Food History

What actually happened in Alyson’s tests? She blogged about it. I so want to try the one with port in. It sounds perfect for cold winter nights ie now.

Alyson’s extra report means that anyone who has become used to all the alcohol flowing in this corner of blogland doesn’t have to go cold turkey for a bit.

We all need a break from unlimited alcohol. In fact, we need something solid and sobering, because we’re heading for mid-week and sobriety is terribly important during the middle of the week. I thought some more recipes for the biscuit and scone collection would do the trick.

A question the other day made me realise that some of you don’t know why all these biscuit and scone recipes keep appearing. It’s because I’m collecting (slowly and a little sporadically) recipes and mentions and, one day, when we’re all completely sick of it, I’m going to make a special map. I’ll chart biscuits and scones over time and geographically. I’ll compare names and ingredients, if it ever gets to that stage, and we’ll come up with interesting results.

Until then the recipes are lovely. Today’s lovely recipes are from Foods that will Win the War and How to Cook Them, by C. Houston Goudiss and Alberta M. Goudiss, 1918.

SOY BEAN MEAL BISCUIT
1 cup soy bean meal or flour
1 cup whole wheat
1−1/2 teaspoons salt
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 tablespoon corn syrup
2 tablespoons fat
1 cup milk
Sift dry ingredients. Cut in fat. Add liquid to make soft dough. Roll one−half inch thick. Cut and bake 12 to 15 minutes in hot oven.

EMERGENCY BISCUIT
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup cornmeal
1 tablespoon fat
1/2 teaspoon soda
1 cup sour milk
1 teaspoon salt
Mix as baking powder biscuit. Drop by spoonfuls on greased baking sheet. Bake 15 minutes in hot oven.

The only alcohol in my day has been the last bit of blackberry liqueur I drank so I could wash the jar and make way for the medlar liqueur. I think I need more pretty bottles. They can wait, though, since nothing else will be decantable for a few months.

I still have two drinks to test, but won’t be able to do them till Wednesday or Thursday night. I’m in teaching mode now, and can’t inflict drink-induced fatigue on my students. Well, I could, but there would be a wrongness to it.

To make up, I thought you might like the highlights of some of the other testing that has come my way. It’s only highlights, because both Mary from LA and Nicole Murphy have given so much detail in their reports that it would be giving the recipe away if I posted the whole email. You still have to wait until October for the very best of the recipes.

Mary has reported on two drinks and has just one to go. She had male help for the first drink, but they maybe couldn’t take the pace, because they weren’t around for the second.

The opinions on that first drink:

“I would order this drink in a bar, at least every now and then. Steve liked it better than a conventional martini (although, to be fair, he’s not the world’s most enthusiastic martini fan!). Andrew said it was a bit too sweet for him, but then he doesn’t care much for sweets in general.

Our rating: Pretty good — 3 1/2 out of 5 stars. Could go up to 4 or higher with minor modifications as suggested above.”

The second drink was Crème de Menthe-based and Mary says of it “Good, but I think I still like creme de menthe best in hot cocoa.” I need to try that, when the weather gets really cold.

Nicole ran into some troubles with ingredients (as did everyone – brands and exact tastes change over 90 years): she pointed out that rye whiskey is “not something you get at Liquourland.” She did her homework (as did everyone else – I love this team of testers – they work things out and all I have to do is nod sagely and report the results) and discovered that the whiskey she could get wasn’t quite as dry as rye would have been.

“Knowing that, I have to say this is a nice cocktail made with bourbon, but I wouldn’t want it any dryer. It’s pretty bloody dry as it is - Tim took one mouthful and thrust the rest of the glass at me with a screwed up face. The first mouthful for me was interesting, in the way the first mouthful of a martini is interesting - it realigns your tastebuds and there’s a moment of wondering whether it’s worth it. But then you have the second mouthful, and the third, and by the end of the glass you’re well and truly ready for the second. I liked this so much I made it up again a few nights later. You’ll need a dryish cocktail for people with that taste, and this is a nice one.”

The other was a washout, or, in Nicole’s words “I can’t see this one being nice at all.”

