Quantcast
Channel: Food History Jottings
Viewing all 81 articles
Browse latest View live

One Family and Empire Christmas Pudding

$
0
0
The King's Christmas Pudding made from the 1927 recipe published by the Empire Marketing Board
Towards the end of our previous post The Pudding King we touched on the subject of plum pudding as a potent emblem of British patriotism. We also explained how the dish was reinvented in the early decades of the twentieth century for a variety of political reasons, including the emergence of its role as an imperial symbol. The story about plum pudding which follows is from a time when Britains's vast empire included almost one fifth of the world's land surface and one quarter of its population. Its colonies provided the mother country with a remarkable range of raw materials, including many food items. It is ironic that a number of celebratory British food stuffs are made from ingredients that cannot be grown in the British Isles - plum cake, plum pudding, mince pies and marmalade all depend on exotics imported from warmer climates.

It is often said that plum pudding was first consumed at Christmas in the medieval period and then banned during the Commonwealth by Cromwell until revived by George I in the early eighteenth century. However, we have not found any contemporary sources which verify these claims. So far, the earliest reference we know that firmly associates plum pudding with Christmas is in the diary of Henry Teonge, a British naval chaplain who served on board a number of Charles II's ships. On Christmas Day 1675, somewhere off the west coast of Crete on board His Majesty's Ship Assistance, he wrote in his journal,

'Our Captaine had all his officers and gentlemen to dinner with him, where wee had excellent good fayre: a ribb of beife, plumb-puddings, minct pyes, &c. and plenty of good wines of severall sorts; dranke healths to the King, our wives and friends; and ended the day with much civill myrth.'*

Perhaps HMS Assistant's cook bought the dried fruit, sugar and spices to make the pudding in the market at the ship's last port of call, the Levantine town of Iskendarun. 

From at least the time of Henry Teonge until the Great War, roast beef and plum pudding were the British celebratory foods of choice for all sorts of festive occasions, not just Christmas. By the first half of the nineteenth century, cookery authors such as Elizabeth Hammond and Eliza Acton had started to call it Christmas Pudding rather than Plum Pudding, a process that Food History Jottings research assistant Plumcake has discovered had started back in the eighteenth century, or possibly earlier. We will say more about Plumcake's findings in another post.** Charles Dickens also played some part in fixing the pudding as a dish more specifically linked to Christmas. Despite this more specialised role during the Victorian period it continued to be served at occasions such as jubilee ox roasts and other junketings. During the First World War plum pudding took on a new patriotic role as a symbol of solidarity. Embroidered silk Christmas cards showing a pudding struck with allied flags became a popular souvenir, which soldiers sent from the trenches to their loved ones back home. 


No doubt these striking images of plum puddings spiked with the flags of the nations had some influence on the members of the British Women's Patriotic League, who in the decade after the Great War urged families to buy Empire goods. In 1922 they inaugurated the first Empire Shopping Week, during which they set up displays of food and produce from Empire countries and encouraged the big West End stores to follow suit. This was a period of unbridled free trade when Californian dried fruit was coming into Britain on the back of an aggressive advertising campaign. The American importers were aware that dried fruit sales in Britain were rather poor other than at Christmas time and attempted to boost the market by publishing advertising leaflets with raisin recipes for cakes and raisin loaves which could be eaten all year round. Australian vine fruit growers were horrified with the American competition, as were the rank and file of the British Women's Patriotic League, who recognised the debt that Britain owed to the Australians for their sacrifices during the war (though of course the Brits also owed a great deal to American troops!). In 1924 they urged the housewife to 'make your Christmas Pudding an Empire Pudding' and to boycott imports from non-Empire sources. They published a leaflet with a recipe which listed ingredients from various Empire countries. The concept of the Empire Christmas Pudding was born.

Spiked with both the Australian flag and the Union Jack this giant Christmas Pudding paraded in London in 1925 was sandwiched between a stuffed emu and a kangaroo. 
In 1925 when the Lord Mayor's Show explored the theme 'Imperial Trade', the Australian fruit growers paraded a huge Christmas Pudding pulled by a team of white horses. Emblazoned on the back of the pudding were the words 'make your pudding of Empire products'. None of these initiatives came directly from the British government, who in these difficult economic times wavered between unfulfilled whispers of protectionism and unregulated free trade. They could not formulate a firm policy on supporting Empire trade and at first were very quiet on the whole issue. However in 1926 they inaugurated a rather ineffective quango called the Empire Marketing Board (EMB), whose main purpose was to research the production, trade and use of goods throughout the British Empire and to promote the idea of 'Buying Empire'.

Taking their initiative from the British Women's Patriotic League, the EMB adopted the idea of the Empire Pudding. A short time before Christmas 1926 they issued a recipe in the form of a poster with an image of Britannia holding a flaming plum pudding surmounted by a union jack flag.

The Empire Marketing Board's first campaign poster. Only a few Empire countries are listed.  Courtesy of Public Record Office
The EMB's campaign was a little late in the day, but they did boost their publicity by asking the ruling monarch King George V if he and the Royal Family would eat the empire pudding on Christmas Day. He agreed and as a result the pudding also became known as the King's Christmas Pudding.

The last ingredient in the 1926 recipe above was a silver 3d. bit 'for luck!' 
Another body which promoted the pudding was the Empire Day Movement, led by the charismatic Irish peer Reginald Brabazon 12th Earl of Meath. Lord Meath masterminded a publicity stunt in which the pudding was made at Vernon House, the headquarters of the Overseas League in London. He ensured this event was filmed for a newsreel called Think and Eat Imperially, which was shown in cinemas all over the Empire, giving the campaign a tremendous amount of publicity. As early as 1909 Meath had realised the power of  the cinema as a promotional tool. In that year he commissioned a film of a vast Empire Day gathering in the town of Preston. This remarkable archive movie  has survived and I have supplied a link to it at the very end of this posting.

The chef adds Australian sultanas to the mix, while Lord Meath (on the right) looks on
Meath's vision of Empire saw Britain and its distant colonies as one large extended family. So at his publicity event, he invited representatives of the various empire countries to stir up the pudding. The various ingredients were also delivered to the chef by ushers from each producing nation. The 'pudding spice' from India was brought to the table by two Indian ushers in turbans.

The family tradition of stirring the pudding was adopted by Meath as an emblem of imperial unity
Meath stirs the 1926 Empire Pudding in the garden of Vernon House
The following year, the campaign took on an added dimension when George V's chef Monsieur Cédard provided a better recipe with a few more nations listed in the ingredients table. The campaign lasted well into the thirties, only fizzling out with the outbreak of World War II. In 1930 a propaganda film called One Family was released to promote the pudding and Empire Trade. In its day it was a complete flop. It was originally filmed as a silent movie in 1929, but to keep up with dramatic new developments in the cinema, a sound track was added to it. The film stars a London schoolboy who notices an Empire Christmas Pudding recipe in his father's newspaper. He lingers on his way to school to admire a display on the pudding in a grocery store and is late for his lessons. During one on the subject of empire geography, he falls asleep and dreams he goes to Buckingham Palace. He meets the king and is sent on a quest to collect the ingredients in the producing countries. It is sixty nine minutes long, but as a period piece is really worth watching. Much of it was actually filmed in Buckingham Palace and there is a tantalising glimpse of the palace kitchen in one scene. I have put a link to the full One Family film at the end of this posting.

Though suitable for a royal palace where puddings were made in vast numbers for distribution to staff as Christmas  presents, the large quantites in this recipe were not practical for modest family households. This is the recipe which the schoolboy sees in his father's newspaper in the 1930 movie One Family. Courtesy of Public Record Office.
A somewhat whittled down recipe, but with more Empire producing countries credited. Courtesy of Public Record Office
Courtesy of Public Record Office

Watch One Family, a 1930 British propaganda film on the King's Christmas Pudding

An Empire Day meeting in Preston in 1909. You will recognise Lord Meath to the left of the mayor

* Henry Teonge, The Diary of Henry Teonge, chaplain on board His Majesty's ships Assistance, Bristol, and Royal Oak, anno 1675 to 1679. Charles Knight. London 1825, pp. 127-28.

** Plumcake has pointed out to me that in A Voyage to Virginia, by Colonel Norwood, from A Collection of Voyages and Travels by Awnsham Churchill and John Churchill (1745) Vol. 6 p.153, there is the following diary account of an improvised shipboard Christmas dinner - and the pudding is called a Christmas Pudding,

'Many sorrowful days and nights we spun out in this manner, tille the blessed feast of Christmas came upon us, which we began with a very melancholy solemnity; and yet, to make some distinction of times, the scrapings of the meal-tubs were all amassed together to compose a pudding. Malaga sack, sea water, with fruit and spice, all well fryed in oyl, were the ingredients of this regale, which raised some envy in the spectators; but allowing some privilege to the captain's mess, we met no obstruction, but did peaceably enjoy our Christmas pudding.'

Norwood's voyage took place in 1649, so if Churchill's transcription of Norwood's diary is reliable, then this would mean that this is the earliest reference we have so far found to a Christmas pudding.

Food anthopologist Kaori O' Connor has written a marvellous paper on this subject. I would encourage you to read it. Here is the citation -

Kaori O’Connor, The King's Christmas pudding: globalization, recipes, and the commodities of empire,  in Journal of Global History. Volume 4, Issue 01. March 2009,  pp 127 -155. 

A Forked Stick for the Cookold

$
0
0
'A bean for the kinge, a pease for the queen, a cloave for the knave, a forked stick for the cookold and a ragg for the slutt. ' All these objects were concealed in the twelfth cake which Henry Teonge ate on board HMS Assistance in 1675

In our last posting, we mentioned how a threepenny bit coin was included in the Empire Christmas Pudding recipe of 1926 'for luck'. The practice of concealing small objects in food as good luck charms, or for divination purposes, seems to be both ancient and international. In Scotland there was a tradition of hiding a glass ring in a bride pie - whoever got the ring in their portion would sure to be the next one to get married. And there was a very similar custom here in England where a ring would be tossed into a bridal posset. Sometimes gifts or messages were secreted in sugar walnut shells or sugar eggs. The Georgian confectioner Giuliamo Jarrin tells us how to make perfectly seamless hollow sugar eggs in a balancing pan. Hidden inside these 'egg comfits' were all sorts of goodies. Jarrin tells us that,
‘In Paris they put in a number of nicknacks, little almanacks, smelling bottles with essences, and even things of value, for presents.’


From very early times both a bean and a pea were concealed in cakes consumed during revels and celebrations on the feast of the Epiphany, a custom that was practiced in a number of European countries. Whosoever got the bean in their slice became the king of the revels and the pea signified his queen. The most celebrated of these cakes is the gallete des rois, which still survives in France and its former colonies. In nineteenth century France, beans (feves) made out of ceramic started to replace the real ones and a whole host of other small objects were made by the potteries for galletes des rois. There were white rabbits, four leafed clovers, kings, queens, infants, doves and a whole host of other objects, though these novelties continued to be called feves.

Two nineteenth ceramic French feves designed for hiding in galletes des rois - in this case the feves really are beans.
A small collection of nineteenth century French feves for galletes des rois. These now then to be made from plastic.
Two feves in the form of tiny bone playing cards for putting into galletes des rois (early twentieth century). These are French, but sets of cards illustrated with various characters, including a king and queen became very important in the English twelfth-day celebrations from the end of the eighteenth century into the early Victorian period. Though these were not put in the cakes of that period, but blindly picked from the pack by the Twelfth-nighters to indicate the role they had to play for the night.
In England the practice was already ancient when Robert Herrick wrote the following lines in the seventeenth century,

Now, now the mirth comes
With the cake full of plums,
Where bean's the king of the sport here;
Beside, we must know
The pea also
Must revel as queen in the court here.

Begin then to choose,
This night, as ye use,
Who shall for the present delight here;
Be a king by the lot,
And who shall not
Be Twelve-day queen for the night here!

From Twelfth Night; Or, King And Queen

HMS Assistance, the ship on which Henry Teonge and his fellow crew members celebrated Twelfth-day in 1676 with a 'great kake".
About a year after Herrick's death in 1674, a naval chaplain called Henry Teonge celebrated both Christmas and Twelfth Day on board a ship in the Eastern Mediterranean in stormy weather. In his diary he describes the twelfth cake made by the ship's cook, 

From The Diary of Henry Teonge. London: 1825
Though very brief, this is is one of the most detailed descriptions from the early modern period of the English version of the custom. Teonge's vivid account paints a marvellous picture of the hilarity of the occasion. My 'great kake' for Twelfth day this year will definitely have in it 'a bean for the kinge, a pease for the queen, a cloave for the knave, a forked stick for the cookold and a ragg for the slutt.' We will make it on my Taste of Christmas Past Cookery Course on November  24-25. I still have a few places left, so if you would like to join the fun please get in touch.

In the first half of the twentieth century manufactured silver charms for concealing in Christmas Puddings became popular, though the most commonly used item was a silver threepenny bit. These are the direct descendants of the bean, pea and other items originally hidden in twelfth cakes
In early modern period England twelfth cakes were also known as wassail cakes. In 1686, in his notes on customs and superstitions Remaines of Gentilisme and Judaisme, the antiquarian John Aubrey tells us that at,

'Twelve-tyde at night they use in the Countrey to wassaile their Oxen and to have Wassaile-Cakes made.'

Instructions for preparing a Twelfth-day revel, including how to lay out wassail cakes, is given in a remarkable early Tudor manuscript in the Bodleian Library known as 'The Second Northumberland Household Book (Bod]. MS Eng. hist. b. 233. This set of household ordinances was compiled for Henry Algernon Percy, fifth earl of Northumberland (1478-1527) and was compiled between 1519 and 1527. Here is the section of the text that deals with the highly ritualised delivery of wassail cakes to the hall for the earl's table. I have left the English in its original form,

The pauntry to be brought in for the lorde ande the laidy as hereaftir followith with two yomen of the Chaumbre suche as the gentillmen vsshers shall appoint  Furst the yoman of the pauntry to bring in for the lord the Salt the kerving kniffes bread ande trenchers and aftir him a groim with a towell vpon his shulder bering the vassall caike and an outher to be appointed as yoman to bring in for the laidy with an outhir to follow him as groim with A towell vppon hs shulder bering the wassaill caike inlikefourme as the outhir did with two gentillmen vsshers befoir theim and two Marshalles befoir theim and a yoman vsher befoir theim and aftir the said pauntlers haue set the Saltes vppon the bourde and breade and takyn of the groim the wassaill caik and set it down Than the gentillmen vsshers and Marshallis with the yomen vsher to maik their obeisaunce and departe The said yomen pauntelers to stand still vnto the say be deliuerd theim by the kervers when they be comyn and haith takyn the sayes and so the pauntelers to departe when that is doon. 

From The Second Northumberland Household Book (Bod]. MS Eng. hist. b. 233.) 274-288

Wressle Castle in Yorkshire, where Henry Algernon Percy held his twelfth day revels in the early sixteenth century. The wassail cakes would have been baked in the castle bakehouse.
Twelfth night revels at this period, like those given by the Earl of Northumberland in his castle at Wressle, featured an entertainment known as a 'disguising', where the participants dressed up as characters. This tradition continued well into the first half of the nineteenth century, when twelfth-night partygoers would choose cards illustrated with the characters they were required to take on, rather than hunt for a bean, pea or forked stick in their portion of cake. In the later nineteenth century, the twelfth cake went out of fashion and similar novelty items started to find their way into the Christmas pudding.

