Easter approaches, and for me and mine that means several days at the beach – with frequent meal breaks of course, so food is very much on my mind (what else is new, you ask?)
There have been many previous Easter food stories in this blog, so before I start today, let me re-cap what we have considered over the last few years.
We have learned that at different times and in different places such things as Primrose Pottage, Sedgemoor Easter Cakes, and Oatmeal Pudding have been enjoyed at this season. Another post in another year left us awestruck by the scale of the Lord Mayor of London’s Easter dinner in 1848. One year we found out that in 1879 the United States’ President Rutherford Hayes, and First Lady Lucy Hayes, hosted the very first Easter Egg Roll on the lawn of the White House.
As for recipes, there have been many with an Easter theme. One post in the past gave three different Easter Cake recipes, and in case that was not enough we have also had a White Easter Cake from an Australian wartime cookery book (1943), and a British wartime Chocolate Cake for Easter made with the dreaded and dreadful dried egg. Yet another post had Easter Biscuits and Bunny Rolls. In the posts of Easter 2007, we celebrated the egg in a whole week of posts containing five centuries of recipes (here, here, here, here, and here.)
It might be thought that we have exhausted the topic of Easter food, but I assure you we have not. We have not yet had Easter Soup. Sadly for those of us in the Southern hemisphere who are wending our way through autumn, this recipe is for spring greens, especially those of the wild variety – which should inspire the urban foragers amongst you.
Easter Soup.
Gather the young sprouts and leaves of wild herbs when their first shoots appear, such as dandelion, sheep-sorrel, yarrow, nettle, lady’s mantle (Alchemilla vulgaris), strawberry leaves, etc. Take a handful of each; rinse repeatedly in cold water and drain in a colander. Do not squeeze them, lest you lose some of their juices. Chop fine; put into some good broth, and boil gently for about half an hour. Mix butter the size of a walnut with a teaspoonful of flour and drop it into half a cup of boiling cream or milk. When cooking has dissolved it, add it to the soup. Serve with poached eggs on top, or the custard the recipe of which I give you in my last.
Letters to a Young Housekeeper (New York, 1892) by Marie Hansen Taylor
Quotation for the Day.
Large, naked, raw carrots are acceptable as food only to those who live in hutches eagerly awaiting Easter.
Fran Lebowitz
Showing posts with label soup. Show all posts
Showing posts with label soup. Show all posts
Monday, April 18, 2011
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
Chutney, Yet Again.
Regular readers will be only too well aware that one of my favourite blog tactics is to start with the idea of ‘many ways’ to use (or make) an ingredient or dish – such as porridge, or lemon butter, or popcorn, or mustard, for example. Today I want to have a little recipe-trivia fun with one of my all-time favourite concepts – chutney. Chutney is definitely more of a concept than a recipe, don’t you think.
One of this week’s sources, Charles Herman Senn’s Book of Sauces (Chicago, 1915) gave us an insight into classical cuisine’s classic compound butters. Amongst the traditional delights Senn gave us Chutney Butter; he also gives the following interesting recipe:
Chutney Sauce.
Make a sauce the same as directed for venison sauce [given below], omitting the red currant jelly, and adding instead one heaped-up tablespoonful of mango chutney, which must be chopped up rather finely.
Venison Sauce.
Put into a saucepan half a pint of good brown sauce, a dessertspoonful of red currant jelly, half a glass of port wine, and the juice of half a lemon. Next add a dessertspoonful of meat glaze, boil up again, then skim, strain and serve.
And now for something completely different, because sometimes - just sometimes - ‘different’ is a good enough reason. From Random Recipes, an undated charity cookbook published by and sold for the benefit of the Society for Seamen’s Children, I give you:
Chutney Toast.
Add to the popular bacon and peanut butter, spread on toast, a little chopped Major Grey’s Chutney to give that “different taste.”
Soup being one of my deepest and most faithful loves, I had to see if chutney soup existed anywhere in the world. Imagine my profound disappointment when I discovered this:
Chutney Soup.
3 cups cooked elbow macaroni
1 cup chopped celery
½ cup chopped pickle
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pepper
½ cup salad dressing
½ cup dairy sour cream
1 cup cooked peas
Lettuce
Pimiento
Mix macaroni lightly with celery, pickle, and seasonings. Toss. Add salad dressing and sour cream. Fold in peas. Arrange salad in bowl. Garnish with crisp lettuce and pimiento slices.
The Gleaner (newspaper from Kingston, Jamaica) October 19, 1963
This is the soup you make when you are really making salad. I felt cheated. I did not allow my disappointment to delay my quest however, and eventually found the following recipe for
‘real’ chutney soup - depending on your definition of ‘real’ that is.
Apple Chutney Soup.
2 cans (10 ¾ ounces each) cream of asparagus soup.
1 can (10 ¾ ounces) cream of celery soup.
½ teaspoon curry powder
3 soup cans water
2 teaspoons chopped chutney
1 cup chopped apple.
In saucepan, blend soups and curry powder: gradually stir in water. Add chutney and apple. Heat, stirring occasionally. Makes 8 cups.
Tucson Daily Citizen, January 21, 1976
Before I finish this little ode to chutney, may I remind you of the previous posts on the topic -
A Chutney Emergency, and Chutney, Again.
Quotation for the Day.
All Chatneys should be quite thick, almost of the consistence of mashed turnips or stewed tomatoes, or stiff bread sauce. They are served with curries; and also with steaks, cutlets, cold meat, and fish.
Eliza Acton, Modern Cookery for Private Families (1845)
One of this week’s sources, Charles Herman Senn’s Book of Sauces (Chicago, 1915) gave us an insight into classical cuisine’s classic compound butters. Amongst the traditional delights Senn gave us Chutney Butter; he also gives the following interesting recipe:
Chutney Sauce.
Make a sauce the same as directed for venison sauce [given below], omitting the red currant jelly, and adding instead one heaped-up tablespoonful of mango chutney, which must be chopped up rather finely.
Venison Sauce.
Put into a saucepan half a pint of good brown sauce, a dessertspoonful of red currant jelly, half a glass of port wine, and the juice of half a lemon. Next add a dessertspoonful of meat glaze, boil up again, then skim, strain and serve.
And now for something completely different, because sometimes - just sometimes - ‘different’ is a good enough reason. From Random Recipes, an undated charity cookbook published by and sold for the benefit of the Society for Seamen’s Children, I give you:
Chutney Toast.
Add to the popular bacon and peanut butter, spread on toast, a little chopped Major Grey’s Chutney to give that “different taste.”
Soup being one of my deepest and most faithful loves, I had to see if chutney soup existed anywhere in the world. Imagine my profound disappointment when I discovered this:
Chutney Soup.
3 cups cooked elbow macaroni
1 cup chopped celery
½ cup chopped pickle
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pepper
½ cup salad dressing
½ cup dairy sour cream
1 cup cooked peas
Lettuce
Pimiento
Mix macaroni lightly with celery, pickle, and seasonings. Toss. Add salad dressing and sour cream. Fold in peas. Arrange salad in bowl. Garnish with crisp lettuce and pimiento slices.
The Gleaner (newspaper from Kingston, Jamaica) October 19, 1963
This is the soup you make when you are really making salad. I felt cheated. I did not allow my disappointment to delay my quest however, and eventually found the following recipe for
‘real’ chutney soup - depending on your definition of ‘real’ that is.
Apple Chutney Soup.
2 cans (10 ¾ ounces each) cream of asparagus soup.
1 can (10 ¾ ounces) cream of celery soup.
½ teaspoon curry powder
3 soup cans water
2 teaspoons chopped chutney
1 cup chopped apple.
In saucepan, blend soups and curry powder: gradually stir in water. Add chutney and apple. Heat, stirring occasionally. Makes 8 cups.
Tucson Daily Citizen, January 21, 1976
Before I finish this little ode to chutney, may I remind you of the previous posts on the topic -
A Chutney Emergency, and Chutney, Again.
Quotation for the Day.
All Chatneys should be quite thick, almost of the consistence of mashed turnips or stewed tomatoes, or stiff bread sauce. They are served with curries; and also with steaks, cutlets, cold meat, and fish.
Eliza Acton, Modern Cookery for Private Families (1845)
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Milk Soup.
No-one utters the phrase ‘milk soup’ anymore, which I guess means that no-one makes it. If one did want to make milk soup, one would first of all have to decide on the style of the soup, for it seems that there are several.
In the time of the inimitable Hannah Glasse, author of The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy (1747), milk soup was essentially a custard or a custardy bread pudding.
Milk Soup the Dutch Way
Take a quart of milk, boil it with cinnamon and moist sugar; put sippets in the dish, pour the milk over it, and set it over a charcoal fire to simmer, till the bread is soft. Take the yolks of two eggs, beat them up, and mix it with a little of the milk, and throw it in; mix all together, and send it up to table.
One of the early vegetarian medical men included two recipes for milk soup in his book, Dr Allinson’s Cook Book (1915) The first one is a wheatmeal and vegetable puree, the second one ‘for children’ is another milk pudding.
Milk Soup.
2 onions, 2 turnips, 1 head of celery, 3 pints of milk, 1 pint of water, 2 tablespoons of Allison fine wheatmeal, pepper and salt to taste. Chop up the vegetables and boil them in the water until quite tender. Rub them through a sieve, return the whole to the saucepan, add pepper and salt, rub the wheatmeal smooth in the milk, let the soup simmer for 5 minutes, and serve.
Milk Soup for Children.
1½ pints of milk, 1 egg, 1 tablespoonful of Allinson fine wheatmeal, 1½ oz of sultanas, sugar to taste. Boil 1¼ pints of milk, add the sugar, beat up the egg with the rest of the milk and mix the wheatmeal smooth with it; stir this into the boiling milk, add the sultanas, and let the soup simmer for 10 minutes.
For a decidedly savoury option, we have, from Modern Domestic Cookery, and Useful Receipt Book, by William Augustus Henderson (1828.)
Milk Soup with Onions.
Take a dozen of onions, and set them over a stove till they are done without being coloured. Then boil some milk, add to it the onions, and season with salt alone. Put some butter onions to scald, then pass them in butter and when tender add it to the soup and serve it up.
And finally, a soup (or is it a custard?) which can be savoury or sweet at whim, from Food in Health and Disease, by Isaac Burney Yeo (1890)
Vermicelli Milk Soup.
Into a quart of boiling milk put a level saltspoonful of salt (or celery salt); add slowly (stirring constantly) 2 oz. of vermicelli; keep stirring for fifteen or twenty minutes, until quite soft. The yolks of two eggs should be added when the soup is ready to be removed from the fire. This soup may also be flavoured with cinnamon and sugar.
Quotation for the Day.
There is no finer investment for any community than putting milk into babies.
Winston Churchill.
In the time of the inimitable Hannah Glasse, author of The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy (1747), milk soup was essentially a custard or a custardy bread pudding.
Milk Soup the Dutch Way
Take a quart of milk, boil it with cinnamon and moist sugar; put sippets in the dish, pour the milk over it, and set it over a charcoal fire to simmer, till the bread is soft. Take the yolks of two eggs, beat them up, and mix it with a little of the milk, and throw it in; mix all together, and send it up to table.
One of the early vegetarian medical men included two recipes for milk soup in his book, Dr Allinson’s Cook Book (1915) The first one is a wheatmeal and vegetable puree, the second one ‘for children’ is another milk pudding.
Milk Soup.
2 onions, 2 turnips, 1 head of celery, 3 pints of milk, 1 pint of water, 2 tablespoons of Allison fine wheatmeal, pepper and salt to taste. Chop up the vegetables and boil them in the water until quite tender. Rub them through a sieve, return the whole to the saucepan, add pepper and salt, rub the wheatmeal smooth in the milk, let the soup simmer for 5 minutes, and serve.
Milk Soup for Children.
1½ pints of milk, 1 egg, 1 tablespoonful of Allinson fine wheatmeal, 1½ oz of sultanas, sugar to taste. Boil 1¼ pints of milk, add the sugar, beat up the egg with the rest of the milk and mix the wheatmeal smooth with it; stir this into the boiling milk, add the sultanas, and let the soup simmer for 10 minutes.
