Emu on the Menu.

The bush recipes competition run by the Perth newspaper The Western Mail in 1938, is proving rich fodder for this week’s stories. Today, for your delectation, I give you some ideas from the competition for emu meat and emu eggs.

Emu Liver Savoury.
Plunge liver into salt and hot water. Dry with cloth, rub with fine wheat flour, cut into two by four slices. Fry in a little boiling fat till brown. Cut in half as many large quandongs* as needed, and fry quickly. Make a sauce of half cup flour, pinch salt, pinch mustard and teaspoon butter. Place the liver on slices of toast, pour on sauce, place fried quandongs on top.
[*Santalum acuminatum , a common native plant of inland Australia, sometimes called the ‘native peach’]

Emu for Beef.
The meat from the breast of a young emu is luscious and highly nutritious, quite equal to rump steak. The meat may be casseroled, fried, stewed, or used in meat pies or boiled puddings, in fact any recipe may be used in which beef is required.

Emu eggs, as we found out in a post several years ago, are about ten times the size of a hen’s egg, and contain a higher percentage of fat. They apparently make great cakes.

Emu Egg Sponge.
Beat one emu egg for five minutes; add one and a half cups of sugar, beat for 15 minutes longer, then add two cups of flour to which two teaspoonfuls of baking powder have been added. Lastly add one cup of boiling water in which one tablespoonful of butter has been melted. Bake in a quick oven. This recipe makes two large sandwiches. For all measurements use a breakfast cup.

Quotation for the Day.
The strongest thing I put into my body is steak and eggs. I just eat. I'm not a supplement guy. Steroids are not even a thought.
Jim Thorne.

The Many Colours of Easter Eggs.

The Easter food theme would hardly be complete without some instructions in the art of making and decorating your own Easter Eggs, now would it?

In the days before little bottles of violently intense artificial food colouring, there were other artificial food colourings (some quite alarming-sounding) and even a few very natural ones.

From Jenny June’s American Cookery Book (1866), two recipes containing multiple ideas for colouring eggs.

Easter Eggs 1.
Immerse eggs in hot water a few minutes, inscribe names or dates etc., on the shell with the end of a tallow candle or with grease, then place them in a pan of hot water saturated with cochineal or other dye-woods; the parts over which the tallow has passed being impervious to the dye, the eggs come out presenting white inscriptions on colored grounds. Or boil the eggs hard and paint subjects on them with a camel’s hair brush, or etch them with a steel pen in India ink. Or dye the shells first, then scrape off the dye in any design desired.

Easter Eggs 2.
An egg boiled in the coat of an onion will turn to a beautiful brown color. To give a blue color, boil the eggs in powdered indigo with the addition of a tea-spoonful of dilute sulphuric acid. To give an egg a mottled appearance, with bright colors blended, and contrasted, obtain pieces of silk of the brightest colors, cut them into bits an inch long, half an inch wide, add a few chips of logwood and a little tumeric; let the egg be well inbedded in this so that the silk may form a thick layer round it, sew it up in very coarse brown paper and boil it half an hour or more.

And from Cookery for Working Men’s Wives (1890)

Colored eggs for Easter.
Eggs can be dyed a pretty colour with the juice of a beet root, or the peel of onions boiled in the water; or, if you have a patch of fancy print, bind it round the egg and boil it, and it will leave the impression. Wash the eggs clean before boiling. Easter eggs should be boiled for ten minutes.

If you want to make your own ‘eggs’ from blanc mange as in the recipe given yesterday for the nest of eggs, but found the instructions intimidating, here is another version with rather clearer instructions.

Easter Eggs.
Make a quart of blanc-mange in the usual way. Empty 12 egg shells through a small hole in one end and rinse well with cold water. Divide the blanc-mange into four parts. Leave one white; stir into another 2 beaten yolks; into a third chocolate; into the fourth cochineal coloring. Heat the yellow over the fire long enough to cook the egg. Fill the shells with
the various mixtures, three of each. Set upright in a pan of meal or flour to keep them steady, and leave until next day. Then fill a glass bowl more than three-fourths full with nice lemon jelly, broken into sparkling fragments. Break away the egg shells, bit by bit, from the blanc-mange. If the insides of the shells have been properly rinsed and left wet, there will be
no trouble about this. Pile the vari-colored "eggs" upon the bed of jelly, lay shred preserved orange peel, or very finely shred candied citron about them, and surprise the children with
them as an Easter day dessert.
Cookery Craft: As Practiced in 1894 by the Women of the South Church, St Johnsbury, Vt. (1894)

Quotation for the Day.

Good Idea: Finding Easter eggs on Easter Sunday.
Bad Idea: Finding Easter eggs at Thanksgiving.
(by Anon.)

Married (and Divorced) Eggs.

Huevos Divorciados is (as I understand it) a Mexican breakfast dish in which two eggs go their separate ways under two different coloured and flavoured sauces, their separation on the plate ensured by a row of chilaquiles (pieces of tortilla, cooked in salsa.) I love the sound of this dish, and am going to make a completely inauthentic Aussie version one day, when I get around to it.

I would love to know the origins of Huevos Divorciados. Is there a Spanish precedent? Or a similar dish elsewhere?

In the meanwhile, I give you Married Eggs, from Oscar Tschirky’s The Cook Book, published in 1896. I wonder how one arranges something ‘systematically’ on a dish?

Married Eggs.
Blanch eight artichoke bottoms, then cook them in some gravy. Make a preparation with four hard-boiled eggs chopped up very fine, mix in plenty of very finely-chopped fine herbs that have been parboiled in hot water, add three raw egg yolks, salt, a little cayenne pepper and a little tomato sauce; mix all together well and cover the artichokes with this, smooth the surface nicely with the blade of a knife, strew with breadcrumbs and melted butter and set them in the oven for four minutes. Arrange them systematically on a dish, and serve.

On the same topic, you can find recipes for Matrimony Pudding and Matrimony Sauce, and Matrimonial Cake, in previous posts.


Quotation for the Day.

My wife and I tried to breakfast together, but we had to stop or our marriage would have been wrecked.
Winston Churchill.

The Idea of Egg Salad.

I don’t know by what means the idea of egg salad popped into my head as a subject for a blog post. I am not sure what ‘Egg Salad’ is, exactly, and I am pretty sure I have never followed any recipe for it’, although I suspect I have in fact made and eaten it at some stage in my life.
The idea of ‘Egg Salad’ brings up all sorts of questions about the nature of salads in general, and the quantity and exact role of the egg component required for a dish to qualify as specifically ‘Egg Salad’. If I have thought about egg salad at all, the eggs have always been hard-boiled. Are greens a necessary ingredient? And salads are cold dishes, are they not? Until I looked into it, I had no idea just how varied the simple dish can be.
So far, the earliest recipe I have found for Egg Salad is from one of my favourite cookery books - Domestic economy, and cookery, for rich and poor, by a lady; 1827. The recipe was repeated in cookery books, more or less word-for-word, for at least four decades. There are no greens or other ‘salad’ ingredient, but only hard boiled eggs, with dressing.

Egg Salad.
Boil six cloves of garlic six minutes, and pound them with a few capers and two anchovies; mix them very well with oil, salt, pepper, and vinegar, and dish it under hard-boiled eggs, whole or cut in two.

