Shrimp or Prawns?

I had a pleasant weekend very recently with another food history nerd – Brooklyn inhabitant and food writer Kathryn McGowan. Kathryn was visiting Oz, and had the opportunity to come up to Brisbane for a couple of days. We decided to stop talking and poring over cookbooks (difficult, folks, very difficult) and actually do some cooking. For reasons explained by Kathryn in a post yesterday at her blog Comestibles, we decided on a recipe from the year of 1788.

A visit to the farmer’s market near my home was already in the plans, so we settled on our recipe and away we went. We had decided on a dish of prawns, for a number of very important reasons – I had been extolling the virtues of our local seafood, we could buy them from the fisherman himself at the market, I had all the other ingredients at hand, and it was a quick recipe and we had other things to fit in. Also because we both like prawns - in my case even if they are called ‘shrimp.’ Oh! The fun that ensues from the common language of our two countries!

I have no idea why ‘over there’ these delectable sea-beasties are called shrimp, and over here they are ‘prawns’. Both words have been used in England since medieval times. I understand the difference nowadays as referring to size – shrimp being smaller than prawns. Apparently the scarcity of the word ‘prawn’ does not limit those of you across the big water however, Kathryn tells me that you simply call the big ones ‘Jumbo Shrimp’. I did not pursue the question of why ‘shrimp’ also appears to apply to the plural, but one prawn becomes two prawns. I am going to take language lessons before I come to visit your land.

Anyway, I trotted over to the Oxford English Dictionary, to see what it had to say on the topic. No doubt, I thought, there will be a zoological distinction. For both words the etymology is apparently obscure, but the individual entries read as follows:

Shrimp: Any of the slender, long-tailed, long-legged (chiefly marine) crustaceans of the genus Crangon and allied genera, closely related to the prawns; esp. C. vulgaris, the common shrimp, which inhabits the sand on the coasts of Great Britain and is a common article of food.  Also, in a wider sense, applied to various similar crustaceans, as the families Mysidæ and Gammaridæ; see brine, fairy, opossum shrimp, etc.

Prawn: Any of various edible marine decapod crustaceans resembling shrimps but usually somewhat larger and with a prominent rostrum on the carapace. Also more widely: a large shrimp. The traditional edible prawns of the North Atlantic belong to the genus Leander (infraorder Caridea), while those of Indo-Pacific origin belong to the genus Penaeus (suborder Dendrobranchiata).

So, there you have it. Crystal clear now, isn’t it? The ones with the prominent rostrum on the carapace are prawns.

Our recipe was chosen from om The English Art of Cookery, by Richard Briggs, published, as I said, in 1788. I give you the original recipe below, and Kathryn has given our interpretation and a photo of the finished dish in her post of yesterday (linked above). The dish was delicious.


To stew Crawfish, Prawns, or Shrimps.
Take half a hundred crawfish, or one hundred prawns, or two quarts of shrimps, boil them in salt and water, pick out the tails and bruise the bodies, put the bodies on the fire with half a pint of water, a pint of white wine, a blade of mace, and a bit of horse-radish, and stew them a quarter of an hour; then strain the liquor off, wash out the stew-pan, and put the tails and liquor in, with a piece of butter mixed with flour, and a little grated nutmeg, stir them, and stew them till they are thick and smooth; cut a thin toast round a quatern loaf, toast it brown on both sides, cut it into six pieces, lay them close in a dish, and put the ingredients over; if it is crawfish, break some of the claws, take out the meat, and put them round the dish for garnish, and put the rest with the tails.


Quotation for the Day.

I'm horrified of lobsters. And shrimp and lobsters are the cockroaches of the ocean.
Brooke Burke.

Dining-Out Snobs.

The English writer William Makepeace Thackeray did not confine his penetrating and satirical views of English social life to his novels. He wrote travelogues of Paris and Ireland, and contributed frequently to other publications. One of his most successful series was The Snob Papers, published in Punch magazine, and later as The Book of Snobs (1855).

Thackeray was without doubt a lover of good food (his ode to Bouillabaisse demonstrates this clearly, as do the other blog food stories about him which are here, and here.) What did he think of his fellow diners and hosts? Here is an extract from the book, from the chapter ‘Dining-Out Snobs’.

In England Dinner-giving Snobs occupy a very important place in society, and the task off describing them is tremendous. There was a time when the consciousness of having eaten a man’s salt and rendered me dumb regarding his demerits, and I thought it a wicked act and a breach of hospitality to speak ill of him.
But why should a saddle of mutton blind you, or a turbot and lobster sauce shut your mouth forever? With advancing age, men see their duties more clearly. I am not to be hoodwinked any longer by a slice of venison, be it ever so fat; and as for being dumb on account of turbot and lobster sauce – of course I am; good manners ordain that I should be so, until I have swallowed the compound – but not afterwards; directly the victuals are discussed, and JOHN takes away the plate, my tongue begins to wag. Does not yours, if you have a pleasant neighbour? – a lovely creature, say, of some five-and-thirty, whose daughters have not yet quite come out – they are the best talkers. As for your young misses, they are not only put about the table to look at – like the flowers in the centre-piece. Their blushing youth and natural modesty prevents them from that easy confidential conversational abandon which forms the delight of the intercourse with their dear mothers. It is to these if he would prosper in his profession that the Dining-out Snob should address himself. Suppose you sit next to one of these how pleasant it is in the intervals of the banquet actually to abuse the victuals and the giver of the entertainment! It's twice as piquant to make fun of a man under his very nose.

Thackeray’s insights are too good to leave at this point, so we will discover his thoughts on Dinner-Giving Snobs tomorrow.

