I would love to be more knowledgeable about ‘real’ Mexican cuisine. I understand that what is commonly claimed as ‘Mexican’ cuisine outside of Mexico itself is more accurately described as ‘Tex-Mex.’ I also must confess confusion about the definition of ‘fusion cuisine.’ Who coined that phrase, anyway? Some cuisines have been fused for so long that they can surely claim an authenticity all of their own - Anglo-Indian and Pennsyvania Dutch, for example - and Tex-Mex too, perhaps?
I am equally confused about the definition of ‘authenticity’ too, as regular readers will know. Regular readers will also probably note that I have used a couple of particular examples previously, but without shame at repeating myself, I would like to know why tomatoes (a New World food, not known in Europe until the early sixteenth century) are considered an indispensible ingredient in ‘authentic’ Italian food, or potatoes (also from the New World) are essential to Irish stew.
I have no trouble actually living with paradoxes, dichotomies or a myriad other inconsistencies however, and can state without (much) fear of contradiction that the following ‘Mexican’ recipes are hardly authentic – the first on account of the inclusion of the very English ingredient of Worcestershire sauce, the second because of its liberal topping of cheese. The recipes come from Fifty choice recipes for Spanish and Mexican dishes (1905)
Mexican Chili Stew.
Four medium-sized potatoes, four large tomatoes, one good-sized onion. Cut all in small pieces; two pounds of lean beef cut in dice. Put beef in pot with two tablespoonfuls of heated butter and the onion, and stew half hour; then add rest of vegetables with one quart of hot water, one tablespoonful of chili powder and three of Worcestershire sauce; salt and pepper to taste with one clove of garlic; cook on slow fire until thoroughly done.
Mexican Round Steak.
BAKE in oven for half hour a two-pound slice of the tender side of round steak, in half -pint of water, basting often; season with salt and pepper; take from oven, cover top of meat with finely chopped onion; cook again for fifteen minutes, then add a covering of tomatoes, cut fine. Cook a quarter of an hour, then cover with grated cheese; put back in oven until cheese melts. This must be cooked in moderate oven. The meat will be very tender, and have a delicious gravy.
Quotation for the Day.
If I moved away, I would definitely miss the Mexican food. Every region has its own Mexican food, and they're very chauvinistic - they believe their food is the real Mexican food.
Russ Parson.
Showing posts with label 20thC recipe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 20thC recipe. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 04, 2011
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
Mexican Bread.
In advance of Cinco de Mayo, I thought I would look at descriptions and opinions of Mexico - especially the food - from outsiders.
I give you an article from Putnam’s Monthly, Volume III, 1854, written by (or from the perspective of, it is not clear which) a visitor in 1846 - at the beginning of the war with the United States.
The writer notes that “Life has its varieties even in San Antonio. The fandango of last night is followed by the funeral of this morning;—thus sorrow treads on the heels of joy, and checkers with black and white, the universal picture of human life.” He then puts aside the metaphor of the fandango, and goes on to describe the actual event, and the making of “Mexican bread” – and the use of the latter as payment for the entertainment by American “visitors.” It is written in the tone usual for such conquerors and colonists – a tone which it minds us to remember is still used in modern times in such situations.
The selection includes our recipe for the day – tortillas from scratch.
Quotation for the Day.
A wise and frugal government, which shall leave men free to regulate their own pursuits of industry and improvement, and shall not take from the mouth of labor the bread it has earned - this is the sum of good government.
Thomas Jefferson.
I give you an article from Putnam’s Monthly, Volume III, 1854, written by (or from the perspective of, it is not clear which) a visitor in 1846 - at the beginning of the war with the United States.
The writer notes that “Life has its varieties even in San Antonio. The fandango of last night is followed by the funeral of this morning;—thus sorrow treads on the heels of joy, and checkers with black and white, the universal picture of human life.” He then puts aside the metaphor of the fandango, and goes on to describe the actual event, and the making of “Mexican bread” – and the use of the latter as payment for the entertainment by American “visitors.” It is written in the tone usual for such conquerors and colonists – a tone which it minds us to remember is still used in modern times in such situations.
The selection includes our recipe for the day – tortillas from scratch.
“"Fandango " is the term given in the dictionaries for a "lively Spanish dance," but is here applied to nocturnal gatherings for dances, ''lively" enough, certainly, but possessing very few of the qualities of the "poetry of motion." The women who attend these assemblies are seen, with their rebozos drawn closely over the face, serving for bonnets, which they never wear, wending their way early in the evening, by tho light of their own cigarretas, and puffing most industriously, to the place of rendezvous. These are of a class not definable, as in Mexican female society here, there appeared to be little distinction between vice and virtue, and the chaste matron or maiden (if there be such), and the leprous prostitute, seemed to be on terms of social equality. The young girl not yet indoctrinated in the ways of vice, finds ready instructors at these gatherings, where she soon loses the modesty of feeling and purity of heart, innate in the sex, and by degrees falls at last into that pit from which there is no recovery. Fandangoes, as conducted here, are mere schools of corruption and immorality for the destruction of the younger attendants, soul and body; in which the alphabet of vice and the rudiments of prostitution are acquired with fatal facility. Yet there is positively nothing more attractive in them, than the discordant tones produced by the untutored hand of a village blacksmith, upon fibres of untanned catgut. The males were drawn entirely from the Americans; the few Mexicans who were prowling round the outside of the building, seemed to surrender without a struggle or a regret, their wives, sisters, and daughters to hopeless pollution and degradation. In the dance, the females are ranged in a right line on one side of the room, and the males opposite their respective partners; then to the sounds of unearthly music, they proceed to go through with the most laborious antics and gyrations; motions fore and aft and up and down, vulgar if not voluptuous; and having succeeded in working themselves up to the proper point of perspiration—thereby generating a species of perfumery less delicious than the "gales of Araby"—the dance ceases, and each man conducts his partner to a refreshment table, where he purchases a dime's worth of cake or tortillas, which she receives in her handkerchief or hands, and proceeds to deposit under a bench, or with a friend, for safe keeping, so that it may not encumber her performances in the next dance. This pile accumulates during the evening, if she is tolerable good-looking, to a mass large enough to feed a small family of Mexicans, until the next fandango. The dance is thus considered a business transaction, conducted on the cash system.
Tortillas constitute the ordinary Mexican bread. They are of corn, and as thin as pancakes, which in appearance (only) they resemble. The grain is first soaked in ley [lye], until it becomes soft and loses the outer covering; it is then thoroughly washed in water, and made ready for the mill. This consists of a flat stone, the upper surface slightly concave, and a cylindrical crusher of the same material. A woman places the corn thus prepared beside her, and with the stones before her, she crushes about a handful at a time, when it becomes pulpy and soft. It is then turned into a trough, and after a little additional manipulation, is ready for the oven. Apropos of this operation, one of our countrymen was in a sort of cake shop belonging to a native, where the woman was making pies. There being no chairs, he was about to make use of the bed as a substitute, when the woman, under an unaccountable excitement, earnestly begged him to desist. As her language was wholly unintelligible, she was compelled at last to reveal the cause of her uneasiness and opposition, by exhibiting a layer of pies which she had snugly stowed away between the sheets, preparatory to transferring them to the oven.”
Quotation for the Day.
A wise and frugal government, which shall leave men free to regulate their own pursuits of industry and improvement, and shall not take from the mouth of labor the bread it has earned - this is the sum of good government.
Thomas Jefferson.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Pest for Dinner.
Today I want to tackle a tricky subject - the rabbit. Once upon a time there were no rabbits in Australia. Then, in 1788, the First Fleet arrived. The ships carried not only convicts, but also breeding stock for future food – including the rabbit.
By the mid-nineteenth century it became clear that a species spectacularly damaging to the ecology of this large country was on the loose and multiplying faster than you can say “rabbit rabbit rabbit.” Strangely though, it appears that escaped First Fleet rabbits perhaps did not spawn this plague, but that it was the progeny of specimens introduced in 1859 by a wealthy landowner in Victoria called John Austin, who released them on his property to provide future hunting amusement.
Many methods to control the rabbit population have been tried over the decades, including poisons, trapping, biological warfare (myxomatosis and calicivirus) and the building of a (theoretically) rabbit-proof fence in Western Australia. The bad ecological news is that the rabbit still survives here in the wild, but the irony is that it is no longer free bush tucker but an expensive delicacy at the butcher’s – presumably because the rabbits sold there are the cage-reared, disease-free version. Rabbit is now more expensive than rump steak.
In 1938 however, disease-free wild rabbits were there for the taking, and consequently a number of recipes for it were submitted to the Perth newspaper competition.
Rabbit Soup.
Take two large rabbits, half a head of celery, two carrots, one onion, salt, pepper, half a pint of milk and two quarts of water. Cut the rabbits up and well wash. Put into saucepan, boil with water about an hour and a half. Take the rabbit out and add the vegetables, salt, pepper and milk. Simmer for two hours. Sufficient for seven people.
Savoury Rabbit.
Use the meat taken from the soup, a quarter pound of fat bacon, two onions, one teaspoon chopped parsley, half a teaspoonful mixed herbs, four tablespoon flour, salt and pepper. Cut the rabbit and bacon in small pieces, put in a baking dish with chopped onions, parsley, herbs salt and pepper. Mix the flour with two tablespoons cornflour to a thin paste with milk. Pour the mixture into dish bake in moderate oven about an hour.
Rabbit Mould.
One rabbit, one oz. gelatine, three peeled tomatoes, one quart stock, sprig parsley, half lemon, three rashers bacon, two onions, two hard boiled eggs, half tablespoon bacon fat and seasoning. Blanch and joint rabbit, place in a sauce- pan with bacon fat, brown lightly all over, add cold water and onion, remove rind from bacon, cut up and add to pan, cover and simmer till rabbit is tender, remove bones, strain and season, add gelatine, dissolved in a little water, add juice of lemon. Decorate mould with slices of hard boiled eggs, and tomatoes and leave till set. Fill up with rabbit, turn out when cold.
Quotation for the Day.
Hare is respectable, even distinguished; rabbit is common and vulgar, and it is good form to turn up the nose at it.
Waverley Root.
By the mid-nineteenth century it became clear that a species spectacularly damaging to the ecology of this large country was on the loose and multiplying faster than you can say “rabbit rabbit rabbit.” Strangely though, it appears that escaped First Fleet rabbits perhaps did not spawn this plague, but that it was the progeny of specimens introduced in 1859 by a wealthy landowner in Victoria called John Austin, who released them on his property to provide future hunting amusement.
Many methods to control the rabbit population have been tried over the decades, including poisons, trapping, biological warfare (myxomatosis and calicivirus) and the building of a (theoretically) rabbit-proof fence in Western Australia. The bad ecological news is that the rabbit still survives here in the wild, but the irony is that it is no longer free bush tucker but an expensive delicacy at the butcher’s – presumably because the rabbits sold there are the cage-reared, disease-free version. Rabbit is now more expensive than rump steak.
In 1938 however, disease-free wild rabbits were there for the taking, and consequently a number of recipes for it were submitted to the Perth newspaper competition.
Rabbit Soup.
Take two large rabbits, half a head of celery, two carrots, one onion, salt, pepper, half a pint of milk and two quarts of water. Cut the rabbits up and well wash. Put into saucepan, boil with water about an hour and a half. Take the rabbit out and add the vegetables, salt, pepper and milk. Simmer for two hours. Sufficient for seven people.
Savoury Rabbit.
Use the meat taken from the soup, a quarter pound of fat bacon, two onions, one teaspoon chopped parsley, half a teaspoonful mixed herbs, four tablespoon flour, salt and pepper. Cut the rabbit and bacon in small pieces, put in a baking dish with chopped onions, parsley, herbs salt and pepper. Mix the flour with two tablespoons cornflour to a thin paste with milk. Pour the mixture into dish bake in moderate oven about an hour.