Two out of four progress for more tasting. At this stage I have absolutely no idea how we get the list to a manageable size. I’m just going to have to hope that my cute little form and a mid-winter tasting party will magically produce results. I’ve given up on the drink so fine that everyone will chase the bartender until they obtain it, by the way. Unless someone pulls a rabbit out of a hat, it might not exist. Or if it does exist, it might have raw egg again, and I’ve been advised against using the recipes with raw egg in.

I don’t intend to be unpredictable in my blogging. It’s rather like my life, though, which has more than its share of not knowing what will happen until the day arrives. This is a shame, because I’m a creature of planned realities and like saying something then doing it. Except that life intervenes.

Life intervened today (and last night) in the form of reports from drinks testers. I haven’t done any more tasting myself, because life intervened in other ways, but results are rolling in. The ratio of one drinkable drink to one we never want to see again has held rather nicely and final choices are going to be tough.

Alyson checked out two recipes for me.

The first was my favourite report so far:

“Looked like a urine specimen and smelt like mouthwash. Very strong - too strong to have with food. Essential to have it on ince as per the receipt. My immediate thought is ACK! But hubby says he likes it, so I have another go - perhaps I’m missing something? (SIP) NO,NO,NO…I think he’s DELUDED!! No. Blagggghhh. It has the same sensation as drinking orange juice STRAIGHT after brushing your teeth…actually like drinking a vodka and orange drink straight after brushing your teeth!! Redolent of a peppermint candy cane gone toooo far. Nuff said?

N.B. on reading my notes, hubby says he doesn’t necessarily like it BUT he doesn’t find it offensive.”

The second has a bit of context. She drank it then realised that she had a full day as second in command in a restaurant the next morning. You might have to check her blog to find out how her work went. If she doesn’t report, then ask her. Make sure you look properly innocent when you ask, of course.

“Hello! Smells nice - nutmeg is a nice touch. Astringent suits its first taste. Oooooh strong. Spicy. Good for a drink gulper like me, because you HAVE to sip it. You could possible have this with hearty meaty stewy type foods, if any. (We’re having beef curry tonight and I’m not throwing this drink down the sink, but clutching it rather too firmly) Very warming - kind of like a mulled wine in liqueur form. I like it. Do I like it more because it is the second drink and I am, therefore, warmed up? Possibly. But no.”

Mary from LA had help for the first test, but the help disintegrated for the second. Drinks testing obviously requires stern stuff. If you want to know the results of her tests, check back here tomorrow: I just looked at the time and I might turn into something strange if I don’t sleep soon. Trust me, though, Mary’s tests are worth the wait.

I’m taking a break from drinking. I promise to get back to it, though, and write more curiously influenced posts.

Today I have two things to talk about: search terms and one of the community cookbooks. They are in no way linked, nor is the fact that I spent this morning looking at stoves.

Normally search terms for this blog aren’t at all interesting. Everyone who comes is practical and sensible and looks for good stuff. This time, when I checked the stats, things were a bit different. That’s why I’m sharing. Everyone else gets strange terms to chuckle over so it’s about time we had some, too.

Right up the top is ‘brad and butter pudding’. I do wonder what Brad tastes like in a pudding, but I don’t want to kill him to find out. A few entries under Brad is ‘pleasure revenge food’ – if it was the same person who used both search terms and you are that person, please own up. There has to be a story in it.

Just for the record, photography was invented in the nineteenth century. This means that the poor soul who looked for ‘medieval beef photos’ was entirely out of luck. I hope that the person who keyed in ‘middle evil times people how to cook food’ had better success, though I can’t promise anything for ‘names of a Jewish butcher.’ I have met a Jewish butcher and I don’t think I called him names at all.

The rest is pretty sane and sensible. I’d really love to know what the person who googled ‘jewish herb garden’ found out. Why should a Jewish herb garden be any different from a non-Jewish one? Colour me mystified.

The next cookbook on my little pile of must-reads is The Tried-and-True Cookbook. It has a lovely blue cover and was put out by the Wesley Deep Creek Uniting Church in order to help primary school children at risk. It comes from the bottom end of mainland Australia rather than the top end, but it’s still about children and their needs.

