The picturesque banks of Philadelphia’s Schuylkill River teemed with the sights and sounds of a delicious feast. A group of men were busy performing their various assigned culinary tasks. In a huge cast iron pan, over a lively wood fire, several freshly caught perch were frying in fragrant butter. Plump beefsteaks sizzled on a nearby gridiron. Sweet-spicy pork was slowly roasting over an open fire. And on a table nearby, ingredients were being assembled for the evening’s pièce de résistance, a potent concoction they called Fish House punch: Aged mellow rum, cognac, pure spring water, fresh lemons, sugar and peach brandy. 
 
This day of feasting first took place in 1732, the inaugural year of the select “Colony in Schuylkill” club, the oldest social organization speaking the English language (apparently earlier London clubs were not formally organized). This exclusive men’s group was founded as a men’s fishing club by a few of the original Philadelphia settlers, many of whom immigrated with William Penn to the New World.

The small group's intent was to “spend an idyllic day every now and then dawdling on the banks of the Schuylkill River … shooting game birds and fishing and cooking their catch for dinner, with no wives or servants present.” Their first meeting house, which they called “the castle,” was built on the west side of the Schuylkill River when the area was still a wilderness. In 1781 the group was renamed the “State in Schuylkill” and for generations they fished in the city’s streams, then cooked and ate what they caught themselves, each one serving the other.
 
Also referred to as the “Schuylkill Fishing Company” or “Fish House Club,” members have always prepared their own food, and in the beginning devoted much time to hunting and fishing, enjoying the time spent outdoors and sticking to simple cooking techniques. For example, club rules stipulate that “high seasoning” should not be used when grilling steaks. Although city development, pollution, and overfishing have caused the club to move its location several times over the years, the citizens (as club members are called) still gather along the Schuylkill to feast on barbecued pork, grilled steaks, planked shad, and perch “thrown” in skillets, all prepared by club members and served with the group’s famous Fish House Punch, a potent rum-based brew.
 
Fish House Punch
 
To serve a crowd ~ 

• 2 cups lemon juice
• 6 oz. superfine granulated sugar
• 2 bottles Jamaican rum (750 ml each)
• 1 bottle brandy or cognac (750 ml)
• 1 cup peach brandy or ½ cup peach liqueur
• 8 oz club soda, chilled

 

1. One day in advance, combine sugar and lemon juice in a bowl. Stir until sugar is dissolved.
2. In a container with a lid, combine the sugar-lemon mixture, rum, brandy and peach brandy. Stir, cover and refrigerate.
3. When ready to serve, fill a punch bowl with ice, add club soda and stir gently. 

Enjoy with caution – this stuff is potent!
Some recipes include sliced frozen peaches, which is a lovely addition  ... my friends Heather and Sean Moran hosted us recently and served Fish House Punch this way and it was delicious!
 
Source: The Complete Bartender by Robyn M. Feller
 
Since you might want to enjoy this drink without having to make a huge amount, I thought I’d share this recipe for Small Batch Fish House Punch, courtesy of Modern Tiki:

• 1 1/2 oz dark Jamaican rum
• 3/4 oz cognac
• 1/2 oz apricot brandy
• 1 oz lemon juice
• 3/4 oz simple syrup
• 3-4 drops lemon oil (not extract)
• 1 oz water*

Combine all ingredients in a mixing glass and stir to combine. Serve over ice and garnish with a lemon wheel.
*You can also add ice to your mixing glass and stir to dilute the drink instead of simply adding water.
 
For further reading about Philadelphia’s early food scene, check out Mrs. Goodfellow: The Story of America’s First Cooking School.  

 Browse through any Victorian era cookbook and you will be rewarded with pages and pages of luscious cake recipes. Some names are familiar, such as Sponge Cake, Lemon Cake or Pound Cake, but many are no longer in common use - Election Cake, Queen Cake, Composition Cake, Taylor Cake and Black Cake (also known as plum cake). Several cakes were known by more than one name, such as Lady Cake  (also called Silver Cake or White Lady Cake). 
 
Lady Cake is a rich pound cake flavored with bitter almonds and rosewater, made snowy white by using only egg whites. In order not to waste the leftover egg yolks, “Gold or Golden” Cake was often made at the same time.  This rich yellow cake with a sunny hue was a similar cake made with egg yolks. Slices of these two cakes were often alternately placed in a silver cake basket for the tea table, the contrasting colors creating a pretty striped or checkerboard pattern.
 
According to nineteenth century cookbook writer Eliza Leslie, Lady Cake “must be flavored highly with bitter almonds; without them, sweet almonds have little or no taste, and are useless in lady cake." Bitter almonds (which are actually poisonous in large amounts) needed to be properly prepared prior to baking – the use of heat would safely extract their strong, bitter taste. This rather tedious process was done by blanching shelled bitter almonds in scalding water, and then placing them in a bowl of very cold water. They were then wiped dry and pounded (one at a time,) to a smooth paste in a clean marble mortar, along with a bit of rose water to improve the flavor and prevent them from becoming oily, heavy and dark. Miss Leslie suggests blanching and pounding the almonds the day before to achieve better flavor and a lighter color, thus enhancing both the taste and whiteness of the cake.  
 
