Foods in Season: June 1861

Let's see what Beeton's Book of Household Management tells us is in season in June.

Fish- Carp, crayfish, herring, lobsters, mackerel, mullet, pike, prawns, salmon, soles, tench, trout, turbot.

Meat- Beef, lamb, mutton, veal, buck venison.

Poultry- Chickens, ducklings, fowls, green geese, leverets, plovers, pullets, rabbits.

Vegetables- Artichokes, asparagus, beans, cabbages, carrots, cucumbers, lettuces, pease, potatoes, radishes, small salads, sea-kale, spinach, -various herbs.

Fruit- Apricots, cherries, currants, gooseberries, melons, nectarines, peaches, pears, pineapples, raspberries, rhubarb, strawberries.

We start with more changes in the fish category (two new, five removed since last month). Instead of a separate game category, venison is added to the otherwise unchanged meat list. Pigeons are out of the poultry category, replaced by plovers, turkey pullets, and wheatears. There are new additions in the vegetable realm with artichokes, radishes and spinach replacing cauliflower and cresses;  I'm confused by the cresses disappearing, since multiple varieties are flourishing in my garden just now (the curly cress has been doing well since mid-May while the nasturtium or Indian cress is just starting to reach useful size). There's even more expansion in the fruit category, losing only apples while apricots and currants come into more general use and peaches, pears, pineapple, and raspberry are all starting.

Revisiting Tea Cakes (1855)

Needed something sweet for Steilacoom, so I decided to revisit the tea cake receipt from Cookery, Rational, Practical and Economical (1855). This time I tried increasing the spices to 2 tsp cinnamon and 1 tsp allspice, the combination of which made for more flavorful cakes. I like that this recipe is already on a small scale (8 flour, 5.5 oz sugar, 4 oz butter, 1 egg; makes 2 pans of cookies), though I had forgotten just how dry the dough is. It takes a lot of hand kneading to get all the dry ingredients worked in, and ends up making a rather grainy dough as a result. The cakes were a bit dense (as usual for this kind of biscuit/cake/cookie), but are perfectly serviceable for serving with tea.

Small tea cakes flavored with cinnamon and allspice.

Being pressed for time, I tried just shaping these cakes with my hands (roll into small balls and flatten rather than rolling out a sheet and cutting them). It worked tolerably well, and made 3 dozen ~1.5" diameter cakes. I do think the texture could be improved by letting the dough chill overnight and then rolling them out, which is what I will plan to try next time.

Original: Seaside Outfit, c.1864-1867

Cotton seaside ensemble, c.1864-7, in LACMA.

 

Something summery this month! I selected this sacque-and-petticoat outfit partly for the seasonal theme, and partly because it breaks all the 'rules' (read: general trends) of reproducing 1860s dresses. It's a two-piece outfit; the bodice (sacque) does not closely fit the figure; and the fabric is a solid cotton (no printed design in sight). And it's covered in embroidery! But there are reasons for all of these departures from the norm, which is that this is a very specific kind of outfit, made of a very specific kind of fabric, worn by very specific people for very specific purposes.

In short: this is a rich person's casual summer recreation outfit, intended for outdoor daywear in a "watering place" (read: seaside resort full of other rich people relaxing and having fun outside). The loose fit of the sacque makes the whole thing look relaxed and informal, while the unprinted white cotton should both look and feel cool in the summer heat. And that isn't just any kind plain cotton: it's a cotton pique, which as far as I can recall is only used for summer wear (and is one of the few solid-colored cotton materials to feature in women's dresses of the period). And the white won't be fading or crocking; not that this need be a concern, because the person commissioning hyper-specific garments for hitting the beach on vacation is not someone trying to eke out a meager clothes budget, and can readily replace this outfit when it starts getting dingy or dated. Note also the long train on this skirt: it's meant to be worn over the fashionable elliptical hoops of the later 1860s, despite the ostensibly 'relaxed' show made by the sacque.

May Mending

Mostly modern tasks this month (jeans and the like), though I did fix a split seam in my 1850s drawers and replace a bone button which had broken on my tucked petticoat. After last weekend's reenactment, I found a number of tears in my shifts and stockings, which have now replenished the mending pile.  

Sallet of all kinde of hearbes, 1587

 To make a Sallet of all kinde of hearbes, from The Good Huswifes Jewell (1587): 

Take your hearbes and picke them very fine into faire water, and picke your flo∣wers by them selues, and wash them all cleane, and swing them in a strainer, and whē you put them into a dish, mingle them with Cowcumbers or Lemmons payred and sliced, and scrape Suger, and put in vineger and Oyle, and throw the flowers on the top of the Sallet, and of euery sorte of the aforesaid things, and garnish the dish about with the foresaide thinges, and hard Egges boyled and laide about the dish and vpon the Sallet.

So, which are these "all kinde of hearbes?" In the contemporary A Book of Cookrye (1591), the only salad recipe is a boiled salad of spinach (with a sauce of currants, sugar, and vinegar). The earlier Forme of Cury (c.1390) gives a "salat" that truly features all kinds of herbs:

Take persel, sawge, garlec, chibolles, oynouns, leek, borage, myntes, porrectes [porrets], fenel and ton tressis [cresses], rew, rosemarye, purslarye [purslain], laue and waische hem clene, pike hem, pluk hem small wiþ þyn honde and myng hem wel with rawe oile. lay on vynegur and salt, and serue it forth.

In a more modern spelling, I read this as

Take parlsey, sage, garlic, chibolles [spring onions], onions, leeks, borage, mint, porret [scallions, young leeks, or small onions], fennel, cresses, rue, rosemary, purslane. Lave [rinse] and wash them clean, pick them, pluck them small within hand and mingle well with raw oil. Lay on vinegar and salt, and serve it forth.

Meanwhile, Eleanor Fettisplace's Receipt Book (edited by Hilary Spurling, started c.1604) apparently mentions salads of lettuce, radish, cress, and 'other greens' interspersed with olives, currants, nuts, and decorated with flowers. None of these recipes made the printed addition in full.

Being limited by what was available in the garden, I had to use a purchased spinach/baby lettuce combination as the bulk of the greens, supplemented by curly cress (lots in the garden already), roquet/arugula, parsley (doing well in the container garden), sage (ditto), mint (likewise), and green onions (also coming along in the garden). I technically could have grabbed some leeks and borage as well, but I didn't like how either of them looked in the necessary interval between when I picked them and when I started assembling the salad--and I simply forgot to pick any rosemary. I opted for the cucumber over the lemon (this being for an event, and feeling that cucumbers require less of an explanation), and did remember to grab some chive flowers to decorate the sallet.   

Sallet of all kinde of hearbes, after a recipe of c.1587.

