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A year ago (June 22nd, to be exact) I gave a presentation at the 2015
National ALHFAM* Conference. Held at the College of William and Mary,
down in Williamsburg, Virginia, it featured five days of sessions, tours,
professional-development workshops, time spent traipsing all ’round
Colonial Williamsburg, Yorktown, and Jamestown, and more.

IMG_4888

During my session, I offered the paper below. It deals with my research
and findings surrounding various supposedly-historic cookbooks, starting
with the two published by the Montclair Historical Society, which oversees
the operation of The Israel Crane House. As you’ll see, it was what I like
to call “a straight talk,” in that there was no power-point slideshow or
shoot-from-the-hip ramblings. It was just me, speaking for about 35
to 40 minutes, followed by a brief Q & A. Oh, and I also took down

IMG_5026

a boat-load of books for “show ‘n tell” and two batches of small cakes
(aka cookies), for an audience taste-test. My session was held in what
was probably the smallest room in the building, but a good-sized crowd
filled the space. Overall, I think it went well, and I had great fun
conducting it. HUZZAH!

Now, the material given here is as I presented it. And yes, it’s quite
long, as there’s alot of information. So I’ll be sharing it in several
separate sections. In addition, this is the ONLY place where you’ll
be able to read the entire paper, word for word, as I wrote it. Most
papers, you see, (but not all, as not every presenter participates)
are compiled each year in a bound volume entitled “Conference
Proceedings.” However, when I submitted mine, I was promptly
told that it wouldn’t be published. And then I was given a laundry
list of reasons why. It was too long, it was too critical, I’d pointed
fingers, I’d named names. I’d even dared to suggest that too many
book authors, as well as museum staff, are not as historically-accurate
as they could, or should, be. They even found fault with the length
of both the job title I use and that of my bio (apparently, the former
was limited to just two words and the latter to two sentences). Oh,
and BTW, the photos I sent were useless. And so on and so forth.
I was simply dumbfounded! The Proceedings’ editors told me, if I
wanted my presentation published, I must re-write it, removing all
that they deemed “offensive.” Then we went back and forth, ’round
and ’round, and back again. I’d ask, “What objections, specifically,
do you have?” and receive no definitive answers in return. Well,
other than being told that a single paragraph at the bottom of page
such ‘n such was fine.

SERIOUSLY?!?

The whole thing was downright bizarre.

Finally, I gave up trying to understand their issues. Besides, I had
absolutely no interest in re-writing what I’d spent years researching
and compiling. I had no intention, either, of re-doing it just to appease
the odd sensibilities of a couple people. I mean, come on. If you’re
afraid of being sued, print a disclaimer that states something along
the lines of, “Opinions expressed herein are solely those of individual
authors and not of the organization as a whole.” Golly, doesn’t that
already exist? If not, it should! In any event, eventually I made peace
with the fact that my small contribution to the 2015 National ALHFAM
Conference was vanishing into thin air. It was to be as if it’d never
been presented. Ahh, well…such is life.

But, wait. Someone had second thoughts. Or something. This past
winter I was contacted and told to review the edited version of my
paper “as it will appear in the Proceedings.” Huh?!? I didn’t know
what was going on or what to think. What games were these? First,
you won’t, then you will? What’s up with that?! And more importantly,
WHY?!? What happened to the whole “it’s not being published?” stance?
In any event, I couldn’t bare to read it, to see what white-washing had
been done to my years of hard work. And I don’t know what the final
decision was. I gave up trying to figure it out. And, at this point,
I don’t really care.

You know, this nonsense reminded me of when, at Conner Prairie,
I was given the task of fleshing out more fully the bio (fictional,
of course) of a particular Prairietown family. I remember putting
alot of time and effort into it, but, dagnabit, it seems that it wasn’t
what those in charge expected or wanted! So a committee (!)
was formed, and its members completely re-did it. Too bad
for me! And then there’s the more recent “Savoring Gotham”
debacle…but that’s a tale for another day.

Nevertheless, I’m posting my paper here, in its entirety, warts and
all. Like it or don’t like it. Your choice. But it’s MY choice to publish
it. I’m proud of what I wrote. And I’m pleased to be able to offer
up here, in this forum, what I had to say a year ago. As opposed
to what someone else thinks I should’ve said.

So, let’s get to it…

[NOTE: Details on all books and other materials mentioned herein
can be found under “Sources” at the end of each section.]

________________________________________________

FAKE FANNY RECEIPTS AND OTHER TRAVESTIES…Part I

This session is dedicated to long-time librarian Lynne M. Olver, who
passed away this spring
[April 2015]. Her passion for food history
led to her creation of the well-known and highly-valued site,
http://www.foodtimeline.org. Lynne was always supportive
of my on-going research for this project.

_________________________

Several precepts have stuck with me since my initial foray
into hearth cooking nearly 25 years ago. It was then that
I worked at Conner Prairie in my home state of Indiana.
And it seemed, at least to me, that certain directives were
drummed into interpreters’ heads on a daily basis. Naturally,
I often wondered if perhaps they were just messing with us.
You know, setting up impossible standards for us to follow,
just for sport, and then laughing, as they watched everyone
fail miserably? Of course, since leaving the Prairie, I’ve
discovered that it indeed often tended to be a case of “do
as I say, not as I do,” so…but more on that later.

Nevertheless, I took them at their word, took it seriously
and took it all to heart. I did my darnedest at the time
to adhere to the rules that were given me. In fact, the
overall philosophy that governed my time there was, and
has become, the very foundation of everything I did while
there, and that I still do, even today.

So, what were those mandates? They were:

1.) always be as historically-accurate as possible; and
2.) the three most important things are research,
research, and research.

Now, six years ago, when I began cooking over the open
hearth at The Israel Crane House in Montclair, New Jersey,
which is a property owned and operated by the Montclair
Historical Society (MHS), the powers-that-be requested
that I use receipts from the two cookbooks that’d been
published by the Society, especially the first one:

1.) Fanny Pierson Crane, Her Receipts, 1796; and
2.) The Thirteen Colonies Cookbook.

I promptly, but politely, replied, “No, thanks!” And I said
this because of what was instilled in me at Conner Prairie
all those years ago. I then explained that when doing any
hearth cooking, I use only receipts from original historic
cookbooks. This means works by Hannah Glasse, Amelia
Simmons, Mary Randolph or any other author appropriate
for the time period at hand (the 1830s at the Crane’s).

