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Archive for the ‘modern recipe (!)’ Category

I made Apees many times while working at Conner Prairie
years ago. A batch would be baked for afternoon tea every
now and then at the Campbell House. And as I said, what
I remember most about my past dealings with these small
cakes was that, when baked, they were to be light in color,
and that they were made with sour cream. Then recently,
as you know, I whipped up a few batches of Apees for use

at the Crane House during the Big Tour. I shared the receipt
(recipe) here,
as well, and it does indeed state that the end
result is to be “slightly coloured,” but, good golly, there’s no
sour cream! What? Why not? How can that be?!

Well, let me first give you a little background to this story.

You see, back during my glorious days at CP, I didn’t select
the receipts I used. Rather, they were chosen for all cooks
by someone else, most likely many years earlier. Of course,
at the time, I had no idea what the sources were for many
of them. However, seeing as it was a living history museum
(at the time, that is), I always believed that each and every
one came from genuine, authentic, real-live historic cookbooks
that were appropriate (and highly so) for the site’s specific
time period (1836). Turns out, however, I was wrong. In fact,
I’ve since learned that some were far from being “appropriate,”
even far from being historic. And knowing what I know now,
I’m amazed, and disappointed, at what passed as “historic”
back then, especially considering all the emphasis that was
placed on the need for historical accuracy.

So, if the oddball Apees-with-sour-cream receipt wasn’t pulled
from a bona-fide historic cookbook, what was the source? Well,
it came from what I like to call a “pseudo-historic” cookbook,
the kind that shouldn’t even exist, let alone be used at any
type of historical site. Namely, The Conner Prairie Cookbook,
edited by Margaret A. Hoffman (1985 and 1990):

APEES
1 C. butter
1 1/3 C. sugar
2 eggs
2 1/3 C. flour
1/4 tsp. cream of tartar
1/4 tsp. salt
2/3 C. sour cream

Work the vanilla into the butter
and then add the sugar, a little
at a time, until it is very smooth.
Beat in the eggs. Mix the flour,
cream of tartar and salt and add
alternately with the sour cream.
Drop by spoonsful into baking pans.
Bake about 10 minutes in a moderate
(350 degree) oven. Cookies should
be very pale.

Forget the fact that the first thing the directions say to do is
to “work the vanilla into the butter” when there’s NO vanilla
on the ingredients list. Did you notice all the, um, “unusual”
ingredients? (including the missing vanilla) Golly, the only ones
this has in common with Eliza Leslie’s historic Apee receipt
are the flour, sugar, and butter. I mean, seriously. Two eggs?
Cream of tartar? And then there’s that real oddball that’s
been stuck in my memory all these years: the Big Dollop
of SOUR CREAM?!? What the heck?!? WHY? And where are
the caraway seeds? All of the other truly historic Apee receipts
I found have caraway seeds. Why are there none in this one?
Or, is the sour cream supposed to be a substitute for them?
But why do you need, or would you even want, to exchange
them for something else? And if you do, why trade them
for SOUR CREAM?!?

Now, I’ve tried diligently during the past three (nearly) years
to remain non-bitchy here, but there comes a time… And I’ll
write more in depth later about this topic, but for now, well,
see…dagnabit…this is what I just don’t understand:

When a person, or a group of people, decides to put together
a cookbook containing historic recipes from another time period,
why is it that, instead of selecting actual recipes from cookbooks
that were published during the chosen era, they choose to make
them up out of thin air? Why do that? How is that OK with anyone?
Such a newly-created recipe is certainly NOT historical. It’s basically
a fake! And often, as in this case, there’s little that even vaguely
approximates a genuine historical receipt. Why would anyone put
SOUR CREAM into what’s essentially a cookie? What’s the point?
I JUST DON’T GET IT.

Of course, the biggest problem is that these “pseudo-historic”
books like this, which contain recipes that are “modernized,”
“adapted for modern tastes,” and/or made up entirely, are
assumed to be, and passed off to everyone as being, historically
authentic, when most definitely THEY ARE NOT!! Not to mention
people automatically assume these books are legit because they
were written, published, and distributed by an historic museum
or other such institution. And unfortunately, there are many,
MANY others just like this one floating around. The whole thing
just drives me nuts!

Stayed tuned, dear readers, there’s alot more to come on this.
ALOT more!

____________________

NEXT: Back to the food shared with visitors at the Crane House

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The modern recipe I use to make Syllabubs is
on the website for The New York Times! HUZZAH!

It’s included here in the feature “Readers Photos
and Recipes: Essential Summer Dishes.”