The following recipe gives a whole different spin on the concept. This is a pretty dish indeed, and with its lovely red and green sprinkles would make a lovely Christmas salad. The eggs are certainly hard-boiled – as a first step.

Egg salad consists of an ordinary salad made with French lettuces, with an extra quantity of hard-boiled eggs. If you want to make the salad look very pretty on the top, cut up the lettuces and dress them with oil and vinegar in the ordinary way. Make the tops of the lettuces (which should be placed in a round salad-bowl) as smooth as you can without pressing them down unnecessarily. Now take six hard-boiled eggs, separate the yolks from the whites, powder the yolks, and chop up the whites small. Sprinkle a ring of yellow round the edge of the salad-bowl, say an inch in width, then put a ring of white round, and place the remainder of yolk in the middle, almost up to the centre. Have the centre about two inches in diameter. We now have a yellow centre surrounded by a broad white rim (as, of course, there is more white than yellow), and an outside yellow ring, which meets the white china bowl. Reserve about a teaspoonful of pieces of finely chopped white, and put them in a saucer, with a few drops of cochineal, and shake them. This turns them a bright red. Sprinkle these red specks very sparingly on the white, and take about half a teaspoonful of chopped blanched parsley, and sprinkle these green specks on the yellow. This makes the dish look pretty.
Cassell’s Vegetarian Cookery, 1891.

Did I say ‘salad’ was a cold dish? How about this idea:


Hot Egg Salad.
Miss Juliet Corson.
A tablespoon of salad oil made hot. Break three eggs into it, and stir a little. Season with salt and pepper. Turn out as soon as it hardens a trifle, sprinkle over the top a tablespoon chopped cucumber, same of grated lemon rind, a tablespoon lemon juice, and 3 tablespoons salad oil.
From: Mrs Owens’ Cook Book, by Frances Owens, 1903

Stuffed eggs work too, again, without greens:


Egg Salad.
Remove the shell from six cold, hard-boiled eggs, cut in halves lengthwise; take out the yolks; mash fine, season them with an eighth of a teaspoon of mustard, quarter of a teaspoon salt, and a dash of red pepper; add just enough cream to make a smooth paste (about two tablespoons of cream are generally enough); put back into the halves of the eggs, and arrange on a bed of crisp lettuce leaves. Make a boiled dressing of eight tablespoons of vinegar, four of hot water, quarter of a teaspoon of mustard, half a teaspoon each of salt and flour, and one egg. Boil until thick; then pour over the eggs and serve at once.
The Leeds Mercury (Leeds, England), June 30, 1900

Finally, it seems that the eggs do not need to be hard-boiled, but may be scrambled – after being reconstituted:


Scrambled Egg Salad.
1 oz margarine; 3 dried eggs, reconstituted; 4 tablespoons milk; salt and pepper; 3 or 4 spring onions or 1 leek; ½ lb cabbage heart; 1 lb cooked potatoes, sliced; ¼ lb cooked green peas; 2 or 3 cooked carrots, sliced; chopped mint; salad dressing.
Melt the margarine in a pan. Mix the eggs, milk, half the onion, and seasoning, and pour into the pan. Cooke gently until just set; leave to cool. Shred the cabbage finely and mix in the rest of the chopped onion. Place in the bottom of salad bowl. Pile the eggs in the centre and arrange the potato, carrots and peas around it. Sprinkle with chopped mint and serve with salad dressing.
British Ministry of Food, Food Facts leaflet of July 1944

Quotation for the Day.

Eggs have two advantages over all other foods. First, they are procurable nearly everywhere; second, the most dainty person is sure when eating eggs that they have not been handled.

A Book for A Cook, The Pillsbury Co. (1905)

Who was Benedict?

Eggs Benedict is a breakfast staple at virtually every posh restaurant and corner café you care to enter, and is a dish only a little over a century old, yet no-one is quite sure of its history. It is likely that we will never be sure who the original ‘Benedict’ was, but it is fun attempting to unravel the various claims.

It seems pretty certain that the dish was ‘invented’ in the late nineteenth century in New York. It is very certain that it was not named for the American Revolutionary War general, Benedict Arnold (1741-1801). It is also a good bet that the idea of muffin / ham/ poached eggs/ Hollandaise sauce was based on an existing idea that was tweaked and re-named – because that is the way recipes are always ‘invented’. It is even possible that the existing idea is much older, and that the ‘Benedict’ is a reference to the Benedictine monastic order, not an individual New Yorker.

So, who is the real Benedict, and who was the inventor? The chief protagonists for putting together the original idea are the maître d’hôtel of the Waldorf, Oscar Tschirky, and the chef at Delmonico’s, Charles Ranhofer - either perhaps being inspired or instructed by the mysterious Benedict him/herself.

One of the major claims begins with Lemuel Benedict, a retired stock broker and regular at the Waldorf, who claimed to have presented there one morning in 1874, with a hangover. He thought that a plate of buttered toast, poached eggs, crisp bacon and Hollandaise sauce would just do the trick. The famous ‘Oscar of the Waldorf’ supposedly thought the idea was good enough to offer other customers, but substituted an English muffin for the slice of toast and Canadian bacon for the ham.

A second claim is that the dish was named for Commodore Elias Cornelius Benedict (1834-1920), a New York City baker and yachtsman. This version is ‘authenticated’ via a long chain of participants – the Commodore gave the recipe (presumably his own invention) to a friend who gave it to the mother of one Edward P. Montgomery, who gave it to her son, who told it to Craig Claiborne, who wrote about it in The New York Times Magazine in 1967.

Yet a third set of claimants hotly dispute that of Montgomery. Friends of a certain Mr. and Mrs. Le Grand Benedict – also prominent New Yorkers of the time – say that they were regular diners at Delmonico’s, and the dish was invented there. Mrs. Benedict asked for something new one day, and when asked what she would like, suggested toasted English muffins topped with ham, poached eggs and Hollandaise sauce - with a truffle on top.

Up to this point, the evidence is all hearsay and claim and counterclaim.  There is a little more circumstantial evidence to factor in, although I am not sure what conclusions to draw. Both Oscar Tschirky of the Waldorf, and Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s published cookery books in the late 1890’s. There is nothing like Eggs Benedict in Tschirky’s The Cook Book (1896), which would reduce the Waldorf’s claim significantly, I would think. The book did include recipes for both eggs poached with béchamel sauce and for cod with hollandaise – the significance of which I hope to show might be more significant than at first glance. Ranhofer did include a dish called Eggs à la Benedick in The Epicurean (1894), which I give below, but it did not include the truffle insisted upon by Mrs Le Grand Benedict, and I find the spelling a little strange, if the dish was indeed named in their honour. As background, a previous chef at Delmonico’s, Alessandro Filipini, did not mention the specific dish in his One hundred ways of cooking eggs (1892), although he does have eggs a la béchamel (using hard boiled eggs) and poached eggs with bechamel – the latter dish including truffles.

As for the proto-type or inspirational dish, there is perhaps an interesting connection with the cod recipe. The Larousse Gastronomique (first published in 1938, I am quoting from the first English edition of 1961) has “Bénédictine: Garnish suitable for poached fish or eggs. It is composed of a brandade of [salt] cod and truffles”, and also describes “Eggs à la bénédictine (soft boiled or poached): Pound some cod with garlic, oil and cream, and some chopped truffles. Arrange the eggs on the mixture and mask with a cream sauce.” Elizabeth David references this dish of œufs bénédictine in her wonderful work French Provincial Cooking and notes the poached eggs and brandade of cod, but also includes potatoes, and specifies Hollandaise sauce. In support of the bénédictine–cod association is Escoffier’s Morue à la bénédictine.

