Time Travel Cooking: 1796 Minced Pie of Beef

As a food historian I’ve often contemplated cooking up historical recipes but haven’t ever done much to fulfill that desire. So one of my intentions for this summer is to try a new (really old?) recipe at least once a week.

I decided to start off with a recipe from what is regarded as America’s first cookbook. I’ve used Amelia Simmon’s American Cookery (1796) as a historical source before, but I’ve never actually worked with any of the recipes. I’ve also never made a meat pie before, so it seemed like the perfect one to start with.

 

Here’s the original recipe:

Four pounds of beef? Six pounds of apples? Are you kidding me, early America?

Obviously I converted the recipe. I also omitted the two pounds of sugar. And suet (beef fat)? Nope--subbed that out with bacon. I also added onions, just because it seemed like a reasonable thing to do.

Here’s the ingredient list I ended up with:

1 lb. ground beef
2 apples, chopped
¼ lb. bacon
1 cup red wine
½ cup raisins
½ yellow onion, chopped
cinnamon to taste
salt to taste

I would have kept in the mace and nutmeg but unfortunately didn’t have those spices on hand.

First I set the oven to 350º while I prepared the dough and filling.

I cut the bacon into small pieces and cooked it up on the stovetop with the onions. Next I added the ground beef. After the beef was mostly browned, I tossed in the apples, raisins, cinnamon, salt, and wine.

 

I didn’t cook it on the stovetop for too long since it would keep cooking in the oven. Once I finished the filling I added it to the piecrust WHICH I MADE MYSELF. 

For the piecrust, I used this simple recipe from Crazy for Crust. Now, I generally avoid baking but it didn’t seem right to purchase a pre-made crust when using a 1796 recipe. I did, however, use a food processor to make the dough. We all have our limits.

It was actually incredibly easy to make the dough—just flour, butter, and water. And there’s something very satisfying about working with dough. It also tasted so much better than any store-bought crust I’ve used. It seems I may slowly be converted to the baking realm.

After glazing the top crust with an egg wash of yolk and water, I popped it in the oven and let it cook for about 45 minutes until it was a beautiful golden brown.

This pie. Guys. Seriously. It’s so amazing and satisfying. It’s not entirely “historical” since I altered the recipe. But hey, I like to play fast and loose with the past, especially if it means getting to eat something as delicious as this updated version of a 1796 meat pie. 

Rekindling

Dear Readers,

In the words of the narrator of Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, “I been away a long time.” It’s true. I’m sorry for my prolonged absence. It seems, however, that the time has arrived to rekindle this food blog.

So. LIFE UPDATE. A couple years ago I started meditating and practicing Buddhism again. In August I moved to Brooklyn, which I do believe was a very wise decision. I also got an iPhone over the summer. What? Hello, twenty-first century.

Seriously though, life has been good to me over the last year and a half of my food blogging hiatus.

I’m now four years into my doctoral program for American cultural history. After wavering in the should-I-stay-or-should-I-go dance of graduate school, I recently decided (i.e., six days ago) that perhaps I’ve been pursuing the wrong course of study. Then it clicked. It's not that academia isn’t for me. It's that I've been struggling to study topics not appropriate for me at this point in my life. A moment of clarity dawned upon me and I realized—I’m a historian of cannibalism. How could I have ever thought I was anything else? It all made sense. My dissertation? The Donner Party.

Of course.

Which brings me to the next and, quite honestly, most important aspect of my life right now. THE TOWER. For just under the past year I’ve been serving as a dramaturg for an incredible play called The Tower (as in the tarot card representing chaos, collapse, sudden change, downfall, revelation…) about the Donner Party, a topic I’ve always found fascinating. For months I’ve been researching the history that surrounds these ill-fated emigrants who notoriously resorted to cannibalism to survive a brutal winter in the Sierra Nevada Mountains in 1846-47. Most amazingly, I’ve been able to fulfill a passion I didn’t quite know how to best manifest on my own—turning the past into art.

Now that I’ve become intimately involved with the members of the Donner Party it seems I have no option but to stay with them. I’m just riding the energy I’ve tapped into through this process, and I’m ready to see where it takes me. So, dissertating? It’s a thing, apparently. I think I’m finally ready for it.

What does this all mean for A Slice of Earthly Delight? Well, I’m about to be immersed in food history. Which means I’m going to need an outlet to write about food thingz. Which means you all get to hear my ramblings once again! Everybody wins.

