Food History

I received some new teaching toys in the mail today. There’s a company in England that specialises in making little packs of reproduction ephemera. I bought these packs because they fit what we’re doing on Thursday night, and they arrived just in time. One of the topics for Thursday’s class is food during the Blitz and my students being able to handle reproduction ration books will help bring that aspect of the past to life.

In fact, ephemera is wonderfully evocative. I did a post a while back on a leaflet advertising Dr Morse’s Indian Root Pills, and meant to write more, but life got in the way (as it does). And I’ve given you another variety of ephemera - think of how nostalgic some folks become when they see the favourite wrappers from their childhood.

I can’t introduce you to my wartime ephemera, because I want some surprises for Thursday’s class and how can it be a surprise if you’ve read it on your teacher’s blog two days before? Instead, I’ll talk about the tea leaflet in the Fifties pack, because it takes me back to my childhood. I wasn’t alive in the fifties, of course, but the habit of cutting coupons from tea and carefully saving them for gifts is definitely something I remember from my childhood. I don’t remember us every cashing those coupons in, but we must have. We were forever cutting them out, anyhow.

The facsimile leaflet I have in front of me is for Black and Green’s Golden Tips tea catalogue from 1954-55. It has a few drawings of jewellery on the back flap, but otherwise is just a list (with headings) of what can be got and for how many labels.

Let me give you some food-related examples:

A tee strainer will set you back 14 labels and a bun tin 21. You could exchange 31 for a good quality tea towel and 47 for three dessert spoons of solid nickel. If your life is incomplete without an aluminium porringer (2 pint size, best quality) then you need to drink 63 labels worth of tea, while you could get tannin poisoning if you drink enough (176 labels worth!) for three aluminium saucepans with lids. At the lowest end of the scale is a kitchen swab, which only needs 6 labels. I want the bun tin. Maybe I should get a half a dozen friends a-drinking while I build my time machine.

There’s a blog devoted to ephemera, if your appetite is whetted. It’s called Ephemera and covers a lot of the stuff of daily life that fades from our sight so quickly. Maybe Marty (whose blog it is) has a leaflet with a picture of that desirable bun tin on it?

Foodways link us with our younger selves. The create bridges across time and space.

This week I’m doing a bit of a clean out. My cupboard is a bit emptier. There’s no flour, no yeast. I’ve thrown out the very few things that were past their use by date and, if I have time, I’ll haul the last bits of food out and reline the shelves.

This is an annual event. I come from a kosher household, you see, and one big thing about kosher households is Passover. So this week my links with my childhood are through tidying my own kitchen a bit. I can’t leave it untouched, but I really don’t feel up to the megasort and clean much of the rest of my family does.

From Saturday night, the foodways bridge across time isn’t quite as alone. So many of us. A whole big family drifting in and out of each other’s presence. We eat fabulous dinners, and my mother’s macaroons and lots and lots of buts and dried fruit. My father used to threaten that we would turn into nuts. My stepfather has his own jokes.

What do these foodways do? They reinforce our family culture and remind us of where we belong. They keep recipes alive and make sure that even the relatives who don’t get on will talk once or twice a year. It’s a time to forge new communities and to reforge establishing ones. And the preparations are the time we rewrite those bridges in our mind and think about who we are and why these things are important to us. For some people they are and for some they aren’t. For some families they are and for some not.

This is the heart of cultural variation and finding our place in the world. Food counts.

Many moons ago I wrote a post (which is somewhere in the archives, hiding from me) about the relationship between food and health in the Middle Ages. I love the thought that – if you follow the right principles – a feast won’t make you nearly as sick as when you don’t. Should I admit that I was foolish enough to try both a well structured meal and a poorly constructed one? Probably not a good idea.

