​On a mild April evening in 1851, thirty lucky gentlemen experienced the meal of a lifetime. A twelve-hour, seventeen-course feast, this extravagant dinner was famously coined the “Thousand Dollar Dinner” by Philadelphia newspapers as it reputedly cost $1,000, which is about $32,000 in today’s money.
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Almost 165 years later, another group of thirty diners got the chance to experience and taste dishes from this glorious meal. On March 13, 2016, the Historic Foodways Society of the Delaware Valley (HFSDV) hosted an amazing 13-course rendition of James Parkinson’s 1851 Thousand Dollar Dinner. The Chadds Ford Historical Society graciously provided their wonderful space for the occasion. It was incredible to be part of this event and see all the foods I researched and wrote about for three years "come to life."
 
HFSDV members made most of the food for this remarkable meal, basing the dishes on nineteenth century recipes gleaned from a number of period cookbooks, including The Complete Confectioner by Eleanor Parkinson (James’ mother). Every single dish was outstanding - as delicious as it was visually stunning. Jill Newirth Horn, Editor and Photographer for the Philadelphia Women's Culinary Guild PWCG Newsletter, kindly chronicled the event by taking several masterful photographs of the amazing dishes, as you can see throughout this post.

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As was typical of a 19th century dinner party, the first course was oysters. Oysters on Shell with Kirschwasser Glacee to be exact – prepared by Executive Chef Adam Diltz of Johnny Brenda’s restaurant in Philadelphia. This dish was beautifully presented –a single raw oyster on shell perched atop a bed of coarse salt. The brininess of the oysters paired wonderfully with the luscious Chateau Cantegril Sauternes 2010 skillfully chosen by Vicki. An unusual pairing, but just as was featured at Parkinson’s original dinner, and everyone loved it.

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​The second course was Kensington Turtle Soup made by Dan Macey with farmed terrapin from Maryland. This thick, rich, and slightly spicy soup was hearty, stew-like and delicious, and Dan’s commentary on making the soup was informative and entertaining. What a treat to try this historic, beloved dish – a true Philadelphia favorite.
 

Turkey in celery sauce made by Mercy Ingraham was the next item, part of the boiled dishes course. Mercy admitted she had never boiled a turkey (not many folks have – our modern palates prefer roasting), but you wouldn’t have known, as it turned out beautifully! A lighter red, Domaine de Robert Beaujolais Cru Morgon 2014, was the wine paired with it – as Vicki said, a perfect match for turkey and a wine often featured on many Thanksgiving tables.

​The fifth course (cold dishes) was perhaps the most remarkable – two stunning aspics (one fish and one vegetable) made by Dan Macey. I was very curious to try these since I had spent a great deal of time researching and writing about these elegantly garnished cold cooked foods set in aspic, so popular in the 19th century. Dan’s versions were exquisite – the vegetable aspic was a colorful rainbow of vegetables formed into a tall molded tower. The fish aspic was a variety of different fish arranged in a circular mold and set into a mango-flavored aspic prettily decorated with parsley. Now I can see why these were so beloved by Victorians – not only were they gorgeous works of art, but the aspic also helped keep the food inside perfectly fresh. The wine pairing for this course was Savory & James Amontillado Sherry, which accented the aspics nicely.

​Next up was Vol-au-Vent a la Financiere. Few dishes present as pretty a picture as vol-au-vent - a round puff pastry with a savory filling topped with a petite pastry lid. Dan’s version was very similar to Parkinson’s - a mix of sautéed mushrooms and chicken, simmered in a rich brown sauce flavored with sherry. It was a striking, delectable dish, another I had wanted to try!

​Then we had Spring Chicken on Toast – tender young chicken set on buttered toast garnished with rich creamy gravy, prepared by Cheryl Trozzi. It was flavorful and beautifully presented. Vicki chose a sparkling Riesling as the wine pairing – the delicious and festive Dr. Heidemann-Bergweiler Riesling Brut Sekt, a perfect partner.   

We then moved on to a course of vegetables, also prepared by Cheryl Trozzi. She chose three vegetables from the original menu – sweet potatoes, asparagus and cauliflower. Since the way the vegetables were prepared for the original dinner is unknown, Cheryl combed through various historic cookbooks to find an interesting recipe for sweet potato balls from The Kentucky Housewife (1839) cookbook. These were absolutely delicious – like mini sweet potato dumplings, sweet and luscious with hints of nutmeg and cinnamon. The asparagus was tender and flavorful - prepared boiled as per a recipe from The Virginia Housewife (1824) by Mary Randolph. This cookbook also provided the inspiration for the cauliflower recipe, which also specified boiling as the cooking method. Cheryl nicely dressed up the dish by adding a tasty white sauce, courtesy of The Carolina Housewife (1847). 