It also means that I’m going to be writing a lot about cannibalism. Be prepared.

Love,
Maya

The Chef Does Everything but Cook...

Quote of the Week: Culinary Animals

“Humans are culinary animals: We cook our food, we mess around with it, we season it, we change it, and we have done so from the very earliest times. Indeed, cooking, like language or art, is one of those fundamental behaviors that define us as human and distinguish us from other animals.”

—Elisabeth Rozin

Preparation of Foods: Stone Age to Space Age

McSorley's Old Ale House

"Two players. Two sides. One is light, one is dark." This John Locke quote (the LOST John Locke not the seventeenth-century philosopher) seems apt when speaking about McSorley's Old Ale House. They serve up only two options--light beer and dark beer.  

Located at 15 East 7th Street, this New York City establishment has been around since 1854. Everything is old school in this bar. From the sawdust on the floor to the inch-thick coating of dust on the light fixtures hanging from the ceiling, McSorley's brims with history.


If you're looking for a good place to throw back a couple of beers and soak up some New York City history, McSorley's is the place to be.

 

The Bread of Justice: John Ruskin and Food

In the writings of John Ruskin, a nineteenth-century English writer, art critic, and artist who continuously turned to the observable world and found meaning in everything, it is striking that he never focused exclusively on food or the act of eating. For a man who “was convinced of the vital connections between things, as they bind and blend themselves together,” food and eating, which permeate everyday life, could have served as a means to convey his philosophies.[1] Upon a close examination of his writings, however, it becomes clear that Ruskin did observe the significance of food even as he never wrote extensively on it. While he never focused exclusively on food and eating as a topic, Ruskin did use both literal and figurative food examples to bolster his larger arguments. 

Ruskin sometimes used literal examples of food to support his arguments. For example, in “Modern Painters, III” (1856) Ruskin challenged the use of the words objective and subjective. Rather than adhering to these words, which he regarded as “useless” and “troublesome,” Ruskin asserted that the true nature of a thing is in its power to produce a sensation not the sensation itself.[2] This power is present whether or not a person is around to experience it. To support this argument Ruskin turned to the example of sweetness, writing

I derive a certain sensation, which I call sweetness, from sugar. That is a fact. Another person feels a sensation, which he also calls sweetness, from sugar. That is also a fact. The sugar’s power to produce these two sensations, which we suppose to be, and which are, in all probability, very nearly the same in both of us, and, on the whole, in the human race, is its sweetness.[3]

While dealing with what might be a difficult linguistic and philosophical concept to grasp, Ruskin successfully used a concrete example of food to convey his larger point; this literal example of food thus served to ground his ideas.

Ruskin more often used food in a figurative sense. For example, he described the sky as “human nature’s daily food,” the unimaginative artist as creating art “as simply a matter of recipe and practice as cookery,” the division of labor as causing men to be “broken into small fragments and crumbs of life,” and nations with good art as having “starved for it” and “fed themselves with it, as if it were bread.”[4] In “Modern Painters, V” (1860) Ruskin again used a food example to defend his argument:

It is the curse of every evil nation and evil creature to eat, and not be satisfied. The words of blessing are, that they shall eat and be satisfied. And as there is only one kind of water which quenches all thirst, so there is only one kind of bread which satisfies all hunger—the bread of justice, or righteousness; which hungering after, men shall always be filled, that being the bread of heaven; but hungering after the bread, or wages, of unrighteousness, shall not be filled, that being the bread of Sodom.[5]

In this case, Ruskin is not concerned with real bread and water but rather what the act of consumption symbolizes. The bread and water are significant in what they represent, not as actual foodstuffs. This figurative example helps the reader understand Ruskin’s larger argument of the essay—that one must resist materialism and instead strive for righteousness.

In his literal and figurative food examples, Ruskin most commonly referenced bread, water, and sugar—three basic substances that any reader could relate to—as well as the shared experience of eating. While food was not Ruskin’s primary focus, the examples he used throughout his writing strengthened his arguments. In his attempts to get the audience to truly see the world as it is, Ruskin’s use of food and eating offers one means to engage the reader and make his arguments accessible.

[1] Dinah Birch, “Introduction,” in John Ruskin: Selected Writings, ed. Dinah Birch (New York: Oxford, 2004), xxvi.

[2] John Ruskin in John Ruskin: Selected Writings, 68-69.

[3] Ruskin, 69.

[4] Ruskin, 9, 43, 85, 98.