A much romanticised Victorian depiction of a Twelfth-night revel

Stephen Hales's Syllabub Machine

$
0
0
Dr Stephen Hales FRS (1677-1761)
Many years ago while working on a paper on the subject of syllabub, I came across a reference to an ingenious invention by a certain Dr Hayles for making this frothy, uniquely English dairy dish. I found the citation in Old English Glasses by Albert Hartshorne, who quoted an obscure eighteenth century reference whose source I could not track down, 

“Dr. Hayles hath actually published what has been for some time talked of, a tube of tin with a box of the same at the lower end of it...that is full of small holes. This engine, with the help of a pair of bellows, blows up cream into syllabub with great expedition. This complex machine has already procured the doctor the blessing of the housekeeper in this palace, and of all such as she in the present generation (who know the time and labour required to whip this sort of geer), and will cause his memory to be held in reverence by all housekeepers in the generations that are yet to come.” A. Hartshorne, Old English Glasses, (London and New York: 1897), p. 307.

In my ignorance, I did not know who Dr Hayles was, so I did not have a clue where to look for his publication. I searched for some time in the British Library, the Public Record Office and other archives, but gave up when I got no results. It seemed to me that the doctor had not lived up to the promise of being 'held in reverence by all housekeepers in the generations that are yet to come.' He and his eccentric machine had been entirely forgotten. Despite this I was pretty keen to have a go at rescuing his syllabub engine from oblivion. The brief description quoted by Hartshorne was clear enough, so following the instructions I made the instrument below. It indeed proved to be an excellent and labour saving way of making syllabub and was tremendous fun to use, bringing a smile to the face of anyone who watched it in action. I even demonstrated it on a couple of television programmes, including an episode on eighteenth century food in my own series Hungry for the Past

Syllabub engine Mark I
After a few years it eventually dawned on me who the mysterious Dr. Hayles was. The problem all along had been with the spelling of his name - Hayles rather than Hales. If I had had the wit to work this out in the first place I would have realised that the gentleman in question was none other than the great eighteenth century clergyman botanist and inventor Stephen Hales, noted mainly for his early experiments on the respiration of plants. After searching through Hale's books I noticed that in one work on the distillation of seawater, there was an additional essay at the end entitled An Account of the good Effect of blowing Showers of Air up through MILK, thereby to cure the ill Taste which is occasioned by some Kinds of Food of Cows. (London: 1761).

Dr Hales was very fond of blowing bubbles. The main essay in his book was about blowing air through seawater as it was being distilled to make freshwater for seamen. He also argued that the process of blowing air through milk which had been tainted through cows eating wild garlic or turnips, would get rid of the strong unwanted flavours, especially if the milk was heated during the process. 

The final essay in this book is where Hales published his design for blowing air through milk

In the essay he illustrates the mechanism for blowing the air through the milk. When I saw his engraved plate (below), I realised that it fitted the description in Hartshorne's quotation exactly. However, syllabub does not even get a mention in Hale's essay. Now that I knew the machine was the invention of a Dr Hales rather than a Dr Hayles, I decided to track down Hartshorne's source and found it very quickly. In 1905, Hartshorne edited the letters of the Rev. Edmund Pyle, chaplain in ordinary to King George II between 1729-1763,  in a book called Memoirs of a Royal Chaplain. In it I found a letter which Pyle had written to his friend Samuel Kerrich, a Norfolk vicar. When I read the text of the letter, I realised that Hartshorne had abridged it in Old English Glasses, leaving out a critical passage which indicated that the perforated box was in fact round ('like a box for a Great Seal').

Originally designed for ridding tainted milk of the unpleasant flavours of wild garlic and turnips, Hales's  engine was used in the kitchens of Kensington Palace for making whipped syllabub. A pair of bellows was inserted into the tube at the top.
When I made my machine, I assumed that the box at the lower end of the syllabub engine was cuboid. Although my engine worked perfectly, blowing up ' cream into syllabub, with great exhibition' it looked pretty different to Hales's device for blowing air through tainted milk. Here is the full text of Pyle's letter,


Dear Sir,                                              "Novr 21 1758.

" I have a favour of yours to acknowledge. There is a great dearth of literary news. The only articles, of that sort, that I know of, are: That Dr. Hales hath actually published; what has been some time talked of; a tube of tin, with a box, of the same, at the lower end of it, (like a box for a Great Seal,) that is full of very small holes. This engine, with the help of a pair of bellows, blows up cream into syllabub, with great expedition. This complex machine has already procured the Dr. the blessing of the housekeeper of this palace, and of all such as she is, in the present generation, (who know the time & labour required to whip this sort of geer: and will cause his memory to be had in reverence, all housekeepers, in the generations that are yet for to come."

The mention by Pyle of 'the housekeeper of this palace' is very interesting. This was Kensington Palace where Pyle was chaplain. Hales too had strong royal connections. By the middle of the eighteenth century he had become a well known public figure. So much so that Prince Frederick of Wales, the heir to the throne, frequently drove from his palace at Kew to observe the doctor's curious experiments at his laboratory in Teddington. Frederick's wife Princess Augusta often accompanied him on these excursions and became very fond of Dr Hales. When Frederick died in 1751, Hales was appointed Clerk of the Closet to the Princess Dowager. In the summer he frequently visited the princess at Kew and advised her on her gardens and greenhouses. He also thought up amusements for the princess and her children, including the Prince of Wales, who would eventually become King George III. One of these diversions was making pictures out of rare dried sea mosses (species of seaweed with a feathery appearance) sent to Hales by a fellow botanist. One day, probably in 1758, at Leicester House, the princess's winter residence, he amused the royal children by making syllabub with an 'ingenious machine'. This was the year which Pyle wrote his letter referring to the published design. So it looks like the Doctor brought his invention to Leicester House just to give the children a good laugh. But it must have been spotted by the housekeeper of Kensington Palace who put it to serious use.

Frederick Prince of Wales with his sisters in front of Kew Palace by Philip Mercier 1733.

Frederick's wife Princess Augusta of Saxe-Gotha (1719-1772), oil on canvas by Charles Philips. In 1751 Dr Hales was appointed the princess's Clerk to the Closet.

The highly inventive Dr Hales was very fond of experimenting with air. He placed this windmill on the roof of Newgate prison to ventilate the airless cells below. It was a huge success. Hales's brother William had died of gaol fever in Newgate. He was also celebrated for designing ventilation systems for ships and advocated fumigating biscuit and other sea stores with sulphur dioxide to kill weevils and other insects. Another of Hale's remarkable inventions was a system of salting whole carcasses of meat by pumping saline solution through the animals' blood vessels. 
Kensington Palace where the royal housekeeper used Hales's syllabub engine.
Leicester House formerly on Leicester Square, the residence of Frederick Prince of Wales and Princess Augusta. It was here that Hales amused the royal children with his syllabub engine.
Now that I have found Hales's drawing, I am making a Mark II version of his syllabub engine which will be exactly like the original. Once it is completed I will post a video of it being used, which I hope you will find an amusing diversion. Despite the speed with which this device pumps up syllabub, it never seems to have caught on in England. However, at some time in the nineteenth century on the other side of the Atlantic in the Southern States, utensils which used a similar pumping action started to become popular for whipping up cream and syllabub. However, I suspect that these churns were invented without knowledge of Hales's device. though strangely enough earlier in his career Hales was one of the original twenty-one rtustees of Georgia in the early history of the colony. He also had strong connections with the Carolinas. And it was in the Southern States that these devices were popular. Coincidence? Almost certainly. 

A reproduction of  a nineteenth century American syllabub churn. Photo courtesy of John Chaney
Another view of the syllabub churn above. Photo courtesy of John Chaney
Tildens 1865 USA patent churn - with a turbine which whips up the cream when the cylinder is shaken
Whether making syllabub by milking a cow into a bowl, as in this romantic 19th century illustration, or by blowing air through the cream with an eccentric bellows operated engine, this bucolic activity seems to have entertained generations of children, including a few royal ones.
If you would like to know more about syllabub there are some other posts dealing with the subject on this blog -

Tavern Feasting in Bristol, Christmas 1788

$
0
0
As well as turtle imported into Bristol from the West Indies, 'British Turtle' is listed on this fascinating 1788 Christmas bill of fare from a Bristol tavern. Was British turtle, the popular substitute dish made from calf's head which becomes more commonly known as 'mock turtle'? Or was it real turtle landed perhaps in the Bristol Channel by local fishermen? Various species, including Leatherbacks, Loggerheads and even the rare Green and Kemp's Ridley Turtles still occasionally turn up in British waters. These rare visits were probably more frequent in the eighteenth century. When caught by fishermen, these valuable reptiles would have been sold at considerable sums and ended up on the tables of the wealthy.
Those of you who follow this blog may have noticed that I have not posted anything for quite a long time. There are quite a few reasons for this. Among them is the fact that I have been working hard on two important food history exhibitions - Feast Your Eyes here at the Bowes Museum in the UK, which opened last month and Supper with Shakespeare at the Minneapolis Institute of the Arts which runs from 12th December 2012 to 31st March. I will be in Minneapolis for much of December. There are links to the two museum sites below and I will post some more detailed articles about the exhibitions when I find time.

However, since Christmas is approaching rapidly I thought I would share a small festive item with you. Yesterday I bid unsuccessfully at a book auction for a minor piece of culinary printed ephemera, a long list of food items published by a landlord of a Bristol tavern in 1788. John Weeks was the master of the Bush Inn and Tavern in Corn Street, Bristol between 1775 and 1800. His establishment was one of the most important watering holes in the city in the Georgian period and was noted for its elegant entertainments. Week's long bill of fare informed customers of the food items in stock over the holiday period from which they could choose to construct their entertainments in the tavern. I have seen a number of similar lists published by Weeks in other years. For instance, there is one from 1790 in the Bristol Record Office. 

A nineteenth century view of the Bush Tavern, Corn Street, Bristol, chromolithograph by William Lewis after J.H. Maggs.

The last quarter of the eighteenth and the first quarter of the nineteenth century saw the apogee of tavern dining in Britain. Forget about 'pub grub' - these places were pretty lush and luxurious places, often with commodious dining halls for corporate affairs and private chambers for more intimate gatherings. The London Tavern in Bishopsgate claimed to be able to feed 3000 people all at the same time in its various rooms. Many of the cooks who ran the kitchens of these establishments published their own recipe books, some like John Farley, John Townsend, Richard Briggs, Francis Collingwood and John Woolams becoming household names. However, there is much evidence to suggest that at least a few of them, like Farley who cooked at the London Tavern, did not write their own books. Many of the recipes in the tavern cooks' collections were lifted from other authors by unscrupulous publishers who just wanted to use the name of a well known cook to sell the book. So their books do not offer an accurate idea of the actual dishes that were served in the taverns of the day. 

Feasting in the palatial rooms of the London Tavern in the nineteenth century - hardly mere 'pub grub'. In the cellars of the London Tavern there were holding tanks for the turtles to keep them fresh and alive before they were dispatched. To help them feel at home, these tanks were decorated with ceramic tiles depicting tropical scenes.
However, Week's various Christmas Bills of Fare do give us a clear idea of the scope of the food on offer at these establishments. Although it was not in the capital, the Bush Inn, which sadly no longer exists, was a tavern in a major international port with a sophisticated cultural life. Here is the section of the 1788 list, showing the game and poultry on offer. Variety and quantity were of course everything at this period.


A number of the birds listed here, such as the bittern, land rail (corncrake) and golden plover are quite rightly now protected species. The item 'water dabs'  puzzles me in a list of birds. A dab is usually the name for a flatfish, which closely resembles the flounder. I used to fish for them when I was a child. If anyone knows the identity of a water fowl with this name please contact me. A 'mew' was of course a sea gull.


In the next section, dealing with butchers meats there are also a few other items that may be unfamiliar to you. 'Pork griskins' were the most tender parts cut from pork loins and 'veal burrs' were the perennially popular sweetbreads.


Among the cold dishes on offer were 'collars of brawn', not the paté-like head cheese we now call brawn, but domestic boar meat which had been cut up into flat boned pieces called collars, wrapped in linen and boiled in a souse of wine, vinegar and spices. 'Rounds of beef' were rolled joints of brisket, salted, spiced and boiled in ale - what we might now call spiced beef, but which had various names at this period, including hunter's beef. A round of beef was a very popular Christmas dish. The baron of beef was a huge roasted joint, the full back end of the animal, which was always served cold. Cold sturgeon, usually pickled, was also popular at this time of year. Although there are minc'd pies on the bill of fare, it is noteable that there is no mention of plum pudding. Below is John Week's complete bill of fare - note the pin hole at the top. How does your planned Christmas dinner compare with this?


The study of recipe books alone can lead to a very inaccurate perspective on what was really eaten in the past. Bills of fare and menus of actual meals like this marvellous survival can frequently tell us much more about our ancestors' real dining preferences. A scholar who concentrates on digging up this kind of eighteenth century source material on dining for whom I have a great deal of admiration is India Mandelkern. India is a rising star in the culinary history world. She has an acute eye, an admirable methodology and like Food History Jottings own research assistant Plumcake, is brilliant at discovering new sources. I recommend you read her marvellous blog Homo Gastronomicus. She has recently penned some interesting observations on turtle.

As promised I will say a great deal more about the two culinary history exhibitions on which I have been working, but for the moment here are a couple of links.




My 2013 Food History Courses

$
0
0

An authentic Victorian Wedding Cake ornamented with gum paste motifs printed from original nineteenth century moulds . Make and decorate a cake like this on my Confectionery Course
For those of you who may be interested in attending one of my weekend cookery courses, I have now posted the course diary on my site Historic Food. You will find details of the courses and how to apply there. I have also published a course diary here with links to the details of each course. I have a lot of writing and television commitments in 2013, so will only be running eight courses. If you are interested, please let me know as soon as possible as places are limited. These courses are unique in the world and I am very proud of them. You could find yourself roasting a huge joint of venison with a clockwork spitjack, making the most extraordinary flummeries and jellies from an original eighteenth century mould or bake a spectacular Elizabethan or Victorian Pie. All courses are GB£300, which is amazing value as included in the price is all tuition, two lunches and a fantastic evening meal - all cooked by you of course! I have clients who regularly attend my courses who come all the way from Australia, New Zealand. Canada, the US, Japan and Europe. Many come back time and time again.  

A Belgrave Jelly made on my Jellies and Moulded Foods Course
A stunning Tudor marchpane made on one of my courses
A Christmas Pie made on my Taste of Christmas Paste Course
COURSE DIARY 2012
DATE
STATUS
COURSE
25-26 May 2013PLACES
15-16 June 2013PLACES
6-7 July 2013PLACESJELLY AND MOULDED FOODS
24-25 August 2013PLACES
14-15 September 2013PLACESPIE MAKING AND PASTRY
28-29 September 2013PLACESITALIAN RENAISSANCE COOKERY
12-13 October 2013PLACESPERIOD SUGARWORK AND CONFECTIONERY
16-17 November 2012PLACESA TASTE OF CHRISTMAS PAST

Click on one of the links above to find more details about individual courses. Go directly to the booking form to make a booking. 
A seventeenth century lumber pie made on my Pies and Pastry Cour

Make a wonderful gingerbread like this from an original mould

Feast Your Eyes

$
0
0
A sugar paste church based on one originally made for Queen Victoria;s ball supper in Hatfield House in 1845
I spent a great deal of time this summer working on Feast Your Eyes, the Fashion of Food in Art, an exhibition at the marvellous Bowes Museum in Barnard Castle in County Durham. If you do not know this extraordinary place, which is one of the best kept museum secrets in Britain, make an effort and visit it. You will return again and again. It is a world class museum in the  beautiful market town of Barnard Castle in Northern England. It is on a South Kensington scale. It is the third exhibition there that I have worked on over the years. I was also the guest curator in 2003 of a spectacular show called Royal Sugar Sculpture and worked with decorative arts curator Howard Coutts in 1994 on the seminal food history exhibition The Tempting Table. In the last twenty years, the Bowes Museum and Fairfax House in York have led the field in food history exhibitions. What we did in those early shows set a worldwide trend among decorative arts curators. This is why I keep getting asked by institutions like the Met in NYC, MFA in Houston and other major American museums to work with them on this fascinating area. I am writing this in my hotel room in Minneapolis, where I will start setting up a lovely exhibition on dining in renaissance England entitled Supper with Shakespeare which opens at Minneapolis Institute of Arts on December 13th. It is going to be spectacular. My next post will be about the show.

