Aged Coffee.

Modern coffee aficionados, it seems, believe  - nay, insist – that the beans must be roasted en route to the grinder, which must be employed immediately, and the coffee brewed in the next instant.  No delay is permitted for any reason. Beans roasted anything longer than two and a half minutes before brewing  are stale, tasteless, aroma-less, and do not produce anything resembling a good crema.  This is the gospel of good coffee as I (an inveterate tea-drinker) understand it.  I have no doubt that I will be corrected if I am wrong.

I don’t know what the Barista Gospel says about the optimum age of coffee beans before they are roasted, however. I don’t ever remember seeing or hearing any argument at all on the subject. I was surprised then, by the following opinion, extracted from an article on coffee in The Food Journal (London, 1874)

“Coffee is much improved by age. An esteemed acquaintance, who was a part proprietor of one of the most magnificent properties in Ceylon, used to keep his coffee in bins in a dry room in his house in London, and was wont to give it to his friends, at his hospitable board, a great treat in the shape of a most delicious cup of coffee that had been kept some eight or ten years.”

I think it unlikely that this man had a coffee roaster in his house, and assume therefore that the beans with which he treated his guests had been roasted ten years previously. I eagerly await advice from one of the coffee experts amongst you on this idea.

As for the recipe for the day, I give you a couple of ideas from a Prohibition-inspired book which has been our source on other occasions - On Uncle Sam’s Water Wagon: 500 recipes for delicious drinks, which can be made at home (New York, 1919) by Helen Watkeys Moore. Coffee purists may take issue with the concepts below, so if you are one of them, and are easily offended, may I respectfully suggest that you do not read further?

Boiled Coffee

Allow one tablespoonful of finely ground coffee to one cup of boiling water. Put clean eggshells in the pot, or a whole egg is beaten with a little cold water and mixed with the coffee before the boiling water is poured on. Put on the stove, and when it comes to a boil, take off cover and remove from fire. Let stand two or three minutes, then cover and return to the fire until it again comes to a boil. Remove at once, let stand five minutes, and it is then ready to serve.

Hot Coffee and Strawberry.

Break one egg into a shaker with one and one half tablespoonfuls each of vanilla and strawberry syrups and two tablespoonfuls of rich cream. Shake well, pour into glass, and fill up with hot coffee. Add whipped cream.

Hot Malted Milk and Coffee

Mix one teaspoonful of malted milk and one teaspoonful of ground coffee with enough hot water to fill a cup. Boil three minutes, sweeten to taste, and strain.

Quotation for the Day.

For Lo! The board with cups and spoons is crowned,

The berries crackle and the mill turns round.

Pope, Rape of the Lock.

Baking Better Brioche.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines brioche as ‘a kind of cake made of flour, butter, and eggs; sponge-cake,’ Most folk on either side of the Channel, and on all sides of the big waters, would say that the OED got it badly wrong, and that brioche is bread, not cake - a light, sweet, buttery bread, for certain – but bread nonetheless by virtue of being risen with yeast. 

Historically, until powdered non-yeast leavening agents came into common use later in the nineteenth century, the distinction was not so marked. A ‘cake’ was originally made from basic bread dough which was then enriched with fat and sweetened with sugar (perhaps) and speckled with fruit. ‘Cake,’ at that time, was closer to something we would make into raisin toast today. Perhaps the OED is merely out of date.

For the word-smiths amongst you: such authorities as I have been able to rustle up at short notice say that the word ‘brioche’ comes from the Middle French dialect brier ‘to knead’, which in turn is of Germanic origin, and is ‘akin to Old High German brehhan to break.  

For the bakers and cooks amongst you, I give you some encouraging words and a recipe, from Culture and Cooking: or, Art in the Kitchen, (New York, 1881) by Catherine Owen.

Brioche.

I suppose the very name of this delectable French dainty will call up in the mind's eye of many who read this book that great "little" shop, Au Grand Brioche, on the Boulevarde Poissonière, where, on

Sunday afternoons, scores of boys from the Lycées form en queue  with the general public, waiting the hour when the piles of golden brioche shall be ready to exchange for their eager sous. But I venture to say, a really fine brioche is rarely eaten on this side the Atlantic. They being a luxury welcome to all, and especially aromatic of Paris, I tried many times to make them, obtaining for that purpose recipes from French friends, and from standard French books, but never succeeded in

producing the ideal brioche until I met with Gouffé's great book, the Livre de Cuisine, after reading which, I may here say, all secrets of the French kitchen are laid bare; no effort is spared to make

everything plain, from the humble pot-au-feu to the most gorgeous monumental  plât. And I would refer any one who wants to become proficient in any French dish, to that book, feeling sure that, in

following strictly the directions, there will be no failure. It is the one book I have met with on the subject in which no margin is left for your own knowledge, if you have it, to fill up. But to the brioche.

