Comment: Pears are one of the latest of the tree fruits to ripen, after the worst of summer has broken in most places and the days are becoming very noticeably shorter. The reminder of oncoming winter makes it seem all the more urgent to lay away those items that can be preserved for the cold times. For a century now cheap transportation and mechanized processing has made fruit available in stores year round, but a century is a very short time in many ways.

Ingredients:

Fresh pears, peeled, cored and seeds removed but stem left on top if possible
Sugar (white, granulated)
Citric acid (available in “canning supplies” sections of most supermarkets)

Peel small-sized pears, leave the stem one inch long, weigh them, and allow one pound of sugar to one of fruit; put one pint of water and one teaspoonful of citric acid to every four pounds of sugar. Melt the sugar and acid slowly over steam; [i.e., in a double boiler]; when melted let it boil up once, then skim the syrup well and keep it over the steam until wanted. At the same time the syrup is in the process of preparation, have the pears boiling in a preserving-kettle in sufficient water to cover them, in which is dissolved citric acid sufficient to taste quite acid. When so tender that a straw can be run through them, take them out and put them in the syrup, where they must remain about twenty minutes. Have ready some glass jars or bottles, with mouths large enough to take in the fruit without breaking; put them in cold water, and boil them; put the fruit into the bottles while they are hot. This is done for two objects: first, to prevent the hot preserves from breaking the bottles, and secondly to prevent the fruit from fermentation by the cold air. Cork tight, and seal up each bottle while the syrup is boiling hot. Be careful to seal perfectly tight; a hole no larger than a cambric needle will do as much mischief as one much larger.

From The Housekeeper’s Encyclopedia by Mrs. E. F. Haskell, Philadelphia, 1863

          

Comment: Today a recipe calling for mustard is likely to specify style (country, dijon, plain yellow etc) but will be assumed to be a thick liquid substance. Cookbooks of the 19th century were the reverse: “mustard” came as either plain mustard seed or else in pre-ground form known as “flour of mustard.” Pre-mixed mustard of the modern sort–packaged in jars or pots–was starting to be available in stores but only in major cities and at much higher prices. As the all-purpose grocer still lay in the future one would seek out the condiment at an apothecary or drugstore.  Kitchener’s book reveals its English origins by use of the term “oil shop,” an expression most often seen in books by Charles Dickens or other British writers of the mid-century. They sold oil of types from sweet (olive oil, used for cooking) to sperm (from the whale of the same name, used for lamp lights.)

Flour of mustard (dry mustard, mustard powder)
vinegar, white wine or other liquid (see recipe)

Mix (by degrees, by rubbing together in a mortar) the best Durham flour of mustard, with vinegar, white wine, or cold water, in which scraped horseradish has been boiled; rub it well together for at least ten minutes, till it is perfectly smooth; it will keep in a stone jar closely stopped, for a forgnight [two weeks]: only put as much into the mustard-pot as will be used in a day or two.

The ready-made mustard prepared at the oil shops ismixed with about one-fourth part salt: this is done to preserve it, if it is to be kept long; otherwise, by all means, omit it, The best way of eating salt is in substance.

Obs. Mustard is the best of all the stimulants that are employed to give energy to the digestive organs. It was in high favour with our forefathers; in the Northumberland Houselhold Book for 1512, p. 18, is an order for an annual supply of 160 gallons of mustard.

Some opulent epicures mix it with sherry or Madeira wine, or distilled or flavoured vinegar, instead of horseradish water. The French flavour their mustard with Champaigne and other wines, or with vinegar flavorured with capers, anchovies, tarragon, elder, basil, burnet, garlic, eschalot, or celery; warming it with Cayenne, or the various spices; sweet, savoury, fine herbs, truffles, catchup &c, &c., and seem to consider mustard merely as a vehicle of flavours.

N. B. In Mons. Maille et Aclocque’s catalogue of Parisian “Bono Bons,” there is a list of twenty-eight differently flavoured mustards.

From: The Cook’s Oracle or Household Manual, by William Kitchiner M. D. 1832.

          

Comment: The making of herb-flavored vinegar is neither complicated nor, as we see here, at all a new idea. But this receipt is of interest for another hint about life in the 19th century. Note the phrasing for directions on when to pick the herb: “..between midsummer and Michaelmas.” People simply did not think about specific dates that often, in part because printed calendars were rare to nonexistent. Just as time of day was denoted vaguely as before or after sunrise, noon or sunset,  and days of the week were noted. But dates of the year were more often described by easily remembered signposts. Midsummer is easily detected, and usually the occasion of large scale celebration in cultures in temperate climates. And the calendar of saints, or at least the notable ones like Nicholas and Michael, was familiar to all in a day when Christian church attendance was nearly universal. As those days are long gone we will simply note that the feast day of St. Michael is September 29.