Of course, I’d previously read both of the Montclair Society’s
cookbooks from cover to cover, so I knew that neither
contained original historic receipts. In fact, for me, those
two volumes have more in common with Joy of Cooking
than with Glasse’s The Art of Cookery, Mrs. Bryan’s The
Kentucky Housewife
or any other historic cookbook. Nearly
every recipe in the MHS books is a modern adaptation. They’ve
been re-worked and/or re-written and thus bear little or no

015

resemblance to any originals. It’s not difficult to determine,
as there’s everything from the use of baking powder and
cornstarch to cans of “frozen lemonade concentrate.” Even
the format is modern, with lists of ingredients given first,
followed by instructions on what to do with them. In addition,
my years of experience working with historical receipts,
together with my knowledge of culinary history, enables
me to ascertain that some ingredients and cooking methods
scream “MODERN!” as they either didn’t exist or they couldn’t
be done during this or that time period. It ranges from the
afore-mentioned baking powder (not until 1859) to the use
of chocolate as a candy coating (not until the late 1840s).
The bottom line is, as anyone who knows me well can
attest, I prefer to use ONLY those receipts that’ve been
taken from original historic cookbooks. I don’t care one
iota for any that’re adapted or modernized. Just blame it
on those principles I learned, and the training I received,
while at Conner Prairie!

However, I told the Montclair Society officials that if they
could provide me with the actual original manuscript book,
the one written in Fanny Pierson Crane’s (Israel’s wife) own
hand, I’d be more than happy to cook from it. In fact, it’d be
a tremendous thrill to do so! I’d simply love the opportunity.
Problem was, no one knew anything about the book or where
it was or might be. Was it somewhere in the Crane House?
Or in the MHS offices? Was it hidden on a shelf? Or maybe
buried under a pile of books in a rarely-used room? Had
anyone ever seen it? Or heard of it? Alas, no one knew
anything, but everyone vowed to hunt for it.

And thus, the Great Search for Fanny’s personal collection
of household receipts began. As months went by, I’d inquire
every now and then, “Has anyone found Fanny’s book, yet?”
Sadly, no one had. At least, not yet. And before long, as no
manuscript materialized, I began to have my doubts. I even
jokingly said once or twice, “Maybe this book doesn’t exist?!”
Of course, I hoped that wasn’t true, but…you never know!

Eventually, toward the end of that first year’s season, one
of the two books’ five authors visited the Crane House. The
Museum Director brought her into the kitchen where I was
cooking, they both sat down and a conversation about Fanny’s
receipt book began. The woman rambled on about this and
that, these things here and over there, all nothing of any
real consequence, until finally the Director asked her, point
blank, “Is there an original manuscript upon which the Fanny
cookbook is based?” The author’s reply was, “Oh no, dear!”
in a tone that sounded as if she meant, “Oh no, dear. Where’d
you get a crazy idea like that? What a silly thing to think!”

Wow. So my earlier suspicions were correct. There is NO
manuscript! Unbelievable. So, it really IS a fake. A phony.
Wow. Guess the title should be “Fanny Pierson Crane, Her
FAKE Receipts.” And this, from an historical society, no less.

Naturally, this raised all sorts of questions, including:
Where’d all the recipes in this little booklet come from?
Are they adapted from original historic ones? Are they
at least based, even in the slightest, on any? Or are
they, indeed, made up, crafted out of thin air? Are they
what I hate to see, modern recipes masquerading
as historic ones?

So I set out to answer as many of the above questions
as I could. I began my investigation by spending much
of that summer looking through historic cookbooks in my
own personal collection (all facsimiles) for any and all
receipts that might possibly match, at least in part,
those in the Fanny book. I compared multiple “reals”
to the “fakes,” line by line. It proved to be a difficult
and tedious task. It was pretty fruitless, as well!

Then one day, I sat down and opened what I’d by then
dubbed “Fake Fanny” at random, and I happened onto
the page with the recipe for “Maids of Honor.” Suddenly,
it hit me: I’ve seen that before! I think it’s in The Williams-
burg Art of Cookery
, by Helen Bullock. So I got out my copy,

007

checked and sure enough, there it was. The same name,
the same ingredients, the same amount of those, even
a few of the exact same words. The only difference was
that Williamsburg’s is in paragraph form (as are most
original historic receipts, up until roughly the late 19th
century), and Fake Fanny’s is not. Then I remembered,
too, what the previously-mentioned author had said
during her ramblings that day in the Crane kitchen,
that she and the other authors had “studied” the work
of Helen Bullock. AH-HA! It was now becoming clearer!

So then I began to carefully compare, in any and every
detail, the Williamsburg book to the Fake Fanny. In
short, there are at least ten recipes in Fanny that’ve
been lifted from it. All are much like the “Maids of Honor,”
above, in that they have the same title, the same
ingredients, the same amounts, etc., with the only
difference being, again, that Fake Fanny’s are not
in paragraph form. Many are similar, yet slightly
different, such as Williamsburg’s “Orange Cake” and
Fanny’s “Glazed Orange Cake,” while others are nearly
direct lifts, such as Fanny’s “Greengage Plum Ice Cream,”
which is a poorly-disguised “King’s Arms Green-gage
Plum Ice Cream.”

Of course, this stealing, er, I mean, “borrowing” of receipts
is nothing new. It’s been done for centuries. Glasse stole,
er, borrowed from E. Smith and Raffald, Farley borrowed
from both of them. Emerson stole from Glasse and Simmons
(in fact, according to the late food historian, Karen Hess,
Emerson copied everything in Simmons, including the
mistakes!). Nowadays, though, there are more and
supposedly stricter laws against plagiarism, although
they can be complicated. I asked prolific book writer
and fellow food historian Andy F. Smith about all this,
and he told me,

This is all a murky area. Recipes are
considered formula and therefore
cannot be copyrighted. However,
the form of the recipe is considered
intellectual property and therefore
is copyrighted. So you can take
the ingredients and the instructions,
put them in your own form/words,
change the name, and it is now yours.
What professionals do is take a recipe
and change several ingredients/steps
and place ‘Adapted from’ and give
the original source.

Of course, the problem here is, nowhere in Fake Fanny
is the Williamsburg book mentioned, let alone an “adapted
from” credit given. There’s no bibliography of any kind,
either.

Smith went on to say,

However, you can quote sections
directly from published works
without making changes. The
courts have limited this in
a number of ways (can’t take
poetry or songs, for instance)
and to be on the safe side it
must be less than 1-2 percent
of the total work. So if a cookbook
has 200 recipes you could take
2-4 recipes without a problem.

Well, there are 60 recipes in Fake Fanny, so “1-2 percent”
of that is 0.6 to 1.2. And there are, as I stated earlier, at
least ten.

There’s another problem here. The fact that the Fanny book
is indeed a fake also affects Thirteen Colonies, because its
New Jersey section is comprised of some (but not all) of
the same recipes. Oddly enough, a few are ever-so-slightly
different here and there, which may be the result of some
minor editing. Or perhaps the authors were aiming for that
“change at least one thing, and the recipe is yours” criteria?
At the same time, this all means that they’re guilty of pla-
giarizing themselves. Which, as I understand it, opens up
a whole ‘nother can of worms and causes a new set of
problems (a topic for another time, perhaps).

