Hot Cross Buns for Good Friday

These are getting better with practice. This time I went back to the 1854 receipt in MacKenzie's Five Thousand Receipts which I originally made in 2016 and revisited in 2019. I tried of half-batch of my 2019 refinements but doubled the milk from the outset (4.5 cups flour, 1 cup sugar, 2 tsp each coriander and cinnamon, 1 tsp mace, 1/2 tsp salt, 4 oz melted butter, 1 cup skim milk, 3 3/4 tsp active dry yeast). 

With the additional liquid, the dough worked up smoother and more easily than it ever had before. The buns themselves baked up nice and light, and with a moderate but distinct spice flavor.

 

Might have gotten carried away on the crosses...

 

 

HFF 5.20: Beverage

The Challenge: Beverage. Make something to drink.

The Recipe: Lemonade from Two Thousand Five Hundred Practical Receipts

The Date/Year and Region: 1837, London

How Did You Make It: I juiced 1 lemon, which yielded a generous 1 oz of juice (maybe closer to 1.5oz, definitely less than 2). To this I added 5 oz of water, 1 Tbsp granulated sugar, 1 oz of gin and about 1/32 tsp baking soda, stirring well.

Total Time: 5 minutes.

Total Cost: ~$1 for 1 lemon and the small amount of gin

How Successful Was It?: Lackluster compared to other lemonades I've made, very good compared to my expectations for a gin cocktail. It tasted like lemon alright, and even had some complexity to it, but didn't have the sharp acidic taste of lemonade. I expect that this was the soda. Making this again (which I might do, because I appreciate the amount of each ingredient being specified), I'd probably omit the soda and gin both, as unnecessary complications.

How Accurate Is It? I'm feeling pretty good, what with the having specific measures and few ingredients. I even managed to find an English gin! Which claims to be made from its original 1880s recipe; this was also the cheapest gin at Trader Joe's, so I didn't have high expectations. Part of the reason I selected this receipt (beyond wanting some lemonade) was because I was intrigued at the inclusion of gin--the spirit has a bad reputation at this period, so I was not expecting to see it show up in a lemonade receipt. The sugar amount was a guess, and if/when I make this again, I'd probably start with 1 tsp and adjust the amount of sugar by taste. I did not research lemon varieties. I used a little more lemon juice than strictly intended, but my gut feeling is that this isn't a game-changer. Making a larger batch would probably allow me to be more precise without wasting any fruit. The one mistake I made was in using baking soda (sodium bicarbonate), which upon re-reading likely meant sodium carbonate (wash soda). The soda I used did not give the desired effervescence in any case.

 

This is a very complicated recipe.

Lots to see: 1837 lemonade with gin.

HFF 5.19: Foreign Food

[Yes, I'm doing these out of order because the one challenge severely delayed me, so I'm just going on without it for the moment.]

The Challenge: Foreign Food. Make a dish that is somehow 'foreign' to your cooking experience.

The Recipe:  To Boil Potatoes (A genuine Irish Receipt) from Eliza Acton's Modern Cookery (14th ed)

The Date/Year and Region: 1854, London

How Did You Make It: I scrubbed three modest-sized russet potatoes, placed them in my smallest cooking pot, and barely covered them with water. I brought these to a boil, added 1 tsp salt, and turned it down to simmer. From there, it was constantly tweaking the temperature to keep the water simmering but not boiling until the potatoes were mostly cooked through. When soft, I poured off the remaining water, and set the potatoes to dry (which took maybe a minute). I then used a fork to pierce the peel, and gently pulled the peel of each potato.

Total Time: About 30-40 minutes? I lost track of time.

Total Cost: Minimal.

How Successful Was It?: Tastes fine, didn't make a mess. Peeling the cooked potatoes was a little tricky because they were hot and the peels tended to break (especially the on the last one), but they were really easy to score and the peel came away easily, so it was a trade-off. The potatoes tasted nice. They put me in mind of both boiled and baked potatoes, being somewhat drier than the former (which I usually peel and chop before boiling) and more moist than the latter (which is the only way I usually cook potatoes in peels). I could see myself making these again whether for the novelty or for want of a potato peeler. Once cooked, the peels come off in one's fingers, with the occasional aid of a fork. It's also really efficient, with practically no edible potato flesh remaining on the peel.

How Accurate Is It? I didn't spring for heirloom potatoes; this is one of those receipts where there are so few ingredient and processes that I don't have much else to judge it on. I used the modern stove/pan, but after all, it's boiling, which is chemically the same regardless of heat source.

Tried to find small potatoes that would pack tightly.

The peels came off nicely in the end.