For a decidedly savoury option, we have, from Modern Domestic Cookery, and Useful Receipt Book, by William Augustus Henderson (1828.)
Milk Soup with Onions.
Take a dozen of onions, and set them over a stove till they are done without being coloured. Then boil some milk, add to it the onions, and season with salt alone. Put some butter onions to scald, then pass them in butter and when tender add it to the soup and serve it up.
And finally, a soup (or is it a custard?) which can be savoury or sweet at whim, from Food in Health and Disease, by Isaac Burney Yeo (1890)
Vermicelli Milk Soup.
Into a quart of boiling milk put a level saltspoonful of salt (or celery salt); add slowly (stirring constantly) 2 oz. of vermicelli; keep stirring for fifteen or twenty minutes, until quite soft. The yolks of two eggs should be added when the soup is ready to be removed from the fire. This soup may also be flavoured with cinnamon and sugar.
Quotation for the Day.
There is no finer investment for any community than putting milk into babies.
Winston Churchill.
Friday, February 25, 2011
An Operatic Supper.
The final menu for the week is a treat for music (especially opera) lovers. It is the menu for the farewell supper given to Giacomo Puccini on the occasion of his departure to Europe by Enrico Caruso, at the Metropolitan Opera House, New York on February 25th, 1907.
Chicken Gumbo.
Dress, clean, and cut up a chicken. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, dredge with flour, and sauté in pork fat. Fry one-half finely chopped onion in fat remaining in frying pan. Add four cups sliced okra, sprig of parsley, and one-fourth red pepper finely chopped, and cook slowly fifteen minutes. Add to chicken, with one and one-half cups tomato, three cups boiling water and one and one-half teaspoons salt. Cook slowly until chicken is tender, then add one cup boiled rice.
Boston Cooking School Cook Book (1896)
Quotation for the Day.
Lunch kills half of Paris, supper the other half.
Charles de Montesquieu
Oyster Cocktail
Celeri Olives
Gumbo de Volaille
Cotelettes de Homard
Pigeon sur Canape
Tomatoes Surprise
Glace Fantaisie Gateau Assortis
Chicken Gumbo.
Dress, clean, and cut up a chicken. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, dredge with flour, and sauté in pork fat. Fry one-half finely chopped onion in fat remaining in frying pan. Add four cups sliced okra, sprig of parsley, and one-fourth red pepper finely chopped, and cook slowly fifteen minutes. Add to chicken, with one and one-half cups tomato, three cups boiling water and one and one-half teaspoons salt. Cook slowly until chicken is tender, then add one cup boiled rice.
Boston Cooking School Cook Book (1896)
Quotation for the Day.
Lunch kills half of Paris, supper the other half.
Charles de Montesquieu
Thursday, February 17, 2011
An Epitaph for a Foodie.
I fear I am leaning towards posts on food trivia, rather than food history of late, but this semi-retired life is incredibly hectic, and to keep up five days a week posting means that sometimes I have to err on the side of the quick and frivolous. The same excuse serves for my shameful failure in responding to those who have taken the time to comment on various recent posts. My apologies to one and all.
I do hope you are not disappointed in today’s gleanings from Morton’s Sixpenny Almanack and Diary for the year 1876. I do love almanacs. This one has the usual listings of anniversaries, astronomical events, tides, gardening and nature lore, postal rates and so on, but intermingled with these are a random lot of odd stories and anecdotes with no obvious relevance to anything almanacal (almanackial?).
My favourite is this:
In case you didn’t know it, the almanac (from 1876, I remind you), informs us that the quatern loaf sold for 1s. 10 ½ d. in the year 1801.
Breadth of stories may perhaps compensate for lack of depth, so I give you the following snippets:
To my absolute delight, the almanac also contains a scattered few recipes, thus filling up that bit of reserved space too. Please someone offer some suggestions as to the particular instruction in this recipe to ‘stir with the right hand’?
How to make a Good Old-Fashioned Soup.
Procure a soup bone, boil until tender, remove the meat, add to the soup a few onions, season to suit the taste; slice the onions very thin: set it to boil. Then take some flour in a bowl, drop sweet milk in by the drop, and keep stirring with the right hand, until you think you have enough to thicken the soup sufficiently, and you will have what we call flour rubbings. Add to the soup; let it boil up, stirring it all the time, and it is done. It is excellent warmed over for next day.
Quotation for the Day.
Shipping is a terrible thing to do to vegetables. They probably get jet-lagged, just like people.
Elizabeth Berry.
I do hope you are not disappointed in today’s gleanings from Morton’s Sixpenny Almanack and Diary for the year 1876. I do love almanacs. This one has the usual listings of anniversaries, astronomical events, tides, gardening and nature lore, postal rates and so on, but intermingled with these are a random lot of odd stories and anecdotes with no obvious relevance to anything almanacal (almanackial?).
My favourite is this:
In a village near Newmarket there is an iron dish fixed into a gravestone at the request of William Symons, who, at the age of eighty, a great gourmand, dying, left a request that the following lines should tell the story of his besetting sin:-
“Here lies my corpse, I was the man,
That loved a sop in the dripping pan;
But now, believe me, I am dead:
See here the pan stands at my head.
Still for sops till the last I cried
But could not eat, and so I died.
My neighbours, they perhaps will laugh,
When they do read my epitaph.”
In case you didn’t know it, the almanac (from 1876, I remind you), informs us that the quatern loaf sold for 1s. 10 ½ d. in the year 1801.
Breadth of stories may perhaps compensate for lack of depth, so I give you the following snippets:
A Monster Vine.
A vine, situated about three miles and a half from Santa Barbara, California, has a trunk 4ft. 4in. in circumference. It begins to branch out at about six or eight feet from the ground, and is then supported on framework, which it covers as a roof. The whole vine thus supported now covers over an acre of ground. Several of the limbs are as much as 10 inches in circumference at a distance of 25 or 30 feet from the trunk. The annual yield of grapes from this mammoth vine is from 10,000 to 12,000 pounds. The clusters average, when ripe, from 2 to 24 pounds each.
A Curious Table.
A novel dining-table is now in use in one of the palaces of the Emperor of Russia. The table is circular, and is placed on a weighted platform. At the touch of a signal, like a rub of Aladdin's lamp, down goes the table through the floor, and a new table, loaded with fresh dishes and supplies, rises in its place. But this is not all; each plate stands on a weighted disk, the table cloth being cat with circular openings, one for each plate. If a guest desires a change of plate he touches a signal at his side, when his plate disappears and another rises. These mechanical dining tables render the presence of servants quite superfluous.
To my absolute delight, the almanac also contains a scattered few recipes, thus filling up that bit of reserved space too. Please someone offer some suggestions as to the particular instruction in this recipe to ‘stir with the right hand’?
How to make a Good Old-Fashioned Soup.
Procure a soup bone, boil until tender, remove the meat, add to the soup a few onions, season to suit the taste; slice the onions very thin: set it to boil. Then take some flour in a bowl, drop sweet milk in by the drop, and keep stirring with the right hand, until you think you have enough to thicken the soup sufficiently, and you will have what we call flour rubbings. Add to the soup; let it boil up, stirring it all the time, and it is done. It is excellent warmed over for next day.
Quotation for the Day.
Shipping is a terrible thing to do to vegetables. They probably get jet-lagged, just like people.
Elizabeth Berry.
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
Soup for the Queen of Scots.
December 8th in 1542 was the birthday of Mary, Queen of Scots. Mary Stewart, as we know, became Queen of Scotland at the age of six days upon the death of her father, James V. She met her untimely end as a result of her claim to the English throne, which led to her trial and execution for treason in 1587.
There is a rather mysterious soup named in her honour. Actually, several mysteries attach to The Queen of Scots Soup. The soup itself is simple enough: it is a light chicken soup with eggs and parsley stirred in at the last minute. But why or how it came to be named for her, I cannot tell, nor can I find the name of the originator. Was there ever indeed a published recipe for The Queen of Scots Soup, or was it a figment of the imagination of a nineteenth century Scottish writer?
I know of the recipe only from a secondary source – The Edinburgh Literary Journal of September 1829. The article introduces a ‘curious black-letter book’, which turns out to be the 1631 edition of Murrell’s A New Booke of Cookerie. The journal being Scottish, the writer, quite naturally, was delighted to find in its pages the recipe for The Queen of Scots Soup, and gives this (or a loose translation of it) in his article. He (it must surely be a male, in this journal at this time) begins by saying “we are seriously of the opinion that, for the sake of the Royal House of Stuart, it should immediately become a standard dish with all the defenders of Mary and her unfortunate family.”
Here is the recipe, as given by the author of the Edinburgh Literary Journal article.
The soup is made thus: “Six chickens are cut in small pieces, with the heart, gizzard, and liver well washed, then put into a stew-pan, and just covered with water, and boiled till the chickens are enough. Season it with salt and cayenne pepper; and mince parsley with eight eggs, yolks and whites beat up together. Stir round altogether just as you are going to serve it up. Half a minute will boil the eggs.”
The article went on to opine that “This must be a delicate and gentle soul, worthy of the amiable dispositions of Mary, and every way calculated to produce a beneficial effect on the female character.
My difficulty is that I am unable to find a 1631 edition of Murrell’s A New Booke of Cookerie to verify the recipe. It is not in the 1615 edition or the 1638 edition – although I admit to a quick scanning of both of these versions (I am moving house this week, so I can be forgiven, surely?) If I have missed it, or you know the actual whereabouts of this recipe, do please tell us all.
Quotation for the Day
I live on good soup, not fine words.
Molière.
There is a rather mysterious soup named in her honour. Actually, several mysteries attach to The Queen of Scots Soup. The soup itself is simple enough: it is a light chicken soup with eggs and parsley stirred in at the last minute. But why or how it came to be named for her, I cannot tell, nor can I find the name of the originator. Was there ever indeed a published recipe for The Queen of Scots Soup, or was it a figment of the imagination of a nineteenth century Scottish writer?
I know of the recipe only from a secondary source – The Edinburgh Literary Journal of September 1829. The article introduces a ‘curious black-letter book’, which turns out to be the 1631 edition of Murrell’s A New Booke of Cookerie. The journal being Scottish, the writer, quite naturally, was delighted to find in its pages the recipe for The Queen of Scots Soup, and gives this (or a loose translation of it) in his article. He (it must surely be a male, in this journal at this time) begins by saying “we are seriously of the opinion that, for the sake of the Royal House of Stuart, it should immediately become a standard dish with all the defenders of Mary and her unfortunate family.”
Here is the recipe, as given by the author of the Edinburgh Literary Journal article.
The soup is made thus: “Six chickens are cut in small pieces, with the heart, gizzard, and liver well washed, then put into a stew-pan, and just covered with water, and boiled till the chickens are enough. Season it with salt and cayenne pepper; and mince parsley with eight eggs, yolks and whites beat up together. Stir round altogether just as you are going to serve it up. Half a minute will boil the eggs.”
The article went on to opine that “This must be a delicate and gentle soul, worthy of the amiable dispositions of Mary, and every way calculated to produce a beneficial effect on the female character.
My difficulty is that I am unable to find a 1631 edition of Murrell’s A New Booke of Cookerie to verify the recipe. It is not in the 1615 edition or the 1638 edition – although I admit to a quick scanning of both of these versions (I am moving house this week, so I can be forgiven, surely?) If I have missed it, or you know the actual whereabouts of this recipe, do please tell us all.
Quotation for the Day
I live on good soup, not fine words.
Molière.
Friday, December 03, 2010
Making a Little go a Long Way.
In ‘the good old days’, nothing was wasted. It can be difficult today - when we throw away one-fifth of the food we buy - to appreciate just how deep was the abhorrence of waste until relatively recent times. Rationing in Britain during both wars was imposed on a nation of people accustomed to re-purposing every leftover scrap, bone, or crumb - which perhaps partly explains why it was accepted with barely a demur.
Today I give you in its entirety an article from The Times of April 10, 1917, which beautifully demonstrates an attitude of patriotic frugality with no hint of mean-spiritedness or resentment. The only part of this that makes me shudder is the purchase of a fowl on a Saturday in Spring, with the raw legs not being used until the Wednesday – in a household that almost certainly did not have a refrigerator. I admit that the toast-water coloured soup does not excite me greatly, but it would certainly be a healthy choice.