Let me instead give you some principles of food and diet from ML Holbrook’s 1888 work. Or should that be a book by one ML Holbrook MD, author of Hygiene of the Brain and How to Strength the Memory? Whenever I see the word ‘Holbrook’ I think of submarines, because for some reason the very inland Australian Holbrook has a stranded submarine. Maybe someone should do a food history reading, sitting on the sub and reading from Eating for Strength, which is the source of the preface below? And isn’t the perfect state of agriculture in the late nineteenth century reassuring to know?

Quite obviously, though, the burning question is whether we should all take the grape cure?

I’m in a sarcastic mood, and the study of diet has changed in 120 years, but there are some fine sentiments in the preface, and it’s worth reading, with or without submarine.

“Preface

In no period of the world’s history has there ever been so deep an interest in the subject of foods as at the present. At no time since Adam and Eve left the Garden of Eden has agriculture and horticulture been so perfect, and the human race supplied with so many choice and nourishing articles of diet. And, also, at no time have so many been engaged in laborious researches on the nature of that which we eat and its relations to health and work. It would almost seem as if the time had nearly arrived when mankind would eat to live would feed themselves so as to nourish their bodies most perfectly and render themselves capable of the most labor, and least liable to disease.

The object of this volume is to present the most recent facts of science in a way to make them valuable for actual use in daily life. There is no doubt but man may double his capacity for work and for enjoyment by improving his dietetic habits. Many have already done this, and multitudes more are only waiting for the knowledge which will help them to do it. A thorough understanding of the different divisions of food and their right relation to the needs of the body is necessary, and this has been fully stated. Several new features have been introduced. To meet the requirements of that constantly increasing class who have more and more desire to draw their nourishment from the vegetable kingdom, carefully prepared and elaborate tables have been arranged showing just how much of each particular food one needs to consume in order to provide the body with the required amount of proteids, carbo-hydrates and fats.

These tables have been especially prepared for this work and are full of interest as well as being of practical value. Another interesting feature of the work relates to the cost of the different articles usually consumed, as for instance the cost of proteids, fats and carbo-hydrates in oatmeal, beef, mutton, corn, eggs, butter, cheese, beer, etc., etc. These tables are so arranged as to show at once which are the most economical articles for the table and which the most expensive, and will be of great value to all who would choose their food wisely, and also for those who desire to reduce the cost of living to a minimum and yet nourish themselves perfectly.

The chapter on the use of the apple as a means of preserving health and the one on the grape cure will, the author believes, meet a need long felt, as will also what has been said concerning the importance of the thorough mastication of our food.

The subject of drinks has also been treated fully, and a very large number of recipes for wholesome ones given. What has been said on this subject cannot fail to prove helpful to those who are in doubt on many points.

The directions for feeding young and delicate children have in practice proved most satisfactory.

The time is near when a knowledge of the principles of diet will be considered as important a part of our education as a knowledge of the multiplication table. That this little work may help to hasten this time is the sincere desire of the author.

M. L. H.”

PS Holbrook not only has a stranded submarine, it has a nice bakery.

I’m becoming a firm believer in everything being linked. That’s the only explanation for a food history excursion including unexpected tips on how to make a shofar. Our hosts today didn’t even know what a shofar was, but Michael knew all about hollowing ram’s horns the easy (though slow) way and gave me a really good explanation why rams’ horns are used more than ewes’. Ewes have a solid portion at the thin end of their horn: they’re harder to hollow out. None of which is relevant to food history unless the breeding of sheep for meat and the breeding of sheep for musical/religious reasons work together, which they might have, somewhere and sometime.

We talked about Aylesbury ducks and their fine history while we were at the farm, but in the end we forgot to see them. We met some young male Belted Galloways, who acted very much like teenage boys. Michael tried and tried to call them, and they kept fairly disdainful gazes upon us, but they saw there was no food in meeting us so they stayed away. The thing is, we will get the ultimate revenge. Young cows should not act intolerably bored – not when they’re in the slaughter paddock. (I felt so mean typing that!)

The sheep were much cooler, and meeting Beyonce the pig is always a delight. She has grown huge and the sheep (Wiltshire, I think) looked tiny and elegant by comparison. They reminded me, in fact, of many of the sheep I had seen in Medieval Book of Hours. So did a roaming whippet.

