Tag Archive for '18th century'

Mental Floss: Why Early America was Obsessed with Nutmegs

I’ve got a post up on Mental Floss, unwrapping the mystery of the wooden nutmeg!

Although today we’re primarily familiar with nutmeg as a powder that comes in little plastic bottles, it’s actually the pit of the fruit of a tree native to the Banda Islands of Indonesia. Throughout the 18th century, the Dutch controlled the Banda Islands, keeping nutmeg scarce and prices high in international markets. In America, where nutmeg was a popular flavor in 18th and early 19th century cooking, the spice was extraordinarily expensive—so expensive, unscrupulous vendors allegedly tried to replicate nutmegs in wood.

Read the whole story here!

And below, a visual step-by-step of  making a wooden nutmeg.

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Photos and nutmeg by Douglas Strich.

Eight Flavors: Black Pepper and White Wine Snow Drops

snowdrop1An 18th century candy made with white pepper, brandy and sugar.

My first book, Eight Flavors: The Untold Story of American Cuisine will be released December 6th, but is available for pre-sale right now. To create the book, I researched the eight most popular flavors in American cooking: black pepper, vanilla, chili powder, curry powder, soy sauce, garlic, MSG, and Sriracha. When I dived deep into each of these eight topics, I often found fascinating new information and recipes–some of which didn’t make it into the book. So over the next few months, I’ll be publishing this exclusive content on my blog! If it whets your appetite to read the whole book, make sure to get your own copy here.

In the 21st century, black pepper sits firmly on the savory shelf of our kitchen. We add a twist from our peppers grinders to finish a salad, or crust the exterior of a thick steak with cracked peppercorns. But as I was researching  Eight Flavors,  I discovered pepper was used to complement sugar, just as often as it was used with salt.

Last week, I got the chance to do some of my first public speaking engagements in California, including a visit to the Dallidet Adobe in San Luis Obispo, California. As part of my talk, I made “pepper-cakes” from the 18th century, a simple candy made of pepper, alcohol and sugar. Easy enough to make, with an intense, but pleasant flavor.

 

The History

An early American reference to pepper used in sweets is found in Hannah Glasse’s The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy, first published in 1747 in England. This book was an extremely popular import to America, and also went through several domestic printings, with an added chapter on the use of American ingredients. In the first American edition in 1805, Glasse uses pepper in her pickles, fish recipes, and in many, but not all, of her meat recipes, often in combination with nutmeg, mace, cloves, parsley, savory, and thyme.

But tucked in next to recipes for cookies and gingerbread is this recipe:

To make pepper cakes.

Take half a gill of sack, half a quarter of an ounce of whole white-pepper, put it in, and boil it together a quarter of an hour; then take the pepper out, and put in as much double refined sugar as will make it like a paste; then drop it in what shape you please on plates, and let it dry itself.

The recipe is more of a candy than a cake: brandy is infused with pepper, mixed with sugar and left to dry. Sack is an old word for brandy, and a gill is a measurement of four ounces. So this recipes calls for 1/8 ounce white pepper, boiled for 15 minutes in 2 ounces (1/4 cup) of brandy. I suspect Glasse choose white pepper so as not to discolor the brandy; white pepper was prized historically because it kept white sauces (or in this case, white candy) looking clean and white. I decided to give this unusual recipe a try.

 

The Recipe

My tiniest saucepan is actually a two-cup measuring cup, perfect for my quarter cup of brandy and smattering of white peppercorns. I set it on my gas burner, and turned the flame up to high to bring the liquid to a hard boil. But after about two minutes of heating–it ignited!! A jet of flames leapt an impressive three feet into the air, flickering blue and gold, almost igniting my eyebrows in the process. Oops. I wonder why Hannah Glasse didn’t warn me about that?

Rather than smothering the flames, I turned off the burner and let it do its thing. The flames would burn off the alcohol, as well as infuse the aromatic oils from the pepper. It burned itself out in a couple minutes, and I strained the brandy into a glass bowl.