Fresh tarragon leaves
Vinegar (use the best, which is to say strongest, you can find)

This is a very agreeable addition to soups, salad sauce and to mix mustard. Fill a wide-mouthed bottle with fresh-gathered tarragon-leaves, i.e. between midsummer and Michaelmas (which should be gathered on a dry day, just before it flowers), and pick the leaves off the stalks, and dry them a little before the fire; cover them with the best vinegar; let them steep fourteen days; then strain through a flannel jelly bag till it is fine; then pour it into half-pint bottles; cork them carefully, and keep them in a dry place.

Obs.– You may prepare elder-flowers and herbs in the same manner; elder and tarragon are those in most general use in this country. Our neighbours, the French, prepare vinegars flavoured with celery, cucumbers, capsicums, garlic, eschalot, onion, capers, chervil, cress-seed, burnet, truffles, Seville orange-peel, ginger, &c; in short, they impregnate them with almost every herb, fruit, flower and spice, separately, and in innumerable combinations. Messrs. Maille et Aclocuque, Vinaigriers a Paris, sell sixty-five sorts of variously flavoured vinegar, and twenty-eight different sorts of mustard.

From The Cook’s Oracle and Housekeeper’s Manual, William Kitchiner M. D. New York 1832.

          

Comment: This is another item from The Hydropathic Cook-Book by R. T. Trall M. D., prolific proponent of the “Hydropathic” school of medicine and lifestyle of the 19th century. While biographical data on “Dr.” Trall is hard to come by–we have not yet found what the “R.T.” stands for, where Trall obtained a medical education if any, or for that matter what Trall’s gender might have been–there is no question that a great many books and pamphlets were published under that name from the 1850s through nearly the end of the century. Covering everything from temperance to dress reform (women’s) to the evils of tobacco and drugs to sex, Hydropathy was a full-service school of medical philosophy.

It was not, however, the only one competing for popularity at the time. Nor were all the proponents of dietary reform trained in medicine. Sylvester Graham–today famous only for the Graham cracker, which in its present formulation he would not at all recognize and would repudiate in horror–was a clergyman by trade. He decided sin, particularly of the sexual sort, was caused by improper diet which led to excessive stimulation of the nervous system. He was less hardcore vegetarian, allowing limited use of milk, cheese, eggs and butter, but downright fanatical against spices, particularly hot ones such as pepper.

After Graham died–at the age of 58–in 1851, a certain waning of enthusiasm for his diet plan set in. One last overlap between the two generations of dietary reformers was yet to be. The following recipe, for the famous “Graham bread,” made its first appearance in Dr. Trall’s 1854  The New Hydropathic Cook-Book. So enjoy a bite of history here. Even a dab of butter if you must. But no pepper, please…

WHEAT MEAL BREAD–GRAHAM BREAD

In every cook-book I have examined, and in all the medico-dietetical works I have consulted, I find saleratus or pearlash, and salt always in the recipe for making what those books call brown, dyspepsia, or Graham bread. Those two drugs ought always to be left out. Molasses or brown sugar is also a fixture in the ordinary receipt books, and as a small quantity–a tablespoonful to a common loaf–is not harmful, the saccarine element may be left to taste. Make the sponge of unbolted wheat-meal in the ordinary way, with either hop or potato yeast, but mix it rather thin. Be sure and mold the loaves as soon as it becomes light [risen], as the unbolted flour runs into the acetous fermentation much more rapidly than the bolted or superfine flour, and bake an hour and a quarter or an hour and a half, according to the size of the loaf.

From The New Hydropathic Cook-Book by R. T. Trall M. D. New York 1854.

          

Comment: This recipe is subtitled “From a recipe in the possession of Charles G. Leland, Esq.”, and a footnote to the 1934 reprint of the work notes that Leland was “An American author whose fame rests chiefly on the Hans Breitman Ballads. He was editor of The Illustrated News in New York for many years before the Civil War, and wrote many books. He also contributed to Graham’s Magazine, which published much of Edgar Allen Poe’s work.”  That seems like a bit of a stretch for a brush-with-greatness connection, and a rather unkind swipe at Mr. Poe’s famous fondness for excess in matters of drink besides. As to the drink itself, the claim that this is “sufficient for one person” has, we hope,  to be either a joke or a misprint. Aside from the alcohol involved, the thought of consuming almost a pound of sugar for a night’s drinking should bring on psychosomatic diabetes.  And also…yuck.

One-third pint of lemon juice
Three-quarters pound of white sugar
One pint of mixture, composed of one-fourth pint of peach brandy, one-half pint of Cognac brandy, and one-fourth pint of Jamaica rum.
Two and one-half pints of cold water

The above is generally sufficient for one person.