Rabbit Mould.
One rabbit, one oz. gelatine, three peeled tomatoes, one quart stock, sprig parsley, half lemon, three rashers bacon, two onions, two hard boiled eggs, half tablespoon bacon fat and seasoning. Blanch and joint rabbit, place in a sauce- pan with bacon fat, brown lightly all over, add cold water and onion, remove rind from bacon, cut up and add to pan, cover and simmer till rabbit is tender, remove bones, strain and season, add gelatine, dissolved in a little water, add juice of lemon. Decorate mould with slices of hard boiled eggs, and tomatoes and leave till set. Fill up with rabbit, turn out when cold.
Quotation for the Day.
Hare is respectable, even distinguished; rabbit is common and vulgar, and it is good form to turn up the nose at it.
Waverley Root.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Galah Grub.
We continue our week of Aussie bush recipes, thanks to our source for the week - several editions of the Perth newspaper The Western Mail, which ran a competition on the topic in 1938. I can pretty well guarantee that you wont find today’s dishes on the menu anywhere.
The galah is a noisy, pretty pink and grey cockatoo found all over Australia. It also used to be an ingredient for the stew-pot in the days of real bush cuisine. The ‘real’ way to cook it of course is well known, but just in case you have forgotten them, let me give the instructions again via the words of a South Australian newspaper correspondent in 1934.
“DR. A. M. Morgan, North Adelaide, writes:- "Dear Bufus -Your friend who says galah is too rough to eat, evidently does not know how to cook them. The proper way is to put the bird in a billycan with a medium-sized stone, and fill with water, and bring to the boil. When a fork will go easily into the stone, and come out clean, the bird is done, and will be found tender and tasty. This is an old bush recipe, and I am surprised that your friend did not know it.”
The newspaper competition provides some slightly more sophisticated ways of dealing with the bird, which I am sure will adapt easily to any sort of cockatoo or parrot that might fall into your hands.
Curried Galahs.
Take six galahs, cover with about one quart of water. When boiled for half an hour add two onions, pepper and salt to taste and let boil for half an hour longer. Then take out half a cup of the galah stock and add to it one tablespoon of curry and two tablespoons of flour. Mix well together and add to galahs. Let simmer for quarter of an hour before serving.
Braised Galahs.
Allow one galah for each person. Cut off the heads and then skin the birds and clean them. Place in a dish of salted water for a few hours. Make a nice stuffing of onion and herbs, breadcrumbs, a knob of butter, salt and pepper and a grating of nutmeg. Bind with a well beaten egg. Stuff the birds with this stuffing, make some dripping very hot in a saucepan, and place in the birds. Turn occasionally to brown. When half cooked put in a little hot water and finish cooking. A rasher of bacon placed on each bird while cooking is delicious.
Galah Savoury.
Take four or five birds, skin (do not pluck them) clean and soak in salted water for a few hours. Cut a rasher of bacon into small strips, put two or three pieces inside each bird, then arrange them in a casserole, cut up an onion very small, put over the top of the birds, sprinkle a dessert spoon of flour over them, then small dabs of butter, or dripping on top. Now half fill the casserole with cold water, put the lid on and cook in a slow oven for about two and a half or three hours. The result is a cheap and appetising dish. Bronze wing pigeons and parrots done in the same way are delicious.
Quotation for the Day.
Not presume to dictate, but broiled fowl and mushrooms – capital thing.
Charles Dickens.
The galah is a noisy, pretty pink and grey cockatoo found all over Australia. It also used to be an ingredient for the stew-pot in the days of real bush cuisine. The ‘real’ way to cook it of course is well known, but just in case you have forgotten them, let me give the instructions again via the words of a South Australian newspaper correspondent in 1934.
“DR. A. M. Morgan, North Adelaide, writes:- "Dear Bufus -Your friend who says galah is too rough to eat, evidently does not know how to cook them. The proper way is to put the bird in a billycan with a medium-sized stone, and fill with water, and bring to the boil. When a fork will go easily into the stone, and come out clean, the bird is done, and will be found tender and tasty. This is an old bush recipe, and I am surprised that your friend did not know it.”
The newspaper competition provides some slightly more sophisticated ways of dealing with the bird, which I am sure will adapt easily to any sort of cockatoo or parrot that might fall into your hands.
Curried Galahs.
Take six galahs, cover with about one quart of water. When boiled for half an hour add two onions, pepper and salt to taste and let boil for half an hour longer. Then take out half a cup of the galah stock and add to it one tablespoon of curry and two tablespoons of flour. Mix well together and add to galahs. Let simmer for quarter of an hour before serving.
Braised Galahs.
Allow one galah for each person. Cut off the heads and then skin the birds and clean them. Place in a dish of salted water for a few hours. Make a nice stuffing of onion and herbs, breadcrumbs, a knob of butter, salt and pepper and a grating of nutmeg. Bind with a well beaten egg. Stuff the birds with this stuffing, make some dripping very hot in a saucepan, and place in the birds. Turn occasionally to brown. When half cooked put in a little hot water and finish cooking. A rasher of bacon placed on each bird while cooking is delicious.
Galah Savoury.
Take four or five birds, skin (do not pluck them) clean and soak in salted water for a few hours. Cut a rasher of bacon into small strips, put two or three pieces inside each bird, then arrange them in a casserole, cut up an onion very small, put over the top of the birds, sprinkle a dessert spoon of flour over them, then small dabs of butter, or dripping on top. Now half fill the casserole with cold water, put the lid on and cook in a slow oven for about two and a half or three hours. The result is a cheap and appetising dish. Bronze wing pigeons and parrots done in the same way are delicious.
Quotation for the Day.
Not presume to dictate, but broiled fowl and mushrooms – capital thing.
Charles Dickens.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Emu on the Menu.
The bush recipes competition run by the Perth newspaper The Western Mail in 1938, is proving rich fodder for this week’s stories. Today, for your delectation, I give you some ideas from the competition for emu meat and emu eggs.
Emu Liver Savoury.
Plunge liver into salt and hot water. Dry with cloth, rub with fine wheat flour, cut into two by four slices. Fry in a little boiling fat till brown. Cut in half as many large quandongs* as needed, and fry quickly. Make a sauce of half cup flour, pinch salt, pinch mustard and teaspoon butter. Place the liver on slices of toast, pour on sauce, place fried quandongs on top.
[*Santalum acuminatum , a common native plant of inland Australia, sometimes called the ‘native peach’]
Emu for Beef.
The meat from the breast of a young emu is luscious and highly nutritious, quite equal to rump steak. The meat may be casseroled, fried, stewed, or used in meat pies or boiled puddings, in fact any recipe may be used in which beef is required.
Emu eggs, as we found out in a post several years ago, are about ten times the size of a hen’s egg, and contain a higher percentage of fat. They apparently make great cakes.
Emu Egg Sponge.
Beat one emu egg for five minutes; add one and a half cups of sugar, beat for 15 minutes longer, then add two cups of flour to which two teaspoonfuls of baking powder have been added. Lastly add one cup of boiling water in which one tablespoonful of butter has been melted. Bake in a quick oven. This recipe makes two large sandwiches. For all measurements use a breakfast cup.
Quotation for the Day.
The strongest thing I put into my body is steak and eggs. I just eat. I'm not a supplement guy. Steroids are not even a thought.
Jim Thorne.
Emu Liver Savoury.
Plunge liver into salt and hot water. Dry with cloth, rub with fine wheat flour, cut into two by four slices. Fry in a little boiling fat till brown. Cut in half as many large quandongs* as needed, and fry quickly. Make a sauce of half cup flour, pinch salt, pinch mustard and teaspoon butter. Place the liver on slices of toast, pour on sauce, place fried quandongs on top.
[*Santalum acuminatum , a common native plant of inland Australia, sometimes called the ‘native peach’]
Emu for Beef.
The meat from the breast of a young emu is luscious and highly nutritious, quite equal to rump steak. The meat may be casseroled, fried, stewed, or used in meat pies or boiled puddings, in fact any recipe may be used in which beef is required.
Emu eggs, as we found out in a post several years ago, are about ten times the size of a hen’s egg, and contain a higher percentage of fat. They apparently make great cakes.
Emu Egg Sponge.
Beat one emu egg for five minutes; add one and a half cups of sugar, beat for 15 minutes longer, then add two cups of flour to which two teaspoonfuls of baking powder have been added. Lastly add one cup of boiling water in which one tablespoonful of butter has been melted. Bake in a quick oven. This recipe makes two large sandwiches. For all measurements use a breakfast cup.
Quotation for the Day.
The strongest thing I put into my body is steak and eggs. I just eat. I'm not a supplement guy. Steroids are not even a thought.
Jim Thorne.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Lizard for Dinner.
The Australian monitor lizard - more commonly called the goanna – has an important place in Aboriginal culture and medicine and in Australian folklore. It also, apparently, makes good eating. The tail is said to be the best part, and - not surprisingly- is said to taste like chicken, or like fish, or ‘sweeter and more juicy than rabbit.’
The simplest bush recipe for cooking goanna was to roast it in the ashes, so that that when the ashes were brushed off, the skin came with it, and the flesh was then ready to eat. By the time of the Perth newspaper’s bush recipes competition in 1938 (mentioned yesterday), there was less of the bush and more of the French kitchen about goanna tail recipes, as the following competition entries show:
Goanna Tail.
Scald and skin the tail of a goanna. Cut into three-inch slices. Dip in egg and bread crumbs, and fry quickly to a golden brown. Olive oil is the best to fry in, but some do not like the flavour of olives.
Goanna Tail with Parsley Sauce.
Skin tail and cut into small pieces. Place in a saucepan, and just cover with water. Cook till tender. Make parsley sauce as follows:-Boil one pint of water, throw into it one tablespoon finely minced parsley and half a teaspoonful of salt. Then add two ounces flour, mixed to smooth paste in a gill of water. Stir over fire until it thickens. Break into it one or two ounces of butter. Put cooked tail into this, and serve hot.
Quotation for the Day.
You can never have enough garlic. With enough garlic, you can eat The New York Times.
Morley Safer.
The simplest bush recipe for cooking goanna was to roast it in the ashes, so that that when the ashes were brushed off, the skin came with it, and the flesh was then ready to eat. By the time of the Perth newspaper’s bush recipes competition in 1938 (mentioned yesterday), there was less of the bush and more of the French kitchen about goanna tail recipes, as the following competition entries show:
Goanna Tail.
Scald and skin the tail of a goanna. Cut into three-inch slices. Dip in egg and bread crumbs, and fry quickly to a golden brown. Olive oil is the best to fry in, but some do not like the flavour of olives.
Goanna Tail with Parsley Sauce.
Skin tail and cut into small pieces. Place in a saucepan, and just cover with water. Cook till tender. Make parsley sauce as follows:-Boil one pint of water, throw into it one tablespoon finely minced parsley and half a teaspoonful of salt. Then add two ounces flour, mixed to smooth paste in a gill of water. Stir over fire until it thickens. Break into it one or two ounces of butter. Put cooked tail into this, and serve hot.
Quotation for the Day.
You can never have enough garlic. With enough garlic, you can eat The New York Times.
Morley Safer.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Kangaroo for Dinner.
Here in Australia, today is not only Easter Monday, it is also Anzac Day. Previous Anzac Day posts have been From Hardtack to Anzacs (on the now-defunct Companion site), An Aussie War Cake, and a story which included recipes for ‘Drover’s Dream’ and ‘Bushman’s Brownie’. In the hope that you are not exhausted or bored with Aussie recipes, this week intend to give you as interesting a selection as I can muster.
