Why Don't They Eat Cake?

An Early Country Kitchen

When it's this cold outside I look for comfort food!  Here is a receipt for a chicken pot-pie from The Kentucky Housewife, by Lettice Bryan, 1839.

A Chicken Pot-Pie

Take two fat young fowls, not fully grown; cut them into joints, rinse them lean in cold water, and season them with salt and pepper.  Have ready a porridge pot, or oven, rub the bottom and sides with lard, then with flour, and line it with a thick crust of suet or dripping paste.  Lay in the bottom a few slices of ham.  Having a sheet of paste [pastry] rolled out thin, cut it into four squares and put them into the oven with the chickens, in alternate layers, interspersing between each layer some raw eggs, carefully dropping them from the shells, lest you break them.  When they are all put in, lay a few slices of ham on the top, pour in three pints [6 cups] of water, or what is better, veal gravy: and four ounces of butter, rolled in flour and broken up; then put on the top a crust of paste, and bake it with moderate heat.  When it is done, turn the crust bottom upwards on the dish; put the other ingredients on it, pour the gravy round, and eat it warm.  Just before you take it from the fire, raise the top-crust; and if it looks too dry, add a little water, in which a spoonful of flour and a tea-spoonful of pepper have been stirred, or a cup of sweet milk, prepared in the same manner, as people who are fond of pot-pies universally prefer a good deal of gravy.  A similar pie may be made of almost any kind of poultry or game.

From the Archives

A View of Quebec in Winter

Reproduction by: William F. Wilson

To order:  www.artchive.com

Today in Calgary, AB it is -23C with a windchill of -36C.  This brought to mind a passage in Mrs. Frances Brooke's book, The History of Emily Montague, written in the 1760's:

"Dec 29

I will never take a beaver's word again as long as I live:  there is no supporting this cold; the Canadians say it is seventeen years since there has been so severe a season.  I thought beavers had been people of more honor.
Adieu!  I can no more: the ink freezes as I take it from the standish to the paper, though close to a large stove.  Don't expect me to write again till May; one's faculties are absolutely congealed this weather.

Jan 1

It is with difficulty I breathe, my dear; the cold is so amazingly intense as almost totally to stop respiration.  I have business, the business of pleasure, at Quebec; but have not courage to stir from the stove.

We have had five days, the severity of which none of the natives remember to have ever seen equaled: 'tis said, the cold is beyond all the thermometers here, tho' intended for the climate.

The strongest wine freezes in a room which has a stove in it; even brandy is thickened to the consistence of oil: the largest wood fire, in a wide chimney, does not throw out its heat a quarter of a yard.
........
I no longer wonder the elegant arts are unknown here; the rigour of the climate suspends the very powers of the understanding; what then must become of those of the imagination?  ...Genius will never mount high, where the faculties of the mind are benumbed half the year.

'Tis sufficient employment for the msot lively spirit here to contrive how to preserve an existence, of which there are moments that one is hardly conscious: the cold really sometimes brings on a sort of stupefaction."

She recommends taking brandy on a regular basis to keep one "...coquet and agreeable" during the cold weather.  Bottoms up!

People, Places & Things

Frances Brooke 1724-1789

Most of us do not know the name of Mrs. Frances Brooke, but she was an important figure in early Canadian literature.

Frances Brooke was from England and was a successful novelist, essayist, playwright and translator.  In 1756 she married Rev. Dr. John Brooke, who was the first clergyman of the Church of England in Quebec.  He was the military chaplain to the British Forces stationed there.  Frances followed her husband to Canada in 1763 and remained until her return to England in 1768.  While there she wrote and published "The History of Emily Montague" which was the first novel ever written and published in Canada. 

It is written as a series of letters, a style which was popular at the time.  It contains descriptions of the vistas, seasons and people of Quebec which is highly entertaining.  On page 84 she writes:  "Your idea of Quebec, my dear, is perfectly just; it is like a third or fourth rate country town in England; much hospitality, little society; cards, scandal, dancing, and good chear..."

I highly recommend this book if you are inclined to read first hand accounts of our country in its young and tender years.  It is entertaining and educational and should be a must read for any re-enactor or history enthusiast.

Why Don't They Eat Cake?

Before, by William Hogarth

Aphrodisiacs in the 18th Century

In this month of love, what better subject to look at but that of aphrodisiacs? 