Paris Jockey-Club Recipe for Brioche.

Sift one pound of flour, take one fourth of it, and add rather more than half a cake of compressed yeast, dissolved in half a gill of warm water, make into a sponge with a very little more water, put it in a warm place; when it is double its volume take the rest of the flour, make a hole in the center, and put in it an equal quantity of salt and sugar, about a teaspoonful, and two tablespoonfuls of water to dissolve them.

Three quarters of a pound of butter and four eggs, beat well, then add another egg, beat again, and add another, and so on until seven have been used; the paste must be soft, but not spread; if too firm, add

another egg. Now mix this paste with the sponge thoroughly, beating until the paste leaves the sides of the bowl, then put it in a crock and cover; let it stand four hours in a warm place, then turn it out on a

board, - spread it and double it four times -, return it to the crock, and let it rise again two hours; repeat the former process of doubling and spreading, and put it in a very cold place for two hours, or until you want to use it. Mold in any form you like, but the true brioche is two pieces, one as large again as the other; form the large one into a ball, make a deep depression in the center, on which place the smaller ball, pressing it gently in; cut two or three gashes round it with a sharp knife, and bake a beautiful golden brown. These brioche are such a luxury, and so sure to come out right, that the trouble of making them is well worth the taking, and for another reason: everyone knows the

great difficulty of making puff paste in summer, and a short paste is never handsome; but take a piece of brioche paste, roll it out thin, dredge with flour, fold and roll again, then use as you would puff

paste; if for sweet pastry, a little powdered sugar may be sprinkled through it instead of dredging with flour. This makes a very handsome and delicious crust. Or, another use to which it may be put is to roll it out, cut it in rounds, lay on them mince-meat, orange marmalade, jam, or merely sprinkle with currants, chopped citron, and spices, fold, press the edges, and bake.

There is an interesting variation on the theme of brioche in The Cook’s Dictionary and House-keeper’s Directory (1830) by Richard Dolby, and it sounds like a great idea for breakfast.

Brioche au Fromage.

When you make the brioche, cut some Swiss cheese into dice, and throw them into the past while it is liquid, and bake as before.

Quotation for the Day.

Food: Part of the spiritual expression of the French, and I do not believe that they have ever heard of calories.

Sir Beverley Baxter.

Extreme Kitchen DIY: Potato Flour.

The potato is one of my favourite food-history topics, and as for eating them - well, the quotation “I’ve never met a potato I didn’t like” could have been written for me. Yesterday’s recipe for the day, using potato flour to make an elegant pudding, made me realise that I haven’t given that particular potato product much blog space.

Potato flour was a ‘novel product’ in 1833:

“A novel –manufactured article has lately been introduced into the London market … and is sold, we are informed, as fast as it arrives. We allude to ‘Potato Flour’. … It is particularly applicable to making pastry: in fact, a confectioner has assured us, that by using two-thirds of potato flour, and one-third of wheaten flour, the article made therefrom is of a decidedly superior quality.”

The Mechanics Magazine (London, 1833)

I don’t think many of us would agree with the statement in the article above, that the inclusion of potato flour results in a decidedly superior quality of pastry. I don’t believe that there is any substitute for fine white wheat flour in the making of superior shortcrust, flaky, puff, or other varieties of ‘pastry.’ Potato flour is incredibly versatile, however, and works well in many breads and cakes and other ‘pastries’, and it is very handy for those who are gluten-intolerant.

We can buy potato flour easily enough these days, but for those of you who like to do things the old way, it is possible to make your own. It will be a good workout too, I promise.

Potato Flour.

Rasp the potatoes into a tub of cold water and change it repeatedly until the raspings fall to the bottom like paste; then dry it in the air, pound it in a mortar, and pass it through a hair sieve. It is nearly as nutritive, and much lighter, than wheaten flour; it is, therefore, preferable for making puddings and pastry for infants and invalids; a portion of it also improves the appearance of household bread, and dealers constantly pass it off as arrowroot. If kept dry, it will remain good for years.

Mrs. Hale's New Cook Book: A Practical System for Private Families in Town and Country; with Directions for Carving, and Arranging the Table for Parties, Etc. Also, Preparations of Food for Invalids and for Children (1857), by Mrs. Sara J. Hale

What are you going to make with your potato flour? There is no shortage of ideas in old cookery books. According to one book you can use it in ‘Pottage, Pudding, Diet loaf, Pastry, Pancakes, Jelly, and in the General Manufacture of Bread.’

Jelly? I hear you say. Here is the method, according to another unusual source of recipes, The farmer's guide, and agriculturist's companion (Edinburgh, 1829):

To make Jelly.