It has been a great deal of fun setting up Feast Your Eyes with the Bowes Museum team. And what a selection of paintings relating to food and other works it is, the majority from the Bowes collection. A stunning Peter Aertsen of market traders washing vegetables was specially restored for the show. You can see videos of the actual restoration on the Bowes Museum blog, but the crown must go to the 'breakfast' table still life by Jacob van Hulsdonk, which is a striking example of the work of this early seventeenth century Antwerp school artist. He was a contemporary of Osias Beert and the wonderful Clara Peeters, two other important artists working in the city who specialised in painting dining settings of this kind. His work deserves to be better known. He painted a very similar, though less ambitious study which can be seen in the Rijksmuseum Twenthe in Enschede in Holland. Both celebrate simple merchant class meals, a plate of trotters, some rye bread and a glass of weissbier. They must also be among the earliest European paintings which depict Chinese porcelain being used on a table. The same knife with a decorative handle appears in both pictures. Was this a studio object? Or is it the actual knife that van Hulsdonk with which ate his meals. I have noticed in paintings by other early Netherlandish artists, such as Clara Peeters and Pieter Claez that they too continuously do the same thing. I have said this before, but at this period you carried your eating knife around with you and it was frequently one of the more valuable objects you owned, just as much a treasured item of jewellery as an implement to spear your meat on. You flaunted it, just as people nowadays flash their iphones and blackberries, (though I hope you don't do this at the dinner table).

Jacob van Hulsdonk, Still life. Antwerp. 1615. Courtesy of the Bowes Museum.
Jacob van Hulsdonk, Still life. Antwerp. 1615. Courtesy of Rijksmuseum Twenthe.
Josephine Bowes, Bodegón. Oil on Canvas. Photo Syd Neville - courtesy of Bowes Museum
In a similar vein is a much later food still life by the co-founder of the museum Josephine Bowes, actress, art collector and a fine painter herself. Since the gadrooned copper cauldron is still in her collection, with some help from Sue Hall and John Hudson, we were able to recreate the table top arrangement of objects which Josephine worked from - still life imitating art if you like!

However, my main task was to have a go at bringing to life a tiny little watercolour of a ball supper in the collection of Hatfield House. This anonymous and unassuming work depicts the marble hall at Hatfield set up with trestle tables covered with food and floral arrangements

It depicts an actual event at Hatfield House attended by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in 1845. It is one of those rare things, a painting of food being consumed in an English setting. We printed an enlargement of the painting so it completely covered a wall and then set up a table in front of this covered in the typical delights of a high status ball supper. The painting shows a pie in the form of a castle emblazoned with Victoria and Albert's initials and also a sugar paste church, which was probably made by a London confectioner especially brought in for the occasion called Ferdinand. I made both for my recreated table. The Hatfield archives have a very large and particularly detailed account book with entries made at the time of this visit listing the extraordinary amounts of provisions and beverages consumed during the event. While the aristocratic guests enjoyed their supper, the estate workers and poor of Hatfield were treated at Lord Salisbury's expense to a huge ox roasted on a spit in front of the house.

The Hatfield House ball supper. Photo Syd Neville - courtesy of Bowes Museum

A section of the exhibition relating to tea and sugar consumption - Photo Syd Neville - courtesy of Bowes Museum

General view of exhibition. Photo Syd Neville - courtesy of Bowes Museum 
A jelly depicting the early Queen Victoria with its mould made by Ivan at a demonstration on Victorian food he did at the opening of the exhibition.

Feast Your Eyes is on until Sunday 6th January. For more details go to the Bowes Museum website
I an giving a lecture there on the 4th January called - 

The Twelve Days of Christmas

4 January, 2.15, £6.00
Join critically acclaimed food historian Ivan Day for this animated & energetic lecture and food demonstration to complement the current exhibition, Feast Your Eyes: The Fashion of Food in Art. Booking required on 01833 690606.

Don't miss it!

Supper with Shakespeare

$
0
0
A banquet of sweetmeats. This sugary assemblage is dominated by a 'standard' in the form of an edible banquetting house sited in an edible knot garden. Marchpane garden 'knots' are filled with flowerbeds made from fruit pastes and surrounded by gravel walks consisting of carraway comfits. There are also edible sugar tazze filled with jumbals, sugar playing cards, wafers, comfits and a host of other 'banqueting stuffe'. these include gilt gingerbread figures made from the original Jacobean moulds which are exhibited in a nearby case display.
This year I have had two exciting culinary brushes with the bard. In the summer I worked with the Royal Opera House in London to devise a dinner of Tudor dishes for a gala event celebrating Shakespeare's enormous influence on opera. Readings were given at the event by Prince Charles and Simon Russell Beale. At the moment I am on the other side of the Atlantic in Minnesota setting up a small, but lovely exhibition on dining culture in Shakespeare's England at the Minneapolis Institute of the Arts. This world class museum houses a rich assemblage of artefacts relating to dining from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, including some important English silver. For over a year I have been working with the decorative arts curators selecting objects and putting a narrative together which hopefully will steer visitors away from any stereotypical ideas they may have about English dining in the Tudor and Stuart age. You know the sort of thing - boars' heads and boorish behaviour - which was of course part of the picture, but there was also extraordinary refinement, staggering culinary creativity and a level of civility in manners that would put us moderns to shame. When was the last time you washed your hands as a communal activity at the table before and after the meal? Or dined with an eating set like this, as one English traveller did after returning from Venice in the early 1600s?

Coral handled knife and fork. Venice. Late sixteenth century. Luxury goods like this were imported into Britain from Venice. Whatever your class, eating knives and spoons were carried by all and for the well-off were worn as items of status defining jewellery. Photo © Minneapolis Institute of the Arts.

As well as the revival of classical architecture, philosophy, science and other branches of learning, the Italian renaissance also popularised the fork as a dining implement. Thomas Coryat (1577-1617), a contemporary of Shakespeare introduced it into England from Venice. He was ridiculed by his friends and given the nickname 'Furcifer' (fork bearing devil or rascal), but his introduction did eventually catch on and changed English eating habits forever. This is the engraved titlepage of the 1611 edition of Coryat's Crudities in which he describes his visit to Venice. 
I have lent a small number of important books and moulds from my own collection to the exhibition. These tell the story of the two main contributions to gastronomic culture of the sixteenth century – the dissemination of the art of distilling ardent spirits and the spiraling increase in the use of sugar. The second of these has inspired my chief contribution to the show – an authentic recreation of an English banquet of sweetmeats in the marvelous Tudor period room in the MIA. The table has been set with an array of the highly decorative sweet foods which were consumed after the main meal, sometimes in a separate room, or even in a small purpose built building in the gardens or on the roof, known as a banqueting house.

The Tudor room at Minneapolis Institute of the Arts. This fine example of a wainscotted chamber from the 1570s has a typical strapwork overmantel with carved oak Corinthian pilasters, terms and a family crest. It was sourced from a manor house in Suffolk and installed in the MIA in the 1920s. I may be wrong and stand to be corrected, but as far as I know it is the only English renaissance period room in the US. Photo © Minneapolis Institute of the Arts.
The same room brought to life with a banquet of sweetmeats. The stack of bride cakes and bride cup on the buffet indicates that we are at the tail end of a bridal feast or 'bride ale'. My aim is to bring the room to life with the food and to make the twenty-first century visitor feel that they have gate-crashed an intimate Tudor party.
Bride cakes and bride cup. These flat currant filled spice cakes, rather like large Banbury cakes, started life as hearth cakes baked with a brandreth and girdle. The wealthy baked them in ovens, frequently to a a very large size. The antiquarian John Aubrey in the later seventeenth century recollects how they were stacked up 'like the shewe bread in the pictures in the old bibles'. The bride cup was filled with hippocras or muskadine and paraded by the bride leader from the church to the place of the bridal. A rosemary bow was 'dipped' in the wine and ornamented with family armorials and hundreds of ribbons tied in 'bride knots' to the rosemary leaves.
A woodcut from a sixteenth century bible showing 'shewe bread' stacked up in piles.
Note the bride cup filled with embellished rosemary being carried aloft by the bride leader and the very large bride cakes in this detail from a painting by Joris Hoefnagel of a Wedding Feast at Bermondsey (1580s). On the table, which is scattered with flowers is a standing salt, rather similar to the example from this period by Christopher Eston in the exhibition.
Ophelia's celebrated reference to the language of flowers in Hamlet in which she says, 'There's rosemary, that's for remembrance', has led us all to believe that rosemary was a herb emblematic of death and funerals. But its evergreen qualities were also symbolic of everlasting and enduring love. This is why it was also highly significant at Elizabethan weddings. In this woodcut, a Tudor bride is flanked by two grooms both with rosemary branches tied to their arms. Note also all are wearing white kid gloves. These were perfumed with musk and ambergris and given as gifts at weddings. I made a very fine white sugar glove from an early mould which is on the banqueting table.
Banquet guests ate their sweetmeats from thin roundels or trenchers usually made from beech wood and decorated with ornamental designs and verses. They were also crafted from sugar as here. I made eight sugar ones for the table, painting them with designs copied from a wooden set housed the British Museum. The guests ate  banqueting stuffe was eaten from the plain side and then they turned over to reveal the verses. These were read for amusement and instruction sometimes in a sequence around the table creating what was called a roundelay. They were not always round in form. Rectangular examples have survived, some with paintings of emblematic and allegorical figures and learned texts. 
A 'cut laid tart' made from a design published in Robert May's The Accomplisht Cook (London: 1660). May started his long career as an apprentice cook under his father in the Star Chamber in the last decade of the sixteenth century. His cookery book published in the year of the Restoration of the English monarchy was a nostalgic collection of recipes of how food had been before the Civil War tore the country apart. Similar ornamented tarts are described by Gervase Markham in 1615. The tart consists of two sections. The lower contains baked fruit, the top is ornamented with pastry and the interstices filled with fruit pastes and preserves.
Another of May's cut laid tarts filled with quince paste
The centrepiece of the knot garden marchpane is a sugar plate banqueting house ornamented with gilt Medusa's heads. The design is based on the surviving banqueting house at Long Melford in Suffolk, not far from the house out of which the  MIA Tudor room was removed. The conical roof , with its flag and the knot gardens themselves were inspired by woodcuts in William Lawson's A New Orchard and Garden (London:1618).
Silver standing salt by Christopher Eston of Exeter c. 1583. Photo © Minneapolis Institute of the Arts.


Drinking glass, façon de Venise. Netherlands. c. 1660. Drinking glasses were imported into England from Venice, the Low Countries, Bohemia and Austria. Many were luxury objects like this Venetian style winged drinking glass, but they were designed for use. Photo © Minneapolis Institute of the Arts.

Supper with Shakespeare - the Evolution of English Banqueting

Thursday 13 December 2012 - Sunday March 31 2013
Minneapolis Institute of the Arts, Tudor Room (325) and Gallery 332
Free Exhibition

Friends Lecture: Supper with Shakespeare 

Speaker Ivan Day
Free
Thursday, December 13, 2012
11 a.m. – Noon
Pillsbury Auditorium
Minneapolis Institute of Arts,
2400 Third Avenue South, Minneapolis, 
Minnesota 55404 
(888) MIA ARTS (642-2787) (Toll Free)




An Aenigmatical Bill of Fare

$
0
0


In a May 2011 posting on her marvellous blog Homo Gastronomicus, India Mandelkern transcribed some very unusual royal Christmas menus from the time of George II which are recorded in a manuscript in the British Library - MSS 15956. The various dishes on these menus are in the form of riddles, some of them rather difficult to fathom out for modern readers. For instance 'A sign in the Zodiac butter'd' would be the popular Georgian dish buttered crabs, while 'The divine part of Mortals fry'd' is obviously fried sole. These however are the easy ones. If you want to spend your Christmas figuring out the other dishes I suggest you take a look at India's posting.

But before you do, I am going to offer you another bill of fare comprising of riddle dishes along the very same lines, which was published in the anonymous The Ladies Companion (London: 1751) fifth edition with large additions, Vol. II pp. 393-4. This book has an interesting publication history. It started life in 1737 with the title The Whole Duty of a Woman. In 1740, a second edition was issued with the new title The Lady's Companion and it went through a series of editions, until a very much augmented two volume fifth edition appeared in 1751, which contains 'An Aenigmatical Bill of Fare'. The manuscript bills of fare which India has transcribed date from Christmas 1755 and I have always suspected that they were inspired by An Aenigmatical Bill of Fare published four years earlier. Some of the dishes in the BL manuscript are identical, such as 'The Grand Signior's Dominions larded', which is of course larded turkey. Appended to the Aenigmatical Bill of Fare is another joke menu, this time in the 'High Goút', not so much a collection of riddles, but more a schoolboy joke with a slightly anti-French slant.


Although The Lady's Companion is very much a publisher's compilation, the fifth ediiton is one of the most useful of all texts to those of us seriously studying the cookery of the eighteenth century. Its 'upward of three thousand recipes' were largely borrowed from earlier texts, but it is a well organised  encyclopaedic compendium of Georgian cookery on a very ambitious scale. It is also illustrated with woodcuts (lifted from Richard Bradley) of trussing methods and engravings of pie and pastry designs (lifted from Edward Kidder). Hannah Glasse probably owned a copy of its earliest incarnation The Whole Duty of a Woman (London; 1737) from which she made very large borrowings in The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy (London: 1747).

If any of you can figure out the dishes and liquors on these pages please let me know how you get on and please, please don't also miss to have a go at those on India's post The King's Feast.
My next post will also be on the subject of unusual eighteenth century bills of fare. 



Eat the Entire Creation if you dare ....

$
0
0

...but Beware of the Fatal Effects of Gluttony


I have often thought that if the great biblical deluge had taken place in the eighteenth century and Noah had been an Englishman, all those creatures which God placed in his care would never have survived. They would have all been devoured by Mr and Mrs Noah and all the little Noahs before they even had a chance to go forth and multiply and fill the four corners of the earth. Eighteenth century English diners were serial carnivores and I sometimes think it was their gastronomic ambition to gnaw their way through the entire creation. Just look at this pie baked in 1763 in the kitchen of a long vanished country house close to where I live in the English Lake District.

From the Manuscript Commonplace Book of Richard Hoggart of Clifton, Westmorland.  1760s (private collection)
If you find the handwriting a bit difficult, here is a transcript.

Feb 24th 1763
Contents of a Pye lately made at Lowther Hall

2 Geese, 4 Tame Ducks, 2 Turkeys, 4 Fowls, 1 Wild Goose, 6 Wild Ducks, 3 Teals, 2 Starlings, 12 Partridges, 15 Woodcocks, 2 Guinea Cocks, 3 Snipes, 6 Plovers, 3 Water Hens, 6 Widgeons, I Curlew, 46 Yellow Hammers, 15 Sparrows, 2 Chaffinches, 2 Larks, 3 Thrushes, 1 Fieldfare, 6 Pidgeons, 4 Blackbirds, 20 Rabbits, 1 Leg of Veal, Half a Ham, 3 Bushels of Flower, 2 Stone of Butter - the Pye weighed 22 stone

This makes the heroic Yorkshire Christmas Pies of the period with their fillings of boned turkey, goose and other poultry seem positively parsimonious. The ecological consequences of a pie filled with the fruits of a mass slaughter on this scale must have been severe. I don't suppose much bird song was heard in the Lowther Valley for some months. 

But if you really wanted to munch your way through the entire avian population (with a few leverets and baby rabbits thrown in for good measure), why not do it in a more organised way and hold a dinner four times a year to regale your guests with just those birds that are in season. Here are four bills of fare offered by Charles Carter in his rare and much neglected The Compleat City and Country Cook (London: 1732). The ornithologists among you will have fun ticking off the various species on offer here against the twitcher's bible - The British List:A Checklist of Birds of Britain. Not quite all the birds of the air, but still a pretty impressive assemblage and a lot more generous than that modern emblem of plentitude, the 'family bucket'.