After the vegetables, we sipped a delightful Hungarian Tokaji wine. This served as our Coup de Milieu (the meal’s mid-way pause), which was traditionally a refreshing sorbet or slushy punch. Parkinson had created Sorbets au vin de Tokia, a rejuvenating sorbet made from a rare Tokaji, specifically for The Thousand Dollar Dinner. The Chateau Megyer Tokaji Aszu 3 Puttonyos 2010 selected by Vicki was a perfect choice that whetted our appetites for the remaining courses.

​It was now time for dessert! Parkinson’s menu had featured four dessert courses, and the HFSDV group stuck with this original theme, beginning with a pastry course of Gateaux a la Napolitaine and Meringues a la Crème. The Gateaux was made by Chef Joel Vitart of C’est La Vie Bakery in New Hope, PA and it was gorgeous – three colorful layers of chocolate cake, creamy vanilla custard and raspberry mousse, draped in rich raspberry sauce. Simply divine, it tasted every bit as good as it looked. It was served alongside meringue cookies topped with whipped cream – scrumptious! As on Parkinson’s original menu, these treats were served with Madeira, a traditional “dessert wine.” The vintage chosen by Vicki was Blandy’s Medium Dry Madeira Rainwater - a delicious pairing for these two sweets. 

For the next sweet course, Confectionery, we enjoyed some colorful, candied fennel seeds provided by Mercy Ingraham. Then it was on to the ices and ice cream course. This was a generous molded scoop of delightfully sweet-tart lemon ice cream prepared by Cheryl Trozzi, accompanied by strawberries and Wafers a la Francaise made from Eleanor Parkinson’s (James’ mother) original recipe. We finished up the dessert courses (Fruits and Nuts) with a colorful plate of apples, figs, oranges and almonds provided by Carol Pollock. 

​Now fully satiated, it was easy to imagine how the original Thousand Dollar Dinner guests must have felt! As our final homage to the meal, we ended with Café Noir - a simple cup of strong, black coffee – a perfect finish to an incredible day. 
 
To remember the amazing experience, guests were treated to a stunning handout assembled by Dan Macey. This listed the exact menu from this event, as well as the original menu, some background about James Parkinson and the recipes the members used to recreate these delicious dishes. An incredible resource I will refer to often, and I can image the others will too. I feel like all of us shared a unique and special experience. I truly appreciate the hard work and care everyone contributed to make this event happen, and the interest everyone exhibited regarding the topic. It really is a dream to finally see (and taste!) some of the dishes I spent so much time researching and writing about. Hugs and best wishes to all involved!

“Any very nice baked pudding will be improved by covering the surface with a meringue,” Eliza Leslie, The Lady’s Receipt-Book: A Useful Companion for Large or Small Families (1847).
 
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The idea of using light, airy meringue to frost baked puddings or crèmes became very popular in the mid-nineteenth century, with lemon playing an increasing role in the pairing. This is how lemon meringue pie came about, first imagined by Philadelphia cooking instructor Mrs. Elizabeth Goodfellow, an offshoot of her rich lemon pudding. As anyone who has ever tried a piece of this decadent dessert knows, the sweet, fluffy topping is a perfect accent to the smooth, lemony custard filling.

Tall layer cakes were all the rage during the Victorian era, made light and airy with the newfangled ingredient called baking powder. One of the most popular was the Dolly Varden cake, named for the flirty, carefree young woman with colorful clothing and a broad-rimmed hat introduced in Charles Dickens’ 1841 book Barnaby Rudge.
 
Although I could not determine the cake’s original creator, it was said to have been invented by an American fan of the novel. Early versions called for three or even four layers of cake in various shades and flavors, meant to mirror Dolly’s vibrant dress. The earliest recipe I could find dates from an 1877 cookbook called ‪Melrose Household Treasure and was very much in this style. The recipe instructs making two layers using egg whites only and tinting one half with confectioner's cochineal (a red food coloring made from the dried, pulverized bodies of an insect called the cochineal) to make a pink color. The other layers were made using egg yolks, with grated chocolate added to half the batter. The end result was multiple tiers of chocolate, white, rose and yellow cake. This was a fancy, special company cake:

DOLLY VARDEN CAKE.
One cup sugar, one-third cup butter, one-quarter cup milk, one full cup flour measured before sifting, whites of six eggs, one-quarter teaspoon soda, three-quarters cream tartar; bake half of this plain, the other half color with one-quarter teaspoon of confectioner's cochineal; flavor with rose water. Bake the same quantity of the receipt, using the yolks of the eggs, coloring one-half with one teacup of grated chocolate; bake in jelly tins; frost each layer with very thin frosting taking care not to get too much sugar; put together chocolate, whites, rose, and yellows. Very handsome and very good. Try it. Mrs. D. O. Morton.