So, who or what is the bénédictine referenced in these French sources? The connection with salt cod suggests it was the Benedictine monks, as salt cod was a mainstay of the many fast days of the Catholic calendar, so a large part of the monks’ diet. Egg sauce with fish – especially cod – goes back a long, long way, so it is not too far a step to making the eggs the feature, I guess, serving them with a white creamy sauce, and then a rich eggy Hollandaise. The ham is an outrageous step away from Lenten fare of course, so sufficient to justify a whole new name, perhaps.

As usual, I eagerly await your comments on all of this. Now, I give you Ranhofer’s recipe – the earliest one I can find specifically named Benedict.


Eggs à la Benedick.
Cut some muffins in halves crosswise, toast them without allowing to brown, then place a round of cooked ham an eighth of an inch thick and of the same diameter as the muffins on each half. Heat in a moderate oven and put a poached egg on each toast. Cover the whole with Hollandaise sauce.
The Epicurean, Charles Ranhofer, (New York, 1894)

Next I give you Mrs. Rorer’s rather confusing instructions in Many Ways for cooking Eggs (1907) – I have no idea what is meant to be done with the egg mixture cooked in the muffin rings [it appears that this is in fact the muffin]. I am, however, intrigued that the dish does have the truffle, so fits the story of Mrs. Le Grand Benedict at Delmonico’s.

Eggs Bénédict.
Separate two eggs. Break the yolks, add a cupful of milk, a half teaspoon of salt, one and a half cupfuls of flour and a tablespoon of melted butter. Beat well, add two level teaspoonfuls of baking powder, and fold in the well-beaten whites. Bake on a griddle in large muffin rings. Broil thin slices of ham. Make a sauce Hollandaise. Chop a truffle. Poach the required number of eggs. Dish the muffins, put a square of ham on each, then a poached egg and cover each egg nicely with sauce Hollandaise. Dust with truffle and serve at once.

Quotation for the Day.
I'm frightened of eggs, worse than frightened, they revolt me. That white round thing without any holes have you ever seen anything more revolting than an egg yolk breaking and spilling its yellow liquid? Blood is jolly, red. But egg yolk is yellow, revolting. I've never tasted it.
Alfred Hitchcock.

Sweet as Eggs.

It goes without saying that our repertoire of sweet dishes would be sadly depleted if we did not use eggs. Sure, eggless cakes (and here) are possible – but in the absence of war-time shortages, veganism, and egg-allergy, are hardly most folks’ first choice, are they? Without eggs there would certainly be no soufflés or crêpes, and chocolate mousse would be a travesty. As for a life without custard! Unimaginable!

Eggs may be essential in many of the best desserts, but they are however, an invisible ingredient – their essentially eggy shape and style lost in the mix. The challenge was up, and I set out in search of really sweet, really obviously eggy dishes. The wonderful Lady’s Companion: or, An infallible guide to the fair sex (1743) came good with these two wonderful ideas:


To dress Eggs the Italian Way.
Make a Syrup with Sugar and a little Water, and when it is something better than half make, put the Yolks of Eggs in a Silver Spoon, one by one, and hold them in the Syrup to poach. Serve them up to the Table, covered and garnished with Pistachoes, Orange-flowers, and Slices of Lemon-peel, boil’d in the same Syrup, and sprinkle a little Lemon-juice upon them.

And with the leftover whites? From the same book:

A pretty Dish of Whites of Eggs.
Take the Whites of twelve Eggs, beat them up with four Spoonfuls of Rose-water, a little grated Lemon-peel, a little Nutmeg, sweeten with Sugar, mix them well, boil them in four Bladders, tie them in the Shape of an Egg, and boil them hard; they will take Half an Hour. Lay them in your Dish when cold; mix Half a Pint of thick Cream, a Gill of Sack, and Half the Juice of a Seville Orange. Mix all together, and sweeten with fine Sugar, and pour over the Eggs. Serve it up for a Side-dish at Supper, or when you please.

Quotation for the Day.
The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg.
Alexander Pope.

Eggs Preserved.

I am almost equally interested in and terrified by old methods of food preservation. A few centuries ago, according to the cookery books of the time, the thick hard pastry ‘coffin’ of a meat pie would keep the contents edible for a year. I don’t think I am unadventurous with food, but I am pretty sure I would not try a twelve month old unrefrigerated pie. Knowledge of ‘germs’ and their role in the useful processes of fermentation as well as in producing disease did not come about until the mid-nineteenth century, but centuries before the scientific explanation was known, cooks had used the empirical knowledge that excluding air from the container kept foods edible for a longer period.

The exclusion of air method is behind most of the old ways of preserving eggs, and a number of these were explored in a previous post. Other common alternatives for preserving eggs are drying them to a powder, and pickling them. I thought these methods pretty well covered all the options for keeping eggs, but yesterday’s source, Eggs: Facts and Fancies about them (Boston, 1890) suggested another, supposedly ‘Australian’, idea. I really don’t see how this would exclude enough air to make it work. It seems to me to be a formula for a very foul sulphurous explosion of the preserving jar, but I await your valuable opinions.


Australian Method of Preserving Eggs.
Glass jars with patent stoppers having vulcanised India rubber joints, making them perfectly air-tight, are used.
These jars are placed in hot water until the air in them is warm and rarefied.
As soon as the eggs are collected they are wrapped in paper to prevent knocking, and are placed in the warm jars, with the pointed ends up. The jars are immediately closed up, and removed from the hot water.
If this process is skilfully carried out the eggs will be fit for the table months afterward. The secret is to heat the air in the jars thoroughly; the papers may be baked and used warm.
Any stopper will do that excludes the air.


Quotation for the Day.
I bet you think an egg is something you casually order for breakfast when you can't think of anything else. Well, so did I once, but that was before the egg and I.
Claudine Colbert.

Eggs any Size.

I have been considering eggs lately. They surely come closest to being the quintessential all-purpose ingredient in the kitchen - capable of forming a perfectly adequate meal all by themselves, as well as being indispensible in many dishes from soups to salads to desserts.

I have featured eggs in many posts in the past, and they have even had their own week in which we looked at a brief selection egg recipes through the centuries (see the links at the end of this post.) It is going to be Egg Week again folks, for I have been looking at historical cookery books specialising in egg recipes.

Firstly, I want to remind you of the marvellous medieval tradition of ‘Illusion Foods’ – that is, foods made to fool the eater in some way, either as a symbolic message, as a demonstration of skill (which required wealth and power) or purely for fun. One of my favourite examples was the giant egg, made from thirty or more ordinary eggs, recipes for which appear in several medieval manuscripts. Another was a ‘Lenten’ egg (real eggs being forbidden at this time) made from almond milk.

I was delighted to find that the tradition had not completely died out at the end of the nineteenth century. In Egg Dainties; how to cook eggs in 150 ways English and Foreign (1899) there are instructions for a ‘monster egg’. True, it is a mere shadow of the fifteenth century version, as it is made from only half dozen ordinary eggs, but it is fun nonetheless. I do not, however, suggest you try it yourself at home, as there are serious safety issues with the method - unless you can come by the ‘specially designed appliance in metal’ mentioned in the recipe.