I think this justifies my claim that we English were dedicated carnivores, though you must understand that a lot of the birds served up at these dinners, such as the chick peepers, turkey polts, pheasant polts, squabs etc, are baby chicks, barely just sprouting their juvenile feathers. Thus as well as enthusiastic zoophagists, we were also serial infanticides. Unlike his modern equivalent, the Georgian diner had no sentimental difficulties when it came to eating babies - they tasted better and were more tender than adults, so what was the problem? 

If a scorched earth ornithological orgy every three months failed to sate your appetite, you could always turn your gustatory inclinations to the scaly creatures of the briny deep.  Here is another of Carter's great feasts, this time A Table of all Sorts of Fish, published in his third book The London and Country Cook (London; 1749).  


Ever since the medieval period some classes of Englishmen have liked plenty of variety on the table in front of them. Fear of mass extinctions did not cross their minds. This was particulary true at the great livery company feasts in the City of London. The poet Edward Hake, writing in 1579 in his Newes out of St Powles Churchyard describes the variety of birds served at one of these occasions. 


The keen bird watchers among you (and thanks to all those who helped me identify water dab as the little grebe) should have fun identifying some of these creatures from their Tudor names. Well over a decade ago I created a table at the Museum of London based on a feast book for the Grocers' Company from 1566. Here is the table, an avian disaster zone if ever I saw one. 


I am a fairly committed carnivore myself, but this kind of excess has always troubled me. I am no anthropologist, but I suspect 'heroic' eating on this grand scale must have grown out of male hunting culture. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries one of the most conspicuous dishes of the baroque feast was the olio, a mixed meat stew of Spanish origin which was enjoyed on high status tables all over Europe. It was an edible expression of the extent of the aristocratic host's estates and game parks. Remember aristocratic gentlemen of this period had two main hobbies - hunting and warfare. They did n't usually eat their human enemies, but they often consumed the spoils of the chase on an enormous scale. John Nott, master cook to the Duke of Bolton, tells us in the introduction to The Cook's and Confectioner's Dictionary (London: 1723) that 'this happy Island of Great Britain, which like another Canaan, may properly enough be call'd, a Land flowing with Milk and Honey, so richly is it stor'd with Fish, Flesh and Fowl.' Later in his book he gives the following recipe to make an olio. After he had prepared this gargantuan dish for his noble lord, you might well wonder that even if the nation's rivers of milk and honey still continued to flow, its abundant supplies of flesh and fowl probably became seriously depleted.


Well I hope that one day all those birds and fish and creatures consumed in olios, city feasts and other orgiastic mass extinctions eventually got their own back. Just recently I acquired a lovely copy of my favourite image of the joys of the revenge of the eaten on the eater. Based on Henry Fuseli's celebrated painting The Nightmare, this marvellous satyrical lithograph by MG (1830), shows Lord Mayor John Key being attacked by the creatures that should have made up his Lord Mayor's feast the previous evening, but for political reasons the feast was cancelled by the king. This image was first brought to my attention by my dear friend Gillian Riley when we worked together in 2000 on the exhibiton Eat, Drink and be Merry. It became the banner image of the exhibition so I am so pleased after all these years to have found a nice copy to hang in my own study. I will let the creatures of Key's abortive feast have the last word and I truly hope that that huge green turtle snogging my Lord Mayor has been nursing a really chronic case of halitosis on his long sea voyage from the Caribbean. 


However, there is an interesting American coda to this story of carnivorous excess. I passed through O'Hare airport in Chicago a few days ago on my way home from the Twin Cities. While I 'enjoyed' (wrong word) a modest, but pretty awful quasi-Chinese lunch in Manchu Wok in the airport food mall while waiting for my connection to the UK, I contemplated on one of the most extreme dîners à l'arche de Noé ever, served up in the Windy City in 1893. 
From Theodore Garrett, The Encyclopaedia of Practical Cookery (London: nd. 1890s) 
This edible ecological disaster, almost on the same scale as the mass exterminations of the Great Plains bison, was served to six hundred guests at the Grand Pacific Hotel in February 1893. This was the transatlantic incarnation of the baroque olio, but on an even more horrific scale. It is the culinary equivalent of one of those Victorian natural history museums, stuffed full of stuffed specimens in glass cases, the chief difference being that the diners in the Grand Pacific Hotel stuffed the specimens into themselves. The sheer logistics of hunting these unfortunate 'critturs', let alone skinning and plucking them, cooking them in a Victorian kitchen and finally serving them up with their complex garnishes to six hundred salivating Illinois huntsman is just mind-bogling. And did all six hundred manage to get a portion from the Pyramid of Wild Goose Livers? A wild goose only has one liver. Right? The manager and host of this grand event was called Mr. John Drake. With a name like that I thought he might have had a bit more sympathy with his feathered friends - and furry ones too - check out the black bear, cinnamon bear, opossum, racoon etc. among the roasts. But not a bit of it, in 1883 these annual 'eat all you can of God's creation for $9' indulgences had been going on for thirty-seven years! The 1883 bash was the very last. Drake died in 1895. I wonder if both he and Lord Mayor Key are still being tormented in their own personal circle of Hades by the angry souls of all those sturgeons, turtles, prairie chickens, fox squirrels, butter-ball ducks and cinnamon bears they devoured during their lives. Merry Christmas everyone! 

John Drake's Grand Pacific Hotel in Chicago, the venue of the annual game dinners
John Drake (1826-1895). Concealed  behind those tight lips I suspect there may be a set of very well developed canines.

Decorative cover of the 1872 Annual Game Dinner Menu suitably garnished with the bodies of the fallen

The folks back in England at Windsor Castle kept a pretty good table too. To get you into the Christmas mood, this is a view of the carnage in Queen Victoria's game larder in 1857 at Yuletide. Note the festive holly.



From Jardiniere to Satyr Pie

$
0
0


A copper jardiniere with a hidden history
New insights into Britain's extraordinary culinary history sometimes turn up in quite unexpected ways. A few weeks ago a great friend of mine, the sharp eyed Michael Finlay, a fellow Cumbrian with a lifetime's experience of dealing and collecting fine antiques, turned up at my house with an object he had just purchased. The vendor had described it as a Victorian jardiniere. This handsome looking copper vessel did indeed look like it may once have been given pride of place on a window sill, perhaps with a large aspidistra growing out of it. But careful scrutiny of its structure alerted the ever watchful Michael to the fact that it was not what it seemed. 

Michael is a truly remarkable man. Over the years he has put together many major specialist collections of antique objects. These include bronze bell mortars, writing equipment and mining tokens. Once he has built up a large and representative assemblage, he then usually writes the authoritative book on the subject and sells the collection to finance his next interest. His remarkable book Western Writing Implements: In the Age of the Quill Pen won the Daily Telegraph book of the year award and now changes hands for hundreds of pounds. In the last few years he has turned his attention to collecting culinary antiques, an interest for which he blames me. In a very short time he has put together a museum style collection of the very highest quality. For instance in just one year he has assembled a truly extraordinary collection of pastry jagging irons, including wonderful rare examples dating from the renaissance through to the nineteenth century. They will form the subject of his next book, which is already taking shape.

However, let's return to his copper jardiniere. Michael thought that it had a very close resemblance to a nineteenth century pie mould. He should know, because he has some very nice examples himself and has spent many fruitful hours in my kitchen making pies with them. He was pretty sure he was right, but wanted confirmation from me. From the very moment I first saw it, I knew it had indeed once been a large copper pie mould, but had been subjected to a conversion probably at about the time of the First World War. Its once separate sections had been brazed together and a couple of brass handles attached. It was in fact one of the most unusual pie forms I have ever seen and certainly the most handsome. As you can see from the photograph, it is ornamented with the grimacing head of a horned satyr, perhaps intended to be old Pan himself. What a pie it must have made! A very interesting detail was an engraved ownership mark, an Italianate capital H surmounted by an earl's coronet. 


Marks of this kind are often seen on items of batterie de cuisine out of great house kitchens and this particular one was very familiar to me as I had worked many times in the historic kitchen in Harewood House near Leeds, where many items are engraved with an identical symbol. However, there were also earls of Huntingdon, Halifax and Harrington, so the jury is still out as to which noble kitchen it originally came from. But I suspect it is from Harewood. How it came to be turned into a plant pot is a mystery.

Ivan making pies some years ago in the Harewood kitchen using some of the copper pie moulds that have survived there from the nineteenth century

Michael took the jardiniere to a metalworking friend who skilfully converted it back to a pie mould.Yesterday, we both had a great baking session and used it to make a pie, the first time it had been used for that purpose for at least a hundred years. 

Our 'satyr' pie with its lid  ready to be ornamented
With the help of a jagging iron and a couple of pie boards to make pastry ornaments, we embellished the lid
The reborn 'satyr pie' egged and glazed, a testimony to the once fine art of British pastry making

Henry VIII's Jely Ypocras?

$
0
0

Some spices commonly used in the preparation of hippocras - starting in the left hand bottom corner and rotating clockwise - grains of paradise (referred to in the recipes quoted here as grains), galingale, long pepper and cubebs
I recently had an email enquiry from the Australian historian Rachel Grimmer concerning the use of jelly moulds in sixteenth century England at the time of Henry VIII. Of all English monarchs Henry is probably the first to come to mind when thinking of feasting and gastronomic excess, though bills of fare for specific meals at his court are rare. Neither Peter Brears in his excellent book on the food culture of Hampton Court All the Kings Cooks, nor Alison Simm in Food and Feast in Tudor England give any examples of Henrician menus. Nevertheless, a few 'ordinances of fares of the dietts to be served to the King's Highnesse' transcribed from a manuscript of 1526 were published in 1790 in one of my favourite sources on British royal domestic matters, the wonderful A Collection of Ordinances and Regulations for the Government of the Royal Household printed for the Society of Antiquaries. And jelly appears on the menu. In fact a jelly made with the spiced wine hippocras is featured at the beginning of the second course of a royal diet 'on a flesh day' served alongside cream of almonds. (Though some doubt has been raised about this because of the comma separating the words Jelly and Ipocras - please read Tudor Cook's very pertinent comment below). 

Jely ypocras seems to have been a royal favourite. It also occurs in an earlier bill of fare for a Henrician feast transcribed from a since lost manuscript in 1672 by the antiquarian Elias Ashmole in his magisterial History of the Noble Order of the Garter. Unlike the 'dietts' of 1526 this earlier meal was for a specific occasion and a very grand one too. In the second course of the dinner held as part of the Garter celebrations at St George's Hall, Windsor Castle on Sunday 29th May in 1520, 'jely ypocras' was again served to Henry XVIII and Queen Catherine of Aragon. As in the 1526 diet it is listed as the first dish in the second course.


How this jelly was presented to table is not indicated. Was it moulded, or served in glass or silver vessels? I don't suppose we will ever know. I have seen a number of carved wooden moulds (all continental) which date from the sixteenth century, but they are all carved in shallow relief and were probably used for printing marchpane paste and cotoniacs. But sophisticated methods of moulding jellies did exist at the Tudor court. A letter dated July 10th 1517, sent to Isabella d'Este, Marchesa of Mantua by Francesco Chieregato, the apostolic nuncio in England, describes a remarkable feast which Henry gave in honour of an embassy sent by the King of Spain. This extraordinary supper, which followed a magnificent pageant and joust, puts the 1520 garter feast and the rather domestic 1526 'dietts' firmly in the shade. Chieregato's comments at the end of his letter on the elegant manners at the English court belie the popular but mistaken image of Tudor dining as a boorish free-for-all. But note the fourth paragraph on the twenty different jellies served at the feast, 

' All the knights and jousters then assembled together, and having made a fine procession around the tiltyard, accompanied the King to the palace, where his Majesty had caused a sumptuous supper to be prepared. There were present the King, the two Queens, the Cardinal, all the aforesaid ambassadors, the Duke of Norfolk, the Marquis (of Dorset), and their ladies, together with other baronesses, in such numbers, that at table each man paired with a lady.

There was a buffet set out, 30 feet in length, and 20 feet high, with silver gilt vases, and vases of gold, worth vast treasure, none of which were touched. All the small platters used for the table-service, namely “seyphi,” dishes, basins, plates, saltcellars, and goblets were all of pure gold. The large vases were all of silver gilt, very costly and precious.

The guests remained at table for seven hours by the clock. All the viands placed before the King were borne by an elephant, or by lions, or panthers, or other animals, marvellously designed; and fresh representations were made constantly with music and instruments of divers sorts. The removal and replacing of dishes the whole time was incessant, the hall in every direction being full of fresh viands on their way to table. Every imaginable sort of meat known in the kingdom was served, and fish in like manner, even down to prawn pasties (fino alli gambari de pastelli); but the jellies (zeladie), of some 20 sorts perhaps, surpassed everything; they were made in the shape of castles and of animals of various descriptions, as beautiful and as admirable as can be imagined.

In short, the wealth and civilization of the world are here; and those who call the English barbarians appear to me to render themselves such. I here perceive very elegant manners, extreme decorum, and very great politeness; and amongst other things there is this most invincible King, whose acquirements and qualities are so many and excellent that I consider him to excel all who ever wore a crown; and blessed and happy may this country call itself in having as its lord so worthy and eminent a sovereign, whose sway is more bland and gentle than the greatest liberty under any other. After supper his Majesty and the chief ambassador from the Catholic King, together with other lords, danced with the ladies until daybreak.'*

The great Isabella d'Este, the recipient of Chieregato's letter had a real interest in this occasion, as her husband Francesco Gonzaga had gifted a magnificent horse to King Henry which was ridden at the joust. Feasting was an important element of life in the Gonzaga family and Isabella was well used to lavish banquets. Bartolommeo Sacchi (1412-1478), better known as Platina, author of the first printed cookery book had worked for Francesco's grandfather Ludovico II Gonzaga as tutor to his children. It is interesting to see how Cheiregato is trying to impress the marchesa with the scale of Henry's feast and to perhaps correct any stereotypical ideas she may have had about English food.

Isabella d'Este (1474-1539) by Titian
There were earlier examples of moulded jellies at the coronation feast of the eight year old Henry VI at Westminster Hall in 1429, including one in the form of a 'Gely party wryten and noted with Te Deum laudamus'. So the technology of making elaborate dishes of this kind had been around for at least a century before Henry's jellies in the form of castles and animals were borne to his table on the backs of elephants, panthers and lions.

Although there are recipes for plain hippocras in early sixteenth century cookery texts, a specific recipe for a jelly made with hippocras does not appear until the reign of Elizabeth I. It was published in A. W., A Book of Cookrye, Very Necessary For All Such As Delight Therin. (London: 1584) and is simply called jelly.



In case you find the black letter of the original difficult to read, here is a modern transcription.

To make Ielly.


Take Calves feete and fley them, and faire washe them, and set them on to seethe in faire licour, and faire scum them, and when they be tender sod, faire straine out the licour, and see your licour be verye cleere, and put your licour into a pot, if there be a pottle of it, put a pottle of claret wine unto it, and two pound Sugar, a quartern of sinamon, half a quartern of ginger, an ounce of Nutmegs, an ounce of grains, some long Pepper, a fewe Cloves whole, a few Coliander sads, a little salt, Isonglasse being faire washed and laid in water a day before, Turnsole being aired be the fier and dusted, and when they be wel sod, let it run through a bag, and put two whites of Egs in the bag.