Australians have an enduring love affair with The Bush. It is a romance that has withstood reality with the fierce determination that befits the best romances. Most of us live in the cities that cling to the very edge of this vast continent, and certainly most of us never venture anywhere near The Bush, yet we love it just the same. Hell, I love it too, and I was born in Yorkshire - which, though wild and uncouth by effete Home County standards, is pretty tame compared to the Australian version.
In celebration of this (to most of us) semi-mythical time and place called ‘The Bush’, today I am going to give you a smattering of ideas from entries to a competition for bush recipes run in 1938 by a Perth newspaper (The Western Mail) in 1938. All of today’s choices are for kangaroo meat. I am not sure what eating one of our national symbols (totems?) says about a nation, but I am very sure that some of you will tell me.
Kangaroo Rissoles.
Take some nice slices off a leg of kangaroo, and put it through the mincer, with two nice potatoes and two nice onions. Mix all together, and add pepper and salt to taste. A little bacon is very nice minced with it. Mix in some plain flour; add a beaten egg to bind and make into rissoles, and fry in hot fat until a nice brown. A great favourite with everyone.
Braised Kangaroo Steak.
Two things that must be remembered in the preparing of “bush mutton” (otherwise kangaroo) are firstly, to be careful to cut the meat across the grain as this makes a great difference as regards tenderness, secondly to use plenty of dripping in the cooking of rissoles, etc.
Cut steak from the middle portion of the ‘roo, place in casserole with about half lb. of bacon cut in thick pieces and a large, sliced onion.Cover with good dripping and slowly bake for a couple of hours. Potatoes or swedes cooked in with this make a tasty dish.
Kangaroo Tail Brawn.
Cut up and joint kangaroo tail, put on to boil with two onions, mixed herbs, salt and pepper. Boil until the meat leaves the bones, then take out all the bones and pour the mixture into a dish. Add two hard boiled eggs and parsley cut small. This will set well if left overnight.
Quotation for the Day.
If we’re not supposed to eat animals, how come they are made out of meat?
Tom Snyder.
Australians have an enduring love affair with The Bush. It is a romance that has withstood reality with the fierce determination that befits the best romances. Most of us live in the cities that cling to the very edge of this vast continent, and certainly most of us never venture anywhere near The Bush, yet we love it just the same. Hell, I love it too, and I was born in Yorkshire - which, though wild and uncouth by effete Home County standards, is pretty tame compared to the Australian version.
In celebration of this (to most of us) semi-mythical time and place called ‘The Bush’, today I am going to give you a smattering of ideas from entries to a competition for bush recipes run in 1938 by a Perth newspaper (The Western Mail) in 1938. All of today’s choices are for kangaroo meat. I am not sure what eating one of our national symbols (totems?) says about a nation, but I am very sure that some of you will tell me.
Kangaroo Rissoles.
Take some nice slices off a leg of kangaroo, and put it through the mincer, with two nice potatoes and two nice onions. Mix all together, and add pepper and salt to taste. A little bacon is very nice minced with it. Mix in some plain flour; add a beaten egg to bind and make into rissoles, and fry in hot fat until a nice brown. A great favourite with everyone.
Braised Kangaroo Steak.
Two things that must be remembered in the preparing of “bush mutton” (otherwise kangaroo) are firstly, to be careful to cut the meat across the grain as this makes a great difference as regards tenderness, secondly to use plenty of dripping in the cooking of rissoles, etc.
Cut steak from the middle portion of the ‘roo, place in casserole with about half lb. of bacon cut in thick pieces and a large, sliced onion.Cover with good dripping and slowly bake for a couple of hours. Potatoes or swedes cooked in with this make a tasty dish.
Kangaroo Tail Brawn.
Cut up and joint kangaroo tail, put on to boil with two onions, mixed herbs, salt and pepper. Boil until the meat leaves the bones, then take out all the bones and pour the mixture into a dish. Add two hard boiled eggs and parsley cut small. This will set well if left overnight.
Quotation for the Day.
If we’re not supposed to eat animals, how come they are made out of meat?
Tom Snyder.
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
Chutney, Yet Again.
Regular readers will be only too well aware that one of my favourite blog tactics is to start with the idea of ‘many ways’ to use (or make) an ingredient or dish – such as porridge, or lemon butter, or popcorn, or mustard, for example. Today I want to have a little recipe-trivia fun with one of my all-time favourite concepts – chutney. Chutney is definitely more of a concept than a recipe, don’t you think.
One of this week’s sources, Charles Herman Senn’s Book of Sauces (Chicago, 1915) gave us an insight into classical cuisine’s classic compound butters. Amongst the traditional delights Senn gave us Chutney Butter; he also gives the following interesting recipe:
Chutney Sauce.
Make a sauce the same as directed for venison sauce [given below], omitting the red currant jelly, and adding instead one heaped-up tablespoonful of mango chutney, which must be chopped up rather finely.
Venison Sauce.
Put into a saucepan half a pint of good brown sauce, a dessertspoonful of red currant jelly, half a glass of port wine, and the juice of half a lemon. Next add a dessertspoonful of meat glaze, boil up again, then skim, strain and serve.
And now for something completely different, because sometimes - just sometimes - ‘different’ is a good enough reason. From Random Recipes, an undated charity cookbook published by and sold for the benefit of the Society for Seamen’s Children, I give you:
Chutney Toast.
Add to the popular bacon and peanut butter, spread on toast, a little chopped Major Grey’s Chutney to give that “different taste.”
Soup being one of my deepest and most faithful loves, I had to see if chutney soup existed anywhere in the world. Imagine my profound disappointment when I discovered this:
Chutney Soup.
3 cups cooked elbow macaroni
1 cup chopped celery
½ cup chopped pickle
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pepper
½ cup salad dressing
½ cup dairy sour cream
1 cup cooked peas
Lettuce
Pimiento
Mix macaroni lightly with celery, pickle, and seasonings. Toss. Add salad dressing and sour cream. Fold in peas. Arrange salad in bowl. Garnish with crisp lettuce and pimiento slices.
The Gleaner (newspaper from Kingston, Jamaica) October 19, 1963
This is the soup you make when you are really making salad. I felt cheated. I did not allow my disappointment to delay my quest however, and eventually found the following recipe for
‘real’ chutney soup - depending on your definition of ‘real’ that is.
Apple Chutney Soup.
2 cans (10 ¾ ounces each) cream of asparagus soup.
1 can (10 ¾ ounces) cream of celery soup.
½ teaspoon curry powder
3 soup cans water
2 teaspoons chopped chutney
1 cup chopped apple.
In saucepan, blend soups and curry powder: gradually stir in water. Add chutney and apple. Heat, stirring occasionally. Makes 8 cups.
Tucson Daily Citizen, January 21, 1976
Before I finish this little ode to chutney, may I remind you of the previous posts on the topic -
A Chutney Emergency, and Chutney, Again.
Quotation for the Day.
All Chatneys should be quite thick, almost of the consistence of mashed turnips or stewed tomatoes, or stiff bread sauce. They are served with curries; and also with steaks, cutlets, cold meat, and fish.
Eliza Acton, Modern Cookery for Private Families (1845)
One of this week’s sources, Charles Herman Senn’s Book of Sauces (Chicago, 1915) gave us an insight into classical cuisine’s classic compound butters. Amongst the traditional delights Senn gave us Chutney Butter; he also gives the following interesting recipe:
Chutney Sauce.
Make a sauce the same as directed for venison sauce [given below], omitting the red currant jelly, and adding instead one heaped-up tablespoonful of mango chutney, which must be chopped up rather finely.
Venison Sauce.
Put into a saucepan half a pint of good brown sauce, a dessertspoonful of red currant jelly, half a glass of port wine, and the juice of half a lemon. Next add a dessertspoonful of meat glaze, boil up again, then skim, strain and serve.
And now for something completely different, because sometimes - just sometimes - ‘different’ is a good enough reason. From Random Recipes, an undated charity cookbook published by and sold for the benefit of the Society for Seamen’s Children, I give you:
Chutney Toast.
Add to the popular bacon and peanut butter, spread on toast, a little chopped Major Grey’s Chutney to give that “different taste.”
Soup being one of my deepest and most faithful loves, I had to see if chutney soup existed anywhere in the world. Imagine my profound disappointment when I discovered this:
Chutney Soup.
3 cups cooked elbow macaroni
1 cup chopped celery
½ cup chopped pickle
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pepper
½ cup salad dressing
½ cup dairy sour cream
1 cup cooked peas
Lettuce
Pimiento
Mix macaroni lightly with celery, pickle, and seasonings. Toss. Add salad dressing and sour cream. Fold in peas. Arrange salad in bowl. Garnish with crisp lettuce and pimiento slices.
The Gleaner (newspaper from Kingston, Jamaica) October 19, 1963
This is the soup you make when you are really making salad. I felt cheated. I did not allow my disappointment to delay my quest however, and eventually found the following recipe for
‘real’ chutney soup - depending on your definition of ‘real’ that is.
Apple Chutney Soup.
2 cans (10 ¾ ounces each) cream of asparagus soup.
1 can (10 ¾ ounces) cream of celery soup.
½ teaspoon curry powder
3 soup cans water
2 teaspoons chopped chutney
1 cup chopped apple.
In saucepan, blend soups and curry powder: gradually stir in water. Add chutney and apple. Heat, stirring occasionally. Makes 8 cups.
Tucson Daily Citizen, January 21, 1976
Before I finish this little ode to chutney, may I remind you of the previous posts on the topic -
A Chutney Emergency, and Chutney, Again.
Quotation for the Day.
All Chatneys should be quite thick, almost of the consistence of mashed turnips or stewed tomatoes, or stiff bread sauce. They are served with curries; and also with steaks, cutlets, cold meat, and fish.
Eliza Acton, Modern Cookery for Private Families (1845)
Monday, April 04, 2011
Butter makes it better.
Mackeral à la maître d’hôtel, as we found out in Friday’s post, has been a popular dish for a very long time. ‘The great authority’ mentioned in the post, the famous gourmand Grimod de la Reynière, was born in 1758 (died 1837), and à la maître d’hôtel was already a classic way of serving fish during his writing and eating lifetime. A dish served à la maître d’hôtel traditionally means that it is served with a ‘sauce’ of maître d’hôtel butter, which we discussed in a previous blog post (here). The other ‘compound’ or flavoured butter with a long history, but which is more familiar to most of us is garlic butter, which we have also met in a previous post (here). Compound butters are amongst the standard sauces of classic cuisine, yet we have hardly given them due reverence here to date, so methinks it is time to remedy that situation.
My ‘go to’ book on this topic is Charles Herman Senn’s Book of Sauces (Chicago, 1915). He gives no less than sixteen savoury versions of compound butters. Naturally he includes the very classic Ravigote Butter. In a previous post we learned that the name comes ‘from the French verb ravigoter, meaning to cheer or revive. This ability supposedly comes from the four herbs it traditionally contained - tarragon, chervil, chives, and burnet - which together had the reputation for being restorative.’ There are several ‘sauces’ named this way, including a vinaigrette type and one with a velouté base. Today I give you Senn’s version of the compound butter.
Ravigote, or Green Herb Butter.
Ingredients: 1½ ozs. chervil, 2 ozs. spinach, 1½ ozs. of green chives, 1 oz of tarragon, ½ oz. of parsley, 3 or 4 shallots, 6 ½ ozs. of butter, pepper and salt.
Method: Wash and pick the chervil, spinach, green chives, tarragon, and parsley. Put it in a sauce-pan with water and blanch. Drain well and pound in a mortar. Peel 3 or 4 shallots, chop finely, cook them in a little butter until of a golden color, and put with the herbs; work in 6 ozs. of butter, rub through a fine sieve, add a little pepper and salt, and spinach greening if necessary. The butter is then ready for use.
