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After spending a day happily sharing the joys of hearth
cooking with a gaggle of Homeschoolers (and eating the
results) at The Israel Crane House, my next Big Event was
to do basically more of the same with about 60 teachers
at the Queens County Farm Museum (QFM). I had devised
a “menu” for the QFM event about a month earlier, and so
I knew I needed to prepare several items a day or two
in advance, including baking a batch of Naples Biskets.
I also had a Seed Cake to make for the Culinary Historians
of New York (CHNY) program that was to take place the day
after my adventures at the Crane House. And believe me,
scheduling all these required cooking tasks during that
hectic week was vital! Thus, I spent that Sunday and
Monday baking both the Biskets and the Cake.

TA-DA! The Naples Biskets:

Hmmm, do I see a Carrot Pudding in my future?:

Naples Biskets were typically made to be used in other dishes.
However, I did find awhile back an instance in a period novel
where they were eaten by themselves. And although receipts
for Naples Biskets are ubiquitous, they also tend to be quite
different from one another. I have two that I frequently use,
and both are unique. The one below is what I employed this
round. It’s taken from John Nott’s The Cooks and Confectioners
Dictionary
, (1726, 3rd edition):

To make Naples Biskets.
Take a Pound and half of fine Flour,
and as much double-refined Sugar,
twelve Eggs, three Spoonfuls of
rose-water, and an Ounce and half
of Carraway-seeds finely powdered,
mix them all well together with Water;
then put them into tin-plates, and bake
them in a moderate Oven, dissolve some
Sugar in Water, and glaze them over.

As for the CHNY program, it was to feature Anne Willan, who’s
written a book based on the vast collection of historic cookbooks
she and her husband have acquired through the years. In keeping
with that “history” theme, original receipts selected from works
in the Willan’s collection were sent out to those who’d be creating
the evening’s refreshments. Before seeing all of them, I picked
the one for Seed Cake. I’ve made them before, so I figured it’d
be fairly quick ‘n easy, especially considering the somewhat
limited time I’d have that week.

Unfortunately, this is the only picture I have of my Seed Cake:

Below is the receipt. It’s from The Compleat Housewife,
by E. Smith (1727):

To make a fine Seed Cake or Nun’s Cake
Take four pounds of your finest flour,
and three pounds of double-refin’d
sugar beaten and sifted, mix them
together, and dry them by the fire
till you prepare your other materials.
Take four pounds of butter, beat it
in your hands till it is very soft like
cream, then beat thirty-five eggs,
leave out sixteen whites, and strain
out the treddles of the rest, and beat
them and the butter together till all
appears like butter; put in four or five
spoonfuls of rose or orange-flower-
water, and beat it again; then take
your flour and sugar, with six ounces
of carraway-seeds, and strew it in
by degrees, beating it up all the time
for two hours together; you may put
in as much tincture of cinamon or
ambergrease as you please; butter
your hoop, and let it stand three
hours in a moderate oven.

Now, I’ve made a few Seed Cakes in the past, and I’ve always
used a receipt in Hannah Glasse’s The Art of Cookery (1747),
which, coincidentally, just happens to be an exact match to
the one above! So I announced to everyone that perhaps
Ms. Willan had made a mistake, that it should be attributed
to Glasse and not Smith. Well, not so fast! Turns out this is,
most definitely, courtesy of Smith’s book; seems it’s Glasse
who stole, er, “borrowed,” it from her. Oops. Silly me!

However, soon after I felt somewhat vindicated when I noticed
that the receipt Willan sent for “A Crookneck or Winter Squash
Pudding,” which she stated is from Lucy Emerson’s cookbook,
The New England Cookery (1808), is indeed a mistake. You see,
Emerson plagiarized, lock, stock ‘n barrel, Amelia Simmons’
American Cookery (1796). Tsk! (And an “oops, silly me”
for Ms. Willan.)

__________________________________

NEXT: Teachers and Carrot Puddings at the Queens County
Farm Museum and a return to the Crane House

Now that I’ve gotten a bit o’ rest after a busy week and have
done things like cleaned up kitchen messes and organized
my photos, I can now get back to blogging. HUZZAH!