One of the ingredients of A.W.'s recipe is turnsole, a dyestuff commonly used to colour jellies and other foods. It was chiefly made from the fruits of Chrozophora tinctoria, a type of spurge found in the Mediterranean. It appeared in commerce as a rag which you macerated in your jelly mixture in order to release its colour. Henry Lyte in his A niewe Herball or Historie of Plantes (London:1578) tells us that ‘they die and stayne old linnen cloutes and ragges into a purple colour wherewithall in this countrey, men use to colour gellies, wynes, fyne confeciones and comfittes.' More on turnsole and its applications in the kitchen in another post. 

Chrozophora tinctoria from Pierre Pomet, A Compleat History of Drugs (London: 1737)
Chrozophora tinctoria or turnsole. Be careful with this plant. Like other members of the Euphorbiaceae, it contains toxic glucosides. Put it in your jely ypocras at your peril.

From A Noble Book of Festes Royalle and Cokery (London: 1500)

* Brown, Rawdon et al. Calendar of State Papers Relating to English Affairs in the Archives of Venice, Volume 2: 1509-1519 (London: 1867) 918.


Eating Egypt

$
0
0

Pharaonical Feasts and a Regency Ghost


William (Gugliamo) Jarrin (1784-1848). Stipple engraving (1820). 
I have not posted an article on this blog for ages. A number of demanding TV and museum projects have conspired to make me so busy that I have had no time to add anything in the past couple of months. So with all this going on, I thought I would set aside an hour or two to share with you a recent and remarkable find.

I have frequently mentioned the Italian confectioner Willliam Jarrin on this blog. Resident in London in the first half of the nineteenth century, his book The Italian Confectioner (London: 1820) provides a remarkable insight into the extraordinary world of the European confectioner of this period. In my own practical endeavours in this field, I have learnt more from Jarrin's writings than from any other printed historical source. He came to London from Paris in 1817 to work as an ornament maker for the celebrated London confectioner James Gunter. Even by this time the young Italian was a consummate practitioner of sugar sculpture. In his book he boasts of an occasion when he produced a gum paste piece montée for an entertainment in Paris attended by Napoleon, which included a full length sculpture of the Emperor himself. Napoleon was apparently impressed with his work. Jarrin tells us that he preferred to freely model in gum paste, but he also pressed the material into wooden moulds to make all sorts of motifs for various purposes. Like many confectioners, he carved his own moulds, his preferred woods being pear and box. In a chapter entitled Engraving on Wood, he claims that anyone with enough patience could learn to carve moulds of this kind. In 1820, he tells us that he had been practising the art for 16 years, which would have made him 20 years old when he started.

Pear wood confectioner's mould. Engraved on the one side are the words  Jarrin Fecit (private collection)



Until a few days ago, I knew of only one surviving sugar paste mould actually carved by Jarrin, a small slab of pear wood engraved with the figure of a drunken man and two busts - one a man in a tricorn hat, the other a Turk in a turban. This mould is signed Jarrin Fecit (Jarrin he made). These intaglio motifs are for making free-standing features - once knocked out of the mould, the two halves were joined together. He probably used these figures for ornamenting the tops of twelfth cakes, for which he was famous. Unfortunately, I have not yet located any images of Jarrin's ornamented cakes. But in the trade card below, advertising the wares of one of his London competitors, a twelfth cake surmounted by a group of tiny figures can be seen on the stand on the right.


Now we know of another mould carved by Jarrin, because yesterday I bought a small, but spectacular collection of early nineteenth century confectioner's moulds, which included the striking specimen below which depicts a winged Egyptian mask signed by him on the side. Unusually it is dated - 1820, the very year in which his book was published and portrait engraved. You can imagine my excitement! It is also exceptionally large, taking up almost the full length of a ten inch long block of pear wood. The mould still retains small residual patches of gum paste and starch, though it would be romantic to think that these were left by Jarrin, as the mould may have been used by a more recent confectioner. Jarrin was declared bankrupt in 1828 and in an inventory of his goods are listed 'Moulds, tools and different apparatus' to the value of £200. No doubt this newly discovered mould was once among these items.




An illustration of wood carving gouges from Jarrin's book
Egyptian motifs in architecture, furniture and the decorative arts were very popular at this period. Napoleon's campaign in Egypt (1798-91) and Nelson's victory at the Battle of the Nile (1798) had created a fashion for all things Egyptian in both France and England. In 1807, the Sèvres manufactury near Paris produced a vast porcelain dessert service based on Egyptian motifs which was gifted by Napoleon to Czar Alexander I. It can be seen at the marvellous Kuskovo Palace Museum near Moscow. Another version is on display at Apsley House in London, originally ordered by Napoleon for Josephine, but given as a gift to the Duke of Wellington by Louis XVIII of France. 

The spectacular 1808 Sèvres Egyptian Service laid out in the Kuskovo Palace Museum
Two seminal publications, Charles Percier and Pierre François Léonard Fontaine's Recueil de décorations intérieures (Paris:1801) and Vivant Denon's Voyage dans la Basse et la Haute Egypte (Paris:1802) both contained beautiful plates which helped spread the trend for Egyptian based design. In England, the traveller and interior decorator Thomas Hope (1769-1831) was one of the arbiters of taste who was instrumental in popularising the fashion for all things Egyptian in London. His book Household Furniture and Interior Decoration (London: 1807) includes an engraved illustration of an Egyptian room in his own house in Duchess Street off Portland Square, which he designed to house his collection of Egyptian antiquities. 

Thomas Hope, Household Furniture & Interior Decoration. (London:1807).
Some of the most extraordinary examples of Egyptian influenced tableware from this period are a series of silver tureens designed by the great Regency silversmith Paul Storr. The earliest set was made as part of the 'Grand Service' for the Prince of Wales, later George IV (1762-1830) in 1802-3, for his dining table at Carlton House. In 2000 the Royal Collection generously lent one of them to us for the exhibition Eat, Drink and be Merry and there are some excellent photographs of it in the book of the same name, which I edited. A very similar set made in 1807-08 for the Duke of Cumberland can be seen in the Gilbert Collection in the V&A. Unlike the Royal Collection set these are not gilt. If you look carefully at the example below, you can see an Egyptian winged mask very much like that carved by Jarrin on the lower part of the bowl.      
Silver soup tureen and stand by Paul Storr (1771-1844) made in 1807-08. Photo © V&A.
A close-up of Jarrin's as yet uncleaned mould-  a pharaoh complete with remnants of sugar paste and starch
So the Prince Regent and his Carlton House guests enjoyed their soups served from Egyptian style tureens But what of Jarrin's mould? It is a sugar paste mould, probably used to make a motif for a complex sugar caprice for a dessert centrepiece. Certainly something much grander than a twelfth cake. When gilded this object was probably indistinguishable from some of the real silver gilt metalwork on the table. So did Regency diners actually enjoy eating food with a pharaonical theme? Well the evidence points to the fact that they did and not just as sugar decorations on fancy table ornaments. After the Battle of the Nile in 1798, Josiah Wedgewood started manufacturing creamware flummery and jelly moulds with Egyptian motifs. He produced moulds embellished with such motifs as the Nile crocodile, the sacred musical instrument known as a sistrum, funeral urns, lotus flowers and dozens of other ancient Egyptian symbols. Below is a selection of some of these unusual moulds.

Early nineteenth century Wedgewood mould with an image of the falcon god Horus. Photo: Mike and Sue Witts
Early nineteenth century Wedgewood mould with a sistrum. Photo: Mike and Sue Witts
Early nineteenth century Wedgewood mould with a sacred Nile lotus. Photo: Mike and Sue Witts
Early nineteenth century Wedgewood mould with Egyptian motif. Photo: Mike and Sue Witts
A couple of months ago, I was called upon to produce a full Regency ball supper for a forthcoming BBC documentary called Pride and Prejudice, Having a Ball. The programme celebrates the bicentenary of Jane Austen's wonderful novel by attempting to recreate the Netherfield Ball at Chawton Hall, her brother's home in Hampshire. It will be screened here in the UK fairly soon on BBC2. As this was meant to be a recreation of a Regency ball, I decided to have at least one ancient Egyptian themed dish on the supper table. So I used a mould in my collection which turns out the curious jelly below. In classical Greece this ram's skull was known as an agricranion, but in this version the skull is surmounted by a sacred lotus flower, so Wedgewood's designer probably concocted it from an Egyptian image he had seen somewhere or other. I cannot guarantee if you will see this colourful dish on the table in the programme, as I have no control over how it will be edited. Besides, across the first course and the dessert there are over 71 different dishes served out in a full scale à la française supper, so if you blink you will probably miss it anyway. Once the programme is aired I will post some details about the food and table setting that I am sure will be missed in the narrative.


As the nineteenth century rolled on, culinary Egyptomania continued and was particularly well expressed in a number of pharaonical ice creams. Ice cream pyramids, obelisks and even sphinxes appeared on the scene. In my own collection I have a couple of obelisks complete with hieroglyphics and the two small sphinx moulds below.

Nineteenth century three part ice cream moulds. Being an Italian, Jarrin specialised in ices and a whole chapter is devoted to them in his book. He even had his own ice house in Cromer Street near Kings Cross. When he went bankrupt in 1828, he owned £200 of pewter utensils.
The inside detail is very crisp

I mentioned at the beginning of this post that  I acquired Jarrin's Egyptian mould in a group of others. The remainder are unsigned, but Jarrin had a distinctive carving style and I suspect that some may also be by his hand. One of these allows a crown to be made out of sugar paste by flexing the sugar pressing round a former into a circle, a common technique that was also used to make three dimensional sugar baskets. I thought at first this may have been for making a royal crown for the top of a twelfth cake. But on the verso of the same mould - it is carved on both sides - there are some large ostrich feathers. In fact it was actually designed to make a sugar Prince of Wales feathers ornament. 



One of Jarrin's contemporaries, the Yorkshire confectioner Joseph Bell, actually illustrated a cake surmounted by a sugar paste Prince of Wales feathers in his A Treatise of Confectionery (Newcastle upon Tyne: 1817). Bell's cake is decorated with swags and drops, garter stars and patriotic emblems in the form of the flowers of England, Scotland and Wales. I own plenty of Regency period moulds for making all of these ornaments, with the exception of the lion and the unicorn. But I expect one day they too will turn up. When they do, I will make the cake for you. 

By the way, the ghost of Joseph Bell's daughter Eleanor is said to haunt the beach at Scarbororough, where he had a confectioner's shop. In 1804 she was tragically murdered and her body left on the beach at  Cayton south of the town. Her killer was never found. More on her distraught father Joseph, another forgotten British 'food hero' in a later post. 
An ornamented cake made in honour of the Prince of Wales from Joseph Bell, A Treatise of Confectionery (Newcastle upon Tyne: 1817).
Paul Storr's Egyptian tureens in the Royal Collection

For  information on the influence of the Egyptian style in Europe, see Patrick Connor ed., The Inspiration of Egypt: Its influence on British Artists, Travellers and Designers,1700-1900 (Brighton Borough Council, Brighton, 1983); and Jean-Marcel Humbert, Egyptomania: Egypt in Western Art, 1730-1930 (Réunion des Musées Nationaux, Paris, 1994).

Ivan Day - Some Forthcoming Lectures

$
0
0
I thought that some of you who follow this blog might be interested in some lectures I am giving over the next few months. I am in Hartford, CT later this month presenting a lecture at the Wadsworth Atheneum and a workshop at the Lewis Walpole Library at Yale. These are internal events and as far as I am aware are now fully subscribed. However, on the 14th April, I am giving a public lecture at Christies New York and reading a paper on the 30th at the Bard Graduate Center as part of the symposium Kitchen and Table in Early Modern Period Europe and Colonial America. On 7th June I am speaking at the Garden Museum in London on food at Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. There are further details of all these events below.



Christies NYC
Dining Culture in Enlightenment Europe

A lecture by Ivan Day


From the townhouses of Edinburgh to the palaces of St Petersburg, from the chocolate houses of Madrid to the grand salons of Stockholm, the cuisine and dining protocol of the French ancien regime spread rapidly during the course of the eighteenth century to all of the great European centers, frequently obliterating the native high status food traditions of those who adopted it. In this illustrated lecture,British food historian Ivan Day will examine the dramatic cultural impact that the spread of French court food had on the non-French speaking aristocratic world. He will not only discuss the remarkable food itself, but its mode of service and the glittering material culture which it spawned.

Please join us for a fascinating look at the cuisine and dining protocol of the French ancient regime which spread throughout Europe during the 18th century. In this illustrated lecture, British food historian Ivan Day will examine French court food’s dramatic cultural impact, its mode of service and the glittering material culture it inspired.

Sunday, April 14 2013
3:00 pm

Christies
20 Rockefeller Plaza
New York City

Cost to attend is $25.00 and must be paid in advance – gratis to students upon presentation of school ID.
To RSVP and arrange payment, please contact Johanna Josefsson at
jjosefsson@christies.com or on +1 212 636 2215

The Bard Graduate Center NYC
Symposium: Kitchen and Table in Early Modern Europe and Colonial America



Displaying the Kitchen and Table
A lecture by Ivan Day

The vast material culture spawned by the consumption of food has frequently been studied by art historians whose chief criteria have been aesthetic developments, makers, materials and other formal issues. Considerations of utility - how objects were actually used and particularly how they were used together - have often been glossed over and rarely fully discussed. In terms of museum presentation, this means that most of the silver, glass, ceramics and other tableware associated with dining are arranged in display cabinets as precious objects worthy of our admiration, but removed from their original human context, a table surrounded by diners. On the other hand, the more humble utilitarian objects associated with the production of food have often been perceived as historical ‘bygones’ or curios, frequently grouped together as ‘kitchenalia’ and not usually considered worthy of study by the serious scholar. Using examples of period dining room re-creations and open kitchen displays he has curated over the past two decades, the speaker will discuss issues of interpretation, authenticity and ways forward for contextual displays of this nature.
9.30am to 6.00pm

The Bard Graduate Center
18 West 86th Street
New York, 
New York 10024
Telephone 212 501 3000
E-mail generalinfo@bgc.bard.edu

The Garden Museum London
Symposium: Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens


A Quart of Arrack and a Heart Cake
Food and Drink in Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens 1661-1859
A lecture by Ivan Day

Monday 17th June 2012

For more information on this event go to the GARDEN MUSEUM WEBSITE


















The Garden Museum
5 Lambeth Palace Rd London SE1 7LB
020 7401 8865

Pride and Prejudice - Having a Ball

$
0
0

Some Background on the Ball Supper in the BBC2 Documentary


Although the silver and other tableware here is accurate for the period, this is more of an 'evocation', than a recreation of the Netherfield ball supper. But hopefully it does offer some insight into the sophistication of dining in the Regency period. Photo by Andrew Hayes Watkins. ©Optomen Television
Those of you who regularly read this blog will know that I am frequently rather harsh about the lack of accuracy in food and table settings in period movies and television dramas. Rarely have I seen any recreations of this kind that have really impressed me. Though of course I constantly have to remind myself that these productions are not pretending to be anything more than dramatised settings of fiction, so the food and table setup are props for the cast to perform around. Therefore I suppose it is a bit sad of me to look for detailed historical accuracy in a fictional context where it is unlikely to be found. However, when the format of the production is a documentary, a medium which attempts a true reflection of reality, it is a different matter. On British television in recent years, there have been a number of documentaries which have attempted to examine the history of our food. In most cases these recreations have been worse than those of the period dramas. I am not going to give any examples, but some of these productions have really been wasted opportunities and I have frequently been embarrassed by my own involvement in them when I see the final edit. I believe that a more intelligent approach to food in history has the potential for really exciting - and yes, even more entertaining television than risk-averse commissioning editors realise. 

So how you might ask, can this sort of thing be done in a more revelatory and accurate way? Well the first essential factor is to work with a production team who really listen and understand these issues. When I was first invited to create the food and table for BBC2's documentary Pride and Prejudice Having a Ball, I had an exploratory meeting with the producer/director Ian Denyer. For the first time in my long career, I found myself talking to a television professional who was singing from the same hymn sheet as myself. Ian and his colleague Sarah Durdin Robertson were really keen to portray the same level of historical accuracy in their production that I aim for in my museum exhibitions. They too wanted to avoid the tabloid 'Carry on Banqueting' approach that has too often been the standard fare when it comes to the treatment of food history on British television.