The white color and delicate texture of Lady Cake was considered so exquisite and elegant that it was often used as a wedding cake in the nineteenth century, frosted with pure white icing and decorated with white flowers. As Leslie raved, "this cake is beautifully white, and (if the receipt is strictly followed) will be found delicious. If well made, and quite fresh, there is no cake better liked." Leslie's recipe is apparently for a large wedding-type cake since she stipulates using "the whites only of sixteen eggs, three quarters of a pound of sifted flour, half a pound of fresh butter and a pound of powdered white sugar." 
 
But many of the versions featured in cookbooks from the era were smaller-scale, calling for ingredients equal to half that amount. To make my modern-day version, I used historic recipes from Mrs. Crowen's American Lady's Cookery Book (1866) and an 1888 issue of Good Housekeeping magazine for reference, along with Greg Patent's wonderful Baking In America. I felt the most important thing regarding this cake was imparting the almond flavor. I wasn't sure how or if I could get bitter almonds, so I decided to blanch some almonds and crush them in the food processor along with some rose water as per a Patent's recipe. I also added some almond extract for extra almond flavor. This seemed to work fine. Another modern update I took advantage of was the use of cake flour instead of regular all-purpose flour. The lower protein content produced a finer-grained cake, and one that was whiter in color too, sticking with the pure white theme. 
 
Instead of icing it, I gave it a liberal sprinkling of confectioners sugar and paired it with a mix of fresh, local raspberries and strawberries for a pretty pop of color and some whipped cream for extra elegance. An authentic icing could be made using egg white, powdered sugar, and lemon or rose water for flavoring, as per Miss Leslie’s recipe.
 
1866 recipe from Mrs. Crowen's American Lady's Cookery Book:
WHITE LADY-CAKE..—Beat the whites of eight eggs to a high froth, add gradually a pound of white sugar finely ground, beat quarter of a pound of butter to a cream, add a teacup of sweet milk with a small teaspoonful of powdered volatile salts or saleratus dissolved in it; put the eggs to butter and milk, add as much sifted wheat flour as will make it as thick as pound-cake mixture, and a teaspoonful of orange-flower water or lemon extract then add quarter of a pound of shelled almonds, blanched and beaten to a paste with a little white of egg; beat the whole together until light and white; line a square tin pan with buttered paper,
Put in the mixture an inch deep, and bake half an in a quick oven. When done take it from the pan, when cold take the paper off, turn it upside down on the bottom of the pan and ice the side which was down; when the icing is nearly hard mark it in slices the width of a finger, and two inches and a half long.

Recipe from Good Housekeeping (courtesy of Catherine Owen)
Lady Cake.
Whites of six eggs, three cupfuls of flour, a cupful of butter (or half a cupful if a less rich cake is required), two cupfuls of sugar, about a cupful and a half of milk, two full teaspoonfuls of baking powder sifted into the flour. Beat butter and sugar to a cream, measure the milk but use only enough of it to make a stiff batter, sift in flour and add milk alternately; when quite smooth flavor with almond, vanilla, orange flower water, or the peel of a grated lemon, and a few drops of extract of rose, whichever may be preferred. Now slip in the whites of eggs beaten till they will not slip from the dish. If when the eggs are in, the cake is too stiff, as it most likely will be, add the rest of the milk. Bake in two pans in a good oven for forty-five minutes. If a large cake is desired bake in one pan an hour and a half.

And here's my modernized version. I took it to a friend's solstice party this weekend and all my taste testers loved it!
 
Lady Cake
 

• 2 sticks butter
• 1 1/2 cups sugar
• 3 cups cake flour (or 2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour)
• 2 tsp baking powder 
• ¼ tsp salt
• ½ cup unblanched almonds
• 2 tbsp rose water
• 1 tsp almond extract
• 1 cup milk