As a bonus, the author of the book also offers instructions for miniature eggs – which would, methinks, be perfect for ‘Mock Quail Eggs.’

Monster Egg.

Ingredients. – Six eggs.

Break the eggs,and separate the yolks carefully from the whites. Beat the yolks, and pour them into a bottle sufficiently large just to hold them. Cork and suspend it in boiling water until they are set. Then break the bottle, taking care than no fragments of glass adhere to the egg. Take a larger bottle with a wide moty, place the yolk in the centre, pour the whites around it, an boil until they are set. Break away the bottle, and take out the egg, which can be served in a roll, or in slices, with a rich sauce.
NOTE: The risk in breaking the bottles may be avoided by the use of a specially designed appliance in metal, which can be obtained at the SCHOOL OF COOKERY, Mortimer Street.

Little Eggs.

Ingredients.- Ten eggs, one ounce of butter, one tea-spoonful of vinegar one salt-spoonful of sugar, two tablespoonfuls of cream, one dessert-spoonful of flour.

Boil six of the eggs for ten minutes, throw them into cold water, shell them, and take out the yolks; mix them in a basin with three raw yolks, salt and pepper. Turn the mixture onto a board well covered with flour, and roll into the shape of thin sausages; cut them into equal parts, and form them in the hands to little eggs. Throw them into boiling water for three minutes, drain and serve with the following sauce:- Mix the flour smoothly in half a teacupful of water; add the butter, cream, vinegar, salt, pepper, sugar, and a little nutmeg, and stir it over the fire till it boils. Thicken with the yolk of an egg, but do not let it boil after it is added. Pour the sauce over the little eggs, and serve.


Eggs Through the Ages.
Eggs 16thC style
Eggs 17thC style
Eggs 18thC style
Eggs 19thC style
Eggs 20thC style

Quotation for the Day.
It is computed that eleven thousand persons have at several times suffered death rather than submit to break their eggs at the smaller end.
Jonathan Swift (1667-1745)

Cheese Rules.

‘Cheese Rules’- how did you read that? Cheese, does, without doubt, rule. There are also (or used to be) rules about the eating of cheese.

The fourteenth century book of manner for children, called The Babees Book advises to “have a clean trencher and knife for your cheese.”

A book of manners for children from the fifteenth century – The Lytlylle Childrens Lytil Boke advises not rushing at the cheese, with the words:

“And cheese come forthe, be not too greedy,
Ne cutte thow not thereof to hastely”

And also in the fifteenth century, the Latin poem Modus Cenandi (The Way of Dining) informs as to the polite way of taking cheese.

“Let old cheese be cut thin
And let fresh cheese be cut thick for those that eat it
Do not press the cheese & the butter on to your bread with the thumb.”

And getting closer to modern times, we have:

Another correspondent asks, “Should cheese be eaten with a fork?” We say, decidedly, “Yes,” although good authorities declare that it may be put on a morsel of bread with a knife, and thus conveyed to the mouth. Of course we refer to the soft cheeses, - like Gorgonzola, cream-cheese, Neufchatel, Limburger, and the like – which are hardly more manageable than butter. Of the hard cheeses, one may convey a morsel to the mouth with the thumb and forefinger; but, as a general rule, it is better to use the fork.”
[Manners and Social Usages (American), by Mrs John Sherwood, 1887]

Nowadays we make much ado about the pairing of food and wine, which some interpret as an opportunity to make rules (never red with fish, only white with chicken, sweet wines with dessert etc). There have always been some such folk:

It was formerly the custom to drink porter with cheese. One of the few real improvements introduced by the “Napoleon of the realms of fashion” was to banish this tavern liquor and substitute port. The dictum of Brummel was thus enunciated: “A gentleman never malts he ports”
[The Laws of Etiquette; Or, Short Rules and Reflections for Conduct in Society, 1836]

Good manners rule – that’s my opinion. And good manners stand the test of time. Five or six hundred years later, it is still considered correct to cut oneself a piece of cheese – especially blue cheese - from the side of the wedge, preserving the general wedge-shape, and ensuring that everyone gets a share of the rind and the centre.

For the recipe for the day, I give you an egg and cheese dish from the late fourteenth century The Forme of Cury.

Brewet Of Ayrenn.

Take ayrenn [eggs], water and butter, and seeþ hem yfere with safroun [saffron] and gobettes of chese [cheese]. wryng ayrenn thurgh a straynour [strainer]. whan the water hath soden [boiled] awhile: take þenne the ayrenn and swyng [mix] hem with various [verjuice]. and cast þerto. set it ouere [over] the fire and lat it not boile. and serueit forth.

Quotation for the Day.

Ladies must decline cheeses, and, above all, ‘must not touch the decanters.’
National Encyclopedia of Business and Social Forms, 1882.

Cooking Songs.

If you are trying to teach ‘the younger generation’ in your household to cook in the hope that they will take over some of the responsibility for meal preparation, but are finding them rather lukewarm to your instruction, perhaps you could try an idea developed by a certain nineteenth century New York City school mistress.

Mrs J.B.Romer was the author of Cooking and Sewing, Songs and Recitations for Industrial and Mission Schools, (1889). Mrs. Romer says “In teaching cooking classes to classes of children, I have found bright and cheerful songs very helpful and inspiring”, and she expands on her theme in the book’s Introduction.

INTRODUCTION

The success which has attended the introduction of cooking into industrial and mission schools has surprised its most enthusiastic and sanguine advocates. A few years ago it would have been thought impossible to teach cooking to a class of fifteen little girls of ten and twelve years of age. But the experiment has been fully tried, and it has been proved that this can be very satisfactorily done.

A little daughter is soon able to cook the simple meals when the mother goes out to work, and, as she learns neatness and economy in the cooking school, she puts her lessons in practice in her home. The mother learns from her child that with her small earnings she may have better food and a more inviting table, and she is generally quite ready to adopt the new school methods which the little cook so earnestly advocates. Many of the mothers, having been always employed in shops and factories, do not understand the first principles of cooking, and do not know howto prepare properly a simple meal for their families. The little girl becomes the teacher, and the mother soon begins to cook from the school recipes, and finds to her surprise that cheap articles of food may be made both palatable and nourishing. This knowledge is imparted to other mothers in the same house, and so the influence extends. A child who has been properlytrained in a cooking class can do more in a tenement house to improve home living than a missionary visitor.

The sample song from the book does double-duty as the recipe for today. Just get your own little darlings to memorise the words (I am sure they know the tune), and look forward to listening to it as you lie abed next Sunday morning while they are whipping up breakfast for you.

Omelet Song.

Tune – “Pop goes the Weasel.”

First open out two nice fresh eggs,

Be careful not to spatter;

Whip up the whites to a stiff foam,

The yolks to a stiff batter.

Add to the yolks a little milk.

About a gill you'd better;

Then season as you have been taught

With salt and pepper.

Then lastly add the beaten whites,

And stir in very lightly;

Unless you heed with care this rule,

Your dish may be unsightly!

Have ready in a frying-pan

A good-sized piece of butter,

Put on the stove and wait until

You hear it sputter !