Recipe for the Day.

Thackeray included a recipe for lobster, cooked at the table, in his Irish Sketchbook (1848).

Hot Lobster.
You take a lobster, about three feet long if possible, remove the shell, cut or break the flesh of the fish in pieces not too small. Some one else meanwhile makes a mixture of mustard, vinegar, catsup and lots of cayenne pepper. You then produce a machine called a despatcher which has a spirit lamp underneath it that is usually illuminated with whiskey. The lobster, the sauce, and near half-a-pound of butter are placed in the despatcher, which is immediately closed. When boiling, the mixture is stirred up, the lobster being sure to heave about the pan in a convulsive manner, while it emits a remarkably rich and agreeable odour through the apartment. A glass and a half of sherry is now thrown into the pan, and the contents served out hot, and eaten by the company. Porter [a type of stout] is commonly drunk, and whisky-punch afterwards, and the dish is fit for an emperor.
N.B You are recommended not to hurry yourself in the getting up next morning, and may take soda-water with advantage. – Probatum est [It is proved].

Postscript.
For another perspective on how the nineteenth century Englishman dined out, see here.



Quotation for the Day.

Despair is perfectly compatible with a good dinner, I promise you.
William Makepeace Thackeray.

Food & Finance, Part 2.

July 7 ...

Last week I puzzled over dishes ‘à la Financière’. The answer has been staring me in the face all this time, thanks to M. Menon, the eighteenth century French author of The Professed Cook. M. Menon gives a recipe for a dish entitled simply Financière, which he explains as ‘Meaning a rich expensive dish.’ It would certainly be that, although perhaps not to modern tastes, being a fantastical melange that would put the average ‘surf and turf’ (or ‘reef and beef’) to inadequate shame.

M. Menon’s recipe for his sort of surf/turf/bird/seafood truffled, larded and be-fricandeaud concoction is:

Financière.
Meaning a rich expensive dish.

Take a head of Salmon, pretty long of about five or six Pound, clean it as for boiling; lard the upper part with fine Lardons, and fill it with a Ragout of Sweet Breads, Truffles, or Mushrooms, and fasten it so as the Ragout don’t get out; put it in a Braizing-pan much of its Bigness, upon thin slices of Lard and Veal, one or two slices of Ham, a Nosegay of Parsley and green Shallots, two Cloves, a Bit of Nutmeg, a Laurel Leaf and Thyme, few sliced Onions and Roots; soak this over a slow Fire about an Hour, then put the Salmon to it well tied; add some good Broth, a Pint of white Wine, Pepper and Salt, simmer it about an Hour; while this is doing, boil six small Pigeons, as many small Fricandeaux, called Grenadins larded, and a Dozen of large Crawfish, as many Truffles peeled; prepare a Glaze with Veal and Ham; when it is all done, dress the Salmon upon the Dish, and the second Preparation intermixed round it, and glaze the Meat, not the Salmon; for sauce, mix some good Consumée and Cullis, a Glass of white Wine, a little Pepper and Salt; give it a boil, and serve it round the Salmon upon the Meat Part.

Tomorrow’s Story …

Humble Pie.

Quotation for the Day …

“I want a dish to taste good, rather than to have been seethed in pig’s milk and served wrapped in a rhubarb leaf with grated thistle root.” Kingsley Amis.

A Hearty Crab Supper.

June 26

Dorothy Wordsworth, the sister of the poet William Wordsworth, was a writer herself , although she confined her work to a private journal. On this day in 1828 she was in the Isle of Man, and wrote:

“ … Douglas harbour illuminated; … Joanna welcomed us with a dish of crabs sent by her kind friend Mrs. Putnam. Stars appearing at our return; after a hearty supper of crabs etc. retired to rest.”

Crabs are decapod crustaceans. They are also very good to eat, if you don’t mind shelling out the crab meat, or shelling-out for pre-shelled meat in a restaurant. For some reason that I cannot explain, my first thought on reading this journal entry was ‘What have crabs to do with crab apples?’.

Crab Apples are small, excruciatingly sour wild apples impossible to eat raw but fabulous for jam/jelly. Is the word in this context related to that of the fine animal that made Dorothy a fine supper? The origin, it has to be admitted, is uncertain. The OED gives two possibilities, one quite prosaic, one quite delightful. The first I interpret as a Viking inheritance – from the word skrabba, simply meaning fruit of the wild apple tree. I prefer the second – that it is related to crabbed or crabby, as we apply them to persons of ‘contradictory, perverse, and fractious disposition’ – which is reminiscent of the strange gait of that decapod crustacean that we call a crab.

If there is such a thing as linguistic terroir, then I think a modern chef of inventive mind should create a new dish incorporating both crab crustacean and crab apple - and invite me to be on the sampling panel. I can only offer separate recipes from the nineteenth century.

Hot Crab.
Pick the meat out of a crab, clear the shell from the head, then put the meat with a little nutmeg, salt, pepper, a bit of batter, crumbs of bread, and three spoonfuls of
vinegar, into the shell again, and set it before the fire. You may brown it with a salamander. Dry toast should be served to eat it upon.
A New System of Domestic Cookery: Formed Upon Principles of Economy … Maria Eliza Ketelby Rundell, 1814.

Crab-Apple Jelly.
Wash the fruit clean, put in a kettle, cover with water, and boil until thoroughly cooked. Then pour into a sieve, and let it drain. Do not press it through. For each pint of this liquor allow one pound of sugar. Boil for twenty minutes to half an hour.
Miss Parloa’s New Cook Book. Maria Parloa. 1882.

Tomorrow’s Story.