And yes, it’s a “mo-dern” adaptation, but one based
on historic receipts (recipes). Of course, I had to make
some and then write it all down. Mmmm, yum! And now
it (along with a photo I took) is published for all the world
to see! HUZZAH!

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Summer is fading fast, and good ol’ Fall will soon arrive.
Which, for me at least, means time for a few more rounds
of cooking tasty apple fritters over an open fire. HUZZAH!

Now, I won’t be fryin’ up any for a few weeks yet (check
out Carolina’s Calendar for details), but in honor of this
tasty autumn treat, here’s Colonial Williamsburg’s take
on the little delectable morsels, courtesy of the Museum’s
website feature “History is Served.”

_______________

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A week ago Sunday, I was prepping
a squash pudding that was then to
be cooked at the hearth of the Israel
Crane House
. A good-sized crowd of
folks came to watch, and, in fact,
for quite awhile it was wall to wall
people. HUZZAH! I think everyone
had a fantastic time. I know I did!
And I can’t wait to be there, cooking,
again early next month (December 5 – - come join us!).

As to the squash pudding…I chose it because there is a receipt
in Fanny Pierson Crane’s (Israel’s wife) manuscript cookbook.
And that was the “theme,” if you will, of the day’s hearth activities:
preparing and cooking dishes from Fanny’s receipt book. However,
I’ve never seen her book; at least, not the actual original (although
I hope to at some point). What I have seen, and possess a copy of,
is a published booklet containing modern adaptations of Fanny’s
receipts. And, as frequent readers can attest, I don’t care for such
modern re-writes of historic works. I want to know what the original
is, what Fanny herself (or any other author of such a book) wrote.
Too often, the process is re-arranged and/or ingredients are added
that either weren’t available or “invented” yet or are contrary to the
make-up of the dish as a whole. In my view, it’s difficult enough
to approximate how a dish looked and tasted in centuries past,
so why make it worse by adding, deleting, or otherwise altering
specific components? Plus, as an historian, I want to view, and
to preserve, the bona-fide originals. Including a modern version
is fine, as long as the actual, written-on-a-page-by-the-hand-
of- -, well, of whomever, is there right beside it.

In any case, for my squash pudding, instead of using a modern
version, I followed Amelia Simmons’ receipt from her cookbook,
American Cookery. Which, incidentally, was published in 1796,
the same year that Fanny supposedly began hers:

A Crookneck, or Winter Squash Pudding.
Core, boil and skin a good squash,
and bruize it well; take 6 large apples,
pared, cored, and stewed tender, mix
together; add 6 or 7 spoonfuls of dry
bread or biscuit, rendered fine as meal,
one pint milk or cream, 2 spoons of
rose-water, 2 do. wine, 5 or 6 eggs
beaten and strained, nutmeg, salt
and sugar to your taste, one spoon
flour, beat all smartly together,
bake one hour.

The above is a good receipt for Pompkins,
Potatoes or Yams, adding more moistening
or milk and rose-water, and to the two
latter a few black or Lisbon currants, or
dry whortleberries scattered in, will
make it better.

Now, Israel, Fanny’s husband, owned and operated a mercantile, and
it’s quite possible that he stocked Amelia’s book. So perhaps Fanny
copied her receipt? Or at least, based it on Amelia’s? Of course, I’ll
be better able to determine whether or not she did either, when
I see Fanny’s original manuscript. And believe me, this whole
experience makes me even more eager to study it!

For comparison, here’s the modern version from Fanny Pierson Crane,
Her Receipts 1796
, compiled, illustrated, and adapted by Amy Hatrak,
Frances Mills, Elizabeth Shull, and Sally Williams (1974). When I first
saw this, my initial reaction was, “Why is there CHEDDAR CHEESE
in a squash pudding?!” Nevertheless, here it is:

SQUASH PUDDING
2 pounds winter squash
1/2 pound cheddar cheese
2 eggs
3/4 cup milk
1/2 cup chopped onion
1 tablespoon butter
1 teaspoon grated nutmeg
Salt and pepper

Pare squash, remove seeds, and cut
into small pieces. Boil until tender,
drain well, and put into a deep
baking dish. Add cheese cut
into small pieces; saving a little
to sprinkle on top. Saute the onion
in butter. Mix into squash and cheese,
and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Beat
eggs to blend, add milk, then pour over
the squash. Sprinkle remaining cheese
on top. Dot with fresh bread crumbs
and butter. Grate nutmeg on top. Bake
slowly for 30 minutes or until top is
delicately browned and set. Serve
at once.