“A Housekeeper” writes:-
My little household of three women falls within the category for which some of your correspondents have suggested that menus are difficult to arrange. I venture to send you a sample of ours for a week. They are so simple as to be perhaps hardly worth quoting, but we have found them satisfactory and they have the hygienic feature of avoiding twice-cooked meat.
We begin always on a Saturday. On that day we bought 1 ¼ lb. of rump steak, and a fowl weighing 2 ½ lb.
SATURDAY DINNER.
Half the rump steak grilled; seakale; baked apples.
SUNDAY.
The body of the fowl roasted without its legs.
Chestnuts (stripped, boiled whole, and served like new potatoes with a bit of butter.
Remainder of bundle of seakale; jam tart.
MONDAY.
Second half of the rump steak cut into strips, stewed with prunes, and served with dumplings.
Tin of marrow-fat peas.
Coffee custard.
TUESDAY (MEATLESS DAY)
Slices of cod, sautés in butter and onions.
Potatoes and hard-boiled eggs sliced together in white sauce.
Baked tomatoes.
Mont Blanc of chestnuts, currant jelly, and whipped cream.
WEDNESDAY.
Chicken pie made with raw legs of fowl, a few whole chestnuts, bacon, hard-boiled eggs, and some good gravy.
Remains of chestnut cream.
THURSDAY.
Vegetable pot-au-feu soup; 1 lb of midget sausages on a puree of tomatoes and eggs; marrow-fat peas.
Trifle.
FRIDAY.
1 ¼ lb roast mutton (best end of neck); baked onions.
Remains of trifle.
Total Rations for the week:
Rump steak 1 ¼ lb
Fowl 2 ½ lb
Mutton 1 ¼ lb
Sausages 1 lb
Bacon ½ lb
------
6 ½ lb (to spare, 1 lb)
Flour, made into bread 7 lb
For cooking 1 ½ lb
-------
8 ½ lb
Add sponge cakes for trifle
(to spare, nothing)
Sugar, helped out with saxin for
the sweetening of puddings 1 ½ lb
We thus come round to Saturday again, well within our rations; and on two days (marked by the better puddings) we had a guest to luncheon. But we do not attempt meat more than once a day. Breakfast consists only of porridge, bread, butter, jam, and a boiled egg if desired, with tea or coffee. The evening meal consists of good soup with a dish of haricot beans, eaten with the soup. After the soup we have only some slight dish of scraps, and bread and cheese and fruit, with a cup of cocoa to follow for those who like it.
We keep a meat stockpot and a vegetable stockpot. Our meat stockpot besides receiving our chicken and other bones, is reinforced by two pennyworth of butchers bones sawn and chopped in pieces; our vegetable stockpot receives all parings and strippings of vegetables, besides liquor in which certain vegetables have been boiled; and according as we desire to have a meat soup or a vegetable soup we dip to the right hand or we dip to the left.
This recipe for a vegetable pot-au-feu soup which is independent of the stockpot is perhaps worth giving:-
Cut three carrots, one turnip, one large onion, and the quarter of a moderate-sized cabbage into coarse strips. Put them into a large saucepan, earthenware for preference, with three pints of salted water: let them come to the boil, and continue to simmer gently for three hours. Within a quarter of an hour of serving toast a bit of bread very brown on both sides and hard. Put it in the soup and leave it there for only five or six minutes. Take it out before it has time to break and spoil the clear appearance of the soup. The only object of putting it in is to give the soup the pleasant colour of toast-water. When serving, empty the entire contents of the saucepan into the tureen. If rightly done, this soup has the appearance and flavour of a French pot-au-feu, and few people would guess that it has been made without meat. Where vegetables in the soup are not liked, the liquor can be strained off and sent up as a clear soup accompanied by little cheese puffs.
Quotation for the Day.
“He had drawn many a thousand of these rations in prisons and camps, and though he'd never had an opportunity to weight them on scales, and although, being a man of timid nature, he knew no way of standing up for his rights, he, like every other prisoner, had discovered long ago that honest weight was never to be found in the bread-cutting. There was short weight in every ration. The only point was how short. So every day you took a look to soothe your soul - today, maybe, they haven't snitched any.”
Alexander Solzhenitsyn
Today I give you in its entirety an article from The Times of April 10, 1917, which beautifully demonstrates an attitude of patriotic frugality with no hint of mean-spiritedness or resentment. The only part of this that makes me shudder is the purchase of a fowl on a Saturday in Spring, with the raw legs not being used until the Wednesday – in a household that almost certainly did not have a refrigerator. I admit that the toast-water coloured soup does not excite me greatly, but it would certainly be a healthy choice.
RATIONS FOR THREE.
WEEK’S MEALS OF A SMALL HOUSEHOLD.
“A Housekeeper” writes:-
My little household of three women falls within the category for which some of your correspondents have suggested that menus are difficult to arrange. I venture to send you a sample of ours for a week. They are so simple as to be perhaps hardly worth quoting, but we have found them satisfactory and they have the hygienic feature of avoiding twice-cooked meat.
We begin always on a Saturday. On that day we bought 1 ¼ lb. of rump steak, and a fowl weighing 2 ½ lb.
SATURDAY DINNER.
Half the rump steak grilled; seakale; baked apples.
SUNDAY.
The body of the fowl roasted without its legs.
Chestnuts (stripped, boiled whole, and served like new potatoes with a bit of butter.
Remainder of bundle of seakale; jam tart.
MONDAY.
Second half of the rump steak cut into strips, stewed with prunes, and served with dumplings.
Tin of marrow-fat peas.
Coffee custard.
TUESDAY (MEATLESS DAY)
Slices of cod, sautés in butter and onions.
Potatoes and hard-boiled eggs sliced together in white sauce.
Baked tomatoes.
Mont Blanc of chestnuts, currant jelly, and whipped cream.
WEDNESDAY.
Chicken pie made with raw legs of fowl, a few whole chestnuts, bacon, hard-boiled eggs, and some good gravy.
Remains of chestnut cream.
THURSDAY.
Vegetable pot-au-feu soup; 1 lb of midget sausages on a puree of tomatoes and eggs; marrow-fat peas.
Trifle.
FRIDAY.
1 ¼ lb roast mutton (best end of neck); baked onions.
Remains of trifle.
Total Rations for the week:
Rump steak 1 ¼ lb
Fowl 2 ½ lb
Mutton 1 ¼ lb
Sausages 1 lb
Bacon ½ lb
------
6 ½ lb (to spare, 1 lb)
Flour, made into bread 7 lb
For cooking 1 ½ lb
-------
8 ½ lb
Add sponge cakes for trifle
(to spare, nothing)
Sugar, helped out with saxin for
the sweetening of puddings 1 ½ lb
We thus come round to Saturday again, well within our rations; and on two days (marked by the better puddings) we had a guest to luncheon. But we do not attempt meat more than once a day. Breakfast consists only of porridge, bread, butter, jam, and a boiled egg if desired, with tea or coffee. The evening meal consists of good soup with a dish of haricot beans, eaten with the soup. After the soup we have only some slight dish of scraps, and bread and cheese and fruit, with a cup of cocoa to follow for those who like it.
We keep a meat stockpot and a vegetable stockpot. Our meat stockpot besides receiving our chicken and other bones, is reinforced by two pennyworth of butchers bones sawn and chopped in pieces; our vegetable stockpot receives all parings and strippings of vegetables, besides liquor in which certain vegetables have been boiled; and according as we desire to have a meat soup or a vegetable soup we dip to the right hand or we dip to the left.
This recipe for a vegetable pot-au-feu soup which is independent of the stockpot is perhaps worth giving:-
Cut three carrots, one turnip, one large onion, and the quarter of a moderate-sized cabbage into coarse strips. Put them into a large saucepan, earthenware for preference, with three pints of salted water: let them come to the boil, and continue to simmer gently for three hours. Within a quarter of an hour of serving toast a bit of bread very brown on both sides and hard. Put it in the soup and leave it there for only five or six minutes. Take it out before it has time to break and spoil the clear appearance of the soup. The only object of putting it in is to give the soup the pleasant colour of toast-water. When serving, empty the entire contents of the saucepan into the tureen. If rightly done, this soup has the appearance and flavour of a French pot-au-feu, and few people would guess that it has been made without meat. Where vegetables in the soup are not liked, the liquor can be strained off and sent up as a clear soup accompanied by little cheese puffs.
Quotation for the Day.
“He had drawn many a thousand of these rations in prisons and camps, and though he'd never had an opportunity to weight them on scales, and although, being a man of timid nature, he knew no way of standing up for his rights, he, like every other prisoner, had discovered long ago that honest weight was never to be found in the bread-cutting. There was short weight in every ration. The only point was how short. So every day you took a look to soothe your soul - today, maybe, they haven't snitched any.”
Alexander Solzhenitsyn
Thursday, December 02, 2010
Superwoman, 1861 style.
What mental image is conjured up by the name “Mrs Beeton”? A stuffy Victorian matron, insisting on a place for everything and everything in its place? A stereotypical nineteenth century housewife confirming that the place for a woman was in the home? The author of the best known cookbook in the world, instantly familiar even to those who never cook?
Isabella Beeton’s famous Book of Household Management, published in 1861, was a monumental work of over one thousand pages. It was a massive, well organised, well indexed and incredibly detailed guide to every aspect of everyday life in the nineteenth century. By any publishing standards it was an enormous success, selling over 60,000 copies in its first year. Nearly two thousand recipes were set out for the first time in a format which became the standard: ingredient list, method, preparation time, cost and number of servings. It was no mere cookbook : it also covered management of servants, child-rearing, and medicine. A chapter on financial and legal issues included information about the rights of women who had separated from their husbands due to ill-treatment. Scattered throughout the book were edifying and uplifting quotations, and discussions of all manner of social, historical, scientific, agricultural, religious and household topics. It became the domestic bible of the Victorian middle class, and a standard text for several generations of housewives.
Isabella had had an unconventional upbringing. Her stepfather was the Clerk of Epsom Racecourse and the family home was in rooms under the grandstand. The 21 children of the blended family had the racecourse as their playground. Isabella had been educated in Europe, was fluent in French and German, and an accomplished pianist. At the age of twenty she married Samuel Beeton - apparently without her stepfather’s approval. Samuel was already a successful publisher who had found a niche in the market for popular magazines for the increasingly literate population. He was unusual for his era, believing that an intelligent wife was “one of the greatest boons heaven has bestowed on man”.
Middle class Victorian women were expected to support their husbands in the pursuit of their careers, primarily by ensuring that they were not distracted by domestic trivia. They were usually denied independent careers. Isabella certainly supported this clear demarcation of gender roles in her household manual. When she married however, she immediately threw herself with enthusiasm into her husband’s business, starting by contributing directly and prolifically to one of his publications – the Englishwoman's Domestic Magazine. The Book of Household Management grew from this magazine. Isabella’s new role as a wife had made her aware of the paucity of practical advice available for women suddenly faced with having to manage a large household. She saw a niche herself, and clearly decided to fill it. She was not a complete stranger to the skills required, growing up as she did in such a large family. It is unlikely that anything less than a military standard of organisation and discipline would allow a household of 21 children to function. In the first paragraph of her household manual she likens the role of the mistress to that of an army commander, and the clear military tone remains evident throughout the book.
Isabella never pretended expertise as a cook. A woman of her class was expected to have sufficient knowledge to enable her to properly supervise the goings-on in the kitchen, but certainly not to do any of the actual work. Later detractors accused her of plagiarism, but apart from a couple of exceptions she never claimed the recipes as her own. She did however collect, test, collate and standardise every one, doing exhaustive background research on ingredients, food chemistry, farming and cooking methods. When it was completed she said “I must frankly own, that if I had known, beforehand, that this book would have cost me the labour which it has, I should never have been courageous enough to commence it.”