Macaroni, Unusual.

Quotation for the Day.

It was quite a challenge to make people eat crab ice cream. Heston Blumenthal

Mock Food No. 4

April 17 ...

In view of the pre-occupation with finding acceptable Lenten substitutes for meat, it might be expected that ‘mock fish’ or ‘mock seafood’ would not be common historically. It would be an incorrect assumption, but once the idea is grasped, it is obvious that only the more desirable fish and seafood would be imitated. I don’t remember ever seeing a recipe for ‘mock flake’ (shark meat to you non-Aussies), or ‘mock flathead’.

There is a wonderfully apocryphal story about the ancient king Nicomedes’ cook, who, when his master called for anchovies in spite of the fact that he and his army were stationed many miles from the ocean, mocked some up from strips of salted turnips – each strip being decorated with exactly 40 poppy seeds. It is said that the king was pleased – but was he fooled? Anchovies were an essential ingredient in English cuisine for centuries, the taste for them presumably being a distant legacy of the ancient Roman fermented fishy sauce called garum. It is hardly conceivable that a seventeenth or eighteenth century English cook could manage without anchovies – but if it was necessary to fake them, there was no need to resort to root vegetables, it was entirely fair to add value to a lesser fish. A couple of recipes from Richard Bradley’s The Country Housewife and Lady’s Director (1732) will demonstrate:

To make artificial Anchovies.
About February you will find, in the River of Thames, a large quantity of Bleak, or in August a much larger parcel in Shoals. These Fish are soft, tender, and oily, and much better than Sprats to make any imitation of Anchovies from. Take these, and clean them, and cut off their Heads, and lay them in an earthen glazed Pan, with a Layer of Bay-Salt under them, and another over, a single Row of them; then lay a fresh row of Fish, and Bay-Salt over that; and so continue the same Stratum super Stratum, till the Vessel is full, and in a Month you may use them, and afterwards put Vinegar to them. But they will be like Anchovies without Vinegar, only the Vinegar will keep them. Turn them often the first Fortnight.

Another of Bradley’s recipes is clear in regard to one of our other puzzles: note that he says ‘it will deceive a good Judge.’

To make an artificial Crab or Lobster.
I Suppose you have by you the large Shells of Sea-Crabs clean'd; then take part of a Calf's Liver, boil it and mince it very small, and a little Anchovy Liquor, and but very little, to give it the Fish-taste. Mix it well with a little Lemon Juice, some Pepper, and some Salt, with a little Oil, if you like it, and fill the Shells with it; and then the outside Parts of the Liver, being a little hard, will feel to the Mouth like the Claws of the Crab broken and pick'd, and the inner Parts will be soft and tender, like the Body of a Crab. One may serve this cold, and it will deceive a good Judge, if you do not put too much of the Anchovy Liquor into it.

A very common subterfuge from medieval times was to use veal to substitute for sturgeon – a very desirable fish on two counts: it was rare, and it was richly oily. I was going to give you a recipe for Mock Sturgyn, but a recipe for mock terrapin won in the end. Terrapin is not fish, of course – at least we don’t classify it as fish nowadays, but the old requirement of ‘non-flesh’ applied to creatures that lived in the water. The definition was not so much one based in ignorance of the animal classification system, but on that ‘cooling’ tendency derived from life in a watery environment. Hence porpoise, whale, barnacle geese, and foetal rabbits were allowed on ‘fish’ days. The recipe, from Eliza Leslie’s The Lady’s Receipt Book (1847) takes us several centuries later and to another continent (America).

Terrapin Veal.
Take some cold roast veal (the fillet or the loin) and cut it into very small mouthfuls. Put into a skillet or stew-pan. Have ready a dressing made of six or seven hard-boiled eggs minced fine; a small tea-spoonful of made mustard; a salt-spoonful of salt; and the same of cayenne pepper; a large tea-cupfull (half a pint) of cream, and two glasses of sherry or Madeira wine. The dressing must be thoroughly mixed. Pour it over the veal, and then give the whole a hard stir. Cover it, and let it stew over the fire for ten minutes. Then transfer it to a deep dish, and send it to table hot.

If however, your kitchen embarassement is a surplus of Sturgeon when the guests expect Turtle, you can use the first to make a good copy of the second. Email me if you are in this terrible predicament, and I will forward a late eighteenth century recipe.

Tomorrow’s Story …

Mock Food No. 5

Quotation for the Day …

“....shellfish are the prime cause of the decline of morals and the adaptation of an extravagant lifestyle. Indeed of the whole realm of Nature the sea is in many ways the most harmful to the stomach, with its great variety of dishes and tasty fish.”
Pliny the Elder (A.D. 23-79)

Much Depends on Dinner.

January 22

The English poet Lord George Gordon Byron was born on this day in 1788. He is best known to foodies as the source of the quotation that inspired the title of the wonderful book by Margaret Visser, Much Depends on Dinner.

The quotation is from The Island, and the full stanza reads:

“All human history attests That happiness for man, - the hungry sinner! - Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner.”

The sub-title of Margaret Visser’s book is The Extraordinary History and Mythology, Allure and Obsessions, Perils and Taboos of an Ordinary Meal, which is ironic, given that Byron found negotiating the meal table to be full of perils , having a troubled relationship with food – perhaps even so far as having what we would call an eating disorder.

His journals and letters certainly suggest an unhealthy attitude to eating. He is known to have struggled with his weight, loving good food but occasionally adopting severe weight loss regimes involving crash diets (becoming ‘a leguminous-eating Ascetic’), intense exercise regimes, purging and sweating.