_________________________

BTW…I used a buttercup squash

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The English are well known for their love of meat pies.
Receipts (recipes) for them can be found in cookbooks
of nearly every era. They appeared less and less often
as the centuries progressed, however. By the early
19th century, they had pretty much fallen out of favor
and so began to disappear from cookbooks.

meat pie shapes

Meat pies were usually enclosed
in a thick pastry crust. This “coffin,”
as it was called, was not meant
to be eaten. Rather, it merely
served as the container in which
the pie’s contents were cooked.
They were essentially the earliest
versions of a modern baking dish.

These coffins were frequently quite
elaborate, with all kinds of designs
carved into them or added on top.
Sometimes braiding and piping would
be draped round. Entire pies were
formed into various shapes (see left),
whether abstract or that of spades,
diamonds, or squares. They were
even molded into the shapes of birds,
animals, and fish.

Here now is a receipt for a meat pie from The Taste of the Fire,
The Story of the Tudor Kitchens at Hampton Court Palace
. Feel
free to mold it into the shape of a calf or a pig!

CHAWETTYS
Take buttys of Vele, & mynce
hem smal, or Porke, & put on
a potte; take Wyne, & caste
ther-to pouder of Gyngere,
Pepir, & Safroun, & Salt, &
a lytel verthous, & do hem
in a cofyn with olkys of
Eyroun, & kutte Datys
& Roysonys of Coraunce,
Clowys, Mace, & then
ceuere thin cofyn, & lat
it bake tyl it be y-now.

[Modern Version]
Put minced veal or pork into
a saucepan along with some
wine, ground ginger, saffron,
verjuice, pepper and salt and
cook until the meat is done.
When cool, mix in some raw
egg yolks, chopped dates,
currants, ground cloves and
mace. Place the mixture into
a pastry case and cook in
the oven until golden.

_________________________

[meat pie art: detail of a painting (from a "Private
Collection") in The Taste Of the Fire, The Story
of the Tudor Kitchens at Hampton Court Palace
]

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Receipts (recipes) for several of the same dishes
appear time and time again in cookbooks of every
century. The specifics may change slightly, but
the basics remain the same. Pea soup is one such
dish that’s commonly found throughout the ages.

Here’s a receipt using green peas that was possibly
served often while Henry VIII and members of his court
were in residence at Hampton Court Palace. First up
is the Tudor original as it was written, weird words,
odd spellings, and all (read it out loud, it’ll even sorta
make sense!), followed by a modern interpretation:*

PERRE
Take grene pesyn, and boile hem
in a potte; And whan they ben y-broke,
drawe the brot a good quantite thorg
a streynour into a potte, And sitte hit
on the fire; and take oynons and parcelly,
and hewe hem small togidre, And caste
hem thereto; And take pouder of Canell
and peper, and caste thereto, and lete
boile; And take vynegur and pouder
of ginger, and caste thereto; And then
take Saffron and salte, a litull quantite,
and caste thereto; And take faire peces
of paynmain, or elles of suc tendur brede,
and kutte hit yn fere mosselles, and caste
there-to; And then serue hit so for.

MODERN VERSION

Take some peas and boil them in water
until well cooked and very soft. Pass
them through a sieve to create a puree
and remove the husks then return the
puree to the heat. Add some finely
chopped onions and parsley, ground
cinnamon and pepper and continue
to cook. Next add ground ginger,
vinegar, saffron and salt along with
a small quantity of fine white bread.
Continue cooking until the bread is
completely incorporated into the puree,
and then serve.

_________________________

*Source: The Taste of the Fire, The Story of the Tudor Kitchens
at Hampton Court Palace

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Ta-Da!

Yep, I made a Potato Pumpkin. HUZZAH!

I started with this left-over Halloween pumpkin:

Which, incidentally, was probably not the right kind. Of course, I don’t really
know WHAT kind it is. Nor do I have any idea, either, what was used down
at Williamsburg (should’ve asked!). It was, however, all I had, and I made
it work. I’d like to try the receipt again, but with a different variety; maybe
a cheese pumpkin or even something like a butternut squash.

In any event, here’s what I did.

First, I cut off the top and gutted it:

Then began the time-consuming task of removing the rind:

Ta-Da! Ready for the next step, adding the forcemeat (stuffing):

In the interest of time, I “cheated” and used a boxed stuffing mix. I know,
I know. Bad cook, historical or otherwise. But hey, it’s just an experiment
(for now, at least), so think even I’ll let it pass:

Into the oven it goes (pre-heated & set at 350).