The farina of the potato is easily converted into jelly in the same manner as arrow-root, by diluting it with a little cold water or milk, and then gradually pouring into it boiling water, and stirring the mixture about; and in this shape it may be taken with a little milk and pounded sugar, for breakfast or supper, with the addition of some toasted bread or biscuit to those who are in health. Invalids, however, have found it useful to live almost entirely on this jelly. This makes a pleasant nourishing diet, which cannot be too much recommended, particularly for those who are recovering from illness. It may be improved by mixing a little berry or white wine.

It is proper here to observe, that the value of the farina, when converted into jelly as food, has not been sufficiently appreciated. It thus undergoes a chemical process, which seems greatly to augment its nutritive powers. This may be partly owing to the farina being cleared of that dark and bitter liquid with which the potato is originally impregnated, instead of which it is incorporated with pure and wholesome water, all the particles of which, when gelatinized, become convertible into animal matter by the efforts of the stomach. Hence those preparations of vegetables which gelatinize the greatest quantity of water will be found to afford the largest proportion of nutriment, and are consequently most beneficial to mankind.

And here is another light and elegant recipe using potato flour:

Sponge Cake.

¾ cup sugar

½ cup potato flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

¼ teaspoon salt

2 eggs

4 tablespoons cold water

1 teaspoon lemon juice

Beat the yolks, sugar, water, and lemon juice together until thick and light. Sift the flour twice, then once with the baking powder and salt. Mix lightly with the first mixture. Fold in the whites beaten stiff and light. Bake twenty-five to thirty minutes in a moderate oven.

The Book of Potato Cookery (Chicago, 1918)

Quotation for the Day.

Without the potato, the balance of European power might never have tilted north.
Michael Pollan

Vulgarity in the Kitchen.

Yesterday’s post on ‘Caviare to the Vulgar’ got me thinking about other vulgar acts in the kitchen. I give you a few opinions from cookery books of the past, and leave you to decide whether the authors intend their usage of ‘vulgar’ to mean ‘of or about the ‘ordinary, common, uneducated, or ignorant’, or about ‘lacking in refinement or good taste.’ Or perhaps, in some eyes, the two are synonymous?

Steaks: The next best steaks are those cut from the middle of a Rump, that has been killed at least four days in moderate weather – much longer in cold weahter, - when they can be cut about six inches long, four inches wide, and half an inch thick: do not beat them, which vulgar trick breaks the cells in which the Gravy of the meat is contained, and it becomes dry and tasteless.

Cook’s Oracle, (1836) by William Kitchiner.

To fry bacon in a frying pan is the most wasteful way it can be dressed, and is now considered to be both vulgar and discreditable.

Gentility and economy combined, being cookery confectionary and pickling, to which are added the best methods of preserving fruits and the art of sugar boiling (1850) by George Read

[On the garnishing of trifles] … garnish with a few light sprigs of flowers of fine colours, or a few bits of very clear currant-jelly stuck into snow-white whip, or a sprinkling of Harlequin-comfits. This last we consider vulgar, but it is still in frequent use.

The Cook and Housewife's Manual (1847), by Christian Isobel Johnstone

[On the closing of pies] Fill, cover, wet the edges, and close them neatly. There is no occasion to pinch them, it is vulgar; smooth and ornament them well; put them into a quick oven.

As raised pies are difficult for the beginner, small ones ought to be first attempted, and made larger as knowledge is attained. Never make them of pieces of paste: the method is slovenly, and the pies are vulgar.

As our recipe for the day, I think we need a simple, elegant dish after all that vulgarity, don’t we?

Delicious Pudding.

The farina of potatoes, or potato starch, is said to make an elegant pudding. The following are the ingredients: To one quart of boiled milk, add, gradually, as in making mush, a quarter of a pound of potato flour, well pulverized, a quarter of a pound of sugar, and a little butter; when cold add three eggs, and bake half an hour. When well prepared, and properly cooked, it is delicious eating.

American Farmer (1825)

Quotation for the Day.

N.B If your Butcher sends Steaks which are not Tender, we do not insist that you should object to let him be Beaten.

Cook’s Oracle, (1836) by William Kitchiner.

‘Caviar to the Vulgar’

I became interested in the idea of wild vegetable foods from the sea-side when I was in the UK recently, and attended the Oxford Symposium on Food and Cookery, at which one of the amazing meals included samphire - or 'Poor Man's Asparagus',- which I had never eaten before. It was delicious. As it turns out, a week earlier I had been on the coast of Norfolk, at a spot where it apparently grows in great abundance. Sadly, there was no opportunity for foraging at the time. I was surprised that I did not see it on any of the menus at the local restaurants, so perhaps it is – in the way of such things – scorned where it is abundantly wild, and sought after where it does not grow and must be imported at significant expense. 