[5] Ruskin, 138.

Food Porn

“The human body reacts in very similar ways when anticipating food and sex. Capillaries swell, lips and membranes become engorged, saliva thickens, and the pulse rises. It’s no accident that the two pleasures have become confused.”

–Anthony Bourdain 

Food and sex so easily go hand in hand. The desire for sex can be likened to one’s appetite for food. The acts of eating and sex both cause pleasure, but one can only be temporarily satiated. After the immediate satisfaction of a decadent meal or delicious orgasm, eventually you’re going to want more.

But somehow the enjoyment of food is not only a first person experience but has developed into a form of voyeurism. And when participating in a voyeuristic activity, it somehow seems less dirty to watch people eating on screen than to watch them screwing. Rather than watching sex porn and getting ideas for new sexual positions, instead we read about or watch people engage with food and get new ideas for the kitchen.

Food porn, as Bourdain defines it, is “the vicarious enjoyment of people doing things on screen or in books that you yourself are not likely to be doing anytime soon.” It can be people reading or writing about food in substitute of sex. It can be looking at sensual pictures of food or watching people on television cook, eat, and talk about food that you’re probably never going to eat or experience. Either way, food and sex meld together into one beautiful entity.

Perhaps we enjoy reading about and watching others enjoy food because we know that good food can often lead to good sex. Many foods that are considered aphrodisiacs have been proven to prime the body for sex, such as oysters and dark chocolate (two of my favorite foods by the way). And this is nothing new. History brims with the recognition of connections between food and sex.

Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony John Winthrop, writing in the early seventeenth century, wrote that “finding that the variety of meates drawes me on to eate more than standeth with my healthe, I have resolved not to eate of more then 2 dishes at any one meale, whither fish, flesh, fowle or fruit or whittmeat etc.” Because Winthrop found himself tempted to continue in pleasures of the flesh after a large meal he attempted to approach each meal with moderation. But what were the pleasures of the flesh that tempted him afterward? A good Puritan wouldn’t have written explicitly about sex, even in a personal journal, but it doesn’t take a big leap of the imagination to surmise what would be going on in the bedroom after Winthrop bolstered himself with a variety of meats.

Similarly, this scene from the film adaptation of Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones, written in 1749, shows how the enjoyment of food can quickly lead to sex:
 

Bringing it up to the modern day, we have an entire television network devoted just to food, and now several other networks have food-themed shows. The Food Network takes attractive (think Giada De Laurentiis) people and places them in shiny, perfect kitchens, provides them with props and toys (I mean utensils), and gives them a plethora of ingredients that they can do whatever they want with. While the cook prepares the food a series of up-close shots usually occur—yeah, get a shot of that ruby red meat, luscious strawberries, or sensual whipped cream. After it’s all prepared, here comes the climax. The excited cook raises a fork to his or her mouth, gushes with pleasure, perhaps even gives a little groan, and consumes the food. Oh yeah…that’s heavenly, she might exclaim, unable to control herself as her cheeks flush, eyes close, and a smile spreads across her face. It’s kind of a surprise there’s no bow-chica-bow-wow music in the background. 

Is this preoccupation with food reflective of our particular culture or is it just a part of human nature to seek out pleasure? Perhaps it is quite normal for people to seek out pleasure, but it manifests in our culture, not to be promiscuous but to eat and drink well. And when we can’t, we can turn to shows or writings on food to fill our appetite.

As someone who writes several times a week about food, it makes me wonder if my blog is nothing more than food porn. And if this blog is truly an exercise in food porn…does that make me a porn star?

Devil's Dictionary

For all of you who read my blog and are wondering, as a new friend expressed to me, “does she go to school or just travel?” the answer is yes, I do go to school. I just also  happen to travel a lot. I’m currently pursuing a doctorate in history, and to prove it, I’m basing this post off the writings of Ambrose Bierce.

We recently read the Civil War stories of Bierce for one of my courses, and a fellow student and friend reminded me of Bierce’s Devil’s Dictionary, which is brimming with lots of witty food-related definitions. You can read the Devil's Dictionary in its entirety at Google Books.

Ambrose Bierce was an American writer who published his satirical dictionary in 1911, informing the American public of words of wisdom, such as defining wit as “the salt with which the American humorist spoils his intellectual cookery by leaving it out.” I’ve selected all the references to food and eating and assembled them here for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!