When this shall hiss, you'll know it's hot,

And for the mixture ready;

So put it in, and do not spill -

Your hand you must keep steady.

Now watch it till the form is set.

Then place in a warm oven;

Be careful not to let it scorch,

That would look sloven.

This omelet I think should cook

Ten minutes to the letter;

And when it's done should look like gold,

And taste very much better !

Reverse upon a nice warm plate,

Be sure you do not break it ;

With pleasure to the dining-room

Now you may take it.

Quotation for the Day.
Music with dinner is an insult both to the cook and the violinist.
G.K Chesterton.

A Rhyming Recipe.

Silly me. A post popped up “yesterday” (Sunday) instead of “today”(Monday), because I accidentally typed the wrong date into the post-ahead schedule. Lucky you, because this means you get an extra post this week (I have undertaken to post every Monday to Friday, you know, so any Sunday posts, inadvertent or intended, must count as extras.) I will make up the mistake, by giving you a couple more recipes on the same theme.

It seems that producing cookery books was an early consciousness-raising and fund-raising effort of women suffrage advocates. It probably worked well – bringing home a new cookbook must have been a delightfully subversive act for some young wives and daughters, as even the most chauvinistic of the menfolk in the family would hardly have thought it necessary to check the culinary literature entering the household. Similarly, being seen writing or compiling a cookbook would hardly have raised any suspicious eyebrows. There were very few ways for decent women to earn a living in the late nineteenth century, and very few had few a disposeable income that was not scrutinised by a husband or father.

The Woman Suffrage Cook Book: Containing thoroughly tested and reliable recipes for cooking, directions for care of the sick, and practical suggestions... by Hattie A.Burr was published in Boston in about 1886. Many famous women contributed, including Julia Ward Howe, who provided “yesterday’s” quotation. The social activist Elizabeth Cady Stanton (1815-1902) contributed the following rhyming recipe for a breakfast dish.

Breakfast Dish.

Cut smoothly from a wheaten loaf
Ten slices, good and true,
And brown them nicely, o'er the coals,
As you for toast would do.

Prepare a pint of thickened milk,
Some cod-fish shredded small;
And have on hand six hard-boiled eggs,
Just right to slice withal.

Moisten two pieces of the bread,
And lay them in a dish,
Upon them slice a hard-boiled egg,
Then scatter o'er with fish.

And for a seasoning you will need
Of pepper just one shake,
Then spread above the milky juice,
And this one layer make.

And thus, five times, bread, fish and egg,
Or bread and egg and fish,
Then place one egg upon the top,
To crown this breakfast dish.

Quotation for the Day.

Any influence I may happen to have is gladly extended in favor of woman suffrage.
Lydia Maria Child (famous cookery book author)

Another Breakfast Opinion.

The question in my mind is - was the opinion of Phyllis Browne and her “mere man” (yesterday’s post) on the subject of breakfast the prevailing one in England in the nineteenth century? I consulted the Handbook for the Breakfast Table by Mary Hooper (1873).

The author agrees with Phyllis on the importance of breakfast, and feels particularly strongly about eggs.

“Whilst a great deal of thought is given to ordering dinner, breakfast is left pretty much to the judgement of the cook, and as it is generally, in her opinion, an affair of secondary importance, the result is one directly tending to promote all the evils which follow in the wake of indigestion. But if we consider to how large a portion of the community it is of the first necessity that they should leave their homes in the morning physically fortified against the fatigues of an anxious day, it will at once be seen that it is at least of equal importance to provide a nourishing appetitive breakfast as a good dinner.”
Now the number of dishes used for breakfast, is, in the majority of English families, very limited. Bacon and eggs are the staple, the former generally unsatisfactory, being either over or under cured, too salt or too new; it is besides expensive, a large portion of it running to fat. New-laid eggs, when they can be procured in town, are very costly, they properly, after twenty-four hours, can only be described as fresh. The Cockney mind is not, however, very enlightened on this subject, and the vendors of eggs are persuaded, or at any rate try to persuade the public, that eggs are new-laid until they are “an apology for pepper.” The British cook has no idea of making these London eggs more palatable by the exercise of a little skill or the addition of some sauce, gravy, or cold meat, generally at hand even in households of very modern pretensions.”

The author includes amongst the substantial dishes that she recommends such things as hashes, pressed and potted meats, pigeons, rabbit etc – but, sadly, does not include pie. Or hock.

I do love those phrases “household of modern pretensions” and “apology for pepper.”

The following recipe from the book would seem to risk indigesion, methinks.

Egg Cutlets.
These are very good, and if carefully cooked need not be too rich. Cut hard-boiled eggs into thick slices, dip them in the yolk of an egg well beaten, and then in finely-sifed bread-crumbs seasoned with pepper and salt and a pinch of dried parsley. Have a little butter in the frying pan; let the eggs cook two minutes on one side, turn them on the other and finish. When taken from the frying pan lay them before the fire on white paper to absorb the grease. Serve a little thickened gravy around them.


Quotation for the Day.

And you stagger down to break your fast.
Greasy bacon and lacquered eggs
And coffee composed of frigid dregs.
Ogden Nash

Preserving eggs, otherwayes.

There are numerous ways of preserving eggs, each with its own limitations. Last week we looked at pickled eggs - popular since the sixteenth century, but only useful to be eaten out of the jar as a snack, and also dried egg powder - a twentieth century WW II star which proved useful in baking and barely acceptable if you were desperate for an omelette or scrambled eggs. Nowadays we have cold storage which enables us to have “fresh” eggs until the use-by date on the carton. If we are so inclined we can even freeze surplus egg ‘pulp’ (what is the word for egg innards?) for use in cooking - yolks and whites separately, if we wish, in case of urgent custard or meringue situations.

Our ancestors didn’t waste anything. So, how did the careful farmers’s wife or housewife cope with an egg glut before technological advances enabled spray-drying and refrigeration? There were a number of methods, now thoroughly outdated but interesting because they were used on whole, unshelled eggs, enabling them to be kept 6-9 months. The methods were all based on the simple principles of keeping bacteria and air out of the egg.

The commonest methods were by immersion in lime water – a more popular method for large scale preserving but having the disadvantage of giving a ‘limey’ flavour, or alternatively by immersion in ‘water glass’ (sodium silicate) – a common household method that kept the yolk ‘central’ in the egg. Other methods were burying them in salt, dipping them in sulphuric acid (which converted the lime in the shell to lime sulphate), boiling them briefy in boric acid, ‘putting them up’ in oil, or coating the shell with glycerine, petroleum jelly (Vaseline), wax, varnish, or one of a number of proprietary products.

An article in The Times of June 8, 1914 discussed the various methods of egg preservation, noted that preserved eggs should never be passed off as fresh, and advised its readers how to pick the subterfuge. Preserved eggs could be known by the ‘roughness of the shell, if limed, by the yolk losing its firm roundness, by the thin and watery albumen, or white, and by the odour, which is unmistakeable.’

Here’s how to apply the two most common methods, from Henley’s Twentieth Century Book of Recipes, Formulas, and Processes (1916)


Preserving with Lime.
Dissolve in each gallon of water 12 ounces of quicklime, 6 ounces of common salt, 1 drachm of soda, 0.5 drachm saltpeter, 0.5 drachm tartar, and 1.5 drachms of borax. The fluid is brought into a barrel and sufficient quicklime to cover the bottom is then poured in. Upon this is placed a layer of eggs, quicklime is again thrown in and so on until the barrel is filled so that the liquor stands about 10 inches deep over the last layer of eggs. The barrel is then covered with a cloth, upon which is scattered some lime.