Other Dolly Varden cakes featured two layers: one was a simple butter cake, sometimes flavored with lemon; the other was made with dried fruits and spices such as raisins, cherries, currants, cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg to represent Dolly’s colorful dress. The two layers were stacked on top of each other with a jam, meringue icing or buttercream frosting sandwiched in between and generously slathered on top. When the cake was cut and placed on a plate, the contrasting layers created a striking effect. Sometimes three layers were made, with the darker spicy layer placed in the middle.

This was the version I made; adapted from the diary of Ebenezer Maxwell Mansion's Anna's Maxwell:
Dolly Varden Cake

• 3 cups cake flour
• 2 cups sugar
• 2 sticks butter
• 3 eggs
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1 cup milk
• 1/4 cup molasses
• 1 cup raisins
• 1 tsp cinnamon
• 1 tsp freshly grated nutmeg 
• 1/4 tsp ground cloves

Sift flour and baking powder together, set aside. Cream butter and sugar until light. Then add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add flour mixture a little at a time, alternating with milk. Mix well. Divide dough in half and add remaining ingredients to one half. Pour batter into two greased and floured round cake pans and bake at 350F for 35-40 min or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool on wire rack and then frost with the following boiled icing (also from Anna Maxwell):

• 2 cups of superfine granulated sugar
• 2 egg whites
• 1/2 tsp vanilla

Boil sugar four minutes with very little water (about a tablespoon). Then pour over the beaten whites and beat until very stiff . Flavor with the vanilla. Place the white layer on the bottom and spread with icing; then top with the spice layer and frost all over the top.  

Toward the end of the 20th century, the Dolly Varden cake evolved into a girl’s birthday cake designed with a real doll perched on top of a cake made in the shape of her full skirt.​It was sometimes then called “Fairy Tale Princess Cake,” “Dolly Cake,” “Princess Doll Cake,” or “Barbie Cake.” I actually had one of these for one of my birthday celebrations in the late 1970s. A family friend was taking a class and very generously offered to make it for me.  I recall it as one of my favorite cakes ever!  


​To learn more about about this unique cake and other Victorian desserts named for people and places (and taste some delicious samples), join me at Philadelphia's Ebenezer Maxwell Mansion on March 20 from 1:30-3:30!

Sources: Cake: A Global History By Nicola Humble; Secrets of New England Cooking By Ella Shannon Bowles, Dorothy S. Towle; The Oxford Companion to Sugar and Sweets

Cooking items in little bundles of parchment or foil is not only neat and practical, but makes a very pretty presentation. Although we can thank the French for popularizing the technique, called en papillote, the concept has been used by many cultures throughout history. For example, cooks in Southeast Asia wrap foods in sturdy banana leaves to steam them; in Latin America, corn husks and plantain leaves serve the same purpose, such as the delicious hot tamales featured in Mexican cooking.
 
In France, en papillote was one of the elegant cooking techniques that arose from the classic French haute cuisine of the eighteenth century. Like a special delivery package, these delightful parcels were served to French nobility in their grand chateaus and manors and with dramatic fanfare, cut open at the table to reveal their steaming, fragrant deliciousness. 
 
Although 19th century French import Pierre Blot did not introduce the concept to America, this is exactly the type of dish he featured in his cooking school and demonstrations. Blot was a French chef who landed in New York City in 1855 and opened what many food experts consider the first school of French cookery in the U.S. Often described as America’s first celebrity chef, he was determined to raise American cookery to an art form, using the school (dubbed Blot’s Culinary Academy of Design in a New York Times article) as an opportunity to share his ideals. He became hugely popular, teaching and giving demonstrations throughout the Northeast as well as writing a number of cookbooks and articles on a variety of culinary topics. Unfortunately he fell out of favor with the American public by the early 1870s, although it is not clear exactly why.
 
He is a culinary figure whose life and teachings warrant more study and analysis, which I hope to uncover in my next book. As I delve into my research, I thought it would be prudent to try some of his seemingly complicated recipes, starting with Salmon en Papillotes from Blot’s 1868 cookbook, Handbook of Practical Cookery, for Ladies and Professional Cooks.  I had cooked fish in foil packets before and know from experience that the steam inside cooks the fish to moist, juicy perfection. This time I decided to use parchment paper exactly as Blot would have done.