Abdomen, n. The temple of the god Stomach, in whose worship, with sacrificial rights, all true men engage. From women this ancient faith commands but a stammering assent. They sometimes minister at the altar in a half-hearted and ineffective way, but true reverence for the one deity that men really adore they know not. If woman had a free hand in the world's marketing the race would become graminivorous.

Air, n. A nutritious substance supplied by a bountiful Providence for the fattening of the poor.

Aphorism, n. Predigested wisdom.

Appetite, n. An instinct thoughtfully implanted by Providence as a solution to the labor question.

Bacchus, n. A convenient deity invented by the ancients as an excuse for getting drunk.

Bait, n. A preparation that renders the hook more palatable. The best kind is beauty.

Belladonna, n. In Italian a beautiful lady; in English a deadly poison. A striking example of the essential identity of the two tongues.

Botany, n. The science of vegetables -- those that are not good to eat, as well as those that are. It deals largely with their flowers, which are commonly badly designed, inartistic in color, and ill-smelling.

Brandy, n. A cordial composed of one part thunder-and-lightning, one part remorse, two parts bloody murder, one part death-hell-and-the-grave and four parts clarified Satan. Dose, a headful all the time. Brandy is said by Dr. Johnson to be the drink of heroes. Only a hero will venture to drink it.

Cabbage, n. A familiar kitchen-garden vegetable about as large and wise as a man's head.

Cannibal, n. A gastronome of the old school who preserves the simple tastes and adheres to the natural diet of the pre-pork period.

Carnivorous, adj. Addicted to the cruelty of devouring the timorous vegetarian, his heirs and assigns.

Crayfish, n. A small crustacean very much resembling the lobster, but less indigestible.

Dejeuner, n. The breakfast of an American who has been in Paris. Variously pronounced.

Digestion, n. The conversion of victuals into virtues. When the process is imperfect, vices are evolved instead -- a circumstance from which that wicked writer, Dr. Jeremiah Blenn, infers that the ladies are the greater sufferers from dyspepsia.

Eat, v.i. To perform successively (and successfully) the functions of mastication, humectation, and deglutition.

Edible, adj. Good to eat, and wholesome to digest, as a worm to a toad, a toad to a snake, a snake to a pig, a pig to a man, and a man to a worm.

Epicure, n. An opponent of Epicurus, an abstemious philosopher who, holding that pleasure should be the chief aim of man, wasted no time in gratification from the senses.

Eucharist, n. A sacred feast of the religious sect of Theophagi. A dispute once unhappily arose among the members of this sect as to what it was that they ate. In this controversy some five hundred thousand have already been slain, and the question is still unsettled.

Feast, n. A festival. A religious celebration usually signalized by gluttony and drunkenness, frequently in honor of some holy person distinguished for abstemiousness. In the Roman Catholic Church feasts are "movable" and "immovable," but the celebrants are uniformly immovable until they are full. In their earliest development these entertainments took the form of feasts for the dead; such were held by the Greeks, under the name Nemeseia, by the Aztecs and Peruvians, as in modern times they are popular with the Chinese; though it is believed that the ancient dead, like the modern, were light eaters. Among the many feasts of the Romans was the Novemdiale, which was
held, according to Livy, whenever stones fell from heaven.

Fork, n. An instrument used chiefly for the purpose of putting dead animals into the mouth. Formerly the knife was employed for this purpose, and by many worthy persons is still thought to have many advantages over the other tool, which, however, they do not altogether reject, but use to assist in charging the knife. The immunity of these persons from swift and awful death is one of the most striking proofs of God's mercy to those that hate Him.

Frog, n. A reptile with edible legs. 

Frying-pan, n. One part of the penal apparatus employed in that punitive institution, a woman's kitchen. The frying-pan was invented by Calvin, and by him used in cooking span-long infants that had died without baptism; and observing one day the horrible torment of a tramp who had incautiously pulled a fried babe from the waste-dump and devoured it, it occurred to the great divine to rob death of its terrors by introducing the frying-pan into every household in Geneva. Thence it spread to all corners of the world, and has been of invaluable assistance in the propagation of his sombre faith. 

Glutton, n. A person who escapes the evils of moderation by committing dyspepsia.

Grape, n.

Hail noble fruit! -- by Homer sung,
Anacreon and Khayyam;
Thy praise is ever on the tongue
Of better men than I am.

The lyre in my hand has never swept,
The song I cannot offer:
My humbler service pray accept --
I'll help to kill the scoffer.
The water-drinkers and the cranks
Who load their skins with liquor --
I'll gladly bear their belly-tanks
And tap them with my sticker.