Per the instructions, I washed and drained all the vegetables, then sliced the cucumbers and tore up all the leafy greens. Mounding the greens on a plate, I set the cucumber slices over them, and poured white wine vinegar and olive oil over the whole thing. I finished it the sallet by setting slices of three hard-boiled eggs around the edges and putting the chive flowers on top.

Overall the salad was fine, I just found it really bland. In many respects, it's not that different from my usual Victorian salads, so I think the main issue is the dressing not having that extra zip of mustard and cayenne. It might also just have been too cool of a day for salad to really be appealing. I was worried about the more pungent herbs, and the sheer number of onion variations called for, but it ended up not being a huge deal. The few bits of green onion I included went very nicely with the egg and cucumber, while the sage wasn't bad, and even the mint worked better than I feared. I'm not sure this will hold true for a salad with more mint and onion all together, but in small amounts, it sort of worked. I'd definitely inflict this one on other people in the name of historical accuracy (it's weird, but not awful). 

I did forget the sugar, but otherwise feel pretty good about the accuracy of this salad. For one thing, I think there's room to interpret "all kinde of hearbes" as 'this recipe can be many with any kind of green salad vegetables' as much as it can be read as 'this recipe requires as many different vegetables as possible,' and in that case, not including every plant isn't a failure. Furthermore, the herb list I used was a good 200 years older than the salad recipe itself, so while I think it was a potentially useful suggestion, I don't think it's a binding matter of accuracy to includes all of them in this one specific recipe. I think there's room to argue that the cucumbers should be mixed into the greens instead of laid on top, so I might try that instead next time, though I like the look of the cucumbers on top.

Shoe-making Tool Roll

Much like the flatware rolls, and the one for my straw-plaiting accoutrements, this tool roll isn't an historical copy, but rather the application of a historic method (rolled fabric pocket) to a crafting and living history need (a way to contain my shoe-making tools, especially the pointy ones, in storage and transit). It certainly would have been a familiar organizational strategy for the sorts of women trying to DIY their own shoes with Every Lady Her Own Shoemaker, so I think it's a reasonable addition to my interpretive kit. After all, I'm not portraying a period shoemaker, just a person with basic sewing skills attempting to learn from a book.

Tools all assembled.

 

I left out the hammer and pliers, due to their size and weight skewing my mock-ups. The rest of the tools and supplies get their own designation pockets: wool-lined leather sheaths for two shoe knives and a rasp; wool needle-page;  then fabric pockets for two awls, a wood burnisher, an edging tool, bar of wax, thread winders, a bag of tacks, and glass burnisher. Wool is used to keep moisture (and thus rust) away from the blades and needles, while the rest of the roll is made from reproduction cotton prints. The awls have small pieces of cork over their tips to prevent them poking through the fabric.

I've taken it out for one event so far, and other than being inconveniently large for the table space, it did a good job of keeping everything neat and ready at hand. I also appreciate that it rolls up into a single neat package, which is helpful for organizing my box of shoe-making supplies.

Food in Season: May 1861

It's May Beeton's Book of Household Management considers to be in season for May.

Fish- Carp, chub, crabs, crayfish, dory, herring, lobsters, mackerel, red and gray mullet, prawns, salmon, shad, smelts, soles, trout, turbot.

Meat- Beef, lamb, mutton, veal.

Poultry- Chickens, ducklings, fowls, green geese, leverets, pigeons, pullets, rabbits.

Vegetables- Asparagus, beans, early cabbages, carrots, cauliflowers, cresses, cucumbers, lettuces, pease, early potatoes, salads, sea-kale, -various herbs.

Fruit- Apples, green apricots, cherries, currants for tarts, gooseberries, melons, pears, rhubarb, strawberries.

Meat and poultry are looking pretty much the same as last month, save for the addition of goose. The game category is completely gone, as are the shellfish. Lots of turn-over in the fish, vegetables, and fruit categories.

Remaking Plaid Gaiters, c.1856

Now that I have proper lasts to play with, I decided to take apart and remake the plaid gaiters that were my first pair of non-slipper shoes. They worked, to a certain extent (especially after I had glued on an outersole so the stitches weren't exposed), but had always fit a poorly due to my inexperienced attempt at adjusting the width. I figured that I was unlikely to wear them again in their current state, so I might as well use the material to practice on and, in the best case scenario, get a little more wear out of them as well. 

Before: Dirt, worn out binding, and very clunky soles.

After disassembling the whole shoes, including removing the binding and cutting away the damaged parts of the lining, I washed the wool uppers (which mostly took off the surface dust, but had little effect on the serious stains around the lower edge), cut new linings by tracing the old ones, and pieced them in along either side of the eyelets. I considered adding foxing, mostly to cover the aforementioned stains, but decided to save the material. As it turned out, the worst of the stains found their way into the lower seam allowance.

Fitting in the new linings.

Then, I re-bound the uppers with wool tape; I did the same with the tongues, because I had bound them before and wasn't sure if I had enough seam allowances to sew them wrong sides together and turn. I also added a heal stiffener along the center back of the upper (just a piece of crinoline, so that it would turn easily). Then it was a matter of tracing the last and cutting the soles (which went more smoothly this time, hopefully I'm improving). I decided to try sewing the soles properly this time, based on the turn-shoe method given in Every Lady Her Own Shoemaker. I also consulted Nicole Rudolph's Gonzo cosplay shoe-making video (even though I'm not making a welted shoe) to get my head around the book's description of skiving and pricking the sole.

Results: a qualified success.

The sewing part went faster and easier than previous attempts (I credit the curved awl and tapered edges of the sole), and I managed to attach both soles in a single afternoon's work. Turn them right-side out also went easier than I feared. The result shoes are very light (and feel quite flimsy compared to the double-layer soles on my other recent pair). They fit just fine, and I'm not swimming in them like before. I also like that they have a more defined shape off the foot, and especially the distinctive square toe of this time period.

Original: 1840s Brocaded Silk Fabric

 

English-made silk brocade, 1840s, in the VAM.

It is the month of May, what better time for some English flowers? This Spitalfields brocade caught my eye not only for the bright polychrome floral sprays, but also for how their strong colors contrast with the more delicate white-one-white patterning of the background. The description calls the whole thing brocade, though at high magnification, the colored flowers look like they might be embroidered using satin stitch on a brocaded white ground. That being said, my eyes could be deceived, and all the flowers may be woven in. I do wish I could see the reverse of the fabric to make a better guess.

April Mending

Guess who got to re-stitch her chemise gusset seams again this month? I didn't do much other mending, focusing instead on new projects (more to be posted shortly). Also, I covered most of my immediate repair needs in February/March, and now just have the larger remaking/remodeling projects in my to-do basket. 