Isabella Beeton was a gifted journalist and editor, a tireless worker and a meticulous researcher. Her greatest gift was her ability to organise massive amounts of detail into an interesting and accessible form – a century before computers. Creating her legacy took four years, during which time she suffered the loss of her first two sons in infancy. She did not see her own thirtieth birthday, dying a month after her fourth son was born. Ironically, the cleanliness which she had insisted was a household necessity was lacking in her medical attendants, and her death was due to infection acquired at the birth.
One recipe of her own which Mrs. Beeton did include in the book was her charitable soup for the deserving poor of the neighbourhood.
USEFUL SOUP FOR BENEVOLENT PURPOSES.
Ingredients. An ox-cheek, any pieces of trimmings of beef, which may be bought very cheaply (say 4 lbs.), a few bones, any pot-liquor the larder may furnish, 1/4 peck of onions, 6 leeks, a large bunch of herbs, ½ lb. of celery (the outside pieces, or green tops, do very well); ½ lb. of carrots, ½ lb. of turnips, ½ lb. of coarse brown sugar, ½ a pint of beer, 4 lbs. of common rice, or pearl barley; ½ lb. of salt, 1 oz. of black pepper, a few raspings, 10 gallons of water.
Mode. Cut up the meat in small pieces, break the bones, put them in a copper, with the 10 gallons of water, and stew for ½ an hour. Cut up the vegetables, put them in with the sugar and beer, and boil for 4 hours. Two hours before the soup is wanted, add the rice and raspings,and keep stirring till it is well mixed in the soup, which simmer gently. If the liquor reduces too much, fill up with water.
Time. 6 ½ hours. Average cost, 1 ½ d. per quart.
Note. The above recipe was used in the winter of 1858 by the Editress, who made, each week, in her copper, 8 or 9 gallons of this soup, for distribution amongst about a dozen families of the village near which she lives. The cost, as will be seen, was not great; but she has reason to believe that the soup was very much liked, and gave to the members of those families, a dish of warm, comforting food, in place of the cold meat and piece of bread which form, with too many cottagers, their usual meal, when, with a little more knowledge of the "cooking" art, they might have, for less expense, a warm dish, every day.
Quotation for the Day.
A place for everything and everything in its place.
Isabella Beeton, 1861
Isabella Beeton’s famous Book of Household Management, published in 1861, was a monumental work of over one thousand pages. It was a massive, well organised, well indexed and incredibly detailed guide to every aspect of everyday life in the nineteenth century. By any publishing standards it was an enormous success, selling over 60,000 copies in its first year. Nearly two thousand recipes were set out for the first time in a format which became the standard: ingredient list, method, preparation time, cost and number of servings. It was no mere cookbook : it also covered management of servants, child-rearing, and medicine. A chapter on financial and legal issues included information about the rights of women who had separated from their husbands due to ill-treatment. Scattered throughout the book were edifying and uplifting quotations, and discussions of all manner of social, historical, scientific, agricultural, religious and household topics. It became the domestic bible of the Victorian middle class, and a standard text for several generations of housewives.
Isabella had had an unconventional upbringing. Her stepfather was the Clerk of Epsom Racecourse and the family home was in rooms under the grandstand. The 21 children of the blended family had the racecourse as their playground. Isabella had been educated in Europe, was fluent in French and German, and an accomplished pianist. At the age of twenty she married Samuel Beeton - apparently without her stepfather’s approval. Samuel was already a successful publisher who had found a niche in the market for popular magazines for the increasingly literate population. He was unusual for his era, believing that an intelligent wife was “one of the greatest boons heaven has bestowed on man”.
Middle class Victorian women were expected to support their husbands in the pursuit of their careers, primarily by ensuring that they were not distracted by domestic trivia. They were usually denied independent careers. Isabella certainly supported this clear demarcation of gender roles in her household manual. When she married however, she immediately threw herself with enthusiasm into her husband’s business, starting by contributing directly and prolifically to one of his publications – the Englishwoman's Domestic Magazine. The Book of Household Management grew from this magazine. Isabella’s new role as a wife had made her aware of the paucity of practical advice available for women suddenly faced with having to manage a large household. She saw a niche herself, and clearly decided to fill it. She was not a complete stranger to the skills required, growing up as she did in such a large family. It is unlikely that anything less than a military standard of organisation and discipline would allow a household of 21 children to function. In the first paragraph of her household manual she likens the role of the mistress to that of an army commander, and the clear military tone remains evident throughout the book.
Isabella never pretended expertise as a cook. A woman of her class was expected to have sufficient knowledge to enable her to properly supervise the goings-on in the kitchen, but certainly not to do any of the actual work. Later detractors accused her of plagiarism, but apart from a couple of exceptions she never claimed the recipes as her own. She did however collect, test, collate and standardise every one, doing exhaustive background research on ingredients, food chemistry, farming and cooking methods. When it was completed she said “I must frankly own, that if I had known, beforehand, that this book would have cost me the labour which it has, I should never have been courageous enough to commence it.”
Isabella Beeton was a gifted journalist and editor, a tireless worker and a meticulous researcher. Her greatest gift was her ability to organise massive amounts of detail into an interesting and accessible form – a century before computers. Creating her legacy took four years, during which time she suffered the loss of her first two sons in infancy. She did not see her own thirtieth birthday, dying a month after her fourth son was born. Ironically, the cleanliness which she had insisted was a household necessity was lacking in her medical attendants, and her death was due to infection acquired at the birth.
One recipe of her own which Mrs. Beeton did include in the book was her charitable soup for the deserving poor of the neighbourhood.
USEFUL SOUP FOR BENEVOLENT PURPOSES.
Ingredients. An ox-cheek, any pieces of trimmings of beef, which may be bought very cheaply (say 4 lbs.), a few bones, any pot-liquor the larder may furnish, 1/4 peck of onions, 6 leeks, a large bunch of herbs, ½ lb. of celery (the outside pieces, or green tops, do very well); ½ lb. of carrots, ½ lb. of turnips, ½ lb. of coarse brown sugar, ½ a pint of beer, 4 lbs. of common rice, or pearl barley; ½ lb. of salt, 1 oz. of black pepper, a few raspings, 10 gallons of water.
Mode. Cut up the meat in small pieces, break the bones, put them in a copper, with the 10 gallons of water, and stew for ½ an hour. Cut up the vegetables, put them in with the sugar and beer, and boil for 4 hours. Two hours before the soup is wanted, add the rice and raspings,and keep stirring till it is well mixed in the soup, which simmer gently. If the liquor reduces too much, fill up with water.
Time. 6 ½ hours. Average cost, 1 ½ d. per quart.
Note. The above recipe was used in the winter of 1858 by the Editress, who made, each week, in her copper, 8 or 9 gallons of this soup, for distribution amongst about a dozen families of the village near which she lives. The cost, as will be seen, was not great; but she has reason to believe that the soup was very much liked, and gave to the members of those families, a dish of warm, comforting food, in place of the cold meat and piece of bread which form, with too many cottagers, their usual meal, when, with a little more knowledge of the "cooking" art, they might have, for less expense, a warm dish, every day.
Quotation for the Day.
A place for everything and everything in its place.
Isabella Beeton, 1861
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Thanksgiving, Again.
It is a little difficult to avoid giving you a Thanksgiving story today – and why would I want to anyway? Before I give you today’s historical Thanksgiving menu, here are the links to previous Thanksgiving posts, in case you should want to thoroughly revise the topic before we proceed.
Over a dozen historical Thanksgiving menus are included in the following four posts: here, here, here, and here.
Five posts have covered Thanksgiving pies:
Pumpkin, Pecan, Cranberry, Apple, Mincemeat.
Other Thanksgiving foods featured in the past have been:
Succotash, Sweet Potato,Vegetarian ‘Mock Turkey’,Turkey, Cranberry Sauce, Turkey Dressing,
We have also had fun with:
Thanksgiving breakfast.
Thanksgiving Ideas for the Bride Housewife.
Now, as the military seem to be under-represented in the posts for this special day, here is the
Thanksgiving Day menu for 1945 from U.S.S. PC-1138, in Pearl Harbour, Hawaii.
For the today’s recipe, I give you a military quantity of Cream of Tomato Soup from the U.S. Navy cook-book (1920). I doubt that the military were doing it much differently a couple of decades later when the men aboard U.S.S. PC-1138 enjoyed their turkey and cigarettes in 1945.
CREAM OF TOMATO SOUP
10 gals. stock
20 lbs.tomatoes
3 lbs. onions
5 lbs. flour
3 lbs. milk
1/8 oz baking soda
5 lbs. bread for croutons.
Boil together the tomatoes and onions until they become a pulp, then mash and strain through a fine colander; add to the stock and thicken well with a white roux. Simmer for 30 minutes; then add the soda and then the milk. Season and serve with the croutons. The consistency of this soup should be that of a good thick cream.
Quotation for the Day.
What's a soup kitchen?
Paris Hilton.
Over a dozen historical Thanksgiving menus are included in the following four posts: here, here, here, and here.
Five posts have covered Thanksgiving pies:
Pumpkin, Pecan, Cranberry, Apple, Mincemeat.
Other Thanksgiving foods featured in the past have been:
Succotash, Sweet Potato,Vegetarian ‘Mock Turkey’,Turkey, Cranberry Sauce, Turkey Dressing,
We have also had fun with:
Thanksgiving breakfast.
Thanksgiving Ideas for the Bride Housewife.
Now, as the military seem to be under-represented in the posts for this special day, here is the
Thanksgiving Day menu for 1945 from U.S.S. PC-1138, in Pearl Harbour, Hawaii.
Celery and Ripe Olives
Cream of Tomato Soup
ROAST TOM TURKEY
Vegetable Dressing Giblet Gravy Mashed Potato
Fruit Cocktail
Pie Plum Pudding
Nuts Candy
Cigars and Cigarettes.
For the today’s recipe, I give you a military quantity of Cream of Tomato Soup from the U.S. Navy cook-book (1920). I doubt that the military were doing it much differently a couple of decades later when the men aboard U.S.S. PC-1138 enjoyed their turkey and cigarettes in 1945.
CREAM OF TOMATO SOUP
10 gals. stock
20 lbs.tomatoes
3 lbs. onions
5 lbs. flour
3 lbs. milk
1/8 oz baking soda
5 lbs. bread for croutons.
Boil together the tomatoes and onions until they become a pulp, then mash and strain through a fine colander; add to the stock and thicken well with a white roux. Simmer for 30 minutes; then add the soda and then the milk. Season and serve with the croutons. The consistency of this soup should be that of a good thick cream.
Quotation for the Day.
What's a soup kitchen?
Paris Hilton.
Friday, November 19, 2010
To Dress Snayles.
It is strange, what we each consider disgusting in the way of food. Most of us would not consider eating cockroaches, largely because of their perceived dirty scavenging eating habits yet lust after lobsters, which are sometimes called ‘the cockroaches of the sea’ for their similar eating preferences. Snails are another opinion-dividing food – are they a disgusting garden-destroying, slimy, rubbery vermin, or a delicious appetiser?
I make no apologies for using for at least the second time the quotation at the end of the post. I think it is very funny, and it does reinforce the notion that snail-eating is a decidedly French habit. This is not, or was not true, of course. Snails were commonly used in England and many other countries in previous times, both for their perceived medicinal value and as a valuable and nourishing food.
I give you three recipes for snails – one each from the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries. The sliminess of snails suggested their use for soothing the chest, hence their recommendation in cases of consumption and other lung complaints.
To dresse snayles.
Take your Snayles (they are no way so as in Pottage) and wash them very well in many waters, and when you have done put them in a White Earthen Pan, or very wide Dish, and put as much water to them as will cover them, and then set your Dish or Pan on some coales, that it may heat by little and little, and then the Snayles will come out of the shells and so dye, and being dead, take them out and wash them very well in Water and salt twice or thrice over; then put them in a Pipkin with Water and Salt, and let them boyle a little while in that, so take away the rude slime they have, then take them out againe and put them in a Cullender; then take excellent sallet Oyle and beat it a great while upon the fire in a frying Pan, and when it boyls very fast, slice two or three Onyons in it, and let them fry well, then put the Snayles in the Oyle and Onyons, and let them stew together a little, then put the Oyle, Onyons, and Snayles altogether in an earthen Pipkin of a fit size for your Snayles, and put as much warm water to them as will serve to boyle them and make the Pottage and season them with Salt, and so let them boyle three or foure hours; then mingle Parsley, Pennyroyall, Fennell, Tyme, and such Herbs, and when they are minced put them in a Morter and beat them as you do for Green-sauce, andput in some crums of bread soaked in the Pottage of the Snayles, and then dissolve it all in the Morter with a little Saffron and Cloves well beaten, and put in as much Pottage into the Morter as will make the Spice and bread and Herbs like thickening for a pot, so put them all into the Snayles and let them stew in it, and when you serve them up, you may squeeze into the Pottage a Lemon, and put in a little Vinegar, or if you put in a Clove of Garlick among the Herbs, and beat iti with them in the Morter, it will not tast the worse;serve them up in a Dish with sippets of Bread in the bottom. The Pottage is very nourishing, and they use them that are apt to a Consumption.