His sister Augusta commented in a letter to another that “his way is to fast till he is famished & then devour more than his stomach in that weak state can bear - & so on”

A couple of his own letters will also illustrate:

“Sunday, I dined with the Lord Holland in St. James's Square. Large party …. Stuffed myself with sturgeon, and exceeded in champagne and wine in general, but not to confusion of head. When I do dine, I gorge like an Arab or a Boa snake, on fish and vegetables, but no meat. I am always better, however, on my tea and biscuit than any other regimen, and even that sparingly.”

And:

“To-day I have boxed one hour - written an ode to Napoleon Buonaparte - copied it - eaten six biscuits - drunk four bottles of soda water.”

Byron did not like to be seen eating, and his romantic views of women preferred that they be seen in an ethereal light, not doing something so gross as eating. He refused to eat with his wife when she was obviously pregnant, and had his meals sent to another room.

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

Presumably, if it was OK for women to eat lobsters, a very delicate way to eat them would be to avoid the pesky shells altogether and have them potted. This recipe is from a domestic medical text.

To Pot Lobsters.
Take out the meat as whole as you can; split the tail, and remove the gut: if the inside be not watery, add that. Season with mace, nutmeg, white pepper, salt, and a clove or two, in the finest powder. Lay a little fine butter at the bottom of the pan, and the lobster smooth over I; cover it with butter, and bake it gently. When done, pour the whole on the bottom of a sieve; and with a fork lay the pieces into potting pots, some of each sort, with the seasoning about it. When cold, pour clarified butter over it, but not hot. It will be good next day; or highly seasoned, and thick covered with butter, it will keep some time.
[Thomas Cooper, M.D. A Treatise of Domestic Medicine, intended for families, in which the treatment of common disorders are alphabetically enumerated. To which is added, a Practical System of Domestic Cookery, …also The Art of Preserving. 1824] {American}

Tomorrow’s Story …

Odds and Ends for Dinner.

Quotation for the Day …

Man is a carnivorous production,
And must have meals, at least one meal a day;
He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction,
But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey;
Although his anatomical construction
Bears vegetables, in a grumbling way,
Your laboring people think beyond all question,
Beef, veal, and mutton better for digestion.”
Lord Byron (1788-1824.) Don Juan

An unfortunate invitation.

January 17

January 17 1920 was the first new day of that Noble Experiment, Prohibition. It was also the twenty-first birthday of that less-than-noble person, Al Capone – which I find an amusing irony or synchronicity for some reason. I wonder if his birthday was marked with an income-producing epiphany?

‘They’ say that no-one is all bad, even amongst the baddest. Al Capone did start up an impressive Soup Kitchen in Chicago during the Depression, and if, as his critics said, it was merely to improve his image amongst the working folk, then at least some poor hungry souls got a feed. Others say that there is honor amongst thieves. An example of this honorable behaviour took place at a banquet held by Scarface himself in May, 1929, which we have previously featured here. To summarise the story: Big Al had gotten wind of a plan by three of his men – Scalise, Anselmi, and Giunta to betray him. He invited them to a banquet. He feasted them with sumptuous food and wine and good-old gangster bonhomie. Then he eliminated them in a most spectacular fashion right there at the table. The reports vary, but most involve clubbing them severely around the head then shooting them for good measure. Doubtless, the unequivocal message was understood by any other wannabe-heads of The Outfit that may have been present at the dinner.

Dreadful things can happen at banquets - not just if your host is a gangster with a grudge, and not of just of the prosaic food poisoning kind. Dining history is full of spectacular dinner incidents that have nothing directly to do with the food. A couple of examples will have to suffice.

The traditional belief about the astronomer Tycho Brahe – that he died in 1601 of a ruptured bladder caused by his unwillingness to appear impolite by leaving a banquet table to answer a call of nature - has been overturned by recent evidence that mercury poisoning was the cause of his death. The story still hangs together however, as he almost certainly self-administered medication for the bladder obstruction triggered at the banquet – and the medication of the time contained mercury.

Poor, popular ‘mad’ King George III attacked his son and heir, the future George IV at a state dinner in November 1788, bashing his head against the wall to the accompaniment of an unintelligible tirade. We now believe that King George was suffering from a disease called porphria which can sometimes cause bouts of mental instability, but we also now know that the Number One Son was an unpleasant, disrespectful and greedy man who would have tried the heart of any parent. The dinner table can be the place where it all comes out!

Napoleon broke the news of his intention to divorce his beloved Josephine at the beginning of dinner, citing his country (which needed an heir) as her competitor. His timing hardly seems fair, for with servants scurrying about she was forced to restrain her reaction until the meal was over, whereupon she fell apart, her reason fled, and passed out.

There are many more stories of murder and betrayal most foul occurring at dinner – and completely opposite stories too of wonderful opportunities and gifts, but these must wait for another day, for these blog stories are supposed to be short.

Suffice it to say, as parents often do, if there is any justice in the world, you reap what you sow. Al Capone ended up in Alcatraz for one set of his sins, finally dying a few years later from syphilis for another set of his sins. I don’t know when he succumbed to a life of crime, but perhaps on his twenty-first birthday he was a fresh-faced young man enjoying a family party. With Prohibition just starting, the women’s pages of the newspapers on this very day in 1920 were already tackling the problem of how to cook without using any forbidden products. From the Appleton Daily Post in Wisconsin on January 17, 1920, here are a couple of retrospective birthday dishes for our anti-hero.