But I digress, for this post is not about ''Poor Man’s Asparagus', but about ‘Caviar to the Vulgar.’ Here is the article which brought this food to my attention:

Laver. This is not likely to become a popular dish, for like olives, it is "caviare to the vulgar." it is, however, much admired by those who have acquired a taste for it, though something depends upon the mode of dressing it. The laver to which we allude is not the crude state of the seaweed as gathered on its native rocks, but as sold by the so-called Italian warehouses.  The following is thee most aproved way of preparing it:- A sufficient quantity is placed in a perfectly clean saucepan with a few spoonfuls of stock, but only just enough to moisten it, and prevent it burning. When it is thoroughly warmed, some lemon juice should be added, but with caution, and after a few moments additional heating, poured out upon fresh made toast, either plain or buttered, and served as rapid as possible. We believe that there is no better mode of preparation, and it is one which has been practiced within our personal knowledge for more than sixty years. Butter is sometimes added, but if so, it should be perfectly fresh.

Food Journal: a review of Social and Sanitary Economy , Vol 2 (London, 1872) 

Just to clarify: I feel certain that the author intends ‘vulgar’ to refer to ‘persons belonging to the ordinary or common class in the community, esp. the uneducated or ignorant’, not persons ‘having a common and offensively mean character; lacking in refinement or good taste; uncultured, ill-bred’ (Oxford English Dictionary.)

Laver is another sea-side wild food which I have not had the undoubted pleasure of trying. I understand that several things go by this common name, but essentially, laver is edible seaweed, and it has been used as a food since ancient times. Its importance to many coastal communities over the milennia is hard to underestimate, but is indicated by the common name of its commonest preparation – which is ‘laver bread.’ This does not mean that it was made into loaves and baked, or added to regular dough – ‘bread’ can be a metaphor for any staple food. 

We have a nice example of the OED acting as a cookery book and giving us a ‘recipe’ contained in its description of laver bread:

Laverbread (Welsh: bara lafwr or bara lawr) is a traditional Welsh delicacy made from laver. To make laverbread, the seaweed is boiled for several hours, then minced or pureed. The gelatinous paste that results can then be sold as it is, or rolled in oatmeal; it is generally coated with oatmeal prior to frying.

In places where it is found in abundance, laverbread is a  traditional accompaniment to bacon – or is it that bacon is a traditional accompaniment to laver? To the really 'vulgar' – strangers in most times and places to such luxuries as bacon – laver was more likely to be an accompaniment to freely foraged cockles or other shellfish scorned by the well-to-do.

The well-to-do did not completely scorn laver however, they were quite happy to enjoy its salty tang as a side dish or sauce to their mutton, as in the recipe below, from one of the Victorian era’s celebrity chefs.

Saddle of Mutton au Laver.

Roast the saddle quite plain, put two pounds of fresh laver in a stewpan, with two tablespoonfuls of catsup, four ounces of butter, a teaspoonful of salt, a little pepper, four tablespoonfuls of brown sauce, and one ounce of glaze, make it very hot, pour in the dish, dress the saddle upon it and serve.

The Gastronomic Regenerator: A Simplified and Entirely New System of Cookery, by Alexis Soyer (1847)

Here is another, similar version, of the idea:

Laver Sauce

Put into a stewpan the strained juice of two lemons, a table spoonful of red currant jelly, one ounce of good glaze, 

 pinch of castor sugar, and four tablespoonfuls of good thick Brown sauce (vol. i.); boil these together for about ten 

minutes, during which time keep the scum removed, then mix with half a pint of laver, boil up again, tammy, 

re-warm, and use, either with roast lamb, mutton, or venison.  

Mrs. A. B. Marshall's Larger Cookery Book, (1902)

Quotation for the Day.

You don't get moor mutton with hot laver sauce every day.

M. Collins, Squire Silchester, 1873

For the War Effort: Eat Calavos.

The Calavo growers of California put out a recipe booklet in the 1940’s to promote their product, and help the war effort a at the same time. Invoking patriotism as a marketing method? or am I being a tad cynical?

Firstly – what is a Calavo? It is a CALifornian AVOcado. The name was trademarked by the Californian Avocado Growers Association decades ago, perhaps in the hope that clever marketing would ensure it became the generic name for the fruit. It is not an unrealistic hope, after all it did happen in the case of the ‘Chinese Gooseberry,’ which became ‘Kiwi Fruit.’

 The booklet is called Calavo On Your Wartime Menus : 14 nutritious, time-saving, "point"-saving dishes made with California's finest avocado. It sings the nutritional praises of the avocado, notes that it is very easy to eat, and that it is plentiful, and then gets to its usefulness to the war effort.

Calavo avocados are plentiful. Unrationed! … They help “stretch” meat points. Calavo is high in food energy and makes many a filling, tasty dish.

They help “stretch” butter points – for Calavo is butter-smooth in texture, makes a grand spread for toast and crackers.