However, what I was most shocked to discover during my
perusal of all these books is that recipes in Fake Fanny
can be found in different sections of Thirteen Colonies!
For example, Fake Fanny’s “Abigail’s Soft Molasses Cakes”

010

are also given as Lydia Watrous Buckingham’s “Soft Molasses
Cakes” in the chapter for Connecticut. And Fake Fanny’s recipe
for “Miss Mary’s Meringues, Kisses for Dessert Pyramid” is
also Elizabeth Matthews Heyward of South Carolina’s “Kisses
for a Slack Oven” (not to mention, who the heck are Abigail
and Miss Mary?!). The “Hospitality Thins” in Fake Fanny
also belong to Sarah Gibbons Telfair of Georgia. Fanny’s
“Crock-Preserved Fruits” are also offered by New York City’s
Samuel Fraunces. And “Rose Geranium Jelly” was supposedly
also part of Catherine Moffatt Whipple of New Hampshire’s
repertoire of dishes. The list goes on and on and on, and
all told, there are 26. Yep, 26 recipes allegedly collected
by Fanny Pierson Crane were apparently also compiled by
some other person in some other colony. From Massachusetts
to Delaware to Georgia, Fanny’s recipes are spread throughout
the East coast. I tell you, I’ve heard of recipe sharing, but
this is ridiculous! And too widely-rampant to be plausible.

At the same time, I had to laugh while reading in Fake Fanny
such statements as “simple enough for the Crane children
to make,” when the same recipe is Magdelena Hoch Keim’s,
in the Pennsylvania section. Gee, don’t they mean the Keim
children?! Or when in Fake Fanny, the copy for “Chocolate
Truffles” mentions Thomas Jefferson’s supposed influence
on the use of chocolate in the early years of this country
(um, yeah, no!), and how it was felt even “in the Crane
household,” despite its presence in the Virginia chapter,
since it purportedly belonged to Betty Washington Lewis.
So, don’t they mean the Lewis household?!

Unfortunately, this stealing, er, I mean “borrowing” doesn’t
end there. A few years ago, I bought a used copy of The First
Ladies Cook Book, Favorite Recipes of All the Presidents of
the United States
cheaply at a neighborhood flea market.
I discovered that recipes were taken from it, as well. There

004

aren’t as many, though, only five. At least that I’ve found
thus-far. There may be more. Of course, as before, this may
also mean there are a few in Thirteen Colonies, seeing as
the two books share quite a bit of material.

Incidentally, when I initially skimmed through First Ladies,
I found a clipping from The New York Times of Helen Bullock’s
obituary tucked inside (she was the book’s Consulting Editor,

Image (102)

and the author of Williamsburg’s pseudo-historic cookbook).
NYT didn’t mince words. It bluntly stated,

Her [Bullock’s] Williamsburg cookbook
became the bible for the preparation
of food in Williamsburg exhibitions,
at least until the 1980’s, when it
was discovered that Mrs. Bullock,
an eminently practical woman, had
taken certain liberties with the
original recipes. Having discovered
that 17-century [sic] cooks, lacking
ingredients like baking powder and
vanilla, has often prepared dishes
no discriminating 20th-century diner
would eat, she sensibly adapted them
to modern tastes and ingredients.

She did WHAT?!? Oh, my! I guess that explains the insertion
of baking powder and confectioner’s sugar (cornstarch), the
use of modern measurements, and more throughout the book.

So, is that it? Sadly, no.

_________________________

To be continued…stay tuned to see what other travesties are
lurking out there!

=========================================================

*ALHFAM = The Association for Living History, Farm and Agricultural
Museums. See my postings about the 2015 National Conference starting
with THIS ONE.

SOURCES mentioned in Part I (only):

Bullock, Helen, Consulting Editor. The First Ladies Cook Book,
Favorite Recipes of All the Presidents of the United States
.
Parent’s Magazine Press, NY, NY, 1966.

Bullock, Helen. The Williamsburg Art of Cookery. The Colonial
Williamsburg Foundation, Williamsburg, VA, 1938 and 1966.

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

Donovan, Mary, Amy Hatrak, Frances Mills, and Elizabeth Shull,
written and illustrated by. The Thirteen Colonies Cookbook.
Montclair Historical Society, Montclair, NJ, 1975.

Emerson, Lucy. New-England Cookery. Montpelier, VT, 1808.

Farley, John. The London Art of Cookery. London, England, 1783.

Glasse, Hannah. The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy.
London, England, 1747.

Hatrak, Amy, Frances Mills, Elizabeth Shull, Sally Williams,
compiled and illustrated by. Fanny Pierson Crane, Her
Receipts, 1796
. Montclair Historical Society, Montclair,
NJ, 1974.

The New York Times. November 11, 1995. The New York
Times Company, NY, NY.

Raffald, Elizabeth. The Experienced English Housekeeper.
London, England, 1769.

Randolph, Mary. The Virginia Housewife. Washington, D.C., 1824.

Rombauer, Irma S. Joy of Cooking. Scribner (imprint
of Simon & Schuster), eighth edition, 2006 (continuously in print
commercially since 1936; first published by the author in 1931).

Simmons, Amelia. American Cookery. Albany, NY, second
edition, 1796.

Smith, Andrew Franklin. Author and food historian. Personal
correspondence via e-mail, 2011.

Smith, E. The Compleat Housewife. London, England, 1727.

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Speaking of Conner Prairie…when I was employed as an Interpreter
there, beginning 25 years ago, I was frequently reminded of specific
principles to which I was required to adhere at all times. Of course,
being an institution that (at the time) prided itself on its first-person
capabilities, the main, and most important, one was that we always
be as historically-accurate as possible. Another, which constituted

A special invite: Yes! I'd visited often before becoming an employee.

A special invite: Yes! I’d visited often before becoming an employee.

the site’s very foundation, was that the three most important things
were research, research, and research! In turn, these two mandates
supported a third, namely, that if any interpreter wanted to make,
sew, wear, cook, build, create, or whatever, anything that had not
been done before, she or he must procure at least (as in a minimum;
more was ideal) three pieces of documentation. And preferably, that
person would find primary documentation (although, if none could
be found, secondary would, possibly, suffice), to prove that, indeed,
whatever “it” was, had existed or had been done, or worn, made,
cooked, built, and so on, during our time period (1836). At least,
that’s how I remember it. These mandates influenced my entire
experience at Conner Prairie. They’re also the foundation of all
I do, even to this day.

Okay. Great! So, what’s the point? Where is this going? Well,
here’s the deal…

You see, when I was at Conner Prairie (at least, as I recall, my
fading memory notwithstanding), “spider” was the word used
for this piece of cooking equipment:

my antiq bake kettle__post 10_24-2010

And no, I don’t know why. I never asked, and no one ever said.
It’s what I was told, and what I heard others say. I suppose,
maybe, it’s because of the three legs?