Besides, a report on my most recent hearth cooking adventures is
long overdue. And there were several during the week of March 26
to April 1. Three, to be exact; well, four, if you count making a dish
for the Culinary Historians of New York’s (CHNY) program. In any
event, it began with Homeschool Day at the Israel Crane House,
followed by CHNY, then a Teachers Professional Development
Workshop at the Queens County Farm Museum, and finally,
it ended with a return to the Crane House. Whew!

My Big Week was filled with varied and numerous preparations,
as well. It seemed that I was constantly slicing, mixing, mashing,
cooking, and/or baking something. Not to mention all the planning
that’d been done days, even weeks, previously, including deciding
what dishes to make, selecting the receipts (recipes) to be used,
and developing the menus for each particular hearth cooking
session. Then throw in all the scurrying from one grocery store
to another to yet another, as I attempted to procure the required
ingredients for most of the dishes. Ahh, what a life: keeps me busy
and outta trouble. Besides, I absolutely love it! HUZZAH!

Okay. Onward. Let the hearth cooking adventures begin!

First up, I headed to the Crane House on Tuesday for the semi-annual
Homeschool Day. I had a fantastic time with all the young’uns, as we
learned the secrets of hearth cooking (with a few chores thrown in,

just for good measure, of course). We made toast and ate it with
pre-churned butter on top, as we churned some new. Then we fried
up a bit o’ salt pork, which greased the pan for lots of subsequent
Indian Slapjacks, made according to a receipt from Amelia Simmons’
American Cookery (1796) (it follows the photos, below).

____________________

Here is the receipt from Simmons’ American Cookery (1796):

Indian Slapjack.
One quart milk, 1 pint of Indian meal,
4 eggs, 4 spoons of flour, little salt,
beat together, baked on griddles, or
fry in a dry pan, or baked in a pan
which has been rub’d with suet,
lard or butter.

__________________________________
NEXT: Seed Cakes and Carrot Puddings

NOTE: Apparently, this entire series has been pulled,
even from youtube. It’s unfortunate, as it was fantastic!
Possibly, parts may still be found on youtube, so my
suggestion is to look there. I’m disappointed, that’s
for sure! I apologize for any inconvenience.

_______________

I recently re-discovered a fantastic video series that I’d
like to share. Entitled “Tales from the Green Valley,” it
follows five historical experts as they spend 12 months
“living” in the year 1620 on an historical working farm
located along the Welsh borders (so yes, it’s British).
The work they do, the activities in which they engage,
and the challenges they face are all applicable to any
farm in any area during any pre-modern time period.
I hope everyone enjoys them as much as I do.

Comprised of 12 episodes, a playlist of the series exists
on youtbube, wherein one is shown right after another.
Believe me, this feature makes it much easier to view
each episode, rather than doing each one separately
and trying to figure out if E2P1-3 comes before or after
E1P2-5. Now, it will seem as if there are more than 12,
and there sorta are, because the playlist shows the
series in only 15 minute increments. It just means you
can watch as much or as little as you like. In the end,
believe me, it will be well worth it. I guarantee that
you will learn so much, and you’ll gain a very realistic
glimpse into 17th century farm life. HUZZAH!

______________________________

As mentioned previously, the definition of “tin oven” in the glossary
of Prospect Books’ facsimile of The Art of Cookery, made [sic] Plain
and Easy
, by Hannah Glasse (1747), refers to the book’s page 91.
All the receipts on that page, which is one in a group of about 10,
are for fish. These pages, together with 32 others that contain
receipts for everything from soups to puddings to vegetables,
comprise the chapter entitled “For a Fast-Dinner, a Number of
good Dishes, which you may make use of for a Table at any
other Time.” In other words, all are dishes for those assorted
and numerous fast (meatless) days (such as Lent). Naturally,
as author Glasse points out, they could certainly be prepared
for any meal at any time.