Silver specialist Christopher Hartop and his wife Juliet with a practice layout of the Regency silver at three o clock in the afternoon on the filming day. Ten hours later, they were still up, washing all this incredible stuff in the kitchen sink until 4.00am in the morning! Christopher and Juliet organise decorative arts special events, including one called The Art of Dining. Find out more at Christopher's website.
The second essential factor is to set the table with authentic equipage rather than the generic art department 'props' that appear in just about every production, even the big budget Hollywood ones. To make this possible I called upon the good offices of my friend and colleague Christopher Hartop, one of the world's leading scholars of historic silverware. Christopher miraculously sourced a large assemblage of authentic Regency tableware, making this production the very first to recreate a period table on British television with a high degree of veracity. The only disappointment was that the food could not be prepared in a period kitchen, though I made up for this in using a range of original equipment, especially in the preparation of some of the sweet dishes.

Confections from the Netherfield dessert you will have missed if you blinked when watching the programme! All designed for consuming with sweet wines. The Prince of Wales biscuits in the foreground, emblazoned with the iconic feathers emblem of the Regent, were made from Joseph Bell's 1817 recipe. The pink sweets are Pistachio Prawlongs from Frederick Nutt's 1789 The Complete Confectioner, a key work of this period. The plate in the background contains spice biscuits, wafers, sweetmeat biscuits, toad in a hole biscuits, millefruit biscuits and filbert biscuits, all also made from Nutt's recipes. Nowadays, we dunk biscuits into tea, but at this period they were used for dipping into the unctuously sweet wines of the dessert course.
Ian told me the aim of the programme was to accurately recreate the Netherfield ball from Jane Austen's 1813 novel Pride and Prejudice, including the production and serving of the ball supper, which would be my job. In her beautifully measured, but succinct prose, the author offers just a few clues about the nature of this meal, leaving much to the reader's imagination. But if our twenty-first century imaginations have been nourished by cliché-ridden, stereotypical concepts of what food and dining was like in the late Georgian period, how can a modern reader visualise such an occasion?  Austen tells us it was a sit-down affair, at which the ubiquitous 'white soup' was served. But she says little else about the nature of the rest of the food. So if we were to accurately recreate her ball supper, where should we look for research material? There are certainly many contemporary reports of grand balls in the newspapers of this period, in which suppers are described, though hardly ever in any significant detail. One thing we do learn from these sources is that the supper was usually served in the early hours of the morning, making the old cliché 'carriages at midnight' completely false. For instance at the Duchess of Bedford’s Ball at Bedford House in London on Friday 31st May 1811, at which the great Neil Gow provided the music, the supper furnished by James Gunter was served in the 'wee small hours',

'At half-past three o’clock the company sat down to a sumptuous banquet, the viands and wines being of the first description, with a desert of ices, strawberries, cherries, and grapes by Mr Gunter. Music was provided by Mr Gow’s Band'.

The Morning Post of 14th April 1813, the year of our recreated ball, reported a very grand supper served at a magnificent ball in the home of a Mrs Beaumont,

'At 2 am the company then adjourned to the supper-tables. Here a most sumptuous display indeed was made, there were no less than six supper-rooms, all fitted-up in the most beautiful and appropriate manner. Each table was brilliantly ornamented with trophies of war and peace; emblems emblematic of the arts and sciences: the costume of all civilized nations of the earth, exemplified in waxen images, modelled for this fete expressly…the plate, and the china, displayed and the brilliancy of the lighting-up of the tables, the effect was grand in the extreme. To render the coup l’oeil complete, about two hundred beautiful women (for the major part of the females were really beautiful) sat in such prominent situations as to be seen in every part without the least difficulty. The supper, we need not add, was most excellent; the wines abundant, and all of the rarest kinds. The dessert fruits, and confectionary, were equally deserving of panegyric: the Duke of Clarence spoke in raptures of them'.

This brief page on ball suppers from John Conrade Cooke's Cookery and Confectionery, (London: 1824) tells us that by this time it had become fashionable to eat the food provided at balls standing up. Austen tells us that the Netherfield supper was a sit down affair. Of course, the style of dining she had in mind was that of the  late 1790s when she wrote the book, not the Regency period when it was published. I would have preferred to have produced a 1798 supper, but the BBC wanted to set it in 1813. Note that Cooke mentions 'White Soups'. He also tells us that the hams were ornamented or served in slices.

Stand-up ball suppers became the norm in the Victorian period. This is a museum display I undertook last year of a stand-up ball supper based on an actual event at Hatfield House in 1845. It was part of the 2012 Bowes Museum exhibition Feast your Eyes.
Amazingly, when my team did finally recreate the supper for filming at Chawton House in January, because the schedule was running very late, the food was not delivered to the table until 2 am. And we finished the washing up at 4.00 am. That day we started work in the kitchen at 7.00 am, making it a massive twenty-three hour shift! This sort of schedule was probably exactly the long kind of day that the servants who prepared and served at these affairs would have experienced in the Regency period. Creating a meal on this scale would have been the job of a large team of professionals over a number of days. Confectionery keeps well, so it was made well in advance. A lot of the cold dishes and pies were usually made the day before. This was the pattern we followed. My team was truly remarkable, working under extremely difficult conditions and for very long hours. Lesley Sendall, food stylist extraordinaire, was my second in command. In the kitchen, the meat and fish cookery was carried out faultlessly by the highly talented chefs Sylvain Jamois and Chris Gates, assisted by the always calm Emily Hallett and Roy May. I wish that I could have worked with them in a real period kitchen, like my own in Cumbria, teaching them how to roast in front of a fire and prepare their sauces on a stewing stove. In the dining room, Christopher Hartop and his wife Juliet laid out the remarkable silver and trained the waiters. Christopher, a former Executive Vice-Chairnan of Christie's is the author of numerous books and papers on silver. We all learnt a great deal about the logistics of such an ambitious entertainment, including the long hours of washing up afterwards in the small hours. Though unlike the scullery staff of 1813, we had good washing up liquid rather than hard soap and plenty of hot water - though that failed at one point!

In the description above of Mrs Beaumont's ball, it is mentioned that the tables were decorated with emblematic wax ornaments. These pieces montées, or 'dressed plates' were also made out of sugar and edible materials. They were designed and made by very skilful confectioners who specialised in such work, and could even be hired just for the evening. One little known, but important book by the cook and confectioner John Conrade Cooke - Cookery and Confectionery (London: 1824) illustrates some of these extraordinary objects. The example I reproduce below was a sort of culinary 'mobile' that trembled elegantly when the guests sat at the table. It was appropriately called a 'tremblent'. These stunning wobbly centrepieces were popular all over Europe until the middle of the nineteenth century. They would have picked up and amplified every movement from the dance floor.

A 'drest plate' or tremblent by John Conrade Cooke. Although there was neither time, nor the budget to make table ornaments like this for the programme, I did make two of Cooke's ices for our reconstruction of the Netherfield ball supper - tamarind ice cream and negus ice, both served during the dessert in contemporary ice coolers, or seaux à glace.
A remarkable design for a tremblent by the Turin confectioner Prati to be entirely executed in sugar paste c.1825.
Bills of fare for ball suppers are actually few and far between in the cookery literature of the period. One of the best examples and the one we decided to use as the starting point for our supper was published in later editions of William Henderson's The Housekeeper's Instructor. It first appeared in the 1805 edition, a version of the book much 'corrected, revised and augmented' by Jacob Schnebbelie, principal cook at that iconic residence for high status bachelors - Albany in Piccadilly. 

Portrait of Schnebbelie with the Albany from William Henderson, The Housekeeper's Instructor (Twelfth Edition, London: 1803).
It is likely that Schnebbelie fed such regency worthies as Henry Holland, Lord Byron and Robert Smirke, who all lived in chambers or 'sets' in the Albany on his watch. Schnebbelie's scheme includes four dress plates down the middle of the table with a small dessert frame in the centre. These raised frames, also called plateaux or surtout were very popular for raising dramatic ornamental centrepieces above the level of the table. With four dress plates and a frame, this layout is for a very ambitious entertainment indeed - to my mind, in style and scope somewhat more Mr Darcy or Lady Catherine de Bourgh, than Mr Bingley. On either side of the frame is a Savoy cake. These large moulded sponge cakes were decorated with gum paste ornaments and made conspicuous ornaments for the table in their own right. I decided to drop the dress plates. but retain the savoy cakes.
Schnebbelie's ball supper scheme, with its 'frame' and 'dress plates' is for a very grand ball supper. He also included a plan for the dessert which followed. From William Henderson, The Housekeeper's Instructor (Twelfth Edition, London: 1803).
This large gum paste triumphal arch with its trophies stands on a dessert frame or plateau. I made it for the exhibition Royal Sugar Sculpture in 2003. It is now displayed in the table decker's room at Brighton Pavilion.
In this decorative title page to Cooke's book, the two little fellows at the table are preparing a 'drest plate'.
The items on this 1870s French ball supper buffet include pieces montées and trophies of game and fish.
One of my ornamented Savoy cakes. Photo by Andrew Hayes Watkins. © Optomen Television
A Regency period mould in my collection, which I used to ornament the Savoy cake above.

Ball suppers were prepared and served by professional caterers with advanced skills in both cookery and confectionery. 
Schnebbelie includes two blancmanges in his scheme, which were likely to have been made in the intricate moulds of the period. The mould used to make this beautiful blancmange basket of fruit was made by Wedgewood in the 1790s. Photo by Sarah Durdin Robertson.

Schnebbelie's cold fowls were likely to have been ornamented with fashionable silver hatelet skewers garnished with such delicacies as whole truffles and crayfish. Note the slices of ham on the napkin in the silver basket, served as per the instructions of John Conrade Cooke reproduced earlier in this post. Photo by Andrew Hayes Watkins. © Optomen Television.
Instead of a dessert frame, we used a stunning epergne by Benjamin Smith III of Birmingham, kindly lent by Koopman Rare Art. Photo by Andrew Hayes Watkins. © Optomen Television
The table is laid à la française with all the dishes on the table at once. The guests choose just the dishes they want and help each other, making it a socially dynamic style of dining. The aim was to provide a sumptuous arrangement that honoured the guests with plenty of choice. Nobody was expected to eat everything. Photo by Andrew Hayes Watkins. © Optomen Television
Many of the savoury dishes in the meal were from Henderson's book, though some, such as the Austen favourites white soup and haricot of mutton were based on recipes in Martha Lloyd's and the Knight family manuscripts, housed at the Jane Austen House and Chawton. However, most of the recipes in these wonderful collections are of a domestic nature. Much grander dishes would have graced the table of the fashionable and aspirational Bingleys, especially at an entertainment at which they were attempting to impress grandees such as Darcy.
Crayfish in Jelly. Photo by Andrew Hayes Watkins. © Optomen Television.
A sweet jelly this time, moulded in cameo style made using a 1790s Staffordshire mould.
This is the final bill of fare for the supper. Its core is the 1805 arrangement designed by Schnebbelie reproduced above, but with the addition of two soups and a number of other dishes mentioned by Austen, such as haricot of mutton roast widgeon and ragout of veal. There was also a dessert course, which I will discuss in a later post.
Ivan enjoys a cup of tea after the stress of  unmoulding this 1790s Staffordshire core jelly obelisk. It was worth it as it did appear on the screen for a micro-second!

A lot of you who have already watched the programme and have contacted me to say that you would have liked to have heard more about the food. Well, the supper was just a part of the whole event and what had to be foremost in the narrative of the programme was how the context of the ball set the dynamics of Austen's plot. I thought the programme makers and presenters made a good job of this. The extraordinary culture of Regency dining really needs a six part series of its own. Though I am afraid that commissioning editors think that modern audiences do not have an appetite for this sort of thing. They are entirely wrong of course!

Some of the sharp-eyed among you noticed a few errors of fact in the voice-overs in food scenes. Alistair Sooke said that the parmesan ice cream was made from a recipe in Frederick Nutt's Imperial and Royal Cook, which of course does not contain any ice cream recipes. It was made from Nutt's earlier work, The Complete Confectioner of 1789. Well spotted! Three of you realised that the liquid unfortunately described by Amanda Vickery as a 'gallon of gravy', must have been the hare soup, because it was being poured into a particularly fine Regency soup tureen. It was! The other tureen was used for serving the famous white soup. And yes, the meat in a veal ragout was not 'slow roasted', nor shredded - it was stewed.

I am never sure who writes the texts of voice-overs, but in my experience they are the area in these productions where the most errors creep in. It can be particularly annoying when an expert contributor has mentioned on camera the true facts and in the presenter's voice-over which replaces it, the truth gets mangled, or ends up substituted by some nonsense gleaned from Wikipedia. It happens to me all the time - but I guess that is one of the joys of show biz!

Although my meal was set out correctly for this period, the mode with which it was consumed in the programme by the modern diners would have raised a few eyebrows in the early nineteenth century. Place a group of excited twenty-first century dancers round a lavish table at 2.00am in the morning and you will not get a perfect demonstration of Regency period manners. À la française dining was a socially dynamic mode of service, but not quite the free-for-all depicted here.

If you live in Britain and you missed the programme first broadcast at 9.00pm on the 10th May on BBC2, you can catch up with it over the next week on BBC iPlayer. It is presented by Amanda Vickery and Alistair Sooke. It is an Optomen production for BBC2 commissioned by BBC2 Controller Janice Hadlow and Mark Bell, Commissioning Editor, Arts.

P.S.  Neither Optomen or the BBC told me anything about this, but a friend has just pointed out that there is another spin-off programme from Pride and Prejudice: Having a Ball, an education production aimed at school children called Regency Life: 3 Lives in a Day. She mentioned it to me, because she noticed lots of sections with really good footage of my food and table, which were not used in Pride and Prejudice: Having a Ball. I appear in it from time as an uncredited, disembodied pair of hands doing things with food! If you want to watch it, it is available on BBC iPlayer for a few more days - Regency Life: 3 Lives in a Day

Some Regency Biscuits

$
0
0

Some Regency period biscuits. In the foreground are millefruit biscuits, sweetmeat biscuits, filbert biscuits and rolled wafers. The round biscuits on the plate in the middle printed with the feathers emblem are Prince of Wales biscuit. In the background can be seen some spice biscuits and more rolled wafers. I made these for the dessert served after the supper in the BBC production Pride and Prejudice: Having a Ball. Other than the Prince of Wales Biscuits, these were all made from recipes in Frederick Nutt's The Complete Confectioner (London: 1789).
Nowadays, we tend to eat biscuits with beverages like tea and coffee. But in the past they were an important element of the dessert course and were dipped into sweet wine. Particularly popular for this purpose were various sponge biscuits, often made in long thin shapes so they fitted easily into the narrow wineglasses of the eighteenth century. Thus the elongated form that sponge fingers, boudoirs, champagne biscuits and langue de chat continue to have to this day, though most of us have forgotten why they are this shape. Other kinds of biscuits printed with patriotic motifs were particularly popular and some were designed to commemorate a special event, such as 'Union Biscuits', which celebrated the Acts of Union of 1800. Biscuits with royal connections were particularly widespread. Prince of Wales Biscuit was a hard, unsweetened biscuit stamped with the emblem of the prince's feathers. These were made commercially by professional biscuit bakers like Werringtons of Oxford Street and a number of other city confectioners. The Yorkshire confectioner and tea dealer Joseph Bell, who claims to have worked for George, Prince of Wales, published a recipe in 1817 -

Prince of Wale's Biscuit

1 lb butter, and 3lb 8ozs of flour. To be mixed the same as hollow biscuits; and to be stamped with the princes feather; they must be pricked with a fork; and baked in rather a slower oven than the others.