Nevertheless, then I moved East, where I found many people
who called the above pot a Dutch oven. That is, until I started
attending assorted hearth cooking classes and symposiums. There
I met dozens of fellow hearth cooks who, like me, were dedicated
to being as historically-accurate as possible. And they always
referred to it as a bake kettle.

What the heck?! So, which is it? A Dutch oven? Or a bake kettle?
Or hey, maybe a spider?

I’ve already thrown out the last one (spider), as I believe that’s
likely what this cooking implement is called:

006

Which makes sense. Three long legs. Kinda like a spider? But
I’ve also seen it simply referred to as a long-legged skillet.
Although, if you continue reading, you’ll see that I found one
citation with the word “spider.” It’s just the one, though. Or,
perhaps it’s a regional term? You know, it’s known as a “bake
kettle” in the East, and as a “spider” in the West? I don’t know.
Alas, more research specifically on this term is needed!

In any event, I’ve been searching for answers for quite awhile,
and I believe that I’ve found those requisite “at least three”
pieces of documentation. HUZZAH! Two are from primary
sources, and the others are from secondary. Of course, I’m
constantly on the prowl for additional evidence, especially
primary, but certainly these, below, satisfy that “Let’s see
your proof” mandate, as it was set forth at Conner Prairie.

In short, I’ve determined that this:

bz cd__tansey__outside WFM

is a bake kettle, and not a Dutch oven, because that’s what this is:

Biz Cd__reflec ov__bake ket__fire

And here’s why…

Documentation Number One, Primary Source

A tinsmith’s advertisement in The Pennsylvania Gazette
of May 16, 1765:

BENJAMIN HARBESON, HATH removed
from the House he formerly lived to
a House in Market street, at the Sign
of the gilded Still and Teakettle, next
door to the Widow Wister, and nearly
opposite to the Indian King; where
he continues to carry on his Tin and
Coppersmith Business as usual, and
hath for Sale, Stills, Brewing Coopers,
Washing Kettles, Boilers, Fish Kettles,
Dutch Ovens [emphasis mine], Stew
Pans, Preserving Pans, Chocolate and
Coffee Pots, Tea Kettles, Sauce Pans,
Plate Warmers, Coal Cases, brass
and iron Wire, Scales of all sorts,
Brass and Lead weights, with a
compleat Assortment of best
London Pewter, &c. &c.

Mr. Harbeson operated a “Tin and Coppersmith Business,”
so these “Dutch Ovens” would’ve been made of tin and/or
copper, not iron.

Documentation Number Two, Primary Source

From Mary Randolph’s The Virginia Housewife (1824):

TO ROAST POTATOES.
Wash and dry your potatoes, (all
of a size,) and put them in a tin
Dutch oven
[emphasis mine], or
cheese toaster; take care not to put
them too near the fire, or they will
get burned on the outside before
they are warmed through. Large
potatoes will require two hours
to roast them. To save time
and trouble, some cooks half
boil them first.

A key word here is “roast.” The main purpose of a reflector
oven is to roast meats and other food items. In addition,
it mentions not putting the potatoes “too near the fire,
or they will” burn. Although they might burn in a bake
kettle, it’d likely be because they were left too long or
there were too many coals under or on top, and not
because they were “too near the fire,” particularly
since placing the pot near a fire is not required.
It can be near or far. If that makes sense?!

Documentation Number One, Secondary Source

From Alan Davidson’s “Glossary” in Prospect Books’ facsimile
of (First Catch Your Hare,) The Art of Cookery Made Plain and
Easy
(1747), by Hannah Glasse:

TIN OVEN. The reference to a tin
oven, [on page] 91, is to the
Dutch oven‘ [emphasis mine]
which was in common use and
which stood in front of the fire.
The food being cooked was exposed
to direct heat and also to reflected
heat from the polished tin interior.
A door in the back could be opened
to permit viewing and basting.

"A tin (Dutch) oven from the Hugh Roberts collection." (c) Prospect Books, 2004

“A tin (Dutch) oven from the Hugh Roberts collection.” (c) Prospect Books, 2004

Incidentally, this refers to a receipt on page 91 of Glasse’s cookbook
for “Salmon in Cases.” It’s instructions state, in part, “…a Tin
Oven before the Fire does best.” Now, I’ve cooked this dish
several times, and yes, I used a “Dutch oven” or tin reflector
oven. It works surprisingly well!

Documentation Number Two, Secondary Source

Below is an image from another secondary source that supports
the use of the term “Dutch oven” to mean a tin reflector oven.
Note, too, that a low-lying cast iron pot with three legs and

Image (99)

a lid is referred to here as a “bake kettle.” This is from Home
Life in Colonial Days
(1898), by Alice Morse Earle. Though
her work is often discredited by historic researchers, she
was a pioneer in the field of domestic and social history
of early America. In addition, according to the “Preface,”
the illustrations in this book “are in every case [taken]
from real articles” that were held at the time in the
collections of Deerfield Memorial Hall, the Bostonian
Society, the American Antiquarian Society (as they were
then known), various state historical societies, and others.

Documentation Number Three, Secondary Source

Old Cooking Utensils, by Britisher David J. Eveleigh (sixth
edition, 2001; first, 1986), contains more evidence. In
the “Roasting, Broiling and Toasting” section, the author
mentions dutch ovens, describing them as “made of tinplate.”
In other words, they were reflector ovens:

Roasting screens, also known
as hasteners or dutch ovens
[emphasis mine], appeared
in the early eighteenth century.
They were made of tinplate
and stood in front of the fire,
the bright surface reflecting
the heat, reducing cooking
time and saving fuel. They
were made in various sizes,
the larger ones standing on
three legs. Most incorporated
a dripping pan and a door
in the back for basting.

There’s a term I’ve not heard before: “hasteners!” And
his timeline is a little off. Reflector ovens, whether made
of tin or copper, were in use even in the 17th century (see
NOTE for more information).

Later in this pamphlet-sized book is a drawing of “A cast
iron camp oven [a new term!] with three legs.”

Documentation Number Four, Secondary Source

Gertrude Lefferts Vanderbilt’s (she knew well the Lefferts
house that now sits in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park) 1882 book,
The Social History of Flatbush, contains these passages:

The roasting of meats and
poultry was done before
the open fire, in what was
called a Dutch oven [emphasis
mine
]. This was cylindrical
in form, but stood on four
feet, and the joint to be
cooked was held in place
by a long spit which
projected at each end,
so that the meat could be
turned without opening
the door of the cylinder.
It was of course open
to the front of the fire,
and there was a door
at the back for convenience
in basting.