Amongst the classic butters Senn also gives recipes for several other interesting combinations. This one caught my fancy, because I cant resist anything with an Anglo-Indian twist.
Chutney Butter (Beurre à la Madras)
Ingredients: Four ounces of Mango chutney, 1 tablespoonful of French mustard, 6 to 8 ounces of fresh butter, and lemon juice. Method:
Pound the chutney in a mortar, add the French mustard, add work in the fresh butter, season to taste, and add a few drops of lemon juice. Rub through a hair sieve, place it on the ice, and use as required.
If you scale that recipe down, it is the perfect way to use up that last spoonful of any chutney lurking in the bottom of a jar in the depths of your refrigerator!
Quotation for the Day.
It was the sort of poverty of conception, reproached by some foreigner to English cookery, that we had but one sauce, and that that sauce was melted butter.
W. Windham Speeches Parl. (1812)
My ‘go to’ book on this topic is Charles Herman Senn’s Book of Sauces (Chicago, 1915). He gives no less than sixteen savoury versions of compound butters. Naturally he includes the very classic Ravigote Butter. In a previous post we learned that the name comes ‘from the French verb ravigoter, meaning to cheer or revive. This ability supposedly comes from the four herbs it traditionally contained - tarragon, chervil, chives, and burnet - which together had the reputation for being restorative.’ There are several ‘sauces’ named this way, including a vinaigrette type and one with a velouté base. Today I give you Senn’s version of the compound butter.
Ravigote, or Green Herb Butter.
Ingredients: 1½ ozs. chervil, 2 ozs. spinach, 1½ ozs. of green chives, 1 oz of tarragon, ½ oz. of parsley, 3 or 4 shallots, 6 ½ ozs. of butter, pepper and salt.
Method: Wash and pick the chervil, spinach, green chives, tarragon, and parsley. Put it in a sauce-pan with water and blanch. Drain well and pound in a mortar. Peel 3 or 4 shallots, chop finely, cook them in a little butter until of a golden color, and put with the herbs; work in 6 ozs. of butter, rub through a fine sieve, add a little pepper and salt, and spinach greening if necessary. The butter is then ready for use.
Amongst the classic butters Senn also gives recipes for several other interesting combinations. This one caught my fancy, because I cant resist anything with an Anglo-Indian twist.
Chutney Butter (Beurre à la Madras)
Ingredients: Four ounces of Mango chutney, 1 tablespoonful of French mustard, 6 to 8 ounces of fresh butter, and lemon juice. Method:
Pound the chutney in a mortar, add the French mustard, add work in the fresh butter, season to taste, and add a few drops of lemon juice. Rub through a hair sieve, place it on the ice, and use as required.
If you scale that recipe down, it is the perfect way to use up that last spoonful of any chutney lurking in the bottom of a jar in the depths of your refrigerator!
Quotation for the Day.
It was the sort of poverty of conception, reproached by some foreigner to English cookery, that we had but one sauce, and that that sauce was melted butter.
W. Windham Speeches Parl. (1812)
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Random Ideas for Milk.
The title says it all today folks. I have something different planned for you tomorrow, so to end our milk series I give you a little cache of milk recipes that didn’t fit in the posts earlier in the week.
Milk Yeast.
Take a pint of new milk, a tea-spoonful of salt, and a large spoonful of flour stirred in; set it in a warm place, and it will be fit for use in an hour. Twice the quantity of common yeast is required for use. It must be used soon, as it will not keep.
The Family Doctor, or guide to health, (1844) by H.B.Skinner
Milk Soda.
Half fill a tumbler with milk, and pour upon it soda water.
The Invalid’s own book, Lady Mary Anne Boode Cust, 1853.
Milk Jelly.
Ingredients: One ounce of Iceland Moss. One quart of milk or water. Two tablespoonfuls of powdered loaf sugar.
Time required (after the Iceland Moss has soaked all night), for ‘Water Jelly’, about one hour; for ‘Milk Jelly’, about two hours.
To Make [Milk] Jelly with Iceland Moss:
1. Wash one ounce of Iceland moss well in cold water.
2. Then put it in a basin of cold water and let it soak all night.
3. After that time, take it out of the water and squeeze it dry in a cloth.
4. Then put it in a saucepan, with one quart of cold milk.
5. Put the saucepan on the fire and let it boil for two hours; you must stir it frequently.
6. Then strain it through a sieve into a basin, and sweeten it with loaf sugar, according to taste.
7. When it is cold, turn the jelly out of the basin onto a dish, and it is ready for use.
Lessons in Cookery: Handbook of the National Training School for Cookery (London, 1879)
A Delicious Candy.
Milk Candy is a delicious one for children. It can be made with either brown, castor, or loaf sugar. When made with brown sugar it becomes very hard, with castor sugar slightly sticky, with loaf sugar it is crisp. The method is the same whichever sugar is used, and it can be flavoured to suit the tastes of those who are going to eat it. Lemon juice, vanilla, and peppermint essence can all be used to flavour it. For brown or castor sugar, take a breakfastcupful of sugar and the same quantity of milk. Put the milk and sugar into an enamelled pan, bring it to the boil, and boil it 20 minutes, when the candy should set; pour it into a greased tin, and score it well with the point of a knife before it is cold or it will not break into nice neat pieces. When using loaf sugar, use half a pint of milk to a pound of sugar, and treat exactly as above described. A breakfastcupful of milk and one of sugar will only make a small quantity of candy, as it reduces so much in the boiling.
The Echo, [newspaper], London, July 11, 1905.
Quotation for the Day
I won't eat any cereal that doesn't turn the milk purple.
Bill Watterson
Milk Yeast.
Take a pint of new milk, a tea-spoonful of salt, and a large spoonful of flour stirred in; set it in a warm place, and it will be fit for use in an hour. Twice the quantity of common yeast is required for use. It must be used soon, as it will not keep.
The Family Doctor, or guide to health, (1844) by H.B.Skinner
Milk Soda.
Half fill a tumbler with milk, and pour upon it soda water.
The Invalid’s own book, Lady Mary Anne Boode Cust, 1853.
Milk Jelly.
Ingredients: One ounce of Iceland Moss. One quart of milk or water. Two tablespoonfuls of powdered loaf sugar.
Time required (after the Iceland Moss has soaked all night), for ‘Water Jelly’, about one hour; for ‘Milk Jelly’, about two hours.
To Make [Milk] Jelly with Iceland Moss:
1. Wash one ounce of Iceland moss well in cold water.
2. Then put it in a basin of cold water and let it soak all night.
3. After that time, take it out of the water and squeeze it dry in a cloth.
4. Then put it in a saucepan, with one quart of cold milk.
5. Put the saucepan on the fire and let it boil for two hours; you must stir it frequently.
6. Then strain it through a sieve into a basin, and sweeten it with loaf sugar, according to taste.
7. When it is cold, turn the jelly out of the basin onto a dish, and it is ready for use.
Lessons in Cookery: Handbook of the National Training School for Cookery (London, 1879)
A Delicious Candy.
Milk Candy is a delicious one for children. It can be made with either brown, castor, or loaf sugar. When made with brown sugar it becomes very hard, with castor sugar slightly sticky, with loaf sugar it is crisp. The method is the same whichever sugar is used, and it can be flavoured to suit the tastes of those who are going to eat it. Lemon juice, vanilla, and peppermint essence can all be used to flavour it. For brown or castor sugar, take a breakfastcupful of sugar and the same quantity of milk. Put the milk and sugar into an enamelled pan, bring it to the boil, and boil it 20 minutes, when the candy should set; pour it into a greased tin, and score it well with the point of a knife before it is cold or it will not break into nice neat pieces. When using loaf sugar, use half a pint of milk to a pound of sugar, and treat exactly as above described. A breakfastcupful of milk and one of sugar will only make a small quantity of candy, as it reduces so much in the boiling.
The Echo, [newspaper], London, July 11, 1905.
Quotation for the Day
I won't eat any cereal that doesn't turn the milk purple.
Bill Watterson
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Milk Cake & Biscuits.
Today I want to continue the milk theme and give you a small selection of bread and cake recipes.
Novice bread bakers are often advised to start with milk breads of the softer, sweeter, quicker rising breakfast variety on the grounds that the dough is more forgiving and the final product closer to cake - so overall it is a less intimidating experiment. Here is a nice easy version from The Cooking Manual of Practical Directions for Economical Every-day Cookery, (1877), by Juliet Corson. You can, of course, substitute regular yeast for the hop yeast, which not too many of us have to hand these days.
Milk Bread.
Take one quart of milk, heat one-third of it, and scald with it half a pint of flour; if the milk is skimmed, use a small piece of butter; when the batter is cool, add the rest of the milk, one cup of hop yeast, half a tablespoon of salt, and flour enough to make it quite stiff; knead the dough until it is fine and smooth, and raise it overnight. This quantity makes three small loaves.
As we have often discussed before, early cakes (before the widespread use of baking powders) were in effect yeast-raised sweet breads. I give you a good example – which we would now call fruit bread - from a source with a most unlikely title for a cookery book.
Sour Milk Cake
Take two pounds of flour, three-quarters of a pound of butter, four eggs, one pound of sugar, one pound of currants or raisins, one-half pint of good yeast; wet it with milk, and mould it on a board. Let it rise overnight. A loaf should bake in three-quarters of an hour.
The Family Doctor, or guide to health, (1844) by H.B.Skinner
The instructions in the next recipe are minimalist to the point of non-existence, reminding us once again that in the not so distant past cooking skills were sufficiently widespread that cookery book writers could assume much knowledge on the part of their readers. Slightly more detailed recipes with the same title have the mixture rolled out and made up into small pieces – so perhaps are ‘cake’ that some of you would call ‘biscuits’?
Hot Milk Cake.
4 eggs, 2 cups sugar, 2 cups flour, ¾ cup hot milk, 2 teaspoonfuls baking powder.
Hanover Cook Book 1922.
For those of you who prefer your cake to be honest-to-goodness, properly cakey cake, may I refer you back to the Chocolate Malted Milk Cake recipe we enjoyed several years ago?
Quotation for the Day
I am thankful for laughter, except when milk comes out of my nose.
Woody Allen
Novice bread bakers are often advised to start with milk breads of the softer, sweeter, quicker rising breakfast variety on the grounds that the dough is more forgiving and the final product closer to cake - so overall it is a less intimidating experiment. Here is a nice easy version from The Cooking Manual of Practical Directions for Economical Every-day Cookery, (1877), by Juliet Corson. You can, of course, substitute regular yeast for the hop yeast, which not too many of us have to hand these days.
Milk Bread.
Take one quart of milk, heat one-third of it, and scald with it half a pint of flour; if the milk is skimmed, use a small piece of butter; when the batter is cool, add the rest of the milk, one cup of hop yeast, half a tablespoon of salt, and flour enough to make it quite stiff; knead the dough until it is fine and smooth, and raise it overnight. This quantity makes three small loaves.
As we have often discussed before, early cakes (before the widespread use of baking powders) were in effect yeast-raised sweet breads. I give you a good example – which we would now call fruit bread - from a source with a most unlikely title for a cookery book.
Sour Milk Cake
Take two pounds of flour, three-quarters of a pound of butter, four eggs, one pound of sugar, one pound of currants or raisins, one-half pint of good yeast; wet it with milk, and mould it on a board. Let it rise overnight. A loaf should bake in three-quarters of an hour.
The Family Doctor, or guide to health, (1844) by H.B.Skinner
The instructions in the next recipe are minimalist to the point of non-existence, reminding us once again that in the not so distant past cooking skills were sufficiently widespread that cookery book writers could assume much knowledge on the part of their readers. Slightly more detailed recipes with the same title have the mixture rolled out and made up into small pieces – so perhaps are ‘cake’ that some of you would call ‘biscuits’?