‘As the last rites are being said over John Barleycorn, the question arises as to what substitutes for brandy and wine can be used in making good fruit cakes, cookies, mince pies and chafing dish creations. … The following recipes illustrate the use of fruit juice as substitutes for brandy and wine:

While Fruit Cake.
Cream 3/4 cup butter, add one and one half cups sugar, three egg-yolks beaten thick. Mix two and one half cups flour with two teaspoons of baking powder. Sift twice. Mix one and one half pounds seeded raisins, one pornd currants, one half cup citron, one cup candied orange peel, dredge with flour mixture then add. ¼ cup of cream, ½ teaspoon nutmeg. Add ( ¾ cup of brandy) grape juice used as substitute, to butter sugar and egg mixture then add flour and fruit and mix. Fold in the whites of three eggs and bake in buttered pans from 40 to 60 minutes.

Lobster a La Newberg.
Two and one half cups of lobster, three teaspoons of butter one half tea spoonful of salt, dash of cayenne, one cup citron, one half cup of sherry and brandv mixed, (fruit juice used as a. substitute) Saute the lobster in the butter, add cream and egg-yolks, also seasoning. When boiling add fruit juice.

Tomorrow’s Story …

Just for Fun.

Quotation for the Day …

Champagne will not a dinner make,
Nor caviar a meal
Men gluttonous and rich may take
Those till they make them ill
If I've potatoes to my chop,
And after chop have cheese,
Angels in Pond and Spiers's shop
Know no such luxuries.

Mark Lemmon.

An All-Australian Meal.

December 10 …

The Melbourne Punch gave a menu for an “All Australian Meal” on this day in 1925, by way of some sort of patriotic statement. Every ingredient was sourced from the country, and each choice was justified by the newspaper. All states except Western Australia and the Northern Territory were represented. We would take some issue now with Hunter Valley (N.S.W) red wines being referred to as “Burgundy”, and I cannot see Bêche de Mer Soup becoming frantically popular in the near future, but otherwise the menu holds up pretty well.

Salted Almonds, Olives
Oysters on the Shell
Bêche de Mer Soup
Fresh water blackfish, Maitre d’Hotel
Fillet of Beef Pique, Sauce Bernaise
Roast Teal, Port wine sauce Orange Salad
Ice Pudding
Devilled Prawns
Dessert Coffee
Sauterne or Chablis Burgundy
Champagne Cognac

There are some quaintly ancient themes in this menu: the ‘devilled’ dish to end the formal part of the meal, and the ‘dessert’ course which used to mean the final dishes of fruit and sweetmeats – apparently in this case a representative selection of the finest fruits.

For recipes for this menu I turned to a little Australian cookbook that I haven’t used before. It is one of Wiggs’ Useful Books (and I do like books that are useful), and is called The Australian Home Cookery (there should surely be ‘Book’ on the end of that title?). The book is not dated, but an inscription on the flyleaf says “Evelyn L. Teagle, Sep 16, 1917”. If she is your relative, let me know!

I particularly wanted to find a recipe for devilled prawns, but we have to make do with curried prawns (or ‘shrimp’ to those of you over the big water). There are a lot of recipes for curried prawns in English and Australian cookbooks of the era – many of them contain chopped apple and/ or dessicated coconut, and are too frightful to consider. This one sounds OK, if you use good curry powder (or better, mix your own) – but cooking the prawns for an hour is, to understate it somewhat, a bit too long for fresh prawns.

Prawns, Curried.
Take about 20 prawns; take off the heads and tails, and put them into a stewpan with a little less than a pint of fish purée, and a small tablespoonful of curry (previously mixed with ½ cupful of water). Let all simmer gently with the lid off for about 1 hour, and then add 2 tablespoonfuls of cream, and pepper and salt to taste. Serve in the middle of a hot dish, with boiled rice as a border.

Tomorrow’s Story …

The invention of “American Cheese”.

Quotation for the Day …

What will be the death of me are bouillabaisses, food spiced with pimiento, shellfish, and a load of exquisite rubbish which I eat in disproportionate quantities. Emile Zola, (1840-1902)

Shrimp Cocktail.

September 26^th …

The Golden Gate Casino in Las Vegas celebrated the sale of 25 million servings of its famous shrimp cocktail on this day in 1991. The casino started serving the shrimp cocktail in 1959, at which time it cost 50c. Inflation caught up with it along the way, and it is now 99c, which still sounds like a bargain when you consider that the cocktail is served in a 6 ounce glass and there is no padding, not even lettuce. It is pure shrimp with cocktail sauce.

What I want to know is – who did the counting? The famous Tour d’Argent restaurant in Paris is famous for its Pressed Duck, and since 1890 when Edward VIII got official serving number one, every guest who orders the dish is presented with a numbered card. The one millionth serving was in April 2003, and the numbers are now beyond 1.2 million. One million in over a century is not as big a counting effort as 25 million in 32 years. I bet they just estimated.

The casino cocktail sauce is, of course, secret, so this one will have to do. It is from The American People’s Cookbook (1956), and is pure 1950’s. Get Retro and make it.

Shrimp with Peppy Cocktail Sauce.
1 ½ lbs fresh shrimp with shells.
Chill in refrigerator until ready to serve.

For Peppy Cocktail Sauce:
To make about 1 cup sauce, mix thoroughly in a small bowl
1 cup ketchup
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 teaspoon onion juice
¼ teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
few drops Tabasco sauce
1 tablespoon sugar
1 tablespoon prepared horseradish
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon Accent*.
Chill in refrigerator.

For completing cocktail:
Arrange in 6 chilled sherbert glasses:
Lettuce or curly endive
Arrange about 5 shrimps in each glass. Top each serving with the Peppy Cocktail Sauce.