And then:

For the baking of hot biscuit
for tea, or a single loaf of bread
or cake, a flat iron pot was used,
which was called a ‘bake-pan
or a ‘spider.’ [A-Ha! emphasis
mine
] This was placed in the
corner of the fireplace upon hot
coals, and a layer of hot coals
covered with ashes was placed
upon the tight-fitting iron lid.

So, there you have it. An abundance of documentary evidence,
from not three, but SIX sources, two primary and four secondary.
All of which tell us that the words “Dutch oven” refer to a tin
reflector oven and NOT to the low-lying three-footed cast iron
container with a lid. Instead, that piece of cooking equipment
is primarily referred to as a “bake kettle.”

Of course, I’ll keep looking for additional documentation. Who
knows what else I might find? Besides, there’s no such thing
as TOO much evidence! Eventually, I hope to do a search of
other receipts from historic cookbooks (such as the previous
one from Randolph) to see what words are used and in what
context. I know I’ve seen others in my work during the past
umpteen years. There’s also the question of when, and if,
the words used were possibly changed and/or switched or
even utilized interchangeably. There’s more to investigate!
And if any readers know of, or discover, other tid-bits
of documentation, I hope they’ll pass ’em along. Please
and thanks!

So, to review all of the above…this is a bake kettle:

IMG_1102

and this is a Dutch oven:

(c) 2014 MHS

(c) 2014 MHS

HUZZAH!

======================================================

NOTE:
I’ve written previously HERE and HERE that, based on period artwork,
reflector ovens were indeed available during the 17th century.

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I haven’t written anything here in a while. Life just got in the way.
Too much other stuff going on. Plus, once I stop, whether for a short
or long period of time, it’s often tough to get up ‘n running again.
Nevertheless, here I am! And to make it easy on myself, I’ll start
with something simple (HA! famous last words!).

Awhile back there were some posts on Facebook about popcorn,
and whether or not it has been on America’s tables since colonial
days. I’d never really thought much about it. My only encounters
with it in an historical context was when it was popped nightly
at one house during the Candlelight Program when I worked
Image (59)at Conner Prairie decades ago. Eventually,
a fellow hearth cook (one Kathleen Wall
of Plimoth Plantation) mentioned a book
that might provide some answers: Popped
Culture, A Social History of Popcorn in America

(1999), by food historian and prolific book
writer Andrew F. Smith. So, not being too
familiar with the subject, I ordered it, and
my copy arrived soon after.* Of course,
being an ever-busy (or trying to be) person, I’ve not had
alotta time to read it. However, I’ve recently done a quick
look-through, and of particular interest was the following
passage found in the “Preface” that pertains to those
ubiquitous and highly annoying popcorn myths.

While it is impossible to disprove myths,
I can report that no archaeological or
historical evidence was uncovered
[presumably during his research]
to support the following frequently
repeated statements:
— Columbus found popcorn in the Caribbean;
— Pilgrims ate popcorn on the proverbial first
Thanksgiving in Plymouth in 1621;
— Amerindians attached religious significance
to popcorn;
— Native Americans living in what is today the
eastern United States or southern Canada ate
popcorn in pre-Columbian times;
— Popcorn or maize was cultivated outside
of the Americas before Columbus’s arrival;
— Colonial Americans ate popcorn as a snack.

My favorite is that last one. As if colonial Americans ate snacks!
What a hoot! I can’t wait to read the rest of this book.

______________________________

*it came from amazon.com; the shipping was more than the book!

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About a month ago, I hopped on a train and headed South
to Williamsburg, Virginia, in order to attend the 2015 Annual
ALHFAM* Conference. Held on the campus of William & Mary
College, it was hosted by its neighbor, Colonial Williamsburg
(CW)
. The five-day affair featured assorted pre-conference
field trips and workshops, a day to experience all that CW

IMG_4888

has to offer, another for traipsing ’round the four separate
sites that comprise Jamestown and Yorktown, and last, but
not least, two full days of informative sessions that covered
every topic imaginable, from the role of modern technology
in museum settings to the tools required to better engage
audiences of all ages to the care ‘n feeding of re-enactors
at historic sites. Yours truly led a session, as well, entitled
“Fake Fanny Receipts and Other Travesties…,” wherein
I delved into the folly of using any of the ever-increasing
number of so-called “historic” recipe compilations, instead
of the truly authentic, original historic cookbooks (more
on that later).

Naturally, I took photos during the Conference. However,
just days before I left, my trusty camera went all wonky.
It still captured fantastic photos, but at a price. You see,
when I’d frame a shot, I’d do so blind. There’d be nothing
on the view screen, as it was completely blank! So, I had
to eyeball it, click the button, then check the resulting
photo (which it still showed, thankfully) to see if I got
what I wanted. If yes, I could go on to the next, but if
NOT, then I had to adjust, ever-so-slightly, how it was
aimed and try again. Repeatedly! Getting exactly what
I desired was rather hit ‘n miss (mostly, miss! although,
it did get easier as time went on). Of course, then I had
to sort through ’em all and delete the pesky “not-quites.”
dagnabit If I’d had enough time, I would’ve purchased
a new camera before I left, but alas…. So, I made do.
Besides, it was certainly better than nothing!

In any event, I’ll start sharing a few photos. And I’ll
begin with those that deal with my favorite subject,
historic cooking. Others, of the more general sort,
will follow. Enjoy!

================================

I’d have to say that, for me, the biggest and most
fan-ta-bu-lous thrill of this entire trip, was…well,
other than the fact that I got to wear THIS at all
times, all day, every day, everywhere I went…

IMG_5026

Woo-Hoo and HUZZAH! What fun!

Oh, sorry. Let’s see, where was I? Ahh, yes…the greatest
thrill was…walking into the recreated Rev War military
encampment at Yorktown and seeing this…

IMG_4423

…a fully-operational (albeit a partial) camp kitchen. HUZZAH!

IMG_4408

Now, I’ve read much** about the building and use of these
set-ups, have seen numerous period depictions of them, as
well as photos ‘n videos of modern-day attempts to re-create
them, and I always discuss the details of their use whenever

IMG_4424

I present my “Cook Like a Soldier” program, but this, THIS,
was the first time I’d ever seen one! AND seen it being used!
Wow! It was absolutely marvelous. I only wish I could’ve not
only stayed longer in order to explore it further, but also been
able to cook on it. How cool would that be?!

IMG_4418

There were also a couple of gridirons made outta barrel hoops…

IMG_4407

and the obliging barrels, filled with soldiers’ rations…

IMG_4413

It seemed that our time at this site was extremely limited, so
I know I missed alot. Maybe, some day, I’ll be able to return?
Here’s hoping!

Up next are various views of the communal clome bake oven
at the re-creation of the Jamestown Settlement (which, BTW,
is separate from the site of its actual location). Unfortunately,
no baking was being done at the time.