Fill up, fill up, for wisdom cools
When e'er we let the wine rest.
Here's death to Prohibition's fools,
And every kind of vine-pest!

--Jamrach Holobom

Hash, x. There is no definition for this word -- nobody knows what hash is.

Heart, n. An automatic, muscular blood-pump. Figuratively, this useful organ is said to be the esat of emotions and sentiments – a very pretty fancy which, however, is nothing but a survival of a once universal belief. It is now known that the sentiments and emotions reside in the stomach, being evolved from food by chemical action of the gastric fluid. The exact process by which a beefsteak becomes a feeling -- tender or not, according to the age of the animal from which it was cut; the successive stages of elaboration through which a caviar sandwich is transmuted to a quaint fancy and reappears as a pungent epigram; the marvelous functional methods of converting a hard-boiled egg into religious contrition, or a cream-puff into a sigh of sensibility -- these things have been patiently ascertained by M. Pasteur, and by him expounded with convincing lucidity.
 

Hog, n. A bird remarkable for the catholicity of its appetite and serving to illustrate that of ours. Among the Mahometans and Jews, the hog is not in favor as an article of diet, but is respected for the delicacy and the melody of its voice. It is chiefly as a songster that the fowl is esteemed; the cage of him in full chorus has been known to draw tears from two persons at once. The scientific name of this dicky-bird is Porcus Rockefelleri. Mr. Rockefeller did not discover the hog, but it is considered his by right of resemblance.

Hospitality, n. The virtue which induces us to feed and lodge certain persons who are not in need of food and lodging.

Idleness, n. A model farm where the devil experiments with seeds of new sins and promotes the growth of staple vices.

Indigestion, n. A disease which the patient and his friends frequently mistake for deep religious conviction and concern for the salvation of mankind. As the simple Red Man of the western wild put it, with, it must be confessed, a certain force: "Plenty well, no pray; big bellyache, heap God."

Lettuce, n. An herb of the genus Lactuca, "Wherewith," says that pious gastronome, Hengist Pelly, "God has been pleased to reward the good and punish the wicked. For by his inner light the righteous man has discerned a manner of compounding for it a dressing to the appetency whereof a multitude of gustible condiments conspire, being reconciled and ameliorated with profusion of oil, the entire comestible making glad the heart of the godly and causing his face to shine. But the person of spiritual unworth is successfully tempted to the Adversary to eat of lettuce with destitution of oil, mustard, egg, salt and garlic, and with a rascal bath of vinegar polluted with sugar. Wherefore the person of spiritual unworth suffers an intestinal pang of strange complexity and raises the song."

Life, n. A spiritual pickle preserving the body from decay.

Liver, n. A large red organ thoughtfully provided by nature to be bilious with. The sentiments and emotions which every literary anatomist now knows to haunt the heart were anciently believed to infest the liver; and even Gascoygne, speaking of the emotional side of human nature, calls it "our hepaticall parte." It was at one time considered the seat of life; hence its name -- liver, the thing we live with. The liver is heaven's best gift to the goose; without it that bird would be unable to supply us with the Strasbourg pate.

Manna, n. A food miraculously given to the Israelites in the wilderness. When it was no longer supplied to them they settled down and tilled the soil, fertilizing it, as a rule, with the bodies of the original occupants.

Mayonnaise, n. One of the sauces which serve the French in place of a state religion.

  

Nectar, n. A drink served at banquets of the Olympian deities. The secret of its preparation is lost, but the modern Kentuckians believe that they come pretty near to a knowledge of its chief ingredient.

Oyster, n. A slimy, gobby shellfish which civilization gives men the hardihood to eat without removing its entrails! The shells are sometimes given to the poor.

Pie, n. An advance agent of the reaper whose name is Indigestion.

Pig, n. An animal (Porcus omnivorus) closely allied to the human race by the splendor and vivacity of its appetite, which, however, is inferior in scope, for it sticks at pig.

Portuguese, n.pl. A species of geese indigenous to Portugal. They are mostly without feathers and imperfectly edible, even when stuffed with garlic.

Potable, n. Suitable for drinking. Water is said to be potable; indeed, some declare it our natural beverage, although even they find it palatable only when suffering from the recurrent disorder known as thirst, for which it is a medicine. Upon nothing has so great and diligent ingenuity been brought to bear in all ages and in all countries, except the most uncivilized, as upon the invention of substitutes for water. To hold that this general aversion to that liquid has no basis in the preservative instinct of the race is to be unscientific -- and without science we are as the snakes and toads.