Melbourne has a Mediterranean climate, and its food has a Mediterranean influence. Instead of tropical flavours, there is minestrone and Chinese barbecue pork, pilaf and lasagna. There is, however, also macadamia chicken, tomato curry and some truly wonderful-looking desserts that could be from anywhere European. In other words, the cookbook doesn’t reflect Melbourne, it reflects the congregation of that particular branch of the Uniting Church.

To celebrate that congregation and its efforts in helping children, how about a recipe? This one calls itself “Impossible Pie” and, despite the name, it looks delightfully simple.

Impossible pie

4 eggs
½ cup butter
½ cup plain flour
2 cups milk
1 cup sugar
1 cup coconut
2 tsp vanilla

Blend all ingredients together and pour into a 25 cm greased pie plate.

Bake at 180 degrees C for about 1 hour or until centre is firm.

I’ll finish my drinks test tomorrow night. Today it’s all too much for me: I look at the array of bottles and think I shall never touch liquor again. More than that, I think I shall have an early night and sleep heaps. I didn’t get a hangover, but I did get a cold. The drinks (oddly) got rid of most of the sneezing and sniffing and I’m left with a faint fever and a vast, vast exhaustion. It isn’t just the cold. For many reasons (not just the ones I’ve blogged) it has been a very big week.

I tested one more recipe last night. #11. That means just two more to go. What’s more, I’ve swapped it with one of the other sour drinks – the balance of this one is just so much better. Not too much sugar or too much sour.

Karen checked out a couple of non-alcoholic drinks yesterday. Her view was that both were OK. One was “was a little ‘cloudy’ at first, but not unattractively so” and the other was sweet and might appeal to those who like sweet things, which sounds pretty fair.

Where does this leave us? There are five (possibly six) alcoholic cocktails that have gone through for further thinking and two non-alcoholic. A good week’s work, I think.

If I’m not quite so tired, I’ll extend the week by a day and taste the last two drinks in my list tomorrow. Or maybe Sunday. And then I’ll only have the testing of others to report and will be able to go back to normal business. Normal business includes five community cookbooks about which I very much want to tell yout.

My second drink of the day (I’m really beginning to sound like a chronic tippler, aren’t I?) is # 8. It’s a little sour, but even more refreshing than the mint ones. I think I’m going to have to put it on the long list, too. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, but the long list is looking … long. I’m going to have to cull it a little if all the testers get the same results as me. Nothing is to die for, but 2/3 of the drinks are nice, and worth following up on.

I might choose the 2-3 top drinks using each alcohol base. I could more easily diminish the list by selecting according to those with fresh lime, or crushed mint, or grenadine. That might give a better mix, in fact. I’ll think about it. Maybe the thirty other recipes out there will all turn out to be bad news and maybe the long list won’t prove so long after all. My sizzled brain doubts that, though. What I need are about 6 tests that come out with amazing drinks, worth pursuing a barman to the ends of the earth to obtain. So far we don’t even have one of those.

I won’t be testing five drinks today. I’ve made it as far as two and that’s probably enough. If I feel enthused later, maybe I’ll test one more. One thing I have to say is how useful a really good cocktail is for getting rid of muscle aches and pains. My poor neck, victim of too much typing, suddenly feels almost normal. I certainly won’t do cocktails every night, but maybe I’ll try them once a week and find out how much is due the muscles relaxing and how much the anaesthetic qualities.

I keep looking at my list. Three drinks to go. And all of them tomorrow. One of them is rum-based and two are brandy-based. The other thing I have to do tomorrow is write three extraordinary pages of fiction, since I’m now in novel-editing mode. Expect much laughter from my publisher. I don’t have to reassure you, do I, that this is not the normal way my history interfaces with my fiction?

I got off to a slow start today. In fact, I’ve only just poured my first drink. I’ve started with #10 on my list and it’s cool and refreshing and something I could get used to. It has to go on the long list. That’s four for the long list so far, out of seven. This is a bit of a surprise. Either I handed on all the undrinkables to others to test, or really, only bits of tastes have changed. I’ve devised a form for second stage testing so that somehow we can discern between a good drink and a drink we can’t possibly miss out on.