*Accent is a commercial brand of MSG, and as such could (and perhaps should) be left entirely out of the picture. Although, having said that, there are no doubt commercial brands of ketchup that contain plenty of MSG.

Tomorrow’s Story …

Lunchwrap.

Quotation for the Day …

I think somebody should come up with a way to breed a very large shrimp. That way, you could ride him, then, after you camped at night, you could eat him. How about it, science? Jack Handey.

Lobster, two cents apiece.

Today, July 5th

Sometimes, to read old journals is to weep. Henry D. Thoreau made a small aside in his diary on this day in 1855 to the effect that “The fishermen sell lobsters fresh for two cents apiece.”
The OED says that lobster is “a large marine stalk-eyed ten-footed long-tailed crustacean of the genus Homarus, much used for food; it is greenish or bluish when raw, and of a brilliant red when boiled: the first pair of feet are very large and form the characteristic 'claws'.”

I dont know how often definitions in the OED are updated, but “much used for food” hardly seems to be true today when they cost significantly more than two cents each. At two cents apiece they were spectacularly good value when you consider that they seem to have been a whole lot larger 150 years ago. When was the last time you even heard of a 28 pound lobster?

A book written by a butcher called Thomas F. De Voe called 'The Market Assistant, Containing a Brief Description of Every Article of Human Food Sold in the Public Markets of the Cities of New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and Brooklyn' in 1867 has this to say about those ho-hum, almost too-well known, almost too-common hefty crustaceans:

Lobsters. These shell-fish are too well known to need description, as they are usually found in great plenty in our markets in all months of the year, except December, January, and February. They are, however, better in some of the months than others; that is, the female or hen lobster is generally preferred through the summer months -- especially June and July -- and the male, or "ram" lobster in the winter months, when found. The latter is distinguished from the hen not only for its want of eggs under the flap, or tail, but by the longer and narrower back, running quite to the tail and including the fan or fins. When the eggs, or berries, of the female are large and quite brown, the lobster will be found exhausted, watery, and quite poor. The largest are not always the best, but those ranging from four to six pounds in weight, when fat, are the choice and most delicate.
A very fine variety called blue-backs, with quite thin shells, brought from the coast about Cape Cod, in the months of May and June, are sought after by the lobster epicure. The average weight is usually from two to four pounds, although I have heard of their weighing above twenty. I am told that one was sold in Fulton Market, several years ago, of twenty-eight pounds!! The female seldom weighs above eight pounds. When fresh they are always lively, and the tail will spring strongly back under them when lifted from the stands. Many are found cooked in some of the markets, more particularly the Fulton, of New York, and Faneuil Hall, of Boston, who send them all over the country. The whole lobster is good to eat, except the shell and craw, or stomach, which lies between the eyes.

Professor Kalm, in his travels here in 1748, speaks of lobsters as being "plentifully caught hereabouts," and further says: "I was told of a very remarkable circumstance about these lobsters, and I have afterwards frequently heard it mentioned. The coast of New York had already European inhabitants, for a considerable time, yet no lobsters being in this part of the sea, they were therefore continually brought in great well-boats from New England, where they are plentiful; but it happened that one of these well-boats broke in pieces near Hell-gate, about ten English miles from New York, and all the lobsters in it got off. Since that time they have so multiplied in this part of the sea that they are now caught in the greatest abundance." The Gazette, etc., September 11th, 1766, says: "A live lobster, which weighed thirteen pounds and a quarter, was sold (in the previous month of July) at Billingsgate Market Garden (London) for twenty-four shillings (at New York, in 1765, one of eighteen pounds sold for two shillings and sixpence)." Some considerable difference in the weight and price.

Small wonder that lobster recipes were so abundant in cookbooks of Thoreau's time. Lobster leftovers were all likelihood a real problem. If you happen to be faced with that problem yourself, you could use it in this recipe:

Lobster Patties:
Make some puff-paste, and spread it on very deep patty pans. Bake it empty. Having boiled well two or three fine lobsters, extract all their meta, and mince it very small, mixing it with the coral smoothly mashed, and some yolk of hard-boiled egg, grated, add a little yellow lemon rind, grated. Moisten the mixture well with cream, or fresh butter, or salad oil. Put it into a stew-pan; add very little water, and let it stew till it just comes to a boil. Take it off the fire, and the patties being baked, remove them from the tin pans, place them on a large dish, and fill them up to the top with the mixture.
Similar patties may be made of prawns, or crabs.
[The Lady's Receipt Book .... Miss Leslie; 1847]

Tomorrow's Story ...

The Many Uses of Malt.

Quotation for the Day ...

In the light of what Proust wrote with so mild a stimulus, it is the world's loss that he did not have a heartier appetite. On a dozen Gardiner's Island oysters, a bowl of clam chowder, a peck of steamers, some bay scallops, three sauteed soft-shelled crabs, a few ears of freshly picked corn, a thin swordfish steak of generous area, a pair of lobsters, and a Long Island Duck, he might have written a masterpiece. A.J. Liebling.

Dialectical Difficluties.

Today, May 16th …

Dorothy Wordsworth, sister of the poet William Wordsworth, lived with her brother for a number of years in Grasmere in the English Lake District. She kept a diary, and occasionally noted a meal or a cooking session. On this day in 1800, her note was brief.

“…I finished my letter to M.H. Ate hasty pudding and went to bed.”

Hasty pudding is pudding, hastily made. It is a flour of some sort stirred into a liquid of some sort and boiled until it is thick, and it appears in every cuisine that is grain-based. It is porridge if it is made with oats, polenta if it is made with maize, and in medieval times it was frumenty if it was made with wheat. Depending on the availability of enhancing ingredients, it can be improved with cream or eggs or spices or ale or wine or fruit or … Well, you get the idea.