Rarebit, n. A Welsh rabbit, in the speech of the humorless, who point out that it is not a rabbit. To whom it may be solemnly explained that the comestible known as toad-in-a-hole is really not a toad, and that riz-de-veau a la financiere is not the smile of a calf prepared after the recipe of a she banker.

Rice-water, n. A mystic beverage secretly used by our most popular novelists and poets to regulate the imagination and narcotize the conscience. It is said to be rich in both obtundite and lethargine, and is brewed in a midnight fog by a fat which of the Dismal Swamp.

Rum, n. Generically, fiery liquors that produce madness in total abstainers.

Satiety, n. The feeling that one has for the plate after he has eaten its contents, madam.

Sauce, n. The one infallible sign of civilization and enlightenment. A people with no sauces has one thousand vices; a people with one sauce has only nine hundred and ninety-nine. For every sauce invented and accepted a vice is renounced and forgiven.

Table d'hote, n. A caterer's thrifty concession to the universal passion for irresponsibility.

Teetotaler, n. One who abstains from strong drink, sometimes totally, sometimes tolerably totally.

Tope, v. To tipple, booze, swill, soak, guzzle, lush, bib, or swig. In the individual, toping is regarded with disesteem, but toping nations are in the forefront of civilization and power. When pitted against the hard-drinking Christians the absemious Mahometans go down like grass before the scythe. In India one hundred thousand beef-eating and brandy-and-soda guzzling Britons hold in subjection two hundred and fifty million vegetarian abstainers of the same Aryan race. With what an easy grace the whisky-loving American pushed the temperate Spaniard out of his possessions! From the time when the Berserkers ravaged all the coasts of western Europe and lay drunk in every conquered port it has been the same way: everywhere the nations that drink too much are observed to fight rather well and not too righteously. Wherefore the estimable old ladies who abolished the canteen from the American army may justly boast of having materially augmented the nation's military power.

Turkey, n. A large bird whose flesh when eaten on certain religious anniversaries has the peculiar property of attesting piety and gratitude. Incidentally, it is pretty good eating.

Wheat, n. A cereal from which a tolerably good whisky can with some difficulty be made, and which is used also for bread. The French are said to eat more bread per capita of population than any other people, which is natural, for only they know how to make the stuff palatable.

Wine, n. Fermented grape-juice known to the Women's Christian Union as "liquor," sometimes as "rum." Wine, madam, is God's next best gift to man.

Wit, n. The salt with which the American humorist spoils his intellectual cookery by leaving it out.

Jack-O'-Lanterns

Myths are driving forces in our lives—they are stories based on fact that became central to our understanding of the society we are in. Even though we often know that myths are not real we still embrace them because they define our culture and our place in time. Halloween is one of these myths in American culture. Though it is based on historical events and has roots in Celtic and Christian traditions, we often don’t think about the reality of the myth—we prefer the fantasy. Halloween is one night of the year when over-protective parents decide it’s okay for their children to take candy from strangers, rambunctious adolescents can egg and toilet paper helpless suburban homes with no fear of punishment, and everyone gets to wear a disguise.

The myth of Halloween perpetuates itself through the practice of different traditions. Many of these Halloween traditions involve food—bobbing for apples, trick or treating, and carving pumpkins into jack-o’-lanterns. The sight of those bright orange bulbous gourds always evokes the sense of autumn harvest and, of course, the coming of Halloween. They provide food in the form of pumpkin pie, pumpkin soup, and roasted seeds, but one of the greatest joys a pumpkin can provide is the jack-o’-lantern.

The introduction of the jack-o’-lantern to America is generally associated with Irish immigrants who came to America in the nineteenth century. The Irish believed in the tale of Stingy Jack, who was a man that tricked the Devil so often that when Jack died the Devil wouldn’t let him claim his soul in the afterlife. Stingy Jack was forced to wander the earth and carried with him a hallowed turnip with a burning coal held inside. In an effort to keep away Stingy Jack and other evil spirits the Irish traditionally carved scary faces into turnips or potatoes, placed a light in them, and set them out on All Hallows Eve. The English also followed this tradition but usually carved the faces into beets. After immigrating to America in the nineteenth century, the Irish chose pumpkins as the best choice to keep away terrifying spirits.