Now, at first, I wondered, how is fish cooked in a tin reflector
oven? Do you spit it? However, fish tend to be rather thin, so
won’t it fall apart too easily? Or maybe
you simply tie it to the spit? Sounds
do-able, but seems a bit risky. I then
decided to return to the source, to
look closely at the specific receipt
(“Salmon in Cases”) referred to in
the glossary’s definition of “tin oven.”
A-Ha! I soon discovered that it doesn’t
involve cooking a whole fish! It merely
calls for pieces of fish to be wrapped in paper (“in cases”),
then placed on a tin plate and cooked in “a Tin Oven before
the Fire.”

OK. But, wait a minute. How do you cook a plate of anything,
let alone fish, in a reflector oven? Balance it on the spit? Seems
unlikely (and unwieldy!). Set in on the oven’s floor? That’d work,
I suppose, but won’t it be too low, in relation to the fire? OR,
perhaps a tin oven with a shelf would work? The type that’s
also set before the fire and is used for baking? The thing is,
the definition (mentioned above) didn’t include those. Does
that mean they didn’t exist in the mid-18th century? Or were
they just not widely used? It does seem, however, that if one
type of tin oven was available, then other kinds would’ve
been, as well.

Of course, the best way to find answers
to these questions was to conduct a few
experiments. Shortly thereafter, I did
just that, while cooking at the hearth
of The Israel Crane House. I made up
six (6) little “cases” of salmon, and
cooked half in the tin reflector oven
and half in the “baking” tin oven.

Now, unfortunately, I didn’t have any tin
plates, so I “cheated” and used a small store-bought toaster
oven aluminum baking sheet. I then put this “plate” of fish
on the bottom or floor of the reflector and on the upper shelf
of the other. I must say, it was quite exciting, and I eagerly
awaited the results!

Before I share my pictures of the entire process, I want to add
that the Crane House’s tin reflector oven is in good condition,
and is nice ‘n shiny. However, the shelved-tin oven is the exact
opposite; in fact, it’s downright grungy. I used it anyway, and,
bottom line, both worked really well. The only difference was
that the batch cooked in the shelved-oven took a bit longer.
I imagine, if it were as clean ‘n shiny as the other, the cooking
times would’ve been identical (or nearly so).

Here, now, my photos. Hannah Glasse’s receipt “Salmon
in Cases,” from her book The Art of Cookery, follows.

_______________

The salmon; I chose these steaks largely because I figured
they’d be easier to cut into uniformly-sized pieces. The store
had fillets, as well, but they were much larger, overall, and
the thickness of each was rather uneven. Of course, in the
end, it didn’t really matter, because I had to cut it up in small
pieces in order to ferret out a few elusive bones:

The salmon was cut up into pieces:

Several all-white paper bags became the “cases,” and each
sheet was generously buttered:

Salt, pepper, and nutmeg were mixed with the salmon, which
was then divided amongst the three papers:

The papers, with their salmon, were folded into neat little packets:

My “reasonable facsimile” of a tin plate (?!):

Just before everything was ready to be set before the fire,
melted butter was poured, and bread crumbs sprinkled,
over all the packets:

The Crane House’s tin reflector oven:

The “plate,” with its packets, was set on the floor of the reflector oven:

All was set before the fire:

Notice how the fire reflected off the back of the oven; when
I saw that, I knew for certain the fish would cook beautifully,
even though it was “way down” on the oven’s floor:

Lookin’ good!

Mmmmm…salmon, cooked to perfection:

__________

Following the exact same process with the second batch:

The baking style tin oven:

All set ‘n ready to cook:

Another successful round of “Salmon in Cases”:

As you see, fish can be cooked, and cooked well, in different
types of tin ovens. Both of my little experiments was a huge
success! And the final results were mighty delicious. HUZZAH!

_______________

Here is the receipt from The Art of Cookery, made [sic] Plain
and Easy
, by Hannah Glasse (London, 1747):

Salmon in Cases.
Cut your Salmon into little Pieces,
such as will lay rolled in half Sheets
of Paper; season it with Pepper, Salt
and Nutmeg, butter the Inside of the
Paper well, fold the Paper so as nothing
can come out, then lay them on a Tin
Plate to be baked, pour a little melted
Butter over the Papers, and then
Crumbs of Bread all over them. Don’t
let your Oven be too hot, for fear of
burning the Paper; a Tin Oven before
the Fire does best. When you think
they are enough, serve them up; just
as they are, there will be Sauce enough
in the Papers.