Here is his recipe:
Fry slices of salmon with a little butter, and until of a golden color; take them from the fire. While they are frying, mix well together parsley chopped fine, salt, pepper, melted butter, grated nutmeg, and a little lemon-juice; spread some of the mixture on both sides of the slices of fish, envelop them in buttered or oiled paper; broil, and serve them hot.

Originally from South and Central America, sweet potatoes were growing throughout much of these two regions as well as the Caribbean by the time of Columbus’s arrival. Sweet potatoes are not only delicious, but also highly nutritious, containing protein, fiber, vitamins A and C, calcium, folic acid, magnesium and potassium. In the nineteenth century, sweet potatoes were most often served baked, roasted, boiled, stewed, fried, and incorporated into baked goods such as pies, pudding and biscuits. Most Thanksgiving menus at the time featured them baked, browned (fried in butter, lard and sugar) or glazed (boiled and then basted with butter). The candied, marshmallow-topped casserole typical of many modern Thanksgiving menus didn’t come about until the early twentieth century.
 
But sweet potatoes weren’t only for Thanksgiving. James Parkinson featured them as one of several vegetables for the ninth course at his 1851 Thousand Dollar Dinner, the result of an annual culinary competition between two clubs of wealthy men – one from New York and one from Philadelphia. The group had first enjoyed a magnificent banquet at New York’s Delmonico’s Restaurant. Not to be outdone, the Philadelphians politely invited the New Yorkers to James W. Parkinson’s restaurant in Philadelphia.
 
They settled the date for April 19, which made things rather tricky for Parkinson, as it was between seasons. At this point in the nineteenth century, it had become very fashionable for elaborate banqueting menus to feature special preparations of rare, early season, or out-of-season vegetables as a light course toward the end of dinner, which became known as entremets de légumes. Today’s high-speed transportation methods allow us to enjoy fresh produce year round. But for Parkinson, procuring these specialties would have hinged on how quickly items could have been shipped to Philadelphia from warmer locales without spoiling. As noted by New York guest R. B. Valentine, an avid epicure, the timing “took the caterer greatly at a disadvantage as to both game and vegetables. He could only obtain what he did by special use of both telegraph and express.” Sweet potatoes love hot weather, so it is likely he obtained them from a southern location using these methods.
 
What we don’t know is how he served them. He may have chosen a simple preparation that really showcased the flavor of the sweet potato, such as baked or boiled, but since this was such a fancy meal, it is likely he chose a presentation that was a bit more elegant, such as souffléd, croquettes, or even “creamed” by sautéing in a little milk. This last technique sounded so interesting, I had to try it. Here’s the instructions from the 1873 publication The Science of Health: “Slice them (sweet potatoes) into warm milk, cover close, and cook till they begin to break; salt slightly, and mix them until but little milk is visible. This dish is also very good made with Irish and sweet potatoes mixed.”
Sautéing the sweet potatoes in milk made them extremely tender and added a savory flavor, almost as if they had been baked with cheese. A very easy, yet pretty presentation:
 

Sweet Potatoes Souffléd and Sweet Potato Croquettes sound equally delicious:
Souffléd - Cut them up raw into quarter-inch slices, pare them oval-shaped two and three-quarters by one and a half inches, then fry slowly in white fat to have them to have them cook without coloring or stiffening; drain and ten minutes later throw them back into hot fat; they should puff out considerably.
Croquettes - After the potatoes are roasted cut them lengthwise in two and empty out the insides; to this add salt, nutmeg, egg yolks and fresh butter; mix well together, and when the preparation is thoroughly cold roll it up into inch and three-quarter diameter balls, dip them in eggs, then roll in bread-crumbs and fry to a fine golden brown; dress in a circle, having a bunch of fried parsley to decorate the center.
(From: The Epicurean by Charles Ranhofer)

But for Thanksgiving, most people puree cooked sweet potatoes into some kind of casserole. This is the one that has become the favorite “go-to” recipe in my family:

Sweet Potato Casserole

• 3 large sweet potatoes
• ¼ cup brown sugar
• 1 egg
• ½ tsp cinnamon
• 2 tbsp butter
• ¼ cup orange juice