Book Review: The Tudors: Art and Majesty in Renaissance England

A few winters ago now, The Met had an exhibit on Tudor artwork, and I was very excited to get my hands on a copy of the exhibition catalog (before the exhibit ended even!), though I procrastinated writing it up. In a fun turn, however, I recently discovered that the museum put a walk-through video of the exhibit online, and that inspired me to finally finish the review.

The Tudors: Art and Majesty in Renaissance England

The Tudors: Art and Majesty in Renaissance England by Elizabeth Cleland and Adam Eaker is the exhibition book for the Metropolitan Museum's Winter 2022-2023 exhibit of 16th century English art and portraiture. As the title suggests, that exhibit mostly looked at the portraiture and decorative arts of Tudor England, particularly that of the royal family, and how such artworks helped shape the Tudor dynasty's public image.

The book is organized around the 123 artifacts in the exhibit (or intended to be in the exhibit as originally conceived before 2020 happened), grouped chronologically and thematically into four sections. These explore the role of art in defining the Tudor dynasty, creating its public image, enhancing the prestige of its court, and shaping its historic legacy. Nine essays divided between these contextualize the art, providing overviews of the historic events concurrent with their making, as well as the artists, stylistic movements, customs, and physical spaces which informed them. Holbein, naturally, gets his own essay.

Each artifact has its label, a full-color picture, and 1-3 pages of accompanying narrative discussing the specific artwork's provenance, purpose, symbolism, maker (as best as can be determined), construction techniques, etc. Many of these artifact write-ups also contained additional photographs of related artworks not included in the exhibit itself (such as buildings). In addition to the numerous portraits and miniatures, the featured artifacts include tapestries, embroideries, garments, armor, ceremonial plate, sketches, plans for buildings and decorative features, medals, sculpture, and prints. All of the Tudor monarchs are included, though Elizabeth I and Henry VIII's relatively long reigns are most heavily featured.

As an exhibit book, this volume is focused on interpreting specific artworks. While the essays do provide historic context and link these pieces to wider artistic movements, the history that is being covered spans over a century, and so is handled in very broad strokes. I liked that the what theory is discussed ends up thoroughly grounded in physical artifacts, though that might not be to everyone's taste. With so much material to cover, close-up and detail shots are not included. Also, while there is a very wide variety of objects included, paintings are far and away the largest category. If, for example, you're looking for many images of original 16th century armor, this isn't the right book; if you want two suits of armor discussed context of the splendor of Henry VIII's court, it just might be.

In size and photograph quality, this is a coffee table book. It's quite pretty, with large, full-color photographs (249 total). Not being able to attend the exhibit in person, this book is the next best thing. I am also excited to add to my library a physical book of high-quality visual references from this period.

Score: 4.5 stars.

Accuracy: High. Lots of photographs of original 16th century art, and the text is all discussion of these pieces.

Strongest Impression: A gorgeous book. Very useful for anyone interested in 16th century English art history, 16th century English royals, or who just wants a physical reference book for the classic portraits of that time. This isn't going to be particularly useful for the hands-on aspect of recreating garments, or for a thorough grounding in the period's history, but it's top-notch for inspiration and has interesting insights into artistic trends during the time period.

Clothing Longevity II: The Poor

Welcome to Part II of my research series on how long clothing was expected to last in the years c. 1840-1870. [Intro.] This section explores the clothing of the extremely poor, particularly inmates, servants, and enslaved people. This body of data is largely shaped by institutional records/reports and advice written by the people providing clothing allowances to these groups.

Garment quantities and frequency of distribution (if not duration of use) are relatively well-defined. From context, we know that style and ornament are not important considerations. As a result, I think these sources provide a sort of baseline for how long clothing can last as an almost purely functional matter: providing the socially-acceptable minimum of coverage, comfort, and respectability that the benefactors are willing to pay for. Additionally, here we will see a few literary references which mention a poor character's clothing with reference to quantity, quality or other clues for how long clothing is expected to last or how long it can be made to endure. I also ended up with a bit of a tangent about servants' clothing; while less qualitative, the literature is inherently focused on the idea that clothing should last as long as possible.

How many garments are used/owned simultaneously, and the exact duration of each is less clear than the rate at which they are distributed. Having one new suit of clothes each year might mean the person only has one set of clothes at a time, or it might mean that the person has multiple sets of clothing and that the oldest set is being replaced each year (for example, if each suit actually lasts two years, that person would generally have a set of new-this-year clothing and an older set that was new last year).

Please note that some of the primary sources quoted or linked is this section use racial terms and stereotypes, particularly for Black or Irish persons, which are not preferred in the modern day. The word "insane" is likewise used in naming some institutions. There is, unsurprisingly, also a ton of classism.

 

Yearly Allowances

Institutional financial records provide some clues as to how the very poorest members of society were attired. The most explicit as to clothing duration is from the UK, where the Gorey Union workhouse report of 1842 specifies that a suit of clothes (with mending) lasts for 11 months, and that each person would wear out 2 pairs of stockings and 1.5 pairs of shoes in that time. It is also indicated that each poor person was only allotted one suit of clothes at a time. From the same parliamentary report, annual clothing allowances at Rathkeale Union workhouse for men include 1 jacket, 1 pair trousers, 1 shirt, 1 cap, 1 pair suspenders, 2 pair stockings, 2 pair shoes. At the same, women get a cotton wrapper, 2 petticoats (flannel and linsey-woolsey), 1 shift, 1 apron, 1 cap, 2 pair stockings, and 1.5 pairs shoes. Mending and alterations are also worked into the budget. The other workhouses listed in the reports either give aggregate numbers, or describe a similar baseline amount of clothing.

Clothing allowances for prisoners in the UK in 1841 describe the clothing provided, but not the duration it is expected to last. I expect that answer depends on the inmate's sentence and the kind of work they are assigned, but wouldn't be surprised if it follows the workhouse timeline above. Each person is issued one set of clothing at a time. For example, at Preston, Lancashire, the uniform is a jacket, trousers, shirt, and clogs for male prisoners, and shift, petticoat, upper petticoat, bedgown, cap, apron, and clogs for female prisoners. The bedgown/upper petticoat combination suggests an unfitted two-piece outfit like that worn by working women in the previous century. The Liverpool Goal provides a similar outfit to male prisoner (with the addition of a cap and neckerchief), while the women receive a dress, chemise, clogs, cap, and kerchief.

A pamphlet, "Management of Negroes Upon Southern Estates," published in Tennessee in 1851 outlines the author's system of clothing distribution. The average yearly amounts of clothing are given as follows:

"I give to my negroes four full suits of clothes with two pair of shoes, every year, and to my women and girls a calico dress and two handkerchiefs extra...

Clothing should be sufficient, but of no set quantity, as all will use or waste what is given, and may be no better clad with four suits than others with two. I know families that never give more than two suits, and their servants are always neater than others with even four...