Enjoy Calavos as often as you like. There are so many ways – served alone as a half-shell … as a spread for war workers’ lunches … to replace rationed canned fruits … for “he-man” salads … entrees … desserts.

I must admit I was intrigued by the “he-man” salads. I assume that the following is one that could be so described, although the inclusion of sherry sounds a bit girly. Perhaps a dash of whisky could be substituted, by those she-women lucky enough to have a real he-man to feed? The recipe does not specify that the fat should be skimmed off the broth before it is used - or maybe ‘he-men’ are not afraid of a salad (aspic? brawn? terrine?) that is a bit greasy.

Veal Aspic.

2 cups diced Calavo

2 lbs. veal shank

1 medium sized peeled onion

2 medium sized peeled carrots

¾ cups chopped sweet pickles

2 ¼ cups broth from veal

¼ tsp. onion salt

Table salt

2 tsp. sherry wine

Cover veal with cold, salted water, add onion, and cook slowly until meat is tender (about 2 ½ to 3 hours). Add carrots for last 30 to 40 minutes cooking. When meat is tender, lift from liquid. Strain liquid and measure, and, if necessary, boil down to required amount. Dice carrots and veal and discard onion. Combine broth, onion salt, salt to taste, and wine, and chill until broth starts to congeal. Add diced Calavo, veal, carrots, and pickle, and blend lightly. Pour into an oiled mold and chill overnight. Serve as an entrée, or mold individually for salads. Serves 6 to 8.

And also from the book, a very manly avocado ‘mayonnaise’:

Calavonnaise.

A sauce to serve with fresh tomatoes or vegetable salad and such hot or cold vegetables as asparagus and artichokes.

1 tbs. lemon or lime juice; 2 tbs. evaporated milk; ½ tsp salt; 1 tsp. prepared mustard; 6 drops Tabasco sauce; ¾ cup sieved Calavo.

Add lemon or lime juice to milk and beat well. Add salt, mustard, Tabasco sauce, and blend thoroughly. Add sieved Calavo and beat. May be kept in ice-box two or three days. Cover with lemon or lime juice and salt to prolong its fresh appearance.

Quotation for the Day.

The avocado is a food without rival among the fruits, the veritable fruit of paradise.

David Fairchild.

Pink Sauce.

I want to dip into our occasional theme of coloured sauces once again. We have had black sauces and green sauces, and it is now time for pink sauce.

Pink-coloured sauces are ideal for ladies’ lunches, bridesmaids’ get-togethers, and breast-cancer fund-raising events. There are plenty of choices, both sweet and savoury, and it would be easy to find one appropriate for every course.

My first port of call on the subject is Charles Herman Senn’s The Book of Sauces (Chicago, 1915.) It includes only one pink sauce – a glossy, jellied coating sauce for cold dishes called chauds-froid  (warm-cold.)

Chaud-froid Sauce, Green or Pink.

Prepare a white chaud-froid sauce, to which add a few drops of spinach greening to give it a green tint, or a few drops of liquid carmine or cochineal to give it a rose or pink tint.

Chaud-froid Sauce, Blanche (White Chaud-froid Sauce.)

½ pint béchamel or supreme sauce, 1 gill aspic, 5 or 6 leaves French gelatine, 1 gill cream, 1 teaspoonful chili vinegar or lemon juice.

Dissolve the gelatine along with the aspic jelly, warm up the sauce, and mix the two together. Stir over the fire until it boils, put in vinegar or lemon-juice, and cook for a few minutes. Strain or tammy; add the cream when cooling and use as required.

There are a lot of versions of pink sauces or fish:-

                                                                                  Pink Sauce for Fish.

To make the appetising pink sauce which is served with fish in some restaurants, take a good white sauce, flavored with anchovy sauce, a little lemon juice, and cayenne, and colored with a single drop of cochineal.

Warwick Examiner andTimes (Queensland) 26 August, 1914

Shrimp Sauce [for fish].

The pink sauce makes a pretty contrast to the brown of the fish. Required: One pint of shrimps, a sprig of parsley and thyme, a little piece of onion, one and a half ounces of butter, one and a half ounces of flour, salt and pepper, a little lemon juice and anchovy essence. Shell the shrimps. Put the heads and tails into a saucepan with a pint of water, the herbs, and six peppercorns, and boil these for fifteen minutes, then strain off the liquor and save it. Melt the butter in a saucepan, stir in the flour smoothly, then add the liquor gradually: you will want half a pint. Stir over the fire till the sauce boils, then add to it the lemon-juice and anchovy essence. Re-heat it, adding to it the shelled shrimps. See it is nicely seasoned, and serve it in a hot sauceboat. The shrimps should be boiled for a minute or two and then strained before they are added to the sauce.

Camperdown Chronicle (Victoria) 28 February  1905.