Hot Milk Cake.
4 eggs, 2 cups sugar, 2 cups flour, ¾ cup hot milk, 2 teaspoonfuls baking powder.
Hanover Cook Book 1922.
For those of you who prefer your cake to be honest-to-goodness, properly cakey cake, may I refer you back to the Chocolate Malted Milk Cake recipe we enjoyed several years ago?
Quotation for the Day
I am thankful for laughter, except when milk comes out of my nose.
Woody Allen
Friday, March 25, 2011
Friday Fun Food.
Earlier this week we had a couple of heavy-duty (dare I say “unpalatable”?) stories on bread made from blood and sawdust. It is the end of the week, and time for some Friday Fun (I know it is still Thursday for many of you – please don’t email me and tell me I got the date wrong – I assure you it is already Friday in Australia.)
I wondered about the origin of Chiffon Cake. It seems that before it was cake, chiffon cake was a jelly dessert (as in ‘set with gelatine’, i.e Jell-O, not ‘jelly as in jam’). Here is a recipe from a South Carolina newspaper in 1934.
Apricot Chiffon Cake.
1 tablespoon granulated gelatine.
4 tablespoons cold water.
1-2 cups apricot juice.
1 tablespoon lemon juice.
1/8 tablespoon salt.
3 egg yolks.
1 cup sugar.
2 tablespoons flour.
3 egg whites beaten.
1/3 cup cooked apricots.
½ cup whipped cream.
Soak gelatine and water 5 minutes. Beat yolks, add sugar, salt, and flour. Add fruit juices. Cook in double boiler until thick and creamy. Stir constantly. Add gelatin mixture and stir until dissolved. Cool. Fold in rest of the ingredients and pour into a glass mold. Chill until stiff, unmold and serve cut in slices. Garnish with apricots.
I am not certain when the real, cakey chiffon cake came into being. The usually repeated story is that it was invented by Harry Baker, who was not a baker at all but an insurance agent. He kept his recipe secret for two decades until he sold it to General Mills, who gave it away to Better Homes and Gardens Magazine, who published it in May 1948. The problem with this story is that there are recipes for chiffon cake before this date – not much before, I grant you. The Nevada State Journal of April 30, 1947 gave a recipe for “a new cake indeed … the baking sensation of the century” which turned out to be a chiffon cake. There may well be earlier recipes waiting to be discovered, but in the meanwhile, I am happy that it was invented in the late 1940’s.
One interesting thing is that the advertisement (for a brand of flour) which included the recipe said that it was from ‘Martha Meade’ and could therefore be trusted. There was a cookery book promoting the Sperry Brand of flour called Modern Meal Maker edited by Martha Meade and published in 1935. I have not found out anything else about this author, nor have I set eyes on a copy of the book so I don’t know if it included a recipe for chiffon cake.
The ‘secrets’ of chiffon cake are said to be two in number: – the use of vegetable oil, and the whites being whipped separately then folded in (I don’t believe this last one was a new idea in the 1940’s).
Here is the recipe from the Nevada newspaper of 1947.
Velvet Chiffon Cake.
Sift flour before measuring.
Use level measurements for all ingredients.
Preheat oven to baking temperature 325o [F] a slow moderate oven.
Have all ingredients at room temperature (about 70o)
Measure all ingredients before starting to mix cake.
Have ready an ungreased tube pan 10 in. diameter, 4 in. deep.
Sift together in a mixing bowl:-
2 cups sifted Sperry Drifted Snow “Home Perfected” Enriched Flour.
1 ½ cups granulated sugar.
2 teaspoons double-acting baking powder.
1 teaspoon salt.
Make a well in center of dry ingredients and add in order listed:-
½ cup cooking (salad) oil
5 egg yolks, unbeaten
¾ cup cold water
2 teaspoons vanilla extract or 1 teaspoon each vanilla and almond extracts.
Beat with a spoon until it forms a smooth batter.
In a very large mixing bowl place:-
1 cup egg whites, unbeaten (7 or 8)
½ teaspoon cream of tartar.
Whip (using hand whip, rotary beater, or electric mixer) until whites form very stiff peaks, Do not underbeat. (Whites should be much stiffer than for angel cake or meringue.) Then pour batter slowly and gradually over stiffly beaten egg whites, while gradually folding in with a rubber scraper or large spoon. Fold in until blended: do not stir. Pour immediately into the ungreased tube pan, Bake in preheated oven for 1 hour 15 minuts. When done, top surface of cake will spring back when lightly touched with the fingers, and the “cracks” will look dry. Take from oven and immediately place pan upside down, placing the tube part over a funnel or bottle. Let hang, free of table, until thoroughly cold. Loosen cake from sides and tubes with spatula. Turn pan over and hit edge sharply on table to loosen. Frost or not as desired.
16 to 20 serve in slices.
Quotation for the Day.
When baking, follow directions. When cooking, go by your own taste.
Laiko Bahrs
I wondered about the origin of Chiffon Cake. It seems that before it was cake, chiffon cake was a jelly dessert (as in ‘set with gelatine’, i.e Jell-O, not ‘jelly as in jam’). Here is a recipe from a South Carolina newspaper in 1934.
Apricot Chiffon Cake.
1 tablespoon granulated gelatine.
4 tablespoons cold water.
1-2 cups apricot juice.
1 tablespoon lemon juice.
1/8 tablespoon salt.
3 egg yolks.
1 cup sugar.
2 tablespoons flour.
3 egg whites beaten.
1/3 cup cooked apricots.
½ cup whipped cream.
Soak gelatine and water 5 minutes. Beat yolks, add sugar, salt, and flour. Add fruit juices. Cook in double boiler until thick and creamy. Stir constantly. Add gelatin mixture and stir until dissolved. Cool. Fold in rest of the ingredients and pour into a glass mold. Chill until stiff, unmold and serve cut in slices. Garnish with apricots.
I am not certain when the real, cakey chiffon cake came into being. The usually repeated story is that it was invented by Harry Baker, who was not a baker at all but an insurance agent. He kept his recipe secret for two decades until he sold it to General Mills, who gave it away to Better Homes and Gardens Magazine, who published it in May 1948. The problem with this story is that there are recipes for chiffon cake before this date – not much before, I grant you. The Nevada State Journal of April 30, 1947 gave a recipe for “a new cake indeed … the baking sensation of the century” which turned out to be a chiffon cake. There may well be earlier recipes waiting to be discovered, but in the meanwhile, I am happy that it was invented in the late 1940’s.
One interesting thing is that the advertisement (for a brand of flour) which included the recipe said that it was from ‘Martha Meade’ and could therefore be trusted. There was a cookery book promoting the Sperry Brand of flour called Modern Meal Maker edited by Martha Meade and published in 1935. I have not found out anything else about this author, nor have I set eyes on a copy of the book so I don’t know if it included a recipe for chiffon cake.
The ‘secrets’ of chiffon cake are said to be two in number: – the use of vegetable oil, and the whites being whipped separately then folded in (I don’t believe this last one was a new idea in the 1940’s).
Here is the recipe from the Nevada newspaper of 1947.
Velvet Chiffon Cake.
Sift flour before measuring.
Use level measurements for all ingredients.
Preheat oven to baking temperature 325o [F] a slow moderate oven.
Have all ingredients at room temperature (about 70o)
Measure all ingredients before starting to mix cake.
Have ready an ungreased tube pan 10 in. diameter, 4 in. deep.
Sift together in a mixing bowl:-
2 cups sifted Sperry Drifted Snow “Home Perfected” Enriched Flour.
1 ½ cups granulated sugar.
2 teaspoons double-acting baking powder.
1 teaspoon salt.
Make a well in center of dry ingredients and add in order listed:-
½ cup cooking (salad) oil
5 egg yolks, unbeaten
¾ cup cold water
2 teaspoons vanilla extract or 1 teaspoon each vanilla and almond extracts.
Beat with a spoon until it forms a smooth batter.
In a very large mixing bowl place:-
1 cup egg whites, unbeaten (7 or 8)
½ teaspoon cream of tartar.
Whip (using hand whip, rotary beater, or electric mixer) until whites form very stiff peaks, Do not underbeat. (Whites should be much stiffer than for angel cake or meringue.) Then pour batter slowly and gradually over stiffly beaten egg whites, while gradually folding in with a rubber scraper or large spoon. Fold in until blended: do not stir. Pour immediately into the ungreased tube pan, Bake in preheated oven for 1 hour 15 minuts. When done, top surface of cake will spring back when lightly touched with the fingers, and the “cracks” will look dry. Take from oven and immediately place pan upside down, placing the tube part over a funnel or bottle. Let hang, free of table, until thoroughly cold. Loosen cake from sides and tubes with spatula. Turn pan over and hit edge sharply on table to loosen. Frost or not as desired.
16 to 20 serve in slices.
Quotation for the Day.
When baking, follow directions. When cooking, go by your own taste.
Laiko Bahrs
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Coffee: First Impressions.
Centuries before it spread to Europe, the use of coffee was virtually confined to the Arab and then the Ottoman Empires. The Arabs protected their control of the coffee industry fiercely, not allowing plants to leave the country, and par-boiling or roasting all beans to destroy their fertility. They were remarkably successful in maintaining their monopoly, and until the end of the sixteenth century very few Europeans had tasted coffee.
The first reports to reach Europe were from the few diplomats or merchants who were sent to the Arab or Ottoman lands, or the rare, adventurous independent traveller. First accounts described coffee simply as a curiosity, a strange black brew made from berries and drunk - very hot - as the Muslim alternative to wine or beer, or for its medicinal qualities. Most of these early reports also made specific mention of the consumption of coffee in public places.
Prosper Alpinus was a physician and botanist who observed its use in Egypt, and is credited with bringing coffee back to Venice in about 1570. He was primarily interested in coffee as a botanical specimen, and does not mention drinking it himself, but noted that “Among the Arabs and Egyptians there is made a kind of decoction which is heavily used, and which they drink in place of wine: it is likewise sold in public places, just as wine is sold among us”
In 1573 a Bavarian – also a physician and botanist - called Leonhard Rauwolf, went to Egypt. He was the first person to describe the preparation of the drink , from a “fruit” which he recognised as being similar to that described by the classical Arab physicians as “buncho”, the name given to the green coffee bean. He said “Among the rest they have a very good Drink, by them called Chaube, that is almost black as Ink, and very good in Illness, chiefly that of the Stomach; of this they drink in the Morning early in open places before everybody, without any fear or regard, out of China cups, as hot as they can; they put it often to their Lips, but drink but little at a Time, and let it go round as they sit”
Several of the English travellers who visited Turkey at the end of the first decade of the 17th century returned to write about their adventures, reviving the enormous fascination with the Orient which had really begun with the crusades. They had some comments on the strange black brew.
William Biddulph was an English clergyman who visited Turkey in 1609. His reaction to the use of coffee was similar to Rauwolf’s in Aleppo “Their most common drink is coffa, which is a black kind of drink made of a kind of pulse like pease, called coava; which being ground in the mill and boiled in water, they drink it as hot as they can suffer it; which they find to agree very well with them against their crudities and feeding on herbs and raw meats”
The British poet George Sandys also visited Turkey at about the same time. He was singularly unimpressed with the lack of provision of places for travellers to eat or stay in “inhospitalle Turkie” , but did sample coffee for himself. He was not impressed. "Although they be destitute of taverns, they have their coffa-houses, which something resemble them. They sit there chatting most of the day and sip a drink called 'coffa' in little china dishes as hot as they can suffer it: black as soot, and tasting not much unlike it." He also noted that coffee was not the only thing on offer at the coffee shops: “Many of the Coffamen [keep] beautifull boyes, who serve as stales [i.e lures] to procure them customers.”