1. Butter a 10-inch Bundt pan, dust the inside with flour and set aside. 
2. Place the almonds in a bowl and cover with boiling water. Let stand for 15 to 20 minutes. When cool enough to handle, slip off the almond skins a few at a time and then pat dry. 
3. Put the almonds in the work bowl of a food processor and pulse a few times to coarsely chop. Add the rose water and pulse 4 or 5 more times. Scrape the bowl and continue pulsing until the mixture is a pasty texture. Add the almond extract and pulse to blend. (Alternatively, the almonds can be crushed with a mortar and pestle – pound 3 to 4 at a time along with a bit of the rose water to form a paste and then mix in the almond extract). 
4. Place the almonds in the cup of milk to steep.
5. Adjust the oven rack to the lower position and preheat to 350F.
6. Cream the butter until very fluffy. Slowly add the sugar, about ¼ cup at a time until the mixture is the texture of whipped cream. 
7. Beat the egg whites until stiff.
8. Sift the flour with the dry ingredients. Add a little to the butter mixture, and then add a little milk, making sure you hold a sieve over the mixing bowl to catch the almond paste. Continuing alternating in the way, ending with the flour (if using a mixer, make sure it is set to lowest speed). Scrape the batter down and then gently fold in the egg whites (best done by hand). 
9. Spoon mixture into Bundt pan and smooth the top. Bake for 50 to 60 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool on a wire rack for 20 minutes and then run a sharp knife around the edges to loosen and invert on a plate to cool completely. 
10. Sprinkle with confectioners sugar and serve with fresh fruit and/or whipped cream. Or to frost with an egg-white icing as Eliza Leslie used, take 3 oz fresh or pasteurized egg whites at room temperature, 1 pound of sifted confectioners sugar and ½ tsp lemon juice or 1 tablespoon rose water. Lightly whip the egg whites on medium speed until they form soft peaks, about 3 minutes. Lower the speed and gradually add the sugar a cup at a time. Add flavoring and beat on medium speed for 5 to 8 minutes or until the icing forms medium to stiff peaks. 

NOTE: This icing should be used within one day. For those leery of using egg whites, you can substitute ¼ meringue powder and ½ cup cold water for the fresh egg whites. 

Sources: Baking in America by Greg Patent; American Cookery by James Beard; Seventy-five receipts for pastry, cakes and sweetmeats by Eliza Leslie; Miss Leslie's New Cookery Book by Eliza Leslie; The Well-Decorated Cake by Toba Garrett; Savory Suppers and Fashionable Feasts by Susan Williams ​

Currently I’m working on a book about Delmonico’s with Max Tucci, focusing on his family’s experience with the iconic restaurant during the 20th century, particularly the impact of his dynamic grandfather, restaurateur Oscar Tucci. When doing some research, I was intrigued to see that bananas have actually factored into quite a few Delmonico dessert recipes over the years, such as Baked Alaska and Pain de banana Havanaise, both creations of another Delmonico chef, Charles Ranhofer. Found in Ranhofer’s epic cookbook The Epicurean, Pain de banana Havanaise is a fancy molded jelly, typical of the gelatin dishes that were fashionable in the 19th century. This stylish dish was again featured at a glamorous “Golden Era Dinner Ball” celebrating Delmonico’s 125th anniversary in 1959 hosted by Oscar.
 
I’d love to try to make this elegant dessert someday, but first need to find the type of specialty gelatin mold required. So for now, I’ll stick to the Delmonico banana ice cream recipe. The result was divinely rich and devoured by my taste testers! ​

Lemon is one of the most underrated flavors for sweets, often eclipsed by fan favorites chocolate and vanilla. On its own, lemon is sharp and acidic, but paired with sugar; it becomes a delightful sweet-tart combination. Cooks have been flavoring custards, puddings, and pies with lemons and other citrus fruits since medieval times. The acidic lemon was valued for both its flavor as well as its preservative effect, which made it a sought-after ingredient for many recipes. An expensive commodity, lemons would be preserved by drying or made into a liquid flavoring or essence like our baking extracts today.
 
In Colonial America, lemon was one of the most popular flavor ingredients. As a busy port city, Philadelphia received an abundance of tropical foods, including citrus fruits such as lemons and oranges from Portugal. In addition, several wealthy estates throughout the city featured hothouses that grew lemons and other fruit. One of the most famous was Lemon Hill, the country residence of Henry Pratt, Esq., which was located on the Schuylkill River, not far from the Fairmount water works. The site included over two hundred square feet of greenhouse and hothouse growing space, said to be “unrivaled in the Union.” In additional to rare and fragrant flowers and tropical plants, numerous fruit trees such as orange, banana, guava, cherimoya, plantain, and of course lemon, flourished there in the warm, humid environment. Merchant and banker Stephen Girard was another wealthy Philadelphian who was known to dabble in hothouse gardens. The small greenhouse on his country estate was stocked with lemons, mandarin oranges, and many other kinds of fruit.
 
As many cooks know, adding lemon to a recipe brings out the flavors of the other ingredients and makes everything taste fresher and brighter. Although sour by itself, when paired with butter, sugar, and eggs it results in a product that tastes tangy and pleasantly astringent. As noted by confectioner and restaurateur James Parkinson, American confectioners creatively used lemon to concoct a variety of delicious desserts, including the lemon pudding and ice cream on his Thousand Dollar Dinner menu. In fact, In the 1840s and 1850s, lemon was one of the most popular flavors of ice cream, along with vanilla, strawberry, and pineapple.
 