Preserving in Sodium Silicate.
Dissolve sodium silicate in boiling water, to about the consistency of a syrup (or about 1 part of the silicate to 3 parts water). The eggs should be as fresh as possible, and must be thoroughly clean. They should be immersed in the solution in such manner that every part of each egg is covered with the liquid, then removed and let dry. If the solution is kept at or near the boiling temperature, the preservative effect is said to be much more certain and to last longer.


Quotation for the Day.

By the immediate preservation of eggs for home consumption through the use of water glass or lime water, larger supplies of fresh eggs may be made available for marketing later in the season, when production is less and prices higher.
David F. Houston

Almost Easter.

On this day in 1879, President Rutherford Hayes and First Lady Lucy Hayes hosted the first Easter Egg Roll on the lawn of the White House itself. For many years there had been a tradition of an Easter Monday festival in the grounds of the Capitol, but in 1878 Congress determined that the damage and destruction wreaked upon the gardens by hordes of little egg-toting, lawn-trampling darlings was too great, and the fun-seekers were prevented from entering by the police. Luckily, the Rutherfords came to the rescue and a new tradition was born.

I remember this Easter ritual as a child in the north of England. A less-than-grand venue was a hilly field not far from home. The trick in that particular location was to try to race down the hill ahead of your pre-painted egg and catch it before it rolled into the stream at the bottom. I never managed it.

Easter is a moveable feast. Easter Day (that is, Easter Sunday) falls on the first Sunday after the first full moon that occurs on or after March 21. In the Northern Hemisphere it is (obviously) in Spring, which accounts for the heavy egg symbolism. In the Southern Hemisphere (obviously) it is in Autumn (or Fall, if you must) - not so good a time for eggs in theory, but seasons being irrelevant in modern chook batteries, we Down Under don’t have to forsake our breakfast eggs or (mercifully) have to resort to preserved eggs in one or other of their abominable forms.

The least abominable form of preserved eggs is the pickled form. Actually they are rather good, and a great standby (or used to be) on the bar of British pubs. No use for cakes or omelettes though. Here is a recipe for them from one of my favourite sources, Domestic Economy, for rich and poor, by a lady (1827).

To pickle Eggs, an excellent Sea Store.*
Boil the eggs hard, and put them into cold water, to preserve their colour; when they are cold, take off the shells without injuring the egg: a jar should be chosen that will pack the eggs, that there may be no waste of room, which also makes a waste of vinegar; they may likewise be pickled in the shell.
Season and boil good vinegar with pepper or mace, and salt and strain it over the eggs; let it cool, and then have a fitted bung, which must be pressed tightly in with a cloth. Look at them in a week, and if they require the vinegar to be boiled, do it for sea store or keeping, but for immediate use it is not necessarv. The same vinegar will answer again and again. A cook will find a store of pickled eggs very useful, both in first and second-course dishes, as well as ornamental.
*For a sea store they may be boiled hard in strong vinegar, salt, and spices, in the shell, and so packed: they will keep any length of time.


Quotation for the Day.

I am not strict vegan, because I'm a hedonist pig. If I see a big chocolate cake that is made with eggs, I'll have it.
Grace Slick

The Master Carver.

I want to continue today with the job descriptions of the senior household staff as described in The Perfect School of Instruction for the Officers of The Mouth (1682), starting with that of the Master Carver. The author tells us that the Master Carver not only had to be greatly skilled in ‘what manner you ought to break up any Meats, either Fish or Fowl, Fruits or Sweetmeats, with the difference and distance of pieces’, but also, most importantly ‘the manner how you ought to present it to each Person, according to his Rank and Quality.’ I wonder who got the Parson’s Nose?

The role of carver  had been a very important one for centuries. At great medieval feasts it was often awarded to an especially favoured nobleman. He was not only expected to perform the job with great flair and elegance, he was also expected to know the correct jargon, for there was a different term for the carving of each dish. Luckily for aspiring carvers, a wonderful ‘How To’ book published by Wynkyn de Worde in about 1513, called The Book of Kervynge, was there to help.

Here, for your edification and amusement, is the list:

Baeke the dere
lesche y brawne
rere that goose
lyste that swanne
sauce that capon
spoyle that henne
fruche that chekyn
babrace that malarde
bnlace that conye
dysmembre that heron
displaye that crane
disfygure that pecocke
baioynt that bytture
batache that cuclewe
alaye that felande
wynge that partryche
wynge that quayle
niynce that plouer
thye that pygyon
border that pauy
thye that woodcocke
thye all maner small byrdes
tymbre that fyre
tyere that egge
chynne that samon
strynge that lampraye
spatre that pyke
sauce that place
sauce that tenche
splaye that breme
side that haddocke
tuske that berbell
culpon that troute
syne that cheuen
trallene that ele
traunche that sturgyon
baderttraunche that purpos
tayme that crabbe
barbe that lobster

May I suggest you seriously consider learning to recite that list off by heart? It could come in handy on all sorts of occasions. Filling in a conversation lull at a dinner party. One-upping the know-it-all of your choice. Impressing the Chef when you are applying for a job perhaps?

In the meanwhile, here is a recipe from the book that should not cause you too much trouble in the carving (sorry, I mean tyere-ing).

To Make an Omelette of Apples.
Pare three or four apples and cut them in thin slices, and fry them in a Frying-pan with a quarter of a pound, or better, of good fresh Butter, and some Sugar, and when your Apples are fryed, take eight or ten Eggs beaten, and seasoned with Salt, and put them into your Frying-pan to your Apples, make it fry and lift it up with the point of a Knife, about the middle of your Pan to let the raw Eggs run under, that the Eggs and Apples may be well incorporated the one into the other, but shake your Pan as oft as you can that your Omelette do not burn, and when he is baked put him into a Dish, and put Sugar over him.

Quotation for the Day.

Roast Beef, Medium, is not only a food. It is a philosophy. Seated at Life’s Dining Table, with the menu of morals before you, your eye wanders a bit over the entrees, the hors d’oevres, and the things a la though you know that Roast Beef, Medium, is safe and sane and sure.
Edna Ferber.

Lunch with the King of Spain.

A variation of the desert-island question is ‘What would be on your perfect menu, if money was no object?’. Royalty are in this lucky situation every day (does it get boring, one wonders?), and there is always some fun to be found on historic royal menus. Alfonso XIII (1886-1941) became King of Spain on the day he was born, due to the untimely death of his father in an accident. His mother Queen Maria Christina ruled until he achieved his majority at the age of at sixteen, on March 17, 1902.

Two days after his birthday, 107 years ago to this day, the young king sat down to the following luncheon at the Royal Palace in Madrid.

19 Mars 1902

Déjeuner de S.M.

Consommé Julienne

Oeufs au plat

Pilaf de mouton au riz

Escaloppes de Veau à l’Anglaise

Pommes de terre maître d’hôtel

Poulet rôti

Gâteau Marignan.