In 1610 William Lithgow left Scotland to escape a scandal involving a young woman. He spent many years travelling Europe and the East and survived many adventures, including torture at the hands of the Spanish Inquisition. He was impressed with the “delectable” sherberts in Constantinople, but noted that the drink given to honoured guests was “a cup of coffa, made of a kind of seed called coava, and of a blackish colour; which they drink so hot as possible they can”.
About ten years later, Sir Thomas Herbert visited Persia(Iran) and tasted coffee; he was definitely not impressed, calling it "a drink imitating that in the Stygian lake, black, thick, and bitter." The intrepid Robert Burton happened to be in Turkey at about the same time and was similarly unimpressed, saying “The Turks have a drink called Coffee (for they use no wine), so named of a berry as black as soot, and as bitter, (like that black drink which was in use among the Lacedæmonians, and perhaps the same), which they sip still off, and sup as warm as they can suffer” He added “they spend much time in those Coffee-houses, which are somewhat like our Ale-houses or Taverns, and there they sit chatting and drinking to drive away the time, and to be merry together, because they find by experience that kind of drink so used helpeth digestion, and procureth alacrity. Some of them take Opium to this purpose”
Within a few decades coffee went from being a talked about curiosity, to a popular if still controversial beverage in England and Europe. The first recorded instance of coffee being drunk in England was in 1637 in Oxford, where a Cretan scholar named Nathaniel Conopios “disseminated his grave learning and amused his colleagues by brewing a black drink from roasted coffee berries".
The coffee houses flourished and although much of the promotion was still related to its medicinal qualities, there is no doubt that simple enjoyment, particularly of its social aspects, was becoming its main attraction. The first treatise on coffee was published in 1657, by Walter Rumsey, and in the same year in London it was advertised as a drink which
"……closes the Orifice of the Stomack, fortifies the Heart within, helpeth Digestion, quickeneth the Spirits, maketh the Heart lightsom, is good against Eye-sores, Coughs or Colds, Rhumes, Consumptions, Head-ach, Dropsie, Gout, Scurvy, Kings Evil and many others."
Not everyone was pleased however, and also in that year, James Farr, the man who opened the second coffee house in London, the Rainbow, was taken to task “for making and selling a drink called coffee, whereby, in making the same, he annoyeth his neighboors by the evill smells, and for keeping of fire the most part night and day, whereby his chimney and chamber has been set on fire, to the great danger and affreightment of his neighboors.”
Recipe for the Day.
It is only relatively recently, historically, that coffee has been used as a cooking ingredient. May I refer you to the Coffee Recipes Archive for some early inspiration?
One thing that frustrates me is a recipe for ‘coffee cake’ that does not contain coffee. I know how this occurs (please don’t email me) – it often refers to cakes to have with coffee, which is not helpful as this includes all cakes, really.
Here, to redress the balance, is a true coffee cake:
Coffee Cake
5 cupfuls Flour
1 egg
2 cupfuls Currants (or 1 ½ cupfuls stoned and chopped raisins)
2 cupfuls sultanas
1 cupful butter
1 cupful treacle
1 cupful brown sugar
1 small cupful Lemon Peel
2 cupfuls boiling coffee
2 teaspoons Carbonate of soda
1 dessertspoonful ginger
Mix the butter with the flour, then add the fruit, egg, sugar, lemon peel, ginger and treacle. Mix the soda into the boiling coffee, then stir the coffee, still boiling, into the mixture. Stir quickly and thoroughly , pour into buttered tims, and bake in a quick oven for about 2 hours.
New Standard Cookery Illustrated (London, 1933)
Quotation for the Day
Coffee is real good when you drink it it gives you time to think. It's a lot more than just a drink; it's something happening. Not as in hip, but like an event, a place to be, but not like a location, but like somewhere within yourself. It gives you time, but not actual hours or minutes, but a chance to be, like be yourself, and have a second cup.
Gertrude Stein
The first reports to reach Europe were from the few diplomats or merchants who were sent to the Arab or Ottoman lands, or the rare, adventurous independent traveller. First accounts described coffee simply as a curiosity, a strange black brew made from berries and drunk - very hot - as the Muslim alternative to wine or beer, or for its medicinal qualities. Most of these early reports also made specific mention of the consumption of coffee in public places.
Prosper Alpinus was a physician and botanist who observed its use in Egypt, and is credited with bringing coffee back to Venice in about 1570. He was primarily interested in coffee as a botanical specimen, and does not mention drinking it himself, but noted that “Among the Arabs and Egyptians there is made a kind of decoction which is heavily used, and which they drink in place of wine: it is likewise sold in public places, just as wine is sold among us”
In 1573 a Bavarian – also a physician and botanist - called Leonhard Rauwolf, went to Egypt. He was the first person to describe the preparation of the drink , from a “fruit” which he recognised as being similar to that described by the classical Arab physicians as “buncho”, the name given to the green coffee bean. He said “Among the rest they have a very good Drink, by them called Chaube, that is almost black as Ink, and very good in Illness, chiefly that of the Stomach; of this they drink in the Morning early in open places before everybody, without any fear or regard, out of China cups, as hot as they can; they put it often to their Lips, but drink but little at a Time, and let it go round as they sit”
Several of the English travellers who visited Turkey at the end of the first decade of the 17th century returned to write about their adventures, reviving the enormous fascination with the Orient which had really begun with the crusades. They had some comments on the strange black brew.
William Biddulph was an English clergyman who visited Turkey in 1609. His reaction to the use of coffee was similar to Rauwolf’s in Aleppo “Their most common drink is coffa, which is a black kind of drink made of a kind of pulse like pease, called coava; which being ground in the mill and boiled in water, they drink it as hot as they can suffer it; which they find to agree very well with them against their crudities and feeding on herbs and raw meats”
The British poet George Sandys also visited Turkey at about the same time. He was singularly unimpressed with the lack of provision of places for travellers to eat or stay in “inhospitalle Turkie” , but did sample coffee for himself. He was not impressed. "Although they be destitute of taverns, they have their coffa-houses, which something resemble them. They sit there chatting most of the day and sip a drink called 'coffa' in little china dishes as hot as they can suffer it: black as soot, and tasting not much unlike it." He also noted that coffee was not the only thing on offer at the coffee shops: “Many of the Coffamen [keep] beautifull boyes, who serve as stales [i.e lures] to procure them customers.”
In 1610 William Lithgow left Scotland to escape a scandal involving a young woman. He spent many years travelling Europe and the East and survived many adventures, including torture at the hands of the Spanish Inquisition. He was impressed with the “delectable” sherberts in Constantinople, but noted that the drink given to honoured guests was “a cup of coffa, made of a kind of seed called coava, and of a blackish colour; which they drink so hot as possible they can”.
About ten years later, Sir Thomas Herbert visited Persia(Iran) and tasted coffee; he was definitely not impressed, calling it "a drink imitating that in the Stygian lake, black, thick, and bitter." The intrepid Robert Burton happened to be in Turkey at about the same time and was similarly unimpressed, saying “The Turks have a drink called Coffee (for they use no wine), so named of a berry as black as soot, and as bitter, (like that black drink which was in use among the Lacedæmonians, and perhaps the same), which they sip still off, and sup as warm as they can suffer” He added “they spend much time in those Coffee-houses, which are somewhat like our Ale-houses or Taverns, and there they sit chatting and drinking to drive away the time, and to be merry together, because they find by experience that kind of drink so used helpeth digestion, and procureth alacrity. Some of them take Opium to this purpose”
Within a few decades coffee went from being a talked about curiosity, to a popular if still controversial beverage in England and Europe. The first recorded instance of coffee being drunk in England was in 1637 in Oxford, where a Cretan scholar named Nathaniel Conopios “disseminated his grave learning and amused his colleagues by brewing a black drink from roasted coffee berries".
The coffee houses flourished and although much of the promotion was still related to its medicinal qualities, there is no doubt that simple enjoyment, particularly of its social aspects, was becoming its main attraction. The first treatise on coffee was published in 1657, by Walter Rumsey, and in the same year in London it was advertised as a drink which
"……closes the Orifice of the Stomack, fortifies the Heart within, helpeth Digestion, quickeneth the Spirits, maketh the Heart lightsom, is good against Eye-sores, Coughs or Colds, Rhumes, Consumptions, Head-ach, Dropsie, Gout, Scurvy, Kings Evil and many others."
Not everyone was pleased however, and also in that year, James Farr, the man who opened the second coffee house in London, the Rainbow, was taken to task “for making and selling a drink called coffee, whereby, in making the same, he annoyeth his neighboors by the evill smells, and for keeping of fire the most part night and day, whereby his chimney and chamber has been set on fire, to the great danger and affreightment of his neighboors.”
Recipe for the Day.
It is only relatively recently, historically, that coffee has been used as a cooking ingredient. May I refer you to the Coffee Recipes Archive for some early inspiration?
One thing that frustrates me is a recipe for ‘coffee cake’ that does not contain coffee. I know how this occurs (please don’t email me) – it often refers to cakes to have with coffee, which is not helpful as this includes all cakes, really.
Here, to redress the balance, is a true coffee cake:
Coffee Cake
5 cupfuls Flour
1 egg
2 cupfuls Currants (or 1 ½ cupfuls stoned and chopped raisins)
2 cupfuls sultanas
1 cupful butter
1 cupful treacle
1 cupful brown sugar
1 small cupful Lemon Peel
2 cupfuls boiling coffee
2 teaspoons Carbonate of soda
1 dessertspoonful ginger
Mix the butter with the flour, then add the fruit, egg, sugar, lemon peel, ginger and treacle. Mix the soda into the boiling coffee, then stir the coffee, still boiling, into the mixture. Stir quickly and thoroughly , pour into buttered tims, and bake in a quick oven for about 2 hours.
New Standard Cookery Illustrated (London, 1933)
Quotation for the Day
Coffee is real good when you drink it it gives you time to think. It's a lot more than just a drink; it's something happening. Not as in hip, but like an event, a place to be, but not like a location, but like somewhere within yourself. It gives you time, but not actual hours or minutes, but a chance to be, like be yourself, and have a second cup.
Gertrude Stein
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Sawdust Bread.
Blood Bread may not have appealed to you yesterday, but there is no doubt it would be more nutritious than ‘Sawdust Bread’. The epithet of ‘sawdust bread’ has been applied in past times to many breads of uncertain constitution and gritty, hard texture which have been produced in times of great privation or punishment such as wars and prisons. Sometimes such bread did literally contain sawdust – or ‘tree flour’ as it is also called, as this sounds slightly less inedible.
Nineteenth century scientists were able to justify the addition of sawdust to ordinary bread by claiming not only its nutritional value but its digestibility. The subject of ‘sawdust bread’ got quite a bit of journal space at the time on account of the possibility of it assisting the feeding of the poor at little cost to the rich during times when wheat prices were high.
Here is an extract from the Proceedings of the New York Agricultural Society in 1868.
There is a recipe for bread containing ‘tree flour’ for the use in prisoner of war camps, which is said to have been published in Germany in 1841. It sounds grim.
Black Bread.
50% bruised rye grains.
20% sliced sugar beets.
20% tree flour (saw dust).
10% minced leaves and straw.
Quotation for the Day
O God! that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap!
Thomas Hood.
Nineteenth century scientists were able to justify the addition of sawdust to ordinary bread by claiming not only its nutritional value but its digestibility. The subject of ‘sawdust bread’ got quite a bit of journal space at the time on account of the possibility of it assisting the feeding of the poor at little cost to the rich during times when wheat prices were high.