The tradition of carving jack-o’-lanterns is based in these past events but has transformed and evolved in our modern culture. Today, although the pursuit of processed sugar and polyester costumes has become a focal point of this ancient holiday, we still take the time to carve our jack-o’-lanterns every year, passing on this tradition to future generations. We continue to spook ourselves with ghost stories, listen for the sounds of the supernatural when we switch off the lights, and let the myth of Halloween glow strongly through those scary pumpkin faces.

Happy carving everyone!

Hot Apple Cider

On a dark and stormy October evening there’s nothing better than a steaming mug of hot apple cider to keep you warm.

The roots of cider as we know it can be traced back to the Norman Conquest in 1066 when cider was brought to Britain from Normandy. By the seventeenth century the production of cider was still thriving, particularly in southern England, and was made from apples and pears.

Hailing from England, the Puritans and Pilgrims that traveled to the New World in the early seventeenth century brought with them many English customs, including the production and consumption of cider. Cider, among other alcoholic beverages, was a daily part of the colonists’ diet in New England. In 1740 an English visitor to Boston observed that “the generality of the people” drank cider “with their victuals.” Few households had the equipment to make cider and many colonists procured their cider from a local cider mill. Cookbooks of the era also contained recipes and instructions for making cider.

The cider we drink today is generally nonalcoholic unless we specifically purchase or make “hard cider” that has undergone fermentation. However, that delicious apple goodness is still a large part of the fall season in New England and New York where apple orchards abound. Rather than going through the process of fermenting cider, try this tasty recipe using regular cider that can be purchased at any orchard and just add a little spiced rum if you wish.

1 apple

2 teaspoons whole cloves
1 orange, sliced
2 quarts apple cider
1 teaspoon allspice
½ teaspoon nutmeg
Cinnamon sticks for garnish
Spiced rum (optional)

1. Stick the cloves into the apple.

2. Combine all the ingredients except the cinnamon sticks in a pot over low heat and bring the mixture to a simmer.

3. Allow the mixture to simmer for at least ten minutes to let all the flavors combine.

4. Ladle out the deliciousness and add a cinnamon stick for garnish. (Optional: add a splash of spiced rum)

So sit back with your warm cup of cider, listen to the October rain, and maybe even pop in a scary movie as you indulge with this tasty autumnal beverage.

Woodstock: Three Days of Peace and Music…and Food?

As much as we’d like to believe it, the hippies and radicals of the sixties did not survive on peace, love, and happiness alone. This weekend, on the fortieth anniversary of Woodstock, when most are thinking about the music and momentous event, it is curious to contemplate what the people at Woodstock actually ate during the three days of peace and music that took place in Bethel, New York from August 15–17, 1969. I recently interviewed one individual who attended Woodstock, and he had some interesting recollections of food at the concert:

“I had tickets, $18.00 I think, for three days—Friday through Sunday. My twentieth birthday was on Thursday. We had heard that they limited the sale of tickets— I don’t remember how many were available, but the tickets were easy to get and concession stands and port-o-sans would be available, as well as ample camping grounds.

To be sure we got there we left the Bronx in the Volks at about 5 am on Friday. I’m not sure how far it was—or exactly where it was. We brought a cooler with beer and sandwiches for the day and cash for the concession stands.

Friday was folk music day and I liked that—I wanted to hear Richie Havens, Tim Hardin, and Joan Baez. By the time we got off Route 17 around Monticello—that was it—we simply stopped moving miles away. We ate the sandwiches while waiting, and that was the end of the food we brought as I knew it.

I left the car—to walk and see how long the wait was—and that was the end of my connection with the folks I went with.

We had a plastic tent and sleeping bags. It was so crazy—I never got back to car and never saw my friends again.

And as far as food goes—on Friday night I went to the concession stands and stood on line, in the dark and a light rain, I guess for about an hour. And they spread the word—no more food unless for an emergency. Strange feeling, but it was about 1 am and Joan Baez was coming on.

Then for no reason folks just began passing around food—chips, bread, water in jugs. From the stage a guy announced that we should share what we had, and everyone just did—imagine. All sorts of food was everywhere that night. Some were grilling hot dogs and handing them out. Others had candy bars. Amazing, really, to this day

Saturday morning was tough. What I remember most was being up all night and it was like a sticky, smelly jungle. The port-o-sans were really unusable, and the music wasn't going to start till noon, but it wasn't raining.