The royals of Europe formed their own ‘superclass’ – intermarried as they have been for centuries – and enjoyed a sort of generic international cuisine. This royal Spanish menu was written in French, as all posh menus were until very recently (and I think still are in the English royal households), and contains not one single intrinsically Spanish dish.

The dishes are from the classical repertoire, so there are no surprises - and nothing scary or innovative. Even without the menu saying so, we can be sure that this was lunch not dinner, because there are eggs on the menu – and one never serves eggs at dinner if one is posh.

There was one big advantage of the classical names for dishes, and that was that if one was a sophisticated diner, even if one did not speak a word of French, one would know what one was getting. There was no need for the modern, long, wordy prose descriptions of each dish that are almost recipes in themselves. For the chef, there was generally speaking no expectation that one would constantly innovate (although a garnish or sauce might be tweaked and renamed for a special occasion or special guest) – the desirable skill was to faithfully and consistently reproduce the classics.

Direct translation of classical French menu phrases with the aid of a general dictionary does not help in sorting out what was actually eaten. ‘A l’Anglaise’ means, more or less, ‘In the English-style’ – which a sophisticated diner would understand to meant that his veal escallopes were plainly cooked, after coating in breadcrumbs. Oeufs au plat literally means ‘eggs on a plate’ –the French cross between fried and poached eggs, which are delicately buttery and definitely un-browned. Cookbooks contain an almost infinite variety of garnishing basic fried eggs, but it seems at this luncheon that they were unadorned, else the menu would have specified ‘a la Greque’ or ‘au tomates’ or whatever.

The Professed Cook, (1812) by B.Clermont suggests:

Oeufs au plat en ragout: Done in the table-dish, with a ragout of asparagus, pease, or any other sort of garden-stuff.

Quotation for the Day.

Without butter, without eggs, there is no reason to come to France.
Paul Bocuse.

The Ministry of Domestic Cookery.

We all like to have The Latest and Best Cook Book, don’t we? One of the latest is Jamie Oliver’s Ministry of Food, and I curse him for that title every time I Google for British wartime food information. I don’t know how Jamie got his idea for the book, but not much in cookery (or anything else for that matter) is an entirely new concept. A nice book called – believe it or not - The Latest and Best Cook Book, published in America in 1884 - considers the responsibilities of the ‘Ministry of Domestic Cookery’ – although admittedly with quite a different spin to Jamie's.

The author starts by telling the story of the saintly thirteenth century Queen Elisabeth of Hungary. The usual legend is that the devout and charitable Queen and her husband, Louis IV of Thuringia were idyllically happy. One day when he surprises her going to feed the poor, the bread she is carrying is miraculously changed into roses. I doubt if the hungry waiting for the royal bread scraps would have been ecstatic at getting a bunch of roses instead, no matter how beautiful and fragrant they might have been, but those who are expert in these matters determined the event to be an indication of her saintliness, and eventally she was accorded the official title. The author of The Latest and Best Cook Book however tells a different version. This time, Louis is a thoroughly nasty man who actually forbids her to take food to the poor, then one day surprises her in that very act. He insists, in his ‘stern voice’ that she show him what she carries. In the instant before she is ‘obliged to show him the forbidden burden’ the bread is changed into roses, and he allows her on her way.

The author’s version allows the author’s moral lesson to be drawn of course. It also, rather oddly, allows a grammar lesson.

“It would be well for some husbands if ‘their eyes were hidden’ in such a way that food served them would seem other and better than it really is. But the sense of taste is a rebellious member - especially in the men. It will cry out against the best appearing dish, if its flavor is not of the best. There is but one way to sure success. The housewife herself must be the angel who casts the spell about the humble board and the lowly fare, and invests them with forms and odors of irresistible attractiveness. This is the true poetry of Domestic Cookery; and blessed is the home where one presides who knows this art, and makes each meal a feast, and every guest a glad participant.


But things do not always take so happy a form. For instance: there was recently a brutal murder in Troy, N. Y., and a paper,- reporting the case, clumsily said: ‘A poor woman was killed yesterday in her own home, while cooking her husband's breakfast in a shocking manner.’ Quoting this statement, a contemporary remarked: ‘There are many women who cook their husbands breakfasts in a shocking manner, but it is seldom that justice overtakes them so summarily.’ The subject is a serious one to joke over, but the turn given by the commenting paper is bright and suggestive.


The fact is, that by skillful manipulation the plainest fare may be transformed into dishes fit for kings, while by ignorance and inattention the best viands may be rendered unfit for human food. Which turn should housewives attempt to give their own culinary affairs? There can be but one reply. But, be it remembered, that freaks of favoring fortune, such as came to Elizabeth, come only to those who are zealously pursuing the line of helpful duty. There is no royal road to success as a housekeeper or a cook. You must ‘work your passage,’ but the way will be smoothed by careful study of pages such as follow, provided the study take shape in wise action.


Remember, too, that the ministry of Domestic Cookery is by no means an unimportant one. It is worthy of the best attention of any housewife.”

If you ask me, if the second version is the accurate one, Elizabeth of Austria should have tried cooking her husband’s breakfast in a shockingly poisonous manner. But she would probably not have been granted sainthood if she had.

Here is a breakfast idea from the book. Please give it ‘your best attention.’

Eggs a la Mode.
Remove the skin from a dozen tomatoes, medium size, cut them up in a saucepan, add a little butter, pepper, and salt; when sufficiently boiled, beat up five or six eggs, and just before you serve, turn them into a saucepan with the tomato, and stir one way for two minutes, allowing them to be well done.

Quotation for the Day …

All well-regulated families set apart an hour every morning for tea and bread and butter.
Joseph Addison.

An Authentic Frittata.

I have a change and a treat for you today. My dear friend Marisa Raniolo Wilkins, who lives in Melbourne, has agreed to do a guest post (several, actually – watch out for them in coming weeks.) Marisa is a fantastic cook and writer. She has written her own book Australian Fish, Sicilian Recipes and is patiently doing the rounds of the publishers. In the meanwhile, she is working on developing her own blog, and just as soon as she determines it is fit for making public, I will be sure to let you know. 

Marisa has so much to offer on the subject of Italian – and particularly Sicilian – food, that it was difficult to know what to choose from her suggestions. I am always interested in how one country choses to interpret (misinterpret, adapt, or bastardise, if you will!) the cuisine of another country, and what does authentic mean in relation to specific dishes, and how is the authenticity of a dish determined anyway?

I remembered being intrigued by the following recipe, from The Italian Cook Book, compiled By Maria Gentile (New York, c1919).

Curled Omelet (Frittata in riccioli)

Boil a bunch of spinach and rub it through a sieve. Beat two eggs, season with salt and pepper and mix with them enough spinach to make the eggs appear green. Put the frying pan on the fire with only enough oil to grease it and when very hot put in a portion of the eggs, moving the frying pan so as to make a very thin omelet. When well cooked, remove it from the frying pan and repeat the operation once or twice in order to have two or three very thin omelets. Put these one over the other and cut them in small strips that are to be browned in butter adding a little grated cheese. These strips of omelet, resembling noodles, form a tasty and attractive dressing for a fricandeau (veal stew) or a similar dish.

Is this authentic? The OED says that a frittata is “A thick, well-cooked Italian omelette, typically containing a selection of meat, cheese, potatoes, etc., usually mixed in with the eggs during cooking, and served open rather than folded.”