The hens avoided the peacocks and peahens, and since the peacocks and hens decided to squawk around us enthusiastically we didn’t talk to the hens, just as we didn’t talk to the ducks. I pointed out that I knew how to cook a peacock, which amused my students immeasurably. I left out some key elements when I described the process to them, but it was a genuine error. If they cook according the (very vague) method I described, without the missing steps, they won’t have roast peacock, they’ll have some form of leather.

My enthusiasm for all the plants and Michael’s and Elizabeth’s immense knowledge of what they’re doing often transformed into discussions of how to cook everything from briar rose hips to belladonna’s uses. It was someone else, though, who knew that paddymelon fruit were not edible.

And that was our class excursion. We all bought meat to take home (which resulted in me cooking steak and kidney pie for my dinner), one of my students collected a bunch of feathers to use for calligraphy, and I’m now the proud possessor of a sheep’s skull (alas, merino – I was hoping for one of the heritage types) and a red kangaroo skull. The ‘roo skull is amazingly tiny. They act dangerously clever and sheep act stupid, so maybe the main use of a big brain is to form the base of a dish for the evening meal. And no, I didn’t buy any brains.

Tonight I’m part of the Absolute Writers’ Blogchain again. Last time everyone was talking about pets, as you’ll probably remember. I remember because we all ended up talking about eating strange animals, which was mostly my fault. (I need to put some work in and convince everyone that I’m a gentle and unassuming soul, don’t I? Which reminds me, you might want to take a look at the conflux guest list.)

This time the writer before me was Colby Marshall. I ought to be really grateful, because the newest post on Colby’s blog was about cockroaches and I do not really want to even think about cockroaches served on a plate for culinary delectation. If anyone has eaten a cockroach, I’d be very happy to hear all about it, though. I’m generous that way.

Colby wrote about dance and writing and how even a week without is an eternity. The most I’ve been without food is three days, and the first 36 hours are tough, and then it gets better. This got me to thinking about fasts. Ramadan is a civilised fast (unless it occurs in summer, when the no drinking during daylight hours is worse than the no eating, by a long shot). Judaism has one day fasts.

My favourite fasts though, are Christian Medieval. They’re the sort of fasts that one can get fat on. Fasts not counted by calorie, but by avoidance of certain foods. When I discovered this as an undergraduate and reported enthusiastically to my mother, she worried I was going to convert. Then I told her about the Papal Schism and she felt a bit more reassured. Then I had a Catholic boyfriend and she was de-reassured again. Then I told her that most Christian fasts involved fish and she stopped worrying about me for months. You see, the fast days were the big fish days in the Medieval calendar, and I’m fatally allergic to fish.

Give Fantastical Imagination a day or so, but make sure you visit. Otherwise you may never know where the chain takes allergies, fasts, perplexed parents and the Great Schism. Also, you might want to read the earlier posts, so here’s a list:

Auria Cortes

Polenth’s Quill

Unfocused Me

Spittin’ (out words) Like a Llama

Food History

Fantastical Imagination

Life In Scribbletown

For The First Time

Polyamory From the Inside Out

Livininsanity

Spynotes

A Wayward Journey

Virtual Wordsmith

For some reason today I keep thinking about writers and their food. I know this is because the whole authentic banquet for science-fiction convention thing began as a writers and their food thing. More and more of my speculative fiction writer friends became enthusiastic about the history side of things and it was totally inevitable that we would try for a Medieval feast. When that was a huge success, we had to try a Regency Gothic banquet. When that was also a raging success, we decided on this year’s theme. But it all started with foodie writers of fiction.