Boil sweet potatoes for half hour or until tender. Peel and blend in a food processor with remaining ingredients. Place in a 9x9 baking dish and sprinkle with cinnamon. Bake at 350F for 25-30 min.
Yield: 6 servings – (I often double the recipe for a crowd).
​Delicious! Happy Thanksgiving!
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A favorite crisp and crunchy autumn treat, apple varieties range in flavor from the very sweet Golden Delicious to the tart Granny Smith. When cooked, apples mellow into a delicious melt-in-your-mouth experience that highlights many types of sweet dishes - most notably the all-American apple pie. A less known but equally delectable dessert is meringues de pomme, (also known as meringued apples or apples meringue) a delicious baked apple dish with a light, airy meringue topping. The contrasting texture of the pillowy, slightly crispy meringue balances the warm spiced apples perfectly. This elegant dessert was one of dishes served during the "pastry course" at James Parkinson's Thousand Dollar Dinner in 1851.  
A sweet blend of stiffly beaten egg whites and sugar, meringue was a popular feature in many nineteenth-century desserts. In The Lady’s Receipt-Book (1847), Eliza Leslie commented, “Any very nice baked pudding will be improved by covering the surface with a meringue.” This idea of baked desserts iced with meringue increased through the next few decades. Meringue actually dates back to the sixteenth century, when European cooks first realized that whisking egg whites with birch twigs (for the lack of a better utensil) created a light, frothy mixture. It was eventually discovered that meringue hardens when baked at a low temperature (or simply left out in the air to dry), changing the texture to one that is pleasantly airy and crispy. 
as per nineteenth century recipes for meringues de pomme, peeled and cored apples were sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar and baked until tender. They were then either transferred to a baked pie shell or simply left in the baking dish. The cored centers were filled with orange marmalade and sometimes crushed macaroons. The entire top of the pie was covered with meringue and popped back into the oven until browned. The cookbook The Philadelphia Housewife (1855) cleverly recommended swirling a peak of meringue over each apple to serve as a guide when serving the pie. 

To recreate this delicious dessert, I combined recipes from Miss Leslie's The Lady’s Receipt-Book (1847) and the Cooking School Text Book (1878) by Juliet Corson. The result was luscious and stunning.

Apple Meringues

Apples (about 6 large - depends on how many will fit in your baking dish)
Granulated sugar
Butter
Cinnamon
4 egg whites, at room temperature
8 tablespoons powdered sugar
Tablespoon rose-water for flavoring (optional).

1.  Preheat oven to 350F. 
2.  Peel and core the apples and stand them up in a deep baking dish. Pour just enough water into the bottom of the dish to prevent them from burning.  Fill each core with a little sugar, a pat of butter and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Bake them until just tender, about 30-40 minutes.
3.  Take them out and drain off any juice. When cool, fill the cores with thick marmalade or jelly (I used plum preserves). 
4.  Whisk the egg whites to a stiff firm froth, then gradually beat in the sugar, a spoonful at a time, then add the rose-water if using. Cover the apples with the meringue, beginning at the top of each apple and then spreading it down evenly with a broad-bladed knife dipped frequently into a bowl of cold water. The meringue must be spread on very smoothly and of equal thickness all over. 
5.  Set the dish in a cool oven, and as soon as the meringue is hardened, take it out.

​Gary Allen’s delightful new book, Sausage: A Global History, tells the fascinating back-story of sausages and how they evolved into the tasty, flavorful packages found in cuisines around the world. As Allen duly notes, “today sausages are equally at home in street vendors’ carts and in white-tablecloth dining establishments.”
Long ago, our ancestors figured out that the intestines, stomachs, bladders and skins of animals could be useful containers for all the scraps of meat and organs that might otherwise be wasted. So, while it is true that sausage may have started out as “the efficient use of every part of a slaughtered beast,” Allen colorfully describes how they progressed to become “the darling of diners – daring and otherwise.”
Although pork and beef are the ubiquitous varieties, lots of meats have been made into sausages, including lamb, goat, horse meat, offal, poultry, seafood, and even elephant. Some cultures even have vegetable and grain sausages that predate the modern vegetarian craze.
Allen covers in detail all the diverse and interesting ingredients that provide flavor and texture to these juicy parcels. He discusses some that might seem kind of unusual, including almonds, pistachios, walnuts, pine nuts, cinnamon and nutmeg, as well as more commonly recognized sausage flavorings such as sage, fennel, and garlic. Many of these combinations are a result of the meshing together of various cuisines as they conquered and/or developed trade routes with other regions. Local ingredients were integrated with those from exotic locales to create unique taste sensations.
Sausage cooking and preserving methods are as varied as the ingredients, which results in a rainbow of hues for the finished product. A colorful lot, sausages range in color from the very pale German Weisswurst, which is white because it is unsmoked and contains no nitrites that would turn it pink, to very dark smoked and blood sausages.
Blood is an ingredient that shows up in the earliest sausage references, reflecting the ‘no-waste’ attitudes of the past. Pigs blood is most commonly used – in addition to providing the sausage with a dark color, it also flavors the sausage. Although many might be squeamish about giving it a try, Allen notes that blood sausages are alive and well - part of a trend that is linked to the Slow Food movement, as well as a desire for folks to show respect for the animals we eat, and to explore the taste of history that would otherwise be lost – a way of reviving the kind of frugality that led to the invention of sausages.
Chock-full of historical nuggets and informative references to the present day, this book is a mouthwatering look at this important food that has stood the test of time. Descriptive photos and illustrations are peppered throughout. For those hungering for a taste, Allen provides a selection of sausage recipes – the Orecchiette with Broccoli Rabe and Sausage is definitely on my list of those to try:

Orecchiette with Broccoli Rabe and Sausage 

Orecchiette (‘little ears’) are a favourite form of pasta in Apulia, the ‘heel’ of Italy’s boot. Some purists object to the inclusion of sau- sage in this dish, but the sweetness of the pork provides a lovely counterpoint to the bitter greens.

• 1 large bunch broccoli rabe (rapini), rinsed and chopped 3 tbsp olive oil
• 4 garlic cloves, chopped
• 1⁄2 tsp crushed chilli (red pepper) flakes
• 2.3 kg (1 lb) Italian Sausage, as above, crumbled
• 450 g (1 lb) dried orecchiette, or medium pasta shells salt and pepper, to taste
• grated Pecorino Romano cheese, to serve

In a large pot of salted water, cook the broccoli rabe until bright green. Shock the greens by placing them in a bowl of iced water, but do not discard the cooking water.

Sauté the garlic and chilli flakes in olive oil, until the garlic just begins to colour. Add the sausage and begin to cook, stirring to brown it evenly. While the sausage is cooking, add the pasta to the broccoli rabe’s cooking water and cook until almost done (it will finish cooking in the sauce).

When the sausage is browned, add the blanched and drained broccoli rabe to the pan, and heat through. Add the nearly cooked pasta to the sausage and greens and toss until tender and well- coated. You may need to moisten the mixture with a little of the cooking water. Toss to finish cooking the pasta in the sauce.

Taste for seasoning, and serve with grated Pecorino on the table.

Serves 4 

(Recipe from Sausage: A Global History by Gary Allen, Copyright 2015)

In the nineteenth century, pastry was a rather broad term used to describe the sweet dishes that fell under the realm of the pastry cook, typically those that required an oven. At fancy dinners, sometimes “pastry and dessert” were grouped together to conveniently include all types of sweets under one heading. The term dessert could designate all the sweets in a meal, or it could be a separate course used to categorize just fruits and confectionery.

Especially extravagant occasions like James Parkinson’s seventeen-course Thousand Dollar Dinner in 1851 featured multiple divisions and headings. For this elegant feast, the Philadelphia restaurateur kicked off the first of four sweet courses with a “pastry” course that featured thirteen mouth-watering indulgences including pies, cakes, puddings, creams, meringues, and blancmange. Of these, only one was a fruit pie—peach. Of course many of the fruits we associate with pie are available only in the late spring through the fall, which would have made it difficult for him to get access to them for his April dinner. Peaches are one of the earlier ripening fruits, so possibly he got his hands on some very early varieties from Georgia or even Bermuda. Or perhaps he used dried or preserved fruit to make the pie.

Parkinson must have had a particular fondness for the juicy fruit, as he featured peaches quite a bit on his menus—including peach tarts, peach ice cream, and peaches and ice cream. In The Complete Confectioner (1844), his mother Eleanor Parkinson listed recipes for peach ice, peach water ice, peach paste (made by mixing the fruit's pulp with sugar and heating it to marmalade consistency, then forming it into rings and knots so it could be candied or crystallized), and even peach water (described as a cooling drink for balls and routs).

In doing the research to recreate the type of pie Parkinson would have served, I stumbled across an interesting fact that I didn’t realize – many nineteenth century peach pie recipes called for whole peaches. That’s right – whole, unpitted peaches, nestled on top of a pastry crust and then sprinkled with just sugar, flour and water and covered with a top crust. The idea behind this method is the fact that the peach kernels located inside the pit produce a subtle almond-flavored essence. In fact, peach kernels were often used to flavor other dishes such as custards, preserved peaches, and even cream sauce. They were also enjoyed as candy – the “Chinese almonds” served during the confectionery course at the Thousand Dollar Dinner were kernels (large, sweet, nontoxic seeds) from special apricots grown solely for this purpose. They were often used in the nineteenth century as a substitute for bitter almonds in syrups, ices and sweet almond paste, as only a small quantity was needed to impart a rich flavor.

There were some nineteenth century recipes that instructed pitting and slicing the peaches (and some that said just to halve them) before putting in the pie, but these were mostly later in the century.  So it is likely the pie served by Parkinson featured whole peaches – in any case, I just had to try this method!