Lemon was also a beloved cookie flavoring, sometimes used interchangeably with rose-water or orange blossom water, such as Mrs. Goodfellow’s famous jumbles. When looking through the book of old family recipes lovingly made for me by my mom, I saw an intriguing lemon cookie recipe called “Mom’s Lemon Star Cookies” from her Grandmother Lawrence. According to my mom, her grandmother used to make them all the time. After giving them a try, I can see why! The recipe is simple, basically a sugar cookie recipe swapping lemon extract (or essence) for vanilla. Interestingly, I found the same exact recipe in a 1919 issue of Good Housekeeping. It's very likely this is where her grandmother saw it. That recipe says to ice them and scatter with chopped walnuts, but the recipe handed down in my family has no decorating suggestions. I decided to frost some of mine with the icing recipe below. I also simply sprinkled confectioners sugar on some of the cookies, which gave them a lovely speckled look.

My great-grandmother's recipe:
​
 Mom’s Lemon Star Cookies

• 1 cup sugar
• ¾ cup butter, softened
• 3 eggs
• 3 ½ cups flour
• 3 tsp baking powder
• ½ tsp salt
• 1 tbsp lemon extract or flavoring

 

1. Preheat oven to 375F
2. Mix butter and sugar together until creamy.
3. Beat in the three eggs.
4. Sift dry ingredients together, and slowly add to wet ingredients.
5. Stir in lemon flavoring (and a half tsp of lemon zest for extra zing if desired).
6. Roll out and cut into star shapes. If not firm enough, refrigerate the dough first.
7. Decorate with icing recipe below, (and scatter with chopped walnuts if desired) or simply sprinkle with confectioners sugar

Icing

• 1 egg white
• 2 cups sifted confectioners’ sugar
• 1 Tsp. lemon juice
  
  

Beat ingredients at high speed until firm. It should be of a soft enough consistency to flow through a fine pastry tube. While mixing add a few more drops of lemon juice or a tablespoon water to obtain this consistency as needed.

Ginger cookie recipes were ubiquitous in Colonial America, a product of the melting pot of cultures that made their way to the New World. The texture and shape of the cookies varied depending on the region they originated. Some were sweetened with honey, others with brown sugar, molasses (also called treacle) and/or golden syrup (both by-products of the sugar refining process). According to food historian Will Weaver, those that used honey came from middle European countries (such as Germany), and those that were molasses-based originated in England or Scotland.  Some recipes resulted in a cookie that was crisp and snappy, others were softer and thicker.

Amelia Simmons’ American Cookery (1796) features six different gingerbread recipes, including those that call for ingredients popular at the time such as caraway seeds, nutmeg and rosewater, as well as a recipe for “honey cake” that requires a full ounce of ginger. Philadelphia’s Eliza Leslie included recipes for Gingerbread Nuts (similar to Mrs. Goodfellow’s Spice Nuts), Common Gingerbread, and the patriotic sounding Lafayette Gingerbread (named after Washington confidant Gen. Marquis de Lafayette), which was actually a rich cake containing five eggs, a pint of molasses and pearl-ash or saleratus. Precursors to our modern baking agents, these ingredients would have made the cake rise, particularly when combined with the molasses.
​
The gingerbread recipe I like to make is the same one I used to make my yearly gingerbread house. It is Swedish in origin (from a friend of my aunt’s) – called PEPPARKAKS. In Scandinavia, spicy ginger cookies are often cut into star or heart shapes and decorated with icing, with names such as pepparkaka or peppernott. According to Alan Davidson in the Oxford Companion to Food, the literal translation is “pepper cake,” which refers to the “Pfefferlander,” the Far Eastern countries that were home to spices such as cinnamon, cloves, aniseed, nutmeg, cardamom and ginger. European bakers incorporated these flavorful spices into many of their baked goods. And some ginger or spice cookies do contain a pinch of black pepper to enhance the other spices. One thing I really like about this recipe is that no mixer is required, as the butter is melted with the brown sugar and molasses to mix it together, which is the “old method,” as per Davidson. Well, sometimes the old way really is the best. Enjoy!
 
PEPPARKAKS (Gingerbread)

• 1 cup brown sugar, firmly packed
• 1 cup molasses
• 1 cup butter
• 5 cups sifted flour
• 1 Tbsp. baking soda
• 1 Tbsp. cinnamon
• 1 Tbsp. ginger

1. Place brown sugar, molasses and butter in a large saucepan. Cook over medium heat, stirring frequently until well blended.
2. Sift together flour, baking soda, cinnamon and ginger. Stir into warm molasses mixture until well blended.
   While dough is still warm, remove about one quarter of the dough; knead by hand to shape into a fine grained ball.
   
3. Roll out on lightly floured surface to a rectangle about 1/8 inch thick. Use cookie cutters to cut out desired shapes.
   
4. Repeat with remaining dough until all pieces are cut out.
   
5. Place carefully on greased or parchment paper lined baking sheets.
   
6. Bake at 375 for about 8-10 min (will vary depending on size of cutters used)
7. Remove carefully to racks. Cool.
8. Decorate as desired with frosting (recipe follows).