What does Marisa say? Here are her words:

Frittata

 Every national cuisine has certain rules and customs. I always like to respect the original ingredients and methods of a recipe, which originates from another country, before creating my own variations.

One of the many Italian dishes that Australians have adopted is frittata, and because it contains eggs, it usually appears on restaurant menus in the breakfast section or as a light meal. In Italy a frittata is a common way to use up leftovers – usually it is made from the pasta (dressed or undressed) or the vegetable contorno (side dish of vegetables) from the night before, much like the English dish bubble and squeak made with shallow-fried left-over vegetables.

Frittata in Italy is usually placed between slices of bread and eaten as a panino (stuffed rolls or rustic shaped sandwich) or as a snack (spuntino).

This is where we get to the issue of variations.

How often have you seen recipes for frittata, either baked or browned under a grill?

This is the matter of respect. Frittata is always fried and never baked. It is called a frittata because it is fritta (fried) – derived from the verb friggere, to fry.

I have been researching and writing about Sicilian cuisine for a long time and I was intrigued to read that in her book, The Food of Italy, Claudia Roden states that ‘frittate are common throughout Italy, except for Sicily and Sardinia’.

If I may speak from my experience, Roden is wrong about frittata in Sicily. When I was in Ragusa last year, my aunt (zia) Niluzza made a simple frittata with fresh pork sausage and ricotta. Frittate (plural) have certainly always been common in my Sicilian relatives' kitchens, so in deference to Claudia I went back through numerous sources on Sicilian cuisine and was pleased to find many recipes for frittata.

The food of Sicily, like the food of Italy is very localised, but I found recipes from all over the island. Frittata seem to be particularly popular in rural areas where eggs were plentiful (but where chickens are reserved for special occasions) and generally they contain cooked or sautéed vegetables and perhaps a little grated cheese. Sometimes they contain a few chopped herbs or spring onion, or fresh breadcrumbs. Some recipes include cooked meat or fish, or slices of unripened, freshly made cheese (fresh pecorino or formaggio fresco) or ricotta (technically not a cheese because it is made from the left over whey).

How could Claudia have missed them? Sadly, some sources do not include them – perhaps because frittata were considered so basic, that they didn’t rate a mention? Or perhaps because in Sicilian, frittata is sometimes called other names – milassata and frocia are the most common.

Given the number of different cultures which have influenced Sicilian cuisine, who was responsible for the frittata? Was it the Arabs who made the eggah, the Spanish with their tortilla or the French with the omelette? Most of my references seem convinced it was the Spaniards.

Having told you most frittate are simple affairs, here is a rich tasting and unusual Sicilian recipe with an interesting combination of ingredients – a milassata that combines pumpkin, artichokes and asparagus and the flavours of cinnamon, mint and parsley. 

Use 100g each of cooked asparagus, young artichokes (tough leaves removed and poached in salted water with a little lemon juice, till soft) and thin slices of pumpkin fried in hot extra virgin olive oil over medium heat. Add the cooled vegetables to 8 lightly beaten eggs, (fresh free range for taste), 100g of grated pecorino cheese (parmesan is used in the north of Italy), 50g of fresh breadcrumbs, a pinch of cinnamon, 1 tablespoon of chopped fresh mint and 2 of parsley, salt and pepper.
Heat some olive oil into a large heavy-based fry pan. Pour the mixture into hot oil. Fry the frittata on the one side. Turn the heat down to low and, occasionally, with the spatula press the frittata gently on the top. Lift the edges, tilting the pan. This will allow some of the runny egg to escape to the sides and cook. Repeat this process until there is no more egg escaping.
Invert the frittata onto a plate, carefully slide the frittata into the pan and cook the other side.

Sicilian Children’s song and Italian translation:

Ole’ ole’ o lagna
a‘rrivatu u’rre di Spagna
a puttatu cosi novi
cosi ca vannu fritti cull’ovi
 

Ole’ Ole’ o lagna
e’ arrivato il re di Spagna
ha portato cose nuove
cose da friggere con le uova

Ole`, ole, o lament (could also be a sing song),
the king of Spain has arrived
he has bought new things
things that are fried with eggs.

Thanks Marisa!

Quotation for the Day … 

The olive tree is surely the richest gift of Heaven, I can scarcely expect bread.
Thomas Jefferson

Eggs not Chaps.

I spent a large part of today in Bath on a fruitless search for Bath Chaps. An otherwise well bacon-stocked deli/butcher told me that he used to sell a lot, but I am the first person in five years to ask for it. Bath Chaps are obviously victims of the cholesterol police, damn them.

My fall-back position was the Scotch Eggs (with ‘thrice cooked chips’) at the Rummer, a pub just near Pulteney bridge. They advertise a number of sausage dishes made from the ‘Old Spot’ variety of pig. I have to say they were good – so do try them if you are in the area. I am embarrassed to admit that I was unable to finish the chips, but it was not for want of trying. There was a man-sized portion. It might also have had something to do with the 500ml of cider I had with the lunch – a local organic variety, very dry and not at all like alcoholic apple juice. When I finished I noticed that it was 6.5% alcohol, so I had had 3.3 standard drinks. For lunch.

I don’t know when Scotch Eggs became Scotch, but I will look into it. In the meanwhile, this recipe fits into the Georgian time-frame, just.

Scotch Eggs.
Boil hard five pullets' eggs, and without removing the white, cover completely with a fine relishing forcemeat, in which, let scraped ham, or chopped anchovy, bear a due proportion. Fry of a beautiful yellow brown, and serve with a good gravy in the dish.

A New System of Domestic Cookery, Maria Eliza Ketelby Rundell, 1824.

The equal of one egg.

May 28 ...

On this day in 1941, the British wartime Minister of Food, Lord Woolton, announced experimental egg rationing.

He said “ For a long time I withstood the appeals to ration eggs. It was however, my practice to send people to stand in queues and listen to the conversations of the shoppers. By that means I got an unprejudiced account of the reactions to rationing. I became very disturbed to receive reports from wide sources that there were people in the queues who were agitators and who were trying to create dissatisfaction among the public, using the shortage of eggs and the wide inequalities of their distribution as a justification for complaint. I believed that this was a political agitation that emanated form a foreign source.”

The British accepted rationing with typical British stoicism – but the dried egg powder introduced in 1942 was utterly despised. It sounded good, if you believed the Ministry of Food’s spiel that dried eggs were "pure fresh eggs with no additions, and nothing but the moisture taken away."

One level tablespoon of dried egg mixed with two level tablespoons of water was equal to one egg. The Ministry of Food tried, and the valiant Britons tried, but no matter how it was done, dried eggs may have been OK in baking, but they were not OK on the breakfast plate. A tablespoon of powder may have been Equal to one egg, but it was not The Same as one egg.

Scrambled Egg, using Egg Powder.
(Ministry of Food recipe)
1 egg reconstituted (mixed with water), 0.5 of an ounce of fat and 1 tablespoon of milk. Melt the fat in a pan, beat the egg and milk together, add to the fat in the pan, season well and cook over a gentle heat. Diced cooked vegetables could be added for flavour.

There are other dried egg recipe stories HERE, HERE, and HERE.

Tomorrow’s Story …

Vintage Apples.

Quotation for the Day …

There are entire nations that have never learned how to scramble eggs. One has only to travel in Great Britain. Jon Carroll.