IMG_4671

IMG_4676

IMG_4674

In the section of the Jamestown Settlement site known as
the Powhatan Indian Village, a young fellow was cooking
squirrel and pigeons over an open fire…

IMG_4653

IMG_4657

He was munching on previously-cooked fish and other stuff, as well…

IMG_4654

_________________________

NEXT: Photos taken during my pre-conference field trip

========================

*ALHFAM = Association for Living History, Farm and Agricultural Museums

**For more information, read John U. Rees’ highly-informative articles.

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I spent a good chunk of time earlier this year developing menus for two different hearth cooking classes at The Israel Crane House (including one that never materialized…ahh, well, so it goes). It’s always an interesting journey when I search for dishes that might have made up a typical mid-day meal at the Crane family table. I usually begin by making a general list of what I’d like to include, along with specific dishes and cooking techniques that I think class IMG_9597 participants might like to try. I consider what foods would’ve been in season at the time, and what was likely available to a family such as the Cranes, who lived so close (relatively!) to Manhattan. I often simply skim the table of contents and indexes of assorted historic cookbooks for ideas. Frequently, I’ll open one at random and just start reading, which can be fascinating, as I never know what I’ll find! If nothing else, creating menus for these classes is always a fascinating and educational experience. And so, my recent search for receipts (recipes) followed this same basic path. However, as I went along my merry way, I suddenly discovered some shocking, good-golly-miss-molly, eye poppin’ and jaw-droppin’ information. As I perused the vegetable section of the Index in Mrs. Lettice Bryan’s The Kentucky Housewife (1839), I came upon these two little words:

Potatoe pumpkin.

“Wow!” I thought. “Is this another, a second, receipt for the dish that I know so well and have made multiple times? If so, how cool is that?! I’ve gotta check this out.” You see, there’s a “Potato Pumpkin” in The Virginia Housewife (1824), by Mary Randolph. I was first introduced to it during the 18th Century Historic Foodways Conference back in 2009 at Colonial Williamsburg. The Historic Foodways folks there had made one that played a major role in various displays and “live” presentations. It was a most unique dish, and I was just fascinated with it. I vowed then and there to try it when I got home. And, indeed I did, both for use at the Crane House and at my own celebratory meals. Many of my fellow hearth cooks have prepared it, as well, and I’ve seen a wide range of photos posted online that showcase their efforts. Of course, I’ve also shown off my handiwork here on my blog. One made for use at the Crane House: and another, eaten at home: And although I’d shared Randolph’s receipt for “Potato Pumpkin” often, I admit I’d never paid too much attention to the specifics contained therein. I mean, I’d read it and re-read it, and there was that one puzzling sentence, but, golly, I’d seen it, and heard its preparation discussed, at Colonial Williamsburg, and thus had a clear idea of what it was and how it went together. Certainly, the foodways folks at CW must’ve known what they were doing and what was up and what was correct, yes? There was no need to question their efforts! So, in accordance with everything that I’d witnessed, making a “Potato Pumpkin” appeared to simply involve cutting off the top of a regular (pie or sugar) pumpkin, paring and gutting it, filling the cavity with forcemeat (which typically consists of sausage or other meat mixed with herbs, bread crumbs, and other ingredients), baking it, and then, finally, eating the entire thing. Yeah, well…no! There’s one part of those basic instructions that’s completely wrong! How do I know? Well, remember when I stated previously that I’d discovered another “Potato Pumpkin” receipt in The Kentucky Housewife? Turns out, not only is it NOT the same as Randolph’s (HUZZAH! no stealing, er, “borrowing” here!), but it’s also much, MUCH different. Here’s what I found in Mrs. Bryan’s book:

POTATO PUMPKIN. Potato pumpkin when large and ripe, is very good, tasting much like the sweet potato, and can be kept well through the winter, put up in a dry place, and covered securely with fodder or shucks. They may be dressed by the various receipts I have just given for winter squash.

A-HA!!! It’s a squash! A specific squash. And it’s a food item unto itself, one that’s wholly distinct and separate from a regular pumpkin. And it’s called a “POTATO pumpkin” because it TASTES like a SWEET POTATO. [emphasis mine] Good golly, miss molly. After reading this, I turned again to the receipt in Randolph’s The Virginia Housewife:

POTATO PUMPKIN. Get one of a good colour, and seven or eight inches in diameter; cut a piece off the top, take out all the seeds, wash and wipe the cavity, pare the rind off, and fill the hollow with good forcemeat—put the top on, and set it in a deep pan, to protect the sides; bake it in a moderate oven, put it carefully in the dish without breaking, and it will look like a handsome mould. Another way of cooking potato pumpkin is to cut it in slices, pare off the rind, and make a puree as directed for turnips.

“Get one of a good colour,” as in one of the specific vegetables that’re known as potato pumpkins. And, again, NOT a REGULAR pumpkin! Then that last line, which greatly puzzled me: “another way of cooking potato pumpkin….” Well, seeing as it’s referring to a specific type of squash, cutting IT into slices, cooking and making IT into “a puree as directed for turnips,” I understand better now. But golly, I’d always wondered how you were supposed to cut a regular ol’ pumpkin filled with forcemeat into slices and then puree them all together. It just didn’t make any sense! Now, though, it does. HUZZAH! Then, as I was reading these two different receipts, I suddenly recalled seeing the words “potato pumpkin” in another section of my facsimile of Randolph’s 1824 book. Ahhh, yes, it was in the “Historical Glossary”! So I looked, and sure enough, there it says, in part:

POTATO PUMPKIN—I take this to be calabaza or West Indian pumpkin. In a letter to Samuel Vaughn, Jr., in 1790, Jefferson speaks of the potatoe-pumpkin, calling it thus ‘on account of the extreme resemblance of its taste to that of the sweet-potatoe’…

Good golly. Wow, WOW, WOW! One good part of all this is we may FINALLY be rid of that constantly-asked and annoying, but unanswerable question, “Why is the dish called a potato pumpkin, when there’s no potato in it?!” I don’t know about anyone else, but it sure made me uncomfortable. There I’d be, putting it all together with relative ease, and yet I couldn’t offer up an explanation for the name of it. THAT didn’t make any sense, either! Of course, after this major discovery, I wanted to know more and to get as much information as I could about this squash called a potato pumpkin. So, first I turned to my facsimile of Noah Webster’s 1828 edition of his American Dictionary of the English Language. Nothing was given for potato pumpkin, but under “Calabash,” I found:

[Sp. calabaza, a pumpkin….] (In case you’re wondering, “Sp.” is the abbreviation for Spanish)

Next, I consulted that well-known source for definitions of all “odd” and unfamiliar words, the Oxford English Dictionary (OED). Again, there was no potato pumpkin. However, I did find:

calabaza Chiefly West Indies Known as West Indian or green pumpkin…not to be confused with pie pumpkin… (emphasis mine)