At this point, the smell of the white pepper infused brandy was very strong: musty, like old attic books. I added 1 ½ cups white sugar and mixed it into a paste. Glasse says  “drop it in what shape you please on plates,” so I used a mini ice cream scoop that I normally employ for doling out cookie dough. I shoveled tiny mounds of pale, cognac-colored sugar onto parchment-lined baking sheets, and set them aside to dry.

 

The Results

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The next morning, the little sugar balls were crusty and shockingly beautiful. Since the sugar is not cooked, the candy isn’t hard and smooth; instead, it’s crisp, crumbly, and sparkly! It looked like the top layer of snow: slightly melted, glistening in the sunshine. These simple treats were breathtakingly beautiful.

But tasted terrible.

I popped one in my mouth. Imagine the taste of musk. Something musky. White pepper is awful. It’s awful.

I hated the taste but loved the concept of this candy. So a couple quick substitutions, and I had made a vast improvement: instead of brandy, I used a sweet white wine. To replace the white pepper, classic Tellicherry black peppercorns offered a complex and surprisingly pleasant flavor.

Give this candy a try for a unique treat and what will seem like a  totally innovative way to use pepper– that’s actually over 200 years old.

 

White Wine and Black Pepper Snow Drops
Adapted from The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy, by Hannah Glasse, 1805 edition.

¼ cup sweet white wine
1 teaspoon black peppercorns
1 ½ cups white sugar

Yield: makes 40-60 candies

  1. Combine wine and pepper in a small saucepan; place on a stove top burner on high. Cover. Boil for five minutes.
  1. Add sugar, stir to combine. Drop into ½ teaspoon sized balls onto a parchment lined cookie sheet.
  1. Allow to dry completely. This part of the process can be complicated on a humid day, resulting is a sticky, never-quite-dry candy. If you can, make this candy in the winter, or used a well-airconditioned room.

 

The History Dish: Pumpernickel Ice Cream and Cinnamon Lemon Bay Leaf Ice Cream

icecream1Left: pumpernickel. Right: Cinnamon/bay leaf/lemon.

Here in New York City it has been HOT. But here’s my solution: I made two fascinating flavors of historic ice cream. Brown Bread ice cream, infused with actual pumpernickel bread, and a cinnamon-bay leaf-lemon ice cream made with fresh bay leaves.

The History

The spark of inspiration to make both these recipes came from my favorite book on ice cream history, Of Sugar and Snow: A History of Ice Cream Making.  The author, Jeri Quinzio, explained the rye bread ice cream appeared in the first book completely dedicated to ice cream making, written by a “Monsieur Emy” in France in 1768.  Rye bread crumbs are infused in the cream, but are strained out before freezing. A popular 19th century flavor, later recipes added toasted rye bread crumbs just before freezing for a bit of crunch, but Emy’s was a smooth ice cream.

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My bay leaf plant on my fire escape.

The second recipe I tried was called “Cinnamon Ice Cream (Creme de Cannelle),” from Agnes Marshall’s Book of Ices, published in 1885. Marshal was an ice cream genius, and I’ve written about her before. She was the first person to suggest using liquid nitrogen to freeze ice cream. Her recipes are genius, to the point of madness–like her savory Neapolitan made with tomatoes, artichokes, and peas.

Her cinnamon ice cream featured a stick of ceylon cinnamon, the zest of half a lemon, and a bay leaf. I had purchased a fresh bay leaf plant for just this recipe. A fresh bay leaf is dramatically different from dried: vegetal and aromatic, I wanted its special flavor for my crazy ice cream.

The Recipe

icecream2It’s pumpernickely!