Speculative fiction is often described as ‘what if?’ fiction. “What if Celtic skins were green?” (in a book by Peter Dickinson). “What if mirrors were magic?” (All too many books, including one of my own which is slowly advancing in the queue towards publication.) “What if the world came to an end?” “What if teleportation was everyday?” I could line all the questions up and classify books according to their ‘what if’ and the books would probably line up vertically to reach the Moon. That particular ‘What if” hasn’t been done with ideas, as far as I can remember, but it has certainly been done with other things.

There are so many what ifs. I guess it was inevitable that a bunch of writers who enjoyed their food and were curious about the past would say “What if we actually knew what these things tasted like?” And it was equally inevitable that I said “But we do” and proceeded to prove it.

The thing is that we’re not the first group of writers to become fascinated with food. I might have to teach a course on writers and their food, one day. It would be great fun.

The weather is getting colder and I’m slowly getting over whatever it is I have had. By ’slowly’ I mean “Why aren’t you gone already, drabbit.” Two perfect excuses for more biscuits and scones, though some of the biscuits call themselves ‘cookies.’

Because I’m embedded in the 1920s, this set of recipes is from The Perry Home Cook Book, 1920.

Cookies
1 cap sugar; ½ cup butter; ½ cup sweet milk; 2 eggs; 1 teaspoon cream tartar; ½ teaspoon soda; flavor to taste. Knead soft. Roll thin and bake in quick oven.
-MRS. HOMER TRAPP, Oskaloosa, Kans.

Plain Cookies
1 cup butter; 2 cups sugar; 1 cup sweet milk; 5 cups flour; 2 teaspoons baking powder; ½ nutmeg; 1 teaspoon vanilla. Roll thIn, sprinkle with, sugar. Bake in hot oven.
-MRS. PIUS VOELKER

Chocolate Cookies
2 cups sugar; 2 eggs; 1 teaspoon soda dissolved in ½ cup warm water; 1 cup grated chocolate; ½ cup butter; ½ cup lard. Melt lard, butter and chocolate. When cool add to sugar and eggs. Flour enough to stiffen. Roll thin. When baked ice with white icing.
-MRS. ARTHUR MICHAEL

Chocolate Cookies
4 eggs; 1 cup sugar; 1 cup butter; 3 squares unsweetened chocolate; 3 cups flour; ½ teaspoon vanilla flavor. Flour sufficient to roll very thin.
-SYLVIA DOUGLAS, Oskaloosa, Kans.

Coffee Cookies
2 cups brown sugar; 1 cup butter; 1 cup raisins; 2 eggs; 1 cup coffee; 1 teaspoon soda-in-coffee; 1 teaspoon baking powder; 3 cups flour. 1 teaspoon vanilla. Beat well, drop on greased pans, bake in hot oven.
-M. J. BURKE.

Eggless Cookies
1 cup shortening; 1 cup molasses; 1 cup brown sugar; 1 cup sour milk; 1 teaspoon soda; mix shortening and sugar then molasses, then sour milk with soda; enough flour to make stiff batter. Roll out ½ inch thick. Bake in moderate oven.
-MRS. J. E. HERRON, Pittsburgh, Penn.

Filled Cookies
1 cup chopped raisins; 1 cup sugar; 1 tablespoon flour; ½ cup water; Boil mixture till thick, watch closely as it burns quickly. DOUGH 1 cup sugar; ½ cup shortening; ½ cup milk; 3½ cups flour (scant); 1 egg; 1 teaspoon baking powder; 1 teaspoon each vanilla and lemon. Roll dough very thin, cut, spread with paste, putting another cooky on each. Bake in moderate oven. These keep moist indefinitely, improving with age.
-MRS. W. J. FROST.