Frosting

• 1 egg white
• 2 cups sifted confectioners’ sugar
• 1 Tsp. lemon juice
  Beat ingredients at high speed until firm. It should be of a soft enough consistency to flow through a fine pastry tube. While mixing add a few more drops of lemon juice or a tablespoon water to obtain this consistency as needed.

 
Sources: The Food Timeline (www.foodtimeline.org), The Christmas Cook by William Woys Weaver, The Oxford Companion to Food by Alan Davidson, I Hear America Cooking by Betty Fussell, Seventy-Five Receipts for Pastry, Cakes, and Sweetmeats by Eliza Leslie.

Cookies, cakes and pies are the desserts most Americans associate with Christmas today, but back in the Victorian era, plum pudding was the highlight of the holiday feast. Even the poor Cratchit family in the Dickens’ classic A Christmas Carol had one on their holiday table.

We have the British to thank for bringing their love of puddings to America, particularly plum pudding, which can be traced back to the 15th century. It originated as plum pottage (sometimes called plum porridge), which was more liquidly, like a soup, and served at the beginning of a meal. Like most puddings of the time, it was meat-based, so the ingredients included chopped beef or mutton, onions and sometimes other root vegetables, as well as dried fruit, breadcrumbs as a thickener, and copious amounts of wine, herbs and spices for flavor.

This rich dish was a favorite for feast days such as All Saints Day, Christmas and New Years Day, but it wasn’t until the 1600s when it became specifically associated with Christmas, and began to be referred to as the more luxurious sounding plum pudding or even Christmas pudding. Around this time it also evolved into the larger, more solid consistency of a “boiled pudding” due to the creation of the pudding-cloth. The ingredients would be mixed together, then tied up into a tidy bundle inside the cloth and boiled in a kettle over an open fire. Sometimes the pudding was even cooked directly over a simmering stew.

So where are the plums in the ingredient list? Well, ironically, there aren’t actually any plums in plum pudding. The name comes from the use of dried plums (prunes), which were commonly used in medieval times. Later, when other dried fruits such as raisins were introduced into England, these were substituted or added, but the “plum pudding” name stuck. Over the years, the meat was replaced by suet (the protective fat around the kidneys of beef or mutton) and the vegetables were gradually phased out, although some cooks still include a token carrot in their version.

By the time of the Victorian era, plum pudding had evolved into a sumptuous dessert with a more varied ingredient list. Suet, dried fruit (typically raisins, sultanas and currants) and spices such as cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves were mainstays, but any combination of nuts, lemon or orange peel, chopped apple, flour, eggs, sugar, milk and liquor were also commonly added. The Godey’s Lady’s Book of Receipts and Household Hints by Sarah Annie Frost (1870) lists nine different versions of plum pudding, with interesting titles and ingredient combinations such as Soyer’s New Christmas pudding (with powdered white sugar, candied citron and blanched bitter almonds), Barbara’s plum pudding (includes apples and molasses), Rich plum pudding without flour (uses breadcrumbs instead, as well as eight or nine eggs and brandy), and Unrivalled plum pudding (incorporates an incredible two pounds each of suet, breadcrumbs and sugar, two and a half pounds of raisins and 16 eggs). A sauce made from rum or brandy butter (sometimes called hard sauce) added right before serving also became customary.

I decided to make a recipe from the journal of Anna Maxwell of Philadelphia's historic Ebenezer Maxwell Mansion labeled as “The orthodox English recipe:”
One pound of raisins, half a pound of currants, half a pound of sugar, half a pound of flour, half a pound of bread crumbs, three-quarters of a pound of suet, a quarter of a pound of mixed candied peel, a small nutmeg, grated, a teaspoonful of ground cinnamon, ditto of pudding spice; the juice of one lemon and one peel grated, one orange ditto, six bitter almonds blanched and pounded, and a pinch of salt; mix the day or even longer before the pudding is needed, with six well-beaten eggs, a glass of cider or milk to moisten it, and boil for ten hours.

My adapted version ~
Plum Pudding

Makes one large (Bundt pan-sized) pudding or two smaller ones, serving 15-20 people
 

• 2 ¾ cups raisins

• 1 ½ cups dried currants
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 ¾ cups flour
• 1 ¾ cups bread crumbs (preferably from egg bread such as Challah or French brioche)
• 1 ½ cups suet (or lard)
• ½ cup chopped candied ginger
• Pinch of salt
• ½ cup chopped dried pineapple
• 1 small nutmeg, grated
• Juice of one orange and one peel, grated
• 1 teaspoon allspice
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• Juice of one lemon and one peel, grated
• 6 eggs, well-beaten
• ½ cup chopped almonds
• 1 cup of cider, milk or brandy

1. Mix together all the ingredients in a large bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and place in refrigerator overnight.
2. The next day, stir batter again to make sure ingredients are well mixed.
3. Coat a tin mold or Bundt pan with cooking spray and line with parchment paper. Pour mixture into pan and cover with foil. Add some water to cover the bottom of a crock-pot, place the pan inside and close the lid. Steam the pudding for 4-5 hours on high, then take it out and let it cool for an hour on a wire rack.
4. When cool, loosen the edges and carefully turn out onto a plate.