My ranging across centuries of cookbooks confirmed for me what I had already suspected - Hasty Pudding is an idea rather than a recipe, and a not very interesting idea at that. One recipe did somewhat puzzle me however (and not because it is made with bread instead of grain), and set me off on a linguistic rather than a culinary search. It is from a Scottish cookbook of the same year as Dorothy’s diary entry, by a ‘Mrs Frazer’, and called The practice of cookery, pastry, confectionary, pickling ….

A Hasty Pudding.
Prepare as much bread and milk in a small bowl as will fill an asset, and put in a piece of fresh butter in it; pick and clean a handful of currants, and boil altogether, cast four eggs and put them in it; season with cinnamon, nutmeg, and sugar. After the eggs are in, stir it on the fire till it thicken, but don’t let it come a-boil; then butter a bowl, and put the pudding in it; set it before the fire, or in an oven, and when it is fastened, turn it out into the asset, and serve it up.

Fill an asset? I thought an asset was something that filled something else – your house or jewel case or coffers, not something that itself required filling - by pudding. England and Scotland have always had an uneasy relationship, and part of the blame for this must lie on the language gulf. The Scots have historically allied themselves with the French against the English, and in return for their allegiance have been allowed to appropriate some French words. It turns out that asset (or ashet, ashett, aschet, assiet, ashad etc) comes from the French word assiette, and means a flat plate or dish. Hence also Ashet-pie, which is Scottish code for a pie made on a flat plate. And pie is preferable to Hasty Pudding any day in my opinion.

If you don’t have a suitable asset amongst your kitchen assets, Mrs. Frazer also gives a recipe for pie that does not require a dish at all, and which also demonstrates that the Scots have retained some of their original Gaelic (did the French accept some Gaelic words in return, I wonder? I somehow doubt it).

A Parton Pie.
Boil two partons for half an hour; when perfectly cold, break the large claws and pick the meat out of them, also the meat out of the body, and the red roe; beat them in a mortar with four ounces of sweet butter, a few breadcrumbs, a quarter of an hundred of stewed oysters, with some of the liquor, and a glass of white wine. Then wash the back shell clean, and put a paste vandike round the edges of it; fill it with the meat, and stick bits of butter on the top. Bake it half an hour.

A parton (partan, partane, perton, perten, pertine, pertein, pertian) is, apparently, Gaelic for crab.

Ain’t linguistic trivia grand? Almost as grand as crab and oyster gratin.

Tomorrow’s Story …

Cheesecakes for Supper.

This Day, Last Year …

We celebrated the feast day of St. Honoré, the patron saint of bakers and pastrycooks.

Quotation for the Day…

"I never thrust my nose into other men's porridge. It is no bread and butter of mine; every man for himself, and God for us all. Miguel de Cervantes

The Loves of Casanova.

Today, April 2nd …

Giacomo Casanova was born on this day in 1725 in Venice. Casanova apparently had many other interests, charms and habits (good and bad), but popular history has chosen to feature only his notorious womanising (the official number of seductions in his memoir was of a mere 122 women.) His last years, expelled from his own country and shunned by the man believed to be his biological father, he lived a dull and relatively friendless life as a librarian to an aristocrat in Bohemia.

Casanova loved food, it is said, almost as much as he loved women. At the age of 73 this was his remaining pleasure: he was described at that age as ‘no longer a god in the garden or a satyr in the forest, he is a wolf at table.’ In his more virile days, he supposedly used to his benefit the aphrodisiac effect of oysters, describing his particular method of serving thus:

‘I placed the shell on the edge of her lips and after a good deal of laughing, she sucked in the oyster, which she held between her lips. I instantly recovered it by placing my lips on hers.’

Oysters have been considered aphrodisiacs since at least Roman times, and there may be something in the myth after all. Some American and Italian researchers recently published their findings in this regard. They found that oysters are very rich in amino acids, particularly those that stimulate the release of certain hormones. I bet those researchers have no problem finding volunteers for their follow-up research.

The aphrodisiac effect is said to only occur when the oysters are eaten raw. Should you dislike or fear raw seafood, or fear or not need this hormone boost, you can cook them of course. Here are some recipes from the time of Casanova, to give you some ideas.

From: The Country Housewife and Ladies Director; Richard Bradley (1732)

To stew Oysters. From Exeter.
Take large Oysters, open them, and save their Liquor; then when the Liquor is settled, pour off the Clear, and put it in a Stew-Pan, with some Blades of Mace, a little grated Nutmeg, and some whole Pepper, to boil gently, till it is strong enough of the Spices: then take out the Spices, and put in the Oysters to stew gently, that they be not hard; and when they are near enough, add a piece of Butter, and as much grated Bread as will thicken the Liquor of the Oysters; and just before you take them from the Fire, stir in a Glass of White-wine.

Roasted Oysters in Scallop Shells. From Exeter.
Provide some large scallop Shells, such as are the deepest and hollowest you can get, which Shells are sold at the Fishmongers at London; then open such a Number of Oysters as will near fill the Shells you design, and save the Liquor to settle; then pour a moderate quantity of the Liquor into each Shell, and put a Blade of Mace, and some whole Pepper with it; after which, put into your Shells a small piece of Butter, and cover the whole with grated Bread: then let these on a Grid-Iron over the Fire, and when they are enough, give the grated Bread at the tops of the Shells a browning with a red-hot Iron, and serve them.