For both of these recipes, I started with a basic custard ice cream:

Custard Ice Cream

  • 2 cups heavy whipping cream
  • 1 cup whole milk
  • 1 vanilla bean (or, other flavoring of your choice)
  • 6 large egg yolks
  • 3/4 cup sugar
  • 1/4 teaspoon coarse salt
  • Additional mix-ins

Add split and scraped vanilla bean to cream and milk in a saucepan. Bring to a boil.  In the meantime, in a glass bowl whisk together egg yolks, sugar and salt until blended. After cream mixture comes to a boil, pour slowly on the egg mixture, whisking constantly. Return to saucepan and cook over low heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until custard thickens slightly and evenly coats back of spoon (it should hold a line drawn by your finger).  Pour custard through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl set over ice, or place in refrigerator, until chilled–overnight is preferable. Churn in an ice-cream maker according to manufacturer’s instructions, adding mix-ins like nuts or fruits in the last few minutes of freezing. Transfer ice cream to a resealable plastic container and freeze until firm, about 2 hours.

For Pumpernickel Ice Cream: Toast 2 cups of pumpernickel bread until deep brown on the edges. Add to milk and cream and bring to a boil. Remove from heat, and allow to infuse for two minutes. Proceed as recipe directs.

For Cinnamon Ice Cream: To milk and cream, add “a finger-length” of Ceylon cinnamn (about 4 inches), 1 bay leaf, and the peel of half a lemon. Cut the peel off the lemon with a pairing knife, taking care to avoid the white pith. Bring milk, cream, and spice to a boil; remove from heat and allow to infuse 2 minutes. Proceed with recipes as directed.

I also made this fun little video of all the steps to make these ice creams; enjoy and I hope it’s helpful!

The Results

icecream3Cinnamon ice cream perfection.

The pumpernickel ice cream was genuinely repulsive. It has a mucus-like texture I noticed even before I froze it, some strange gooey quality infused from the bread. The flavor of the pumpernickel  gave the ice cream an assertive savory-sweet taste, as though I had made ice cream from an entire McDonald’s hamburger, ketchup, pickles and all.

But the cinnamon ice cream–oh! Interestingly, cinnamon is not the flavor I would have assigned to it. The flavor, delicate and complex, would be unidentifiable if you weren’t informed. There’s a greeness from the bay leaf, a gentle citus from the lemon zest, and a soft floral quality from the ceylon cinnamon. The combination goes perfectly with the texture of the custard. It’s a real winner, and the ice cream you should make to cool you down in the dog days of summer.

Cocktail Hour: The Ale Flip

IMG_2743The Ale Flip: a beer cocktail heated with a fire poker. Great for both a chilly day or summer camping trip.

One of my first forays into historical gastronomy was inspired by a book called Taverns of Yesteryear.

In 2003, I had just moved into an apartment off of Coventry Road in Cleveland Heights, Ohio. I’d live with my new roommate Jeff for all but one of the next 8 years. Early in our time together, we took a walk down the street to the local antique store, Attenson’s, four rooms and two floors packed floor to ceiling with treasures. We both especially loved the Bargain Basement, down the stairs, where chintzy and unwanted goods sat collecting dust on plywood shelves.

I don’t remember which one of us spotted Taverns first, but I know I bought it at Jeff’s urging. Published in 1960 to commemorate the 100th anniversary of “Schmidt’s of Philadelphia,” (Schmidt’s brewing closed in the mid-1980s, now it’s a dining and shopping center) it’s of a genre of books that were published when America was gearing up for its bicentennial. A slew of historical works came out, including some focused on food history. They were nostalgic, if not always accurate, tributes to historic eating and drinking.

Taverns started with what it calls a “brief ramble among Pennsylvania’s early inns and taverns.” In the back of the book, there were recipes. One caught our eye that seemed particular appalling: an Ale Flip

2 quarts beer
1 lemon
1/2 oz cinnamon
4 teaspoons brown sugar
1 glass ale
12 eggs

Break the eggs and separate the whites. Removed the peel from the lemon and cut in thin strips. Put the beer and ale in a large saucepan, add lemon peel, cinnamon and sugar, and bring to a boil. Beat the egg whites in a large bowl. Remove the saucepan from the fire and pour its contents onto the beaten-up egg whites. Without stirring the mixture, empty it into one of the pitchers. Pour it smartly back and forth from pitcher to pitcher, until the froth is deep. Serve in glass mugs.