The Compleat Cook, Nathaniel Brook, 1658
To Stew Snails.
Scour them, and cleanse them well, put them into a Pipkin with Claret and Wine-vinegar, Salt, Pepper, Mace, grated Bread, Thyme shred, Capers, and the Yolks of a hard Egg or two, minc’d. Stew all these together, then put in a good piece of Butter, and shake them well together, warm a Dish, rub it with a Clove of Garlick, lay Sippets in the Dish, put on the Snails, garnish with Barberries and slices of Lemon.
The Cook’s and Confectioner’s Dictionary (1723) John Nott.
There is no sense in the previous two recipes of needing to be apologetic about the main ingredient. By the nineteenth century, perhaps sensibilities had changed – at least, that is what is suggested by the final recipe, in which the author notes that some repugnance may have to be overcome, and that the taste may be ‘mawkish’.
Snail Broth.
Wash them extremely well, and throw them into very hot water; take them out of the shell, and pass them through several waters; working them well with the hand; slice them, pound the shells, and put all into a saucepan, with as much water as will cover; boil, skim, and let them simmer for several hours; add a little salt, sugar, and a very small quantity of mace, to correct the mawkish taste: a tea-cupful may be taken four times a day, with or without conserve of roses. Should the patient have any repugnance to it in this form, let it be put into some weak veal broth; this is far preferable to slater [woodlouse] wine …
Domestic economy, and cookery, for rich and poor, (1827)
This final recipe is included in the chapter on Medicinal Soups in my new book Soup: a Global History, which is available now. You can read about it at Reaktion Press, and you can even buy it from Amazon or your preferred book supplier.
Quotation for the Day.
The French are not rude. They just happen to hate you. But that is no reason to bypass this beautiful country, whose master chefs have a well-deserved worldwide reputation for trying to trick people into eating snails. Nobody is sure how this got started. Probably a couple of French master chefs were standing around one day, and they found a snail, and one of them said: "I bet that if we called this something like `escargot,' tourists would eat it." Then they had hearty laugh, because ‘escargot’ is the French word for ‘fat crawling bag of phlegm.’
Dave Barry
I make no apologies for using for at least the second time the quotation at the end of the post. I think it is very funny, and it does reinforce the notion that snail-eating is a decidedly French habit. This is not, or was not true, of course. Snails were commonly used in England and many other countries in previous times, both for their perceived medicinal value and as a valuable and nourishing food.
I give you three recipes for snails – one each from the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries. The sliminess of snails suggested their use for soothing the chest, hence their recommendation in cases of consumption and other lung complaints.
To dresse snayles.
Take your Snayles (they are no way so as in Pottage) and wash them very well in many waters, and when you have done put them in a White Earthen Pan, or very wide Dish, and put as much water to them as will cover them, and then set your Dish or Pan on some coales, that it may heat by little and little, and then the Snayles will come out of the shells and so dye, and being dead, take them out and wash them very well in Water and salt twice or thrice over; then put them in a Pipkin with Water and Salt, and let them boyle a little while in that, so take away the rude slime they have, then take them out againe and put them in a Cullender; then take excellent sallet Oyle and beat it a great while upon the fire in a frying Pan, and when it boyls very fast, slice two or three Onyons in it, and let them fry well, then put the Snayles in the Oyle and Onyons, and let them stew together a little, then put the Oyle, Onyons, and Snayles altogether in an earthen Pipkin of a fit size for your Snayles, and put as much warm water to them as will serve to boyle them and make the Pottage and season them with Salt, and so let them boyle three or foure hours; then mingle Parsley, Pennyroyall, Fennell, Tyme, and such Herbs, and when they are minced put them in a Morter and beat them as you do for Green-sauce, andput in some crums of bread soaked in the Pottage of the Snayles, and then dissolve it all in the Morter with a little Saffron and Cloves well beaten, and put in as much Pottage into the Morter as will make the Spice and bread and Herbs like thickening for a pot, so put them all into the Snayles and let them stew in it, and when you serve them up, you may squeeze into the Pottage a Lemon, and put in a little Vinegar, or if you put in a Clove of Garlick among the Herbs, and beat iti with them in the Morter, it will not tast the worse;serve them up in a Dish with sippets of Bread in the bottom. The Pottage is very nourishing, and they use them that are apt to a Consumption.
The Compleat Cook, Nathaniel Brook, 1658
To Stew Snails.
Scour them, and cleanse them well, put them into a Pipkin with Claret and Wine-vinegar, Salt, Pepper, Mace, grated Bread, Thyme shred, Capers, and the Yolks of a hard Egg or two, minc’d. Stew all these together, then put in a good piece of Butter, and shake them well together, warm a Dish, rub it with a Clove of Garlick, lay Sippets in the Dish, put on the Snails, garnish with Barberries and slices of Lemon.
The Cook’s and Confectioner’s Dictionary (1723) John Nott.
There is no sense in the previous two recipes of needing to be apologetic about the main ingredient. By the nineteenth century, perhaps sensibilities had changed – at least, that is what is suggested by the final recipe, in which the author notes that some repugnance may have to be overcome, and that the taste may be ‘mawkish’.
Snail Broth.
Wash them extremely well, and throw them into very hot water; take them out of the shell, and pass them through several waters; working them well with the hand; slice them, pound the shells, and put all into a saucepan, with as much water as will cover; boil, skim, and let them simmer for several hours; add a little salt, sugar, and a very small quantity of mace, to correct the mawkish taste: a tea-cupful may be taken four times a day, with or without conserve of roses. Should the patient have any repugnance to it in this form, let it be put into some weak veal broth; this is far preferable to slater [woodlouse] wine …
Domestic economy, and cookery, for rich and poor, (1827)
This final recipe is included in the chapter on Medicinal Soups in my new book Soup: a Global History, which is available now. You can read about it at Reaktion Press, and you can even buy it from Amazon or your preferred book supplier.
Quotation for the Day.
The French are not rude. They just happen to hate you. But that is no reason to bypass this beautiful country, whose master chefs have a well-deserved worldwide reputation for trying to trick people into eating snails. Nobody is sure how this got started. Probably a couple of French master chefs were standing around one day, and they found a snail, and one of them said: "I bet that if we called this something like `escargot,' tourists would eat it." Then they had hearty laugh, because ‘escargot’ is the French word for ‘fat crawling bag of phlegm.’
Dave Barry
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The Original Chowder.
Today I want to discuss chowder, for the very good reason that today is an anniversary of sorts for the famous New England fish soup/stew. On this day in 1751 the first known printed recipe for chowder appeared in the Boston Evening Post, and very poetical the recipe was too.
Directions for Making a Chouder
First lay some Onions to keep the Pork from burning,
Because in Chouder there can be no turning;
Then lay some Pork in Slices very thin,
Thus you in Chouder always must begin.
Next lay some Fish cut crossways very nice
Then season well with Pepper, Salt, and Spice;
Parsley, Sweet-Marjoram, Savory and Thyme;
Then Biscuit next which must be soak'd some Time.
Thus your Foundation laid, you will be able
To raise a Chouder, high as Tower of Babel;
For by repeating o're the Same again,
You may make Chouder for a thousand Men.
Last Bottle of Claret, with Water eno' to smother 'em,
You'll have a Mess which some call Omnium gather 'em.
I have been unable to check the source of this recipe myself, but the Oxford English Dictionary is reliable enough, I think – and it uses the poetical recipe as its first reference for the word chowder. The definition given by the OED for chowder is ‘In Newfoundland, New England, etc.: A dish made of fresh fish (esp. cod) or clams, stewed with slices of pork or bacon, onions, and biscuit. ‘Cider and champagne are sometimes added’ (Bartlett).
The OED proposes that the word ultimately derives from the Latin calderia, which meant ‘a place for warming things’ and later, ‘a cooking pot’ (or cauldron.) There is another etymological possibility for the word however, and one which I much prefer. It may derive from an old English word jowter (of various spellings) which originally meant a fish peddler before it extended to apply to other sorts of hawkers and dealers. The OED does not hazard a guess as to the etymology of the word jowter, but it seems to have referred particularly to the female of the species, and has been used since at least the sixteenth century.
If the poetical recipe above is not to your liking, here is an alternative from a century later. I look forward to the inevitable authenticity debate which will surely follow.
Chowder.
As this is the season for deep-sea fishing, and as the chowder is the favorite mode of preparing the fish thus caught, we give the following genuine recipe for making that celebrated Yankee dish, furnished by a correspondent of the New York Commercial Advertiser, who obtained it at the Massachusetts coast, from the most authentic source.
“Here let me tell you how to make a chowder:-
1st, Fry a large bit of well salted pork in the kettle over the fire. Fry it thoroughly.
2nd, Pour in a quantity of water, then put in the head and shoulders of a codfish and a fine, well-dressed haddock, both recently caught.
3rd, Put in three or four good Irish potatoes, and then boil them well together. An old fisherman generally puts in three or four onions.
4th, When they are about done, throw in a few of the largest Boston crackers, and then aplly the pepper and salt to suit your taste.
Such a dish, smoaking hot, placed before you after a long morning spent in the most exhilarating sport, will make you no longer envy the gods.
Bangor Daily Whig and Courier, [Maine] August 9, 1843
Quotation for the Day
Chowder breathes reassurance, it steams consolation.
Clementine Paddleford.
Directions for Making a Chouder
First lay some Onions to keep the Pork from burning,
Because in Chouder there can be no turning;
Then lay some Pork in Slices very thin,
Thus you in Chouder always must begin.
Next lay some Fish cut crossways very nice
Then season well with Pepper, Salt, and Spice;
Parsley, Sweet-Marjoram, Savory and Thyme;
Then Biscuit next which must be soak'd some Time.
Thus your Foundation laid, you will be able
To raise a Chouder, high as Tower of Babel;
For by repeating o're the Same again,
You may make Chouder for a thousand Men.
Last Bottle of Claret, with Water eno' to smother 'em,
You'll have a Mess which some call Omnium gather 'em.
I have been unable to check the source of this recipe myself, but the Oxford English Dictionary is reliable enough, I think – and it uses the poetical recipe as its first reference for the word chowder. The definition given by the OED for chowder is ‘In Newfoundland, New England, etc.: A dish made of fresh fish (esp. cod) or clams, stewed with slices of pork or bacon, onions, and biscuit. ‘Cider and champagne are sometimes added’ (Bartlett).
The OED proposes that the word ultimately derives from the Latin calderia, which meant ‘a place for warming things’ and later, ‘a cooking pot’ (or cauldron.) There is another etymological possibility for the word however, and one which I much prefer. It may derive from an old English word jowter (of various spellings) which originally meant a fish peddler before it extended to apply to other sorts of hawkers and dealers. The OED does not hazard a guess as to the etymology of the word jowter, but it seems to have referred particularly to the female of the species, and has been used since at least the sixteenth century.
If the poetical recipe above is not to your liking, here is an alternative from a century later. I look forward to the inevitable authenticity debate which will surely follow.
Chowder.
As this is the season for deep-sea fishing, and as the chowder is the favorite mode of preparing the fish thus caught, we give the following genuine recipe for making that celebrated Yankee dish, furnished by a correspondent of the New York Commercial Advertiser, who obtained it at the Massachusetts coast, from the most authentic source.
“Here let me tell you how to make a chowder:-
1st, Fry a large bit of well salted pork in the kettle over the fire. Fry it thoroughly.