Pink Sauces for Puddings: there are many variations on the following theme:

Pink Cream.

Whip one pint of cream with one cupful of currant jelly, sweeten and serve in jelly glasses. Currant, raspberry, or strawberry juice may be used in place of jelly.

Still Another (Oakland, CA, 1883), by the Ladies' Aid Society of the First Congregational Church.

And if you want one to keep, there are also bottled pink sauces:-

Pink Sauce, for Fish.

Put into a pan, or wide-mouthed jar, one quart of good vinegar, half a pint of port wine, half an ounce of cayenne, one large table-spoonful of walnut catsup, two ditto of anchovy liquor, a quarter of an ounce of cochineal, and six cloves of garlic. Let it remain forty hours, stirring it two or three times a-day; run it through a flannel bag, and put it into half-pint bottles.

The Practice of Cookery, Adapted to the Business of Everyday Life (Edinburgh, 1830) by Mrs. Dalgairns.

Pink Sauce.

Mix together half a pint of port wine, half a pint of strong vinegar, the juice and grated peel of two large lemons, a quarter of an ounce of cayenne, a dozen blades of mace, and a quarter of an ounce of powdered cochineal. Let it infuse a fortnight, stirring it several times a day. Then boil it ten minutes, strain it, and bottle it for use.

Eat it with any sort of fish or game. It will give a fine pink tinge to melted butter.

Directions for Cookery, in its Various Branches (Philadelphia, 1840) by Eliza Leslie

Quotation for the Day.

It has been an unchallengeable American doctrine that cranberry sauce, a pink goo with overtones of sugared tomatoes, is a delectable necessity of the Thanksgiving board and that turkey is uneatable without it... There are some things in every country that you must be born to endure; and another hundred years of general satisfaction with Americans and America could not reconcile this expatriate to cranberry sauce, peanut butter, and drum majorettes.

Alistair Cooke, Talk About America (1968)

Setting a Good Example.

There is much in the food columns of magazines and newspapers these days about the concept of sugar as a toxin to the human body. There are several sides to this highly controversial discussion: refined sugar as an addicting substance; refined sugar as the major cause of obesity and heart disease; refined sugar as an intrinsic poison, independent of its contribution to obesity; fructose as a particularly dangerous and death-dealing substance – and so on.

It is difficult to separate the hype from the science, it is true, and I have no wish to take sides and no intention to change my diet at present – although a general feeling that we eat (and drink) too much sweet stuff seems to fit comfortably with intuition and common sense. I await further hard scientific evidence with interest.

I came across an article (in a Canadian newspaper) about the US Food Administration’s efforts to reduce sugar consumption in World War I recently, which seemed to speak to the practicalities of reducing sugar in the diet. The Ottowa Citizen of October 26, 1918, began:

A BILL OF FARE FOR WAR TIME.

Six thousand meals using only fifty pounds of sugar for all purposes is the record established by the cafeteria in the Food Administration Building at Washington. This is the rate of one pound to one hundred and twenty meals, and is in some contrast with what the Food Administration is asking the American housewife to do to save sugar – to use two pounds per month per person, or one pound for forty-five meals.

I thought this sounded like an amazing effort, and a superb example of setting a good example and leading from the top. The next paragraph dampened my admiration somewhat:

The Food Administration announces that it feeds an average of six hundred persons per day for the noon meal, and the sugar ration mentioned covers its use for all purposes – including tea, coffee, desserts, and in cooking. Most of the desserts contain such substitutes as honey, maple syrup, white sugar, or corn syrup, and the use of sugar is confined almost exclusively to tea and coffee, for which ther is a large demand. Every patron is asked if he desires sugar in his tea and coffee, and if so it is served in uniform quantities at the time the cup is filled.

So, it comes down to what you call ‘sugar’. Is it a consumer definition – table sugar which you buy at the grocers (which, chemically, is sucrose)? Or is it a nutritionist’s much broader definition – sweet-flavoured carbohydrates of the monosaccharide and disaccharide type (sucrose being but one of the latter.) Whatever the culprit, the clients of the Food Administration cafeteria still got their sweet fix, their habits (or addictions) remained unmodulated, and dentists around the country presumably remained in business. The next couple of paragraphs show that there were, however, considerable inroads on the other dietary changes mandated by the requirements of war.

No wheat in any form has been served, not even in cooking. Bread is made of corn-meal, potato, rice, barley and corn flours. This has been found to work well from a palatable as well as a nutritional standpoint.

Beef is served only once a week, and then in some form which presents the opportunity of stretching the quantity used, such as in stews, croquettes, casseroles, and soufflés. Fish is served twice a week as a main dish, but is frequently used in salads.