From Joseph Bell, A Treatise of Confectionery (Newcastle upon Tyne: 1817).


Prince of Wales Biscuit are listed on this late eighteenth century trade card.
This fine stucco Prince of Wales Feathers adorns the space above the back entrance to the prince's kitchen wing at Brighton Pavilion. This emblem was the motif printed on the Prince of Wales biscuits. I also own a number of early nineteenth century kitchen moulds in this design used for sugar paste, butter, ice cream, jelly and flummery.
The Prince of Wales was well known for his gustatory inclinations. Here he is depicted living it up in the Brighton Pavilion kitchen with his servants. The cook on the left is probably meant to be Antonin Câreme.
A Prince of Wales biscuit print.
In this advertisement from The Leeds Intelligencer, Tuesday 23 May 1786, Joseph Bell mentions the 'vast, large Assortment of different Kinds of Biscuits' he stocked in his newly-opened confectionery shop in Boar-Lane, Leeds. I would imagine that his Prince of Wales biscuit was among them.
Biscuits were an important element of the dessert. In this plate from J. Caird, The Complete Confectioner (Edinburgh: 1809), there are two plates filled with 'biscuits various' in the corners of the table.
After the second course of the meal was cleared, the table was sometimes laid out with a dessert, including biscuits for eating with dessert wine. The food items here are waiting on a sideboard to be delivered to the table. Fresh cherries and figs are garnished with myrtle. The 'dessert tree' hung with glass baskets of sweetmeats has a top glass filled with cherries in brandy. Around it set out on the salver are glasses of raspberry jelly. Pistachio and filbert prawlongs are arranged on porcelain plates with orange chips.
Three boxwood biscuit dockers from the Regency period and a common biscuit docker. Every kitchen drawer once housed a docker for punching the tiny holes in biscuits to stop them being spoilt by bubbling up. Many biscuit prints, like those discussed below incorporated their own little docking nails. These little tools were used for stamping biscuits with printed motifs by hand before mechanised processes took over during the course of the nineteenth century.
The biscuit in the centre has not been 'docked' correctly and has blown up into a bubble. It will therefore easily flake and fragment, making it no good for keeping.
York biscuits were invented to commemorate the wedding of the Duke of York and Princess Frederica in 1790.
There were also biscuits associated with two of Prince George's brothers - Prince Frederick, Duke of Albany and York (1763-1827) and Prince William, Duke of Clarence (1765-1837), who succeeded George to the throne in 1830. York biscuits, invented to commemorate the marriage of the Duke to Princess Frederica Charlotte of Prussia in 1790 continued to be made well into the twentieth century. The earliest recipe I have found dates from 1817 and again is from Joseph Bell's marvellous collection. 

Duchess of York's Biscuits

1lb butter, 8 oz. of sugar, 3 lb of flour. Rub the butter into the flour; then add the sugar, and mix it up into a stiff paste with milk; rolle the paste out about a quarter of an inch thick, they must be cut square and stamped with a proper stamp of the happy union and baked in a good oven.

From Joseph Bell,  A Treatise of Confectionery (Newcastle upon Tyne: 1817).

A boxwood York biscuit print. Photo: courtesy of Gillian Riley.
After the biscuit dough has been kneaded with a biscuit break, it is rolled out and cut into strips using the rolling pin as a ruler. 
This diagram from Frederick Vine, Saleable Shop Goods, (London: 1898) illustrates how these biscuit prints were used.


A baked York biscuit.
I recently acquired a boxwood print used to make a biscuit commemorating George's brother William, who succeeded him to the throne. As well as a crown and William's cipher it is decorated with an anchor, a reference to William's strong connection to the British Navy. In fact he was often known as 'Sailor Bill'.

A very rare print or docker to make a biscuit commemorating King William IV.  Note the six nails.
In this anonymous satirical woodcut, Queen Adelaide is spanking King William IV with a birch whip. He has an anchor tatooed on his scarred backside. He is being carried by the Duke of Wellington. 1832

An uncooked biscuit printed with the docker above. Note the six nail holes.
William IV in the uniform of a naval officer enjoying a glass of wine. Mezzotint by William Say after a painting by Michael Sharp. 1830. Perhaps his biscuit would have been served with wine.

Another recent acquisition has been a biscuit print with a strong connection to George III, father to all three brothers - the Prince Regent, the Duke of York and the Duke of Clarence. It is carved with a royal crown and engraved with the words Royal Volunteers Biscuit. The use of the long s - rather like an f, dates this print at some time before 1810. Volunteer militias were raised throughout Britain during the Napoleonic Wars. Perhaps these were enjoyed in the officers' mess with a glass of wine, though probably not of French vintage!

An extremely rare biscuit docker from the time of the Napoleonic wars. The words 'Royal Volunteers Biscuit' surround a royal crown. Note the 'long s' in 'biscuit'.

An unbaked Royal Volunteers Biscuit - note again the holes made by the docking nails.
King George III mounted on a horse to left,  saluting marching volunteers. After R. K. Porter. 1800
Mezzotint and etching.

Royal Volunteer Biscuits c. 1800 and King William Biscuits c. 1832. I have never managed to find any specific recipes in the literature for these particular biscuits. So I made them both using Bell's recipe for Duchess of York's Biscuits. Verdict - rather dry and not as sweet as modern British biscuits. 
Watch Ivan make Frederick Nutt's 1789 Spice Biscuits


The Biscuit Break

$
0
0
According to Theodore Garrett in The Encyclopaedia of Practical Cookery (London: 1890s), every cook has their very own  built-in biscuit-break.

This is a mini-posting to answer a question put by Elise Fleming as to what I meant by a 'biscuit break' in my last article Some Regency Biscuits. Well. a 'break' or 'brake' was a piece of equipment used by bakers for kneading bread and biscuit dough in large quantities. They seem to have been utilised by professional bakers since at least the fifteenth century and probably earlier. They consisted of a 'brake-staff' or long pole, usually attached to the wall with a metal swivel. The 'breaksman' or 'brakesman' simply worked the pole up and down over the dough by using the brake-staff like a one man see-saw. 

George Dodd, in Volume V of his extraordinary series British Manufacturers (London: 1808-1881) tells us that in making ships biscuit,  

'The dough was‥taken from the trough and put on a wooden platform called the break. On this platform worked a roller, called the break⁓staff.‥ One end‥was loosely attached by a kind of staple to the wall, and the breakman, riding or sitting on the other end, worked the roller to and fro over the dough, by an uncouth jumping or shuffling movement'.
This 'uncouth jumping or shuffling', also known as 'riding the brake'  is illustrated perfectly in the following engraving, a detail from the decorative title page of John Penketheman's Artachthos (London: 1638- reprinted 1748).


Pentketheman's book is a guide to the assize of bread. His frontispiece illustrates what he calls the 'thirteen arts' of the baker's trade, braking being the fifth. Here is a scan of the frontispiece from my own very nice copy and the explanatory verse which accompanies it. 



Biscuit brakes of this kind were still being used in the early twentieth century, though many of the larger-scale bakers had been turning to mechanised roller breaks from the middle of the nineteenth century onwards. The use of a break produced a very, very fine textured dough, ideal for the uniform result wanted with biscuits, particularly those that were to be printed with a design.

These two diagrams are from Frederick Vine, Biscuits for Bakers (London: nd 1900s).


A mid-nineteenth century roller biscuit break.

My own improvised biscuit break, loosely based on a design in Theodore Garrett's The Encyclopaedia of Practical Cookery (London: 1890s). Garrett's design is at the top.



Fired Puddings from Enlightenment Edinburgh

$
0
0
A once extinct, but delicious eighteenth century Scots dish - 'a common potatoe pudding for firing under meat'.
If one nation's cuisine is ridiculed in modern times even more than England's, it is that of its close neighbour Scotland. It is unfortunately true that visitors to this beautiful country can frequently experience some pretty basic catering. The city of Glasgow is even described in cliché terms as 'the heart attack capital' of Europe because it is perceived that its inhabitants have a preference for fatty, unhealthy food. I myself have eaten some awful food there, but to be fair in recent years have also had some of the very best in Britain in its excellent restaurants. Despite stereotypical perceptions of its contemporary food scene, Scotland does have an extraordinary culinary heritage. But some of its truly great dishes may not be known to you because they became extinct a very long time. 

Among these forgotten delights is one which I rank as one of my all-time-favourite foods, so much-loved that I would prefer a single forkful of this humble dish any day to an all-expenses-paid night out with the full tasting menu at El Bulli or The Fat Duck. Sorry Signor Adria and Mr Blumenthal, but this homely Scottish dish was designed not by some culinary high priest like your good selves, but by a forgotten Caledonian cook who was truly inspired by the angels. He or (more likely she) really understood that the best food is simply the simplest. I make this dish regularly on my period cookery courses and a growing number of people feel the same way that I do about it. A common reaction on trying it is, 'That is definitely the best thing I have ever tasted!' My clients come from all over the world - Australia, New Zealand, the United States, Canada, Japan and Europe. All who have experienced this dish have been truly amazed. Even the faces of my very-hard-to please Italian and French guests light up and take on an expression of euphoria on savouring the first mouthful! So Viva Caledonia!


So what you may ask is the identity of this ambrosial delight from the misty glens?' Well, it is a dish made from that lowly favourite of all Celts, the humble potato. The earliest printed recipe appeared in 1773 in a little book called Cookery and Pastry by a Mrs Susannah Maciver, who ran a cookery school in the city of Edinburgh, though the dish is probably much older. The method of cooking which Mrs Maciver advocated is the reason why the dish is now extinct (except in my house of course). It was 'fired' below a joint of meat rotating on a spit in front of the fire, a technique no longer possible in the vast majority of modern kitchens. The same process was commonly once used for cooking other puddings, the best known being the famous Yorkshire pudding, which was originally baked in front of the fire below a joint rather than in the oven. This was how roast potatoes were also originally cooked. Here is Mrs Maciver's recipe -


I follow her instructions pretty closely, using a generous amount of butter and plenty of seasoning in the form of a good amount of salt, black pepper and a little nutmeg. 'Plain' dishes of this kind from Scotland were always highly seasoned - think of mealy puddings, white pudding and haggis, which are all very spicy. Adding the finely chopped raw onion to the mash makes all the difference. 

A leg of mutton roasts in an eighteenth century cradle spit over Mrs Maciver's potato pudding. We made this one last weekend on my roasting course. One side of this joint was larded eighteenth century style with anchovies, the other in the earlier Baroque manner with strips of Seville orange peel - two gastronomic cultural milieux for the price of one! Where else but on one of my courses could you get such a good deal!
Although Maciver tells us we can cook it under beef or mutton, I prefer to 'fire' the pudding under a leg or shoulder of mutton - don't use lamb. I usually put the joint in front of the fire for about an hour before I place the pudding underneath. This ensures that much of the fat is shed by the joint into the dripping pan before the pudding joins it in front of the fire. Although a little fat continues to drip onto the surface of the pudding,  gravy starts to weep from the joint, coating the potato with an umami-rich crust which browns in the intense heat of the fire. It is this which gives the dish its unique quality. The crisp, meaty, toasted skin sits above a light and surprisingly creamy potato puree. The bad news is that it is absolutely impossible to get the same effect in an oven. You really do need access to a spit, a dripping pan and an open fire. Sorry. There are a very large number of period recipes which just cannot be recreated in their full glory unless you use the right kit. That it is called a 'common Potato Pudding" indicates that this lovely dish must once have been widespread and frequently cooked.

The finished leg of mutton, dredged with spiced bread crumbs in the final stages of roasting with its fired potato pudding. Because I live in the Lake District, I tend to use Herdwick Mutton, a mountain breed unique to our hills, whose meat is truly delicious.
The title page of my copy of the second edition of Mrs Frazer's reincarnation of Mrs Maciver's book.

In 1791 a small collection of recipes by a Mrs Frazer, called The Practice of Cookery, Pastry, Confectionery, Pickling, Preserving &c. was published in Edinburgh. The title page of the first edition declared that Mrs Frazer was the 'Sole Teacher of these Arts in Edinburgh, Several years Colleague, and afterwards Successor to Mrs McIver deceased.' Mrs Frazer's book is based on that of her old cookery school colleague and she includes the recipe for the potato pudding with slighly different wording. I actually prefer Mrs Frazer's version because she gives you the choice of including eggs in the mix. Personally I think it is a much better dish without them.

Mrs Frazer's 1791 version
As I mentioned earlier this 'potato pudding for firing under meat' is just one of a number of puddings that were once prepared in this manner. Maciver also gives a recipe for a 'bread pudding to be fired under meat' - see below. I have made this a few times, but found it a bit heavy. Unlike the potato pudding it is sweetened, but like boiled plum pudding was designed to be served with the meat rather than as a sweet dish in its own right. 

Mrs Maciver's fired bread pudding
One of the more unusual of the fired puddings is a type of herb pudding or tansy that was also baked in a pan under meat. Mrs Maciver gives us a recipe for this dish,though an earlier one was included by another Scottish Enlightenment cook,  Elizabeth Cleland in A New and Easier Method of Cookery published in Edinburgh in 1755. A tansy was a strongly aromatic and somewhat bitter dish eaten in the springtime all over Britain. Most tansies were simply fried in a pan, but this one could be done in 'the dripping pan under roasted meat'. They were often coloured green with spinach juice and flavoured with the bitter juice of the pungent herb tansy. Here is Clelands's recipe,


Tansy (Tanacetum vulgare L.). This pungent aromatic herb was much used as a spring tonic and vermifuge. Its bitter juice was an important flavouring ingredient of the tansy, a kind of pancake or 'fraze', traditionally eaten at Lent.

A recipe for a much simpler kind of fired pudding was published in a cookery book in the Scottish Border town of Berwick-upon-Tweed by a local printer and bookseller Robert Taylor in 1769. The author of this work, The Lady's, Housewife's, and Cooksmaid's Assistant: or, The Art of Cookery was his wife Elizabeth Taylor - well at least her name appears on the title page. In reality, Robert Taylor had been sued for breach of copyright by the London bookseller Andrew Millar, who owned the right to publish the works of the deceased poet James Thompson. In 1769 Taylor had issued a pirated edition of Thompson's work The Seasons. As a result of this law suit, which actually made copyright law history, Taylor needed some hard cash and raised money by putting out subscriptions among the local merchants and landed class of Berwick for a new cookery book with his wife as author. For a man who had just been found guilty of  breach of copyright, it is ironic that he stole much of the content for his new book from Hannah Glasse's 1747 The Art of Cookery

Glasse had included a recipe for Yorkshire Pudding in her book, the first in an English collection to be given this specific regional name, though an almost identical one published in another book in 1737, which she may have used as her source, was simply called A Dripping Pudding. Elizabeth Taylor's 1769 recipe is similar to both, but is not an exact copy of either. It is interesting that it occurs in a Scottish context, a country where more recipes for fired puddings were appearing in the culinary literature than in English cookery books. Here is Elizabeth's recipe, a Yorkshire Pudding in all but name,


The earliest English recipe for a pudding to be cooked under meat appeared in The Whole Duty of a Woman, an anonymous collection of recipes published in London in 1737. I have posted a link at the end of this article to a video on Youtube which shows me making this dish. Here is the recipe,

A Dripping Pudding

Make a good Batter as for Pancakes, put it in a hot Toss-pan over the Fire with a Bit of Butter to fry the Bottom a little, then put the Pan and Batter under a Shoulder of Mutton instcad of a Dripping-pan, keeping frequently shaking it by the Handle and it will be light and savoury, - and fit to take up when your Mutton is enough; then turn it in a Dish, and serve it hot.

From Anon, The Whole Duty of a Woman (London: 1737) 

I have made this many times. Unlike a modern Yorkshire Pudding, which should puff up in the oven, this particular fired pudding collapses and is more like a thick pancake. In fact it looks like a sloppy mess when served on the plate. However, looks can be deceptive, because it is truly delicious. Again the crust of the pudding is enriched by the rich juices that have dripped from the meat.