Ginger Cookies
1 cup molasses; ½ cup sugar; 2 eggs; 1 cup lard; ½ cup cold water; 1 tablespoon soda; 1 tablespoon ginger; flour enough to make stiff. Mix well and bake in quick oven. Roll thin.
–MRS. H. G. WOLFE

Grandma’s Cookies
2/3 cup butter; 1 cup sugar; 4 tablespoons milk; 2 teaspoons baking powder; 2 eggs; 1 teaspoon vanilla; flour to make soft dough. Roll and cut.
-KATHLEEN HAYNES

Hermit’s Cookies
3 eggs; 1 cups sugar; 1 cup butter; 1 cup seedless raisins; 1 teaspoon each of cinnamon, cloves, salt; 1 teaspoon soda dissolved in 3 tablespoons sour milk; flour enough to roll. Do not roll too thin on account of raisins. Bake only to a light brown.
-MRS. SOPHIA O’ROKE

Today I’m better. Not well, but better. In fact, I’m well enough to catch up in my reporting of the food testing. We’re almost through that stage of preparations for the banquet, as you know, so I had better catch up!!

There were two sweet recipes, one of which worked but not with this menu and the other of which might work, but needs further testing and has other problems. Naturally (since I’m cruel and heartless) I’m not going to give you the details of the recipe that might appear, but I thought you might like to hear the tester’s comments. It ‘was the victim of a unit mismatch’ which is a lesson to us all (or something). What happened was that the tester made the easiest error of all. He read ‘tablespoons’ in the recipe and used tablespoons to measure ingredients – but not all tablespoons are equal.

He asked how alcoholic desserts fit in with Prohibition cooking and I have to answer “out of sight of the law.” This is probably the reason that recipe will be dropped, which is a shame. It would be good in other respects, though, so I’m hanging onto it for a wistful moment.

Dawn tested another potential dessert recipe: Creole Pineapple. She liked it enough to have several servings. My thoughts are that I will take it to the next round ie test it against the other surviving desert recipe. I think the flavours might not be quite right with the icecream, is the problem, but I need to make it to check.

This sometimes happens: I get a good result from an experienced cook and have to make the dish again to find out where it fits. Of the three desserts just tested, only one will make it to even this stage. We still don’t know what dessert will feature on the menu, though the rest of it is beginning to shape up.

I just checked my calendar from last year and we’re ahead of ourselves. This is essential, however, as this year we have cocktails to test. I need ten really scrummy cocktail recipes by mid June and can’t start testing until May 1. If you’re interested in cocktail recipes, please feel free to volunteer, and I’ll contact you in May. I still have a few fridge magnets, too, though they’re going fast.

Alas, I’m still ill. In the absence of my brain, I’m giving you the preface to a cookbook. I had marked it down as one that deserved some commentary, but I don’t know if I can give you that tonight. (Isn’t it ironic that it’s a gastric virus that has made me so very exhausted?)

The book is The Complete Confectioner, Pastry-Cook and Baker by Parkinson, 1864. The title is much longer than that, to be honest. I love nineteenth century titles that try to edge over into a second page.

This is the preface to the American Edition. One day I need to compare other prefaces from other editions and find out just what the difference is. Not tonight, though. Tonight you get the writer’s comments, unadorned. Since lack of adornment includes such phrases as “Confectionary is the poetry of epicurism” which means my illness is not going to mean you suffer unduly.

“Almost every foreigner who visits this country remarks with astonishment the almost universal neglect of that art upon which, more than any thing else, depends the health and comfort of a people; and by many scientific men have most of the prevalent diseases of this country, especially the dyspepsia, been ascribed to the hurried, crude and unwholesome manner in which our food is prepared; of latter years, more attention has been paid to cooking; but the handmaiden of that parent art, confectionary, is still neglected and unknown, yet it is of little less importance than the graver branch referred to. Confectionary is the poetry of epicurism it throws over the heavy enjoyments of the table the relief of a milder indulgence, and dispenses the delights of a lighter and more harmless gratification of the appetite. The dessert, properly prepared, contributes equally to health and comfort; but “got up” as confectionary too often is, it is not only distasteful to a correct palate, but is deleterious and often actually poisonous.

In introducing to the American public the modes by which the table of hospitality may be enriched and adorned, we have consulted every authority, French or English, within our reach; but the basis of our little work is to be found in Read’s Confectioner, a late London publication.