The cafeteria is self-supporting and its use of substitutes (quite contrary to the widespread belief than substitutes are more expensive) has enabled its management to serve its menus at low process, as may be seen by such items as these:

Baked mackerel, parsley sauce                                            .10

Cold tongue                                                                          .10

Potatoes au gratin                                                                 .05

Corn on cob                                                                          .05

Rice or corn muffins and butter                                            .05

Cheese                                                                                   .05

Tomato and egg salad                                                           .10

Maple nut pudding with whipped cream                              .05

Watermelon                                                                          .05

Fresh peaches, each                                                              .03

Fresh plums, 3 for                                                                .05

Recipe for the Day.

The US Food Administration was very pro-active in providing recipes to assist housewives to comply with the restrictions. This just could be the rice muffin served in the cafeteria.

Rice Muffins (US Food Administration.)

1 cup milk, 1 tablespoon fat, 2 tablespoons sirup, 1 or 2 eggs, 4 teaspoons baking powder, 1 teaspoon salt, ⅛ cup rice flour (4 ounces), 1 ⅛ cup ground rolled oats (4 ounces)

Add to the cup of milk the melted fat, sirup, and slightly beaten egg; sift the salt, baking powder, and flour together. Use a coarse sieve so that none of the flour is wasted. Combine the two mixtures, stirring lightly without beating. Bake in a hot oven (437 deg F or 225 deg C) for 20 to 30 minutes, depending on the size of the muffins. Yield 24 small muffins or 8 very large muffins.

Daily Menus for War Service, by Thetta Quay Franks (New York, 1918)

Quotation for the Day.

To the Women of Newberry County:

Three distinct “S.O.S” calls have come to the women of America from the great commander-in-chief of our country. These calls being interpreted, mean:

Sow or starve.

Subscribe or slacker be;

Save or suffer defeat.

We are told that food and money are needed to win this war. Would you not feel pround if Newberry should be the one to furnish the last crust that is needed to give liberty to the world?

The Observer, Newberry County, Oct. 23, 1917

Barbecue Sauce.

One of the examples of how a common language divides the two countries of America and Australia is the concept of ‘barbecue’ (or ‘barbeque.’) Is it a cooking method, a piece of outdoor cooking equipment, an outdoor cooking event, or the dish itself?

How you answer that question depends not just on where you hail from geographically, but also on when the discussion is taking place.

Firstly, what does the Oxford English Dictionary have to say on the origin and meaning of the word? Several things, as it turns out:

‘A rude wooden framework, used in America for sleeping on, and for supporting above a fire meat that is to be smoked or dried’ – this from a description in 1697 from the explorer William Dampier.

‘An iron frame for broiling very large joints’ from Nathan Bailey’s Dictionarium Domesticum, Being a New and Compleat Houshold Dictionary for the Use Both of City and Country , 1736.

‘A hog, ox, or other animal broiled or roasted whole;’ from a usage in 1764 ‘I am invited to dinner on a barbicu.’

‘A large social entertainment, usually in the open air, at which animals are roasted whole, and other provisions liberally supplied.’, from a diary entry in 1733   ‘Fair and hot; Browne, barbacue; hack overset.’

‘A structure for cooking food over an open fire of wood or charcoal, usu. out of doors, and freq. as part of a party or other social entertainment’, as in ‘How to build a barbecue’ (1931)

‘An open floor on which coffee-beans, etc. may be spread out to dry’ from 1855 ( C. Kingsley Westward Ho! xix,   The barbecu or terrace of white plaster, which ran all round the front.’

As for the origin of the word, it is said to come from the Spanish barbacoa, … ‘a framework of sticks set upon posts’; evidently the same as the babracot (? a French spelling) of the Indians of Guyana …’ The OED sounds almost offended when it notes that the explanation that the word comes from the French ‘barbe à queue’ which translates as from ‘beard to tail,’ is ‘an absurd conjecture suggested merely by the sound of the word.’ 

Whatever sort of barbecue you mean when you use the word yourself, I feel sure that a barbecue sauce of some sort is part of the plan. Before I go to a selection of barbecue sauce recipes, I want to give you an interesting early – and English - description of how to barbecue a piece of pig. It is from Elizabeth Raffald’s The Experienced English Housekeeper (1769)

To barbecue a Pig.

Dress a pig of ten weeks old as if it were to be roasted, make a forcemeat of two anchovies, six sage leaves, and the liver of the pig, all chopped very small; then put them into a marble mortar, with the crumbs of half a penny loaf, four ounces of butter, half a teaspoonful of Chyan pepper, and half a pint of red wine, beat them all together to a paste, put it in your pig’s belly and sew it up, lay your pig down at a good distance before a large brisk fire, singe it well, baste it with all the wine all the time it is roasting, when it is half roasted, put under your pig two penny loaves, if you have not wine enough put in more, when your pig is near enough, take the loaves and sauce out of your dripping pan, put to the sauce one anchovy chopped small, a bundle of sweet herbs, and half a lemon, boil it a few minutes, then draw your pig, put a small lemon or apple in the pig’s mouth, and a loaf each side, strain your sauce and pour it on them boiling hot, lay barberries, and a slice of lemon round it, and send it up whole to the table. It is a grand bottom dish. It will take four hours roasting.