The same Person who sent the foregoing Receipts, concerning Oysters, advises another way of roasting Oysters, which I think is a very good one, and not much known. It is, to take large Oysters, open them, and hang them by the finny part on a small Spit, after having first dipt them in the Yolk of an Egg, and roll'd them in Crumbs of Bread; turn them three or four times before the Fire, and baste them gently with Butter, till the Crumbs of Bread are crisp upon them, and serve them hot. As for their use in Sauces, they are proper with Fish, and are sometimes used with Fowls; their own Liquor is always put in such Sauces where they are used. For pickling of Oysters, the following is an excellent Receipt.

To pickle Oysters.
Open a quantity of large Oysters, saving their Liquor, and letting it settle; then pour the Liquor clear off into a Stew-pan, and wash the Oysters in Water and Salt: after which, boil them gently in their own Liquor, so that they are not too hard. When they are enough, take them out, and add to the Liquor some Mace, a few Cloves, some whole Pepper, a little Ginger, and a Bay-Leaf or two, and let the Liquor boil, putting to it about a fourth part of White-wine Vinegar, letting it continue to boil a little more; then take it off, and let it stand to be quite cold. When the Oysters are cold, put them into Jars or Gally-pots, and pour the Liquor with the Spice cold upon them; then tie them down with Leather.

Tomorrow’s Story …

An Endive by any other Name.

Quotation for the Day …

She knows no difference 'twixt head and privities who devours immense oysters at midnight. Juvenal, from his Satires, early 2nd C.

A revolutionary dish.

Today, January 24th …

Lobster Thermidor is an extravagant, indulgent, classical dish, a dish that no-one makes at home anymore - the reasons for which will become obvious shortly, but have nothing to do with the level of culinary difficulty. A popular story which may be history or myth, says that the dish was invented on this very day in 1894 at the restaurant Maire in Boulevard Saint-Denis in Paris, in honour of the first night of the play “Thermidor”, by Victorien Sardou. Its subject was the French Revolution, which was still a politically sensitive issue 100 years later, and the play was banned after only three performances.

There are other stories of course, but whatever the route, the dish is ultimately named after the month of that name in the short-lived French Revolutionary calendar, one of the warm summer months (now July 19 to August 17). The play’s name was a reference to the political machinations called the “Thermidorean reaction” which occurred on 9 Thermidor 1794, and led to the end of the Reign of Terror and the execution by guillotine of Robespierre the following day.

The lobster must think this explanation is particularly apt, in view of its own last moments and method of execution.

Lobster thermidor.

Split a live lobster in two, lengthwise. Crack the shell of the claws and pick out the meat. Season both halves of the lobster with salt. Pour oil over them and roast them in the oven for 15 to 20 minutes.
Dice the lobster flesh coarsely. Make a stock of white wine, fish fumet [stock] and meat gravy, flavoured with chervil, tarragon, and chopped shallots. Boil it down to a concentrated consistency. Add to this concentrated stock a little very thick Bechamel sauce and some English mustard.
Boil this sauce for a few seconds, then whisk in fresh butter (one third of the volume of the sauce).
Line the two halves of the carcases with a little of this sauce. Fill them with the flesh of the lobster, cover with the remainder of the sauce, sprinkle with grated Parmesan and melted butter and brown quickly in the oven. (Larousse Gastronomique).

If this method of lobster execution makes you squeamish, please do use the standard method of death by immersion in boiling water – in which case a name change to “Lobster Plûvoise” would be doubly apt, since January 24th fell in the wet month of that name.

Tomorrow: And so the Lord be thankit.

Liquid Lunches.

Today, December 1st …

The hotel that Somerset Maugham said symbolised “all the fables of the exotic East” opened on this day in 1887 in Singapore. There are no prizes for guessing that it was The Raffles.

It was the “high noon” of the British Empire, and the hotel was unflinchingly Colonial - with mod-cons. There were modern electric fans, but there were also punkah wallahs to work the canvas ceiling blades via ropes attached to their big toes. One must keep up appearances, mustn’t one?

Food was always a feature at The Raffles. The imported European chefs turned out hearty mutton-chop breakfasts that were, like the strict dress code, entirely appropriate for England. But there was Tiffin. Raffles was famous for its “Tiffin” - an Anglo-Indian concept first appearing at the beginning of the nineteenth century:

“The English corresponding term is luncheon: but how meagre a shadow is the European meal to its glowing Asiatic cousin.” [Thomas de Quincey].

This Asiatic cousin was a light, informal meal, usually buffet-style, of a variety of curry dishes served with the usual accompanying sambals. No mutton chops.

The word comes from a North England dialect word meaning “to take a little drink”. In other words, its original meaning may have suggested the liquid refreshment enjoyed by the sahibs and memsahibs who were naturally very thirsty in the tropical heat. Their drinking was facilitated by the “chit” system at The Raffles, which meant that drinks were never paid for at the time of consumption (a bit low-class, that) but were signed for, (and often never ultimately paid for), by the largely the long-term and permanent residents.

And what would be a discussion of The Raffles without instruction for its signature “tiff” for your next liquid lunch?

Singapore Sling: one half gin, one quarter cherry brandy, one quarter mixed fruit juices, a few drops Cointreau and Benedictine, a dash of Angostura bitters; top with a cherry and a slice of pineapple.

Should you insist on food too, for your tiffin lunch (or BBQ, if you must), here is a very simple Raffles recipe named for another of its literary guests.

Brochette of Prawns Rudyard Kipling.
350 gm King prawns, skewered and seasoned with salt, pepper, lemon juice. Fry until just done. Place on a bed of Saffron rice. Heat up some chopped Mango chutney, and pour over. Garnish with a sprig of parsley and serve.

Tomorrow …. Eating backwards.