2nd, Pour in a quantity of water, then put in the head and shoulders of a codfish and a fine, well-dressed haddock, both recently caught.
3rd, Put in three or four good Irish potatoes, and then boil them well together. An old fisherman generally puts in three or four onions.
4th, When they are about done, throw in a few of the largest Boston crackers, and then aplly the pepper and salt to suit your taste.
Such a dish, smoaking hot, placed before you after a long morning spent in the most exhilarating sport, will make you no longer envy the gods.
Bangor Daily Whig and Courier, [Maine] August 9, 1843
Quotation for the Day
Chowder breathes reassurance, it steams consolation.
Clementine Paddleford.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Beer recipes, Part 3.
The United Brewer’s Industrial Foundation produced a recipe booklet in 1937 to promote the use of beer in cookery. A beer-themed luncheon menu based on recipes from this book was mentioned in a recent blog post (and a follow-up here), and regular readers will remember that I determined to find enough of them (or suitable alternatives) to make it possible for you to hold your own beer-based lunch. I have been unable to find an actual copy of this recipe book, but luckily, some of the recipes are quoted elsewhere.
At the end of the two posts we had recipes outstanding for ‘melon balls with beer dressing, beer bread, sweet potatoes in beer, beer sauce on asparagus, potato salad with beer dressing, jellied vegetable salad containing beer, beer with eggs.’ Some of these are still proving elusive, but today I offer you beer soup (not in the menu quoted, but why not?), and a fine alternative for the fish course.
Bohemian Beer Soup.
2 cups beer (room temperature)
2 cups milk
2 tablespoons white sugar
2 whole eggs
Little grated nutmeg.
Get the milk very hot and then add to it eggs, sugar, and nutmeg beaten together. Stir until thickened then pour in the beer. Then pour all the mixture back into the kettle from which you poured the beer. Try this pouring back and forth for 4 to 6 times and serve immediately – to six of your best friends.
[From the United Brewers’ Foundation beer cookery book; quoted in a New York Times article of September 1937]
Fish Sauce [with beer].
5 ounces shallot onions, cut fine and braised.
2 ounces gingersnap crumbs
1 stalk celery, finely cut
Parsley
Put in a fish kettle the desired fish, add the onions, celery, gingersnap crumbs, parsley, salt. Cover the whole completely with a light bottled beer and cook slowly till done.
To prepare the sauce, use the fish broth, cook it down to two-thirds of its volume and put thru a sieve, add 5 ounces of fresh butter, beat lightly, and pour over fish.
[From ‘Joseph Happle, chef at Schroeder Hotel in Milwaukee’, quoted in the New York Times of April 27, 1934]
Quotation for the Day.
I have a total irreverence for anything connected with society except that which makes the roads safer, the beer stronger, the food cheaper and the old men and old women warmer in the winter and happier in the summer.
Brendan Behan
At the end of the two posts we had recipes outstanding for ‘melon balls with beer dressing, beer bread, sweet potatoes in beer, beer sauce on asparagus, potato salad with beer dressing, jellied vegetable salad containing beer, beer with eggs.’ Some of these are still proving elusive, but today I offer you beer soup (not in the menu quoted, but why not?), and a fine alternative for the fish course.
Bohemian Beer Soup.
2 cups beer (room temperature)
2 cups milk
2 tablespoons white sugar
2 whole eggs
Little grated nutmeg.
Get the milk very hot and then add to it eggs, sugar, and nutmeg beaten together. Stir until thickened then pour in the beer. Then pour all the mixture back into the kettle from which you poured the beer. Try this pouring back and forth for 4 to 6 times and serve immediately – to six of your best friends.
[From the United Brewers’ Foundation beer cookery book; quoted in a New York Times article of September 1937]
Fish Sauce [with beer].
5 ounces shallot onions, cut fine and braised.
2 ounces gingersnap crumbs
1 stalk celery, finely cut
Parsley
Put in a fish kettle the desired fish, add the onions, celery, gingersnap crumbs, parsley, salt. Cover the whole completely with a light bottled beer and cook slowly till done.
To prepare the sauce, use the fish broth, cook it down to two-thirds of its volume and put thru a sieve, add 5 ounces of fresh butter, beat lightly, and pour over fish.
[From ‘Joseph Happle, chef at Schroeder Hotel in Milwaukee’, quoted in the New York Times of April 27, 1934]
Quotation for the Day.
I have a total irreverence for anything connected with society except that which makes the roads safer, the beer stronger, the food cheaper and the old men and old women warmer in the winter and happier in the summer.
Brendan Behan
Monday, August 16, 2010
Considering Cabbage.
This week I have set myself a little challenge – to see if I can keep you interested over a whole week of posts on the topic of cabbage.
The cabbage is not a glamorous (artichokes, perhaps?) or sexy (truffles, asparagus?) or fun vegetable ((as potatoes can be), but it is ancient, useful, adaptable, and worthy of respect. The name is old, and is derived from the Latin caput for ‘head’, which is self-explanatory. Botanically speaking an ‘ordinary’ cabbage is “a plane-leaved cultivated variety of Brassica oleracea, the unexpanded leaves of which form a compact globular heart or head.” The specifics of ‘plane-leaved’ and ‘compact globular heart or head’ are important, for as we have seen in a previous post, the full gamut of cabbage, broccoli, kale, collard greens, kohlrabi, and Brussels sprouts (and others) are simply different cultivars of the same Brassica oleracea. See what I mean about being adaptable?
The cabbage is also adaptable to many different sorts of recipes, as I hope to show you this week. To start with, I want to consider this most ancient and adaptable vegetable it in that most ancient and adaptable dish – soup. We have had recipes for cabbage soup in previous stories – a Russian version from 1862, and three versions from the same cookery book published in 1907 – but I say there is always room for another good soup recipe.
A very early recipe for cabbage soup appears in The Forme of Cury, the manuscript cookery book compiled in about 1390 by the Master Cooks of King Richard II. The dish of cabbage, minced onions, and leeks cooked in a good broth and spiced with saffron and other spices would be just as acceptable today, and proves that there is no expiry date on a good idea.
Caboches in Potage.
Take Caboches and quarter hem and seeth hem in gode broth with Oynouns y minced and the whyte of Lekes y slyt and corue smale, and do thereto safroun an salt and force it with powder douce.
My translation: take cabbages, and quarter them, and simmer them in good broth with minced onions and leeks sliced and chopped small, and add saffron, and salt, and sweet spices.
Quotation for the Day.
“Having a good wife and rich cabbage soup, seek not other things”
Russian Proverb.
The cabbage is not a glamorous (artichokes, perhaps?) or sexy (truffles, asparagus?) or fun vegetable ((as potatoes can be), but it is ancient, useful, adaptable, and worthy of respect. The name is old, and is derived from the Latin caput for ‘head’, which is self-explanatory. Botanically speaking an ‘ordinary’ cabbage is “a plane-leaved cultivated variety of Brassica oleracea, the unexpanded leaves of which form a compact globular heart or head.” The specifics of ‘plane-leaved’ and ‘compact globular heart or head’ are important, for as we have seen in a previous post, the full gamut of cabbage, broccoli, kale, collard greens, kohlrabi, and Brussels sprouts (and others) are simply different cultivars of the same Brassica oleracea. See what I mean about being adaptable?
The cabbage is also adaptable to many different sorts of recipes, as I hope to show you this week. To start with, I want to consider this most ancient and adaptable vegetable it in that most ancient and adaptable dish – soup. We have had recipes for cabbage soup in previous stories – a Russian version from 1862, and three versions from the same cookery book published in 1907 – but I say there is always room for another good soup recipe.
A very early recipe for cabbage soup appears in The Forme of Cury, the manuscript cookery book compiled in about 1390 by the Master Cooks of King Richard II. The dish of cabbage, minced onions, and leeks cooked in a good broth and spiced with saffron and other spices would be just as acceptable today, and proves that there is no expiry date on a good idea.
Caboches in Potage.
Take Caboches and quarter hem and seeth hem in gode broth with Oynouns y minced and the whyte of Lekes y slyt and corue smale, and do thereto safroun an salt and force it with powder douce.
My translation: take cabbages, and quarter them, and simmer them in good broth with minced onions and leeks sliced and chopped small, and add saffron, and salt, and sweet spices.
Quotation for the Day.
“Having a good wife and rich cabbage soup, seek not other things”
Russian Proverb.
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
Mock Choc.
I love the history of ‘mock’ food. I love genuine chocolate. I love really good soup. I love the crazy fact that someone, somewhere, a little over a century ago, thought that the world needed (and would be fooled by?) a recipe for ‘mock chocolate soup.’
I gave you a recipe for Chocolate Soup (from 1890) in a previous post, but one can’t have too many chocolate soup recipes (even if they are actually for custard), can one? From yesterday’s source, the simply named Soups, by S. Beaty-Pownall (London, 1904), please enjoy ….
Chocolate Soup.
Put into a pan 2 oz. or 3 oz. of best chocolate, grated or powdered, together with a stick of cinnamon or vanilla, as you choose; pour on to it a quart of new milk, sweeten to taste, bring it all to the boil, and let it cook till the chocolate is all melted and the whole is smooth; meantime, whip the yolks of four or five eggs to a stiff froth, draw the soup to the side of the stove, and when it has cooled for a few minutes, work in the eggs sharply, and pour the hot soup at once into a tureen, in which you have already placed some nice sweetened coffee rusks.
Chocolate Soup (Mock)
Brown 2 oz. of fine sifted flour in the oven till of a rich chocolate brown (be careful it does not catch or burn), then put it into a pan with a tablespoonful of sugar, a clove or two, and a piece of vanilla or cinnamon stick; pour to this a pint of new milk, boiling, then stir it all steadily till it re-boils, being careful it does not get lumpy, add in egg yolks as in the preceding recipe, and serve very hot. Beat the whites of the eggs to a stiff froth, with a little caster sugar, and drop spoonfuls of this on to the boiling soup a minute or two before serving it. This garnish may also be added to the preceding soup. Use vanilla sugar with the egg whites.
Quotation for the Day.
If any man has drunk a little too deeply from the cup of physical pleasure; if he has spent too much time at his desk that should have been spent asleep; if his fine spirits have become temporarily dulled; if he finds the air too damp, the minutes too slow, and the atmosphere too heavy to withstand; if he is obsessed by a fixed idea which bars him from any freedom of thought: if he is any of these poor creatures, we say, let him be given a good pint of amber-flavored chocolate....and marvels will be performed.
Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin
I gave you a recipe for Chocolate Soup (from 1890) in a previous post, but one can’t have too many chocolate soup recipes (even if they are actually for custard), can one? From yesterday’s source, the simply named Soups, by S. Beaty-Pownall (London, 1904), please enjoy ….
Chocolate Soup.
Put into a pan 2 oz. or 3 oz. of best chocolate, grated or powdered, together with a stick of cinnamon or vanilla, as you choose; pour on to it a quart of new milk, sweeten to taste, bring it all to the boil, and let it cook till the chocolate is all melted and the whole is smooth; meantime, whip the yolks of four or five eggs to a stiff froth, draw the soup to the side of the stove, and when it has cooled for a few minutes, work in the eggs sharply, and pour the hot soup at once into a tureen, in which you have already placed some nice sweetened coffee rusks.
Chocolate Soup (Mock)
Brown 2 oz. of fine sifted flour in the oven till of a rich chocolate brown (be careful it does not catch or burn), then put it into a pan with a tablespoonful of sugar, a clove or two, and a piece of vanilla or cinnamon stick; pour to this a pint of new milk, boiling, then stir it all steadily till it re-boils, being careful it does not get lumpy, add in egg yolks as in the preceding recipe, and serve very hot. Beat the whites of the eggs to a stiff froth, with a little caster sugar, and drop spoonfuls of this on to the boiling soup a minute or two before serving it. This garnish may also be added to the preceding soup. Use vanilla sugar with the egg whites.
Quotation for the Day.