Here is an extract from the Proceedings of the New York Agricultural Society in 1868.
“Pereira says, "When woody fibre is comminuted and reduced by artificial processes, it is said to form a substance analogous to the amyloceous (starchy) principle and to be highly nutritious." Schubler states that "when wood is deprived of everything soluble, reduced to powder, subjected to the heat of an oven, and then ground in the manner of com, it yields, boiled with water, a flour which forms a jelly like that of wheat starch, and when fermented with leaven makes a perfectly uniform and spongy bread. …
Tomlinson, in his Cyclopedia, asserts that in Norway and Sweden sawdust is sometimes converted into bread for the people by a similar process; and the newspapers have stated, lately, that Norway was reduced to the necessity of using sawdust bread. So we see that woody fibre, practically as well as theoretically, is nutritious, and that heat will develop this nutriment. Heat will develop it into starch, and the action of an acid is necessary to turn it into sugar. The gastric juice supplies this acid, and after the proper application of heat, can dissolve woody fibre or starch, and probably convert it into sugar before it becomes nutritious. Starch is an element of respiration, and supplies animal heat, and, according to Liebig, the surplus contributes to the formation of fat in animals. ….And it is highly probable that even the trunks of trees, when so reduced, are nutritious.”
There is a recipe for bread containing ‘tree flour’ for the use in prisoner of war camps, which is said to have been published in Germany in 1841. It sounds grim.
Black Bread.
50% bruised rye grains.
20% sliced sugar beets.
20% tree flour (saw dust).
10% minced leaves and straw.
Quotation for the Day
O God! that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap!
Thomas Hood.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Russian Afternoon Tea Cake?
An ultra-short (but sweet :) ) post today folks, as other things seem to have taken over my life this last few days.
Could the pastry described in the following article from the New York Times of April 8, 1909, be filed under ‘fusion cuisine’ do you think? Does this combination of flavours and layers - suggested to be ‘Russian’ - have any degree of authenticity in that country? It sounds delicious. I am intrigued.
A rich, puff paste is divided into four parts, each rolled as thin as possible. On one sheet is put almond paste, on another pounded peanuts or pistache nuts, on a third currant jelly or orange marmalade. The layers are placed on each other, honey or maple syrup is poured over, and the whole baked in a moderate oven until delicate brown.
When cold the crust is cut in squares or diamonds, and passed on a plate covered with a lace doily.
Quotation for the Day.
Tea pot is on, the cups are waiting, Favorite chairs anticipating, No matter what I have to do, My friend there's always time for you.
Anon (?)
Could the pastry described in the following article from the New York Times of April 8, 1909, be filed under ‘fusion cuisine’ do you think? Does this combination of flavours and layers - suggested to be ‘Russian’ - have any degree of authenticity in that country? It sounds delicious. I am intrigued.
SWEETS FOR AFTERNOON TEA.
A young woman who has been to Russia has introduced on her tea table a little cake that is popular among her friends.A rich, puff paste is divided into four parts, each rolled as thin as possible. On one sheet is put almond paste, on another pounded peanuts or pistache nuts, on a third currant jelly or orange marmalade. The layers are placed on each other, honey or maple syrup is poured over, and the whole baked in a moderate oven until delicate brown.
When cold the crust is cut in squares or diamonds, and passed on a plate covered with a lace doily.
Quotation for the Day.
Tea pot is on, the cups are waiting, Favorite chairs anticipating, No matter what I have to do, My friend there's always time for you.
Anon (?)
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
Rook Pie Anyone?
A few years ago, a list of Britain’s ten best dishes was created and made much of. I have previously given this list, and intended to eventually find historical recipes for all the dishes for you. I don’t know how many I have found so far, but I am sure rook pie has not been one of them.
The rook is often confused with the crow, which is a carrion-eater. Humans tend to avoid eating carrion-eaters, I presume out of fear of inadvertently indirectly consuming an ancestor. Rooks, however, I am reliably informed, have a more acceptable diet to those who may choose to make a meal of the birds themselves.
I don’t know how popular rook pies have been in the past – most likely, I would guess, during times of necessity. They certainly seemed to engage some public interest during the meat-rationing times of World War II. There was a veritable flurry of correspondence on the topic in The Times during 1940.
Miss H. Brown, of 27. Peppard Road, Caversham, Reading, submitted the following recipe.
Rook Pie.
Use only the breast and legs of the bird, as the other parts are very bitter and unsuitable for eating. Fill the piedish with layers of breast and legs with hard-boiled eggs and a little fat bacon. Well season with pepper and salt. Cover with a good crust of pastry, and cook well in a moderate oven.
Over the ensuing months, other correspondents weighed in with hints about the making of rook pie. Some of the ideas were: the birds should be skinned, not plucked; best to steam the flesh before baking in the pie; pie is best eaten cold; best washed down with some good Bordeaux wine; pies are spoiled by having too little pepper and salt in them; the gravy should be liquid and the crust thick and flaky.
Quotation for the Day.
Hunting is now to most of us a game, whose relish seems based upon some mystic remembrance, in the blood, of ancient days when to hunter as well as hunted it was a matter of life and death.
Will Durant, Our Oriental Heritage (1935)
The rook is often confused with the crow, which is a carrion-eater. Humans tend to avoid eating carrion-eaters, I presume out of fear of inadvertently indirectly consuming an ancestor. Rooks, however, I am reliably informed, have a more acceptable diet to those who may choose to make a meal of the birds themselves.
I don’t know how popular rook pies have been in the past – most likely, I would guess, during times of necessity. They certainly seemed to engage some public interest during the meat-rationing times of World War II. There was a veritable flurry of correspondence on the topic in The Times during 1940.
Miss H. Brown, of 27. Peppard Road, Caversham, Reading, submitted the following recipe.
Rook Pie.
Use only the breast and legs of the bird, as the other parts are very bitter and unsuitable for eating. Fill the piedish with layers of breast and legs with hard-boiled eggs and a little fat bacon. Well season with pepper and salt. Cover with a good crust of pastry, and cook well in a moderate oven.
Over the ensuing months, other correspondents weighed in with hints about the making of rook pie. Some of the ideas were: the birds should be skinned, not plucked; best to steam the flesh before baking in the pie; pie is best eaten cold; best washed down with some good Bordeaux wine; pies are spoiled by having too little pepper and salt in them; the gravy should be liquid and the crust thick and flaky.
Quotation for the Day.
Hunting is now to most of us a game, whose relish seems based upon some mystic remembrance, in the blood, of ancient days when to hunter as well as hunted it was a matter of life and death.
Will Durant, Our Oriental Heritage (1935)
Friday, March 04, 2011
Indian Pease.
Yesterday’s post led me, not surprisingly, to a consideration of that other Indian staple we in the West know as dhal (or dall or dholl or various other spellings.) What did surprise me was that when I went in search of the word itself, it appears that it refers not to the cooked dish, but to the dried pulse that is its main ingredient – especially the pigeon pea (Cajanus indicus.) At least, that is the opinion of the Oxford English Dictionary which says dhall is ‘the pulse obtained from some leguminous plants, chiefly from the Cajan, Cajanus indicus, extensively used as an article of food in the East Indies.’
The pigeon pea probably originated in Asia, and has been cultivated by humans for millennia. It is extremely versatile. It is an important and nutritious food crop – the peas being eaten fresh, dried, canned, or sprouted, or in the form of flour, and the pods and shoots are also eaten. Not to be content with being a human food, the plant is useful as forage, cover, or nitrogen-rich green ‘manure’ crop too.
Here is the Anglo-Indian version of dhal from yesterday’s source, The Khaki Kook Book: a collection of a hundred cheap and practical recipes mostly from Hindustan, by Mary Kennedy Core, published c1917.
Dhal Bhat.
Dhal Bhat is the universal breakfast dish all over India. Prepare as for split pea curry, but omit the curry powder, if desired.
Often it is prepared by frying minced meat with the onions before the peas are added.
Split Pea Curry.
Soak the peas for two or three hours. Fry in the usual way the onion and curry powder. A teaspoonful of curry powder is enough for a cupful of soaked peas. Mix the peas with the fried mixture. Add plenty of water and cook until the peas are soft enough to mash up into a pulp. Serve with rice. An acid is desired with this curry.
Quotation for the Day.
Being pretty on the inside means you don’t hit your brother and you eat all your peas – that’s what my grandma taught me.
Lord Chesterfield.
The pigeon pea probably originated in Asia, and has been cultivated by humans for millennia. It is extremely versatile. It is an important and nutritious food crop – the peas being eaten fresh, dried, canned, or sprouted, or in the form of flour, and the pods and shoots are also eaten. Not to be content with being a human food, the plant is useful as forage, cover, or nitrogen-rich green ‘manure’ crop too.
Here is the Anglo-Indian version of dhal from yesterday’s source, The Khaki Kook Book: a collection of a hundred cheap and practical recipes mostly from Hindustan, by Mary Kennedy Core, published c1917.
Dhal Bhat.
Dhal Bhat is the universal breakfast dish all over India. Prepare as for split pea curry, but omit the curry powder, if desired.
Often it is prepared by frying minced meat with the onions before the peas are added.
Split Pea Curry.
Soak the peas for two or three hours. Fry in the usual way the onion and curry powder. A teaspoonful of curry powder is enough for a cupful of soaked peas. Mix the peas with the fried mixture. Add plenty of water and cook until the peas are soft enough to mash up into a pulp. Serve with rice. An acid is desired with this curry.
Quotation for the Day.
Being pretty on the inside means you don’t hit your brother and you eat all your peas – that’s what my grandma taught me.
Lord Chesterfield.
Thursday, March 03, 2011
Chupatti Letters.
Some time ago I spent a week considering the various forms of griddle cakes. There was one very important type that I missed – the Indian chapatti.
There is a marvellous story about chapattis being used for seditious purposes during the Indian Rebellion (the Sepoy Mutiny) of 1857.
On March 8, a Times correspondent in Bombay, wrote:
The explanation that came to be - I don’t know if it is historical fact or fascinating myth – was that the flat cakes of unleavened bread were messages of rebellion, coated in dough and baked, to be broken open and read by the recipient, who then re-coated and baked them (or made new ones) and sent them on to the next community in an ever-widening circle of sedition. I hope the story is true. Perhaps one of you with some knowledge of Indian history can enlighten us?
The Oxford English Dictionary defines a chapatti as ‘a cake of unleavened bread, generally made of coarse wheaten meal, flattened with the hand, and baked on a griddle. The usual form of native bread and the staple food of Upper India.’ The OED gives the first recorded use of the word in English as occurring in 1810 in the context ‘chow-patties, or bannocks.’ This seems a late occurrence to me. I suspect that some searching would discover an earlier use of the word, considering how long the English had already had a foot on the Indian subcontinent by this date.
For the recipe for the day, I give you two versions of chupatties from The Khaki Kook Book: a collection of a hundred cheap and practical recipes mostly from Hindustan, by Mary Kennedy Core, published c1917.
Chupatties.
Take a pound of whole wheat and mix it with water until a soft dough is formed. Knead this well. Put a damp cloth over it, and let it stand an hour or so. Then knead again. Make out into balls, each ball about as big as a walnut. Then roll each ball into a flat cake about as big around as a saucer. Bake these cakes one at a time over a very thick iron griddle that has been well heated. Keep turning them over and over while they are baking. Fold them up in a napkin as they are baked and keep in a warm place. The inside pan of a double boiler is a good place for them. To be properly made these cakes should be patted into shape instead of rolled, and the Hindustani women always do it that way. These chupatties are eaten with bujeas and curries.
Chupatties (Americanized).