Having for many years been connected with the oldest, most extensive and successful confectionary establishment in the country, we have been enabled to make from our own experience many important modifications and to introduce many additional receipts, particularly in relation to the various articles of luxury which the bounty of our soil and climate render almost exclusively American.

The volume has thus been increased in size, and we trust improved in value.

Trusting that our efforts to advance the popular knowledge of the art which has for many years engaged our attention, may meet with approbation, we present the result of our labours to a candid and indulgent public.

Chestnut Street,
Philadelphia.”

1. Food History is still in Australia’s top 100 blogs (March 2008) - thank you everyone who linked to me!

2. I need addresses to send those fridge magnets to. Even if I know you, I might still need the address, because I often have several friends with the same first name. If you can’t find the ‘contact me’ button, then send your address to philologa(at)gmail)dot)com These are a brand new design, so if you want to make a collection, please send me your address again.

3. For anyone in or near Canberra (or anyone who has friends in or near Canberra) the new food history course starts 1 May and still has spaces. This is the last time I will be teaching it until at least 2009 (possibly longer - I don’t know next year’s program yet). You, too, can be introduced to the moustache cup (in fact, my students were supposed to be introduced last night - now it will have to be enxt week).

The details:

Our edible past: food in history

The best and worst of historical food, from Ancient Rome to the twentieth century. Discover the joy that was Medieval pastries and things you really didn’t want to know about early margarine. Learn about famous chefs and their recipes. Sample some historical cooking.

The course will follow students’ interests – it may be thematic or chronological. The topics that we will look at will include the following, but these are just starting points:

• Overeating in Ancient Rome - Apicius and his cookbook
• When Gluttony was a Deadly Sin - Medieval and Renaissance gourmet delights
• The British Empire’s Belly - home cooking in England in the eighteenth century
• Royal Recipes (not suitable for slimmers)
• The Rise of the Modern Cookbook - Mrs Beeton and friends
• The Age(s) of Exploration - new food, new tastebuds and new national cuisine

DATES/TIMES: 5.30-7.30pm on 8 Thursdays from 1 May

FEE: $274
The Australian National University
Telephone bookings: 02-61252892
Email: enrolments.cce@anu.edu.au
http://www.anu.edu.au/cce

I’m sorry there was no post yesterday. I also suspect today’s won’t be up to much. The trouble I have a virus. The worst symptoms are over, thankfully, and I’m no longer racing to the bathroom at the mere thought of food. I’m not really up to contemplating culinary matters too closely yet, though. And yes… I can’t not post. There would be a deep wrongness about refusing to post with this illness when I’ve posted from interstate and from other illnesses. Let’s face it, I refuse to wimp out (at least now that I’m actually out of bed).

I feel like talking about invalid food. For some reason the beef soups that I read about as a kid always appealed to me. They sound much more pleasant than, say, a panada. The last time I encountered a panada was in Georgette Heyer, anyhow, and she was very much not a nineteenth century writer.

The method for the fine beef drink for invalids is surprisingly simple. It’s basically steamed beef, with the steaming done with the lid on. The quality stuff from the meat is supposed to be drawn out of the meat until you are left with nothing but the finest quality and most easily digestible drink. When I get well enough to work out if I have the pans to do it with (and I may just) I might use up a package of chuck steak in the process, although one recipe (according to my vague recall) specified a higher quality meat. Anyhow, my chuck steak is quality meat, just a tougher cut of quality meat, so it will have to do.

What I was going to post about yesterday was class, and what I was going to post about today were some more of the recipe tests. Both of those will have to wait, since tomorrow I had not emerged at all from illness and today I’ve only just emerged. Still, at least I’m back. And it’s only one remove from a beef drink for invalids to a fine consommé for gourmets, so life can’t be that bad. Besides, I’m a half inch thinner than two days ago.

I’m taking today off and maybe tomorrow. I’ve got a virus. Serves me right for doing an autumn post and overworking all on the same day. I taught this morning, but since then have spent vast amounts of time asleep, so I don’t feel quite as totaled, but I still need a little time out.