Wow. There you have it. What more need I say?! Nothing. Other than the fact that I now have LOTS of questions about the research (or lack thereof?!) done on this dish by members of the Historic Foodways staff down at Colonial Williamsburg. I mean…really?!? It’s bad enough that they insist on using a 19th century cookbook (The Virginia Housewife), one that wasn’t to be published for another half century (50 years!) after the time period the site is portraying. Golly, what’s up with that?!? Furthermore, which edition of Randolph’s are they using? Indeed, there are several, from its 1824 original to those of 1828, 1836…even 1860 (incidentally, she died in 1828). If theirs is the facsimile of the original of 1824, is it the one with notes and commentaries by the late Karen Hess? And, if yes, haven’t they ever found and READ her “Historical Glossary”?! And if they have, well, so…what? They forgot what’s in it? Or they purposely chose to ignore it? And if, indeed, they’re aware they’ve used the wrong squash, did IMG_3656 they do so because they couldn’t find the correct one? So why haven’t they ever said as much? Substitutions occasionally must be made, for one reason or another, so why not share that bit of information? Particularly during the 2009 Conference. When all their fellow hearth cooks and food historians were present?! You know, saying something along the lines of “A potato pumpkin is a specific type of squash, but we’ve been unable to procure one, so we’re substituting a regular pumpkin”?! I mean, golly, don’t they think they’re obligated to tell us the truth?! And I’m fully aware that CW gives adapted receipts to the general public, particularly on its “History is Served” pages, but, come on, that ain’t us! We’re striving to closely follow historic receipts, too, and to make every dish as correctly as possible. Besides, being workers in the various kitchens at Colonial Williamsburg, they’re at the center of the 18th century living history world. We look to them to provide us with solid, factual information, and NOT namby-pamby “enh, we’ll just fudge it” shenanigans like this. On a personal level, I feel duped and betrayed, like I’ve been led astray and sent down the wrong path. I expected better, so it’s rather disappointing. Alas, I guess it highlights the fact that it’s best to do your own experimentation and conduct your own research. Don’t rely on anyone else, no matter who they are or where they work. It reminds me of what the woman told me as she led a group of us on a tour of CW’s Costume Design Center awhile back. She said, “Don’t copy us. We don’t always get things right.” Okay, good to know! Guess maybe that sentiment also applies to Colonial Williamsburg’s Historic Foodways, ay?! In any event, I’ll end here with two items I found of interest online. One is an image of a potato pumpkin, the other a video of a chef creating a potato pumpkin soup. Be sure to note the colors, texture, and shape of the squash in both. Courtesy of Wikibooks: image of calabaza from wikibooks And then check out this video for making Calabaza Soup. It offers a good idea of what a calabaza looks like, inside and out. Note especially when he peels it. The rind is much thinner than that of our everyday pumpkin. Oh, and one other thing. There’s a large Caribbean population here in NYC/Brooklyn. I’ve asked around, and I should be able to find a calabaza, a potato pumpkin, at a market somewhere! My plan is to buy one and make an actual, true “Potato Pumpkin.” When I do, I’ll be sure to post an update, complete with photos. Can’t wait! HUZZAH!!! IMG_1934

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Okay. Time to stop dawdling. Which isn’t easy, seeing
as we’re in the midst of the lazy-hazy-days of summer!
In any event, here’s a follow-up to my recent “phantom”
Pepper Pot post
. Let’s get to it!

____________________

As several friends, colleagues, and blog commenters stated,
indeed, not only were there two subsequent editions of Sarah
Rutledge’s The Carolina Housewife* (one in 1851 and another

IMG_2600

in 1855), but a Pepper Pot receipt was in each one, as well.
And yes, Karen Hess, author of The Carolina Rice Kitchen,
The African Connection
(1992) was aware of this. In fact,
she acknowledges that Mrs. Samuel G. Stoney, the compiler
of The Carolina Rice Cook Book (1901), “seems to have used
the third edition of 1855.” I was able to verify all this by first
re-reading the bulk of Hess’ ten-chapter narrative preceding
the facsimile of Carolina Rice, and then searching for, and
finding, those two other Housewife editions online. Although
I wasn’t able to read the Pepper Pot receipt in both, it IS
there (the 1855 could be read in its entirety for FREE, but
in order to go beyond the Table of Contents, where Pepper
Pot is listed, of the 1851 edition, I would’ve had to pay a fee!).
Nevertheless, save for a few minor changes in punctuation
and the like, Stoney’s version is nigh identical to Rutledge’s.
Of course, as with other second or tenth or 20th editions
of these historic cookbooks, I always wonder how much
input, if any, the original author actually had. In this case,
did Rutledge make these additions herself? Or did someone
else, perhaps the publisher, do it? After all, Rutledge died
in 1855, and that year’s edition had a different publisher
than the first two. I suppose we’ll never know. But such
uncertainty about provenance is why I prefer to use, if
possible, the first editions of any cookbook.

At the same time, I must say that I was puzzled as to why
Pepper Pot is in a rice cookbook, seeing as there’s NO rice
in it! At least not in any of the various receipts I’ve found,
whether in Rutledge’s work or another’s. Even Hess mentions

IMG_2594

at one point that there’s no apparent rhyme or reason as to why
some of the receipts are included. In any event, while pondering
this, I looked carefully again at the Carolina Rice Cook Book’s
Pepper Pot. And then it hit me. It’s been altered! Stoney (or
someone) modified the receipt so it’d fit in perfectly with the
whole rice theme by adding one little sentence at the very end:

“Serve with rice.”

tsk tsk, Mrs. Stoney! Revised history, did we?! **sigh**

I suppose, since the book was created as a tool for the Carolina
Rice Company and other Southern rice growers to promote their
products,** it makes perfect sense. Throw together a bunch
of receipts, add side dishes of rice, and call it a day. I guess
that’s one way to pad a book AND sell rice!

Ahh, well, so it goes…

______________________________

* The first edition of the Carolina Housewife was published in 1847.
**BTW Mrs. Stoney was the wife of the Chairman of the Carolina
Rice Kitchen Association. The cookbook was offered in pamphlet
form to visitors for 25 cents during the apparently-not-successful
South Carolina Interstate and West Indian Exposition, which was
held in Charleston, SC from December 1, 1901 to June 20, 1902.

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Recently, I presented my “Cook Like a Soldier” program
at The Museum of Early Trades and Crafts (METC) over
in Madison, NJ. Now, usually when I do this, I’m outside,
with a pot of soldier’s rations cooking over a fire, and it’s

IMG_0312

all rather informal. I’m able to chat with folks in a leisurely,
give-and-take fashion, while sharing food and bits ‘n pieces
of information as I go. This time, however, seeing as it was
to be given inside the Museum, the situation called for more
of a straight-forward, linear talk, as in one with a beginning,
a middle, and an end.