If you’ve been counting, you will have noticed that the numbers just do not add up. This is because I received my first report-back from someone else and I still have one drink to comment on from yesterday.

Rachel says:

“Firstly, this is going to be a disappointment to anyone expecting a martini (after all, it looks just like a Gibson) but the two vermouths give it quite a distinctive taste. Secondly, it’s very hard to measure half a pony with one of those conical cocktail thingies.

However, I liked it. It’s hit me quite hard (I’m having to retype every second letter), but I’m about to watch Spicks and Specks, so that’s OK.

It’s not “giggle water” by any stretch and is not going to be to everyone’s taste. It would not go well with food either as it’s very strong. The onion is perfect with it (I’m normally an olive person). I can imagine this being a gentleman’s drink. I want to say aniseed-y, but not quite.” I’m marking this down, with a question-mark, for the Speakeasy.

My final drink from last night was one that suits everyone, to balance this. #5 in my list has come forward to the twenty-first century unchanged. In fact, by co-incidence, it’s exactly what I was drinking at the stroke of midnight when the century changed. It goes forward to the long list, but I don’t know if it’s distinctive enough to stay there. We’ll see.

Now I have a friend to help me get drunk. We’re trying #1. Her view is that it’s axle-grease. My view is that it’s very bright red. Neither of us think that this should be served at Conflux. We have an opinion on the history – modern tastebuds look for a little more sweetness and creaminess to balance the astringency. After the first mouthful and with proper blending, it improves, but it’s still a shock to the mouth. Donna says that it needs people who have no tastebuds and that these people will appreciate its finer qualities. She’s making a fabulous face, but has drunk it all. I’m only three sips in. We’re dropping it.

#7 is lovely. All mint and sugar and we-can-pretend-there’s-no-alcohol. There’s a very slight afterburn, but it will appeal to many people. Donna described it as refreshing and light, good as a palate cleanser. We’re assigning this one (tentatively) to the Banquet.

This is when I had a good long break. Dinner and some sobriety. Family intervened, as family does. Then I had my brainwave. A very considerate friend has let me borrow her House of Eliot DVDs. Why not test the next two (and last for the day) in front of a TV series set in the 1920s? Go out in style, so to speak?

I’ve looked at the list again to try to decide what those last two should be, and I found myself shuddering. They all look perfectly potable … in theory. In practice, though, I’m not sure I can face two more drinks tonight. I’ll drink one more only, and then watch the DVD with only water by my side. The rest can wait. I’ll report back on the last one tomorrow, when I try to demolish more of my little list. Thank you to all the people helping me test, because even the diminished list I have is almost too much*.

* In an ideal world I would taste a drink a day for ten days, but I have meetings and things over the weekend and reviews that must be started and articles that must be finished and teaching next week. From today till Friday is all the time I have.

Note to self: when using spoon to float brandy for #6, do not even think of drinking extra brandy out of the spoon. There is enough alcohol in your day already. Already, in fact, there is more than there has been at any time these last two weeks. #6, for the record, is dull. It’s lemonade for alcoholics and a waste of good brandy. I bet it was a drink like this that spawned the term ‘giggle water.’

I’m eyeing off the other recipes. Discretion is the better part of valour. Also, my typing is going peculiar: I need an afternoon nap. I especially need one because the next drink calls for a full wineglass of brandy. No it doesn’t. That’s because I’ve suddenly changed the order of testing to save my sanity. Also so that I can try one more drink then have that sleep. (For the record, I’m not making them full size, just in case you were wondering why I still sound almost-not-drunk. Also for the record, both drinks have suddenly hit me like a steamroller. Right now I’m a very, very happy historian. A small piece of me wonders why I chose the Middle Ages when I could have been drinking early twentieth century liquor for the last twenty years. Most of me still knows that there are very, very good reasons for confining the drinks to a very few days and then getting back to the Middle Ages.)