My rule is to give for winter a linsey suit, one shirt of best toweling, one hat, one pair of shoes, a good blanket, costing $2 to $2.50, every other year (or I prefer, after trying three years, a comfort). In the summer, two shirts, two pair pants, and one straw hat. Several of my negroes will require two pair pants for winter, and occasionally even a third pair, depending mostly upon the material. Others require another shirt and a third pair of pants for summer. I seldom give two pair of shoes." 

Under this author's system, laundry is done weekly. The exact duration each garment lasts is not specified, but given the small number of garments and the hard physical labor undertaken, as well as the phrasing around "requiring two pair pants", I suspect that these garments are well worn by the end of the year, and may not be in a condition to use the following year. Thus, each person would have just the one suit for winter, to be replaced by the three for summer (or two winter and two summer), year in and year out. The reference to "families that never give more than two suits" in contrast to the authors's four suit plan gives an even lower threshold for dress: in both cases, basic garments are lasting between 3 and 6 months (2-4 sets per year), with some seasonal variation, and a pair of shoes between 6 and 12 months. I will note that the author contradicts himself on whether two pairs of shoes per year per person is standard or "seldom" in his example. 

Ohio laws (1861) require each patient admitted to the state asylum to have two dresses or suits, a pair of shoes or boots, and outerwear, all new or like new. The New York State Hospital in the same year considered "two suits of clothing and several changes of undergarments" as the bare clothing requirement for patients; while the rate at which these should be replaced is not specified, the other admission requirements treat 6 months a minimal stay, so it may be that these two suits or dresses are expected to cover that period. An article in The Lancet (1846) emphasizes the importance of seasonable clothing being provided in asylums (including distinct winter and summer wardrobes) and gives an average use period of  9 months for a suit or dress, if properly maintained. It also notes that clothing wears out faster for patients engaged in agricultural work. While the phrasing of these reports suggests that two changes of clothing are sufficient for a 6-month period, I will note that not all such institutions actually provided or required adequate clothing: a review of British asylums, describing systematic improvements from 1842 to 1852, includes a horrible description of initial conditions in Haverford-West Asylum, with patients either naked or having no changes of linen available. 

A much later account (1895) of the Wayne County Asylum includes itemized quarterly clothes allowances. This state reports unfortunately only gives total clothing/board expenses for inmates at the Detroit House of Corrections, but clothing for the residents of the asylum are listed by item type and price for each person. The prices are consistent across types of garments, implying that all of the socks, dresses, shoes, etc., were of similar quality and material. I ran some statistics on the first twelve women listed alphabetically, and found that they received an average of 5.5 dresses per year (4, 5, or 6, with one outlier who received 9 dresses), 5.3 skirts (ranged between 1 and 10 each), 4.5 chemises, 3 pair drawers, 5.5 pair hose, 4 pairs shoes, 5.3 aprons, 5 handkerchiefs, 1 nightdress*, 1 pair slippers, and 1.5 vests or undershirts. Not all of the women received a pair of slippers, and only four actually received nightdresses (the average is skewed by one woman who only received nightdresses, hose, and chemises after the first quarter, suggesting that she couldn't leave her bed). Outerwear was not given to all the women, with only 2 receiving woolen jackets, and 1 a shawl. Three were issued hats, two were issued hoods, and five were given neckties (one woman receiving 5 over the course of the year, the other only one necktie a piece). Elastic was routinely mentioned at the end of the clothing lists, but only the price and not the amount or purpose.

The Emigrant in Australia (1852) advises that travelers pack for 4 months without laundry access. The bare minimum of clothing over this period is given as: 6 shirts or shifts, 6 pairs of stockings, 2 pair shoes, and two complete sets of outer clothing (for men) or two gowns and two petticoats (women).

An Encyclopedia of Domestic Economy (1855) gives suggested annual clothing allowances for most servants. Footman should expect 1 or 2 suits of livery to be provided, as well as an informal suit and a hat. Coachmen and undercoachmen just the one set of livery, but two hats and two pairs of boots; grooms should receive two sets of livery and two sets of clothes suitable for stable work. Maids are not generally issued clothing, but instead a recommended budget is included. It allows for three gowns per year (price and material varying with wages), 3 pairs of shoes, 4 petticoats, 1 or 2 bonnets, 3 or 4 pairs of stockings, 1 shawl, 2 pairs of gloves, 6 aprons, and fabric for an unspecified number of caps, handkerchiefs, and undergarments. 

The Careful Nursemaid (1844) gives a recommended wardrobe for a new servant: two changes of linen per week (times the interval that washing is done at), as well as two flannel petticoats, two upper petticoats, two pairs of stays, three gowns, 7 aprons (4 common, 2 nicer, 1 woolen for scrubbing the nursery), 2 pairs of black stockings, 1-2 pairs white stockings, 1 pair sturdy walking shoes, 1 pair thinner house shoes, caps, kerchiefs, handkerchiefs, a plain straw bonnet, a pair of gloves, one warm shawl or coat for winter. The exact duration all of this is supposed to last is unclear, but the wording about winter coats makes me think this is a year's clothing. At the very least, it is 'enough clothing to get started with' as the new nursemaid will have her wages to buy replacements as needed.

 

Clothing Duration in Contemporary Fiction

Exactly how long clothing lasts is going to vary based on what it is made of, how it is treated, and how often it is being worn. Most of the literary references I came across indicated the age and condition of characters' clothing through descriptions of its appearance rather than giving its exact age; "turned" and mended clothing will be handled in a future installment.

 In the story "Wait and See" published in Arthur's Illustrated Home Magazine (1859), a poor grandmother has only had two new dresses in the last seven years, both of them calico.

In The Wide Wide World (1850) little Ellen and her sick mother both expect to make one new merino dress last the whole winter. An anonymous benefactor gifts her a second length of merino and a quilted silk bonnet (on the grounds that her pasteboard bonnet isn't warm enough for the weather), which suggests that while 'one warm dress' may have workable for the season, it was far from desirable or comfortable.

In Les Miserables (1862), impoverished formerly-bourgeoisie law student Marius Pontmercy wears his suits for two years: his newest suit is reserved for formal occasions, with last year's suit for everyday use. By the end of the second year, that everyday suit is 'impossible' and so badly worn out that he looks like a beggar. 