I combined two recipes - one from an 1841 cookbook called The American Housewife by an anonymous author who billed herself simply as “An Experienced Lady,” and one from an 1845 cookbook called Every Lady's Book by T.J. Crowen, who also went by the title “A Lady of New York.” Both recipes simply instruct placing the whole peaches in a deep pie plate lined with a pastry crust. However, Every Lady’s Book says to peel the peaches, which I did. This cookbook also suggests using small, “not very ripe” peaches, which is a good tip, as the peaches fit better in the pie pan and are more likely to stay intact and not fall apart or get mushy. And both mention keeping the peach pits in the pie for flavor.

Here’s the original recipe from The American Housewife:

Peach Pie. Take mellow, juicy peaches—wash and put them in a deep pie plate, lined with pie crust. Sprinkle a thick layer of sugar on each layer of peaches, put in about a table-spoonful of water, and sprinkle a little flour over the top—cover it with a thick crust, and bake the pie from fifty to sixty minutes. Pies made in this manner are much better than with the stones taken out, as the prussic acid of the stone gives the pie a fine flavor. If the peaches are not mellow, they will require stewing before being made into a pie. Dried peaches should be stewed soft, and sweetened, before they are made into a pie—they do not require any spice.
 
Here’s the one from Every Lady’s Book:

Peach Pie Or Pudding.—Take small sized peaches, not very ripe, peel them without cutting them up, line a square pie dish with paste, strew some sugar over it, then lay in the peaches rather close together, then strew them plentifully with sugar, pour a little water over, dredge on some flour, and cover with a good paste crust; when the crust is done it is enough. Or, the peaches may be cut in rather thick slices. Leaving the stones in the peaches improves the flavor.

And here’s my modern version:

Peach Pie (with whole peaches)

• Several small, firm peaches (I ended up using eight)
  
• 2 tablespoons sugar (or to taste)
  
• 4 tablespoons flour
  
• 1 tablespoon water
  
• Pre-made double pie crust

Preheat oven to 425F. Peel peaches and place in pie plate lined with piecrust. Sprinkle sugar and flour over top of peaches, then add water. Cover with top crust and fold the edges under. Flute the edges to seal or press with the tines of a fork. Cut several slits in the top crust to vent steam. Bake for 50-60 min., checking occasionally. If piecrust edges start to brown too much, cover with small strips of foil.

Well, the pie turned out beautifully. My taste testers all loved it. The peaches were perfectly tender and juicy -I just had to be careful of the pits when cutting the pie into slices and made sure I removed them before serving. The only unfortunate thing was that none of us really detected an almond essence from the peach kernels. Perhaps next time I will try to remove the kernels, toast and crush them and add them that way. But the pie was still delicious nonetheless and really easy to make with just a few simple ingredients. This recipe is a keeper – for its conversation value alone!

And here is my modernized version:

Coconut Pudding Pie

• 1 prebaked piecrust
• 1 fresh coconut
• 2 cups milk
• 5 eggs
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 tablespoon rosewater or brandy
• 6 egg whites
• 6 tablespoons sugar

1. Bore a hole in the three eyes of the coconut (I used a screwdriver) and drain out the milk, straining it through a fine sieve. Reserve in a separate bowl. Place the coconut on a lined baking sheet in the lower third rack of a 400F oven for about a half hour. After removing coconut, dial oven back to 350F. When the coconut has cooled, crack it open using a hammer and pry off the outer shell. Using a vegetable peeler, peel the thinner light brown skin. Grate the white, meaty portion using a food processor or box grater. Reserve.
2. Beat the eggs and sugar to a froth, then stir in the milk, coconut, rosewater and reserved coconut milk. Carefully pour into prebaked piecrust. Cover edges of piecrust with small pieces of aluminum foil to prevent it from burning. Bake for 45-55 minutes, checking periodically. Pie is done when a knife inserted in the center comes out clean.
3. Frosting – Maria Parloa suggested frosting the pudding with the whites of two eggs and one cup of sugar beaten to a stiff froth. This would make a very nice icing, but many folks today are concerned about serving uncooked eggs. So, an alternative would be to create a meringue – beat the six egg whites and six tablespoons of sugar until fluffy. Spread on the top of the pie and return to the oven until lightly browned.

This pie is a pretty, unique-tasting dessert - the meringue topping gives it quite an elegant look and texture contrast with the pudding. It takes a little time and effort to prepare the coconut but is actually is quite fun. The feedback I received from one of my taste testers was that it was "really very good." 