 
Just before serving make a hard sauce:
 
Anna’s version: Mix the 2 teaspoons cornstarch with 2 tablespoons water until smooth, then whisk in 2 egg yolks. Dissolve ¼ cup sugar in 1 cup milk, heat to boiling, then add the egg yolks and cornstarch. Stir over low heat until it has the thickness of cream; then take off the burner and mix in 1 tablespoon fruit jelly and a pinch grated nutmeg. Pour over the pudding and then cut in slices to serve.
 
OR
 
“Traditional” hard sauce from White House Cook Book (1889) by Fanny Lemira Gillette:
Stir a heaping teaspoonful of corn-starch in a little cold water to a smooth paste (or instead use a tablespoonful of sifted flour); add to it a cupful of boiling water, with one cupful of sugar, a piece of butter as large as an egg, boil all together ten minutes. Remove from the fire, and when cool, stir into it half of a cupful of brandy or wine. It should be about as thick as thin syrup.

While baking, the pudding will give off rich aromas – savory (almost a bacon smell) from the suet or lard, mixed with the spicy scent of the nutmeg, cinnamon and cloves. The verdict from my taste testers: delicious! Everyone loved the flavors and commented that it was similar to a fruitcake but more delicious and moist. Give it a try and resurrect a Victorian holiday tradition! 

Sources: The Oxford Companion to American Food and Drink Ed. by Andrew F. Smith; The Oxford Companion to Food by Alan Davidson; The Book of Christmas: Descriptive of the Customs, Ceremonies, Traditions By Thomas Kibble Hervey; Godey’s Lady’s Book Receipts and Household Hints; The Victorian Christmas by Anna Selby; China Bayles’ Book of Days by Susan Wittig Albert; Victorian Christmas by Bobbie Kalman and Barbara Bedell; A Sweet Taste of History by Walter Staib

If it were not for the persistence of an enterprising Victorian woman, Thanksgiving might never have become a national U.S. holiday. Days celebrating giving thanks, or "thanksgiving" were common in many colonial American communities throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. They were typically declared by ministers or governors in response to specific occasions, such as a military victory, a plentiful harvest, or beneficial rainfall, but no specific “Thanksgiving Day” was celebrated on a yearly basis.

In 1841, Rev. Alexander Young published Chronicles of the Pilgrim Fathers, detailing the relationship between Pilgrims and Thanksgiving. In the book, Young included a copy of a letter dated December 11, 1621 from Edward Winslow, one of the Plymouth colony leaders, describing a three-day feast enjoyed by the colonists and a large group of Native American guests held after the crops were harvested.

By the 1850s, almost every state and territory celebrated Thanksgiving, but it didn’t become a national holiday until President Abraham Lincoln issued a proclamation in 1863, the result of a seventeen-year campaign by Godey’s Lady’s Book editor Sarah Josepha Hale. She was able to convince President Lincoln that a national Thanksgiving might help heal the nation after the devastating Civil War. Soon after, with the Victorian era and all its opulence, Thanksgiving dinner became the one of the most carefully planned menus of the year for most families, with roast turkey the main feature. 

Preparations for this highly anticipated meal were done well in advance. Homes were colorfully decorated with seasonal autumn leaves, chrysanthemums, asters, palms, ferns, dried grasses and grains. Mince pies and plum pudding were baked at least a week or two ahead. The dinner table was set with pretty china dishes, crystal glasses and silver flatware. Tapered candles illuminated the dining room with a soft, mellow glow, and fireplaces blazed with a cozy light. Children often had their own attractively set table adored with brightly colored flowers, fruit and candy.
​
Oyster soup or consommé started the meal, and then came the roast turkey along with boiled onions, squash, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce or jelly, pickles, catsup, celery and apple sauce. Sherbet was served after the turkey to cleanse the palate and make room for chicken pie or another rich savory dish such as quail or roast duck. Desserts included treats such as pumpkin pie, sponge cake, cranberry tart, Thanksgiving (plum) pudding, fruits, nuts and ice cream. After enjoying all these delicious foods, guests would typically top off this festive dinner by retiring to the parlor to sip coffee and liquors. ​Some "food for thought" as you are celebrating the holiday this year. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

(Excerpt from The Thousand Dollar Dinner by Becky Diamond) 

A Thanksgiving staple, turkey is one of the most quintessential American foods. In fact, a whopping 45 million turkeys will be enjoyed on Thursday, according to a recent Time magazine estimate. If you ask most cooks how they will prepare their turkey, they will almost certainly say roasted, or maybe grilled or even the recent fad of using a deep fat-fryer. But did you know that boiling a turkey used to be the preferred way to serve it?
 