On Facebook recently there was quite a lively discussion,
as well as plenty of oooohhhing and ahhhhhing, amongst
my assorted friends about the tin (or is it copper?) reflector
oven that’s depicted in the painting below:

Initially posted by Tammy DeLauter Fletcher, this is entitled
simply “The Cook.” It was done by the Dutch painter Gabriel
Metsu (1629-1667) and was most likely completed by him
at some point between 1657 and 1662.

Yes, you read that correctly: between the years 1657 and
1662. Indeed, Metsu was a mid-17th century painter.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit it: I thought these ovens were
only in use during the 19th, maybe the very late 18th, century
(at least here in America). I’m not really sure why. I’ve used
them often, but I’ve never really given it much thought. I’ve
never investigated whether they were available/used earlier.
Of course, I’ve done quite a bit of 18th century hearth cooking,
but my main focus has typically been the 19th. Not to mention,
that’s the time period in which I was initially trained (at Conner
Prairie
, back when the year 1836 was the focus). However,
based on this painting, apparently reflector ovens were
around, even as early as the mid-1600s.

At the same time, though, it IS a Dutch painting. So perhaps
reflector ovens were common in Europe, even during the 17th
century, but were they also used on this side of the pond? It
seems likely that they may’ve been imported. Or perhaps they
were made here. However, I think it is generally believed that
being a tinsmith was more of an 1800s profession. You know,
due to British control of manufactured goods, that sort of thing.
Or, perhaps not? It’d definitely be interesting to research this
further, and to look at store inventories, newspaper ads, ship
records, and other assorted documents, to see if, and when,
such ovens were made in, or transported to, the colonies.

In any event, when this painting and the ensuing discussion
took place on Facebook, I remembered a passage I’d read
in Prospect Books’ facsimile reprint of Hannah Glasse’s book,
The Art of Cookery, made [sic] Plain & Easy (1747). In the
glossary is this definition (and illustration) of “Tin Oven”:

The reference to a tin oven, [on page] 91,
is to the ‘Dutch oven’ which was in common
use and which stood in front of the fire. The
food being cooked was exposed to direct

(c) Prospect Books 1995

heat and also to reflected heat from the polished
tin interior. A door in the back could be opened
to permit viewing and basting.

Now, what’s interesting is that all the receipts on page 91
in Glasse’s book are for fish, and only one specifically calls
for cooking the dish in “a Tin Oven.” It’s the receipt “Salmon
in Cases.” The instructions say to wrap salmon pieces in paper
and “lay them on a Tin Plate.” It then states that “a Tin Oven
before the Fire does best” (I imagine as opposed to a brick
bake oven). Which, of course, obviously means that the fish
is NOT put on the spit!

So, in a typical tin reflector oven, where would you put a plate
of fish “in cases”? On the floor/bottom of it? But that puts it too
low in relationship to the fire, yes? So, in order to gain some
height, could the plate perhaps be balanced on top of the spit?
Could that work, would it stay securely? (I’m thinking maybe,
but not likely?) Then I thought, “Well, perhaps Glasse means
one of those tin ovens with a shelf? The ones that’re often
used for small breads (either loose or in a pan)?” And if so,
does that mean those types of tin ovens were also around
in the early to mid 18th century? Makes perfect sense, yes?
Or no? And so, is there possibly a slight problem with this
glossary’s definition of “Tin Oven”: i.e. it’s not JUST the ones
with a spit and basting door, but it’s also other types?

Luckily for me, I was scheduled to cook again at the hearth
in the kitchen of the Israel Crane House on Sunday, March 1,
which meant I’d be able to conduct my own experiments.
I could figure out just how this fish receipt was to be
cooked. What fun!

So, stay tuned!

_______________

UP NEXT: Experiments in cooking fish in reflector ovens

____________________

For more information about Gabriel Metsu, his life, this painting
and other works, check out this site.