Aphrodisiacs have a long and celebrated history in our culture.  Most of them centre around different types of food.  In the 18th century this was no different.  In an age where everyone had some sort of venereal infection is there any wonder that they would turn to food to counteract some of the affects?

Referring to the ancient Roman writer, Galen, cooks took his advise to use those foods which were "wet and moist", "long and stiff" or "windy (causing flatulence) and hot".  some of these foods included truffles, vanilla, chili, pepper, asparagus, oysters, celery, carrots, mustard, anise, nettles, champagne and eel.

The poet, John Gay, 1685-1732 wrote "To a Young Lady, with some Lampreys".  The poem is about a poor poet who bestows a gift of lamprey eels to his lover.  Her maiden aunt dissaproves with the following lament: 

Lamprey's a most immodest diet:

You'll neither wake nor sleep in quiet.

Should I tonight eat sago-cream,

'Twould make me blush to tell my dream:

If I eat lobster, 'tis so warming,

That every man I see looks charming.

.........

The shepherdess, who lives on salad,

To cool her youth, controls her palate.

The poem goes on to commend the Aunt for her warnings, as it should be the look of one's lover which drives one's passion alone, to which the poet agrees wholeheartedly.

If food didn't work, one could always resort to Spanish Fly, the dried and ground remains of the emerald green Blister Beetle.  The smallest amount could cause even the most flacid of men to rise to the occassion.  Unfortunately, the difference between the amount which could "stiffen one's resolve" or kill you outright wasn't much.  Often Spanish Fly was mixed into food, but it was also available as a candy.  A small amount used as an ingredient in Pastilles Richelieu, rumoured to be used by the Marquis de Sade.  Spanish Fly was used by Kings and commoners alike.  It is no longer available for use as an aphrodisiac.

Instead, I suggest you try this receipt if your passion needs priming, from "The Horizon Cookbook, Menus and Recipes, Vol II, Wendy Buehr, 1968, pg 589

Celery Fritters

Orignally from "Adam's Luxury, and Eve's Cookery: or the Kitchen-Garden Displayed", Anon. 1744

1 bunch celery, cut into 2" pieces

2 eggs, separated

1/4 cup milk

Salt & pepper

1 cup flour

Vegetable shortening for frying

Cook the celery in boiling salted water until tender but still firm, about 10 mins.  Drain well.  Beat the egg yolks with the milk, season with salt and pepper, and whisk into the flour.  Beat the whites stiff and fold into the milk and flour.  Dip the celery in the batter and fry, a few pieces at a time, in the fat heated to 360 degrees - about 5 mins or until puffed and golden.

People, Places & Things

Giacomo Casanova

April 2, 1725 – June 4, 1798

Who doesn't know the name of Casanova?  We associate the man with charm, wit and sexual desire, but did you know that he was also a physician, lawyer, writer, spy, alchemist, philosopher, violinist, Rosicrusian, Freemason, gambler, silk merchant, inventor of the state lottery, and escaped convict? 

He lived most of his life abroad, traveling the European contintent, having scandalous affairs, working as a spy for a variety of governments, moving in all of the most desired social circles and living off the money of his patrons and lovers.

He lived out his later years as the librarian at the Castle of Dux in Bohemia (now the Czech Republic) and bored to tears, wrote his lengthy life story called the histoire de ma vie, a 12 volume set that only accounts for his life until 1774.

The man is a legend.  Even I have to admit that reading about him has put me into a bit of a swoon.  Sigh.  To read more about our beloved Casanova, check out the Wikipedia link:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giacomo_Casanova

From the Archives

Many years ago I was lucky enough to stumble upon a book of days, the subject of which was 18th century lovers, published by Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1989.  It is a delightful little book full of pictures and poems.  In honour of Valentine's Day I publish the following poem:

The Progress of Love

by Robert Dodsley 1703-1764

Beneath the myrtle's secret shade,

When Delia blessed my eyes;

At first I viewed the lovely maid

In silent soft surprise.

With trembling voice, and anxious mind,

I softly whispered love;

She blushed a smile so sweetly kind,

Did all my fears remove.

Her lovely yielding form I pressed,

Sweet maddening kisses stole;

And soon her swimming eyes confessed

The wishes of her soul:

In wild tumultuous bliss, I cry,

'O Delia, now be kind!"

She pressed me close, and with a sigh,

To melting joys resigned.