The third drink (and the very last I can manage this session) is a shaken cocktail. I’m hoping it will turn out well, because it looks cute and has ingredients I like, individually. When I bought the Grenadine, the shop assistant told me, quite sincerely, that it tastes much nicer than red cordial. I was strong and brave and refrained from giving her a complete history of grenadine. It still puzzles me that anyone could use red cordial instead of it. My only sorrow is that real grenadine isn’t available in the ACT (that I can find) so I have an artificial version. It’s a nice red, though.

Anyhow, to drink #2 on my list: it looks like red medicine and, by golly, it tastes like red medicine. Lots of ice would dilute it, but I really doubt anything can redeem it. Actually, it improves as I drink more of it. It’s less odious, but still not something I would drink again. My main thought is that this is the medicine the Darling family was so fond of in Peter Pan. Just to be certain, I’ve mixed it more, since the recipe advises to shake well and really, all I did was stir it. Yes, the extra effort makes a difference. It tastes almost drinkable. Almost is not good enough. Not nearly good enough. Much as I like the thought of everyone sporting glasses that look nicely medicinal, no-one at the Banquet will taste this beauty.

And now I need that nap. I hope no-one rings in the next two hours, because I doubt I am as sober as I think I am.

Today I am starting my drink testing. Given the comments other testers have made about the likelihood of loss of grammar and maybe even social skills, I thought you might appreciate a step-by-step account of my progress. I’m not testing everything in the one day (11 drinks! And besides, I’m still missing an ingredient for some of them) but I want to finish up quickly and move onto other things. Also, I’ve finished my teaching for the week, so from today and Friday is not a bad time to go quietly crazy.

Because I can’t guarantee my sobriety (being a cheap drunk), I’ve printed out all my recipes and I’m numbering them. The numbering means that I know which recipes I’m trying but you only get the tasting notes. I’ll post in normal blog-lengths, so you will get my notes in stages. This is very cruel of me, but necessary. The final drinks recipes will all enter this space in October, and that’s when you’ll find out specifics. I don’t know how detailed the notes will be from the rest of the team, but at least you can laugh at my attempts to not get drunk and also to details the strengths and weaknesses of each drink. One thing I know before I start: we probably need three of my eleven drinks on the long list, just because they have the same base alcohol.

My first drink is #3. I’ve already spilled some. This has nothing to do with drunkenness and everything to do with trying to find ingredients stashed in odd places while sipping. The brandy and sugar were in the library and are now not, and I am saved from early overdose of alcohol by losing 1/3 of the first drink. My flat is going to smell delightful by the time I’m finished.

#3 is good. Perfect for the Speakeasy. Not bad for drinking before the Banquet begins, but not flexible enough for the menu, really. Sophisticated and dead easy to make. So easy, in fact, that the bartender is likely to look at me in horror. They’ll just have to jazz it up themselves with fancy gestures and throwing things around.

This would have been an entirely salubrious start if some weren’t spilled. On the other hand, if anyone rings at least I’m still sober. I’m so sober, in fact that I remembered to change the spellcheck to Aussie English.

More will follow. I need a few minutes recovery.

Tonight is the night. Two gorgeous community cookbooks, randomly selected from the pile at my desk. Except the first one I picked up was a rather unexpected one. Friends and family didn’t just give me random cookbooks, it turns out. So tonight, you meet just one book, but it’s a special one.

The first book is slim and the cover is a splash of orange and yellow. It’s called “recipes from the tropics help a bush child”. The first four words are in a different font to the rest but no, there is no punctuation nor any space between the two phrases. So next time you meet a bush child, you know what to cook.

Inside, there is a really interesting cookbook. It was compiled in the far north of Australia by the Whitsunday Branch of the Queensland Bush Children’s Health Scheme. A community cookbook, sure, but with the funds raised reaching across a vast territory. This is one of the things I love about these books – they can be national or local or something quite, quite different. This booklet is quite, quite different.

It is a 1970s book, and a lot of trouble has been taken to show why it’s necessary. There’s a map on page c showing the places children have come from over a thirty year period to get help at the Rowes Bay Bush Childrens’ Home in Townsville. They travelled from as far north as Thursday Island and as far south as Winton, as far east as Mackay and as far west as Camooweal.