To entertain you while I sleep some more, here are some recipes for the biscuit and scone collection. These are from the second edition of The Neighborhood Cook Book, Portland, Oregon. It was compiled on behalf of the Portland Section of the Council of Jewish Women, originally in 1912, but this version in 1914.

Biscuits

One quart flour sifted twice with three teaspoons Crescent baking powder. Shortening size of large egg, half butter, half lard. If you only use butter, take twice the size of an egg. One rounding teaspoon salt. Sweet milk enough to make a soft dough. Roll thin and bake in hot oven seven to ten minutes.

Five o’Clock Tea Biscuits

Mix one-fourth of a pound of flour and one teaspoon Crescent baking powder, one cup of sugar, the rind and juice of two lemons with one-half pound of butter, which has been worked into a smooth paste, add to this the whites of two eggs and a little milk. Roll this and cut into biscuits, and brush them over with the yolks of the eggs. Sprinkle with a little sifted, pulverized sugar and bake in buttered tins.

Chocolate Cookies

One cup brown sugar, one cup white sugar, three sticks chocolate, one tablespoon whiskey, four eggs, three cups flour, two teaspoons Crescent baking powder, one teaspoon each of all kinds of spices. Beat the yolks of the eggs with the sugar. Add chocolate, syrup, whiskey, spices, and then the flour, and last the beaten whites over which the baking powder has been sifted. When stiff enough to roll, brush tops of cookies with beaten egg.

Drop Cookies

Three eggs, two cups brown sugar, one cup butter, level teaspoon soda, dissolved in two tablespoons boiling water, one cup walnuts chopped, three cups flour.

Date Cookies

One-fourth pound dates pitted and cut in half, one-fourth pound almonds blanched and cut lengthwise, one-fourth pound granulated sugar. Whites of two eggs, beaten very stiff. Put dates, almonds, and sugar in bowl together and mix well. Then add beaten whites. Grease tins very well. Sprinkle with cracker dust to prevent sticking. Bake in hot oven.

Today was the first Big Day. I put together six pages that covered the work that everyone’s done to date on the Prohibition banquet and Karen (the Chair of Conflux) and I went to The Marque to talk to the chef.

I felt underdressed sitting at a table next to someone in full chef regalia and I felt very much like explaining things in French. I defend myself with the excuse that it was his accent, but really, it was the meeting being on April Fool’s Day.

It was a serious meeting, despite the date. We made some serious decisions.

I’m very happy with the new chef. He has cooked historical food before – he did a Titanic meal last year, in fact. When I talked about the changing fat content in milk and the move from rich to subtle, he understood. He also understood French influence and how far to take it. In fact, his understanding was sufficient so that I finally feel I can stop worrying about the main soup and about the sorbets. All I need to do is indicate the most popular garnishes for that soup now, and he already knows the preferred sorbets.

My feeling from the meeting was that it’s going to be a very fine meal indeed.

My feeling from today’s other meeting, with the functions manager, is that the rooms will work well. Their standard table format will look just fine and when the down lights are turned off, the light comes from chandeliers and very Art Deco looking wall lamps. With white tablecloths and people in their finery, the room is going to look extraordinarily smart.

The truth about creating historic banquets is that the historian can only do so much unless she is also trained as a chef (which this historian is not). It doesn’t matter how well I interpret sources or how many languages I read or how much I understand the trade and culture and society, my actual cooking is of good amateur standard. The big moment is always when the chef sees what I’ve done and nods and says ‘This is possible.” The ideal situation is what happened today, when he gets a glint in his eye and takes all the papers away saying “I will play with this.”

He’s going to take ownership and that means – given how excellent he is at his job – that the food will be divine. He understood exactly what I was saying about the look and feel and flavours. He understood about the problem areas. He didn’t try to brush over anything or dismiss me. In short, both of us want to see what happens next.