Make a dough from a pound of whole wheat flour, a half teaspoonful of baking powder, and a little salt. Knead well and let stand. When ready to bake them, divide into balls as big as a walnut. Roll each out, spread a little oil or crisco over it; fold up and roll again. Grease an iron griddle and bake, turning from side to side. These are not actually fried, but the crisco in them and the greased griddle prevents them from getting hard, as they are apt to do if made according to No. 68 [the previous recipe].
Quotation for the Day.
There is a communion of more than our bodies when bread is broken and wine is drunk. And that is my answer, when people ask me: Why do you write about hunger, and not wars or love.
MFK Fisher
There is a marvellous story about chapattis being used for seditious purposes during the Indian Rebellion (the Sepoy Mutiny) of 1857.
On March 8, a Times correspondent in Bombay, wrote:
“A strange and to some observers a very disagreeable incident has occurred in the North-west. A few days since, a chowkeydar, or village policeman, of Cawnpore ran up to another in Futtteghur and gave him two chupatties. These are indigestible little unleavened cakes, the common food of the poorer classes. He ordered him to make ten more, and give two to each of the five nearest chowkeydars with the same order. He was obeyed, and in a few hours the whole country was in commotion with chowkeydars running about with these cakes. The wave swept province after province with a speed at which official orders never fly. The magistrates were powerless, and the chupatties at this moment are flying westward. Nobody has the least idea what it all means. Some officers fancy it is a ceremony intended to avert the cholera; others hint at treason – a view encouraged by the native officials; others talk of it as a trifle – a joke. For myself, I believe it to be the act of some wealthy fool in pursuance of a vow; but its significance is this: there are some 90,000 policemen in these provinces. If they should perchance imbibe dangerous ideas, how perfect is their organisation.”
The explanation that came to be - I don’t know if it is historical fact or fascinating myth – was that the flat cakes of unleavened bread were messages of rebellion, coated in dough and baked, to be broken open and read by the recipient, who then re-coated and baked them (or made new ones) and sent them on to the next community in an ever-widening circle of sedition. I hope the story is true. Perhaps one of you with some knowledge of Indian history can enlighten us?
The Oxford English Dictionary defines a chapatti as ‘a cake of unleavened bread, generally made of coarse wheaten meal, flattened with the hand, and baked on a griddle. The usual form of native bread and the staple food of Upper India.’ The OED gives the first recorded use of the word in English as occurring in 1810 in the context ‘chow-patties, or bannocks.’ This seems a late occurrence to me. I suspect that some searching would discover an earlier use of the word, considering how long the English had already had a foot on the Indian subcontinent by this date.
For the recipe for the day, I give you two versions of chupatties from The Khaki Kook Book: a collection of a hundred cheap and practical recipes mostly from Hindustan, by Mary Kennedy Core, published c1917.
Chupatties.
Take a pound of whole wheat and mix it with water until a soft dough is formed. Knead this well. Put a damp cloth over it, and let it stand an hour or so. Then knead again. Make out into balls, each ball about as big as a walnut. Then roll each ball into a flat cake about as big around as a saucer. Bake these cakes one at a time over a very thick iron griddle that has been well heated. Keep turning them over and over while they are baking. Fold them up in a napkin as they are baked and keep in a warm place. The inside pan of a double boiler is a good place for them. To be properly made these cakes should be patted into shape instead of rolled, and the Hindustani women always do it that way. These chupatties are eaten with bujeas and curries.
Chupatties (Americanized).
Make a dough from a pound of whole wheat flour, a half teaspoonful of baking powder, and a little salt. Knead well and let stand. When ready to bake them, divide into balls as big as a walnut. Roll each out, spread a little oil or crisco over it; fold up and roll again. Grease an iron griddle and bake, turning from side to side. These are not actually fried, but the crisco in them and the greased griddle prevents them from getting hard, as they are apt to do if made according to No. 68 [the previous recipe].
Quotation for the Day.
There is a communion of more than our bodies when bread is broken and wine is drunk. And that is my answer, when people ask me: Why do you write about hunger, and not wars or love.
MFK Fisher
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Washington’s Birthday, 1910.
This day, as my American friends are aware, is celebrated as the birthday of George Washington, first President of the United States. Washington himself celebrated his birthday on February 11, but this date became the 22nd when the Gregorian calendar was finally accepted in Britain and all her Dominions in 1752. I briefly explained this re-jigging of the calendar in a story several years ago, and made mention of it again in one about Frances Trollope (mother of the novelist Anthony Trollope ), who attended a ball in honour of the great man on this day in 1829.
Today I give you the menu from U.S.S Wilmington on Washington’s birthday in 1910. The ship was in Canton, China at the time, but there is nothing even vaguely oriental on the menu – nor should there be, for such an important national day. I am not sure then, why ‘English’ ham is there – perhaps it was symbolically routed in recognition of the Washington’s success in leading the American army to victory over her colonial masters. The other puzzle, which perhaps a military historian can answer, is why the menu styles the U.S.S Wilmington as ‘the trophy ship.’
Chestnut Dressing – Mrs. L.A.Lancel
1 lb. chestnuts boiled, 1 lb. beer, ½ lb. fresh pork, chopped all together. Season with salt and pepper; add ¼ loaf of baker’s bread soaked in water and drained, and 2 beaten eggs.
San Rafael Cook Book, 1906.
Quotation for the Day.
Birthdays are nature’s way of telling us to eat more cake.
Anon.
Today I give you the menu from U.S.S Wilmington on Washington’s birthday in 1910. The ship was in Canton, China at the time, but there is nothing even vaguely oriental on the menu – nor should there be, for such an important national day. I am not sure then, why ‘English’ ham is there – perhaps it was symbolically routed in recognition of the Washington’s success in leading the American army to victory over her colonial masters. The other puzzle, which perhaps a military historian can answer, is why the menu styles the U.S.S Wilmington as ‘the trophy ship.’
Queen Olives Celery
Oyster Soup
Roast Goose Roast Chicken
Chestnut Dressing
Giblet Gravy Cranberry Sauce
English Ham
Mashed Potatoes Sweet Potatoes
Cream Peas
Pumpkin Pie
Lemon Custard Pie
Chocolate Layer Cake
Jelly Roll Slices
Oranges Bananas Apples
Cigars Cigarettes Mixed Nuts
Coffee
Chestnut Dressing – Mrs. L.A.Lancel
1 lb. chestnuts boiled, 1 lb. beer, ½ lb. fresh pork, chopped all together. Season with salt and pepper; add ¼ loaf of baker’s bread soaked in water and drained, and 2 beaten eggs.
San Rafael Cook Book, 1906.
Quotation for the Day.
Birthdays are nature’s way of telling us to eat more cake.
Anon.
Friday, February 11, 2011
In Advance of Valentine’s Day.
It will be here on Monday, folks – that day of romance, sweethearts, kisses and gifts, or, if you are not a true believer, of crass commercialism, cheap chocolate, cheaper bubbles, and cheesy cards.
My gift to you for the day, given in advance to give you chance to use it for inspiration, is a wonderfully kitchy menu from the Café Bova, Boston, on Valentine’s Day 1912. The image of the menu I cannot give - it is too fuzzy, and if the resolution were any lower it would slide off the bottom of the page - so you will have to imagine the decoration of red hearts.
The love-struck beau wishing to impress his sweetheart with this romantic meal had to dig relatively deep, for the time. The meal cost $2.00.
From Household Cookery Recipes (London, 1901), I give you a recipe for the fish course.
Fillets of Plaice with White Sauce.
1 medium-sized plaice.
1 teaspoon lemon juice.
¾ pint fish sauce.
Salt and pepper.
Wash and dry the plaice on a cloth, and remove the fillets carefully thus: Take a sharp knife and cut a clean cut right down the middle of the fish from head to tail; then raise the fillets from the bones, keeping the knife flat on the bone and taking long clean cuts (not jagging,
or the fish will be wasted) ; season the fillets and fold them into three, skin side inside, or they will unroll in the cooking ; place them on a buttered baking- tin, sprinkle the lemon over them, and cover closely with buttered paper. They should be kept quite white in the cooking.
Bake in a slow oven for from 7 to 15 minutes, according to the size; dish up nicely and coat over with the sauce. Decorate with red crumbs or chopped parsley.
Fish Sauce.
The bones of a plaice, sole or whiting.
1 oz. butter.
1 oz. flour.
1 small onion.
1 small bay leaf.
1 sprig parsley.
1 sprig thyme.
½ pint milk.
½ pint water.
1 small piece carrot.
1 small piece turnip.
1 small piece celery.
6 peppercorns.
Seasoning.
Cut the head off the bones, wash and break them up, put them into a saucepan with the vegetables left in blocks, the herbs and spice ; season and pour over them the milk and water; simmer the stock slowly for 10 minutes ; strain ; dissolve the butter and cook the flour in it slowly for 3 or 4 minutes to make the sauce shiny, then off the fire, mix in the stock, stir to the boil and cook for 5 minutes ; strain the sauce.
Quotation for the Day.
I don't understand why Cupid was chosen to represent Valentine's Day. When I think about romance, the last thing on my mind is a short, chubby toddler coming at me with a weapon.
Author Unknown
My gift to you for the day, given in advance to give you chance to use it for inspiration, is a wonderfully kitchy menu from the Café Bova, Boston, on Valentine’s Day 1912. The image of the menu I cannot give - it is too fuzzy, and if the resolution were any lower it would slide off the bottom of the page - so you will have to imagine the decoration of red hearts.
CUPID’S MENU.
SOUP
Consommé De L’Amour
FISH
A Plaice in your Heart
JOINT
My Own Sweet Lamb
POULTRY
A Little Duck
SWEETS
You for my Sweetheart
ICES
Ice-simply adore You
I’m hungry for your sweet affection
So don’t leave me starving I pray
For the menu I’ve made a selection
Let me dine on the same every day.
The love-struck beau wishing to impress his sweetheart with this romantic meal had to dig relatively deep, for the time. The meal cost $2.00.
From Household Cookery Recipes (London, 1901), I give you a recipe for the fish course.
Fillets of Plaice with White Sauce.
1 medium-sized plaice.
1 teaspoon lemon juice.
¾ pint fish sauce.
Salt and pepper.
Wash and dry the plaice on a cloth, and remove the fillets carefully thus: Take a sharp knife and cut a clean cut right down the middle of the fish from head to tail; then raise the fillets from the bones, keeping the knife flat on the bone and taking long clean cuts (not jagging,
or the fish will be wasted) ; season the fillets and fold them into three, skin side inside, or they will unroll in the cooking ; place them on a buttered baking- tin, sprinkle the lemon over them, and cover closely with buttered paper. They should be kept quite white in the cooking.
Bake in a slow oven for from 7 to 15 minutes, according to the size; dish up nicely and coat over with the sauce. Decorate with red crumbs or chopped parsley.
Fish Sauce.
The bones of a plaice, sole or whiting.
1 oz. butter.
1 oz. flour.
1 small onion.
1 small bay leaf.
1 sprig parsley.
1 sprig thyme.
½ pint milk.
½ pint water.
1 small piece carrot.
1 small piece turnip.
1 small piece celery.
6 peppercorns.
Seasoning.
Cut the head off the bones, wash and break them up, put them into a saucepan with the vegetables left in blocks, the herbs and spice ; season and pour over them the milk and water; simmer the stock slowly for 10 minutes ; strain ; dissolve the butter and cook the flour in it slowly for 3 or 4 minutes to make the sauce shiny, then off the fire, mix in the stock, stir to the boil and cook for 5 minutes ; strain the sauce.
Quotation for the Day.
I don't understand why Cupid was chosen to represent Valentine's Day. When I think about romance, the last thing on my mind is a short, chubby toddler coming at me with a weapon.
Author Unknown
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