From The Bon-Vivant’s Companion, or, How to Mix Drinks by Jerry Thomas, 1864

          

Comment: This is neither an apple-flavored dinner roll nor the sort of sticky cylinder of “fruit” paste popular with very young people.  In fact it’s hard to think of exactly what modern day product, either commercial or homemade, that it does resemble, because the whole technique of boiled puddings and dumplings has gone so completely out of fashion. It was still extremely common in the mid 19th century though, so Mrs. Bryan didn’t feel a need to go into a great whacking lot of detail. The “pudding-cloth”  should be smooth fabric (no terrycloth or old towels, please) and slick, to discourage the food contents from sticking to it, but not waterproof since the water is what cooks the product. Probably your best bet is an old but clean and intact cotton pillowcase, with the side seams removed to make a single layer of cloth. For this dish you would probably want it about a foot square, and remember you need three of them, one for each roll. Pay close attention to the order to dip the cloth in boiling water then sprinkle it with flour: we suspect this forms a sort of shell to keep the crust of the roll from sticking to it. Peel it out carefuly. The result should be something like a boiled pie.

Roll out a sheet of common pie paste [crust], about one fourt of an inch thick, and put a thicksmooth layer of appe butter over it, roll it up into a scroll, making the roll about as large in circumference as a large glass tumbler, and about eight inches long; close the paste very securely at both ends and the side that is open, making the paste as smooth as possible where the edges meet. Having made out three in this manner, dust them well with flour, tie them up separately in dumpling cloths, havign first dipped them [the cloths] into boiling water and dusted them with flour, and boil them like puddings till they are done; then take them carefully out of the cloths, lay them side by side in a dish of suitable size, and eat them warm with cream sauce.

From The Kentucky Housewife by Mrs. Lettice Bryan, Cincinnati OH 1839

          

Comment: No, don’t start mixing a batch of curry powder. The word “Indian” in this case means Indian meal, or as it is known today, cornmeal. Why the exceedingly useful word “maize” for the premier grain of the New World did not become universal in the land of its birth is unknown. The word “corn” to a European could refer to any grain, be it wheat, barley or whatever, so was useless in describing the meal made from the grains of any particular plant. What we now call corn in America was created over millenia by crossbreeding Mexican grass plants, in what has been described as the most impressive feat of genetic engineering ever accomplished. Perhaps Native Americans deserve to have their name attached to their plant after all. Oh, and “sweet” milk is simply milk that is fresh and not soured. It does not imply the addition of sugar or other sweetener.

1 qt. (4 cups) cornmeal
1/2 tsp. salt
2 tbs butter OR 4 tbs. finely chopped suet
2 eggs, beaten
Milk
Molasses (optional topping)

Sift a quart of fine Indian meal, mix with it a salt-spoonful of salt, a spoonful of butter, or two of finely chopped suet, two well beaten eggs and enough sweet milk to make it into good bread dough. Work it well with your hands, make it into dumplings the size of a large biscuit, flour them well, drop them into a pot of boiling water, and boil them briskly until done. Be very careful in serving them, lest you break them. Eat them warm with molasses. Indian dumplings are sometimes eaten with corned pork or bacon. In such cases they should be boiled with the meat with which they are served.

From The Kentucky Housewife by Mrs. Lettice Bryan Cincinnati OH 1839

          

Note: As is usual in blog-formatted settings, this series is best read in reverse order. You would not want to engage in your Manuring, for instance, before properly preparing your Soil. This could be messy and also confuse your vegetables.  Just check the sidebar for the category “Gardening” and note the numbers assigned to each. Later entries can be looked up for each individual plant by name, so you can consult the 1863 advice on Gooseberries for instance without having to wade through articles on Okra or something else in which you have no interest. We think only and always of the convenience of our readers. Our notes will be interspersed as needed.

(From The Housekeeper’s Encyclopedia by Mrs. E. F. Haskell, New York, 1863)

TRENCHING–After the draining is accomplished [note, we skipped that part, it is a subject best left to professionals  with proper tools and expertise. Drainage has to be considered in the context of your entire yard, and your neighbors, and the surrounding landscape], the next object is to deepen, and if hard, to soften the soil. The very best method of benefiting such land permanently, is to trench, and at the same time, manure it.

Proceed as follows: Open a trench two feet wide; throw the top soil into a cart, or wheelbarrow, and dump it down on the opposite side of the bed that is to be trenched. This soil [note, depending on the history of your property you may not have a layer of good topsoil. Look for a change in color or consistency of the dirt on a consistent line as you dig] is usually about six inches to one foot deep; throw out a foot of soil from the bottom of the trench, and cart that to the other side of the bed, so that it can be shovelled into the last trench, after the top soil. Spade up so as to loosen the soil in the trench, one spade deep; throw into the trench one foot of long manure, and then proceed as before.

To open another trench, throw the top soil from this into the first trench, and afterwards the clay, and so proceed until each bed in the garden is finished; this should be done late in the summer, or early in the fall, so that the frost can act upon the clay; a great change in it being effected by the freezing.

Comment: This is actually a very good process for dealing with heavy clay soil, but it’s a hell of a lot of work without mechanical assistance.  As backhoes were not available in the 1860s we suspect hired laborers would have been called for. If you are thinking of doing this to an entire yard, either front, back or side, we again suggest consultation with a professional lest drainage problems be inadvertently created.

Next: On to manure!