What, I ask, distinguishes this dish from simple ‘roasted pork’? The constant basting with wine? It does seem that marinading/basting/saucing are essential to a barbecue from the mid-eighteenth century onwards. By the early decades of the twentieth century this marinade/baste had become decidedly more like a sauce of the gravy or condiment kind.

Of course, there are as many versions of barbecue sauce as there are cooks, so I can only give you a tiny selection.  I will start with the 1920’s as this appears to be when the barbecue was really coming into its own in the USA (a previous post on the Aussie BBQ is here.)

Barbecue Sauce.

One quart can tomatoes or tomato  sauce, two medium sized onions, one-half can green cilis or three or four fresh chilis, one-fourth teaspoon black pepper, one teaspoon salt, lump of butter size of an egg. Unless meat is quite fat.

Chop vegetables and boil with salt until onions are tender. Add butter and stir until butter is melted.

A pinch of ground cloves adds to the flavor and if a hot taste is desired one little pepper called a Jap chili may be crushed and added.

San Antonio Light, 17 March, 1925

The following suggests that barbecue is a relatively new fashion in 1929. The list of ingredients is quite minimalist in the recipe given, although the quantity is certainly not. It appears  in this case to be intended as a marinade.

There is no question that barbecue meats have become extremely popular. The following recipe for barbecue sauce will make them even more delicious.

Barbecue Sauce.

2 quarts vinegar

4 cups salt

3 tablespoons cayenne pepper.

This is the sauce which is used to barbecue a whole pig out-of -doors, but it may be used in oven-roasting a fresh ham. It is used to baste the meat frequently. The sauce is heated thoroughly and basting should be frequent and liberal.

Galveston Daily News, 19 January, 1929

And from another newspaper from the same region in the same year, a quite informative article which illustrates the state of BBQs at the time, and the concept of marinade-as-sauce:

THE KITCHEN BARBECUE.

The old-fashioned barbecue has indeed passed through much transition to arrive at the modern version of the term. A whole animal fastened onto a Spit slowly revolving over a bed of hot coals is a real sight for one in quest of adventure.

To the present day we find that the term "barbecue" more often is applied to the broiling of the separate cuts of the animal. Thick steaks and chops of all kinds are delicious when barbecued, as are roasts of beef, mutton and lamb. The term also is commonly applied to the out-of-doors steak broil and for the cooking of fowls which are broiled whole or in halves.

The barbecue sauce, which virtually is a necessary addition to the meat during the broiling period, for the most part, is not exactly the original sauce, since many of the old recipes were known only to the chefs who were expert in cooking large quantities of meats, but it has been found to be very satisfactory.

In many cases, it is hardly possible or practical to try to barbecue over an open fire, so many of us resort to our kitchen. In the following recipe the general directions may be applied equally well to other cuts and kinds of meat.

Porterhouse Barbecue.

Select a slice of porterhouse about three and one-half inches thick. Wipe it with a clean damp cloth, and skewer it firmly into position. Place the meat on a broiler in an oven which has beeu preheated. After the meat has been seared on both sides, lower the flame and baste the meat with the barbecue sauce every few minutes. Keep turning the meat so that it will be basted evenly and cooked throughout. Cook approximately 30 to 40 minutes and serve on a platter immediately upon taking it from the oven.

The remaining sauce can be thickened with browned flour and served as gravy with the meat.

Barbecue Sauce.

1 cup butter.

2 cups water or stock.

1 cup vinegar.

½ tablespoon dry mustard.

2 tablespoons sugar.

1 teaspoon salt.

1 teaspoon chili sauce.

1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

1 tablespoon tabasco sauce.

1 teaspoon black pepper.

1 teaspoon paprika

1 small onion, minced.

1 clove garlic.

Saute the minced onion in part of the butter. Melt the remaining butter in the boiling water or stock

and vinegar. Add the Worcestershire sauce and tabasco sauce. Combine the dry ingredients and add to

the boiling liquid, also add the onion mixture. Boil gently for half an hour. Strain the sauce, and it is then ready to be used in basting the meat.

San Antonio Express, 17 July, 1929

Quotation for the Day.

In the Barbecue is any four footed animal - be it mouse or mastodon - whose dressed carcass is roasted whole....  at its best it is a fat steer, and must be eaten within an hour of when it is cooked. For if ever the sun rises upon Barbecue, its flavor vanishes like Cinderella's silks, and it becomes cold baked beef - staler in the chill dawn then illicit love.

William Allen White (b. 1868)