Eugene Sue's Mysteries of Paris (1838/44), includes a detailed discussion on buying secondhand clothing. Out of her 100 francs per year clothing budget, the grisette (independent working class girl) Rigolette generally spends 5-6 francs per used dress (though one cost 15 francs), and 2-3 francs per pair of shoes. Her savings also comes out of this budget line (an average of 30 francs per year) as do her stockings, shawl, and bonnet (which have no prices given) and presumably undergarments. Extrapolating from there, we can infer she's acquiring absolutely no more than 10 dresses per year, and likely closer to 4, in order to afford her linens, stockings, and shoes. She has at least two dresses at that time in the story: the purple merino she's wearing, and a blue levantine reserved for Sundays. We can also presume that the character is making each dress last more than two months, given the way she refers to the "old" clothes she is buying as only having been worn one or two months before going on the second-hand market. 

"Servant-gal-ism" or What Not to Wear if You are Poor

"Every person's dress should harmonize with his or her employment." -Letter from Mrs. Pierson, The Ohio Cultivator, 1855

This is a bit of a sidestep, but it was a recurring theme when I sought out descriptions of servants' clothing, and seems worth addressing. Basically, there is a stereotype that some poor people, especially female servants, waste their money on either fancy garments unsuited to their way of living or on cheap, gaudy garments that imitate higher class clothing. This is presented as wasteful (whether because the finery is ruined through work or through being very low quality), and in poor taste. The recommended alternative is that one instead purchases items suited to one's lifestyle, choosing quality material that will last over flimsier items that look pretty, and that one mends this clothing diligently. Since this form of spendthrift behavior is often presented in part as a function of the clothing's duration of use, I thought it right to include here.

"Photographs of New York" in The New Monthly Magazine (1858) uses clothing to illustrate/accuse immigrant maidservants of vanity and wastefulness. In the given example, the archetype German servant girl spend all of her earnings on showy clothes, while continually demanding higher wages and easier work. From a calico dress and barehead, she progresses to a fashionable muslin with a bonnet (and veil!), then silk dresses with a white bonnet, and finally kid gloves and lace mantillas, then cheap jewelry and coarse hoops. In addition to poor budgeting, the author accuses this imagined maidservant of extreme vanity, with all free time and money devoted to displaying this clothing (at the theater or getting photographed), at the cost of spiritual or mental cultivation (for, the author assures us, these immigrant girls do not attend church or even serious theater.) The articles of clothing described are perfectly respectable middle- to upper-class garments, except maybe for the 6-carat gold pin with "stones" which is bordering into what Miss Leslie would call "coarse finery" or "trumpery" and the "barrel hoops" which are likewise a poor imitation of more expensive garments. Both betray a lack of the 'taste' which supposedly differentiates a true lady from an overdressed woman. Otherwise, the problem, as presented, is in who is wearing these silk dresses and kid gloves (a person of lower class), why (personal vanity), and at what cost (future financial difficulties, lost opportunities for 'improvement.') 

The same theme, without detail of the garments, appeared twenty years earlier in the pamphlet "Hints to Girls on Dress" (1836).  In a brief parable about two servant girls, one of them (Ann) wastes her wages on fancy clothes and ends up poor, while the other (Lucy) is deliberate in her purchases and careful about mending, which allows her to save up enough money to give to charity and live comfortably.

Jane Swisshelm's 1853 Letters to Country Girls includes a fair amount of advice on dressing genteel on a budget (more on that anon), but particularly focuses on material quality and the time wasted in constantly replacing items. Not unlike the accusations against the above servants, this audience of "country girls" is accused of wasting their money buying cheap, gaudy materials that don't last. While Mrs. Swisshelm claims to make her own (mostly silk) dresses last for seven years, and that a good French merino might last twenty, she accuses her readers of wasting their time on poorly-dyed polychrome fabrics that run on the first wash or cashmeres that "soon look faded and old-fashioned." One again, a dichotomy is presented between wasting money on clothing out of vanity, and careful expenditures (which conveniently also result in one having better clothing to wear and spending less time making it).

Why do servants of the 19th century dress as they do? echoes these complaints, though it does not actually bring up the issue of clothing longevity, being mostly focused on maintaining class distinctions.

Cartoon from Punch, November 1863. As in the text examples, the servant's hoops are both unsuited to the task at hand, and apparently improvised. Note the maid's  "lamp" shape compared to the employer's "bell."

"The New School for Wives" an 1852 article in Household Words, describes a night-school for female factory-workers in Birmingham, England. The author claims that 3/5 of the women didn't know how to sew a hem or seam, and the remainder did so poorly. Whether there was a real skill deficit, or the assumption that working people are poor because they lack middle class industrious habits, the author goes on to note that the students resist mending and "prefer making gowns to all humbler work," subtly reinforcing the stereotype that poor women are more interested in display than in practicality.

The Popular Educator's 1856 article no. II on "Female Education" also addresses the need for young working class women to be able maintain their own clothing (sewing, washing, and ironing). It calls for schools to teach remedial sewing, and recommends pamphlets on cleaning clothing. Notably, this entire article focuses on bodily hygiene, clothing, and "general habits of order." These are held up as a necessary prerequisite for young working women seeking to make "mental and moral progress," which reveals something about the author's biases. [In fairness, this series is focused on self-education, and the the first article mentions resources for reading, writing, mathematics, geography, and history. However, the relative column space given to each of those subjects versus the detailed instructions here on cleanliness and mending are telling.]

The Teacher's Visitor opens its discussion of clothing for poor children with the aphorism that "the love of dress" is "the source of all frivolity and vanity in women." It goes on to recommend plain clothing for charity-school students ("all finery" is to be prohibited), for the purpose of fitting them to their station in life. The children should also be taught to care for their clothing, always appearing clean and tidy. While the duration of garment use is not with the scope of this short article, the idea of making clothing that lasts does appear: "We should recommend them to purchase the durable material, the strong calico, the good washing print, preferring at all times wear and usefulness to shew[sic]."

The Farmer (1844) summarizes its ideas on suitable clothing for farming families: "Everything beyond what is necessary for cleanliness and comfort, and for neatness and decency of appearance, should be avoided in dress, whether it be of male or female." The book notes that alternating between two pairs of shoes (allowing them to fully dry between wearings) prolongs their useful life, and advocates for "strong cloth or other stout stuff" and for wools in preference to cottons for women's outerwear, as the latter "loses its color, and does not wear so long." While specific duration are not given, the advice centers on using quality materials, which should be mended as needed, and re-purposed in due time, all in order to make one's clothing last as long as possible.

 

Conclusion 

At the very poorest end of society, persons living in the mid-Victorian period might have as little as single set of clothing to wear at one time. The few sources which specify how often this clothing would need to be replaced suggest that shoes might last 4 months to a year (more often 6-7 months per pair), while dresses and men's suits would need replacing between once and four times a year. Where more than a single outfit is allowed, changes of bodylinen and aprons are used for cleanliness and to protect the clothing. While these minimal allowances do not include clean linens and stockings every day, all but the most severe do allow extras to change. I have seen no indication of clothing routinely lasting more than a year or two, much less a decade, at this level of society.