​In the nineteenth century, turkey was often featured as an elegant and fashionable selection on the “boiled dishes” course at fancy multi-course dinners—sometimes alongside ham, beef tongue, or other types of poultry. It was typically served after the fish and before the roasts and entrees because these moister cuts were considered less filling, and quicker and easier to digest. This theory was shared by French, English, and Italian cooks, and eventually made its way to multicourse American dinners as well.

Understandably, some thought that most of the flavor boiled away during the cooking process, making it taste rather plain. To counteract the blandness, cooks would serve the turkey alongside a tasty accompaniment, such as the celery and oyster sauce James Parkinson featured at his 1851 “Top Chef” cook-off known as the Thousand Dollar Dinner. Some chefs insisted stuffing the turkey was a necessary step in boiling a turkey, probably because it kept the meat tender and added flavor. Lucky for us, boiled turkey gradually began to lose favor throughout the later part of the nineteenth century, eventually eclipsed by other preparations, most notably the roasting and braising methods we know and love today.
 
How will you prepare your turkey this year? Do you have a tried and true method you use every Thanksgiving, or will you try something new? I’d love to hear about it -  please feel free to post your comments! 

​Bite into a macaroon and you are greeted with a delightful contrast of textures - crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside. This popular confection has had several iterations throughout its history. When first introduced, macaroons were made using very finely chopped almonds mixed with sugar and egg whites, almost like a marzipan. Later versions added coffee, vanilla, chocolate, cinnamon, lemon, orange, nuts or fruit. Today, macaroons are often made using fresh or dried coconut in place of the almonds. They are also sometimes formed into petite pastel colored sandwich cookies with a ganache filling.
 
There are conflicting stories about the origin of macaroons. Some authorities claim they are a product of Italy, particularly Renaissance-era Venice, with the name stemming from the Italian word maccherone and the Venetian macarone (which means fine paste). Indeed, Italian amaretti use the same ingredients with slightly varied amounts. However, the French also claim ownership. One story asserts the recipe originated in the town Cormery, where macaroons have been made in the monastery there since 791. Amusingly, the design of the cookie was said to mimic the shape of the monks’ navels. The city of Nancy also maintains they are the inventor of macaroons. Their version achieved fame by the 17th century, and became known as “Macaroons of the Macaroon Sisters.”
 
In America, recipes have been just as diverse, many using ingredients that were readily available, such as oatmeal, hazelnut, strawberry and apple jelly. The famous Delmonico’s Chef Charles Ranhofer featured seventeen different variations in his opus, The Epicurean.
 
The version I chose to try was Chocolate Macaroons, from another famous French chef, Pierre Blot. Best known as America’s first celebrity chef, Blot took his popular cooking classes “on the road” in the late 19th century. Instead of using crushed almonds to make these macaroons, Blot makes a paste out of baking chocolate, sugar and egg whites. Just these three ingredients made a deliciously chewy cookie that was also quick and easy to assemble.
 
The original recipe was featured in a little cookbook published in 1886 by Baker’s Chocolate company called Cocoa and Chocolate: A Short History of Their Production and Use. (At that time, companies were starting to promote their products via recipes and cookbooks).  The recipe is as follows: 
 
Chocolate Macaroons. Melt on a slow fire and in a tin pan three ounces of chocolate without sugar (known as Baker's chocolate); then work it to a thick paste with one pound of pulverized sugar and three whites of eggs. Roll the mixture down to the thickness of about one quarter of an inch; cut it in small round pieces with a paste-cutter, either plain or scalloped; butter a pan slightly and dust it with flour and sugar, half of each; place the pieces of paste or mixture in and bake in a hot, but not quick oven. Serve cold. — Pierre Blot
 
My revised version is very similar; I just increased the chocolate to 4 ounces to boost the chocolate flavor:
 
Chocolate Macaroons

• 4 oz. baking chocolate (typically 1 pkg)
• 1 lb. powdered sugar (about 3 ¾ cups)
• 3 egg whites

1. Preheat oven to 375F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
2. Melt chocolate in glass bowl in the microwave in 30-second increments, stirring well in between. Or melt over a pot of simmering water on the stove. Allow to cool.
3. Beat the egg whites just until well mixed.
4. Mix the egg whites and chocolate and then sift in the powdered sugar until it forms a soft dough.
5. Using a cookie scoop or teaspoon, place balls of dough on cookie sheets, leaving about an inch in between.  
6. Bake 10-12 minutes until puffed and then cool briefly on baking sheets before transferring to wire rack.

 
Makes about 4 dozen.
 
 Sources: Good Cooking by Marjorie Heseltine and Ula M. Dow; Dictonary of Gastronomy by Andre l. Simon and Robin Howe; Larousse Gastronomique; The Oxford Companion to Food by Alan Davidson.
 