If any man has drunk a little too deeply from the cup of physical pleasure; if he has spent too much time at his desk that should have been spent asleep; if his fine spirits have become temporarily dulled; if he finds the air too damp, the minutes too slow, and the atmosphere too heavy to withstand; if he is obsessed by a fixed idea which bars him from any freedom of thought: if he is any of these poor creatures, we say, let him be given a good pint of amber-flavored chocolate....and marvels will be performed.
Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
Bread, or Beer?
The people of Britain were faced with a particular dilemma early in 1917. The First World War was dragging wearily on, and there was a serious shortage of grain. In January, the Food Controller had warned that it was ‘really a question of bread v. beer.” A choice between bread and beer - the two great products of fermented grain, and the two great staples of Europe for millennia – an ominous situation, and a very difficult choice, Yes?
A letter to The Times from Mr. Duncan Miller, M.P, was printed in the edition of April 28. Mr. Miller made his choice quite clear, and also reminds those of us who read his words today of a more sinister use for alcohol.
If you have both bread and beer, then you are indeed blessed. You can even combine them, if you wish, as in the following recipes, taken from the book Soups, by S.Beaty-Pownall, (London, 1904)
Beer Soup (German)
Bring two quarts of bottled beer to the boil, remove a little of the froth, sweeten to taste with brown sugar, add the rind of a lemon cut in fine strips free from pith, and a little stick cinnamon. Have ready some crisp, nicely toasted bread cut into strips or fingers (or use zwieback); place these in the tureen, pour the scalding soup upon it and serve.
Beer Soup (Russian)
Bring two quarts of barley beer to the boil, with 6 oz. or 7 oz. of loaf sugar; beat up the yolks of six or eight eggs with a gill of sour cream, strain these into a large hot basin, work to them gradually the boiling beer, and serve very hot.
Quotation for the Day
Do not cease to drink beer, to eat, to intoxicate thyself, to make love, and to celebrate the good days.
Egyptian Proverb.
A letter to The Times from Mr. Duncan Miller, M.P, was printed in the edition of April 28. Mr. Miller made his choice quite clear, and also reminds those of us who read his words today of a more sinister use for alcohol.
“The public cannot be expected to take seriously the appeals made to them for economy in bread and sugar while the Government is allowing the consumption of 367,220 tons of barley and 44,700 tons of sugar in the manufacture of beer during the present year, and also of 425,000 qr.of grain in the manufacture of spirits, not a gallon of which can be consumed under the Immature Spirits (Restriction) Act, 1915, for three years. In view of the serious shortage of cereals, and of the growing submarine menace, the first duty of the Ministry of Food surely ought to be to lay aside the 1,000,000 qr. of malt at present in the hands of the brewers, and the further large quantity of malted barley in the hands of the distillers, for the production of bread and other food for the people. If the Food Controller’s statement in January was true, i.e., that it was ‘really a question of bread v. beer,’ it is much truer today, and the use of malted barley in various forms would provide a valuable additional food supply. Alternatively, the Food Controller might at least ration all consumers of grain and sugar on the same footing, whether consumed in the form of bread an sugar or of beverages in the manufacture of which sugar and grain are employed.
The nation is now beginning to realize that, if compulsory rations are to be introduced, this will be due in no small degree to the unlimited consumption of malt liquors and other spirituous beverages permitted in the past, and the large quantity of cereals still allowed to be used for their manufacture.
Another valuable saving might readily be effected by the use of such quantity of the 156 ½ million gallons of bonded spirits as may be suitable for the manufacture of explosives. This would at once release for the food of the people a further considerable supple of grain and other materials presently employed in manufacturing alcohol for explosives.”
If you have both bread and beer, then you are indeed blessed. You can even combine them, if you wish, as in the following recipes, taken from the book Soups, by S.Beaty-Pownall, (London, 1904)
Beer Soup (German)
Bring two quarts of bottled beer to the boil, remove a little of the froth, sweeten to taste with brown sugar, add the rind of a lemon cut in fine strips free from pith, and a little stick cinnamon. Have ready some crisp, nicely toasted bread cut into strips or fingers (or use zwieback); place these in the tureen, pour the scalding soup upon it and serve.
Beer Soup (Russian)
Bring two quarts of barley beer to the boil, with 6 oz. or 7 oz. of loaf sugar; beat up the yolks of six or eight eggs with a gill of sour cream, strain these into a large hot basin, work to them gradually the boiling beer, and serve very hot.
Quotation for the Day
Do not cease to drink beer, to eat, to intoxicate thyself, to make love, and to celebrate the good days.
Egyptian Proverb.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Fighting and Dining.
When the Prussian military strategist Carl von Clausewitz said that "there are generals who win battles and there are generals who dine well", he would no doubt have included Napoleon in the first category and excluded him from the ranks of gourmet.
Clausewitz would have been correct. For all his pre-occupation with feeding his troops, Napoleon was remarkably uninterested in his own meals. He preferred plain food, which he ate very quickly. He said that ” A man's palate can, in time, become accustomed to anything” and told his colleagues "If you want to eat well, dine with the Second Consul; if you want to eat a lot, visit the Third Consul; if you want to eat quickly, dine with me." Small wonder that chefs, frustrated by their poor pay and the lack of appreciation for their efforts, did not stay very long in his employ.
Napoleon was by no means the first military leader to realise that “an army marches on his stomach”, nor would he be the last, but his constant efforts to feed his troops had ramifications far beyond the mere provisioning of his army. The usual strategy of the time was that the army lived off the land as it moved, but this was the largest land army the world had seen, and a supplementary strategy was needed.
Feeding the army was already a problem in 1795, and the Food Preservation Committee of the Societé d’Encouragement pour l’Industrie Nationale in that year offered a prize of 12,000 francs for a method of preserving food, especially for use by the army and navy. Eventually the news reached the ears of Nicolas Appert, a small town mayor and a chef and confectioner by trade. The idea of food preservation was already his personal passion, and he had spent years experimenting with various methods in his own workshop, initially using champagne bottles as his preserving vessels. By the turn of the century he was beginning to develop a reputation in this field, and had a thriving small business in Paris where his preserves were sold. His foodstuffs were eventually tried aboard French naval ships, and the reports were favourable. In 1810 Appert published his findings and on January 30th received his award, paving the way for the food “canning” industry as we now know it. You can read more about Appert in a previous post here.
The other significant development dating from this time was precipitated by Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar. The ensuing English blockade of cane sugar imports from the Caribbean into continental Europe stimulated interest in alternative sources of sugar. Napoleon had heard of the pioneering work on the extraction of sugar from beets by Marggraf in Berlin 50 years earlier, and the progress made by Marggraf’s student, Franz Achard, but it was still not possible to produce sugar in any significant quantity.
Napoleon issued a decree on March 25th 1811 which was intended to stimulate experimentation in this area. It set aside 80,000 acres of land for production of beets, and established schools, scholarships, and factories in beet sugar production. In 1812 he awarded the Légion d'Honneur to Benjamin Delessert for his technical advances in the clarification of sugar, which enabled the process to be carried out on a viable scale. By 1814, there were 40 beet sugar factories were in operation in France, Belgium, Germany, and Austria. The industry did temporarily decline after Napoleon’s defeat, but eventually revived, and by the late 19th century, beets had again become the major source of sugar.
It became popular in the nineteenth century for chefs to name dishes after important guests or famous events such as battles. One dish named for (but NOT immediately in the wake of) a battle was Chicken Marengo, which has been a previous topic on this blog. One of the most famous foodie-generals of the time had a number of dishes named in his honour. He was Pyotr Bagration, the Russian general who died following Borodino ultimately had several dishes named after him, and these became standard items on European menus for decades. It seems that he may have been in Clausewitz’s second category as Napoleon said of him "The man is an absolute fool who has not the slightest idea how to command an army." Certainly he was well known for his extravagant dinner parties, their legendary status being assured when Tolstoy chose to write about them.
Fish Soup; so named from Prince Bagration
(Potage de Fillets de Poisson à la Bagration)
Prepare a good consommé, make a quenelle of soles with crayfish butter, trim in escalopes the fillets of a sole, perch, and carp, and throw a little salt over them; an hour afterwards wash, drain, and place them in a sauté-plate, mark [make?] an essence with the bones and trimmings of the fish, squeeze it through a tammy upon the escalopes of fish, and boil them slowly for ten minutes, then pour the liquor from them to the consommé, and clarify it as usual; reduce it one fifth, then pour it into the tureen upon the escalopes and quenelles poached in consommé, six roes of carp boiled in water with salt, and fifty tails of cray-fish (using the shells for the butter), some chervil blanched, two parsley roots cut in small pieces, and stewed in consommé, and the flesh of two lemons cut in thin slices and blanched, carefully withdrawing the pips
The Practical Cook, English and Foreign; Joseph Bregion, 1845
Quotation for the Day.
Happiness: a good bank account, a good cook, and a good digestion.
Jean Jacques Rousseau
Clausewitz would have been correct. For all his pre-occupation with feeding his troops, Napoleon was remarkably uninterested in his own meals. He preferred plain food, which he ate very quickly. He said that ” A man's palate can, in time, become accustomed to anything” and told his colleagues "If you want to eat well, dine with the Second Consul; if you want to eat a lot, visit the Third Consul; if you want to eat quickly, dine with me." Small wonder that chefs, frustrated by their poor pay and the lack of appreciation for their efforts, did not stay very long in his employ.
Napoleon was by no means the first military leader to realise that “an army marches on his stomach”, nor would he be the last, but his constant efforts to feed his troops had ramifications far beyond the mere provisioning of his army. The usual strategy of the time was that the army lived off the land as it moved, but this was the largest land army the world had seen, and a supplementary strategy was needed.
Feeding the army was already a problem in 1795, and the Food Preservation Committee of the Societé d’Encouragement pour l’Industrie Nationale in that year offered a prize of 12,000 francs for a method of preserving food, especially for use by the army and navy. Eventually the news reached the ears of Nicolas Appert, a small town mayor and a chef and confectioner by trade. The idea of food preservation was already his personal passion, and he had spent years experimenting with various methods in his own workshop, initially using champagne bottles as his preserving vessels. By the turn of the century he was beginning to develop a reputation in this field, and had a thriving small business in Paris where his preserves were sold. His foodstuffs were eventually tried aboard French naval ships, and the reports were favourable. In 1810 Appert published his findings and on January 30th received his award, paving the way for the food “canning” industry as we now know it. You can read more about Appert in a previous post here.
The other significant development dating from this time was precipitated by Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar. The ensuing English blockade of cane sugar imports from the Caribbean into continental Europe stimulated interest in alternative sources of sugar. Napoleon had heard of the pioneering work on the extraction of sugar from beets by Marggraf in Berlin 50 years earlier, and the progress made by Marggraf’s student, Franz Achard, but it was still not possible to produce sugar in any significant quantity.
Napoleon issued a decree on March 25th 1811 which was intended to stimulate experimentation in this area. It set aside 80,000 acres of land for production of beets, and established schools, scholarships, and factories in beet sugar production. In 1812 he awarded the Légion d'Honneur to Benjamin Delessert for his technical advances in the clarification of sugar, which enabled the process to be carried out on a viable scale. By 1814, there were 40 beet sugar factories were in operation in France, Belgium, Germany, and Austria. The industry did temporarily decline after Napoleon’s defeat, but eventually revived, and by the late 19th century, beets had again become the major source of sugar.
It became popular in the nineteenth century for chefs to name dishes after important guests or famous events such as battles. One dish named for (but NOT immediately in the wake of) a battle was Chicken Marengo, which has been a previous topic on this blog. One of the most famous foodie-generals of the time had a number of dishes named in his honour. He was Pyotr Bagration, the Russian general who died following Borodino ultimately had several dishes named after him, and these became standard items on European menus for decades. It seems that he may have been in Clausewitz’s second category as Napoleon said of him "The man is an absolute fool who has not the slightest idea how to command an army." Certainly he was well known for his extravagant dinner parties, their legendary status being assured when Tolstoy chose to write about them.