HFF 5.17: Heartfelt

[I actually did this challenge during its mid-February timespan, then just left abandoned the draft for 6 weeks without adding the pictures. It's been a time...]

The Challenge: Heartfelt. Make a historic version of something you love, or anything with "heart". 

The Recipe: "A Light Cake to Bake in Cups" from The Skillful Housewife's Book

A LIGHT CAKE TO BAKE IN CUPS. Half a pound of sugar, half a pound of butter, rub in two pounds of flour, one glass of wine or rose water, two of yeast, one of nutmeg, and fruit if you please.

The Date/Year and Region: 1852, New York

How Did You Make It: Half-scale, and started with some math. I took "one glass" in the wine/rose water and yeast measures as "one wine glass", which can be somewhere from 2 to 4 fl oz depending on the reference. Considering how strong rosewater can be, my instinct was to go for the smaller end of that scale. I decided to check some modern cake recipes which use yeast to confirm this, and concluded that 1.5 fl oz = 1 "wine-glass" would give the same proportion of flour to yeast in this recipe as in the modern recipes.  I then had to convert into active dry yeast (since I still can't find fresh for sale), which gave: 1/4 lb sugar, 1/4 lb butter, 1 lb flour, 0.75 fl oz rose water or wine, and 1.5 oz fresh year, or ~3 tsp active dry yeast in about 1.5 oz water (to make up the liquid).*

I started by letting the ~3 tsp of yeast wake-up in ~2oz water, and then began creaming the sugar and butter, to which I mixed in the flour. The dry ingredients were measured by weight. Then I added the rosewater and yeast+water, and a generous sprinkle of nutmeg (~1/4 tsp).

At which point I realized that 4.5 fl oz is not nearly enough liquid to make this into a dough, and added an additional 0.5 oz rosewater and 1-2 oz water, which barely squeaked this into usable (if lumpy) territory).

I then proceeded to bake the first set, filling 3 large and two small queencake tins each half-way, and putting them in the oven at 350F. Five minutes later, I realized another mistake: I hadn't actually let the dough rise for an appreciably time. Those cakes baked in 15-20 minutes, and produced a short, dense cake. I let the remaining dough rise for an hour before baking the next two rounds, and allowed the dough a few minutes to rest between putting it in the tins and baking them. These later cakes rose most of the way to the top of the tins, and produced a lighter cake.

Total Time: About 20 minutes preparing dough and pans, 1 hour rise time, 1 hour to bake three sets (~20 minutes if using sufficient pans to cook them all simultaneously).

Total Cost: About $1 worth of butter at the current rate, everything else was on hand.

How Successful Was It?: For the comedy of errors that this experiment was, it returned a palatable set of cakes. The first round, with the limited rising time, were definitely dense. The latter were lighter, but all of them still had a lumpy finish up top, which I am blaming on the weird way the liquids were added. The cakes kept nicely for several days, went well with tea, and had a lovely rose-nutmeg flavor. I think there's some potential to use these in future, but I will need to workshop them a lot first (and probably get Quinn's input, as yeast is involved).

How Accurate Is It? Not particularly light, and in retrospect 'bake in cups' probably meant rounds rather than heart/diamond/club queencake tins. So, not one of my most accurate attempts. That being said, I think with some more practice and experimentation (and cross-referencing other sources), I can make a it more accurate version. I had meant to add currants before baking, but the 'fruit' is 'optional', so omitting is within the period variations. Considering how weird the liquids were here, I would like to try it again using fresh yeast, and see how it compares.

 

*I had extensive notes to myself about how I calculated this, based on the idea that use you about 40% as much active dry yeast as fresh yeast, and needing to make up the liquid difference, but I honestly can't interpret what I wrote. And I think the take-away in either case is that this recipe needs more liquid and either more yeast or more rising time than I gave it. It also can probably use professional supervision...

Original: Chemise c.1850

I still need to remake most of my 1850s underthings, and decided some inspiration was in order.

American or European chemise, c.1850. The Met.

Even at the highest magnification, I can't tell what technique is used on the decorative infill. My first thought it wavy braid (as on the chemise in my own collection), though the completely contained circles would be a pain to make in that technique, which leads me to suspect tatting or crochet. However, I can't clearly see any of the stitches to make a determination. I'm certainly not copying this garment, though, so for now it can remain a mystery.
 

Glass Paper, 1847

Do-it-yourself glass-paper! All you need is a broken window, paper, glue, an iron mortar-and-pestle, three sieves, and a support board with tacks.

Do Not Try This At Home

I don't think I'll be trying this receipt, even though it warns against inferior manufactured articles which adulterate the glass shards with sand. Just imagine: sandpaper!