I walked into the hills to look for my friends. Instead there were trucks and flatbeds—I still don’t know how they got there. But, food was being handed out. There were paper cups of something called granola—it was new to me—by folks from a place called the Hog Farm…all an accident. I waited in line for a cup of soup—I had a blanket with me, but my little plastic tent had been demolished overnight. I mentioned to someone in line that I’d lost both my tent and my friends and had no place to stay—then from all around me I heard strangers saying, “Stay with us” and “No, you can stay in our tent!” I realized at that moment that something remarkable was taking place.

I stayed, ate, and went swimming—I felt pretty good and the Hog Farm folks were cool. I remember beans too, cooked, and again they passed around jugs of water.

Later that day when the DEAD were on stage they announced that the Hog Farm had set up in the back and had food. (Note: I remember thinking that the Grateful Dead and Janis Joplin weren’t that great.)

I walked back and on the way some folks just handed out bread with jam spread—good. I didn't leave—Santana was amazing. I just found out recently that they were still unknown and had not released an album yet, but I heard about them somewhere.

By night I was beat and the rain was coming again. I paid for some beer—cheap but I paid a guy—and went to the back. They said there was a lost-and-found sign board. So funny—crazy stuff was written on it. Someone ought to write just about that sign board.

I was thinking of leaving, but rumors were spreading that Dylan was coming…he didn't. But I’m glad I stayed—I went back to the lake. Now that I think about it, it was a long walk. I met some folks swimming at night.

Then the showers began…

I got back to the stage—I always managed to get right up front—and I was by myself. Sly and the Family Stone was incredible, and then at about 2 am, I think, THE WHO. Everyone loved it. And everyone was talking about the coming rain storm.

Sadly, I left and hitched a ride back to Monticello—no problem. I got there about 5 am— they had tables with food everywhere. I have no idea who did that, but I ate—a lot— including hot eggs.

I waited for the bus for about two hours and got to Port Authority in New York City at about 11 am Sunday. The bus was free—no one had any money. I was glad I left when WNEW Radio talked about the storm on Sunday.

I missed Joe Cocker and Jimi, but I was never hungry. But I wonder—would I now eat whatever was handed to me? Would I be so cool about drinking out of a jug of water passed along a line? I know never ate, and never will eat, granola again. Sorry Hog Farmers, but thank you for the soup…”

The Hog Farm referenced above was a commune headed by Wavy Gravy (who would later be memorialized as a Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream flavor). The Hog Farmers were stationed in New York City when they were asked to participate in Woodstock and help build trails and fire pits. The commune also volunteered to set up a free kitchen—a simple notion that ended up providing many a concertgoer with food and water. After their supplies ran out, Hog Farmers went to local farms and bought up all the available produce so they could continue feeding the masses at Woodstock. Granola, which is common today, was first given to a large amount of people at Woodstock. It had already been created, but few people knew about it. Apparently, many people were confused by its appearance and did not realize that it was food at first—they thought that it was gravel.

Here are some other recollections of food at Woodstock that are excerpted from Woodstock: Peace, Music & Memories by Brad Littleproud and Joanne Hague

“I remember having a bonfire one night and trying to make the world’s biggest marshmallow on a snow shovel by melting bags of marshmallow together”
—Jean Nichols, a Hog Famer

“We made blueberry pancakes on our Coleman stove! The blueberries were picked from some bushes that surrounded our meadow and someone had brought boxed pancake mix. Our pancakes stuck without any oil, but we didn’t care. They were so good!”
—Randy Sheets

“There was always some kind of food available. There were certain areas where you needed to buy it, but you really didn’t need money, most of the people just welcomed you in. Whatever you needed seemed to be available through the people. It was very much communal living in the hippie sense.”
—Alan Futrell

Want to know more about Woodstock?

Check out the Woodstock Museum at the Bethel Woods Center for the Arts—it’s well worth a visit! The museum is informative and interactive, and you can also visit the field where it all happened: http://www.bethelwoodscenter.org/museum.aspx

A documentary entitled Woodstock, directed by Michael Wadleigh, was released in 1970: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0066580/

The film Taking Woodstock, directed by Ang Lee, will be released on August 28, 2009. Check out the trailer:



A plethora of books were released this summer to mark the fortieth anniversary of Woodstock. Some titles include:

The Road to Woodstock, by Michael Lang
Back to the Garden: The Story of Woodstock, by Pete Fornatale
Woodstock: Peace, Music & Memories, by Brad Littleproud and Joanne Hague