Of course, I had to remove an oven shelf in order for it to fit. The remaining
shelf was then too low, so I raised it. I worried that the stalk might catch
fire or something, so I cut off about a half inch or so. (Probably should’ve
checked out all this beforehand, ay?!)

And out it comes:

Ready to eat:

Yes, of course, I ate some, and I must say, it tasted pretty good! HUZZAH!

The final analysis? As I said, the pumpkin I used probably wasn’t the best. I’d like
to try it again with another variety. Also, I cooked it at the specified 350 degrees,
for nearly an hour, and it probably could’ve stayed in for longer. I could’ve also
set the temperature higher, but I didn’t want to burn it. I think a slow cook is
best, anyway (and more historically-correct). Maybe it was my oven (it may be
a fancy-schmancy Viking, but I find it to be unreliable and tempermental…I hate
it). In any event, the modern adaptation of the receipt says to cook ’til it’s “fork
tender and stuffing is hot.” Well, parts were very “fork tender,” while others were
sorta, kinda, or not quite. Wonder what would happen with a thicker-skinned
pumpkin? The stuffing was indeed nice and hot, but just how hot is “hot”?
It’s clear that doneness is rather relative.

Nevertheless, I pronounce my Potato Pumpkin Experiment a success.
HUZZAH!
I can’t wait to try it again.

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There’ve been a few requests for the cornbread recipe that
I used this past week for the Culinary Historians of New York
(CHNY) program, so here it is:

______________________________

Carolina’s Indiana Cornbread

2 cups cornmeal*
1 cup flour
a little salt
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda**
2 eggs
1 cup of milk, soured with 1 tablespoon vinegar***
1/4 (4 tablespoons) cup butter****

Mix dry ingredients; add eggs, milk, and butter; mix well;
pour into greased pan.
Bake at 400 for about 20 minutes.

Quick ‘n easy!

______________________________

IMG_7712

______________________________

*I used stone-ground meal that I’d purchased at Philipsburg Manor
in Tarrytown, NY, but any will do.
**I don’t always measure exactly; I tried to do it here, but alas, often
it was kinda did and kinda didn’t; so the baking soda was roughly
1 1/2 or so teaspoons.
***I used cider vinegar, but any is fine. Put it into the milk and
set it aside while mixing the other ingredients. This will allow it
to clabber.
****I melted the butter in the baking pan on the stovetop, thus greasing
the pan, then I poured the rest into the batter and mixed well.

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Another culinary event that I attended this past week was
the monthly program of the Culinary Historians of New York
(CHNY), of which I’m a member. The speaker was Bruce Kraig
(yes, I heard him TWICE in one week!), and his topic was
foodways of the Midwest.

I’ll deal with his talk in a moment, but first up, I’ll share pics
of my contribution to the evening’s repast. Being, as you may
know, from Indiana, which is most definitely the Midwest,
I baked my own version of a good ol’ Indiana cornbread.

Fresh from the oven:

IMG_7711

Sliced and ready to eat at the CHNY meeting:

IMG_7715

Also on the menu, a sugar pie, which, according to Kraig, everyone eats
in the Midwest. Personally, I’d never even heard of it, let alone eaten any.
Go figure.

IMG_7714

A noodles and cabbage dish, of Eastern European origin. Again, never
had, let alone heard of, this at my house when I was growing up
in Indiana (and my paternal great-grandmother was German!).
I was definitely beginning to wonder about the speaker’s
culinary claims.

IMG_7716

Incidentally, both of the above dishes were delicious.

As to Kraig’s talk…it was fairly decent, albeit a bit rambling.
I must say, though, that I disagree with many of his statements
and claims regarding the Midwest and its culinary heritage.

To start with, when discussing the general settlement of the state
of Indiana, you divide it into thirds: the southern portion; the central;
and the northern. The southern was settled by people coming up
from the South, be it Kentucky, Virginia, the Carolinas, or any other
Southern state or territory. The central section was settled by people
who came from the East, whether Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, and
so on. The northern third was settled much later than the other two,
with a mixture of people from the southern and central sections who
had moved north and of immigrants who’d arrived from other nations.