 

​Success! I am so proud of this lemon meringue pie. Not only did it look and taste great, but it was based on a 19th century recipe - no small feat since ingredients and measurements were different then. And since today (August 15) is National Lemon Meringue Pie Day, there couldn't be a better time to share this particular recipe for the luscious sweet-tart dessert favorite.
I have become more adept at recreating these older recipes, but it does often require quite a bit of tweaking, as well as the realization that the final result may not be what was expected. For example, this recipe yielded a pie with richer and more custardy lemon filling - deliciously good, just different. And since it wasn't a very thick layer, when I added the meringue topping, the pie was not as generously sized as the typical sky-high lemon meringue pies we think of today. 
I actually embrace these differences between the old and new. In fact, I often prefer the older recipes - for example, Mrs. Rorer's Chocolate Cake and Mrs. Goodfellow's Jumbles. I am now adding this lemon pie recipe to this list. It is easy to make and I love the fact it is so easily replicated from a recipe over 125 years old! 
I feel lucky to have discovered it through my experiences testing and writing about the recipes from Anna Maxwell's Victorian- era journal for a new blog on the Ebenezer Maxwell Mansion's website.  Also known as “The First Lady of the House,” Anna Smith Maxwell (1831-1912) moved into the Mansion with her husband Ebenezer and their family in 1859. 
I have been fascinated with lemon pudding and its metamorphosis  into lemon meringue pie since I started researching Mrs. Goodfellow and America's first cooking school. Prior to this I was not aware that this beloved dessert had its origins in Philadelphia, a creation developed from one of Mrs. Goodfellow’s signature confections, a rich lemon pudding. The custardy pudding was either spooned into a pastry crust before baking (like a pie), or simply poured into a dish and baked without a bottom shell. At some point she cleverly thought to top her famous pudding with fluffy meringue. Thank goodness she did otherwise we would not be celebrating Lemon Meringue Pie Day today!

Here's my new favorite version, courtesy of Anna Maxwell's journal. Anna's original directions:
Lemon Pie 
Grate the rinds of three lemons, and the juice of one. 8 tablespoons of sugar, the yolks of six eggs, 1 tablespoon of flour, 6 of sugar 1 cup of cream. Line the pans with crusts and pour in the mixture and bake. Take the six whites of the eggs and six tablespoons of sugar mixed well together and after the pies are baked spread it over them and return to the oven until brown.

And here's the modernized version:
Lemon Meringue Pie

• 3 lemons
• 1/2 cup sugar, plus 6 tablespoons 
• 6 eggs, separated 
• 1 tablespoon flour
• 1 cup cream or milk
• 1 prebaked pie crust (or use recipe below)* 
• Pinch cream of tartar 

​

1. Preheat over to 350F
2. Grate the rinds of the lemons, and extract juice from one.
3. Combine with 1/2 cup sugar, 6 egg yolks, flour and cream.
4. Pour mixture into the pie crust-lined pan and bake at 350 for a half hour. Cover edges of pie crust with foil to prevent burning.
5. Beat 6 egg whites with an electric mixer on medium speed until foamy
6. Add cream of tartar and continue beating until whites form softly curling peaks
7. Slowly add 6 tablespoons sugar and keep beating until whites form fluffy, firm peaks that curl slightly at their tips when the beater is raised. 
8. Spread the meringue over the baked pie and return to the oven and bake for about 10 minutes or until nicely browned on top.
9. Remove and let cool on a wire rack for about an hour and then refrigerate until ready to serve. 

* Flaky piecrust
(I prefer all butter pie crusts to those that use vegetable shortening - I think they have more flavor for one thing. This one is very easy to work with and works very well in a food processor. It is from Greg Patent’s amazing cookbook, Baking in America. Another reason I really like this recipe - I think the cake flour makes the dough a little softer and the resulting pie crust more tender).

• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/3 cup cake flour
• 1/4 tsp. salt
• 1/2 cup (1 stick) butter 
• 1/4 cup ice water
• 1/2 tsp cider vinegar
• 1 large egg yolk

​​

1. Place the flour in a food processor with the salt and pulse. Cut the butter into 1-inch chunks and add them to the flour. Pulse 4 to 6 times to break them up.
2. Combine the vinegar and egg yolk in a measuring cup and add enough ice water to bring the volume up to ½ cup. (You may not need to use all of the liquid, unless your flour is very dry.) While pulsing, add the liquid in a steady stream until the flour looks crumbly and damp. Between 25 and 30 pulses should be enough. Don’t let the dough form a ball. The crumbs should adhere when you gather them in your hand. If not, add a few more drops of ice water.
3. Turn out the dough and divide it into 2 pieces, one slightly larger than the other. Wrap each piece in plastic wrap and press it into a disk. Refrigerate for 30 minutes to an hour before rolling.
4. Roll out and place in a 9-in pie plate. Refrigerate for one hour. 
5. Adjust oven to center position and preheat to 400F.
6. Line chilled past shell with a square of aluminum foil and fill with dried beans. Bake for 20 min. Remove from oven, take out foil and beans and prick all over with a fork. Return to oven and bake for about 10 more min. Cool completely on wire rack before filling. 

For more on lemon meringue pie and its history as a Victorian-era creation, see the blog post on the Ebenezer Maxwell Mansion website:  Lemon Pie