The map is a reminder that there are politics in cookbooks. In fact, the book is a reminder that there are politics in cookbooks. These children were some of the least privileged in the world, despite living in a prosperous country. One of the biggest public statements the new Prime Minister will ever make was the ’sorry’ he said to the Stolen Generation: the period covered by the map was just a part of the period and apart of the terrain covered by that apology. The cookbook is a reminder that nothing is as simple as it seems and that, throughout the bad years, there were goodhearted people doing their best: politics are complicated and stories are individual.

There are some fabulous tropical recipes in the book itself and a bunch of Australian classics. Zucchini and Lamb sounds like something from my childhood, while Tropical Trifle (with pineapple, mango and passionfruit) makes my mouth water. There is a Palm Island Pie I shall be making next summer and jellied pawpaw wedges that look perfect to serve to children. Ragout of Octopus appeals less, I’m afraid: I’d rather have Gingered Pacific Island Steaks or Polynesian Baked Chicken.

The recipes are so clearly Australian and have a lovely Islander influence. They’re the perfect reminder that peoples’ lives are never simple and that politics is never what it seems. And that community cookbooks to raise funds to help children are usually just that, and worth noticing.

I’m going to post about cookbooks tomorrow after all. Tonight I want to put in a plea for more help. Four months ago I had a queue of people who wanted the food testing for the Prohibition Banquet all sorted out so that they could move on to the more joyous task of drinks testing. I still have a core of happy testers (and one new one) but most of the queue seems to have disappeared.

I have thirty-something recipes that need homes and tasting. I would very much like results by the end of May so that the committee can do the tricky job of trying all the drinks in one evening before the evenings get so long and so cold that such a task becomes dangerous. Though an extended cocktail party in mid-winter does have its attractions, and I do have a camera…

Testing these recipes is really a matter of getting the ingredients, mixing them, sipping elegantly and telling me how much you like what you taste and what, exactly, it tastes like. If you say something curious or colourful (or even curiously colourful) I might blog it. If you are three sips in and think of a splendid new science fictional or fantasy name for the drink then I can take that to the committee for consideration. We’re not renaming the food for the occasion, but we are most certainly renaming the drinks.

I’ll blog the final recipes with their new names (and slightly modified ingredients – Australian brands in 2008 and New York brands in 1921 don’t always overlap) after Conflux, which isn’t until October. This is, in other words, your last chance to taste what’s going to happen at the Banquet and at the Speakeasy the night after.

All I need is an email address and the number of recipes you’re willing to try and I’ll email them to you forthwith. In advance, thank you, because I really, really didn’t want to have to make all thirty-nine of those recipes myself.

I was offered an exceptionally wonderful opportunity to talk about a subject I love on the blog of a major Aussie publisher. If you want to see what terrible liberties I took with this opportunity, check it out here.

I promise to post about those two cookbooks later tonight.

Several thoughtful people gave me community cookbooks for my birthday. I’m delaying putting them away until I can blog them, because community cookbooks are way more fun when they’re shared. I looked at my little stack today and wondered where to start and how to go about it. The problem is that in some ways local cookbooks are all different and unique. In other ways, they’re a bit the same. It’s the latter that worries me. Normally I classify works by similarities of ideas or concepts or language. If I do that in these instances, what you will get are blog posts of the greatest boredom. It will strip the books of their individuality and quirkiness and render them intellectual sludge. That intellectual sludge might be the underlying material for really interesting academic papers, but I’ve decided against it in this case. Be proud of me.

What I thought I would do is introduce them in pairs. Not matched pairs, either. I’ll take two at random each day for three days and find you something cool in each and every one of them. After all, a lot of love and work goes into each and every community cookbook. Even the ones that use a set format and just modify it a little and then add their own recipes entails a bunch of effort.

I’m afraid my blogposts won’t lead to a sparkling little article on the nature of community cookbooks. It will help you retain your respect for them and understand just how fascinating they are, though, and the lack of sludge should mean that you won’t use my blog last thing at night to help you get a good night’s rest. So, three posts, two books a post, starting tomorrow.