Limon Cakes, Fried Fish and Jam

When I was researching culinary history, I decided to go a little deeper into my research and actually try out some of the recipes for myself.  Unfortunately, early recipe books lack the detailed instructions that we accept as standard in cookbooks today.  A seventeenth century receipt (recipe) for Limon Cakes, for example, instructs:

‘Take half a pound of refin’d sugar, put to it two spoonfuls of Rosewater, as much Orange Flower-water, and as much of fair water, boil it to a candy height, then put in the Rind of a Limon grated, and a little Juice, stir well on the fire, and drop it on Plates, or sleeked Paper.[1]’

This is not a recipe for what we would call a cake today, but instead a type of boiled sweet.  Nevertheless, how was I to know when sugar had reached candy height (about 110⁰C) without using a sugar thermometer? Besides, as this experiment was supposed to be an exercise in ‘prim tec’ (primitive technology), using a sugar thermometer would be cheating.  Not knowing how long the sugar mixture should be stirred well on the fire, nor, indeed, the strength of the fire, I was beginning to wonder if the time and effort was really worth it.  When it came to the process of dropping the mixture onto a plate, should I drop it in one large dollop and break it up once set, (with a hammer perhaps) or was I supposed to drop it in bite-sized pieces?  I had to admit I didn’t know how the process worked and on reflection, I decided that Limon Cakes didn’t sound that exciting after all. So, I decided to put this particular recipe on the back burner! 

Turning my attention to some pudding recipes, I realised that they, too, would be all but impossible to follow without practical knowledge gained through some kind of kitchen apprenticeship, ether formal or informal.  The recipe for coconut pudding, for example, instructs that coconut should be stirred into custard.  While the ingredients for the custard are given, there is no direction as to how to actually make the custard.  Similarly, the recipe for apple pudding was nothing more than a list of ingredients.

What, I wondered then, were the objectives of these early recipes?  Were they only meant for experienced cooks, perhaps simply intended as aide-mémoires?  Donovan believed that cookery writers only gave away their recipes when ‘necessities compel them to make sale of it.’  Furthermore, he also thought that those cooks ‘are seldom capable of communicating what they know in such a manner as will render their skill available, without great trouble to the enquirer.’  I could not but agree with that statement.  It is entirely possible that, as Donovan also said, many cooks had little practical knowledge of the recipes they were publishing.  They were simply compilers of established knowledge, not authors of invention.  Thus, when reading old cookbooks, it is not always possible to equate practical advice with culinary knowledge.  This is certainly something to bear in mind if undertaking a little prim-tech of your own.

Weights and measures further complicate the problem.  Many older books omitted quantities. In addition, they also omitted any methodology.  For example, to fry sparlings (a small fish), ‘make a batter of egg, flour and water, dip them in and fry[2]’ or to make jam, ‘take any quantity of apricots and as much loaf sugar in very fine powder.[3]’  While the quantities for jam are actually logical because jam generally requires equal quantities of fruit and sugar, the recipe for making a batter does nothing more than list the ingredients. In order to make the batter, you would need to know how much of each ingredient is required, the order, if any, in which they are mixed, and the correct consistency.  Even knowing ‘how to’ was not always the answer. ‘How much’ was another minefield.

It was not until 1878 that weights and measures became standardised in the UK.  Prior to that, ‘a "last" of meal was 12 barrels and a "last" of wool was 12 sacks and a "score" of lettuce contained 22 plants.[4]’  To further confuse the issue, there were local variations. Butter was sold by the yard in Cambridge, but in other districts, it was sold by the pint.  Thus, in the face of such disorder, giving a recipe in which proportional quantities were prescribed, was good advice.  Furthermore, being able to estimate amounts of ingredients by eye, a skill obtained by practice, would also have been a necessity when cooking, as would the ability to judge oven temperatures, which were usually just described as quick (hot) and slow (cooler).

The measurement of clock time is another area in which confusion arises. The measurement of time did not become standardised until the mid-seventeenth century when minute hands were added to clocks.  It was, however, to be another twenty years before timekeeping achieved a near-modern accuracy.  Thus, just as quantities need to be contextualised with regard to period and place, so does time.  A sixteenth century recipe for biscuits describes how the eggs are beaten for an hour, then sugar is added and another hour’s beating is necessary.  Another hour is spent mixing in the flour, and finally, after the addition of the rest of the ingredients, a further three hours are required to mix all together[5].  To read this literally as ‘six hours’ means you’d end up with an aching arm and spend an awfully long time baking some cookies.

So, a word of warning.  If you are going to try-out historic recipes, take them with a pinch of salt!  And remember, it was Nietzsche who said, ‘the utter lack of reason in the kitchen has delayed human development longest and impaired it most.’

References

Brown, S. 1975. The Invention of Time. The Hastings Center Report 5 (1): 55.

Cook, A. 1760. Professed cookery (3^rd ed.). London: The Author.

Cooper, C. 1892. Early English Fare. Gentleman's Magazine 272 (April): 358-369.

Donovan, M. 1830-1837. Domestic economy. London: Longman, Brown, Green & Longmans.

Newman, L. 1954. Weight and Measures. Folklore 65 (3/4): 129-148.

Unknown, 1755. Cookery reformed, or, The Lady’s assistant: P. Davey and B. Law.

Wolley, H. 1670. The Queen-like Closet; or, rich cabinet; London: R. Lowneds.

[1] (Wolley 1670, 38)

[2] (Cook 1760, 124)

[3] (Unknown, 1755, 139)

[4] (Newman 1954, 147)

[5] (Cooper 1892, 367)

last time modified: March 23, 2012, 3:24 p.m.