Mid-Victorian didactic literature aimed at the poor emphasizes the need for clothing to be strong, suitable to one's occupation, and carefully maintained. Functionality, including maximizing the clothing's usable duration, is the ideal; showy clothing is cast as the inherent opposite of such practicality. It follows that the clothing provided to society's poorest members (including the imprisoned and enslaved) would adhere to these strictures as much as possible, with a strong preference for durability over fashion.

Flatware Rolls

I made these rolls as a way to keep my 1850s  flatware and serving spoons tidy and clean when not in use, and to make it easier to pack for events (by which I mean "tea at Ft. Steilacoom.") I still don't have a good way to transport the used items home, but it's definitely an improvement. 

Open rolls, showing the pockets for each knife, spoon, or fork.

These are not based off of a specific antique design, but instead on the general idea of a rolled sewing kit. I've also seen a traveling surgeon's kit and a toilet sachet (toiletries bag) from the mid-19th century using this general organizational scheme, it's not completely outlandish. [Same idea underlies my straw tool roll.] However, I'm not exactly going to brandish them about at events, lest I give someone the idea that this was a typical way to store silverware.

Closed rolls. No problem with things sliding out so far.

The rolls are both made from 18" x 18" squares of 1.2 mm wool felt, selected both for its body (no need to line the rolls or bind edges) and its ability to wick moisture (the flatware being carbon steel and Britanniaware). One pocket on each is folded; the excess height cut off the spoon roll made the second pocket on the knife/fork roll.

 All told this was a quick and easy project. I used a ruler to sew the spoon pockets, but found it both faster and neater to mark the sewing lines in chalk on the fork/knife roll.

1000th Post & 20 Years of Reenacting

I realized that next month (Memorial Day weekend to be precise) marks the 20th Anniversary of my first event as a reenactor. And this is the 1000th post on my blog. That makes two projects which I did not foresee lasting so long, nor taking the routes that they did.

In honor of the occasion, here's my top 20 tips or lessons I've learned from living history, in the order I find funniest.

1. Hydrate.
   
2. Boots before corset. Always.
3. Put on your chemise before styling your hair. You can also do your hair after getting dressed, but having fewer garments going over the head will keep your hairstyle neater.
4. Dress for the weather, and try to resist the temptation to bring every possible garment along.
5. But also, bring an extra shawl, apron, and handkerchief. Back-up shoes are also a good idea for overnight events.
6. Have clean undergarments for every day of the event.
7. A sewing kit with a stocked pincushion is an indispensable dressing aid for every era.
8. Cutting someone's corset laces is less exciting than it sounds, and will also almost never actually need to happen.
9. Bunny ears in your stay laces and a front-opening busk are, in fact, better than sliced bread.
10. Corsets won't actually prevent you from doing that many things, provided you learn to bend with your knees rather than waist. Except for reclining seats. Also, they make running even less fun, and putting on your shoes a bit more annoying.
11. Straight hairpins need to be woven into the hair, and hold best when "flipped" into place. Bobby pins are for bobbed hair and are easily defeated by my mane.
12. The two great blessings of getting all your under-layers accurate are that your garment system isn't working at cross purposes (warming/cooling/bathroom access), and you don't have to stress concealing modern make-dos. The same applies to period food, containers, furniture, tools, and toys. 
13. If you're having trouble putting on a narrow-back or drop-shouldered dress, try putting on both sleeves just to the elbow, then sliding it up to the shoulder.
    
14. The research is half the fun, at least.
15. Document! Document! Document! Otherwise, years later, you will find yourself hopelessly searching for variations on a particular phrase you remember reading once upon a time, because it was related to something cool that you found once and cannot find again.
16. Practice sewing on bad fabric if you must, but whenever possible, save up for the good stuff. A shoddy fabric takes just as much labor to make up as quality one, but the later is much more pleasant to work with and wear. It will also have better remaking or resale potential.
17. Natural fibers are not only the most accurate choices for garments prior to the 20th century, but are also the safest option around open flame. 
18. No one catches their clothing on fire as often as pop history writers would have you think. Yes, even with long skirts and cooking/campfires/candles. That being said, you do need to exercise suitable caution and avoid doing stupid things like "setting a lit and unshielded candle on the ground in an area where people are walking."
19. Split drawers are amazing. I do still feel smug about getting through the necessary faster than the poor trouser-wearers struggling to deal with pre-zipper technology.
20. "If they had it, they would have used it" is not a useful metric for historic reenactment or recreation, and I will expound upon this, so don't get me started.

1901 Doll Dress

Nelly also has a new dress! 

 

Feeling princess-y.

 

Looking forward towards the end of Victoria's reign, I wanted this dress to appear suitable for c.1901, while providing a strong contrast to both Harriet's new c.1837 look and to the two dolls' usual late 1850s attire. To that end, I decided to give her a princess-seamed dress (no waist seam or separate skirt treatment), which was in use at that period, though it wasn't the only style. The skirt is thus shaped by goring, unlike the gathered rectangles used in their other dresses. While large puffed sleeves were popular near the end of the 1890s, they did start slimming down again getting into the 1900s, so I gave Nelly's dress narrow coat sleeves. It also has a standing, self-fabric collar (which made me confront just so short her neck is), and a ribbon trim simulating a yoke. To make the tiny collar delicate enough, it's cut on the selvedge of the fabric. At some point, she will need a gored petticoat to give this dress the proper silhouette.

1837 Doll Dress

Recently finished a new dress for Harriet, my Sewing Academy cloth girl doll, intended to represent the year of Queen Victoria's accession. 

 

Partying like it's 1837.

I started with the low-neck dress from her pattern (c. 1855-65), and then made a few changes. For the bodice, I shortened it slightly at the waist, while bringing in the sides as much as possible (thereby reducing the amount of fabric in the darts: this isn't very obvious at doll scale, but the few original dresses I've examined from this period have weirdly straight bodices shaped more at the side seams than through darts or gathers).

The most obvious change in the sleeve: I used the basic straight sleeve as a size reference while scaling up an original mid-1830s sleeve draft from Patterns of Fashion I. This particular style gets less extreme after 1836 or so, so I used five rows of very close gathers at the head of each sleeve, trying to make the a more late 1830s look with a sleeve that is close-fitted just below the shoulder, balloons over the upper arm, then fits tightly over the forearm. I don't think the close-fitting top of the sleeve comes through at this scale (the finished effect looks much more c.1835 to me), but it was a weirdly-satisfying exercise to sew it this way.

Foods in Season: April 1861

Spring and the new reenacting season are finally here, so it's time to see what foods Beeton's Book of Household Management considers to be in season for April.

Fish- Brill, carp, cockles, crabs, dory, flounders, ling, lobsters, red and gray mullet, mussels, oysters, perch, prawns, salmon (but rather scare and expensive), shad, shrimps, skate, smelts, soles, tench, turbot, whiting.