Fish Soup; so named from Prince Bagration
(Potage de Fillets de Poisson à la Bagration)
Prepare a good consommé, make a quenelle of soles with crayfish butter, trim in escalopes the fillets of a sole, perch, and carp, and throw a little salt over them; an hour afterwards wash, drain, and place them in a sauté-plate, mark [make?] an essence with the bones and trimmings of the fish, squeeze it through a tammy upon the escalopes of fish, and boil them slowly for ten minutes, then pour the liquor from them to the consommé, and clarify it as usual; reduce it one fifth, then pour it into the tureen upon the escalopes and quenelles poached in consommé, six roes of carp boiled in water with salt, and fifty tails of cray-fish (using the shells for the butter), some chervil blanched, two parsley roots cut in small pieces, and stewed in consommé, and the flesh of two lemons cut in thin slices and blanched, carefully withdrawing the pips
The Practical Cook, English and Foreign; Joseph Bregion, 1845
Quotation for the Day.
Happiness: a good bank account, a good cook, and a good digestion.
Jean Jacques Rousseau
Friday, July 09, 2010
Russian Soup.
Bear with me, Dear Readers, for I must have one more dalliance with ‘Russian’ food - Russian food as it was perceived by the English-speaking world that is. One of the favourite ‘Russian’ dishes at this time was ‘Salade à la Russe', but I discussed it (and Strawberries Romanoff) and gave a recipe in a post some time ago, so please re-visit if you are interested. The remaining ubiquitous ‘Russian’ dish is of course borscht – or beetroot soup by its translated and variously spelled name. The interesting thing is that this soup is certainly not exclusively Russian, and was not originally made with beets.
The Poles and the Ukrainians also claim this soup, and its name comes from a plant similar to the parsnip, belonging to the carrot family. One traveller in Russia in 1808 said ‘They have a kind of soup, however, which is made of groats and vegetables, of which they are very fond: this soup is rather sour, and is called borsch, from the name of the carrot which is boiled in it.’
This soup is a peasant dish, and like all soups and all peasant dishes is as infinitely variable as circumstances and ingredients allow. There are fermented versions and hot and cold versions for the varying seasons, but the dollop of sour cream may well be a modern abomination. I await advice from those of you familiar with ‘authentic’ Russian food.
Borsht.
Take some red beetroots, wash thoroughly and peel, and then boil in a moderate quantity of water from two to three hours over a slow fire, by which time a strong red liquor should have been obtained. Strain off the liquor, adding lemon juice, sugar, and salt to taste, and when it has cooled a little, stir in sufficient yolks of eggs to slightly thicken it. May be used either cold or hot. In the latter case a little home-made beef stock may be added to the beet soup.
If after straining off the soup the remaining beetroot is not too much boiled away, it may be chopped fine with a little onion, vinegar and dripping, flavored with pepper and salt, and used as a vegetable.
International Jewish Cook Book. Florence Greenbaum. 1919.
Quotation for the Day.
“I believe that I once considerably scandalised her by declaring that a clear soup was a more important factor in life than a clear conscience.”
‘Saki’ (H.H.Munro) (1870-1916), The Blind Spot
The Poles and the Ukrainians also claim this soup, and its name comes from a plant similar to the parsnip, belonging to the carrot family. One traveller in Russia in 1808 said ‘They have a kind of soup, however, which is made of groats and vegetables, of which they are very fond: this soup is rather sour, and is called borsch, from the name of the carrot which is boiled in it.’
This soup is a peasant dish, and like all soups and all peasant dishes is as infinitely variable as circumstances and ingredients allow. There are fermented versions and hot and cold versions for the varying seasons, but the dollop of sour cream may well be a modern abomination. I await advice from those of you familiar with ‘authentic’ Russian food.
Borsht.
Take some red beetroots, wash thoroughly and peel, and then boil in a moderate quantity of water from two to three hours over a slow fire, by which time a strong red liquor should have been obtained. Strain off the liquor, adding lemon juice, sugar, and salt to taste, and when it has cooled a little, stir in sufficient yolks of eggs to slightly thicken it. May be used either cold or hot. In the latter case a little home-made beef stock may be added to the beet soup.
If after straining off the soup the remaining beetroot is not too much boiled away, it may be chopped fine with a little onion, vinegar and dripping, flavored with pepper and salt, and used as a vegetable.
International Jewish Cook Book. Florence Greenbaum. 1919.
Quotation for the Day.
“I believe that I once considerably scandalised her by declaring that a clear soup was a more important factor in life than a clear conscience.”
‘Saki’ (H.H.Munro) (1870-1916), The Blind Spot
Thursday, June 24, 2010
To Make the Medicine go Down.
In my forthcoming book Soup: A Global History, I reserve a chapter for 'Medicinal Soups'. One of the soups I feature in this chapter is Snail Broth – an example of the cure being worse than the disease in many cases, perhaps (such as respiratory complaints or jaundice.) The author of Domestic economy, and cookery, for rich and poor, (1827), who provides the recipe, offers some suggestions for overcoming the ‘mawkish taste’ and general repugnance.
One way of administering unpleasant medicine is to hide it in something strongly flavoured, and desirable in its own right - such as gingerbread. A writer of a letter to the Editor of the Medical Times and Gazette in 1859 wrote:
Of course, the spicy taste of gingerbread can be used to hide other unpleasant ingredients too. As regular readers will know, I particularly enjoy finding recipes in non-traditional sources, and today I have another opportunity. From the Druggist’s Hand-book of practical receipts (1853) , I give you a gingerbread recipe quite suitable for hiding a purgative medication, should you so wish.
* Jalap: the tuberous roots of Ipomoea purga, known to be cathartic.
Postscripts:
The Through the Ages with Gingerbread archive is here.
Quotation for the Day.
Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.
Richard Sherman, songwriter, Robert Sherman, songwriter, and Clarence Brown. from Mary Poppins (1964).
Snail Broth.
Wash them extremely well, and throw them into very hot water; take them out of the shell, and pass them through several waters; working them well with the hand; slice them, pound the shells, and put all into a saucepan, with as much water as will cover; boil, skim, and let them simmer for several hours; add a little salt, sugar, and a very small quantity of mace, to correct the mawkish taste: a tea-cupful may be taken four times a day, with or without conserve of roses. Should the patient have any repugnance to it in this form, let it be put into some weak veal broth; this is far preferable to slater [woodlouse] wine.
One way of administering unpleasant medicine is to hide it in something strongly flavoured, and desirable in its own right - such as gingerbread. A writer of a letter to the Editor of the Medical Times and Gazette in 1859 wrote:
Sir, - In your last week’s number, page 69, you give an extract of a process, suggested by M. Bassi, for the purpose of rendering cod-liver oil palatable.
We beg to inform your readers that we have already effected this, and in a manner essentially the same as M. Bassi proposes. In your paper of 12th February last,, you reported upon our preparation as follows:- “We have examined a specimen of gingerbread made by Messrs. Newbery, each cake containing a teaspoonful of cod-liver oil. The gingerbread is extremely light and pleasant, the flavour of the oil being completely covered.”
Should your readers desire to try M.Bassi’s preparation they will find in ours a representative, without the trouble of adopting the elaborate process suggested by the French Medical man.
Our cod-liver oil cakes have been largely inquired for by Medical Practitioners, and their sale testifies to their great utility.
I am, &C., F. Newbery and Son, by A.W.B. Newberry
45, St. Paul’s Churchyard, October 12, 1859
Of course, the spicy taste of gingerbread can be used to hide other unpleasant ingredients too. As regular readers will know, I particularly enjoy finding recipes in non-traditional sources, and today I have another opportunity. From the Druggist’s Hand-book of practical receipts (1853) , I give you a gingerbread recipe quite suitable for hiding a purgative medication, should you so wish.
Gingerbread: A confection often used in which to administer purgatives to children. If required to be purgative, sufficient jalap* must be added to allow each cake 7 grains.
Ormskirk: Flour, 4 lbs., sugar, 2 lb., treacle, 2 lb., butter, 22 oz., candied lemon, 8 oz., and 1 nutmeg. Mix the flour and powdered spices with the butter, add the treacle and sugar, and divide into cakes.
* Jalap: the tuberous roots of Ipomoea purga, known to be cathartic.
Postscripts:
The Through the Ages with Gingerbread archive is here.
Quotation for the Day.
Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.
Richard Sherman, songwriter, Robert Sherman, songwriter, and Clarence Brown. from Mary Poppins (1964).
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Rhubarb Rhubarb.
I wish I could take rhubarb more seriously. I am guilty of being a bit dismissive towards it, at times - using the word as a sort of metaphor for something obscure or meaningless. I am not, thankfully, averse to eating it, but don’t use it in any interesting way. I poach it. I eat it.
I don’t know why I have this attitude to rhubarb. I blame finding out at an impressionable age that the word ‘rhubarb’, spoken over and over and over by large numbers of film extras is used to create a background anonymous hubbub of noise for a crowd scene.
Rhubarb was originally used for medicinal purposes, but by the early eighteenth century it was appearing in tarts. Tarts were its main culinary use, as far as I can gather, for a very long time. The problem, if it is indeed a problem, with rhubarb, is that for most uses it requires about triple its own weight in sugar to make it edible – and even then the tartness refuses to be hidden. A childhood treat was to be given a stick of rhubarb and a small paper fold of sugar to dip it in. I don’t ever remember any of us actually eating the raw rhubarb – the attraction was the sugar. Did our mothers think we actually ate it?
I wondered, does rhubarb have a secretly intriguing culinary history? I am not sure if it does, but the following recipe is a step in the right direction. It is for a soup – not a ‘fruit’ soup, but a ‘savoury’ soup. The inclusion of ‘two quarts of rich soup’ may seem to be tautological, but it almost certainly means ‘stock’ or ‘broth’. Almost identical versions of this recipe in other cookbooks of the time specify ‘gravy’ at this point – ‘gravy’ also meaning rich meat juice or broth in this instance.
Rhubarb Soup.
There are various ways of dressing garden rhubarb, which serves as an excellent substitute for spring fruit. Peel and well wash four dozen sticks of rhubarb, blanch itin water three or four minutes, drain it on a sieve, and put it into a stewpan with two sliced onions, a carrot, an ounce of lean ham, and a good bit of butter. Let it stew gently over a slow fire till tender, then put in two quarts of rich soup, to which add two or three ounces of bread crumbs, and boil it about fifteen minutes. Skim off all the fat, season with salt and cayenne, pass it through a tamis, and serve it up with fried bread.
The Cook and Housekeepers Complete and Universal Dictionary, by Mary Eaton, 1822.
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
I don’t know why I have this attitude to rhubarb. I blame finding out at an impressionable age that the word ‘rhubarb’, spoken over and over and over by large numbers of film extras is used to create a background anonymous hubbub of noise for a crowd scene.
Rhubarb was originally used for medicinal purposes, but by the early eighteenth century it was appearing in tarts. Tarts were its main culinary use, as far as I can gather, for a very long time. The problem, if it is indeed a problem, with rhubarb, is that for most uses it requires about triple its own weight in sugar to make it edible – and even then the tartness refuses to be hidden. A childhood treat was to be given a stick of rhubarb and a small paper fold of sugar to dip it in. I don’t ever remember any of us actually eating the raw rhubarb – the attraction was the sugar. Did our mothers think we actually ate it?
I wondered, does rhubarb have a secretly intriguing culinary history? I am not sure if it does, but the following recipe is a step in the right direction. It is for a soup – not a ‘fruit’ soup, but a ‘savoury’ soup. The inclusion of ‘two quarts of rich soup’ may seem to be tautological, but it almost certainly means ‘stock’ or ‘broth’. Almost identical versions of this recipe in other cookbooks of the time specify ‘gravy’ at this point – ‘gravy’ also meaning rich meat juice or broth in this instance.
Rhubarb Soup.
There are various ways of dressing garden rhubarb, which serves as an excellent substitute for spring fruit. Peel and well wash four dozen sticks of rhubarb, blanch itin water three or four minutes, drain it on a sieve, and put it into a stewpan with two sliced onions, a carrot, an ounce of lean ham, and a good bit of butter. Let it stew gently over a slow fire till tender, then put in two quarts of rich soup, to which add two or three ounces of bread crumbs, and boil it about fifteen minutes. Skim off all the fat, season with salt and cayenne, pass it through a tamis, and serve it up with fried bread.
The Cook and Housekeepers Complete and Universal Dictionary, by Mary Eaton, 1822.
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
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.
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