinary item over and above its value in bringing the ingredients home. Plastic bags are only useful for wrapping rubbish and messing up the environment, but fabric bags are a different thing altogether - although we don’t use fabric in the kitchen as much as we used to. Food processors have obviated the need to laboriously press stuff through a piece of wool or flannel or silk to make a purée, and dishwashers mean that we don’t need as many towels. And how many of us still use tablecloths?
Nevertheless, bags still have some uses in the kitchen. Small muslin ones hold bouquet garni; bags with nozzles allow us to pipe fancy biscuit shapes and write ‘Happy Birthday’ on cakes; a fine cloth still does a fine job of filtering the finest debris from stock to convert it into consommé, and jelly bags are indispensible for making jelly; our Christmas ham stores best in a calico bag, which, if we are of a mind, we can recycle the next year to boil the Christmas pudding.
A quick browse in the eighteenth century turned up this idea too:
To recover sour ale.
Scrape fine chalk a pound, or as the quantity of liquor requires more; put it in a thin bag, into the ale.
Thinking of Christmas and the inevitable over-eating, my eyes lighted on this recipe from the same book, which also uses a bag:
Surfeit Water.
To every gallon of French brandy put four pounds of poppies pick’d clean from the greens and seeds, and gathered very dry, half a pound of raisins ston’d, half a pound of figs, a quarter of a pound of green liquorice scrap’d and slice’d, a quarter of a pound of coriander-seed, a quarter of a pound of aniseed bruis’d, and an ounce of cardamum-seed; let them infuse in a glass jar in the sun for fourteen or fifteen days, then run through a jelly bag, and put to it a quart of aniseed water, and a little sugar.
[The
Cookbooks and household manuals often used to contain home remedies such as this one, and they were the responsibility of the mistress of the household. They were made in the still-room – so called because much distillation occurred there. Surfeit-waters used to be very popular to cure – as the name suggests – the discomfort of over-indulgence. Some were made by distillation, others, like the one above, by infusion.
Tomorrow’s Story …
The end of a meal.
Quotation for the Day ….
Only Irish coffee provides in a single glass all four food groups: Alcohol, caffeine, sugar, and fat. Alex Levine.
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