Meat- Beef, lamb, mutton, veal.

Poultry- Chickens, ducklings, fowls, leverets, pigeons, pullets, rabbits

Game- Hares.

Vegetables-Broccoli, celery, lettuces, young onion, parsnips, radishes, small salad, sea-kale, spinach, sprouts, -various herbs

Fruit- Apples, nuts, pears, forced cherries, &c. for tarts, rhubarb, dried fruits, crystallized preserves.

And thus we have the shortest list so far this year. Every category has seen some items disappear, though I hope for our ancestors' sake that the addition of multiple new ingredients (rhubarb, young onion) partially offset the smaller overall variety. For "small salad" read "microgreens"-- as we've seen before, "salading" encompasses a wider variety of leafy vegetables and herbs than can be eaten raw.

Original: Women's Button Shoes, 1851

Women's shoes, English, 1851, in the Victoria & Albert.

 

This month's antique garment is the other pair of women's non-slipper low shoes which I found while researching my recent shoe project. These are described as serge (wool) and leather, and between the material and date, would have been a better choice for me to try copying. However, I didn't want to make a button shoe this time. 

I did note the asymmetric flap for the buttons, which follows the a similar shape to most of the button boots I've seen from this period, and to the button gaiter pattern in Every Lady Her Own Shoemaker. From the specific date of 1851, I assume these shoes were once part of the Crystal Palace Exhibition, which formed the basis for the V&A's original collection.

March Mending

March was an even busier month for mending. I started with a full inventory of my reenacting closet, removing everything from the hangers and drawers, and sorting through it.

How it started.

Garments that were whole and ready to wear went back up in the closet immediately. This was mostly my cloaks, mantles, and shawls. Items that needed only minor repair went onto the mending basket; this included the bulk of my 1850s clothing, which is fair since it sees the most wear. My third category, items that likely need some major re-fitting or alteration, went back up in the closet, in a segregated area (and marked with yarn tied to the hangers as a reminder.) Things I can't or won't wear again went into one of two boxes: if I like the material and think there's enough of it to recycle, it'll be picked apart and remade. The other box is items to sell at the upcoming reenactor swap meet.

I managed to get through my main garments, underthings, and shoes, though I still have to sort through my bonnets, stockings, and accessories, which live in the smaller totes.

How it continued.

My first round of mending included my corded and quilted petticoats (replacing seams below the plackets), fastening down escaped pleats on my 1870s print skirt and my 1860s sage wool skirt (and some darning on the latter), restraining an escaped bone on my 1820s long stays, and many small repairs to my blue wrapper (sleeve seam, neck binding, and a small section of gauging on the skirt).

My knitting apron, following an adverse tea incident, got the silk ribbons removed so that it could the hand-washed. The ribbons also received a badly-needed pressing before being sewn back on. I was worried about how to iron the apron itself, with its extensive gathers and decorative ruching, but after air-drying it, it actually looks as good as new.

Before (R) and after (L) ironing the ribbons.

I then started to pick apart some of the garments that will need more extensive remodelling, starting with the canary-yellow sheer. Most of these are still in the to-do basket.

Later in the month, I re-seamed the legs on a pair of drawers, and also patched 4 modern pairs of jeans (which all conveniently decided to wear through at the same time).

1840s Shoes

My last two pairs of 1850s shoes are both in need of new soles, and as none of the vendors currently have my size in stock, it became necessary to try making another pair.

The end result has much rounder toes than expected.

 

This time went better than before, notably because I now have some lasts, and was able to follow the general process in Nicole Rudolph's "How to Make Regency & Victorian Shoes" video instead of just relying on Every Lady Her Own Shoemaker alone. Nicole recommends making a low shoe rather than a boot in her video, so my options were rather limited. The inspiration shoes are a pair of 1840s cotton shoes from the Met. I chose them because the foxing and lacing effects look similar to the popular gaiters of the 1850s, and they were one of only two pairs of women's non-slipper shoes from the mid-19th-century I could find in my searching. While slippers appear to have been used for daily wear earlier in the century, by the 1850s they really seem relegated to formal dress for adults. 

 

The original shoes have a figured cotton upper, which is cut in two pieces (left and right) and seamed at the center front and center back. For mine, I used a wool twill "lasting" from Burley & Trowbridge, with scrap leather for the foxing, and white pimatex cotton for the lining. 

 

No interior images are available, but bit of the little the center back lining seam that's visible has no raw edges; I chose to interpret this by making the lining and outside upper separately, then joining them at the binding with all the raw edges sandwiched between the layers. The shoes have six whip-stitched eyelets in their center lacings; on the originals this closes the shoe, and no tongues are visible (though they could be present and hidden under the ties, I see no evidence of this).

I originally enlarged the historic shoe image to match my shoe length, then took a series of proportions off of it (foxing should extend 1/2 way up the ~4.75" center front seam, then 1/6 of that length is a plain seam, then the final 1/3 the open placket). I'm not satisfied with how these compare in the final product to the original, but I did repeat this process for the sides of the foxing, the heel foxing, and the height of the shoe, and when taking the pattern on the last, it looked a lot closer to the original.

 

For the uppers, I mostly followed the process from Every Lady Her Own Shoemaker, along with what I could reason from the historic picture. After seaming the wool layer of the upper, I bound the foxing pieces with the twill tape, then laid them over the wool and topstitched into place. Close-up view of the original show 2 close rows of lockstitch or backstitch going over the tape on the foxing. After this, I lined up the lining and outer layer, a joined them by binding their upper edges. I did this by hand in order to avoid turning sharp corners on the sewing machine. I couldn't find a seam in the binding on the original, and interpreted this by putting it at the front inside corner, where the bows conceal it. It's definitely not at the center front opening, though it could have been at the center back, where the binding almost entirely worn away on both originals. The six eyelets are worked in whip stitch in a black silk buttonhole twist.

 

I followed Nicole's video to cut the soles and insoles, attach the upper to the last, and put everything together. She mentions in the video that using rubber cement instead of stitching the soles wouldn't become popular until 40-50 years after the Regency shoes she is making, which was nicely reassuring for me trying to make shoes from that later period.

Better than my previous pairs, but I have much to learn.

I wore the shoes to cook at Fort Nisqually last Sunday. It poured rain all day, but I contrived to stay indoors most of the time. I did end up crossing the yard ~3 times, and found these adequate. They only felt a little damp on the second two excursions, and dried out very quickly (in fairness, I was keeping to the paths and trying to avoid puddles and wet grass). The shoes were a little looser than I feared/expected, though nowhere near as floppy as the plaid gaiters I made before. There is room for my insoles, which made them much more comfortable than most of my other period shoes, though they feel lighter and flimsier than my purchased shoes.

