Historic Cookery

Let’s imagine that it’s 1758, and we’ve been traveling for a few
days here in the colonies. Nightfall is fast approaching, so we’ve
decided to break our journey at the next dwelling house and resume
tomorrow. We reach what looks to be, based on the exterior at least,
a suitable public house. In short order, we find the accommodations
satisfactory, our horse is settled in the adjoining stables, and thus
we set ourselves down for a bit of supper. Tonight’s fare consists
of cold beef, bread, and, of course, the inn-keeper’s own brew.

Now, let’s also go wild and silly, and imagine that as we receive
the evening’s repast, we’re asked the now ubiquitous question,
“Want catsup with that?”

And if you or I, or anyone else in our traveling party (or at our
table, for that matter), should happen to reply, “Yes,” what
lovely tasty concoction do you think would soon be brought
to our table?

If you said, “Why, tomato catsup, of course,” well, sorry, but
you couldn’t be more wrong!

You see, during the 17th and 18th centuries, catsup or ketchup
(as it was also spelled) was commonly made of mushrooms or
walnuts or the liquid of pickled oysters or anchovies with spices.
Receipts for all of these can be found in many historic cookbooks.

Tomato catsup/ketchup, on the other hand, did not exist
until the 19th century. The first American published receipt
that I’ve found (thus far) is in Mary Randolph’s The Virginia
Housewife, which was first printed in Washington, D. C.
in 1824. It’s one of only six receipts total for tomatoes in her
work. There’s stewed and scolloped, two for marmalades, a soy,
and then the catsup. Incidentally, she also offers a walnut catsup.

Below is Mrs. Randolph’s receipt. First, though, which ketchup
have you selected for your tavern victuals? Walnut or mushroom?

Tomato Catsup.

Gather a peck of tomatos, pick out
the stems, and wash them; put them
on the fire without water, sprinkle on
a few spoonsful of salt, let them boil
steadily an hour, stirring them frequently;
strain them through a colander, and then
through a sieve; put the liquid on the fire
with half a pint of chopped onions, half
a quarter of an ounce of mace broke
into small pieces; and if not sufficiently
salt, add a little more–one table-spoonful
of whole black pepper; boil all together
until just enough to fill two bottles; cork
it tight. Make it in August, in dry weather.

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