A 1737 Dripping Pudding fires under a shoulder of mutton


Watch this video of the 1737 Dripping or Yorkshire Pudding 'firing' under a leg of mutton

The sharp eyed Adam Balic has been searching through the manuscript recipe collections in the National Library of Scotland and has found many handwritten directions for making even earlier 'baken' or fired puddings. He has some important things to say about this whole issue, especially about our contemporary perceptions of the 'regionality' of such dishes. His excellent posting, The Evolution of Yorkshire Pudding will give you much more historical background to the development of these dishes than I have included here. While you are on his excellent site do check out Adam's recent research findings on haggis, the only intelligent survey of its history that I have ever read.

Macedoine and Other Eccentric Jellies

$
0
0
A Jelly made using a macedoine mould in my collection
Perhaps the most singular culinary expression of the advance of the Industrial Revolution in Victorian Britain was the extraordinary popularity of mass-produced copper jelly moulds. By the middle of the nineteenth century the fashion for this kind of kitchen kit had accelerated into a gastronomic craze. This was the result of the convergence of two emerging phenomena - the availability of cheap factory made gelatine and the increasing use of powerful pneumatic presses to stamp out copper into ever more intricate shapes. After a hundred years of being an unloved, even despised children's party food, a jelly revival has once again recently hit the fashionable food sector. This was started about twenty years ago by my dear genius friend Peter Brears and to a lesser extent by myself, when both of us started running country house events where we recreated jellies and other moulded foods for the public using original period moulds. I also started running courses on the subject in the early 1990s. More recently, Sam Bompas and Harry Parr, both attendees of my courses who have always kindly acknowledged the debt they owe to Peter and myself, have made a career for themselves out of the genre. However, despite modern computer 3D printing technology, the moulds available to the contemporary aspiring jelly maker just cannot compete with those of the Victorian kitchen. Just look at these!

A few nineteenth manufacturers designed and produced highly specialised multi-part moulds for creating very unusual jellies with mysterious internal components, such as spiral columns and pyramids of fruit. Some of these striking British designs were even admired from afar by important chefs on the other side of the English Channel. In Cosmopolitan Cookery (London: 1870), the great Second Empire French chef Felix Urbain Dubois illustrated two of these extraordinary English inventions together with recipes he designed for them. He probably encountered them in London when he was exiled there during the Franco-Prussian War. One he illustrated was the macedoine mould, a fancy copper mould with a dome shaped internal liner, both clipped together with three metal pins. Here is Dubois's illustration -


This mould was utilised by pouring a transparent jelly into the gap between the mould and the liner. Once the jelly had set, warm water was poured into the liner, which enabled it to be removed. Small pieces of fruit (the 'macedoine') and more jelly could then be used to fill up the resulting cavity. The finished dish was a striking hollow jelly containing a mosaic of coloured fruit, which distorted into an abstract pattern because of the effects of refraction caused by the flutings on the mould. I am fortunate enough to own a complete macedoine mould and used it to make the jelly at the top of this posting. However, my example is a different design from that which Dubois illustrates, though in principle it functions in exactly the same way. Although macedoine moulds are extremely rare - I have only ever seen two others, which lacked their liners. My example is the only one I have ever encountered which is complete. Here are some photographs.


Macedoine Jelly from above

Another Macedoine Jelly made with this mould
Cross section through the macedoine jelly above

The chained pins ensure that the inner liner is kept stable and at an equal distance from the outer mould.

Macedoine jellies were also be made in plain moulds. The striking example above is from Jules Gouffé, The Royal Book of Pastry and Confectionery (London: 1874). A large plain charlotte mould would have been used to make this. It has been garnished with jelly croutons to create the crest around the top and is surmounted by a gum paste or nougat tazza filled with real or ice cream strawberries. Although a very weak jelly with a light 'mouth feel' was used to make a macedoine, the fruit inside acted as a very strong armature which could support a decorative structure like the tazza above.


Even rarer than the macedoine mould illustrated by Dubois is this remarkable and lovely version, which reminds me of a Maya pyramid or ziggurat. It has a liner very similar to the other one and makes the most wonderful jelly filled with a pyramid of fruit. I have never ever seen another in this design.

A Jelly containing a pyranid of apricots made in the stepped macedoine mould above
The second English mould illustrated by Dubois in Cosmopolitan Cookery (1870) is a version of a very popular novelty mould first marketed by Temple and Reynolds of Belgravia in 1850. The location of their shop gave the name to this particular dish, the most extraordinary of all Victorian novelty jellies, the Belgrave. The outer copper moulds are quite common, but a complete set with a full compliment of pewter spiral liners is a rare find. Two versions were made, the round and the oval, the latter being very scarce now, especially with liners. The liners were placed into a jelly mould which was filled with clear jelly. When the jelly had set, the liners were literally 'screwed' out of the jelly by pouring hot water into them. This resulted in a number of spiral cavities which could then be filled with a coloured jelly or blancmange.

Urbain Dubois's 1870 illustrations of the Belgrave Mould

An illustration and instructions for making a Belgrave Jelly from a very late edition of Eliza Acton, Modern Cookery (London: 1905) 
My very rare oval Belgrave mould with pewter liners
Oval Belgrave Jelly made with the mould above
The more orthodox round Belgrave Jelly
The two most common jelly moulds which included liners to create striking internal features were the Alexandra Cross and Brunswick Star. These were designed to celebrate the wedding of Queen Victoria's eldest son Edward Prince of Wales to Princess Alexandra of Denmark. The Alexandra Cross jelly had the Danish Flag running all the way through it, while the Brunswick Star had a white Garter Star running through it, both rather like a stick of rock. Here is an advertisement from the 1890s published by the cookery teacher and mould retailer Mrs Agnes Marshall. Surviving liners are almost unknown.




To make both, coloured jellies were poured into the mould in a particular order and then the liners were inserted. The rest of the jelly was poured in around the liner, which was removed by pouring hot water into it. The cavity was then filled with white blancmange.

A finished Alexandra Cross jelly

A finished Brunswick Star jelly

Slices of Brunswick Star jelly
Jelly extravaganza in Harewood House. There is an oval Belgrave jelly in the centre of the table
About three years ago I manned the wonderful period kitchen at Harewood House and demonstrated period jelly making to the general public. As the jellies came from the moulds, I dressed the dining room with a typical Victorian entremet course using Princess Mary's priceless Venetian glass dessert service. Last week I was at Harewood again, this time dressing the kitchen and gallery (the most wonderful room in England) with Regency period food for a major forthcoming BBC drama production, which I will tell you more about after it has been transmitted at Christmas. I made a large number of jellies and blancmanges for this production using Staffordshire ceramic moulds made in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. To whet your appetite, here are a few photos. As you can see, the Victorians were not the only ones to have beautiful moulded foods - the late Georgians could give them (and Bompas and Parr) a real run for their money.

Man in the Moon and Star flummeries made in early nineteenth century Staffordshire moulds

A flummery hedgehog made in an early nineteenth century ceramic mould
Pineapple flummery made in a 1790s Wedgewood mould
A footman struggles with two flummery Solomon's Temples, one of my Georgian signature dishes


To Preserve Green Oranges

$
0
0
The young green fruits of Citrus X aurantium
January and early February are the traditional marmalade-making months in Britain. This is because Seville oranges are available in the shops during this very brief period. The Seville, or the bitter orange (Citrus x aurantium) appears to be a hybrid between the pomelo (Citrus maxima (Burm.) Merr.)  and the wild mandarin (Citrus reticulata Blanco). Although it is known in England as the Seville orange, the bitter orange is grown all over the Mediterranean and throughout Asia. In the medieval and early modern period, this bitter fruit was probably the first orange to be known in the West. It was introduced from Asia into Southern Spain and the wider Mediterranean by the Arabs. In England it is now chiefly used to make marmalade, but the juice and rind were once formerly used much more extensively in English cookery. The sweet orange did not appear in Europe until the early seventeenth century when it was brought to Lisbon from China by Portuguese plant collectors. In seventeenth century English cookery books these new sweet fleshed oranges were therefore known as either 'Portugals' or China oranges. In Greece, the name 'Portugals' - πορτοκαλία - is still used.

The bitter orange - from John Parkinson,In Sole Paradisus Terrestris (London: 1629)
Now, what interests me is this. I have said that the Seville orange season nowadays occupies a brief window in January and February. So how can the eighteenth century invoiced receipt below, which I came across in the archives of Arley Hall in Cheshire, be explained? It is a receipt for the sale of lemons, Cheanay oranges (sic), Sivill oranges (sic) and isinglass to Sir Peter Warburton, the owner of Arley Hall, by the Manchester grocer Mrs Elizabeth Raffald. The receipt is dated 29th May 1771. This would indicate that Seville oranges had a longer season back in the eighteenth century than they apparently do now. 29th May is well on from January and February. It could be that Mrs Raffald had the skill to keep her stock fresh for over three months, or Seville oranges were still being imported from Spain to Manchester in early summer, probably via Liverpool.

An invoiced receipt for citrus fruit in the hand of Mrs Elizabeth Raffald, who ran various grocery and confectionery shops in Manchester in the second half of the eighteenth century. Raffald was the author of the most original cookery book of the eighteenth century, The Experienced English Housekeeper (Manchester: 1769). She had worked as Sir Peter Warburton's housekeeper at Arley until her marriage in 1763. Photograph © Arley Hall Archives.
I was in Southern Spain recently in early June and noted that there were a few trees in the Seville area that were still bearing small numbers of bitter oranges. In some upland towns like Ronda, where the season is somewhat later, there were trees which were still heavily laden. So it is therefore highly possible that Seville oranges were being imported into England in the eighteenth century very late in the season, as Mrs Raffald's receipt suggests.

Seville oranges in Ronda on 6th June 2013
As well as the mature oranges, the trees I examined also bore small young green embryonic fruit. In Asia, mature bitter oranges (such as Japanese dai dai) stay on the tree for up to four years and actually go green again in the hot weather. While I was in Andalusia I collected a lot of small green baby Seville oranges and lemons on a friend's farm as I wanted to try out the recipe below for a sweetmeat from The Lady's Companion (London: 1751). I first came across the practice of preserving immature green bitter oranges in the 1970s when I lived on Crete. A friend of mine in Athens sends me some of her own homemade ones every year. They are superb. However the recipe below is English. In eighteenth century England, many wealthy estates had orangeries and it is likely that in poor years they had a large number of immature fruit to deal with. I suspect that this was the Georgian equivalent of that common modern recipe for making use of green tomatoes at the end of a cold, sunless English summer - the ubiquitous green tomato chutney. However baby green oranges and immature lemons preserved in syrup are much more interesting. Other immature green fruits such as hard unripe apricots, almonds and walnuts were also once preserved in this way. The nuts were collected before the hard shell formed and were processed in a similar way to the green oranges.

This recipe from The Lady's Companion (London: 1751). was reprinted in Hannah Glasse, The Complete Confectioner (London: 1770). Glasse also used this book as the source for many recipes in her earlier work The Art of Cookery made Plain and Easy (London: 1747).
Small, fragrant baby lemons.
Small highly fragrant, but intensely bitter baby Seville oranges
The baby oranges and lemons are soaked in a strong brine for fifteen days to remove the bitterness. They are then washed in fresh water every day for five days to get rid of the salt. They are then preserved in sugar syrup.
I have completed the process of brining the oranges and have also washed them for five days in fresh water, changing it every day. Today, I made a stock syrup with a litre of water and a kilo of white sugar and have started the process of preserving the fruit in the syrup. I will post a photograph of the finished article in a future article about the wider issue of preserved and candied citrus peels.

Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks

$
0
0

Charles Elmé Francatelli's German Tourte of Apricots is a wonderful tart from the early reign of Queen Victoria
Those of you who follow this blog are probably aware that I love food that looks good. And the kind of good looks that I love are those that express the extraordinary skill and attention to detail that cooks in the past lavished on their art. Their sense of food aesthetics was very different to ours. I am sure they would have been completely puzzled by the abstract smears, dustings, drizzles, foams and stacks of contemporary plated-up restaurant food. I hope this blog is a healthy antidote to such matters.

But I also love food that tastes good and am always on the look out for special recipes that would be suitable to serve to guests who attend my various period cookery courses. Many of those who have come have waxed lyrical about some apricot dishes that I serve when I can get hold of decent fruit. I thought I would share those recipes with you.

Charles Elmé Francatelli in the 1840s
The first one is a lovely apricot tart which is in Charles Elmé Francatelli's book The Cook's Guide (London: 1855). Francatelli was born in Clarkenwell, the Italian district of London to Italian parents who worked as domestic servants. In the early 1840s he served briefly as Queen Victoria's chef de cuisine at Buckingham Palace, but was not happy with the sanitary arrangements in the palace kitchen and left! I like to think that this recipe, seemingly of German origin, might have been a court favourite in the Duchy of Saxe-Coberg-Gotha. We will never know, but perhaps Francatelli prepared it for Prince Albert. Here is the recipe, but beware I do not go in for contemporary redactions. If you really want to learn about food in the past, just do as you are told. The old recipes that follow are perfectly clear.



Half the apricots are dusted with lemon rind and sugar and baked on a sheet of pastry. The other half are cooked into a jam-like preserve with their blanched kernels, which is spread in between and over them.
The baked tourte is sprinkled with cinnamon sugar before being served
Brilliant with vanilla or apricot ice cream
My next two recipes are from a hundred years earlier. They are both from a lovely little cookery book first published in Pontefract in Yorkshire by Mrs Elizabeth Moxon in 1741.Her English Housewifery Exemplified is a real antidote to the complex recipes of the male cooks of this period. And quite rightly it went on to become one of the best selling books of the eighteenth century. It contains a number of regional Yorkshire recipes, including some very old fashioned gingerbreads. The two recipes I have chosen are sweet ones, the first, 'Apricock Jumballs' is a very artistic and delightful item of confectionery, while the second is a wonderful cream pudding.


I cook the apricot paste and sugar together in a preserving pan until they form a thick paste like pate de fruit
In The New World of English Words (London: 1678) Edward Phillips defines the name for this confection thus, 'Jumbals, a sort of Sugared past, wreathed into knots'. These knotted delicacies were usually made with a kind of biscuit or marchpane dough and were baked. They probably emerged from the craze in the 1570s for knotted strap work. Jumbals were made all over Europe. In France they were called gimblette, in Italy gemelli. They almost certainly derive their name from the Italian verb gemáre - 'to divide asunder'.* These confections were responsible for the term 'to jumble up'. Jumbals were made by professional early modern period confectioners to a very high level of complexity and are frequently depicted in Netherlandish paintings. 

A bowl of sweetmeats including candied peel, rolled wafers and some impressive jumbles. A detail from Jan Breughel the Elder, An Allegory of Taste. 1618. Prado Madrid.
The more basic apricot jumbles below were made on my Sugarwork and Confectionery Course and are in the form of true lovers knots. Similar jumbals or knots were made with pippin (apple paste). They have a really concentrated flavour of fruit.

Elizabeth Moxon's Apricock Jumballs
The last dish is a lovely cream custard covered with confited apricots. I have given you a whole double page spread, as you need to refer to both Moxon's instructions to make Apricock Custard and her Apricock Pudding in order to make sense of the recipe. Note her recipe 'To make Jumballs another way', which is a baked biscuit version, but like a lot of later jumbles, not jumbled up at all, but like a flat biscuit. 


I make the custard as Mrs Moxon instructs, but frequently bake it in a dish in a bain marie in a cool oven until it just sets. I then put the cooked apricots on top. The combination of the rich cream and the half candied apricots is superb. Do try it.

Moxon's Apricock Custard
*John Florio, Queene Anne's Newe Worlde of Words. (London: 1611).


Viewing all 81 articles
Browse latest View live