Inspired by the book, Jeff & I (along with our third roommate, Tom) threw a party. Our excuse was when our friend Misha got his American citizenship; we celebrated with a Revolutionary War Party. There were costumes, as well as historic food, and the ale flip:

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original_aleflip
Photo cred: bankbryan

That’s me trying to pour it “smartly back and forth from pitcher to pitcher.” It was pretty bad; unevenly cooked meringue sitting on top of sweet, warm beer. One guest called it “hot beer custard.” I tried it again a few years later, and instead of pouring the concoction between pitchers, I beat egg whites into a meringue in a stand mixer, then slowly added the hot, mulled beer. It still tasted like hot beer custard.

The ale flip was indeed a drink consumed in 18th century New England taverns. As opposed to being heated in a saucepan, like the 20th century recipe, it was traditionally heated with a hot fire poker, and included a shot of rum as well as ale, eggs, and sugar. You can see it here in a 1772 bill from Bowen’s tavern in Rhode Island. It appears in Jerry Thomas’ 1862 bartending guide here; he adds grated nutmeg to the mixture. This 1897 book on life in old-timey England (another work of nostalgia) adds a blade of mace, a clove, and a piece of butter.

I decided to give the ale flip another chance when I came across in the modern book Cooking with Fire, which I’ve written about before when I tried the author’s “burnt cream” recipe . I’ve been planning an 18th century tavern dinner with Old Stone House of Brooklyn and Greenpoint Beer & Ale Co. It’s going to be a three course, 18th century meal with beer pairings–tickets and menu here–and I thought it might be nice if guests got a winter warmer when they walked in: the ale flip.

So I gave it one more shot, this time following historic recipes, and using a real fire poker. Here’s what it looks like when you plunge the poker in the drink:

ale_flip from Sarah Lohman on Vimeo.

And now I understand. This ale flip had intensely creamy mouth feel from the protein in the gently cooked egg. It’s slightly sweet from the brown sugar, but the brown ale gave a not unpleasant bitter coffee taste. The rum gave it an extra kicked that warmed inside and out.

So here’s my version. If you have a fireplace, I highly recommend it. And if you live in New York City Are, come on out on Wednesday, March 16th to our tavern feast and I’ll make one for you in person. Proceeds from the dinner benefit the rebuilding of Old Stone House’s outdoor cooking hearth and bread oven–where I teach classes every spring!

IMG_2744The ingredients: beer, brown sugar syrup, rum and an egg.

The Ale Flip
Based on an 18th Century New England tavern drink.

For the Sugar Syrup:
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup water
1/4 of a grated nutmeg
1 cinnamon stick
2 cloves
4 blades mace
and if you’re feeling fancy, a couple smashed cardamom pods.

Combine in a sauce pan and bring to a boil over high heat without stirring. Remove from heat.

For the drink:
1 bottle brown or amber ale (12 oz) room temperature and preferably flat. Just open a bottle, or a growler, and let it sit out.
1 egg
2-3 tablespoons sugar syrup
1 ounce dark or golden rum

Combine first three ingredients in a heat safe mug or bowl wide enough to accommodate the top of the fire poker. Whisk until egg is slightly frothy. Add rum.

Heat a fire poker in coals until hot. Pull out of the fire and plunge into mug/bowl. Remove when bubbling stops. If a little ash gets in there, it’s not going to hurt anyone–and you can scoop it off the top with a spoon. If the drink isn’t warm enough; repeat. Top with a bit of fresh, grated nutmeg.

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A finished flip!

Enjoy!