* “Cocoanut” or “cocoa-nut” were common spellings through the early twentieth century, but eventually the “a” was dropped, possibly to avoid confusion with the word “cocoa.”

Sources: American Dishes at the Centennial by James Parkinson; The Oxford Encyclopedia to American Food and Drink by Andrew F. Smith; Baking in America by Greg Patent; The Appledore Cook Book by Maria Parloa; Mrs Goodfellow: The Story of America's First Cooking School by Becky Libourel Diamond

Frozen cocktails might seem like a twentieth century invention, popularized by that indispensable modern kitchen tool, the blender. However, slushy drinks and sorbets were actually very fashionable during the Victorian era. These icy refreshments were served alongside rich soups, as palate-cleansers between courses, or enjoyed as frosty desserts.

Nineteenth century Philadelphia restaurateur James Parkinson was the master at inventing delicious, eye-catching frozen concoctions. For his famous Thousand Dollar Dinner in 1851, he pulled out every stop, creating a luxurious, rejuvenating sorbet using an extremely rare and expensive Hungarian Tokaji wine, which he served during the coup du milieu, or mid-point of the meal.

But perhaps Parkinson’s best-known signature creation was Champagne frappe à la glacé, a frothy drink made with the French sparkling wine, which literally translated means “Champagne hits the ice”. He chose to feature this popular treat during the “Ice Creams and Water Ices” course at the Thousand Dollar Dinner. Champagne frappe à la glacé was so revered that Philadelphians raved about it. As one local newspaper reported in 1850, "Parkinson, the great Confectioner of South Eighth Street, has added a new "ice" to his list of luxuries; Champagne frappe à la glacé, which is so popular that several have already attempted to wrest its undoubted invention from him.”

He apparently kept this recipe such a secret that I was unable to find a copy of it. However, it was so intriguing that I wanted to try to duplicate the taste and consistency as best I could. Champagne frappe is basically half frozen champagne, and à la glacé means “with ice,” so my take on the recipe was to serve semi-frozen Champagne over Champagne-flavored water ice.

Since alcohol has a much lower freezing point than water, it is rather difficult to freeze. But I attempted the instructions as advised in the 1889 cookbook Practical Cooking and Dinner Giving by Mary Foote Henderson: “The ice should be pounded quite fine, then an equal amount of salt mixed with it. A quart bottle of Champagne well surrounded by this mixture should be frozen in two hours, or rather frozen to the degree when it may be poured from the bottle.”

For champagne-flavored water ice, there were actually quite a few nineteenth century recipes to choose from. I ended up combining elements of a few different ones to create my version of the icy treat, freezing it in my ice-cream maker, but any clean, tinned copper or stainless steel container will work.

​TIP: This recipe can take quite a while to freeze, so I do recommend starting it at least a day before you wish to serve it.

Champagne Frappe à la Glacé

Serves 8

• 1 cup sugar
• 1 cup water 
• Three lemons 
• 2 bottles Champagne (can substitute Prosecco or Cava) 
• Crushed ice
• Ice cream salt
• Mint sprigs for garnish (optional)

​

1. Place bowl of an ice cream maker or a medium sized tinned or steel bowl in the freezer for at least eight hours, until sufficiently chilled. 
2. Make a simple syrup by combining the sugar and water in a small saucepan and bringing to a boil over medium heat. Reduce heat to low and simmer without stirring until the sugar dissolves, about 3 to 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and cool completely. 
3. Using a very fine zester (like a microplane), remove just the outside brightly colored part of the peel (not the white pith which is bitter) of the three lemons into a bowl. Then add the juice from the three lemons, straining out any seeds and pulp. 
4. Take the ice cream maker or tinned bowl out of the freezer. Add lemon juice and zest to the bowl and then slowly pour in the bottle of champagne. Add sugar syrup to taste – you can refrigerate any syrup left over for another use. Stir well to combine.
5. If using an ice cream maker, mix as per the manufacturer’s instructions. When done, return to freezer until ready to use. If using a tinned bowl, transfer to the freezer and freeze for several hours, checking periodically and stirring if necessary.​

​     6.  Two hours prior to serving, place a bottle of chilled Champagne in an ice bucket. Surround with an equal amount of crushed ice and ice cream salt. 
      7.  When ready to serve, spoon a scoop of water ice into each Champagne flute and pour the semi-frozen Champagne over. Garnish with a sprig of fresh mint if desired. 
​
What a pretty, refreshing drink! The Champagne's effervescent bubbles were a nice contrast to the water ice (a pleasant mix of sweet and sour which would be lovely all on its own).  My taste testers all raved about its delicious, unique taste and icy consistency– a perfect summer cocktail. Parkinson knew what he was doing!