 

Appearance-wise, I have a laundry list of problems, from the very rounded appearance of the toe (the last actually has a square toe, albeit with more of a curve along the outside edge than I'd like) to the crooked foxing, to the two places where I shaved of the turned leather too close to the edge of the sole. Despite edging and burnishing, the soles are a bit rougher around the edges than I'd like. The sole-upper-insole layers were rough and clumsy-looking despite my attempts to even things out, but somehow this didn't end up making the shoes uncomfortable.

 

In the end, I'd call this "serviceable" and "the most accurate shoe option currently available to me," but I'm also going to try getting my Balmoral boots and/or walking shoes re-soled for outdoor use. These lighter shoes I'll keep for indoor and summer events (where the light uppers should be very comfortable). 

A Bachelor's Bread Pudding (1855)

And a final receipt from Sunday at the Fort.

A Bachelor's Bread Pudding

The Recipe: A Bachelor's Bread Pudding from The Practical Housekeeper and Young Woman's Friend

A Bachelor's Bread Pudding--Four oz of grated bread, the same of currants and apple, two oz of sugar, three eggs, a little essence of lemon and ground cinnamon. Boil it three hours. 

The Date/Year and Region: 1855, Toledo, OH

 

How Did You Make It: As the receipt gives no instructions, I basically winged this one. I started by grating about half a loaf of sour dough bread (not quite as stale as expected), which readily got me to 4oz. I cored and diced one apple (also 4 oz), and mixed all this together with the 4oz of currants, 2 oz granulated sugar, several dashes of ground cinnamon, and a splash of lemon extract. I beat 3 eggs and mixed them into the dry ingredients, then put all of this mixture into my smaller melon mold. This went into a pot of water on the stovetop, and remained there about three hours

Time to Complete: A half hour to prepare, 3 hours to boil.

 

Total Cost: About $3.50 at the current price of eggs and the currants (bread was left-over, apples and the rest on hand).

 

How Successful Was It?: Very well received. The flavor was nice and interesting, but not overwhelming (one of the interpreters compared it to applesauce), and several complimented the texture. One friend even took some home for a spouse who likes boiled puddings. Suggestions were made of adding a custard, whipped cream, or whiskey sauce over it. 

 

I was worried about the apples, since I've seen apple pudding receipts ranging from 'boil the apples down entirely before mixing with breadcrumbs' to 'core but don't otherwise peel or cut the apple.' Dicing them small, without peeling, was my compromise idea (and a lazy one, since I had no peeler but also don't like solid chunks of apple in my bread puddings), and it seemed to work fine.

 

How Accurate Is It? The ingredient list is all I have to go on, so I'd say this is as close as I can get, baring a more detailed set of instructions, particularly dealing with the apples. From the proportion of the ingredients, I assumed that laying the fruit nicely and then filling in the mold wouldn't be practical, thus mixing everything together. Finding heirloom apples (not the pink lady apples I got at the store) and drying real currants (not the zante currants I can purchase) are the only two changes I can think of at this time that make this more accurately.

Carrots au Beurre or Buttered Carrots (1854)

 Another receipt from Sunday at the Fort.

Carrots au Beurre or Buttered Carrots.

 

The Recipe: Carrots au Beurre or Buttered Carrots from Eliza Acton's Modern Cookery

The Date/Year and Region: 1854, England

 

How Did You Make It: I cut the last of my winter carrots into sticks about 1/4" wide, and set them to boil on the stovetop. Once soft, I strained the carrots, then melted ~3oz of butter on the stovetop, with a handful of minced parsley, and a dash of salt and of pepper. As I couldn't find the cayenne, I substituted black pepper. Once the butter was melted, I added the carrots back in, stirred about a minute, and then served it.

 

Time to Complete: About half an hour, including boiling the carrots. Estimate because no clock in the kitchen, etc.

 

Total Cost: About $1 for the butter. Carrots from my garden and parsley from the Fort's.

 

How Successful Was It?: Tasty enough. It was a bit overshadowed by the other fare, but the carrots were cooked through, the butter-and-parsley sauce suited them well. I don't often have the opportunity to serve hot vegetable side-dishes at period events, but this is a very pleasant way to serve them.

How Accurate Is It? I used heirloom carrots, and cooked everything on a wood-burning stove, so it's about as close as I can get. I would use the correct pepper next time, but that's the only obvious thing I can think to make it more accurate. I might be wrong about "dissolve" meaning "melt", but as no mention was made of water or another solvent in the sauce, I think my interpretation was correct.

Sausage Rolls (1853)

It's not a Historic Food Fortnightly challenge, but I was back at the Fort kitchen (and working solo for the first time in a while), so I decided it was time to write up some new receipts.

 

Sausage Rolls

The Recipe: Sausage Rolls from Household Hints to Young Housewives

SAUSAGE ROLLS. Sausage meat rolled in crust and cut in lengths about 2 inches. the outside brushed with yolk of egg . 

The Date/Year and Region: 1853, London

 

How Did You Make It: I made a paste from the receipt in this same book (half scale 1 lb flour, 1/2 lb suet, 1/2 tsp salt, water as needed), substituting butter for the suet, as I did not have any. This half scale was ample for the 1 lb of pork sausage meat, to which I added about 12 narrow sage leaves (chopped) and salt and pepper, based on various similar receipts. For future reference, the receipts which go into further detail indicate that the sausage meat should be 2/3 lean pork and 1/3 fat.

 

I rolled out the paste into 4" wide pieces, set on the ground pork, and wrapped the paste around, then cut into 1-1.5" long pieces, and treated the tops with beaten egg. I baked the rolls in the wood-fired oven; it was to be a 'quick oven', but didn't achieve the requisite temperature until Elise took charge of the fire. The rolls were cooked until the pastry started browning and the meat was cooked through.  

About 1/4 of the paste was in excess, so I tossed some sugar and cinnamon on it, and baked it as puits d'amour.

 

Time to Complete: About 20 minutes to prepare, less than an hour to bake (no clock in the period kitchen).

 

Total Cost: About $6.50 for butter and meat.

 

How Successful Was It?: Tasty. Most of the interpreters took two. I'm not sure they were a good as Quin's, but they were quite nice hot out of the oven. I tried not to overwork the pastry crust this time, and it wasn't particularly tough, but it also wasn't as flaky as I would have liked (though some of that might have been the oven temperature).

 

How Accurate Is It? I used pre-ground pork, but most versions of this receipt assume you'll purchase it from a butcher, which is functionally what I did. I based on the flavoring (sage leaves, salt, pepper) on similar receipts, and again feel pretty good about that. The use of butter for suet was an intentional deviation, but that would provide one way to get closer to the original.