A few weeks ago, I began considering
what dish to prepare during the annual
Presidents’ Day festivities held this past
Monday at the Israel Crane House. Before
long, it hit me: a Washington Cake! It’s
perfect for a day that celebrates, at least
in part, the birthday of the man who led
us to victory in the War for Independence
and who was the very first President of
our brand new nation: namely, George Washington. Nothing
could be better! HUZZAH!

Now, I’ve made a few Washington Cakes before, including
one during a Fireside Feasts session years ago at Brooklyn’s
Wyckoff Farmhouse Museum. At that time, we used the receipt
given below, which is one of two for such cakes in Catharine
Rapelye Wyckoff’s (of Flatlands, Long Island, NY) manuscript
cookbook. As I recall, it turned out well, was quite tasty, and
every last crumb disappeared quickly:

Washington Cake
1/2 lb of butter 3/4 lb of Sugar
1 lb of flour 4 Eggs coffee cup
Cream pearlash. Spice. fruit

However, I wanted to try another receipt this time. Besides,
there’s a slight problem with the Wyckoff manuscript receipts:
both are circa 1855, which is later than I’d like. So, I began
to do some research, to see if I could find any earlier versions.

Of course, Washington Cakes are strictly of the 19th century.
They began to appear at some point after our First President’s
death (1799), when someone apparently thought it’d be a good
idea to honor him by either taking an already tried ‘n true cake,
or creating an entirely new one, and naming it after him. Based
on the make-up of the various receipts I found, I tend to think
it’s most likely the former, because it’s similar to the so-called
“Great Cakes” of past centuries. In fact, with its standard cake
ingredients, fruit, and assorted spices, most Washington Cakes
are highly reminiscent of your basic everyday, run-of-the-mill
cakes of the Medieval era. What’s even more interesting is that

not only do these cakes hark back to Medieval times, but they’re
also very similar to receipts, particularly those for Great Cakes,
in Martha Washington’s own manuscript cookery book. A work,
as you may know, whose origins are medieval! And so, I have
to wonder, were the creators of the Washington Cakes aware
of that? Did they make a deliberate and conscious decision
to devise just such medieval-like cakes? Surely, it can’t just
be a coincidence. Or can it? But…how? I tell you, I wish I had
the answers to all these questions!

However, there’s a slight glitch in my theory. You see, I did
find several other Washington Cake receipts, including three
in published sources and three in manuscript cookbooks. All
but two* contained fruit and spices, and often specific ones.
Two exceptions to this were, surprisingly, the printed versions!
I was a bit puzzled by this. Did the manuscript writers insert
the spices and fruit on their own? Did they copy the similar
fruit ‘n spice printed versions? Or did they possibly refer to
a printed receipt that I have yet to find? Once again, all are
intriguing, and at this point, unanswered, questions.

Lastly, there is one specific ingredient in all of these cakes
that sets them apart from those of more ancient times. It’s
one that makes them truly “modern” confections of the 19th
century. And that one ingredient is what was then a relatively
new “invention”: the chemical leavener known as pearl-ash.
Technically known was potassium carbonate, it was also
called pot-ash and was the forerunner of today’s common
baking soda.

So, when all was said and done, which receipt did I use this
past Monday? I chose that of a woman who lived essentially
in my neighborhood, in my own backyard, back in the 1800s.
I made my Washington Cake from the following receipt from
the handwritten household book of Mrs. Lefferts of Flatbush,
Long Island, NY (circa 1838?):

Washington Cake
19. 1 lb of Flour 1lb of Sugar ¾ lb butter
4 Eggs 2 lb raisins half a pint of milk
a teaspoon of pearlash one glass of wine
one of Brandy two nutmegs two
spoonsfull of cinamon and one of cloves

And it was mighty good! HUZZAH!
____________________

_________________________

*The two published cookbooks with Washington Cake receipts
that do NOT contain fruit or spices were Eliza Leslie’s
Directions
for Cookery, in all its Various Branches, (1837/1840) and Lettice
Bryan’s
The Kentucky Housewife (1839). In addition, Mrs. Bryan
uses the possessive form in the title of hers, as in “Washington’s
Cake,” as opposed to just the “Washington Cake” of the others.

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