As to the National Road being the settlers’ route into Indiana. Yes,
some folks did arrive via that federally-built road (which began
in 1811 at Cumberland, Maryland; aka modern-day Route 40,
which happens to go through the middle of Indianapolis, Indiana),
but certainly NOT all. The Road didn’t even REACH Indiana until
1827! It was then another seven years before it completely crossed
the State, ending at Terre Haute in 1834. People were living throughout
southern and central Indiana long before any of those dates. The French
(who came down from the north) established a fur trading post in 1732
at Vincennes. White settlers (though, admittedly, not many) were living
in Central Indiana, trading with Native Inhabitants, by 1800, if not before.
Treaties for the “removal” of Native Peoples as far north as Ft. Wayne
were signed in 1804. By 1816, Indiana was a state, and the site of its
(second) capital city, Indianapolis, was selected in 1820. Etc.

As for all the German and Polish influences, which were reflected
in most, if not all, of Kraig’s suggested foods for the evening….
Again, I disagree. I can see that it may represent some of Chicago
(where Kraig lives), but not all. What about the large Irish and
Italian populations? Or the Swedes of northwestern Indiana?
Besides, Chicago is a major metropolis; its cuisine doesn’t
define the entire Midwest.

Then there was Kraig’s claim that my cornbread was a southern
dish. Well, yes it is, but it’s also northern. The first settlers
of the eastern seaboard made and ate cornbread. Early efforts
to grow the much-preferred wheat were unsuccessful, so they
“made do” with corn. Whether the early settlers of Jamestown
or Plymouth or anywhere in between, corn was often all they
had. It proved to be a stable, easily-cultivated crop, as well,
whether in the East, on the frontier, or “way out West.” In fact,
IMO, cornbread could be the first truly national dish!

One last comment, and then I’ll sign off. My paternal grandmother’s
parents came to this country from Germany, and they settled near
Green Bay, Wisconsin (aka the Midwest). I have her birth certificate;
it’s in German. However, as far as I know, the emphasis on all things
German stopped there. The goal was to blend in, to be as American
as possible. Now, how this affected the food served, or not served,
during my grandmother’s early years, I have no idea. But I do know
that, years later, at family gatherings when I was growing up, my
grandmother never ever served, let alone made, any German dishes.
Nor did my father ever wax nostalgic about foods of German origin
that he’d seen, eaten, or even heard of, when he was a boy. Nothing,
nada, zilch. So, to say that some German dish epitomizes Midwestern
foodways is, well, IMO, a load of good ol’ Indiana road apples.

I could continue, but I won’t bore you any further. I hit the main
issues. I think. Remember, too, this is my opinion. And experiences.
Feel free to disagree!

OH! Then there was Kraig’s explanation of the meaning and origin
of the word “Hoosier” (Indiana is known as the “Hoosier State,” and
residents are called “Hoosiers”). Now I’ve heard several different
versions throughout my life, but NOT the one he gave. Eeeegad.
Where does he get his information?! The thing is, it’s generally
believed that the word’s origin is unknown. There are many,
many different theories, but no one really knows. I think it’s
best to acknowledge that fact, even if you wholeheartedly
believe one and only one theory is correct. Again, IMO.

Sorry. Once I get going…! I’ll stop now.

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Several people have asked me for specific directions on how
to make Mrs. Lydia Child’s Raspberry Shrub from The American
Frugal Housewife (1833). Since summer is waning fast and berries
are becoming scarce, I reckon I better do it now!

First, here again is Mrs. Child’s receipt:
Raspberry Shrub

Raspberry shrub mixed with water is a pure,
delicious drink for summer; and in a country
where raspberries are abundant, it is good
economy to make it answer instead of Port
and Catalonia wine. Put raspberries in a pan,
and scarcely cover them with strong vinegar.
Add a pint of sugar to a pint of juice; (of this
you can judge by first trying your pan to see
how much it holds;) scald it, skim it, and
bottle it when cold.

IMG_7263

And now, here’s my “translation”:
Put berries in a saucepan.
Add vinegar to just barely, almost cover them.
(I always use cider vinegar, but any is fine)
Cook until the berries have disintegrated/become mush.
Strain out all juice (throw out pulp).
Measure the amount of juice.
Return juice to saucepan and add an equal amount of sugar.
(So, if you have 3/4 cup juice, add 3/4 cup sugar, if 1 1/2 cups
of juice, add 1 1/2 cups sugar, and so on);
Cook again, just to a boil.
(I usually let it boil for a minute or two.)
Let cool.
Skim off any skin that forms on top.
Pour into container(s) when cool.
Refrigerate.

To use: put two to four spoonfuls (depending on own taste)
of syrup in a glass, add water and ice, and enjoy! (More sugar
can be added at this point, if so desired.)
Also, berries other than raspberries may be used.

Now, go make some shrub!

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