Now, back when I was preparing the “straight talk” version,
I struggled a bit with melding everything into a cohesive
whole. After taking a few stabs at it, trying this, and then
that, it suddenly hit me! I’d utilize one of my favorite
activities, namely that of debunking historic food myths.
So I decided to demonstrate throughout the course of my
talk (both directly and not), why a certain story regarding
a dish purportedly served to soldiers at a particular point
during the Revolutionary War is nothing but pure fakelore.
And what is that dish? Why, Pepper Pot, of course! (more
details on the story’s content later; either that, or you’ll
just have to attend my program sometime!).

Everything was ready, and I eagerly awaited my “Big Day”
at METC. In the meantime, I found a few spare hours in
the days beforehand and did a little additional research.
As a result, I made a startling discovery about an original
historic receipt for Pepper Pot (yes, the dish, itself, DID
and DOES exist).

You see, there’s a facsimile of the Carolina Rice Cook Book,
compiled by Mrs. Samuel G. Stoney (1901), that’s included
in The Carolina Rice Kitchen, The African Connection (1992),

IMG_2362

which was written by the noted food historian Karen Hess.
And in her work, Hess discusses in detail the contents and
possible origins of a receipt for Pepper Pot found in the first
book (Carolina Rice), where it’s attributed to The Carolina
Housewife
(1847), by Sarah Rutledge. (Did you get all that?
I know, it’s a little confusing!) In any case, long story short,
here’s the problem: IT’S NOT THERE! It doesn’t exist! Yep,
there’s NO receipt for Pepper Pot in Rutledge’s book!

I made this shocking discovery when I searched the Index
of my copy of Housewife and didn’t find Pepper Pot. Well,
I thought, I know sometimes receipts, for whatever reason,
aren’t in the section where you’d think they’d be (in this case,
soups), and instead, they’re in another. So I combed through
ALL the possible alternatives. Again, nothing. Then I looked
through the ENTIRE Index, line by line. Still no Pepper Pot.
Finally, I thought, maybe the receipt IS in the book, and,
although it was (inadvertently?!?) left out of the Index, it’s
nevertheless located somewhere, and I just have to hunt

IMG_2380

carefully for it. So, I searched the ENTIRE BOOK, looking
up and down every single page. And I did so TWICE. Alas,
a receipt for Pepper Pot was nowhere to be found.

I couldn’t believe it! Good golly, how can this be? Didn’t
Mrs. Stoney verify where the receipts she was given came
from? Didn’t she check and re-check her sources? Did she
simply not catch this? Or, if the receipt was submitted by
another person (to Stoney), what of her? Did she goof up?
Or (heaven forbid!), was it done on purpose? You know,
perhaps the receipt was created out of whole cloth, but
then attributed to The Carolina Housewife in a desperate
attempt to legitimize it?

And, holy moly, how is it that the famous Karen Hess didn’t
notice any of this?!? Had she never looked all that closely
at Rutledge’s book? Wasn’t she even curious to look at
the receipt she was going to write so much about? In its
original location? Just to see what else was in the same
section or on the same page? Or, heck, just to verify that
it was copied correctly by whoever submitted it to Stoney?
And yet, Hess dissects it as if it was written by Rutledge
(or at least included it in her book). She offers details
about the Southern author’s background and speculates
where she may’ve gotten the Pepper Pot receipt.

Golly. What a mess! So many questions, but no answers.
This whole affair is incredible!

Of course, now the treasure hunt is on to find the true and
original source for the Carolina Rice Cook Book’s Pepper Pot
receipt. There’s one that’s somewhat, but not entirely, similar
in The Cook’s Own Book, which was compiled by “a Boston
Housekeeper” (aka Mrs. N.K.M. Lee). The thing is, it was
published in 1832, 15 years before Rutledge’s book. And
in Boston, of all places! Also, as those who’re familiar with
Cook’s Own know, it’s an encyclopedia of receipts that’ve
been gleaned from other works, but not one is attributed
to any specific work.

There ARE a few other 19th century, even some earlier (18th
century), Pepper Pot receipts. However, none of them match
the one in Carolina Rice. I’m still looking, though. If I ever
find it, I’ll let you know. And of course, if anyone out there
hears of, or finds, the illusive matching Pepper Pot receipt,
please DO let me know. Until then, the mysterious case
of the phantom receipt remains unsolved.

IMG_2336

_________________________

Oh, and here’s the receipt for Pepper Pot that’s NOT found
in Sarah Rutledge’s The Carolina Housewife (1847), but IS
found in The Carolina Rice Cook Book (1901), compiled
by Louisa Cheves Smythe (Mrs. Samuel G.) Stoney:

PEPPER POT.
Take one-half peck of spinach, pick and
boil it as for dinner; drain off the water,
and chop it up fine. Put into a soup-kettle
6 quarts of water, 3 pounds of beef or
veal, about 1 pound of pork, which must
be scalded to draw out the salt, a piece
of ham with the ham bone is preferable,
and boil about an hour. Then add the
spinach, a dozen potatoes, or 4 pounds
of yam, 3 plantains peeled and cut up
into pieces about 3 inches long, and small
dumplings. Let all these ingredients boil
together slowly for four or five hours. Just
before serving add some pickled peppers
(cut up) and 1 or 2 long red peppers. If you
have crabs or lobsters previously boiled, add
a small quantity, pickled fine, about half hour
before serving. Serve with rice.
CAROLINA HOUSEWIFE.

_________________________

And, hopefully, everyone is aware that good ol’ Mrs. Stoney
was the wife of the chairman of the Carolina Rice Kitchen
Association, of Charleston, SC. In fact, her cookbook was
published by that very entity. Also, that the current name
Carolina Rice has absolutely NOTHING to do with the rice
that was grown in the American South during the 17th,
18th, and early 19th centuries. It was selected merely
because it was available and, according to a spokesperson
for the maker, Rivianna Foods, Inc., ” ‘they had simply
liked the name.’ ”

_________________________

And finally, the receipt for Pepper Pot from The Cook’s Own
Book
(1832). Note the similarities and differences between
this and the one above:

Pepper Pot.
Take as much spinach as will fill a good
sized dish, put it in a saucepan without
any water, set it on the fire, and let it
boil; then drain off all the liquor, chop
the spinach very fine, and return it
to the saucepan, with the water just
drained from it, more water, onions,
three or four potatoes, a lettuce or
head of endive cut small, the bones
of any cold roast meat, if you have
them, and half a pound of bacon; put
the whole on the fire, and when it has
boiled for about an hour, put in a few
suet dumplings; leave it twenty or
thirty minutes longer; season it well
with cayenne, and serve.

Interestingly, there are two Pepper Pot receipts in Cook’s
Own
. The second, however, is a nigh exact copy of one
in Maria Rundell’s A New System of Domestic Cookery
(London, 1816). And it, according to Hess, demonstrates
perfectly that she (Rundell) “understood it very well.”

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